Harry opened his eyes to the far too familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing, and a deep, bone shaking chill like nothing he had ever felt before. Suddenly he was shaking and try as he may to relax his muscles and stop, he couldn't. Despite the warmth that surrounded him, blankets probably magicked to emit heat, he had never been colder in his life.
"Harry?"
He tilted his head enough to see Tom, who was seated in a high backed chair at his side. He had a pillow at his back and a blanket over his knees, a book that looked suspiciously like a textbook open on his lap. And even though he looked as clean and put together as always, there was a pinched quality to his eyes and an unusual paleness to his complexion that the the golden light streaming in through the windows couldn't lift.
Harry managed a shaky smile through the shivering, "hey." He cleared his throat, it was horribly dry, "wh-what happened, what time is it?"
Tom moved the book from his lap and took up a glass of water on a nearby table, with a gentleness that would have surprised Harry at one time, he helped Harry sit up enough to take a few sips. When he laid back down something in the stiffness in Tom's shoulders relaxed. Even though the worry was still clear in his eyes.
"It's morning, Harry. Wednesday. What's the last thing you remember?" When he had sat down the glass Tom returned his hands to Harry. Smoothing back his hair, tucking the covers more securely around him, brushing the side of his neck as though checking for something. He didn't seem to be able to keep himself still.
Harry began to worry himself, if whatever happened had Tom this frantic...What did he remember?"
"We were at the Quidditch pitch...I remember going into the maze," it was dark and cold and wet...the tasks had been, strange, "I remember the Devil's Snare, and the pack of mannequins, the bogart..." The event's were a swirl of shadows and bright spell light, there had been something off about the whole thing.
"You remember the mannequins?" Tom asked excitedly, leaning forward, something bright and fevered in his eyes.
"Yeah...they were odd. They fought as one, I managed to tie them up."
Tom's eyes narrowed at that, "you did? When was that?"
"I think they were the second thing I encountered, after the Devil's Snare, then...the bogart, the peskies...there was acid ooze, but it was different than what Merrythought taught us," Harry wracked his memory for anything after that, he remembered being exhausted after trying to neutralize the ooze, then...
"There was no acid," Tom said, his voice was suddenly cold.
Harry leaned back a little, something twisting unpleasantly in his chest, "there was, it was pretty far in, but I think I was on the right track. Only...the neutralizing spell wasn't working right. I had cast it so many times that I was starting to get tired after, then...then," what had happened after that?
"Harry," he looked back the strangeness of Tom's voice, he appeared calm, but it was as though his whole countenance had been cast in shadow, "you're telling me there was a...lake of acid?" Harry nodded, "and you don't remember anything after that?" When Harry shook his head Tom sighed, he stretched a hand out to cup the side of Harry's face, it was nearly burning against Harry's cold skin.
"When I found you the mannequins were attacking you, not as one, but as a unified team working together. They hit you with a curse of some sort. You don't remember any of that?"
He tried, but nothing formed out of the chaos of blue light and murky shadow, he shook his head again, "nothing."
Tom sunk into his own thoughts, eyes dark and unfocused as he drew his own conclusions of the night. His hand was a warm and stabling presence, Harry leaned into it, and once the question had burned it's way to the surface, and he could think of nothing else, he asked, "Tom, what happened? That wasn't...that wasn't how the test was supposed to go, was it?"
Tom looked down at him and sighed deeply, "Merrythought thinks something malfunctioned. She's convinced that an animal crawled out of the forest when she wasn't watching and contaminated the spells she used to make the course."
"Is that even possible?"
Tom shrugged, "she's consulting the Gamekeeper now, but so far nothing is conclusive."
Harry smirked through the tremors, "and you told me there was nothing to fear about the exam." He said it playfully, but instantly regretted it when Tom perfectly put together facade crumbled.
He pulled away from Harry, and he would have said that Tom was sulking, but it seemed like such a ridiculous thing to say about him.
"Tom," Harry said, trying to disentangle himself from the many blankets he was under. They weighed a ton. "Tom, I didn't mean-"
"No," Tom said abruptly, "you're right. I told you it was safe, I told you there was nothing to worry about."
"It isn't your fault," Harry managed to free a hand, he wrapped it around one of Tom's and tugged. Nothing would have happened except that Tom allowed it. Allowed himself to be pulled down, face close to Harry. He whispered sternly, or as sternly as one could whisper. "Tom Riddle, this isn't your fault."
The shadow slowly melted from Tom's eyes, they were still tired, his brows still pinched in worry, but he no longer looked as though he were ready to kill the world.
He leaned further in and carefully, oh so gentle, brushed his lips against Harry's. "I was so worried," his voice was just a soft as Harry's. And just as full of intent.
"I know, but I'm safe now, right? Because of you." Harry squeezed his hand as hard as he could. Or he tried to. It felt as though his muscles were not his own...so much for any hope of getting out of bed that day.
"I'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again, I promise." Tom said it like he meant it. As though it were a pledge he was making. And Harry didn't doubt for a moment that he planned on keeping.
"I feel safer already," he couldn't hide his smile, that Tom, straight back, practical, no non-sense Tom, was making grand gestures in Harry's name.
He breathed deeply, taking in Tom's warmth, they were so close that if Harry moved forward even a little they would be touching noses. He smiled softly, "you know...we've never talked about it."
"It?" Tom asked, his eyes were half lidded and suddenly Harry wondered if he had slept at all the night before. It would be like him to stay awake, vigilantly watching over Harry. Slowly driving himself insane over something that was not his fault.
"Us. We've never talked about...what we are." To each other. What they were doing. Where it was going. Harry didn't want to push, or sound needy, or anything. But a part of him was desperate to know.
Tom was silent for a moment, then he brought a hand up to trace across Harry's face, over his cheek, down to jaw, "no, I suppose we haven't." He smiled, pressing a little closer and dropped his voice, "I'm...very fond of you, Harry Evans."
Harry laughed, he felt much warmer all the sudden, either due to Tom's closeness or his words, he could not tell. "I like you a lot too," he said, his own smile broad on his face.
He couldn't have said who leaned in first, only that one moment they were simply looking at one another, and then next, they were kissing. There was no in between that Harry could remember.
It was better, so much better than kissing Tom in his dreams, or the small stolen moments they had shared before. Something had changed, a switch flipped, and suddenly, everything fell into clear, vibrant detail.
It was not the first time their lips had touched. But it felt new. Different. Like that time meant more than the others.
When Tom pulled back Harry was slightly out of breath and much warmer than he had been.
"And as far as 'what we are doing', I believe the word they use is, courting."
"Courting?" Harry asked numbly. What had they been talking about? Everything was warm and fuzzy in the best of ways. He settled further into the soft bed that now smelled vaguely of Tom, his eyes drifting closed.
From beside him Tom hummed softly, he pulled the covers back up around Harry's shoulders, brushing his hair back off his face as he closed his eyes and began to drift.
"You are the first good thing that has come into my life, you know? Other than learning about magic," Tom said so quietly even Harry had trouble hearing it.
He leaned further in, lips brushing against Harry's as he said, "will you let me court you? So I can prove it."
Harry smiled, not quite asleep but feeling dreamy and content, "m'kay," the words felt muzzy though he was sure he'd spoken them, "m'gonna court you too." Once he found out what that meant exactly. It sounded a lot more formal than simply going out with some one.
He'd ask Alphard about it later.
"Get some rest, I'll be back at lunch." If he said anything else, if he rose and left, Harry wasn't aware. He was already drifting softly away into a warm, peaceful sleep.
~~~
Tom rose when he was certain that Harry had fallen asleep. He had lost energy so suddenly that if Tom didn't knw he was peaceful and healing he would be beyond worried. He was still too cold to the touch, too pale and obviously exhausted. But that fire that Tom...that Tom loved...was still there and burning bright.
He opened his mouth, tried to say the words he only now, after such a disaster, allowing himself to realize. But nothing came.
He had never...loved...anyone before. How did he know it was anything like what he felt for Harry? They had a connection somehow, but did that mean...
He shook his head, there was no reason worrying over this. Harry was special, he and Tom, they belonged together. Of that, he was positive.
The rest of it was simply semantics.
With a last kiss, pressed to Harry's brow, Tom left the Hospital wing, dispelling the privacy ward he had placed around Harry's bed with a casual flick of his wand.
He looked down at his, Yew, 34 centimeters. It was longer than Harry's and a completely different wood. Yet something about them was connected. Or was it simply his and Harry's connection? That thing that made him feel whole in Harry's presence.
He tucked his wand away, it wasn't worth worrying over until he got a response to his letter. He had used Comet, the Black's owl, as he was the fastest currently within the castle. If he was lucky the response would be swift. Then he could tell Harry.
There was no need adding yet another worry on his shoulders. Harry needed to focus on getting well.
Tom worked hard to remain calm for the day. Anytime when he wasn't near Harry to make sure he was alright, scratched painfully against his senses. It did not help that all the talk was about the 'accident' either.
It had gotten around the school that something had contaminated the course. The most popular theories were that either a Thestral or a Dementor had gotten in somehow and tainted the rest of the core magic.
No one seemed to realize how preposterous such a thing was. Thestrals were not dark creatures, and there wasn't a Dementor anywhere near the school.
Tom had his own theory as to what happened, and a budding idea of who was to blame.
He didn't let on that he was suspicious though, simply went about his day as usual.
Or, mostly as usual.
"Who is Morgana Drake?"
Tom had spirited himself back to the Hospital wing for lunch, and though the thin soup and sandwiches the elves had whipped up for Harry was most definitely not what was served in the Great Hall that day, Tom wouldn't have traded it for the world.
Harry had been sitting up when he came in, wrapped in a thick dressing gown and a myriad of blankets. He even fed himself. Though, the going was slow. So slow, in fact, that Tom wanted to snatch his spoon up and help.
He held back.
But it was a close thing.
"Morgana Drake is a girl in your year. Red hair, dark skin, green eyes. No?"
Harry shrugged, sipping softly at his soup. "I think...She's always the one who interrupts the teachers with questions."
"I wouldn't know about that," Tom chuckled lightly, "but she agreed to let you look at, and copy, her notes."
"I can just get Alphard's notes," Harry grumbled down at his bowl. It had been a moment too long that he lifted his spoon. Tom reached for it.
"Would you like help?"
"No, stop," Harry batted weakly at his hand, "I can feed myself."
Tom leaned back, hands up in surrender before going back to his own soup, which was perched precariously on his knee, "if you insist, dear, but I would be happy to assist," ignoring Harry's huff of annoyance he went on, "as for your notes, well, if you can read Alphard's handwriting then by all means, use his. But Morgana's are exemplary and she has already agreed."
He looked up after several silent seconds to find Harry staring at him, none of the heat he had expected, only a fond smile on his face. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Tom said, then, "now eat your soup before I really do start feeding you."
He left before the hour was over to go tend to the crowd, unsurprised to find Alphard waiting outside the door. As soon as Tom was in the hall he ran inside. Alphard's excited, "Harry!" reaching him just before the door swung closed.
It settled something in him to know that Alphard was so loyal to Harry, that even if Tom couldn't be there Alphard was watching. He might be the untried, but he was eager. And that was all that was needed at the moment.
Tom got through the rest of the day without a hitch. Everyone was too busy gossiping to make trouble. His snakes in particular were more sober than usual. He was a little disappointed that Harry was sleeping when Tom came to have dinner with him, Madam Caraway said she hadn't wanted to wake him if he was resting, and he could eat later when he woke.
It did however give Tom the time he needed to set things up. He stole away to the the room of requirements, made it ready, then took his spot in the Great Hall.
"Is Harry alright?" Alphard asked as soon as he was seated.
Tom had expected it, he answered as he filled a plate. "He's resting, the nurse is unsure when he'll wake. Perhaps you should go sit with him this evening, Alphard, I know he would enjoy your company."
"A-are you sure?" Alphard asked, casting a worried look to his cousin and then back at Tom, "will you be there too?"
"Later. I think it's past due for a...study session. Wouldn't you agree?" This time his look took in his knights, those that were close to him, he waited for them to nod in turn. "Good, the usual place, after dinner. Inform the others."
There were murmurs of, "yes," Orion rose to speak with a few people further down from them before moving to the Ravenclaw table. Before dinner was over the whole of his knights would know and meet him there. They knew better than to go against his direct order.
Only after the crowds had dispersed, the last of the lolly gaggers squirreled back to their dens, did Tom make his way to the room.
There was no table for them to sit as there might have been. No cozy chairs and warm fires to put them at ease, as was his usual. Tom liked to go for opulence. Indulging in the aesthetics and comfort when he could.
This time, however, he had largely taken for his own use, the construction and decor of the Chamber of Secrets. A place none of them would ever see, and a place of power. A place that was all his.
They stood in a circle, clustered together as they looked around at the pillars, craved snakes twining up and down their length. The floor of smooth jade bricks was more sound than the real one. No pools of stagnant water or white lichen growth. The rest of the room was in shadow, the single chandelier above them not quite strong enough to reach the edges.
As the door, large and carved from the inside, closed behind Tom, it vanished.
His slow steps echoed off of some faraway and unseen ceiling, and before he even reached the ring of light his knights had knelt where they stood.
"Curious things seem to be happening lately," Tom began, hands clasped behind his back, at ease, yet powerful. "Very curious. Imagine, an exam going so awry that one of the students ends up badly injured. Cursed, on school grounds. It's unheard of."
"Do you no believe what they are saying, my lord, about a dark beast tainting the course?" The speaker was a Hufflepuff girl, Ophelia Washborn, brighter than people though from her house placement and her large liquid brown eyes.
Tom did enjoy a good deception.
"No, Ms Washborn, I do not. You see, Orion and I handled a bit of the wards as we went in to retrieve Harry from the cursed exam. What we encountered could not have been made from a simple beast."
Tom payed close attention to them, stretched in front of him, which ones shifted as they knelt, who couldn't meet his eyes.
"Only someone familiar with the dark arts would have been able to taint the things within that course as they did. And as I'm certain it was not our dear professor, that only leaves," Tom paused, humming to himself as though in thought, "why, that only leaves one of my knights."
The knight in question twitched minutely. Tom's lip curled into a snarl as he hissed. "Rise," as one they rose, gazes still lowered in respect. "Abraxas, step forward."
They parted as Malfoy stepped out of the shadows, he looked at Tom head on. At least he did not come sniveling before him.
"You haven't hidden your dislike for Harry. I'm sure most of us here have been party to you petty quips in his direction."
"He is a worm under your feet. Why you give him the time of day I-"
Tom lifted a hand to stall him, "I did not ask you, Malfoy, why you do not like Harry. I already know why," Tom took a slow step around him, making a leisurely circle, "he shows up, unannounced and unknown. Bright enough that the ministry places him above his year in what is, perhaps, the most desired of courses. In many aspects, the course which is closest to our cause. He is, in so many ways, the things you wish you were," Tom stopped just behind him, the other knights closing the ring around them so that only Tom and Abraxas remained in the centre.
He spoke loud enough for all to hear, "Harry is a parstlemouth, he is sharp and well liked without having to posture and buy the affections of others." Tom's smile was razor sharp as he walked back to face Abraxas full on. "But most importantly he has my affection. My devotion. And instead of accepting this, you chose to destroy it. To destroy him."
Abraxas had turned a terrible shade of green during Tom's talk, but he still met his eyes, shoulders straight. "I did what I had to keep you from falling further under this...this spell he has on you."
"Spell?" Tom's lips twitched up a little. How silly a notion. There was no spell that could create what he and Harry shared.
He had already looked into that.
"He is deceiving you into thinking that he is something that he is not-" Tom forestalled him once more.
"If this were merely a discussion about Harry and why you do or do not like him, might indulge you. Listen to see if perhaps, doubtful that it may be, you knew something about dear Harry that I do not. But I did not call this gathering over petty gossip." What little color was left in Abraxas' face fled, for the first time his slate blue eyes couldn't meet Tom's
"You put us all at risk with that stunt of yours," his hissed out, allowing his anger to seep into the room, dimming the light, chilling the air, "dark magic, right under a professor's nose."
"She would have never found out, I was careful."
"Foolish! You were foolish, and overly confident. If she had called in other professors to help they would have seen what Orion and I saw. And what if Harry had died," the words were a growl, painful to get out, "what then?" His and Orion's use of dark spells had been in desperation, and it was only luck that they hadn't been seen or detected.
"N-none of the mannequins were using unforgivable curses. They would have thought he had perished from their malfunction. Or that he could not best a cursed trial" Abraxas said, hesitantly, hands clasped before him to keep them steady.
"Pathetic." Tom let the single word echo though the room. "You are lucky that I have respect for the wards that surround this school," save for the Chamber itself, "it spares you the punishment you deserve. So for now, I leave you with this."
Raising his voice Tom announced to them all, "from this moment forth, Abraxas Malfoy is an enemy of house Slytherin." A few of the knights gasped, though most were composed enough to not even flinch. Abraxas lost control of his limbs, it would seem, and fell to the floor.
"From this moment on, you are no longer welcome in my presence. You will make yourself scarce, you will not speak to me or to Harry. If you so much as look his way outside of class you will know my wrath."
He let the words sink in, when Tom was satisfied by the looks of disdain the others were casting Malfoy's way he continued. "You will tell your accomplices, the Roberts cousins, that they share in your exile. And Malfoy?"
Abraxas rose his eyes to Tom, they were red, yet dry. Tom was unsure how he would have abided such a thing as crying and was happy to not have to deal with such a thing. "Should our paths cross outside of these walls which protect you, my hand will not be stilled from giving the punishment your actions warrant. Know this for the mercy that it is."
"Y-yes, my, my lord." Abraxas's voice broke as he spoke, but still he did not disgrace himself further.
"You are dismissed." The door behind Tom reappeared, and Abraxas rose on shaking legs, fleeing from the piercing judgement of his once peers.
Tom held them for a time longer. Instructed them to run damage control for Abraxas' little stunt. He knew his snakes well, those within and outside of his house. Lenient though Tom had been, they would not take lightly to someone breaking the rules. And in such a way that could later point a finger at them.
They were lucky, Tom made sure to drill into them, that someone like Dumbledore had not been close. Had not seen. One whiff of something dark near Tom and they would all be under his watchful eye.
He stayed until the last knight left, making sure to change the room into something new before letting it disappear altogether. The halls were silent as he walked through them. The sun already set, the torches throwing wildly dancing shadows in the chill breeze.
A piercing shriek had him stopping in his tracks, a shadow flitted to a nearby window, grisly and dark before stretching toward Tom. Comet, his tawny feathers glittering golden in the torchlight.
"Hello there," Tom said, pleased as he crossed to it. There was s thick envelope of maroon parchment clasped in its beak. He handed this over to Tom with a low chirp. "I'm afraid I don't have a treat for you at this moment, I promise to bring you double next time. Is that sufficient?"
Comet gave another chirp before nipping at Tom's robes and taking flight once more. He had to assume that it was a yes, who knew what owls truly thought of such things.
"Tom!"
With a grimace Tom turned, tucking the envelope into his robes. "Good evening, professor."he said with all the cheeriness he could muster.
Dumbledore, lurking the halls, no doubt looking for more dark magics this night, had spotted Tom. And, like a moth drawn to an accusing flame, he had needed to stop and chat.
Tom gave him a little smile, already turning, "I'm afraid I was headed to the Hospital Wing, professor, if you'll excuse me."
"Oh, yes. How is poor, Harry doing? I was meaning to check in on him myself." Dumbledore said thoughtfully.
Tom had to work hard to not growl in distaste. Dumbledore showing up in the Hospital Wing, or worse, following Tom down, was the last thing he wanted right then.
"He's well, just a little tired. He slept most of the day. Madam Caraway seems to think he'll be ready to leave in the morning."
"Oh, that's good to hear! Good to hear," Dumbledore smiled brightly, "was that the Black's owl I saw just then?"
Tom seethed softly, wanting nothing more than to run off himself, "Orion lets me use his owl when I'm in need."
"Such a good friend," he said 'friend' as though it were something vile. But he was cheery the next second. "And how is Garrick doing these days?" At Tom's raised brow he continued, "Ollivander. That is who your letter is from, is it not? I recognize his stationary."
Tom grit his teeth, hoping it came off as a smile of sorts. "I just had a question for him, as it happens. I've yet to read the response. If you'll excuse me, professor, I have work to do."
"Of course, Tom, I don't wish to keep you." His eyes followed Tom as he rounded the corner, before Tom was completely out of sight he yelled, "do give Harry my regards."
Tom would do no such thing! Dumbledore was a lousy snoop. He had been itching to pinch someone for dark magic since Tom opened the Chamber. He knew that Dumbledore would like nothing more than to prove Tom was behind it. To see him expelled and cast out. The very notion that he might Tom responsible for Harry's condition made his blood boil.
He took a deep breath, and found his centre. He would not bring his anger before Harry. He would not indulge Dumbeldore and become riled up.
His anger had simmered down considerably by the time he arrived at Harry's bedside. He was still asleep, though his color was better and he was under fewer blankets than before.
Tom sat in the chair at his side with a sigh, tension leeching from him at finally being back where he belonged.
In a way it was better that Harry slept, it allowed Tom a chance to read the letter, he took it from his robes and opened it hastily.
Dear Tom,
I do indeed remember you. I never forget a wand, nor the people who attract them.
It is interesting that you should ask such a question. The phenomenon which you described is a very particular thing.
The Priori Incantatem.
Such a thing is only possible when two wands are linked via their core material. If two wands hold cores from the same parent donor, then that, in short, links them. Sibling wands, we call them.
I say it is interesting you should ask, as the pheonix that gave a feather for your wand dropped one other when I came to collect it. I have forged it into a wand that, by all accounts, is your wand's sibling. Holly, 11 inches, springy. I hold it here on a shelf in the back, waiting for the one who is to be its master.
Someone who, I dare say, will most likely share a great deal in common with yourself. Such is how these things tend to grow.
I cannot tell you when the wand will be bought, of course, but I assure you it will be safe and sound until then.
It is good to see one so young interested in the art of wand making, do feel tree to ask me any other questions you might have.
Yours,
Garrick Ollivander
Tom's hands shook. He read the letter once more, then again.
Priori Incantatem. Something only sibling wands could create...
Ollivander had the material to make a wand with a sibling core to Tom's. A wand that had not been sold. A single wand that shared a link to his own.
He looked to Harry, Sleeping soundly, small and finally peaceful. And all he could think was that Abraxas had been right.
Not about Harry's deceit. Not about being wary of him, to fear what he might be.
He had only been right in pointing out how little of Harry they really knew.
War orphan.
A talented fighter for his age.
He was quiet, kept mostly to himself before Alphard and Tom had him opening up.
He was a parstlemouth. A very rare gift indeed.
Then there were the things that perhaps only Tom knew. That Harry harbored a deep and powerful sadness in regards to his past. That, despite all that, he had such joy and warmth within him.
So many of his oddities could be brushed off as trauma from the war. Of living on the run. Of seeing so many that he loved die.
Harry had plenty of scars, Tom had seen several for himself. Did he get them in running from a war with his godfather. Or...
Tom couldn't even fathom what else it could be. But it hung there, large and looming on his mind.
Tom reached forward, brushing a hand against Harry's cheek as he slept. He leaned into Tom's touch, making a soft, sleepy noise, but not waking. Carefully, Tom snaked his hand under the pillow until he fingers found their mark.
He slipped the wand out from under the pillow, inspecting it in the dim light of a single candle. He was no expert in woods, though it was darker than his own, springy. It could certainly be holly. Tom took out his own to compare. The size was right. And Harry's wand was warm in his hand, nearly vibrating with power. Just like his own.
Harry had a wand that marched his own internally.
Harry had a wand that hadn't been sold yet.
For all that Tom was a wizard, he had always been practical. He had learned of things in life that would have made him scoff when he was younger. That unicorns were real. That he could fly, if he so chose. He had always known on some level that magic was real. But it wasn't until he had proof that he really, fully, believed.
And so it was. He had known, deep down, that there was something about Harry that simply did not mesh with rest of reality.
It wasn't until he was holding the proof in his hands that he could force himself to believe.
One question answered, so many more left to go.
He slipped Harry's wand back under the pillow, leaning forward Tom kissed him softly, "oh Harry," Tom whispered, low enough to not wake him, "however did you get stuck here with me?"
And when, not where, did he come from?