Tom has been following his thief for weeks now. They move so quietly that they don’t wake him despite his best alarms being set every night. They have to have some means of movement that can override his best protection charms. Sometimes that fools even his custom detection wards.
Not tonight, though. After intense frustration and a rather extreme planning session (even by his standards) he has a plan. It’s fool-proof.
Detection charms were the wrong route all along. Trying to stop the theft was his primary mistake. The thief is too good to be caught in the act. He just needs to track where his belongings are being taken to.
This time, it’s going to work.
He goes to sleep feeling confident. He wakes up with one less sweater in his trunk.
Everything is going exactly as planned.
____________________________________________________________________________
“Results?” Tom asks, sitting down in his usual spot. The mood is tense.
“You’re not going to be happy,” Abraxas says.
“Your little thief is more clever than our trap. We found the tracker in the kitchen rubbish bin,” Abraxas summarizes.
“You’re welcome by the way. Summoning charms don’t work on it so we had to dig for it,” Orion says with a disgusted scowl.
“You would have my thanks if you had managed to catch the thief. The tracker is useless to me now,” Tom says with frustration.
The other two begin to respond, but are cut off by Harry’s arrival. They know better than to discuss certain topics around Harry. Every Slytherin does.
Orion is certain Harry knows everything anyways. Tom has always been weak where the Potter boy is concerned. There’s no way Tom has managed to conceal nearly as much as he thinks.
No one shares this unpopular opinion, though.
“It’s too early,” Harry moans, leaning heavily against Tom, who consolingly pets the mess of black hair.
“That’s what coffee is for, darling,” Tom says. Orion diverts his eyes from the overly domestic scene as Tom prepares Harry’s cup exactly as he likes it, far too milky and sweet to truly be considered coffee anymore.
Orion wonders if Tom even knows he has a habit of calling Harry sweet nothings. Sometimes the so-called future Dark Lord is so far gone at the mere mention of Harry that he makes mistakes he would never normally make, especially not in public.
Tom’s obvious weakness for Harry would be a problem for his reign of terror over Slytherin, but the truth is, Harry has this ridiculous effect on everyone. Even Abraxas finds himself smiling at Harry more often than not, despite years of etiquette lessons training him to remain carefully neutral.
Halfway into Harry’s “coffee”, Orion and Abraxas feel it’s safe to join the conversation again, Harry’s eyes looking brighter and Tom’s demeanor significantly happier.
“Quidditch cup is this weekend, you nervous?” Orion asks with a cheeky grin.
Tom looks miffed at the topic. He’s never been overly fond of quidditch.
He is however 100% whipped and therefore has become a technical fan. “Gryffindor doesn’t stand a chance, don’t be foolish,” Tom says haughtily.
Harry grins, and Tom preens. It would be cute if it wasn’t so disgusting, Orion thinks to himself.
“I really just want both teams to have fun,” Harry says peacefully, a look of serenity on his face, the very picture of a Hufflepuff.
“You’re kidding,” Abraxas says, a look of disgust plain on his face.
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Of course, Abby, but don’t tell anyone. The softer I seem before the match, the more crushing the defeat for them after,” he says simply, munching on the toast Tom places on his plate.
“My name is not Abby,” Abraxas scowls at Harry as the smaller boy smirks at him smugly from his protected position with Tom’s arm around him.
“Oh, and who’s going to stop me from calling you that?” Harry challenges, his smug grin spreading to Orion infectiously.
“You know, that’s actually a great nickname now that I hear it -” Orion says conspiratorially, leaning across the table towards Harry.
“I’m allowed to hex you, don’t push it,” Abraxas threatens.
“Oh, are you not allowed to hex me?” Harry asks, all fake innocence and big sparkling green eyes.
“Don’t you push it either, Potter,” Abraxas says, immediately regretting his tone as Tom locks eyes with him.
Orion clears his throat, “So, should we put our bets on a quick catch or are you going to toy with them until the third quarter? Hypothetically, of course.”
Abraxas still resists Harry’s influence occasionally, as if it’s somehow going to go away. Orion knows better. Tom and Harry are a bizarre matched set.
So, why resist it? For years, he’s been wheedling the Slytherin out of Potter. He knows the boy is more Slytherin than Hufflepuff, even if no one believes him when he says so.
Harry shrugs, but Orion can see the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “If I knew there was going to be a good supply of drinks for the after-party, I might be more likely to make it a show. Third quarter is too long though, maybe at the end of the second quarter? You know how impatient I get.”
Orion nods, already deciding how much he wants to bet. It took him years to get Harry to give him inside information like this. He uses it wisely.
And Harry gets 50%, allocating 40% of his share to be given to Tom by Orion, always under some bullshit guise to keep Tom from finding out. He doesn’t like charity, especially from Harry. So that stays between him and Harry.
It would be risky, keeping secrets from Tom, but Orion is willing to take his chances. Harry is a safe bet.
____________________________________________________________________________
Orion nearly loses it all.
Harry lounges most of the game, only taking breaks to tease Ginny, who is tracking his every move.
She’s a good seeker, but she’s not good enough.
Harry drifts over the stadium, watching as Ernie and Susan work in tandem to send bludgers Ginny’s way.
With everyone watching Ginny narrowly avoid the attack, Harry takes his opportunity, suddenly dropping like a stone from the sky.
Everyone gasps, the stadium collectively turning their heads to watch the raven-haired rocket as he plummets to the earth at unnatural speeds, his body pressed so closely to the broom that it’s hard to tell where the broom begins and he ends.
Tom is out of his seat, knuckles white as they grip the railing in front of him.
At the last possible second, Harry pulls up, grinning as he holds up his empty hand, the crowd gasping as he releases the snitch from his sleeve.
Tom starts breathing again.
Fucking dramatic Hufflepuffs.
Orion is delighted. With four seconds on the clock for the second quarter, he’s won his bets, even if Harry cutting it so close had him clutching his pocketfuls of galleons in fear.The liquor he’s provided for the party is well worth it.
____________________________________________________________________________
“You could have died!” Tom says angrily, storming up to Harry in the midst of the celebration in the Hufflepuff common room.
“Died? He did a Wronski Feint, Tom! He made history!” Ron says, slapping his hand on Harry’s back. He’s in an especially good mood for having lost.
Tom scowls at the already-drunk Gryffindor. He’s never liked the Weasley. Any of the Weasleys, really, except Fred and George. Those two, he fears, though he’ll never admit it. That makes them his favorites by far.
“It was still extremely dangerous!” Hermione says, significantly less inebriated than the redhead.
“Yes it was,” Tom agrees with the most tolerable of Harry’s friends.
“It would be dangerous for someone with less skill than me. Do you think I’m unskilled, Tom?” Harry asks in a challenging tone.
It’s rare that Tom is caught wrong-footed, but this is one of those times.
Orion snickers behind him, but Harry doesn’t look away from Tom, maintaining his serious demeanor.
Tom swallows hard. “Perhaps I should start over?”
Harry smiles softly at him. “Perhaps so,” he says, mimicking Tom’s tone.
Orion watches the interaction with extreme interest.
Even after years of watching Harry bend Tom to his will, he isn’t immune to the shock of watching Tom break.
Tom takes a deep breath, then takes Harry’s hand, looking at the shorter boy with amazement. “You were incredible today, as always. I’m proud of you.”
Hermione groans behind Harry, less amused than Orion is by the exchange. Abraxas is in the same boat as Hermione, glowering at Ron as he sways back and forth, grinning.
“Thank you,” Harry says smugly. “Now, I’d like a drink,” he says loudly, snapping his fingers.
“UGH, FINE,” a voice sounds from across the room.
“What’s that about?” Orion chimes in, curious as always.
“You aren’t the only one who makes bets,” Harry says smugly as Ginny appears, butterbeer in hand.
“Oh shut up,” she says, already leaving to go back to her previous conversation by the couches.
“I have a drink slave until midnight,” Harry smirks, answering Orion’s question finally.
“You really should have been in Slytherin,” Orion says, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last.
“And have people suspect me all the time? No thanks,” Harry says easily, offering his drink to Tom, who takes a sip.
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom is running out of options to catch his thief.
“Maybe we should ask Harry,” Orion says, in a burst of frustration. He and Abraxas have been holed up in the library researching detection charms for hours.
“Why?” Tom asks, and Orion knows his next words had better be good to not have to deal with angry Tom for the rest of the night.
“We’ve been too close to this problem for too long. We need a fresh take, and he thinks differently than any of us. Are you saying he’s not smart enough to help us with this because I -”
“No,” Tom says. “Of course he’s smart enough,” he says defensively. “You’re right. Maybe we just need a new perspective.”
Orion conceals his satisfaction, opting for a thoughtful expression. At least Black training helped with some things. He’s never above playing the Harry card, especially when it will potentially save him from another late night of mandatory plotting.
____________________________________________________________________________
An hour later, they’ve bribed their way into the Hufflepuff common room to talk to Harry.
“You’re all dumbasses,” Harry says with a sigh, looking specifically at Abraxas, who is holding a list of possible suspects.
“Felicity!” Harry calls out unexpectedly, a younger Hufflepuff looking up from her place across the room at the chess table.
She crosses the room immediately, looking adoringly up at Harry. “Yes Harry?”
Abraxas wonders briefly if Harry is the equivalent of Tom in Hufflepuff. Orion doesn’t wonder, he knows he is.
The Hufflepuffs are known for loyalty to each other, and those they love in general, but Harry has a special place amongst them. He makes the squashy plaid chair look a bit like a throne.
Tom is equal parts annoyed by the obviously smitten fourth year and appreciative. He likes knowing Harry is safe in his house, even if it means dealing with adoring sycophants.
Tom wonders briefly if this is how Harry feels about Barty and Bellatrix.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Harry says, and the girl nods obediently. “Is it malicious to steal sweaters and scarves from someone?”
Tom feels confused. Of course it is.
The girl snorts. “Of course not. Stealing money or jewelry, sure, but if I take someone’s sweater, that’s basically me asking them out,” she says like it’s common knowledge.
Is it?
Tom is confused.
“I don’t understand,” he says, and Orion’s mouth drops open in shock.
“She’s right,” he says. “We’re idiots.”
Tom looks angry now, especially as Abraxas’s expression changes to one of comprehension.
He doesn’t like being the only one who doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Harry pats his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, you beautiful dumbass,” he says kindly.
“We shouldn’t be looking for someone who dislikes you,” Orion says, trying to explain. Tom’s quizzical expression tells him it’s not enough. “It’s a sign of affection, taking things that smell like you specifically instead of high value items. Sentimental items.”
Tom scowls like he’s tasted something foul, “I don’t like it. I don’t need or desire a partner. I need no one.”
“Oh,” Harry says, looking affronted.
Orion feels fear settle deep in his gut.
This isn’t good.
“Well then, I’ll make sure the items find their way back to your trunk,” Harry says coldly.
It’s like watching a slow-motion trainwreck.
Tom flounders, “That would be great but how -”
“I have my ways,” Harry cuts him off. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to tutor Felicity on transfiguration.”
It’s a dismissal if Orion has ever heard one.
Tom, perplexed, follows him and Abraxas out, feeling a cold draft in the Hufflepuff common room for the first time.
____________________________________________________________________________
“I fucked up,” Tom says, pulling out a new piece of paper and a pen.
“No shit,” Orion says with a groan. He’s usually more formal with Tom, but the situation is dire.
“Where did I fuck up?” Tom asks, looking at him with desperation evident in his eyes.
“I don’t think you did, Harry’s obviously wrong -” Abraxas chimes in.
“When is Harry wrong, Abby?” Orion snaps at him, ignoring the threats that Abraxas shoots back at him. “It doesn’t matter who the thief is now, don’t you get it?”
Tom shakes his head. “Let Orion speak,” he says to Abraxas, who sits down sullenly, sinking into the couch cushions.
Orion stands up, pacing back and forth as he prepares his points. “One, Harry knew immediately what should have been obvious from the start - your thief is an admirer, not an enemy. They could have gone for your more valuable possessions, but instead they only went for your most worn clothes.”
Tom nods, “That doesn’t explain why Harry’s mad at me now, though.”
Orion waves his hand in irritation. “That’s why that’s point number one. There’s more.”
Abraxas rolls his eyes at the dramatics, pretending not to be fascinated by the show Orion is putting on.
“Two, Harry was neutral about your admirer until you said you didn’t want a partner,” he says, like it explains everything.
“Ugh, you’re both useless. I should call Felicity in again,” Orion says in frustration.
“Who?” Abraxas asks, echoing Tom’s confused expression.
“The Hufflepuff girl!” Orion says, slapping both hands on his own face.
“Forget it, she doesn’t matter,” he says, Tom nodding immediately in agreement for all the wrong reasons. “Harry is upset that you said you don’t need anyone.”
Tom frowns deeply. “I don’t, though,” he says, missing the point entirely.
“Bullshit,” Orion says, treading in dangerous territory, but he’s willing to take the risk. “You need Harry. And at the moment, you’ve lost him.”
Tom shakes his head, “That’s not true.”
Orion shrugs, “Fine, we’ll see tomorrow, then.”
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom wakes with a sense of dread.
Logic doesn’t support that feeling, so he shoves it down with the rest of his emotions, as per his usual.
The dread doesn’t make an appearance again until he wakes up to find all of his belongings returned, freshly washed and folded.
When he thanks Harry, he’s met with a neutral smile.
Something is horribly wrong, and he can’t keep pretending everything is fine anymore, as much as he would prefer that.
“So who was it?” Tom asks, trying desperately to get Harry to speak outside of the polite pleasantries he’s offered so far.
Harry hums, apparently bored, “No one important. You won’t be bothered again.”
“Good,” Tom says. He would dig in if it were anyone else, but when Harry speaks with finality like this, there’s nothing in the world to get him to give more information. He’s stubborn. Tom wishes he didn’t like it so much.
He can’t help it. Everyone bends the knee to him so easily, but never Harry. He invokes a different kind of fear in people.
People are afraid of gaining Tom’s attention most of the time. They’re afraid of losing Harry’s.
“I was thinking of the Hog’s Head for drinks -” Tom says, changing the subject to Hogsmeade in an attempt to release the tension of the moment.
“I can’t,” Harry says. Tom grimaces, despite his best intentions to remain neutral. Harry occasionally accepts invitations to hang out with the Weasleys instead of him, but it’s no reason for jealousy.
“I have a date,” Harry continues, and Tom freezes.
“Why?” he asks without meaning to, genuinely perplexed as he wrestles with the need to interrogate Harry about who.
“Cedric asked me out. He gave me his scarf,” Harry gestures to the scarf identical to the one he usually wears.
Tom scowls, not sure why his gut is flipping so aggressively.
“Why didn’t you tell him no?” Tom asks, getting progressively more annoyed.
Harry looks at him coldly, and Tom feels the chill down to his bones. Harry should never look anything other than soft and warm and happy, especially when he’s looking at Tom. This is new territory.
“Maybe I have a need, or want, for a partner,” Harry says, mimicking Tom’s words from the previous night.
The chill turns to full-body freeze as Tom’s mind stops working.
Harry is already walking away, not bothering to say goodbye.
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom spends exactly eight minutes pacing and planning before seeking out his favored goons.
“Oh, so you finally figured it out?” Orion says after one glance at Tom’s determined expression.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” Tom grits out.
“About what?” Abraxas asks dumbly, looking up from his potions set in confusion. He’s brewing on a Saturday, so it’s likely for devious purposes.
Orion rolls his eyes at Tom, “I tried, remember? I even made it ominous. Not my fault you weren’t willing to hear sense. Or dramatics.”
“Did something happen this morning after all?” Abraxas asks.
Tom nods once. No need for excess. “Harry is on a date with Cedric Diggory right now. We need to ruin it.”
“Wrong!” Orion says, slamming his book closed in typical dramatic fashion.
“Why? He can’t date Cedric if Cedric is in a coma of perpetual nightmares,” Abraxas looks intrigued by Tom’s idea.
Orion sighs, “You’re both useless, honestly. Harry also wouldn’t be able to date Cedric if he was dating you instead.”
“I could never date Cedric,” Tom deadpans.
“Of course you could, anyone would date you!” Abraxas attempts to soothe his ego.
Orion is quickly developing a headache. “Wrong again. You should obviously date Harry.”
Tom frowns. “But he’s on a date with Cedric.”
“How do you expect to be a Dark Lord if you can’t be dramatic? It’s time to pull out all the stops. It’s time for a -” He pauses for effect, Abraxas rolling his eyes and putting a stasis spell over his potion. There’s no way he’s getting this done today. “GRAND GESTURE!” Orion finishes, flourishing his hands as he speaks.
Tom would normally be annoyed, but so far Orion has been right at every turn.
He wants Harry. He didn’t realize it until Orion said that he should be the one dating Harry, but the truth of it rings in his ears. How could he be so blind? So foolish as to let the only possession he actually cares about slip through his fingers?
He may not need more from their relationship, but if Harry does, he will do whatever is necessary to fulfill his needs. Tom can be a boyfriend.
He feels panicked at the idea. He has no idea how to be a boyfriend.
One thing at a time.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Tom says, pulling out his journal (it is not a diary, despite what Orion says. He can’t be right all the time.).
“I have a few people on standby to make this happen. You can pay me back in political favor later,” Orion says. Tom nods, not bothering to dither with terms when Harry is out there with that disgusting excuse for a Hufflepuff.
“What’s Harry’s favorite flower?” Orion asks.
Tom doesn’t have to think twice, “Sunflowers, roses that smell like Turkish delight - color nonspecific - and lilies, but only the fragrant ones. In that order.”
His goons raise their eyebrows in matching looks of curiosity. Tom waves Orion on, telling him to move things along.
“Fine, but we are discussing that later. Next, favorite sweets? Something better than Treacle, he has that here all the time,” Orion asks.
Tom ponders for a second, “Macarons. The almond and pistachio ones. And the garish cherry ones. Next?”
Orion summons two patronuses, each with the information Tom provided, sent to place their respective orders.
When he’s done, he turns to Abraxas. “Get your gold cashmere and your semi formal green and gold cloak. The one that’s almost black.”
Abraxas pulls the items out of his trunk. Tom excuses himself to put on the clothes, and with a few quick spells, it’s all tailored to him perfectly.
“Why gold?” Tom asks.
Orion snorts. “You haven’t caught on yet? We’re making a statement. You, wearing his colors, even if you keep a bit of your own too. Maybe I should be the Dark Lord?” the last question muttered to himself, in obvious self-approval.
“You’d be more suited to matchmaker,” Abraxas shrugs.
Orion takes it as a compliment. That’s about as close as he’s going to get from Abby.
“No time to stroke my ego, Abby, it’s time for the finishing touch,” Abraxas narrows his eyes, but he knows he can’t interfere until Tom’s situation is resolved.
Orion pulls a fancy box out of his trunk. “This was going to be for Christmas, but you need it now more.”
He lifts a bottle out of the wooden box, spritzing what is undoubtedly an expensive cologne on Tom’s hair and wrists.
“Okay, you’re all set. Pick up the flowers and sweets from Barty, he’ll be waiting for you outside the Scrivenshaft’s. My informant has let me know that Harry is at the Three Broomsticks. Good luck,” Orion says, pressing a kiss to Tom’s forehead.
It’s something that might have gotten him killed another day. He’s pressing his luck today.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Tom says, already heading to the door.
“Abby’s broom is by the door, it’ll be faster! I’m so proud of you!” Orion yells after him.
“Why not your broom?” Abraxas asks, taking his potion back out with a tired sigh.
“It’s an emergency, Abby. Besides, you can afford another if he crashes yours,” Orion says with a wink.
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom arrives at the Three Broomsticks with everything he needs for his grand gesture, thanks to Orion.
It’s only once he has the macaron box in one hand and the flowers in the other that he realizes he has no idea what to say.
It doesn’t matter. Anything is better than saying nothing. He has to try. He can’t lose Harry.
Tom enters, immediately spotting Harry at a corner table with Cedric, one hand on Cedric’s, smiling up at him. He shouldn’t look at anyone that way.
Anyone but Tom, he thinks to himself. Tom’s stomach clenches.
Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this.
In a rare moment of selflessness, he wonders if he isn’t good for Harry.
Maybe Cedric is better for him. Another Hufflepuff, probably kind, interested in quidditch -
The jealous beast rears up again in Tom’s chest, making him wish the nightmare coma was still an option.
He has to do this. Harry can decide what’s best for him, but Tom has to do everything he can to be what’s best for him.
“Riddle?” Cedric asks, spotting him first.
Harry’s eyes turn wide as they look up from their quiet conversation, looking at Tom finally.
Tom swallows hard, willing his mouth to speak. “Be mine. Please,” Tom says, more weak than he’s sounded in years.
He’d meant to ask Harry to date him, but the possessive side of him comes out whether he wants it to or not. Hopefully the “please” helps.
Harry crosses his arms, looking Tom up and down assessingly.
“I’m on a date,” Harry says, eyes narrowed.
“You know what, I’m just going to go. This is obviously…complicated,” Cedric says, wilting under Tom’s cold glare.
Tom may not have the same hold on the Hufflepuffs that Harry does, but he can still invoke fear when applicable. He’s always known that.
It’s only when Cedric pauses to look at Harry that Tom doubts his intimidation factor.
Would he really be willing to stand against Tom if Harry allows it?
He’ll never know. Harry sighs, motioning for Tom to sit down, and Cedric takes it as the dismissal it is.
Tom obeys Harry’s command, sliding into the booth next to him instead of across, where Cedric had been. He can’t stomach sitting where the interloper just was. He grins triumphantly at the blonde as he walks away, looking dazed.
Harry takes the bouquet from his hands, taking a deep breath of the floral scent.
“So, you want to date me after all?” Harry asks, his fingers tracing along the edge of a sunflower petal, his eyes fixed on the flower.
“No,” Tom says, and he’s sure it’s the wrong answer, so he tries again, “I want you to be mine.”
Not much better, but still an improvement.
Harry’s eyes are on him now, looking over every inch of Tom’s face. If Tom wasn’t a natural occlumens, he would think Harry was reading his mind.
Maybe he is, and Tom is unable to tell. The world is upside down at the moment, anything is possible.
“This has to go both ways, Tom. You’d have to be mine too,” Harry says cautiously.
“What does that mean?” Tom pleads softly, in a tone only Harry has ever heard. This isn’t the first time, but he can count the instances on a single hand.
Harry takes pity on him immediately, reaching for Tom’s hand and stroking gentle circles in the space between his thumb and forefinger. It was an old habit, one they developed back in first year, both victims of different wars.
“It means we’re partners. In everything, even your weird cult that I pretend to not know about. When Hogwarts is over, we move in together. A sexual relationship is on the table but not necessary,” Harry says as efficiently as possible, knowing that’s the best way to communicate with Tom when he’s like this. Tom isn’t good with frivolities.
Tom exhales finally. “I’m amenable to that. All of it.”
Harry beams at him, releasing the tension of the moment to Tom’s complete relief.
“So…you’re my boyfriend now?” Harry asks, and Tom shakes his head.
“No, I wouldn’t ever be so uncouth. I will begin the courtship process immediately,” Tom says, already making plans for what type of ring would suit Harry.
“I could be amenable to that,” Harry says, looking smug as he takes another big inhale of the fragrant flowers. “So does this count as our first date?”
Tom shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I will not have our first courtship outing taking place on the heels of that mongrel attempting to steal you away.”
“Technically, you were the one who did the stealing,” Harry says with a smirk.
Tom scowls. “You can’t steal what’s already yours. We just hadn’t discussed it properly yet.”
Harry laughs, and the sound eases the anxiety Tom still feels. “So this had nothing to do with Orion telling you to get your head out of your ass? This plan has him all over it. If you were left to your own devices, I would have needed the bezoar I carry around for when you poisoned Cedric.”
Tom suddenly remembers the details of what Harry said earlier, “I wouldn’t have poisoned him. I would have cursed him.”
Harry nods. “I already borrowed a bunch of Orion’s books on reversing dark magic just in case. The Black library really is something special.”
Tom sighs. “I’m just going to have to accept that you’re always one step ahead of me, aren’t I?”
“I like to think we’re on equal footing, actually. You just have a tendency to underestimate me far more often than I do you,” Harry says softly, leaning into Tom’s space so close that Tom can feel his breath on his cheek. For a moment, he thinks Harry is going to kiss his cheek, not a completely uncommon thing for them. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you slowly becoming a dark lord? Bella calls you ‘my lord’, Tom.”
Tom swallows hard. He can’t lie to Harry. Until now, Harry has ignored everything. He never asked directly about any of it, and Tom never had to lie. Tom likely would have.
But now? Now he’s in a verbally binding agreement with Harry about telling the truth, and if he doesn’t, then Harry and the life he comes with disappears forever.
“You really should have been in Slytherin,” Tom says appreciatively.
“Orion’s been telling you so for years,” Harry says with a raised eyebrow. Tom knows there’s no more delaying the inevitable.
The familiar warmth of Harry’s magic settles over the space. Likely an anti-eavesdropping spell.
“I’m going to take over the ministry from the inside,” he says quietly, just in case his assumption is incorrect.
Harry snorts. “That’s not even a secret, Tom. You’ve been publicly spouting off about being the youngest minister ever since you learned the position exists. I just want to know why you need a cult to do it.”
Tom frowns, “I don’t, I suppose. Followers, however -”
“Are useful. I know, dear, I’m not asking you to get rid of your goons,” Harry responds easily. “I just think the dark robes and midnight meetings are a bit overkill.”
Tom scoffs, a bit offended. “Midnight is traditional for wizard culture.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Fine, tell me when the next one is. I’ll give up my precious beauty sleep for the sake of your tradition. But you had better bring me coffee.”
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom begins courting Harry at breakfast the next morning, unable to wait any longer. He’d almost lost the only person precious to him. He won’t be taking any further chances.
Harry takes his rightful seat next to Tom, Orion and Abraxas smirking at them knowingly.
“Good morning, Harry,” Tom says warmly, placing a small black box neatly tied with a golden ribbon.
“You managed to find a ring overnight?” Harry asks, ignoring Orion as he chokes on his coffee.
“Merlin, Tom, it’s way too early!” he stage-whispers.
Tom waves him off, eyes only for Harry.
Harry seems delighted, both by the attention and the gift. He gently pulls the ribbon, releasing it. Inside the box is the only ring Tom could ever find worthy of Harry.
“Is this…?” Harry turns the ancient ring over in his hands before placing it on his finger.
“Only you, Tom,” Orion shakes his head in amazement at the same time that Abraxas’s jaw drops.
“The ring of Slytherin!” he says, eyes wide and disbelieving.
“It’s a family heirloom,” Tom says simply, eyes still glued to Harry, who is admiring the family crest emblazoned on the bizarre stone.
“It’s perfect!” Harry says, as the world shifts on its axis for Tom’s goons.
Harry connected the dots around the same time Tom did a few years ago, when he’d holed up in the library with genealogy books. He let Tom keep his secret though, waiting until he was ready to reveal the information.
He hadn’t expected Tom to reveal his cards until his birthday, when he would be free to assume the title of Lord Slytherin.
Harry slides the ring on, a pleased smile on his face.
____________________________________________________________________________
Things change for Tom rapidly. He’d been planning to reveal his heritage at his coming of age ceremony in a few weeks. His engagement to Harry seemed important enough to alter his plans.
It ends up all being for the best. The whispers about Harry’s ring, the proof of Tom’s inheritance, transform his life at Hogwarts.
The party Orion had been planning becomes a ball hosted at the Malfoy’s, and the guest list gets a lot more interesting.
This will be a true entry into society. Aside from the pomp and circumstance, Tom will finally inherit his family vaults, as well as his rightful seat on the Wizengamot.
The political figures that plan to attend the ball will soon be his peers.
It’s also the night that their engagement will become truly public. There’s nothing more official than Harry wearing the Slytherin ring in front of a hundred guests, and at least one reporter from the Daily Prophet.
Harry himself is an attraction that people want to gawk at. Just last week, Harry was speaking with three separate quidditch recruiters about his plans after school.
Tom had no idea if he’d take any of the positions, or choose some completely unexpected option. He wasn’t sure if Harry had decided yet either.
So, with the intrigue around them at an all time high, they make their plans.
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom appears at Harry’s side the moment he steps through the fireplace, dusting off his best robes.
“You look stunning, darling,” Tom says, taking a moment to give the photographer a bit of a show, stooping to kiss Harry’s cheek before guiding him by the hand to the main ballroom.
“Finally! Tom’s been a nightmare without you, and at least forty extra people are here - we don’t have enough canapes -” Abraxas appears, apparently already in a panic.
“Really Abraxas? You call yourself his right hand and you can’t handle canapes?” Orion snorts derisively, appearing to Harry’s side and handing him a flute of champagne.
“None for me?” Tom asks, annoyed, despite the fact that he hates champagne. His own goons shouldn’t be showing Harry favor. That’s Tom’s job.
“Dobby!” The elf appears at Harry’s command, dressed in fine clothes fitting for the night. Harry met him when he came to the station to collect Abraxas. By the next school break, he was a free elf, asking to work for Harry.
Of course, he also helped Abraxas, his favorite of the Malfoys. It was only the house he refused to serve any longer.
“Dobby!” Abraxas says happily.
Dobby smiles at him formally. “It is good to see you, friend Abraxas. However I am here for Master Harry. Eyes on the prize tonight, he said,” Dobby says, turning back to Harry.
“How can I be assisting?” Dobby says in a practiced tone. He obviously practiced this.
“We need canapes for at least 70 people, probably extra drinks and desserts too, delivered to the kitchen,” Harry says.
Dobby rubs his chin. “I can be doing that.”
He pops out of existence, presumably to complete his task.
“Why couldn’t our elves do that?” Abraxas says, irritated.
“I pay him very well,” Harry says with a shrug. “Maybe try wages instead of slavery. It gets great results.”
Orion cackles, only taking it down a notch as he notices people watching.
“This is why he deserves me serving him champagne,” Orion says gleefully, though at a more suppressed volume.
Tom nods, assenting.
“Now that Harry has fixed your poor planning, can we proceed to the party? I believe you both have some people to introduce us to,” Tom says, moving Harry’s hand to grasp his forearm.
Harry smiles up at him. “Let’s do this.”
____________________________________________________________________________
The ball goes well. They dazzle the crowds, Harry’s smile softening every one of Tom’s sharp edges. They’re a power-couple now, a public one.
When all that’s left at the party are close friends, they retire to the library, knowing no one will be there to notice them all getting shit-faced.
Harry winds up in Tom’s lap, sleepily tracing patterns into Tom’s arm as he discusses which political connection was the most valuable of the night.
“Oh!” Harry sits up suddenly. “I almost forgot your gift!” He says excitedly.
Abraxas and Orion whisper to themselves. Something about a bet, if Harry heard right.
They won’t be right.
“Do we need to leave for this?” Orion asks with a wink.
Harry rolls his eyes. “No.”
He waves his hand drunkenly, creating a cocoon of silence around him and Tom. Orion and Abraxas are still talking, but they can’t hear them now, the filter working both ways.
“I’m the Master of Death,” Harry says, grinning.
Tom frowns. “Excuse me?”
“You know the story, right? The cloak, the stone, the wand?” Tom nods. It was one of the routes he’d considered for his pursuit of immortality, but he had no leads, so he dismissed it eventually.
“I inherited an invisibility cloak, you know that. And then when Grindelwald attacked me as a child, I became the master of the Elder Wand,” Tom nods slowly, as if he’s not mentally spiralling.
“And then, as fate would have it, you gifted me the Resurrection Stone,” Harry says with a smug grin, the same victorious expression on his face that he always has when he looks down at the ring on his finger.
Tom’s jaw drops, allowing himself a moment of pure uncouth shock.
“So now you’re the Master of Death?” He repeats the title Harry had said before.
“Yup, apparently it runs in the family,” he says, snuggling his face into Tom’s shoulder. “Technically this ring runs in both our families since the Peverells had the stone before Slytherin.”
Tom reels at the information. He knew the Potters had old blood but no one had claimed the Peverell seat on the Wizengamot for many decades. Maybe Tom wasn’t the only one who had a revelation all those years ago when they dug into genealogy.
“You haven’t asked what the present part is,” Harry says as Tom is still allowing his new reality to sink in. Master of Death. Harry. It’s unreal.
“What’s my present, dear one?” Tom summons the presence of mind to ask, just so Harry will do that pleased little squirm he does when it’s time to reveal something dramatically.
He’s not disappointed. “I talked with Death, and apparently we can become immortal. Whenever we want. I say we wait until our mid-twenties, maybe our thirties. I’d love to see you with a bit of grey before we stop aging -”
Tom cuts Harry off, unable to stop himself from claiming Harry’s mouth with his own. He’s a man possessed, too lost in the idea of a never ending life with Harry, his Harry, to notice Abraxas and Orion yelling at them to get a room, the sound muffled by the privacy shields.
____________________________________________________________________________
Two Years Later, at their new home:
“Orion, if you break the plates I spent hours picking out, I will crucio you myself!” Harry threatens, only half-serious.
He saves the unforgivables for truly important situations. This doesn’t count. Unless Orion breaks his favorite mug, of course. It’s a Harpies mug gifted to him by Gwenog Jones herself when he lost to her team at the last World Cup.
He already has a “Puddlemere <3’s Potter” mug ready to give her when he finally has a chance wins against her. It will happen. It will.
“Yes my queen,” Orion says sarcastically. Harry rolls his eyes at the familiar joke. Abraxas of all people had been the one to start it, and it hadn’t stopped since. Either him or Tom could have ended it at any time, but Tom is secretly pleased by the moniker, and Harry can’t be arsed with telling either of his favorite goons off.
So he lets the comment go, going back to unpacking the boxes.
“Darling,” Tom says, entering the kitchen with a dramatic flourish of his robes. He’s been paying attention to Orion’s etiquette lessons. “Leave the unpacking to Orion. I need help deciding on a color for the bedroom walls.”
Orion rolls his eyes. “I still don’t understand why Dobby can’t do this,” he complains in response.
Harry shrugs, a charming smile poised on his lips, and Orion knows he’s already lost again somehow. “You just bring a certain gene se quois to the space,” he adds a wink that Tom glares at Orion for, as if it’s somehow his fault.
“Finish the kitchen,” Tom says sourly to Orion, pulling Harry to him, a possessive hand on the smaller wizard’s waist.
Harry shoots a victorious, and as always, mischievous smile Orion’s way as Tom hauls him out of the room,
Little shit.
____________________________________________________________________________
“Harry, no,” Hermione says to Harry, watching him stare down Bellatrix.
She’s crossed the line again. Sure, half the women and about ten percent of the men at the ministry ball have made a pass at Tom. Harry can’t fault them for it, not when he’s in his element, every bit the social climber he dreamt of being in their early schooldays.
Harry enjoys consulting with the Unspeakable Time and Death departments when he has a spare workday or two, but he’ll never enjoy working in the Ministry the way Tom does. To be honest, he only really does it for the access to their libraries he’s granted in return.
Tom isn’t the only one with magpie-like tendencies, Harry’s is just more directed to the odd secrets wizards keep.
Bellatrix brushes a strand of Tom’s perfectly coiffed hair aside and Harry’s feet move on their own, taking him to Tom’s side, only taking the time to utter a furious, “Harry, yes,” to Hermione as Ron pats her arm soothingly, whispering “Just pretend it’s not happening,” to her in soft tones.
Harry won’t have to deal with the Ministry gossip on Monday but Hermione will.
He’s willing to let Hermione suffer if it means Bella gets her hands off Tom.
____________________________________________________________________________
Tom feels two emotions when Harry approaches. He rarely feels one, so two is a bit overwhelming.
The first is the usual excitement at having Harry near him. Two years out from the beginning of their courtship and he still can’t believe he gets to possess someone as perfect as his Harry.
The second is fear, when he sees the way Harry’s eyes are locked onto Bellatrix, and more specifically the hand she has lingering on his arm.
There’s a charming smile on his face, but Tom knows not to trust that. Anyone who knows Harry should know not to trust that.
Bellatrix removes her hand, noticing Harry as he approaches. Too late.
“Bella, dear,” Harry addresses her, his voice sickly sweet.
Conversation stops around them.
Harry is a mystery to the general public, always refusing interviews and the spotlight despite his inevitable celebrity status. It’s a reputation that serves him well, that he leverages opportunistically like he was born for the chaos of high society.
“Harry, how good to see you,” she says, but her voice shakes.
Even Tom doesn’t invoke that kind of fear in her. Not for the first time, Tom wonders if Harry would have been the better Dark Lord.
“Oh? I would have thought you’d be displeased to see me, considering you had your hands all over my fiance a moment ago,” Harry doesn’t pull any punches. He doesn’t speak loudly, leaning towards her to speak directly to her, but the effect on the crowd is immediate nonetheless.
Tom should be upset about the scene Harry is causing, but he bring himself to be, not when Harry is speaking so possessively about him.
Maybe this will dissuade a few of the grabby old women.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -” comes the weak reply. Bellatrix looks stricken, all color gone from her face.
“You did. But you won’t again. Are we clear?” Harry’s words leave no room for misunderstanding. The smile on his face doesn’t waver.
Tom sees Bellatrix’s life flash before her eyes. “Yes,” she says, clearing her throat nervously and taking a step away from Tom.
Harry takes her place, wrapping his hand around Tom’s arm in a manner fit for an intended spouse of a public figure. “Shall we leave? I fear the whispers will be unbearable,” Harry says, a sly smile on his face.
Tom doesn’t bother arguing. Harry’s right, the attention will be unbearable now. Trust Harry to make a scene without making a scene.
He’s sure he’ll read about this in the papers tomorrow.
When Harry calls out the name of their shared home into the floo, dragging Tom through with clear intent, Tom realizes he can’t be bothered. Let them gossip.
He has everything that he wants.