Annoyed,
"So what brings you here, *Tommy*?"
Tom's eye twitched.
He hated that name. Loathed it. Despised it with every fiber of his being.
And Harry knew it.
The brat didn’t even have the decency to smirk when he said it—no teasing glint in his eyes, no amusement in his tone. Just a flat, indifferent question, like he wasn’t actively prodding at something that made Tom want to *hex the entire forest into oblivion.*
Teeth made a clicking noise, seemingly amused, and Harry absentmindedly fed it a chip.
Tom exhaled sharply, reigning in his irritation. “I was in the area.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“You do not *accidentally* end up in the middle of a forest.”
Tom ignored that. “You disappeared.”
“I went home.”
“And no one stopped you?”
“They tried.”
Harry didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Tom could imagine how that had gone—the staff grasping at straws, throwing their authority around, trying to contain something that *was never theirs to keep in the first place.*
And Harry, untouchable and unmoved, walking away anyway.
Tom studied him, perched atop his monstrous companion, barely tethered to the world around him.
“I see you’ve been… entertained.”
Harry glanced down at Teeth, running his fingers absently over its strange, smooth skin. “I missed them.”
Tom hummed, stepping closer, eyes cold and sharp. “And did you miss me?”
Harry held his gaze, unblinking. “You already know the answer to that.”
Tom did. And yet, something about hearing it—about *seeing* it in the way Harry’s expression didn’t shift, didn’t soften—made something coil tight in his chest.
He was *annoyed.*
And he *hated* that he was annoyed.