What Follows In Silence.

The fire burned low in the hearth, its glow flickering along the old wooden walls of the house. The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and the lingering remnants of whatever Teeth had been roasting earlier. Harry sat lazily against its back, the creature’s long limbs curled around him in a protective sprawl. Teeth’s breath was slow and deep, its massive chest rising and falling steadily, a solid presence against Harry’s back.

Across from him, Tom was seated in one of the old chairs, a book balanced on his knee, though he hadn’t turned a page in minutes. Instead, his sharp eyes rested on Harry, who was absently twirling a dagger between his fingers, watching the way the firelight glinted off the blade.

Then, as if the thought had just lazily drifted into his mind, Harry spoke.

"What do you think my Boggart means?"

Tom blinked, mildly surprised by the question. "Your Boggart?"

Harry hummed in confirmation, still spinning the dagger. "Faced it during Lupin’s lesson."

Tom leaned forward, interested now. "What did you see?"

Harry finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "A corpse."

Tom's lips curled slightly. "Many people fear death, Harry. That’s not surprising."

Harry gave a slow, detached smile. "It was *me.* A dead version of me. Standing there, smiling like it knew something I didn’t."

Tom frowned slightly, but Harry wasn’t done. His voice was quiet, almost idle. "And it spoke."

Tom’s fingers drummed against the armrest. "What did it say?"

Harry tilted his head, mimicking that uncanny, knowing smile. "*‘You don’t exist. You never did.’*"

Silence.

The fire crackled in the quiet, the shadows along the walls flickering like watching figures.

Tom was staring at him now, gaze sharp as a knife’s edge. Harry, unbothered, turned his attention back to the dagger in his hand.

Then, as if sensing the weight in the air, he shifted the subject effortlessly. "Let’s play a game."

Tom scoffed, irritation flickering across his features. "I don’t play games, Harry."

"This one’s different," Harry said, almost sing-song, though there was no warmth in it. "Two truths and a lie. You’re good at lying, aren’t you, *Tommy?*"

Tom’s expression darkened immediately. "*Don’t* call me that."

Harry smirked, teeth flashing in the dim light. "It’s my turn first, then."

He leaned back against Teeth’s warmth, gaze distant but voice sharp as ever.

"I once bit Dudley hard enough to scar."
"I stole a book from the Hogwarts library and never returned it."
"And I have never killed anyone."

Tom studied him for a moment before smirking. "The last one is the lie."

Harry didn’t confirm or deny it. Just smiled that slow, unreadable smile.

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright. My turn."

His voice was calm, measured, like the words were calculated before they even left his lips.

"I despise the nickname *Tommy.*"
"I have never been afraid of death."
"And I once set fire to an orphanage room just to watch it burn."

Harry watched him, thoughtful. Then he tilted his head, looking through Tom like he could see into his bones.

"The second one is a lie."

Tom’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air *did.*

Harry smiled, slow and deliberate. "You *have* feared death before. Even if just once."

Tom didn’t answer, but his eyes darkened slightly, watching Harry the way one might watch an opponent who had stepped too close.

Harry only chuckled, shifting comfortably against Teeth’s side. "I win."

Tom exhaled slowly, shaking his head in amusement, though there was something sharp in his gaze. "You always think that, don’t you?"

The fire crackled. Teeth stirred slightly in its sleep.

Harry just smiled.