Questions And Games.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering firelight casting long shadows on the faded walls. Harry sat cross-legged on the worn carpet, his head tilted slightly as he studied Tom with an expression that could almost be called curious.
Tom, seated elegantly in an armchair that had seen better days, watched him with narrowed eyes. The weight of the silence was almost tangible, broken only by the occasional creak of the house or the low, rhythmic breaths of Teeth, who was sprawled nearby, exuding an air of lazy menace.
Finally, Harry broke the silence. “What’s your favorite color?”
Tom blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. “What?”
“Your favorite color,” Harry repeated, his tone casual, as if he were asking about the weather.
Tom leaned back in the chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Why would you ask me something so trivial?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m curious. I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t know anything about me. Figured we could change that.”
Tom’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile. “I see. A game of questions, then? Very well. My favorite color is green.”
“Predictable,” Harry said with a smirk.
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “My turn.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a silky edge. “What did you gain by bringing me back? What are you hoping to achieve?”
Harry met his gaze evenly. “Company.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Company?”
Harry nodded. “Teeth’s great and all, but he’s not exactly a conversationalist.” He gestured toward the massive creature, who let out an amused rumble, clearly unbothered by the remark.
Tom studied Harry for a long moment, his mind racing. Was that truly all there was to it? Or was Harry hiding something beneath his composed exterior?
“Your turn,” Tom said finally, masking his suspicion with a thin veneer of patience.
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?”
Tom scoffed lightly. “Another frivolous question.”
“Humor me,” Harry said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
Tom considered for a moment. “Paris. I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.”
Harry’s lips quirked upward. “Not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
“Somewhere dark and dramatic,” Harry said, leaning back again. “Like a ruined castle or a cursed forest.”
Tom chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “Those have their charm, too.”
“My turn,” Tom said, his gaze sharpening. “Why did you trust me enough to revive me? You don’t seem like the type to trust easily.”
Harry’s expression darkened slightly, though his tone remained neutral. “I don’t trust you. But I trust myself enough to handle you.”
Tom’s smirk widened, his interest piqued. “Clever.”
Harry tilted his head. “Why did you hate Muggles so much?”
The question caught Tom off guard, though he didn’t let it show. “Hate is a strong word,” he said carefully. “I despise ignorance. Weakness. They happen to embody both.”
Harry hummed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further. “Fair enough. Your turn.”
Tom’s gaze turned calculating. “Why are you *really* here, Harry Potter? At this house, in this life? You could have had anything, yet you’ve chosen this.”
Harry was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the fire. “Because it’s mine. My choice, my life. I don’t owe anyone anything anymore.”
Tom’s expression flickered, just for a moment, with something almost akin to understanding.
“You’re full of surprises,” Tom murmured.
“So are you,” Harry shot back, his tone light. “Your turn.”
Tom leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “What do you see when you look at me?”
Harry met his gaze without hesitation. “Potential.”
Tom’s breath hitched, though he masked it with a smirk. “Flattering.”
“And you?” Harry asked, his tone softer now. “What do you see when you look at me?”
Tom tilted his head, his smile sharp and calculating. “A puzzle I can’t yet solve.”
Harry chuckled, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the house seemed to lift.
“Your turn,” Harry said.
Tom’s smirk softened, and for once, his question was simple. “What’s your favorite color?”
Harry’s smile widened, soft and genuine. “Gold. Like sunlight.”
Tom said nothing, but his gaze lingered on Harry’s face, as though committing the rare smile to memory.
“I’ve got one last question,” Harry said, his voice turning almost absent-minded as he leaned back on his hands.
“Oh? And what is that?” Tom asked.
“Do you think it’s strange that I’m living in the house where I was kidnapped?” Harry said it so casually that it took a moment for the words to sink in.
Tom’s calculating expression faltered. “You were kidnapped here?”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah. It was years ago. Found the place fitting for… all this.” He waved a hand vaguely, as though summing up their entire situation.
Tom stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh. “Of course, you’d think this is normal.”
“Normal is overrated,” Harry replied with a grin.
“And you cook for your pet monster?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I eat too,” Harry said, amused. “Teeth and I share. Though I think he’d argue he gets the better portions.”
Teeth snorted in agreement, his large arm thumping against the floor.
Tom’s smirk faltered, replaced with a glimmer of genuine shock. “You eat what Teeth eats?”
Harry tilted his head, his grin almost playful. “Why not? Waste not, want not.”
For a moment, Tom’s usual composure slipped entirely. His gaze darted from Harry to Teeth, then back again, the implications hitting him like a physical blow.
“You mean to tell me…” Tom began, his voice slower than usual, “that you willingly—”
“Eat human flesh?” Harry finished for him, his tone light, as though discussing the weather. “Only when it’s fresh. I’m not a monster.”
Teeth let out a low, rumbling laugh, clearly amused by the look on Tom’s face.
Tom leaned back, his expression carefully schooled but his mind reeling. “You’re… truly something else, Harry Potter.”
“And you’re still predictable, Tom Riddle,” Harry replied, the firelight catching the glint in his eyes.
The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words. The crackle of the fire and the rhythmic thump of Teeth’s tail were the only sounds, as Tom tried—unsuccessfully—to reconcile the image of Harry Potter with the man sitting before him.