Trust
The Room of Requirement had shifted seamlessly around them, moulding itself to Tom’s silent request. Dark wooden walls stretched high, lined with towering bookshelves filled with neatly arranged tomes. A large fireplace crackled at the far end, casting flickering shadows across plush chairs and a long couch. The scent of aged parchment and polished oak filled the air, lending an air of refinement—precisely as Tom had envisioned.
Tom exhaled, satisfied. "This will do."
Harry let out a low whistle, running a hand along the mantelpiece. "Not bad," he admitted, before smirking. "Bit stiff, though. You know, for someone who grew up in an orphanage, you have very expensive taste."
Tom smirked back. "Quality isn’t exclusive to wealth. It’s a matter of preference."
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead dropping onto the couch with a sigh, his fingers absently tugging at the hem of his sleeve. Tom watched him closely, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the restless movement of his hands. He was unsettled.
"You’re anxious," Tom observed.
Harry hesitated before exhaling sharply. "Yeah. A bit."
Tom tilted his head, waiting.
"James is here," Harry muttered after a pause. "And Sirius. And I thought… I don’t know. I knew it wouldn’t be the same, but it still feels weird. They’re right there, but they don’t know me. They don’t even see me."
Tom considered this. He understood, in a way. Harry had spent his life searching for something—family, belonging. And now, the universe had given him a twisted version of it, close enough to touch yet entirely out of reach.
"It must be strange," Tom said after a moment, "to have someone you love so close, yet entirely unaware of who you are."
Harry let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. Something like that." He rubbed a hand over his face. "And it’s not just them. Ron and Hermione aren’t here. I mean, I knew they wouldn’t be, but still… it feels wrong without them."
"You feel unanchored," Tom remarked.
Harry frowned. "What?"
"You rely on them," Tom said simply. "They are constants in your life. Without them, you’re untethered, forced to navigate unfamiliar territory alone."
Harry was silent for a long moment before shaking his head with a small smile. "You make it sound so dramatic."
Tom merely raised an eyebrow.
Harry sighed. "Fine. Maybe you’re right. It’s just… weird, being here without them. And knowing that even if I did find them, they wouldn’t be them."
Tom hesitated. Comfort wasn’t something he gave freely, but Harry was not most people. "You’re not alone," he said, voice measured. "You have me."
Harry blinked at him.
Tom smirked. "Whether that’s reassuring or concerning is up to you."
A laugh burst from Harry’s lips, brief but real. "Yeah, well. I guess I’ll take what I can get." The weight in the room lessened, ever so slightly.
After a moment, Harry tilted his head. "You saw my Sorting, didn’t you?"
Tom smirked. "I did."
Harry groaned. "You and the Hat wouldn’t shut up about Slytherin."
"Because you would and could have thrived," Tom said simply.
"Yeah, yeah." Harry waved a hand dismissively. "But what about yours? I never asked. Why did it take so long? I thought you were a certain Slytherin."
Tom exhaled slowly, leaning back. "Not exactly."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
Tom hesitated before speaking. "It considered Hufflepuff."
Harry’s eyes widened. "No. Absolutely not."
Tom scowled. "Yes. Keep laughing, and I’ll hex you."
Harry wheezed. "Merlin, this is gold."
Tom sighed, rubbing his temple. "Do you want to hear the story, or are you going to sit there cackling like an idiot?"
Harry coughed, forcing himself to calm down. "Alright, alright. Tell me everything."
Tom closed his eyes, allowing himself to remember—the weight of the Sorting Hat pressing over his head, its coarse fabric cool against his skin.
"Well now," a voice had murmured in his mind, deep and knowing. "What have we here?"
Tom sat perfectly still, his back rigid.
"Oh, I see. Ambition, intelligence, power… Yes, a mind built for greatness."
Tom clenched his jaw. He didn’t like the way the Hat was peeling through his thoughts like an open book.
"You’ll do well in Slytherin, of course," the Hat mused. "But you already knew that, didn’t you?"
"Obviously," Tom thought.
"Hmm. But you could be more."
Tom frowned. "What?"
"You are not merely cunning. You are clever, yes, but you are also relentless. You endure. When you set your sights on something, you pursue it without fail. You do not just use people—you make them need you. You build, and you hold, and you do not let go." The Hat chuckled. "You would do very well in Hufflepuff."
Tom’s breath stilled. "Excuse me?"
"Oh yes. Loyalty is a funny thing. People believe it is about sentiment, but you—no, you *bind* people to you. You are not loyal to them, but they become loyal to you. That is a powerful kind of magic."
Tom’s fingers curled against the stool. "I am not a Hufflepuff."
"Why not?"
*"Because it is weak."*
"Ah. And yet, the greatest leaders are the ones who inspire loyalty. You are more than Slytherin, child."
"I don’t need loyalty," Tom snapped. "I need control."
"And control comes in many forms," the Hat murmured. "Tell me, Tom Riddle—no, Thomas Avery—death made sure of that—what do you fear more? Being underestimated? Or being seen for what you are?"
Tom’s breath hitched.
The Hat chuckled. "SLYTHERIN, then."
The Sorting Hat was lifted from his head, and Tom exhaled, schooling his expression into something smooth and indifferent as the Slytherin table erupted into applause.
When Tom finished recounting the story, Harry was staring at him. "You argued with the Sorting Hat over Hufflepuff," he said in disbelief.
"I negotiated," Tom corrected.
Harry shook his head. "That last part, though. About control and loyalty. Do you ever wonder what could’ve happened if you had been put in Hufflepuff?"
Tom hesitated. Then, quietly, he admitted, "I don’t think I would have survived it."
Harry frowned.
"In Slytherin, no one questions a boy who keeps to himself. No one questions a boy who speaks carefully, who watches, who learns. If I had been Sorted anywhere else, it would have been seen as strange. In Slytherin, I could blend in. It felt less... isolating."
Harry exhaled, thoughtful. After a moment, he stretched his legs out. "Alright. So, classes. How’s this going to go?"
Tom’s lips curled into a smirk. "We will be considered prodigies. Our magical prowess alone ensures that. There is nothing in the Hogwarts curriculum that we do not already know."
"Even the subjects I struggled with?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tom nodded. "I helped you, didn’t I? My idea of competence is perfection, so yes—you’re good at it now."
Harry snorted. "Great. Now I’m actually good at Astronomy."
Tom smirked. "You’re welcome."
And just like that, they moved forward. As they always did.
----
Tom leaned back against the cushions of the Room of Requirement, watching as Harry stretched his legs out in front of him, looking utterly exhausted. They had spent the past hour discussing their plans—how they would navigate Hogwarts, blend in, and ensure they were seen as nothing more than two intelligent transfer students. It had gone well, all things considered. Tom knew that given their skill level, it wouldn't take long for them to be recognized as exceptional. The key was managing that perception carefully.
But for now, there was a moment of quiet.
That is, until Serena, his ever-present companion, decided to make her grand reappearance.
A small rustling from within Tom’s robes was the only warning before a sleek, green snake slithered out and curled around his wrist. She lifted her head, golden eyes gleaming as she surveyed the room before turning her attention to Harry.
"You are shorter than I expected, now that I can properly observe you." she said in a lazy, assessing tone.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You’re tiny."
Serena flicked her tongue, unimpressed. "And yet I am still above you," she countered, lifting her head slightly higher. "Quite literally."
Tom smirked. "She has a point."
Harry scowled. "Oh, shut up, both of you."
Serena’s coils tightened ever so slightly around Tom’s wrist. "Feisty. I like that in prey."
Harry gave her a flat look. "Planning to eat me?"
"Perhaps just a bite," she mused. "But you do smell like my master. That complicates things."
Harry sighed. "Look, let’s establish this now—you are not eating me."
"A shame," Serena said, dramatic as ever. "You would be a fine meal. And I could stretch out in a warm sunbeam afterward, satisfied and victorious."
Harry shot a look at Tom. "This is what you live with?"
Tom smirked. "She’s charming, isn’t she?"
"I am charming," Serena agreed. "And deadly."
Harry huffed. "Right. Charming, deadly, and a tiny bit full of herself."
Serena lifted her head proudly. "Entirely full of myself, thank you very much."
Tom chuckled, running a finger along her scales. "That’s why I like her."
"I knew I was his favourite," Serena said smugly.
"Wait, who were you competing against?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"All others," she said simply. "But they are beneath me, so it was not much of a competition."
Serena studied him for a moment before tilting her head. "You are strange though," she decided. "You smell like my master."
Harry blinked. "That—what?"
"Like magic," Serena elaborated. "His magic clings to you. It lingers."
Tom looked mildly interested at that but said nothing.
Harry sighed. "Well, I have spent a lot of time with him."
Serena considered this before nodding. "Then I suppose I shall not eat you."
Harry gave her a dry look. "Kind of you."
Tom stroked a finger along Serena’s scales. "I assume you approve of him, then?"
Serena lifted her head regally. "He is tolerable."
Harry snorted. "Wow. High praise."
Serena flicked her tail dismissively. "He is second to me, of course, but I will permit his presence."
"You permit me?"
"Yes."
Harry rolled his eyes but found himself grinning.
Tom leaned back, clearly amused. "She has an ego."
"I am simply better than everyone else," Serena corrected.
Harry smirked. "You and Tom really are a perfect match."
Serena preened at the compliment, completely ignoring the sarcasm
Harry rolled his eyes. "You’re ridiculous."
"And yet," Serena purred, "you like me."
Harry hesitated before sighing. "I begrudgingly tolerate you."
Serena smirked. "That is simply human for ‘I adore you.’ - I learn from the best."
Tom laughed. "Oh, she’s going to be unbearable now."
Serena coiled back around his wrist smugly. "I have always been unbearable."
Harry groaned but found himself smiling.
Tom hummed, clearly amused before shifting the conversation. "Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about something more productive—our NEWTs."
Harry groaned again, this time less playfully. "Do we have to?"
Tom gave him a flat look. "We have done our OWL'S already."
"Yeah," Harry said, shifting slightly. "I have done ten."
Tom tilted his head. "And I twelve."
"Of course." Harry muttered.
Tom smirked. "Naturally. Though your plans in regard to NEWT'S?"
Harry hesitated. "I was thinking of taking all the core ones, obviously. Beyond that... I don’t know."
Tom considered this. "I find myself in a similar position. We should speak with the appropriate professors tomorrow. You with McGonagall, me with Slughorn."
"To get advice?"
Tom smirked. "To appear as model students."
Harry laughed. "Right. Because we need to cultivate a good reputation."
"Exactly," Tom said, pleased that Harry was catching on. "We need to seem eager and ambitious—but not too ambitious."
Harry rolled his eyes. "So, manipulative."
"Strategic," Tom corrected.
Harry snorted. "Same thing."
Tom smirked. "Semantics."
Harry waved a hand. "Fine, fine. We’ll go early tomorrow and talk to them."
"Good," Tom said, satisfied. "The sooner we establish ourselves, the better."
"Oh, how thrilling," Serena deadpanned. "The art of playing pretend."
Harry grinned. "Careful, Serena, you sound almost as arrogant as Tom."
"Impossible," Serena huffed. "No one is more arrogant than my master. He is the best at everything."
Tom smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
Serena flicked her tongue. "I know."
Harry snickered, leaning back against the couch. "This year is going to be something."
Tom smirked. "Oh, I have no doubt."
----
The Room of Requirement was quiet, save for the faint crackling of a fire and the occasional hoot from Newla, who had joined them through a random window as if sensing her masters presence. Serena had slithered off to join her - finding her company pleasant, leaving Harry and Tom alone in their exhausted haze.
They sat on the couch, speaking in low murmurs, but neither of them could focus. Harry barely registered Tom’s words, his head dipping forward every so often before he jerked awake, trying desperately to stay alert. Across from him, Tom looked just as dazed, his usually sharp eyes clouded with exhaustion.
The warmth of the room, the dim lighting, the comfort of just being—it all made it impossible to stay awake. Harry yawned, his eyelids drooping.
“Merlin,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “I think I might just…”
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence before his body slumped slightly against the couch.
Tom hummed in response, his voice quieter than usual. “Not a bad idea.”
The Room, sensing their state, shifted seamlessly. A bed—large, warm, and impossibly inviting—appeared behind them. Neither Harry nor Tom questioned it; they were too tired to care. Without a word, they crawled onto the bed. The last thing Harry remembered was the distant sound of the fire crackling before sleep claimed him.
---
Harry woke to a familiar warmth beside him.
For a moment, disoriented, he forgot where he was. Then, as his vision cleared, his heart practically stopped.
*Oh, sh—*
Tom was still asleep, his dark hair a mess, his breathing slow and even. The room was dimly lit, but Harry could see just enough to realize how close they were.
*Nope. Absolutely not. Time to go.*
He sat up too fast, his body protesting the movement, Casting a quick tempus and noticing the time he shook Tom’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
Tom groaned, barely opening his eyes. “What?”
“It’s five in the morning, and we need to get back to our dorms now.”
That woke Tom up fully. His eyes snapped open, and within seconds, he was sitting up, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Brilliant,” he muttered sarcastically before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
They both scrambled to freshen up as best as they could—straightening clothes, smoothing down hair, wiping the sleep from their faces. Once Harry was confident he didn’t look like he had just spent the night in the Room of Requirement with Tom Riddle, they hurried out.
At the first fork in the corridor, they split. Tom went towards the dungeons, looking remarkably composed for someone who had just been forcibly woken up. Harry, meanwhile, practically sprinted to Gryffindor Tower.
By the time Harry reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, his heart was pounding. He muttered the password under his breath, practically stumbling inside as the portrait swung open.
The common room was empty—thankfully—but as he climbed the stairs to the dorms, he allowed himself a brief moment to breathe. Alright, made it.
Then he pushed open the door to his dormitory.
And stopped dead.
Sirius Black was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, his eyes cold and calculating. There was no mistaking the look of suspicion in them. He was awake. And he was not happy.
Harry froze. “Oh.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “Oh?”
“…Good morning?”
Sirius tilted his head, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Harry’s throat went dry. He hadn’t thought of an excuse. His mind raced, but no words came.
Sirius’s voice was low, his tone sharp. “You really think you can sneak in at five in the morning, looking like that, and I won’t ask questions?”
Harry swallowed, trying to steady himself. “Sirius, it’s not—”
Sirius stood up suddenly, his eyes piercing. “Don’t even try it. I’ve seen that look before, Evans.” His lips curled into a humourless smile. “Besides I don't recall telling you my name. Tell me who it was. Who were you with?”
Harry’s stomach dropped. “What? No—Sirius, it’s not what you think.”
Sirius stepped closer, his face dark with mistrust. “Then why are you acting like you’re guilty of something? You’ve got that look about you. So, stop pretending like you’re some innocent little Gryffindor caught out after curfew. I don't trust you and the only way you could know me is if you know the blacks. Are they infamous yes? But for a polish immigrant...”
Harry felt his pulse quicken. “I swear—”
“No,” Sirius cut him off, his voice ice-cold now. “You swear? You’re really going to stand there and lie to me after the night I’ve had?” He scoffed, glancing away in disbelief. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re not fooling me, Evans.”
Harry’s fists clenched. “I’m not playing any games, Sirius.”
Sirius’s eyes flashed, and he took a step back. “Maybe you think I’ve forgotten about the kind of people you’re involved with. In this room are the people I love and care for. The people who I would die for. So no way will I let you hurt them. Also only my friends call me Sirius."
Harry stared at him, trying to reign in his frustration and hurt. “It’s not like that. I’m not trying to hide anything.”
“Then tell me what you were doing, Evans,” Sirius spat, his patience wearing thin.
Harry opened his mouth to explain, but the words stuck in his throat. The pressure of Sirius’s stare was suffocating. He could feel the weight of his every move, his every word.
Finally, Harry sighed, a hollow laugh escaping him. “You’re not going to believe me anyway, are you?”
Sirius didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes softened just a fraction, as if the walls had come down, if only a little. He leaned back against the bed, arms crossed, eyes still narrowed. “I’m just trying to figure out what you’re up to, Evans. You were placed in Gryffindor so there must be good in you but I can bet you weren't out alone but with Avery. And a Slytherin from a family like that. Doesn't matter what anyone says I don't trust him and if you know what's good for you. Neither would you. ”
“I don’t have secrets,” Harry said, his voice quieter now.
“Then why does it feel like you do?” Sirius shot back, his words biting.
The silence hung thick between them, the tension palpable. And Harry couldn't help but wish he'd stayed in the room with Tom.