Chapter 2
Tom observed the identical rows of houses along the block, eyes narrowed slightly. This was where Harry stayed in the summer? He hadn't really had any expectations but the neighbourhood seemed normal enough, if not rather bland. Tom wouldn't have given it a second thought had he been passing by—not like the orphanage, in any case, which looked decrepit on the best of days.
Of course, that didn't disvalue Harry's personal experiences living there—he was inclined to believe it wasn't a great situation, if only because Weasley of all people had seemed grudgingly approving of Tom's decisions. (Weasley had, obviously, only known through Granger, with whom Tom had a complicated acquaintanceship: she was more tolerable than the redhead, sharp and intelligent; and age and maturity—as well as Harry's influence, most likely—had honed her ability to synthesise information, turning her into a rather formidable academic rival nowadays. She also oscillated between being forthcoming and being obstinate when it came to answering Tom's questions about Harry; clearly she valued her friend's privacy, and her subtle support of Tom's advances held little sway over what she chose to disclose to him. Truthfully, it was nothing short of a miracle that she'd seen fit to provide Harry's address, but it was only further testament to how bad the entire situation was.)
Confident in the Disillusionment Charm and the modified silencing spell he'd cast, Tom sauntered down the street without a care, keeping his eyes peeled for the house numbered 4.
There were very few people out at this time of day—understandable, really, as the heat was stifling; Tom couldn't have been more grateful for temperature-regulating magic, and thanked his lucky stars that he was seventeen now and considered a legal adult in the magical world.
The only person Tom saw was some poor sod pulling weeds in a garden. Tom eyed the figure, nose wrinkling in distaste at the veritable rags they were wearing; he'd seen house-elves more put-together than that. Drawn by some macabre interest, he prowled closer to the body—close enough to realise they were a lot smaller than he'd initially assumed, probably around twelve if Tom had to guess; close enough to witness their tremors and hear their sharp breaths as their dirt-caked nails dug into the soil. Their trembling grew more pronounced.
Scoffing under his breath, Tom berated himself; he was wasting time. However, he paused in the middle of turning around—the kid had collapsed.
Tom blinked, incredulous.
The front door opened and a woman stepped out, looking none too pleased. “Boy,” she snapped quietly, “get up.” When they—he—failed to stir, the lady strode over and patted his face urgently. “Get up, I said!” she hissed. “You are embarrassing me, you lazy waste of space! What if the neighbours see!”
The boy groaned and rolled over, and Tom's breath caught in his throat. It was Harry.
The figure was Harry—Tom would recognise that face and those distinctive glasses anywhere. A sudden and startling anger had him clenching his fists, recalling the way he had mistaken Harry's slight frame for a prepubescent. It was beyond clear to Tom that the young man was being starved; already he looked to have lost half a stone, and when Tom cast his mind back to previous years he could in retrospect identify the signs of malnourishment in Harry. Had nobody else, save for Harry's friends, taken notice?
“Nothing they don't already, with what you've told them about me.” Harry was struggling to his feet and had an expression on his face that was unnervingly similar to the one he'd had while sucking Tom off. (His cock twitched in his pants interestedly as he remembered the feeling of that sinful mouth and — now was not the time, dammit—!)
Oh, they were heading inside now, Harry being all but dragged by the woman. From his wince, she hadn't bothered to be gentle, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his arm. Tom trailed behind the two, slipping in unnoticed just moments before the woman forcefully closed the door.
Inside, she seemed to lose whatever reservations she'd previously had out in the yard, rounding on Harry with a harsh smack to the face. “How dare you disrespect me, boy,” she snapped, “after everything we do for you—”
“Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said tonelessly, and Tom got the oddest sense that he was trying to ward off a tangent more than anything.
The woman merely sniffed in response, narrowing her eyes, before apparently deciding to let it go. “Vernon has someone for you,” she sneered instead. “Now get out of my sight.”
Charming, thought Tom sardonically, but his attention quickly snapped to Harry upon realising the boy hadn't so much as twitched since the woman—his aunt—had swept away.
Harry had gone rigid as soon as the words registered in his brain. “Vernon has someone for you.” Fuck, he wasn't in any shape to be doing—that—right now. He'd literally passed out outside from the heat and the fact he had been working on an empty stomach. Even now, darkness encroached, black spots swimming in his vision—a telltale sign that his body was struggling. This was not going to bode well for him, of that Harry was absolutely certain.
Feeling faint, he swallowed drily and tried not to stumble as he ascended the stairs.