Like Brothers
After the Pox was cleared in Harry’s 2nd Year, the 3rd Year passed by almost completely uneventfully for Harry except for the occasional visits from Tom to Harry’s bed. They didn’t sleep together anymore, but they did like to read together or whisper to each other late into the evening. Tom quickly became a semi-permanent fixture in the Gryffindor house, and then the 3rd Year was over.
Tom, on the other hand, made an inconceivable discovery during his 4th year at Hogwarts. He learned that it was his father who was the repulsive muggle, and his mother a weak, pathetic witch. This might have been disappointing if it weren’t for his mother’s bloodline.
Tom’s mother was a Gaunt - a direct descendent of the powerful Slytherin, and the last of the Slytherin bloodline. Tom Riddle was the sole Heir of Slytherin. With this confirmation came a spell of power and promise, but Tom needed to be in the school to fully utilize his newfound knowledge. As long as he and Harry would survive the summer first.
The summer of 1943 was a dry one, with temperatures surpassing 32 C in July. Because of the war, the Orphanage was hurting for money even more than usual. The front yard was more sand than grass, and water had to be meted out carefully so that there was enough for all of the children.
Tom had convinced Mr. Wilkes, a retired Historian of Wizarding History, to give Harry and himself jobs reprinting pages in his tiny study on the edge of town. It had to be done manually since the two boys were underage but it was easy money, so they didn’t really mind. Plus, it gave Tom the opportunity to lecture Harry on “proper magic”, which Harry dutifully ignored.
“Defensive and Offensive magic channels emotions. Charms require skill and accuracy. And Herbology is best practiced if you’re willing to understand the environment, not just the specific plant you’re picking ingredients from,” Tom said as he bound together one of Mr. Wilkes’ leaflets for the Centurial Charms.
Harry had discovered a ladybug on the windowsill and was prodding it gently with a ruler. When it finally flew away, he watched it go and imagined spreading wings in Quidditch and snatching the snitch from under the opposing teams’ noses. Tom slammed the leaflet in front of Harry’s face, waking him up.
“If you’re still expecting to get 50% of the cut, I do expect you to do at least a fraction of the work,” the dark-eyed wizard said bitingly. Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“It’s too hot to work,” He complained.
Tom looked pointedly at the huge stack of sheaths waiting to be bound on Harry’s table. Harry groaned and pulled at the pages mulishly. Harry’s thick hair had grown quite long, Tom observed. It brushed the tops of his shoulders and curled a little in the heat. A bead of sweat rolled down from the forehead to the chin, hovered a moment, and then slid the rest of the way down Harry’s pale neck. Tom looked away as it dipped beneath Harry’s shirt.
“If you can keep yourself from daydreaming, we’ll get done faster,” Riddle said. Harry shrugged in a very teenage way. “What are you thinking about, anyway?”
Harry waved his hand airily. “My one true love,” the 13-year-old said.
“Oh?” The paper crumpled in Tom’s fist.
“Quidditch, Tom.” Harry smiled at his friend teasingly. He propped his chin on his hand, looking up at the boy from beneath his lashes. “I’m going to get in this year. I’ll be a fourth year, and I’m already better than Mulligan. They’ve got to put me on the team.”
“Sure, sure.”
The two worked in silence a little longer. Harry chanced a quick look at Tom’s profile and wondered if Tom had someone like… Quidditch. He was certainly handsome enough to attract anyone, guy or girl. At 14 going on 15, he looked much older than he was. Intelligent eyes, high cheekbones, and a cool disposition.
“What, Potter? Admiring how magnetic I am?” Tom asked cheekily, pushing the sweaty hair out of his face.
Harry blushed horribly. “No,” He said. His friend gave him a knowing smirk and then pushed his papers away. The work was done for the day.
Free at last, the pair began the long walk home. It was only slightly cooler outside than it was in the cramped, overcrowded study. The evening sun had begun to fall and the cicadas chirped in preparation for the night. On their way back to Wool’s Orphanage, Harry noticed a shaggy head of black curls peeking at them from behind one of the corners. The further they walked, the more consistently it appeared in Harry’s field of vision.
“Don’t mind her,” Tom said easily at Harry’s perturbed look. “That’s Bellatrix. She fancies herself a loyal follower.”
Well, that was disturbing. Almost as disturbing as Tom’s half-grin as he spoke of her. Harry had never seen Tom act quite so… Taken with someone, before. Something cold squeezed Harry’s heart.
“A bit of a nutjob, that one,”Harry sneered. He almost walked into Tom, who had been a half-step before him and suddenly stopped walking. The dark-eyed wizard glanced in the direction of Bellatrix who had attempted to hide herself behind a stop sign.
“She’s funny,” He said. “Loyal, strong, and wicked clever to boot. More than I can say for any of your friends.”
Harry snorted and pushed up his glasses. He felt weirdly upset. “I don’t like her. You should tell her to get lost.”
“You don’t like any of my friends,” Tom sighed. “And I don’t like any of yours. Mutual dissatisfaction, remember? Besides, Bellatrix is a little more than a friend to me.”
Harry swivelled his head. “What?” He hated to admit it, but Bellatrix was pretty. Tom and Bellatrix would make an interesting couple. They had the matching egotistical, muggle-hating, bad-kids-in-town look about them, anyhow. But the more he thought about it, the more Harry hated the idea of Tom smiling gently at Bellatrix Black, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear, and then leaning in…
“You cannot be serious. She’s a bloody dark-wizard-in-training! And her eyes are way, way too big. Like, quaffle-sized.”
“You’re one to talk,” Tom frowned disapprovingly. “Don’t think I didn’t see you with that ginger Weasley, getting all cozy in Quidditch training. What are you two doing there, anyway? You’re not even on the team.”
“He’s my best mate,” Harry gritted his teeth. “And he’s not the one hell bent on turning all muggles into footstools, or worse.” Bellatrix peeked her head out again at the sound of the pair’s raised voices. Harry took one look at her and his blood boiled. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. “GET LOST, BLACK!”
“POTTER!” Tom grabbed Harry’s wand arm and wrestled it down. Behind him, Bellatrix yipped in surprise and ran off. Underage wizards weren’t allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts but it didn’t take away the risk of being cursed. “You could get thrown out of Hogwarts!”
“Oh, sure, protect the sadist. You know what she does when she’s not fluttering her eyelashes at you? She grabs the muggle-born first years and practices a charm on them that will pull out their hair, one chunk at a time. How could you possibly love someone like that?” Harry knew that wasn’t really what was bothering him but it was a very good excuse, and Harry found that the second he started speaking he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Love? Love is a weakness. Bellatrix supports me in my endeavors, Harry, that’s all.”
“Well I support you and I don’t need to torture every student younger than me.”
“Stop, Harry.”
“I don’t need to pull down my top like Black, or beat up the first years like Malfoy, or…”
“Harry Potter,” Tom’s tone brooked no argument. They glared at each other. Then Tom rubbed his forehead, relenting. “I’ll speak to my friends about… Discretion.”
Neither of them spoke to each other for the rest of the night.
---
The next day was the coldest hot day in July Tom or Harry had ever experienced. They hadn’t really blown up at each other since before Harry got sick, and they weren’t sure how to recover. In Mr. Wilkes’ study, the pair worked robotically at their respective desks without looking at each other.
The old wizard was perfectly oblivious to the tension, of course, and would pop up by Harry or Tom every so often to comment on their diligence with a wide, toothless smile. Around noon, he offered each of them a few stale crackers and watery soup for lunch, and then told them they were free to lock up whenever they were done for the evening.
“Just a reminder that I have a few Muggle-repelling charms and enchantments that will secure this place completely as soon as the door locks, so make sure to take all of your belongings with you.”
Tom and Harry traded a look and glanced down at their empty hands and raggedy hand-me-downs.
“Of course, Mr. Wilkes. Have a wonderful evening,” Tom replied easily. With a quick grin and a “Such good boys!” Mr. Wilkes trotted out the door. Tom and Harry were left alone in the awful, awkward, shaking room.
Shaking?
Tom’s eyes went wide. “Down, Potter!” He yelled, running to Harry’s desk and pushing him below the trembling wood. The younger boy realized what was happening only a split second after Tom and grabbed his wand.
“Protego totalum!” Harry called out just as an explosion rocked the building to its core and Tom fell back against the protective barrier. The window’s cheap glass shattered and rained down around Harry’s spelled circle. The charm wavered, incomplete.
“Tom, get under the desk!”
Riddle glanced at the little thing. Riddle was at least two heads taller than Harry and broader to boot. I won’t fit, He thought to himself. Sirens screamed outside and policemen blew their whistles. In the distance, Mr. Wilkes’ booming voice could be heard chanting.
And then the building shook one more time before the world went dark.
---
Tom woke to Harry’s voice, too loud, right next to his ear.
“You’re awake,” Harry said in relief. “Quick, how many fingers am I holding?” Harry shoved his grubby, ink-stained hand in Tom’s face. The older boy scowled, pushing his friend’s hand away.
“I’m concussed, not blind,” Tom groused, rubbing his head. The study had held up remarkably well in light of the blast. It was fortunate it was on the lower floors, for Tom was sure the floors above would collapse in such an old building. Harry’s face was a welcome sight, as worried as it was. Tom touched the boy’s skin tentatively, magically sensing for wounds. “We should get out of here.”
Harry shook his head, brow furrowed. “We can’t. Mr. Wilkes cast Protego Maximus on the study after the first bomb. He wants us to stay here until it’s safe.”
“And when,” Tom muttered as he probed his sensitive skull. “Is that?”
Harry just shrugged.
Riddle contemplated. Mr. Wilkes was a scatterbrained but impressive wizard in his own right. To cast a series of charms that would protect and stabilize an entire room from collapse within a second was a remarkable bit of magic - although, knowing Mr. Wilkes, he had done it to protect the literature and completely forgotten about the two boys stuck inside.
“Harry!” Tom realized with shock. “You performed a 7th year charm?”
Harry shrugged. “It didn’t really work in the end,” He muttered. The young wizard fidgeted with the makeshift pillow he had made out of some torn pamphlets and then patted it down. Tom eyed it nervously.
“I’m okay.” Tom said. He imagined the cheap parchment stabbing into his sore head and shivered. “But Harry, how did you do that? You haven’t learned advanced defense magic yet.”
“I do listen when you talk. Sometimes. And I dunno, it just made sense at the time.”
Tom began to laugh so hard that Harry suspected some sort of shock-triggered illness. Riddle waved away Harry’s attempt at a makeshift pillow and grinned. “You’re a powerful little bugger, aren’t you?”
“Stronger than Bellatrix?” Harry pretended to pick at the glass stuck in his shoe.
Tom softened. How long had his dear Harry been thinking about that girl? The poor, naive soul probably didn’t even realize he was jealous. Not that there was anything to be jealous of - Bellatrix Black was a loyal witch and had the potential to be Riddle’s right hand, but nothing more than that. She was the same age as Harry and only possessed a quarter of the magnificence Harry bore naturally. How could the boy not see that?
“Harry,” Riddle said. “I will only say this once: You’re more than anyone could possibly mean to me. I have literally studied the concept of splitting souls and if it were a possibility at birth I might have guessed that you hold the other half of me. In any case, I’ve accepted that we will never approve of each other’s mates because you are mine and I am yours.”
Huge green eyes watered and then the boy ducked his head into Riddle’s chest, pushing him back against the wall slightly. Tom patted Harry’s hair. It was feather-soft and smelled like dust and paper and Tom. He fit so perfectly in Tom’s arms.
“Like brothers,” Harry murmured.
The older boy just hugged him to his chest and stroked the soft black curls, thinking how dearly he longed for something more.