let me go, hold me close

His favorite look on Tom is one of surprise, he decides, and he would like to always be the reason for that surprise. He remembers his own pleasant surprises, his Firebolt, his Watch from Molly, even the Cloak, although he suppresses his rising anger at that last thought, unwilling to visit those memories again at this time. 

He focuses instead on Tom, "Tickle it, don't you trust me?" He insists, and he knows he's pouting and maybe even whining, but this is not Lord Voldemort and Harry is probably the the most trustworthy person Tom Riddle has met in Hogwarts so far. Maybe even the orphanage. Maybe ever.

He sees Tom wrap one hand around the handle of his wand, and doesn't that create in him pleasure and surprise and pride?—, and his other reaches out hesitant. Harry follows the acsent of his fingers, the way the heel rests gently on the paint, the way the fingers stroke timid and unsure, his eyes darting between the painting and Harry as if he expects ridicule for falling for an obvious trick.

Like he said earlier though, his favorite look on Tom is surprise. And how glorious it is to surprise Tom with new things about Magic. Lord Voldemort had probably definitely known more Magic than even Albus Dumbledore. The surprises he has given Lord Voldemort included turning him into a wraith to go mad in a foreign forest, and thinking about Lord Voldemort's surprises for Harry just make his stomach twist.

But now, he thinks, now I have a chance to change the way things have been and could be. There is now a chance of purely pleasant surprises between them. No loss, no anger, no torture, no hate. A blank page, or as blank as Tom Riddle can get, he grins. 

Tom's face only gets better as the portrait swings open, the cacophony of the Hogwarts house elves filling the earlier silence of the corridor. "After you, please", he gestures to Tom, who takes it as his cue to move past him and enter the kitchens.

In four years he has finally worn them down enough to call him "Mister Harry Potter" instead of "Master Potter", and the words echo between the sounds of running water and clanging dishes being magically scrubbed. They clamber around him, their curiosity in his companion evident in the way they wring their ears slightly, or the way their hands twist in each other as they stare up at him with those giant eyes.

Harry has always visited the kitchens alone after all. Infact, he is always alone in this life, even his newfound family has been unable to truly warm his heart. He misses his chosen family, Hermione, Ron, the twins, the rest of the Weasleys. Luna. Neville.

But more than that, he misses the life they had, the adventures they shared. The comfort of friends who would fight to their last breath for him even as he attempted to forbid them. Many times infact. And they had never listened once.

He feels guilty for missing the war and violence that brought them together so, guilty for being unable to find pleasure in his current idyllic life. Guilty for feeling pleased he had found Tom Riddle of all people in this life to create any emotions in him. Guilty for being thankful to fall into that willhewonthe cycle that he's sure to keep him on his toes for forever.

Even if he trusts Tom he will never fully trust him, and honestly, Harry is okay with it being like that. If Tom still turns into Lord Voldemort, Harry's family will be safe this time and Harry himself will also most likely be safe. He intends to be best friends with the little boy after all.

And he does love to be kept on his toes.

"This is a friend", he says to the elves, "Tom Riddle". His feels Tom still in surprise at his words, he understands, he himself is surprised at how forward he's being. Tom takes it in stride though, greeting the strange unknown magical creatures, repeating his name for them.

"We is being very happy to meet Mister Harry Potter's friend, Master Tom. Very very happy" the head house elf, Dolly responds, bowing low as the rest of the elves follow. Tom can only nod, and Harry realizes just how overwhelmed he actually despite how little shows on his face.

He turns to Dolly, " I missed breakfast this morning" is all he can get out before the elves are all in a tizzy about him missing meals and starving to death and oh how could they let their poor Mister Potter suffer through such starvation. Harry waves them off and leads Tom to his 'other table' in the castle.

"They will definitely try to get me a spread of everything", he looks at Tom across their little round corner table. "You should get a plate yourself, figure out your favorites" he adds, unwilling to linger on how Tom's porcelain skin clings to every dip and hollow of his bones. He knows why, ofcourse. Malnourished. There's that word again. He clenches one fist under the table, willing himself calm. The other reaches over to start filling his plate up.

He disperses the memories that word brings up, vague impressions of Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley dancing behind his vision. He shakes his head and reaches over.

He pauses as he's reaching for the potato hash, Tom still hasn't moved since they sat. Shy, he thinks, and makes up his mind, pulling Tom's still empty plate closer.

Disregarding his own growling stomach, he starts the process again, filling Tom plate up with his favorites. Hopefully, he and Tom can share a favorite together. Pulling a smaller plate, he loads a giant slice of his true favorite, a treacle tart, and pushes both plates towards Tom slowly.

Tom studies him for a moment, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of acceptance, before he slides the plate further inwards and picks up a fork.

Never has he seen such elegance, such grace and poise Harry thinks, as he begins eating. Especially never from a friend he's shared a table with. Hermione has always had half her attention in a book or parchment, and Ron, sweet Ron liked to spray atleast a good five foot radius around him with food debris on the regular, his attempts to talk Quidditch and chew at the same time never successful.

Tom, he notices, cuts his food into tiny bite sized pieces and his movement from plate to mouth is slow and considerate. He chews every last bit, as if savoring the taste, and can Harry even blame him? 

He watches Tom eat slowly, skipping over the beans with determination and he almost snickers. Guess Lord Voldemort hated beans huh, no surprises there. 

He waits with bated breath as Tom pushes his now empty (sans beans) plate away and pulls the treacle tart towards himself, picking up a smaller fork. A long wait to a slow bite. When Tom's lips close around the treat, his eyes open wider and Harry does lightly laugh then, satisfied and elated. 

Maybe it isnt Tom's favorite, but Harry is still glad to be able to share what is most definitely his favorite. Tom seems to genuinely enjoy it, although his face gains a more reserved look at Harry's amused response.

"It's my favorite, I could eat it breakfast, lunch and dinner for eternity", he admits, hurrying to regain that openess he has only known a short while but craves.

"So Tom, what do you like to do in your free time? When you're not capturing people's library tables ofcourse", he adds playfully. Tom gives him the closest impression of a smile he has seen yet. 

A second that seems like eternity to Harry. Then, "I love reading, and I've never such a huge library before, the" a hesitation over the next word, "Muggles", a pause, "have public libraries which are maybe a tenth of the size." Another pause."You definitely have the best table at school, and I appreciate you sharing it with me". The last sentence is almost a whisper. And then Tom surprises him by continuing. "And for the kitchen as well". A small gesture with his fork.

That's enough gratitude from Lord Voldemort to create a patronus, he thinks amusedly, unsure of how to respond to Tom. 

He doesn't want Tom to feel like Harry has done him some huge favor, as Harry has only been letting kindness direct his actions, and he doesn't want Tom to feel too indebted to continue to remain friends. On the other hand, he does want Tom to trust him and let Harry help him more and more.

It helps solidify his next words, eager to get the elephant out of the room, eager to earn some well-deserved trust. "Riddle is not a magical name, is it?", making sure to keep his voice soft and his tone warm and open. He doesn't wait for Tom's response, intuiting it's cold harshness at the subject and continues without a pause, "Who came to take you to Diagon? Was the magical world everything you dreamed of?". He knows the answer ofcourse, but he still wants to hear it in person.

His honest curiosity mellows the outrage he could see building in Tom's eyes when he mentioned the word Riddle. He can see Tom's obvious hesitation at his query, yet Tom's voice betrays none of this perceived apprehension. "Yes, and it was Professor Dumbledore" the last two words spat out as if a curse. "Diagon Alley did live up to my expectations and more", he allows. 

Harry beams up at him, "I felt much the same seeing it for the first time", he reassures. And it is true, looking back, Diagon Alley had been brick and stone and Magic beyond little-Yer-a-Wizard-Harry's wildest dreams. And Tom doesn't understand precisely how much him and Harry have endured and felt much the same about almost every important experience of their life, but Harry does. 

And then, another thought hits him like a freight train, his first time seeing Diagon Alley still flashing behind his eyes as he loses his smile. Gringotts. When Harry had entered the Wizarding World, his dead parents had left him a mountain of gold in a vault deep underground. A pretty decently sized mountain. A mountain that's even larger now, with James' position as Head of the DMLE and Lily's Potion creations with Snape. And ofcourse his childless Godfather who would empty out the Black vaults at his say so.

But Tom, he thinks, Tom has nothing. Not even a tiny pile of gold, forget a mountain. And as he studies the boy further, he almost smacks himself in the face. It's not like he hadn't taken the time to study Tom earlier, but he had only been seeing what he had been obviously expecting. The beauty he remembers from the diary and pensive. His emaciated form thanks to his years at the orphanage. His curiosity to knowledge regardless of consequences.

Now though, he looks at Tom's possessions. Paying attention to the tiny rip at the shoulder of his robes, his obviouly second-hand robes, a faded oval spot of grey in black right where his view is cut off by the table. The way the green trim is not as shiny and vibrant as his own red is. The book bag he carries on his shoulder that definitely looks like it's seen better days.

And now, now, there's another plan in his head. He's going to losing track of his damn mind he thinks, keeping up with all these new ideas that seem to take hold of him without recourse. 

I can do this, he tells himself, think of Lord Voldemort. Think of Tom Riddle. Think of Dumbledore and how he condemned Tom without even meeting him. Think of kindness, he thinks. Think of Tom as you would want to be thought of, and Merlin, is that not a startling thought. 

Honestly, between Harry and himself, treating Lord Voldemort as he would treat himself if given the chance is more funny than anything Harry has thought of in his sum thirty two years of existence. He imagines himself telling Tom the things he wants to hear, that he isn't a freak, that he's a good boy who's special in a good way, that his family loves him. He imagines stroking Tom's hair like he had seen Petunia stroke Dudley's when he caught the flu that at six. 

Enough with the Dursleys, he rebukes himself, focus on the real Tom in front of you.

By the time he is paying attention again, Tom has finished his larger-than-normal slice of treacle tart and Harry has finished his food as well, although he does not remember eating even a single bite?

What?

Well, atleast his stomach has stopped yelling through skin, and he hasn't seen Tom look disgusted or grossed out at all, atleast when he had been paying attention to his face, so his table manners can't have been too bad. He sets himself a gentle reminder to restart meditating and strengthen his passive Occlumency barriers before he turns his attention back to Tom. His thoughts and emotions never so frantic since he practiced and mastered Occlumency as a twenty year old-three year old when Mom and Dad were at work and the elves ofcourse were willing to let him spend his hours in the library despite his age.

He moves to stand as Tom follows, his next words come out eager despite his best attempt to conceal his want of a positive response. "It's a beautiful weekend out, and I do love a good breeze on a sunny day. Would you like to see more of Hogwarts, and possibly my favorite places in the castle" the next words come out slightly unwilling, "or I could escort you back to our table", he offers. The 'our' obviously has an effect on Tom, who finally breaks out into a real smile this time. And. Merlin. It is breathtaking. 

Tom Riddle was perfect in many ways, he thinks, but that smile is the most perfect. He could bet that as long as Tom had that smile he could have anything he wished in the world. Even if he hadnt had Magic, he would, as that smile was Magic itself.

Harry forces a breath in, willing himself to stop from reaching out with fingers to make sure that it's not a glamour, that it is real, that Tom, that Lord Voldemort(not really), is really standing there in front of him, smiling. 

A real smile, an expression of breathtaking joy, —an achievement, Harry thinks.

Tom replies through his smile, his eyes alight. "I would like to see more of Hogwarts, and feel the sun and breeze", he agrees. "Maybe you could show me your favorite places?" He adds, uncertain. "And later you could take me back to our table, I asked for directions last time to the library last time, yet I truly stumbled upon it by accident". 

A pause. The emphasis on 'our table' unmissed by Harry.

"Although I'm sure I could find it again", his voice lowers at this statement.

Harry can read between the lines just a bit, a tablespoon of emotional range to Ron's teaspoon, and the reassurance falls from his lips rather quickly.

"I will show you as many of my favorite places as I can today, and the rest later", he promises, "And most of the common areas all students should know. That includes the library, I suppose, but I will also escort you back at the end of our field trip if you'd like. Or we can end up meeting there in a few minutes past seperation anyways", he jests. 

Tom smiles again, smaller but easier than last time, and Harry bravely (foolishly) resolves to recreate that open joy he had witnessed on Tom's face earlier as many times over as possible. 

"Thank you very much for the offer, Harry. And yes, I would like that very much". A thank you from Lord Voldemort, he giggles to himself, will wonders never cease. 

To Tom, "Let's go, I know exactly where I want to start."