let me go, hold me close

Their goodbyes to the ever helpful elves are gracious and warm. And honestly, he never though he would see the day Lord Voldemort would be nice to house elves, he laughs to himself. 

He's felt more laughter and amusement in this hour or so with Tom than he has felt in his 15 years in this life. And that last depressing year of his old life. He thinks of them again, a pang of longing in his chest that he buries.

There is no use thinking about them anymore, he resolves firmly to himself as he hasn't had to for many years now. There is no Hermione in this universe after all, and no Weasleys he recognizes at all, even though they have about tripled in number in this universe at a decent 42 family members. None remind him even slightly of Ron, or Molly, or any of the others except in the constant redness of that signature hair. 

Different people with different experiences and different lives, he reminds himself.

Different universe, another reminder, before he buries it all, intent on providing Tom with his full attention from this point on today. 

Enough living in the past, another reminder.

Then he smiles, Tom's curiosity at his earlier words evident in his gaze. "My absolute favorite place is the Quidditch pitch, ofcourse, but I am sure you haven't heard much about Quidditch or flying yet, if at all", not missing how Tom's lips mouth the word 'flying' silently after Harry. "Professor Hooch's first flying class is most likely next Saturday morning. Would you like a little sneak peek though? Unveil yourself as a flying prodigy?" his tone light, remembering his own first time on the broom.

The freedom he had felt then has been since unrivaled. —A freedom he could perhaps share with Tom?

His questioning look rewards him with a nod and he nods in resolve, mind made up.

He gestures to Tom as they near the entrance to the kitchens, making sure to stay close for their walk. It really wouldn't do to lose Tom before they have even started. Although, he remembers, he could always use the Map if needed.

And then, eureka, another idea. 

By Merlin his head is full of ideas today. Atleast this one is easy to plan and execute quickly. 

Harry leads and Tom follows slightly as they make their way through the castle and through the door, Harry absent-mindedly making turns at the right places, ignoring the shrieks of laughter and friendship that surround them in the corridors. It has only been a literal day after summer hols after all. 

The surrounding noise grows more dim the further they get from the castle and onto the grounds. Harry feels both of them breathe a little easier, and rejoices in another small victory.

"I have been nominated Quidditch captain along with Prefect this year, although to be honest, I have been unofficial co-captain since my first year", he turns to Tom, slowing as they reach closer to the stands. "But nevermind that, I am sure you're curious what Quidditch is exactly, hmm. The simple answer is that it is a magical team sport that requires flying on brooms. The complicated answer can wait for now I'm sure. Let's see you just get on the broom today. Later we can talk more about the game, if you want", at a complete stop a few feet from the stands now.

"My equipment is in my locker, so is my broom for that matter". He starts at a slight angle again, curving around the front of the stands, a few steps, then he stops. Turns around.

"Tom?" And now he's a little confused as to what to do. Tom hasn't moved at all. "Did you change your mind about my favorite place? There are plenty more sights, I promise" the last few words said somewhat hysterically, Tom has only been accepting until this point. Has he gone too far too soon? How?

He hastily continues, "If flying seems a little intensive, I have another favorite place I suppose. One you would love, and I wanted to show you that too anyway", hopefully it works, he takes a step closer to Tom.

"No, it's okay. I'm okay. We can fly, or see another place. It's just", a hesitation, "are you sure if I fly with a broom I will be safe? And I won't fall?", the last part is said so quietly Harry is sure it wasn't meant for him. 

He replies anyways, "My Firebolt is the best of the best", he reassures with an easy grin, "and it has a parental setting", this part is said neutrally, hoping he hasn't offended Tom.

Tom surprises him by smiling again. A true smile. He nods. "Okay, lets fly" he breathes out. Harry nods in return, and they fall into step beside each other.

Harry leads him to the Gryffindor locker room, holding the door open to usher Tom in. Hopefully it's empty, Harry thinks, although he knows his team members love flying almost as much as he does, so its not a given. And it is empty, he can see that now. That should make things easier.

He walks up to his locker, his magic reacting to the small ward he placed on the lock. It gives away under his hand. He takes out his broom, leaning it on the right side, and then reaches in once more for his gear bag. 

He becons Tom over to the bench where he sets down the bag and begins pulling out flying glasses, gloves, knee pads and a jacket. "Take your robes off, you don't need all that extra material whipping about strangling you fifty feet in the air" he jokes lightly. 

Tom follows, unclasping his robes, and putting on the thick jacket and gloves, and then sits down to get the knee pads. He's almost drowning in Harry's things and Harry feels a smile tugging at his lips so he moves quick, wand snapping into his palm from his arm holster.

He shrinks his things down quickly, before he offends Tom with his visible amusement. This is Tom Riddle after all, every step a delicate dance. Merlin. Now he's beginning to sound like a poet or something. Merlin.

He moves to hang Tom's robes up, then grip his broom, throwing his now empty gear bag into his locker before shutting the door closed. They walk back to the front of the stands once more, and Harry faces him, walking closer to place the broom on the ground beside Tom before moving back just a bit.

"Alright, so, the first step to flying is to make the broom listens. And the broom will listen Tom, as you intend to make it listen", his emphasis on the word obvious. Tom nods. 

"Magic is all about intent Tom, I am sure you have figured that out by yourself at this point. Your will over your Magic, your belief, they are necessary components to making your Magic make, well, Magic", he finishes rather lamely, Tom's tiny thoughtful listening face is too adorable to let him finish out any long speech. 

Tom nods all the same, as if Harry is imparting him some great wisdom. Harry continues with the flying lesson, "Now, I want you to stick you hand hand up just a bit, right over the broom, and you can either think or say 'Up'. Call the broom to you, Tom."

A second passes, and then his Firebolt leaps to Tom's hand just as it had to his, and Merlin, Lord Voldemort has managed to surprise Harry once again. Had there been nothing the man couldn't do? Except love ofcourse, Harry thinks of Dumbledore's words. Nevermind that.

Harry looks back at Tom, with what he is sure is pride dripping off him, and he smiles a real smile himself, glad he can share something new in common once again. Maybe, a tiny almost disbelieving voice in him thinks, maybe Tom will be youngest Seeker just like him in first year. Maybe, Tom will rival him in Quidditch as Lord Voldemort did elsewhere. Maybe, he thinks. He hopes.

"Now I want you to climb it like you would a bike, and don't worry, the cushioning charms are literally the best of any broom on the market, it is a very comfortable invisible seat". He knows Tom will understand that muggle reference, and perhaps that may help too. 

He does as he's told, flips a leg over, his other hand enclosing around the handle of the broom with a firm grip, as he sits himself on the broom. Good, thinks Harry, a firm grip will be necessary at the start.

"I'm floating on a flying broom", a note of wonderous excitement as Tom whispers in that real low voice again, a tone that makes Harry feel like it's not meant to be heard, and a sudden realization hits. He is right. It is not meant to be heard. 

Parseltongue. 

And he had said something earlier as well, about falling off the broom, so low Harry had almost missed it. 

Ofcourse, he thinks, he knows the Horcrux is still in him after all, after he learned he could still speak to snakes in this new life. 

(As for why he didn't remove the Horcrux when he found out, well, a myriad of reasons, but mostly because he needed something concrete to remind himself of his earlier life. And if that came in the form of a sliver of Lord Voldemort's soul, oh well, let him pick his own battles. And also, to be honest, how can he really research removing it without his parents help, apart from dying again, —but he really really doesn't want to board another train. And by Merlin, they aren't gonna find out about his old fucked up shitty life when he can see them working so hard to give him this amazing one. They don't deserve to know how they failed in another. And especially considering how deeply shitty Harry's life was with his Aunt, still his own family for Merlins sake. They don't deserve any of that phantom pain lingering over them.)

A moment of hesitation before he gives in and hisses right back, louder, clear in his intention. "Ofcourse you're floating on a flying broom. You walked into a brick wall and now you live in a castle of Magic. It's the floating broom that got you, really?" A little levity to lighten the situation, which doesn't seem to work.

Maybe he should have picked another moment to reveal their shared ability, he thinks, as Tom almost falls off the broom despite the cushioning charms. "You speak!" He exclaims like many other actual snakes Harry has met and a laugh bursts out his mouth. In English, "Ofcourse I speak. Have you been imagining the conversations we've had today? I'm sure I havent", another attempt, although this one is closer to success than before.

"As a snake", Tom hisses back, both indignant and hesitant. 

"Yes, I speak to snakes. No I am not related to Slytherin. Yes, I have always been able to since I can remember. No, I don't want to become famous for, so if you could keep it under wraps, I would appreciate it", hopefully it is good enough for Tom, although even at eleven Harry knows he is too smart for his own good.

He waits to see how Tom takes his declarations, then, obviously choosing the most important of Harry's words, repeats, "Not related to Slytherin? Why would you be related to Slytherin? The founder of my house?". Confused Tom is as cute as surprised Tom Harry decides. 

"Well, Slytherin could talk to snakes, and so could his family. And yes, my parents thought it possible, but I am totally unrelated to the Gaunts." He really needs to stop blurting things out in front of the boy without thinking them through, honestly. "My mother did many tests, even with blood, which is a bit illegal I must admit," his tone rueful, "yet none had a satisfactory answer." 

(He has a satisfactory answer.)

Tom nods, silently cataloging the information Harry has thrown at him, deciding on his question slowly. And ofcourse, Harry knows its going to be another question. 

"Who are the Gaunts?", ofcourse, the question he doesn't want to answer, "relatives of Slytherin?" What else could he expect from Tom Riddle but to see the whole puzzle through the pieces. 

"Yes, the last living descendants. They are quite mad, they gambled and drank away their fame and fortune last anyone heard. They are not members of magical society in a way to be honest, keep to themselves, always have."

Tom takes in his words again. A long pause this time, Harry doesn't know what to make of it. Then, "Can we just get on with the flying for now? And we can revisit the Gaunts and Slytherin and your mom's illegal blood testing later, maybe in the library?" His tone is hopeful and eager and Harry nods. "Later, yes. You're right, it's time to fly."

A second.

"Wait", the word comes out hurriedly, as he thinks about the way the parental lock functions. He has heard his mother joke about it when they had bought Harry the broom, but he had never used it like that, even once.

Tom looks up at him expectantly and he smiles a little self depreciating smile, embarrassed to admit it out loud. Especially to Tom of all people. He really should know how to fully use his broom, even the useless bits, but its too late now.

"I...have never used the parental lock feature before. I can find out, it will just be a second." He already knows what he's going to do as he decides, his wand slipping out of its holster as he waves, "Expecto Patronum". As easy as breathing now, Prongs bursts out into a sharp gallop around them and comes to stand beside Harry, facing Tom. 

He watches Tom's gasp, his wide open eyes sparkling in the reflection of Prongs before him. He reaches a hand out as if to pet, yet his fingers only barely graze past the horns of his Magic in corporeal form. Maybe Tom thought it was a being of light, but it is not. It is a being of pure Magic, Harry's Magic. Tom reaches out more confidently this time, and gasps again as he makes contact, his face breaking into a little grin.

"It's called a Patronus", he tell Tom then continues to Prongs, intending to get this over with as quick as possible. "Tell mom, absolutely no questions, no exceptions, unless she wants me to go directly to Moony next time. I need to know how to set and remove the parental lock on my Firebolt."

Prongs takes off in a blur of Magic and he turns to Tom. "That is a very difficult charm, past even NEWT year, and not necessary to learn at Hogwarts to pass. It is created by focusing on pure happiness, and helps defend against a magical soul sucking creature called a dementor." He may as well discuss Magic while waiting on her reply. He explains it to Tom in detail, promising to teach it to him in a couple years if he wishes.

It doesn't take long, and her Doe is graceful as ever, prancing through the grounds like a ballerina. Her voice as it comes through is suspiciously amused, but he cannot pinpoint exactly why, which makes him a bit nervous, but he shrugs it off as he listens. "Just tap thrice on the top end with your wand, Harry. It should allow you set parameters for how wide and high you'd like it to go, how fast, and whether you'd like to turn the anti-falling charm on." He turns to do so, assuming that was the message in its entirety before he hears her voice continue, decidedly more amused this time, "And congratulations on finally making a friend, even if it's with a little firstie. I knew there would be atleast one person in seven years." A laugh, then low "You know how much I love you Harry" and that is hopefully all of it, Harry thinks desperately. And it is, her patronus fades away.

He turns to do as she said, hoping Tom doesn't notice his flush at her obvious needling. Merlin. 

Magical boxes with long magical numbers erupt from the end of his wand, and he lowers them to what it hopefully the size of the Quidditch pitch and thirty feet high max. He decides to let Tom let him know if he needs to reduce the quality of the acceleration at all after a trial flight. 

He turns to the last box, a glowing red, and taps his wand turning it to green. He reholsters his wand and the illusions fade away. 

"Ready?" He asks Tom, and receives a nod. "Just will yourself to move in a direction or to stop. And to move faster and slower. The broom listens, like I said. It will listen. It will do what you want it to do. Have fun!" He can't resist adding as he sees Tom zoom off.

A slow round a few feet off the ground before Tom gains the courage to really try to test the broom. And Harry knows he will not find it lacking by any means.

A second round, maybe twenty five feet high this time, Harry has to tilt his head upwards to follow Tom.

He sees the exact moment Tom gives in to the rush and excitement of the Firebolt's true speed, and he is glad that is one aspect he left unchanged. He can see the broom picking up close to his regular speed on the pitch and as Tom flies closer this time, he spots the expression on his face.

Pure joy, a twin echo of Harry's own first experience with the broom. He is so glad, so so glad to be able to share one thing between them that was just pure joy. No hurt, no suffering. Just a reveling in the present moment. 

He knows his face right now is also an echo of Tom's, both memory and present mingling in a sweet and pleasant rush. 

It has been a few rounds at this point, he hasn't been counting. Tom seems as taken to flying as Harry has always been. He decides to let the boy have some fun as walks back to the stands to sit in the front row, his attention still fully on Tom. Constant vigilance, to prevent unnecessary accidents. He knows.

So engrossed in Tom, he doesn't see the shadow until it falls right onto his person, a new blockage in his view. He turns his head, brows slightly raised in surprise. 

Albus Dumbledore. Seriously?

Why?

"Mister Potter, I trust you had a wonderful summer holiday?"

Umm, what.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore", he replies, his confusion growing. What the fuck does this Dumbledore want from him, apart from being his head of house, ofcourse. Ofcourse. Dumbledore is the head of Gryffindor and he is now a prefect and Quidditch captain. And this is the Quidditch pitch.

"I trust Gryffindor house will be victorious in claiming the Cup again this year?", he continues and Harry's next breath is a tad easier. "For another three years, Professor" he promises and it draws a chuckle out the old man.

"If you are at all overwhelmed by your duties, please Harry my boy, my door is always open. I wouldn't have given them to you had I not thought you capable of handling them however", he adds to Harry.

"Yes, Professor" Harry begins to say, and apparently that was just the right number of rounds as Tom's slowly brings himself to a float right in front of Harry and now Dumbledore beside him.

"Tom", and ofcourse this Dumbledore still remembers this Tom, and then Harry sees a glimpse behind the mask.

Or is it a glimpse of the front of the mask? 

Either way. A glimpse at his past and his future. Of what could one day be a shade of Lord Voldemort.

Tom's voice is a frozen tundra as he returns the greeting. "Professor Dumbledore". His gaze is pure ice, his expression hard.

He looks no less beautiful, Harry notices, and idly wonders if there is an expression Tom's face can make that is not beautiful.

"I didn't know you and Mr Potter to be such fast friends. Flying lessons on your second day and even more, from our resident flying prodigy no less. And you did look pretty decent on the broom there just now too, we Lions may be in some trouble."

He ignores Dumbledore's silent question, he has no answer for him after all. No sane answer that makes sense, he corrects, but the point still stands. 

"We met by chance at the library" he allows, "and Tom showed an immediate interest in flying, so I agreed to teach him, hoping to create a worthy rival." He jests in agreement, but it is pretty close to the truth after all. 

Tom nods, refraining from any more conversation and Dumbledore takes the hint and nods too, "Tom, I am glad to see you in such good hands, my boy, you could not have found a better friend than Harry here at Hogwarts", and with those parting words he turns back around to leave.

Unsure of his time with Tom now, after Dumbledore's untimely intrusion, he turns back to Tom, dispelling his errant thoughts to focus, "He's my head of house, just a moment of catching up after the summer hols." 

He doesn't know why he's almost apologizing for a two minute conversation with Dumbledore to Tom, but, well, he knows after all. Maybe he can explain his understanding in a different way?

Tom nods and continues on in the most unexpected way, "Nevermind about him. Flying. Flying is amazing", a little breathless, the words out through a smile that warms Harry deep within.

"Yes, flying is amazing", he simply agrees. There aren't words necessary, they both understand each other perfectly. A long silence, before a few spark fly out his wand harmlessly, bringing them out of their revere. 

"Lunch is served, or it will be in five minutes. Has the flying cleared some space do you think?" A unreadable look passes Tom's face but then he nods, agreeing but clearly still in distant thought. 

Harry is unsure whether just simply asking will yield results, but since the alternative is to not even question, he braves forward. "What's wrong? With going to lunch?" There, it doesn't get more forward than that. 

That unreadable look on his face again. "Can I ask you a question?" He says instead, slowly. Harry nods, both cautious and curious.

"I..." a serious hesitation, but it seems Tom needs to know, and Harry is now growing a little fearful.

 Please Merlin, I hope he's not going to ask me about fucking Horcruxes as a first year is he, that would be insane. 

That would be beyond anything what he's expecting from even the real Lord Voldemort. The other Tom Riddle.

Tom thankfully continues before Harry's head begins to fill up with even more unbelievable theories, "What does it mean, Mudblood?" His tone is taught, the words without any inflection, deliberately and boldly casual and unknowing.

But ofcourse, he knows that Tom knows what it means, obviously. He's probably smarter than Harry even now at only eleven. He knows. He just needs a confirmation, that he has indeed been considered inferior and insulted with a strange new slur. Harry's heart breaks a little at this attempt of a mask in front of him from Tom, but he answers in similar neutrality. "Muggleborns" he says instead, "are magical children born from Muggles. Some pureblooded wizards—which obviously means what you think it means, use a little slur to refer to them as Mudbloods. Muddying magical blood with their Muggle ways" he scoffs. Then in a more collected tone, he continues, "My mother is one, a Mudblood as they call them. Did you see her beautiful Patronus that half of them can't even attempt to produce? She created more potions in the last 10 years than all of Britain in the last century." 

He looks at Tom seriously then, wanting to imprint the importance of his words, "Blood means nothing to a true wizard, Tom. There is no dirty blood and clean blood. A true Wizard is judged on Magic, on their skills, on their actions. On their knowledge and their curiosity. Mudblood is just a term for those who feel themselves inferior to you attempt to regain some perceived loss in superiority." He stops. 

He doesn't know how Tom will react to his words, but Tom pleasantly surprises him once again. He smiles, a full genuine one again, the sunlight dancing on his face making him look ethereal. 

"I agree Harry" he says. "I'm sure your mother is a great witch, even if her parents are Muggles" and Harry smiles and nods.

"She is. And way smarter and better at Magic than my dad, who is a pureblood, even though you never heard me say that" he ends with a laugh.

Tom nods conspiring and humourous. 

"So, lunch" Harry says and they fall into step again, in the direction of the locker rooms first to stow away his gear and get Tom his cloak back. 

And luckily, this allows him to tick off one tiny thing on his ever growing do list that has appeared since meeting the baby Dark Lord. 

He reaches to take Toms cloak off the hanger and turns to face him, draping the cloak around him from the back. 

"Oh" he says, and his wand is out, waving this way and that, his incantations wordless. "Sorry I probably haven't cleaned my locker in ages. Just freshened you up." Tom looks at him curiously but doesn't ask any questions and they walk towards the entrance together. 

Sure, he had used a cleaning charm. But he had also cast a repairing charm that would hold for a few weeks, and charm that made the lines of his robes curve better to Tom's body, loosening and tightening as necessary. One of his mom's favorite spells, the perfect remedy from bloating into a different dress size one week of the month as she loved to bloody complain about. Ugh, he shudders at the thought, and turns back to Tom, considering his next words as they near the entrance. 

His plans needs to fall in place in the right order, and honestly, without any semblance of trust between it will be hard to get to Tom regardless of how much he shows and teaches the boy.

Trust is a difficult fragile delicate thing.

"I..." he mirrors Tom's earlier reluctance, hesitant as he thinks everything through. 

The only time Tom has spent with purebloods, Harry thinks, –in the less than a day that hes been here–, has been Dinner and the Dorms. And in one of those times, they had already managed to prove their lack of worth as they used their bigoted slur, unwilling to curb their hatred in the least.

And the way Tom ate breakfast with Harry, the way he finished everything (except the beans, he remembers fondly), it all spoke to hunger. Maybe it was breakfast then, as they sat together, Harry considers.

Maybe that was the reason Tom was trying to find the very back of the library? To get away? Harry can only hypothesize, but either way, it makes no difference.

They are fully stopped and standing now, he realizes, and Tom is staring at him, waiting. Waiting? Oh. Yes, waiting.

The words come out in a rush, "Do you trust me, Tom?" Perhaps the words are too soon, he second guesses, Tom face once more turning unreadable, a blank vacant expression. 

He hopes Tom will answer the way he hopes, and he can perhaps move on to bigger things. Bigger things, he thinks, cracking himself up again. Those bigger things are also still Tom. Just more. Moving on.

Tom hasn't made up his mind one way or another it seems, and Harry does not begrudge him. It is an extremely loaded question after all. In more ways than one. In many more ways than Tom even realizes. 

"I don't mind giving you some time to come to a decision" he cuts in lightly, Tom's eyes burning through him. "But perhaps you can give me a chance to influence you, one way or the other?"

Tom face turns into a curious questioning look, and that's okay, anything over that unreadable mask. "I know you're in Slytherin house, and I am in a different house as you can tell by the red. Come sit with me for breakfast, lunch and dinner anyway. Don't worry about anybody's reaction, especially the Slytherins. Act as if you have done this everyday. Trust me."

He wants to keep atleast mealtimes safe for Tom. The way his skin dips cannot be very healthy. He can handle the reactions he expects from both the Lions and Snakes, that is not really the problem. The problem is that he needs Tom to agree to this, so Harry can make sure he's eating. Consistently. So Harry can track him filling out bite by bite in person. 

This time Tom's face is not blank, but Harry cannot understand what his expression means anyways. 

They look at each other for a long time, both for a different purpose, before he sees Tom come to a decision. And he knows the decision. He understands the decision. 

There's a first time for everything.

And Harry, so far, has made sure to live up to his every word. Every step with Lord Voldemort a calculated dance and so far every step has been perfect. 

Hadn't he disparagingly called himself a poet for that earlier dance analogy? Nevermind. Merlin. Moving on.

Tom could trust him just once, Harry thinks, and he would live up to it. He could and would surpass Tom's expectations of the quality of Harry's friendship. Just one chance. 

"Okay" 

Just one word huh, that's fine too. Harry gestures lightly and they take a few steps into the entrance, towards the Great Hall together.