let me go, hold me close

And you? It echoes. 

And him? And him indeed.

Tom Marvolo Riddle?

Dare he use that name again. That name that causes him such anger and indignation and humiliation and shame.

Shameful. How dare he be shameful of who he is. He is the literal best thing that has happened to this stupid bigoted world full of ignorance and prejudice. 

If they opened their eyes for one second and took a good look at Tom they would see their blatant inferiority to his person. 

How dare they make him feel shame when he knows just who he actually is. He could kill them in their sleep if he wishes, wishing the air around their nostrils to stop in place. Watch as they trash about, struggling for breath under their sheets. 

It would make him feel a lot better, but he hasn't even been here a day after all. He has already messed up with Dumbledore. He cannot afford another miscalculated action. 

His eyes study the boy in front of him, Harry Potter, taking in his still standing form. He knows he should answer the question before the growing silence between them grows too long to be natural. He cannot. 

He is looking at the similarities between this boy and the other. They wear a similar quality of robe. Acromantula silk, Tom remembers from his own visit to Madam Malkins. He hadn't even it afforded a real glance, even as his hand had brushed against the cloud soft and silky roll of fabric. He barely had enough for his snake after all, and he had indulged enough. 

The potions equipment and his snake had been all the necessary luxury he could afford, even as he had to look for the cheapest and worst quality of the second hand things he had still needed for school.

The only robes that had fit him and he could afford were three worn down cotton ones with some tiny rips and faded spots, a rough pilling over most of the surface. He had left this purchase for the end, unwilling to think too much about things as frivolous as clothes, and then after, when he had counted, 3 knuts were all he had left as his savings after everything. A dispagaring laugh in his head. No problem. Soon, he will have everything. 

The silence has grown too long, Tom cannot make a decision. The boy is older than him, and he really does not want to give up his table. And apparently, it is the boy's table and he wants it back!

His mind flashes back to the other boys again, and he steels himself for what he's sure is coming. 

Maybe. 

The boy has been only polite so far, past his shocked face. Which Tom is still extremely curious about. 

And then the boy clears his throat, obviously wanting to fill that silence with an interrogation at Tom's reluctance at introduction. Tom reacts before him.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle" he says finally, eyes intent on catching any signs of distaste at hearing his name. 

Surprisingly, he finds nothing of the sort. In fact, his name is repeated back to him in a wonderous sort of tone. A slow repeat. An intent to imprint, or so it seems.

And then a question that sees far more than Tom intends for anyone to. "Why did you hesitate to give up your name?" What!

How does he know? Specifically that Tom was definitely reluctant and it was definitely about his name. Ugh. He hates not knowing. 

He also doesn't know how to answer that question, too loaded with subjects he wishes not to discuss with a stranger. Why does he care anyway. Call me a Mudblood and leave me to my book, or make me move, he thinks. This is my table too. I found it myself! On my first day!

And then the boy surprises him with his intuition once more. "Nevermind that." He says. "Don't think I've ever seen you at the Slytherin table, ever" and atleast this is an easier question. Even if it is not phrased or toned as a question. Tom can read between the lines after all. 

It is still none of this strangers business. And yet. Yet, he has not been insulted yet. He has been treated as a welcome intruder in what is obviously this strangers space first. There is no Mudblood. No sneer, no grimace. Not even a hint of any negative emotion at hearing his name. 

No, infact the boy had repeated it back to him slowly, carefully. As if savoring the syllables. He answers anyways.

"I am a first year", he admits, "I just started at Hogwarts yesterday."

Umm, obviously, state more unnecessary facts why don't you. This boy is from this world, he knows the first years started yesterday, obviously you started yesterday if you're a first year, stop blurting thoughts— he looks back at his books, his sudden change in thought process about the boy surprising. 

"We've all been first years, dont worry." And the unforseen reassurance is more helpful than expected. 

This boy, he decides, is nothing like the other one. Or, atleast for now, quite different. If he does hold prejudice, he doesn't show it quite like the others. He wonders if the boy could be maybe from the Muggles, like him, but no, looking at those robes and those new leather bound books in his hand, Tom is sure he's not.

He too is full of Magic, just like Tom is. Tom can feel it raging around him, feeling Tom out, pulling him in and pushing him back and making him feel like he's next to an ocean in the monsoons. Restless. Tempestuous. Relentless. 

Tom wants to both capture him completely until that wildness is tamed, and to let him push and pull his way through Tom's being, taking Tom apart with the majestic chaos that is this Harry Potter's Magic.

"I am in Fifth year myself", freely proving information about himself again. "A Gryffindor Prefect."

Tom nods as he considers the words. Fifteen, that's how old the boy is, four years older than Tom. Not that much of a difference in age, and yet he can tell the boy's Magic far surpasses any of the others he has met so far. 

Dumbledore had raging Magic, although it had felt to Tom like a hurricane or a tornado. A vengeful force of nature to this Harry's merely present one. 

He hopes the boy is satisfied enough in their conversation to finally either leave or take a seat and atleast politely ignore Tom to his reading. He's not moving from here after all. 

Or, he is. He just doesn't know it yet.

The boy interrupts him again, "No one has ever really found my table before, so I have had no reason to share. However, you found it by yourself, and I consider myself a fair person, and I also understand the attractiveness of my tiny table of peace. If you don't mind sharing, we can study together. I have OWLs this year, so I will need some quiet, but I will answer any questions you have after I'm done with homework, if you'd like".

It is quite a speech indeed. A fair person huh. Well, Tom had found the table by himself, and he hadn't intended to relinquish the table at all, but this certainly made things easier. And the boy wasn't rude or stupid, yet. He hadn't gotten on Tom's nerves with his rather correctly intuited questions. And his face was quite pretty to look at, as was the rest of him. 

He looked rather like one boy he had seen Martha kiss two years ago. Broad, with defined angles, and tall. His hair shaved on the sides of his scalp in a very curious way. 

And he hadn't quite stopped smiling at Tom the whole time after his shock. His face now relaxed, open and inviting. 

And really, there was no reason Tom could think of to reject or modify his invitation. He guessed OWLs was the name for 5th year exams or some kind project. He decides to ask or find out more later. He hasn't decided. 

He still hasn't said anything. "Ah" the sound falls out even as he berates himself for his momentary loss of composure and control. 

"Thank you very much, Mr. Potter. I would appreciate it very much", no sense rejecting such an obvious opportunity to know more. 

Maybe Tom can help him with his OWLs, so he can find out more about them. Unwilling to wait for fifth year, already having read through his Transfiguration and Defense books after all. And halfway through Charms. 

"Harry", the boy says then, and now Tom is very surprised. 

Harry huh. 

I can call him by name, and I can get real close and I can probably catch him enough to where he gives me just a little bit of where those silk robes came from. To start atleast. He thinks of Billy and those small squares of chocolate. 

Tom can do that. He can pretend to a drop in formalities, it only helps Tom to do so after all. Really, the boy gives without consideration. The kids at Wools would have bled his bleeding heart dry. 

He makes a decision on a new mask, his hand reaching up towards the boy, unsure of the Wizard way but still wanting to return his politeness in kind. 

"And I am Tom ofcourse", the words feel strange on his lips. He hasn't ever had to introduce himself. And especially using only his first name. In the orphanage, the whispers and rumours about him introduced him to the newcomers. On the train his last name had created such a reaction his first didn't matter at all. 

The other boy reaches towards him with with his own right hand, moving his books against the left side of his abdomen, sandwiching them in place with his left.

As his warm, strong hand envelops Tom that raging Magic he had felt earlier sunndely turns into a calm and tranquil standstill. Still an ocean, still just as mighty, just more maybe a summer's midnight, a light and peaceful breeze that envelops every sense. The undercurrent of s storm has vanished as soon as they had touched. 

Tom cannot understand at all. Infact, for maybe the first time, he doesn't understand and he doesn't care that he doesn't understand. Tom himself has calmed with him in return. He feels his own Magic answer in turn. The undercurrent of want and longing and unease and pining in his Magic fades away and for some reason he feels like he doesn't need to worry anymore.

A most confounding feeling. Why does the boy make him feel so at just a touch, he thinks as their hands part, and that longing comes rushing back. The boys Magic fills holes he is sure haven't existed in a long time. Not since he filled them with anger and malevolent retribution. Not since he steeled his heart to repaying every injustice tenfold. 

A loud gurgling sound pulls Tom away from his thoughts so suddenly he eyes Harry quite sharply. Harry laughs at his reaction.

"Couldn't eat much dinner last night, the feast was pretty loud after a whole Summer." It was, but Tom hadn't been able to eat much for different reasons, his body still used to the tasteless porridge they served six days a week at Wools. 

Ugh. 

The boy finally walks up flush to the other side of the table and sets his books in the middle as he says, "I was only coming here to set these down and continue on to get some breakfast. I'm starving honestly." 

Tom almost scoffs at his words. He is way too late for breakfast, Tom wants to say. Tom had been too late and he had managed to atleast sate the edge off with a few bites. 

Then Harry's words really still him inside, he absolutely cannot fathom their reason.

"I'm going to a secret place in Hogwarts that most of the Seventh years definitely have no idea about. I don't think you could comfortably read down there though, but if you're willing to put your book down, I can show you?"

What? Why? What does he gain from this offer. 

Tom obviously understands he is talking about a place where they serve food, for some reason. A secret place, if Harry is to be believed. 

Tom considers for a moment that he could be talking about a canteen in the school maybe, which Tom would obviously have to decline as he didn't even have enough to buy a chocolate frog on the train with his remaining money. (He had been two knuts short, unfortunately. But next year. Next year he will be sure to save five. He will indulge in something new.) But then again, a secret place. 

He ends up dismissing his wondering as he focuses on the secret part. One even the oldest students don't know, huh. Yes, Tom does love secrets. He nods, another decision. 

His book slides into his bag, which he secures on his shoulder as he stands to face Harry.

Harry studies him slowly, fully, his gaze slow and purposeful, even as the purpose eludes Tom. He gestures and Tom follows as they start walking, one hand securing his strap, his eyes never stopping in their excited movement.

Harry says nothing to him on the way, and Tom mirrors his silence. 

He considers Harry again, the boy an ever growing mystery. Why has he been so nice to Tom? Why is is taking him to a secret place to get food? Why make a strange first year such an offer? What does he want from Tom in return? Is this all a ploy to get Tom away from his table? Then why offer to share? Why make promises of the future? Surely he doesn't need to fo through all this to end up humiliating Tom in the end with a trick? Surely he's not waiting for Tom to drop his guard, to attack when he sees an opportune vulnerability? Surely?

He is broken out of his crazed internal wondering by Harry's voice. 

"Here we are", they stand in front of a portrait of some man holding a bowl of fruit. "Go ahead, tickle the pear." He turns to face Tom with a slight smile.

Tom just looks at him, willing this obvious joke at his expense to be over. He never had, has or will tickle absolutely anything, especially not a fucking pear in a painted bowl.

Harry insists. "Tickle it, don't you trust me?" No!, he wants to respond harshly to such an obvious question. He doesn't rest anyone except himself. The only one he can truly trust is himself and he has found that out the hard way a few times before he had realized the error of his ways.

Others were not to be trusted. They wanted more than they gave, jealous and ignorant things. No, Tom had himself, and he could trust himself completely. Every want he had, every wish he had willed into existence. Nothing he had set his eye on that he gained. Slowly but surely. 

But, he cannot let himself back out of his decision to follow the boy, so he turns to listen. One hand wraps around his wand first, however, incase it is a trick. He could react with his Magic better when he channeled his intent while holding it after all. He reaches out with his other hand and just a stroke or two before the portrait swings open, giving way to loud sounds of people talking and things happening.

Tiny creatures with leathery skin and giant eyes greet them, or rather Harry, by name. Elves, as remembers a diagram of them in his Introduction to Magic book. They only throw him curious looks. And then, again Harry shocks him. "This is a friend", he says to the elves, "Tom Riddle."

Tom doesn't know what to say, as the elves greet him, and Harry leads him to a small table. He doesn't know what to think. A friend, Tom Riddle. The words simple, falling from his lips as if without a care. 

It's not like they agreed to be friends. Only to share a library table. And the knowledge of the kitchens. Are they friends already in that short interaction? Is Harry just that kind of person? Does he call everyone friend? He certainly greeted the eleves with much warmth and joy, certainly friends with the little creatures. 

Maybe he does, Tom allows. Maybe he's just a bleeding heart that would take the shirt off his back if Tom asked nicely enough. Or those silky robes perhaps. 

They sit facing each other as food magically appears across the table again in sync with Harry's words "They will definitely try to get me a spread of everything. You should get a plate yourself, figure out your favorites."

And Tom wants to get a plate. He's hungry after all, but the more words Harry speaks to him the less sense he makes to Tom. Figure out his favorites? Why does Harry care about his food choices at all? Or about any other aspect of him? The unknown is making hie head spin. And he cannot fathom the reasons for Harry's actions at all. 

This older, stronger and obviously rich boy has deemed to show Tom a secret place when he could have easily just left and came back without a clue. Tom, who isn't really in any position to return favours, gets a strange feeling through him at the suspense. 

What does he want, Tom thinks, and then he thinks some more, as Harry—

Harry has stopped filling the plate in front of him to serve up another plate, quickly setting small portions of the assortment in front of them.

He sets it in front of Tom, who is now legit actually without a single thought in his head at the scene in front of him. Like a vegetable or something, like an idiot child, one of the many at Wools. 

He fills another plate with a large honey colored slice of dessert and sets it beside his main plate.

Tom considers everything that has happened so far, Harry's actions that make no sense that keep adding up to making even less sense. 

Tom hasn't felt this discombobulated in probably forever. Never has another managed to unnerve him so. Make him a plate? Perish the thought. They usually gets bowls not plates in the first place, bowls filled with steaming hot disgusting oatmeal gruel, sometimes dried fruits or a half picked chicken carcass thrown in there, not that it helps at all with the taste or texture. 

Tom resolves to picks his way through the plate, hunger overpowering his irrational train of thought. 

The beans are not good enough to waste stomach space on, so he skips them, finishing the rest quickly but still well mannered, as Harry does too he sees.

He turns to the dessert, curious about Harry's favorite dessert. He does love knowing after all. And favorites are an easy bribe after all, he knows. 

His first bite is a an ocean of sweetness. So different than the chocolate he had, light caramel and honey notes, the texture soft and spongy on the top with a firm crunch at the bottom. It is pretty good as far as favorite desserts go, even if it doesn't hold a candle to the decadence chocolate.

Harry's laugh at his reaction jolts him, his face shifting to the look Tom perfected in the mirror many years ago. Blank and expressionless, yet marring none of his beauty.

"It's my favorite, I could eat it breakfast, lunch and dinner for eternity", Harry seems to realize his offense as he hurries to change the subject. "So Tom, what do you like to do in your free time? When you're not capturing people's library tables ofcourse."

The teasing catches him offguard, the hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he answers before he considers the implications of his response, even as he's sure the other boy knows, obviously.

"I love reading, and I've never such a huge library before," and hes still in awe about that, never having seen such a thing. An unwanted but honest admission falls fromgis lips, even as his tongue stumbkes over the foreign word. "The Muggles have public libraries which are maybe a tenth of the size." Why the hell did he admit to his familiarity with Muggle spaces, especially unasked. He needs to change the subject himself now, and quick. A pause as he considers his course, deciding on flattery. "You definitely have the best table at school, and I appreciate you sharing it with me". It is said in almost a whisper, but Tom is sure he has been heard. And then Tom surprises himself by continuing honestly again, "And for the kitchen as well," he adds, unable to keep the gratitude from his voice. He makes a small gesture with his fork even as he considers the implications of this gift Harry has given him. 

The ability to eat as he wished when he wished without reason. 

Absolutely crazy, he thinks before Harry manages to surprise him with words again.

This time with a return to the familiar anger he had initially felt at Harry's intrusion in the library. 

"Riddle is not a magical name, is it?" He says and Tom burns, an inferno raging. 

No, he wants to scream, it's not a Magical name. Call me a Mudblood, I dare you. Doom youself to suffer through the thoroughness of my planned retribution as you gain your own place on my list. 

Harry does nothing of the sort, his voice only eager in his questioning. "Who came to take you to Diagon? Was the magical world everything you dreamed of?"

He cannot fault the other boy his curiosity, his own has a mind of its own, he understands. He loves to know after all. To find out. To pick apart running cogs.

"Yes" he allows, unable to see any problem in his admittance. "And it was Professor Dumbledore" he cannot hide the absolute hatred evident in his tone, to himself atleast, although Harry's intuition seems second to none.

Then he considers Harry's last question, and sees no problem in resolving that query either. "Diagon Alley did live up to my expectations and more", even if he could only look without the ability to obtain, but he doesn't say that, ofcourse.

Harry's smile at his response is blinding. "I felt much the same seeing it for the first time," another reassurance Tom likes while questioning why he would like such a thing.

Harry continues looking at him, his gaze growing more intent as he catalogs Tom like he's under a microscope or something. His eyes moving over him in an intense fashion.

Tom decides to finish his dessert, unable to continue any semblance of conversation.

Finally, Harry breaks the silence.

"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, or I could escort you back to 'our' table."

There are too many things that require Tom's focus, so he decides to go through them slowly to process.

First of all, kind sweet Harry's acceptance with sharing his table with Tom is so softening to Tom's usual longing, he unwittingly gives into the tug at his lips at the word.

Our.

Tom has never shared an our with anyone. Everything he touches is his. Solely. Completely. Irrevocably. He foes not share. He hates other people. He is finding out his earlier knowledge is now being amended. 

First time for everything huh, he thinks as he repeats that our silently, as if to savour it.

Secondly, he realizes, Harry is really going above and beyond for Tom for some unfathomable reason. 

Well. Not totally unfathomable, Tom knows he deserves much more after all. The best of the best. But that is something he had been planning on taking by force. He has just never expected another he doesn't consider inferior yet, to please him so with words and actions. To intuit Tom's wants with such precise skill.

And if Harry's favorite place is like his favorite dessert, maybe he won't absolutely love it, but he is definitely sure to fully enjoy himself. 

"I would like to see more of Hogwarts, and feel the sun and breeze", he agrees, now a new want coursing through him. He wants to keep Harry close until he figures out his true motivations, and until then, he could enjoy himself too, why not. "Maybe you could show me your favorite places?" He echoes Harry, yet uncertain. "And later you could take me back to 'our'table," he cannot hide is palpable pleasure at this new word hes never had a chance to speak earlier, "I asked for directions last time to the library last time, yet I truly stumbled upon it by accident". 

"Although I'm sure I could find it again" add then, unwilling to come across as unintelligent or in need of help, even as he wants to unravel Harry further. 

"I will show you as many of my favorite places as I can today, and the rest later", Harry's response is a quick promise, "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", his last words a shade lighter, and his tone affects Tom again, lightening his heart.

"Thank you very much for the offer, Harry. And yes, I would like that very much." He is unable to hide how truly pleased he is with the events of this morning, unexpected though they had been. 

Harry has been a breath of fresh air that Tom's lungs hadn't known they had needed, so used to the staleness of his surroundings, so surprised in this new pleasure. 

Harry nods at his words, their goodbyes to the elves are quick as they start a new experience with the words, "Let's go, I know exactly where I want to start." from Harry as he leads Tom to the portrait door.