let me go, hold me close

Eyes.

There are eyes on every inch of his person. 

He feels like one of those last few circus animals, waiting for a whistle or flag to signal movement. 

He feels like one of his bugs. His bugs from when he was six, seven, and eight. The bugs he had liked to focus his gaze on. To will them to his bidding. To will them to writhe in pain for his pleasure. To dance for his joy. Even as they lost limbs, they danced for Tom for hours. Unknowing. Hapless.

Good entertainment.

That's what he feels like, —like good entertainment.

There are whispers too, but the eyes are so loud, they drown out the sound. 

He has never felt this before, his hair standing on end, his body expecting an imminent attack that never comes. 

And then, as he turns to Harry, he follows the other boys eyes. They are focused on the end of the Slytherin table closest to the teachers table.

And there...sits the boy. That boy. Who had insulted Tom in that first second of meeting. Of introduction. 

Mudblood. It rings.

He meets Harry's eyes with a slightly deranged grin on his stupid face, and Tom feels apprehension warring with anger. 

Then curiosity, as he watches Harry's face split open in a returning smile. A smile unlike one Tom has recieved so far. A Mask he sees for the first time. Or so he thinks, even as his brain insists this connection be made. 

Harry turns to him, his Face back.

What comes next is...reassurance.

Welcome reassurance.

Even though he has made this decision after all. 

And he does not regret. He only corrects course as the wind blows. 

"Trust me, Tom. Don't worry, 'like you've done this everyday' remember."

Yes, Tom does remember. Even if he doesn't understand.

Even if he doesn't trust.

He focuses on his lungs expanding, forces his Magic to unwind even as he feels it coiling around him, apprehension slightly easing with Harry's whispered words.

He follows Harry to a space of three seats right in the middle of the hall. It is as public as it gets.

If Tom had been hoping at all to be missed, he would have been sorely disappointed.

Even now, his curiosity exceeds him as he—

Feels Harry's left hand reach up towards his shoulder beside him, lifting the weight of his bag as he crosses Tom's back and seats him to his right, Tom's bag on his other side.

And Tom....has never been unburdened ever by another. 

He feels himself going slightly insane by the way Harry has been making him feel in these few short hours of meeting. 

He has never felt so discombobulated, so confused so shaken and undone. 

What Magic is Harry doing on him? What strange unfamiliar (welcome) Magic? Is it one of his mothers Potion inventions? One to cause a normally self assured person to lose any semblance of sanity? One to make Tom feel as he does, every second with Harry inciting in him new and unusual (welcome) trains of thought?

He sits and once again, he focuses on the eyes.

Silence. Shock. Jealousy. Anger. Despair. 

They surround him and Harry. Those eyes.

Harry doesn't care, it seems.

He reaches over to the plate in front of Tom, a repeat of his earlier actions even as Tom is fully cognizant of his surroundings this time.

Fills it up as he did earlier, except Tom sees him knowingly skip the beans, a smile on his face as his hand passes a tray full of them. 

And Tom.

Is surprised.

Honestly, is he even a person anymore? Or just a flesh suit of one emotion?

Harry paying attention to Tom's inconsequential actions creates surprise, yes. But he feels more, as Harry seems to inspire often and repeatedly. 

He feels seen. He feels wonder. He feels unlike he had felt in the train. He feel welcome. He feels wanted. He doesn't know how to feel about what he feels. 

Harry...will be the death of Tom, unless Tom decides to kill him first. 

But that, thought....will have to wait.

Harry is waving his wand, now visible in his hand. "Do you remember that word from earlier?" the words are discomforting.

It never stops ringing.

—The library, Tom had asked him. Away from prying eyes. Why is Harry unable to remember words if he can remember actions so? 

And then again, maybe that's what the wand waving was for. So the eyes don't have ears. He hopes. 

Trust me, Harry had said.

Tom has already agreed to this decision and has already taken a huge step. And so far, the sky hadn't fallen down yet. Even if the eyes, still present, still prickle at him.

Tom nods at Harry's words, unsure of the direction of his thoughts, but certain they will not result in his humiliation.

He looks back to his plate, the smell wafting through him rousing the beast within. Harry continues.

"Well, while there's nothing wrong with having Muggle parents ofcourse, its pretty much impossible for a Muggleborn to gain gifts of Magic, especially familial gifts." 

And oh, Tom thinks, even as he continues to eat. Well, it is still of no real consequence. He is still the best. He will create his own familial gifts, his speech to his favorite animals, his control over his things, over the people who surround him, his ability to accomplish as he willed. 

Even if he never wants to have a sniveling snotty little creature wailing about his person, IF he did, they would be very much gifted, indeed. And it would be a gift from their family. From Tom. 

He catalogs Harry's words into seperate concepts, imprinting it all into memory. 

Harry has a Godfather, named Sirius Black, who is a Lord of some kind. 

(Is there a wizard King, he wonders idly, thinking up vague images of beheading this supposed King, claiming his right.)

Metamorphmagus, that is a delightful little trick to accomplish. Imagine if he could be anyone he wished, the 'adult' him in his mind could be an adult in the real world too. 

And then, the question. 

Do you know who? 

How could Tom know a wizard with a rare gift? He has barely met any wizards. 

Dumbledore? But Tom is sure Harry can intuit Tom hates the old man, so why would he bring him up? To fan Tom's envy?

There is no one else that Harry knows that Tom also knows, and Harry knows about that knowledge. Only Dumbledore, from their little conversation about his introduction to Magic.

"No" and he can think of not a single name.

"The gift of speaking to snakes"

And the words are out before Tom has had a chance to make a decision to utter them.

"So, I am definitely from a magical family then?"

And they ring, his thoughts from earlier, evident in his tone.

So he is indeed from the only family that could speak to snakes then, the Gaunts, Slytherin.

And yet. Yet he rots in that filth. In that dingy den of misery, in that orphanage where he was born. 

Why, he wants to ask, to rage, but to whom? There is no answerable party. There is nobody with the knowledge of how Tom ended up as he did. 

Nobody he can quench that thirst on. Nobody he can make feel as he did, with the knowledge of sure abandonment. With his prolonged pain.

Nobody to blame.

"Do you remember when I mentioned the name Gaunt?"

How could Tom forget? He remembers everything!

"That is most likely your family then, they are the only Wizarding family in Britain that can speak parseltongue."

A confirmation he had already guessed, used to reading between lines that barely even existed. 

He wants to know more. Needs to know more. Needs to know all Harry does.

Needs someone to question. No matter how ignorant they are on the matter, they would certainly know more than Tom. He's been here barely a day.

"Gaunt" that word still strangely familiar.

"How did I come to be named Riddle then?"

He cannot help himself.

Maybe if he was named Gaunt he would be revered. He would be accepted at a glance. He wouldn't have to show them something they would expect innately of his existence.

Harry resolves his curiosity deeper than Tom expects, even as the answer to his rather obvious question is clear to Tom. 

"It was probably your fathers name. I know old man Gaunt had a son and daughter, perhaps you mother was the daughter?"

And yet, the confirmation is another surprise.

"How", if his mother was a witch? How could it happen? How could she let it happen? If she was even one percent like Tom, she would have taken care of her things. Tom had taken care of every single one of his possessions with utmost care. 

"How could my mother have been a witch? They told me she died giving birth to me. It's impossible!"

Gives in to tug of that insistent curiosity. 

Asks another rather redundant question, presents quite an obvious crack in his Mask. 

If Harry notices he says nothing. He moves to take a sip of his tea, apparently giving Tom's question a thought.

"She could have been weak at Magic. Or perhaps things didn't go how she planned."

Hmm, a worthy hypothesis. 

The second, ofcourse.

The first is impossible.

Tom is Magic personified.

If he came from this supposed witch, she definitely would have been capable of great feats of Magic. If it is indeed her blood and Magic running through Tom, then she must have been quite full of Magic.

It was quite obviously a miscalculation on her part. 

Perhaps she had trusted the wrong person.

Perhaps it had led to Tom's doom.

He vows never to make her mistake.

He will never miscalculate.

He will perfect himself.

He will be invincible. Inevitable.

Even as his brain echoes Harry's words from minutes ago. "I thought it was impossible to gain familial gifts of Magic?"

And Harry's new Face is Tom's favorite so far. Cool calm and collected, knowing and observant Harry turns into Confused Harry and Tom is internally(confusedly himself) delighted by the expression. 

He will definitely be confusing Harry again. Next time on purpose. A decision. He goes on.

"Then how come you can speak to them too?" And that question will not stop bothering him now. 

Harry did say he was unrelated to Slytherin and was blood tested to ensure the veracity of such a statement. By his mother. 

Who was possibly as confused as Tom.

Harry's confirms his suspicions, it is not an answer, merely a part of the the puzzle. 

"I told you my mother had me tested in various ways, yes?"

Tom does. Vividly. He wants to know more.

He nods. "Well, the Goblins have their own test with Goblin magic and even they didn't have a satisfactory answer. We think they came closest though. They said that my soul knew how to speak parseltongue. They dont know how either, but it's not my blood, my mother had that confirmed various times."

His soul? Tom does not know what to think of that. He files it away for study later.

He does remember the ugly and rude financiers of the Wizarding world though. Much like the elves he had met earlier, just a more stocky build. And he files away knowledge of their seperate Magic for later as well. He cannot branch out to Magic of another kind without first Mastering his Own.

He thinks of Harry and his revelations as he slowly works through the plate Harry made for him. 

A second time.

It is such a novel act, Tom once again reconsiders how he had felt about it in the kitchens. When it had happened the first time.

He had felt out of himself. He had stopped all trains of thought at that act. He hadn't known what to think.

And then Harry had done it again. Not just the plate. The stillness of his mind. Harry had done it again. And again. And again. And...would most likely (definitely, it was looking like) would do it again. 

All his favorite places, he had promised after all. 

All of them. Tom never forgot.

That would mean Harry would stick around Tom for quite a bit. 

Quite a lot a bit, especially if they were to also study on a table together. Especially if Harry liked to read just as much as he did. If Harry was as curious as him, they would spend quite a few days together atleast. 

Many more hours. How many more surprises would Harry greet him with in the next few years in this castle?

Trust me, Harry had said. 

Tom would soon find out, he supposes. 

And then, there is the strangest, the most freeing and shocking thing to happen yet. And yet unsurprising as he considers Harry again.

Harry, sweet Harry. Ofcourse he has the power to make Tom's dreams come true.

Now Tom wonders if maybe it was Tom who had done some accidental Magic to create Harry, his seemingly guardian angel. Or guardian wizard as it were.

As they get up from the table, Harry still continuing his possession of Tom's bag, they are greeted by that boy walking towards them, all eyes on them in the middle of the hall.

As he nears Tom can see the way his brow is pinched just a tad even as his mouth spreads wide across his face. 

He does not look at Tom at all.

"Heir Potter and" the word is said in the same tone as that first Mudblood and the word starts to ring again, "companion."

And then, in hindsight, his first clue for the events to follow, Harry's voice is frosty as his mouth forms the word, "Black."

And then he sees that smile in Harry's face again. That smile that is anything but polite. A predatory expression, Harry is triumphant as he asks, "And its Heir Potter-Black, is it not, dear cousin?"

And Tom...watches as the boy changes in front of him. Confidence slipping into unknown territory as he gains a consternating look. 

The tone his next words are uttered in silences the still-ringing-word within Tom with glee.

Humiliation. Bitterness. Resignation.

Oh it is sweet, sweeter than even that treacle tart from earlier. 

"Cousin Heir Potter-Black" the expected and probably the only correct greeting. 

And even as he hears the boy inquire about Harry's summer, a section of the puzzles clears. 

His Godfather is as much of a Father as his real father. Maybe he is that Moony Harry had threatened his Mom about earlier. That would explain a lot.

So Harry stood to inherit two lordships, and one was the Lord of the family of this Boy. This Black, as Harry had greeted him.

Harry, who enlightened him with more information even as he snubbed that boy to Tom's complete and befitting pleasure. He deserves this.

"This is my cousin, a nephew of my Godfather. Cygnus Black. Head boy, if you haven't met already."

He didn't know if Cousin meant Harry and Cygnus(derogatory) were indeed related by blood as well as just the bond of a close friend and caretaker chosen by his parents. 

It didn't matter though, as he considered Harry's non-question. 

He didn't really have to contemplate his words, already knowing which direction he wanted to go in. 

He wanted to see more of that humility and indignation from earlier. Wanted to see the exact depth Harry could take him to. 

His curiosity was a dangerous thing at all.

He decided on the truth ofcourse. 

"We have."

"Oh?" Asks Harry even as Tom is sure Harry knows. "In the Common rooms last night?"

He knows Harry knows then. Knows that it was Cynus who made Tom ask Harry that question. That inquiry full of hesitation and unease. Of a morbid curiosity that stung as much as it burned. 

His words, he cannot wait for their reaction. And, by Merlin, as they said in this place, it does not disappoint at all.

He gains the empowerment over that boy he had wanted in spades.

"No, on the train at Kings Cross, but not properly. I was looking for a compartment."

And Harry says nothing, but Tom can see the cogs turning. The outrage followed by frustration and then that now familiar anger.

Still, Harry says nothing, just making an acknowledging sound. 

Tom knows he was understood, but he is not prepared at all for the words that follow.

"This is Tom Riddle, a friend of the family."

And while Tom is not a stranger to that introduction now, Cygnus' response shocks and delights with a rapturous intensity. 

It is how he had wished to be greeted originally, but really, it was so much sweeter said unwilling but compelled by a stronger force. 

"Your friend is my friend", Cygnus responds to Harry's words in a formal tone, and Tom.

Tom cannot understand his actions at all as he turns to Tom and says, "Tom Riddle" and that last word is now said in a neutral tone that Tom had never ever expected to hear.

He had only expected the haughty tone before and the fearful tone after.

Polite....had never crossed his mind.

Impossible.

And yet, it happens.

"I am happy to make your acquaintance again."

He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Or blurt out the millions of questions in his brain. 

He cannot take his eyes off Harry, studying the cause of this unexpected and seemingly impossible change in that boy's behavior. 

How, he wants to ask, even as he can guess.

Heir Black deserved respect from a Black that was not the Heir. Even if the Heir Black was named Potter? Or named Potter-Black and yet only used Potter casually? 

He repeats Cygnus' name even as the questions continue, ceaseless.

He watches Harry as he and the boy converse for another second before he hears, "I thought we could walk back to the library from here so you can familiarize yourself with the way a bit."

Tom nods even as more questions stream through, as they walk back to the place they first met.

He forces himself to focus on Harry's words as Harry recites the route outloud. His words are warnings and intimate knowledge and small secrets.

They reach the double doors once more and now Tom is sure he could walk back if he so desired. 

They walk all the way up to 'our' table and Harry now follows him as he sits against the window.

Harry sets his bag on the table as he sits down opposite him, reaching down for a shiny black and gold bookbag of his own, not very unlike Tom's. 

Atleast, if you looked past the age and obvious wear and tear on his. And the lack of embellishments except the buckle. 

Tom catches a look at the quite large space inside the considerably smaller bag.

It is not anything like Tom's after all. 

Tom's bag is not Magic. It is just a regular, used filthy Muggle bag. It is all he could afford. 

He could regret his snake, but he wouldn't. He needed a way to retaliate against those who wronged him, and what better than a slow but highly venomous, tiny 9-inch Namaqua dwarf adder that he could hide up his sleeve. 

He hadn't prepared for Harry after all. Hadn't prepared for Harry's favour. For his help. For his passion for Tom and his experiences. For his defense of Tom. His validation. His.....he has to stop.

Harry is running him ragged in circles.

Harry, who drops an empty piece of parchment and changes his worldview forever. Again. Again and again.

Harry. How. How?

How is Harry as he is? HOW?

Why does he treat Tom so?