let me go, hold me close

Does he think Tom irresponsible? That he would treat any gift he had received with less than utmost care? With less than perfection? Why?

And then....a new bag? 

What?

To keep it safe....but Tom will already keep it safe. And he would ask his mother to buy it for Tom? Why? Why?

It seems all his thoughts consist of these days are the same questions in his psyche. 

What and how and why and how and what.

A cycle that repeats over.

"I promise to keep it safe until then and after." A promise he will keep to his last breath. Harry, for his part, seems to believe his words at face value even if he cannot understand intrinsically the depths of Tom's thoughts. "I believe you will." 

I will. He wants Harry to really understand. He doesnt. "You can get into it, if you want." He says, and Tom has no choice.

Actions would show what words couldn't. Wouldn't.

He nods regardless, and turns to study the magical parchment under him. Observing the castle, memorising every line, letter and symbol his eye catches, a replica building up in his own mind slowly as he examined further.

Every single inch of the castle had been covered. And the names...the names. They moved, they stopped, they started again. People. With names. How delightful!

And it was Toms!

His! 

The thought has him a little stunned again, eyes glazing over the cream of the paper, blending into a light brown behind his retina with the ink of the moving names. 

Harry and his willingnessandwant to give Tom everything. Harry gave things Tom didn't know he could ask for. Things Tom didn't know he could steal, –if Harry hadn't shown him–, but he needs to steal nothing. Harry shares without hesitation. 

It is so jarring from his every experience in life he spends a....long time lost in thought. Sitting next to Harry is like sitting next to the ocean. And he has found treasure at ocean shores before. Perhaps this is just....how Harry is. 

Except he's not. Tom is His 'First Friend Ever' too. 

That thought is too much to think about. 

He doesn't understand it at all. 

He wants to be close to Harry because of who Harry is. But Harry, Harry doesn't know who Tom is, so why does he treat him as he does. He absolutely cannot understand.

Why, the litany begins again. 

His eyes lift from the Map and Harry's arm finds his eyes, on the table in front of him. He remembers when it had held him back. When he had heard that heartbeat. When he felt enveloped. 

He reaches out, a lie. "I have studied it as much as possible for the first day." What if Harry asked him something...."I think." He had spent most of their time staring off into space, thoughts of Harry, Harry, and more Harry. 

"If you're done, you can say, Mischief Managed, and it will clear the ink. That should help a teacher or anyone attempting to take it from you."

"I am sure you will pick up things real quick, Tom" he adds, and while Tom already knows, it is nice to hear it in Harry's voice. He could now replicate it, when he needed a thought that required such a reassurance towards himself, rare though it was. 

He would. He would be the best. Better than they had ever seen. He was already done with almost three of his books, and he had all of Sunday tomorrow to get to another one. 

And he hadn't even stepped foot in the classroom. 

He would show Harry. 

Soon.

And then, —again. Again and again.

Harry surprises him with an offer he had never thought he would receive in his wildest dreams.

The words from the Doe echo again in his head, 'You know how much I love you Harry.' 

Tom has only known how people did NOT love him. 'You know how much we hate you Tom', everyone seemed to say. 

Before Harry.

Harry. 

His friend.

Harry. 

Harry who was now offering his mother? As a penpal? For Tom? His potions inventor mother? And he thought She would appreciate being written to by Tom? She would answer his questions about an invention she had created in school? A family heirloom, of sorts. And Harry had given it to him. 

He feels out of sorts, even as Harry continues. "Well, once you meet her, I guess" and Tom doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed. A potions inventor sounded real interesting. 

Tom himself was an inventor, after all. He saw needs and fulfilled them. He saw problems and solved them. He found circumstances and bettered them. He had taken hold of every opportunity that had come his way.

"If you want to meet her. Christmas Holidays?" And Tom doesn't know what to think. More of the what. More of the how. More of the why. More of the—Harry.

Yes. He would like to meet her and attempt to charm her. He would need to, after all. He needed to, if he wanted Harry to stay. And Harry was His. He would not leave Tom under any circumstances. This was set in stone. 

Harry, sweet Harry is back, "You could come home for Christmas Holidays and ask her questions about the Map if you want, or write"

And he is sweeter than ever, considerate as he is of Tom, "Since we are now friends, I would like to invite you over for Christmas with me and my family." An invitation he could recite word by word if needed. Since we are now friends, the words are almost saccharine against his eardrums. 

Friends. A friend. A Friend, Tom has Never had. Never. Never Considered. And when he had found out what the word truly meant, Never Wanted. 

And then, that damned intuition again. Or perhaps he had listened too closely to Tom's every word. Guardians, not parents. And yet, he would most likely have a reasonable explanation for his usage of the term if questioned, Tom knew. He decides to let it go. He had asked him vague questions about his last name after all. 

"I" it is at the tip of his tongue. I accept, even as he further considers Harry's invitation. 

What about Harry's guardians, his parents. His Potions inventor Mom.

He has to make sure Harry has thought his words through, but ofcourse he has, this is Harry. 

"Did you hear her bloody patronus?" He asks, and Tom does. Vividly. 'Knew there would be atleast one', it echoes. Him.The one. Tom.

They're gonna drive me crazy if I don't bring you with me." These words make no sense. However, he remembers his mother's joy, shining through her voice as she spoke about her knowledge of Tom's presence. Maybe, Harry is right. He would be curious too.

"Atleast now they can focus on being regular people around you!!" And this, Tom has absolutely no idea what to think about. Not a one. Regular people? Were they irregular when not in front of others? What were they like, he wonders. 

Harry mistakes his silence, "You don't have to accept if you'd rather go home, obviously."

And the words are out before he considers them, "I will", too busy considering Harry's words. Guess that intuition didn't succeed every time, huh? 

Well. Tom had No home. 

He had only the filth he had spent his entire existence in. 

Christmas at a Magical home sounded perfect, even as he would need to inform Mrs. Cole of his absence. There was no need for any attempt to reach Dumbledore, had the old man indeed left her such a route in such circumstances. No chances. 

Harry distracts with more information about his to-be hosts in a few months. "Well then, I hope Potter manor lives up to your expectations." So Harry is as rich as Tom had assumed, if he called his house a Manor. He would see.

"And please don't mind my parents." Unless they were worse than Mrs. Cole, which was impossible, Tom was sure he would treat them as he would treat any other possession of Harry, Harry who had shared so freely with Tom. He would treat them with care and respect and attention.

Talk a lot, harmless and would give him a million presents, hugs like Harry just did, like Tom did Harry, and they would feed him, as Harry had. All things considered, Tom would even endear to raise his internal mood to downright furious before he attempted to show he was bothered by them, even if he was. It's what Harry would want, and it's what would keep Harry close, so it's what Tom would do. 

"I'm sure I'll survive", it couldn't be worse than the orphanage after all. And yet.

Harry took longer than expected to consider Tom's rhetorical statement to himself. Just as he thinks he perhaps should worry after all, Harry breaks his silence. 

With joy. "And dont worry, I was thinking of something else, not of your chance of survival, " Harry assures him. And then. 

"Your Christmas present from me, actually" and Tom. Has never had a Christmas present. He's never had a present really, unless he had given himself one.

But a Christmas present.

Those, he had seen, given to other children. If Mrs. Cole ended up with savings in the budget, she would buy oranges and socks and leave some by the door of every kid.

Except Tom.

Tom, who had his fill or oranges and socks and many things, but never without the strength and application of his will. Never without effort.Never given freely. 

'You know how much I love you', Harry seemed to say in action. Tom wondered if his wait for words would ever be fruitful. And if, if they would be from Harry. The thought has his smile growing deeper, so insistent is his joy to be seen on his face. 

Harry.

Who waves his wand and says, "Tempus" and Tom sees numbers appear in old fashioned blocks of sparks that form in the air in front of them. He is intrigued.

He takes his own out of his pocket, following Harry's tone as he repeats, to the same result. He is pleased. More so at Harry's words. 

"That was great! You're gonna leave them all behind, I promise." Harry who always seems to intuitively echo his own words to himself. His own reassurances. His own self-reflection. Harry. 

"It's about time for dinner, we stayed longer than intended, got caught up reading this trash, sorry" and now he's curious. He looks up at the words, and Harry continues to his pleasure.

His parents had a good relationship if he was joking about it as such. And Tom is sure his father would read the books, had his mother asked. If Tom had had any family, he would take care of them. Endeavor to know all of them. He would return in kind. 

(Harry)

"That sounds interesting, but yes, dinner. We can discuss what's worth reading, if you'd like?" Anything to get rid of the echo of that connection as it reverberates. Even as he attempts to pretend it never existed in the first place. 

Not that it's needed. Harry provides before Tom even harbours want. "Let's walk to dinner, and, if you want, after I have a surprise."

And everything is left aside as it is that word now. Surprise. Harry the surprise. The gift that kept on giving. A golden goose that laid gold eggs and quite literally turned the air it breathed out into gold particles. 

He gave and gave and never ran out of giving. Every second Tom breathed around his person, the start of something he never even knew he could know.

Harry had shown him more Magic today than some 'pureblooded' wizards had seen in their entire seven years at Hogwarts. Kitchens full of house elves. 

And now, he had another surprise for Tom.

"What kind of surprise?" 

Harry is ruthless. Does he not understand the burn in Tom when he doesn't know and he needs to? 

"Even the kind of surprise is a surprise Tom, sorry" why is Harry the way he is. 

Nevermind the rhetorical questions again. 

"Let's go?"

"Yes" he replies even as the surprise burns in him, curious, anticipatory.

Dinner is a haze, Tom is lost in what's to come. Harry makes his plate again, carries his bag again.

He doesn't understand why Harry is doing it, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. He has questions about that too. Why would Harry make him a plate? Why would he carry Tom's bag? How many times would he do it? Days? Weeks? Just this one time, just one more?

He doesn't know. Not even a hypothesis. 

A thought he buried moments pass echoes again.

No. 

He decides to get his own bag next time. His own plate. See how Harry would react. If he would even notice. If he had been doing this without actually realizing. 

What it meant to Tom.

Thankfully, Harry decides to break the silence. "Ready to be surprised?"

It is not the best break from his thoughts. 

This boy would kill him! And he (in a very horrified manner, I assure you) only felt slightly ambiguous about such a thought. (The horror!)

"A follow-me surprise" and that is more unhelpful than even a malicious steering into the wrong direction. He wants to hold Harry's jaw and force it to reveal its secrets from within his face.

He considers his own slightly malicious thought to his newfound friend. No, he will not harm Harry. He will not change Harry. 

He will protect Harry. He will keep Harry. He will honor Harry. He will take care of him. 

"Sorry", Harry brings him out of his reverie. "So yeah, follow me?"

And he will. And take his bag this time. 

"Okay" he reaches— "Can I?"

If he wants. But why?Not again.Maybe later. 

They walk up to the entrance and then—

He feels a flash, the moment in the library. When he had felt a heart beat for the first time, like crashing waves. 

He and Harry are one. He barely notices someone pass them close as they exit. The surprise must require Tom to be close indeed. 

It is a unexpected pleasure, to walk with someone as one. Neither following nor leading. He and Harry walk through what it seems like is the whole castle. 

When they finally stop in front of a wall, Harry looks down at him without letting go. 

"Remember the Pear?" He says. Tom does.

"I want you to think of a Room that you have wanted to visit your whole life. It can be real or imaginary. Any room you want. A library. A museum. A house. Imagine it in your head. What's in it, what function it serves." And these words take hold of his imagination and run.

He barely listens to Harry's directions for after, so engrossed in this new train of thought he hadn't even considered pursuing. 

He has seen as many museums and libraries as possible. What he imagines though, is mostly unrelated. 

Thoughts of Harry envelop and all Tom can think about is a room that is combination of Harry's red and their green and the blue of their table in the library.

A fire, such a rarity in an orphanage, the London winter has well and proper seeped into the deepest part of Tom's bones. 

A room that would be His Harry and the warmth he had made Tom feel. 

Perhaps he could add his favourite items from the museums he had visited too. And one day, he would steal all those items, build Harry a manor gifted to him by Tom. And he would decorate it as such, since Harry liked museums apparently. Curiosity about Muggles was getting stronger as a theory, and considering his mom, it made sense, even if not fully.

He realises Harry has left him and focuses back to his passive memory of Harry's words. Walk back and forth thrice. He does.

When he stops back in place, a door appears! 

"And it will take me there?" Seems impossible, but it was Magic after all. 

Harry explains, "It will create it for you, Tom. It exists solely within the castle walls."

And yet. 

Now he doesn't know what to think. What would be on the other side of the door. The thought circles, slow, unyielding.

"What I said earlier, I did not mean to imply indoor locations only. You could imagine a Quidditch pitch, for instance, and the Room will provide....." his ears still focus on words but his mind is lost. How would Magic translate his vague wants? 

"It provides what you require, within reason and the laws of Magic ofcourse. It cannot provide food, for example." He refocuses on the words 'it provides' hoping this sentence would provide some insight, but he gains nothing. He nods anyway.

"So, would you like to enter." Would he? Yes? No? He doesn't know. 

What would he find?

Harry is his usual sweet self, "Would you like to keep your room to yourself? I only told you to think of that because I wanted you to get something you really wanted. I am totally fine by you visiting it alone. I will wait to escort you back."

He is the nectar in the flowers the bees used. The source of sweet itself. 

And no, Tom will not keep this to himself. He will share. He will keep nothing to himself, he will give as much as he given. 

No, he will give more. He will give Harry more. Harry who gave and gave. His Harry. Expecting nothing in return.

"It's okay, but no questions, no exceptions" he remembers Harry's words to his mother. The resulting laugh is equally as sweet as the words.

Tom's doing. It is all Tom's doing. He—

Harry walks up behind him, turning the handle, holding the door.

It is exactly what he thought it would be, but more. It is warmer, more refined, beautiful, unlike anything Tom has seen so far. 

He can see an echo of his memories is every aspect of the room. Window shopping when he walked London with his cap down. 

He had still looked. Still longed. Wanted what he couldn't have. What he hadn't known. Decorated storefronts and glimpses into people's lives and possessions. 

And now, he had created it with his mind! Such was the extent of Harry's gift to him this time! He had made only a dream actually come true!

Harry, who when he walked closer to the couch in front of the fire, dropped their bags on a table that suddenly appeared.

What?

"It can still be changed from within?" He has to ask, even as his eyes see.

"Yes"

What! That is—

What wonderful Magic. As wonderful as Harry. As amazing as Harry.

He thinks back to Harry's words, "a library' and then shelves appear around them, an alternating pattern. 

Seeing is believing indeed. 

Harry deserved more than just a hug from Tom. Harry who goes on and tells him the books are Magical. 

He gives and gives and gives and...he..just...

Tom cannot help himself. He is back in this new place he has discovered and loved enjoyed with an unparalleled intensity. 

Harry and his Magic and his heart, his body moves in and out against Tom and it really is like being in the ocean, light waves rocking him.