let me go, hold me close

1940

While it had always been an abstract concept he knew to prepare himself for, he really wasn't ready when second year ended.

He had started counting down from the day of Harry's seventeenth birthday, present only in body, mind spiraling. 

Things were changing and he was helpless. Harry would be gone, and there wasn't anything to be done about it. A statement of fact. It hurt Tom physically, a ball in his chest. 

Harry, his Harry, gone. 

And Tom could only watch on as he left. 

He would create a whole life away from Tom, probably becoming an apprentice to a Potions Master on a different continent. Or maybe he would join a Quidditch team and travel constantly to compete, away from Tom. 

Not His Harry anymore. 

He cannot Stand it. 

It Burns within. 

Tom would give anything to keep Harry with him, but this wasn't something even Harry could control. There wasn't anything to be done at all, it was just a fact of existence.

His own birthday had felt like a death knoll, and in a very unbelievable fashion, he had wished time would stop before Christmas. Before another landmark of what was coming. Soon. No. 

All of January was spent in a seething rage. At himself, he had no one else to be angry at. No one else was responsible for what was happening to him except himself. This acceptance, however, did not bring with it any relief.

No, it only brought more rage. Angry at himself for not being able to problem-solve Harry leaving him. Furious at not being able to stop wanting Harry to stay. Incensed at not being able to do anything productive in this cage around his mind.

Sad that he had to prepare himself for the imminent distance.

It matters not, he tries to tell himself as they finish up dinner and walk to their usual table. 

Their table. Soon, it would just be his table. 

He doesn't even know how to talk to Harry anymore. He replays the moments they've had over and over when they're apart, and yet there's a gnawing within him when they're together. Tom doesn't know if he should live in these moments or try to capture them for the future. 

He makes no sense, even to himself. 

It shouldn't didn't matter that Harry was leaving, it was a fact of life. He could and would still write to Harry in his book, and Harry would respond as always. (Would he?) Wouldn't he?

It didn't matter—

He recalls all the homework he's recieved today and creates a mental task-list as they take a seat, then pulls out a fresh parchment and wets his nib in the inky black. 

He is not even done with the first sentence, when "Tom".

He hums as he diverts some attention to Harry even as he continues on his train of thought.

"What's wrong?" 

A sudden blow. 

Harry caught him with those quite often. 

"What's wrong with what?" A thumping of caution. What was Harry talking about exactly— "With you"

There were too many things Harry would consider wrong with Tom. He cannot pick one he wishes to divulge without knowing what Harry already knew. Harry is waiting, and Tom is too. 

There is no clue when Harry gives in. 

"You can tell me anything. Don't you know that. Please."

So very unhelpful. If Harry could just tell him what he was insinuating, even a slight hint, Tom would pick his words well.

He doesn't, infact he makes things worse. He's on his knees in front of Tom, looking up at him from those green eyes Tom loved.

"I love you Tom. You are my family. You can tell me anything. Tell me. Please Tom." 

He can feel every beat of his heart, an unimaginable emotion running through him at seeing Harry so willingly kneel in front of him and beg. 

Hadn't he resolved to give Harry whatever he wanted and then some. Things Tom wanted him to have. And this, Harry was the one person Tom didn't want to make kneel. He was Tom's equal. More. Maybe, Tom would even kneel for him if it was something Harry desired, however unlikely. 

Because Harry, Harry deserved a throne. 

"Harry, I", don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I love you. I lie to you even if I don't want to, because that is the person I am. 

None of these could be said out loud at such a time. All of them demanded to be said out loud. 

He needs to make a decision on words without any hints, and so, he makes a decision on which curtain to drop tonight. 

It's not like Harry would be able to do anything about it, and he had created this curse with Parselmagic. Salazar had quite the collection of personal hand-written journals on the subject. And creating curses had been a favourite pastime of his ancestor as well. 

"Can we go down to the Chamber before?" He does need a little bit of time to edit even that interaction to parts that would interest Harry such that he wouldn't ask questions Tom didn't want him to ask. 

Or atleast with such an insistence! He has no idea why Harry was behaving as such now! Absolutely Unfathomable!

Had Tom done something that Harry had found out? Then why wouldn't Harry just ask?

The walk to the Chamber is spent less on planning a future conversation and more on just his worry for what was to come. He rages at himself even as he cannot help it, he has always been vulnerable to this boy who he cannot categorize, even to himself. 

He stops himself before he falls into this new rabbit hole of uncertainty, the impending conversation was going to be tumultuous enough.

He cannot help but notice Harry's hands in his lap. Ever restless, His Harry. It is amusing for some reason, this predictability. Just like how Harry would always carry his bag, or make his plate. 

(Not anymore. Not in a hundred and forty seven days, seventeen hours and give or take ten minutes. A depressing thought.)

"You" How can you? How dare you? 

An incorrect start, a divergence from his planned dialogue.

He restructures his thoughts and Harry takes this pause to return to his earlier entreatment. It needs to end.

Sure of how to begin, "You said I am your family". A needed reassurance, a reminder for Harry as well, and it was fortunately linked to his chosen topic too. 

He'd just rather not be talking about it at all. Harry didn't need to worry about Tom's scoreboard. No. Infact, Tom would worry about evening out the score for Harry as well. 

"You are my family Tom", Harry agrees, and keeping those words as a barrier against his growing reluctance to part with this lie. 

What if Harry hated him after? 

Oh well, wouldn't be Tom's first time.

"Well, I found some others who could claim to be my family too, but they didn't want the honor." Like ripping off a bandaid.

It was a reasonable explanation for whatever Harry considered was wrong with Tom. Hopefully.

"And?" And ofcourse Harry requires a full discourse. As expected, he had contingency plans for every situation. 

"And what Harry?" An attempt is required, even as he is sure in its abject failure. 

"And what did the Gaunts say?" Nothing, as Tom had left Lily to focus on that. It was out of his hands, and any interference would surely be noticed. 

"I will see my uncle only as a corpse, I assure you. And I am sure it will be soon. And then, I will claim the name and lordship as Lily and I talked about" 

A vindictive smile. Harry does not take the bait. A pity. 

"So, the Riddles, then?" Tom nods in confirmation. "And what happened when you met? When did you even meet?"

The first question takes all his thoughts away, the second left unheard. 

The moment he hears his own name from Harry's lip referring to them. That filth. He cannot stand it, echoes of that moment in time envelop him.

The whole day, crystal clear from the sounds of the train he rode there, to the smell of that dusty old mansion, to the feel of his Magic as he crushed the biology that had been partly responsible for breathing Tom into existence under his will. Every emotion that rushed to him can be recalled in an instant. 

Even that humiliation he has tried hard to bury and deny existence of, even to himself. 

He refocuses on those very first words, "You! You are hers, aren't you boy? Her demon offspring? You dare show your face here? With what expectation boy?" He stops!

It's too deep a dive, especially with Harry's presence. He moves on to the next part of his memory. 

"He said she was ugly inside and out, and that even if I had inherited his looks, my insides were still just as ugly as hers." A falsity, as Tom Knows. Even without his filthy Muggle fathers features, Tom's insides are Magic. This half of his biology is so beneath him, it matters not. 

And Tom had then taken his time to show Tom Riddle Junior just exactly how black and ugly and twisted his insides truly were.

"I had no choice. They made me. You have to believe me, Harry." A truth that was hard to admit, but his hatred had been an incandescent burn within, he hadn't felt fully in control. He still regrets nothing.

"What happened?" So the whole story huh. Well, Tom would attempt to provide a reasonable explanation.

He enjoys the retelling, as Harry doesn't react in any way that makes Tom wary. Infact, he very gently brushes his fingers over Tom's wrist, thumb and the side of his index finger. It isn't a touch Tom has experienced before, the main focus of his thoughts as he narrates the experience for Harry. 

And Harry's response at the end is sweeter than Tom could ever prepare for. "Why didn't you tell me before?" And Tom could almost smile, even as he still cannot look up. He is unsure of what his face looks like.

Triumph mixed with confusion perhaps? Things had gone well, yet it doesn't feel like it's over. This sudden interrogation, apropos of nothing. 

"I didn't know what you'd say." Another truth. 

"Why would you think you'd find anything but acceptance, Tom. Aren't we best friends? Family?" And this. These words try to enter his brain, he attempts to accept their truth, but he cannot. Best friends and family stuck around. 

They didn't just leave.

Harry is not leaving.

He cannot make himself believe it. 

That's not what it feels like to Tom.

He has no response to this, none that he could even plan for. Could other people, he wonders, as Harry pleads again.

Why oh why won't he quit that! Didn't he understand Tom was weak to his wants! That Tom only wished their fulfillment, especially by his own actions!

"Its irrelevant", he starts, "and you'll be gone soon. So I'll be doing many more things by myself. Why does it matter? And they deserved it, Harry. Trust me." 

The first words slip from him before he can catch himself, so the last are a necessity, even as pleading for Harry's trust is a fallacy. Harry cannot trust him, Tom lies to every one. Even the one he loves. 

And yet, Harry's damned intuition gets Tom again. "Is that why you've been distant? Because I'm leaving soon?" He shoots. He scores. 

"It doesn't matter" he repeats for both of them. 

The next words take him by surprise. As they always do. As they always have, from that very first day. "Do you trust me, Tom?" And that has only one answer. "Yes". 

Harry taught Tom what trust was! If there was anyone worthy of the honor of his trust, it was Harry! It was non existent for anyone beside!

"Then don't worry about me leaving at the end of the year. Pretend I'm going to be there next year. Trust me." 

Act as if you have done this everyday, trust me, he remembers from another time. And Harry had kept his trust that time too. And every time he had asked for it. 

And yet. "How? Will you fail your NEWTS on purpose?" 

It is not what he wants. What he wants is impossible. Graduating Hogwarts with Harry would never ever happen, and not even Magic could help Tom with such.

"Don't worry about it" and how can Tom not worry but also— Really, Harry wouldn't leave Tom? Is holding onto such a delusion a fallacy? Has Harry ever broken his trust?

"Is there anything else?" 

And there is more than Harry could ever understand, but Tom knew Harry by now. And telling Harry about future plans he had started creating right now would only be disruptive. 

"Any what?" Too many any things. 

"Anything else you haven't told me? Like this whole sneaking out and cursing your family thing?" Well, he had snuck out more and cursed more, but apart from his thoughts he had nothing Harry would consider of import. 

Also, the family thing stung. 

"They aren't my family!" Soon, very soon, they wouldn't be anyone's family. That filth and vermin would be where they deserved. Rotting six feet beneath the earth, their flesh a feast for maggots.

And Harry still looks up at him question. No, he shakes his head, unwilling to put his white lie into words. 

"I agree, because that is me." Tom is stunned by the words and the smile that delivers them. The hand that reaches up to brush back his hair. He cannot help but fall back into that smile. 

As he turns back to his homework, his head is a new whirl of emotion. This newfound trust in Harry's words warring with the pessimism of his earlier musing. 

And faintly, still a thread of fear of Harry's rejection of his actions. Of him. 

He cannot stop himself from wanting Harry just as much as he cannot help wishing he could stop. Wishes Harry felt to him like the rest of them. 

Harry loves him, seemingly unconditionally so far, and yet that could change at any instant. And Tom couldn't change this part of himself. This hunger for his right. For justice. Vengeance. Satisfaction. This was who he was when he met Harry. 

Continuing on his homework is hard, regaining lost focus seems an impossibility, and really, he was dreading the usual sleepless hours as thoughts of the boy in front overtake everything. 

Why? 

A question yet unsolved. And Tom is not Sherlock Holmes, but he was most certainly just as intelligent and meticulous and probably had an even better ability to make connections. And yet. Nothing. 

He doesn't understand Harry at all, even after two and a half years. 

The dread fills him once more, a force that causes him to commit. "Harry" 

"Yes" it comes, as it always does, and he hopes the next word would be a yes too. 

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Has Harry ever said no to anything?

"If you want to" a bit redundant, Tom had asked him, hadn't he?

And yet, his Harry was also sweeter than any candy Tom had tried at Honeydukes. "Would you like me to read to you?"

Yes, it was his favourite thing, to listen to Harry's voice and watch his face, and listen to a weird anecdote when they read about something interesting together. 

Sometimes though, Harry said things that made no sense to Tom. He would stop in the middle of sentences and change the topic of conversation without any obvious indication of having done so. And yet Tom, who remembers his every conversation, every word, can replay them back and they make no sense everytime he thinks of them either. They don't help with the why either.

This new yet old mystery dwells on him in the shower, and even through the chess game he's playing against himself as he waits for Harry. 

Thoughts of Harry until the real thing, in flesh and blood stands before him. "Who's winning?" A favourite of James. He cannot decide on an appropriate response. 

The new book he's managed to acquire maybe? 

"From the beginning", he hasn't read it either. He studies his would-be saviour from the usual spiral into madness. Except he didn't need saving anymore, and yet it was being pushed to him with just an out loud narration. . 

Harry reads as usual, his voice brings any book to life. His hand strokes Tom's head gently with one hand, the other holding the book, pages turning magically. 

Quite a pleasant end to what was supposed to be a frantic restless insomnia filled nightmare. It is the last thought as he falls asleep.