Chapter 1
Harry Potter was a Healer for the Order of the Phoenix.
He wanted to help others, doing the little things that, over time, grew to be impactful. His magic embraced healing wholly, it was a warm feeling, a wonderful buzzing under his skin whenever he successfully casts a charm. He had a loving family in the Order, Sirius, Lily and James, Remus, even the Weasleys. He was only able to get recruited because of his godfather's persistent badgering.
'You don't understand, James! I know you're worried for him, but give him a chance. You know better than I do how amazing that kid is, his healing magic is out of this world- you know this.'
'I don't want this for him! I don't want to push war onto him. Not when he's just done school. He's just a kid, Sirius. We were just kids-'
Harry, sick and tired of being referred to as a child, finally cut in.
'I want to join.'
Both of their heads snapped to him, creepily in sync. Both were tired, deep eye bags digging into faces that were once youthful and joyous. His father's hair was messy to the point where even Harry had the urge to comb it down, his godfather had a surprised look in his face, and despite the dead drooping in his features, his eyes were light with fire.
'Harry-' James tried, Harry interrupted quickly, mind rushing with words that he so desperately wanted them to hear.
'No- Dad. Look. I can't just sit by, and watch people I love get hurt in battle. I know it's a war, I know it's bloody and loud and terrifying, I know you're worried, but I'm worried too. I can't just stand around, I need to do something.' he takes a deep breath, ignoring the betrayed look in his father's eyes. 'I'm going to be fine. And honestly, you should worry about yourself more. I'm not a child anymore.'
In the end, he was recruited.
He poured over endless books on healing, the quick and useful spells for injuries, the jarring and gruesome procedures for less than pleasant wounds, anything and everything to be prepared.
At first, he was assigned to small injuries, ones like cuts and grazes. Then, they got more and more serious. To broken bones, wounded organs, nasty curses and hexes, to even the more mentally traumatizing ones. He got help specifically from Albus Dumbledore with injuries like those.
He was a Healer mostly because it was easier to avoid the questions thrown at the wounds. Wounds that wouldn't be typically found in accidents or normal duels. St. Mungos was avoided to avoid suspicion.
He's met many, many people from his work. It turned out that the Order of the Phoenix consisted of plenty of soldiers. From Aurors in the ministry, to the regular people you'd probably see while grocery shopping. His best friends, Hermione and Ron, were thankfully spared from the gruesome battlefields, but they worked themselves to the bone with whatever task they were given. Ron, always the strategical genius, took to planning ways of attack. Hermione meanwhile, delve into research on security wards, the kinds of magic for people to defend themselves with.
Eventually, Harry found himself in his very own mini hospital. He had an entire room for himself, the size of a very big living room. The walls were lined with beds and stretchers, and every so often there would be someone occupying one of the mattresses.
Harry made sure to decorate the room colorfully, not colorful enough to the point where it would be a headache to look around, but also not blank enough where it would be painfully boring to sit in the room for hours on end. There was a very big window at the end of the room, charmed to be the weather of whatever he wanted, and whatever scenery he wished. (He had Hermione to thank for that.)
He was healing the wound on a brown-haired witch when it happened.
She had large, doe eyes, amber and glowing. Her hair was straight and silky, and she was a frequent patient in his care. She was 2 years older than Harry, and she took to Harry like he was her younger brother. Her name was Helia, and she smiled whenever Harry walked into the room.
'Again? Seriously, Helia. You need to be more careful!' Harry frowned as he checked around for any more injuries. She had a bloody cut on her left shoulder (blood didn't have the same effect it used to have on him anymore), it wasn't anything dangerous, but it was deep. He rushed over, the spell already out of his mouth, Sanare Vulnus. His wand vibrated softly, the gentle breeze of warmth surging through his system. He closed his eyes contently, still concentrating on the humming of his wand.
The wound stitched itself up, slowly and little by little. Helia watched with fascination, massaging the ache the scar left in its wake.
'Sorry, Hare-hare.' Harry grimaced at the nickname, Helia grinned wickedly, 'It was an accident. I couldn't dodge in time. I'll be more careful next time, I promise.' she said, humming as she picked at the drying blood on her shoulder.
'That's what you always say.' he sighed, looking at the blood and muttering a quick cleaning spell. Helia smiled, beaming up at him. 'Okay, get out. If you're experiencing any symptoms come to me right away, do you understand?'
Helia rolled her eyes, strolling out the room humming. She waves a quick goodbye which Harry happily returns, before going back to the rest of the patients in the room.
As Harry continued tending to the patients in his makeshift hospital, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a difference. It was tough work, emotionally and physically draining, but the gratitude in the eyes of those he healed fueled his determination. His room became a haven for the wounded, a place where healing went beyond physical wounds, mending the spirits of those battered by the war.
When his work for the day was done, and none of his patients were having problems, Harry would take place in his favorite couch, a deep red fabric filled with luxurious cushioning, and read a book. Or, on any other day, he'd wander out of his little mini hospital and back into Grimmauld place, see what everyone else was doing.
As the sun dipped low in the sky, casting warm hues across the room through the charmed window, Harry was interrupted by a sudden commotion outside. The door swung open, and in walked a man, supported by two others, Lily and Remus. The atmosphere in the room shifted as everyone sensed the severity of the newcomer's injuries.
Harry's eyes widened when he saw a man on the stretcher. He was deathly pale, his dark hair matted with blood, and his expression contorted in pain. The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension. He hadn't met the man before, at least, he didn't think he'd met them before. Not in the hospital, at least.
He had a gaping cut right in the middle of his chest, it was definitely one of the most bloody injuries he's seen so far.
'Harry,' Lily Potter called, rushing over. 'We need you here, now.' His mother's face was filled with concern, green eyes so like his flitting to the injured man on the stretcher.
Harry ran to the stretcher, his healer instincts kicking in. He took in the extent of the stranger's injuries, the result of a cutting curse that had sliced through layers of magical protection. It was a dark and dangerous curse, clearly meant for malicious intent. His fingers twitched and his brain ran through the hundred of spells on the tip of his tongue. This was not going to take a simple spell, it was most definitely going to take a long, journey of recovery.
He breathed, in and out, and stretched his arm out, wand pointed close to the wound as he breathed.
'Purgo Mundo.' a hum of light from his wand, a pure white gathered the blood from the man's chest and slowly, fleeting it back towards the cut. He felt a wave of exhaustion slowly pouring over him, a dizzy pounding in his head. He keeps going. 'Sanare Vulnus.' the wound became just the tiniest bit smaller, his face screwed up in concentration, 'Sanare Vulnus!' he tried again, a force in his voice. 'SANARE VULNUS! '
The wound became smaller and smaller, the skin moving on its own and stitching itself up. His knees wobbled, and a thick sheen of sweat covered his forehead. His head was positively pounding against its skull, he trembled, almost crumbling to the floor before a firm, gentle hand gripped onto his shoulder.
Fiesty red hair, a burning flame in green eyes, freckles that dotted her face lovingly. Lily, his mother, looked at him, concern doubling.
'Are you alright, Harry? Stay with us.' another familiar voice, this time from Remus, was right by his side.
Harry swallowed the invisible lump in his throat, gasping for a bit more air, 'I'm fine.' he pointed his wand to the wound again, a bit of a shaky feeling in his fingers, 'Profundus Santio.' he could see, almost feel the flesh healing in the man's chest. He gripped his own. 'Okay, get him a blood replenishing potion, he's lost a lot of blood. I've managed to close up the wound completely, but the curse was very dark. It might reopen tomorrow, or the day after.'
His mother nodded, turning to Remus, who was on his other side. 'Get Severus. He'll have plenty of those on hand, and we need help recognizing the curse. Harry, go sit down. I'll bring you something to eat.'
Harry nodded wearily, feeling the effects of the intense magical exertion settling in. Lily and Remus took over, ensuring the injured man was stable and getting the necessary potions. Harry stumbled over to his favorite couch, sinking into its comforting embrace.
The room spun slightly as he closed his eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue. He took deep breaths, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. The smell of medicinal potions lingered in the air, mixed with the colorful scents of the charmed flowers that adorned the room.
Before long, Lily returned with a tray carrying a bowl of hearty soup and a glass of water. She sat down beside him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and concern.
'Harry, you did a remarkable job back there,' Lily said, her voice soft but filled with admiration.
Harry managed a tired smile, 'Just doing what I can.'
His mother gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, a gesture that felt both familiar and comforting. 'You're not a child anymore, but you're still my son. I worry, you know.'
'I know, Mum,' Harry replied, taking a sip of the water. 'But I can handle it. I want to help, and healing is what I'm good at.'
Lily sighed, her eyes filled with a mother's love and worry. 'Just promise me you'll take care of yourself, too. Don't push too hard.'
'I promise,' Harry said sincerely. He meant it. He couldn't bear to see the worry in his mother's eyes, but he also couldn't turn away from the path he had chosen. The war demanded sacrifices, and he was determined to make a difference. He wouldn't allow anyone he loved to continue be hurt, he wouldn't allow it.
As Lily left to check on the injured man and fetch Severus, Harry let his mind wander off, what was it like, there, on the battlefield where hurt and exhaustion buried into every one of your bones? Where danger and death lurked beneath each little spell? Each little movement?
Once Snape arrived and took charge of the medical situation, Harry found himself back on his feet. He couldn't linger in the shadows of exhaustion; there was still work to be done. As he moved among the patients, checking on their progress.
After a an hour or so, (Harry wasn't keeping track of the time) Lily and Snape left, leaving him alone in the room. He sighed at the darkening window, the night sky already in view. Casting a wandless Tempus, it was midnight. He dimmed the light in the room, checking on the patients in the room.
A heavily bandaged man named Jean was laying in the bed, still. He was in a coma, but he was likely going to wake up in the next two weeks. Harry made sure to replace the flowers next to his bedside. He pulled the blanket over the figure, tucking him in gently. He did the same for others,
Mary, Gregory, Lolla, Popper, Helen.. there were 7 total patients in his care currently. He smiled contently when he realized that most of them were going to be discharged either this week or the one after that. He took great care in remembering every patient's name, and tried to make it as homely as possible. It was his way of saying a small thank you, for their bravery and service.
Finally, he moved to the very last bed. The man resting there had a more relaxed face, on closer inspection, he was actually quite attractive. Chiselled facial features, high cheekbones, dark, wavy hair that was parted neatly. Broad shoulders and a fine body that would have made any girl swoon, and long, elegant and pale fingers. He looked like he was around Harry's age. And he definitely looked charming, Harry could admit that much.
Harry doesn't know if he's seen this man at all in Grimmauld. But the face was familiar.
He tucks the man in, carefully minding the to-be wound on his chest, and casts a warming charm on the bed sheets. The vase on the table beside the bed was empty, so he spells a few pretty flowers in there, fingers brushing the petals. His eyes flit towards the man once more, and he notices a stray hair falling over his face.
He gently and slowly swipes the hair away from the stranger's face, the skin was cold under his touch, so he casts another warming charm. At last content with the state of his little hospital, he sweeps around the room once more and gently walks towards the door, closing it behind him.
Harry found himself in the quiet hallway of Grimmauld Place, the dim light casting long shadows on the worn carpet. The events of the night lingered in his mind, especially the mysterious man with the striking features. The encounter left him with a sense of curiosity and a strange connection that he couldn't quite explain.
As he walked through the hallway, he passed by the portraits of the Black family, their stern faces watching over him. The old house held its own secrets, and Harry couldn't help but wonder about the history that echoed within its walls.
Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice the soft footsteps behind him. Turning around, he found Hermione, brown-haired curly mess, holding an incredibly thick book, approaching with a curious expression.
'Harry,' she called, her voice hushed. 'How's the patient? The one you just healed?' she had a hint of worry in her voice, Harry smiled softly.
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, feeling a mix of exhaustion and intrigue. 'He's stable for now. The curse was dark, though. It might cause problems later. I did what I could.'
Hermione nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. 'You always do, Harry. But that's not what I meant. I meant, how are you?'
Harry blinked, surprised by the question. He offered a small smile. 'I'm fine, 'Mione. Just a bit tired. It's been a long day. I think I cast a bit too much. A Profundus Santio can take a lot out of someone, but I'm fine.'
She studied him for a moment, as if trying to read beyond the surface. 'You've always been like this, you know? Taking on more than you should, caring for everyone else.'
Harry chuckled, a wistful tone in his voice. 'I honestly don't know what you mean.' it's natural to be like this, isn't it? He's just being a decent human being.
Hermione placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'It's why we all respect you so much. But don't forget, you're not alone in this. We're here for you, too.'
He appreciated her words, the genuine concern in her eyes. The camaraderie within the Order of the Phoenix was something he cherished. They were a makeshift family, bound by a common purpose.
'Thanks, Hermione,' Harry said, genuinely grateful. 'I'll keep that in mind. Now, I think I could use some rest. It's been a taxing night. And it's literally midnight, you bookworm. Get some sleep!'
She laughs softly. 'Get some rest, Harry. We'll take care of things here. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.'
'You too, 'Mione. I know you like to do stuff on your own, but you can always ask us for help, you know.' he said quietly, Hermione's expression melts and she wraps him in a warm hug, which he gratefully returns.
-
Tom Riddle lay on the bed, his eyes closed as he pretended to be unconscious. The events that led to this moment played in his mind. The mission had been going well until that cutting curse had struck him. He had underestimated the skills of the opposing side, and now he found himself in the hands of the Order of the Phoenix.
He couldn't deny the pain radiating from his chest, but his focus was on observing the healer who tended to him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, now a skilled healer for the Order. Tom had heard about him, but this was the first time they had crossed paths.
As Harry worked on the wound, Tom couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which he cast healing spells. There was a grace and proficiency in his magic that Tom hadn't expected. He expected a fight, a struggle, but instead, he found himself at the mercy of a healer.
He had tousled black hair, like a raven. His eyes were shining jewels, a beautiful green that Tom wanted to stare at forever. He had delicate features, a slender body that was graceful when casting spells.
The pain gradually lessened as Harry continued his work. Tom couldn't deny the effectiveness of the spells, even if they were cast by his supposed enemies. The room had a comforting atmosphere, and the colorful decorations created an odd sense of peace.
It was such a lovely feeling- Tom never knew such a warm feeling could ever exist. The white of Harry's magic was just so, so beautiful. Tom found himself staring, transfixed, at the Healer before him.
When Harry stumbled under the strain of the healing, Tom almost broke character to offer assistance. And then scolded himself for these sudden impulses.
As Harry's mother, Lily, and Severus entered the room, Tom closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness. He listened to their discussions about the severity of the curse and the necessary potions. The mention of Severus made him uneasy, knowing the man's allegiance to the Dark Lord.
Once the others left, and the room quieted down, Tom opened his eyes slightly to observe Harry going about his routine. The way he cared for each patient, decorating the room, and ensuring a homely atmosphere—it was unexpected. Tom had seen war, cruelty, and darkness, but this side of the Order puzzled him.
When Harry reached his bed, Tom controlled his breathing, maintaining the appearance of unconsciousness. He felt a warmth on his chest as Harry cast another spell, likely a warming charm. It was a gesture of care that contradicted everything Tom knew about war. War was brutal, war was always bloodied with betrayal, cruelty, death. So why was this man the opposite of everything in war?
Then, there was a moment of unexpected intimacy. Harry brushed a stray hair away from Tom's face, and the touch sent a shiver down Tom's spine, his heart was beating unusually fast. Merlin, the feeling of warmth blooming across his forehead almost made him melt.
Damn, Tom thought as the door clicked shut, he's really cute.
-
The next day unfolded much like the previous one, with Harry tending to the wounded in the mini hospital. The patients were on the road to recovery, and the atmosphere in the room was a mix of relief and gratitude. The mysterious man, still unconscious, remained an enigma in the corner bed.
As Harry moved through his routine, checking on each patient and ensuring their well-being, he couldn't shake the feeling of curiosity about the man with striking features. The sunlit room held an odd sense of calm, contrasting with the chaos of the ongoing war outside.
In the afternoon, Severus Snape arrived to assess the patients. Harry observed the interaction, the unspoken tension between Snape and the mysterious man. Their exchange was cryptic, and Harry wondered about the secrets that lingered beneath the surface.
The next day, the man's wound reopened. The white sheets were a red, bloody mess, the man on the mattress was gasping, gripping at the sheets as his face contorted with pain. Harry was right by his side, a blood replenishing potion already in his hand and his wand gently humming the spells that spilt from his mouth.
'Profundus Santio.' he cried, the wound stilled. 'Pundo Cruor.' the blood swirled around on its own, making itself home back into the man's body. 'Sanare Vulnus.' He gently grabbed a transfigured towel, wiping away the blood on the man's stomach. Exhaustion was creeping up his own body, he took a steady breath, and gently uncorked the potion in his hands.
He looked up to find the man staring at him, gaze unblinking.
His eyes were completely black, a mix of scarlet here and there. His mouth was a bit open, and he was looking at Harry, eyes roaming over his body. His cheekbones had a flush to them, eyes a bit wide. Harry repressed a shiver, and just continued to wipe away the blood on his skin. He stood up, making his way towards the stranger's face, and slowly brought the potion to the other man's lips.
'Drink this.' he whispered, tired. The man stared at his eyes, almost in fascination and wonder, face a bit pink. Before parting his lips and drinking the potion that Harry tilted into his mouth.
'Thank you.' the man rasped, his voice was destroyed, still fixed on Harry with a disturbing amount of attention. He cleared his throat, cheeks becoming a bit more red, 'Sir.. I noticed you aren't wearing a ring.' he said breathlessly, Harry almost winced, his throat was probably burning. Harry stared at him,
'Yes?' he questioned quietly,
'I was..' he coughed, a bit of blood red coming out of his mouth, 'Wond'ring if I could take you out.' his voice slurred, and his eyes drooped shut slowly.
'Er- what?' Harry blinked.
'On a date.'
Harry mindlessly wiped away the blood from the corner of the man's mouth gently, 'Come on, you're not in your right mind at the moment. The wound was reopened very suddenly, you've lost a lot of blood.' he ran a hand through the man's curls, parting it as neatly as it was before.
The man's eyes flickered open, his gaze still fixed on Harry. 'I've never seen someone as beautiful as you,' he murmured, his words slightly slurred. 'Even in the midst of pain, you shine.'
Harry couldn't help but feel a mix of confusion and amusement. This was definitely not a situation he had expected to find himself in. Dealing with confessions while tending to wounds was a new experience, even for him.
'You're not in the best condition to be asking someone out,' Harry replied, trying to keep the situation light despite the seriousness of the man's injuries. 'Let's focus on getting you better first.'
The man's lips curved into a faint smile. 'I'm serious, you know. I've never been more serious about anything in my life.'
Harry sighed, finishing the cleaning and healing spells on the man. 'Well, we can discuss it when you're fully recovered. Right now, you need rest.'
As Harry continued his work, the man's eyes remained fixed on him. It was a gaze that held a strange intensity, and Harry couldn't quite decipher the emotions behind it. The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, becoming charged with an unexpected tension.
Once the wound was fully healed, Harry conjured a fresh set of sheets and helped the man settle into a more comfortable position.
As Harry continued his work, the man's eyes remained fixed on him. It was a gaze that held a strange intensity, and Harry couldn't quite decipher the emotions behind it. The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, becoming charged with an unexpected tension.
'You're a very skilled healer.'
Harry nodded, a small, tired smile on his face. 'Just doing my job. The curse is quite potent; it might take a few rounds of healing to stabilize it completely. Try to rest, and let the potions do their work.'
The man continued to watch him, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. There was an intensity in his gaze that made Harry slightly uncomfortable, as if the man was trying to decipher something hidden within him.
'What's your name?' the man asked, his voice still rough but carrying a peculiar charm.
'Harry. Harry Potter,' he replied, not hiding his identity. There was no point in secrecy within the Order. 'And you?'
The man hesitated for a moment (which was curious, the man didn't seem like someone who would hesitate), as if considering his response. 'Tom. Tom Riddle.'
Harry grinned, glad to finally learn the man's name. 'Well, Riddle, take it easy. I'll check on you later.' With that, he turned away and moved to attend to other patients, leaving Tom to his thoughts.
As the day progressed, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being observed. Every time he looked over at Tom's bed, he found those dark eyes fixed on him. It was both unsettling and intriguing. He wondered about the man's background, his connection to the Dark Lord, and what had led him to this point.
In the evening, as Harry was completing his rounds, he noticed Tom sitting up in bed, watching him with an unreadable expression. The air between them seemed charged with unspoken tension.
'How are you feeling?' Harry asked, making his way to the patient's bed.
Tom's lips curved into a smirk, his eyes glinting. 'Much better, thanks to your excellent care.' his voice was much smoother now, a silky undertone in it.
Harry nodded, replenishing the flowers in the vase with a flick of his wand. 'It's just my job.' he shrugged, because it was.
Tom's gaze intensified, and he leaned slightly forward. 'You're different from the others here. I can sense it.'
Harry raised an eyebrow, curious about what Tom meant. And a bit surprised by the statement. 'Different how?'
'Your magic. It's... unique. I've never felt anything quite like it,' Tom said, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. 'There's a purity to it, a warmth. It's intriguing. You're very intriguing, if I do say so myself.'
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He wasn't used to someone dissecting his magical aura so openly. 'I'm just a Healer. Magic is magic.'
Tom's smirk widened, 'I've been around magic my entire life, and I can assure you, yours is exceptional. I wonder what makes you so special, Harry Potter.' he swung his legs to the side of his bed, trying to sit up fully, before wincing. Harry rushed over, fussing.
'Don't move so much! It just reopened, and I just closed it!' he gently grabbed both of their shoulders, pushing them down against the bed.
'Ouch.' Tom rasped, then, as if in a daze, he stared at Harry, eyes widening. 'You look very good above me. I bet you'd look better below.' then, he winked. Winked!
Harry's mouth dropped open, his cheeks flushed glowing red. 'What-'
Harry stammered, caught off guard by Tom's unexpected comment. The smirk on Tom's face widened, and there was a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
'You're blushing, Harry. How adorable,' Tom teased, his voice still carrying that silky tone. 'I must say, being tended to by such a cute healer is quite a pleasant experience. Say, do you have any preferences for first dates?'
'Er.. Thanks?' he said unsurely, he wasn't really sure what to do with compliments. Tom was quite nice at that. 'I've never really been called "cute" before, but I guess there's a first for everything. If you have a girl on your mind, I heard that movies are a safe option. Anyway, I'm not sure what you mean by special. I'm just a wizard doing what he can to help, Riddle. With the war going on, I need to make sure the people I love are safe.'
Tom blinked. And then burst into laughter, Harry was so completely lost on what to do. He mumbled something under his breath, still laughing softly, it sounded suspiciously like "oblivious".
'Ah, but there's more to you than meets the eye, Harry. I can feel it.' Tom's eyes sparkled with an unnerving intensity. He smirked, 'But of course, you meet the eye quite pleasantly.'
Puzzled, he opened his mouth, and before Harry could respond, the door to the room creaked open, and Sirius Black walked in. His eyes flickered between Harry and Tom, a playful grin on his face.
'Am I interrupting something?' Sirius asked, eyebrows raised.
Harry shook his head, a bit relieved by the interruption. 'No, just checking on the patients.'
Sirius chuckled, walking over to Tom's bed. 'Well, well, our MVP is awake. How's the chest, Riddle? Lestrange did a number on you.'
Tom nodded, smiling. 'It's healing, thanks to our talented Healer here.'
Sirius grinned at that, positively beaming at Harry. Harry flushed and looked away, waving him off. 'It's literally my job.' he muttered under his breath.
'Glad to hear that,' Sirius said, ignoring Harry's statement. He clapped Tom on the shoulder. 'If you need anything, just ask Harry. He's the best in the business.'
'Of course.' said Tom politely, Harry sighed, and excused himself from the room. He needed some fresh air, Tom and Sirius were conversing lightly about different topics, all ranging from the war, to the latest Quidditch match.
-
Tom watched as Harry left the room, the door swinging shut gently. He turned back to Sirius, who was watching him curiously.
'You seem interested.' he said idly, leaning against the wall next to his bed. Tom hummed, looking at the window at the end of the room. It was a nice sunset, an open grass field that swayed with an invisible wind.
'I am.' he looked at Sirius again, 'Say, if I were to take him on a first date, where's the best place?'
Sirius's head whirled around so fast Tom thought it was going to snap off. His eyes were blown wide and he made an odd choking sound before dissolving into a coughing fit. Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes.
'You're serious about this?' Sirius finally managed to choke out,
Tom raised an eyebrow, 'Yes. Why?'
'I just never thought the great charmer, Tom Riddle, would be asking for my advice.' Sirius laughed, 'On romance! For my godson!'
This time, Tom didn't bother resisting an eye roll.
-
The next time Tom's wound reopened, Harry was by his bedside in a matter of seconds.
The curse was very persistent, every time Harry closed it off, it just felt like it was going to reopen the day after that. And, it was a horrible realization that Harry came to- it seemed to get worse and worse. The wound felt much deeper- bigger than last time. Blood was absolutely pouring out of the man, who was gasping in pain. There was no time to panic.
He was quickly working, wand making movements as fast as he could. Healing came like second nature, he had to get 2 more blood replenishing potions.
He cast a silent spell, it was one that checked heart beats and pulses. The distant thump-thump was a relief, but it was getting a bit faint. Slower.
'Altius Sanare.' he muttered, a golden light cast around the room, a magical hum in the air. Black dotted his vision, his mind swirling. He swayed on his feet before gaining a better sense of his surroundings. Looking below, he noted pleasantly that the injury was slowly closing off. A dull ache was in his chest now, but the thumping of a heartbeat was getting stronger, healthier.
He gently lifted Tom up, the mattress complied easily, springing up so that Tom was now half-sitting up. He kept his hand on Tom's back, feeling the warming ooze of blood soaked through fabric. He uncorked the potions, and lifted it to Tom's lips, raising an eyebrow when the man didn't immediately drink it.
'Go..' he rasped, 'Go on a date with me.'
Thump-thump. It seemed to get faster, in his head. Harry thinks it's the loss of blood.
For some reason, a sudden sorrow overtook him. He looked at Tom gently, 'Maybe.' he whispered softly, 'When you get better, we'll see.'
Tom's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and something else flickering in them. Harry had expected a different reaction, maybe disappointment or annoyance, but the vulnerability in Tom's expression caught him off guard.
Harry shook his head, clearing the sudden heaviness in the air. 'Drink the potion first, Riddle. This is becoming a pattern, you know? Your wound reopens, I heal it and then you ask me on a date. Focus on getting better for now.'
Tom chuckled weakly, complying with Harry's request and downing the potion. The golden glow around the room intensified as the healing magic worked its way through Tom's body. Harry kept a close eye on the process, ensuring that the wound was stabilizing.
He uncorked another potion, this time it was a sleeping one. Tom needed rest, he would figure out the curse later. Tom looked at the potion warily, Harry smiled gently. 'It's just a sleeping potion.'
Tom shook his head, a small frown on his face, but the tiredness clung at his pale face stubbornly. Harry ran a gentle hand through the other's dark curls, coaxing him to drink it. Tom closed his eyes, humming contently, and he drinks the potion slowly. Harry leaned in, and Tom opened his eyes as he pressed his lips to Tom's forehead.
He hears the heartbeat in his head skip a beat, before returning full force, impossibly fast. He looks at Tom curiously, wondering why his heart was beating at such a tempo.
His dark eyes were blown wide, his mouth was parted a bit open and a red was appearing on his cheekbones, he let out a strange choking sound before falling asleep. Harry wonders if he should be concerned, and casts a diagnostic charm on the individual.
Well, he seemed fine.
The door creaked open, and Lily Potter entered the room, her eyes immediately going to Tom's sleeping form. 'How is he? I heard a bit of commotion here.'
Harry sighed, 'The curse is getting worse. It's like it's fighting back against the healing spells. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.'
Lily placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. 'You're doing everything you can, Harry. We'll find a solution. For now, get some rest. You look exhausted. I'll get Severus to take over for you.'
He nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. 'I will. But I need to keep an eye on him. The curse is unpredictable.' he said, pursing his lips, torn between exhaustion and a duty to do.
Lily sighed, 'Harry, dear. Please. You barely got any sleep last night. Severus will watch him, just lay down for a while. I promise your patients will be okay.'
Harry slowly nods, eyes still on a sleeping Tom. There was still a lot of blood on the sheets, but he didn't know if he could muster another spell. He drags a hand down his face, sighing. 'Okay. I'll go get some sleep, but call me immediately if something happens.'
His mother beamed, Harry flushed and looked away. She pats his back roughly, 'There we go. Come on, let's get you to bed.'
'Seriously.. I'm not a child anymore.'