An Enigma
Harry, frankly, is fucking terrified. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic but still. What should he be, in the current situation? He was sitting in “Le Éclatant Étoile” which he had never seen or heard of in his entire Hogwarts career but when he looked for it there it was, right in the middle of Hogsmeade, which to him was insane. To go on with the insanity that had apparently taken over his life since he sent that damned letter he went inside—in perfectly tailored grey and black robes that fit so well and so comfortably that it should be criminal, sent by the biggest criminal in the last decade—and found that Volde- Tom had a reservation. Under Gaunt. Harry is so fucking screwed.
He had been led upstairs to a table by the window and had to hold back a grimace at how ornate it all was. The restaurant wasn’t gaudy by any means, in fact, it was beautiful, it was just how out of place Harry felt.
He’s sure if he looks anywhere but out the window, he’ll feel like running off and finding somewhere to hide and freak the fuck out about the dark lord that should be rounding the corner any minute now. Speaking of Tom, it was just then the sight of someone walking down the street caught his eye and he had to hold back a gasp. Harry didn’t know if he really expected Vo- Tom to walk into Hogsmeade in snake-face but he certainly didn’t expect him to be hot. He’s in immaculately tailored robes—black and green—looking like an early 20’s version of the diary’s Tom. It was startling, and as he stared, he noticed another, also staring, Ginny. Shit shit shit, fuck ginny- she looks so terrified- fuck. What could he do? Go down and say, ‘Don’t worry Gin, it's just the dark lord, not the thing that tried to kill you in second year, we’re on a date, I’ve got it handled.’ Yeah, that would go over well.
He was distracted from that train of thought by the sight of Tom coming into view, looking so graceful, so right, in this merlin-forsaken restaurant. Harry scrambled to stand, trying to emulate grace in the ways the etiquette books he’d stuck his head into the last few days told him to. Then they watched each other. Tom was still walking towards him but he was staring—appraising him, and Harry is so screwed.
Then, He’s in front of him, extending His hand, looking so very pleased. “Hello, Harry—” Harry slid his hand onto Tom’s, as prompted, “May I call you that?”
He asked as He tighten His grip only slightly, just to hold the hand in His.
“Erm- yes? As long as- as I can call you- call you—” Harry realized, just at this moment, he has no idea what to do in this situation and he guessed none of the etiquette books he’d read would’ve prepared him for this.
“Tom, if you would.” He said as he lifted Harry’s hand to his lips briefly, before dropping his hand and gesturing to the table in a ‘Shall we?’ motion.
They sat and for a moment they just stared at each other before Tom spoke.
“I have to say your letter was quite a surprise.”
“I wasn’t really expecting a response, hell, I wasn’t even expecting you to read it.” Exasperation wasn’t the word for the tone in his voice, no it was more of exasperated shock. Tom raised an eyebrow and smiled a small thing. It wasn’t genuine, Harry could sense the predatory undertone, more than he could see.
“Now why do you say that, Harry?” He was lounging, much like a snake, and it was such a difference from Harry, curled into himself, shying away from, well, everything. It was odd, He noted it for further examination.
“Well, I didn’t really think that Vol-,” he paused and glanced around to make sure no one was looking, “that you read fanmail.”
Paranoid, Tom thought, jumpy, skittish, shrinking away from the wealth around him. Was Severus incorrect in his notion of Harry being ‘spoiled rotten’?
“Fanmail.” He was ready to laugh at him but He held himself back, “Harry, dearest, does that mean you’re a fan?” May explain why he sent such a thing, mistook obsession for love, so common for those so young. It took work for Tom not to scoff.
“if I’m a fan of yours then you must be my biggest fan, with how much you try to worm your way into my life.” The response shocked a laugh out of Him and Harry seems to gain some confidence with His reaction.
“I suppose you are not… incorrect,” He said as He picked up the glass of wine Harry hadn’t realized appeared, what had come with it, apparently, was a basket of bread rolls and a glass of water in front of him. After a sip he spoke once again, “so, what will be having?” Tom asked, gesturing to the menu that sits in front of both of them.
“Oh, erm— I hadn’t thought to— to look.” Again, uncomfortable, squirming. Why does someone with so much wealth look so unsure surrounded by it? He didn’t even have a proper set of robes for a semi-formal restaurant. What is going on here?
“Please, take a moment, I know what I’d like.” He smiled—small but genuine this time—and busied himself with his wine and the goings on just outside the window.
The menu made his head spin. Most of it was french he didn’t understand and it didn’t have any descriptions of any of the food, he knew some, but most of it was a mystery. Now there was a debate, suffer in silence and hope whatever he chooses isn’t awful, or tell Tom—his sworn enemy, the man destined to kill him—his weakness and have his meal chosen for him—or even worse, have every item on the menu explained to him.
Harry decided that the second option would be fine, and if He did try to poison him or something, the poison would’ve been in any of the food he picked anyway, so, why not? “Tom?”
“Hm?” the man turned His head with a questioning hum, and the expression on his face was an odd calm, something not entirely out of place, but not something he was used to. Harry supposed that could define everything that has happened in the last few weeks.
“Ehem, could you do me a favor and order for me—please?” Tom… didn’t have the reaction he expected. He expected an eyebrow raise, a taunt, a laugh, a smile—as weird as that is—something less, less astounded. Instead, His breath seemed to catch, he leaned in and looked at Harry like he gave him the secrets of the universe. Harry might’ve. It would be a very Harry thing to do.
“You really…” Tom sounded flabbergasted like he hadn’t expected any real admittances of emotions, of weakness, frankly? Neither did Harry.
“Its just—” Harry sighed and fiddled with his glasses a bit, “I don’t really do extravagance, I’ve grown up in muggle middle-class suburbs my whole life,” he grimaced and ignored Tom’s small gasp, “We, we grew up in a lot of the same ways, so I— I have no idea what I’m doing, I have no idea what three forths of this menu even means, I have no idea what my feelings even are because you, just look at you, and I’ve always had this morbid fascination with your whole thing and— no one has ever asked me to go on a proper date with them— I guess it's just nice, to have someone think of me as something other than the savior, Lily and James’ kid, Pitiful Potter, a—freak.”
When Harry looked he saw Tom. Not Voldemort, not the Slytherin, not the diary, just Tom. Broken, unloveable Tom, who was looking at him like he was the world.
He took Harry’s hand and stared at it for a moment before looking at him with piercing red eyes that replaced deep brown. “Harry,”
Harry didn’t know what he was going to say next, as they were interrupted by a waiter asking what they would like. Watching the shift from that raw, broken man into a snake ready to strike was fascinating. It was like a switch was flipped.
“We’ll have two of the Le embrasé d' or, if you’d be so kind.” the waiter wrote it down in his notepad and asked a few more questions, and finally left.
“Le embass de-what?” Harry attempted to parrot, but ultimately failed, but He seemed to interpret the question for what it was.
“Le embrasé d' or, or as it roughly translates, The Golden Flame. It's divine.”
“Suppose I’ll take your word for it.” Harry shrugged. The momentary silence was awkward but thankfully interrupted.
“Ahem.” Harry’s eyes shot up to look at Tom, who seemed… nervous? “I had intended to wait for such an—intimate question but I believe it’s more imminent than I originally thought.”
Suddenly Harry was more on guard as He slipped a small thin box out of His pocket, putting it on the table in front of him.
“Harry James Potter, will you allow me, Tom Marvolo Slytherin-Gaunt, to court you officially?” Tom must’ve sensed or seen how lost Harry was, as he was quick to explain, “It's much like officially dating, or an open betrothal. Before you dismiss the idea, not only will both of us be entitled to access to each other at both of our leisure, any protections either parties are under are protections for both parties, and most importantly, it is commonplace for the one courting, myself, to host the courtee, yourself, at their home. Meaning, anytime either of us needs help, protection, or shelter it's easy to get to. Given your earlier statements about your life thus far, I would be happy to have you at the manor instead of middle-class suburbs, was it?”
“This,” Tom went on as he pointed at the small box on the table, “is what is commonly known as a courting gift, often times if you take it, it means we are officially courting, but in this instance, you need not accept the offer to keep it, since I have no other use for it.” He looked at Harry with something like determination.
“And after? After you— court me, what then?”
“Anything my dear. Usually, there is an official betrothal, a wedding if it goes well. If not, we go our separate ways.” Harry stared at the box and wondered, what would this be like? Harry felt like for the first time in his life there was a choice, choices. They would be his, to. But was it right? But what is right? What is good? What is Light? Has Harry ever been those things, known right, been done right by? He’d always been seen as a monster, a martyr, a freak, a savior, he never wanted to be any of that.
He opened the box after a moment and inside there was a bracelet, it was a silver snake, its body winding down, and around, when Harry put it on the head and tail—with two coils between them—faced opposite directions. It was breathtaking. His decision was made.
“Did you have this made?”
“Yes.”
“And you mean it, you want to court me?” Harry regarded him with suspicion and Tom regarded him as well, but with curiosity.
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’ll allow you to court me, I suppose.” The smile Tom gave him wasn’t one of attempted charm but one of true emotion, Harry couldn’t pick out what one it might be but it was certainly positive.
Their food arrived shortly afterward and they moved on to not-so-deep topics but harry reveled in the idea of a future with choices that were his, truly his.
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“You, Harry Potter, are an enigma.”
He snorted as they walked toward the castle in the chill of the evening, he was aware that dinner was about halfway through by now, so he might go see his friends before going up to the common room.
“Says you, I’m pretty sure your the definition of an enigma.”
Tom gave him an unimpressed look before looking forward and stopping. Harry turned around to meet Him where He stopped.
“I should get back, and make sure they haven’t burned the place down.” They shared a laugh before silence fell on them, heavy. This was a goodbye. Harry hated goodbyes.
“So we’ll have a date again. Soon. Right?” Tom smiled and held out His hand, he slipped his hand into the other’s much more smoothly than he had earlier.
“In a week or two perhaps, maybe take me on a tour of modern-day Hogsmeade, make some professors faint, fun date stuff,” the grin he gave had all the charming mischief Tom could possibly hold, Harry was sure of it, “If not then, winter hols. Assuming you’ll want to stay at the manor.”
“Sure,” Harry shrugged, “might be a good change of scenery, plus, the look on Malfoy's face is going to be priceless.” Tom smiled and once again brought Harry’s hand against his lips before letting go of it.
“Do you need anything before I go?” The question caught him off guard, which seems to be a theme. Harry was ready to say no before it dawned on him.
“Actually could you get rid of all this outer robe stuff so I'm just wearing the slacks and shirt? It’d be kind of weird to walk into the great hall in full robes. Oh! And could you send me some more of those sour twists? They are really good.” It felt a little weird to ask for stuff but with a flick of Tom’s wand, Harry was in black slacks and a grey button-up, and his shoes.
“I’ll send your robes and the sour twists back through the mail, but for now I must bid adieu.” Tom’s words were a wistful thing as he apparated with a crack. Harry stared at the empty space for a moment before he turned and headed back for the castle, content.