Tom Riddle & Secrets
Tom has always enjoyed winter break the most. He is not thrown away to the orphanage; not stuck with his people. His Knights are pawns he controls and uses -- places where he wants to do what he wants -- most of the time without question but they are not intimate. For some part, they are not stupid. Tom can take what he wants only if he gives some, too. He must prove himself the leader he portrays himself as. Must prove himself worthy of such a role.
So although being the leader of the Knights is part of his 10-year plan to success -- though, with Harry, it’s a plan with much rearrangement needed; perhaps being rewritten entirely -- it is tiring.
Winter break he is reminded that though he is the head of these people, much like Harry is the head of his own… he’s not like them in the slightest. Winter break, his purebloods go home. They go home to family, to somewhat loving parents, letting them buy their affection. Tom receives, when his birthday comes, presents. They are heartlessly sent, only caring for the monumental price. There is no sentimentality in them in the slightest.
Despite this, winter break is his favorite. He does not have to deal with his followers and does not have to deal with schoolwork any more than he wants to. It is nice, having the dungeons all to himself. He gets first pick at the feasts. He answers to no one. Most of the time, he shares the castle only with some of the staff and five or six children.
Malfoy invites him, like every year, to his house for Christmas break. He says the celebration is like no other, and Tom wouldn’t doubt it. Of all the things money can buy. And Tom tells him no, thank you. This is his break, away from him, one of his more annoying followers. He will not squander it.
This year’s break is special. Not any less grand or enjoyable -- even more so, if he was being honest -- but for sure different.
He’s turning eighteen this month. It is his last year of Hogwarts. That, on its own, is exciting.
But it is also the year he learned, truly and fully, of Harry Potter, the living ghost of Hogwarts. Tom has always spent his winter break with him. Never before has that fact mattered and never before has he cared -- let alone liked it.
This year, the year that has turned Tom’s beliefs around on their heads, Tom not only has Harry, he has Harry all to himself.
Hermione is with her parents. She will visit Ron, who is also with family, with so, so much family, sometime. Blaise has left the castle reluctantly. He gave Harry a kiss on the forehead, hugging him close, looking at him with something akin to worry. (Worry. Tom shares it. But Blaise carries it for a different reason; something, Tom can tell from the way he holds himself, the way he says his goodbyes, the way he says I love you, more has happened.) And then he boarded the train. His parents want him home.
And now, left alone, is Harry Potter.
Well. MOSTLY alone.
Neville Longbottom stays, too. He does not want to return to his family and it seems that if his family wants him back anyway, they don’t ask it of him.
Tom eats his breakfast, listening absently to Harry talk about Divination -- “... thank you, by the way, for getting me into the class…” -- and watching Neville Longbottom with a pointed gaze.
Neville, if we are being frank, is what Tom has regarded already as a “non issue.” He has not meddled like Blaise. Has not even cared to try. Though Tom thinks Harry dating anyone else other than Tom is disgusting, Neville is on the lesser end of such. He is stupid, skittish. He has connections, because of his blood, because of his surname, and… does not use them. He instead hangs around Harry Potter.
(Though, thinks Tom, I suppose I am not that different.)
Tom doesn’t get -- or he tries not to -- what Harry sees in Neville. What, frankly, Harry sees in Blaise. He plans to work around the two of them until he does not have to work anymore.
So he hates them both, let it be clear. He just never considered Neville would be one to make himself a threat.
And it’s not like, now, Neville is even trying to do that. He is a boy in love, prone to acting like it. It is Tom’s own fault for being angry at something so expected, and for not planning accordingly.
But he did not plan accordingly. (He does not underestimate his environment, but estimates it in a vacuum.) So it’s Tom’s fault Harry Potter is holding hands with Neville Longbottom, eating breakfast one handed. It’s Tom’s fault Neville is blushing, hanging onto every word Harry utters, like Harry is some sort of God instead of just the son of one.
Tom seethes. Silently and subtly, he sits in his anger. His magic spills out of him, reacting to his emotions, and Tom tries to reign it in. He will do no good worrying Harry over nothing.
Harry turns to Neville, raising their entwined hands. “What do you want for Christmas?” He turns his head slightly toward Tom -- who rages at the casual favoritism -- and adds, “Both of you.”
Neville blushes red -- so easily flustered, so open and earnest and vulnerable -- and splutters, “Erm -- I don’t want anything, Harry, you know that.”
Harry pecks him on the cheek. Underserved for such an unremarkable boy, thinks Tom. Do you know who you are, Harry? What you are? What I am? Why would you choose someone like him; insignificant? I could do anything he’s done and I plan to do more. “Yeah?” says Harry. “I’ll just get you something I think you’ll like, if that’s alright?”
Walking on fucking eggshells. Too kind. Too selfless to all the wrong people (the only right person being Tom, mind you.) Tom can barely contain himself. He had expected relief, away from Blaise. Instead he got this. It is hardly any better. Tom clears his throat. Harry turns back toward him. Good. “Maybe we could get matching robes.” He could get the Knight’s mark emboridered somewhere? (A claiming of property.) A way to show his Knights that Harry and Tom’s fascination to him is here to stay. He’s been able to ward off their suspicion, if not at least their ire, for a long while, but even Tom can tell they are growing tired of his excuses. Harry’s father being Merlin, when Tom picks the right moment to tell them, will be his pathway into being a permanent facet of their group, whether or not Harry knows it.
Harry grins. Tom does not miss his flush. “I’ll see if I can take you with me on our Gringotts trip -- we can stop for clothes on the way back.”
“Wonderful,” says Tom. He delights in Harry’s excitement. It is a hard thing to get used to; having joy that is shared. But it is nice. Harry’s joy always is.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Tom’s still jealous. His feelings are always strong, hard to ignore, and likely to fuzzy his head if he lets them sit for too long. Tom decides that this time, he will quench his desires quickly. “Tell me a secret,” says Tom. One that Neville doesn’t know. Let me relish your existence untainted from the horrid men that you crowd yourself with.
Harry hums, swinging his feet in the library chair. “I don’t really have secrets,” admits Harry. “I mean, I have a few -- who doesn’t,” You have no idea how true that statement is, thinks Tom. “But, ah,” Harry laughs. “I’m a pretty open book.”
Tom thinks back to Blaise and his’ fight. How Harry refused to let Blaise tell him the truth about his parents’ death, forcing Tom to do so on his own. “What about your parents?” asks Tom. “You told me they were killed.”
Harry blinks. “Oh. Yeah. That,” says Harry, rubbing his neck. “It’s not that I keep it a secret. I just don’t like talking about it.”
“Will you tell me? You said you would.” He said he would eventually, but it is all the same to Tom. Everything about Harry will be his eventually.
“It’s not all that interesting.”
Everything about you is simply enthralling, Harry. I promise you that. “You got any better secrets?”
Harry hums. “No,” he says. “I’d suppose not.”
“Then,” says Tom, “Do tell.” It’s not a secret that Neville doesn’t know, but being on equal footing with the enemy is better than being below them.
Tom knows better than to expect Harry to just retell the secret and move on. “So, in 1944, The Right To Free Religious Practice was passed, 75 to 25 percent passing. Almost every one of those votes was a Merliner, with little sympathy to other religions. In reality, if you ask me, it’s The Right To Merliner Practice, but, alright. No one’s asking me.
“My father graduates. He’s a devote Merliner, but he’s not all that involved in the community. He makes no openly controversial claims; involves himself only with a small, if troublemaking, circle.
“But the claim gets made. It isn’t even his claim, and I can’t find out who made it -- but someone, somewhere has it out for him. And they tell the main church that my father claimed to be Merlin.
“According to their script, that’s blasphemous; pretending to be a God you are not.
“And so they kill him.” He says it bitterly. “They kill him and they’re allowed to. They are not punished. The Ministry lets them off with not even so much as a warning. And do you know why, Tom? Can you guess?”
Tom clears his throat. Harry’s voice, his passion, is easy to get lost in. “Because,” says Tom. “They are one in the same.”
“Yeah,” says Harry. “Yeah.” He goes quiet, then looks up at Tom. “Now your turn.”
“Hm?”
“I gave you a secret,” says Harry, light returning to his eyes. “Now you give me mine.” He smiles. “It’s only fair.”
Tom blinks.
Then laughs.
We really are so similar, Harry. You don’t even understand. “I don’t have many secrets to choose from,” he says. A partial lie. He does not have many secrets to choose from that would maintain their current relationship, but he does have secrets. More than he knows what to do with; more than he knows how to hide. “But ask me something you want to know, and I’ll tell you.”
“How’d you get me put in Divination?” asks Harry. “It doesn’t seem that easy of a thing to do.”
“I’ll tell you,” says Tom. “But you have to promise to keep it to yourself, alright?”
“Is it that bad?”
“Worse,” says Tom. “It’s hilarious.”
“If it’s that bad, then you have my word.”
Tom grins. “It’s my fifth year. I’m on Perfect duty. Cleaning the old trophy room. They’ve got some photos hung up all around the place -- of Quidditch teams; previous Headmasters; old Perfects. That kind of thing. And I find this old photo of Severus--”
“Severus Snape?”
“Yes, Harry. From his years at Hogwarts, before he started teaching. He’s out with the Slytherins of his year -- probably just a class photo -- and, get this -- are you ready? You’ve got to be ready, because I just don’t think you’re ready--”
“I’m ready, Tom. Spill. Don’t leave me hanging like this.”
“Alright,” says Tom. “He had a mohawk. His hair, the exact texture it is now, this greasy, dirty, disgusting black mess, greased up into a spike mohawk. I couldn’t believe it.”
“I love that,” says Harry, all giggling. “So you threatened to release the photo if he didn’t get me into the class?”
“Precisely,” lies Tom. Blackmailing Snape over that photo helped one of his failing Knights stay in his class. Harry’s situation was… much darker. Much less fun a secret, and destined to stay that way. Harry wants an answer, and he got it, to the best of Tom’s ability. He lies, he tells himself, only out of necessity.
“That’s so good... I’m gunna be thinking about that image all day. Oh -- oh, oh, wait. Tom, that was so good, I have another secret for you.”
Great. Wonderful. Tell me all there is to know about you; all that you are, all that you were. “I thought you weren’t one for secrets,” teases Tom.
Harry dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t hide it,” says Harry. “I just forgot. So I’m not allowed to go over to Ron’s place for winter break or summer.”
Tom is surprised, first, by the notion that Harry would want to. If Tom had the choice to stay at Hogwarts rather than the Malfoys, he’d take it in a heartbeat. “Why would you…?” He doesn’t know to frame his words in a way that is not judgemental, but Harry understands what he’s asking regardless. They are two peas in a pod.
“He’s my friend,” shrugs Harry. “He’s a good kid. And I love him. And I enjoy spending time with him.”
And if Tom had normal friends, other than Harry… then Tom might understand this, too. As he is now, he doesn’t. “Continue,” he says.
“Right. So it started when I was ten. I had fallen, for the first time, in love. I was infatuated with the Weasleys of the first year.”
Tom freezes.
The wording, he reminds himself. The wording here is good. “I was infatuated.” The was means he’s not anymore, which means he will not mind enough if that Weasley goes missing. (And why should he not punish them for the crimes of their past? Harry is his. It might not have always been so, but Tom, quite frankly, doesn’t care.)
If it is Ginny Weasely, that snot nosed bitch, then she would be quite easy to take out. She is powerful, in her own way. But not enough.
It isn’t Ron. Tom can tell that much.
One of the elder ones, then? Percy is not an option; Ministry is repulsive, as Harry might say.
There’s Bill, who Tom has heard of in passing, and Charley, the dragon man…
But then Tom snatches on the wording -- the wording -- and the timing. The Weasleys. Plural.
“Fred and George,” says Tom. He hopes he does not sound so unexcited.
“Yup,” says Harry. “But we don’t get together.”
“Whyever not?”
“They get expelled,” says Harry. “And we still keep in touch… but it’s not the same, I don’t think. It’s just not the same.”
And with that piece of information, Tom wonders how he could ever forget the wonder twins. He is knee deep in a conversation he wants to abandon.
But this is Harry. He doesn’t do that to Harry. So with a dry mouth, Tom asks, “Why did they get expelled?”
“A kid died,” says Harry. “They were accused -- but it wasn’t them. There was no evidence of fire being the cause of death -- the method said to have killed him -- and only evidence of an Avada. But they get blamed for it; wrong place, wrong time; wrong circumstances. And a kid is dead. They cannot say they know nothing. So they tell everyone they know something -- know the TRUTH -- and Fred and George end their Hogwarts education almost as soon as it starts.
“Pomfrey didn’t believe me, or them. So she won’t let me over there.
“The kid’s name,” Harry says, “is Carter Brown. And when I find his killer, I will deal with him myself. For Carter’s sake and the twins. I don’t talk about it much because it’s a real sore spot for Ron, y’know…”
And Tom does know. About all of this, he knows more than he can say. The skeletons -- real, actual skeletons -- in his closest are mocking him.
He tells Harry he hopes he finds this killer, of course he does, because that’s what friends do. They lie. Because if Harry knows the truth about Carter Brown…
Well. Tom wants to live. Very badly, he wants to live, doesn’t he? Live and rule and do so with Harry.
So he hopes Harry fails. He hopes the dead stay dead. For Tom’s sake and Tom’s sake only.