Sailing through Calm Waters
Tom was trying to ignore how ridiculously adorable this omega was. He was so small and delicate and his face was nuzzled in Tom’s chest and– stop it Tom, focus. He was carrying him towards the bathroom and Tom mentally fortified himself to get this task done because that was all this was–a task, another thing to cross off for the day on his planner, while the other half of his brain insisted on lingering on the image of Harry covered with bubbles.
Tom then set the tiny, adorable–shut up brain–omega on the floor next to the bathtub, turned the water on, and got towels, and soap, and shampoo, and a first aid kit, and bubbles–no Tom no–out of the cabinet that was perfectly organized. He turned around with his arms full and noticed Harry’s brow was scrunched and leaning against the tub. Tom quickly set everything down and kneeled next to Harry gently rubbing his thumbs against Harry’s temple.
“Is your head bothering you?” Tom asked and then internally smacked himself because he could smell that this omega was on the cusp of his heat–almost positive it would be his first–and dizziness and headaches were common symptoms. Nevertheless, Harry nodded in answer slowly so as not to jolt his head too much and made a small sound of pain that had all of Tom’s instincts wanting to wrap Harry up in his arms until it went away. Tom restrained himself–barely–and suggested Harry take his clothes off whilst he turned around and tried not to imagine what Harry looked like underneath his clothes.
“Tom?” Tom hummed in answer. “I can’t get in, my ankle‘s hurting me too much b-but can you close your eyes......please.“ Tom then moved slowly over to the bathtub with his eyes shut so tightly that he was sure there would be permanent wrinkles around his eyes.
He crouched down and touched Harry’s hair–he mentally sniggered at that and repeated Harry’s hair three more times in his head until he told himself to shut up– and picked him up as he had before, but this time he could feel his skin and it was soft and –oh please stop acting like an adolescent. Tom then set Harry gently in the water, accidentally getting his shirt wet, and proceeded to take it off, while asking Harry if the water was warm enough and if he wanted a bubble bath to which Harry replied with a radiant smile that made Tom’s knees go all wobbly. “A bubblebath? Oh that sounds amazing.” Tom mentally celebrated so loudly that he nearly spilled the bubbles on the floor. When Tom turned around again, Harry was looking at Tom’s chest with wide eyes and he mentally congratulated himself on sticking to his exercise regimen.
He then grabbed the washcloth, dunked it in the water and proceeded to wash Harry’s hands–that were so small compared to his–careful of the scrapes on his palms. “Yo–You really don’t need to do that. I c-can do it myself.“ Harry stuttered and blushed while chewing his lip and Tom just looked at him with his eyebrows raised and continued washing Harry–who still had his glasses on.
One thing Tom noticed while he was washing Harry–besides the fact he was right about how adorable Harry looked covered in bubbles–that made his vision go slightly red and his muscles tense up was how may scars and bruises Harry had–crisscrossing his body in pale lines that were very noticeable on Harry’s dark skin color, the bruises bloomed across his skin in a sick bouquet. Some in particular that bothered him were the one on Harry’s face that started on his forehead and wandered down to his left cheekbone, several other were strange round marks that were scattered on his small frame. Harry was also very skinny, so much so that you could see his ribs through his skin–he would be sure to feed Harry. All in all, Tom was very worried about this little omega he had rescued and wondered in a train of thought that was making him uncomfortable if Harry even knew he was an omega at all.
After all, only people with magic had secondary genders and Tom had learned the hard way that only people born in families with a long history of magic went to the school Hogwarts and learned about such things. All the other so-called muggleborns were ignored and often had a difficult time trying to figure out what was going on with them especially if they presented as an Omega or Alpha. Tom was slowly coming to the conclusion that Harry was a muggleborn and very confused. Tom also very timidly thought that the reason there were so many scars was that Harry was abused because of how strange he must seem to other muggles. He was very unhappy about all of these revelations and knew he would have to bring them up to Harry at some point before he started his heat, which would start soon, in two days at the latest.
Looking up into Harry’s eyes, he let a small smile grace his face, as he saw bubbles slide from his hair down the side of his grinning face. He promised himself he would try to keep Harry this happy and safe.
Tom silently finished cleaning Harry–Running the washcloth up his ribs, tickling him on purpose to which he heard giggling and a “stop it,Tom“– and handed Harry a towel that had one of his favorite patterns on it, he drained the tub and when Harry was wrapped in the towel, lifted him out to assess his injuries.
Harry had blushed the entire time Tom washed him not used to hands being so caring, his thumbs rubbing circles into his ribs to calm him down whenever he tensed up. The best moment was when Tom had washed his hair–his eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he nearly fell asleep right then and there.
After Tom was finished and Harry was still blushing but also feeling much better, Harry was wrapped in a very large towel, sitting on the edge of the tub slightly shivering from the loss of the warm water.
Tom was digging around in a first aid kit silently and Harry closed his eyes while yawning and felt a warm hand lifting up his left ankle for inspection and blinked his watery eyes open.
“It’s not broken just twisted,” Harry said. Tom just gave him an unbelieving look and Harry rolled his eyes, leaving Tom to examine his foot further. A rush of heavy magic suddenly encased his foot, and he startled slightly looking at Tom‘s furrowed brow and relaxed into the feeling of his magic– it was comforting in a way he couldn’t explain, it was cool heaviness compared to the warm breeze of his magic– and his own magic started ringing slightly and swirling around Tom‘s excitedly.
Tom looked at him curiously, gently set down his foot and said “it’s sprained you’ll need to rest it adequately for it to heal.“ Tom started wrapping it, which made him wince and Tom stroked his leg in apology.
Tom gently worked through the rest of Harry’s injuries, until his eyes caught on the wound from the knife, which was starting to bleed again, his eyes darkening slightly and he looked away getting a bandaid from his kit.
Tom then gently wiped the excess blood off with his tumb, which made Harry shiver, and pressed the bandaid to his throat. Tom grabbed a stack of clothing and started dressing Harry in soft but very large clothes that smelled like Tom. Harry was picked up in sweep of Tom‘s arms, and he yawned again letting his head rest against Tom‘s warm chest, while Tom carried him into a bedroom and laid him onto a bed, taking care with his injuries. Tom then covered Harry in a large duvet and Harry fell asleep so fast he didn’t even remember Tom walking out the door.
Tom returned to what he had been doing earlier in the kitchen before he had felt Harry’s magic call out to him–cooking in the kitchen. He was making his favorite sunflower spaghetti and continued chopping up the carrots and celery while thinking about the best way to explain to Harry about omegas, and heats, and the magical society that was extremely prejudiced. Tom himself had been so frustrated by those self important,–chop–inbred,–chop chop–narcissistic–here he scraped the vegetables into the pan on the stove in a slightly more forceful way than was needed–fucking–he grabbed an onion, which he started attacking with his knife, and felt his eyes burn and tear up–bastards–and punctuated the insult with a particularly loud chop that almost cut his finger.
He had come from a very important family in the Wizarding World, the Gaunts, but had been kidnapped and dumped in an muggle orphanage because their political adversaries had wanted his parents focused on finding him instead of the current legislation. He had only been found by his mother by accident when he was roaming through London to get away from that horrible, loveless place shortly before his tenth birthday. His father had apparently been killed a few months beforehand and his mother was so distraught she had mistaken him for his father. Her health had steadily declined throughout his Hogwarts years and by the time he was seventeen he was an orphan. Since then he had retreated completely into the muggle world out of pure frustration, spite, and heartbreak and had been steadily climbing the ranks in a company that built cars. He lived well off with a large inheritance in a wonderful house with a wooded property, practiced his magic in secret and felt so very alone.
He took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his eyes–damn he hated chopping onions–and checked on Harry with a trickle of his magic, who was thankfully still sleeping peacefully. He wondered again for the umpteenth time how he should tell Harry everything. In the end he decided that he would wake Harry up and they would talk over dinner. He sighed again–hopefully this conversation would go smoothly.