Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bedroom was cold and uncomfortable. He could hear the cot beneath him creak with every small, restless shift he made, his teeth chattering. Frost had begun to spread along the windowsill, glistening softly. 

Harry’s breath coalesced in front of him. 

Yes.

It was absolutely freezing. 

Snow whirled outside his window in a violent blur. The old walls of Wool’s Orphanage shuddered with every sharp burst of wind. It was the worst storm they had faced yet. 

Harry shifted closer to Tom. The boy had become unnaturally still. He had a blank expression, lips drawn taut, eyes cold as he stared at Harry. The clothes he wore were grey and thin, clinging to his lean frame.

The two of them had chosen to sleep in the same cot. It was too cold for them to sleep apart. They had to preserve whatever warmth they had left. 

“Are you alright?” Harry whispered, eyes soft. He nudged his fingers against Tom’s hand. A shudder ran down his spine. Tom was way too cold. He was bloody frigid. 

“You’re such a kind boy, Harry,” Tom sneered, a cruel gleam shining in his eyes. His teeth flashed eerily. “What a good saviour you are. You care about everyone so much.” 

Harry blinked at Tom slowly. It was the slightest discolouration. He tilted his head. It was barely noticeable. A faint blush had begun to invade Tom’s ears. He was embarrassed. He was flustered and nervous as he glared at Harry. 

An amused, sharp breath escaped Harry’s lips. Tom was absolutely ridiculous. He leaned in close to Tom, arms wrapping around him. He’d never tell the other children about what he did with Tom. 

He’d never tell them that even someone like Tom—always so proud and ruthless—would crawl into Harry’s bed at night when it inevitably turned cold.

“You’re such a prat, Tom,” Harry laughed in a quiet voice. Warmth swelled in his chest. “I’d never tell anyone about any of your secrets. What we have together is special.” 

The world fell silent for one brief moment. Harry’s lips parted as he whispered in a soft, hopeful voice, “We’re special… right, Tom?” 

Tom stared at Harry silently. 

He knew that the two of them were special. Tom could vanish Billy Stubbs’ shoes and send spiders crawling into Amy Benson’s bed. Mrs. Cole had once tried to cut Tom’s hair, hacking it ugly and short, and Harry had somehow fixed it. 

It was almost like magic. 

Tom smiled at Harry softly. Colour rose into his cheeks. “We’re very special, Harry,” he murmured. A gentle gleam shone in his eyes. “No one will ever be like us.” 

Harry tucked his head against Tom’s chest. He could hear Tom’s heartbeat, a slow, soothing beat, lulling him to sleep. He knew that he’d never leave Tom’s side. 

Tom could be cruel to the other children, but he was the only one who was like Harry. They’d always be tied to one another, a soul split in two. 

Tom’s hand slipped inside of Harry’s, a warm, comforting touch. Harry sighed sleepily. He nestled in closer to the other boy. 

The storm continued on for the rest of the night. 

***

He was on his broom and searching for the Snitch. A cold gust of wind washed over him, freezing him as he flew quickly. He could see Septimus Weasley guarding the goal post, sneering as a Hufflepuff Chaser darted too close. 

Harry glanced around the Quidditch pitch. He couldn’t see any quick flashes of gold. The Snitch was nowhere in sight. Harry’s eyes then slowly drifted towards the Quidditch stands. 

He could see Tom Riddle. 

The Slytherin was alone as he sat in the stands. He had a cool, pleased smirk on his face, eyes steady as he watched Harry. His robes were pristine and clean. A light blush had begun to creep into his cheeks. 

Harry shook his head. The Slytherin had no reason to attend any of Harry’s matches. Tom had always hated Quidditch. He saw the sport as nothing more than childish frivolity; a small indulgence he allowed Harry. 

A drop of rain splashed against Harry’s cheek. He readjusted his grip on his broom. 

It was a cold and miserable day. 

Tom really had no reason to be here with him. 

A low, breathless sigh slipped past Harry’s lips, soft as he soared through the air. Harry and Tom had gone to Hogwarts together. They had remained inseparable despite being sorted into different houses. 

Tom would often sneak into the Gryffindor dormitory. He’d slip inside Harry’s bed and vanish by morning. He’d leave with a slight murmur, the subtle shifting of the sheets, a faint creak, and a warm touch to Harry’s forehead. The bed-sharing never waned as they got older. 

Every inch of the castle had been explored by them. They’d sneak out at night and investigate the many corridors and alcoves that Hogwarts had. They’d practice spells in abandoned classrooms and brew restricted potions. They’d go to the astronomy tower and watch the stars. It was always a calm place for them to relax. 

They’d then share cups of coffee the following day; cups to keep themselves awake. 

Harry shifted on his broom slowly, eyes wide as he ignored Tom's fervent gaze.

Tom had a hard time in Slytherin at first. The other Slytherins hated him for being a Muggleborn. They’d throw curses at him when his back was turned. But the curses never landed; Tom always knew what spell to cast, the perfect counter-curse.

It took only a few months for Tom to turn the Slytherins into his lapdogs. Harry became friends with Septimus Weasley and Irene Abbott in Gryffindor. 

Yet despite all their roaming, it had turned out that there was one place left in Hogwarts for them to discover. 

The Chamber of Secrets.

Harry couldn't forgive Tom for what he planned to do. He couldn’t remain friends with him. It had been weeks since the two of them had last spoken. He had gone and ignored Tom in all their shared classes. He had avoided him in the Great Hall. 

Harry flew around the Quidditch pitch, circling above like an owl. He still didn’t understand why Tom hadn’t opened the Chamber yet. He’d told Harry about it weeks ago. Harry glanced over at the Quidditch stands. 

Tom was still staring at him. He had a strange look on his face, soft and indulgent. It was almost as though he was enjoying the match. 

Harry gritted his teeth. 

Yes.

He was done with being Tom’s friend. He’d never talk to the git again. 

A flicker of gold then caught his eye, and Harry dove after the Snitch. 

The match quickly came to an end. 

***

Laughter surrounded him as he stood beside his teammates. Harry had the Snitch in his hand, its wings fluttering helplessly, a proud gleam in his eyes as he smiled at Septimus. 

“You’ve won us another match, Harry!” Septimus said with a grin. He reached over to punch Harry’s shoulder lightly. “You have yet to fail us!” 

“What about me?” Grace Spinnet interjected loudly. “The Hufflepuff Beaters were drivin’ me crazy, and I had to dodge their Bludgers all game—”

“—That’d be because Quintus Smith wants to date you!” Ernest Bell laughed, a smile pulling at his lips. “He’d love to show you his muscles.” 

“What he’ll do is knock me off my broom!” Grace replied hotly. In one sudden movement, she kicked Ernest sharply, a pained groan tearing from his throat. The two of them then began to shove one another. It was playful as they laughed and stumbled, their grins widening. 

The grip around Harry’s shoulder then tightened; a warm breath ghosted past his ear. “Your Slytherin is waiting,” Septimus murmured. He nudged Harry towards the left side of the field. 

Harry held back a loud groan. 

He had no desire to deal with Tom right now. 

Tom had begun to lean against a pillar, his lips curved into a faint smirk. Every movement he made seemed effortless. He was calm and quietly handsome. Tom then ran his fingers through his curls, stirring them as he stared at Harry. 

Harry glanced at Septimus quickly. “You have to help me avoid him,” he said, his voice tight. 

“When are you going to talk to him again?” Septimus asked in a low whisper. “You’ve been avoiding him for weeks now.”

Never. 

He would never talk to Tom again. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” Harry hissed. A cold wind battered against him, its chill seeping deep into his bones. He glanced over at Tom again. 

The Slytherin was as composed as ever. The wind had barely disturbed him. Harry scoffed. Tom’s curls were disgustingly perfect to look at. 

Septimus gave him a small shrug. “Sure. It’ll only cost you a butterbeer or two.”

A wild grin touched Harry’s lips. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

Harry then stayed close to Septimus, holding his broom tightly as they trekked across the Quidditch pitch. It was as they neared Tom that the Slytherin pushed himself off the pillar. He shifted one step closer to them.

“Harry,” Tom said suddenly. “We have to talk. You’ve ignored me for long enough.” A malevolent gleam had begun to burn in Tom’s eyes. His fingers twitched as he stared at Harry. He’d hold Harry in his horrible grip—a tight, suffocating home. 

Harry ignored him. He said nothing as he brushed past Tom’s side. 

“Harry,” Tom repeated himself. His voice had taken on an almost desperate edge. Harry said nothing. He knew that Tom would manipulate him. He’d lie and scheme until Harry was back safely in his palm. Harry couldn’t let that happen to him again. 

Tom’s expression then fell. He took a quiet step back. The clouds above them rumbled with thunder. Harry swore he saw a flash of lightning. 

All of the emotion on Tom’s face then washed away in one slow blink. He turned away from Harry and began to walk back to the castle. 

Harry stood horribly still. He gripped his broom, harder and harder.

He couldn’t remain friends with Tom. 

Harry was doing what was best for them all. 

He had to be. 

***

The Great Hall was loud and chaotic as Harry took a seat. Septimus had one arm wrapped around him, gripping him tightly as he forced Harry to sit still. Irene slid down the bench until she was pressed against Harry. “Are you done with avoiding the Great Hall?” she asked coyly, a smile on her lips. 

Harry shuffled away from Irene. He threw an annoyed glare at her. “I shouldn’t be in the Great Hall at all! I’d like to avoid Tom.” 

Irene tilted her head slowly. “He is staring at you,” she whispered. “D’you think he’ll come over to our table?” 

“I doubt it,” Septimus grunted. “He already tried to talk to Harry after our Quidditch match. He’ll probably lie low for a while.” 

Harry flashed Septimus a cold glance, his fists clenching. He gritted his teeth. The Gryffindor didn’t know Tom at all. Harry was the one who understood Tom. Septimus needed to…

He needed…

A low cry caught in the back of Harry’s throat. He stared down at the table blankly. He could feel a wave of dread rising inside him. It was bitter and heavy. Harry forced back a loud groan. 

It was humiliating. Harry had no reason to be so… possessive… over Tom. Septimus was his friend. Tom wasn’t. 

With a slow, tired sigh, Harry poured himself a large cup of pumpkin juice. He shouldn’t turn around and glance at Tom. He really shouldn’t. 

He glanced over at Tom. The Slytherin was staring right at him. He had gone eerily still, lips drawn tight, eyes wide and sharp. He almost looked like…

No.

He was done with deciphering Tom’s behaviour. 

Harry then spluttered loudly. 

His pumpkin juice tasted far too sweet. 

***

It was absolutely terrible. 

He could hear the other students whispering, their startled gasps echoing as he stormed down the hallway. Everyone was staring at him. He could feel their eyes trailing along his body. He knew that he looked openly dishevelled. 

Harry hadn’t done up his robes right. His buttons were mismatched, his trousers creased and wrinkled. 

He could barely walk straight. He almost felt like a giant. He wasn’t used to being so tall. Tom had gone through a major growth spurt in their fifth year, leaving Harry feeling awkward and short. It had been awful at first. 

Harry had always been taller than Tom, and he hadn’t taken to the sudden change well. Tom had also behaved like a prat. He had mocked Harry subtly for being shorter than him.

Harry then came to a stop. 

There he was. 

He could see himself down the hallway. It was the best that he had ever looked. His uniform was crisp and perfect, the fabric smooth and black. He had done his tie up perfectly. It looked like Tom had even cleaned his lenses.

It had to be Tom inside his body. 

Tom was the only one who would slip inside him. He would control Harry’s body, tending to it as though it were his own. He would bend his limbs and rule his heart. 

Harry gritted his teeth. 

He marched over to the Slytherin, a snarl rising in his throat. “You’re an absolute prat!” he shouted. “What did you do to me?” He grabbed Tom’s wrist, wrenching the Slytherin closer to him. 

Tom’s eyes brightened as Harry touched him. “You’re finally talking to me again. Good. Your childish rebellion should have ended weeks ago.” 

A pair of warm hands slid across Harry’s chest. “You’re so messy. Look at what you’ve done to your clothes,” a soft chuckle dripped out of Tom’s mouth. He kept petting Harry’s chest, straightening his robes, fixing his tie. 

Harry could hear the other students whispering again.

He ignored them. “Get your hands off my chest!” he shouted. 

Tom tilted his head. In one slow movement, he grabbed Harry’s tie and twirled it. “That’s my chest, and you know it.” 

Harry then heard one of the students whistle. Scarlet rushed into his cheeks. A low, infuriated growl escaped him, rough and sharp as he shoved Tom down the hallway and inside a broom cupboard. 

A cloud of dust rose around them. The cupboard was dark and cramped, its tight space forcing them to stand uncomfortably close.

Tom raised his eyebrow. “What will the other students think—”

“—Enough, Tom!” Harry growled, eyes flashing. “What did you do to us? Why am I inside your body?” 

The broom cupboard was silent for one awful moment. 

“I am unsure as to why we have switched bodies. It is a mystery.”

Harry stared at Tom blankly. “Really?” he said slowly. “You actually expect me to believe that? You’re not sure why you’re in my body?” 

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, settling in perfect confusion. He tilted his head slowly, every shift and subtle twitch radiating practiced innocence.

But Harry has always known Tom. He knows that Tom is a master manipulator. 

“We’ll have to work together, Harry,” Tom suggested, a nervous tremor in his voice. “We must determine what caused our sudden switch: a potion, an enchantment, a sequence of runes, a curse. It could take weeks or even months of dedicated research.” 

“Quidditch!” Harry shouted. “You’re a terrible flyer! You’ll ruin the season for Gryffindor! You’ll be an awful Seeker!” 

A soft smile tugged at Tom’s lips. “Of course, you’d be concerned about Quidditch and nothing else. Our NEWTs are slowly approaching, Harry. We have exams we must take.” 

“We should ask our professors for help. They’ll probably find a solution way before we do. ” 

The gentle expression on Tom’s face then hardened. “No,” he hissed. “I refuse to ask them for help. It would damage our reputations, tarnish them right before graduation. We only need one another. We can find a solution on our own.”

He couldn’t figure out why Tom had done something so unfathomably stupid. 

They both knew that Harry wouldn’t tell anyone any of Tom’s secrets. He really had no reason to keep Harry at his side. He could let him go. 

But Harry could play along. He could wait and see what Tom had planned.

“Alright,” Harry said slowly, his voice tight. “We can work together to find a solution. Quickly. If it drags on, I’ll go to the professors and tell them everything.” 

Tom inclined his head, a smile on his lips. “We will work together efficiently. We have never needed anything except for each other.” 

Harry held back a growl. He couldn’t fight Tom in a broom cupboard. He had Divination in a few minutes…

“Wait,” Harry blinked. “What’s your schedule? Shite… I’ll have to go to whatever class you have!” 

“Ancient Runes,” Tom said quietly. The Slytherin reached up to cup Harry's cheeks. “You will do well. You are quick on your feet and intuitive. The class will not phase you.” 

A hot flush surged across Harry's cheeks. Tom was holding him gently. He was cradling Harry as if he were something precious. 

The world then fell silent as Harry leaned into Tom’s touch. It was the tiniest movement, the slightest shift. He doubted Tom would’ve even noticed the small shudder.

The next few minutes were then spent in blissful silence. 

***

“Did you hear the drivel Janis Williams was spewing?” Abraxas Malfoy laughed coldly. He had crept up on Harry as creepily as a rat. Harry ignored him. He began to take off his robes. 

The Slytherin dormitory was eerie and dark. Harry had never enjoyed visiting the cold space. He had always found that the lighting was too dim, and the furniture was too stiff. The Gryffindor dormitory was superior with its plush, velvet pillows. 

“Mudbloods shouldn’t be allowed to speak. The creatures can barely think straight, let alone talk about magic!” Orion Black sneered. He waved his hand and an ornate, purple box flew into his palm. He gestured to the package idly. “They’re chocolates from France. Walburga purchased them on a whim.” 

Malfoy’s hand then froze just above the boxed chocolates. “Does that mean that they’re poisoned?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. “Your cousin is quite the vicious vixen.” 

Orion Black leaned in closer to Malfoy, a malicious gleam shining in his eyes. In one slow, amused breath, he whispered, “I thought you’d prefer the taste of poisoned chocolates to the foul prattle of a mudblood.”

A burst of haughty laughter spilled out of Malfoy’s mouth. Colour rushed into his pallid cheeks. He appeared as conceited and vile as he was. 

“Do you even hear yourselves?” Harry said slowly. He glanced at the two Slytherins, sneering as he did so. A sharp wave of anger was building in his chest. “Do you really have nothing better to say? You’re pathetic.”

Harry then opened the curtains to Tom’s bed. He shot the Slytherins one last hateful glance before crawling inside. A small, dark smile ghosted over his lips. 

He’d never forget that look of horror on their faces. 

Harry then cackled loudly, legs kicking, eyes gleaming. He had never seen anyone turn so pale before! It had been a wonderful sight. He’d cherish their gaped mouths and fear-filled eyes for the rest of time! 

Yes.

Harry smiled softly. 

He could have some fun while in Tom’s body. 

A lot of fun. 

***

“Are you going to leave the bathroom?” Septimus Weasley shouted loudly. The redhead had begun to knock on the door, each rap sharp and impatient. “You never use magic to lock the bathroom door! Are you alright?” 

“I am more than alright,” Tom replied evenly. He glanced back to the bathroom mirror. Harry’s body was naked before him. “I am more than alright.” 

It was an exquisite sight. Harry’s curls were wild and untamed, inky, dark tendrils that curled and weaved about like snakes. He had green eyes—vicious, bright malachite. He was the turbulent ocean, its restless, writhing waves, and the resilient seaweed that was brought to shore.

Tom stroked Harry’s chest slowly. Harry had a soft chest that Tom wished to devour. He’d tug on Harry’s nipples until the boy whimpered and came. He’d pet his stomach and bite his throat. 

He’d always treat Harry as if he were his last meal. 

His boy was a delicacy. He’d sit sweetly on Tom’s tongue. 

Exquisite. 

Harry’s cock was pulsing with need. The head was slick with pre-cum as Tom slowly touched the short length. Yes. Pleasure burned in his navel. Tom gripped himself harder. 

The cock felt so small in his hand. It was making an absolute mess. Tom’s palm was slick and sticky as the head drooled all over him. It was almost sweet. Harry loved him so much. 

A rough moan shot out of Tom’s throat. Harry’s lips were soft and pink, the flesh warm and inviting. Every part of Harry’s body was so, so bitable. He wanted Tom to mark him. 

Tom then stared right into the mirror. “You’re so good to me, Tom,” he whispered. “ I’d never leave you. I’m yours.” 

He canted his hips desperately into his fist. The heat inside of him was dizzying now. It was blinding him—clouding his mind. Tom panted harshly. He could imagine himself behind Harry. 

He would grip Harry’s cock from behind and bring him to completion. Harry would hump his hand, eyes dull, lips parting as he moaned softly. He’d learn that only Tom could bring him pleasure. He’d need Tom’s touch in order to come. 

 “I love you, Tom,” he breathed. The cock in his grip twitched weakly. “I’ll never leave you, Tom. I’ll stay with you forever.” 

The words prickled pleasantly along his skin. He was about to make Harry come. He’d get to watch as his boy fell apart. It would be glorious. Perfect. 

Harry’s cock then bobbed enticingly, its head sliding along his stomach. Heat surged inside him in a searing blast. He wanted to kiss the head of Harry’s cock. He wanted to tease his slit with his tongue. Tom moaned again. 

He would slide inside of Harry one day. He’d break his beloved apart on his cock. He’d get to feel as Harry shuddered around him. Tom would tug on Harry’s messy, dark curls and bring flustered moans spilling from his lips. 

In one long, slow shudder, Tom came across his hand. He then quickly brought his hand to his mouth. Yes. Harry had a divine taste to him. He was absolutely perfect. It then took Tom several seconds for him to lick his hand clean. He enjoyed every drop of Harry on his skin. 

It was then silent. 

Yes.

He’d never regret slipping Harry that potion. He had to bring the two of them together again. The separation between them had been intolerable. Harry wasn’t supposed to ignore him. He was supposed to smile at Tom. 

They had a special connection. They were the only people who mattered in the world. No one else had what they had. Hogwarts had only proven him right. No one was as special as Harry: bright, warm, courageous, and caring. His boy was one of a kind.

He’d do anything to keep Harry at his side. He’d even switch bodies with him. The Gryffindor now had no choice but to talk to Tom again. They’d have to work together to solve their little mystery. 

Tom then tucked himself inside his pajama pants. He looked deep into the mirror. 

Everything would work out the way it was meant to. 

He knew it would. 

***

“Tough luck, mate!” Irene Abbott laughed, a snort bursting out of her mouth. “Professor Kettleburn must hate you! I can’t believe he’d pair you with Cedrella Black!” 

Septimus grunted quietly in response. 

Tom hadn’t enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures. He found the class tiring and chaotic. He enjoyed the chaos and excitement that Harry brought him, the breathless adrenaline, and the rush in his heart. But he hadn't enjoyed Professor Kettleburn’s blatant incompetence. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Harry,” Septimus said slowly. “Are you alright?” 

Tom nodded his head. “I am perfectly alright.”

Tom then shivered with delight. 

He could see Harry down the hallway. The Gryffindor was struggling to walk straight, legs shaking, knees wobbling as he moved slowly. He was like a young fawn. He couldn’t walk properly in Tom’s tall body. 

In several, quick strides, Tom approached the trembling Gryffindor. A short growl escaped Harry's throat. He took a useless step back from Tom, stumbling and twitching as Tom crowded him against the wall. 

“You’re an absolute mess, Harry,” Tom whispered. He then reached up and touched Harry’s cheeks. The flesh was warm beneath his fingertips. It was as smooth and soft as it always was. However, he could see a faint smear of dirt streaked across it.

“Let go of me, Tom,” Harry hissed, a note of dread threading through his voice. He stared down at Tom coldly. 

Tom then licked his finger and swiped the digit along Harry’s cheek. He wiped away the thin smudge of dirt. A burst of colour rose into Harry’s cheeks. Tom could feel the hot blush against his finger, its warmth torrid. 

Irene Abbott had begun to whisper furiously to Septimus Weasley. The Gryffindors pointed at them nervously, gaping in open shock. 

The blush on Harry’s face darkened. The Gryffindor then leaned in close to Tom, lips sliding along his ear, breath hot as he whispered, “You’re such an enormous git, Tom.” 

Tom shuddered. He shifted impossibly closer to Harry. He’d never allow Harry to leave him. He could handle any damage to his reputation—any trouble that Harry might bring. Harry would always be his. 

The Gryffindor then shoved himself away from Tom. Irene Abbott and Septimus Weasley shouted angrily, their features twisting as they stared at Harry. A pained grimace flickered across Harry’s face, disappearing before he moved down the hallway, silent and quick. 

Yes.

Tom would keep Harry beside him forever. 

He’d never let his boy go. 

***

“D’you think the other children are alright?” Harry asked quietly. He had begun to rest his head on Tom’s shoulder. “The storm was terrible last night. It was really cold.” 

They had a thin, scrappy blanket draped over them, its fabric worn and faded. It provided them with barely any warmth. Harry was the one who kept Tom warm and safe. He was the one who provided Tom with comfort. 

“They’ll be fine, Harry,” Tom replied tersely. He shifted slightly closer to Harry. He’d never understand Harry’s sensitive emotions and feelings. It was all irrational. Harry didn’t have to care about anyone else. He only needed to care about Tom. 

No one else would ever matter but them. They were the only real people in the universe. 

“No one’s frozen to death here in years,” Tom continued coolly. He idly inspected his nails. 

“You’re not making me feel any better!” Harry’s voice rose in an angry shout. “No one should’ve ever… frozen to death. What an awful way to die!” Harry shot Tom a fierce glare.

Tom blinked at him slowly. 

Yes. 

His Harry was too soft. He had an exposed underbelly, pale, vulnerable skin that he left exposed to the world. He was kind and stupidly simple. 

“We’re special, Harry,” Tom said, a smirk on his lips. He had used his special abilities to pelt stones at Dennis Bishop. He had enjoyed making the other boy cry. 

Instead of unleashing his violence and rage, Harry chose to avoid his bullies. He had once teleported away from Billy Stubbs and onto the roof of Wool’s Orphanage. 

It was unfortunate that Harry was so kind. 

Tom then leaned in close. 

“We can keep the other children from dying. We can protect anyone you want, Harry,” Tom said quietly. He held back a scoff. He knew that he’d keep only Harry; he'd keep no one else from dying. 

A tired sigh tumbled out of Harry’s mouth. “We’re really special, Tom,” he murmured. “We have to use our… that for good. We have to try and do good things.” 

Harry’s eyes then flashed eerily. “You need to stop lying to me, Tom,” he said slowly. A growl rumbled in Harry’s chest, lips contorting as he hissed, “You need to stop being so cruel!” 

The ends of Harry’s hair then lifted as if touched by electricity. He had an intense spark in his eyes. He hissed as an alley cat would: shrill and feral. He was a venomous snake; a predator that would consume its prey without hesitation. 

Tom shuddered. He tucked his trembling hands beneath himself. He could hear his heart racing in his chest. 

Yes.

His Harry was one of a kind. 

He’d never let him go. 

Never.

Laughter then rang out as Tom tackled Harry to their cot. He petted his sides, bit his ears, and tickled his stomach. Harry squirmed beneath Tom, panting desperately as he tried to escape. His flushed face was a glorious sight. 

Yes.

The future for them was bright. 

Tom would make sure of it.