Archive of Our Own ^beta

When he was little, Tom often imagined what it would be like to come home.

He didn’t dream of much — just a warm, safe place where he would be welcomed. Maybe his father, who had given him his name, would be waiting for him. Or his non-existent wife? Tom had few guidelines in the orphanage, so he fantasized about clean clothes and food, pleasant company — all the things he lacked. But when it became clear that no one cared about him, the naive fantasies had to be abandoned. He didn’t need a home — his ambitious plans were completely incompatible with the idea of a family, of peace, and stability. Tom was above that and had no need for such petty trifles.

So he rented a cramped flat under the very roof, to which he would return only to fall asleep and wake up again — it was like a refuge, and the York manor where he planned to reside in the future would be just a bigger refuge.

Tom thought it would always be like that. Until he met Harry Potter.

‘You’re in late tonight,’ Harry said, peering out into the hallway.

He was wearing a T-shirt, tucked untidily into his trousers — that’s how he went to work. Tom genuinely didn’t understand his love of the garment, which even Muggles were reluctant to wear, while wizards avoided it altogether because it was too revealing. No wonder the Quidditch shop was so popular with the Auror Academy — countless admirers swarmed like flies whenever Harry was behind the counter.

‘Gorbin’s got some business with Goblins, so I was called in for negotiations,’ Tom said.

‘Goblins?’ They selling you stuff?’

‘The bloody knuts. They’re quite popular.’

‘I’m not sure an item with the word cursed in its name should be popular in the first place,’ Harry shook his head in disapproval but smiled anyway.

He watched as Tom took off his robes and hung them on the hook: there was no room for a proper hanger in their cramped entryway, and the use of space-altering charms was strictly prohibited in old buildings. When Tom lived alone, he was perfectly happy with his tiny kitchen, his narrow hallway leading to a bathroom, and his dark bedroom with a round window overlooking Diagon Alley. Now he had to squeeze in. The building was old and fragile, held together only by powerful structural charms. The floor creaked and slowly rotted, the ceiling was constantly plagued by nasty patches of mold, and in winter the freezing wind always managed to seep in through the cracks, completely ignoring any protective charms.

It was a lousy place. But Harry had dragged in a few broken flower pots he’d surely found in a dumpster, hung posters of various Quidditch teams on the walls, bought a ton of useless colorful knick-knacks, and their flat was transformed — it was still the same old dingy place, but it no longer felt empty. There was now a red and green duvet on the bed, a «welcome» rug in the hallway, and a row of colored mugs and utensils piled up in the kitchen. A brood of tiny green monsters stood on each windowsill, and Harry selflessly watered them every weekend. The books were now stacked in neat piles.

Harry had managed to make this place feel like home. And Tom had let him.

He realized too late what that could lead to.

‘I’m making carbonara,’ Harry said.

‘What’s that?’

'Um,’ Harry ruffled his hair awkwardly, ‘pasta with bacon, egg, and cheese.’

‘Sounds delicious.’

When Tom came into the kitchen, Harry was happily fiddling by the stove. He really was an excellent cook: he was good with various utensils and hardly ever used his wand. Their minuscule kitchen consisted of only a stove, a cabinet, and a small cupboard enchanted with a freezing spell. But it was enough for Harry to move the food around with ease and not complain that it was too cluttered. They’d lived here for a year now, but he’d never expressed a desire to move — his kind, sentimental nature had become attached to these gloomy walls, and Tom had no choice but to oblige.

They were, after all, young men without college degrees, working as salesmen. Tom was twenty and Harry had just turned eighteen: they couldn’t expect to make much money in such a situation, and Tom played his part in the public eye carefully — and in Harry’s, too. They saved every penny, while his vault at Gringotts was full of stolen treasure and money Tom couldn’t spend. It was ridiculous. He wanted to confess everything, he really did.

But first, he didn’t trust Harry, then he couldn’t find the right moment — and then a whole year went by.

‘We sold two brooms today, can you imagine?’ Harry poked his nose into the pot where the spaghetti was simmering. Tom took his usual seat on the lopsided stool. ‘Sometimes we can’t sell anything for weeks, and then two in one day! Cool, innit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you do anything fun? Well, apart from the Goblins.’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ Tom sighed. ‘It was dull and boring. My customers don’t usually stay for a chat, unlike yours. Have those girls been back to see you again?’

‘As if they don’t come to see you,’ Harry glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

‘They’re too scared to stay long.’

‘That’s not true. The first time I was there, there were five-year students hiding behind the shelves.’

Tom remembered well the day he first saw Harry. He was a short, scrawny, disheveled boy — completely lost in the lanes of wizarding London. He peeked into the shop, wandered cautiously along the shelves, and then his eyes were glued to the counter: he explained later that he was just glad to see another young face, as all the other people he’d asked for directions had showered him with highly dodgy suggestions. Tom wasn’t in the habit of chatting to customers who weren’t willing to part with a large sum of money — a boy in ragged clothes looked nothing like one. But his only alternatives were the newspaper and the schoolgirls, so Tom simply decided on the lesser of two evils. And he ended up in this kitchen, with Harry making him pasta.

Maybe he should have gone for the paper.

Tom just didn’t know what to do. His real goal, the one he’d worked so hard for over the years, literally tearing his soul into pieces, couldn’t be achieved if Tom had to pretend to be an exhausted salesman every night. The lump of lies tormented him — not because he didn’t like lying, but because he knew that the weight of those secrets could be unbearable for Harry. But how could he tell him about the Horcruxes, the murders, and Voldemort?

Harry was a kind, naive man. He’d spent his whole life in a remote village, living with his crazy relatives and attending a tiny wizarding school. Everything in London was new to him: he stared at cars, at photographs and posters, and when he saw a horse in the street, his mouth dropped open in astonishment. But he was talented, studying Occlumency and the Patronus Charm. He wasn’t afraid to snap back — and Tom was drawn to him with such fierce force that even his wounded soul ached with longing.

He didn’t want to lose him. What was he supposed to do?

‘You’re tense,’ Harry set a plate in front of him and sat down opposite. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Hmm,’ Tom picked up his fork and poked a piece of bacon, ‘I was wondering if you’d want to meet up with my friends?’

Harry froze for a minute, his jaw tensing.

‘Your friends? Lestrange, Rosier, Nott and Malfoy?’

‘Yes,’ Tom nodded.

‘We’ve met before. They don’t seem to like me very much. And I thought your friends preferred the company of pure-blood wizards.’

‘I’m a half-blood, and they know it.’

‘You’re too handsome to turn down,’ Harry smiled.

‘Really?’ Tom curled the spaghetti around his fork. ‘Then I shall make use of my looks to convince you to come to the Lestrange house with me. Benjamin’s throwing a little party to celebrate his upcoming wedding, it’s nothing too fancy, just our group and a few acquaintances. I’m sure they’ll like you.’

‘Rosier came into my shop a few times,’ Harry snorted. ‘Thought I wouldn’t recognize him. Flirted with me and tried to talk my teeth in. You really think we’ll be friends?’

Tom’s head snapped up. A wave of anger rose inside him. What the hell? Rosier was the first person he had told about his new relationship. Why had he kept his visit a secret?

Harry, watching him closely, was the only thing keeping Tom from apparating to Maximilian’s house immediately and starting a long and painful interrogation. He didn’t like people prying into his private life. He didn’t like it at all.

‘Why did Maximilian want to talk to you?’ he forced out.

‘I guess he decided I had enchanted you,’ Harry rolled his eyes.

Tom bit his lip. Frankly, he thought so himself at first — but it was understandable, as Tom had never been in love before. All the sexual encounters he’d had were of a purely practical, almost exploratory nature. It was all pleasant, of course, but absolutely not necessary. Such a sudden change in behavior naturally raised suspicions of a love spell, and after the first signs of infatuation, Tom underwent a thorough examination: he wore several amulets that were supposed to protect him from love spells, took Amortencia antidotes, and even bought a marigold broom that was supposed to help with mental disorders.

‘Well,’ he forced out, ‘I’ll talk to him. But it’s just an isolated case, isn’t it? That doesn’t mean you won’t make friends with the others. You need to widen your circle of acquaintances.’

‘I am,’ Harry retorted. ‘Remember I told you about Matilda? The one who works at the cafe? She invited me to the zoo. Her parents work for the zoo paper, so we’ll get free tickets. They’re putting on some curious exhibitions. There are still fewer visitors than before the war, so they’re doing their best. Matilda asked me to the rodent exhibition.’

‘I thought you hated rats.’

‘I do,’ Harry snorted. ‘But there will be other animals. Will you come with me?’

‘On your date with a Mudblood? Never.’

Harry gripped his fork and the atmosphere at the table changed instantly. He looked at Tom with a heavy, expectant stare — he didn’t need to say anything to get his point across. Tom hated feeling his disapproval. But even more than that, he hated the fact that to Harry, frivolous acquaintances and completely unnecessary flirting were things of no consequence. He saw Tom’s discontent as nothing more than pointless jealousy.

‘Apologize,’ Harry couldn’t bear the silence. ‘I asked you not to use that kind of language.’

‘And I asked you to stay away from people like that.’

‘Like what? Muggle-borns? They’re no different from us.’

‘Muggles aren’t like us,’ Tom protested. ‘Or have you forgotten what they did?’

‘It was a mistake.’

‘Oh, was it?’ Tom rolled his eyes. He’d read the papers and not just the wizarding ones. Despite the war ending, tension still hung in the air. ‘They’ve just finished one war and are already thinking of starting another. Does it look like they’re learning from their mistakes? If the West and East clash, the wizarding world may not survive.’

‘They won’t clash,’ Harry brushed him off.

‘How would you know?’

‘Because not all Muggles are the same!’ he threw his fork down on the table. ‘And how are you any different, judging people by their background?’

‘Want to argue ideology with me, do you?’ Tom snarled.

‘I didn’t want to argue with you in the first place!’ Harry exclaimed, looking down at the table with unbearable sadness. ‘I just said I wanted to go to the zoo with my friend. And you made a scene.’

‘That girl’s in love with you, Harry. So what now, I have to sit here and watch you walk her?’

‘You always think someone’s in love with me.’

‘And you go ahead, flirt with more customers,’ Tom snorted. ‘Acting like a…’

He fell silent, realizing he had crossed a dangerous line. Harry’s green eyes burned with anger and pain, and it looked like he’d either start crying or throwing curses around at any moment. His pursed lips trembled.

‘Huh,’ he hissed, ‘like what?’

Tom made himself swallow the words. It didn’t help.

‘You know what, I’m not hungry,’ Harry said dryly.

He pushed his chair away from the table with a loud creak.

‘Stop it,’ Tom chided him. ‘Who’s making a scene now?’

Harry looked at him with pure disappointment in his eyes and just walked away. The bedroom door slammed shut and then there was silence. For a few minutes Tom sat there, immobile, waiting for Harry to melt away and come back, but he didn’t. He couldn’t hear a thing — Harry must have gone to the trouble of casting a muffling spell.

Tom looked at the plate in front of him and started eating without any enthusiasm. The spaghetti was warm, covered in cheese and cream sauce; it smelled perfect. If Harry hadn’t run away from the meal, Tom would have told him it was delicious — he always said that even though he’d lost the ability to taste food when he’d shattered his soul into a second shard. He just liked to see Harry smile at the praise.

How had they managed to fight over nothing?

There was something deeply wrong with his relationship with Harry. Tom had always been an egocentric person, but such savage possessiveness was uncharacteristic of him — the mere thought of Harry leaving him filled him with rage and horror as if someone had run a hand through his chest and tried to rip out a piece of his heart. Tom was only protecting his Horcruxes with such blind jealousy, but at least they couldn’t run away from him to someone less aggressive, less conservative, less frightening — or whatever it was that Harry wanted from a normal boyfriend.

Good thing he wasn’t a girl. Tom would have done something stupid.

* * *

After dinner — if it could even be called that — he went for a walk. At night, Diagon Alley grew quieter, the windows of the closed shops still glowing with colorful lights, but all the wizards had already gone home. It was a peaceful place, but as soon as you stepped a little aside, you could make your way to Knockturn Alley, which only just came to life after midnight. Dark figures appeared in the street, green lanterns lit up by the shops, and noisy bars opened their doors.

Tom despised this place. It was filthy and reeked of smoke and decay. To see wizards leading such a miserable existence was simply unbearable. There was no place for such individuals in the world Tom wished to build. Yet Knockturn Alley was where he found all the useful shops selling stolen artifacts or poison — he had no choice but to accept this unenviable cooperation.

With his hands in his pockets, Tom walked confidently down the dark street, feeling particularly gloomy. The more he glanced around, the clearer it became that Harry wouldn’t accept the truth. He didn’t want to hear anything about Muggles and Muggle-borns, but they couldn’t just ignore the subject: pure-blood wizards were the elite, they had the power, and Tom relied on their ideas as a stepping stone to his own personal greatness.

But how could he be Lord Voldemort when he had to count every penny saved for the purchase of a new wardrobe? When he had to fix the bathroom tap yet again? Make Harry dinner when he stayed out late? He’d thought leading a double life wouldn’t be a problem for him — after all, at Hogwarts, he’d excelled at both being a model student and plotting murders — but the weight of this secret was beginning to grow unbearable.

He had to tell Harry everything. Or end this relationship.

When Tom got home, it was still quiet. The bedroom light was on. Tom feared the door would be shut, but it gave way when he carefully pushed the lock aside. Harry was lying on his stomach across the bed, reading — from the picture of an alchemy station, it was an advanced Potions manual. Respectable choice.

Tom came closer and slowly settled on top, his groin pressed against Harry’s bum. Harry shuddered but didn’t push him away as Tom nuzzled his face into the curve of his neck, breathing greedily. Harry smelled of himself: warm, a little spicy, cozy. He smelled like home.

Maybe he and Harry were better off apart. But still…

Tom probably loved him. The way he knew how to.

‘Still angry?’ he whispered.

‘No,’ Harry replied, sighing and putting the textbook down. ‘But we keep fighting about the same things. I don’t like it, Tom.'

‘Neither do I.’

‘So what are we going to do?’ Harry rolled over on his back beneath him, almost instinctively spreading his legs and letting Tom in between his thighs.

His dark hair was swept across the covers. He was frowning, biting his lip, but still looked so…adorable. His cheeks were slightly pink — he got shy at even the most innocent touch, and every single time Tom felt he was corrupting him, ruining his innocence.

Though Harry wasn’t innocent at all. He hadn’t been for a long time.

It was on this very bed that Tom had taken him for the first time. It had already been a year, but he still remembered vividly how he had squeezed his boyfriend’s elbows to keep his chest from dropping onto the bed, how Harry had thrust his hips in response, how he had moaned and whimpered — helpless, but completely shameless, enjoying every second of it. He only seemed modest on the surface, hiding his true nature behind an awkward smile, huge eyes, and an adorable inability to style his hair.

‘Do?’ Tom asked.

He knew what he had to do: tell Harry the whole truth, just as he had promised himself during his aimless wanderings through the filthy alleys. It was a good moment. Harry was willing to listen and look for solutions, and Tom could take advantage of his vulnerable position. But then he’d have to forget all about sex, and they’d hardly sleep peacefully in the same bed after such a conversation — assuming Harry would agree to stay with him at all. He could try to erase his memory, but Tom wasn’t certain that the Obliviate spell would be able to break through the strong mental shields, and a failed attempt would put an end to their relationship and lead him to Azkaban. He couldn’t let that happen.

‘I don’t want to live like this,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve had a ton of Muggle-born friends and it upsets me that you’re always dragging their names through the mud. I’ve asked you to stop, but you’re not even trying…’

‘I am trying,’ Tom disagreed, his tone completely insincere.

‘Are you?' Harry asked sourly. ‘It’s getting worse and worse, Tom.'

‘What do you want me to do?’ Tom was starting to get angry. ‘Stop talking to pure-blood wizards altogether? Start hanging out with Muggles? I have goals and I want to pursue them, not stay stuck in this filthy shithole.’

Harry shuddered. A mere moment ago he’d looked sad and embarrassed, but now he was suddenly closed off, cold — Tom wasn’t trying to use Legililmency on him, but he could still feel how unapproachable his mind had suddenly become. Harry would have pulled away if he hadn’t been in bed.

'Filthy shithole?’ he whispered. ‘That’s where we live, is it?’

‘You know what I meant.’

‘Did you mean that our life disgusts you so much you’d rather join these pure-blood fanatics than try to make it better?’ his eyes were filled with anger and sadness. He kicked his feet, trying to get out, but Tom just pinned him harder into the bed.

He knew he had to swallow his pride and agree with Harry. He would have trusted his words more if Tom had shown him a willingness to compromise and change his position. But whenever he got angry, his self-control evaporated — Tom couldn’t understand where this rage was coming from, why his cold composure, for which he’d been famous even as a child, was beginning to fail him.

Was it the Horcruxes? Or Harry?

Or was it that Harry stubbornly refused to see the bigger picture and remained in his naive reverie? He was still too young and inexperienced, too cautious and unambitious — it filled him with a sincere light, an untainted trust in the world, but at the same time it robbed him of perspicacity and healthy discernment. Perhaps they were destined to meet and complement each other.

‘Do you think we’ll get rich working as salesmen? By saving every penny?’

‘I don’t care about getting rich,’ Harry growled.

‘That’s for sure. All you care about is Muggles and Quidditch.’

Harry shoved him and tried to get out of his grip. Tom caught his wrists, pinning him to the bed and dropping on top. For some reason, his heart ached, as if this fight was really getting under his skin, scarring his defenseless, soft flesh. Tom remembered the moment when the spell had first torn his soul apart — the feeling of a piece of your soul trying to get away, pulling away, hurting like hell, and those eyes from the flames…

‘Why are you so angry with me?’ Harry asked almost in desperation. ‘Why are you always so angry?’

‘I’m angry because I’m doing everything I can so we can live in a better world. But you’re always unhappy,’ Tom barked, spitting out his words like poisonous bile. His hands tightened around Harry’s wrists. He tried to calm down, but it was going horribly — anger and confusion washed over him like storm waves. He knew that trying to get rid of them by physically hurting Harry was a bad idea. A very bad idea. And yet Tom took a sickening pleasure in watching Harry squirm beneath him, the way his hips moved, the way the blush never left his cheeks. No matter what he said, no matter how much he argued, Tom’s attraction was mutual.

‘So you think I have no right to be upset?’

‘You do. But everything I say scares you. My thoughts, my friends, my interests.’

‘Because they’re actually bloody scary!’

‘You met me in a Dark artifacts shop. Did you really think I ended up there by accident?’

‘I thought you could change!’

‘And why don’t you try to change?’ Tom yanked his wrists up and grabbed them with one hand. He wrapped his other hand around Harry’s throat and squeezed. He tried to struggle, to get out, to bring his legs back together, but eventually froze, helpless and distraught. Tom leaned down to his face, dabbed his lips on his cheek, and whispered. ‘What makes you think I’m the one in the wrong? Maybe you’d be happier if you just listened to me and stopped whining like a bloody child — after all, I’m the one earning us a place in society.’

Harry froze for a moment. His lip quivered with insult.

‘I don’t give a fuck about our place in society,’ he spat out.

‘Oh, really? Want to spend the rest of your life flirting with the Auror Academy boys?’

‘No, I’m going to become one of them,’ Harry announced proudly. Tom was still furious, but a single look from those green eyes was enough to make something inside him quiver. What on earth was he doing? Harry’s words didn’t reach him immediately.

‘Oh, so you want to be an Auror,’ he snickered. ‘I’m not paying for your education.’

‘I’ll get in with my N.E.W.T. results,’ Harry’s arm wriggled. It no longer felt like an attempt to hide from his own shameful arousal, brought on by coercion and fighting — he was actually trying to get out. Tom watched his attempts with a dark sense of both satisfaction and desire: Harry wasn’t always willing to admit that violence turned him on. Something in him desperately craved danger, and Tom was convinced that was why Harry had chosen him — perhaps, deep down, Harry understood what Tom was really like.

He did, and still offered up his defenseless throat.

‘And how are you going to do that?’ Tom asked curiously. ‘You didn’t go to Hogwarts.’

Harry kept fidgeting, his knee brushing Tom’s crotch from time to time. He was hard as hell and would have gladly ended this argument by simply shutting Harry up — one way or the other. Then he wouldn’t have to remind himself that his plan of honestly admitting his reasons for being so principled and trying to fix everything broken had failed miserably — Harry was angry and upset and him learning about the murders now would be the last straw. Sex was the best solution in many situations, and Harry always relaxed when they lay next to each other after everything, listening to the noise of the street and Tom running his fingers through Harry’s hair…

‘Dumbledore’s already arranged everything,’ Harry replied.

Dumbledore! The name alone was enough to make Tom stop thinking with his dick and remember where it all started. Of course, Dumbledore knew exactly how to stick his crooked nose into his business, even from hundreds of miles away. Suddenly it all made sense: the old man had been looking for a way to get to Tom, to accuse him of Myrtle’s murder, and had decided to use Harry against him — whispering his ideas about Muggles in passing.

‘That naive geezer,’ Tom hissed. ‘Thinks that just because I fuck you, you’ll become my weak spot and he’ll be able to…’

He fell silent, but it was too late; Harry had suddenly gone limp, no longer resisting. All emotion had drained from his face.

‘I didn’t…’ Tom whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to say that.’

Harry simply turned away, staring at the wall.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tom let go of his wrists immediately. He leaned closer and pressed his lips to Harry’s neck, right where his pulse beat. His own heart was pounding like crazy, and the realization of what had just happened washed over him. He had succumbed to his emotions again, he had failed to restrain his destructive nature and it had spilled out on Harry. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to see Tom like that.

‘I’m sorry. I just snapped and said some mean things.’

‘And why should I?’ Harry asked quietly. He was still staring at the wall.

‘What?’

‘Forgive you?’ his arms were still thrown behind his head as if he hadn’t noticed that Tom had let go of him. Harry swallowed. ‘That’s not the first time you’ve snapped.’

‘Sometimes I just…can’t hold it in’, Tom confessed. ‘When I get angry, I lose control, and terrible things happen. I’m sorry.’

‘Get off me, Tom.’

‘No,’ Tom huddled closer to him. ‘Harry, please.’

‘You always do this,’ Harry finally looked at him. ‘Act like a total wanker, we fight, and then you get all affectionate and sweet, ask me to forgive you — and it all happens again. Why are we doing this? Why do we keep doing this?’

‘Because we’re a couple? And we love each other?’

‘You love me?’ Harry asked, almost surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Of course I love you.’

Harry looked at him very intensely.

‘Can’t you sacrifice even an ounce of your stubbornness out of love?’

‘And what do you sacrifice?’ Tom asked irritably.

Harry smiled. Tears suddenly gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let Tom see them — he covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled and Tom stared at him, confused and helpless. The anger was gone, only fear growing in his heart.

‘Harry?’

‘Stop it,’ he mumbled, stifling.

‘What?’

‘You’re right,’ Harry continued to hide his face. ‘I don’t know what I was hoping for when I came to you. I knew what kind of person you were, and still thought…’

‘You want to break up with me?’ Tom whispered. ‘Seriously, just like that?’

‘I don’t want to break up with you!’ Harry barked suddenly. He pulled his hands away from his flushed face and glistening eyes. ‘I made us dinner! I asked you to go to the zoo with me! And you dumped all this filth on me, insulted me, called our flat… What’s the point, Tom? What’s the point if that’s what you really think of us?’

‘I don’t,’ Tom grabbed his hand. ‘’I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘Is that so?’ Harry sighed.

‘You can hit me. If it’ll make you feel better.’

Tom didn’t think he’d actually do it — Harry liked to fight, but he hated violence, especially when it was so deliberate. So when the palm of his hand slammed into Tom’s cheek with such force that his head wobbled, he stared in front of him in shock. Pain instantly enveloped his face, echoing somewhere in his left eye. Harry seemed surprised himself, as he immediately pressed his hand to his chest, his mouth slightly open.

Tom sighed deeply. No one in this world would dare hit Lord Voldemort — and if they dared, it would be the last thing they ever did. But when he was with Harry, he wasn’t Voldemort. And he didn’t want to be.

‘You deserved it,’ Harry said stubbornly as if trying to convince himself.

‘Sure,’ Tom agreed. ‘Happy now?’

‘Just a bit,’ Harry muttered.

Suddenly it seemed that a single punch to the face was enough to end the fight. What was the point of arguing if no one was going to give up? They were silent for a few minutes, breathing heavily, afraid to disturb the peace. Tom began to calm down: his problems weren’t going anywhere, but he suddenly realized he didn’t have the strength to worry about it anymore. Harry was still here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Tom lay down on the bed. His cheek was sore, but he actually liked the slight burning sensation. They argued all the time, but it rarely came to physical fights — usually Tom just grabbed his shoulders and elbows, pulled his hair, and Harry kicked and fought back. But it always ended the same way: on the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen table…

And now, as he watched Harry purse his lips and stare at the ceiling, all Tom could think of was the closeness of his body. His heart was pounding in his chest. It had been a very unpleasant fight, an ugly one, and it had exposed the dangerously fragile spot in their relationship — it would hardly have survived his confession. Harry got upset at the word «Mudblood» and wouldn’t have accepted the fact that Tom had already killed multiple people and wasn’t going to stop there. But even oblivious to his boyfriend’s secret life, Harry still sensed something, and that was why he was so tense and anxious, so desperate. There was no way he really wanted to split up — he was angry and upset, yes, but in reality, he wasn’t being completely honest. Deep down he was enjoying it all.

He could say all he wanted that it was Tom who had seduced him. But it was Harry who’d started going to his shop, asking about his plans and trying to get close to him.

‘Harry.’

‘What?’

‘I want you. Now.’

Harry snickered involuntarily.

‘You always want it.’

‘I do,' Tom agreed. ‘And all because you’re so kind, beautiful, sexy, hot, slutty, the best…’

‘I hope you put kindness first because it’s the most important thing?’

‘Of course.’

Harry sighed and turned to face the other side, almost burying his nose in Tom’s shoulder. Tom wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer: Harry always relaxed faster when he felt someone else’s presence — he struggled to get over arguments and loneliness. Tom ran a hand down his back, breathing in the scent of his hair. He felt that the air in the room had grown hot from their argument and was now slowly cooling. Their bed was old but comfortable and soft. Tom had been skeptical about the duvet and pillows at first, but Harry became pleasantly compliant as he tucked himself in, and his gentle smile was almost impossible to resist. If he wanted colorful duvets, so be it. If he wanted Quidditch flags on the wall, fine. Anything for him to…

‘Let’s get out of London,’ Harry suddenly suggested.

‘What for?’

‘Just to spend some time away from Muggles, your friends, and everything else we constantly fight about. Let’s just be…together.’

‘Sounds good,’ Tom agreed softly.

He had a ton to do in London, a ton of plans. Tom had been courting Hepzibah Smith for weeks, and now she was asking him to pay her a visit — she was, of course, madly in love with him and vaguely hoped her wealth would impress him. Naive grandma. Tom was interested in the artifacts hidden in her collection — Helga Hufflepuf’s cup, for instance…

But going away for a few days suddenly seemed like a good idea.

It couldn’t last forever. He had to hurry, before Dumbledore’s shadow would be hovering over them — Tom wasn’t going to give Harry away to that pitiful geezer.

Tom held Harry close and nuzzled his nose into his hair.

‘I’m sorry it’s come to this,’ he murmured, inhaling his lover’s scent greedily.

‘Me too,' Harry muttered in response, grabbing Tom’s waist. ‘I don’t want to break up with you. But sometimes you can be so…cruel and it scares me.’

‘I’ve always been like this,’ Tom remarked. ‘I’m not used to behaving differently. I’m trying.’

‘I know,’ Harry sighed heavily. He pressed his face to Tom’s neck, sliding his tongue along his skin. Tom’s arousal had waned because of his worries, but it was all coming back now. Harry moved closer. ‘You don’t treat anyone else the way you treat me.’

Harry’s hand suddenly reached under Tom’s shirt and rested on his waist, brushing against the damp, hot skin. Tom shuddered. His breath staggered.

‘I want you to be happy, Tom,’ Harry whispered. ‘But I don’t think you’ll find happiness by following in Grindelwald’s footsteps. So I can’t…support your ideas. But if you agree to find a compromise, we can talk about everything in full honesty, right? Confess to everything. Trust each other with our secrets, no matter how horrible they may be. I’ll accept anything you tell me, Tom, I promise. I’ll accept everything and I won’t blame you.’

Tom smiled sadly. Of course, Harry wanted to talk about everything honestly, bravely — he was so sweet and so naive. An adorable little creature. He probably thought Tom would tell him how he’d bullied the Mudbloods at school, how he’d framed and manipulated his customers, how he and his friends had committed a few prey crimes — you’d expect that from any young pure-blood, inebriated with entitlement. But Tom’s confessions were much, much scarier: how would Harry have reacted if Tom had told him that he had killed his own father? And what could he have told him? What terrible secret could he have kept? A betrayal?

Tom pulled him closer. Betrayal was a far lesser crime than the murder of your own relatives, that’s for sure, but he still would have preferred to hear Harry talk about the second option. He would have smiled if he’d found out that Harry hadn’t just left his village, but had also murdered the crazy Muggles he’d lived with in the process — it would have brought them closer together. But the thought of him getting so angry at Tom during one of their countless fights that he responded to some pretty Auror’s flirting was driving him crazy. Or was he just overthinking it?

Tom flipped Harry sharply onto his back and hovered over him. He didn’t let him say a word, and pressed his lips to Harry’s, feeling the intoxicating sensation of closeness fill him. Tom had kissed a lot of people, but with no one had it felt so deep, almost magical — as if he was trying to suck the soul out of Harry, sending him into an ecstatic trance.

Harry clung to him. He moaned and whimpered softly as Tom slid his tongue into his mouth, biting his lips furiously and not letting go for even a second. Harry’s hands played with his hair, caressed his neck and shoulders — he had spread his legs again, but now fully aware of it.

Tom tore Harry’s T-shirt off, pulling away from his lover’s lips for just a second. Harry’s skin was already all hot, flaming under his palms. His small nipples had already hardened and Tom couldn’t resist the temptation: he brought his lips lower, took one into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Harry’s hips jolted and he moaned, throwing his head back.

‘Harder,’ he begged in a whisper.

Tom’s teeth clutched around the nipple and he tugged gently on the sensitive bud. Harry choked on his breath.

He was sensitive and open — as if offering to play on his body like some kind of wonderful instrument. Tom knew perfectly well all of the places on that body where his touch would make Harry shiver or moan or whimper softly, begging to do that again. There wasn’t a millimeter of his skin that Tom hadn’t touched with his hands and lips and tongue — more than anything he loved to feel Harry melt into his arms, all open for him, surrendered to him. How his voice went hoarse and breathy, how his hips trembled with pleasure, how he desperately grabbed onto anything in sight…

Tom found the button on Harry's trousers. He pulled the fabric down and Harry raised his hips obediently as he looked up at Tom from under his disheveled bangs, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

Undressing him felt good too. Tom pulled away, straightening up.

‘Hands up,’ he ordered.

Harry obediently threw his arms behind his head, closing his eyes only so slightly. Sometimes he obviously enjoyed it — enjoyed feeling like a victim of his unfortunate circumstances, as if Tom was the only one making all the decisions. As if something was tormenting him, bothering him, and he finally allowed himself to relax, to let someone else take possession of his body — and Tom gladly accepted that role.

Harry was fucking beautiful. Thin but strong. Responsive. He’d played Quidditch since he was a kid, and his thighs were one of the reasons Tom couldn’t hold back for long. He eyed him greedily, as if for the very first time. Spread legs, flushed wanton cock, slim waist, small nipples wet with spit, and kissed lips — at that moment, Tom would never in his life remember who the hell Lord Voldemort was or what he wanted from Muggles. He couldn’t think of anything but Harry and the possibility of feeling his body.

Tom reached for his wand. He didn’t even have to open his mouth: all the necessary spells were already running through his mind, as if by instinct. He was so used to this…

Harry shuddered and tried to get his legs back together. The inside of his thighs glistened with lube, cooling his overheated skin. Tom swallowed. He dropped the wand on the covers and pulled Harry up, grabbing him under his hips, lifting him up slightly, and forcing him to open up under Tom’s hungry gaze. His tight, lube-damp hole clenched slightly. Harry turned away, all timid, but kept his hands up.

Tom had once suggested using other spells — to remove the pain altogether, make the muscles instantly limp and malleable. They would have been able to have sex anywhere, anytime, without even thinking about preparation. The thought sometimes made its way into Tom’s mind, poisonous and enticing — he ran his fingers down Harry’s flat stomach, thinking of how much closer they would have become, how much stronger the bond between them would grow if he had been able to leave something else inside him…

But Harry liked things to be «real» and a little pain only made it more interesting for him. There was nothing else that could excite him like that as if some part of him longed for the feeling of threat and danger and the power of his partner over him. There was definitely something wrong with him too — the good boy he wanted to pretend to be would never have dated Tom Riddle.

Tom smirked at his thoughts and pushed two fingers inside him at once, making Harry shudder. He instantly jolted.

‘Squeeze,’ Tom whispered.

Harry gasped, all red and flustered. His muscles clenched tightly around Tom’s fingers and he pushed them further in, striking his prostate. Harry huffed.

‘Again,’ Tom ordered.

‘No, Tom…’ Harry shook his head. 'It hurts. Every time I…’

‘So embarrassed of wanting to come just from my fingers, aren’t you?’ Tom snickered. ‘Squeeze.’

Harry did it again. And again. It looked as if he was pulsating feverishly around Tom’s fingers, as if climaxing again and again as Tom fucked him, stretching him and preparing his body to receive him. Harry still kept his hands up, though he was obviously desperate to touch his leaking cock, a sticky string of precum staining his stomach. His face and neck were red, the flush spreading all the way to his chest.

‘Tooom,’ Harry sang, ‘I need to…’

‘No. Touch yourself.’

Harry obediently lowered his hands to his chest. Caressed his collarbones, squeezed his nipples. He pulled the skin a little and gasped. Tom pulled away, his fingers still in place watching the scene before him. Harry craved nothing but pleasure, teasing himself and rocking at the fingers inside him, his head thrown back.

Tom toyed with the idea of taking his clothes off as well but decided what he desired most at the moment was the feeling of his partner’s trust. With Harry beneath him, naked and ready to act out any insane fantasy, it felt like he belonged to him. He let the fabric of Tom’s suit brush all the sensitive parts of his body, doing everything he was told. He was submitted.

Tom loved to see his obedience — and his rebelliousness too.

He slid his fingers out of Harry, bewitched for a moment by the sight of his tight ring of sensitive muscles opening up as it let him out and then clenching back up again. Harry groaned in disappointment.

‘Do it yourself,’ Tom smirked. ‘One hand. Keep the other one on your chest.’

‘Oh God,’ Harry whispered. ‘Please, kiss me.’

Tom smiled. He was still holding Harry’s hips tightly, keeping them in place — he had to drop on top of him to reach his lips. The hardness in his dress pants slid between Harry’s legs; Harry shuddered, almost screaming, but Tom silenced him with a kiss just in time. He sucked on his soft tongue, biting his lip lightly. More than anything, he wanted to thrust into Harry right this instant, but two fingers weren’t enough and Tom was too heated — he didn’t want to come so quickly.

He had to pull away. Take a deep breath. It was so fucking hot.

‘Three fingers,’ Tom ordered. ‘Now.’

Harry sighed tearfully. Obediently, he lowered his hand and slowly slid his fingers inside: he had to make a considerable effort, as it was uncomfortable at this angle, but he was still doing just fine. His fingers slowly stretched the redness of his rim, widening it until it was almost dripping with lube — Harry closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation, his hand moving faster. Tom swallowed.

He unbuttoned his pants and let the fabric fall down, freeing his cock. He stroked himself softly, taking in the unbearably beautiful view before him. Eventually, the anticipation became almost unbearable. Tom leaned forward.

‘Tom,’ Harry suddenly opened his eyes. ‘Please…’

‘Yes. Now.’

Harry slid his fingers out and Tom immediately pressed the tip of his cock to the hole. The muscles were malleable, warmed up, and he pushed himself in with one thrust. The sensation of the tight, wet flesh enveloping his cock made his whole body tense and then immediately relax. Tom rocked his hips and couldn’t hold back a moan.

He let go of Harry, falling on top of him as Harry clung desperately to his shoulders.

‘Faster,’ he whispered demandingly. ‘Tom, I want to…’

He called his name briefly, in one breath. Tom had invented Voldemort to forever break the bond with his Muggle father, but in Harry’s mouth, the name sounded almost reverent. He was impossible to resist.

Tom let go of his hips and grabbed him around the waist to keep him in place. He thrust in a few times, checking to see if Harry was in excruciating pain, but the boy just bit his lips and sighed joyously. Everything was fine, and Tom let himself do whatever he wanted — and he wanted to move faster, harder, squeezing Harry’s waist and feeling him cling to the covers to keep from wriggling on the bed. He was so light, so malleable. He rocked against him as if he wanted Tom to take him a little harder, to go deeper, all the way to the painful jolt of pleasure.

Tom was thrusting into him savagely, squeezing his skin until it was covered in bruises. Tugged his body towards him, pushing all the way in, ramming into that sensitive spot that made Harry scream with every thrust.

‘Tom…’ Harry heaved. ‘Oh God, Tom…’

He leaned forward, grabbed Harry’s hair, and pulled him in closer. The kiss came out smeared and wet: Tom almost couldn’t control himself at all, all his attention focused on his cock and the tight flesh wrapped around him. He confusedly noticed Harry begin to pull his shirt off: the palms of his hands were burning on his bare shoulders, his nails scratching greedily at his skin.

Tom pulled away from his swollen lips and moved to his neck. Harry moaned softly into his ear, squeezing him so hard he had to break the rhythm now and then, not wanting to come too soon — Tom wanted to please Harry before he could please himself.

‘Get naked,’ Harry demanded.

‘Fuck,’ Tom hissed.

He had to pull away. Had to slide out of his lover’s body with a wet, slippery sound.

Harry smirked and rolled over onto his stomach as Tom threw off the rest of his clothes. It was all a mess on the floor now, but he didn’t have the energy to think about it for another second — Tom was wholly focused on the body in front of him.

Harry closed his eyes, his chest dropping to the sheets, but his hips remained raised and seductively parted. His swollen entrance opened up slightly and that was enough for Tom to lose his mind.

He leaned down and pressed his lips tightly to his rim. Harry gasped loudly and gagged himself with two fingers, muffling the moans escaping his mouth. His legs trembled as Tom squeezed his hips tightly, kissed him, licked him…

‘More, Tom, please,’ Harry begged. ‘Please, come on…’

Tom let go of him, biting him as a finishing touch and immediately brought his cock to where his lips had just been. Harry rocked against him, groaning hoarsely, biting his fingers, and smudging the drool on his face. His gaze was hazy, floating, full of tenderness and desire. Tom began to thrust into him, squeezing him in his arms and dreaming of nothing more than making this moment last forever. There were moments in his life when he felt lonely, hollow in his chest — the mere memory of Harry giving himself away to him, merging with him, seemed to almost bring back the missing piece of his soul. Tom wasn’t going to let him go. Never. Never.

He kissed his back, licking off the droplets of sweat.

‘You feel good?’ Tom whispered, pressing down on Harry, forcing him to arch more. He nodded feverishly, the moans choking him.

‘Yeaaah,’ he groaned. ‘Just don’t stop, Tom…’

‘How could I,’ Tom grazed his shoulder with his teeth. His orgasm was too close to stop now. ‘Will you cum just like this? From my cock?’

‘Don’t know,’ Harry breathed out.

Maybe extra stimulation was needed. A little push over the edge.

Tom ran his hands down Harry’s hips, squeezing and spreading the firm cheeks apart. He would have liked to come right then and there, come inside, knowing Harry would like it — but first, he wanted to get his partner dangerously close. His thumb slid over the stretched-out anus, caressing the sensitive ring of nerves. Harry gasped loudly.

Tom stopped moving and pushed the finger further in. The tip of his head was still tightly squeezed and Harry instinctively clenched his muscles tighter as he felt himself being stretched open. He trembled, either from fear or anticipation.

Tom moved again, pushing the finger even further.

Harry screamed. It only took a quick grab of the head of his cock to make him arch out, jolt his hips and come onto the duvet. He wrapped his hand around himself, squeezing out the last droplets, his mouth agape, his breath heavy and ragged, his lips humid…

Tom just stared at him, his mind blank. The orgasm came over him all of a sudden; it washed over him like a wave, and for a few moments Tom couldn’t see anything. He slid out of Harry and dropped down beside him: the pleasure he felt was overwhelming, and he wanted more, more, even though he couldn’t move.

He had no idea how long they lay there in silence. Their breathing merged and Tom couldn’t think of anything else.

Finally, Harry moved, struggling with the bedsheets — through his lashes Tom saw Harry searching for his wand. He waved it without even looking, and all the lights in the room went out as the window flew open. The fresh air flowed in and Tom suddenly realised that their whole bedroom reeked of sex and sweat.

‘That’s my wand.’

‘Sorry,’ Harry whispered.

Tom curled up higher and pulled Harry close to him. Their bodies were wet and hot with sweat, but he didn’t care about that — he just wanted to touch and never, ever let go. Harry didn’t mind either; he lay next to him, lazily running his hand up Tom’s chest, gently caressing the skin around his nipple. With no lamps on, the only surface of light came from the streetlights, a pleasant twilight reigning in the room. The bed was soft, so very familiar and cozy. It was very quiet.

Tom opened his eyes and looked at Harry, who was eyeing him in the darkness.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Harry whispered suddenly.

He reached up and touched Tom’s forehead, brushing away the wet hair. Gently stroked his temple, ran his hand along the line of his jaw. Even in this darkness, Tom could see the tenderness and warmth playing in his eyes, along with a slightly somber affection and admiration. He caught Harry’s fingers and pressed them to his lips. Harry sighed.

‘You know, that’s the first thing I thought when I saw you,’ Harry shared. His voice was weak, drowsy as if he was putting in the last bits of his energy into this confession. ‘I was just a kid, but I still thought — how is he so fucking beautiful…’

‘You were seventeen last year,’ Tom smiled. ‘You weren’t a kid.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Harry agreed softly.

Tom pulled him closer, breathing in the scent of his hair.

‘Harry…I wanted to tell you…what I said, everything — it’s not true. I swear. Our flat is the best place I’ve ever lived because you made it feel that way. It wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And…I have to tell you something. Something very important.’

‘Yeah?’ Harry lifted his face, a strange hope resonating in his voice. 'What is it?’

He smiled softly, and all of his being was so disheveled, so soft and relaxed. He lived in a good world where he rented a flat with the person he loved most, enjoyed his work, and planned a peaceful future in a world without crazy Muggles, without war and death. Tom had to take all that away with his own hands — and risk everything they had by trusting his words.

He often thought that the acting, the everyday home life, and problems pressured him. But as he imagined that all that would end tonight, he suddenly came to realize that he doesn’t want to lose these moments. If Harry rejected him, he’d have to forget about the quiet dinners in their tiny kitchen, the sweet talks in bed, and the plans for the weekend…

Tom wanted to live like this for at least one more day. Just one more.

‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ he decided sourly.

‘All right,’ Harry smiled. ‘I love you too. So much.’

Tom kissed the lightning scar on his forehead and closed his eyes.