"It's simple, really," Alphard said around an entire chocolate frog, already reaching for another, "say you fancy someone, right? If you want them to know it you would give them something, like candy or flowers, or do something special for them like make them food or offer to help them with a task. If they reciprocate then they would do the same for you. You gave them candy, they, in return, give you a roast chicken."
"A whole chicken?" Harry asked, brows raised more in amusement than exasperation.
"Don't be snarky I'm trying to tell you-"
"I think you're just hungry." Harry couldn't help but smile into his hot cocoa. He was buried in what felt like a ton of blankets, it was only two, though they thick and massively wooly, and he had been holding onto the mug mostly for warmth than the want of anything sweet, renewing the heat with a quick charm whenever it cooled.
He and Alphard had holed up in a small nook Harry had found a while ago, a quilted window seat and cushions done up in the colors of all four houses looked out over the rippling slate gray lake, giving them the allusion of basking in the joys of the outdoors, even as a storm thundered away on the other side of the window pane.
Harry hadn't been allowed to leave the Hospital Wing until Friday afternoon, feeling much rested and still far too cold for anyone's liking, and in that time Tom had been by his side almost constantly.
Until the next afternoon. Claiming he had a meeting to for a class project, he left Harry in Alphard's care and swept off somewhere in a flurry of black wool and righteousness. And finally Harry was able to ask his burning question.
What the hell was courting?
"So," he said, drawing Alphard back from his pouting silence, "you just give each other gifts?"
"Or do things for each other, yeah," Alphard shrugged, "and well, you know, spend time with each other. Snog. Cuddle. You know." He said again. And that part was very much like dating someone, so Harry nodded.
"Then, eventually, you start planning a marriage contract and-"
"Marriage!" Harry nearly dropped his hot chocolate. "Marriage?" He repeated incredulously.
"Well...yeah. That's the point of courting. That eventually you'll get married...if it works out and you decide you like the other person enough."
Harry sputtered, "I'm sixteen!"
"Well I didn't say right away, did I? I said 'eventually'." Alphard said petulantly.
"Tom's only seventeen, he can't be thinking about marriage."
Alphard shrugged again, swallowing another mouthful of chocolate, "he's seventeen, that isn't too early. Neither is sixteen, really. A lot of people have arranged marriages and end up needing to start the courtship early to try and...er...build a connection with each other."
Harry looked out to the lake, worrying his bottom lip as he thought. He and Tom already had a connection. It was, and yet wasn't, like the connection he'd had with Voldemort. What was between him and Tom was...good. It made him feel warm and safe and...loved. Not because he was Harry Potter. Not because he was famous, or a hero, or because he represented a shared loss. Tom wanted Harry because he was Harry.
"I still can't believe he told you he was going to court you!" Alphard exclaimed, jolting Harry once more, "you don't usually tell someone, you just start doing it."
"I don't know if he knew I was awake still..." Harry said softly, it was a wonder he could still remember it himself, everything from when he first woke felt fuzzy and distant.
"Has he started yet?" Alphard asked, sifting through his box of candy. It was his hoard, he had called it. His secret stash that Orion didn't know about or he would certainly take it away. Alphard guarded as greedily as any dragon.
Or, any dragon with more sugar than blood in their veins.
"Well?" Harry thought for a moment, sipping his cocoa as Alphard choose a taffy wand this time.
When Harry had been cleared to leave the Hospital Wing Tom had been there with a new set of robes for him and steady arm to help him around the halls. It had been nice, and exactly what he'd come to expect from Tom if he was being honest. There had been something else though. When Harry had been slipping on his shoes Madam Caraway had returned to him his robes from the night of the accident.
Pock marked with acid at the hem, torn at the cuffs from falling on the unforgiving ground or snagged on thorns, and a large hole where the curse had hit his arm.
Harry had instantly been crestfallen. His new robes. The first good clothing he'd ever really owned outside of dress robes. And they were ruined.
He said as much to Tom, unthinking, and then.
"I suppose I'll have to send a letter to Jean-loup this time and ask for another."
He had barely gotten the words out when the damaged robed had been snatched from his hand only to disappear into Tom's own robes an instant later. He had smiled at Harry, a little sharply, and insisted that he would take care of it. And that was that.
Harry tapped the side of his cup thoughtfully, "maybe."
"Maybe? What does 'maybe' mean?" Alphard choked out, "either he's started or he hasn't."
It was Harry's turn to shrug, and subtly move the sweets box away from Alphard. he was beginning to understand why Orion wanted to keep an eye on his cousin's candy intake.
He sat his cup down, taking up a pillow to hold and lean his head on as Alphard told him about courtings he had seen before and then somehow manged to talk his way into a story about an ancient aunt's disastrous one hundred and eighty fifth birthday party, that somehow involved a giant squid and a mint pudding gone wrong. He let the words wash over him, not quite falling asleep, but only just.
He didn't even startle when added warmth surrounded him, a comforting pressure that wrapped around his whole chest and held him close.
"There you are," Tom's lips brushed against temple.
Harry smile, leaning back into the warmth, "wasn't hiding," he said sleepily. He cracked his eyes open in time to see Alphard's back disappear around the corner, "Alphard?"
"I asked him to leave," Tom said softly, he leaned back against a few pillows, causing Harry to lay on him a little more, "I want to keep you company for a while, my dear."
"What about your rule?" Harry asked around a big yawn, "no walking alone,"
Tom shrugged, "Orion and the others are still in the library, it's only one floor down. And besides, Alphard's fast."
"I'm fast too," Harry argued weakly. He shimmied around until he could lay his cheek on Tom's chest, ear right over his heart.
"I know you are, it's just-"
"'Was youngest seeker in a hundreds years," he murmured, the steady thump, thump, thump, of Tom's heart lulling him into another nap, "cuz I'm so fast, 'm good."
"Seeker?" Tom asked softly, "the seeker for whom?"
But Harry had already drifted off to sleep.
~~~
Tom's question, it seemed, was doomed to not be answered. But even that little snatch of thought had given him some valuable insight. 'Youngest seeker in a hundred years', but where and when?
Perhaps it was Hogwarts? Harry had seemed to have an uncanny ability to navigate the castle. That morning that Tom had followed him, he had assumed that Harry was simply meandering around. Getting lost without a care. What if he had known exactly where to go?
He had seemed appropriately impressed with Hogmead, though. If he had been to the school in a future time then certainly he had seen the town as well.
....Unless, for some reason, Hogmead did not stand in the future? Or had been much changed from now.
He allowed himself to ponder the possibilities as Harry napped on him, until the sun dipped low enough that they were lit only by the flickering wall sconces. Rousing Harry enough so that he could walk on his own was a feat. He had been very tired after the curse, though the nurse, and Tom's own magical examining, only hinted that it was a normal part of his recovery.
Still, Tom didn't relish having to explain to prying eyes why he would be carrying an unconscious student through the halls. So walk, Harry must.
"Are you hungry?" Tom asked when Harry was steady enough to stand on his own.
Rubbing his eyes, Harry yawned, tilted his head in though for a moment, and then nodded. "I want something besides soup." He said with a pout.
Tom hummed, "we'll have to see what is there," he said airily, draping an arm, and most of his own cloak, over Harry's shoulders. The truth was that he was thrilled Harry was gaining an appetite once more. He hadn't been able to eat more than little soup at each meal that Tom had been present for. Wanting to have something more substantial was as clear a sign of his renewing health as any. Tom would gladly watch Harry eat a whole pie if he wanted....and if he didn't fear it would make him sick.
Their trek was a slow one, the meal already well underway when they reached the Great Hall. Something inside Tom itched at that fact. He had never gone to a meal late since first receiving his Prefect badge. Though, seeing Orion and Rossier looking over the hall in his stead was something of a balm...if a weak one.
There was indeed a soup at the side of the table where they usually sat. Thick and orange, probably pumpkin, sprinkled over with almonds and something green chopped up on top as garnish. He resisted the urge to unnecessarily point it out as an option, and instead watched as Harry took a roll, some peas, and a small slice of beef.
Harry picked at his food, mostly keeping his eyes down, undoubtedly feeling the stares of others on him. After the...incident, he had been the talk of the school and everyone was keen on seeing him and verifying if any of the rumors were true. That the curse had changed him physically. That he was little more than ghost now. That dark magic had twisted his mind.
He had to know that they were staring at him. Whispering about him behind their hands. Yet it passed over Harry as though he didn't even register the difference. Much like he had ignored the stares and talks after his sorting.
"Where's Malfoy?"
Tom snapped out his musings at Harry's soft voice, those nearest to them fell silent, Alphard shifted nervously before Orion smacked him out of Harry's sight. Tom put on a bright smile.
"Malfoy?" He said thoughtfully, "is he not here?"
"No," Harry said, glancing to where he had been sitting on Rossier's left, "he wasn't there yesterday either."
Tom shrugged, "was he not?"
Harry didn't answer, and talk around them picked back up. The truth? Abraxas and his the Roberts cousins had been eating at the Hufflepuff table. With the Ravenclaws between them they could keep to their exile while still attending meals. Eventually Harry would find this out, either from observation or over hearing gossip, but for now it was one less thing for him to worry over.
And the last thing Tom wanted was for Harry to spend anytime fretting over Malfoy.
Harry didn't eat much of his food, and by the fourth time he had cast his gaze to the orange soup Tom reached over and poured a bowl. He took a very small sip, as though he had done it for himself, then sat the spoon and bowl down between them, just a little closer to Harry than himself.
It didn't take long before Harry took up the discarded spoon and ate some of it himself. Tom was very please when, at the end of the meal, Harry had eat most of the soup, two rolls, a few spoonfuls of peas and a couple of bites of treacle tart. When it had been nearly five minutes since he'd manged a bite and he unsuccessfully tried to hide his third yawn, Tom managed to herd Harry from the table and back out into the hall.
Taking advantage of the fact that most of the students were still at dinner, and the common room was relatively sparse, Tom led them down the hall and into his own room. Harry looked up at him with a raised brow, the effect undoubtedly more cute than he had meant it to be, with his mussed up hair and the fact that he had swaddled himself in Tom's cloak once he had taken it off at the door.
Tom pushed him towards the bed, "get some rest, I have some work to do."
"I could just go back to my own room." Harry said, though he hugged the cloak closer to himself and didn't make a move towards the door.
"You could," Tom said, placing a kiss on his forehead, right on the odd little scar there, Harry jumped at the gesture on contact, then quickly leaned into it before Tom pulled back. "Or, you can take a nap on my bed while I finish up a few things in here."
"I have homework too...I think." Harry said as he climbed onto Tom's bed and curled up against his pillows, "I should-" He cut off with another large yawn.
"You should rest, you have plenty of time to get your assignments in, I've already spoken with your professors."
"Tom..."
"They understand that you will need more time," Tom sat his desk, sure that Harry would be sleeping soundly soon. He could almost feel Harry's exhaustion as his own, there was no way he would be able to stay awake now that he'd eaten something.
About thirty minutes after, when Harry's breaths had evened out and through their connection he could only sense peace, Tom put up the book he had been studying and took out Harry's torn and beaten robe to continue his repairs.
Tom was no clothier. He most likely would never turn a head with any grant designs. But he knew his stuff when it came to repairs. With another quick look to Harry, Tom took out his little stash of silver needles, fine threads, and his few scraps of material he had salvaged from robes here and there.
Harry's robes were of a fine silk, something he didn't have much of, but there were too many places that had been eaten away by the acid for him to skimp on the repairs.
With a steady hand he began to patch. The stitches as fine as he could get them. When the colors between the original robe and the patches did not match up, a little magic brought their colors closer to together.
The hems and cuffs had become ragged in some parts and thus more resistant to the clean stitch work than the rest. There Tom had little choice but to hide the unevenness with little black embroidered stars that he outlined in the same silver that went on the hems.
When he was finished it was not, strictly speaking a regulation school robe anymore. Not with the little stars, but Tom was vastly pleased with it. And he doubted very much anyone would say anything to Harry about it. From what he could gleam all the professors rather had a liking for him.
Tom folded the robe and went over to wake Harry. It had been about two hours, he should probably try to stay awake until it was time to retire for the night.
But when he reached the bed and saw Harry there, curled around his pillow, a soft smile on his sleeping face, Tom couldn't resist crawling over the now rumpled covers and wrapping himself around Harry. It was such a strange urge, so impulsive, and it hadn't occured to him until it was already done that it was not something Tom would normally do.
A month ago Tom would have eased himself away, retracted this invitation of closeness. Put up another wall to separate himself from others. He was the Heir of Slytherin. He was beyond such needs. Others were to bow to him, give in to him. Not the other way around.
A month ago such a slip would have been a disgrace. Today, it filled him with warmth, a sense of peace.
Tom curled closer, running his hands over Harry's silk covered fame. He could almost feel every bone, harshly jutting in some places, and terrible dips in others. On one pass of his ribs Tom slowed, adding just a little too much pressure as he tried to count each one, causing Harry to jerk in his grip.
"Tom," his scolding tone was less impressive followed by a yawn, "tickles."
"Apologies, my dear. I did not mean to wake you."
"Mhmm," Harry hummed, wiggling closer to Tom, he could feel the cold of Harry's fingers through his robes.
"Would you like more tea, maybe a slice of cake, I can run to the kitchens."
"Cake?"
"Or some soup."
"We just ate," Harry pulled back to look up at him, his eyes were still a little hazy though he was waking up now.
"That was hours ago, dear."
Harry settled back against his chest, "'m not hungry," his voice muffled as he nuzzled closer.
"Are you still cold?" He pulled the blanket around them before Harry could answer, scooping Harry up as much as he could, his hands never stopping as they smoothed over Harry's back and arms to warm him up.
"Tom," and Tom couldn't help but smile at Harry's little whine. He tried very hard to keep laughter from his voice.
"Yes, dear?"
Harry tilted his head to peak out at him from amongst the blanket cocoon and Tom's arms, "I'm pretty sure wandering hands is not part of courting."
Tom laughed heartily, pulling Harry closer to his chest and holding him tight. Warmth suffused him, and the scent of summer and flowers that always seemed to follow Harry around filled his senses. Could there be anything more perfect than this?
"I promise my intensions were pure. I only want to keep you warm." Tom brought a hand up to cup Harry's cheeks, leaning forward he placed a lingering, yet entirely chaste, kiss on his lips, "and there are no rules for where hands can and can't go during courting."
"Is there not?" Harry asked mischeiviously, his cheeks a pretty pink, "I'll have to ask Alphard if that's true."
Tom gasped, "do you not trust me?"
"Hmmm...trust?" Harry asked, full of skepticism as he tapped a finger against his lips.
Tom rolled onto his back, arm draping dramatically over his eyes, "I am wounded! To be called a scamp by the one I hold dear. I shan't recover."
Giggling, Harry wiggled closer until he was laying over Tom's chest, "poor Tom and his wandering hands."
Tom brought his hands to Harry's face once more, brushing over his cheeks, down his jaw, smoothing back the black silk of his hair. Even though there was still a smile on Harry's face and a playful gleam in his eyes, Tom spoke with complete sincerity. "I would never think to touch you without your premission first, I would never make any move that I did not know you wanted. I want you to know that."
Tom's dreams were sacrosanct. They belonged to Harry, and their time together was the most important part of his life. But they did not leave him much time to simply dream. It had been too long since he'd slept as others do that he had never thought to wonder what his dreams might manifest now. If he had to hazard a guess though he would say they would be full of Harry.
And maybe that was why wanting touch him, wanting to hold him, to kiss him, to be here, like this, came as such a surprise. Without being able to process these things in a dream, or to focus on them in his thoughts, had made them all the more strong when he was in Harry's presence.
A part of him might want more, but he would never ever press if Harry wasn't ready. If he decided he didn't want Tom after all.
There was pain at the end of that thought. He knew it would hurt. Knew a part of him would rage if such a rejection ever came to be.
He pushed it away to focus on bright jade eyes, and a surprised, yet angelic face.
Harry seemed rather taken aback by Tom's statement. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Finally, he leaned forward and this time was the one to initiate the kiss.
He curled his fingers into Tom's hair, using this grip and his elbows to pull himself up further onto Tom's chest and deepened the kiss. He was so light the pressure was more pleasure than pain and pulled a deep groan from Tom's chest.
With Harry firmly draped over him, Tom pulled the covers back up around them and fought the urge to roll over and encapsulate Harry under him. He was still so frail from the curse, no matter his protests otherwise, and Tom didn't want to take the chance of hurting him. So he wrapped his arms around Harrys back and lost himself in the slight weight on his chest, the delicate bones under his hands, and the scratch of slender fingers on his scalp, as soft petal lips met his own.
As all good things do, the kiss came to an end. Both of them a little out of breath, Harry resting his head on Tom's chest, his fingers curled his Tom's hair, and a lovely flush to his cheeks.
Tom couldn't take his eyes off of him. He watched every flutter of his dark lashes, every twitch of a finger or hitched breath of a yawn. There wasn't a second of that moment, that was just them, with Harry alive and warm in his arms, that Tom dared to miss.
Eventually Harry pulled away, rubbing his tired eyes he made to get up from his perch on Tom. "I should get to bed."
"Silly, Harry. You are already in bed." Tom said helpfully.
Harry gave him an unamused look, "I'm pretty sure sharing a bed is scandalous for courting couples."
Technically, yes. Well, for couples as early in their courting as they were, at least. "We've done it before," Tom said with a smirk.
Harry's blush deepened, "that was different"
Tom wouldn't argue, as much as he wanted. Coercion was not something he was interested in. It was clear that Harry was taking Tom's proposal to court to heart. It was sweet and touching. And Tom wasn't going to do anything to make Harry go back on it.
"I have something for you before you go," Tom sat up, holding Harry close as he changed their position, helping him to sit on Tom's legs once they were upright. He reached over and took up the discarded robe, presenting it to Harry with all the flourish that one could muster with an unwrapped garment. "For you."
Harry took it with a little smile, and a bashfully whispered, "thanks." He unfurled that robe, running a finger over the new stitches and little stars that Tom left behind.
During his inspection Harry's smile fell and something tightened through their connection, causing Tom's chest to seize painfully.
Swallowing through a lump in his throat Tom managed to say, "do you not like it?" Only for his pain to turn to horror as Harry lifted is gaze to meet his and a fine sheen of tears rimmed his lovely eyes.
Tom had made Harry cry! He hated the robe so much that he was crying! It was the worst possible outcome. So terrible he hadn't even thought it would happen. He was lost. He was a drift in a awful sea of despair and cold, cold, dread, and he did not know how he had gotten there or where to start to get back.
"Harry?" He started, unsure and desperate.
"Tom, I-" Harry sniffed, rubbing his eyes so hard he had to remove his little golden glasses, "this is...no one has ever." He seemed unable to finish a single thought and eventually ended up throwing himself onto Tom and hugging him close.
Then he felt it, with Harry's heart over his. He was not angry or upset, or horrified, or any number of terrible things. He was grateful. Overwhelmed by some emotion that Tom had no name for, only a sense of. As though he were only catching the edge of a thought. Some half remembered thing. The image of a boy in a lonely orphanage being handed a new pair of shoes to replace a worn pair that let the snow in and hurt his feet.
It was finding kindness when one expected to be looked over and forgotten. He had no words for it. But in that moment he understood it all too well.
"I can't believe I'm crying, I'm sorry," Harry said, pulling back, trying to wipe the tears from his face, "I guess I'm still not myself from the curse." He said it with a little laugh, as though he weren't fully certain that was the truth.
"You have nothing to be sorry about, Harry," Tom pulled him close, kissing the top of Harry's head, "you do not hate it then?"
Harry fixed him with slightly watery, and very vibrant eyes, "it might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," he worried a little at his lip, biting them back to redness. Whatever he had been warring with himself with he finally said, "I didn't...have much, when I was younger. There wasn't...for the longest time, I didn't have anyone who...who cared enough..."
Tom had known for sometime that Harry's past was not a happy one. If you put the obvious tragedies aside there were still the scars and how he refused to speak of his past. Granted, if he were from the future he most likely couldn't talk about his past in much detail. But he never said anything at all. Not even generalities.
Tom smoothed a hand down Harry's back in comforting circles, "you don't need to talk about you past, Harry. I know...I know that there are things in your past you can't talk about. And it's alright," he said quickly when Harry looked as though he would speak, and then, "it's alright, because, even if our pasts were not ideal, even if they were full of pain and horrors. We have each other now, and I promise that I will do whatever I can to make sure your future is nothing but happiness."
For a long moment Harry was silent. He simply looked at Tom with his unreadable eyes. Harry remained silent as he folded the robe, slid off of Tom's lap and crawled off the bed. And he spoke not a word as he laid the robe on the chair nearby, and began to unbutton the one he wore.
Tom did not gape. He was much too in control of himself for that, no matter how unhinged Harry made him feel. But he had to clinch his jaw as Harry slipped the robe from his shoulders, folded it, and laid it, along with his glasses, on top of the one that Tom had fixed.
And he did not speak a word until he had climbed back into Tom's bed, wiggled under the covers and settled back against the pillows. Then it was only to give Tom a titled headed, inquisitive look and say, "aren't you going to get ready for bed?"
"Of course, my dear," with a parting kiss on Harry's brow, Tom left the bed and went to his wardrobe. Harry might have lovely silk underthings to sleep in, but Tom's were far more practical than that. So he exchanged his robe and starch rough undershirt for a cottony soft nightshirt before hurrying back to bed.
With a wave of his hand the candles went out, leaving them in the rolling, silver green light from the lake above.
Tom took Harry in his arms once more, and delighted that Harry allowed himself to be moved. He situated them much like they had been before, with Harry laying on him instead of the bed, his head in the crook of Tom's neck, and his arms and legs wrapped around Tom's torso.
"Is this alright?" He asked softly.
"Yeah," Harry said, squeezing Tom closer before settling down. His breathing evened out and Tom thought he might have drifted off already, then, lips pressed to Tom's pulse point, he said, "Tom...I'm really happy that I ended up here with you."
Tom pressed him closer, placing another kiss on Harry's brow. 'Ended up' with Tom. As apposed to somewhere else. Some time else. The idea that his sweet, brave, Harry could have been sent to some other time, to some other place where he might not have found someone to hold and cherish him...It was perhaps the most awful thought he had ever had. He pushed it away. He would not think on it.
"Me too, Harry," Tom held Harry close, like the treasure he was, like a lifeline. It didn't take long for Harry to fall asleep. He felt it in their connection. Before Tom could follow suit, see if Harry was willing to meet in their dreams, he took a moment to breathe, and enjoy the now.
Happy? He wasn't simply happy that Harry was in his life. For the first time ever Tom was content. He was peaceful.
He was complete.