Behind Lies Eternity

Dark clouds of fear, hatred, and a thirst for retribution loomed over England. The country was in a feverish state, and not a day passed without Tom receiving a heap of letters questioning: what now? Tom, of course, was poised to exploit this golden opportunity to ascend to power. Today, Walburga had sent him a crucial and eagerly awaited letter. The elite were effectively decapitated. The country’s wealthiest and most influential wizards had suddenly lost their clout and prestige. A wave of raids and seizures swept through the pureblood manors, unearthing a plethora of banned books and artifacts. Over forty wizards and witches found themselves behind bars. Unfathomable chaos reigned supreme. The Aurors unearthed that in the past decade, nearly twenty young witches had disappeared, their traces found in the Selwyn manor’s garden. Even more traces belonged to unknown Muggles. Harry handed Rosier over to the Aurors, but the scoundrel likely faced only ten years in prison. There was no concrete evidence linking him to the Gentlemen’s Club. Thanks to Gaspard Crouch’s testimony, he faced charges only for underage sex, blackmail, and orchestrating prostitution. He refrained from naming his accomplices, didn’t strike a deal with the authorities, and acted as though it was all a mere misunderstanding. The rest who frequented his manor remained at large. Somewhere, in opulent houses, decked in fine attire, pedophiles and rapists lurked, doubtlessly resuming their repugnant acts once the dust settled. Tom was appalled by the scale of depravity that had infested the pureblood society. Once, he naively believed these people were the epitome of honor. Once, he aspired to be among them. Now, he harbored a deep revulsion for them. Instead of harnessing the ancient knowledge in their libraries, educating their heirs, and wielding this power for governance, they merely tormented Muggles and mudbloods, indulged in lust and debauchery, drank, and squandered their wealth on extravagant clothing and jewels. Tom failed to comprehend this. These lords had seemed powerful and dignified to him, but they proved to be even worse than his grandfather Marvolo, who was merely an ordinary, impoverished madman. “Hey! What are you doing here?” he heard a loud exclamation and snapped out of his letter-writing. “Waiting for you?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “How did the interrogation go?” He visited this house daily, yet each time Harry seemed astonished to see him, as if he couldn’t grasp why Tom came. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to understand. “I should have taken back the second key from you,” Potter shook his head, his slicked-back hair unable to conceal the oddly flat ear tip missing its curve. Healers hadn’t managed to restore its original shape. He looked pale, dark circles under his eyes. Daily interrogations lasting several hours had been ongoing for weeks. “The interrogation was the usual, but there’s grim news. Marius committed suicide. Before dying, he confessed to the Captain about Gordian’s father, breaking his Vow, and the magic killed him. Clever bastard, huh?” There was a vulnerability, a pain in his voice that made Tom refrain from any cutting remarks. “I’m sorry he didn’t receive the punishment he deserved in Azkaban. He should have paid for what he did,” Tom stated as calmly as he could. “I don’t know,” Harry grimaced. “He might have been cowardly, but he still aided the investigation. Now, we’ll never truly know what was in his mind. Did he feel any remorse? Marius confessed that Cecil started this hunt. He captured Muggles and hunted them alone in the garden. Lady Selwyn caught him once. She didn’t join the hunt but helped dispose of the bodies.” “And how did this evolve into the Gentlemen’s Club?” Tom inquired, raising an eyebrow. “It was Gordian. He saw his father in the garden once and, being just ten, told his governess. She immediately informed the Aurors. To silence the scandal, Cecil bribed a judge and several Wizengamot members, but the elite had already heard the rumors. Many clients abandoned the Selwyn gallery and severed ties with them. That’s when Cecil ended his life, leaving Marius with a failing gallery and depleted vaults. Then Lord Black stepped in and offered him a job. Marius began organizing hunts for Pollux and his influential friends, and Lady Selwyn continued disposing of the bodies.” Tom shook his head, astounded at how long this gang had managed to operate covertly. “What else to expect from a Gaunt,” he muttered, recalling his grandfather. “The Selwyns welcomed this plague into their home, and now their lineage is ruined.” “Despite her eccentricity and muddled memory, Lady Selwyn seemed fairly sane when I met her,” Harry shrugged. “I can’t fathom how she could partake in such atrocities and then calmly sip tea from seventeenth-century porcelain in the library. Perhaps that’s what drove her mad? I’ve seen your grandfather; he’s more of a simpleton than insane.” “I don’t know,” Tom pondered. “Maybe the manor itself drove them mad? It feels quite oppressive there. Entering it felt like a thin cobweb clinging to me. But now we’ll never know.” Harry’s expression grew somber, his gaze distant. “Fine, since I can’t kick you out, help me reinforce the wards,” he said, snapping out of his reverie in response to Tom’s gentle prodding. “Once the case details become public, I’m worried we’ll be inundated with cursed letters.” “Why? You’re a victim,” Tom discreetly finished his letter to Walburga, drying the ink, rolling it up, and pocketing it. She had written, now in control of her fate, wishing to break off her engagement with Orion and, in her typical self-assured manner, suggested he become the next Lord Black. “You think journalists won’t twist the story?” Harry scoffed, methodically tapping the walls with his wand. “They’ll paint me as an underage whore feigning amnesia. They’ll claim I ratted out my cousin for an inheritance… Damn, the inheritance! The bank has been expecting me for two days!” “They can wait longer,” Tom said as he approached and placed a hand on Harry’s cheek. “Don’t fret about the rumors; in time, things will settle down. You eliminated a dangerous maniac, many will be grateful. He had control over hundreds of children, capable of harming them at any moment.” “Yeah, and I cracked his skull open. They’ll say I’ve turned into a bigger monster. Or got what I deserved. I know how the journalists are; I’ve been through it,” Harry swiftly avoided Tom’s hand, much to his annoyance. “Why did you kill him?” Tom shuddered, the image of brains splattered across the walls like eggshells haunting him. “I know you’re not a murderer.” It was a puzzle he’d been mulling over. He hoped Harry had done it for him. “For Joanna,” Harry finally spoke up. “I thought… She was supposed to die, not Callahan. Maybe I could trade her soul for Callahan’s. What if it worked?” Tom felt a twinge of disappointment. Yes, Harry had chosen him over his friends, but still… Harry thought about them, cared for them. Tom didn’t appreciate that. He wished Alphard had succeeded in killing Collins. That day, Tom had felt utterly helpless. In the orphanage, he had choices: escape to the wizarding world, use his imagination, befriend someone, or charm an old lady to take him in. Even during the abduction, he had options. Tom, adept without a wand, could’ve transformed into his Animagus form—a small snake—and bitten Callahan, watching him die in agony. But Tom wanted Harry to rescue him. When Callahan stunned him, he saw through Harry’s eyes, saw Alphard, saw the girls chained to the fountain statue. He was terrified for Harry. Harry wanted to rush into the maze to save those girls, and Tom feared he might lose him in its labyrinthine paths. He internally screamed with all his might, calling for help, revealing all his fear and horror. Then, he didn’t have a choice. His only hope was that Harry would choose him over them, that Harry would come. Despite all his powers, Tom couldn’t reach Harry in time or break through the Selwyn manor’s protections. So, he screamed and called for Harry. Those minutes were the worst nightmare of his life. The fear of losing Harry overshadowed even his fear of death. Pride and Harry were all he truly had, as even death proved to be an illusion. And Harry did come for him; he chose Tom. He shattered Callahan’s wards, killed him, and kissed Tom as if he was the only one who mattered in the world to him. Tom wanted to rejoice, to cling to him and never let go. He had managed to protect Harry. And he would continue to do so. So, he didn’t bring up that Joanna wasn’t meant to die. When Harry recounted Lord Black’s speech, and hearing his own words about a lapdog cleverly put into Walburga’s mouth, Tom understood what had transpired. Lord Black, under his daughter’s influence, decided to mold his son into a ‘real’ man. Alphard and Joanna weren’t supposed to be there, but Tom’s poison found its most fertile ground. It turns out Harry killed the bastard needlessly, or maybe it was predestined by time, as right after these events, Armando Dippet returned. Tom had ceased to believe in such coincidences. Time was toying with them like blind kittens. “How does it feel to kill someone?” Tom shifted the topic abruptly. “What did you feel? I only sensed your anger.” “I… I don’t know,” Harry hung his head in sorrow. “Nothing. He was a monstrous creature, not even human, and he was about to… I felt satisfaction. Nothing more. My soul’s already been tainted by killings, betrayal, and injustice. I no longer feel remorse for taking the life of a criminal. Who knows, maybe in his next life, he’ll be luckier and become a great healer?” Tom peered into his eyes, experiencing a bizarre sensation. As if darkness had nestled in the deepest corner of Harry’s consciousness, occupying the space where hope once dwelled. A harsh yearning for justice had distorted him, much like it had Callahan. Both the dean and Harry believed they were doing the right thing. Unaware that there is no ‘right’ path, only paths to fulfill one’s desires. “You did everything right, don’t doubt that,” Tom said, softly caressing his damaged ear. He was irresistibly drawn to Harry like an ocean to the tide. Living on the edge, Harry was tossed about in every direction, enduring suffering, doubts, and shining like the brightest star. There was nothing ordinary about Harry, only pain, passion, and the raw energy of life in its terrifying and beautiful forms. Experiencing his intense emotions, looking into his eyes, striving to understand him—it was Tom’s most captivating puzzle. He yearned to constantly touch him, to caress him, to bask in the warmth of their bond, to kiss his bitten lips, his pale neck and collarbones. With each passing moment, his desire intensified, but Harry either didn’t reciprocate these feelings or feared them. Harry no longer permitted even innocent kisses, no longer welcomed Tom into his bed, as if deliberately tormenting Tom with his unattainability. It was challenging not to push, to wait for Harry to adjust to the idea and realize they were meant to be together in every sense: as friends, family, allies, and lovers. Especially when Tom felt his intense, barely restrained desire. “I broke the law; I should’ve detained him, but I didn’t. It’s irrelevant now,” Harry pulled away once more. “Let’s drop it; nothing can be undone. I’ve been told they’re ready to release Marius and Grandmother’s bodies. They need to be interred in the family crypt. Should I invite their friends?” “I don’t think anyone will show,” Tom shook his head, stepping back. He had learned when to give Harry space and when to be persistent. Now, it was time to keep his distance. “Even if someone wished to pay their respects, attending the funeral of the most infamous criminals of the last century is practically a social suicide, almost a certain admission of complicity in their crimes.” “Yes, you’re right. How many of those hundreds of wizards who visited that manor do you think knew about such ‘entertainments’?” Potter’s mood darkened. “If they knew and did nothing…” “I don’t think anyone was aware,” Tom reassured him. “Their longevity suggests a deep-rooted conspiracy. The real question is who else was involved but couldn’t or didn’t want to appear that night.” “At the interrogation, I named everyone who gambled with Marius, those in frequent contact with Lord Black and Lord Crabbe,” Harry sighed despondently. “So many high-ranking officials… Merlin, who can we really trust now?” “Trust no one. We can only depend on each other,” Tom gently pulled at the thread of their bond, sensing what he had long anticipated: the first signs of trust. Harry was starting to understand. “Can I truly count on you?” he questioned skeptically. “You hide things from me, too.” “As you do from me,” Tom responded with his most charming smile. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t be there for each other in times of peril, right?” “Enough of this,” Potter grimaced, visibly pained, and turned away. “Let’s go outside, we can’t set the wards from in here.” “Running from the conversation again,” Tom agreed, nodding as he followed him onto the creaky porch. “But you can’t run from me forever. You and I, we have an eternity ahead.” “Our supposed shared eternity should end, and you know it,” Potter retorted sharply, casting his wand over the window. Tom recognized the Imperturbable Charm and moved to the next window, pushing through overgrown bushes. “Don’t you see? This is like being enslaved. We can’t freely choose others while this bond exists. If we’re destined to meet in each world, let it be naturally, not forced like these infernal ties binding us like Devil’s Snare.” “I don’t see why you view it that way,” Tom began to feel anger rising. “We share a unique bond, unparalleled and still largely unexplored in its origins and potentials. Doesn’t that intrigue you? We are special, Harry.” “I don’t want to be special, okay?” he shouted from behind the bushes. “I’m tired of being the chosen one, I just want to be Harry!” “You’re hiding something,” Tom realized. “Chosen? By whom?” Then, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, revealing the entire picture. “Forget it,” Harry’s voice tensed, betraying his emotions. “It was me, wasn’t it?” Tom paused in his spellcasting, staring blankly at the withered window frame. “The bond existed in the future too. And since I was a madman, I must have done something terrible. You’re an orphan, raised by hateful relatives. You’re only twenty-three but fight like a seasoned Auror. You know more about me than any ordinary wizard could by just reading my biography. You traveled back in time to change things… And found me immediately. Wanted to kill me. Would an average wizard be so fixated? — Tom berated himself for not realizing sooner. His feelings for Harry had blinded him; he wanted to believe Harry was being truthful. — You defeated me in the future, didn’t you?” His throat tightened painfully, making it difficult to breathe. “Yes,” his voice was just a whisper above the rustling leaves. Tom, agitated, waved his wand, yanking out a couple of shrubs by their roots, and advanced towards Harry. “You lied to me,” he spat out. “You didn’t get sent here by me from another world. You chose to come and fix things yourself. And were there no other versions of us in parallel worlds?” The realization stung the most. There was no eternal bond, no reincarnations, no destiny. “Hey, calm down!” Harry raised his wand defensively. “Of course, there were other versions. It’s just that your other-world counterpart didn’t know the damn cat goddess could not only show parallel worlds but also send someone to the past. Neither did I. She probably did it out of boredom. See, I haven’t killed you, despite you having killed my parents and many others I cared about. I see the difference between you two. And all I ask is for you not to become him!” The tightness in Tom’s throat lessened, and he lowered his wand, realizing he’d nearly attacked Harry. “I killed your parents? I mean, he did. He, not me,” he hastily corrected himself, unable to bear the thought of being equated with the one who had caused Harry so much pain. “Yes. He came to our house on Halloween in ‘81 and murdered them. And now I see you’re different. You’ve changed; you won’t become that monster. But I fear you might become something even worse,” Harry lowered his wand and stepped closer, his gaze imploring. “Please, Tom…” “What? What are you asking? I’m doing everything I can so you don’t see me as a ticking bomb. I’m trying my hardest for you to accept me, yet you still…” Tom’s voice was laced with bitterness. “Here, read this,” he said, pulling out Walburga’s letter and handing it to Potter. Potter unfolded the slightly wrinkled letter, his expression growing grimmer. “She proposed to you,” he breathed out hoarsely after reading it. “Yes. Now tap the parchment with your wand.” Using the same principle as the enchanted galleons, Tom created enchanted parchments. One was with him, the other with Walburga. They had limited uses, but it was more convenient than sending owls across England. “You… You turned her down?” Harry asked incredulously. “But you wanted to, I remember…” “I turned her down because of you,” Tom snatched the letter back and pocketed it. “I let go of that chance because I didn’t want to disappoint you. Do you realize what I’m willing to do? Such opportunities come once in a lifetime, and I missed it. For you…” He trailed off. Suddenly, Harry lunged at him, arms wrapping around his neck, head pressed down, pulling him into a kiss. It lasted only seconds, but Tom nearly forgot how to breathe. “Thank you,” Harry whispered against his lips. “You don’t know how much this means to me.” For that overwhelming sense of joy from his sincere gratitude, Tom would have rejected even the Minister’s offer to be his successor. In that moment, he understood more than ever what he truly wanted. The realization hit like an avalanche, leaving him breathless and awestruck. His desires weren’t superficial, not just a quest for pleasure. Tom yearned for Harry to love him, to place him above everyone else, to see only him, to trust solely in him. Ironically, Harry was the only one who couldn’t offer that. Despite his claims, in Harry’s mind, Tom remained inseparable from the monster who had killed his family. Harry might be with Tom to avert a grim future, might permit kisses and embraces, but it wasn’t out of love for Tom as he was. There was no love at all. “Don’t do this if you don’t really want to,” Tom pulled away abruptly, concealing all emotions, unsure if the bond was betraying his true feelings. “I don’t need your… charity.” “Charity?” Harry blinked, perplexed, an unusual expression for him who usually just frowned in discontent. “You know what I mean,” Tom was engulfed in confusion, anger, hurt, and a maelstrom of unfamiliar emotions, making him want to flee or act recklessly. “Why does nobody love me?” cried the little boy, clinging to the matron’s skirt. “I want them to love me!” “Stop whining!” a harsh slap stung his cheek. “Nobody will ever love you, you’re all worthless little bastards, remember that and stop crying!” Tom shook his head, dismissing the painful memory. He despised it, wanted to erase it forever. It seemed he was still that boy, longing for someone who would love him unconditionally. When Harry appeared, Tom had clung to him desperately, refusing to think or learn anything. He simply wanted his childish wish fulfilled, like a five-year-old. “No, I don’t get it,” Harry jabbed a finger into his chest, his frustration evident. “You’re upset, and I don’t even know why! What’s bothering you, do you want me to…” He trailed off, unable to continue. “Exactly,” Tom felt an overwhelming fatigue, as if he had been pushing a boulder uphill his entire life, akin to Sisyphus. “You don’t understand. You can’t even say it. You talk about what I want, but not about your own desires. What does this mean to you? Probably just a way to control me, to keep me on a leash.” Tom’s keen observation was a curse now. He wished he could still deceive himself. Harry tilted his head, averted his gaze, fists clenched. Predictable Saint Harry, burdened with flaws, thinking he had to rescue everyone, disregarding his own life and well-being. Charging ahead of a train, shouting “I’ll save you!” not seeing the train would crush him, move on, and the passengers wouldn’t even notice his sacrifice, except for the few who were on the tracks and escaped. Just a few lives that mattered only to him. “What do I want?” Harry stared at the uprooted bush, unable to meet Tom’s eyes, to confess. “I can’t afford personal desires. Not now. I don’t know why I kissed you the first time. Or why I just did.” Tom couldn’t discern his emotions; the bond had shut down, but his intellect remained. “You really don’t know?” he pressed, like a hound on the trail of a fox. “Or refuse to acknowledge it? You were so determined to change me, to stop me from becoming a monster. But what about you? You need to change too, Harry. Otherwise, what’s the point? We both need to evolve if we’re to escape the shackles of the past. Or the future.” Looking at Harry was painful. He seemed to wither, hunching over, resembling not himself but the little boy named Gordian Selwyn, who would have been seventeen by now. A faint glimmer of hope sparked in Tom’s heart. He yearned… “Think about what you really desire. Don’t dwell on the past or future, just focus on what you want now,” he gently touched Harry’s cheek with his fingers, trying to express everything he had longed for, waited for all his life, and never received from anyone. “The burden of the past transformed me into the monster who murdered your family. But now that burden is lifting, and I’m open to change. Try to let go of your own burden, that’s all I’m asking. Even if I’m not the one you need, just consider what you truly want.” Tom trembled, not with anger or nervousness. His shaking was internal, as if all his muscles, long immobile, had suddenly sprung to life, compelling him to move. He walked away from Harry, even though inside everything screamed: go back, go back, go back, damn it! He didn’t know whose voice it was, but he kept walking. It was a desperate tactic, but Tom didn’t know what else to do. He longed for something genuine, selfless, just once. Was it too much to ask? No one had ever truly accepted him. As a child, other kids feared him for his unique abilities. Adults disliked him because he couldn’t stand their favorites and often crossed the line. At school, he wasn’t loved for being too clever and a mudblood. No one had ever genuinely liked him. He had to pretend to be someone else to win affection, but it was never the same. Harry knew him as he truly was, yet even he couldn’t fully accept him, with all his flaws, misunderstandings, and vices. Even he, the one with whom he was eternally bound! He was beginning to empathize with his future self. He wanted to rip out these distressing feelings, uproot them, and hide them away, so they wouldn’t cause so much pain. “Tom!” came a loud shout from behind. “Wait!” Passersby looked back in confusion. Tom hadn’t realized he had reached the village. He stood on a narrow street with three houses and a pawn shop. Turning, he saw Potter rushing toward him. Harry’s face was marked by desperate resolve, though maybe Tom felt it through their bond. It was hard to distinguish. “I don’t know, really,” Harry panted, his eyes and cheeks flushed as if he were afflicted with mermaid fever. “I’ve never known what I truly wanted my whole life! But now I really want… It was genuine. I wanted to kiss you. And I want to, I just can’t. It’s complicated.” Once, such words might have offended Tom. But hearing them from Harry was like stumbling upon a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. Was there still hope? “Why can’t you?” Tom grasped Harry’s hand, pulling him closer. “Is it because you’re reminded of the other me from the future?” “No,” Potter shook his head, giving Tom a look filled with despair and pain. “I… can’t explain. It’s complicated!” “You’re saying this because you think I might change my mind and marry Walburga?” Tom narrowed his eyes. “That’s part of it, but there are other reasons,” Harry blurted out. “I think… I’m scared that… I’m becoming too attached to you. If we get any closer, you might just end up breaking my heart.” Tom’s heart missed a beat, then thundered with newfound force. “Are you scared of falling in love with me?” A wide smile spread across his face, a wave of euphoria swelling in his chest. Moments ago, he wished to be numb, yet now, Harry’s few words had him ready to soar. What was happening to him? “Of getting attached,” Harry corrected sheepishly, but his reddened cheeks and averted gaze said it all. “Why do you think I’ll break your heart? Haven’t I shown that I can look after you?” Tom’s smile stayed, his cheeks starting to hurt from it. “You have. But you keep things from me; I can’t always tell what you’re thinking.” True, Tom kept many things from Harry. But he did so for the best. If Harry knew about the Order of the Red Phoenix, he’d panic and think Tom couldn’t change. Meanwhile, Tom was doing nothing wrong. He was merely gathering future influential wizards, teaching them spells, and planning to delve into magic with an inner circle after graduation. Yes, he spun stories of greatness and pure blood, but he was skilled at indoctrination. Eventually, they’d abandon these foolish ideas and follow him unquestioningly. And his pursuit of immortality? He had no plans for Horcruxes. He just wanted to perfect a ritual so Harry would be forever bound to him, like a Horcrux, ensuring they wouldn’t die prematurely. These were secrets he had to keep, at least until Harry understood that Tom had no intention of going bald and slaughtering wizards. “Nothing dangerous, I promise,” Tom replied earnestly. “You can trust me. I’ve said it a thousand times. And I don’t make empty promises.” “I know,” Harry managed a weak smile. “But let’s just… let things be and unfold naturally, no need to rush.” This was a start, at least. But Tom wasn’t one to settle without negotiating better terms for himself. “Alright, let’s go with that,” he drew Harry in, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Hugs, innocent kisses, sharing a bed – that’s enough for me for now.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa, since when are sharing a bed and kisses part of the deal?” Harry protested but didn’t pull away. “We’ve already shared a bed. And we’ve kissed several times. Isn’t that ‘letting things be’?” Tom leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against Harry’s scarred ear, delighting in the other’s shiver. He felt the shiver, both physically and through their bond. Harry was once again within his grasp – malleable, confused, familiar in every sharp word, reproachful look, and the vivid blush on his cheeks. Tom felt on the verge of losing control. However, thoughts of Black, who had audaciously assaulted Harry, brought him back to his senses as effectively as a splash of Aguamenti. He vividly remembered Harry’s revulsion, his condemnation of both Black and himself, his desperate desire to cleanse himself, to erase those moments from his memory. Tom empathized deeply, having felt the same after Vivien. He vowed never to treat Harry in such a manner. “It doesn’t count. No sharing a bed,” Potter muttered, leaning against Tom’s chest. “And kisses only on the cheek.” His hands, previously hesitant, now slid up and clutched Tom’s waist. Their bond vibrated between them, almost tangible. “Are we in a convent?” Tom scoffed. “Cheek kisses… Are you a virgin?” “Shut it,” Harry retorted, stepping on Tom’s foot. “I’m not a virgin, nor a prude. I just… I can’t! Kissing your cheek is enough, Riddle.” “Hardly sufficient. You enjoy it when I kiss you here, don’t you?” Tom recalled the pleasure Harry showed when kissed just under his jaw. Repeating the gesture, he gently lifted Harry’s chin, bared his neck, waited for any resistance, found none, and pressed his lips there. “Fuuuuuck…” Harry hissed, tilting his head back further. “Riddle, we’re in public, have you lost your mind?” “Possibly,” Tom murmured against his damp skin before giving it a light bite. “We could be arrested for indecency, but that’s the least of my concerns.” Harry gasped, arching into Tom’s embrace, their mutual arousal igniting rapidly. With a soft moan, Tom pressed his hips against Harry, letting him feel the effects of their ‘innocent’ kisses. Letting him get accustomed to it. Eventually, Tom would claim him, and Harry would no doubt revel in the sensation of Tom inside him. Tom realized Harry’s arousal was natural, not magically induced. This excited him even more. “May Diricawls peck you,” Harry cursed under his breath. “Do you even understand ‘let things be’?” “You’re not exactly resisting,” Tom whispered, nuzzling his skin. “You’ve been sitting on my cock before, remember? So technically, I’m keeping my word,” he said, giving Harry’s neck one last lick before stepping back. Not out of desire, but to grant Harry the semblance of control. “I knew you’d pull something like this,” Harry glanced around furtively, checking for onlookers. “Enough, Riddle. I said: only cheek kisses. And don’t you dare utter ‘cock’ around me again, for Merlin’s sake!” “How about ‘dick’?” Tom teased, earning a sharp jab to his shoulder. “No? Need a euphemism? How about ‘magic wand’? Or better yet, ‘sword’! My hard sword yearns for your scabba— Ow!” He laughed despite receiving a Stinging Hex from infuriated Harry, who stood flushed and fuming, eyes ablaze with indignation. “I might just hex you if you keep this up,” Harry brandished his wand, half-jokingly. “Really? Laughing at dick jokes? Behold, the future great wizard, ladies and gentlemen.” “You make me laugh, my former-and-future husband. Your fluster is quite endearing,” Tom quipped, continuing his light-hearted banter. He realized he had never been this carefree, laughing and jesting like this. He was genuinely happy, feeling a joy bubbling within him, the world spinning around like a carousel with only Harry’s face in focus. His stomach wasn’t knotted with nerves but warmed with contentment. Everything seemed beautiful: the distant chirping of crickets, the floral fragrance wafting from a nearby garden, the sky transitioning to a warm ochre at the horizon. But Harry was the most captivating sight. The setting sun cast a radiant halo around his head, setting his hair ablaze with fiery hues, and softly cloaked his pale skin in a warm, magical glow. Tom was utterly transfixed. It felt like a blissful affliction, with symptoms too delightful to resist. “You’re not my husband, Riddle, enough,” Harry retorted, though a suppressed smile tugged at his lips. “Then should I refer to you as ‘cousin’?” Tom suggested playfully. “Oh, no, anything but incest jokes!” Harry protested. “Tom, please! It’s already awkward enough without being reminded we’re related by blood.” “Technically, my cousin is no more, and you’re in his body. So I’m a necroph…,” Tom chuckled, earning a firm punch on the shoulder from Harry. “That is not a joking matter!” Harry scolded, clearly unamused. Tom barely contained his laughter and decided to shift the conversation. “Should I stay with you tonight?” he inquired with a sly tone. “The castle is crawling with Unspeakables investigating Dippet’s sudden return. It wouldn’t do for Slughorn to let a student stay during summer. Hopefully, they’ll leave him as headmaster and send Dippet into retirement.” Although Tom had already charmed the Unspeakables with his intelligence and charm, ensuring they wouldn’t question Slughorn’s decision. “You can stay, I guess. Not going to leave you out on the streets,” Harry said dismissively. “But we’re sleeping separately. The couch is yours.” “And you won’t feel sorry for me? That couch is a nightmare; it should be incinerated with Fiendfyre. Something must be living in it, perhaps rats, or even a boggart,” Tom followed Harry back down the cobblestone street, inwardly pleased that his dramatic departure had prompted Harry to reveal his feelings. Tom tried not to dwell on what might have happened if Harry hadn’t stopped him. He still had a chance to win Harry’s sincere affection, and he was determined not to let it slip away. Why was he getting so emotional, acting like a hysterical third-year girl dating an older student? He had to keep his composure. “I’m sure you and the boggart will get along famously. You both have a penchant for darkness and scaring people to death,” Harry teased, turning to flash a smile over his shoulder. Tom felt a flutter in his stomach at that smile and found himself smiling back involuntarily. He assisted Harry in enchanting the windows and doors, then coaxed him into having a proper meal at a quaint restaurant in Hogsmeade’s heart. “What can I get for you two?” a young witch-waitress inquired, her gaze fixated on Harry to the point where Tom felt his fists clench involuntarily. Yes, Gordian was attractive. But it was Harry who infused this body with true beauty. The intensity of his blue-eyed stare almost felt tangible, and there was something in his demeanor that hinted at vulnerability. This mix of danger and fragility, kindness and resilience, utterly captivated Tom. “How about trying the house special?” Tom suggested, leaning over the table and placing his hand over Harry’s. Absorbed in the floating menu, Harry seemed oblivious to the gesture. Tom gave the waitress a pointed look and deliberately stroked the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb. “Yes, let’s,” Harry finally responded, gracing the girl with a smile and then interlocking his fingers with Tom’s. “And we’ll have fresh orange juice, please.” The waitress’s smile dimmed as she noted their order and departed. “In my time, waiters are a rarity,” Harry remarked, his gaze lingering on their intertwined hands resting on the white tablecloth. “Wizards typically order directly from the menu.” “There are places like that here too,” Tom confessed, inwardly trembling as Harry gently scraped his palm with his nails, igniting a storm of conflicting feelings within him. He was torn between not wanting to release Harry’s hand and admonishing himself for holding it. It was unusual for Tom to be so acutely aware of his own emotions. “But waiters add a touch of class to an establishment. They’re a luxury ordinary people can’t afford.” He had adopted this perspective from Lestrange, quickly developing a liking for it. The feeling of superiority over regular wizards appealed to him. “To spend money on such frivolities?” Harry’s contemplative mood faded, and he let go of Tom’s hand. “The quality of the food is what matters. All this fuss about waiters… She was eyeing you.” “She was eyeing you, not me,” Tom’s voice wavered slightly. “And don’t leave her a tip.” “So, you held my hand for that?” Harry’s face lit up with a mischievous smile, and he arched an eyebrow. A familiar flutter returned to Tom’s stomach. “Feeling jealous, are we?” “Yes,” Tom admitted unhesitatingly. “I am jealous.” Harry laughed softly, his hand covering his mouth. Shaking his head in mild disbelief, he then declared: “It’s almost like we’re on a date.” Tom had never experienced a real date. If this was indeed a date, he surprisingly found himself enjoying it. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he responded with a soft smile, brushing his leg against Harry’s beneath the table. “This is just a meal, let’s not make it into something it’s not,” Harry retorted, his cheeks coloring. Tom felt an irresistible urge to kiss him. He gestured with his fingers, beckoning Harry to lean in. “I need to tell you something,” he said, prompting Harry to lean closer. Tom whispered in his ear, “You’re incredibly cute when you blush.” Acting on his impulse, Tom swiftly kissed Harry’s blushing cheek. “Tom!” Harry let out a playful chuckle, his blush deepening, and lowered his head, hiding a broad smile. He childishly rubbed his cheek with his robe sleeve, half-protesting. “Stop, you know I asked you not to.” “I didn’t do anything against your wishes,” Tom softly chuckled, feeling an unnameable joy watching Harry beside him, laughing in such a carefree manner. This evening had all the hallmarks of a date. Though unfamiliar with the usual proceedings, Tom chose to view it as a genuine one. Surprisingly, dates were quite delightful. Their dinner was filled with engaging conversations. Harry regaled him with tales from his Auror training, and Tom listened intently, occasionally brushing his foot against Harry’s under the table. “So, your mentor was quite stern?” Tom inquired, intrigued by Harry’s story about a trainee’s misfortune with Devil’s Snare. “Yes, Johnson… He always said I was too sensitive, ill-suited for harsh realities, overly compassionate. He was a man of absolutes,” Harry recalled with a tinge of melancholy. “But he treated me like anyone else, not some hero. I respected and listened to him for that.” “You’re an enigma,” Tom remarked with a smile. “While everyone seeks to be special, you long for normalcy, yet it eludes you. Perhaps that’s what makes a true ‘chosen one’, don’t you think?” “Nonsense,” Harry dismissed with a scoff. “Most people actually crave a normal life. It’s those who fail to grasp its importance who yearn for uniqueness. I’d give anything for living a normal life – a family, education, a steady job, devoid of battles, tough choices, media scrutiny, and gossip.” “That’s exactly my point. You don’t even realize…” The evening evolved into something profoundly significant for Tom. Later, as he lay on the old, uncomfortable couch, a smile lingered on his lips. Harry was gradually revealing more of himself – his thoughts, feelings, and vulnerabilities – and it felt extraordinary. Everything seemed right. Though Harry might be concealing something, hesitating, his actions and emotions were telling: he truly wanted to be with Tom. Trapped in the past, it was only a matter of time before he would embrace his desires and Tom, leaving thoughts of the future behind. Even the fact that he hadn’t yet visited his destitute family, residing in a shack on the outskirts of Little Hangleton’s forest, didn’t dampen Tom’s spirits. He planned to assist Harry with the funeral arrangements and then make time for a visit. Lying in the dark, Tom gazed at the faint glow from Harry’s night lamp, pondering why Harry hadn’t reinstalled the wall concealing the bedroom entrance. Was it a lack of habit, or perhaps another reason? “No, don’t overanalyze. He simply didn’t bother. Pressuring him won’t help. He needs to come to these realizations on his own,” Tom reasoned with himself before finally drifting off to sleep. ***   Harry found sleep elusive, tormented by an anxiety so acute it made stillness impossible. He tossed and turned, trying to ward off invasive thoughts, but they persistently slithered into his consciousness, reminiscent of venomous snakes. Part of him wished Riddle would come to him, offering a distraction from these tormenting reflections. Yet, Riddle had chosen to respect Harry’s boundaries, an act both impeccably and frustratingly timed. Or perhaps, it was just the right moment. Fear gnawed at Harry’s resolve. He had naively believed that re-educating Riddle was all it would take, and everything would fall into place, allowing him to return to a war-free world. He hadn’t anticipated developing feelings so intense and dangerous for Riddle, as sharp as the blade of Gryffindor’s sword. When had these feelings started? Was it that day in the orphanage when he saw the bruised boy frantically scratching his arms? Or in the alley, when he saved him from the thugs? Maybe it was in the bathroom when Tom pressed close to him, seeking refuge only Harry could provide? Or when Tom rested his head on his knees? Each of these moments, seemingly trivial in isolation, had layered upon one another, growing into a solid, inescapable mass. Harry could no longer ignore his feelings. Riddle had become a significant part of his life, as if they had known each other for years, burrowing deep into his heart, making him care, yearn for closeness. Their bond, once a primary concern, now seemed secondary. More pressing was the attraction that drove Harry to the brink of madness. Initially, he had attributed it to Gordian’s body’s hormonal responses, but now he knew better. His physical responses had normalized; he wasn’t indiscriminately attracted to every passable man, nor did he feel an overwhelming urge for constant sexual release. Yet Riddle still stirred him, making his knees weak. It wasn’t just Riddle’s growing beauty. There was something more… The adult Voldemort was a being of pure malevolence, an alien entity devoid of any semblance of human emotion. He had long ceased to be human. Teenage Tom Riddle, however, was a different story. His soul was a tumultuous sea of pain and chaos, desperately craving the slightest touch of warmth and care. Harry’s heart ached to sense Riddle’s yearning for a modicum of affection, consolation, acceptance. Tears threatened to spill when Riddle touched his cheek, looked into his eyes with a mixture of hope and anticipation of rejection. Despite all his intelligence, secrecy, and cunning, the bond laid bare his true feelings – a longing and a desire for something he never experienced. Without this bond, Harry would never have known the depth of his true desires, as Tom’s behavior alone was an impenetrable facade. Harry could no longer deny his feelings for Tom. He yearned to show him genuine human relationships, to offer him the tenderness and care he had never known. With each encounter, it became increasingly difficult for Harry to conceal his growing affection. But Harry was also acutely aware of the transience of his presence in this time. He didn’t belong here; his very presence seemed to disrupt the natural order of things. He pondered the impact of his actions on the House of Black and other families. His interference had already altered the course of history, potentially erasing the existence of future generations. Despite his aversion to deception, Harry found himself compelled to lie and evade, betraying Tom’s trust once more. Even though Tom was manipulative and cunning, Harry couldn’t help feeling that he was the one betraying Tom. Harry was conflicted about his own desires. Riddle was right about one thing: Harry had long been living for others and neglected his own needs. Yet, the idea of putting himself first seemed almost impossible. The thought of falling for someone destined to become a murderer of his family was tormenting. Could he really enjoy being kissed by someone who would become his greatest enemy? Was it a betrayal of his true family - his friends? What would Ron say if he saw Harry giggling like a silly schoolgirl while the future Dark Lord kissed his cheek? What would Hermione think if she knew Harry yearned to sleep with the monster who robbed her of her family? “It’s necessary to change the future from what you know,” his mind rationalized. “It’s just an excuse; you’re just drawn to him,” his subconscious retorted. “Will you really trample on his feelings, which he hides so carefully from everyone, and exploit them?” his conscience whispered. “What feelings? He’s just trying to manipulate you. He’s seen your weakness. He’s only pretending to be sincere,” his paranoia insisted. These conflicting thoughts tore Harry apart. Duty, conscience, and personal desires clashed within him, leaving him unsure of the right path. Outside, the rustling leaves seemed to echo his inner turmoil, asking, “What do you want, Harry?” Right then, he wanted to go and throw himself onto Tom, who was asleep on the old couch. Harry yearned to feel those lips on his neck again, for it was, fuck it, the most thrilling sensation in his short, ridiculous life! He wanted to be back in those strong arms, to feel him close, to run his fingertips over the prickly shaved nape and bury them in the thick, silky locks at the top, to kiss those hot, moist lips with a hint of blood, to nuzzle his nose into the collar of Tom’s simple shirt and inhale the scent of soap, herbs, and skin, an aroma uniquely Tom’s. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way about the young Voldemort, yet he was irresistibly drawn to him, like a silly rabbit caught in a trap. “The main thing is, you’re in this world,” he recalled the sleepy whisper. Was it the truth or just another manipulation? Even if true, Harry had to return to his world. Staying with Tom was impossible; not even Shesmetet could manage such a feat. Letting their relationship progress further was doomed to end terribly. “Progress further? He’s already gone so far; the next step would be sex!” his mind pointed out. Tossing and turning in his bed, Harry stared into the dark doorway. He longed for something. Maybe not so much for sex, but to caress Tom, to see how he would react to kisses, to hear the sounds he would make, to feel through their bond his happiness, his realization that Harry wanted to care for him. He had seen and felt enough to conclude: together, they would be incredible. His first time with Ginny had been awkward and unpleasant. Harry was afraid of hurting her; she was angry and bossy about where he should place his hands. Eventually, it got much better. But now Harry realized that it was just… nothing. He didn’t feel for her what he now felt for Tom fucking Riddle. Harry wondered if this meant he had always been gay. He definitely liked girls, particularly the exceptional, vibrant, strong ones. As it turned out, this applied to boys too. He simply liked strong, intelligent people. His need in a partner was emotional, not physical. And Tom Riddle, with all his issues, became an irresistible magnet for him. All these thoughts kept him awake, suffocating, tearing him apart. He tossed and turned in a delirious state, and that was what saved his life. At first, he thought he was dreaming when a dark shadow slipped through the window. Nightmares were not unusual for him. But when the shadow took the shape of a human figure and threw a rope around his neck, Harry was wide awake. “Tom!” he yelled a second before the rope tightened around his throat, pulling him upwards. He managed to slip his fingers underneath it, desperately trying to prevent the knot from tightening. Bright flashes of spells illuminated the dark doorway, the echo of battle filled the air, and then something heavy crashed onto the floor. A half-naked Riddle burst into the room. With a flick of his wand, the rope trying to hang Harry from a thick chandelier hook snapped. The dark shadow tried to escape, hurling curses at him, but Riddle brushed them off as if they were mere tickling charms, not even using his wand. He shut the shutters, trapping the attacker, and squeezed them until the wizard screamed in pain and slumped, dropping his wand. “Ch-rrr,” Harry attempted to speak, but a wheeze was all that emerged. “What in Mordred’s name?!” Riddle cursed, binding the unlucky attacker. Surely, the assailant hadn’t expected to encounter the future Dark Lord when he attacked two schoolboys. “He was going to hang me,” Harry rasped, eyeing the piece of thick rope dangling from the ceiling. “Ah, mercenaries?” Tom casually tossed the unconscious wizard to the floor, knelt, and removed his black mask with white crosses, revealing an ordinary middle-aged wizard’s face. “But how did they get in?” “The charms,” Harry realized. “Casting them on the windows today might have weakened the protective wards. They must have been watching us. What about the second one?” “I hit him with a sleeping curse; he’s out cold,” Tom said, approaching Harry and examining his neck closely. The sight must have been unpleasant, as he flared his nostrils angrily and clenched his wand tightly. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine,” Harry shrugged it off. “You got here just in time.” “I’ll make minced flobberworms out of their brains,” Riddle hissed suddenly. His features sharpened into a predatory look, his deep-set eyes ablaze with an intense rage. The bond transmitted his scorching fury, causing almost physical discomfort. Harry recognized in this face the future Voldemort, who realized his Horcruxes were destroyed. “No need, I’ll call Captain Shacklebolt, let him handle it,” Harry soothingly stroked Tom’s bare shoulder. “We shouldn’t interrogate them ourselves; it’s illegal.” “No.” Riddle clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw tensed, he was so furious that Harry involuntarily caught fragments of his thoughts. “They wanted to take what’s mine.” This scared Harry much more than the sudden attack. Tom was so much like his future self, it was impossible to ignore. He was exactly like Voldemort, though his appearance hadn’t changed: his facial expressions, his posture, his gaze – all of it belonged solely to Voldemort. “Tom,” Harry pressed against him in a desperate attempt to stop the future. “Please… calm down. We can’t! Let the people who get paid for this do their job.” “They almost killed you,” he said, his voice eerily calm, but inside a storm of hatred raged. “You saved me, it’s all good,” Harry whispered, stroking his back. Tom held him tightly, burying his nose in Harry’s hair. His anger began to subside, once he was reassured that Harry was alive. “I’m not that easy to kill, you know,” Harry said in a half-joking tone. “Harry Potter doesn’t go down that easily. Neither Avada, nor Dementors, nor werewolves have succeeded so far! Let’s call the Aurors before they wake up, okay? Shacklebolt will crack them and send them to prison, where they’ll suffer for the rest of their lives…” “Fine,” Riddle finally calmed down and reluctantly released Harry. He looked utterly normal, not a single muscle on his face betraying any tension, which was truly frightening: how well he could hide his true emotions. Only Harry was allowed to look behind this mask and know the real Tom Riddle. Or what he chose to show. The Aurors arrived very quickly. “Selwyn, Riddle, can you ever stay out of trouble?” Captain Shacklebolt exclaimed as he arrived with two aurors. “Innocent, just sleeping,” Harry replied with equal sarcasm. “We accidentally weakened the wards earlier, and these guys,” he nudged the wizard in the black mask with his foot, “seized their chance. They tried to hang me.” “I knew it,” the old Auror exclaimed, signaling his colleagues to secure the attacker. “A new lead! Selwyn, you lucky, unkillable bastard!” “Can’t argue with that, sir,” Harry smiled. Tom watched the Aurors in silence, his gaze intensely terrifying. Just in case, Harry took his hand and intertwined their fingers tightly. “Do you have somewhere to go? Need any help? I can arrange for you to stay at St. Mungo’s,” Shacklebolt inquired. “No, sir. We’ll spend the night at the Selwyn manor. When can we return?” Harry understood that the house would be a hive of activity for the next few days. “In a couple of days,” the Auror promised. “Bureaucracy. But you know all that already.” “Will we be updated on the interrogation results?” Tom interjected. “I’ll let you know as a friend,” Shacklebolt winked at Harry. “Come in at twelve tomorrow to give your statements. At this rate, we might need to reserve a personal interrogation room for you at the Auror office. You know the safety rules: stay under protection, use only the Floo Network, don’t open suspicious letters.” Harry nodded, secretly relieved that the chaos had left no Aurors available to escort them. “Captain,” Harry called out, just as the Auror was about to leave. “Any news on how Alphard is doing?” “Worried about your fiancé?” Shacklebolt cast a knowing glance at Harry and Tom’s interlocked hands. “Oh boy, don’t torment the lad. He’s going through a tough time, mind healers are working with him. If he finds out you’ve started a romance, he might completely lose it. He talked only about you when I went to take his statement. I’ll get you in, but only if you promise not to upset him.” “I understand,” Harry sighed heavily, and Tom immediately put an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, sir.” “Ah, the youth,” the old Auror’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “Alright, gather your things, I’ll escort you to the Floo.” And so, once again, Harry found himself in the detested Selwyn Manor. “The master has returned!” As soon as Harry stepped out of the huge fireplace in the small living room, house-elf Molly appeared before him. “Master Gordy!” She was followed by old elf Gibby and equally ancient house-elf Tilly. All were dressed in clean pillowcases bearing the Selwyn crest, thanks to Harry nagging Gordian’s grandmother, who finally gave in and had the elves change out of their old rags. A sudden pang of sadness washed over Harry. Yes, she was a terrible person, but she loved her grandson. What was it like for her to die, knowing Gordian was dead, and her lineage had ended? “Master Gordy is tired, prepare the beds,” Tom ordered, stepping out of the fireplace. “Listen to him,” Harry nodded wearily to the elves. “Did you manage to tidy up the manor after the searches?” The living room was in perfect order, nothing to indicate that just a week ago it had been in total chaos. “Yes, master! Everything is done!” The elves beamed with happiness, gazing adoringly at Harry. “If you wish to snack, Gibby will brew the Indian tea!” Harry and Tom exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison. The only thing they wanted now was to go to sleep. In Gordian’s room, everything remained as before, even the robe lay where Harry had left it before the fateful birthday gala. “If I’m strangled again and deprived of sleep, I’ll start to get angry,” Harry grumbled, tossing his cloak onto the floor beside the bed. As he struggled out of his boots and unzipped his trousers, it dawned on him that he was undressing in front of Tom. And that they had come to sleep in the same room. In the same bed. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Of course, Tom noticed his confusion. He stepped closer, captivating Harry with his insinuating, understanding gaze, hooked a finger on the waistband of Harry’s trousers, and pulled them down, never breaking eye contact. The trousers slid down his hips and crumpled at his ankles. For the first time, Harry was grateful for the fashion of long underwear, more like shorts. He shuffled awkwardly, kicked off the fabric bundle, and froze, uncertain of what would come next. “Undress me,” Tom’s voice was velvety yet commanding. Harry swallowed hard and obediently reached for the buttons on Tom’s robe. Riddle seemed to have bewitched him; resistance was futile. In their haste, they only managed to pull on their robes over their naked bodies, barely getting into their trousers and shoes, sockless. Harry unbuttoned button by button, his breath catching at every accidental brush of his fingers against the increasingly exposed hot skin. His heart pounded in his throat, his face burning with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Having undone the last button, he ran his hands over Tom’s bare chest, gliding up to the broad shoulders and dropped the robe to the floor, exposing his torso. Tom was rather slim, but no longer excessively so. Fencing had toughened his muscles, giving a beautiful contour to his chest, arms, and shoulders. Harry traced his collarbones with his fingers, descended to the enticing brown nipples, ran his hands over the ribs, and caressed the hollow belly with a trail of dark hair just beginning to form. He cautiously unfastened the button on the trousers and, holding his breath, slowly pulled them down. His mouth suddenly dry, Harry licked his lips, his eyes drawn to the jutting hip bones, the tight white waistband against milky-white skin, and a mole just below the navel. He was mesmerized by the sight, yearning to press his lips against that skin, to run his tongue over the mole, to bite those bones gently. “Do you like what you see?” Riddle murmured, his voice husky with a hint of challenge. “You are beautiful,” Harry whispered reverently, his lips leaving a tender kiss beside the heart, fiercely beating under the skin marked by the birthmark. “Do you find me more beautiful than Alphard?” Tom inquired, a hint of challenge in his voice. Without hesitation, still under the hypnotic spell of his piercing gaze, Harry answered. “You are more beautiful than Alphard. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Harry whispered, continuing to explore Tom’s chest with his fingers. “Good,” a happy smile formed on Tom’s stern lips. “I want you to look only at me.” Harry’s mind flashed back to Alphard’s desperate words at the ball: “You only look at him, only touch him, only talk to him!” It was true. At first, he merely observed him, and then… then the others became mere background. They didn’t matter, weren’t interesting, none of them. Tom Riddle, the future-former Dark Lord Voldemort, overshadowed everyone around. “I am already looking only at you,” he replied, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Isn’t that enough?” “Not enough,” Tom embraced him impulsively, pressing him against his bare chest, burying his nose in Harry’s hair at the temple. “You are mine. You belong to me. Don’t go to Black, break off that engagement. We should be together. We should be the ones engaged. I am not a ‘side piece.’ It’s the others who are the extras. Eternity lies behind us, Harry. No one will take you from me.” Their bond flared with intense emotions, burning within Harry like searing coals. Tom was painfully obsessed with him. It was abnormal, beyond all limits, yet he was convinced that Harry truly belonged to him. Harry longed to show him that feelings could be different. “Merlin, you are… Come here,” Harry wrapped his arms around Tom’s shoulders and pulled him onto the bed. They lay on the soft mattress, closely pressed against each other. Tom intertwined their legs, rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, and placed a hand on his chest. “Are you this upset because of the attack?” Harry buried his fingers in his hair, gently massaging the scalp. The house-elves dimmed the lights, and the window swung open, allowing the fragrance of night flowers to fill the room. “Yes,” Tom replied softly, his breath tickling Harry’s neck. “I can’t lose you. You are mine. Only mine.” Harry’s heart clenched painfully, fear and panic descending like wild wolves, tearing through his defenses. “Tom, you can’t just…” Harry rasped hoarsely. “People aren’t things. I can’t belong to you.” “I know you’re not a thing. But you are mine. We are bound by magic and blood. And I am yours. What’s wrong with that? What are you so afraid of? I feel your fear, Harry,” Tom soothed the place where Harry’s heart pounded under his skin. “Today, we’ve realized a lot. We can’t keep silent about what’s between us anymore; it’s just childish. I want you, want to be with you, want all these foolish social rituals like courting, dating, engagement, and showing off our relationship. If I want something, it’s normal, you said it yourself.” “I said that in a slightly different context,” Harry managed to say. “It’s normal to have desires and needs. There’s no shame in needing love, a partner, and a relationship. But… You can’t impose your feelings on others and make them do only what you want.” “I know, I know,” Tom held him painfully tight. “I remember what you said tonight. But I won’t hide anything. I now understand exactly what I want, and I’m going to get it. Consider this a warning, Harry.” “Merlin, that’s more a threat than a romantic intention,” Harry murmured, his eyes moistening, overwhelmed by a wave of melancholy. What was he thinking? Was he such a fool to believe he could change Tom Riddle and then calmly return to the future? This was the new Tom Riddle: still power-hungry, sick, obsessed with Harry. Before, his intent was to kill; now, he wanted to fuck him. “It is a threat,” Tom mumbled sleepily. “You’ll never escape from me. Never.” Tears silently rolled down Harry’s cheeks. Why did he have to endure this? Why must he suffer beside him, driven mad by tenderness and anger, passion and disgust? Who condemned them to this eternity? ***     The morning turned out to be awkward. Harry awoke abruptly, finding himself under Riddle’s intense gaze and nearly screamed. “Were you watching me sleep?” he exclaimed, extricating himself from Tom’s strong embrace. Nearly falling, Harry climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in a blanket. “Partly,” Tom replied with a lazy smile, stretching out shamelessly on the bed, hands behind his head. “Partly thinking.” Harry’s gaze involuntarily followed the tense arm muscles, the hairless armpits, drifted to the chest, the hollow stomach, and he swallowed the thick morning saliva. The blanket, covering Tom to the waist, was unmistakably tented at the groin. “That’s the first and last time we sleep together,” he gritted out and threw the blanket at Tom. “Get up, we need to have breakfast and get to the Auror office.” Throwing on a robe, he hurried to the bathroom, hoping to forget how dangerously attractive Tom looked in his bed. He looked like a satiated predator, lounging in his lair after a feast. After a quick cold shower and teeth brushing, Harry returned to find Riddle just outside the bathroom, seemingly about to join him. “Put something on, for Merlin’s sake!” Harry barked. “Merlin’s long dead, why should I do anything for his sake?” Tom smirked. “I can do it only for you, Harry.” “Argh!” Unable to bear the sight of Tom’s bare chest and the tantalizing mole on his stomach, Harry turned away. He slipped on his slippers and left the room, slamming the door loudly. “Molly! Molly!” he called out in the corridor. It was terribly cold outside the room in just a silk robe. “Set breakfast on the veranda, the one with the forest view, not the garden.” The house-elf popped up, happily nodded and disappeared, while Harry stood frozen in front of the closed room door, hugging himself. Yesterday, he showed weakness, allowed what he shouldn’t have. All these shared nights would not end well. He stood there for about fifteen minutes, angry with himself for not being able to remain calm in the face of Riddle’s antics. “I’m older and more experienced; why am I so unsettled by him? He’s just a sixteen-year-old boy!” Harry chastised himself internally and returned to the room, praying that Riddle had already bathed and wouldn’t appear in just a towel around his hips, with wet hair from which water slowly dripped onto his broad shoulders and chest… Fortunately, Riddle had already pulled on his trousers and shirt and was now arranging his hair in front of a large floor mirror. Harry exhaled, feeling a shameful sense of disappointment. He shuffled to the wardrobe, also changed into trousers and a shirt with a waistcoat, grabbed a few ties, and returned to the room. Not that he particularly liked it, but he was now accustomed to dressing decently. In the fifties, wizards paid a lot of attention to their appearance, and it would have been indecent to throw on just anything and go to the Ministry. Everyone would have stared at him as if he were a stray dog. He opened the jewelry box on the dressing table, looked at what was left, and chose cufflinks with emeralds to match the tie. “You’ve tied the knot crookedly,” Riddle remarked, appearing suddenly behind Harry, his presence looming. “What’s with the sloppiness?” Harry swore and untied the knot. “I tied it fine,” he muttered stubbornly. Back in his time, ties weren’t tied with such meticulousness. Accustomed to the school’s thin ties, Harry struggled more with Gordian’s luxurious, thicker ones. “For this fabric and width, a half-Windsor knot works best,” Tom whispered hotly. He placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, picked up the ends of the tie, and leaned in close, so Harry could see his face right behind him in the round mirror. “See, the larger  snake wants to intertwine with the little one. It wraps around it first from above, then from below,” his fingers expertly tied the tie. “Like this. And then they entwine into a tight knot.” Harry forgot how to breathe. He watched the strong slender fingers in the reflection, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. Tom finished adjusting the knot, beautifully shaped, and his gaze met Harry’s in the mirror reflection. “Got it?” Harry could only nod, as he didn’t trust his voice. Oh, he would remember that half-Windsor knot for a lifetime. He was so hard, as if he had just witnessed the most erotic spectacle of his life. “Tha… Ahem,” Harry cleared his throat and replied more calmly, “Thank you.” They froze, looking at each other in the mirror’s reflection. Harry’s pulse quickened as he saw Tom’s expression change, saw his eager gaze, the deepening intensity of his dark, bottomless eyes. “We need to have breakfast!” he exhaled, hastily jumping off the stool. “We’ll be late to the Auror office!” “Yes, of course,” Riddle replied calmly. He stood in front of the mirror, head down, and Harry desperately wanted to reach out and run his fingers through Tom’s shaven nape. But he forced himself to grab his cloak and get away. “I’ll wait for you on the veranda, Molly’s will show you the way.” He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing as if he had just run ten miles. A deep, burning yearning surged within him, echoing intensely through their bond. Harry was genuinely afraid at one point that he would lose control, like an immature schoolboy. ***   Their visit to the Auror office was brief and to the point. They shared their memories of the attack, spoke with a few investigators, and casually entered the department to meet with the captain. “Good news, boys,” Shacklebolt announced, looking visibly tired and worn. “You’re no longer in danger. Our friends in masks were hired by the Head of the Transport Department — Gregory Slow. He’s been detained and interrogated. Merlin, so much filth in the heart of the Ministry… “The Head of the Transport Department?” Harry sat down in shock. “He was involved in…” The captain grimaced. “Disgusting orgies. As it turns out, Hector Rosier had nothing to do with Pollux Black’s Gentlemen’s Club. He, Gregory Slow, and several other high-ranking officials were the sickos who preferred young boys. You and Crouch weren’t their only victims, but the others are dead, and only you two survived. Dear Merlin, I’ve seen a lot, but this… I want to erase my memory just to forget Crouch’s memories. Lucky you, Selwyn, that you don’t remember,” he said bitterly, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the dirt. “How is Crouch doing?” Harry asked cautiously. “He’s in for a long rehabilitation,” the captain said with a frown. “Poor kid… He tried to take his own life.” “Does the press know?” Riddle, more focused on the wider implications, asked, “It would be very inconvenient if Gordian’s name appeared in the newspapers again.” “No names, everything’s confidential,” Shacklebolt assured. “Besides, the press is more interested in the rapists than their victims. A new scandal will erupt today, expect a wave of suicides and escapes from the country. This morning, old Crabbe took his own life. His wife smuggled in poison.” Harry tiredly ran his hand over his face. What a mess his coming to this world had created. Without him, would these criminals have continued unpunished? Now their new victims will live, and the perpetrators will die in Azkaban. A wave of pureblood suicides as payment for the souls of the victims who stayed alive. How ironic… The balance will be restored, but the villains will pay, not the innocent victims. This was… satisfying. He had managed to do something useful. They said goodbye to the captain, and as Harry hoped, this time for good, and went to the prison morgue to collect the bodies. “You seem surprisingly chipper,” Tom noted as they descended the dark staircase. “Guilty will die instead of the innocent, I’ve been of some use,” Harry smiled at him. “But are you certain things didn’t unfold the same way in your future?” Harry racked his brain. Sirius had mentioned many relatives, but never grandfather Pollux. And there was no information about his death in their family archives. He suddenly broke out in goosebumps. By the 2000s, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had all but vanished. There was no family manor, just the house at Grimmauld Place. No societal influence like Pollux had in this time, nothing but a vault of gold, which Harry now realized was just a handful of knuts compared to what they had now. “I… I don’t know,” he whispered. Such a horrible scandal as the current one couldn’t possibly be hushed up. But half a century had passed, there had been a war, and a memory of it could have remained only with old-timers like Ron’s Auntie Muriel. No doubt Walburga would have tried to hide everything from her sons, erase any reminders of their grandfather. “Sorry,” Tom said, sensing the mood shift and gently squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “You’re probably right. Only your incredible luck allowed the Aurors to catch them in the act. Without you, they would never have been apprehended.” But Harry remembered the photographs under Gordian’s bed. Sooner or later, Gordian’s body would have been found. The Aurors would have re-examined his room, found the photos. They would have seen Crouch in them. Questioned him, it would have led to Hector, and through him to Marius, then to Lord Black. And the whole gang would have been carted off to Azkaban. Only the scandal wouldn’t have been so loud. And Callahan? Without Harry, he wouldn’t have become the dean. He would have continued living outside the school, and kidnapped another boy. He would likely have slipped up somewhere and been caught, considering his plans to target offsprings of ancient families. Or maybe Harry was just overthinking it. “I don’t know, but I want to hope,” he managed a strained smile at Tom. They collected the urns holding the ashes of the last Selwyns and returned to the somber manor, where Harry was greeted with a new surprise in the form of the Selwyn’s estate manager. An imposing, mustachioed wizard in a purple cloak greeted them. “Mr. Selwyn,” he bowed. “You need to claim your inheritance as soon as possible. The matters require urgent attention.” And he handed Harry a stack of parchments. “Tom,” Harry looked plaintively at Riddle, who began examining the documents, growing increasingly grim. “Eight million?” Tom finally grated out. “Is there an extra zero here? I hope.” “No. It’s the Selwyn family debt, eight million Galleons,” the manager twirled his lush red mustache. “Wait, how is this even possible?” Harry blinked in confusion. “That’s… That’s like the entire country’s annual budget!” Tom sifted through the documents. “Unpaid taxes, debts to the Blacks, Rosiers, Crabbes, and the gallery… it’s running at a loss too. Did Marius not earn anything at all?” “Merlin’s beard!” Harry exclaimed, collapsing into a chair and staring at the ceiling. “What’s this house worth? Can we sell it?” “That alone won’t cover it,” the manager responded, surveying the living room where Harry sat. “The house could fetch three million, no more. You’ll need to part with all these artifacts to cover the debt.” This revelation explained the Selwyns’ future financial downfall and obscurity. “Take care of it,” Harry instructed the manager. “Start with that statue of the King; I can’t bear looking at it.” In all this mess, it wasn’t the thought of selling everything that upset Harry; Merlin knows money had never been his interest. What upset him was that he’d have to spend the entire summer dealing with family affairs. As if he cared about any of this, as if… As if he wanted to stay in this world forever.