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Harry slammed the door as he stormed away from the house, his breath stuttering out unevenly. He couldn't think clearly, his mind was completely clouded by the sheer rage he felt at that moment.
How dare he? How fucking dare he?
He needed to get away from here, get somewhere far away. He didn't want anything to do with him — that sick, psychopathic son of a bastard.
As he blindly walked on the street outside, he narrowly avoided slipping over a rock and falling face-first into concrete.
No, he can't walk now. He could barely see past his watery eyes—wait, watery?!
Harry angrily wiped his eyes, his knuckles stinging as he did so. No way, he was not going to cry over him.
Right, so what are all the options he had? It was the middle of the night, no traces of a single soul outside.
Should he go to his parents' house? Harry immediately dismissed the idea.
Not that his mum and dad would forbid him from coming over — they begged him to, many times, ever since he moved away. It wasn't even the fact that he didn't want to.
It's just that he couldn't stand their reactions, their sympathetic faces, their ‘we-told-you-so’ faces. Omitting would be of no use, his dad always spotted when something was off about him, and his mum managed to get anything out of him.
He loved them deeply, but sometimes it's better to not be in their presence.
Ever since he got into a relationship with Tom Riddle, his parents, friends, childhood babysitter, next-door neighbours — practically everyone on god's green earth had warned him. That despite his charming facade, Tom Riddle seemed bad news, and that the whole thing would only end in heartbreak.
(Hell, there was even a horrible cyclone that hit Northwestern Europe on the very day they met.)
Harry didn't know how they had been so sure of that. Was it the rumours? Was it his gran's fortune card predictions? Was it their inherent bias against Harry?
Well, maybe it had to do with the fact that Harry went out hunting for men like him — if his previous relationships were anything to go by.
Ron and Hermione always told him he had a type — something about flags. He laughed it away back then, rolled his eyes and thought himself above it all.
No, he wouldn't be going to his house, Harry decided. Especially when grandma’am herself was staying over for the week. He didn't think he was strong enough to endure all her mean comments about his choice in men.
He wouldn't go over to Ron and Hermione’s either, for the same aforementioned reason.
Harry briefly considered Sirius, his favourite godfather. He was very supportive of Harry, he was usually the first person Harry went to whenever he had something to vent about.
But the problem was, as much as Sirius insisted that he was on Harry's side, he was also a filthy two-timer. He never kept anything from James Potter, especially concerning matters related to his dearest son. Which were admittedly, a lot.
His old flat was out of question as well. He had rented it out when he moved in with Tom.
Fucking Tom Riddle.
He had convinced Harry to move in with him immediately, after only two months of dating, saying that he couldn't stand to be away from him. Ha.
Maybe he should just spend the night curled up against the footpath? It was only a few hours till dawn anyway. He would figure out what to do then.
As if on cue, a decidedly evil gust of wind immediately changed his mind.
Harry leaned against a lamp post nearby, his shoulders deflating. Everything felt so heavy. His ears were still ringing and the stupid lump in his throat wouldn't go away.
Pushing his glasses up, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. The pain grounded him a bit, his breathing more subdued now.
His mind worked rapidly, trying to think of a solution.
Okay, Harry finally decided, he would go to Neville’s. He was the least judgemental out of all his options.
So much for family and friendship, Harry thought bitterly as he pulled his phone out.
And not to mention, Neville‘s place was the closest from here.
His thumb hovering over the green call button, Harry hesitated a bit. He didn't want to wake Nev up from his sleep at this ungodly hour. After all, everyone had their limits, even the most kindest person in the world.
But it was a choice between the cold footpath, some seedy hotel (it was the month end and he didn't save up much, thank you), and Neville's lovely, warm house.
Sighing, Harry tapped the button and pressed the speaker against his ear.
“Hiya, Harry! What's up? Everything alright?”
Harry jerked up in surprise. Well, that was quick. He sounded energetic too. What was he doing up so late?
Harry decided to ask him just that.
“Hey, Nev. Why are you awake at two in the morning?”
“…I could ask you the same question.”
“Hm, good point. You got me there.”
Harry heard a snort from the other side and then—“I am watching Siccin part three, actually. That turkish horror series I told you about?”
The bloody traitor!
“What the hell, you prick? I thought I told you we'd watch it together? How can you be so insensitive?”
“Oi, don't accuse me of being insensitive. I asked you six bloody times! And you turned me down every single time! Saying you were busy or that you had an appointment or that you were going out with Tom…”
Harry didn't think he imagined the slight note of judgement in Neville's tone at the last word.
Well, fine, maybe he lied sometimes. But he did have an appointment with one of his clients that day, whatever day that was.
Jesus, Harry was even more of a piece of a shite than he thought he was.
It was all Tom's doing. That evil bastard always rerouted him whenever Harry so much as mentioned any plans that didn't involve him.
How many days had passed since he had spent some quality time with his friends? Or family? Harry didn't want to know the answer.
He knew that Tom alone wasn't to be blamed though. Some saying about how you couldn't clap without two hands or whatever. Thanks for that, gran.
At the prolonged stretch of silence, Neville cleared his throat.
“Harry? You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry, lost track.”
“So, are you going to tell me why you called? It better be something good… as you've interrupted the best scene. And don't tell me you just missed hearing my voice.”
“Piss off, will you?”
Neville laughed again. “I'm only joking, mate,” — like he had to make that clear, he hadn’t a single mean bone in his body, god bless him — “Seriously though, are you okay? You sound a bit down.”
“Yeah, I'm fine. Extremely fine, actually. It's just, uh—you are at your home right?”
“Yeah...”
“Cool. So, what would you say if I told you that I'm coming over right now?”
“Like for a sleepover?” Harry didn't like how nervous he sounded.
“Yeah, sure. So, you're okay with that? Do you want me to spend the night at yours?” Harry asked brightly.
There was a brief pause. “Harry?”
“Yes, Nev?”
“Are you like… drunk right now…?”
“What? No! Why would you say that?”
Another pause.
“Uh, well, I don't know? Is Tom not with you—”
At the mention of his name, Harry bristled immediately, “Tom's not here, he's sleeping. At his house. I would like to come over to yours, however. Now, is that a yes or a no?”
After a very heavy pause, “Fine, yeah, whatever. Come over,” Neville sighed in resignation.
“Thanks! Come out and open the door then.”
“Wait, what? You're outside? How did you get here so quick?”
Amazing how much time and distance reduced when you were on the phone with someone and walking somewhere. Relativity, probably.
Wow, Harry paused and briefly reconsidered Neville’s suspicion about him being drunk.
“I walk fast. You know that, Nev,” Harry clicked his tongue in irritation.
Neville then hung up abruptly.
Harry stared at his phone in shock. Why was Neville being so impolite with him? He had never done that before. Maybe Harry was breaking new records after all.
Disappointed and hurt, Harry leaned against a wall and waited for Neville to open the front door.
On a second thought, he opened his camera app to get a quick glimpse of his current state.
His suspicion was confirmed, he looked like utter shite. Like he’d just crawled out of a juicer.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks hollow. There were faint tear tracks on them too! His glasses were perched at an odd angle. His shirt collar was all messed up. His hair — well, there's not much to be done about that, really.
Hearing approaching footsteps, Harry quickly tried to undo the damage, as much as possible.
The door opened and Neville came out, looking deeply concerned.
They stared at each other — Harry, with growing expectation, and Neville, with growing trepidation.
Finally, Neville broke the silence.
“You look… horrible?”
“Are you asking or stating?”
Neville pursed his lips, staring at Harry unblinkingly.
“It's rude to keep your guests waiting outside.”
Neville shook his head and made a sweeping gesture, turning sideways and bowing down. Rolling his eyes, Harry stomped inside, followed by his reluctant host.
Neville's house was probably the most homeliest home Harry had ever been in. The living room had all sorts of indoor plants, knickknacks, cozy arm chairs, and sofas. There was always this fresh smell that permeated the air.
The overall atmosphere was very grandparentish.
Grandparentish? Harry urgently needed to stop coming up with ridiculous words.
The TV light blinked steadily from opposite the large sofa, where there were blankets, wrappers, and a half-empty bowl of caramel popcorn.
The film was currently paused at some sort of a ritual scene — there were dolls and everything.
Sitting down on the sofa, Harry reached over and took a good handful of the sticky popcorn from the bowl and shoved it into his mouth.
“You didn't even wash your hands!” Neville chided, batting his hands away as he reached for another helping.
Harry patiently chewed the contents in his mouth, and once done, stuck his tongue out at Neville.
“Are you sure you're not drunk?” Neville asked, settling down beside him.
Harry nodded vigorously.
Neville resumed the film and leaned back, heaving another monumental sigh.
Harry tried to concentrate on the film — he really did — but quickly gave up. He simply didn't have enough context to follow through.
And so, Harry found himself distracted. It was a bad thing too. Because now that he wasn't actively thinking or focussing on something, his mind had finally gained the upper hand and was adamant on making him relive the whole argument in 4K.
It started out just like any of their usual arguments. Usual, meaning: exchanging barbed insults, tearing clothes, throwing fists, sometimes a knife or two as well. Just your average lovers’ tiff.
Earlier that evening, Harry had finally found what Tom had been keeping from him for the past few weeks.
That wasn't uncommon, with them. Part of the fun of their relationship was to uncover the secrets of each other. As a consequence though, those were usually the reason why they fought as well.
Tom and his so-called insurance company had apparently scammed Mrs. Havesham from Street No. 47, the lovely little lady who ran Harry's favourite bakery in the town — The Dusty Knuckle.
She was heartbroken as she explained how this medical insurance company — Cigna Care — had stolen all her money.
Harry had been consistently warning Tom to stay away from her, that she was off-limits. She was the nicest old woman that he knew of. Always sweet and ready with a sharp quip on the tip of her tongue. She was a dab hand at rummy and gambling too.
Most importantly, Harry loved her cheesecakes. He didn't know how she made them, always so perfect with the crumb to cake ratio.
He tried — to no success — to uncover the secrets of her infamous triple berry cheesecake. But no amount of trials or retasting the slices had ever gotten him close to hers. It didn't help that she was hellbent on heavily guarding the recipe.
Harry tried many times to weasel it out of her. He had flirted with her, complimented her, helped her with the outdoor chores, bought her fresh bouquets of her favourite white roses everyday, went fabric-shopping with her, made her bakery’s website for free.
But nothing. Not a word from her.
Even when he insisted that he was so very close and if she would just help him get to the final step!
Still, Harry couldn't get himself to hate her. She was simply too lovely that it would be a crime to dislike her.
Not for Tom though, he hated her guts. Whenever Harry brought her up, he would simply clench his teeth and snort dismissively. One time he even went so far as to mock her by making an unflattering imitation of the way she spoke.
Harry never understood why Tom despised her. Tom never told Harry either.
But Harry had always been adamant that Tom keep her out of his shady business. That he could take it elsewhere, to some rich old tossers who deserved to be conned anyway.
Tom didn't listen to him though. And now, he had crossed a line too far.
“Fuck you, Thomas! What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that?” Harry rushed into the kitchen, his voice rising rapidly.
Tom looked up from his dinner, raising an eyebrow. “That's a bit too vague, darling. I need you to be more specific about whatever it was that I did.”
“Don't play dumb, you knob! She's devastated! She told me she's planning to close the bakery!”
Tom continued to stare at him, as if completely clueless about who Harry was referring to.
“I told you multiple times to keep your dirty business away from her!”
Too enraged now, Harry threw a nearby plastic bottle at him, “I was so fucking close, you bastard!”
Tom smoothly swerved sideways, effectively dodging the object. It collided with the wall and slid down on to the carpet below.
Tom stood up, sighing and dusting away imaginary dust from his shoulders.
“I see. Is this about that old hag from 47? The one with that sad little bakery?” Tom drawled, tilting his head to the side.
“Dont you dare call her a hag,” Harry slowly made his way towards him, his whole body shaking with anger, “You insulted me by going against my word, Tom. You can't go back from this now.”
Harry spoke each word clearly, right up against Tom's smug face now.
Tom's expression immediately tightened up, all pretense gone. “Is that so? Tell me Harry, why are you so worked up about her being scammed? What's so special about her?”
Harry stared in silence.
“Are you joking? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? What do you mean special—”
“You never reacted like this for the others, so why the fuck are you acting overdramatic now? What's so pressing about precious old Rosemary Havesham, huh?” Tom's voice rose to match his level now.
Good. He couldn't stand it when the bastard acted all calm and lofty.
“I don't give a toss about the others! Are you stupid? I specifically told you that she's out-of-bounds and yet you dismissed it and now she's upset! Because of you! You stole all of her savings!” Harry snarled and pushed him hard.
Tom stumbled and righted himself at the last moment. His face grew livid.
“Stole? She was stupid enough to give her NI number to a complete stranger. Guess she's not as smart as you make her out to be.” Tom ranted, pushing him right back.
With no support behind him, Harry stumbled back against the refrigerator.
“She's fucking old, Tom! Isn’t your whole thing preying on innocent, unassuming people? Such a cowardly profession of yours,” Harry shouted, righting himself up.
“Cowardly? Are you calling me a coward? Who is it that comes to me when they run into trouble? When they need me to clear the way for them? Do all their dirty work? Do you admit to being a coward too then, Mr. Noble Arse?”
Harry could see a nerve on Tom's neck bulging out.
“Don't you dare twist my words. She's a friend, Tom! That's why I asked you to stay away from her!”
“A friend! I find that hard to believe,” Tom laughed meanly.
Harry shook his head in dismissal. “That's expected. What do you know about having friends anyway?”
Tom stopped short.
“Yeah, you're just a husk of a person, only ever think about yourself. Nothing in there, am I right?” Harry spoke harshly, driving the knife deeper.
“And you have so much in there? You’re so morally right and pure and all-loving, are you?” Tom asked coolly.
“I never said that. I know I'm not. But, at least I'm not as vile as you.” Harry said firmly.
Each word came out laced with poison, but they didn't mean anything to either of them. They've exchanged similar, if not worse, insults over the course of their turbulent relationship.
Right now though, Harry could sense that they were headed down an unfamiliar path, somewhere deeply unsettling.
“Ah. So being with me is so hard for you, is it?” Tom asked quietly.
“Yes,” Harry spat, lifting his chin.
“And what do you expect it is like for me then? I’m not exactly having a jolly time either. It's so fucking difficult being with a whiny mess like you. Always moaning about some moral line I crossed. Oh Tom, that's too far! No, Tom, you can't do that!” Tom said in a mocking tone.
His voice had gone all weird now, so very quiet and light.
Harry started to breathe heavily, his ears ringing loudly.
“You think I enjoy being with you? Everytime I hoped you would support me — in anything — you always managed to squish it,” Tom continued, his eyes flashing. “You only ever wanted the convenience that came with me. Just an aimless hypocrite, always looking for ways to pretend you care deeply.”
Harry continued to stare at Tom in stunned silence. This wasn't the usual case for him, actually. Harry always gave back as good as he got, if not more.
But, he was utterly speechless now, paralyzed as every hurtful word registered with him.
“It’s exhausting, Harry. Every second is a bloody chore.” Tom hammered the final nail in the coffin.
Harry exhaled shakily. His vision had blurred out a little.
He closed his eyes, taking deep calming breaths.
He had to get out of there, and right now.
When he reopened his eyes, Tom was still looking at him coldly, no hint of regret on his perfect features.
“Well, Riddle, I'm sorry you feel that way. If that’s the case, then this whole thing had been a waste of time, hadn't it?” Harry spoke softly, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking, “We should probably just end it, and finally relieve ourselves from this unnecessary chore.”
Some stupid part of his brain kept telling him that Tom didn't mean anything by his words, that he was only saying them to hurt Harry. That this argument too was the same as always.
However, the look on Tom’s face — ice-cold and hard — made Harry want to run away. Or smash it against the wall.
“Right. Well, fuck you, you utter piece of shit. I hate you.”
“Is that a new development?” Tom asked in mock surprise.
“Oh no. It’s ridiculously easy. Always has been.”
Harry finally turned his back and stalked away, eyes still valiantly trying to hold off the tears.
“—and it was the djinn’s parents who paralyzed his son as a form of revenge,” Neville was explaining, “Now he has to destroy the vessel of the spirit, so he has to set his sister’s body on fire.”
Harry nodded along, only half listening. He felt exhausted, the entire day’s events all having crashed on him at once.
First it was having to deal with Clarke, who was never satisfied with any of Harry's designs, next, it was Mrs. Havesham’s crumpled face, and then—
Harry shook his head to clear away any and all thoughts about the argument. He didn't want to think for a while.
Neville was still trying his best to get him up to the mark.
Harry personally hated it when someone wanted to have a conversation in the midst of watching a film — you just completely lost the immersion.
He wasn't watching it though, so he didn't really mind.
“Sort of uniquely messed up, trapping a spirit inside your dead wife,” Neville said, his eyes fixed on the telly.
“Mm. Love makes you crazy or something like that,” Harry waved his hand vaguely.
“Yeah, but what extent of it is acceptable?” Neville asked, scratching his chin. “When do you start justifying undeniably fucked up things done in the name of love? D’you think people are so far gone they don't even realize it?”
Harry looked at Neville.
“Morality is not linear, it's quite complex,” Harry began sagely, “I guess when you're in love, things start to not make sense and make sense at the same time? I don't know, like everything doesn't seem so neatly sorted under strict labels?”
Harry knew he was just spouting bullshit. If only Neville realized it too, he was listening along with far too vigour for Harry's liking.
“So, are you saying that it's acceptable to summon a spirit from the underworld into the decaying body of your lover, just so you could convince yourself they're still with you?” Neville raised his eyebrows.
“I mean I don't know about summoning spirits and stuff… it's more like, it’s understandable… even though you know it's wrong, you still go with it because, well, because it makes sense to you. It's not about right or wrong anymore…” Harry trailed off, sighing deeply.
There goes his resolution of not having to think.
“Know a lot about love and it's intricacies, don't you, Plato?“
Harry looked away.
“Alright, what did you guys fight about this time?” Neville asked abruptly.
Harry's jaw dropped. “What? What do you mean this time?”
“I like to keep up with things,” Neville said mysteriously.
Ron and Hermione.
He was going to kill them.
Harry suddenly realized there was absolutely no one that he could trust anymore. The world around him was wicked, he was surrounded by a bunch of fake, back-stabbing sellouts.
“I mean you aren't exactly slick with it either. You always have these easy tells whenever you have fights with—”
“No, I don't.”
“Yes, you do! Anyways, even I can see that it's bad this time. You are not acting like yourself. At least, not like usual,” Neville shrugged.
“It's nothing. Really,” Harry tried to sound sure, “You don't have to worry about it, Nev. I—uh—I just wanted to spend some time with you…”
Harry realized it was about time he shut his mouth up.
Neville looked unimpressed.
“Really, Harry? You're not even gonna try to come up with something better?”
At the answering silence, Neville laid his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it.
“Whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. I'm on your side, mate.”
That sentence, paired with Neville's earnest blue eyes, finally cracked Harry’s resolve — which wasn't that strong to begin with.
The flood gates opened, and everything came tumbling out.
Harry made sure to switch up some terms in favour of less dubious sounding ones though. He really didn't want to explain everything he and Tom got up to.
By the end of it, Neville's expression had shifted from open-ended encouragement to completely blank.
Harry fidgeted nervously. “Well? What d'you think?”
Neville blinked a couple of times as if to reorient himself.
“I need some time to process this, Harry,” he finally said.
“Oh. Okay.”
Harry looked around awkwardly, not knowing what to do now that everything was laid out in the open.
“Uh, I should probably leave you up to it. Yeah, I think I'll go to sleep. Can I use the guest room upstairs?” Harry asked him politely.
Neville nodded. He was still looking at Harry weirdly.
“Okay. G’night.”
Harry did not run upstairs. No, he walked slowly, with absolute purpose and overflowing decency.
The next day, Harry woke up to steady buzzing sounds. The bees were too loud today. Why did Neville let them out in his room? Was this his act of micro-aggression against Harry?
He grumbled and turned sideways, covering his ears with a pillow. He wasn't ready to wake up yet, he still had a lot of sleep to catch up to.
Resolutely ignoring the noise, he tried to get back to the wonderful dream he'd been having.
He was on a mountain, riding a white horse through a large expanse of land. He was typing away on his laptop as he did so, trying to fix the bugs in one of the backend modules.
The wind gained traction, his hair whipped around in every which way, obstructing his vision.
He couldn't see, but he was somehow making progress. He could tell that by the green light flashing in front of him for every bug he fixed.
There was just one more to go. And he would finally be free!
Another set of hooves joined them shortly after. Harry turned his head to address the newcomers.
It was Tom, riding a polar bear.
Tom.
Tom, who looked wickedly gorgeous, smirking at Harry.
He had a teasing look in his eyes.
“Harry, you forgot to update the database host and password variables in your .env file.”
Yes, he was absolutely right!
Harry immediately rectified the mistake — he still couldn't see due to the wind, but that was okay, he was using telekinesis.
The final flash of green made him let out a whoop of joy. He turned back to Tom to thank him for his kindness.
But Tom’s expression shifted. He had the same cold look from their argument.
“Every second spent with you is a chore.” Tom hissed.
The sentence came at him from all directions, each one increasingly amplified.
Then, Tom turned into a huge, bright pink snake and leapt out at Harry, sinking his fangs into h—
Harry shot up from his bed. He clutched his head, bending forward and blinking his eyes rapidly.
The buzz buzz sound still insisted to torment him. Harry looked up to confirm that there were, in fact, no bees.
He felt a slight vibration coming from the top-right corner of his bed. Harry pushed his hand blindly in that general direction, fingers finally making contact with his cellphone.
He blearily looked at the caller’s name. It was Tom <3
Harry brightened up and was about to hit the green button when he finally remembered what had happened the previous day.
Cursing softly, he instead tapped the red decline button with a relish. There, that finally put a stop to that awful noise. Mercifully, his phone stayed put.
Harry unlocked it to check through his messages and other things — god knew how long he had slept.
He immediately sucked in a sharp breath, shocked at what greeted him.
There were a total of 311 missed calls from Tom and no less than 350 messages as well.
What the absolute fuck? What was he playing at?
Harry rubbed his eyes and looked again. He wasn't dreaming after all, that insane tosser actually did this.
But why though? Did he still have more insults left to throw at him? More fun facts discussing about how Harry made him feel? About how he didn't want to be with Harry anymore?
Harry thought he had already made that clear yesterday though. Maybe Tom wanted to be extra sure, drive the point home.
The anger pumped back into him with renewed strength. Seething, he skimmed through the chat window, trying to comprehend the text he was reading.
Tom was a paragraph texter. He always used perfect grammar, capitalized letters, and punctuation. He was particularly averse to using any form of acronyms.
So, Harry was left staring at multiple lengthy paragraphs. He picked out one at random and read through it.
Darling, please answer the calls. I'm worried. Where have you gone? I tried phoning your friends, they said they hadn't heard from you. You know I didn't mean anything, right? You must know that. It's just like every other time, isn't it? We say lots of horrible things, and yet we inevitably find ourselves in each other's arms, don't we? Please, just answer your phone. I haven't slept all night. Let me know that you're okay. I just want to talk to you.
sent at 7:35 am
Harry snorted. Yeah, right. Tom Riddle losing sleep over someone? You might as well declare water’s blue in colour.
He didn't bother reading anymore of the texts, probably filled as they were with more lies and drivel.
Harry quickly typed out a brief message(s):
were done tom
truly truly done
dont text me ever again
goodbye🖕🏼
Then, he hit the block button. He did the same everywhere — contacts, messages, social media, even his email.
Goodbye Tom, it wasn't nice knowing you.
Harry was well and truly done with him. He didn't know why Tom wanted to reburden himself with Harry.
He finally checked the time after answering some mails and messages. It was 11:28 am.
After quickly freshening up, he made his way downstairs, deciding on how best to apologize to Neville for all the trouble.
It was a Saturday, so Neville should be home.
Harry spotted him sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a large cup of tea. He was staring at one of his fridge magnets, deep in thought.
At the sound of his footsteps, he looked up at Harry.
“Good Morning!” Harry greeted him with enthusiasm.
Too much enthusiasm, perhaps.
Neville cringed, but smiled kindly, “Morning, mate. Good sleep?”
“Yeah. Thanks for letting me stay. I owe you a huge one.”
“It was nothing,” Neville shook his head.
“Also, I'm really sorry. I don't know what happened to me last night, I mean I do know, but I didn't mean to impose on you so suddenly.”
Neville rolled his eyes. “Stop that. You can come over any time you want. You know that.”
“Yeah, but still—”
“Nothing, alright? Now, sit down and I'll make some breakfast for us. Or, I should probably say brunch.”
Harry did as he was told.
Later, as they dug into their cheese toasties, Neville kept shooting him furtive looks.
Harry bit into his toast as he raised an eyebrow in question.
Once he swallowed his bite, Neville took a deep breath, “So, I've thought it through and I completely agree with you. What Tom did is unacceptable. He shouldn't have gone against your wishes.”
Harry nodded vigorously, “Yes, thank you! It's not completely unheard of to want your partner to respect you, right?”
“That's a very reasonable expectation to have. The bare minimum, I should say.”
Harry looked at Neville, his eyes shining.
“I know I wasn't wrong to come here, Nev. Everyone else would have simply tried to pick on me. You're truly the best.”
“It's just the facts,” Neville beamed at him. “So, it's done for right? You broke up with him?”
“I'm done with him.” Harry confirmed.
Neville sighed in relief.
“Uh, can you promise me something though?” Harry asked.
“Anything, mate.”
“Can you please not share this with anyone else? Absolutely no one?” Harry asked, with a desperate look in his eyes.
“Y—yes, yes, of course.”
Harry nodded his thanks and took another bite of his toast. They ate in comfortable silence for a while.
“Alright, I've got to go. I agreed to help Hannah move into her new place,” Neville then told him, trying to sound casual.
Harry smirked, “Abbott? Finally made a move on her, did you?”
Neville blushed heavily. “It's nothing like that. We're just talking now. We're friends!”
“Mhm, friends… sure… oh yes, it's veryyy common to kiss your friend goodbye after—”
Neville stood up quickly, ears tinged red as well. “Shut your trap,” he mumbled and fled towards the sink.
Harry laughed, “Sorry, mate. Leave it in there, I'll do the washing.”
Harry stared at the email from Clarke. Apparently he wanted to revise the prototype. Again.
Harry groaned as he shut his phone and threw it on the bed. Why did Harry ever agree to pick this project up again?
He consoled himself for a bit by imagining Clarke being hit by a bus. Well, he tried to, but it was hard to come up with something satisfactory as he didn't actually know what he looked like.
Clarke was a dentist. He had reached out to Harry about a month ago, after having seen his portfolio, requesting he make him a website for his clinic.
Common and doable — that's what Harry had thought initially. He thought he'd proobably be done in two to three weeks maximum.
However, the man had turned out to be very picky, constantly nagging him about the colour choices and the layouts. Why on earth would a dentist care about the aesthetics of his website?
He didn't want it to be boring and generic, he messaged Harry at the start, he wanted it to be immersive and touching.
The money was good though, so Harry had agreed to do it. But now he wished he hadn't. He can't even go back, as he had spent all of the advance money.
He felt stuck. The feeling had taken its place since he had woken up, stubbornly worming into his heart all through the afternoon. Clarke had only made it worse.
In the latest mail, Clarke wanted him to slow down the little animation of a scalpel removing one of the premolars from a set of neatly arranged teeth in a mouth. The current speed wasn't realistic enough for him. And the removing motion was unnatural too, apparently.
Clarke had to wait though as Harry didn't have his work laptop with him.
Actually, all of his things were in that house. Harry now regretted storming out in the middle of the night. He should have probably thought everything through and planned a proper exit.
But he wouldn't put it past Tom to somehow find a way to trap him so that he wouldn't leave by morning. At least, he had managed to avert that risk, Harry thought glumly.
Thinking about Tom only made the ache in his chest grow stronger. Harry never deluded himself into thinking theirs was some happy and healthy relationship.
No, they fought like feral alley cats at the slightest bit of provocation. It was never dull. Everyday was more exciting than the other, both finding creating ways to drive the other up the wall.
Harry was at his best and worst when he had been with Tom. He knew it had been the same with him.
Over the course of their relationship, they had turned extremely codependent of each other, so much so that their respective professions had become intertwined as well.
You see, while Harry helped Tom by creating clone websites, phishing traps, and baits to lure people, Tom helped Harry with the more morally ambiguous stuff, like blackmailing and guilt-tripping. Sometimes, his clients needed that last bit of push.
The latter services, Harry only employed when it was absolutely necessary, ofcourse.
He wasn't evil, after all.
With their individual skillsets combined, they made a formidable team. They were practically unstoppable.
So, strictly speaking, most of their income was sourced from activities related to fraud, embezzlement and such.
Therefore, Harry was rightfully stumped to find out that it had all been for nothing. That the whole thing had been an exhausting experience for the other.
Why had Tom put up with him for so long then?
So what if Harry nagged him about some questionable things Tom got up to? Didn't he know that you had to balance your karma out? And not tip the scale completely to the negative and against your favour? That you can't expect good things waiting for you in your afterlife if you do too much evil?
Tom called him ridiculous whenever he pointed these things out, insisting that Harry should stop watching weird stuff on Youtube.
He had dismissed Harry’s belief in such things, whilst believing about destiny and fate and soulmatism himself.
That had brought on another fight about what a raging hypocrite Tom was.
Harry smiled as he reminisced about it, and how they had ended up breaking a sofa and two wooden chairs.
He missed Tom, Harry realized, his stomach sinking. It had only been a couple of hours and he already missed him and his stupid face and his stupid dimpled smile. Even if it was fake.
Harry sighed, slumping back against the pillows as he quickly typed out a reply to Clarke, informing him that Harry caught the flu and was hospitalized and that he would have to wait for a week at least.
As Harry pressed send, his phone buzzed with a notification. Harry swiped down to look at the message.
It was to his paypal account, he was sent €20, with a note attached at the bottom:
Unblock me, Harry.
Harry let out an audible gasp, he couldn't believe the audacity Tom Riddle had.
Before he could fully process the sentiment, there was another message.
€30
Come now, darling, you are being ridiculous. Unblock me. Now.
Then, another.
€50
I know you are reading the messages, Harry. I just want to talk to you. Where are you?
Harry's eyes bulged out. He knew Tom was a bit different (psychotic), but he didn't actually realize the extent of it until now.
Did he really think he could buy Harry with money?
Fuming, he immediately blocked Tom, not even bothering to give a scathing reply.
Harry spent the rest of the day locked in Neville's guest bedroom, only coming out to make himself lunch.
Neville came back late at night, looking deliriously happy.
Harry didn't even have the heart to tease him. Neville had been so generous, offering to let Harry stay there till he sorted things out. He was immensely grateful to have him in his life.
It had been four days now. Four days since that incident. The withdrawal symptoms only grew bad. Harry only felt despair these days.
The anger had completely gone now, leaving suffocating darkness in its wake.
Neville tried to cheer him up, playing videogames and watching horror films with him after work. Even if Harry somehow managed to look cheery on the surface, deep down, he only felt empty.
Last night his mother had phoned him, worried because Harry hadn't called the past two days — he called her every night.
Harry tried to sound normal like he always did, but he knew it didn't land. His mother thankfully didn't mention anything if she’d noticed it though.
His dad and gran had spoken for a bit too, with Harry only half-heartedly engaged in the banter with his gran.
Neville had even proposed inviting Ron and Hermione over, that maybe they all could spend an evening together, just relaxing. But Harry vehemently refused.
They would know, right away, and that meant his family would know as well.
Harry reassured Neville that he was fine, or atleast, he would get back to normal soon.
Harry hoped the more he said it, the more it would start seeming true.
He bid Neville good night and quickly rushed back upstairs, changing into his bed clothes. He wasn't sleepy, but he didn't want to burden Neville anymore.
Huffing a sigh, he sat down on the bed, half-laying back against it.
Earlier, Harry had decided that he would call the tenants at his old flat and ask them to vacate. He would let them take their time though, it was already unfair enough to bring this upon them so suddenly.
Until then, he would move back with his parents. Harry realized that he can't really keep the breakup hidden forever, it was bound to come up anyways.
He would drag it for as along as possible though.
He just had to come up with some excuse for his parents till then. And a way to get his things back from the other house.
Tom didn't try to communicate with him after that day. Harry had made sure that every loose end was taken care of.
As he scooted up over the bed, Harry idly wondered what Tom was doing now. Was he going through the same thing Harry was? Was he just as affected? Did he feel as horrible as him? Or, did he not care?
Harry was inclined to believe the latter. He had probably moved on and was now plotting some brand new schemes to trap innocent people. There was nothing holding him back now, he was free to do anything!
Irritated, Harry switched off the lights and pulled the blanket on top of him.
He hadn't really slept well these last few days, waking up often, hands reaching out beside him, trying to find a warm body to pull close to him, to have solid arms enveloping him, warm breath wafting at the back of his neck.
Tom had managed to completely incorporate himself into every aspect of Harry's life that even the simplest, most basic of things reminded Harry of him.
Harry's breathing slowly evened out, his mind clearing eventually. He was about to let sleep take control over him when—
THUD! THUD! THUD!
There sharp knocks resonated inside the still room. Harry blinked awake, disoriented by the sudden disturbance.
THUD! THUD! THUD! The dull sound repeated.
Harry looked towards the door to the bedroom, but he didn't think the sound was coming from there.
He sat up on the bed and finding his glasses on the bedside table, put them on quickly. The room was much sharper now. It was still dark, but he could make out some objects.
The thudding sound came again, this time more insistent. Harry realized it was coming from the large windows to the left.
Harry squinted in its direction, trying to make out the source. There was a vague black shape outside it, but that was all he could see.
Remembering himself, Harry finally turned the lights on, feeling quite stupid. He was rudely awaken when he was just about to sleep though, so he allowed himself this slip.
The vague black shape had a definite form now — an adult man form — half bent over the windowsill, hand still knocking on the glass.
Harry froze. He had forgotten to properly close the drapes before sleeping. He didn't even know if the window was locked or whether it can be opened from outside.
There was a thief outside the window! Or a murderer. There was no way of knowing, really.
The man was now trying to open the window, putting all his force into it.
Harry started to panic. Should he call Neville? The police? What if the man had a weapon with him? Harry was completely vulnerable. He had to act quick.
He immediately stumbled out from the bed, barely catching himself from falling. Taking his phone, he started to rush towards the door, glancing back at the window to ensure the man didn't succeed in his endeavour.
But what he saw instead stopped him dead in his tracks. Because from near the door, at this angle, the view of the man was no longer obstructed.
Harry could make out his face.
His beautiful, beautiful face.
It was Tom Riddle. Outside his window, banging desperately, eyes looking wild. He was mouthing something at Harry, gesturing for him to open the window.
Harry's feet moved before his mind could stop him. He pulled the window open and Tom immediately fell into his arms.
“Bloody hell, you sleep like a pig,” Tom muttered, crawling inside completely and righting himself up.
“I had been knocking for ages. Almost froze my fingers off in the cold…” Tom said unhappily, looking at Harry in accusation.
Harry's breath stuttered when he finally got a clear look of Tom's face. He looked… bad.
He was still infuriatingly handsome, but Harry could see that he looked different.
There were faint dark circles underneath his eyes, his complexion much paler than usual. He looked deeply troubled. Like he had gone through something horrible.
Despite his chest squeezing painfully, Harry wasn't convinced. It was probably all an act anyway.
Harry took a few steps away from him, his face growing hard.
"What do you want? How did you even know I was here?” Harry snapped.
“That's no way to greet your boyfriend now,” Tom tsked.
When Harry continued to glare, Tom sighed. “I had thought you'd have cooled off by now. I'm still upset about all the blocking, by the way.”
The bastard had the audacity to look disappointed as he said that. As if he didn't expect Harry to do something so trivially immature.
Harry ignored his words.
“Go away, I don't want anything to do with you. You broke into someone's house, Tom. I’ll call the police,” Harry threatened him.
“I’d like to see you try,” Tom smirked.
Harry hated that his stomach fluttered at that.
He slowly backed away as Tom started to step towards him.
“You look far too beautiful when you're all mad at me…” Tom murmured, inching closer and closer still, “Come on now, Harry. It's gone on for long enough. Let's go home, yeah? I’ve missed you.”
“What are you doing? Did you forget what I told you? We're done, Tom! Done! I want nothing to do with you. Get out.” Harry repeated firmly.
No, he wasn't going to give in to this particular brand of making up of his. He wasn't going to be seduced into getting back with him, for god's sake!
“No.” Tom said simply, continuing to edge forward.
“I’ll scream,” Harry tried as a last resort.
Tom stopped his advances. He looked Harry up and down, eyes burning in that way.
“Oh, you shall. In more ways than one…” Tom leered, “If only this room was sound proof… we don't want Longbottom to wake up now, do we?”
Harry gaped at Tom.
“W—what? Tom, bloody hell, we broke up! What part of that don't you understand? Leave, please!”
“Don't be silly, Harry. We were both angry and we both said some… things. Why do you still insist on holding your ground? It's getting quite absurd now.”
“You think this is all an act?” Harry asked incredulously, “My god, you are beyond help. Wow.”
Tom rolled his eyes.
“Well, what else is it, then? You really want me to believe we broke up?” Tom scoffed, “It sounds ridiculous to even say it out loud.”
Harry clenched his teeth, trying to quell his anger down. He tried to regulate his breathing, counting down numbers.
Ten.
“You've had your say. For far too long, if I say so.”
Nine.
“It’s time go home now, so we can put a stop to this finally.”
Eight.
“Did you know how hard it was to break in to this house? I did it for you anyway.”
Seve—
Nevermind, Tom needed to be put down. Usually, Harry managed to get to four, but alas, it seemed he wouldn't be getting that far today.
He lifted his hand and connected his palm sharply with Tom's right cheek.
Tom's head jerked to the left with the impact. Harry's hand stung badly, but he was feeling much better now.
Tom recovered immediately, face lifting up, looking utterly shocked.
Harry enjoyed the tiny bit of satisfaction he felt, subconsciously getting ready for the ensuing fight.
Tom's face cracked. “Really? I do all this for you and I'm met with violence?”
He stalked forward abruptly, closing the last bit of distance between them, backing Harry up against the wall.
“You're the most insufferable person I know," Tom spat, fingers curling around Harry's night shirt.
“Funny, I was about to say the same about you,” Harry snapped back and pushed him away viciously.
And so it began.
They fought like children at the playground: shoving against each other, biting, hitting, punching. They were both far too gone to even consider getting embarrassed by it.
By the end of it, they both lay against the ground, Harry draped over Tom, both breathing heavily, hair and clothes messed up.
Harry felt more alive than he had in days. What was wrong with him? With them?
Miraculously, Neville hadn't come up at all, throughout their squabble. Harry had no idea how, but he didn't particularly care at the moment.
Tom wheezed from below him.
“Need to work on your method there, Tommy darling,” Harry laughed mockingly.
Tom gave a powerful shove, causing Harry to fall sideways.
“Ow, my hip. That was a nasty hit, Tom,” Harry hissed, clutching at his sides.
Tom scooted closer to him then, pulling Harry back against his chest. He sighed into his hair, hands running down Harry's back.
“This wouldn't have happened if you had just listened to me… Why must you always insist on going against me, huh? Fucking pain in my arse.”
“Oh, yeah? I went against you, did I? This whole thing happened because you did that, remember?” Harry said hotly, trying to squirm away.
But Tom's grip tightened, trapping him firmly against him, restricting him any movement.
Tom tsked again. “Don't start again. I don't want to talk about Havesham now.”
Then, quietly: “I've deposited her money back, by the way. Yesterday.”
Harry’s eyebrows jumped up. Before he could say anything, Tom continued.
“I wanted to tell you immediately. I knew you wouldn't have gone to your parents’. So, I figured you'd be at Granger and Weasley’s. But you weren't. Then, I tried the others, including Longbottom’s. They all said they didn't know…” Tom said bitterly.
That surprised Harry. “You came here yesterday?” he asked, looking up at Tom with wide eyes.
“I did. Longbottom hadn't been very convincing though, that's what led me to believe you were here, after all…”
“So, you planned a whole break-in based on a bloody hunch?” Harry asked in disbelief.
“Oh, have some faith in me, will you? It was more than a hunch. I was working with proper evidence,” Tom replied, smiling smugly at Harry.
Shaking his head, Harry finally laughed. “You're impossible, you know that?”
“Mm, so I've been told.”
There was silence then. Heavy, charged silence. Harry looked deep into Tom's beautiful brown eyes, his heart stuttering madly.
He missed Tom so much. Harry wanted to kiss him senseless.
He was aware how sudden of a change of heart it was, but Tom just knew him so well, he knew exactly how to drive him crazy.
But, there was still a nagging issue.
Harry bit his lip, making to sit up, finally looking away from his face. He tried to keep his face from looking too hurt.
Tom reached out, fingers curling under Harry's chin, turning his face back to him.
“What, now?”
“I don't know what to think, Tom. It's confusing, I can't just ignore what you said, you know?” Harry said, looking at him pointedly.
He still wasn't completely over it, after all.
Then, “I'm sorry.” Tom said softly.
He sat up too, facing Harry fully. He looked like he'd just swallowed a hundred lemons whole.
“Harry, I didn't mean anything by what I said. I was so angry… I just wanted to hurt you, somehow. And it got out of hand—”
“You said it was exhausting being with me. That it was a chore,” Harry interrupted him. “You had to have meant it, Tom. You don't just say those things, if you don't actually believe them to be true.”
“No, Harry, come on. You think I’d get into a relationship with you if I had truly believed that? You think I'd have asked you out? That I'd be with you? That I’d think about you every fucking second since you left that day?”
Harry looked away. “I don't know, Tom. I don't know.”
“No, no, no. Darling, look at me. Please.”
Tom sounded sincere enough, so Harry allowed him that.
“You're the most important person in my life. You must know that. I never cared for relationships or dating or anything remotely romantic, never even imagined myself involved in that. But, it's different with you. You're special, Harry, always have been.”
Harry's heart was about to burst out of his chest.
“I know what I said was too far. Well, what I did earlier was too.” Tom put his palm against Harry's cheek, stroking it tenderly. “But I never thought it was a waste of time, not even for a second. We were meant to be, the both of us. What we have is special, Harry. No one really understands it, no one is capable to. Every moment with you feels magical, to me.”
Harry bit the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from saying anything too quick.
Damn it all, Tom Riddle was good at this. Really, really good.
He’d have been a phenomenal actor had he chosen that profession.
Harry wanted to hold out for longer though — to not give in this soon, at least.
“Will you forgive me, Harry? Please?” Tom asked, eyes looking far too earnest to not be fake.
Harry took a deep breath, looking at Tom firmly.
“I don't know about forgiving. At least… not yet,” Harry began, noting the slight slip of disappointment in Tom's expression.
“But I'd like for you to kiss me though. Now.”
Okay, Harry gave up. He'd let Tom stew for long enough now, surely?
Tom blinked in surprise, then let out a delighted laugh.
Pulling Harry closer to him, Tom murmured against his lips, warm breath washing over them.
“Ofcourse, my darling, anything for you...”
As they kissed, Harry thought that this was perhaps the most romantic thing that had happened between them.
Well, it looked like they weren't done, after all. They wouldn't be, probably for a long time. Probably forever.
It also looked like he would be getting another chance at uncovering the secrets of Mrs. Havesham's triple berry cheesecake. That is, if she didn't follow through her plan of closing her bakery.
He'd have to really thank Neville properly for letting him stay for so long and putting up with him. Maybe he'd buy him that branded lawn mower he'd been talking about? Next month, at least, because he didn't have any—
Neville!
What would he say to Neville tomorrow? How would he even react to this news?
Oh god, Harry would probably alter Neville's whole perception of him!
Just then, Tom's warm tongue swiped against his, finally putting all of Harry's rampant thoughts to rest.
Sighing happily, he allowed himself to be pushed back against the floor, arms reaching up to circle over the other’s shoulders. He shivered as Tom's lips started trailing against his neck.
It wasn't really rational, their relationship.
But Harry would be lying if he said it wasn't thrilling.
(Later when Harry would ask why Tom had done that to Mrs. Havesham in the first place, he would find out that Tom had been of the opinion that Harry had a crush on her and was trying to cheat on him with her. This was quite obvious because Harry had been neglecting him in favour of spending time with her.
After this new revelation, there was another — you guessed right — huge fight between them.)
fin.