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"Today went rather badly for you."
Harry burrowed further under his covers and ignored the voice. Fuck, of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Tom that had joined Harry in his dorm room? Everyone else had left Harry to his moping. Why did Tom have to be any different?
He heard footsteps come closer and then a rustle in the curtains covering his bed completely from view.
"Really, a sticking charm?"
"Yes. I don't know if you've ever heard of the concept, but it's to keep people out. All people." With a groan as Tom simply undid the charm, Harry added, "Forever."
"I'm sure you didn't mean to include your dearest friend in that," Tom replied, his voice sounding closer with the muffling of the curtains gone. "Make some space for me."
"There's space in your own bed. In the dungeons. Where you should be."
"Your irritating friends decided it was an extreme circumstance and that I should be welcomed into your dorm make sure you didn't suffocate under all your self-pity."
"I hate you so fucking much," Harry moaned, but he squirmed over to the other side of the bed. While Tom settled in next to him, Harry cocooned himself even tighter in his covers.
The red and gold covers of his Gryffindor bed were thick and soft. Harry was lying on his stomach, his face turned to his left, but he couldn't see even the shadow of Tom's form. Harry could picture him easily, sitting cross-legged on the other end of the bed and staring down at Harry as though deciding if he wanted to glare the blankets into moving off of Harry. Harry clutched them further just in case. It was a position they found themselves in rather often, although usually Harry was sitting upright on the bed, too. During the daytime, there wasn't much opportunity for two people of different houses (and for someone with Tom's ridiculous NEWT course load) to spend time with each other, but in the evenings, they had established a routine of sneaking into each other's dorm rooms down to an art.
Back in first year, Ron and the others had gotten mad about the whole thing when Tom's silencing charm accidentally failed, but it hadn't really stopped Harry from letting him up into their dorm room. He'd tried to explain it, but there wasn't really a way to explain away all the nights he and Tom would stay up together in their tiny bedroom of the foster family they'd been placed with, learning how to use the powers they both had inside them. And he couldn't explain how much softer Tom looked with the dim light of a weak Lumos spell while they talked about everything they wanted to do with their lives. Still, some of it must've come across, because his other friends became resigned to the whole thing early on. On that, no matter how much he liked Ron, Harry wouldn't budge.
Lost in thought, Harry was brought out of it when Tom cast a silencing charm around them and reapplied the sticking charm to the curtains. No one from outside their space would hear them and neither would they be disturbed by the others coming back.
For a while, Tom didn't say anything more. He placed a hand on Harry's leg, warmth creeping through the the thick blanket. Because he was Tom, his fingers began tapping impatiently before long.
"You're shit at comforting people," Harry muttered, the blanket muffling his voice. "Staring down at me with judgy silence isn't working for me."
"You have your Gryffindors to comfort you. I'm only here to save you from yourself."
"I don't need saving. I need a quick and painful death before Snape murders me himself. Or worse, gives me detention every day for the rest of my life until my hands fall off from cleaning cauldrons."
"I don't think even Snape is allowed to bind you into lifelong servitude," Tom replied dryly.
"He'll look at me with that evil way of his and tell me it's either that or he'll pluck my eyes out and put them in a jar on his desk as a warning for the next generations of students. He did have that creepy thing for my mum, so I'm sure he'd love to get her eyes." Harry shuddered only half-theatrically.
Tom's hand tightened around his leg for a moment, giving a little shake, and Harry realized the soft sounds were of Tom laughing at him. He wished he could see it, but the desire wasn't enough to face the world again.
"Or, he had a conversation with one of the six witnesses of our seventh years' NEWT Potions class and was convinced that it wouldn't be in his best interest to murder you for an accident beyond your control," Tom said, his voice still light with amusement. He grew more serious when he said, "He'll assign you two weeks of detention, all fourteen days, four hours a day. You won't be expelled, no matter what he threatened."
"Thank you," Harry breathed out, and the next breath he took felt like it finally reached his lungs. Swallowing down his frantic thoughts, he said, "It really wasn't my fault. I don't know how the mandrake petals got in. I know it was the exact thing that Snape warned us against, but I swear I didn't do it on purpose."
Tom said nothing for a long moment, and his voice was heavy with repressed anger when he spoke next. "It was Draco. He's been dealt with."
"Did he do it on purpose?" Harry tried to think of what he'd done lately to Tom's friend, but he couldn't think of a thing. Things had even been going pretty alright between them this year.
"No, but now he'll remember to be much more careful."
Harry wanted to berate him, but he and Tom had agreed ages ago that they weren't allowed to mess with each other's friends. And no matter how weird Harry thought it was, Draco actually liked Tom—or rather, feared and respected and sucked up to Tom. Instead, he asked, "How'd you get to Snape? I haven't noticed anything different."
"We came to a mutually beneficial agreement," Tom replied, sounding very satisfied.
Harry couldn't imagine wanting to actually spend more time in Snape's company than absolutely necessary. The man had hated him even before their first Potions class, though at least he hadn't been able to let his hatred color his grading. He and Tom had partnered up each time since their very first lesson and Snape was loathe to dock down the points of one of his precious Slytherins, especially when it was a student as good as Tom. Harry missed first through fifth year Potions, when he could just let Tom's control complex do all the work. (If Tom had his way, that would be the way their friendship would go, too, but Harry had always had a different idea.) Maybe if they'd been working together today, the explosion wouldn't have happened at all.
"I assumed that when I returned, you would still be in the infirmary. Imagine my surprise when I came back after fixing this problem and you were gone against Madam Pomfrey's orders."
"She already healed me," Harry argued, knowing it was useless. Tom took Harry's health more seriously than Harry did. But if he hadn't already forcibly dragged Harry back to the infirmary, it meant that, "There wasn't anything left for her to do. I couldn't stay there. She told me that everyone else was fine, that only I had been in the blast radius, but I just. I couldn't face everyone knowing that if there had been just a few more petals, I could've actually killed someone."
Tom lifted his hand from Harry's leg, causing a wave of disappointment to wash through Harry, but then he rested it on Harry's covered head. Harry felt the light pressure of it under his blanket, and was giddy when Tom began to gently stroke the back of his head. Tom hadn't been so touchy-feely since they were kids. It felt nice. Better than nice.
"This worst outcome that you're imagining—had the outcome been someone else's death and you unharmed—would have been preferable to me than what actually happened today," Tom said, his motions even and gentler than his words. "Everyone else in that room was expendable. I have plans for Draco and Severus, but I can stand to lose them." With a curl of his fingers, his next stroke tugged the blanket down from over Harry's head. "You aren't replaceable to me."
"I know," Harry murmured, his head still resting on his pillow. He let out a deep breath when Tom's hand returned to stroke the back of his head, this time without a layer of cloth between them. "I know."
"Up," Tom directed, and with a groan, Harry did as directed. He figured he owed Tom a little for freaking him out so much. He'd always known Tom didn't deal well with emotions, but it always stunned him when Tom gave in to his mushier feelings.
Harry was about to turn toward Tom, but he felt Tom's hands on his shoulders, pushing them back. He let Tom direct him back down. Except this time, his face was facing upwards and his head rested in Tom's lap. Harry had hugged and cuddled with a protesting Tom so many times before, but this was the first time he'd been in this particular position. It was rather nice, looking up at Tom from this angle, even though everything was upside down.
"Tom?" Harry asked, when for a long moment Tom said nothing.
"Madam Pomfrey gave me some burn lotion for you to use," Tom replied, his composed voice in direct contrast with the emotions warring in his eyes. He pulled out a container with a green goo inside.
Harry wrinkled his nose at it. "Are you sure? She healed me pretty well."
"Your face and hands still have a red tinge," Tom told him, opening the container. It had a nice, minty smell.
It seemed Harry's wants weren't factoring into the equation this time. Which, fine, he'd told himself he'd indulge Tom for a while. But when Harry reached for the container, Tom lifted it up and placed it behind himself, where Harry couldn't reach. Tom's hand came back with the goo spread on his fingers. Harry swallowed, suddenly knowing where this was going, but he still wasn't prepared for the gentle touch of Tom's fingers against his face.
"Close your eyes," Tom said, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut.
"Tell me it's not going to leave me with a green tinge instead."
"Hush."
Harry would've complained, but Tom had started rubbing circles into his cheeks, with just enough pressure for the goo to work its magic. It felt wonderfully cool against his skin and smelled like the Forbidden Forest. Tom's fingers stroked his cheeks, his chin, his neck. Harry remembered so many threats about Tom's hands around his throat but if he'd known how good it would feel, he would've put his neck in Tom's hands ages ago. Tom, who was stupidly perfect in every way, was perfect at this, too. Tom's fingers were long and dexterous, making their journey back up, lingering to brush over his lips. Higher, Harry's forehead tingled at Tom's touch, the way Tom stroked the lightening bolt scar that Tom had accidentally given Harry when they were kids. Harry made a noise of protest when Tom's hands left his face, unable to feel shame at being needy, but Tom's fingers came back with more of the goo. Harry blamed the potion, because it was easier to blame it than blame his feelings.
Tom hadn't ever wanted a relationship and Harry had never pushed, though he had no doubt Tom knew about his feelings. He hadn't been very subtle about it when he'd been figuring it out, realizing his sexuality pointed like an arrow at Tom, with every other arrow of attraction toward other people so much smaller. And occasionally, while drunk, Harry would whine at Tom about how unfairly perfect he was.
By the time Tom said, "Give me your hand," Harry was too relaxed to even attempt to lift either of his hands up. With an amused huff, Tom did it himself. The sleeve of Harry's robes fell to his elbow and Tom started low, low enough that the skin would've been covered by his protective robes. Harry didn't care—Tom could massage his whole body if he wanted. Harry really wouldn't complain. Tom was careful with Harry's hands, rubbing the goo into the front and back, and then into his fingers, one by one. When Harry came back to awareness, Tom was already finishing with his other hand. Harry didn't want it to end, didn't want this feeling of utter contentment to go away. He felt as though he was falling apart, but with every touch of Tom's fingers he was steadied.
"Am I a Martian now?" Harry mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes back up. Tom's fingers were stroking through his hair again and Harry didn't want it to end.
"No," Tom replied, but his voice was low and quiet. "You're completely, utterly human. I'm going to set up a shield barrier around your cauldron for the rest of the year."
"Treating me like a child," Harry told him through a yawn.
"If that's what's necessary." Tom's hands continued, but his words didn't. Harry was almost asleep again when Tom added, "For a moment, I thought you were dead. It was unpleasant." His hands tightened around Harry's hair for a second, but not enough for it to really hurt, nor shake him out of sleep. "You should consider quitting Potions."
Harry nuzzled closer to him. "Mmno, I'm going to be an auror."
"Have you considered a field that isn't going to drive whoever kills you and anyone nearby who couldn't protect you into an early grave by my hand?"
It was hard, but Harry managed to lift his hand to pat Tom's cheek. He was more than halfway into sleep when he remembered to say, "You'll fix it."
"I'll hold you to your words next time you tell me you don't want to find a way to be immortal with me."
"Later," was the last thing Harry remembered saying.
He dreamed of floating in the water, the waves gently lapping at his body. The sun was hot above him but its rays didn't burn his face. Instead, he just felt warm. When he opened his eyes again, Tom was sitting upright against the headboard, a book in his hands, while Harry was sprawled around him. Harry was more grateful than he would say that Tom was still there. He was a Gryffindor, so he should've been braver, but the accident had still scared the hell out of him. The fact that Tom had comforted him last night and stayed was really a testament to the strength of their friendship.
"Hey," Harry said, his voice a little rough with sleep. He coughed to clear it and continued with, "Thanks. For everything."
Tom's mouth curled upwards. "It was a lot of effort on my part. I hope you're properly thankful."
"Asshole," Harry said, pushing at him without any coordination or strength. He sat up, facing Tom and stretching his hands up in a stretch. There was no lingering tension there at all. If Tom hadn't been set on becoming minister, he would've made a killing as a masseuse. When his attention came back to Tom, Harry realized Tom hadn't gone back to his book. Instead, Tom reached out, catching Harry's chin and rubbing his thumb over Harry's lower lip. Harry remembered him doing the same last night, but this time he wasn't half asleep, and Tom's touch only made his heart beat faster. And this time, Tom's eyes weren't dark with fear for Harry's life. It could be that he was mistaking the situation, but Harry still said, "So, did your possessiveness finally overcome your avoidance of relationships?"
"Shut up," Tom muttered. The book slid off his lap, but neither of them paid attention to it. "It seems I need to keep a closer eye on you if I want you to live to see graduation."
"I'm not opposed at all," Harry told him, in case there was ever any doubt. "But if you kiss me, I'm taking it as agreement that we're going on a proper date in Hogsmeade this weekend. I understand you've been able to avoid Madam Puddifoot's until now, but it's an experience."
"I despise you," Tom said, breathing out deeply. But he took hold of Harry's shoulder and pulled him in and—
And Harry was lost. He always was, when it came to Tom, but he was a Gryffindor. He didn't need a map.