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Summary
Tom’s idea of comfort is usually less than ideal, but this time it’s pretty spot on.
Series
- Part 105 of HP Works
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Bookmark Notes:
mf so cuteee
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1. "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.
[...]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.
2. 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."
3. "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.
4. "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."
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