Chasing Harry

Chapter 12: A Simple Yes

"Are you sure you can move around?" Harry asked skeptically. He was lounged on the side of Tom's bedroom door, watching the other struggle to stand by himself. Harry had offered to help him earlier but Tom had stubbornly refused, saying in not so many words that Harry was not to take one step inside this room.

And Harry had thought they were actually starting to get along.

"Yes, yes." Tom clutched on the blanket around his midsection and paused to catch his breath. Was it that difficult to just stand? "I need a shower."

"That's what made you so irritable today?" Harry raised his brows. "I thought you just wanted to recover quickly."

"Well, that too. But the shower comes first." Tom wrinkled his nose. "I smell like blood."

Harry laughed. "Trust me, you don't."

"I didn't catch you sniffing me." Now it was his turn to raise his brows.

Harry blushed. "I wasn't. I meant... I meant you smelled okay when we talked." Tom only grinned more which made Harry blush even redder. The Gryffindor turned around in annoyance. "Oh, think whatever you like. I'm making breakfast."

"Thanks honey!" Tom managed to call out laughingly before Harry slammed the door shut.

***

He turned the shower on and nearly mewled with pleasure at the feel of warm water sliding down his skin. He had always found showers invigorating, and this was no exception. Tom lathered up thoroughly using the shampoo and soap he had found there. It seemed new. How nice of Voldemort to leave such convenient supplies.

He scrubbed himself until it almost hurt. He wasn't kidding earlier when he told Harry that he smelled blood on himself. That was one scent he hated, for he always connected it to the years of pain he was forced to see--to watch from behind windows helplessly, unable to act or control the body that was ironically his.

He rinsed off methodically, if not a little more slowly than usual, feeling somewhat stronger than he had when he woke up. At least it wasn't so hard to keep upright anymore than it had been yesterday. Stepping out of the shower, Tom reached for the single towel hanging on the rack. He was surprised to find it slightly damp.

Harry had showered earlier.

Despite himself, he found himself growing hard at the thought as he ran the cotton over his wet skin, unable to forget that Harry had done the same thing earlier. He imagined that he felt the other's skin on his--Harry's scent left on the towel he now used so liberally.

He tried to stop his thoughts before he went too far. You're getting desperate, Tom. He told himself. The least you could do is not jump the only person who thought about helping you.

How exactly had Harry known that there was something wrong? He'd have to ask him after he dressed.

Choosing a simple black robe in the closet, Tom donned it and combed his damp hair away from his face. He didn't bother looking in the mirror. He liked to see as little reminders of what had occurred as possible. And as he walked out of the bedroom, he had to smile just a little at the sight of Harry--Harry cooking, or at least trying to, their breakfast.

The brunet was clearly panicking. He fanned the air above the smoking stove as he tossed the contents of the frying pan in the trash. Tom squinted at the charred black mess.

"What were those supposed to be?"

"Eggs," Harry answered mournfully, his back to Tom. Turning to the Slytherin, he added, "I tried making some myself as I'm still not adept at making food appear with my wand. The eggs always come out scrambled."

"I see," Tom nodded understandingly, hiding his amusement. "And how do you like your eggs, Harry?"

Maybe it was just Harry, but Tom's way of asking the seemingly innocent question nearly brought another blush to Harry's face. Fiercely controlling himself, Harry answered with a straight face, "Sunny side up."

"Good as done!" Tom smiled winningly and, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, waved across the checkered table cloth. "I hope this comes out right... Voila! Fresh warm eggs, sunny side up!"

And sure enough, there they lay, perfectly fried eggs--two on each plate. Harry shook his head in wonder. "Amazing!" he laughed. "How did you do that with little practice?"

"Well my food preparations always did come out perfectly with a wand. I just had to concentrate the same way, if not a little more intensely, with just my hands. Come, let's eat." Grabbing a fork, Tom took a seat.

"At least I'm not totally useless. I did manage to perfect the art of making iced pumpkin juice," Harry said, producing a pitcher just after he sat. "Back in my early years in Hogwarts, I didn't realize Culinary Magic was so tough. Professor Mc Gonagall and Professor Dumbledore made it look so easy!"

"It is easy," Tom exclaimed.

"Maybe for you, but when I've made the tenth soggy French toast, Professor Nadine was ready to blow a fuse!" They laughed for a while, imagining the old teacher who took her subject, and her art, a little bit too seriously.

"I've always liked to cook. Maybe that helped."

"Yeah, maybe." Harry shrugged.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, each with his own thoughts. Harry, on his part, felt a twinge of worry about leaving his friends without notice. Surely, by this time, Ron would be worried. But he had to stay until Tom was strong enough to leave--who knew what danger waited for them on the other side, what with Lucius and his men around looking for their Dark Lord. Yes, Harry decided, his friends would understand. He could always explain later. Right now, Tom's well-being was more important, and he did seem to be recovering quite fast.

"Harry..."

"Tom..."

They both started at the same time. They paused uncomfortably, and Tom gestured for Harry to speak first.

"I was just wondering if you're feeling better."

"I am." Tom nodded. "The shower did wonders. And the rest too. At least now I can move around, even if it's slower than normal."

"Good. And you don't smell like blood anymore?" Harry grinned.

"Not that I know. Why, Harry, what do I smell like now?" Tom added teasingly.

How was he supposed to answer that question properly? "Um, okay."

"Just okay?" Dark brows rose.

"I mean, good," Harry corrected hastily. Then, against his better judgment, immediately blushed. Damn, what was with his body temperature today? "I mean, I think you smell good, not that I smelled you during the last ten minutes. At least you look like you do... I mean... You know what I mean." Okay, Harry, please... shut up now. Keeping whatever what was left of his manly dignity, Harry kept his eyes trained on his glass.

"I see. Well, thank you." Trying to keep an impassive expression, Tom merely nodded. Inside, he was grinning, and also felt a little bit flattered by Harry's apparently flustered state. That he had an effect on the young Gryffindor was plainly obvious. It was just a matter of knowing exactly why he affected Harry. The train of his thoughts brought him back to the question he had been wanting to ask, "Harry, how did you know I needed help?"

"I felt you," Harry answered matter-of-factly. "Didn't you know?"

"What do you mean?" Tom's brows furrowed. "I was hardly conscious most of the time I was there. I think I must have screamed a lot, but I don't remember anything much."

"Maybe that was it," the other said thoughtfully. "I can't explain exactly why and how it happened. I just felt your pain, or a part of it, somehow. I was asleep, and I dreamt of you. I even heard your voice. Then I woke up... And my scar--my scar hurt a lot. Like the way it used to do back when--"

"Back when Voldemort was near," Tom finished. "Tell me, Harry. Before that, did you ever feel anything related to me? Did I ever make your scar hurt in any way?"

"No. I'm quite sure nothing happened. I would have remembered it if it ached while you were there."

"They must have opened a link?" Tom thought out aloud while staring at the air in front of him, trying to remember.

"A link?"

"Yes!" Intense crimson eyes stared back into Harry's. "They tried to mingle with me what they had of Voldemort's essence--something that contained his life force, it could've been his blood, by using Dark Magic. They used the same thing in the past when Voldemort tried to acquire more power by absorbing Grindelwald's into him."

"And now they tried to merge the two wizards' magic within you?" Harry questioned seriously. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Dangerous, yes. Painful, yes. Anything could happen while using magic as dark and powerful as the spells they had performed. But to one who knows what he's doing, it just takes a lot of effort," Tom answered grimly. "Well, technically, they really tried to merge me with myself." He suddenly chuckled, a slightly bitter note in his laughter.

"Hmph, you can laugh about it now," Harry scowled. "What they did was illegal, not to mention threatening to someone. What if something wrong did happen? You could have died then and there!"

"Worse, Grindelwald could have been resurrected. Or even worse, Voldemort!"

"You're serious?" Harry gaped.

Tom paused. "Actually... no."

"Huh?"

"I was kidding about the resurrection." A slow smile broke through his face as Tom watched Harry's reaction. "You just looked so serious, I thought I'd scare you a little."

"Aargh... Why did I ever pull you out of there?" Harry pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. Part of him knew that he was acting quite childishly but that part was a long, long way from being heard.

"Hey, I couldn't help it!" Tom said defensively.

"You have a sick sense of humor."

"And you people wonder why I ever became Dark Lord. No one ever laughed at my jokes!"

"All right, that's it!" Harry stood with a flourish and looked at Tom pointedly. "You're doing the dishes."

***

Harry lay under the tree, cooling his head. It didn't help that Tom had quickly disposed of the dishes by doing his wandless magic bit even before Harry walked out the door. His punishment clearly wasn't worth much and Harry left feeling a little miffed.

But he was also a little amused. That show off, he thought. I wonder how his mother ever withstood him. At the same instant, Harry remembered: She never did. She died too early. It was funny how Tom and him shared one exact same characteristic: their lives, or at least the major details, were all written in history school books.

"Someone else wouldn't have done the same thing."

Harry glanced up. Tom was standing above him. "I didn't realize you came out."

"Well, as cozy as it is, it can be a little lonely in the cottage alone." He sat just beside Harry, sweeping away a few fallen leaves from the dry earth.

"What were you saying?" Harry asked, a little later.

"What you did." Tom turned to him. "It was a very brave thing. Not everyone would have done what you did when you felt it. Others would have just ignored it, or maybe they would have done something else: warn Dumbledore maybe--which is not a bad idea."

"Hmm..." Harry murmured. "I've always been a little too impulsive when it came to those things. I didn't even think straight. I just knew I had to go to Malfoy Manor and make sure you were all right."

"And you did."

They both stayed in silence for a long time, watching the sky grow darker with each passing minute. Orange faded to red. Red to grey. Until a few tiny pinpoints of stars could be seen above. Soon, it would be night.

"Thank you, Harry." Tom whispered, breaking the silence. "Thank you for coming to me."

Instinctively, Harry reached out and held the others' hand, just for a moment. "You're welcome," he said simply.

They shared a smile, and a short moment of peace. Tom stood and held out his hand for Harry. "Let's go inside. Insects will be coming out in a few minutes."

Harry stood and followed the other boy in the house. Tom stopped when they reached the living room.

"There's one other thing." He had to say it, before he lost the nerve.

Harry stared questioningly.

Suddenly, without any warning of what he was about to do, Tom reached out, took Harry's face in his hands, and gave him the softest of kisses on the lips. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

***

"Hermione, this is serious. He's been missing for days!" Ron gripped his sleeves a little too tightly as he explained the situation to a steaming Hermione. It was the day after New Year and Hermione had just arrived in Hogwarts. She had come a day earlier than planned after receiving Ron's cryptic "emergency" letter. Knowing Ron's tendency to overreact, Hermione had expected something inane--maybe the Slytherins stole Harry's broom or something akin to that. Little did she expect to arrive with one of her two best friends missing.

"And you didn't do anything about it?" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"I did look for him! And I even tried asking Malfoy. But all I got from him was that Riddle wasn't with him anymore. He said he was still in Malfoy Manor but I highly doubt that."

"So both Tom Riddle and Harry are missing..." Hermione tapped her fingers on the couch. "This could be serious. Why didn't you tell Dumbledore or any of the teachers?"

"I thought about that. But I found this." Ron produced the Slytherin scarf from a pocket. Digging deeper, he took out something else. A small card containing a note. "Tom gave Harry this for Christmas, judging from the mess I saw on the bed before the house-elves cleaned it up."

"So what does this mean?" Hermione asked, a little confused.

"Well," Ron paused. How the hell does one put this delicately? "Maybe Harry and Riddle... Maybe they don't want to be found."

"Are you suggesting that they're hiding out somewhere?" Skeptically, she raised the scarf. "Why would Tom take Harry with him."

"Well, maybe... you know..." Ron flushed.

Hermione's eyes widened as she suddenly realized what Ron was trying to say. "RON WEASLEY! How dare you imply that Harry is sleeping with Tom Riddle?!" She yelled, drawing the whole common room's attention to them. Luckily, most students haven't arrived yet.

Taking Ron's arm, Hermione marched out of the Tower. "Honestly, Ron, you and your ideas."

"Well, it's possible!" he said defensively. "Where are we going?"

"To Professor Dumbledore--where you should have gone the moment you realized Harry was gone. Tom and Harry together... Imagine! Really, Ron, that's practically impossible," she scoffed.

Little did she know that at the moment she said those words, those two same people were staring at each other in a cottage just outside their dreams.