The Sun Sets Twice Again

Chapter Seventeen

Four days since telling Artemis and everything had gone back to normal, or rather the mockery of normalcy Harry regularly attended to. Sirius and Remus were away, obviously on a mission for Dumbledore though nobody had told Harry anything, but would be back in a few days. Artemis hadn't mentioned a thing about memories or Tom Riddle or Voldemort since they had told her and seemed to be splitting her time between Tom, Malfoy, and himself, though for some unknown reason was avoiding her brother Apollo, who seemed like a genuinely nice guy the one time Harry had spoken to him for more than a few minutes. She spent more time with Malfoy than anyone, though every time Harry had seen them together they had merely been sitting in the same immediate area, Malfoy starting off into space and Artemis reading a book or scribbling on a paper. In fact, as far as Harry could tell Draco Malfoy hadn't said more than a dozen words since he had first appeared wandering through the dungeons days earlier. Not that Harry could blame him. He disliked Lucius Malfoy, even hated him, but Malfoy had still lost a father whom he appeared, though who knew why, to love. That had to hurt. Harry wouldn't have been very talkative in his place, either.

As for Tom...Tom was Tom. Harry had been getting to know him, which was an incredibly odd experience and, while he still wanted to punch him more times than he would for anyone he considered a *friend*, the blinding hatred and disgust had faded away until it was nearly non-existent. The most Harry could muster against the other boy, it seemed, was an indistinct and muted anger at what Tom was capable of. That was disconcerting in a very bad way-- now was not the time to have a crisis of emotional development. Still, Harry would have been grateful if that was the worst of it. No, he knew what the worst of it was, and feelings of dislike would be welcomed in the onslaught of this.

He found that once he had begun separating the forms of Tom Marvolo Riddle his mind had relaxed. He could identify, and associate in a very guilt-free manner, that the boy who he had regular conversations with was Tom. Not Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort, not even Riddle, like Malfoy was Malfoy, but Tom. Tom was reasonable if a little demanding, witty in a very sarcastic manner, and intelligent both practically and through books. He taught Harry charms and helped him improve his potions' skills--Snape was going to die of shock when he found out that Harry could brew a better than decent potion all by himself--and argued with him. Not in the way that Ron and he argued, where they didn't talk to each other later, or him and Hermione, where one ended up brooding or sulky, or even him and Malfoy, which was wearing and malicious; the way Tom argued with him was by challenging him, asking questions Harry couldn't answer, already knowing Harry didn't have the answers, and being challenged in returned. On the off chance that one said something that really angered or hurt the other--having the ability to emotionally inflict pain on another person and the willingness to do it was new--they dealt with the issue until it was resolved or they reached a stalemate. They had a working relationship, even if pain, violence, and forced unity were at the bottom of it.

All of this was odd enough, but all of this learning and teasing and getting along with Tom was very, very odd...plenty odd to keep Harry occupied until termed started at the very least, and probably until Quidditch season started as well--he was happy to note that despite the car sickness he could fly on a broom just fine, and was almost as happy to see that Tom was horrible on a broom, worse than Neville horrible, and that was quite funny. So, given the fact he could just barely stand the other boy, he really didn't need the complications that this new development brought, let alone having to deal with the fact that he couldn't ignore the developments like he wanted to. It was so very bad. Embarrassing and bad and he kept getting the feeling that Tom fucking knew, or maybe Tom was having similar developments, or maybe Harry's developments were caused by him, and if either of the latter two were true then what was Harry going to do about it?

It had all started with a damn T-shirt, or rather lack of the T-shirt. Well, no, it had started before that; it had started with the bed. The bed was definitely at fault somewhere here. The day they had told Artemis about Tom's identity, Tom had started rearranging the safe room. Why he waited until then Harry had no idea, but that was the day he began to remodel. First had been the colours, which, to be fair, he had asked Harry's opinion on, but Harry had ignored him and now the room was green and black and Harry had no idea how to change it back. Half an hour after the whole colouring thing Tom had disappeared for an hour and when he returned had been weighed down with books he had gotten from somewhere. When asked Tom had said he just went out to do a little shopping and not to worry, none of the texts were illegal. Harry was still working through the books Tom had brought, which he had to admit were more interesting than the standard texts that the school required. Of course, he was fairly certain that not all the books were strictly non-dark arts as well, but as long as he didn't actually use the charms on anyone there wasn't anything wrong in reading up on it, he figured. Plus, they weren't *Dark Arts* really, just not strictly light ones either. The books and the colours had led a distinctly Tom feel to the room, so, of course, Harry had had to retaliate. Which was how his Firebolt, broom kit, and favourite Quidditch poster had ended up in there, as well as the books he had been reading over the summer holiday, mostly all Defense Against the Dark Arts. The notable exception was the book on Parselmouths, which he had bought on a whim. Tom had grabbed it the second he had seen it and refused to give it back.

Anyway, this was all before the final touches. Tom apparently had an aversion to studying in chairs and after a few days of sitting in the chair across from Harry's he had transfigured his into a bed. He claimed it was because he could spread out the materials easier and therefore focus on more at once. If Harry hadn't actually seen Hermione use the same tactic before he would have sworn that Tom was doing it just the drive him mad. Because the problem was that the books weren't the only thing that were being spread out, Tom had a tendency to sprawl when he lay down. Not that Harry was looking, exactly, it's just it was hard to miss. For some reason it was harder to miss once Tom had taken off his shirt, claiming that it was too hot to be wearing any clothes he didn't have to. Harry had to agree it was blistering, but late August was always like that in Little Whinging, so he was used to it. That didn't mean he pranced around half-naked. Okay, Tom didn't prance. There was definitely no prancing. Maybe some stalking...not that Harry was paying attention. It was all that damn bed's fault. It had to be the bed's fault, or hormones, though he had to admit his were pretty discriminatory for being fifteen-- not that that was saying much. Still, it was disturbing, being attracted to a boy. Except he wasn't attracted because he wasn't looking, not looking at all.

Harry frowned; he was horrible at lying to himself, and Tom was back on the bed, without a shirt, reading over one of their books. Not that the books were theirs. There were his books and then there were Tom's books; no sharing. Well, sharing in the sense that they both read both sets of books, but not in the sense that all the books belonged to both of them. Harry resisted the urge to bang the book he was reading against his forehead a few times to knock some sense into himself. Things weren't supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to like someone else, someone like Ginny Weasley, who was really sweet and nice and completely Ron's little sister, and who also had a crush on the Boy-Who-Lived, not him. He snorted; that was one thing he didn't have to worry about with Tom. Not that Tom was interested; or, Harry didn't think he was interested, and even if he was interested Harry wasn't interested because he didn't like boys like that, except Tom being interested would explain the almost flirting behaviour and the odd looks he saw Tom giving him every once in awhile. Not that it mattered. He laughed silently at the mess that were his thoughts.

"What is it?"

Harry realized he had made the sound aloud and now Tom was watching him, amused and curious.

"Nothing."

Tom frowned. "Don't lie," he scolded.

Harry had the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Tom. He made a face. "Don't tell me what to do." He went back to staring at the book in his hands, which he hadn't been reading, but then looked back up at Tom, who was still watching him. "And when exactly did you become the poster boy for morality? 'Don't lie'," Harry repeated sarcastically.

Tom frowned. "Fine. Don't lie pointlessly. As for telling you what to do, you could have taken it for a suggestion."

Harry snorted. "Why do all your 'suggestions' sound like orders, then?"

"They only sound like orders because you don't know what my orders sound like. Now, I can tell you're distressed about something, you've been like this for two days. It's beginning to annoy, so I was merely wondering what's going on. You weren't laughing at the book...you're not even reading the book."

Harry started, glancing down at the text in his hands. He didn't see any obvious reason why Tom would think he wasn't reading.

Tom laughed. "If you're going to pretend to read try turning a page every few minutes."

Oh, right. People who are actually reading turn pages.

"So, care to share with the class what's been driving your little mind to distraction?"

You're an insufferable bastard who must somehow be related to Snape because no one who wasn't could do that 'you are a bug that I could easily crush under my heel' look quite so well?

Harry briefly debated saying just that but finally settled on "No."

"Fine, then. If you care to be little mister emotionally distressed be my guest, just attempt to leave me out of it." Tom sneered.

"It's because of you!" Harry said, glaring balefully at the other boy.

Tom nodded, making a 'hmm' sound. After a second Harry's face went blank. Damn! He hadn't meant to say that.

"Isn't it always? Still, that cannot be changed if I have no idea what I've done to offend you, and therefore what your problem with me *now* is."

Your existence? Your fucking 'I know everything' expression? My own mind? Pick a thought, any thought.

There was no way on Earth he was going to admit to finding Tom attractive. Just no way. Harry glared at the book he wasn't reading.

Tom sighed when no answer was forthcoming. "Is it because you find me attractive?"

Oh, God.

Harry froze, blinked, then suddenly stood, shouting, "How the fuck do you do that!"

He didn't wait for an answer, however, as he picked up the book he hadn't been reading and stormed out of the room, heading for the sanctuary of Gryffindor Tower, which Tom didn't have the password to.

* * *

Harry Potter was more trouble than he was worth some days. Of course, Tom didn't really believe that; if he did he would have given up on the boy the second he was attacked by him during their 'first' meeting, but the thought had passed fleetingly through his mind more than once in the week following that meeting. The boy was moody, temperamental, and easily set off by seemingly random things, like the relatively innocent question about attraction. Yes, the boy was a teenager, but so was Tom and you didn't see him having hissy fits at every little thing. Emotionally unstable, that one; definitely beyond the point of teenage angst.

He marked the page he had been reading and closed the book before standing and throwing on his robe. The robe was really too hot to be wearing at the moment, but it was quicker. If he was right, Harry had run off to Gryffindor Tower under the mistaken impression that Tom couldn't get in there. The spell was actually relatively simple...if not exactly within the rules. Well, he'd only use it if Harry wouldn't come out voluntarily. This whole running away thing was getting old.

* * *

"Harry! Come on! Just come out here so we can have a civil conversation. I really don't like to shout."

Nothing. He waited a minute.

"Harry!"

Nothing. Half a minute now.

"Now, or I'm coming in!"

Nothing. The portrait, a large lady in a pink dress, glared at him.

Okay. He'd given Harry more than enough time to come out like a reasonable human being. Time to chase him down like the child he was acting, then. A revelo-based spell and the password appeared in the air in front of Tom.

"Phoenix fire."

The portrait made a face, muttered about cheating, but swung open.

Merlin, red and gold together was really tacky. Tom frowned as a sudden wave of convoluted emotion passed over him, followed by a vaguely sick feeling. Harry was really upset. This was ridiculous.

"Harry. I know you don't really want to talk but we've had this conversation about not talking. Ends with screaming and things exploding, remember?"

Right or left staircase would lead to the boys' dorms? A small noise from the left caught his attention. He followed the stairs up to a hallway lined with doors. All of them were closed. Another sound, this one like sounding like someone retching, further down the hall. Toilets? He tried the last door, pushing it open quietly.

The bond went empty. Tom frowned. Harry couldn't have learned to control it in the last ten minutes, not when he'd been trying for days unsuccessfully. He concentrated; it wasn't like the bond wasn't there anymore or anything, not closed off... just ...empty. He entered the room.

Harry stood at one of the sinks, using water from the tap to wash out his mouth. He turned the tap off slowly then backed away until he was against the other wall, where he slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his legs. Harry looked like a child, really, curled up into himself and trembling. A little lost boy.

Tom's frown deepened. "Harry," he said softly.

"Go away, Tom."

Tom took two steps closer to the balled figure.

"I mean it. Go away now."

Tom stopped. Harry's voice was low and steady and very, very sharp. The only place Tom could recall hearing that exact tone before was in his own voice as he got ready to do something destructive and dangerous to whoever was tempting his patience and calm. The realization, that this was so like his voice, his tone, his order when pushed too far, when ready to kill, and woe be it for those stupid enough not to heed the warning, coming from Harry, made him start.

He put his hands out in front of him, palms up even though the other boy wasn't watching him. He took another step closer. "I can't do that, Harry."

Harry turned to him, eyes bright. "Yes, you can. You just won't." He laughed, it was bitter. "Or maybe you can't. Maybe you are absolutely fucking incapable of doing anything I want you to do, or of giving me anything I want from you."

Another step closer. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to get the fuck out of my head and the fuck out of my life. I want to go back to being myself. Hell, I'd settle for having a single damn clue who I am anymore, if you weren't the one to give it to me. I want out. I want these feelings out. I want these thoughts out. I want you out. So, why won't you get the fuck out, Tom? At least out of this room. Now."

"Because that isn't going to solve anything, Harry. I'm not the reason you're like you are. Not really, not directly, and definitely not in a way that I, as Tom, have ever had any control over. We're both here and we happen to be somewhat similar people, if you want to make comparisons, but more importantly we're both stuck with each other. I'm trying to make the best of it, I really am, and it's not easy, but it's the reason I'm not curled up in a ball on a bathroom floor after making myself sick." Tom felt a pang of a feeling he didn't recognize but continued speaking. "So, since my going away is just going to make things worse later, what can I do to fix it now?"

There was a long silence before Harry finally softly said, "Nothing."

At least Harry hadn't attacked him yet. Tom moved cautiously closer to Harry again, until he was close enough to sit down next to him. He relaxed after a minute of sitting there without Harry trying to punch him. Now there was the small matter of what the hell he was supposed to do about this.

"Fair enough, I suppose. I'm still not going away. Not until things are...better here."

Harry didn't say anything to that, but the empty feeling in the bond lessened until the feelings were just muted. Tom decided to ignore the fact he was glad the bond was back-- he had his own feelings to figure out before he worked on Harry's. Like explaining why he was even here and why he cared what Harry felt. Harry being angry at him wouldn't exactly be the end of the world, after all. The boy would eventually get over it and until then Tom could just put the bond and the anger, which wasn't even there very much right now, to the back of his mind and get on with a few Harry-free days. Except the idea of Harry upset at him upset him. Worse, the idea that Harry was upset because of him, though it wasn't his fault at all, upset him. He didn't need this, not at all, and it didn't make any sense.

If he didn't know better, Tom would say he felt guilty for Harry being hurt. That was ridiculous, however, as he hadn't felt guilty for a single thing in his entire life and had no reason to start now. Unless...unless Harry was subconsciously influencing his feelings. He'd be willing to bet Harry felt guilt, maybe even felt guilty now, and since he was sharing the other boy's emotions...oh, fuck. Fuck! This really wasn't fair. And since when did he give a damn about fair. Fair was for Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Fair was for idiots. This was all Potter's fault and he was the one that ended up feeling bad. Though, maybe apologizing was what he should do in this situation, if he didn't want to be sitting on the bathroom floor until Harry fell asleep. Better yet, he should get up and tell Potter to fuck off. Anyone else and he wouldn't even be in the room. All Harry Potter's fault.

Acknowledging that didn't solve the problem though. Guilt was bad, supposedly apologizing alleviates guilt. Therefore, attempt to apologize? Tom sighed. Sadly, that was the best idea he had. He desperately needed to find more intelligent, and less emotional, company.

Tom sighed again before saying, "I'm...sorry." He glared at the stone floor, trying to find words to explain what he meant. "That you feel bad, or because I'm the reason you feel bad. I'm not really sure why. I just feel...apologetic."

Harry looked at him in surprise for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Is that the first time you've honestly apologized to someone and meant it?"

Tom frowned. Maybe this apology idea was idiotic after all. "Yes."

Harry continued to laugh.

"What? I just don't get the reasoning behind feeling bad about things. Things happen, no point at all in feeling remorseful about them."

Harry composed himself after a minute. "Then why are you apologizing now?"

"Because I feel bad. It's all your fault, you know. It's this damned bond, I'm certain of it. You feel guilty about things and now I do, too. You feel a lot of things I never bothered with before."

"Normal people feel a whole range of emotions."

Tom grinned. "I never claimed to be normal, Harry. In fact, I'm fully against being normal. It's boring and fairly Muggle, and I'm certainly against being Muggle."

"I want to be normal. Even if it is boring."

"You're special. Even without the thing with Voldemort, you'd be special. Merlin, I can't believe I just said that aloud. You're going to give me issues, Harry, you know that. I don't need anymore issues, thank you very much."

"We'll be even, then."

"Wonderful way to learn to get along, that. Giving each other issues and a dysfunctional relationship, or friendship, or working whatever it is, and physical attraction. Just what I needed in my life. Couldn't be bound to or like a nice Slytherin girl or boy, no. I had to end up stuck to you. Mr. I-Have-Issues-And-You're-The-Cause-Of-Them."

Harry made a face. "You're such a bastard."

"Don't call me that," Tom snapped.

"Now who's having issues?"

"Go to Hell, Potter."

There was a long pause.

"So, feel any better then?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Some. If you try anything I'm going to punch you."

"Fair enough. You should eat. You only picked at breakfast and you're too damn thin."

"Yes, mother."

"Don't call me that either. Ick. I really need to change robes now."

Harry snorted. "Are you sure you're not a girl?"

"Love to prove it to you. First lunch, though."

Tom laughed when Harry blushed.

"That's just too easy. Making you flush. Rather do that to you other places mind you, but it's still...cute."

"Don't call me that."

"Cute."

"Bastard."

"Orphan."

"Fuck you."

"Name the time and place."

Harry blushed again. "Never."

"Ignoring it won't make it go away."

"Shut up. I thought you wanted lunch."

Tom sighed. "Lunch then."