Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Harry’s head was too fucked up to really appreciate the Sorting Hat poking through it. 

Hmm, welcome back Mr. Potter. Or should I say Mr. Peverell?  

Harry sighed. I don’t care. Just sort me into Slytherin already so everyone will stop staring at me.  

Slytherin? That’s certainly one way to go. But is it the best choice ? The hat’s voice was musing, echoing in his head as it dug deeper. Your mind—you are not like my sweet little first years. You are damaged, Harry Potter. It would seem Death is not kind even to her Master.   

Harry gripped the stool, knuckles turning white. I didn’t ask for the commentary.  

No, no I supposed you didn’t, the hat replied. Still, you can’t begrudge me this little intrigue after centuries of monotony. Regardless, I can see why my future self placed you in Gryffindor. The courage to win a war, to walk to Death with open arms, and walk away—to walk toward a new fight in hopes of doing it better—there can be no doubt you have the heart of a lion. But would they suit you now? No, I think my lions are a bit much for this iteration of you, too bold, too much. My sweet puffs would help you heal. Wouldn’t you like that? Kindness, something your previous life was so bereft of.   

Faces flashed before Harry’s eyes—Cedric, twisting through the air in a blaze of green light; Tonks, hand outstretched towards Remus, both still and cold; Teddy, who would never know his parents, who even Harry abandoned— 

Or perhaps not, the hat interjected smoothly. Ravenclaw is not known for their emotional intelligence but they would leave you to your own devices. No, no, the hat sighed . I know why you desire Slytherin, Harry Potter, but I make these choices to help the student who wears me, nothing more or less. I cannot prioritize based on your mission. Still… Yes, better be…  

“Slytherin!” the hat cried to the waiting hall. 

I cannot place you for the sake of Tom Riddle and his tumultuous future. But after our time together, I wonder…if what you need most is not…a little guidance.  

The hat was lifted off his head before he could ask the damned thing what it was talking about. Still, it put him in Slytherin, so he couldn’t complain too badly. Harry slid off the stool, wincing when he saw the charred fingerprints left where he’d been gripping the seat. He walked down the hall to meager applause toward where the other sixth years were gathered.  

“Hey!” black haired boy who looked stunningly like Sirius stumbled off the bench to great him. “Hadrian, right? Come sit with us!” 

Harry barely managed to blink away his shock before he was dragged onto the bench.  

His other year mates eyed him, but no one said anything.  

“I’m Alphard Black,” Sirius’s lookalike said, grabbing at the food that had thankfully appeared now that everyone was sorted. “So where did you transfer from?” 

“Er,” Harry hadn’t thought about it, “tutors. I was homeschooled.” 

Alphard wrinkled his nose. “My parents threaten to pull me out and homeschool me all the time. Trust me, you’ll like this much better.” 

A blond with an exceptionally pointy nose leaned over from the seventh years, and Harry barely suppressed a sigh. He had a feeling he knew who that was. 

“Peverell was it?” he said, voice disdainful. “I thought that family line was dead.” 

Harry managed a flat smile. “Just about.” He raised a hand to display the small black and gold signet ring he wore displaying the symbol of the deathly hallows. “Last living heir.” 

Alphard choked on his brisket. “So your parents…?” 

“Dead.” 

The table was silent. Harry didn’t bother trying to fill it as he pushed peas around his plate moodily. Alphard didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness.  

“So who do you live with then?” 

Harry shrugged. He was so tired. This whole day had been exhausting, and he honestly just wanted to go back to the rundown Peverell estate where he’d been hiding for the past few months, waiting for the school year to start. “I’m emancipated.” 

Alphard’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, how’d you manage that?” 

Sign a contract with a magical object as a legal adult to be entered into a death tournament against your will. At least, that’s how it happened the first time. Harry wasn’t sure if that was why he was still emancipated, if it was because he was mentally 18, or if Death had just done something weird, but nonetheless Gringotts had declared him an adult with full access to his funds and estate, which was great, even if the Peverell fortune had dwindled over time.  

He just shrugged again. “Paperwork.” 

Before Alphard could ask anymore questions, Harry pushed back from the bench. “I’m gonna go to bed. Long day.” 

Alphard frowned. “But you don’t know where the common room is—“ 

Harry waved a hand. “I’m sure I’ll find it.” 

Ignoring the protests behind him and the piercing red-brown eyes he’d been avoiding all evening, Harry shoved his clenched fists into his robe pockets and took off down the hall. He slipped out the massive doors with a sigh of relief.  

Harry opened his eyes, staring down the vacant hall, the low roar of chatter behind him. 

Harry didn’t know how he was going to do this. 

... 

Tom watched the transfer student flee, looking more than a little green. Such a long hat stall was bound to catch his attention—especially when he looked so distressed—but the boy would have caught Tom’s attention anyway. He was dressed like a pureblood in fine silk robes, tailored to his slight, almost malnourished build.  

Definitely malnourished, he amended, watching as the boy pushed food around his plate while giving flat answers to Alphard’s invasive questions. But Peverell…Tom had heard that name, even if he hadn’t spent his childhood memorizing lineages like Abraxas.  

The Peverells were linked to the Deathly Hallows. The Hallows were just a story, Tom had found with no small amount of disappointment, but the Peverells were still once a powerful member of the Sacred 28, renowned for their necromantic gifts.  

Tom poked at his food, ignoring Alphard’s pout that his new plaything had run off. Hadrian Peverell. 

Tom wondered if it was time to bring some new blood into the fold. 

When everyone else finished dinner and began making their way to the common rooms, Tom expected to see a short, pale figure with shockingly green eyes lurking near the dungeons, if he even managed to get that far. When the prefects finally managed to herd everyone to the common room, Tom sighed. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of Hadrian Peverell, meaning that—as newly appointed Head Boy—he and Lucretia Black, Head Girl, would be expected to scour the caste in search of their newest, stupidest snake. Who saw Hogwarts for the first time with its towering spires and moving staircases and thought, I can navigate that , on nothing but instinct and luck? 

Hadrian Peverell apparently.  

Tom fumed inwardly, but he maintained his pleasant mask as he ushered firsties through the portal. He breathed in a deep sigh as he finally managed to make it through the portal himself. 

Home. 

Fireplaces already roaring, rich green armchairs that you could sink into, plush area rugs, and enormous windows that opened to the black lake, and—Tom’s eyes stuttered over a figure curled in one of the corner armchairs, a blanket pulled over his knees, and a book open on his lap. 

Tom blinked in shock. How did Peverell manage to find the common room, let alone enter without the password? 

 He wasn’t able to confront the boy though as Slughorn waddled into the room and immediately launched into his spiel about Slytherin values and expectations, and Tom had to at least pretend to pay attention. When Slughorn was done, there were first years to put to bed, squabbles to break up, and by the time Tom managed to catch his breath, Hadrian Peverell had disappeared into the sixth years dormitory.  

Resigning himself to waiting for answers, Tom settled into his armchair (having claimed it in forth year when it had become readily apparent he was not someone to cross) and his Knights gathered around him, eagerly waiting to receive their marching orders.  

... 

Tom didn’t manage to catch Peverell the next day. Or the day after that, or the day after that. If anything, the boy seemed to be deliberately avoiding Tom which was broth frustrating and suspicious. What could he have heard to make him so wary? 

Tom decided to observe from a distance before he confronted Peverell. What he saw made him frown. Peverell barely ate anything. The only thing Tom had seen him eat with any enthusiasm was treacle tart. He zoned out in class and flinched away from loud noises and physical contact. 

Which made his seemingly overnight attachment to Alphard a little strange. 

Alphard was loud and overly physically affectionate with his friends. Tom almost broke his silent observation and intervened when, in a stunning display of either magical power or horrendous control, Peverell blasted Alphard across the room wandlessly after the boy tried to jump on him. 

Tom had half-risen before Peverell blinked the ghosts out of his eyes and hurried to the boy’s side, spluttering apologies. They’d gone into the next room together, and when they emerged, they’d become inseparable. 

Later, Tom pulled Alphard aside and demanded what had happened, but Alphard just shrugged. 

“He was involved in the War,” the boy said, referencing Grindelwald. “Apparently he’s still jumpy.” 

Peverell even let Alphard hang all over him after that, although the boy restrained himself from any more flying leaps. Tom watched as they whispered to each other in corners, shoving and snickering, although the shadows never truly left those green eyes. 

It was time to meet Hadrian Peverell, Tom decided. And he had the perfect excuse. 

... 

Harry stared at Tom Riddle with his stupidly perfect face and his elegantly coiffed hair. He’d noticed Riddle watching him, especially his interaction with Alphard, but he’d kept his distance, and Harry was loathe to be the one to end that. He knew he only had one year before Riddle left Hogwarts to become a genocidal maniac and even less time before he opened the Chamber of Secrets and created his first Horcrux, killing Myrtle in the process, but Harry was tired . It was too tempting to just lay low and enjoy the anonymity of the 1940s. 

Before it had gotten weird, that is. 

“So what does it mean?” Harry says, staring at young Tom Riddle warily. “This whole alpha/omega thing? Does the whole school do it?” He certainly hadn’t remembered anything like this back in his time. 

Tom leaned back in his armchair, and despite the fact that Harry was standing above him, Harry felt distinctly small under his sharp gaze. “Alpha and omega designations are a form of protection and mentorship. Slytherin is currently the only house that practices it, although it used to be more widespread. Our house values tradition though, even those that have fallen out of favor. 

“Additionally,” he continued, voice taking on a distinct lecture type tone, “Slytherin house is commonly targeted. Thus, younger and older students are paired up so that every student has someone older and stronger to go to with any problems. After first year, students can opt out, but it’s much more common to take advantage of the opportunity to network and have a support system.” 

“Okay, well I’m not a first year,” Harry said, relieved not to have to navigate this frankly bizarre system. Honestly, without the names (he distinctly remembered Hermione giggling over a book with Ginny talking about Alphas and Omegas) he would be more on board, but as it was it just sounded like a sex thing. “So, I’m gonna opt out.” 

Riddle’s smile tightened. “Unfortunately, while you might be a sixth year student, this is still your first year at Hogwarts, and as such your participation is not optional.”  

Harry blew out a breath. Why oh why did he accept Death’s offer to go back to the 40s and stop Tom Riddle from becoming evil? Oh right, because everyone he loved kept dying.  

“Fine,” he sighed. “So who is my mentor?” He refused to call them his alpha. Nope, not gonna happen. 

Riddle’s expression became darkly pleased, which sent a shiver of something through him and made him suddenly very aware that they were in Tom’s Head Boy quarters with the door shut. 

“I am.” 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Come again?” 

Riddle raised an eyebrow. “I will be your alpha. Every other 7th year is either already paired or too busy to take on an omega.” 

“And you’re not?” Harry said skeptically. “With NEWTs and Head Boy duties and the debate and dueling clubs?” And splitting your soul and murdering people and gathering followers to commit genocide?  

The second eyebrow joined the first. “You’re rather well informed.” 

Harry flushed. It probably was weird to know so much about Riddle when the school year had barely started. “I’m observant?” 

“Hm.” 

Before Harry could blink, Riddle was out of his chair and looming over him. Cool fingers gripped his chin, forcing Harry to look up into deep brown eyes, tinged with just the barest hint of red. 

“You’ll find I don’t tolerate lying,” Riddle murmured, fingers tightening to the brink of pain. 

Harry could barely breathe, let alone come up with a response. Riddle seemed to take his startled silence as an answer of its own though because he released Harry with one last searching look, returning to his armchair.   

“Bring me your schedule and assignments for the week,” he said, opening one of his own textbooks in clear dismissal. “We’ll go over everything to ensure you don’t shame our house.” 

“Fine,” Harry muttered, turning for the door. 

He startled when Riddle’s book snapped shut with a crack, looking back at the intense eyes that were drilling through him. 

“The appropriate response,” Riddle said, voice silky, “would be yes, sir .” 

Harry’s stomach dropped, a mixture of mortification and something he couldn’t name. Yeah, no, he wouldn’t be doing that. “Right,” he managed, yanking open the door. “I’ll be sure to remember that.” And he escaped before Riddle could say anything more. 

… 

“Of all the arrogant, self-important pricks ,” Harry fumed, slamming his bookbag down on the chair next to Alphard. The only thing keeping him from shouting was the librarian’s wrath. 

Alphard blinked up at him. “Who did what?” 

“Tom Riddle,” Harry sneered. “Who does he think he is ordering me around, telling me what to eat and when to study? I’m eight—sixteen years old!” he amended. “He’ll be trying to issue a bloody bedtime next!” 

Alphard looked confused. “Tom? I didn’t even know you knew each other.” 

“He assigned himself to be my bloody mentor,” Harry grumbled. “Like I need a babysitter.” 

Alphard’s mouth dropped open. “Tom is your alpha? But he’s never taken an omega before!” 

Harry winced at what he was pretty sure were sex terms. “No. I’m not calling him that.” 

“This is so weird,” Alphard muttered, ignoring him. “What would he do that?” 

“Don’t ask me,” Harry said glumly, poking at his transfiguration textbook unenthusiastically. 

“Tom,” Alphard repeated, amazed. “Better not let him hear about your sleep schedule, or lack thereof,” he laughed. “He actually will give you a bedtime, and he’ll find some way to enforce it.” 

Harry scowled at him, not appreciating his friend’s amusement. “Hey!” he said, straightening up as an idea struck him. “You clearly know Riddle. What would really piss him off, so much that he’d decide to drop me?” 

Alphard’s eyes went wide. “That is a terrible idea. Nope, definitely do not do that.” 

“No, no, it’s great,” Harry said distractedly, ignoring Alphard’s white face. “You irritate him, don’t you?” 

“Ouch,” Alphard muttered. “But yeah.” 

Harry grinned. “What do you say to having a double for a while? Pranks, playing quidditch instead of studying, the whole nine yards?” 

Reluctantly, Alphard grinned too. 

... 

Tom was bemused as Hadrian (alpha/omega pairs enjoyed the familiarity of the first name) seemingly adopted a new personality overnight. His bad habits, not studying or listening to teachers, not eating, and general lack of decorum all skyrocketed while he adopted a new tendency to skip classes and pull pranks. 

He still had his darker moments when he would stare blankly into space, magic practically crackling around him, but for the most part he grinned maniacally while whirling around the castle, leaving chaos in his wake.  

Tom left him alone for now, figuring this was some kind of stunt, acting out against Tom’s attempt to impose order. Giving him attention would only make it worse. Plus, he was busy keeping up with his school work, Head Boy responsibilities, debate and dueling, Slugclub, Knights of Walpurgis meetings, and of course finding the Chamber of Secrets. 

He didn’t have time to track down one wayward necromancer. 

... 

It turned out, he wouldn’t have to. 

“You said to come to you if I got into trouble,” Hadrian said, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Well, Alpha . What’re you going to do about it?” 

Tom looked at the boy, perplexed. “You and Alphard got detention for turning Professor Binns purple, and you came to tell me…because you thought I’d get you out of it?” 

Hadrian rolled his eyes, and Tom’s fingers tightened on the quill he was holding. 

His charge shrugged. “Ah, no biggie. I just thought you should know, seeing as you’re taking care of me ,” he said sarcastically. “Guess you’re not really needed in the position after all.” 

Tom very deliberately set his quill down. “Oh no, dear Hadrian, I’m very glad you told me. See, the professors might have given you detention for breaking school rules, but that still leaves the penalty for my omega pulling a stunt like that.” 

Hadrian straightened, alarm flashing in his beautiful green eyes. Ah that’s what Tom had been looking for. An ounce of common sense. Pity it hadn’t appeared soon enough to save the boy’s hide.  

He rolled up his sleeves very deliberately. “You see, your behavior reflects on me, and lately it’s not been a good look. I gave you time to adjust, but I think that time has passed.” 

From any of his Knights, such a display would have warranted some time under the Crutiatus. Hadrian though, something about his mischief reminded Tom of the orphans back at Wool’s. Most of them he’d hated of course, but once or twice one of the little heathens stirred something protective in him—a thread of curiosity that was enough for him to take them under his wing, to straighten them out before a harsher hand could.  

From his knights, Tom wanted deference, awe, loyalty, fear.  

Tom wanted something different from Hadrian. Something taboo and vulnerable. He wanted Hadrian to listen to him because he was Tom, not because he was Tom Riddle. And that, that would require a different form of discipline. 

... 

Harry had a feeling he’d miscalculated.  

He’d frankly been having a blast acting out with Alphard. It had originally been intended to piss Tom off since he seemed to think that Harry needed constant instruction in order to act like an adult, but something about acting like a dumb, reckless teenager with Sirius Alphard at his side, playing pranks and for once not worrying about a war or being murdered...Harry had admittedly gotten a little caught up in it. 

After being given detention for turning Binns purple (which was no doubt the most frivolous thing the Elder Wand had ever been used for) and refusing to turn him back, Harry had booked it to Tom’s room to rub it in his face that this school had actual teachers with actual authority, so clearly Tom could take the night off from bossing Harry around. 

There was something predatory about the way Tom was watching him, rolling up his sleeves to reveal pale forearms, surprisingly muscled for someone who was typically a bookworm. 

Ah, dueling club , Harry’s mind reminded him unhelpfully.  

Before Harry could blink, Tom struck, snatching him by the wrist and dragging him toward the bed. 

“Hey!” he dug his heels in, trying to yank out of the iron grip. Harry panicked, reaching for the power of the Elder Wand. 

That is unnecessary, Death’s voice suddenly spoke in his head. You are not in danger.  

Tom took advantage of Harry’s distraction to toss him bodily across his thighs, and Harry got an unexpected mouthful of comforter.  

“What the fuck?!” He wriggled like a fish on a hook.  

Tom physically overpowered him, and Death was telling him not to use the Elder Wand... 

Death, he hissed mentally, what is happening??  

The 1940s practiced corporal punishment . The voice was blandly monotone as ever, but Harry fancied he caught a hint of amusement in her voice. 

Harry froze at the implications, brain bluescreening as Tom well and truly pinned him, robes rucked up over his back to expose his arse in the mortifyingly thin silk undergarments that were common in 1940s wizarding Britain.  

“Wait, Tom, we can talk about this—” he stuttered as a hand patted him on the behind. Merlin and Morgana. 

“Now you want to talk?” Tom said, voice condescending. “I thought you were having a grand old time acting like a nuisance with Alphard. I gave you time to adjust—” the hand on his backside gave a warning tap as he jerked, and Harry subsided, recognizing Tom’s lecturing tone, “but now it’s time to fall in line.” 

Like that, Harry’s anger flared up again. “Fuck you, Tom! Just because you’re on some little power trip—Ah!” Harry yelped as Tom’s palm cracked against his backside with stunning force. Harry squirmed as the sting intensified, trying to kick but blocked by the leg Tom had thrown over his own. 

Three more slaps fell in quick succession, and Harry couldn’t believe how much they hurt. He’d been tortured before, for Merlin’s sake. He couldn’t understand why—when the firm hand holding him down on the bed stroked his lower back reassuringly—his eyes started stinging. 

“Let’s go over where you’ve gone wrong,” Tom said casually, and Merlin, Harry burned to hit him. 

“First,” Harry gasped as a sharp slap struck his sensitive upper thigh, “you are clearly underperforming in your classes. You are managing to get As and Es in most of them,” he continued and Harry could barely hear him over the roar of blood in his ears.  

His hands were fisted desperately in the comforter. He was overwhelmed, simply, and since the decision-making part of his brain had taken an abrupt vacation, all Harry could do was lay there and take it. 

“Seeing as you rarely study and spend all your time playing Quidditch and pranking people—” an honest-to-god whine left Harry’s lips as the slaps turned sharply punishing, like Tom had a personal grievance against Quidditch and fun, “—this means you could be getting Es and Os.” 

“No, I—” 

“Did I ask you to speak?” Tom snapped, bringing his hand down with a sharp crack! that pulled an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp from Harry. “Then there is your etiquette .” Harry was panting loudly and mortified to find that his face was wet with tears. “Deplorable. Even Alphard has better manners. Did your tutors teach you nothing?” 

Thankfully, the question seemed to be rhetorical.  

“And lastly,” Tom did something with his knee that raised Harry’s hips higher, and he keened when Tom focused his punishing slaps on the newly exposed sensitive crease between Harry’s arse and thighs, something he hadn’t even known existed . “You neglect your health. You eat nothing but that magic-forsaken treacle tart, you pull dangerous stunts, and you are constantly walking around with injuries for which you should see the nurse.” 

A particularly hard strike to an area that was already stinging and burning drew a muffled sob from Harry, and he buried his face deeper into the comforter, not caring if he suffocated as long as it rid him of the humiliation coursing through his veins. 

But once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop, tears that he’d been holding back for days, months, years, his whole life suddenly pouring out of him. It was ugly and messy, and Harry was vaguely grateful that he was face down and could hide. He barely registered when the punishment stopped, but he fought when hands tried to pull him upright. 

It was to no avail though. He was drawn up unceremoniously, and for a moment Harry thought Tom was going to send him back to his dorm, and the idea of being alone and abandoned drew a heaving sob from him, desperate and near hyperventilating.  

He wasn’t sent away though. Strong arms picked him up, moving them both backwards on the bed so he was draped over a warm chest with his throbbing arse exposed to the cool air. Harry buried his face into the offered shoulder, shaking and making these mortifying little hiccupping cries that he’d never heard before in his life. 

Hands stroked and petted him, soothing, and he could vaguely here the low murmur of Tom’s voice although he couldn’t understand the words over his own hysteria. Eventually, his breathing slowed, became more even, and without a thought, he fell asleep. 

... 

Tom couldn’t say he’d expected Hadrian’s reaction to a simple spanking, but he was oddly pleased by it. Granted, it was messy and unrestrained, but the sounds he’d made were definitely not going to leave Tom’s mind for a while. And Tom reveled in the way Hadrian clung to him for comfort, greedy for Tom to stroke him with the same hand that had just painted his backside a becoming shade of scarlet. 

He’d fallen asleep quickly, and—though it was hard to tell through the blotchy red and swelling from crying—Tom thought he saw the edges of dark circles, making his wonder if Hadrian was sleeping at night. Tom’s eyes narrowed at the idea that he'd been lying awake at night, leaving him sloppy and exhausted. Perhaps that had something to do with his general moodiness. 

Tom thrummed his fingers threateningly on Hadrian’s shoulder, although the sleeping boy wouldn’t notice. That was the kind of thing Hadrian should have been coming to him about. Tom would have taken him to the nurse or even given him some of his supply of dreamless sleep.  

He sighed. Hadrian had been frustratingly resistant to Tom’s guidance. Tom was once again reminded of the orphans back at Wools, the ones who spat on a helping hand because it had been turned against them too many times. Frowning, Tom thought back to Hadrian’s response when Alphard asked after his parents. Dead . Tom had assumed it was recent, given the change from tutors to Hogwarts.  

But Hadrian had actually displayed many traits of a traumatized, long-term orphan: the hyper-independence, recklessness, mood swings, and lack of self-preservation. He clearly distrusted authority figures, other than his annoying attachment to Dumbledore, and even that was tinged with something wary and bitter. He flinched from sudden movements and loud noises and had bonded almost excessively quickly with Alphard in a fierce, possessive way. 

Hadrian was also very protective of the younger Slytherins. Tom caught something old and hardened in his eyes when he stood in front of a younger student, something willing to fight or take a blow. 

Tom carded his fingers through the boy’s wild hair absently, pausing when he shifted with a sleepy murmur. But Hadrian settled after burrowing a bit more deeply into Tom’s chest.  

I’m going to find out all your secrets, Hadrian Peverell, Tom thought, and then I’m going to keep you.  

... 

Harry woke from the deepest sleep he’d managed in he didn’t even know how long. He was warm and comfortable, and he nuzzled into the firm pillow under him with a contented sigh. 

Firm?  

Harry shot up, blinking blearily through swollen eyes and no glasses. He squinted at a pale face topped with chocolate curls. “Tom?” 

As the word left his mouth, Harry suddenly remembered the events that led him here. His eyes widened, and he reached back. He flinched, even just barely brushing the tight, sore skin that was practically radiating heat.  

Harry scrambled backward off Tom, hovering awkwardly on his knees since he couldn’t bear the thought of sitting down right now. A hand appeared before his face, and he squinted before realizing he was being offered his glasses. 

He blinked at Tom who was watching him with unnerving intensity. Blushing, Harry looked away. “I’ll—” he coughed, voice thick and scratchy, “I’ll just go then.” 

“No,” Tom said, sliding off the bed.  

“No?” Harry repeated. He mustered a little of his normal indignation. “You can’t just expect me to hang around after you did— that ,” he hissed, face flaming. 

Tom turned from where he’d been digging in a drawer, expression amused. “That? You mean a spanking?” 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. 

“Oh sweetheart ,” Tom said, delighted. “Have you never been spanked before?” 

Harry’s eyes flew open at the endearment. “It’s—I—I'm not a child!” he spit, something aching in his chest. 

Tom’s lips pulled in a soft smirk, and he stalked forward, tossing the jar he’d taken onto the bed. “You’re not a child, no,” he agreed, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist before he could pull away. He tugged Harry up against his chest while his other hand slipped around to give his backside a quick squeeze. 

Harry gasped, tears springing to his eyes as the soreness rushed back to the surface with a vengeance. 

“Poor thing,” Tom cooed, swiping a thumb under Harry’s eye. “Poor little omega. If you let me take care of you, your backside wouldn’t be throbbing right now.” 

Harry liked to think he would have had a better comeback if his head wasn’t already spinning. 

The best he could manage was to cover his face with his hands. “Stop it.” 

Tom just chuckled as he pulled away. “Turn around,” he said. “I have something to help the soreness.” 

Harry didn’t even peel his hands from his face as he squirmed onto his stomach on the bed, legs dangling over the side. 

“Good boy,” and Harry would deny the little jump his already half-hard cock gave until his dying day. It’s the 1940s, he reminded himself. They call people all kinds of weird shit.  

“It’s going to be a little cold,” Tom said. Harry jumped as cool fingers traced over his sore skin. He flushed as Tom pushed his undergarments out of the way, slipping his fingers underneath them to cover every inch of abused flesh.  

“Here,” Tom said, grabbing his hips and lifting them up as he kicked his feet wide. 

“What—?!”  

“Just making sure I can reach,” came the casual reply. 

Harry choked as those clever fingers slipped under his clothes again, a single finger sliding between his spread cheeks to glance off his entrance. Harry jerked, trying to close his legs, but they were stuck open as Tom stood between them. 

“Shh,” Tom said, so nonchalant Harry wondered if it was an accident, “you’ll regret it tomorrow if we miss any spots.” 

Merlin help him . 

Tom continued soothing his skin, just barely brushing his hole every once in a while, so innocently that Harry couldn’t imagine being the one to say anything. By the time Tom was done, Harry was rock hard and barely holding back from humping Tom’s mattress. 

“Alright,” Tom said, stepping back from where Harry trembled on the mattress. “That won’t heal the skin—that would defeat the point—but it should soothe it enough that you can sit in class without suspicion. Just come and see me when you need to reapply.” 

Reapply? Harry would suffer a thousand deaths before he asked Tom for a repeat of this experience. 

Harry slid off the bed, managing to pull his robes down over his erection before turning around. He and Tom stared at each other for a second, Tom darkly amused, Harry looking like he wanted to crawl in a hole and die, before Harry managed a short nod and scurried out the door. 

Alphard was already in their dorm when he practically threw himself through the door and slammed it shut behind him. 

“Whoa,” Alphard said, staring at him. “Something chasing you?” 

Harry mutely shook his head. 

Alphard shrugged. “Okay, well, I had an idea for our next prank—” 

Harry’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently. “I think I’m gonna take a break from pranks,” he said, voice significantly higher pitched than normal. 

Alphard blinked at him for a moment before a knowing grin drew across his face. “Tom chasing you?” 

Harry turned beet red. “No.” 

Alphard burst out laughing. “Oh Merlin, it finally happened. He’s let you get away with so much , you know,” the boy snickered. “Lucretia’s had me by the ear three times this week.” 

“Lucretia?” Harry blinked. “Your cousin?” 

“Yeah?” Alphard said. “You didn’t know? Yeah, I probably would’ve flunked half my classes if she wasn’t on me about my study schedule.” He sighed. “But it seems your immunity has run out. Shame that.”  

“But I thought you were dating that guy from Ravenclaw?”  

Alphard frowned. “I am. What’s that got to do with anything?” 

Harry’s cheeks grew even hotter as he considered that maybe he was the only one making it weird. “No reason. I’m gonna work on that essay for charms before bed.” 

Alphard whistled. “He sure whipped you into shape, huh?” He snickered as he turned back to his own homework. 

Harry hurried to his own bed and yanked the hangings shut so he could lay on his stomach and die of mortification in peace. 

... 

Tom wondered if Hadrian had noticed the little present Tom had left him before he’d fled. He’d been pleased to note the boy’s arousal during his punishment. He’d almost gone too far with his teasing towards the end, but thankfully Hadrian seemed to think it was an accident. Before he’d let the boy up, Tom had cast a fun little non-verbal spell that would only allow Hadrian to orgasm if Tom allowed it. 

Given the boy’s tense posture and red face, Tom didn’t think it’d be long before his little time bomb was discovered. 

He kept an eye on Hadrian for the next week. The boy was generally subdued and twitchy. Tom could see Alphard teasing him and guessed he’d discovered that Tom had doled out a correction for the first time. Tom wondered how much Hadrian had told him, if he knew that Tom’s methods had been...unusual, and that most Wixen used a wand to apply corporal punishment.  

He also caught Alphard complaining to Abraxas about how long Hadrian’s showers had been recently and how pissy he’d been. Tom suppressed a smirk. It wouldn’t be long now. 

It was a little under a week later when he walked into his room to find Hadrian curled in a miserable ball in the corner. The boy hadn’t returned since his punishment, not even to beg for the cream Tom had used. He’d undoubtedly been in a good deal of pain without it, but Tom wasn’t surprised by the choice. Despite the theatrics, Hadrian had generally shown a rather high pain tolerance. 

“Hadrian,” he said, closing the door behind him. “What can I do for you?” 

Desperate green eyes stared up at him. Paired with red cheeks and bitten lips, Hadrian already looked wrecked. “Please,” he whispered, “there’s something wrong with me.” 

Tom stopped a pace away, staring down at him with a neutral expression. “And what is that?” 

Hadrian flushed red, eyes closing in mortification. “I—I can’t—come,” he mumbled, gripping his knees so hard his knuckles turned white. “I can’t—it’s been weeks,” he rushed, tripping over his words in desperation.  

Just under two, but who’s counting? Tom thought. 

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally. “And you think I can fix it?” 

Wide green eyes stared up at him with a look of betrayal. “I—well—you said —” His voice took on the edge of a whine, eyes turning glossy. 

Adorable. 

“I suppose I did,” he said with a put-upon sigh. “Show me.” 

Hadrian gaped up at him. “What?” 

Tom let his voice dip into a lower register. “You came to me, Hadrian. You came to my room, desperate, practically humping my carpet like a dog. The least you can do is show me what the problem is.” 

The boy stared up at him. For a moment, Tom thought he’d run. Then Hadrian shifted onto his knees and reached for the buttons on his robes with trembling fingers. Tom said nothing as, excruciatingly slowly, Hadrian fumbled through getting them open. 

Eventually, they parted, and Tom caught a glimpse of the violently red dick straining against silk, a large wet spot around it. 

“That does look painful,” he mused, ignoring the mortification on Hadrian’s face. “What have you already tried?” 

Hadrian’s breath hitched. “I—what—?” 

“How have you tried to get yourself off?” Tom said, low and silky with an edge to it. 

“I—” Hadrian closed his eyes and swallowed, and Tom eyed the motion of his throat greedily. “I tried to...wank, but I couldn’t—” 

“Your hand wouldn’t do it?” Tom said sympathetically. “Did you get someone to suck you off?” 

Hadrian jerked, letting out a miserable whine as his cock twitched. “N-no.” 

“Did you stick your fingers in your greedy hole, wishing they were someone else’s?” 

With the shock that painted itself on Hadrian’s face, you’d have thought Tom had asked if he fucked his mother. “No! I just tried a normal wank!” 

Tom sighed. No imagination. “Show me.” 

“W-what—” 

“Show me,” Tom breathed, “how you get yourself off. How am I supposed to help you if I can’t see what you’re doing wrong?” 

For a moment it looked like Hadrian would protest, but then he slumped, reaching for his leaking cock with the reluctance of a man going to the gallows. His fingers barely brushed it before he twitched like he’d been electrocuted, letting out a dry sob. Tom wondered how long he’d worked at getting himself off before stumbling to Tom’s room. 

Adorable though they were, the silk undergarments were obscuring Tom’s view. “Pull your underthings down.” 

Hadrian, it would seem, was too distracted by the sensations to think much about Tom’s demands. He pulled himself out, and Tom looked at the pretty dick, not terribly small, but definitely smaller than Tom’s own, short and stout with a nice smoothness to it.  

Hadrian’s technique wasn’t bad—he had a good rhythm going and an interesting little wrist twist when he got to the head that Tom would have to try. His other hand crept down to fondle his balls. 

Yes, if it weren’t for Tom’s magical intervention, he was sure Harry would have gotten there in no time. 

“P-please,” Hadrian whined, hunching over painfully even though his trembling hands kept moving. 

Tom sighed. Then he stepped in between Hadrian’s knees and pressed his shoe over Hadrian’s groin. The boy jerked forward, confused, before turning desperate eyes on Tom. 

“You wanted help,” he said mercilessly. “If you’re going to come in here, panting like a dog, you can get off humping my shoe like one.” 

When Hadrian didn’t move, Tom grabbed a fistful of black hair and yanked his head back, grinding his shoe down on Hadrian’s no doubt throbbing cock. “Come on, puppy,” he said, not missing the way Hadrian’s pupils nearly swallowed the green of his iris. “Come for me.” 

With a loud, unrestrained whine, Hadrian thrust his hip forward, grinding against Tom’s shoe. He gasped, eyes rolling back at the new sensation. Tom let him go until his movements became jerky and uncoordinated, each whining breath holding the edge of a sob. Then Tom let go of the magic holding back his orgasm. 

Hadrian actually screamed, and Tom was glad he’d thought to put up a silencing ward as the boy clung to Tom’s legs, hips jerking as he sprayed cum all over Tom’s shoes and pants and floor. 

 Thank Merlin for cleaning charms. 

Tom kept a firm grip on the boy’s hair so he was forced to keep his face upturned, letting Tom see every flush, the gape of his mouth, the glazed eyes.  

When he finally finished, Hadrian slumped, whimpering, looking barely aware of his surroundings. Tom vanished the mess with a wave of his wand before pulling the boy off the floor and into his arms. 

Next time, he’d make him lick it up. 

... 

“So how’s it going with Tom?” Alphard asked. 

They’d grabbed food from the Great Hall and taken it outside. It was brisk in November, but it was too beautiful a day to spend trapped indoors. 

Harry blushed, thinking of the odd cat and mouse game the two of them seemed to be playing. “Fine.” 

“Just fine?” Alphard said. “Because you keep staggering into our dorm looking like—” 

Harry slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes pinched shut in mortification. “Don’t.” 

Alphard peeled Harry’s hand off his mouth with a mischievous eye roll. “Fine, but I hope you know the rest of us aren’t getting this treatment from our mentors ,” he sniggered, emphasizing Harry’s term since he still regularly refused to say alpha. 

“I picked up on that, thanks.” 

“You’re still coming to the meeting, right?” Alphard said, suddenly looking nervous. 

Harry nodded. A fortuitous consequence of Tom slapping Harry around and making his cum was that they spent a lot of time locked in his room. Granted, a lot of it wasn’t spent talking, but some was, and Harry had realized with no small amount of shock and alarm that he and Tom shared a lot of opinions. 

Harry knew the dangers of muggles knowing about magic. He didn’t advocate for genocide, obviously, but right now Tom was arguing for a stronger Isolationist policy similar to what they had in the States. He wondered when that changed. 

Tom Riddle and his Knights fought for Isolationist policies in the Wizengamot until 1950, Death chimed in his head. This was 5 years after the fall of Grindelwald, and Dumbledore used the position of Chief Warlock which he was given for this defeat to block these policies and instead pushed for integration. Tom Riddle vanished from the public eye and shortly after, Lord Voldemort emerged.  

Harry startled, then acted like he was shaking off a bug when Alphard gave him a weird look.  

So they became extreme after legal routes failed?  

Death hummed. They had already begun to become more extreme in the previous timeline. Originally, the Chamber of Secrets had already been opened and a Horcrux created. This fractured Riddle’s mind alongside his soul.  

So why hasn’t he? Harry wondered. He’d been keeping an eye on things, but Tom hadn’t even come close to Myrtle’s bathroom—or what would become Myrtle’s bathroom—as far as Harry could tell. 

He’s been rather distracted , Death said drily. 

Harry flushed. Oh. Well, that was one way to stop the war. 

... 

“So, what? You expect muggleborns to somehow just know Wixen culture and traditions despite not growing up with it and no one being willing to teach them?” Harry stared around this room of arguably very intelligent people, aghast. “That’s ridiculous. Tom,” he said, whirling on his alpha, “you’re from the muggle world. You had to learn all of this too.” 

“You let him speak to you like this?” Malfoy stared at them with open scorn. “A pureblood would never—” 

Fast as a striking snake, Tom flicked his wand, and—instead of an offensive spell like Malfoy seemed to anticipate, given his flinch—a distinct snapping sound echoed the room. 

Immediately, Harry’s mind went hazy, his train of thought vanishing as his whole body relaxed. He barely felt it when his knees hit the stone floor. 

… 

Tom had perhaps acted hastily when he triggered the conditioning he’d been patiently constructing in Harry’s mind. He had not intended to test it for the first time in a room full of their school mates, but Abraxas’s implication that Tom did not have control over Harry, that he would allow him to disrespect him, pissed him off. 

Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, Tom could admire the wide, dazed green eyes that stared up at him, unwavering, pupils blown and vulnerable. The boy knelt facing him in the beautiful posture Tom had coached him through, hands linked behind his back, lips parted just enough to tempt Tom to slip a finger or two between them. His breath was deep and easy, seemingly entirely unaware that anyone besides Tom even existed, let alone were watching him with shock and awe. 

He was stunning. 

“As you can see,” Tom said, forcing his gaze away from his— his —kneeling omega, “I have not lost control over Hadrian. He speaks because I want him to speak, which, you would do well to remember, is the same reason you all speak. Because I will it. Now,” Tom swept a hard glare over his open-mouthed followers, “did anyone else have a comment?” 

There was much head shaking and adverted eyes, although he did catch Avery and Lestrange’s eyes were drawn back to Harry’s kneeling form, something dark and lustful and completely unacceptable in them. 

“Then get out .”  

He made a note of the way those two hesitated before joining the scramble for the door. Normally, Tom would address these lapses immediately but not when Harry was in this condition. Not when Tom had put him there impulsively without a plan on how to handle any emotional backlash. 

When the door shut, leaving the two of them alone in Tom’s room, he finally allowed himself to reach out. Harry’s eyes drifted half-shut as Tom brushed a hand over his cheek, stroking, petting his hair, trailing a finger across his parted lips. Tom crouched down, tugging the collar out from under Harry’s high-necked robes. 

With a tap of his wand, Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle appeared in silver letters across the soft emerald leather. “Good boy,” he murmured as Harry let him do as he pleased, green eyes never once moving from Tom’s face. 

He stood, tugging Harry with him by his collar. Tom sat back in his plush armchair before patting his lap. “Up, puppy.” 

Instantly, he had a lapful of squirming boy, all loose limbs and clinging hands. Tom settled him with patting hands and pets, eventually tugging Harry fully against his front, tucking his nose into Tom’s neck with a firm hand in black hair.  

“Shh,” he said, running a soothing hand down Harry’s back, spine sharp through silk robes even after all of Tom’s hard work making sure Harry ate at every meal. “We’ll play next time. For now just relax.” 

He hoped that Harry would fall asleep, letting his mind process and resettle so that he could resurface naturally. And soon, in front of the warm fire and under rhythmic caresses, he did just that. 

… 

“I warned you,” Tom said, hauling Harry into his room by the scruff of his neck. 

Harry squirmed, clearly not understanding the scope of his wrongdoing. “I didn’t—” 

“Quiet,” Tom snapped. Harry had insulted Abraxas at Slughorn’s party, which would have been worth only a stern word if not for the fact that Abraxas’s father was present . That, pared with the fact that Harry was Tom’s guest, reflected extremely badly on Tom and threatened the relationship he was trying to build with the Malfoys.  

“I have told you again and again that you need to watch your words,” Tom said, kicking the door shut behind them and briskly stripping off Harry’s elaborate dress robes. He batted aside the hands that tried to hold them shut without a second glance, shucking the embroidered material to the floor and leaving Harry shivering in his silk shift and little stockings. 

“Tom—” 

“I will silence you,” he threatened, and Harry subsided, already looking penitent. “Right,” Tom rolled up his own sleeves and pulling Harry by the wrist to the bed. “I have worked very hard to secure a place amongst the future leaders of the Wizengamot. That includes a pleasant relationship with the current leaders of the Wizengamot,” he lectured, pulling Harry over his thighs with only a token struggle.  

“I know you don’t like Abraxas,” he said, resting a hand on the pale backside that was so nicely presented to him, framed in fine, delicate silk that was so soft it seemed nearly non-existent. “But I asked you to be on your best behavior tonight, and you agreed. You broke your word. So, I’m going to make sure that you remember that choice every time you sit down for the next few days, and hopefully in the future you will make better choices.” 

Harry let out only a muffled groan from where his face was buried in the comforter, hands already fisted in the soft fabric as he braced for what was coming. 

Tom took a moment to admire him, before drawing his hand back and letting his palm crack across that pale skin. 

Harry yelped, jerking forward. Tom was prepared though, pressing him down with a hand to his lower back. Harry wasn’t especially good at receiving correction passively.  

“So,” he continued nonchalantly as his hand peppered the younger boy’s backside with stinging slaps, “tomorrow you will apologize to Abraxas.” He raised his voice over the whines and the beginning of tears. “You will also write his father with a sincere apology for your conduct.” 

Harry’s leg kicked out after a particularly harsh slap to his upper thigh, and Tom quickly threw a leg over Harry’s to hold him down. Well and truly pinned, Harry’s cries got louder, snotty apologies beginning to float up from the soaked duvet. 

Tom quit lecturing for a few minutes, focusing instead on turning the skin a nice even shade of crimson. It was dark enough that Tom could even see the blush through the translucent fabric of Harry’s undergarments. When Harry went limp, Tom eased up. 

“Good boy,” he soothed, petting a hand over the sore, abused flesh. “I know you can learn.” 

Harry sniffled, turning his head to squint at Tom with one swollen emerald eye. “It is over?” he asked, voice shaky and hoarse. 

Tom smile softly. “Almost.” 

Despair crossed his tear-streaked face, and he sobbed once before burying his face into the mattress. 

Tom let him, pulling out his wand to transfigure a nearby book into the object he wanted. 

With a poke and a muttered incantation, it transformed into a heavy, old fashioned wooden hairbrush. 

There were spells, of course, that would mimic the feel, but Tom found it immensely more satisfying to correct an omega with old fashioned (even muggle) methods. 

“Count these ones for me, sweetheart,” he said. 

Harry whined but turned his head again. His eyes filled with tears again, seeing the hairbrush. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. 

“I know you are,” Tom said, patting him gently. “Ten strokes.” 

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut with that same look of devastation as Tom raised the brush. 

Crack .  

“One!” Harry sobbed as the brush immediately left a red-hot welt in its wake. 

Tom petted a soothing hand down his spine as he struck again. 

“Two—please!” 

“Be good,” Tom reminded him. “You know I won’t cut short a punishment you’ve earned.” 

The next one, two, three blows landed in quick succession, barely giving Harry time to cry out between them, let alone count. Tom liked to focus on the sensitive crease where the backside met the upper thighs, the sit spots that would remind Harry of this lesson every time he sat for a meal or a class or to relax.  

Crack! Crack!  

“Eight nine!” Harry’s voice was almost incomprehensible through his tears. 

For the final blow, Tom let his hand fly with enough force to lift the boy off his feet if Tom hadn’t been holding him down. Harry screamed rather than calling out the final number, and Tom let it go because the boy just looked so penitent and pathetic sprawled across his thighs, sobbing with his throbbing, scarlet arse on display. 

“Alright,” he soothed, “all done, sweetheart, you took that so well.” 

Harry kept sobbing, and Tom knew it was time to get him in a more comfortable position. He shifted Harry off his lap, so he could strip out of his own dress robes, soothing Harry when his cries look on a frantic note at the sense that he was being abandoned.  

Tom’s own underthings were nothing like the sweet silk of Harry’s own. Instead, he wore an old but soft cotton shirt and a pair of boxers. He quickly crawled into bed and pulled Harry up to lay across his chest. The boy’s hands immediately fisted his shirt, his cries taking on a cathartic quality as Tom murmured nonsense and stroked what he could reach, face, hair, shoulders, arms. 

Finally, Harry’s distress died down to the odd sniffle, and Tom felt safe sitting him up to mop up the mess he’d made of his face. 

Harry whined as Tom wiped his face off with a handkerchief but said nothing, swaying like he was going to pass out any second. Tom wouldn’t be surprised—Harry had used a lot of energy in his little display, and it was already late by the time they left the party. 

Tom brought a glass of water to Harry’s lips, making sure he drank at least half before pulling the boy back down into the bed. Harry flinched and whined when the covers dragged over his sore skin, but he settled when Tom got them situated for the night. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, voice so quiet and slurred that Tom almost couldn’t hear it. 

“Shh,” Tom pressed his lips to the lightening scar on Harry’s forehead. “It’s forgotten.” 

Finally, they both drifted off to sleep. 

... 

For the most part, Tom was a little stunned how well Hadrian fit into his life. He got on well enough with most of Tom’s Knights. He had interesting ideas about the future of England’s policies. Even when he vehemently disagreed with Tom, he still gave Tom a different perspective that almost always enhanced his own ideas. 

And Hadrian was stunning on his knees. Tom had enjoyed rendezvous before, but he’d never been hungry for someone like this before. He wanted to mark Hadrian as his, wanted his name on his skin. But the collar would do for now. It didn’t hurt that Hadrian—or Harry as he preferred to be called—was just as insatiable. He slept almost exclusively in Tom’s room now. Originally, Tom had enjoyed the easy access to pleasure, but Hadrian had confessed late one night that he couldn’t sleep in his own bed. 

Since then, he hadn’t left.  

But occasionally, Hadrian pulled a stunt that Tom just could not abide. 

“You turned Avery in for attacking a mudblood,” Tom spat, flinging Harry into the room with such force that the boy collided with his bed and nearly landed in a heap on the floor. “You went to Dumbledore with information you learned from my private meetings, exposed one of my followers, and got them expelled .”  

Harry stared up at his with wet, defiant eyes. “He deserved it. He raped and nearly killed—” 

“Then you come to me!” Tom shouted. “You come to me, and I will decide how to handle the situation! You don’t betray me to the staff; you don’t betray my trust—” 

“You wouldn’t have done anything!” Harry shouted back, cheeks dark, flinging his hands wildly. “You said it yourself, “ mudblood ,”” he drew air quotes with his hands, “—you don’t care that what he did was wrong!” 

“We have rules,” Tom hissed, stalking away from the door to crowd Harry against the bed. “You know what they are—you knew what the consequences of this choice, your choice, would be.” 

“No,” Harry spit. “I refuse—I’m not playing your sick games over this. This isn’t dinner etiquette and accidental snubs. I won’t let you punish me over doing the right thing.” 

“Sick games?” Tom said, voice low, still angry but something silky drifting over it. “I don’t think someone who clearly enjoys our games as much as you do should take such a disparaging tone.” 

Harry’s eyes darkened for a moment before he rallied. “No! Fuck you, Tom, I’m not doing this shit! Avery deserved what he got—more than—and you ,” he shoved Tom’s chest, trying to escape the corner Tom had him trapped in, “are just as bad if you can’t see that!” 

Tom growled, livid that Harry would not only stand his ground when he was clearly in the wrong but shove him. He grabbed Harry’s wrists, spinning him around to bend him over the bed like he had many times before. Harry would regret this. When his backside was scarlet and sore and he was sobbing into Tom’s chest, he’d understand what he’d done wrong. Then Tom would remind him how he should behave in the future. 

Harry fought him, actually shrieking in rage as he twisted and kicked. Tom cursed as he caught an elbow to the nose. He managed to pin one wrist to the bed, holding down most of Harry’s body by just crushing him between Tom and the bed.  

“ Stop moving ,” he demanded, voice harsh. “You’re only making this worse for yourself!” 

With a howl of fury, Harry bucked, actually managing to throw Tom off and scramble to the other side of the room. “You piece of shit,” he sneered, panting and holding his bruised wrist. “I said I’m not fucking playing.” 

The last shreds of Tom’s self-control went up in flames. “Fine,” he hissed, raising his wand and ignoring Harry’s wide-eyed look of fear and betrayal, “you want to be treated like everyone else? Crucio .” 

Harry crumpled under the jet of red light, letting out only a single choked gasp before going utterly silent as he writhed under Tom’s wand. Satisfaction and rage tinged Tom’s vision red, blood pumping in his ears as the dark curse fed him pleasure, stoked his sadism.  

With effort, Tom forced himself to release the spell, not wanting Harry’s brains to leak out his ears. 

The boy lay, gasping and drenched in sweat, curled up on the rug before the fireplace. Tom blinked, and a memory of yesterday overlaid his vision, Harry sprawled on his stomach on that very rug, kicking his stockinged feet as he scowled down at his textbook. He blinked again, and it was gone. 

Impossibly, the silence in the room felt almost awkward. 

Before Tom could figure out what to say, Harry pushed himself up onto his knees with shaking arms. He swallowed, touching a trembling hand to his throat briefly before pulling himself upright. He swayed. Tom watched as Harry stared blankly at the floor before nodding once, resolutely, to himself and walked out of the room without a single glance at Tom. 

… 

Tom was at a loss. The thrill of using an unforgivable had worn off, leaving him feeling drained. The bed was a wreck and somehow even the crackling of the fire sounded judgmental. But what had he been meant to do? Harry had clearly violated not only Tom’s rules, but Slytherin house’s. Problems in-house stayed in-house. They certainly didn’t go to Dumbledore . 

Still, when Tom compared the wide-eyed look of vulnerability and trust Harry’d worn the night before to the fear and betrayal Tom had just incited, something turned in his stomach. Not quite guilt but…regret. Concern that his actions had changed something between them, something Tom had very much enjoyed and might not be able to get back. 

Harry had never walked away before. 

Oh sure, he’d stomped his feet and blustered and made dramatic exits, but he’d never just walked out, so blank and resolute, not even acknowledging Tom’s presence. 

Before Tom could analyze further, a soft knock sounded at his door. Tom straightened up where he’d dropped into his armchair. Waving his wand at the mess, he called, “Come in.” 

When Alphard Black’s head peeked in, looking unusually subdued and nervous, Tom’s eyes narrowed. Alphard and Harry were close, sharing most of their classes and a similar youthful energy. 

“Yes?” 

Alphard flinched, and Tom took a second to dial back the lethal edge to his voice.  

“Alphard,” he said, a touch more warmly, “please, come in. What can I help you with?” 

The boy skirted into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the other armchair only after Tom gestured toward it. “Um, so, Tom…” he trailed, chewing on his lip. “Have you, ah, seen Harry lately?” 

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “He and I had a conversation regarding his choice to inform the faculty about Avery’s actions.” 

“Right, right,” Alphard’s head bobbed. “And this is the only...conversation you’ve had with him that was like this, right?” 

Alphard, though immature and a bit dim, was usually more poised and articulate than this. Tom gathered though that he had seen Harry, clearly post-crutiatus, and was asking if that was the first time Tom had corrected Harry using that curse. But why?  

He debated whether he wanted to answer. If Alphard had seen Harry after he left Tom’s room, he might have information that Tom could use to reaffirm his relationship with the boy. “It is.” 

Oddly, Alphard’s face crumpled a little, a worried line appearing between his eyebrows. 

Tom leaned forward, not bothering to modulate the intensity in his voice. “Why?” 

Alphard jumped. “It’s just,” he blew out a breath, “his hands were shaking.” 

That wasn’t unusual. 

“More than they should have been,” Alphard continued. “They should have eased up within thirty minutes, but they hadn’t. They were kind of…jerking too, every once in a while.” Alphard turned black eyes on him. “That kind of nerve damage doesn’t happen after one session, unless it was really extensive. It comes from repeated, likely untreated, exposure. But who…?” he trailed off. 

Tom’s face went blank. “Leave.” 

He barely noticed Alphard scrambling out of his chair and out the door as the implications hit him. 

Someone had put Harry under the crutiatus before. Enough for Alphard , the most easy-going and unobservant of his followers, to notice the effects. Nerve damage . Tom’s teeth ground together as he stared at his hands. 

Harry hadn’t screamed. 

Harry , soft and playful and so willing to learn from correction that Tom had begun timing punishments so they had at least an hour or two afterwards for him to cry into Tom’s chest and cuddle, hadn’t made a sound under the crutiatus curse. 

Tom barely managed to throw up a silencing ward before he upended the coffee table. He lost himself in a fit of temper like he hadn’t in years, shooting curses, breaking his belongings, cursing filthy words he would have washed Harry’s mouth out for using. 

At last, he stood panting in the destruction with only one word on his tongue. 

Who?  

… 

Hadrian wouldn’t talk to him. Tom had tried to corner him, but Harry just stared at him with blank, distant eyes and walked away. 

At the end of his rope, Tom eventually pulled Alphard into a corner. “What has he said?” 

Alphard slumped, and for the first time Tom noticed that his expression was worn, dark circles under eyes that were a touch red-rimmed. “Nothing.” 

Tom hissed a breath. “You haven’t asked —” 

“No, Tom,” Alphard interrupted in a rare show of bravery. “He hasn’t said a single word since that night. The only time I’ve heard his voice is at night.” Alphard’s eyes were haunted. “He screams.” 

Tom released his arm like he’d been burned. He remembered Harry’s whispered confession that he couldn’t sleep in his own bed, the way he’d been twitchy and easily startled at the beginning of the school year. He hadn’t noticed when exactly Harry had relaxed, reaching for him easily for comfort, joking with Alphard, succeeding in his classes. 

Tom didn’t see Alphard walk away. He just stared at a blank stone wall. 

... 

Harry knew something was wrong with him. He knew Hermione would probably call it a depressive episode with PTSD involvement. She’d gone on a binge of muggle psychology while they were stuck in the tent hunting Horcruxes. She’d wanted to be prepared for the aftermath of a country of veterans. 

Harry felt like he was floating. Not on air, not like when he was on his broom. He felt like he was being carried along on a slow-moving stream of something thick and viscous. People talked to him, and he couldn’t hear them through the liquid in his ears, amplifying his heartbeat. He couldn’t open his mouth to speak or eat, even if he’d wanted to talk, even if he’d felt hungry. 

He was so tired. Harry was pretty sure he had a class right now, but the stream had drawn him up the stairs of the Astronomy tower, and he didn’t resist. Death was mercifully silent. 

Harry blinked, and he was sitting with his legs dangling off the wall. The cold bar of the railing pressed against his chest. His right hand jerked. They kept doing that. If Harry had been bothering to write any of his essays, it would have been an enormous pain. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when a pale face with worried black eyes swam before him. 

He blinked a few times, and words started to filter through the cotton in his ears. “—come down—dinner—you—” 

Harry managed a slow shake of his head before he dropped his chin back to the railing, eyes sliding shut in exhaustion. He wasn’t hungry. 

There was the briefest press of fingertips against his shoulders, then a spark and swearing. 

“—sorry—Tom—have to—” 

Harry sighed as the voice drifted off. 

Goosebumps pebbled his arms as the cool metal railing turned frozen as the sun dipped below the horizon. Harry twitched imperceptibly as the door to the tower swung open again, and for the first time, he wished he had a voice to tell them to go away . 

He closed his eyes as a warm body settled next to him, his only defense. 

“—Hadrian— Harry —” the voice insisted, and Harry heaved a sigh, rolling his head to the side to look into reddish brown eyes. 

Nope . He shut them again. 

He heard his tongue click in annoyance. Good, Harry hoped he was annoyed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Harry forced his eyes open, squinting suspiciously at his—he didn’t even know what he was anymore.  

Brown eyes stared seemingly into his soul. “Harry, I’m sorry. I lost my temper, and I shouldn’t have. Will you let me fix this?” 

There was no fixing Harry. Harry didn’t get to have good things. He was dumb to ever think he could. 

“— Harry—” the boy repeated, and Harry realized he’d zoned out again. “Okay,” Tom sighed, “I can’t leave you here, so I’m going to have to touch you, alright? I know you probably don’t want me too. You can zap me like you did Alphard if it becomes too much.” 

Narrow fingered hands tugged him back from the railing, and Harry knew he should be mad about it, but he couldn’t resist the part of him that relaxed into the touch, that urged him to tuck his cold nose into the crook of the boy’s neck as he lifted Harry into his arms. 

Harry dozed as they navigated down to the dungeons. He came back to awareness as the arms holding him tried to lower him into his four-poster bed. Fear washed over him so strongly that his limbs had strength for the first time in days. Harry scrambled to cling to the warm body that was pulling away from him, locking his arms and legs around the boy, not even aware of the distressed whining noises that escaped his mouth. 

“Whoa, shh okay,” a low voice—his favorite voice—soothed, hitching him up and patting him gently. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

“Is he—?” Harry tensed as a new voice chimed in, and he tightened his grip around the boy—Tom—as his anxiety spiked. 

“Quiet,” Tom snapped, voice thin from irritation and the breath Harry was squeezing out of him with the iron clamp of his thighs. 

Next thing he knew, they were walking through the door to a better room, one that smelled right and had no one else in it. Harry breathed deeply, risking a peek. He caught a glimpse of green armchairs and a plush rug before a roaring fireplace, and Harry froze, hands giving a jerk as he was immersed in the feeling of being tortured by someone he trusted—  

The voice cursed, tucking Harry’s face back into the crook of his neck and murmuring a spell.  

“Okay,” the voice said, sounding oddly resigned. “Try now.” 

Harry mashed his face deeper into the confusing human being who had scared him but was also the only thing making him feel safe. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Tom tugged gently on Harry’s hair, pulling him out of his hiding hole. “There’s my good boy. See?” 

Harry opened his eyes a crack. The room had changed. Instead of two armchairs, there was a plush loveseat and a tall bookshelf. Everything had been changed to rich crimson and gold. Harry was still dazed, but he had a niggling feeling that later he would find this hysterical.  

He didn’t realize his lips had twitched until Tom sighed. “Yeah, you brat. The things I do for you.” 

Slightly more comfortable, Harry yawned so hard his jaw cracked, and he laid his head back on Tom’s chest. 

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Harry frowned, reaching up and covering Tom’s mouth with his hand. It was time to sleep. 

The boy sighed but gave in, carrying Harry to the bed and—with no small amount of fussing—managed to strip them both of their robes and get them under the covers. 

Harry was asleep in seconds. 

... 

Tom had never heard one of Harry’s nightmares. He didn’t have them when he slept with Tom. 

Tom woke to screaming. 

He lurched upright, wand in hand, before realizing what was happening. He dropped his wand on the nightstand, grabbing hold of Harry’s wrists where they were swinging wildly, trying to strike an invisible attacker.  

“Harry, Harry ,” he said, trying to wake the boy gently. 

“No,” Harry moaned, face screwed up. “Please—Hermione, wait—!” 

Hermione? Tom tucked the name away for later. “Harry, you’re dreaming.” He pinned Harry’s wrists above his head so he could hold them out of the way with one hand. He tapped Harry’s cheek with the other. “Harry, wake up.” 

With a gasp and a crackle of green magic, Tom was thrown out of the bed, narrowly catching himself before he hit the opposite wall. “Shit,” he swore, gasping. Harry’s magic was something else. 

On the bed, Harry was hunched over his knees, face hidden as he panted. His hands were trembling wildly, and Tom felt something he didn’t recognize in the pit of his stomach.  

“Can I touch you?” he asked, kneeling on the bed. Harry shook his head. Then he nodded. After waiting a second to see if the answer changed again, he pulled Harry into his arms. He soothed the tremors as best he could, pulling Harry’s hand away from where he had them pinned between their chests and running his thumbs down the twitching muscles. Eventually, Harry sunk back into an uneasy slumber. 

This cycle repeated every night after. During the day, Harry was both clingy and distant, non-verbal and suspicious of Tom but anxious and teary if he tried to leave. With everything going on, Tom hadn’t noticed how long it had been since Harry had eaten or drunk anything until he passed out after standing to follow Tom out of his room. After that, he’d added nutrition to his every growing list of things he had to do to keep Harry from falling apart. 

Frankly, Tom was losing his mind. 

He wasn’t sleeping at night, his assignments were taking a hit, and he hadn’t looked for the Chamber in weeks. He delegated what he could, but he could tell his Knights were confused why he was even indulging this behavior. 

Tom couldn’t tell them the odd feeling in his stomach was telling him it was his fault and so it was up to him to fix it. Tom just didn’t know how . 

It was Alphard of all people who intervened. 

“Harry,” he said, more sternly than Tom had ever heard. “We’re going flying.” 

Harry ignored him, burying his face into Tom’s shoulder.  

Alphard set his jaw, and Tom remembered that this bouncy, golden retriever of a wizard was also a Black. He whipped out his wand, and Tom barely had time to blink before he hit Harry with a stinging hex. 

Harry jumped, whirling around with more life in his eyes than Tom had seen in weeks. He glared at his friend in shock and silent rage, jaw still fused shut. 

“I’m sorry,” Alphard said, sickly sweet, “did that come out like a request? It wasn’t. Get. Up.” 

...   

Harry was self-aware enough to realize that he was either going to blast Alphard through a wall or go outside with him.  

Harry didn’t want to go outside. 

But he also didn’t want to give his best friend (in the timeline) a concussion, even if he deserved it. 

He ignored the relief on Alphard’s face as he stomped past, headed for the greens. Harry didn’t feel like flying, but he doubted Alphard really did either. When Alphard moved toward the quidditch pitch, Harry caught his arm, shaking his head. He led the other boy toward the forbidden forest instead, walking just inside the boundary.  

Some of the tension he’d been carrying around drained as he leaned back against one of the (possibly malevolent) trees. He felt like there were eyes on him constantly in the castle these days. It was unnervingly reminiscent of his first timeline. Maybe Harry was always destined to be a freak. 

“Why won’t you speak?” Alphard interrupted his musing. 

Harry eyed him. Then, he tapped a finger to his throat. 

Alphard’s eyes widened. “You can’t?” 

Harry raised a hand and tipped it back and forth.  

“Mostly can’t but also don’t want to?” 

Harry nodded with a sigh. 

Alphard leaned against a tree himself. “Is it because you don’t want to talk to Tom?” 

Harry grimaced. Alphard could be annoyingly perceptive.  

“You know you can talk to other people and still choose not to talk to him. I,” Alphard paused, “I know what he did.” 

He smiled weakly when Harry’s eyes zeroed in on him. “If you want to talk about it.” 

Harry’s fingers drummed on his wand. Without warning, he hurled a nonverbal bludgeoning curse at a nearby tree. Bark flew, and Alphard flinched back. Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it as he followed it up with an instinctual hiss of parseltongue that created a stream on something disconcertingly like fiendfyre. It coalesced into the form of an enormous snake, devouring the poor tree Harry had aimed his frustrations at.  

Alphard gaped, irises rings with white all the way around. “You’re a parselmouth?” 

Oops, Harry forgot he didn’t know that. Everyone had known back in his original timeline.  

Harry hesitated, working his jaw a little to see if he could get away with answer. 

“Yes,” he managed, voice stilted. 

Alphard made an impatient “what the hell man” gesture with his hands, and Harry shrugged.  

“There’s not much more to it?” his voice cracked with disuse, and he winced. “I set a python on my cousin once when we were kids. That was the first time I realized.” 

Alphard shook his head. “That’s—I can’t believe it. We all thought Tom was—“ he snapped his mouth shut, and Harry pretended not to notice the slip.  

“Anyway,” Alphard said, clearing his throat, “are you okay? Because you really scared me there for a while.” 

Harry stared down at the ground, feeling the liquid rising again, threatening to pull his hold on the present with it.  

“Harry,” Alphard put a hand on his arm like he could see him drifting away. “It’s okay to be upset. I know what he did—he’s done it to me,” he shrugged. “I’m not really mad about it, just a little scared of him. But our relationship isn’t like what you two have. It makes sense that it would be different.” 

Harry pressed his lips together as they threatened to tremble. Did it? Why did Harry get to expect safety with Tom when others didn’t? How could he care so much about someone who could do that? 

Alphard with his overactive empathy seemed to sense his turmoil. “Look, Orion and Abraxas and I, all the others? We agreed to the relationships we have with Tom, one way or another. We’re getting something out of it, and we know what Tom expects in return. But that wasn’t the agreement between you two, was it?” 

Harry slid down the tree, sniffing to hold back the sobs that wanted to break free. He hadn’t thought so. He didn’t know what exactly their agreement was, but he hadn’t thought it was that. 

“So why haven’t you told him that?” Alphard asked. His tone didn’t hold any judgement. 

“I—“ he choked on the lump in his throat. “I still…want to feel safe with him. I kind of do. But if we talk about it, I can’t pretend that it was someone else that did that to me. And then I don’t feel safe.” 

Alphard sighs. “Yeah. I get that. I mean,” he amended, “I don’t get it, but I get it. You can’t keep doing this though. You know that.” 

Harry nodded miserably. He knew Tom was at his wit’s end, and Harry wasn’t any better. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. 

“You talk to him,” Alphard said. “Or you walk away.” 

Harry considered it for a moment. Considered just leaving, trying to keep Tom from going dark side from the sidelines. Maybe he could take up the Peverell Lordship he was entitled to, fight for the Isolationist policies so Tom wouldn’t have to fight for them in other ways. That still left the Horcruxes though. And honestly, the thought of leaving Tom made him want to curl up in a ball and never move.  

He missed his collar.  

He’d taken off the soft leather that night, barely able to look at the elegant script. Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.  

It had felt like a taunt. Now though, his throat felt bare and exposed. He kept raising a hand to fiddle with something that was no longer there.  

“I’m going to talk to him,” Harry said finally, scratching lightly at the exposed skin of his throat. “Can you deal with me for one more night though? I don’t want to do it right now. I’ll put up silencing charms.” 

“You will not put up silencing charms,” Alphard said, sternly through the relief on his face. “I’ll wake you if they get bad.” 

Harry’s cheeks heated with shame, but he nodded, recognizing the stubborn tone.  

“Alright,” Alphard clapped his hands, then pointed at the demolished tree. “So when are you going to teach me how to do that?”