Work Text:
Hermione is staring at Tom again.
Harry knows he shouldn't be affected by this - it's common knowledge to anyone in Gryffindor that Hermione has a crush on him. But for a reason he can't - or refuses to - explain, the sickening feeling of jealousy bubbles in his gut at the lovestruck stares Hermione is sending towards the Slytherin table.
He knows Tom is straight; he's slept with at least half of the female population of their fifth year, so Harry knows he doesn't stand a chance against his best friend. She is attractive, he supposes. Her bushy hair and dark skin are admirable, and her high cheekbones cause her smile to blind anyone who witnesses it. Her lips are full and round, unlike Harry's, and her eyes are the deepest shade of brown.
Like he said, he doesn't stand a chance.
Ron notices Harry's dejected posture, and smiles sympathetically at him. Unlike anyone else, Ron knows about Harry's hopeless crush on the Slytherin, and also knows that Hermione is crushing just as bad. Ron's blue eyes sparkle with regret for not being able to help his friend, as well as the torn feeling of wanting both friends to have the best.
In this situation, it's difficult.
Hermione is oblivious to Harry's pain.
"His eyes are so gorgeous," she gushes in a light whisper, her voice awestruck and admiring. Harry scoffs inwardly. As if he doesn't know that. "And his hair, it looks so soft. I just wanna pet him. Oh god, that's weird, isn't it?"
Harry knows exactly what she means, but just shrugs dejectedly and pushes the eggs around on his plate. He sighs, standing and brushing crumbs off of his jeans. Ron watches him as Harry sends him a look of 'leave me be', whilst Hermione barely even notices he isn't sitting anymore.
He leaves the great hall - breakfast never did appeal to him.
He sighs again once he's in the entrance hall, and runs a hand through his dishevelled bed hair. At this realisation, he decides to head up to the Gryffindor dormitories to get changed out of his casual muggle pyjamas and into his school robes. He has Defence Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge first period, and he doesn't want to deal with the old toad criticising his appearance.
As if he doesn't do that himself already.
He mutters the password to the common room, stepping through the portrait and up the steps to his shared dorm, pulling on the correct clothes and tousling his hair into a generally acceptable "style", if you can even call it that.
He distinctly keeps his eyes away from the second drawer below the bathroom sink as he brushes his teeth, refusing to give in to his addiction at this point in time.
Later, he promises himself.
He stares at his reflection after he's finished with general hygiene, scrutinising his looks with disgust.
This is why Tom doesn't like you.
Harry sighs for what seems like the millionth time that day, dropping his eyes down to the drawer, vaguely considering giving in now...
No! People will see, his mind screams, and he's forced to agree. He can't let people see.
And with that thought in mind, he walks out of the bathroom without a second glance at the drawer.
~
After a painfully long hour of insults and snide jabs at his class performance, Harry stumbles out of his defence against the dark arts class, heaving a sigh of relief as he remembers he has History of Magic next. Perfect, that class is basically a free period.
He walks slowly down the hall, knowing the ancient professor won't bat an eyelid if he's late. The halls empty as he travels, noise dying down until all he can hear are his own footsteps echoing around the bare walls of the looming castle, as well as the nagging at the back of his mind constantly reminding him of his failures.
If anyone knew Harry thought this, they'd dismiss it as self-pity.
After all, the Boy-Who-Lived has a perfect life, right?
Right?
Wrong, a voice hisses in his head, and he winces involuntarily at the intrusion. He knows it's only him, a part of him that is dedicated to making him feel as bad about himself as possible.
It succeeds.
Harry half-heartedly pushes open the door to his History of Magic classroom, avoiding Ron's questioning stares as he sits near the back, next to said redhead.
"You alright, mate?" he asks in a gentle whisper, his tone sincere and welcoming.
"Yup." Harry lies through his teeth, the untruth burning the back of his throat.
Ron doesn't look convinced, but realises that there's probably a reason that Harry isn't telling him about it, and decides to leave Harry to his thoughts, to which he is both grateful for and agitated by.
Can't you see? I'm not okay! he inwardly screams, wanting desperately for Ron to question him more.
He doesn't care.
Ron has always been a good friend to Harry - the duo have been inseparable since they met at the station five years ago, and Harry couldn't ask for a better companion. Him and Hermione are close, but don't share the same brotherly bond he and Ron do. Ron has always been there for Harry when he needed him, and vice versa.
Ron is a true friend.
If only his mind would let him believe it.
"You missed the first part of the lecture, but I got some rough notes you can copy. It's about the goblin revolt, and we did that second year, so you should be all good." Ron whispers to him, although it is unnecessary; the ghost professor can't care less if his students are talking or not. Nevertheless, Harry keeps his voice down too.
"Thanks," he says gratefully, his tone hushed and filled with gratitude. Ron just grins at him, nudging him affectionately.
Harry tries to concentrate, he really does. But once he has finished copying those notes, his attention is stolen by a certain dark-haired boy in the third row. Said boy is sniggering about something with his friends, whom Harry barely registers as Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.
He also notices Hermione, sitting directly behind Tom, staring into the back of his head dreamily. Harry gulps harshly, forcing his gaze back down to the parchment in front of him. He strains his ears to hear the ghost professor's drawling voice, but hears nothing but Tom’s smooth hushed laughs a few seats away.
Ron nudges him again, and Harry looks up to see his friend staring at him in sympathy. Harry tries not to gag at the expression. He's done with sympathy.
"Mate, you can't go on like this. Either tell him how you feel-" he is cut off by a disbelieving snort from Harry, but continues on anyway. "-or try to get over him. I know it's easier said than done, but I hate to see you like this. You and 'Mione are both my best friends, and I don't want to see either of you hurt. Just... don't let him rule your life, okay?" Ron pleads, staring desperately into Harry's avoiding green eyes.
"It's not that easy, Ron..." Harry protests weakly, resting his head in his hands, fingers clutching his hair tightly and causing a slight sting in his scalp as he pulls at the roots.
"I know, I know... I just wish I knew how to help." his friend murmurs regretfully, also running a hand through his own flaming red hair.
"Me too," Harry mutters, before lifting his head and finding his eyes unwillingly drifting over to Tom.
To his surprise - and admittedly, slight horror - his gaze is met with a deep brown one, the penetrating look leaving Harry breathless. The eyes are curious, though they snap away quickly as he notices Harry looking back.
Tom Riddle doesn't turn around for the rest of the class.
~
"His smile is just breathtaking," Hermione gushes, appraising words tumbling from her lips as her fork nearly misses her mouth due to her distractedness. Harry barely even nods - he's too busy staring glumly at his food, swishing around baked beans and soggy mashed potatoes with a knife as Hermione rambles.
"And his skin is so perfect... he's flawless." she breathes, looking quite flustered. Harry tries not to roll his eyes - after all, the same thoughts have crossed his mind at least a million times. "Harry, why is he staring at you?"
At this, Harry's head snaps up in the direction of the slytherin table, and sure enough, Tom Riddle is looking at Harry Potter. Harry's breath catches in his throat as Tom’s eyes examine his facial expression, before frowning slightly at what he finds.
"Harry, what's going on?" Hermione demands, showing Harry the first bit of attention in weeks.
Harry shrugs, looking back down again in an attempt to hide his flushing face.
Suddenly, there's a stinging pain across his cheek, and he staggers back in his seat.
He stares at Hermione in shock.
"What. Is. Going. On?" she grinds out between her teeth, brown eyes flashing furiously at Harry. At this point, Ron has seen enough.
"Hermione, what the actual fuck? This is the first time you've even addressed Harry in weeks, and you fucking slap him?! And for what? He didn't even do anything!" The red-haired boy explodes, standing up. Hermione looks as shocked as Harry feels at his outburst, before standing too and crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.
"He knows I like Tom, and there's something going on between them! I want to know what!" she growls, hands forming fists enclosed in her folded arms. Harry stays slumped in his seat, not looking at either of them.
"Stop," he says quietly, and Ron immediately looks down at him. Guilt flashes across his face as he sees Harry's sadness, and he sits down again before looking up at Hermione angrily.
"I think you should leave, 'Mione." he spits, and Hermione stands still for a moment behind the bench before stalking out of the hall.
By this point, Harry wants to fall into the void because there are too many people staring. Ron seems to notice his discomfort, because he rises from his seat once again and turns to face the rest of the hall, whose hungry eyes are trained on their spot at the Gryffindor table.
"What are all you sods looking at?" he snarls, and everyone promptly goes back to eating their food, although the whispered rumours don't cease. Ron sits back down again, this time next to Harry instead of opposite him. He doesn't say anything, and Harry is glad. He doesn't feel like talking.
At that precise moment, a person is heard dropping onto the bench directly in front of Harry. He doesn't raise his eyes - doesn't need to. He can see the Slytherin green school robes, can smell Tom’s scent from across the table.
"Can we help you, Riddle?" Ron asks, though there is no malice in his tone.
"Why did Granger slap you?" Tom asks, blatantly ignoring Ron and focusing his attention on Harry.
Harry shrugs dismissively, picking up his fork and swirling his food around once again. Apparently, this is not the reaction Tom wants.
The fork is ripped out of his grasp, and Harry flinches at the sudden movement. Tom seems to notice, because when he places the cutlery back down, it's much gentler and doesn't cause any sound.
"What happened?" he asks, though this time Harry senses he isn't the one that is being talked to.
Ron shrugs beside him. "I would tell you, but it's not my place. Go ask Hermione if you wanna know so bad." he says bluntly.
Harry looks up through his eyelashes to get a glimpse of Tom’s reaction, and is surprised to see a frown of disapproval.
"I'd rather not. She's been odd lately - I don't like it." he replies just as bluntly, and Harry stiffens.
Ron probably senses Harry's discomfort, and promptly stands up, dragging Harry along with him by the forearm.
"If you'll excuse us, we'll be going now. Nice chat, really. Au revoir." And with that, he pulls a stumbling Harry behind him and into the entrance hall, leaving behind the stolen stares of rabid students and the questioning expression of Tom Riddle.
~
Harry realises where they're going before they get there.
"Why are you taking me to the Room of Requirement?" he asks, trying to keep up with Ron's fast pace.
"Because," ron starts, slightly out of breath due to his rushed walking. "I figured you wouldn't want to be around Hermione for a while. we should probably let her cool off, she seemed pretty mad."
Harry can't argue with that logic.
They make it to the seventh floor, and Ron paces back and forth in front of where the door usually appears hurriedly, eyes scrunched up in concentration.
The door eventually reveals itself, and Harry is once again dragged in by his arm.
Inside sits two plush crimson armchairs studded with gold, a low table equipped with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a grand fireplace that houses a roaring flame, and deep red carpet that engulfs their feet as they walk on it.
Harry sits hunched over in one armchair, Ron occupying the one across from him. Harry brings his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them tightly. He's aware of the protruding bones in his shoulders as his back curls, as well as the sharp hip bones that dig into his thighs as he sits in this position.
Ron must be aware of it too, because he sighs regretfully and sinks back into his chair, staring at Harry in sorrow.
"Harry, what have you eaten today?" Comes the dreaded question.
Harry shrugs, but he knows exactly what he's eaten.
"Harry," there's a warning in ron's voice that threatens, ' If you don't tell me i'm summoning Veritaserum right now and forcing you to spit it out. ' Harry sighs, and avoids Ron's eyes as he speaks.
"Two mouthfuls of eggs and half a spoonful of mash."
Harry waits for the inevitable judgement, the anger of not taking care of himself properly, but it doesn't come. Instead, Ron just sighs again before standing. Harry looks up, confused, as Ron pulls him out of his chair and engulfs him in a hug.
"You're my best friend Harry, I hate seeing you do this to yourself," Ron whispers, and Harry's heart breaks as he hears Ron's voice crack slightly with sadness.
Look what you've done.
"I'm sorry," he whispers back brokenly, trying to fight the tears that threaten to fall down his cheeks and into Ron's robes.
"Oh Harry, you don't need to be sorry. I know it's hard. You're under a lot of pressure. But just remember I'm always here for you when you need to talk, and I want to help you gain your confidence back." Ron replies, pulling away a bit and holding Harry by the shoulders so that he can still look him earnestly in the eye. "Please, just promise me one thing."
Harry shifts uncomfortably at his words. "I don't know..."
"Don't worry, I'm not just gonna be like 'stop it', because that's dumb and awfully close-minded. I'm just asking you to promise me that you'll try to get better. Try to eat at least two meals a day, trust me, it'll do you a world of good. I know it's gonna be hard, and you won't want to, but please, if you're not doing it for yourself, do it for me. Do it for Tom. do it for Remus, and Sirius, and 'Mione. We all love you Harry, and we want to see you happy and healthy."
Harry laughs bitterly, no humour in the sound whatsoever. "Hermione hates me."
"That's not true. Hermione loves you, just like I do. She's just letting her crush get in the way of her friendship. But honestly Harry, never doubt our love for you," he says earnestly, before grinning slightly. "No homo." he jokes.
Harry laughs weakly, appreciating Ron's attempt at humour. "Thanks, Ron. I appreciate everything you've done for me. and... I promise I'll try."
Ron smiles. "Thank you, and don't mention it. Now, let's sit down, and I'll summon us some food. Don't look at me like that, you don't have to eat all of it - baby steps, Harry. Take your time."
You don't deserve him as a friend.
Oh, shut up. He thinks back, the first time he's ever tried to fight the voice.
~
After half a plate of hot pie and two mugs of hot chocolate, (as well as a pint of butterbeer) Harry and Ron exit the Room of Requirement, just in time for their third period, Potions with Snape. They hurry through the bustling halls, Ron keeping a firm grip on Harry's robes - he knows Harry doesn't like crowds - and Harry trying not to trip over his own feet as they speed walk to their class.
They join the line outside of the classroom, the biting chill of the dungeons causing Harry to shiver slightly. He's always cold. The duo spot Hermione at the front of the line, and Harry doesn't miss the guilty stare she sends him as they take their place at the end of the queue. Just as everyone gets in place, the heavy wooden door to the classroom swings open, and Snape is suddenly ushering them inside.
The students each take their places at their desks. There are no stools today, indicating that they will be doing a practical. The room is silent as Snape scribbles down instructions and ingredients on the blackboard, though Harry can't bring himself to pay attention. His gaze is focused two rows ahead of him, where Tom and Parkinson are sharing a workbench.
"Potter? Do you know?" Snape asks menacingly, his harsh voice cutting through Harry's daydream. He can't help the tremors that run though his body as all attention is focused on him, and he drifts his eyes down to the worn dark wood of his desk, breath coming quick and shallow.
Just as he's about to open his mouth to shakily ask Snape to repeat the question, a smooth voice cuts him off.
"Infusion of wormwood and boomslang skin. A sprinkle of moonstone powder is added to balance out the two, ensuring that we don't die a painful, smoky death." explains Tom Riddle, appearing bored from his slumped posture.
"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for making someone else do your work for you, Potter, and thirty more added to Slytherin for the perfect answer, Mr Riddle. Pay attention, Potter, or I won't hesitate to give you a zero on this assessment, whether you do it perfectly or not." Snape drawls, looking irritated that he can't jeer at the boy for getting the wrong answer.
Harry shrugs apologetically, unable to make his voice work. Snape sneers at him once more before turning back to the board, writing down what Tom said.
After getting down all the information needed to make the potion, Snape begins to assign the groups.
"Parkinson and Granger, Weasley and Zabini, Longbottom and Finnigan, Thomas and Bones, Johnson and Bell, Potter and Riddle-"
Harry freezes up at the last two names, eyes wide and fearful as they stare at his desk.
No no no this can't be happening...
"Alright, Potter?" asks the dreaded silky voice appearing beside him. Harry doesn't answer, keeping his eyes trained downwards. "What, are you mute now? Famous Harry Potter, reduced to silence after his best friend slaps him. Kind of pathetic, isn't it?"
Harry doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, he speaks up. "I'm not mute..." he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.
"Might as well be. I can barely hear you. Come on, get up. I need you to get the ingredients. Do exactly as I say and hopefully we won't fail. Though, I won't put it past you to fuck up something in this assessment." Tom demands, shoving Harry towards the supply cupboard.
Harry returns a moment later with the required ingredients, and Tom gets to work ordering them according to when they need to be added. He makes Harry peel, chop, slice and dice various gross ingredients, as he adds them in and does whatever else is needed.
Harry's mind keeps drifting far away from their potions classroom, causing him to almost lose a finger. Tom insults his clumsiness, snatching away the knife and continuing to chop the boomslang skin how he deems fit. Harry stands back, not wanting to mess up further.
Around half an hour later, their potion is complete, and Tom is smirking proudly at his work. Harry can't take any credit; he mostly stood back during the entire thing and let Tom do the work in this one, knowing he would only land them with a fail. Their stools magically appear once again, and they each take a seat in their groups as the professor inspects every pair's concoctions.
As Snape criticises Seamus and Neville's potion, Harry finds himself lost once again in his hatred towards himself, scowling at his far too fat wrists that lay on the table in front of him.
He's tired of feeling so distant - he feels as though he's constantly in a daze, a dark cloud looming in front of his vision and making him seem a million miles away. It's like he's trapped in a bubble, unable to be seen or heard due to the thick skin of it.
He's brought back down to earth as Tom pokes his side, finger directly hitting a sharp bone instead of soft skin. The brown-haired boy frowns at this, and Harry's breath catches in fear of him saying anything.
Thankfully, he doesn't.
"Why do you look like you're planning a murder?" Tom asks, watching Harry's face curiously. Harry shrugs, although he finds this quite amusing on the inside.
Oh, no reason, just casually planning my own death, no need to worry...
"Why are you looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy?" he shoots back.
"Because you're acting like it." Tom mutters, turning away from Harry and instead focusing his attention on the approaching teacher. Harry tries to ignore the spite in Tom’s tone, also lifting his eyes to Snape.
He leaves the class ten minutes later, a score of 85 on the assessment, and heads towards Transfiguration with McGonagall.
~
Harry is just walking back to his dormitory after class, planning on skipping dinner, when he runs back into Tom Riddle.
"Watch where you're going, scarhead," he sneers, but Harry doesn't answer. He just continues walking, head down and hands shoved in his pockets.
Jogging footsteps can be heard behind him, though Harry doesn't stop his journey, even when that same voice calls out again, this time right next to him. "Hey," he starts, and Harry only nods in answer. "Where are you going?"
"Dorm," Harry replies shortly.
"But it's time for dinner," Tom says, and Harry nods again in acknowledgment. "So why aren't you going to the great hall?"
"Why aren't you?" Harry retorts, turning a corner and heading up the steps that lead to the portrait.
"I had to drop off my books in the common room. That's not the point, now answer my question." the Slytherin insists, and Harry sighs.
"I’d really rather not," he murmurs, and stops before the portrait, waiting for his crush to leave him alone.
"Well, tough shit. I’m following you in if you don't tell me."
At this, Harry snaps. "Why do you even care? Why does anyone even care? Who cares about me? Why can't everyone just leave me alone and stop acting like I'm gonna break at any minute?!" he shouts, then immediately widens his eyes in surprise at himself. "I’m sorry," he whispers.
"Don't worry about it, you obviously had to get it off your chest. But if you really wanna know, I care because you're acting strange. You never eat at mealtimes, you hardly ever look anyone in the eye, your shoulders are always slumped over, like you're trying to shrink away from everyone, you've gotten super jittery around crowds and large groups of people, you hate when someone looks at you for too long, you're way too skinny... what's happened?" Tom rushes out, words spilling from his mouth as if unintentionally.
Harry gapes at him in silence. Then, voice low, he asks, "Why do you notice all this? You barely ever spare a glance at me,"
Tom shifts uncomfortably under Harry's astounded gaze, and jabs his head in the direction of the Gryffindor portrait.
"Maybe not the time to answer that in the middle of the hall where anyone can hear..." he mumbles, his eyes by meeting Harry's.
Harry has never seen him with his guard down like this.
"Uh, sure... Follow me in."
He speaks the password to the portrait, and steps through the entrance when it reveals itself, Tom following after him. Said boy looks around at the common room for a moment, studying the room in distaste.
"There's too much red ..." he mutters to himself, before following Harry once again up to the dorms. Harry leads him over to his own bed, then sits down opposite the Slytherin in the windowsill. Rain pounds against the glass relentlessly, but Harry doesn't let that distract him from the boy in front of him.
Tom sighs, looking down at his lap.
"I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do..." he trails off, looking up at Harry. "I guess I should start with how I know you're not okay. I've been... watching you, I guess you could say, ever since first year. Back then, you were so confident and free. You smiled a lot more, and it was beautiful to see. You were always so happy. But then, it got to fourth year. I don't know what happened during the summer, but something was wrong with you when you came back to Hogwarts. You didn't smile, you seemed to have lost all of your confidence, and you always looked so sad. It broke my heart. I've been trying to figure out what's wrong, and I know that's probably confusing for you. Tom Riddle, caring about Harry Potter? it's ridiculous, right? I guess it's because... I've always been interested in you, I suppose. I-I notice you more than I should, and I've found that I like things about you that I shouldn't. Your eyes are so green, they're beautiful. Your skin is so smooth, and the tone of it is perfect. this is gonna sound creepy, but you have a really nice mouth. I suppose this is probably really weird for you, because I'm meant to hate you... but I can't bring myself to. I've noticed your friend Granger constantly staring at me, but I feel nothing for her. I don't think i even like girls. I know the rumours about me basically being a man whore, but it's not true. I figure I might as well tell you all this now, it's not like it'll change anything. You'll still hate me, and I'll keep wishing you were mine. You don't have to tell me what happened that summer if you don't want to, I won't pressure you to do anything - ever. Just know I'm here if you need someone to talk to outside of Weasley and Granger..." Tom trails off, brown eyes staring intently at the carpet.
Harry sits in dumbstruck silence. All this fucking time he's wanted Tom, and the boy has wanted him back?
"That's creepy, because one of the reasons I've been so fucking depressed is because I thought you were straight and hated me. As well as... what happened... but I can't talk about that yet." Harry says, voice quiet and shy.
Tom’s head snaps up, and he stares at Harry in shock. "You mean..." he doesn't finish the sentence, but Harry knows what he's going to say, and nods. Tom’s mouth falls open, but quickly shuts itself again. Then, he speaks again. "I don't expect you to be able to talk about what happened yet, don't worry..." he says distractedly, clearly thinking of something else.
He chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck anxiously.
"So... What do we do about this?" he asks, and Harry just shakes his head in an 'I don't know' way. "Well... I don't want you to be murdered by Granger, but also the look on her face when we tell her..." he trails off, an evil smirk on his face.
"You want to tell people?" Harry asks, slightly surprised. He had been thinking that Tom would want to keep things secret, though he supposes he had been wrong.
A worried look crosses Tom’s once gleeful face, and you can practically see his confidence drop.
"Erm… Yes, unless you didn't want to, that's fine too, I just thought that-"
"Tom," Harry interrupts, smiling. "I don't mind. I thought you'd wanna keep it secret because of your reputation or whatever, but if not, that's fine too."
Tom smiles back, relief flooding his face as he stares at the boy in front of him.
"So... Harry Potter, would you like to be Tom Riddle’s boyfriend?" he asks, determined not to let his nervousness show. Harry chuckles at his wasted efforts, and stands from the window sill. He walks over to Tom slowly, heart slamming in his chest, and pulls him to his feet.
Tom stands, in somewhat of a daze, and before he knows it suddenly his face is inches away from Harry's. His breath catches in his throat as he catches sight of Harry's eyes up so close, the flecks of yellow mixed in with the emerald green and the outer rim of faded gold. He smiles softly, and Harry does the same, before leaning forward and gently pressing their lips together in a soft kiss.
Harry's mind is full of colours as he kisses the Slytherin, heart beating a mile a minute, and he finds himself not in control of his hands as they snake up to Tom’s shoulders to his neck to his face, the skin warm and inviting.
They pull away after a few seconds, both grinning wildly.
"So? Yes or no, Potter?" Tom asks teasingly, already knowing what Harry's response will be.
Harry rolls his eyes with a fond smile gracing his lips. "Shut up, Riddle."
And he can't help but lean in again.
~
"So, Hermione..." Harry starts nervously, receiving a hidden thumbs up from Ron. The bushy-haired girl barely even glances at him, eyes never leaving Tom - his Tom. "Hermione."
She turns to him somewhat reluctantly after hearing the urgent tone in his voice, and as soon as she sees his anxiousness she immediately starts firing questions.
"Harry? What's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen? Have you been hurt?" she demands, and before Harry even has a chance to begin to explain, a certain brown-haired slytherin plops down next to Harry, swinging a robed arm around his shoulders possessively.
"Hello darling," he says, voice honey smooth and gloating. Harry smiles to himself at the outraged look on Hermione's face.
"W-What's going on, harry?" she whispers, eyes not leaving Tom’s grinning expression. Tom kisses Harry's temple lovingly, and Harry's heart flutters at the gesture.
"What's going on is, he has a boyfriend. And it's me. Voila," he says the last part proudly, using one hand to gesture towards himself in a sweeping motion whilst the other stays stationed over Harry's shoulders.
Hermione finally looks down, heat flooding her face. "oh... oh my god!" she suddenly shouts, lifting her face once again to Harry's, guilt painting her expression. "Harry, I’m so sorry! You should have said something!" she cries, tears pooling in her deep brown eyes.
Harry smiles slightly, shrugging. He doesn't really have words.
"What do you say we get out of here?" asks Tom's voice in his ear, warm and breathy and husky. Harry grins, standing up from the table and causing Tom’s arm to fall from his shoulders. He grabs that arm, pulling Tom up with him.
"Be back in like, I dunno, an hour?" Harry says distractedly.
Tom smirks. "Make it never." Harry bats his arm at that, and begins to drag him from the hall.
"Finally," Tom breathes when they get to the room of requirement. "All mine."