Harry Potter and the Time Fluke

Hogsmead Date Part 1

He rolled out of bed and hurried to the showers, eager to hide the rapidly appearing, happy blush that had begun to stain his face. It seemed today was supposed to be a date—their first date—and Harry was feeling every kind of emotion he knew he should be feeling before a first date and yet never had. Anxiousness, excitement, apprehension, and more had come together and the proverbial crock-pot of feelings left his stomach in knots and his heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

It wasn't exactly pleasant.

However, his giddy nervousness was not unfounded. Not only was it his first "date" with Tom, but also it was really his first date ever. True, there was that disastrous lunch with Cho, and they'd technically been going out, but the whole ordeal was such a circus and he hadn't exactly wanted to attend in the first place... So he just didn't count it. And he and Ginny had never really gone anywhere, so the only other date he'd ever been on was the one earlier in the year with Aquila. Since he himself had never even agreed to go (the only reason he did was because it would be impolite to turn her down the day of), he didn't count that one either.

Therefore, to him, going alone with Tom to Hogsmeade was honestly the first real date he was having in his life. And Harry couldn't stop the smile that snuck its way onto his face at that thought. He didn't even try.

After they had kissed at Slughorn's party, Tom had continued treating him the same way the older boy always had, leaving Harry to do the same. He didn't think Tom regretted it, but one never could be quite sure; and Harry wasn't about to bring it up, just in case. He wasn't about to put himself in a position where he could possibly be devastated by the answer to his question.

Exams also helped keep his mind off the topic and from obsessing over what could be, and was not. So Tom coming to him, planning their date—it gave him hope.

Unless it's not really a date, and I'm getting worked up over nothing. Harry pushed the nasty voice of pessimistic reason away. Nothing could ruin his cheerful mood. He wouldn't allow it.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Harry took a deep, calming breath before exiting into his room. He shouldn't come across as an over-eager puppy. That was not attractive on any level. It might be considered cute to some people, but Harry wasn't one of them, and neither was Tom. In fact, if the older boy did happen to see him like that, it was likely he'd end up wearing a disgustingly smug smirk every time Harry looked his way for the rest of the month, at least. And he wasn't about to give Tom that particular level of satisfaction or over-inflation of his ego.

It seemed, however, he need not have worried. Upon reentering his dorm room, Tom was nowhere to be seen. Harry's stiff posture released, oozing gratefulness even as brief disappointment flickered in his eyes.

Swiftly clothing himself for the day, Harry toweled off his hair and grabbed his bag. After making sure he had his money pouch and that his schoolbooks weren't in it, he left the dorm and headed to the common room. He assumed Tom had decided to wait for him there, and when he reached the end of the stairs, he was rewarded with the sight of Tom sitting on one of the leather couches by the fireplace. The older boy acknowledged Harry's presence when he got close by shutting the small book he was reading, slipping it into his robe pocket, and saying, "Shall we get breakfast, then?"

Harry nodded and the two walked side-by-side and in companionable silence to the Great Hall. When they arrived, Harry's eyebrows rose in minute disbelief at it being more populated that he thought it would. "I didn't know so many people would be up right now."

Tom harrumphed and if Harry had cared to looked, he was sure he would have seen him roll his eyes. "First, this isn't a lot." They took a seat a seat at the Slytherin table. "Second, I don't know why you're making such a big deal about the time. Really, it isn't early. When classes are going on, generally you're up sooner than this by an hour or two." He stole a slice of toast from the towering stack provided by the house elves and began spreading strawberry jam over it, muttering, "Only Gryffindor idiots sleep in."

Harry frowned. "That makes no sense. Lots of Slytherins are still in bed; and Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws too. Or are you categorizing everyone who can't keep to an insane sleep schedule like you as a 'Gryffindor idiot?'" He cocked his head to the side and raised one corner of his mouth, giving Tom a sardonic grin. "Not everyone can survive on a modest five hours a night."

Tom scowled, but Harry pretended not to notice as he helped himself to some eggs and bacon. "I'm not saying that," the older boy denied. "Maybe I didn't explain myself well enough." He heaved a giant sigh, as if having to further relay his meaning was a great weight on his shoulders. "Think of it logically, Harry. They're never up early on weekends, they're always the last ones down for breakfast on school days—I've never seen a Gryffindor in the Hall before anyone else—never even heard of it. It's a rare sighting, like muggles and big foot, but I digress. I'm not saying that everyone who has a bit of a lie in is a lazy fool, just those who don't roll out of bed until noon or later.

Harry's face remained impassively neutral for all of fives seconds before he grinned widely, eyes sparkling with mirth. "I know what you meant, Tom. I just like to mess with you."

Tom's face turned furiously red and he sputtered in discomposure, which broke the last of Harry's walls and sent the younger boy into barely stifled peals of laughter. He knew he shouldn't and that his giggles were only fueling Tom's ire, but Harry couldn't help himself. It was just too amusing. Especially when Tom tried to murder him via unforgiving death glare. The expression did nothing for him when the older boy's face so closely resembled a tomato.

Harry didn't argue the point of laziness in the school and who was the worst with Tom, not wanting to get too deep on the subject. Because all of Gryffindor House was the enemy of Slytherin, they would always be in the wrong. They would never be able to do anything right, and if they did, it would have to be something exceptional. Instead, he chose to eat his breakfast while continuing to send, playful, teasing jabs Tom's way.

When they were satiated and well fed, the duo made their way to Hogsmeade. It was slow going through the snow, and when they finally made it, Harry immediately dragged Tom through the back streets until they arrived at a less-frequented clothing shop. Harry already had a vague idea about what he wanted to get for Dmitry, and headed to the very back where they kept scarves and other wintery apparel.

Browsing the stores small selection of neckwear, Harry fingered a fuzzy grey scarf embroidered with thick Celtic braids, a small, contemplative frown tugging his mouth down. "Do you think Dmitry will like this?" he asked over his shoulder, not really expecting an answer. Tom didn't care too much when it came to shopping for clothing or other such basic and "shallow" necessities. The material was of good quality, but it was a scarf. "Or maybe I should get him a book," he murmured softly to himself, glancing at the price and doing a few quick mental calculations. "But I don't want to get him something so... generic." And that was true. While Tom would have appreciated the practicality a novel or informative text would offer, Dmitry favored more flashy presents that he could wear and brag about. Not that his Russian friend wouldn't be grateful for anything he received, Harry just happened to know what Dmitry would like more than a book.

"And what about my present?" Tom inquired from close behind him. Harry hadn't realized he was still there. He thought Tom had gone off to browse whatever else the store had to offer.

Harry snorted at Tom's poor attempt to wrangle the truth of what his gifts were out of him, and rolled his eyes upward. "Presents are for good children, Tom, and this year you've been very naughty," he replied wryly, referring to the basilisk fiasco.

Tom's eyes darkened with mischief—a rare occurrence—and he slid over to the younger boy. "Oh, I don't know," he said, wrapping his arms around Harry's slender waist. Leaning in, he breathed huskily into Harry's ear, feeling the entrapped body shudder in response. "Would you like to see just how wicked I can be?"