The Darkening of Your Soul

Chapter 25

Harry excused himself to his Slytherins on the way to Herbology. He ducked into the first empty classroom he saw, cast every locking and silencing charm he knew and got out his mirror. He whispered Tom’s name in parseltongue and waited impatiently for his soulmate to answer.

It took a minute or two, but Tom eventually came into view on the small screen.

Harry stared.

“Is something wrong?” Tom asked, while naked and wet.

Oh, Harry could only see Tom’s wet face and wet hair and wet naked shoulders and part of his wet naked chest. But it was obvious that the whole of Tom was wet and naked after just having stepped out of the shower if the steam billowing from an opened door behind Tom was any indication.

“Harry?” Tom managed to sling a damp towel over his head with one hand while holding onto the communication mirror with the other one. He lazily dried his wild, wet hair while he arched an eyebrow at Harry’s lack of response.

Harry couldn’t breathe.

Fuck. Why did this have to happen now? What the hell did seeing Tom wet and naked have to do with his traumas from his previous life?

“Harry? Talk to me.” Tom lowered the towel and gave Harry a very concerned look.

“Arbldeeed.” Harry managed to say. It wasn’t coherent by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he managed to say something instead of choking like he’d previously done after he was triggered.

Tom rolled his eyes, which what the fuck? Was Tom making fun of Harry’s traumas? “Let me put some clothes on, perhaps that will loosen your tongue.”

What did Tom’s clothes have to do with anything? Harry rubbed a hand over his face while Tom put the mirror down so all Harry could see was the ceiling and part of a small chandelier. Harry could hear a closet door opening and closing, followed by the sounds of rustling clothing.

Did Tom really have to get dressed right there and then? Couldn’t he wait until after they had talked? Harry had Herbology in about three minutes and he still had to make his way to greenhouse one.

“Better, my dear?” Tom asked as he came back into view. He was wearing a white shirt, the top buttons undone so Harry still saw plenty of chest, but at least it wasn’t wet anymore.

“Blegh,” Harry said, and immediately cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess,” he finally managed to say, much to his enormous relief. “Though I’m not sure what just triggered me. Usually I can pinpoint what trauma causes a panic attack.”

“Yes, how curious that seeing me right out of the shower should cause you a panic attack.” Tom was looking at Harry the way a teacher might look at a beloved student who had completely missed the point of the lesson; with vast patience and fond indulgence.

“Look, I’ve got class in about thirty seconds,” Harry said, while staring hard at the classroom door as though that might buy him more time. “I’m calling about Arcturus Black. He died.” Harry glanced at Tom, unsure how to ask what he really wanted to know without making it sound like an accusation of sorts. The last thing he wanted was for Tom to believe Harry didn’t trust him, because Harry did trust him. To a point. As much as he liked Tom these days, it was impossible to forget what Tom had been capable of once upon a time.