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.
Some of Harry’s conflicting thoughts must have been visible on his face because Tom gave a few slow nods. “Ah,” he said and his expression was the most complicated Harry had ever seen it. Somehow it simultaneously conveyed deep offense and endless amusement. “You believe I wanted to help matters along with old Arcturus even though your godfather is still in Azkaban and killing Arcturus would serve absolutely no purpose at this time. Not to mention, Arcturus died around November in our previous lives anyway. I remember Quirrell mentioning the obituary when I was stuck as a parasite on his head.” Tom’s smile was genial but his tone was just a little bit too sharp.
Well, when you put it like that. Harry felt very foolish for having even considered Tom might have done it without considering why he would do it. “Sorry,” he blurted, cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I didn’t know when Arcturus had died in our previous life.” Harry gave a helpless shrug. Back in his original first year Arcturus Black, or any member of the Black family, wouldn’t have meant a thing to Harry, so any announcements about them would have gone completely over his head. “It’s just such a weird coincidence, considering our conversation of last night.”
“Yes, but a coincidence nonetheless.” Tom’s tone was softer now and his smile utterly indulgent. “Now, don’t you have a class to attend?”
Harry’s eyes widened as he inhaled a sharp breath. “Yes. Fuck. I’m so late.”
“Go,” Tom said with a chuckle. “We’ll talk more tonight.”
“Yeah, bye.” Harry snapped the mirror shut, shoved it in his pocket and hurried out of the classroom. It still took him at least five minutes to get to the greenhouse.
“Mr Potter?” Sprout gasped in surprise as Harry burst through the door. “You are awfully late.”
“Sorry. Had to use the loo and got dizzy, couldn’t make it in time,” Harry said in between deep breaths.
Sprout offered him a kind smile and waved him to his usual table with Theo, Blaise, Ernie and Justin. Harry tried not to feel too guilty about shamelessly using his recent traumatic brain injury to his advantage.
“Mr Malfoy,” Sprout called across the greenhouse. “You’re scaring your lavender with your hat. Remove it, please.”
Draco glared at Sprout with all his might but she remained resolute and pantomimed removing a hat at him several times before Draco finally gave in and pulled his pointy hat from his head, his long, grey donkey ears springing free and flopping around a few seconds before they finally stood upright.
All around them students giggled, including Harry and his friends.
“Now, students, it’s not very nice to make fun of a fellow student for his physical deformity,” Sprout scolded as she looked pointedly at the sniggering students. Draco looked like he wanted to hex her for daring to refer to any part of him as a ‘physical deformity’. “Enough, children. Back to your lavender. It’s not going to bloom on its own!” Sprout marched up the isle, giving any student in her path a firm glance and everyone quieted down while turning back to their plants.
Harry bit his lip to stop from laughing. Seeing this snooty, arrogant version of Draco Malfoy being made fun of was endlessly entertaining. It might help bring him down enough to everyone else’s level so he’d turn into a tolerable individual before long.
They were working with lazy lavender, and Harry returned his focus to the potted plant before him. Lazy lavender had wonderful magical properties, which made it an important potions ingredient, not to mention an amazing addition to any pork roast, according to Sprout. The problem was, as the name implied, this magical strain of lavender was lazy and refused to bloom without plenty of encouragement and tender loving care. It liked plenty of spraying with fresh spring water, the finest manures applied carefully around its base and long hours of gently stroking its tiny leaves before it even considered flowering.
“Come on then,” Harry whispered at his plant while stroking his fingers up and down the still small plant. “I bet you’d look real pretty with some flowers, wouldn’t you?” Their assignment was to get it blooming by the end of the school year. Harry remembered in his first life he’d barely made the deadline, with his plant growing one measly little flower, because he and Ron hadn’t taken any of it very seriously at all. His current friends were doing a little better at least.
Blaise was whispering what sounded like sweet little nothings in Italian to his plant while tickling each little leaf at a time, Theo was making offerings of different kinds of manures while carefully taking in his plant’s reactions, Ernie talked boisterously at his lavender, saying it would be the most magnificent plant ever if only it bloomed, and Justin was telling his plant to entire plot of the Star Wars movies in detail, emphasizing time and again they were his favourites and if his lavender bloomed he might be able to arrange a private viewing of said movies in his living room.
Harry stuck to speaking soft words of encouragement while stroking his plant carefully while his thoughts drifted back to his earlier conversation with Tom. It was perhaps unusual that he kept thinking back to the conversation in so much detail. Harry thought about Tom often, because Tom was his friend and soulmate, but now he was thinking not so much about the things they’d talked about, as he usually did, but about the way Tom had looked.
Naked and wet. And wet and naked. Also naked and wet.
Harry couldn’t get one particular image out of his head, that of a drop of water running down the side of Tom’s face, across his temple and down his lightly stubble-covered cheek and jaw.
Also, Tom had been naked. And wet. While talking to Harry. While Harry had looked at him. Very naked and wet.
Why on earth was this suddenly such an obsession for him? Harry couldn’t wrap his head around it. He’d seen plenty of guys naked and wet before in the Quidditch dressing rooms after their games. It had never made him obsessed before.
It wasn’t as if Harry was –
“Holy fucknuts!” Harry shouted, having just had a very important epiphany. Harry’s lavender, which had just been perking up under Harry’s gentle touches, threw itself dramatically over the rim of its pot in a dead faint.
“Mr Potter!” Sprout exclaimed while staring at him with wide eyes. “Two points from Slytherin. There is no need for such language.”
“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said quickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment but not because he’d lost some points. Theo was looking at him with a quirked eyebrow while Blaise was laughing into the fist he had pressed against his lips. Both Ernie and Justin looked entirely confused by Harry’s sudden outburst. “Must be my traumatic brain injury,” Harry added with an apologetic smile aimed at Sprout. She harrumphed once and shook her head, before turning her back to Harry to answer a question Millicent had asked her before Harry’s sudden outburst.
Harry stared resolutely down at his currently unresponsive lavender, cheeks heating up even more.
He was attracted to Tom.
How the ever-loving fuck had that happened?
Harry wasn’t gay. At least he didn’t think he was gay. He’d honestly never given any of that sort of stuff much thought in his previous life. He’d been too busy surviving the Dursleys and Hogwarts and Voldemort to consider who and what he might be attracted to.
He’d thought Cho Chang very pretty, but he’d honestly hadn’t known much about her other than that she liked Quidditch, was a decent Seeker and was sorted into Ravenclaw. Oh, and that she had crappy tastes in friends, but honestly, after the end of his previous life Harry could be accused of having tastes similar to hers when it came to his best friends.
And with Ginny...well, she’d been pretty and she liked Quidditch and was a decent Seeker....oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry’s standards had been ridiculously low, hadn’t they, when it came to what sort of girl to date. And truthfully, Ginny’s family had been as important a factor of Harry choosing her than Ginny herself. After all, if he eventually married Ginny, he’d be a part of their family for real instead of just being Ron’s best friend.
Harry was forced to conclude that when it came to his romantic involvements in his previous life, Harry had never, ever made any real effort, nor had he been very picky about his options, merely settling for the easiest, most convenient person without considering what he really wanted.
Still, suddenly being attracted to a man, a genuine, real man with man-parts, was a surprise.
Not an unwelcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.
Harry had always thought Tom was attractive, but in a detached, rational way, the same way he’d thought Sirius had been very handsome in his younger years, before Azkaban had left its permanent marks on his godfather’s appearance. But Harry had never been attracted to Sirius in any way, shape or form.
But Tom...naked and wet Tom...smiling and laughing Tom...looking at Harry with such fond indulgence Tom...
Holy crap, Harry was definitely attracted to his best friend. His soulmate. His prophesized enemy, well, former enemy. Who was also a man, with man-parts.
But was this truly the first time Harry was attracted to another man? Or had he just not been paying attention? Which was entirely possible, knowing himself. Harry was well-aware he had a real talent for being oblivious about the most common things.
Looking back to his previous life, Harry was forced to conclude he’d always thought Cedric was very handsome, and not necessarily in the same way he thought Sirius handsome. And the first time he’d met Bill Weasley, during the summer before his fourth year, Harry had felt rather flustered around him more often than not. He’d grown out of that, but he remembered thinking about Bill more than any other Weasley sibling, at least for a while.
And Marcus Flint truly did have amazing biceps.
And Blaise did grow up to be a very attractive man.
For fuck’s sake. Harry really hadn’t been paying attention to his own desires, had he? Too busy saving the world and everyone in it to consider something so utterly important to his own life.
Yeah, Harry could concede, in retrospect, that he’d probably always been attracted to men and women both, but because he was an utter idiot, he’d never realized it before.
“Mr Potter,” Sprout said as she came to a stop right behind Harry. “You’re not making a lot of progress yet.” She waved a hand at Harry’s drooping lavender.
“Sorry, Professor,” Harry mumbled while staring down at his plant. “It’s still difficult to concentrate,” he lied. He couldn’t very well tell her the truth. Sorry, Professor, I just realized I’m sexually attracted to my soulmate, who happens to be the Dark Lord formerly known as Voldemort.
“I understand, Mr Potter,” Sprout said kindly. “Just try as much as you can.”
“Thanks, I will,” Harry said and went back to petting his lavender, determined to save the rest of his soul searching for that afternoon when he didn’t have classes and could spend some time by himself to sort through his thoughts and come to terms with this new revelation.
The rest of the class Harry was true to his word and focused on his plant and before long the bell rang and they were on their way to Charms. Neville met them outside the classroom.
“Harry,” Neville said while Harry cheerfully waved at him. “Do you mind if I partner with you today?”
“That’s no problem,” Harry said, following Neville inside the room and leading him to the Slytherin side of the room. The Slytherins knew better than to comment about Harry’s friendship with Neville, and while Harry did hear Ron mutter something unflattering to Seamus about Neville’s choice in friends, Harry knew it was just jealousy talking on Ron’s part so he ignored it.
“I’ve been practising the Lumos Charm this whole week,” Neville said once they sat down and everyone around them was loudly getting into their own seats. “But it just won’t work properly, no matter how hard I try.” Neville gave him a hopeless look.
Harry stared at Neville, something niggling in the back of his mind about Neville and his magical talents. Neville had plenty of magic. But in his previous life Neville had trouble casting spells as well, even simple ones like the Disarming Charm during their illegal defence lessons when Umbridge made everyone’s lives utterly miserable in Harry’s fifth year.
It wasn’t until their sixth year that Neville really started to shine in the use of practical magic, after he broke his old wand during the battle in the Department of Mysteries.
“Your wand,” Harry blurted and quickly snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to draw any attention to a perceived weakness of Neville’s with Draco sitting just a few seats away sporting donkey ears Harry had given him and probably lusting for revenge of some childish sort.
“What about my wand?” Neville asked quietly, staring down at his wand which he’d placed on the desk in front of him.
“I couldn’t help but notice it’s a used wand, right? You didn’t buy it from Ollivander’s?” Harry asked delicately, understanding better than most how emotional a subject his father’s wand was to Neville.
“It’s my father’s wand. My grandmother gave it to me to use,” Neville whispered while side-eying Harry with some trepidation.
“Your father was a great wizard, but the wand chooses the wizard,” Harry said, keeping an eye out for Flitwick. “Meaning this wand was perfect for your father. But you’re not a copy of your father, Nev. Half of you comes from your mother.”
Neville’s mouth slowly sank open while his eyes widened briefly. “So the wand doesn’t work well for me because it doesn’t fit me because I’m both my parents’ child.”
“Exactly,” Harry said, very pleased Neville understood so quickly, without feeling insecure his father’s wand wouldn’t work for him the way it had for Frank Longbottom, Auror Extraordinaire, no matter what Neville’s grandmother wished for. “Maybe talk to McGonagall about this. She’ll take you to Ollivander’s herself, I’m sure, if your grandmother refuses. You’ve got some money to pay for a new wand, right?”
“Yeah, I have an allowance and I don’t spend much,” Neville said distractedly, clearly deep in thought about all the information he’d learned just then. “Thanks, Harry.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry said sincerely, just as Flitwick called the class to order. He wanted to hit himself in the head for almost having forgotten about Neville’s unresponsive wand. Then again, he’d hardly been very close friends with Neville in his previous life, more like friendly acquaintances, so he probably shouldn’t be too hard on himself for not remembering every little detail about every single person he’d ever met.
Though this did emphasize the importance of planning his new life a little more carefully and perhaps writing down all the details he remembered about people of importance and significant events that might happen in the future.
Like Gilderoy Lockhart being an enormous fraud. Harry now remembered he’d promised Tom he’d write down everything he knew about the guy right before his Quidditch accident. Time to make good on that promise. While Flitwick was lecturing and everyone around him was taking notes, Harry got out a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote down all he knew about good old Gilderoy. Neville was so busy with his own notes he never noticed what Harry was writing down.
After Charms ended, Harry joined his friends for lunch but told them he wanted to spend a few hours by himself that afternoon. Blaise replied with a smile and a shrug while Theo looked him up and down once or twice before giving a slow nod. That was all the response he got and once again Harry marvelled at the differences between Slytherin and Gryffindor friends. Harry knew for a fact Ron and Hermione would have badgered him mercilessly if Harry had wanted to spend some time by himself without explaining in detail why.
When lunch was over, Blaise and Theo headed to the library with the rest of their group while Harry made his way to the seventh floor. He needed some time to himself without the risk of being disturbed and aside from the Chamber of Secrets there was only one place in Hogwarts where this kind of privacy was guaranteed.
Harry thought about a room the size of a large cathedral filled to the nook with everything and nothing as he paced up and down a stretch of blank wall. Heavy, wooden doors appeared at once and Harry quickly slipped inside, grateful for the silence that greeted him.
Holy fucking crap, he was attracted to Tom. Harry let the door fall shut behind him while he bent double at the waist and rubbed his hands furiously across his face. Some of his long hair slipped from his ponytail but Harry ignored it.
How utterly ridiculous was this? Harry was attracted to Tom, who was a grown ass man, old enough to be his grandfather even though he didn’t look it, and the murderer of his parents and hundreds of other people.
And Harry wanted to do things with this man while he was naked and wet. Or just naked, probably. Harry wasn’t even sure what things, exactly, though his imagination seemed ready to roll out a whole buffet of options if Harry let it, which he didn’t because holy crap, he was attracted to Tom fucking Riddle, Voldemort himself. Kind of.
How was this his life? Harry sank down on the stone floor and stared at the mountains of junk around him while his thoughts kept going round and round, always coming back to the point of him being attracted to Tom, holy crap.
And Tom was attracted to men, Harry knew this much because Tom had told him. And Merlin’s saggy underwear, Tom had realized something was up with Harry’s ridiculous reaction because he’d put on clothes while Harry was literally rendered speechless by the sight of his naked body.
Harry buried his face in his hands again and groaned with sheer misery and embarrassment. How was this even happening?
Tom liked men, yes, but Harry wasn’t a man. He was an eleven-year-old boy, at least in body, which...no. Just no. There was no way Harry could do sexy things with Tom such as he was without freaking himself the fuck out. Just absolutely not going to happen. Besides, Harry was pretty sure Tom himself wasn’t at all attracted to children, no matter their mental age was actually eighteen.
No, if there ever was to be something between them, they’d have to wait until Harry was at least well into puberty. In fact, Harry was pretty sure the age of consent in the Wizarding World was sixteen, as far as Harry could remember, which seemed like a reasonable age to become sexually active with an older partner. Which meant that it was in everyone’s best interest that until he turned sixteen, Harry should keep his attraction to himself.
Best to let sleeping Slytherin heirs lie. For as far as Tom was unaware that was, because Harry clearly gave some of the game away during their encounter that morning. Now he’d just have to play it off as silly hormones or something and keep his real thoughts and feelings to himself, at least for another five years or so.
Harry inhaled a deep breath and went back to staring at the junk around him. It was for the best that they wait. If Tom even was attracted to Harry in the first place, because Harry had no clue about that. In fact, it was entirely possible Tom might meet someone he wanted to date in the next few years while he was out and about in Wizarding society while Harry was stuck as a child at Hogwarts.
That thought did very painful things to Harry’s chest and he absentmindedly rubbed across his sternum to get rid of that tight feeling.
On top of Harry feeling very uncomfortable with the idea of having sexy times with Tom while he physically was still a child, Harry also realized that the risk for Tom was far too big to start any kind of intimacy before Harry was at least of the age of consent. Tom aspired to become the Minister for Magic at some point in the future. If it ever got out he’d gotten involved with a twelve or fourteen year-old Harry Potter his chances to become Minister were done for. Not to mention he might even end up in Azkaban for at least a few years.
There was too much at risk for Harry to indulge himself in whatever his imagination was trying to come up with when it came to Tom and his naked wetness. Harry knew he wasn’t the most patient person in the world, but now was the time to learn some patience. He had plenty to keep himself busy with the upcoming years, and if Tom was still single and at all interested Harry could always approach him once he was old enough.
And if Tom wasn’t single or interested...well, Harry was just going to have to learn to live with that. There was nothing he could do about it now, plain and simple.
Harry looked over the mountains of junk again and decided that now was a good enough time to start sorting through some of it like he’d planned. He remembered Tom mentioning a Christmas gift he was working on for Harry, and Harry wanted to get Tom something nice in return. Hopefully he’d find some interesting book or artefact in the mountains of junk before him. He might as well look for a present for Barty and the rest of his friends while he was at it. But the longer he stared at the mountains of junk, the more Harry realized it would take years and years to sort through all of it one piece at a time. Neville had talked about the Room of Requirement a lot, though, while they were rebuilding Hogwarts during Harry’s previous life. Neville mentioned you could ask the room for lots of things while you were inside the room as long as you were the one who had summoned the room in the first place.
For the first time in his life Harry wondered how the Room of Requirement even worked. What kind of magical techniques did it require to build something like it? Was it charms or runes or enchantments? Maybe alchemy? All of the above? Harry had no clue, but suddenly had the strange urge to figure it out.
That would have to wait for a later time, though. Right now he wanted to sort through the many, many objects before him without spending years doing so.
Slowly, Harry got to his feet and cleared his throat. Magic was intent and the Room of Requirement worked on the intent of its user. “Room,” Harry said, voice filled with determination. “I want you to place all the books in this room in a pile over there.” Harry waved to a mostly clear spot to his right.
For a second or two nothing happened and then at once a huge pile of books appeared right where Harry had pointed. It toppled over immediately against the pile of junk beside it, books and all manner of items crashing to the floor with a loud clatter. All around him, mountains shifted and toppled over as books had suddenly disappeared, leaving holes behind. Harry could jump out of the way in the nick of time as a few chairs rolled off a mountain to his left and landed right where he had been standing.
“Okay, so that worked,” Harry said with a snicker as he took in the new landscape. There were a lot of books, some still fairly new and others very old from what he could tell at a first glance. Any new-ish textbooks he could sell in one large batch to the second-hand bookstore, and any older books he could add to his own growing collection or gift to Tom and Barty for holidays and birthdays. Tom’s birthday was also coming up at the end of December, after all.
Harry needed help separating the textbooks from everything else and he knew just who to call. “Kreacher!”
Within seconds Kreacher popped in the room, completely ignoring the chaos of scattered books and random items around him. “Little Master is calling Kreacher. Little Master is recovering and Kreacher is bringing the little Master treats for his good health.” With that Kreacher pushed a bundle of treats wrapped in a red dishtowel in Harry’s hands.
“Thanks, Kreacher,” Harry said, almost salivating when he unwrapped the bundle and found half a dozen raspberry crème tarts drizzled with dark chocolate. Kreacher had made these a time or two for him during the summer and they were delicious. Aside from treacle tart, these were Harry’s absolute favourite. “First, could you quickly take this note to Winky and ask her to give it to Thomas Gaunt at the first opportunity?” Harry held out the list of all he remembered about Gilderoy Lockhart. Kreacher accepted it with a nod and popped away. When he appeared again not even a minute later Harry had already finished one tart and had started on another. Kreacher seemed entirely satisfied to see Harry stuffing his face.
Once his mouth was empty again, Harry wrapped up the rest of the tarts and carefully placed them in his bag to enjoy that evening. “Could you help me sort through this pile of books? Put all the textbooks on one side so we can sell them, and sort everything else by its age. Very old, a little old, and anything younger than say fifty years.”
“Kreacher will help the little Master.” Needing no further encouragement, Kreacher started flicking his fingers on both hands and directed a slew of suddenly levitating books one way or the other. Harry ignored the pile of textbooks for now and aimed his wand at the pile of very old books, casting every detection charm he knew. No need to have a repeat of Riddle’s diary slowly possessing a student because Harry carelessly touched a cursed book or something. He found a few curses, mild anti-theft things that had mostly lost its power over the years. One book lit up with unfamiliar runes all over the cover and Harry carefully levitated that to the side. He might gift it to Barty to figure out with a short note of warning. Kreacher was done fairly quickly and Harry thanked him profusely before dismissing him and concentrating on finding Tom a nice Christmas gift.
He found it in the form of what looked like a diary written in a very archaic form of English that Harry couldn’t understand. What piqued his interest was the Slytherin crest on the front cover and the dates on the pages. The diary was written in 1631, and Harry just knew Tom would love deciphering what it said. He’d also found a book about Arithmancy and its uses in warding from 1811 which he knew Barty would love, so that was another Christmas present taken care of.
For himself Harry found a small copy of the Hogwarts charter and rulebook. Knowing that he knew far too little about the world he now lived in, Harry promised himself he would read it cover to cover and follow it up with Regulus’ copy of Hogwarts, a History. It was ridiculous he knew nothing about Hogwarts’ rules and regulations while he attended it, knowing its Headmaster wanted him dead.
This was one of the things he desperately wanted to change about himself. This ridiculous ignorance he’d lived with for years now about the world around him. Once he was done informing himself about Hogwarts, Harry vowed to learn everything he could about how the Ministry worked no matter how boring or dry the material was he’d have to slog through.
Harry placed the books for Tom and Barty in his bag and added a few titles he’d found that seemed interesting. Books on spell crafting, potions and one huge magical cookbook. The rest of the books he left behind to sort through another day. As far as Harry knew, no one else at Hogwarts knew about the Room of Requirement at this time so he wasn’t worried about anyone else taking any of these books before Harry could return to them.
There was still an hour before dinner and Harry joined his friends in the library and worked on his homework while he listened to Daphne and Justin bicker about whether or not centaurs should be allowed at Hogwarts. Justin was in favour because he was eager to meet such mythical creatures while Daphne insisted it was a tremendously bad idea, mostly because centaurs wouldn’t fit in their current furniture. Harry remembered Firenze teaching Divination in a classroom enchanted to look like a forest with some fondness but stayed out of the argument while he finished his Charms essay.
All throughout dinner Harry felt increasingly nervous about talking to Tom that evening and addressing his absurd reactions early that morning without giving away how he really felt about his soulmate.
“You okay, Harry?” Theo asked him quietly when Harry skipped dessert, which he rarely did since he had a bit of a sweet tooth.
“Yeah,” Harry whispered back. “My house-elf brought me some sweets earlier so I’m stuffed.”
Theo gave him a knowing smile which Harry returned while wondering how many kids who had access to house-elves summoned them to Hogwarts on the sly for things like sweets. Probably more than anyone realized.
“Ugh,” Draco moaned across from Harry, donkey ears tucked away securely beneath his pointy hat. “Why can’t they serve a decent roast beef at this school. And what is this rubbery thing supposed to be? It can’t be Yorkshire pudding, surely.”
Harry remembered Tom’s story about an ever-whining Abraxas Malfoy with such a strong burst of fondness his entire chest filled with warmth. This feeling did not let up as Harry followed Theo and Blaise to the Slytherin common room and a little later to their dormitory for their nightly game of exploding snap before they went to bed.
How was he going to pull any of this off? Did he really want to convince Tom he wasn’t attracted to him while admitting the sight of his naked body caused such a strong response Harry first thought it was a panic attack? Did he really expect Tom to be dumb enough to buy any of this instead of seeing right through Harry’s silly schemes? Since when had Harry gone completely crazy?
It had to be the traumatic brain injury. It had to be.