When A Slaughterhouse Becomes A Home (selfcest/tomarry)

eight

Tom can admit that he is impressed. He is not usually drawn to people -- let alone pens he despises -- but when the Boy Who Lived stood in front of the one who opposed him and said No. No more. I am a person too... Tom, well, he can admit that, yes. He's impressed.

Harry is fascinating. He'd been trying to deny it for some time now, but just as all those years ago, when he was just a diary, draining little Ginny's lifeforce, there was something about Harry that made their pretense of friendship not so difficult to maintain, there is something now, here, that he can very well label interest.

Harry Potter is weak. This is true. He cries and needs physical contact like a puppy needs affection and he is slowly draining in his self worth and self respect. He is weak, and he is breaking, and this is all true.

But he has also stood before his enemies and faced them head on. He wants to be loved. He does not want to be hurt -- and that terrifies Tom most of all, that strange and out of place sense of self preservation. Harry Potter wants to live, and that means it will be difficult to get him to want to die.

Tom hates him for it. Harry doesn't know what it's like, to be hidden away for decades on end, to be given a taste of freedom, only for it to be torn away again. Harry Potter has doomed him. Tom, in his current state, with his diary damaged, cannot even drain Harry of his soul.

So Harry deserves everything Tom is throwing at him. And yet, here Harry is.

Harry Potter clings shallowly to life. It is not fair.

And it's not fair, Tom's own feelings. He sees how Harry adores Potter for teaching him Potions, how he lies to his friends about the subject, how he researches a mix of Dark and Light magic on his own free time, how he hates fame and attention, how he carved a lightening bolt into a teacher's forehead -- and Tom is fucking crazy for it.

He wants Harry's true self to be released. Tom wants to help mature the person Harry is to become -- the person he can become, if only he'd let go.

He is not attracted to people; he is attracted to power. To opportunity. And even though Voldemort would never see it, Tom knows that Harry is a big one. He sits squarely in the camp between good and evil, and it would only take a push to sway him toward Tom's side.

So when Harry comes back from Dumbledore's office red in the face and ranting to him and Potter, Tom genuinely listens. "... a month's detention and a loss of a hundred and fifty House points, like people's ire, like his ire is not already punishment enough -- people are saying that I'm the next Lord Voldemort, can you believe that? Sybill deserved it for what she did to me, and one hundred and fifty House points? Over one little cutting curse? They said it healed up just fine, even if it's scarred real bad ... was not unjustified -- he didn't even look me in the eye!"

"Maybe Dumbledore hates you," suggests Tom, both because it'll solidify a negative thought in Harry's mind, and because it's his honest input.

Harry stops pacing and his shoulders slump down. "I bet," he mutters, sourly. "He's been ignoring me. He's all I've got, and he's ignoring me."

"He's not all you've got," says Potter. "You've got me. And Tom, of course."

Harry smiles softly. "Right. It's just hard, feeling so alone."

Your heart is a sinkhole, thinks Tom. You just can't get enough, can you? It is a victory, Harry's feelings of isolation.

"I can't imagine what Ron and Hermione think of me right now," mutters Harry, biting his lip and resuming his pacing.

You can't imagine what I'm thinking of you right now, thinks Tom.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," says Potter, speaking for the both of them. "You won't be going back to them. You just can't afford to. For their sake."

"I know!" snaps Harry. He repeats, tiredly, "I know."

His agitation comes and goes in waves, but even since the incident with Trelawney, it has been there. Tom wants to feed into it. Wants to watch it swell and grow -- wants to see just how righteous he can get, what all he can manage.

Harry comes in one evening, dripping blood. (For some reason, it is weird to see Harry in pain. He knows it is essential to his plan, but it feels wrong. It is like a part of himself is hurting. )

He had another detention, explains Harry as Tom wraps his hand in murlap. With Umbridge. Usually, the cut heals up right after it's done, but this time, the wound will not heal. The bleeding refuses to stop.

"I think," says Harry, in a low whisper, head resting on Tom's shoulder, as if he is confessing a shameful secret, "that I hate her."

Tom chuckles. "I would be surprised if you didn't, Harry."

Harry mumbles something. "Hm?" prompts Tom, endlessly curious.

"I'm going to hurt her, I think." His eyes drop to his bandaged hand, and he's frowning deeply. "I hurt the Dursleys, too. Or at least Aunt Marge and Dudley. But that's why they're so afraid of me; I gave them a reason to be."

Tom's eyes glow with satisfaction that he is glad Harry doesn't see. "Did you now, Harry?" murmurs Tom.

"And I hurt Sybill, too. I get everyone I get close to hurt. Why am I such a force of destruction?" Harry wipes away the tears on his cheeks.

"You can't hurt me," promises Tom.

"I'm going to hurt Voldemort," says Harry, quietly. Tom stiffens. "I'm going to, because I hate him. Because I defeated him and he resents me for it. We're going to face off one day. And only one of will come out the other side. Are you ready for that, Tom?"

Mouth dry, Tom asks, "Why wouldn't I be ready?"

Harry shifts so he is looking Tom in the eyes. "Because I know you're not aligned with him, but he is still you. You're still him. It cannot be easy, to ignore or be callous toward the future you had. If he dies, a part of you will, too, and you're going to have to deal with that. I'm ready. I don't like to hurt or kill or maim, but I'm ready. I'm ready to stain my hands with retribution, with blood, and I'm ready to die trying. Are you, Tom? Are you ready for that to happen?"

Tom glances away. "I don't care what happens to Voldemort," he says instead of a proper answer.

Harry sighs, looking and sounding much older than he is. "Despite everything, Tom, you're a shite liar."

Tom tends to disagree.