Tomarry One Shots

A Moment of Curiosity (or Weakness)

Summary: "I'm having these dreams," Harry says. "You're in every one of them. I think you've been in them for a long time, I just didn't know it was you." Tom inclines his head, and Harry sees the red eyes. He sees deathly, pale skin, and a flash of green light. "Do you remember?" They find each other in every life. Sometimes Harry remembers, but he usually doesn't. Tom always remembers, though, and Harry dies each time.

Ship: HarryPotterxTomRiddle

All credit goes to Koel7 on Ao3

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"He's looking at you, Harry," Ginny says, and Harry turns to see whom she is looking at. There is a man – a gorgeous man, his mind supplies – staring at them, his eyes fixed on Harry. The man doesn't look surprised when he sees the two of them staring back, just raises an eyebrow.

Harry faces Ginny again and finishes his drink. "I might be home late tonight. Or tomorrow."

"Have fun," Ginny laughs. "Be safe!"

They are safe. They're also rough, they're desperate, they're fast, and Harry is unable to form coherent words after the first, second, third time he comes.

"I never caught your name," he realizes when the other man gets them a glass of water.

For a second, it's silent. Then, "Tom."

"Hi, Tom," Harry says, a wave of sleepiness hitting him. "I'm Harry."

The sleep overtakes him before he can hear Tom say, "I know."

*

They keep meeting, after. Tom asks Harry to meet him for lunch, taking him to a different restaurant each time. Harry takes Tom to shows he must cover, and Tom stands by his side while Harry interviews musicians and fans. Then they go to whoever's apartment is the closest, or a hotel when their apartments are too far, and they're too far gone to keep their hands to themselves in an Uber for forty minutes.

"What did you want to be when you were younger?"

Tom puts down his sandwich and looks out the window. "The Prime Minister," he shrugs, and hell, even his shrug is elegant. "Or the President of the United States."

"You're British."

"I was a child," Tom says wryly. "What about you?"

"A hero," Harry says, then feels embarrassed. "It's stupid."

Tom puts his hand over Harry's and squeezes. "No," he says firmly. "It isn't."

*

Harry wakes up with a flinch. Tom is beside him, reading a book under the dim glow of the lamp. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah," Harry runs his hand through his hair. "Fucking horrible. You were in it this time."

"Oh?"

"You were some leader of a gang," Harry feels Tom's leg flinch. "You okay?"

"Spasm," Tom's voice is casual. "What gang?"

"I don't know, but the masks were pretty grim. Looked like a skull."

Harry never hears what Tom has to say to that, because suddenly there's a piercing feeling in his chest and Tom is screaming his name.

He looks good in red, Harry thinks. Oh. It's probably Harry's own blood. Pity about the book, since Tom hates his books to be in any condition other than perfect.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Neville hisses at Harry, who shushes him.

"No one's here, just fucking relax," Harry says just as a light shines on him.