I'm Oliver You, Tom Riddle

Fifth Year

*(This map of the Slytherin Common Room and Dorms was made by Arien Drakon at

Arien-Drakon.deviantart.com

I claim no credit for the diagram.)*
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Tom and Oliver are laying in Tom's bed, as they had done every year prior. The emerald green curtains are drawn, there's faint noises coming from the large window, barely-there, green tinged moonlight streaming in from under the waters of the Black Lake. Their dorms are quiet, only the faint sounds other boys getting settled in for the night disturbs the silence. Both of them have recently finished bathing and getting their nightclothes on: the full shirt and trousers for Tom, and only trousers for Oliver.

The two of them are settled in bed, Tom on his back, hands tucked under his head, gazing at the dark velvet cover draped over the four posters. The bed shook slightly as Oliver shivered, Tom looked over.

Oliver had been on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, thick, soft comforter pulled up, over his shoulders. Oliver scoots himself over, closer to Tom before turning himself and slotting his body beside Tom's perfectly, tucking his head under Tom's chin. Tom laid there, still, and allowed Oliver to fit himself however he pleased. Tonight, it was Oliver curling into his side, casting one leg over one of Tom's and tucking his ankle under Tom's shin, his arm splayed over Tom's chest, fingers gently beating a tempo over Tom's chest, other arm, curled and tucked neatly into Tom's side. Together, they shuffled around a bit, getting more comfortable. Eventually, Oliver slipped his hand under Tom's shirt and rested his hand on Tom's warm, soft belly.

"You do realize," Tom starts quietly. "That you would be so much warmer if you actually put clothes on."

"Oh, hush, Tom. I feel like my shirt is trying to suffocate me at night." Oliver started drawing little inconsistent shapes on Tom's belly.

Tom sighed contentedly, almost happily. He wound one arm under Over, his hand coming up, across his shoulder blades, to rest on his shoulder. Feeling how soft Oliver's skin was, he started gently stroking and rubbing his shoulder gently. "What do you do to make your skin so soft?" Tom asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Oliver mumbled, nearly asleep. He peeked his eyes open and looked up at Tom, a question in his gaze.

"I said, what do you do to make your skin so soft?" Tom repeated gently.

"Oh." Oliver yawned. "Bubble bath, there's this combination with the soaps that makes your skin and hair soft. Myrtle told me about it. I think she wants to be friends with me."

"Myrtle?" Tom was confused. There was no one in Slytherin house with that name.

"Ravenclaw girl, our year. I don't think she has many friends, but I like her. I think I'll give her a few days, see if we're compatible friends." Oliver paused. "What do you think, Tom?"

Tom sighed. "You know I don't like anyone from a different house. You'd be fraternizing with the enemy."

"Oh please, Tom." Oliver patted Tom's belly. "Ravenclaw House is almost exactly like us. Give them enough time, and they can be just as cunning."

"Well, I suppose it could be worse." Tom thought for a moment. "It could be Gryffindor." He smiled.

Oliver scoffed and shuddered hard. "I would never even be seen near them. It kills me to even be seated next them at a quidditch match."

Tom sighed and chuckled quietly. "There there, my dear friend. I won't let any of those lions touch you." He pulled Oliver closer to him, if that was at all possible.

Oliver giggled happily, high and bright and beautiful, slightly pushing away from Tom; there wasn't much space to be pulled into, and he didn't want to squash Tom.