The Chamber of Desire [ Tomarry

The Past

September 16th, 1992.

Harry woke up to a warm hand pressed lightly against his stomach under his sweatshirt.

"I'm not pregnant," he slurred, temporarily forgetting what had happened the night before. Blinking his eyes open, his gaze met his soulmate's, who was the owner of the warm hand.

Tom smiled. "Good morning, my love. I've cancelled your class today, so we can do whatever you would like."

The small boy frowned. "Why'd you cancel the class? Wait... I remember. Is that why your hand is on my stomach?"

Tom nodded in confirmation. "I won't be cancelling all of your classes for the next couple of weeks, but today I did. Is there anything you would like to do?"

"I dunno, I was thinking about running a ten kilometre marathon today, would you be up for it?"

The other male rolled his eyes. "If I were pushing you in a wheelchair, maybe."

Harry giggled, and zoned out while thinking about the image. Quite naturally, it was strange. The feeling of a hand caressing his stomach brought him to reality, and gave him an idea.

"I'm going to look at my scar."

Tom's hand stilled. "Are you sure?" He asked lightly. "You're not going to like it."

Harry huffed. "The way I think of it, it doesn't matter whether or not I like it or not, cause it's my body and I can't really change it. Besides, you're probably overdoing it, drama queen."

The taller boy raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, it wasn't I who was the queen."

Harry blushed. "That wasn't my fault! Draco said it first."

"And yet you didn't correct him," Tom hummed. "I'm going to start calling you my Queen instead."

"O-kay!" Harry said, quickly getting out of Tom's arms and off the bed. "I'm going to check the damage. Anything you wanna say before I leave?"

Tom's scarlet eyes seemed to turn seductive. "When can I see the next storm?"

Confused and very strangely turned on, Harry walked into the bathroom and, looking into the mirror, lifted his sweater.

In the place of the wound, Harry now saw a jagged, sideways, lightning shaped scar across his stomach. The scar itself was somewhat purple and blue, but the skin around it was fine. 'It was probably surrounded by blood and bruises last night,' Harry thought to himself, lightly touching the scar with his fingertips.

"Are...are you alright, my darling?" Tom asked from the bedroom, sounding a little worried. Harry only peeped his head around the corner of the door and nodded in affirmation, which made Tom noticeably less worried. "Good, because that scar might be here for a while."

Harry turned back towards the mirror, checking his scar out in deep thought. Finally, he spoke. "I don't want the scar to fade."

There was silence, before Tom replied. "What?" He asked. "But it's a scar-"

"I know it's a scar," Harry said, "but at least it's something. Tom, a little over a year ago I was confined in my room for five years. I never once got scars or bruises unless I did something stupid or ran into a wall. This scar is basically a story, and even though it's horrific, it's still a story. Besides, it makes me look more edgy. If someone gets mad at me and thinks they can question my authority, I'll lift up my robes and be like, bam, bitch!" Harry paused for a second. "On second thought, I probably shouldn't do that."

Tom was silent before Harry heard him call for the smaller boy, so he re-entered the room and joined his lover in bed, cuddling up to his side. "Are you sure you're somewhat content with the scar?"