Jonquils And Lightning

Immunity to Seduction

"What are you doing here, Gaunt?"

"I thought I'd see how you spend your mornings."

Harry lengthened his stride towards the stables without answering. Gaunt walked beside him, not attempting to touch him now. Harry was grateful. The abnormal reactions his own body had towards Gaunt disgusted him. They were almost certainly magical, but Harry didn't care. He was master of his own magic. It shouldn't be reacting like this.

"Why are you content?"

"I'm not."

"I didn't mean right in this moment, Harry. In general, why are you content tending to animals and living in an obscure village in a world that doesn't have many chances for you to shine? What could you have come from that would offer this as a good contrast?"

Harry stopped outside the stable. He wasn't about to bring the agitation he was feeling into Princess's stall. He stared at Gaunt. "You're strange."

"I am a stranger, yes," Gaunt corrected, still staring intently at him. "That does not mean I wish to stay one."

Harry shook his head. "No, I mean, you're strange to want to know everything about my background within days of meeting me."

"You know part of the reason for that—"

"And I am never going to return to your dimension with you in order to fight a war." Harry let his voice rise and enough magic come out that the ground trembled under their feet. Gaunt's eyes widened, but only to reveal lust in the back of them. Harry pulled the magic back into him like fishline on a reel. "I fought my war."

"Will you tell me about it, Harry?"

Harry eyed Gaunt. He was saner than Riddle, that much was true. And as reluctant as Harry was to either call up old memories or give Gaunt a reason to be more fascinated still with him, at least this might clarify to the sane bastard that he would never convince Harry to join him.

"Fine," Harry said. "But I'm going to feed Princess first." He turned away and hoped that Gaunt liked being ignored for a horse.

*

At last.

Tom smiled a little as he watched from the doorway of the stables—Harry had forbidden him to come any closer—while Harry fed and watered the mare in the stall, examined her for some reasons Tom couldn't determine and did the same for the foal, and then draped a halter across the mare's neck to lead her outside. At last he would know why Harry had come here when he didn't fit into his surroundings, when he shone like a polished diamond no matter how hard he tried to hide that polish.

He stepped out of the way as Harry led the mare past him. Harry regarded him with narrow eyes. Tom resisted the urge to touch him. It hadn't worked last night, and it wasn't pleasant enough for him anymore just to watch Harry writhe. He wanted both of them joined in one purpose, one goal.

He followed Harry to the pasture where Harry turned the mare and her foal loose. Then he cast some more spells that Tom assumed were diagnostic ones. He didn't actually know, and of course didn't care. He draped himself on the fence and stared until Harry glanced at him and hissed softly.

Tom replied in Parseltongue. "You promised me a story."

"Yeah, I did," Harry said, refusing the intimacy of the language, which was a minor disappointment. He led them to a bench built on the opposite side of the field and watched the foal jump and butt and snap at his mother for a moment. Tom waited beside him. Harry finally turned to him.