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There was something different about the two boys that lived in the thirteenth room on the second floor of Wool’s Orphanage. At first glance, one might have thought they were siblings, both inky-black haired and with impossibly pale skin. Except, of course, their eyes, which for one, were grass green and for the other a watery blue.
One would be wrong to assume so anyway, and if one looked closer, more and more differences appeared. One had a perfectly straight nose, the other a slightly crooked. One was already taller than his peers, the other sorely lacking behind. Most notably of all, however, was the oddly shaped scar on the shorter ones forehead. He’d been delivered to the doorstep like that, with no address or birthday or anything else in his basket, except for his blanket which in one corner read ‘Harry James Potter’. No child with such a name was ever officially registered in England however, so it was assumed the baby was abandoned at birth or possibly given a new name.
Harry, appeared exactly year and a half after one Tom Marvolo Riddle, who’s entrance was certainly more dramatic. Thus, the caretakers made the 31st of July poor little Harry’s birthday.
The baby’s really did look so similar that one might’ve thought them related. Not that Harry or Tom ever thought of each other as siblings, not in such a manner anyway. There was, however, an undeniable connection between them, a certain pull that made it impossible to ignore the other. Tom, who was always tall for his age, saw the way Harry, only barely younger then himself, struggled with the other children and took it upon himself to protect him. Like recognized Like after all.
Maybe that was why Tom never shied away from showing Harry his magic, so certain that Harry could do the same. (He was correct, of course, but even years later, it was impossible for them to say who’d actually begun the magical exploration)
Tom’s magic tended to express itself in violent, disruptive outbursts that frightened the other children. Never Harry, of course not, but the others, certainly. It made him a social outcast and Harry one by association. His magic, in comparison, was always lighter, more fun. He turned his teacher’s hair funny colors and jumped from one part of the playground to another.
Harry didn’t have many friends, or any really, he just had Tom. And it felt cheap to call what they had a friendship, like somehow not enough and yet far too expressive. It was more an implicit understanding of each other, of every thought and action.
They slept in the same room, ate together, played together, studied together. They were inseparable. Not that the caretakers actually wanted to separate them at all. As long as they kept each other in check and didn’t bother any adults, they had the go-ahead to do pretty much whatever they wanted.
It was eerie, how close they were though, they slept in a single bed together, Harry always half on top of Tom, they could finish each other sentences and they were widely regarded as weirdos.
In school, their teachers sung their praises, always top of the class, always the smartest. It did not help their popularity one bit.
(In fact, sometimes Mrs Rosewood, teacher of the third grade at the primary school adjacent to Wool’s Orphanage, would wonder if these boys didn’t know too much. They were too eloquent for their age, too posh for the orphanage, followed even the most difficult lessons with ease. And when they looked at her, it was almost like they could see everything about her as well. She tried to avoid looking at them at all, but she could feel their piercing gaze anyway.)
It was true, that sometimes Harry’s eyes seemed to glow in the dark, almost like a cat, that Tom’s tongue could twist itself until all he could get out was hisses. Harry understood him anyway, the others not so much. They were odd boys, the two of the thirteenth room of the second floor, and everybody knew.
They got sent to all kinds of doctors, who poked and prodded and asked them weird questions. Tom more so than Harry, who always seemed to calm down when Tom left the room. Of course, the adults couldn’t know that that was a facade, that Harry was probably the more unruly of the two. Tom was aggressive, yes, but he wasn’t impulsive like Harry, who would protect his friend under any cost.
The visits increased first when Billy’s bunny was found hanging from the ceiling by a thread and then again when Amy and her friend got lost in the caves. No one could prove either of them had anything at all to do with these events, but they still knew. Nothing was proven and Tom and Harry stayed. And every once in a while, you could catch Tom grinning with satisfaction or Harry humming a song Amy had sung days before she’d gone crazy. It always sent a shiver down the spine of the unfortunate onlookers.
It was on one of those visits, that they got introduced to Doct- no- Professor Dumbledore, who wasn’t a shrink at all, but rather a teacher at a school for the magically gifted. Neither of them liked the man very much, especially because he dared to burn down their prized possessions, but the idea of a school for them drove them to acceptance anyway. Besides, every one knew it wasn’t a good time to be stuck in London.
They wore threadbare robes and had second-hand books but they got to eat however much they wanted and they stayed firmly together. Slytherin wasn’t so bad, even if they did sleep in the dungeons.
Tom began to see the world for what it was, bigotry and all, and what he saw delighted him. He could use this for his advantage, could twist this society in one that would worship the ground they walked upon. Harry was just happy to have Tom by his side.
They continued on drastically different parts, at least from an outsider’s perspective.
Tom quickly made a name for himself, helping with homework, acing all the exams and just generally being magically gifted. He found himself a clique of the uber-rich, those who’s parents pulled all the strings in the Ministry. They rather pretentiously called themselves the Knights of Walpurgis. Harry snorted, the first time Tom introduced his new minions to him. He was no knight and Tom knew that.
Harry, for the most part, kept to himself, excelling at defense and sleeping through history. That is, until he got his hands on a broom. None had flown like that in centuries, and Harry couldn’t help but push and push for more.
His only friend remained Tom, who could often be found with a possessive arm around his shoulders or waist, pulling him closer in the hallways, guiding him up the stairs and down others. It was funny, kind of, how fast the ice prince could melt under Harry’s scrutiny. He was so, so careful, all the time, and Harry was grateful that he found himself a companion like that. He couldn’t breath without Tom and Tom couldn’t without him. They were two peas in a pot, two parts of one and the same.
The knights began treating him like a queen around year four, when they all started to grow out of childish fat in their cheeks and into their gangly heights. (Not Harry though, who stubbornly remained a staggering 5’ for over two years.)
At first, it was mostly as a joke, because Tom as their leader always treated Harry like his equal, but the joke quickly dissolved into reality when one of the knights dared to shove Harry for a perceived slight.
That knight had to spend quite a few night’s in the med-wing, regrowing most of his bones after Tom thoroughly shattered them. (Not that anyone, least of all the teachers, could prove that)
Afterwards, Harry really was treated like a queen, always kept safe, but at a distance great enough to never be unduly touched. Tom was a very possessive boy, who grew into an even more possessive man. Harry tolerated it with a tinge of amusement, but secretly he enjoyed the care.
In fifth year, the girls began fawning over Tom, who’d grown to a stately 6’1’’ and towered over all the others. Yeah, turns out Harry was just as possessive as Tom was.
That was also around the time Harry had to admit to himself that they had probably never even been in platonic territory to begin with. They’d never called each other brothers and now, Harry couldn’t help but notice just how attractive Tom was becoming. He fit right in with the other purebloods, all high cheek bones and aristocratic pout.
The touches that had at first been firmly at his waist began to wander and Harry couldn’t bring himself to make Tom stop. It was May when the tension finally peaked and Tom crudely shoved them into a broom closet. It was dark and a fairly tight fit that pushed Harry against Tom’s firm chest and made him crane his neck to get a look at Tom and maybe ask for an explanation. Instead, his lips got caught in between the teeth of Tom’s hungry mouth, a feeling almost like he was trying to devour him whole.
They stumbled out of that closet fifteen minutes later with swollen lips, messed up hair and a distinctly satisfied expression.
Tom was an imposing, dark man, and that night, he truly made Harry his. His name fell from Harry’s lips like a prayer in the dark and their groans would’ve shaken the castle had they not had the mind to put up a silencing spell.
They became a couple, and not even the darkness within Tom could make Harry stop. Besides, he’d always been Tom’s loyal admirer and he would continue to be just that, even when Tom killed a girl. (Wether it was an accident or not, Harry never dared to ask, just helped Tom bring the girls corpse to the chamber so that the basilisk may feast. He was too afraid of the answer)
Tom branded his minions shortly after their graduation, but Harry got claimed in an entirely different way. On his finger, a ring sparkled, emerald green and wonderfully clear. In a years time, they’d be Mr and Mr Riddle and Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.
(He didn’t know what the future would bring but he was sure Tom would rise in the ministry, if not, well, there were other ways to rule the country. And he would be firmly at his husbands side, always ready to help)