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“Are you sure about this?” Harry asked Tom, fretful despite his best intentions.
“If you want me there, master, yes I am sure I wish to come,” Tom answered, though Harry could hear a hint of irritation that he tried to hide. Harry felt the urge to apologise, but bit it back just before it emerged. He knew why Tom was annoyed with him – this wasn’t the first time he’d asked that question in one way or another. He’d moved past the point of sounding uncertain and started going into indecisive territory, something that he knew Tom disliked.
Harry didn’t blame him for that. Not when his decisions directed both his and his slave’s life. Both by choice and legally – in the Wizarding World, at least. Not when he’d accepted the responsibility of them willingly. But this wasn’t a ‘normal’ situation for them. He’d become comfortable directing Tom at home or out in public. But this…. He shook himself slightly. It didn’t matter. He was Tom’s master. Tom liked it that way; so did Harry.
“Alright,” Harry said finally, after a breath to calm his emotions. He turned to face the floo.
“Master…are you sure you want me to come?” Tom asked more hesitantly. “I haven’t seen you this uncertain in a while.”
“I want to celebrate my birthday with my lover,” Harry replied with certainty – that, he knew. Then he hesitated for a moment more before admitting, “But I am a bit nervous about how they’re going to take it.”
“The Weasleys fought staunchly against my side in the wars. If they do not wish to welcome the architect of the conflicts with warmth, that is completely understandable. I will make myself unintrusive and accept their inevitable coldness without demur,” Tom offered.
While Harry appreciated Tom’s suggestion, he couldn’t help but think back to Uncle Vernon threatening him to be quiet and pretend he wasn’t there whenever there were important guests around. He never wanted to do that to the man he loved, no matter if it was Tom’s idea in the first place.
“Thanks Tom,” he said finally, turning back to look into the warm red eyes of the man who had once been his arch-enemy. “But no. I just want….” He sighed. “Just, be yourself. I’ve made sure that they’re not expecting you to act according to the slave rulebook there – in a private home, no one can complain about it. Besides, the Ministry inquiry was recent enough that even if someone does leave a more vague sort of complaint later, it should be dismissed out of hand. I mean, they shouldn’t but….” He shrugged.
“Master.” Tom’s voice stopped him as he turned back towards the floo. “What do you want? Truly. Whatever you want, I will do my best to make it happen.”
Feeling a bit like he was doing an odd sort of dance, Harry returned back to facing his slave. He reached up and ran a hand through Tom’s hair, carding his fingers through the soft black locks behind his lover’s head, and down to rest over the collar which lay snuggly around his slave’s neck. His thumb pressed briefly over the emblem on the front – still the same sideways figure of eight which had always been there. Tom swallowed and the collar moved slightly as he did.
Harry knew that, even though he had eliminated most of the collar’s functions, his word was still Tom’s command. And Tom’s ‘best’ was far better than most people’s. Whatever he said to Tom next, his lover would move heaven and earth to fulfil. It was a heady sensation, and an immense responsibility. Almost as weighty as taking responsibility for Tom’s choices.
“What I want,” Harry confessed quietly, “is to celebrate my birthday with my lover beside me, surrounded by my friends and family, everyone relaxed and getting along.” He smiled wryly. “I know that’s not possible, not without some sort of magical intervention. And I know that you can’t control anyone else’s reactions. I’ll consider it a win if we get to the end of the day without having to put out any literal fires or someone leaving in a huff.” He brushed a hand across Tom’s cheek again. “Alright, let’s go.”
Tom didn’t say anything more. Harry threw some floo powder into the fireplace and stepped into the green flames. Tom stepped up beside him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. They’d decided that flooing together would be the best option – slaves normally wouldn’t be able to do so alone since it almost always required moving from one warded place to another. Of course, Tom’s collar was now different from any other’s, but as they didn’t want to advertise just how different it was, taking the risk of him accidentally coming out of the wrong floo wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t too common, but Harry vividly remembered choking on ash at the wrong moment and arriving at Borgin and Burkes when he’d been a wide-eyed and innocent second-year.
“The Burrow,” Harry called out, wrapping his own arms around Tom’s, and with a whoosh, they whirled away.
XXX
Tom had never seen The Burrow, but he’d heard enough about it from his master and Granger that he felt that he’d been well-prepared for it.
He hadn’t been.
They hadn’t even got out of the floo when hands were pulling his master away from him, a sea of red hair dragging Harry away like the tide. Tom felt a sudden moment of panic – his words to his master aside, he wasn’t without nerves himself and having his only lifeline swept away by a chattering mass of Weasleys was not exactly reassuring.
But he stayed quiet. He doubted that the Weasleys would do anything too terrible to him even without his master present. They were the light, after all – as far as he knew, perhaps only the youngest male of that family had been willing to go to the same lengths as his master had, killing and torturing Death Eaters. Almost all the other light wizards had considered it more important to keep their hands clean than take effective actions – that was why the dark side had been winning. What had worked in his favour then would hopefully do the same thing now – collared and controlled, his vulnerability would now be his shield, if his reading of their natures was correct.
Among his Death Eaters, he would have been like a lamb thrown in with the wolves; his experience with the light so far was that for them, it was the reverse. Hopefully, they’d restrict themselves to words and glares. He was a slave, after all – how much further could he fall? Even if he had found solace and satisfaction in his captivity, they didn’t know that.
Though he wasn’t feeling it at the present moment, he had to admit. Not when he sensed he’d been left adrift, his master having already been pulled out of sight. The room, though it had felt small when they’d first arrived, now felt almost cavernous without the people who had crowded it before.
Tom blinked and the impression was lost. It returned to being the homely sitting room it had been at first glance. It had none of the grandeur of Grimmauld Place, but possessed a sort of rustic charm of its own. It wasn’t to Tom’s taste, though, and he was grateful that his master didn’t seem inclined to apply it in his own home.
Tom stepped hesitantly towards the door through which Harry had been bustled. He stopped when a form abruptly filled it.
“Mr Weasley,” Tom greeted politely, dipping his head. Harry had said that he wasn’t expected to behave according to the Ministry’s rulebook, but considering who he was, what he’d done, and where he currently was, he decided that being more deferential than expected was probably the best approach.
The Weasley in question shifted closer to him. Tom eyed him warily, not enjoying being unable to predict what the man would do. He could defend himself if needed, but honestly, he probably shouldn’t . As he’d thought previously, the Weasleys were unlikely to do anything permanent – at worst it would be a bit humiliating. And if allowing that would permit his master to enjoy a relaxed and undisrupted birthday? Tom would do a lot more for Harry.
“You might as well call me Charlie,” the red-head told him in a surprisingly neutral tone. “There are enough Weasleys around that calling us all ‘Mr Weasley’ will be far too confusing.”
“As you wish,” Tom murmured, taking that as a cue to lift his head and get a better view of his interlocutor. Privately, he planned not to address any of them if he could avoid it. Though he knew his master had meant well when he’d told Tom to ‘be himself’, Tom knew that things would go a lot more smoothly if he was seen and heard as little as possible.
The Weasley in question wasn’t as tall as his master’s friend, but was significantly broader. His muscles were clearly defined with the short-sleeved T-shirt and ripped jeans he wore – no robes in sight. He had a dragon’s fang strung on a piece of leather around his neck – Tom was fairly certain it was from a Welsh green, but couldn’t be completely sure. Since discovering his master’s animagus form, he’d done plenty of research on dragons.
The red-head’s expression wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t as hostile as Tom had been expecting. He abruptly wondered whether being separated from his master had been planned, an impression that gained evidence in its favour when the Weasley spoke again.
“I was chosen to speak to you because I was in Romania during the second war, and wasn’t old enough to remember the first one,” he told Tom neutrally. “We felt that, out of everyone, I would have the most perspective on the situation; be the least hostile.”
“The situation,” Tom repeated warily. Weasley gestured towards Tom and then towards the door – indicating Harry, he guessed.
“You must recognise that it seems a little odd for the one who fought against you for years to say to his family that if they couldn’t behave decently to you, he wouldn’t come here for his birthday celebrations.”
“Master said that?” Tom asked, surprised. Weasley’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“In politer terms, but essentially, yes. So why, exactly, is he putting your happiness above his family?” Weasley demanded, shifting closer to Tom in a heavy-handed attempt to intimidate him. Weasley was shorter than Tom himself, but he was clearly physically stronger. It was a wasted effort – Tom had dealt with far more threatening opponents than a man who was unlikely to actually hurt him.
But it was effective in a different way. This man wasn’t only threatening Tom, physically or otherwise; he was part of a family Harry held close to his heart and if Tom made the wrong choices here, he could force a confrontation between his master and the Weasleys over him. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. Because, from Weasley’s words, it appeared that Harry would actually choose him – as unexpected as that would be. But his master’s express wishes were to be able to spend a birthday in the company of both parties, so whichever choice he ultimately made, he would be unhappy if he had to choose between his slave and the Weasleys.
“Forgive me, but I do not believe he is putting my happiness above anyone,” Tom demurred. “He wishes to spend his birthday with us both and does not wish to have rancour overshadowing the day.” He didn’t know what Harry had told the Weasleys, didn’t know what his master wanted him to say. They hadn’t discussed it which, in retrospect, seemed a little of an oversight. In the absence of a clear directive, Tom preferred not to reveal anything that could not later be hidden.
He completely understood it if Harry didn’t want to declare that he had fallen in love with his slave – who used to be the Dark Lord Voldemort. He would receive universal disapproval – pro-slave parties would disapprove of someone falling in love with a criminal; anti-slave parties would accuse Harry of abuse. It was probably better for them to keep their relationship secret from all those who didn’t need to know for years yet to come. Though Tom felt a pang at that thought, he comforted himself that at least the core members of the anti-abuse group knew about it and accepted it, even if he also knew that many of them had reservations too.
“And that’s fishy right there,” Weasley responded, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging. “ Why would Harry want you here? He didn’t even raise the possibility at Christmas – what’s changed?”
“You would have to ask my master,” Tom deflected.
“I’m asking you ,” Weasley responded in accusatory tones. Tom tilted his head on one side and eyed the man.
“Are you worried that I’m using magic to somehow make him more amicable towards me?” Tom asked bluntly. It was almost painful to be so obvious about it, but sometimes it was necessary when dealing with Gryffindors.
Weasley seemed to have been taken a little aback by his frank approach – which was justification enough for using it.
“Well, if you’re going to raise that as a possibility… yes . We are.”
Tom flicked his wrist and his wand emerged into his hand. Weasley tensed at the sight of it, his eyes sharpening. He was probably only a moment away from going for his own wand. But Tom didn’t level it at him. Instead he just held it in a confident grip.
“I swear on my wand that, to my knowledge, I have not used any magic on Harry James Potter to make him more positively disposed to me.” His wand flashed briefly, but didn’t crack, indicating both that the oath had been taken and had been proven true. Of course, he had used magic on his master to change his emotions, both when he’d been Voldemort and more recently when he’d tried to manipulate Harry into punishing him ahead of the Ministry inquiry, but all those times had been for negative purposes, not positive ones.
Tom tucked his wand away in the holster again. Arguably, it was a risk to carry it around like that, but both he and his master preferred that he had the means to defend himself if necessary even if it might eventuate in difficult questions.
“’To your knowledge’?” Weasley repeated suspiciously after a moment of thoughtful silence. “What if you’ve used it and obliviated yourself?” Tom felt a moment of surprised appreciation – that was rather more convoluted than he’d been expecting a Gryffindor to consider.
“It’s possible, but would have required my master to allow me to use such magic while still negatively disposed towards me. The collar’s default is to prevent use of any magic,” Tom pointed out.
Weasley nodded slowly.
“Which you’ve just used.”
“Because my master has given me permission for certain types of magic.” Tom tilted his head to one side again. “Do you think he would give me permission to use obliviate ? Or any other spell which might affect him mentally?”
“I guess not,” the red-head answered slowly, which showed just how little he knew Harry – Tom had been given permission to use the imperius even when they’d still been little more than enemies only just managing to cohabitate. “I have heard that the collars are strict in the absence of any orders,” he mused.
“They are,” Tom confirmed. Weasley inclined his head for a brief moment, then pinned Tom with his brown eyes, clearly attempting to look unimpressed, but missing the mark slightly.
“So what you’re trying to say is that somehow, a year has been enough to turn Harry from someone who hates your guts to someone who is willing to fight for you against his own family.”
“What I’m trying to say is that you should direct such questions to my master; not to me,” Tom returned. “It’s up to him to decide what he wishes to tell you.”
Weasley nodded again with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Alright,” he said a moment later, turning away. “Come on, then.”
Tom blinked in surprise.
“…That’s it?” he couldn’t help asking. Weasley shrugged and then looked over his shoulder at Tom.
“That’s it.” He disappeared through the doorway. A moment later, he poked his head back around. “Are you coming or not?”
Feeling slightly off-balance, Tom obeyed the implicit order. Hopefully he was heading in the direction of his master – he’d appreciate finding his rock again in this sea of confusion.
“How is that it?” he couldn’t help but ask when he caught up with Weasley. “I thought-“ He cut himself off. Weasley looked at him with the ghost of a grin on his face.
“You thought I was going to threaten you? Make you prove that you were telling the truth in some way? That you have no bad designs on Harry?”
“Well…yes,” Tom admitted. He hadn’t actually thought things that far through, but now Weasley was mentioning them, they would make more sense than the easy acceptance.
“That’s not how we deal with things,” Weasley replied simply. “You didn’t threaten me; I won’t threaten you. You swore an oath on your wand and told me to ask Harry about the details. That’s enough for now. But,” he continued, stopping and his bulk forcing Tom to stop too, “just so you know, do anything to him that he doesn’t want, and there will be nowhere in his world where you’ll be able to hide from the revenge of the Weasley family.” With that, he roughly patted Tom on his shoulder, and then headed into the room ahead of them.
After a moment to deal with what Weasley had just said, Tom followed him. The room they entered was clearly the kitchen, and was occupied by the large form of the Weasley matriarch and her youngest child. The girl – Guinevere, or something – took one look at his face, gasped, and then fled through the door to the outside.
“Charlie,” chided the mother Weasley, flashing an icy cold look at Tom. “Warning, please, dear.” Charlie shrugged.
“Sorry mum.”
“To Ginny, dear, not me.”
The matriarch looked at Tom again, her eyes boring through him like a Diffindo.
“Mrs Weasley,” Tom greeted, dipping his head again, this time more to avoid that hate-filled gaze than to give the appearance of politeness.
There was a pregnant silence for a moment, filled with all the things he could sense the female Weasley wanted to say, but was biting back. Tom didn’t even need to use active legilimency to know what she wanted to say – her accusatory and angry projections were easily detectable even without eye contact.
“Tell the others I’ll bring the food out in ten minutes, Charlie dear,” the female Weasley bit out as she turned back to her cookpots. Apparently she was choosing not to say anything to Tom directly. Perhaps that was best. If he remembered correctly, she was the sister of the two Prewetts who he’d made a point of having killed in the first war – they’d been a pain in his neck at the time. It was ironic that now he was a slave in her house – and protected from her anger only by the shield of his master. “And send Ginny back in.”
“Yes mum,” The male Weasley answered, then quickly headed outside into the garden, gesturing to Tom to follow. He did so willingly – he had no desire to be dragged into the angry undercurrents flowing around the Weasley matriarch. The banging of pots and clatter of cutlery accompanied them out the door.
Just as they were almost clear, the male Weasley ducked and pulled Tom down as a stream of silverware was directed over their heads. The shorter Weasley probably would have been fine, but Tom was tall enough that it might have scalped him. He suspected that that might have been intentional.
“Harry’s over there,” the male Weasley indicated pointlessly – Tom’s gaze had already been drawn to his master like a lodestone. His duty apparently accomplished, Weasley sloped off and Tom started walking towards Harry.
The black-haired man was surrounded by Weasleys – born or not. Tom noticed Granger present, as were two other ladies who were laughing together about something, neither red-heads. Harry’s friend Weasley was apparently trying to wrestle a piece of headgear – a crown? – onto Harry and Tom’s master was having none of it. They were all laughing, happy. It made Tom hesitate about whether he should actually approach or not. Maybe he should wait at the side until his master summoned him?
On the one hand, his place was at his master’s side, acknowledged or not. Ready to serve, to provide his master with anything he needed or wanted. On the other, he didn’t want his presence to dampen the joy Harry was clearly finding with his friends.
Then Tom realised what he was doing – and what he wasn’t doing. The whole point of giving himself to his master was to give Harry the power to make the decisions for both of them. It was up to his master to decide where he should be. Not Tom. That was how he didn’t make the wrong choice.
Relief unloosened the knot in his belly at that thought and his steps grew in confidence as he walked towards Harry.
A red-head crossed his path too close for either of them to avoid the collision. Tom rebounded off the surprisingly solid Weasley before him. Knocked slightly breathless, he hurried to apologise – the last thing he wanted was this Weasley, or anyone else, thinking that it had been intentional.
“No worries, I should have looked where I was going,” the Weasley replied affably. He was taller than his brother and slimmer, though still muscular. “Here, have a sweet – to express how sorry I am,” he offered, producing a purple-wrapped sweet.
“Thank you, Mr Weasley,” Tom automatically responded, taking the sweet politely – he didn’t have a sweet-tooth, but rejecting an overture when he was already on thin ice was probably not a good idea.
And then his magic shrilled an alarm centred upon the innocent-looking object in his hand. He stiffened slightly, his eyes darting back towards the Weasley he’d collided with. There. How could he have missed it? Malice.
He should have realised sooner. ‘Charlie’ Weasley had been the one assigned to speak to him because he was the ‘least hostile’. The sheer initial affability of this other family member should have put Tom on guard even if nothing else did. He was suddenly very certain that the collision hadn’t been accidental.
But what should he do here? The sweet was clearly magical. Based on Harry’s words about the Weasley family, if his deductions were correct, this was probably the twin that remained alive after the War. And he knew how malicious and inventive they had been when still together – none of those he’d sent to destroy the joke shop in Diagon Alley had ever been the same since.
Yet could he afford to reject it, even knowing that it was harmful in some way? He’d accepted it because he didn’t want to cause a scene; rejecting it now would have the same result. It was unlikely that the sweet would be something too harmful – surely they wouldn’t try to poison him during his master’s birthday? No, it was likely to be something humiliating, maybe painful. They might be trying to get his master to punish him by modifying his behaviour in a way that made it unacceptable, or it might just be so they could laugh at him. Or perhaps it was revenge – it hadn’t been his wand that had killed the other twin, but it had been one of his Death Eaters who had done it. If it wasn’t permanent, perhaps allowing this Weasley to revenge himself a little would make things easier with the others?
Perhaps the Weasley could read something of his thoughts on his face.
“Well go on, then. Give it a try. Or do you still think you’re better than us ‘blood-traitors’?” the red-head taunted him.
Tom felt backed into a corner. Damned if he did; damned if he didn’t.
He met eyes with the Weasley. The younger man knew that he knew, and was enjoying the dilemma he had put Tom in. Then, slowly, Tom started unwrapping the sweet. There was a hint of surprise in Weasley's eyes as he brought the sweet to his mouth.
“Tom! Don’t eat that!” His master’s voice had never been more welcome. Tom’s hand froze and both he and the Weasley looked over at his rapidly approaching master. He darted a glance at the red-head’s face and was surprised to see a flash of guilt on it. “George, you’re not trying to feed Tom one of your products, are you?” Harry asked warningly.
“Not one of my shop products, no,” George answered, the guilt vanished as if it had never been. Even Tom could tell that he was equivocating. Harry’s frown deepened.
“Don’t tell me it’s one of your experimental products, then?” The Weasley’s silence was enough. Harry made an exasperated sound, then plucked the sweet from Tom’s fingers as soon as he got close enough. He held it out to the Weasley, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
The red-head eyed the violently purple sweet like it was a live snake – and he wasn’t a parseltongue.
“Go on George, you got caught. You know what that means,” a gleeful voice followed Harry – the youngest male Weasley. He didn’t spare a glance at Tom – evidently he was more interested in seeing his brother get in trouble than see Tom humiliated.
The other Weasley – ‘George’ – gained an affable, long-suffering look and took the vividly coloured sweet. He threw it in his own mouth. A moment later, he started vomiting violently even as his hair turned into red snakes and started biting him. They all backed off to a safe distance – out of the splash zone. Tom was even more grateful for his master’s intervention – only a moment later and that would have been him.
He stepped over to stand behind his master’s shoulder.
“Thank you, master,” he murmured quietly. Harry looked up at him with an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have let them pull me away. But Ron told me that Charlie was bringing you – I thought that would be OK since Charlie mostly experienced the war second-hand.”
“He only left me a moment ago,” Tom answered, feeling the need to defend the man who honestly had been more reasonable than Tom had any right to expect. “I think that he didn’t realise that I would get into trouble just walking over to you,” he continued wryly.
Harry grunted and Tom recognised the sound as him not being convinced.
“He knows as well as anyone how much chaos George can cause in a moment when he’s of a mind to. He has good reason to hate Death Eaters – and you,” his master responded. Tom dropped his eyes to the ground, guilt going through him. Not for the Weasleys named specifically, but because he knew that they mattered to his master.
Several others came up to join the audience, commenting casually on the effects. The Weasley currently vomiting was fumbling in his robes. Pulling something out of his pocket, he slipped his arm under his robes and reached towards his backside. A moment later, he jerked and then the vomiting started reducing. As the vomiting stopped, the snakes started shrinking until they once more turned into hair.
Still looking a bit green-faced, ‘George’ took a shaky bow.
“Medusa Makeover – a new product for Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes,” the twin announced, then sent a wry look at those who had gathered around. “Once we’ve managed to get rid of the severe nausea that accompanies the transformation.” He hesitated and then winced theatrically. “And we’ve managed to figure out a way of ending it which doesn’t require delivery by suppository.”
Harry just crossed his arms and glared at the prankster without amusement.
“Don’t feed Tom any of your experimental products,” he warned the male Weasley firmly. “And Tom,” he continued looking over at his slave, “Don’t eat anything that George offers you, or anything you think he might have been at. Understand?”
“Yes, master,” Tom replied gratefully – now he had his master’s orders, he wouldn’t be boxed in the same position he’d been in only a few minutes ago.
A moment later, the Weasley matriarch called them to the table and they headed there. But this time, Tom stayed with Harry – as he was meant to.
XXX
“Harry, while you open the presents, would you care for some coffee? Or Firewhiskey?” Arthur offered.
“Sure,” Harry accepted, standing up from the table. He groaned a little as he stood – the movement made the food in his stomach shift and that just reminded him of how much he’d eaten. Molly’s food was always delicious – though Tom’s food was almost to the point where he rivaled her, and certainly he was far more experimental than Molly was. And at least he never forced food on his master when Harry said he’d had enough. Molly, on the other hand, never accepted that he’d had enough until he was almost green in the face just looking at it. This time, she’d been even more attentive, practically forcing the food down his throat while bemoaning frequently that he was too thin and clearly not taking care of himself.
Used to her overly-mothering ways, it had taken Harry a while to realise that it was more than just because it was his birthday. It was only when Tom had started fidgeting next to him and Harry had felt his magic begin to get a bit agitated that he made the connection – Molly was doing it to get at Tom.
She must have known or guessed that Tom was the one making the food at home and was making it clear that she didn’t feel he was doing a good job. Harry knew she was perceptive enough to have realised that her words were upsetting him; whether she thought that it was just annoyance, or recognised that it was actually hurtful, Harry didn’t know.
He’d put a stop to it once he’d realised, but by then, the damage had been done in terms of how much he’d stuffed in his stomach. And he’d still had the cake to eat at that point.
His birthday definitely hadn’t been as harmonious as he might have wanted it to be, but then he’d rather been hoping for the impossible there. Honestly, it had gone better than he’d feared. No one had cursed anyone and he’d even managed to head off George's attempt to give Tom a nasty experimental product. George had made a number of efforts after that to pass something to Tom, but Tom had proven himself quite able to identify the contaminated food and had avoided the traps.
Hermione had snagged the chair next to Tom on his other side at the table which had been a relief too – knowing that the two of them would start talking about obscure magical theory or laws and keep each other occupied for the majority of the meal had allowed Harry to relax and exchange barbs with George and Ron, chat to Charlie about the most recent draconic arrivals, discuss the quidditch team rankings, talk about the Ministry with Arthur, and evaluate his progress with the goblins with Bill. The only one who he hadn’t really spoken to was Ginny – though the awkwardness of the initial Weasley meals since their breakup had mostly left, she had been surprisingly quiet, frequently sending glances at Tom.
But Harry couldn’t regret bringing Tom with him. Even if they hadn’t spoken much at the table, Harry had basked in the easy presence of his lover beside him, close enough to touch, even if only beneath the cover of the table. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of Tom, but he figured that throwing his relationship in the Weasleys’ faces wasn’t very diplomatic – he’d already had to be firmer than he’d have liked to have the man there at all. Plus, he wasn’t sure if Tom wanted to be that public about it – he should have definitely broached the subject before time.
On that note, Harry looked down at his lover, as always appreciating the man’s good looks. It wasn’t the only thing that drew him to Tom, but his lover’s fine features were always a pleasure to gaze upon.
“That’s alright with you, right? You haven’t had too much of the Weasley chaos?” he checked. Tom might have given him the right to make decisions for both of them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about the man’s feelings.
“I think I can survive it a little longer,” Tom replied wryly, giving Harry that secret little smile of his – the one that was more in his eyes than on his lips. “If that is your wish, master.”
Harry grinned back at him and felt a sudden urge to kiss those soft lips, to bury his hand in those silky black locks. With him standing and Tom still sitting, it was a perfect position to ravish his slave…. But not here. If they were alone, Harry wouldn’t have been able to hold back. As it was, Bill and Ginny were working together to levitate the rest of the plates back to the kitchen and Ron was steadily making his way through the remains of a massive pudding Molly had made.
Instead, Harry dared to stroke Tom’s cheek, a gentle caress which might be mistaken for brushing food or an insect off him. At the same time, he knew his love was shining in his own eyes as he looked down at his…what? His partner? When Tom would never be anything more legally than his slave in the eyes of the Wizarding World?
He dropped his hand and knew from the sudden flash of concern in Tom’s eyes that the man had picked up on the change of mood.
“Master…?” Tom asked tentatively. Harry shook his head sharply and his slave fell obediently silent.
“Come on, Arthur’s waiting for us.”
XXX
They headed into the house. Tom noticed how Harry collected a load of plates to take with them, practising his wandless magic. Tom hesitated, not sure whether he should use magic or not, but not wanting to ask his master – Harry was suddenly closed off where before he had been open, and Tom didn’t know why.
His master had looked like he was on the verge of kissing his slave senseless – an event Tom would have very happily welcomed – when suddenly he’d withdrawn. Shutters had gone down behind his eyes and he’d looked…troubled. But he hadn’t wanted to explain and Tom had respected his decision.
He wondered whether it was linked to the meal. It had been difficult in a number of ways, the frequent attempts to jinx his food only one of them. He’d been struggling not to curse the oldest female Weasley when his master had intervened – how dare that harpy suggest that he wasn’t feeding his master well enough! That he was too thin! Tom could very happily attest to the fact that his master was in very good shape, thank you very much.
Only the fact that he knew his master wouldn’t like it had stopped him retaliating with something rather more permanent than words . But Harry had noticed and his response had been almost everything Tom could hope for – although he’d been diplomatic about it, he’d made it clear that he valued Tom’s cooking and felt well-cared for at home. Tom couldn’t even say what had been missing which would have made it perfect, especially since the Weasley woman had subsided after that and had restricted herself to sending Tom poisonous glares from time to time.
The rest of the table had mostly ignored Tom apart from sending him the odd hostile glance, a situation he was perfectly happy with, especially since Granger had very obviously grabbed the seat next to him and they’d been able to have an interesting conversation. He’d felt rather odd sitting next to his master at the table, at least at first. The last time they’d been at a feast had been in Hogwarts’ Great Hall at Harry’s graduation ceremony and Tom had knelt beside him. In some ways, though Tom had appreciated the food – which, curse the woman, had been very tasty indeed – he’d have rather done the same here too. He would have remained close to his master without being in the sight of the Weasleys – out of sight, out of mind.
But Harry had very obviously indicated that the chair next to him was Tom’s, so he hadn’t felt like he could do anything else – his master’s wishes were his law now, more than they had ever been.
Realising that his master had gone a little ahead, Tom quickly grabbed a few of the dishes from the table and brought them in physically – since his master was cleaning up, he felt he should, but at the same time suspected that rubbing the fact he could do magic in the Weasleys’ faces probably wasn’t the best idea.
“Oh, thank you, Harry dear, you didn’t need to!” the Weasley matriarch fussed over Tom’s master. Tom felt his lips curl and a sound started to emerge that was suspiciously like a hiss. Hoping his master hadn’t caught the lapse, Tom quickly cleared his expression. After the ears incident, Harry would never let him live it down if he was caught hissing at the female Weasley.
“It’s fine, Molly, really,” Harry was assuring her. “I was coming in anyway – it made sense.”
“Well, thank you then,” the woman said with a final pat on Harry’s shoulder. Tom moved forwards to set the plates he was carrying on the table with a slight clatter; if the sound made the Weasley woman turn away from his master, all the better.
The woman’s gaze caught on him and her expression went wooden. Tom saw her thoughts as clearly as if he was using magic to legilimise her: she was wondering whether she should acknowledge his help, minor as it was, or whether his identity was enough to void any requirements of politeness.
“Thank you,” she said finally, surprising Tom a little – he had expected it to go the other way. But perhaps his good behaviour at the table had earned him a little leeway. She quickly turned away from him and bustled over to the main door – clearly that little concession had cost her significantly.
His master eyed him knowingly and Tom couldn’t help but smirk a little at how well Harry knew him.
“Come on. Let’s get that firewhiskey,” his master said, then glanced at the door, “before Molly gets back.”
They headed into the sitting room to find that several of the Weasleys were already sitting down. Harry walked towards a chair and Tom followed on his heels.
“You can pick any chair you want,” Harry murmured to him when he noticed that Tom wasn’t going for his own seat.
“If it’s all the same to you, master, I’d rather not,” Tom murmured in return. His master represented safety and he had no desire to be further away from Harry than he had to be. If his master ordered him to find a chair, then he would, of course. But it wasn’t his preference.
Harry eyed him for a moment, pausing before one of the overstuffed armchairs. Then he nodded, his head dipping almost imperceptibly.
A wave of relief went through Tom and as soon as Harry took his seat, Tom sank down into his normal relaxed half-kneel, half-sitting position, leaning against Harry’s leg. He hesitated for a moment, not sure whether Harry would want to stroke his hair in front of his family, but more than half-hoping he would.
When his master’s strong fingers wove themselves through Tom’s locks and pulled his head firmly against his master’s body, he melted against Harry, feeling fully relaxed for the first time since he’d come in through the floo.
It was funny if he thought about it. Once, kneeling before one of the Weasleys had been such a humiliating experience that the collar had had to be the thing to force him to obey. Now, it was a position of safety, one where he didn’t need to take part in the conversation if he didn’t want to, where he could let his master make all the decisions.
He thought that the turning point had been after his master had retrieved him from Richards’…care. With Richards, kneeling in front of others had lost any shame still attached to it – he had lived through experiences so much more humiliating than that. And then when he had been in the Minister’s office, half out of his mind from hunger, pain, and exhaustion…that’s when it had become a joy and a relief rather than anything shameful. When he was kneeling at his master’s feet, that was. His master had saved him, and not just from Richards – he’d saved Tom from himself .
So Tom just luxuriated in the warm solidness of his master’s leg and the heavy hand that secured him there. At times his master massaged his scalp, running his fingers gently through Tom’s hair; at other times, he simply laid his hand over Tom’s neck, his grip encompassing Tom’s collar, a welcome brand.
Tom didn’t pay attention to the Weasleys, they were irrelevant to him at this moment. He did cast a wandless alert – it would let him know if anyone came too close to his master or cast magic at them. It alerted him when the Weasley patriarch came close and handed a drink to his master – Tom paid enough attention to him to see how the man hesitated slightly as he cast a glance down at the kneeling slave, but the man ultimately said nothing. When he removed himself from the sphere of protective magic around Tom and his master, Tom dismissed him from his thoughts and relaxed against his master again.
Although he didn’t listen to the majority of the conversation, the times when he did pay attention informing him that it was banal and nothing interesting, Tom did keep half an ear out for if the tone of the conversation shifted, even as he mused over the recent assignment Healer Lerouge had given him.
It was a combination of this and the way his master’s fingers briefly tightened around his neck that alerted Tom and cued him to tune into the conversation.
“-don’t see why that’s something you need to know,” Harry said stiffly, leaning forward slightly.
“Come on, Harry,” one of the elder male Weasleys wheedled. “You have to give us more than that. I mean, consider who he is!”
“I told the public everything they need to know in the newspaper article and press conference I did,” Harry answered with a chilly tone in his voice.
“But Harry, we’re not exactly ‘the public’,” the youngest female Weasley responded with asperity.
“We’re your family and we want what’s best for you,” added the oldest female Weasley.
Tom’s master held his position for a moment longer and then sighed, sitting back a little so he relaxed into the armchair.
“Molly…all of you. I’ve always appreciated the welcome you gave me, as a lost eleven-year old, new to the Wizarding world. But there are some things which are private. And the details of mine and Tom’s relationship are just that.”
Tom glanced at Granger and her paramour sitting beside her. Both of them had tight expressions, but neither seemed to be about to say anything, not in defence of Harry’s right to privacy, or to reveal the details which Granger, at least, had been made aware of.
“Harry,” tried the Weasley patriarch. “We’re just…confused. We want to know what’s happening. You made it very clear to us that we should treat him as any other guest. For you, we have done our best.” Tom would give them that one – they’d clearly been trying and succeeding as well as he could expect from a load of Gryffindors who had little practice in hiding their feelings. “Yet…” The male Weasley gestured towards Tom. He could finish the thought, as could Harry. “We just want some clarification.”
“Fine. How’s this for clarification then,” Harry started with more than a hint of defiance in his voice. “I love him. And he loves me.”
Tom’s eyes snapped to his master’s face. It was set in defiant lines, his eyes flashing with a mixture of what Tom recognised as anger, determination…and fear. With a sudden thrill, Tom realised that this was the first time he’d said he loved Tom in front of other people. They’d shared it a few times at home…but not in front of others. Even Granger hadn’t heard that – the anti-abuse group had become aware that Tom and Harry were having a sexual relationship but they hadn’t bandied the ‘l’ word around.
Tom was surprised by the thrill of delight that went through him at the realisation that Harry was willing to confess his love in front of others – in front of those who had the power to hurt him with their rejection.
It was odd – not so long ago, he’d completely disdained the emotion, believing that there was no such thing as love. It was nothing but wishful self-delusion, or puerile attraction which had been given too much licence and become an infatuation. Now, however, he knew that it existed, and that it was both powerful and uncontrollable. He wouldn’t have chosen to fall in love with his master, not without knowing that it was returned, at least, but it had happened by itself. And he hadn’t realised how much he’d been wanting it to be acknowledged beyond them until Harry had done so.
But knowing how much it meant to him, he could only imagine how his master was feeling. Whether Tom liked it or not, the Weasleys were important to Harry. Tom glared around at the Weasleys filling the space, practically daring them to react in any other way but positively. His reaction didn’t go unnoticed – he noted all three of the eldest Weasleys glance at him. He also noticed the look that the Weasley patriarch sent his wife – and the way she deflated at it from where she had begun to be puffed up like a bullfrog.
“I see,” answered the eldest Weasley carefully.
Harry’s fingers tightened on Tom’s neck again and then loosened with obvious intentionality. He was hurt, already. Just by the lukewarm reaction they’d received. Though what Harry had expected, Tom didn’t know – this was a bunch of light wizards who hadn’t seen them interact since Harry had burst into Hogwarts’ Great Hall and enacted the ritual that had enslaved Voldemort and his Death Eaters and ended the War.
“Harry, have you been to St Mungos recently?” the Weasley patriarch continued in the same careful tone of voice.
“I was in it after having my head cracked by the explosion at the press conference a few months ago,” Harry bit out. “And no, they didn’t find any sort of magical influence in my system,” he volunteered, having clearly deduced what Tom had – that Weasley was trying to work out if Tom had been feeding him something. Evidently, they weren’t taking the wand oath Tom had sworn seriously, or perhaps they were trying to close loopholes. He supposed that it was possible he’d had someone potion Harry – that wasn’t covered by the oath. But again, that was more twisty thinking than he’d have expected from a staunchly Gryffindor family.
“Harry, we’re just concerned,” the Weasley who had met Tom offered appeasingly. “You can’t deny that this is something of a shock.”
“I told you it wasn’t your business, but you pushed. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think you’d take it well,” Harry snapped at them, but Tom could hear the hurt that underlay the anger. he shifted slightly closer to his master’s leg – if that were possible – and wrapped an arm around it to remind his master that he would always have Tom. The hand that had been on his neck shifted to brush his cheek gently and then returned to its place, lighter and more relaxed than it had been before. Tom felt grateful that he could be of some support for his master, however small.
“Then why did you tell us?” asked the one who had tried to trick Tom with his experimental product. His voice was hostile, as were his eyes as they rested briefly on Tom. “Why bring him here? He started the war that killed my uncles. His diary hurt my sister. His followers killed my brother. ” He bared his teeth in a snarl and his hand twitched as if it wanted to go for his wand. But he restrained himself and remained seated.
Harry was silent for a long moment, then sighed and stood. Tom quickly rose to his feet and tucked himself behind his master’s shoulder.
“Because, as you said, you’re the closest to family I have living,” Harry said quietly, sounding tired and sad. “And he’s the man I love. I know there’s bad blood between you – I know what he’s done. But I was just hoping to spend my birthday in the company of those I love. But I understand that it’s too much.” Tom saw him visibly bite back the words which first came to him. “Thank you for making an effort,” he said instead. “I’m sorry for asking it of you.” He inclined his head to them, then strode towards the floo. Tom didn’t need any instruction to follow quickly on his heels.
Taking a pinch of floo powder, Harry hesitated for a moment before throwing it into the flames.
“Thank you for the food, Molly,” he said with a barely audible quaver in his voice. Tom could tell he was holding himself together through determination and probably precious little else. “It was delicious.” He tossed the floo powder in and stepped in. Tom hurriedly followed, and a moment later, they whirled away.
XXX
When they arrived at the house, Harry immediately strode towards the door. He was feeling very raw and didn’t want to talk.
“Master,” Tom said quietly from behind him.
“Not now, Tom,” Harry responded roughly, fighting back the traitorous prickling in his eyes.
Tom didn’t reply and Harry continued striding out of the room. He wandered through the house aimlessly.
Why had he been so selfish? Confronting the Weasleys with the dark lord who had done so much to them. No wonder Ginny had been so quiet – she’d suffered awfully at the hands of the memory of Tom Riddle and for all that it wasn’t actually this Tom who had done that to her, it had been a bit of his soul. How could he have been inconsiderate enough to bring the older man as a guest to her family’s table? And it might not have been Voldemort who had killed Fred, but it had been his orders which had seen the Death Eaters there and ready to cast the curse which ended his life. As for Molly’s brothers…he was ashamed to admit that he’d forgotten about them. No wonder that Molly had been so stiff around Tom.
It was just…when he looked at Tom now, he didn’t see the dark lord anymore. That wasn’t to say that he thought Tom was perfect or could do no wrong – he knew full well that the man was no innocent and that he didn’t have any more morals than he had ever had. His regrets centred around how much his actions had hurt Harry, and barely even considered how they had hurt other people. But he also believed that Tom had been genuine in dedicating himself to Harry and to Harry’s desires. And he had taken responsibility for making sure that Tom followed a better path now.
Tom was not Voldemort and they were both determined that he would never be such again. But he could understand why the Weasleys wouldn’t see that. And he could understand why they wouldn’t understand his relationship, might think that Tom had manipulated him. But it still hurt that they didn’t trust him enough to accept him either not wanting them to pry, or that he knew what he was doing.
He shouldn’t have taken Tom there. But he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed having his lover there, able to stroke his leg or share a warm glance whenever he wanted. And he’d also enjoyed being able to share easy conversation with the Weasleys. In fact, even with the moment with George, Molly’s sniping during the meal, and the last conversation, it had been one of the best birthdays he could remember – no Dursleys, no war.
Harry’s feet had taken him to the library. He walked over to one of the sofas and slumped onto it, a cloud of dust flying out at the force with which he had landed. He stared at the ceiling sightlessly, thoughts going round and round in his head as he wondered what life would be like in the future – would he forever be obliged to hide his love for Tom because others would misinterpret it? Because some would call him an abuser since Tom was his slave, and others would consider him to be committing a sin because his lover was the former dark lord Voldemort? Nevermind those who would object to him taking a man as his partner. His lover had committed sins which couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten – would Harry have to hide him away from even his friends? Would they only be able to be themselves at home and in the muggle world? And even then, they would be restricted as they wouldn’t be able to use magic. Did they need to be set apart from everyone?
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, but Harry didn’t bother to raise his head – it could only be Tom.
Sure enough, he heard a whisper of movement and felt a warm body press against his leg. The other man remained silent which he appreciated. He felt blindly and found Tom’s silky hair. For long moments, he just played with his slave’s dark locks. It was good that Tom enjoyed him doing this as much as Harry enjoyed doing it to him – he might feel bad about how often he did it, otherwise. Even if Tom had said that having to do things that he didn’t want to do was satisfying in a different way, Harry still felt guilty sometimes at taking his pleasure first.
Still, Tom’s happiness was clear, even when Harry was pushing his limits. Sometimes especially then. Harry’s lips twitched as he thought about pushing Tom so hard in one scene recently that his slave had been begging him desperately by the end of it to be allowed to come – and being denied over and over. And afterwards, he had been so beautifully soft and pliant, deep in subspace. He’d been amenable for days afterwards, still riding the high of the experience.
Though Harry was a little surprised that he’d chosen to kneel at Harry’s feet at the Weasleys’ – he’d have thought that that was one situation where he’d have preferred to be as egalitarian as he could be.
“Is there anything I can do, master?” Tom asked quietly Harry chuckled humourlessly, his depressing thoughts returning.
“Change the world so we can be in love without anyone else caring?” He sighed and then sat up. His lover deserved more from him than that, especially when his lover was also his slave and had been very clearly doing everything he could to please his master. “It’s fine, love.” The word fell from his tongue as if he’d said it a hundred times before as he stared into the warm red eyes of his lover. “I should have learned by now that hoping for perfection is worse than pointless. You did very well. I noticed how you stayed calm and didn’t respond to their provocations in any way. You trusted me to deal with it and I appreciate that.”
Tom ducked his head slightly, but Harry had seen the expression of pleasure that had passed across it.
“I…” Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at Tom’s uncharacteristic hesitancy. “I didn’t expect you to say that you loved me in front of the Weasleys,” the red-eyed man admitted. With a pang of fear that he’d overstepped a boundary that they hadn’t spoken about – that they should have spoken about, Harry hurried to check with his slave.
“Did you not want me to?” he asked, fearing the answer. After all, something said couldn’t be unsaid, at least, not without an obliviate .
“I liked it,” Tom confessed, as if it was something shameful. “I like it when you claim me as yours, but I didn’t realise how much I’d wanted you to say that you love me before others until you did it.”
The fear melted away into relief – and a curl of pleasure of its own. Because, honestly, out of everything, that was the thing Harry least regretted.
“I want to tell the world I love you,” Harry said simply. “I ache to do so. I only don’t because I know how much more difficult it would make certain things. And there is too much hanging on the anti-abuse group to mess it up just because I want to show off to the world that I have the most intelligent, magically powerful, and handsome man in the world on my arm.”
“Who used to be a dark lord,” pointed out Tom, though the pleasure in his tone told Harry that his compliments had been appreciated.
“Key words being ‘used to’,” Harry returned. Then he smiled at Tom, feeling more cheerful. Even if the Weasleys would never accept him, even if they could only be themselves at home, did it matter so much? He had so much more than he thought he would during those dark days in the war. He was alive, for one thing; so were most of his friends. He had a job and was actively working to make the world he lived in better. And more, he had someone he loved and who loved him. A man who wanted to be with him so much that he had sworn himself to Harry’s service for life, and had proven every day since that he’d meant his words. Even a few months ago he hadn’t had that much. Wanting more was just being greedy.
“In celebration of making it through the day without anyone getting cursed, how about you make that Thai curry tonight?” Harry continued. Tom looked up at him, surprised. Harry knew why – yellow Thai curry was Tom’s favourite, not Harry’s, and his slave knew that.
“But it’s your birthday, master,” Tom pointed out. “And we ate a lot at the Weasleys – I was planning soup and a selection of finger food that you’ve indicated you like.”
“Then let’s have the curry tomorrow, then,” Harry decided.
“As you wish,” Tom agreed, dipping his head. Then they both twitched as the wards indicated that someone had come through floo.
“It’s probably Hermione,” Harry said with a groan. He didn’t feel like getting up but he suspected why she was here. He remembered that there had been presents for him that he’d never got to opening since he’d stormed out in a childish fit of pique that the world wasn’t falling into place the way he wanted it to – that he couldn’t have his lover and the closest thing he had to a family share his birthday when his lover had been the leader of the other side of the War. But he didn’t want to speak to Hermione and see her pity or, worse, have a lecture about what he’d already realised.
“I’ll go, if you like, master,” Tom offered. Harry considered it, then decided that he could justify avoiding her for a little while longer. It was still his birthday, after all – wasn’t that a good enough excuse?
“Alright, thanks,” he accepted, sending his lover a grateful look. His slave dipped his head, for a moment and then strode out of the room.
XXX
Tom headed down the stairs, his mind working busily. His master was clearly upset by what had happened – understandably so. He didn’t know what had been going through Harry’s mind, but suspected nothing good. Still, his master had seemed cheered by his own words and presence, which made Tom feel warm inside. And Harry trusted him to go and deal with Granger.
Except, Tom realised as he reached the bottom of stairs and looked into the sitting room that Harry also used as his office, it wasn’t Granger. It was Weasley – the one who had tried to trick him with the experimental sweet and who had then subsequently tried to hide a number of other jinxed products in his food. The one who had thrown his brother’s death in Harry’s face. Tom flexed his wrist slightly, checking that his wand was there and ready to pop out at a moment’s notice.
“Mr Weasley,” Tom greeted with a polite dip of his head. A potential threat or not, right now he was a guest.
“Where’s Harry?” the Weasley demanded rudely.
“If you let me know what you would like to speak to him about, I will go and let him know,” Tom offered, thinking of how unenthusiastically Harry had greeted the idea of speaking to Granger – he suspected that Harry had even less desire to speak to this Weasley.
It was only a moment later when the red-head’s eyes narrowed that Tom realised how that could have sounded – and probably did – to one who was already suspecting him of magically influencing Harry to fall in love with him.
“No you bloody well won’t!” the Weasley retorted and then barged past Tom to stick his head out of the sitting room. “Harry? Harry, where are you?” he barked loudly.
Tom sighed silently, regret going through him – he could have handled that better. Now his master would have to get involved despite his desire not to.
“George?” came Harry’s surprised voice from upstairs. “Hang on a moment. I’ll come down. Ask Tom to get you a drink if you want.”
Weasley returned back into the sitting room, his face slightly more relaxed. He didn’t ask Tom for a drink, though – that seemed logical. With as much as he seemed to enjoy doctoring the food of others, he was probably fairly unwilling to give others the opportunity to do the same to him. And particularly not when it was Tom.
He didn’t sit down either, leaning against the surround of the fireplace and eyeing Tom, his wand in his hand. It was relaxed for now, but clearly he didn’t trust Tom in the slightest.
Harry arrived in the doorway a few moments later and Tom automatically knelt for him with a brief greeting. Just as automatically, his master gestured for him to stand and he rose again smoothly. It hadn’t been done intentionally – it was just the normal expectations of behaviour in their house – but when he saw the way the Weasley male’s eyes widened slightly, he thought that it might have had more effect than if it had been obviously prepared.
“George,” Harry started with a guilty note in his voice, approaching the man. Tom stayed off to one side, giving Harry space while watching carefully in case something happened. “Listen – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked your family to welcome the man who, changed or not, did cause a huge amount of suffering for you. And I shouldn’t have got angry that you were unable to accept that, to me, he’s no longer Lord Voldemort. A lot of water has gone under the bridge which I was there for, but you weren’t. He’s changed, and so have I. I just…I just wanted to have everything . But that was selfish of me and didn’t acknowledge your family’s pain. Your pain. I’m sorry,” Harry said again, his eyes fixed on Weasley’s, his face set in sincere lines.
The red-head was silent for a long moment, then he let out a sigh.
“Look, Harry, it’s me who should apologise for being an arse. I’m not going to pretend that Fred’s…that it doesn’t hurt. And I’m not going to say that your…boyfriend? Slave? Whatever he is, that he isn’t at least partially to blame for it. If he and his Death Wankers hadn’t been trying to take over, Fred would…he’d still be alive.” His eyes flashed to look at Tom, full of that same hostility that had been present earlier. “But it wasn’t your fault, and in the end you’re the one who got hurt. So I’m sorry. Dad gave me the option to not be present – he warned me that he would be there and that I’d need to be polite.” He shrugged with the ghost of a mischievous look on his face. “Well, my definition of polite, anyway. I could have chosen not to come. But I didn’t, because I wanted to celebrate your birthday with everyone. So that’s on me. But what I don’t get, Harry, is how you can accept him and what he’s done to you. ” Weasley threw his hands up in the air. “I know I lost Fred, and mum lost Uncle Fabien and Gideon. And Ginny still has nightmares from first year and sixth year. But you…you lost your parents , he’s hunted you practically every year since you were eleven, you went on the run because of him – and Ron has told me how tough that was for you. How can you turn around and suddenly say you love him? If you’re not being potioned then have you lost your mind? ”
Tom stayed very still, wishing for a moment that he had stayed near the doorway instead of being only a couple of paces away. This felt like something he shouldn’t intrude on. But maybe he shouldn’t have worried – his master and Weasley had no eyes for anyone but each other.
“We’ve been living in the same house for almost a year,” Harry answered, his quiet tones a contrast to Weasley’s agitated ones. “I won’t say it’s been easy because it hasn’t. But what has happened to Tom since I did that ritual…it changes people. He’s changed. I’ve fallen in love with him because he’s no longer the man who killed my parents, who tortured me, who sent his followers to hunt me through the country. Sure, he did those things, but even if the collar came off now, he wouldn’t do them again; that I’m certain of. And I know that you can’t see that, and I’m not expecting you to. But I want you to trust that I know what I’m talking about. To trust me .”
Weasley looked at Harry and then at Tom, his eyes searching and assessing, his gaze judgemental. Tom didn’t try to hide anything. His chin was lifted high enough that the collar was easily visible, and he’d clasped his hands behind his back. He met Weasley’s assessing gaze with a neutral one of his own.
“Hermione has been saying much the same thing,” Weasley admitted a little reluctantly. “That V-your slave is a completely different person from who he used to be. I’m sorry, but I still find that hard to believe. You’re sure he’s not running a long con or something? Hoping to get free?”
“I’m sure,” Harry dismissed firmly. “Believe me, the collar’s effects are not ones that are easy to imitate, let alone consistently. Besides, even without that, I’ve had lots of evidence that he’s not acting.” He caught Tom’s eye and the look on his face made flags of red come to Tom’s cheeks as he thought about the ‘evidence’ that his master might be referring to. He didn’t look away, though, nor did he try to hide his embarrassment. If his master wanted to put him on show, he would comply willingly. “You should listen to Hermione – she’s seen our interactions a hell of a lot more than most people.” He was right – out of everyone, only Draco had seen them more often.
Weasley obviously caught the slight blush as his eyes narrowed slightly. In Tom’s opinion, Weasley looked like he might be doubting himself. It seemed like much hinged on him – and perhaps the Weasleys as a whole – believing in Tom’s transformation.
“Master,” Tom started, an idea suddenly coming to mind. He almost immediately dismissed it – it was not something that he liked the thought of in the slightest, nor something that he would enjoy. But if it might make things easier for his master and the Weasleys…. When the choice was between his own comfort and his master’s happiness, there was only one good answer. “May I make a suggestion?” he asked, preventing his reluctance from showing through sheer practice at emotional control.
His master glanced over at him, his gaze wary. Had he picked up something that Tom had let slip despite his efforts?
“Go ahead.”
Since he’d given his permission despite his wariness, Tom continued.
“Perhaps Mr Weasley would be more convinced of my transformation if he has the opportunity to witness it first-hand?” His master’s eyes sharpened.
“Go on,” he ordered. Tom’s gaze flicked over to Weasley’s face to judge how his words were being taken by the red-head.
“Perhaps Mr Weasley has need of…an assistant, or something similar. Perhaps I could assist him in some way for a day. Or more, if you deem it necessary.”
There was shock on Weasley’s face and Tom felt a little satisfaction at that – if his offer was accepted, that was probably the only bit of pleasure he would have until he was released. After all, he knew as well as Weasley what he’d volunteered for. Glancing over at his master Tom saw that he also understood – and was troubled by the idea.
“Are you sure?” his master checked, his eyes on Tom with a look in them that always made him melt inside.
“If it would help you, master, yes,” Tom answered honestly.
Weasley’s eyes darted between the two of them.
“You’re not yanking my chain here?” he blurted out in surprise. “You’re,” he gestured at Tom, “volunteering to be my test subject? And you’re,” he gestured at Harry, “willing to let him? When you stopped me from giving him that Medusa’s Makeover earlier?”
“He didn’t know what it was then,” Harry objected. Weasley snorted.
“Oh, he knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew it was going to do something to him. I could see it in his eyes.”
Tom’s master turned his attention onto his slave, his eyebrows raised in a silent demand for more information.
“I…had an inkling, master,” Tom admitted. “I was willing to gamble that it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be reversed…but I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
“Tom,” his master said with an angry note in his voice. Tom stepped closer and quickly went to his knees in front of his master, ducking his head apologetically. He knew why Harry was angry with him. His body was his master’s, to do with as he wished, and what he wished – as was written in Tom’s code of conduct – was that it was treated as precious. That Tom treated himself with as much care as he would offer his master. He wouldn’t have made such a gamble with his master, so he shouldn’t have made it with himself.
“I’m sorry, master,” he apologised. And then, despite the presence of the Weasley, he continued as he would have if they were alone. “I will accept any punishment you wish to give me.”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Harry replied, sounding slightly mollified. His fingers met Tom’s chin and lifted it gently so their eyes met. “For now, just tell me why you’re making this suggestion.”
“You and I know I’ve changed, master,” Tom started calmly. “The Weasleys do not. If this will prove that I’m different than I used to be, and that will in turn ease things between you, I am willing to undergo what I must. I trust you that you will ensure that I am not harmed more than you wish to permit.”
His master was silent for a long moment and Tom could see that he understood the depth of trust that Tom was extending him, though it was no more than he had extended when he had chosen to be Harry’s slave until death. Harry could have ordered him to do this without his suggestion; he could order Tom to do a whole lot worse and Tom would have no ability to deny him even if he wanted to.
And then, Harry nodded a little and released Tom’s chin. He flicked his fingers and Tom rose gracefully to his feet again. Weasley was staring at them.
“Are you for real? You’d let him volunteer to be my test dummy for a day?”
“As long as he comes back to me at the end of the day with no permanent or significant harm done to him, and that you swear that if he manages to go the whole day without cursing you, then you’ll accept he’s changed,” Tom’s master qualified.
Weasley just kept on staring. Then he barked a laugh and shook his head incredulously before crossing his arms and staring at Harry.
“Alright, fine. I like a good wager as much as anyone else. I bet that your Tom won’t be able to take a day in my shop where he’s obliged to follow any order I give him. He’ll be allowed to leave – heck, I’ll bring him through the floo myself – at any time. But if he leaves before the close of business, he loses. And in that case, you swear that you’ll never bring him around The Burrow again.” Weasley’s voice was serious.
“Fine,” Harry agreed, “as long as none of your orders are abusive – we can define that together closer to the time, but I’ll say now that I won’t accept any harm that lasts past the day. That means no significant injuries, nothing mentally traumatic, and no humiliation which would impact him if he ran into the person it happened in front of in the future. I will also not tolerate anyone but you ordering him around, and only within the limits that I set – if you push the boundaries, you lose the bet. Basically, I don’t want you abusing him or my trust,” he stated clearly. A wry look crossed his face. “At least, don’t abuse him apart from letting him test products, since that could probably be considered cruel and unusual punishment. Though even that must only be things you have the antidote for – if I have to take him to St Mungos, you’re paying the bill.”
“Agreed,” Weasley replied after a moment’s hesitation. “And if you win, then I’ll tell my family that Tom is definitely not Voldemort – there’s no way he’d be able to stay in my shop for a whole day under those conditions, so if he does, then I’ll be willing to proclaim to anyone who’ll hear that he’s changed.”
“And you’ll stop accusing me of having lost my mind?” Harry asked pointedly. Weasley looked a little apologetic about that – perhaps he knew as much as Tom did that that was a bit of a sore spot.
“Sure, Harry. Heck, if Tom can convince me that he actually loves you as much as you say you love him, then I’ll even support you.” A shadow crossed his face. “Maybe second chances aren’t bad things when done well. I wish I had one of my own.”
XXX
“We need to discuss your punishment.”
Harry’s words fell into the previously-comfortable silence at the dinner table like an explosive curse. Tom’s hands tightened on his cutlery and he swallowed dryly. George was long gone and Tom had been surprised that this topic hadn’t been raised earlier. He’d almost started believing that his master had forgotten – more fool him. The soup which had previously been delicious suddenly lost its flavour.
“What do you wish to discuss, master?” he asked after a moment. “I have already accepted anything you wish to do – or to have me do.”
“I know that,” his master replied easily – as if Tom’s agreement wasn’t necessary for whatever his master wished him to do. Which indeed, it wasn’t. “What I mean is that I want to be absolutely certain that you are clear on why you are being punished.”
“Because I put my body at risk without your permission, master,” Tom answered, casting his eyes down to the table so he didn’t have to see the disappointment in his master’s eyes again.
“Needlessly,” his master added, and Tom saw him raise a finger from the table top as if to emphasise the word. “There was absolutely no need for you to take an unknown item that you knew would harm you in some way from someone who you knew didn’t like you. Doesn’t like you. What should you have done?”
“Come to you and asked whether I should accept it, master,” Tom answered quietly, feeling wretched.
“Exactly. And if you couldn’t come to me because George had physically stopped you?”
“Called for you.”
“And if, for some reason, he decided to silence you and attempt to push the thing down your throat?”
Tom hesitated on this one. His first reaction would be to use magic, but he wasn’t sure that was what his master would want from him. Then he realised that he had another option. He reached up to his collar and touched the tag that still hung from the D-ring. He flicked his eyes up to check on his master’s reaction.
“Hold this for five seconds.” The faint twitch of his master’s eyebrows indicated that that wasn’t actually the expected response, but it didn’t look like he’d chosen incorrectly either.
“You could certainly do that. And if you’re paralysed or bound for whatever reason and can’t reach the tag?”
“Use whatever magic I must to get out of the situation and then tell you as soon as I can about it,” Tom answered, more confident about this one – it had come up during their discussion post Lady Magic’s intervention.
“Precisely. Now, my Tom, where in that list of options does it say that you should accept a prank sweet from the sole remaining Weasley twin, who even prior to losing his brother was known for taking things a bit far ?” The hint of poisonous sweetness to his master’s voice was an indication of just how much Tom had messed up.
He slid out of his chair and to his knees.
“I’m sorry, master,” he said again, completely repentant. “I didn’t take proper care of what is yours.” He heard his master sigh and then a hand landed on his head and stroked through his hair before landing on his shoulder.
“At least it seems like you understand the reason why I was angry at you. It wasn’t because you wanted to do something to please me; it’s that the way you went about trying to do so would have upset me significantly. Or did you think that I would appreciate seeing my lover hurt or humiliated in front of my friends?”
Tom felt even worse. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He’d just been considering not wanting to create a scene that would have disrupted his master; he hadn’t considered how he could have disgraced Harry in front of those he was close to. After all, as Harry’s slave, Tom was essentially an extension of him in many people’s eyes. How his master treated his slave reflected on Harry, like it or not.
Perhaps it wasn’t so relevant to this particular situation since they’d been among those who knew Harry well – any deviations would be blamed on Tom rather than Harry. In fact, they had been – the Weasleys had found Harry’s treatment of Tom to be suspicious and had immediately jumped to the conclusions that Tom was magically influencing him somehow. But in another situation, Tom’s willingness to take someone’s abuse might be seen as him being accustomed to that at home, a reflection on what his master usually did to him. And being responsible for giving that impression was something Tom wasn’t willing to accept. He’d have to be more aware of it – he’d known for a while that Harry’s reputation was at least partially dependent on his slave’s behaviour, whether he was with abusive slave-owners or vehement anti-slavery activists.
“I understand, master. I promise not to disgrace you with my behaviour in front of others,” Tom told his master earnestly, looking up to meet those emerald eyes which gazed down at him.
To his surprise, though, instead of approval, exasperation entered them.
“Tom, seriously. Did you intentionally misunderstand that?”
“Master?” Tom asked with confusion. The exasperation left his master’s expression to be replaced by a hint of concern.
“You…didn’t intentionally misunderstand. Tom, I’m not angry at you because you vomiting everywhere and getting bitten by your hair turned into snakes would have somehow ‘disgraced’ me. I’m angry because you would have been in pain. And I don’t want you in pain unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want you suffering or humiliated. I’m trying not to think too much of what might happen to you during the day you’ve volunteered to be George’s test dummy, but at least I won’t be there to see it.”
“Master, if you don’t want me to do it,” Tom started but cut himself off when he saw his master’s small headshake.
“You offered, he accepted, I’ll make sure that he has enough limits on what he can do that any suffering will be temporary, and I’ll have to trust that you’ll come back immediately if he starts pushing those. Like I said, I’m not exactly happy about the suggestion, but you asked me before you made it so I’m not angry with you for that.”
“You could have forbidden it,” Tom pointed out. “If it upsets you, you should forbid it.” His objective was to make his master happier, after all. Doing something which led to the reverse was just counter-productive.
“I know I could have,” sighed Harry, “but I decided to allow it. I…appreciate that you’re trying to make an effort to bridge the gap between you and those closest to me who have genuine reasons for distrusting you. And you clearly have an idea of what you’re letting yourself in for, so I’m willing to accept it. And as I’ve said, at least in this context I can impose my own conditions to make sure you’re not pushed beyond what I feel is acceptable. I decided to let you have this particular, informed choice. But do you get why I was angry earlier?”
“Yes, master,” Tom answered quickly. “I…matter to you.” He swallowed – the words were difficult to produce from his throat for some reason, he’d never had to say it like that before. He was almost afraid to say it – like he worried that if he said it out loud, it might be taken away. Like how long ago as a child he’d learned well never to make it clear he liked something – it was the surest way to lose it.
It had been enough that his master was willing to accept his devotion, was willing to take the burden of choice away from him, had shoulders broad enough to bear the weight of his previous actions and stand like a bulwark against a world who would bay for his blood if given half the chance.
And then his master had said he loved Tom, loved the broken man he had become, the grown-up version of the broken child in the orphanage. And that was far more than enough. It felt like some cosmic imbalance which Tom dared not draw too much attention to for fear that it would be upset.
Perhaps his master saw some of these thoughts in his face, or perhaps just the desperate, searching emotion which must be painting lines around his eyes and mouth. Either way, Harry softened slightly, raising his hand to stroke Tom’s face. In his eyes, there was nothing but love.
“Oh Tom,” he said softly. “I love you so much, you don’t even realise it.” And he leaned down to give Tom a kiss. Not one of the hungry, devouring kisses which so often turned Tom’s knees to water. And not one of the soft lazy morning kisses either, full of contentment. No, this one made a pang go through Tom, an aching, almost painful clenching in his chest. He sank into the kiss and chased it when his master’s lips withdrew.
But on his knees, he couldn’t move far enough to regain those soft lips and was forced to accept that it was finished.
“Alright,” his master told him with a thoughtful look on his face. “Go finish your soup and then we’ll go upstairs for your punishment.”
Tom sent a look at his half-finished bowl and then looked up at Harry plaintively.
“Can we just go now? I don’t think I’ll be able to eat any more until afterwards.”
His master seemed to consider that for a moment and then nodded.
“Fine. We ate plenty at lunchtime anyway.” Then he flashed Tom a small smile. “You won’t be doing anything too strenuous so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Tom gave his master a half-hearted glare – he knew Harry had said that just to tease him. Harry’s smile just grew a little wider.
He stood up and offered a hand down to his kneeling slave. Tom didn’t hesitate to take it, letting his master help him stand up even though he didn’t need it – he would be a fool to take a helping hand for granted when it was his avoidance of so many others which had been offered that had got him into such a mess in the first place.
He just hoped that whatever his master had planned, it wouldn’t be too unbearable.
XXX
Harry led the way up to the bedroom, now certain of what he wanted the punishment to be. He’d been fluctuating between different options and part of the reason for opening the discussion with Tom had been to figure out exactly what lay behind Tom’s self-endangerment.
Though that wasn’t usually how he’d refer to someone taking one of George’s inventions, especially since it was usually done unknowingly, he couldn’t help but feel that it was accurate here considering the actors involved. And it seemed like his gut feeling was correct – Tom had been endangering himself and it seemed to be because he didn’t realise just how much he was worth in Harry’s eyes.
It was a little funny in a distinctly non-humorous way. Harry himself was still sometimes struggling with the idea of being Tom’s master at all times. Not just legally because of the collar around his neck. Not just because they enjoyed a kinky game every so often. But full time, because Tom wanted it that way and Harry was deeply in love with Tom.
Tom, on the other hand, seemed to struggle with that aspect – that Harry loved and cared for him, and wanted him to be healthy and well because of that and not only because of his own reputation or whatever. Harry didn’t doubt that Tom loved him – it was written in his eyes, in his face, in his body when he moved to obey Harry willingly, and in the magic which curled around them both. But he wondered whether Tom doubted Harry’s love. He’d certainly had enough trouble saying that he mattered to Harry in the kitchen, and his reaction to Harry declaring his love to the Weasleys had been shocked awe – like he’d never expected Harry to claim him in that way in front of others. And Harry knew from his later words that that was exactly what he’d thought.
And Harry understood it. When one grew up feeling unwanted and unloved, it was hard to force that haze to dissipate and allow a view of the love that was waiting for acknowledgement. Perhaps that’s why Harry had found it so hard to come around to the idea of Tom becoming his slave willingly – he’d known instinctively that such a thing was an act of love, and he had been terrified that instead it was being driven by fear and desperation. To be honest, he still had that fear in the back of his mind, but each time he saw that patient, trusting love in Tom’s eyes, a little bit of that fear chipped away.
Well, perhaps the punishment Harry had in mind would do the same thing for Tom as his own love was doing for Harry.
“Strip and sit on the foot of the bed,” Harry ordered his slave when they got into the bedroom. Tom quickly obeyed. He was clearly nervous, but there was no hesitation in his actions. Harry wondered idly what Tom was expecting. Did he think Harry would hurt him? Harry hoped not – that would rather be the opposite of the message he wanted to convey. Or perhaps it was the uncertainty that was causing the slight shake to his limbs – this would be the first major punishment they’d had to do since establishing Tom’s code of conduct.
When Tom was in the position Harry had ordered, the master stood up and walked towards his slave. Tom watched him approach with nerves clear in his eyes, but loving acceptance there too. Harry had to admit that he liked that look – it was very different from the beaten-down resignation that he’d seen in the eyes of far too many abuse victims. There, their eyes had said ‘I will accept what comes to me because I must’. Tom’s eyes said ‘I will accept what you give me because I trust you’.
“I want you to realise just how much you mean to me,” Harry said, tipping Tom’s chin up so he could stare into the wine-red eyes of his lover. “I want you to stroke every part of your body, each toe, each finger, each part of your legs, your arms, your torso, your cock, your balls, your hole, your nose, your mouth, your eyes, your hair….every part. Each time, I want you to say, ‘this is my insert body part here. Harry loves it because Harry loves me. Insert body part here matters to Harry because I matter to Harry.’ And yes, I want you to use my name, not ‘master’ in this context.”
Tom looked at him with a faint frown on his face. Harry kept his own expression impassive.
“Are my instructions clear enough?” he asked with a faint lift of his eyebrows. Tom blinked and then nodded quickly.
“Yes, master. Ah, Harry?” Harry ignored Tom’s momentary confusion. It wasn’t important.
“Well then, get to it,” he encouraged. Tom nodded again, more slowly this time. Looking very awkward, he lifted his finger and stroked it with his other finger.
“This is my index finger. Harry loves it because Harry…loves me.” He swallowed, looking a little uncomfortable. That discomfort increased as he continued speaking. “My index finger matters to Harry because…because I …matter to H-Harry.” His red eyes flashed up at his master in a clear attempt to seek approval. Harry gave it – this wasn’t an exercise where he wanted Tom to struggle for words of praise.
“Well done,” he said instead, giving his lover a smile. “Next?”
One by one, Tom went through each of the body parts as he’d been ordered. Each repetition of the words became smoother and smoother, but it never gained a sense of being rote, like Tom was saying it just because he had memorised the words until they became automatic. Instead, Tom seemed to dwell on them more each time and they gained a deeper sense of awe as he moved from his hands to his arms, to his body, to his legs, and then finishing with his face and head. And though he didn’t seek approval each time, whenever he did, Harry answered him with loving praise and appreciation of his efforts.
By the end, he actually sounded like he might be starting to believe what he was saying and the words were almost eagerly tripping out of his mouth.
And later, when they lay in bed together, Harry was almost asleep when he heard a whisper from the warm body lying next to him.
“Thank you master – Harry. I think I understand now.”
XXX
The clock was too slow. Each minute seemed to be crawling by like years. It probably didn’t help that Harry was failing miserably at distracting himself.
When the clock finally chimed six times, relief went through Harry and he put down his pen – he wasn’t getting anything done anyway. He fixed his eyes on the floo and waited with even more impatience for it to flare green.
After three minutes had gone past, he stood up and started pacing.
When ten minutes had gone past, he started wondering whether something had gone wrong – would he truly have to go to St Mungos to find Tom?
And then the fire made a whooshing sound and turned green a moment before two figures appeared in it. They stepped out and Harry had no eyes for anyone but his lover, anxiously looking him over to check that he wasn’t coming back with any extra limbs – or missing one or two.
“Master, I’m fine,” Tom told him quickly.
Harry refused to believe him without evidence. Looking quickly turned into touching and his slave bore through his examination with a mixture of exasperation and patience. When he’d finally verified for himself that there was nothing obviously wrong with Tom – he’d make absolutely sure of that later, but that required taking off clothes which he didn’t want to do in front of George – he stepped back. Looping his finger into the D-ring on the front of Tom’s collar, he pulled his lover’s head down for a searing kiss.
Grinning into it, he only released his slave when he felt the buckling of the taller man’s knees. A wolf-whistle off to the side drew Harry’s attention to the third occupant of the room. He stuck his tongue out at the grinning Weasley.
“Ew, Harry, I know where that’s been,” George told him with faked disgust. But Harry noted how the Weasley looked far more relaxed than he’d been when Harry dropped Tom off at his shop that morning.
“How did it go?” Harry asked, looking between George and Tom. His lover grimaced.
“You don’t want to know, master,” he answered before George could, his tone half-joking, half-sincere. Harry knew that if he pushed, his slave would answer him without demur, but in this case, he decided that he probably shouldn’t. He didn’t actually want a by-blow account of the day, only to know whether there were any problems that might eventuate from it.
“There are no permanent or long-term consequences of what happened today, then?”
“No,” Tom assured him, then jerked a little. Harry recognised it as his reaction to a warning from the collar. “Well, perhaps a few people who enjoyed it a little too much to see me dressed up as Lord Voldemort and only answering with insults directed at myself or the Death Eaters.” He darted a look at George. “And perhaps an experimental potion or two which happened to be almost as effective as truth serum.”
Harry threw a glare at George. The Weasley threw up his hands in defence.
“I didn’t ask him about the details of your sex life, I promise,” he answered, but the mischievous grin he bore wasn’t reassuring. Harry made a mental note to find out from Tom exactly which questions had been asked and what his answers had been – forewarned was forearmed, after all.
“Nothing worse?” he checked, looking at Tom again.
“No, master. At least, nothing that will endure,” his lover reassured him. Harry nodded and took in a slow breath.
“Alright, so?” he prompted, looking at George. The red-head dropped his grin and his face took on an unusually serious cast.
“I willingly and unequivocally admit that Tom is no longer Voldemort,” he said, raising his hand as if making a vow. “And I will witness to that among my family.” For all that he was overplaying it a bit, Harry could hear the sincerity in it. “Voldemort couldn’t have put up with a whole day of what I put Tom through – he was a better sport about it than most of my siblings.” He hesitated for a moment, even the overdone solemnity dropping away from his manner. “Look, Harry, I still don’t forgive him for what he did, or ordered his followers to do. But he clearly loves you and is dedicated to you. And we’ve…come to an understanding. So I have no objections to you bringing him around to family events, and I promise not to treat him any worse than anyone else.”
Harry dipped his head, recognising just what George was conceding here – more even than Harry had asked for. Tom must really have impressed him.
“Alright, thanks.”
George saluted Harry and then with a quick goodbye to each of them – Tom included – he turned and flooed away.
Harry turned to Tom, a wicked smile playing on his lips.
“Care for a shower?”
“Oh Merlin, yes,” Tom agreed vehemently, but he didn’t move from his place. Harry hummed and moved closer to him, sliding a hand down his chest again, this time far more intent than before.
“Then get yourself up to our shower, my little slave,” he murmured quietly, looking up to catch Tom’s red gaze. “I feel the need to inspect you very, very intimately.”
“Yes, master,” Tom breathed, arousal already making his pupils dilate. Harry kept his hand on Tom’s chest for a long moment more, enjoying having his slave under his command, obedient to a fault. Then he lifted it away and nodded his head towards the door.
Tom dipped his head in a brief bow, and then turned to hurry to the doorway.
“Tom,” Harry said as his lover stepped outside the room. The red-eyed man paused and half-turned back to him. “Thank you.”
The responding smile was small but no less bright for it.
“My pleasure, master,” Tom answered sincerely. Then he turned back and was gone a moment later. Harry felt a grin stretch across his face. He decided to give his slave a moment to get undressed and into the shower, and then he would follow. A naked Tom was a very good thing. A very good thing indeed.