Chapter Text
Harry flew until his hands were too numb to grip the broom handle, and then he flew a little bit longer. He landed in an empty courtyard on the far side of the castle from the quidditch pitch and staggered inside, frantically casting warming charms through chattering teeth. This section of the castle was deserted, to Harry’s relief. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing another person right now. He leaned his broom against a wall and sunk down into a dusty corner, wrapping his arms around his knees, attempting to comfort himself as much as to warm himself.
Eventually his shivers subsided. The ache in his chest didn’t.
Tom had gone behind Harry’s back and killed his father. He couldn’t believe it. No, that wasn’t quite right. He could and did believe Tom had murdered his father. What he couldn’t believe was that Tom had kept it a secret from him! That he hadn’t even suspected! He was such an idiot. He should have known!
And what was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to look Tom in the eye and ever trust him again? He couldn’t. He really couldn’t. And what did that mean for their relationship? What did that say about the ache in Harry’s heart that stole his breath and weakened his knees and made the entire world seem empty and grey?
He’d thought Tom had changed. That he’d changed more than this, at least. But if this was how Tom intended to live the rest of their lives, Harry knew with bone deep certainty he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sleep next to Tom every night, sleep with him – kiss him, touch him, fuck him, cuddle him – all while knowing that Tom might be keeping secrets, doing any number of evil and nefarious deeds behind Harry’s back.
They were supposed to be a team. Tom had said they were a team!
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. And that meant he couldn’t be with Tom, not for real. He’d tried to change Tom and failed. He had to accept that he couldn’t control Tom. All he could do was control himself, and since he never wanted to feel this way again that meant he needed distance.
He had to break up with Tom.
It was the only way.
Except that he didn’t want to break up with Tom. He wanted Tom to be trustworthy but stupid, awful Tom wasn’t! He was ruining everything! Why couldn’t he just be normal? They had been so happy! They could have kept being happy, but Tom’s need for dramatics ruined everything! Harry hated him. He hated him so much he wanted to scream.
By the time Harry returned his broom and snuck into the kitchens for lunch he had talked himself in and out of breaking up with Tom several times. His head was a mess, he was so angry steam was coming out of his ears, and his heart ached. Had anyone in the history of the world ever felt this miserable? He wandered around the castle for hours until he conceded defeat and the unavoidable need for a nap. Being so angry was exhausting.
He snuck back into the common room, keeping an eye out for Tom. He slumped with relief when he didn’t see him and strode quickly into the dorms, only to pull up short in the entryway when he caught sight of Tom standing at the foot of his bed.
Tom spotted him immediately. Just Harry’s luck.
“Harry,” Tom said, striding forward quickly.
His heart lurched at the sight of his fiancé walking toward him, so tall and handsome, hair unusually ruffled and face pale. He looked upset. Harry was grimly pleased to know he wasn’t the only one suffering. He wavered, wanting to run again, but knowing that would only delay the inevitable. He couldn’t avoid Tom forever, and – because Harry was a fool – he didn’t want to.
Tom whipped his head around to survey the near empty dorm room, eyes stopping on the only occupied bed. He narrowed his eyes at the boy. It was one of the ones Harry had never bothered to remember the name of. Gorry of Garry or something. “Get out,” he ordered.
“I’m in the middle of –” the boy protested from where he was reclined on his bed.
“I don’t care,” Tom said, drawing his wand and pointing it at the boy threateningly. “Out.”
The boy took one look at Tom’s wand and scarpered. Tom warded the door to keep everyone else out, pocketed his wand, and then turned to Harry. The weight of his gaze was heavy, and Harry could hardly stand it. He walked toward his bed, putting distance between them.
As soon as his back was turned Tom started to speak. “Harry. I understand you’re upset, but you need to realize that –”
“I don’t need to realize anything!” Harry exploded, turning on his heel before he’d made it halfway to his destination. “You need to realize that what you’ve done is unforgiveable!”
Tom’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, a sure sign he was struggling to remain in control.
Harry didn’t want him to be in control though. He wanted Tom to feel as hurt and angry and lost as he did, so he pushed. “You betrayed me, Tom. You went behind my back and murdered someone, after you told me you wouldn’t! How can I ever trust you again?”
“Harry,” Tom began, tone beseeching, striding toward Harry. He reached out his hands and Harry slapped them away before they could make contact. “You must understand. He needed to die. He sentenced me to a life of misery and poverty. I could not forgive that! But don’t you see? You asked for mercy for my grandparents, and I gave them that, for you. I would have killed them if it were up to me, but you asked for them to be spared and so I spared them. I know you’re upset about the murder of my father but if you look at the big picture –”
“Are you fucking serious!?” Harry exploded. “Wow, great job managing to kill only one person instead of three, you psychopath. You shouldn’t want to kill anyone! And you told me you wouldn’t! You lied to me, Tom! You murdered him and then you looked me in the eyes and lied and kept lying. Would you ever have told me? Would you have let us get married with that secret hanging over our heads, tainting everything?”
“Of course not,” Tom said immediately.
“And now you’re lying again! Yes, you would have! You were never going to tell me!”
“Because I knew you’d react like this! I don’t understand why you have so much sympathy for that horrid man. He was nothing! He claims to have been bewitched by my mother, and if he was that just shows he was a weak fool, and if he wasn’t he left me to rot in the orphanage when he should have taken me in! That man was a cad! A scoundrel! And if not for his arrogance I could have been raised in luxury, in a –”
“Jesus fucking Merlin, Tom, do you even hear yourself? You’re so fucking entitled. So you grew up in poverty. Like you’re the only one! It sucks but you’re a big boy, you can deal with it! And if your mother did bewitch him, with imperius or a love potion or something, then why would he want to raise you? Would you want to take in a child that someone forced on you, if some witch love potioned you into it? Of course you wouldn’t! You’re being a self centred hypocrite!”
“I would if it were me!” Tom exploded. “I am the best thing the Riddle family has ever produced! I would have been a gift to them, but they were too foolish to see it!”
Harry sneered and turned the conversation back to what he really cared about. “Some gift you are. They should have taken you in so you could lie and manipulate them, just like you’re doing to me?”
“Be reasonable, Harry!” Tom yelled. “I had to –” he paused. He was puffed up in his anger, shoulders raised and chest full of hot air. He stayed like that for a moment, frozen, before he exhaled slowly and deflated back to his normal size. His shrewd gaze never left Harry. “You’re upset that I lied to you.”
“Yes!” Harry threw up his hands. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”
“You’re upset that I lied to you. You’re not upset that I murdered my father.”
Harry scoffed. “Of course I’m upset you murdered your father,” he said automatically. But then he started to think about it.
“But you’re more upset I lied than you are that I murdered him.”
A wave of guilt washed over him. Tom was right. “I –” Merlin, what was wrong with him? How had his priorities gotten this twisted?
“Oh, Harry,” Tom breathed, striding up to Harry and sweeping him into his arms. Harry let him, though he didn’t return the embrace, stubbornly holding onto his anger at Tom and fighting with his new self-awareness. “You perfect, perfect man.”
Harry let Tom hold him for a moment before pushing away, though Tom didn’t let him get far, catching his hands and tugging him close again.
“If I had told you that I was going back to murder him, what would you have done?”
“Tried to stop you,” Harry said immediately.
“And if you couldn’t? If I told you honestly that it was always going to end this way, sooner or later?”
Harry clenched his teeth. “I’d have come with you,” Harry said challengingly, glaring up at Tom. He wasn’t sure what the challenge was, didn’t really understand Tom’s new line of questioning, but like hell was he going to lose.
Tom inhaled sharply, hands clenching tighter around Harry’s wrists, eyes shining with that fervent, unhinged glint that always captivated Harry. “To do what? Knowing you couldn’t stop me, why would you have come?”
“To make sure you were ok,” Harry said angrily, jerking his arms back in a futile attempt to break Tom’s hold. Tom just moved with him. “Unlike you, I’m actually a good partner who cares about his fiancé and I would have wanted to make sure you were ok,” Harry spat up into Tom’s face, watching closely to see if his poisonous words wounded.
They didn’t. Tom’s intent, searching gaze turned reverent, like Harry had just recited romantic poetry or a love declaration. “You would have come with me,” Tom breathed, hands moving from Harry’s wrists to cup his face.
Harry wasted no time, pressing his palms into Tom’s chest and shoving harshly, but Tom didn’t let that deter him. He just grabbed at Harry again, clutching his shoulder and waist, pulling him closer and pressing kisses against his face and his hair, any inch of him he could reach around Harry’s furious struggles to get some space.
“Oh, Harry, you perfect, perfect man,” Tom repeated, murmuring it into Harry’s hair, clutching Harry’s body tightly to his chest, one hand on his back and the other on his arse.
“Stop that,” Harry growled, squirming furiously, eventually kicking Tom in the shin and hopping back in the moment of distraction the pain provided him.
Tom hissed and rubbed at his leg for a moment, before stepping forward to grab at Harry again.
“No!” Harry demanded, pointing his fingers warningly. “No grabbing me. No kissing me! I’m still mad at you!” And he was, really, he was, except he was also feeling a bit warm inside from Tom’s fawning. Tom thought he was perfect, even though he was so angry with him?
Tom stilled, but his body remained tensed, ready to pounce at the first sign of Harry’s weakening resolve. “Harry. My dearest, darling Harry. Don’t you see? This is perfect. We are perfect.”
Harry did not see and he let his confusion fuel his anger. He stomped his foot. “What’s perfect? Tom! You killed you own father and then lied about it! I’m so mad at you! Stop complimenting me!” But Tom didn’t seem to be taking him seriously, still looking at Harry with that besotted, reverent look on his face. In desperate fury, Harry escalated, determined to get a reaction that made sense. He took a deep breath and said, “I think we need to break up.”
“No,” Tom said dismissively, expression not changing. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Harry spluttered. “You can’t just decide that on your own! If I want to break up, then we’ll break up.” He wasn’t even sure if he meant what he said. He just wanted Tom to take him seriously.
“Harry, you don’t understand,” Tom said, finally sounding grave. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d never understand. That I’d lose you if you knew. But I wouldn’t have. You’d have come with me. Don’t you see, Harry? I don’t have to lie to you, and so I won’t. Never again, Harry, I swear it. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll make it a vow, if I have to.”
Harry’s aching heart thumped, coming back to life. He watched Tom with narrow eyes. “You lied because you didn’t want to lose me?” he asked, suspicious.
“Yes,” Tom said, stepping forward and slowly raising one hand to grasp Harry’s arm. Harry let him, though he didn’t loosen his stiff posture. “I needed to kill my father, but I couldn’t stand the risk of alienating you, and so I had to lie. I didn’t want to.”
Harry titled his head back to keep his eyes on Tom’s face as Tom pressed their bodies together. He doubted that Tom had really been torn up about lying, but he believed the former. Tom had done it because he hadn’t wanted to lose Harry. Because he cared about Harry too much to risk it. That was sort of romantic, wasn’t it?
The besotted look slid back over Tom’s face, and he looked at Harry with love-struck eyes. Harry rather liked the expression. He’d seen versions of if before, but never so intense. “But don’t you see, Harry? You would have come with me. You would have been worried for me.” Tom stroked Harry’s cheek slowly, reverently.
Harry frowned, not willing to give in so quickly even though his anger had all but faded. “I wouldn’t have help and I’d have still tried to stop you.”
“But you would have come. Why? What would you have done if not help?”
Harry shrugged turning his face away to show his displeasure, but also stretching out his neck in a way he knew was enticing. Tom took the bait, leaning down and running his nose over Harry’s throat before stopping to mouth at the skin under Harry’s ear. He supressed a shiver and let Tom work for his forgiveness with his lips. “I’d want to make sure you were ok. You’d never killed someone before, right? And it was your dad, even if you hated him. You might have been upset.”
Tom let out a strangled sound, deep in his throat, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Part moan, part groan, it was all emotion. Harry could feel the vibration of it through Tom’s chest and into his lips, where they were still pressed against Harry’s skin. “You are absurd. More perfect than I’d ever imagined,” Tom said into Harry’s neck. He started to pull them toward Harry’s bed.
Harry went willingly. “I’m still mad at you,” Harry said, though the severity of this statement was somewhat diminished by the fact he was letting Tom push him back onto the mattress and crawl over him, covering his body with his own.
“I understand,” Tom said seriously, though his eyes were bright and eager and worshipful, and he certainly didn’t look cowed by the remonstration. “I betrayed your trust.” He started unbuttoning Harry’s robes.
“You did.”
“I need to make it up to you.”
“You do.”
“I have an idea of how to do that,” Tom said, pushing Harry’s robes aside and running his hands under Harry’s sweater until it was pushed under Harry’s armpits and Tom’s clever fingers had free reign of Harry’s nipples.
Harry hissed in pleasure and arched his back into it, which delightfully pressed his groin into Tom’s backside, where he was straddling his hips. “I’m not that easy,” Harry said. “You’d give me sex anyway. I want something else.”
“Hm,” Tom said, mouthing at a nipple for several long, delightful moments before looking up. “The vow I offered?”
“Yes. And five questions.”
“One.”
“Ten. You’re not in a position to bargain.”
“I’m always in a position to bargain,” Tom replied, smiling his dragon’s smile. He then simultaneously ground his hips into Harry’s and ran his tongue over Harry’s nipple. Harry gasped and then moaned, dragging Tom up by the hair to kiss his lips.
But Harry was nothing if not stubborn. “Five,” he repeated, voice breathy but serious.
“Very well,” Tom agreed between kisses. “But only because I adore you so.”
The words sent his heart tripping over itself, or maybe it was Tom’s heavy weight pressing against his groin, or Tom’s sweet kisses, or the knowledge that they wouldn’t have to break up and he could still have Tom, forever. He reached for Tom, running desperate, grasping hands over his strong back and broad shoulders and let the last of his anger flee. He had more important things to feel now.
Harry peered under his bed, letting out a little noise of satisfaction when he saw the sweater he’d been looking for. He had no idea how it’d made its way there. He threw it in his trunk and slammed the lid shut, finally finished packing, and slid between Tom’s closed bed curtains.
“Took you long enough,” Tom said, shutting the book he’d been reading. Tom had finished packing that morning, the overachiever.
Harry ignored the gentle jibe and settled himself in beside Tom, slinging an arm and a leg over him and settling his head on his chest, only to squirm away moments later, sitting up and tucking his knees into Tom’s side. “I can’t wait to see Beatrice and Henry again.”
“Yes, it will be good to spend time with them over the break,” Tom agreed.
Harry shifted down again, rolling onto his other side and pressing his back against Tom’s side. “Especially Beatrice. I keep worrying she’ll backslide. It’ll be good to see with my own eyes she’s healthy again.”
“Hmm,” Tom agreed. Harry rolled onto his stomach, and Tom promptly flattened himself on top of him, pining Harry to the mattress. “Will you cease your infernal squirming? Why are you so wriggly?”
Harry huffed, the noise lost in the mattress his face was pressed against. “I’m just excited,” he said, wriggling his shoulders until Tom unpinned him and rolling onto his back so they were face to face. Tom hovered over him, propped up on an elbow. “I miss my family and it’s our first Yule as fiancés and we don’t have to deal with fucking NEWTs prep for two whole weeks! And your birthday is coming up!”
“Much to be excited about,” Tom agreed blandly, not sounding excited at all. He moved one large, warm hand to rest on Harry’s hip, idly stroking his thumb back and forth.
“And I’ve thought of another question for you,” Harry announced, eager and sly.
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Have you?”
“Yes. Finally.” Harry had earned those five questions and he was very keen to use them, but it turned out he knew pretty much everything about Tom. He’d used his first question to finally figure out how Tom could tell when he lied – some sort of passive ability to detect lies that was likely connected to a mind art called legilimency – but Harry had already guessed the reason, so having it confirmed wasn’t that exciting. He’d been stumped on what to spend his remaining four questions on until he remembered a long-ago conversation. “I want to hear your original accent, the one you had growing up.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Fine, let me rephrase: what did the accent you had when you were a kid sound like?"
“Are you sure that’s what you want to know? You don’t want to know how or why I have this accent now?”
“I can already guess that, and the more you prevaricate the more I want to know,” Harry said, eyes narrowed in determination.
Tom huffed. “Very well. Let me think.” His attention turned inwards, and his mouth moved a few times, like he was practicing. Eventually, he spoke. “This is the horrible east London accent I grew up with. Are you satisfied now you know I grew up sounding like a poor street urchin?” The words were all Tom, but the pronunciation was completely different. In place of Tom’s usual crisp, melodic cadence was a foreign song, all dropped H’s and R’s, something strange happening with his T’s and U’s.
“Oh,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose. “I thought it would be cute, but it’s all wrong. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Tom said, back in his usual voice. “I’m no longer that child.”
Harry sighed, disappointment. “I don’t think that one should count as a question since it was so dissatisfying.”
“Nice try,” Tom said. “It’s hardly my fault you’ve been selecting poor questions.”
“Yes, but these questions were supposed to make me feel better after you so cruelly, thoughtlessly upset me with all your murdering and lying,” Harry said, shamelessly trying for emotional manipulation.
Tom levelled him an unimpressed look and pinched his side sharply.
Harry yelped and then laughed, rolling into Tom until their positions switched, Tom lying flat on his back and Harry hovering over him. “I’ll make my next three questions count,” he said, half promise and half threat. “And in the meantime, I can think of another way for you to make me feel better.” He pressed a leg in between Tom’s and leaned in until they were slotted together mouth to hips to feet, two hearts and one being.
Instrumental Christmas music filled the air, the jazzy, soaring notes matching the twinkling lights strung around the lounge, holiday cheer bright enough to lift even the dourest spirits. Not that Harry’s spirit’s needed lifting. His heart was full and his mood was light, even as Beatrice threw down her cards with a triumphant ‘ha!’.
“You and Tom need to play cribbage whilst at school, Harry dear. You lose all your strategy when you don’t play for a time, and it’s far less satisfying to beat you when you don’t pose a challenge,” Beatrice said, looking quite satisfied to have won their third game in a row, despite her claim to the contrary.
“Or maybe you can find some other poor sod to beat and leave your favourite great-grandson alone?” Harry said, faux hopeful.
“Nonsense. You’ve been doing far too well at quidditch lately. You need to play a game you don’t excel at to keep you humble.”
“How generous of you to keep me in line,” Harry drawled.
Beatrice’s eyes twinkled. “You will be happy to hear I’ve introduced the game to my book club, though. There’s hardly a challenge to be found amongst them, except for Mary Haversham. She already knew the game. She’s a muggleborn, did I tell you?”
Harry smiled. “You mentioned, yes.”
Beatrice had expanded her social circle beyond the pureblood elite to include a few wealthy halfblood and muggleborn women. She had very casually mentioned it to Harry half a dozen times, and to Tom just as often. Harry didn’t mind. He was proud of his grandmother for shaking up the prejudices she’d harboured for so long, and filled with warmth because she was being so vocal about her new friends to signal to Harry and Tom that she accepted their blood status. It was a bit ridiculous that she’d been so prejudiced in the first place, but Harry wasn’t one to dwell on the past. She’d learned and grown and that was all he could ever ask for.
“Another round?” Beatrice asked.
“Have mercy,” Harry said, right as a new song started. “Shall we dance instead?”
“I think I could be persuaded,” Beatrice said, moving with Harry to the centre of the lounge and starting a spirited dance full of dips and twirls. By the time the song ended they were breathless and smiling. Harry bowed exaggeratedly over Beatrice’s hand with a wink.
“Shall we drag our men away from business?” Beatrice whispered conspiratorially, eyeing Henry and Tom where they sat in front of the fire discussing a controversial new bill being introduced to the Wizengamot. Henry was already grooming Tom to take his seat in the legislature, giving Tom the sort of mentorship every pureblood heir received in their early adulthood. Harry was relieved that Henry had accepted that Harry wasn’t going to be his political successor without a fight. Once he and Tom married, there’d be two Lord Potters but only one of them cared for politics.
“Yes,” Harry agreed with a grin, moving toward his favourite men. “It’s the holidays!” he chastised loudly as he approached, catching Henry and Tom’s attention immediately. “No work in the evenings!”
“Oh ho! Is that so?” Henry asked with a smile that wasn’t quite identical to Harry’s but was damn close.
“You know the rules, Henry dear,” Beatrice said, walking up to Henry and holding her hand out in silent demand he rise to meet her. “Holidays are for family.”
“Well, who am I to break the rules?” Henry asked, with a quick wink at Tom.
“I’d certainly never do so,” Tom said, standing and joining Harry with a charming smile. It was impressive he could look so sincere whilst lying so blatantly. The man was a marvel, and Harry would die if Tom didn’t start paying attention to him right now.
“You’ve already broken the rules, and now you have to pay the price: dance with me.”
“With pleasure.”
Fortunately, the lounge was quite large, with an open space in the middle of the room wide enough to fit two spinning couples without incident. At formal balls Harry and Tom switched back and forth between lead and follow position, but at home Harry preferred for Tom to lead the dance. He got to spin more that way, Tom flinging him around the room with abandon in a way that stole his breath and would send a lesser man dizzy.
A slower song came on, and Tom reeled Harry in close to him, the two boys swaying gently as Harry caught his breath. Beatrice and Henry were only a few steps away, and though Beatrice’s teasing lilt and Henry’s responding booming laugh were audible, it felt like he and Tom were in their own little world. Harry sighed heavily and rested his head on Tom’s shoulder.
Tom tightened his hold on Harry’s waist in response. “Was that a happy sigh?”
“Yes. Very. I hope the rest of our lives is like this.”
“Like what?”
“Happy.”
Tom tsked. “Always so emotional,” he said, undercutting the gentle chiding completely when he pressed a soft kiss against Harry’s hair.
Harry dug his pointy chin into the soft flesh where neck met shoulder in retaliation. “You’re happy too. Admit it. I’ve set us up for a pretty good life.”
“Oh, and you deserve all the credit? I like to think I had something to do with it.”
Harry scoffed. “Please. I dragged you here kicking in screaming. If you’d had it your way you’d be halfway to some crazy dark lord by now, all on your lonesome. Now you get to spend Yule happy, with people who love you. Isn’t that better?”
Tom didn’t answer for a long moment.
Harry looked up, into Tom’s narrowed eyes, and tilted his head in question.
“You think you won our bargains,” Tom accused.
“No. I know I won our bargains.”
“Preposterous,” Tom denied automatically, but didn’t continue. They danced a few measures in silence as he thought. Harry’s grin grew wider and wider as Tom’s brow furrowed further and further. “You gave up nothing!” he said eventually. “I had to reform every single one of my future plans and make various promises to curtail my behaviour and you haven’t had to do anything!” Tom sounded outraged at the delayed realization.
Harry couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I do have to marry you,” he said teasingly, grin still playing on his lips. “That’s quite a sacrifice on my part.”
“Please,” Tom scoffed. “You get to marry me. How on earth did this happen? It’s unthinkable! You’re barely even a Slytherin!”
Harry patted Tom’s shoulder consolingly. “Let’s not think about it as a competition, alright? We’re a team, so when I win, you win.”
“Yes, but you’ve won because I lost!”
Harry didn’t bother to bite back his smile. Tom’s outrage really was precious. “My plan for the future is better than yours was though, admit it. You’re happy. I know it.”
“Yes,” Tom agreed, hardly even sounding begrudging. His eyes met Harry’s, crinkling in the corners, handsome face glowing with warmth. The sight made Harry’s chest feel tight and warm and overfull, as it always would. The soft buzz of Beatrice and Henry’s conversation floated in the air, subsumed by the gentle strain of Christmas carols. The room smelled like mulled wine and crackling fire, the scents as warm and welcoming as the sight of the fairy lights and twinkling Yule tree decorating the lounge. Tomorrow they’d attend the Ministry Yule ball, and a few days later Henry and Beatrice’s children and their families would all come together at the manor to celebrate the holiday. They were home. “Yes, Harry. I’m happy.”
The end.
Epilogue, Part One: 10 years later
Harry flooed home after quidditch practice, stepping into Riddle Manor’s receiving room to an unusual sight: his husband was home early, and waiting for him.
Harry and Tom had been living at Riddle Manor for almost a year, mainly because they thought they might as well do something with the house. They’d lived in their own wing at Potter Manor for years after marrying. Frankly, Harry missed it. They had brunch every Sunday with Henry and Beatrice, and dinner most Wednesdays, but it wasn’t the same. He reckoned they’d move back in before Yule.
In all the time they’d been living at Riddle Manor, Tom had never once made it home from work earlier than Harry.
“How was training?” Tom asked solicitously, kissing Harry’s cheek and taking his hand.
“Fine. MacIntosh’s knee is finally almost recovered. She’s back in training now and will hopefully be game fit in a few weeks.”
“Finally,” Tom said testily. She was their team’s star chaser, and with her out of play they hadn’t been doing as well. Tom took her absence personally, as if she chose to be injured, to Harry’s immense amusement. Tom might not care about quidditch but he cared about Harry winning enough to make up for it. “Do you need a snack before dinner? I had the elves prepare a roast chicken sandwich for you with that seasoning you like.”
Because Harry had known and loved Tom for many years now, two things were immediately obvious: Tom was being unusually solicitous, which meant Tom was trying to get into Harry’s good graces for a reason. Harry, well used to riding the ups and downs that came along with having such a troublesome husband, made a practice of milking such moments for all they were worth. “Sounds delicious. My right shoulder’s been playing up too – could you massage it for me?”
Tom did. He procured Harry’s favourite post-training snack for him and rubbed out the knots in his shoulder. He put on Harry’s favourite music and asked attentively after the health and wellbeing of Harry’s teammates, whom Tom did not personally care a whit about. He escorted Harry to dinner, pulled out his chair, and revealed he’d asked the elves to make Harry’s favourite dessert.
Hours later, stomach full of treacle tart and situation sufficiently taken advantage of, Harry led Tom into the sitting room and gave him his full attention. “Alright. What did you do?”
“I beg your pardon?” Tom asked, a look of innocent confusion plastered across his face. It was well done, really, and he was so handsome with his sharp cheekbones and full lips, his neat, dark hair and straight teeth, that anyone who knew him an inch less than Harry would have been convinced.
Harry, of course, didn’t buy it for a moment. Staggeringly beautiful Tom might be, but he’d never been able to fool Harry for long. “You’ve been buttering me up all evening. Not that I’m complaining – feel free to do that again. But I’m tired from training and want to go to bed soon, so you’ll have to tell me what you’ve done now, or else you’ll keep me up past my bedtime.”
Tom’s mouth twitched minutely before settling into the affable, unthreatening mien he routinely used to put his victims at ease. “A situation has arisen at work that has required delicate handling.”
“Uh huh,” Harry said.
“I’ve been keeping you informed of the situation with the Spanish trade negotiations, and the Minister’s unwillingness to agree to Britain’s terms?”
“You have.”
“Unfortunately, the deadline is approaching and we haven’t resolved the issue. I have had to escalate matters, given that they refuse to be reasonable.”
Harry sighed, resigned. “Who did you kill?”
“No one,” Tom said, offended.
Harry gave him a flinty, unimpressed look.
“Yet,” Tom amended. “And I likely won’t need to kill anyone, provided the imperius curse I’ve used works as I intend it to.”
Harry sighed again.
Tom bristled. “Really, it was quite necessary, I assure you. If we don’t get Spain to sign this agreement, it will be catastrophic for Britain’s –”
Harry waved his hands, cutting Tom off. “I don’t care for the details, love. Thanks for keeping me posted on your lawbreaking, and congratulations on finding a way around the problem without resorting to murder.”
“You say that as if murder is my only recourse,” Tom said with a frown. “I am an excellent problem solver, with myriad strategies, only one of which is murder.”
“I know, darling, you’re so smart,” Harry said, patting Tom’s knee. It was only a little patronizing since he really did mean it.
“I am, aren’t I?” Tom preened. All these years later, and he still never tired of Harry’s admiration.
Harry huffed a soft laughed and stood, stretching tall until his back cracked. “Are you coming to bed with me?”
Tom leaned back on the couch, spreading his knees wide and looking up at Harry through his lashes, alluring smirk on his face. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”
Harry grinned and moved forward, placing one knee between Tom’s spread legs to balance himself on the couch as he leaned forward until his lips hovered over Tom’s. “I think I can make it worth your while.”
“Deal,” Tom said, sealing it with a kiss.
Epilogue, Part Two: 30 years later
The children were fighting. This was not new. It seemed like the children were always fighting. If Harry didn’t love them so much he’d want to strangle them.
He looked at his two oldest, twin girls named Elaine and Genevieve, and held in a sigh. Elaine was beat red, shouting about how unfair Genevieve was being, while Genevieve’s face was tightly drawn in an expression of sour displeasure. As far as he could gather, Gen had tricked Elaine into agreeing that when they got to Hogwarts in September, Gen would always have first use of the family owl – or something. It was hard to keep track over which issue the girls were fighting about today.
“Listen, kids, I know tensions are high because you’re worried about leaving home for the first time, but fighting about every little thing isn’t going to help,” he said, casting a half-pleading, half-commiserating look at Tom.
“But it’s not my fault!” Elain said stubbornly, stomping her foot in a childish expression of passion. “Gen is always trying to trick me and make me out to be a loser!”
Elaine wasn’t wrong, per se. Gen was her father’s daughter through and through – Tom’s daughter, that is. She’d inherited all of his sly cunning and brilliant intellect, and she wasn’t afraid to use it against her more straightforward sister. Harry loved and admired these qualities in Tom and Gen both, and didn’t want to discourage Gen from being herself, but in moments like this, where Elaine was so upset, it was hard to know where to draw the line.
“Be nice to your sister, Gen,” Harry said, a sentence he’d repeated hundreds of times in the last month alone.
“I am!” Gen protested.
“Yes, but –” Harry began.
“Genevieve, why don’t you and I chat in the kitchen,” Tom interrupted, standing to his full height and gesturing at their daughter to follow him.
“You ok?” Harry asked Elaine. She nodded, scowl still painted across her face, and ran up the stairs to her room. Harry sighed, prayed for patience, and crept down the hall to spy on Tom and Gen. He might have grown older, but he hadn’t grown any less nosy.
“—not necessarily that you’re smarter than Elaine, but you do have different strengths. I know how easy it is for you to trick your sister. You’re just like me, really, and I’m so proud of how clever you are. But you need to remember rule number one: family first. You’re never to work against your family. We always look out for each other. And this is an especially important rule to follow once you two get to Hogwarts. I image you’ll be in different houses, but I don’t want that to stop you from looking out for Elaine to the best of your very impressive abilities.”
Genevieve sighed heavily. Harry couldn’t see, but he knew it was accompanied by an eye roll. “It’s just that she’s so dumb sometimes –"
Harry crept back down the hall, leaving Tom to his intervention.
Hours later, they crawled into bed together, Harry in a ratty t-shirt and boxers, Tom in a silk pajama set.
“Only two weeks until El and Gen go to Hogwarts, and then our problems are cut in half. Aren’t you glad we stopped at four?” Tom said, lying on his side facing Harry. Their bodies were mirror images, curling toward each other like two crescent moons.
“Don’t lie. You’re doing to be distraught when they go,” Harry said.
Tom scoffed. “Hardly. I will treasure the silence.”
“You’re going to cry. Big, fat, ugly tears.” It was unlikely, of course. Tom wasn't the type to cry no matter how upset he was. He was more likely to bury himself in work and get even snippier than usual until Harry sat on him and made him admit to having feelings.
“Lies and slander.”
“You can’t fool me, Tom Potter. I know you too well. You might be a serious and important Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, but I know you love our babies. You'll miss the girls when they're gone.”
Tom hummed and stopped denying it, scooting forward and wrapping an arm around Harry to pull him into his chest. "Even if I shed a tear or two you wouldn't notice, since you’ll be weeping too hard to see.”
“Yeah, probably,” Harry agreed easily. “Maybe we should have another baby, to ease the pain.”
“Harry.”
“Two more and I’ll have my quidditch team.”
“Harry.”
“No?” Harry asked, hiding his smile in Tom’s chest.
“You wretch.”
“You’re right. Our family is perfect already.”
“It is.”