This story is obviously AU, where Tom is born in like 1977 or 1978 and we shift all the Gaunts up accordingly. There is child abuse, but nothing too explicit, and only a little worse than what we see in cannon.

None of my other stories have been abandoned, I promise you. Grad school is just taking a toll, and I have 12k of this squirreled away.

Harry collapsed down onto a log, staring at the dirt between his feet morosely.

This camping trip was a disaster. Harry had known it would be, from the moment his mother had suggested it. Still, no matter how much he'd begged, he hadn't been able to get out of it. His father had been more sympathetic to his plight, but he hadn't been willing to go against Harry's mum. So here Harry was, stuck on a camping trip with his muggle uncle and cousin.

It was every bit as awful as Harry had feared it would be. Before they had left from Surrey, his Uncle Vernon had taken him aside and given him a stern lecture on how they would be "camping like real men" and "there wasn't to be any of his sort of nonsense". The trip to the campsite, one in the North, for some reason that completely escaped Harry, was pure torture. Several hours trapped in the backseat of the car with his cousin, who had apparently decided that the best form of entertainment was tormenting Harry. Uncle Vernon had confiscated his book at the first rest stop when he saw the pictures move, so he had nothing to do but stare out the window, listening to his Uncle tell stories about camping trips he'd been on while Harry did his best to dodge Dudley's pinches.

Things at the camp ground were no better. Dudley refused to do any of the work, and Uncle Vernon always found fault with anything Harry did while praising the work Dudley claimed as his own. It was only the start of the first day and he was ready to pull his hair out. When Uncle Vernon said they needed firewood, Harry jumped at the opportunity to get away from both of them for a bit.

It had only been a few hours. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to make it through the next week. He'd go crazy.

The sound of something crashing through the underbrush had Harry's head jerking upright, rubbing hastily at his burning eyes. For the millionth time, he wished he were old enough to have a wand.

"Hello?" Harry called hesitantly, moving towards the noise.

Another crash, and then a boy tumbled to the ground in front of him, chest heaving as he panted. His dark hair was a mess, grimy, with little bits of stuff sticking out of it. Mostly dried leaves, from the looks of things. He was wearing a plain black robe, which had Harry's heart soaring. A wizard! Maybe he had an owl Harry could use to send a message to his parents, so that they could come get him! Then Harry got a closer look at him, and his heart sank. The robe was a mess. Rips and tears everywhere, and parts of it looked shiny, like it was wet.

The wizard was in trouble. He had been running from something. Harry didn't know what, but it looked like he was hurt. Harry knew he was supposed to be careful with strangers, but this boy needed help.

Taking a step forward, Harry crouched down.

"Hey," Harry said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder to get his attention. "Are you al…"

The wizard jerked away sharply, turning to face Harry. He looked like he was about the right age for Hogwarts, a few years older than Harry. His dark eyes were wide with purple circles underneath. Even as messy as he was, he was very handsome. Still, the look in his eyes reminded Harry of the cornered, wounded animals he found sometimes.

There was something wet on the fingers of the hand he'd pressed against the boy's shoulder, and Harry looked at them, stomach turning a little when he realized they were covered in blood.

"You're not alright," Harry said softly, answering his own question.

"No," the boy snapped at him. "I'm not."

Reaching out, he offered his hand to the boy on the ground, waiting patiently for him to take it.

Eyes that were brown and green and grey all at once darted over him warily, the boy no doubt judging his options. He started intently at Harry, as if he could see into Harry's soul if he tried hard enough. A glance back in the direction he had come from seemed to make up his mind, and he reached out and placed his hand in Harry's own.

"I'm Harry," Harry said as he pulled the boy to his feet, trying to be gentle. "Harry Potter."

The boy's eyes narrowed slightly at the introduction, but he offered his own name in return. "Tom Riddle."

"Come on," Harry said, slinging Tom's arm over his shoulder when he saw the way the boy winced when he tried to put his weight on one of his feet, "the campsite's this way. My uncle and cousin are muggles, but they should have at least some muggle first aid and a way to get in touch with my parents. They can take you to St. Mungos once they apparate here."

Tom had tensed at the word muggles, his eyes darting over to Harry.

"You're a wizard," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Harry said, doing his best to drag Tom forward.

"You'll send me back," he all but snarled, pushing away from Harry. "They'll send me back. I'm his heir, after all," he spat out.

"Your family did this to you?" Harry asked, sadly.

If it hadn't been for Uncle Sirius it might have taken Harry longer to figure out exactly what had happened. But Uncle Sirius had sat him down not long ago and explained about why he didn't talk to his family anymore. He didn't get into specifics, but the broad strokes were enough. Harry's mum had been upset when she heard that Uncle Sirius had told him, arguing that he was too young. Uncle Sirius's response had been that there was no such thing as being too young, and that he wanted Harry to know that no one was allowed to hurt him. It didn't matter who they were.

"I won't," Harry swore. "I won't let them send you back. The Ministry of Magic won't do it, and even if they try to, my parents won't let them. You'll come home with me. Nobody's allowed, Tom. If your family told you differently, they were lying."

Tom stared at him intently. "Tell the truth," he said, his words had a power behind them.

"I am," Harry answered, his voice dragged from between his lips. "I want to help. My dad's an Auror, and he won't let them hurt you again. I'm telling the truth, and I want to help."

Harry shook off whatever it was that had come over him and looked at Tom, eyes wide.

Tom was standing in front of him, eyeing Harry warily and clearly braced for something.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Harry asked, words slipping out without his permission.

"What," Tom said flatly.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"It's just…I've never seen anybody do magic like that. It's really cool. Really useful, too, since you don't have a wand. But you've had rough time of things. I shouldn't have asked."

Tom just stood there, staring at him. He blinked once before stepping closer again, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulder.

"If you get me out of here, I'll show you," he said.

"Deal," Harry said with a grin.

The two stumbled back the way Harry had come. It was slow going, Tom's injuries no doubt making every step agonizing for the boy. Harry was impressed that he was still going despite the pain. All Harry had to do was help Tom walk, and he was already starting to flag. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Tom.

"I need a distraction," Harry announced. "Tell me about how you ended up here."

Harry peered upward to find Tom leveling him with a truly unimpressed look.

"What? It's easier to push through when you're focusing on something else," Harry told him. "Besides, you're going to be telling the story a lot as soon as my parents get here. Best to start practicing now, so you can be sure to get exactly the reaction you want, yeah? My dad's an Auror, so I know a little bit about this stuff. I can help you get the presentation exactly right."

The only sound for along moment was them trampling their way through the brush. Just as Harry had resigned himself to the idea of them spending the rest of the trip in silence unless he started babbling, Tom spoke.

"I was born in a muggle orphanage," he said slowly. "At least, that's what the matron told me. When I asked her."

"The way you asked me?"

Tom shot him a glare, and Harry gave a small shrug in apology.

"Yes. The way I asked you."

"Don't mention that you can do the asking thing. Maybe tell my parents when we're alone, but nobody else," Harry said. There were a lot of ministry officials who weren't going to like the idea of being forced to tell the truth.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"I hadn't planned on it, but thank you for that truly insightful tip," he drawled.

Harry bristled, but fought to reign in his temper. Tom had obviously been having a very bad day. One in what Harry suspected was a fairly long series. Harry needed to try and be patient, no matter what Tom said.

"Muggle orphanage," Harry prompted him, once he felt he wasn't at risk of snapping.

"My mother died giving birth to me," Tom said, resuming his story.

It sounded detached, the way Tom said it. Like he didn't care at all. But, Harry figured, if he'd never known his parents, it might be a bit like that for him. There wasn't anything Tom could do to change it, and it wasn't like he'd ever known the woman.

"She lived just long enough to name me," Tom continued, either not noticing Harry's distraction or choosing to ignore it. "Tom," he said the name disdainful, as if he felt himself above it, "after my father. And Marvolo, after hers."

While Tom clearly wasn't fond of his first name, he spat his middle name like it was poison. His grandfather, Harry wagered, was the man Tom was running from.

"I was…different…from the other children at the orphanage. Strange things kept happening around me. I was ostracized because of it. They thought I was possessed."

"It was accidental magic!" Harry crowed, upset at the idea of Tom being isolated because of something so essential to who he was. "You couldn't control it!"

"But I could," Tom corrected Harry. "After the first few times it happened, I put my mind to figuring out exactly what was happening. By the time I was six I was doing things on purpose. I was in perfect control of my magic, Harry. I could make things move without touching them. I could make animals do what I wanted without training them. I could make bad things happen to people who annoyed me. I could make them hurt if I wanted to. And I did."

Harry swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He'd never heard of someone doing things like that with their accidental magic. Of being able to control it. To use it like that…

"When you talk to the ministry," Harry said, after careful consideration, "don't put it like that. Say you figured out how to use your accidental magic to defend yourself from the orphans who were bullying you. That you found a way to make them leave you alone."

Tom just stared at him again.

"What?" Harry asked. "This way, you still get to highlight how much control you have, which is almost unheard of honestly, and will get you lots of positive attention, while working the orphan thing to your advantage."

"You aren't scared of me?" Tom asked. "I could make you hurt just by thinking about it. I've done it before."

"That wouldn't be particularly smart of you at the moment though," Harry said, forcing himself to sound cheerful as he continued picking his way through the underbrush while supporting Tom's weight. "What with me carrying you right now, and all."

Tom glared at him in response.

"I'm a little bit scared, yeah. But…the ones you hurt, they weren't very nice to you, were they?"

Tom's expression was answer enough.

"That's what I thought," Harry said. "Besides, I'm more impressed than I am scared. I mean, the stuff you did, that's not typical accidental magic. I don't know anybody who has that kind of control over it. It's mostly based on emotions and need. But to not just be able to control it, but do the kinds of things you were doing? You're going to be a really powerful wizard one day. I mean, you are one already. I don't think I know anybody who can do what you can without a wand." Harry thought about it a little more, brow furrowed. "Dumbledore, maybe, but that's it."

Still, it raised some interesting possibilities. Magic, Harry knew, was all about will. Now that he knew it was possible, could he use his accidental magic the same way Tom did? Every bout he'd had so far had been about wanting things, it was true. You had to want or need something badly enough that you instinctually tapped into your magical core. Could he make it happen? Do it on purpose?

It was worth a shot, at least.

With every spare bit of attention that wasn't focused on his footing or on Tom's words, he fixated on how much he wanted Tom to be better, how much he needed some of those injuries to be healed.

It didn't feel like anything happened, and it didn't seem like anything happened, and Tom didn't mention anything happening, so Harry figured it hadn't worked. He wasn't really all that surprised. Still, there was no reason not to keep doing it.

"My grandfather found out my mother had had a child before dying," Tom said, and voice was filled with contempt. "No heir of his was going to be raised by muggles, even if it was a filthy half-blood. So he took me."

Harry tightened his grip on Tom as much as he dared, trying to offer silent comfort without further injuring the boy beside him. Harry saw Tom steal a glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, but before Harry could say anything Tom had begun speaking again.

"Both my grandfather and uncle are sterile. So I'm the last of the Gaunt line. A half-blood is better than nothing, though not by much."

"That is just..." words failed Harry as he struggled to find a way to accurately express just how wrong that was. All he could manage was a wordless snarl of rage.

"They did little to endear me to pureblood fanaticism," Tom said with a sneer. "All you have to do is look at them to understand why it's such a bad idea. The consequences of inbreeding are easy to see."

Harry gave Tom a grin for that, and was pleasantly surprised by the smile he got in return. It was sharper and a little more ruthless than a smile should be, but Harry couldn't help but think that it suited Tom in some strange way.

"He took me to Gaunt ancestral home once he'd removed me from the orphanage." Tom looked at Harry, expression conveying a deep, abiding distain that words alone could not have conveyed. "The Gaunt ancestral home is a shack that is falling apart. To have a creature such as Marvolo Gaunt think himself above me and be able to do nothing to correct this misunderstanding is a torture worse than any of his lessons could be."

Harry tried very hard not to imagine what those "lessons" might be. Tom's injuries and overall appearance painted a grim enough picture without his help.

"You'll show him," Harry promised Tom. "We'll get you help, and then you'll go to Hogwarts and get your wand. You'll be the best wizard since Merlin. You'll show all of them," Harry promised rashly, words bubbling up out of him from someplace deep inside him.

Tom stared at him for awhile a smile curled its way over his lips. It was different than the other one Harry had seen. It was small, a deepening at the corner of his mouth and the slightest upward curve of his lips, but this one reached his eyes. The slight warmth now visible there was a startling contrast to how they had looked before.

Harry liked it even more than the other one. He wanted to see it more. Wanted Tom to grow comfortable enough that it grew. Wanted to know what it would look like when it stretched across his face.

Harry vowed to himself then and there that he would do whatever it took to see Tom smile for real.

He felt something tug sharply inside him then, and recognized after several years the feeling of his magic striking out haphazardly to do what he needed.

Tom, Harry though fiercely. I need to help Tom.

Just in time. The thought was barely finished before he felt his magic surge out of him. Tom jerked in surprise, his eyes flying to Harry's, jaw clenched. Harry smiled as reassuringly as he could.

Rage burned in Tom's eyes as he shoved himself away from Harry. Harry watched as that rage froze, and the expression on Tom's face would have been funny under other circumstances. Tom shifted, the rage fading away to leave a blank mask in it's place. Tom rolled his shoulders as he let his foot take the entire weight.

Tom's gaze fixed on Harry, eyes unreadable.

"You healed me," he said slowly.

Harry perked up immediately.

"It worked?" Harry said, pleased. "I can't believe it worked! I mean, I've been trying since you said you could control your accidental magic, but still!"

"You did this on purpose," Tom said each word slowly, as if he was testing the way they sounded together.

"I did!" Harry crowed. "I did magic on purpose! And it worked!"

Unable to help himself, he spun around in a small circle, letting out a little whoop of joy. When he stopped, Tom was staring at him, head cocked.

"I don't understand you, Harry Potter," Tom said seriously, but the corners of his mouth were deep in that same way they had been when he'd smiled. Taking a few steps forward, he closed the space between them. "We should get moving. I'll be able to move much faster now."

"Come on," Harry said, reaching out and grabbing Tom's hand. "The campsite's this way."

Tom's face took on that blank look from a moment before, but he didn't pull his hand from Harry's own, and he followed where Harry lead.

"It's right over that hill," Harry said, pointing with his free hand.

A sharp crack rent the air and Harry froze, barely even noticing as Tom collided with his back as he stared in horror at the figure in front of them.

He had thick hair, so matted and dirty Harry couldn't even begin to guess what color it was. Several of his teeth were missing, and his dark eyes pointed in different directions. He opened his mouth, and instead of words there came a long, low hissing sound.

Harry had never been more afraid in his life.

Tom's hand tightened around his own briefly before the other boy stepped in front of him. Another hiss broke the silence, but this time it came from Tom. Harry gripped Tom's robe in his free hand, trying desperately to keep calm.

His parents were both Gryffindors. They'd been head boy and head girl. His father was an Auror. Harry wasn't going to hide behind his friend when Tom needed him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry marshaled his courage and took a step out, so that he was no longer standing behind Tom, but next to him.

"Harry, what the hell are you doing?" Tom asked him out of the corner of his mouth while his relative hissed. "Never mind that, when I tell you to, I want you to run."

"No," Harry said, planting his feet more firmly against the ground. "I'm not leaving you here alone. I told you I would help you, and I will."

"You idiot," Tom hissed at him. "Now is not the time for heroics! Now, run."

Before Harry could retort, the terrifying man in front of them pulled out a wand. A red jet shot from the end of it towards Tom. Acting purely on instinct, Harry reached out and shoved with all his might. Tom stumbled out of the path of the spell, and Harry had a brief moment of satisfaction before red engulfed his world and everything faded to black.

Harry woke all at once, jerking awake abruptly. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. Standing above him was a man who looked like a monkey. His brown eyes set in a wrinkled face stared down at Harry, practically burning with anger. He wasn't as tall as the man from the clearing, with broad shoulders and too-long arms, one of which was holding a wand that was pointed right at Harry's face.

Harry could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his palms were sweaty as the fear swept through him.

"What's your name, filth?" the man holding the wand asked.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered, voice trembling.

Harry couldn't stand lying here on his back. He felt helpless. But with the wand practically pressed against his nose and the man glaring at him like someone might look at a cockroach beneath their shoe.

"Sit up," the man snarled at him, and suddenly the only thing Harry wanted in the world was to keep lying on his back staring up at the beams of the slanted wooden ceiling.

Harry pressed his palms against the floor and pushed himself upright on shaking arms. When he was fully upright the wand was pressed right up against his forehead, a small point of pressure that that made all his hair stand on end and ice to settle low in his stomach.

"Potter," the man in front of him said. "I know the name. Old family, the Potters. Almost as old as the Gaunts. Are you a pureblood, boy?"

Harry shook his head from side to side, arms shaking even harder than before.

"Mudblood filth," the man said.

The man pursed his lips, and then something wet landed on Harry's cheek. It took him a long, moment to realize it was spit.

"Still, it's no real surprise, is it?" the man sneered. "Found you with my grandson, didn't I? No surprise he managed to go sniffing out his own kind."

His contemptuous look was directed off to the side. Harry didn't dare turn his head, but if he looked out of the corner of his eye he could catch sight of two different figures.

One was the terrifying man who had hissed at him in the campsite. The man had one arm wrapped tightly around the arm of a smaller figure with a bloody nose. Tom, looking worse than when Harry had last seen him, but better than when they had first met.

Tom's face was completely impassive, but his jaw was clenched. His eyes darted to where Harry was sitting for a moment before flicking back to the man Harry guessed was Tom's grandfather.

"He's worthless," the man said, "but he's family. So we find uses for him. You," the man said, pressing the wand even harder against Harry's forehead, making him whimper, "on the other hand, are not. So why should we bother keeping you around?"

Harry's chest was heaving, his brain completely frozen.

"Morfin made a mistake, bringing you back to our home," the monkey man said, eyes still full of fury. "He should have dealt with you like the pest you are when he found you scum together."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately not to cry, biting his lip hard to keep his frightened whimpers from escaping.

"I should fix his mistake," the man said, looking at Harry like one might look at a bug they were trying to make up their mind about whether or not to squish. "No, I will fix his mistake."

He was going to die, Harry suddenly realized. He was going to die, right here, right now. He was never going to see his mum or his dad again. He would never get to go to Hogwarts, never get to play a real game of Quidditch, never be an Auror like his dad. Never learn to be an animagus, like Uncle Sirius and the rest of the Marauders.

He was going to die.

"NO!" Tom shouted, and Harry heard the noise of a scuffle before suddenly Tom was there, his hands on Harry's shoulders, yanking Harry away from the wand at his forehead. He stepped in front of Harry, standing over Harry, body now between him and the man who had almost been Harry's murderer.

Harry fell forward, burring his face in Tom's robe, ignoring the smell and the grime and the blood, just grateful to have something to hold on to.

"So little Tommy's got himself a pet," the monkey man sneered. "Filthy little mudblood pet for the filthy halfblood boy."

Harry could feel Tom trembling from his grip on the boy's robe.

"Fine," the man said at last. "Fine. Maybe a pet would do you good. Some responsibility to keep you from straying from home so often."

Harry was shaking so hard he was surprised he couldn't hear his teeth chattering in his skull.

"You can keep your mudblood pet, Tom," the man said, spitting out the other boy's name like it was disgusting. "He can earn his keep. Learn what it's like to be a proper wizard. First lesson starts now."

"Crucio," the man said.

The world vanished, leaving only pain.

Harry hurt. Harry hurt everywhere. Every breath was agony. It was like he had a sunburn, but inside him. The cement wall behind him was the only reason he was still upright.

Tom had had to drag him out of the room and down the stairs into the basement. His arms and legs had been like limp noodles, and it had been all Harry could do to hang there when Tom finally managed to sling Harry's arm over his shoulder in a mirror image of their meeting.

The stairs had been bad. The stairs had been bad.

Still, it was better than being thrown down them, which Harry knew would have been the outcome if they had dawdled at all. Tom had known it too, given the pace he'd set, for all that his jaw clenched every time Harry had let out a whimper.

"How's your side?" Tom asked him, sliding down the wall to sit next to Harry.

"Hurts," Harry said simply, voice little more than a croak.

After the curse had been lifted, and before Harry could gather himself enough to even attempt to roll on to his side, a foot had connected solidly with his ribs. His pain had been met with laughter, and he was rewarded with a sound he feared would become familiar before he was spat on once again.

"Doesn't hurt more than anything else though," Harry told him, throat burning with every word.

"Don't talk," Tom snapped at him. "You screamed yourself hoarse. Talking now could damage your throat more. Just nod."

Tom reached out and pressed his hand against Harry's side, fingers jabbing and prodding in ways that sent off fresh waves of pain.

"Do you feel like you're going to pass out?" Tom asked him, hazel eyes serious as they studied Harry in the dim light. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

Harry shook his head no to the first. While under the curse, he had been in too much pain to pass out. Now the pain was gone, but he felt raw. He had to think about the second a little more carefully. Breathing hurt, but not because it was breathing. It hurt because it involved moving. He thought any movement would probably feel the same. He gave a shrug and before slowly shaking his head.

"I don't think anything's broken," Tom said at last, withdrawing his hand.

Harry slumped over and let his head fall onto Tom's shoulder. He needed to know he wasn't alone. Tom tensed, shoulders stiffening, and Harry worried he'd managed to hurt him. After all, he wasn't the only one who'd been cursed.

Tom's arm shifted and Harry felt like the biggest idiot in the world. But then the arm wrapped around him and settled tentatively on his shoulder and he let himself fall against Tom's side completely, relief swelling in him almost painfully.

"That was incredibly stupid," Tom said, but his voice was soft, and his tone was at odds with the words. "If you had just run when I told you to, you could have gotten away. Gotten help. Then we'd both be fine, instead of stuck here."

Harry let his eyes fall to the dirt floor, cheeks heating, feeling small. It wasn't fair. He'd done this for Tom. Running might have been smarter, but Harry couldn't have abandoned Tom. He just couldn't've.

"You should have run," Tom said. "But you stayed. Everyone in my life has left me. You stayed. You healed me and you pushed me out of the way and you stayed."

Of course he'd stayed. Harry couldn't have done anything else. He would never leave a friend behind.

Recalling Tom's warning about his throat, Harry reached out and fisted his hand in Tom's robes, curling himself even closer to the boy beside him. Trying to communicate what he couldn't say with words, yes, but he just needed to be close to someone right now.

Tears began to pool in his eyes as his day finally caught up with him.

He'd been kidnapped. He'd been kidnapped by bad people who had hurt him. People who were going to keep hurting him, the way they'd hurt Tom. The sobs tore themselves out of his chest, his entire face was burning as he cried. He was sore, he was tired, he wanted his mum and his dad but they weren't there because he'd been kidnapped. He might never see them again.

Tom's hand came to rest on his back, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. Harry burred his head as far into Tom's robes as he could and began to sob harder.

He cried until there were no more tears left to cry. Tom said nothing, simply rubbing his hand up and down Harry's back. It wasn't enough to stop him crying right away, but Harry started taking deep, hitching breaths, focusing on the warmth of Tom's hand against his back, on Tom's voice as he tried desperately to calm Harry down. He wasn't alone. This was scary, but he wasn't alone.

At last, still sniffling, Harry slowly sat up. Tom was staring down at him warily, concern and confusion equally obvious.

"Don't do that again," Tom ordered him. "I didn't like it."

Harry let out a small, wet laugh, unable to believe what the other boy had just said. Of course. Tom didn't like that Harry had been crying. It had made Tom uncomfortable. That was what was important.

Harry understood, suddenly. Tom had never had a friend before. The children at the orphanage had all been afraid of him and bullied him, and he'd been stuck with his family ever since. Tom didn't know how to care about other people, because other people had never cared about him.

Harry would teach him, he vowed to himself. He would care about Tom, he'd show Tom that not everyone was out to hurt him. He would stay.

"You're a mess," Tom told him, eyeing his face critically and lips pressed together in distaste.

Embarrassed, Harry grabbed his glasses and shoved them at Tom, knowing they would be in the way otherwise. Harry reached for the edge of his shirt, but Tom reached out and grabbed his face first. Tom's eyes were narrowed as he tilted Harry's head upwards. Fabric scrubbed across Harry's skin, a little too rough as Tom used his own sleeve to rub the tears and snot off Harry's face.

Tom's blurry face peered down at Harry once he was done. Tom nodded once to himself before he pressed Harry's glasses back into his hand. Harry put them on before giving Tom a look, allowing his expression to speak the words he wasn't allowed to voice.

"My robes were already ruined," Tom said. "A little more mucus and tears weren't going to make a difference, not after you sobbed all over me."

Harry gave the bloodstains, rips, and tears already present on Tom's robe a pointed look before looking back at Tom.

"Which is why I didn't protest in the first place," Tom said primly.

Harry snorted, but let it go. Instead, he leaned back against Tom's shoulder with a smile. He reached out and patted Tom's chest in a silent thank you.

Tom's response was to wrap his arm around Harry once again, pulling him close.

"It gets better," Tom told him. "Not the curse itself. That will always hurt. But the recovery afterwards, that part gets easier."

Harry let his hands fist tighter in Tom's robes. Again. Tom was giving him advice about what it would feel like when it happened again. Because it would. That Tom had been under the curse often enough to be able to give him that advice made him as angry as it made him scared.

"I can't stop them from hurting you," Tom said slowly, no doubt seeing how terrified Harry was. "But I won't let them kill you. I won't. And I promise you, Harry, one day we'll pay them back. We'll pay them back for everything."