beta by vanillaghost

Harry forced a smile at Marta and the other four nameless girls as he bid them a hurried goodbye. Mary had been taken by the police officers in the village without much fuss after Draco's…death, forcing them to acquire new workers.

The day after tomorrow would be Christmas day and without any apparent reason Tom had decided to send all the servants home. He was the one in charge of everything now, their step-father isolating himself in his room while Nott did the same only a few doors away. It was a peculiar arrangement.

"I left you enough food for the holidays, but will you be able to handle everything by yourself? Not to mention mister Riddle's health…"

It was snowing heavily and all the girls were well dressed in fur, Harry even more so. Though he did not want them to leave, Harry schooled his face in what he hoped was an encouraging expression before answering.

"He's grieving now but he'll be fine with time. Do not worry, we'll manage. Happy Christmas."

Harry watched them go through the courtyard with dread until a black carriage stopped in front of the house and Tom came out in his long dark coat. He gave them a charming smile and said something which made the girls giggle and shyly bring their hands to their mouths. Harry sat by himself in front of the house, snowflakes gathering in his hair and waiting for his older brother to finish his flattery.

Tom had been away in London to 'deal with things' as he kindly informed Harry two weeks ago. Harry wasn't interested enough to ask any more questions. He wasn't happy about Draco's death, felt more than a little guilty for it, but there was no denying it was better now at home. He could do whatever he wanted anytime he wanted. His step-father was going through a hard time if Nott was to be believed, and Tom hadn't placed any restrictions on Harry. For the first time in his life, Harry tasted freedom. Bitter maybe, but it was still freedom. And there was no wedding too. He supposed that even if the Weasleys had insisted on the matter, Tom would have settled things quietly and neatly.

"Hello, Harry," his older brother greeted as he slowly came up the stairs to the manor. The corners of his mouth were lifted. He was obviously in a good mood. "You shouldn't be outside in this weather. I'd hate for you to catch a cold. Come inside."

One gloved hand settled onto Harry's shoulder and…was he afraid of Tom? He ought to be, and yet he wasn't, despite the fact that he knew what the man was capable of and what he had done. Still, as his wickedness hadn't been directed at Harry, there was no reason for him to fear his step-brother. It just made him a little warier than before.

"You don't care very much for your father, do you?" Harry asked all of a sudden.

Tom stopped walking but his hand was still clenched on Harry.

"That's an understatement, don't you think?" the man retorted, and gently tugged Harry to him, straight into his cold embrace. "But do not worry; I'm going to take very good care of you. I always do this with things that belong to me." The cold material of the glove made goosebumps rise on Harry's skin as it settled on his nape. As if he wasn't cold enough.

They entered the house, leaving their coats at the door before moving to the fireplace in the living room. Everything was so quiet, Harry once again noticed, as he warmed his hands in front of the fire. He had thought this atmosphere would change after the funeral but it was even worse. As if it was a haunted house. And maybe it was. Draco died here, his mother died here and who knew how many others…

"You didn't ask me about my trip," he heard Tom say from behind him.

It sounded like an accusation.

Harry turned, keeping his back to the fire and trying to chase away the chill in his bones. He was still trembling as he shook his head, refusing Tom's silent offer to pour him a glass of wine. The other was already drinking his.

"Neither did you ask me about what happened here," Harry bit back. Not that many things had happened.

That was an accusation.

Tom smirked, playing with the liquid in his glass and twirling it with his fingers. Shadows danced across his face, giving him an abnormal expression. Like someone had used melted wax to try reconstruct his face back together without any luck.

"Fine, Harry," Tom sighed. "How were things here?"

"Boring. How was your trip?"

"Boring."

Harry studied him. Tom definitely knew Harry knew about Draco. It seemed stupid to ask him about it, especially while in the house. Nott or his step-father may hear. Instead Harry chose the safest question.

"Was that the price?"

Tom actually laughed, reminding Harry of a child though it was the most inappropriate comparison of all. Tom hadn't behaved like a child even when he used to be one. He settled down after a time, his broad shoulders still shaking with mirth.

"Of course not," Tom denied, a disappointed tone in his voice. "I would have thought you knew me better than this."

Harry sighed, looking him in the eye. "Apparently not."

Without warning, Tom advanced toward him and offered his glass of wine. Maybe it was some kind of test, or maybe it didn't mean anything in particular, but Harry gave no thought to the consequences and accepted. He gulped down the remaining bitter liquid, all the while steadily holding Tom's dark eyes. It was making him want to fidget and hide away from the intruding gaze. Instead Harry sat there, watching his older brother and proving them both he could do it.

"If you want to see your portrait, you should come to my room," Tom whispered for his ears only.

Harry's mouth went dry. "Why is it in your room?" He did not bother asking how the man knew of its existence.

"I took it," Tom responded as if it were the most natural thing in the entire world.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Nott didn't have anything to say against it, and even if he did, you know I can be very persuasive…"

Harry had a hard time believing Nott would willingly give up his work. But did he really care on whose wall his portrait hung on? Yes. Yes, he cared. Or better said, Harry only cared if it was Tom's wall. It made him imagine shameless things, the sort of things he shouldn't think of. Like Tom's eyes travelling all over the painted picture, over his face, over his exposed neck and indecent position. He imagined his older brother laying down in bed and looking at him and only him. Tom had no other paintings in his room after all.

Harry couldn't help licking his lips and dark eyes immediately followed the movement. Like a bird of prey.

"Come here, Harry," Tom commanded.

Come where? Harry wanted to ask. You're already here, in my space.

And then Tom reached for him, pulling him against his hard body. The glass in Harry's hand went shattering to the floor. He'll have to deal with the broken pieces himself later. Because without any sort of warning, lips were pressed over and against his own while hands kept him in place, as if Tom was afraid Harry was going to run away into the night. Wrong, how very wrong. His hands came up over his older brother's neck like a necklace or a noose, wrapping tightly around it. Harry's legs slightly left the floor as Tom raised him up for better access to his parted lips.

The feeling of a foreign tongue beside his own in his mouth was a strange yet pleasant sensation, as if he was sharing something that shouldn't be shared in the first place. And the hands travelling up and down his back made him want to do this all over again, until they decided it was enough to settle this fire within. But he needed to breathe.

Harry was the first to break the silence. "What now?"

"How about you come up to see your portrait?"

Harry nodded, trying not to stare too much at Tom's wet lips. His step-brother caught his gaze and grinned like the conspirator he was.

"As long as you wait for me to clean up," Harry offered, hands still around the taller one's neck.

Tom did, and watched Harry with sparkling eyes and a wicked smile. Harry was sure he looked just the same.

+
His lower body hurt. Harry's entire body hurt and ached in all the right places. But it was a pleasant kind of ache, one that reminded him of Tom inside him, doing things to Harry that he couldn't even describe aloud. Whispering filthy words into his ear and telling Harry how he belonged to him and only him.

Every inch of you, body and soul….

It didn't bother Harry. He hadn't felt like property to be used and then thrown around as the owner saw fit. No, he felt loved and wanted. Even if Tom hadn't said either of those words. He didn't need to. Harry had seen everything; in his face and in his eyes as Tom pinned him down against the mattress. There had been so much yearning in the two of them that it had left Harry breathless. Tom wanted him, Harry was sure of it. And that was all. Everything else was just unimportant details to be managed in time.

Harry's eyes rested once again on his portrait hanging on the wall across from Tom's bed. The man was sleeping now, one hand stretched over the other side of the bed where Harry had rested not too long ago.

Harry was thirsty and there was no water in Tom's room. Managing to dress himself in silence in just his shirt and trousers, Harry closed the door behind him and slowly padded along the wooden staircase in the direction of the kitchen. The light of a candle in the living room took him by surprise and Harry stopped, adjusting his sight to the poor lighting.

His step-father was quietly sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table, playing with a dagger and turning it round and round by the handle. When he raised his gaze he didn't look surprised by Harry's presence. He most likely had heard Harry coming down the stairs.

"Join me."

It wasn't a request. Harry did as he was told and carefully moved to the couch where he sat down next to the older man, trying not to wince as his bottom touched the hard material. Mr. Riddle had patted that precise space; otherwise Harry would have preferred to sit across from him. The fine hairs on Harry's arms stood up as he began to understand something was indeed very, very wrong. But what?

"You know…I brought you up well enough, wouldn't you agree? Gave you a proper education and everything a child could wish for…"

The question caught Harry off guard. "Yes, sir," he assured in an instant. "Of course."

Mr. Riddle hummed, deep in thought and still playing with his dagger. Obviously, he still wasn't well. That he was sitting here at this late hour was proof enough. Almost three in the morning, the massive clock nearby read. Mr. Riddle looked tired and worn-out as if sleep had avoided him these days. Harry wondered if he should call for Tom but realized what a bad idea that would be.

"Then please tell me what in the hell is wrong with you? With every one of you?" Mr. Riddle hissed, gripping Harry's hand in his own and bringing his face close. "Because you are broken, otherwise you wouldn't have let him fuck you!"

His step-father almost spat the word, a grimace on his face at the mention of his own son. The mere thought of Tom seemed to disgust him. Harry struggled to move back but by now the man's other hand had his shoulder in his grip. The one with the dagger. His eyes were opened wide in anger.

"I… I didn't," Harry lied, struggling to escape the clutch to no avail. His heart was hammering in his chest, fear spreading through him at an alarming rate, down to his toes and making him numb.

"Do not lie to me!" his step-father snarled at him, yet not loud enough to wake up either Tom or Nott. "I saw you two hours ago down here, all over each other. I saw you letting him put his damned hands on you!"

Any reply Harry might have had on that was cut short as he was pushed down and the man's entire body covered his own. There was a hand fumbling around for Harry's zipper, a harsh breathing in his ear while his mouth was covered with the other hand.

"What's the matter? How come you don't like it?"

Harry thrashed around even harder, pushing up with all his might to try and get him off. The dagger, the dagger, where was the dagger? His trousers were around his ankles when his elbow collided with the sharp blade resting beside him on the couch. Mr. Riddle made to say something when Harry raised his right knee and shoved it into the man's stomach, making him tumble back in pain.

Out of instinct, Harry's hand wrapped around the dagger's elegant handle and in one swift blind movement he plunged it straight into his step-father's neck before letting it go as if burned. The sound was horrible as the man choked on his own blood while he tried to stop the bleeding, all the while staring at Harry. He made to lunge at him again but then simply fell with a hard thud, face down on the floor.

Harry sat there trembling, gaze traveling from his blood-covered bare legs to the dead body on the carpet. The red puddle was spreading and spreading over the expensive material. It would surely leave stains, Harry's mind supplied. And there was no one to clean it up, he thought hysterically. Harry had killed someone. He was a murder who was going to be locked up in a far away cell filled with rats and –

"Harry?"

Like a switch had been flipped, Harry stopped panicking and looked behind him at Tom who came down the stairs, eyes locked onto Harry's face. Tom had no shirt on. His steps echoed closer and closer, circling the couch until his bare legs stopped right where the dark stain ended, gazing down at the corpse of his father. And then he looked at Harry once again.

"It wasn't my fault," Harry cried, hands coming up to his mouth in an attempt to explain himself. "I…Tom… He – he tried to rape me, he was all over me and I just – I don't know… Please – I..."

Tom's expression was a calculated one. "Hush love," he whispered, and kneeled down in front of Harry, taking his hands into his own before pressing a kiss to the lightning bolt scar from his left palm and then another to his forehead. "You did nothing wrong, nothing at all. He deserved it and I'll fix everything. Do you believe me?"

Harry could only nod against his shoulder where Tom had pushed his face into, taking him in his embrace on the floor. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly as his bare knees meet the sticky…thing painting the floor and tried to keep his sobs down. Tom's hands were travelling up and down his back, rocking them back and forth and whispering comforting words into his ear with Harry in his lap.

"I'm here," Tom chanted. "Here with you. He doesn't matter, not at all. You were so brave, so powerful, so perfect." And then Tom took Harry's weeping face into his palms to look at him. "My very soul…"

Impatient lips followed, and despite the complete impropriety of the situation Harry could only accept it, starved for everything Tom was able to give him. In an instant, his no-longer-step-brother pushed him down until he was centimeters away from the dead body's head. Harry's shirt was soaked in warm blood as Tom pulled the remains of his trousers off, pushing his shaking legs apart and feeling the entirety of Tom's body slip between his thighs.

It was hotter than the first time upstairs. Tom kissed him on the lips and rutted against him like a dog in heat, grinding his cock against Harry's own until it leaked over their sticky skin. Harry panted into Tom's skilled mouth as the man's wet fingers nudged his thighs. Harry stared down until the horrifying realization washed over him. The tip of Tom's fingers were dripping red onto his skin and Harry almost screamed.

"It's just blood, just blood," Tom said, and tilted his head at Harry before stretching his lips into a smile. "Or what, have you forgotten where we're doing this?"

And Tom's fingers were suddenly stuffed in there, right where Harry was aching and he could only cry out, forcing the truth to the back of his mind. There was no other way.

"It's fine, I promise…" Tom told him in a needy voice. "You love me anyway, don't you, darling?"

"Yes," Harry gasped, pushing down against the fingers, feeling them slip in and out, sometimes curling inside Harry in just the perfect place and dragging over his inner walls. "Please, please, please…"

He was begging now, eyes only on Tom. Not even the corpse mere centimeters away posed a good enough distraction from the man above him. The sound of protest as the bloodied fingers left him died down when Tom pushed his throbbing member inside. Harry barely suppressed a whine, biting down on his bottom lip.

Tom forced him open, making his way yet again into the tightness of Harry's sore body until he completely settled in. His arms were strong and unmoving as he pressed them on either side of Harry's face against the carpet. Not knowing what to do with his hands, Harry stroked through Tom's hair, massaging his scalp, while his lips moved up to ask for a kiss.

"You have to be quiet, Harry," Tom murmured against his mouth, snapping his hips forward, fucking him. "We wouldn't want to wake up Nott and see us like this."

Harry clutched the strands of hair harder, lettings his sobs loose inside Tom's mouth. The other's sharp thrusts made his back grind against the damp floor. It hurt way more than the first time but it was exactly what Harry needed right now, what they both needed. A reminder that they were in this together and will continue to be no matter what. Two murderers, two monsters, two people willing to forgive the other everything.

Harry chanted Tom's name as he came, the man's mouth covering his lips and stealing all the sound for himself. After that the thrusts got harder. Harry felt Tom starting to come apart as well, moving faster and faster while he stared him down, eyes not leaving each other even for a second. And then Tom pushed inside one more time, coming inside him and staying there some more. A long kiss was pressed to the corner of Harry's mouth until the man pulled out, staring between Harry's legs with a wicked grin. Satisfied.

"Do you think he enjoyed our show?" Tom asked, gazing briefly as his dead father.

Harry stared at his lover, unable to look elsewhere.

"I'm a monster," Harry let out as Tom rose and offered him a helping hand, pulling him up and making his palm sticky as well.

"Maybe. But then again, what do you even know about heartless monsters? Now go up and wash yourself as I take care of everything."

Tom was calm and patient as he followed Harry with his gaze up the stairs, making sure Harry did as he was told. Harry looked back only once, out of morbid curiosity, as if to make sure the corpse was still there. Of course it was, and then he all but ran to the safety of his room.

+
Nott found Tom sitting in the living room, a cup of tea near his mouth and staring down at the floor with a smile. That was strange enough in itself. He set down his suitcase.

"Oh," Tom observed. "You woke up?"

"Have you seen father? I came from his room and he's not there. His clothes are missing. I asked Harry about it but he said he didn't care," Nott reluctantly added, thinking back at Harry's cold green eyes boring into his. "I…I think he left us."

Tom's expression as he brought the cup to his lips was blank. "Oh."

Nott felt disgust fill his mind at the uncaring man before his eyes. "What's wrong with you?" he couldn't help but ask. "He's your real father, flesh and blood, and you aren't even worried despite knowing what state he's in after Draco's death… Don't you have a heart?"

"Nott, surely father is resting somewhere peaceful right now. Besides, why should I care about someone who never wanted me?"

Tom seemed to be waiting for an answer but Nott understood once again that there was nothing left for him here. No father, no family, nothing. Just two people who were set on ignoring his existence. He took a step back and Tom's eyes followed him closely.

"I'm leaving as well," Nott declared. "I'll leave you two alone."

Tom was taken aback by this and stood up as he placed his cup on the table, only now taking notice of the bag at Nott's feet.

"Me and Harry."

It wasn't a question, but Nott answered anyway. "Don't think I haven't noticed," he confessed. "Besides, as much as I like Harry, no one can deny that you two are simply made for one another. Hope you'll be happy."

The long silence was disturbed by Tom's voice calling out after him.

"We hope the same for you."

And that was all. Nott took his suitcase and left, pushing the door open with his shoulder. As he went down the stairs covered with ice, Nott stared at Harry who was moving closer to him, unsurprised by the bag in his hands. He must have been walking around through the snow for quite some time now. Harry was dressed all in black, beautifully contrasting with his skin in the sunlight. Nott stopped in front of him, opening his mouth to bid his goodbye but Harry kept walking, eyes straight ahead. He stood there, snowflakes being blown into his face, until he heard the front door open and close.

Nott gulped and left, one foot in front of the other, careful not to slip.

+
"Tell me a story," Harry pleaded a few days later, resting his head on Tom's lap and nuzzling against his knee. "Lie to me, whatever you desire. I just want to hear your voice."

Life was nice now with just the two of them. Tom taught him how to play piano, they walked hand in hand outside, shared stories, slept next to each other every night, and just enjoyed their lives together. Sometimes Harry doubted this happiness was real. Maybe he was dreaming now and the nightmare with "the thing" in the living room was reality. This and that could not belong in the same world. It was not possible.

The older man hummed, his fingers threading through Harry's hair and massaging his scalp like one would do to a kitten. They were lying in Tom's bed, abandoned books scattered all around them. Forgotten for the time being just as Harry had chosen to forget a great deal of things in order to sleep at night. But there was no use thinking about that now.

"Then I'll tell you the coldest story ever told," Tom spoke softly, exactly like a true storyteller.

"Cold like you?"

There was a short pause before he got an answer.

"Yes, Harry. Cold like me. Quiet now," Tom lectured. "Once upon a time there was a powerful man who lost his soul, shattered into seven pieces and scattered all around the world. One day after he died, our man found out that in order to come back to life he needed them back. Or what was left of them. So he went searching, but he found only six in his world. The seventh had disappeared."

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion, waiting for Tom to elaborate.

"He needed the last piece the most so he travelled through several other dimensions to get it, not having any luck at first. He found it after a while in one of many, but there was a catch. The last part of his soul had to be given willingly by its host."

"What happened next?" Harry asked, turning around on the man's lap to see his face. "Did the man get his soul back?

Tom's dark eyes bore into his with intensity. "I don't know the end of the story quite yet," he smirked, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss on Harry's forehead. There was a pensive tone to his voice. "So Harry, tell me, would you give me your soul?"

Harry let out a giggle, looking up at his handsome lover. "I already gave you my heart. I wonder what would I do without my soul too…" he joked.

There was a shadow of a smile across Tom's face before he moved his fingers over Harry's lips, resting there. "It seems I'll have to try once again," he whispered, sending shivers down Harry's spine, a shadow dancing across his face. Despite this, his skin seemed whiter than ever in this light. "Maybe I'll start earlier next time."

Tom's lips replaced his fingers and Harry stopped paying attention to the silly story. He was getting sleepy anyway.