#tomarry drabble

[eatinghammers]

Tomarrymort idea #1

We're all aware that Voldy had horcruxes, but like, what if they were people and had separate personalities?

Starting simple, Tom's diary. The diary was meant to lure people, it was endearing, people trust it. Maybe if it was a person, it would be rather attractive, hence the luring, it would be kind and caring, maybe a bit secretive though, it is a diary after all.

Nagini. Nagini was cursed to turn to a snake, but the girl used that to their advantage and joined a circus, maybe that means that this Tom would find the silver lining. Voldy went to the snake when he was weak, which could mean that this Tom would be a person good with comforting or helping Harry. Nagini was loyal, devoted, meaning that maybe this Tom would be as well.

Rowena Raven claws diadem. Her Diadem was stolen by her daughter, meaning that this Tom is probably greedy. Her daughter was jealous, meaning that maybe Tom would get jealous too, I.E, not like it when the other horcruxes spend too much time with Harry, etc. He was described as being arrogant about the whole situation, but he was also smart about it, meaning this Tom would probably be arrogant and smart.

Hufflepuffs Cup. Hufflepuffs Cup was owned by the Hufflepuffs, obviously. Loyal, fair, and Hardworking. Hufflepuffs are typically kinder, more gentle, meaning I totally see this Tom being very soft with Harry, devoted, gentle, kind, etc. Also, he can probably cook well since Hufflepuffs are by the kitchen, added bonus I suppose.

Slytherins locket. Slytherin's locket was hidden under a potion that caused the person who drank it to experience their worst memories, fears, like a nightmare. It brought great dread, just the thought of drinking it made people frightened, it also forced the drinker to either drink the water from the lake or die. I could see this Tom being very intimidating given the fear that occurs, scary, cunning, etc. Also, I see him being very aggressively loving if that makes sense. Like, "you look bad, go to sleep." Or something, cold, calculating, yet still loving.

Marvelo Gaunts ring. The ring was very, very expensive. It was highly valued, it was subtle yet elegant. One of the most well known owners of the ring given it's very long heritage was the same person who wanted the resurrection stone. He ended up ending his life to be reunited with the one he loved. Given this information, I can see this Tom being incredibly dramatic and gaudy, maybe a bit greedy, but also very devoted and loving, very much a gentleman.

Even better if Harry has no idea how the fuck there are all this many Tom's and why they're all trying to date him.

[greenlighted]

so let me slip inside

tonight you are mine // the technicolors

❛ don't be so naive, you know that you are all that i see (so, tonight you are mine) ❜

AO3 WC: 100

“are you going to fuck me or not?” “say please,” harry mumbled into tom's neck in between kisses. “stop teasing me,” tom said, the words coming out in soft pants. “i will, darling, don't worry,” harry promised, rasing his head from tom's neck to look into his eyes, he rocked his hips forward and sank his cock impossibly deeper into tom but otherwise kept completely still. “you just have to say please.” tom stayed stubbornly silent so harry dipped his head back down to kiss and nip at his neck until tom was ready to let go, to lose control.

♡ + ⟳

masterlist

[lumhos]

(time line is so fucked up but lets ignore that!)

durmstrang watches as the great hall awakens with loud muttering. the moment harry had left to join the other champions (because by merlin he was also a champion-), beauxbatons and hogwarts students angrily turned to each other, glaring at them.

some durmstrang students could hear the pointed accusations the other students directed at them, the way they seethed with anger at this clear display of bad sportsmanship!

the issue on the table, however, was that durmstrang had no fucking clue why harry OR tom got chosen to be champions.

to say that either boy was bad at magic would be a complete understatement. in fact, they were practically the strongest wizards to ever grace the walls of durmstrang!

tom was well versed in the dark arts, magic was basically his first language. he was cunning, cold, and wrathful, the proper makings of a dark lord. the youngest head boy in durmstrang history, and still holding that title, tom was a marvel.

harry was his equal match. he simply oozed magic, a wand unnecessary for the things he could do. insanely talented on a broomstick and having nearly all of durmstrang in his hand, they were durmstrang’s best.

unfortunately, being the best in a school notorious for darker activity meant that you couldn’t be all sane.

tom and harry had a mutually parasitic relationship. they were rarely apart, practically on top of each other every waking moment. their magics were obnoxiously compatible, meaning they could trade wands with no second thought.

they were also extremely willing to spill blood at any moment’s notice when it came to their other half.

durmstrang knew this. that’s why they volunteered their other pride and joy, victor krum.

quiet, sensible, and humble, victor was the perfect candidate. sure he didn’t need extra fame or money, but he was well aware what the other options were if he did not step up to the plate.

it was safe to say that the moment tom and harry reentered the durmstrang ship, arms interlocked, distaste and fear seeping out of their every pores, choking the other students with its heaviness, durmstrang knew the other schools were fucked.

durmstrang tomarry with Tom as their triwizard tournament champion and Harry as 4th champion.

while everyone else is arguing that durmstrang cheated to increase their chances, toms and harrys classmates are nervously side eyeing their resident codependent overprotective sweethearts.

[rowena-rain]

@tomarrymortmicrofics | June 1 | Force

Unforgivable. He should not be able to throw off an Imperius like an old cloak. Not at fourteen.  But Harry Potter is a force unto himself—stronger than an Unforgivable. The strongest magic there is. Your magic. Strike him with the Killing Curse; he lives. (“Kneel.”) Command him with the Imperius; he resists. (“Kneel.”) Break him with the Cruciatus… He screams beautifully. Yet his pain is not enough—not what you want. Not really. (“Kneel.”) Finally, gravity and brute force drop him to the dirt where what’s left of your father’s bones lie.  Avada-green eyes flash up at you like a curse. Death glare, indeed. And you know: It’s not enough. Will never be enough to force him to his knees.

But.

You will put him there.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Nonsensical, non-comitant, Tom hums, agreeing. He knows how to tune Harry Potter out. He knows very well how to.

He does not.

For all his earlier complaints and reluctance, Tom voices nothing of the sort throughout the entire quidditch match.

The agreements are sincere despite sounding the exact opposite. The hums are sincere. The annoyed grumbles, the sceptical scoffs, and the dubious looks, all sincere. Tom squints, focuses intently on the match and on whatever Harry has to say about it.

Tom could—would—listen to him for ages. Harry Potter does not know this and does not need to.

[thebluestpaintwater]

Tomarry Drabble

The room was quiet as Tom worked on his homework and Harry stared at him as usual, eyes besotted.

"You know, sometimes you remind me of a wild animal." Harry said, absentmindedly. Tom responded with a dead eyed look and exasperated sigh.

"You know that's not really a compliment." He said dryly, before turning back to his work. Harry grabbed his chin and pulled Tom to face him once again.

"I don't mean it like that. Its just." He released a bit of air out of his mouth, tickling Toms nose. "The way your eyes track people, the way you'll hiss at people bothering you, how you look almost like a snake pouncing when your landing a winning strike in a duel." Harry's voice went soft. "You have the beauty of a predator."

Tom smiled a sharp teasing smile the nipped at one of the fingers holding his chin. A small drop of blood welled up at the tip of Harry's finger. He only smiled a soft smile and wiped the blood across Tom's grinning teeth.

[morsmordream]

the creative juices are somewhat flowing sooooo…

“Lord Gaunt has the floor, highlighting the Bill for the Protection of Wizarding Children,” Chief Warlock Dumbledore said, with all the professionalism expected despite the thinly-veiled disdain in his eyes.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” Tom nodded, graciously. He wasn’t feeling too gracious at the moment, mind. He was about to make himself appear weak in front of the rest of the sodding Wizengamot before it even hit 10am on a bloody Tuesday, after all. He took a deep breath, “I have been an unfortunate victim of the lack of protection in place for our precious youth. I grew up in a Muggle orphanage in East London, in the height of the recent war. I spent my childhood undergoing countless exorcisms, as the Muggles tried to rid me of the Devil they were convinced had possessed me, all because of my accidental magic. They laid hands on me, locked me in the cellar, misplaced my food rations, all while bombs fell around us. I spent the summers of my Hogwarts years hiding in bomb shelters, hoping with all I had that I would survive another night. The Trace on my wand left me utterly defenceless in the midst of muggle war- if a bomb fell above me, I would not have been able to shield myself from harm. I did not know of my Wizarding heritage until I received my Hogwarts letter- as the final Heir of Salazar Slytherin, I grew up without the necessary tutelage to fulfil my future role in our society. I did not even confirm my own heritage until I was close to the age of majority, as inheritance tests are not only not offered to those assumed to be Muggleborn, but the Hogwarts schooling fund does not cover the costs.

The Bill you have before you today is my hope of preventing another Wizarding child from going through what I have gone through. All Muggles are a danger to a young Wizard, especially when we are rendered defenceless by our restrictions on underage Wizards. The removal of Wizarding children from Muggle households at the earliest point is essential, the sooner they are integrated into the Magical world the better. I call upon you all, the esteemed members of this grand institution, to help correct the failures of our forefathers and protect our youth. Thank you.”

Tom surveyed his fellow Wizengamot members from where he stood at the podium. Everyone looked perfectly concerned, outraged at the injustice of it all, regardless of faction. Just as he hoped, his personal tale had made it all too real for them. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing- thinking of his childhood was something he did not do often.

“I invite anyone with a proposed amendment or objection to stand now,” Dumbledore said, from Tom’s left.

Tom opened his eyes just in time to watch Lord Peverell stand from his seat in the grey faction. As their eyes locked, Tom felt his irritation spike at the barely noticeable smirk on Peverell’s face. With every Wizengamot session he attended, Tom grew more and more convinced that Harrison Peverell was sent from the pits of Hell to antagonise him. Sharing a dorm in Hogwarts wasn’t enough, the little bastard just had to follow him into politics too.

“Whilst I largely agree with the Bill and it’s aims, Lord Gaunt, I simply must query a certain point. The most recent data from the Muggle government, from this very year, states that the population of the Muggle United Kingdom in 1950 is 50 million. Therefore, I simply must ask, how a magical child cannot be safe around a single one of them? I, too, grew up with Muggles in far less than favourable conditions, yet I am fully able to recognise that my experience is not the case for the majority of those from Muggle households. Surely, it is counterproductive to remove a magical child from a Muggle household wherein they are perfectly well-loved and cared for? I propose an amendment to section 18 of the Bill- early introduction to the magical world is crucial, but total removal from the Muggle world should be done on a case-by-case basis upon reviewal of living conditions and treatment.”

Tom gritted his teeth, as Peverell gave him a perfectly angelic smile.

Harrison Peverell was going to be the death of him, whether it be in this chamber or in one of their weird coincidental meetings they keep having all over Wizarding Britain.

The question of whether Harry would settle as a Lord and play politics is always very fascinating because as he's been raised, i don't think he would have the proclivity or talent for it. But. If he'd grown up with anyone else than the Dursleys, sorted to another house, been given the chance to care about his future i believe he would have taken the wizengamot by storm with his charm

[moontearpensfic]

trick or treat 😌

Trick. 😈

Somewhere, Harry raises Tom…

"Tom!" Harry shouts. Feet collide against the floor in a flurry, and an impish giggle trails around the corner. Bloody hell— In the last month since Harry adopted Tom, the boy has been mostly quiet. Watchful. Suspicious. Part of Harry had expected Tom to retreat, but that hasn't been the case. He won't let Harry out of his sight and throws a fit at night if Harry won't allow him to climb into bed. Now he's taken Harry's glasses and run off with them. While it's not unusual that Tom doesn't obey Harry, it is alarming (if not cute) that he's revealed his gremlin side. Why? Does he finally trust Harry enough? Does he finally understand that Harry will never send him back to Wool's? Despite his frustration and his inability to see anything without a blur disfiguring it, affection swells within Harry's heart.

🥰This made my own heart warm, lmao. Bbies. 💕🍬🎃

[garfunkelworld]

A boy walks into the woods. When he walks away, he is lighter, a smaller soul in his chest. He goes where he is meant to go:

Home, at last.

A man walks into the woods. He does not walk away. He stays, unmoving and unchanging, because there cannot be an afterlife for a man who already considers himself God.

[chaos-bear]

Birdsong woke Voldemort that morning. His suite looked out over the east lawn, and the apple trees there attracted robins in the spring. Last night, he'd cracked a window, letting the sweet night air cool their skin. Now, it let in a gust of wind and the fragrant scent of warm grass, blowing the curtains open so the sun could peek through.

He felt heavy in his body, warm and relaxed, muscles slightly sore but in a satisfying way. The blankets had been pushed down near their feet, and only a simple sheet remained, but he was warm from the body curled against his back, the arm slung about his waist.

Voldemort wasn't a soft man, nor a gentle one prone to allowing others close, but this was an exception. He was the exception. He always had been.

And so he lay, feeling Harry Potter's soft exhalations on the back of his neck, the tiny twitches of his foot where it lay pressed against Voldemort's own, and watched as the sun slowly crept across the carpet. The march of time pressed in, encouraging him to rise and begin another busy day, but Voldemort resisted.

Instead, he twisted to look at Harry's sleeping face, brushing one finger down his cheek to press against his plush lower lip. Memories of their night flooded in, the sounds he'd made, the look in his eyes.

Harry's arm tightened to pull Voldemort closer, and he went willingly, letting that solid heartbeat lure him back to sleep.

* * * * * *

A Valentine's Day gift for @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts 💖💖💖

[shadow-of-the-eclipse]

“Tom Riddle.”

The boy says his name like a consternation and a prayer. A curse and a benediction. Tom has never heard the rounding vowels and harsh consonants said with such power and emotion behind the words. His name has always been common. A curse, a nothingness he had been forced to attach himself to.

This boy says his name like he's casting a spell, like he's breathing magic. He says Tom's common muggle name like it's something special and Tom wants to hear him say it again.

“Yes?” He asks, already planning how the conversation will go.

The boy instantly details it. “Draw your wand,” he challenges, “I won't kill you while you're unarmed and defenceless.”

He splutters. The words should sound ridiculous but somehow coming from the lips of the boy who says his name like he is worshiping Tom, it's not even a threat - it's a promise. “Kill me?” he mocks, “We don't even know each other. You've yet to introduce yourself to me.”

The boy looks uncomfortable for the briefest moment. Then it's gone, “Harry Potter,” he says, tone a challenge. Stubborn, a tilt of his chin, blazing green eyes, wand in his hand - he is not backing down. “And you ruined my life. Destroyed everyone I held dear. So now I'm going to introduce you to your greatest fear.”

It should sound ludicrous. But the boy - Harry Potter's - words have Tom reaching long fingers for his wand, his heart ticking up a beat.

He is going to die, he realises with a flash of clarity. This boy is deadly serious.

“Why?” he straightens, readying himself. “I haven't done anything to you.”

"Oh, you haven't yet," Harry Potter says, perfect lips tugging up into a grin, "But you will." His green eyes flash eerily, vibrantly, reflecting the light of the spell on his wand, the same iridescent sleek green colour Tom recognises even before he hears the incantation from the pretty boy's mouth, "Avada Kedavra."

Tom sees his death in the green eyes of a strange boy and feels it in the air. Like static on a warm summer's night, like the cold bite of frost moments before numbness sets in. He breathes in death, and he wonders if his horcruxes will work, and then the world explodes in front of him.

Rock and stone from the intercepting gargoyle rain down around him. He stumbles back, hands flying up to shield his face. The gargoyle - one of those huge armoured knights - swings out with a sword. He stands between Tom and the boy - Harry - throws out another spell that hits the gargoyle instead of his intended target.

Instead of hitting Tom.

It doesn't escape Tom's notice that the spell had been silent. A lazy flick of his wand, green eyes still locked on Tom.

He uses this moment to scrabble for his own wand, to try and collect himself, to feel the adrenaline rush through him, his wand warm beneath his fingers.

A killing curse.

That boy had shot a killing curse at him.

Tom could still taste the magic in the air. Like grave dirt and rot. He could practically feel the roughness of his gravestone beneath his fingers. He should be wary. Frightened.

He should not be so exhilerated.

[greenlighted]

second chances wont leave us alone

kissing in cars // pierce the veil

❛ when second chances won't leave you alone, then there's faith in love ❜

AO3 wc: 100

“this one?” tom asks quietly, raising his hand towards the lightning scar on harry's forehead, as he had done with all of harry's scars he couldn't help but ask after. harry flinched when he saw tom's hand coming towards his face, remembering the first time that tom had touched his scar. tom dropped his hand after seeing harry's reaction, and harry suddenly had a hard time reading his expression. he reached out for tom's hand and brought it back up to his face, encouraging the touch. immediately tom was tracing the fractal pattern with the tip of his finger. “you.”

♡ + ⟳

masterlist

[hypothermiatapes]

Scene from a Tomarry fic I’m writing and haven’t posted

(You can give CONSTRUCTIVE criticism since it’s still in the works)

Tom wakes early and is confused to find Evans asleep on his cot, day clothes still on. The first three buttons of his shirt are undone revealing the necklace, hair tie around his wrist and glasses on his nose. It’s obvious Evans hadn’t had enough energy to get ready for bed and had instead just laid down, probably falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He’s only seen Evans asleep in the middle of the night so few times he can count them on his fingers. Evans being asleep so late was unheard of, the boy seeming to always be awake long before the sun even touched the horizon. It perplexes Tom in a way he can’t explain. Just what has exhausted the boy to suck an extent he’s asleep at this time?

Tom gets up and dresses quietly, keeping one eye on his roommate throughout it all. When done he comes to stand before Evans, just looking at him. It’s the first time he’s been able to properly look at Evans in broad daylight.

His hair is even messier than it’s ever been when tied up, the hair seeming to defy gravity itself. However, it’s not unkept, Tom would even admit it seems to add a charm. One of his eyebrows is slit from a scar that Tom’s only just noticed, the boys hair usually obstructing the view.

What really draws his attention though, is how in sleep Evans shows more emotion than he does awake. Every line of his face speaks of pain, whether it mental or physical, Tom will never know. He watches the way Evans face flashes through pain, anger, determination and despair, all seeming out of place on the usually blank face.

Carefully, Tom reaches down and brushes the boys hair away from his forehead to reveal a scar in the shape of lightning cutting through the skin. It’s old, but appears to have reopened numerous times since it was placed, some scar tissue newer than the rest.

It’s then that he sees it, Dark Magic. Under the skin of the scar is a thin line of black, one that is only caused when hit with a dark spell. It’s the same for most of the scars over his face, and when Toms eyes slide down he find a newly healed scar starting at the boys collarbone with the same line.

His mind flashes to that night in the underground and how a foreign magic had wrapped around him. Suddenly, it all makes sense, the vanishing, secretiveness, glowing eyes, odd jewelry. It all points towards magic, how had he not noticed it?

Just what is Evans doing here? His mind goes to how Evans had immediately been untrusting towards him, how he seemed to know more than he let on. Then there’s the oddly targeted topics and words, as if he knows exactly who he’s speaking to.

Evans has been watching him, tracking him, stalking him. Paranoia begins to course through his veins, Evans knows, knows too much. The conversation on death rings clearly in his mind, the way Evans had laughed hysterically, how he had said with such honesty that he knew Tom would make a name for himself.

Without thinking Tom crosses back to his side of the room and pulls his wand out, uncaring of the consequences. Evans is a danger, and Tom is going to get some answers. In one fluid motion he is straddling Evans and holding a wand to his neck. Before Tom can blink something cold is held to his neck and green eyes stare at him with hatred.

“Who are you?” Tom whispers dangerously, ignoring the blade held against his throat.

A smile spreads slowly over Evans face, it seems almost excited, eyes shining with insanity. “Oh Tom,” he purrs, it makes chills run up his spine, “that’s such an open question, I’d expect better from you.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” He snarls, it only serving to make the boys smile widen, revealing sharp canines.

“You’re right, I don’t know anything about you,” Tom digs his wand deeper. “But I do know you were born here, that you have a history of theft, that you presumably killed Billy Stubs rabbit and that you led those two kids to a cave. I know you were exorcised around nine years old after you were caught talking to a snake, that at eleven an odd man visited youthat in September of that year you went off to a boarding school that you go to every fall and return around the end of June. I know you most likely are a Hogwarts student, and from your robes I snuck a look at, a Slytherin; how fitting for a parseltongue if Sister Cole is to be believed. I also know that you are known to get sick easily, spend most of your time reading, and are too skinny. I know quite a bit about you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, yet, I don’t know who you are.”

“How do you know any of that?” He whispers, the words almost a growl.

“You underestimate me, even now,” he says blankly, smiling vanishing. “It was clear when Sister Cole offered me this room that she didn’t like you, that in her eyes you were the devils child. Naturally, I was curious, I mean, who wouldn’t be? A poor orphan that can apparently afford a boarding school? So, I went looking, I asked around about you, got on Sister Cole’s good side, figured out everything I could within these walls.”

Tom seethes. “What about everything else?” he bites out, referring to many things like magic, and his fear of death.

Suddenly, Evans shifts abruptly and he’s thrown onto his back, knife cutting into his neck slightly. Before he can do anything Evans has his arms pinned above his head, hips straddled in a way that he won’t be able to get him off. The moment they make eye contact Tom rips into his mind, but before he can go far he feels a sharp pain in his side, bringing him back.

It doesn’t take him long to realize Evans had stabbed him, the boy pulling the blade out sharply, crimson blood coating it. He looks at Tom cooly, anger simmering in his eyes as he leans forward so that he can whisper in Tom’s ear.

“Even try that again and I’ll kill you,” he promises before pulling away to hold the soaked blade back to Tom’s jugular. “Again, such open questions, I’m almost disappointed,” he says, voice and expression as dead as the grave.

Anger and frustration rises along with the throbbing in Toms side, he hates being in such a position, and he has a feeling Evans knows. “Why are you here at the orphanage?” He grinds out.

“I’m an orphan, why else?” He says almost bored and Tom could punch him.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he tries to force the pain behind his walls, but it’s hard with his bubbling anger.

“Then be more specific.”

“What are the circumstances that led to you being placed in the care of Wool’s Orphanage?” Tom would love to skin the boy alive.

Evans hums lightly, looking at him in consideration. “I’m parentless and the people that cared for me gave me up because of money.”

He hates how vague the boy is and how he dances around the questions with ease. “Full name?” He asks instead.

“I didn’t know someone could be in such a compromised position and still be doing an interrogation,” he replies mildly.

“Just answer the question!”

“No.”

Who does this boy think he is? Tom is far above him, better, definitely more magically prowl than this boy could ever wish to be. He should be bowing before Tom, not restraining him like he’s a someone. Without thinking he spits in Evans face, the boy not even flinching.

He slowly removes the hand with the knife and wipes it away with ease, unfazed by the situation. However, his grip on Tom’s wrists tightens to the point of bruising, he wasn’t wrong when he thought Evans was stronger than he seemed.

“You seem to be under the impression I owe you something,” Evans comments as he holds the bloody knife below his chin. “You’re wrong, of course, since you’re in my debt. I will say this once, and only once, so listen closely. I don’t owe you anything, I do not owe you answers, I do not owe you favors, I owe you absolutely nothing. So, I recommend you quit while you’re ahead because I still have that favor and we never specified anything about what I can ask for.”

Icy dread runs through Tom’s veins, the reality of the deal suddenly stark in his mind. He hadn’t realized they hadn’t set ground rules for the favor, and even if they had it still would have been a large favor due to the boy literally driving the priest insane. Evans must see the dread in his eyes because he smirks.

Tom desperately tries to get his expression under control, moving slightly to see just how stuck he is. The answer is very, there’s no way he can get out of this until Evans lets him. He’s losing quite a bit of blood too, it wouldn’t do him any good to stay like this for long.

Evans eyes slip down to where Tom’s wound must be, clearly thinking the same thing. He closes his eyes and rolls his head before fixing his gaze back onto Tom. He doesn’t say anything, just waits, and Tom knows he’s waiting for him to do something.

“It would be awfully unfortunate if I died due to blood loss, wouldn’t it? It would be in our best interest if you got off, it wouldn’t do you any good to be marked a murderer,” he says slowly, and to his shock Evans breaks out into insane laughter.

His grip on Tom tightens, as he laughs hysterically, and Tom is left wondering what exactly he said was funny. Evans shoulders shake from the intensity of his laughs, it so loud he’s sure it hurts. His eyes shine with something absolutely feral, insane, dangerous.

“‘In our best interest’? I don’t care if I’m a wanted man!” He gasps out hysterically.

The laughter stops abruptly, and it leaves a frigid silence behind. Tom wants to feel indignant about the fact Evans had just laughed at him, but he can’t, utterly speechless. What does he mean by he doesn’t care? How could someone not care about that?

Evans expression closes completely, leaving a cool mask in its wake as he leans close. “I’ll let you go, I’ll even help with the wound, but only if you promise to never enter my mind again. If you don’t, know I’m more than happy to let you bleed out, and if you break said promise I swear I will hunt you till the ends of the Earth. When I’ve set my sight on something I’ll stop at nothing to fulfill it, understood?”

“Fine,” Tom bites out and Evans lets go of him, easily getting off.

[ohthesestarsthatshine]

gimme tmr comforting sunshine hp breaking down over the weight of being the golden boy

“Come here. I’ll do it.”

Harry’s hands are shaking but he’s stubborn as ever, the tears sliding down his face mostly silently. “Riddle, I’m more than capable of brewing my own-“

“I know you are. Just let me do it.”

“It-it’ll get better right? It has to get better.”

“I’ve found that the more I hope for change, the less inclined fate seems to give it to me. I just have to hope that enough good people are hoping with me, and eventually something will happen. Come on Scarhead. You’ve got this, alright?”

[kyokimidori]

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[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Harry Potter is something of an impossibility and an inevitability all at once.

Tom has only started to understand and come to terms with this recently. In the darker hours of his harsher nights, when anger and rage come like maelstrom waves, the comforting weight of Harry’s hand on his shoulder guides and steadies him, mooring him ashore. He may rock, nearly tip, but Harry is always there noose-tight.

Hush, he says. Sit with me.

Tom does. His reeling no match to Harry’s.

A hollow longing is replaced and forgotten in his presence, and Tom thinks - I could love him.