I've had this posted on AO3 for awhile, but it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to post it here as well. Still working on More Precious than Rubies, but RL is kind of rough atm. This college AU is like the fic equivalent of comfort food, so this is what I've been working on instead. There's at least 10k more where this came from if people are interested.

This fic has no real plot and would probably be posted in non-chronological order if people are interested. It is really just self-indulgent all-but-established tomarry fic. The imaginary college is American, b/c I am too lazy to do that much research for something meant to to be be purely for my own enjoyment.

Title comes from Pablo Neruda's Sonnett XVII

Harry Potter paused gratefully at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall breathing heavily as shifting the weight in his arms so that he could reach up and try and wipe the sweat off his forehead. Perhaps binging up the heaviest bin first hadn't been the best approach after all. Still, he was committed now, and once he actually knew where his room was, the trip wouldn't be such an arduous task. And it wasn't as if he had much to move. Living with the Dursleys hadn't given him the opportunity to accumulate many possessions he'd want to keep in the first place.

The few things he did posses were gifts from his friends and fugitive godfather, along with a handful of precious heirlooms that had been left to him by his parents.

Perhaps, now that he had access to the money his parents had left him (which had come as an immense surprise), he could see about maybe getting himself some more things. Still, now that he actually had money, he found himself reluctant to spend it. Harry was used to going without. And after Sirius' graduation gift of a new wardrobe, there really wasn't anything Harry felt a great need to have.

It certainly made moving a great deal easier, at any rate, Harry couldn't help thinking with a wry twist of his mouth. The dorm room he was assigned was on the third floor of the building, and while there was an elevator, Harry didn't see the point of fighting with all the other people trying to move in for its use. It wasn't as if he was unused to manual labor.

And for all that hauling this bin had taken much more out of him than he had anticipated, there was only two more bins and the chest containing the few things his parents had left him.

Three more trips wouldn't kill him. It would be unpleasant, yes, but nothing he couldn't handle by himself. But now, he thought pushing himself off the wall, it was time to figure out where exactly he was going.

Room 317, the harassed looking RA manning the check-in desk had told him as he passed him his key. A quick look around let Harry know the numbers decreased to his right and increased to his left. Given that the closest room was 303, he took a turn to the left and made his way around the corner to a longer stretch of hallway. The dorm, it seemed, was U-shaped, with one long central hallway and two short wings. Keeping an eye on the room numbers, it became clear that in the future, the other stairwell would probably suit him better.

315...316...Harry's eyes slid to across the hall, trying to get a sense of his neighbors.

The name on the door directly across from his own had him dropping the bin where he stood, uncaring when it landed on his feet. On the door hung a small black plaque, the words "RESIDENT ASSISTANT" printed on it in simple white typeface. And just above that, on a white piece of cardstock, written in immaculate black handwriting was a name.

"Tom Riddle."

It couldn't be the same boy, Harry told himself, trying to talk his heart out of beating in his ears. It was a very common name, after all. That had been one of Tom's greatest issues with his name growing up.

The odds of this Tom being his Tom were astronomically slim.

But, a traitorous little corner of his heart whispered, what if it is him?

Harry recalled the last time they had seen each other, the way Tom's lips had felt pressed against his own, as fleeting as the moment had been. The last expression Harry had ever seen on Tom's face was one he'd never seen before - complete and total shock. He still savored it to this day.

What would Tom look like now, he wondered. He'd been an attractive boy. He always had. It wasn't what had made him fall in love with Tom, but it certainly hadn't hurt. And it had been love. Of that, Harry was certain. Not the puppy-dog sort, but something deeper, more abiding. Why else would thinking of him still hurt so much?

Ten years now, since he'd last seen him. Harry's first kiss had been the last time he'd seen his first and best friend. He'd be twenty years old now.

Tom wasn't like other people. That much had been obvious. Harry couldn't help but wonder how that would have changed as he grew.

"Excuse me," a voice said in a very familiar tone, jerking Harry roughly out of his thoughts. "But you're blocking the hall."

Heart beat reverberating through his chest, he turned.

"Tom?" he asked, terrified of the answer. "Tom Riddle?"

The man behind him was handsome. Ridiculously so. Aristocratic features, sharp cheekbones, and grey eyes that were boring sharply into Harry's own. Blood rushed through his veins, and his mouth went dry.

Tom. His Tom, all grown up. And he had grown up very well indeed.

That same expression of shock, the last expression he'd ever seen his best friend make, was on his face again.

"Harry?" Tom asked, his voice full of disbelieving hope. "Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, throat tight and eyes burning.

A long-fingered hand reached out, settling on Harry's shoulder before tugging him forward. Harry found himself pressed against a firm chest, wrapped in a pair of strong arms.

Harry let his eyes fall closed as he reached out to return the embrace.

"Harry," Tom said reverently, and Harry felt fingers carding gently through his hair, "my Harry."

"I missed you," Harry said, clutching Tom even closer. "God, I missed you so much."

Harry felt Tom's breath against his scalp as the other man buried his face in Harry's hair.

"You're here. You're really here," Tom murmured.

Harry nodded against Tom's chest, letting out a wet laugh.

Harry stood there, breathing in Tom's scent and reveling in the embrace. For all that it had been a decade since they'd seen each other last, the feelings it elicited in him hadn't changed. Harry had never felt safer than he did in Tom's arms, and apparently neither time nor space could change that.

Tom began to pull back, too soon for Harry for all that it had been several minutes. Harry tightened his grip unconsciously, refusing to let the other man pull away.

Harry's ears filled with the warm, rich sound of Tom's laughter.

"Don't you fret, Harry," he said, pulling away again, though this time Harry reluctantly allowed it.

Grey eyes stared down at him filled with warmth.

"Now that I've found you again, I'm not letting you go," Tom told him, reaching out and cupped Harry's cheek with one hand before wiping away the tears Harry hadn't known he was shedding with his thumb.

Harry gave him a watery smile in return.

"Still the same possessive bastard I see," Harry said.

Still, it wasn't quite a joke. If Tom was the same kind of possessive he'd been when they were kids, there would be no escaping the man now that he and Harry were together again. If, for some reason, Harry felt the need to get away, the only realistic plan would be changing his name and leaving the state at the very least, if not the country.

"For you, my dear, always," Tom replied with a familiar, sharp smile.

Well, that answered that question. Still, it wasn't as if Tom had been particularly subtle when he was younger. Harry knew exactly what his friend was capable of. And he couldn't really foresee a circumstance where he'd want to be anywhere but exactly where he was. Here, with Tom.

There was the sound of a nearby door slamming, and Harry suddenly remembered that they were standing in the middle of a hallway during probably one of the highest traffic times of the year.

"We'll continue this later," Tom informed him in that imperious way he had. It had been hysterical when Tom was seven, but it actually seemed to suit him now. "For now, let's get you moved into your dorm," Tom said, glancing down at the bin.

"You're not on my floor, are you?" he asked, brow furrowed. "I would have recognized your name immediately on my list of residents."

"I am," Harry told him. "Right across the hall, actually.

"317," Tom said, and Harry could tell by his tone of voice that if Tom were anyone else, he'd be smacking his own forehead. "Of course. There was last minute shuffling because some snot-nosed spawn of a major donor to the school was unsatisfied with his accommodations. It was the responsibility of some other RA to get it sorted out and make sure all the doors had the proper names. I assume you have your key, yes?"

Harry shot him a glare.

Tom smirked at him before bending over and picking up the bin. "Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile. Tom really hadn't changed much at all. He'd mock Harry while simultaneously doing everything in his power to make Harry's life better.

Harry pulled his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He knocked before opening on the off chance that his roommate, Cormac McLaggen, according to the door, was in, ignoring Tom's huff of irritation behind him.

There was no response, and when Harry cracked the door open it was clear that McLaggen hadn't started moving in yet.

"He's not here yet," Harry told Tom as he moved out of his way so the other boy could bring the bin in.

"Good," Tom said, placing it down in front of the bed near the window, "that saves me from having to relocate his things so that you can have the side of the room you want."

"Tom," Harry said, rolling his eyes, but he was touched.

It was nice to have someone looking out for his interests. Still, he needed to be sure to keep an eye on that tendency so that he could step in and curb it when needed.

"Now, obviously you want the bed by the window," Tom said, as if his having remembered enough about Harry to guess at his preferences even a decade later wasn't anything out of the ordinary. "How much more do you have to bring up?"

"Another two bins and a chest," Harry answered.

"That's it?" Tom asked, staring at Harry intently. "That's all you brought with you?"

Harry glared at him. Tom had known very well what his living situation had been like with the Dursleys. At least for the most part. There had been some things he'd been sure to keep from Tom, like his accommodations.

"And you were just overburdened with luggage your first year," Harry told him, crossing his arms.

"I take it you stayed with the Dursleys then," Tom said, practically spitting out the name.

"There was nowhere else to go," Harry said with a sad smile.

"You're never going back there again," Tom said staring at Harry intently.

"That was the idea, yes," Harry said with a small quirk of lips. "I worked very hard to get a scholarship to make sure I'd never have to see them again."

"Good," Tom said. "Now, let's go get the rest of your things, get you unpacked and then go get you whatever else it is you might need."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said with a grin.

"Come on then," Tom said. "It's time to go fetch the help."

"Do they know you call them that?" Harry asked, unable to keep a grin off his face.

Tom gave him an unimpressed look, and Harry just smiled in return. Tom's expression suddenly softened.

"I missed you too, you know," Tom said, his tone conversational, but as always his eyes gave him away. "I've been looking for you essentially since you left. I have to confess that I was impressed with your timing. By the time I'd managed to make it over to your house to demand an explanation, you were already gone."

"They only gave me a few minutes notice that we were leaving," Harry said, gripping his left elbow with his right hand, needing some sort of reassurance. "I left without permission to go find you at the park and then had to run back before they came looking for me," Harry told him, running his finger thoughtlessly along the silvery mark that cut across his elbow. "I didn't want to leave."

Tom reached out and pulled Harry over, wrapping him in his arms again. Giving Harry exactly what he needed but could never ask for.

"I don't blame you, Harry," Tom said, but from the dark tone in his voice it was clear he blamed someone.

Harry couldn't really hold it against him. It would be hypocritical. Harry certainly blamed someone for it.

"I never forgot you Harry," Tom said seriously. "How could I? You know very well what you mean to me. Or," he said, one hand coming up to cradle Harry's skull, gently pressing him even closer, "perhaps you don't. Ten years is a long time, after all."

"I knew what I meant to you," Harry offered, relaxing the embrace. "I just...I wasn't sure I would still mean the same thing."

"That's because you're an idiot," Tom said firmly in a familiar tone.

"And you're a creep," Harry rejoined, continuing their schoolyard exchange with a smile.

"I'm your creep," Tom said. "That hasn't changed. And it isn't ever going to."

"And I'm your idiot," Harry replied, burying his face even more firmly against Tom's chest. "I always was. I never stopped."

Tom's fingers ran through Harry's hair for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"Come on, let's go fetch the rest of your things. I'd hate for someone to walk off with them."

Harry snorted at that as he pulled back. Tom would hate it yes, but not nearly as much as whoever had done the stealing when Tom got his hands on them. Tom had always been cruel, yes, but he had always been at his most vicious when seeking retribution. For the sake of any would be thieves, he really should go grab the rest of his things.

"Fine. Let's go fetch the 'help' and grab the rest," he said.

Tom stood, releasing all of Harry but his hand and began dragging him out of the room. Harry smiled widely and let him.

A flight of stairs and a hallway later, Tom released Harry's hand to rap sharply against a door with an RA plaque. A jaunty penguin proclaimed it to belong to "Barty Crouch" in an untidy scrawl.

"Crouch!" Tom said. He didn't lower himself to yelling.

Judging by the thumping noise and muffled swearing Harry could hear coming from the other side of the door, Tom hadn't needed to. It was only a matter of a few more seconds before the door was yanked open by a young man with sharp eyes, hollow cheeks, and disheveled hair.

"Riddle," Crouch said, a nervous look in his eyes and deference in his voice.

Well, it seemed that Tom had already made great strides in terms of his personal goals when it came to his social circle. Harry couldn't really say he was too surprised. He'd already been here two years, after all.

"Barty," Tom said, his tone filled with that faux politeness that Harry knew nothing good could come from.

Judging by the expression on Barty's face, he knew this as well.

"I'm going to need your assistance with something," Tom said, gesturing Barty out into the hallway.

"Of course," Barty said, stepping out immediately. "I'm entirely at your disposal. Do I have time to lock up first?"

Tom waved his hand in a permissive manner, and Barty turned around and locked his door immediately. As soon as the door was shut, Barty turned around and visibly started. Harry couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him at that.

"Barty," Tom said, lips pressed together in a firm line. "I see you've finally noticed Harry. I was under the impression that you were more observant."

"Aww, Tom, don't be hard on him," Harry said, striving to contain his amusement. Still, as hilarious as Tom's reaction was, a part of him was touched that his friend was still so eager to ensure that Harry was given the attention Tom felt he deserved. "He was just so awed by your presence he couldn't see anything else."

Tom shot him a glare, and Harry laughed, reaching out and putting a hand on Tom's shoulder to keep himself upright.

"Are you quite finished?" Tom asked, bearing an incredibly put upon expression.

"You know you missed me," Harry said with a grin.

"I did," Tom said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but the expression on his face was tender as he stared down at him.

Harry felt himself blush, and he had to look away, unable to meet Tom's eyes anymore. Instead he found himself looking at Barty Crouch, and had to fight back another laugh at the completely flabbergasted look on his face.

"Harry," Tom said, carrying on as if the entire interlude hadn't happened. "This is Bartemius Crouch Junior. He is, as I'm sure you have gathered for yourself, a fellow RA. Barty is also a member of an organization I lead."

Judging by the expression of pure panic on Barty's face, that organization was one that wasn't supposed to be mentioned to those outside its ranks. Tom never really had cared at all about breaking rules. He thought himself above them.

"Barty," Tom said, ignoring the expression on the other man's face with the ease of long practice, "This is Harry Potter," Tom said, throwing a proprietary arm around Harry's shoulder, "my dear childhood friend."

The expression of horror turned to one of shock.

Harry didn't really blame him. Tom didn't exactly seem like the type to have childhood friends, let alone "dear" ones. The adjective was a new one, but Harry didn't really mind. It was true, after all.

Still, if this was the way all the people in Tom's social circle were going to react, the first week of college might be a lot more fun than Harry had been expecting.

"Now, come along," Tom ordered, grabbing Harry's hand again and pulling him along towards behind him, "You're going to help move Harry into his dorm room."

"Of course," Barty said, sounding dazed.

Harry was feeling a bit dazed himself, to be honest. Tom. He'd found Tom. After all those years apart, he and first friend were together again. He'd spent the last ten years aching and pining for his friend, and now, suddenly, here he was. It was a little hard to believe.

Tom was the only thing that had made his childhood livable, the only thing that had kept him going during the early days, when he still yearned for the affection of a family that saw Harry as nothing more than a burden and reminded him of it at every turn. Isolated, hated, and feared, Harry had been afraid he would be alone forever.

Tom had changed all of that. Tom was, without a doubt, the most significant person in his life so far. And to have gone through so long without the man but to have so little about their relationship changed...it felt too good to be true.

Still, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tom was here. Tom was here, and that was all that mattered.

Tom was his RA, Harry suddenly realized, and had to fight the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. When he'd been anxious about what it would be like to be in college, when he had been dreaming about it with longing over the summer at the Dursleys (the last summer, thank god) this particular scenario had never entered in his calculations.

Clearly his college experience was going to be nothing like he had imagined.

"Where exactly are your things, Harry?" Tom asked.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Near the entrance."

"Which entrance?" Barty asked. "There's three for the dorm."

Harry felt his face reddening, struggling with how to explain. It turned out to be an unnecessary fear, however. Tom, judging by his darkening expression, had understood Harry's meaning exactly.

"Your relatives dropped you off?" he asked, voice like ice.

"The fact that they actually deigned to drive me here is actually huge by their standards," Harry pointed out.

"That being true does nothing to make the situation better," Tom ground out. "Was it the fact that it meant they were getting rid of you forever that motivated them?"

"Dudley had something he needed to be dropped off at somewhere nearby, so it the convenience plus my good behavior during Marge's last visit earned me a ride up here."

Tom snarled at that, and the look in his eyes made it clear he and Harry would be having words about the situation at a latter time. Tom spare hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone.

A smartphone, Harry noticed. The newest model. Clearly Tom had found some sort of income to help keep himself in the style he felt he deserved. Harry was glad. Tom deserved the best.

Tom pushed a few buttons and began barking orders at whoever was on the other end of the line.

Harry made a careful study of the figure before him, focusing on trying to find the traces of the friend he had known in the handsome man before him. And if that gave him an excuse to look at the frankly breathtaking man before him, well, Harry wasn't going to complain.

It was unfair, really, how attractive Tom was now. The man was brilliant, ambitious, and incredibly deft at manipulating others. Giving him good looks on top of the rest of it meant that no one really had a chance.

Harry included himself in this. He'd been in love with the boy since he was seven. Adding hormones, stupidly good looks, and Tom's incredible tactility when it came to Harry on top of everything else just wasn't fair.

"So," an unfamiliar voice said, jerking Harry out of his contemplation, "how exactly did you and Riddle meet?"

This was an opportunity too good to pass up. Because Harry had the sense that he was going to be getting this question an obscene amount in the next few days. From the sounds of things, Tom had accumulated quite a following here on campus.

The opportunity to mess with all of them was too tempting. Besides, Tom had always been highly protective of anything he considered truly personal. It wasn't that he was a private person, as much as it was that he just didn't feel he could trust others with information about him.

Earning that trust was something Harry was incredibly proud to have accomplished, and it wasn't something he was going to risk. And Harry had the feeling that Tom would consider this deeply personal. At least Harry hoped so.

Harry had an incredible opportunity to simultaneously entertain himself and protect Tom's confidences.

"Well, you see, I was just getting out from detention when Tom was sneaking back into school with a venomous snake to set loose on his classmates for not following his directions during a group project," Harry said, expression perfectly serious. "I saw him, obviously, but he couldn't leave any witnesses. And while Tom may be willing to arrange accidents for other people, he's no murderer," Harry said righteously. "So instead he kidnapped me and kept me in the shed behind his house for oh, what, three years?"

"Three and a half," Tom called over his shoulder offhand.

Harry grinned. Tom may have sounded completely composed, but Harry could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was trying not to laugh.

"Right, three and half years. Sorry. It took me awhile to start keeping tally," he whispered to Barty conciliatorily.

"Anyway, after three and a half years, I finally managed to escape when he was on a field trip one day," Harry told Barty. "But at that point, the Stockholm had well and truly set in. So when I saw him again just now, well, it turns out I'd missed him a lot more than I had expected. And I know my trauma councilor is going to be disappointed, but I really just couldn't help myself," Harry said, radiating sincerity.

Barty stared at him, brow furrowed, clearly trying to distinguish fact from fiction.

Harry was only able to keep his face straight by biting his tongue. Tom, the bastard, was prolonging the time he had his back turned by calling someone else. Clearly he didn't trust himself not to give something away with his expression. Though perhaps that was for the best. Harry was sure if they made eye contact, they'd both lose it.

Tom, attention still seemingly on the phone as he resolutely did not look at Harry, began tugging him forward again.

Barty trailed afterward, brow furrowed as his gaze darted back and forth between Harry and Tom.

Knowing that the other man wasn't going to be much good as entertainment until he made up his mind about how truthful Harry had been, Harry turned his attention fully back to Tom. The urge to burst into hysterical cackles had receded enough that he felt it was safe to do so.

"I don't care," Tom told whoever was on the other end of the phone, his tone clipped in a way that spelled trouble for whoever was on the other end. "You'll go out there and keep an eye on it. I'll be arriving shortly."

Harry imagined he could hear a whimpering noise from the other end of the phone as Tom pulled it away from his ear.

"The 'help' being less than helpful?" Harry asked, fighting to keep himself from smiling.

"Not if they know what's good for them," Tom said, a hit of a growl in his voice.

Harry was devastated to learn he found it almost unbearably arousing. Christ. As if Harry needed any other weaknesses when it came to Tom.

"So, what was that about?" Harry asked.

Crouch, he could see from the corner of his eye, was staring at him flabbergasted. Apparently you didn't just ask Tom Riddle about his plans.

Unless, Harry thought with a smug twist of his lips, you were Harry Potter.

"I was getting someone to wait with your things while we make our way over there. The first phone call was to procure a car. Unfortunately, with all the nonsense around move in, those few of us who have permission to be on campus have been relegated to the parking lots in the areas of campus colloquially referred to as Siberia."

"Tom..." Harry began, but an unimpressed glare cut off his protest before it could really even begin.

Harry rolled his eyes, though he had to fight off a smile as he did so. It was nice to be taken care of, for once.

An impromptu tour of campus later, Harry found himself approaching the entrance to campus. His bins and chest were still there, to his relief, as well as a figure that somehow managed to project petulance from a distance.

Tom frowned slightly at this, but Harry applied an elbow to his ribs. Tom cut his eyes in Harry's direction and arched at eyebrow at him.

"He did what you asked," Harry pointed out. "The fact that he didn't do it cheerfully doesn't change anything."

"It's disrespectful," Tom said in response. "And his theatrics are turning this into far more of a scene than it needs to be."

"So don't make it more of one than it is already," Harry responded. "If you find his behavior unacceptable, which honestly strikes me as a bit much, correct it later. In the privacy of a group meeting, where others might benefit from his learning experience."

Faster than Harry could react, he found himself wrapped in Tom's arms again.

"Have I mentioned that I missed you?" Tom asked, as if inquiring about the weather

"It came up once or twice," Harry said, reaching out to fist one hand in the fabric of Tom's shirt. "Did I mention that I missed you too?"

"You might've," Tom said.

Harry gave himself a moment to bask before turning back to the matter at hand.

"Come on," Harry said, patting him on the chest, "We were in the middle of something. And I've no doubt you've managed to send your minions into cardiac arrest."

"Ask me if I care," Tom challenged him.

"Weren't you the one just complaining about appearances and making a scene?" Harry pointed out, making a half-hearted attempt to remove himself from Tom's embrace.

Tom thwarted him easily, and Harry didn't bother trying again. It wasn't as if he actually wanted to be anywhere else.

Barty cleared his throat from behind them, and Harry swore he could actually feel the glare Tom gave him over his head. If looks could kill Barty would have been incinerated on the spot.

"Riddle, we have floor meetings starting at two," he pointed out. "And it's nearly one as it is. If you want to avoid any awkward questions, especially this early…"

There was some subtext to this conversation that Harry was missing, but it didn't sound as if it were that important. He wanted to reconnect with Tom, yes, but he'd much rather do it out of the public doors. Harry had some questions he wanted to ask Tom that he could only do behind closed doors. And judging by the calculating look Tom was sending him now, he wasn't the only one.

"Fine," Tom huffed. He released Harry, but only halfway, keeping him tucked under his arm like a bird might keep a chick sheltered under it's wing. "You may as well meet our dramatic friend while we wait for transportation."

The "friend" in question was standing ramrod straight now, staring at Harry and Tom in an expression of openmouthed shock Harry had no trouble identifying even at this distance.

There was something about it that tugged at Harry's mind as they approached. The other man seemed almost familiar, somehow. As they made their way closer, the man managed to school his expression, but the feeling of familiarity only grew stronger.

"Perseus," Tom drawled when they were close enough. "How nice of you to join us. And so cheerfully too. As I'm sure you know, attitude is such an important part of how we make it through the day. I'm glad to see yours has improved since I called for your help."

The man before them paled, and Harry stared at him in consternation. Surely if he'd met the man before, he'd remember his name? Especially one so unusual.

Perseus ducked his head. "I…I apologize, Riddle. Your call woke me from a rather deep sleep, and I didn't quite come to my senses until afterward. Not," he continued hastily at the expression on Tom's face, "that that's any excuse. It shouldn't have happened, and it won't happen again."

"No," Tom replied coldly. "It won't."

Sensing a détente and determined to figure out why exactly he felt right on the edge of remembering the man, Harry spoke up.

"You going to introduce me?" Harry asked.

"How remiss of me," Tom said with a sharp smile. "Harry, this is Perseus Black…"

"Black?" Harry interrupted, pieces coming together.

No wonder the boy had looked familiar. The same dark hair, framing a face with a familiar nose, and the slightly haunted look Harry had only ever associated with one person. The resemblance, now that Harry knew what to look for was impossible to miss. And hadn't Sirius mentioned that constellation names were a Black family tradition? The name "Perseus" made much more sense, in that context. The two had to be related. The only question now was how.

"As in in Sirius Black?" Harry asked him intently, searching for more information.

Perseus winced. It was a wince Harry was familiar with. The one Aunt Petunia gave whenever someone asked her about him. The wince of someone confronted with a family member they were ashamed of.

"He's my uncle," Perseus confessed reluctantly. "But you have to understand, the rest of the family isn't anything like him."

Sirius's nephew. Which meant that Perseus was some form of cousin, if Sirius's confused relating of his family tree could be trusted. Which meant that

Tom interrupted before Harry could figure out what to say next.

"Why, Harry dear," Tom asked, his voice syrupy sweet in a way that meant Harry was about to be called out on something reckless he'd done "is it that the first place your mind leaps is to a mass murder who escaped prison over three years, and so quickly I might add?"

"Harry?" Perseus said, staring at Harry in dawning horror. "Not…not Harry Potter?"

"The one and only," Harry said, trying not to sigh too hard. Tom had caught the scent now, and he wasn't going to let it go any time soon. And it seemed as if Perseus was going to tell the worst parts of the tale now, which meant Harry would have to explain things properly much sooner than he had planned on.

"What," Tom snarled, pulling Harry more tightly against his side, "exactly does your Uncle have to do with Harry?"

Perseus answered immediately, shooting Harry a slightly apologetic look. "Sirius and James Potter…they were police partners. But Sirius…Sirius was apparently a dirty cop and blew Potter's cover on an undercover op. He got James Potter and his wife killed. And then, to top it all off, when confronted by their other friend on the force, Pettigrew, he…well, he snapped. Killed eleven people."

"That's not how it happened," Harry couldn't help but interject. To here Sirius so maligned was enough to overcome his reluctance to discuss such things in public.

"And how," Tom asked, "would you know that?"

Judging by the venomous glare Tom was shooting at him, his oldest friend had a fairly good idea how Harry had gotten that information.

"You and I," Tom said slowly, "will be discussing this in great detail. As soon as the inanity that is orientation is over this evening."

Harry tried not to grimace at that proclamation. True, he'd been looking forward to actually talking to Tom. To getting caught up in a place where Tom wouldn't feel the need to be anything but himself. Not just the cruel, calculating vicious parts, which at the very least seemed to be on display for his minions, but the softer, more vulnerable side. The tender side Harry had only ever seen directed towards himself.

Still, he'd wanted to control the flow of that conversation at least a little. Sirius Black and everything surrounding the circumstances of his presence in Harry's life was a subject that needed to be handled with some care. That was all shot to hell now.

Still, he had the rest of orientation to figure out some sort of strategy. Assuming there even was one. He'd probably just need to submit to Tom's interrogation on the subject with as little grace as possible and then let Tom get the shouting out of his system and before he could finally have a chance to tell the story properly.

"What does the rest of orientation even entail?" Harry asked.

There'd been a schedule at some point that he'd glanced over, but none of it had really gone into long-term storage. And the paper itself was long gone. He'd made the mistake of leaving it out where Uncle Vernon had come across it. That had, of course, been the last he'd seen of it and most of his other orientation materials.

"Floor meeting starting at four, to introduce all the freshman to their RAs," Barty offered. "Cover the dorm rules and expectations. After all of that is discussed, we are then unfortunately forced to segue into a discussion about life on campus."

"Icebreakers," Tom muttered darkly. "You forgot the icebreakers."

Harry snorted involuntarily. The idea of Tom leading icebreakers was too hilarious to remain impassive in the face of.

"After that we frog march you all to the dining hall, where we are all force to endure their so-called 'food'," Barty said. The expression on his face made it clear that he wasn't a fan of the on-campus dining service.

Harry was sure he wouldn't share the sentiment. Regular meals were a luxury he was sure he would never take for granted.

Tom was giving him a considering look, and the small wrinkle between his eyebrows spoke of a deep concern. Harry shot him back an expression of confusion, but Tom just shook his head slightly.

Yet another topic of conversation for when they had privacy, apparently.

"After that, it's a presentation on fire safety, ending with a practice run of escaping a burning building," Barty continues, "and then after that they set you all lose on the quad to mingle."

"I'll go over the rest of the agenda with you later," Tom interjected here. "Because it appears from the looks of things that our ride has finally arrived."

Harry stared at the vehicle in question and had to fight to keep an expression of his face. Of course Tom would demand someone with a high-end car come pick them up. Of course he would.

Still, for all that Tom was drawn to the ostentatious, he at least had enough sense to make sure things were practical. "Function and form," he was sure Tom would say if confronted about it, or at least something similar.

Harry had reacted to a life of poverty by deciding not to care about material things at all. The Dursley's complete obsession with appearance probably had a lot to do with this particular take on the problem. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to have taken the opposite approach. Every luxury he had been denied, he now felt he was entitled to.

He'd been like this nearly as long as Harry could remember. Tom had always been attracted to shiny things. Privately, Harry though of him as a Magpie. The one time he'd voiced that opinion to Tom had merited a reaction that persuaded Harry that it was a nickname only to be brought out on the special occasions when he truly wanted to drive Tom up the wall.

One of the tinted windows rolled down, and a man with a strong jaw and stubble wearing sunglasses stuck his head out the window.

"One car, at your service, as requested," he said with a faint accent.

"Excellent, Antonin," Tom said, staring not at the man in the car, but at Perseus. "Your prompt response and general disposition are appreciated."

Harry pressed his elbow against Tom's ribs, gently and slowly. Merely to get attention.

"A little heavy handed, there," Harry murmured, for Tom's ears only.

"Black requires heavy-handedness," Tom grumbled under his breath.

"That's not a surprise," Harry said with a grin. "He sounds more like his Uncle than he'd like to admit."

Tom's eyes narrowed and Harry promptly turned his attention to the man in the car in order to avoid his gaze. The man in question was staring back at him, eyebrow arched. Clearly full of questions, but well trained enough to settle for observation until Tom deigned to offer any information.

What on earth had Tom done to these people? And how had he gotten away with it on such a massive scale? Harry knew Tom's methods, and for them to have gone undetected by so many was unreasonable. Unless there was some sort of existing mechanism…

Ah.

Fraternity or Secret Society, then. The hazing portion of initiation would have provided the perfect mechanism for Tom to indulged his more sadistic tendencies and provided him with a justification for doing so.

Secret Society was more likely, given how Tom had described his relationship to Barty. And it would appeal to his dramatic side.

Antonin was likely to be a member as well.

"Antonin, step out so we can do proper introductions," Tom ordered.

The man obeyed instantly. He was bulky and tall. Harry could see how he could be useful when it came to intimidating others.

"Harry, this is Antonin Dolohov," Tom said, gesturing with the hand not currently thrown over Harry's shoulder. "He's a senior student from Russia, here studying abroad."

"Dolohov," Tom said, "this is my friend, Harry Potter," and he reached up with the hand that had previously been resting on Harry's shoulder to spin a strand of Harry's hair between his fingers in full view of everyone else. "We were very close as children."

Antonin's eyes widened to a comical degree, and Harry could hear Perseus making a strangled noise behind them.

Tom was clearly trying to establish something with his introductions. That Harry was his friend was being emphasized very heavily. Given what Harry knew of Tom and what it was clear his followers knew of Tom, Harry's introduction was both a message and a warning.

Still, it was a little over the top even for that. Harry thought Tom was hitting the point so hard specifically to watch his followers react to the information. Harry had to admit that he himself was finding it incredibly amusing.

"Antonin," Tom said, "we're going to be taking Harry's things over to the dorm and getting him moved in."

Antonin's eyebrows rose, but he kept silent. Instead he simply walked over and picked up a bin, carrying it wordlessly over to the trunk. Tom glanced pointedly at both Perseus and Barty. Barty bent over and grabbed the other bin at once. Perseus, on the other hand, was a little slower on the uptake, which gave Harry the time he needed.

Harry swooped in and grabbed the handles just before Perseus's hands closed around them.

"I'll get that," Harry said, pulling the chest as close to his body as he could manage.

Tom shot Harry a look, one eyebrow arching. "Let him make himself useful, Harry."

"No," Harry said, more firmly than he had intended. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying it myself," Harry said, trying to do damage control on his tone.

Too late. Tom's gaze became more intent in a fraction of a second. He arched his eyebrows in a silent demand for explanation, and Harry knew that if he refused to answer, Tom wouldn't hesitate to press the issue, regardless of their audience.

"It belonged to my parents," Harry said simply, knowing that would be enough.

Tom's eyes softened immediately.

"So, I'll just carry it myself, then," Harry said.

Tom heaved a small sigh before reaching forward. He wrapped his hands around the handles, warm around Harry's own. His eyes met Harry's, silently asking.

Not just permission, but a question.

There was really only one answer he could give, even after a decade apart.

Harry let go.

Tom took the weight of the chest with ease, and the smile that broke out on his face was the most breathtaking thing Harry had ever seen. Tom leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Harry's own for a long moment, eyes bright and filled with tenderness.

Harry's chest felt tight, and he wondered for a long moment if Tom was about to pay him back for what he'd taken all those years ago.

He tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed when Tom pulled away.

Still, watching Tom walk away, treating the chest like something precious and delicate touched Harry. The chest meant nothing to Tom, but because it was important to Harry, it had become something treasured.

Doomed. Harry was doomed. He might as well just accept that fact now and be done with it. If this was what he felt like after less than an hour back in Tom's company, he didn't want to think about what would happen after prolonged exposure.

"I'm so screwed," Harry murmured under his breath, unable to help making a careful study of Tom's rear as he bent over to carefully place the chest in the trunk.

Perseus placed a hand on his shoulder, and Harry felt himself tensing. With only a handful of exceptions, he really didn't like being touched.

"If you're doing what it looks like you're doing," he said conversationally, "then yes. Yes you are."

"Thanks, Perseus," Harry sarcastically, trying to ignore the stiffness in his shoulder. "Really. Just thanks a bunch."

"Always happy to help," Perseus said with a grin. "Especially for an honorary Black."

"Honorary Black?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Perseus said with a grin. "I mean, even though things went the way they did with Sirius," he said, his expression darkening briefly, "he was your godfather. And your dad spent so much time over at our house, well…my dad's been trying to get in touch with you for years."

"You and I need to have a talk about my godfather," Harry told him. "The situation…it's not what you think."

Perseus looked at him intently. "Alright, Harry," he said, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "Whatever you have to say, I'll try and listen. Given the rumor I heard a few years ago, I have the feeling that it'll be interesting, at the very least."

"Perseus," came a low growl from the direction of the car, voice cold enough to freeze hell over.

Perseus yanked his hand away from Harry's shoulder as if he'd been burned before taking several steps away from Harry quickly. Harry felt himself relax. As eager as he was to try and develop some sort of relationship with Perseus, he couldn't help but feel immensely grateful for Tom's interference.

"It turns out we won't be needing you after all," Tom continued frostily, though his glare would have melted anything his voice froze. "Go. Now."

Perseus, for all that madness seemed to run in his family, had at least some sort of sense of self-preservation. He was gone without a word or even an expression in the direction of either Harry or Tom.

Tom appeared by his side as quickly as Perseus had disappeared, wearing a very familiar expression.

Harry soon found himself once again in the arms of his very possessive friend, and he had the suspicion that he wouldn't find himself out of them again anytime in the foreseeable future.

Harry reached out and wrapped his arm around Tom's waist, relaxing into his friend's hold. He told himself it was only appease Tom, who had been looking distressingly homicidal a moment before, but in a very small corner of his brain he had to acknowledge he might have had other motives.

"Still don't like being touched?" Tom asked, ice gone from his voice.

"In general? No," Harry told him as Tom escorted him toward the van. "Thank you for the rescue."

"Calling it a rescue suggests that my motives were altruistic," Tom replied, face blank in the way it only ever went when he either didn't know what emotion was expected of him in the situation or when he was having difficulty keep his own emotions under control. In this situation, Harry strongly suspected it was the latter. "And why didn't you just pull away? Then you wouldn't have needed 'rescuing' in the first place."

Harry's first reaction was to tell Tom that he wanted to be friends with Perseus, but then he remembered exactly who he was talking to. Claiming such a thing when Tom's possessiveness was already so roused would have been the height of stupidity

A different phrasing then. One that was less likely to end up with his cousin's somewhat suspicious suicide before the end of the week.

Tom opened the rear door to the car and offered Harry his hand, as if he were a Victorian gentleman and Harry was a maiden who needed help getting into the carriage.

"He's a connection to my family, and I think it's important to explore that," Harry offered as he took the offered hand and climbed in. "And I felt like asking him to stop might jeopardize that."

Tom climbed in immediately afterward and slammed the door behind him with a petulant "Fine."

"But," he cautioned, throwing his arm around Harry again, "if anyone touches you again, just pull away. If you feel the need to smooth ruffled feathers, you can do it later. Your comfort is paramount. Besides," he said, eyes glittering in a way Harry knew was incredibly dangerous, "a small moment of awkwardness is much, much better than they could expect if I happen to see them."

Harry nestled more firmly into Tom's side, letting out a small sigh of contentment. Harry could feel Tom relaxing against him, and then he felt long fingers running through his hair.

"So, to summarize," Harry said, "I still don't like to be touched, you still don't like people touching me, and we both consider you an exception to both those rules," Harry said, letting his head fall against Tom's shoulder at the last word as an illustration of the point he was trying to make.

"Precisely," Tom said as the front doors of truck opened.

Harry was again treated to the shocked faces of Barty and Dolohov, though only momentarily.

The drive back to the dorm was short, and Harry was content to pass it in silence. All the things that needed to be said were too heavy for this moment. Instead he let himself enjoy the warmth of the body next to him, the sensation of fingers in his hair, and the knowledge that it was Tom providing both those things. For the first time in ten years, he felt perfectly content.