Chapter III

Félicité Hardy

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Harry tried to laugh, but it was effectively prevented. He still tasted like summer, though the new semester began two days ago.

Outside the window birds were singing. Tom had no idea what time it was - time seemed to cease when Harry was so close. Perhaps it was just so; how could time defeat them when they were conquering it with every meeting?

He kissed Harry again. Whenever they had to part, a strange feeling was overhelming him; it seemed they would never see each other again. Did every time traveler feel like this? Tom didn't know whether there was anyone he could ask about it and he would never believe there was another pair just like them. They were exceptional; with each year it seemed to become a curse rather than a blessing.

"Have you heard about Horace?" Harry asked, pushing a loose strand of hair from Tom's forehead.

He shook his head. Why would he be interested in Slughorn? In his Hogwarts he had enough opportunities to converse with the Potion Master and it was never a particularly fascinating relationship. "He died two weeks ago," Harry sighed, looking away. Years passed and he was still unable to talk about dying, as if he was responsible for the death of each of his friends. "He would be 113 years old in April."

For a long moment they were silent. One hundred and thirteen... Tom wondered how old would he be in this time? Eighty, ninety? A shudder shook him at the thought of the other Riddle, whom Harry had met once, whom Tom had never met other than through Harry's insidiously spied memories.

Harry was thirty years old. Tom could notice it occasionally, when he was frowning in a specific way – fortunately Harry didn't have too many reasons to be angry and usually he looked almost like the day when they met for the first time in the hospital wing. Tom wondered if he would ever see him as a grown man; he was unable to see himself as one and looking at it from a certain point of view, he was at least eighty years old. In his Hogwarts his thirty-third birthday was approaching him. Sometimes he wished they could spend all of them together. It seemed that fate they were trying to overcome was much more cunning than they originally assumed. Even though Tom was trying to work on his time turner, it wouldn't listen to him. He wasn't able to travel to a selected day in the future – he could only follow Harry, as if they were bound or rather chained.

Tom felt a warm hand on his shoulder and the unpleasant thought began to fade away. Green eyes stared at him with an innate goodness; each time he saw less concern in them. He believed there was still hope for them.

…

"What's the occasion, Tom?"

He shuddered at the sound of an unexpected question; Tom was sure he was alone in his office. The Venomous Tentacula was no longer defending its door - professor Dumbledore, the new headmaster, was very understanding in terms of privacy and it wasn't him who suggested to move the dangerous plant; Tom decided himself to do it, trying to protect a place far more precious than the greenhouse. Just as Horace Slughorn predicted, over the years the rose garden became a place of numerous students' romantic randez-vous. Someone could think it was heart-warming, but Tom was only angry about it. The garden was created for Harry and he alone had the right to visit it.

Horace himself was standing in the doorway of Tom's office filled with exotic plants; in the past few years, the Potion Master gained some weight and was becoming more and more like the man Harry showed Tom in pictures, a human plum in rich robes. Tom could now believe in the incredible story of his former teacher pretending to be an armchair.

"Can I?" asked the mustached man, not waiting for an invitation and glancing suspiciously around the room. Tom used the moment to discretely hide the object of his work. "You didn't show up for lunch, not to mention breakfast and dinner yesterday. We began to wonder if one of your plants turned against its owner."

With a wave of his wand Tom removed a pile of homeworks he had to check and waited for his former teacher to sit in the low chair. The seat creaked dangerously, but didn't give up under Slughorn's weight.

Tom had neither time nor humour to talk with Horace, but he knew well enough that the best way to get rid of the older man was showing him moderate interest – Slughorn would entertain himself with his own words, convinced the other side was catching every word coming out of his mouth. Tom learned this tactic during his school days and from the day he started teaching, ignoring Slughorn has become a kind of art for him.

"I've heard that you seem absent during your classes," the Potion Master said, watching him intently. "You're no hiding anything from me, are you?"

"If it was young Malfoy that reported to you, I wonder if he's also mentioned his overdue essay," Tom replied, trying to sound carefree.

"If I wasn't considering us to be close friends, I would suspect that you fell in love," Slughorn continued innocently. "I'm sure you'd tell me if you were getting ready for a wedding?"

"Of course, Horace." Tom tried not to break eye contact, because it would only make Slughorn's suspisions greater. "You'd be the first to know."

"Really? So why did you hide the ring you were working on so quickly when I entered?"

The room fell silent. Tom could bet that if the Venomous Tentacula was still guarding his door, he'd be able to hear it catch flies right now, despite the fifteen meters separating him from the exit.

"I didn't mean to..." Tom tried to explain, though he wasn't sure why he should care about Slughorn's opinion and his so-called friendship. Was it because of Harry and the change he started in him?

"I must admit that I'm disappointed , Tom," the professor interrupted him with sorrow easily heard in his voice. "A wedding! Did you think that you'd be able to hide it from me? Who's the happy girl?" he asked somewhat less accusingly, as if he was truly happy for Tom. "And show me the ring! You're not going to decide everything on your own, are you? I couldn't leave a friend with the dilemma of choosing the right flowers - with all due respect for your experience in this field, of course."

Tom barely stopped himself from saying aloud that he has some doubts about Horace's competence in the subject of marriage - if he remember properly, the Potions Master was never married, neither in this nor any other time - and there was no indication that he was in any relationship other than the one he had with his co-workers and former students. In the end Tom kept the thought to himself; Slughorn somehow managed to get offended and calm himself within three minutes, so there was no point in showing him the shortcomings of his arguments.

Instead, Tom opened the desk drawer and pulled out a ring. He had no idea what kind of jewely Harry liked - judging by the complete absence of it in his closet, he had no special interest in it. It was making everything even more complicated.

Tom didn't want anything eagle, but on the other hand, he couldn't decide on something trivial. He wasn't trivial and so wasn't Harry, whatever the latter was thinking about the matter.

"Gold and roses?" Horace seemed somewhat surprised, looking at the intricate weave.

"I was thinking about snakes, but I'm not sure if Harry would find it amusing," Tom said, more to himself than to Slughorn. In fact, he had already created the second ring - for himself. It carried a disturbing memory of the other Riddle, but the desire to have something that could resembled him of Harry in a tangible way was too strong to give up on.

"Well, I suppose Harriet will appreciate this change," Horace concluded, leaning over the desk and giving the golden roses careful look. "Thorns?"

Our relationship isn't the easiest one, Tom wanted to say, but ultimately decided to stay silent about this issue.

"Only the stones are missing." Slughorn was completely absorbed in his new job, which he apparently assigned himself. Out of nowhere he pulled a thick magnifying glass and started watching the golden petals carefully. "Diamonds seems the most suitable, they supposedly uphold faithfulness – not that you have to worry about something like that, of course... Or maybe you'd prefer something in coulour?" The wizard suddenly looked up and gazed at Tom with and unnaturally enlarged eye. "Sapphires?"

"I was thinking about emeralds," Tom smiled in response, finding out that keeping his normal distance and reserve is getting harder than usually.

"Am I right guessing Harriet has green eyes?" Horace winked at him, still not putting the magnifying glass down. "As the Head of Slytherin House I couldn't be happier with this choice," he added, pulling his wand from his pocket and waving it vigorously.

On the table three small stones appeared - in the afternoon sun shining through the glass roof sparkled they were gleaming beautifully. It didn't last long, however; Tom couldn't even reach out for them, because the emeralds swirled lightly over the surface of the table and after settled in the midst of the golden roses petals.

"You didn't have to..." Tom wanted to say something suitable, but couldn't give his thanks properly. He didn't like to have debts of gratitude.

"Consider it a good omen," Slughorn said shortly, quickly rising from the worn-out chair, as if he feared that Tom would try to give back the unexpected gift. "What about flowers?" He asked again, pausing for a moment in the doorway.

Tom smiled lighlty in response. Roses were his specialty.

...

Green eyes stared at him from behind the white roses; the sweet smell of Félicité Hardy was spreading across the room and Tom wasn't sure if he was ready for what was about to happen.

He had no doubts about his own feelings – he was sure in this or any other time no one would be as important for him as Harry was. Nobody knew him so well.

But how could he hope that Harry felt the same?

The closer the moment of asking that one simple question was, the greater fear was overcoming him. Did people usually feel so vulnerable baring themselves before their loved ones?

"They're beautiful," Harry greeted him, accepting the flowers and sending them to a vase. Wandless magic? Tom didn't expect such progress.

"I stole a seedling from the Luxembourg Gardens," Tom replied, trying to keep a cheerful tone. It was much more difficult than usually.

Harry looked at him with a puzzled expression, as if he could see the inexplicable tension which was taking control over him.

Was it the right time? Tom wished he asked Slughorn more questions about details of an engagement. Suddenly the Potions Master started to seem the most professional wedding planner Tom has ever met. Besides, whom else could he ask? It seemed that Horace was the only person besides Harry he could call a friend.

He heard a clink – Harry was filling two glasses, turned back to him. Tom used the occasion and pulled a small box out his pocket. Why didn't he think about anything less... obvious?

No, no, no, he knew Harry hated showy things, especially in terms of their relationship.

Should he kneel? It seemed a bit silly, but wasn't it the proper thing to do? Tom looked at the wooden floor and was surprised to see how the sun rays illuminated the particles of airborne dust. The world wasn't aware of his dilemmas.

He took a deep breath.

He felt like the next few minutes played out in slow motion, as if someone threw a spell on him. Harry turned slowly and pulled a glass of wine toward him. Instead of taking it, he showed Harry the small box.

Merlin, it shouldn't look like that.

Harry recovered from surprise first and with a slightly bemused smile exchanged the glass for the box.

"Open it," Tom encouraged him, taking a sip of wine. He should have drunk at least a bottle to add himself courage, but it was probably too late for it now.

Harry struggled with the ribbon for a moment, but eventually he was able to unpack the gift. Tom felt his heart beating fiercely. He knew Harry wasn't sure what to say.

"It's beautiful." Despite the kind words Harry looked at Tom more carefully than usually. "What's the occasion? It's not..."

"Will you marry me?" Tom interrupted him before he could stop himself. His voice sounded unnatural, as if it didn't want to obey him.

It wasn't supposed to look like that. Even Horace would be more graceful than he was at the moment.

Harry opened his mouth in surprise. He looked silly, but Tom preffered not to think how stupid he had to look right now.

He heard raindrops against the windows. Somewhere in the distance a storm was gathering strenght.

Was it normal to wait so long for an answer? Didn't Harry see it coming? After all they knew each other for years, years that didn't even matter in case of their relationship. Even Horace was intelligent enough to guess... Tom wasn't asking for a wedding with hundreds of guests – he only wanted a confirmation. A proof that Harry felt the same as he did.

"Tom, I..." Harry began uncertainly; it seemed he couldn't find the right words. "I can't say yes."

A single lighting tore the skies, but Tom barely noticed. He stared at Harry as if he saw him for the first time.

"Why?" he managed to ask foolishly, trying to gather his thoughts. Where did he make a mistake?

"How do you imagine it?" Harry began half-heartedly. "I can't just announce that I... know you. Someone could recognize you, Horace wasn't the only one... Can you imagine what Minerva McGongall would think if she saw you coming out of my chambers? And Ginny? Do you think she forgot what you did to her?"

"Ginny? I don't even know who Ginny is, because you didn't introduce me to any of your friends..."

"Why can't you understand?" Harry frowned, but this time he didn't look like a man; he was more like a child, lost and looking for help. "Even I can't forget what happened! My parents, Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Dumbledore, Fred... They're still dead. Nothing has changed for them."

"Nothing has changed?" Tom felt anger burning somewhere inside him. He didn't feel like this for a long time. He could shatter the empty bottle of wine, maybe the window too, he could throw curses blindly, he could hurt someone... He took a deep breath before he spoke again: "I've changed!Can you imagine how much it costed me? Do you think it was easy? Do you think that only you are the victim of fate?"

Harry was silent. He was staring at the floor.

Tom had had enough. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked toward the door.

…

Tom disappeared.

Harry looked at the flowers in the vase. Apparently the white roses had no intention of withering, even though it's been almost three months since Tom left the room in anger.

Since that time he didn't give Harry even the slightest sign of life.

On his finger he felt a familiar weight; three emeralds sparkled mischievously among the golden flowers.

Harry didn't put the ring on immediately; he waited until morning. Of course everyone asked where did he find something so beautiful and each time he answered - truthfully - that he got it as a gift. In time he began to say Tom gave it to him, but never gave out his full name. He couldn't.

Sometimes he was sitting in the rose garden for hours. Before, Harry went there only when he felt extremely lonely in his time, when he would prefer to be in another one even if temporarily. Time turners he destroyed during his fifth year at Hogwarts hasn't been repaired. Hermione repeated at least five times that the Ministry has decided not to return to the time-manipulation project and that he should stop thinking about it. She was probably suspecting that Harry would try to prevent the deaths of his friends or parents. He blamed Tom so carelessly for it, but now he would do everything for one more chance to see him and not them. Did Tom feel the same when they've for the first time?

The moon was hanging low over the tranquil lake. The silence surrounding the garden seemed unnatural in contrast with the state of Harry's spirit. Why did he say all these terrible things? Did he have the right to blame Tom? Maybe nothing has changed in the history of wizarding world, but something changed in his own life.

Why? Why did he let Tom go?

Something flashed under the iron bench. For a moment it seemed to Harry that it were the three emeralds, but he quickly realized that he saw something else. He reached out and felt a cold shape under his fingers.

The golden chain seemed to have no end. Between its beads fragments of leaves and flowers were stuck. An extremely fat beetle tried to escape the golden strands. And at the end... Harry saw an hourglass.

…

Harry suddenly felt that he was cold. He looked around with astonishment and realized that wherever he was, it was the middle of a winter afternoon.

For a brief moment Harry wasn't sure where he was, but the intoxicating scent of Midsummer's Night made it clear. On his right the bower was hiding under a thick layer of snow, but the roses under it were still alive.

He looked around once more to see if no one was watching him and conjured a pair of gloves and a cloak with a flick of his wand. What was it all supposed to mean?

Why did Tom want him to come here?

"Are you looking for something, my boy?" A voice came from behind Harry's back and he nearly jumped, so silent was the garden just a moment before.

Harry turned around and barely restrained a cry of surprise.

In front of him there was Horace Slughorn - much younger than he remembered, quite similar to the Potions Master from memories Dumbledore's showed him rather than the old man with whom he was eating breakfast in the Great Hall for the last few years.

"It's a very nice garden, isn't it?" Slughorn asked, looking at him sympathetically. "You're not the only young wizard to like it."

"How did you..." Harry wanted to ask, but the teacher interrupted him with a smile, the same he presented so often when it seemed to him he knew more than other people:

"I had an advantage. I suspected that you'll come here in the end." Slughorn's voice was full of incomprehensible bitterness. "Follow me."

Harry wanted to know what was happening and why was Slughorn waiting for him, but the Potions Master was already moving in the direction opposite to where Harry came from.

Was someone out there waiting for them? For a moment Harry almost believed that Tom had planned all this and a glimmer of hope appeared in his heart, but Slughorn's serious expression effectively destroyed it.

Did something happen? It was certainly Tom who left the time turner in the garden, Harry had no doubts about that. But why had so many months passed before he found it? Wasn't he looking carefully enough? Were past and future ruled by some unknown laws he couldn't understand?

They passed the Fulgur bush; Slughorn hasn't slowed down. Before Harry could ask him where exactly were they going, his teacher turned sharply toward a stone path - someone brushed the snow away from it, but the effort was in vain – the white fluff was falling from the sky again.

"How did you..."

Before he could finish the question, Slughorn stopped suddenly and looked at something.

Harry didn't even have to read the name on the tombstone to understand. Félicité Hardy was in full bloom here despite the cold. The scent of the flowers Harry knew so well suddenly seemed nauseating to him. Only one word appeared in his head, powered by an unnatural echo: Why?

"How did I know that you'll come?" Slughorn asked. Harry felt that the teacher is trying to hide his face from him. "Tom never considered me particularly sharp, but even I could see what was happening to him."

"Did he... suffer?" Harry asked finally, trying to control his voice.

Slughorn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the stunningly beautiful roses.

I stole a seedling from the Luxembourg Gardens, Harry remembered suddenly one of Tom's last words. Tom went to Paris to get those stupid roses and Harry could only think about what his friends would say if they knew whom Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

"I have to admit I was surprised when he changed so suddenly," the Potions Master said, sill not looking at Harry. Snowflakes swirled in the frosty night air; somewhere in the distance, Harry heard a child laughing. "I his sixth year, I remember it clearly. I would never admit, not even before myself that I was frightened. The things that interested him... No decent wizard should know about their existence."

Harry remained silent. Slughorn didn't know half the truth about Tom. Now that it was all over, he wanted to leave it for himself.

"This garden... It wasn't hard to guess that he did it for someone important. Someone more important than himself."

The man paused again. Apparently, reliving it all again caused him pain.

"He suffered, it's obvious. When he returned that day, I knew immediately that something was wrong, but I had no idea that it would be so hard for him to accept rejection. He lived... at least for some time. He didn't want to give up. But it came back, the other Tom, the one we almost forgot about. He has changed. Not overnight, no," Slughorn sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets. "He ate less, disappeared for days... He came to my chambers in the middle of the night once and for a moment I thought he came back to his senses. I wanted to help him... I suspect that he never considered me a friend, but perhaps I was the only person he could turn to. He must have been desperate." Some sort of a bitter grimace appeared on the man's face. "I tried to talk to him, but he kept repeating that he cann't go back, that something went wrong... Your name is Harry, isn't it?" Slughorn asked suddenly, not taking his eyes off the roses.

Harry nodded in response. He was afraid that his voice would betray him and refuse to obey.

"I tried to convince myself for a long time that I've heard him say Harriet then, in the greenhouse." For the first time that evening the teacher smiled weakly. "Your name, he was saying it too, your name and the name of his last roses... We found him the next day, Dumbledore and I, here, in the rose garden. He looked as if he was asleep, finally at peace. Poison," the man explained, Harry's unspoken quesion hanging in the air. "I'm not sure what exactly, though I've been looking for the answer ever since. We've only found the flowers by his side."

For a moment that might as well been an hour, they were silnet, each lost in his own gloomy thoughts. Harry wanted Slughorn to go away, to leave him alone and let him mourn. It was his fault. It wasn't a poison that killed Tom – he did it.

"Could you..." Harry saw that the Potions Master has no intention of leaving, but as usually, Horace Slughorn had to interrupt him:

"I don't think he wanted you to despair." The teacher finally looked up and Harry saw the sorrow in his eyes, although it was completely different from the one he felt. Despite the years that passes Slughorn's sadness mingled with envy. And pity Harry couldn't undestand. "He was afraid of what could happen - he was afraid of his own demons and the future that could become a reality, whatever that meant to him."

"He didn't regret, because he did it for you," the man added, turning his back and walking away without saying goodbye.

For a moment Harry could still hear Slughorn's steps in the snow.

The word why? still haunted him, forming all sorts of questions, eventually stopping by one: why did he let Tom go?

Was he really so afraid of Ginny's and Minerva McGongall's disapproval?

The thought became unbearable. Harry was now able to see more clearly what a terrible mistake he's made.

He would prefer to cry, to feel pain. Anything would be better than the emptiness he felt, the cold that was slowly taking control over him.

Harry looked at the gravestone again. He knew death was the only thing Tom was truly afraid of. How could he let him meet Death alone?

Felicite Hardy.

The white flowers he knew so well. Harry had the impression that their green eyes were watching him closely. In the winter landscape they looked unnatural, as if Tom wanted to drew his attention to them.

"Harry Riddle," he sighed bitterly, picking a single flower. "Or Tom Potter?"

AN: This story was written for Tomarry Bigbang held on tumblr. I must admit I like it a lot and writing it was a nice challenge. As much as the ending is pretty much open and up to your liking (for example: I like pain), it does resonate one of my strongest tomarry-related sentiments - (in canon) whatever the circumstances a (truly) happy ending is never meant for Harry and Tom.