According to the map on his phone, this was the place. Harry knocked twice after looking around the empty hallway. He only had to stand there for a few seconds before footsteps sounded and the door swung open.

There stood Tom, dressed nicer than expected. Harry had imagined him to be wearing something stained with paint like an artist cliché, but no, Tom looked smarter than Harry did.

Harry glanced down self-consciously at his worn hoodie and jeans, then at Tom's button down shirt and slacks. He hadn't wanted to overdress this morning, even though the thought of Tom drawing him in the outfit he chose had been stuck in the back of his mind.

Come to think of it, Tom had been wearing something similar on the day they met, so maybe he wasn't underdressed at all? I mean, really, who gets that dressed up for a class at nine in the morning?

"Harry." He greeted him with a charming smile, face open and welcoming as he stepped back. "Come in."

Harry stepped into the flat, trying to be discreet at glancing around, even though it was to be expected.

It was bigger than his own flat - that was for sure. It seemed very neat except for a pile of art supplies in the corner. If there was any mess at all, it was out of Harry's sight. Every piece of furniture seemed to go well together.

Harry wryly thought back to his mismatched sofa and chairs, all bought second hand. They certainly had their own charm, but no elegance when compared to Tom's interior design.

Not that Harry cared. He had never been the type of guy to have such a stylish home. As long as it was a cosy space and he could watch television, it was good enough for him. He had never had much – the Dursleys had seemed intent on giving him the bare minimum – so anything he could afford was a luxury to him.

"Er, nice to see you again." Harry spoke before Tom had a chance to open his mouth again. "This time clothed."

Why did he say that?

"I'd hope so." Tom raised his brows, expression appearing more genuine than the fake smile he had worn a moment ago. "I take it my home wasn't difficult to find?"

"No, it was fine, really." Harry looked around again, feeling out of his element. Tom shut the front door behind him.

"Tea?" Tom was already walking over to his kettle, anticipating Harry's answer. The living room and kitchen shared the same space.

"That would be great." Harry chanced a glance at Riddle's feet when his back was turned, and seeing he was wearing only plain black socks, took off his own worn trainers. It was interesting to catch a glimpse of an artist's working space and he could think of a collection of photos he would like to take.

"You can sit over there." Tom nodded his head in the direction of his sofa, next to the coffee table where he had some art supplies laid out alongside a sketchbook. "Feel free to look through it."

"Right." Harry made his way over, taking a seat and putting down his bag. The sofa was very plush and he sank into the cushions immediately. It reminded him of the seats at the Dursley's house, which he hadn't been allowed to sit on unless nobody was around. He snuck another glance at Tom, and seeing his back was still turned, flipped open the sketchbook.

On the first page was a sketch dump of random objects: a glass of water, a candle and a bottle, to name a few. The next few pages seemed to go along the same vein in regards to subject matter, until he turned the page once more and there was a portrait.

It was of a man, much older than either of them, and he looked very similar to Tom. At first Harry thought he was looking a self-portrait, but something seemed off. Taking a closer look, he realised it was another person entirely.

If Harry had to guess, he would say the man in the drawing was in their mid-forties. It seemed like they had aged gracefully, if the faint wrinkles lining their face were anything to go by.

"How many sugars do you want?" Tom's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife and Harry nearly jumped, almost having forgotten where he was. He spun around to see Tom gazing at him, teaspoon held expectantly in the air.

"Oh, two is fine." He answered hastily, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Tom hummed in response before carrying the tray over to the table. Harry picked up the sketchbook and placed it on his lap to make room.

Tom didn't show any surprise when he saw what drawing Harry had been looking at. Instead he smiled thinly and nudged Harry's cup towards him. Harry automatically held his hands around the tea cup, grateful for the warmth after the chill of the outside air.

He noticed the china was particularly fancy, as Ron would say. Harry himself didn't own anything similar, used to drinking his tea out of big, ordinary mugs.

This time Tom spoke before him.

"It's my father." He answered the unspoken question that hung in the air, eyes locked on the open sketchbook for a moment, before slowly drifting up to meet Harry's own eyes. There was no pride nor any sort of warmth in his words. It was as if he merely stated a simple fact. Harry definitely picked up on that, but didn't know how he would even go about taking it apart.

"It's really good," he said instead, earnestly, though he thought the drawings of himself were better. Not just because they were of himself, but there was something else, something that the portrait didn't have. The portrait was wonderful in technical terms - all the proportions seemed accurate - yet he couldn't help but feel like something was lacking.

"Thank you." Tom was watching him carefully, dark eyes sharp, probably having picked up on his unsaid words. The weight of that observation made the back of his neck prickle.

"But, I mean-" Harry hesitated shortly, before barrelling on bravely, deciding that even if he was no drawing expert he was sure of the fact he had a pretty good eye, "It seems like it's missing something?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Missing something?" Tom repeated, pronouncing the words as if something sour was in his mouth. Harry's mind raced, trying to think of a way to explain it.

"It's like… you know when you take a good photograph?"

"No, actually. I'm not a photographer."

Harry ignored the dry comment, caught up in his explanation. "Well when you do you'll know it's perfect. You'll capture every emotion in the scene, so that when you're looking at the photograph later, you can almost feel them as if you were there."

"Feel them?" Tom seemed doubtful and caught up in his words all at once. Harry had no idea if it was because of his passion and enthusiasm that had shone through in his explanation.

"You know, like when you read a really good book?"

"I see." Tom was staring, head tilted before he brought his cup to his lips, breaking eye contact. "I think I have experienced something like that, very recently in fact. This particular work just happens to be quite old."

"Oh well – sorry if I overstepped any boundaries." Harry hastened to apologise, thinking that perhaps this one drawing was just a fluke. He had seen those sketches of his body, after all, and they were entirely on a new level.

"You're not. In fact, I rather enjoy your feedback and your method of explanation." There was humour in his gaze, and a sharp smile playing on his lips. Harry found himself staring for a moment, struck by how handsome Tom was.

"You're a photographer, then?" Tom continued, seemingly not noticing the admiration or ignoring it.

"Yeah – I study it. We go to the same university," Harry said lamely, words having abandoned him when he needed them most. Thankfully, Tom seemed skilled in the art of conversation.

"I wouldn't mind seeing some of your work, sometime. It's only fair after you've seen some of mine, isn't it?"

"'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours' is it?" Harry laughed weakly, that particular saying being the only thing to pop up in his head.

"Oh, that comes much later." Tom's voice dropped a pitch and the intense expression from their first meeting was back.

Harry's brain slowed to a halt.

Hang on a minute. Was he – being flirted with?

"What." His voice was strangled, and mortifyingly, he could feel his cheeks becoming warm. He hoped he hadn't interpreted that reply wrong.

"I hope the tea is fine." Tom smiled enigmatically, switching the subject entirely. For a second, Harry wanted to slap his irritatingly gorgeous face, until he remembered he was here for an actual job.

"It's great." Harry narrowed his eyes, not sure what Tom was playing at. "So you want to draw me, right?"

"Would you like to get started?" Tom didn't even glance at the clock or anything, time apparently not an issue to him.

"If you're ready." Harry hadn't finished his tea, so drank it all in one gulp, like he was downing a shot. Tom raised his eyebrow, reaching for the sketchbook that was still resting on Harry's lap.

"Do I need to do anything special?" Harry asked, putting the cup down. He definitely wasn't feeling as awkward as he had when he was modelling nude. At least he got to keep his clothes on.

"Maybe a pose." Tom was sharpening his pencils with brutal efficiency, having rolled up his sleeves once more. Harry's attention drifted to the precise movements of those long fingered hands, before snapping back up to Tom's face. He hadn't noticed his drifting gaze, thankfully. "You have some experience in that now, right?"

"Right. How long should I hold it?"

"I'll tell you when you can relax." There was something ominous about the way Tom said those words, but Harry said nothing, only stretching out his arms in preparation.

"Any pose in particular?" Harry asked, wondering if he'd get lucky enough to sit as comfortably as he did now.

"Sit on the arm of the sofa, facing the window," Tom directed. Harry moved to do exactly that, finding he was now perpendicular to the other man. He could see Tom, but only if he looked from the corner of his eye.

"Now turn your head towards me." Harry did so, strangely feeling like Tom enjoyed giving orders a little too much. He couldn't complain though. This was a job, after all, even if it did feel like a social meeting.

The position was a little awkward but not overly so. He wasn't sure if he would still think so after keeping the pose for an extended amount of time. He could see Tom clearly now: there was a considering expression on his face as he gazed at Harry.

"This fine?" Harry asked after the moment of silence became too much to bear.

"Wonderful." He was just staring, one hand held loosely around a pencil. It was a little awkward, especially with the pose Tom had chosen, as they were forced to stare at each other. Or at least, Harry was forced to stare at Tom.

It wasn't as if it was a bad view, but he still felt a little uncomfortable.

At last Tom began to draw, pencil moving in quick strokes, as if he had too much he wanted to get down onto paper at once. Harry got a perfect view of him at work, head bent down, hair styled to perfection.

It was quiet, except for the sounds of their breathing and Tom sketching. Harry wanted to open his mouth and start a conversation, but he didn't want to break Tom's concentration. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Tom was looking up again.

Harry stared back, not even attempting to shy away from his gaze.

"You're doing it again." Tom broke the silence suddenly, appearing to suppress a smirk.

"Doing what?" Harry couldn't figure out what he was talking about. Staring at him, maybe?

"The way you defiantly tilt your jaw up." Tom mimicked what he had apparently been doing. Harry was silent, surprised. He hadn't been aware he was doing that, especially not more than once. If Tom was telling the truth, at least.

"You did it in the class, too, I remember," Tom continued, seeing Harry was not replying.

"That's a weird thing to notice, isn't it? But I guess it's part of your profession to notice everything." Harry, now more conscious of himself than ever, couldn't help but tilt down his jaw. It had been raised but he wasn't sure how that translated to him being defiant. Maybe it was something he did when he was unsure in a situation and was steeling himself?

It felt strange to have someone notice that and point it out to him. It was a bit intimate, like the way a lover would become attuned to your habits after spending a large amount of time with you. Like how he remembered Cedric would drum his fingernails when he was impatient and snort when he laughed really hard at something.

"You're good at expressing your emotion without words." Tom offered up the compliment, a long winded way of saying he appreciated his body language.

"Is that why you wanted me to model for you?" Harry asked suddenly, the question having lingered on his mind long after their first meeting had passed. The praise did make him pleased, an affirmation that he wasn't a complete failure at modelling. It felt nice to have someone with experience to commend him like that.

"Partly." Tom wasn't looking at him, pencil now making long, languid sweeps across the page, carving out Harry's shape. "It was also a matter of convenience. You just happened to appear at a good time."

"It's lucky, then, that we met at a time where we could both help each other out." Although the comment may have seemed sarcastic to some, Harry meant it earnestly. It really was good fortune for him to find a job like this so easily. Perhaps his string of bad luck was finally ending.

"Luck." Tom repeated the word as if it was foreign to him. "Do you believe in it?"

"I can't imagine what else it could be."

Tom looked up, dark eyes roving over Harry's face, matching the art to the reference with his pencil. He continued to speak as he worked. "Perhaps your own hard work and dedication?"

"Maybe," Harry considered it, corner of his mouth twisting momentarily. "Though not in this situation."

"Tell me, Harry, have you heard of something called the locus of control?"

"Can't say I have." He pondered the term, wondering where exactly this was going.

"It's simple Psychology. It refers to the extent to which someone believes they can control events affecting them. Those with an external locus credit their successes and failures on external forces, like luck. Others, like me, have an internal locus meaning they credit their successes and failures only on themselves and how much effort they put in." Tom spoke patiently, with the air of a man who was all too used to explaining things.

"I guess I'm more of the external one." It was starting to feel surreal, being drawn and taught Psychology all at once. He thought back to all the circumstances in his life that he couldn't control at all. The Dursleys, for one. "Definitely."

"I see. Interesting." The murmur was quiet and Harry wouldn't have caught it if it wasn't for the fact the room was silent save for the scratch of lead on paper. Harry waited for an explanation, but when none came, he cleared his throat.

"Was there a point in bringing that up?"

"Just to satisfy my own curiosity." Tom shifted in his seat, leaning back slightly. His legs were incredibly long. Long enough that, no matter position he took, he couldn't stretch them out comfortably. "Something so small can change so much about someone. Everything they do can be affected by one attitude out of many."

"Are you always so serious?" Harry couldn't help but break the line of conversation, disregarding completely that Tom had teased him a short while earlier. Surprise flashed on Tom's face before changing to something inquisitive.

"Perhaps it is you who is causing my reflective mood."

"What, am I inspiring or something?"

"Yes."

The straightforward answer to his jest caught Harry off guard, and he blinked, lips parting but not knowing what to say. Inspiring was never a word he used in relation to himself. It was a word reserved for perfectly-timed sunrises, for speeches that lifted heavy hearts and spirits, not for a man like him.

There was no sign of mischief on Tom's face. He had been completely serious when he said it. It was almost intimidating to Harry.

"You do have a strange idea of inspiration." He gazed at Tom in an entirely new light, wishing he knew what the other man was thinking. What did he see when he looked at Harry?

"I do believe you are the only one who would tell me that." Harry almost did a double take when he realised Tom was smiling. It was small, but it was there.

He didn't mention it, content to sit in silence with the new thoughts swirling around in his head.

Time passed quickly after that. Tom only asked Harry to do one other pose, something comfortable compared to what he had been doing before.

Harry found it easy to relax after they had finished. He rotated his joints and stretched out his fingers. When the artist stood up, Harry's eyes followed Tom's sketchbook. It was a detail picked up on by Tom.

"Here." Tom held out the page so Harry could look at the drawing he had spent the longest on, the one he'd drawn while they were talking.

It was beautiful, Harry could admit easily. There was a strange disconnect between some parts of the drawing, as if he'd stopped mid-line and picked up the pencil months later to continue. It didn't ruin it, however, only adding to the piece.

"It's amazing." Harry's eyes were glued to the sketchbook held in Tom's outstretched hand. Tom made a pleased noise before withdrawing, closing the book carefully and placing it on the table.

Harry took that as his cue to leave and threw his bag over his shoulder, walking over to the door. Tom took his sweet time following as Harry pulled on his shoes.

"I'd like to see you again," Tom said suddenly, assuaging Harry's fears that this had been a one-time event.

"I'm free in a few days, after my shift. Does that work for you?" Harry pushed up his glasses as they had been slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"Perfect. You can message me the details." It was a command and not a question, Harry noticed. Tom did that a lot in the short time he'd known him.

"Yeah, that's fine." Harry smiled at him as Tom opened the front door. "I'll see you, then?"

"Goodbye, Harry." He was watching, one hand holding open the door, tall and present as Harry stepped out of his flat. Harry left, feeling those eyes burn holes into his back until he was out of sight.

Harry felt the effects of that stare the entire way home.