Chapter Text
It is a Friday when Tom turns up for work and finds himself confronted with a bright-eyed boy with a toothy smile and a too-loud voice. “Hello,” says the boy from behind the desk, where Tom usually sits.
“Hello,” Tom says.
The boy looks at him expectantly. Tom stares back. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” the boy says. “I’m Colin Creevey. Are you looking to, uh, adopt an animal today? We have cats, dogs, birds and, er, rabbits, I think?”
“You,” Tom says. “Why are you here?”
“Um.” The boy looks up at him, doe-eyed and vapid. “I work here?”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. Er, look, do you want to look at the animals or not?” the boy says, his voice taking on an edge of irritation.
“Where is Harry?” Tom ignores the boy’s question.
“Harry’s busy—hey, you can’t just come round back here!”
The indignant squawking draws Harry out from the backroom. His green eyes light upon Tom, and a warm smile curls over his face. He is wearing one of his favourite jumpers, a lurid-bright red thing that looks like it’s about to devour him in one go. Tom has yet to decide if he is endeared by this look or if he ought to strip the jumper off of him and burn it for everyone’s sakes. He is perhaps more tempted by the latter option, as it involves Harry and less clothes.
“Tom,” Harry says happily. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”
“My exams finished,” Tom says, and he tries not sound sulky about it. That would be undignified. Though he does still very much resent being banned from Hedwig’s Shelter for over two weeks. His negotiated hours with Harry had quickly gone south after he had attempted to stay for only one extra hour and Harry declared him hopeless and forbade him from working until his exams were done.
Harry grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Tom tries not to show how much he has wanted to see him in those two weeks. “How did you do?”
Tom shoots him a look.
“Alright, alright,” Harry says, laughing. “Apologies for questioning you. I’m glad you’re back; it was difficult without you.”
He missed me, Tom thinks triumphantly. “Yes, and since I’m back, you can do away with whoever that is.”
“It’s Colin Creevey. I told you,” the boy squawks again. Then he turns to Harry, like a kicked puppy. “You’re not firing me, are you, Harry?”
“Of course not!” Harry says. Tom clicks his tongue, frustrated. “No, you’re doing an excellent job, Colin. Tom here just… has social difficulties.”
“I do not have social difficulties,” Tom says.
Harry pats his arm consolingly. “Of course, dear,” he says. “I know we can get quite busy sometimes, so I thought hiring someone else to help out would be good for the both of us.”
“I suppose,” Tom says, and inside he hears, dear.
“You’re alright with Colin, then?” Harry says, peering up at Tom.
“Yes,” Tom sighs. He glances at the boy—he supposes he needs to actually remember his name. “Tom Riddle. Nice to meet you, Craig.”
“Colin,” Creevey says, wringing his hands.
“Of course, Craig.”
Harry gives him an exasperated look. “Now that you’re both, ah, acquainted, I wanted to introduce you to some of our new residents, Tom. Shall we?”
“New residents?” Tom says, following Harry through a side door and into the cats’ section.
“Yes, we’ve got a ginger Persian. He’s a bit old, but he’s still got spirit in him. Very lively,” Harry says. “I’m hoping we can find him a home soon, but you know how it is with the older pets.” He droops a little, sinking into the fluffy neck of his eye-watering jumper.
“I’m sure it will work out,” Tom says, resting a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Tom,” Harry says, smiling. “It’s just frustrating, you know? These poor animals have so much love to give, but people just want cute kittens and puppies.”
“Terrible,” Tom agrees.
“I was so happy when you took Nagini home,” Harry continues. “She was with me for so long, but she took to you right away, didn’t she? Surprised me terribly, I admit; she can be a little fierce.”
Tom, having seen Nagini nearly chew another prospective adopter’s hand off, thought that ‘a little fierce’ was an understatement. “I was charmed the moment I saw her,” he says, and it is even true.
“How is she doing, anyway?” Harry says.
“Wonderful,” Tom says. “She ate the neighbour’s hamster.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Don’t worry,” Tom says reassuringly. “I made sure to praise her; she certainly deserves it after all the hard work she put in.”
“Tom, that hamster was someone else’s pet,” Harry says.
Tom frowns. “She’s a cat. She must hunt. It’s in her instincts.”
“But how did she find that hamster anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” Tom says vaguely. He certainly did not spot it wandering in the hallway and decided to conduct an observation in domestic felines’ hunting patterns. That would be cruel and unethical. But in the hypothetical scenario that that was what he did, one really ought not to let hamsters wander around freely like that. It was his neighbour’s fault, really. Hypothetically.
“Well, I can’t blame Nagini,” Harry sighs. “It’s not as though she knows any better.” He pauses for a moment. “Say, would any of your friends be interested in adopting an animal, Tom? Rodolphus seemed like a nice sort. So did Draco.” Tom notes that Harry has neglected to mention Bella, which is good. It means that he has a sense of self-preservation.
“I doubt it,” Tom says, thinking of the many reasons why he does not want his nosy, prickly friends anywhere near Harry. “They don’t like animals very much.”
“Are you certain?” Harry says, and he looks up at Tom from beneath his lashes. Tom itches to touch his face. “Maybe they might change their minds if you brought them around once. People often think they don’t need pets, until they get one.”
Tom hesitates. “I suppose… perhaps… Draco might be interested.” Draco is the safest choice. He is almost certain that Draco is seeing someone, as he has turned up several times to their study session smelling of a distinctly feminine, floral scent. Given that it was the same scent, it must be a person, singular, implying some sort of committed relationship.
“Excellent!” Harry beams. “Bring him over whenever.”
——
Draco fidgets as he waits on the street corner for Tom. He glances at his phone almost compulsively every few seconds. What the hell is this about?
“Why are you so nervous?” Hermione, his girlfriend, wonders. She watches him nearly vibrate off the sidewalk and into an oncoming car, too exasperated by his theatrics to even reach out to pull him back to safety. “You’re just meeting a friend, aren’t you?”
“It’s Riddle,” Draco says, as though that explains everything. And it does to anyone who has interacted with Tom for even one minute. Tom simply oozes charm, and from the moment Draco met him, he wanted Tom to like him. But what made him really nervous was the thread of fear that twined through him, an emotion that only emerged after he had known Tom for over a year, and the man finally decided to stop putting on the charm. He’s seen Tom behind that mask of friendliness and geniality, and there is something colder than ice underneath. He knows it is there, even if Tom has never exactly done anything to prove his suspicions. Worse, Draco still craved his approval.
And after their class on abnormal psychology, Draco has grown fairly certain that his friend is a sociopath. Classic case, really, though at least Tom hasn’t gone around killing anyone.
Yet, a voice that sounds an awful lot like Tom whispers in his head, darkly amused.
Hermione fixes him with a narrow-eyed look of speculation. “Are you in love with him?”
“In love with—” Draco splutters, staring at her in horror. “No!”
“Are you sure? You didn’t want me to come, and now you’re acting like a teenager about to go on his first date.” There is a small smirk playing on the corner of her lips, and Draco relaxes a little.
“Absolutely not,” Draco says. “Oh, God, there he is. Can I hide? Is it too late? Has he seen me?”
“He’s fit,” Hermione says.
“Why did you say it like that?” Draco asks urgently. “Hermione, why did you say it like that?”
“Oh, Ginny would weep,” Hermione ignores him. “Goodness.”
“Hermione!” Draco squeaks. “Boyfriend. Right here. Hello?”
“You know, if you really do have a crush on him, I might not mind,” Hermione says thoughtfully.
“Oh, my God.”
“Oh, he’s seen us!” Hermione waves, her hand flying through the air like it does in class. Draco attempts, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a letterbox.
“Hello,” Tom drawls, his brow furrowing as he looks at Hermione. “And you are?”
“Hermione Granger,” she says. “Draco’s girlfriend. I’ve heard so much about you. Oh, darling, do please stand up. People are staring.”
Draco stands, sulkily. “Tom,” he says.
“Draco,” Tom says, and he somehow manages to make it sound cuttingly mocking, yet still utterly cordial. Draco flushes. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. I see that you have Draco well in hand. Shall we head off, then?” He holds out an elbow to her.
Hermione, the traitor, looks utterly charmed, and allows him to escort her. Draco tries not to sound too irritable when he asks, “What is this about then, Tom? Your text wasn’t very clear.”
By the amused look Tom sends him, his irritation bleeds through anyway. “I thought it was plenty clear.”
“‘3 PM. Round the corner from my workplace. Buy a litter box’ does not qualify as clear,” Draco says.
“You’re adopting a cat,” Tom says plainly.
“I’m adopting a—what?”
Tom gives him a patient look, like one you might give to a child trying to learn 1+1=2. “A cat, Draco,” he says. “You’re adopting a cat from the pet shelter I work at.”
“You work at a pet shelter?” Hermione says, sounding as though she might just swoon right then and there. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Hey!” Draco says, starting to actually feel a little hurt about this.
Hermione gives him a distracted pat. “Or interested in anyone, perhaps?”
“I’m single,” Tom says, looking even more amused. “But I do have someone I am interested in, yes.”
“Do you?” Hermione says, sounding disappointed.
Draco leans into her ear. “Hi.”
She starts, spinning around. “Hi.”
He smiles angelically.
“Nice talk, love,” Hermione says after a beat of silence, utterly bemused. She turns back to Tom. “And this person you’re interested in—what are they like, if you don’t mind my asking? Of course, if you would rather not say, that’s perfectly alright.”
“I don’t mind at all. He’s—”
“What was that about a cat, Tom?” Draco says loudly.
“You’re allergic to dogs,” Tom says, while Hermione shoots Draco a look of consternation. Well, excuse him for interrupting her awful attempts at flirting. The nerve. “And only poor fools adopt birds and rabbits. Ergo, you are getting a cat.”
“I had a rabbit as a child,” Draco says, indignant.
Tom levels him a look like, yes, and you are proving my point exactly.
“Ooh, I’ve been thinking of getting a pet,” Hermione says. “I didn’t know you were allergic to dogs, Draco.”
“You’re thinking of getting a pet?” Draco says.
“Yes,” Hermione says, giving him an intent look. She hesitates for a moment, then ploughs on. “Maybe not a dog, though, if you’re allergic. A cat might be nice. Do you think?”
Draco valiantly pretends that his stomach did not swoop in elation when she asks him this. He sniffs, refocusing on his irritation. “It’s your pet,” he says. “Doesn’t matter to me at all.”
“Oh,” Hermione says in a small voice. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
Over her head, Draco catches Tom rolling his eyes. He mouths something, but before Draco can figure out what he is trying to say, they arrive at the pet shelter. The door tinkles as it opens. A young blonde who looks fresh out of high school sits behind the reception desk. Tom guides Hermione forward and introduces her to ‘Craig’, who looks agonised as he says that his name is ‘Colin, dammit, Colin’. After a few minutes of quiet exchange, Craig—or Colin, whichever it is—leads Hermione to the animal enclosures.
“Imbecile,” Tom says when he returns to Draco’s side.
“What?” Draco snaps. Curse this man and his ridiculously soft-looking curls. And cheekbones—what Draco would not give to have those cheekbones. He squints, trying to find a flaw, but all he manages to figure out is that Tom has a better jawline than he previously thought.
Tom gives him a look and says, flatly, “She wants to adopt a cat with you.”
“What?”
“Your girlfriend wants to adopt a cat with you,” Tom says again, slower.
“My girlfriend—if I can even still call her that—was all over you.”
“Please, she was not flirting. I would know,” Tom says, rolling his eyes again. “Would you go in and find a bloody cat to take home with her? Or two, even. That would be better.”
“It looked like flirting to me,” Draco mutters.
“Stop sulking,” Tom hisses. “Go and bloody talk to her, and if I have to tell you again, I will make you regret it.” He stalks off, muttering under his breath about ridiculous brats and why do I have to give advice to idiots.
Draco scowls, and goes to talk to his girlfriend.