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Tom always preferred the night over the day.
The hall he was patrolling on his prefect rounds was quiet, the only sound being the echoing of his measured footsteps on the stone floor of the ancient castle. The night always found a way to emphasise the age of this establishment, the cracks in the grey walls casting shadows in the fleeting candlelight, and Tom was filled with satisfaction from the fact that he was walking the halls that so many accomplished wizards and witches had also wandered before him.
The hall was quiet, until it wasn’t.
It started small, at first. A tiny sniffle. A muted gasp. An almost silent whimper. But, as Tom approached the wall of the seemingly empty dead end, the noises escalated slightly. A stifled sob could be heard in the corner of the corridor, next to an inconspicuous rusted-over suit of armour.
The armour watched as Tom approached, and then pointed subtly to the space next to its feet. A slight shifting of the space there, as if there were something blocking something else from view.
He crouched down in front of the space the armour had gestured to, reached out, and pulled the invisibility cloak off of Harry Potter.
Harry was hunched over, his legs tucked into his chest and his eyes balled into his knees, skinny arms wrapped around his shaking frame desperately, as if he were trying to hold himself together. Tom’s breath hitched in shock at the sight, and Harry looked up, eyes widening as he realised who had found him.
“Harry…”
“I’m fine!” Harry insisted, forcing himself to sit up straighter and remove his tense knees from his torso. He stared defiantly at Tom with red-rimmed eyes, the shadows under them contrasting sharply with the slight pink tint his tears had left on his dark skin, but Tom could see the repressed pain behind the stubbornness.
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “If you’re fine, why are you crying?”
Harry attempted a scowl, but the expression soon crumpled, and Tom’s heart clenched uncomfortably at the sight of Harry’s torment.
“I… Why should I tell you?” he asked bitingly instead of answering, and Tom was immediately on alert. He knew that Harry was too proud to admit if someone had harmed him, or ridiculed him in any way, so if the reason for his tears was caused by someone else, he’d never say…
“What happened? Did someone hurt you? Tell me who it was. Was it Malfoy? I thought I made it clear to that brat that he wasn’t to harm you anymore-”
“Riddle, no one hurt me. I- Wait, you’re the reason Malfoy leaves us alone now? Why would you do that? You don’t ever do anything for others that doesn’t also benefit you in some way,” he trailed off, thinking hard. Tom was about to explain when he began talking again. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you do that when you don’t get anything out of it?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. The entirety of Harry’s focus was on Tom now, and he swallowed thickly as those green eyes studied his face in detail.
“It benefits me indirectly,” he began carefully, treading lightly so as not to set off this highly emotional Harry Potter in front of him. He wasn’t good with tears. “I don’t like to see you getting hurt… And I know you can handle Malfoy yourself when he attacks you,” he added hastily when Harry opened his mouth to intercede. “But it makes you sad when he’s unpleasant towards your friends. And I don’t like to see you unhappy. So, if you could tell me what’s troubling you, I’d do everything I could to make it go away,” Tom paused, then realised how that must sound, and quickly readjusted. “You know, because I’m a prefect, and I have to make sure students are happy.”
Harry eyed him speculatively for a moment, the silence making Tom sweat a little, not that he’d ever admit that to the boy in front of him.
“You know, you’re not good at the whole ‘comforting’ thing.” he pointed out after a while, gesturing to the tears still flowing freely down his cheeks, at the shaking of his shoulders that he couldn’t quite repress. Tom winced, and nodded.
“I realise that. I don’t have a lot of experience with… that.” he admitted, and it felt strange to say that he wasn’t perfect at something.
He had never felt the need to reassure anyone before. The usual reaction to someone crying would be disgust at their weakness, but right now he only felt sympathy, and a strong need to heal…
But he didn’t know how. And didn’t that feel weird? He was Tom Riddle, he knew everything. Except, apparently, how to empathise.
Harry grinned slightly at him, and Tom’s heart near enough melted at the sight of Harry trying to act okay when he so clearly wasn’t - for Tom’s benefit.
Tom shuffled next to him, placing an awkward arm over Harry’s shoulders. The boy in question tensed for a moment, and Tom inwardly chastised himself. Harry hated physical contact, he knew this! Harry always shied away from hugs and embraces, and Tom had just messed everything up because of his momentary ignorance.
To his immense surprise, Harry didn’t react as he usually did. He didn’t move away, or throw the arm off of him, or shrink back from the touch as if he had been burned. Instead, he relaxed completely, letting himself slump into Tom’s side as he broke down once again.
Tom said nothing as Harry cried. Partly because he didn’t know what he could tell him that would help, and also because he sensed that Harry just needed someone to be there next to him, to witness his weakness and not judge him, to stand strong whilst Harry crumbled. He rubbed small circles into Harry’s dark skin as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and it certainly felt like it was. Harry’s curled up body fit into his perfectly, his arm holding Harry close with no discomfort for either of them, and Tom really wished they were under better circumstances so that he could enjoy this moment without the guilt of it being with Harry breaking down on him.
Tom didn’t hush him, because it was better not to withhold the pain, or else it would only build. Tom suspected that Harry didn’t have a particular reason for his sadness; he seemed to be the type to hide his emotions away, to lock them up to deal with later - except later never came. Until now. He guessed that Harry’s stress and sadness from small things had built up steadily throughout his life, until he couldn’t quite hold back the river anymore. Tom was grateful for the silencing ward he’d thought to put up around them earlier, because Harry really was not holding back his sobs now.
When the wails faded into gasps, and the gasps receded into shaking, drawn-out breaths, Tom was staring straight ahead, for he knew if he were to look at Harry now, he might never be able to look away again.
“Tom… are you okay?” Harry asked eventually, voice scratchy and dry from his crying session. Tom turned to him in surprise, and inhaled sharply at the sight of Harry. His green eyes were sparkling with shed tears, making them seem like a pool of jade - he was reminded of the aurora borealis over the arctic night sky. His black hair was still as messy as usual, but it was also plastered against his damp forehead, strands splayed out over hot skin. His dark cheeks were flushed and tear-stained, and Tom marvelled at the colour that dark skin stained with red created, the tone so intoxicating that he struggled to remember that he’d been asked a question.
“Um...of course I am. Why do you ask? You’re the one who just had an emotional breakdown.” he pointed out. Harry’s cheeks flushed even more, and Tom thought it may just be the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
“It’s just that… well, you’re crying.”
The statement took a moment to reach Tom’s brain.
“Don’t be absurd, I’m not-” and then he felt the cold wetness of his cheeks, the cloudiness in his eyes, and he gasped.
“Tom…?” Harry trailed off, watching Tom’s horrified expression with growing concern.
“Harry, I haven’t cried in nine years.” he said, in a monotone, and Harry blinked owlishly.
“Okay…”
“You are the first person that has made me cry in nine years.” he clarified.
Harry blinked again.
“Um, sorry?” he said, though he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say.
Apparently, it wasn’t.
Tom stared at him, eyes wide. “You don’t need to apologise! Don’t you see? You didn’t do anything except be sad, and that’s what made… this happen!”
Harry blinked yet again.
“Are you saying that I need to not be sad ever again so that you never cry again?” he asked, feeling utterly confused and slightly betrayed at how Tom was reacting.
Tom shook his head frantically, and grasped Harry’s hands in earnest. “No, of course not! Sadness is inevitable at times, or else we wouldn’t know happiness. I’m saying that I care about you. The fact that you were sad was so unbearable that…” he trailed off, eyes wild as they contemplated. Harry could feel hope slowly clawing its way into his heart, and usually he would try to shove it away, but this time he embraced it; Tom cared.
“You… care about me?” he whispered, slightly astounded.
Tom nodded feverishly yet again.
Harry smiled, and Tom could feel warmth enveloping him at the sight.
“I care about you too, dumbass.” Harry chuckled, and felt confused when Tom deflated a bit and shook his head slightly.
“I think I may care about you in a slightly less platonic way than you’d want.” he whispered, and looked away from Harry to stare at their still-entwined hands. Harry smiled again, his heart beating so fast he thought it might leap right out of his chest and into Tom’s.
“What if I do want it?” he whispered back, and revelled in the uncomposed shock on Tom’s face as he snapped his head back up to face Harry.
“Do you mean that?” Tom asked, and Harry nodded.
Tom broke out in a huge grin, bigger than any Harry had ever seen him wear, brighter than any of the other bribing smiles he gave to anyone else. This one was real. It touched his eyes, it displayed a joy that Harry found was contagious, as he was smiling too. Tom reached over and hugged him once more, burying his face in Harry’s neck as Harry stuffed his own face in Tom’s chest. Something wet touched Harry’s neck, and he laughed lightly.
“You’re still crying.” he pointed out teasingly.
Tom huffed. “Shut it.” he said, no bite behind his words, only fond exasperation.
Harry just snuggled farther into him in response.
If the metal suit of armour could smile, it would.