Chapter Text
Soft footsteps alerted Tom to Harry's approach. If he hadn't known any better, he would have guessed the small human was an elf with how quiet he was. Not looking up from his book, he watched as Harry settled into a chair beside him. The small boy remained quiet, and Tom waited patiently for the boy to voice whatever question he had today. This was a common occurrence - ever since Harry had worked up the courage to talk to him last year, Tom had patiently answered his questions.
Harry was a sweet little thing, and had trailed after Tom like a puppy since Harry's first year. At first it had been something Tom ignored - he was one of the Fair Folk after all, what did it matter that a tiny human had a crush on him? - but soon, he noticed just how precious little Harry was. So he had slowly begun to entice Harry into talking to him. It had taken a while, but a few months into Harry's fourth year - Tom's fifth year, in this guise - Harry had approached him in the library. The cute little thing had stuttered through a request for homework help, and ever since, Harry had come to Tom whenever he was in the library.
Finally, Harry asked a question that was totally unexpected. "Tom?" He queried, voice whisper-quiet, "What are the Fae?"
"The Fair Folk," Tom rumbled, frowning slightly at the unintentional disrespect. "If we are to speak of them, you will address them properly."
Harry nodded, glimmering green eyes wide. Tom knew his tone was not the one he usually used with Harry, but the sweet boy needed to understand this was serious.
"The Fair Folk are powerful, inhuman creatures. They live in a dimension connected to ours called Underhill. They are not human, Harry, so do not expect them to act as such - only humans think like humans." Tom met Harry's eyes, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation.
"I know for a fact that Hogwarts do not hold lessons about the Fair Folk. How do you know of them?" Harry shifted under Tom's burning gaze. He looked away, but Tom would not accept that. Gently, he placed a finger under Harry's chin and guided him into meeting his eyes. "Harry," he rumbled, voice dark like a moonless night, "Where did you hear about them?"
"C-Cormac McLaggen was talking about them while Professor Flitwick was taking Neville to the infirmary. He said he was going to go looking for one to make it his s-servant," Harry stuttered.
Tom stared at Harry in shock before laughing, the sound like the howling autumn wind through the trees. Madam Pince shushed them, and Tom quieted to a chuckle like rolling thunder. "Oh, dear Harry - that boy would never be able to entrap one of the Fair Folk. They are masters at contracts, at wordplay; he will sooner loose his life than get anything from One of Underhill."
Harry's eyes filled with worry at that proclamation. "Will he really die?" He whispered, concerned.
"Don't you worry, my dear Harry," Tom said, his smiling mouth just a bit too wide, his teeth just a bit too sharp, "the likelihood of him even finding one of the Fair Folk is almost none."
Sobering a bit, Tom removed his hand from Harry's chin, settling it instead on his knee. "Though it is true that the Fair Folk have great power, and are sometimes willing to make deals with humanity, very few actively seek out humanity. To them, humanity is no more than an amusing toy."
Harry looked a bit better after that. "You mentioned contracts - what do the Fair Folk want from humans if they are only toys?" Tom smirked at the question - Harry was a smart boy, for a human.
"It depends on the individual, dear Harry. Some may want temporary amusement, some may want a slave, while others... they seek pleasure."
Harry stared at Tom for a minute, a slow blush suffusing across his face. Tom grinned, his smile as sharp as his claws. Harry would make a lovely toy, when the time came. "Oh Harry, so shy," he cooed, making Harry blush more, and hide his burning face in his hands.
"Really, though," Tom murmured, pulling back a bit - it wouldn't do to go too fast with the little human, "I must teach you how to avoid them."
Harry removed his face from his hands and nodded, a light blush still covering his cheeks. He shifted, settling himself before gazing at Tom intently, ready for the lesson that he was about to be given.
"Primarily," Tom began, his voice deepening, going smooth and dark like a starlit pond, "the Fair Folk stay in Underhill. Should you ever encounter them, be careful with your name. If they ask if they can have your name, they will take you as a slave for eternity, or when you earn your name back. You can get around this fairly easily if aware of it, as it is but wordplay. Simply say that you will not give them your name, but they may call you by one of your choice - whether that be your own, or a nickname.
"This shouldn't be a problem, as long as you stay out of fairy rings - circles of mushrooms that are gates to the Underhill. Some of the Fair Folk will attempt to lure you into them, with illusions of friends or family being trapped in the circle. Should you ever see this, run in the other direction." Tom paused, making sure that Harry was keeping up with his impromptu lecture.
Harry was listening intently, absorbing the information. Tom smiled, sweet like honey to a fly.
"Do you understand so far?" he asked, receiving an eager nod in return. Nodding back, Tom continued. "Most will likely never be close enough to require this, but should one of the fair folk attack you, defend yourself with iron and salt. Iron, pure iron, burns them quite badly-" he wrinkled his nose and rolled one shoulder in remembrance of a past encounter with a human armed with an iron sword "- and they cannot cross lines of salt. In contrast, the Fair Folk are attracted by cream and honey. However, humans cannot eat any food from Underhill, as they will become addicted instantly."
"But why is their food addicting to us?" Harry asks. 'How naive,' Tom couldn't help but think, 'He still thinks I'm human.'
"A valid question, dear Harry. You see, their food is made of pure magic - it has an addicting quality when consumed." Harry nodded slowly, absorbing that.
"Why do the Fair Folk like cream and honey, then? They're not magic by themselves."
Tom's smile was softer than clouds, and his gaze fond. "That is simple - there is nothing quite like cream or honey in Underhill, and both are considered to be delicacies there. Some people leave out fresh cream and honey in hopes to curry favor from the Fair Folk; that, or to ensure they aren't targeted for their pranks."
Harry blinked in surprise. "The Fair Folk play pranks?"
Tom laughed lightly, and reached forwards to run a hand through Harry's soft black hair. Harry leaned into the touch, so Tom continued petting his favorite human. "Of course they do, Harry. Some of the Fair Folk love to play pranks on humans. Those who do are usually members of the Seelie Court. Of the two courts, the Seelie have more interaction with humanity, and more rules for interaction with them. The Seelie will sometimes do work for humans in exchange for food or favors. The other court, the Unseelie, have far less interaction with humanity, but when they do, it often doesn't have a good ending for the human."
Harry nodded, attentive despite leaning into the petting. Tom smiled like the dawn at his sweet boy. He cupped the little human's face, and Harry leaned into the hand, reaching up with his own, much smaller one to hold the large, strong hand to his face.
Gently, Tom reached for the tiny human and pulled him into his lap. The small boy blushed, the color of rose petals blooming across his pale cheeks. He couldn't resist purring at the sight, breathing in the spicy-sweet scent of the boy he held. Tucking his nose into the soft, ebony curls, Tom breathes in the scent of chai, accented with honey and fresh cream.
He couldn't help the deep purr that rumbled in his chest like distant thunder. The small Gryffindor melted into his chest at the sound, soft and warm like a content kitten. Smiling, he picked up his book once more and settled back in to read with his little Harry settled in his lap.
⁂
The new moon was the perfect time to find the fae, or at least that's what the guide Cormac had owl-ordered said. The sky was dark with clouds tonight, but that wouldn't hinder him much. Once he caught his first fae, he'd finally get the attention he deserved.
Slowly, the young wizard crept out into the courtyard, casting cautious looks around him. Seeing nothing, he dashed towards the other side of the wide-open space, skidding to a halt at the base of a tower. Slowly, the boy made his way towards the Forbidden Forest. He was too preoccupied with the thought of someone in the castle spotting him to notice the eyes watching him from the forest.
Cormac grinned as he reached the edge of the forest, laughing breathlessly. He'd made it to the forest without getting caught - now all he had to do was find a faery ring and cast the spell. Glancing back at the castle one last time, he cast lumos before entering the dark wood.
The excited boy made his way through the forest. At first, he was oblivious to the sounds of the night around him - but slowly, slowly, he became more aware. He could hear no sound other than his own footsteps, the very air seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation. For what, he wasn't certain.
Cormac licked his lips, slowing to a stop as he looked around himself. He strained his ears, trying to listen for any sound, any sound at all. He couldn't hear a thing, not even the chirp of a cricket or the hoot of an owl.
Looking around, Cormac slowly began to panic. What could scare the Forbidden Forest into submission? Nothing that would be happy about Cormac being there, that’s for certain. Heart pounding in his ears, he turned around to head back to Hogwarts. Walking quickly, he trekked back the way he came, ears straining to hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears.
The forest around him darkened more the further he went, a heavy silence falling over it. Not even the leaves and twigs littering the forest floor dared to crack under Cormac’s feet. The trees became more gnarled, becoming craggy and harsh in the minimal starlight. Cormac was lost.
Panicking, he turned once more to head back, but the path behind him was no longer there. His heart was in his throat, chest in a vice grip of terror. Cormac tore off into the woods, feet pounding to the beat of his racing heart. Branches whipped past him, scratching and clawing as if they were trying to drag him back. Hot rivulets of blood ran from his brow into his eye. His eye burned, making Cormac stumble to a stop, rubbing frantically at it to try and relieve the stinging heat.
A deep growl erupted from behind Cormac, the noise darker than the night around him. The deep noise rolled over him like an avalanche, making his hair raise and sending goosebumps down his arms. He jumped into motion, scrambling and tripping over himself in an effort to get as far away from the noise as he could. Whatever it was snapped at his heels, making him scream in panic. He ran ever faster, the dark trees blurring around him. His eyes watered from the chill of the air whipping past him. His break clouded, blinding him further.
A shock of pain hit Cormac’s shin, sending him to meet the dark earth. Whatever it was that was behind him laughed like a hyena, one massive clawed hand snagging him about the middle and lifting him into the air. Cormac screamed, voice going high in terror.
“There is no use in running,” the creature rumbled, voice just as inhuman as it’s growl had been. Cormac blinked at it through teary eyes, gaze blurred with tears and blood.
“You were marked for death the moment you decided to disrespect the Fair Folk,” it growled, anger filling its voice. Cormac blinked harder, and rubbed at his eyes. Slowly, his vision was returning to him. The creature before him looked… almost familiar.
He rubbed furiously at his eyes, desperately trying to see. His vision cleared slowly, and when he next looked up at the creature, he recognized it. Dark brown hair fell neatly over the beast’s forehead, its pale skin shone like the moon. It’s eyes glowed like rubies lit from within, lips parted to show teeth like razor blades, bared in a smile.
“R-riddle?!” He squeaked, making the beast with a familiar face toss it’s head back in a laugh. The movement showed off the great horns sprouting from his skull like branches, his teeth glinting in the low light.
“As you know me, yes.”
Cormac screamed again, eyes wild as he scrambled to get away. He shoved at the massive had around him, his nails digging into the dark, bark-like skin as he tried to break it’s vice grip on his middle.
“It really is no use,” the creature said, almost absently tightening it’s had around Cormac’s middle. “You will die tonight, regardless of your struggles.”
Cormac wailed, and struck out at the monster. His hand was caught buy the thing’s massive clawed hand, and he watched in horror as the thing smiled wickedly.
Suddenly, Cormac couldn’t move. He was paralyzed, frozen in place like a bug suspended in amber. The creature shifted him, laying him out on its massive palm before pinning his hand and took hold of his pinkie, movements deceptively gentle. The creature locked eyes with him and smiled, baring more razor sharp teeth than should be possible, and ripped his finger off.
Cormac screamed, tears streaming down his face at the shock of the pain. Before he could think to do anything, the creature grabbed another of his fingers.
“No! Please, no-“ He cut himself off with a scream as the second finger was torn away.
Slowly, one by one, the monster tore off his fingers, then his toes, his hands and feet, and worked up from there. Cormac’s voice had given out at the beginning of the second hand. The limbs had been the worst of it – the slow tearing of muscle and sinew as the monster slowly pulled more and more, until a final great yank ripped it off. Now, he was limbless, alive only because the creature tormenting him willed it so.
“There now, that’s better, isn’t it?” it asked, sounding almost pleasant. “Now all we have left is your head.”
Cormac moaned, not sure if he was relieved that the torture would soon end, or terrified of the pain, and what came after. Two large fingers gently pinched his head between them, and began to pull.
⁂
Purring, Tom crushed the decapitated head between his fingers. The remains of the corpse were dropped to the ground carelessly, no longer of interest. Tom shifted, settling back to sit on his heels. He brought his bloodied hands to his face and breathed the scent of human blood in. His tongue flickered out and tasted the dark substance, and he wrinkled his nose slightly at the flavor of copper, dark cherries, and honeysuckle. He has been spoiled by the mere scent of his darling Harry, so much so that even human blood tasted inferior. Rolling his garnet eyes, he began to clean himself up.
As his tongue laved over the dark, wood-like skin of his hands and arms, he considered what to do now that the threat to Harry, no matter how minor, was eliminated. Harry, the poor, empathetic little thing, would likely be sad about the death of a fellow student. A small price to pay, really, when it guaranteed Harry’s safety, but still an unpleasant outcome. He would have to pay special attention to his little gem in the coming days, but that was no real hardship. He hummed, content, as he cleaned the last bit of blood from his claws. Tom would be sure to be waiting for little Harry in the morning, in the wake of this “tragedy”.