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Harry watches Tom pace in a cramped room that he hadn't known even existed. He's pretty certain there wasn't normally a room in this section of the seventh floor, but apparently there must be. Tom had told him where it was.
He hadn't been prepared for the reality of the other boy. Writing to him had been easy; the boy in the diary was calm, knowledgeable, and understanding. He had an answer for every problem Harry had and never asked for anything in return. Until now.
Tom feels bigger than life: in constant motion with sweeping gestures, and a way of looking at a person like he should always have their full attention. All it took was some of Harry's blood and permission to use his magic for Tom to leave the diary.
In truth, Harry isn't sure he likes him. He isn't sure if Tom likes him, either. He doesn't know what the older boy sees when he looks at him, but Harry feels small and unimportant. It's his childhood all over again.
"Do you know, I expected someone more like me?" Tom makes it a statement rather than a question. He doesn't expect or want an answer. "I shouldn't have. There's no one like me. There never has been. But there are… similarities."
Harry glances away from the intensity of his stare. Tom strides across the small space and grabs his face, forcing the boy to look up.
"I'm talking to you. Pay attention."
Harry nods as much as the hold on his face allows. He's released, after a painful squeeze, and makes sure to keep his eyes trained on Tom's.
"We're both half. Halfblooded, half loved, destined to grow at the whim of a crazy old man." The older boy steps back, shifts like he's about to pace again, and instead abruptly sits. He sighs and continues speaking. "There isn't a whole person inside of us, so we've taken bits and pieces from others. We've molded ourselves into forms that fit their expectations, because we don't know what it is to be our own person."
He stands and pulls Harry with him, tilting the boy's face up until their foreheads touch. All he can see is Tom's dark eyes. "Sometimes what we hate the most is ourselves."
"I don't understand," Harry says after a long pause, during which Tom had stepped back and allowed space between them again. He's still close enough that the boy has to look up to see his face. "How are we half a person? What is the other half? What do you hate?"
"I hate you because I hate myself," Tom answers with a mirthless laugh, "All I ever did was try to please others, and when that didn't work I took what I wanted instead. You, however… You haven't learned any better. Who are you really? Who are you when you're alone, when there's no one watching you, judging you?"
"I'm me. I'm always me."
Tom shoves him and looms over Harry as he struggles to sit up. "You are nothing. Just like me."