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Lately, Harry has been ignoring Tom
Sure, Tom went and opened the Chamber after Harry explicitly made him promise not to—but, honestly, his classmate should have expected this. This is his birthright, his legacy, not something to be pinky-promised away on the playground. Tom has broken his boundaries before—often, in fact—so why this? Why now?
In class, Harry’s eyes remain fixed on the board. The Professors leave him be, sending Harry pitying looks instead of calling on him for questions. Even Professor Dumbledore has stopped fawning over the mysterious transfer student, only sending him the occasional sad twinkle. Harry goes to class, he eats, he bathes, he sleeps—but he’s different. Wrong.
Before, Tom could dislodge Harry from his bouts of melancholy with a single stinging hex. Their duels lit the green flames in his eyes and twisted his clever mouth into satisfied smirks. Eventually, things evolved from dueling to kissing, a rough clash of teeth and tongue enough to pull Harry from the darkest of thoughts. Now, nothing he tries works.
Frustration simmers beneath Tom’s skin. Classes, meals, patrolling, his friends—everything blurs together. All that matters is when he calls, Harry does not answer. Harry does not even spare him a glance. So, Tom sticks close to him. He will break soon. Harry is many things, but he is not patient or level-headed. Harry will grow tired of this, punch or curse Tom to vent his frustration, and everything will be back to normal.
So, that is how he finds himself trudging through ankle-deep snow on the last day of the year.
Harry walks a few steps ahead, neck bent and arm raised to protect his face from the raking chill of the wind. Tom decides to finally confront him, and torture him if he has to, anything to end the stony silence between them. They circle around to the back of the lake, right where it presses close to the perimeter of the forest. And then, Harry stops. There’s something strange here. Flowers and notes and…there’s no time to dawdle; he needs to confront Harry once and for all.
“Harry, this is ridiculous, you need to…”
“I’m sorry, Tom,” Harry whispers, staring at the ground. “When you broke your promise…”
“Well, I forgive you, of course, so—”
“I couldn’t let…” Harry says, interrupting Tom as if he'd never spoken at all. “I hoped you’d changed…” Harry’s voice is strangely wet. Tom tuts, irritated at the interruption.
“What is wrong with you? Harry, love, come now, look at me—”
“I’m just sorry it turned out like this, okay?” Harry reaches into his bag and pulls out a black diary. Tom’s eyes widen—where did he get that? Tom had it locked in his trunk; he was going to use it for...what was he going to use it for? He rubs his forehead, his memory strangely cloudy.
Harry stoops down and lays the diary in front of a carved rectangle of stone. He digs into the snow, sets the diary down, and then gently re-buries it. Rage seizes Tom. At this rate, the snow will melt, the ink will run, and he’ll have to re-copy all of his notes. Harry stands, reaching out to brush snow from the carved stone.
“Harry, please—”
“Happy Birthday, Tom,” Harry says, before turning away from the grave. He takes two steps towards Tom and then passes through his translucent form on his way back to the castle.