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Harry needed a flatmate.
Not in the abstract, long-term, sometime in the next few months, sense. He needed one now, urgently, in the way that made your chest tighten every time you opened your banking app.
The problem was not the flat. The flat was fine. Slightly too narrow, mildly drafty, and possessed plumbing that groaned like it resented being alive, but it was in a decent location and, crucially, affordable.
Affordable, that was, when split between two people.
Harry sat cross-legged on the living room floor, laptop balanced on a stack of old textbooks, surrounded by the evidence of his former flatmate’s departure. A half-empty mug, a single abandoned sock, and a note that said, “Sorry! Good luck!” in aggressively cheerful handwriting.
“Good luck.” Harry muttered to himself. “Right.”
He opened the rental site and stared at the blinking cursor in the listing box.
ROOM AVAILABLE - IMMEDIATELY
He typed, paused, deleted half the sentence, then typed again.
Looking for a flatmate AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. Two-bedroom flat, shared kitchen/living space. Rent reasonable. No pets. Please be clean.
He stared at it.
That sounded boring. Worse. Selective. Harry didn’t really have the luxury of being picky.
He added.
Quiet preferred. Non-smoker.
He hovered, then added one more line, because honesty felt like the best policy.
Must be okay with irregular hours.
Harry leaned back, squinting at the screen. It was vague. It was underwhelming. It did not mention the questionable wiring, the fact that the hallway light flickered like it was deciding whether to exist, or that the living room mirror was slightly warped in a way that made everyone look taller and thinner than they actually were.
He hit Post before he could overthink it.
The page refreshed.
Harry exhaled and shut the laptop, telling himself firmly that it would be fine. People needed places to live. Someone normal would apply. Someone who ate food and slept at night and owned at least one lamp.
He made tea, burned his tongue because he was impatient, and sat on the sofa, refreshing his email every two minutes like a man possessed.
Nothing.
Ten minutes passed.
Then his laptop chimed.
Harry lunged for it so fast he nearly knocked the mug over.
New message received.
He opened it.
Subject: Room Inquiry
Good evening,
I saw your advertisement and am interested in the available room. I am quiet, orderly, and financially stable. I require accommodation immediately and can move in at your convenience.
If possible, I would like to view the flat tonight.
Sincerely,
Tom Riddle
Harry blinked.
Tonight?
He checked the timestamp. The message had been sent less than three minutes after he’d posted the ad.
“Well.” Harry said to the empty room. “That was fast.”
He reread the message. It was… polite. Formal. A bit stiff, maybe, but not alarming. Plenty of people wrote like that. Especially people who were serious about housing.
Financially stable was a very attractive phrase.
Harry typed back.
Hi.
Tonight’s fine. I’m free after eight.
-Harry Potter
He hesitated, then added.
Just so you know, the flat is nothing fancy.
The reply came almost instantly.
That will not be an issue.
Harry stared at the screen.
“…Right.” He said, uncertainly.
He closed the laptop and glanced around the living room. It was tidy enough. The sofa had a faint coffee stain, but it gave the place character. He straightened the cushions, shoved the abandoned sock under the coffee table, and opened a window for fresh air.
Eight o’clock arrived faster than he expected.
At precisely two past eight, there was a knock on the door.
Harry jumped, heart leaping stupidly into his throat. He stood, smoothed down his shirt, and opened it.
Tom Riddle stood in the hallway.
The first thing Harry noticed was that Tom was tall. Not inconveniently so, but enough that the low ceiling light cast shadows at sharp, dramatic angles across his face. He was dressed in black. Neatly, deliberately, as though colour were a choice he had consciously rejected. His dark hair was combed back with care, his posture straight, his expression calm and composed in a way that felt oddly formal for a rental viewing.
“Good evening.” Tom said.
His voice was smooth, cool, and far too measured for a Tuesday night.
“Hi.” Harry replied, automatically stepping back to let him in. “I’m Harry.”
Tom paused at the threshold.
Just for a moment. Barely noticeable. Then he stepped inside.
“Tom Riddle.” He said. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“No problem.” Harry said, closing the door. “Come in.”
Tom’s gaze flicked briefly to the door as it shut, then back to Harry. He inclined his head, as if acknowledging something unspoken.
Harry did not notice.
Harry showed Tom the flat.
This was less a formal viewing and more Harry gesturing vaguely at rooms while Tom followed with quiet, unsettling attentiveness, as though he were memorizing the space rather than evaluating it.
“This is the kitchen.” Harry said, flicking on the light.
Tom stepped inside and stopped.
The kitchen was small but functional, with white cabinets, a narrow counter, and a window that let in the glow of the streetlights. Tom’s gaze swept the room once. Sink, fridge, cupboards, before landing on the window.
“Does the sun reach this room in the morning?” Tom asked.
Harry blinked. “Uh. I think so? Depends on the season.”
“I see.” Tom said.
Harry was not entirely sure what Tom was seeing, but he moved on.
“And that’s the living room.” He said, needlessly, pointing behind them. “Shared space. Sofa’s not great, but it’s comfortable.”
Tom inclined his head. “Comfort is subjective.”
“…Right.”
They moved down the hallway.
Harry opened the door to the spare bedroom. It was empty except for a narrow bed frame and a wardrobe that had seen better decades. The window faced the back of the building, where the alley lights flickered intermittently.
Tom stood in the doorway and did not enter.
Harry waited.
After a moment, he said. “You can go in.”
Tom stepped inside immediately, as though released from a constraint Harry had not been aware of.
Harry frowned faintly, then shook it off.
“This would be your room.” He said. “You can do whatever you like with it. Within reason.”
Tom walked the perimeter, fingers brushing the wall just shy of touching it. He paused at the window, examining the latch, then the curtains.
“Would you object to heavier drapery?” He asked.
Harry shrugged. “As long as you’re paying for them.”
Tom nodded, satisfied.
He turned his attention to the wardrobe. He opened it, looked inside, then closed it again with careful precision. Gaze momentarily, moving back towards the door of the room.
“The door locks.” He observed.
“Yes.” Harry said. “All the bedroom doors do.”
“Good.”
Harry stared at him. “You’re very concerned about doors.”
“They are important.” Tom said simply.
Harry decided not to ask.
They moved on to Harry’s bedroom.
“This is mine.” Harry said, opening the door. “Please ignore the mess.”
The room was… lived in. Clothes draped over a chair, books stacked on every available surface, a mismatched collection of mugs on the desk. The window was open a crack, letting in cool night air.
Tom stopped just inside the doorway.
He did not cross the threshold.
Harry waited.
“…Is there a reason you’re hovering?” Harry asked.
Tom’s gaze flicked to him. “Would you prefer I enter?”
Harry laughed. “I mean. You don’t need permission to exist in the room.”
Tom hesitated for half a second longer, then stepped inside.
Tom took in the space more slowly than the others. His eyes lingered on the bed, the desk, the open window. When his gaze landed on the mirror mounted on the wardrobe door, something unreadable crossed his expression.
“Do you require this?” Tom asked.
Harry followed his gaze. “The mirror?”
“Yes.”
“I mean.” Harry said, “I like it. It’s useful.”
Tom nodded. “Of course.”
He did not look at it again.
They returned to the hallway.
Harry leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “So. Any questions?”
Tom considered this.
“Do you entertain guests often?” He asked.
“Not really.” Harry said. “Friends sometimes. Hermione, Ron. Movie nights. That sort of thing.”
Tom’s expression tightened, just slightly. “How frequently?”
Harry frowned. “Once or twice a week? Sometimes less.”
“I see.”
“And you?” Harry asked. “You said you don’t have guests?”
“No.” Tom said. “I do not.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s… intense.”
Tom met his gaze steadily. “I value privacy.”
“Fair enough.”
There was a pause.
Tom glanced down the hallway, then back at Harry. “May I ask about invitations?”
Harry blinked. “Invitations to what?”
“To enter your room.” Tom clarified.
Harry stared at him. “You don’t need to ask every time, Tom. We’re flatmates, not sticky fingered burglars.”
The word hung in the air for half a second.
Tom did not react.
“Of course.” He said smoothly. “I merely wished to be respectful.”
Harry waved a hand. “You’re fine. Honestly, you’re probably the politest person who’s ever answered one of my ads.”
Tom inclined his head. “I take pride in courtesy.”
“Right.” Harry said. “So. Rent, utilities, cleaning rota-”
“I will handle utilities.” Tom said.
Harry stopped. “You will?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Harry’s suspicion flared briefly, weak and half-formed, before being drowned by relief.
“…Okay,” He said. “That’s generous.”
“I prefer control.” Tom said, then paused. “Over logistics.”
Harry nodded, as though this explained everything.
“And cleaning?” Harry asked.
“I am meticulous.” Tom replied.
Harry believed him immediately.
They stood there, the flat quiet around them. The hallway light flickered once, then steadied.
“So.” Harry said. “If you’re still interested, you can move in whenever.”
Tom looked at him for a long moment.
“I am interested.” He said. “I believe this arrangement will be… mutually beneficial.”
Harry smiled, a little tired but genuine. “Great.”
Tom’s gaze softened, just barely.
“Then.” Tom said. “With your permission, I will bring my belongings tomorrow evening.”
“Sure.” Harry said, before jokingly adding. “Just don’t redecorate without asking.”
Tom’s mouth curved, faintly.
“Of course.” He said.
Harry did not notice the way Tom’s eyes flicked, once more, to the light fixture above them.
________________________________________________
Harry’s shift dragged.
It wasn’t even a bad shift, objectively speaking. No disasters, no emergencies, nothing that required him to stay late or apologize profusely to strangers. Just the usual dull ache of standing too long, smiling too much, and answering the same questions over and over until the words stopped feeling real.
By the time he clocked out, it was well past midnight.
Harry shrugged on his jacket, checked his phone, and scrolled through a message from Hermione reminding him to eat something that wasn’t toast. He promised himself he would, eventually, and stepped out into the night.
The streetlights buzzed faintly. A bus roared past. Somewhere down the road, someone laughed.
Normal sounds. Normal world.
By the time Harry reached the building, he was running on autopilot. He climbed the stairs, keys already in hand, thinking vaguely about sleep, about maybe making pasta, about the fact that he’d forgotten to ask Tom whether he drank tea or coffee.
He unlocked the door.
The hallway beyond it was dark.
Not lights-off dark. Not the gentle gloom of a single missed switch.
Dark.
Harry froze, one foot still in the doorway.
The air felt… different. Cooler, somehow. Still.
He frowned and stepped inside, flicking the switch by habit.
Nothing happened.
Harry frowned harder and tried again.
Still nothing.
“Tom?” He called, peering down the hallway.
No answer.
Harry shut the door behind him, setting his bag down slowly, and kicking his shoes off. His eyes adjusted, and he became aware of a low, amber glow coming from the living room. Not the overhead light. Something softer. Intentional.
His stomach sank, just a little.
“That’s weird.” Harry muttered to himself, already tired enough that this felt deeply unfair.
He took a step forward.
The floor didn’t creak the way it usually did.
Harry stopped.
He looked down.
The rug in the hallway. The thin, beige one he’d owned since university, was gone.
In its place was something darker. Thicker. Plush beneath his sock clad feet.
Harry stared at it.
“…Huh.” He said.
He took another step.
The light at the end of the hallway flickered, steady and warm, and Harry had the strange, creeping sense that whatever waited for him in the living room was not going to be minor.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Please.” He said to the flat at large. “Let this be a reasonable explanation.”
The flat did not respond.
Harry walked toward the living room.
The living room was no longer the living room he remembered.
Harry stood in the doorway and stared.
The sofa was still there. The television was still there. The coffee table, too. Technically, nothing appeared to be missing. But the room had been… altered. Curated. Optimized.
The first thing Harry noticed was the light.
The overhead fixture was off, and in its place were several low-standing lamps angled with abnormal precision. Their bulbs emitted a soft, amber glow that clung to the corners of the room and refused to illuminate the ceiling. Shadows gathered thickly along the walls, stretching where they shouldn’t, swallowing familiar shapes.
The second thing he noticed was the windows.
Heavy blackout curtains covered every inch of glass. Not draped. Sealed. Pinned flush to the wall as though daylight were something to be defended against rather than invited in.
Harry crossed the room slowly, heart beginning to thud with something that was not quite fear and not quite anger.
He reached for the curtain nearest the sofa and yanked it open.
Nothing happened.
Harry tugged harder.
The curtain did not move.
“What.” Harry said aloud, very calmly. “The hell.”
He traced the edge with his fingers and found discreet metal brackets bolted into the wall.
Bolted.
Harry dropped the curtain and turned in a slow circle.
The plants were gone.
Not moved. Gone.
In their place were tall, dark shelves lined with books Harry did not recognize. Their spines were unmarked, their titles worn smooth with age or use or both. A faint, sharp scent hung in the air. Old paper, metal, with something clean and cold beneath it.
Harry swallowed.
He took another step and stopped short.
The mirror above the fireplace was gone.
Not cracked. Not covered.
Gone.
In its place was a stretch of bare wall, freshly painted a darker shade than the rest of the room. Harry reached out, touching it with his fingertips.
Still slightly damp.
“Oh.” Harry said faintly.
He staggered back and turned toward the hallway.
The door to the spare room. Tom’s room, was closed.
On it, neatly affixed at eye level, was a small metal plaque.
PRIVATE
Harry laughed.
It came out sharp and slightly hysterical.
“No.” He said. “No, absolutely not.”
He marched down the hallway, flipping switches as he went. None of the lights responded. Every bulb had been replaced with a dimmer alternative, the corridors bathed in permanent twilight.
“This is a rented property.” Harry said to no one in particular, his voice echoing faintly. “You cannot just-”
He reached the kitchen and stopped dead.
The kitchen light was on.
Bright. Normal.
The contrast was jarring.
Harry blinked, disoriented, then stepped inside. The counters gleamed. The sink was empty. Everything had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. The fridge hummed quietly, louder than usual.
At least the kitchen’s still- Harry thought.
He turned.
The mirror on the kitchen wall. The small one Harry used to check for toothpaste on his face, was gone.
Harry stared at the blank space.
“…Why is it always something.” He whispered.
He turned back toward the hallway, fury beginning to simmer properly now.
“Tom!” Harry called. “Where are you?”
There was a pause.
Then, from the living room came a voice. “In here.”
Harry stormed back, rounding the corner just in time to see Tom emerge from the shadows near the window. He was dressed neatly, as always, sleeves rolled back, dark hair immaculate. He looked, disturbingly, completely at ease.
“Oh, good.” Tom said. “You’re home.”
Harry stared at him.
“What.” Harry said slowly. “Did you do.”
Tom glanced around the room, thoughtful. “I made some adjustments.”
“Adjustments.” Harry repeated.
“Yes.”
“You removed every mirror from the flat.”
“They were unnecessary.”
“You bolted the curtains to the wall.”
“They let in too much light.”
“You replaced all the lighting with.” Harry gestured wildly. “Whatever this is.”
Tom followed the motion of his hand. “It is more efficient.”
“I could see before!”
Tom frowned, faintly. “You still can.”
“Barely.”
Harry dragged a hand down his face, exhaustion finally crashing into him full force.
“This is my home.” He said, trying for calm and failing. “You can’t just come in and decide to turn it into... into-”
He flailed for a word.
Tom waited patiently.
“-a gothic funeral.” Harry finished.
Tom looked… offended.
“It is functional.” He said coolly. “The previous arrangement was not.”
“Functional for what.” Harry demanded.
Tom opened his mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
“For us.” He said carefully.
Harry stared at him.
“For us.” He repeated.
“Yes.”
“And what.” Harry said, voice tight. “Exactly does that mean.”
Tom hesitated, just a fraction, then inclined his head.
“I have specific needs.” He said. “I believed I was also accommodating you by making the space more orderly.”
“You removed my plants.” Harry said faintly.
“They required sunlight.”
“Yes.” Harry snapped. “That is generally how plants work.”
Tom blinked. “I will replace them.”
“With what.” Harry demanded. “Ferns that thrive on existential dread?”
There was a beat.
“I can research compatible alternatives.” Tom said seriously.
Harry laughed again, breathless and wild.
“This is insane.” He said. “I leave for one shift and come back to this.”
Tom studied him, something cautious creeping into his expression.
“You are displeased.” He said.
“Yes.” Harry said flatly. “I am somewhat displeased.”
“I did not intend to upset you. At all.” Tom said. “I assumed you would appreciate the improvements.”
“Why would I appreciate living in permanent dusk.” Harry asked. “With no mirrors and industrial-strength curtains.”
Tom did not answer immediately.
The room seemed very quiet all of a sudden.
Harry noticed, distantly, that the shadows near the windows did not quite behave the way shadows should.
He ignored it.
“We share this space.” Harry continued. “You don’t get to make unilateral decisions by yourself.”
Tom nodded slowly. “I see.”
There was a pause.
“I will reverse some of the changes. ” Tom said at last.
“Some.” Harry echoed.
“Yes.”
Harry sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He said. “I’m too tired to fight about curtains.”
Tom inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Harry turned toward the hallway, then stopped.
“And Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Never.” Harry said, very deliberately. “Redecorate the common areas without asking me first.”
Tom met his gaze.
“Of course.” He said, sounding honest.
This time, his smile did not reach his eyes.
________________________________________________
Harry pushed open the door of their flat, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and dropped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. Why grocery store trips had to be so vexing, he would never understand.
Then he noticed, the heating was off, and the flat smelled faintly of… something metallic? Harry wrinkled his nose. Probably just the leftover curry from the night before.
He had just taken the backpack off his shoulder, and placed it on the ground, when he realized he was hungry. Not ravenous, not dramatic-hungry. Just, I could eat something before I collapse into the duvet, hungry.
“Tom?” He called, wandering toward the kitchen. “Do we have any of th-”
And then he stopped.
There, in the fridge, neatly arranged on the middle shelf in identical transparent containers, were small portions of a deep red liquid, carefully sealed with lids. Not labeled, not suspiciously hidden, but… definitely out of place.
Harry frowned. He picked up a container, holding it at arm’s length. “Uh… what even is this? Strawberry, Cherry smoothie?”
Tom appeared behind him, quietly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. “Ah. You have discovered my sustenance.” He said.
Harry blinked. “…Your… sustenance?”
“Yes. Liquid food.” Tom clarified. “Stored for convenience.”
Harry turned the container around. “Liquid food. Right. That’s… um… a thing you eat regularly?”
“Yes. It is for me.” Tom said. His voice was calm, casual, almost conversational, like they were discussing tea preferences. “Efficient, portable, and best consumed as fresh as possible.”
Harry squinted at the deep red liquid. “…You… drink this? Only this?”
Tom inclined his head slightly. “Yes. Daily. Occasionally more than once. Sometimes microwave heated.”
Harry froze, then forced himself to laugh nervously. “…Right. Well. That’s… fine. Totally fine. Nothing unusual at all. Totally normal. Like a smoothie.” He waved a hand vaguely. “…Normal. I’m just… tired. That’s all.”
He didn’t really want to ask the finer details on why his flat mate only drank dark liquids every day.
Tom studied him thoughtfully. “You do not appear particularly concerned.”
Harry waved again, more desperately this time. “…I’m concerned. But I also… think I’ll eat a sandwich instead. Yes. Sandwiches are safer.”
Tom nodded serenely. “As you prefer. I will now start to prepare my sustenance.”
Harry backed out of the kitchen, half-expecting the containers to sprout legs and follow him. “…Right. Sandwiches. Definitely safer than whatever that was.”
Once he was safely on the sofa, he leaned back, rubbing his forehead and mumbled to himself. “…I feel like I live with someone who... well. Someone unusual. Very unusual. But also polite. And… organized. And probably has a degree in… I don’t know… meal replacement research science?”
Tom’s calm voice drifted from the kitchen. “It is important to maintain order.”
Harry groaned. “…Of course it is.”
How come Tom heard his unimportant ramblings?
He sank into the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the fridge. Not the deep red liquid, not the neat rows, not the casual way Tom had referred to it as sustenance. He would deal with it later.
Eventually. Probably.
Maybe not tonight.
“…I should probably call Hermione.” He muttered to himself. “…Or Ron. Maybe both.”
They’d know what to make of… whatever his current living situation was.
________________________________________________
Harry sat on a low bench in the park, the autumn leaves crunching beneath his shoes. He had spent the morning at work trying not to think about the fridge situation, but it was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those neat little containers lined up like tiny red warnings.
He was fidgeting with his jacket zipper when Hermione appeared, brisk and purposeful, clutching her book of the week. Ron lumbered behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes scanning the park as if it might hide a hidden dragon.
“Harry.” Hermione said, sounding mildly exasperated. “You sounded… urgent on the phone. What’s going on?”
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “…It’s Tom. My flatmate. There’s something… unusual about him. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s… strange. Very strange.”
Ron plopped down beside him. “Unusual how? Does he wear a dark cloak and stalk the streets at night?”
Harry grimaced. “No! I mean… not exactly. He’s polite, organized, intense. Doesn’t have guests. Drinks… only liquids. Red- dark red liquids. In containers. All stored neatly.”
Hermione’s eyebrows rose, not quite alarmed but definitely concerned. “Red… liquids? As in tomato juice or something else?”
Harry waved a hand. “…I don’t know! And I don’t want to ask because that would be… weird. But I do know it’s his only food, apparently. And he’s calm about it, extremely calm. And tidy. And the flat is… different. Everything is different. Literally.”
Ron leaned back against the bench, clearly trying to look unconcerned. “Sounds… normal enough.”
Harry threw him a look. “Normal? Normal is not having rows of sealed red containers in the fridge that you’re not supposed to ask about! Normal is not worrying that your flatmate might… do something very, very strange! Again!”
Hermione reached over and placed a steadying hand on his arm. “Okay. Breathe. Let’s think logically. Have you observed a pattern? Times he eats, drinks, sleeps?”
Harry groaned. “…Yes. But I still don’t understand any of it. I feel like I need… advice. Someone who deals with… unusual roommate situations.”
Ron perked up. “You mean… like a column, or a forum? People online know everything. They’ll tell you how to handle weird flatmates, probably.”
Harry froze. “…The internet? Yes. Perfect. That’s… step one. Someone must know. Someone has to. I’ll write everything down. Every odd thing he’s done, everything I’ve noticed. Maybe they can make sense of it.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Just… be careful how you phrase it. Stick to observable facts. No dramatizing.”
Harry nodded vigorously in agreement. “…Facts. Definitely. That’s… step one.”
Ron then snorted, as a ridiculous thought came to his mind. “Sure. Just describe it like a horror story, and maybe they’ll tell you he’s fine. Or that he’s a wand waving, broom flying wizard. Or…”
Hermione elbowed him sharply. “Ronald!”
They fell silent for a moment, watching a squirrel hop along the path. Then Hermione leaned closer. “So… other than the liquids, any actual incidents? Anything that seems… alarming?”
Harry hesitated. “…Well, he removed all the mirrors from the flat.”
Ron whistled. “Whoa. That’s… extreme. What did you do?”
“I didn’t want to question it more than necessary.” Harry admitted. “I mean… he’s polite, right? And very… serious about rules. I just… let it happen. But now I realize I don’t have a mirror to check my hair in the morning. Or… anything.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “No mirrors at all?”
“Nope. Vanished. Just… empty walls where they used to be. And the lighting is weird. Like it flickers at odd intervals.”
Ron rubbed his chin. “Sounds like he’s a very particular guy. Or… something else. But hey, no pets, right?”
Harry blinked. “Yes. No pets. But… sometimes I think… he’s listening even when he’s not in the same room.”
Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Harry. You’re imagining things.”
“I… maybe.” Harry said, but he didn’t feel convincing. “But it’s… peculiar. I can’t even describe it properly.”
Ron shrugged. “Well, you know us. We’ve seen weird. You just need some… advice.”
Harry hummed in acknowledgement. Already imagining the post online. Something like, My flat mate is extremely unusual. Polite, organized, only drinks liquids, removed all mirrors, enforces rules about rooms and doors…
He exhaled, looking up at the branches above. “…At least someone will understand. Know what to make of… whatever my current living situation is.”
Hermione smiled encouragingly. “You’ll get help. And in the meantime, we’re here.”
Ron leaned back with a grin. “Yep. And if it gets too weird, we’ll come bail you out. Maybe bring snacks. Definitely snacks.”
Harry laughed despite himself. “Thanks, guys. I’ll… try to survive until the advice internet gives me.”
________________________________________________
Harry sat cross-legged at the kitchen table, laptop balanced precariously on a stack of cookbooks. A notebook open beside him, pages already filled with scribbles and half-formed diagrams. He had committed himself entirely to one task.
Figuring out what was wrong with his flatmate.
He typed carefully, deliberately, every word chosen with the precision of someone writing a thesis.
Subject: Help! My new flatmate exhibits extremely unusual behaviors
Hello.
Recently a new flatmate moved into my two-bedroom flat. Everything seemed normal at first, but I have gotten increasingly concerned about several, following behaviors:
He consumes only liquids. Dark red liquids. Stored in identical sealed containers. I do not know the exact nature of the liquid, and I have not asked what, but they are definitely not typical drinks like juice or protein shakes.
He removed all the mirrors from the flat. There are no mirrors anywhere. None.
He requests permission to enter rooms I thought were shared. Sometimes he avoids entering rooms even when invited.
He does not receive visitors. Ever.
The lighting in the flat flickers at irregular intervals.
Daily life happens in eternal darkness. The curtains cannot be moved.
He displays extreme calmness and organization in all actions.
I am unsure whether these behaviors are simply idiosyncratic or indicative of something more serious. I would greatly appreciate advice on how to live peacefully while maintaining my personal peace of mind.
Sincerely,
The_chosen_boy
He stared at the Send button, finger hovering. “…Yes. Facts. Very clear. Reasonable. Polite. Not dramatic.”
He exhaled and clicked Send.
Almost immediately, the replies began to appear. Harry leaned in, reading each one with meticulous care.
First reply:
Hi The_chosen_boy! Could he just be health-conscious? Beet juice only, very tidy. I’ve seen it before.
Harry frowned. “…Beet juice… Not exactly reassuring.” He scribbled in his notebook, red liquid equals possibly vegetable juice? Or more unusual?
Second reply:
No mirrors? That’s extreme. Could be goth interior design. Or maybe he’s just moody.
Harry muttered, “…Goth interior design? Perhaps, but why the rules about rooms? Why avoid entering without invitation?” He added, investigate rule enforcement further.
Third reply:
Talking helps. Could just be private routines. Or maybe a spy.
Harry perked up. Spy? Possibly. Note for observation, check for secret entrances and listening devices.
Fourth reply:
Are you sure your flatmate isn’t a vampire?
Harry froze, rereading it three times. “…Vampire?” He paused. “Wait. Only drinks liquids. Avoids sunlight as much as possible. Extremely organized. No mirrors. Rules about rooms. Calm, intense… Possibly superhuman?” He scribbled furiously, consider vampire hypothesis. Investigate carefully.
Fifth reply:
Perfectly polite nightmare. Let him have his containers and observe from afar. Safety first.
Harry muttered. “…Perfectly polite nightmare. Accurate. Not helpful.”
Sixth reply:
Label the liquids. Photograph the flat. Knowledge is power. Garlic necklace would be optional.
Harry blinked. "…Garlic necklace. Domestic issue, not folklore.” He added to his notes, focus on observable phenomena, not myths.
Seventh reply:
Check if he casts shadows differently or reacts unusually to mirrors. Could indicate… unusual traits.
Harry’s pencil hovered over the notebook. Mirrors gone. Shadows flicker? Check lighting anomalies. Observe reflection behavior indirectly.
Harry leaned back, rubbing his eyes. “…Okay. Some helpful. Some ridiculous. Some alarming.” But he didn’t pause. He opened a new tab and started compiling a list of Tom’s behaviors, one by one.
- Only consumes red liquids -> “sustenance mystery”
- No mirrors -> “reflection avoidance”
- Room access rules -> “ritualistic behavior”
- No visitors -> “social isolation or secrecy”
- Calm, organized, meticulous -> “hyper discipline”
- Odd lighting flickers -> “environmental manipulation?”
- Intense gaze, notices small details -> “heightened perception”
He scribbled little notes beside each. Compare against folklore? Document observable effects. Watch for nocturnal patterns.
Then he dove into forums, research articles, and obscure columns again, typing his final conclusions in like a detective.
I have a flatmate who avoids sunlight, drinks only red liquids, removed all mirrors, enforces room access rules, and displays extreme calm and awareness. Could this indicate a vampire or vampire-like traits?
Replies poured in.
Maybe he’s just a goth. Extremely tidy goth.
Could be a magician or illusionist. Or extremely health-conscious.
Vampire is technically possible. Sunlight avoidance, mirrors, red liquid (blood) diet.
Are you sure he’s not just very socially anxious?
Check for fangs. Test for superhuman hearing.
Super strength and agility? Optional. Observe cautiously.
Weird roommate? Just document everything.
Harry scribbled feverishly in his notebook, muttering to himself. “…Liquid only… mirrors gone… sunlight avoidance… meticulous… heightened perception… possible superhuman hearing… Maybe not just a tidy goth.”
He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Alright. Observation complete. Analysis in progress. The hypothesis… the only one that fits all the observable phenomena…”
He exhaled, heart thumping. “…Tom is a vampire. Calm, meticulous, superhuman vampire. Blood as sustenance. Super hearing, strength, and agility. All explained...”
He closed the notebook with a dramatic thump. “…Of course! How did I not see it before? Obvious, really. A perfectly polite nightmare makes sense now.”
He stared at the screen for a long moment. “…Tomorrow… I will proceed cautiously. Collect more data. Confirm nocturnal patterns. Stay calm.”
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he whispered.
…Maybe he should get a wooden stake. Or a silver cross. Just in case. Or… maybe just wait until it’s polite to ask.
After all, Harry was no foolish village folk from the middle ages...
________________________________________________
Harry had been pacing the flat for ten minutes, hands tugging at the sleeves of his sweater, muttering under his breath. He’d rehearsed every possible scenario in his head a dozen times. How to stay calm, how to avoid accidental offense, how to act normal while living with an undead being.
And yet, now that Tom was standing there, perfectly still in his usual black, hair immaculate, posture impeccable, Harry felt nothing but chaos.
“Good evening.” Tom said, voice smooth and calm, as if he’d been expecting Harry’s nervous energy.
“Uh... Good evening.” Harry said, words tumbling out too fast. “…I mean. Evening.” He ran a hand through his hair. “…Look, I’ve been meaning to ask-”
He stopped. He could feel his heart hammering. He could feel the quiet intensity of Tom’s gaze on him, the way he noticed the tiniest shift in posture, the faintest twitch.
“…Ask what?” Tom prompted, calm as a still lake.
Harry swallowed. “…Okay.” He said, taking a deep breath. “…I’m just going to say it. I mean, it’s been… I’ve been living with you for a little bit over a week now, and there are a few… unusual things.”
Tom inclined his head slightly. “…Unusual how?”
Harry flailed with his hands. “…Well! You only drink liquids. Red liquids. Every day. Stored in containers. All the mirrors are gone. You avoid sunlight. You have rules about… rooms. And doors. And… you’re calm. Way too calm. Extremely organized. And-”
Tom’s expression didn’t change. “…Yes?”
Harry blinked. He had rehearsed the phrasing a thousand times in his head, but all that came out was. “…Are you… a vampire?”
There. He’d said it. The words hung in the air. Heavy. Awkward. Possibly irreversible.
Tom’s head tilted ever so slightly, like he was amused, or perhaps intrigued. “…I see.”
Harry’s stomach did a somersault. “…Right. I mean. Not that I’m… accusing… I just-”
“You were observant.” Tom said calmly. “And… careful.”
Harry blinked. “…Yes. Careful. Very careful.” He gestured vaguely toward the fridge, the empty walls, the flickering lights. “…I’ve been… thinking. And observing. And planning. And… um…”
“You’re nervous.” Tom said softly.
Harry froze. “…Yes.”
A quiet pause passed between them. The kind of pause that makes every small sound. The hum of the fridge, the faint creak of the floorboards, seem magnified.
“…And… polite.” Tom added, with just a hint of something Harry couldn’t quite name. A smirk? A trace of warmth?
Harry’s brain short-circuited. “…I- uh… you’re polite too. And… organized. And calm. Very calm.”
Tom’s eyes softened imperceptibly. “…It seems we have both been… learning about each other.”
Harry swallowed hard, and then, unable to help himself, blurted again. “…So… if you are a vampire… are you… okay with me… living here with you?”
For a heartbeat, the flat felt impossibly quiet.
Then Tom’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “…I am. You are… cautious, humorous, and respectful. That will suffice.”
Harry exhaled in relief, a laugh slipping out of him. “…Right. Okay. Suffice. Good. That’s… good.”
Tom’s gaze lingered on him, calm, steady, and somehow… approving. “…I trust our arrangement will continue… smoothly.”
Harry’s shoulders relaxed for the first time all day. “…Yes. Smoothly. Definitely. And… maybe, eventually… we can… adjust the rules about rooms and doors… a little?”
“…We shall see.” Tom said, voice calm, but there was a glint of humor there now, just enough to make Harry’s chest feel lighter.
And somewhere deep down, Harry realized that yes, living with a vampire flatmate. Extremely polite, impossibly organized, unnervingly calm, might not be the end of the world.
“…And… um.” Harry said, hesitating. “…Maybe I can make more sandwiches tomorrow?”
Tom inclined his head slightly. “…I would not object.”
Harry grinned like an idiot. “…Right. Excellent. Sandwiches. Not lethal. Good.”
And for the first time, the flat didn’t feel strange or terrifying.
It felt… like home.
________________________________________________
Extra: Harry Potter’s Notes on Vampire Behavior (Very Much a Tom Riddle Edition)
Compiled out of necessity, edited frequently, accuracy disputed.
1. Invitation Is Mandatory
Tom cannot enter a private space without explicit verbal permission.
- Gestures do not count.
- Sarcasm does not count.
- Saying “I guess you can come in” does count. Unfortunately.
He pretends this is a minor inconvenience.
It is not.
He secretly hates it.
2. Mirrors Are Unreliable
Tom does not appear in mirrors or reflective surfaces consistently.
- Cheap hallway mirrors: Never
- Glass doors: Sometimes
- Polished metal: Rarely
He calls it “an aesthetic limitation.”
I call it suspicious.
3. Thresholds Matter
Thresholds are serious business.
He once paused mid-conversation, half a step back, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him.
Do not even mention thresholds.
4. Red Liquids Only
Tom’s diet is exclusively liquid and red. Meaning blood.
- Stored meticulously in identical containers
- Source: “Legal” and not to be questioned
- Praise for restraint: Offensive
He drinks slowly, methodically, as if observing some unwritten code.
It is unsettling… and fascinating.
5. Sunlight Is Not Fatal, Just Rude
Sunlight: Not lethal.
- Causes migraines
- Spoils mood
- Occasionally makes skin smoke
Tom calls it “aggressively inconsiderate.”
I… agree.
6. Garlic Is Useless
Garlic does nothing.
Tom will eat it to prove a point.
I do not understand him.
7. Religious Symbols Are Decorative
Crosses, prayers, altars, holy water: Ineffective.
Belief, he says, is “Doing all the heavy lifting.”
He looks smug.
I do not like that.
8. Lying Causes Discomfort
Direct lies are physically unpleasant for him.
- Evasion is acceptable
- Omission is preferred
- Changing the subject is an art
Press him gently and he is… astonishingly honest.
9. Cold Skin, No Heartbeat
Touch: Cold
Heartbeat: Absent
Glitter and sparkle: Nonexistent
He insists none of this is medically relevant.
I remain skeptical.
10. Does Not Sleep, Only “Rests”
Tom does not sleep, only sits perfectly still in the dark.
Watching him is worse than any nap I’ve ever taken.
11. Feeding Instincts Are Immediate
The scent of blood triggers an automatic reaction.
He can control himself, but does not enjoy it.
12. Excellent Hearing
He hears:
- Heartbeats
- Breathing changes
- Mutters under one’s breath
- Bodily functions
Privacy is a suggestion, not a guarantee.
13. Politeness Matters
Tom responds to manners.
He remembers slights.
Grudges are heirlooms. Underlined, etched in memory.
14. Vampires Are Complicated
Charming. Lonely. Controlled.
Not harmless.
Just… complicated.
15. Domestic Conclusion
Tom Riddle is polite.
Tom Riddle is dangerous.
Tom Riddle is my flatmate.
…And somehow, I think I can survive. Maybe.