Chapter Text
Harry didn’t give a second thought to taking off his glove, It was a brown leather fingerless thing. Sirius had given the pair to him once he noticed how bothered Harry was by the stupid scar that stained his hand. Though Harry tended to only wear one of the gloves, on his scared hand.
Something had gone wrong when he was writing with the blood quill, Madam Pompfrey suspected it was because of how deep the cuts went into his hand and how many times it had happened. Never giving it a proper chance to heal until the damage had already set in.
Maybe it was the biting cold that seemed to fill the air today, but his hand had been hurting all day. If he was back home he’d get the twins to give him some of that special pain relief they whipped up after Umbridge started with those stupid blood quills.Unfortunately he was not home though, no of course that stupid time turner had to blow up in his face and send him all the way here to the 1940s.
He came back to the dorms early, everyone else was still in the great hall having dinner. Harry had tried to eat dinner, to focus on the food in front of him, but he just couldn’t. The pain in his hand was getting too great to ignore, he had ignored it all day, pushed through the fiery pain engulfing his hand. Through every class, every assignment, he had to deal with the pain that only worsened when a quill was in his hand. He just couldn’t do it any longer so he left, barely grazing at his dinner.
As soon as he had gotten back to the slytherin dorms he had torn the offending garment off and immediately ran his hand under warm water. The fiery pain quickly turned to a dull throb. The relief was so hypnotizing that he didn’t notice another presence enter the room.
“Evans,” Tom Riddle's unmistakable voice echoed throughout the room.
Harry froze for a moment at the sound of his unmistakable voice, before scrambling to hide his hand behind his back. He cursed himself for discarding his glove so carelessly, he glanced fruitlessly at where his glove laid, right next to Tom Riddle.
“Riddle,” Harry exclaimed, surprised. “I uh didn’t hear you come in,” he laughed nervously.
“You didn’t eat anything at dinner, as your prefect it is my job to check on you.” Tom said matter of factly.
Harry rolled his eyes, there Riddle goes again with that prefect bullshit. He just loved using the excuse that he was the slytherin prefect to butt his nose into Harry’s business.
“I ate a little,” he objected.
“A little as you so aptly put it does not constitute a substantial meal,” Tom argued.
Harry rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, and sighed. “Can you just pass me my glove?”
Tom hummed and picked up the discarded leather glove that laid on the back of the common room sofa next to him. He examined the glove in his hand, running his thumb across the leather.
“Manners Harry,” Tom chastised him.
“Please,” he grumbled.
“Hmm” Tom hummed satisfactorily, before walking towards him. He held the glove out towards him, offering it to him.
Harry let out a relieved sigh, glad that Tom wasn’t going to drag this out any longer. He really wanted his glove back on right now, he hated the thought of anyone seeing his butchered hand. He would even sleep with his glove on to prevent the chance of anyone in the dorm seeing it while he slept or early in the morning before he had put it on. He was so careful, so he felt like an utter fool that he had been caught now.
He reached out to grab the glove with his unscared hand. As soon as he had grasped the glove still in Tom’s hold, his other hand shot out, quicker than a snitch, and grabbed the hand behind Harry’s back. He brought his hand up to his face and studied the ugly scar etched into his skin “I must not tell lies”. Harry tried to pull his hand away as soon as he had registered what Tom had done, but Riddle had tightened his grip as soon as Harry had tried to resist.
“I had always wondered what exactly you insisted on hiding underneath that glove of yours.” Tom's other hand released the hold he had on the glove, he brought that hand up and examined Harry’s hand thoroughly.
“I’ve got a scar, so what? Can I have my hand back now?” Harry snapped, annoyed and pissed off.
“I’d say this is more than just a scar, Evans. Blood quills have been outlawed for more than a century, and for good reason.” He traced the words inscribed on Harry’s hand with his thumb, a dark gleam in his eyes that Harry didn’t know how to read.
“Yeah whatever, can I have my hand back now?” He tried to pull his hand out of his hold once more, but Tom’s grip didn’t relent.
“This is serious Evans, long term use of blood quills can have adverse effects on the user.” Tom scolded.
“Oh yes, because I did this for fun, just an average Tuesday for me.” Harry snapped, trying fruitlessly to get away from the other slytherin boy.
Tom sighed, “I did not intend to imply that you had done this to yourself, Evans, simply that it was reckless of you to hide the fact that this had happened to you. Hogwarts has exceptional medical facilities, it would do you well to take advantage of that fact.”
“Uh huh, yeah, can I have my hand back now?” Harry suspected he would be ignored again.
Riddle narrowed his eyes at Harry, before dragging him over to the common room sofa and forcing him to sit down. He held Harry’s hand in his lap, massaging it gently. Harry wished he could say that it didn’t bring him relief from the pain, because it did.
“Am I right to assume that this occurred before your time in Hogwarts? Whilst you were still in Europe?” Tom glanced at him, already sure of the answer but felt the need to ask anyway.
Harry leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes, “yeah, it happened before I got here.” Technically it wasn’t a lie, it did happen before he went back in time, before he got here.
Tom hum, deft fingers still massaging his aching hand. “I assume this is what's been bothering you.”
Harry opened his eyes surprised, he didn’t realise that anyone had noticed that something had been bothering him.
“Oh please, don’t look so surprised, Evans. Although I commend your efforts to hide such a vulnerability, you are not nearly talented enough to hide such a thing from me.”
“Creep,” Harry muttered under his breath.
Tom rolled his eyes, “don’t be so dramatic Evans.”
“You’re the one that tracked me down during dinner because you didn’t think I had eaten enough.” Harry rebutted, offended.
“Good thing I did, who knows how long you would’ve gone without divulging this information.” Tom argued, not letting Harry get another word in before starting his next point.
“We’ll go see Madam Pomfrey in the morning, get some proper treatment sorted out for your hand.” Tom stated matter of factly, like his word was law and Harry would absolutely do whatever he said.
“We?” Harry inquired as to the use of the noun, why on earth would Tom Riddle want to come with him to the medical wing?!
“Of course, you can hardly be trusted to go on your own volition given the fact that you have yet to seek medical treatment and you’ve been here for nearly a year.” He sounded almost offended that Harry hadn’t sought out medical treatment, disappointed too.
“Do I get a say in this?” Harry drawled dryly, fed up but used to Riddle’s bizarre behaviour by now.
Tom leveled him with a look before ignoring his question, “are you hungry, Evans? Given the fact that you barely at a thing at supper.”
Harry cringed, he still couldn’t stomach the thought of food. He knew that most of it was purely psychological, a byproduct of growing up with the Dursleys. He knew not to waste food, it being scarce at times when it came to him. His uncle seemed to get a weird sense of joy when it came to withholding food from Harry, he’d take any excuse he could to deny him it. If Harry ever threw up or didn’t finish his plate then that was it, no food for Harry for the rest of the week. Sometimes he was able to sneak a biscuit from Mrs Figg when she was watching him, but that was it.
Unfortunately it left him with a terrible habit of not eating when he was injured or feeling a little under the weather. The thought of eating at those times was enough to make him sick, anxiety would rack his bones whenever he had a cold and was subsequently given some soup from Mrs Weasley. It didn’t take long for Hermonie and Ron to pick up on this quirk of his, they’d both take turns on “Harry Duty” as they oh so lovingly called it. Whenever he was sick or injured they’d both take turns on bringing him something light to eat: crackers, soup, toast, fruit, yogurt, nuts, trail mix, etc.
They never made a big deal out of it, not once. In fact the only time it was ever mentioned was when Hermonie initially asked him about his concerning habit. Other than that the two of them never mentioned it, they’d just bring him something light to eat whenever they saw he wasn’t eating and then sit by him keeping him company whilst he nibbled on whatever they brought. Harry couldn’t ask for better friends, he really missed them.
The displeasure must have been obvious on his face because Tom didn’t even argue the fact before he was nodding his head. “Alright, why don’t you head to bed then, we’re up early tomorrow so that we can see Madam Pomfrey before breakfast.”
Harry studied him for a moment, he didn’t much like being told what to do by Riddle of all people. He couldn’t deny however, that if he went to bed now he’d be able to avoid the curious prodding by his dorm mates as to why he left dinner prematurely. It also means he wouldn’t have to see Riddle's stupid face anymore.
Harry nodded his head, “alright then.”
He went to take his hand back, the one that was still being gently massaged by Riddle of all people, but found himself unable to when Riddle tightened his grips upon Harry’s attempt. Harry opened his mouth to remind him that he needed his hand back if he was to head to bed but was unable to get any words out. Because before Harry could speak, Tom had whispered a quiet warming charm onto his hand, and slipped his glove back on for Harry before releasing his hand. Harry felt his face warm at the action, he wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling, embarrassment maybe? Yeah that's got to be it.
Harry nodded at Tom in thanks before he once again set off in the direction of his dorm, this time with nothing anchoring him down to prevent him from moving.
Just before Harry could disappear upstairs, Tom’s voice called out. “Goodnight Evans.”
“...Night Riddle.” Harry returned the gesture, that being the only polite thing to do, before disappearing upstairs for bed. Content in the thought that he wouldn’t have to see Tom Marvolo Riddle for the rest of the night.
___________________________
Tom grinned foolishly as he thought back to the flustered face of one Harry Evans. It was so easy to fluster the boy, show him a little extra care and poof, red in the face. On one hand it spoke to the level of neglect that his poor Harry went through at the hands of his relatives in Europe, and that angered Tom greatly. But on the other hand it benefited him a great deal, so he had resolved not to think on the matter too harshly.
Tom's face returned to its usual blank stoic expression, just in time for his followers to walk in. All it took was a look before Abarxas came over, standing in front of where Tom was reclined gracefully on the sofa.
He bowed respectfully before speaking, “is everything alright with Evans, my lord?”
They had all developed a strange sense of fondness for the peculiar boy so Tom in his oh so gracious mercy decided to overlook Malfoy's ignorance in thinking he had the right to ask that of his lord.
“He will be fine, Abraxas. I have an order I wish for you to carry out.”
“Anything, my lord.”
“Use your connections to find out about anyone who has an affinity for blood quills in Europe, and find out what obscure school Evans attended before Hogwarts, or what tutor he had. The others may aid you in this mission if you so wish.”
“Blood quills?!” Abraxas asked, shocked. “Has Evans-”
“Abraxas” Tom warned, cutting the boy off.
“Apologies, my lord.” He bowed apologetically before taking his leave once Riddle had waved him off.
___________________
Tom, the bastard, didn’t forget about his promise of taking Harry down to the medical wing bright and early before breakfast. He had roused Harry from his sleep criminally early, and Harry is sure he’s gonna be super tired all day now. So he begrudgingly got up and dressed and the two of them made their way down to see Madam Pomfrey.
If he thought that Tom’s chastising was bad, then Madam Pomfrey’s was devastating. He figured that Pomfrey’s berating wouldn’t have been so bad, he guessed that it would’ve been similar to the one he received before. He was so so so wrong. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have mellowed out through the years, this younger version of her while still kind, was strict and had a sharp tongue.
After she was done telling him off for hiding something so serious, she was quick to rub ointments into his skin and wrap a bandage around his hand. She rattled off instructions of care, though she seemed to be talking to Tom more than she was to him. The pomfrey of his time did a similar thing, always deferring to Ron or Hermonie when it came to rattling off instructions of care whenever he was injured or sick.
It irked him that Tom was essentially replacing Ron and Hermonie, though he supposes he can’t really get mad at Madam Pomfrey for that considering that she hasn’t even met them yet.
The rest of the day continued as normal, Harry avoided Tom as he usually did. He went to class, hung out with the friends he made in the other houses, and went to meals. The only difference throughout the day was that his hand wasn’t burning like someone had put ten thousand cigarettes out on it. Tom’s little followers also kept shooting him sad, almost pitying looks which he was choosing to ignore.
The rest of the week followed much the same, with the added factor of Riddle making sure he took care of this hand and occasionally taking it on himself to ease the pain that didn’t dim with the help of the ointment with warming charms and hand massages. Which he will concede is a little weird, and Harry put the blame on his loneliness and homesickness as to why he hadn’t put his foot down yet.
And if some tutor in the south of France, who was infamous for abusing his students with a particular fondness for using blood quills during punishments for his students, wound up dead in the dark magic district. Mainly due to the fact that it was believed that he was the one that hurt Harry, well no one who knew him would complain.