FICLET: The Rarest of Holidays ~ Harry Potter ~ Harry/Tom ~ Teen

[batsutousai]

Title: The Rarest of Holidays
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Warnings: Alternate Universe
Summary: Tom and Harry take a holiday from Tom's blooming empire.

A/N: Every winter season, I send out cards to anyone willing to give me their address, and I decided two winters ago to start adding fic to the cards. This year, I settled on the very loose prompt of getting stuck in a cabin because of a snowstorm. Which some fics held to better than others, whoops. XD

This fic takes place in a universe, where Harry somehow ended up in the orphanage with Tom after spending a few years suffering at the hands of the Dursleys.

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Holidays for Tom and Harry were few and far between, especially once Tom had officially dubbed his chosen name – though he would always be 'Tom' to Harry; the benefit of being his longest companion and the closest person to the ruins of his heart – and begun building up his army in earnest. Which was only to be expected when leading a rebellion, and neither were particularly sore at being expected to remain close to home, especially as it involved remaining close to each other. (Familiarity might breed contempt for some people, but it was often a comfort, for them, likely due to their childhood and being the only two Slytherins who truly understood what it meant to be abandoned by their whole families to the 'tender' mercies of muggles.)

Still, there were times when Tom's temper ran a little too thin, and that was when Harry would step in and insist he needed a holiday somewhere. (And it was always Harry who needed the holiday, not Tom, because the rising dark lord would never step away from his plans for himself. And Tom had to know Harry was manipulating him into taking a holiday, but he never complained, and Harry sometimes wondered if part of his refusal to take care of his own mental health wasn't simply a way to save face in front of his followers.)

Many of their enforced holidays had and would take place around Tom's birthday, as it had always been a particularly unhappy time for him. (Harry's own birthday – some uncertain day in summer; he'd eventually settled on the final day of July to celebrate it – tended to be far less gloomy, perhaps due to the excess of sunlight and warmth. Not to mention that he had been freed from his horrendous muggle guardians and met Tom in the summer.)

The week after one such birthday – after the sixth or so time Tom had cursed one of his followers in a fit of pique, and at least a dozen different masked faces had turned towards Harry, their wearers projecting pleading or desperation strongly enough that even the most pathetic of legilimens would be able to sense it – Harry collected a debt from an associate and took Tom to a little cottage that was well-removed from most neighbours. It was also in an area where a great deal of snow had recently fallen, and personal access roads were unlikely to be dug out unless absolutely necessary by the residents.

"Nice. Quiet," was Tom's opinion of the place upon their arrival.

Harry hummed an agreement – the décor was tasteful, the furniture looked comfortable, and Harry's associate had invested in heated flooring, so the place was kept warm, despite the piles of snow blocking much of the view out the windows. And then, because of a standing agreement from one of their early holidays, he deftly retrieved Tom's wand from his holster – almost certainly the only one with both the permission and know-how to pull such a move off without suffering bodily harm – and left the receiving room to find a cabinet, spell it, and lock both of their wands inside for the week. (Unless there was danger to their persons which required more magic than they could cast wandlessly, in which case the spell on the cabinet would release and their wands would return to them via a reverse summoning charm; a spell which had been almost completely Harry's work, save the reverse summoning charm, which Tom had insisted on and help him build into the spell so they could get back to enjoying their holiday.)

Tom snorted and didn't bother following Harry to see to locking up the wands. When Harry finished, he found him on the more plush of the living room couches, wrapped up in an afghan that had very likely been across the back of the couch, and lightly snoring.

Harry took a moment to enjoy the sight of Tom sleeping peacefully in a way he never managed in their lavish home just outside of London, where also resided two house-elves and three of Tom's followers, all intended to look after the building, grounds, and owls; collect and sort the post; assist Tom's followers and the very rare unaffiliated guest; and manage any additional chores and the meals. Which, while having the additional help was a must for the sakes of both of their sanity – Tom would completely forget or just outright refuse to see to any of it, and Harry would work himself to exhaustion trying to keep up with everything – Tom tended to sleep poorly when there were people other than Harry around. Which, while a part of Harry would always enjoy being the only one Tom trusted implicitly, he sometimes wished Tom were slightly less paranoid.

(Then again, Harry couldn't sleep unless Tom was in the room. And the moment Tom's breathing pattern changed, Harry would be awake and alert. So perhaps they each had their own particular sleep issues.)

Certain that Tom would be passed out for hours – he had rather a lot of sleep to catch up on – Harry made his way into the kitchen to see what he had to work with.

Some length of time later – a rather long length, judging by the frosted three-tiered cake sitting in the middle of an array of sweets and a couple of slightly healthier snacks, which had taken over the whole of the four-seater dining room table – Harry was brought out of his baking fugue by Tom's warm laughter and arms wrapping around him from behind.

"Oh, dear," Harry heard himself say as he eyed his work. (He also relaxed back against Tom, soaking up the rare display of affection; even when they were alone and behind the locked doors of their bedroom, back home, Tom was reserved in a way that most would expect of a dark lord. Only during especially quiet holidays would Harry expect hugs or cuddling, and he usually had to wait a day or two for Tom to relax a bit.)

"Perhaps I should have locked you out of the kitchen before I slept," Tom said, and the sleep had clearly done him a world of good – or else it was the lack of other living creatures – because there was a well of warm cheer in his voice that Harry rarely got to enjoy, any more.

"Maybe," Harry conceded, because that was rather a lot of food, even for him. Most of it being sweet was to be expected; a childhood of being denied sweets, then the introduction of them at Hogwarts, had left him with a particularly worrisome sweet tooth, which he did his best not to feed where Tom's followers might see, for the sake of both of their images. "There may have been an unnecessary amount of baking supplies in the cupboard."

"Evidently so. I do hope you left something for our meals this week."

Harry took a moment to consider that, before hesitantly offering, "I think we'll be okay?"

Tom snorted in a way that meant he didn't quite believe Harry, but he didn't let go or make like he was going to step away when he said, "I'll have to check." Which meant he really was in a much improved mood after his nap. (That, or he was just far too used to Harry's baking fugues to be anything but amused at the outcome.)

Harry leant forward just far enough to pick out one of Tom's favourite sweets, then twisted so he could hold it in front of his mouth. "Well?" he pressed when Tom didn't immediately take a bite.

Tom's mouth twitched, like he was trying very hard to keep from smiling, and there was a comforting warmth in his eyes that Harry was probably the only one who ever got to see. He did open his mouth, though, and didn't bother with any smart remarks. (Likely aware that Harry would smear the food all over his face in retaliation.)

At the first bite, Tom's eyes slid closed and an expression of bliss bloomed across his features, which told Harry that he'd at least managed to get the recipe correct, despite no evidence of him having used a recipe book.

And then Tom took one large bite, catching Harry's fingers with gentle teeth, and he let out a low moan.

"Something's going to spoil," Harry complained, even as he pulled Tom along to find the bedroom.

Tom chuckled, warm and low, and his mouth tasted like sugar and home.

(Harry really, really loved holidays.)

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