Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Place in Time for This	By : Katiesroom Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Tom Views: 15028 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I in no way claim to own any of the brilliance that is the PotterVerse. Nor am I making any money off of this or the characters therein. I just make JK Rowling's babies do dirty, dirty things.

Chapter List
- 1-A Place in Time
- 2-Something Necessary
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It wasn’t the disgust in himself that caught Harry off guard so much as the sickening, still lingering desire that mingled with it whenever he thought of what he’d done. Or rather, what he’d allowed Tom to do to him.

He’d been careful to listen to the Slytherin password, knowing there weren’t many other places he could stay now that Tom knew his background story. Thankfully, the castle always conveniently had more than enough beds. Hermione had also worked out a hacking spell to “register” him for classes. It seemed simple enough, just a few spoken words at the entrance to every class---of which he only took a few, enough to avoid suspicion without bringing attention to himself---and then a false memory charm on the teacher in question. It was tedious, and would all have to be reversed once he finished what he’d come here to do… whatever that was… but it was Hermione’s plan. So he trusted it.

It was easy enough to avoid some familiar faces, taking special care to keep out of the way whenever the names like Minerva or Hagrid were spoken around the hall. But students were ignorable. Professors, and one in particular, seemed to be much more difficult.

Harry had never believed in Dumbledore’s foresight more than in the moment he locked eyes with the as of yet Headmaster from across the dining hall. Even slightly younger as he was, Harry still felt a pang of nostalgia, flashes of the great wizard’s death still so hallow and present within him, even after Snape’s memories had unveiled the full and terrible story. It was like looking at a ghost, only more solid and less familiar. A ghost that had no memory of who Harry was, what he’d taught him, all they’d accomplished in his seven years at Hogwarts; knowing that was more difficult than anything else.

Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, he didn’t have the chance to dwell on it further, Dumbledore’s gaze shifting at the same moment that a hand gripped this side of painfully at his upper arm, wrenching him to his feet. Wand already half hidden in his sleeve, Harry stumbled around to face the owner of that hand, mind reeling at the possibility of an attacker, here and now, readying him in a way that only his countless years of hardships could. Ironically enough, the hand belonged to Tom.

“Tom? What are you-?” Harry tried, but Tom just pulled him away and out of the dining hall without a word, Harry willing his heart to slow and his mind to realize he wasn’t in danger. Hopefully. But more than that, he found himself trying desperately to ignore how incredibly hot his skin felt where Tom touched it, images of a very different kind of skin on skin making his chest ache and his stomach flip in a way that was impossible to distinguish between bad and very, very good.

It wasn’t until Tom had yanked Harry past the dormitories and into a hidden back hall that Harry finally pulled himself away. “Tom,” he sighed, both on edge and thrilled at the prospect of being alone with the eventual Dark Lord. His inability to tell the difference sickened him. “What’s-?”

Tom didn’t give him a chance to ask, covering the distance between them in a heartbeat, mouth suddenly pressed against his in a way that was all consuming and impossible to resist. At once, as if by a spell of its own, his borrowed Slytherin uniform became too hot, too tight, his heart hammering against his chest at a rate that couldn’t be normal, let alone healthy. And when Tom’s hand began to snake its way past the waistband of Harry’s pants, he all but forgot to breathe.

“T-Tom…” Harry hissed, clinging to the collar of the wizard’s robes as his head fell back in a pleasure he couldn’t ignore. It took no more than a couple of strokes to get Harry to full, panting hardness, wand back in his pocket, forgotten. If he was in any real danger, at that moment, he could care less. All that mattered was Tom’s talented hand wrapped in a perfectly mind numbing grip around his cock.

As if reading his thoughts, Tom squeezed, Harry bucking his hips with a gasp that was loud enough to cause them both a moment of paralyzed caution. Although, while Harry stood panting, Tom was silent and still, an air of amusement and excitement about him that was unnerving. And alluring. Especially when dark, knowing eyes were drilling into his own, reading him, learning him, unraveling him.

“What...?” Harry swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into his suddenly too dry throat. “What are you doing?”

Tom never broke eye contact, only the hint of a smirk keeping Harry from cracking under his gaze, a gaze that was both familiar and dangerously foreign. One that made his blood run cold. Until it reached his dick.

Leaning in closer, Tom rested his fingertips against Harry’s cheek, lifting them up to linger lightly at his temple before brushing the hair away from his forehead. Harry tensed.

“I needed… this.” Tom whispered, a breath of sound against Harry’s face that drifted off into a low moan as he raised his lips to the lightning shaped scar. The flash of pain Harry expected didn’t come, even as Tom’s lips lingered there, parting to sigh against the old wound, teeth grazing the flash as he pulled away, making Harry shiver. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Harry,” Tom said in that same low, moaning whisper. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?” As if to accentuate the question, Tom took that moment to offer Harry’s length another long, slow stroke.

“Nghn…” Harry trembled against that touch, rocking his hips almost involuntarily. Almost. Soon, his eyes were rolling back into his head with the promise of relief, which is when Tom, once again, decided to stop.

“I’m drawn to you, Harry.” Tom went on, kissing his neck, biting the tender flesh at his pulse point. “Something in you… calls out to me.” He inhaled, breathing in the scent of him. “Something,” He paused, shuddering through a dark, menacing chuckle. “Intoxicating.” He sighed again, swallowing Harry’s lips in a deep, strangely passionate kiss. When he broke away, his eyes were playful. Devious. “And I don’t even know your last name.”

Harry had to swallow back the truth, the word Potter already on the tip of his tongue before his common sense caught up.   “Evans,” he whispered instead.

“Mmm,” Tom chuckled, low in his throat. “Harry Evans.” Again, Tom began to stroke, this time working out a rhythm that had Harry gritting his teeth in toe-curling pleasure. “Nice to meet you.” Tom ripped his release from him in seconds, an unintelligible cry escaping Harry as he came. A cry that Tom smothered with lips and tongue, muffling that sound like he could devour it, live off of it. And as the high of his orgasm overwhelmed him, Harry thought, if only for a second, that he could live off of it too. Then the euphoria faded and Tom removed his hand, licking the trace of Harry’s seed from his fingers before pulling away. And again, all Harry knew was a suffocating, confusing disappointment in himself. Harry watched, speechless and suddenly very, very tired, as Tom made to leave.

What was he doing? This wasn’t getting them anywhere. The plan had been clear. He was here to kill the soon to be Voldemort, the Dark Lord who, for all he knew, already had a Horcrux or two underway. But then… He’d thought, lamely, foolishly, that he could change Tom… Voldemort… get him to redirect his focus onto something better, something that would rework Harry’s broken and blood soaked future. He thought, just for a moment, that all Voldemort might have needed… was someone. How stupid.

Suddenly, Tom stopped, a few feet away, his back to Harry but his voice clear. “There’s a darkness in you, Harry Evans.” Harry frowned, looking to the floor in distaste. Even with the Horcrux inside him destroyed, there was still some, albeit a fraction, of the Dark Lord left within him somewhere. He knew that. But how much…? Tom looked over his shoulder, snatching Harry’s attention back at once. “I will enjoy fucking it out of you.”  And with that, he smiled, the expression cool and cordial, like one meant for an acquaintance, not someone he’d just jacked off in the school hallway. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Tom was already gone, leaving Harry alone, wasted, and mentally bruised. With a frustrated groan, Harry let his head fall back into the stone wall with an audible crack.

“What am I doing?” He murmured under his breath, closing his eyes and knocking the back of his head against the wall a few more times for good measure.

“Giving yourself a mild concussion, by the looks of it,” a familiar voice answered unexpectedly, Harry’s eyes snapping open as he pushed himself away from the wall with a start. For an instant, he thought he was back in his own time, before his time, the most powerful wizard he knew standing before him, teaching him without actually saying anything at all. But then reality sank in: the jovial look in the man’s eyes, a softer, less wrinkled face, a posture not yet marred by the tension and stress of saving the world from total destruction. Of saving the world from Tom. Or rather, what he was becoming, probably before his eyes. Harry did his best to straighten out his robes, hoping beyond hope that Dumbledore wouldn’t realize what had just happened between two of his students. Thankfully, or maybe disturbingly, Dumbledore just grinned, motioning with his chin before heading down the hall. “Come with me."

---

“So,” Dumbledore smiled as he took a seat behind his desk, still exactly how Harry remembered it, though no longer in the same part of the castle. It made him wonder if Dumbledore had maybe moved the room itself after becoming Headmaster. “Transfer student, Harry Evans.” Dumbledore’s eyes practically twinkled as he said the name, like he was enjoying solving some unspoken riddle, though Harry could have been imagining it. Surely he was. “And where have you transferred from exactly, Harry?”

Harry felt himself pale, that little bit of back story escaping him. Hermione had looked into it, of course, as she had everything else, but there’d been a lot to remember: parents’ names, hobbies, past relationships, a whole new life to memorize. Suddenly, the one thing being asked of him was simply nowhere to be found. Harry scratched absently at the back of his neck, looking around the room for a sign, anything he could use. But Dumbledore would know if he was lying. So instead, he reworked his plan.

“My family didn’t let me come until now,” he said, hoping the words sounded believable. “They didn’t like the idea of me learning how to use magic. They didn’t believe it was possible. So they… kept my letters hidden.” He looked up at Dumbledore. “I stumbled across one and came straight away. I wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this pass me by.”

“Of course not,” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “A wise move, that. Otherwise you might never have gotten the education a wizard such as yourself will need.”

Harry felt his chest tighten. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I noticed you haven’t signed up for any of my Transfiguration classes, Mr. Evans,” he went on as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “I recommend you do. It could be very educational for you.”

Harry stared, remembering vaguely that Dumbledore had taught Transfiguration while Armando Dippet was Headmaster, but he’d overlooked those classes specifically, wanting to avoid such close contact to the overly perceptive professor… Of course, that hadn’t done him much good either way, considering who he was presently having a conversation with. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Harry said at last, clearing his throat and trying to remain non-committal. Dumbledore nodded.

“You’re a bright boy, Harry,” He said all of a sudden, making Harry’s heart seize with a pain still unexpectedly fresh. No matter what time Harry saw him in, Dumbledore still sounded like himself, his words still laced with hidden meaning, but always kind. Always looking out for him. Which is why it didn’t surprise him when Dumbledore added, “You’d do best to watch yourself around Tom.”

“Tom, sir?” Harry tried not to blush, tried to keep his voice steady. How much had he seen…?

“Tom Riddle is a very talented wizard,” Dumbledore steepled his fingers under his chin. “But with talent and effortless skill such as his comes a boredom. And that boredom becomes a hunger, I’ve realized.” At that, Dumbledore sighed, making Harry wonder how long he’d known of Tom’s darkness, suspected its terrible potential. “If the boy’s attentions are on you, Harry, then there is a power within you that he seeks.”  Here, Dumbledore got to his feet, Harry automatically following suit. “Take care of that power,” he said, holding Harry’s gaze with a fierceness he’d never seen in the great wizard. All Harry could do was nod, Dumbledore’s stare softening, a smile once again warming his face. “Very good, then.” He motioned to the door. “You should probably get back to the Great Hall. Dinner’s nearly over.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry turned toward the door, already halfway out when Dumbledore’s voice drew him back.

“Oh, and Mr. Evans!” He called from his desk, Harry turning back to face him. The look on his face was unusual, something Harry couldn’t fully comprehend. “The Room of Requirement is fabulous for an occasional tryst now and then. Next time you’re looking for a few… private moments with Mr. Riddle.”

Harry’s face fell, a heat rising to his cheeks that left him practically dizzy with humiliation. “Th-Thank you… sir,” Harry mumbled, mortified that he would recommend such a thing and horrified that Dumbledore would know about the Room of Requirement’s more private offerings in the first place. He turned around again, mostly to hide the look of embarrassment on his face.

“Be careful, Harry,” Dumbledore said at last to his back. “Sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between what we want and what is necessary.” Harry just nodded once more, not trusting himself to speak, and left, heading in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room. After all that, dinner was the farthest thing from his mind.
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A Place in Time for This