As Darkness Befalls Us 2/?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: As Darkness Befalls Us
Rating: T
Genre: Pre-Slash
Pairings/Characters: Harry/Tom, others
Warnings: Dark!Harry
Summary: Shadows creep around the edges of light all the time. What happens when the brightest light of the wizarding world is consumed by those shadows? And are the shadows really as dark as people say they are?
The locks on Harry's door clicked and sighed gently as they were unlocked. Harry watched morosely as the chipped door opened, bringing his Aunt Petunia into sight. She sniffed delicately before saying, "Marge will be here in an hour. Clean yourself up and be downstairs to greet her."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied dutifully.
She scraped her hawkish gaze over him before sniffing again then leaving.
~Marge? I've heard her name twice now.~ said Tom from the back of Harry's mind, his sneer coming through loud and clear. ~Both times you've had unpleasant emotional reactions. Who is she?~
Harry rolled his eyes and moved to his school trunk to find some 'presentable' clothes. He briefly entertained the notion of wearing his robes before Tom gave him a mental poke.
~Hmm?~
~You didn't answer my question!~
Pulling out his charcoal school slacks and a white button-up shirt, Harry answered, ~She's Vernon's muggle sister. She visits once a year when Dudley is on break. Also, I've just recently been informed that she thinks I attend St. Brutus's.~
There was a slight pause where a tickle of confusion alerted Harry to the fact that Tom have a clue what he was talking about.
~It's a center for criminally insane boys.~
~So,~ said Tom slowly. ~Marge thinks you're some kind of mentally unstable juvenile delinquent?~
~Basically.~ Harry smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt nervously before raising to fiddle with his hair. He had just mussed it into some semblance of tidiness when the doorbell downstairs trilled throughout the house sharply.
"Well," said Harry aloud. "Here goes nothing."
[HTHTHTHT]
Opening the front door to greet Marge, Harry hid a wince when he heard a soft growl. He looked down quickly to confirm that, yes, the growl was coming from Marge's favorite demon-dog, before flicking his eyes up to Marge's sneering face.
"Hello, Aunt Marge," Harry said in the politest tone he could muster. He could feel Tom's smirk when Marge showed the faintest hint of surprise. "Please, make yourself comfortable in the living room while I carry your bags to your room."
He stepped back from the doorway to allow room for Marge's large girth to squeeze through, before grabbing her two ridiculously large bags and carrying them up the stairs.
Harry could hear the sounds of Marge and Petunia talking downstairs as he deposited the luggage on Marge's bed. He hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed the waiting tea tray, taking a deep breath, and plastered a fake smile on his face before he walked into the living room.
"Tea, ladies?" he offered, his voice lilting and cheerful.
Both women nodded and ignored him while he fixed two steaming cups of tea; he knew better than to fix one for himself unless Marge or Petunia specifically told him to do so. Handing the women their tea, he turned to go but was stopped by Marge.
"Sit," she said sharply. "Tell me what your summer plans are."
He blinked and looked towards Petunia for clarity but her expression of confusion matched his so he sat gently on the edge of the couch and started to speak.
"I hope to finish my summer assignments by next week. Then Aunt Petunia has requested my help with the beautifying project she wants to try on the garden. I imagine that will take up most of my time until school starts back up."
Marge raised a bushy eyebrow and said, "You don't plan to see any of your friends?"
"Aunt Petunia needs my help around here. Besides, I don't have any friends- out of school or otherwise," Harry answered honestly.
"Very well," answered Marge, waving him away. "Continue."
Harry stood and bowed his head to his Aunts. "Enjoy your tea, Aunt Marge, Aunt Petunia."
He rushed out of the room and upstairs as politely as possible, crashing on his rickety old bed as soon as he shut his bedroom door behind him.
"That was weird," Harry murmured, Tom's gentle agreement lulling him to sleep.
[HTHTHTHTH]
"She doesn't seem too bad," Tom greeted, making Harry's eyes pop open.
"Quick question, do you make me fall asleep?"
Tom shrugged nonchalantly, "Sometimes."
Harry blinked quickly and sat up on the bed. It was always the same. Harry would fall asleep - apparently involuntarily - and wake up in his subconscious; Tom would be sitting beside him on the bed when he woke up. They would talk and Tom would teach Harry all kinds of things about magic. Then, Harry would fall completely asleep and Tom would curl up beside him, just barely close enough for Harry to feel his body heat. Harry wouldn't even know that Tom slept beside him if something hadn't lightly disturbed his sleep that very first night, waking him to his subconscious.
Tom, however, still didn't know that Harry knew Tom cuddled with him while they were asleep; Harry had no plans on telling him either.
"From the way you were going on," Tom continued, ignoring Harry's struggle at trying to change his day clothes into pajamas wandlessly. "I thought she hated you like Snape does."
Cringing at the mention of the memories Tom 'accidentally' stumbled upon, Harry sank back into the pillows in frustration. "She does. A little help please?"
Turning, the older boy immediately burst into laughter. Harry's white button-up and slacks combo was now a dove gray nightgown, with white lace along the hem.
Harry flushed in embarrassment and anger before coughing pointedly.
"No," Tom answered, grinning at the younger boy like a lunatic.
The nightgown rose up above Harry's knees a little as he pulled himself up in righteous indignation.
"Why not?"
"Because you should be able to do it yourself," Tom said simply. "We've been going over wandless transfigurations for two weeks now."
"Fine, whatever," Harry muttered angrily. He twisted his hands around the hem of the gown, pulling it down hard because he didn't like the way Tom was staring hypnotically at his thighs. Dammit! He knew he should be able to do it and he could except when it came to his clothes. They always turned into girls clothes. Definitely not things that a thirteen year old boy should be wearing.
"You're not going to even try to fix it?" Tom asked incredulously.
Harry flushed again and smoothed the wrinkles out of the gown from where he had been wreaking havoc on it. "What's the point? I already know that I can't. This is turning into the worst birthday ever."
He flopped back onto the pillows and decided to just ignore the nightgown. Tom wanted him to sleep, he was damn well going to sleep. Deeply. And not wake up until he was dead.
Rolling over onto his side, Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. However, his eyes were forced back open when he felt a light weight dip the bed beside him and a soft blanket being put over him.
Cool breath brushed over his heated face and he felt his nightgown lengthen and shift around his body.
"I'm sorry, Harry," said Tom. "I didn't know that it was your birthday."
"Yeah, well," Harry evaded, rolling onto his back so he could look up at Tom. "You didn't ask."
"I know," Tom said mournfully. He seemed to be internally berating himself.
"Hey," Harry pulled Tom down to him and hugged him. "It's not your fault."
Tom relaxed into the hug. "Wake up, Harry."
[HTHTHTHTHT]
And just like that, Harry was awake. He wasn't staring into the face of his best friend anymore; he was looking into the beady eyes of his Aunt Marge.
"Y-yes?" Harry coughed, raising an eyebrow. This politeness stuff was doing hell on his vocal chords.
"Get up," she answered, leaning away from him. "Get your shoes on. We're going out."
"All right," he muttered as he stood up and started to look for his shoes.
[HTHTHTHT]
Unsurprisingly, London was beautiful at dusk. Surprisingly, Aunt Marge was the one showing Harry this.
After getting his shoes on, she had practically thrown him into the car. On the way to the city, she explained that she knew it was his birthday and that it was time for them to have 'A Talk'.
Harry didn't know if she meant 'a talk' or 'The Talk' but he prayed to Merlin that something would happen to get him out of this.
They pulled into the parking lot of a little cafe and got out of the car. Marge manhandled him into a chair outside by a table and ordered him a small lemonade. The whole experience so far was extremely surreal.
"Now," began Marge. "I know that you must be very confused. I haven't exactly been the best aunt in the past."
Harry fiddled with his lemonade, his fingers slipping on the condensation-ed glass, and refused to comment.
"I want to tell you three things, all right?"
Nodding warily, Harry steeled himself for the worst. What he got was not what he expected.
She held up a large, beefy hand and stuck up one finger.
"One," she counted. "Is that I know you're a wizard. My kennel holds a lot of strange breeds of dogs and I know how to spot something unusual. Not to say you're unusual; you seem to be very plain by your world's standards."
"Umm," Harry interrupted slowly. When Marge nodded, he continued, "Even if I am strange by mug-er, normal standards, how do you know that what I am is a wizard?"
"Easy," said Marge. A slight smile played at her lips; for the first time, it wasn't cruel or soured by hate. "I did research. You must really be something special, eh, Boy-Who-Lived?"
Internally, Harry gaped. He didn't know that Marge was that smart; Dudley obviously got his intelligence from his father.
Externally, Harry cleared his throat and nodded for her to continue.
"Second," Marge said, holding up another finger. "You have a godfather named Sirius Black. He's just escaped from this high security wizarding prison and they say he's out to get you."
"Wuh..." Harry took a long gulp from his lemonade to clear his suddenly dry throat. Even Tom had perked up at the mention of something evil. "Well, I'm sure glad you don't just drop the bomb without sugarcoating it."
"Even a sugarcoated bomb will kill hundreds of people," Marge stated wisely. She leaned in towards Harry. "It's a harsh world out there and if a man's going to make it, he's got to be tough. Especially one like you."
"One like me?" Harry parroted in confusion. He already decided to just ride the wave of acceptance until he reached the shores of reality again.
Marge rolled her eyes and leaned in further. "I know you're not as stupid as Vernon makes you out to be but you sure aren't that bright either. You certainly don't need me to give you 'The Talk'-"
Harry interrupted her by sighing in relief but cut himself off at her glare.
"-But you obviously need someone to tell you the important part."
"Which is...?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Let's just say, when it comes to the birds and the bees," Marge laughed lightly, leaning back and grinning at Harry mischievously. "It ain't the birds you're after."
Harry's mind went blank. There was a bright light and laughter, but after that there wasn't anything else.
[HTHTHTHT]
"Night, Aunt Marge," Harry whispered as they tip-toed into their separate rooms. She winked at him and closed her door quietly, leaving him alone to follow her example.
It was really late, he noticed looking at the busted old clock on his bedside table. Nearly ten in the evening.
He laid down, thinking about what Marge had said. It helped explain a lot, but just muddled up other things. Sighing, he decided to forget about it for now.
Grabbing the waistband of his slacks and the hem of his shirt in the same hand, he desperately willed them to change into soft green cotton pajamas. The fabric slid around him, mutating itself.
Finally, it stopped.
When Harry looked down, he just sighed morosely at the sight that greeted him. It was soft, cotton, and green, sure. But it hadn't made it to pajamas. It was another nightgown. With a little black bow on the chest.
He sighed again and rolled over onto his side.
Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Oh, well. If I'm gay, I might as well go ahead and be a cross-dresser, too."
Title: As Darkness Befalls Us
Rating: T
Genre: Pre-Slash
Pairings/Characters: Harry/Tom, others
Warnings: Dark!Harry
Summary: Shadows creep around the edges of light all the time. What happens when the brightest light of the wizarding world is consumed by those shadows? And are the shadows really as dark as people say they are?
The locks on Harry's door clicked and sighed gently as they were unlocked. Harry watched morosely as the chipped door opened, bringing his Aunt Petunia into sight. She sniffed delicately before saying, "Marge will be here in an hour. Clean yourself up and be downstairs to greet her."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied dutifully.
She scraped her hawkish gaze over him before sniffing again then leaving.
~Marge? I've heard her name twice now.~ said Tom from the back of Harry's mind, his sneer coming through loud and clear. ~Both times you've had unpleasant emotional reactions. Who is she?~
Harry rolled his eyes and moved to his school trunk to find some 'presentable' clothes. He briefly entertained the notion of wearing his robes before Tom gave him a mental poke.
~Hmm?~
~You didn't answer my question!~
Pulling out his charcoal school slacks and a white button-up shirt, Harry answered, ~She's Vernon's muggle sister. She visits once a year when Dudley is on break. Also, I've just recently been informed that she thinks I attend St. Brutus's.~
There was a slight pause where a tickle of confusion alerted Harry to the fact that Tom have a clue what he was talking about.
~It's a center for criminally insane boys.~
~So,~ said Tom slowly. ~Marge thinks you're some kind of mentally unstable juvenile delinquent?~
~Basically.~ Harry smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt nervously before raising to fiddle with his hair. He had just mussed it into some semblance of tidiness when the doorbell downstairs trilled throughout the house sharply.
"Well," said Harry aloud. "Here goes nothing."
[HTHTHTHT]
Opening the front door to greet Marge, Harry hid a wince when he heard a soft growl. He looked down quickly to confirm that, yes, the growl was coming from Marge's favorite demon-dog, before flicking his eyes up to Marge's sneering face.
"Hello, Aunt Marge," Harry said in the politest tone he could muster. He could feel Tom's smirk when Marge showed the faintest hint of surprise. "Please, make yourself comfortable in the living room while I carry your bags to your room."
He stepped back from the doorway to allow room for Marge's large girth to squeeze through, before grabbing her two ridiculously large bags and carrying them up the stairs.
Harry could hear the sounds of Marge and Petunia talking downstairs as he deposited the luggage on Marge's bed. He hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed the waiting tea tray, taking a deep breath, and plastered a fake smile on his face before he walked into the living room.
"Tea, ladies?" he offered, his voice lilting and cheerful.
Both women nodded and ignored him while he fixed two steaming cups of tea; he knew better than to fix one for himself unless Marge or Petunia specifically told him to do so. Handing the women their tea, he turned to go but was stopped by Marge.
"Sit," she said sharply. "Tell me what your summer plans are."
He blinked and looked towards Petunia for clarity but her expression of confusion matched his so he sat gently on the edge of the couch and started to speak.
"I hope to finish my summer assignments by next week. Then Aunt Petunia has requested my help with the beautifying project she wants to try on the garden. I imagine that will take up most of my time until school starts back up."
Marge raised a bushy eyebrow and said, "You don't plan to see any of your friends?"
"Aunt Petunia needs my help around here. Besides, I don't have any friends- out of school or otherwise," Harry answered honestly.
"Very well," answered Marge, waving him away. "Continue."
Harry stood and bowed his head to his Aunts. "Enjoy your tea, Aunt Marge, Aunt Petunia."
He rushed out of the room and upstairs as politely as possible, crashing on his rickety old bed as soon as he shut his bedroom door behind him.
"That was weird," Harry murmured, Tom's gentle agreement lulling him to sleep.
[HTHTHTHTH]
"She doesn't seem too bad," Tom greeted, making Harry's eyes pop open.
"Quick question, do you make me fall asleep?"
Tom shrugged nonchalantly, "Sometimes."
Harry blinked quickly and sat up on the bed. It was always the same. Harry would fall asleep - apparently involuntarily - and wake up in his subconscious; Tom would be sitting beside him on the bed when he woke up. They would talk and Tom would teach Harry all kinds of things about magic. Then, Harry would fall completely asleep and Tom would curl up beside him, just barely close enough for Harry to feel his body heat. Harry wouldn't even know that Tom slept beside him if something hadn't lightly disturbed his sleep that very first night, waking him to his subconscious.
Tom, however, still didn't know that Harry knew Tom cuddled with him while they were asleep; Harry had no plans on telling him either.
"From the way you were going on," Tom continued, ignoring Harry's struggle at trying to change his day clothes into pajamas wandlessly. "I thought she hated you like Snape does."
Cringing at the mention of the memories Tom 'accidentally' stumbled upon, Harry sank back into the pillows in frustration. "She does. A little help please?"
Turning, the older boy immediately burst into laughter. Harry's white button-up and slacks combo was now a dove gray nightgown, with white lace along the hem.
Harry flushed in embarrassment and anger before coughing pointedly.
"No," Tom answered, grinning at the younger boy like a lunatic.
The nightgown rose up above Harry's knees a little as he pulled himself up in righteous indignation.
"Why not?"
"Because you should be able to do it yourself," Tom said simply. "We've been going over wandless transfigurations for two weeks now."
"Fine, whatever," Harry muttered angrily. He twisted his hands around the hem of the gown, pulling it down hard because he didn't like the way Tom was staring hypnotically at his thighs. Dammit! He knew he should be able to do it and he could except when it came to his clothes. They always turned into girls clothes. Definitely not things that a thirteen year old boy should be wearing.
"You're not going to even try to fix it?" Tom asked incredulously.
Harry flushed again and smoothed the wrinkles out of the gown from where he had been wreaking havoc on it. "What's the point? I already know that I can't. This is turning into the worst birthday ever."
He flopped back onto the pillows and decided to just ignore the nightgown. Tom wanted him to sleep, he was damn well going to sleep. Deeply. And not wake up until he was dead.
Rolling over onto his side, Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. However, his eyes were forced back open when he felt a light weight dip the bed beside him and a soft blanket being put over him.
Cool breath brushed over his heated face and he felt his nightgown lengthen and shift around his body.
"I'm sorry, Harry," said Tom. "I didn't know that it was your birthday."
"Yeah, well," Harry evaded, rolling onto his back so he could look up at Tom. "You didn't ask."
"I know," Tom said mournfully. He seemed to be internally berating himself.
"Hey," Harry pulled Tom down to him and hugged him. "It's not your fault."
Tom relaxed into the hug. "Wake up, Harry."
[HTHTHTHTHT]
And just like that, Harry was awake. He wasn't staring into the face of his best friend anymore; he was looking into the beady eyes of his Aunt Marge.
"Y-yes?" Harry coughed, raising an eyebrow. This politeness stuff was doing hell on his vocal chords.
"Get up," she answered, leaning away from him. "Get your shoes on. We're going out."
"All right," he muttered as he stood up and started to look for his shoes.
[HTHTHTHT]
Unsurprisingly, London was beautiful at dusk. Surprisingly, Aunt Marge was the one showing Harry this.
After getting his shoes on, she had practically thrown him into the car. On the way to the city, she explained that she knew it was his birthday and that it was time for them to have 'A Talk'.
Harry didn't know if she meant 'a talk' or 'The Talk' but he prayed to Merlin that something would happen to get him out of this.
They pulled into the parking lot of a little cafe and got out of the car. Marge manhandled him into a chair outside by a table and ordered him a small lemonade. The whole experience so far was extremely surreal.
"Now," began Marge. "I know that you must be very confused. I haven't exactly been the best aunt in the past."
Harry fiddled with his lemonade, his fingers slipping on the condensation-ed glass, and refused to comment.
"I want to tell you three things, all right?"
Nodding warily, Harry steeled himself for the worst. What he got was not what he expected.
She held up a large, beefy hand and stuck up one finger.
"One," she counted. "Is that I know you're a wizard. My kennel holds a lot of strange breeds of dogs and I know how to spot something unusual. Not to say you're unusual; you seem to be very plain by your world's standards."
"Umm," Harry interrupted slowly. When Marge nodded, he continued, "Even if I am strange by mug-er, normal standards, how do you know that what I am is a wizard?"
"Easy," said Marge. A slight smile played at her lips; for the first time, it wasn't cruel or soured by hate. "I did research. You must really be something special, eh, Boy-Who-Lived?"
Internally, Harry gaped. He didn't know that Marge was that smart; Dudley obviously got his intelligence from his father.
Externally, Harry cleared his throat and nodded for her to continue.
"Second," Marge said, holding up another finger. "You have a godfather named Sirius Black. He's just escaped from this high security wizarding prison and they say he's out to get you."
"Wuh..." Harry took a long gulp from his lemonade to clear his suddenly dry throat. Even Tom had perked up at the mention of something evil. "Well, I'm sure glad you don't just drop the bomb without sugarcoating it."
"Even a sugarcoated bomb will kill hundreds of people," Marge stated wisely. She leaned in towards Harry. "It's a harsh world out there and if a man's going to make it, he's got to be tough. Especially one like you."
"One like me?" Harry parroted in confusion. He already decided to just ride the wave of acceptance until he reached the shores of reality again.
Marge rolled her eyes and leaned in further. "I know you're not as stupid as Vernon makes you out to be but you sure aren't that bright either. You certainly don't need me to give you 'The Talk'-"
Harry interrupted her by sighing in relief but cut himself off at her glare.
"-But you obviously need someone to tell you the important part."
"Which is...?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Let's just say, when it comes to the birds and the bees," Marge laughed lightly, leaning back and grinning at Harry mischievously. "It ain't the birds you're after."
Harry's mind went blank. There was a bright light and laughter, but after that there wasn't anything else.
[HTHTHTHT]
"Night, Aunt Marge," Harry whispered as they tip-toed into their separate rooms. She winked at him and closed her door quietly, leaving him alone to follow her example.
It was really late, he noticed looking at the busted old clock on his bedside table. Nearly ten in the evening.
He laid down, thinking about what Marge had said. It helped explain a lot, but just muddled up other things. Sighing, he decided to forget about it for now.
Grabbing the waistband of his slacks and the hem of his shirt in the same hand, he desperately willed them to change into soft green cotton pajamas. The fabric slid around him, mutating itself.
Finally, it stopped.
When Harry looked down, he just sighed morosely at the sight that greeted him. It was soft, cotton, and green, sure. But it hadn't made it to pajamas. It was another nightgown. With a little black bow on the chest.
He sighed again and rolled over onto his side.
Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Oh, well. If I'm gay, I might as well go ahead and be a cross-dresser, too."