Harry may love his boyfriend, but he was also the first to admit that Tom Riddle was a stubborn prick.
They had been dating for seven months - fighting for longer - and, naturally, Yule was no different. They spent the majority of the day schmoozing at Black manor, Harry having allowed Tom to use his political position as both the Potter and Black heir to score an invite. It was a dreadfully boring and headache inducing affair, especially because Tom abandoned him several times to whisper his plans for World Domination into the ears of enthralled purebloods.
And now that they were back home, Tom was refusing to honor his end of the deal.
“We’re both exhausted, Harry,” he sighed, replacing a stiff dress shirt with soft cotton. “Another time.”
Harry doubted that. Plus, it was important to watch today. When Harry was young and Lily alive, every Yule had been spent on this very couch, bundled under blankets with a mug of hot chocolate and Christmas specials playing.
“We just spent most of the day playing politics because you wanted to, Tom, something I only agreed to because you promised we would do this tonight.”
“We left early because you said you were exhausted,” Tom rebutted. “Which means you need sleep, not to watch muggle Telly programs.”
“Fine,” Harry snapped, pulling Mrs. Weasley’s annual sweater over his head to conceal his hurt expression until he could get it under control. “Do what you want, but I’m watching this.”
Tom didn’t have family traditions. He didn’t have family. So it was understandable that he didn’t know how important this was to Harry.
But Harry had watched these with Remus once his mother died, and doing it alone, now that they were both gone, felt wrong.
Not that he had ever truly explained the importance of this to Tom. His lover probably thought of it as a silly whim, a favor. Perhaps he just detested muggles too much to care how his turnabout would affect Harry, and had never been planning to watch at all. It did rather sound like him.
Harry curled into a ball at the edge of the sofa and twisted his wand. Pillows zoomed from every room of the house, blankets floating behind them, and Harry heard a grunt as Tom -- presumably -- dodged one as they piled around him, building a fort that made him feel more cozy and less alone.
“Harry,” Tom hissed, in that all-too-familiar tone of frustration.
“What?” Harry snapped, turning on the Christmas special. His chest felt tight and he could feel his eyes welling with stupid, traitorous tears he refused to let fall. There was a pause, and then a blanket was pushed aside, allowing Tom to peer into his fort.
He was frowning, but it was more concerned than annoyed, and Harry looked away quickly. Not quickly enough, it seemed, because Tom sighed heavily and stepped into the fort, gently grasping his cheek.
“What is it, darling?”
Harry shrugged, pulling out of Tom’s grasp.
“Nothing,” he said through a dry throat. “I don’t like it when you make me promises you have no intention of keeping.”
Tom tensed, but didn’t deny his claim. “You’re typically not so upset.”
Harry turned to face him, anger only making the tears stronger. “Just because I don’t say it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it,” he snapped. “As much as you hate liars, it’s interesting what you’ve become, isn’t it?”
But Tom did not snap back, or fly into a pique as he was wont to do when Harry criticized him. Instead, he crouched down before him with a frown, hesitantly touching his knees. “I’ve truly upset you,” he noted, then offered, “I’ll stay. We can watch the program together.”
Harry grimaced, pulling away from the tentative touch. “I don’t want you here if you don’t want to be here,” he said, heart panging. “Why don’t you go back to Malfoy’s? I know he was talking about the after-party half the night.”
But Tom only frowned at him. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “You’re upset with me.”
Harry’s chest tightened. “When has that ever stopped you from leaving in the past?”
“Well, if you would just tell me instead of expecting me to know!” Tom snapped. “I’m trying here, Harry!”
“Maybe I need time,” Harry returned, just as fiercely though his own voice was quiet. “I don’t have to tell you everything, Tom, and I’ll tell you nothing before I’m ready to. I had your word that you would do this with me. Excuse me for believing that would be enough.”
From the fleeting expression on Tom’s face, a punch might’ve landed gentler. Neither of them trusted easily. Tom, because he’d never had reason to trust. Harry, because his faith had been broken so many times in the past.
