HP one shots

I Got It From My // Tomarry

Summary:

Harry and Tom are alike in many ways. One of those ways is just how much they look like their respective fathers, and how they each feel about that fact.

"So, I'm pretty sure I just saw your dad."

Any minuscule hint of emotion that might be present in Tom's expression promptly closes off. "Don't," he warns.

"He's . . ."

"Harry—"

". . . really fucking fit?"

Notes:

Inspired by the song DADDY by PSY. I also blame/thank all the writers of the new daddy kink fics that have been posted recently, and all of the Harringroves that seem to have it as well.

Where did you get that body from?
I got it from my daddy
___________________________________

Chapter 1

The first time Tom came to Godric's Hollow to visit, Harry didn't understand what had him acting so strangely.

He'd been fine when he stepped out of the fireplace, a bag full of books slung over his shoulder and somehow not a speck of soot on him. But then, a few hours of summer work later when the whole family sat down together for dinner, he became flustered, tripping over his words—he even knocked over the pepper mill.

Harry hadn't even thought Tom Riddle capable of such human behaviours prior to that point.

But now, a decade later at the service station just outside of Greater Hangleton—where Harry insisted they stop because he's absolutely famished and cannot drive for another two hours on an empty stomach otherwise he might actually murder Tom—he understands. Because there, filling up his posh wanker car with petrol, is Tom but at least twenty years older.

And he's a silver fucking fox.

Harry somehow makes it back to his FIAT feeling like he's been hit in the skull with a Bludger. Ears ringing. Head empty.

"I thought you might never return. Remind me again, why didn't we simply Apparate there and Obliviate any witnesses?"

Harry looks over at Tom who's been in the passenger seat this whole time because he's always refused to learn to drive. His ridiculously long legs are squashed in the small space and while he doesn't look anything other than unimpressed, Harry can hear the bite in his tone.

He can only give the man a wild sort of look because he finally gets it.

Fuck.

His hands are shaking as he starts the ignition and sets out on the road. He can see Tom pinning him with a look, and the smell of vinegar assaults him when a crinkly bag is loudly opened.

He shoves his hand in the bag that Tom is holding and stuffs an enormous handful of crisps in his mouth to avoid needing to say anything.

"No, please, do help yourself. Really, I insist," Tom drawls.

Harry grips the steering wheel a bit tighter when his traitorous mind wonders whether he shares the same voice as his father—because that's clearly who that man was, and it explains why Tom had been so stubborn about not wanting to stop.

He continues driving through the rest of the bag of crisps and a pair of sausage rolls. He's just knocking back a few large gulps of water when he abruptly decides he can't do this, and takes the next exit.

"This is the A61." Tom waits for some twenty seconds while the car continues to fly past fields. "We should still be on the A1."

Harry spies a turn-off to Baldersby St James and takes the corner much too fast and winces at the hiss of displeasure from next to him. He doesn't even care that he's now actively driving in the wrong direction, and that they likely will need to Apparate to Sizergh after all if they want to make the wedding on time. Because right now he's got a problem.