Tomarry oneshots

To love with a monstrous soul part 2

Summary:

On the eve before their wedding Tom and Harry have a conversation about the nature of their relationship.

"He's a monster, Harry!" Hermione flung the words out like a curse desperately wielded by a cornered child. "Why can't you see that?"

He allowed his eyes to shut, gave himself time to breathe in and out, and then, open eyed, said firmly, "Tomorrow he is my husband. Nothing will change that."

"Then come tonight." She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Come with us. We'll hide you."

He planted his feet. He'd long since given up on pleading for her to be happy for him or, at least, accepting, so he said nothing.

Her expression broke, pottery dashed against the wall. No doubt she thought he was the one who'd thrown it but she'd been the one throwing herself against that wall over and over for months now. "Please."

"It's too late." His hand pulled out of hers and she let it go, grip weakening. He sighed and ran his hand through his messy hair. "Just go." His mouth tightened but not so much it locked shut. "Tell Ron to stay away. I mean it. If he causes a disturbance at the wedding Tom's going to be angry."

"And take it out on you." She raised an eyebrow, eyes flashing.

Harry's thoughts tumbled. "What?"

"I've seen the bruises. The way you flinch from touch."

If his laugh sounded a little hollow he could be forgiven. This was the first time she'd mentioned that, the first time she'd acknowledged his bruises. He laughed again, more amusingly this time. "A bit late on that one, 'Mione."

Her lower lip trembled, her eyes bright. "But it's not too late. We can get you away. You never have to let yourself be hurt like that again!"

"Let?" His body flung itself back without a thought and he glared at her, breath going tight. His hand flicked toward the door. "Get out while we're still friends."

"I didn't mean it like --"

"OUT!" His magic tripped her back, toward the door, and it flew open.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, blown inward by his rage bubbling over his carefully built fortifications, he dropped down to his knees and gasped. Distantly he heard the footsteps of his fiance pounding down the stairs.

"What did she do?"

"It doesn't matter." Harry took a deep breath and then a second before looking up at Tom's watchful face. He felt a gentle press on his mental walls and pushed it back, waiting for the retreat.

"The fact I felt your rage on the second floor says elsewise," Tom told him with a frown. When he got no reply he sighed. "Fine, keep your privacy and come here." Powerful hands pulled him up into strong arms and held him close, Harry sinking into the touch until Tom carefully pushed him away. "Go to my bath and undress. Wait for me."

No! Harry kept it in his head. Trust, so much of their relationship was built on trust, and he needed to accept that leaving for a few minutes didn't mean Tom wouldn't come back to him when Harry needed him to. So wobbly and reluctant he took the stairs up to Tom's room (soon to be their room) and went into the bathroom where he undressed and set his folded clothes aside.

The bath faucet turned without prompting a moment later and soon steaming water began to fill up the clawfoot tub. Bath oil tipped in of its own accord a minute later, filling the air with the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon. Tom's scent. Harry took a deep breath and curled his legs under him on the rug, calmer now and ready to wait for Tom to finish up whatever he was doing when Hermione came over.