Tom And Harry Dont Fuck With Pet Names Like “baby,” It’s “the Light Of My Life, The Flame Of

The boy who is mischievous

daddy tr/adopted hp

They're bombing Al Shifa AGAIN. The hospital was barely functional. But because it was serving people in any capacity, they decided to bomb it, force everyone out, and then hunt them in the streets. The zionazi terrorists will not stop until every Palestinian in Ghazzah is dead or displaced. Its been 6 months of zionist terrorism and mass destruction. And it will continue until the zionist terrorist entity falls. March 18th 2024.

Ever thought about the idea of Harry, Ron and Hermione starting their work as Aurors, trying to avoid the whole conflict between Dumbledore and Riddle (or the Light and the Dark side) but still getting caught up in it?

I'd probably spin it as a time travel-esque story where Harry, Ron and Hermione (intentionally or not) end up back during the first war with Voldemort, or perhaps when he's still first rising to power.

They wouldn't be aurors, not with their lack of papers and backstories and the general distrust people would have towards each other back then meaning they wouldn't get passed the first level of screening without setting off alarms.

But I could see them becoming their own version of vigilantes or something. The three of them have a year of running and living rough under their belts, they're all riddled with some form of PTSD, and they're more determined than ever to take out the horcruxes and end Voldemort once and for all.

Only problem is - the three of them have never been subtle. They attract attention from both the Light and Dark sides pretty quickly. They're hard to track, mysterious, and dangerous; and that makes them intriguing.

Harry, Ron and Hermione have to deal with the increasing pressure from all around them, as well as hunting down the horcruxes that aren't all in the same spots they remember from their time.

It would likely eventually get to the point where Harry - because of course it's him - yeets himself into the spotlight to keep the very unwelcome attention of Voldemort and Dumbledore on him rather than Ron and Hermione.

Harry is out there, metaphorically dancing with giant feather fans to distract their allies and enemies alike, while his friends work in the shadows to complete their goal.

It's...messy.

Not to mention the fact that Israel sniped another journalist, and gunned down their OWN HOSTAGES who were holding a white flag.

Another Al Jazeera journalist had lost over 20 members of his family today. Mo'men Al Sharafi had lost his mother, father, siblings, nieces and nephews who were all taking refuge in Jabalya refugee camp in Gaza and were targeted by Israeli shelling that destroyed the whole block.

He was asked why was his family in such a dangerous area in Northern Gaza, and he explained that his family had to move five times already and that his father, an 87 year old man, refused to be forced to leave his home again, stating that he didn't want to repeat the what was done to him during the Nakba.

This is just heartbreaking.

Gimme more

the last days of sparta | tom/harry | sneak preview!

Summary:

Harry beats Tom to the “Heir of Slytherin” title.

Tom is pissed as hell. Also maybe kind of horny, which is a problem, since if the Peverell brat really is an Heir, then that means they’re related.

Eh, incest. Who cares?

AHAHAHA HOLY SHIT SORRY THAT’S NOT THE REAL SUMMARY. THIS IS:

A new student is sorted into Slytherin in Tom’s sixth year. The mysterious Hericus “Harry” Peverell is a boy full of contradictions: he’s a Pureblood, but he says he was raised by Muggles; he’s wealthy, but he acts like he was starved as a child; he’s as slender as a thistle that could be blown away by the wind, but his magic is so oppressively powerful that it darkens the air like a thundercloud; he opposes everything Salazar stood for, but claims he’s the Heir of Slytherin.

Worst of all, he stole that title from Tom.

Now, Tom has to decide whether he feels so robbed by Harry that he has to murder him post-haste, or whether an alliance would be the better tactical alternative.

Tom has made alliances with other people he’s hated before. Surely this shouldn’t be too difficult.

…It is.

Or: Watch Harry cheerfully take over Slytherin while Tom boils with jealousy... and lust.

->

Notes:

This happens in Tom’s sixth year, shortly before the discovers the Chamber of Secrets, but after he murders the Riddles.

Harry is posing as a descendant of Cadmus Peverell here, not Ignotus Peverell; Cadmus spawned the Gaunts (including Tom), and Ignotus the Potters (including Harry). Harry just switches ancestors because it suits his cover story better.

->

Preview:

Hogwarts rarely, if ever, admitted students mid-year. So when Tom heard from a mildly intoxicated Slughorn at a Slug Club party that Hogwarts would soon be getting a new student, he conducted his customary intelligence-gathering. He plied Slughorn with cherry wine and flattery until Slughorn spilled that the newcomer was a Peverell.

“After generations!” Slughorn sniffled, misty-eyed, as though he were speaking of his own long-lost kin. “A genuine Peverell! A distant relation of Salazar himself, perhaps? I do wonder where he’s been hiding…”

Indeed. Where had he been hiding?

Everything about it rubbed Tom the wrong way. His magic whispered to him that something was off, something was uncanny, something was wrong… and Tom had learned to trust that whisper, because it always preceded—by minutes, or even hours—the landing of a bomb. It was an instinct he’d honed under threat of death, packed body-to-sweaty-body with weeping, pissing, vomiting children in bomb shelters that reeked of refuse and fear.

Tom had washed himself clean of that filth. Would keep washing himself clean of that filth, and the last task he had to complete to show his housemates that he was clean—that he was Pure—was to prove himself the Heir of Slytherin.

He knew what he was. He felt it in his veins, in his brain, the serpent-slither of his thoughts. It was his heritage; his calling; his destiny. All he needed was to find the Chamber, as he was confident he would do this year, and it would all be his: power, prestige, immortality. He thrummed with excitement at the great discovery awaiting him. A historic discovery. One day, he would be written about in the history books: a conquerer, a victor. One day, one day.

Little did he expect it would all be stolen from him, just that quick.

He had blood on his hands already. He was a killer. A predator. Predators took; they didn’t get stolen from. The very notion was absurd. Why else had he sharpened his claws, his fangs, on the murders of the Riddles, if he was only to become prey himself?

Peverell didn’t look like much of a predator.

Tom saw him for the first time on a Tuesday evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, about two weeks after the Slug Club party at which Tom had learned of his existence.

Headmaster Dippet rose from his chair at the teachers’ table and announced that Hericus Peverell, an unfortunate victim of Grindelwald’s war, would be joining the sixth-year cohort. He said nothing of Peverell’s background, but it was heavily implied that Peverell’s parents were no more—meaning that Peverell was now a Lord at the tender age of sixteen.

Tom watched covertly as an oddly tense Professor Dumbledore led Peverell to the sorting stool. Even odder was Peverell himself: he was short, messy-haired and not well-groomed at all, his features plain and peasant-like except for his bright, curious green eyes. He somehow reminded Tom of a kitten that would never be able to resist a ball of yarn.

There wasn’t a single stately or dignified thing about him, other than his rich, luxurious robes, the traditional Hogwarts black shimmering with layers of intricate, high-quality, expensive wards and charms. Robes clearly customised at the The Armoury, Diagon Alley’s premium shop for protective clothing. It was the one sensible, proper-looking thing about him. Everything else about him resembled a skinny street urchin, not a Lord of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

It remained to be seen whether this Peverell was of Ignotus’s more Gryffindor-tending side, or Cadmus’s more Slytherin-tending lineage—a direct line of succession from Salazar Slytherin himself. Tom wasn’t perturbed by that, however, knowing that he was the Heir of this generation. The Peverell boy might have a fine name, but without Parseltongue, he was nothing.

Then, Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on Peverell’s disheveled head.

Tom’s pulse ratcheted up a beat.

Every Slytherin was on high alert, though few showed it: Orion Black was gazing dreamily into the middle distance, as he was wont to do; Walburga Black was knitting a lace doily, of all things, with perfect precision and seemingly unshakeable focus; Lissia Avery was slicing her meatloaf with the attentiveness she always devoted to handling knives and all bladed weapons; Livius Lestrange had his nose in a book on magical ornithology; and Marcellus Mulciber was had the tip of his quill between his teeth as he glowered down at his Potions homework. Only the younger years were unrefined enough to stare, to whisper.

The Gryffindor table was more openly fascinated, nudging each other with their elbows and gossiping loud enough for snatches of their conversations to drift over to Tom: “Ignotus’s descendant, y’think?” “Imagine having the Invisibility Cloak in our House. The pranks we could get up to…” “The Cloak isn’t real, stupid! It’s a fairytale.” “But what if it isn’t?”

TO BE CONTINUED.

Other Tomarry fanarts. Also in Twitter and AO3.

Gosh the art is beautiful. Anyone know a fic like this?

Had a whole prompt in my head I am too lazy to write and since I found some nice brushes, have some Aristocrat!Tom + Farmer/Servant!Harry :]]]

😂

6'6" Voldemort pissing a 5'6" harry off simply because of all the looming he does, so harry ends up sitting on Ron's shoulders everytime he is in the presence of the dark lord. it always takes an awkward amount of time to get up there but it's worth it to be taller than the guy and prevent him from looming so much

Ah yes, definitely unhealthy possessiveness. Especially for precious or shiny trinkets? like a magpie?

So... guess what i thought?

Blame Dumbledore. He started this Magpie Tom things.

Harry, at the Slytherin table, making no noise and pretending he doesn't exist:

Tom and his Knights, studying his every move: