Chapter Text
CHAPTER 3
Two weeks had passed since the festival, and somehow Harry’s life had become even stranger.
The flowers never stopped coming.
Neither did the food.
At this point Harry had honestly stopped trying to understand it because every time he thought too hard about the situation he felt vaguely insane. Someone out there apparently knew his exact schedule, knew where he lived, knew his favorite foods, and had enough money to keep sending him bouquets expensive enough to make Luna whistle every single time she visited the bakery.
It should have terrified him more than it did.
And maybe that was the strangest part.
At first the gifts made his chest tighten with panic every morning. Harry had spent four years building a careful quiet life in this town specifically so nobody would pay attention to him too closely ever again. Attention led to questions. Questions led to memories. Memories led to London.
Harry hated thinking about London.
Most people assumed something dramatic must have happened there because Harry visibly shut down whenever conversations drifted toward his old life. They imagined scandals or heartbreak or family problems. Luna never pushed enough to ask directly, and Harry loved her deeply for that.
The truth sat somewhere uglier beneath his ribs.
London had simply taught Harry that being wanted could become terrifying very quickly.
That was all.
After Hogwarts everything became unbearable. Too many people knowing his name. Too many alphas looking at him too long. Too many hands brushing his waist casually at parties. Too many smiles that turned sharp the second Harry rejected them. Harry learned quickly that attention could become suffocating before you even realized you were trapped inside it. Eventually even scenting changed. Harry used to scent everything naturally. Weather. Crowds. Friends. Different parts of Hogwarts depending on the season. But after the last few months in London his instincts started shutting down slowly until alpha scents especially became muted and distant. Easier that way. Safer.
So Harry left.
A tiny town nobody cared about.
A bakery.
A quiet apartment.
Luna.
Peace.
That was enough.
Or at least Harry thought it had been enough until flowers started appearing outside his door every morning.
But somewhere between the flowers and the food and the little gifts that appeared so carefully chosen it became harder to feel only fear. Still unsettling. Definitely unsettling. But not cruel. Never cruel. Whoever was doing this watched him carefully enough to understand what he liked, and somehow that felt very different from the suffocating attention Harry used to receive back in London. It felt… gentle.
Which was probably how people got murdered.
Harry was aware of that.
He still wore the earrings anyway.
He didn’t really understand why. Maybe because they were beautiful. Maybe because nobody had ever bought him jewelry before. Maybe because every time he looked at the tiny gold stars dangling beneath his curls he felt strangely warm inside instead of frightened.
Luna said it was romantic.
Harry told her she needed psychological help.
The newest gift had arrived four days after the festival. Not flowers this time. And not jewelry exactly.
Harry found the package waiting outside the bakery door before sunrise while snow drifted quietly through the empty streets around him. Inside the carefully wrapped box rested the most beautiful recipe book stand Harry had ever seen in his life. Dark polished wood with delicate pearl detailing woven carefully across the edges like little drops of moonlight. The stand adjusted perfectly for larger baking books and there were tiny carved stars hidden among the pearlwork.
Harry had stared at it for almost ten minutes in complete silence because it was so painfully specific to him.
Not expensive in the flashy dramatic way the earrings were. Thoughtful instead. Personal. Whoever kept sending these gifts noticed things. Small things. The kind people usually ignored. Harry used recipe books constantly. Most of his older stands were broken or stained with flour and butter from years of overuse. He’d mentioned it exactly once to Luna while reorganizing the kitchen after closing.
Once.
And now this existed.
It should not have made his stomach flip the way it did.
But it did.
The stand sat proudly inside the bakery kitchen now holding Harry’s favorite recipe collection permanently open while he baked. He loved it embarrassingly much. Which was probably another reason he avoided thinking too deeply about any of this because the alternative explanation — that he was slowly becoming emotionally attached to an anonymous stalker — seemed unhealthy. Very unhealthy. Possibly criminally unhealthy.
Still.
The gifts continued.
And Harry kept them all.
That morning at the omega center started like any other. Harry only visited twice a week now mostly because Luna volunteered there regularly and occasionally forced him outside the bakery for “social enrichment,” which sounded fake but apparently counted as friendship.
The building smelled like tea and herbs and warm blankets.
Safe.
Harry sat curled on one of the lounge chairs flipping distractedly through an old fantasy novel while Luna sorted paperwork nearby.
“You’re smiling again,” she announced suddenly.
Harry looked up immediately. “I literally am not.”
“You are. It’s subtle though. Like a haunted Victorian child experiencing joy for the first time.”
Harry snorted despite himself and lowered the book again. “That’s a horrifying sentence.”
“I know.”
“You need help.”
“And you need to get laid. We all have struggles.”
Harry nearly choked on air. “Luna!”
She grinned lazily without looking up from her paperwork. “See? Smiling again.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but warmth still curled faintly beneath his ribs. Luna had always been like this. Soft in strange places. Never judgmental. Never prying too hard. Harry sometimes thought she understood people in ways that felt almost supernatural.
The center remained unusually busy that afternoon. Nurses moved constantly between hallways while several ministry workers Harry didn’t recognize spoke quietly near reception. Apparently someone important from London was visiting for administrative reasons involving healthcare reform or funding or something equally boring Harry had immediately stopped listening to.
He was halfway through rereading the same paragraph for the fourth time when Luna suddenly brightened beside him.
“Oh! There he is.”
Harry glanced up automatically.
And froze slightly.
The alpha standing near reception was tall and sharply dressed in dark wool layers that somehow made him look older-fashioned than everyone else in the building. Not old exactly. Just refined in a strange almost unnatural way. Dark curls carefully styled back from pale skin. Long fingers resting calmly against a folder tucked beneath one arm.
Beautiful.
Harry noticed that immediately.
Not aggressively handsome the way some alphas tried to be. Tom looked elegant instead. Controlled. Like someone carved carefully from dark marble and taught perfect manners before being allowed near society.
Then the alpha looked toward him.
And smiled softly.
Something strange happened in Harry’s chest instantly.
Warmth.
Not fear.
Not instinctive panic.
Warmth.
Harry blinked in confusion because that almost never happened anymore. After London, his instincts had simply… stopped functioning properly. Omegas relied heavily on scent for safety and comfort and emotional regulation. Harry barely scented anything at all now. Trauma apparently did that sometimes. He could smell basic things. Bread baking. Smoke. Rain. But alpha scents especially became muted and distant after years spent forcing himself not to react. Most alphas smelled overwhelming to him now. Sharp. Suffocating. Threatening.
This one didn’t.
This one smelled…
Warm.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Warm spice and cedarwood and something darker beneath it that reminded Harry vaguely of old libraries during winter storms. The scent settled strangely softly around him instead of pressing aggressively forward like most alphas.
Comforting.
The realization startled him enough that he forgot to look away immediately.
The alpha approached alongside Luna a moment later.
“Harry,” Luna said brightly, “this is Doctor Tom Riddle. He recently transferred here from London temporarily for some ministry work.”
Tom’s eyes settled on Harry with quiet focus. Not predatory. Just attentive.
“It’s nice to finally meet you properly,” he said.
His voice was smooth and low and strangely calming.
Harry blinked. “Properly?”
A tiny smile touched Tom’s mouth. “We met briefly once before at the pharmacy counter. You were picking up a prescription.”
Harry stared for a second before vague recognition surfaced.
“Oh.”
Harry flushed slightly for some reason. “Sorry, I don’t really remember much.”
“That’s alright,” Tom said easily. “You seemed distracted.”
The answer came without judgment. No irritation. No awkwardness.
Harry relaxed almost immediately.
Which again felt bizarre because usually talking to alphas exhausted him within minutes. Even kind ones often pushed too hard accidentally. Too many personal questions. Too much intensity. Too much awareness of Harry being an omega first and a person second.
Tom didn’t do that.
He sat across from Harry naturally while Luna wandered off to help someone at reception and somehow the conversation simply… worked.
Effortlessly.
They talked about books first. Harry wasn’t entirely sure how they ended up there but suddenly Tom was discussing gothic literature with surprising enthusiasm while Harry listened with growing amusement.
“I love Frankenstein it's my favorite novel ever ” Harry said exited.
“I actually red it several times.I think it makes a great conversation starter”
“That’s deeply concerning.”
Tom smiled faintly. “Probably.”
“Normal people would talk about romance novels.”
“Romance novels are often disappointing.”
Harry tilted his head slightly. “That sounded personal.”
Tom’s expression remained perfectly calm. “I dislike shallow affection.”
The answer landed strangely heavily between them.
Harry looked down at his book for a second before laughing awkwardly. “That sounded dramatic.”
“I’m told most things I say sound dramatic.”
“That’s because you talk like you escaped from a nineteenth century manor.”
Tom laughed softly at that.
The sound did unfortunate things to Harry’s nervous system.
“I’ll try to modernize my speech patterns for your comfort.”
“No, don’t,” Harry said quickly before thinking. “It’s… nice.”
Tom’s eyes lingered on him a moment longer than necessary after that. Not invasive. Just attentive enough to make warmth creep slowly up Harry’s neck.
The conversation drifted naturally afterward. London. Small towns. Winter weather. Books again. Harry found himself talking far more than usual without really understanding why.
Tom listened perfectly.
That was the strangest part.
Most people listened while secretly waiting to speak again. Tom listened like every word genuinely mattered. And he never pushed. Whenever conversations drifted near dangerous territory — Hogwarts, London, relationships — Tom somehow redirected smoothly before Harry felt cornered. Not avoiding the topics exactly. Just guiding things gently away from discomfort without making it obvious.
It felt… respectful.
Safe.
Harry almost hated how much he liked that.
At some point their conversation shifted toward cooking after Harry mentioned the bakery.
Tom’s eyes lit immediately.
“You bake everything yourself?”
“Mostly,” Harry admitted. “I have help sometimes but I like doing it.”
“There’s something comforting about baking,” Tom said thoughtfully. “It feels old-fashioned in a nice way.”
Harry smiled slightly. “You say everything like a Victorian professor.”
Tom rested one hand lightly against his teacup. “I’ll accept that criticism.”
“It wasn’t criticism.”
“No?”
“No. Just an observation.”
Tom hummed softly like he found that answer interesting. “Then I appreciate the observation.”
Harry had to look away briefly after that because direct eye contact with Tom for too long started doing strange things to his heartbeat.
“What kind of things do you bake most?” Tom asked after a moment.
“Bread mostly. Pastries. Honey buns when I’m stressed.”
Tom’s mouth curved faintly. “Stress baking.”
“It’s a real medical condition.”
“I’ll update the ministry.”
Harry laughed again.
Again Tom looked quietly pleased by it.
The warmth in Harry’s chest deepened unexpectedly.
“And you?” Harry asked eventually. “Do you cook?”
“A little.”
“That means no.”
Tom looked almost offended. “I cook very well actually.”
“Sure.”
“I do.”
“Alright then,” Harry said, smiling slightly. “What’s your specialty?”
Tom’s gaze rested on him steadily. “Slow cooked meals. Things that take time.”
The answer should not have sounded as intimate as it did.
Harry swallowed awkwardly. “That’s weirdly specific.”
“Good food deserves patience.”
Again.
Everything Tom said sounded deeper than it probably should have.
Harry realized suddenly that he felt… calm. Actually calm. Not tense beneath the ribs waiting for something bad to happen. Not hyper-aware of exits and body language and alpha instincts pressing too close.
Just calm.
Tom’s scent lingered softly around him in warm steady waves and for the first time in years Harry’s omega instincts didn’t recoil automatically from it. Maybe things really were getting better. The thought filled him with quiet happiness so unfamiliar it almost hurt. Maybe four years was finally enough time. Maybe healing was actually possible.
Tom glanced toward the book resting beside Harry then tilted his head slightly. “What are you reading?”
Harry held it up automatically.
Tom smiled immediately. “I love that author.”
“You’ve read this?”
“Twice.”
Harry stared. “That’s impossible. Nobody reads this voluntarily.”
“I do.”
“You’re either lying or secretly eighty years old.”
Tom’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Maybe both.”
Again Harry laughed.
Again Tom looked quietly pleased by it.
The warmth in Harry’s chest deepened unexpectedly.
“You reread books often?” Tom asked after a while.
Harry nodded slightly. “When I’m anxious.”
The words slipped out before he meant them to.
Most people would have jumped on that opening immediately. Asked why. Asked about anxiety. Asked questions Harry didn’t want to answer.
Tom only nodded slowly. “I understand that.”
Harry blinked. “You do?”
“There’s comfort in familiarity,” Tom said simply. “Especially after difficult periods in life.”
The answer sat gently between them.
No pressure.
No curiosity sharpened into intrusion.
Just understanding.
Harry looked down at his hands for a moment. “Yeah.”
Tom’s voice softened slightly. “There’s nothing embarrassing about needing comfort, Harry.”
Something in Harry’s chest tightened painfully at that.
Because somehow Tom spoke to him like he was fragile without making him feel weak.
It was unfairly attractive.
The conversation continued after that until Harry genuinely lost track of time. Luna returned eventually looking deeply amused finding them still mid-conversation nearly an hour later.
“You two seem to be getting along disturbingly well,” she observed.
Tom looked toward Harry calmly. “Harry is good company.”
The simple sincerity behind the statement hit harder than it should have.
Harry ducked his head slightly to hide sudden embarrassment because nobody had called him good company in a very long time.
Luna eventually got distracted elsewhere again leaving them alone once more. The conversation shifted toward food naturally after that.
Tom admitted quietly that honey buns were his favorite thing to eat.
Harry immediately brightened. “Seriously?”
Tom nodded. “Especially homemade ones.”
“I make those constantly.”
“Then I’m jealous of your customers.”
Harry hesitated only briefly before speaking again. “You could come by tomorrow if you want. I usually bake fresh ones in the morning.”
Tom went very still for half a second.
So subtle Harry almost missed it.
Then the alpha smiled softly. “I’d like that very much.”
Harry felt oddly proud of himself afterward. The invitation came naturally. Easy. No panic attached to it. And maybe that should not have felt revolutionary, but it did because Harry hadn’t voluntarily invited an alpha anywhere personal in years.
Yet sitting beside Tom somehow didn’t feel dangerous.
The realization kept circling quietly through Harry’s head afterward while they continued talking about books and recipes and ridiculous customers from the bakery. At one point Tom noticed the pearl recipe stand mentioned casually during conversation.
“That sounds beautiful,” he said after Harry described it.
Harry smiled immediately. “It really is. Someone gifted it to me recently.”
Tom’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “Someone thoughtful then.”
“Very weird, actually,” Harry admitted with a small laugh. “But thoughtful.”
Tom tilted his head slightly. “Weird how?”
Harry hesitated. “I’ve kind of… been getting anonymous gifts.”
Tom stayed perfectly calm. “Does that frighten you?”
The question sounded genuine.
Harry thought about it honestly. “Sometimes.”
“And other times?”
Harry looked down at his tea. “Other times it feels nice.”
Tom watched him quietly.
Harry suddenly became aware of the earrings again.
“I know that sounds stupid,” he muttered.
“No,” Tom said softly. “It sounds lonely.”
The words hit with terrifying accuracy.
Harry looked up sharply.
Tom’s expression remained gentle. Understanding in a way that made Harry’s chest ache unexpectedly.
“You notice people very easily,” Harry said quietly.
“I notice you easily.”
The answer came smooth and immediate.
Harry’s breath caught slightly.
Tom seemed to realize how intimate the statement sounded a second later because his voice softened further when he continued. “You’re expressive when you feel comfortable. Most people probably overlook that.”
Harry stared at him for a moment without speaking.
Nobody had ever described him like that before.
The warmth in his chest deepened almost painfully.
Tom’s gaze flicked briefly toward the gold earrings dangling beneath Harry’s curls.
Something unreadable moved through his expression for only a second before disappearing completely.
Harry touched one earring unconsciously. “These too.”
“They suit you.”
The words were simple. Soft. But something about the way Tom said them made warmth creep slowly up Harry’s throat anyway.
“Thanks,” he muttered awkwardly.
Tom looked at him for another quiet moment afterward. Not invasive. Not intense. Just warm.
And suddenly Harry realized with startling clarity that this was the first time since leaving London that talking to an alpha didn’t feel like surviving something.
It just felt… nice.
Normal.
Maybe even hopeful.
And somehow that thought terrified him.
Because beneath the warmth and relief and cautious happiness, another feeling curled quietly inside Harry’s chest.
Guilt.
It made absolutely no sense.
Tom had done nothing wrong. He was kind and patient and funny in a quiet understated way Harry unexpectedly liked. Harry genuinely enjoyed speaking with him. The alpha made him feel calm enough to breathe properly again.
So why did Harry feel guilty?
The answer arrived immediately and horrifically.
The stalker.
Harry nearly choked on his own tea halfway through the realization.
Which was insane.
Completely insane.
He did not belong to the anonymous man leaving gifts outside his apartment. He did not owe loyalty to someone who watched him secretly from the shadows like a character from a psychological thriller.
And yet…
Harry touched the gold star earring again unconsciously, stomach twisting strangely because for months now the flowers and food and gifts had become woven carefully into his daily life. Whoever the stalker was, he paid attention to Harry with terrifying consistency. The gifts arrived after bad days. The meals always contained things Harry liked best. The jewelry somehow matched clothes Harry already owned.
Harry had started expecting the gifts without meaning to.
Started looking for flowers every morning.
Started wearing the earrings constantly.
And now here Harry was sitting across from another alpha feeling warm and safe and happy for the first time in years.
The thought felt wrong somehow.
Like betrayal.
Harry hated himself instantly for even thinking that because what the fuck did that even mean?
He did not know the stalker.
He had never even seen him.
And still the idea of becoming close with Tom produced strange anxious guilt curling beneath Harry’s ribs like he was somehow being disloyal.
The realization unsettled him badly enough that he became quieter afterward.
Tom noticed immediately of course.
“You alright?” he asked softly.
Harry blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Just distracted.”
Tom studied him for half a second before nodding easily. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Again.
No pressure.
No digging.
Just quiet understanding.
Harry’s chest ached unexpectedly.
The rest of the conversation passed gently after that, but the strange guilt never fully disappeared. Even while laughing with Tom and discussing recipes and books, Harry remained weirdly conscious of the earrings against his skin.
As if someone else was watching.
Waiting.
The feeling followed Harry all the way home afterward while snow drifted softly through town around him.
And for the first time in weeks, when he found fresh flowers waiting outside the bakery door that evening, Harry just stood there staring at them silently for a very long time.
Because instead of fear—
he felt like he needed to apologize.
Tom understood very quickly that Harry Potter was starved for gentleness.
Not attention.
Not affection.
Gentleness.
There was a difference, and Tom noticed it almost immediately the first time they truly spoke.
Harry reacted badly to intensity. Even before Tom properly introduced himself, he had already spent weeks observing enough to recognize the signs. The omega flinched subtly whenever strangers stepped too close behind him. His shoulders stiffened automatically whenever an alpha’s scent spiked too sharply nearby. He smiled politely through discomfort the way wounded things often did when they learned survival depended on appearing agreeable.
It made something ugly and possessive bloom warmly inside Tom’s chest every single time.
Because Harry accepted cruelty so easily.
Expected it, even.
Tom noticed the exact moment Harry relaxed around him at the omega center. The exact second those beautiful tense shoulders loosened slightly beneath soft cream-colored knitwear while Harry looked at him with cautious confusion instead of fear.
Warmth.
Tom could practically taste it in the air.
Harry scented him.
That alone nearly drove Tom insane.
For four years Harry’s instincts had apparently remained fractured enough that alpha scents barely reached him anymore. Tom already knew that from medical records and months of observation. Harry tolerated scents rather than responded to them. Most alphas around town irritated him after only minutes. Sometimes Harry physically stepped away from conversations without seeming to realize he was doing it.
But Tom—
Tom reached him.
Tom watched the realization happen in real time. Harry froze slightly when their scents first properly mingled, green eyes widening almost imperceptibly before confusion softened his expression. The omega kept scenting him afterward too without noticing. Tiny unconscious inhales whenever Tom leaned closer during conversation. Little pauses where Harry’s body seemed to settle instead of tighten.
Mine, Tom thought immediately.
Not hopeful.
Not uncertain.
Certain.
Mine.
The possessiveness hit so violently Tom almost lost focus on the conversation entirely.
But he remained perfectly controlled externally, because frightening Harry now would ruin everything.
Harry needed softness first.
Trust.
Tom would become safety before becoming anything else.
And Harry made it so terribly easy.
Tom had expected resistance. Fear. Suspicion. Especially considering the gifts. But instead Harry sat across from him with flushed cheeks and nervous smiles and laughed softly at Tom’s dry comments like he genuinely enjoyed his company.
Tom had imagined Harry’s laugh hundreds of times before hearing it properly.
Reality surpassed every fantasy.
The sound was smaller than Tom expected. Breathy. Slightly rusty like Harry didn’t use it enough anymore. Tom felt physically feverish the first time he caused it intentionally.
Because Harry looked happy.
Happy with him.
Tom spent most of the conversation forcing himself not to stare too obviously. It became increasingly difficult the longer Harry relaxed around him. The omega was beautiful in ways Tom’s mind still struggled to process coherently even after months of obsession.
Harry looked soft despite the sharpness trauma had carved into him over the years. Dark curls constantly falling across bright green eyes. Pale skin flushed pink from warmth and tea and laughter. Slim wrists disappearing beneath oversized sweater sleeves. Gold star earrings glinting every time Harry tilted his head.
Tom’s earrings.
Tom nearly lost control every single time Harry touched them unconsciously.
Because Harry touched them often.
Every nervous fidget eventually drew Harry’s fingers back toward the jewelry resting against his throat. Sometimes he rolled the tiny stars between careful fingertips while listening. Sometimes he brushed them absentmindedly while speaking.
Like they belonged there.
Like Tom belonged there.
The sight filled Tom with such violent satisfaction it almost made him dizzy.
Harry accepted the courting gifts beautifully without fully understanding what he was doing. Maybe some part of him understood instinctively after all. The flowers displayed openly inside the bakery. The food always eaten. The jewelry worn constantly against Harry’s skin.
Acceptance.
Claim.
Tom watched every step unfold exactly as the old texts promised.
The earrings especially mattered.
Gold gifted near the throat traditionally symbolized trust during old courting rituals. Not ownership yet. Not fully. But invitation. A visible acceptance of the alpha’s presence around the omega’s scent glands.
And Harry wore them every day.
Every single day.
Tom could barely think rationally whenever he saw them.
At one point during their conversation Harry mentioned the pearl recipe stand Tom had gifted recently, smiling in that soft absent distracted way he had whenever discussing baking. Tom felt almost euphoric hearing the omega speak fondly about something Tom himself had chosen carefully by hand after weeks observing Harry work.
“It really is beautiful,” Harry admitted quietly. “Someone gifted it to me recently.”
Someone.
Tom almost smiled at the absurdity.
Harry spoke about him constantly without realizing it. Luna apparently did too from what Tom overheard during previous visits. The anonymous admirer became woven deeply into Harry’s daily routine already. Tom existed in the omega’s life even while unseen.
Soon Harry would understand fully.
Soon Harry would stop separating them at all.
Tom noticed the exact moment things changed permanently.
It happened very quietly.
Harry touched the earrings again after Tom complimented them.
“They suit you,” Tom said softly.
Harry ducked his head immediately afterward, fingers brushing the gold stars with unconscious affection while warmth spread visibly across pale cheeks.
And Tom knew.
Accepted.
The realization settled deep inside him with terrifying certainty.
Harry wore his gifts. Protected them. Carried them daily against vulnerable skin. Even now while sitting beside another alpha — though Tom almost laughed internally at the irony of that thought — Harry remained constantly aware of the jewelry.
Aware of Tom.
The omega did not understand old courting traditions well enough to recognize what he was doing, but instinct mattered more than knowledge. Harry’s instincts already responded correctly. He accepted gifts near the throat. Accepted food. Flowers. Domestic offerings. Attention.
Accepted Tom himself.
The rest became inevitable.
Tom barely heard parts of the conversation afterward because his mind spiraled somewhere feverish and euphoric and dark. He watched Harry speak animatedly about books while internally imagining fastening the final courting gift around the omega’s throat with his own hands.
The locket.
God.
Just thinking about it made Tom’s pulse spike violently.
The Slytherin locket rested locked carefully inside Tom’s home even now. Ancient silver and emerald detailing worn smooth by generations of use.
The heirloom had belonged to Tom’s family for centuries, traditionally gifted during serious alpha-omega courtships once acceptance became clear. Not quite a collar. Modern society abandoned explicit claiming traditions long ago outside deeply conservative circles. But the locket remained close enough that everyone would understand its meaning immediately.
A devotion gift.
A belonging gift.
An announcement.
Mine.
Tom planned originally to wait longer before presenting it. Another month perhaps. More flowers. More food. More gradual softening.
But Harry changed everything today.
Harry invited him willingly into the bakery.
Harry relaxed beneath Tom’s scent.
Harry laughed with him.
And most importantly—
Harry touched the earrings like they mattered.
Tom spent the remainder of the afternoon controlling himself with brutal precision while Harry continued speaking warmly beside him. The omega had no idea how dangerously close Tom stood to abandoning restraint entirely.
Especially once Harry invited him to the bakery the next morning.
“You could come by tomorrow if you want.”
Tom nearly stopped breathing.
The bakery mattered enormously. Tom understood that instantly. Harry built his entire new life around that place. It was sanctuary. Safety. Home. Harry rarely invited anyone there outside Luna and a few regular customers.
Yet Harry offered the invitation freely.
To Tom.
The omega’s scent shifted warmer immediately afterward too, nervous sweetness threading softly beneath vanilla and bread. Harry wanted Tom there.
Wanted him close.
Tom had dreamed about hearing those words for months while watching Harry through dark bakery windows at sunrise.
“I’d like that very much,” Tom answered carefully, because anything more honest would sound monstrous.
In reality Tom wanted to drag Harry into his lap and scent the invitation directly against soft omega skin until both of them drowned in it.
Instead he smiled politely and discussed honey buns.
Control.
Always control.
Tom waited until after Harry finally left the omega center before allowing the expression on his face to crack completely. The second the omega disappeared beyond the doorway Tom felt something dangerously ecstatic unfurl beneath his skin.
Victory.
Not complete.
Not yet.
But close enough that Tom could practically feel Harry already.
The earrings confirmed everything.
Harry belonged to him instinctively already even if his conscious mind remained confused.
Especially the guilt.
Tom noticed that too.
Toward the end of their conversation Harry became quieter suddenly. Distracted. Fingers constantly brushing the earrings while anxiety curled visibly through his scent. Most people would miss it.
Tom understood instantly.
The omega felt guilty for enjoying another alpha’s company while wearing courting gifts from his anonymous admirer.
The realization nearly made Tom delirious with happiness.
Harry did not know they were the same person, yet his instincts still responded possessively.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Tom followed Harry home from a distance afterward through softly falling snow, watching the omega’s smaller figure disappear carefully inside the bakery. Warm yellow light glowed through downstairs windows moments later.
Home.
Tomorrow Tom would finally enter properly.
Not lurking outside afterward like a starving animal.
Invited.
Wanted.
Tom stood across the street for nearly twenty minutes simply staring at the apartment windows above the bakery while snow collected silently across his dark coat.
Then his thoughts returned inevitably to the locket.
The final courting gift.
Tom went home immediately afterward and unlocked the hidden box beside his bed with almost reverent care. Ancient silver glinted softly beneath candlelight the moment he lifted the lid.
Beautiful.
The locket resembled jewelry only superficially. Heavy silver chains. Dark green gemstone set directly into ornate metalwork. Elegant enough to appear harmless at first glance, but the symbolism remained unmistakable to anyone raised around older pureblood traditions.
Protection.
Claiming.
Devotion.
Possession.
Tom traced careful fingers across the cool silver while imagining it resting against Harry’s throat.
Perfect.
The omega would look devastating wearing it.
Tom already knew exactly how it would happen tomorrow.
He would visit the bakery early before the morning rush. Harry would smile nervously seeing him arrive. They would talk softly over tea and pastries while sunlight touched Harry’s curls gold through the windows.
Then Tom would present the locket.
Not aggressively.
Never aggressively.
Harry frightened easily beneath sudden pressure.
Tom would explain properly instead. Old family tradition. A meaningful gift. Something precious passed through generations. Harry’s sweet polite nature would never allow immediate rejection once he understood the emotional significance attached to it.
And once the omega accepted—
Everything would change.
Tom could reveal himself afterward.
Not immediately perhaps.
But soon.
Very soon.
Because Harry already accepted him in every way that mattered.
The omega simply had not realized yet that the comforting alpha at the omega center and the devoted admirer leaving flowers outside his door were the same man.
Tom smiled slowly at the thought, fingertips tightening around the silver chain.
Tomorrow Harry would wear his final courting gift.
Tomorrow the claim would become complete.
And afterward?
Tom honestly did not know whether he would survive the joy of it.