Five year old Harry Potter closed his eyes, happy to finally have a chance to rest. It had been a long, chore-filled day and he was glad to lie down on his lumpy mattress in the cupboard under the stairs. But his eyes opened almost as quickly as he had closed them and, somehow, he was in an entirely different room.
This room had a window and the ceiling seemed high above his head, although it was quite dark and Harry couldn’t make out too many details. He was lying on a much more comfortable mattress, with a thick blanket on top of him. Harry had no idea how he had got here, but this place was much better than his cupboard.
There was a rustling noise next to him, and just as Harry began to realise that he wasn’t alone, a little hand reached out and forcefully shoved him off the bed. Harry landed on his bum on a cold, tiled floor; looking round he saw a boy about his age sitting up on the bed
“How did you get here?” the other boy asked in a hushed voice. Harry couldn’t see him clearly, but it seemed like he was staring at him intently.
“I didn’t mean to! I swear, I just closed my eyes and then I was here!” began Harry, realising that he must have somehow ended up in this boy’s bed. This boy must be really angry with him; once Harry had lain down in his cousin’s bed and Uncle Vernon had screamed at him for ages about how ungrateful brats shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to them.
“Come here,” the boy sounded more sure of himself, as if Harry’s nervousness had calmed him down. Harry had no idea where he was, but this boy didn’t seem to be too angry with him. Ever since he’d started primary school Dudley had bullied anyone that dared to talk to him and yet here was a boy who wasn’t ignoring him, unlike all the other children did nowadays. Harry got to his feet nervously.
“Come here and sit on the bed. I want to look at you properly.” The boy spoke gently, but there was an underlying tone of command, an expectation of obedience, that made Harry rush to sit down.
“That’s good. Now tell me, where were you before I called for you?” asked the boy as he moved so he was perched on the side of the bed next to Harry.
“I, I was in my cupboard. But I didn’t hear anyone calling for me, I was just trying to go to sleep!”
“Shh. You have to be quiet or one of the matrons will hear. You’re not in any trouble, I know why you’re here.” he said, still speaking quietly, but sounding a lot more confident and self-assured than he had before.
“My name is Tom, and you are here because you are mine. I called for you and you came, that means that you must belong to me. Do you understand?”
Harry sat in silence. This definitely didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t heard anyone calling for him when he was in his cupboard, and usually he could hear his uncle or cousin yelling at him from anywhere in the house. Also, he didn’t quite understand what Tom meant when he said that Harry belonged to him. People couldn’t belong to other people; except in the way that Dudley belonged to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
“You want me?” Harry asked cautiously. He desperately wanted to have what Dudley had, if he belonged to Tom then he would have to look after Harry and buy him presents and not hit him. Most of all, Tom would have to love Harry.
“Yes, now lie down. I don’t want to sleep alone anymore,” Tom said, pulling Harry back and covering him with the thick blanket. Tom’s arms wrapped around him possessively, just like Aunt Petunia’s arms went around Dudley when she hugged him. Unlike his cousin, Harry didn’t squirm to get away. Instead, he sighed contentedly. Even if all this was a dream, it was still the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable and happy.