I Dare You, Heart

Emerald eyes observed the room from the far wall obscured in shadows with narrowed eyes. Slytherin had won the game against Gryffindor today, which had practically ensured them the House Cup, as well as the Quidditch cup, of course. And now everybody in Slytherin was celebrating here in the Common room.

Good god.

He thought Gryffindor parties, back in his time, had been epic. This... this was something else. The Slytherins must have some kind of an unspoken rule (or a magically binding contract, knowing Slytherins), that what happens at these parties stays there, because no self-respecting Slytherin would let anybody get this much blackmail on themselves.

All the songs of the most popular bands of the wizarding world where booming over the room. There was alcohol everywhere. They were practically swimming in it-... was that a Jacuzzi there, filled with whiskey? Well, anyway, alcohol was everywhere and so was what seemed to be some kind of small potions exchanging hands and being shot down. What really surprised the green-eyed boy, however, were the cigars that some of the purebloods were smoking. He had heard about the wizarding world's own tobacco industry, though he hadn't seen anybody smoking one before.

Everybody from fourth year up was present. At least, those that hadn't already slinked away to their rooms with a lover in tow or those that hadn't yet passed out somewhere. They were all gathered in groups of various shapes and sizes, doing Merlin knows what.

And there, in his usual seat in front of the fireplace, was him. Green eyes narrowed further. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The Head Boy, Heir and King of Slytherin, Prodigy of the Century, Heartthrob of the girls and even quite a few boys, Model student, and an Aspiring Dark Lord a.k.a. Lord Voldemort. He was sipping from his wine glass while reading a book in the middle of all this. Surrounding him were his followers, or at least half of them. The other half was probably showing some girl around their dorm already, aside from Nott who was with one of the side groups doing… something disturbing with a plant. They were all definitely drunk and Lestrange would probably hit the lights in a few moments, considering the way he was swaying in his seat. But not Riddle. No, Riddle was probably the only other person in this room, besides Harry, who was substantially sober.

Harry took a gulp of his own butterbeer at that thought, and continued observing the wild Slytherins in their natural habitat. It was the beginning of April, but the Common room was uncommonly (he snorted at the choice of wording) warm right now. Probably because of all the people here making the space heat up. Glancing around in the room he was sure that the space wasn't the only thing these girls were heating up. School uniforms had definitely not been this short and revealing a few hours ago and, averting his eyes quickly, he didn't think some of the couples were still in minor second base anymore.

Next to Riddle was Malfoy with a lap full of Walburga Black, who was switching between sucking on Malfoy's neck and tongue. Harry suppressed a smirk. He couldn't wait to see both of their faces tomorrow, should they remember it. If not, he could definitely work something up to, subtly, remind them.

Subconsciously, his eyes slid back to Riddle again. He wouldn't have believed that he would let something like this happen in his presence, but as it is, he didn't seem to pay too much attention to the on goings in the Common room tonight. Despite the total apocalypse taking place, everybody still somehow managed to avoid stepping into Riddles personal bubble that had quite a wide radius. This didn't surprise Harry. Considering all that he's heard and seen, they were smart to stay away from Riddle. Even though he was a snake, he would rip anybody that overstepped their boundaries apart like a vicious lion.

Almost against his will, his eyes ripped themselves away from Riddle, to one of the corners of the room. There, in the low light, he saw two girls heatedly whispering and throwing glances towards the subject of his earlier observation. He was about to dismiss them and go back to (disdainfully) staring at Riddle, when one of the girls straightened her back and started heading towards the Dark-Lord-in-the-making on unsteady legs and swaying hips. He recognized her as Melisandre Carrow. And the one who had stayed in the corner, with a wicked smirk on her lips, was Dorothy Parkinson. Oh boy. He didn't know if he should close his eyes or just go ahead and watch the catastrophe about to take place.

With a half resigned, half gleeful sigh he turned to the scene about to play off in front of him. Oh, this should be good. There is some popcorn on the table next to him. Better take the whole bowl.

Carrow faltered and seemed to have lost some of her alcohol induced courage when she reached the edge of Riddles personal bubble, but shook her head determinedly and took the few remaining steps forward, to reach his armchair. When her presence went completely unacknowledged by him for about half a minute she decided to make a move and clear her throat to get his attention. Harry was sure he was the only one to see Riddle's eye twitch a little at that and took another mouthful of popcorn.

Carrow's face, which was already a bit blotchy from drinking, got even redder (whether from anger of embarrassment, Harry didn't know) with Riddles continual ignoring. She seemed to take in a deep breath and stuck one of her hips out, leaning a hand against it.

"Hey, Tom!" Harry was sure she intended it to come out sultry and flirtatious, but the alcohol in her had other plans so, instead, she looked like she might throw up at any second. Harry almost choked on his butterbeer.

"I'm hearing alof'f rumours con-concerning how you feel about me t'night, so I'm here to make things clear. Yes, I will marry you in France the day after graduation and sure, I'll let you name two of our chil-children. Now, le's go make love."

Harry considered closing his eyes again after hearing that, but it was like watching a horror movie, knowing there will be a jump scare any second. He didn't want to look but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He couldn't even risk reaching for his popcorn at that moment, worrying he might miss something or ruin the moment. That poor girl. You will be remembered. He doubted he could ever wipe this scene from his memories, even if he tried.

From the corner of his eyes he saw Parkinson approaching Riddle from the back, but holding her distance for now.

Tom Riddle finally raised his gaze then, and pierced it right though the girl standing in front of him, flesh, bone, soul and all. He put his wine glass on the side table next to his chair and rose to stand in front of the girl, who now looked like a deer caught in the headlights. In Harry's perspective, she should've looked more like a baby zebra in the jaws of a crocodile. Blame the alcohol, he guessed, shrugging his shoulders.

Riddle then leaned towards Carrow and started to softly whisper into her ear. If Harry hadn't known better, and hadn't seen Carrow's face, which was paling with every second, he might have thought he was whispering sweet promises of eternal love to her. But as it is, he was probably breathing devastating, crushing, and terrifying words into her head that will stay there for years, if not a lifetime, and will ensure she never looks in his direction again.

At the same time Parkinson swiftly pulled something out of her pocket and slipped it into Riddle's unfinished wine, where it dissolved in seconds. Well. This was tenser and more dramatic than a good telenovela. The popcorn bowl was empty. Were those chips over there? Yes.

Riddle suddenly straightened and sat back down onto his chair and resumed reading, as if nothing had just happened. Carrow stood at the same spot for a couple of seconds more, before she seemed to remember how to function and then she was gone, up the stairs in a flash, tears trailing down her face. Harry was quite impressed she hadn't fallen face first into the Jacuzzi, on her mad dash to the stairs, considering her earlier difficulties with walking.

Parkinson had also moved away by then and blended into the nearby crowd. She was still in Harry's line of sight, however, and kept a firm gaze on Riddle and his drink.

After a while Riddle reached for the wine glass again and brought it slowly to his lips. He paused though, just before taking a sip, and looked down at the red liquid. Harry was sure that it wasn't anything poisonous in there, considering it was Parkinson who had smuggled it in there, and looking at her expression now, which was glued to Riddle at that moment, he was quite sure what effect she expected it to have on Riddle.

Finally, Riddle took a long gulp of his wine and suddenly…nothing happened. He set the glass down again and turned a page. Harry was on the edge of his metaphorical seat right then and Parkinson was basically vibrating where she stood. A minute went by – nothing, three – Riddle took another sip, five – nada. After fifteen minutes, Harry decided that he should reconsider his faith in Parkinson, because that girl was clearly off her game.

Harry was just about to sullenly head to his bed when he noticed Riddle rubbing his eyes and furrowing his brows. After a while, it became clear that he wasn't reading anymore, his already pale complex turning a shade paler as a thin coat of perspiration started to form on his brow. He tried to rise from the seat, but started to sway on his feet instantly. Parkinson was there in a moment, wiggling her way under his arm for mock support as she started whispering something, intending to be calming and soothing no doubt, to him.

At the beginning, Harry was content to just smile and wave at them from his corner, for he was certain that Riddle had this coming to him for being such an insufferable arse to him for the whole year he had spent at Hogwarts of this time so far, and becoming the monster from his nightmares in the future. But, as he looked at Riddle's helpless form being dragged towards the stairs by that pug faced Parkinson, he just couldn't suppress the guilt that was beginning to gnaw at him. And a few other emotions, that had no right to be there, surged when he watched as that wench dragged her fingers over his jaw and brushed her full lips across the shell of his ear.

Okay, show's over.

They were already halfway up the stairs when he got to them. Riddle was getting worse by the minute and now he was having trouble standing up. Parkinson was half dragging half carrying him, but it seemed she had reached her limit as Riddle somehow wrenched himself away from her grasp and leaned against the stone wall with one hand.

"...Come on now, we are almost there. Just a little bit more. Then we can have some proper fun." She was saying to him, in that annoying voice of hers. She reached for him again and was about to go back to dragging him, no doubt, when he stepped in.

"Get your filthy hands off him." Harry said in a low voice, surprising even himself by the coldness of his tone.

"Wha-...Evans? What do you want?" She sneered at him pretentiously.

"I said get the hell away from him." He took several more steps in her direction, cornering her as she held her ground glaring at him.

"Do I have to repeat myself for your inbred, dim-witted brain to catch up to what I am saying? Tell me, Parkinson, is this what you do every time you want some unfortunate soul to sleep with you, hmm? Do you drug them too and take advantage of them like you tried with Riddle here? Is that what it takes for you to get laid? Speaking of Riddle, how do you think he will react, when he finds out what you tried to do? What if he remembers? And if not, what if somebody reminds him?" He ended in vicious amusement.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was frowning at his own words, but as a Slytherin, this was the way he was expected to act and talk now, if he wanted to survive in the House of Snakes. Any weakness or hesitancy would be used against him, he had learned that lesson from the start. And besides that, the knowledge of what she was about to do to Riddle really bothered him, along with his own strange reaction to it.

Parkinson's face drained of all colour with his ending question, as if she hadn't thought that far, and the look of pure panic entered her eyes.

"I-Please don't tell him-..."

"I see you are aware of the severity of your situation. Get out of my sight, and go pray to any deity you believe in that Riddle doesn't remember."

She went then, on shaky legs towards the girl's dorm, and Harry was left alone with the Dark Menace, who was currently quite incapacitated. He was still leaning against the wall and had, in the meanwhile, started to sway dangerously. Harry was at loss of what to do for a moment, for he really did, kinda, hate Riddle and didn't fancy touching him to help him to a bed.

Now that he thought about it, Riddle had his own living space as a Head Boy, so he would have to put him to somebody else's bed for tonight, since he was not going to help Riddle to his own quarters halfway across the dungeon.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, now that his sense of bravado and justice had left him.

"Eh, well… can you get to a bed yourself or-" Harry didn't get to finish that sentence, because Riddle then decided it was time to throw up. What startled Harry more than seeing the future Lord Voldemort throwing his guts up was the fact that the vomit was black. He knew that this was most definitely not a good sign and remembered reading something in his potions textbook about certain poisons having this exact effect. Riddle then fell to his hands and knees, missing the puddle he just made by an inch.

Harry was on the move then. Before he even gave himself time to process, he had vanished the vomit, picked Riddle up and dashed up the stairs to the dorm.

In the dorm, he put Riddle onto his own bed and dived into his trunk. He had made a special little compartment for a few things a paranoid person living in Slytherin should own. He finally found his bezoar and went to Riddle's side, forcing it down his throat with a convenient little spell. He then cast a few other spells and fished out a few antidotes just in case. He was glad he had decided to study about poisons and antidotes more thoroughly, after the incident with Ron in Slughorn's quarters. He had felt so helpless then, wishing with all his might that a bezoar would help with that type of poison.

Now, however, he was positive that he had saved Riddle's life and that he would recover from it eventually. Even though he still didn't exactly know what that thing was that Parkinson had spiked him with, watching the familiar symptoms slowly take a hold of Riddle, he knew he would be okay.

…

He had just saved Tom Riddle's life.

Willingly.

He sat shock still on Riddle's bedside, as his situation slowly caught up with him.

When he had travelled back in time after Dumbledore's death, to gather knowledge about Lord Voldemort's past and possible horcruxes, he didn't expect to one day be the one to save Riddle, in any time period.

A light groan brought him out of his musings and he glanced down at the boy on his bed. Riddle's temperature was increasing rapidly and a sheen of perspiration could be seen forming on his face and neck.

Harry knew that he should take off the thick layers of clothes that Riddle had on his body to help cool him down, so he gingerly started to pull the robe from his shoulders. He clasped the back of Riddles neck and carefully lifted him, to get the robe out from underneath him, cringing all the while. Then, remembering the existence of magic with an exasperated eye-roll, he cast a quick levitation charm and the robe was completely off his current 'patient'. Harry sighed deeply, looking as though he had just finished a marathon.

When he looked back to Riddle's form, he noticed that the fever must have risen even more than normal, for a slight hue of red had developed on his pale cheeks and the white blouse of his uniform was now almost see-through from his clammy skin. Harry groaned to himself, already regretting saving Riddle, for now he knew that he couldn't just leave him like that.

With a resigned sigh and a stern inner monologue to himself about not getting in the middle of things that don't concern him, he went back to Riddle's side. If he was going to do this at all then why not just go all out? He started with taking off his shoes and socks, and cast a few cooling charms on the sheets and blanket. He then moved to the forbidden area of Riddle's torso and started to unbutton the soaking blouse, all the while chanting the top 50 situations that had taken place during his Hogwarts schooling in which he really shouldn't have gotten involved in.

"...Evans?" that one drowsy word almost gave him cardiac arrest.

At that point Harry had gotten about half of the buttons open. He imagined that being hunched down over his barely conscious form, striping him naked, painted an interesting picture for Riddle.

They had been at each other's throats since Harry had arrived here for the seventh year. Harry wanted as little as possible to do with Riddle and just be a distant observer, but Riddle had gotten it inside his head that Harry was an interesting pastime, and had done everything to poke and prod Harry into giving him as much information about himself as possible. And so, they kept stepping on each other's toes, pushing the other to the limit as well as, in some unfortunate instances, beyond, and, in Harry's case, dodging Riddles attempts of converting him to his side as a loyal follower.

The situation must have finally caught up with Riddle for he suddenly started to push him away while one of his hands went for his currently absent wand. Harry was glad he had thought to take it away from him when he started to strip him. Riddle shot him a scorching glare when he discovered the absence of his wand and Harry secretly had to admit that even in this state he could make lesser men piss themselves from fright.

"You don't have to worry, I'm not going to ravish you." Harry said with a roll of his eyes. When Riddle made no move to relax again, despite being on the edge of unconsciousness, he sighed and tried to calm the not so battle ready Dark-Lord-wannabe down. He put his hand on Riddle's shoulder, guiding him back down to the bed gently, while speaking soothingly.

"It's okay, you are safe, go back to sleep. I'm going to take care of you." He didn't know why those words came out like that, as he was thinking along the lines of 'just pass out already and I'll make sure you won't kick the bucket', but amazingly, it seemed to work, for Riddle didn't resist as he pressed him back to the pillow. Or maybe he was just closer to the edge of unconsciousness than he thought. Either way, he closed his eyes and didn't protest.

Harry then finished the buttons and wrestled him out of the shirt. Then came the pants and Harry, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, levitated the unconscious boy and slipped them off, thankfully, with ease.

Riddles breathing had become quick and uneven and he was tossing his head from side to side. Harry knew the fever had to break by itself and no potions should be given, for the poison still running through his veins could have a negative reaction.

Resigned to his fate, he conjured a small basin with a washcloth and filled it with cool water. Wringing the cloth, he quickly went over Riddles neck and chest with it. After that, he rinsed it off again and placed it on his forehead with a quick cooling charm. Pleased with his work, but definitely not with himself, he was about to get up and find a place to sleep when Riddle's hand shot out and grabbed a hold of his arm.

"S-Stay..."

…

…

…What?!

Riddle's eyes were half open, but even so Harry could clearly see the emotions running through them. One in particular, which was the most profound as well, caught him off guard. Fear. Riddle was afraid. He must have thought he was literally dying.

He really must have been in a hole right now, to be acting this way. Completely delirious. Why else would he ever utter that word to him.

His surprisingly strong grip was slackening on his arm, as his strength was leaving him again, but his eyes remained desperate, even as they started to flutter shut.

On instinct, Harry grabbed a hold of Riddles slackening hand, trying to calm him down one last time.

"You will be okay. I promise," he said. Riddle's eyes seemed to truly focus for the first time right then, since being poisoned, as he looked straight into emerald eyes. The fear was gone, but there was something else that Harry never managed to identify, for Riddle's eyes closed then, his body going lax.

Damn his saving people thing.

Well, Harry thought miserably, he couldn't possibly fall any deeper. And he was tired. So tired from the events of the night that he just wanted to bury his face in a pillow and never wake again. He didn't fancy climbing into someone else's bed himself. Plus, he reasoned to himself, if Riddle's condition should worsen, then he would know and manage to wake up on spot. So, without giving it much further thought, he shed his outer robe and shoes and climbed onto the bed next to Riddle. He was glad that the bed sizes were more that comfortable for one person, so two could manage to sleep shoulder to shoulder in it just fine as well.

With that thought, his eyes slid shut, unconsciousness claiming him in seconds.

~To be continued~

And there we go. A story I started ages ago, finally finding it's way here. Did you like it? Hate it? Whatever you thought, good or bad, please let me know. Your reviews mean so much to me.

A thousand blessings to my beta MayzeMerlo, without you this wouldn't have been English.

E.S~