Eyes-
Preventing Me
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Tom(Riddle)/Harry
Summary: Tom would never forget those green eyes, and Harry wouldn't let him. No matter what Dumbledore offered.
Author: PurpleDoorWithTheOrangeKnob
A/N: I love this pairing! Definitely my favorite Harry Potter slash to read :) So here I go, trying a fic on for size.. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Run! Run back to your rightful owners!
WARNINGS! - Wrong-doings of the Harry Potter fandom in my self-plotted story include: YAOI! (Both are dudes.) INSINUATED SEXUAL ESCAPADES! (The sex acts are implied, not graphic this time.) VIOLENCE! (It happens.) CURSE WORDS! (Come on! Everything has these now-a-days.) ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! (Almost every part..)
Enjoy..!
"Oh, but Tom! Don't you love me?"
Glimmering green malice stared at him in amusement- the only thing keeping Tom from cursing the boy in front of him (Wasn't it always?). The sixth-year Slytherin clenched his fists, reigning in his flaring anger. Thick tension shrouded the abandoned classroom, and Tom Riddle just wanted to murder something. Preferably the Ravenclaw in front of him, sitting with knees crossed and a sly grin upon his porcelain face- yet Tom knew he wouldn't. As horribly tempting the fantasy was (He could just feel his hands around that pretty little neck), Tom Riddle just couldn't.
A growl escaped his throat as he stalked towards his prey. The few moments before Tom crossed the line of personal space seemed much longer than they actually were, and he hated how those emerald eyes never left his form (Yet he didn't want them to leave. Why didn't he want them to leave?).
Strong hands grasped lithe shoulders, and two pairs of lips met - in a clash of will, in a friction of touch. Soon Harry was writhing in pleasure as his literal dreams became a reality, and he could barely comprehend the fact. It was a daze of heat and hands, and oh so Tom that he could hardly breathe. Harry pushed into the embrace, trying to claim Tom as well as Tom claimed him, but the small boy was quickly pushed backwards onto the dusty desk he had been leaning against. A murmured contraceptive spell was whispered to his lips, and Harry felt glad Tom had remembered for him (although Harry had read that the Hogwart's wards automatically took care of such things somewhere). Those blue eyes he loved and adored stared straight into his heart, and that mouth seemed to heal his wounded pride each kiss at a time. So much so that as Tom removed the last of his clothing, Harry built the courage to mumble, "You aren't doing so well at proving me otherwise." Harry heard a growl, before being roughly taken.
He wouldn't complain though, wouldn't stop the older boy either. Not when it was Tom he was submissing to, not when it was Tom that used those lips and that tongue and those teeth, pulling moan after gasp from his body. Harry was enjoying himself and helping his Tom, and it didn't matter that if the person between his thighs were anyone else, he'd be horrified.
(o-o)
Tom slowly buttoned his shirt, mind still hazy, avoiding the little Ravenclaw's gaze. Running through an imaginary list, he made sure he wouldn't be leaving anything and then deciding it wouldn't matter if he did, turned quickly towards the door with every intention of walking away without a word said.
Until a hand grabbed his sleeve.
"That won't be happening again."
"I know," the little Potter said. Even still, he looked through his lashes up at Tom, a pretty smirk on his bruised lips, and Tom couldn't help but let his gaze drift down to the purple bruise on that pale neck. (He had put that there..)
Snatching his arm from the boy's grip, he stalked backwards, taking mild enjoyment from the resulting flinch on that pretty face. "Then stop!" Tom demanded, chest heaving and breathing harsh.
Potter's lovely face crumbled, and then quickly rebuilt itself. The Ravenclaw straightened his shoulders and stood from the desk (The desk where they-), brushing inexistent dust from his lavender night shirt. The change in his being was fast; the sudden hurt, surprise, fear from that instant before hardened into a coldness within those damned (enchanting) eyes that startled him.
The boy pouted. "Stop what? I'm sorry if I did something!"
'Stop making me want you!'
'Stop making me want to strangle you!'
'Stop making me want to refuse him!'
Tom wanted to shout and shake the young Potter until the boy understood.
Instead, he slammed the door on his way out.
(o o)
Dumbledore, a man witches and wizards everywhere admired, had never felt so unworthy.
Of course, that didn't stop him from spinning in his office chair.
But still, as his simple jinx twisted the seat he was in round and round, Albus Dumbledore knew he had no right in using young Tom to wheedle out Gellert's boy. Truly, Albus was quite the horrible man, proven by his blatant disrespect of his student's privacy, and - if he were being thoroughly criticizing - their minds as well.
When the swirling magic stopped, Albus sighed, cradling the tan face in his palms and jabbing his elbows into his knees. Forgetting the long, auburn beard, he looked very youthful, attractive even. Albus couldn't help but be proud of his looks. Perhaps Gellert would be too.
And that lifted his spirits high, just as he lifted his head, reminding him of his purpose. Albus shouldn't be ashamed of his acts, not if it was all for the greater good. Not if they were for his Gellert.
(o-o)
Tom discovered that ignoring Harry Potter was something not easily achieved. (Yes, he just saw a tussled mess of black hair duck behind that crammed bookshelf.)
He would travel down corridors not very frequented, Tom thought as he scribbled nonsense down on his essay -that actually seemed proper to anyone less of his caliber-, sure that he would avoid the boy that way. Yet, the little Ravenclaw would also be using the same paths. (Very conspicuous.) Even then Tom would hold his head forwards, refusing to look the raven-haired boy in the eyes. That didn't stop him from noticing the slight smiles and soft features (Or the love-bite last week that was too recent to be caused by Tom).
Tom refused to be angry, as he gripped his feather companion rather harshly.
(Yet he cursed Abraxas Malfoy to the point of limping for something as simple as whistling that other night.)
And then at meal times, Tom would concentrate on anything other than Harry, but the little Ravenclaw's lilting voice as he chattered to his friends never failed to catch Tom's attention, bringing him that much closer to cursing the nearest living thing (Who usually happened to be Walburga Black as of recent. Honestly, obsessive little fourth-years were bad enough, but the head girl?)
None of the daily events were worse than Tom's night-time activities though.
He, Tom Riddle, would dream about Harry Potter, an annoying (-ly attractive) fifth-year Ravenclaw. Sexually.
His eye twitched, and the surrounding study groups turned to him, jaws slack, as he unconsciously incinerated his quill.
Those things don't happen to him! Tom Riddle receives visions of power and glory- not bare skin, and green eyes, and pretty pink lips around his-
These dreams often had him spelling his drapes shut and casting the room silent to his hormonal impulses before thinking more deeply upon the person of Harry Potter. The amount of times he had did this since that night a little over three weeks ago bothered him. A little too close to every single night for his comfort. Truthfully though, those were the only times he could think of the Ravenclaw without admonishing his thoughts.
The point of the matter was that no matter where, Tom always focused on Harry. Something needed to be done.
(o-o)
"You always stare at me," the small boy said.
Tom glared.
"Don't give me that look! You do!" replied Harry Potter, indignant and flushed.
Tom promptly ignored him, propping his feet on the table and continuing to read.
Potter growled, and swiped away his book.
"Look here, you pompous ass. Everyone's saying you fancy me, and it's ruining my reputation. Snip the attitude and stop staring at me."
Tom instantly felt his anger brew, and that was never a good thing. Must have shown on his face, if the Potter boy's sudden eye-catching fear was anything to go by.
Tom smacked the book from the boy's hand onto the floor and grabbed the blue and bronze tie dangling beside him, pulling it even closer so the boy had to slightly bend to face him.
"Be careful where you tread, Potter. I know a secret, your secret, and I might just broadcast it to the world. Or kill you. Either's just fine to me," Tom said slowly, enjoying the way those eyes quickly came to a realization.
But then he hated how they suddenly became unreadable.
Tom let go of the tie, and the Ravenclaw stumbled. Tom held his hand out to the boy, and the other boy's face lit with a bright smile. His movements were clumsy as he picked up the forgotten tome, and Tom adamantly watched the boy as he knew the heir was quite graceful.
Potter lightly pressed the book into the impatient hand with a bright grin.
(o-o)
Somehow, Tom never remembered that Harry was the Ravenclaw seeker. Not until Dumbledore dropped a piece of paper onto his book in class.
'Quidditch is always a delightful time for winning, don't you think?
Game on Saturday! Ravenclaw versus Slytherin!'
Tom realized three things in that moment.
Mainly, the match was his golden opportunity. His job could be carried out inconspicuously, just another 'accident' on the quidditch field. (Somehow, he couldn't picture himself doing that to Potter, although he knew he would have no choice.)
But then, there was also another opportunity as well. Dumbledore was getting desperate. Tom could gain so much from that that he grinned in glee, scaring several Slytherins walking with him out the walk-way.
And then the last realization dawned on him slowly. If he succeeded, Tom would never have to go back to that damned orphanage.
And so, as surprisingly hard as it was, Tom detached himself from his slight feelings.
(o-o)
The atmosphere surrounding the pitch was something worth mentioning, as Ravenclaw and Slytherin matches (with Potter as the seeker) seemed to be rather tense lately.
Nothing like the Slytherin matches against Gryffindor, of course, but neither were they similar to the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw matches either. Sparks would fly from wands unconsciously and curses from mouths purposely in the most vehement of games, as the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor almost always escalated into full-out brawls. And with their cool thinking, the Ravenclaws often trashed the Hufflepuffs with class.
No, Ravenclaw and Slytherin matches were quite different.
The fact had taken three years or so to sink-in with the various Slytherin Quidditch captains, but when it did, the matches definitely became fiercer. (By 'it', he meant that Potter was a brilliant seeker who would catch the snitch within a minute during a slow game.) Took long enough in Tom's opinion, as Potter had been seeker since his first year, and common sense would predict his skills becoming even better with time.
Slytherins prided in being sly. Definitely not brilliant.
But even so, despite being hard-played, the matches were fair. Perhaps the reason was that both houses held very high-ranking family heirs, or that Ravenclaws and Slytherins could easily achieve revenge. Regardless, the matches were regal battles, quaffles stolen with honor.
Following in example, the cheers from the stands were loud and cheery, with a note of friendly rivalry underneath.
So, seeing the relatively calm air, Tom knew he would be causing quite the spectacle within the hour.
(Merlin, why am I doing this? was all he could question at the back of his mind, even though he already knew the answer.)
Ironically, as he trudged through the slight mud sluggishly, this would be the first quidditch match Tom had ever witnessed from beginning to end. He recalled sitting in the stands during his first year, and then leaving ten minutes later, highly disappointed with the utter uselessness of the past-time. Those moments were categorized in his memory as the points where he realized the wizarding world did not differ all too much from the muggle one.
Disappointment, that's what-
"Tom?"
He cursed, then stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. Like hell was he going to turn around for him of all people. Not today, Tom vowed.
Apparently he didn't need to, as a nest of black hair appeared in the bottom of his peripheral vision. Grudgingly, he looked downward, where he just knew there would be the brightest of grins. Aw! Tom could already hear it. You came to watch me trash your house today? How sweet!
Surprisingly, there wasn't. Only a red nose and sad eyes.
"Yes?" he still asked coldly. What could you want?
At the tone of his voice, Potter's entire face flamed red and he stuttered, "Oh! Um, nothing, I- you just- I just wanted to know. If you were, you know, okay. And stuff." The Ravenclaw brought his hands in front of him, twiddling his gloved fingers.
Tom stared at him.
"Well, yeah," the boy laughed nervously, stepping back. "I'll just be going-" Potter finished, twirling around dispassionately.
Sometimes, Tom acted on impulse. The times weren't often, just enough not to be completely unheard of before.
So, when he grabbed the taunt shoulder in front of him, many might of called that an impulse. But Tom didn't think so.
"Something's on your mind." It was a statement.
The boy didn't struggle from his grip, simply curling into himself slightly.
Tom also becomes impatient sometimes. Even more than impulsive. That was something he could easily pinpoint.
"Well?"
Quickly, the body before him tensed and pulled away, turning his head slightly to say, "We'll talk later, 'kay?" Grinning as bright as the sun and face still pretty, although Tom could see the feelings on the boy's face were strained, Harry Potter ran to the massive pitch, several yards from Tom.
A feeling crept up his spine, chilling him even more than the biting cold. Tom clenched his fingers, recognizing the cause of his icy veins. Never had he felt it before, but he knew it could be nothing else.
Guilt.
O-O
It annoyed him how he unconsciously found himself inwardly cheering with the rest of the Quidditch (Harry Potter) fanatics.
"Potter pulls off a stunning Hittle Frieght! And the Slytherin beater Tristan Dolesum is rounding his head in wonder! Yes, my fellow Hogwartians, this is certainly a game to remember!" shouted Gale Weatherlock, his own head flapping as Potter jumps up off his broom as a bludger hurls his way, gracefully returning to his former position after it passes.
Tom can't help but zero in on the drop below the players.
Potter ought to have been a Gryffindor.
Wouldn't have surprised him, Tom supposed.
Well, regardless, he guessed being a Ravenclaw was best for the boy, as quidditch rivalries would have been several times worse had the boy been of the red and gold house. Oddly, Tom could picture him in the colors too.
He tensed and stopped his thoughts, as was not uncommon for him in relation to Harry Potter.
Nonetheless, it wouldn't matter soon. Harry Potter wouldn't matter soon.
"And Harry Potter spots the snitch! He's racing away, right on its' trail, and look here! He's diving right in the middle of the Slytherin chasers!"
Apparently Tom wouldn't have to wait long. He felt detached watching the Potter heir weave around the quidditch players, yet there also was a sense of dread. In no way would the boy not catch the golden ball, Tom knew. There was no chance of him surviving if Tom wanted to change his mind now. Not that Tom did, despite him clenching his jaw as Harry narrowly missed grasping the snitch by the Ravenclaw goals. Tom Riddle did not change his mind at the last minute.
Right?
Right.
And then, as Harry Potter stood on his broom twenty feet above the spectator stands, the boy reached out his arm, as if beckoning the snitch towards him. Mere seconds later, Harry's finger tips grazed the side of the ball.
It exploded, and the Potter heir fell from the sky.
Tom turned his head, and everyone around him screamed for the boy falling. He felt something in his chest tighten, but Tom still didn't try anything.
It was misery, and he was sure something inside him died. He wanted nothing more than to pull out his wand and levitate the boy, but that same ultimatum replayed in his mind. The question of Harry Potter, or Tom's happiness.
Besides, it was too late. Nothing could help the boy now.
And then Alphard Black swooped in on his broom, grabbing the green-eyed boy before his untimely end.
Tom realized then that he had never felt more happy at something.
O-O
He dreamed of green flowers and yellow stems, orange skies and blue suns. It was ridiculous how the air seemed heavy with feeling, but then there was a white snake in front of him with red eyes that felt nothing. The atrocity slithered towards him and Harry just wanted to step back, to stay away from the thing that could kill him or posses him. But the green eyed boy couldn't move- a bright burning phoenix would then proceed to burn him with its' flames.
So Harry was cornered, between a bipolar snake and obsessive bird, the situation far more lethal than he had first suspected. And then the snake leaped, mouth wide.
Harry's eyes fluttered opened to overwhelming darkness, his heart racing faster than it should. At first his mind was blank, and he started to panic as Harry didn't know where he was or why he was there. Didn't his Grandfather always say not to fall asleep without the proper spells? Surely Harry remembered them! Who in Merlin's name could have-
Then the boy blinked at the movement beside his bed, sitting up and trying to leave the stiff bed that he felt trapped on. He screamed and struggled against the arms pushing him towards a bigger chest, not pausing as Grandfather always told him that in such a situation Harry just had to surprise an attacker for only moment to get away.
"Potter, shut up!" came a harsh voice above him.
Harry stilled, calm slowly seeping into his bones. After all, he would know that deep sound from anywhere. "..Tom?"
"I've already created silencing charms around the curtains, otherwise I'd have been caught by your blasted screaming!" his Tom hissed, obviously irked by something.
Harry stared where he thought Tom was seated in curiosity. "Caught?" he asked dumbly.
"The Madam Healer would have my head, you know, as it's midnight, and I'm in the hospital wing," Tom said impatiently.
"Hospital wing? Tom! What are you doing there? You aren't hurt, are you?" Harry made a show of running his hands over any inch of the older boy that he could reach. It was still dark though, so Harry didn't really see where he was touching.
Tom's hands gripped his shoulders, keeping Harry in place, before leaning down to his face. Now Harry was sure it was Tom, and he pulled his hands up to place them on the Slytherin's cheeks. He was certain they made an odd picture, but he didn't care. He had his Tom speaking to him for the first time in weeks, and that meant way more than anything else.
He felt Tom breathing on his face. "You have been here, not me, idiot. Don't you remember Potter?"
Hospital wing? He was the one there? No, here..? Why though?
And then the game came back to him- the wind blowing around him, calming Harry. Right when he was going to grasp the snitch, something exploded in his hand.
Oh yeah, it was the snitch.
And why would it have exploded? Or more like who made it explode?
Harry threw himself towards the opposite end of the small bed, out of Tom's arms and into the headboard. He was sure he looked like a frightened animal, but that didn't matter either, not when his Tom wanted to kill him. Harry was scared, not for the first time, of his handsome Tom, torn between letting the inevitable happen. Because anyone could see- if Tom wanted something to happen, it happened.
He did have a little courage left though. Harry's features became blank. "Come back to finish the job Tom?"
"What? Do you even know what you're saying?" Tom reached forward, hovering over his sitting form.
Harry tried not to let his presence distract him. He was making a dangerous point, after all. "We both know you did! I may not know how or when, but that snitch exploded because you made it do so!" Harry sounded like a banshee at the end, but dammit! He wanted to hate Tom Riddle right then, to try to strangle him like he tried to fry Harry! But no- Tom has to be gorgeous and smart and covered in dark magic.
Harry was so completely screwed.
"Hmm," Harry could see Tom smirk, "Sounds like you have the culprit. Want to turn me in now?" The Slytherin caged Harry on the edge of the bed, making escape difficult. And with those menacing eyes and that swirling black magic, escaping would be a good idea at that moment.
"I," Harry paused to catch his breath, "..would never do that." He lowered his eyes to the ground. Harry felt himself turn into the boy that was cowardly under Tom Riddle's gaze, and quite involuntarily at that.
Tom slipped from the bed, tipped his head back, and laughed. Harry scowled at his mirth, crossing his arms over his chest. What the bloody hell?
"What could possibly be so amusing at this fucking moment?"
The older boy's chuckles faded into the night. Tom turned his shadowed features to Harry, a serious expression covering his face.
"You're mine."
"…"
Harry blinked at him. "What?"
Tom looked like a cat going to pounce at the point, Harry realized. "You had your chance to turn around and walk away, but you didn't," said the Slytherin Heir as he steadily eyed Harry. Vaguely, and breathlessly, he realized he was the mouse. Harry felt disbelief cover his face. "You didn't die even though I myself planned for you to, and that's quite a feat. You're lovely, and I don't want to tear my ears out when you speak," Harry did preen at the compliment though. "I want you to always turn to me before you do something, because you-" Tom stepped back by the bed, "-are-", the boy bent his head near Harry's, "-mine."
Tom kissed Harry- not for the first time, but so much different than every other time. He molded his lips against Harry's and grasped the side of his neck to keep him still. Tom obviously willingly kissed Harry this time, wanting it completely, possessing Harry completely.
And, of course, Harry didn't complain.
End Part 1
A/N: So, this was a one-shot. But! I felt it was very long, so I split into two. Fear the words, my friends, for the next part will be even longer.
Tootles!