TITLE:The Flesh of Apollo and a Living Aristotle
AUTHOR:Slytherin Psychopath
RATING:T
WORD COUNT: 1,333
SUMMARY: When Tom catches the new student staring, he learns some interesting things from his strange Harry character. A bit of flirtation is all he needs to learn the rest.
PROMPT: "I'd love to see some playful banter between the two."
NOTE: So, I suck at banter but I tried. Constructive criticism is a god-sent but cruelty will make me shut down and not write for months.
Harry never considered himself socially awkward until that day as he sat crossed-legged on an extremely comfortable chair, overlooked, in the somewhat dark and frigid Slytherin dungeons in 1943. Salazar had to be crazy to put his students in such conditions, especially ones so unbefitting their personalities. Harry always saw the cold, bitter side of Slytherins that matched the dungeons, but alone in their own common room they were all very social and charismatic. He could see power-plays at work and how each word was carefully considered before fluently flowing from softly smiling lips. Those who talked looked whom they were talking to in the eye and the listener always had a tilted head and dilated pupils. Some of it was genuine, and some of it was just the relentless savoir faire that had obviously been drilled into their head since they could talk. None of it was unnatural though.
It wasn't exactly formal, but it made the Gryffindor in him uncomfortable. Harry had grown accustomed to the yelling and rough-housing that was often seen hosted in the common room. These guys talked in an appropriately-volumed voice and were very respectful to those studying around them. There was a slight nudge or a punch as they joked around, but no ink bottles were tumbling off desks onto the expensive-looking rug. Harry was used to girls giggling loudly over the latest gossip or some boy. While there were far fewer girls in Slytherin than there had been in Gryffindor, they did not giggle. They smirked and taunted each other if their conversation turned girly. Most of their talk was fairly political and intelligent, Harry found. He assumed that Slytherin was this merciless hierarchy where firstie-snakes got crucio-ed for sitting too close to the fire. He had held his breathe when one tripped over a seventh-year's foot, and waited for the yelling but it never came. The seventh-year, Forrest Parkinson, just chuckled lightly and held out a hand to help the kid up. The kid thanked him politely and they both went about their business. Harry was fairly sure that a Gryffindor would have at least told the kid to, "watch it." The atmosphere was just different. Then again, Harry considered, most of them had probably known each other for years or at least their families did. In Gryffindor, there was much more diversity in origin so whoever you made friends with in first year became your people. It just made Harry a bit uneasy, especially being away from his people.
Sitting like a king on his throne in the middle of this orderly chaos was none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was mostly silent as he watched his followers converse and joke around. He sat back with a straight spine and shoulders back. His hands were in his lap and in a tee-pee like figure with his palms out and finger tips touching. His eyes were far off as if in deep thought. The longer he sat unmoving, the more Harry's eyes were drawn to him. To his high cheek bones and strong jawline and straight nose. To his thick slightly quivering lips as his thoughts attempted to silently form in his mouth. To his dark eyes that seemed to go one forever. To the carefully groomed waves that laid oh-so-touchable on his head. Harry could not figure out for the life of him how a devil could so easily take on the appearance of an angel. On the outside, Tom Riddle looked like the friendliest, most trustworthy person one could ever meet. Could the demon that slaughtered his parents really lurk inside? Harry wasn't so sure of himself anymore. This whole time-travel thing seemed to turn everything one hundred eighty degrees.
Suddenly dark eyes met his own. Everett Avery had mockingly informed Tom that he had another admirer. To this Tom had glanced up most likely out of curiosity. Harry knew he should look away and have some shame, but that gaze seemed to hold his eyes firmly in place. Then Harry noticed the searching glimmer in those dark orbs. He turned to look away, hoping that Riddle hadn't found anything revealing.
"Don't be ashamed, new guy, it's not every day mortals get to behold the flesh of Adonis," Tom said lightly with a smirk. Harry blinked and stared at him in utter bewilderment. Did Lord Voldemort just make a joke? Did Lord Voldemort just flirt with him? Him, Harry Potter? This world is mad, Harry concluded rather quickly.
"But Adonis was mortal himself," Harry said not knowing exactly what to say. "He is called the mortal god. He was a handsome youth whom Aphrodite took as her lover…" He trailed off as Tom quirked and eyebrow and smiled with amusement.
"All too right. I am Tom Riddle, prefect," Tom informed him as he crossed the room to see get closer to the boy. Harry knew the game Tom was playing. He thought he could get Harry to look him in the eyes and allow him to use legilimency. Harry refused.
"Oh wow. A prefect. I guess you've earned five more minutes of talking to me," Harry smirked. Tom chuckled at that and gracefully to the seat next to him. Tom's hand brushed against the side of Harry's leg in what was supposed to be a subtle gesture.
Is that your game Riddle?, Harry thought darkly, then bring it.
"Don't I feel special for you to grace me with your conversation," Tom drawled.
"You should. It is not every day mortals get to behold the flesh of Apollo," Harry said back just as casually.
"They say mimicry is the highest form of flattery, but is it fair to steal the words of a living Aristotle?" Tom smirked this time.
"Aristotle, you say? Then why I have I yet to hear one intelligent thing out of your mouth?"
"I suppose I could gift you with one of my wise philosophies," Tom sighed dramatically as his hand brushed Harry's thigh again in a less than subtle manner. Harry glanced down at his hand as if to inform Tom that he knew what he was doing and was not playing into it. "'There was never a genius without a tincture of madness.'"
"I guess we won't be locking you up any time soon then," Harry laughed. What am I saying, Harry thought with a panic, I came here to stop him not to fall for that stupid look of his… and those long fingers… the things those fingers could - "Living Aristotle, why do you steal from your other incarnation when you could remedy me up your own wisdom." Harry couldn't believe he was actually the one in control of this situation.
"Perhaps, if you asked me kindly, I could give into your desires," Tom spoke as if he were talking about the weather but his hand slowly trailed up Harry's thigh in a suggestive manner. Harry felt the lump in his throat become much heavier and a blush creep onto his cheeks. Yeah, okay, maybe not in control as much as I thought, Harry mused.
Harry tried to think of something clever to say, but his thoughts were suddenly gone. All wit had evaporated from him. It was one thing to casually banter with the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was another thing to have an extremely attractive guy trying to bed him in the middle of the fucking common room, forget who he may be. Harry's body didn't quite seem to care that this was the young Voldemort as certain parts of him seemed to awaken as stretch out towards Tom. Before the situation would become embarrassing, Harry jumped up and dashed out of the common room with a Gryffindor-red face. Tom sat back with a lazy smirk as he watched the boy run.
Oh silly, emotional Harry, Tom thought with amusement. Did you honestly think that looking away could keep me from reading your mind? Dark Lord, you say. This could be very interesting for the both of us. He shall tell me more in time. All is going according to plan.