Warnings: cute, fluff, Shakespeare/literature quotation, did I mention fluff? SEQUEL to Underwater Balconies
Pairing: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)
Summary: Knocking at his boyfriend's underwater window isn't the only time Harry has quoted Shakespeare back and forth with his boyfriend. It was just the first.
In which Tom likes to show off his eidetic memory by quoting literature, and Harry is forced to be his (completely unwilling!) verbal dance partner. That they're in a library, of all places…? Well, he'll just hope Tom remembered to put up silencing charms.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling, works mentioned/quoted is in the A/N at the bottom
This is a sequel fic. It makes sense without having read the prequel (fluff is fluff), BUT it is recommended you read it to better understand.
Sequel is Underwater Balconies.
It'd take Neville Longbottom suddenly becoming number one student in DADA for Harry to admit his love of romance novels.
He doesn't like them for the actual romance, of course—obviously not, that would be a huge blow to his masculinity and, seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team? Co-captain? Hello? They'd hold it over his head for decades if they ever found out. No, Harry doesn't like romance novels because there's a girl and there's this boy and they just so happened to be destined for each other—(and this is their story…)—Harry likes them because they're generally happy stories.
Growing up in a very… unhappy household (to put it in the vaguest sense possible), Harry isn't exactly accustomed to hugs and kisses and, well, love. So reading about it, when he knows for sure there's a happy ending and true love somewhere in the plot, is nice. Very relaxing. Romance novels.
…That's the only reason, okay?
And no one really… knows about it other than his boyfriend, Tom Riddle. Prefect, top student of his year, Slytherin. Harry sometimes thinks that his life would fit very well into the frame of a cheesy romance, if not for the fact that it isn't. Tom might appear all perfect and wonderful and charming, but Harry knows him better than anyone else, and as such, feels absolutely confident to say his boyfriend is a prick.
He's cruel and sharp, impatient and intolerant, and has got an ego the size of a continent. That's Tom, clean and simple. Harry prides himself on living under little to no delusion of what type of person his boyfriend is.
…He's also… honorable, and occasionally sweet, and stupidly charming, and cares for Harry more than Harry himself has thought to be possible.
Harry huffs. His relationship with Tom Riddle (or that they know each at all) is a secret, kind of. They sneak around, they make little white lies, they duck into abandoned classrooms and broom closets and into each other's Common Rooms… all of the things a pair secretly dating would do. But it's not that big of a secret—it's just no one's found out about it, and they don't plan on telling anyone or being careless enough to let someone figure it out, so it's a "secret."
Before they started dating, Harry and Tom were already good friends. The best of, surprisingly, as their houses absolutely loathed each other. But Harry wasn't (and still isn't) the best Gryffindor around, and Tom's so Slytherin that he's not really part of Slytherin at all, so they made it work. And in the end, 'like' turned to 'really like' and 'really like' turned into 'I better be the only one who gets to kiss you'—that was Tom, obviously—and then that became dating.
And the rest, well… history.
At the moment, because his boyfriend is busy doing whatever Slytherins do, Harry can't spend some time cuddling with him in his room down in the dungeons (snakes and their space!), so if he wants peace and quiet, he'll have to resort to other means. Gryffindor dorms are separated by year, and like a true pride of lions, not even the seventh years have their own rooms, so it gets rowdy. And while it might be empty at one point, soon enough, a lion will come wandering in to grab something they've forgotten, and then another one, and another one, and—
Harry's made his point. There's little peace and quiet in a lion's den.
So, the only place left (aside from abandoned classrooms and the Room of Requirement, but the latter is too suspicious during the day) is the library. While there are people, Harry knows there are sections that no one ever goes to, like the Wand Lore section, where he can sit and read in peace. His thin copy of Pride and Prejudice is, as per usual, in his messenger bag, and he admits to being slightly eager to unwind and laugh at Elizabeth Bennet's running commentary of people.
He'd keep Jane Eyre in his bag, but it's a little too thick and noticeable. Same with The Tale of Genji. Harry isn't exactly known as an active reader around school, and seeing him tote around books thicker than a few centimeters other than Quidditch Through the Ages would cause a few rumors.
About three chapters in and significantly less fatigued by the thought of schoolwork and teachers, Harry sits in a secluded corner of the library in one of the cushioned chairs, a window at a perfect angle behind him to shed enough light for pleasurable reading. He relaxes, idly rubbing the corner of the page between his index finger and thumb as his little odd habit makes him wont to do, and is just about to flip the page until a whisper blows next to his ear.
"It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! "
Harry jumps a foot high, book tumbling out of his lap as he turns his whole body about to see the face of his foe.
"For Godric's sake, Tom!"
Tom chuckles. "Hush, darling—unless you want Pince to come over."
"Well then you shouldn't sneak up on me like that!"
"What can I say, you're too adorable to resist—"
"Sod off," Harry grumbles. He leans over to pick up his book again and brush off the invisible dust. "Didn't you have things to do?"
"Ah, Harry—Show a fair presence and put off these frowns! I finished early. Didn't want to leave my lovely boyfriend sitting all on his lonesome, you see. Someone else might find the opportunity to snatch him up."
Harry flushes and bats away a hand that slid down his arm. "You're ridiculous," he mutters before going back to his reading.
He can practically feel Tom roll his eyes behind him. Still, Harry ignores it and persists on enjoying his pastime of choice, even as his boyfriend walks around and leans over the armrest to shut his book closed.
"What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?"
Harry glares at the offending hand keeping his book shut. The bloody show off!
…The line sounds familiar. Harry admits he's not as well-versed in the other scenes of the play as he is the infamous balcony scene, but he knows a decent bit with what all the times they've read it together. What came next again…? Ah!
"I know not, sir," Harry deadpans.
"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
Harry clicks his tongue. He shifts, attempts to wrangle his beloved novel out from under Tom's steady grasp, and manages to succeed by finally settling for just pushing his boyfriend away. That settled, he rearranges his posture (one leg crossed over the other, angled slightly to the other side) and re-opens his book.
Tom sighs dramatically.
Harry hopes he's not in a playful mood—as, in all likelihood, he is, but his Gryffindor side hopes.
His hope dies when he continues to feel the burning stare of one Tom Riddle, even as several minutes elapse. Harry lets go a sigh of his own before grinding his teeth and saying, "Content thee, gentle coz, let me alone." The last word comes out particularly harsh.
Tom doesn't seem to care. "I shall be endured."
Harry snorts. Instead of continuing their dialogue—as he knows Tom would just love that—Harry returns to his silence and does exactly as Tom says. Endure. The seconds, and then minutes, tick by. It's a battle of the wills; one they have often, admittedly.
Last time, Tom broke first.
Harry hears a rustle of movement. He wonders what Tom will do next, but stubbornly keeps his eyes pinned on his book… though, he's been re-reading the same sentence for at least six times by now. The words just don't make sense under the pressure of Tom's gaze.
And then Tom is on his knee in front of him and Harry feels the ominous chill of knowing what's coming up next.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
His lover is unamused. "Tom, if you wanted to snog, you should've considered that before you blew me off to go do whatever it is that you 'needed' to do."
Tom, used to being challenged but also used to winning challenges, clicks his tongue and stands up. Harry expects him to go away, but instead finds himself trapped as his boyfriend looms over him, two hands on either side of his head, a knee resting beside his thigh on the chair. For an added measure, Tom reaches down to close Harry's forgotten book before returning his hand to its original perch.
Harry gulps. He's lost, but he doesn't want to give up—
That's it!
The line comes to him just before Tom begins his victory smirk.
"This intrusion shall now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall," Harry bites out.
Tom's victory smirk still appears. With growing dread, Harry wonders what he's gotten himself into. He probably shouldn't have fought back when his boyfriend is feeling playful… usually it never ends well for him.
(The last time, the hickeys were a real bitch to hide.)
As if to make it worse, with deliberate steadiness, Tom opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, pauses for half a second, and then begins to recite, "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun—"
Oh Merlin, no—
"Coral is far more red than her lips' red—"
"Tom, I hate you."
"If snow be white—"
"I swear to Merlin, Tom—"
"Why then her breasts are—"
"Okay!" Harry whisper-shouts. "I get the point! I'll pay attention to you, just… stop."
"Will you now," Tom deadpans.
"I will," Harry insists. "Just… don't… it's embarrassing," he stresses.
"Why? We're alone."
"We're in the library!" Harry whisper-shouts again. "Anyone could walk here and see us! Anyone could hear us."
"Oh, so you're embarrassed of me now is it?"
"Wha—no! You prat, you know what I meant! Don't take what I say out of context!"
"Why? We do it all the time."
"Yeah, in your room. Or in the Room! But not—" Harry makes an exaggerated wave, or at least the most he can make while still trapped beneath Tom.
Tom frowns. He's got a look in his eye that Harry recognizes enough to fear, and when the smaller (but certainly not weaker) boy realizes the danger and tries to get away, Tom firmly pushes back his shoulder to keep him trapped.
"You're embarrassed," Tom states.
"Yes, we've established that, now could we just—"
"Of me."
Harry groans. "Oh for Salazar's sake—Aren't you embarrassed? It's… it's—uh… Muggle poetry!"
Tom frowns. "That may be so, but I find nothing humiliating about expressing how much I care for you."
The easy confession makes Harry flush. "What happened to the sixth year prefect who was…" he mumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Tom hears him.
"We've already done away with him. I'll not be… insecure," Tom sneers at the word, "anymore. Certainly not with you. I mean, you're obviously mine. It's silly to think otherwise."
Harry rolls his eyes. "Yes yes, you silly little possessive lizard of mine; now, if you could just—"
Tom narrows his eyes. Harry pauses, and then gulps.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
"Salazar save me."
Tom grins. "Thou art more lovely—" he emphasizes it with a kiss on the nose, "—and more temperate." Another kiss. "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May—"
"July."
The Slytherin frowns. "May."
Harry shakes his head, a red shade building in his cheeks. "July."
Understanding what his boyfriend is trying to tell him, Tom laughs and then accepts the odd correction with yet another peck.
"And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed—"
Harry cuts in exasperatedly.
"And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed—"
Tom smirks. Harry renews his attempts to get free and actually manages to succeed by slipping out beneath his boyfriend's arm. However, he's left his book, which Tom then straightens to dangle with one hand as a taunt.
Tom begins again, with more flourished dramatics.
"But thy eternal summer shall not fade—"
Harry frowns as he makes a swipe for his captive book.
"Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st—"
Tom raises it so it's out of reach.
"Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade—"
Harry huffs.
"When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st."
"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see—"
Impatient, the Gryffindor tackles Tom and successfully catches him off balance. Harry snatches his book back and finishes, quickly running through the line, "So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Yes yes. Now that we've established that we both know Sonnet 18—"
"Stubborn," his boyfriend notes. "One would think with all those romance novels you read—"
"They're educational!" Harry sputters the first thing that comes into his head.
"In what way? If you wanted me to teach you about those things, you could've just asked—"
"Oh dear Merlin—Tom, you stupid prat—" Tom has his infuriating smirk on again. Harry wishes he could scrub it off his stupidly attractive face.
"Why, 'it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,' is it not? And—" the Slytherin sighs, "—it is the duty of the wife to teach his good husband things, isn't it?"
Harry makes an 'X' with his arms. "You've got things completely backwards! And why are you the wife—… crap wait, that doesn't mean that I—"
At some point, Harry really has to make sure his head filters what comes out of his mouth. Tom looks far too… enthusiastic taking advantage of it. The Slytherin makes it his business in turn to invade (and siege) his personal space, hands finding their way to his waist.
Harry squirms and tries to move away. He'd be perfectly fine with it… if they weren't in the library!
" Y-You do wrong your hands too much—"
Tom grins like a satisfied cat. "Which mannerly devotion shows in what?"
"T-this: F-For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch—" Harry non-too-gently pries off his boyfriend's grabby hands, "—And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."
The Slytherin drops his voice to a breathy whisper, one that always succeeds in getting Harry hot and bothered. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
Harry clicks his tongue and darts away, moving so the chair is an obstacle between him and his boyfriend. "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." He stresses that last word.
"O, then," Tom exclaims, and Harry despairs at the reminder that Romeo wins this particular meeting—he doesn't even think he can switch the lines this time, since Tom is determined to be on the winning side— "dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
Tom looks at him like a hungry hawk, and Harry tenses in preparation to spring at the unintentional warning. However, it is not Harry who moves first. The only notice the Gryffindor gets is the line, "Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take," before Tom leaps over the chair.
Saved by his quick seeker reflexes, Harry narrowly escapes capture. "Exit!" he squeaks, voice a bit too high but it'll be a million years before he acknowledges that, and makes a run for the bookshelves.
Tom is apparently faster.
"Pursued by a snake," he hisses into his ear, arms wrapped about Harry's middle from behind. Harry can't see but can certainly imagine what sort of look the seventh year has on his face.
…He's lost. Pretty hopelessly. Harry sighs and leans back, and Tom's grip tightens at the trust. "Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps," he quotes quietly.
"If it proves so, then loving goes by haps."
Tom lets him turn around and in the secluded, silent light of the library nook, they kiss.
Harry is the one to pull away first. "What was it again," his laughter is light and self-mocking, "'Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably'? It's been awhile since I've read it."
"Act 5 Scene 2," Tom answers immediately. Harry slaps him on the arm, more for the action than any plan to cause pain.
"You know, making fun of me for my genre of choice doesn't exactly work if you're the one memorizing all the romantic quotes."
"What if I told you it was for the sole purpose of wooing you? According to the grape vine, you're a very difficult fish to catch."
Harry snorts. "That's because I've been taken since fifth year."
"Oh, they've been after you long before that. I think I started having to take action in… hm. Beginning of fourth year?"
"Tom!"
Said Slytherin laughs. "For which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?"
Harry rolls his eyes. But he knows this one—thank the Founders that he does; keeping up with Tom takes a lot of effort. "Suffer love! A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will."
"Hm. Very good. A+. You could've also used the previous line, for which of thine bad parts didst I first fall in love with thee?—I've swapped the pronouns appropriately, of course—and still've gotten full points."
Harry sighs. "Gee, thanks. You're such a nerd, Tom."
"I'm not the one who carries around a copy of Pride and Prejudice for educational purposes."
"Well I'm not the one who argues that Richard III is a comedy!"
"I wouldn't go so far to say that. I simply said I appreciated Richard's dark humor."
Harry snorts. "Are you going to take me back to your room so we can snog in private or what?"
Tom chuckles in a sort of breathless way, and Harry is reminded of exactly why he's so enamored with the sound.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
They move so Tom has Harry's back pressed against a bookshelf. Tom will never admit it, and Harry'll never say, but the Slytherin absolutely adores cuddling. Harry bites back a laugh as he feels Tom's cheek nuzzle against his own, much like a cat. The laughter dies when Tom swoops in for another kiss.
"Oh Harry," Tom mumbles, "I am slain!"
There's a loud thump near one of the other bookshelves—the sound of several books falling to the ground—causing the two seventh years to instantly pull apart. Harry's wand is in Tom's hand before the Gryffindor can even blink.
Wait… when did he—that was just in my wand holster—… Damn it, Tom—
"Who's there?" he barks.
There's a rustle of movement, and Harry sees vaguely familiar brown bushy hair hiding behind the shelf. Tom sees it too, and is unamused by the failure to properly conceal oneself.
"Don't make me repeat myself," the Slytherin hisses. There's a pause before another rustle of movement, and now Harry just wants to know who he has to try and explain this to.
Hermione peeks out of her hiding place, smiling sheepishly. "I d-didn't know you read Shakespeare, Harry."
First posted under Ao3 (same penname), in the 2nd installment of the Shakespeare dorks series. Hope you guys enjoy it :P
Also I'm obsessed with having these two quote things to each other. It's cute okay :c
[Works quoted/mentioned: Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado About Nothing, The Winter's Tale, Sonnet 18, Sonnet 130; Browning's Sonnet 43; Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (also briefly noted is the Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte)]
Sincerely,
R.R.