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: BitterSongofGrace
A/N: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I was encouraged to make it into something more. While this chapter has been on for at least three years, I've finally found the inspiration to start it once again.
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.) GRAPHIC VIOLENCE! (It happens.) CURSE WORDS! (Come on! Everything has these now-a-days.) ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! (Almost every part..)
Enjoy..!
Eyes-
Enticing Me
He was dreaming.
A shade of red hair, a blue dress; it had to be a dream.
Harry had not seen too many pictures of her, but something inside him just knew. A warmth slid from the tips of his toes to the back of his heels and shot up his spine, making the back of his neck tingle and a fuzziness seep into his conscious. He felt so happy and joyful, a delightful, pure high, so different from anything else he had ever encountered. And then she turned to side glance at him with those eyes he had seen so many times in the mirror, a soft smile making him want to go closer just to see it. Everything about her shined. Her mere presence made Harry want to do anything to make her proud.
Lily.
Mother.
But he firmly planted his feet into the ground. It must be a trick. She was dead. His grandfather would lie about many things, but not the story of Lily Grindelwald's tragic demise.
Or just a dream, Harry thought. It's completely acceptable to dream of someone that you wish was with you.
A breeze made the beautiful green grass sway, along with dream Lily's dress. She stood from her seated position in the wide meadow, brushing her hair from her face. Her lips mouthed something in his direction, but Harry couldn't hear anything except the wind.
Lily's eyes widened, and she mouthed three words again. But the wind was strong enough by then to almost blow him away, and he was looking for something to try to steady himself.
Lily started running to him, frantic. She was screaming, but it was like static in his ears.
And then Harry woke up.
(o-o)
'I admire a student dedicating time to new crafts. I've heard assistance comes to those that cast shadow upon the ruby stone above the portrait of Render's Keep.
Fenestram cludit.'
Tom clenched his fist holding the message, face devoid of emotion. Every second that he was beyond the boundaries of his own magic, that manipulative bastard stood three steps ahead. He could feel his twisted, gray aura around every corner, hidden in every crack.
So to Dumbledore, Tom seemed willing to continue this ludicrous quest for blood. Why wouldn't he? Tom never had any qualms with delivering pain or death before the professor approached him.
Tom sneered internally, walking briskly towards the Slytherin common room.
His day would come. And Tom swore daily that it would be his hands that drained the life from his body. No one would ever attempt to manipulate Tom again, regardless of any quality benefits offered.
Things were not given to him by others, he takes them.
So as ashes slipped from between his fingers, fenestram cludit indeed. The only thing Dumbledore and Tom could agree upon was that-
His window truly was closing.
(o-o)
"You're late. Again."
Tom finished stepping through the wall before dispelling his Copori Aereo. He reminded himself to ask Potter how he continued to be able to detect his ethereal presence, but the form of said boy led his thoughts astray.
The lithe teen sat in his seemingly favorite position- legs crossed and seated on some sort of desk. His gaze traveled upwards. Emerald eyes, an unconscious pout. Honestly, Tom didn't have to look to see the emotion on his face, yet he wouldn't miss the chance. He could hear all of the Ravenclaw's bitterness melding through his tone of voice, despite his attempt at sounding casual.
Tom wanted to laugh, but his lips only twitched upwards slightly. This was business, not pleasure.
Or he kept telling himself that. It had been weeks since their meetings became habit, and he couldn't remember a time where a rendezvous between the two didn't end (or begin, or consist..) with pleasure.
But Tom pushed through images of naked skin and divine moans. He needed Potter to understand the gravity of this situation.
"He left a message."
Potter's back straightened, and his eyes glimmered. That alluring pout disappeared in an instant, and his jaw visibly clenched.
"It's about time. I'm surprised it took him this long."
Tom sat in the red sofa chair that Potter always conjured for their meetings. "Fenestram cludit. He wants me to meet with him, for academic assistance of course."
The Ravenclaw scoffed. "Because I forgot you were taking Assassination 101."
"I'm going to meet with him."
Potter jumped from the desk. "What the fuck Tom! Seriously? Merlin, why don't you just put me out of my misery now?"
Tom scowled. "Potter-"
"Don't Potter me, you insensitive ass!" His face was flushed, become a deeper red with every word. "What can he give you that I don't? Do you know who I am?"
Tom rolled his eyes. "Your petulance is unbearable."
"My petulance? Your pettiness is what got us in this in the first place!"
The Slytherin stood from his seat. Tom knew where this was going. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
The shorter teen crossed his arms, nose in the air. Tom despised when Potter made that face. As if he was superior to him.
No one was superior to Tom Riddle.
"Why are you so stupid sometimes?"
He was practically seething.
"Seriously Tom, for someone so brilliant, you can be the biggest idiot I've ever met! If you could ever get over your stupid, stupid pride, you'd have turned down the old coot long ago."
Almost reminiscent of the first time they had sex, Tom could barely contain himself from strangling the Potter heir. He considered trying (How dare he speak to him in that manner. Did Potter forget who he was?) but that absurdly beautiful face distracted him. And those eyes, always his eyes-
Harry Potter had fear in his eyes.
Tom thought the fear was beautiful, and he could feel the pleasure rush through him. Most would think it was his fear of dying, but Tom Riddle knew better than that. Potter needed him so much that the thought of losing Tom to Dumbledore came before fear of his own death.
'How pathetic.'
But at the same time, Tom had seen a similar type of obsession in others. Yet never had he looked at those individuals with such satisfaction.
For some reason, Potter's pure, pathetic devotion made him even more beautiful.
"I just- I just don't understand. I don't expect you to love me or anything, but you said that I was yours," the Ravenclaw said, his previous tone dissipating. "Why would you allow Dumbledore to play with us? With me?" The boy's face hardened suddenly.
"Are you bored with me?"
At that, Tom did laugh.
Before Potter could die of hurt pride, Tom grabbed his waist and pulled Harry into his shaking chest. After a minute of the Ravenclaw trying to squirm away, he turned the boy's face up towards his own.
"I absolutely adore you."
Before Potter could even breathe, Tom pressed their lips together.
(o-o)
Deep in a forest outside of Hungary, a room full of wizards and witches mingled.
It was a joyful occasion, men flushed and laughing and women dancing with one another. Banners of two separate houses adorned the stone walls, completely different yet complimenting each other in color. A feast of food covered an ancient table that stretched the length of the room, holding an array of different liquors and a mixture of ethnic foods meant to satisfy both ends of the guest spectrum.
At the overlying step near the north end of the room, a couple sat upon stone chairs so big that they almost looked like thrones. Behind them was a union of the two banners, signifying their union. Both wore robes meant for royalty, obviously the people everyone celebrated, yet neither seemed interested in the festivities.
"I wish we could skip this. Tomorrow is of more importance, everyone should get sleep," said the thin woman, face contorted into a sneer.
"Now, now darling," the robust man mocked. "That man is here to document our legitimacy. The world at least deserves a show."
She scoffed. "Once we're done with this-"
"-We'll rule the nation."
And despite the palpable disdain both parties felt for one another, each could smile at their mutual desire. And to that, they toasted their jeweled goblets.
As soon as the metal clinked, all flames smothered, and a darkness sank over the crowd. Squeals and gasps came from around the room, cups and plates hitting the stone ground in surprise.
One singular burst of light then appeared near the doorway, and behind it a group of cloaked men stood. When the members of the party reached for their wands, they felt nothing.
A deep laugh echoed through the room, and a wizard stepped forward from the mysterious group.
"I apologize, but I believe your party has been- what do you say? Oh, yes," the man said cheerfully, taking long strides to the table. "Crashed."
Everything from the table suddenly shot towards the surrounding bodies as if they were bullets from a gun, and people screamed as men and women both fell to the ground. Half of them were already dead as utensils struck vital areas, blood slipping from them as fast as their souls leaving the lunette of their eyes.
The figure apparated with a loud 'pop,' appearing behind the now standing couple. Their heads snapped to look at him, and his chilling grin made the color drain from their faces. Both pleaded and screamed as he laid the palms of his hands against the back of their skulls, and he did nothing but laugh again.
The last thing the newlyweds saw were white teeth and pale green eyes before an incantation was whispered, and their heads exploded outwards, blood and brain matter and pieces of bone splattering all over their pretend thrones.
The man stepped forward as the bodies fell forwards, and he shouted.
"For the greater good!"
(o-o)
After what felt like forever, Harry laid back to breathe.
"This needs to be the last time we meet for a while."
He frowned, flipping to his left to stare at Tom. And while he looked like a god, sitting against the back of Harry's favorite sofa, right leg pulled towards his naked chest and his arm slightly resting on his knee, that still didn't keep Harry from hating him a little. So he told him so.
Tom lifted one of his eyebrows. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Harry pouted. "You could at least keep screwing me if you're going to kill me."
Tom groaned, lying next to Harry. "You are not going to die. Stop being a drama queen."
He smacked the Slytherin heir's chest. "Being worried that you're plotting my death is not synonymous with being a drama queen. Let me remind you, the scars of your last plot are still fresh."
It was true. As Tom ran his fingers along the scarred skin of his forearm and glanced at the oddly formed scar on his forehead, Harry flushed. He almost felt guilty for bringing attention to them, but he mentally shook the feeling away.
"Potter, I despise Dumbledore. So we hide in the barrier of my magic for now, waiting. I'll watch him and continue this charade, and when I've discovered why he is so invested in your death, I can get rid of him."
Harry sighed. "You can't just tell him that you've seduced me?"
Tom tipped his head back and let out a deep laugh. "You're quite desperate..."
Pissed, the raven-haired teen stood with his slacks in hand. "Don't flatter yourself."
Tom quickly grabbed his wrist. His face seemed serious, blue-grey eyes halting his movements.
"Oh, but Harry, don't you love me?"
Harry flushed, jerking from his grip. The Slytherin smirked, and as Harry quickly dressed himself, he could feel Tom's gaze. Glancing over, Harry knew that look. He could practically feel Tom's magic slip closer, heated and possessive. If he wanted any sleep, he would need to hurry before Tom stopped him.
"So, you're saying we don't do this anymore. Until when?"
Tom ran his hand through his brown hair. "As long as it takes. He can't be suspicious."
"Well," Harry started, but paused. "..I guess this is it for a while. I suppose this means we act as if we aren't familiar with one another."
Tom 'hmm'd' in response.
Harry smirked. "I wouldn't take too long if I were you. I do have other suitors."
The teen yelped in surprise as he was pulled back to the ground.
Harry regretted that statement on into the school day.
(o-o)
Around lunch, Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table, eager for pumpkin juice and food. He had missed breakfast for –ahem- 'business' as he told Edgar, and it was safe to say that he was starved.
As he chewed, his eyes drifted towards the Slytherin side, and before long, he found Tom.
Harry spluttered, bread and juice hitting Edgar in the face.
"Ugh! That is disgusting Harry!"
But he couldn't look at the Archibold to apologize, he was too busy fuming in his seat.
Across the Great Hall, Tom Riddle, a teen who has consistently rejected every advance made by anyone slightly interested in romance, was sitting next to a blonde bint and twirling his finger in her hair. The girl was blushing and giggling at whatever the brunette had to say.
Harry's head pulsed with anger, and he almost saw red as Tom (his Tom) leant forward and placed his perfect mouth near her fucking ugly ear, lips forming words no one else could hear.
"Harry, are you alright?"
The Ravenclaw came out of his daze (rage), looking at the boy in front of him.
"Yeah, yeah," rushed Harry, "I'm fine. Sorry about the food! I realized I have to take a leak. Like a waterfall leak." And with that, he started gathering his books and quill, ready to leave the damn place behind and break a few conjured vases.
"Wait!" yelled Edgar as Harry turned around to stomp off. "Don't forget your paper!"
Harry snatched it from the reaching hand, muttering, "Thanks," and swiftly left the hall.
But as he came out on the other side, a headline caught his eye.
'HUNGARY MINISTER AND WIFE MURDERED AT WEDDING: A MAN WHO EXPLODES HEADS WITH HANDS!'
His eyes widened, frantically skimming the article.
'Majority of guests dead-'
'Wizards in cloaks-'
'Mark written in blood-'
"For the greater good!"
He trembled a bit, barely able to hold the page in front of his face. Harry couldn't quite tell if it was anxiety or fear, or maybe-
Maybe a little excitement. Almost as if he were thrilled. And god, did Harry potter love the thrill. Maybe that was why he couldn't think of stopping this thing with Tom. The Slytherin heir's power, his utter brilliance, his ability to abuse or manipulate whoever he wanted.. Even if that person was Harry, someone that he assumed Tom cared for at least slightly, even if he'd never admit it.
But alas, he was going on a bit of a tangent.
Harry needed to get to his room quickly if he wanted time before class to-
A hand on his shoulder startled Harry, and he looked up into small glasses and a curious look.
"Are you alright, Mr. Potter? You seem unusually tense today," said the bearded man, a smile so tight that his eyes were closed.
"Um," Harry started, but hesitated. At the moment, his anger faded in the face of literal danger, and he chose to remember what Tom said.
("Do NOT seem suspicious. Act as if you need his help in class, anything that seems as if you trust him.")
Harry swallowed, hard. "I just knew the minister is all. He frequented my family's dinners."
Of course the man would corner him when he was in a rush.
The professor nodded, a false sense of concern leaking into his features. "It is truly sad that this has happened. Our nation mourns with Hungary."
Harry could see the nauseating magic wrap around his legs, trying to falsely 'comfort' him. This was how Dumbledore was a favorite among students of all houses. And unless students were able to see it like he and Tom could, the magic would stick to you like syrup.
He was nothing but a manipulative bastard.
"Yes, it's tragic," mumbled Harry, trying to seem sad rather than what he was truly feeling.
He supposed it worked. Dumbledore bent forward at the waist and practically purred. "If you need anyone to lend you a listening ear, Mr. Potter, I am always ready to be of assistance."
Harry gave a sad smile. "I'll keep that in mind sir. Thank you."
"Anytime my boy," said Dumbledore, patting his shoulder. "Now off with you, I assume you have class soon."
"Yes. Goodbye Professor."
The auburn-haired man strolled away, and Harry briskly walked towards the Ravenclaw tower.
As much as he hated Dumbledore, Harry had far more to worry about.
His grandfather had made his move, and this uncomfortable peace between nations would soon end. Gellert Grindelwald had left his mark. He was already sending teams out, as was apparent by the presence of his cousin at the Hungarian Minister of Magic's wedding.
Merlin, Harry knew the minister spoke against Rodd a few times, but to think he would rupture his skull surprised him.
Or, rather, his grandfather allowing Rodd to do so was surprising.
The Potter heir made it to his room and grabbed his special parchment made for times like these, and he began to write.
And as much as Harry hated what he knew was to come, he couldn't help but think-
'For the greater good.'