Teasing a Striking Snake

When Harry stumbled into his next class, Potions, he realised with dawning horror that the only empty seat was next to Tom Riddle.

That infuriating git…

Seemed like he made sure this time that Harry had nowhere else to sit. God, Harry hated him so, so much. The desire to kick him in the shins was almost irresistible this time.

Sending Eileen Prince a look of betrayal and receiving a shrug of the shoulders as a reply, Harry slouched towards Riddle and dropped into the seat with a grimace, deliberately ignoring the widening smirk on Riddle's face.

Harry glared down at the desk, praying that the lesson would be over before it even began.

"What a coincidence," Riddle drawled.

He stonily inspected the pencil marks on his desk, vowing to himself that he would not be tempted into speaking to the devil.

"What is the matter, Potter? Cat got your tongue?" Riddle tilted his head, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "No pun intended, of course."

He stayed silent.

"Class will be starting soon."

His lips pursed.

"I thought you'd be more conversational in this class, seeing as this is where you pulled your first trick on me with that book."

Harry whipped out a book from his bag, slammed it open to a random page and attempted to distract himself from the Slytherin Heir. Except the words could not keep him engrossed, not as much as the yew wand being currently twirled between Riddle's fingers.

Oh well, at least he could pretend to read. Hopefully Riddle would get the hint and leave him alone.

"You know, Harry, I can tell when someone is not reading. It has been, I'd say, approximately five minutes and your page hasn't turned once."

God. What a git.

Harry turned around, smashing the book shut, his hands tightening around it so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Look, Riddle, I am not interested in idle conversations."

"Really? Not interested in the pleasantries?" Riddle feigned a thoughtful expression. "Well, I suppose we can jump straight to the more important things: questions. I do love asking questions. Indulge me?"

"Unfortunately I do not love answering them as much," Harry said dryly.

Riddle ignored him.

"Your duelling stance and the power behind your spells really is quite impressive. You're not exactly an amateur, I take it… The way you duelled, it seemed like you had practice. Who taught you?"

"A little birdie."

"Who taught you?" Riddle repeated.

"None of your business."

"Who taught you?"

"Nobody."

"You taught yourself?"

"No!" Harry growled.

"Who taught –?"

Slughorn, Harry could almost hug him for such great timing. The plump professor waddled entered and toddled to the front of the class, beaming at anyone who managed to get in his line of sight.

"Ah! Mr Riddle – and our newest addition!" Slughorn exclaimed, reaching out to shake hands with Harry. "Not only to the school but to my own house! It is a pleasure to meet you!"

The majority of his sentences ended in exclamation marks.

"Certainly, it has been my pleasure to teach Tom and it pleases me greatly to see you so quickly making his acquaintance! You can never go wrong with him to guide you!"

Harry noted the irony of all Riddle's friends eventually becoming Death Eaters, murderers and terrorists.

"Perhaps you can even give Tom here a run for his game? No one has managed that yet."

Slughorn winked at Riddle who smiled charismatically back – "You're too kind, Professor." Harry almost gagged. It was so blatant and superficial; how anyone could not see past Riddle's act was beyond him.

"Honestly though, you should see him duel. It really is remarkable. A sight for sore eyes."

The entire class turned to look at Harry, who suppressed a wince. It annoyed him how Riddle could easily divert the attention from himself to someone else with only a few words, a natural leader.

No wonder he talked so many people into joining his genocide club. Riddle was just a disaster waiting to happen, a psychopath rotten to the core.

It just never struck Harry how easily said psychopath got his pants in a twist until they were halfway through the lesson…

...

"You're getting the ingredients," Riddle commanded.

For a moment Harry was actually complying – after all, Ron always made him do it – but he stopped dead in his tracks when he realised he was following Riddle's orders and walked back to his desk, plucked out his chair and plopped himself back into his seat, folding his arms.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you getting the ingredients?"

"Nope," Harry said defiantly. "Why should I?"

"Because it is too petty a thing to argue over. Hurry up. You're going to make us late, Potter."

"You can get it."

Riddle's other eyebrow flew up to join its mate at the top of his forehead. The teenage Dark Lord looked incredulous. "Excuse me?"

Harry wouldn't be surprised if Riddle had never been told to do anything manual in his life.

"What?" Harry said nonchalantly. "You said it's too petty to argue over ingredients. So why don't you go get it?"

Riddle seemed to consider it for a second, shooting Harry with one of those notorious death glares that was eerily close to the ones Lord Voldemort shot him. Still, it was a whole lot less intimidating on Riddle. Perhaps he hadn't perfected it yet.

"… Because I'll be doing most of the work."

Harry nearly huffed out a laugh.

"Ah, so you're the genius and you can help us get good grades while I'm your lowly assistant and should do whatever I am told so that you will generously share your good grades with me?"

Riddle gave a long-suffering sigh and pinned him with an exasperated look.

"Exactly."

Harry clenched his jaws. "Sorry to let you down but it doesn't work like that with me."

"Pardon?"

Those eyebrows had vanished above Riddle's hairline now.

"Your best pal Malfoy might accept it but I never begged to be your Potions partner."

Riddle glared daggers at him. "Fine," he snapped impatiently. "I'll go get it. This is ridiculous. I've never –" He shook his head, interrupting himself in midsentence apparently deciding there was no point in wasting his breath and strode off in the direction of the potions cupboard.

Harry hid a triumphant grin behind his hand, watching Riddle rummage for the needed ingredients.

A moment later, Riddle reappeared by his side and dumped the ingredients on the table, ignoring Harry.

He arranged the cauldron at a simmer, started to powder the root of asphodel and, after a long while, twisted around to hiss at Harry, "The Draught of Living Death is complicated. You will not touch a thing on this table or I will not be responsible for my actions when I shave your fingers off."

"I thought this was supposed to be our potion."

"I refuse to pay for your mistakes."

Harry could not believe his ears. Even Snape hadn't forbidden him to even touch potions – and as far as he was concerned, Snape was the biggest bully he had ever seen in his life.

So what did that make Riddle?

"You know, we'll work twice as fast if you let me help."

Riddle glanced at him and flashed a degrading smile. "I sincerely doubt it. I'll be grateful if you do not ruin this potion for me."

Harry was just about to snarl an angry retort when an irritatingly sharp object poked him in the back. He whirled around and was momentarily distracted by Nott's ugly face. Lips twisted in a sneer, the Slytherin yanked Harry forward by his tie, jerking him nearly off balance.

Caught off guard, Harry stumbled into the desk beside him, accidentally knocking quite a few of Riddle's ingredients onto the floor.

An icy clear of the throat…

And Riddle leaned across Harry, paying no attention to him in favour of Nott, saying darkly, "Slughorn is on the other side of the room – and unless you wish to draw him to us, I suggest you unhand him."

Nott let go immediately.

Harry, still reeling at Nott's peculiar aggression, simply stared.

Riddle calmly collected his ingredients off the floor and set to work again, turning his back to their argument.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" Harry snapped at Nott.

The Slytherin treated him to another disparaging sneer. "You know, new boy, here in Slytherin we have rules – and that is what separates us from the other Houses. There's a hierarchy."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He could tell that Riddle was listening in on their conversation despite how discreet he was being – and Harry swore the Slytherin Heir was secretly amused.

"And you are at the very bottom," Nott continued smugly. "You never challenge someone who is above you. Learn your place, Potter."

Riddle had tilted his head subtly sideways so that he could observe Harry's reaction.

Harry couldn't help it. He snorted. "I know my place already, thanks."

Nott's eyes darkened. "Clearly not, or you would show some respect."

"To who? You?"

This time, Nott was slow to respond. He glanced at Riddle.

Ah... So the Dark Lord's cronies were feeling protective.

Harry laughed out loud, mockingly. "I doubt Riddle needs you to defend his honour. He isn't some helpless maiden in the Elizabethan era – still, I suppose he'd appreciate a bit of your strength now and then."

Nott flushed, an angry red glow spreading over his cheeks.

"Potter, I can fight my own battles, I assure you," Riddle drawled lazily. "And Nott? Should you not focus on your own potion? It is quite unbecoming to pick fights in the middle of classrooms."

It seemed his remark had attracted the devil himself. Perhaps even Riddle was uncomfortable being compared to a girl. Harry grinned to himself; he had to do it to the teenage Dark Lord more often in the future.

Mumbling something that sounded like a swear word to Harry, Nott retreated behind his own desk.

The temporary victory was delicious.

"Concentrate on holding your tongue for the rest of the lesson," Riddle instructed him coolly. "Your voice is putting me off. There's a time to talk and a time to stay still."

Harry was irked again.

Riddle seemed to think he was high and mighty enough to order him about. And even worse, he seemed to think Harry was a complete pushover and would take it meekly.
Honestly, Harry wouldn't mind correcting Riddle's impression.

"Your friend over there –"

Riddle sighed. "I thought I told you to be quiet."

Unaffected, Harry disregarded the interruption. "Your friend over there," – Harry looked at Riddle seriously – "said something about a hierarchy. He appears to think I'm an idiot."

"You are, Harry, you are." Riddle sounded beyond annoyed.

"And that's exactly my point!" Harry exclaimed brightly.

"Your point which is…?"

"…that since all of you seem to believe I am an idiot, I may as well deserve the accusation."

Before Riddle could even raise a finger to stop him, Harry darted forward, seized all the ingredients and dumped them all unceremoniously in the bubbling cauldron.

For a second, the cauldron coughed out smoke and Riddle stood there, stunned.

And then everything exploded.

Bits of gruesome slop flew out and one, much to Harry's glee, landed on Riddle's pristine uniform.

Across the room, there was a frantic shout before Slughorn rushed towards them: "Tom, my dear boy, what happened?!"

Tom Riddle looked murderous and Harry got the distinct feeling he was going to get strangled.

But it was all worth it.