Bewarned, here lie attempts at slash. Be afraid.
"If you leave with him now - we're over!" Jessica, his girlfriend of sixth months, exclaimed, standing up from the table, flushed. Everyone in the café turned to stare at him, gaping, and, not for the first time, Harry wished he wasn't quite so famous.
"Jess-" he began helplessly. "I'm sorry, Harry!" she shrieked, before quieting down slightly, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm sorry…but I can't do this, this is the third time in a row that he's needed you for some state emergency while we're supposed to be on date. I just - I don't want to be second best to someone all the time, fifth on your list of priorities or something, I'm supposed to be your girlfriend!"
Harry stared at the table, fists clenched, knowing he should have expected this.
This was what always happened when he tried to date a girl - when he actually managed to find a girl who wanted to go out with him, didn't think he was gay and wasn't just out to use him as a stepping stone to further their ambitions.
He wasn't a good boyfriend, he knew that, and he knew they deserved guys who could be 100% devoted to them without having to worry about running the country…or, it seemed, running off with Tom.
He sighed heavily.
Tom seemed to be a recurring theme in the breakdown of his relationships, sometimes due to the fact that his girlfriends felt like 'spare wheels,' others because the Slytherin Heir frightened them off or lost his patience with them and said something rather personal and scathing.
Mostly, from what he'd gathered, it was because they felt second priority to his 'relationship' with the young Dark Lord, but sometimes from the latter. Like with Emily…that had been bad.
Since then, he'd banned Tom from giving an honest answer to any of his girlfriends when they asked "why don't you like me?" "what is your problem with me?" or any variants beside because Tom literally detailed every flaw he found in them until they broke down crying.
Ugh, it was such a nightmare. He was going to die alone or something pathetic. Maybe he'd be better off buying a cat…
"Okay," he said, as calmly as he could, desperately trying not to look at the Slytherin Heir in question, who had paused, seeming somewhat frozen, at the door of the café.
It was another political crisis in their campaign - an actual crisis, he'd soon put a stop to Tom simply telling him there was a crisis and then it mysteriously being dealt with before he got there or it merely not being as critical as the other made out - something about the lycanthropic treaties from what Tom had quickly told him.
"I hope we can stay friends."
She stared at him, outraged, and he realised she'd probably expected him to put up more of a fight…not that he had time.
He dropped cash for the meal and for her taxi home, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before walking out.
Tom fell into step with him, and his mood darkened.
"Harry-" the other started.
"Don't bloody well comment," he muttered, utterly miserable. Tom fell silent, but he could feel irritating dark eyes examining him.
"…are you okay? Do I need to send an office lackey out for ice cream or something?"
"Just DROP IT!" he rounded on the other, glaring. "Seriously, what part of don't bloody well comment did you not understand?"
Tom's eyebrows arched, but, thankfully, he turned away, going quiet.
Harry's mood immediately plummeted more, irritable and snappish, and he didn't know why. The silence stretched across professionalism for most of the next three days, and the crisis was eventually sorted out after over twenty intensive hours of meetings and conferences.
He was looking forward to nothing so much as collapsing in his bed with a cup of tea, or maybe just going to a bar to try and forget that he'd just been dumped.
Again.
He was halfway out, breathing a sigh of relief to be done for the day (at least, to be able to leave without the nation imploding, there was always something he could do) when Esmeranne, his PA, approached him with a grim look on her face. He nearly cried.
"What is it now?" he asked, through gritted teeth.
"Sorry," she whispered, tentatively holding out a copy of Witch Weekly.
Heartbroken Harry - Single Saviour
He stared at the article for a moment, mentally cursing.
"Wait," Abraxas demanded, across the office, staring, "you broke up with Jess? When? What happened?"
Harry scrunched the paper in his fist, swearing under his breath.
"Can you do some damage control…did Jess-?" his throat tightened. He'd had girlfriends who went to the press after a bad break up before. Esmeranne shook her head, sympathetically.
"No, her friend, I think. We've got lawyers ready to sue her for libel at your command, you should have a strong case-"
"No," he dismissed, rubbing his face, tired. "No, it's fine. It'll just give them more to talk over. It'll blow over in a week or so. It normally does…is there anything else I need to do?"
"Get some sleep," she replied softly. "And come in tomorrow for that meeting with the Fey and later, York."
"Right, thanks," he muttered, scooping papers off his desk, jotting it to his overflowing, cramped, self-updating planner (thank you Hermione! The girl had invented them for him and Tom after seeing how swamped they were) and striding out the office, an awkward silence in his wake.
Tom poured himself a cup of coffee, navigating around the kitchen of his and Harry's shared flat early the next morning.
They'd had separate houses originally, fully able to afford it with their prestige as the defeaters-of-Voldemort and numerous other factors, but it had turned out to be inconvenient.
They spent so much time together, working on whatever project or part of the campaign late into the night and sometimes well into the morning, that it seemed kind of…pointless. They just ended up staying in the same house, switching whose it technically was every week or so anyway.
Harry was upstairs somewhere, no doubt moping over that girl…he'd forgotten her name again. Jessica? Yes, Jessica. He was no doubt sulking over being single again, but really, Tom did not see the problem.
It obviously wasn't going to work out between the two of them, anyway, for the same reasons it didn't work out with Sarah…or Emily…or that Cho girl or whatever other relationships Harry had been in the last seven years or so. He didn't tend to remember their names.
Harry was picking the wrong type of girl - they were always too…vanilla, bland, dull. Nice girls, friendly girls. He was picking what he thought he wanted, the expected ideal, not what he actually wanted.
Granted, he was certain Harry did actually like his numerous lovers, but that didn't mean they should be his lovers. Whether Harry admitted it or not, he was a masochist, it was clear as day.
It came from the same place his hero complex stemmed, and his suicidal tendencies and whatever other psychological complexities and insecurities. The guilt. Harry felt too much guilt, and, so, normally tended to feel uncomfortable being fully happy without any pain or suffering as he felt he didn't deserve it.
Ridiculous, but it was probably the case. But then, Harry was weird. He doubted the boy would be very submissive either. He didn't know.
Either way, nice girls didn't cut it.
Cheating scum wouldn't work either, because Harry was far superior to that and didn't need infidelity exacerbating his lack of self-worth, however well he hid it.
The second issue was time: Harry simply did not have time to have an active social life outside of work and the campaign.
For any relationship of Harry's to work, the person would have to already be integrated into his life and share the same restraints and so understand them, and then be flexible and willing and able to work around them.
He wasn't stupid, he could see full well that he was one of the few people who actually fit the full criteria, and was beginning to wonder if he should push the issue or not.
It was a logical answer to the problem.
Harry wouldn't go to sulking after being dumped, Tom wouldn't have to share with and tolerate some other random person and endure conversations trying not to rip their undeserving throats out.
It wasn't like there was no chemistry between them either, and the masochist tendency was dealt with due to his own sadism. Perfect.
Well, imperfect, but perfect was boring so why aim for it? It also dealt with the whole thing of them both being immortal and everyone else being decidedly mortal.
It wasn't like Harry wasn't attractive. And everyone already thought they were a couple anyway.
He looked up when said boy wandered into the kitchen, eyes bleary, obviously hung-over. His jaw clenched with disapproval. More inconvenience - Harry was always so annoying after he'd had a break up.
"Guess what?" Harry questioned, without greeting. "I'm engaged!"
He nearly spat out his drink.
"What do you mean you're engaged?" Tom demanded, following him out the kitchen (he'd only gone in there to announce his news and grab a hangover cure from the fridge.)
"Well, the general definition is when two people have agreed to get married," he replied, flippantly.
Now his head was clear, he was starting to wonder if announcing it had been a good idea. He knew it had been quick, really quick, but…well, he'd got a letter from Pansy Parkinson.
Apparently, her father was setting up an arranged marriage between her and the former Quidditch Captain, Marcus Flint. Even he knew that Flint was known for his brutish misogyny, Pansy would have been crushed and doomed in such a union as the troll-like boy would have demanded her to only be the 'perfect' meek wife he wanted and nothing else, and Pansy, being admittedly not the prettiest or most wealthy of the purebloods, had not had any other offers.
So he'd offered.
There were worse things to get married for, surely? And it wasn't like he was tied to act like her husband or anything really. They'd agreed.
They could just get married and live their separate lives, she could pursue her career and he could…have a family. He wouldn't have to be alone. His only worry was that she would fall in love with someone, and that her marriage would impede her from following through…but, if that was the case, he was hardly going to object to her doing what she wanted and getting a divorce.
He didn't know.
But it was better than being alone.
And she knew what he was like, what to expect, and arranged marriages were never perfect so there was less pressure.
They were also very pureblood and very traditional, so he didn't know why Tom seemed so displeased. Surely he should be happy Harry was marrying a pureblood, at least? The other seized his arm, tightly, preventing him from apparating to the office.
"You know, I have a meeting with the Fey in half an hour," he said.
"You know," Tom replied, tightly. "Most people on a rebound go to a bar and have one night stands, they do not go out and marry the first single person they come across. Are you that desperate?"
Harry could feel utter fury beginning to bubble in his gut, and wrenched his arm away.
"Yeah, actually," he said coldly. "I reckon I am. I'll tell you how the meeting goes."
He spun on the spot to apparate, only for Tom to grab hold of his arms again.
"Why? It's not like your un-dateable. For Salazar's sake, you're only twenty two, it's not like you're old and losing your hair anything, what's the rush? Are you that scared of being alone and rejected?"
Harry scowled.
"That's not what this is about-" he began, angrily.
"-What happened to marrying for love? Aren't you supposed to be the champion of love not duty and all such things?" Tom continued fiercely.
"Weren't you the one who so often preached love to be a curse? Pitiful? Crippling? You view caring as a disease, so I don't see what you're objection is!"
"And you were the one who said that you're not supposed to be me," Tom hissed. "You'd be miserable in an arranged marriage, and this one is absurdly sudden." The other's head tilted, and fingers seized his jaw, suspiciously turning his face this way and that. "Are you under a love potion?"
Harry glared.
"No!"
"You would say that if you were under one…who's the girl?"
"Actually, considering what a bastard you're being, I don't think I'll tell you."
"Then why did you bring it up?" Tom questioned coolly, annoyingly.
Harry felt frustrated. Why had he brought it up? He supposed he'd wanted reassurance on the correctness of his decision, approval - which, on both counts, was a pretty stupid thing to go to Tom for. He didn't know.
"Well, I was hoping you'd be my friend and say congrats about it, but it seems I was wrong," he replied. "Fey meeting. Have to go."
Tom's grip remained tight, and while he could have thrown the other off, he didn't. If he did, Tom was likely to simply continue this conversation at the office, and they'd both learned taking 'home' to 'work' was a really terrible idea. It was like bickering seriously in public, it just escalated, and against the rest of the world they couldn't afford to be anything less than a united front.
"You want me to congratulate you?" Tom whispered, harshly. "I'll do so when I have something to congratulate, hero. Who. Is. She? Call this off."
"Wow, you're actually telling me to call off my engagement…careful, or I'll start wondering if there's not something more to your hatred of my girlfriends…you're starting to sound a little jealous."
Tom's hands withdrew as if scalded, and Harry quickly spun on the spot to apparate out, arriving at the office. He'd barely taken two steps before there was a loud crack next to him, fingers digging into his shoulder and waist, another dizzying spin and then, before he could settle on his feet, he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the wall of their house once more.
Tom's expression had switched from cold disdain, mockery and incredulity to something far more dangerous.
"Come now, darling, are you telling me you hadn't considered the possibility already?" Tom murmured, into his ear. "Everyone else has, including your girlfriends."
"I-what?"
"Jealousy, Harry. Is this truly the first time such a thought crossed your mind? You've certainly commented on my possessiveness enough, it should have been a logical conclusion. I've warned you of it before, after all…"
He swallowed.
"Yes, well, unfortunately for you, I'm not putting my life or my engagement on hold just because you don't like sharing."
"That is unfortunate, because I find myself in a strong disagreement over that claim," Tom replied. "Call. Off. Your. Engagement."
"This is ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed. "Why do you care? I suppose my having a social life is utterly inconvenient for you, is that it?"
"Yes, actually," Tom said. "And it's inconvenient for you too…or hadn't you noticed that you've been getting repeatedly dumped by your lovers because you didn't have time for them?"
Harry hissed, furiously.
"Screw you, you're no relationships expert, you loathe the thought of anything to do with dating and - and love and-"
"Perhaps, but I would say that by now I'm quite the expert on you."
There was a tense, heavy, silence, filled with...something.
"I've made my decision," he said coldly, "you're just going to have to accept it. Now, unless you'd like to ruin Britain's relationship with the Fey I suggest you excuse me."
Tom's hands retracted after a moment, but his eyes were hard.
"This conversation isn't over."
Harry didn't deign to give that a response.
Pansy Parkinson turned around, and then abruptly froze.
Tom Riddle was leaning in the door of her office, arms folded, gaze as cold as diamonds.
"Harry told you, didn't he?" she whispered, nervous.
"Not exactly, but I figured it out. Your letter was on his bed."
He'd gone through Harry's stuff? No doubt without permission, she couldn't say she was entirely surprised, she just thought her…fiancé would have warded his room better.
Then again, Tom was very good with ward breaking.
And torture curses.
Her mouth ran dry.
"I didn't force him into it," she mumbled, pretty sure it was essential that she put that out. He merely gave a hum, walking further into the room, examining things, fingers running across the surface of her desk. "He offered, because-"
"Because of Flint's reputation," her lord finished, curtly. "And his damned hero complex…and you…well, you just couldn't say no, could you? Disappointingly, this is the second time you've crossed me in regard to getting closer to him…I understand you're not blessed with an extraordinary intelligence or even presence of mind, but did you truly not comprehend that he is mine."
"Harry won't let you harm me," she said, quickly. "And he'd know it was you."
His lips curled, gracefully.
"I'm not here to kill you or torture you," he replied silkily. "You're doing this to avoid the oppression of your former arranged marriage, correct?"
"Yes," she whispered, humiliatingly have to clear her throat.
She'd never actually been alone in a room with the young Dark Lord, never had him seek her out with his full attention upon her and her alone. It was terrifying, exhilarating, but either way didn't aid her coherency.
"I will guarantee your freedom if you break off the engagement," he stated. "Permanently. You will not approach him in such a manner again. No one knows about it yet."
"And you won't seek retribution after?" she questioned, anxiously, hardly knowing where she found the braveness to bargain for that, to not just immediately succumb under his frosty gaze.
After a moment, he inclined his head in acknowledgement and agreement.
"Consider it a deal. You will break off the engagement immediately."
All of a sudden, she thought of Harry. He'd hate her doing this, and he'd been so nice and charming and yet, and yet…
"What if I don't agree?" she asked tremulously. His stared at her, absolutely no compassion or emotion of any sort upon his handsome features.
"Then I will destroy you, regardless of his opinion on the matter."
His expression warned her not to question him further, and if she was more courageous, she would have pressed on and told him it was unfair of him to condemn Harry to loneliness, to ask if he had any plans himself concerning the Boy-Who-Lived. But she didn't dare.
"I accept," she said, feeling nauseas and hollow, sliding the ring off her finger. "You'll get this back to him?"
He held his hand out wordlessly, and left as abruptly as he came.
She sunk to the floor, unable to stop shaking, wondering just how close to death she had come.
Harry stormed into Tom's office, barely having the presence of mind to slam the shut behind him in intemperate rage.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled, tossing his engagement ring on the desk between them.
Less then twenty four hours. Wow. Tom surveyed him calmly.
"You didn't truly think I would just stand aside and let you marry under the full knowledge that it would make you miserable, did you?"
"It wasn't yours to decide!" he spat. "I'm miserable already."
"No, you're feeling rejected because that bitch dumped you, there's a distinct difference."
"Jess is not some bitch," he growled. "For Salazar's sake-"
"-Irrelevant," Tom dismissed. "Besides, you don't need to form an arranged marriage just because you feel insecure and don't want to be alone-"
"Oh, as opposed to what?" he hissed. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's not actually that big a pool of people who want to have anything to do with me like that simply for my own merits!"
In an instant, Tom was in front of him, and he automatically took a step back.
"Why is it," the Slytherin Heir questioned, with a hint of exasperation, "that after all this time, you still can't see yourself clearly?"
Harry frowned, confused. He could see himself clearly - he knew his own strengths and limitations better than anyone, and told the other so.
"Clearly not, as otherwise you'd see that you're not un-dateable and are highly unlikely to end up alone," Tom replied.
"Oh, yeah?" Harry's brows raised, still fuming. "Who in their right mind would date me? I constantly drag everyone around me into danger, and am otherwise too busy too give them the time and attention they deserve, I-"
"-I'd date you."
Harry's mouth snapped shut, and he stared at the other, before his eyes narrowed.
"Funny, Tom, I swear if this is one of your sick experiments or games-"
"-I'm serious, if that's what you're asking."
Harry's mind was spinning, and, all of a sudden, bizarrely, his stomach felt knotted and his hands wanted to shake.
"But…you're straight…I'm straight…I…like girls."
"If you're going down that route, you could at least try and sound convincing," Tom replied, before shrugging. "Straight. Gay. Asexual. Bi. It's just more labels Harry, and when have labels ever applied to us? It's a logical solution."
And suddenly everything came flooding back. Logic, right. He wasn't sure why he felt insulted.
It's just...it suddenly really pissed him off that even this had to about logic, without feeling. What did he expect from a psychopath?
"It's logical, of course, should have seen that coming," he muttered. "Just convenience, right? Well, thanks, but no thanks - if you'd just give me my ring-"
"-this is why you shouldn't drink extensively, darling, you need everything spelled out for you the day after," Tom sighed.
The next second, lips had crashed upon his own, a burning, tingling weight.
His mind promptly went completely blank. Fingers curled into his hair, tugging to reposition his head like the other wanted it.
That, more then anything, made him react.
He bit the other's lip, hard, blood tasting like copper in his mouth. Tom hissed, but then Harry also felt him smile, and a struggle for dominance ensued.
There was nothing sweet or gentle about it, but, it wasn't angry or hateful either. He didn't know.
Everything seemed to go white hot, and he couldn't think outside of pain and pleasure and…and then, Harry remembered that he was kissing Tom and abruptly pulled back, pushing the taller boy away.
Tom smirked at him, not seeming all that put out, tongue licking up the blood on his lips, thoughtfully, before he spoke.
"Chemistry and attraction is also a logical consideration, darling, it's just endorphins and science."
Harry flushed.
"You can't just kiss me!" he exclaimed.
"Why not? I rather enjoyed it…and you didn't seem to have all that many objections either."
"I-you're infuriating! That's not the point!"
"Then what is?" Tom questioned.
"Because I - I don't fancy you…I don't think…it would mess things up! And everyone would just look at us like 'wow, that's so not a surprise' and yeah, it would mess things up. I screw people up in relationships and-" he stopped, eyes narrowing. "Are you laughing?" he hissed, furiously.
Tom waved a hand, as if in surrender, pressing a hand over his mouth. Harry folded his arms.
"It's not funny!"
"No, it's just…you're worried about a screwed up relationship…with me," Tom stated. "Do you not find that ironic? I screw everyone up. It's what I do. We're already screwed up, there's not really much worse you can do."
Harry's brow furrowed.
"But-I-you-I-"
"Careful," the other sounded amused still. "I might get offended soon."
He glanced up at that, despite the jokiness of the statement, and tried to get a grip over himself.
"Right. Um. I think…I think I need to think."
"Eloquent.
""Shut up, Tom," he said, rolling his eyes, before blinking in shock. Wow. He actually wasn't feeling incredibly awkward.
"Make me," the other smirked, daring, challenging. All the things he was familiar and knew how to work with.
After a moments hesitation, he walked over, and did.
It felt like his lips were on fire or something.
This time, it was Tom who eventually drew away, and they studied each other.
"No more thoughts of getting engaged to Parkinson, then?" Tom questioned, eyes intent. Harry pretended to consider, before shrugging.
"Is Daphne Greengrass still single?" he questioned, grinning.
"Irrelevant," Tom said, returning with a dangerous smirk of his own. "You're not."
And all of a sudden he couldn't breathe again.
…He could get used to it.
A/N: Writing slash, or romance in general, is absolutely terrifying? Have I mentioned that?
My first proper kiss scene that I've ever written...if it's crap, blame that.
Also, note, this is only a slash oneshot, the rest of my work and my main stories are not going to become slash, so you can either stop worrying or feel disappointed :P I can't do sustained romance, be it het or slash. But yeah, I hope you enjoyed the experiment here...:)
I have concluded that I definitely prefer non slash and my regular dynamic, and will stick to it, but I was curious to stretch my writing horizons and figured I'd give it a go, so yeah, sorry you had to see that :P