Hi hi~~
OMG GUYS. GUYS. GUYS.
THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT! LIKE SERIOUSLY. I know how hard that link was for some people so I'm seriously so, SO happy for all of your amazing support!
On that note since there were not many reviews I'm gonna single them out on a spotlight to praise them! (though I am equally as grateful to everyone who tried the link or checked out the new chapter on inkitt either way :D)
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SO, SHOUTING OUT TO THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEWED THAT BtDoM CHAPTER ON INKITT-
Qwaszxedc9 (Sup! So glad you persevered and finally found my profile site thing! Thanks so much for dropping that review and your support :D),
maeganwomble (I am so glad the effort of going through all that buzz was worth it! I would hate if it wasn't haha, and thanks for pushing through to finally get there :)),
dowlingkailee (You too! I SO totally appreciate you venturing out from the safe haven of to traverse this new and honestly, kind of underwhelming site that is inkitt lol. Don't tell inkitt I said that. But really, the fact you even sacrificed pics on your phone just to download that app? That touches me *taps chest* here. My lungs. You have touched my lungs.)
and gettygotget (seriously gettygotget, whoever you are- love that review 5/5. I mean tbh I have a slight idea who you are but I also have none. Dunno why I said that. Either way- love that review. Could not stop smiling. Unfortunately Tom will never hear your pleas no matter how big your caps get LOL *evil cackles*)
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THEN A SUPER SHOUT OUT TO THE PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY CHECKED OUT MY FIRST CHAPTER OF MY FIRST REAL STORY TO BE: DEATH DEFYING (seriously other people, if you like the general premise of Death as an entity, you will hopefully like this story. Links in profile)
ArmandRiver (awesomely constructive, thanks for putting in your honest criticism! Seriously I love when that happens and I do agree with your opinions about alternating paragraphs most of the time- especially when done poorly, but I like how it fits in that chapter. Needless to say though, it will not be a running theme for the most part (hopefully, anyway- context is so hard to slide in casually). If you would, I would like if you could PM me and we could possibly discuss stuff like that maybe? Though no pressure :D),
m4ciekc (or supernowy- who, love the review, and yes, totally interested in translating my stories for others! I will definitely PM you in a few days you just wait :D),
gettygotget AGAIN -WOO YOU GO PERSON OF UNKNOWN GENDER (I would assume female but just in case)
and misterymassacre (loving your thoughts about Death's troubles! Seriously it sounds like you've put in a ton of thought into the story and Death as a character and that makes me super happy that you were that into the story. Though I must say, its less about revenge and more about Death trying to learn the values of life or some other heartwarming crap like that. Hopefully. Again, not fully aware how the whole story is gonna turn out haha.)
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IN CONCLUSION. THANKS A LOT FOR THE AMAZING STUPENDOUS AWESOME SUPPORT YOU GUYS! AS SAID BEFORE- BtDoM CHAPTERS WILL BE UP ON INKITT ONE WEEK BEFORE ITS POSTED HERE SO IF ANYONE'S IMPATIENT CHECK OUT THE INKITT SITE FIRST JUST IN CASE THE NEW CHAP APPEARS THERE (LIKE A RARE POKEMON)
ALSO DEATH DEFYING. FIRST CHAPTER. IT IS LONG CHAPTER. IT IS GOOD CHAPTER. PLEASE. CHECK IT OUT. LINK, PROFILE. THANKS.
And with that,
Enjoy~~
The one where Death gets off on a book. That was an unimportant and completely unplanned thing that happened, but it has happened nonetheless.
Alternative title: The one where Death, as well as this story, hits a whole new low.
Harry ended up confined in Snape's quarters for two full weeks before he was deemed okay to go out into the castle again. And only for short walks accompanied by a fifth year or higher. He could've probably managed to get out in ten days if he begged or pleaded nicely enough, but Harry was far too embarrassed about his little 'speech' in the Great Hall even to try.
He doesn't fully remember the whole thing, but he does recall shouting on top of a table and telling everyone he wanted something hot and hard in his mouth.
The boy buries his face in his hands.
"Come now Harry," Argus Filch soothes, passing the boy a cup of tea, "I'm sure it wasn't that bad."
"Oooh, Mr. Filch I am indefinitely sure it was much worse." He bemoaned, "Percy told me he keeps getting pats on the back, and people congratulating him and calling him a 'lucky bastard.' Cedric laughed the whole time he visited me. And Fred won't stop blushing and staring at my mouth when I see him!"
The caretaker took a nice long sip of his tea so to not betray the highly entertained grin on his face. It would be terrible of him to find such amusement from Harry's embarrassment, especially since the first place Harry had requested to visit in the castle was his office. Filch was incredibly touched by that. He truly was. It does not stop this from being any less funny however.
"I'm sure they'll forget about it soon." Filch dismisses, "Those sniveling spoiled brats have attention spans smaller than a flobberworm."
Harry smiled as he drank his tea. "Aw, Argus, you do say some of the nicest things."
Colin Creevley visited him a few days after the Great Hall tantrum incident. Well, Colin Creevey, Mr Filch with Mrs Norris, Justin Finch-Fletchley and any other victims of the Basilisk that Harry does neither care nor remember.
Hey, its not his fault they came on a Tuesday. Luckily they came in the morning when he wasn't feeling the effects too badly, but a bit of memory loss at this point was a given.
Anyway, everyone but poor Headless Nick, who was a ghost and therefore could not swallow shit let alone an antidote, was cured of their petrification. Apparently, Madam Pomfrey is thinking about using a spray bottle for Nick, see if that works, but that requires a bit more mandrake then they currently have and to be perfectly honest, they were kind of saving the extra ingredients for when an actual student gets petrified again.
Priorities.
On the bright side, with even Finch-Fletchley supporting his innocence on the whole Heir front, his name has been pretty much cleared. Though those pictures of him coming out of the shower being spread around were not appreciated. Ta for that Creevley.
That boy was lucky he was cuter than a hamster because Harry is starting to have a sneaking suspicion that kid had a thing for voyeurism. Pervert in the making that kid was. Or worse. Paparazzi.
"Harry, Harry!" Hermione rushed into his room panting breathlessly with Ron not too far behind her. Harry looked up surprised considering the time of day. Snape had gone to a staff meeting, and most of the students by now were snug in their dorm rooms. "Oh good, you're up."
"Sleeping away most of the day does do that for you." The green eyed boy replies. Then his eyes were immediately dragged toward the sight of a little black book in Hermione's hand. "What is that?"
The bushy haired second year grinned excitedly, "We found it by Moaning Myrtle."
"Well I mean, we didn't find it as much as Moaning Myrtle was wailing about it being thrown at her to anyone that would listen." Ron corrected.
"But we were the first to search for it." Hermione argued, "And therefore locating the notebook counts as us finding it." She turns to Harry expectantly waiting for the only other intelligent human to speak up for her.
Harry shrugged, "Sounds like Moaning Myrtle technically found it."
"Ooh, what good are you?" She scowls half-heartedly as the two boys laugh.
"Hey, don't you have classes to get to?" The green eyed boy asks curiously, it is the middle of the day and barely anyone but Filch or Snape visits him during this time. Hagrid sometimes comes too but he's too big to come into his room which is awkward for everyone involved. "Not that I'm not pleased but, seriously, you should probably leave."
"Yeah, yeah, eager already to shoo us off mate?" Ron grinned easily, earning a pout from the other boy.
"You know I didn't mean that."
"Suuuuure."
Harry stuck his tongue out childishly. Hermione giggled as Ron mirrored Harry's display. In defiance, Harry tried to push his tongue out farther, the Weasley boy did the same, and the bushy haired girl tried to hide her growing entertainment by feigning indignity at 'dumb boys.'
"Am I interrupting something?" A deep and familiar voice questioned dryly. The redhead spun around so fast at the voice he tripped over his own feet and oh so gracefully falling on his behind on the floor. Hermione had to actually slap her mouth to confine her hysterically high-pitched giggle.
Harry didn't even bother trying to. "Hello, Professor Snape." He greeted between fits of laughter and coughing.
Professor Snape watched the trio with wry, amusement, dark eyes staring almost unblinkingly as he looked down at them and his lips pursed ever so slightly in an upwards direction. Harry thought the man looked quite dashing, all relaxed and carefree like that, especially with the way his long body stretched as he leaned against the doorway. "Potter, tell your… friends they need to head to their classes now, I'll give you a few minutes."
The green eyed child smiled and waved the older man off, "Of course Se- Professor Snape."
Snape nodded acknowledging the temporary farewell and strode out of the room. Once he had left, immediately Ron scrambled up from his, frankly embarrassing, position on the ground to look at Harry with a manic look in his eye.
"Cripes! I thought that man was gonna deduct so many points off Gryffindor that the red would leave my hair!"
"Or you know, something much less dramatic like insult you." Hermione deadpanned.
Harry blinked. "What are you talking about? Professor Snape wasn't mad."
"Mad? He looked like he was thinking about slicing me into one of his potions ingredients Harry!" The other boy exaggerated, "He looked livid."
"Professor Snape did look pretty unhappy Harry." The girl supported as Ron grumbled about that being an understatement.
"I think it's you two that are mad," Harry laughed, "Snape was smiling." He explained.
The two Gryffindors goggled at him.
"Mate." Ron whined, "Why are you so bloody weird with your taste in men? Why Percy? Why Snape? If you tell me Draco has pretty eyes I'll shoot the killing curse at myself I will."
Hermione looked torn between laughing and following her redheaded friend's example. Upon looking at Harry's pleading expression to get Ron to stop bemoaning Harry's apparent tastes in people she shrugs in a very un-Hermione like manner. "Ron's not wrong, you do have a weird Snape thing."
"I do NOT have a-"
"No, yes, you totally do." Ron interrupted. "Do not deny it mate, 'mione told me denial ain't just a river in Egypt."
"Hermione you suck."
"Come on Harry, just man up," Hermione said very sternly and not at all amusedly.
Harry sighed exasperatedly, ignoring the slight buzzing heat on the tips of his ears he admits, "Maybe I have a little, tiny thing."
Hermione made a sound that could only be described to share the same pitch as a dying pig, but far happier. Ron made a puking sound with all the necessary hand gestures to emphasize this. Harry is not particularly impressed with either reaction.
"Ron, you suck too."
Ron put his hands up in the air in surrender, "Woah, hey, I'm happy that you could admit I'm right don't get me wrong mate. Am I happy that it is now official you have a weird Snape thing? No, ick, Merlin no."
"Gee. Thanks." Harry replied drolly. Ron still continued.
"But am I happy this isn't a weird Percy thing? Extremely," He smiled reassuringly at his best friend who gave a tentative smile in return, "because no offense, you two were absolutely disgusting and I did not need to know Percy had interests other than being a prefect and working in the Ministry."
"Aaaand, now you have stopped being cute."
"Aw shucks you say the nicest things."
They all pause for a bit, their playful banter lulled into a temporary silence as they just enjoy each others company. Harry's eyes eventually slid back to the book in Hermione's hand, green eyes glowing faintly as they rested on the innocent looking black cover. Hermione of course noticed and handed it over easily.
"I know how unfair I was being, taking charge and making plans without you." She apologizes genuinely, "I-I guess I was still kind of jealous of you, but then you got seriously hurt! And there's nothing I can do to take that back.. So I swear, seriously swear, I'm never going to do that again Harry!" Hermione starts tearing up again, but her face is set and determined.
Frankly, Harry was a little shocked at the outburst. Honestly, he expected such character development and maturity from her sometime in at least their fourth year. Shows what he knows on the mindset of the human child. "Thanks, Hermione." He replies gratefully because he was surely not going to complain about the girl being less brash. "I appreciate you being so forthright with me."
"Friends?" Hermione asks tentatively because despite everything Harry guesses she is still the insecure bookworm she had been before Hogwarts.
Harry smiled, "Friends." He reaffirmed.
The bushy haired girl gives the Potter heir a delicate but no less smooshing hug, as Ron huffs annoyed as he stands in the background. "What am I? Chopped liver?"
"Awww, Ron come join us in our friendship hug!" Hermione beckoned.
"Yes. Our.. hug of friendship would not be complete without you." Harry says dryly, clearly not enjoying the embrace as much as the other. The visible discomfort of his friend seemed to be the thing that finally won the grumbling redhead over, and Ron too joined the group hug.
They hugged for a bit longer until Harry decided enough was enough. "You know," he says nonchalantly, "Draco's eyes do have a certain darling quality to them."
"Aaaand moment ruined," Ron says, dropping his arms faster than if he had been holding Draco himself in his arms.
"Well we do have to go anyway," Hermione chuckled at the smug self-satisfaction radiating off Harry. "So, fair warning, this notebook has some.. interesting quirks Harry, and to be frank, Ron and I aren't particularly sure what to do with it. Honestly, it seems harmless in itself, but I figured you would know what's up."
The green eyed boy brushed the spine of the little book reverently with his fingertips; he can feel the familiar hum of a soul-tickling his fingertips. It feels rather... amazing. "And I am so glad you thought so." He breathed.
"Dude you sound like what you sound like when you swoon over Snape, or Percy when you were dating Percy," Ron said, a little grossed out.
"Or how ruggedly muscled the centaurs are," Hermione added.
"Or that one horrible time you insisted to me how gorgeous Mr. Malfoy and his hair was." Ron gave a full body shudder at that memory.
"You were very into his hair." Hermione supplied unhelpfully. "And let's not forget the time when he started describing gourmet French food to the House elves."
"It is an actual bloody wonder how there are people out there who were surprised you were gay mate."
"I don't want to impose stereotypes Harry but, despite us being twelve, you are extremely gay."
"Super gay."
"Your kind of a pervert actually."
"A-class one considering your... range of tastes."
"Haha, that is SO tru-"
"Okay, OKAY, I got it!" Harry snapped irritated. "Don't put a label on it or anything, Jesus Christ guys."
The two Gryffindors just laughed, as Harry scowled. Friends, he had found, were very complex relationships that basically boiled down to insulting and being insulted. Harry is not exactly unhappy at this revelation, but he would appreciate it if he wasn't on the end spectrum of the insulted quite so much.
Once Snape came to drag Ron and Hermione away, Harry turned his attentions back to what had caught them in the first place.
"Now that they are finally gone it's just you and me, Mr. Riddle." Harry purrs as he cracks open the worn book. On the first page, in smudged ink was T. M. Riddle damningly written there, confirming his thoughts. The boy traced the slanted handwriting, closing his eyes as he shuddered under the pure, electrifyingly wonderful sensation of Mr. Riddle's soul that was practically soaked in each page, masterfully held together with powerful magic.
"Fuck this is gorgeous." Harry practically moaned, he is actually salivating thinking what the man's, no, the teenager's, soul must taste like. He can feel how much stronger it is compared to the Dark Lord of the present, how much more whole. God, if this Tom tastes half as good as he feels…
Young hands flip to the next page, and it seems young Tom Riddle has felt what he is feeling right now because already words are forming onto the blank paper.
'Who is this? What are you doing to me?!'
Harry licks his lips in anticipation; he is strangely excited. It's an odd state he is in, somewhere between curious fascination from an entirely objective view and an outright mix of arousal and gluttony. The entity does not even stop to think as he summons an inked quill and begins writing.
'Hello Mr. Tom Riddle, I go by many names, but you may call me Harry Potter.'
'What are you doing to me? How do you know my name?'
God, teenage Riddle was so cute. Harry could feel the panic emanating from the page.
'Why I am merely touching your soul Mr. Riddle. Your beautifully bastardized shard of your soul. Does it not feel good?'
Tom does not answer back for a while, and Harry waits patiently for him to figure out what to say. Once in a while he will stroke the page, with a finger, with his whole hand outspread, once nuzzling his cheek on the flat surface, the sensation he gets is indescribably pleasurable and Harry finds it hard pressed for him to stop.
If this is what it feels like when people tear their souls and shove them into things, he thinks it is a pity he had not encouraged this sooner. This is absolutely amazing. He wants one in pillow form.
Harry wonders if there is something inherently wrong with him that he finds the idea so arousing.
He muses on his newfound kink for a bit until he finally notices black ink writing itself out on the paper below him.
'It does not feel.. bad per say.'
'If it is half as good as it is for me Mr. Riddle, I should hope not.'
'You… feel it too?'
Slyly and fuelled with the confidence that no one could see him doing something so insane, Harry took the notebook and brushed his lips against the cover, sighing as pleasure buzzed against his sensitive skin. He feels it rush through his veins and the whites of his eyes gray as the control he so fastidiously holds, loosens in the luxurious comfort that washes over him. Faintly, Harry could just taste a shadow of something cool and fresh, minty even, with just a hint of something spicier, earthier, bitter.
Fuck, the green eyed being did not realize how much he desired such a flavor until now. It's enough to get his meat suit practically bursting at the seams with his excitement, his blunt human teeth sharpening and the ends of his hair blurring into a more shadowy form.
'Harry... you feel so good, so intense... It has been so long, Merlin you cannot even imagine..' The words trailed off into illegibly flustered scribbles.
And Harry could indeed imagine, could empathize with Mr. Riddle's young soul.
Harry moaned as he felt the Tom's cracked soul in the book almost burn under his fingertips with ecstasy, a feedback loop had been formed as each other's newfound sensitivity to each other grew in response to the other's ecstasy. The green eyed wizard's forehead was crackling with a fervor, pulsating to the beat of his human heart. He's vaguely aware of his already very receptive body responding to the sensations, his lower region already hard and sensitive as he instinctively pressed himself harder into the bed he now laid on.
Jesus, he really was kind of a freaking pervert.
The green eyed entity was glad the Real Harry Potter wasn't somewhere in Heaven watching this because he feels like the Real Harry Potter would not appreciate what weird shit he has been getting up to in his body. Well, it wasn't like it was the entity's fault that he died- oh, wait. Shit. Now he actually did feel a little bad.
With far more self-restraint than Harry thought he currently possessed, Harry pushed the book off the bed and away from his tempted reach. Feeling the foggy haze of desire lessen from his mind, the young wizard groaned and buried his face into his pillow. Unable to help himself, he reached down and quickly stroked himself to completion, practically screaming into the pillow as he came.
As Harry felt the high leave him, and the self-loathing settle neatly under his skin, a firm knock on the door was made. The green eyed boy almost fell off his bed at the unexpected noise, but instead managed to scrabble at the mattress just in time to prevent such a fate. "Uh, yes?" Harry called out in a slightly hight pitched voice.
"Harry?" Snape's head poked through the door, his face was flushed faintly like the older man had run somewhere, "Are you.. good?"
The younger of the two wiped the sheen of sweat on his forehead and gave a shaky smile. Was he quivering? Because he feels like half melted custard right now. "Ah, yeah I'm good. Totally, good. I was just reading."
"Reading." The potions master repeated doubtfully.
"I read," Harry replied defensively, guilt and the fear of being caught sparking irritation inside of him. In a manner that he hoped was casual, Harry slowly pulled up the blanket to further cover himself and the mess he had made in his pants. "It's not like I have much else to do." And okay maybe that sounded a little too sour.
"What book?"
"Something Hermione passed to me," Harry said easily, then just as casually as before, which is to say probably not at all casually, he pushed a pillow off the bed to hide Mr. Riddle's papery form from the professor. Of course, being too busy trying to successfully cover the book, Harry missed the way the Head of Slytherin tracked his movements.
"Granger gave you this.. book?" And now it was Snape sounding a little strangled.
The young wizard stared down at the floor, contemplatively wondering if Snape could see the book. No, it looks pretty well smothered by the pillow. "She said that there was some.. interests that we may both share in there." He mumbled absentmindedly.
"Merlin," Snape muttered. And no, Harry wasn't imagining that blush reddening further on the the professor's face. "Well, lunch is ready, so, uh." The man trailed off uncertainly.
"I'll get myself ready," Harry assured, "I'm just going to take a quick shower if that's alright? I'm feeling a little sticky from," the wizard savior blushed as he realized what exactly he was so sticky for, "reading." He finished lamely.
"Reading." Professor Snape repeated again like he wanted to re-emphasize how unbelievably dumb the excuse sounded. Harry wasn't sure what the professor wanted from him, but the man would have to threaten him with actual painful evisceration before he admitted the truth to what he had just been doing.
Besides, like trying to explain he had been getting his rocks off by feeling up a magically possessed book that had half a soul of the current Dark Lord would have gone so well.
Christ his life. No wonder he is the entity of all things against it because he is so very shit at it.
"Reading," Harry says again firmly, like he really, seriously means it. Even though he does not. Harry isn't sure he can take himself seriously after this particular new low he has now set himself.
The potions master stares at Harry like somehow that could help uncover the truth. "I.. see." Clearly, he does not. "Well I'll tell the house elves to keep it warm, I'll be waiting outside."
"Thanks, Severus," Harry demurred. There is something about the older man taking such sweet care of him that makes him feel like there are tiny little fingers tinkling the inside of his throat. It's embarrassing how much he enjoys the attention like he is something precious and breakable. Usually, he's the doting one.
Severus smiled, much more open and fond then the one in the presence of his Gryffindor friends. The man really does look quite dashing like that, maybe not objectively handsome.. but dashing. "No problem. Oh, and Harry?" The smile turns into an almost fiendish smirk. Harry shifts his legs and presses his hands onto his lap, because that smirk does things to him. Things. "Do be careful to be more quiet during your, ah, reading time."
Immediately the young wizard finds his pale face once again set aflame in mortification. Professor Snape, because at heart, that man is a bastard, chuckles at his visible discomfort and leaves. Harry buries his face again into the pillow, this time in hopes of suffocating himself.
Dear Death,
I must say I've seen people getting off to books, but you certainly put that on a whole new level.
Knowledge
Harry now wears gloves when writing with Mr. Riddle.
Dearest Death,
Sorry, we haven't written for so long, we've all been a bit.. booked up.
While we draw a blank about what to say about your latest publication, know that it is not like we can judge what you do under the covers… or between them. Though it was quite a surprise how your pamphlet turned so quickly into a hardcover if you know what we mean. (You know what we mean.)
Hopefully, this will not escalate to the point you will be making the beast with two paperbacks with the diary. Unless you were planning to overthrow Chaos' running championship title of finding the weirdest thing to have sex with.
Either way no matter what you do this shall always be a bestseller in our fondest memories.
Anyway, we better book it.
Life, Fate, Love and Magic
Harry occasionally does not wear the gloves though. He refuses to talk about those times. Chaos fucked a blender- with the power on, compared to that he was still the normal one.
He was.
Shut up.
Dear brother,
When we hoped you would live this life to the fullest, this was not exactly what we envisioned. To each and their own, we guess.
Space and Time.
Death,
HAHAHAHAOHGODSHAHAHAHAHAHAI'MDYINGHAHAHAHAHA
Chaos
'Harry, are you really a Hogwarts student?'
'Of course I am Mr Riddle.'
'How may times have I told you to call me Tom?'
'Six times give or take.'
'And yet you still don't.'
'You truly are a genius Tom; it is not a wonder you were one of the top students in your time.'
'It is not a wonder that someone threw boiling potion in your face.'
'Hahaha for your information Mr. Riddle, if anyone were going to throw potion in my face it would be because they were jealous of my devastatingly handsome looks than any minor defect in personality.'
'You are lucky I have no eyes or concept of vision because if I did you would be on the brunt of some truly scathing comments about your appearance.'
'More like you would be too speechless at my beauty.'
'You are incorrigible.'
'You have to admit; I must be better company than your last few owners.'
'…'
Valentine's day is here.
'Oh, Mr. Riddle you should see Hogwarts now. It's absolutely tragic.'
'What, why?'
'She has been violated. With diapered dwarves wearing wings.'
'…I'm sorry, what?'
'DIAPERED DWARVES WITH WINGS AND ROSES HAVE TAINTED HOGWARTS' SACRED PASSAGES.'
'Harry I am sorry but what the absolut-.'
"Harry, are you still writing in that diary?" Draco drawled, rudely closing the notebook while Harry was still reading. "You know it's super weird how you even have special gloves to write in that thing?"
"Draco, are you still unable to make a proper observation?" Harry mimicked, dropping Mr. Riddle into one of his expandable pockets in his robe and peeling off his gloves. "Anyway, what's all this then? I stay away from all of you for a week, and this happens." The green eyed wizard waved spastically at the pink confetti, the gaudy heart-snapped decorations, the flower petals and the grumpy winged dwarves. Oh my god the dwarves.
The Malfoy heir scowled. "Lockhart." Is his explanation, and it's all the blonde really needs because Harry nods his head understandingly. "Apparently it's his way of expressing joy for the recovered victims of Slytherin's beast."
"Not like he's acknowledged them once other than to get a photo with them," Blaise says as he moves to sit next to Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle following behind to sit on the other side of Draco.
"We talking about Lockhart?" Theodore Nott spoke up opposite them, "Because I have some words to say about him, I mean- oh, hey Harry, you're looking less terrible."
"You know what, I'm going to take that as a compliment," Harry says prissily making the other Slytherins laugh.
"Seriously though, we have missed you, Potter, Draco's been a right prick without you."
Harry hummed thoughtfully as Draco spluttered indignantly, "Isn't he always?" He asks cheekily.
"Harry!" The blonde protests, giving a half-hearted slap to the other boy's head as punishment. Harry laughed loudly before his throat caught on air and he started coughing again.
"You okay?" Goyle grunted out, and everyone was looking at him with worried eyes. The green eyes savior flushed under the scrutiny.
"I'm all right." He croaks out. And it was true. Yeah, he still gets stiff from pain and his throat isn't exactly the definition of 'healthy', but at least he no longer looks like a walking mummy, rotting flesh and all. His scars are faint and pastel pink, and he looks more like a shattered porcelain doll put together than anything truly horrendous. "Seriously guys, I'm all right." He insists.
"If you say so," Blaise says doubtfully, luckily, or unluckily, the conversation ended as Lockhart wearing fluorescent pink robes, stood up from his seat and waved for silence.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were sitting next to the blonde defense professor. On a not so unrelated note, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape also looked like they were very close to having an aneurysm or at least valiantly trying to fight some deep-seated homicidal rage. Very deep-seated stuff. Like the anger has been building, festering for the last yea- huh.
"Happy Valentine's Day everyone!" Lockhart yelled with a beaming smile. "Let it be known that the festivities was the result of my, Gilderoy Lockhart's, own design. As a celebration of love, I would like to express my fondness for the lovely Madam Pomphrey and Professor Snape for finally taking their time to make an antidote for the petrifications- though it would have probably happened much faster if I had a hand in it."
And wow, was that goblet in the potions master's hand actually cracking?
"Also may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards!"
"That idiot got forty-six valentine cards?" Harry gaped.
"Forty-six people really sent that idiot cards?" Draco said disgustedly.
"Let's not forget the friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart added, gesturing to some very unfriendly looking dwarves that were wandering the hall. None of them have even gotten close to Harry oddly enough, though it did make sense. Harry could taste their shame from across the room. "They shall be puttering around school today delivering your valentines! But don't stop the fun there- why not get Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion? Professor Flitwick might be able to teach you some.. enhancing charms, the sly old dog!"
The half goblin teacher looked down at his feet, face red and embarrassed. Snape was just glaring furiously at everyone, just daring them to ask him for his help to make a love potion.
"Harry, please tell me Granger was not one of those forty-six." Draco murmurs. Harry groans.
"God, I didn't even think about that!"
For the rest of the day, with the chagrin of the professors, winged dwarves fluttered in and out of the classes, handing out valentines gifts and cards and roses to blushing, flattered students as the secretly jealous ones watched. And the not so secretly jealous ones.
"This is the worst first day of class." Harry groused as he watches Smith get his third Valentine card today. The boy had almost forgotten that he was technically supposed to be a Ravenclaw this term, and Ravenclaw teams up with Hufflepuff, meaning constant Smith. Ugh. And he's not even that close to any of the Ravenclaws either.
"I'm surprised you haven't got any yet Potter." Justin Finch-Fletchley commented. Apparently saving the Hufflepuff from his petrified fate had unlocked the boy's friendship with him, hence the sitting next to each other thing. And the constant staring at his face. And the weird lack of personal boundaries. Were all Hufflepuffs this friendly? Cedric is pretty touchy-feely too now that Harry thinks about it, but he's more of an asshole about it. Not that anyone believes him when he says that.
Why does no one think Cedric is an asshole?
"Yeah Potter," Michael Corner, a friendly enough Ravenclaw pretty boy teased, his own little pile of valentines gifts stacked neatly beside him, "I mean, despite you being horribly maimed and scarred, I know for a fact you were still considered better looking than Smith of all people."
"Aw." Harry says, touched, "I think you're my new favourite Ravenclaw."
"Of course I am." Corner says confidently, he flips his hair pointedly, and to be fair, it is very nice hair. Not Lucius Malfoy hair, but the lovely chestnut curls on Michael Corner's head cut a pretty close second on 'Hair Harry would like to grab on'. "I mean, look at me."
Harry laughed softly, "Okay, now you are definitely my favorite Ravenclaw."
"Oi, what about me?" Justin protested.
"You just switched sides from Smith to me." Harry explains like he was the professor in this class. It's Charms anyway, Mr Flitwick adores him enough to ignore when he's not paying attention this once. "Michael over here has not previously had or been associated with someone who has openly antagonized me while also sharing my sentiments that Smith is a tool."
"Massive tool." Corner agreed.
"You on the other hand, once looked me in the eyes in the hallway and literally ran the other direction. Our friendship levels are not the highest Finch-Fletchley. You could almost say they are basement level."
"Oh." The Hufflepuff says dejectedly. And fuck, that boy has brought out a truly devastating facial expression onto his face.
"Woah, hey," Harry says because he is a pushover and that face. Jesus Christ, Harry has a cute face, and he knows how to use it well but this, this was like some secret natural ability like being a shapeshifter or that thrall thing vampires can do. "I mean, you are nice enough now. Our friendship levels are like second floor high now at least!"
"So we are friends now?"
"Not good ones." Harry says, "But yes. We are."
Justin beamed, "I'll take it."
Green eyes squinted at the Hufflepuff. "You, you are surprisingly resilient huh."
"Hufflepuff." Corner and Finch-Fletchley say in unison like it explains everything. It doesn't. Not really. But once Harry gets used to the two Houses he hopes he will.
It happens near the end of the day. They had Transfiguration. Pretty much every student had abandoned doing any real schoolwork today, much to the consternation of every actual professor teaching.
Professor McGonagall looked ready to scream when four dwarves with a staggering amount of valentines gifts and cards waddled into the class. "Merlin and Morgana, are you serious?" She asks to a passing dwarf who shrugs. "How many could possibly be left?!"
The dwarves walk around listlessly at the edges, only handing a few roses and small cards out, the majority of their gifts still in their grasp. As time passes on and the dwarves dawdled further, the second year students become even more intrigued in the recipient to the remaining gifts. Even McGonagall looks like she has become reluctantly interested as the minutes passed on. It's not like anyone was paying attention to her anyway.
Finally, finally, the dwarves were finishing circling like blind vultures and started heading toward one specific direction with expressions similar to soldiers heading into carnage. Harry watches them like a lion. Lazily and with confident patience.
"Y-You are Mr Harry Potter?" The first and bravest one spoke up, not looking at glowing green eyes and trying his hardest in hiding his diapered form from the gaze.
"I am." He confirms, earning some excited mutterings and 'eeps' from the creatures. Clearly, they were not comfortable with wearing such humiliating attire in his presence. Like having to meet the English queen in just pantyhose and a fireman's hat. Harry was sympathetic. The one time he had been forced into diapers it had been absolutely humiliating. And he'd been a baby at that time, which is a totally appropriate time for wearing diapers. Anyway. "Are those for me?"
Almost shyly the dwarves nodded, holding up the large amounts of cards and roses and even a nice little heart pillow. Harry liked the heart pillow a lot. Mostly because it was bloody friggin soft as a marshmallow. His hand does not leave the pillow, squeezing the fluffed up thing absentmindedly as he smiles and thanks the dwarves while carefully not acknowledging their attire. The dwarves looked partly relieved and partly awed once they left the classroom, Harry barely noticed, too enraptured by the pillow.
He wants to forever have this hypersensitive sense of touch if it meant he could experience more amazing shit like this.
"Good going Potter," Michael Corner praised with a raised brow, clearly admiring the sheer size of the wizard saviour's stack of gifts. "Clearly you've got a fanbase."
"Psh, not like that was up for debate," Finch-Fletchley rolls his eyes, "Even Smith knows your popular, he complains about it all the time in his group." The Hufflepuff coughs awkwardly, "I.. may have said some stuff about you back then that insinuated stuff."
"Insinuated stuff." Harry repeats. "What stuff?"
Justin looked at the desk abashed, "Well, like, I dunno, things about your personality and that you might be kind of stuck up or somethin- in my defence!" He quickly amended once he caught sight of Harry's bemused if slightly offended expression, "In my defence, I did not know you that well and I could not stand listening to Smith make backhanded compliments about how pretty you looked and how you were probably a girl."
"Smith thinks I'm pretty?"
Michael stared at Harry, "Really? Not the part about you looking like a girl?"
Harry shrugged, "Well I am unbothered by it because I know for a fact I do not look like a girl." The raven haired boy paused as he took in his new friends' uncomfortable expressions and shifting eyes. "I do not look like a girl, right? Right?"
"You kind of look like one of my porcelain dolls when my sister mangled their hair with her scissors." Su Lin says behind them.
"Okay, Su? Thank you for your input but let us all draw the line at not criticising my hair." Harry insisted because that was uncalled for. His hair was a result of a very unfortunate and excruciating potions accident and should not be targeted against. Also, his hair still looks frigging good thanks.
Justin shrugged, "She's not wrong Potter," He supported, giving Su an exaggerated wink. The Ravenclaw girl giggled at that. "You are quite.. petite."
"If you put on some lipstick I swear, I wouldn't be able to tell." Michael admitted.
The green eyed, apparently feminine looking, wizard looked at all of them with suitable outrage. "That is not true!" He hisses. The wizards and witch all look back with incredibly irritating pity in their eyes.
"Harry, I guarantee that out of that frankly impressive bunch of valentines shit, seventy-five percent of that is from dudes."
"You are fucking on." Harry declares heatedly because while he knows fully well that looks are not everything… He does not look like a fucking girl okay? It's a pride thing. And also a 'I am the Lord of Darkness and Death, fear me' thing. "Also, just because they're from guys doesn't necessarily mean they like me because I look like a girl. That is not how homosexuality works."
Michael, Justin and Su Lin look at each other in silent conversation. The raven haired boy is instantly resentful at the fact this sudden close bond they share is over his questionable masculinity. Finally the Chinese witch nods in acquiescence. "Sounds fair, okay, then we only count wizards that we know are not predominantly gay."
"And any we aren't sure of count as not gay." Justin supplied because he was a sneaky snake of a Hufflepuff. Harry breathed out a few particular curses under his breath but accepted the conditions.
In the end, he had gotten seventeen female admirers. Seventeen out of sixty-three. One of the seventeen being from Ginny Weasley which he is going to assume was platonic considering every other Weasley he knew had put in a Valentines bar, Ron. Another was a fourth year Slytherin who is apparently quite interested in feeding him sweets and cuddling him by the fire like a teddy bear, hence the teddy bear gift set with a lovely pink bow around its neck. But most of them ended up being not even proper valentines gifts. Mainly just fanfiction of him paired with various wizards and two rather fantastic artworks of him.
"You have to admit; these are pretty good," Justin says as he objectively admires the way an older looking Harry has been artistically depicted, draped across a griffon with only angles and lighting and the griffon itself protecting his unclothed modesty. Michael whistles lowly, as he admires the painting far less objectively, "Damn Harry, if that's how you end up in four years I might send you a valentine too."
"You're into guys?" Justin questioned, to which the Ravenclaw answered with a shrug, "I dunno. I'm like twelve, we can't all be secure in their identity like Potter is.. Also, it helps painting Potter could still pass off as female."
"Your figure is quite curved for a supposed teenage boy in this." Su Lin observed with a wicked grin, and really, for someone, Harry barely knows, the young witch was being awfully familiar with him. Though that could be said the same with the other two.
Harry groaned, "You know what?" He says exasperated, "This tentative bond of friendship we have started growing together? Tis gone."
"Aw no."
"Don't be like that."
"It ain't our fault you're so darn pretty."
The boy blinked his green eyes. "Wait. This is just because I'm too pretty?"
Su Lin reaches out over her desk just to hit the wizard saviour's head.
"Ow! Hey! I need the ego boost right now."
"Potter we've all in some form overhead a few of your conversations. You, Malfoy, Smith and Corner are the four most narcissistic wizards in our year, though you are the most likable admittedly."
Michael Corner did not look impressed. "Wait. What?"
Justin looked at the other with a smirk, "Come on Corner, come on."
The Ravenclaw boy looks uncomprehending, "What."
"Your hair for starters." Harry points out gleefully, eager for the attention to be moved away from himself. "And you're a flirter."
"Oh, am I?" Michael flirts, leaning into the other boy's space and batting his eyelashes.
"I think you are," Harry purrs back as he challengingly moves even closer to the handsome young Ravenclaw's face. Justin makes a disgusted noise in the background which is immediately shushed by Su Lin and a bunch of other people. Wait. How many people are watching this?
Green eyes flicker back to realize that the trio has effectively caught the attention of the majority of the classroom, professor included. Smith in the corner with his cronies looked bright red and ready to pitch an absolutely spectacular fit. Probably because of all the insults being casually and dismissively being hurled his way. "Um, don't we all have some Transfiguration to learn?" He asks pointedly while his face slowly starts burning like the sun.
"Class ended two minutes ago," McGonagall replies across the room calmly. "And frankly, we weren't learning anything that interesting today anyway."
Harry closes his eyes and bangs his head on his table. He gets a paper cut on his cheek from a painfully glittery card. Maybe it'll get infected, and he'll be forced to stay in Snape's quarters for the rest of his life. He can dream.
"So Potter's got quite the amount of admirers if his Valentines gifts are any indication."
Professor Snape slammed the ink pot he had been holding against the desk. Some black ink sloshed over the edge of the container and soaked a corner of one of his students' test papers. At a quick glance, Snape immediately dismisses the resulting mess. It's only the young Weasley boy's work if anything the stains might've actually improved the quality of his answers. "Yes." He grits out, pretending to be annoyed at the ink staining anyway. "I have noticed the obnoxiously pink assemblage desecrating the top of my dining table."
Professor McGonagall looked down at him, unimpressed by the scathingly dry tone. "And I see you are clearly unaffected by that."
"Clearly."
The Gryffindor Head of House watched him blandly as the wizard rather sulkily cleared away his spilled ink with a muttered cleaning charm. Sometimes McGonagall wondered if the other man had ever progressed from the state of 'angst-ridden teenager' to 'adult.' It would certainly explain a lot. "You know Severus, I was kind of expecting some conversation when I came all the way down here."
"Sorry to disappoint then." The man grunted before busying himself with inconsequential things in a pathetic attempt to show how busy he wasn't.
McGonagall let him have a few seconds of being a petulant child before commenting airily, "Did you hear that someone actually got Potter some women's underwear for him?"
"Lies, the most inappropriate thing I found was some blasted artworks." Snape immediately said before cursing at his slip up. "That's not what-"
"Severus." The Transfigurations professor interrupted in a mix of disappointment and exasperated fondness, "Please do not even try with me."
Snape closes his mouth, and his excuses, with a sharp click of the jaw. Inwardly the witch hides a grin at the easy compliance. Yup, still got it. "Now, tell me about what you got Potter for Valentines."
The potions master choked, his face shocked and wide eyed. "E-excuse me, Minerva?"
McGonagall looked just as surprised as the other. "You mean you haven't got Potter a present?"
"You have?!"
"Of course I have!" The witch snapped annoyed, "Flius has too by the way, and Argus, and Albus, and-"
"How did I not know about this?" Severus demanded, there is a faint sheen of panic in his eyes that made him almost look manic, "Seriously, when was this decided and why am I the last to know?"
"We never planned an official thing, Severus." McGonagall replied patiently, "I wanted to get the boy something nice considering all the… 'extra credit' I've been assigning him, and when I told this to Aurora, she thought she should do the same. Then Flius jumped on board. And then it turns out Argus was going to invite Potter for brownies or something because he had some new exotic rose tea which was valentines day themed. And it just became a 'thing.'"
"A thing," Snape repeated.
"A thing." She confirmed. "I just assumed you already had something sorted considering…"
"Considering?" The Slytherin prompted challengingly, his tone just daring her to finish that sentence upon threat of death.
McGonagall was honestly puzzled at the tone, she expected defensiveness on the topic, but this reaction seemed a bit over the top. Snape seemed suddenly ready to lash out and whip his wand out against her. "Well, considering Potter's infatuation with you of course."
Snape stared at her.
She stared back.
"What."
"Oh, you cannot possibly be so blind." She sighed, "No of course you are."
"Minerva, I swear to Morgana, if you are pulling my wand I will-"
"Seriously Severus, Ron Weasley figured it out before you. To be fair, the boy figured it out before me too which is something I will never willingly repeat again, not that I'm saying the boy's an idiot but-"
"-hex you to kingdom come-"
"-he isn't exactly the fastest broom-"
"-because what you are saying is ridiculous and-"
"-on the Quidditch field, if you know what I mean."
"No, I do not know what you mean! You are speaking nonsense words woman!" Snape snapped irritatedly, "Potter is not enamored with me, nor am I with him!"
McGonagall gave him a strange look. "I never said anything about you being infatuated with the boy Severus."
The potions master flushed, "Ahem, yes, well, I thought you did." He said defensively, pointedly looking at his desk and away from her far too suspicious gaze. "My point still stands."
The older woman shook her head despairingly, "Wizards." She says like that meant something, and then she left the room. Not that Snape noticed. He was far too busy trying to figure out what sort of Valentine's gift he should get Harry.
'Harry, I wish I had eyes to behold what beauty you must have to garner so much interest.'
Harry rolled his eyes at the sheer honey-coated fakery being written down. The young Mr. Riddle had somehow got it into his nonexistent head that seduction would be the best way to.. well Harry wasn't completely sure what the Horcrux wanted to accomplish actually. He would like to think that they were already on a somewhat friendly status, and he knows Tom has been dropping a lot of hints about Slytherin's heir and his past at Hogwarts which means either Tom Riddle is the only teenager in existence that enjoys sharing every little emotion and memory of his school days or he is leading up to something.
Harry's going to say it's the latter. Sneaky little snake that Mr. Riddle is, but then again, he's not going to lie and say he doesn't hate it. He's fucked professional serial killers, and he once kept the soul of Hitler in his office, it's not exactly like liars, and shitty attempts at conning him for something was a deal-breaker. The half-soul diary thing was more of a concern than anything else. And what a teenaged Riddle considers proper seduction.
'I'm sure those eyes sparkle like emeralds in the sunlight and that your smile shines just as bright.'
Because seriously? He knows the young Dark Lord has no eyes, ears, mouth or literally any other physical body part but Harry knows he has a personality. Use it for god's sakes.
'Please stop Mr. Riddle. I'm begging you.' He writes.
'But yo-' The words do not finish because Harry blots them out with black ink and hastily writes underneath it, 'NO.'
There's a pause before Tom wrote again, and this time Harry could actually feel the sulkiness from each letter being transcribed onto the page.
'Is there a reason you do not appreciate my advances?'
'You are a book for one.' The boy immediately responds, because that is an important thing to point out, 'But for the most part, your attempt at advancing is... not great? No offense.'
'Offence duly taken.'
'Aw, and there's the Mr. Riddle I would accept advances from.'
'I do not understand.'
'You don't have to.' Harry answers primly, 'I just prefer my men with some backbone. Sass. Flavor.'
'Flavor?'
'Did I say flavor? I, uh, mean taste. As in, good taste. Not what they tasted like.'
There is another extended pause. It grew from seconds to minutes, and the entity began to feel his human body sweating with anxiety. With a quick scrawl, he added,
'I don't eat my suitors, I swear.' Sometimes he just swallowed them whole or sucked them like the lolly part of the lollipop. Simply just eating could be so dull after a while.
Nothing happens for a moment, a heartbeat, but then the diary... flutters. Just a little. Enough for it's pages to jitter and for Harry to realize it's laughter. Tom Riddle is laughing, and it brings a smile to his face inadvertently as well.
'You are..' the words scribble out, far less neat than Riddle's usual calligraphy, 'The most unique individual. I wish we could have met when I still had a body.'
Harry cannot help but blush at the simple and awkwardly honest compliment. Mr. Riddle wasn't like this before. Mr. Riddle was sharp and sarcastically witty and with a twisted shard of a soul redder than blood and tinted in the ash of some of the darkest magics. Mr. Riddle isn't so sweet and passionate and… inexperienced.
It is, well, Harry isn't exactly sure why he finds himself so endeared by this new side of the other.
He does not let his confusion about his sudden new feelings about this matter show. He is far too busy with dealing with literally everything else right now to contemplate what these newfound feelings are to what is essentially the most messed up jigsaw puzzle in this universe. Instead, he smiles down at the diary, and takes off one of his gloves and presses his bare hand against the page, fluttering his eyes closed at the low thrumming sizzle of pure sensation against his sensitive human flesh.
When he pulls himself away, he sees the fading ink of a hand much larger than his own on the paper.
For the next few days, Harry finds himself hard-pressed to remember a time he didn't have the diary in his grasp. It's become something of a habit, to write a message or two to Mr. Riddle between classes. More often than not he will just open the book, and a message will already have been written there, waiting for him. Not many people complain about this surprisingly enough, it wasn't like Harry was completely obsessed to the point he was neglecting his friends, and it wasn't like he actually needed to do much in the way of academics considering he's already read most of his textbooks during his bedrest.
If anything Hermione seemed particularly annoyed at finding his new little hobby did not stop him from slipping from perfect grades at all. So maybe the character development wasn't that huge in that aspect, but, to be fair though she was way more supportive about his newfound diary obsession than how Ron or Draco was taking it. And maybe Professor Snape seemed a little too curious about what he was writing in the diary, but, to be fair, a lot of his friends were. It just happened that the potions master seemed to be taking this curiosity of his to an almost personal level. If Harry knew better, he might have even said the man was jealous.
He felt a little bad at that. With juggling assignments and multiple friendships and Horcrux correspondences, Harry had to cut some sort of time out from his day, and it just inadvertently had been time originally spent with his favorite professor. And any time he's spent with the potions master recently, Harry could not recall a time he had been fully focused on the man like he usually was.
Which was, admittedly odd considering Harry's never dismissed Snape before. Honestly, it's like his mind recently has been clogged with water, and Mr. Riddle is the fresh air that he yearns for. He feels he should be worried about that.
Maybe later.
"I think there is something wrong with Potter." Snape says abruptly.
McGonagall blinked and lowered her fork from her lips. "You mean apart from his usual problems associated with having his face burned off and the humiliation of standing up in the middle of the Great Hall in a drugged up state loudly implying he wished for oral sex?"
Dumbledore at the end of the table choked on a carrot. Snape's face went an incredibly unflattering red color. The other professors that were present at the time showed an interesting mix of both these reactions. Hiding a smile from her fellow colleagues the Transfiguration professor continued with her meal as she patiently waited for the Head of Slytherin re-compose his thoughts.
"Minerva," Flitwick said, putting every ounce of his scandalized horror and disapproval in her name. For some reason, the half-goblin had put Potter up on a shiny golden pedestal. Which, fair, a lot of the staff, herself included, have found that there has been no limit to the young boy's capabilities, no overestimating him or putting him down. However, Flitwick has made it extremely obvious he is a much more hardcore admirer of Potter's skills. McGonagall strongly suspects if the boy asked for sacrifice, Flitwick would have pulled out a body prepared ages ago, ready to be defrosted for that very moment.
Snape clears his throat right before she finds herself tempted to see how far she can go in teasing her short-statured friend which was a pity but nothing that cannot be revisited again. The Slytherin professor talking about his worries? Now that was something that doesn't come up often.
"It is not about.. that." The potions master sneered, red-faced. "It is about Potter's new paperback accompaniment."
"That battered old diary?" McGonagall asks surprised. "What's wrong with it?"
"What's wrong- he is obsessed with the thing!" He hissed, "Alarmingly so."
Ah, so it was less actual feelings and more paranoid rantings on Snape's part. Disappointing but unsurprising. The older woman sighed and continued eating her dinner. The other professors must share the same idea as they all rolled their eyes and followed suit.
"Severus," McGonagall says in a flat tone after a minute of letting Snape stew in anger at being ignored. "The poor boy is an orphan that has been thrust with the title of savior, has a history of some serious child abuse with his guardianship still undecided despite the fact the end of school is coming up soon, and more recently has been put on bedrest due to a very suspicious accident which resulted in severe scarring, limited contact with the school and a day of the week where he is literally up to the gills in potions. I'm sure his newfound interest in writing down his feelings is something we should be incredibly supportive of because Merlin knows he needs some sort of coping mechanism."
Snape, in the face of this logic just scowled. "Minerva, I'm fully aware of all this, I just think that this level of sudden attachment to a book of all things is rather dubious."
The Gryffindor Head of House looked at the other curiously, "You suspect someone cursed the book." She translated. "No offense Severus, but just why would anyone do that?"
"I don't know." Snape said slowly, menacingly, "But I'm going to find out."
McGonagall just hummed noncommittally. Someone was clearly jealous, and she is not completely sure how much she wishes to partake in this particular endeavor, as amusing as it promises to be. "Please don't invade your student's privacy even more than you already do."
The potions master stared at her. "I would never." He says vehemently like he's never before been caught doing just that, even when he was a student himself.
She somehow does not believe him.
'Do you want to meet me?' Tom writes suddenly. Harry blinks at the words before writing back. It is nighttime, and the question came out rather suddenly considering they had been mid-way through a rather fascinating conversation on their opinions on human transfiguration and its illegality.
'Of course.' He answers honestly. The green eyed entity is rather interested to see what Mr. Riddle looked like as a teenager, or as a human in general. So far he has known him as a wraith, a deformed head on the back of a defense professor, a wraith again, and now a glorified notebook. Souls can tell you a lot of things about a person, but unless they became ghosts or you were attuned with the fine arts of soul searching, a physical appearance was not one of them. Really, he would have to blind, dead and dumb to not feel a little curiosity about what he looks like. And he knows for a fact he is technically only one of those things.
Technically. The other two can be debated for.
'Let me show you then.' The words formed in a rush. Mr. Riddle must be nervous then. Or excited. Tone was such a hard thing to convey in text.
Harry barely hesitated, he pulled off his gloves and lightly brushed against the book in consent as he wrote, 'Please do.'
The pages of the diary began to flip erratically as if caught in a high wind until it finally stopped to the last page in the whole book. Harry cannot help but marvel at how intelligent Mr. Riddle must be, to not only figure out how to insert part of his soul into a book- something while not exactly recommended should still be commended for how hard it is to pull off- but at such a young age too. A certified genius really.
A Certified genius who thought it would be a good idea to put half his soul in a diary and leave it for anyone in Hogwarts to grab.
With hands trembling slightly, he brought the book close to his face, and before he realized, he was tilting forward, his body leaving his bed and falling into a twirling wind of colors and shadow. Soon, but not soon enough in Harry's nauseated opinion, he finally felt himself hit solid ground.
"Urk."
"Hello, Harry." A velveteen voice greeted. The raven haired boy shakily stood up from where he fell. God, he's not sure if he actually fell into the diary or Tom is projecting his soul or something, but whatever it is, it feels very real, and Harry feels very dizzy.
"Um, yes, hello Mr. Ri-" Harry stared.
"Oh my god, you're gorgeous." He stated disbelievingly. "Oh my god you are legitimately, objectively gorgeous." Like, the sort of dangerous gorgeous that implies either future businessman-lawyer shark with father issues or hot serial killer villains.. with father issues. Either way, the entity can't help but feel a little blindsided. He had kind of assumed from past contact that Tom would be a bit 'mangled' or at least someone like Snape or Firenze- handsome in their own right but not what normal people generally considered, aesthetically pleasing.
The gorgeous (and did he mention gorgeous?) face of Tom Marvolo Riddle snorted at the bluntness of the compliment. "Should I have not been?"
"No, no," Harry hastily assures, his face is warming steadily, and he feels like what a teenager in a romantic sitcom must be portrayed to feel. "It's just," and he tries not to let his eyes wander down from Mr. Riddle's face to his amazingly proportioned body, because woah, "I didn't expect it that's all."
Really, really didn't expect it.
He has to wonder why the fuck the current, present Mr. Riddle mangled himself so thoroughly because if he kept these looks, Harry is fairly confident his quest to rule over England would have succeeded by now. Hell, possibly half the world if the man forwent his purist, bigoted ideals. The whole world is probably stretching it, Riddle is hot like burning, but there are certainly people out there who are much hotter. Still. Damn. Hot damn.
Mr. Riddle chuckled, "This may be the most flattering first words anyone has ever said to me. Especially," And it is his turn to appraise the other boy, "someone as equally as surprisingly stunning."
"Mr. Riddle, you flatterer." Harry accuses but he is delighted at the compliment nonetheless.
"I told you to call me Tom." The teenager chides, though he looks oddly strained when he says the name, it makes Harry curious.
"Are you sure you want me to call you that?" He asks.
Riddle shrugs, "I am admittedly not fond of the mundaneness of my name. However, it is certainly better than Mr. Riddle at the very least."
"You are essentially a living diary," the boy points out dryly, "I hardly doubt anyone is going to accuse you of being too 'mundane.'"
The Horcrux laughs softly, "Touché." His eyes (blue eyes, it's funny, Harry didn't think his eyes would be blue) looked at Harry with open-filled wonder. "I honestly didn't think this would work so well," Tom admits reluctantly. "The furthest I've ever managed was being able to show a set of my memories to anyone. This is the first time.."
Harry raised a brow, "Tom, are you telling me I'm your first? I'm flattered." He joked, Tom rolled his eyes, but the teenager smiled nonetheless. And Jesus, was that a dashing smile. Life really did beat this guy to near death with the pretty stick, and he throws it away to be a smooshed face on the back of a below average defense professor. Honestly, beauty was just wasted on this guy. Wasted.
"Yes Harry, you had the prettiest handwriting of them all. I just had to have you." The young Dark Lord-to-be deadpans.
"I do have great syntax structure don't I?" Harry grins crookedly. It's times like this where Harry could really see the teenage boy in the possessed diary, where Riddle becomes Tom and where Harry could actually envision him as an actual person. Mr. Riddle, when he had been a wraith wandering a forest, had been like that too actually, putting up blusters and airs until he finally lowers his defenses enough to allow the snark to shine through.
And Harry is very fond of the snark.
"I dare say you have the most legible scrawl in the world." Tom drawled, walking closer toward the shorter boy, until they were just an arm's length apart. "Though if you forgive me for saying, I personally am slightly more interested in your more... physical assets."
The teenage soul looked pointedly up and down Harry's form, making exaggerated admiring noises. Harry flushed at the rather uncharacteristically crude compliment on his appearance. Tom usually wrote in flowers and prose when he wished to indulge in his suave side. Maybe that's just what living in a diary does to you. "Flatterer," Harry muttered bashfully.
"May I?" Riddle asked lowly, stepping even closer into Harry's proximity as he raised his arm, hand splayed facing toward the other, eager and expectant.
And how could Harry refuse such temptation? They are both stripped bare from their physical forms, another layer peeled away from them, Harry cannot even imagine what their exquisite touch could feel like now. Tentatively he pressed his hand against Tom's, his own anticipation and fear caught in his breath.
"Well if you ask so nicely, how could I- guh,"
He actually fell to his knees at the sheer immensity of feeling. Tom too has fallen on the ground, panting unevenly and looking at the younger boy with almost reverent lust. They look at each other as they try to summon up enough strength in their limbs again. Once they finally do, it is like a magnetic pull as they practically leap at each other for an embrace, desperately craving this addicting stimuli of the others' touch.
Truly, this could only be described as a 'soul-touching moment.'
"Kiss me," Harry demands breathily.
"Bossier than I thought," Tom comments idly, sounding smug and way too composed for someone who has just experienced literally the best feeling ever. "I rather like it." His pale skin is flushed, and he wears his smile like he isn't used to it, isn't used to this sort of affection that brims inside him. Well, it figured that most individuals that actively tear up their souls to stuff into books usually don't exactly have a history of sunshine and rainbows.
Harry does not have time, however, to delve into Riddle's sad life story, however. He has neither the time nor the mental faculty to spare for that sort of maudlin thoughts. He just needs to be kissed again, like, right now.
"Tom." He whispers urgently, because it was either whispering or screaming like a madman, "Please."
Begging apparently is what does it for him, as Tom's pale blue eyes are hooded with desire and the grip on his hips is so tight it borders on the sinfully painful. Harry is going to have to remember this in the future. "Harry, you are so perfect." The teen praises, and Harry, Harry just melts at that, at how sweet and genuinely bewildered the words come out as.
Tom leans down and kisses him hungrily, eagerly if a little clumsily. Not like Harry was slacking either, licking just as enthusiastically as he explored into his mouth. Though that was slightly less due to the pleasure itself than the actual taste. It didn't occur to him until the moment unexpected flavor burst against his tongue, that the Tom Riddle here was still just a soul. A soul Harry could taste and consume like any other soul. It brought a new layer of pleasure to the entity, as well as possibly a new meaning to the phrase 'playing with your food.'
Tom Riddle's soul tasted like the heady bitter spice of cumin and slightly burnt caramel, cut with the sharp flavor of minty intelligence and laced with the remnants of childhood innocence and naivety that is honeyed milk. Cynical and jaded, but not so much that he has lost the hope for things like love. Delightful. Delicious.
Great. Now he's aroused and hungry.
Harry hopes he doesn't accidentally eat Tom mid-way through whatever this was. He has done it before. He is not proud of it. Though to be fair, he still thinks its slightly better than his sister's problem in accidentally impregnating her partners just from something as simple as handholding. Dead, soulless husks certainly at least don't cry as much as very confused, distraught and very pregnant individuals- usually males of high standing or farmers (his sister has a type).
Tom, ignorant of any of his growing cannibalistic desires, pushes their bodies closer together so they can revel in the almost overwhelming sensations that buzzed through them. The older looking boy seems entranced, trying to capture as much skin contact as possible with their clothing still on as he fluctuates from kissing to murmuring barely coherent praises against bone white skin to kissing again. Harry moans and pulls the other down so instead of kneeling they are laying entwined with each other, they hadn't landed in the most comfortable of positions, but they powered on through any discomfort for better things. The green eyed wizard's hands were making themselves busy trying to insistently tug off Riddle's clothing as Riddle himself lazily lets his hands map Harry's compact form like he's the fountain of all magical knowledge in Braille.
"Please tell me this isn't stuck on you like an actual ghost." He groans as he tries fruitlessly to tug the clean, pressed shirt out from its tucked in state. "Why did you choose to dress like a prefect when you split your soul? I mean, just, why?"
Tom breaks away from leaving lovely little marks decorating the scarring on his neck to stare at Harry with confusion and growing suspicion. "How did you know I split my soul?"
"Um," Harry blinked his wide green eyes in calculated deer-like innocence. Tom narrows his own eyes. "Would you believe me if I said you told me that?"
"No."
He tries fluttering his eyes seductively, he knows for a fact his long black eyelashes highlights both his porcelain white skin and glowing green eyes. "Would you punish me then?" He whispers with a demure smile, trailing his hands slowly up Tom's neck until his fingers run against the short curls at the base of his head. "If I refuse to speak will you pin me down, put me in your mercy Tom, make me beg-" Harry emphasizes the last word by tugging at the teenage Horcrux's hair lightly.
It's working if Tom's heavy panting and dilated eyes are anything to go by. "Harry." He groans, "I think, I think I'm-"
"HARRY!"
Harry finds himself yanked out painfully from Tom's grip, shivering wet in his actual body and being shaken by a very frantic potions master. "S-S-Severus?!"
Professor Snape's tensed body seemed to just slump in relief at his chattering voice. His expression of panic schooled into something less fearful but still concerned. "Harry," he murmurs lowly, "Are you okay? Do you feel strange or-"
Harry mutely shakes his head. He's a bit in shock from the sudden jarring mental transition and the sudden soaked state he is in doesn't help matters. If he wants to be honest, Harry feels somehow defenseless, oddly exposed, vulnerable.
"Good, that's, that's good." Snape breathes before he hardens his face and oh, Harry can see the anger now, and he wishes he hadn't shaken his head at all now. Because right now he has the explicable need to be hugged right now. And fucked. And then hugged again. While being fed sliced meats and grapes. Okay so, Harry is still kind of hungry. "Now what were you thinking?!"
"I, uh, well,"
"Can you imagine what it was like, to find you sitting there on your bed, glassy-eyed and comatose with that damned diary in front of you?!" Snape shouted, "I knew that there was something wrong with that thing, but I foolishly brushed it off and actually had the stupidity to put my trust in your drugged up state of mind! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"
Harry could not help but curl up in himself defensively in the face of the professor's anger, he is shivering, and he feels the hot shameful trickle of tears leaking from his eyes. He misses Tom, he wants Tom, and for some reason it's like there is a physical gaping wound in his head that needs the soul possessed diary, mourning the loss of his presence. Just thinking about it makes Harry whimper a little. Snape, breathing hard after his outburst sees the sad state Harry is making and just.. deflates.
The older man sighs and wipes some hair from his face as he looks down at the sniffling child. "I shouldn't have yelled." He concedes softly, "I just, Harry, you were non-responsive." Snape murmured, moving slowly toward Harry, like any sudden movement may spook the other. It occurs briefly to Harry that the man has had experience now with his less than flattering mental states these past few weeks. He's not sure how he feels about that, how Snape feels about him now that he's seen so much of him like this. "It took twenty minutes just to separate that cursed object from your grasp, and that involved showering you with an ice bath. Despite that, you still weren't responding. I called for you and yelled, and I couldn't even spell you awake."
Dark eyes looked at green, distraught painted in them, begging him to understand. And now, on top of everything, Harry feels absolutely awful for putting that expression onto his most favorite professor's face. The guilt grew worse when Snape whispered,
"For a moment I thought you wouldn't come back to me."
Aaand there goes Harry's one working heart. Those words, the guilt, the emotion- absolutely devastating.
"I, I'm s-sorry." Harry choked out, and like a lost child he lifts his arms out in a silent plea for a hug, "C-could you p-p-please?" It feels like he is so distressed and clogged up inside that his limbs feel like rust as the effort it takes to shakily bring his arms rivals the struggle of fresh burns laced across his flesh. He is not sure anymore if this was because of the whole 'soul ping pong' thing he had just inadvertently put himself through but if this is what other mortals feel like when he rips out their souls and stuffs them into various inanimate objects for fun he has a lot of apologies to make.
Ugh, why was character development or moral lessons always so painful to get through?
"God, Harry," Snape said in a wrecked voice as he desperately hugged the young boy tightly. Harry probably didn't even have needed to ask for that hug, what with the way the potions master was clinging to him, not that he was that much better. "You do that again, and I'll deduct so many points from Gryffindor that the red will drain right out of the banners."
Harry choked out some watery laughter. "R-Ron said something similar actually."
"And I'm going to pretend you just said nothing of the sort." The older wizard said fondly, as he squeezed the boy even harder while Harry clung onto him and laughed wetly. The young savior isn't sure how long they stayed there, in each other's arms like that. But as his eyes slowly close from exhaustion, Harry wondered if maybe, this too could be considered a 'soul-touching moment.'