Chapter 4

Masquerade

It was too easy for Tom to develop a rapport with his new professors. For example, Professor Snape, his Potions teacher, was severely different from Professor Slughorn and yet Tom could easily see the same intelligence, the same methodical thinking that is needed to brew potions. The man was a perfectionist and wanted nothing else besides that. He would yell and criticize tomfoolery and praise diligence. The only problem Tom had personally was that his Harry, his new obsession, was Professor Snape's usual target for any scorn or jeer. The man clearly hated his boy and the rest of Gryffindor House while spoiling Slytherin. Tom did not like that at all, in fact during his after a particularly nasty lesson where Snape outright denied Harry's potion, he brought this up with Draco.

"Ab—Draco, tell me, how is it that a man with such clear bias even is a professor here at Hogwarts?" he asked. "He has shown nothing but blatant disrespect towards Harry and the rest of the lions, and yet ignores Crabbe and Goyle and their stupidity."

"That is how he is," Draco said. "He's been teaching Potions for thirteen years, though everyone knows that it is Defense Against the Dark Arts he really wants."

"Really?" Tom asked, "Interesting, however, how does that describe his behavior?"

"I honestly don't know," Draco said, frowning slightly. "I hate that he treats Harry badly too, but what can we do?"

Tom's eyes narrowed for a moment as he stared at Malfoy. He didn't know Malfoy's feelings towards Harry. Though he barely even began to make the boy his, he had only kissed his cheek, in Tom's eyes, the young Gryffindor was already his. And he would not allow anyone else to get near his experiment. He did not even begin peeling back the boy's masks. "Why don't you talk with Harry openly?" he asked carefully, "I notice that you and the others treat him and his differently."

"That is by design, though we all hate it," Draco frowned. "If you ask me, he belongs with us in Slytherin. But because he is a Gryffindor, everyone will be suspicious if we hang out with him, and it would bring unneeded attention to all of us. Harry already has many masks, I'm afraid of how he will act if we act friendly with him openly."

"I disagree, I am sure that he can handle it, if not appreciate it," Tom said. "However, I have another question. What exactly is your relationship with Harry?"

Draco stopped. "My relationship?" he frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It seems that you are rather protective of the small teen," Tom said. "I was just wondering if you and Harry are dating."

"N-No, we are just friends," Draco said, with a slight blush. "Besides, when I look at him, especially when we paint, it's not exactly romantic feelings I'm having if that makes sense. Why do you even want to know, anyway?" he demanded.

"I told you before," Tom smirked. "I find him attractive."

"And I told you before, Riddle, that if you try to hurt him, I will hurt you," Draco countered. Tom chuckled and stopped to turn towards Draco fully.

"So I take it then that I have your blessing?" he asked.

Draco gawked at him and Tom's smirk grew. "I promise you Draco, that I have no ill feelings or intentions with Harry," he said.

Draco's gawking shock turned into a glare that Tom did not flinch from. The Malfoy heir crossed his arms and said, "Fine, if it has to be anyway, then I guess I rather it be you," he muttered. "You're the only other gay person I know around here."

"Really? It is just the three of us?" Tom asked, "I find that hard to believe."

Draco looked away, his cheeks turning red, "I mean obviously there's someone who I hope is like us, but I don't know if he is. Bah, why am I even telling you? Come on, I'm hungry and I don't want to miss lunch!" Tom smirked as he watched the young Malfoy heir walk away. He is so fun to mess with, just like Abraxas, Tom thought before following Draco.

The Great Hall was abuzz with the latest rumors and talk as usual. It was filled more than usual because of the additional students from the two schools, which Tom did not mind. The students from Durmstrang have decided to sit with Slytherin. They stayed at one end of the table, while Tom sat with the rest of the fourth year Slytherins, however his eyes were on Harry.

His Harry, innocent yet covered by masks, was sitting with his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Tom had time to observe them during class. Weasley was a jokester mainly, a painfully average student who thinks more with muscles than the brain in his head while Hermione Granger was the complete opposite. Smart, deductive, and very inquisitive. Tom knew he would have to be careful around the two of them for different reasons. Still, he had a plan to get on both of their good sides eventually as he slowly stole his boy away. Speaking of, he thought that he should start that plan. After all, he and Harry did promise to speak with Granger today.

Without touching his food, Tom stood up, earning the attention of everyone around him. "Where are you going?" Blaise asked.

"To speak with Potter," Tom said simply. He walked with confidence and grace, going down the Slytherin table and across the hall. When he reached the Gryffindor table, he still held himself with grace and walked with equal footing until he reached Harry and his two friends. One of which, Ron Weasley, was making a point to ignore Harry while the other, Hermione, had to sit between the two of them. "Harry, it has been a while," Tom smiled.

"T-Tom! What are you doing here?" Harry asked, and Tom just smiled amused as he saw his boy's masks fall momentarily before being set right. Oh how he will enjoy breaking the boy down and building him up with pleasure, but that will come later. No, instead he just stared at Harry as he said, "We promised to speak today, don't you remember? About the books."

"Oh, right," Harry said, a blush growing. He looked at Hermione and said, "Uh Hermione… this is a uh new friend of mine… Tom."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Tom said, "it is a pleasure to meet you outside of class, Hermione Granger."

"Oh uh, it's good to meet you too… everyone's been talking about you," Hermione said.

"Yeah about how you're a slimly Slytherin," Ron muttered. Tom chose to ignore that.

"I am sure that the rumors about me are much more amusing than my actual life," he smiled. "Harry and I actually have a question for you, if I may."

"What's up?"

"You see, yesterday I have been perusing the library, searching for a certain book, only to see that not only does the library not have it, but it doesn't have any books by muggle authors in general!" Tom said, acting as though this was the greatest tragedy. "I was hoping that you would know of a place where I might get my fill. I would ask my fellow Slytherins, however, I have a feeling if I speak to them of Dickens, Shelly, Stoker, and Poe… I would only get confused faces. Especially if I mention Lord Byron or Mother Radcliffe!"

Harry stared at Tom, confused. He was sure he heard one of those names before but could not place it, seeing Harry's confusion, Tom smiled, "They are all authors, darling," he said. "I told you, Harry, I am very peculiar towards the gothic genre, although I do spread out when the mood fancies."

"Oh," Harry said.

Hermione looked excited at the prospect to talk books with someone else. "I know for a fact that Flourish and Blotts have a muggle section filled with many various authors. If they do not have it in stock, I am sure that you can order a book specifically and have them go get it, for a price, unfortunately. What book are you looking for?"

"Right now, I would like to see about collecting the works of Poe," Tom said.

"Oh, I haven't read his stuff," Hermione said, "I'm not that much a fan of horror."

"It is not horror, it is a gothic love of the macabre and strange," Tom smiled. "Besides, I am also looking for Leroux's book as well."

"Leroux? I've heard of him," Hermione said. Tom smiled, "I have always wanted to read his story fully. My uncle had a copy of his most famous novel; however, my mother threw it in the fire in a rage two years ago."

"That's horrible, hopefully, Flourish and Blotts has what you are looking for," Hermione said.

"Hopefully," Tom smiled. "Then, I suppose I have a letter to write. Harry, darling, may I use your owl?"

"Y-Yeah, I'll come with you," Harry said. He stood up and did his best to ignore the stares as they walked out.

As soon as they were out, Tom said, "You really need to work on your mask for me. Although, it is fun to see you flounder for a moment. You don't mind, do you?"

"About using Hedwig? Not at all," Harry said.

"No, I mean about calling you darling," Tom said, smiling. "It just sort of popped into my head, and it seemed the perfect way to describe you, Harry." He took his chance and kissed Harry's cheek, "I'll stop if you want me to, darling," he whispered.

"N-No, it's fine," Harry said, blushing. He did not know why he was allowing Tom to affect him like this. Everything about the boy thrown him off balance. Tom smiled widely, akin to a predator eyeing his prey than a friend, and took a step forward. "Excellent," he purred. "Then let's go, darling, I would rather get the letter over with."

The two quickly made their way to the owlery and Harry watched as Tom wrote his letter. His cheek felt a little rosy, and when Harry touched where Tom's lips were only a few minutes earlier, he could not help but smile. Is this me or my mask? He wondered as he watched. These feelings for Tom… I should put them in my mask for him. He was pulled from these thoughts as Hedwig flew down towards him, nipping at him affectionately. He gave her treats and told her to get Tom's letter to Flourish and Blotts as quickly as she can. Tom tied the letter to her and the two watched her fly away.

"Harry?" Tom said as they climbed down the stairs, "I always wanted to know something."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"We are friends, well, more than friends I hope," Tom said, kissing Harry's cheek.

"Yeah, we are," Harry breathed.

"And you are friends with Malfoy, Zabini, and Theo, are you not? As well as a common sight in the Slytherin common room," Tom continued.

"I am," Harry nodded.

"Then, my darling, why is it that you act differently towards your friends in the open?" Tom asked. Harry froze on the stairs. Tom took a couple steps further down before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow and an expectant gaze. "Is it because of your masks?"

"I…" Harry said. "I don't want to." He sounded small and vulnerable; the complete opposite of what Tom has seen in the Great Hall when he was with his friends. He wanted to grab the boy, to hold him close and whisper promises of ownership but kept them to himself. He just watched his boy as Harry worked his thoughts out. "I don't want to act different, I didn't mean to but the others—Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors. Hell the rest of the school. If they know, if they find out… I'll collapse."

Tom finally took those steps and grabbed Harry's hands, pulling the smaller teen to his chest as he wrapped his arms around him. "Then collapse, Harry," he whispered. "Collapse, and when you do, I will build you back up myself, piece by piece."

Harry stiffened at those words. He looked up at Tom, feeling lost. "You want me to collapse?" he asked.

"No, but if you do, I will be there, my darling, to pick up your pieces," Tom said, sealing his promise with another kiss to his cheek. Harry felt comforted by those words and yet something knotted inside him. He took a small step away, Tom tightening his grip for only a moment before letting the teen slip away.

"I need to go paint," Harry whispered. "I'll talk with you later."

"Of course," Tom nodded. He watched his obsession go and sighed to himself. "You really do belong in Slytherin, my Harry," he said, speaking to himself. "I have to admit, I am surprised at my feelings, however, I cannot seem to get rid of my obsession over you. … There is still time, perhaps I'll go and learn whatever I can about Voldemort." With that in mind, Tom descended the stairs.

In the library, Tom easily found books regarding the rise and fall of Dark Lords and decided to sit with a group of Durmstrang students who all reeked of the Dark Arts. The foreign students looked at him curiously as he sat down, but one look from the tall fourteen-year-old kept them from complaining. Instead, as he read he asked them questions about their school and how they all learn the Dark Arts. By the time the students had to go back to their ship, Tom exited the library satisfied and with a couple of new friends from whom he can call on when needed.

Days went by, and Harry assumed that Tom's mood increased because a week after he sent his letter, Harry saw a very large package arrive, carried by two owls, for Tom. He still did not know how to answer Tom's question, or even what his relationship to the Slytherin could be defined. Whenever he was around the boy, he felt vulnerable, weak, like he was just easily malleable in Tom's hands, and he loved the feeling. It was comforting whenever the two were alone, it was right whenever Tom kissed his cheek, which he did often both in the corridors and in the Slytherin Common Room. They still have not done anything in the open, but Harry found that for the first time he didn't feel afraid.

That was, until, on November thirteenth where Harry found himself walking out of Professor Snape's class because of the Triwizard Tournament. He entered a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman, the man behind the Triwizard Tournament, was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before.

Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye. Harry stood awkwardly with his face totally emotionless. The Coward? The Lion? The Hero? The Fourth Champion? The Lonely? The Scared? The Heroic? The Excited?

Tom's…

He shuffled through the masks, his brain hurting as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to act. Was he supposed to be confident? Unsure? Sympathetic? Will the three other champions still be hating him? Before he could even react, however, Bagman jumped up and bounced forward at the sight of him.

"Harry Potter! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come! Nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment."

"Wand weighing?" Harry asked.

"Yes Harry, we have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know. The expert's upstairs with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," Bagman added, gesturing toward the witch. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," Rita Skeeter said, her eyes on Harry. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" Bagman cried. "That is—if Harry has no objections?"

"No—"Harry said.

"Lovely," Skeeter said, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room and opening a nearby door. Harry ignored her as he worked through his panic, his face still emotionless as he worried inwardly. He had to pick a mask and pick one quick, but he didn't know which one would work with her the best! His usual emotionless expression will not work. The room was a broom cupboard and they squeezed in, Skeeter pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box as she closed the door.

"You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally.…" she said as she opened her crocodile-skin bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate. She placed the quill after sucking the tip onto the parchment and it stood upright, quivering slightly.

She cleared her throat and tested the quill, which wrote an exaggerated version of what she said. "Lovely," she smiled, finally looking at Harry. "So, Harry, what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

Denial. "I didn't," he said, as he was distracted by the quill. Even though he only said two words, the quill was writing up a storm.

An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes—

"Ignore the quill, Harry," Rita Skeeter said firmly. Reluctantly, he looked up at her instead. "Now—why did you enter the tournament, Harry?"

"I didn't," Harry insisted. "I did not put my name into the Goblet of Fire, I do not know how my name got into it."

Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow. "Come now, harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel."

I'm not a rebel, Harry thought. Denial wasn't working, and yet Harry refused to accept what has happened. He knew that Skeeter would want him to act that, to act the cocky rebel, the arrogant Gryffindor and yet, he could not find himself able to meet her expectations. He just sat there in a sort of daze as she continued on.

"How do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous?" she asked.

"Yeah, nervous, I suppose," Harry said, his nerves coming from his indecision on how to respond instead of the actual tasks. This was not like how it was with Tom. With Tom, he always felt safe in this lostness, comforted by his voice. Skeeter, however, eyed him like a predator ready to rip her prey to shreds and write an exposé about it.

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" Skeeter said briskly, "Have you thought about that at all?"

"They said that it's going to be a lot safer this year," Harry said, he could feel he is so close to how he is supposed to react, how to respond to all of his. He could feel his masks rotating, swiping across his face, fighting on how Harry should react.

"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" Rita Skeeter said, watching him closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"

"No."

"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because—"

"No," Harry said louder, standing up as his masks stopped spinning. "No," he said again. "I did not enter, Ms. Skeeter! Why is it that when I say that, you adults refuse to believe me!" his voice was rising, growing more and more furious. "I keep telling everybody, I did not enter the competition! I did not want to enter the competition! And do you adults believe me? Fuck no! You make up your own narratives, decide whatever sounds good for you, and just run with it! Dumbledore, Karkaroff, fuck even Madame Maxine could have done something, anything, to break this stupid binding thing tying me to the Goblet, and maybe they could use common sense to see that a FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD CANNOT OUTSMART ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! But no, apparently every single adult here is FUCKING STUPID and there are no failsafe to break a magical contract with a bloody cup!" Skeeter smiled wildly, reminding Harry of whenever Dudley saw a cake, and before she could react, he snatched both the quill and parchment and, with one strong tear, ripped them both in half. "So don't ask me again why I entered the competition, you disgusting gargoyle, and instead maybe grow a brain and ask how a fourteen-year-old with no interest in getting killed this year somehow outsmart not only Dumbledore but apparently the whole Department of Magical Games and Sports!"

Still enraged, Harry kicked open the door and stomped out. Skeeter followed him, that predatory smile still plastered on her face.

Anger. Anger chose to stay. My mask was anger. What have I done? Harry mentally calmed himself, and though his face ached as the rush of emotions still swirled inside him, he forced everything about himself to look neutral as he walked into the small classroom once more.

"Rita! That was fast," Bagman said happily, "Got everything, I hope!"

"Oh it was absolutely fabulous," Skeeter said, smiling fully and showing gold teeth. Harry just stalked to a corner and stood there, forcing himself to calm down mentally as he closed his eyes and equalized his breathing. At some point, Dumbledore arrived with the other headmasters of the two schools and Mr. Crouch, the fifth judge, as well as Ollivander, the man who sold Harry his wand when he was eleven. Still, in his enraged state, Harry only half-listened as the Wand Weighing ceremony went on. Of course, Harry was last, and Mr. Ollivander spent more time with his wand than any other. Harry was only half-happy to get the man's approval and was fully glad to leave when Bagman jumped up and called for photos. It was torturous, and Harry was just all too happy to leave—only to stop immediately.

"There you are, Darling," Tom smiled. "I was worried about you." Tom Riddle was waiting right outside, leaning against the wall with a book in his hand. "How was the wand weighing?"

Harry quickly made his way towards Tom, his cheeks turning rosy, as he glanced around. "Horrible," he said in a low tone as everyone else started to exit the room. Professor Dumbledore stopped when he saw the two and smiled softly. "Ah, Mr. Riddle, I see that you and Harry are on friendly terms," he said.

"Yes, Harry has been very helpful with getting me adjusted here," Tom said politely, "right Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, smiling as well. "Tom's also helping me with studying."

"Well, I am happy that the two of you are getting along," Dumbledore said, his eyes watching Tom for a second too long. "I will see you both at dinner then, boys." He gave them a nod and walked off.

Harry sighed and found himself leaning towards Tom. "How do you feel?" Tom asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you need to go paint?" Tom asked gently. Harry looked up at him and found himself shaking his head.

"Not now," he said. "but I want to be someplace where we can be alone so we can talk."

Tom hummed and placed his book in his bag. He glanced at Harry hesitantly and said, "There is one place where we can both be alone, truly alone, where no one else can find us, but I do not know if I should ask if I can take you there."

"What? Where are you talking about?" Harry asked, curious.

Tom glanced at him. "It is just, we have only known each other, really, for only a couple of weeks, my Darling. If we go to this place, we can drop our pretenses, talk honestly, and I can prove to you my background. Eliminate any and all doubt that might still be in your mind, conscious or no. After all, you say that I look like Voldemort, that he and I have the same name. I will be honest with you, I have thought about starting to use that name, however that was the day before I arrived here. I will tell you that story, but only in one place, if you will trust me."

Harry did trust him. Tom was right that they have only known each other for a short time however in that short time, Harry found that he has built a trust in the teenage boy, a trust and a curiosity onto how he could see through his mask. He glanced around and kissed Tom's cheek, interlocking his fingers with Tom. "Just tell me Tom, and I will go," he promised.

Tom squeezed Harry's hand and purred seductively, "Then please Harry, would you bring me to the Chamber of Secrets?"

A/N: Harry you gone dun did an angry. Also: MASQUERADE! Pretty faces on parade! Masquerade! Thank you all for reading.

Kaiser: Thank you, I'm glad you are enjoying.

Super MKatR: Interesting

Steller Orbit: Thank you for all of those reviews and now a summary response: Why EWWWW? There is no EWWW here (unless you mean Parkinson but that's later on) and don't cry things will get better... eventually. If you want a small spoiler next chapter is going to have a little torture! I always write Theo Nott as friendly, if a little shy and yes that was a Grinch reference because I need a little Christmas. As for why Harry just agreed to sit with Tom, the boy can't think straight whenever Tom is around and, well, the obsession and romance needs to start somewhere. And FUCK YEAH Time is an angst fan! Gurl has all of eternity and only so many ways to fill it.