OHMYGODDDD YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE IT. SOMEONE ACUALLY MADE ME FANART. LIFE IS GOOD. CHECK THIS OUTTTTT it's by the user ponnu (on ao3)! Ohmygoddd

Hyperlink is on my profile. Ffnet is dumb and won't let me post links here. But their username is ponnukakku on deviantart, "Chocolate frogs" is the title.

(P.S. This is a Chapter 2 scene, if anyone's curious. Ohmygodddd though can you believe it ohmygodddd)

ooo

Clutching his forehead, Potter bent over double in the hallway, fighting off the love potion's effects. Tom would have been enthused at the prospect, except for the deplorable timing.

Fighting off the love potion now would inhibit Potter's already-reticent replies. Before Potter regained his autonomy, Tom wanted to know how the boy had found out so much about his personal ambitions, with himself none the wiser. It didn't escape him that every time he sought information about the horcruxes, even now, the boy gave incredibly vague answers.

This did not even take into account how the boy knew parseltongue, and how he knew about Tom's relation to the Gaunts. He presumably hailed from the House of Potter, but Tom had seen the Gaunt family tree, and saw no way that the boy could descend from both lines within the last century.

Then the subtle personality quirks compounded the mystery; the strange words, his apparent familiarity with public scrutiny, his lack of "common sense" for modern-day factoids. For such an accomplished Quidditch player, Potter should know that no seeker had ever caught the snitch in three and a half seconds, even if he did have mixed blood.

If Potter managed to break the spell out of anger instead of the potion wearing off naturally, he'd likely be significantly less palatable to Tom's search for answers. While extracting information would not be impossible, he had no desire to waste such time with a simpler solution readily available.

So despite his fury at losing the duel, he focused on the matter at hand.

"Harry," he said gently, his voice clear and ringing with sincerity. "Are you all right?"

"You're him," Potter muttered, still pressing at his scar. "But not yet. You didn't force me to bow, you asked. But you did force me. Will force me. You're not him...I love you. No, I can't. What if you're him?"

Tom wondered, not for the first time, if English was the boy's second tongue. It would explain the strange inconsistencies that occasionally popped up in his speech, made-up words that he used absently and then the mix-up of tenses when he grew particularly distressed. Did force him, will force him. Had it already happened, or did Potter expect it to happen? Time was easy to mistake when changing dialects.

"Who is 'him'?" he asked, so piqued at waiting for so many answers and receiving none, that he barely registered the casual use of the word love.

"You," Potter said, turning away from Tom to face the wall. His disregard infuriated him.

"The other him," Tom snapped, grabbing Potter's wrist, dragging it away from the scar and forcing the boy to turn back to him. It looked the same as always: faint, pink, and jagged.

"You," Potter said again, eyes wild, emotions in turmoil and his wrist twitching agitatedly in his grasp.

Tom let out an exasperated growl, before dragging Potter to a more private area, away from where the students would wander when dismissed from class. They ended up in an abandoned classroom, filth scattered across all of the desks except one. Two sets of hand prints smudged the dusty surface, as though someone had bent over it, and Tom scowled in distaste when he realized what the room had been used for last.

Nonetheless, he discarded the thought, searching Potter's robes with little sense of propriety. Potter made a vague sound of confusion, but Tom quickly found what he searched for, snatching back his wand and sending a locking charm at the door.

Potter's anger and confusion seemed to have faded somewhat after their walk, but a brooding expression still cast shadows over his features, and so Tom prepared against any risks. Although he'd likely regret this later when the boy pestered him, the potion couldn't stop working now. Potter's information would probably prove useless, but Tom couldn't take the chance.

Swallowing his distaste, he spoke stiffly.

"This will be one of my secrets, so you shan't tell, under the word of your oath. Understood?" he asked, and Potter blinked in confusion.

Tom didn't wait for a response, knowing that his statement would be sufficient. He held back a disgusted grimace, stowed away his wand, and yanked Potter forward and into a kiss.

Potter froze, and Tom took his face in his hands, stroking his fingers lightly over Potter's cheekbones. Neither of them had closed their eyes, Tom's half-open, finding it unnatural to trust someone in such a way, and so he saw the moment that the love potion took effect, strengthening its hold.

Tom moved his lips slowly, holding the boy firmly in place, and Potter's eyes suddenly dazed over, reminiscent of someone under the Imperius Curse.

Potter's eyes closed then, and his arms came up, clutching at Tom's shoulders. He leaned forward so that no space remained between them, and Tom found himself mildly surprised at how soft it was. With so many bones, he would have thought another human would be terribly uncomfortable to stand so close to, but despite being solid and firm, Tom encountered no stray elbows or knees.

Or perhaps not so surprising; Potter hardly attacked him. He kissed clumsily, and Tom still didn't see what his classmates fussed about, but it wasn't as slimy or disgusting as he'd expected. He'd kissed a few people before, but he'd always kept a respectable distance between them, none of this pressing of bodies. He'd also obliviated them afterwards, not wanting to deal with the clinging, and he'd been half-tempted to obliviate himself. No, he'd never let them so close, and while this kiss wasn't pleasurable, it wasn't...unpleasant.

Tom suddenly wondered if he could make it pleasant, if he tried. Potter couldn't tell anyone, after all, and for the first time he actually wanted to encourage attachment. He thought he might as well try, just once. It seemed unfair that others would gain this gratification when he did not, and like most things unfair, Tom had discovered one had to take rather than wait and hope for the best.

Tom's hands slid down Potter's chest, wrapping around his waist and tugging him closer, so that he pressed more tightly against him. He disliked others standing so close, but that aversion eased at his obvious control over the situation. He could hardly feel threatened by the boy when Potter's hands went nowhere near his wand, and he'd had to wheedle him into the duel in the first place.

Oh. Perhaps that was it. He suspected that Potter had some sort of bad experience, involving a duel of which Tom had unknowingly reminded him. That would explain the constant ramblings of "you're not him". And then perhaps the potion had addled his brain even further, because Tom had forced him into the duel.

He wanted to do as Tom wished, so he'd dueled him. He had wanted a kiss, so he'd fought hard. But the love potion had demanded that he not win against Tom, and combined with whatever traumatic memories he had, the conflicting emotions had all been too much.

Tom had given too many conflicting demands, thus Potter had been in pain, and the potion's grip had loosened.

Potter let out a moan as he slid his tongue into Tom's mouth, clutching hard at his shirt. The action brought him back from his musings, peering at Potter's scar through half-lidded eyes. The boy must have gotten it in whatever duel he'd been recalling.

Potter suddenly broke away, catching Tom off guard, but he understood once he heard the other boy's panting. Even his breathing had picked up a bit, and he'd had the presence of mind to breathe through his nose. Clearly Potter had been less practical, more focused on other things.

He leaned into Tom, pressing his face into his neck, and he startled a bit when he felt something warm and wet on his skin. It moved higher, leaving a wet trail that felt startlingly cool at the absence of a mouth, the air creating a cold, tingling sensation.

Potter's tongue. And Tom liked that, he realized with shock, his body giving the slightest shiver.

Tom tilted his head towards the other student, turning his face and forcing the boy to pull away. He regretted it somewhat when Potter didn't try to continue, leaning back with a blush.

"Sorry," Potter mumbled, although a small smile graced his lips.

Tom studied him for a moment, their faces far too close, Potter's glasses once again crooked on his nose. Keeping his expression blank, he slipped his arms out of the embrace and straightened his robes.

"Never let it be said that I don't keep up my side of a wager," he said, taking out his wand and undoing his earlier locking spell.

Potter frowned, straightening his glasses. Tom strode out of the room, leaving the door open, and a moment later the boy darted after him.

"Wait, if this was about the bet, then you said you'd tell me about your parents, too," Potter impudently pointed out, still slightly out of breath, but voice admirably steady.

"I gave you half of your winnings," Tom said. "Because it was only half of a win. The purpose of the exercise was to practice the Levicorpus spell, and yet you only disarmed me."

"That counts," Potter protested, taking long strides to match Tom's fast pace. "You can't just make up rules so that they suit you."

"Can't I?" he challenged.

"I didn't even get to pick which half of the bet I wanted," Potter whined, looking put out. Tom found himself somewhat surprised that the boy implied he'd have chosen to ask the questions over receiving the kiss. He had certainly seemed to enjoy it well enough.

"If the point of the duel was to use the Levicorpus, then by not doing so, you failed," Tom said. "Therefore, I get to decide how to pay the bet."

"You kissed me," Potter accused, and Tom shot him a sharp look.

"And that's one of my secrets, remember?" Tom asked sourly. "I hardly need you shouting that in the corridors, empty or not. You wanted to practice the charm on me, and I said you could if you disarmed me. You disarmed me, but you didn't practice the spell. By your own terms, you lost."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Potter complained. "Besides, I didn't need to practice, I already knew that one."

"Then why did you want a turn to practice?" Tom asked.

"Well, it'd be funny to see you upside down," he replied. "Also, you could do it non-verbally."

"Well then, maybe you should've practiced it while you had the chance," Tom retorted, even while knowing that he would have found a way to kill Potter if he had, no matter how many years he had to wait for his vengeance.

"You would've killed me if I'd done it while the whole class was watching," Potter said with surprising insight. Tom glanced at him thoughtfully.

"With so many witnesses?"

"You would've waited. Probably until you could feed me to a snake."

"Hmmm. You wound me, Potter."

The boy only beamed in response, reaching out and taking Tom's hand. He was relatively quiet, and the corridor remained empty, so Tom just let him be, lost in his own contemplation.

ooo

"Wake up," Tom hissed, subtly but forcefully elbowing Potter in the side. He heard a soft giggle behind him; a Hufflepuff girl observed his predicament with amusement, and Tom silently swore to unleash Nagini on her someday in the unforeseen future.

Vague promises were all he could make to himself, distracted by Potter drooling on the sleeve of his robes. Tom fell still, not wanting to draw attention from the more Slytherin occupants of the class, but fortunately, most of the class resided in the same state as Potter, either asleep, catatonic, or focused on other homework.

Where else could Tom be, but History of Magic, Professor Binns steadily droning on, managing all the intrigue of a half-chewed pencil on a classroom floor.

Normally Tom joined amongst those who employed the hour as a study hall—he'd long since abandoned trying to beguile Binns—but for Potter. He would have hexed the idiot, except for the Hufflepuff witness behind him. But even if he couldn't hex him, he could hardly leave the boy. Acting as a pillow for a messy-haired, love-struck fool was positively degrading.

"Wake up," he demanded again, as loud as he dared.

He truly did not want Abraxas's involvement, or any of the other Slytherins. With Potter acting as the catalyst for a House war, and given the boy's current attachment to Tom, his status in the house was not under threat, per se, but not as all-encompassing as usual.

Deciding to risk it, he sent a stinging hex, a strong one, at the boy next to him.

"Ow," Potter yelped loudly, jumping and causing his chair to scrape loudly across the floor.

The outcry drew attention from the rest of the class, much to Tom's frustration. He held perfectly still as Professor Binns blinked at them, before resuming his unenthused mantra, at just a slightly different pitch than before. His classmates sent a few curious glances, but lost interest quickly, the monotonous lesson lulling them almost unknowingly back into their stupors.

"You're a Slytherin. You shouldn't be napping like a Gryffindor," Tom said under his breath, to which Potter looked pointedly at a snoring Avery a few seats down.

Tom clenched his teeth and took a breath. The situation tested his temper to its limits, but he impressed himself again and again with his own self-control. The boy's possession of all his limbs and mental faculties certainly wasn't attributed to any credit of Potter's own.

"Are you really going to use Avery as your paradigm for Slytherin?" Tom asked derisively. If anyone should be viewed as an example, it should be him. As the Heir, he took Potter's obstinacy as a personal affront.

"Maybe I wouldn't be asleep if you didn't keep levitating me onto the floor last night," Potter muttered, burying his head in his arms, sending his papers into a haphazard mess across the table.

A few of them scattered across Tom's notes, and his jaw ticked with the effort of holding back his entire repertoire of dark magic. It vexed him enough that Potter had continually snuck into his bed, but he must have a death wish to speak about it in public.

"Just keep off of me," he snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended.

Perhaps even his self-control could only take so much, although his frustration prevented him from even thinking of a way that he could have sweetened his request. He'd just have to hope that Potter wouldn't start wailing apologies. The boy's eagerness to please had lessened since the first day or two, but that didn't mean he'd returned to normal by any definition.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm awake," Potter grumbled, sitting back up and slouching in his chair. Tom hid a grimace of disgust at his posture.

Not ten minutes later, Potter fell lopsided in his seat, head bobbing gently. The motion grew so irritating that when Potter's head finally came to a rest on Tom's shoulder again, he didn't shake him off, if only to stop the bobbing.

Only twenty minutes of the class remained and he didn't want to cause another scene. For his plan to restore his reputation, he needed to draw as little attention as possible this day and the next.

A wet spot had appeared on his shoulder, the boy's lips parted slightly. Being right next to Tom's ear, his heavy puffs of breath were audible, and his glasses dug into Tom's arm.

Mercifully, the Hufflepuff girl seemed to have dozed off, so Tom considered feeding Potter to Nagini instead.

ooo

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