IWSC; International Wizarding School Championship
School: Beauxbatons
Theme: Write about total subjugation
Year: 5
Mandatory Prompt: [Character] A Potter
Additional Prompt: [Dialogue] "I'm tired of all this heterosexual nonsense."
Word Count: 2925
Special Rule: A story that contains only 2 characters
Additional Info: I wrote about what I knew of the Bible's writings on homosexuality. I even checked it up on Google and it matched. I did not portray the Bible (and, by extension, Christians) in a good light but don't take it as a personal offense.
AU: This is an AU in which Tom and Harry went to school together. In essence, SameAge!AU and timelines which make no sense. Tom and Harry could be a bit OOC.
Trigger Warning: Stockholm Syndrome. Oh, and a bit of imagery on someone who is burnt. And, there is talk about how their heart stopped.
Beta(s): Kelsey, Sloane, Ash Juillet, Mandy
Harry looked back again. He pushed his cart in front of him, checked a cereal product, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up; a feeling of foreboding settled in his gut, as if something was about to go wrong. Shrugging it off as paranoia, he finally decided to take the cereal.
Just then, something hit his head and everything went dark.
Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. He felt like he was floating, which was ridiculous, because no one could levitate a person. He felt the silky sheets, and then he noticed he was lying on a strange bed. The bedsheets seemed to be made of pure soft satin, and the bed seemed to be made of an otherworldly material. He quickly jumped out of the bed, trying to organize his thoughts. He remembered being at the grocer's and then…Harry checked the back of his head with his hand. Yep. There was a small lump. He pursed his lips, his mind on overdrive. It was obvious he had been kidnapped.
But, who had kidnapped him, and why? Harry sighed, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion. It would be someone who hated him, but that didn't exactly narrow down the list. He was an Auror, and he had acquired countless enemies over the years. Besides, even if someone who hated him had kidnapped him, then why was he lying on the finest bed money could buy? Surely he would've been in the dungeon, shivering from the cold and maybe—if the kidnapper was particularly harsh—a few good Crucios? Most certainly not comfort of any kind.
He landed on his feet again, looking around his…cell with the trained eye of an Auror. The room was quite large, containing only the bed. He was quick to spot a door at the far end of the room and, with disbelief that someone would just leave him to his own devices, made for the door.
However, just as he was about to touch the handle and get the hell out of there, excruciating pain erupted in the lower part of his left leg. It felt as if someone was stabbing him with hot knives. He fell to the ground, clutching his leg and scrambling to find out what was causing the pain. A green band with a glowing red stone was wrapped around his leg, cinching painfully. Harry decided to experiment, so he headed back towards the bed. Just as he had imagined, the pain stopped at once.
So, he hadn't been left alone with no supervision.
Suddenly the door opened, and a man stepped in. With his jet black hair, ivory skin, and strange purple eyes, he was attractive. Though, Harry thought he had met the man before. Something about the man's smug smirk was familiar…
A small part of Harry's brain didn't at all mind if this was his captor.
"Hello," his captor said, still smirking. Suddenly, it all clicked into place.
"You're Tom Riddle!" Harry exclaimed with wide eyes. Everyone knew Tom Riddle, of course, since he was the Slytherin Prince, the Slytherin who stole away all the girls and half the boys with his devastatingly good looks, the Slytherin with perfect marks.
"So, you do remember me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," Harry said slowly, trying to analyze the situation.
"Good, that will make the task much easier," Riddle said, seemingly more to himself than to Harry.
"Why in Merlin's name did you kidnap me?" Harry asked. His heart didn't race, adrenaline didn't pump through his veins—he was calm. Though maybe that wasn't very surprising since he had been put through so many awful circumstances. Being kidnapped was hardly the worst thing that had happened to him.
"I can't answer," Riddle said with a shrug. Harry wanted to tear his hair out.
"Gee," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "Thank you for that helpful information. You are just as cryptic as—"
Harry opened his mouth in a silent scream as he dropped to the ground in pain. It was like being electrocuted, stomped on, and dunked in acid all at once. Then, after what felt like years, the Cruciatus Curse was finally lifted. Harry rose to his feet as fast as he could, not wanting to seem weak by shivering at Riddle's feet. His vision blackened now and then, but he stood tall. In his line of work, he had, of course, encountered and faced Cruciatus Curses but never before had it been so powerful.
He looked up at Riddle only to find that the cryptic but playful manner had faded away in an instant to give rise to the monster beneath. His wild eyes shined with malevolence while his aristocratic face was twisted in a snarl.
"Never," Riddle started, his voice strained to the extreme, "Ever say that."
He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, but both of them knew who they were talking about.
"Why?" Harry asked, feeling rebellious. "Don't like yourself being compared, huh?"
Riddle growled, looking more animal than human by this point. "If you value your sanity, then you will not do this. Am I clear?"
Harry wondered what made Riddle so bitter about this topic, but he didn't say anything—lest he incur Riddle's wrath again. He just nodded.
It had been three weeks since he had been kidnapped, and he had given up on escaping by the end of the first week. Whenever he got too close to a door to escape, pain would flare up in his left leg, and he would be left immobile until Riddle showed. Riddle had informed him that Harry would never be able to leave unless the band was off his leg. From that moment on, Harry had tried every conceivable method of removing the band only to find out that the person who put it on—Riddle—was the only person able to take it off. After that, he'd given up.
He'd learned that he was staying in Riddle's father's house, and much as he'd loathe to admit it, it wasn't that bad. He was almost treated like a friend. In the mornings, after having breakfast, they would retire to the library where both of them would read till lunch—Harry found out that maybe, maybe, some of the Dark Arts weren't so bad after all. In the evening, they dueled for a good bit—in which Harry almost always lost—had their dinner, and went to bed.
Yeah, he definitely lived in more comfort here than he did back home. Most of the time, he didn't even remember that he was a captive. And he was growing to like Riddle a bit. He was funny and sarcastic and, why not admit it? Deadly when provoked. Just like a sleeping dragon.
But still, Harry loved it. He loved how Riddle lost his temper, how he became angry, how his purple eyes would glow with anger…Everyone used to tell him he had a thing of being attracted to danger, and Harry guessed that was true, because Tom Riddle was the most dangerous person he had ever met.
Harry was thinking all of this as he was eating lamb chops when he heard Riddle—okay, Tom—say, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Harry choked on his food. Coughing, he said, "Whyever would you think that? I am very much straight!"
"Oh yes," Tom said dryly, "Straight boys often find other boys to be handsome and ogle their arses when they get the chance."
He had to be straight. He hadn't thought about it much, but surely everyone was? How could he be anything but straight?
"I am very much straight," Harry said, more to himself than to Tom.
"Sure," Tom drawled, amused.
"I am!" Harry insisted, "I am straight. I've dated girls, and every boy must notice the handsomeness of other boys on occasion!"
Tom still looked amused.
"Besides, being gay is bad, isn't it?" Harry asked, a bit unsurely as anger flooded Tom's eyes. "That's what I've learnt in Church," he added hastily.
Tom simply pursed his lips.
"Anyway, I would know if I were gay and all. And I'm not!" Harry insisted.
"I'm tired of all this heterosexual nonsense," Tom finally said, bored.
Harry spluttered.
"What? What nonsense?" Harry asked.
"Harry, sweetie"—and there was the endearment, only used to irritate the other—"believe it or not, I have been following you—"
"Wow, that's a good way of saying 'I've been stalking you this whole time'," Harry said sarcastically.
Tom simply gave him a look which, after spending so much time with Tom, only amused Harry.
"—and I know you aren't as straight as you claim," Tom continued.
"I'm not gay! Why can't you just accept it?" Harry finally shouted as Tom kept on insisting.
Tom looked at him coldly and said, "You are gay. You have to be."
"Control freak much?" Harry sneered before walking out of the room, not caring if he came across as rude or weak.
Harry didn't bother to apologize or even talk to Riddle after that, even though Riddle had tried to get Harry to talk to him again and again. Harry was angry; Riddle had interfered in a very personal matter whose roots originated from his childhood. When Harry had asked about Riddle's personal matters, he was pretty sure Riddle didn't tell him everything. Still, Harry hadn't pressed for information, respecting Riddle's privacy, but Riddle hadn't done the same. He was firmly reminded of what they truly were—captor and captive.
Harry was thinking about all of this when he heard a huge bang coming from the western side of the mansion. He immediately shot up from his seat, his hand automatically going to the jeans pocket to grab the wand he wouldn't find. His eyes were wide as he searched frantically around what could be the source.
For a long time, he didn't hear anything. Just as Harry was beginning to relax, another bang went off.
"Riddle! Riddle!" Harry screamed as he made his way out of the library. By the bangs, he had judged them to be small-scale explosions, and another one could be well on its way. He needed to find his wand. And Riddle.
"Riddle!" he continued screaming, "Tom!" No one answered. Harry stopped halfway to the west wing of the manor to think of why Tom wasn't answering. Surely he wouldn't ignore Harry on purpose? But then, unbidden, another image came to Harry's mind. Tom—charred, burnt, unrecognizable. The beauty he once possessed vanished in the intensity of the flames. Harry violently pushed that thought out of his head. Even if Tom had kidnapped Harry, they were quickly becoming friends—even if he was currently mad at Tom—and Harry didn't want Tom to be hurt.
As he continued running to the west wing, another explosion—more tremendous in its intensity—forced Harry to grab the walls. After that, he ran as he had never run before. He had to get to Tom before…before…
Harry reached the room from where the explosions were coming from. He almost screamed at what he found. The door was blown off its hinges, and a cauldron emitted green fumes and sparks. The blackened and charred area around it claimed that the cauldron was causing the explosions. And, worst of all was Tom. Lying on the ground a few feet away from the cauldron, most likely thrown away by the impact. His face was bloodied, and his hands were covered in burns. Judging by Tom's charred robes, Harry had no doubt they continued over the rest of his body.
Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself. He had to get Tom away from the room and administer immediate medical treatment. When he heard the sizzling of fire, his Auror instincts kicked in, and he somehow half-carried, half-dragged Tom out of the room. Just as they had gotten away from the main affected area, another blast rocked the ground underneath his feet, making him almost lose his grip on Tom.
Harry didn't remember how, but he got Tom to his room and laid him on the bed. He patched Tom up as best as he could with potions, bandages and Tom's wand before sitting by his side and watching over him.
It was two days before Tom opened his eyes. By that time, Harry thought long and hard about their conversation so many weeks ago. He shouldn't have lashed out at Tom. Years of hearing that being a homosexual was the worst thing someone could do, and Tom outright giving accurate facts about him being gay, made him react violently. Now he came to think about it, he had always found boys more attractive than girls. And, well, why not admit it? He was guilty of fantasizing about Riddle when they were in school and even now.
"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Tom asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Harry swiveled in his direction and was barely able to stop himself from slapping Tom across the face.
"How dare you?! How dare you die!" Harry snapped, feeling happy that Tom had recovered but angry that Tom had gotten himself in this mess in the first place.
"I died?" Tom asked, sounding calm, but Harry could see the alarm in his eyes.
"Yes! Your fucking heart stopped beating. Twice! Do you know how devastated I was? Why didn't you tell me what you were doing? Why didn't you take the necessary steps to protect yourself?" Harry screamed at Tom.
"Harry—"
"No! Let me finish! You—you," Harry nearly choked up, but continued, "You died, goddammit!"
With that, whatever self-restraint Harry had broke, and awful choking sounds erupted from his chest. Tom held out his hands and Harry dived right in, not caring if he was agitating Tom's injuries.
"It's okay, it's okay," he could hear Tom say softly while being stroked. "It's fine, I'm here. I'm alright."
But Tom wasn't. When he was covered in blood, not breathing and sporting serious burns on his legs. He wasn't alright when Harry had to perform CPR on Tom twice.
Then, maybe because of his lack of sleep, maybe because he might never get another chance again, Harry did something unfathomable. He kissed Tom.
One would've thought after all the hours he'd spent with Tom—watching him talk and laugh and frown—that he would know all there was to know about Tom's lips. But Harry hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against his own. Or how those hands, which could wield a wand with otherworldly grace, could easily entrap him. Harry thought he made a noise at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into Tom's chest. Then, after what had seemed like lifetimes, they finally separated for air. But Harry didn't want to. He wanted to feel those lips on his again. The kiss sparked a hunger—a want for more.
Harry thought he was somewhat of an expert with hunger troubles—living ten years of his life with the bare minimum of food did that to him. But he wasn't accustomed to this hunger. The hunger didn't leave cramps in his stomach, but a fire in his chest. A fire whose fuel was Tom's kiss. A fire that, if spiraled out of control, had the capability of turning into a raging inferno and burning him to ashes.
"I had to do that, just once," Harry said when he noticed that Tom was waiting for him to say something.
Tom smiled in that charming way of his that made it impossible for Harry to be angry at him.
Days passed since the kissing incident. Tom was able to move around now with the help of a cane. They still followed their normal routine, but with kisses added to the mix. Tom never had any reservations about them, in fact, Harry knew he liked the kisses. And Harry had thrown all his Biblical teachings out of a metaphorical fifty-story window the day he first kissed Tom anyway.
Days turned into weeks, and Tom began to open up just a bit more about his childhood to Harry. It had been months since he had been kidnapped by Tom. His previous life seemed a million years ago, something he had dreamed up. It didn't seem real. Nothing seemed real unless Tom was there.
And, dare he say it, he was falling in love with Tom—hard and fast. Tom didn't treat him like a captor treated his captive. Except for refusing to take off the band, though Harry guessed it was because Tom was scared Harry might run off.
He was happy with Tom. Somedays, he might even convince Tom to play 'catch the snitch' with him. It was all he could have ever dreamed of.
He decided to tell Tom about his feelings. Today. So, after dueling, Harry dragged Tom to a boulder to sit on.
"What is it, Harry?" Tom asked a bit wanly. He was sweaty after the duel, but Harry needed to tell him right now, or else he would never have the courage to tell him.
He took a deep breath, readied his nerves for a very probable rejection and said, "Iloveyou."
"A bit slower, please, darling?" Tom asked.
Harry closed his eyes and said in a loud, clear voice, "I. Love. You."
Only, it never came. Instead, what Tom said was, "I know." And, after a significant pause, said, "I do too."
Harry was elated. He pushed his suspicions about what Tom said out of his head.
Instead, he leaned forward for another kiss.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. Please read & review.
