Title: Crystal

Rating: PG-13/R

Genre: Romance/Humor

Summary: AU; "He's as… fragile as crystal…" To wear matching rings is believed to be the ultimate expression of love… complete detail inside
Pairing(s): Harry/Tom R.

Warnings: AU Yaoi, slash, Boy/Boy
Disclaimer: Don't own fandom. Concept behind story doesn't belong to me either. Story itself does. So does Moorinto… and various cameo characters. So don't sue me or have me erased because I'm not going to lose my very first-ever paycheck to people who don't know how to read a disclaimer.

Summary: The ultimate expression of love… In the small town of Moorinto, it is believed the ultimate expression of love is to wear a matching ring with the one you love. It could also be the deepest sign of friendship, depending on which finger you wear it on. When the semi-loner Harry Potter suddenly finds his matching ring with the person he least expects, it's an up and down coaster ride to discovering if this person could be his worst enemy… or his greatest love.

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AN: I warned you it might be late, but at least it's only by a day! And the Gundam Wing fic I mentioned can be found under the author w1ng0. (Yes, that's a one and a zero.)

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His head hurt. He knew he should not have had that fourth beer, but maybe it was just the hangover talking.

"Hey, Harry, you okay?" Harry cringed in pain, mentally cursing Ron and accusing every one of his ancestors of things that would make the writer of the Kama Sutra faint and every animal-rights activist go ballistic in rage.

"Wonderful," Harry said dryly. "Spiffing. Abso-fucking-dandy." Ron snorted at him.

"Outdid yourself, huh?"

"Would you stop talking so loud?"

"I'm not talking loud."

"Then be absolutely silent at the very least." Ron shook his head, grinning.

"Want an aspirin or something? Or I can take you to the nurse." Harry glared at him.

"Why don't you ever get hangovers?"

"'Cause I'm special, moron." Harry groaned and stood up, shoving past him to the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" He didn't have to turn to see Ron's smirk, he could hear it in his voice.

"Gonna go wash my face." Harry lurched down the hall, ignoring those he passed. He rubbed his forehead absently, considering his options. A) ignore it. B) go to Madam Pomphrey. C) Skip school entirely and go home.

While C sounded nice, and B was out of the question, he'd probably be better off with A.

He stumbled into the boy's bathroom, accidentally hitting his shoulder on the jutting towel dispenser. He hissed in pain, but the sudden intake of air made his head pound so he closed his eyes. He leaned against the wall for a minute and sighed, before shoving off to the nearest sink.

"Fuck Ron, anyway," Harry muttered, turning the cold water faucet on. He paused for a moment and took off his ring, the fact that silver tarnishes running quickly through his mind. He made to take his glasses off before remembering he put his contacts in that morning. "Why should I feel like shit when he drank more?" He leaned down over the low sink and splashed his face with the icy water harshly, spraying water everywhere, shivering as a few droplets ran down the back of his shirt.

Someone moved next to him, shaking their arm a little. Harry stood a bit, squinting in their general direction.

"I'm sorry. Did I get you wet?"

"Not really. Here." A handkerchief was placed into his hands. "Your bangs are soaked." Harry mopped his face, drying his bangs and eyes quickly. He faintly noticed the clean soap smell of something freshly washed. He cursed silently when he realized the water had washed out his contacts, slipped his glassed from his front pocket and put them on.

"Thank you. I'll return this when it's been…" He looked up at his companion and froze slightly, continuing in a shocked whisper, "…washed."

He had never seen Tom Riddle up close before, only from afar with his gentle smile and his congenial attitude. He could see, perhaps, what the girls in his class swooned over, but as his eyes locked onto those brown orbs before him, all of that was shoved harshly out of his mind. No one had ever looked so coldly at him before.

"Tom Riddle," Harry murmured to himself, unaware he had spoken his thought out loud until a moment later.

For a moment, it looked as if Tom Riddle was just as surprised to see Harry and Harry was to see him, but a strange look flittered briefly across his eyes before they closed off completely, an unusual coldness in them where, from afar, Harry had only seen warmth.

"Well." Riddle's voice was soft and indifferent, almost mocking. "You know, I've never been treated so casually by someone I've never met. Especially by an underclassman." Harry's eyes were wide. Out of everything he had expected from Tom Riddle, rudeness wasn't one of them. Wit, charm, humor, perhaps, but never rudeness. It didn't fit his image.

"I…" He was so shocked by this strange turn of events that he was speechless.

"I bet you're one of the type who shouts out the name of celebrities if you were to see them on the street." Harry's brows furrowed in rising anger.

"I am not, thank you," he said, nearly growling.

"Hm." Riddle frowned, plucking at his shirt. "Thanks to your clumsiness, my shirt is soaked." He leaned forward, plucking his handkerchief out of Harry's hands. "Let me just say, but next time, wash your face at home." Harry glared at him mutely, clenching his now empty fist loosely.

"And let me just say," Harry answered in a voice equally cold, "next time, use the bathroom on your own floor."

"It was crowded on the upper floor," Riddle said uncaringly. "But don't worry. I won't come back." He turned out the door.

"Excuse me," Harry said, taking a step forward after him. "But isn't your tone rather rude for someone simply being casual?" Riddle turned to look at him.

"Your point?" Harry frowned.

"I have a name, if you don't mind. Harry Potter. Don't forget it." Riddle seemed to stare almost through him before he answered.

"Well then, Harry Potter, I won't." He turned away again, glancing over his shoulder. "And don't order me around."

Harry stared after him, frowning.

What was his problem? What a rude attitude, and only because he thought he was being overly familiar. He wasn't anything like what everyone said, like what his image portrayed.

Harry snorted. It didn't matter. It wasn't his problem. He turned back to the sink, frowning at it. His contacts had probably gone down the drain, but that didn't matter. He had multiple pairs.

He picked up his ring and slid it on. For a moment, he stood and stared at it, sitting calmly to his knuckle. But it wasn't possible, was it? For such a drastic change in only about ten minutes time. But the proof was there…

Somehow… for some reason… his ring didn't fit.