A/N: I can't believe i wrote A Lesson in Defense 8 YRS AGO? So yes, please forgive me if the story's tone has changed. It's so long ago i'm pretty much a new person lol anyway i hope you enjoy!

Tom's first class had been cancelled.

He was in his sixth year now, and everyone in his year was busy preparing for NEWTs. Every corner of the castle seemed to echo with never-ending talks of due dates, apprenticeships, letters of recommendation, and general plans for the future. The library and the hospital wing were at peak capacity handling near-catatonic students. Hogwarts had turned, truly and fully, into academic hell.

Amidst this chaos, Tom Riddle—Slytherin Prefect, Top of his Year, and voted 'Most Likely To Be The Youngest Prime Minister' on the school gazette—had decided to spend his precious, unexpectedly acquired free time…

On orchestrating an accidental meeting with his favorite staff member.

It was the perfect way to start the day.

Tom loitered along the Defense classroom corridor with a lightness in his step. He went through various conversational topics in his head and cackled at random bursts when he imagined Professor Potter's responses.

('Good morning, sir.'

'No. I haven't had a cup of coffee yet.'

'We can share mine–'

'I'd rather fall asleep while teaching and get sacked by the Board of Governors.')

He spent about ten minutes doing just that (during which he had made a complete end-to-end pass of the hallway thrice) before he noticed that he was beginning to attract attention. Third-years on their way to class were giving him a wide berth, side-eyeing him with open curiosity and nervousness.

It might be partly because he was a sixth-year in a third-year class corridor, or partly due to his erratic maniacal laughter. Either way, he doubted he looked casual enough to convince the Professor that he was there by chance (which, again, he was definitely not), so he took a book out of his bag and nestled himself into an alcove beside the classroom entrance.

Waiting there with his face buried in a thick book only made him stick out like a muggle spy hiding behind a newspaper. Tom, fortunately, didn't know this useless bit of reference, so he was quite content alternating between pretend-reading and surveying the passersby.

Was his hair in place? Yes. Uniform impeccable? Of course. Expression relaxed, unassuming, and clear of scheming? Only when asleep. But this was as close to guileless as he could get, so it would have to do.

At around seven minutes before class, the last of the stragglers had gone. There was still no sign of the Professor, but that was not uncommon; Harry Potter was occasionally known to run into class with the morning bell at his heels. Some might call it almost late, but Tom recognized it as exact punctuality accentuated by theatricality. A clever power play to keep them on their toes. As expected of the Professor.

Tom tidied his things. There was just enough time for one last sweep of the corridor—

A loud wooden clack resounded from inside the Defense classroom, followed by muffled arguing.

"Is that the Sorting Hat? "

"Shhh, we're about to do something awesome."

"How did you even steal it? It's supposed to be locked up—"

"We didn't steal it, we're just borrowing it for a while—"

"You boys are going to get the whole class in trouble—"

"Please, what's the worst they could do?"

It sounded like something Tom, as Prefect, was scholastically obligated to investigate. But it was so early, and bothersome, not to mention he already had plans…

"They wouldn't expel us for messing a bit with Potter —"

But Tom was nothing if not adaptable. He slammed the door open, and the wood clunked against something heavy.

"Merlin —!" cried a male voice, atop a… stepladder?

For a terrifying second, it seemed like the boy would fall. Tom drew his wand at the same time two students—another boy, and a girl—rushed forward to steady the legs of the ladder.

The whole room seemed to hold its breath. Tom peered at two Gryffindor boys and one Ravenclaw girl as they regained their balance. They peered back, pale and silent. Carefully, Tom reholstered his wand, and the movement seemed to snap them out of reverie.

"H-hello," stammered the one atop the ladder.

Tom stared not at his eyes, but at the ratty hat he was unsuccessfully hiding behind his back. "What's your name?"

"It's, uh. Erik. Sir."

"Erik," Tom repeated, pleasant. "Did the Headmaster authorise this?"

"Not exactly …"

"Then why, exactly," Tom asked, less pleasant now, "do you have the Sorting Hat?"

None of the three students in front of him, or their safely seated classmates, said anything. They all seemed to focus on the gleaming Prefect's badge on Tom's robe (A fact that secretly made him preen. He spent a great deal of time polishing that blasted badge. It had better be noticed).

"We could either resolve this here, or in the Headmaster's Office." Tom shrugged, and the badge glinted at the movement (Look at it shine! He could laugh. All that polishing was worth it after all). "The choice is yours. Now, I'll ask again: why do you have the Sorting Hat?"

Erik gripped the Hat to his chest. "We get the rules, Prefect Riddle. But could we please be punished after this class instead? We're so close—"

It was an odd request, and Tom had developed an interest in odd things in the past years. This boy was clearly afraid of him, but his commitment to whatever it was they were planning seemed to override that fear. Tom narrowed his eyes. "What is this about?"

The boy steadying one side of the ladder answered for Erik. "We want to drop the Hat on Professor Potter."

Tom's brows nearly touched his artfully styled fringe. "And you are?"

"Simon. Simon Penbrooke."

The fact that Tom wasn't yet hauling them to the Headmaster's Office seemed to embolden Simon. He leaned in conspiratorially.

"Professor Potter's mentioned in passing that he's not an alum. So we asked him, 'Professor, which House d'you reckon you belong in?' But he wouldn't say. Wouldn't even consider it hypothetically! So we thought we should look into it."

"Naturally," Tom commented, not the least bit sarcastic. People were naturally curious about the Professor. It was just how things were.

"Right," Erik nodded, relieved that Tom was still listening. "Then it kinda went downhill from there. Now, there's a huge bet going on—"

"Very huge bet—"

"HUMONGOUS bet, here in our class, and we're all very invested in it—"

"Aside from Myrtle."

"Hey!" the Ravenclaw girl squeaked, head popping behind the ladder. It was the first sound she'd made since Tom arrived.

She seemed vaguely familiar. Tom had the faintest recollection of maybe seeing her somewhere with… mirrors? But she ducked her head back behind the stepladder before he could place her face.

"...and the suspense is killing us, so here we are."

Erik and Simon were looking at Tom like they were prepared for any punishment if it meant they could go through with their plan.

"Are you telling on us, Mr Prefect?" Simon hedged.

Frankly, Tom didn't need to be persuaded. They already had him the moment they mentioned "Professor Potter" and "House".

Tom opened his bag and took out his coin pouch. "How much to enter?"

The boys grinned, Myrtle facepalmed, and behind them the class cheered.

Tom stepped out of the classroom in time to see a disheveled Professor Potter at a near run towards him. With every grace he could muster, the Slytherin Prefect sidestepped and gestured to the door.

"Hello, sir, you might want to—"

"Too early, Riddle. Save it for later."

Then he was opening the door, and the morning bell, as if just waiting for the Professor, started its slow metal ding.

Harry's voice boomed into the classroom, "Another day, another morning of you guys expecting me to be late, and me disappointing everyone—"

The bell was still on its first ding, the class was buzzing, a heavy swoosh of cloth sounded from above and—

"GRYFFINDOR! "

Madness ensued.

~~Lowering of Defenses~~

It was proving to be a long day, and it was only seven minutes past 8 AM.

After leaving the class with instructions and a short (but effectively chilling) reprimand, Harry solemnly walked out of the room holding the Sorting Hat with two hands and more respect than it had received from his third-year students. His mind was working at top speed thinking about how he'd report this incident to the Headmaster with the least amount of damage.

Honestly, he just wanted to go back to bed. He knew time travel would be problematic, but not this way. He remembered all the trouble he'd caused as a student, and he knew deep in his bones that this was karma.

Merlin. His feet felt so heavy. He didn't want to file an official incident report. Nobody liked filling out forms. Did they? Maybe Hermione. And one other person.

When he turned around the corner, that one other person was waiting for him.

"I tried to warn you," Tom Riddle said, smug.

"Please." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "None of my third-years can cast an advanced motion-sensitive levitation charm on an ancient magical artifact."

"Thank you."

"That was not a compliment."

Tom grinned. Harry wondered how a happy face could look so punchable.

"Gryffindor, sir?"

"Home of the brave and the bold."

"I had my money on Slytherin."

"Of course you took part in that." Harry wasn't the slightest bit surprised. He's actually more surprised that Tom wasn't the leader of that unruly bunch.

Tom shrugged. His eyes were sparkling. Nobody had any right to look this fresh and composed at 8-something in the morning. Asshole. "I lost a galleon. Perhaps, as compensation, you can treat me to a pint of butterbeer on the next Hogsmeade visit."

Harry smiled overbright, at odds with the vein throbbing in his temple. "You're losing more than a galleon when the Headmaster learns of your part in this." He pointedly looked at the Prefect badge on Tom's robe.

"Learning more about you is worth any badge," Tom shrugged, like that was the last thing he cared about. The vein in Harry's temple twitched. "It's too bad, though. About your House colours. Red and gold won't do you any favours."

Harry stared blankly at him, and Tom continued.

"Green and silver would have best complemented your eyes," he murmured theatrically.

"Fashion advice? From Tom Riddle?"

"No need to sound so shocked, Professor. My interests span a wide range."

"I just didn't expect fashion to be one of them."

Tom shrugged, still smiling. "Fashion is an important facet of society. I've been disadvantaged enough in the past to learn I should utilize every advantage I can get."

Harry faltered for a step. He looked surprised. He did that sometimes, when Tom said something he wouldn't say to anyone besides Harry.

"I guess there's a lot I don't know about you," Harry begrudgingly mumbled.

Tom grinned. Pushed his luck with a wink. "We can easily remedy that with a few drinks in Hogsmeade."

Harry, for the first time that day, laughed.

"You're determined, I'll give you that."

Tom preened. He liked making the man laugh. Hearing Harry laugh was like having butterbeer on a cold day.

"Do you agree?" Tom asked, intent on keeping the good atmosphere going. "With the Hat's decision?"

Harry snorted. "Honestly?"

"Of course. I've always got a ready ear to listen to your honest opinions."

Harry looked at Tom. He seemed to be gauging Tom's seriousness, maybe debating whether he should say his next words or not. Every conversation with the Professor was like this. Like he was navigating a minefield that only he could see.

"Getting Sorted as an eleven-year-old child is different from being Sorted as an adult," he finally answered, tone diplomatic and careful. "I… some part of me imagined I would have been Gryffindor, in my childhood. I was braver, back then. So. It's nice to know. That the Hat thinks I… deserve. To be Gryffindor. After all this time."

Harry's voice was lilting. Like he was holding back from saying more than he should. More than he already had. There was a puzzle there, Tom could scent it. Something hiding behind the words. As always.

He nodded nonetheless, willing to put his obsessions aside. Puzzles were for later. Now, he was in front of the Professor, spending a rare moment together.

He didn't know why, but he suddenly had an urge to share something he had never voiced out loud before. "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor back in my first year."

Harry stopped walking.

Tom continued, chuckling. "It said I had 'enough guts to take on the entire world.'" He shook his head, mildly embarrassed at the memory. "And I remember, verbatim, what I said in reply, because I thought it was very clever of me at the time. I said—"

Tom paused, breath held and gaze drilling into Harry's, "'I don't want to take on the world. What I want is the world for my taking.'"

Tom recited the line with conviction, and Harry felt the hairs on his neck stand.

Tom smirked, shaking his head self-deprecatingly. "It just laughed, put me in Slytherin, and the rest is history."

Harry looked a mixture of horrified and curious. For a few steps, there was silence. Tom let it be. Somehow, he wasn't afraid of being judged if it was Harry doing the judging.

"For what it's worth," Harry hedged, again looking like he was measuring every word, "the Hat first said it wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Tom's eyebrows climbed up. A couple of thoughts passed through his head: first was, of course. Harry embodied the best of Slytherin. Second was, strange. The Hat was barely on Harry's head for more than a second. That wasn't long enough for a conversation to happen. He filed that away for future study.

"But I said 'No thanks. I don't want to be in the same house as Riddle.'"

That dispelled the heavy air and surprised a laugh out of Tom. A real, boyish laugh—not that refined chuckle he used on everyone else.

Harry smiled, a little guarded, but no less genuine. He was so open with his students, but with Tom every smile was like pulling teeth. It made every little slant of his lips all the more precious.

They were nearing the Headmaster's Office now.

"Riddle, about what the Hat told you... do you still want the world, for your taking?"

"No, sir," Tom answered gamely, no hesitation in his voice. Harry looked too serious, like Tom's answer would determine something life-altering. Tom didn't like that look. He was already tested enough by his peers and by adults. He didn't need that from Harry. So Tom said something plain and honest, no frills or traps. Something that will wipe that expression off Harry's face. Something very Gryffindor. Bold and daring. "Now I just want you."

It was like magic, watching the flush in Harry's cheeks spread to encompass his whole face. "Shh— " Harry started. Tom wasn't quite sure if it was meant as a shush, or as the beginning of an expletive. "You're unbelievable. And inappropriate. So bloody inappropriate. I was almost thinking we were having a breakthrough—!"

"Aw, I can give you all the breakthroughs you want, Professor."

"What does that even mean, you make everything sound so—ARGH. Red card, just—red card, Riddle. Inappropriate!"

"Was I suggestive, sir? Or might you be projecting? Do you need a hand—"

"What would I need your hand for?!"

"It was just a figure of speech, sir. My, what were you thinking?"

"Merlin—you're a menace. A world-class menace. I'm leaving now. Away with you, foul creature."

Harry shuffled into the stone elevator to the Headmaster's Office. Tom laughed. "Bye, Professor. Thank you for making my morning."

Harry grumbled, but his cheeks were pink. "Just go back to scheming or whatever you do in your free time."

Tom waited for the Headmaster's elevator to close enough before saying his last words. "I'll be thinking of you then."

Harry flushed harder. His mouth was open, but the stone elevator closed shut before another word could be exchanged.

Tom stared at the wall, still grinning. He started the long trek back towards the Slytherin dorms, pleased beyond his imagination. What a wonderful start to his day. He wondered what his last years at Hogwarts would've been like, if the professor hadn't come.

Would he still be searching for Salazar's chamber? Would he have found his distant blood relatives by now? Would he be doing silly things like this in his free time? Would he have ever learned that Gryffindors were not entirely unbearable?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that the professor did come. That's the truth of it, and Tom wouldn't have it any other way.

A/N: That's it, I'm really done with this now. No more surprise chapters 8 yrs down the line. Honestly i feel like this still needs a lot of polishing, but i felt that if i didn't post it now, i would end up never posting it. So. Here i am. Please feel free to correct my errors. Take care everyone! I hope you had a good time reading this ❤️