Chapter 21:
Slughorn's Office was awfully...cosy. There were lots of comfortable, squashy chairs, and an opened box of some type of pineapple on the side.
It wouldn't have been easy to assume this was a Potions Professor's office, there were no potions or even vials, merely a somewhat overbearing taste in decoration and a luxury that seemed out of place in a school. It wasn't ostentatious, but Harry found he much preferred the relative starkness of Lupin's version of an office.
It was better than Lockheart's, at least.
There was no one around, but Tom seemed to enter the room with an unnerving easiness, almost practised, and certainly very quiet. Harry's mind still churned with the realisation that Riddle knew about his being a parseltongue, he just didn't quite know what to do about it.
His eyes narrowed as the Slytherin Heir strolled across the Office, with a gesture that he should be similarly silent.
He wasn't waking Slughorn up.
"You do know stealing is morally wrong, right?" he questioned, coolly.
"You do know I don't care, right?" Riddle returned, keeping his voice low. He charmed his way into Slughorn's cabinet with the same disconcerting simplicity, eyeing potion's vials without touching them for a moment, before carefully extracting one. So maybe it was a bit more like a Potions Professor's office.
"Put it back," he ordered. "This is insane." He ignored the fact that he and his friends had stolen from Snape's potion store before.
Tom glanced over at him, obviously noting the Parseltongue, and his lack of denial or hiding regarding it. A smirk captured the other's lips, though menace lurked in those dark eyes.
"Do keep your voice down, darling. It would look terrible on your record if I had to stop you from ransacking our esteemed Potions Professor's office to further your terrible history with substance abuse."
Harry blinked. His history with substance abuse?
"I'd drag you down with me," he said, coldly. Riddle favoured him with a mild, too innocent expression.
"No, no you wouldn't." He sounded entirely too confident, and Harry scowled.
"And why's that?" he questioned, tersely. "The same crap about why I haven't told Dumbledore?"
"Similar," the other said lightly, holding out the Dreamless Sleep. "You're trying to prevent the possibility of the time line collapsing, I presume, which is also why you didn't attempt to murder me on sight. You go on about my 'model student act', suggesting it still exists in your time, ergo...I don't get caught in here, and in trouble."
...damn it. That wasn't even fair!
Riddle smirked.
"Drink up, there's a good boy," he purred.
"I can't get you caught, I can still smash glass through your eyes. The healer would be able to fix it, so it wouldn't be permanent," Harry growled.
"You say the sweetest things, little lion." Before he could reply to the dry, yet mockingly cooing statement, Riddle was already sweeping over, seizing his arms and dragging him out the office again.
Harry could feel his temper starting to brew again, beyond fed up with constantly being manhandled and feeling crap about himself, or in some way inferior to Riddle. He may not have been a genius, but at least he actually had friends, and he was damn sure that he was better at flying than Tom too.
He did wait until they were after the office though before decisively twisting his arm free, eyes flashing wild and feral, dangerous.
Tom was starting to actually look annoyed now, studying him icily.
"It is the middle of the night, Potter," he said, quietly - too quietly. "Start it in the morning after we've both damn well got some sleep."
Part of Harry registered his surprise at hearing the other even semi- swear, the other part of him was too pissed off and exhausted to care.
"Oh of course, I always do what's best for you and follow your orders," he sneered. "It's my life's purpose, really."
"You don't have to add the really in there, pet, I believed you well enough without the added emphasis. Glad to see you're finally getting it, now we can work on your behavioural problems."
"I don't have behavioural problems!"
"You lasted a week being civil to me before exploding. You have behavioural problems," Riddle returned flatly.
"No. You just underestimate how much I hate you," Harry said icily. "Despite your comments of this being personal and your knowledge of the situation." Tom went still then, examining him, absolutely no expression on his face.
"You still hate me for something I haven't done yet? Such a judgy little thing aren't you?" The next second Riddle had a wand in his hands, pressing up against the hollow of Harry's throat at the same time he drew his own wand, snapping it over Riddle's heart, hard. He wasn't sure if he could look away, even if he wanted to. "On that regard and assumption," Tom continued, "I should also kill you right now seeing as in the future you seem to be a thorn in my side too"
"As if you could kill me. Feel free to try though and risk getting blown into smithereens," Harry said coldly, digging his own wand further into Riddle's chest, hoping it hurt.
Tom snorted.
"You're awfully cocky, Potter."
"I have a good track record of beating you. Still alive, and all."
"The funny thing is, if a mass murdering Dark Lord hasn't managed to kill you yet, it's not a reflection on you when you act like a bumbling moron or are a child, it is a reflection on him and makes me question how much he really wants you dead."
Harry blinked at that, and some of his anger faded.
"What do you mean?"
Tom studied him for a moment, silently, and seemed about to say something. In the end, he didn't, and Harry half wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.
"Come on, let's go back to the common room. You're so sleep deprived that the Dreamless Sleep will probably just knock you out, and I have no intention of carrying you back to bed if you pass out on me."
"I'm not going to bloody well pass out on you," Harry growled, fists clenching a little. "And you can keep your stolen potions, I want nothing to do with your crimes."
"It is incredible how you can be so holier than thou all the time," Riddle sneered. "Does it not get exhausting? Because it's getting on my nerves enough, especially when I haven't had a full night's sleep since you got here."
"I'll ask for a transfer. House switch. My own room. Sleep on the couch. If it's further away from you I can't say I'm complaining."
"You were the one who approached me this time round, darling." Riddle's brows raised. "You've been acting like one of my groupies all week. That's not exactly the epitome of trying to get as far away from me as possible, but maybe I've mixed up the definitions somewhere?"
Harry glared, about to snarl that he was only doing that as part of a greater plan to lose the bastard's interests, before remembering that doing so would nullify said plan. His teeth gritted. He could feel a really stupid plan nagging at the back of his mind, and his grip on his wand tightened.
"You're insufferable. Besides, when I don't, you just stalk me and threaten my friends."
"Your friends?" Riddle repeated, an all too soft, melodic laugh scraped out of his mouth. It didn't seem to fit the scenario, and maybe that was what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "How are they your friends when you are constantly putting on a performance for them and they don't have a clue about your true identity?" the other questioned. "They know nothing about you, not really. I think you're more like me than you would ever like to admit."
"I am nothing like you!" Harry spat. "It's our choices who make us who we are, and you consistently make all of the wrong ones."
Tom stared back at him, unamused.
"I think you're clutching at straws there." The Slytherin Heir began to circle him, an idle predator, a shark eyeing up its next meal. "Because I can think of a lot of similarities between us."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said, thoughtlessly, mind drifting back to the chamber and that Tom Riddle. The other blinked.
"...you know?"
"Ignore that statement." Harry smiled, a little too brightly.
"Is this the story of how you managed to recognise my teenaged self within a second of meeting me?"
"Yeah." Harry saw no point in hiding that. "It's also a story which you're not hearing."
"I presumed I also dictated our similarities to you then, so a repeat of the conversation would be a waste of breath. You know the truth, however much you would like to deny it with that choices babble."
"You know what, Tom, you're right," he stated, after a moment. Riddle stilled, head tilting a little.
"I always am," the Slytherin murmured. "You're just normally slower to see that."
Harry forced a pleasant smile to his lips, stepping forwards towards the other to disallow the opportunity to circle as much.
"We do have a lot of similarities. We're both half-bloods, muggle raised, parselmouths...we even look something alike." He tried to ignore just how much he was paraphrasing the diary Riddle. "But guess what? We're more different than we are similar. Because unlike me, you're a pathetic little creep with daddy issues who's so full of rage and hate that he's taking it out on the rest of the-"
"No, no you're right, sweetheart," Tom interrupted, too lightly. "You have mummy-issues instead. How quaint. Is that why you have no self-preservation? Cause it's your fault they're dead? Your sick survivor's guilt?
"Piss off," Harry growled.
"Eloquent, hero. Drink the potion and sleep, your stupidity at this level of sleep deprivation is utterly repulsive and makes me want to cry for the sake of the world," Tom returned. Harry glared, furiously, heat creeping up the back of his neck with embarrassment.
"No one's asking you to talk to me. I'd rather you didn't."
"No," Tom mused. "You'd rather I didn't try and figure out more about your...circumstances, but you don't object talking to me anywhere near as much as you'd like, if you did, you'd just stop responding - and, though you come up with many tactics and elaborate schemes for avoiding me, you've never backed down or ignored me when I'm there, despite it being an obvious option."
"...and you're trying to tell me that you wouldn't start escalating your behaviour to provoke a response if I did give you the silent treatment?" Harry returned skeptically.
"No," Tom said lightly. "I'm just saying that you've never really tried. Interesting, hmm?"
"Not really," Harry replied flatly. His grip on his wand shifted a little again, as he studied Tom closely. "Lead the way back to the Common Room then."
"My, aren't you suddenly agreeable," Riddle murmured.
"It happens occasionally when I'm sick to death of talking to you and just want you to shut the hell up because you're voice sounds like nails being screeched down a chalkboard."
"You say the sweetest things." Tom's wand jabbed into his throat for a second longer, before his hand shot out and shoved Harry to walk in front of him. "Let's go then."
"Don't trust me walking behind you?" Harry forced his tone to remain light. "I'm flattered."
"You've got a 'I'm going to do something stupid' glint in your eye that I can't claim particular fondness for," Riddle replied, in much the same casual manner. "Try pocketing your wand, and we'll see."
"Oh yeah, because I'm really going to pocket my wand when yours is still out," Harry stated. "I just love leaving myself so defensively."
"I'm insulted that you seem to think that the fact you have your wand out makes the blindest bit of difference to how much I can hurt you. Doesn't seem to be helping you too much when we duel."
Harry's fists clenched at that.
"Maybe you should try coming to my court and fighting with light magic then, if you're so confident."
He was only just learning Dark Arts, which was practically Riddle's trade, of course he wasn't bloody well on the same level! Yet.
"I don't do light magic. I have no affinity for it."
Harry was somewhat surprised Tom was actually admitting not being good at something, and smirked.
"Oh I love being better than you at things."
"Cherish the sensation, it won't happen very often," Riddle said coldly. Harry's smirk broadened, and soon they were entering the common room once more. He turned around to take the Dreamless Sleep potion, and cast just as the Slytherin pressed it into his hand and started to speak.
"So, how is it that you're a Parsel-"
"Obliviate."
A/N: So, I had the worst writer's block for this chapter. It probably shows, I don't like it. But it's something? Thank you for your continued support :)