Chapter 25. Careful

He didn't tell anyone about how Tom had kidnapped him, of course, but somehow Minnie seemed to know. Or, at the very least, she seemed to know they had talked; her obnoxious "it's-for-the-best" attitude had swiftly changed to one of extreme disapproval and she'd taken to watching him like a hawk.

"She'll come round," Al kept saying to Harry, but he wasn't too sure about that. Every time Harry so much as looked at Tom—which admittedly happened quite frequently—Minnie would start shaking her head and tutting in disappointment. "Eventually," Al would add hopelessly every time it happened. "I think."

"...Whatever you say, Al."

It wasn't too difficult to guess why Minnie thought something had changed between him and Tom. Tom looked at him differently now, Harry couldn't deny that. No longer did Tom's clever eyes look through him as if he were glass. Instead, they seemed to pin him down and dissect him from across a room, analyzing him. Under Tom's gaze, Harry became a puzzle and he wondered... How many pieces of him had Tom's quick wit already deduced? And how did Tom account for the bits lost to the sands of time?

But it didn't matter. For all that Tom stared, he still would not talk to Harry, and it was maddening. If he could just get him alone to talk again... But no. Tom had developed an uncanny ability to disappear whenever Harry was around, helped largely by his Slytherin friends who had taken to popping up like dandelions whenever Harry drew within ten feet of Tom. They never spoke to him, fortunately, but they still proved to be quite the hassle, making it impossible to track Tom down as they drew other Slytherins to them like magnets.

Why do they always have to travel in packs? Harry thought irritably as he attempted to force his way after Tom through the crowded corridor after Transfiguration, but by the time he'd gotten through, it was too late. Tom was gone. Again. He let out a huff of irritation.

"Slipped away, did he?"

Harry turned to see Al twisting past two Slytherin girls. He was alone. "Yeah," he said glumly. "Again."

As unpleasant as Minnie's attitude was, Harry felt most sorry for Al and Augusta; he knew what it was like to be stuck between warring friends and he did not envy them. He and Al barely saw Augusta now, but Harry didn't miss her apologetic glances.

"Bummer," Al said sympathetically, though he didn't look surprised as he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Well, looks like we've got some time before dinner then. Fancy taking another trip to the library? I want to see if 'Hahn's Practical Guide to Offensive Magic' has been returned yet."

"Yeah, sure," he replied distractedly. "Why not?" With Tom having slipped away, there was no chance he'd be able to find him now, and he had an essay for Potions he could get started on after all.

They set off for the library in companionable quiet.

"You know, I reckon you're going to win this first round without ever having picked up a book," Al said after a while. "It's a bit annoying, really."

There was no venom to his words and his smile was wry when Harry glanced over at him. "I don't know about that," Harry said, slightly uncomfortable. "Everyone else who wants to compete in the Tournament has been studying a lot from what I've seen."

Al hummed in agreement. "Especially Minnie, huh?" he added brightly. "If I hadn't already asked her, I'd have bet she had 'Hahn's Guide' with all the books she's been carrying around lately. She must have half of the Hexes section." Harry's lips twitched, but he didn't comment; Al's smile had faltered, taking on a rather forced quality, and he now looked like he was teetering on the edge of something. "You know..." he finally said, "It's odd not having her around."

Harry glanced sharply over at him. "That's not my fault."

"I know," Al rushed to say, "I know. It's just... She's worried for you, really. Just has your best interest in heart, she does."

Harry felt a stab of irritation. "That doesn't give her the right to act like she knows better than me, Al. She's got it all wrong."

"Have you told her—?"

"She won't listen to me," Harry interrupted heatedly; a week's worth of pent-up frustration had suddenly burst to life in his chest and he felt it carrying his feet faster down the corridor. "She doesn't know Tom like I do, she doesn't understand, and I'm getting sick of her condescending bullshit. Does she think I'm an idiot?"

Al hastened to follow. "I'm sure she doesn't—"

"I can look out for myself, you know, she's got herself all worked up over nothing. She's just—" Harry cut himself off before "jealous" could slip past his lips. "She's being stupid."

After a tense pause, Al spoke. "If she knew you felt like this, I bet she'd stop."

"Yeah, well, the next time she feels like actually listening to me, maybe I'll bring it up."

They lapsed into a strained quiet that lasted the rest of the walk to the library and when they finally nabbed a table for themselves, Harry found himself just dropping his bag off before saying, somewhat stiffly. "You know, maybe I should look at a couple of books before the Tournament tomorrow. I'll be back." And then he was off, weaving through the shelves, vexation on his heels.

He should've seen this coming. Al had been friends with Minnie first, after all. Of course he would want Harry to cave in so things could get back to normal... Fuming, he stopped at a random shelf and began mindlessly running his fingers over the spines of the books. Why did she have to be so damn patronizing about it? He could understand why she was concerned—that was the worst of it, honestly—but why did she have to act like he was some naive—

"Pardon me." A Hufflepuff girl, fifth or sixth year by the looks of it jolted Harry out of his musing. She looked rather amused. "Are you going to be taking that out or can I have it?"

Harry looked down at the cover of the book he must've blindly taken off the shelf. "The Sorcerer's Bride" by Betty Skeeter was printed in a loopy, golden script over the image of a rather hunky wizard holding a voluptuous witch in his arms. Damn it. Not again.

"Er, no," he said, heat blooming in his cheeks. "I don't want—It's yours. You can have it."

She took it, grinning broadly. "Thanks."

"No problem. Erm... enjoy?" And Harry took that as his cue to leave.

This time he paid more attention to the sections he wandered through, mind still mulling over what to do about Minnie, but he had no true destination in mind, no real intention to read up on spells for tomorrow; he just didn't care about the Tournament in the same way the others did. He wanted Gryffindor to win, of course, and he liked dueling, but it wasn't as personal for him. Several of his peers—including Al, based on the number of letters he'd been receiving from his father—clearly had familial pressures spurring them on. Others, he was sure, just wanted glory. There was no doubt in his mind that Tom was one such person, but unlike the others, Harry knew he had the skill to earn it. Tom was powerful, he was smart, he was—

"—too dangerous."

"But Riddle..."

Muffled noises and harsh whispers floated over the shelves.

"...cut the Mudblood out...doesn't deserve..."

Harry, who had begun creeping forward, scowled at the ugly slur and pressed on.

"—hate to admit it, but Riddle's a threat. If we want to stand a chance..."

From the sound of it, there were two or three of them. Harry couldn't place their voices, couldn't see a way to sneak a glimpse of them without exposing himself, but if they were talking about Tom... They had to be Slytherins.

"I know. We have to take him out before the Tournament. Show the Mudblood his place."

Harry's eyebrows knit together with worry.

"But how—"

"A Confundus ought to work..." a voice mused. "Or we could slip a Dizziness potion into his food."

"Or a Blinding curse!"

"Or a—"

Harry had heard enough. As quietly as he could, he slipped away. It would do no good to confront them, not while he was alone with no witnesses. He needed to find Tom. Now.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

His leg wouldn't stop bouncing as he picked thoughtlessly at his food. Tom had yet to show up to dinner, but when he did... He didn't care who saw.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he muttered.

"Are you sure?" Al asked before leaning forward to speak quietly. "Look, I'm sorry for pressing you about talking to Minnie, I understand why you're upset. It's not really her place to—"

"Thanks, Al," Harry said loudly, standing up abruptly. A movement had caught his eye near the Slytherin table; Tom had finally shown his stupid, handsome face. "I'll see you later, okay? I've got to go tell Tom something."

"Oh." He vaguely registered Al's surprise and faltered.

"I'm okay, really, I just need to warn Tom about something. I'll be right back."

There was a trace of skepticism on his face. "Okay, Harry. I'll be here."

He smiled gratefully. "See you."

With that, Harry took off purposefully toward the long Slytherin table, ignoring the hostile looks his presence drew as he approached. Tom sat in the middle of it all, talking to another Slytherin boy and looking to all utterly unbothered by and unaware of the intruding Gryffindor, but Harry could see otherwise in the slight wrinkle between his eyebrows and in the way his hand twitched around his fork.

"Tom," he called loudly. "Tom, I need to talk to you."

The teen feigned mild surprise before adopting an expression of irritation at the interruption. "Is that right, Evans? In the middle of dinner?"

"It's urgent."

Something in his tone, or perhaps his expression must've shown true his sincerity, for Tom's eyes narrowed slightly and he finally gave a sharp nod. "I suppose I can spare the time," he said regally, and some of the other Slytherin boys smirked and snickered. Harry glared at the lot of them. Which of these lying cowards wanted to sabotage Tom? "Come, Harry."

Bristling slightly at the order but too concerned to waste time, Harry followed Tom without complaint out of the Great Hall and into an empty corridor. From there, it didn't take long to find an abandoned classroom.

"So what is it then?" Tom demanded the moment the door was closed. "What could possibly be so urgent? I thought we had agreed to give me time to reflect, Harry. Surely you aren't so desperate—"

"Just shut up and listen to me, will you?" Harry snapped, fed up.

A tight smile warped Tom's face. "By all means."

"Someone, one of your Slytherins, is going to sabotage you tomorrow."

An odd expression Harry couldn't quite place flitted across his face and there was a heavy silence before Tom started to laugh. "You must be joking. This was urgent news? Really, Harry?"

"I heard them myself!" Harry cried. "They said they wanted to 'show the Mudblood his place.' They were going on about Dizziness potions and Confundos and—"

"Confundus," Tom corrected.

"WHO CARES?!" Harry yelled. "They're going to try and sabotage you, Tom! Care about that, why don't you?"

"I would if any of those fools were competent enough to hold a real threat," the Slytherin drawled and Harry wanted to hit him. "It's you who needs to be careful, Harry," he went on, smiling that wicked smile Harry absolutely did not love. "I might just start to think you care."

Harry let out a small scream of fury and stormed out. Tom's laughs followed him all the way down the corridor.

Screw Tom Riddle. The idiot could get himself cursed for all he cared.

Because he didn't. Care, that is. He didn't.

Not one bit.

The 15th of November dawned on a glorious, sunny day that sent beams of light streaming through the windows of the Great Hall, illuminating four dueling stages of red, green, blue, and yellow that had certainly not been there the night previously.

Banners hung from the walls alongside posters with names and times under which students crowded, craning their necks up to read the small font. The fourth-year Gryffindors all crowded beneath a poster entitled "GRYFFINDOR ~ Year Four" as Septimus Weasley read off the order and pairings for the first round of duels. Everyone listened raptly.

All of the fourth-year Gryffindors but one.

Harry Evans was watching the fourth-year Slytherins. Had been staring at them since they'd all strolled into the Tournament Hall. Some of them must've noticed for a couple of them had sneered at him and made some rather rude gestures with their hands before Tom Riddle had stopped them. Stopped them and winked at him. That bastard.

Bastard or no, Harry was going to bear witness to whatever tricks they had up their sleeves, even if he had to stare at the lot of them all day.

But nothing happened. As duel after duel commenced around them—the Tournament started with the 7th years and worked their way down—Harry watched as Tom stood there, simply conversing with the other Slytherins, enjoying himself and analyzing duels. Not a single spell was sent his way, nor did he appear to be adversely affected in any way. Tom Riddle was sporting fit and his fellow classmates were the paradigm of innocence. It made no sense.

"Harry."

Maybe Tom had listened to him then.

"Harry."

Perhaps he had threatened them?

"Harry!"

"W-What?" It was Al. He looked worried.

"You're up," he said pointing at the red dueling platform where someone was already standing. "You... and Minnie."

Harry swore.

Tom Riddle watched with great excitement as Harry "Evans" was all but pushed onto the Gryffindor dueling stage to face off with Minerva McGonagall. All week he had been watching the rift grow between the two; this was sure to be quite entertaining.

Nearly as entertaining as Harry's stares. What Harry thought he could do to protect him from would-be saboteurs by staring at him from all the way across the Hall, Tom didn't know, but it sent smug satisfaction purring in his chest. That it implied Harry thought him incapable of defending himself shockingly didn't bother him.

"My money's on McGonagall," he heard Orion Black mutter to Vincent Lestrange. "The daft idiot hasn't even been paying attention."

As Vincent hummed in agreement, Tom spoke quietly. "I wouldn't be too sure of that."

They glanced at each other with skepticism.

Up on the stage, Harry and McGonagall were bowing to each other.

"Harry's faster than he looks."

McGonagall made the first move. "Dolomorsus!"

Tom's eyebrows shot up in delight. A few people in the crowd gasped. What a nasty little spell, that was. She must be truly pissed to send that flying at Harry.

Predictably, however, Harry twisted out of the way of the sickly yellow jet of light with ease, successfully avoiding what would've been an electrifying shock of pain. Though Tom doubted Harry knew what Dolomorsus did, he could tell he'd figured out it wasn't good by the way his eyebrows knit together.

McGonagall attacked again. "Furnunculus!"

Harry side-stepped it.

"Tarantallegra!" she cried.

Again he dodged.

"Despulso!"

Again.

"Flippendo!"

Again.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"

No spells came.

"What are you doing?" she yelled. "Come on and fight me, you—"

"Expelliarmus." Harry's wand was a blur and it was all over.

It was the fastest duel they'd seen all day.

"Sweet Salazar he's quick," Lestrange breathed.

"I told you," Tom said, pleased. "He's faster than he looks."

Harry's eyes met his, and he smiled broadly. "Very good," he mouthed and he caught a glimpse of Harry's face turning a rather fetching pink before he was crowded on by his fellow Gryffindors.

"So I'm guessing he passed your little test then?"

Tom turned to see Charles Nott. He'd evidently been watching that whole exchange.

"Yes," Tom said firmly. "I'd say he did." With flying colors too. Harry hadn't even hesitated to tell him. "You and Vince did well, Charles." The teen smiled. "A nice touch, by the way, calling me a Mudblood." He spoke lightly but Charles still swallowed heavily. "A stroke of genius."

"We thought it would really sell it."

"Oh, it did," Tom said, feeling Harry's eyes on him once more. "It did."