It's A Masquerade, Darling - ChubbyPanda15 - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Chapter One: Harry’s Near Perfect O.W.L. Scores Piss Severus Off, and also Severus’ Summer of Junior Terrorism

Chapter Text

The cabbie was struggling to get Harry Potter’s school trunk out of his car. “What the hell you got in here, boy?” He gasped, letting go of the handle and dabbing at his brow with his obnoxious bumblebee themed tie. It was disgusting, both the sweating and choice of patterns. The yellow insects on purple background reminded Harry of his headmaster’s odd wardrobe and he fought back a frown, not willing to think about Dumbledore just yet.

Harry plasters on a sweet smile, the one that got him an extra lemon bar from the old lady volunteers at the wayhouse. “I’m so sorry, sir. It’s my schoolbooks, you see.”

“Back to school then for you?” The cabbie took a deep breath, grabbed the trunk handle, and grunted as he gave it one final heave. The trunk, with its old wood and chipped gold, hit the concrete of the King’s Cross station entrance with a thud, and if it weren’t for the many safe-keeping charms, Harry might have snapped.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. Why was it so hard for people to respect other people’s things? It was barnyard behavior. “Thank you so much for the ride, have a nice day.” Having paid the man upon arrival, Harry didn’t feel bad about seizing his trunk and quickly wheeling it into the station. According to his pocket watch, a gift from his closest and only friend, Severus, it was 10:30, and the Hogwarts Express always left at exactly eleven o’clock. Unfortunately, Harry had a deep seated anxiety about being late, and was perpetually early, a trait instilled in him from the ladies at the wayhouse. It certainly wasn’t his worst habit.

Harry headed straight through into platform nine and three quarters, not looking too much at the scenery surrounding him. He would rather find a compartment and settle in with his most recent book and wait for the train to leave, than gape open-mouthed at the scarlet steam train like some kind of muggleborn first year.

Disregarding, of course, that he had done exactly that, back when he had thought he was a muggleborn and had indeed been a first year.

He found a compartment near the front of the train and settled into a corner, pulling his book on wizarding dragon legends out of his trunk before hefting it up to the luggage rail. The train itself automatically put lightening charms on the trunks, which Harry was grateful for as he had no parents to do it for him. Even with the charm, his first year self had not been able to lift it, and it was honestly one of the few times he had deeply wanted a family member, just to use their additional lifting power.

Why was his mind so intent on going back to the past? Harry shook his head and opened his book. There were better things to do than get nostalgic. He was still only a sixth year, reminiscing could wait until seventh, if he allowed it at all.

It could only have been fifteen minutes before his compartment door opened and the thin, birdlike body of his friend, Severus, came sliding in, levitating his truck behind him.

“Severus,” Harry greeted, laying his book down on his lap. “How was your summer?”

Severus’ nostrils flared. “You’ve avoided my letters for long enough, Harry. What were your O.W.L. results?”

It was true. In every letter Severus had sent him, he had asked Harry about his testing results, and in every reply Harry sent back he had skillfully ignored him. Even now, Harry tried to ignore him.

“My holiday was fine, thank you for asking,” he said, picking his book back up again. “I found some interesting antique stores-”

A long-fingered hand with mysterious potion stains dotting the palm and finger tips placed itself in the middle of Harry’s page.

“Potter,” he growled. It was amusing to Harry to equate this almost adult to the scrawny boy that Harry had sat with on their very first train ride. Now, he could almost be intimidating, if Harry wasn’t an idiot.

But Harry was not an idiot, and that was the entire purpose behind Severus’ desperation. Harry didn’t consider himself truly intelligent, there were plenty of students that understood more difficult concepts than he did, but what Harry was good at was connecting lines between ideas that just made logical sense. Harry was good at expanding based on what he already knew, and he was fantastic at experimenting, but he didn’t think that made him smart.

He didn’t want to be considered smart. But, for some reason, Severus had gotten it into his head that Harry was smart, intelligent, worth the time and effort of his friendship when they had been plucky little first years, both bitter over unfair life experiences. But because Harry didn’t want to be considered smart, didn’t want the attention that came along with it, he held back in classes and with his homework, and he purposely kept himself in the middle of their class rankings. High enough to keep professors off his back, but not so high as to attract the notice of the top dogs like Granger, Riddle, and Crouch.

But Severus did not place the same value on living a quiet life. No, he thought Harry was ‘wasting his potential.’ O.W.L.s, though… Standardized testing did not affect class rankings. They were completely private, only available to select ministry officials and whoever the student themself wanted to see them, whether that was family, friends, or potential employers.

So, Harry hadn’t had anything to lose in showcasing his knowledge. He’d actually tried during the exams, and it had felt freeing, but also like weakness. Like he was giving in to an inner desire for acknowledgement, which Harry did not need.

Severus had been seated near him in almost all of his tests, just like they sat near each other during classes. He had been able to tell, in between his own bouts of almost-genius level quill scritching, that Harry had been taking the O.W.L.s seriously, and though Harry had been unwilling to discuss the questions in-depth afterwards, Severus knew that he would share his grades.

And then Harry hadn’t.

Severus looked down at Harry, and Harry widened his green eyes in what he hoped looked like an innocent expression, but some of his mirth must have been showing. His friend pulled his lips back into a snarl, and Harry thought for a brief moment that Severus’ animagus form could have been a rather vicious wolf.

He felt bad about thinking it almost immediately and sighed. Severus’ shoulders immediately lost their tense posture and he moved back, sitting across from Harry.

“Well,” Harry said, drawing out the ‘l’ in the plebian way that he knew drove Severus insane. Getting the desired twitch of Severus’ dark left eye, he continued. “I got an O in defense, charms, potions, transfiguration, herbology, arithmancy, and ancient runes. I got an E in history of magic and divination, though I’m dropping both of those so I don’t care too much.”

Severus’ nostrils flared again, and their blackness reminded Harry of two olives. “So, near perfect scores then?”

“Of course not, Severus,” he said, picking his book back up again. “There’s no such thing as perfect.”

“My summer was fine,” Severus said, ignoring the fact that Harry was trying to read. Harry felt a brief note of irony, considering Harry was normally the one pushing for conversation. “Quite a number of interesting events occured that I left out of my letters.” Harry’s eyes slid up off the page to look at his friend. Severus’ mouth was pursued tight, and he wasn’t actually looking at Harry. Interesting things?

“Oh, keeping secrets are we?” Harry said, keeping his voice light. He shut his book and put it onto the empty seat next to him. Outside of their compartment, Harry could hear the excited noises of students ready to return to school, and he cast a privacy charm to ensure that they would be left alone.

Severus gave a short nod. “I was invited, near the beginning of July, to spend the weekend at Rodolphus and Rabastan’s summer cottage with the rest of my year mates.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing so that Severus could continue his story.

“It was an odd weekend,” Severus confessed. “They all treated me almost respectfully. Especially Riddle.”

“I thought Riddle didn’t like you?” Harry asked gently when Severus stopped talking.

“He didn’t, before I… Before Evans and I went our separate ways.” For a moment, Harry could see the cracks in his friends’ usually flawless Slytherin mask, but he managed to pull it together. Harry knew that the memories of Severus’ post-O.W.L. confrontation with his childhood friend still weighed heavily on him.

“And now?”

“He talked to me about potions a few times before we left for our summer holiday, but that was all,” Severus said. Harry hummed, and then the train started to move, the magical engine humming underneath their feet.

“So, Riddle is your friend now?” Harry asked curiously. Part of his quiet life strategy was avoiding people who’s presences were certainly not quiet, so Harry could honestly say that he had only spoken to Riddle maybe twice in his life.

Severus snorted, and it made Harry smile. His friend was so uptight most of the time, and Harry always felt proud when he made Severus lighten up a little. “Hardly friends. Riddle doesn’t do friends, and nor do I, for the most part.” Here, Harry felt like his heart was growing three sizes. Wasn’t it nice, to be the exception sometimes? “He was civil and friendly, of course, but so were my other yearmates.”

“What did they do?”

“Played wizarding chess,” Severus said. “But after playing you for so long, I defeated them all soundly.” Harry smiled. He had been awful at chess when he was young, but there were very few things to do for entertainment at the wayhouse, and chess was one of those things. “They talked about pureblood politics, which was interesting to learn about, and they talked about the ministry and their O.W.L. results.”

“So, normal teenage Slytherin activities?” Harry smiled. He was not a Slytherin, but he had spent enough time around Severus to understand how serious the house could be at times, because of their political upbringing.

“They also talked about dark magic,” Severus said, and Harry felt his smile slip. He looked out the window, watching the countryside fly by. His brow furrowed.

“That’s not too odd,” Harry said slowly. “A lot of their families are dark, and Riddle has always given off a certain aura to me.” Harry didn’t hate dark magic, and he could certainly see the appeal of it, but some of the members of Severus’ house were violent, ignorant buffoons. He wasn’t sure how good of an idea it was to have people like Rodolphus Lestrange knowing more efficient ways to inflict pain.

“They have a study group,” Severus said, and here he was watching Harry closely, dark eyes unreadable. “I have been...invited to join.” If Severus wasn’t a Slytherin, or a private man with a dark past, he would probably be tapping his foot or twiddling his fingers. As it was, Harry could only tell how stressed he was because of the rigid hold Severus had on his posture. He was trying too hard not to move, to the point that he was resisting even the movement of the chest that comes from breathing.

“Do you not want to join their study group?” Harry asked curiously. He knew Severus was deeply interested in the dark arts, the whole thing seemed right up his alley. And to learn from someone like Riddle, who wielded magic like it was the most natural thing in the world. It would be difficult for Severus to find a better tutor in England, unless he started looking at the suspicious flyers in the various pubs of Knockturn.

“I am interested…” Severus said, barely moving his lips.

Was Severus… asking for his permission?

“Severus, if you want to join, you should,” Harry said. He gave his friend an encouraging smile and turned to look out the window. He thought they were passing a flock of sheep, for a moment, but the fluffy cloudlike blurs were gone too fast to tell. “It would be a good opportunity for you to expand your grasp on the subject.”

“You would not object?” Severus asked lowly, and Harry felt like sighing, though he wouldn’t. Really, for such a smart man, Severus relied so much on those he was close to. Too much. This conversation made Harry think of Severus’ association with Lily, who had rejected the darker sides of Severus, who had tried to shut away that part of him.

“As long as you remain my partner in class, no,” Harry answered. “Oh, and no getting expelled, either.” He didn't know what he’d do for his last two years of Hogwarts without Severus’ dry, witty comments to keep him going.

Severus doesn’t smile. Harry doesn’t expect him to. But the edges of his perma scowl soften slightly, and he nods his agreement.

Harry goes back to looking out the window as Severus goes digging through his trunk, looking for something or another. So, his best friend was going to be getting closer to his Slytherin housemates. That could potentially cause trouble. Though Harry did feel confident that Severus wouldn’t talk about him during those meetings. Why would he? And it wasn’t like any of the Slytherins would ask. They likely didn’t know who Harry was; Harry was on the same level as one of the paintings in the castle. Recognizable, yes, because of years of shared classes, but there was no real familiarity. If they were to think of him, try to imagine his face, they likely would only get so far as his dark hair before the face would become a blur.

Harry leaned his forehead on the cool glass. No, this really wouldn’t affect Harry too much. He might not see Severus as often, but that was okay. Severus was a snake for a reason, he had ambitions. And while Harry didn’t, not really, he couldn’t blame his friend for seeking glory and renown where he could find it.

He looked towards his friend, only to see him setting up his secondhand chessboard on the middle seat on his side of the compartment.

“Well?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. “Black or white?”

Harry sighed and moved to the other side of the compartment, ready to trounce Severus once again. Unlike Severus, Harry had not been distracted by dark wizards over his break, and therefore would certainly not lose.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Barty Crouch Jr. Wants to Study With Harry Because He’s a Cheating Asshole

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Harry had to try and keep a smile away from his face when he and Severus entered Hogwarts. It was warm and cheery, and though the other students were being loud and obnoxious, the glow from the thousands of candles in the great hall reminded Harry that he was finally back home, where he could do as he pleased. The pair entered the giant room and parted, nodding at each other. Severus went to the Slytherin table, where he sat next to Theodore Nott, and Harry internally approved. Severus wasn’t intentionally surrounding himself with idiots, thank Merlin.

Harry himself sat down at the far end of the familiar Ravenclaw table, closest to the doors so that he could make an easy escape once the feast ended. There were a few groups at the table, but it was clear that the majority of his house hadn’t filed in yet. He pulled his book out once again and tried to zone out the buzz of chatter, and was mostly successful until somebody sat down right next to him.

Harry looked up, and was surprised to see Barty Crouch Jr., Ravenclaw prefect of his year, smiling at him. The boy’s grin was almost sharklike in nature.

“I hope you don’t mind. Potter, isn’t it?” Crouch held out a hand to Harry, and he took it, shaking it briefly before snatching his hand back.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Harry said dully and obviously not too pleased, before trying to get back into his book.

“It’s odd, Potter,” Crouch said, and Harry felt an overwhelming urge to break his nose when he leaned into Harry’s personal space. “We’ve shared a dorm room for years, and yet I don’t think I’ve had an actual conversation with you. Why is that?”

Why was Crouch annoying him, was the real question. Harry couldn’t be too aggressive, though. That would be counterproductive.

“I’m not much of a talker,” Harry said instead, and that was true. The only person Harry could be bothered with was Severus, most of the time.

“Me neither,” Crouch said. “A total wallflower, you know, that’s me! We have that in common.” Harry wanted to snort. Crouch? A wallflower? He was a social butterfly at worst. “I feel that we’re a lot alike, you know.”

No, Harry wanted to say. We are not alike.

“So I thought maybe I’d reach out, see how your summer was.” Crouch’s eyes were an interesting shade of brown. Harry had heard many school girls flutter about how deep and handsome they were, but Harry thought the color more closely resembled the mud in the greenhouses when it was too rainy too often. Still, not a bad color.

If Crouch wanted to approach him so badly, he should have gone for the friendly prefect angle, not the seeking new friendship route he seemed to be trying to take. Did he think Harry was lonely?

“My summer was adequate, thank you,” Harry said. Luckily, it looked like everyone had sat down and the sorting was about to begin. Harry hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but as he watched Dumbledore blather on about the excitement of learning and how the new firsties should try to avoid painful dismemberment via the forbidden forest, he could feel Crouch’s eyes watching him. What an inconvenience.

As soon as Dumbledore waved his wrinkled old hands and food appeared on the table, Crouch picked right back up again, only this time, Harry’s other classmates were also sitting with them. Terry Boot, Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, Mandy Brocklehurst, Anthony Goldstein, and Lisa Turpin.

As was to be expected with Ravenclaw’s, O.W.L. scores were the first topic of conversation. The students were comparing their O’s and their E’s, some of them morosely confessing to just receiving acceptables. Harry felt a stirring in his gut to learn that he had beat out Hermione Granger by just one O.

“I got a few O’s of course,” Terry Boot said. Loudly. Merlin, Harry couldn’t stand Boot. “In herbology and charms. Everything else was an exceeds expectations, but I only really cared for my charms score. I’m hoping to achieve a mastery, I’m already petitioning Flitwick about apprenticing.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, again, but he could feel Crouch still watching him out of the corner of his eye. There was no way Boot was talented enough to secure Flitwick as a master. Every charms hopeful in the school wanted him.

“I considered pursuing a mastery in charms,” Harry’s second least favorite classmate, Hermione Granger, said. “But in the end I decided to pursue magical law instead.” Ever since Granger had saved the gamekeepers Hippogriff from getting put down in their third year, she considered herself an expert in magical creature rights, even leading a program for the freedom of house elves.

“But you considered a mastery in every subject, Hermione,” Padma Patil said to her best friend. Brocklehurst and Turpin nodded eagerly. “You had charts and diagrams about the benefits and limitations of each one.” It was true, she had, and she had posted them in the common room so that everyone going to their career advising meeting last year could benefit from her wisdom.

“It never hurts to be careful, Padma,” Hermione said, looking like she was going to go on a rant again. Harry thought the collective groan from their end of the table was rather amusing.

“What about you, Potter?” Crouch asked him, muddy eyes watching his every facial twitch. “I can’t remember you telling us about your career goals?” That’s because Harry hadn’t told any of them. Obviously.

“Yes, Potter,” Boot said, and Merlin did he always have to sound so high and mighty? “What have you decided on?”

With all of his year mates watching him, Harry felt unnecessarily anxious. “I’m not too sure,” he said, a bit mumby. “I’m considering going into medi-wizard training, but I think it might be too fast-paced for me.” A partial lie, Harry had considered it, until Severus had pointed out how much interpersonal interaction it would be. Harry had immediately thrown the pamphlet into his trash pile.

No, rare books collector was much more his style. He wanted to own a shop where he could pick the titles to be sold, and he could just hire someone to handle the cash register. Perfect, and solitary.

Patil, surprisingly, was the first one to respond. Harry didn’t mind Padma too much. She was quiet, unlike her Gryffindor twin, and polite to everyone. Harry was pretty sure that was why she got the prefect badge and not Granger. “I looked into going into a healing branch as well. They have to handle a lot, and have a mastery of so many different subjects.”

Boot snorted. “Well, anyone dedicated enough could manage it.”

“Shut up, Boot,” Anthony Goldstein said simply. He was mostly focused on his mashed potatoes and gravy, but Harry had always appreciated Goldstein. He only ever spoke when he thought it was relevant. And Harry happened to know, from doing a few potions together in class, that his family was a long line of healers and medi-wizards. If anyone knew what it took to go into the healing profession, it was Goldstein.

Crouch huffed a laugh, but then turned right back to Harry again. “So, what’s your plan then? If you might not pursue healing.”

“I don’t really have one yet,” Harry said, going for an embarrassed yet humble expression, which seemed to work well enough, as Padma told Crouch to stop hounding him.

“Slytherins are the ambitious ones,” she joked, and most of their yearmates laughed with the exception of Crouch and Boot. “We still have time to figure things out.”

“But you need to know what you want to accomplish to figure out your class load,” Boot argued. “Personally, I’m dropping arithmancy and ancient runes.”

“That makes no sense if you’re trying to get a mastery in charms, though!” Turpin objected, and Harry wanted to snicker. They were both in those classes with him, and Harry happened to know Turpin was pathetic at both, not really having an interest except for keeping up with her family’s lofty expectations. She mostly used Terry for his notes.

Crouch looked like he was about to ask Harry about his class load, which was just a bit too close to his O.W.L. results for comfort, so as soon as he saw some of the seventh years taking off for the dorm, Harry excused himself from the table.

Hours later, after the other Ravenclaw sixth year boys had all fallen asleep, Harry found himself still awake, staring at the deep blue curtains around his familiar four poster bed. He couldn’t fall asleep, there were too many thoughts going through his mind.

Why was he so concerned about his O.W.L. results, anyway? The other students had seemed proud of their scores, as if they meant something, but Harry had done just as well, better even.

He just didn’t want people to know, that was all, he said to himself. It wasn’t any of their business. Plus, he reasoned, if people knew how well he had done, they would bother him. People would want to talk to him about things like classes and homework and maybe even about other people, and the thought made his gut clunch like he might throw up.

It was nobody’s business, Harry repeated, but then he thought, why had he tried so hard on the tests in the first place? Some part of him wanted recognition for his accomplishments, he assumed, but he wasn’t likely to get it from anyone he knew.

Harry’s parents were dead. He wasn’t quite sure how they died, but they did, when he was little. The keepers at the wayhouse Harry grew up in said he had been on their doorstep one morning, with just a note saying that they had died and a blanket.

He had been so excited to start Hogwarts when he got his letter, and when McGonagall came to get his school supplies. Then he had met his older cousin, James Potter, and the whole truth had come spilling out, turning into a wizarding world scandal.

But, maybe, he wanted that recognition from them. The Potters. He shook his head, black hair flying into his face. Those thoughts were stupid. He turned onto his side, nuzzling slightly into his pillow.

He didn’t want anyone’s approval. In fact, he wanted to wash his hands of the Potters entirely. And with that, he closed his eyes, and pointedly didn’t think of anything else until he fell asleep.

Harry got to the library right as it opened, before breakfast had even begun. He didn’t need to, seeing as his summer homework was finished the first week of break, but it felt like a good idea to start his regular schedule up as soon as possible. Besides, doing some extra runes work would be good for him, seeing as he’d heard that the jump to N.E.W.T. level was a bit… intimidating.

He had, of course, barely pulled his advanced study runes textbook out of his bag when the chair across from him was yanked out, screeching across the floor in a way that would probably give Madame Pince an aneurysm.

“You’re up early, Potter,” Crouch said cheerfully, taking a bite out of a bagel with cream cheese. Where had he gotten food, breakfast didn’t open for another hour.

“It’s against the rules to eat in the library,” Harry told him as if speaking to one of the five year olds at the wayhouse.

Crouch huffed. “How can you expect anyone to study on an empty stomach?” True, it was not best to study before eating, but Harry didn’t particularly care. He also chose not to respond to Crouch.

They sat in silence for a while, Harry turning pages in his runes book and pointedly ignoring Crouch’s staring, sighs, moans, and breathing noises.

He would not turn Crouch into a worm. He would not.

Finally, it was time for actual breakfast, and Harry quickly stood up and put his book away. He did not say anything to Crouch as he left the library. He didn’t feel he was obligated to, either, considering it was Crouch that was encroaching on his space and not the other way around.

Crouch followed Harry out of the library, and Harry was pissed to discover that Crouch’s long legs kept up with Harry’s fast pace easily. Why did he have to be so short?

“You’re a weird guy, Potter,” Crouch said. He was licking the last of the cream cheese off of his fingers. “But, you know, I like that. Sometimes things around here are way too average.”

There was something in the way he said that, that Harry stopped walking entirely. Crouch stopped too. They were so close to the great hall. Would Harry be able to lose him there? Probably not. Average. Too average? Was that a coincidental comment, or something more? Harry could never tell when Crouch was talking. The guy seemed partially insane on the best of days, always had.

“What do you want?” Harry decided to just ask. What was the worst that could happen? “Why do you keep bothering me?”

Crouch didn’t say anything at first, instead turned to look at Harry again with his muddy eyes. “You know, Potter. My father is an influential wizard, and he always strives to be the best.” Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Why were all wizards seemingly so family oriented?

Crouch walked to the side of the hallway, where the windows were facing the lake. This early in September, everything was still mostly green. “The best job, the best house, the best wife, the best son.” What did this have to do with anything?

Crouch turned on his heel to look at Harry dead on, and Harry felt the urge to shuffle his feet but refused. He would not be cowed by Crazy Crouch of all people. “He was quite proud that his son was number three in the school, you know. Despite the fact that I was behind a muggleborn. But then,” Crouch laughed, the sound harsh and kind of sad. “Then, he goes in to see the O.W.L. reports, just to see how closely I followed Riddle and Granger. But it wasn’t just them, was it?”

Harry felt cold.

“Potter’s second in your year, he said when he got home,” Crouch said. He didn’t look mean or angry, but Harry was still on edge. “At first, I thought he meant James Potter, and I couldn’t believe it. No, he meant you, a complete nobody.” Harry didn’t stiffen up, didn’t react. Who cared what Crouch thought of him?

“How are you the second in our class?” Crouch asked, and again, there was no anger. Just curiosity.

“I’m not,” Harry said and Crouch blinked at him. “O.W.L. results don’t factor into our class ranking. So, I’m not second. Granger is. Nice talking to you.” Harry walked again, but this time, Crouch grabbed his arm. Harry heard footsteps approaching. Students were heading to breakfast, eager to get their timetables.

“I won’t give this up,” Crouch warned. “Just tell me. How smart are you? Why aren’t you in the top ten, at least?”

Harry wasn’t listening anymore. The firm hand on his arm felt like a shackle, a brand. Harry didn’t think, just reacted, another one of his worst habits.

The stinging hex zinged to his bicep, and Crouch let go with a yelp. There was no wand in sight.

“Don’t,” Harry said, and he tried his best to keep his chest from heaving. His fingers burned. “Don’t touch me again, Crouch.” Then he walked away again, and this time, Crouch did not follow.

Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Harry Does Not Give Two sh*ts About Who Hermione Granger Has A Crush On

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N.E.W.T. level classes all required a certain O.W.L. score to qualify. Harry certainly didn’t need to worry about that, for obvious reasons, but some of his year seemed to think they could cheat the system.

“No, Mr. Boot,” Flitwick said in his squeaky voice, looking up at the tall sixth year student. “I’m sorry to say that you don’t qualify for advanced potions.”

Boot was red, like the tomatoes in his scrambled eggs. Disgusting. For a moment Harry thought he would continue protesting, but he seemed to realize he was causing a scene. Even the Gryffindors were snickering.

“Yes, Professor,” Boot said, and took his schedule. The parchment crinkled in his grip and he shoved it into his bag, going back to his gross eggs. It wasn’t like Boot needed potions for his hopeful charms mastery, he just wanted to show off. The sounds of breakfast at Hogwarts went on around them, with loud chanting of someone’s name at the Gryffindor table, and a wave of laughter could be heard at the Hufflepuff table.

Flitwick cleared his throat, and Harry took a bite of his toast to hide a Slytherin smirk. How could Boot think he could get an apprenticeship with their head of house? It was obvious to Harry that Flitwick actually couldn’t stand him. The professor turned to Harry then, and Harry silently pleaded that he wouldn’t say anything about his schedule to his surrounding classmates.

Crouch, luckily, had sat down at the opposite end of the table and was answering questions from the baby eagles, also known as the first year Ravenclaws. Harry could still feel his eyes on him, at times, but it was easily ignored in favor of his timetable.

“Mr. Potter,” Flitwick said, looking down at Harry’s schedule. “Everything seems to be in order.” He gave the thick piece of parchment to Harry, then smiled at him. With Harry sitting at the table and Flitwick standing in the aisle, they were on equal grounds. “Also, congratulations, Mr. Potter! I was quite impressed.” He gave Harry a small smile, then he continued on down the table, handing out schedules and breaking students’ hearts.

“What was that about?” Boot grumbled. Harry wondered why Boot bothered to sit next to him.

“I did well on my charms O.W.L.,” Harry said, not lying. He had done well, especially considering the work his professors were used to. He hoped they wouldn’t expect him to start achieving things. That could get messy.

“I didn’t know you had any talent in the area,” Boot said.

“I don’t, but I did a project last year that specifically pertained to some of the things on the exams,” Harry said. That wasn’t a lie, either, but he hoped Boot wouldn’t ask about the project. It hadn’t been for school, just for fun. He took another bite of toast, but wasn’t too hungry.

He looked down at his time table. It was rather full. Most N.E.W.T. students stuck to just a handful of subjects, but Harry had wanted to continue with most of his previous course load, only dropping divination and history of magic, his two exceeds expectations grades. He had only taken divination for fun, and history of magic was easy enough to teach to himself; with a ghost like Binns teaching, it was the only way to learn anything anyway. He had also decided to drop astronomy, as he had overheard that it didn’t really teach new things after the O.W.L. level.

That left defense, charms, transfiguration, potions, herbology, arithmancy, and ancient runes. Seven classes at a pre-mastery level.

He took a closer look. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he had potions and ancient runes, and on just Mondays and Wednesdays, in addition to potions and runes he had charms and transfiguration. It looked like he would be in class all day. Transfiguration was actually scheduled in the evening, for some reason. He would barely be able to make dinner, not that it was too big of a concern. He was not a big eater. And on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he had arithmancy, herbology, and defense.

The class blocks were all longer than he was used to, but this was N.E.W.T. level. Harry hoped he would be able to keep up.

As today was Monday, that meant he had runes from nine until lunch, and it was eight thirty now. Harry looked down at his plate, still half loaded with another piece of toast and some sausage, and decided that he had eaten enough for the moment. He picked up his bag and left; he could sit in the classroom and review some more before the professor arrived, considering Crouch had ruined his morning study session.

The classroom was empty, and he opened his book to finally achieve some peaceful reading time. At fifteen till, the door opened and Severus came in, accompanied by Tom Riddle, and they were talking in low voices. Was it about their dark study group? Harry couldn’t hear. The two sat together, with Severus sending Harry an apologetic look while Riddle was getting his book out. Harry smiled at him and went back to his own studying.

He wouldn’t hold it against Severus. He had heard that Riddle was rather forceful with his friends. They sat in the row in front of Harry, and to the right, with Riddle closest to Harry. Harry took the opportunity to briefly study Riddle over the top of his runes text, something he did occasionally on the rare occasions their seats were close enough together.

He was a handsome man, that much was obvious. His face was made of attractive angles, and his hair was light and fluffy, always styled into a classic wave over his head. Though he couldn’t see Riddle’s eyes from his position behind the duo, he knew they were a much more appealing dark brown than Crouch’s. It was no wonder that so many people, boys and girls alike, fawned over him. Riddle was also tall and lean, though not skinny, like Severus and Harry both were.

He had been all skin and bones, though, back when they were first years.

Severus caught him watching, and Harry ducked his eyes back to his book, feeling his face grow a red. Why was he watching Riddle of all people when he could be reading his runes text and its stimulating chapter on water-based summoning magic?

Because ancient runes was an elective, and very few people took it seriously enough to take it to pre-mastery level, there were only enough people to form one singular class. Harry had taken ancient runes with Tom Riddle and Severus every year since they were third years, since Ravenclaw and Slytherin were paired together for it, and normally Severus sat with Harry and Riddle sat with Draco Malfoy or his twin, Lucius. It looked like both of the Malfoys had dropped the program, though, as they never showed up.

Harry somehow, some way, ended up next to Hermione Granger, most likely because Turpin snatched up Patil as soon as the three of them walked in the door. Granger had flounced into the seat next to him and said loudly, “I thought you needed an exceeds expectations or higher to make it into this class.”

Harry felt his cheeks turn pink against his will, especially since he could feel Severus and Riddle looking over at the drama Hogwarts’ resident know-it-all was starting. Blushing twice in a ten minute period, what was wrong with him? He didn’t answer her, though. If Harry didn’t want to talk, he didn’t have to.

Granger huffed and turned around to talk to Padma and Turpin behind them. Anthony Goldstein arrived just seconds before nine, and Harry bemoaned the fact that, if he had given up his morning study time, he hopefully could have sat with the quiet boy instead.

Finally, Professor Babbling entered and started the class, and by the end Harry’s fingers were cramping up from his grip on his quill. It had basically been all three previous years of study crammed into one three hour block catch up period, and while yes Harry probably didn’t need to write it all down, he was a firm believer that writing things down engraved them into memory. Babbling hadn’t even asked any questions.

“Before we leave for the day,” Professor Babbling called out as students scrambled to pack up for lunch, “I want a three feet start-up essay on historical uses of the norse rune of your choosing. Due Friday. Dismissed.”

Harry got to his feet, ready to stretch his legs, when Severus joined him at his table.

“Well that was enlightening,” he said in his most deadpan tone. Harry grabbed his bag and they left the classroom together. He had no idea where Riddle had gone, but he didn’t care too much.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up if she keeps throwing lectures like that at us,” Harry said, feeling rather sad about it. Runes was one of his favorite subjects. “It was all stuff we knew already, and I felt like she was talking in a foreign language.”

“Runes are a foreign language,” Severus said, but Harry could sense the humor in it. “You’ll do fine. Most of our class didn’t even know what she was talking about.”

“You were watching people in class?” That didn’t sound like Severus. Harry’s friend was typically leaning so far over his work that his nose could touch the table. They started down the long hallway to the stairs that led to the great hall, not in any hurry. Both of them were quick eaters, the hour lunch period was plenty of time for them.

“No, but Riddle was,” Severus said. He hesitated, like he was about to say something else. It was so brief that anyone who didn’t know Severus would miss it. He stopped, though, and changed the subject. “I apologize for leaving you to Granger. It was not my intention.”

“Wasn’t your fault. She kept tutting at my notes, though.” Harry grinned at Severus, even though the other boy didn’t smile back.

“I can’t particularly blame her for it. Your handwriting is atrocious.”

“Not when I copy them into my journal,” Harry protested. “Only when I have to write fast to keep up.” Severus tipped his head in acknowledgement.

“You have charms after lunch, correct?” Harry nodded. “Riddle told me before runes that we shared that class with Ravenclaw. I’ll sit with you then?” Why was Severus so focused on Riddle?

“If you want to spend time with your new friends it’s fine, Severus,” Harry teased, and Severus frowned.

“They’re not my friends,” Severus said. “And to be frank I could use some time away from them. It’s strange, the way they expect to be around each other all of the time.”

“Like a cult,” Harry laughed, and this time Severus did seem to smile. They reached the entryway, but before they could enter, Granger called Harry’s name. She was standing to the side, and it almost seemed like she had been waiting for him.

Severus stopped, entirely prepared to go to Granger with him, but Harry waved him on.

“I’ll see you in Charms, yeah? Save me a seat.”

Snape nodded. “Of course. Don’t forget to eat lunch.” Harry walked over to Granger, who was actually tapping her foot at him. Maybe he should have brought Severus over, he could have made the girl cry and wouldn’t have felt bad about it after.

Harry would feel bad if he did it, but it might have been preferable to the irritation he felt at the sound of her schoolgirl Mary Jane’s hitting the stone floor.

“I need to talk to you about something,” she said and tucked a wild curl behind her small ear. It was a normal, human gesture, and seeing her act like a person gave Harry some additional patience.

Harry suddenly came to the conclusion that Granger was nervous to talk to him.

“Okay,” Harry said, and Granger rolled her eyes, seeming to get over nerves. Good. As much as Harry didn’t like Granger, there was no reason for her to be afraid.

“Not here,” she said, and walked away down the hall that ran parallel to the great hall. Harry followed, though at a slower pace. She needed him, not the other way around. They ended up in a fairly secluded alcove and again, Harry wished that Severus had come with him.

Granger took a deep breath. “So. I know you don’t like me. And that’s fine, really, it is.” Good, because she wasn’t doing well if she wanted him to change his mind. “I just need a favor from you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I want to- well, that is to say…” Was she blushing? What? Where was all that muggleborn confidence?

“Spit it out, Granger. I have a limited lunch break,” Harry said. He wondered if that was too mean, but when Granger got over her new stutter he found he didn’t care.

“I want your help to sit at Snape’s table in ancient runes!” she said, not quite yelling but Merlin, it was not said in a private tone of voice.

Granger had a thing for Severus? Harry’s mind went totally blank. What the f*ck?

“Why?” Harry asked, and that stupid blush was back on Granger’s face.

“Well, he’s, well. He’s handsome, of course, and he’s so smart, and-”

“You think Severus is handsome?” Harry couldn’t believe it. Well, he could, of course. Severus was his best friend, and he obviously wasn’t unattractive. He had a good forehead to face ratio, and his nose wasn’t as bad as Severus thought it was, and when he remembered to wash his hair after experimenting with potions it had a nice little wave to it-

“What?” Granger shrieked, and Harry winced, half tempted to cover his ears. “No, no, not Snape, oh Merlin, why would you even think that?”

“That’s not very nice,” Harry frowned at her, offended on behalf of the Slytherin, but Granger continued on, ignoring him.

“I want to sit next to Tom,” Hermione said at a relatively normal tone of volume. Thank Merlin for small mercies. “I want Snape’s spot at Tom’s table. That’s what I meant.”

“How am I supposed to help you do that?” Harry asked. It wasn’t like he knew Riddle. Why was Granger calling him by his first name? What inspired that level of familiarity?

“Well, I saw you talking to Severus, and thought perhaps we could switch seatmates. Because you don’t like me and all.”

She acted like she had been any more civil to him. It grated on Harry’s nerves. And what made her think Riddle liked her any better than Harry? He’d never seen them together, not even in the library, where all three of them tended to be in the same general study area.

“I can ask Severus, but he and Riddle are friends. I’m not sure either one of them will go for it.”

Granger again started messing with her hair. A predictable nervous tick. She should really get over that if she intended to go into magical law. The Slytherins would eat her alive.“If you can’t, I’ll understand, of course. I just figured there’s no harm in asking.” Then she walked away and Harry was quite frankly glad to see her go. He sighed and massaged his temples. Hopefully Riddle would go for it, maybe then Granger would stop thinking she could ask him things.

Remembering that he promised Severus to eat lunch, he followed his housemates’ path back to the great hall, never even noticing the tall Slytherin that watched him go.

Chapter 4: Chapter Four: Severus Introduces Harry to Tom Riddle, and Harry Would Really Rather Not

Chapter Text

Transfiguration, the only core class besides defense to be made up of all the classes, ended at seven, and thus the first day of Harry’s sixth year was coming to a close. Four classes, basically back to back. Runes, first, with the essay due on Friday. Then charms, where they were tasked with finding thirty uses for common household spells that weren’t among the obvious. Then, potions, where unfortunately the Ravenclaws were not paired with Slytherin, but Gryffindor. Probably a good idea, but Harry had been hoping that he could partner with his friend for the first time in awhile. Severus had a sixth sense for properties of potion ingredients, and a lifetime of caring for himself had made Harry a careful and precise individual. Luckily, Harry was paired with Goldstein rather than Granger or one of the loud lions. Or worse, Lily Evans. At least Evans wasn’t in Severus’ class. The class was assigned to research one of four potions that they had discussed in depth during the class period, and they had to write a two foot essay on it, due Wednesday.

Finally, transfiguration with all of the houses. Like in charms, Harry sat with Severus in the second row. McGonagall was one of the stricter professors, and from day one she had made it clear her classroom was not the place for ‘foolish wand waving.’

James Potter was in the class, along with two of his friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. The fourth member of their gang, Pettigrew, obviously hadn’t met the requirement, but Harry wasn’t concerned with Pettigrew. He hoped that the trio of lions wouldn’t be too disruptive.

McGonagall assigned them a two foot essay on one of the spells from chapter one, and Harry internally sighed. Essays weren’t his preferred homework assignment, and it looked like that was all the year would be. Perhaps he should order more ink for his quill.

Most of the class packed up in a hurry to reach the last few minutes of dinner, but Harry took his time. He wasn’t hungry, except to maybe scratch some of his assignments off of his to-do lists. He was hopeful it wouldn’t take too long, especially if he rushed through the charms list, and then he could perhaps work on something more interesting. Water runes, he sighed in his mind. He would definitely rather look further into water runes.

“I take it you are not going to dinner?” Severus asked, already packed up and standing from his seat. The Slytherin had spent the whole class looking at Evans out of the corner of his eye, and then trying to pretend like he was completely unaffected by her presence.

“No, I’ve got to finish some of these essays before things start piling up,” Harry said. He shoved the last two pieces of parchment he had been scribbling on into his bag. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“I find myself reluctant to go to the great hall,” Severus confessed. “I would rather go to the library. Would you like to join me?”

“Better than my common room,” Harry said honestly. One would think that the studious house would value quiet spaces, but aside from mandatory study times over the weekend, it was just as loud as other common areas. At least, as far as Harry knew. He hadn’t actually been in any other common rooms, though Severus had told him about it when he asked.

They walked in silence towards the library, and when they got there they claimed their favorite table and sat down, pulling out their homework. It was just past sunset, painting the sky a brilliant purple, and the lanterns of the library lit everything up with a comfortable glow. The dark wood of the tables and book cases smelled like paper and ink.

The first few times they had studied at this table without Evans had been hard. Awkward. Would Harry have considered the redhead a friend? Probably not, no, but aside from Severus she had been the closest.

He had ridden the Hogwarts Express with them as a first year, though he hadn’t really spoken. And because of the animosity of the Slytherins in their year, Severus had found himself more often than not sitting with him in their joint classes. Then, Severus and Lily had joined him at this very table, and somehow they had stuck together.

Evans was smart, nice, and most importantly she treated Severus well, compared to others in their year, so Harry hadn’t minded her presence. But she had her own prejudices from being raised in the muggle world that she refused to take a step back and reflect on, like Harry had constantly found himself doing. She absorbed her Gryffindor year-mates’ opinions on magic like a sponge, despite having been close friends with Severus for a year before arriving at Hogwarts. She didn’t really like Severus’ or Harry’s darker sense of humor, or how rude they could be.

Harry resented that. He wasn’t rude, he just knew who he did and did not want to associate with.

There had been a huge fight between Severus and Lily, just after O.W.L.s had officially ended. Severus and Harry were taking a walk near the lake, trying to stretch their legs and get some sunshine, when James Potter had rode in like the plague, snarking and tormenting in the blunt way that Gryffindors did.

Then James had dangled Severus by his leg, showing the Slytherin’s old underwear to what basically amounted to as seventy percent of the Hogwarts students. Harry had reacted and sent a tickling jinx at Potter to make him drop Severus, but then Lily was on the scene, trying to help, in the way that innocent children do, and Severus had snapped at her in the way that frightened animals did. Plus an offensive slur.

After all of the drama had settled back under the surface and Harry had spent hours just sitting on the floor of the abandoned seventh floor boy’s bathroom comforting his friend without being too empathetic or mushy, Harry told him that he had crossed a line, and Severus hadn’t said anything. He’d heard through the rumor mill that Severus had gone to Gryffindor Tower to apologize that night, but it clearly hadn’t worked, so he didn’t bother to bring it up.

This was actually their first study session where Severus hadn’t brought along Evans.

Harry sucked on the tip of his quill, thinking hard about his charms assignment. Thirty innovative uses of household spells… It was technically a challenging assignment, he supposed. Thirty was a high number, and Flitwick’s definition of innovative was up for debate, but Harry figured anything outside of the defined use for a charm would get credit.

“Do you suppose I could use the summoning of body parts in a duel?” Severus asked dryly, staring at his own paper.

“A summoning charm isn’t strictly a household charm,” Harry said. “Though, it is used in the house… I’d switch it to potions ingredients either way. Make it more palatable for the poor professor.”

Severus snorted. “He was a dueling champion, surely he can handle some forced amputation. If the victim acts quick enough, they could even reattach it.”

Harry squiggled down something about being able to, theoretically, use a mop drying spell during CPR, and asked Severus how much magic a person would have to put behind a summoning charm to rip a limb clean off. “It sounds like more trouble than it’s worth, you could definitely just use a cutting charm.” They had both written down that the cutting charm could be used for a number of things at the start of their session, though Severus had only counted it as one, whereas Harry had counted each individual use. He wouldn’t get a bad grade, and that was all that mattered, even if Severus gave him a dark look over it.

Before Severus could answer his question, they were both interrupted, and honestly even though it had been happening all day, Harry was still surprised. Mostly at the fact that it was Riddle and Lucius Malfoy.

“Severus,” Riddle said, and his voice was like chocolate. Harry would not shiver. He would not. “We missed you at dinner. It isn’t wise to skip meals.” Riddle’s eyes darted to look at Harry, and Harry pretended not to notice, going back to sucking on his quill and thinking of household spells. This had nothing to do with him.

“I apologize,” Severus said. “I was merely attempting to finish some assignments, I did not realize you desired my presence.” Harry wondered if he was the only one to hear the note of sarcasm in Severus’ voice. Probably not, Harry thought to himself upon seeing the barest strain form around Riddle’s eyes before it left, having existed only for a moment.

These people did seem like a cult. They couldn’t go one meal without their newest friend? Or toy, Harry amended, seeing the way Malfoy looked at Severus, like a cat waiting to pounce.

Then, Riddle turned to Harry and smiled. “I’m not sure we’ve been formerly introduced. I’m Tom Riddle.” He held out his hand and smiled, showing his perfectly white teeth. Harry felt like he was falling from his broom. His gut was clenching, and he felt his hands start to shake. He didn’t want to talk to Riddle, or Malfoy. They were both trouble. Too many people always had their eyes on them, on all of the fancy, upper crust Slytherins.

But Harry could not make himself be unpleasant to Riddle. It would look bad, and would certainly make him stand out in Riddle’s mind.

“Harry Potter,” he said, and cursed internally at how soft his voice sounded, but then excused it because he was in the library, it was expected to keep one’s voice down. There was nothing more to it. He shook Riddle’s hand and marveled at how much bigger the other boy’s hand seemed to be. Sure, there was a height and muscle difference, but Harry knew he didn’t have small hands.

Riddle probably would make a good piano player, was Harry’s first thought. Harry himself, with his perfectly average fingers, struggled to reach some of the keys.

Harry slid his hand out of Riddle’s grasp and went back to his charms homework, but then the unthinkable occurred.

Riddle sat down. Next to him. Harry discreetly looked out the window, but everything still looked normal. There was no apocalypse going on in the physical world, then, just in Harry’s brain.

Go away! A part of him wanted to yell at the two Slytherins as Lucius Malfoy sat down next to Severus.

Run away! A part of him was telling himself. Go back to the common room! Go to your dorm room! Just go!

“And how do you know Severus?” Riddle asked, leaning his chin into his palm in a completely casual way. How could anyone pull off photo shoot poses in a normal conversation? Was this part of the dark arts that he would be teaching Severus?

Pull it together, Harry, he told himself, trying to catch his breath without anyone noticing that he had ran out in the first place. They’re just sitting. Nobody’s watching you. Nobody except Riddle. And Malfoy. And Severus. Nobody else in the library had even looked over, which was actually kind of strange, as Riddle tended to garner appreciative looks wherever he went.

Harry was taking too long to answer.

“We met on the Hogwarts Express when we were first years,” Severus said, dipping his cheap white quill into his ink pot and writing out another use of household charms. His voice dragged Harry back to reality, though it still felt like he was barely treading water.

“I see,” Riddle said, but he didn’t stop watching Harry. “So you and Severus have been friends for a while now.”

“A few years, yes,” Harry said. A lawn trimming charm, Harry suddenly thought, and scrawled it onto his paper. Good for dealing with… household pests, and one versus many duels. If one intended to go for the ankles.

“Why haven’t you mentioned Potter before, Snape?” Malfoy asked. Harry glanced up and met brutal silver eyes, not much like the stormy gray of his twin, Draco. Lucius Malfoy was a much more reserved force than his younger brother. Draco was a bit of a drama queen, and Severus had told him there was an inside joke that he should have ended up in Gryffindor, what with his flair for theatrics and attention. Lucius was the more dangerous of the two, if one could call a sixteen year old dangerous.

“It never seemed particularly important,” Severus said. That, and Harry didn’t want to be talked about, and Severus was kind enough to respect his privacy.

Suddenly, Harry was struck by how stupid he was being. These were Severus’ new friends. They didn’t care about him, they cared about what Severus was up to. And even if Riddle’s staring was about him, it wasn’t an actual issue. Riddle had nothing on Harry, knew nothing about him. They had never even spoken, except for in their first year, when Harry had let him out of a closet some older students had locked him in.

Looking at the boy now, five years older, a direct descendant of Slytherin and the star of his house, Harry didn’t recognize the boy he had pulled out of a cramped broom cupboard, and he knew Riddle didn’t remember him anyway. He relaxed and picked his charms homework up, spelling the ink dry even though he was only halfway done.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Harry lied through his teeth, smiling innocently at the three snakes. “I’m going to bed. Have to be up early for arithmancy in the morning.” He most definitely was not going to bed. He hadn’t done enough homework to earn his free reading time. But he was willing to move locations so that Severus could talk to his friends.

“Goodnight, Potter,” Riddle said, his voice making the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Harry did not turn around to respond, just kept walking out of the library.

Riddle’s presence was like honey, sweet yet sticky. Harry was not a fly, though, and he wasn’t about to get trapped. Besides, Harry didn’t like honey anyway.

Chapter 5: Chapter Five: Ancient Runes Seating Charts

Chapter Text

In spite of moving to his least favorite study space in the Ravenclaw common room, and Crouch Junior deciding to sit and do homework with him, Harry managed to get a good chunk of his assignments done. It wasn’t too difficult when Harry wasn’t trying to do well. He had gone to bed while Crouch was still working, and though his classmate frowned suspiciously at him, Crouch didn’t say anything. Just like he hadn’t said anything for the hours they had sat together.

Harry flopped down on his blue four poster bed. None of the other Ravenclaws were there yet, probably still working on things. The day had been a long one, and Harry found himself reflecting on Crouch some. Perhaps Harry’s display of wandless magic had scared him, or hurt him? Harry didn’t want to hurt Crouch. At the time, he had, but now he just felt guilty. Crouch obviously had some problems at home that caused him to lash out irrationally. Could Harry’s stinging hex be counted as lashing out irrationally? No, Harry decided, because Crouch had physically prevented Harry from leaving. He had been provoked into action, and even if Harry regretted his actions, nobody was allowed to touch him. That was even worse than the constant social interactions.

Harry closed the curtains around his bed and pulled out his runes book, excited to do something academically stimulating. Not that his assignments weren’t interesting. They just weren’t all that difficult. Even if Harry wasn’t holding back, he guessed that it would have only taken him another two hours to finish with something more respectable to turn in.

Harry thought for a second that perhaps, being a sixth year, he could let go a little bit. Put more time into his school work, get some good grades. But then, he thought, those two extra hours of work per day would add up eventually. How much of his free time would he be sacrificing, and for what? The jealousy of his peers, perhaps even suspicion at this point?

Harry didn’t need outstanding O.W.L.s, though he had gotten them anyway. That was enough of stretching his mental capacity. What Harry needed was to go to Hogsmeade. The owner of Topalo’s Tomes, Margo Iggerd, had told him before he left for the summer that she would be on the lookout for some Egyptian translations, and he was interested to see if she had found anything. Harry was hopeful that he could get a job working at the defunct bookstore after graduation, to dip his toes into the industry.

He heard the soft thumping of trainers against carpeted stairs, and someone entered the dorm room, immediately shuffling over to the bathroom. It was Goldstein; years of sharing a room, and of being a private person, had tuned Harry into the sounds of his dorm mates’ footsteps. Harry leaned back onto his pillow and picked up his reading. He would go to bed soon, but there was still time to get lost in the ebb and flow of water inscribing.

Severus met up with him in the morning, during Harry’s traditional pre-breakfast studying. There were a few sixth and seventh years about, but it was definitely very empty. Most students were still adjusting from their summer sleep schedule. Harry was looking at his charms list again, even though he had finished it soon after leaving the library the previous night. He was reconsidering his choice not to condense like-minded charms and uses. Was he putting too little effort into the assignment? He wanted to fly under the radar, but that also meant not failing, as that would definitely attract attention. Ravenclaws don’t fail, for one, and two, everyone in Hogwarts knew the real bottom of the barrel students.

“You didn’t have to leave last night,” Severus said. He was putting the finishing touches on the runes assignment and didn’t even look up from his stack of parchment. “They didn’t stay very long.”

“They’re your friends,” Harry argued, and determined that he would combine two of his bigger connecting bits, and make up the seven that would be reduced. That was good enough for an exceeds expectations. A bit high for what he normally went for, but it was N.E.W.T. level. An acceptable would probably stick out a little, too. Not to mention that a part of Harry really didn’t want Flitwick to be disappointed in him. Harry didn’t mind disappointing his other professors, if they even bothered to care, but Flitwick had always been good to Harry.

“You’re my friend,” Severus said, still not looking up, but his bluntness regarding personal feelings made Harry look at his greasy best friend. “I thought you didn’t mind me furthering my relationship with the other Slytherins?”

Harry shook away, stray pieces of messy black hair tickling the sides of his face with the movement. “I don’t. I just…”

“Don’t want to be involved?” Severus completed Harry’s sentence, and the Ravenclaw nodded. Severus put down his quill. “I don’t expect you to be involved, or become best friends with them. I also don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But as I told you yesterday, they move in groups. I’m not too sure how often we’ll get to spend time together without someone else around.”

Harry tried not to let that bother him too much. It wasn’t like he was losing his best friend, but it seemed kind of like he was getting the short end of the stick.

“Besides,” Severus said. “I didn’t figure you would mind Riddle’s presence too much.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?” He had definitely never said anything along those lines to Severus. They had rarely talked about Riddle, unless Severus was talking about his year mates or the two were discussing classes.

Severus leveled Harry with a look that said, are you really going to make me say it? Harry didn’t understand it, but speaking about Riddle suddenly reminded Harry of the conversation he had had with Granger.

“By the way, I forget to tell you what Granger wanted,” Harry said. Severus huffed, and if he were an easier going man he probably would have rolled his eyes. Harry didn’t know why, but didn’t let it bother him. Severus was weird. “She wants your seat in runes. Has a thing for Riddle, apparently.”

Severus actually groaned and rubbed his pale face with his palms, for once looking exactly like a sixteen year old. “Of course she does.”

“So, will you? Switch seats, I mean.”

“I know what you meant,” Severus said, and Harry gave him an apologetic smile. Severus hated unclear speech. “Riddle won’t go for it. He can’t stand her.”

“Really? Drama in the class rankings?” The idea made Harry want to laugh, and Severus looked like he did, too.

“Nothing as interesting. He just thinks she’s overeager, and her intelligence is superficial at best.” Ouch. Harry might not have liked Granger, but the girl had seemed really gone on Riddle. She was a person, anyway.

Harry debated telling Severus about Crouch, but decided against it. If Crouch bothered him again, he would, but it wasn’t worth bothering his friend over. Instead, Harry asked when his new study group would start meeting, and the two passed the rest of the morning in easy silence, with Severus halfheartedly working on his transfiguration homework.

The day passed, thankfully, with nobody bothering him. He went to arithmancy alone because Severus had dropped it, and the class was small enough that the students all got a two-person table to themselves. Now that Harry knew about Granger’s affections for Riddle and their lack of reciprocation, it was kind of funny to watch Granger watch Riddle every time the handsome prefect raised his hand. Funny, and yet Harry felt guilt stirring in his stomach. He would have to come up with an excuse for why Severus wasn’t going to trade seats that didn’t hurt Granger’s feelings.

If Severus found out Harry was trying to spare the girls’ crush, he would have told Harry he was way too soft.

Riddle never looked at Granger once, though there was a time or two that Harry thought Riddle was looking his way. He never caught the Slytherin in the act, and so he ignored it, hoping that he was just overly paranoid.

Harry skipped lunch to run to the greenhouses for herbology with the Gryffindors, where he sat with the hesitant and twitchy Neville Longbottom, and then he had no time to shower before defense, so he just cast a freshening charm on himself and went to sit with Severus. Harry went to dinner alone, then to the library alone, and then to his dorm where he showered and brushed his teeth and read the next book in his stack, all alone. And he relished in it. While Severus’ presence during his study session was missed, he enjoyed the feeling of not having to speak. He had finished the newly assigned homework with record timing, and he got to read his book on the differences between muggle Greek myth and magical Greek myth. An interesting topic, for sure, though without much practical application. But who needed things to be practical all of the time?

Things were boring and predictable, the way Harry preferred them, until Harry found himself walking behind Severus and Riddle to runes on Wednesday morning because of his late start to breakfast. Neither of them even noticed he was there until Riddle opened the heavy classroom door and blinked in surprise when he had to hold it open for Harry as well.

It was almost cute, seeing Riddle off of his perfectly controlled expressions for the barest moment, until the suspicious smile from Monday night flashed again and Harry remembered that this was the Lord of the Snakes he was dealing with. Definitely not cute. Severus turned to look, and the three entered the classroom together. Granger was already there, reading ‘Hogwarts, A History’ for the thousandth time, and Harry mentally sighed at the idea of telling the girl that she couldn’t have something she wanted. Granger struck him as the type to shoot the messenger. She hadn’t seen them come in.

As Harry started to move to his desk, a greasy head of black hair moved quickly passed him, though not without shooting a look at the Ravenclaw that could have meant a number of things. See what I do for you, or perhaps, can you believe what I have to put up with, or even, you owe me big time. None of those things could have been it, though, because Harry had no idea what he had done to make Severus steal his seat and sit next to Granger.

That feeling of pity reared its head in Harry again when Granger lifted her head, at first looking excited but then horrified. She glared at Harry and he felt like he had turned to stone, completely unable to move, until there was a slight nudge at his elbow as Riddle went to his regular table and sat down. He smiled at Harry again, and Harry could sense genuine amusem*nt, though he had no idea what there was to be happy about.

Harry slipped into the seat next to Riddle, although reluctantly. But class was about to start, and all of the other seats were taken. He sat as far away from the Slytherin as he could, almost falling out of his chair, and though Riddle didn’t make any noise Harry got the feeling he was being laughed at.

Riddle leaned in to whisper to Harry, and all of the Ravenclaw’s muscles tensed up. A headache was forming behind Harry’s temples.

“They’re a cute couple, don’t you think?” Riddle said under his breath, then straightened up as Babbling strode into the classroom.

What? Who? He couldn’t possibly be talking about Severus and Granger, the both were absolutely disgusted with the situation. He felt eyes watching him. It felt like every single person in the classroom was right over his shoulder, and Harry could not fight the blush he was sure was on his face.

Wait. Wait. Just Monday, Harry himself had thought Granger had a thing for Severus. But it was so ridiculous, so out there. Granger was nowhere in Severus’ league. And Riddle hated Granger! Severus had said so! So then why- Oh, Merlin. Riddle had been there. He must have heard Granger and Harry’s conversation. There was no other rational reason behind this.

Harry tried his best to look at Riddle without turning his head. The Slytherin was watching Babbling write the lesson plan on the blackboard, but his lips were turned into an amused smile, but with an edge of mischief. Cute? Harry thought to himself. Definitely not. Handsome though. Oh, yes.

Harry snapped back to the blackboard, his blush even worse. How the hell had he convinced Severus to go along with this? This was a disaster. It had just been a misunderstanding, when Harry had been talking with Hermione, and now Severus was probably angry at him if Riddle had told him about it.

Professor Babbling finished writing out the lesson schedule on the board, and Harry pulled out some blank pieces of parchment and his textbook, still trying to stay at the very edge of the table. It was just a few hours, Harry said to himself and repeated, like a mantra. Anyone can live through a few hours. And then, if Severus wouldn’t switch back, there were a number of girls in the class who would die for a seat next to Riddle. This would only be for the one class.

Harry took a deep breath and willed his face to return to its nature pallor. One class, a few hours, then he could run and hide under his bed for the lunch hour and pull himself back together. He could make a plan, a good plan, one that would take into consideration how Severus’ new connections affected him because obviously he wasn’t going to get to continue like he had been.

A new plan. Harry could handle that. Harry was good at planning.

Chapter 6: Chapter Six: Enter James Potter, Owl

Chapter Text

Harry did not get to make a new plan over the lunch period, because the universe was conspiring against him. Riddle hadn’t said a thing all class, aside from answering some of Babbling’s questions about purposeful stroke placement when it came to rune design, but as soon as class was over he invited Harry to sit at the Slytherin table with himself and Severus.

“I wasn’t intending on going to lunch today, actually,” Harry said, proud of how smooth his voice was. While it was not against the rules, per say, to eat at different house tables, it was generally not done. Severus raised an eyebrow at Harry, but didn’t say anything, and Harry was hopeful that it meant Severus was not actually mad at him.

“Regular meals are important,” Riddle said. Harry was getting tired of that devilish smile, but that also meant that Harry was developing immunity.

“I have some food in my room, “ Harry said, which was not a lie.

“Likely nothing healthy,” Riddle said back. Was this banter? Was Harry bantering with Riddle? This had to stop.

Harry could feel Granger’s eyes like cold steel against the back of his neck. She was waiting for him, right outside the door. Like a cat, ready to pounce. Harry needed a distraction, or maybe a meat shield. He looked at Riddle’s impressively tall height, and then at Severus’ impenetrable eyes, and thought that these two snakes would do.

“I’ll go to lunch,” Harry said. Riddle’s eyes glittered, and Severus’ narrowed at how quickly he changed his mind. “But I’m going to eat at my own table.” He left the runes classroom, confident that the two men would be right on his tail and he wouldn’t have to talk to Granger for more than a moment.

The muggleborn looked furious. Her button nose was all scrunched up, and her hair was even curlier and wilder than normal, frizzing up like her magic was electrifying in. Merlin, it was just a ridiculous crush, there was no reason to start planning his murder over it.

“What was that?” She hiss-whispered. “I told you, I wanted to sit with Riddle, not with-” Before she could finish railing into Harry, Riddle and Severus exited the room, and her mouth sealed up.

“Hello, Granger,” Riddle said, and while he was not physically laughing, Harry could tell he was spiritually laughing at the girl. His aura was cackling, and it was kind of mean-spirited. Harry would have felt bad for Granger, except she had been about to stab him with her wand, magic be damned, and also it didn’t look like she was picking up on Riddle’s mocking. “Fascinating class, wasn’t it? N.E.W.T. level is much more immersive, and it’s only been a few days.”

“Yes, absolutely, it’s been completely amazing!” Granger said, and then she giggled. Harry was disgusted, and Severus looked like he might throw up. “Perhaps we could study together? I’d love to hear your thoughts…”

“Maybe, if I have time,” Riddle said smoothly. “I’m in quite a number of classes this year.”

“Eight, I’ve heard!” Granger’s face is shining and blushing at the same time. “The most out of all of the sixth and seventh years! I’m only taking seven myself.” A bitter, dark part of Harry’s mind wishes he hadn’t dropped Astronomy, just to one up the girl.

It feels so strange for Harry to be in such a big group just standing in the middle of a hall and talking. Especially considering Harry only knows and gets along with one of them. Is this how other Hogwarts students interact with each other? Maybe Harry has spent too much time only socializing in the dark corners of the library.

The weird group of four walked to the great hall, with Harry strategically keeping a humorless Severus between himself, Granger, and Riddle. Granger didn’t notice, too occupied with staring at Riddle’s cheekbones. She was completely besotted. Harry had thought she was a bit more dignified, though to be fair, Riddle was being the perfect gentleman. A regular old prince charming.

When they got to the great hall, Riddle had turned to Harry once again. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us for lunch?” he asked, and he sounded perfectly sincere. Harry could do that, too.

“No, sorry,” Harry said, eyes darting to the Ravenclaw table. He was struck by inspiration when he saw his new stalker sitting and enjoying a sandwich. “I’m going to eat with Barty today.” Hah, see, a first name. Familiarity. A totally believable lie.

Except not to Severus. Harry pointedly did not look at him, not willing to face the incredulous raised eyebrow, and instead he fast-walked to the Ravenclaw. He could barely overhear Granger eagerly offer to eat with Riddle.

Harry slid onto the bench next to Crouch and ladled some soup into a bowl. Something warm and hearty and full of autumn taste, despite the fact that it still felt way too much like summer outside.

Crouch, fortunately, did not raise an eyebrow, for whatever reason. “Are you prepared for charms today?” he asked, taking a sip of water. His sandwich smelled like mustard, even from Harry’s distance. Harry briefly regretted not sitting at the Slytherin table.

“As prepared as one can be, I suppose.” Harry ate some mouthfuls of soup, then pushed the bowl away to grab a bunch of grapes from the fruit platter. It wasn’t that Harry purposefully didn’t like eating, it was just that he didn’t see a point in it. He preferred things he could eat with one hand. Like grapes. Or sandwiches that didn’t have mustard or other things he didn’t like.

“What kind of things did you put on your list?” So Harry talked with Crouch until it was time for charms, and it pained him, but not as bad as usual. Probably because he was successfully avoiding an even more evil option.

Was Riddle himself evil? Harry couldn’t be sure. He had spent years pointedly ignoring the guy. The way he made Harry feel, as if he didn’t actually have a brain and was instead piloted by pudding- that was evil.

Harry walked with Crouch to class, with the other guy still talking about his charms list. Yes, Harry had definitely done average on his homework assignment, but Crouch was still impressed with some of the things Harry had written down. Hopefully Flitwick was less easy to wow.

James Potter and Sirius Black were hanging by the door, which made Crouch’s hackles rise and Harry wished for a better meat shield.

Potter and Black weren’t Harry’s favorite people, mostly because of how flashy and loud they were, but they honestly didn’t bother Harry unless he happened to be around Severus. Potter just didn’t know what to do with his classmate that shared his last name and messy hair, and Harry didn’t bother.

Harry knew for a fact that Potter’s parents had told their son to leave him alone.

Potter nudged Black when he saw Harry and Crouch walking towards the classroom.

“Potter,” the other Potter said in an even tone. “Can I talk to you, for just a moment?” Crouch hesitated, and Harry was unreasonably touched that the guy was unwilling to leave Harry alone with a known prankster and somewhat bully, especially since Harry and Crouch barely knew each other.

“Sure,” Harry said. At this point, Harry figured that he should accept his fate in having to talk to people he didn’t want to. There had to be a finite amount of year-beginning conversations before people went back to ignoring him. The faster he blew through them, the better.

Black waited by the door and followed Crouch in. Potter and Harry walked just a few feet away from the door.

“My parents told me to give this to you,” Potter said, thrusting a fancy, official envelope into Harry’s hands. “I don’t know what it’s about, so don’t ask, but if you want to respond you’ll have to use the school owls.”

“Will do,” Harry said. He put the letter, with all of it’s perfect white corners, into his pocket, secretly hoping he would crinkle it. There was just something about perfect, fancy, pureblood things that made him want to pour entire inkwells on them.

Potter blinked, and Harry got the idea that he’d been hoping Harry would open it right then. Potter wanted to know what the letter was about. Harry refused. It wasn’t any of his business.

“Class is about to start,” Harry said, and turned around on his heel, sliding into his seat next to Severus just as Flitwick called to order.

“Crouch?” Severus whispered.

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry said. Potter came in, and Flitwick tutted, telling the Gryffindor that every second counted. The letter weighed heavily in his pocket. What could Lord and Lady Potter want from him now? He hadn’t done anything.

At least Severus didn’t know that Potter had talked to him. With the recentness of Evans’ dissolving of friendship bonds, the Slytherin would not have taken it well. Depending on the contents of the letter, Harry might tell him anyway. Honesty was the best policy, especially when you were friends with a Slytherin. The truth was the greatest gift one could give them.

After class, Harry rushed to potions, barely saying goodbye to Severus. He got to the dungeon classroom before Slughorn or any other sixth years arrived, so he hastily pulled the letter out of his pocket and ripped open the seal.

Mr. Potter, it opened in ornate writing. Lady Potter and I request your presence in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office this Saturday morning at nine o’clock. Please, do not be late. It was signed by Lord Potter.

Harry sighed, frustrated at the lack of information and put the letter back in his pocket, leaning against the wall. Saturday. It was only Wednesday. He would have to go an entire half a week without knowing what was going on, and he had only received mail from the Potter family twice in his life, after he had met them in his first year.

The moment McGonagall had called his name for sorting, people had been curious about Harry. They whispered behind his back everywhere he went, calling him a bastard. They came up to his face and called him a bastard. It felt like eyes were always on him, crawling across his skin like co*ckroaches, and James Potter himself had even stood on a table in the great hall and loudly yelled that Harry was nothing more than a pathetic orphan, that they weren’t related in any way, shape, or form. At Harry’s current place in life, he could understand that it hadn’t been truly personal. James had been a child, under a lot of pressure that he didn’t understand, and he had snapped and blamed Harry.

Lord and Lady Potter had come to Hogwarts themselves, after Harry’s existence had been written about in the Daily Prophet. They had taken Harry to Gringotts, where he’d taken a lineage test and it was revealed that Harry was the son of Lord Potter’s older brother, Charlus Potter, and some French witch that Harry hadn’t gotten the name of.

But Harry didn’t want to think about it, or the contract he had signed for the Potters, or how it had influenced his entire life so far. Slughorn rounded the corner, walking slowly. He opened up the door without even seeing Harry, and Harry liked it that way. Things had worked out for the best. Nobody called Harry names anymore, and certainly nobody was standing on tables to rag on him. It was a drama-free life, and all Harry had had to do, was sign a contract.

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: Harry is Tempted to Hire A Mercenary to Shut Crouch Sr. Up

Chapter Text

On Saturday, when Harry went down to breakfast, he was in a bad mood. The rest of the week had passed peacefully, even if Harry hadn’t been able to get a different Runes partner, or get Severus to tell him why he was now sitting with Riddle. Luckily, Harry had devised a perfect system for getting out of the classroom before Riddle could talk to him. And he now came to class right as the bell was ringing, so Riddle couldn’t talk to him before, either.

That system was basically packing his stuff up five minutes before class ended. Babbling hadn’t noticed on Friday, but Riddle had, and it only made the Slytherin not-laugh worse, but Harry didn’t care, so long as he didn’t have to speak. The taller boy had taken up staring at Harry’s runes notes, but they were just what Babbling was covering in class. Nothing special.

If Riddle really wanted to know what Harry was studying runes for, he’d have to somehow get Harry’s notebook, which he kept securely in his trunk at all times, unless he was writing in it.

Harry had a suspicion that Severus had been talking about him since that evening in the library, but Harry wasn’t about to start pointing fingers, especially since his time with Severus was limited. It felt like every time he got to see Severus, they only were alone for about five minutes before any number of Slytherins showed up, more often than not led by Riddle himself. Harry always left as quickly as was polite.

Harry had successfully avoided Riddle for years, the other Slytherins even longer because of their hatred for muggleborns, which Harry for all purposes was to them.

It wasn’t like Harry was lonely. For some reason he had a new barnacle attached to him that called itself Barty, but Harry continuously refused that level of familiarity. “You can follow me around,” Harry had said reluctantly, “but I’m still calling you Crouch.”

“Okay, Harry,” Crouch had said pointedly, and Harry let his head fall onto the library table. Harry got the feeling that Crouch didn’t actually have any friends, even though he was smart and okay-looking. Maybe it was the manic look that the boy got on his face when he talked about something he was interested in.

Anyway, Harry was in a bad mood. He’d had to talk to way too many people, and though he had stayed on top of his homework, it was weighing heavily on him. Plus, the stress of this upcoming meeting.

He picked around at his oatmeal. He knew he hadn’t been eating enough. Severus normally reminded him when he had skipped too many meals, or when he wasn’t getting enough nutrients. He ate a few spoonfuls, but couldn’t make himself swallow any more. Hopefully his appetite would return by the end of his meeting.

Eventually the time came for him to head to Dumbledore’s office, so he left the great hall, only to run into the devil himself.

“Hello, Potter,” Riddle said, smiling like a shark, all sharp teeth and dark eyes. “I didn’t know you were a morning person?” Sometimes it seemed like only one percent of Hogwarts was capable of getting up before ten if they didn’t have to. Harry had seen Riddle in the great hall frequently before most others had gotten up.

Harry wasn’t surprised Riddle hadn’t noticed him back, though he wished it was still that way.

“I, ah, have a meeting,” Harry said, bumbling over his words like an idiot. He looked down at his shoes. They were new, his old trainers had finally given out.

“A meeting,” Riddle repeated, drawing the word out slowly. “So early on a Saturday? It must be important.”

“It must be,” Harry agreed quietly, then realized he was being drawn into a very public conversation in the very public great hall entrance, so he nodded his head, still not looking Riddle in the eye, and started walking off.

He was followed by the tapping of Riddle’s expensive Oxfords. Pretentious.

“Where is this meeting of yours?” Riddle asked him, easily keeping up with Harry’s steps.

“You should head to breakfast,” Harry said. He tried to speed up, but Riddle still kept up without any extra effort. “There were omelets. And fresh grapefruit.” Riddle seemed like the type to enjoy grapefruit.

“Breakfast doesn’t end until ten thirty on weekends,” Riddle said. “Are we going to Dumbledore’s office?”

We aren’t going anywhere, Harry thought. “Your friends might be waiting for you.”

“They don’t wake up until at least nine. Why are you meeting with Dumbledore?”

“I’m not meeting with Dumbledore,” Harry said. He didn’t bother saying anything else about breakfast, mostly because they arrived at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. Harry realized he didn’t know the password; he’d only been to the headmaster’s domain the one time.

Riddle stood by, smirking. “Do you need some help?” he asked.

“No,” Harry said stubbornly. Dumbledore used theme passwords, right? What was the theme? If he could guess that, he could definitely get the portal to open. Was it breakfast foods? No, that was what he had been talking to Riddle about. A one-sided conversation on both sides. Ice cream flavors! No, no. Close, but no.

“I’ll tell you what the password is if you tell me what your meeting is about,” Riddle offered.

“Why would I do that, when I can just wait for someone to come down and open it?” That was a dumb idea.

“But then you’d be late.” Riddle stepped close to Harry, and Harry stubbornly didn’t move. “I know how much you hate to be late, Harry.”

Shocked, Harry looked up from Riddle’s Slytherin tie, impeccably knotted near his throat, to Riddle’s face. There seemed to be shards of ruby in Riddle’s eyes, and they were just so focused on Harry’s face.

This just proved Severus had been talking about him, but why did Riddle care so much? And why was Riddle using Harry’s first name now?

It felt like the two of them were the only people in the whole castle, when Riddle held Harry’s gaze like that. Not even the moving paintings could burst this strange bubble.

Riddle leaned forward slightly, looking even closer into Harry’s green eyes. “The password,” he said lowly, “is chocolate cauldrons.”

“Candy!” Harry said suddenly, and Riddle straightened back up, eyes wide in surprise. Harry turned red, instantly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I had been trying to remember what the headmaster used as passwords…” Harry looked down at his shoes, but looked up again once Riddle made a choking sound.

Riddle was...laughing? Physically laughing, this time, with one hand in front of his mouth and his eyes sparkling and his stupid, perfect hair was actually slightly out of place, with one piece of thick, dark brown hair falling across his forehead.

“I apologize,” Riddle said, trying to pull himself together. Harry simultaneously wished he would hurry it up, and also never stop laughing, even if it was at his expense. He did stop, though, and he ran one hand through his hair, pulling the stray piece back into place. “Well, now you know the password. I’ll see you later, and you can hold up your end of the deal.” Riddle winked, Merlin, and left, going back to the great hall. Harry was still stuck in place, hearing that laugh echo around him, before he remembered.

What deal? Harry hadn’t agreed to anything. But Riddle was too far away for Harry to say anything, and Harry didn’t think he had it in him to interact with Riddle anymore for the rest of his life. Not now that he had seen a genuine expression on his handsome face.

Stop thinking about how pretty he is, Harry! The Ravenclaw shouted in his head and turned around, giving the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office the password. He stepped onto the stairs as they twirled upwards into the tower. Harry tried his best to clear his mind. He would need his wits about him, and he would definitely need to not think about Riddle at all.

Not Harry’s strong point at the moment.

Lord and Lady Potter. Fleamont Potter and Eunice Potter. They were the picture of pureblood excellence, except with an added touch of Gryffindor warmth and bluntness. They had never been mean or rude to Harry, despite what he represented. Lord Potter wore red and blue robes, the colors of his family, and Eunice wore elegant purple robes, lined with silk. They both wore expensive but tasteful jewelry, and the Potter lordship ring stood out on Lord Potter’s thumb.

Harry could probably buy the wayhouse he lived in with what he could pawn that ring for.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, twiddling his old wrinkled fingers. His blue eyes shone with intelligence, and his robes today had revolving golden moons and suns against a deep navy color. They seemed to match the unique instruments spattered across his office, though they likely wouldn’t match anything else in the universe.

“Harry,” Lady Potter said warmly. “You’ve grown so much taller.” She stayed in her chair, and so did the two men in the office. The snarky side of Harry’s mind wanted to snip and say that obviously he had grown, they hadn’t seen him since he was a first year.

“Still a bit short, though, aren’t you?” Lord Potter said in his good-natured way.

“Yes sir,” Harry said, and the Lord gestured to the only empty seat left on their side of Dumbledore’s desk. At least they didn’t appear angry, Harry thought to himself as he sat slowly down into the armchair.

Lord Potter laughed, and Harry noticed that he sounded a lot like his son. “No need to be so formal, Harry. We just wanted to talk.”

Lady Potter nodded eagerly. “We heard about your O.W.L. results from a family friend. Mr. Crouch. Do you know who he is?”

Crouch Senior? What did that old man want from Harry? Why was he so insistent on ruining Harry’s life by telling people his scores?

“I know his son,” Harry said. He held his hands firmly in his lap. Too firmly, it would give away his increasing anxiety. Harry couldn’t bring himself to loosen up, though. He was worried that if he tried, he’d start shaking all over. “I’m sorry, I thought that because O.W.L. records weren’t common knowledge, it would be okay if I…”

“We’re not upset about it, Harry,” Lady Potter said, reaching over to place a comforting hand on his knobby knee. Dumbledore watched the proceedings with a careful eye. “You are right, they aren’t public, and we could never begrudge you trying to secure yourself a decent living after school.”

“That’s why we’re here, actually,” Lord Potter said. “We thought we could have another meeting to talk about your post-graduation plans. The contract we had you sign applied mostly to your Hogwarts years, so we figured we could update it, so that way you could pursue your dreams, and our family could continue on as normal.”

After they had given Harry a lineage test at Gringotts when Harry was eleven, the pair had taken him to the ice cream store in Diagon Alley, Fortescue’s, and had presented Harry with the contract that now dictated most of Harry’s life, though he didn’t object much.

The idea was, Harry would not draw attention to himself. He would not cause issues for James. He would deny being related to the Potters in any way. They needed to keep their reputation clean, they had told him. They were doing a lot of political work, and a scandal like Harry could threaten the years of progress they had made in the name of the light. Not to mention, if it came out that Harry was actually the son of the eldest Potter brother, there would be some that would call for Harry to inherit the lordship. The Potters had told them how much work and training went into it, training that James had been receiving for his entire life. It was way too much work for a muggle-raised child to catch up on.

And in return for his agreement, the Potters gave Harry a sizable stipend each month so that Harry could live the way he wanted to. Harry hadn’t given much thought into signing, either, considering that the attention Harry had been given until that point had done nothing but cause him trouble and give him nightmares.

So the Potters forged a fake lineage result test with some ancient pureblood trick used to disguise bastard children, and things settled down.

And Harry stopped doing well in class.

“Well,” Harry said slowly. “Eventually, I wanted to own a bookstore. I think I’ve got a job working in acquisitions lined up, down in Hogsmeade, but I’m waiting until the next Hogsmeade weekend to go confirm.”

Lady Potter clapped her hands in joy. “Excellent!” she said, and Harry yearned for more of her approval, preferably with something that was deserving of it. Not just agreeing to stay in the shadows for the rest of their life. “That’s a sound idea, Harry, I love it. And you’ll be so good at it, too. It’s a quiet job.”

“Yes,” Lord Potter said, smiling warmly. Sometimes, Harry wondered if his own father resembled the Potter Lord, with his laugh lines and hazel eyes. Then Harry would shake it off. Charlus Potter was dead. “I’m willing to offer you something, Harry, and I’m hopeful that you’ll be smart enough to accept.” Harry nodded. “If you’re willing to continue this way in your adult life, to continue to not attract attention, to not admit to being a Potter, I will give you the money to buy your shop, once you’ve had enough training.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. His eyesight went out of focus, and his ears seemed to be filled with bees. Buy him a store? Harry had been saving half of his stipend since third year, hoping to save enough money… But if the Potters were willing to buy one for him, he wouldn’t have to go for the cheapest option. He could use his saved money for shelves, furniture, hiring help…

“No interest, no paying it back, nothing. Just a good faith gift.” Lord Potter was smiling at him, and Harry would have felt like a charity case if it weren’t for how fast his heart was beating. Lord Potter had baited the hook, and Harry needed to decide if he wanted to bite.

“What do you think, Harry?” Lady Potter moved her finely manicured hand up to Harry’s shoulder. Was this how his own mother would have treated him, if she were alive? With soft touches and kind voices?

“I’m interested,” Harry said, and everyone in the room, including Dumbledore, grinned at him.

“Perfect,” Lord Potter said, his perfect teeth shining. He reached into his robes and pulled out the contract that Harry had signed years ago. “Then let’s get to work.”

Chapter 8: Chapter Eight: Harry is the Victim of Unarmed Robbery

Chapter Text

Harry wasn’t entirely sure why, but he asked for a few days to think about the revised draft of his contract. It wasn’t much different from the original copy he’d signed, but something about it felt grimy. Its wording stuck in his brain, and he wasn’t sure why. He figured if he could get a few more days with the physical thing in front of him, he could maybe understand his hesitation better.

The Potters hadn’t been too eager to let him go and think on it, but Dumbledore, surprisingly, had said that Harry deserved a bit of a grace period.

“N.E.W.T.s are a stressful time,” he had said, blue eyes twinkling kindly down at Harry. “Mr. Potter would just like some time to make sure he’s making the right decision for his future, and we can’t fault him on that.”

“If you say so, Dumbledore,” Lord Potter had grumbled, and their reluctance assured Harry that he was making the right decision. Lady Potter smiled at Harry, though, and said that if he had any questions, he could owl them or the headmaster, and they would all meet again in a week to go over the contract and any potential changes either party could come up with.

“I will, I promise,” Harry had said. “I just want to make sure I’m giving it my full attention, is all.”

And that’s how life found Harry outside of the stone gargoyle entrance again, a bound scroll of parchment clutched tightly between his two hands. The morning light filtering into the hallway felt wrong, too bright and happy for his current state of confusion. He hunched in on himself and started his walk back to Ravenclaw Tower, where he could be alone and in the dark and get his own thoughts together.

Harry wasn’t used to confusion in his life. Before Hogwarts, when he lived in the wayhouse full time, everything had been dictated for him. Hours of reading and writing and math and science, followed by hours of chess practice, of piano class with the building’s old Spinet. Every step of all the orphans was carefully scheduled by the orphans, and when Harry grew older and had more of a choice, he appreciated that kind of controlled life. Everything was done with purpose, was what the head of the house had said. When he had gotten to Hogwarts as a first year was his first experience with true chaos, what with having to navigate his classes and free time entirely on his own, plus the drama of his Potter-like appearance. The contract he’d signed had let him live a stress-free life, for the most part, because he didn’t have to interact with people or worry about grades. He had formulated his own lifestyle, filled with reading and learning for fun rather than necessity, and he operated on his own terms rather than someone else's.

Except that wasn’t true, Harry thought now. He did what he wanted, within the wheelhouse that the Potter’s had built around him.

He bumped into Crouch on his way up the stairs to their room, and Harry almost fell over until Crouch grabbed onto his arm, keeping him from tumbling down the stairs.

“Alright, Potter?” he asked? Harry figured he was probably on the way to breakfast. The common room had been nearly empty, except for a group of second years playing gobstones loudly in a back corner.

“I’m okay,” Harry lied, and it was one of his worst lies in his entire life.

“You look ill,” Crouch said. “Do you want me to take you to Pomfrey?”

“No, no,” Harry said. Did he really look that bad, that this boy Harry barely knew wanted to take him to the hospital wing? “I just need to lay down, I have a bit of a migraine.” All Ravenclaws experienced migraines, probably because too many of them insisted on reading in the dark, but it was a good excuse when Harry didn’t want to do something, so long as he didn’t use it too often.

Crouch walked with Harry back up the stairs, citing his prefect status as reasoning. He needed to assure one of his house members wasn’t actually sick. When they got to the dorm room, Harry noticed that, thankfully, it was empty and the others were all gone, either hanging out with friends or eating breakfast.

“Crouch,” Harry said suddenly, not sure why he was doing it. But maybe an anonymous outside opinion would help, and Crouch hadn’t been too annoying for the past week. “If you… If someone offered you something you really wanted, but… but you couldn’t ever do anything else, would you take it?”

Crouch narrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t understand the question. If someone offered to give me something…”

“Like a job. A career,” Harry clarified, feeling increasingly stupid for having brought it up. “But you aren’t ever allowed to switch careers if you took it.”

“Well,” Crouch said. He crossed his arms. “I don’t think I’d take it.”

“No?” Harry had thought for sure someone ambitious like Crouch would take the offer.

“I don’t like limitations,” Crouch said. “What if I wanted to be a healer, for example, but thirty years come and go and I’m actually miserable? I would be stuck there, and I don’t want that kind of confinement.” Crouch shook his head, and his brown hair flopped over his forehead, making him look younger than he really was. “Not to mention, if you want something bad enough, you are willing to work hard for it. Just having a job handed to you isn’t something that proves your worth.”

Harry wondered if he was speaking from experience, considering who his father was. Crouch Senior was probably the kind of guy who would want his son to follow in his footsteps.

Crouch pointed to the scroll still trapped in Harry’s hand. “Does this weird line of questioning have anything to do with that?” he asked.

“Not really.” This time, Harry lied like the expert he was. “It’s just been something on my mind lately.”

Crouch hummed, and then sat down on Harry’s bed, causing him to frown. Crouch leaned forward on his knees. “You know, this reminds me of that old timey question. Are brief moments of happiness better than a lifetime of contentment? Have you heard it?”

“No,” Harry said. He’d never heard that one before.

“Well, it’s a stupid question anyway,” Crouch said. He stood up from the bed, apparently deciding he’d humored Harry enough for one morning. “You can have your brief moments of happiness while living a life of contentment, can’t you? And isn’t contentment a kind of happiness?” Crouch shook his head again. “My father used to hate it when I tore apart his weird philosophical questions. He said it was against the point… I’m sorry, that was a bit of a tangent, wasn’t it?” Crouch laughed, and Harry actually smiled back.

It encouraged Crouch, apparently. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, don’t think about it too much. We Ravenclaws tend to overthink things at the worst of times. Just figure out what you want, and chase after that.”

“That sounds ridiculously Gryffindor,” Harry said, smirking, and Crouch laughed again.

“Well, something could be said for the simple life.” With that, Crouch left their dorm room, and Harry curled up into his bed, thinking hard. What was it he wanted, and was he allowed to chase it?

Harry spent his entire weekend in bed, eating the box of granola bars in his trunk, working on essays, and pondering on his innermost desires. Crouch was the only one that bothered him, but his other dorm mates were used to Harry’s somewhat bizarre life habits. Harry considered it a reset. His life had been thrown so far out of whack during his first week at school, that he decided to just throw all hints of a schedule out the window and start over again on Monday.

But things had not gone the way Harry wanted them to. Sure, his homework was complete, and he was somewhat well-rested, but none of that mattered too much when compared to the fact that Harry felt dizzy and unwell from not really eating for a few days, and the fact that he still had no real idea about what to do with the Potters’ contract.

Harry thought it narrowed down to the fact that he was an indecisive person. It was stupid, how he could be so convinced that all he wanted was to own a bookstore, but when faced with the possibility of his dreams becoming reality, he got cold feet. He could get an amazing store. The Potter’s budget was large enough, he could get a store in Diagon Alley, for Merlin’s sake. Why was this such a difficult decision? He didn’t want the lordship anyway. It was too much of a public thing, and he’d be no good at it. He didn’t want to go into politics, or become head of a ministry department, or be a healer or auror. He didn’t want to be a Hogwarts professor, and while he had contemplated pursuing a mastery, it was just too competitive, and people expected great things from masters.

Harry was not great, and he didn’t want to do great things. For all of his life, he had just wanted to be content, to live a simple life.

But now Harry was stuck on what Crouch had said. Contentment and happiness didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. Sure, Harry would be fine with owning a store, he could go his entire life just existing in the backroom of a building that had been bought for him, but would that make him happy? And if he didn’t know quite yet what would make him happy, he shouldn’t close down avenues that might, just to keep the peace with the Potters.

The Potters had money, had power, had presence, though. He couldn’t afford to piss them off.

Harry wandered into class dazedly, still thinking about the philosophical meanings of ‘want’ and ‘need’. It was five minutes before the bell, and without even thinking about it he sat in his new seat. Riddle and Severus weren’t there yet, but Granger was behind him. She had, strangely enough, settled down about the seating arrangement, possibly because Riddle talked to her occasionally, if she left with Severus. Not that Harry knew or cared much, considering he bolted out of the classroom to avoid said conversation last Friday.

Harry put his bag down between his and Riddle’s seats, making a kind of makeshift barrier so that Riddle couldn’t move his chair closer. He pulled out his notebook and the notes he had taken in potions on Friday. It was the only class he hadn’t rewritten his notes for, and he was determined to get it done before his next potions class.

He was so busy translating his chicken scratch into neat, logical notes, that he really didn’t notice Riddle sitting down, or Severus towering over him, until Riddle reached over and swiped his notebook out from under his quill.

“That’s mine,” Harry hissed, whipping around, only to blanche at seeing Riddle’s long fingers flipping through the thick paper of his notebook.

“So you do have an attitude,” Riddle had said smoothly. He continued flipping through pages, humming at the intricate drawings of how to mix in certain ingredients. Harry wanted to blush, but he was a visual learner, and that wasn’t anything to sneeze at. “I wasn’t sure if I believed Severus or not.”

Harry’s attention was caught by the tall, thin figure standing in the aisle, glaring down at the top of his head.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Severus growled, and Harry gulped.

“No, I haven’t,” he said hesitantly, not meeting Severus’ eyes. Sure he hadn’t spent that much time with the Slytherin before the weekend, but he was avoiding Severus’ new friends, not Severus himself. And Harry had spent the weekend trying to solve his problems through isolation; he hadn’t been avoiding anybody then. But Harry didn’t want Severus to be mad at him.

“You have,” Severus pressed. His dark eyes narrowed. Severus’ eyes were black, not the deep brown of Riddle’s, and they were ten times as intimidating. Mostly because Riddle never seemed to be able to turn off the charming sparkles. “You haven’t been eating, either,” Severus said. He poked a finger against Harry’s cheekbone, and Harry winced.

Riddle slid Harry’s notebook back over to him while Harry’s back was turned, back Harry didn’t say anything, too busy trying to assure Severus that granola was totally enough to live off of for two days, and that he was going to go to lunch right after class, and that there was really no reason to worry.

Severus was worrying anyway, and Severus always showed his worry through anger.

“You and I are going to the kitchens after class,” Severus said under his breath, and Harry nodded eagerly. Then Professor Babbling came in and Severus went back to his seat. Harry faced the front, but turned to narrow his eyes at Riddle as he placed his potions notebook back into his bookbag. The Slytherin smiled angelically at him, then focused on the board. Suspicious.

Harry forced himself to focus on the lecture, even though it was mostly on what he had read over the weekend, and Riddle strode out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang with just a nod to Severus and Harry.

Even more suspicious.

Severus and Harry walked down to the kitchens. The two had discovered the location, and since both of them were prone to accidentally skipping meals, they had eaten there a few times. None of the house elves said anything about it, because Harry was so polite and always told them how good their food was. Just another reason Severus called Harry soft.

“You have questions,” Harry said.

“Crouch?” was what Severus opened with, and Harry sighed.

“His dad told him about my O.W.L. scores, because it kicked him out of the top three of our year. I took second, which put Granger to third. He wanted to know how I did it, but things kind of got escalated and I shocked him with wandless magic. And now we’re more or less acquaintances? He’s not so bad, I guess,” Harry said.

Severus sighed, and shooed a house elf away when it tried to refill his plate with biscuits. “And Riddle?”

“What about Riddle?” Harry asked, feeling his cheeks go pink.

Severus sighed. “He said he ran into you going to Dumbledore’s office on Saturday.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “He did. I had a meeting to go to, and he told me the password.”

“Why were you meeting with Dumbledore, though?” Severus pressed. Harry took a moment to decide what he was going to say and picked at his potatoes and carrots. He had been friends with Severus for years, he should be able to tell Severus what was going on. And Severus was bound to be able to give Harry some good advice. But then again, Severus had new friends, who he apparently talked about Harry with. And he hated the Potters.

“It’s kind of a secret,” Harry said, deciding to go with the honest but not really honest route.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “What kind of secret?” Harry had never, as far as Severus knew, kept a secret from him.

“It’s about my O.W.L. scores,” Harry said. “And my plans for after Hogwarts.”

“That’s not the entire story,” Severus said. “Harry, you can tell me anything. Maybe I could help?”

“I’m worried that you won’t like me any more,” Harry said honestly. Severus could hate Harry for a number of things if Harry was honest. For being a Potter, for never telling him, for signing that contract when he was eleven, for being stupid.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Severus said. He took a deep drink from his water, and Harry sighed. Maybe he could use Severus’ cunning side with the contract.

“You have to promise not to tell anybody,” Harry warned as he opened his bag to get his contract copy out. “Not a soul, not any of the other Slytherins, not a professor, nobody.”

“I swear on my magic,” Severus said, and Harry instantly knew he had made the correct decision, at least with this one thing.

“Well, I-” Harry froze. It wasn’t there. The contract wasn’t there. He rifled through his bag, through stray pieces of parchment and broken quill tips, startling the house elves who were busy preparing for dinner and keeping the lunch tables full. The contract scroll was nowhere to be found.

“Harry?” Severus asked.

Where could the contract be? He hadn’t even moved it from his bag that day. It had been stupid to even carry it with him, but he hadn’t even-

The memory of a suspicious smile flashed briefly behind his eyes.

“Riddle took it,” Harry whispered, feeling his eyes go wide.

“Riddle took what?” Severus said, sounding worried and highly suspicious.

“The contract,” Harry said, turning to look at Severus, desperation obvious on his face. “Riddle stole my contract.”

Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: Tom Riddle Gets a Bloody Nose

Chapter Text

“You signed a contract with the Potters?” Severus asked in disbelief. It was better than fury, Harry supposed, or talking to Harry like he was an idiot.

“Yes,” Harry said, head still facedown on the table in the kitchens. “When I was eleven.”

“What the hell would the Potters want from an eleven year old?” Severus asked, voice slightly higher pitched. Had Harry finally pushed his friend to the brink? Was Severus now insane? Harry turned his head so he could see Severus, and though his lips were tight and thin, he still looked the same.

“How much do you remember about our first few months at Hogwarts?” Harry answered with a question. How much explaining did he need to do? They didn’t have much time, they both had charms soon.

“Not much. A lot of trying to not get lost.” This was not surprising, Severus was astoundingly resistant to gossip, something Harry normally admired greatly about his friend. But now, they had ten minutes until class and Harry was on the verge of a panic attack.

“It’s a lot to explain,” Harry said, slowly getting up from the table. “I need to… to do something, I’ve gotta-”

“I am one hundred percent willing to restrain you,” Severus said darkly, also getting up from the table. His dark glare warded off the eager house elves that came to see if they wanted anything more to eat, but at this rate Harry felt like he’d never be able to eat again.

“We can’t miss class, Severus,” he pleaded. “Please, we can talk more after class. But I have to get that contract back from Riddle, before he reads it!” Riddle always had lunch with a group of Slytherins around him, he wouldn’t have had time to read the scroll yet. Unless he had read it aloud at the table...

“Impossible, Riddle would have gone over it already.” Severus bit on his bottom lip, a nervous tick that Harry hadn’t seen since they were second years. Harry felt like crying a little bit, and he must have looked it, too.

“He wouldn’t have read it at the Slytherin table,” Severus rushed to say. “He doesn’t work like that, he would want all of the information first, before saying anything. Especially if it concerned you.” Despite that, Harry rubbed at his eyes, trying to will the tears back.

“Harry,” Severus said. He grabbed the Ravenclaw by the shoulders, making Harry blink at him. “I am secure enough to admit that I have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you’re willing to explain, I’m willing to help you fix it.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but then Harry asked Severus to please let go of him, he was bruising, and Severus took a step back.

“Will you ask Riddle for my contract back?” Harry asked, and Severus sighed. They both climbed back into the hallway through the portrait of fruit and started the walk to the charms classroom on the third floor. There weren’t many students in the halls, most still finishing up their lunches.

“I can ask,” Severus said. “But I don’t think he’ll give it to me. He’s fixated on you, like a cat with a mouse. He’ll want you to go to him yourself.”

Even so, Harry was hopeful. Riddle and Severus were friends, and Riddle couldn’t really do any damage with it, could he? And why would Riddle, even if he could? There wasn’t really anything in it for Riddle, and from what Harry knew about him, Riddle wasn’t really interested in things that didn’t further his mysterious agenda.

Harry had guessed that Severus had probably said something about Harry being smart, and that had maybe conflicted with Riddle’s view of him, which had maybe resulted in Riddle’s interest being piqued. Harry figured that in a few weeks, when Riddle didn’t see any signs of real intelligence, he’d back off.

Maybe Riddle had something against the Potters? Harry didn’t know enough about politics to be sure, which was a gap in his knowledge, but one he really didn’t find interesting, and one that went directly against whatever the Potters wanted him to end up doing.

Severus had sat next to Riddle in charms, leaving Harry alone, but that didn’t matter compared to what Harry was awaiting. And even though he had been hopeful, he was not surprised when Riddle turned to look at him after Severus finished whispering and smirked, shaking his head.

No, Harry wasn’t surprised. He was...mad.

Harry was not normally a mad person. He thought it was a useless state, really. All it led to was people saying what they didn’t mean and doing things they would regret. Harry had learned at a young age it was better to let things go.

How could Harry let this go?

It was a good thing that charms was just a lecture, because Harry knew if he tried to attempt any practical application he would blow something up. No, Harry spent the entire class glaring daggers at Riddle. Judging by the tension in the Slytherins’ shoulders, he wasn’t that intimidated.

Harry waited outside of the classroom after the bell rang, watching the stream of sixth years heading towards their next classes or somewhere to lounge. They were all laughing and shoving one another, not too stressed yet from the hard classwork. Harry should have started walking to his next class, but this was more important.

The minute that Riddle stepped out of the classroom, with Severus tight on his heels, Harry pounced. He grabbed Riddle by the sleeve, surprising the Slytherin, and dragged him down the hallway, ignoring Severus’ calls. Harry briefly was glad that the pair had left the classroom after most of the other people had left the hallway; he was able to bodily swing Riddle into a nearby alcove with nobody really paying them any mind. He didn’t need anymore attention.

In one smooth motion, Harry cast a privacy charm over the entrance of the alcove and pushed Riddle up against the wall, shoving his wand at Riddle’s throat. There wasn’t much room, and Harry could feel the heat coming off the Slytherins’ body, especially compared to the cold dark stones of the castle, but he forced himself not to focus on it. There were plenty of things more important than Riddle’s attractiveness.

“Give it back,” Harry said roughly, glaring at the taller boy. Riddle’s eyes narrowed as they traced the lines of Harry’s face. His pupils were blown wide, and he watched every twitch of Harry’s face with obsessive attention. He didn’t even glance at Harry’s wand.

“So you do have an attitude,” Riddle whispered. He sounded pleased.

“Shut up,” Harry said, pushing his wand harder against Riddle’s pulse point. “Give me back my contract, you didn’t have any right to steal it!”

“Your eyes are sparking,” Riddle said instead, still using a quiet voice. Harry blinked, but quickly pushed his confusion down. Riddle was just trying to get under his skin. Riddle leaned forward, pushing against Harry’s wand even more, and Harry glared.

“You’re going to be late, Harry,” Riddle purred. He reached out with one hand, trying to touch Harry’s face, but Harry batted it away.

The brief moment of physical distraction was all Riddle needed. He pushed forward, knocking Harry’s wand out of his hand and flipping them so he had the smaller boy against the wall, his wrists pinned by Riddle’s fists. There were so many contact points between them, thighs, arms, wrists, that Harry couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t distract himself from the look in Riddle’s eyes anymore. They were dark, so dark, and Riddle was breathing so heavily that Harry could see his chest heaving.

Riddle’s hands felt like they were burning through his shirt sleeves.

“I will forgive you signing that contract when you were eleven,” he said, his deep voice husky, “Because you were a neglected child,” his hands tightened to the point of bruising, making Harry wince, “and they took advantage of that.”

Forgive him? Harry didn’t need his forgiveness! Riddle leaned even further into Harry’s face, to the point where their noses were almost touching. “I will also forgive you for threatening me like you did, only because it gave me another piece of your puzzle.” Riddle’s breath, which smelled like a mixture of toothpaste and coffee, fanned across Harry’s face. Harry wanted to close his eyes, to try and ignore the mounting panic he felt at the other boy’s touch, but he couldn’t stop watching Riddle’s mouth as it moved, speaking to him in a way that was both threatening and excited.

Riddle moved his head, now leaning into Harry’s ear, his aristocratic nose now making some of Harry’s hair shift. “But what I won’t allow, is for you to sign that contract.”

There were so many things Harry could say. He could tell Riddle that it wasn’t any of his business, that he didn’t get a say in what Harry did, that Harry didn’t need or want his forgiveness, that they didn’t even know each other.

Instead, Harry said, “Please let go of me.”

Riddle huffed a laugh, and Harry winced away from the brush of air against his cheek, but Riddle just moved closer. “I don’t think I will,” he said. One of his legs shoved itself between Harry’s own. It felt like their entire bodies were touching. Harry couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He felt trapped, so trapped. His heart was hammering like a rabbit’s.

“I said let go.”

Riddle didn’t answer, just leaned his face closer, until it was almost nestled next to his neck, and Harry just-

There was a loud clack as Harry’s magic rushed to the surface of his skin, throwing Riddle away from him and into the opposite wall. Riddle’s face was red, his eyes wide like Harry’s own. A small drip of blood was starting to fall from the Slytherin’s nose. Harry wanted to apologize. He was horrified. But he couldn’t make himself speak, plus it was kind of Riddle’s own fault anyway and Harry’s head was still so fuzzy he didn’t know what he had done he-

Riddle’s bag was on the floor. Harry’s eyes darted to it, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was kneeling on the ground, ripping it open, throwing books and notes out, looking for the familiar scroll, but it just wasn’t there.

“You won’t find it,” Riddle said. His voice was completely normal, not angry or even scared. Harry looked up at him from the floor. Riddle was wiping the blood off of his face with the sleeve of his robe. It was such a normal, graceless act that should have looked strange. Even his eyes weren’t angry.

They were ecstatic. Red was shining in them like fireworks.

“Where is it then?” Harry asked, getting to his feet.

“I’ll meet you in the library after dinner,” he said, and he had the confidence to sound almost cheerful. Harry wondered who exactly this boy was, because the Riddle he had built in his head would have killed someone for daring to attack him. “We can talk about what you’re going to do next.” Riddle wandlessly summoned his bag and all of his things that Harry had thrown out to him. It was a startling display of power. Was it meant to show Harry how lucky he was that Riddle wasn’t going to hurt him?

“Why are you doing this?” Harry called as Riddle made to leave the alcove. Harry was still on the floor, his wand laying harmlessly on the ground a few feet away. “What have I ever done to you?”

Riddle looked back at him and smiled. It almost seemed genuine. “Oh, Harry,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Consider it a thank you, for when we first met.”

Chapter 10: Chapter Ten: Pebbles

Chapter Text

First year Ravenclaw Harry Potter sat huddled behind one of the many tapestries hanging from Hogwarts’ stone walls. This one in particular was of a centaur and an astronomer, and it was near his transfiguration classroom. He had his potions textbook on his lap and he was reading from it with fierce determination. Professor Slughorn, the castle’s potions master, didn’t seem to care for Harry much, and Harry felt the intense need to prove to all of his professors that he was a good student.

He had been afraid, when he received his letter, that this fantastic magic school would think it was a mistake to let him in, and that they would send him back to the wayhouse, and he’d have to go back to learning math and avoiding Frank Hubber’s fists every second.

The alcove was a good spot, in any case. Harry had discovered it earlier that week. The window across from the tapestry let in just enough light for Harry to read, and nobody had found him there yet, like they had in the library and in the common room. Nobody was around to ask Harry questions that he didn’t know the answers to about his family, or to call him a liar when he told them he didn’t know.

It was quiet. Or, it was, until two sixth year Slytherins started loudly talking right outside of the tapestry. Their tall shadows blocked Harry’s view of his book, and he curled in on himself.

Terry Boot, one of his classmates, had loudly talked about Slytherin house since they had arrived at Hogwarts. All of the bad eggs go there, he had said. And they hate muggleborns, he added, throwing a look at that Granger girl, who could never be quiet during class. Harry wasn’t sure how reliable of a source Boot was, but the way the Slytherins sneered down at Harry was enough to make him nervous.

He recognized one of the voices as Alphard Black, who was on his house’s quidditch team, according to Boot, but the other two were unfamiliar.

“You should’ve seen his face,” Black snickered, and the other two gave out dumb laughs. Perhaps these were Crabbe and Goyle, two fourth years that Harry had heard were held back? He couldn’t be sure without peaking, and that was not a risk Harry wanted to take. “Stupid mudblood, that’ll teach him to strut about my school.”

“Where’d you lock him?” one of the slower voices asked, and the other one grunted.

“That old broom cupboard, near the girl’s bathroom on the second floor,” Black said. “He won’t be found anytime soon, that’s for sure. If anyone even goes looking.” All three of them laughed again, and Harry felt cold.

One of the matrons at the wayhouse liked to lock people in tiny spaces as a punishment. She would shove them into a closet for hours, sometimes a full day, depending on what the person had done wrong. It hadn’t affected Harry too much, he actually liked small spaces, but he knew some of the children would scream until their voices no longer worked.

Had these teenagers done the same thing to somebody else? Harry knew the cupboard they were referencing. He had hid in there once, to avoid a ghost that had been floating around.

Harry listened as the Slytherin’s conversation and footsteps faded, then quietly creeped out of the alcove. He would go let the person out of the closet. And maybe, if he was nice enough about it, whoever it was would want to be his friend.

It was dinnertime, so the halls were mostly empty as he walked through them. Even though he had only been at Hogwarts for a little while, he knew his way around well, which had disappointed Harry. He had been eager, once he had seen the castle from the boats, to spend years getting lost in its hallways like he was in some fairy tale. His natural sense of direction had crushed that dream, but at least he wasn’t always late to class like some of his yearmates.

When Harry finally reached the cupboard, he thought perhaps he had been sent on a wild goose chase. He didn’t hear anything. Perhaps the person had been let out already? Or maybe they had gotten themselves out?

There’s no harm in checking, Harry thought, and reached for the bronze door knob, only to leap back after touching it. His hand burned, though the door knob had not left a mark, just a painful feeling under his skin. Harry frowned.

The person was definitely still stuck, then, or else whatever the curse was wouldn’t still be there. But Harry didn’t know anything about curses? He took out his wand and poked the handle a few times, but no response.

Then, there was a loud thump from the other side of the door. Harry jumped, but no more noise occurred. A silencing charm, maybe? Harry had read about those before school had started. It wasn’t cast very well, though, if noise could still sometimes come through… And if Black hadn’t cast a good silencing charm, then whatever this curse was couldn’t be that strong.

Harry took a deep breath and pocketed his wand. He hopped back and forth on his feet, exhaled through his nose, and grabbed the handle with both hands, forcing it to move.

It had hurt like hell, at first. Burning like when the same matron who liked closets had shoved his hand against a burner for accidentally forgetting to turn it off after he had been forced to make her tea. It burned, but Harry held on, and as he made the handle turn, he felt the spell shatter under his fingers, cooling the knob instantly.

And then the door swung open, and a boy ran directly into Harry, sending them both to the ground.

Harry checked his hands, but there were still no burn marks, even though the pain lingered. He looked up at the boy, noticing his fluffy brown hair and Slytherin tie. Harry had seen him before, in classes and at the sorting, though never at this close proximity. He was taking deep breaths, bracing himself against the floor with his hands, which were scratched up and bruised. He must have been hitting at the door this entire time, Harry thought to himself. The boys’ gulps of air hitched a few times, and Harry was worried that he would start crying. Harry was never sure what to do when people started crying.

The boy looked up, and the first thing Harry noticed was his eyes. They were such a nice dark brown. Then Harry noticed the cut on his forehead.

“You’re hurt,” Harry said, reaching forward, but the boy grabbed his arm before Harry could inspect the wound.

“How did you get the door open?” the boy asked. His voice was a little high pitched, which was odd considering how serious he looked, with his thick eyebrows drawn into a scowl.

Harry had seen a lot of kids try to look intimidating when they were scared, though.

“I just opened it,” Harry said. “You need to go to the hospital wing. Head injuries are nothing to sneer at.” The boy blinked, then touched his forehead with the hand not holding Harry’s arm captive, bringing his fingers down to look at the blood. Harry shook off the boy’s grip.

Harry stood up and offered the boy his hand. “I’ll take you. C’mon, if we go now while everyone’s at dinner, nobody will stare at you.” Whenever Frank Hubber had shoved him into the concrete and hurt him, it was always worse when the other orphans saw him bleeding.

At first the boy looked hesitant, before he wiped all emotions from his face, standing up on his own and completely ignoring Harry’s hand. “Fine.” They walked in silence, the boy brooding and Harry willing to let him, until they got to the hospital wing.

“Excuse me?” Harry called into the huge empty room. It was lined up with white beds, all tucked in perfectly, and each had currents that could go around their sections. The Slytherin boy brushed by him, all full of arrogance.

A matronly woman in white robes, probably the wizarding equivalent of scrubs, came bustling out of a side door, likely to her office. “Oh, dear,” she said, looking at the boy’s bleeding forehead. “Come sit down.” Harry hadn’t known the other student long, but he thought it was weird when the boy just followed her directions without any snarking. Harry wasn’t going to stay until the matron also called to him, so he went and sat next to the Slytherin on the bed while the nurse cast some unknown charms on the boy. Judging by the Latin, at least one was to detect concussions. Harry thought the magic looked interesting, and complex.

“So what’re your names?” she asked while she worked.

“Harry,” Harry said, purposefully omitting the last name. Apparently it was a bad name that he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Tom Riddle,” the boy with the injury said, his voice dripping with irritation.

Harry thought it was an interesting name, just like the boy himself. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, only to quickly look at the matron again when he saw Riddle looking back at him. He was interesting, yes, Harry thought. He would probably grow up to be handsome. Harry hoped he would grow up to be handsome, too. People were nicer to beautiful people, according to the old magazines that the girls in his wayhouse read. They liked them more. Harry would like to be liked.

“Two first years, then?” the matron said, and they both nodded. “I’m Madam Pomfrey. Would either of you care to tell me how Mr. Riddle got this head wound?”

And though Harry didn’t know Riddle that well, or at all, he thought he could see the embarrassment weighing down on his shoulders.

So Harry lied. “It was my fault,” he said, looking down at his hands bashfully. “I was eager to get to dinner and ran into him. I’m sorry.”

Madam Pomfrey looked at Harry with soft eyes, and Harry knew he had her. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. I assure you, in a school like this one, accidents happen all the time! What’s important is you made the right choice in coming to see me.”

She stopped her spellwork, after having looked deep into Riddle’s eyes and scanned his brain, or whatever she had been doing, and she used her wand to seal up the wound on Riddle’s forehead, not even leaving a scar, which was a good thing because Harry wasn’t sure a face as nice as the Slytherin’s should be ruined because of an idiot like Alphard Black. She waved them off, telling Riddle that if he felt sick or nauseous to come back, and the two headed off to dinner in silence once again, but Riddle spoke.

“Why did you lie?” he asked Harry, eyes still weirdly serious for an eleven year old.

“Well, you looked like you didn’t want her to know,” Harry answered honestly, and the boy scowled.

“I can handle upperclassmen by myself,” he said haughtily. “I don’t need your help.” Then he turned around and walked to the great hall, cloak billowing behind him.

Harry wasn’t really sure what to make of Riddle, but it felt like something important had just happened, something like a ripple effect in a stream, so he told himself he would watch the boy.

Harry was just unaware that Riddle had felt the same way.

Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven: Junior Lawyer Lucius Malfoy

Chapter Text

Harry ended up going to the hospital wing instead of to his potions class. He told Madam Pomfrey about his headache, this time not fabricated, and she agreed to let him lay down until his night class, though Harry knew that if he played his cards right, he could get out of that one, too. It was one that was held with all years, which meant Riddle would be there, and Harry didn’t know if he had the strength to see the other boy again.

He would have to, though. After dinner. In the library. Harry slowly exhaled, feeling the crinkle of the stark infirmary bed sheets. They felt so cold against his inflamed skin. He kept hearing the sound Riddle had made against the wall over and over again in his head.

When Harry was thirteen, he had accidentally broken his childhood bully’s arm over summer break. He’d gotten a letter from the ministry about it, and a healer from Saint Mungos had come to fix the arm and obliviate the muggle boy. Harry had felt ill every day that summer just thinking about the crack of the boy’s bones. Luckily, the boy, Hubber, had been adopted a month and a half later, and Harry didn’t have to look at him anymore.

Also luckily, Harry hadn’t caused any permanent damage to Riddle, nothing that required spells to fix. Still, he laid on the firm bed, curled into a ball, his mind running in circles like a hurricane. The sound of Riddle’s pain, the slight ‘oof’ he’d given at the smack of the wall against his back, that sound was like how Harry imagined the wind would howl. Sometimes loud, sometimes soft, but consistent in its rattling of windows and doorways and tree branches.

Harry’s head ached, but he decided to go to transfiguration anyway. Riddle would be there. Harry had to show that he was okay, that he hadn’t been shaken by their encounter.

Severus would be there, too. Harry had promised him an explanation. Maybe Severus could just go to the library with him? He could use the support, plus Severus would probably be better at dealing with Riddle.

The classroom was almost empty when Harry slid into his seat next to Severus, with all of the other sixth years either procrastinating or in their previous classes.

“You’re meeting with Riddle at the library after dinner,” Severus repeated after Harry asked him, “about this mystery contract. And you want me to go with you?”

“Yes, please.”

Severus sighed. “I don’t think Riddle will like that.”

“I don’t care.” Harry truly didn’t. Riddle had stolen something that belonged to Harry, and even though Harry had almost crushed him like a bug, that didn’t excuse his behavior. Riddle was acting like a child.

“I’ll go, but you have to tell me what the contract is beforehand.” Before Harry could protest, Severus interrupted. “It isn’t even for my curiosity or concern, Harry. I can’t help you with your Riddle problems or your Potter problems if I’m going in blind.”

Harry hesitated, but some of the other students were coming in now from their previous classes, including an almost-concerned Barty Crouch, and Harry nodded.

Crouch walked up to their table, his eyebrows drawn together and mouth pursued. “You weren’t in potions. Are you okay?” Severus pointedly went looking through his bag, though Harry knew he was curious.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Harry said. He felt it the instant Riddle entered the classroom. “I’m okay now, though. Did you cover anything important?” Pomfrey had sent a note to Slughorn for him, but Harry didn’t like the idea that the class had potentially covered something he wouldn’t know about. To his relief, Crouch said that the class had just talked about the various intensities of flu remedies. They wouldn’t be doing the practical until Wednesday.

When Crouch went back to his seat, Severus nudged him with his elbow. A silent question. Was he truly okay? Harry gave a brief nod. He was alright, he supposed. He still felt tremendously guilty, and also slightly vindictive, but he was starting his ‘getting over it’ process slowly but surely.

His contract had been stolen, yes, but now was the time to focus on fixing the track of his life back into place, not focusing on the already messed up bits.

Riddle watched him for the entire two hour long class period, but Harry did not look back, not once, no matter how much the continued attention made the back of his neck heat.

Harry hoped that his wild hair, just curling the collar of his shirt, was long enough to cover his blushed skin. He didn’t want to give Riddle the satisfaction of his reactions, especially not so soon after their confrontation. Riddle wasn’t going to get anything from Harry, at least until their meeting.

The Ravenclaw and Slytherin pair packed up slowly after McGonagall ended their lesson, talking easily about the theory behind turning water into wine and back again. It reminded Harry of Jesus Christ, though Harry himself wasn’t religious, and Severus had been raised in part by his muggle father.

There was a light coughing behind Harry, familiar and feminine, and Harry watched as Severus’ face went sour. The Slytherin quickly focused on straightening out his various pieces of parchment. When Harry turned around and met the concerned face of Lily Evans, Harry could only be grateful that Severus hadn’t left him to the dogs. By the door, Potter, Black, and Lupin were waiting. All of them looked weary, but only Black had an aggressive expression when he looked at Severus.

“You weren’t in potions, Harry,” she said, and her bright green eyes that were so similar to Harry’s were wide. Harry’s own narrowed in suspicion. Evans hadn’t even attempted to talk with Harry since she had cut Severus off, pretty hypocritical for someone who had always tried to call Harry a friend.

Harry had come to the conclusion she had only done that to piss off James Potter.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said smoothly. He picked up his bag and turned to Severus. “Are you ready to go? I was thinking we could go on a walk before dinner.” That way Harry could tell Severus everything he wanted to know without interruptions.

Black stepped from the door as Severus nodded, and Harry discretely looked around for McGonagall. He and Severus were severely outnumbered here, and they could use a professor’s interruption. The head of the lions was extremely fair minded and justice-oriented, and she would put a stop to this before it would even begin. Unfortunately, McGonagall had disappeared into her office.

“Aw, would you look at this, James?” Black jeered, gray eyes gleaming. “Snivellus and Potty have a date they need to get to. Isn’t that precious?” Severus tensed up, and Harry saw him brush his wand with his fingertips.

Harry didn’t actually know what had happened that made Severus and Black willing to duel on sight. It seemed like it was always like this. Black would taunt, Severus would respond, they would end up in detention. Or, Severus would sneer, Black would respond, they would end up in detention.

It was a vicious cycle of schoolyard rivalries.

“Sirius,” Lupin warned, forever playing at peacemaker. From the set of Severus’ jaw Harry could tell he was about to make a similar insensitive boyfriends joke in rebuttal. Children. Harry was surrounded by children.

“Come on, Severus,” Harry pleaded. “Let’s just go!” Harry briefly thought about grabbing onto Severus and forcing him out of the room, like Harry had dragged Riddle, but the thought of touching another person, even one he cared for like Severus, made his hands shake in his robe sleeves.

“Sev, stop it,” Evans said, and Harry wanted to shout at her. How dare she throw that nickname out there, as if she had any right to it? “Sirius, go away, I just wanted to check on Harry.”

Don’t pin this on me! Harry mentally yelled. If Harry had been a child, still, he would have sat on the ground and covered his ears.

“Well, he’s fine,” Potter said. There wasn’t any inflection, any real emotion there. “Let’s go to dinner. I’m hungry.” He left, taking a steaming Black and exasperated Lupin with him. It was odd, for Potter. He normally loved to join into a fight.

Evans hesitated. “Go,” Harry told her, and she did. Severus was still grinding his teeth, still keeping a light hold onto his wand.

“Let’s go, Severus,” Harry said softly. Hearing his friend’s old nickname had made him sad. Harry had never used it, it was something special Severus had had with Lily.

They walked out of the old castle onto the deserted grounds. Things had started to take on their autumn colors. There were bright reds and oranges, gleaming golds, deep yellows. The lake had a darker blue tint to it, and the wind carried a chill that creeped up through Harry’s sweater. He liked it, considering his skin still felt overly warm. The pair walked around the lake, stepping through crisp grass. Slowly the tension left Severus, until he was walking more loosely, holding his hands in his robe pockets. Harry clasped his hands behind his back and took deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart.

There were so many things to be afraid of, at that moment. What Severus would say, how much Severus was hurting, this upcoming meeting with Riddle, his end of the week deadline with the Potters…. Was it really only the second week of school?

“Would you prefer for me to ask you specific questions?” Severus asked, and Harry nodded. He wished he had brought his scarf, if only so the extra piece of clothing would give him another barrier against the world. A physical piece of comfort.

“Why would the Potters want a contract with you?” Severus asked, and Harry took another deep inhale. Trust Severus to come out of the gate with a hard question.

“They’re my aunt and uncle,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady but failing. “My father was Charlus Potter, apparently. Lord and Lady Potter and I came to an agreement to keep it a secret, so their political work wouldn’t be disrupted.”

Severus stopped walking, but Harry took a few more steps so that he wouldn’t have to look his friend in the eye. Otherwise, Harry wasn’t sure what he would do.

“So you’re related to Potter after all, then?” Severus asked. Harry turned to look at the lake. The sun was setting, and all of the sparkles looked absolutely magical.

“He’s my cousin, but we’ve only talked like three times. He doesn’t even know, I don’t think.” Harry looked at Severus, who was wearing his deepest thinking face, the one he normally reserved for adjusting potions instructions in his book. Severus hated James Potter because of how much the Gryffindor liked Lily, Harry knew that much. And Potter had hated Severus because Severus was close to Lily. Harry wasn’t quite sure what their feelings on each other were now, with Lily mostly out of Severus’ picture.

“And I’m assuming part of this contract was that you couldn’t tell anyone?”

“That would be correct,” Harry said, and his friend nodded. Severus walked the few steps between them and they continued their trek around the lake. It would be dark soon, and Harry would have to go to the library and meet Riddle.

“Why did you tell me now, then?” Severus asked.

“Well, the Potters and I have entered a negotiation period about the terms. It ends on Saturday,” Harry explained. The negotiation period for his last contract had been a measly hour, but Harry had finagled himself a whole week this time.“The conditions are technically on hold until I sign again. I wasn’t really intending to tell you anyway, it could piss the Potters off, but I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore, at least from you.” Plus, Harry really wanted some of Severus’ brutal honesty.

Severus nodded. “I’m surprised you know about negotiation periods at all.” Harry hadn’t known, the first time around, technically, until Dumbledore had been pulled in to sign the first contract as a witness. He had been, not furious, but disappointed in the Potters for not allowing Harry, even at eleven years old, enough time to really consider what the contract meant.

Harry hadn’t regretted it, though. He still didn’t. He just wasn’t sure he was getting the most he could get from re-signing.

He didn’t care much for the negotiation period. He didn’t have any adults or law connections to help him, and he knew it was in his best interest to sign at the end.

Why was this all so complicated? If he was going to sign anyway, he should just do it!

“Harry?” Severus asked, breaking his concentration. “We should get back. Riddle will be waiting for you.”

“Is there anything else you need to know?” Harry asked as they turned around. He was nervous, and would rather they kept circling the lake for eternity.

“What did you get out of it?” Severus asked, and Harry knew what he meant.

“A good stipend,” Harry answered. “They also donate money to my wayhouse, and they got this one really cruel matron fired.”

Severus blinked at him. He looked like an owl, except without the head tilt. “That’s all?”

They walked into the building and the warmth of the age old heating charms washed over Harry like he was submerging himself into a hot bath. “What do you mean? I thought it was a good deal.”

“Harry, what are you leaving out?” Severus asked him desperately, and Harry turned to him. Severus looked anxious.

What had Harry left out? The standards for Harry’s behavior, but those were Harry’s business, and he didn’t have a problem with the way he was supposed to act in public.

“Nothing important,” Harry said. He heard Severus suck in air, but by then they were rounding the corner and the library entrance came into view. Riddle was standing there, posture perfectly relaxed. Harry’s headache started to return.

“Harry,” Severus hissed at him, but then Riddle saw them and walked over. Well, strode. Did Riddle do something as simple as walking, or was he constantly moving like the king of the world? He exuded confidence.

“Harry, Severus,” the Slytherin prefect greeted them. “I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to move our location somewhere more private. One of my friends will be joining us.” Harry didn’t mind the change in places, considering the very touchy subject material, but he did not agree to another person’s presence, especially not one of Riddle’s ‘friends’.

Riddle must have seen the objection in Harry’s face, because he huffed and started walking down the hallway that Severus and Harry had just came through. “Don’t pout, dear. By the end of the night you will be grateful for his help.”

Severus made a weird noise in the back of his throat, but took off after his housemate. Harry struggled to keep up, they were both taller and their strides were longer.

Finally, they came across an empty classroom and Harry could sense the silence and privacy wards erected around the door. Riddle held it open for Severus and Harry, and Harry suppressed a shiver as he passed in front of Riddle’s careful gaze.

Everything in the room, all the desks and chairs and cabinets, had been pushed to the corner, leaving only a simple table in the center with two chairs on one side and two chairs on the other. One of those chairs was taken up by one Lucius Malfoy. And on the table in front of him, unfurled for the whole world to see, was Harry’s contract.

Riddle placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. It was light, and barely there, and still seemed to weigh a ton. “Why don’t we get started? Severus, you can sit next to Lucius, if you don’t mind.” It was an order disguised as a request, and Harry almost couldn’t believe it when Severus listened to him, nodding to Lucius as he sat down.

Traitor! A voice in Harry’s mind howled. You’ve abandoned me!

Hush, the logical, overwhelming side of Harry said. Just go with it. Get it over with. Harry shook off Riddle’s hand, refusing to look at him, and sat down across from Severus, who lightly tapped Harry’s foot with his own before backing off. It made Harry feel better. Severus wasn’t going to let these men eat Harry alive. No matter what they all thought of his decisions.

Riddle sat next to Harry. “Lucius here has been studying wizarding law under his father for years,” he said cheerily. Lucius nodded, face and posture serious. It was a bit strange, considering Harry was more familiar with his brother Draco, who flounced around the castle bragging about his seeker skills and had connections in every single house. He was social, and somewhat immature. Lucius had connections, yes, but he was mostly known for being Riddle’s best friend, if Riddle could even be considered having a best friend. Perhaps right hand man was a better descriptor?

Riddle turned to Severus. “I figured he would bring you as well. Would you like to look at the contract? I know how much Harry here likes to skim over important details.”

Harry glared at Riddle, even as Severus nodded and Malfoy slid the contract over to him. What did Riddle know about how Harry acted? Riddle did not glare back. He stared at Harry. Neither of them broke the eye contact until Severus slammed his fists onto the table and Harry jumped, almost falling out of his chair.

“What the f*ck is this?” Severus yelled, black eyes blazing at Harry. Harry wanted to run away, but one of Riddle’s large hands landed on his thigh under the table. Pinning him down.

Harry could burn that hand right off.

Riddle laughed, deep and dark. Harry shoved his hold off, ignoring the way his mind seized onto the sound. He wasn’t sure what to expect from this meeting, not with the way all of these Slytherin’s eyes were watching him, but he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“First of all,” Malfoy said, scanning the paper with his molten silver eyes. The teen looked like a statue, completely encased in marble and incapable of actually moving his facial features, “I find it necessary to ask how aware you are of how horribly you’ve been denied your rights and privileges?”

“I haven’t been denied anything!” Harry said loudly, and Riddle tsked next to him, shaking his head.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, breaking the statue-like image Harry had of him.

“So. Not aware at all then.”

“Harry,” Riddle said, completely serious. Harry refused to look at him. “Harry, you can’t actually think you receive fair treatment with this.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course it wasn’t equally distributed, but the Potters didn’t need to offer me anything, so the fact that I got as much as I did was perfectly fair.”

Riddle laughed, and Severus groaned. Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, almost reaching his hairline. Expressive snakes, who would have thought?

Riddle’s hand landed on Harry’s shoulder. Why couldn’t Riddle refrain from touching him for just five minutes? Harry used his feet to scoot the chair farther to the side of the table, and the screech of the chair legs against the stone floor was loud and obnoxious enough to shut the Slytherin up.

“Harry,” Severus began, and Harry resented the way he was talking, like Harry was a frightened animal. “Harry, the Potters needed this contract.”

“No they didn’t,” Harry said. “It just made things easier, but they didn’t need it. The Potters were being nice to offer me so much money.”

Malfoy slammed his palms onto the table, just like Severus had a moment earlier. Was it Harry’s innate gift, to piss Slytherins off without even doing anything? “The Potters gave you pennies,” he hissed. Why was Malfoy so upset? He didn’t even have a right to be there, in Harry’s mind, and Harry glared at him as he spoke. He didn’t have any right to poke his noses into Harry’s business.

“No they didn’t,” Harry said, starting to feel like a broken record. “Just because you’re rich and a thousand galleons doesn’t mean much to you, doesn’t mean-”

“The Potters are one of the sacred families,” Riddle interrupted smoothly. He didn’t touch Harry this time. Good, maybe he was finally getting it into his thick skull that Harry didn’t like it. At least, not enough to change his internal rule about being touched. Maybe if Riddle wasn’t so condescending about it…

Bad brain! Harry thought, and forced himself back to the conversation at hand.

“The Potters are worth millions,” Severus said.

“Contracts like this normally settle on hundreds of thousands of galleons, with property deals and business arrangements and houses,” Lucius stressed. “If they’re done at all. Most families nowadays always have some minor branch they can put a child with, one where they can fake a background.”

“The Potters have more than enough dead branches for you to have popped out of,” Severus added. Harry was a bit tired of their back and forth routine. “Harry, they made you lower your grades, they made you limit your number of friends!”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Harry said, trying to defend himself. They were trying to make him sound dumb, and while he wasn’t as smart as Severus thought he was, he definitely wasn’t an idiot. “I didn’t need to be around a lot of people, and I didn’t need high grades, either.”

Lucius’ hands looked like they were about to crack the table. “Listen to me, Potter,” he said slowly, like Harry was a troll or some other kind of dunderhead. “This is illegal. On so many different levels. They forced you, at eleven years old, to sign away your school years at minimum. And now, they’re trying to trick you again into giving away your entire adult life, and from the looks of it, you’re about to let them!”

“It’s none of your business, anyway!” Harry yelled, throwing his chair back from the table. He reached across and grabbed his contract out from in front of Malfoy. He looked down at it, and in his fury he didn’t even know why he had requested more time with it. It would be simpler to just sign it. His life could be normal again. He could get his bookshop and sequester himself away. He could avoid other people until he died, alone, in the back of the store, and he’d be perfectly happy that way.

“Sit down, Harry,” Riddle said, not looking surprised at all in the face of Harry’s outburst.

“I’m not a f*cking dog,” Harry seethed, looking down at the brown haired boy, and his eyebrows rose.

“No, you’re just an idiot. It’s just as well, though.” Harry’s jaw dropped as Riddle turned to look at Malfoy. “Lucius, why don’t you tell Harry here what’s going to happen next, hm? We have all night to explain to him the errors of his ways.”

Malfoy cleared his throat and folded his hands in front of him. Harry thought he was trying to look more like his father, the Malfoy Lord.

“Well, Mr. Potter. We’re proceeding as follows.” Harry didn’t like the gleam in his eyes, or the satisfaction in Riddle’s.

“You will not be signing this contract. You will be asking the Potters for ten million galleons and for them to pull several of their bills from the Wizengamot floor, or else you will take this mockery of a contract to the press. And you will stop intentionally doing bad in your classes, instead doing as well as your rather impressive O.W.L. scores suggest. Also, you will be attending our Dark Arts sessions, which we know that you know about because of your good friend Severus.”

Harry looked at all three of the Slytherins around the table, horror growing. Only Severus seemed to be as surprised as he was. Malfoy was just looking at him with cold curiosity, and Riddle looked so...excited? The corners of his mouth were twitching upward, as if even he, the master of his face, couldn’t contain his joy.

“Why the ever-loving f*ck would I agree to that?” Harry said.

“Because, Harry, you deserve more than the Potters’ table scraps,” Riddle said. He stood up slowly, like a snake rising from its coils. “You’re strong, Harry. I know it. And smart, even though you apparently haven’t been acting like it. There’s so much potential in you, and I have always wondered why it was going to waste, and now I know. I know, Harry.” Riddle’s eyes were way too intense for a sixteen year old’s.

“That doesn’t explain why I’m supposed to do what you’re telling me to,” Harry said. He wanted to cross his arms, make himself look intimidating, but he just wasn’t. Harry wasn’t intimidating, and Riddle was complimenting him, and looking at him as if he meant something.

But the Potters had complimented him, too. They were counting on him, too. Harry looked at the ground, but then Riddle’s hand was lifting his chin back up.

“What do we need to do to convince you?” he asked softly. Severus and Malfoy were watching the two with detached interest, but Harry couldn’t pay attention to them at the moment. Every ounce of his being was on Riddle, like he was magnetized.

“I...I don’t think,” Harry started saying, but then it died off. What was it that Harry wanted? What was worth betraying the Potters, worth having all of the school’s eyes on him?

Maybe it would be worth it, Harry thought, if Riddle just moved that much closer…

No! Harry shook his head, making Riddle let go of his chin, though neither of them took a step backwards.

There are so many things in this world, Harry thought to himself, and the words Barty Crouch had said to him came back suddenly, almost violently. A life without limitations. What if he were miserable as a bookstore owner in thirty years? Even if he told the Potters something else he wanted to do, there was no guarantee he would be happy there.

Barty had said that a person could be content and happy at the same time. Maybe it would be nice to test that theory…

And it wasn’t like Riddle or Malfoy could force him to do well in class, or to interact with others. Harry was a master when it came to avoidance.

Harry didn’t like the idea of throwing the Potters gifts back in their face… but if Harry didn’t comply, everything would be made public anyway. There were so many things that Harry could do or try, and the Potters might hate him for it, but if what Malfoy said was true about how much money they actually had…

Harry had heard the term ‘leap of faith’ before, but this felt more like a leap of hope. Hope for something better, a life less hollow. And if it didn’t work out, he could always disappear.

“I want my store,” Harry began hesitantly, and Riddle nodded eagerly, snapping his fingers at Lucius to start writing.

Harry had somehow entered another negotiation.

Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve: Harry Raises His Hand

Chapter Text

Harry was going to get a bookstore. In Diagon Alley. And a cashier. And connections to ancient book dealers. And he would even get the connections if he didn’t decide to open a bookstore. The Malfoy family was going to financially back him until he got a job after graduation. Doing whatever he wanted. Lord Malfoy was going to go to his meeting on Saturday with the Potters for him and explain his demands and the legal ramifications and the blackmail-sounding parts that Harry really didn’t like but it didn’t matter because Harry wasn’t going to do it himself.

There were a few moments, throughout Malfoy’s rebuttals and adding terms and conditions, that Harry wanted to back out. He wanted to say no, and leave, and go with the devil he already knew.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t.

Eventually, they all came to an agreement. Harry was going to ask for the things from the Potters with the help of Malfoy’s father. He would do better in classes. He would talk to people. In exchange, he would be a rich man and receive the protection of the Malfoy family to do whatever he wanted.

“What are you getting out of this?” Harry had asked the table, suspicious of their true intentions.

Malfoy had been the one to answer him. “The Potters are some of my family’s biggest political opponents. This gives us material to at least slow them down, and it will roadblock them from introducing any new laws. You’ve given us magnificent leverage, Potter. My father is most pleased.”

Harry didn’t question how Malfoy’s father already knew. At this point, Harry knew he was a pawn, it was just his choice what side of the board he was aligned with. And at the moment, Harry was getting more from the black side. From Malfoy and Riddle. A part of Harry appreciated the candidness in Malfoy’s answer. He wasn’t pretending that he was only doing this out of the goodness of his heart.

But Harry was pretty sure he had worked this new agreement to his favor. Do better in classes. That didn’t say how good he was supposed to do. Socialize more. Alright, he would openly talk with Crouch. There were easy ways Harry could keep his preferred lifestyle and still adhere to his new agreement.

And it was an agreement. Harry hadn’t been made to sign anything. That, more than anything else, made Harry think he had made the right choice.

Riddle rose from the table. “It’s getting late.” Harry looked down at his cheap muggle watch, and noticed it was way past curfew. He cursed. The Slytherins were at least relatively close to their dungeon dorm room, Harry would have to cross the entire castle without getting caught.

“I’ll walk you to your dorms, Harry,” Severus offered, but Harry shook his head, giving him an appreciative smile.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll walk him,” Riddle said. “I’m a prefect, nobody will question why I’m out so late.” Harry’s face soured, and he just walked out of the room. He didn’t need an escort.

Fast paced footsteps sounded behind him. When Harry rounded his first corner, Riddle had sufficiently caught up.

The Slytherin did not beat around the bush. “What can I do to get you to like me?” Riddle asked. Harry blushed at his audacity, but refused to be embarrassed about it.

“You could stop being a presumptuous asshole,” Harry muttered sarcastically. Their voices sounded so loud in the middle of the dark, sleeping castle. Filch, the grumpy old maintenance man, could catch them at any moment, and Harry really doubted Tom’s ability to deal with him and his crotchety cat.

“How have I been presumptuous?” Riddle asked. He seemed genuinely curious.

Harry hesitated. This was a bit too close to an actual conversation for Harry’s tastes. “Well… You’re always touching me, even though I don’t want you to.”

“I apologize,” Riddle said smoothly. “I’ll try to stop touching you so much. Unless you ask for me to.” Harry couldn’t imagine a future in which he would ask Riddle to touch him unless he had truly lost his mind. But then again, Riddle had just apologized. Even if it had sounded pretty insincere. “Was there anything else?”

Harry didn’t actually know. He hadn’t minded Riddle too much when the Slytherin had kept his distance. Harry had actually enjoyed watching him from his various desks and seats at the Ravenclaw table. It was interesting to see how he manipulated everyone in his presence.

But Harry’s long-held hobby of watching Riddle made him suspicious of the boy’s motives.

“I don’t trust you,” Harry said honestly. “You lie, all the time, to everyone.”

“It’s true,” Riddle said. Again, Harry felt uncomfortable at the level of openness this conversation was achieving. “I tend to say whatever I need to to get people’s trust.”

They both walked in silence, getting near to the bronze knocker that was the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, before Riddle gently pulled on the sleeve of Harry’s robe. He was careful not to touch any skin, and Harry appreciated that more than he could say. Harry knew he couldn’t change Riddle’s more tactile nature, though it seemed to be a new development, but Riddle was at least trying.

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say to get around that fact,” Riddle said. His voice was just verging on the edge of soft, and his eyes were looking fiercely at a point just by Harry’s cheekbone. He let go of Harry’s sleeve.

“You shouldn’t bother,” Harry said, but not in a harsh way. “It’s who you are. If you want me to like you, then you shouldn’t change who you are. That’s just asking for trouble.”

Riddle smiled, but didn’t move from his spot. “So, what can I do then?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. They walked until they reached the Ravenclaw knocker. Harry thought he heard an owl outside the opposite window. “May I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me as many questions as you’d like.” And there was the practiced charming smile. Was it just in Riddle’s nature, to try and appear harmless? It wasn’t like Harry didn’t know he had a vicious bite. The words he spoke were so genuine that they had to be fake.

“Why do you care whether or not I like you? You got what you wanted with the Potters and your weird political plot with Malfoy. Aside from the money your lot is going to give me, you should be content to leave me alone now.” This was the one part that didn’t make sense to Harry. Riddle had made himself present in Harry’s life because of the weirdness of his O.W.L. scores, and then he had discovered the cause of the mystery, which was Harry’s contract with the Potters. And now Riddle had securely, or so he thought, gotten what he wanted out of Harry.

So why was Riddle walking Harry to his room like this was the end of some kind of romantic rendez-vous? Why was he asking what would make Harry like him? It had to be some kind of trick. Maybe he suspected that Harry was going to weasel his way out of the conditions of his agreement? This was so different compared to the co*cky, almost arrogant way that Riddle had approached him so far. What had made him change tactics?

Riddle laughed, and it was the same genuine laugh that he had done when he had walked Harry to Dumbledore’s office on Saturday. The one that made Harry’s toes curl in his shoes and butterflies take flight in his stomach. It wasn’t loud, like the kind Harry overheard from the Gryffindor table at meals, and it wasn’t mocking, like the kind Severus did whenever he thought the Gryffindor Marauders did something particularly stupid.

It was pleasant. Something that Harry wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of his life.

“You still don’t understand,” Riddle said, smiling brightly at Harry. “But you will. One day. I’m not going to just go away, Harry. You’ve caught my attention, you’ve had it since we were first years. I’m sorry to say that it won’t be fading away anytime soon.” Again, Riddle did not sound sorry in the slightest.

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Harry confessed quietly. He threaded his fingers together in front of himself, feeling very self conscious even though he had just handled his second negotiation meeting in a week. “There are hundreds of students here. I get that we interacted once, a while ago, but there are plenty of other toys for you to play with.” Harry didn’t want to be a pet project for Riddle, someone who the boy would compliment and be nice to, just to throw away when he got bored. He had seen Riddle do it before.

Harry wasn’t looking at Riddle, instead looking at the ground, at his own hands, anywhere that he could that would anchor him to this time and place. He felt disgusted with his own weakness.

Riddle’s shoes stepped into his frame of view. “You aren’t a toy, Harry.” There was the softest brush of lips against Harry’s cheek, and Harry turned completely red. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to face Riddle or the look that the Slytherin might have on his face. It could have been mocking or tender; Harry wouldn’t be able to handle either. He felt more than saw Riddle walk away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the Slytherin called as he left down the hallway back to his own dorm and disappeared. Harry reached up and touched his cheek with his fingertips, and stayed like that for at least half an hour.

The next morning, a Tuesday, Harry sat at the great hall next to Crouch eating breakfast. There were blueberry muffins with sugar dusted on top, one of Harry’s favorites, and Harry was trying to chase away sleep from his mind with coffee, even though it really wasn’t something he enjoyed drinking.

Harry had stayed up extra late, even once he got back to his dorm, to make sure he was still doing okay with his homework. He hadn’t put in any extra effort, either, purely out of spite. Barty was talking to Harry about arithmancy, and Harry was actually engaging in the conversation. As much as he could, anyway. Granger seemed to find it necessary to cut in with irrelevant comments.

Harry had honestly forgotten either of them were in his arithmancy class, considering everyone got their own table.

The two were arguing over the differences between arithmancy and divination, which was ironic considering Crouch had never taken divination and Granger had stormed out of the class, never to return, before the winter holidays. Harry, on the other hand, had gotten an ‘exceeds expectations’ on his O.W.L. exam.

Harry sighed and poured more creamer into his coffee.

The three walked to class together, only to be joined by none other than Riddle, Lucius Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy. Harry avoided the eyes of the Slytherins and stayed stuck to Crouch, much to the muddy-eyed Ravenclaw’s amusem*nt.

Maybe if Harry was going to continue using Crouch as his human shield against diabolical snakes, he could begin referring to him by his first name. In fact, while Granger started up her argument about the connections between arithmancy and muggle statistics with Draco Malfoy, who was always up for a fight with a muggleborn student, Harry asked Crouch.

“Would you mind if I started calling you Barty?” Harry asked. He could feel Riddle eavesdropping. See? Harry was doing what he was supposed to. Making friends.

“Only if I have official permission to call you Harry,” Crouch, now Barty, replied with a toothy smile. Harry smiled back, and they all entered the classroom.

Riddle looked pissed, Lucius Malfoy looked satisfied, and Granger and other Malfoy hadn’t been paying attention at all, too immersed in trying to prove each other wrong.

Harry wasn’t sure why Riddle would be upset. He had been the one to want Harry to reach out to people. And if they were so insistent on Harry making connections, wasn’t Barty a perfect choice, what with his knowledge of the ministry and ties to the law department?

Or perhaps Riddle was jealous? He didn’t have any right to be. He hadn’t even asked Harry to go to Hogsmeade with him, which Harry thought was traditional, based on how everyone else at Hogwarts talked about dating. If Riddle hadn’t asked, then that meant he didn’t actually have much interest in Harry. He was just trying to keep Harry under his thumb with his handsome features and beautiful laughter and gentle, chivalrous kisses. Harry’d seen him do it to girls before, though not very often to be fair, and Harry was not someone that would just roll over because Riddle was pretty.

Like Harry had said the night before, he wasn’t a dog.

The class seemed to tick by slowly. Professor Vector had passed out a new chart at the beginning of class for them to complete while she graded some essays from her fourth years, though really the young professor looked like she was sleeping with her eyes open. The entire time, he felt like he was being watched, and he likely was. Lucius Malfoy and Riddle were both waiting for him to do something, anything, that would confirm he was following up on their deal. Their impatience was not appreciated; it was only the first class after their meeting. Nevertheless, he finished the chart when there was forty five minutes left in the class, and the sound of quills scratching still surrounded him. He was the first one done.

So, Harry did something he hadn’t done since he was a first year student; he raised his hand.

Professor Vector, who he knew hated grading things with a fiery, lazy passion, immediately put down her quill and came to his table, quietly trying not to interrupt the other students’ work.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” she asked. Harry wondered if she’d ever even thought his name before.

“I’ve finished, ma’am,” he said politely, and he felt the Slytherin stares intensify.

Professor Vector’s grey eyes widened, and she pulled Harry’s finished numerical chart towards herself. Harry watched as her eyes skated over the large piece of parchment, and he even felt intense satisfaction at the pleased look on his young professor’s face.

“This is impressive, Mr. Potter,” she said, smiling down at him, and Harry grinned back. Maybe this whole doing his best thing wouldn’t be that much trouble after all. “I shouldn’t have expected less, though, given your excellent O.W.L. scores. You’re dismissed, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Harry started to pack his bag, even though whispers had broken out at Professor Vector’s louder-than-normal quiet voice. And because it was a mixed class of all houses, it had the potential to become a thing.

It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing weird about Harry doing well in one subject. And as his eyes met Lucius Malfoy’s accomplished silver ones, Harry told himself that he only needed to do well in one subject to meet their terms.

One subject, and one subject only. So he swept out of the classroom to find a better use for his remaining time, and he didn’t meet Riddle’s eyes once.

Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen: Severus Snape’s Best Friend’s Not-So-Secret Admirer

Chapter Text

When Severus had gone to the Lestranges’ summer home for an extended weekend, he had expected to spend it quietly drinking lemonade in a corner as his house mates talked about all of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs they wanted to curse. Instead, he was accompanied most often by Tom Riddle, and sometimes Lucius Malfoy.

Severus had interacted with Tom Riddle minimally over his five years at Hogwarts. The boy had started out as a reject, what with his muggle surname. Severus, at least, had the Prince title to offer him some protection. Riddle was not so lucky. That would have been all Severus knew about Riddle, given that he didn’t interact with his housemates too often, but Severus was friends with Harry Potter.

Harry would never admit it to anyone, possibly not even to himself, but he had obsessively watched Riddle since they were eleven, and because Severus wanted to understand his weird new friend, he too had taken to watching Riddle in his spare moments between reading ahead in potions and following Lily Evans around.

The boy had managed to get even the most purist Slytherins to leave him alone by virtue of his house points in the middle of second year, and by third, the house of the snakes was well aware of his skill with dark magic. Some even started to learn from Riddle, even those higher up in years, because of the boys’ natural prowess. And that was all before fourth year, when the boy climbed off the Hogwarts Express with a snake wrapped around his shoulders, speaking the hereditary language of the Slytherin line itself.

He had almost achieved prince status in the pureblooded house, then.

Severus, because of his reclusive nature and known friendship with two mudbloods, had never been on Riddle’s radar, except the very few times they partnered together for potions during fifth year. And then, over the summer, he had trounced the boy a few times with some strategies he had picked up from Harry.

“You’re quite a good player,” Riddle had smiled at him in an almost self-deprecating way. Severus knew it wasn’t true, because Riddle had always been one of the most confident people he had laid eyes on. And unlike Draco Malfoy, Riddle could back it up.

“I had an excellent teacher,” Severus said with a straight face, eyes firmly on the chess board. He had just taken Riddle’s queen, but there were never any guarantees in life.

“Your father?” Riddle guessed lazily, moving his bishop into a position where it could easily be taken by Severus’ rook. Too easy. Severus’ eyebrows furrowed.

“One of my acquaintances.” Severus did not take the bishop, instead moving his rook to the right of his king.

“I wasn’t aware Miss Evans had any strategic prowess,” Riddle said. It burned him to hear Lily’s name spoken so casually, but Severus would not allow it to make him mess up the game. Because that was all this was to Riddle. A game. One that he was used to winning, without any opposition. If Harry were there, he would probably say Riddle would be more pleasant if he was around more complicated people. That is, if Harry could choke out a word around the Slytherin prefect.

“She does not,” Severus said, doing his best to keep his low voice even. Lily was a true Gryffindor, despite her level of intelligence. She got too invested in games like chess, too into what her next move would be. Harry had told her that, over and over again, but she never changed.

“Your other friend, then,” Riddle said, and though his voice had been casual through this entire exchange, Severus felt Riddle’s increasing attention to their conversation.

That was the moment Severus realized that however interested Harry was, even subconsciously, in Riddle, it was most definitely mutual.

The school year seemed to be a mounting amount of evidence. Tom Riddle, descendant of Salazar Slytherin, definite head boy for their seventh year, an ice sculpture of a person if there ever was one, was completely gone on Severus’ best friend. And apparently the boy was taking relationship advice from Lucius.

He acted pompous and co*cky around Harry, always leaning into the Ravenclaws’ personal space, and while Severus knew Riddle was a confident person, he wasn’t a peaco*ck like the Malfoys could be. And Severus also knew that Harry, as hopeless as he was, would not find it appealing in the slightest.

When Riddle slid into his seat at their table in herbology, receiving no scorn from Sprout, there was dried blood on his sleeve and he was vibrating with energy, enough so that the Hufflepuffs at the next table over were looking at him as if he had a third head.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you?” When Riddle just looked at them both, Severus eyed the spots on his robes pointedly, and Riddle smirked while looking at them. He did, however, vanish the spots, leaving his uniform pristine once again.

Riddle looked at Lucius. “Your strategy is not working.” Lucius’ eyes darted to Severus, who wanted to snort. He knew about the contract, and he knew about Riddle’s feelings, even though he honestly didn’t want to.

There was a brief pause as Professor Sprout told the class how to harvest the bark from the wiggentree, and then she magically placed trees on each of the tables in the greenhouse.

“Severus knows enough of what’s going on.” He wished he didn’t. He picked up a knife and analyzed the tree carefully. Wiggentree ingredients were expensive and rare, but useful in potions. He wondered if he could get away with pocketing some.

Lucius sighed. It had been odd, the first few times Severus had seen someone treat Riddle as if he was a person instead of a future dark lord, but perhaps that was what Lucius was meant to do.

It was odd, because he had seen Riddle use the cruciatus curse on Rabastan Lestrange over the summer, just for talking about using a love potion on some seventh year girl.

“What’s the problem then?” Lucius asked. The blond flinched as Severus carefully severed a piece of bark from the tree, and Severus wondered why he was even taking N.E.W.T. herbology. Severus himself had thought about dropping, but it was too important to have an in-depth knowledge of plants for potions.

Riddle sighed, though it was for show entirely. “He is not pleased with me.”

“You knew he wouldn’t be,” Lucius said, watching Severus take another piece of bark with horrified curiosity. Severus couldn’t entirely blame him; the process was similar to peeling a scab. “He’s a private sort of person, and you stole from him.”

“I did not realize what I would stumble upon at the time,” Riddle said, as if that made everything better. “I was hoping to find some notes on difficult projects he’s working on.”

“You can’t deny that this is better for us in the long run.”

Severus sighed. These Slytherins and their plotting. Sometimes he wished he had ended up in Ravenclaw with Harry.

“Perhaps Severus would have a better idea on how to get your pet projects’ attention?” Lucius said snidely, and before Severus could say anything scathing in return, a bitter wind of magic rushed through the air and into the Malfoy heir’s face, causing the normally-proper Slytherin to shriek and fall off of his stool. Severus hid a smirk behind his hand and Professor Sprout came bustling over to check on him. The other Slytherins in the class were all snickering, and even some Hufflepuffs were laughing outright. Riddle himself, the obvious perpetrator, leaned his chin on his hand.

Lucius sat himself back on his chair, pale complexion slightly pink around the cheeks. He waved off the worrying professor. Once she was gone, he glared at Riddle and Severus. “Alright, I get it. Not-Potter isn’t a pet. Well, Severus? Enlighten our lord here on how to win him over.”

How brave, to refer to Riddle as that in public. Severus thought it was supposed to be a secret. Riddle didn’t say anything, but Severus supposed that Lucius would be punished in a more private setting.

He wondered what Harry would think, if he knew Riddle tortured people. He had been understanding of Severus’ darker nature, more than Lily ever had, but Harry was also a light hearted person, someone who believed the best in everyone.

“I don’t know exactly what you’re asking me for,” Severus decided to say, poking one of his larger pieces of bark. The side that had been stuck to the tree was covered in an interesting dark pink substance.

“What does Harry value in companionship?” Riddle asked, and Severus did look at him then. Riddle looked invested, just like he had when they had talked about Harry over summer vacation. It was odd. Wrong. Severus didn’t like where this was going. Riddle didn’t do relationships, and neither did Harry, but there was a chance that Harry would give Riddle, out of anybody, a chance.

And Riddle would crush Harry’s heart in his fist.

But just that morning, he had learned some interesting stuff about Harry’s life. That apparently, everything the Ravenclaw did was because of some stupid, illegal, invasive contract. Had Harry ever made a decision for himself?

Who was Severus, to once again take away Harry’s choice?

“Harry likes honesty,” Severus said. “And openness.” Two things Riddle might actually be incapable of. “He likes to be able to sit quietly with people, though he doesn’t mind conversation so long as it doesn’t go on for too long.”

“What about flowers?” Lucius interjected. “Jewelry? I bought Narcissa a lovely sapphire necklace for her birthday and she could barely contain herself.”

“Harry isn’t materialistic,” Severus said, ignoring Lucius' protests that neither was his ‘lovely betrothed.’ Severus looked Riddle dead in the eye, and was unwillingly impressed at the amount of attention the little lord was paying. “If you actually want to get him to like you, you’ll have to be soft, Riddle. And to be honest, I don’t think you’re capable of it.”

Severus had gone too far. He knew it by the narrowing of Riddle’s eyes, the way they lightened to a masoch*stic red color, and the suffocating aura of magic that felt like it was wrapping itself around Severus’ neck, tightening into a choke-hold.

Severus held his breath. He felt his eyes attempting to bulge. Lucius was watching, his own eyes wide. Neither could believe Riddle was doing this here, in the middle of class.

Finally, as Severus was nearing the edge of consciousness, Riddle relaxed his hold. Severus coughed and leaned over the table, massaging his throat. He hoped there wouldn’t be bruising.

“Soft,” Riddle said slowly. He squeezed onto a piece of bark and watched it spring back. Severus had a horrible vision of the bark being his own esophagus. “I can do soft.”

Severus had his doubts, but this time he wisely kept them to himself. He could only hope that he hadn’t set a monster on his only friend.

When Riddle almost ran after Harry, once the four of them finished their strange negotiation session, Severus had looked at Lucius, hoping for an explanation, but the Malfoy heir had just rolled his eyes and flicked his long blond hair over his shoulder. So the two had hurried back to the Slytherin common room. Unlike Lucius, who trudged down to their dorm room, Severus decided to wait until Riddle came back. He settled into his favorite chair near the portrait entrance and reread his favorite potions text, flicking his eyes up to the portal at the end of each paragraph. That was the way he read at home, when his father could be upon him at any moment.

It wasn’t too long before Riddle came back, and just like when he had arrived to herbology seven minutes late, the Slytherin lord looked like he wasn’t even touching the ground, and his hands kept flexing as if it was a reflex. He spotted Severus almost immediately, but didn’t approach. Instead, he smiled at Severus. It was pleasant. Even from his distance, Severus could tell it was real.

Severus could not condone Riddle courting Harry, but perhaps there was something there after all.

Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: Lord of the Flies

Chapter Text

Harry had solely studied in the Ravenclaw common room for the entire week. It was partly an avoidance tactic, and partly because he ended up studying with Barty for most of it. And he didn’t even have to dodge around with answers to their homework assignments anymore, which Harry was grateful for, because Barty was wicked smart. Whenever Barty talked about a theory, Harry would expand on it, connecting it to different subjects and possibilities, and from there Barty would light up and pull everything even further than Harry had thought possible.

Harry was learning so much from Barty, and it looked like Barty was learning from Harry, too. Harry had also studied with Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein, so the four of them would sit around the biggest table in the common room and write their essays, taking breaks sometimes so that Harry could teach them all how to play chess better, and Goldstein in turn taught him how to play gobstones. Harry still wasn’t good at it, much preferring the intellectual nature of chess, but it was interesting nonetheless.

Harry had gotten excellent scores on his homework assignments, even though he still only spoke up in his arithmancy class. Professor Vector was absolutely delighted in his new and improved work ethic, and Harry considered once or twice what his other teachers would have to say, but it wasn’t necessary, really. And so, Harry had been meeting all of the conditions of his new agreement.

And so what if Harry resolutely ignored Tom Riddle in their classes together? Harry didn’t get to speak to Severus that often either, but the boy was always griping about Lucius Malfoy or Sirius Black now, so it seemed like Severus didn’t miss him too much. Which hurt, but really, Harry had been the one to give him permission to join a Dark Arts study group.

Harry would have to attend a meeting at some point, as well, but so far nothing had been said about it.

In short, the past week had been nice for Harry. He still didn’t talk much, and he still didn’t put his absolute best effort into his assignments, but it felt freeing to know he could if he actually wanted to.

But now it was Saturday, and in thirteen short minutes, Lord Abraxas Malfoy was going to show up at his meeting with the Potters, and everything was going to fall to sh*t.

Which was why Harry was hiding in one of his favorite spots. The astronomy tower. It was huge and airy and filled with natural light. Best of all, nobody was ever there that early in the morning, and it was big enough that Harry could spread out his various notes and books. He was trying to finish a new arithmancy chart, one that technically wasn’t due for another week, but he wanted to see what Vector would say if he turned it in on Monday.

Only, his attention kept slipping, and he’d hold his quill over the parchment too long and ink would drop onto it and blot, and he’d have to vanish it, only for the whole thing to happen again.

He heard footsteps slowly coming up the stairs and hurriedly started packing his stuff up, even though he had an idea about who it was.

Riddle’s fluffy brown hair peaked over the floor opening as the Slytherin climbed the stairs, and Harry suppressed a sigh. This was one of the main reasons Harry had started studying mainly in his common room; Riddle had an uncanny ability to find him, no matter where in the castle he was.

Riddle was just so interesting, and Harry was too easily trapped when the two got the opportunity to speak to each other, so it was better if Harry ignored the siren’s call, so to speak, and avoided Riddle altogether.

“Harry,” he said happily, coming to stand on the floor of the tower. Harry felt small, kneeling on the floor picking up his parchments, but at least he couldn’t see Riddle’s eyes. It was game over if Harry looked into Riddle’s eyes.

Perhaps, if Riddle hadn’t started calling Harry by his first name, this would be easier to deal with.

“Hello, Riddle,” Harry said to the boy’s shoes. He was almost done picking up his stuff.

Riddle crouched down next to him and picked up his arithmancy text. Harry froze, four pieces of stray parchment covered in algorithms still in his hands.

“Were you working on our new chart?” he asked lightly. Harry had kind of expected the boy to be mad at him for the whole avoidance thing. Maybe Harry could just play it off? ‘Oh, yeah, no. I’ve just been super busy doing awesome on my coursework.’ Something like that.

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to get it done early,” Harry said, stumbling back up to his feet as Riddle rose in one smooth step. “Free up some extra time this week.”

“For anything in particular?” Riddle asked, flipping through some pages in Harry’s textbook. Harry didn’t like writing in books, though. That was Severus’ thing.

“Not really,” Harry said, then remembered how he was supposed to not converse with Riddle. “Can I have my book back? I was about to leave…”

“Did I do something wrong?” Riddle asked, and damn it, the Slytherin actually looked sad.
Pouty, almost. “I’ve tried talking to you this week, but you always have somewhere to be.”

Don’t feel guilty, Harry! Too late. “Um, just working hard on my homework,” Harry muttered, looking down at the ground. “It takes more time than it used to, now…”

Riddle nodded and smiled, pout wiped from his expression. Harry once again felt played, but also relieved.

“I was coming to find you,” Riddle confessed, handing Harry’s arithmancy text back. “Today was supposed to be your meeting with the Potters, correct?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He hunched in on himself slightly, feeling the overwhelming guilt about what he was doing to Lord and Lady Potter, especially after they had been so kind to him last week. Harry felt the ghost of Lady Potter’s ringed hand curling through his hair, and shuddered.

Riddle made a move as if to touch him, maybe comfort him, but decided against it. “Well, Lucius and I came up with a way to watch the proceedings, and I thought that perhaps you would be interested in knowing what’s going on?”

Harry blinked. Did he really want to see that meeting? Did he really want to hear the Potters talk bad about him?

But knowledge was power, and it would be better to know what to expect.

“I guess,” Harry said, and Tom grinned. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a dark blue broach edged in silver.

“This is a one way mirror, connected to the robe pin that Lord Malfoy is wearing,” Riddle explained, moving to sit against the wall that Harry had just vacated. Harry set down his bag again and joined him. “We’ll be able to see what he’s seeing, and nobody, not even Dumbledore, will notice.”

Riddle moved closer to Harry, though it was just to give him a better view of the broach. Riddle tapped the stone with his wand, and it rippled like water. Eventually it settled and Harry leaned forward, fascinated, as the stone appeared to be gone, instead showing Dumbledore’s office. It looked like Harry could reach directly forward, like the room was some kind of open-face dollhouse.

“Was that a water rune merging with glass?” Harry asked, fascinated, but Riddle pushed a finger against his mouth.

“Shh, or we’ll miss all of the dramatics,” Riddle said, eyes looking eager. He moved even closer, to the point that their legs were touching from thigh to shoe.

Lord Potter’s voice came out of the broach, sounding very small despite its angry tone. Harry instinctively winced.

“-not understand why the boy cannot come down here himself!” he was saying.

A different voice answered, one that Harry didn’t know, but assumed was Lord Malfoy’s. It was high and lofty and somewhat superior, but Harry couldn’t blame him. He would have had a bad impression of Lord Potter, too, if he had seen the temper tantrum he was throwing.

“As a minor, Harry Potter is well within his rights to have a representative handle all of his legal business. Even if he were of age, this would be permitted in court.”

“Please, sit down, Lord Malfoy,” Dumbledore said cordially, extending a hand towards the spot in between the Potters that Harry normally took. “Would you like a lemon drop?”

“Not today, thank you.” Lord Malfoy, instead of taking Harry’s seat, transfigured the tea tray on Dumbledore’s desk into a new armchair. It was an impressive feat of magic, just like the broach, but it was also meant to be an intimidation tactic.

“What problem does young Harry have with the Potters’ contract?” Dumbledore asked, still being exceedingly pleasant, even though Harry was pretty sure that the Malfoys were on the darker side of the political alignments of the wizarding world.

Lord Malfoy leaned over, giving Riddle and Harry a look at a dark brown briefcase that the lord must have brought in with him. He slid out a piece of parchment, and with a jolt, Harry realized it was his contract, though likely not the same copy he had possessed himself. Lord Malfoy cleared his throat. “Mr. Potter has discovered the sheer audacity of you adults in pressuring him to sign an illegal document at the vulnerable age of eleven, and has decided to level the score with you all.” The man sounded so imperious and intimidating, that it took a few minutes for the adults in the room to parse out what had been said. And then all hell broke loose.

Several of the instruments around the office started whirring, alert to the rising level of violence and dangerous magic in the room.

“What do you mean, ‘level the score’?” Lord Potter had shouted with a dangerous set to his jaw. His hand was in his robe, obviously ready to pull out his wand, and his hair, normally artfully messy like his sons’, was rising around his ears like a lions’ mane. “Are you threatening my family, Malfoy?”

“Bring the boy here right now,” Lady Potter demanded Dumbledore, her prim hands resting on her crossed knees in an attempt to keep composure. But Harry noticed the sharp grip she had, and the venomous tone she was using. The way she spat out ‘boy’ like it was a swear word. “We can sort this out without the use of lawyer Malfoy’s services.”

It was her bitter anger that got to Harry the most, making him curl slightly away from the one way mirror broach. Riddle looked over curiously, and when he saw Harry’s distress, he reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand with his own that wasn’t holding the broach. Riddle’s thumb caressed the back of Harry’s hand, causing Harry to take a shaky breath. He nodded at Riddle, though the Slytherin did not take back his hand. Harry didn’t mind, much more invested in the events of the meeting.

Dumbledore shook his head, almost in disappointment. “Lord Malfoy, I read the original contract over myself. While I do think eleven was a bit young at the time, both parties were under considerable pressure-”

“Nonetheless, it was absolutely illegal,” Malfoy cut through the angry yelling and annoying background noises, sounding absolutely gleeful about it in the most reserved of ways. “And all three of your names are signed. Do you know what this could do to your reputations? To your vaults? To your political status?”

“You can’t threaten us, Malfoy,” Lord Potter said coolly, with his wife nodding from her seat.

“It isn’t a threat,” Lord Malfoy responded. “There is no getting out of this. I have the contract, and if necessary, I can acquire Harry Potter’s own pensieve memories.”

“No court will prosecute us,” Lord Potter said. “Every family has utilized these contracts at least once.”

“But no family has done so in so disgusting of a manner,” Lord Malfoy said. “These contracts have always been semi-public affairs, easily accessed! A bastard child gives away their claim to the family name in exchange for a fair amount of money and security. There would have been nothing scandalous about it, except for the fact you involved a minor, and you didn’t even provide what would be expected of a family like your own!”

Harry tilted his head. “They’re common occurrences?” he whispered to Riddle, as if he didn’t want the room full of adults to hear him. “They’re public?”

Riddle shushed him again. “I’ll explain it to you after,” the Slytherin promised. Harry leaned forward, interested despite himself. The position meant he was leaning into Tom’s arm, but Harry welcomed the warmth with how drafty the astronomy tower was.

“This stipend,” Lord Malfoy hissed, “is shameful, especially with what you asked of the boy. By pureblood standards, a removal contract is only done once the child is of age, and for good reason. You have potentially done irreparable damage to that boy’s mind by forcing him away from potential healthy connections and keeping him from achieving high academic marks! You have most assuredly done Mr. Potter damage by not removing him from his current living situation with muggles!”

“You can’t talk to us like this,” Lady Potter interrupted. “Removal contracts are personal family business.”

“Actually, with Mr. Potter being a ward of the school and my being the head of the school board, this is entirely within my legal limits!”

“Dumbledore,” Lord Potter said, looking at the bearded old man. “Tell him, Dumbledore. We have done nothing wrong.”

The old man folded his fingers in front of his face, the spark in his blue eyes dim. “One could argue that, considering Harry’s age at the time of signing and his lack of guardianship…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lord Malfoy stressed. “What matters is that a child was forced to spend his developmental years under a monumental amount of stress that has probably changed the child permanently. I am more than willing to have a mind healer confirm, if we must take this to the courts.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry held his breath, keeping his cheek on Riddle’s arm.

“I am confident that nothing that you have could stick in a court of law,” Lord Potter said, “but it would be a long and drawn out process that neither of us truly wants.”

“Why not avoid it, then?” Lord Malfoy said as if he was providing the Potters a generous offer. Harry wished he had managed to talk the Slytherins down more, if only to avoid his aunt and uncle’s wrath. “My client also does not want this to become a public court battle, and has prepared a settlement, if you wish to accept it.”

Upon hearing that Harry himself had decided the terms, both of the Potters calmed down considerably. They thought Harry would be kind. Harry wished they were right, but the Slytherins had hypnotized him with so many nice things… Harry fought the urge to run to Dumbledore’s office, but he knew he would never make it in time. Riddle probably wouldn’t even let Harry out of the tower.

“You will pay Mr. Potter ten million galleons,” Lord Malfoy started, and both the Potters’ faces went ashen as they slumped against the back of their chairs. “You will still purchase him a store location after his graduation and training, in Diagon Alley, and you will supply the payroll for an employee while they get settled. You will also be doubling your stipend for Harry, and in return for my services for Mr. Potter, you will be pulling your support for three bills currently going through the Wizengamot. The first, restricting the sale of educational dark arts materials, the second providing charity funding for homeless muggles using wizarding currency, and your bill attempting to make muggle studies a required course in the Hogwarts curriculum.”

Harry frowned at the last two bills, but it was his own fault. His reluctance to hear about the Slytherins’ political agenda meant he hadn’t even asked about what bills they didn’t want passed. He agreed with stopping the first one, as there wasn’t anything wrong with education, but the other two sounded nowhere near as bad. Harry was grateful Lord Malfoy had called them his payment, which Harry supposed it was.

“That is an awfully large amount of requests,” Lady Potter whispered, like the wind had been knocked right out of her.

“Mostly because of reparations,” Lord Malfoy said. “I guarantee you, should you choose to take this to court, you will be paying for a lot more. I personally found this list lacking, and think you should count your blessings.”

The Potter Lord and Lady looked at each other, and then towards Dumbledore, who did nothing but watch. Then they looked at each other again. Finally, Lord Potter spoke again.

“We will agree to these terms on one additional condition,” he said, his normally strong voice weak. “We request that Harry be completely barred from trying to claim the lordship.”

Harry felt Riddle stiffen up completely under his cheek, but was completely enthralled. Why would they mention the lordship? Harry had already accepted that he wasn’t capable of becoming Lord Potter.

“I cannot accept that condition,” Mr. Malfoy said firmly, his voice made of tempered steel. “Do we have an accord?”

“Why can’t you?” Lady Potter said desperately. “We know Harry has no interest in being the Potter Lord.”

“I cannot accept that condition,” Lord Malfoy repeated, except this time slower, like he was talking to a toddler. “Do we have an accord?”

There was more silent communication between the Potters, before Lord Potter reached out to shake Malfoy’s hand without saying a word. The cruel look on Potter’s face said all that needed to be said.

Lord Malfoy shook Lord Potter’s hand, pale skin meeting tan, but Harry had the distinct feeling as he watched Lord Malfoy pick up his briefcase, that his struggles had barely even started.

Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen: Open

Chapter Text

Harry sat himself up off of Riddle’s arm and leaned back against the stone wall, deep in thought. He had so many questions, and some of them were things only he could answer. Was he upset about the Potters’ behavior? Yes and no. Really, he knew they were going to be upset. Harry had betrayed their trust. He’d gone to a Malfoy. But still, they hadn’t even insinuated that he wouldn’t do such a thing.

“Are you alright?” Riddle asked. He had tucked away the broach back into his robe, and now he looked faintly childish, with his legs stretched out in front of him. His face was clear, even though the question suggested he was concerned.

Even when they were first years, Harry hadn’t ever seen Riddle look relaxed.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “It wasn’t anything I wasn’t expecting.” So why did Harry feel so uncertain inside?

“You’re lying,” Riddle said, without even looking at Harry, instead keeping his eyes straight forward. “But that’s alright, I suppose, because you thought you were telling the truth.”

Harry looked at Riddle, trying to commemorate the boy’s profile to memory. He’d never noticed how aristocratic the Slytherin’s nose was, with its angular swoop down the face. And his cheeks were actually a little on the pudgy side, but Harry liked them anyway. He thought that the high, obvious cheekbones that most purebloods had were kind of strange, like cherry tomatoes stuck to the sides of their face. His ears were small, something that Harry had also never noticed. Riddle turned, and Harry looked away quickly.

“I’m not lying,” Harry said, hoping Riddle wouldn’t say anything about the staring. “I am okay. I just need a little time to process things, I guess.”

“So you don’t want to talk about it?” Riddle sounded both relieved and disappointed.

“Not right now,” Harry said. “I’m sure you understood the nuances of the meeting better than I did, so I want some time to think about things before I ask you questions.”

“Very logical,” Riddle praised. “Though I expect no less from a Ravenclaw.”

Harry flushed. It hadn’t even been a very good compliment. Harry knew he was the kind of person to overthink things, so why was he getting all flustered just because Riddle pointed it out?

Why was he even asking himself that? The answer was obvious. Harry knew he had a thing for Riddle. A big thing. A huge thing. It was just a bad idea, that was all, and Riddle would never, not in a million years, return Harry’s feelings just for the sake of feelings. There would always be an ulterior motive.

Harry knew it would be a good idea for him to leave now, but a part of him felt more relaxed than he had in ages, sitting on the floor next to the most handsome boy he’d ever known.

He sighed and slumped against the wall. “Isn’t life strange?” he said on a whim.

Riddle’s lips quirked as he continued to watch Harry. “What do you mean?”

Harry wasn’t sure himself. He felt like he was being overly nostalgic, thinking about how much his life had changed, and how quickly.

Instead, he asked Riddle, “Do you remember when you got your Hogwarts letter?”

Riddle huffed and knocked his feet together. “Yes. McGonagall came and told me about Hogwarts, and magic. She told me that my habit of terrorizing other children wouldn’t be tolerated here.”

“Shows what she knew,” Harry joked, and for a moment there was just pure, uninhibited shock on Riddle’s face, as if he couldn’t believe that Harry would even bring up what Riddle did in his free time with his friends. Maybe he was wondering how much he knew, versus how much Severus had told him? Harry hoped he hadn’t just gotten Severus in trouble; the reserved potions prodige really hadn’t told Harry anything he hadn’t figured out for himself.

Then, Riddle tilted his head back against the wall and laughed. It echoed around the tower, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if people out wandering the grounds on this warm day could hear him, and thought they were hearing an angel. Harry blushed at the direction his thoughts had gone in. Riddle was no angel, obviously, given his leanings towards dark magic.

“Why, Harry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Riddle said with a wink, and Harry laughed, too.

“Was McGonagall the one to give your letter to you?” Riddle asked after they both calmed down.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed with a happy little smile on his face. “I think she thought I was funny, because of how many questions I asked. She took me to get my supplies and everything.”

“I told them I would go myself,” Riddle said, and told Harry all about his first time to Diagon Alley, and getting his robes fitted and getting his wand. Harry hung onto every word, fitting them all into the image he had of the proper Slytherin.

At the end of his story, Riddle asked Harry how he came to be friends with Severus.

“I rode with him and Evans on the Hogwarts Express. All three of us came from a muggle background, and even though Severus was reserved, I think Evans encouraged him to get along with me. Then we all started studying at the same table in the library. Evans made a lot of friends once she got here, with the girls in her house mostly, so it was just Severus and I a few times. Our senses of humor mesh well, and we have a lot of similar interests, academically.” It wasn’t anything dramatic. There were no dragons or daring heroics. Just a lot of time spent together, playing chess and talking about potions.

They both sat for a moment, each drawn into contemplative thought. Harry could try and guess what Riddle was thinking, but he was actually enjoying the mystery of it for once.

But eventually, the silence only brought forth Harry’s thoughts on the meeting between the Potters and the Malfoy lord again.

“I can feel you tense up,” Riddle said from beside him, and Harry huffed, either from silent laughter or silent exasperation. They were still touching, but Harry had forgotten.

“Riddle, what did you think about that meeting?” Harry decided to ask.

Riddle tapped on his leg with his right fingers. “I believe the Potters gave in too early.”

That wasn’t what Harry wanted to hear, simply because he had been thinking the same thing. The Potters were not the kind to simply cave to the desires of others, especially not for people they disliked, like Lord Malfoy.

Harry did not voice his agreement, or that he thought the Potters were up to something. Riddle probably knew both things. Instead he finally detached himself from Riddle’s side and grabbed his bag.

“Well, I’m going to go work on that arithmancy chart some more,” he said, suddenly feeling a little self conscious about how familiar they had been acting with each other. “I’ll see you around, Riddle.” He took two steps towards the descending staircase in the middle of the circular room.

“Wait,” Riddle said, and he stood up quickly from his spot on the wall. For a moment, Harry was worried he was going to ask for something in exchange for the time they had spent together. Such good moments were never free.

But Riddle had decided to establish a habit of shocking Harry. “Would you like to play chess with me sometime this week?” he asked, brushing some of his brown hair away from his face in a too-obvious attempt to look casual.

How did Riddle know he liked to play chess? Could Harry possibly beat Riddle in chess? What strategies did the Slytherin use? Harry wanted to play chess with Riddle, he realized. Quite badly.

“I would love to!” Harry said. Loudly. Too loud. Oh, Merlin, had he just embarrassed himself?

But Riddle didn’t look smug or like he was judging Harry. Instead he looked happy, and the emotion was so light in the air. Harry felt like he could breathe easier than he had ever done in his life.

“We could meet in the courtyard on Monday morning?” the Slytherin suggested. “Before breakfast and class?”

“Yes, that sounds good.” Harry was so excited. He rarely ever got to play chess with a new opponent. He hadn’t even played with Barty yet. Red colored Harry’s cheeks, and he said goodbye again, rushing down the stairs.

Harry did end up completing his arithmancy chart, once he settled down in the common room after lunch to work on it. It took him all afternoon, but considering he was caught up on everything else, it didn’t feel like such a waste of time. When he finally set his quill down, the sun had long disappeared beneath the horizon, and Barty was clearly fighting back a yawn. Granger, however, was powering through her assignments, and Harry knew Barty would not let her stay down studying longer than him. Apparently the two had some kind of rivalry that Harry had missed out on during their first five years of school. Barty told Harry that Granger was smug about beating him to second place in their year, and Barty really wanted to take her place by the time they graduated.

So Harry just smiled at his newest friend and told him that he was going to turn in for the night. Barty didn’t even look up from his potions essay and just waved a hand in acknowledgement.

Harry made his way up to his room and changed slowly into his pajamas. The day had been long, and even though the main events had all taken place in the morning, the afternoon had been pleasant, sitting in the sun with his books. Harry felt like a content cat. Finally, he opened the curtains around his bed, only to see a letter sitting innocently on his pillow.

It reminded Harry of the summons he had received from the Potters, except the parchment had more of a yellow tint than the pure white of the Potter’s letter.

Harry sat cross legged on his dark blue blankets and carefully broke the seal, which took the shape of a large ‘M’. Harry knew who it was from.

Dear Mr. Potter,

My son, Lucius, and his acquaintances, have curated a strong interest in your well-being. I, too, confess myself to be curious, so I would like to extend a hand of friendship between us. There is a Hogsmeade visit scheduled for next weekend, and it would be advantageous for both of us to meet and discuss things forward.

There are many things I could help you with, and there are many things you could assist me with in return. Would you be willing to meet with me at the Three Broomsticks? Please, respond at your earliest convenience.

Lord Abraxas Malfoy

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: Names That Fit, Names That Don’t

Chapter Text

Harry had an idea of how Lord Malfoy could help him, but what he didn’t really understand was how he could help Lord Malfoy. There were many things about politics that Harry didn’t understand that Lord Malfoy could teach him, and maybe the meeting would put some light on this lordship thing that all of the Slytherins seemed to think he should try and steal from James. Perhaps Lord Malfoy thought that if Harry secured the Potter Lordship, the two houses could enter a kind of political alliance?

But Harry didn’t want the lordship. It just seemed like so much extra trouble, and he wasn’t even sure how he would achieve it. James Potter clearly had the better claim.

Still, on Sunday Harry sent one of the school owls to Malfoy Manor with an agreement for a meeting. Perhaps he was spending too much time with Slytherins, because as he was penning his response, all he could think was that he shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to learn pureblood politics from one of the masters.

Harry knew that the Malfoys owned several businesses, perhaps the Malfoy Lord could give him some advice on opening his store?

On Monday morning, Harry found himself walking to the courtyard, grateful that it was another semi-warm day and he’d only needed his Ravenclaw scarf wrapped tight around his neck. His secondhand wizarding chess set was in his bag, making it even more bulky than usual, but that was fine.

Harry had barely been able to sleep the night before. He kept imagining Riddle’s face, deep in concentration, leaning over his chessboard, maybe he would even bite his own lip in thought? And Harry had tossed and turned and felt all kinds of flustered about it. Riddle was insanely smart, and Harry hoped he didn’t disappoint him.

A part of Harry wanted to be a challenge. He wanted to be on equal footing with Riddle, and if it wasn’t with chess, then Harry had no idea how he could ever measure up.

Harry walked past the wall of windows looking into the courtyard and saw that Riddle was already at a small table in the farthest corner. He had a small black book with him and was writing in it. He looked completely focused, but Harry knew he was probably keenly aware of the group of first year Gryffindors gathered at the other end of the area. He had noticed the insignia on their robes first and had been afraid that it was the marauders, but luck was already on his side for once.

Harry beat off the urge to smile happily and instead quickened his pace. It was a lovely September day. The air itself felt magical, like good things were going to happen, and Harry was ready to see what they were.

His theory on Riddle’s attention was proven correct when the Slytherin looked up upon his approach and packed away his notebook.

“What were you working on?” Harry asked, settling into the seat across from Riddle. “Anything important?” Oh, Merlin, was that the first time Harry had initiated contact? He should have said hello, or something more polite and less nosy.

“Nothing of interest,” Riddle said, smiling easily. “I hope you brought a board. It slipped my mind to bring my own.” Harry wondered what Riddle’s set would look like, which pieces would have the most nicks from being sacrificed, which positions would be the most worn down from constant use. Would some of the pieces have the color faded around their necks, like Harry’s own did because he couldn’t get used to the fact that they moved on their own? Or would Riddle’s set be pristine, without any blemishes, because he could send them to get repaired whenever he pleased?

Harry sent his own pieces to get repaired before summer vacation every year, because he would have to use a muggle set until fall anyway.

Harry took out his chess set from his bag and started placing the pieces carefully down on the right squares. Some more expensive sets did this themselves, but Harry liked setting up his own board. He liked wizard’s chess well enough, but he really preferred the hands-on quality of muggle chess. He liked to be able to move his fingers across the tops of the pieces while he thought. He had bought this chess set on a whim when he had first gone to Diagon Alley, instead of buying a pet like his student loan allocated for. It had been a smart decision; Harry doubted Severus would have wanted to play so often if he just used muggle pieces. Riddle started to set up his side of the board with black pieces, even though neither of them had claimed a side, but Harry thought this was a predictable allocation anyway.

“White moves first,” Riddle said, teeth sparkling in his intimidating smile. Harry would not give in so easily to an opponent on the other side of his board.

They played in silence, with the only noises being the birds flying in the sky, going somewhere warmer for the approaching cold weather, and the gaggle of first year Gryffindors playing some kind of magical version of kick-the-can. Two red heads that must have been twins were the loudest and most impressive, though Harry couldn’t remember if he’d seen them before. It didn’t matter. The game was more important.

Riddle was a very talented player. He thought ahead by several moves, and was able to fluidly move around whatever tactic Harry used. His brown eyes were watching the pieces intensely, and Harry was reminded of generals that he’d read about when he used to care about muggle history. But Harry would not lose, because he had quickly figured out Riddle’s Achilles heel; he didn’t care about the more limited pieces, like the pawns or even the knights. And because Riddle didn’t care about using them to his advantage, he also didn’t pay attention to what Harry used them for.

Which is how Harry got Riddle in checkmate with four pawns and two knights.

Riddle raised an eyebrow as he looked for a way out to prove Harry’s checkmate wrong, but he couldn’t find one.

“I don’t see how you did that,” the Slytherin said. He frowned petulantly. “I thought my victory was assured.”

Harry smiled easily, and explained his strategy, even though it would have been smarter to keep it to himself for the next game.

“Really, you play well,” Harry told him as Riddle set the board up again and patched up the pieces. “I enjoyed it.”

“I knew you would be good, because you somehow taught Severus so well that he beat me over the summer,” Riddle confessed. “It isn’t often that I lose at a game of strategy.”

“Losing is good for you,” Harry said, looking at the board again and imagining all of the ways he could start. “It teaches you where to continue learning.”

“There’s always room for improvement?” Riddle asked with a crooked smile as Harry moved one of his pawns ahead by two spaces.

“Exactly.” The game wasn’t silent this time, though, as Riddle asked Harry whether or not he had thought enough about the meeting between the Potters and Lord Malfoy.

“I have,” Harry said. “Actually, Lord Malfoy is meeting me during the upcoming Hogsmeade Weekend. He said he had some things he could teach me, or something.”

Riddle crushed one of Harry’s bishops and Harry struggled not to smile; it would be too revealing. “That will certainly be an enlightening talk,” he said, though Harry got the impression that he had already known about it.

“I’m not too certain on what he wants to talk to me about,” Harry said, carefully watching Riddle’s face just as much as he carefully watched the chessboard. “I thought this would be over with, given that I’ve filled the conditions of our agreement.”

Riddle sat back from the table in the guise of stretching his back out. Harry watched the flex of the other boys’ arms as they lifted over his head. “If I were to guess, I would say he wants to talk to you about what the Potters might attempt to do in retribution, as well as the Potter Lordship.”

“While I confess myself curious about how he thinks I can protect myself from the Potters,” Harry said, moving his rook ahead by five entire spaces, “I do not want anything to do with the lordship.” He was just three moves at least from winning, but there were also three things Riddle could do to prolong the game. Luckily, Riddle did none of them, too drawn into their conversation.

“Why do you not want the Lordship?” Riddle asked, his eyes dark as he watched Harry’s face.

“It is too public of a position,” Harry said honestly. “I don’t want to have to fight the Potters for it, especially because I might not even win, and I don’t have an interest in politics. James Potter has trained for years for this position, he can have it.” Two more moves. He just needed Riddle to not move his king.

“With all due respect, Harry, I think you’re undervaluing yourself again.” Riddle did not move his king, instead positioning his queen for a potential checkmate that Harry already knew wouldn’t work. And with that mistaken move, Harry’s way was paved one move early.

“With all due respect, Riddle,” Harry said, moving his own queen into position, “I think you overvalue the spotlight. Checkmate.”

Riddle did a double take at the board, practically leaning over the black and white pieces left, and saw how his king was trapped in all directions. The boy cursed, and Harry blinked at how attractive it was to see Riddle lose his composure. Riddle grinned and shook his head.

“You’re a wonder, Harry,” he said, falling back in his chair again. Harry blushed at his words and checked his watch. They didn’t have enough time for another game, if they wanted to get breakfast and get to class on time. “Why do you not call me by my first name?” Riddle asked, but Harry noticed a tension in the air surrounding the question.

Harry blinked at Riddle. “Why do you not actually want me to?”

Riddle looked over at the group of Gryffindors again. They were still playing their game, kicking the glowing magical sack around and laughing. One of the redheaded twins sent in careening off towards the window, and a blonde girl sent it flying back to the center as the entire group roared in laughter like the lions they were.

“I suppose because I’m not too fond of my name,” Riddle said, but he sounded like he’d rather be anywhere else than having this conversation. “It belonged to a muggle, first. It’s as if it isn’t mine.”

That was strange, Harry thought to himself. Harry didn’t like his name, either. Harry was just weird, two syllables of forgettable common-ness, and Harry’s last name, Potter, was already taken. And by one of the most influential families in the wizarding world. But Harry never really entertained the idea of not wanting to hear his name, because it was his. He always just figured that if he got married, he’d drop the ‘Potter’ bit for someone else’s surname. Harry, though, that was his name, and even though it was boring and common and two syllables, it was Harry’s.

Harry looked down at his chessboard for a moment. “I like your name,” Harry said finally. “Tom is a good name. It’s one syllable, and easy for even an idiot to remember, which is important if you want to be remembered. And Riddle, well, it suits you.” Harry looked up into Riddle’s wide eyes. “You’re confusing, someone I’ve always wanted to figure out but never seem to get right. And if it’s the muggle part that bothers you, well, then you’ll just be a stand out from the other political leaders whose names have been the same for centuries, right? Nobody cares about individual Malfoys, they’re just Malfoys. You’ll be the only Riddle, at least, you will if you never have kids.”

Harry realized he’d been going on a tangent about Riddle’s name, of all things, and clamped his mouth shut, looking back down at the board and its wreckage with a red face. “It’s a nice name,” Harry finished awkwardly. He heard Riddle jump up to his feet and winced. He’d done it, then. He’d acted weird enough that Riddle was done. He’d scared junior Dark Lord Riddle away. At least he’d gotten to play chess against the man twice. He’d even won. Both games. He couldn’t really have any regrets-

There was a hand in his hair, pulling his head back, and before Harry could say anything or see anything other than the deep, brilliant eyes shining right in front of him, soft lips were on his own chapped ones, and Harry’s eyes were fluttering shut to the sound of birds.

Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen: Tom Riddle Craves Venison

Chapter Text

Tom only got to kiss his Harry for a few blissful moments before the Ravenclaw’s ridiculous insecurities caused the boy to rear back, falling off of his bench to the sounds of gasping first year Gryffindors.

He was kind of annoyed that their moment had had spectators, but perhaps this was one of the cases a rumor would benefit him. It would make Harry think more about their relationship, and if he knew that Tom had no qualms about being publicly affectionate, he might finally acknowledge that Tom himself was serious.

Harry was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky with glassy eyes, green as emeralds. Had Tom broken him by moving too fast? It was a possibility. Severus Snape had said slow, after all, and Tom had been trying his best, but how could anyone resist Harry when he was just so interesting?

Harry had thought about Tom, and often. That was obvious by the thoughts the Ravenclaw had had about Tom’s name, of all things.

Harry liked Tom’s name. It was an impossible thing. Of all the things that made up who Tom was, all of the magic and fake-kindness and perfect smiles, and the first thing Harry was open about liking was Tom’s name, which came from a disgusting muggle?

Harry liked Tom’s name.

So Tom hadn’t been able to resist. He wasn’t able to keep his hands, or his lips, to himself.

“Harry?” Tom asked, leaning over slightly. The boy’s eyes focused more on Tom’s face, and the Slytherin tried to fight off the possessive thoughts that ran through his mind, like how he wanted Harry to only ever look at him, and nothing else. “Harry, are you alright?”

Harry’s cheeks instantly went red, as they had done a few times around Tom since they had started interacting. Tom thought he might be addicted to the embarrassment in Harry’s eyes, if only it didn’t mean more work in getting Harry over his self consciousness.

The Gryffindors were whispering, and Tom knew it was only a matter of time before some well-meaning eleven year old came to see if Harry needed help. It wasn’t their job to take care of Harry, though; it was Tom’s.

The Slytherin offered the Ravenclaw a hand, and even though Harry took it hesitantly, he still took it. Tom pulled him off of the ground, surprised once again at how cold Harry’s skin was to the touch, but pleased. While Tom would have put up with it if Harry had moist palms, it would not have been preferable.

Harry was also extremely light, which was both a good and bad thing. The bad was that it meant Harry definitely didn’t eat enough, though Tom already knew that from watching the young man peck at his plate like a pigeon during meals. The good was that it meant Tom would easily be able to lift Harry up and f*ck him against a wall.

Harry was still red, and stuttering, as he started using magic to put his shattered chess pieces back together and packed up his board. Tom watched this with amusem*nt, knowing that the Gryffindors were still interested in what was going on. He had a feeling that the group hadn’t really recognized who they were before. Tom could almost hear their thoughts without legilimency: what was Tom Riddle doing with Harry Potter? They would likely sneer Harry’s name, even in their heads, just because of James Potter’s influence on the house of the lions.

None of them deserved to think of Harry, much less look at him. Tom could cut their tongues out of their mouths and turn them into a bouquet or a necklace for Harry, but Severus had said that Harry wasn’t materialistic.

Perhaps Tom would simply put their tongues in a jar, then. Either for potions or for intimidation. Tom wasn’t one for waste.

Harry was going to run away again. Tom had scared him off. As much as Tom liked the chase, though, he liked Harry more. It was time to clear the air.

“We should talk about this, Harry,” Tom suggested, lightly touching the sleeve above Harry’s elbow and refraining from applying any pressure to the joint. This was not something he had learned from Lucius or Severus. He had observed the anxiety that Harry received from more intense touches for himself, and he had relished in the new information as much as he wanted to hunt down whoever had trained Harry to respond like that. There was time for those things, though. What mattered was it was something he had figured out about interacting with Harry, through interacting with Harry.

Tom knew plenty about Harry, but actually socializing with the boy had proven to be an entirely different level of mystery.

“I should go to breakfast,” Harry said, his eyes darting around the courtyard at the trees and bushes and Gryffindors. Unacceptable.

“I’ll get us breakfast,” Tom promised. Tom moved his hand from Harry’s elbow to his hand, taking it in his own for the second time that morning. He couldn’t pretend that the prickling of hairs on the back of his neck were from the September breeze, even if he wanted to. No, Tom knew it was Harry. It was all Harry, always, ever since the Ravenclaw had reached out to him when he was just a nameless, tormented first year.

It was only later that Tom had learned that Harry was equally as tormented.

He led Harry to a small empty classroom not far from their runes class.

“Dobby,” Tom called, summoning Lucius’ house elf, and the tiny creature popped into the room, throwing itself into a bow so low that it’s long, pointed nose and floppy ears brushed against the stone floor.

“Master’s son’s master be calling Dobby?” it asked in a warbling voice. Tom thought, personally, that the Malfoys were despicable in raising their house elves to be so disgusting, but it was one of those pureblooded customs that he would just have to accept if he wanted to gain their favor and their financial backing.

“Bring me and my companion some breakfast,” Tom ordered, and the elf popped away after several overzealous affirmations that he would, indeed, bring them their meal. He ignored Harry’s half-hearted mutter about basic manners and at least saying please, mainly because it just means that Harry is recovering from his embarrassment enough to talk.

Tom propped himself up on the teacher’s desk. “May I ask why you are purposefully ignoring my feelings towards you?” he asked, still determined to retain ‘open’ and ‘honest’ from Severus’ suggestions, even if the hooked nose man had been right about Tom not being naturally inclined towards softness.

Harry spluttered. It was cute. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to explain my actions right now, Riddle!” he said as Dobby popped in with two trays of french toast laden down with syrup and strawberries. It was much more rich than Tom was used to, and definitely more than Harry normally ate, but the elf was used to catering to Lucius’ expensive tastes.

The elf had brought coffee, and for that alone Tom was pleased with its service.

“You want to know why I kissed you?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a long sip of coffee. Just mentioning it was enough to make Harry’s cheeks go pink again, though he retained that stubborn glint in his eye. Both were enchanting, but Tom figured he would have to teach Harry the importance of controlling his reactions. He seemed capable of it most of the time.

Was it selfish to hope that it was just because of him?

“Yes,” Harry said, apparently incapable of actually saying that Tom had kissed him.

“Because I wanted to.” Tom knew his smile was teetering on the edge of teasing, but he tried to keep it as innocent as possible. “Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me, Harry?” Tom asked, putting as much disappointment in his words as he could without overdoing it and sounding like a pathetic Gryffindor.

“I-that’s not-we shouldn’t have!” Harry stuttered again. “We shouldn’t have, not at all, not ever!”

“And why not?” Harry hadn’t eaten any of his french toast yet, even though it was right next to him on a student’s desk. Harry really needed to learn how to take care of himself, or to let Tom take care of him.

“Well, because you’re you!” Harry argued, crossing his arms, and Tom thought about walking over to the Ravenclaw and physically placing his fork in his hand. “You’re Tom Riddle, every single student here knows who you are and idolizes you, or wants to be you, or wants to date you, and I can’t…”

Tom tried to get over the thrill that went down his spine at hearing Harry say his full name again. “You aren’t restricted by the Potters anymore, Harry. Being with me wouldn’t put you in jeopardy.”

“That’s not the point,” Harry said, pulling at his black hair in frustration.

“Harry, please eat your breakfast.” See, Harry? Tom can say please. Only once Harry takes a bite out of the sticky sweet french toast, does he speak again, though the look of bliss on the Ravenclaw’s face is more than a little disorienting. “Then what is the point?”

Harry glared at one of the strawberries on his plate. “Even without the contract, I don’t like being noticed. And being with you would bring more than just attention. People would be upset, or jealous.”

“I wouldn’t let any of them touch you,” Tom said, but he knew there was more to Harry’s hesitation than just a fear of the masses.

“People already don’t like me,” Harry said between bites of french toast.

“Who?” Tom had never heard people even talking about Harry. The Ravenclaw was like a phantom.

“There’s also the fact that you don’t do relationships,” Harry said, skating delicately over the question like an ice dancer. “You’ve dated a few people, until they give you whatever it was you wanted, and then you drop them as if they were garbage.”

This was true. Tom had dated a handful of other students, both male and female, in order to convince their friends and families of his own political ideologies. But he could safely say that he had ended those relationships as cordially as the other party would allow.

“Who doesn’t like you?” Tom asked again, and it wasn’t even because he was mad. The idea was just ridiculous. How could anyone not like Harry? How could there be people out there that loved Tom, who’s public face was entirely made up of false pretenses and who’s magic was drenched in darkness, but not like Harry, who was kind, thoughtful, and who’s magic didn’t have a particular taste but practically rolled off of him in waves?

“Well,” Harry said. “Mostly just James Potter and his friends, but Potter is incredibly influential here, and so I imagine the Gryffindors, and a lot of Hufflepuffs.”

James Potter was nothing more than a pampered son of a famed Gryffindor. Sure, the boy had some magical talent, and he had let up on the bullying since becoming more acquainted with Lily Evans, but the idea that someone so below Harry affected Harry so much…

Tom would have to handle it.

“And you think I would not take a relationship between us seriously?” Tom asked. He set down his plate.

“I don’t,” Harry said. “We’ve only talked once before this year, and then you come around with your teasing and your questions and stealing my personal items and-”

“I apologize,” Tom said. “I have realized since then that my approach to you was not the correct one.”

“And you didn’t even ask me to Hogsmeade!” Harry finished, cheeks red and heaving with the effort of breathing.

Tom blinked at him as Harry realized what he’d actually said. It was interesting to watch Harry’s face at all times. One could think that Harry was an open book, but Tom knew better. Harry was a puzzle, who he could see the individual pieces of but couldn’t put them together.

Harry was saying hurried apologies, edging towards the door, but Tom practically leaped between Harry and the exit.

“I didn’t realize that was something you would like doing,” Tom said.

Tom had gone to Hogsmeade with people before. He’d sat in coffee shops and gone to Honeyduke’s, and it was never too interesting. Tom was interested in what kind of things Harry would want to do on a date. Perhaps a visit to a book shop? That was Harry’s life ambition though. And Tom could see what kind of things the Ravenclaw liked to read.

Harry was looking at his feet again. That was a nervous habit Tom hoped to change. Tom would rather see Harry’s eyes than his bangs.

“I don’t know if I’d like it,” Harry said quietly, “but it would be nice to be asked, anyway.” Again, Harry tried to get around Tom to the door, and Tom stepped in his way.

“Then would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this weekend?” Tom asked. If he were a lesser man, he might tap his foot.

“Stop messing with me!” Harry shouted, and Tom took a step back. Silence settled like dust across the classroom again. After a moment, Harry whispered that they were going to be late to class, but Tom still did not move from the door.

“I’m not messing with you,” Tom said, and his voice was pleading but he didn’t care. “Give me a chance.”

Harry’s eyes darted back and forth from Tom’s face to the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk. “I’m supposed to meet Lord Malfoy this weekend,” Harry said, and Tom knew Harry was scraping the bottom of the excuse barrel.

“For lunch,” Tom said. “I’ll meet you after, and we can do whatever you like. I’ll show you my favorite stores, and you can show me yours.”

Harry sighed and looked at the ground. “I. Okay. I’ll go with you to Hogsmeade.”

Tom felt a genuine smile pulling at his lips like fish hooks, and he didn’t bother trying to contain it. This was wonderful; more time with just Harry, getting to know Harry. Maybe Harry would hold his hand again?

Tom stepped closer to Harry. “May I kiss you again?” It seemed prudent to ask this time, after the shock of this morning, but he really wanted to kiss Harry again.

Now Harry was looking at him again, eyes wide and perfectly green, just like the killing curse. Tom could see that Harry did, in fact, want Tom to kiss him again, but Tom would wait until he got permission this time.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Harry whispered again, and Tom wondered if the boy was afraid someone would hear them. It didn’t matter, in the long run. Harry would get used to Tom’s displays of affection. Something he had never done with anyone else, but nobody had mattered to Tom as much as Harry did.

His savior, who had such a command over magic and never even realized it.

Tom gently lifted Harry’s chin with his hand and met his lips again, for the second time in an hour. It was like sunshine, as cliche as it sounded. Kissing Harry was like nothing else in the world. It reminded him of everything he had wanted so badly when he was a small child in the orphanage. Warmth and light and comfort. If Tom thought Harry was a puzzle he couldn’t complete, and Harry thought the same of Tom, then perhaps their individual puzzles could be finished with pieces of each other.

Tom pushed forward more, swiping his tongue along Harry’s chapped bottom lip, and the Ravenclaw put his hands against Tom’s chest, gripping the material of his robes so hard that Tom could feel his nails. Tom felt Harry’s nose brush his own. Tom’s hands held Harry’s face like the precious thing it was.

Tom was grateful for the others that had come before Harry, just because it meant he could lead his darling through this.

Then Harry pushed, and their lips disconnected, and Tom instantly felt that yearning to do it again. It was a feeling that Tom would probably live with now, for the rest of his life.

Tom watched every detail of Harry’s face. The flushed cheeks, the blown pupils, the red mouth. There was the smallest gathering of saliva in the corner of Harry’s lips, and Tom wanted to lick it, despite how gross it was.

“We’re going to be late for runes,” Harry said, voice still quiet, but this time it wasn’t out of fear. Tom knew that Harry felt the same way he did, that this moment was precious, like they were enclosed in a bubble of glass, and neither of them wanted to break it.

Tom hummed and leaned in, pecking Harry once more just because he could. “Then we should go to class.” And Tom held Harry’s hand as they walked the short distance to their classroom, entwining their fingers and thinking again of puzzle pieces, just because he could. And it didn’t matter too much that Harry let go before they walked in. This was something new for the boy, just like it was somewhat new for Tom. And Tom could be patient, because soon he would be able to walk into classrooms and the great hall and to meetings with his followers with Harry’s hand held tightly in his own. It would take time.

He watched as Harry walked to Severus’ desk to talk with his best friend, and Tom plotted what he could do during the Hogsmeade weekend to please Harry.

Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen: Suspicious Severus and Ancient Ships

Chapter Text

Harry removed his hand from Riddle’s before they could enter the classroom. The prospect of being so public with something he already wasn’t confident would work was too daunting, and Harry really just wanted to talk to Severus. Severus was good at grounding him when he got too caught up in things. Normally, those things were being hit by tripping hexes by Black or sometimes Potter, and not relationship drama, but it was just as discombobulating.

He walked over to Severus before sitting at his desk, even though there were only minutes before Professor Babbling would want to start class. Severus, apparently, was just as eager to speak to Harry.

“You and I should do some homework together tonight,” he said in a lower tone of voice than usual, even though Granger was at the back of the room talking to Patil and the only other person who would hear him was Riddle. Harry thought for a moment that perhaps Severus and Riddle were fighting, but then he noticed the way Severus’ eyes were looking at the table near the door.

Harry had forgotten that Lupin was in this class. The Gryffindor prefect looked very ill. He was pale, like snow, and his hair was falling limply on his head. Harry held in a sigh. While he didn’t like the marauders, and the marauders definitely weren’t fond of him, Harry did a good job of pretending they didn’t exist. Severus, on the other hand, was a bloodhound. He’d been obsessive about finding out the Gryffindor’s ‘secrets’ since second year, when they all had started performing grand spectacles of pranking under their monikers. And usually those pranks were focused on Severus and other Slytherins.

Harry agreed to a study session, but it didn’t make Severus relax. If anything, the sharpness of his glares at Lupin intensified. Harry frowned and reached forward, waving a hand in front of Severus’ face. It wasn’t the bop on the nose that worked with dogs, but Harry knew it was as close as he could get to distracting Severus without actually pissing his friend off.

Severus switched his glare to Harry. “What?”

“You should relax a little bit, Severus. What’s bothering you?” His friend hadn’t been too angry at the marauders so far that term. Something had to have changed.

“Lupin is leaving again soon.” Ah. It was this again. Lupin had been leaving school for a few days every month since their first year, and it was a mystery that had slowly driven Severus to obsession, even though Evans had explained over and over again that Lupin’s family was just really religious, and his mother was sickly, so he needed to go home frequently.

Evans would say that Lupin was different. A shy boy who was kind and friendly to everyone. Severus would say bullsh*t, that an actual kind soul would put a stop to the tormenting of Black and Potter. To Severus, Lupin and Pettigrew’s support was just as damning, especially since Severus believed that Lupin was the one to actually plan a lot of their pranks. He said there was no way Black and Potter were smart enough for it. Lupin, however, was in the top ten of their year.

Professor Babbling came in, and by the looks of her she was on a roll, so Harry settled into his seat next to Riddle. Babbling was usually a calm professor who taught her lessons and moved on with her life, but occasionally her true passion for the subject came out, and it was typically when she had made a breakthrough with her own research. She was an older witch, with silver hair and snapping eyes and lines crossing her face, but she still moved with dexterity and speed. Harry knew, from having been in her class for years, that she was currently using her runes prowess with an archaeological team, searching for sunken ships in the Mediterranean during the summers.

“Settle down, settle down,” Babbling said, even though everyone was already sitting, ready to hear what new discovery her research group had made. It ended up being very interesting. The research group was working on how to perfectly restore the wood of the old ships, so that they could extract the magic from the wood and actually see images of what the ships looked like in the time. Apparently, if the water was still present, it warbled the pictures to a point that made them almost ridiculous. Muggle clowns were not present in antiquity, Babbling had said with a perfectly straight face, making most of the class laugh.

Harry listened to the lecture with rapt attention, not even taking notes, though Riddle was writing everything down, and Granger was too, going off of the rapid scratching of quills. It sounded like an advancement on the water runes he had been researching at the start of the year.

“My seventh year N.E.W.T. students all have their ducks in a row by now,” Babbling said at the very end of the lesson, “so I am offering one of you a very special opportunity. My research and discovery team is looking to add new blood.” She took out a stack of papers from her desk. “What I have here is an application for my team. Any one of you can apply, and the head of my division will pick someone from this class specifically. You would join us for one week of your winter break in Greece, again over Easter break, and during the summer before your final year. Applications are due by Halloween.” She magically sent a packet to each occupied desk in the classroom and leveled them all with sharp, serious eyes. “This has the potential to turn into a real career, so I would advise all of you to consider applying. Dismissed.”

The class packed up with people whispering eagerly to their friends and heading to lunch. Harry slid the application into his bag, but his mind was far away. He didn’t know if he would apply or not. It seemed like a good opportunity. He could learn a lot of complex magic, and he would get to travel and see foreign magic communities. Even if he applied, though, Harry doubted he would get the position. He didn’t have strong marks in runes like the other students, and he didn’t have the kinds of recommendations that they would have, either. His entire runes class was made up of people who had worked hard, more or less. They would be much more prepared for this kind of thing.

Harry tried to ignore the bitter feeling in the back of his throat and stood up from his desk. Severus joined him, and the two waited for Riddle to neatly organize his parchment.

“Do you think you’ll apply, Severus?” The Slytherin prefect asked as he, too, stood up from his seat.

“No,” Severus said. “I am waiting to hear back from the potions guild about a potential apprenticeship. I do not intend to use runes in a career. Do you think you will apply?”

“I will,” Riddle said, “Though I’m not sure I would want to keep the position after graduation.” The three headed out into the hallway, and Harry was both surprised and not when Riddle grabbed for his hand again. This tactility was not a trait that Harry had observed in Riddle’s previous relationships. Harry felt himself blush when Severus looked pointedly at them, but Harry did not remove his hand. Riddle probably would have let him, but Harry wanted to let it be. At least, for now, when they were the only ones left in the hall. Harry would put a stop to it when they were closer to lunch.

“Do you think you will apply, Harry?” Riddle asked smoothly, completely ignoring the tension. “You’ve done some background research on water runes.”

Harry wondered how Riddle knew that. The Slytherin had probably seen Harry with his book, but water runes had been a very specific chapter. Just how closely, and for how long, had Riddle watched Harry? The Slytherin had implied that it had been for years, but they hadn’t been physically near each other until the start of the year.

There was a brief squeeze on Harry’s hand. Riddle was trying to pull him out of his thoughts and back into the conversation.

“It would be fun,” Harry said. “I’m thinking about it.”

“What’s stopping you?” Severus asked. He had, apparently, decided to just jump Harry with questions later, when they were not with Riddle.

“I don’t have the best grades,” Harry said. “And I don’t have any strong recommendations. It’s not too big of a deal.” They were getting farther into the main castle, and encountering other students peacefully making their way to lunch. Harry should really take his hand out of Riddle’s.

“You should apply anyway,” Severus said. “It would be a good experience for you. And you could get Vector to be your recommendation. You said she’s starting to warm up to you, and her and Babbling get along well.”

“And even if your grades aren’t top of the class, your O.W.L. scores are,” Riddle said, not looking at all bothered by the fact that at any moment in time, someone was going to notice that he was going to be seen holding a nobody’s hand. “Plus, your course load for N.E.W.T.s is exceptional. These things matter as well.”

Riddle’s hand was warm, but not sweaty. It was large enough to make Harry’s own feel small, but not so large that he felt like a child getting dragged around by a parent. His fingers seemed to fit between Harry’s own perfectly.

Harry was struck by the fact that he really didn’t want to let go. Then, he was struck by the fact that, just that very morning, he had kissed Riddle. Or, Riddle had kissed him. Multiple times. Things were moving very fast. Harry felt dizzy, and quietly removed his hand from the Slytherin’s.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said. There were so many things Harry was thinking about, though. Why was he such an indecisive person? Not for the first time, Harry wished he could be more like his cousin. James Potter never seemed to struggle over decisions. He always looked so confident and sure of himself.

Would James Potter walk into the great hall with his head held high, holding hands with Riddle?

Harry snickered, covering his mouth with his freshly released hand.

“What’s so funny?” Severus asked. They could see the great big oak doors that led to the great hall, and the groups of students heading inside. Harry didn’t answer, instead shaking his head.

“I’ll see you after lunch,” Harry said. He wasn’t speaking to one of the snakes in particular, or to both of them. It was like he was just saying something to say something. Was he embarrassed of Riddle? No, but Riddle should be embarrassed of him.

For a brief moment, Harry wondered, if he was a braver person, if he would kiss Riddle goodbye. Harry sped off before he could give the impulse any more thought, sitting down at the Ravenclaw table next to Barty.

“Missed you at breakfast,” Barty said, and Harry tried to not think about the specific reasons Barty had not seen him that morning.

Harry hummed in response and loaded up his plate with apple slices. The french toast was still sitting heavily in his stomach, and he didn’t want to eat too much heavy food on top of it.

At the end of the day, Harry went to the library after eating a sandwich for dinner and assuring that Riddle was holding court at the Slytherin table.

The idea of having to be near Riddle right now made Harry feel like fire was under his skin. He both anticipated and dreaded their date on Saturday, and he would prefer to just put off thinking of it until at the earliest, Friday afternoon.

Severus was at their usual table, and Harry sat down in the seat across from him. Before Severus could start grilling Harry about the problems he had decided not to think about, however, Harry decided to get his friend focused on another can of worms.

“So why are you stressed about the marauders?” Harry asked, casually restarting their conversation from before ancient runes. “Did they do something?”

Severus looked behind himself, at the door of the library, and at the empty stacks around them, before answering. “I overheard something Black was saying to Pettigrew earlier.”

Harry leaned in, interest piqued. “What did you hear?”

Severus also leaned in. “Apparently, there’s a secret passageway on the campus. It’s under the whomping willow.”

Harry blinked at him. “Is that all? Sev, you know there are tons of passages in Hogwarts.”

“But this one is important,” Severus stressed. His black eyes were blazing. “They’re going down it, tonight. And I’m willing to bet that if we follow them, we’ll figure out what they’re up to.”

“You want to follow them?” Harry said. Why was he even surprised? This was definitely the kind of thing Severus would want to do.

“I want us to follow them,” Severus said. “Just think about it! They’ve been tormenting us for years. We can find out what they’re up to, and then go to Dumbledore! They’ll never mess with us again.”

“Or they’ll mess with us even more for butting into their business.” Harry didn’t like this. It went against everything Harry had done for his entire life. It was the exact opposite of keeping his nose down.

“Look, you can stay here if you want,” Severus said. “But I’m going to go. And I really want you to come, too. We can do this together.” Harry looked at Severus’ face. There was determination, but also the slightest bit of anxiety. His eyes were practically pleading.

Maybe… maybe this was the kind of thing that would really shake off the control the Potters had had over him? And his friend needed his help. Or, at least, wanted his presence, which was more than Harry could say for the vast majority of people.

Not Riddle, his mind whispered at him, and Harry told it to shut up. That just sealed the deal. Harry wanted to do something that was not about Riddle for once this term.

“Okay,” Harry said, and Severus’ face lit up in glee. “Okay. What’s your plan?”

Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen: A Snake, A Moon, A Wolf

Chapter Text

They hid behind the treeline of the forbidden forest as the September sun started to touch the lake, and Harry was both terrified and thrilled. Nobody really knew what was in the forbidden forest, and Harry felt like eyes were watching him. But it also felt like an adventure. Harry had never considered himself an adrenaline junkie, but this was fun. Like stakeouts in the muggle cop shows that the matron liked to watch back at the wayhouse. They were only missing donuts, but Harry knew he wouldn’t have been able to eat anyway. His stomach was in too many knots.

Severus’ lips were even thinner than usual as he watched the entrance to Hogwarts. When Harry had asked when the Marauders were supposed to show up, he hadn’t said anything, which meant that he didn’t know. They could be out there for hours. A full moon was rising, and the sky was quickly going dark, and Harry was starting to get cold but he didn’t want to interrupt Severus’ concentration by casting a warming charm. Instead he sat down, back facing the tree he was hiding behind, and hugged his knees to his body. It wasn’t terribly chilly, just enough that it was a constant presence in his mind. He hadn’t had time to go put on warmer clothes. Severus had already been worried about them missing James Potter and Sirius Black.

Harry could just barely see Severus’ dark outline against the night sky when the Slytherin jumped up, shoulders tightening in attention. Harry twisted from his position on the ground and saw a figure in a dark cloak rushing across the grounds towards the whomping willow. It was too dark to make out any facial figures, or even a house designation on the robes, but Severus sneered anyway and muttered, “Lupin.”

They both watched as the figure reached the tree and sent a spell of some kind towards one of its roots, disappearing into the base. It was positively spooky.

Severus stepped out from the treeline, but Harry snatched at his elbow, though he quickly let go when Severus whipped around to glare.

“It’s just Lupin,” Harry said, keeping his voice down in case the Gryffindor prefect was still at the entrance of his secret tunnel. “I thought you wanted to catch all of them!”

“For all we know, they could already be there!” Severus said, his eyes completely wild, and Harry took a step back. “We have to go while the tree is still. We don’t know where the knob is.”

Harry hesitated, but that seemed to rile Severus up even more.

“Stay here then!” Severus spat, his robes swirling around him as he turned to go for the tree. Harry sighed, but went after his friend, who was near sprinting. Severus never walked faster than a prowl, and Harry knew his friend was losing his grip.

Harry looked up at the sky as he caught up to Severus. The moon seemed to be bearing down on him from the sky, showcasing Hogwarts and the area around it in an ethereal light.

Standing under the whomping willow, something very few students had accomplished, Harry suddenly realized how completely idiotic this entire thing was. What were they going to do when they caught the Marauders? Duel? Have another riveting battle of wits?

Severus had found the tunnel and was crawling in on hands and knees. It was too late to go back to Hogwarts. Why hadn’t they just talked to a teacher? Slughorn would have been willing to listen to Severus, anyway.

Harry could have talked to Tom. Any of the professors would have listened to Tom. And then Harry wouldn’t be getting dirt on the knees of his uniform trousers.

The tunnel was much darker than the moonlit grounds. Harry couldn’t even see an outline of his friend, though he could hear his breathing, which was heavy with excitement. Fear crawled on Harry’s skin, but then he could hear Severus’ footsteps leaving him behind, quickly even though Harry knew Severus had to be just as blind. Harry lifted a hand and felt against the wall as he tried to keep up. The tunnel was dry, at least, and he was able to stand up straight.

Who had made this tunnel? Was it the Marauders? It was long, low, and cramped. Harry could only thank his short stature that he wasn’t banging his head on every piece of rock that made up the ceiling. All too soon, and not soon enough, they reached the end. There seemed to be nothing there, not even Remus Lupin, but the tiniest trickles of moonlight came in from the ceiling, through the gaps in a cellar hatch. Severus and Harry both reached up and pushed, only to emerge into a dusky, torn apart room. They were in a house, though who knew where it was.There was a heavy thump from above them, and they both jumped. Severus pulled on Harry’s sleeve and they both started forward, heading towards the stairs they could see in the hallway, but Harry was distracted. There hadn’t been much in terms of furniture in the first room, just one ratty sofa and armchair, but the rips running through the upholstery looked violent. They looked like they had been made by an animal. Harry took the hand that was still on his robe sleeve and held it tightly.

They did their best not to let the old steps of the stairs creak as they ascended, stopping on every single one and listening for noises. They heard at first, but then a loud groan rang through the dusty air. Harry jerked to a stop, but Severus eagerly kept moving, utterly entranced by how close to revenge they were. Harry again followed, or was pulled forward, despite his inner voice of reason screaming for him to run.

At the top of the stairs there were two doors, and only one of them was cracked open to a room bathed in the light of the full moon. There was a figure on the floor, and they both creeped closer, looking through the crack.

It was Lupin. He was laying on the ground, naked, gasping and panting for breath. He let out another loud groan, and Harry could tell the boy was in pain. Severus hissed at him to stop moving, but Harry just couldn’t let the boy writhe in the room, all alone. He pushed open the door and let go of Severus’ hand, and Lupin’s amber eyes landed on them.

“Lupin, are you okay?” Harry asked, taking a step forward, only to stop as those eyes flashed, more yellow than their regular, comfortable whiskey color.

“Harry…” Severus said, apparently only now feeling the same apprehension Harry had faced the entire way there.

Lupin grunted on the floor, closing his changed eyes in pain, and there was a gurgling from the Gryffindor’s throat. He seemed to be trying to speak.

So many things clicked in Harry’s mind at once. The moon. The passage. The eyes.

“Run,” Lupin managed to choke out, though it sounded like he was speaking around something that he was holding in his mouth. “Can’t be here, go, go!”

Fangs. Harry saw a glint of fangs protruding from the Gryffindor’s mouth. The bones under Lupin’s skin rippled, his entire body cracking and breaking. Harry was horrified, but he couldn’t seem to move.

A werewolf.

Suddenly someone was pulling him out of the room and straight down the stairs, much faster than he had climbed. Severus. The Slytherin blew the hatch on the floor open with his wand, and they both jumped down into the tunnel just as an earth-shaking howl echoed through the house behind them. Harry’s bones shook. His feet hit the ground hard enough to hurt, but they didn’t linger in one spot enough to truly feel it. He could hear Lupin, the werewolf, whichever, behind him, but he couldn’t tell how far away he was. The monster’s breathing was loud, but so was Harry’s. He thought he could feel a touch of claw against his ankle, the puff of hot air on the skin of his neck, but none of that could be possible.

None of this could be possible.

The cool air did nothing to ease Harry’s fear. He raced forward, pulling ahead of Severus, and crossed back onto Hogwarts’ grounds, only to be bodily struck by the force of a truck.

For a brief moment, nothing hurt. Nothing seemed to be able to break through the fog of Harry’s mind. He saw the ground, the stars, and the ground again. There was a flash of dark black against the dark green of the grass. Was that Severus?

And then, as he crashed to the ground, he crashed back into reality.

“Harry!” Severus had never sounded so panicked, or so desperate. Pain was shooting up Harry’s legs. He couldn’t move. All he could do was lay on his side and watch as Severus ran towards him, as the whomping willow reared back for another strike, and as the monster shot out of the tunnel like a bullet and trained its sights on his best friend.

Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty: The Bravery of Lions

Chapter Text

The scream got stuck in Harry’s throat, somewhere between his Adam's apple and his uvula. The werewolf swiped at Severus’ ankles, sending him sprawling across the damp grass. Vivid images of the werewolf mauling his best friend flashed behind his eyes, and he just knew he would be seeing them come true in mere moments.

There was nothing Harry could do. He had never felt so helpless before. Then he felt something thin pushing against his thigh. His wand! He wasn’t helpless.

Harry didn’t think he had ever drawn his wand so fast; he had never had reason to. But the time in between realizing he had his wand, and taking aim at the wolf, was less than two seconds.

His blasting curse missed. It didn’t hit the wolf. Remus, he reminded himself. Why would he try to blast Remus? Severus.

He didn’t hit Remus, and he couldn’t decide right then and there whether that was a good thing. Instead, he exploded the ground between Severus and the werewolf, causing the animal to pause long enough to get barreled over by a great big dog.

Wait, what?

Harry watched the dog and the wolf battling, jumping at each other as the dog tried to keep the wolf from getting near either of the Slytherins.

A strong hand gripped Harry’s forearm, and he jumped out of his shock. James Potter’s face met his, thick eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Come on, we have to go,” he said, voice low and barely audible compared to the grunts and growling of the animals.

“Severus,” Harry said, and James nodded, signaling they would not leave without him. Harry scrambled to his feet, shaking off James who was trying to help. “Is that your dog?”

“Something like that,” James said, and they both winced as they heard the dog whine as the wolf scratched it hard against the neck. “Let’s go get Snape.” Harry nodded, and the two of them ran, with Harry limping slightly, across the dark lawn to the huddled, terrified form of Severus Snape.

“Harry,” he gasped when he saw them. “Harry, I can’t move my leg!” Even in the dark, Harry could see the wetness of blood on Severus’ pant leg and on the blades of grass.

“sh*t,” James swore.

“Am I going to turn?” Severus asked, on the verge of panic.

Harry stayed silent, looking between his best friend who was completely falling apart, and towards the dog, which was steadily losing the fight.

“We have to go now,” he said.

“I can’t walk,” Severus said, still trying to push himself up onto his feet.

“Then I’ll walk for you,” Harry said, and yanked Severus to his feet despite the snake’s hiss of pain. He looped Severus’ spindly arm around his own shoulders, bearing the man’s weight despite his own much smaller stature. James was the one watching now, looking between the two friends and the animals. Then, he took his wand out.

“Go,” he said, pointing at the brightly lit windows of the castle. “Go, get Dumbledore! Go, now!”

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, frazzled, but Severus yanked his hair with the hand that was gripping Harry’s bicep.

“Leave him!” Severus yelped, as they watched the wolf toss the dog, covered in blood, aside and rounded on the trio. The dog’s form shifted, and Harry saw a familiar head of dark curls. Sirius Black. What the hell? James Potter leapt in front of them and cast a blasting curse, like Harry had done, but this one blew up the ground directly beneath the wolf’s feet.

Harry staggered backwards, turning them towards the castle, only to see a trio of figures running towards them in the bright light of the open Hogwarts front doors. One of them was instantly identifiable by the long, white beard that trailed behind him.

And Harry turned back to yell to James Potter, to tell him that Dumbledore was here, that they were going to be okay. But all he saw was the wolf.

The wolf, as it dodged another beam of light from the tip of Potter’s wand. The wolf, as charged at James Potter. As it knocked him down with its weight. As it dove at him, great white teeth glinting.

He saw the wolf, as it bit down deep into the muscle of James Potter’s side.

Dumbledore had subdued the wolf. As soon as the wolf’s teeth had touched James Potter, Dumbledore had bellowed, “Aureum rete!” and a net of pure golden light had sprung from his net, swooping up the werewolf and pinning it to the ground, where it snapped its teeth and writhed, completely enraged. Its eyes gleamed a wicked yellow. Dumbledore called two Hogwarts house elves and told them to lock the werewolf into the shrieking shack, and they nodded their little heads, snapped their fingers, and were gone immediately.

McGonagall was with him, and the two conjured stretchers, lifting up the screaming James Potter and the near-dead Sirius Black with their magic so they could be escorted to the hospital wing. Dumbledore quietly whispered something, waving his wand over James’ screaming, pale face, and the lion fell asleep, face only occasionally twitching from the pain of it. The two professors looked at the two slytherins, and everything felt so still and morbid that Harry almost dropped Severus under the weight of it all.

“To the hospital wing, both of you,” Dumbledore said, his voice lacking its usual whimsical tone. “And then, we will all be having a discussion.” He left, levitating James Potter in front of him.

Harry felt like he was looking at a corpse.

The third person had been Pettigrew, who had gone to get professors. And he went trailing after Dumbledore, followed quickly by McGonagall, who did not look at Harry or Severus.

“No stretcher for the injured Slytherin?” Severus muttered under his breath, and Harry agreed, though he didn’t say anything because of the sheer mountain of issues this was going to cause.

By the time Harry had walked the two of them up to the hospital wing, Sirius Black was sitting up in one of the hospital beds, bandaged heavily on his arms and over one of his eyes. Pettigrew sat in the chair next to him. Both were watching a closed off bed in the back of the wing. The curtains were closed around it, and the privacy charms were fully in effect.

Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, probably tending to James Potter behind the curtain, so Harry placed Severus as gently as he could onto the bed. Still, the sour slytherin gave a grunt of pain as his leg jostled the edge of the bed.

For once, neither Severus nor Black had anything to say to each other.

It must have been twenty minutes before Dumbledore and McGonagall emerged, closing the curtain so quickly behind them that none of the teenagers could get a glimpse of their classmate on the other side. The two professors went directly to the office.

“Madame Pomfrey has generously allowed the use of her office,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Minerva, if you could please call Professor Flitwick and Professor Slughorn?”

McGonagall nodded shortly and left the hospital wing quickly.

“Mr. Black, can you walk to the office?” Dumbledore asked, and though he wasn’t kind, he also did not ask Severus.

Black did not respond, instead just pulling himself up off of the bed. He was slow, and stiff, but whatever treatment they had given him had clearly worked fast. He and Pettigrew went into the office, where Dumbledore was holding the door open.

Severus scowled when Harry helped him up, but he did accept the gesture. Harry tried to ignore Dumbledore’s sad eyes when they walked into the office, but he felt like he could still see the piercing blue anyway.

They waited patiently in Madame Pomfrey’s office, nobody saying anything, or really looking at each other. Dumbledore drew up extra chairs with his wand. The only light in the room was the fire burning in the hearth.

Harry had never been in this room before, but it would probably be very comforting under normal circ*mstances. The walls were a honeybee yellow, and there were pictures of flowers blowing in the breeze. There was a singular picture of a badger behind the desk, proudly displaying Pomfrey’s Hufflepuff sorting. One large window was covered in light blue curtains.

Harry thought about how this room would probably be nice for having to tell the concerned parents of students what had happened to their children. Then Harry thought about how Madame Pomfrey would have to do that for his aunt and uncle, and then he decided he would rather stop thinking in general.

Finally, Professor Flitwick came hustling in, a black wizarding robe thrown on over his small pajamas, and Professor Slughorn followed, covering his mouth with his hand as he yawned. McGonagall came in next, her mouth still one firm line.

“Filius, Horace, thank you for joining us.” Dumbledore sat down behind Madame Pomfrey’s desk and folded his hands on top of it. “I trust Minerva has filled you in on our situation?”

“She has,” Filius squeaked. “But I have to admit, I still don’t understand how all of this happened.”

“That is why we are all here,” Dumbledore said, looking each individual student in the eye. Shivers went down Harry’s back. “Would any of you like to begin telling us what caused this horrible night?”

Nobody spoke. Slughorn muffled another yawn while somehow also looking deeply concerned.

Dumbledore sighed. “Very well. Perhaps I will begin with my perspective. I was in my office enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate, as today is one of the first chilly nights of Autumn, when I was interrupted by Minerva pounding at my door with young Mister Pettigrew hiding behind her lovely tartan nightgown. Minerva, would you care to fill us in on this part?”

“Certainly,” Professor McGonagall said, glaring at nobody in particular, though Harry did feel that he and Snape were meant to receive most of it. “I was having a late night grading some of my first year’s essays, when Mister Pettigrew knocked on my own door, and told me that Mister Black and Mister Potter had played a prank that was going too far-”

“What?” Black said, shocked. He looked at Pettigrew. “Why would you-”

“Tricked?” Severus growled. “You mean you knew what was going to happen-”

“Of course I didn’t know what was going to happen, I would never do something like that to James-”

“Boys,” Dumbledore said firmly. Once the two had quieted down, he motioned for McGonagall to continue her side of things. She nodded.

“As I was saying, he said that Mister Black and Mister Potter had tricked Mister Snape here into going down the tunnel under the whomping willow tonight, where Mister Lupin would be. This was, of course, an incredibly stupid and ill-conceived plot, and I cannot express my fury and horror enough that such a hair-brained and dangerous scheme would come from some of my top students.” The hair on McGonagall’s upper lip was trembling dangerously, and her eyes didn’t seem to have any color in them at all. Every line of her face was drawn tight, and Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so afraid of a teacher.

Dumbledore hummed and looked between the students. Finally he nodded again, this time towards Black, who was practically vibrating in his seat with restrained anger and frustration, just like his head of house.

“First,” he said, “James had nothing to do with this. It was all me. I knew Sniv-, er, Snape, was eavesdropping when I was talking to Peter, and I let slip how to get into the secret tunnel. But I didn’t think anyone would get hurt! I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I just thought it would scare him, make him stop butting into our business. James, when I told him what I did, I thought he’d laugh about it, but he got angry and said I was an idiot, that someone could die, so he went to find Snape, and I went with him and told Peter to go get a professor.”

“And that is how I and Professor McGonagall arrived to the scene of the crime, so to speak,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Where a childish enmity between students had managed to single-handedly wreck a promising young man’s future.”

Pettigrew sniffled, and Severus determinedly looked out to the black window.

“Now, I would like to know where the other Mister Potter comes into play,” Dumbledore said, looking at Harry with no discernable emotion.

But before Harry could open his mouth, Severus was speaking.

“He was trying to stop me,” Severus said quietly. “I told him what I’d overheard Black saying, and I wanted to catch them breaking rules. Harry told me it was a bad idea, and came after me tonight.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said. “I suppose it is a Potter trait, wanting to help people, especially their friends.” Harry jolted. Dumbledore? Openly speaking about Harry being a Potter? Wasn’t that something that people knew but didn’t acknowledge? Dumbledore rarely ever even used his last name, and now he had done so twice in the span of a minute.

“What are we to do, Albus?” Slughorn finally asked, voice still groggy. “This has been a terrible night. What punishment equals it?”

“I personally fail to see how it is everyone here’s fault,” Flitwick said angrily, though Harry didn’t know who it was directed at. It felt like there was an entire, unseen conversation going on over his head.

“Certainly, Filius,” Dumbledore said. He ran his hand down through his beard. “I, personally, feel like there is no punishment we could inflict that is greater than the guilt these boys must feel inside. Their fellow student, and in some cases their friend, has been devastated by these actions. Another fellow student, again in some cases a friend, was used against his will to inflict these injuries. I will assign detention to both Mister Black and Mister Snape, every night until the winter break, and a loss of five hundred points each, but I feel as if the other students are merely victims of circ*mstance. Are there any objections?”

Slughorn sputtered, but McGonagall just held her head up high. Severus’ mouth was agape, and Black was as pale as death. Nobody actually voiced their opinions.

“Then I say we all head up to bed. But first, I must make one thing absolutely clear.” Dumbledore stood up from Madame Pomfrey’s desk, and his magic loomed throughout the room, making the older wizard appear as tall as a mountain, and just as terrible as an avalanche. “Not one word will be spoken to anyone about what has occurred here tonight. If anyone outside of this room finds out about Mister Lupin or Mister Potter’s condition, then I can assure you, you will never return to Hogwarts.”

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty One: Two Lies and a Truth

Chapter Text

Tom knew that Severus had a very limited number of acquaintances, and an even smaller number of friends.

There had been the Evans girl, who was bright and talented, but too limited by her muggle family and the rigid moral compass of Gryffindor house to be interesting. Severus’ relationship with her had been holding the boy back, and it was only once that bridge had been solidly burned that Tom could begin courting the future potions master to his side.

Severus’ abilities with a cauldron, however, were not his main draw. Tom himself could brew potions, and he had plenty of other followers competent enough if he ever decided he didn’t want to do it himself. None of them, Tom included, were at Severus’ level of prodigy, but one could do without.

No, the main reason behind Severus’ recruitment, besides his cheerful personality, was his other green-eyed friend.

And if it weren’t for that pair of very pretty green eyes, Tom wouldn’t have been too interested in Severus Snape’s empty bed, hours past curfew. But something compelled him to wait, to lay in bed and carouse one of his many advanced dark arts books, and see what his newest friend had been up to.

So Tom was stretched out on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles, propped up against the wall. It was quiet, the only sound being Lucius’ soft snoring and Draco’s tossing and turning. It was still an amusem*nt to him that the two highest pedigree slytherins were such restless sleepers. Lucius had given up casting silencing charms when he was in his second year, when he realized it did more harm to his reputation than good, and that he could easily hex anyone into silence if they were to spread it around.

He was nearly halfway through his book, and it had just passed two o’clock in the morning, when Severus came limping into the room, countenance far more grim than Tom had ever seen.

Tom had warded their yearmate’s beds from hearing this conversation hours ago, so it was without reservation that he made his own presence known.

“Did you have a nice walk?” Tom asked, keeping his eyes on his book.

He felt, more than saw, Severus immediately freeze up. Unfortunately, the other boy caught himself fairly quickly and threw up an impassive facade.

One day, Tom would have the satisfaction of watching Snape truly squirm.

“Riddle,” Severus said. “I did not think you would still be awake.”

“As a prefect, I could hardly be expected to sleep when one of my housemates was breaking curfew.” Tom closed his book with a dull clap and placed it on his bedside table. He folded his hands against his stomach, the picture of comfort.

It was such a rush of power. Tom, physically, was in a submissive position, being lower than the other boy and laid out. But Tom also knew that there was absolutely nothing Severus could do to him, even if he wanted to.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord,” Severus said, and headed to his bed, still limping. Tom eyed the leg that Severus was resisting putting weight on. Something had happened. Something Severus absolutely didn’t want Tom to know about. Thus, the ‘my lord.’ Out of all of Tom’s friends, Severus had been the one to resist the title the most, even more than the Malfoys.

“What could have possibly kept such a responsible student such as yourself out so late?”

Severus’ shoulders went ever so slightly more rigid than they had been. Tom slowly sat up, like a cobra getting ready to strike.

“I was involved in a duel,” Severus drawled slowly. “With Black.”

Black? That wasn’t entirely unbelievable. The two had been at each other’s throats for years, since they had met.

“Is that how you injured your ankle?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Severus said. One word answers? Yes, that was also in character. Severus never went into more detail than he had to.

“Did you at least win?” Tom asked, propping his chin up with his hand, leaning his elbow onto his knee.

“...No,” Severus said, pulling some of his ratty gray pajamas from his trunk. “Professor Slughorn discovered us before either of us could disarm the other.” He closed his trunk, the noise loud against the late silence of the room.

Tom narrowed his eyes, a smile still in place.

Slughorn was not on patrol that night.

“Slughorn isn’t too bad,” Tom said. “He detests taking points from his house.”

Severus did not say anything. If it were someone else, it would be a sure sign of deception. Someone struggling to come up with a lie. Severus, though, was someone who was quiet by nature. Perhaps he just had nothing to say?

“I’m sure he was quite harsh with Black and James Potter, no?”

“As harsh as Slughorn can be,” Severus said. The slytherin sat on his bed, holding his clothes on his lap. His black eyes closed with exhaustion. Tom knew from years of living with him that he would not get changed until Tom either went to bed himself, or allowed the boy to go to the bathroom and get changed.

But that would not be happening any time soon.

“So James Potter was Black’s second? Fascinating,” Tom drawled, and Severus’ eyes flashed open. Tom had him trapped. Severus never would have fallen for such obvious bait if it weren’t so late at night.

Tom had taken advantage of his classmate’s exhaustion. He slowly stood up from his bed, aware that he was being watched very carefully.

“So who would your second have been, I wonder? You didn’t ask any of our friends, as they were all present in the common room this evening. And you wouldn’t have dared ask Lily Evans, not that she would have allowed you to in the first place.” Severus winced as Tom dug the knife in and twisted it in just the right ways.

Tom took several steps, now standing in front of Severus’ sitting form. The positions had switched, but Tom was still the one in power.

“So that just leaves one possibility.” Tom took his wand out of his pocket slowly. “You would have asked Harry.”

“..Yes,” Severus said slowly. “Harry was my second.”

Tom lifted his wand and slowly traced it over Severus’ sharp cheekbone, enjoying the quick inhale of breath Severus gave.

The sour-faced teen had yet to truly feel the wrath of Tom’s wand, but he had certainly seen others fall to Tom’s displeasure, and he was in no rush to experience it himself.

“Severus,” Tom purred. “I think you’re lying to me.”

Severus’ eyes widened by just a margin, but it was enough.

There was no way Harry would be Severus’ second in a duel. He was much too passive, not to mention the attention it would have drawn to himself. And he had Severus’ ear. If Severus truly were to have been convinced to duel, and had asked Harry to second him, Harry would have easily been able to convince Severus of better ways to get one over on his enemies.

If there was a duel, Severus certainly would not have asked Harry to second him. It was more likely that he would have gone alone.

If there was a duel, and Severus had gone alone, he would have just said so. He would have known that any mention of Harry was akin to poking the sleeping dragon, so to speak.

So there was no duel.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning, hm?” Tom said, pushing his wand more into Severus’ cheek, enjoying the rapid paling of Severus’ skin and the gulp of his throat.

And Severus spoke.

There was a werewolf attending Hogwarts. No, not just a werewolf. According to Severus, there would now be two werewolves. Attending Hogwarts. One of whom was freshly bitten.

This would be a nightmare for Dumbledore if it were to be revealed to the public… But Tom did not want to play that hand as of yet. There were too many variables that he had to consider, the least of which being Dumbledore’s threat to remove Harry, and Severus, from Hogwarts.

That would be unacceptable.

Harry had been in the vicinity of a werewolf. He could have easily been hurt. His life, the one that Tom was just starting to convince him to have, could have been in tatters. Tom was lucky it was the boy’s useless, ignorant cousin that had been prey to the wolf’s teeth. His Harry remained unharmed, hopefully. Severus had been unable to assure Tom of Harry’s clean bill of health, only that Madame Pomfrey had not had to look at the boy.

Which didn’t say much, considering she hadn’t looked after Severus’ wound, either, instead having Slughorn provide a salve.

Tom usually did not sleep much, but even after he finished interrogating Severus and heading to bed, he could not rest.

Something could have happened to Harry.

It wasn’t that Harry wasn’t magically capable; Tom knew he was. It was part of the reason Tom found him so unfathomable, so attractive. But a feral werewolf was not something one could sit down and figure out on a piece of parchment with logic and reason. It required fast reflexes, and a good sense of self-preservation.

And the way Harry had, apparently, refused to leave without Severus?

Tom had always considered loyalty the trait of an idiot, unless it was to himself. Harry was not an idiot. What would possess him to risk life and limb for another person?

Would Harry have done the same for Tom?

Not that Tom ever would be caught in such a situation. Such foolhardiness. Severus would have to be punished. Once he was awake enough to fully learn his lesson, that is.

It was only once Tom resolved to seek Harry out at breakfast that he could get a few hours of rest.

So Tom found himself walking into a halfway full Great Hall the next morning, a little bit later than usual due to how long he had stayed up the night before, and heading straight to a familiar messy head of black hair at the ravenclaw table.

Harry actually seemed to be the center of the eagles’ conversation, which was bizarre enough that Tom realized it outside of his protective haze. He was also that attractive shade of red again, and Tom considered the possibility of having to murder another student until he overheard his own name being brought up at the table.

“-dating Tom Riddle,” the muggleborn, Granger, was saying, jabbing at her eggs with her fork.

“What? Potter and Riddle?” Boot, another annoyance, squawked, and Tom had a fairly decent idea what kind of conversation was taking place.

Perfect. An opportunity to publicly stake his claim.

“Pardon me,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. He enjoyed how most of them jumped, and smiled pleasantly. He raised a hand and gave a light tug at one of the wayward strands of Harry’s hair. “Harry, I was hoping I could have a moment to speak with you. Are you ready to go to arithmancy?”

“I, um, yes,” Harry said, his face flaring up again as he refused to look at Tom’s face. That was fine. The shock on the other’s faces was enough for Tom at the moment. “Let me just,” Harry stuttered, climbing to his feet shakily and grabbing his bag.

“Oh, Tom,” Granger said, her voice much more highly pitched than when she had just been speaking to her housemates. “I’m heading to arithmancy, and I wanted to talk to you about the homework…”

Tom saw, out of the corner of his eye, the more level-headed Patil twin shake her head.

“I’m sorry, Granger,” Tom said as Harry finally stood up straight with his bag over his shoulder. He reached down and grabbed Harry by the hand. “But I need to speak with Harry alone for a moment. We will see you in class.”

Tom heard the whispers and felt the stares of the entire Great Hall as he pulled Harry along with him, and a part of him was deeply satisfied that his relationship with Harry would be common knowledge by the end of first period.

Another part of him was enraged at the way Harry was limping along behind him.

Someone would be paying for that very shortly.

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty Two: Puzzles and Other Metaphors

Chapter Text

Harry’s entire body felt heavy when he woke up. Though, really, could it be considered waking if he had only gotten a few moments of rest? His leg, particularly his ankle, ached, his thoughts were sluggish, and he wished desperately that he didn’t have to go to class.

He would rather bury his head in a hole and shut the world out than go around pretending everything was normal.

Still, he rolled out of bed, washed his face in the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and put on his uniform, if a little more tenderly than he normally would. He fumbled with his tie three times, something he hadn’t done since he was a first year and had no idea how to tie one in the first place. His hands just wouldn’t stop shaking.

His ankle was the slightest bit swollen, but he poked it a few times and deemed it manageable. It obviously wasn’t broken, since he could walk, and so what if he just didn’t want to go to the hospital wing?

The idea of James Potter still being in there, curtains drawn around his bed, made him feel sick inside.

The idea of seeing Severus, or Black, also made him feel ill.

Or maybe, the idea of he, Harry, being seen, was the problem. But these things are unavoidable. He can’t just not go to class. At NEWT level, doing something like that even with a note from Madame Pomfrey was frowned upon. Professors seemed to think that students had to be present during lectures in order to learn.

He shoved his foot inside his shoe, ignoring how tight it felt, and stood up, grabbing his bag. Tea. He needed some tea. And maybe some plain toast, to settle his stomach. Then he could glance over his arithmancy notes before class. Going back to a normal routine was good for handling stress.

Merlin, he was stressed.

Breakfast was relatively empty when Harry got there. A few yawning seventh years at each table, a some of the more solitary people that Harry recognized from the corners of the library, but that was all. He sat down in his usual seat and started making his tea and putting toast on his plate. He grabbed an apple, too, just because he knew he had been ignoring fruits recently. He took a few bites of his meal before he already started feeling full, then pulled out his arithmancy textbook and the scroll of notes he had taken last class.

He hadn’t had time to write them out in his notebook yet, but that just meant he could add some things from the textbook on the original copy first. Maybe some essay ideas for future homework assignments would come to him. That would be a timesaver. Professor Vector hated giving out actual assignments, and she jumped at the chance for NEWT students to do their own research.

Considering she was a teacher that Harry was winning over for Malfoy’s plot, it wouldn’t hurt to look into things he thought were interesting this time around.

He had reviewed half of the content Vector had covered last class when Barty sat down on his right.

“Morning,” he said. “Already behind on homework?”

Harry gave him a small smile. “No, just reviewing. Vector seems to be picking up speed.” Barty groaned, spooning some strawberries into a small bowl.

“Don’t even remind me, my hand was aching by the end of last class! I’m surprised nobody broke a quill.” Again, Harry was thrown off by how much he actually enjoyed Barty’s company. He was smart, but not conceited about it, and he was amusing without being overbearing.

The two talked about the charts that were due for a few minutes, before they were joined by Patil and Turpin, who both excitedly spoke about their most recent dream interpretations, and then Boot, who wanted to whine about how charms was just too easy.

It was a little overwhelming, being a part of such a big crowd, especially considering the circ*mstances of last night. But another part of Harry felt normal, for once. Like he was just a student, talking about classes with his peers. When he and Patil share an exasperated look at Boot’s humble bragging, when Turpin is trying not to laugh. It all makes something in Harry feel connected. It was nice.

Until Granger showed up and slammed her stack of books that wouldn’t fit in her school bag on the table.

The sixth year’s talking stopped. “Um, morning, Hermione,” Patil said. “You good?”

Granger sat down with a huff. “No, I’m not. Last night I overheard the most ridiculous piece of gossip from a group of Gryffindors in the library, and honestly you would think they would have better things to do with their time.”

A good portion of the sixth year eagles perked up. As smart as they all could be, most of them enjoyed a good rumor. Harry actually liked the more outrageous ones himself; they were always good for a laugh.

Turpin’s eyes were already light with mirth. “Oh, do tell! I haven’t heard anything not class related since Draco Malfoy got his designer scarf caught in his potion flame!”

Now that was a fond memory. The potions prodigy, only beneath Severus and Evans, getting distracted enough to light himself on fire.

But there was something about the way Granger was looking at him that he didn’t like.

She huffed again, and Harry wasn’t sure if he imagined her poofy hair puffing up even more. It resembled one of those lizards with the neck ruffles.

“Well,” she started, and Harry thought that despite all of her self-righteous indignation, she was enjoying being the center of attention. “These Gryffindors, they claim to have seen Tom Riddle-”

“Riddle again?” Boot said, nostrils flaring. “Why is it always him with you girls? You know, there are other guys at this school-”

“Guys, yes,” Lisa agreed readily. “But Riddle? He’s more than a guy, he’s almost a different species altogether. Have you seen his hair?”

“I have nice hair!” Boot said.

“No you don’t,” Crouch said.

“Can I please finish?” Hermione interjected, ruining what promised to be an interesting argument.

Harry agreed with Crouch; Boot didn’t have nice hair, and that was without even comparing it to Riddle’s. Boot’s constantly had a slight greasy sheen on it, despite him showering daily. Maybe he wasn’t using the right kind of conditioner?

“Go on,” Patil urged Granger.

Granger huffed. “Well, you see, those obnoxious first year Gryffindor twins, the ones with red hair and have been trying to one-up James Potter and his crew? They were actually in the library last night, and while at first I was glad, at first, to see them putting some effort into their education, they were just being incredibly loud and boisterous-”

“Can we get to the point, please?” Boot asked, and Granger went pink.

“I’m getting there! Anyways, they were saying that-”

The anxiety that hung over Harry like a cloud intensified-

“-Harry Potter-”

All eyes turned to Harry, including Granger’s incredulous stare, but Harry only felt a piercing stare hitting his back-

“-is dating Tom Riddle!” Hermione stabbed viscously at her eggs.

“What?” Boot said, voice high pitched. “Potter and Riddle?”

Harry was trying to think of something to say in his own defense, and also was feeling incredibly stupid. How could he have forgotten? Yesterday, it had only been yesterday that he’d, well, snogged Tom Riddle. Twice. Once in the presence of some of the loudest students in Hogwarts. Oh, Merlin. How could he get out of this one?

But he wouldn’t have the chance.

“Pardon me,” a silky smooth voice asked from high above Harry’s shoulder. He whipped around and came face to chest with Tom Riddle himself.

Harry really hoped he didn’t squeak. That wouldn’t be very flattering.

Tom smiled charmingly down at Harry, and raised a hand to gently twirl a piece of Harry’s hair. It wasn’t fair. How could the Slytherin’s mere presence erase any and all thoughts in Harry’s mind?

“Harry, I was hoping I could have a moment to speak with you. Are you ready to go to arithmancy?”

Half of the population of Hogwarts was in the Great Hall. Half of Hogwarts was watching this. Harry wanted to disappear. He wanted to hide behind Tom, but that wasn’t possible anyway; the stares were coming from all directions.

“I, um, yes,” Harry said, ducking his face. “Let me just…” he climbed to his feet, trying to ignore the resurfacing throb of his ankle as he grabbed his bag. His eyes accidentally caught Barty’s, and his new friend seemed to be completely in shock.

“Oh, Tom,” Granger suddenly said. She sounded almost out of breath. Was it because she had been caught gossiping? Oh Merlin, did Tom hear that entire conversation? “I’m heading to arithmancy, and I wanted to talk to you about the homework…”

“I’m sorry, Granger,” Tom said, almost rudely. Tom was almost never rude to people. He valued his reputation too much. Harry stood next to him, and Tom grabbed Harry’s hand in his own. “But I need to speak with Harry alone for a moment. We will see you in class.”

It was the grabbing of the hand that solidified Harry’s thoughts the most.

‘Oh, I’m being claimed.’

Harry ignored how much he liked it.

Tom took Harry to an empty classroom, the same one that they had gone to yesterday. Where Tom had kissed him a second time. Despite Tom’s vice grip on Harry’s wrist, he had walked slower than normal, and Harry knew that Tom had noticed how hard Harry was trying not to limp.

When they got to the empty classroom, Tom had forced Harry to sit down on the front desk, and Tom had kneeled and started removing the shoe from his injured ankle.

“Hey, stop that,” Harry said, trying to pull his foot away, but it hurt too much.

“You’re going to make it worse,” Tom muttered, until finally he had gotten the ratty shoe off, and then the sock. He ran his long fingers from above the ankle joint, where his leg was more normal sized, down to the heel. “Where does it hurt the worst?”

“It-It isn’t that bad,” Harry said. Was it hotter in this room than the rest of the castle.

“That isn’t an answer,” Tom said, then pointedly poked the inside of the ankle, where the bruising was darkest. Harry yelped, and Tom looked up at him with dark eyes.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Tom said, voice indicating that he seriously doubted he was wrong, “but I do believe you went to the hospital wing last night with Severus. So how is it that both of you are still injured?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he couldn’t believe that Severus would have just gone and told Tom about what happened the previous night. On the other, how much would Severus have told Tom? So he stayed quiet.

“Severus, at least, has the advantage of his own healing salves,” Tom said. He took out his wand and poked the dark bruise, far more gently than he had done with his finger. Harry still winced, but said nothing.

Tom whispered a healing spell under his breath, and the tip of his wand glowed a soft white color where it touched Harry’s ankle. It felt like Harry had just dipped his foot into warm bathwater.

“You will have to forgive me, darling,” Tom said, still speaking quietly. “Healing spells are not my strong suit, but I fear the worst if I have to keep seeing these marks on your skin.”

“Tom…” Harry whispered. What did he mean, fear the worst? “It was just an accident, Tom.”

Tom looked up at Harry, eyes fierce. The tint was slightly red, and Harry realized that they did that when the Slytherin was feeling a particularly strong emotion.

“An accident? Dumbledore allows a dangerous creature into Hogwarts, and it is an accident? You and Snape are allowed to leave the hospital wing after an extremely dangerous event with no healing, and it is an accident?” Tom got to his feet and started to pace.

Harry wondered if anyone had ever witnessed Tom so worked up.

After a moment, Tom stopped his pacing and turned to look at Harry.

“This could end them, you know,” he said. Harry tilted his head in a silent question. “If the school board finds out about this, Dumbledore would be fired. If the heads of the Pureblood houses find out about James Potter’s new condition, he will never be allowed to remain the heir. If Black’s mother finds out that he’s been associating with a creature, he will be pulled out of school. And Lupin? For biting a pureblood heir, the best case scenario for him is exile.”

“Tom, wait!” Harry said. “This is - that can’t all happen. That’s just-”

“It will, though, Harry,” Tom assured. “I don’t think you comprehend how much of a disaster, how much of an opportunity this is.”

Harry felt lightheaded. He closed his eyes tight and put his face in his hands. This was too much to process. He had to do something, he didn’t want those things to happen. His thoughts were a whirlwind, and he was caught in the storm. Tom seemed so thrilled.

But that was Tom, wasn’t it? Harry knew, from years of close observation, that Tom was nothing if not an opportunist. Especially when it came to other’s low moments.

“It’s bad that you got hurt, but this is a good thing, Harry,” Tom said, still trying to be soothing.

“No, this is awful,” Harry said, voice muffled by his hands. How could Tom not understand? Harry knew he was a master at manipulation and taking advantage of circ*mstances, but could Tom not comprehend how this was going to hurt Harry?

It was quiet in the room. Harry couldn’t hear Tom’s pacing steps anymore. He couldn’t hear anybody walking up and down the hall on the other side of the door, or any birds flying around outside the windows.

This whole thing with Tom, and his little army of morally ambiguous Slytherins, felt like it had come out of nowhere. They were, what, a month into their sixth year? And they had turned his whole life into a mess. Sure, his puzzle had a few pieces missing, but that didn’t mean he’d needed someone to come tear the whole thing apart and start jamming pieces where they didn’t fit!

But despite all of that…

Gentle, warm fingers pried Harry’s nails from his cheeks, and his green eyes met concerned brown.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, and he moved to wrap his fingers around Harry’s palms. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what has you upset. Can you try explaining?”

Maybe they did fit. Somewhere. Harry wanted them to, at any rate.

Chapter 23: Chapter Twenty Three: Care

Chapter Text

There were moments in Harry’s life where he had benefited from the misery of other people. It happens to everyone at least once, whether or not they admit to it, but in Harry’s case it had never quite gone how he had expected.

When he was five, one of the other kids at the Wayhouse had an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie. It wasn’t often that they got dessert, so Harry snuck the rest of the cookie while everyone else scrambled to help the boy. Harry came down with the cold not twenty four hours later.

When he was ten, an even skinnier and more pathetic-looking child came to the Wayhouse, and the teasing and tormenting switched to them and away from Harry for three whole blissful months. During that time, Harry made an almost-friend out of a stray cat that liked to look for scraps in the dumpster. When the scrawnier new kid left, having been found by some sort of long lost relative, the bullies returned and kicked the cat so hard it made such a terrible yelping noise. Harry never saw it again.

Even at Hogwarts, these kinds of events happened. Correlation may not equal causation, but to a child, it would seem like a sign from a higher power, a lesson from the universe. Misery is constant. You can build a dam, and block off the flow of water, but when the dam breaks it will all come flooding out until it is the same steady stream that it was before.

In Harry’s mind, it wasn’t so difficult. He would never wish pain on other people anyway. Even if someone harmed him, he was logical enough to know there was a reason behind it. Eleven-year-old James Potter lashed out at him because he was afraid. That made sense.

But, looking into Tom’s eyes, Harry knew that Tom did not understand these principles. Perhaps he didn’t even want to.

“I feel guilty for what happened to James,” Harry said, looking away from Tom’s stare that was both confident and uneasy at the same time. “He came to get me and Severus because we were in danger. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. And Remus has no control over being a werewolf, either. It’s not fair that he’ll be punished for an accident.”

Tom stroked his fingers in a circular motion against the back of Harry’s hand. “And Dumbledore?”

“I don’t think it was wrong for him to let Lupin into Hogwarts,” Harry said. “He has the right to an education just like anyone else. And with the Whomping Willow, the Shrieking Shack and everything, it seems like they really tried to make the proper safety regulations. It was all just… an accident.”

Tom made a small, considering noise in the back of his throat. “What about Black?”

Harry raised his eyes to look back at Tom, and saw that the Slytherin was still quite close, his face still paying close attention, but there was something slightly more closed off in his eyes. “What about him?”

“You keep saying that this was all an accident, but Black purposefully put you and Severus in this position.”

Harry hummed, nodding. He moved his hands to grip the edge of the desk he was sitting on. “It’s true, though to be fair I don’t believe he meant for me to be there, just Severus.”

“Then you will not defend him?”

“No,” Harry said, tone firm. “I won’t defend him. It was stupid, to trick Severus like that. Someone could have been killed. But I also think he learned his lesson, and that he regrets what he did.”

Tom turned around, showing his back to Harry. The lines of his shoulders were tense. “And is that enough for you? That they feel regretful of their actions?”

Harry was worried that he was upsetting Tom, though he honestly could not understand why. But this was an important conversation to have, and Harry wouldn’t lie. “For me, yes.”

Tom whipped around, fast as a snake, and took a step back into Harry’s space, gripping him by the shoulders. “Why?”

The intensity of the question was almost enough to make Harry falter. Almost. “What do you mean, why?”

The unknown glint in Tom’s eyes was as hard as marble. His fingers tightened, and the shoulders of Harry’s shirt creased. “They hurt you. How can you be so calm? Why don’t you want vengeance?”

Harry attempted a smile. “What’s that saying? ‘An eye for an eye’?” Tom didn’t even blink. “Well, it just seems irrational, doesn’t it? And way too time consuming. Besides, these things tend to work out on their own.”

Tom still didn’t move, except his eyes started to lose some of their edge. “I still don’t understand.”

Harry reached up and covered Tom’s hands with his own. “Do you think you have to?”

Tom pursued his mouth. “I think-” he started, then cut himself with a scowl.

“What is it?” Harry tilted his head. It almost seemed like… Tom was restraining himself?

“I think that you don’t value yourself enough,” Tom said firmly. He moved his left hand, shaking off Harry’s, and placed it gently on his cheek. Tom’s right hand stayed on Harry’s shoulder. “I think that if you saw yourself the way I see you, or even if you saw yourself the way Severus saw you, you would also want revenge. I think you are so used to explaining away the things that happen to you, that you can’t feel the hurt that you deserve to feel.” This time, Tom is the one to tilt his head.

Ah, Harry thinks to himself. He wants to know if he’s overstepped. He stopped himself earlier because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

The warm feelings that blossom in Harry’s chest are impossible to ignore, and they make any kind of residual pain from his ankle vanish. He’s unable to keep himself from smiling.

Harry had never experienced a dam bursting with this kind of happiness before.

“I like you a lot,” Harry said, and watched, pleased, as Tom’s eyes widened substantially and a pretty pink flush took over his handsome face. Then Tom steps back and covers his mouth.

Harry was worried for a brief moment, until he saw the barely-there shaking of Tom’s shoulders.

“I can’t believe,” Tom muttered, voice barely resisting the urge to crack under the apparent hilarity of the situation, “that it took a near-death situation with a werewolf in an immature Gryffindor prank for you to say that.”

The smile on Harry’s face turns into a grin. “Was it not romantic enough for you? I can try again if you’d like.”

Tom hunched his shoulders and looked down, and when he raised his head back up it was with the same general aura of charm and satisfaction that he generally wore in their interactions. He moved his brown curls out of his face with a graceful wave of his hand. “Well, I would love to see your interpretation of proper courtship. I have been putting in all of the effort so far.”

But Harry wasn’t done yet. He felt brave. He felt strong.

He felt like he wasn’t finished seeing the look of complete and utter surprise on Tom bloody Riddle’s face.

So he pushed himself off of the desk, directly into Tom’s space, hands against his chest, and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. This time, Tom’s face wasn’t the only one turning red. He pulled back, and fought against the shy feeling creeping up his neck.

“A proper courtship, huh?” Harry whispered.

Tom smirked, still pink in the cheeks. “Perhaps an improper courtship would be better.” He tried to lean in, but Harry tilted his head back.

“We still have things to work out,” he said. Harry didn’t really want to go back to the serious discussion. He wanted to fall into Tom, to feel him all around, and to, maybe, make out a little bit, but it wouldn’t be right.

Tom leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on Harry’s brow. “We will work it out. I’ll listen, and ask questions. I won’t do anything that would upset you.”

Harry laughed. “You know you can’t promise that.” Tom brushed his nose up against Harry’s cheek. It tickled.

“I’ll try. Is that good enough?” They both laughed, and Tom wound his arms across Harry’s waist.

Harry, still smiling, would he ever stop smiling, asked, “Can I kiss you?” and Tom did not even bother with a response.