Harry canonically thinks Tom is more attractive with long-ish hair oh Iâm winning so hard rn.
I love you Harry Potter I donât know how you were so oblivious when in every scene Tom was mentioned, you could not help yourself but to proclaim how dashing and handsome he was compared to the rest of his peers.
Harry likes his men gorgeous and with a touch of malnourishment.
I was hoping to respond to all the lovely and fascinating asks I've gotten, but my vacation is coming up in a few days, so the work is extremely busy right now! I'll try to do what I was planning tomorrow; meanwhile, here is the snippet for the next chapter of ATLWETD. If everything goes well, the chapter itself should be posted in about 2 weeks.
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âHere you go,â Riddle handed him a hard enamel mug, smiling slightly. âYour surprise.â
Harry accepted the mug, peering inside, and his brows shot up in astonishment.
Riddle brought him tea. It was obviously watery, but compared to the semi-transparent liquid sold at most bomb sites and shared with the orphanage, this drink looked almost luxurious. Harry hadnât tried anything resembling actual tea since they left Hogwarts.
âIs this my birthday gift?â he asked, a genuine smile touching his lips. Riddle paused for a moment, a strange expression flickering across his face.
âYou could be satisfied with a cup of tea as a birthday gift?â
âWell, itâs nice when someone remembers your birthday and cares enough to give you something, whatever it is.â Harry clenched the mug with both hands, enjoying the warmth that began to seep under his skin. Today, the heat outside was tempered by the occasional rain, so holding something so warm felt almost cosy.
He was about to take a sip when Riddle stopped him.
âWhat does it smell like?â he asked. His voice was brimming with something heavy and seductive, and Harry squinted at him curiously before sniffing the tea.
âIâm not sure?â he murmured, taking another sniff. âSomething sweet, I guess. And woody. Maybe a little bitter? Whatever it is, I like it. Where did you get it?â Harry took a sip, only to frown a bit. For such a great smell, the taste was surprisingly bland.
He wasnât going to say this to Riddle, though, so he hastened to take a few more sips, letting out a hum of appreciation.
Riddle licked his lips, staring at him intently. His pupils were blown wide, and Harry felt an answering tug in his stomach. He lowered the mug, thinking about stepping closer, when his mind suddenly plunged into a complete, white-coloured oblivion.
For a moment, he saw and thought of nothing, but then the image of Riddle exploded behind his eyelids like starlight. Every feature of his suddenly became ten, twenty, a hundred times more mesmerising.
His body shuddered with violent need, and distantly, Harry heard himself gasping from it. His hands shook as he dropped the mug and reached for Riddle, his heart slamming against his ribcage with increasingly desperate force. Adoration, pure and magnificent, bloomed in him. It filled every corner and crevice, overwhelmed him to the brim: Harry could feel it grow larger and larger and larger, taking roots in his bones and stretching until it possessed every part of him.
Riddle continued to stand there, watching him with dark, curious eyes. There was a flash of anticipation in them, and all Harry wanted⌠all he wanted wasâŚ
What was he doing?
The weak twitch of a rational thought was quickly extinguished by more floods of white-hot adoration. However, the longer Harry basked in it, the more wrong it felt.
Wasnât it like⌠like being under Imperio? The same floating sensation⌠the same impossible, endless feeling of happiness⌠the sameâŚ
âIs something the matter?â Riddle asked. His voice was like silk â how could Harry ever resist it before? How could he not worship it properly? Riddle had the most beautiful voice in the world. And his lips⌠his nose⌠his eyesâŚ
No. Something had to be wrong.
Harry tried to blink multiple times in a row, hoping that his vision would restore itself and heâd be rid of this strange, rosy hue everything seemed to be painted with.
Imperio? But Riddle hadnât cast it on him. The magic⌠they couldnât use it, so what happened to him? Why was he unable to think?
The more Harry hesitated, the more Riddle frowned. Finally, he crossed the last step separating them, took Harry by his chin, and tilted his head up.
âIs that what youâre like when you are lovesick?â he wondered. His thumb brushed against Harry's lips insistently, and Harry all but melted at the touch. âUncertain and passive? This doesnât seem like you.â
Riddleâs thumb pressed down, and Harryâs lips parted obediently, taking it in. However, at the same moment, another flash of realisation lit up in him, temporarily overshadowing Riddleâs wonderful, glowing face.
Lovesick. Lovesick? He was being lovesick? Could it beâŚ
Rationality split his mind apart. It wouldnât last long, Harry could already feel it slipping away again, but before it had a chance to vanish entirely, he bit Riddleâs finger harshly.
With a startled sound, Riddle recoiled from him, and Harry hastened to turn away and throw himself to the window. With the missing glass, it was easy to thrust his head outside: he gulped in some moist air and stretched as far as he could without falling, hoping that the rain would do something to cool him down.
Riddle⌠that bastard⌠He drugged him. Despite the promise heâd made back at Hogwarts, he still drugged him. With Amortentia, of all things.
The worst thing was that it was working, and it seemed way more powerful than Imperio. His sanity was fading, that disgusting, stupid, blissed-out joy taking its place instead.
He had to do something! He had to⌠he couldnât let Riddle win, not in this, never in this. Â
Panic spun around in his head, sending quick, short bursts of dread through his veins. Overrun by an adrenaline rush, Harry desperately scanned the yard outside with his eyes, hoping to find something, someone, anything to distract himself with.        Â
There was only Ted Anderson playing around with a ball there. The rain didnât seem to bother him, so Harryâs mind latched onto him with frantic desperation.
Ted Anderson was the brother of the older boy who used to bully Riddle when he was younger⌠Unlike him, he was quiet and timid⌠and he was⌠beautiful? So very beautiful.
The fight for sanity was lost. Something kept lurking at the back of Harryâs mind, some acute sensation of wrongness, but the rest of him was fully focused on the new object of his adoration.
How come heâd never paid attention to Ted Anderson before? He was so brave to still be out there, playing despite the rain⌠And wasnât his red hair stunning? Harry always loved red hair. His Mom had red hair. Ron had red hair. Fred and George had it, and Ginny, andâŚ
The image of Riddleâs face swam before him for a moment, fighting for dominance. A flare of cold rationality followed immediately afterwards, only to be swallowed back by a fresh wave of fascination for Ted. Â
He was just so nice. Why had they never talked before? Harry had to speak to him immediately.
Determined, he stumbled away from the window, his eyes focused on the door, when Riddle suddenly blocked his path.
âWhere are you going?â he asked. His brows were furrowed; he looked extremely dissatisfied for some reason, and Harryâs eyes lingered on him as another surge of conflicting emotions flooded him.
His mind instantly rebelled. The insistent pull to Riddle faded, replaced by an even stronger need for the boy downstairs.
âI need to go talk to Ted Anderson,â Harry murmured, trying to bypass Riddle and reach the door. âI really, really like him.â
Since Riddle was blocking his path by standing directly in front of him, Harry saw the way he froze. Frowning, he took another step, but Riddleâs hands suddenly squeezed his shoulders. His grip was hard and bruising, and the pain briefly cleared the confusing fog in Harryâs mind.  Â
Who was he supposed to like? Was he supposed to like anyone at all? Surely not like this? This feeling of absolute blinding happiness couldnât be real, so why was it clinging to him?
âSay it again,â Riddle ordered. His voice was so cold that Harry shivered uncontrollably. Â
âI really likeâŚâ he began to say, but the rage on Riddleâs face made him pause. Once again, the fog lifted, this time for long enough to let him get a grasp on reality.
Riddle. Amortentia.
He could fight off the Imperius curse, but he was failing to do so with Amortentia. The only thing he succeeded in was redirecting his artificially inflated feelings for Riddle to someone else, but this redirection was wobbly at best. It just added to the confusion; Harry felt like his head was about to split.
What should he do? Why couldnât he fight it?
âLook at me and say it again.â Riddle wasnât speaking loudly, but it was like his voice exploded right inside Harryâs ears. He winced and tried to pull away, but Riddle jerked him back so easily, as if he were some rag doll. âWho do you like?â
Every cell in him vibrated with the need to answer. But what was he supposed to say? Who did he like?
At this specific moment, he couldnât even remember that other orphanâs name, but admitting he liked Riddle⌠No. Never.
âNot you,â Harry growled. If he werenât so busy trying to keep himself focused, he would have lashed out and punched this bastard already.   Â
Giving this answer must have aggravated the traces of Amortentia in his body because it hit him even more viciously, forcibly thrusting the image of Riddle to the centre of his brain.
The resistance melted away, a sickening rush of fake adoration flooding in again. If Riddle wasnât holding him so tightly, Harry would have probably thrown himself at him and suffocated him with a kiss by now.   Â
âImpossible,â Riddle spat. His eyes were alight with fury. âThatâs not how this potion is supposed to work!â
This potion.
The word was sobering. It let rationality stagger back up to the surface. Panting, Harry shut his eyes and tried to think of that other boy again.
Ted? Ted Anderson.
Even if he couldnât shake off Amortentia entirely, he could at least stop Riddle from getting what he wanted. It was better to obsess over someone else than to let his real feelings for Riddle, uncertain but undeniable, be reduced to this cheap parody of infatuation.
The moment Harry came to this conclusion, the world faded from view. With the last bit of stubbornness, he held on to the image of Ted Anderson, and his lips twitched dreamily.
âI like Ted,â he declared confidently. No words ever sounded so right. âSo hurry up and let go of me. I need to confess to him.â
Riddle's face twisted into an expression so ugly, it was almost surprising enough to distract Harry from his object of affection. He felt a violent shift of magic in the air, but it dissipated almost immediately.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Riddle closed his eyes. A vein kept thrumming against his temple wildly.   Â
âYou really thrive on defying my expectations, donât you?â he murmured. His voice was so low, like he was applying a titanic effort to restrain himself. âYou never do what I want.â
âI just wantââ
âIf you say his name againâŚâ Riddleâs voice trailed off, lips forming a strange, chilling smile. âWell. You will drive me to do something drastic. Very much so.â Â
I desperately wanted to fit the hug in, but if I did that it would never get finished đ hope this is okay regardless! Three years and this fic still has me in a chokeholdâŚ
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