An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

tannertan36
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

Janaina Medeiros
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
DEAR READER

titsay
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Mike Driver
Monterey Bay Aquarium
taylor price
Peter Solarz

No title available

if i look back, i am lost

Kaledo Art

oozey mess

pixel skylines
d e v o n

Discoholic 🪩
seen from United States

seen from Denmark
seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from Philippines

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from Germany
@scarlettlimps
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fickle my End
Tom could look at it for hours and still it would not have been enough.
The diadem was beautiful in the sort of way that cut, like the beauty of a very sharp edge of blade. So thin that one would not even notice it from the side, and then it would turn.
And sink down deep to the flesh and make you bleed.
Was he bleeding now?
“My Lord.”
It is with unending hesitance that his eyes flicker to the sound, to his assistant eyeing him with the sort of mischievousness that seemed just at home in that green eyed youth. He is smirking, smug in the sort of way Lucius Malfoy is most of the times, and yet countenance refined by Harry’s own intrigue, Tom is sent into thought.
One of the consequences of having an assistant as brilliant, and fickle as Hadrian ‘Harry’ Potter is that you can almost always expect some mischief in cradle.
There can only be so much stimulation for a mind easily bored.
“My Lord, you are staring.” Harry’s says, and now he is grinning, crooked and bare in the way that screams James Potter. “It’s rather enjoying but if you could dim it-“
“-Message received, Hadrian.” Tom says, and if it’s sharp, and harsh, it’s no one’s fault but Harry’s. “Don’t you have a Draco Malfoy to charm?”
The blow is not received as well he would have liked, instead it’s not received at all. Harry bloody Potter dodges like it’s a slowly advancing cotton ball, and grins up at him in that uncouth manner that looked so charming on him.
“Charmed him, beguiled him.” He says, as if he was listing off a grocery list. “He is my very best friend now, my lord.”
Tom is not at all satisfied.
Sometimes, only sometimes, he wonders how much he would like to choke that slender thin throat of his, and see how long it took before that knowing twinkle of his magnificent green eyes dimmed down.
And then Harry brings him something pretty, and rest all is history.
“Don’t look this happy.” Tom says, because he simply can. “I can easily give you some more work if that is what you want.”
Harry’s grin wavers just a bit, but then he is smiling even more. It’s blinding almost, the way cheerfulness and charm just radiates from his assistant, the way he is surrounded by married ladies, and single Lords just as soon as he enters the room.
He leans forward, rising on his toes so that he can bring his mouth close to Tom’s ear, and whispers.
“Who will stop you from keeping hands off Lady Ravenclaw’s diadem then?”
And when Hadrian takes off, towards the bar taking up two glasses of scotch on the rocks, and winking at him in the way he has come to become alarmed of. Tom wonders if he should bang his head or smile.
Because surely Hadrian Potter slowly ending him like this could not feel this fun.
100 Words Tag Meme
I am absolutely in love with @tomarryherewegoagain for tagging me, and with a trope I am never going to stop loving.
Rules: Write 100 words of the trope you were tagged with, then choose a new trope/theme and tag people to participate. Any fandom, any ship!
The Trope I Was Tagged With Is: Marriage of Convenience
Green eyes looked ahead, like fire raging a forest, like molten steel. His lips were pursed, jaw pressed, defiance poured from every cell, and redness flirted with his pale face.
His eyes jerked up at Tom, and for a second he could not breathe.
“You are my husband.” He said, tone clipped and something inherently ugly swirled between the words.
Fire burgeoned with flames of tension between their souls. An eternity passed, and Tom could not look away from those eyes.
“Nothing. Else.”
And Harry Potter walked away.
Leaving him standing with clenched fists, with something burning and roaring inside.
Tagging: Anyone. Everyone... No one... Have some fun, write along!
Your Trope: Royalty AU!!!
Pause
People don’t die because they stop living.
They die because they stop dreaming.
It’s a moment. A sudden realization. An arrow seconds before it has hit the heart. It’s a thought that is not originated from a chain. It’s a notion that takes birth without a father, without a mother, and dies without a hand to hold.
It’s the realization of an age of no realizations at all. It’s the acknowledgement of the end. The point when you really come to know that your mind is going to go silent, and your eyes are going to go black, and your ears will not even hear silence, and your hands will not even feel themselves.
It’s the realization that you are about to be severed from your existence that kills you, not the fall down from the cliff.
And isn’t that just fucked up. It was easier to deal with science and when she said, don’t be stupid, you can’t live without food or air, and survive after being rolled flat by fifty elephants combined in one than with this simple truth.
This truth that is not long enough to fill the silence. That is too transparent for shadows of doubt to linger, for hope to kindle in mutiny.
It’s this truth that kills humans.
And it’s this truth that we waste our lives trying to unearth.
And I know right?
What a set of fucking idiots.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Characters: Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Merope Gaunt, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Ginny Weasley, James Potter, Sirius Black, Lily Evans Potter, Luna Lovegood, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Politics, Class Differences Summary:
The Lords of London did not even know what had hit them.
One moment they had been lounging in their gardens, sipping tea, and talking about the weather with the same detached indifference they talked of starving children that worked in their own factories.
The next?
Lord Thomas Marvolo Riddle found Hadrian Potter.
Mine.
Severus had made a mistake.
His eyes roamed over the little bruised body, lying almost lifeless on one of the cots of the infirmary. A thin white sheet entirely useless in covering the yellow, and blue spots that were scattered all over the thin chest.
Ribs pocked to the surface from under Harry Potter’s skin.
And suddenly he awake, energy, life flowing to him in a jerk, as if been hit by a crucio. Fright, panic, desperation swirled in green orbs as a long raw breath released itself from battered, bruised lungs.
“Water…” He rasped, his voice dry and in pain. “Please…water.”
Severus did not waste a minute, immediately levitating a glass of water over to the bed, and neither did Potter waste time, grasping the glass in midst of its flight, and gulping all of it down in one go. He once more refilled the glass with a wandless aguamenti, and again emptied it, albeit this time a bit slower.
Severus found himself almost impressed.
Wandless magic was not easy even for fully grown wizards let alone for teenagers, but Potter seemed to perform it with little trepidation at just the age of fourteen.
He wondered how many hidden secrets of the Chosen One would haunt his way in the entirety of the night that was left.
He shook the thoughts away.
“Are you feeling any better?” He asked, moving closer to the bed. “You can move now without pain, I see.”
Potter jerked his way, still breathless and too much adrenaline driven to have attempted a slower, peaceful action. His eyes widened out, and green, utterly green eyes stared back at him in a shock, and yet within a fraction of second he registered Severus’ presence as that of an ally, and seemed to calm.
At least to an extent.
“I…” Potter looked around, his eyes taking assessment of the entire infirmary before reaching back to Severus’, his breathing still ragged. “I saw him again.”
Blood froze in Severus’ veins.
“He is there… “The teen said, panicked, his eyes glazing as he no doubt remembered the encounter again. “His father’s house. Little Hangleton.”
Severus had to resist the urge to collapse, the dark mark burned on his wrist in its own phantom pain.
Tom Riddle was back.
Voldemort was back.
He took a deep breath, clenching his eyes as he forced his breathing to calm, and the information to seep through his occlumency barriers. The Dark lord’s arrival had always been inevitable, but perhaps even Severus had started believing the Prophet when it sung tales of the vanquisher of the he-who-must-not-be-named.
Not anymore though.
“What did he say?” Severus asked instead. “What was he doing?”
This time Harry Potter did not answer.
Shadows fell over his bright eyes, and his face darkened. The shock, the panic, all melting away, dissolving somewhere far beyond the real where the light’s hero hid his dark secrets.
Severus did not particularly enjoy knowing it.
“Looking.”
The voice was lifeless to Severus’ years. Dead and muted in all the ways Harry Potter’s shouldn’t have been. Severus had-in all Potter’s years at Hogwarts-only tried to see his father’s reflection in the boy, and yet even he could not have ignored the sheer power that the boy gave.
Lilly Evans had that aura. The way everyone turned when she walked through the wall, the way people listened when she talked.
Harry Potter did not even realise it.
“He was looking at me, staring.” Potter said, his eyes unseeing. “Smiling.”
And Severus’ mind wandered over to their first encounter with Tom Marvolo Riddle just moments ago. To the wizard who hadn’t aged a day since the day he had fallen.
You are mine, Harry.
Interesting?
Thomas Riddle did not like incompetence. Far from it. He did not find it adorable or sweet or silly when people made mistakes. Certainly not when those mistakes cost him even minutely. It certainly explained his secretary’s presence in his office, standing before his desk with her head bowed low, and tears on the verge of falling from the glassy huge eyes.
He suspected it was genuine remorse that she showed. It did not matter though. Not when remorse would not bring back the fifteen minutes he had spent correcting the spelling of Josue in the entire contract. They were overtaking the firm for Merlin’s sake, the least she could have done was spelt its name right, but apparently that was a bit too much to ask of people he paid to do their job.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
“Remorse now is not going to help you, Ms Brown.” He said. “The best you can do is return to your office and start packing. It would save you time.”
Ms Brown started sobbing in the pathetic sort of way only women trying to blackmail lesser men ever did. It was another mistake she had made.
To think of him trivial.
“Get out.” He said, sharply. “Get out of my sight right this instant.”
It was harsh, he could tell with the intensity Brown had grabbed her skirts and dashed from the room, letting the door slam before her, as she sniffled away, her cry growing louder, and then distant before all he could hear was the sound of ticking clock.
Before all he could hear was the sound of wasted time.
Thomas Riddle took a deep breath. Fifteen minutes wasted was not the world lost, and he had known even before he had hired Lavender Brown that he could do better.
Certainly he wasn’t as good at hiring people as he had thought.
A moment passed. And then another.
Better let experts handle it then, he thought with a sign and inched forward to pick the telephone. The numbers punched with long, sleek fingers while his eyes were closed.
Waiting for Lord Malfoy to pick.
It certainly wasn’t long.
“Good Morning.” Said the sleek bored drawl from the other side. “May I ask who I am speaking too?”
Tom almost rolled his eyes as that. He had heard the same drawl for the past five years and had gotten used to it, in the past two. Lord Malfoy-Lucius Malfoy-the lord of one of the wealthiest most respected estates of London, was also one of the most infuriating and arrogant lords of all London. It had not surprised him when he had met him first, to perceive even before he had talked more than a sentence to see it.
Abraxus Malfoy hadn’t been a wise man after all. It was only natural his son would follow suit.
“Lucius.” Tom said, greeting softly. “This is Thomas speaking.”
The effect was instant. The bored drawl immediately became more focused, and intrigued.
“Lord Riddle!” Lucius exclaimed from the other side. “What a pleasant surprise? How may I help you?”
Perhaps had this been any other day, or perhaps had Tom not spent the last twenty minutes fussing over a spelling mistake, he would have asked Lucius how his day had been.
But it wasn’t any other day unfortunately.
“Lucius. It’s always a pleasure to hear you.” Thomas said, flattering. “But I am afraid I have a little request to make of you today. I am in all reality quite embarrassed to ask it however.”
“Please, Tom.” Lord Malfoy said, not leaving any space for doubt. “There is no need for embarrassment among friends. I cannot stress this more. How can I be of use?”
Friends.
Well didn’t that make things much easier, now?
“You know Lucius.” He said, stitching his web. “How utterly useless secretaries can be sometimes?”
The hum of agreement from the other side encouraged Tom. He had thought it would take more than this to blind Lord Malfoy.
“Absolutely.” There was a pause, and then. “Is this the issue? You require a competent secretary?”
Tom admitted letting some of his well perfected embarrassment creep into his voice now.
“You caught me Lucius.” He said, smirking when he could practically hear the smugness from the other side of the receiver. “I am in need of a competent assistant, and I have long learnt my own selections are of no use.”
He would never admit it but the reply that came from the other end relieved him.
“You are in luck, Tom.” Lucius said, smugly. “I have just met a brilliant young lad, and he would be entirely perfect to our kind of work. He even carries decent blood. Hadrian Potter? Have you heard of him? His father ruined the name when he was just a child and was murdered along with his wife. Hadrian has been raised without the wealth of course, but I can see the blood of Fleamont lives in him. You must meet him.”
Hadrian Potter did sound intriguing.
“I trust your opinion then, Lord Malfoy.” Tom said, as if he had surrendered. “If you would be so inclined to introduce us.”
“Of course, Tom.” Lucius agreed easily. “He has been invited as well to the evening ball on the fifth. I can very well see to your introductions then.”
Saturday then. He could survive until then.
“Thank you, Lucius.” Tom said, almost genuinely. “I most grateful.”
“Nonsense, Lord Riddle.” Lucius said. “The pleasure is mine.”
It certainly would be if Hadrian Potter lived up to his reputation. Tom had to admit that in all the five years he had known Lucius Malfoy, he had never once heard him this impressed with someone, especially not someone who was below station.
What had happened with the Potters had been unfortunate to say the least. James and Lilly Potter had been murdered in the fresh of the night by their own close friend Pettigrew, who squandered away the wealth and family estates under the pretence of being the manager. James’ trust of his friends had not helped this, and it was a long time before Sirius Black another close friend of Potters and then heir-now lord-of the estates of Black, had intervened.
By the time he had discovered of the Potters deaths it had been too late. All the family wealth had been squandered away, and nothing was left.
The young-then two-Hadrian Potter missing as well.
And now he was back. After twenty two long years of not existing.
Now wasn’t that interesting?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/18 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Daphne Greengrass Additional Tags: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Coping, Enemies to Friends, Funeral, Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Summary:
It's a surprise who becomes his pillar after his wife is gone.
And yet Draco wonders if this green eyed stranger was not a surprise all along?
A century lost.
He let his head fall back, letting go of the muscles, and the control. Letting that sweet ache wash through him, like a warm wet wave, and vanishing all stress, and all exhaustion and all hate seep out.
In that moment, Harry thought himself the epitome of bliss.
And how very unusual was that. He had never believed he would fit in the past. In a past where there were only strangers wearing the mask of his friends, and enemies drenched so completely in raw adolescence that he had to look twice.
But he supposed he wasn’t Harry Potter anymore.
“Hadrian.” Tom Riddle’s extravagant voice filled his ears, and infringed his bliss in midst, and yet he refused to acknowledge the teenage dark lord’s snobby presence, over prolonging that pleasure.
But there were limits to which you could test patience of impulsive geniuses.
“Riddle.”
Silence returned again, engulfing the green, silver common room, that had become his new abode.
And then there was again that admirable bliss, returning to him in waves of one Tom Marvolo Riddle’s annoyance, and irritation. It amused him, Riddle’s moody obsession with him, and yet through all the experiences of his life in the war and after, none had intrigued him more.
“I see you are celebrating the ending of our examinations.”
The observation was clipped, as if the Tom’s ego had not exactly gotten over the lack of awe Hadrian had shown, and yet his mind couldn’t quite let go yet, wanting, urging to clash with one who dared to stand out.
He supposed he hadn’t exactly tried to merge.Harry Potter had once relished fading into the shadows to escape, and yet when after long the shadows continued to elude his grasp, he closed his eyes, and basked in the light.
It didn’t even take an effort for Hadrian Evans to do the same now.
“I am.” Hadrian said, opening one eye to look up at the dark ceiling of the Slytherin common room, he turned gracelessly towards Tom, and regarded the boy from head to toes, making the prefect rather conscious for a small moment. “Did you want something, Tom?”
Hadrian saw something he could never associate with the dark lord.
Tom Riddle blushed.
“I-I was wondering whether you would be interested in going to Hogsmeade.” He said, more or less maintaining his dignity, however all the while looking away, his ocean blue gaze carefully eluding his own emerald orbs.
Fire sulked behind, the yellow-orange hue dancing on their faces, and the solemn crackling of wood and ash filing their ears.
Nervous eyes found Harry’s, and something changed.
“With me.”
A century melted by, dissolved, lost between nervous words and prolonged gaze between two school boys. Different and yet one and the same.
Another took its place, bloomed in large, and there was chaos, and mirth.
“Yes. ”
Worthy Indeed
Tom left him alone, closing the door behind him as Hadrian had said.
He knew one day or other, Hadrian Evans would have no choice but to yield. If anything, Tom Marvolo Riddle was persistent, and especially when there was something he wanted.
Hadrian Evans was coming ridiculously close to being that thing.
He moved over to the common room instead, taking his usual seat by the fireplace and conjuring the library copy of ‘Heston and Jay incredible wards’. He was yet to be able to copy the book, not being able to infringe the protection charms placed on it.
For some reason the thought that Hadrian could break through the charms with just the flick of his thin fingers, sent an odd shrill down his spine.
And for the first time it was not of jealousy.
“Thinking about Evans, my lord?” Malfoy’s voice infringed his thoughts, as he sat down opposite to Tom, a serious expression taking over his handsome face. “I have nothing on him at the moment. All the records of Brisker Vile seemed to have been destroyed during Grindewald’s attack.”
Tom did not reply, instead his eyes found way towards the gleaming, roaring fire.
It reminded him of the fire within Evans, the fire that burned in those magnificent emerald orbs.
“I thought as well.” He said, looking away. “Grindewald’s attack does explain things, however…”
He shook his head, wiping those thoughts of suspicion. He had told himself, promised himself moments ago that he would stop trying to dig dirt on Hadrian . It wasn’t going to amount to anything anyway.
He had a feeling Evans would have absolutely no effect no matter what he tried to blackmail him with.
And for some reason he didn’t want to.
“Leave it. Nothing would amount from Brisker Vile records, I doubt anything about Hadrian would surface.”
Abraxus eagerly nodded his agreement, no doubt happy to be freed from more work. Malfoy had his own worth, but it does not free him from slacking.
Unfortunately.
“How shall we win his favour?” He asked, instead. “Hadrian Evans is proving to be worthy day after day.”
And he remembered the power the boy had wielded just moments ago, the flick of his hand that had sent Avery swinging back into the wall, and the way his eyes had gleamed afterward, and those lips had curved up just a bit.
Like he knew he had knocked people of their feet.
Like he knew he had knocked Tom of his feet.
Worthy indeed.
Reflection?
Hadrian Evans is a mystery.
Like a rush of wind with no mercy, but with a clear path. You mistake it for a breeze when you see it from the window, you call it light by the rustling of the leaves, and the swinging branches it leaves in trail, and when the thunderstorm follows, you call it a surprise.
Tom awaits this thunderstorm with an impatience he has never had.
“Where do you hail from, Evans?”
Cygnus’ curiosity seems to have finally broken through his endurance. The new Slytherin has not once divulged any information on his own accord. When he speaks, it’s a bored, lazy drawl of uncaring replies, when he sees, it’s as if in a scattered haze.
Evans hasn’t really come to Hogwarts, and yet when all eyes trail the stranger in the common room, he knows Hogwarts has found another enigma.
For once in his life, Tom does not mind calling attendance with the majority.
“Brisker Ville.”
The reply is distant, uncaring at best, and yet when Hadrian lazily fixes his emerald gaze on Cygnus, his breath is caught in his throat, and when Hadrian smiles it shows that he knows.
He knows exactly the kind of storm he can rage.
Tom feels jealous like he feels jealous from a good, dark arts book, when it dares house knowledge that eludes his own mind.
“Where is it?” Someone asks, and Tom cannot tell whom for his eyes are all on the boy who dances with the other slytherins without even moving a finger. “I haven’t heard of it.”
It’s like looking in a mirror.
It’s like being mocked by a reflection.
For one second, something flashes in Evans’ eyes. Its gone before Tom can even place it.
“It’s on the side of London. A small village.” Hadrian says, leaning forward on the table, his untouched breakfast now completely abandoned. “It’s a quaint place, but I don’t think it could compete with Diagon Alley in any manner.”
Cygnus nods, a long black lock of hair coming in front of his grey eyes which look shaky.
“I don’t think anything can compete with Diagon Alley.” He says finally, and then there is a pressed smile afterwards, as he rushes to pick up his fork and get back to breakfast, eager to break contact with Hadrian Evans.
“I have heard of Brisker Ville.” Malfoy picks up, and fixes his own piercing gaze onto Hadrian. “I believe my grand aunt lives there.”
“Not anymore.”
All eyes look at the new Slytherin.
Evans, realising the attention, regards all the pair of eyes looking towards him with a mix of disinterest and passivity, his eyes momentarily stops on Malfoy who looks at the boy with some glimpse of offence, however soon he has lost interest away, slumping once again on his breakfast.
“Grindewald’s men accidentally burned the Malfoy cottage. Mrs Malfoy evacuated the village as soon as the fire hit.”
He looks at Malfoy then, and stands up, pushing his chair back.
“You should write to your father.” He says, picking up his hand bag. “I believe he might be hosting a guest.”
And when Hadrian leaves, it’s not a surprise that all eyes follow his back.
The Start
The first time Tom meets Hadrian Evans, he is intrigued.
Interested.
There is something strange about the boy with dark, storm ravaged locks and the curious scar. Something amiss, something mournful in those brilliant green eyes as he stares at Tom for far too long with a blankness undecipherable.
His hand is left hanging in the air for an eternity, before Hadrian moves to grasp it, and even when he does it does not feel as if he had even touched it.
He would have called Hadrian shy, nimble had it not been for his eyes. They are not scared, they are not nervous. They are blank, as if they are looking just because they exist, as if they have long ago surrendered silence to everything they see around.
As if they care, but don’t really want to.
Slughorn is delighted to introduce Hogwart’s first ever transfer student, and calls Evans an all-rounder just like Tom with his more than perfect OWL scores, and an interest in dueling. Dumbledore just eyes him with suspicion, and without that infuriating twinkle that is absent only when he looks at the Slytherin.
But then Tom catches Hadrian’s eyes running over to the man, and sees a flicker of pure boiling seethe in them. It’s gone in less than moment, replaced by the rugged mask of indifference, and boredom, but it was there nonetheless.
Tom is even more intrigued.
It does not help when the boy is sorted to Slytherin.
He supposed he should have known it from the start.
The Club
Harry: I hate myself.
Tom: Join the club.
Harry: Of people hating themselves?
Tom:
Tom: Of people hating you.
Harry:
Probably Happened Sometime
Tom: Why are you wearing a shirt with treacle tart on it?
Harry:
Harry: I like treacle tarts.
Harry: Why are you wearing a shirt with blood on it?
Tom:
Tom: I splat ketchup. It's not blood. It's ketchup.
Idiot
To: [email protected] From: [email protected]
It has come to my notice that you are an idiot.
I love you, Tom Riddle. If you don’t propose to me soon enough, I am going to marry treacle tart. And I tell you Tom Marvolo Riddle, it’ll love me just as much.
Thank you
The start of something beautiful
Harry grinned up at Tom, standing on his toes to abate the height difference between the two of them.
“Dumbledore told me I should find better friends.”
Tom Riddle, the Slytherin prefect, model student, and secret heir of one of Hogwarts founders, regarded the boy with a disinterested expression.
“And...?”
Harry’s expression faltered momentarily, but then his grin widened even further, and he stepped closer to Tom.
“So...” He said mischievously, and pocked the other boy’s chest. “You are not my friend anymore.”
Tom’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt something deep inside him scream. His breathing grew faster, and yet as he tried to keep the shock, the betrayal, the desolation, off his face, a frown came anyway.
“Oh.”
Harry smirked again, no doubt reading everything on his face, and everything that wasn’t. He stepped even closer, diminishing the space between them to a few inches.
“Won’t you ask why?” He asked, suggestively.
Tom who would have no doubt sneered had he been not this broken, could only nod his head dumbly.
You are not my friend anymore.
He closed his eyes, keeping away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Where had he gone wrong?
“Why?”
Harry did not answer, instead he took the other Slytherin’s tie in his hand, and pulled it closer and closer and...
And then he was kissing Tom.
And Tom was kissing him back.
There hands were a mess, and in the end Tom found his hand round Harry’s waist, and Harry’s up in Tom’s perfect hair.
And then Harry broke the kiss, breathless, flushed up, and perfect.
He brought his mouth close to Tom’s ears, and whispered.
“Because you are my boyfriend now.”
Good night, indeed.
“No.” Tom mumbles in his sleep, his mouth gasping open and his breathing becoming louder. “Not yet. Not h-him.”
Harry doesn’t quite know how he reaches on Tom’s side, sitting by his bed. His hands are inches away from the boy’s pale face, wanting to touch, to bring close, to shake this nightmare out of him.
And yet he doesn’t. He can’t.
“Tom.” He murmurs instead, bringing his mouth close to the sleeping boy’s ear. “Tom, wake up.”
For a moment the boy beneath seems like a reflection. Dark, ebony hair and distressed lines. The sharp muscles of his face are taut, and a thin layer of sweat gleams on his forehead. A lock of black hair sticks onto his flushed skin.
It’s only a moment.
His eyes flutter open, slow and heavy, revealing steel blue orbs, and Tom fixes his unfocused gaze on him. There is a moment of panic, and Harry starts to move, but then there are strong fingers grasping his hand, keeping him in place.
Inches away from Tom Riddle’s face.
“Hadrian?” Tom says, and his voice is still rough from sleep. “I saw you in my dream.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say at that. He only knew that the boy was having a nightmare, mumbling about something, about a ‘him’. He never stopped to wonder who it could have been.
He wonders if he should have.
“You were having a nightmare.” He says instead, feeling the other Slytherin’s breath on his face. “They are not very nice, so I-“
“-woke you up?”
There is a smirk on Tom Riddle’s face. The same smirk that used to haunt him every night he went to sleep, and every time he woke up. Now there is just an odd flutter at its sight.
“How very nice of you, Hadrian?” The fingers around his hand tighten, and Tom’s smirk grows into a grin. “I didn’t know you cared.”
He is blushing now, he knows, and when he jerks the hands off him, and grumbles his way over to his own bed, he wonders if Tom Riddle knows.
“Good night, Hadrian.”
There is a cold shrill that runs up his spine at those words, and even as he inserts himself between the dark green covers and turns away from that bed, it stays.
Good night indeed.