Chapter Text
Tom didn't snarl as soon as Mulciber's back was turned. He didn't roll his eyes as he walked away. He continued that polite smile that had got him through most of his life. He didn't relax his shoulders, take a deep breath or stretch his long legs. He walked as he always had, at a sped up pace that forced others to put in effort to catch up with him. The composure he had carefully curated did not slip. He squinted his eyes slightly at the Slytherin first years that waved at him adoringly, stretching the face muscles to contort into an almost believably genuine smile. Faces blended into an oil-painting of colours, smudges smiling at him. He didn't slow his pace when Malfoy caught up to him, telling Tom how it was 'so great to see him'. As if they hadn't spoken mere hours ago. The colours of Hogwarts were dull.
All Tom could remember doing since the moment he was born was pretending. Pretending to care when Billy Stubbs' rabbit winded up dead. Pretending to be sorry about it when Mrs. Cole has dragged him by the ear and told him he needed an exorcism. Pretending to be sympathetic when Yaxley's parents could not influence the professors to give him an E instead of an A. Pretending to give five fucks about this illusion of security that Professor Dumbledore had comforted many with. Pretending not to be hurt when the one person he actually could stand stopped fucking talking to him. Except it did hurt. A lot, actually.
He didn't understand why it affected him so terribly- nothing ever impacted his life enough to truly make him feel hurt or disappointed anymore. Expect nothing and nothing will disappoint you. How could he have ever let his composure slip and believe that anything good would come of it.
Everything was meaningless until Harry had to go and make it meaningful.
Tom honestly did not know how it happened. Which means a lot because he could recount (basically) everything important that had happened to him since he was seven. It was like catching an illness; it affected him quickly and dangerously.
They had met when they were in the second year.
They were only supposed to be study partners for transfiguration for one project.
Except the minute Tom looked Harry in the eye, he knew he could not let this boy go.
Dark hair, dark eyebrows, bright eyes, bright skin. Circular, thin glasses guarded the beautiful green eyes beneath, yet they still pierced his amber ones with perpetuate force. He mentally drew out each shade in his head, the bright colours fogging his dark mind. Pink full lips smirking on tanned skin. Black hair that curled loosely around his head messily but naturally. Long, black eyelashes that protected those memorable eyes. Skinny, but not dangerously so. He bet Harry would grow into it (he did).
Tom knew that he was also a massive catch. People would double take when flashed a smile, his beauty mark creasing slightly as people sighed in appreciation. He knew Harry would have no problem wanting to befriend Tom. Pretty appearances drew people in. Except why did he care if this boy wanted to be his 'friend'? Tom had never wanted or cared for friends. Letting people get close only caused more harm than good. So why did he want to get close to Harry Potter of all people?
Tom reprimanded himself internally, agreeing that he would not try and get to know this good-looking boy.
But-
It didn't help that Harry was smart. Frustratingly so. Tom found himself actually feeling challenged instead of bored when working with him. He sat down next to Tom, a familiarly polite smile adorned on those stunning lips. Harry's whole demeanour reflected Tom's inner most deepest thoughts. He seemed to mirror whatever Tom felt and express it in a crafty, unforgettable way.
He was funny, too. Tom didn't properly laugh with anybody. Somehow Harry made that belly-laugh that had him covering his face in embarrassment come out of him. He was also honest. A trait Tom admired. He himself was not honest at all, which made them a perfect pair. Harry was an angel.
"Whilst I appreciate you must not write essays a lot, Potter, please do bear in mind that handwriting must be somewhat legible." He had remarked, rolling his eyes as he stared down at the scrawl on the page. He heard Harry scoff, tapping on Tom's essay.
"Says you, Riddle! All you do is use Shakespearean language- although you would probably take that as a compliment." Tom smiled mockingly, frowning as he read what Harry had underlined.
"What exactly doesn't make sense about this?"
"Perhaps the part where it says 'thou has nought to cease but the art of it in front of himself'. Sorry that you were born in 1512, but the rest of us are still in 1939." Harry smirked slightly despite the insulting comment he had just said. Tom narrowed his eyes.
"Have you ever considered Caveman paintings? You clearly share the same brains, so perhaps the same skills?" Harry kicked his foot under the table, looking around afterwards as if nothing had happened. Childish. Tom would not stoop to that level.
Silence dragged on. Harry refusing to speak and Tom holding an internal protest inside his head as either to insult Harry again (just to get them talking) or to stoop down to his level.
Silence.
Scratching of quills.
Tom stooped down to his level.
Harry grinned, kicking his leg in return.
Maybe that was when it started.
At first, they only talked during those specific two hours in which they were mandated to. They spoke excessively and would both schedule times to revise much more than was needed. Sometimes even twice a day. After the project was over, Tom found himself.. mourning over the time they had spent together. Except he knew they would probably not speak again. This would've been a sensible area for their contact to one another to die out. It would've probably stopped whatever abnormal feelings that arose the longer they spent together from starting.
But Tom was cursed the moment he looked into those eyes.
"Reading anything actually interesting?" A familiar voice had called out. It had been about two weeks since the end of the project. Tom furrowed his eyebrows, sliding his view up from the book. A handsome face greeted him. Tom smirked.
"Yes, but your inexperienced mind would probably consider it 'boring'." Harry clicked his tongue, sliding into the seat next to him. Harry leaned in front of him, analysing the book with half-interested eyes.
"Well, it's definitely a very captivating title- 'Goblin revolts of the 13th century'. Wow. I'm surprised you and Professor Binns haven't bonded over how boring you both are." Tom side-eyed him, definitely not noticing how close Harry was sat. And definitely not inhaling that woody scent he gave off.
"Books are knowledge. Knowledge is power. Quidditch is messing about for a few hours. Messing about for a few hours is how you step into poverty." Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, amused.
"That's a very wide stretch. I take it you will not be watching the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match on Saturday? You know I play seeker."
Tom stared at him. "I would rather kill myself."
"Always a pleasure, Tom." Harry smiled, taking the book out of Tom's hand before tossing it out of reach. Tom paused slightly. Harry had called him Tom. Not that it mattered or he cared. But it did mean something.
A month later, they shared sweets after the Halloween feast was over. Tom had saved treacle tart for Harry, Harry had saved caramel apple pasties for Tom. Under the harsh glow of the moon, Harry's curls appeared even inkier.
"I'm surprised you even remembered I like caramel apple pasties." Tom confessed, biting happily into it. Harry glanced up at him, a genuine smile reaching his eyes.
"It's what friends do." Tom paused, meeting his eyes. Friends felt far away. Tom had never had a friend- not in a depressing way- he wasn't sure how to act like one. Instead of speaking he continued eating, not confirming nor denying.
He would've been better working alone to begin with.
The dull, bland people in his life even noticed the change. They told him he seemed happy. Tom would've cursed them if it didn't go against everything he had built for the past two years. He put up with Malfoy complaining that Potter 'wasn't even good at Quidditch' and that Tom 'spent more time with Potter than him'. Which was true. Harry had slowly but surely become an important person in his life. Somebody he could talk to without it seeming like a chore. Professor Dumbledore continued staring at Tom like he had killed an innocent puppy. Weird. Tom would've thought that now he was being friendly towards his favourite student Dumbledore would've laid off of him. Clearly he was wrong. People's opinions don't change overnight, Tom. Harry had expressed, resting his face on his palm whilst staring up at him. Tom didn't even remember confessing his thoughts about Dumbledore.
December was okay. The weather was gloom, yet for once it did not reflect his mood. The plastic expressions he had drilled tightly onto himself did not relent, yet he didn't feel suffocated for once. The fact he could actually express how he somewhat felt to someone probably improved it. For Christmas, Tom stayed at Hogwarts. As if he would've gone to that miserable hell he resided in every summer. It didn't feel lonely: he preferred being alone. The one person he wouldn't have minded being there wasn't but that was manageable. Harry was at the Weasley's burrow- an area Tom considered as bad as the orphanage. Malfoy had offered for Tom to spend the Christmas at his manor, but honestly he would have rather taken part in another exorcism, so he denied the invitation- politely. Christmas Day was like any other day. Cards were meaningless as they held no value. They were simply propaganda from people who were too lazy to spend their time on a gift.
Tom sent Harry a book on the Goblin's revolt in the 10th century. There was no indication it had been sent from Tom, but Harry would know. Harry sent nothing in return. Tom pretended not to be slightly disappointed- he had never had a Christmas present before. Not like it mattered, but Tom would've expected social norms and formality would've forced Harry to gift him something. Maybe even a card.
The limited number of drab children around him held excited faces as presents were dumped onto their breakfast. Tom stared at them indifference.
He remembered how the children at the orphanage believed Father Christmas was going to fly over and save them. It was a laughable thought. The whole idea of Father Christmas himself was hilarious. Yet Tom didn't find it hilarious how this thought gave them hope. Hope was something Tom had dismissed a while ago. It was synonymous with vulnerability. He had hoped that he would be saved from the orphanage- not by Santa Claus- but by his family. Three Christmas' flew by and Tom had waited by his small window, perched upon the windowsill and looking out at the soft snow that fell. When no one came, Tom destroyed the idea of hope.
It didn't affect him when the other children gave out some scraps they had found- or a tiny trinket they had saved up money for to everyone but him. He wouldn't have valued anything they gave him anyway.
A week later came Tom's birthday. Harry sent over a book about the Salem Witch Trials with a letter attached that read
'Perhaps you remember living through this?
Happy thirteenth birthday, Tom. Hopefully you can make out what I am writing- I know you think I am 'illiterate'.
Sorry for not getting you anything for Christmas- I thought my silence was gift enough. (I honestly didn't think you celebrated Christmas.) Your present was very generous- I read the book over for hours! (I'm totally being sarcastic, if you couldn't tell.)
anyway, now you're finally ancient and look a little like Dumbledore- maybe you'll finally get above an A in Transfiguration!
-You know who.'
Tom lit the letter on fire. Ridiculously childish. Deeply insulting. So why was he smiling?
Seeing Harry became a regular thing, talking to him even more so. Letting people get close only causes more harm than good, the thought floated around his head distantly. Harry occupied some of his thoughts: this wasn't concerning. Tom was a very flexible person- he could manage multiple things at once. See Harry before breakfast, lessons, communicate with Slytherins, please teachers, see Harry during lunch, more lessons, revise, be charming, see Harry after dinner, revise, go to sleep.
Many of the other Slytherin boys believed he'd be better off charming the second year girls. Tom considered this, before throwing the idea away immediately.
They were already enamoured with him. Every step he took they followed. They watched him write, eat, talk, even watched him study. He confessed this argument to Black, who agreed with Tom that his job was more than done with them. Black was the only person who did not inertially disapprove of Harry. It wasn't as if Black supported him either- but he did not try to object to Tom speaking with Harry. The others would learn this soon enough.
Harry knew Tom's circle did not approve of him- he flaunted it frequently. He would wave at Mulciber, Malfoy, Yaxley and Black with a mocking smile before asking to borrow Tom. It wasn't like Harry's 'friends' approved of Tom either- as if he actually cared in the slightest- they would frown when Harry told them he's going to study with Tom or that he is going to walk with Tom to lesson. They were wise enough to not voice these aversions towards him. A mudblood like Granger knew her rightful place. Weasley would be too easy to hurt anyway.
Their second year seemed to fly by looking back- Tom remembered vivid images of him and Harry up at the astronomy tower, confessing their fears to one another. It was June 20th, 12am. Very much out of bed after hours. Fear was something Tom kept close. The fear he'd told Harry was generic and entirely untrue. He had to make sure Harry would trust him enough to spill his own fears. Tom had said his deepest fear was being trapped. Trapped inside an area. Claustrophobia was a very common fear- except Tom said it was crippling. His deepest fear. It was sort of a white lie in a way- his heart rate did increase when walking through thin hallways, when he would get locked inside the wardrobes back in the orphanage by Billy. That was before he killed that fucking Rabbit.
Harry had confessed his was having nobody. A generic fear- but Tom knew Harry was much more complex than that. His fear was not being alone or dying alone like many, except living with the knowledge that nobody trusted him. This fear was slightly confusing. He was eager to be trusted yet not very willing to trust. Which made Tom feel like this fear was true and it was a test to see what Tom would reply.
Tom knew how to, of course.
It seemed second year was far away. Currently, it was his sixth year and a year he had thus far not been enjoying.
Third year and second year were similar- he and Harry continued to build their relationship, buying more gifts for each other and even inviting each other to Hogsmeade.
Their first Hogsmeade visit was in third year to Zonko's joke shop. Tom scoffed initially, before Harry grabbed his hand with his own soft one and dragged him there. Tom basically kept quiet until Harry let go when they were inside. It was a collage of colours collapsing together. Tom stared at Harry thoroughly- he had grown a slight bit after the summer when he was unable to do anything except send Harry letters about the war. His face was older slightly, eyes less enormous but cheeks still hollowed slightly. Still beautiful. Harry picked up a lollipop and licked it tentatively, worried about what it would taste like.
"Ugh, bloody hell!" He gagged, handing the lollipop to Tom with a disgusted look.
"If you don't like it why would I want it?" Tom asked, holding the lollipop with as little skin as possible. Harry chuckled slightly, sticking his now purple tongue out.
"You're like a giraffe, Harry. Put that thing away." He smiled, pushing Harry's face away. Harry grinned back, leaning closer to lick Tom's cheek. He felt the saliva crawling down his face. His face strained automatically, dropping the lollipop to wipe his face down.
"Harry!" He said, shocked.
Harry laughed in return, muttering apologies in between laughs.
"You don't like the colour purple?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the side once he finished laughing.
"Har-har. I don't like your disgusting saliva on my skin." He spat, still wiping down his cheek.
Harry smiled again, looping his arm between Tom's. They were now at a similar height where they could achieve this without slight awkwardness- with Tom being an inch or so taller.
People had come up to him to ask if they were dating. Tom frowned. Dating was a waste of time- aswell as friends. It felt uncomfortable saying Harry was his 'friend', it would be even more so if Harry was his 'boyfriend'. He denied the accusations at once, throwing his followers a dark look as he was offended they even asked. Black simply narrowed his eyes at him, whispering something to Mulciber who nodded his head slightly.
It was midway through February when a jolt in their relationship appeared.
A wand beamed light into his face, the brightness blinding him temporarily. Professor Dumbledore lowered his wand, a distrustful look on his face. This ought to go well. It was 1am. Well after hours. Tom had been in the restricted section of the library, researching souls. A topic that most fascinated him. He had been researching them for the purpose of soul corruption. How does ones soul corrupt enough to break? Split off?
Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. "Out of bed after hours, Tom?" Another thing that greatly annoyed him. Dumbledore refused to call him Riddle like most of the other professors.
"It would appear so." He replied, dryly. He might as well just take the detention now, except he had agreed to watch Harry's quidditch match tomorrow and couldn't miss another. "I was simply leading a house-elf back to the kitchens- I found him searching around the common room with a spatula." Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at the obvious lie, like he was insulted Tom couldn't even be bothered to come up with a good excuse and was trying to play on his emotions.
"Is that so? Which house-elf?"
"Elf-..Elfie." He replied slowly. He saw the echo of a smile on Dumbledore's lips.
"Ah, Elfie the house-elf. Unfortunately I do not catch many names of them, being the Transfiguration professor. Glad to know you've got such a kind soul, Tom." Soul. Tom's expression did not waver at the mention of the topic. Dumbledore was testing him.
"Thank you, sir. I will be heading back to the dormitories now." He made to leave, yet Dumbledore raised a finger in hesitation.
"The Slytherin dormitories?" He whispered faintly.
Tom blinked. "Where else, sir?"
"Oh, forgive me Tom, except I noticed you and Mr. Potter seemed to have some sort of.. relationship, if you will, I was merely curious-"
"No. We're merely associates." He answered firmly, walking away with force.
Highly inappropriate for a professor to ask. Probably an inappropriate response as well. Tom knew Dumbledore would get away with it even if he did bring it up to Headmaster Dippet. He also noticed the use of Harry's last name instead of his first- probably a jibe towards Tom. What was his problem? Maybe their first meeting wasn't the friendliest, except he had been nothing but charming to him the moment he first arrived at Hogwarts.
It frustrated him to no end- why did people care if he and Harry were dating? Could they not just talk? It seemed like people preferred 'gossip' about couples. This ultimately lead Tom to one conclusion: he had to date someone. There was an influx of the amount of girls (and boys) interested in him since last year- he had grown taller, his features sharpening. Harry told him he was his lucky charm. Tom had smiled, kissing his fingers. He proposed the idea to Malfoy and Yaxley the next day- who all agreed unanimously at once.
"Finally, Tom! You have many options. Greengrass, Parkinson, Black- a lot." Yaxley had erupted, smiling at him. Once he spread the news to Black, he was confused.
"Oh? I did not know this was something that interested you, Tom." He had said, raising an eyebrow. Tom simply smiled serenely, shrugging in an attempted abashed manor.
When he spread the idea to Harry, Harry downright frowned.
"What? Where has this come from?" He asked, expression slightly wild.
"Just an idea I have had- it would increase my connections tenfold." Tom smiled, staring at those wild eyes.
"I-.. It's just.. I thought we both agreed girlfriends were unnecessary." Harry looked down slightly, folding his arms loosely. Tell-tale signs he was hurt. He could not comprehend why.
"I was twelve. Now I'm fourteen, and you're almost fourteen, I think it would be good for both of us to date." Tom argued lightly, arching an eyebrow at Harry's downturned face.
".. Okay. Who did you have in mind?" He said, with thinly-veiled venom.
"Well, most likely Astoria Greengrass. Their family is not inherently light or dark: she has connections on both sides." Tom bit his lip as Harry sighed heavily.
Harry sat in silence for a few seconds, before smiling tightly. "That sounds great, Tom. I'm sure you two will be great." Tom smirked, kissing Harry's cheek. Harry's genuine smile came out, shining like a bright moon.
Kissing was something Tom used to display affection, like many others, it was one of the few things he agreed felt nice. Harry had initiated it, kissing Tom's hair once when he bent down to tie Harry's shoelace. A blush had arose, startling him. He focused on not showing any signs of being flustered.
February had melted into March, Tom having asked out Astoria Greengrass when the girl showed interest after Tom initially talked to her. They were now dating. She was not ugly, most boys would consider her 'beautiful' which helped- it meant he would not be exactly lying when giving out compliments. Harry had pulled away from talking to Tom constantly, no longer asking him to see his Quidditch matches (although he could not pretend that this was a massive loss). He also pointedly ignored Tom when Astoria was around.
Tom missed him.
Looking back, girls should have been the last thing on his mind. They were now.
At first, Tom decided not to wreak havoc when Harry moved seats. He simply bit the inside of his cheek and politely asked Astoria to sit next to him- which she complied to willingly. He thought that Harry would soon come to his senses and come back alongside Tom where he belonged.
When April rolled by and Harry had mostly stopped talking to him altogether he knew he had to confront him. He no longer hesitated to find a seat in Transfiguration (which was now next to Weasley), he did not glance at Tom longingly at the Gryffindor table, he did not study with him and no longer saw him during his free time. Their once very close relationship had been deduced into a single nod of the head in acknowledgement to one another whilst walking by.
What was peculiar was Tom did not understand what he had done: many other times when Tom upset Harry by being rude or 'inconsiderate' he resolved the issues quickly because he could tell what had upset him. But, Tom had made sure to be on his best behaviour and not make any slip ups. He knew Harry would've confronted him had it been something he had explicitly done.
On May 2nd Tom tracked Harry down after his weekly Quidditch practice- just after he had left the shower.
Harry had a soft towel wrapped around his smooth waist and his curls were soaking and pushed back, revealing his creamy forehead and bushy eyebrows. Not like Tom was looking or anything. But his glasses were off, green eyes piercing through him as they had the first time they met.
"Harry!" He called out, a tad loud. Harry gave him a bored look, folding his slightly skinny arms.
"Not now, Tom." Harry muttered, making to walk past him but Tom grabbed his hand.
"Harry, please- Just-.. wait, please?" He stared at Harry with wide eyes.
Harry blinked at him slowly, looking him up and down before sighing. He moved his hand out of Tom's, but did not move.
"I.. I wanted to apologise." He said, slowly. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, before furrowing them quickly.
"Apologise for what?" Of course he had to ask that. Tom actually did not know what he was apologising for.
"I think you know." He replied, after a while.
"I do, do you?" Harry asked pointedly. Tom said nothing. He wanted an answer Tom could not provide.
"God, Tom. You don't even get it." Harry said, half-laughing. Tom searched his eyes for anything forgiving- he did not find any.
"Okay, I don't, but can't you tell I'm trying to resolve the issue- whatever it may be?" Tom pointed out, heart rate increasing slightly. Harry folded his arms tightly once more, as if trying to shield himself.
"Took you a while. Been too busy with Astoria?" He asked mockingly, squinting his perfect eyes.
It hit Tom what Harry had been so worked up over. He was worried Astoria would replace him. As if she could ever.
"What? That's what this is about? Harry, darling, I don't like her half as much as I like you." Harry's cheeks flushed at the nickname, darting his eyes away from Tom's. He smiled slowly, but still had a fierce exterior. His pupils were blown slightly.
"Break up with her."
Tom raised his eyebrows at the shamelessness of the statement. To be honest, he was thinking of doing it anyway- the people who needed to be allured were and she no longer held any use to him. Perhaps Harry had noticed this too and that's why he felt so confident in his order.
"It's done." He replied, smiling widely.
It all seemed so silly now. Two months of dying communication and with one conversation, the conflict could've been resolved. Tom felt as if he was in a badly-made movie. Harry was back to where he should've always been and they seemed to be stronger than ever. The rest of their third year swept by quietly with the exception of all of Astoria's and Tom's followers being upset with him for breaking up with her. Astoria seemed affected by it- she no longer had that skip in her step when walking by. Tom assumed she'd be fine sooner or later.
Dumbledore gave him that dead look again when Harry reclaimed his previous seat, a fire behind those dull eyes. Tom simply smiled politely in return. Who cared if some old timer was pissed that Tom actually had a social life? And a pretty boy on his arm?