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“Fifty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter!”
Tom bitterly shook his head at the overtly excited Transfiguration professor who, in his opinion, gave her favorite Golden Boy too many points for the most basic Qudditch maneuvers and during practice, no less. At times it seemed as though she knew of the wager and did everything in her power to prolong his imminent victory.
Reflective over the points he’d gained already for academic excellence, he realized that with that point gain, Potter wasn’t too far behind him.
Unacceptable.
Their first week, he’d gained a record amount of 250 points from his outstanding Potions, Transfiguration, and Herbology essays. The following week, he’d gained a solid 175. The week after that, 200. To any intelligent being, he’d be the clear winner, but Potter had his idiotic fallback.
Quidditch.
Every match he caught the snitch. Every match he gained an obscene amount of points for his obnoxious house. Every match, he came to Tom smiling smugly.
Looking up from his position in the Gryffindor stands, not far down from McGonagall, Tom noticed the elated look that adorned Harry Potter’s face and paused.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t completely opposed to those points being awarded.
Long after the flyers landed, the students had lied down, and the teachers stopped patrolling, two figures convened in a hidden chamber that housed a monster they’d deemed their joint pet. (Although it was agreed that Tom was the primary owner. He was the Heir of Slytherin, after all.)
“How many have you gotten today?” Harry, opening a chocolate frog, asked with a sly grin. “I noticed that you got yet another ‘O’ on your Potions essay. Congratulations!” His eyes lit up with excitement, and Tom willed his heart to slow down.
“235,” he answered irritably. “McGonagall was holding out on me. My essay was flawless and my practical exam hadn’t a fault to be seen. How about yourself? I saw your dive on the practice field today. You looked stunning. I’ll admit, you deserved those points from her. Although,” He turned to look at Harry. “I’m starting to believe you’ve told her about our challenge. It would certainly explain why she gives you points for merely breathing.”
The incident Tom was referring to occurred just after Harry had fallen from the sky in yet another crazy stunt on his broom. So overcome with relief that he was still alive, McGonagall gave the boy 100 points. Tom wouldn’t admit it to anyone, even himself, but he had secretly died- if only a little- seeing the younger of the two flailing about in the air.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I think I’ve gotten 190, and only you would have a problem with me breathing.” His eyes, which had previously been focused on his Dumbledore card, rose to meet Tom’s. “And you haven’t much room to talk. You abuse your prefect powers and take points away from me for existing. And do you recall Slughorn giving you 75 points for taking notes during a lecture, love?”
He only received a small snort as an answer to his question.
“Using terms of endearment won’t work on me, darling.” Tom’s statement was met with a sheepish smile from Harry that he adored.
It had been only fitting that he lean forward and show just how much adoration he felt.
The following morning, an exclamation of disbelief could be heard throughout the castle as a raven-haired young man noticed the point differentiation between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Slytherin was more than three-hundred points ahead.
Harry was going to kill Tom.
Whipping around, he made his way towards the Slytherin table and stood behind the unaware snake. Tom, sipping his tea and casually flipping through a potions journal, only noticed Harry’s presence when Abraxas Malfoy softly cleared his throat.
Turning around, he looked up to meet Harry’s eye.
“Is there something you needed, Potter?” The answer he got wasn’t one he was prepared for.
A resounding slap rang throughout the hall. Tom’s head jolted to the side and he instinctively raised a hand to cup the abused cheek. Any Slytherin mask previously set in place was gone. Abruptly standing, he loomed over Harry’s smaller frame and snarled, “What the bloody hell was that for, Potter? Have you lost your damned mind?”
The professors at the head table drew their wands, ready to stop an impromptu duel at any given moment, Slughorn moving to stop his student from retaliating before Dumbledore but a gentle, but firm, hand on his arm to stop him. The student body was still and stiff. No one blinked from fear of missing the result of the hatred that they all believed to be between the two men.
“You cheated, you slimy snake!” Harry yelled, not intimidated by Tom’s anger in the slightest. “There’s no way you gained three hundred points fairly over the course of last night.”
The look of confusion that Tom had taken on during Harry’s initial statement melted away into one of understanding as Harry elaborated on his cause of anger.
However, he only stared. Eyes hardened and posture perfect, he stared at the emerald-eyed, impulsive man in front of him. Harry, feeling less certain of himself than before, called on his bravery to remain strong.
“Abraxas,” Tom’s deep and cutting voice echoed in the silence. “What did we do last night when I returned to the common room?”
Abraxas nearly dropped his tea at being addressed so suddenly. Stuttering over his words, he took a calming breath before his face cooled into the mask of pureblood excellence. “We completed revisions with Severus for our variation of the Wolfsbane Potion.”
Harry’s eyes widened, realizing why Tom had taken up the project in the first place, but Tom wasn’t done. The four house tables that had no idea what was transpiring before themselves prepared themselves for the storm that was Tom Riddle’s anger.
“Correct. And what does this one do, exactly?”
Severus chimed in with his textbook explanation. “Our new potion makes not only the transformation from human to wolf smoother and less painful with agents soothing nerve damage, muscle straining, and joint stress, it also makes the time leading up to and following the transformation much more bearable. It will undoubtedly add several years to the perpetually faltering lifespan of werewolves.”
Harry’s heart soared at the prospect of having Remus around longer than he would have before it dropped after realizing the dreadful thing he’d done.
His eyes still on Harry, Tom replied, “Thank you. And after we’d shown our research to Slughorn, what did he do?”
“He awarded you, Severus, and myself one hundred points each.” Abraxas, still confused and completely ignorant to the cause of such a display, continued, “He also said that depending on the success of the potion, we’d gain more later on.”
Harry was now staring at his feet, refusing to look into the agitated eyes. He felt awful, and knowing that Tom had only chosen that potion because of Remus made him feel infinitely worse.
He felt Tom’s hand on his chin and allowed it to elevate his head. Tom stared into his eyes a moment before speaking clearly for the students and professors to hear. “One day, your impulsivity is going to get you into a lot of trouble, love.”
McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged bewildered glances and mouthed “Did he just call Potter ‘love’?” to one another.
“Tom,” Harry frantically whispered, “what are you doing?”
Tom closed his eyes for a moment before a feral grin embellished his features. “You owe me, now. You just slapped me in front of everyone and openly accused me of cheating. That really does some damage to one’s public image which you know is very important to me.”
Harry sighed frustratedly. “Fine,” he deadpanned. “What do you want?”
Tom leaned forward slowly, placing his lips near Harry’s left ear. “I want the secrets to end and the advances to stop.”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. They’d talked about this before, and he knew how much it bothered Tom that everyone wanted a piece of the Gryffindor Quidditch Star. And frankly, it annoyed Harry that everyone wanted a go at the Mysterious Slytherin Genius.
Meanwhile, the other occupants of the Great Hall were now unbearably out of the loop and a tad weirded out.
Harry let out a slow breath before confidently meeting Tom’s eyes once more. “Do what you must, I suppose.”
With a rare, genuine smile, Tom moved his hand from Harry’s chin and moved it to the back of his head. His other hand went down to the small of the Gryffindor’s back.
A small “Thank you.” was whispered before the secret was shattered.
They weren’t so worried about the advances anymore. Harry held the title of Second-Best Dueler of Hogwarts, bested only by Tom Riddle himself.