Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry shouldn’t have lent the Marauders Map to Ron. With the Map this situation would have been avoided.

He suspected that Riddle currently thought something along the same lines. Harry doubted the proud Slytherin particularly liked being smashed under anyone’s body, let alone his most hated rival.

The alarms over the Restricted Section suddenly went off. They were silent and designed to be undetectable by students, but Harry was attuned with his magic well enough to sense them, and from the way Riddle's body under him tensed even more, he assumed the Slytherin had sensed them too.

They both simultaneously cursed and Harry immediately jumped off Riddle, the other boy following, both rushing to pick up from the floor the books they were trying to smuggle out of the Section before they so spectacularly bumped into each other.

Unfortunately, they never made it out of the library before the stuff arrived. Fortunately, they at least left the Restricted Section and were now hiding behind one of the bookshelf. 

This was bad. Very bad. If the Professors caught him smuggling very dark, very illegal books, he’d be expelled. There was no way he could get away with just some detentions this time. 

Riddle was definitely thinking along the same lines right now, judging by his panicked expression.

The footsteps were just a handful of seconds before discovering them when Harry was struck by an idea. By a very dumb, very dangerous idea but it’s not like he had time to come up with something better.

So he grabbed Riddle’s shirt and smashed their lips together.

And that’s how Professors found them the second later.

“Oh my,” chuckled Headmaster Dumbledore, illuminating the scene with a simple lumos. “What a surprising turn of events.”

“Mr. Riddle, Mr. Potter,” with a spell, Professor McGonagall pulled them out of the narrow corridor between bookshelves. “What exactly are you doing here? Need I remind you that the curfew had long passed?”

“I would say it is rather obvious what they were doing, Minerva,” drawled Snape, looking over them in disdain. He aimed an especially disapproving look at Riddle.

“The alarms went off,” stern Professor reminded them. “So, Mr. Potter. What were you doing in the library at this hour?”

“Em,” unhelpfully mumbled Harry, unsure about the next part of the genius plan he had earlier.

“I asked him to come,” Riddle suddenly interfered, looking shyly down. Harry spotted a rather convincing blush on his cheeks and could only applaud to his acting skills.

“And why did you do that, Mr. Riddle?” McGonagall continued to interrogate.

Riddle somehow blushed even more, “I wanted to… talk to him.”

“Talk?” huffed Snape, unconvinced.

“Has the talk gone well?” asked Dumbledore in honest curiosity.

“It did,” supplied Harry, willing himself to blush too. "It did very well."

“Excellent! It is always so good to see the young love blossom,” congratulated them the Headmaster. Harry barely suppressed the gag; now wasn’t the time to screw everything.

McGonagall, though, was still — rightfully — suspicious. “And why the library, Mr. Riddle?”

Harry tensed. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

Riddle, apparently, didn’t know either, as the silence hung. And then, suddenly, he blurted, “I find it romantic.”

Harry couldn’t hold a snort at that and Riddle sent him a quick glare that all but said ‘do you have any better ideas, you idiot?!’

“And what —”

“Why, Minerva, it’s quite enough” interrupted the Headmaster. “It is clear what happened here. The alarms were likely set off accidentally when the boys got too close to them. No need to be so harsh on them.”

“Twenty points each,” added Snape. “And detention. Separately.”

And they were finally kicked out of the library.

Harry quickly exchanged looks with Riddle. “Good night, Tom,” he smiled prettily.

“Good night, Potter,” grimaced the other boy in response.

And they went separate ways to their dormitories, illegal books still hidden in the pockets.

They may be rivals but that didn’t mean they couldn't work together when required.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, it was naive to think they could just pretend that the Library Incident had never happened and continue insulting each other on every turn as they always did. But a man could dream.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Riddle,” called Professor McGonagall at their next NEWTS-level Transfiguration class. “Why wouldn’t you two work together today? Since you are so wonderfully getting along recently.”

Who would have thought that McGonagall would be more suspicious on their behalf than even Snape? She definitely didn’t believe their impromptu display and was set on bringing them to the surface. 

But she underestimated Riddle’s and his ability to cooperate in dare circumstances. Or, as Harry looked at the Riddle’s tense form, he hoped so. 

“Of course, Professor. We would love to,” Harry smiled, collecting his things from the table and dodging Ron’s puzzled ‘since when are you getting along with Riddle?’ look, and moved to where the Slytherin boy sat. 

Riddle did his best to relax at his approach and even managed to force a semi-decent smile in return. “Harry,” he all but purred in greeting.

“Tom,” Harry returned just as nicely and joined him at the table, featuring a look as if nothing out of the contrary was happening.

The whole class was staring.

“All right,” continued McGonagall when the two of them just kept sitting near each other peacefully as if they didn’t fight each other every day for seven years straight. “Today we will be learning how to use earth and air for urgent transfiguration. While not stable, it is very handy in battles…”

To be honest, it wasn’t really every day that they fought. Despite what everyone thought, Riddle and Harry could get along just fine, they just… didn’t want to. But when needed, they could expose the Heir of Slytherin terrorising the students, or drive into madness the witch-toad and force her out of the Ministry let alone school, or, like now, pretend they were indeed dating — just because they loved Hogwarts too much to risk it closing, bending under Ministry will, or being expelled.

That didn’t mean they were pleased to work together though.

“I hate you,” whispered Riddle, not even looking at Harry, when the attention of the class was finally sufficiently focused on the lesson and not them. “Now she won’t get off our backs until the school ends.”

“At least it’s still several months left until that and not minutes!” angrily hissed Harry back at the ungrateful asshole. Really, he saved them both from expulsion and that’s what he gets back? Unbelievable! Harry didn’t even get a nice kiss from all of this. Not that Harry wanted Riddle to return that kiss, mind you. That would have made the matters even worse.

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for talking during class,” interrupted McGonagall, still facing the blackboard. Riddle sneered. “And ten points from Slytherin as well, Mr. Riddle.”

What a witch.

They sat through the remainder of the class in silence, not even throwing glares at each other, too wary of attracting any more suspicion from the Professor than they already did.

Time had never dragged so slow.

When the bell finally rang signaling the end of the torture, they calmly picked their things up and leisurely walked away from the classroom side by side, ever the image of two dearest friends.

When the door behind them closed, Harry finally released the long-suffering sigh. “Fuck,” he groaned and immediately stepped aside from Riddle. The Slytherin hissed something through gritted teeth and started to walk away briskly.

“What the hell just happened?” blissfully voiced Ron the thoughts of all students gathered around. Riddle didn’t pay them any attention, pushing them aside as he tried to escape.

But Harry wasn’t yet done. “Riddle!” he called, coming after him.

The older boy didn’t even glance back. “If I spend one more minute in your presence, Potter, I will kill you.”

“Bold of you to think I won’t kill you first the next class this happens!” shouted Harry after him, totally ignoring his classmates watching their confrontation in something akin to awe. “We need to talk.”

Riddle finally stopped and turned around to look at him. Though ‘look’ wasn’t the right word for this. Harry was absolutely sure he would have died on the spot if he wasn’t already immune to Riddle’s basilisk-like glare.

They continued to burn holes in each other's heads for some time, no one from the still lurking classmates being brave enough to intervene. At last, Riddle took his wand and cast the privacy charm around them. Evidently he was too pissed off to go search for an empty classroom right now.

“Do you have any ideas how we can stop Professors from doing… that?” he asked surprisingly calm now that they were in relative privacy.

“Yes, it’s easy,” Harry enthusiastically nodded. “We must break up!”

“Ouch,” Riddle winced. “We’re not even dating and you’re already dumping me. It hurts.”

Harry rolled his eyes, not wanting to engage in any word games right now. “You know what I mean. Professors think we’re dating and now students will think it too. We need to break up, publicly.”

“It’s not that easy,” Riddle shook his head in exasperation. “We can’t break up if we got together just yesterday.”

“Why the hell not?”

It was Riddle’s turn to roll his eyes. “Imagine if all of this was true. We’re fighting all our lives and then suddenly I invite you to some romantic place,” — Harry couldn’t hold back the snort once again at Riddle’s description of the library of all places and earned himself a glare just like the last time — “ and proceed to kiss you. Clearly all our flights were in truth just some repressed sexual tension,” — they both winced at this — “and there is absolutely no way we can resolve that in just one day.”

Harry stared at him. Unpleasant how it was to admit it, Riddle was right. “We are so fucked up,” he finally stated.

“And it’s all your fault,” vindictively added the Slytherin.

“Hey! I at least had a good reason to be in the Restricted Section, while you were just researching more ways to maim and kill muggleborn virgins!”

“I saw some of the books you picked up,” smirked Riddle unpleasantly. “There is no way they were all just to prepare for the Second Task.”

Once again the bastard was right. But really, how could one resist the temptation? It was not Harry’s fault that books on dealing with underwater creatures (in more violent ways than what was usually deemed acceptable; it was a Restricted Section after all) were near the books on necromancy.

That was bad that Riddle saw what he took, but it’s not like the Slytherinn's choice was any better. ‘The influence of sacrifice’s sex life in rituals depending on the moon cycle’, really? What a nerd. “Well, at least you’re not denying what you were there for!”

“Why should I?” smiled Riddle shamelessly. “By the way, are you a virgin, Harry?”

Harry choked. It took him some time to realise where this question came from. “I’m not a muggleborn, you jerk!”

“Virgin half-bloods have their uses too,” shrugged Riddle. “And it is something I should know about my supposed boyfriend.”

“You definitely don’t need to know this about your partner,” automatically objected Harry. “And we’re not going to make this… this… relationship bullshit public! One week is enough and then we’re breaking up!”

“Two weeks at the very least,” disagreed Riddle. “Remember Weasley and Malfoy?”

Harry nearly puked at the reminder of just what happened last year. He could have lived his entire life without witnessing the disaster that was Ron’s sex life at sixteen, honestly. But — again! — Riddle was right, and if Ron managed to stay with Malfoy for two weeks, then they should too.

“Deal,” finally agreed Harry. “If I’m not killing you sooner.”

“You’re awfully confident in your abilities, Potter,” dismissed Riddle, canceling the wards around them and walking away.

“There is a reason the Goblet of Fire chose me over you, you berk!” shouted Harry after him. Riddle was still sore about it, but Harry thought it was only fair seeing that the Slytherin got the Head Boy position instead.

Riddle silently flipped the bird at him and rounded the corner, disappearing. 

“So,” Hermione hesitantly started and Harry realised that all his classmates were still there. “What exactly is happening between you and Riddle?”

Gryffindors and remaining Slytherins looked at him in eager expectation. Harry groaned.

“Nothing,” he tried, not very convincingly.

“Nothing my ass,” murmured Ron.

“I knew one day they would realise how perfect they are for each other!” excitedly gashed the Slytherin girl that Harry vaguely recognised as Tracey Davis.

“We’re really not,” weakly protested Harry while his traitorous classmates and thought-to-be-friends erupted into whispering.

At least I am not expelled, he repeated to himself as a manta, I’m going to kill Riddle one day, but at least I am not expelled.

Chapter Text

Pretend relationships were not as rare in a school full of hormonal teenagers as one may foolishly think. It was arguably an easy way to make your crash or ex-partner jealous, for once. In Slytherin House especially it happened all the time, children trying to play ridiculous power games thinking themselves adults with adult problems. It was frankly disgusting to watch and Tom never imagined himself indulging in one of these particular games.

So of course Potter just had to ruin it.

It was of small comfort that they chose to pretend to be in a secret relationship. Actually, it was probably even worse than if they went public with it. Because despite the fact that they behaved as usual — that is, fighting — outside of classes, there was no way their classmates would just ignore their shifted attitude towards each other when there was a professor watching. 

The rumour mill went wild.

No one understood what was happening, only that something was definitely going on. Really, it was so obvious in retrospect how damn imperfect their plan was that Tom wanted to find a mythical time-turner and punch his past self in the face.

Because no one ever pretended to be in a secret relationship. So of course not even his fellow Slytherins thought that this was the case. Instead, they chose to reason seriously how there were always these looks between Potter and him and how obvious it was that one day they will just snap and fuck.

But to be fair, it was probably impossible to prevent such rumours from popping up, no matter how exactly they chose to go with this ‘relationship bullshit’, as Potter so elegantly put it. And pretending to be pretending that they are not dating allowed them to at least release their mutual frustration on each other. Tom never before was so eager to engage in their usual feud like he was after the classes where they were forced to sit together and be nice.

Tom was also… worried.

Because he did remember Malfoy and Weasley. He remembered how one day Malfoy hated everything Weasley stood on, and how the next day they were sucking each other faces off, uncaring about the entire Hogwarts population staring at them in the Great Hall. And it concerned Tom that he too might not be entirely honest with himself about his feelings towards Potter.

No. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he must be honest with this too.

It terrified him.

He didn’t want to become like Malfoy. He didn’t want to embarrass himself like that. And he absolutely did not want Potter!

But.

That’s what Malfoy would have said too before that fateful day.

And Tom was better than that. He was not going to repeat Malfoy’s mistake and he would deal with this situation rationally and not wait until it blew up in his face.

That’s why he was lying now in his bed, deep in the night, thinking.

Did he want Potter?

He must ignore how ridiculous this very question seemed to him. He must ignore his panicked thoughts about what the fuck he was going to do if it was true. Right now, he just needed to answer the damn question. Did he want Potter?

No. He didn’t.

Was he sure about that? Absolutely sure?

No. He wasn’t.

And that’s exactly why he was so terrified.

Because now, lying in the dark and trying very hard to be as honest with himself as it was possible, he was forced to return to that night in the library, however much he wanted to throw it down the deepest parts of his mind.

The truth was, he wasn’t… disgusted when Potter fell on him and kept him under his weight on the floor. Neither was he repulsed when Potter kissed him for show.

Tom released a breath he was holding.

Here. He acknowledged that. He was not in denial.

Right. So.

Did he… want it… to happen again?

He considered that.

No? He did not?

Potter’s kiss and… body weren’t disgusting, but they weren’t pleasant either. That meant he didn’t want Potter, right? Right?

“Fuck,” he groaned angrily under his breath. Why being a teenager was so difficult?

That wasn’t leading him anywhere. He still believed he wasn’t attracted to Potter and he still wasn’t sure about that.

How else could he test it? Besides trying to kiss Potter, of course.

...He didn’t want to even think about what this could lead to. What if Tom liked it and Potter didn’t? What if Potter liked it and Tom didn’t? What if they both liked it??

Right. Not thinking. Back to the previous question.

Actually, now that he phrased it like this, it seemed pretty obvious. 

His dormmates always liked to browse through nicked magazines and discuss in bothered whispers their partners. Tom could try this too, to imagine Potter in different poses and see how his body reacted. That was an easy test — he would either become hard or not. If he did, then he was attracted to Potter, and if not, then he could finally go to sleep. Simple.

And no, he was not going to think right now how he would live with himself if he would become hard. Because it’s only if. Very tiny, very improbable if.

So. Poses. Or rather, a pose. One must be enough. He was definitely not going to fantasise about Potter all night.

At least he hoped so.

Anyway. A pose. 

He concentrated and...

His mind went blank.

Did he need to take one of these magazines and imagine Potter’s face on models there? But his dormmates were straight (and Malfoy was in denial again), so they probably didn’t have magazines with male models and Tom didn’t have the patience left to find one. So he must imagine something by himself.

But what?

Maybe if he couldn’t even start imagining then he was not attracted?

Yes, most probably. But he couldn’t be sure until he tried.

Potter played Quidditch, right? He was rather lean because of it — and it was likely the reason why he was so damn heavy back in the library — and Tom knew girls swoon over him even more after the matches. So he could probably imagine Potter in his Quidditch attire, all sweaty after the game—

Ew.

Not sweaty then. After the shower, so he’s at least clean? But he wouldn’t be in Quidditch attire then. Did it matter? Maybe? But naked bodies must evoke a greater response, that much Tom knew. So, no clothes. After the shower. Or even during the shower, so the water... slides down his body? And muscles? Back and chest and all that. And Potter flexes his arms and… uhh...

That wasn’t working. Tom was confused but definitely not aroused. But perhaps he was doing it wrong? He didn’t like Quidditch after all, maybe that was the problem? Yes, that totally could be a problem and he absolutely couldn't risk a biased experiment right now!

If not Qudditch then what? What about Potter having sex with someone? Did Potter even have a girlfriend?

Tom frowned at a realisation that he didn’t know such an essential thing about his rival.

For the sake of an experiment, Tom was going to assume that Potter had, in a fact, a boyfriend. A tall, dark-headed boyfriend. And… they fucked? In a broom closet? No, that’s disgusting. In a bed then. Big, soft bed with silk linen—

Oh, no, that was him wanting to sleep, not imagining Potter.

In an ordinary bed then, in a dorm. Potter and his boyfriend are naked and fucking—

Wait. Who was fucking whom?

Would Potter be domineering in their hypothetical relationship or would Tom? Potter looked like a domineering type, and he did tag Tom down for the kiss that night — which was very rude, by the way, albeit not entirely disgusting.

Nevermind. That wasn’t important right now.

Let's say Potter was a top and... he's doing it from behind? That way it would be rougher. But if they faced each other it would be more romantic. So probably they were facing after all. And if so, they were also kissing.

That was a nice picture, actually. Still not arousing, but... aesthetically pleasing. It suited Potter, to fuck someone. Yes, he’s definitely a domineering type.

Did it mean that in their relationship Tom would be a bottom?

Wait, no. He wouldn’t be a bottom because there would be no relationship in the first place. Tom considered again what he imagined. He felt like it was the most pleasing thing he could come up with, and he still wasn’t even slightest hard.

And that meant, thank Merlin, that he wasn’t attracted to Potter.

That’s all. Nothing else mattered. Tom was not going to lose his mind and start dating Potter for real or, even worse, mooning over him in unrequited attraction.

He did several calming breaths.

Everything was alright. He was good, and Potter was still an asshole who Tom wanted dead. Maybe he’d even kill Potter himself after graduation for what he just had to come through. Imagining sweaty Potter, really. How did Tom's brain even come up with something like this?

Totally Potter’s fault.

Tom briefly imagined Potter falling from a broom and breaking his neck.

Here. Much better.

He could finally relax and go to sleep.

Meanwhile, in Headmaster office.

“Albus, you can’t seriously think it’s a good idea!”

“Of course not,” hummed Headmaster. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“You can’t possibly believe in the little display they showed,” Minerva shook her head disapprovingly.

“And still showing!” brightly added Headmaster.

“Exactly! They stole books from the Restricted Section, Albus — on necromancy and blood magic! — we can’t just let them leave and think they got away with it so easily.”

But Headmaster merely chuckled. “Minny, my girl, you know just as well that no book in Restricted Section is really dangerous. Besides, it was anything but easy for them.”

“How was it not? What is hard in pretending to kiss and then expecting us to believe that two constantly fighting boys suddenly get along?”

“But they did get along!” cheered Headmaster to the confused Professor. “You can’t honestly say that it’s not simply fascinating how they agreed on their little show in mere seconds. And they are even maintaining it after a week.”

Professor huffed, “They fight more than usual,” she pointed out.

“But they're together more than usual too,” added Headmaster. 

It was becoming clear that he was not going to change his mind. Minerva tried a different approach. “This is simply cruel to Mr. Potter,” she said gravely. “He would expect a friend, not —”

“But instead he will get someone who can become his friend or, who knows, something more even,” Headmaster’s eyes twinkled as he popped a lemon drop in his mouth. “Really, all the boys need is a little push.”

Professor sighed. She did what she could.

“Now, Minny. I think it’s time to call for Miss Delacour, Miss Granger, and Mr. Riddle.”

Chapter Text

Harry reached the surface and could finally make a real breath for the first time since the last hour or so.

“And Harry Potter, the Hogwarts’s Champion, first finishes the task, saving his hostage from the merfolk’s clutches! Fifty-one minutes, not bad, not bad. But where are other champions? We can see how Fleur Delacour —”

The body near him suddenly convulsed and started coughing. Harry looked at him in utter disdain. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment but he didn’t have any strength left to.

“I hate you,” he chose to simply say and let go of Riddle’s wrist. The bastard could swim by himself, after all, now that he wasn’t unconscious anymore.

“February,” groaned the Slytherin, fetching the wand somewhere from his robes and casting a warming charm at himself. “Whose brilliant idea it was to swim in the Black Lake in February?!”

Harry heard laughter erupting from the stands on the beach and he glared at the floating orb above his head. Surely it wasn’t still recording and broadcasting everything around him?... He shook scary thoughts off. “I’m betting on Karkaroff.”

The platform hovering above the surface of the lake finally flew towards them, wizards and mediwitches already preparing to pull them out of the water. “Tell me you at least won the task,” Riddle was pulled out first — prick — and then had the guts to offer Harry his hand to help him out.

“I at least won the task,” Harry dully repeated, climbing the platform and eyeing the offered hand in suspicion. Riddle glared but the effect was somewhat relinquished by the fluffy towel he was currently being wrapped in. “I was the first. Other hostages are still there.” The fluffy towel seized Harry as well and the platform flew back to the edge of the lake.

Soon they could see three giant screens floating in the air, projecting to everyone watching how each of the Champions was dealing with the task. Harry’s hesitant hopes were shattered — there, between Fleur fighting with grindylows and Victor in his shark form rushing through the merfolk village was he, Harry, soaked and freezing and near Tom fucking Riddle who he was forced to save for everyone in the whole freaking wizarding world to see.

They were doomed.

“Is it Krum?” asked Riddle as if it absolutely didn’t matter that the both of them were displayed on the bloody giant screen and there was nothing more interesting than Victor’s transformed form. “He’s a shark animagus?”

“Really?” broke Harry. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“But it’s a useless form!” turned Riddle to him with an oddly indignant expression of his face. “Imagine training for years to reach your animagus transformation and get this.”

That must have sucked, Harry agreed. Still, “Really?” Harry wavered helplessly in direction of the bloody screens and the bloody floating orb, unable to form words to express how bloody fucked up they were now.

Riddle winced, glancing at the orb and back, and it was the first sign Harry got that he even noticed what was happening. But then his features cleared and he merely raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I really think it’s useless.”

Harry glared, opening his mouth to— but then he understood.

Maybe Riddle was right. Maybe the best they could do right now was to ignore it all and pretend that nothing happened, that Riddle wasn’t taken as what Harry ‘will solely miss', that the whole wizarding world didn’t know what the hostage in the second task symbolised, that they weren’t in for many more months of even more persistent whispers and rumours of them dating, that — 

Harry took a deep breath in. “Well, it turned out to be pretty useful for this task though.”

Riddle huffed. “I bet it’s the first time he got to use it.”

“Victor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion, is the second to finish the task, rescuing his beautiful girlfriend from the deep darkness of the Black Lake! Fifty-seven minutes, just three minutes short of the time limit! But will Fleur Delacour, the last remaining Champion, manage to finish the task and save her little sister before it’s too late? She is close but —”

“They’re not even dating,” commented Harry.

“Maybe they will now,” hummed Riddle, looking in amusement as Hermione screamed at the shark right up her face the moment she woke. “See how good they look together?” Victor’s form wavered and he turned back to his usual self but was immediately shot by a stunning spell from Hermione who didn’t have time to react at transformation but who was definitely not going to let some stupid shark eat her. “Those were some good reflexes.” 

“That’s Gryffindor for you.” Fortunately, the platform to pick them up was already close and the prone body of the Durmstrang Champion was soon fished out from the water. “Never go down without a fight.”

“That would have been a tragic end to their story if he drowned like that.” Victor was revived and wrapped in the same warm towels and Hermione couldn’t stop apologising. “And to think, it’s all because he’s a shark animagus.”

“Stop harassing him, it’s not like your animagus form would be any better.”

“You don't even know what it'd be.”

“It’d be a snake,” Harry deadpanned and before Riddle could become smug, continued. “Tiny, ugly snake, that’s not even venomous.”

Riddle appeared deeply offended that he was refused the rights to be big and menacing. “Then your animagus would be a kitten and —”

They were distracted by a sudden roar from the stands and turned back to the screens. Fleur was almost there, and Victor and Hermione...

“Just like I said,” signed Riddle, wearing an almost disgusted look watching the pair kissing.

“Yikes,” winced Harry at the same time. “Poor Ron.”

They stood in silence, Harry watching in growing unease how… suggestive Riddle and he looked together on the screen right next to the newly formed pair. He didn’t have any illusions that most of the viewers expected the same display of feelings and passion from them too. It didn’t help that the hostage was meant to be someone dear — not an enemy with whom he only pretended to be close to, but apparently did too good a job of it!

Harry glanced at Riddle who was, in turn, subtly eyeing their floating orb, and somehow that only made his unease increase. Then the Slytherin looked back at him with such a strange unreadable expression that Harry would have backed away if he wasn’t a Gryffindor. “Harry —”

“And Fleur Delacour brings her sister to the surface just six seconds until the task ends! That is a truly incredible display of determination, especially after being caught in the seemingly helpless trap for more than twenty minutes before —”

Harry eyed Riddle suspiciously — it was still so weird to be called by the first name, even if for the sake of pretense — but seeing that the Slytherin was sufficiently distracted from whatever he wanted to say, turned to Fleur’s screen too.

He immediately noticed something wrong. “Wait, why is her sister so still? Shouldn’t she wake up already…?”

“She’s part-Veela, like Delacour,” said Riddle as if it explained everything. 

“And?”

Riddle released a suffering sigh as he always did when he thought Harry was unbelievably stupid. “Veelas are more resistant to sleeping and confounding charms. They placed her under a stronger curse otherwise she risked waking up underwater.”

“And you know it since when?” snorted Harry. “Since all of you were spelled together?”

Riddle just glared at him and Harry took it as a yes.

Everyone was cheering, the task was almost over, and the judges left to discuss the final scores. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the screens again, and now Riddle and he looked even more awkward standing there a few feet apart — though was he imagining it or was Riddle standing closer now? — while all other Champions were cuddling happily with their rescued hostages, so happy to have them back after they went missing in the morning. 

Harry didn’t even notice Riddle’s disappearance. As a matter of fact, he almost picked Hermione down there before he realised that damn Slytherin couldn’t be anyone else’s hostage other than his.

He was starting to regret that harsh decision to kiss Riddle in order to save their asses.

But no, that wasn’t really true. Harry still thought that the expulsion was worse.

“Just kiss already!” shouted someone from the stands, clearly enhancing their voice by magic to hear it from so far away.

Or not. Maybe expulsion would actually be better.

Books on necromancy weren’t that serious, were they? Maybe he would have gotten lucky and wouldn’t have been expelled, and detentions with Snape were definitely more preferable than this— 

“And judges are ready to announce their scores!”

Harry shut his sorry worries and perked up.

“Third place… Victor Krum, forty-two points!”

That was slightly unexpected, him being the second to finish, but Harry already knew that the time wasn’t the only criteria the judges used. Perhaps it was because in the shark form Victor didn’t have a lot of opportunities to demonstrate his skill in magic — which made Harry worry a little because he didn’t flaunt colourful spells right and left either.

“Second place… Fleur Delacour, forty-seven points!”

Harry could feel his face splitting into a grin.

“And the first place… Harry Potter, forty-eight points!”

Oh yes, scrap all his thoughts from before, that was so worth it! Sure, he now had to deal with all the rumours, but he wouldn’t have made it in time without those handy spells he found in the Restricted Section, or if he had to spend hours in detentions this last week instead of preparing for the task, so screw it all, but he regretted nothing.

Harry laughed, cheering of the crowd ringing pleasantly in his ears, and he turned to Riddle — who was an absolute bastard but was still the only person left near him to share his joy with — and who was smiling too and Harry almost didn’t hate him that much at the moment and “I won and —”

And Riddle stepped closer and kissed him.

The world stopped. The crowd whistled and cried and the speaker was telling something and Riddle held him there, cupping his face and kissing him, but Harry was frozen with one single thought running through his head, what the actual fuck was going on?!  

Then time was running again and Riddle pulled away, eyes blown and smile wild, hands still holding Harry in place. “You won and I love you.”

“What,” weakly whimpered Harry.

But then Riddle was learning again and the world stopped once more. 

Chapter Text

They escaped from the crowd the moment they were given a chance to do so. Tom allowed to be dragged into some abandoned classroom and was now calmly observing the worked up Gryffindor who was hastily casting some privacy charms around them.

“Alright, Riddle,” the boy finally turned away from the door. He paused, nervously running his hand through his already more messy than usual hair. “Tom.” He paused again, evidently unsure about which name he should use. “No, Riddle. Right. Em… We need to talk.”

Tom hummed in acknowledgment, but didn't say anything. Yes, they needed to talk, that much was obvious — but that didn’t mean Tom was going to make it easy for the other boy. On the contrary, Tom was perfectly content to stand there silently and watch things unfold themself. He could think of several ways the other could react to the kiss, and so far it looked like the Gryffindor stopped on the most amusing one.

That is, amusing for Tom.

The Gryffindor started pacing around the room, trying to come up with what to say. 

“So,” he finally started, when it became clear Tom wasn’t going to contribute. “I’m sure you understand that was… quite unexpected to me,” he weakly chuckled and Tom tried his best to hide a grin that was threatening to spread on his face. Sweet Salazar, this was golden. He’d store this memory in a pensive if he had one. “And Merlin knows, I’ve had a crush on you too but —”

“Really?” Tom startled. How had he not noticed that?

“Well, yeah,” the other boy turned to look at him as if it was obvious. “When was the last time you looked in the mirror, Riddle? Half the school had a crush on you at one point or another, and the other half is just not into blocks.”

Tom tilted his head. Huh. It was not like he had never been called handsome before, but there was something special about being called so by your long-time rival.

“But,” the Gryffindor pointedly stopped Tom from smirking. “We’re not going to talk about how you sold your soul for the good looks. Because the point is, Riddle, is that I had a crush on you, but I do not anymore!”

Tom was sorely tempted to ask why, but he stopped himself when he saw how the other boy suddenly looked troubled and guilty. Why in hell —? 

“I’m sorry,” Gryffindor hastened to apologise, confusing Tom even more. “That was rude of me. But, Riddle — I just —” he made a deep breath in and finally let it out. “I just don’t like you this way. Sorry.”

Ah. Of course.

“And sorry if that episode in the library made you think otherwise,” the Gryffindor started mumbling and pacing around again, not noticing the smile on Tom’s face, “but that really was just my stupid idea on how to get the Professors from our backs. I didn’t mean anything by that, so… yeah, sorry about that. I should’ve explained it to you but I didn’t think you’d think it as… And during these past two weeks, too, I wasn’t, you know, genuine, and— shit, I’m so sorry it happened this way and —”

Tom couldn’t hold it in himself anymore.

He laughed. 

“Merlin, Potter,” he managed to force between the laughter. “You really believed me!”

Potter stopped mid-step.

“What.” 

Tom looked up and nearly folded in half again at the pathetic confused expression on the other boy’s face. He couldn’t stop himself from mocking Potter with his earlier words, “So sorry, but I don’t like you either, Potter. In this way or any other.”

The realisation finally drew upon the other boy’s face. “You played all of this?!”

“Obviously,” Tom huffed, sobering up at last. “What, did you really believe all these inane rumours how there are some suppressed feelings between us? Or that I have some secret crush on you as you had? Honestly, how naive can you be?”

All compassion Potter previously had was quickly thrown out of the window. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” the boy cried out, his magic flaring up aggressively and Tom automatically raised his own to counter it. “Why would you even do this?! And in front of all the cameras at that! Do you even realise they would never leave us alone now? What the fuck was that, Riddle?!”

Tom winced at all the cursing. “Of course I do realise that, it was exactly why I did it.”

“What?” Potter faltered, but not for long. “No. No, Riddle, I refuse to play in whatever scheme you came up with!”

“Well, you don’t have a choice now, do you?” Tom shoot Potter his sweetest smile. “It’s just like you sad, all the cameras saw how I confessed, you can’t run away from it now.”

“Fuck you! I returned neither your confession nor your kiss, I owe you nothing!”

“Did you forget already? I was your hostage, the one you ‘will solely miss’ — this is just as well a confession.”

“No, it is not! I don’t care how it looked like, we’re breaking up! Publicly, so everyone can see it.”

Tom took a deep breath and counted to ten. He reminded himself once again that he knew what he was signing for when he kissed Potter, and that it was ultimately worth it.

But Merlin was it hard to deal with the idiot Gryffindor.

“Alright, let’s say we break up now. What do you think will happen next?”

Potter paused. “It’d be a scandal.”

“And?”

“Probably Professors would look up again why we were in the library that night. But I’m sure we’ll manage that.”

“Potter,” Tom looked seriously in his eyes, wanting to finally drive the point home. “No one would believe us.”

“So what? I don’t care!”

“It doesn’t matter do you care about it or not. The fact is, I was your hostage — and everyone knows what it means. Even if I did nothing and we broke up several days later as we planned, rumours would never leave and —”

“Then let them!”

“They’d get out of control! After the task, it’s not only Hogwarts, it’s the whole Wizarding Britain who will hear about this. You’re a Hogwarts Champion, Potter, everyone is going to talk about you. About us. And if we pretend nothing happened, they will just make something up. Do you really want Which Weekly to spread false rumours about your love life?”

“You’re saying it like they won’t spread rumours now.”

“Of course they will. But now we can control these rumours if we give them something to work with.”

Potter shut his mouth. He was looking at Tom like he finally understood. Well, that went easier than expected, Tom thought and allowed himself to relax a little.

But then Potter humorously chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t see the difference for myself. Either way they’re going to talk about my non-existing relationship.” 

Merlin help him.

Tom started again, “The difference is—”

“No, Riddle, I got your point,” the smile spreading on Potter’s face was not one of a kind sort. “You worry about your reputation.”

Tom immediately tried to protest, but Potter stopped him.

“I was talked about since eleven, Riddle, I don’t care about it anymore,” the Gryffindor stepped closer, magic crackling threateningly around them. Tom forced himself to stay where he was. “Yes, it’s unpleasant, but you know what I’ve learned? People will always find something new to talk about. They get tired of old gossip and switch to other topics. And this thing? They’ll get tired of it too eventually.

“But for you, Riddle?” the smile on Potter’s face was now definitely evil. “For you it’s the first time, isn’t it? No one knows poor muggleborn orphan Tom Riddle outside of Hogwarts, and you don’t want for your name to be first heard and associated with some stupid teenage drama.”

“I’m not a muggleborn and you know it,” argued Tom. He tried not to think how it was the only thing he could really argue about.

“Oh? Well, feel free to out yourself as an unwanted bastard son of a disgraced family then. I’m sure Which Weekly would simply love it.” The Gryffindor took one step closer, and Tom half-absently wondered where Potter learnt to smile so cruelly. “I know I would.”

He would kill Potter one day, Tom reminded himself, stubbornly holding his ground and not looking away from the angry acid eyes. It was truly a pity he couldn’t kill Potter it now, though. Everything would have been so much easier then.

“What do you want?” he gritted through his teeth.

“For you to be out of my life, Riddle,” Potter hissed right at his face and really, he’d make such a fine snake. “I have no intentions of spending even more time with you in this ridiculous fake relationship.”

Tom silently berated himself for ever believing this could go easily. “I owe you a favour. Surely there is something you can use this for?”

“Did you mistake me for one your snakes? I have no need in these stupid favours.”

Actually, Tom was ninety percents sure Potter was a hatstall because the Hat tried to put him in Slytherin. But that was beside the point right now.

Instead, he kept pressuring. “Don’t be so stubborn. I’m the Head Boy and one of the most popular students, there is plenty I can do for you.”

“And yet I somehow managed all these years,” shrugged Potter, unbothered.

Tom snorted. “Sure, especially with Umbridge.”

Potter predictably didn’t like being reminded of their fifth year and was instantly riled up. “I would have been just fine without your help!”

No, he wouldn’t, and they both knew it. Tom just liked to remind about it from time to time.

“You would have been expelled without me,” hissed Tom. “Just like back then in the library.”

Potter paused. Familiar banter aside, he wasn’t so daft as to not caught on a threat. “I would bring you down with me,” the Gryffindor warned.

“You can certainly try.”

Potter shook his head, almost disapprovingly. “You know that between a Head Boy and a Hogwarts Champion I have more chances here.”

He was right of course. But even so, Tom wouldn’t give up easily and Potter knew it wasn’t worth it.

They silently glared at each other. Threatening never really worked between them, but they still tried sometimes.

Tom tried to use another approach. “You don’t have enough time for both the Tournament and the studies. I can help you with both.”

Harry snorted. “Thank you, but no.”

Really? Tom almost lost his rival because of this stupid Tournament, so absorbed Potter was with it. “Had you perhaps forgot the last Defense class? You would have made a fool of yourself in front of the whole class if I hadn’t covered for you. The Tournament takes all your time, but you still have to take NEWTs this summer.”

The Gryffindor waved him off with the arrogance excessive even for him. “I’ll manage.”

“Will you? I’m sorry to break it up to you, but you still need Outstanding results to pass for the Auror program you so dream of. And at this rate, you won’t get it not only in Potions but in Defense too.”

“I’ll manage as is I don’t need your help with it, Riddle!”

“And who else will help you? Weasley? Granger, who’s now dating the Durmstarng Champion?”

Potter faltered. It was clear he didn’t think that he won’t have an opportunity anymore to use Granger’s help as much as he had before. Feeling an opening, Tom pressed further.

“You know I’m the best tutor you can get. Yes, you don’t need help with understanding the material, I’ll give you that,” — well, except for Charms, but Tom was not going to mention it now — “but I can save you time significantly by helping to research for essays. You know it’s your weakest point and that it’s nearly impossible to get even EE at NEWTs without a good grip on theory.”

Potter was still hesitating, so Tom continued, “And we don’t even have to change our interactions that much from what we do now. Both of us are not the type to be publicly affectionate so it won’t be expected from us. You can even use our relationship as an excuse to spend some time privately,” — Tom knew Potter didn’t like all the attention he got with being the Champion. He was dealing with it well enough and knew how to use it, but he still didn’t like it and preferred to avoid it whenever possible. Tom found it stupid, but then again, he was not going to point it out now. — “The rumours don’t bother you, all right, but isn’t it still better to gain something for yourself from this situation? You lose nothing from this arrangement.”

Tom watched Potter attentively. The Gryffindor still appeared hesitant, but it looked like the persuasion worked.

Finally, after several tense seconds, Potter broke the silence.

“It’s really nice to watch you beg, Riddle,” he said with a smirk and Tom seriously contemplated killing Potter right then and there. “You know, I can be inclined to agree — but on one condition.”

Finally. It worked, it was clear Potter agreed to play along and simply wanted to have the last word for him. Tom could allow it if only to make the Gryffindor feel better.

“What is it?” he rolled his eyes. “Please don't tell me it's sex.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if it was what Potter wanted. Tom was still amazed sometimes how much could be achieved by handing out sexual favours. He didn’t participate in them, of course, but it was difficult to avoid them entirely in a school filled with hormonal teenagers. Tom was even slightly interested in how such an arrangement would work out between Potter and him. 

But surprisingly, Potter wrinkled his nose in distaste at the suggestion. “I said I had a crush, Riddle. Fortunately, your shitty personality made it impossible for it to stick. No, what I have in mind is worse.”

Tom seriously doubted this. “So?”

“I decide when and how we break up. You have no word in it.”

That was… actually quite good of a condition.

“Not before the Tournament ends,” bargained Tom.

But Potter merely laughed. “Oh no, Riddle. You won’t force me to bear your company for four months if I don’t like it. Though, I can promise you, let’s say, a week from now on when I do nothing. But after that, if you piss me off, then I’m breaking it up.” Potter sweetly smiled and added, “And be sure I’ll do in the most embarrassing and public way imaginable.”

Tom pondered. That was indeed much worse than some cheap sexual favours. With this Potter could undo all the progress Tom would achieve with being in a known relationship with Hogwarts Champion (and, likely, Triwizard Winner too). But did Potter really have guts to go through the threat? Tom looked over the other boy critically. At the moment he appeared like he could, but soon enough Potter would calm down. The Gryffindor had a soft heart, that much was clear after seven years at Hogwarts — Tom, for once, would’ve already killed Malfoy if he’d been half as annoying towards him. Or take how Potter was just several minutes ago, trying to gently turn Tom down despite all their history.

No, Tom didn’t think Potter had it in him to make the break up really damaging, at least if Tom wouldn’t anger him up like he did now.

“Two weeks,” he still half-heartedly tried.

Potter steadily shook his head, “No.”

Tom sighed. That wasn’t worth an effort anyway. “At least warn me beforehand?”

“No. And if you try to break up first, I’m telling everyone you’re a parselmouth.”

Tom winced. One would think that with the number of times Tom cursed the day he accidentally slipped in Potter’s presence, that day would be already erased from existence.

Though interestingly enough, it was the first time since the second year that Potter held this blackmail over Tom’s head. That really said something about how furious the Gryffindor was right now.

“Deal,” Tom begrudgingly agreed. But honestly, that wasn’t that bad of a deal, and he had a week to calm Potter down, as well as the blackmail of his own.

After all, Tom didn’t deserve to be called an Heir of Slytherin if he couldn’t play this well.

Chapter Text

The breakfast next morning, Harry beelined to the Slytherin table and with a sappy smile flopped on a bench next to Riddle. He put his arm over the Slytherin’s shoulders and leaned closer, murmuring in his ear, “Good morning, sweetie pie.”

To his credit, Riddle tensed only for a moment before turning to face him. “Harry,” he smiled as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, the annoyance carefully hidden behind his eyes. “I didn’t expect you to join me for breakfast.” 

Harry leaned on Riddle’s side, and hummed happily when the annoyance in the other boy’s eyes increased. “I just missed you.”

The people around cooed at them, but Riddle’s smile didn’t falter. “Missed you too,” he gently said back, and started to put food on Harry’s plate. 

Harry let him finish before taking an apple slice from Riddle’s plate. “Now it’s my turn to serve you,” he smiled sweetly and put the apple against Riddle’s lips. Riddle’s brows twitched and Harry patted him encouragingly on a shoulder, where his arm still lay. The Slytherin threw him a short glare promising violence and murder but dutifully ate from Harry’s hand.

Harry took the next apple slice but decided that he had his own limits too and ate it himself, sighing loudly in satisfaction before putting his head on Riddle’s shoulder. 

He wondered how long Riddle would last before snapping. The Slytherin hated physical contact, Harry knew, and he couldn’t wait to find out what else Riddle hated.

Riddle looked at him with the familiar glint of stubborn determination in his eyes, and Harry smiled at the challenge.

He would make the bastard regret forcing him into this fake relationship.

The week went on with Harry taking a constant presence at Riddle’s side. He sat with him on every meal and every class they shared, and sought him after classes to force his company during the evening hours. Harry learned an absurd amount of ridiculous pet names — and tried not to think about the reasons Ron knew them — and temporarily bid farewell to his own personal space just to encroach on Riddle’s. The hand feeding, unfortunately, didn’t last, as Riddle quickly figured out that if he just mirrored the action then Harry would drop it — but invading touches and tooth-rotting sweet talk were a whole other deal. Riddle endured it with surprising perseverance, never snapping once to Harry’s reluctant respect, but Harry could see what others didn’t. Could see how Riddle’s posture became more stiff under constant control, how his spellwork became just a tad more snappy, how he didn’t know all the answers to any question in class anymore.

Despite Harry’s very obvious mocking, the rumour mill somehow came up with their own interpretation of events. The latest version, according to Ron — who was definitely enjoying this situation way more than he should — was that Harry had been deeply in love with Riddle for years now and had recently gathered enough courage to confess, but Riddle had rejected him. Somehow, the Professors had learnt about this and stepped on Harry’s side, and this was why Harry and Riddle had behaved so weirdly in the last two weeks, being amicable in classes but fighting as usual outside them. But after the Second Task, where Harry had so fearlessly saved Riddle from the freezing Black Lake, Riddle had finally realised his true feelings, hence their very passionate kiss that made its way even into the Daily Prophet. However, still being hurt from the previous rejection, Harry had decided to take a little revenge on Riddle and that’s why, Hogwarts concluded, Harry was acting so uncharacteristically lovey-dovey and why Riddle was nevertheless tolerating it.

Personally, Harry didn’t understand the logic behind the Professors part, and Ron clarified that the students were still working it out themselves and the exact explanation changed by day. Harry was also yet again assured that the general populace of Hogwarts knew jet shit about Riddle if they thought that him impulsively acting out on an emotion was more likely than him just being an attention slut. Though Harry couldn’t quite blame them, because in the moment, he had believed Riddle too. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, some of the students actually took Riddle’s side in all of this. A couple of them even approached Harry directly about it, saying that yes, they agreed that Riddle deserved some punishment for being deep in denial for so long, but that Harry was perhaps a bit too cruel with him after all. Harry didn’t manage to hold his laugh at their words, but when he shared this with his friends, the reaction was a bit unexpected.

“What you’re doing is not right,” Hermione shook her head. “It’s borderline sexual harassment, honestly.”

“What? It’s not!” Harry vehemently disagreed.

Ron shrugged, “The prick deserves it anyway.”

“Yeah!” Harry fiercely nodded. “If he didn’t like PDA then he shouldn’t have bloody kissed me under all the cameras!”

“I’m not defending Riddle,” Hermione argued. “Using the Second Task like this was awful. But you should just tell everyone the truth instead of playing along with his charade.”

“Ah, but you see,” Ron lifted his finger and noted wisely, “that wouldn’t be as fun.”

Harry was so grateful that at least one of his friends was on his side. “Exactly, this way I’m at least getting some entertainment out of this.”

“But you shouldn’t be doing it by forcing yourself on—”

“Look,” Harry huffed in exasperation, interrupting her. “It’s not like I’m trying to get in his pants or something. Don’t make it a big deal when it’s not.” 

Ron agreed, “Riddle can surely survive some hand holding.” 

Hermione sighed, giving up on arguing with them. “This is going to end in such a disaster. Don’t tell me afterwards that I didn’t warn you.”

Ron snorted, and Harry just grinned. “I know. That’s the whole point.”

“How was your night, schmoopy boy?” Harry asked as he slid once again to sit beside Riddle at Friday’s morning, leaning heavily against the Slytherin’s side and putting his chin on Riddle’s shoulder.

Even after days of this routine Riddle still wasn’t quite desensitised to it, but he got better at masking it. He still tried to subtly get away from Harry’s touch by turning around to face him, but the Gryffindor didn’t let him. “It was good, thank you, Harry,” Riddle never used pet names with him, probably because the proud Slytherin thought such words beneath him. “How was yours?”

Harry sighed, looking dreamily at Riddle, “Lonely.”

There were some quiet snickers from the Slytherins around them, and Riddle’s shoulder under him tensed in restrained annoyance. The day was starting well, Harry mused. He stole a toast from Riddle’s plate and started to happily munch on it, leaving crumbs all over the Slytherin’s robes.

“Aren’t you worried about your Gryffindor friends, Potter?” suddenly said Bellatrix from the other side of the table. Harry turned to look at her, curious at her unexpected interjection. She had been staying out of Riddle’s and his affair all this week, weirdly enough. “They must be missing your disgusting eating habits.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Harry took another bite from his crusty toast, smiling at Bellatrix’s barely contained anger, his chin still resting on Riddle’s shoulder. “They have Ron.” 

Bellatrix was Riddle’s ex from sixth year, and after their break-up she became a self-appointed bouncer in the entrance of Riddle’s love life, which Harry wasn’t completely sure Riddle was aware of. All suitors striving for his attention had to pass through Bellatrix first, but no one had managed this feat in two years since, and not for the lack of trying. Harry assumed that Bellatrix was aware that his relationship with Riddle wasn’t real, or she would have cornered him already, but he wondered if Bellatrix held a grudge against him anyway for kinda cheating his way through.

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to say something else, but Riddle interrupted her. “Bella,” he said in a low voice, titling his head just slightly. Harry didn’t know what exactly he was warning her from, but either way it worked and Bellatrix turned away with a huff.

“You’re so sweet, pumpkin,” Harry finished his toast, taking care to leave as much of it on Riddle’s robes as possible. “Defending me from your friends like this. Never thought I’d live to see the day!”

Riddle sighed, “You don’t need protection from Bella.” Harry smiled indulgently at his attempt at flattery.

Reaching for a cup of tea, he was suddenly struck by inspiration. What were the rumours saying? That Harry had a crush on Riddle for years? “You know, on the topic of friends,” he began slowly, sipping his tea and not-so-accidentally spilling some on Riddle’s shoulder, where Harry was still perched. “It’s so stupid we didn’t become friends earlier than this.”

Riddle, who somehow managed to relax before, tensed back again, not recognising this line of thought and being rightfully suspicious of it. Harry just hummed and gently put his cheek on Riddle’s shoulder, adopting an air of intimacy and pretending he didn’t notice the Slytherins around them subtly shifting closer.

“I was trying to remember when I first began to want us to be friends,” Harry said in a pensive voice, looking absently at the far wall. “And I think it was the second year. Remember our Christmas together?” Riddle went very still, and Harry barely held back a smirk but forced himself to continue as if nothing happened. “We could have been friends all this time! Can you imagine? It’s so stupid, really, that we stayed rivals for so long. I wish things went differently back then.”

The table around them became a small island of silence in the constant hum of the Great Hall, everyone’s attention focused solely on Harry and Riddle, and he could almost feel their curiosity washing over his skin. He doubted Riddle had ever told anyone the story of that Christmas — nor had Harry, for that matter — likely embarrassed of what he surely perceived as weakness that he had to display back then. That and, well, some slightly less than legal things the two of them had done over the holiday. It had been a good time, all things considered. Actually, now that Harry thought about it, why indeed hadn’t Riddle and him stayed friends after that? Probably because of Riddle’s usual evil self, Harry mused. Had there been some petty fight in the corridor..? He couldn’t quite remember.

Riddle slowly turned his head to look at him, and in his eyes Harry could see how the Slytherin was imagining tearing Harry’s body apart limb by limb. “I wish that too sometimes,” he whispered in a tone that could probably pass as gentle to others and that Harry recognised all too well from the few fights where Riddle and he came the closest to actually killing each other.

Well, that went better than Harry expected! This was probably the best reaction he got out of Riddle so far. He smiled in satisfaction and perched his chin on Riddle’s shoulder again, ignoring the murderous vibes from the other boy. “We can at least make good use of the time we have left! You’ll go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend, right?”

Someone snorted, “Smooth, Potter.” The intimate air around them was quickly dissipating.

Riddle took a measured breath and tried to push a pleasant smile on his face but failed to make it look even remotely real. “Perhaps another time? We can finish the project—”

“Oh, come on!” Harry whined, finally dislodging himself from Riddle’s shoulder just to stop him from talking about bloody homework. “We have lost so much time we could have spent together, we can’t lose any more now! And there is still snow out there! We’ll miss it if we skip this one.” Most importantly, they would most definitely drop this charade before the next Hogsmeade weekend came, and he refused to lose his only opportunity to drag Riddle to Madam Puddifoot’s. “It will be a week since we got together too. We should celebrate!”

“Harry—” Riddle tried again, but Harry didn’t let him say his excuses.

“You're a terrible boyfriend, you know,” he straightened his back and crossed his arms, pretending to glare at Riddle. The others laughed, someone theatrically gasped ‘oh no!’, but Harry knew Riddle would recognise this as a threat it was. After all, the continuation of their pretend relationship was conditional on Harry’s satisfaction with it, and it was Riddle’s own fault that he put himself in such an easily manipulated position.

For several long moments Riddle looked at him with undisguised hatred in his eyes. “Fine,” he finally conceded. But honestly, Riddle should have known from the start that he never had a choice. Though to be fair, it wouldn’t have been Riddle if he didn’t try anyway. If there was any quality Harry respected in him, it was this. 

“Great!” he smiled and leaned in to quickly peck Riddle on the cheek. He had avoided doing this before — the idea of kissing Riddle in anything other than dire circumstances was frankly quite revolting — but these were special circumstances too and Harry couldn’t quite resist messing with Riddle just a little bit more.

Riddle froze, and then dropped his head and screamed in his hands.

Chapter Text

On the day of their planned date Harry dragged Riddle from breakfast directly to the thestral carriages waiting in the courtyard, so that the slimy bastard wouldn’t have any opportunities to escape. Surprisingly, Riddle didn’t put up a fight and didn’t even complain, obviously resigned to his fate already. 

“How much time are you going to waste on all this?” Riddle simply asked when they were alone in the carriage.

Harry smirked, “However much I’d like.” For the first time in a week he was sitting on an opposite side from Riddle, as there was no need to to keep up the lover act when they were alone.

He actually didn’t plan to spend a lot of time in Hogsmeade, but Riddle didn’t need to know that just yet. Harry wanted to replenish his supplies of sweets in Honeydukes, collect the bottle of firewhisky stashed away by Sirius (best godfather ever), and then, of course, terrorise Riddle with Puddifoot’s obnoxious interior. And that’s all. If it had been a real date Harry would have probably gone for a nice romantic walk around Hogsmeade to enjoy the scenery and the snow — but the whole point of this date was to publicly embarrass Riddle, and Puddifoot’s was really the only option for this. So Harry estimated this to take only a couple of hours.

“We do have several essays to finish, I hope you remember,” Riddle reminded him.

Harry grinned, “Regretting our relationship already?” Riddle was now paired with him on several projects because Harry insisted on sitting together in their shared classes — and, well, Harry wasn’t trying his very best as a study partner with Riddle, lightly speaking.

Riddle grimaced slightly, “I was expecting you to be more mature about this.”

Harry exploded in laughter, “Did you seriously think I will just roll with your ridiculous plan without any complaints?” He shook his head, honestly somewhat surprised, “Riddle, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“This arrangement could be beneficial for you too,” Riddle shot him a glare, disapproval clear in his voice. “Instead you’re choosing to waste our time doing this.”

“Oh, but it’s already quite beneficial,” Harry smiled sweetly as their carriage finally arrived at Hogsmeade. “I always wanted my own personal toy to play with.”

He threw the door of the carriage open and took Riddle’s hand, pulling him out on the crowded street and dragging him to stand chest to chest with Harry. With winter robes flash against each other, their faces just inches apart and their magic clashing violently between them, Harry murmured right in his furious eyes, “I hope you like shopping, pumpkin dear.”

They spent more time in Honeydukes than planned, because Harry completely forgot about the constant crowd there — and as it turned out, fussing over Riddle and forcing him to sample all kinds of horrible sweets was just too fun with an audience. Riddle wanted to go to Scrivenshaft’s afterwards, for some spare quills and parchment. Harry was deeply tempted to refuse just out of spite, because Riddle shouldn’t be allowed to do anything useful today, he should be allowed only to suffer. But then Harry remembered that he still needed to collect his bottle of firewhiskey, so he let Riddle go to that stupid shop alone. Harry didn’t, however, let Riddle hide there forever, and so as soon as he was done Harry dragged the Slytherin out and finally led them to Puddifoot’s.

They were in the middle of the street when Harry suddenly felt a slight shifting of the air behind him. Acting on pure instinct alone, he dropped Riddle’s hand that he was holding hostage and dodged to the side, only vaguely aware that Riddle was doing the same. The spell aimed at their backs flew harmlessly through the empty air, and Harry was already spinning around, the wand ready in his hand — and then he froze.

“Ginny?” Harry looked in confusion at the girl standing firmly before him, her wand still pointed at them. Then he smiled and put his wand away, in favour of dramatically putting his hand to the chest, “Oh my, is this a shovel talk? Are you going to give him a shovel talk on my behalf? Holy shit, I always wanted someone to do this for me!”

The wand in Ginny’s hand faltered. “What? No, I—”

But Harry was already turning to Riddle, who for some silly reason still had his wand out, though at least it wasn’t pointed at anyone. How the Slytherin managed to look wary, bored, and resigned all at the same time Harry would never know. “Is it my turn to protect you from my friends? It is, isn’t it? You protected me from Bella yesterday, after all.” Harry made the show of thinking deeply about this, tapping fingers on his chin in fake concentration, before continuing, “But you know what? I think I shouldn’t be protecting you. You kinda deserve to hear how you mustn’t break my heart by being the horrible bastard you’ve always been.”

Riddle just glared at him in response, but soon his face schooled into a neutral expression and his wand hid into his sleeve.

With them being on the main street in Hogsmeade, it wasn’t surprising that they already gathered a small curious crowd around them. The novelty of Riddle’s and his unexpected relationship hadn’t worn out yet, and it wasn’t hard to attract people’s attention. Harry hated the feeling of eyes crawling over his skin, hungry for drama, but he knew Riddle hated it too. Because yes, sure, Riddle had wanted the attention — but not this kind. And knowing this was enough for Harry.

He stepped aside and turned around, spreading his arms welcomingly. “He’s all yours,” he purred, smiling at Ginny. 

But Ginny was not looking at Riddle, and Harry had just a moment to frown at the grim determination in her eyes, before Ginny tightened her hand around the wand and cast the spell that wasn’t aimed at Riddle.

And this time, Harry recognised it, as any student above fourth year would. After all, Madam Pomfrey made it her mission to teach the students this spell, along with many others. 

He let the detection charm for love potions and spells hit his chest, and with sinking feeling saw it dissolve into harmless white sparks, signifying that he was under no mind altering magic.

“Ginny, I’m so sorry,” Harry breathed out, all his earlier giddiness replaced by the overwhelming guilt. He had warned Hermione and Ron about the nature of his relationship with Riddle, because he knew they would go feral over him acting so weird all of a sudden, but looking at Ginny’s face distorted with disbelief and devastation, at her dropped shoulders, at her wand almost falling out of her hand, he hated himself for not warning her too. 

“Harry,” Riddle stepped closer, his voice impassive. “We should be going.”

Harry stiffened, just barely resisting the urge to punch Riddle in the face. Didn’t he understand how serious this situation was, what Ginny had thought was happening between them? But looking in Riddle’s eyes, Harry saw that he understood. He just didn’t want to deal with it. Riddle was probably annoyed that he had to be a witness to someone’s display of emotions, enough that even Puddifoot’s sounded as a better option to him. But Harry was not in the mood to play their little date anymore, and he was prepared to tell Riddle as much, when Ginny suddenly spoke. 

“Don’t you see he’s manipulating you?” her voice was quiet, but firm. “Harry, he doesn’t love you!”

Harry turned back to her, Riddle forgotten. “Ginny, it’s not like this, I promise,” he tried to calm his friend down, but she didn’t seem to listen.

“He’s just using you! You know he does, Harry, I can see that you do!” Her voice was louder now, more confident, and out of the corner of his eyes Harry saw the slowly growing crowd listening curiously to her. “You just don’t want to believe this.”

Harry winced. She was right of course — Riddle indeed was manipulating and using him. And Harry often wondered why the people around him were so oblivious and didn’t see it, but he never considered what it would mean if someone did see. “Ginny, please, I can explain everything to you, just — later, alright? In private.” Harry knew he owed her an explanation, after she surely thought up horrible things — but he didn’t want to do it here, where everyone was watching.

He hoped Ginny would understand, but she only shook her head resolutely. “I won’t leave you with him! He’s messing with your head, Harry, and I refuse to just sit and do nothing about it!”

She raised her wand again and pointed it at Riddle this time. Harry just about screamed in frustration. Why wouldn’t she just listen?!

“You should leave before you embarrass yourself any further, Weasley,” Riddle warned her in a low voice, not even bothering to take out his own wand, and for once Harry agreed with him. It would be better if Ginny just left, for now. Hogsmeade was not the right place for such talks.

“Ginny, just—”

“I love you, you idiot!” she snapped, her voice reverberating through the crowded street and for a moment silencing every sound and every whisper. “I can’t watch you losing yourself in his manipulations! You deserve so much more than him, Harry, and— And I can show you, if you let me? Please..?”

Her voice, so strong before, trailed to a whisper in the end, but it didn’t matter because at that moment Harry couldn’t hear anything else anyway. Even the everwatching crowd didn’t matter anymore, as he looked in her hopeful eyes and couldn’t turn away.

He wanted to ask Ginny out for months now. But first the Tournament had taken all his time, and then Ginny had started to date Dean, and then they’d broken up and Harry had been waiting until enough time passed to not look inappropriate. And then the bloody Library Incident had happened and Riddle had insisted they needed to pretend for the Professors, and then he had forced Harry to continue this farce for even longer. And now here they were — with Ginny worrying sick that he was being manipulated by the worst person in Hogwarts, and ready to fight Riddle even though she surely must know she could never win that fight, while Harry allowed Riddle to use him for his own benefit.

It should have never been like this.

“Ginny, I—” Harry stepped closer to her, ready to fix all his stupid mistakes, but was abruptly stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Darling,” Riddle’s fingers dug painfully in his flesh as he stood to loom over Harry’s side. “You shouldn’t waste our precious date on her. We’ve lost enough time already.”

Harry unceremoniously pushed the hand off and stepped aside. “Fuck off,” he glared at Riddle, done with their charade. 

Riddle’s eyes were glinting red, and while his face stayed calm, his smile showed teeth. “Don’t let her get in your head, dear,” his voice was soft, but Harry could see how much effort it was costing him. “She doesn’t know anything about us, but you know how I feel about you.”

Harry snorted, “Yeah, I know how you feel alright, Riddle.”

“Don’t listen to him, Harry!” Ginny shouted from the side, and the agitated whispers from the surrounding students were gradually becoming louder.

Riddle didn’t pay her any attention. His eyes narrowed and he didn’t pretend to smile anymore. “You are not playing fair,” he said quietly.

“I don’t fucking care,” Harry shrugged carelessly. “None of this was fair in the first place.” Their ridiculous deal was fun while it lasted, but despite what Hermione kept saying, Harry was mature enough to recognise that some things were more important than messing with your rival. Harry had no intention of continuing this pretend relationship, however fun it could be, when he could have a real relationship with a girl he loved.

Harry looked around, noticing that the crowd they gathered had become noticeably larger, all eyes riveted on the two of them in sick excitement. “You should leave,” he whispered to Riddle out of some misplaced sympathy that even he couldn’t quite understand. “You don’t want this drama.”

And then he turned away and walked towards Ginny, shaking off the shocked whispers of the students around them and uncaring about the scandal he was surely creating. This would be a mess, yes. But these surprised yet hopeful eyes in front of him were worth it thousand times over, and Harry had dealt with worse anyway.

“Oh no, you don’t get to decide what I want,” Riddle hissed behind his back as the wild crackling of his magic filled the air, and Harry didn’t have time to think before stepping in the path of a curse aimed at Ginny.

What felt like hundreds of blazing hot worms crawled under his skin and wrapped around his spine, and Harry’s scream was swallowed by the shouts from Ginny and the panicked crowd. Ignoring the pain, Harry spun around, the wand jumping in his hand, and cast the shield just in time to block the next curse. 

“Harry! Are you alright?” Ginny ran to his side, her voice ringing with worry. “Your back—”

“I’m fine,” Harry grunted, grinning through his teeth as he held the shield against the toxic gasoline strains spreading over the blue shimmer and eroding it bit by bit. Riddle loved this curse, but he used it too much and he was mistaken if he thought Harry didn’t learn how to deal with it by now. 

The eroding curse finally exhausted itself and Harry dropped the shield. “Jealous much, sweetheart?” he called cheekily, feeling giddy that he finally made Riddle snap. It sucked that Riddle got the first hit, sure, and Harry’s whole body was rigid trying to fight the feeling of something alien crawling on his spine — but he was still standing, so it couldn’t be too bad.

“But of course, darling,” Riddle’s smile was mad even by his own standards, his magic swirling around him in uncontrolled torrent and ruffling his hair in a black halo around his head. “I’ve tolerated all your bullshit this week, so you owe me now. Did you seriously expect I will just let you go with some stupid wench after all of this?”

“Don’t call her that!” Harry dodged out of the way of the next curse and immediately regretted it when his spine almost crumbled from the movement. Ginny, who Harry already forgot was also here, chose this moment to shower Riddle with her own curses — half of which dissolved before even reaching him, consumed by the latent magic around the Slytherin. She did manage to surround Riddle with a little army of bats, but it didn’t last long, swallowed a second later by a green smoke, and the little bodies dropped dead on the ground, twitching uncontrollably. 

Harry used the distraction to cast a quick numbing charm on his back, alleviating at least some of the pain, just in time to yank Ginny out of the way of a body mutilation curse after Riddle unceremoniously summoned her wand and left her unable to protect herself. 

“But honestly, about my expectations?” Harry continued breathlessly, putting Ginny firmly behind his back, his magic bubbling under his skin in untamed excitement. “I expected you to snap much earlier. Didn’t know you to be so docile before!”

Riddle growled, and Harry aimed a basic disarming charm to intercept his next curse mid-air. Their spells collided and turned brilliant gold, casting a shimmering globe around them and connecting their wands with a taut vibrating string that almost pulled the wands from their hands — and then Harry violently yanked his wand to the side, breaking the connection, and before Riddle could recover, he immediately followed it with an air-sucking charm around the Slytherin’s head.

Harry still had no idea what this golden thingy that happened sometimes between Riddle and him was, but it served great as a distraction when they managed to intentionally trigger it. Too bad it wasn’t reliable, so Harry was glad it worked this time.

Riddle’s mouth opened in a silent scream when all the air was sucked from his lungs, his eyes and nose bleeding and covering his face in bloody strains. Harry didn’t waste any time to kick the dust from the ground and into the air, and so when the next moment Riddle broke the charm, all the dust rushed into his lungs together with the air he so desperately needed. Riddle choked violently, the dust mixing with blood on his face into an ugly mess, and Harry used this moment to cast the Incarcerous spell. But despite his state, Riddle still managed to cast an overpowered cutting spell, slashing through the ropes mid-air and forcing Harry to dodge and drag Ginny after him, almost falling to the ground.

“Enough!” The stern voice rattled through the air, and Harry and Riddle both froze, glancing to the side to find McGonagall and Snape striding towards them from down the street.

Harry sighed and put his wand away, not bothering to hide the disappointment from his face. Seriously, they had just started! In Hogwarts it took the Professors much longer to find them. Harry forgot that they chaperoned every Hogsmeade weekend, fighting here was clearly a mistake.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin, and a detention for both of you,” Snape drawled, looking around the street and effortlessly fixing a couple of walls damaged from the stray curses. “And your Hogsmeade permissions are revoked from now on.”

Damn. No more smuggling of firewhiskey from Sirius then. Actually, Harry would need to ask if the Marauders ever managed to have their permission revoked, or if Harry finally achieved something that they didn’t. Would be cool if he did!

“But Riddle started it!” Ginny tried to argue. “Harry just defended himself!”

Harry couldn’t hold a snort, and he heard Riddle huff too. McGonagall didn’t deign it with a response either, and just looked over at her sternly, “Are you hurt anywhere, Ms Weasley?”

Ginny shook her head, “No, but Harry—”

“Yes, yes, I can see it,” McGonagall sighed and searched for something in her pockets. “Mr Potter, Mr Riddle, come here.”

Harry reluctantly walked towards her, “Professor, I’m fine, honestly, I can just go back by the carriage—”

“You will collapse before you even reach it, Potter,” Snape said in a bored voice after one glance at Harry’s back. 

“I have hoped we were past this,” McGonagall looked at Harry with obvious disappointment in her eyes, and he almost felt guilty. “And you too, Mr Riddle. One would think that after seven years you two would learn to solve your disagreements like the adults you are.”

Harry and Riddle said nothing. Yes, sure, they could just talk instead of fighting. But in their defence, fighting was much more fun! He only felt sorry that his potential real date with Ginny was cut short, and he shot the girl an apologetic smile for this.

The Professor took out two colourful mismatched socks from her pocket and gave them to the boys. Harry thought about trying to argue again, but his back indeed hurt, with the tendrils of the curse crawling under his skin impossible to ignore even under the numbing charm, so he took the offered sock without further complaints. Riddle, who looked like a mess even without any dark curses under his skin — which Harry took as a personal win — took his sock with barely contained disgust but didn’t fight it either.

“Hospital,” McGonagall said and tapped the socks with her wand, and the emergency portkeys whisked Harry and Riddle away.

Chapter Text

The coldness of the calming draught was slowly spreading through his body as Harry sat on the hospital bed, leaning on the wall. He hated this, hated the heaviness of his limbs, the slow breathing that he could barely control, the fog in his mind. The knowledge that Riddle was sitting on a nearby bed under the same potion did little to raise his mood. It was so unfair that Madam Pomfrey took their wands and made them drink the potion every time the two of them landed in her care! So what if they had trashed the Hospital that one time many years ago? They learned since then not to do that!

Harry could still feel the curse worms crawling around his spine, but the pain was muted after whatever charm cast by Madam Pomfrey. Unfortunately, she had forbidden Riddle to cast the countercourse just yet, and instead had left the Hospital to retrieve the dittany from Snape’s storage room, as her reserves of it had apparently run dry. That left Harry and Riddle alone in the Hospital, their mutual dissatisfaction hanging heavily in the air, yet both silent, unwilling to do anything that could trigger Pomfrey to take even more drastic measures against them.

The bottle of firewhisky, smuggled from Hogsmeade, was sitting invitingly in the pocket of Harry’s robes. The promise of the fiery drink against the cold of the calming draught was awfully tempting, and with every passing second it was harder and harder to convince himself that Harry shouldn’t just take the bottle out already.

“I think I never hated you as much as I do now,” Riddle broke the silence with his pensive voice, apparently losing some internal battle of his own.

Harry felt his face spread into an involuntary grin. “Thanks! I think I’ll drink to that.” Finally deciding that the consequences couldn’t be that bad anyway, he fished the bottle from the hidden pocket and opened it.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Riddle’s head snapping to him. “Are you serious right now?” the Slytherin hissed indignantly as Harry took a generous sip from the bottle. “You are not allowed to smuggle alcohol to Hogwarts!”

Harry flipped him a bird, revelling in the comforting heat spreading through his insides and somewhat lifting the damned fog from his head. He took the bottle to his lips again, when it was violently torn from his hand. “Hey! What the fuck?!” Harry glared at Riddle who had wandlessly summoned the bottle to his hands.

“As the Head Boy, I’m confiscating this. Be glad I’m not taking points from you.” Riddle sniffed the bottle suspiciously, before taking a large gulp from it himself.

Finally recovering from this audacity, Harry wandlessly summoned the bottle back, “Go smuggle your own, you tosser!” He took another sip and for a moment closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his body slowly coming back to him. “And anyway, it was all your fault. You should be hating yourself, not me. If you hadn’t forced me into this relationship, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“Do you think I wanted this?!” Riddle shot back with surprising vehemence. “That I asked to be your hostage for the Second task?”

Harry snorted. “Oh no, did the judges force you to kiss me too?”

The bottle was torn from his hands again. “If I had done nothing, people would have assumed things about us anyway.” Riddle fell silent for just long enough to drink. “This way we could have at least controlled it!”

“Oh come on, Riddle,” Harry rolled his eyes and summoned the bottle back, thinking that he should really learn how to wandlessly cast the anti-summoning wards. “Just admit already that you made a stupid mistake.”

“It was indeed stupid to think you might behave rationally,” Riddle bit back.

“Don’t pin your mistakes on me,” Harry glared at him, the bottle in his hands tilting to point at Riddle in accusation.

“We have worked together just fine before!” With an obvious frustration Riddle summoned the bottle again, putting too much force into it and barely managing to catch it.

“Now wait a minute!” Harry ignored the theft in his indignation. “First of all, ‘just fine’ is a big stretch. I still think we could have gotten rid of Umbridge much sooner if it wasn’t for you. Second—”

“If you’d really wanted to get rid of her—”

“You can’t murder anyone in Hogwarts, Riddle, how many times do I need to repeat it!” Harry let out a frustrated sigh, not really prepared for yet another argument about this. Riddle mumbled something under his breath, too quiet for Harry to hear, though it was probably about him being perfectly able to hide a body, as usual. Harry finally summoned the bottle back and took a generous sip, before continuing with the previous topic, “Second, we kinda had a common goal before. Not getting Hogwarts closed and all that. But if you seriously thought I care about your reputation, then I’m so sorry to disappoint, but I don’t give a single fuck.”

“You could have used me too,” Riddle argued. “You’re terribly behind on all your classes and I could have helped you.”

“I don’t need any help with classes!”

“Ah, my apologies. I forgot for a moment that the likes of you don’t need good grades, Heir Potter-Black,” Riddle bit back, the disdain dripping from his words.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it. However weird it felt to hear Riddle, of all people, accuse Harry of his privileges, he wasn’t exactly wrong, Harry had to admit with a wince. Sirius had indeed told him that he could get Harry almost any job he wanted, Harry just needed to ask. Or better yet, Sirius had insisted, Harry should spend the time travelling and having fun instead of losing his best years on some boring job. And Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t consider that.

Using Harry’s hesitation, Riddle stole the firewhisky again — but before he could take it to his lips, the doors of the Hospital clicked open. The next moment Riddle was already patting the pocket of his robes where he hid the bottle and Harry could see the slight shimmer of the concealment charm spreading under his palms. Harry didn’t know why he was surprised that Riddle knew how to do this particular charm wandlessly. 

“I guess I was wrong and your animagus form should be a niffler instead of a snake,” Harry mused, and then frowned at having said that outloud. He was usually better at controlling his tongue after drinking so little.

Riddle shot him a glare, but whatever he wanted to say in return was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey coming to their beds with a jar of dittany in her hands.

“Now, now, boys, no arguing! Or I would have to keep you here overnight to make sure you won’t try to kill each other as soon as you step outside these doors.”

Harry put his best smile on, and tried not to feel jealous that it was noticeably worse than an innocent impression on Riddle’s face, as if the Slytherin wasn’t actively breaking his Head Boy duties this very second. Madam Pomfrey shook her head at them and put the dittany at the table besides Harry — before stopping in her tracks and sniffling the air suspiciously. 

Her narrowed eyes turned to Harry, “Did you drink just now?”

“Uh,” it took all of his willpower to not turn away from the nurse’s stern gaze. “We had a couple of butterbeers in Three Broomsticks?..”

Madam Pomfrey didn’t look convinced and she took out her wand. Behind her back Riddle shifted slightly and Harry fought to keep his own smile in place, but the detection charm washed over them without a hinch, finding no alcohol on their persons.

With a huff, the nurse put the wand away. “You shouldn’t combine alcohol and the calming draught, it might have adverse effects,” she told the both of them, and waited until they nodded.

Madam Pomfrey motioned for Harry to take off his robes, and Harry obliged without further ado and turned with his back to the nurse. The curse worms under his skin began to crawl with more urgency, as if feeling their approaching fate, and Harry suppressed a wince at the uncomfortable feeling. This by far wasn’t the most awful curse Riddle had hit him with over the years, but Harry hated it simply for the fact that it continuously kept reminding about itself. Harry was eager to be done with all this. 

“Mr Riddle, you can cast the countercourse now,” said Madam Pomfrey behind his back and from the rustling of the clothes Harry assumed that she gave Riddle back his wand. Harry felt himself tense involuntary, hating that he couldn’t even see Riddle when the other boy clearly had his wand pointed at Harry, all the while Harry’s own wand was still somewhere in the nurse’s pockets.

Riddle’s incantation had a distinct hissing undertone, and Harry wondered if the worms wrapped around his spine were actually little snakes all along. That would definitely fit Riddle’s style. Harry should call them worms to Riddle’s face then, just to piss the proud Slytherin off.

All further thoughts were cut off by the sudden pain of the worms piercing through his skin and with a wet sound falling on the bed sheets. Harry could distinctly feel them still squirming right beside him and filling the air around them with an unmistakable thick smell of blood. 

The pain receded soon enough with a shine of Madam Pomfrey’s healing spell, and any trace of blood and dark magic disappeared from the air as if they were never there in the first place. Harry couldn’t hold in the sigh of relief when the nurse’s gentle hands spread the tingling dittany over his back, removing all the lingering itchiness and sensitivity.

“Merlin, Riddle,” Harry hissed through his teeth, the calming draught not strong enough to keep in the pangs of anger anymore. “Maybe just remove my spine altogether next time, will you?!”

Harry put his clothes back on and turned to glare at Riddle, who just hummed carelessly, “I will consider this.”

“No irreversible damage, Mr Riddle, dark magic or not!” Madam Pomfrey steely reminded him the rules under which Hogwarts was willing to close its eyes on students practising still somewhat illegal arts. It was the same reason why Riddle had to cast the countercurse himself, even though Harry doubted that the nurse didn’t know it already — anyone who used the curses they didn’t know how to reverse risked expulsion or worse, Azkaban charges. Or, to be more specific, anyone caught using such curses. 

For a brief moment Riddle appeared surprised, before nodding calmly, being well familiar with these rules after the years of playing on their edges. Harry guessed that the weird mix of the calming draught and firewhiskey was messing with Riddle’s mouth filter too, if he was saying such things in the adult’s presence.

The nurse looked at the Slytherin for several moments longer, before sighing, “Kids these days…” She shook her head and turned to Harry with the jar of dittany in her hands. “You’ll have to apply it every day until the scars are gone. Shouldn’t take too long, but if the scars persist after a week, come to me.”

Harry accepted the jar from her hands, mentally resolving to not approach the Hospital Wing for the rest of his life. Judging by the slightly narrowed eyes of Madam Pomfrey, she knew what he was thinking, but fortunately decided not to comment on it.

After one last critical look over, Madam Pomfrey retrieved Harry’s wand from her pocket and gave it to him, which Harry readily took. “Now all you need is rest. That concerns you too, Mr Riddle! If I hear that the two of you are wandering the corridors or fighting again instead of going to your dormitories, I will have you stay here overnight.”

Appropriately apprehensive of her threat — they had ignored it enough times to know that she wasn’t joking — Harry and Riddle nodded in unison and got up from their beds, probably a bit too eager than what was polite. Pausing just long enough to give their very respectful goodbyes, they gladly left the doors of the Hospital behind.

“Give it back!” Harry demanded as soon as the doors closed.

“Why should I?” Riddle looked at him imperiously. “If I didn’t protect it, it’d be confiscated. It’s mine now.”

“You didn’t protect shit, it was already charmed, you idiot!”

Riddle surprisingly didn’t react to an insult but curiously took the bottle out to examine it. Harry tried to snatch it, but the tall bastard just put his hand higher and out of Harry’s reach, not even looking away from the black glass. “We definitely drank more than that,” he said pensively, squinting at the bottle above his head.

“Like I said, it’s charmed!” Harry kicked Riddle in the knee and happily reclaimed the bottle when the Slytherin bent over with a grunt. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

If Sirius was to be believed, that particular glass bottle passed down at least five generations of Blacks, each adding new layers to the charms around the innocent-looking glass, combating against ever-evolving anti-alcohol wards around Hogwarts. Why it was easier to sneak into the Restricted section than to smuggle in some whisky Harry would never understand, but he valued the useful heirloom all the same.

Unsurprisingly, Harry had barely finished drinking when the bottle flew from his hands yet again. Riddle put it close to his face, not drinking and just staring in the dark liquid, his eyes gaining that familiar red glint. Harry barely managed to hold a snort when Riddle took out his wand and started to weave some detection spells around the bottle. The Slytherin was probably interested in learning these charms for some of his world domination schemes, or something evil like that. Harry found it hard to be mad at Riddle though, the calming draught still muting all strong emotions even after being diluted by the liquid fire. 

“I love magic,” Riddle finally said with a clear tinge of wonder in his voice after almost a minute of quiet inspection. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathed in agreement and took the bottle back now that Riddle was done with it, somewhat. “And that’s why we’re here.”

He drank and thought how the two of them probably would have been expelled a long time ago if they didn’t love magic the way they did. They wouldn’t have been the same, and Hogwarts wouldn’t have been the same either without them. But they loved it, loved everything about it, and so here they were, walking down these corridors, living under the same ancient roofs, despite all the hatred they had towards each other on the best of days. 

Riddle nodded and Harry knew that even though his shitty words explained nothing of his complicated thoughts, Riddle understood. 

“I lied,” the Slytherin suddenly said, as they reached the Grand Staircase and started to climb up. “I don’t hate you that much, now. I’ve definitely hated you more in the second year.”

“Ha! Did the calming draught finally get to you?” Harry laughed, but then frowned, confused. “Wait, why the second year? We were almost friends in our second year!”

Riddle looked at him with strange incredulity. “The snake,” he deadpanned, as if it explained everything.

Harry blinked at him, now even more confused. “What snake? Do you mean the basilisk?”

The disbelief on Riddle’s face grew with every passing second that Harry continued to look at him, waiting for an explanation. “I can’t believe you forgot,” he finally said, weirdly offended. “This is the main reason we could never be friends, and you just forgot.”

Harry inelegantly snorted, “Merlin, you’re so dramatic. We’ll never be friends because you are evil and I —” he put the bottle that was, surprisingly enough, still in his hands, dramatically to his heart “— am not, thank you very much.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed and he unceremoniously tried to push Harry off the stairs, but Harry dodged in the last moment, laughing.

“No murder!” he reminded Riddle, trying to suppress the laughter and dodging another push, only vaguely aware that he probably should be more concerned by Riddle’s actions than he actually was. “Honestly, just wait for a few more months until we’re out of Hogwarts before killing me!”

Riddle huffed, and Harry was pretty sure that the other boy was also suppressing a smile. “The stairs are warded,” Riddle shrugged, appearing disappointed. “You won’t die, you’ll just break some bones, and that’s if I get lucky.”

Harry waved the bottle before him, “I’ll take the bottle with me!”

With a flick of his wrist, Riddle summoned the bottle to his hands and grinned evilly. Harry dashed up the stairs, laughing madly, only on the third attempt succeeding in summoning the bottle back.

With a cold glass against his palm, Harry abruptly stopped, balancing dangerously on the stone steps. “Wait, dungeons are that way,” he pointed down the stairs, where Riddle had stopped running too and raised a questioning brow, walking up to Harry.

“And the Gryffindor tower is that way,” Riddle pointed to the right, very much not in the direction of the stairs they were taking either. 

Harry frowned, looking in that direction in slow contemplation. “Pomfrey said we should go to the dormitories.”

“She also told us not to drink,” Riddle added, coming to the stop beside Harry. He casually took the firewhisky from Harry’s hands and took a pointed swig from it.

Harry hummed, the haze of the calming draught — or the firewhisky, who even knew at this point — finally overtaking his already very hesitant concerned thoughts. He eyed Riddle suspiciously, who was standing way too close for Harry’s comfort. “If you send me to the Hospital with broken bones, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of the year there as well.”

Riddle shrugged, unbothered, “Fine, I won’t.” He took another gulp from the bottle before passing it to Harry.

Harry took it with narrowed eyes, then took a sip too. “So, about the basilisk.”

“I wasn’t talking about the basilisk,” Riddle rolled his eyes and continued to climb the stairs.

Harry joined him, taking another sip. “You went to the Chamber, right? I’m sure you did.”

“I didn’t. Unlike you, I actually have some sense of self-preservation, Potter.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry passed the bottle to Riddle. “So how big is the basilisk? Is it really a thousand years old? Was it really Slytherin’s pet? Does it still remember him?”

“Potter, I told you,” Riddle sighed in exasperation. “I wouldn’t go into the abandoned chamber with a murderous creature known to hunt students.”

Harry couldn’t hold a snort at this, and accepted the bottle from Riddle’s hands. “Yeah, sure. You’ll just go ssshhpspsss and it won’t hurt you.”

Riddle winced, “Don’t do that.”

“What, did I say something offensive?” Harry looked over at him curiously.

“No, you just look stupid.”

“Since when do you care how I look?” They finally reached the seventh floor and turned to walk down the dimly-lit corridor, the bottle now freely moving between their hands. “Anyway, you must help me to put the Chamber on the Map.”

“What?” Riddle spluttered. “No! Why would I?”

“Because you owe me?” Harry guessed.

“For what?”

“For something?” Riddle continued to look at him incredulously. Harry shrugged, “For this pretend relationship? You said I can use it.”

“I said you could have,” Riddle corrected him with a glare. “Too late for that already, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry sighed, disappointed. “We broke up. I forgot.”

“Oh no, let’s call things by their name,” Riddle continued to glare at him. “We didn’t ‘break up’, you betrayed our deal and ditched me for a Weasley.”

“She’s nice!” Harry objected. “Much nicer than you.”

“You have a terrible taste in partners, Potter.”

Harry shrugged, “As long as it’s not you.”

Upon reaching the painting with the dancing trolls whose drug dealer Harry really wanted to know, he turned around — and unexpectedly crashed into Riddle.

“What are you doing?” Harry frowned at the other boy standing chest to nose.

“Summoning the Room, obviously,” Riddle looked down at him with raised eyebrows, the bottle of firewhisky swinging dangerously in his hands.

“Well, don’t!” Harry took the bottle and continued to walk forward. “I’m already doing this.”

Harry could almost hear Riddle roll his eyes. “You’ll summon something hideous.”

“And you’ll summon something gloomy!” Harry turned around and levelled Riddle with annoyed glare, who continued to walk beside the painting despite it. “I don’t want gloomy, Riddle, I want something fun and colourful!”

Riddle wrinkled his nose, grabbing the bottle from Harry and rudely sidestepping him. “As I said, hideous.” 

Harry lost count how many times they passed by the painting, occasionally bumping into each other and letting the bottle switch their hands, but eventually the ornate door with uncharacteristic hesitance appeared on the opposite wall. Riddle happened to be closer to it and opened it first, passing the firewhisky to Harry in order to free his hands. 

The Room was a mismatched mess of Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, vibrant red and sombre green clashing terribly in the mockery of the late overdue Christmas decoration. Harry and Riddle looked at each other sceptically, before shrugging, “Good enough.”

And they staggered inside and let the door close behind them.