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“Are you nervous?” Ron asks.
The entire Great Hall was buzzing with excitement.
Anytime this week they were going to choose the Triwizard champions from each school.
“We don’t even know if I’m going to be picked.” Harry says, gnawing on his lips, wondering what he was thinking when he entered his name on the goblet.
“Ah, but you’re good as in,” Ron says chewing on some bread loudly. “I mean, who else is your competition? Fred and George? That Malfoy brat?”
Harry can’t even eat. Even though the Weasley twins were half-serious when they put their names in, Harry knew that they were magically strong. It was because they pulled pranks that made them were powerful—unpredictable, with mindsets that could not easily weaken. The goblet could choose one of them.
And Draco Malfoy, though snobbish and arrogant, had a right to be both, because at the end of the day, he really was talented and smart. No one could deny that underneath those sneers and “My father” threats, Draco Malfoy was gifted.
And Harry, well, Harry was Harry. Why he let Ron talk him into competing, he had no idea.
Headmaster Dippet taps his glass and everyone falls silent. He introduces Beauxbatons and Drumstrang formally. It’s the parade that gets everybody chattering in anticipation. Both schools were expected to perform and indulge in exhibitions.
The Beauxbaton girls and boys came first. They danced in synchronization, chasse-ing gracefully as the move across the hall. They were all feminine grace and noble airs.
The Durmstrang students were next. Immediately, Harry’s hands go to his hair, fixing it involuntarily, heart pounding, very aware of the fact that in the sea of those students was him.
They’ve only seen each other once before, when Harry entered his name on the goblet.
He was there too.
The Drumstrang student entered his name without so much of a word, face emotionless, his eyes meeting with Harry as Harry stands stunned from how much power he could feel from the man. He was undeniably handsome too, and so tall that his shadow loomed over Harry, momentarily blocking the sun.
The doors open again, Harry feels his heart beat fast.
The Drumstrang students are led by their Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, and sure enough, on the headmaster’s right was him.
Harry stares, wide-eyed, as the tall boy walks beside the headmaster, performing a series of exhibitions with expensive-looking canes. They were all in synch, masculine and powerful. But Harry’s Durmstrang boy is on an entirely different level—he looked lethal, dangerous as he spun the cane effortlessly with his hands.
Already, Harry could hear the excited whispers around him.
“Who is that?”
“Merlin, his face…”
“Bloody hell…”
Harry swallows, unable to take his eyes off from him. The black uniform showed off the strength in his muscles, the broadness of his shoulders, and the length of his entire person.
Then to Harry’s disbelief, it happens again. The man turns his head in his direction. Their eyes meet for a brief second.
Then the man looks away as though nothing happened.
Harry finds he’s been holding this breath.
Harry knew it was a hopeless crush.
The Durmstrang students were just visiting and then it’d be over. They were going to announce the champions now so that’s just two months of suffering.
But Harry also didn’t know why he was stressing over this, when nothing was obviously going to happen.
Harry consoled himself thinking that he wasn’t obviously the one who developed an attraction towards the man. It wasn’t even Valentines yet and the man has been receiving some trinkets on his usual place at the Slytherin table. It was no surprise to Harry that he and his friends chose to sit there. He looked like he entirely belonged, already getting some awed looks from the Slytherin students, all intrigued.
That was it. It was just a simple, schoolboy crush.
He wasn’t going to do anything about it and Harry was sure it was just going to end the moment Durmstrang student left.
He just had to endure it for a few months.
He could always avoid the man, Harry said to himself.
“Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons!” Harry claps absent-mindedly, thinking that it wasn’t like they were going to see each other during Harry’s classes or anything like that.
Then it was announced that Tom Riddle was the Durmstrang champion.
And it would have been fine, if Headmaster Dippet didn't say that Harry Potter was the Hogwarts champion.
The three Champions have been chosen.
Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons, a goddess on earth, graceful and tall. She stands proud and obviously French, beautiful in her blue uniform.
Tom Riddle from Drumstrang, darkly handsome, oozing with power, towering over his two competitors, face unreadable.
And Harry Potter, small and child-like, a faerie—all big green eyes and big smiles, waving at his schoolmates rather enthusiastically, hoping that no one noticed the very apparent blush on his cheeks.
Harry tried to breathe normally for the first task. He wasn’t hyperventilating no matter what Ron told him. He was fine. And would have been more fine, if the Durmstrang champion wasn’t just lounging lazily in the champion’s tent. The man looked completely unbothered.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ron hisses quietly to Harry. “Is he even human?”
“What if I throw up?” Harry already felt like he was going to puke. Ron looks at him pityingly.
“Dragons,” Ron says, preparing to comfort Harry. “Are just dragons.” Harry looks at him unbelievingly. “But you’re Harry Potter.” Ron winks and at him and Harry can’t help but laugh.
Tom Riddle is called first.
Harry doesn’t know what to expect but finds that his wandwork is just as sophisticated as he is. He assesses the situation, makes the dragon fall asleep before it knows he’s there, gets the egg, and the task is over in just a few minutes. At the end of it, the Durmstrang champion wasn’t even out of breath, wasn’t even sweating. He finishes with a formal bow and walk out to a deafening cheer.
Harry gulps as he is called next, remembering all the training his father put him through during summer vacation.
His style wasn’t the same as Tom Riddle’s, but it was his.
There must have been a reason why the goblet picked him as the Hogwarts champion.
Ron excitedly sits beside his sister Ginny, waiting for Harry’s turn.
“He’s beat the dragon in just seven minutes!” Ginny exclaims as the Dursmtrang champion bows. He was incredibly tall and handsome. Ron could already see the hearts that were starting to form in his sister’s eyes. “Is he even human?!”
“Shh!” Ron shushes her. “Harry is next!”
The Hogwarts champion walks into the pit, the roar from the Hogwarts students pumps him up and he raises his fist in the air in acknowledgement. The crowd goes wild.
Ron couldn’t help but grin. The first champion and Harry couldn’t have been more different. Where Tom Riddle was formal and did things clean and fast, Harry was…
“Burn me if you can!” Harry taunts the dragon playfully.
Harry was flashy. Harry knew how to entertain. Even though Ron knew that Harry was powerful enough to defeat the dragon right away in the many spells he knew, Harry liked to put on a show. It was one of the things that made Harry largely liked by everyone at Hogwarts. He was playful and moved lightly on his feet—running, flying, and sending quick little spells that made him look like faerie teasing its prey while the dragon was trailing him furiously.
This was Harry—the instant he was in the moment, it was over. He was made for a crowd, Ron knew. Harry often had some doubts about himself but Ron knew it was because his friend had incredibly high standards. Especially when it came to dueling spells. It was probably a Potter thing, and if it was, then the Potter came out full force. It’s as if Harry forgets all his inhibitions and simply lets go.
The effect is breathtaking.
This was why Ron wanted Harry to join. This was why everyone who knew Ron all told him to convince Harry to join. Harry wasn’t just talented, Harry had a gift for flair that no one could hope to compete with.
Ron nods his head. Harry was grinning—which meant that the finishing blow was coming—he must have something big up his sleeve.
He sends a big firework up in the air that transforms into a giant version of his face, winking at the crowd. Then it focuses on the dragon, the dragon angrily breathing fire into Harry’s humongous face who just laughed and opened its mouth to swallow the dragon whole. The dragon twists and turns, fighting it—but the spell Harry uses is powerful and traps him inside a ball of firework. When it explodes, its not fire, but surprisingly water. Torrents and tons of water splashing and dancing around like a fountain show. The dragon falls to the floor, drenched, and passed out.
Harry raises his fist in the air as the water fountains become more colorful above him, like a muggle rockstar. Then he runs towards the dragon’s egg, each step matching the explosions, grinning, he lifts up the egg in the air as both firework and waterworks explode above him.
It was a noisy, colorful event that had everybody up in their feet cheering and clapping as loud as they could.
Harry doesn’t even bow, he just grins at the crown mischievously, breathing heavily—like a child who just finished playing his favorite game.
The crowd was still cheering even as Harry disappeared into the champion’s tent.
Harry enters the champion’s tent and immediately, his eyes seek the Durmstrang champion’s. Did he see? What did he think of Harry? He sees the champion silently reading a book, as if he was in a library, and was not in the most celebrated tournaments in the wizarding world.
Harry slumps and shakes his head.
This was good.
He could feel the disappointment in his chest but wasn’t that what he wanted? To make the crush go away. And if the crush didn’t care, then good.
Ron and Ginny appear out of nowhere and hug him, congratulating him and kissing him. Harry laughs, suddenly forgetting the negative feelings he had.
He really did have the best time of his life out there, can’t believe that he fought a dragon all by himself.
He still didn’t know how he’d place but that didn’t matter.
It was fun.
Harry forgets about Tom Riddle and his dark blue eyes as he prepares for the second task. Researching, practicing, and demanding training from Snape even though the Slytherin head was giving him a hard time. It was fine. That’s why Harry liked him anyway. He never went easy on Harry.
There was also the matter of his Quidditch team. He didn’t let his team rest just because he was the Hogwarts champion. They still trained at 6 am everyday, rain or shine.
Harry was dead tired this morning. Quidditch practice ran a little late and breakfast was almost over. Still, a few bites of bread would keep his energy up in the classes.
He yawns and tiredly makes his way into the Great Hall… until he realizes that Tom Riddle was walking in his direction. Everything he forgot he suddenly remembered full force. How handsome the man was, how incredibly hot he looked when he walked.
Harry gulps.
They were going to pass by each other and there was no way out.
They never really had the chance to interact before.
Harry wonders if he should greet the man or ignore him. Would that be weird? Harry feels his brain melt as the Durmstrang champion was getting closer and closer. Harry had to decide now, but he was blushing so hard he could hardly form a word—
“Good morning, Mr. Potter.” The man greets him, bowing formally.
“Hi,” Harry says breathlessly, unable to fathom how perfectly put together one could look so early in the morning—hair coiffed, uniform unwrinkled, face fresh like slept he like a baby the night before though they almost died in the first task.
Harry starts playing with his clothes nervously, suddenly mute for the first time in his life. What could he say? Should he just walk away? But Tom stopped. The man stopped and he wasn’t moving. What could he—“Uhm, h-how are you?” Harry asks in panic, mentally curses himself at his own words. Way to go Harry.
“Better than I thought I’d be.” Tom says and the unthinkable happens—Tom smirks. Harry’s heart stops. “The tournament certainly brought about some unexpected surprises.”
Harry laughs. “You tell me,” Harry thinks about him barely surviving the first task, the dragon hot on his trail. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself, though.”
“Oh, Mister Potter,” Tom chuckles lowly, making the hairs on Harry’s skin rise. “You have no idea.”
“That’s good to hear.” Harry grins.
“How about you?” Tom’s eyes were entirely focused on him. Harry wonders if the man can tell that he wasn’t breathing. “Are you enjoying the tournament?"
“Yes,” Harry hopes it wasn’t too obvious what he was thinking. Tom was magnificent in the task, Harry unable to keep his eyes from him. “I’m enjoying you very much.” Harry keeps his eyes on Tom. And then he blinks. What did he just say? “I mean—it—I’m enjoying it—the tournament—“
“That’s good to hear,” Tom remarks casually, smirk never leaving his lips, looking thoroughly amused. Harry feels his entire face heat up. Gryffindors really were known for the color red. “May the best champion win, Mister Potter.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Harry knew that he was in trouble.
While reading something for the second task, he kept daydreaming about Tom Riddle’s voice which he realized he never heard before. Harry looks blankly at a space in front of him.
“Harry!” Ginny scolds. “Focus!”
“W-what?” Harry totally forgot what they were talking about.
Ginny rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you died in the next task.”
If Tom decided to talk to him again in the second task, Harry wouldn’t be surprised too.
Harry misses Tom by one point.
And it was only because when Harry rescued Ron underwater, Tom had looked at him before untying his own friend.
It wasn’t even a long look.
To be honest, Tom just happened to look in his direction.
But it was enough to make Harry freeze.
Tom looked like an underwater god. His hair gently swaying in the water, face like marble stone, and it didn’t look like the water was giving him hard time, though Harry was was fighting hard against the current. Tom floated and moved gracefully, like he had just as much influence here as much on land.
When Harry came to his senses, he rescued Ron and swam as fast as he could to the surface, blasting the sirens loudly as he could, unable to resist making a spectacle of himself even underwater.
Well, Harry didn’t die.
He made a mental note to tell that to Ginny the moment he resurfaced.
Harry was a blushing, stuttering mess—completely unable to say anything sensible when Tom was around.
Fleur had cornered the two of them, engaging them both in coversation, and Harry stood there, the shortest one of the three, and saw just how the two of them looked so good together.
Both eloquent, tall, and beautiful—Harry felt out of place.
“Don’t you think so, Harry?” Fleur asked him. They were both looking at him, looking like higher beings, literally and figuratively.
Harry blinked.
“Y-yes?”
They laughed at him. Fleur’s laugh was high and light, Tom’s low and heavy.
Fleur lifted one hand up and pinched him in the cheek. “You are so cute, Harry,” she pats his cheek and walk away.
Harry blushed even harder. Tom was looking at him, eyes amused.
“What?” Harry burst out. He crossed his arms. “Do you think I’m cute too?”
The man’s amusement vanishes, and there’s a sudden coldness in his eyes that made Harry regret his words.
“Mr. Potter,” the man bows and leaves.
The man definitely didn’t like him.
Yule Ball came and Harry said yes right away when Cedric Diggory asked him to be his date. The boy was cute, and was perfect for making him forget his unrequited crush.
Everything was going swimmingly too until Tom Riddle, once again, passed him as he made his way into the Great Hall.
“Mr. Potter,” the man greets, bowing formally. It was really attractive when he did that. Harry wondered if that same control and respect for etiquette extended in other places. Like the bedroom. Harry shook his head. He had a date now. A very hot Hufflepuff date. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, Tom,” Harry greets and makes a small bow. The man doesn’t talk. But he doesn’t make a move to leave either. He was just looking at Harry. “Uhm… the Yule Ball’s coming up.” He says awkwardly, trying to make conversation.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Well… yes, uhm,” Harry fixes his eyeglasses. “So uh, see yo—“
“Do you have a date?” Tom interrupts. Ah, finally. This was where Harry would shine.
“Yes,” he says confidently. “Cedric Diggory, if you know him. He asked me out weeks ago.” Harry dropped his name so Tom would know that yes, a cute boy did have an interest on him and asked him. Harry didn’t have to ask anyone because someone asked him. “Are you going with Fleur?” Harry asks feigning disinterest.
“No,” Tom said. “As a matter of fact, I do not—“
“I’m sure there a lot of other beautiful people have already lined up to be your date,” Harry says cheerfully. Tom doesn’t answer him again.
And then says, abruptly, “Goodbye, Mister Potter.”
Harry skips to the Great Hall merrily, thinking he pulled fast one on the one and only Tom Riddle.
It shouldn’t have mattered but Astoria Greengrass looked twice as expensive as she usually did in Tom Riddle’s arms.
She was glowing too, no doubt with pride that she was the Tom Riddle’s date.
Harry focused on his own date who looked adorable in Hufflepuff colors, he’d been a gentleman all night, making sure Harry was comfortable and hydrated, bringing him drinks and helping him mingle around. The thing about Cedric was, he was really easy to talk to. Harry wasn’t surprised that he knew everyone Harry knew.
And he was a good dancer, playful and bit modern which was exactly Harry’s style. He spent the whole evening laughing with him. Ron and Ginny close to them with their own dates.
Harry almost forgot about Tom Riddle.
Until he asked Harry to dance.
Tom… was formal even in dancing, leading Harry into a waltz. His hand was exactly where it should be, their distance proper, exact even, and graceful, his long legs making Harry extend his own as far as he could just to keep up. Still Harry couldn’t help the blush that developed at his face, nervously waiting for the moment when he would accidentally step on the man’s feet. Harry refused to look at him, too shy to see what the man thought of his very red face.
“You are enjoying your evening?” Tom suddenly asks.
“Yes,” Harry whispers.
And they fall into an awkward silence once more, like they always seem to do.
The song ended and they bow toward each other.
Harry was about to leave when the man stops him. Harry stands as Tom slowly takes his hand and places a chaste kiss on his knuckles.
Harry didn’t know how he managed not to faint.
The third task was dangerous.
Harry had been nervously gnawing at his lips since he woke up, even Ron couldn’t calm him down. He barely ate, barely slept, wondering about all the horrid things he might face in the forbidden forest.
Harry didn’t like the darkness.
Harry didn’t like battling potentially dangerous magical creatures in the darkness. He had a bad feeling about this. Even Fleur looked worried. Only Tom looked as he always did—unfazed.
They were to enter the forest by highest point to find the Triwizard Cup. Whoever holds it first would be declared champion. Tom went in first, and then Harry, and then Fleur.
The moment Harry stepped inside, he froze, shaking. The air was sinister with threat of magic Harry has never encountered in his life. He was suddenly reminded of why he didn’t want to enter in the first place.
“Lumos,” he whispers, thankful that his magic heard and obeyed him even in his panicked state.
Harry wills himself to move forward, shakily placing one foot in front of the other, casting a silencing spell on them, hoping he didn’t attract any attention.
He stopped, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He was already here. He might as well do his best.
And so he ran, thinking of all the spells and the clues that could point him to where the trophy was. He fell more times that he could count, the panic making him unsure, barely able to register the gashes in his arms and legs that were starting to bleed.
He didn’t even notice that a centaur was trailing him.
“You trespass on our sacred grounds,” the centaur says loudly. Harry stops running and turn around, only to find an arrow pointed at square at his chest. Centaurs. Centaurs. Harry knew there was a spell to send centaurs away but he couldn’t remember. Right at the most pivotal moment, he couldn’t remember. Why did he have such bad luck? Of all the places he could run into, why did his feet manage to get himself into a centaurs’ sacred place? He was trembling so heart and felt his heart beat against his chest in fear. “Perhaps I will make sacrifice out of you, little human.”
Harry lifts his wand, still not remembering the spell, but he had to try… anything. Any spell would do. He opened his mouth but nothing would come out. Not a sound. Harry almost cried. Why couldn’t he move?
The centaur was moving slowly towards him now, just a few more steps and he’d—
“Pirithous!” Someone shouts. The centaur neighs, standing on its hind legs ready to defend itself. It runs, fast, away from Harry.
Harry falls to his knees.
“Harry, Harry,” The insistent voice made him look up. It was Tom. He scooted down towards Harry, and even in Harry’s state, all he could think of was how Tom managed to make the movement look elegant, when it was such a crude thing to do. “Are you alright?” His voice sounded genuinely worried, and Harry wondered if it was all part of the forbidden forest’s unknown wonders. Was he actually hallucinating? “You’re freezing,” The Tom hallucination says, placing a hand on his forehead. “Tell me when it gets too warm."
Harry nods, enjoying the hallucination far too much to really try and shake it off. And then he felt as though he was being burned alive. “Ow!” He says and instantly knows that this Tom is no illusion and the he was very much real.
And he just saved Harry.
And was also wasting precious competition time trying to heat Harry up.
Harry was suddenly very aware of the situation.
“I—Tom—You didn’t have to save me.” Harry says desperately.
Tom meets his eyes, eyebrow high up in the air, face smooth and unreadable. “I didn’t have to save you.” He repeats in confirmation then starts to chant spells to heal some of his more minor cuts.
“Wh—why did you then?” Harry asks. He could have gotten rid of Harry, his biggest competitor.
“I thought it was obvious.” Tom says, voice low.
“Obvious?” Harry whispers. Nothing was ever obvious with Tom Riddle. He was all formality.
Tom doesn’t respond and instead carries Harry far from the centaur’s grounds. Harry was too weak to even protest and he was secretly enjoying the physical contact.
It wasn’t until Harry saw something shiny that he realized where they were going.
It was the trophy.
The Triwizard Cup.
Harry’s eyes widened.
“Hold on just a little more, Harry.” he hears the Durmstrang champion say. Harry realizes that the man was about to touch the cup. That meant they were going to be transported right into the Hogwarts grounds with thousands of people watching and he was in Tom’s arms like a newly-wed bride. Harry squirms and tries to get out of Tom’s hold but the man was strong.
Harry’s last thought, as he was being whisked away by the portkey, was that Tom, for the first time since he met him, called Harry by his first name.
It sounded right in his lips.
The guests were about to leave, they were loading the trunks into Durmstrang’s boats and Beauxbaton’s carriages. It was a whirlwind of students saying goodbye to each other and promising to write.
Harry had talked to a few who congratulated him on almost winning.
Harry felt happy that it was finally ending, that he wasn’t going to see Tom again. He was still so embarrassed about what happened. He was only thankful that no one teased him about that incident. People were more worried about his health more than anything.
Still, it was time to crush the hope in his heart especially since the man was leaving.
They weren’t going to see each other again.
“Mr. Potter.”
Harry almost laughs. Fate was cruel.
“Hi, Tom,” he says, trying to memorize his face despite wanting to forget it. “Thank you for saving me.”
“It is no problem.” Tom says.
And there it was again.
There’s a silence that’s always present between the two of them. Harry was the kind of person who always knew what to say, a compliment here, a question there… but with Tom it felt like all of those were wrong. Unnatural. So they just looked at each other.
“Forgive me, Mr. Potter. If I may be so bold—” the Champion suddenly says. “I hope it is not too forward but I must ask something of you."
“Wh-what?” Harry asks, suddenly nervous.
“I would like to ask if you would grant me your permission to write to you.” The Triwizard Champion says. Harry almost laughed until he saw that Tom’s faces was entirely clear of mirth.
Harry realized he was serious.
The man was asking if he could write to Harry.
“I—Of course.” Harry finds himself saying, not daring to mock the man for something he felt was important to him. “You can write as much as you want, Mr. Riddle.” An impish grin that only shows itself at the battlefield fills Harry’s face, “I’ll write back.”
And then, as if Tom being simply Tom wasn’t enough, the man smiles at Harry. And Harry, once again, freezes—feeling his pulse rise higher than when he was in danger in the forbidden forest.
“I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Potter.” Tom says and then he bows.
Harry watches as the man walks away.
Harry grins, feeling ridiculously giddy.
Maybe his crush wasn’t so hopeless after all.