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Harry Potter grew up with everything anyone could ever ask for.

His mother was the brightest witch of her age and his father was an outstanding auror. He was an only child, set to inherit from one of the wealthiest families in the wizarding world. His family was complete and his life was comfortable.

It was not uncommon to hear his parents say how remarkably bright he was as as he grew up. By age one, he could walk on his own. By age two, he could say a complete sentence. By age three, he could perform simple spells. By age four, he was already training for Quidditch.

All the while his parents clapped and their relatives congratulated them for having such a gifted child. Harry liked that—gifted. It sounded pretty in his ears and sweet on his tongue.

He grew up confident and amassed a set of skills too advanced for someone his age.

By the time Harry started his formal magic education at Hogwarts, Harry breezed through the subjects and naturally came out on top. Harry good-naturedly laughed it off and thanked his mother for her exceptional brains and his father for supporting him in everything he did.

All was well until a certain muggleborn appeared.

His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle and he was already twelve when he was admitted. He still had had to finish a scholarship in his muggle school before he proceeded to Hogwarts. What a scholarship was, Harry did not know. It did not sound important. And it didn’t particularly concern him, they weren’t on the same year. So he went on his way to charm his teachers and excel in his studies. 

Years later, the muggleborn entered their classroom. He was lost, Harry thought. It was a fifth year’s class.

“What is he doing here?”

“Isn’t he a fourth year?”

The Slytherin, whose face was quite serious, sat down into one of the empty chairs and didn’t seem to notice that he was in the wrong room. He did not glance at any of them and did not talk to any of them. He quietly waited for the class to begin.

“Ah, good morning, class,” Professor McGonagall said. “As you may have noticed Tom Riddle here is joining us. He’s been accelerated and transferred to your year.”

What?

Accelerated? Harry snorted. That hasn’t happened since a Ravenclaw did it two hundred years ago. That couldn’t be possible unless he was—“Didn’t he win worldwide competitions at his muggle school?”

And when Professor McGonagall asked a particularly hard question that day, there was not one but two hands up in the air.

Harry found out, during lunch, that Tom Riddle was what people called a prodigy.

Harry has never been called a prodigy.

It would have been fine but by the end of the school, it was not Harry’s name that was on top of the school board but Tom Marvolo Riddle’s—the muggleborn who did not even know anything about magic until he set foot in Hogwarts.

Something bubbled in Harry’s chest.

It was jealousy—but he did not know that until Ron, one of his most avid admirers, did not congratulate him but was animatedly talking to the Slytherin instead. And something… something else that he did not quite understand. It blossomed at his chest and settled in his stomach.

Tom turns and their eyes meet. Harry stands frozen.

“Mr. Potter,” the Slytherin says coolly and he bows. “Congratulations.”

A mockery. Harry nods in acknowledgement. “Mr. Riddle.” He bows back. “I should be the one to congratulate you.”

That summer, for the first time in his life, Harry opened a book to study in advance.

Their sixth year, Harry once again found out that the gap between him and Tom was more than academics.

Muggle Studies—no one took it seriously. It was Muggle Studies. No one planned to live in the muggle world when they were already in the wizarding world. And muggleborns did not even need to take the subject because they already knew the material inside out.

But Tom Marvolo Riddle was there. As if he just wanted a subject where he could get a certified high grade effortlessly. The professor pulled out a violin and asked the whole class who could name it. That was easy, Harry raised his hand in the air and with all the confidence of having a muggleborn mother said—

“A cello, sir.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mr. Potter.”

“It’s a violin,” Tom says easily from three seats away.

“Very good, Mr. Riddle,” The professor nods his head approvingly. “This muggle object is used to create a beautiful sound if played properly. It’s a pity no one here can play—“

Riddle’s hand shoots in the air. What follows next is everyone’s mouth hanging open as Riddle holds a concierto in the Muggle Studies Classroom.

“He can play what?”

“He can play the violin, the piano, the drums, and the guitar.” Hermione explains as a-matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you know? Music was his secondary scholarship in his muggle school.”

Harry makes a mental note to tell his mother that he wants to learn some wizard musical instruments.

As a members of the Slug Club, they were often invited to parties.

This parties were attended by different influential people and bright young students from different parts of the globe.

Harry had wordlessly handed Tom an Italian For Beginners book to save him from the embarrassment. He was an orphan, Harry thought sadly. He didn’t have parents to teach him languages and to take him abroad. Tom has been reading it a while now.

“Buona sera,” Someone greets Tom. The Slytherin smiles. It’s the first time Harry sees him do so. “Mi chiamo Noel.”

Harry steps in.

“Bu—“

“Buona sera Noel.” Tom suddenly says in perfect pronunciation. “Piacere. Mi chiamo Tom.”

The rest that follows is Tom conversing as though he has known the language all his life. Harry steps back, unable to speak when he was fluent in it too, not quite understanding how Tom was talking to a native Italian like he was one himself.

A French student from Beauxbatons approaches them.

Harry really steps forward this time, because he absolutely did not give Tom any French books.

But before Harry could open his mouth, Tom has already said three sentences in perfect French, smiling all the while and not the least bit looking like he needed help.

When the foreign students turned towards him, he was too surprised to talk. And Tom had, in a very smooth way, turned their attentions back to him.

“He knows four languages,” Hermione informs him the next day as a matter-of-factly. “That’s only counting the ones he says he’s fluent in. He knows more but claims its just the basics—it’s not. He’s very proficient in them. He learned them while competing internationally for his music.”

Harry writes to his father that they should travel more.

Tom Riddle… was popular.

Harry saw, through his own stack, that Tom’s usual seat at the Great Hall was piling up with chocolates and gifts. He thanked them all with a polite nod and a thank you.

Harry wouldn’t be the only one to notice him, of course. He has grown even taller over the summer of fifth year. His face was no more defined, showing off his aristocratic cheekbones and his sharp jawline. He let his hair grow longer as well, letting the curls fall elegantly on his forehead. And there was something now in the way he moved—an overwhelming masculinity where there was only quiet confidence.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Tom would be this popular. No one can be so blatantly perfect and not have anyone else notice.

And then as if Tom feels the weight of his stare, his eyes meet Harry’s. In all the times he’s seen Tom, Harry realizes he doesn’t even know what color his eyes were. It’s a while before Harry looks away.

The feeling he’s felt back when Tom first beat him in their fifth comes back. His stomach feels weak. His cheeks burn and he feels hot. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione asks.

Harry shakes his head. “No,” The tingle in his stomach still won’t go away. “It must be something I’ve eaten.”

Quidditch was one thing no one could take away from Harry.

It wasn’t exactly difficult to excel in athletics if one had the temperament. And well, Harry did have the temperament. And he had the natural gift for it too. Athletics was something he inherited from the Potter bloodline. His father was an extraordinary Quidditch player and never slacked in training Harry, even hiring professionals to train Harry.

It all paid off as Harry was given the Seeker position in his first year. He was the youngest Seeker for a hundred years and he has never had any real competition. In fact, he was not always operating on his best as it would be unfair for all the other players.

It came as a surprise when Regulus Black, the star Slytherin chaser, got injured, making him unable to play in the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin finals match. And it was even more of a surprise that Tom Riddle was replacing him.

The warm ups start and Harry can’t help himself. If this was going the way he thought this was going… He tapped Riddle on the shoulder with more force than necessary.

“Hey,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Replacing Black, huh? That’s a bold move for someone I’ve never seen on a broom before.”

It has never crossed Harry’s mind that Tom Riddle was ridiculously attractive. He always knew, of course. He didn’t care but to see it up so close… The Slytherin’s impossibly handsome face becomes even more so as he smirks.

Harry realizes its the first time he’s ever talked to the man beyond polite greetings. Harry realizes that Tom's eyes were dark blue. A very dark blue that was almost black. He felt as though he sounded like a spoiled heir. Harry reminds himself that Tom was an orphan. And though he was annoyingly excellent at everything he did—

“I don’t like to brag,” Tom offers him a charming smile, the same smile that guaranteed Tom’s table was never empty during Valentine’s. “And I won’t.” He shoots the Quaffle right in the goal with nothing but his bare strength. His team mates roar their approval. “I don’t have to.”

He walks away, high five-ing his fellow Slytherins.

Harry has never, in his entire life, met an orphan who was an arrogant as this! Harry may be spoiled but at least—

“It’s different when you’re in a broom, you dolt!” Harry shouts back.

It’s not.

At least not when you’re Tom Marvolo fucking Riddle.

Tom Riddle easily dominates the entire game.

Slytherins win by fifty points.

Exams were coming up.

“You aren’t coming to the library with us, Harry?” Hermione and Ron wait for him expectantly. Tom was quietly returning his books in his bag, Lucius Malfoy surprisingly waiting for him.

“Oh, I’ll just go directly to sleep.” He says loudly.

“You won’t study?” Hermione asks in surprise. “I thought you wanted to place number on—“

Harry yawns louder than necessary. “No,” Harry says. “I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep.”

It was a lie. Harry slaved away in his room, day and night, barely even sleeping and eating, not allowing a muggleborn who has only discovered magic to beat him at something even the brilliant Hermione Granger couldn’t.

He’d even tried to coax his mother into giving him some spells to keep him awake at night.

He didn’t get a wink of sleep. He looked towards the Slytherin table and found that the Slytherin looked as he always did.

He was smiling at something Pansy Parkinson said and didn’t look the least like he was up all night studying like Harry. His hair was perfectly coiffed and his uniform, was always, perfectly pressed.

He probably used some glamour spells to make him look so suspiciously perfect.

Harry smoothens his uniform and runs a hand through his inimitable—he liked to believe—sex hair.

Because Harry certainly did.

Harry clenches his fist. After everything he’s done, it still wasn’t enough.

Tom Marvolo Riddle’s name shines bright in first place.

The man is right in front of him. He doesn’t even smile or acknowledge his victory. Only looks long enough to see and walks away to his classmates’ congratulations.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, a light touch on his arm, concerned.

“Of course,” Harry puts his hands at his pockets, turning away. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tom Riddle was born with nothing.

He was an orphan in an orphanage with no parents to take care of him. His meals were cold porridge and tap water. His clothes always secondhand, thirdhand even. Maybe more.

He didn’t care.

He swore that when he became of legal age, he would work hard to make himself live comfortably.

What he couldn’t stand was the way people treated him. Tom watched as other kids got adopted. They were happy kids. Tom has never been happy. Most couples would be see him and interested at the idea of adopting him until they found out what he was. Weird, they said. That child is weird.

He didn’t need parents. He didn’t need anyone.

All orphans were required to go to public school. This was where Tom’s life changed. He discovered that he was… well, he learned fast. Faster than the other kids. Faster than all the other kids. When they taught him something, he could grasp it easily, remember things from a book with only one look, and recite something in perfect memory if he tried.

Tom was offered a scholarship.

That was when he noticed that people no longer stared at him like they did—in fear and disgust… but with admiration and respect.

He was unstoppable.

By the time they transferred him into a private school, he discovered he had a talent for music as well. He greedily learned everything that he could knowing that these too would wipe that stupid smirks from the rich kids ridiculing him.

He was given more scholarship grants. He was tasked to represent his school in international events and if that wasn’t enough, he found out that he was magic.

He was a wizard.

After winning international competitions, he made his way into Hogwarts proudly.

But all that proud feeling vanished when Lucius Malfoy, with his nose turned up in the air, said he didn’t talk to mudbloods. He had said it with so much disdain that Tom had been taken aback.

Even here he wasn’t good enough.

And Tom, as he always did, did what he did best—prove that though he was a mudblood, he was just as good as the lot of them, better even.

Even time had made Lucius see different. They were friends now. And Lucius was loyal to him just as all the other Slytherins were.

Just to prove that he could, Tom even had himself accelerated.

Everything was going well, and he finally gained the admiration and respect that he deserved.

But that all changed when Tom met Harry Potter.

Harry Potter—heir to one of the most prominent families in the wizarding world who walked with the confidence of being secure—in his future, his place in the world, himself. The Gryffindor was effortlessly bright, athletic, and charismatic.

But what was worse was the Gryffindor never smirked at him or looked at him with that disdain heirs always did—that Tom could at least stand. That was easy to deal with. But Harry treated him normally, kindle even. But somehow, even though the Gryffindor did not tease him, Tom felt the need to prove himself.

So he responded to it the way he always did. He poured all his energy into studying, knowing that being the best always did its job. The feeling would soon be gone. He only ever needed to beat the Potter heir.

It was a Muggle Studies class. Tom certainly didn’t have to take it. He was an expert in it. But there was something about the class that intrigued him, how did wizards view muggles? He took the class only for that and as a way to relax for at least an hour.

The professor took out a violin and asked the class what it was. To Tom’s surprise, Harry, with the utmost excitement, raised his hand in the air and said—

“A Cello, sir.”

Tom bit his lip. Obviously having a muggleborn mother didn’t compare to living in the muggle world. Tom decides to save him but when he looked at the heir, he didn’t seem perturbed. In fact, he was just laughing at himself in amusement.

When the professor thought no one could play the violin, Tom raised his hand. He missed playing his instruments. It’s been a while.

He decided to play something simple, something that would calm him, but he saw the Potter heir looking at him with his huge green eyes, curious.

He played the most complicated piece he knew.

Tom knew four languages. His old private school had been strict about these things, raising their students as future leaders of the world. They were often thrown into parties with other foreign students.

The Slug Club meetings were nothing to him so it surprised him, when on his first party, the Gryffindor heir wordlessly handed him an Italian For Beginners book. Tom had been amused and didn’t know why, but pretended to read the book to amuse the Potter heir.

He had half a mind to pretend like as though he wasn’t fluent in the language when someone spoke to him but he saw Harry’s eyes—big, round, and worried.

The feelings from when he first met the Potter heir comes back full force.

He speaks to them as he was trained in his old school.

There was nothing more he hated than being pitied.

Only when Valentine’s Day came around did he realize what those feelings exactly were.

He was thanking all the people who were giving him gifts but he couldn’t stop the itch of looking at the Potter heir. Was he getting gifts and chocolates too? Did he treat any of them special?

Tom frowns as he realizes what it was he was feeling when he saw the pile of gifts on Potter’s table. He wasn’t stupid and he’s always been bright so he recognizes it right away.

But he didn’t, wouldn’t acknowledge it.

It was no good to have those feelings.

Whatever they were.

Regulus was injured.

Tom knew he’d been looking forward to the games, practiced really hard so they could win. And it was precisely why he offered to help. Because Regulus was injured. Nothing else. Especially not because they were fighting against Gryffindor.

He’d been warming up when a particularly forceful tap on his shoulder made him stop.

It was Harry Potter looking adorably flush and angry.

“Hey,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Replacing Black, huh? That’s a bold move for someone I’ve never seen on a broom before.”

It was the first time Tom saw those emotions on the boy and he couldn’t help the smirk that formed at his lips. Was the Potter heir actually shaken at him being here? Was that finally an acknowledgement of Tom’s talents?

“I don’t like to brag,” Tom smiles at him, smug, the same smile that made many witches and wizards blush. “And I won’t.” He shoots the Quaffle right in the goal. His team mates roar their approval. “I don’t have to.”

Tom could almost see the steam coming out of Harry’s ears. Tom walked away before he could laugh.

“It’s different when you’re in a broom, you dolt!” Harry shouts back.

And just for that comment, Tom does everything in his power to make Slytherin win.

Exams were coming up and Tom usually took the time to reread all his notes just in case.

“Oh, I’ll just go directly to sleep.” Tom hears Harry says to his friends.

“You won’t study?” Hermione asks in surprise. “I thought you wanted to place number on—“

The Potter heir yawns. “No,” Harry says. “I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep.”

It was cute that the Potter heir thought Tom did not know what he was doing. His hair was a tad bit shinier than it usually was and his uniform oddly okay-looking when it was usually crinkled by the end of the day. Harry Potter was using glamour charms on himself.

Tom smirked inwardly.

The Gryffindor could certainly try.

But this was Tom’s victory.

He was right.

Harry Potter once again places second.

Tom was taking a walk inside the Hogwarts halls, still feeling smug about once again placing first… when he notices Harry Potter coming towards his direction. He looked deep in thought, not even realizing that they were about to cross paths.

Harry almost jumps when Tom Riddle greeted him.

“Congratulations, Harry,” Tom says good-naturedly, Harry looking up because the man seemed to grow taller every time Harry saw him.

“No, no,” Harry says with a smile he does not mean. “I’ve told you before, it is I who should congratulate you.” There it was again. That feeling in his stomach. Then before he could stop himself—“It must be nice to have everything you want come so easily.”

Tom smiles. “Not everything.”

“Really?” Harry says, years of jealousy suddenly making him angry. “When you’ve beaten me at everything I used to be the best at?”

The Slytherin then looks at Harry with a calculating gaze. Harry crosses his arms, unwilling to back down. Tom’s next words surprise him.

“How else was I supposed to make you notice me?”

“W-What?”

His cheeks burn and he feels incredibly hot. He’s done this before. Witches and wizards have confessed their feelings to him and he had all refused them politely, like his mother taught him. Some average boys and girls who could not even word their love letters properly. A poor sonnet here and a lazily wrapped chocolate there… It was preposterous to think that they had a chance with Harry.

But Tom didn’t even have a poem or a gift.

So why was Harry so flustered? And why couldn’t he say the things he usually said to reject his admirers?

Harry looks at Tom who he’s been secretly jealous of since he entered the same year. Harry felt as if he did not deserve it, when all he did was try and beat the Slytherin, to regain his place as the best.

Tom who made Harry work harder in his life than he ever did before and made him realize that he never even worked hard for anything before.

Suddenly, the blush on his cheeks and the tingle in his stomach made sense.

He wasn’t only jealous of Tom. There was something else more obvious now as he feels his heart beating loudly against his chest.

Tom, this brilliant Slytherin, who even gifted Harry can’t beat no matter what he did.

“I-I-“ Harry looks for the right words to say but Tom interrupts him before he can finish.

The Slytherin gives an amused laugh, low and masculine. “It’s a joke, Harry. Have you never heard of one before?”

Harry’s temper flares. “Is this how you make unsuspecting people fall in love with you, then?”

“Is it working?” The Slytherin smirks.

“No!” Harry says quickly, the denial fast. “Why would I ever like you?”

“Yeah,” The Slytherin says suddenly, a weird look in his eyes. “Why would you?”

Harry stands and its a while before the Slytherin talks again. “See you around, Potter,” he smiles. And then he’s gone.

Harry walks as fast as he could away from Riddle’s direction.

What the hell was that?

Tom walks fast, not a care in the world where he was going as long as he got away as fast as he could from the Potter heir.

What on earth was wrong with him? Why did he say that? Tom had a lot of self-control but one look at the Potter’s annoyed face was all it took to make Tom want to annoy him more. Tom wanted to tease him, couldn’t help it. His high off of having the best scores in the exam made him careless. The words came out before he could even stop himself.

“Why would I ever like you?”

He’s never seen Harry look more disgusted in his life.

Tom was suddenly back in the orphanage.

Weird.

That boy is weird.

Harry was a pureblood heir. He was a Potter. He had everything he ever wanted. He was smart, he was talented, he was charismatic. Why indeed would he ever like Tom?

What was Tom thinking?

He’d never be good enough for someone like Harry.

Harry buries his face into his pillow, red to the tips of his ears, his beating fast, not showing signs of slowing signs even now when he was safe in his room.

“How else was I supposed to make you notice me?”

Harry screams.

He thrashes around his bed. That was so embarrassing! Nobody has ever been so forward with him before! Nobody flirted with him like that! And Harry didn’t know what to say! Especially since it was Tom Riddle! Tom Riddle who, Harry now knows, Harry’s been having feelings for since he met him.

How could he be so stupid. Of course it wasn’t just jealousy. There something in there too. Admiration. A cruel mix of victory and desire.

Harry turns and looks up at the ceiling.

“Why would I ever like you?”

Tom probably thought Harry was a prude who doesn’t know how to flirt. What if there never was an opportunity like this again? Tom had thrown in him a chance and Harry panicked like the idiot that he was.

This was exactly why he couldn’t beat Tom Riddle at anything. Even at flirting. He was a flustered mess.

Harry screams again.

Next time. Next time for sure. In their seventh year.

Tom Riddle was the only remaining living Slytherin heir.

Regulus and Lucius had been suspicious of his parentage from when they discovered that Tom displayed unnatural prowess in everything that he did. No one could be that flawless and come from a purely muggle bloodline.

They had been convincing Tom to take a genealogy test and only at the summer of sixth year did he finally agree.

They were right.

His lineage could be clearly traced back to Salazaar Slytherin and they regarded him now not just with respect but with reverence.

A Founder’s living heir, living and breathing among them.

Tom had sworn to focus on his studies and his extra curricular activities this year. He was graduating soon and even though being a Slytherin heir meant he was getting an inheritance soon, it didn’t mean that he was giving up on his dreams. He wanted to work. Become a professor. A minister. Make his own school.

He had no time for other unnecessary things.

And he especially had no time for Harry Potter.

Harry Potter who, it seemed, was making it his life’s mission to show up wherever Tom was.

He joined more clubs where he didn’t have any at all. He was more involved in everything he did—he became Quidditch captain, a Dueling Club officer, and nearly snagged the Head Boy title off of Tom.

Tom couldn’t avoid him if he wanted to. But he did have some pride. He’d been excessively charming, not giving the Potter heir the satisfaction of showing that he’d been affected in any way.

But Harry was too. In fact, if Tom was being honest with himself, Harry had been… flirting. A lot. A few touches here and there, the giggling, fluttering his eyelashes.

All this after he said, so clearly in Tom’s memory—“Why would I ever like you?”

Tom had never dueled with Harry before. He was always dueling with Hermione Granger and Tom with Regulus or Lucius.

But at the Dueling Club, when their moderator asked them to partner up, the Potter heir tapped him on the shoulder lightly, looking up at him through his long lashes and said, “Partner with me?”

Tom glanced surreptitiously at Lucius and Regulus but the two had already partnered up.

“Are you sure?” Tom offers Harry a charming smile. “You might regret it.”

“Oh, Mister Riddle,” Harry says mischievously. “You might regret it.”

In the end, they couldn’t beat each other. The bell rang signaling the end of club activities and they were no closer to beating each other than when they first started.

They both bowed and before Tom could leave, Harry touched him again, lightly on the shoulder and with a soft voice said, “I enjoyed dueling with you.”

“What can I do to help?” Harry asks kindly.

Tom shuffles the papers, doesn’t even spare the Gryffindor a glance. “You can help Cho review the disciplinary reports.”

“I meant, what can I do to help you?”

Tom didn’t know why Head Boys had to interact with overly familiar prefects. He could do the job alone. But poor attendance on their meeting would also reflect poorly on him.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you, Mr. Potter,” Tom says, finally looking the Potter heir in the eye. He looked enthusiastic. “And I’m sure you have other duties to work on.”

“No, I can—“

“You still haven’t submitted your patrol reports for this week.”

He pouts. “But those aren’t due til—“

“I’d appreciate if you exercised a certain efficiency,” Tom says, attention back on the papers in front of him. “Submitting reports before the deadline would greatly ease my work.”

“O-oh.” Tom didn’t dare look up to see Harry’s reaction. “I’ll do it now, then.”

From then on, Harry submitted his weekly reports earlier than anyone else.

Over the summer, Harry had made good on his promise to learn a wizard musical instrument and to travel with his parents to learn a new language. He had been thinking of ways to make it up to Tom too.

But as he ate Japan’s famous takoyaki, his parents teasing each other in the seats opposite him, it hit him.

“Why would I ever like you?”

He was every bit of the spoiled heir that he sounded like.

Who was he to deny someone like Tom who made something out of himself with his own hands? Who, even as an orphan, overcame his circumstances and carved out a life for himself using his own talents? Who was Harry compared to that? Harry who lived easily all his life. Harry who didn’t have to do anything to get where he was now. Who had professional trainers hired for him by his dad and a brilliant mom who tutored him since he was young.

What right did Harry, who never worked a day in their life, to like Tom Riddle?

He’d decided over the summer to work hard as well.

And then maybe Harry could finally be worthy of the Slytherin.

He joined clubs and even took on leadership roles like Tom did. He wasn’t going to take life as easily anymore. If Tom could balance academics and extracurricular, then Harry could as well. He accepted being the Captain of the Quidditch team, became a Dueling Club officer, and fight tooth and nail against Tom for the Head Boy position.

Tom deserved that much.

Tom deserved that kind of respect.

“Potter,” Tom hisses. “What are you doing?”

Harry blinks at him. “I’m scared of the dark.”

This really was a bad day for Tom. Harry’s partner for the night patrols had gotten sick and everyone else was patrolling the other parts of the castle. He had no choice but to accompany the Gryffindor.

“Use your wand, Potter,” Tom says, almost letting his irritation show. “You’re a wizard.”

Harry shuffles, his hands tightening their embrace on Tom’s arm, his body pressing closer to Tom, His voice was soft when he spoke. “But… But then I won’t have an excuse to hold on to you.”

“Potter,” The venom in Tom’s voice was unmistakeable. “Why on earth are you playing with me?”

“I’m not playing with you.” Harry says again, voice meek. “Isn’t.. Isn’t it obvious what I want?”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear last year.” Tom says coldly.

Harry flinches. “I-I was too shocked that my first reaction was to deny it, I didn’t know it myself—what I felt for you, I mean, and when you—” Harry explains, words coming out of his mouth fast. “I promised myself I’d make it up to you after—after last year and what I said, I’m awful when I’m nervous and you—”

Tom jerks his arm out of Harry’s old. “Are you acting like this because you find out I’m a Slytherin heir?” Tom lashed out, finally saying what has been on his mind since Potter started shamelessly flirting with him. “Is that it? Is it because I’m finally good enough for perfect Potter and his pureblood parents?”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise. “You know I’m not like that!” He says vehemently. “And I’m a half-blood. My mum is muggleborn. And my parents don’t care about any of that.” Harry fumbles again. “I just—I just want—“

But Harry never finished because Tom speaks again.

“You already have everything,” Tom’s voice suddenly soft, resigned. Broken. “Must you have my heart as well?”

“Is that what you really think of me?” Harry says, voice small. “Do you think I’m doing this because of your lineage?" Harry’s eyes glisten. “You really have no idea, do you? You’re the smarter one between the two of us but—I liked you even before. I liked you so much I worked harder than I ever did in my life just so I could come close to you—“

“You’re joking,” Tom says. “That’s what I told you last year. You’re just—“

“And I’m telling you now that I feel the same way,” Harry says, lowering his eyes and blushing. “I just hope you… I hope you feel the same way too.”

Tom doesn’t talk. Harry felt anxiety creeping into his skin. Was Tom going to reject him? Did Tom really think that—

Suddenly, the Slytherin moves. He takes Harry's hands and puts them on his arm, the same way Harry was holding on to him before. He doesn't say anything but they begin to walk, patrolling quietly.

Harry was blushing, thankful that their robes covered their arms, because Harry's hands started sweating from the tension in the air.

Surprisingly, after their patrol, Tom had wordlessly walked the Gryffindor to his common room entrance.

"Th-Thanks," Harry says not quite sure what they were now. Harry turns to open the door but Tom stops him. Tom lifts Harry's chin up slowly, looking right into his green eyes. Harry gulps.

Tom kisses him.

"See you tomorrow, Potter." Tom says, voice dark and deep.

"Y-yeah," Harry says, not quite over what just happened. "See you tomorrow."