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“Sonorus. Rise and shine!”
That was the only warning Harry gave before he cheerily waved his wand from where he was standing on the bleachers. Girls and boys alike screeched out profanities and curses (in perfect sopranos, mind you) as they were dumped with freezing cold water at ass o’clock in the morning. Ginny in particular looked absolutely furious, what with her heavy attire now dragging her petite body down, a single brown eye peering from her damp curtain of hair and glaring at him with a promise of eternal pain. Like a really, really, malicious and evil drowned rat. Harry took that as a signal that yep, it was time for him to run.
“What the fuck, Harry?” yelled Ron, his star Keeper. Well, his only Keeper, really.
“Oh my! Well, that’s no good, how ‘bout you all dry yourself off first?” Harry snickered as he bent the mercilessly cold dawn breeze to blowdry his teammates, except, well, the air made them even colder. Angelina Johnson’s usually thick and bouncy curls were looking rather lifeless at that point, and Katie Bell had even taken inspiration from Ginny, giving him one of the most fearsome looks that Harry had ever received from the usually mild-mannered girl.
“HARRY—”
“—JAMES—”
“POTTER!” the twins bellowed, swinging their legs on their brooms. Harry cackled, already one step ahead of them as he pulled his own broom to rise at a starting height of 10 feet.
“Thirty laps around the pitch, I say, catch me if you bloody well can!” And then Harry was zooming across the Quidditch Pitch, the other six angrily letting out their own battle cries before flying after him. His team was fast, but second to Harry’s role as Captain was his role as Seeker, and wasn’t it rather convenient to be quick on his feet (or broom) at this moment? A few (many, actually) rounds later, he felt his teammates falling back a bit, and even Harry’s neck was starting to get uncomfortably damp. Lazily looking back with the fearlessness that has landed him not only in the House of the Brave but also in the twins’ "Top 5 Most Idiotic Idiots In Fifth Year Year" list, he stuck his tongue out at his ducklings, four of which were flaming red and the other two… well, not a sight that made Harry feel like he had just attempted to stare at the sun for five minutes straight. Seriously, all the red that he sees every time he comes to the Weasleys for Christmas makes Harry wonder if one day, he was just going to keel over after suffering an epileptic shock in the Burrow.
Harry casually looked forward again, intent on thoroughly warming up his teammates for another grueling morning at the pitch a week before the match against Slytherin.
Before he almost fell off of his broom, or worse, fell back to end up getting eaten by the rabid dogs hot on his tail.
Aside from the usual star-eyed first years and other random, avid Quidditch fans who regularly came to watch them practice, there sat Tom Marvolo Riddle, legs crossed and a thin tome in his hands. Tom fucking Riddle, at a Quidditch Pitch at—Harry did a quick Tempus charm, swerving to the right and narrowly missing Fred’s well-aimed punch— 7:32:55 AM, January 31, 1995, Tuesday?
Harry noticed two weird things. Firstly, he was alone, which was actually not that weird, but second, his eyes were not on the book that actually looked a little interesting from afar, no, his eyes were on the Gryffindor team and from Harry’s angle it actually kinda maybe looked like Riddle was honest to God watching the Gryffindor Quidditch Team practice at 7:32:55 AM, January 31—
“Harry, you—”
“—absolute—”
“Tosser!” Oh no, it had only been twenty-two laps. Or had it been twenty-three? Riddle was quite the distraction, but damn him, Harry couldn’t afford to be captured now. The twins were flanking him and their evil grins told the raven-haired boy that whatever tactic they managed to cook up was not in his favor, so Harry managed to murmur a prayer to Morgana fervently under his breath before closing his eyes and tilting to the right, slipping spectacularly off of his broom.
Harry did not giggle, he did not, but he would admit to having let out a rather boyish chuckle as the twins yelped and crashed into each other. Harry couldn’t afford to watch in amusement as his teammates gaped, because if he took the time to gloat he would either end up dead on the grass or in the clutches of his bloodthirsty teammates. Without coming to a decision into which was worse, Harry reached upwards, the broom darting towards his fingertips and—yes, Harry’s ass was now firmly on his beloved Firebolt.
His teammates, surprised but not too surprised as their team captain was known for crazier things, were now gaining on him. Harry’s heartbeat was almost beating as furiously as a Snitch’s wings, threatening to burst from the adrenaline and the feeling of freedom as he zipped past them one last time.
That should be enough for a warmup, Harry thought wryly, doing a few loops in the air before heading for the grass. Ginny, bless her, had been very close to catching him, and had tumbled down the grass after her descent. The rest of the team swiftly followed, collapsing on the wonderous ground and panting heavily.
“Mate, you’re fucking crazy,” groaned Ron as he threw an arm over his eyes to block the sun.
“Don’t you do us like that,” wheezed Angelina as she tried to regain her bearings, sitting cross-legged on the grass with her palms pressing down on her knees. “Ever, ever again!”
“But the Gryffindor-Slytherin match is in a week, my lovely teammates!” grinned Harry cheekily, allowing his tone to be only a little, a tiny little out of breath, but inwardly he was gasping and clutching at the air for oxygen, making rather ugly faces and begging the Japanese gods and his ancestors for a drop of water. He was suffering from rather painful stitches at his sides as well, but Harry would never hear the end of it if he admitted in front of his team that he was tired. Ah well, fake it ‘till you make it. “Ah, but I am a kind king. Three-minute water break before drills!”
“Brother, dear.”
“Have my ears deceived me, Forge?”
“I don’t think they have, Gred. Our ickle Harrykins has just proclaimed—”
“—to be a kind king.”
“A kind king, he says. One that’s always looking for ways to murder his poor, unfortunate subjects.”
“He’s quite the pickle. What ever shall we do, Forge? The king must be delusional, and therefore—”
“—unfit to rule. We shall usurp him to the best of our abilities in order to win the next match!"
“For the Greater Good! For Gryffindor!”
"But first, I do believe some hydration is in order."
"Yes, yes, hydration, water, the nectar from where gods sip!"
"Aye, the water!" the twins yelled, jumping from their positions on the floor and flailing noisily towards the bleachers. Harry stared bemused, the twins knew Greek Mythology? Ah, well, their father was a Muggle lover, after all. Katie rolled her eyes but picked herself up and went after the two, heading for her jug. Harry’s grin widened as the rest of the team grumbled after them, grateful for the quick water break as well. Oliver Wood, the previous captain, hadn’t been as merciful as him, but the man was practically a dictator so it wasn’t exactly a good comparison.
He swiveled around to head for his own water jug, and jumped in surprise when he saw Riddle seated nonchalantly beside it. His eyes were on his book, his long and thin fingers turning a page indifferently.
“Wha—b-but you were there!” Harry sputtered, pointing a finger to the other side of the pitch. The pitch was so big, Harry reckoned it would take about five minutes and a half to walk from where Riddle was two minutes ago, all the way to his jug.
“Astounding observational skills,” commented the Prefect, shutting his book calmly. Harry crossed his arms, incredibly suspicious and pointedly choosing not to hide that little fact.
“What are you doing here, Riddle?”
“Do I not get cold water dumped on me as well?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s very rude of me! I can arrange for that, actually.” Harry sarcastically retorted, marching up towards the Slytherin and swiping his jug. He took a long swig and wow, water tasted so good, it tasted like it came right out of the Alps or Mt. Fuji, did water taste like this all the time? He let out a contented sigh after he finished drinking, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Riddle raised an eyebrow, probably wondering why he was such an idiot, Harry thought, before the other guy stood up, crossing his arms.
… Was Riddle always this bloody tall?
“What do you want from us, Riddle?” he asked again, eyeballing the man and hoping that he looked as intimidating as he thought he looked. Riddle narrowed his eyes, and Harry took that as a definite no, he did not look as cool as he thought he did.
“Do you have no sense of self-preservation in that thick skull of yours, Potter?” he snapped, leaning down to inch his face closer to the bespectacled boy. Well, now Harry was the one who couldn’t help but feeling a little intimidated. “Correct me if I am wrong, but did you really just fall off your broom? By choice?”
Harry slowly blinked, still not completely understanding. At a loss on what to do, he nodded.
Well, that didn’t seem to appease him. Harry watched fascinated as Riddle struggled to remain composed, looking as if he was literally restraining himself from punching Harry in the face. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he were to actually do it, because despite his glorious reputation, Riddle didn’t really know how to express his feelings well. “Please explain to me why you thought that was a good idea.”
Was Riddle perhaps interested in the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match? Harry’s eyebrow quirked. The blue-eyed boy hadn’t ever watched a match, if the rumors were to be believed. Maybe he really, really wanted to win the House Cup this year? Ah, but his crazy antics during matches weren’t exactly top secret. What’s the harm? “Well, the twins looked like they were going to eat me alive if they caught me, and we haven’t finished the thirty laps around the pitch for warm-up yet, so I obviously had to find a way to keep going.”
“And you thought falling off your broom was a good idea?” he hissed. Harry didn't back down.
“Actually, yeah, I did. It wouldn’t be the first time I did it.” At his words, Riddle stilled. Okay, he definitely hadn’t gone to a Quidditch match ever since he stepped foot in Hogwarts.
“You’ve done this before? And each time, you left the pitch unscathed?”
“Well, there was that time in second year when I ended up breaking my arm, a rather painful memory, actually.” Harry blanched at the thought of drinking that revolting bottle of Skele-Gro again. “Sometimes I crash on the ground but hey, those were the times that I’ve managed to catch the Snitch.”
“... has anyone ever told you that you’re an idiot?”
“Oh, plenty of times.”
“Well, allow me say it in a way that can hopefully get through to your stubborn head: you are the most foolish, reckless simpleton that I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”
A silent two seconds passed by them, Riddle still menacingly glowering at him and Harry suddenly forgetting that he knew English. “Uh, thanks?” he sheepishly shrugged. Riddle’s eye twitched, but he didn’t seem like he had expected another answer, anyway. “You haven’t answered my question yet, Riddle. Why are you here?”
“I came to see you.”
Harry’s usually chipper brain stopped functioning for a split second. His vision swam for a bit, and he felt unsteady on his feet, like his whole world was just uprooted and spun around a couple of times before getting flung into some other mystical part of the universe. No, that couldn’t be right.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Riddle opened his mouth, but paused, looking like he was thinking over his words a bit more. He pursed his lips. “I heard about how your practices were rather entertaining to watch,” Riddle explained stiffly. Oh, oh. That made sense to Harry, Riddle was always looking for something to amuse himself with. “I was admittedly very curious as to how a typical training session would normally go. Does this,” Riddle waved his hand to the pitch, gesturing at Harry’s whole body. “Happen very often?”
“Oh, yeah, I like to keep them on their toes and I think chasing me with murderous intent has become something of a real fun sport to them.”
Riddle looked like he was about to start lecturing him, and Harry was strikingly reminded of Aunt Petunia giving him a fucking sermon on "acting like a normal boy for once in your accursed, miserable life”, but Harry’s got to admit, Riddle looked far more pleasant than her. He ended up closing his mouth and sighing exasperatedly, going from his killer glare to his patronizing “everyone around me is stupid” face.
Harry hadn’t talked to Riddle much before since the boy had always seemed lightyears away from Harry. He was top of the year and adored by girls and boys alike, he was devilishly handsome, frightfully charismatic, powerful and admirable, even if he wasn't exactly the typical saintlike, Cedric Diggory kind of Prefect, but he’d give the man points for managing to get from one side of the pitch to the other in such a short amount of time.
Yes, Harry was still thinking about that. It was a mystery that may never be solved.
“Potter, you must be more careful.” Harry tried to hide it, but Riddle was Riddle, he must’ve seen the way Harry’s eyes had widened comically for a second.
Wow, Riddle sounded like he actually cared about what happened to him for a second.
Now that Harry thought about it, wasn’t Riddle always giving him looks from across the Great Hall ever since the start of Fifth Year? And Riddle, despite not exactly being Harry’s friend, had chosen to bear with his royally abysmal potions abilities when they ended up as partners a couple of times, and now Riddle was suddenly watching Quidditch practices? It wasn’t even a proper match, for Merlin’s sake.
Harry schooled his expression carefully, trying not to let all his thinking show on his face. “Thanks, Riddle, but I am Captain for a reason, and the Gryffindor Captain at that. I’ll be fine, you’ll see,” he gave the other boy a comforting smile. At least, Harry thought it was one. Riddle didn’t seem to think so, his face muscles tensing instead of relaxing.
But a heartbeat later, and Riddle allowed himself to look resigned to the fact that Harry may spend the rest of his Hogwarts years pulling circus tricks and professional, slightly maniacal stunts that only adrenaline junkies like Harry could get off of. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Potter, just be careful and try not to fall off of your broom the next time."
And when Harry pulled off a rather heart-stopping feint in order to secure the Gryffindor House’s win the next week, he had turned to the side and had met Tom Riddle’s eyes in the stands. His glinting orbs were trained on his falling form and gripping the edge of his seat tightly, and he was mouthing something but Harry couldn't exactly make it out from afar—
And as he rolled on the ground painfully, collapsing on the grass, the pitch grew silent as they waited with bated breath for his confirmation. Harry stretched his arm towards the sky in response, the Snitch’s wings fluttering animatedly in his fingers.
“AND GRYFFINDOR TAKES THE MATCH!” Lee Jordan roars as the crowd goes wild, and he closed his eyes as he caught a glimpse of his teammates accelerating towards him, pure, uninhibited joy in their eyes.
Oh no, my body’s just taken a rather cruel beating, please for the love of Merlin, don’t break my shoulder again —
Harry’s crushed into the embrace of his teammates, and he waits for it, but no pain comes. Startled, Harry realized that he didn’t feel that hurt at all, and a brief flash of Riddle's lips forming words that Harry would never hear filled his mind. He looked up, but Riddle was gone.
No, Harry couldn’t believe it. But it made sense, and Harry was almost sorted into Slytherin. He kind of knew how to deal with people, and he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
Riddle was interested in Harry. Riddle was possibly attracted to him, possibly wanted to be friends with him, but again, Harry wasn't that stupid to believe the latter.
But no, that couldn’t be, Harry thought numbly in his head. That wasn’t right, Harry could only imagine some demure, intelligent and cunning woman beside the rather annoyingly perfect boy who would someday take the world by storm. But again, Harry thought about it a bit more, ignoring the flipping of his stomach as his teammates threw him up in the air, crying out in victory. Yes, his stomach was turning because of his teammates’ unruliness, not because of anything else, thank you very much. But then again, Riddle really was bad at all things feelings. He was respectful, he was charming, but real feelings? Harry doubted he knew what romantic love was if it sang “Weasley is Our King” in his face while wearing Luna’s radish earrings.
Yes, yes, Riddle just thought he was crushing on Harry. But no, Harry was ultimately not sorted into Slytherin for a reason. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Riddle’s temporary bout of insanity.
No, he was going to help Riddle snap out of it. Yes, because that would be the right thing to do.
Harry smiled, trying his damnest to convince himself not to feel any different.
While Tom Riddle walked back to the Great Hall, hands swaying gracefully at his side and twirling his wand. Well, if that hadn't made his intentions clear, Tom wondered what could.
What could, indeed.