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Harry slumped down, exhaling slowly. He dropped his head back onto the wall behind him, turning to stare down the corridor. It wasn't a big deal. Loads of people hadn't been someone's Valentine. As a matter of fact, most of Hogwarts was single.
Except…There had been someone he wanted to ask him, and when they didn't, he decided to.
And they said no.
So he was sitting here, sweaty and dirty from being on the quidditch field. His gear felt too heavy, and he regretted coming here instead of taking it off in the change-rooms. He ran his hand through his damp hair and reached to unclip and pull off the leather wrapped around his forearms. As he did so, a giggle rang out through the hall, and clumsy footsteps followed. While he couldn't hear their conversation, he knew what it was about.
He dropped his hand back down to his side, not bothering to take off the covering on his left arm. Their muffled sentences became clearer, as a girl squealed before gasping out something. Oh you shouldn't have! There was rustling and Harry would bet his Firebolt that the boy brought her flowers.
As giggles and laughter continued to echo throughout the hall, he turned his head to the other side, unwilling to acknowledge the burning in his eyes. The couple had been out of sight, behind a corner you needed to turn to find Harry, but now they were hidden even more with his eyes on the opposite hall.
He swallowed thickly, feeling like saliva was pooling in his mouth and simultaneously drying it out as well. His adam's apple bobbed, and he blinked harshly. Taking a deep breath in, he searched to calm down, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing, and yet when he blew his breath out, the exhale seemed to waver.
Just slightly, in the air in front of him. His chest stuttered and then his inhale was sharper. And when he blinked he felt that his eyelashes were wet, and he couldn't even swallow, it feels like his mouth has been filled with taffy. The type of sickeningly pink taffy that people give to their Valentines. It feels like the taffy is wrapping around his vocal cords, and twisting up and up and up around them, rendering him unable to speak. It feels like the taffy curls downwards and wraps around his heart tightly, except not in the way he’d wished for.
Perhaps it’s responsible for the stinging around his nose, perhaps it’s responsible for the way his eyelashes feel dampened and cold when he blinks. Perhaps it’s responsible for the thickness in his throat and the croaky way he tries to clear away his voice cracks. It doesn’t work, and only makes him have to steady his hands, and ignore the glossiness he’s sure his eyes have.
When his exhale is shaky once more, trembling in a similar fashion as his hands, he pulls his legs in and curls them so he can rest his head on his crossed knees. He realizes that the hushed whispers have died down, and the couple must have left.
He simply sits there for a while, feeling lonely.
He ponders how metaphorical taffy could choke him. He wonders about why they said no, and thinks about how though majority of Hogwarts is single, they won’t be after this Valentines Day because nearly everyone had a Valentine this year.
He’d been trying to cushion his fragile heart, catch his tears before they fell, tell himself that not everyone had a Valentine.
But the one’s who didn’t have one? They were doing the same thing he was.
You’re seventeen Harry. Get it together.
It was just a crush. A silly crush on a fickle girl who he should’ve never been Involved with. Some Ravenclaw who had made a bet, and not only won it, but also said no to his request for her to be his Valentine.
Which wasn’t apart of the bet, just for the record. She did that all by herself.
He’d liked her. He really really had. Harry hadn’t had much experience with relationships and love but he did know that she liked him back. He could swear it.
But it was more serious for him. He’d only ever had brief crushes, small flings. There was Cho, which wasn’t even a relationship, that entire...situation fell under fling. His only relationship, had been Ginny. And there was that one kiss with the boy from Hufflepuff, who’d been sweet but had liked Cedric so Harry backed off.
So when he became friends with her, he wasn’t expecting anything. He knew she got around, but he didn’t really care. Wasn’t judging. She could do what she wanted, and she was cool. She was the type of person who made you wonder the little things about her. Who made you think about her when she wasn't around. Who made you want to know what her favorite color was.
(It changed often.)
And he thought she liked him.
A tear finally fell. Except it didn’t break any sort of dam and he didn’t burst into sobs. But he was upset and embarrassed and wanted to be anywhere but near flowers and pink taffy. He shifted, his backside aching slightly from being pressed into the stone floor for so long and finally moving. Stretching out his legs once more, he grimaced at the sticky feeling his skin gave him. The sweat having not been washed off and him no longer hot and exercising, leaving tackiness behind.
The feeling made him feel dirty, and when he ran his hand through his hair, he felt even more so, as his fingers caught on extra tangles and he was sure there were grass pieces mixed in the black mess as well.
He sighed and reached for his right forearm cover on the floor, deciding to take off the left one when he got to his dorm. He’ll have to take his uniform back down into the locker rooms but he could do that later, when he wasn’t sulking. (Because as much as he’d like to say he was unaffected by her, he wasn’t. His ego had been bruised and his emotions had been burned.) Except, he didn’t move. Despite holding the piece of his gear, and stretching out his legs, he didn’t get up.
His lip wobbled.
And it was sheer frustration at feeling this way, at not being able to do anything to change it, that made his head slam back into the wall, that made his gulp for breath so violent, that made the tears begin to stream down his face. He felt like he shouldn’t be crying. They weren’t dating, she had no obligation to say yes to him, none. But he felt hurt. He felt hurt. And betrayed.
He was alone on Valentines Day, someone who he considered a friend had completely betrayed him, the girl he liked was that very same friend and had turned him down, and today was the day him and Ginny had broken up last year and God Valentines was so much better when he was 12 and had no obligations or crushes.
He huffed. As he was mulling this over, examining his feelings and why he felt them, (not that he was doing the best job, or that he liked doing it, but Hermione said it was important and gave him and Ron a book on it. Something about regulating emotions, and overcoming them.) Footsteps clicked down the hallway. He didn’t really notice at first but then they got louder. Closer.
Coming out of his head, he blinked. Just one set of footsteps, not two. No laughter or sounds of people snogging nor drunk on love. The footsteps sounded vaguely familiar and he realized why a moment later, Professor Riddle coming into view. Riddle almost seemed like he was going to turn, walking in the direction of the other hall. But Harry sniffled on reflex and Riddles head turned.
Their eyes met.
And Riddle stopped dead.
Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise at Riddles still form, and his green eyes widened when Riddle changed direction and started walking over. Towards Harry. Though he felt as though he was frozen stock-still, he wrenched his hand up and swiped across his cheeks, slight heat spreading across them anyway for the fact that he’d been seen like this by a professor. Worse so, Professor Riddle. The youngest professor in school.
And the cruelest. He even beat Snape, if only because he was so charming when he wanted to be; and then turned around and crushed you into the ground. (He was also the best looking but that was a minor fact.)
Riddle stopped stiffly in front of him, and a beat passed between the two of them. Something in the air tightening. Neither move for a second, and then just as Harry clenches his hand around his forearm guard and scrambles to stand, Riddle bends down and sits.
Riddle sits. On the castles floor. Criss-cross apple sauce. Harry thinks his mouth drops.
When Riddle shifts, almost awkwardly, Harry scooches backwards and pulls his legs back in, feeling uncomfortable. Silence is all that is said between them. Nothing else, for what feels like an hour but is really only 5 minutes. Harry jumps, startled when Riddle finally asks him something and his eyes snap away from the wall and onto Riddle.
“You seem upset. Why?”
Harry’s head tilts now because Riddle doesn’t appear to want to be here, nor does he come across as a comforting guy. But Harry will humor him.
“I got turned down by a girl.” He says.
He doesn’t explain who the girl is, or that she was only ever friends with him for a bet. Just to make him like her so she could get some galleons. He’s actually surprised Riddle hasn’t heard the full story yet, he believed the gossip would’ve spread even to the teachers by now. The professor nods across from him and looks like he’d rather be anywhere but sitting on this floor and comforting a tear track stained Harry Potter.
“I see...well girls are, uh complicated. You’re still seventeen and have your...entire life ahead of you. She wasn’t worth it anyway, if she turned you down.” Harry’s lips twitch, but he continues the conversation.
“You mean like, fate? Wasn’t meant to be?” He asks Riddle, tone innocent. The tightness in his chest eases slightly.
Professor Riddle looks like he wants to tell Harry that’s the stupidest thing he’s heard all day but instead, his expression twists into a pained one. “I think fate isn’t- well, yes. That’s what I’m saying. Obviously it wasn’t...fated if she ended up saying no. So you should just move on.” And Harry is taking this in when he catches sight of how Riddles eyes shoot over to Harry’s face, as though he is panicked about how Harry is taking his advice.
So he did hear his own blunt tone at the end?
“What I mean to say, isn’t that you should just ignore it, or- her. You should, go talk to your friends. And if it was just a small crush you’ll be fine. Don’t drag it out for dramatics, I doubt you loved her.” He drawls, eyes turning to look at the Hogwarts walls. “Not to say! That you didn’t feel for her. You can, have deep...feelings for her of course. I’m not invalidating your pain.” Green eyes are tracking over Riddles little expressions and it’s taking all of his self restraint to not burst into laughter, because Riddle looks so pained. Like it is taking every single bit of his being just to sit here and tell Harry not to cry.
“As a matter of fact, you should go to her right now. Wait no, I mean, not her. You should go to your friends right now, and go- spill your feelings to them. And have a talk about it and, and your emotions.” He pauses. “Besides, crying on the floor is hardly the proper way to conduct yourself, heartbroken or not. It's a completely disgusting way to act, you should compose yourself.” Almost as though he couldn’t help himself from adding it, and it’s hilarious.
And then Riddle reaches a hand out to Harry’s shoulder and pats him twice.
“It’ll- it’ll be okay.” And Harry can’t hold it in anymore, it practically explodes out of him, his laughter. He tosses his head back, only missing the hard stone behind him because of Riddles hand that darts between and Harry’s head hits that instead but he doesn’t even notice it.
His shoulders are shaking and Harry thought that if they trembled today it would be from crying but no, he’s guffawing so loudly he thinks the great hall could hear. When he’s taken enough breaths and is wiping the tears from his eyes, he glances at Riddle.
And Riddle couldn’t look more affronted if he tried.
“So this is what I get for following Dumbledore’s orders. 'Comfort heartbroken students.' He said. 'Love is important.' He said. 'Make it flourish.' He said. The only thing flourishing are my premature wrinkles and grey hairs which I do not need. Stupid children and their idiotic crushes and ignorant ideals for love-“
And Riddle is complaining so haughtily like he always does, and Harry has tears in his eyes but they aren’t the tears he had minutes ago and oh God, Riddle is complaining about grey hairs and Dumbledore’s love ideals.
Harry’s whole body is being wracked with silent laughter, streams of tears he was unable to hold back are running down his face and he’s positive his face is as red as a tomato, but not from humiliation like it was two hours ago, no, from lack of air because this is hysterical.
“You- you are so bad. So, so bad at comforting heartbroken people, sweet Merlin.” And he’s cracking up again, he can’t stop and Riddle is still going on about something.
“I am not-“
“You so are. Oh- oh, you were sneering and trying to tell me not to cry at the same time. Oh you looked like you were trying to intimidate me into feeling better.” And it takes ages for Harry to feel calm enough to look Riddle in the eye again without cackling, how is he ever going to sit through Riddle’s class again?
The man puffs out a breath. “Well,” he begins, a smug look unfolding onto his face, “you aren’t crying are you? No, as a matter of fact you are doing the opposite, you are laughing.” A smirk is planted across his face and Harry simply hums.
“At you, not with you.”
Stare at the wall, stare at the wall. One, two, three, four-
“Detention.”
“What!” Harry turns to face Riddle, a small grin spreading his lips. “You can’t do that!”
“I can’t do that?” And that’s the Professor Riddle that Harry knows. Cold and unmoving, eyebrow raised.
“You can?” Is his tiny response, as he shrinks back slightly.
“I absolutely can, correct.” Except there’s something different, a little light in his eyes and Riddle is amused. They stay with their eyes locked for a second, before Harry turns away to look back at the wall.
And oddly, they sit like that. They sit there side by side. Harry with only one forearm guard on, skin sticky, face red, and hair dirty; Riddle, perfect hair coiffed, pristine robes, a light in his eyes and a smirk on his face that isn't cruel. Not even a little bit.
And they stay like that for a while. Up until Riddle breaks the stillness.
"You really should go see your friends, Potter."
Harry sighs, swaying slightly, feeling a little lost.
He could sit here and tell the whole embarrassing tale, and how the entire school has heard it, and how she was a friend…but he doesn't.
"I know." Is all he says, simple and sad.
Riddle moves beside him, and when he's done shifting he's sitting closer to Harry. Despite Riddle being a generally cold person, the professors body is warm next to him.
"You'll get over her. I don’t know the story, just you sitting here all upset…But you aren't shouting or screaming as though your heart has been shattered."
"I didn't say I was head over heels in love with her."
When Harry glances at Riddle, his lips are quirked and surprisingly, one of his curls has fallen over his brow.
"I know. But I'm excellent at reading people. This is more about what actually happened, not the rejection itself. That's also why you don't want to go back to your friends." And Riddle looks at him.
And Harry is reminded that Riddle is barely 5 years older than him. His face looks so young, and his eyes look open and honest.
And it's absolutely insane, seeing as Riddle is one of the most closed off and deceitful Slytherin alumni Harry could name, (despite his fangirls thoughts,) but it also doesn't really matter in the moment.
"You'll get over her and whatever humiliation went down." He says, as sure of himself as ever. It's dim, in this corridor.
"Her maybe, can't say the same about the humiliation." Harry grumbles, fidgeting with his fingers.
Riddle hmm's and cocks his head. A moment goes by and Harry turns his head back to the wall.
"You don't know that. As a matter of fact, the only person who thinks it was humiliating is probably you." Before Harry can ask how he figures that, Riddle is talking again.
"Your friends will always stick up for you, you and the rest of your group stick together like penguins it's honestly ridiculous," Harry smiles, thinking of the time Neville refused to sit anywhere but with Ron when Ron was nervous about Riddle's test. They'd all ended up getting detention- Hermione, him, Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean,- but it had been worth it. He tunes back into Riddle.
"That Lovegood girl would never let someone get away with purposefully, or accidentally, dishonoring you. You're all very loyal to each other." He waves a hand.
"Disregarding the way your friends would only ever comfort you and attack for you, and not look at you as an embarrassment, the rest of Gryffindor house would be furious at someone deciding to mess with you severely." Riddle turns his body's direction and nudges Harry to do so too.
"Gryffindor's would stand up for you not only because you're a Gryffindor, but because you're their quidditch champion-"
"Not because they like me? Seriously?"
Riddle shakes his head with an amused click of his tongue. "Perhaps. Your recent grade was only an acceptable, so I'm not surprised you're thinking up something stupid, but maybe this will make sense to you. You are popular, and though you have a close knit circle of people you consider to be friends there are still many people in this school who think it a ridiculous notion to hurt you." Harry blinked up at him, shocked.
"Not only that, but there are also people who probably don't care about you at all personally, and just don't like mean people. Which is what this girl was, to do something to shame you in front of a group. I'm simply assuming, but the only people who aren't on your side, are the ones just as rude as her. Frankly, you should be grateful, weed out the ones who tease you in an unfriendly way about it afterwards." He finishes with a flick of his head that reminds Harry of the Malfoy's.
And Harry is surprised to find that he feels better. He does. The validation had been what he needed, just knowing that the debacle full of rejection and mortification wouldn't be hanging over his head for eternity. It sounds stupid thinking about it now, after Riddle has given his advice but a while ago it seemed that was the only possibility. That he'd be the laughing point of the day, every day, for the rest of the school year.
But he wouldn't be. There would be other students with other situations, and he would create new ones. They had barely four months left anyway, none of this really mattered. At the time, before, it had felt like the worst thing to ever happen to him but really…the wet kiss with Cho might've been worse. Or the time he'd fallen into the lake in the middle of making out with Ginny…he'd thought that would be the death of him too.
He'd probably still hide in his dorm for a while, but ultimately? He was a Gryffindor, and a little embarrassment wouldn't keep him down. And while he was still torn over her betrayal… He had all of his friends to help with that.
"What house was she in? I'll take points for ridicule."
And maybe Professor Riddle too.
"Aren't you supposed to be comforting? And you don't even know all of what happened!" Harry smiled, picking up his forearm guard and feeling the worn leather as he stood up, brushing shoulders with Riddle as he did so.
"I know enough, and this is comforting, my style. Shouldn't you be jumping for revenge?" Riddle asked, standing up as well. "Oh never mind, I nearly forgot about you being a Gryffindor. You'll undoubtedly play some childish prank instead that won't teach her any sort of lesson. Oh well."
Harry snorted, shaking his head.
"Yes, you're much better at comforting this way, when you aren't glaring or looking like you want me to put you out of your misery." He chewed his lip, thinking. The hat hadn't teetered between Slytherin and Gryffindor for nothing right?
"Ravenclaw. She has class with the Gryffindors and you tomorrow and sits in the back row next to the red headed girl named Gemma." He swiftly revealed, mind working on overdrive as well. Draco was always happy to scheme, Harry could enlist his help as well.
But after Professor Riddle dealt with her some.
Harry walks back to Gryffindor tower alone, but unlike when he'd left his friends, he returns with a soft smile on his face.
Riddle's face had split into a surprised smirk, both eyebrows raising upward, before his hand came down on Harry's shoulder.
"You have fun with whatever plan you're thinking up right now, and don't go crying again. I won't be there to make you laugh." Had been spoken, and Harry had simply chuckled.
"At you, not with you, Professor Riddle!" And he twisted, walking faster than necessary. He ducked just in time to miss an expelliarmus over his shoulder.
"Detention!"
"Hey! You can't fire at students." But Harry's stomach had a fuzzy feeling in it, and his melancholy thoughts were fading even more than they already had been.
"Please, we duel all the time in my class. Now go, before I take points too."
Harry tips his head and turns the corner.
His soft smile doesn't fade, not even when the other students stare and whisper.
He can't wait for Riddle's class tomorrow.