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Harry Potter was the head omega of the school.
He was the top of nearly every class, he held a beauty that one could only gain from kissed by Aphrodite herself, and, although orphaned, he was a part of the sacred Potter family.
It was impossible not to want one. And it was impossible to have him.
Well, impossible for all but one Tom Riddle.
Harry Potter and Tom Riddle dated for three years. They met each other on the Hogwarts train, became friends after sorting in Slytherin together, and started dating in fourth year after beating around their feelings for the entirety of third.
Then, at the end of their sixth year, they broke up.
Which left Tom where he was now; staring longingly across their potions classroom.
He’d been sending letters to Harry the entire summer. No response was given.
His letters were heartfelt. Genuine.
And yet Harry ignored him and every apology he’d written.
And so, he was stuck pining after Harry in a moist potions classroom, waiting for a chance to finally speak with him.
He could apologize, again, for what he’d done. Harry would break soon. Theres only so many letters and verbal pleading one could ignore.
As Harry went to gather his potion materials, Tom pounced.
Once Harry was in the potions closet, he pushed out of his seat and followed, shutting the door behind him as he entered behind Harry.
“Harry,” Tom said, towering over the small omega.
“Riddle,” replied Harry, eyes stubbornly focused on the materials in front of him.
“Did you receive my letters?” Tom asked.
“You mean your threats?” Harry responded.
“They were apologies, Harry,” explained Tom, as if talking to a small child.
“In one of your letters you threatened to go into muggle London and obliviate Hermione if I didn’t respond to you.”
“It was a necessary evil, Harry,” said Tom.
Harry turned towards him sharply, bumping into his chest.
“Just like how framing Hagrid was a necessary evil?” he asked with a fierce scowl on his lips.
Merlin, the things Tom would do to keep that scowl in his Harry’s face. His small, sharp teeth only increased the charm of it.
“I’d thought you’d understand my reasoning by now, Harry,” Tom said. “He was in my way. And he was dangerous anyway. He was keeping a feral animal in the castle, he could have killed someone, Harry.”
“As if you have anything against killing,” Harry muttered.
“What must I do for you to get over this childish grudge?” asked Tom, lowering his hand to caress Harry’s jaw.
“Nothing,” Harry replied sharply. “You framed my friend—an innocent person, all because you were irresponsible with opening the chamber.”
“Don’t act so innocent,” hissed Tom. “You were there too, Harry. You helped me open the chamber and you were the one to goad the basilisk into eating that girl.”
Harry slapped Tom’s hand away from his jaw.
With a furrow in his brow and a displeasured scent, he stormed out of the closet, leaving Tom alone.
It shouldn’t have surprised Tom that Harry would continue to be stubborn, even after months of separation.
Still, Tom had faith. Distance only made the heart grow fonder, after all.
Harry will be back in his arms by the end of the week, no doubt.
Naturally, Harry was not back in his arms by the end of the week.
He avoided Tom as if he were the plague.
He turned tail each time he saw Tom at the end of a hall, sour scent trailing behind him. He refused to engage in conversation, and he refused to accept Tom’s touch.
By Friday, Tom was seething.
He’d done everything for Harry. He apologized for hurting Harry’s chivalrous feelings, both through letters and face-to-face, he offered to carry Harry’s bags, he offered to help with his heat (as usual), hell, he’d even offered to give an apology to Granger for tripping her on the stairs on Tuesday.
And yet, all he received was slaps on the hand, hissed replies, comments on his ‘lack’ of emotional intelligence, and stares of pity from their idiotic peers.
Was three years of love nothing to Harry?
He was condemning Tom for the small act of framing. An act he’d done solely to keep him and Harry from losing their only true home.
Seething, he sat down in the library. However important Harry was to him; their relationship status did not take priority over Tom’s studies.
Settling in, Tom opened his book detailing the information he needed for his paper in creature care.
Before he could focus, he heard small chuckles from across the room.
Typically, Tom could ignore this. His peers were feeble-minded; they laughed at anything, at any time.
But Tom knew these chuckles—giggles—by heart.
He’d heard them on the train his first year, in the small alcoves throughout the castle, in his bedroom, and his most pleasurable dreams.
His head snapped towards the source.
Sitting in a table diagonal from Tom sat Harry, his Harry, and Ronald Weasley.
It was a terrible, deplorable sight.
Weasley’s bright orange hair clashed horribly with Harry’s silk, black hair. They looked disgusting together. How Harry could associate with such a thing, Tom didn’t know.
Harry was wiping tears from his eyes, seemingly overjoyed by whatever had come out of the foul mouth of the walking orange disaster.
Standing sharply, Tom rushed towards their table.
“Harry,” Tom said, displeasure coloring his scent.
“Riddle,” Harry replied, glaring up at him.
“Are you truly so upset with me that you’d associate with—this thing.”
“Excuse me—” said the thing, Ronald.
“My life doesn’t revolve around you” said Harry, ignoring Ronald’s feeble anger. “I enjoy his company, it’s a breath of fresh air in comparison to your whining and manipulation.”
“My whining?” Tom hissed, leaning over Harry. “My whining will be nothing in comparison to the pleading this boy will be doing if you don’t remove yourself from his company immediately.”
Harry let out a scoff.
“Or,” he said, stuffing his books in his bag, “I’ll remove myself from yours.”
Grabbing Weasley by the arm, Harry stormed out of the library.
Tom was once again, left utterly displeased.
Nails digging into his palm, he walked slowly back towards his own table, ignoring the pitying stares from onlookers who couldn’t help but ease drop.
It was disgusting. Tom had never felt so out of control.
Opening his book again, he gathered his thoughts.
He’d finish his assignments, and then he’d speak to Harry again. Civilly, if Harry decided to cooperate.
Everything would be fine.
Everything was not fine.
Harry had his heat the following week. He hadn’t asked nor accepted Tom’s assistance; it showed everything.
If their separation hadn’t been visible before, it was now.
To make matters worse their fellow Slytherins took it upon themselves to assist Tom in his ‘quest’ to get Harry back.
As if he needed their help. He and Harry were reconciling perfectly fine.
Tom ignored their advice. They knew nothing of the way their relationship navigated. He and Harry weren’t like them. They had no need for makeup flowers, love letters, or humiliating declarations. Their advice was useless.
That’s what Tom thought; it’s what he stuck by, until Abraxas decided to approach him as he was settling in for the night.
It was the last day of Harry’s heat, according to the calendar Tom had set up. Excitement was thrumming through his veins. He felt oddly sweaty, his heart was racing, and his mind thought of the worst possible outcomes that could come from trying to speak with Harry.
As Tom was fluffing his pillows, setting them up for another bout of pitiful sleep, Abraxas came towards him.
“Tom,” he said hesitantly.
Tom ignored him. Couldn’t he see that Tom was preparing to rest? One would think that Abraxas had learned from the last time he disrupted Tom’s midnight routine.
“Tom,” Abraxas repeated.
“What is it, Abraxas,” Tom said irritably.
Abraxas looked towards the floor before gathering himself. Though hesitance still colored his features.
“Perhaps you should offer Harry an apology,” said Abraxas.
The audacity.
“Do you think me dim-witted, Abraxas,” Tom hissed. “Offering my omega an apology was the first thing I did.”
Admittingly, Tom lied through his teeth. He hadn’t offered Harry an apology. He threatened Harry into making a vow of silence, consequently making Harry assist him in covering up his murder.
“A real apology, my lord,” said Abraxas, a bead of sweat rolling down his pale forehead.
Harry, it seemed, spoke of his nonsensical feelings to Abraxas. When did Abraxas and Harry get so close in the first place?
“And what exactly does that mean Abraxas?” asked Tom. “Do you doubt my sincerity in terms of my omega?”
“Of course not my lord,” replied Abraxas, sweat going down his jaw. “It’s just—perhaps you should apologize for your actions rather than the effect.”
“What actions,” Tom hissed, moving closer to Abraxas.
Surely Harry hadn't’ found a way to tell Abraxas what happened. The vow he took was thorough; Tom made sure no loopholes would be found.
“I don’t know my lord,” Abraxas squeaked. “I’m simply listing what helped me get through to Orion in the past.”
Anger eased Tom leaned back.
“I see,” he said. “Goodnight Abraxas.”
If Abraxas responded, Tom didn’t know. He had bigger worries.
A new approach was due.
Which led Tom to where he was now. Waiting outside Harry’s private heat room, an apology well planned in his mind.
Typically, it was impolite to wait outside an Omega’s heat room, but Tom was Harry’s alpha, no matter how much Harry had been denying it these past few weeks.
And it’s not as if anyone would see Tom waiting, anyway.
“Harry,” Tom said as Harry finally opened his door.
Harry’s hair was wilder than usual, his lips were bitten red, and his scent still held the lingering sweetness of heat.
“Tom,” Harry replied, thoroughly exhausted.
Tom felt his heart beat faster as Harry finally called him by his name.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” Tom said, voice quivering slightly.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for framing Hagrid and I’m sorry for threatening you,” Tom continued.
“What about the murder?” asked Harry.
“We both know you don’t truly care for that, Harry,” Tom said, lips pulling into a frown.
Harry glared at him, gearing up to either shut the door or run away again.
“I’m sorry for ignoring your words in the chamber,” Tom said with a huff.
“And why are you sorry?” asked Harry.
“What?” replied Tom, brows furrowing.
“Why are you sorry?” Harry repeated.
“Because you’re hurt by what I did,” said Tom. “And—”
Tom took a deep breath, hands clenching.
“What I did was wrong,” he said. “You’re my omega, I should have listened to you. And Hagrid was—is your friend. There were other ways to have...concluded our business.”
Harry looked at him, gaze still sharp.
After what seemed to be hours, he relented.
“Took you long enough,” he said sarcastically.
Tom let out a sigh of relief. Though what replaced was what could only be described as guilt.
He hadn’t used such deception since his time in the orphanage.
Surely the guilt would dissipate. Harry believed the sincerity in his apology, that’s what mattered.
As long as he let none of his apathy slip, everything would be fine.
The guilt would go away. Everything would be fine.