It had been a day of dodging, ducking, and weaving. Harry Potter had spent the better part of Valentine’s Day avoiding Lockhart’s blasted dwarves. He knew some of the girls in Huflepuffhad sent him cards and singing telegrams. The idea of being serenaded in the middle of the Great Hall was mortifying.
“They’re just trying to show you they care,” Hermione said as the trio made their way through the corridor after lunch.
“Yeah, well, I’d care more if they didn’t involve murderous dwarves in the process,” Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder for any signs of small, bearded ambushers.
Ron snorted. “They’re not murderous, mate.”
Harry was about to retort when it happened. From seemingly nowhere, a dwarf came hurtling down from a ledge above them, landing squarely in Harry’s path with a loud “thwa-thump!” Before Harry could process what was happening, the dwarf lunged toward him, clutching a scroll of parchment.
Instinct took over. With a startled yell, Harry’s fist shot out, connecting with the dwarf’s stout nose. The poor creature dropped like a sack of potatoes, the scroll slipping from its grasp as it crumpled to the floor.
“Harry!” Hermione shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth.
“What the bloody hell was that for?” Ron exclaimed, crouching to check on the unconscious dwarf.
“It jumped me!” Harry protested, his cheeks burning. “How was I supposed to know it wasn’t attacking me?”
“It’s a dwarf, Harry! For delivering Valentine’s messages!” Hermione scolded, already conjuring a soft pillow to prop under the dwarf’s head.
Students had started to gather, drawn by the commotion. Harry’s embarrassment grew as he heard the murmurs and snickers spreading through the crowd.
“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Harry grumbled, bending down to retrieve the scroll. “But it shouldn’t have jumped out at me like that. I was—” He paused, unrolling the parchment and catching sight of the handwriting. It was elegant, looping, and… familiar.
The note read:
I’ve seen your soul, raw and untamed.It belongs to someone who can match its flame.Your green eyes, the last color I see before sleep,Haunt me, stirring dreams dark and deep.Let me show you a world you’ve never known,With you, Potter, I’ll build a kingdom for us.
Harry’s face went from pink to crimson. His hands clenched the parchment as his heart hammered in his chest. The words were so blatantly pretentious, so maddeningly confident, and yet… he couldn’t deny the flutter of something in his chest.
“What does it say?” Ron asked, craning his neck to peek at the note.
“Nothing,” Harry snapped, crumpling the parchment in his hand.
“Nothing? You’re blushing,” Hermione said, her tone accusatory. “Who sent it?”
“I don’t know,” Harry lied, though he had a sinking suspicion. The phrasing, the audacity—it could only be Tom Riddle. He’d caught the younger Slytherin watching him during practice more than once, a smirk playing on his lips like he knew something Harry didn’t.
“Whoever it is, they’ve got guts,” Ron said, grinning. “Asking you out through one of Lockhart’s dwarves? Bold move.”
“Yeah, well, next time they can send a bloody owl,” Harry muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. But even as he spoke, he couldn’t shake the heat rising to his cheeks or the way his stomach fluttered at the thought of Riddle’s intense gaze and self-assured smirk.
“Poor dwarf,” Hermione said, shaking her head as the creature stirred. “You really need to work on your anger issues, Harry.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he replied dryly, stuffing the crumpled note into his pocket.
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Harry found Tom Riddle in the study hall. The Slytherin was seated at a table near the back, seemingly engrossed in a thick tome. His dark hair fell perfectly into place, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of control. As if he’d been expecting Harry, his gaze lifted the moment Harry stormed in, parchment in hand.
Harry slammed the crumpled scroll down onto the table, causing a few nearby students to look over in alarm. Tom didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a slow, infuriatingly charming smirk.
“Something on your mind, Potter?” he drawled, his voice smooth and unbothered.
“What the hell is this?” Harry demanded, jabbing a finger at the parchment. “If you wanted to ask me out, you could have done it like a normal person instead of sending—sending dwarves after me!”
Tom’s smirk widened as he stood, closing the distance between them with deliberate, unhurried steps. “And miss the opportunity to see you this flustered? Where would be the fun in that?”
Harry opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words. Tom’s confidence was maddening, and the way he was looking at him—like he was the only person in the room—was making his heart race.
“You’re unbelievable,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms. “What if I’d said no?”
“Oh, I was fairly certain you wouldn’t,” Tom replied, his tone light but his gaze piercing. “But I’ll admit, I did wonder how far I could push you before you snapped.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed a deeper red. “You’re a dick.”
Tom’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And yet, here you are.”
Harry stared at him, his resolve faltering under the intensity of Tom’s gaze. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. I’ll go out with you. Happy?”
Tom’s smile widened. “Ecstatic.” He reached out, gently taking Harry’s hand in his own. Before Harry could protest, Tom leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to his knuckles.
“I’ll pick you up from the Gryffindor Tower later,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet confidence. With that, he turned and strode out of the study hall, leaving Harry standing there, red-faced.