Chapter 2
Professor Riddle does find him after breakfast, as promised, this time in an emerald green sweater.
Harry sneaks in glances at him whenever possible as they cross the Hogwarts grounds in relative silence; understandable, considering how early it still is.
Harry had, in fact, been the first one in the Great Hall this morning, followed by Professor Riddle only minutes later.
Such distance there had been, then, in the tables between them; especially after the intimacy of getting showered with attention alone in his office yesterday, just the two of them.
And now, it was finally back to that, just him and Professor Riddle, Tom; together with only each other for company, crossing the boundary of the grounds into the Forbidden Forest.
Harry's heart beats faster with each step they take, as the sunlight dims and green engulfs his vision, the shadows growing more opaque.
"Are you scared of Lethifolds, Harry?" Professor Riddle begins conversation, much to Harry dismaydelight.
"Not really, Professor," did being scared of saying the wrong thing while hunting them count at all? "Your journal was very helpful."
Oh well, even this was the wrong thing, as Professor Riddle replies with, "Was it? I hope you didn't stay up too late last night, Harry."
He turns to look at Professor Riddle. "I didn't, Professor, I read fast. Maybe, two?" he hesitates.
"Two is still late, Mr. Potter. Make sure you get your required eight hours every night." Professor Riddle looks back at him with a serious expression, stirring up some unease with his admonishment.
"I will, Professor," Harry looks away into the leaves, unable to stand this censure.
"I hope that does not offend you, Harry," Professor Riddle adds, after a few minutes of silence. "I did not intend to lecture you, I am just making sure you are taking good care of yourself."
Oh, what warmth, this apparant concern. "Thank you, Professor Riddle", now looking away in shyness instead.
"You are very welcome, Harry," he replies softly, igniting a fire. He was driving Harry insane in this silent forest.
When they walk a little too deep into the overgrowth, thick, coiling vines stretch out to cover the floor of the forest, causing Harry to trip over one that moves under him.
Professor Riddle catches him by the waist, gripping onto his side with a surprising force as he steadies Harry. "Be careful," he says, still in that soft whisper from earlier, "Here–" He holds out his elbow for Harry to latch on to.
An elbow Harry takes with much pleasure, almost melding himself against the Professor's side.
Oh, what good deeds Harry must have done, in a past life, for this!
He loses himself entirely in the dark turbulence of the forest, in the steadying grip of that warmth against him; and in Tom's beautiful voice as he identifies the flora and fauna around them.
Surely it would feel the same, when they held hands in true knowledge? When it wasn't Harry sneaking in touches he has not yet earned?
Professor Riddle did seem very willing, however, in Harry's defense.
And...if he had reacted as such just at a slight trip, what would he be like, seeing Harry truly hurt? How would he hold Harry if Harry was dying in his arms?
(Quite a morbid consideration, this, but he cannot help it. He had inherited four different kinds of crazy, it wasn't entirely his fault.)
They seem to show no signs of stopping anytime soon, however, and his thoughts only worsen in the minutes that pass, as he starts to seriously consider all the ways he could get hurt, to really see that side of Professor Riddle. Quidditch, perhaps? He could fall off his broom?
Or maybe the...
Almost forty minutes, devoted to that thought, before Professor Riddle moves Harry's hand away from his and slips his arm around Harry's shoulders instead.
"I can sense one, up ahead," he whispers, "Do not make any sudden movements, and don't worry; I have everything perfectly under control. Do you understand, Harry?" his voice is stern.
"Yes, Professor," Harry whispers back, losing himself in the arm around him, not afraid in the least. It would only help him, if he got injured in some way.
Professor Riddle keeps his attention focused solely on the Lethifold, and Harry keeps his focused on Professor Riddle's face, unwilling to lose sight of this side of him.
He wouldn't say that Professor Riddle looked scared at all, no; more like, on alert in a way he needn't be at school, his face firm and his muscles taut around Harry.
And Harry? Harry wants to face this Lethifold for the rest of his life, right here in Professor Riddle's arms.
Truth be told, despite his intense concentration, he completely misses when Professor Riddle captures the Lethifold; his focus more on the man than his wand.
Which explains his excess dissatisfaction when the arm around him is taken away, leaving Harry cold to the forest air, as Professor Riddle starts to walk up to the ball of magic floating before them, a few feet up ahead.
Harry has eyes only for Professor Riddle and way his robes sway as he walks away...
...but a slight movement on the ground catches his attention...
...a baby acromantula, right there...
Unbelievable!
Harry looks at the tiny spider and the spider looks right back, every single eye trained on Harry, unblinking.
Professor Riddle is facing the opposite direction and does not see either of them.
Harry very carefully starts to bring himself closer to the ground, a plan forming out of his earlier thoughts.
The acromantula, noticing his movement, starts crawling towards him.
Harry's palm now rests outstretched on the forest floor.
Professor Riddle has just reached his caged Lethifold, still unaware of Harry's actions.
The spider is quick at finding Harry's palm in the few feet between them, most likely smelling his bare flesh.
When it reaches him, Harry closes his fingers around it like he would a snitch, and makes to stand up in the same movement.
He can feel the acromantula's legs wriggling against his fingers, so he applies a little bit of force...feeling precisely when it panics and pierces his inner wrist with its fangs...
A light burn, his first hint of that venom entering his bloodstream.
Professor Riddle turns back to Harry at the perfect time, just as he schools his face to all seriousness, "It is safe now, Harry, you may approach."
Safe, he wasn't, but he would wait just a little longer until he let that fact be known.
He starts to walk over to Tom, hands behind his back, crushing up the acromantula in his palm with some magic; having achieved his goal.
Wandlessly and wordlessly evanesco-ing the mess away, he reaches Professor Riddle with no trace of what has just happened.
Well, except for his now aching forearm.
"We have been quite lucky to find an especially weak one," Professor Riddle is saying, as Harry's ears start to lightly ring, "it should help tremendously with the lack of experience amongst the students, don't you agree, Harry?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry whispers, as his vision starts to blur.
"Are you all right, Harry?" Those blood-red eyes tear through him much like the searing pain in his arm.
"I'm fine, Professor," his voice is too weak to be truly believable, but Professor Riddle takes him at his word, moving instead to grab his miniature trunk from his pocket, un-shrinking it.
He makes quick work of packing up his hunt, turning back to Harry in seconds, his elbow held out in an invitation once more. Harry takes it with his good arm, feeling more light-headed with each step he takes.
They make it about fifteen minutes, before it grows too much, his eyes beg to remain closed and his feet drag against the rotting leaves.
He feels Professor Riddle take over most of his body weight when he inadvertently slips again. "Harry, are you okay?"
"I...don't feel...so good...Professor," he says finally, not wanting to lose consciousness and miss the literal reason for this latest idiocy.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Oh, how sweet he sounds, with that colour of worry. Already, Harry's plan was proving worth its recklessness.
"I feel...a bit sick...and dizzy," he can barely speak now, maybe this was a bad idea?
"Are you in any pain, Harry?" Professor Riddle still sounds calm, but urgent now, and Harry can barely keep his eyes open.
"In...my...arm," a blinding, red-hot pain he cannot hide any longer.
He feels as his sleeves are folded up, the sudden coolness of the forest air providing some relief; Professor Riddle's quiet gasp almost lost in the insistent haze of that pain.
"An acromantula bite," he guesses correctly in an instant. "I don't have an antidote for this, Harry! We are supposed to be many kilometers from their nest, I made sure of it!" Panic, now, it creates such a strange distortion in that voice. Harry wishes he could have been conscious enough to give it his full attention.
"I will get you back to Hogwarts as quickly as I can, don't worry. You will be perfectly fine, I promise." His words ring around in Harry's brain as Harry feels himself being picked up and held against what he thinks is a firm chest.
He loses consciousness for a little bit, he does not know how long, but when he comes back to himself, his face is cradled into Professor Riddle's neck, he's sure of this.
And, the pain in his arm has lessened, if only by a degree.
"Welcome back, Harry." Harry whimpers in reponse, eyes remaining closed in the pain. "I stopped the venom from spreading any further, but it needs to be extracted out, and I cannot do it myself, not without a pain-relieving potion, we need Poppy..."
If this was an attempt to soothe, it was quite lacking. The whole reason for this seemingly futile exercise was to be alone with Professor Riddle, to have him all to himself. If Harry was handed over to the hospital wing, he would definitely not be seeing Professor Riddle again.
He needs to do something...
"Pro..fessor," he tries.
"Yes, Harry?" he has never heard his name quite like that, ever. (Definitely worth it!)
"I don't...want to go...to the hospital wing," he's almost mumbling, but he's sure Professor Riddle has understood him, as his pace slows.
"Why not, Harry? Has Poppy treated you unfairly in some way?" That wouldn't hold up, but Harry knows of one excuse that would.
"No...I don't want...my dad...to know," he whispers, as if ashamedly.
"Is there something going on, Harry? Something I should know about, between you and James?"
"No...professor." Almost certain he has failed.
"Is that your only reason, Harry?" Professor Riddle continues in that oh-so-gentle tone.
"Yes, Professor," Harry can almost hear the defeat in his own voice, as he presses his face flush against that skin, breathing in his soothing scent, committing it to memory.
Even if Professor Riddle left him with Madam Pomphrey, Harry would still have this moment to come back to.
The time Professor Riddle had held him as his bride. What a perfect, wonderful experience.
It feels like Professor Riddle does have some reaction to his snuggling, but Harry is too out of it to know for certain.
His words, however, bring back hope, and joy, and sheer happiness. "I will not take you to the Hospital Wing and I will not let James find out about this, either. Don't worry, Harry. Does that make you feel better?"
"Yes...professor...thank you," he breathes into the warm skin that rests against his lips.
"You are very welcome, Harry." Professor Riddle says, still in that new, soft tone, just for the two of them.
And now, one hand coming up to lightly stroke Harry's back, "I do apologise for my neglect, you should not have gotten hurt while you were under my care. I will make it up to you in whatever way you wish, I promise. Do you believe me, Harry?"
Harry definitely did not believe him, for he did not know what he was offering.
"Yes...professor," he says anyway.
The next time he regains consciousness, he's pain free and in a bed. A soft bed with silky sheets, all in crisp white. In a room with maddeningly familiar furnishings.
"Hello, Harry," says a soft voice from beside him, startling him into turning around. "Welcome back."
Tom. Professor Riddle. His saviour.
"Professor Riddle, I'm so sorry..." he starts.
"No, Harry, there is no need for apologies. I am sorry for putting you in such danger." A soft hand reaches out to grasp Harry's, his heart beginning to gallop once more.
"Still alive and kicking, though, aren't I?" He smiles up at his love quite goofily, not liking the twist Tom's face had gained, in his worry.
"That you are," it fades away, and Tom smiles again, not helping with the pounding in his chest.
"Where am I?" Harry recalls his initial curiosity as he sits up.
"You are in my quarters. I hope you don't mind, you were quite insistent about staying away from the hospital wing."
"Yes, Professor, thank you," he says, as it sinks in. He's in Professor Riddle's bed. In Tom's bed.
He's in Tom's bed!
"Your thank you is unnecessary," Professor Riddle says, as he slips his hand away from Harry's and gestures for the covered plate beside Harry, making it float over to him.
"Here, some lunch." The cover vanishes away to reveal a full plate of steak and kidney pie, glazed carrots, and a small bowl of leek soup. "When you are finished, you may have a slice of treacle tart. Or, bread and butter pudding?" He tacks on, questioningly, at the end.
"Treacle tart," Harry replies, even as his thoughts are both admiration and trepidation.
Tom smiles again, at his response, "I should have guessed."
Harry is barely even listening, as his heart now races for an entirely new reason.
(Professor Riddle was so quick, and intelligent, and his memory unparalleled. He still remembered Harry's parents' favourite desserts, almost twenty years later. What if he caught Harry doing something stupid like he had done today? Professor Riddle would never forget that.)
He tries to focus on his food, but it tastes so bland compared to tempest brewing in his brain.
All anxiety, until Professor Riddle breaks him out of it again. "Is it to your liking, Harry? I asked the elves to send your favourites, I'm not sure they got them right."
"They are my favourites, Professor, thank you."
"Harry," Professor Riddle's voice turns serious in the next second, as does his face. Harry stops eating and turns to him. "You could have died today, and if you had, it would have been my fault. Don't thank me, I never should have offered to take you into such danger, I don't know what I—"
No! This just won't do! He can't do this to Harry!
"Professor," Harry cuts him off, all soft and meek, hiding that growing edge within.
"Yes?"
"You said earlier you would make it up to me for today, in any way I wished." It is not a question.
"I did say that," he face softens in the memory of his earlier promise. "What would you like from me, Harry?"
"I want to accompany you again, Professor." Harry is sure in this demand. "I'll be more careful next time," he rushes out. (Will he?)
"Harry?" Professor Riddle questions him in slight disbelief.
"I had fun, Professor!" Harry insists, "I'd like to do it again, please. Please?"
Professor Riddle stares at him for a long minute before that smile starts to make a reappearance. "I don't believe this to be a fair proposal, Harry, it seems to be skewed in my favour."
Whatever that means. Harry says nothing, waiting for Tom to talk himself into it.
And he does. "Instead, you may accompany me on such trips at my invitation and request, and I will protect you better than I did today. And I will still make it up to you, in any way you wish, as promised. I am so sorry." Perfect!
(It wasn't Harry's fault the slope was so slippery.)
"It's okay, Professor. But, I can't think of anything right now. Can I let you know later? If I do think of something?"
"Please do, Harry." His eyes are so beautiful in the afternoon sun, Harry almost loses himself in them, only realising he is staring when Professor Riddle clears his throat. "Well, I do have some essays to grade, but I will be right here with you, should you need anything."
Harry looks at Professor Riddle ever so often as he finishes his food and then dessert, wanting more desperately than ever to talk to the man, but he knows not what to say.
A yawn escapes him instead, and Professor Riddle turns over to him anyway. "Go ahead and take a nap, Harry," he says as he floats Harry's empty plate and cutlery away.
"Yes, Professor," he says, as relief floods him. So glad he did not have to leave this bed, this room, this love of his life.
When he wakes up a second time, the room is a dark orange and pink, and Professor Riddle is nowhere to be found.
Harry stretches his limbs for a second, before he calls out for Professor Riddle, but there is no reply.
Curiosity taking over, he gets out of bed, putting on a robe he finds besides him, to ward off the chill. Tom's robe, it smells so much like him it almost feels like a hug. He hopes Tom won't mind.
Walking over to the door closest to him, Harry turns the knob, to a soft gold light and the sounds of running water; a shower.
...Professor Riddle was in there...
...taking a shower...
...naked...
Harry wants to barge in there; his hands demand to be the ones that run all over that skin, instead.
He wants to see Tom gloriously naked, only for Harry, only because Harry wanted it.
He needs to hold Tom, to touch Tom, to pleasure him until he was left nothing but a sobbing mess of 'please', 'stop' and 'enough' in the way Harry has so often fantasised.
He needs to see Tom, and show Tom, and savour Tom, and he can do nothing except wait by the door as his cock aches.
The water runs for what seems like forever, but he cannot bring himself to close the door. He wants to hear Tom dry off, and put on clothes, even if he cannot see it.
The excuse comes easy when Professor Riddle walks out, surprised at Harry standing right next the now ajar door. "Have to use it, Professor, sorry."
"Oh, yes," Tom laughs lightly in agreement, "Please, go ahead."
He only pretends to go through the motions as he thinks about their imminent goodbye right after this rare glimpse into a Tom only he has seen.
He does not want to leave, but dinner was coming up in a few minutes, and then, they would have to part for the night. He would only see Tom at the table tomorrow morning.
Today was not enough, and waiting until tomorrow would be too long, Harry needed more.
He had missed most of this one day he had gotten resting, and it was not enough!
Not enough!
More!
A plan forms, in this greed.
Quite a risky one.
He tries not to let any of his excitement show as he walks back out to Professor Riddle, reluctantly taking off Tom's robe.
"May I have my robes and bag, Professor? It's almost time for dinner." One he was looking forward to getting over with.
And after...
As soon as he's back to the common room, Hermione starts on her tirade about his absence, literally he very second he walks in.
Ron shoots him apologetic looks but still stands right beside her.
Harry listens to her rant for a whole two minutes before he turns only to Ron, says, "I'm not very hungry so I'm going to bed," and walks straight to the dorms.
Then, warding his curtains closed, he casts a silencing charm and an enchantment to create the illusion of still bed-curtains.
Now, prepared, he turns to the Marauders Map, pulling out a pencil. Armed with the knowledge he had gained today, he draws out the furniture in Professor Riddle's room, eyes flitting over to Tom's name sat in the Great Hall on the other side of the Map.
Once done with that, Harry sits and watches quite patiently as Professor Riddle slowly moves out of the Great Hall and makes his way to his rooms.
Harry follows as he walks over to his study, pausing near the wall, or shelf, most likely, picking a book before bed.
Harry watches him in his chair for about two hours before his name moves once more, to the bedroom.
And over to the bathroom, for about thirty seconds; easy to decipher.
Anticipation grows as Professor Riddle does not walk back to his study, but instead, stays in the bedroom, obviously going to bed.
Harry watches his name still in place for another two hours before he gains enough courage for his plan.
Armed with his Map, cloak and a silencing charm at his feet, he sets off for Tom's rooms once more.
Only a Gryffindor would be brave enough to try to break into a Professor's rooms armed solely with an 'alohomora'. Truth be told, it's not Harry fault the knob gives under his fingers, the door falling open silently. Tom should have created better wards.
Harry recasts the silencing charm before he takes his first step, not stopping to consider the rest of his actions for a second.
No alarms go off as Harry walks in all the way, the door shutting closed behind him.
He finds the bedroom again with ease, and it further helps that its door is left wide open.
Harry makes his way over to the light sounds of breathing, unable to control being so far away.
Tom sleeps with a dim golden light floating right above him, and it is the cutest thing Harry has ever seen. It gives his face such a soft glow, Harry wants to reach over and feel it with fingertips.
He wants to...
He knows he can't.
It is this want, however, that begets another idea.
One infinitely more risky.
What was a little risk in the face of Tom as his reward, though?
Tom was worth...