It was only Hermione’s nagging that got him to agree to the Valentine’s Day blind date.
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Hermione and Harry were sitting at the table in Grimmauld Place eating breakfast together. Harry was slumped over at the table, the only thing keeping his head up was his hand under his chin. Every once in a while he would slowly bring a fork towards his mouth and take a bite. His head was pounding and it felt like the little he had managed to eat so far wanted to come right back up. He glanced at the paper, seeing the front page with the title “Savior of the Wizarding World?” and Tom Riddle’s face splashed below. Harry’s lip curled. That’s all the papers could print lately. Talking all about how Riddle’s reforms and actions had revitalized the wizarding community. Harry thought it was bullshit.
“I’m worried about you Harry,” Hermione stated, not a hair out of place as she sipped her morning tea.
“Maybe you’d be less worried if you gave me that hangover potion instead of keeping it from me,” Harry grumbled as he ran both hands down his face.
“Let’s make a deal, you’ll listen to me and do what I say and then I’ll give you the potion,” Hermione bargained.
Harry sighed. “Fine,” he gritted out.
“Harry, you can’t keep living like this. It’s been seven years. You’re miserable! You’re either going to drink yourself to death or get yourself killed on an auror mission. You need to heal, to move on!” Hermione argued, worrying her lip between her teeth.
“I’m doing just fine!” he retorted. “And I have moved on!”
“Harry, you almost died on that mission two weeks ago. A few seconds later and you would have been dead. You understand that right?”
“Of course I bloody understand that! I wasn’t doing it for the fucking fun of it! I was doing it to save those kids, damnit!” Harry’s jaw clenched. Why could nobody understand?
“And what would I have told Rosie about her godfather then, huh?” Harry’s mind flashed to his goddaughter. At two years old she was an adorable little girl with short, curly red hair-and completely obsessed with her godfather. He felt his heart twist in his chest.
“I-I didn’t think of that,” he admitted as the anger that had blossomed in his chest quickly deflated.
“You’re not fine, and you haven’t moved on. You haven’t even looked at anyone, let alone gone out on a date since seventh year. I worry about you, you’re all alone in this house. You don’t talk with anyone asides from the Weasley’s and me,” Hermione said softly, gently. Harry slowly met her eyes.
“Which is why I’ve set up a blind date for you this Tuesday for Valentine’s Day.”
“And why the bloody hell would I go do that?” Harry asked incredulously, eyes wide.
“Because if you do, I’ll give you this hangover potion. Otherwise I’m leaving with this, and I’ll make sure to tell Kreacher not to give you one for the rest of the month,” Hermione told him with a smug grin stretched across her face. Harry weighed his options, but as the pounding in his head came to a crescendo, he knew there was only one right answer.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now give me the bloody potion!”
“I think you’ll have a great time. The Celestial Dragon at 7pm- don’t you dare be late! The reservation is under Hermione Granger- Weasley!” As she pressed the hangover potion into his hand he couldn’t help but feel like there was something she wasn’t telling him.
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Dragging himself out of his thoughts, Harry checked his watch as he continued walking down the alley to the restaurant Hermione told him to go to.
“Go on a blind date, she says, it’ll be good for you she says, the Celestial Dragon at 7pm don’t be late, she says.” he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes as he does so.
Harry walked into the restaurant, running his hand anxiously through his hair.
“Reservation for Hermione Granger-Weasley?” Harry asked as he reached the front table.
“Of course, right this way, sir. The other member of your party is already seated.”
Harry fidgeted with the ends of his cloak as he followed the worker, glancing around to try and guess who he might be dining with tonight. Eventually they made their way to a private room in the back, which he was directed into. As he walked through the door he saw the last person he’d expect to see sitting at the table: Tom Riddle.
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“You!” Harry fumed, “Why of all people would Hermione set me up to meet you!”
“Hello to you too, Harry,” Tom responded, unfazed by Harry’s temper. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
“I’m not doing this, I won’t.” Harry began to turn around, intent on leaving.
“Oh? And what do you think your friend will have to say about that?” Harry paused as his finger tips brushed against the door knob, contemplating Hermione’s response. Bullocks. He could feel his teeth grinding against each other as he stormed back over to the table, roughly pulling his chair out then throwing himself in it.
Harry could feel his heart racing in his chest as they sat in silence, neither one ready to make the first move.
“Shall we start off with some french onion soup?” the other dark-haired man broke the silence first.
Harry was overcome with a flashback to a fifth year Hogsmeade weekend where he and Tom went on a date at the Three Broomsticks. It was winter, and there was a bitter cold in the air that chilled him to his bones. They had entered the Three Broomsticks and quickly found a table. They had ordered french onion soup then too-
“Remembering one of my favorite dishes isn’t going to erase the bad history between us,” Harry snapped, nostrils flaring.
“I’m not trying to erase that,” Tom argued, fists clenched on the table. “I am just trying to be polite.”
“Yeah, well, let’s stop acting polite and just get this stupid thing over with. I’m not bloody staying here for you, I’m staying so I don’t end up facing Hermione’s worried tirade.”
Tom opened his mouth to respond, but halted when their waiter for the night entered the room. They stiffly placed their orders, neither making eye contact with each other. The room was once again silent as bowls of french onion soup appeared in front of both of them.
The soft clatter of spoons scrapping against bowls filled the room, only interrupted by Tom’s attempt to restart conversation.
“I lied to you.”
“What?”
“That night, seven years ago, when I ended things,” Tom took a deep breath, “my reasoning - my excuses - it was all a lie.”
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It was almost curfew, but with only a few weeks left until the end of term, and graduation approaching, most people were too busy studying to care. Harry was on his way to meet Tom at the top of the Astronomy tower, one of their favorite spots to meet ever since fourth year.
As he reached the top he could feel the cool spring air brush against his cheeks. Tom was there, his back to him, and Harry guessed that he was lost in thought gazing at the stars. He stopped and just looked at him for a moment, appreciating his outline in the moonlight.
“Tom,” Harry felt a grin light up his face as his boyfriend and best friend turned to look at him, a grin that immediately dropped at the serious look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Tom stated softly, not making eye contact with Harry.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Tom, what’s going on?” Harry pleaded, stepping closer and trying to grasp Tom’s hands, “We can figure this out, whatever it is.”
Suddenly Tom’s hands were yanked roughly out of his reach. “I don’t love you, Harry. The truth is that I never loved you.”
All of the air felt like it had been sucked out of Harry’s lungs. There was a feeling of a hand squeezing his heart, almost like it was going to rip his heart out of his chest.
“Yo- You don’t mean that,” the words felt like lead on his tongue as he choked them out.
Now, Tom was beginning to pace in front of him angrily, “It was a lie. It was all a lie. I never loved you. I’m sorry.”
“Are you joking?” Harry chuckled wetly. “ Was this all just a fucking game to you?” When Tom didn’t answer and still wouldn’t look at him, Harry felt his face heat with anger. “LOOK AT ME, DAMNIT!” Harry screamed, and dark brown eyes locked gazes with emerald green as Harry stormed towards Tom, “Why play this game, huh?” The continued lack of response only fueled his temper.
“I WANT AN ANSWER, GODDAMNIT!” Harry roared as he shoved Tom, attempting to goad an answer out of him.
“I don’t owe you an explanation!” the brown eyed man snapped back, fists clenched at his sides, and it was silent for a few moments.
Harry’s anger and hurt were swirling inside him like a storm. His face was heated with anger, and he could feel pinpricks of tears beginning to form.
“What was the point of all of it,” he croaked softly, “if it was never real from the start?”
Tom cleared his throat, “Connections, image, status.”
And that answer just wrecked Harry completely. It was like a piece of himself was being crushed into dust, nothingness. His biggest support was a lie all along. The person that got it, that made Harry feel seen, and it was artificial all along.
“We promised each other. Are all of those memories gone now? Did you ever mean them, or were they fake all along?” Harry whispered in one last attempt to discern the truth of the situation.
“I never meant them, it was all apart of the game.”
“I hope you got what you wanted now,” and with quivering hands and tear stained cheeks Harry walked away.
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“Back then, I lied when I told you I didn’t love you. It wasn’t any of that. We were going to be graduating and I wanted to be Minister. I thought - no I was advised by some of my peers that if I wanted to gain allies and achieve my goals that I shouldn’t continue to associate myself with someone like you.” Tom’s hands ran roughly through his hair, and Harry could tell that he too was getting agitated.
“Someone like me?” Harry scoffed, “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Someone associated with the light side’s political views. Someone known to go against normal pureblood norms.” Tom paused, the only sound in the room the slow ticking of the clock.
“Harry, I- I did it because I thought I had to. I regret it every step of the way,” Tom pleaded, arms reaching across the table, trying to grasp Harry’s.
“SEVEN BLOODY YEARS AND THATS ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!” Harry panted, ripping his hands out of reach- slamming them down on the table as he stood. “You- You manipulated me! You made me feel things- made me think you loved me!” Angry tears quickly filled emerald eyes, and Harry tried his damndest not to cry. Don’t you fucking cry over him, not him. You’ve wasted too many tears on him already. His chest stung with the echo of a thousand sensations, reliving the dormant heart break of seven years past.
“I’m sorry, my Harry, I was afraid- I let my ambition get in the way. The idea of not measuring up, the idea of failing- I couldn’t think it. So I did the only thing I thought I could to prevent it at the time.” Tom’s face was desparate, attempting to get Harry to believe him.
“Was your image really more important than us? Was becoming Minister? Was your success?” Harry scoffed, lip curled in anger. “Do all of these excuses magically make it all better? Get rid of the years of hurt?”
“No, but Harry I-” Tom pleaded, but was quickly interrupted.
“You made a promise, you arrogant wanker. And then you broke that promise.”
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Fourth Year:
They were sitting at the top of the Astronomy tower, backs against the wall, gazing up at the stars. They were sitting in comfortable silence together, words not needed after a nice afternoon out in Hogsmeade together. Harry’s heart felt whole, and he felt a surge of happiness rush through him.
Sometimes it felt like people were looking right through him, expecting him to be just like his parents… but Tom? Tom made Harry feel seen. He didn’t know what it was about Tom that made him feel different, more alive. Maybe it was because Tom was also an orphan, had also spent his childhood plagued by other children’s harsh actions; had been labeled an outcast, a castaway, a freak. Maybe it was because Tom, too, felt the pressure of wanting, needing to succeed, to live up to everyone’s expectations. But it never failed that when Harry was with Tom, he felt like the constant weight on his shoulders eased, that someone was finally looking at him and just seeing him-
“Thank you,” Harry whispered quietly.
“For what?” Tom’s dark eyes, even darker in the night, met his.
“For seeing me,” Harry exhaled slowly, “because sometimes it feels like all people see when they look at me are ghosts. And then it feels like I’ll never be who they expect me to be, that I’ll never live up to the legacy they left behind for me.”
And as they continued to stare into each other’s eyes everything else faded into the background. It felt like Tom was staring into Harry’s soul, and Harry into Tom’s.
“Harry,” Tom whispered, “ I will always see you, just as you’ll always see me. The others- they look at me and see the name Riddle and immediately discount me. They find out my Mother is Merope Gaunt, and compare me to the Gaunt legacy of squalor, poverty, instability, and imprisonment. How can I show people that I’m more than my last name, than the legacy they left behind for me?”
“How can I ever live up to a legacy left behind by people I don’t remember knowing?” Harry asked, as Tom’s fingers curled around his.
“I promise you that we’ll be successful, that we’ll amount to something together. That we’ll be more than an orphan, a freak, than the legacy our parents and ancestors left for us to live up to.”
“You promise?” Harry’s voice cracked as tears started to gather in his eyes.
“Yes, my Harry, I promise. We will be more than the ghosts people see when they look at us.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
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“I’m sorry, Harry- I loved you, I still love you. Please, let me fix this. Give me another chance, I promise I’ll do better this time.”
“This isn’t fourth year, this isn’t some fairytale. This is real life, and real life has consequences Tom. I’ve been dealing with the consequences of YOUR actions for years, so thanks for that. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have done it.” Harry chuckled bitterly, standing to take his leave.
“This isn’t going to be fixed, I’ve realized that I deserve better. I deserve someone who isn’t going to lie, to pretend, to take the easy way out, or to break their promises to me. Goodbye, Tom, I hope you have the life you deserve.”
Tom’s dark brown eyes, the ones he used to love so much, the ones he got lost in- gazed back at him mournfully. Lips downturned, attempting to find a response but unable to. Harry shook his head, cheeks were wet from earlier tears, but as he turned to go his eyes were dry. He felt lighter as he was leaving, like there had been a haunting weight on his shoulders from the breakup seven years ago that had eased with the closure this conversation brought.
Reaching the doorway, Harry turned back one more time to look at Tom, a realization coming to his mind. He let out a bitter laugh as he left his old lover with a few parting words,
“Savior of the wizarding world, but you couldn’t save us.”