In Which Tom is a Pervert
That moment, Harry thought, was probably one of the funniest in his entire life.
The memory of Tom’s incredulous face, and his perfectly coiffed black curls doused with cream, was Harry’s proudest accomplishment. Tom had looked absolutely murderous in that moment, and if looks could kill, Harry would be dead.
Still. Harry had gotten a huge rant from Katrina, and he’d been forced to clean up manually, the muggle way...but it had been totally worth it, if only for that moment, where cream was dripping over Tom’s face and his expression had been utterly furious. Maybe Harry was a petty little bitch, but Tom Riddle - no, Voldemort - had done so much to him. So this little comeuppance...yeah, Tom totally deserved it, and more.
Tom was already a bad bitch by this point, Harry figured, because he had created two horcruxes so far - the diary and the Gaunt ring. Tom was already a murderer, so...surely spilling some cream over his head was nothing to get sent to hell over. Harry’s conscience wasn’t burdened at all.
Still, he thought, as he cleaned the cafe, it was odd...he surely expected to get fired for what he’d done, but Katrina had clucked her tongue and said something about “boys will be boys”. So, he got stuck with muggle cleaning, and he had to work overtime. But he needed to keep this job, or how else could he afford rent?
As expected, Tom hadn’t visited the cafe since the cream incident. Which was good, anyways. Harry didn’t need his stupidly attractive face around. But it had been a week since he’d seen Tom...and the whole point of going back in time was getting close to Tom and convincing him to stop splitting up his soul and using dark magic.
And how could he get close to Tom if they kept antagonizing each other? Harry knew that at some point, he had to go and apologize...or at least try to make amends. As much as the idea of being friends with the future Dark Lord irked him, he needed to try, at least.
So that was how Harry ended up at 13B Knockturn Alley, outside Borgin and Burkes on his lunch break, fidgeting a little and giving himself a pep talk.
“Come on, Harry,” he said, “It’ll be fine...you just need to say sorry...to Lord Voldemort...for spilling cream over his head.” He chuckled and quickly wiped the smirk from his face. Right...he had to say sorry. He could do that, right?
Borgin and Burkes was exactly as he remembered when he accidentally stumbled in there before his second year at Hogwarts. The shop was dingy and dark, and it smelled like a musty library. The cramped shelves were lined with all sorts of artifacts and even human skulls, and creepy smiling masks hung on the wall. Spiked instruments - were those for torture? - hung from the ceiling like demented chandeliers.
Caractacus Burke was standing behind the counter, a permanent frown on his wizened features. The frown only deepened when he saw what Harry was wearing. “What in the-”
“Is Riddle here?” Harry butted in, not really wanting to make small talk with the creepy shop owner.
“He’s in the back, polishing artifacts…” Burke peered up at Harry. “He usually doesn't get any young visitors...did you know him from school?”
“Er,” Harry stammered, “Sort of.”
“Tom! ” Burke called out, turning around, “There’s a girl here to see you. Don’t keep her waiting.”
“Wait!” Harry spluttered, “I’m not a-”
“Who is it, Burke?” Tom’s voice carried over as he approached from the curtains leading to the ‘back’ of the shop. His eyes widened when he saw who it was. “Oh, Harriet!” he cried, his voice oozing false charm, and Harry let out a squeak of anger. “Nice of you to visit me.” He gave Harry a dashing smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Harry inwardly groaned. “Follow me.”
Harry followed Tom begrudgingly to the back of the shop, which led out into a small cobblestone alleyway. The alleyway reeked, like a dead, microwaved cat or something. Harry shivered.
Tom’s fake smile dropped immediately as the door swung shut and he faced Harry alone. “You,” he hissed, “What are you doing here? Was pouring cream over my head not enough that you had to come and stalk me at my place of work?” His eyes narrowed. “Wait. How did you know I work at Borgin and Burkes?”
Uh oh. Harry shifted from one foot to the other, patting down the lacy trim of his dress for a distraction. “I came to apologize,” he huffed, thinking quickly. “...And Katrina told me where you worked...apparently she heard of you and your sleazy sales pitches. You’re famous in the neighborhood.”
Tom put his hands on his hips. Only then did Harry notice what he was wearing. Tom was wearing a pair of old navy robes over dusty Muggle trousers, and those fingerless street-urchin gloves were on, too. Over his robes was a black apron, tied around his waist.
And really, that whole ensemble screamed “broke” to Harry, but for some unknown reason, seeing the future Dark Lord in such a humble outfit...made something in him unwind. He wasn’t a rich, all-powerful dictator now...he was just a broke nineteen-year-old working in a creepy dark artifact shop to make rent. It made Harry sympathize with him, for Merlin’s sake, before he quickly rid himself of the thought. No way! Dark Lords are off-limits, he reminded himself. Off-limits!
“Well?” Tom snapped, breaking the silence.
“What?” Harry asked, frowning.
Tom rolled his eyes, then. “You said you were here to apologize,” he said, leaning over Harry, “And I haven’t heard an apology yet.”
And what the heck? Somehow, Harry’s back was against the brick wall behind him, and Tom Marvolo Riddle was leaning over him, a slightly teasing glint in his eyes- what was this, some shojo anime?! Harry wasn’t having it...but he had to make up, right?
“I’m...sorry,” Harry ground out through gritted teeth. “For...creaming you.”
The smug smirk was wiped clean off of Tom’s face. “ What? ”
Fuck! Damn Harry and Harry’s big, stupid mouth. “Er,” he began, “I mean...for milking you. Wait, no! For...God help me...spilling cream on you,” he finished lamely.
For a second, Tom only inspected him with an unreadable expression, but then he burst out into laughter. And it wasn’t a creepy, high-pitched evil cackle like Voldemort. It was a deep, genuinely happy sound, and it made Harry’s heart soften for some reason. No, Harry! Dark Lords are off-limits!
“You are ridiculous,” he said to Harry, shaking his head a little. Then he leaned down even further, his arm pressed against the brick wall above Harry’s head. Their faces were only inches apart - Harry could count his dark eyelashes - oh Merlin -
“But to make up for it,” Tom whispered, “I should cream you, don’t you think?”
Harry’s mouth fell open and he was aware that his cheeks were on fire. No, no! Was Tom Riddle flirting with him? Impossible! He had to do something, anything, to stop this -
So he reached up and slapped Tom across the face.
“You pervert! ” Harry cried, and he ran down the alleyway as fast as he could away from Tom.
Tom only huffed out a disbelieving laugh, watching as Harry’s dress swished a little with the movement as he ran.
Harry was infuriating, hilarious, and adorable, all at the same time. But most of all, he was mysterious.
Tom simply had to get to know him.