In Which Harry’s Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard
Well. It seemed as if Operation-Traveling-Back-In-Time-To-Save-Tom-Riddle™ was... working, somehow.
The ‘secret admirer’ ruse had eased Tom’s worries about Harry’s identity. Harry was no longer under suspicion for knowing too much about Tom...it was, theoretically, the perfect disguise.
“So that’s why you like my hair so much!” Tom had exclaimed, laughing, after Harry had ‘admitted’ to being the secret admirer. “You always gushed about my hair in those letters…but how did you get into the Slytherin dorms if you were a Gryffindor?”
“I have an Invisibility Cloak,” Harry said, thinking quickly.
“Wicked,” Tom murmured. “Did you watch me while I slept, too?”
“No!” Harry had squeaked.
“Oh, sure ,” Tom said, winking.
But even if Harry was no longer under suspicion...he wasn’t sure he liked this new dynamic. Tom was friendlier now, but he also teased Harry more...every time he visited the maid cafe, he’d only order from Harry and would always ask for Harry to sit down and talk to him while he drank his tea or coffee.
In other words, every time Tom came to the cafe and chatted to Harry about little things - Hogwarts, how business at Borgin and Burkes was, the cool, weird artifacts he’d come across - it felt too...close. It almost felt like...a date.
And Harry was absolutely not going on dates with the future Dark Lord!
Because, as we all know-
“Dark Lords are off-limits,” Harry muttered to himself resolutely, as he made a fresh pot of tea. “Off-limits!”
Still. You can’t blame Harry for when his resolve crumbled slightly. Tom Riddle, somehow, wasn’t bad company. He was funny, charming, and slick. Harry didn’t even have to force a laugh at his jokes, or even act impressed by his stories...Tom had done it all on his own. Harry even found himself looking forward to meeting Tom whenever he stopped by twice a week. Harry couldn’t believe this was the same boy who had murdered his muggle relatives and who ended up killing Moaning Myrtle.
Reminding himself of that fact made Harry remember that the charm, the humor, the looks...those were all a facade behind which the monster had hidden. Tom had already split his soul twice...and the whole reason he was working at Borgin and Burkes was to find more precious wizarding artifacts to keep pieces of his soul into. Harry knew that according to the timeline, it was only a matter of time before Tom would meet Hepzibah Smith and wheedle her out of Salazar Slytherin’s locket and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. And before then, Harry had to change him, and convince him to stop splitting his soul.
Was it even possible to save Riddle’s soul? To save Riddle? Harry didn’t know.
But what he did know was that this costume was easily the worst he’d worn so far.
When Tom walked into the cafe, he could barely suppress a laugh. “ What are you wearing, Harry?”
“Not a word,” Harry warned.
“Oh my days,” Tom murmured, “Are you supposed to be a cow? ”
Today, Harry’s maid dress had spots of black against the white background, and his headband had tiny horns on it. Worst of all, his apron was pink and had little udders on it.
Harry Potter was clearly in the seventh circle of Hell.
“Moo,” Harry deadpanned, and Tom - Tom burst out laughing.
This was different than the times he’d laughed before in Harry’s company. Then, his laugh was deep and low, but it was polite. Civilized. Maybe even forced, or practiced, to be charming.
This was different.
Tom was literally crying tears of laughter, and his raucous laughs - loud and booming and undignified - made something in Harry’s chest seize up, despite his own mortification about being in a cow costume.
Maybe Tom’s charm was all practiced - maybe it was all a facade - but Harry felt like he was seeing a little bit of the real Tom. He had taken a peek behind the curtain, and it made him happy.
“Why are you in a cow costume, anyway?” Tom asked when he regained his composure, dark eyes shining with mirth.
Harry shrugged. “We’re having a deal on milkshakes today,” he said. “Two sickles for a strawberry milkshake. Three sickles for a chocolate one.”
“I’ll get a strawberry milkshake,” Tom decided. “And bring two straws.”
A few minutes later, Harry had placed a strawberry milkshake on the table in front of Tom, the little bell at the end of his collar jingling to signify his arrival.
Harry slid in the seat across from Tom, when Tom offered him one of the swirly straws. “Here.”
Harry stared at it, gaze flicking up from the straw to Tom. “Why?” he asked, frowning a little.
Tom gave him his most dashing smile, dimples and all. Harry’s resolve to Not Date Dark Lords™ crumbled a tiny bit more. “Share it with me,” he said.
Harry couldn’t help but gawk. Tom Riddle, with dimples (!), had just asked him to share his milkshake with him? What? He felt like a third-year girl… was he actually blushing?
“Um,” Harry squirmed, “Sure. Thanks.”
And that’s how Harry ended up sharing a strawberry milkshake with the future Dark Lord. Sipping the milkshake, staring into each other’s eyes…
“You have some whipped cream on your mouth,” Tom said after a minute.
Harry licked his lips. “Is it gone?”
“Nope.” Tom leaned forward, and Harry’s breath hitched. Tom swiped his thumb across Harry’s plush bottom lip, wiping the whipped cream there.
And then Tom stuck his thumb in Harry’s mouth and Harry involuntarily ran his tongue over Tom’s thumb, watching the older boy’s gaze darken as he did so.
Harry was blushing hard, and oh Merlin, why is he looking at me like that-
“You’re so messy, Harry,” Tom chided, voice low, and he gaze was hungry - “ But I like it when you’re messy.” His eyes dropped to Harry’s mouth, to his bitten, red lips, and he kept swiping his thumb back and forth across Harry’s lower lip - Harry couldn’t do this-
And Harry panicked and did the only thing he could think of.
He opened his mouth and bit down on Tom’s thumb.