In Which Harry is a Honey Trap
Well. If Harry was being honest, Operation-Traveling-Back-In-Time-To-Save-Tom-Riddle™ was not working.
The good thing was that he had been getting closer to the Slytherin. Tom’s frequent visits to the cafe had made them more intimate. More...like friends. Sort of. Because Tom’s visits were not dates. Absolutely not.
But the bad thing was that Harry kept pushing him away...because he couldn’t allow himself to date - or even get close to - the future Dark Lord. And the latest attempt at pushing Tom away had been literally biting his thumb when Tom had looked like...like…
Like he wanted to kiss Harry.
Not just kiss him, though. He’d looked at Harry as if he wanted to devour him.
And Harry couldn’t really deal with that. So he panicked and bit Tom’s thumb.
Obviously, that wasn’t the greatest decision Harry had ever made.
“Ow, what the fuck?!” Tom had hissed, and hearing Tom Riddle curse might have been worth it...maybe. But his eyes flashed with anger, and Harry could’ve sworn they almost looked red for a second, and that gave him Voldemort deja vu. So, yeah. Definitely not worth it.
“I’m sorry!” Harry had said, over and over again. In the end, he’d taken a morose and grumpy Tom up to his tiny, cramped apartment above the cafe, where he had a small bottle of Dittany. Thankfully, the bite wasn’t super deep, and the Dittany had healed it relatively quickly. Harry tended to Tom’s wound and wrapped a little bandage around it, for extra safety, while Tom remained eerily silent.
“Thanks,” was all Tom said after Harry had fixed him up. Harry was still bothered by the future Dark Lord’s moody expression, and his near-silence this entire time. Still, he didn’t know what to say…
“Do you want to kill me?” is what Harry eventually blurted out. What the heck kind of a question was that? he berated himself silently. Was he asking for Riddle to kill him and dump his body in a ditch? “Er. ‘Cause it looks like you do,” he settled for joking lamely.
Tom’s gaze was more exasperated than angry, which was good for Harry. “If I’d wanted to kill you, Harry, you’d already be dead.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me.”
Tom snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I don’t get you, Harry,” he noted, shuffling closer so he was peering down at Harry. “You clearly like me, but then you push me away...you slap me, spill cream over my head, call me a pervert of all things, and bite my thumb off. It’s almost hilarious. Why don’t you just let yourself go? Why don’t you just let your guard down around me?”
Harry’s throat felt dry. He tried to step back, put some distance between him and Riddle, but the backs of his legs hit the bed and he flopped down on the bed with an “oomph”. Now Tom stood over him, caging Harry in between his legs as he bent down over Harry. He didn’t look angry - no, just confused. He gently lifted his hand and brushed his hand over Harry’s cheek.
The tender action stunned Harry. The future Dark Lord didn’t look upset. He looked...endeared. With Harry.
Oh God, why did this feel like a scene out of one of Petunia’s soap operas?!
But Harry knew that Tom was right. Harry kept pushing him away...but that was counter-productive. Harry should be trying to get closer to Tom, in order to stop him from creating more horcruxes...and he couldn’t get closer to Tom if he kept putting up guards around the Slytherin.
And so Harry had to be vulnerable - honest - to the future Dark Lord. Well, at least, a little bit.
“It’s because, around you…” Harry chose his words carefully. “I get nervous,” he whispered, looking into Tom’s eyes, trying to convey his authenticity. And it was true, too! “I get really nervous.”
Tom’s eyes flickered back and forth across Harry’s face, and Harry had never felt more exposed. He gulped and continued. “I...I do like you,” Harry squeaked, and Merlin, could his face get any redder? “But...I feel afraid - almost embarrassed - to be...close with you.”
Tom hummed, hooking his index finger under Harry’s chin. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed to be close with me,” he murmured. “Or afraid. I would never judge you, Harry, or hurt you.”
Harry rolled his eyes inwardly, because that last sentence was totally a lie. How many times had Voldemort hurt him? But this wasn’t Voldemort - at least, not yet. It was Tom Riddle, his face inches away from Harry’s, his eyes dark and piercing -
“Okay,” Harry said meekly, hating how shaky his voice sounded to his own ears. Tom’s undivided attention was doing things to him, and he fidgeted under Tom’s stare. “I...understand.”
Tom was so close that his breath was warm on Harry’s face. “Good boy,” Tom murmured.
A coil of heat unfurled in the pit of Harry’s stomach at those words. Oh, Merlin! Not now! His first instinct was to run - to push Riddle away and flee -
But then he reminded himself. I’ve got to get closer to Riddle, not farther away. And this...might be a way of getting closer to him.
Harry had heard of this before - honey traps, they were called. Female spies who gained the advantage on their enemies by seducing them… and even if Harry wasn’t a girl, he would seduce the future Dark Lord if he needed to!
And it would be so easy...to run his fingers through Tom’s hair, to kiss him, to let him press Harry against his bed and -
Woah, what?
This story is supposed to be a slow burn!
“Hey.” Tom’s voice snapped Harry out of his scheming. “Are you okay? With this?”
The future Dark Lord had cupped Harry’s cheek with his palm, and his eyes were earnest. Searching. Nervous, almost. Harry never thought he’d see Tom Riddle as apprehensive, ever, but now...he realized that Tom really didn’t want to hurt Harry. He didn’t want to do anything that Harry was uncomfortable with.
And why did that make Harry’s stomach do a little backflip?
“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted out. “For...your thumb.” Thinking quickly, he grabbed Tom’s right hand, and over Tom’s bandage on his thumb, Harry pressed a soft kiss, letting his eyes flutter shut.
Tom stilled in shock, watching Harry kiss his thumb. Harry looked up at him, cheeks a bit flushed. “It’s a muggle thing,” Harry explained, feeling a little stupid. “They...they kiss small wounds, it’s supposed to make them feel better.”
Tom huffed out a laugh. Of course, he knew that. That’s what the stupid muggle children at the orphanage would say...but no kid at Wool’s Orphanage was lucky enough to have someone press a kiss to their cuts or scratches.
No one...except Tom, right now.
And watching Harry look up at him expectantly - still in that stupid cow costume, mind you - made something seize up in Tom’s chest.
What was this feeling?