Whiplash
“I almost lost you.” Tom’s voice was strangled, a strange emotion palpable in his eyes that threw Harry completely for the loop. Granted, it should not have come as such as a surprise considering he had nearly died trying to stop the idiot from doing whatever ritual it was that he was doing. Harry knew he should not have stepped between Tom and the strange magic he was conducting, but there was something in the boy’s eyes that had frightened Harry.
A strange gleam in Tom’s eyes that reminded Harry too painfully of the monster he had left behind in his own time. He had acted before he even thought his plan through–instinct throwing him directly in the line of fire.
Harry could not recall much else after that, and gauging from the Tom’s grimace, it hadn’t been good.
“You imbecile!” Tom hissed, the strange emotion that had overtaken the teen unraveling and quickly shifting to rage as he crowded Harry further into his bed, his back pressing flush against the bed’s headboard. Harry did not know when exactly he had been brought back to his dormitory or when he had been healed.
There was no real way to tell how long he had been in bed, seeing as he was in the dungeons rather than his old Gryffindor rooms. But Harry’s thoughts were cut short by the fury in Tom’s face and the proximity of Tom’s body to his own.
“Are you so reckless that you throw yourself into danger without any thought to the consequences? What if I had gone too far with the spell, Harry?” Tom hissed, his tone soft but the steel of it enough to make Harry wince visibly.
“You fool. I could have killed you.” Tom was so close that Harry could count each individual lash on eyes, his too hot breath fanning against his face, as he planted his hands on either side of Harry’s face.
“But I didn’t die. I am aliv–”
“By the skin of your teeth.” Tom interjected, his proximity doing little to calm Harry’s rapidly beating heart. It felt like it was about to burst, but Harry ignored it to focus on Tom’s words instead.
Digesting them first and then glaring hard into Tom’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if you hadn’t been messing with dark stuff, Riddle.” Harry started, watching what little composure Tom had shatter, before continuing. Recalled in that second that Tom was a Legilimens, and pointed his gaze immediately away to glare instead at the single curl pressed against the boy’s forehead.
“And why do you even care anyway? You’re not my bloody keeper. Hell, you don’t even know me.” Harry was breathing harshly by the end of his tirade.
“Oh, Harry. I’m more than your keeper.” Like smoke, Tom’s rage seemed to evaporate into nothing. The hard glint of his eyes, the ruddy hue of his cheeks, and the firm line of his lips smoothing into a perfectly composed mask. He looked like he had never been upset in the first place–like if Harry and Tom had just been having a perfectly civil conversation rather than discussing the fact that Harry had almost died.
It was offputting, and Harry did not know how to react when Tom seemed to lean in further. His face a centimeter away from his own, mingling their breathing space and making Harry squirm.
Harry tried not to let his discomfort show, glaring up at Riddle’s passive face before gathering his wits to respond to understand what Tom had even meant by that.
“I don’t know what you’re–”
“Do not insult my intelligence.” Tom promptly cut Harry off, a smile manifesting on the boy’s face that set the hairs on Harry’s neck on edge. It was unlike the smiles he gave his professors–all mild mannered and respectfully reverent. This was a smile that reminded Harry too closely of the monster in his time–of the boy that asked too many strange questions and devoured those answers like a snake swallowing its quarry.
It was predatory, but Harry was convinced that this was by virtue of him knowing too much about this boy’s future than anything else. He hadn’t intended to return and spare the boy’s life–more interested in ensuring that the world he had returned from simply never was. But when the moment had arrived–the boy sleeping peacefully in his cot in the decrepit orphanage, Harry could not utter the spell.
It was dismaying to know that he did not hate Riddle enough to speak the words. Let alone, to lift his wand and point it at his sleeping face. But Voldemort had yet to rise–even if he had already murdered three by this point in the timeline if Harry was recalling things correctly.
It would have made more sense to simply kill him when he was still a boy–before the monster had reared its head and snapped its teeth. But Harry would never be able to murder a child, even if that child would become the cruelest wizard to exist come to power since Grindlewald.
“You are helplessly drawn to me. I can hardly make a move without you watching me so very closely.” Riddle spoke, his eyes glittering with something primal that reminded Harry faintly of the eyes of his pet Nagini in the future. It was hungry and curious–shrewd and calculating.
It came as no surprise at all that Tom had noticed this, but it still made something clench in Harry’s gut.
“I wonder why that is.” Riddle continued before pressing his nose against his own, his glasses a strange pressure on his face. Harry could feel the boy’s hair tickling his forehead–his scar twinging warningly at the contact, but otherwise not exploding with pain.
It was a relief in and of itself to know that their connection was not as it once was. It would be incredibly suspect if every single time Riddle accidentally brushed passed him, he was screaming in pain. But the twinge was enough to make him jolt, the heat of Riddle’s skin doing little for his peace of mind.
And then, Tom smiled. The gesture easily setting his nerves on fire–his mind scrambling for something brilliant to say at the mischief Harry found lurking in the boy’s eyes.
“You’re obsessed with me, Harry.” Tom teased, and Harry yelped when Tom pressed his lips lightly against his own. The pressure so soft that if Harry had not had his eyes open, he would not have known at all that Riddle had leaned forward to kiss him.
He failed to respond, his mind blanching when Riddle leaned away, and grinned at his heated face.
Harry was tempted to pinch himself to gauge if this was real at all. If he had not somehow landed in an alternate universe and landed in a time where Riddle in fact had kissed him. Because this could not possibly be real.
“Crushes are fairly innocent. But this one was almost the death of you.” Riddle murmured, and Harry opened and closed his mouth several times to speak. He was flabbergasted, his shock eliciting a soft laugh from the boy still pressed too closely to him on the bed.
“T-this is entirely inappropriate, you almost killed me.” Harry protested, just realizing that he had arms and planting them firmly against Tom’s shoulders.
“I’m well aware, my stupid little lion.” Tom laughed, before pulling away entirely from Harry’s personal space. “We will discuss this later, I find that I no longer feel the need to skin you alive for your stupidity.”
Harry watched him with blatant shock as Tom walked out of the room, the door closing with a click. The sound of the door lock echoing through the silent bedroom, alerting him to the fact that he could not escape.
It was only after several minutes of staring disbelievingly at the door that Harry realized the weight of Tom’s words. His palms began to sweat, his heart rate increasing to the point that Harry was sure it was near heart failure.
Harry was no longer a lion. He was a Slytherin now. Harry could not recall an instance in their interactions where Harry could have possibly let this slip unless…
I’m fucked, Harry realized then, his mind putting two and two together. The predatory gleam in Tom’s eyes making all the more sense now. Harry had been foolish enough to look into the boy’s eyes–Tom had to have seen something.
Fuck.
Harry didn’t know what he was going to do, but he’d think of something. He simply had to before Tom returned.