Teenage Angst
“If you don’t want to talk about what happened then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.” Harry muttered, staring at Tom’s hunched back as he labored over one of his newest experiments; standing regally over the table. Harry wasn’t quite sure what this newest project entailed, but gauging from the boy’s tense shoulders, it had to be something arduous and time consuming.
A something, Harry noted, that had supremely pissed the teen off.
Several moments passed without answer; the shuffling of vials that only sound in the deafening silence that had fallen between them.
“Riddle?” Harry tried again, his curiosity and substantial disregard for his own safety urging him to prod. He knew it was stupid, and he begrudgingly conceded, reckless. But Harry could not just leave this be.
When Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, it had been Tom that had taken him under his wing. Literally swooping in with a reassuring smile when Harry had nearly had an aneurysm that very afternoon.
The shock of being sorted into Slytherin too much for him.
Harry had been sure he would be placed in Gryffindor–recalling then, how a strange voice shouted spitefully that his sorting had been wrong. That he in fact did not belong in Slytherin, but in Gryffindor. It didn’t make much sense to Harry then, knowing little about his past, let alone about Hogwarts. He had been so overwhelmed by his conflicting emotions that it was certainly a relief when Riddle had come. His soothing voice and dark eyes immediately settling the tumultuous emotions fighting for dominance in his mind.
It had made the transition markedly easier. Although his true identity still eluded him even to this day.
His memories of his own past were murky at best. A total shot in the dark. Short fragments such as his first name and latent talents easy to recall.
But that was the extent of his knowledge, and any attempt he made of doing more to uncover his mysterious past, usually led to more questions than actual answers.
And pain. Excruciating and debilitating pain.
For some reason Harry had yet to decipher, any attempt made to uncover more than simple memories lead to crippling migraines. The agony, at first, manageable for a few short seconds before exploding with sharp pangs--the pulsing on his forehead so particularized that Harry could almost predict when he had gone too far with his recollections. The area where his strange scar lied twinging as if in warning.
It was easily the most painful thing Harry had ever experienced. And perhaps the sole reason he made no substantial progress with uncovering where he came from.
He wanted to know how he had acquired the scar on his forehead. Learn about what his family was like--if he even had one at all. To uncover the secrets of the nightmares that plagued him at night, but could never recall.
To decipher just what the bloody hell the name Voldemort even meant.
But there was no helping things. He had to let things lie--even if it went contrary to him to just leave this alone.
Harry was drawn away from his thoughts by the absence of movement. The clatter of vials being moved ceasing.
There was a pregnant pause, and then Harry heard rather than saw Riddle set the vials down. It was the only warning Harry had before Riddle rounded on him; the teen moving so quickly that Harry barely had enough time to take a step back. Riddle’s arm narrowly missing his side by mere seconds when he had turned to survey him.
“What makes you think I wish to speak to you?” Tom intoned, rage so palpable on his face that Harry was sure he’d melt from the intensity.
It was admittedly frightening to be underneath the teen’s intense scrutiny, but Harry did not wither despite the impulse screaming for him to shrink back into the confines of his mind.
He was no coward.
Tom may be an arse, but he wasn’t dangerous. To his knowledge, at least.
The teen was certainly dark, but that was not evidence of anything. There were plenty of students his year that were questionable. If anything, considering the current state of things in the outside world, Harry was the last to even judge in the first place. Since being sorted into Slytherin, he had learned more than he needed to know about the prejudices harbored for his house.
Slytherins, from what Harry had gathered were notorious. And the Gryffindors certainly made sure to let him know of it. Their slurs and rude remarks almost commonplace now.
Though, in all fairness, his housemates were wankers. There was perhaps one or two that were at least decent. Riddle among those.
Though decent didn’t necessarily mean nice.
“Well, you like me enough to sit beside me for meals.” Harry said lamely, only just realizing how piss poor his reasoning was. But it was honestly the best he had. Riddle was quite the gentleman outside of class, but within his actual house...well, Riddle could be a little intense.
It was definitely a good sign if Riddle could tolerate you in a private setting. And although sitting at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was not exactly private--the discussions they had amongst themselves at the table certainly was.
And Riddle, for some god awful reason, always sat beside him. Rarely, if ever, did Tom actually speak to him past usual pleasantries. But it was markedly better than his aloof regard for his other peers.
It had secretly pleased him to be so special.
And now that he actually voiced such a thing, it definitely didn’t sound all that impressive. In fact, Harry thought with embarrassment, it sounded a bit sad. But it was too late to take the words back.
He would just have to roll with it and see what happened.
“Hardly indicative of anything.” Riddle scoffed, his rage abating as he continued to stare rather intensely at Harry. The darkness in his eyes reminding Harry of the Forbidden Forest at night–an abyss that devoured all light that dared near it. The faint light from the lantern the grounds keeper snuffing out almost instantly when setting food inside the obsidian pool.
It was both fascinating and horrifying all at once.
Harry tried not to fidget under the teen’s scrutiny, clenching his hands into fists when he noted that they had begun to shake. His nerves frayed and his discomfort mounting with each passing second.
“But you like me. You hardly spare the other Slytherins a glance. Except when you’re making demands.” Harry insisted, uncaring of the fact that Riddle had yet to step back.
Riddle paused, his eyes widening fractionally in mild surprise before smoothing away into a passive expression. His eyes swirling with some unnamed emotion that Harry struggled to explain.
A short pause.
And then Riddle smiled at him–a simple curve of the lips, but enough to shock Harry to the marrow of his bones. It reminded Harry of a hungry predator; the sudden stretching of the teen’s lips when Harry could not stop himself from swallowing audibly, making him tense.
Harry could practically see the cogs in the teen’s brain running.
It didn’t look good at all.
“Why do you even care, Harry?” Tom purred, and Harry blanched. His mind screaming at him to move when Riddle stepped forward and shortened the space between them. “I thought I was an arse, as you so eloquently put it. You seemed rather adamant of this this morning.”
Harry did not know what to do. His eyes as wide as saucers when Riddle stopped a couple centimeters in front of him–towering easily above Harry’s much shorter stature.
Riddle then raised a mocking brow, and that snapped Harry out of his shock.
Harry scowled, discarding his anxiety for the moment; ignoring the way his glasses slipped slightly out of place on his nose, before squaring his shoulders.
“You are. But you seemed upset. More so than usual. And then you even lied to my fac–” Harry began, but was cut off by Riddle’s hand reaching out to push Harry’s glasses back into place. The gesture so innocent and sudden that Harry was derailed completely from his train of thought.
Nervously, Harry swallowed–all too aware of Riddle’s seemingly innocuous gesture; repressing a shiver when Riddle’s fingers lightly pressed against his forehead before detracting entirely.
“You were saying?” Riddle teased, snapping Harry out of his stupor.
Harry cleared his throat, and then gathered his composure as quickly as he could. His cheeks burning, all while pointedly ignoring the way Riddle’s lips curled up in amusement.
Tosser.
“Why did you lie? And so poorly at that?” Harry tried again, and he watched the way Tom’s eyebrows shot up, his lips still twisted into that stupid grin.
“Because I wanted to.”
Harry gaped, his eyes widening in shock at Riddle’s very blithe response.
Seriously!?
“Are you sodding kiddin–”
“No. It was just so remarkably easy. I was curious to see just how you’d react. And my, it was certainly something.” Riddle interrupted smoothly, his tone dropping so low that Harry felt his palms begin to sweat. The octave in combination with the heat of Riddle’s gaze making his stomach clench unpleasantly.
Harry did not know what to make of this, and thus, ignored both his own strange reactions and Riddle’s own behavior. Unwilling to give power to this unease. To even put a name to this strange thing happening between them.
“You’re such a prick, Riddle.” Harry retorted, stepping back…only to press against the smooth edges of a desk.
When did I–
“Don’t you want to know why I am upset, Harry?” Riddle coaxed, one perfectly shaped brow lifting up in question. His tone light-hearted and seemingly innocent.
Harry didn’t like his tone, nor the glint in the boy’s eyes.
Harry wasn’t the most observant. Easily able to name a series of other students his year that could put two and two together without much pomp and circumstance. But he didn’t need to be a genius nor the most astute to know that this definitely stank of trouble.
Harry could admit that he was curious–more than he’d like considering how rare it was for the teen to be so open with anyone.
But he couldn’t help how wary he felt about Tom. The teen’’s glittering onyx eyes and his grin rather worrisome.
“I find your sudden generosity suspicious.” Harry cautioned after staring at Riddle for several minutes, unable to mask his grimace when Riddle cocked his head to one side, his gaze flickering down to slowly trail up his body. The way with which Tom watched him almost indecent.
Harry tried not to shudder at that, Riddle’s gaze almost like a physical touch, when his perusal finally stopped on his face. His intense black eyes capturing Harry’s own wide, green ones.
It was as if Riddle was trying to pry some secret out of Harry’s head.
“As you should.” Tom replied in turn before stepping closer still, bridging the small gap Harry had created seconds earlier.
It was all the incentive Harry needed to finally convince himself that he needed to leave.
“I think I’m just going to go.” Harry started, pausing for a moment to collect his bearings before continuing. “You can stay here and sulk all day if you want.”
Harry made to leave, shifting his gaze away from Tom’s creepy face to the exit.
It was in that split second that Tom struck.
Harry gasped, unable to react appropriately when Tom shoved him back against the desk, the hands on either side of Harry’s hips boxing his body in between Tom’s body and the wooden table. Harry could feel where Tom’s arms were pressed onto his sides–the burn of it seeping through his robes.
“What the fuck do yo–”
“Be quiet.” Riddle hissed, and Harry clicked his mouth shut. It was easily the most terrified Harry had ever recalled being, shock shooting up his spine at the murderous expression that suddenly overtook Riddle’s face.
Harry’s body was frozen entirely in shock, unable to comprehend just what was happening. He scrambled to think of something to do, his mind screaming for him to get away--but Harry could not move. Riddle’s eyes so close to his own that it felt like his soul was being sucked out from his eyes.
Riddle was bloody insane. He seemed just fine a few seconds ago...
“Do you know just how frustrating–” Riddle murmured into the short space between their faces, his breath hot wafting against Harry’s cheek as he spoke. Harry was, for once, unable to think of anything to say. “–it is to work with you practically breathing down my neck?”
Riddle whispered, and Harry shrank into himself when Riddle leaned in until their noses touched. The contact making something stir within Harry’s mind–like a memory long lost.
“Do you?” Riddle repeated and Harry inhaled sharply when Riddle arms were suddenly clutching at his arms–his grip so tight that Harry was sure he would have bruises.
“I won’t bother yo–” Harry tried to say, but Riddle cut him off once more. His eyes flashing dangerously beneath the low light of the lit sconces in the room.
“You've done more than bother me, boy.” Harry bristled at the condescending tone in Riddle’s voice, proudly jutting his chin upwards to glare into Riddle’s own unwavering gaze.
“You’re only a couple months older than me. You’re one to talk.” Harry shot back, ignoring the way Riddle’s nose flared and his lips quirked into a sneer.
“You know what? I don’t have to take shit from you of all people.” Harry snarled, pressing his hands suddenly to Tom’s chest and shoving him as hard as he could.
He felt satisfaction curl in his gut at the way Tom’s eyes shot open in surprise, barely catching his balance when he stumbled backwards. Harry pushed past him, heading immediately for the door before Tom could even right himself.
Satisfaction curling in his gut when Riddle cursed; the clattering of vials and the shattering of glass that followed, drawing forth a strong surge of vindictive pleasure from Harry.
Fuck him. This is the last time I’m ever going to be nice to him.
And then Harry was out the door, the door slamming shut loudly behind him as he practically sprinted down the hall. Angry tears welling up at the corners of his eyes and trailing down his cheeks before he could stop them.
He didn’t know why he was crying--why Tom being such an arse to him for simply caring in that second affected him in such a way.
Riddle wasn’t nice. Polite, sure. Charismatic, without a doubt. But there was nothing nice about the boy.
But damn it, Harry had thought that Riddle at least liked him. That he was at least a little special even if they didn’t always get along. .
Harry did not want to admit that it hurt. Stifling his frustrated tears as he passed through several nosy portraits in the hallway toward the dungeons. But it did. More than Harry had expected it to.
Fuck him.