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The fire is low, crackling quietly, casting a golden glow against the stone walls and floors. The snake carving adorning the fireplace seems to come to life with the way the light dances around it. Aside from the warm, inviting area around the fireplace, the Slytherin common room is dark, most of the lamps snuffed out. The lake outside the towering windows is almost pitch black. It’s late, but Harry Potter does not know what time it is now, nor does he care. The last time he cast a wandless Tempus quietly to not disturb his companion reading across from him in the other leather wingback chair, it was half past twelve.
He himself had been reading as well, Firebolt: A Blazing Thrill by Randolph Spudmore, a Christmas present from Hermione Granger, one of his best friends from Gryffindor. It has been some time since he was actually reading the book. His eyes had been looking at the paragraph about how the goblin-made ironwork of the Firebolt was a defining factor on its stability over and over without truly reading it. The book is fascinating and he is intrigued — it is about the broom he currently owns, after all — but reading dense paragraphs for a significant amount of time has never really been his strong suit. He has made a dent on the book though, and Harry thinks that he should be quite proud of himself. He sighs quietly as he rubs his eyes, skewing his glasses a bit, before resting the open book on his chest as he sinks a little deeper into the chair, settling into a more comfortable position.
Harry keeps his attention to the fire and the snake carving for a while, imagining the serpents’ dark eyes glinting. His eyes inadvertently wander over to the boy across from him and he can’t help but to trail his eyes over the other boy’s almost aristocratic features. The strong jawline, with the coiffed hair where a strand is falling over his dark brown eyes, which seemed to be almost burgundy instead from the equal amount of light and darkness in the room. Tom Riddle, the insanely smart and calculative, excelling-in-everything Head Boy. Despite being a half-blood, like Harry, Tom has the Slytherin house under his command. Having an immensely strong magical core and being a Slytherin heir definitely helps, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that Tom’s father is Muggle royalty. The other boy is oozing power through every means possible.
There is a rustle of a page as Tom turns a page over, the gold band from the Slytherin heir ring on Tom’s ring finger gleaming momentarily when he moves. Then it is quiet once more. Harry absentmindedly thumbs his own heir rings adorning his pinky and ring finger. During the sixth year when he returned to Hogwarts after the holidays adorning both the Potter ring — from James Potter, his father — and the Black ring — from his godfather, Sirius Black — it had caused quite the ruckus. Being an heir to two powerful, old families, that has a major influence in the Wizengamot will definitely cause a ruckus, his father had reminded him. Harry is fine with people talking about him, he’s used to it. Almost keeping up with Tom Riddle in classes and known as the outlier Slytherin who is friends with almost everyone from other houses, not to mention being the Slytherin Quidditch captain with a winning streak, makes for great conversation among the student body. Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, the two students everybody needs to watch out for.
Harry returns his attention to Tom, no longer sitting straight but not slouching, still reading his book. He has one leg over the other, the perfectly cut black pants accentuating how long his legs are. The slightly creased white shirt he’s wearing looks impeccable on him. Harry wonders sometimes how Tom can look effortlessly good like that.
“You’re thinking too loud.”
Tom’s voice suddenly cut through the silence, causing Harry to nearly jolt out of his chair. He raises his eyes to look at Tom’s face and finds the other boy looking at him with a slight amused expression. “Are you using Legilimency on me?” Harry asks.
“I don’t have to,” Tom replies. “You seem to keep on forgetting that your mind is one I find always heavily protected.”
Harry snorts quietly, thankful that Tom has no inkling that he was thinking of how the other boy looks good. “Got my mother to thank for teaching me that.”
The corner of Tom’s mouth quirks up slightly before he returns his attention to his book and says, “I suppose so, but you do need to give credit to yourself more, Harry. Defenses that are strong do not come without effort.”
Harry wills himself to take a careful breath. It's so rare to hear a compliment from Tom, that when it comes unbidden although in a roundabout way more often than not, it always catches Harry off guard. The slight quirk on Tom's lips has not melted away, and something in Harry catches. He ignores the feeling and grins instead, leaning forward slightly, "Oh, is that a compliment I hear?"
Tom rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable," he says, albeit without his famous sharp, biting tone. Coming from Tom, Harry knows it's as good as him being fond. Merlin, he does not want to know how Tom would react should Harry tells him he's being fond.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Harry takes his book off his chest and closes it, then puts it on the table between them. He's reaching for his still warm cup of ginger tea from earlier — truly, Hogwarts house elves always outdone themselves — when Tom speaks again. "Why are you here?"
Harry takes a sip from his cup and lets himself stare directly at Tom. Harry Potter is probably the only person who can lock eyes with Tom Riddle and not cower under their intensity. "Well, why are you here too?"
There's a slightest twitch of the eyebrow from Tom. "I believe I asked first."
Usually Harry would be itching for a banter, testing to see how far he can push Tom before giving him an answer, but the late hour and the comfortable silence between them makes him think that it should be fine to be forthright tonight. "I stayed because we’ll be taking our N.E.W.T.s in five months, and I know that I won't be able to enjoy Hogwarts as usual because I will be studying every chance I have. Consider it a goodbye of sorts." He then gestures airily at Tom. "Then after that we'll be venturing out into the real world, more studies or lordship matters and I—" Harry pauses, cradling the cup with both hands, "—I just want some peace and quiet."
Tom hums a reply, his book closed, long fingers in between the pages like he is about to get back to reading any moment. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he does. It does surprise him though when Tom closes the book for good and sets it aside, settling back into his chair and looks over at the fire. "Truth be told, I have the same exact reasons. I know I will miss Hogwarts. I want to spend more time with it, however fleeting."
"Also, the look on Draco's face when we told him that we wouldn't be staying long at his Yule ball was hilarious," Harry laughs, recalling how Draco Malfoy's jaw literally dropped.
The deep chuckle from Tom is such a delight to hear. "The Yule at Malfoy's has always been more about celebration instead of business, so there was no need for me to linger about when said business is done." Tom directs his stare back at Harry. "Not when I have already charmed most of the old families."
At this, Harry averts his eyes and stares at his cup instead. The tea nearly looks gold. Biting down the urge for his usual snippy remark about charming the old families, Harry sighs, "Tom Riddle and his plans in changing the Wizarding world." He then sets the cup back down on the table before waving a hand in front of him, conjuring a small ottoman in the same leather as his chair. Harry then rests his socked feet on top of it, enjoying the warmth from the fire.
Tom hums again, seeming to delight in Harry using wandless magic. He then rests his cheek on his hand, head tilting as he lets his eyes roam over Harry's face. "Do you still have qualms about my plans?"
Harry shakes his head. "Not anymore. I helped you with planning those major points of reform so that you don’t go with your original idea of kidnapping magical children from Muggle families, so there's no need for me to have any doubts." He smiles then, looking up. "And I know you won't break your promise to me."
Tom smiles back, more of a teasing smirk really, one which Harry knows well that whoever is on the receiving end of said smirk, witches or wizards, would usually swoon. But not Harry. Definitely not Harry. "Keeping promises to a friend is quite important, or so you've reminded me thousands of times."
"Excuse me, there should be a 'best' there somewhere," Harry scoffs, pretending to look affronted. He ignores the recognizable pang somewhere in his stomach. "I know you'll do great things Tom. As your best friend I can attest to that."
The smirk on the taller boy softens into an actual smile. “Of course I will.” Then his eyes seem to follow Harry's hand as he runs it through his inky hair. "You've been wearing your heir rings," Tom muses.
Harry removes his hand from his hair to look down at his rings. "Yes I have. Though most of the time I just hide them." He lifts his hand and silently wills the rings to disappear, leaving his fingers void of them both. He turns his hand around, pleased that his glamours are flawless. “It doesn’t stop people from trying to get a glimpse of them though. Sometimes they blatantly stare at my hand.” He releases his magic then and the rings reappear.
“Such unbecoming behavior,” Tom mutters. “They could’ve tried to sneak a glance discreetly and practice a decorum of decency.”
“Oh my god, must you talk like a swot every time?” Harry laughs.
The amusement returns to Tom’s face. “I’m simply conversing in a respectable manner, am I not?”
Harry laughs a bit louder at that. “Oh god, please stop.” He wipes an imaginary tear away and sighs. “I mean, I don’t want to, but I have to wear them, being Lord Potter-Black and all. It would be scandalous if I don’t, what with Wizarding Britain knowing about it already.”
Something in Tom’s expression shifted. Harry isn’t sure what, it could’ve been the light from the fire. “And you’ve been receiving,” Tom pauses slightly, almost scrunching up his nose, as if what he’s about to say will leave a sour note in his mouth, “courting letters.”
Harry groans loudly and closes his eyes, “Don’t remind me of them. It’s nightmare fuel.” He whips his head around then, opening his eyes and gives Tom the most incredulous stare. “Don’t tell me you’ve been receiving them too, oh Lord Slytherin.”
“I have received a couple,” Tom says, his lips sneering and eyebrows furrowed in what Harry can only think of as pure, undisguised disgust. “I admire their boldness but I’ve declined them. Father and mother have agreed with me in not accepting their proposals.”
“Okay, now you need to tell me whose family sent those courting letters,” Harry says, another laugh marring his voice.
Tom sighs but he doesn't answer. Harry waits patiently as he watches his friend struggle the tiniest bit against his pleading eyes. “Lestrange, Parkinson, and Nott,” Tom finally breathes out. The snort that Harry exhaled would have earned him a glare from his mother should she hear it. The relief he feels after hearing the names allows him to laugh. “Stop laughing, Harry. It’s a serious matter,” Tom chides, causing Harry’s cackles to grow louder.
“I have to give it to them,” Harry says after he manages to control his laughter. “They’ve got balls.”
Tom purses his lips, clearly not a fan of the language Harry uses, but Harry knows that at this point, his long time friend agrees. “Quite,” he says dryly. The single arched brow from Tom has Harry almost mimicking his expression.
“What?”
“So,” Tom drawls, “from whom did you receive your courting letters?”
Harry lowers his legs from the ottoman and buries his face in hands before leaning forward, seeming to fold over in the chair to hide how embarrassed he is for receiving letters from, “Weasley, Longbottom, Avery, Parkinson—” Harry looks up, mortified that Tom has mirth in his eyes, “—and Malfoy.”
It is Tom’s turn to laugh then, the deep tone of it rich with amusement. Harry gapes a little as he watches Tom lose himself momentarily, delighting in the joy the other boy is exuding. Harry wouldn’t be lying if he says that these moments with Tom where he’s being open and honest is his favorite. Tom almost always has a façade with others and Harry is probably the only person who has ever seen the version without. Everybody has seen the calculative, cold, smug, and irritated Tom Riddle. A lot of people have seen the smirks and the small genuine smiles, but you can count with one hand the number of people who have seen him relaxed and laughing out loud. Harry knows he is lucky.
“Ron Weasley?” Tom enquired.
“No, it’s not Ron. He’s in love with Hermione and is set on marrying her. I can’t imagine if Ron decides to court me.” Harry shudders involuntarily. Ron Weasley is another of Harry’s best friends, but Harry would rather fling himself out of the astronomy tower than marry him. “It’s his younger sister, Ginny.”
Tom smiles then. “Longbottom?”
“You should’ve seen the way Neville blanched when I showed him the letter. Apparently, his grandmother wrote it without discussing it with him. The Gryffindor in him reared up then and he incendio-ed the letter.”
“So that was what that small fire was about last time,” Tom drawls.
Harry grins. “Draco’s hair almost got singed.”
“I can set his hair on fire if you would like,” Tom offers. Harry gapes at Tom, mouth open in disbelief. Tom shrugs at him. “He wouldn’t dare get angry. Most likely he would be flattered if I am the one to do it.”
“As tempting as that sounds, please don’t,” Harry sighs, turning his attention back to the fire. “Can you imagine how my parents would react, knowing that I gave the ‘okay’ for someone to set fire to a potential betrotheds’ hair? To one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as well.”
“You’re considering Malfoy’s proposal?”
Harry starts shaking his head, but then he lets out a groan before removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Harry keeps the pressure on his eyes from his fingers steady as he could feel the strain from remembering the letter he read this morning. “Father has been writing in his letters saying that it would be a somewhat great match since the Malfoys have influence in— What are you doing?”
Long fingers have wrapped itself around Harry’s wrist, slowly pulling his hand away from his face. Harry had heard movement coming from Tom’s direction but this isn’t what he expected. Tom is blurry in Harry’s vision. He has to crane his head up to look at the now towering Tom Riddle, one hand holding his wrist, the other in the pocket of his pants. “Uh, yes?” Harry ventures, his breath nearly catching in his chest.
“Put your glasses back on,” Tom orders softly.
Harry frowns but follows through, maneuvering the glasses with his left hand back to his face. When Tom’s face goes back to focus, Harry inhales a slow, steady breath, then asks, “Okay? What’s happening?”
Tom raises an eyebrow, mouth set into a line. “The Malfoys have influence,” he says with a slight mocking tone that most people won’t usually hear, but Harry is not most people, “and you are considering his courting…” Tom trails off, his eyes locked on Harry’s and it’s taking all of Harry’s control to not squirm under the gaze. He stubbornly wills himself to keep his eyes on Tom’s dark eyes even as he feels Tom’s thumb move ever so slowly into the palm of his hand. Tom presses the palm of his hand a bit more firmly to the inside of Harry’s wrist and Harry wills himself to keep his breathing very, very steady. One edge of Tom’s mouth quirks up ever so slightly, and then, “…even though you have no feelings for Draco.”
Before Harry could reply to the statement, Tom continues, “He might think you’re his rival in Quidditch but you know he’s not yours because you’re better than him.” Harry very nearly stops breathing when Tom starts to lean down. “Your cleverness surpasses him, not a surprise as you see me as the one you need to humble, and the rare spectacle of your cunningness is a shock to him but does not ignite anything within him.”
Warm breath ghosts over Harry’s fingers. He nearly jerks back, but this is a battle of wills, he’s not going to lose to whatever this is Tom is pulling. He can see Tom’s long lashes and the thought of wanting to touch them flits through his mind. No, no, I am not losing against—
“As for influence, you know the Potter-Black eclipses the Malfoys. Only a select few families are of your equal. You and I know this,” Tom says as he looks up, fixing his gaze at Harry once more, cutting off whatever sentence was going through Harry’s mind. “And your magical core, oh Harry,” Tom very nearly purrs, “He does not know what you’re capable of. Not like a certain someone you know so very well.” Then, to Harry’s utter disbelief, Tom presses his lips to Harry’s fingers.
Harry swallows. He opens his mouth to make a retort, any retort, when Tom speaks again, with lips against fingers that feels too hot, and with a voice so low it makes Harry’s stomach drop. “Your pulse is racing. I wonder why.”
Any coherent thought in Harry’s brain is immediately obliterated. Tom smirks.