Tomarry One Shots

Once is Happenstance

Summary: "Feigning reluctance does not suit you." As per usual, Harry has no idea how he ended up in this situation. In 1945, in an abandoned classroom after curfew, with Tom Riddle's tongue shoved into his mouth.

Ship: HarryPotterxTomRiddle

All credit goes to Confunded on Ao3

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Harry walked swiftly through the familiar corridors of the first floor, heading towards the ever-moving staircases and wishing for the umpteenth time that his Invisibility Cloak had hurtled through time and space with him. He drew his wand to cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself instead, but before he got the incantation out, he was unceremoniously yanked into a classroom.

He yelped. "What the-"

A hand was placed over his mouth to quiet him and then removed. "Quiet, darling, it wouldn't do to be overheard."

Although it was darker than night and Harry could see nothing, he knew that voice better than he knew his own. Not high and cold – not just yet – Tom Riddle's voice was silky smooth.

Harry lit end of his wand non-verbally just for confirmation, not that Riddle noticed or cared – he was talking, and there was nothing more he liked than the sound of his own voice.

Frankly, Harry couldn't blame him.

"Now, I was having an uneventful patrol, when a robe rushing around the corner caught my eye. Naturally, I followed them, determined to reprimand the troublemaker. Imagine my surprise when I realise it's a certain Gryffindor. I wondered what he could possibly be doing at this time of night, but then I spotted a certain unenlightened-"

"Riddle," Harry interrupted. It was probably unwise to be so crude, but Riddle was familiar enough with his attitude. Professor Merrythought had assigned them as partners in Defense, months ago, and there was some amount of rapport between them. Harry might've described it as friendship, had it been with anyone else. "If you're going to dock points, there's no need for all this."

Harry waved a hand to demonstrate that 'this' referred to abandoned classrooms and unceremonious yanking. Unfortunately, his gesture went unseen. For some reason, Riddle was about three inches away from him.

"I admit, that did cross my mind initially," Riddle responded. "But a better plan formed in my mind once I realised the late-night lurker was you. I haven't seen you all day, and I've found that to be quite unbearable."

Harry stared. Several things were on the tip of his tongue, namely, 'what the hell are you on?' and 'what the fuck do you want with me?' and 'this sounds like a blatant abuse of Head Boy powers', but he didn't voice any of them. He didn't have a death wish. (Actually, he probably did, but only sometimes.)

Instead, he said, "I suppose you want me to ask what your brilliant plan is."

Riddle chuckled. It was an awful sound, not by the timbre of it, but because it was a noise that didn't match with the personality that lurked under his charming façade. Riddle didn't chuckle out of amusement or fondness; he did it to pretend he was feeling either of those emotions. Harry understood this much, but he was too slow to work out what was motivating Riddle into falsities this time.

"That I do," Riddle responded. "Unfortunately, you've decided you're not going to ask, and you're too much of a stubborn Gryffindor to change your mind, so I'll have to settle with just showing you."

It was honestly incredible that he could speak in a way that was insane, presumptuous and charming all at the same time. Harry's silent contemplation was cut off, however, because Riddle slung one arm around his waist, and grabbed his shoulder with the other.

"What the hell are you-"

"Don't be so crass, darling," Riddle chastised.

Harry fumed, preparing to retort and shove the boy away, but Riddle used the hand on his shoulder to pull him in until the three inches between them was no more. Instead, there was suddenly a mouth on his and Harry's mind blanked and his body froze.

His wand, useless by his side, was dimly illuminating the scene. Riddle's aristocratic features and flawless skin filled his vision. His grey eyes reflected the same giddy glee Harry had seen only in Slughorn's memories before, his usually perfect wavy hair had a few impolite strands flying out, his lips were ever-so-slightly chapped and it was all very upsetting.

"Hey, hey, hey," Harry said, tilting his head away because Riddle's tongue was asking for entry. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

His attempts to push the boy away were weak, and that seemed to spurn Riddle on, because his voice had a sultry tone to it.

"Feigning reluctance does not suit you," Riddle replied, and leant forward once more, capturing his mouth with passion that should not be possible. Riddle's hands wandered into the mess of his hair, and god if he wasn't weak for that. He was pressed further into the wall, and Riddle was devouring him like he meant it. Harry couldn't find it in himself to do any number of possible things to stop it.

For someone so internally haughty and cold, Riddle's body ran hot. It had been years since Harry had been this close to someone, and the lonely creature inside of him rejoiced in the warmth of their bodies, in the hot tongue that he had let into his mouth, foolishly, so foolishly. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was someone else, anyone else-

Riddle pulled away, the grey in his eyes almost devoured by lustful black. Harry felt the loss of his body heat immediately and hated himself for wanting it back.

"It's so easy to get carried away," Riddle said distantly, and perhaps it was the first truth that had ever come out of his mouth. Harry had gotten lost in the moment, and he could feel his mouth fall open in poorly-restrained horror.

Riddle had just fucking kissed him, and he'd enjoyed it. Anyone would enjoy it, to be fair – he was strikingly attractive, a bloody good kisser, and so convincing in the lie that had been passion. Harry quickly shut his mouth, afraid that one of his deadly secrets would fall out of his mouth if he expressed just how horrified he was at this – at Riddle, at himself.

"Don't look like that, it makes me feel bad," Riddle said, straightening his tie and then reaching out to fix Harry's own. "You know I'd prefer to continue, but duty calls, and Abbott will be along these corridors soon."

Harry stared blankly.

"Aren't you supposed to be patrolling together?" he eventually asked, his voice weak. It was not what he had been wanting to say at all.

"As if I want to spend more time with that dunce," sneered Riddle. The expression was much more familiar to Harry and helped bring him to his senses.

"Marshall's my friend," replied Harry, welcoming the irritation that flooded his veins because it wasn't an immoral desire. He crossed his arms.

"Your choice of acquaintances continues to appal me," Riddle muttered uncaringly, flicking his wand – that Harry hadn't even noticed he'd drawn – to fix the flyaway strands in his hair. "Abbott's head is full of air. You could do better."

"If you think I would ever want to talk to Lestrange-" Harry began but was cut off because Riddle pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth with a certain amount of gentleness and familiarity that he couldn't possibly have.

"But you like Nott," Riddle said, not bothering to connect his thoughts together logically, like usual. He turned away and strut out of the classroom with an utterance of goodnight, oblivious to the turmoil inside of Harry's mind.

He couldn't explain any of the last ten minutes at all. Harry had definitely, accidentally, somehow, stumbled too far out to sea.