Tomarry One Shots

Testosterone Boys and HarleyQuin Girls

Summary: This must be karma, some kind of punishment, some form of purgatory. Tom is meticulous, never wrong, never out of place. He eliminates anything — or anyone — that threatens to usurp that. Tom Marvolo Riddle, by all means, does not spend his time in broom closets, crammed against a shelf while the Gryffindor seeker holds him by his hips. "Is that what this is about? You...you like..." Harry's sentence remains unfinished, but the implications are clear. Disgust curdles in Tom's gut, putrid. "Like," Tom enunciates as if the word is poison on his tongue. "What a stupid thing to say, Potter. I admire your delusion." (AKA: Tom's a bratty virgin.)

Ship: TomRiddlexHarryPotter

All credit goes to screamingmandrakes on Ao3

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Tom hates Harry.

This feeling is a common occurrence—Tom harbors disdain for most, if not all, individuals he crosses paths with. But Harry? The instant Harry loads the Hogwarts Express, his glasses askew and his black hair in disarray, Tom fucking loathes him. It's not his normal hate either; it's burning fury, a visceral urge to wrap his hands around Harry's neck and throttle him until he stops talking. Tom Riddle hates Harry in a way he has never hated anyone ever before, and he has no reason for it except that he simply does.

Naturally, this is something Tom refuses to let go.

Because Tom doesn't just hate people— not without action. No, if somebody is a pest, then Tom makes sure to exterminate them. When you've already crossed murder off the list of moral failings, stalking comes effortlessly. Following Harry through the halls requires minimal effort. Tom's a quiet boy, well behaved, top of his class by all accounts, and shamelessly a teacher's pet. By far not the kind of person people watch out for. Harry isn't the most perceptive type either— he doesn't seem to notice that Tom is always hot on his tail, always at the opposing table in the library, always, always watching.

It's a miracle nobody has taken to him before this.

He chooses not to think about that. Doesn't think about how angry it makes him feel, how his body flushes hot with rage at the idea of someone else taking Harry. He thinks only of how much he hates him, how horrible the boy is, and not how skilled he is on the broom when Tom inevitably begins to watch the quidditch matches. Because another thing — Tom is careful, Tom is precise , but he is by no means omnipotent, so when Harry corners him in an empty corridor, it's no one's fault but his own.

"Stop following me." Harry hisses. He's about the same height as Tom, and they stand eye to eye as Harry does his best to seem threatening. Tom laughs, hard and short. He feels no shame for his actions. In fact, he feels nothing but hate, as if Harry's in the wrong here. Which he, of course, is .

"Absurd, Potter," he says coldly. "As if I'd waste my time."

"Shut your mouth." Harry snaps. Tom recoils. Not from shock at his attitude, Harry has always been the loud-mouthed type. This realization, this accomplishment of finally noticing what's going on around him, isn't one of Harry's own. Tom is keenly, and rather unfortunately, aware of Harry's entourage. The majority of the quidditch team follows him around, clapping his shoulder on a job well done on the field, but it is the less notable two that Tom despises — the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl constantly whispering in his ear, and the redhead that never seems to stop nonsensically yelling.

"I'm serious," Harry threatens, "Leave me alone, or I'll—"

But Tom isn't listening because Merlin's Beard, Harry talks so fucking much- and he can't be arsed to feign interest . His fingers twitch, but he forces himself to clench his hands into fists, refraining from reaching for his wand and blasting Harry through the nearest window. His fantasies don't always involve killing; sometimes, he thinks about Harry writhing on the floor under the Cruciatus, screaming and pleading for mercy. It would be a pretty sight for certain.