Tomarry One Shots

Rituals

Summary: He knows he's referring to Potter before he even glances his way, and only looks out of reflex, utterly bored by the turn in conversation. His eyes flit to the Gryffindor table, in what should be a quick, simple motion. He will look at Potter, confirm that, yes, his hair is a disaster, and go on with his breakfast. And look at Potter, he does. 

That's when his glass coffee cup slips from his hands, shattering and spilling its dark contents across the table. Beside him, Draco flinches, stutters, and dares to question Tom's actions but he cannot even spare the energy to get mad because something is- something is wrong- He's standing from his seat and rushing out of the Great Hall before the spilled coffee can drip onto the floor.

Tom had attempted a modified vitality ritual. It had been a failure. Now, every time he sees Harry Potter, he gets a raging hard-on.

Ship: TomRiddlexHarryPotter

All credit goes to MorianaBeldom on Ao3

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When he's finished chanting out the last of the guttural, Latin words, it's all he can do to suppress the all-encompassing rage that fills him, the ritual had been a failure-!

Then there's a flash of light, so vibrant he's momentarily blinded, and a deafening boom-

Any chance he may have had to get excited about finally getting some results dies before being allowed to form because, with that, he's fallen unconscious.

—

He comes to, face down on the cold, slightly damp floor of the chamber of secrets.

When he jerks into a sitting position, the sudden movement jostles his head and sends a screaming pain through it. He winces.

Then, he stops, goes over what he'd been doing. A modified vitality ritual, meant to invigorate his magical core. He'd been attempting to partially tie the replenishing abilities of his sexual organs to his magical restorative skills; after all, a boy his age was in peak stages of production.

And... that light, that noise! Had it worked?

He glances down at himself, considers how he feels.

And then considers how he feels the same.

With a furrowing of his brow, he stands. Save the headache... nothing. He doesn't feel particularly invigorated, nor restored.

Sighing, he raises his wand to clear away the mess he's made.

—-

Going into the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, he does not expect it to be a necessarily interesting affair.

An expectation that proves correct, he finds, when the conversation that starts his day is a rather one-sided one between Draco Malfoy and himself about the proper hair care potions necessary for different events, and how 'despite its good reputation, Sleakeazy's is not the end all when it comes to styling-

It's as he sips his coffee, suffering through the inane chatter, that his interest is piqued.

It begins as a kind of feeling, just along his peripherals. He doesn't even really notice it, just shifts at a weird flip his stomach suddenly gives and continues with his breakfast.

"Now there's someone who could do with a conversation about hair care, just look at the state of that bird's nest-"

He knows he's referring to Potter before he even glances his way, and only looks out of reflex, utterly bored by the turn in conversation.