Chapter Text
Abraxas Malfoy
Thursday morning arrived and Abraxas felt excitement bubble in his chest overriding the gentle, soporific power of the Moonflowers around his bed. It was somewhat earlier than he would have preferred but he was willing to sacrifice sleep to catch Arimaeus before he left for his run.
Wednesday had been awkward, with his best friend and his newest friend at odds but he put that behind him because it was finally Thursday and some things were beyond petty, interpersonal squabbles.
Pulling a silk robe over his green pyjamas he slipped between the curtains on his bed and padded across the deep, green rug to the neighbouring four-poster.
He knocked quietly on the wood and waited, intensely aware of the small sounds of sleeping people around him but heard nothing from within the curtained bed.
Arimaeus and himself were the only ones who consistently closed the curtains around their beds at night. Avery and Lestrange rarely bothered, Orion only did it when he had company and if Tom had his curtains closed it would have taken the Imperius Curse to force someone to risk disturbing him.
Minutes passed and it pained Abraxas to resort to a less polite approach. Nudging the material aside he cast a low Lumos, barely enough to make out Arimaeus facing away from him, hair strewn across the pillow and the rumpled quilt tangled around him.
‘Arimaeus?’ He called quietly but got no responding movement or sound. The silence was complete, not even the light noise of breathing. Worried, he reached out a hand intending to check on his friend.
A light tingle of magic crept up his fingertips and before his brain fully processed the feeling of wards, Arimaeus was there. Wand pointed at his face.
Abraxas froze, empty hand still raised in midair, heart pounding.
He saw his name on Arimaeus’ lips but heard nothing. Green eyes blinked before his wand sketched a pattern then lowered.
‘Is something wrong?’ His whisper pierced the silence and Abraxas tried to remember how to breathe.
Yes something was wrong, this was not going at all how he wanted. Pushing through his shock he forced a response.
‘It’s Thursday.’
‘Oh! Thursday!’ Arimaeus slapped a hand across his own mouth then lowered his voice. ‘Bring it over and I’ll reset the Silencing Spell?’
Abraxas retrieved the birthday box from his desk, gripping tightly with sweating palms.
Arimaeus beckoned him forward so he took a breath and climbed onto the bed. With a quick wand swish the curtain closed behind him and the Spell returned, enclosing them in velvet lined silence.
‘Could you brighten your Lumos for a second?’
Arimaeus yawned through his words and when the light increased Abraxas watched the sleepy boy pull himself out from under the quilt to sit cross legged. He seemed to be looking for something then inexplicably cut 3 buttons from his pyjama top leaving the black satin material gaping and framing a swath of creamy white skin.
Cheeks warming, Abraxas forced his eyes to his hands. Some muttered spells later and 3 buttons transfigured into open glass jars, each containing a bright blue flame and set to float above their heads.
The flickering blue flames lit the soft, green walls of the bed in a bright facsimile of the standard Slytherin underwater lighting.
‘It’s beautiful.’ The words escaped Abraxas and his cheeks burned hotter. Braced for a comment on his frivolous priorities he chanced a look at Arimaeus but found him watching the shifting patterns with a small smile.
‘I’ve never tried this in here before, it’s nice.’ He tried to stifle another yawn and brought his attention back to the box carefully set between them on the bed. ‘Should I get Orion before you open it?’
‘No. He doesn’t care for plants or sentimental stuff, and he won’t be functional until after breakfast.’
Arimaeus rubbed his eyes and Abraxas felt an uncomfortable, prickling heat sweep through him trying to keep from fidgeting.
‘I apologise. You’re tired, I shouldn’t have bothered you and I certainly shouldn’t have barged into your bed when you had it warded for privacy. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Abraxas.’ Warm hands covered his own. ‘I’m really happy you woke me. I’m dying to see what’s in the next box. I talked about some options with Lawrence but I left the final decision up to him, so this is exciting for me too. Just, please don’t be sad if it’s not as good as a rare glow in the dark, magical flower because I think he might have started with the best one.’
Focusing on the grounding contact and welcoming tone he willed his muscles to loosen. ‘So I should open it?’
‘If you make me wait any longer it’ll move past teasing into cruelty.’
Taking back his hands he lifted the lid with the day’s date and quietly read out the description of the plant inside.
‘The Tenebris Murum or Dark Wall Orchid is a magical, night blooming orchid native to Tibet and transplanted to Britain in 1941 by Calliope Ogden during her Journeyman Exploration. When blooming, the Orchid emits an aura of magic which repels lesser Dark Creatures and is commonly planted around the boundaries of magical communities. While well known and grown in abundance in its native climate this plant is largely unknown beyond the Himalayan region. Potential applications in potion making or alternative magic are currently unknown.’
Abraxas read through the details and the instructions on propagation and care twice before reaching into the magical carrier to withdraw the orchid.
‘Oh.’ Arimaeus sounded disappointed and he tore his eyes from the fascinating plant to glance at him.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I mean, with that description I thought it’d look, uh, fancier.’
‘Fancier?’
‘I don’t know, it’s a small blue flower in a plain brown pot. It’s not glowing or magically growing up the side of your bed or anything. I suppose the red dots on the petals are kind of cute.’
He was rubbing the back of his neck behind his hair which Abraxas realised was loose and falling around his shoulders in a shimmering wave. It looked perfect and soft, he knew it would feel incredible sliding through his fingers and… He went back to examining the plant in his hands.
‘Is it ok?’
‘Ok? Is it ok? It’s a magical orchid that protects against dark creatures, potentially has a myriad of undiscovered uses and I’m among the first to own one in the entire country. It’s beyond perfect; and valuable; and exciting; and mysterious; and I need to put it down before I drop it because I think my hands are shaking.’
Arimaeus lifted the wards around the bed and held the curtain open so he could set his precious cargo safely on the desk.
He stepped back, far back. He was definitely shaking and something was tickling his face.
Arimaeus gently pulled him back towards the bed and his thumb stroked across his cheek. To his horror and embarrassment Abraxas realised he was crying.
Completely focussed on the lump in his throat and unwanted tears running down his face, Abraxas barely noticed that he’d been guided back within the quiet cocoon of curtains and wards until he was sat against the headboard with his friend’s arm wrapped around him rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.
He had no idea what he was feeling or why. He was a grown wizard letting his emotions get the best of him. His parents, his tutors, Orion, they all tried to help him, toughen him up but here he was, in pieces over a plant.
Arimaeus seemed perfectly content to sit in silence but after a few minutes Abraxas had his eyes under control and started to feel awkward.
Clearing his throat he shifted away so he could see his friend and put a proper amount of distance between them.
‘I’m sorry, Heir Nott. I don’t know what came over me. Your gift is incredible and I was overwhelmed. Please accept my sincerest thanks and my apologies for my behaviour.’
‘No.’
‘What? I don’t...?’
‘I mean sure, glad you liked it but if you start calling me Heir Nott, I’m taking it back.’
‘You wouldn’t. You can’t!’ The lurking threat of tears disappeared as Abraxas went from overwhelmed to outraged in an instant.
‘I assure you, Heir Malfoy, I can.’
‘Over my dead body, Arimaeus.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Arimaeus clapped him on the shoulder, undid the wards and indicated the curtains. ‘Go get dressed, you’re coming out with me and Theo.’
‘Running?’ He let his distaste coat the word.
Arimaeus snorted. ‘No, your Majesty. You don’t need to run, but come outside with us. When was the last time you were outside for longer than it takes to get from the castle to the greenhouses?’
He thought about it. ‘The carriage from Hogsmeade.’
‘Doesn’t count.’ Arimaeus made a shooing motion before, rather distractingly swapping his top for some sort of thin, cotton, buttonless shirt that hugged his muscles when he moved. ‘Don’t think I won’t drag you out in your pyjamas.’
Abraxas was between their beds surrounded by his sleeping dorm mates and the last thing he wanted was to make a scene. He looked at the orchid on his desk and turned towards his wardrobe, hiding the smile that threatened his lips.
He supposed he could spend an hour outside with Arimaeus, if he insisted.
Theo
At 7am Ari stepped into the common room looking surprisingly awake. A mystery that was immediately solved when Abraxas appeared after him and Theo remembered it was Thursday.
‘What does today’s plant do? Dance?’
Abraxas immediately launched into a description of the orchid and his initial ideas for investigating its applications. His enthusiasm was catching and Theo found himself drawn into a surprisingly interesting discussion on experimental methodologies in herbology and potions while they left the dungeons. Ari walked beside them, looking amused.
They left the enclosing stone of the castle by a small side door and stepped into the fresh, damp Scottish air. Dew sparkled in the grass and their path led them to the clifftop overlooking the Lake. Every morning Ari insisted they stop there and take a minute to soak in the view. Theo would never admit it but it was often his favourite part of the day.
Beside them Abraxas stopped mid sentence and stared. The waters far below were still, a perfect mirror of the surrounding mountains, tinged pink with the last blush of dawn. Scattered clouds with rose gold edges broke the serene blue sky and birdsong highlighted the peace.
Theo wasn’t sure how long the scene held them but eventually Ari broke its grip.
‘Come on, we need to move if we want to make it back for breakfast. We usually take the path down to the boat house, along the shore and back for some exercises and cool down. Abraxas, you coming?’
‘And ruin this moment of beauty with sweat and pain? I think not, I’ll wait here.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘But thanks for inviting me.’
Ari waved and they left the blonde to the scenery. ‘You’re welcome any time.’
Despite the idyllic lakeshore and perfect conditions his brother was unusually pensive. Theo left him to his thoughts until they abandoned the shore to loop back along the edge of the forest.
‘You and Abraxas seem to be getting along.’
‘He’s not exactly what I expected.’
‘How so?’
‘I thought he’d be meaner, but he’s sweet and sincere, and a bit insecure. At least when he’s not being all Purebloody.’
‘Oh believe me, he can be plenty mean.’
A few minutes passed before Ari responded.
‘How did you forgive everyone for how they treated you?’
‘Who says I have?’
Theo hadn’t magically let go of the fear and abandonment of his last 2 years but he was trying to move on. He spent more of his free time with his brother than his fellow Fourth Years but over the last week since they’d been back at Hogwarts, he’d started to feel more comfortable with them. They, in turn, seemed happy to include him whenever he chose, in or out of class. It was a far cry from his days as a social pariah.
‘The way I see it I have two choices: I can hold a grudge and spend my year bitter, angry and lonely; or I can accept people’s apologies, enjoy my Fourth Year and work with you to change things. I haven’t forgotten what happened and I’ve seen the nasty side of a lot of well respected people, but the real architects of my misery were Father and Arimaeus, and neither of them are here right now.’
His brother stopped dead at the base of the cliff and Theo felt dissected by his gaze before he was picked up in a bear hug and spun around. Ari laughed wildly as he dropped him back to his feet and ducked away from Theo’s retaliatory swipe.
‘You’re way too mature for a fourteen year old, I’m so bloody lucky to have you. This is why you’re my favourite brother.’
‘Only brother.’ Theo felt his face heat and knew it wasn’t the exercise. He rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards the trail. ‘Run you sappy git, or we won’t get back in time for you to impress the cute blonde with your push ups.’
He sprinted away before Ari could react and pounding footsteps chased him up the cliff path.
It wasn’t the first time their friendly jog had devolved into a race and when he passed the tree marking their unofficial finish line Theo raised his arms in triumph then threw himself onto the dewy grass to catch his breath.
Ari thudded down beside him a second later and for a while all he could hear was the gradually slowing rhythm of his heart.
‘Does gasping for breath on the wet lawn denote the completion of your ritual or is there a second stage?’
Sitting up, Theo spotted Abraxas less than 10 feet away. He was watching them from the stone bench overlooking the cliff in the shade of their finishing line.
‘There’s usually a second stage.’ He struggled to his feet and moved gracelessly to claim the empty half of the bench. ‘But I’m done for the day. Sprinting up that path was brutal.’
Ari got up and bit his lip, clearly torn between finishing their routine and admitting defeat. He absently grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up to wipe the sweat from his face. Abraxas blushed and Theo barely stifled a laugh when he became suddenly fascinated with his fingernails.
‘I’ll skip the rest but I’m doing the cool down and you should too.’ Ari looked at him pointedly then took off at a slow jog around the lawn.
Theo answered Abraxas’ unasked question. ‘He’s probably right, I don’t want my muscles to stiffen up during class. Come on, a fast walk’ll do and this way at least you can say you got some exercise.’
The blonde reluctantly stood and they followed Arimaeus, albeit at a slightly slower pace.
‘You do this every day?’
‘Pretty much, we’ve been around the Quidditch pitch a couple of times for variety but it’s not half as beautiful.’
‘Isn’t it unpleasant?’
‘The first couple of weeks running around the gardens at the manor were hell. I don’t think I’d have lasted a day if Ari hadn’t been next to me struggling just as hard, but refusing to give up. Now it’s kind of fun and I’ve got more energy, I sleep better and I get to laugh at everyone puffing and panting their way up the Astronomy Tower once a week.’
‘And you look good.’ Abraxas mused quietly then realised what he’d said and began to backtrack.
Theo’s cheeks might be a bit warmer but he didn’t worry it was a sign of interest. He’d seen the way the blonde looked at his brother. He took the compliment in the abstract, observational manner it had been meant.
‘Thanks Abraxas, I didn’t know you’d noticed. You look really good too.’
Abraxas took a breath and opened his mouth when he realised Theo was teasing and composed himself before going right back to what was starting to feel like an interrogation.
‘Why did you start? I don’t know anyone that exercises like this. Not even the Quidditch Teams.’
‘Ari. Have you tried saying “no” to him recently?’
‘But you hated him?’
‘Things change.’ He shrugged the question off, his feelings about Ari in those early weeks had been complicated and he wasn’t digging into them to satisfy Abraxas’ curiosity.
Abraxas took the hint and they almost made it back to the tree in companionable silence.
‘Who’s Lawrence?’
Theo glanced at the blonde. He looked indifferent, which was always a give away with Purebloods, but Ari bounced up from where he’d been stretching before he could answer.
‘I need your help.’
‘That was rude.’ Ari had been looking at Abraxas but Theo responded first. ‘Abraxas was just asking about Lawrence.’
Keeping his expression bland he moved to do his own stretches, facing away but close enough to listen.
Sure enough, Ari dived right in, with enthusiasm.
‘Lawrence is amazing, I met him in Diagon Alley and we had the most amazing tarts. He knows absolutely everything there is to know about plants. You’ll love him.’
‘Oh.’ Abraxas’ response was subdued. ‘He sounds great.’
‘He is. I’ll introduce you sometime. But about that favour?’
‘What is it?’
‘I need help with my plan for Orion. I know he’s your best friend so it might be a bit awkward but…’
‘I’m in.’ Abraxas interrupted without hesitation.
Theo finished up and turned to find the pair sharing a look that almost made him pity Orion.
‘Do I get to hear this evil revenge plan?’
‘I don’t know Theo. Why don’t you ask the Merfolk?’
Tom Riddle
Shafts of evening sun warmed Tom’s desk highlighting stacks of old parchment and leather bindings that smelled of secrets and power. The Hogwarts Library was a temple to magical knowledge and with only two years left he needed to make the most of his access.
From his carefully chosen seat Tom could bury himself in the depths of magic or observe the students around him. Tonight he had an hour between dinner and the weekly meeting of his Knights set aside to complete the required research for Magical Theory.
He therefore did not appreciate Arimaeus Nott distracting him from his meticulous schedule. The oblivious Heir sat with his hands in his braided hair, surrounded by stacks of books and what appeared to be partially completed essays. Every few minutes he would sigh, tug his hair and switch to a new pile of books and parchment. Tom would get nothing done until he asked.
Tom kept his footsteps light but was noticed almost immediately, green eyes tracking him across the room.
‘You appear distressed.’
His skin prickled with the slight static of rising magic and Tom almost flinched when the Heir suddenly dropped his head to the desk with a thud.
‘Ow.’
The boy rubbed his forehead, smiling ruefully and Tom could almost think he’d imagined the odd feeling.
‘Yes Tom. I’m distressed, disheartened, annoyed, pick a word that means utterly frustrated and increasingly pissed off and that’s me. I’m having a bloody irritating afternoon.’
‘But at least you don’t appear to require a thesaurus.’
That startled a laugh and Arimaeus leaned back and waved towards a free chair which Tom took as an ill mannered invitation to sit.
‘No one ever describes you as funny but I think it might be your best feature, other than your, well, features.’
‘Do people often describe me?’
‘All the time. People seem to think you’re important.’
‘You disagree?’
‘I’m reserving judgement. In case you turn out to be a mass murdering psychopath intent on destroying Muggleborns. Or something.’
Yet again Tom had the impression he was missing a layer of the conversation.
‘How generous. I had intended to offer my services with whatever it is that has irritated you so thoroughly, but I am no longer sure of my welcome.’
He moved to leave but a pale hand lightly gripped his forearm.
‘Wait, I’m sorry, I’m being an arse. I get touchy when I’m frustrated and I’m taking it out on you. I would love your help.’
This was not the first time Arimaeus Nott had taken a disrespectful tone in their conversations and under normal circumstances Tom would have made his displeasure felt by now. But these were not normal circumstances, he looked over the messy purple braid, sharp green eyes and pretty face, he thought about the new magical prowess, personality and mysterious accident. He wasn’t yet willing to abandon such an intriguing puzzle and understanding would require access and good will.
He allowed the silence to draw out uncomfortably until Arimaeus began to fidget. The hand on his sleeve slid down to grasp his hand and his tone and expression changed to an exaggerated, teasing mockery of pleading, what Matron at the orphanage would have called puppy-eyes.
‘Please Tom, stay. Take pity on the poor, broken Heir with the terrible, cursed brain.’
He rolled his eyes and relaxed back into the wooden chair. ‘It would be irresponsible of me to leave a friend in such a pathetic state.’
With a last squeeze of his hand, Arimaeus turned his attention back to the disorganised contents of his desk.
‘It’s the essays, they’re driving me mad.’
‘If you are unsure what to write then might I suggest choosing one and researching rather than trying to complete them all at once?’
‘I know what to write. The content isn’t the problem, at least not for Charms, Defense and Runes. The problem is the references.’
‘How so?’
‘I know the answers to the questions, but I don’t know which books they’re from.’
‘And so you can’t correctly cite your sources. I see. You have sporadic gaps in your memory. Why specifically Charms, Defence and Runes? Why not your other subjects?’
‘Because I didn’t remember anything about Business at all, and Magical Theory and Enchanting are both totally new classes so I’ve read the materials for those three since the accident.’
‘How interesting.’
‘You sound like the Healers at St Mungo’s, intrigued by the unique specimen but with absolutely no idea how to fix me. Please be more useful than them.’
‘Do you wish to be fixed?’
‘It would be nice to be able to remember all this.’
It was an obvious avoidance and Tom could see that the question had made his friend uncomfortable.
‘But would you wish to return to the pre-accident Arimaeus?’
‘I’m not sure how that’s relevant.’
‘If you answer me honestly I will read through your essays and provide you with the most relevant sources for your points.’
Arimaeus wasn’t looking at him, his eyes focussed on the quill feather he was compulsively tweaking. Tom was curious enough to sweeten the deal.
‘A month, I will aid you for a month for a full answer.’
‘Fine. No, I wouldn’t go back.’
‘Why?’
The quill was beginning to lose its shape.
‘Because I’m not him, and if he came back then I wouldn’t be me anymore.’
‘So bringing him back would effectively kill you.’ Tom mused, more to himself than Arimaeus. This was not a point of view he had considered. ‘Do you believe you killed him?’
‘I don’t think I killed him, but I do think he’s dead. And I think that if you want any more of my inner turmoil it’ll cost you more than a month of help.’
The tightly clenched jaw and plucked quill told Tom he’d pushed as far as he could for the day. Pulling over the Charms outline he got to work.
It was amusing to think that a boy as obsessed with being the center of attention as Arimaeus might have died without anyone noticing. And even if he was vexing at times, Tom far preferred the new version.
He idly wondered if similar incidents might yield such fascinating results with some of his other, more irritating followers. It was certainly food for thought.
Harry
Tom accompanied Harry from the library oozing charm and polite smiles to the passing student body. He’d been highly annoying, a little bit funny and incredibly useful so Harry attempted not to glare at him while shoving his updated Charms essay into his bag. Not only did he crumple it but he dislodge the lid of his inkwell which was now threatening to destroy an entire weeks work. He swore.
‘Should we perhaps pause. It would appear walking and packing are outside your capabilities.’
Harry refused to dignify that with a response and just dumped his bag on a convenient window ledge. Peering inside he examined the haphazard Tetris of books, paper and accessories threatened by the slow spread of ink. The trick would be to right the bottle and clean the spill without knocking anything into its path or getting ink on his hands.
Focused on his puzzle he barely registered that he and Tom were no longer alone until he heard his name.
‘...Heir Nott doesn’t seem to be leaping to your defense anymore. Finally realised you can do better than a no-name orphan?’
Torn between the delicate equilibrium at his fingertips and responding to that outrageous sentence Harry glanced up, back to his bag and up again.
Three Ravenclaws had taken up positions to box them in at the window. The one who’d spoken stood in the center, well-groomed and poised in the typical Pureblood, trained-from-birth way. He might have even been nice to look at if he dropped the sneer.
All three had their dominant hands tucked out of sight, no doubt clutching their wands. The silent pair radiated unease despite their numerical advantage while the leader attempted to catch Harry’s eye, waiting for a response.
Something touched his finger and his eyes fell back to the bag.
‘For the love of Merlin. Tom could you..?’
Tom leaned over, casually, wordlessly waved his wand and the bag’s contents froze allowing him to pull out his hands and study the ink staining his finger with annoyance before focussing on the Ravenclaw.
‘Right, I only caught the end of that. Who are you?’
Tom passed him a handkerchief and in a bored tone that Harry suspected hid a deep well of rage, introduced them.
‘Arimaeus, this is Gregory Pucey. I believe he is somewhat upset that his second place academic ranking has destroyed his lofty dream of becoming Head Boy next year. His bookends are Braxton and Cabbot, they are inconsequential.’
‘I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you Riddle. There’s an entire year before decisions are made and it’s clear Heir Nott is no longer enamoured with you. It won’t be long until the rest of your little group of sycophants abandon you like the upstart pretender you are. Then we’ll see how you do without your betters to prop you up.’
It took Harry a second to realise why he was surprised and then he rolled his eyes at himself.
‘Thanks for the reminder that Slytherin House doesn’t have a monopoly on ignorance and bigotry.’
The boy spluttered indignantly and Harry raised a hand.
‘You wanted my response, have some manners and let me finish. I’ve actually been thinking a lot about Muggle born and Muggle raised students recently. They don’t even know magic exists when they’re children. When they come to Howarts they’re eleven years behind people like you and me, Pucey. So if Tom is the best in our year and he started eleven years behind us, does that make him exceptional or are the rest of us underperforming?’
Pucey’s mouth opened and closed then began to spout random insults that Harry tuned out. Grabbing his half frozen bag he looped his arm through Tom’s and walked him between the Ravenclaws forcing them to move or commit to a physical altercation. They chose to move and Harry patted Pucey’s shoulder on the way past, making sure to smear ink on the silver embroidered edges of his robes.
Neither he nor Tom spared a backwards glance but Harry kept his magical senses alert until they turned onto a stairwell and out of sight.
Turning to Tom he would have made a joke but the thought fled as Tom crowded him against a bannister, arms on either side caging him with his body.
‘You think I’m exceptional?’
‘Of course you are.’ Harry leaned away, back bending slightly over the stone bannister, heart rate spiking. ‘Everyone knows you’re intelligent and powerful Tom, it’s your ethics and empathy that I question.’
‘You have a lot of opinions for someone who doesn’t remember me.’
‘You hurt Theo.’
‘You begged me to.’
‘Yeah well, real friends talk their friends out of torturing their innocent little brothers. They don’t help.’
Tom’s breath brushed his ear as he leaned closer. ‘There was a time when you begged me for a lot of things.’
Harry clenched his jaw and suppressed a shiver. Raising his hands to Tom’s chest he pushed, gently but firmly. The boy raised an eyebrow but didn’t fight him as he created a space and ducked under the encircling arms.
‘I’m not sure how things were between us before, but like I said, I’m not him and I don’t know you well enough to play this game.’ Harry clutched the strap of his bag and walked quickly down the stairs. ‘I’m going to take my broom out and get some practice for Saturday, enjoy your study group.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
He glanced back, Riddle was watching him closely. ‘You didn’t, I’ll see you later.’
Turning the corner he jumped onto a slow-moving flight of stairs that would let him take a secret passage to the entrance hall.
He wasn’t running away. It was a strategic retreat.
In the dim light of the passage he stopped and took a deep breath, slumping against the rough stone of the walls. His cheeks felt warm and he refused to think of the flutter in his stomach as butterflies. Every interaction with Tom was like sticking his head in a lion’s mouth, intense, exhilarating and probably wildly stupid.
He could admit to being a bit of an adrenaline junkie, he’d had at least one near death experience every year since he was eleven, that sort of thing left an impression.
What he wouldn’t admit was that he could have any reaction other than disgust to the idea of being seduced by the future Dark Lord. Tom might have handsome features and intelligent, dark eyes but he was still Voldemort, kind of. A young, hot, smart, sane Voldemort currently suffering through a childhood that closely mirrored Harry’s own.
He resumed his journey to the Common Room at a more normal pace, he knew he should factor Tom into his long-term plans but he didn’t want to. If he thought about it for too long he’d have to consider killing him and he’d had enough death and destruction to last a lifetime. For once he wanted to make a positive contribution that didn’t involve murder.
There was one change that should be easy to make. He resolved to stop flirting with his arch nemesis.
Crisis averted, he decided to focus on Quidditch instead.
He didn’t know what Rosier had planned for the Seeker trial but he assumed it would be devious and completely unfair. He couldn’t wait.