#atlwetd

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“Here you go,” Riddle handed him a hard enamel mug, smiling slightly. “Your surprise.”

Harry accepted the mug, peering inside, and his brows shot up in astonishment.

Riddle brought him tea. It was obviously watery, but compared to the semi-transparent liquid sold at most bomb sites and shared with the orphanage, this drink looked almost luxurious. Harry hadn’t tried anything resembling actual tea since they left Hogwarts.

“Is this my birthday gift?” he asked, a genuine smile touching his lips. Riddle paused for a moment, a strange expression flickering across his face.

“You could be satisfied with a cup of tea as a birthday gift?”

“Well, it’s nice when someone remembers your birthday and cares enough to give you something, whatever it is.” Harry clenched the mug with both hands, enjoying the warmth that began to seep under his skin. Today, the heat outside was tempered by the occasional rain, so holding something so warm felt almost cosy.

He was about to take a sip when Riddle stopped him.

“What does it smell like?” he asked. His voice was brimming with something heavy and seductive, and Harry squinted at him curiously before sniffing the tea.

“I’m not sure?” he murmured, taking another sniff. “Something sweet, I guess. And woody. Maybe a little bitter? Whatever it is, I like it. Where did you get it?” Harry took a sip, only to frown a bit. For such a great smell, the taste was surprisingly bland.

He wasn’t going to say this to Riddle, though, so he hastened to take a few more sips, letting out a hum of appreciation.

Riddle licked his lips, staring at him intently. His pupils were blown wide, and Harry felt an answering tug in his stomach. He lowered the mug, thinking about stepping closer, when his mind suddenly plunged into a complete, white-coloured oblivion.

For a moment, he saw and thought of nothing, but then the image of Riddle exploded behind his eyelids like starlight. Every feature of his suddenly became ten, twenty, a hundred times more mesmerising.

His body shuddered with violent need, and distantly, Harry heard himself gasping from it. His hands shook as he dropped the mug and reached for Riddle, his heart slamming against his ribcage with increasingly desperate force. Adoration, pure and magnificent, bloomed in him. It filled every corner and crevice, overwhelmed him to the brim: Harry could feel it grow larger and larger and larger, taking roots in his bones and stretching until it possessed every part of him.

Riddle continued to stand there, watching him with dark, curious eyes. There was a flash of anticipation in them, and all Harry wanted… all he wanted was…

What was he doing?

The weak twitch of a rational thought was quickly extinguished by more floods of white-hot adoration. However, the longer Harry basked in it, the more wrong it felt.

Wasn’t it like… like being under Imperio? The same floating sensation… the same impossible, endless feeling of happiness… the same…

“Is something the matter?” Riddle asked. His voice was like silk — how could Harry ever resist it before? How could he not worship it properly? Riddle had the most beautiful voice in the world. And his lips… his nose… his eyes…

No. Something had to be wrong.

Harry tried to blink multiple times in a row, hoping that his vision would restore itself and he’d be rid of this strange, rosy hue everything seemed to be painted with.

Imperio? But Riddle hadn’t cast it on him. The magic… they couldn’t use it, so what happened to him? Why was he unable to think?

The more Harry hesitated, the more Riddle frowned. Finally, he crossed the last step separating them, took Harry by his chin, and tilted his head up.

“Is that what you’re like when you are lovesick?” he wondered. His thumb brushed against Harry's lips insistently, and Harry all but melted at the touch. “Uncertain and passive? This doesn’t seem like you.”

Riddle’s thumb pressed down, and Harry’s lips parted obediently, taking it in. However, at the same moment, another flash of realisation lit up in him, temporarily overshadowing Riddle’s wonderful, glowing face.

Lovesick. Lovesick? He was being lovesick? Could it be…

Rationality split his mind apart. It wouldn’t last long, Harry could already feel it slipping away again, but before it had a chance to vanish entirely, he bit Riddle’s finger harshly.

With a startled sound, Riddle recoiled from him, and Harry hastened to turn away and throw himself to the window. With the missing glass, it was easy to thrust his head outside: he gulped in some moist air and stretched as far as he could without falling, hoping that the rain would do something to cool him down.

Riddle… that bastard… He drugged him. Despite the promise he’d made back at Hogwarts, he still drugged him. With Amortentia, of all things.

The worst thing was that it was working, and it seemed way more powerful than Imperio. His sanity was fading, that disgusting, stupid, blissed-out joy taking its place instead.

He had to do something! He had to… he couldn’t let Riddle win, not in this, never in this.  

Panic spun around in his head, sending quick, short bursts of dread through his veins. Overrun by an adrenaline rush, Harry desperately scanned the yard outside with his eyes, hoping to find something, someone, anything to distract himself with.         

There was only Ted Anderson playing around with a ball there. The rain didn’t seem to bother him, so Harry’s mind latched onto him with frantic desperation.

Ted Anderson was the brother of the older boy who used to bully Riddle when he was younger… Unlike him, he was quiet and timid… and he was… beautiful? So very beautiful.

The fight for sanity was lost. Something kept lurking at the back of Harry’s mind, some acute sensation of wrongness, but the rest of him was fully focused on the new object of his adoration.

How come he’d never paid attention to Ted Anderson before? He was so brave to still be out there, playing despite the rain… And wasn’t his red hair stunning? Harry always loved red hair. His Mom had red hair. Ron had red hair. Fred and George had it, and Ginny, and…

The image of Riddle’s face swam before him for a moment, fighting for dominance. A flare of cold rationality followed immediately afterwards, only to be swallowed back by a fresh wave of fascination for Ted.  

He was just so nice. Why had they never talked before? Harry had to speak to him immediately.

Determined, he stumbled away from the window, his eyes focused on the door, when Riddle suddenly blocked his path.

“Where are you going?” he asked. His brows were furrowed; he looked extremely dissatisfied for some reason, and Harry’s eyes lingered on him as another surge of conflicting emotions flooded him.

His mind instantly rebelled. The insistent pull to Riddle faded, replaced by an even stronger need for the boy downstairs.

“I need to go talk to Ted Anderson,” Harry murmured, trying to bypass Riddle and reach the door. “I really, really like him.”

Since Riddle was blocking his path by standing directly in front of him, Harry saw the way he froze. Frowning, he took another step, but Riddle’s hands suddenly squeezed his shoulders. His grip was hard and bruising, and the pain briefly cleared the confusing fog in Harry’s mind.   

Who was he supposed to like? Was he supposed to like anyone at all? Surely not like this? This feeling of absolute blinding happiness couldn’t be real, so why was it clinging to him?

“Say it again,” Riddle ordered. His voice was so cold that Harry shivered uncontrollably.  

“I really like…” he began to say, but the rage on Riddle’s face made him pause. Once again, the fog lifted, this time for long enough to let him get a grasp on reality.

Riddle. Amortentia.

He could fight off the Imperius curse, but he was failing to do so with Amortentia. The only thing he succeeded in was redirecting his artificially inflated feelings for Riddle to someone else, but this redirection was wobbly at best. It just added to the confusion; Harry felt like his head was about to split.

What should he do? Why couldn’t he fight it?

“Look at me and say it again.” Riddle wasn’t speaking loudly, but it was like his voice exploded right inside Harry’s ears. He winced and tried to pull away, but Riddle jerked him back so easily, as if he were some rag doll. “Who do you like?”

Every cell in him vibrated with the need to answer. But what was he supposed to say? Who did he like?

At this specific moment, he couldn’t even remember that other orphan’s name, but admitting he liked Riddle… No. Never.

“Not you,” Harry growled. If he weren’t so busy trying to keep himself focused, he would have lashed out and punched this bastard already.    

Giving this answer must have aggravated the traces of Amortentia in his body because it hit him even more viciously, forcibly thrusting the image of Riddle to the centre of his brain.

The resistance melted away, a sickening rush of fake adoration flooding in again. If Riddle wasn’t holding him so tightly, Harry would have probably thrown himself at him and suffocated him with a kiss by now.    

“Impossible,” Riddle spat. His eyes were alight with fury. “That’s not how this potion is supposed to work!”

This potion.

The word was sobering. It let rationality stagger back up to the surface. Panting, Harry shut his eyes and tried to think of that other boy again.

Ted? Ted Anderson.

Even if he couldn’t shake off Amortentia entirely, he could at least stop Riddle from getting what he wanted. It was better to obsess over someone else than to let his real feelings for Riddle, uncertain but undeniable, be reduced to this cheap parody of infatuation.

The moment Harry came to this conclusion, the world faded from view. With the last bit of stubbornness, he held on to the image of Ted Anderson, and his lips twitched dreamily.

“I like Ted,” he declared confidently. No words ever sounded so right. “So hurry up and let go of me. I need to confess to him.”

Riddle's face twisted into an expression so ugly, it was almost surprising enough to distract Harry from his object of affection. He felt a violent shift of magic in the air, but it dissipated almost immediately.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Riddle closed his eyes. A vein kept thrumming against his temple wildly.    

“You really thrive on defying my expectations, don’t you?” he murmured. His voice was so low, like he was applying a titanic effort to restrain himself. “You never do what I want.”

“I just want—”

I caved. I drew more fanart for ATLWETD.

Some pieces look better than others in terms of style—sorry! I swear it’s not because I was picking favorites; I’m a younger artist and my style is still developing. I’m sure it’s obvious which one was latest… 😔✊

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“The thing I want most?” Harry repeated, staring at the blackened part of the ceiling. Weak, vague images stirred in his mind, but only one of them made him ache. “I guess… to go back to the time when I was happy.”

The lazy, almost warm atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. Surprised, Harry glanced at Riddle.

If it wasn’t for his heightened, wary senses, he would have never realised that something was wrong. Riddle continued to sit on the floor, leaning against Harry’s bed; he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, and yet something strange lingered in the air. A tension of some kind, a dark and dangerous one.

“You would leave me?” Riddle said — or asked. His voice was so quiet that it was difficult to hear any inflexion in it, and yet, for some reason, Harry’s hair stood on end.

Careful, a part of his mind whispered. He was used to obeying it — it saved his life countless times in the past, but right now, he wasn’t certain what had provoked it. It’s not like he made some staggering revelation that Riddle hadn’t seen coming.

“In a way,” Harry replied. It was better to be safe than sorry. “You would still be in that timeline, wouldn’t you?”

More silence. The temperature seemed to drop by another couple of degrees.

“No,” Riddle said shortly. Harry couldn’t interpret what his strange, monotonous tone meant. “I would still be here. You would be back in the other world with the other version of me.”

Okay, so Riddle obviously hated the thought of his alternative version, probably because that version was a failure. There was no way Harry could answer honestly here because the whole story was a lie, but if he stuck to this lie, then Riddle wouldn’t be happy, either.

Maybe it was better to just keep his mouth shut.

Silence reigned for over a minute, but the weird tension didn’t subside, so Harry couldn’t allow himself to relax. He was entertaining the idea of switching to another topic and asking something when Riddle turned his head slightly.

“You would leave me?” he asked again. This time, there was definitely frost in his voice. “You would return to him? After everything he has done?”

  It was stupid to get angry over a scenario that would never be real, and yet indignation still shot up to the surface. Harry could feel his face flushing with angry heat.

“Are you serious?” he snapped. It took an effort to avoid kicking Riddle right in his stupid head. “How about what you have done? You tried to kill me. You drugged me, you manipulated me, you ruined whatever connection I could have built with my family. You don’t make me happy, Riddle — this whole place doesn’t make me happy. If I could have that one wish you asked me about, of course I would choose to go back to happier times instead of being stuck here…”

With you, he wanted to add, but that same part that warned him about the danger earlier urged him to swallow these words, so he did.

However, it didn’t seem to make any difference. Riddle shifted all of a sudden, and Harry barely had time to register his movements when he found himself pinned to the bed, his wrists instantly going numb from how much pressure Riddle was applying to keep them fixed.

Incredulity and confusion gave way to fury, both at Riddle and himself. All his experience, being superior to Riddle in terms of Muggle-style fighting, and he let himself be trapped like this? Stupid. Careless. If he’d been this lax at the Ministry, he would be dead twenty times over by now.

Even knowing it would probably be useless at this point, Harry still tried to jerk to the side, but like he thought, Riddle didn’t budge. His face was eerily calm — only his bruising hold betrayed the tension he had to be feeling.

And his eyes. Abnormally dark, still and unblinking — coldness seeped into Harry’s chest just as adrenaline exploded in his veins, bringing his mind into a sharp focus.

He had really underestimated how furious their conversation was making Riddle, how much rage he still carried inside. It was ridiculous — Riddle was ridiculous for getting angry over something like this, but it didn’t matter now, did it? Not when Harry was already trapped.

“Let me go,” he demanded, his frustration intensifying when Riddle continued to hold him, watching him in that creepily dispassionate way. “What are you doing? What is this?”

“I have many ways to keep you here with me,” Riddle told him, detached. It sounded like he was speaking to himself rather than to Harry. “I don’t even need magic for this. If I break your arms and legs, where will you go? Do you think these filthy Muggles will help you?”

Harry’s chest heaved with dread, just as fury exploded right inside him, briefly colouring his world red.

“You are completely insane,” he growled, buckling and almost howling with rage when Riddle pressed down on his hips hard, forcing him to lie still. “I’m not going anywhere, Riddle! You asked a hypothetical question, I gave you a hypothetical answer! This is it!”

Riddle didn’t appear to hear him. His eyes remained glued to Harry’s face, intense and considering.

“Leaving me,” he uttered quietly. “I don’t think so.”

“Let’s not pretend you wouldn’t throw me under the bus yourself if you got something semi-worthwhile in return,” Harry said. Belatedly, he realised how bitter he sounded, but it was too late to take these words back, so in the end, he chose to double down on them. “If Greengrass told you to get rid of me or she’d withdraw her support, what would you do? Because I’m pretty sure you—”

“If Greengrass got bold enough to voice a demand like this to me, she would die,” Riddle interrupted him. His voice, like his face, remained expressionless. “So would you, if you were to attempt to go back to your world. I would kill you before you took a single step in that direction.”