#tomarrymortmicrofic

There’s a pounding ache in Harry’s head from where it slammed against the stone floor. His vision is blurred, brain foggy. His glasses are lost somewhere in the abyss along with his wand. Riddle is looming over him, holding him down so there's no chance of escape.

Riddle has abandoned his beauty. He is disheveled, dark curls askew, and pristine robes undone. His face is twisted in wrath, lips curled into a grisly snarl, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on Harry’s cheek.

Harry is helpless. He should be afraid. Riddle’s wand is digging into the underside of his jaw. He could kill Harry right now. There's no sacrificial magic or horcrux to protect him.

But Harry is only aware of how thoroughly Riddle’s mask has cracked open in his rage, revealing the raw monstrous truth of him. Absent is the model student Riddle has marketed himself as. Instead, Harry is witnessing the rise of Lord Voldemort.

There you are, Harry thinks, and deliriously, he bursts into laughter.

He laughs so hard his stomach aches, pain intensified by his cracked ribs. Riddle’s vengeful glare softens, brows furrowing in bewilderment. The shock seems to be so great that his grip on his wand loosens.

“Why are you laughing?” Riddle demands.

The Minister’s office was lit well past midnight, as usual.

Harry Potter, hair wild and eyes sharper than a fresh quill, hunched over a pile of parchment. He didn’t look up when Tom Riddle silently slid into his office.

“You missed dinner again,” Tom said, placing a cup of black tea on the desk. “Tragic. If only you had a loyal, devastatingly handsome assistant.”

Harry scribbled furiously. “I did. Then he became a sarcastic nuisance.”

Tom smirked. “I hear those are excellent for productivity.”

Harry finally looked up, eyes bloodshot, and—damn him—smiled. Just a twitch. But Tom caught it.

“You’re staying late again?” Tom asked, tone falsely mild.

“There’s unrest in the Floo Regulation Committee. Again.”

“There’s unrest in you, Minister,” Tom purred, leaning closer. “You never stop. It’s almost like you’re running from something.”

“I’m running from incompetence,” Harry muttered. “And from the fact that you only seem helpful when you’re trying to flirt.”

Tom raised a brow. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to. You stare like you’re planning something.”

“I am.” Tom’s voice dropped a note. “Revolutionary. Treasonous, even.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Go home, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom smirked. “You say that every night. And yet, here I am.”

Harry didn’t reply. Didn’t tell him to stay, either.

Tom took a seat on the edge of the desk, watching him. The clock ticked on. Harry didn’t ask him to move.

@tomarrymortmicrofics | 126 words

Harry felt like he’d die any moment from sheer embarrassment. It was just his luck that he didn’t.

No, instead he had to witness each and every student sitting in the Great Hall of Hogwarts during breakfast gape at him, wide-eyed, their jaws actually dropping. It would be funny, if he weren’t so mortified.

If only he hadn’t let Tom cajole him into agreeing to this madness! If only he had taken better care of his stuff during their, ahem, the night. Last night, yes, he’d think of it only like that.

Anyway! Harry shook himself. Sadly, what was done, was done and Harry had to admit, that Slytherin green did make his eyes pop.

Harry only admits this to himself privately but he rather enjoys Voldemort’s monologuing. 

Harry smoothes down the wrinkles in his shirt and studies his appearance in the mirror. Even after all the failed meetings with prospective parents, Harry continues this ritual. He remains hopeful. Tom is unsure if he should admire his faith or pity him for it.

Harry tugs at his unruly hair, frowning. Wordlessly, Tom hands him the brush.

Harry breathes in the fresh night air when he walks onto the balcony to escape the tedium of forced socializing. The sounds of merriment fade as he closes the door behind him. 

He's not alone. Of course, he isn't. Harry hasn't had a moment of solace since he was first unceremoniously dropped into this time. 

Tom Riddle is leaning over the balcony, looking into the gardens below. He's holding a curved glass pipe emitting a pungent multicolored smoke. Riddle hasn't even noticed Harry yet. Harry could turn around and go back to the party with Riddle none the wiser. It's what he ought to do. 

Instead, Harry settles into the space next to Riddle, ignoring how handsome he looks in his obsidian robes in favor of studying the rows of sculpted hedges illuminated in the moonlight. 

@tomarrymortmicrofics | 483 words

Tom returned home long after night had already fallen. An irritated sigh escaped him. He’d never regretted taking the route of becoming a private tutor after two gruesome years of working customer service at Borgin&Burkes, but he did think every now and then that maybe he should change careers. Sometimes he really thought he should have gone down the path of being a Dark Lord. Especially since parent-teacher-meetings were made A Thing.

As he made his way to the kitchen, where he would pour himself a glass of wine, he wished the days back where he could teach and accumulate a following of doe-eyed students that adored him as their all-knowing teacher. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

Instead he had to restrain himself from cursing their parents seven ways to Sunday, because they thought they could impose their beliefs about their children onto him in any way, shape or form. They couldn’t, of course, and more often than not they also left having adopted Tom’s point of view, but it was irritating. Especially the beginning of the year meetings were the most annoying, since parents always thought their children were the best of the best. And literal angels, of course.

It made him itch. It made him want to claw their eyes out. It made him want to ki– Tom stopped short, retraced his steps to look through the archway to the living room and couldn’t help but stare. Slender, but strong arms suddenly wrapped around his middle – Harry had never quite managed to discard his habit of walking silently, a habit his dreadful relatives had made necessary – and a chin settled gently on Tom’s shoulder.

“Do you like it?” Harry murmured quietly into his ear, tracing the shell of it with his nose, “I know how those meetings always set you on edge. I thought this might make you feel better.” Tom turned without breaking Harry’s hold on him and kissed him softly. “Thank you, Darling. Your gift has already lifted my mood by leaps and bounds.”

Harry grinned at him, took his hand and pulled Tom into the living room. They stopped just shy of touching Harry’s gift. Harry pointed at the collection of knives arranged artfully on the living room table. “I took care to prepare your knives for the occasion,” Harry said before kissing Tom on the nose, “She’s all yours. Have fun!”

Then he plopped himself on the nearest armchair, crossing his legs over one armrest and bracing his head on his hand on the other, presumably to better watch Tom. Tom couldn’t stop himself from grinning, even if he had tried, so he didn’t, and turned to once again look upon his gift from his husband.

@tomarrymortmicrofics | 346 words

“Ah! I’m sor-” Harry cut himself off when the stranger raised a hand to pull the piece of parchment from his face and turned towards him. A very handsome man, Harry had to admit. It was just his luck the first impression he made was that of an idiot.

The man looked down at the drawing Harry had made of Luna, flying her kite, for a moment, then raised his head and stared at Harry, tilting his head a little and looking obviously as bewildered by the situation as Harry himself.

Before he could say anything or apologize again, however, the man asked, “Did you draw this? It’s beautiful.” Harry scratched the back of his neck, abashed, and nearly dislodged his pencil from behind his ear, but answered honestly, “Yes. It’s a hobby of mine. I drew my friend Luna flying her kite over there.” He pointed behind him where Luna struggled with the force of the wind trying to rip the kite’s cord out of her hands.

When the stranger extended his hand holding the drawing, Harry grabbed it immediately to prevent it from flying away again, but against his expectation, the man didn’t let go. Instead he came a step closer. “Excuse me for being so forward,” the man said quietly, “but would you mind drawing me?”

Taken aback, Harry blinked. He hadn’t drawn many people up until now – always thinking his skills were too subpar to even consider asking his friends if he could draw them and therefore always choosing to draw strangers instead – except for Luna, of course. Then again, Luna was special.

For some reason Harry couldn’t explain, he found himself rising to the challenge. “Sure!” he grinned and gestured at the bench the man was sitting on, “Mind if I sit?” The stranger shook his head, “Be my guest.”