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stargazing-enby · 5 years

Note

is it crazy to ask for a lil fic of some sort for the soulmate 'saviour' thing?

Not at all! Also, I think it’s funny how I recently said I probably wouldn’t answer any prompts anytime soon, but as soon as you sent this ask I was frantically typing this story on my phone, LOL. Hope you enjoy!

Based on this textpost

Drarry | 2.3k | Teen and up | Soulmate AU, Nicknames, Drunken Confessions, Sectumsempra Scars, Cuddles, Happy Ending | Read on AO3

The Dursleys never acknowledged it; never explained. It was just one more tally on a list of things that made him weird. That made him wrong.

Harry liked to stare down at it while he showered and imagine a thousand different reasons the word Saviour was tattooed on his chest, the ink a deep black that faded into gold around the sharp edges of the letters. He imagined himself flying like Superman did in the comics they kept on the highest shelf of the school library—imagined himself stopping comets from crashing against the planet with his bare hands, saving babies from raging fires.

In his daydreams, it never mattered if he got hurt. It only mattered that no one else did.

And then one night Hagrid stomped—quite literally—into his life, and he explained. He explained about Voldemort, about the magical world, about his parents. About the lightning bolt scar.

About the tattoo.

“It’s a soulmark,” he said. “Every witch and wizard has one. It’s meant to symbolise the nickname that your soulmate will give you when you’re together.”

“Do you have a soulmark?” Harry asked him, awed.

Hagrid laughed bitterly. “Nah. My only true loves are magical creatures anyway.” He leaned forward, as though to tell Harry a secret. “You have to be cautious who you share your soulmark with,” he said. “Could be dangerous if too many people knew. Especially with you being Harry Potter. There are… speculations, you see.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “What do people think it says?”

“Eh, the usual, you know. Love, honey… many people claim to know that it says whatever their daughter’s favourite word is. Very creepy, if you ask me.”

Harry nodded. “And what do you think it says?”

“Me?” Hagrid seemed uncomfortable by the question. “Well… Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me when we dropped you off at your Aunt’s, so I’ve been trying not to think about it, you know.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Harry said.

“Really?” Hagrid’s face lit up. “Y-you don’t have to, but—”

Harry snickered, and told him.

He didn’t understand why Hagrid had to wipe away a few tears.

(more under the cut)

***

The first time he was called saviour was in his second year. Ginny, waking up beside him in the Hospital Wing and surrounded by her family, had murmured it without realising.

From the other side of her bed, Ron had given Harry an indecipherable look.

Ron’s tattoo was the word Idiot, neatly written on his ankle. Harry also knew Neville’s hip said Schnuckums, and he’d caught the word Flitterby inscribed in Ginny’s wrist when he’d rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets.

He didn’t think he would ever say such a word. Still, assuming he was Ginny’s soulmate was the obvious conclusion for any twelve-year-old, and Harry spent the next two years convincing himself he and Ginny were meant for each other.

And then Fleur Delacour called him a saviour when he emerged from the lake with her sister.

To be fair, Ron had been called an idiot by quite a number of people by then, including McGonagall, Hooch, all of his siblings and half their Gryffindor classmates, so Harry rationally knew that anyone could call another person by their soulmark nickname and not be their soulmate.

And yet, he spent a whole month sending increasingly confused letters to Sirius before he came to the conclusion that he liked playing Quidditch with Ginny more than he liked holding her hand.

***

Ron returned to the forest. Hermione, deep bags under her eyes, tears threatening to come out, called him an idiot, and then stormed over to where he was awkwardly standing, launched into his arms, and kissed him.

She’d never told them about her soulmark, but that night Harry learnt the word Love was neatly tattooed on her ankle.

On the same place as Ron’s, then.

***

Harry tore out the page of the Daily Prophet. Then he tore it into small, small pieces until his picture was no longer moving, until the headline—Saviour returns to Hogwarts—turned into a soup of letters in his hands.

As he threw the bits into the flames, he thought about his parents. He wondered, for what seemed like the thousandth time since he’d first stepped into the Gryffindor common room, if this had been the first place his mum had called his dad a Toerag. If this had been the place where he’d called her his Princess.

He’d never had the chance to ask Sirius about it. The only time they had talked about soulmates, Sirius had told him no matter how many people called him by the word on his chest, when the right person did it Harry would know. But when Harry had asked Sirius if he’d ever felt that, his expression had turned sombre as he’d shaken his head.

Now, Harry wondered if Sirius had even known what he was talking about. If it was all utter bullshit: the knowing, the butterflies and fireworks he’d imagined after hearing Sirius’ words, the very idea that there was someone out there—someone who would call him saviour, of all things—meant for him at all. If soulmates existed at all, or if it was all a bad joke meant to make him feel like he wasn’t destined to always be alone, even when he was surrounded by people.

***

Things were supposed to be better after the war ended. Harry guessed they were; all around him, the world was pulling itself back together. In a similar way to how his two best friends clung to one another and brought each other up, the castle was slowly becoming the warm, welcoming home it had always been, and so were its inhabitants.

Harry felt like he was sinking. Like he was too broken to be repaired, the wound so deep that nobody seemed to notice it was there.

Perhaps that was what drew him to Malfoy.

Malfoy, who looked broken, and tired, and as full of hurt as Harry felt. Malfoy, who took months of sitting in silence beside Harry, of half-hearted fights and sleepless nights in the Hogwarts corridors, to open up and tell Harry that nothing felt worth fighting for anymore.

Malfoy, who, a few months after the school year ended, rolled his eyes and mumbled the words bloody saviour as he accepted Harry’s scarf. He’d started sneezing uncontrollably, not dressed appropriately for the changing November weather.

It took Harry longer than it should have to notice—or perhaps to admit—that the word felt different when it fell from Draco’s lips. That the way Draco would use the word to point out the most mundane things Harry did, the way he’d catch Harry’s smile a moment later, always filled his chest with warmth.

That Draco was the first person to not make him hate the word in a very, very long time.

***

Soon the word became an inside joke between them. Soon, it began to come with soft brushes of hands, with private shared looks of mischief, of complicity. Soon, Draco would call him his saviour as Harry handed him the sugar bowl and Harry would just smile into Draco’s neck, and Draco would lean closer, allowing Harry to hide his smile for a second.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t told Draco yet. That saviour was his soulmark. That he was the first person that had made the word sound okay to his ears.

That he wanted him. That being around him was easy as breathing.

Okay, maybe he did know, even if he tried not to think about it.

He was scared. Scared that this would end—that he was mistaken, and Draco wasn’t really meant for him. After all, wouldn’t Harry have started calling Draco by some cheesy name by now if it was real? Wouldn’t they have talked about it at all?

“Has anyone ever called you by your soulmark?” Harry asked one night. They were slouched on the sofa of Harry’s shitty flat, as they often did these days, watching some crappy show and snapping back at the telly from time to time.

They never talked about their soulmarks. It made sense, Harry knew it—knowing what someone else’s mark was before you started calling them by it felt a lot like cheating.

Still, his mind wouldn’t stay quiet; wouldn’t stop telling him all of this, all he had with Draco, would disappear any moment like sand in the wind.

“Plenty,” Draco said, gaze weirdly fixed on the TV. They usually looked at each other more than the screen, each slumped on one arm of the sofa, legs tangled.

He was trying to hide a reaction, Harry knew.

“Me too.” Harry trailed his eyes to the screen too, but it didn’t catch his interest. He eyed Draco again. “Anyone feel different from the rest?”

Draco met Harry’s gaze. Then he eyed the clock. “I should get going.”

Harry slept badly that night, drowning in thoughts of Draco leaving. Of Draco being called by the word on his skin—a word Harry surely hadn’t said before and would never think to say—by plenty of people. What if Draco was destined for Harry, but someone else was destined for Draco?

***

He stumbled out of the elevator, Draco resting all of his weight on him. As he fumbled with the keys, Draco slurred into his ear. “You really are a saviour, huh?”

“And you’re really drunk,” Harry said, pushing the door open. “Sit down here a second, I’ll make up the sofa-bed.”

“Sleep with me.”

Harry spluttered—pulled back when Draco, leaning dangerously from the chair, tried to grab his jacket. “Wait here,” he said, a little breathless, and disappeared into the living room.

But when he walked back into the kitchen, heart in his throat, Draco’s words whirling in his mind, Draco wasn’t there.

Harry found him in the bedroom, sat on the bed, a deep frown scrunching his face as he tried to fumble with the buttons of his own shirt. He’d gotten halfway through, and Harry rushed toward him even though the sight had made something in him stir.

“Hey, stop that—” he started. But Draco, upon realising Harry was back, stood up and stumbled backwards, yanking the top of his shirt, as if to show Harry—

“Yeah, I know. Funny, isn’t it,” Draco said, although there was nothing funny about what Harry was seeing. “You slayed my soulmark in half and then became the sole person that makes my own name mean anything to me.” He laughed to himself.

Draco. The word, tattooed just below the sharp line of his collarbone, was split in half by an angry, deep scar that made the c almost nonexistent.

“We’re…” Harry started, not daring to finish the sentence.

Draco huffed, his sneer exaggerated by the alcohol. “Don’t be daft, Potty. Just because you say my name from time to time it doesn’t mean I would ever say whatever stupid, cheesy nonsense you have tattooed on your pretty arse—”

Harry pulled at the neck of his shirt, pushing aside the flap of his open denim jacket for Draco to see the word written under his collarbone.

“Not on my arse,” he muttered when Draco just stared at his chest.

A moment later, Draco shook his head. “But—I—didn’t—”

“You didn’t think that word could ever be my soulmark?” Harry asked. “Welcome to my world of disappointment.”

“I—” He shook his head again, stepped closer. “Only called you that because you’d… you’d started calling me by my name, and it felt so…” Draco touched Harry’s chest. He probably meant for it to be gentle, but he was unstable on his feet and ended up leaning forward, eyes closed, his weight on his palm where it pressed into Harry’s skin. “I was terrified. That you’d… that you’d notice. It couldn’t be you. I”—Draco frowned as though in pain—“couldn’t be for you. So I just—thought of the most ridiculous thing to call you, something that you would absolutely not have on your skin, under any circumstances, and I started calling you that so I wouldn’t call you anything else.”

Harry scoffed. At their luck; at the relief that was washing over him. “Good job,” he murmured, and Draco, emitting a low, pained whine, leaned into him completely, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Does this mean I can sleep in your bed?” he asked after a long moment.

“Wouldn’t you like that.” Harry, an almost painful smile pulling at his lips, walked a grumbling Draco back to the sofa.

***

“Hey there,” Harry said. All that came from the bed was a low groan as Draco turned around. He’d gotten out of his work robes and not bothered with his pyjamas, and his eyes were barely open. “Long day at work?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” Draco muttered, even though Harry knew he would hear all about it soon enough. “Hmph. Can’t wait to retire.”

Harry sat on the edge of the bed—pushed his shoes off. “My poor, poor Draco.” He laughed softly, nuzzling Draco’s neck between the sheets. Draco immediately grabbed at him and made him fall on his stomach into the blankets. “Still a few years till that happens, I’m afraid.”

“Hmphh,” Draco repeated by way of an answer. He sniffed Harry’s hair.

“Want me to make dinner?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Harry asked, amused.

“Not as much as I want you to stay in bed with me all evening,” Draco murmured.

“There’s an easy solution for that,” Harry said, taking his phone out. “Pizza or sushi?”

“Sushi.” Draco snuggled closer, then scowled. “Take off those hideous jeans.”

“Okay, okay, one second,” Harry laughed as Draco dragged him under the covers. He re-ordered their latest order and left the phone on the nightstand, then pushed his clothes down. “Gimme a foot.”

Draco squirmed in bed and draped a leg on Harry’s chest. When Harry started massaging the sole of his foot, he sighed, a smile finally revealing Harry’s favourite lines on Draco’s face, rather than the ones that formed when he frowned. “Mmm. My saviour.”

Harry smiled and kissed Draco’s knee.

(Thanks to @spaceaas for betaing and to all the friends that helped me come up with these nicknames!)

#Drarry #drarry squad #otpshipper98 #soulmate au #soulmates #harry x draco #draco x harry #Anonymous

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katsitting · 6 years

Note

Uhhhm hi can you pls write a tomarry drabble/one shot thingy where they try to keep each other warm while theres a storm outside or smth bc i just saw the textpost. Pls and thank you

It took me some time, but here you have it. You may find the fic posted here on AO3. I hope you enjoy my take on this trope. This is an 11k word fic ^^;.

Rating: M

Tags: Swearing, Violence, Uresolved Sexual Tension, Alternate Universe- Office, Workplace Harassment, Humor, Suggestiveness, and Tags Subject to Change.

“He’s staring again,” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear before stuffing a donut into his mouth, crumbs of sugar smearing on the corners of his upper lip. Harry grimaced, shifting his attention to the pretty red-headed server at the other end of the diner. “This marks the fifth time this week.”

A groan rumbled from Harry’s chest, appetite leaving him entirely now that Ron had pointed out that Riddle was, once again, sitting at the diner and staring at him.

Harry had been content with just ignoring it. He was more than aware of the fact that Riddle was there. It was difficult not to notice when he worked with the bloke, and Riddle had made it almost routine to head to the same diner Harry frequented after work. How the man knew Harry’s schedule was beyond him. After all, they had never spoken to one another outside of the office.

Ever.

Of course, they’d interacted one or twice at work, the niceties and all that rot were necessary as supervisors at the company. That, however, did not necessarily mean that they saw one another often—or had the opportunity to—in the first place. They ran in completely different circles.

Harry was head of an entirely different department at work while the creep ran another at the opposite end of the building. The creative department and accounting department hardly ever interacted.

Ron cast a glance behind Harry’s back, and Harry wanted to groan into his hands.

“Would you stop giving him attention? He’s going to notice that I’ve noticed. The last thing I need on my day off is for him to think that you looking at him is an invitation to sit down with us.”

This was supposed to be his time to sit back and relax after an awful week of dealing with executives and their stupid complaints. How those stuffy executives could complain about every single detail, particularly when Harry didn’t even deal with the sales of the products, was beyond him.

He just handled the graphic designers and the digital artists, not the math and figures. That was what accounting did. The creative department looked at viewers and their interests. They measured their receptiveness to a particular advertisement over another. They weren’t paid do the rest, and even if they offered to pay for such services, Harry refused to.

It would only give him another reason to leave the office.

Harry’s work wasn’t…exciting. It was a decent job while waiting for the processing at the police academy to go forward, but it would never be enjoyable. The company policies were absolute shite.

At least with the police department he would be doing something he liked while still dealing with the nonsense of the bureaucratic world.

He just needed to hold out for a little longer. He had met all the requirements, had done all of the physicals. All he needed to do was wait and then he could quit his job and dedicate himself to the force.

It killed him to wait, but it would be incredibly stupid to quit months before he’d even get approved. He needed to save as much money as he could before he was inevitably penniless for the next few years as a low-tier cop.

“I mean, you should just talk to him. It’s not like the bloke is going to bite your head off or something.” Ron said with his mouth full of donut, eyes still trained on Riddle even after Harry had asked him to stop giving the bastard attention.

“Ron, you don’t know Riddle. There’s just something off about him, you know? Don’t you ever get that feeling about someone—” Harry began, casting an exasperated glance at Ron when he didn’t immediately answer. “—like there’s more to a guy than what he lets on? He’s so…polite and charming at work. He’s practically got everyone wrapped around his finge—”

“Do I, Mr. Potter?”

Harry froze at the sound of a familiar, masculine drawl. Horror and recognition speared him, only just noticing that the reason Ron had stopped talking was not because he had shoved a whole donut into his mouth, but because Riddle had risen from his seat and had made his way over to where they were seated at the counter.

“I was not aware you had that kind of impression of me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

Harry swiveled around, almost toppling from his chair when the tip of his nose nearly collided with Tom’s chest.

Why was he so bloody close?

Harry pressed his side into the counter, uncomfortable with Riddle’s invasion of his personal space before leveling the man with an irritated glower. The fact that he looked ridiculous this way hardly registered to Harry.

“And you probably never would have had you minded your own bloody business.”

Shock spread over Riddle’s stupid handsome face, and sweet sweet vindication surged through Harry’s insides, a smirk stretching over his lips when Riddle did not immediately respond.

Good, it served him right.

“It’s a pity, then. Our company retreat at the end of this week will certainly be ripe with awkward tension.”

Harry’s smirk fell, shoulders tensing at Riddle’s mention of their forced retreat. He’d forgotten about it entirely. It was something the CEO of the company had been harping on for the past few months. Something about improving relationships between supervisors and executives, and all that rot.

It was absolute bullshite.

“Did it slip your mind? Oh, I understand if it did.”

Riddle’s expression twisted into one of pity, the glimmer in the man’s eyes far too bright for Harry to believe it was sincere.

Wanker.

“The holidays are right around the corner. I’m sure the executives are keeping you quite busy with the marketing.”

Harry slammed an open palm onto the counter, startling both Ron, who had yet to say a word since Riddle had graced them with his parasitic presence, and a couple sitting not too far behind Ron.

If looks could kill, Harry’s glare alone would have killed Tom fucking Riddle at least ten times. His pitying glance combined with the obvious heat to the man’s words had all but pushed Harry past his boiling point. There was only so much bullshite he could deal with in a single week, and Riddle’s was not the kind of bullshite he was being paid to handle.

“One more word, and I promise that after I’m through with you, no one in the office will ever call you handsome for the rest of your miserable life.”

Riddle blinked at him, the pitying expression slipping off his face like an oil slick. Then—

The man smiled.

All the blood in Harry’s veins froze at the sight, unable to comprehend what was happening before Riddle leaned down, pressing into his personal space until their noses were nearly touching.

“Kinky.”

It was one word. A simple, unobtrusive word.

But in that moment, it sounded anything but. Frankly, it was a word Harry knew from that moment forward would forever remain ingrained in his psyche until the end of his days. Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to bloody do. He was flabbergasted, confused to his very core because Riddle’s voice had…changed. Sounded huskier and breathier, somehow.

Riddle’s smile widened, his eyes flashing with something Harry refused acknowledge, before Riddle pulled back and turned to leave.

Thank god.

“H-harry?” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear, but Harry wasn’t listening. His mouth was wide open with shock, an embarrassed heat coiling over his face that was definitely not a blush. It burned him from the inside out, his humiliation at being thrown by that word almost worse than the unmistakable heat in the man’s voice.

Don’t let it get to your head, Harry. It was him just fucking with you, is all.

“What happened just now?” Ron asked again, once Riddle pushed past the double doors of the exit.

Turning to Ron with the straightest face he could muster, Harry paused, unsure of how to even begin. He honestly didn’t know anymore than the Ron did, and he had been the one subject to Riddle’s unwanted attention.

“I—” Harry swallowed, unable to finish his response.

In the four years he’d been working at the company, this was the first time he shared more than five words with Riddle within a 24 hour period. And somehow, in the span of 15 minutes, Riddle had not only managed to get a rise out of him—something no one, except for his ex-boyfriend Draco had ever been able to accomplish—and embarrass him.

Pressing his hands into his eyes, careful to avoid crushing his glasses, Harry groaned aloud, casting Ron a tired look after he finished.

How he was going to survive the company retreat after this bloody spectacle was the million dollar question. If he’d nearly lost his patience after speaking to Riddle for 15 minutes, there was simply no telling what a weekend at some winter resort would do to his sanity.

“I don’t know, Ron. Your guess is as good as mine.”

To say that Harry was tired of this trip was the understatement of the century. Already, he was dreading the fact that he had to be stuffed in some cheap bus with Tom Riddle, the newest bane of his existence, for a whole fucking weekend. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this kind of treatment. Maybe, somehow, he’d pissed off the wrong deities while working as a supervisor and this entire trip was just a means for those aggrieved gods to acquire their retribution. Harry honestly wasn’t sure.

Either way, Harry was done with this day and it had only just started. An unsurprising fact considering Tom Riddle had decided to sit beside him on the bus. Harry was certain his angry expression had been obvious. He hadn’t been hiding his displeasure from the moment Tom Riddle entered the bus—fashionably late of course, but no one was going to ride his ass about that, now were they—and sauntered over in his direction.

Harry had made a calculated decision to sit in the back, knowing, of course, that Riddle being the straight-laced goody two shoes that he pretended to be, had always been one to sit in the front nearest to the conductor to ensure that nothing would go amiss. The supervisor for the accounting department of the firm was not required to do all that, but no one would dare say something to the contrary.

Tom Riddle had just about everyone wrapped around his bloody finger, and there was no telling just who might end up fired should they cross Riddle.

That was what had happened to the last intern that had come into the fray a few weeks back. They entered the accounting firm and simply never came back, disappearing into the ether to never be found again. Of course, no one thought it odd that the poor intern just hightailed it out of there, except for Harry, but nevertheless, that was how the company went.

Yet, somehow, in spite of Harry’s careful consideration of all these facts, Riddle still felt the need to follow him all the way to the back of the bus. The thought of flinging himself into oncoming traffic had crossed his mind once or twice since then.

“Hello, Harry.” Riddle purred next to his ear, his side pressing uncomfortably into Harry’s side. It was unsurprising that he of all people refused to abide by societal norms, such as personal space.

Personal space wasn’t a foreign fucking concept.

“It’s been too long. How are you?”

Harry grit his teeth, staring hard at the traffic moving away from the city. They were leaving his home, his place of sanity, and heading into an unknown small town in the middle of fucking nowhere at some “winter palace.” At least, that was how the brochure for the place had painted it, but Harry did not believe a word of it. It was a load of bullshite in his honest opinion. It was simply another way for his bosses up top to convince their over-caffeinated and exhausted employees to play nice and stick it out until they could find replacements that did their work with far more efficiency and less ambition.

“Are you looking forward to the trip? This might be your only time off after the holiday craze begins.”

Whipping around, Harry leveled Riddle with the most intense glare he could muster. He wanted Riddle to stop talking. Didn’t he understand that Harry wanted nothing to do with him? That after their fucking fiasco at the diner, Harry wanted to avoid him?

It was basically sexual harassment what had happened at the diner. He should have reported it to human resources instead of sucking it up and ignoring it, wanting to pretend that it never happened. But whatever, it was too late now. They were trapped on this bus with perhaps six other supervisors from the company that Harry hardly interacted with on a good day.

“I don’t know what gives you the impression that I want to talk to you, but I don’t. What you did at the diner was sexual harassment. Hell, you’ve been stalking me for bloody months now!”

Harry was breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, but Riddle was utterly unfazed. His eyes were taking him in from the wild curls atop his head, to the angry flush of his cheeks, and down to the collar of his thick coat.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a terrible temper, Harry? It’s quite unbecoming.”

What?

Harry blinked, disbelief draining all the anger he clutched into his chest.

Riddle was completely bent. An utter nutcase.

Harry had never felt more certain of this fact that in that moment, eyeing the thick green scarf wrapped around Tom’s throat, covering a portion of his mouth.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? Pretend I don’t exist? You’ve done a marvelous job of ignoring me at work functions, why stop now?” Harry asked, defeated. It wasn’t much to ask. He was going to leave his job anyway. It would be peaceful, a mercy in and of itself, for Riddle to let him go on with his business without incident.

But Riddle wasn’t a kind man. Clearly, Harry’s hunch about Riddle’s true personality had not been wrong, for in that moment, Riddle’s lips curved into a wicked smile. His eyes flashed with something downright cruel, and Harry’s stomach plummeted all the way to his ankles.

“Oh Harry, now what would be the fun in that?”

Sighing loudly, Harry turned his attention back to the window to watch the flurries of snow pass. There was no use answering that question. He’d be wasting his breath trying to convince Riddle to stop.

So, rather than argue with Riddle til his face turned blue, Harry instead watched the world pass through the window—the buildings growing smaller and smaller until there was nothing but countryside. An agricultural paradise that went on endlessly with only the occasional interruption of a car passing through, until those interruptions too, ceased.

If Riddle crowded closer to him on the bus, Harry didn’t say a word to acknowledge it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The words came unbidden, his genuine shock and frustration at what he was seeing impossible to hide.

The “winter palace” that the CEO had spent months harping about to his employees was no palace. It would be too generous of a statement to call it anything but a run down warehouse. When he saw it from his window, only several feet away from the driveway they turned into, Harry had hoped that this building would not be their stop.

But he had been wrong, resigned to his fate when the Greyhound bus stopped right at the iron entrance of the place.

“Clearly not.” Tom whispered into his ear, reminding Harry that Tom was sitting beside him and had, in fact, heard Harry’s curse. “It seems that our stay at the “Winter Palace” will not be a pleasant one.”

Harry pressed his face into his hands, wondering if it was too late to turn back. This was a literal shit-hole. The building looked like it hadn’t been renovated in at least twenty years. The iron gate they had driven through was rusted, the tell-tale red and brown patterning around the iron like the scales of a snake.

“Alright everyone.”

Harry was forced away from his thoughts, attention turning to one of the executives sitting at the front of the bus, who he vaguely knew as Mike. The man rose from his seat, his inky black hair and sallow skin gleaming unnaturally beneath the dim light trickling through the bus windows.

Here comes the bad news.

“We’ve divided you all into pairs. The rooms can only fit two at a time. We understand that you were all under the impression of sleeping in your own rooms, but autumn season was not a kind one to the company.”

Harry huffed, miffed that they would use such an excuse on them. They weren’t ignorant, lower-tier employees that didn’t know just how these things went. To say that the executives had planned to provide them with their own accomodations was a lie and a terrible one at that. They never intended to in the first place. Why would their boss bother to give them a wonderful room when he could be spending the company money as he saw fit? On other things that were of little to no importance to anyone but himself?

“Please try not to switch rooms. Management has made it clear that all parties staying in their hotel must remain in their rooms. It was this agreement that allowed us to receive the lower rates that we did.”

A snort nearly escaped him. Of course, Harry thought. It was all about the cheaper rates with these arseholes.

“If you have any issues or concerns with your accommodations, please notify the front desk. This trip is non-refundable, so unless you have good reason for needing to leave early, we will deduct the difference from your salary.”

Great.

There was no escaping this place. There was no way in hell he would pay for this disaster of a hotel. He’d sooner ask Riddle over for tea and biscuits before letting them take a cut of his salary.

“You look quite upset, Harry.”

Grinding the crown of his teeth, Harry turned his attention back to Riddle. He’d nearly forgotten the man was there, caught up with his own thoughts and frustrations concerning this stupid company. It shouldn’t have surprised him that they’d pull this kind of stunt after all the bullshite they’d flung in their general direction for years, but still. This was no reward for their hard work at the company, and certainly no gift, if the stakes of leaving before their stay was anything to go by.

It was punishment.

“As I should be. This place looks like a bloody death trap.” Harry hissed, his expression going sour when Riddle smiled, all teeth. It made every single hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end, the unsettling whisper of danger lurking in that face enough to make him press closer to the window and away from Tom. “Look at it. There’s cobwebs on the bloody windows and the front porch has uneven floorboards and chipped paint.”

Tom turned away from Harry to regard the hotel with a thoughtful expression, leaning further into Harry’s space. Harry tried not to let his impatience show when Tom took his sweet time to look at it, as if this were some kind of expensive art piece at a famous art gallery rather than some shite motel.

It was only after Harry began to shake his leg that Tom stopped and turned his attention back to him.

Then, just as Tom was about to speak, Harry’s attention was forced away from the dread of staying in this crappy place and his irritation with his bizarre co-worker.

“Alright then. We took the liberty of pairing you all off—” the man paused at the loud groans and complaints that erupted at that. Harry only pinched the bridge of his nose. “—it was not my idea. This was something the head personally cooked up. Don’t give me that look, John.”

Harry glanced at Mike, then followed his gaze to the supervisor he’d mentioned by name. He was tempted to flash him a smile and give him a thumbs up for expressing what everyone certainly felt at that moment. To be paired off with people from the company they did not even know was a pain in the arse. What if Harry hated them? What if they snored?

With his sleeping habits, he doubted he could sleep a solid night if his roommate was loud.

“Anyway,” Mike continued, ignoring the collective murmurs of displeasure from everyone on the bus. “I will call out the names of those that will be rooming together. So please, once you’ve been called, it’d be great if you would head to your rooms. Check-in is in about fifteen minutes and they have a strict check-in policy.

Of course they did, Harry thought, his mouth pursing into a thin line. They picked a fucking shitehole that hasn’t seen a customer in possibly years.

They’d tack on as many conditions to their stay as they could, if it could justify them keeping their security deposit and charging added fees.

“Robert Smith, you’re with Frederick Wilton.”

Harry didn’t recognize the names, and promptly after watching a portly, dark haired man storm out of the bus with a scowl on his face, Harry wondered if the partnership was a terrible one.

“It would be amusing if we ended up sharing the same suite.”

Harry jumped, smacking his leg against the bottom of the seat in front of him. Riddle had whispered into his ear, lips brushing against the shell. It had been too close, and Harry rounded on him in seconds, uncaring that he was nearly at his wits end and going to leave with a massive bruise on his shin.

“No,” Harry said vehemently, nostrils flaring. “It would be an absolute nightmare to be put in the same room as you. You have no fucking respect for personal space.”

Tom smiled at him, eyes twinkling with a mirth that had no business being on his stupid face. They were not friends, and would never be. The man was a creep, and it would be a crime against all of humanity—but most of all, a personal attack against Harry—to be put in the same room.

Lord knows, Tom might fucking watch him as he slept.

A shudder crawled up Harry’s spine at the thought.

“Harry, I hope you are aware that our transportation is rather small. I cannot help that I am a large man that takes up quite a bit of space.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Sure, the Greyhound bus wasn’t large by any means, but that did not excuse Riddle leaning into him and whispering inane things into his ear throughout the entire ride. It had been suffocating to have him breathing his same air, his hot breath and voice brushing along the shell of his ear whenever the bus so much as rocked—

“Yeah, but do you have to whisper into my bloody ear? It’s unnecessary. You could tell me all about the crap that crosses your mind without your mouth getting anywhere near me—”

“Is there something wrong with my mouth being near yours, Harry? My, that’s quite an inappropriate thought to have of a fellow employee.”

Sputtering, Harry tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t end with him punching Riddle in the face. When he couldn’t, Harry opted to level Riddle with a glare and say—

“Yes, there is something very wrong with it. It is precisely because you are my co-worker that I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

Tom leaned back into his seat, hand cupping his chin, his stupid smile still stretched along his lips. “And yet here you are. You simply could have moved to another seat if you were so offended by my presence.”

Harry blinked, frowning when he realized that Tom was right. He could have moved. Nothing was stopping him from leaving—there had still been space when he’d sat in the back in the hope that Tom would not follow.

Still, that didn’t answer the question of whether Tom would have let him leave in the first place. The man could have followed him to another seat and annoyed him there. Or worse, if Harry had sat beside someone else, have pulled his weight as one of the favorites at the office and gotten the poor bastard to move and let him slide in beside Harry.

Had Harry really had a choice? No, Harry thought with conviction, absolutely not.

“Oh, that’s rich. As if you wouldn’t follow me wherever I decided to sit. You were always following me to that diner, so how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t follow me to another bloody seat?” Harry demanded, watching how Tom’s shoulders tensed before smoothing out.

Victory surged inside him, a vicious smile stretching over his lips. Good, Tom should be annoyed.

However, rather than reacting as Harry had expected, Tom began to laugh. Harry was flabbergasted.

It was a deep and throaty sound, one that Harry had never heard before. An angry blush spread through his cheeks, irritation blooming inside him like the burn of an ulcer when Riddle didn’t stop for a solid minute.

Bastard.

The chatter of the other people on the bus was lost to the cacophony. Even Mike’s annoying voice calling out names had dissipated into nothing, the sound of his blood rushing to his ears and Riddle’s laughter too difficult to ignore.

Then, it abruptly stopped. Riddle’s expression sobered, and Harry’s breath hitched when Riddle pressed forward until their noses were touching, faces so close that Harry could count each individual lash framing his eyelids.

He tried to rear back, but there was nowhere to go. He had chosen the window seat, and was already pressed as far back as he could to the glass and the uncomfortable polyester chair he was sitting on.

“You’re right—” Riddle said, voice dropping to a low murmur that Harry strained to hear even with how close they sat. “—where else am I going to get my entertainment if not at your side?”

Harry froze at the flash of something predatory in Riddle’s eyes, like the kind of look Harry had seen Ron give his mother’s home-cooked meals after he’d spent months surviving off his own cooking. Throat suddenly dry, Harry tried not to shrink into himself when Riddle’s mouth parted and a hot breath fanned against his lips.

He didn’t want to think about what that meant, about the implications in the man’s words and the way he looked at him—

“Harry Potter.”

At the sound of his own name, the strange tension between them dissipated. Riddle pulled away from him in an instant, granting Harry the space to breathe and turn his attention back to Mike. The man looked just as exhausted as Harry felt.

The bus was nearly empty save for the two executives still seated at the front and a pair of supervisors seated just behind them. A bad feeling bloomed in his chest, realizing that if there were only seven people on that bus, and Riddle was still sitting beside him, then—

“You’re with Riddle.”

Shock spread through his insides, the sound of Riddle’s low laugh beside him drowned out by the horror that followed.

No.

“Don’t even try it, Potter. Unless you’re willing to pay 800 pounds for your room and the special amenities the company has provided, you best keep your mouth shut and take your things into the room.”

At Mike’s steely tone, Harry clamped his mouth closed and clenched his jaw. When he had opened it to complain, he didn’t know, but at that moment, Harry wished more than ever that he could give everyone a piece of his mind. This was a disaster. They had no idea what it was that they had done, pairing him off with Riddle as if Harry would be able to sleep comfortably with that creep breathing down his neck.

Harry didn’t bother to spare Riddle a glance, shooting up to his feet and pushing past the man’s legs to head to the front of the bus.

Anger fed his movements, his scowl turning lethal when Mike gave him a pitying glance as he passed. He didn’t bother to look back and see for himself if Riddle was following after him. He probably was right at his heels, his longer legs making it easy to dwarf any space Harry managed to put between them.

Bloody perfect.

When he finally emerged from the bus, its doors wide and letting in winter’s frigid breath, Harry turned to see that his things had already been taken down from the storage compartment.

It wasn’t much. Just a small carry-on bag and a hiking bag carrying the essentials necessary to survive the duration of his “vacation.” He had at least three different winter coats packed into the backpack, mindful that it was going to be in the negatives for the entire weekend, and it would be stupid of him to let himself go unprepared.

Grumbling, Harry scooped the bag and slung one strap over his shoulder. He pulled out the handle of his roller bag, and began walking toward the set of buildings further out from the driveway.

Upon closer inspection, Harry found that the building looked even more run-down than it did from a distance. There were cobwebs on the upper suites and cracks in the pillars, which held up its once opulent entrance.

Great.

It was a lonely walk. His footsteps and his own breaths the only sounds cutting into the silence that descended over the place. His colleagues were nowhere to be found. They had long since made their way to the hotel, perhaps an attempt to escape the hideousness of the building and the biting cold cutting through their coats. It was a good thing Harry had packed well, he would have joined them in their desperation to get inside, otherwise.

Then, just as Harry was reaching the unsteady cover of the porch, footsteps sounded behind him. Harry did not turn, knowing already who it had to be. There were five others left on the bus, so Mike would still be inside with the remaining passengers.

“In a hurry?” Tom said, the sound of his footsteps growing louder and louder, alerting Harry of the unpleasant reality that he was getting closer. “Our destination is one in the same. Why not enjoy the weather? There is still time before we have to check-in.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry did not turn back even when Tom finally caught up to him and mirrored Harry’s brusque pace to the main building. There were several edifices stretched on either side of this main one, all in varying degrees of ugly. He hoped the inside was nicer than the outside.

“No.” Harry finally said when Riddle followed him, his movements easily mirroring Harry’s own. It added to Harry’s annoyance. “I just want to head to my room and forget that I am stuck here for an entire weekend with you.”

Riddle did not speak after that. It was the closest to a reprieve Harry had gotten all evening. The man wasn’t known for his chattiness, but on the bus, the bloke just didn’t know when to quit. Talking and talking about his observations of each of the supervisors and his opinions on the debacle that was this entire trip.

He could not immediately recall Tom ever talking this much in the past. This was more words than Harry had exchanged with Tom in his entire time at the company, including the fated afternoon where Riddle approached him at the diner.

Perhaps, if Harry hadn’t been so creeped out and annoyed with Riddle, he might not have minded the chatter. Ron was not a quiet guy, and neither was Hermione when someone fired her up, but Riddle was a creep. An attractive-looking man, but a creep all the same that placed too much weight on his attractiveness to get him special treatment at the company.

“There are worse things than being in a room with me, Harry.”

At the sound of his name, Harry turned to Riddle, slowing down so that he didn’t end up eating dirt and snow. He hoped his skepticism at the comment was obvious. There was nothing he could think of that could possibly be worse.

“Yeah? What?” Harry asked, humoring him when Riddle looked entirely too serious with his scarf wrapped around his neck and two massive luggage bags gripped beneath his fingers.

“Being trapped with a monster hiding in plain sight.”

Unease bloomed low in his stomach when Riddle smiled a beatific smile. A shudder rippled through him that had nothing to do with the cold air cutting through his cheeks.

He didn’t say anything in response, turning back to look at the wooden doors of the hotel. There wasn’t anything he could say to that. It had sounded like a warning, an ominous promise that made all the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

Harry hoped Riddle had only been kidding and that there wasn’t some special meaning to what he’d said.

Harry had been right when he said that the hotel was a literal death trap.

At first, when they’d stopped by the receptionist desk to pick up their keys, the place had looked decent enough. It was marginally better than the exterior of the building, at least. Tasteful potted plants and landscape paintings lined the cream-colored walls, adding an air of sophistication that the outside lacked.

However, after checking in and learning that their suite was a great distance from the main entrance, Harry had grown immediately suspicious. After all, it was one thing to be within the same area as everyone else, but entirely another to be cut off from the rest of his co-workers.

They’d been assigned to Suite S, which turned out to be a separate building entirely. It was its own private space and there was only one room. A place, he found, that was better suited for couples wishing to escape noisy tourists rather than for jaded company employees.

Then, of course, just when Harry had thought the entire thing could not possibly get worse, when they opened the door, the interior of the room was a wreck. It looked like something straight out of some cheesy 90s porno. The couches were made of velvet. The bed was decorated with cheesy heart pillows and red satin sheets that looked to be stained with something he didn’t want to think too hard about.

There was an air conditioning unit and an electric hearth within centimeters of one another, pushed against the opposite wall facing the bed and the two white nightstands.

Apparently when his company had selected the rooms, they had, in their desperation to get a solid deal for the whole trip, had forgotten that this was meant to be a professional affair and not some shite attempt at matchmaking.

“Well, this is certainly interesting.” Tom chimed in, stepping past Harry and into the room with his luggage in tow.

Interesting was not the word Harry would use to describe this disaster.

“They must have made a mistake.” Harry said, stepping into the room and sighing in relief when there were at least two beds in the room rather than the one he had seen from the entrance.

Thank god.

“I doubt that they did. It seems that this room has all the trappings of a love motel, but the fact that they’d at least included a second bed and a kitchenette on the other end suggests otherwise.”

A flush stained his cheeks at the mention of love motels. God, Harry hoped that the room hadn’t been used as one for some time now and that the sheets were laundered well enough.

Harry didn’t think he could take many more surprises.

“Hopefully, they’ve recently renovated this room and washed the sheets.”

Harry did not dare dignify Tom’s comment with a response, kicking the door shut once he’d dragged his things inside.

The room was hideous, certainly, but the thought that this had once been a hotel where people slept with each other made him green with nausea. Sex wasn’t something he got too much of or pondered on, after his split with Ginny and his disastrous relationship with Draco. But to sleep in a bed where he knew others had fucked? That was too much even for him. At least, when the hotel didn’t having the history of a sex hotel, he could pretend no one had sex in those.

“I can’t sleep like this.” Harry said, trying to recall if he’d seen a laundry room somewhere in the building on his walk over to the suite. Management had mentioned that they did have a place to launder their clothes, free of charge, but where that was, was a mystery.

“Well, the sun is still out. There would be no need for you to rest until the sun at least sets.”

That was not the answer Harry had been hoping for, a loud groan escaping him when he sat on the bed, its springs creaking with his weight.

“This sucks.” Harry sighed, realizing then that there would be no way out of this. The laundry room was possibly on the other side of the place. He was sharing a room with Tom Riddle, who didn’t seem at all fazed by potentially sleeping on sex-drenched sheets, and this was a weekend long excursion with no escape until the length of their stay ended.

At the sound of rustling cloth, Harry turned his attention away from the carpeted floor and glanced at the source.

Harry wished he hadn’t. Riddle had removed his shirt, his bare chest pale white beneath the incandescent light of the suite. His trouser button was undone, a band of dark green poking from the slit where his trousers laid open.

Turning away immediately, Harry tried not to blush with his discomfort. “I swear to god, Riddle, couldn’t you have changed in the bathroom? You’re not in the privacy of your own damn flat.”

The rustling stopped and Harry barely kept himself from turning once again when the side of his bed dipped.

“I’m well aware that I am not alone.”

Riddle’s voice had come far too close for comfort, his breath fanning across the bare skin of Harry’s neck. “If you do not wish to see me, then avert your eyes. I am not forcing you to look at me.”

With that, Riddle pulled away.

Harry didn’t say anything else after that, the haunting memory of Riddle’s hot breath against his neck and the fact that he didn’t care that Harry was there with him, a poignant one.

God, Harry thought, pressing his hands into his face, this is going to be a fucking nightmare.

Thankfully, his rooming together with Riddle hadn’t ended in catastrophe. Despite realizing he was staying in a renovated love hotel and learning that Riddle honestly gave zero absolute shits about personal space, Harry acclimated rather quickly.

As long as Harry didn’t think too hard about what Riddle did in the room or about what people had done on the bed, it was bearable. Riddle, for the most part, left Harry to his own devices and didn’t demand any more than was necessary of his time. Most often, Riddle talked to him about inane things like the weather and the flaws of each employee currently staying at the place, but it wasn’t too bad. He could handle it.

However, things took a turn the second day of their forced cohabitation.

Apparently, the hotel had a partnership with one of the local resorts that offered discounted pricing on sledding and skiing equipment. The company had offered to pay for the whole thing, as a means of quieting the complaints of almost everyone. Apparently, their rooms were shite. Something about the air conditioning unit not working and the room being plagued by a bizarre odor—Harry wasn’t certain on the logistics.

So far, his room had a fully functional heater and his room did not smell of strange things. The smell of cheap detergent wasn’t ideal, but it was markedly better than the stench of sewage and garbage that his co-workers complained of from theirs.

Either way, after many complaints from the disgruntled supervisors, the company had relented in paying for their equipment for that afternoon. The resort itself wasn’t a “resort” by any means. It was more of a small shack with a bustling hearth and maybe one or two employees manning the whole place, but it seemed to pacify the others.

Except Harry.

He wasn’t fond of the idea, if he were being honest. The hotel had a terrible reputation and after looking up reviews on Yelp for the equipment rental store, Harry was even more convinced that borrowing anything, even when it was free, was a bad idea.

If only he had followed his instincts and not allowed Tom to badger him into coming along with everyone. He would have preferred to stay inside, warm and comfortable, rather than out in the snow with a man he disliked immensely and fellow co-workers he had no reason to talk to.

Harry sighed, sulking as he waited to go down the small mountain. They had been taking turns, the more seasoned skiers taking the lead while the other less experienced bunch watched on with terrified and intrigued eyes.

He’d skied before. Sirius had taken him out once when he’d been a teen and it had been fun. Watching Sirius eat snow more than once while Remus had watched on with a fond smile had been worth all the bruises he’d earned trying to learn.

However, this was nothing like those lazy winter afternoons. There was no Sirius or Remus here to poke humor at his expense. There was only Riddle and the other equally exhausted employees waiting to have a go before retiring for the day.

“Are you ready?” A voice whispered into Harry’s ear, rousing him from his thoughts.

He turned to the voice, frowning when, of course, it was Riddle who had spoken. He was the only that ever whispered so damned close to his ear.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

He ignored the small smile that spread along Riddle’s face before turning back to the winding path before him. It was a long ways down, white with snow and littered with patches of evergreen.

“You don’t look very thrilled, Harry.” Tom pointed out, stepping forward to stand over the edge of the hill to Harry’s right. It looked like Riddle planned to go along with him. Why he wanted to do something like that beyond Harry. “Why don’t we make things a bit interesting. Start a bet of sorts?”

Harry paused, turning his attention back on Riddle. He was smiling still, his eyes bright and mischievous. It made something turn in his stomach, as if he’d already taken a dive down the mountain.

“A bet? What do you have in mind?” Harry hedged, humoring the bloke if only to satisfy his own curiosity. It wasn’t common for Riddle to gamble, especially when he was the one that ran the company’s accounting department. It was strange.

“The first one to reach the bottom of the mountain gets to ask for one favour of the other.”

A frown stretched across his face while Riddle’s smile remained in place. That didn’t sound like a good enough deal to him. What could he possibly want from Riddle?

A favor? There was nothing Riddle had that Harry wanted.

Harry was about to reject the offer and turn back to the mountain when Riddle’s hand clamped on his arm, smile gone. Something in his insides wrenched at the contact, the proximity between them reminding him of the bizarre event on the bus and the strange conversation on their walk to the front desk the previous day.

This couldn’t be good.

“If you win, you could ask me to never speak to you again.”

Oh.

Surprise made his mouth part in shock, his eyes growing wide at the fact that Riddle would volunteer that kind of favor. It was…tempting. Harry didn’t want anything to do with him, so perhaps asking him to leave him alone, well. That sounded almost too good to be true.

Harry narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious.

“And why would you risk that? So far, you’ve shown little interest in honoring my personal autonomy.”

Riddle didn’t speak for a moment, his hand still grasping Harry’s forearm. It wasn’t a death grip by any means, but it definitely wasn’t a hold Harry could easily shake off without getting into a scuffle.

“Because it would be fun. What is the point of a bet if one of the parties is not interested in his prize?”

That was a good point, and Harry’s lips pursed at that. He wasn’t wrong. He wouldn’t agree to a bet if there was nothing in it for him.

Still, Harry thought, that still doesn’t answer the question of what Riddle could want.

“And you? Are you interested in your prize? Why would you want a favor from me?” Harry asked, unable to curb his own curiosity.

“I am interested, I wouldn’t be asking for a favor if there wasn’t something of worth to be gained.” Riddle offered, his fingers tightening on Harry’s arm minutely before releasing it entirely. The flesh ached where Riddle had gripped him. “I am only interested in the favor itself. One that I can cash in at a later date when necessary.”

Well…that did make some sense, Harry thought. He knew enough about people to know that sometimes they were just happy knowing that they had someone watching their back. He would be the first to say that he didn’t know Riddle, but he also knew that although he was odd and creepy, he wasn’t mass murderer. He said strange and cryptic things Harry didn’t always follow, but he wasn’t evil.

What was the worst that could happen? Riddle already followed him around like a debt collector, how bad would it be to owe him a favor?

“Alright, I’ll do it. Just don’t get any funny ideas, okay?”

Riddle tilted his head to one side, lips stretching into a thin smile that looked far more genuine than all the other expressions he’d seen Riddle wear, before outstretching his hand. Harry didn’t hesitate to take it, shaking on their agreement.

“Agreed.”

Nodding, Harry turned once again to the hill. His goggles were pressed against his forehead, and he grabbed the ski poles and readied himself. At his side, Harry took one quick glance to see Riddle do the same, gearing up for the race. He looked determined, strangely sober for a race that was allegedly meant to be purely for fun.

“Ready?” Harry asked, tugging on his goggles, ever so grateful that he’d opted for contacts that afternoon.

“Ready.” Riddle said.

“Then, on three.” Harry said, fingers clenching tightly around the ski poles, a bead of sweat gathering on the nape of his neck.

“One.”

Harry turned away from Riddle, watching the clouds obscure the sliver of light above them. Dark and oppressive, reminiscent of the shade of Riddle’s own eyes.

“Two.”

Harry’s heart was racing a mile a minute, euphoria and adrenaline close companions as he prepared himself for the race. It’d been a long time since he’d played games with high stakes.

It felt good.

“Three!”

They were off. The wind blowing against his face was relentless, the darkening sky and the sensation of his skis hitting the snow one that made his blood sing. He didn’t turn to look if Riddle was following him.

In that moment, it was Harry and the snow. The wind was all he could hear, the biting pressure of the air cutting through every layer of his coat and his thermal underwear. It was thrilling, and he couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his face when he pushed on, wading through the snow like a sea snake swam through a river.

A whoop tumbled from his lips, and he watched how the trees passed him in a blur of green and white, rocks and other debris easily avoided with a careful push of his ski poles. It was amazing—he’d forgotten just how much he enjoyed this feeling.

“Harry!” A voice cut through his excitement, loud and familiar. He almost turned toward it, befuddled that someone could be shouting his name when he was flying through the snow at a speed that was almost unreal.

“You have to turn back!” Frowning, Harry did turn his head at that, confusion coloring his face when up at the top of the mountain there was a crowd of onlookers that he couldn’t identify. They were too far for him to see their faces, but their screams rang through the sound of rushing snow and wind.

“There’s a storm brewing, you have to stop!”

A storm?

Trepidation bloomed in his stomach, recalling in that instant the darkened clouds that had begun to gather at the top of the sky, the sun nearly overcome when he’d been talking to Riddle earlier.

There had been no mention of a storm on his weather app, he had checked three hundred times to make sure. It was unprecedented that things could unravel so quickly.

“Watch out!”

At that loud cry, Harry had one split second to turn around and look forward before he smashed into a tree, his body careening out of control. He screamed, eyes falling shut as the snow and his own inertia forced him down the hill and further away from the screaming voices of his colleagues.

His body lifted mid-air, rolling through the ground in a heap of limbs. Harry had no time but to buckle down when his ankle smashed into a rock, an ear-splitting crack sounding in the air. A cry tore from his lungs, the pain making his eyes water when his body continued to roll further down until he could hear nothing but the sound of the blood rushing to his ears and his own whimpers each time he jostled his leg.

Help!

Harry couldn’t scream, mouth filling with snow as he continued to roll until finally, he smashed into what could only be another tree, halting his descent. Everything hurt. His fingers were wet and sticky with blood from when the rocks along the path had cut through his coat and into his skin.

There was no telling how long he laid that way. It could have easily been an eternity before he gathered the wherewithal to open his eyes.

Blinking, he tried to repress his tears when he tried to get up and unwittingly awakened a deep, pulsing pain concentrated on his ankle.

A swear tumbled from his mouth, then a whimper, his eyes blinking away the darkened spots of his vision to take note of his surroundings. He didn’t dare move as he took in the winding trees towering above him and the bloodied snow. No, he held perfectly still, afraid to jostle any other injuries.

Fuck, he should have been paying attention. It was a rookie mistake to turn one’s back, to lose one’s concentration while in the midst of a run.

“Hel-help, somebody,” Harry cried out, coughing when his lungs began to protest at his efforts. “R-riddle? Someone!” He didn’t know why he called for him, why he would bother, but he had to try. He couldn’t just lay there, helpless while a fucking storm rolled over the horizon.

There was no response. It was only him and trees around him. The sky, in the time that it took him to come to a stop after hitting every rock and fallen branch on the way down, growing darker. Purple and heavy, the threat of a storm thick in the black clouds that floated above the trees.

Perfect, just bloody perfect.

Harry laid there helpless, unable to do anything as he waited for someone come find him. He was certain he hadn’t rolled too far away from the main skiing camp. There was only so much inertia a person had before they stopped, and Harry doubted he could have gotten very far.

But when the minutes seemed to stretch out for what felt like an eternity, Harry’s confidence began to wane. Apprehension crept over his senses, the possibility of dying out here in the cold while he bled out, a heavy one that made his breaths come far too quickly.

So much for a wonderful vacation, Harry.

“Harry!”

At the sound of his name, Harry perked up, wincing when he jostled his arm, realizing that he’d probably broken it too when he tried to break his fall.

“I’m he-here!” He screamed. His voice echoed through the trees, and he prayed in that moment that whoever had followed him down there had heard him. He didn’t know how long he could last if he didn’t get some help.

He had already lost feeling in his extremities, the numbness more terrifying than the actual fall. When one started going numb, that was when fingers or limbs were lost. Eaten away by the frost, victim to winter’s cruel breath.

“Harry, where are you!?” That voice came again, closer this time. Harry tried to crawl toward it, teeth aching when his ankle began to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat. It was so fucked that Harry doubted he could put any weight on it—he’d need a doctor to fix it if he didn’t want a permanent limp. “Harry!”

“I’m here. I’m here!”

Harry was screaming bloody murder, crawling toward the voice. His nails dug into the snow, his fingertips, even with gloves, tingling with each mound of snow he dug through to push himself forward.

A shadow passed over him, lurking from somewhere inside the trees, and Harry opened his mouth to scream again.

“I’m here, please. I’m here—” His throat was aching fiercely by the end of it, scratchy and hoarse. He doubted he could keep shouting without losing his voice entirely.

The minutes trickled by, the shadow lingering in the trees for a long stretch of time, before the shadow broke through the trees and ran toward him. Harry couldn’t quite make out the person, his vision was coming in and out, blood loss and pain taking its toll on him after forcing himself to crawl that one meter he had.

“Harry…”

The person threw himself to the snow beside him, his hands, gentle and so warm, pulling him up to rest his head over his lap.

“You idiot,” the man said, fingers carding through the hair peeking from beneath his cap. It was a miracle it hadn’t fallen off, with how quickly he’d rolled down that mountain, but he was grateful for it. His insides were cold, his hands and feet had gone numb. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Why would you look back while skiing?”

Harry coughed, head lolling to one side. His head felt heavy, as if weighed down by stone. His vision was growing darker and darker as the minutes passed, and it was only at the stranger’s curse that he became aware that he was being scooped up, the pain in his arm and ankle yanking him out of the strange haze settling over him.

Whimpering, Harry tilted his head to regard the man that was now dragging him by his waist and shoulders toward, what he assumed, was the hotel.

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to recognize who this person was. The goggles, cap, and thick coat had obscured most, if not all, of the man’s features.

“R-Riddle?” Harry said, throat dry and aching as he was pulled along. “They sent you?”

Riddle fixed his gaze on him then, his dark eyes the only discernible feature on the man’s face. They were intense, a glimmer to them that made something nervous jolt in Harry’s stomach. It wasn’t a pleasant look. One might even say that Riddle looked upset. Harry didn’t get it.

“I sent myself.” Riddle replied, his eyes staring into Harry’s eyes. It almost hurt to look at him, the strain of his eyes making his head pound. “When I saw that you were nowhere to be found, I set off looking for you.”

That made sense. They had both pushed off the top at the same time. It would be odd not to find his competitor after they’d both made their gambles.

“The storm should be here soon. I did my best to find you before you became buried in it.” Riddle continued, his movements careful even though, in retrospect, Tom should be rushing to find cover somewhere. There was no time for him to be gentle with him. His ankle and arm were broken, but what did his limbs matter if he didn’t survive in the first place?

“Riddle, then you might want to hurry up. I-if we do have a storm coming, then you shouldn’t be this slo-slow.” Harry coughed, cheeks itchy with dried tears as he tried to compose himself through his hacking fits. Maintaining conversation was a strain, but he couldn’t just be quiet when their lives were at risk.

“We’ll be fine. There’s a cave not too far from here.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and allowed Riddle to guide him to the cave. It was certainly no hospital, but he couldn’t afford to be picky. There was no time to make it back to the hotel and avoid the storm. A quick glance towards the sky revealed that it would be upon them at any moment. It had gone a sickly dark purple, the sun eaten entirely by the terrifying weather.

Heaviness swept through him, the same sensation of floating away making his head fall against Riddle’s chest. He was exhausted, eyes struggling to stay open when Riddle’s rocking movements lulled him to sleep. It didn’t help that his fear and adrenaline had gradually dissipated, Riddle’s words and presence serving as a comfort for the real danger he’d be in without it.

He didn’t want to die here. Not now when there was so much for him to do, when his life was only just beginning. How terrible would it be to die with his last memories being this shitty trip? No, he refused to die here.

Riddle did not speak for some time, the sound of his steps crushing snow and his own breathing the only thing to break the eerie silence that had settled between them. Harry tried to stay awake, shifting his head to look at Riddle, but the numbness was too much. Even Riddle’s heat, though welcomed in that moment, was not enough to drive away the chill still clinging to his limbs.

“Ar-are we almost there?” Harry said, eyelids falling shut and refusing to obey his desire to remain awake. It was dangerous to fall asleep, to give in to that strange sensation undulating beneath his skin. He’d heard stories, seen enough survival series to know that sleep was the last thing he wanted to have when he was losing blood and freezing his arse off.

“Harry—” Riddle said, but Harry could not make out his words. They faded in and out of his hearing, even when Harry’s cheek vibrated with the force of Riddle’s voice. There was something calling to him, something familiar.

Harry…

It was a soft voice. One that sounded an awful like his mother, singing for him to close his eyes and to dream. He recognized it, latching onto it desperately because it was his mother’s voice. It was unmistakable, the rich velvet of her tongue speaking his name could not be anything else.

Sleep, my darling, my son.

A smile crept over his face and the world became nothing. Haziness settled into his bones, over his fingertips until there was nothing but her.

Close your eyes and let yourself be free…

The lolling motions ceased, evaporating like a white mist.

Cover your ears, I’ll be here…

His mother had never come back. Her voice and the rich scent of her hair were the only memories he had of her—her face and her hair, a nebulous nothing that he couldn’t recall with detail. Not when it’d been years since she’d died, since his father had joined her in the afterlife, leaving him at the mercy of the Dursleys…

To battle the monsters reaching for your feet…

“Harry!”

His eyes snapped open to a sea of grey, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he tried to make sense of where he was and why it was so damn bright…

“Don’t close your eyes. You must stay awake.”

He blinked repeatedly, trying to will away the black spots flickering over his vision.

“W-where—?” Harry coughed, unable to finish his phrase when the short puffs of air turned into heavy wheezing. His eyes burned, tears threatening to fall from the violence of his breathing. It was so terrible that it took him a while to notice the warmth stretching along his back, rubbing soothing circles against his clothed flesh.

There was no telling how long he remained that way, equal parts enjoying the warmth seeping into his back and hating the burn of his throat.

God.

“There, that’s it. Breathe in through your nose and let out slow breaths from your mouth.” A masculine voice whispered into his ear, a strange sensation blooming in his belly when lips grazed the shell of it. “Try to stay awake. You cannot fall asleep in your condition.”

Confusion spread through him, and then—

Harry glanced down after his coughing subsided to find that his ankle was bent in a way that he’d never seen his leg bend before. It was lying on the floor, his trousers smeared in blood and dirt, the cuff torn so as to reveal bruised and swollen flesh.

There was no pain despite its grim appearance.

Swallowing, Harry was just about to ask what had happened when all of his memories came at him at once. The bet, the cries of an oncoming storm, the loud crunch of his ankle and arm making impact with tree and rock, the sight of his blood on white snow—oh god, his blood—and the cold. A fierce, unwavering cold that spread through him as sickness cut through impoverished villages.

“O-oh god,” Harry stammered, the lack of feeling in his legs and fingers making panic choke on his spit. “I-I can’t feel my fingers, my feet—”

“You were out in the cold for some time. There’s no need to panic. I’ll try to get you warmed up as we wait for the storm to pass.” Riddle—yes, that was who this was—said into his ear before his arms wrapped around him.

Harry stiffened, unable to repress that reaction, before he inevitably sank into the embrace, unable to resist the heat Riddle emitted. It made his blood warm, his body tingle strangely to be pressed against his body after winter had nearly devoured him with her icy mouth. There was a strange sound beneath the background, not nearly as loud as the sound of Riddle’s voice or the heartbeat beneath the man’s chest, but it was there.

It was a constant thrum.

“Unfortunately, in the time it took me to bring you to the cave, I was not able to gather some dry wood to start a fire. We will have to make do with one another’s own body heat until the storm tapers off.”

Storm…? That had to be the source of the sound. It couldn’t be anything else.

Then, the reality of Riddle’s words finally registered. It was nearly enough to spring him from the brink of death.

Sharing body heat? If this had been any other situation, Harry might have balked at such a suggestion. But he was out of options, nearly having died for the second time that afternoon by sinking into hypothermia.

Had he been out that long that he’d nearly succumbed to it? Had he lost that much blood that he’d thought it a great idea to give in to the weakness in his body? There could be no other possibilities.

“H-how long did it take you to find me, out in the snow?” Harry asked, voice shaking.

“Three hours, possibly. I cannot be sure.”

Closing his eyes, Harry sank deeper into Riddle’s body. He couldn’t believe that he’d been out that long. Could he have passed out after his fall? Harry frowned, a gasp escaping him when he moved his arm and a searing pain shot past his elbow and up to his shoulder. It made his eyes water, reminding him once again that he was far more injured that he’d originally thought.

“Careful. Try not to move. You’ve broken your arm and ankle. It is also possible that you’ve sustained other injuries not easily seen.”

No shit, Harry wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. As much as Riddle annoyed him on a good day, the man was helping him. He’d come out to his rescue, had saved him not once, but twice, from death. Riddle had been nothing but helpful, his touches gentle and soothing even when they came from someone as strange as him.

It was uncharacteristic how such an unfeeling man in many ways managed to be understanding of his pain. Perhaps, Harry might have misjudged him? Had jumped too quickly to conclusions by convincing himself that Riddle was an unfeeling automaton?

Guilt cut through him, recalling some of the unwarranted insults he’d thrown in Riddle’s direction when the man had done nothing but make conversation. He supposed now was as good a time as any to apologize and thank him for his help. He would be dead if not for his intervention. It was the least he could do.

“Ri—”

A sharp intake of breath cut off whatever apology or amends Harry intended to convey. Hot air fanned against the back of his head before something hard poked it, a something that was unmistakably a nose—

“D-did you just bloody sniff me?” Harry said, eyes wide with disbelief when Riddle did not cease the gesture, breathing him in as if he’d been waiting years for this privilege. “Are you really doing this right now?”

Harry was too shocked to feel any anger. He was injured, exhausted, and trapped in some cave for an indeterminable amount of time. He didn’t have it in him.

“We are quite close. There isn’t much room for me to breathe elsewhere.” Riddle replied smoothly, almost too smoothly. Harry’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced, but didn’t push the issue. There was a time and a place for arguments.

Injured, trapped in a cave, while a storm was raging outside was clearly not the time nor place.

“Fine.” Harry said, giving into the warmth Riddle provided. He was still cold, fingers and feet still numb. As much as it pained him to have to rely on Riddle, he was the only source of heat available for the time being.

And if Riddle’s mouth trailed too close to his neck, or his fingers played with the hem of his winter coat? Harry would make no mention of it. Not when he huddled closer, basking in Riddle’s warm embrace.

Their bet and their tumultuous relationship, temporarily forgotten.

#Tomarry #Harrymort #fanfiction #tropes #Anonymous

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denbruhh · 7 years

Text

real (reddie)

hey guys, this is the first fic i’ve done. it’s set about 4 years after the losers’ club defeats pennywise for the first time, and prom season is coming up.

i’ll do a second part if this one is actually good lol. and yes, i referenced @jonstavk‘s literally hilarious textpost with richie’s version of ben’s january embers poem SORRY

wordcount: 1.7k

It was the word on everyone’s lips, a shadow of something only imagined in movies. It was the feeling you got hearing your mum talk about how she felt in her dress all those years ago, the snickering of boys in corridors talking about yeah, you already know what as the sun set on that ever-so-special evening. It was elusive, it was thrilling, and it made Eddie Kaspbrak’s heart pound a hell of a lot. (Still not quite so much as facing off against that god-damned clown four years ago. But this was definitely up there.)

The Losers were soon graduating, and that could only mean one thing - prom season was coming. For them, this time, instead of every other ambiguous older year group. They’d be the ones donned in suits and ties, making their own memories. It should’ve been exciting, but, frankly, it was somewhat terrifying.

It was like every kid in the grade was fighting to out-do each other. Who could have the most elaborate prom-posal, as everyone seemed to be calling it these days. Greta Bowie even had someone drop on one knee and sing to her, something which seemed to be received well by most of the school community - despite that, Richie and Beverly seemed to mock the scenario at least twice a week, to everyone else’s amusement.

It was coming off from one of those sly references that Stan spoke up, that Thursday morning during lunch break. The group was sitting at their table, the one Richie engraved the name they’d invented for themselves into, in that fateful summer of ‘89 - LOSERS CLUB RULEZ. It had been a fairly regular break until this point, when Eddie’s nerves about the reality of prom were really set off at the point of - “So, are we doing anything after prom?”

“Are we even doing anything for prom?” Ben remarked. “Like, was the plan that we were just going to all go as friends, or...?”

And now, Eddie had to actually think about what he’d been tossing up for the past few months, ever since prom was first mentioned at some wayward assembly at the start of the year. Do I ask Trashmouth if he wants to be my date? What if he thinks I’m only joking if I actually ask him?

“I mean, we c-c-could do that if you want. I’m holding Bird Boy’s hand all night either way, though,” Bill, the unofficial leader of the group, remarked with a smirk. As if to prove his point, he gently put a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder while Stan flipped hurriedly through his organisational planner.

“I only say so because I’ve got to go to the synagogue the following morning with my dad and Bill, so I don’t want to stay up too late the night before if we end up going anywhere,” he stated. Stan looked up from his planner, pen poised to write the first thing his friends suggested.

“Uh... we could go to the quarry? Go for a late night swim and head home?” Beverly suggested. With that iconic grin of hers creeping onto her face, she added, “Anything to get me out of those fucking heels. By that point my feet will literally be dead.”

“Sounds good to me. Whaddaya reckon, Eddie Spaghetti? You’ve been a bit on the quieter side today,” Richie shot him an expectant look from across the table. Eddie could feel a slight blush coming to his face, but he faked a cough and took out his inhaler to make it look like ‘just another asthma thing’.

“Uh, y-yeah. Sounds fine,” he stammered. God, I sound like Bill. This is what you do to me, Tozier!

Stan scribbled into his planner. “It’s a date!”

The bell rung, jolting Eddie slightly. Followed by a collective groan, the Losers started packing up their things, flipping through their timetables to remember what class to dash off to. “Ugh, why doesn’t Mike go to our school, he actually likes history!” Bev complained, scoring a few laughs from the boys as they wandered off to their lessons.

Eddie’s last class for the day was good ol’ maths. He really did try to understand it, but today they were doing linear equations, and, honestly, he’d never understood that shit since, like, fifth grade. Y = mx + bullshit. None of the Losers were in his math class, so he’d usually spend lessons like these daydreaming or doodling in the back of his book, dreading the inevitable stress he’d have while trying to catch up on his work later. That particular worry wasn’t the first thing on his mind today, though. Why can’t I just admit to Richie that I’ve liked him for years? He hooks up with guys AND girls, even if I get rejected, at least I tried and ACTUALLY had a chance! Should I just wait until prom before I confess my feelings? Would that ruin prom for him? Would that ruin prom for me? God, why did everything have to be so fucking difficult when it came to that curly-haired, foul-mouthed angel-in-disguise?

He felt like a fourth grader with their very first crush whenever Richie crossed his mind. Well, if one wanted to be specific, other than Jonathan Knight from New Kids on the Block, Richie technically was his first crush. Ever since Stan had introduced them when the boys were only ten, he’d had those butterflies around Richie Tozier, the butterflies that all the teen shows used to say meant lucky boy, you’re in love! Of course, Eddie couldn’t really label the feeling of warmness, of security, that he got when they were together until a few years after that. Despite the terrible feeling that everyone already knew, that the Bowers gang would never leave him alone if he came out, all he wanted was to be held by Richie. Not in a joking headlock, or an overbearing hug, but a firm embrace that made up for the years of empty words and double takes across judging corridors. Eddie wanted to be held and know that it was worth all the fear; that it was for real.

His pen absent-mindedly danced across some anonymous page in his workbook, drawing rows of circles all clumped together, zig zags, rectangular scribbles. Eddie entertained his ten-year-old self by doodling in the corner of the page: EK + RT. Eddie Tozier? Richie Kaspbrak? Tozier-Kaspbrak? Kaspbrak-Tozier? Jesus, that really does NOT roll off the tongue.

Richie, Richie, Richie. Aw, shit, the ink had bled through. He flipped over to a blank page hurriedly as Mrs. Campbell made her rounds closer to his desk, tearing out the lesson’s scribbles and placing them in his front pocket. The closest waste basket was right by the door that led out of the classroom, opposite to where Eddie was. He’d just tear it up and pop it in there on his way out.

As if some omnipotent force had been listening in on his thoughts, the bell chimed harshly in three quick successions. Kids scrambled to stuff their books and pencil-cases into their scruffy backpacks, barely even having one strap on before dashing out the door. Guess I’m not the only one that hates maths. Eddie was always the last one out the door, making certain that everything was arranged in his bag properly, with any sharp items (like scissors) safely packed away. With a sigh of contentment, he methodically put on his backpack and paced out the door, nodding with a slight smile at Mrs. Campbell as he passed her.

“Eddie Spaghetti, my love!”

Eddie jumped at his crush’s surprise ambus. “Jesus, Richie,” he exhaled, although he couldn’t help but smile at the little pet name, even if he was only kidding. “What are you doing?”

“Walkin’ you home, of course, sunshine,” the bespectacled boy exclaimed, putting an arm around Eddie’s shoulder as they began strolling towards the gates.

“Uh, you never walk me home. You live in, like, the opposite direction.”

“I’ve got some free time, Eds. Plus, I wanted to see how you were doing, yaknow? Catch-up, chit-chat, whatever you wanna call it.” Richie grinned at the shorter boy.

“Okay, but you’re literally going to have to walk all the way back home from my place. That’s at least a thirty-minute walk, and you know how many weirdos there are around here?” Eddie took a quick glance at Richie, who raised his eyebrows in mock concern. He could see Richie’s grin just itching to burst out across his whole face, and God, he wanted to make him smile so badly. So, naturally, he kept rambling. “I mean, what if you get sidetracked? What if it gets dark, or you get lost?”

Richie snickered, taking his arm off Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah, right, what if there’s poison ivy on the way back and I trip and fall right in the centre of the damn thing? Or...” he stopped walking abruptly. “...a killer clown in the sewers!”

The boys paused for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. Eddie’s heart was pounding with nerves, but he didn’t feel uneasy, or negative at all. It was moments like these, where he didn’t overthink anything, and just went along with the natural flow of conversation between them, that he felt happiest with Richie. And, he thought, maybe even when Richie felt the happiest with him.

But was it real, the way Eddie wanted it to be?

“Eds, have you been writing poetry like Hanscom?” Richie started, leaning over as the boys continued on their walk.

“What? Uh, no?” Eddie responded quizzically. What the hell are you on about now, Tozier?

“Here, let me do a dramatic reading,” he reached for the folded paper poking out of Eddie’s front pocket, snatching it just as the smaller boy’s heart dropped. He felt sick, but froze as Richie started unscrunching the paper he stupidly forgot to tear up and throw out after maths class.

“Richie, come on...”

He cleared his throat, standing tall, shoulders back. He took a quick glance at the crinkled sheet, before declaring in one of his more eloquent ‘voices’: “Your fanny pack is fire December is lit My wang burns there, too.”

“Whaddaya think, Eds? One of my more refined pieces, I reckon.”

Eddie stood, heart in his throat. Okay, so Richie obviously hadn’t really looked at the paper yet. If he could just get it back before he saw all that shit he scribbled about him in maths class...

“Oh, come on, you’re just gonna stand there? I know it was moving and all, but some applause would be appreciated. Help a guy out here!” Richie stated, before glancing down at the paper. His brow furrowed, as he started reading. “Eddie, what...?”

Oh, shit.

thank you for reading omg

taglist: @richiietozierr @january-emb3rs @toshitophchan @httpsalien @ri-chietozier @richiedenbroughs @birdbabestan @goshdarndiddlyheck

#mine #reddie #it 2017 #losers club #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #fanfic

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