Yule Ball

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53701354.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, 1940s, Teacher-Student Relationship,
Possessive Tom Riddle, Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships,
Jealousy, Seduction, Romance, Humor, Student Tom Riddle, Professor
Harry Potter, Translation
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-02-11 Words: 5,965 Chapters: 1/1
 Yule Ball
by hola_olla1

Summary

“How do you find our first dance, Professor?” the Slytherin's voice snapped Harry out of his
thoughts bringing him back to the harsh reality. He looked skeptically over to Riddle's face, a
sly smile playing on the latter’s lips.

He raised an eyebrow.
“Do you think we'll ever have another?”

“I’m sure we will,” Riddle’s smile grew wider. Harry huffed deciding not to comment. After
all, if one ignores the problem long enough, the problem will eventually disappear on its own.

Notes

This is a translation of my own work Yule Ball. Enjoy!

See the end of the work for more notes

 ⋆⋆⋆

“Why did I never doubt it would be you?”

Way before it was known who would become the winner of the Headmaster's shady initiative,
Harry already knew whose name he would hear. The way Riddle smirked as he lowered the
parchment into the box left no doubt the brat had found a way to turn the whole situation to
his advantage.

“Do you believe in fate too, Professor?” the young man's eyes twinkled, knowing full well
Harry was perfectly aware this was no mere coincidence.

“I'm sure fate has nothing to do with this,” Harry frowned. Riddle's blatant audacity was
extremely annoying.

“Pleased we are in agreement here,” the Slytherin held out his hand expectantly and as soon
as Harry reluctantly accepted it, yanked him towards himself, placing his other hand on his
waist. His face lit up with a winning smile, literally everything about him radiated
satisfaction and smugness. Riddle was incorrigible.

Harry smiled to himself vindictively. He will make him regret his short-sighted decision to rig
the results of the stupid contest. After all, Harry never learned how to dance so he wouldn't
even have to pretend he'd accidentally stomped on Riddle's feet.

Naturally, the idea of the silly “Teacher’s First Dance” prize belonged to the headmaster.
Harry found the idea itself somewhat amusing – was the creation of dubious schemes a must
when approving a candidate for headmaster’s position? That would explain a lot.

Dippet certainly did not possess the same eccentric personality as Dumbledore, however, at
moments like these Harry could see where the old headmaster had drawn his inspiration from
back in his days.

This was his third Yule Ball in the timeline he got himself into unwillingly but Harry still
couldn't quite get used to how everything here was different from Hogwarts of his time.

Take the balls, for example. They were held every year, attendance mandatory for all
teachers. Not that Harry was against it. On the contrary, it added a unique Christmas charm
before the much-anticipated holidays. However, when the headmaster proposed another
ridiculous idea like this, he began to oh so desperately miss their humble Christmas dinners
devoid of any fancy attire and luxury.

The chances of returning home were so slim Harry had long ago abandoned his attempts to
actively seek any information about time travel, less and less often returning to the Forbidden
Section of the library. Sometimes, however, homesickness became especially overwhelming.
He missed his friends terribly as there was no one here with whom he could share what was
really bothering him or simply talk without having to hide his secrets. Yet, here was Riddle
and he had become absolutely insufferable lately.

“How do you find our first dance, Professor?” the Slytherin's voice snapped Harry out of his
thoughts bringing him back to the harsh reality. He looked skeptically over to Riddle's face, a
sly smile playing on the latter’s lips.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think we'll ever have another?”

“I’m sure we will,” Riddle’s smile grew wider. Harry huffed deciding not to comment. After
all, if one ignores the problem long enough, the problem will eventually disappear on its own.
Apparently, the Slytherin had his own views on the matter because with each round they
made his gaze grew more and more intense. To the extent Harry began to seriously fear
Riddle had decided to use Legilimency on him. After checking his shields and making sure
everything was okay, he asked darkly:

“Is there something wrong with my face, Riddle?”

“Why would you ask that, sir?” the student replied cheerfully, spinning him around.

Harry gritted his teeth.

“Trying to figure out why you've been staring at me all this time.”

“Why, enjoying the view, of course. You look particularly delectable tonight," Riddle gave
him a once-over apparently pleased with what he saw.

Harry gaped at the sheer audacity of the man, stumbling over his own feet and losing the
rhythm. Riddle expertly held him by his waist to prevent him from falling.

“You are crossing the boundaries, Riddle,” Harry hissed. “I’m sick of these games already.”

Slytherin's face suddenly lost all signs of amusement.

“Then how about we stop playing games, Professor? You and I both know how this is going
to end, so why fight it?” he moved so close their cheeks almost touched which made Harry's
heart skip a beat. The next moment he felt hot breath on his ear. The Great Hall faded into the
background and narrowed down to just the two of them. “You and I are made for each other,"
Riddle whispered the last words so softly, making Harry involuntarily lean forward to be able
to hear them. He immediately blushed.

It wasn't the first time Slytherin had spoken openly to him about possibilities of their
“relationship” and each time Harry was embarrassed by such blatant flirting. Noticing his
reaction, Riddle squeezed his arms around his waist even tighter, as if claiming him as his
own. Harry immediately wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. He smiled and stepped
on his foot with full force, trying to crush his toes as hard as he could. Riddle cried out in
surprise, the insolent expression quickly replaced with one of righteous anger with a touch of
hurt.

“Personal space, Riddle. A pleasure to introduce you,” Harry smiled wider.

Riddle grimaced but moved away to a distance considered acceptable in a decent society.

“My, rudeness is quite unnecessary here, sir. I know you enjoy this as much as I do.”

“I have no idea where you get your fantasies from,” Harry shifted his gaze back to the
couples dancing around them. Slughorn and some seventh-year girl were circling very close
by.

“My fantasies are much more than that, trust me. There's a special part for you in them
too…”

Harry clenched his jaw painfully to keep himself from swearing in front of the entire hall.
The headmaster would hardly approve of such a performance.

“For the last time, Riddle, don't piss me off. You'll deeply regret it,” he tried to put as much
venom into his voice as possible.

“And what will you do, sir? Give me a detention? I have those in my fantasies too, you
know…”

For a brief moment, Harry closed his eyes trying to steady his breath and not strangle the
damned Riddle in a fit of rage. He mentally started counting to ten but the other kept
reasoning aloud not really caring for a response.

“I have a better idea, though. I'll stop making you uncomfortable if that's what you want, but
in return, you'll come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend.”

Harry couldn't hold back his laugh.

“I’m certain we've been over this before. I'm not going out with you, neither to Hogsmeade
nor anywhere else.”

“Is that because I'm your student?” he seemed entirely unfazed by the rejection. Quite on the
contrary, it looked like he had rather expected such an answer.

“It's because you are you,” Harry replied flatly.

“Now, you wound me right in my heart.”

“How lucky we are then you don't have one.”

Riddle's face took on a strange expression, the playfulness replaced by a wolfish grin.
“You're so sure of yourself that you don't even think you might be wrong, don’t you? What
gives you the right to talk about something you don't know? The way you play with my
feelings says more about your lack of heart than mine,” he hissed, spitting out the biting
words.

Harry got taken aback.

“Playing with your feelings? What for Merlin's sake are you talking about? All I've been
doing is trying to make you understand, your attempts to get into my pants are not going to
get you anywhere. But it's like you can't hear me at all!” he was outraged at the audacity of
the unfair accusations. Riddle had no right to them.

“Why, sir, there's no need to pretend you're uncomfortable with my attentions. Your face and
body language say otherwise, and may I remind you, you didn't mind my company during
lonely evenings in your private rooms,” the hand that held Harry's arm clenched painfully.

“If I knew what your true purpose for my company was, I would never let you near my
doorstep,” he hissed, his voice low, afraid that they might be overheard. If that information
slipped he would definitely have a problem. All he wanted to do was have Riddle close
enough he could earn his trust. Steer him away from the darkest arts as far as possible. Away
from the idea of creating horcruxes. How could he—

“But you knew. You needed those meetings as much as I did, don't deny it. In every single
way. You and I are too much alike but for some reason you're afraid to admit it.”

Harry shook his head.

“You don’t make sense. I don't see the point in continuing this conversation.”

“I agree, let's just enjoy this moment,” he pulled Harry tighter against him, continuing to spin
them to the rhythm of the music.

Harry, however, was staring purposefully over his right shoulder, ignoring intense stare. All
the words Riddle had said still echoing inside his head. Could it be that everything Riddle
was saying was true? Could he really have such strong feelings for him? Of course, he had
noticed Slytherin's unhealthy advances long ago but he always made new excuses for it.
Could it be that Harry simply didn't want to see the obvious because then he would have to
admit the unpleasant truth of his own incomprehensible attraction to the man? No, Riddle
was Riddle. Harry had already changed a lot of things in this timeline. Riddle didn't seem to
have set himself the goal of releasing the basilisk and taking over the world, but he couldn't
know for sure. Nor the true reasons for the student's unhealthy interest in his teacher. It was
quite possible that Harry had fallen into the devious Slytherin's trap without even realizing it.
He was really attracted to his enemy, albeit a former one. Sometimes all he wanted to do was
just forget everything and give in to those beautiful words and sweet smiles. At moments like
this, however, he forced himself to remember who was in front of him and how dangerous a
moment's weakness could be. For all of them. He couldn't let that happen.
The music changed smoothly, prompting Harry to quickly break the embrace and take a step
back. Before he could leave the dance floor, his wrist was caught in a tight, unyielding grip.
Keeping his intense gaze locked on his eyes, Riddle brought his hand to his face and brushed
his lips against the back of his palm. Just like the last time for Harry, the world around him
narrowed down to only two of them. Coming to his senses a few moments later, he yanked
his hand away as if he'd been burned by a hot iron rod. The prefect smiled victoriously.

“Thank you for the dance, Professor. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Harry said nothing in response. He turned away and headed towards the teachers’ table,
where according to Professor Beery, they had quite a fine wine.

***

“Harry, my boy, how is your evening going?”

“Professor Slughorn,” he nodded in greeting, “I had a chance to sample your wine collection,
and I must admit, this,” he gently swirled the golden liquid in his glass. It shimmered with
amber sparks, “is my favorite.”

“You have good taste, my boy, indeed! This bottle was given to me by my dearest friend, the
former President for the French Magical Congress Administration. My student, by the way,”
he squared his shoulders at the last words, assuming a dignified expression, “Château
d'Yquem 1874, is one of the finest pieces of my collection!”

The fact that Slughorn could willingly part with such an obviously expensive gift was beyond
Harry’s understanding. He concluded professor's love for bragging had overpowered his love
for such a valuable acquisition this time. The young man took another sip, savoring the
undertones of melon and marzipan on his palate. Yes, he had never tasted anything like it
before, it was indeed a worthwhile drink.

“Your friend knows her wines, Horace. It's truly magical,” he bowed his head in
acknowledgment.

The Potions professor's face shone with unconcealed pride. “I agree with you completely, my
dear. I am never wrong when it comes to talented people. There are several high-ranking
Ministry officials at the ball tonight, in particular. All of them are members of the Slug Club,”
he seemed to be on the brink of bursting with an inflated sense of self-importance.

Harry shifted his gaze to a group of five unfamiliar individuals in expensive robes not far
from the teacher's table. They were engaged in some sort of conversation among themselves.
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Now he believed he had discovered the true reason
behind their Potions Master's unprecedented act of generosity. A man like Slughorn would
never miss an opportunity to brag about his influential connections with important people.
Meanwhile, professor continued.

“Of course you, Harry, would undoubtedly be the centerpiece of my Club if you were to
attend Hogwarts back then. It's a shame our paths have only crossed now,” he shook his head,
“I don't come across such exceptional diamonds very often.”

Nobody called him that before, Harry thought with irony.

“Why, Horace, you flatter me.”

“Not at all! You've caused quite a sensation since your arrival at Hogwarts, and it's been
almost three years, I must admit. Your achievements in Defense Against the Dark Arts are
impressive! No wonder young Tom is so eager for your favor,” a hint of envy evident in
Slughorn’s voice.

The last words nearly made Harry choke on his drink.

“May I ask what made you say that, Professor?”

“Well, naturally! He chose your course for his thesis no matter how much I tried to convince
him that Potions would be a far more promising direction for his future career,” he shook his
head in disappointment, “Don't get me wrong, my boy, but the possibilities of developing
such a subtle art as Potions Making are not limited to a wand-waving alone. Young Tom is
undoubtedly the jewel of my Club, and yet, out of all teachers he somehow singles you out.”
Slughorn jabbed his finger at him, his voice carrying a slight touch of offense, “Even today
he chose you to dance with at the opening ceremony. You, my dear, are causing me a lot of
trouble,” he chuckled lightly.

If Harry didn't know Slughorn better, he would have thought the man was threatening him.
Then again, who knows what someone so obsessed with collecting rare talents is capable of
when their most precious possession is snatched away from under their nose.

Suddenly, Harry saw an opportunity to get back at Riddle for all his advances, including
tonight.

“Oh, you’re not quite right, Horace. While dancing, Mr. Riddle repeatedly stated he wanted
to dance at the opening with you, but he decided it wouldn't be appropriate, given that I am
his academic advisor. I'm afraid I'm no competition to you in this regard. You are by far
Tom's favorite professor,” he made an effort to show as much sadness as he possibly could
place on his face. Judging by the look on Slughorn's face, which practically blossomed before
his very eyes, his speech had precisely the effect he'd aimed for.

“Fear not, Harry, there's no need to be disheartened. In your lifetime, you will encounter
students who will appreciate you for your worth,” he patted him on the shoulder in a
mentorly, comforting way and then leaned closer, a glint of conspiracy in his eyes, “Well, in
that case, I'd consider it an honor to offer an extra dance to a student who holds me in such a
high regard. There's no doubt he'll go a long way!”
With that, he happily turned around and practically danced his way toward a group of
seventh-year students, among whom one could unmistakably see the tall, slender figure of the
dark-haired Slytherin. Harry couldn't contain his laughter, looking forward to Riddle's
reaction. His mood soared and nothing felt as good as the taste of sweet little revenge. He
took a sip of the noble beverage, enjoying the unfolding spectacle on the other side of the
room.

Chuckling to himself, Harry watched as Riddle turned to Slughorn, politely smiling while he
listened to whatever he had to say. He could clearly see the moment Riddle’s eyes widened in
surprise as he tried to maintain a composed expression. Slughorn was undoubtedly a valuable
resource for cultivating powerful connections, thus he could not afford to disrespect him.
Harry had calculated this perfectly. The smile all this time playing on his face grew even
wider.

He observed how, after listening to Potions master’s major speech, Riddle shot a quick,
deadly glance in his direction, pursed his lips for a brief second, and then transformed into
one of the most enchanting smiles from his arsenal. He extended his hand to Slughorn in an
inviting gesture. Without delay, the latter whisked him into the flow of waltzing couples.

A feeling of pure childlike joy washed over Harry. He couldn't recall the last time he felt this
way. The smile refused to leave his face for so long his jaw began to hurt.

“That was quite masterful, indeed,” a familiar voice came from nearby.

“Professor,” Harry turned around to meet the gaze of blue eyes brimming with amused
sparkles.

“May I ask what Mr. Riddle has done to deserve your displeasure?”

“Displeasure?” Harry widened his eyes theatrically, “I've done Mr. Riddle a great favor, sir.
After all, Professor Slughorn has influential friends. Tom should be grateful to me for the
opportunity to make new connections.”

“You are very kind, Harry,” Dumbledore was no longer hiding his amusement, and Harry
smiled widely back at him.

“I'm often told that, Professor.”

He shifted his gaze to the colorful figures spinning to the beat of the music, but Riddle and
Slughorn were nowhere to be seen; the dance floor got noticeably more crowded.

“In this case, I would advise you not to miss the opportunity to make useful acquaintances
yourself, my boy,” Dumbledore nodded toward the group of Ministry officials Slughorn had
mentioned earlier. “Mr. Barnsbury holds a position in the Department of Mysteries, and as
you may know, there's an extensive library housing the rarest manuscripts on various topics,
some of which could be of particular interest to you,” his eyes sparkled mysteriously.

Without waiting for Harry’s response, he drifted off to the refreshment table, humming some
peculiar tune to himself.
Mr. Barnsbury, as far as Harry could guess, was a gray-haired, tall, middle-aged wizard in his
fifties. Currently, he stood alongside two younger individuals, one of whom was not much
older than Harry himself. Reflecting on Dumbledore's words, he decided that an opportunity
like this might not really present itself. He put on the best smile he could muster and headed
in their direction.

“Gentlemen,” he nodded in greeting, drawing the attention of Ministry officials, “Enjoying

your evening?”

Three men turned to look at him with interest.

“Feeling nostalgic,” the youngest of them answered readily. He was a black-haired wizard
about Harry's height with dark eyes. He promptly caught on, extending his hand, “Auror
Ainsley. Michael Ainsley.”

Harry shook the offered hand.

“Harry Potter, Defense Professor.”

“Potter? I heard a lot about you,” Ainsley exclaimed enthusiastically, his companions nodded
curtly. “My little brother can’t stop talking about his DADA classes and how his professor
can outdo any Auror, myself included,” he laughed, eyeing Harry appraisingly.

“Well, then I simply can’t afford to disappoint. Such praise from my students means a lot to
me,” Harry bowed his head in a gesture of respect.

“Absolutely. Perhaps we could arrange a friendly duel sometime, what do you think, Mr.
Potter?”

“I think it's a wonderful idea,” Harry's only worthy dueling opponent was Riddle, but even
with him he tried to be extra careful because of their wand connection.

“We have a deal then,” Ainsley turned his gaze to the older me. “These are my friends, Mr.
Caywood and Mr. Barnsbury.”

They nodded, one after another extending their hands for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, gentlemen. What brings you here today, if it's no secret?” Harry had never
been good at small talk but he tried.

“We're here at the Headmaster's invitation but we won't stay long,” Barnsbury replied
discreetly.

“I understand you must have a lot on your plate at the Ministry before the holidays.”

“I couldn't put it better myself,” said a man named Caywood. “So what do you do besides
teaching, Mr. Potter?”

Harry paused.
“I love Quidditch; flying helps me get my mind right. However at the moment I'm mostly
focused on my research project, which I hope will make a breakthrough in scientific
community one day,” he deliberately didn’t mention the subject of his study, and as expected,
all three pairs of eyes looked at him with evident curiosity. He didn’t have to wait long for the
next question.

“What is the area of your research?”

“Temporal loops and paradoxes,” Harry replied with a neutral tone.

All three of them stared at him in genuine surprise.

“Rather unusual topic for a Defense teacher,” said the man whose line of work still remained
unknown to him.

“My interests are not limited to Defense Against the Dark Arts alone, Mr. Caywood,” Harry
replied with a condescending smile.

“I see, I see. Quite commendable, young man,” Barnsbury replied instead. “It's nice to see
young minds striving for the development of the magical community. It's a shame youth these
days seem more drawn to trivialities rather than science. You'll go a long way, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnsbury. I'm flattered but I'm afraid I can't yet say when I'll be able to
present my work in academia. You see, the Hogwarts library, as well as the general archives
at the Ministry, are rather limited and, needless to say, a bit out of date. However I'm doing
my best and even more,” he smiled sadly, spreading his hands.

“I couldn't agree more, Mr. Potter. I've been trying to revolutionize the education field for a
good decade now but the bureaucratic system is too entrenched in our society. Rest assured, if
you need access to more restricted archives, I would be happy to help. I'm confident you'll
discover a wealth of useful information for your project on the lower Ministry levels,” he
said, his tone carrying a touch of pride along with faint traces of boasting.

Harry's heart quickened with excitement. He hadn't realized it could be that simple. Perhaps
Slughorn wasn't a fool after all for caring so much about important connections?

“You're incredibly kind, Mr. Barnsbury. I will gladly accept your offer,” Harry replied
politely.

“Good,” he nodded. “Don't forget to send me an invitation for your research project
presentation, Mr. Potter.”

“I will, sir.”

They shook their hands to seal the deal.

“It’s all undeniably very interesting, but how about adding a little bit of fun? Would you do
me the honor of a dance, Mr. Potter?” Ainsley chimed in. He was apparently bored with the
science talk. Aurors were seldom known for their love of doctrine.
“I must warn you I'm a terrible dancer, Mr. Ainsley.”

“Don't worry, Harry. I have enough experience for both of us. And call me Michael; in the
end, I'm not much older than you.”

With a bright smile, he held out his hand and led his way to the dance floor.

***

“So, Harry, which form of dueling appeals to you the most after all?”

They stood on the balcony, breathing in the fresh evening air. After dancing for a while in the
stuffy hall, the need for it sharply increased.

“I'm more of an unconventional kind of fighter.”

At the raised eyebrow, he clarified.

“The dueling ethic is undoubtedly beautiful and looks great in a demonstration, but it has
nothing to do with reality. In a real fight, all means are fair game, including hand-to-hand
combat so widely disliked by many pureblood wizards.”

“Touché, Harry. You keep amazing me. Have you ever been in a real fight?”
The man's eyebrows rose to his curly fringe as he leaned forward slightly. Harry took a
careful step back, keeping his distance.

“Let's just say it got me to where I am now,” he didn't lie, but he didn't tell the truth either.
Ainsley was free to interpret his words as he saw fit.

“How curious. You're full of mysteries, Harry,” he said, smiling.

“Indeed,” came a cold voice from the side of the hall.

They turned around abruptly. Riddle stood in the doorway, an expressionless mask on his
face. If Harry didn't know better, he might have bought into the calm visage. However, they
had known each other for more than a day for Harry to be easily fooled by the Slytherin's
calculated composure. His entire posture, from the unnaturally straight back to the slightly
twitching fingers, told him Riddle was on the verge of frenzy. His eyes were ice-cold, and the
corners of his lips formed a twisted sort of smile.

“Our professor is one complete mystery,” Riddle's gaze remained fixed on Harry's face.

Potter exhaled loudly. Conflicting emotions were welling up inside him, the ones he didn't
like at all. Riddle had unceremoniously intruded on a conversation that had nothing to do
with him, and Harry shouldn’t have felt anything but annoyance. Why then did he feel as if
he'd been caught doing something improper? Even if he and Ainsley were making out here,
which of course they weren’t, he owed Riddle nothing. What he was doing here was none of
his business. Where then did this feeling come from, as if he'd at least been caught cheating?
He shook his head.

“Riddle. What are you doing here?”

“Out for some fresh air, sir. I hope that's not forbidden?”
His mouth curved into a predatory smile, while his sharp gaze threatened to burn a hole right
through Harry.

Confused, Ainsley switched his focus between them, but no one seemed to notice his
presence. He cleared his throat, drawing attention.

“You're a bit untimely, young man. You can choose any other balcony to your liking,” he
gestured towards the vacant ones in the distance, but Riddle didn't even turn his head in their
direction.

“Why, this one is my favorite,” he emphasized the word 'this', which made Harry's heart skip
a beat.

“Hmm, well then, if you don't mind, we will return to our conversation with your professor,”
Harry closed his eyes for a second. The way Riddle's hand twitched toward his wand told him
the other seemed now to be reaching the final stage.

“Of course,” he crooned sweetly, “please, continue. What's your name, by the way?”

“Michael Ainsley, Deputy Head of the Auror Department,” the man emphasized his title,
apparently thinking his high position would discourage the impudent teenager.

His words, however, had the opposite effect on Riddle. A dangerous gleam flickered in dark
eyes.

“Auror Ainsley,” he drawled, “quite a dangerous job... Aren't you afraid that one day
something might go wrong?” he spoke slowly, bored almost, but even the most naive person
would have realized his voice carried a genuine, unconcealed threat.

Ainsley gasped in indignation shifting his gaze helplessly to Harry.

“Mr. Potter, are all of your students not trained in manners, or is it a privilege for a select
few?”

“I'm afraid manners training is not a part of the seventh-year Defense Against the Dark Arts
curriculum, Mr. Ainsley.”

He muttered something ambiguous, peering at the blurred glass of the balcony door leading
into the hall.
“Well then, I think I'll go have a chat with Professor Slughorn,” he turned to Harry, “I look
forward to seeing you in a live duel, Mr. Potter. I'll send you an owl.”

Without saying another word, he quickly walked out the door.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the cries of night birds from the Forbidden
Forest and the sounds of muffled music from the Great Hall.
Harry turned towards the railing leaning against them and staring up at the night sky.

“What was that about?” he said quietly.

“What did it look like? Or do you think I’ll just stand by and watch you flirt with some
auror?” Riddle's voice dripped with venom.

“Excuse me? I wasn't flirting with him,” Harry was taken aback by such accusations. He
immediately berated himself for even standing there and justifying himself to the Slytherin.

“Perhaps you did not but even a blind man could see his intentions. Jumping out of his robes,
fawning all over you,” his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Tired, Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You are ridiculous. It is work that we were discussing here.”

Riddle rolled his eyes as if Harry had said something stupid.

“Work, isn’t it? I assume he asked you to dance to discuss work and then invited you to an
abandoned balcony for the same reason,” sarcasm laced the sound of his voice.

Harry gritted his teeth in indignation.

“No need to project your own actions onto everyone, Riddle,” Harry took a step towards him,
his eyes narrowing with anger. Riddle's behavior was getting more and more infuriating.

“Well, Professor, what are you implying here?” he asked curtly, taking a small step toward
him as well. Now they stood very close to each other, the Slytherin towered over him with a
tall stature. It was unfair that being younger than Harry, Riddle was still a whole head taller.
“What exactly it is that you think I am projecting?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not everyone wants to get into my pants.”

“Really? Is that why he asked you on a date?” he said mockingly.

“Once again, excuse me? We agreed to a friendly duel!”

“I'll repeat. Is that why he asked you on a date?”

Harry snorted in annoyance and shook his head.

“You're insufferable.”

A malicious smirk danced on Riddle's face.

“Should he dare speak to you again, I'll ensure he's collected in pieces after his next
assignment,” he said calmly.

Harry stared at him in horror. Somehow he realized Riddle wasn't bluffing. He, of all people,
knew exactly what Riddle was capable of.

After a long pause, the Slytherin continued.

“Speaking figuratively, of course,” he said with feigned ease, while his tone made it clear
there was nothing figurative about what he was saying. “But you know, accidents happen to
everyone…”

That was the last straw.

“Enough,” Harry jabbed his finger painfully into his chest. “This is too much. You're acting
like you own me, or as if we're in some kind of a relationship. You have no right to tell me
who I can or cannot talk to,” by the end of his tirade, Harry was shaking with anger.

“See, this is where you're wrong, Professor,” Riddle took another small step forward so that
Harry found himself pressed against the balcony railing. Hands were placed on either side of
Harry. He was trapped. “I'll prove it to you.”

As if in a trance, Harry watched as Riddle slowly leaned forward, getting dangerously close
to his face. He felt like a deer frozen in front of the headlights of a Muggle car, unable to
blink.

The next moment, hot lips covered his own in a demanding kiss. There was nothing gentle
about it. Riddle's mouth mercilessly crushed any resistance, destroying any attempt at protest
and subduing his will. He pulled Harry sharply against him, clutching his body in a painful
grip. Snapping out of stupor, Harry inhaled deeply and tried to escape the vice-like hold of
his arms. Riddle made a sound suspiciously reminiscent of a growl. He pinned him to the
railing restricting the capacity for resistance to a bare minimum. Amidst the shock of what
was happening Harry vaguely registered the Slytherin was unreasonably strong for his age.
That thought quickly vanished as Riddle deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into his
mouth.

Everything that was happening felt like a dream. The young man grabbed him painfully by
the hair, pulling his head back, which involuntarily caused Harry to open his mouth.
Apparently, that was exactly what Riddle was counting on. The kiss became fiercer and the
grip on his waist, Harry was sure, would definitely leave bruises. He should have been
disgusted and angry at the sheer audacity of the man but instead, the only thing Harry could
feel was growing arousal.

The sensation of Riddle's touch, of his demanding lips, was dizzying. If he hadn't been
pressed so tightly against the balcony railing, Harry wasn't sure his legs wouldn't have failed
him. He himself didn't notice the moment he began to respond to the kiss with just as much
passion. Running his hands up and down Riddle’s sides, Harry let out a muffled moan and
pulled away from his lips for a second to stare into his face with a distraught look. The
normally grey eyes had turned completely black, and his breathing was as heavy as if he’d
run at least a mile. Harry was sure he didn't look any better because what Riddle saw in his
face made him lunge at him with renewed vigor.

They kissed as if their lives depended on it. Pressing into each other, pushing each other to
the limit. Harry felt drunk. Long fingers snaking under his shirt, his robe long gone. Riddle's
hands were hot and he ran his hand over his ribs, trailing a swollen nipple over and over
again. Harry couldn't take it anymore. He moaned, pressing his hips against Riddle's as hard
as he could. The other moaned loudly in response.

All of that wasn't enough. Harry reached for man’s fly, releasing his hard cock in one motion,
squeezing it for a second. Quickly he’d done the same with his own fly. The next moment he
wrapped his hand around both of their cocks pressed together, sending a powerful jolt
through their bodies. They both groaned loudly at the new sensations flooding them. Without
wasting another second Harry set a new rhythm. The movements were jerky and fast, the
awkward angle made it hard to set a steady pace. He didn't care though. This was perfect.
Riddle was melting under his palm just as much as Harry himself. They both were on the
verge of it. As soon as that thought formed in his molten brain Harry felt like he couldn't hold
back his orgasm any longer. Hot cum hit his palm, splattering over his lower abdomen and a
piece of his shirt. Riddle moaned, chasing his own orgasm, pouring into Harry's wet palm. He
rested his head on his shoulder, breathing hotly and raggedly. They spent the next few
minutes trying to catch their breath. The thoughts in his head resembled jelly, while his body
felt as empty and light as if a ton had been lifted off of him.

Finally, Riddle pulled back using a swish of his wand to tidy them both up and fix their
clothing. He gazed intently into Harry's eyes, grinning with satisfaction.

“Now, you simply must accompany me to Hogsmeade, Professor.”

Harry let out a hysterical laugh.

“Well, I suppose you might have convinced me,” a small smile playing on his lips. “But only
because Hogsmeade will be deserted during the holidays.”

“Of course,” the Slytherin smirked, “as you wish, sir.”

He leaned and gently brushed his lips against his cheek. “I'll visit you tonight.”
“I won’t let you in.”

“Challenges don't scare me,” he whispered softly.

End Notes

Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing and translating this oneshot. I must
confess this is the first time I translated to post smth online, so for some time I've been really
skeptical about posting it at all. Let me know if you are interested in me translating my other
work. My Tumblr<3

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