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#honestly tho

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#sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders era

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Harry and Tom had been pushed together by circumstance ever since they’d both sorted Slytherin.

The students from other houses watched them distrustfully due to their house and having no one to really vouch for them. (Harry’s name didn’t hold much weight if he wasn’t in Gryffindor, it seemed. The professors who’d known his parents certainly brought it up often enough for him to draw that conclusion.) 

And, since all of the other Slytherin first-year boys were purebloods who’d known each other since birth, they all paired off with each other, leaving the two odd ones out as roommates.

They’d both been wary of the other at first, but after a few weeks of keeping to themselves and not trying to start anything, they fell into a quiet coexistence. When their housemates were bigoted arses, Harry would stand up for Tom; when they picked on Harry for refusing to go with the flow, Tom gave them several reasons to stop. 

It wasn’t a friendship, necessarily, but they had each other’s back. Neither had to be on guard in their shared room.

Even when Tom’s status began to rise, both in Slytherin and the school more broadly, he didn’t change how he interacted with Harry. 

Until halfway through sixth year, that is.

—

Tom turns seventeen over the winter holidays and Slughorn is suddenly much more liberal in sharing his liquor collection with his favourite student at the parties he hosts. Now, more often than not, Tom returns from these parties with a bit of a stumble in his step. 

And some confusion over which bed is his.

The first time it happens, Harry snaps awake in the night, tense and alert, to a weight landing beside him on the bed. He has his wand pointed at the lump before he realises it’s his dorm mate, passed out on his stomach and snoring lightly into Harry’s duvet. He shoves the sleeping boy, who mumbles something dire at him without waking. 

“Tom,” he hisses, poking the boy in the face. Nothing. No response whatsoever.

…Eh, whatever. Harry is tired and Tom isn’t in a state to do anything, and it’s just one night.

A few hours later, Harry wakes up alone. Tom corners him after breakfast and threatens him to keep silent. Like he’d go around sharing that he and Tom had slept together.

When he says as much, Tom’s cheeks take on a pink tinge as he looks at Harry with mild incredulity. But he ultimately accepts this and they ignore each other for a couple days before falling into their former manner of living together without really interacting.

And that’s how it remains until the second time Tom returns to their dorm intoxicated and slips into Harry’s bed. Harry, already occupying the bed and half-awake from the disruption, rolls over to see who’s trying to spoon him. Seeing Tom and not caring enough to make a fuss about it, he curls back up and drifts off immediately.

He wakes up first and has the unique joy of witnessing a hung-over, grouchy Tom Riddle curse the light, this morning, Slughorn, alcohol, and mornings in general, before opening his eyes to see Harry staring at him in amusement. 

Tom groans and buries his head under a pillow. “This doesn’t leave this room,” comes the muffled command.

“Obviously.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“I will spell all of your clothing to the appropriate size and make you wildly uncomfortable if you breathe one word.”

“Jesus, Riddle, I said I wouldn’t say anything,” Harry mutters. “Save the thumbscrews for your ‘social club.’”

“I simply want you to understand the seriousness of the situation.”

And that’s the end of that.

(Harry wonders if there should be more weirdness. Surely two teenage boys repeatedly sleeping together in the same bed would be weird to most people. Harry just finds it funny.

…And maybe he enjoys Tom’s warmth. But that’s it!)

By the third time, Harry’s ready. He knows Tom is attending one of Slughorn’s get-togethers tonight, and will likely imbibe and return tipsy. He’s prepared.

When Tom swans into their dorm room a little after midnight, Harry’s finishing up a twenty-four inch essay on the principles of re-materialisation due next week. (Hey, if he's staying up and can’t wander the castle, he has to do something.)

Tom stops short. “Why are you not in bed?” he asks, brow furrowed. “You should be in bed.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “I should be, shouldn’t I?” He stretches his hands above his head and turns in his chair to face Tom. “How was your night?”

“It was dull,” Tom says with a roll of his eyes. Drunk Tom is so much more expressive, Harry thinks gleefully. “No one new to meet, and Professor Slughorn kept trying to parade me around, like I’m some kind of show pony. Dreadful.”

And then he flops back onto Harry’s bed, staring with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. “...Horses should have fangs.”

...What?

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not a pony – I’m at least a stallion, if I have to be a horse,” Tom explains like this should be obvious. “But horses aren’t menacing enough; they don’t have sharp teeth or claws, either. I would only be a horse if I could have fangs.”

And, well, when he puts it like that, Harry finds himself agreeing. Madness is communicable, it seems.

“Oookay, let’s get you to bed,” he says, putting out the light on his desk.

“I am in bed.”

“Not quite.” He grabs the drinking glass he’d set aside earlier.

“Harry, come here,” Tom demands petulantly, swaying as he sits up on the edge of the bed.

Harry shakes his head and holds out a glass filled with water. “Nope, you have to drink this first.” 

He can hardly believe his eyes. Tom Riddle – perfect, untouchable, inscrutable Tom – is pouting at him like a child denied a sweet. He wishes he had a camera.

“C’mon, you’ll thank me in the morning,” he cajoles.

“If I drink the water, you’ll come to bed?” Tom asks, somehow achieving wary puppy dog eyes.

Harry bites his cheek to keep from smiling. This is adorable. “I will – it’s my bed, after all.”

“Very well,” Tom says with gravitas and a slight slur to his words. He accepts the glass and drains it in four gulps, then meets Harry’s eyes and raises his eyebrows.

“Congratulations, you did it,” Harry deadpans. Riddle scowls at him and pats the bed meaningfully, so he laughs and gets in on the other side.

(He left a couple paracetamol and another glass of water on the nightstand closest to Tom earlier, anyway. He is prepared.)

By the time he’s put out the lights and gotten situated under the covers, Tom has shucked most of his clothes, down to his undershirt and boxer shorts. When he reaches for the hem of his shirt, Harry scrambles to grab his hands and says, “Whoa, let’s just keep that on.”

Tom frowns at him but doesn’t argue. He does lay down and tug Harry closer, cuddling him like a stuffed animal.

“Tom…?” Harry says faintly.

Tom hums into the juncture between Harry’s neck and shoulder. “Good night, Harry.”

Harry stares ahead into the darkness. “...G’night.”

He expects it will take him a while to fall asleep like this, but the warmth of another body and the susurration of Tom’s breathing so close to his ear lulls him to sleep before he knows it.

—

When he wakes up the next morning, cosy and well-rested, Harry comes to a decision.

This is silly.

He feels Tom slowly returning to the waking world, laying half on top of Harry and looking much less green about the gills than he had last time. One of Tom’s eyes cracks open and he grumbles into Harry’s chest, curling closer and dropping more dead weight onto Harry.

(He knew Tom wasn’t a morning person, but he’d never before understood just how much.)

Harry says, “Before you start with the hostilities, I feel you should know that, for one, I wouldn’t tell anyone about your sleeping habits anyway. It’s none of their business.”

Tom grunts; Harry takes it as a request to continue.

“And secondly: You can sleep in my bed even if you aren’t drunk, you know. I don’t mind.”

Tom tenses.

“We don’t even have to talk about it, if it’s just sleeping.”

Tom doesn’t relax.

“If this is something more than that, then...”

Tom rolls so his face is completely hidden in Harry’s shoulder. “...Later,” he says, muffled and low.

Harry blinks. 

Huh.

“Yeah, later,” he says.

At this, Tom lets out a breath he’d been holding, slowly draping an arm over Harry’s waist. Harry pats at it with his hand and relaxes deeper into the mattress.

“Later’s just fine.”

#tom riddle #harry potter #tomarry #biting things rn

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barty hasn't had a sober weekend since he was twelve

#barty crouch junior #marauders era

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it was probably somewhat barty’s fault for letting his guard down, or for walking back from the library on his own after curfew.

he thought any danger would come from the gryffindors, but he wasn’t worried about that. he could take any of them, any day.

of course, with his luck, it wasn’t gryffindors who caught him. rather, his three least favourite housemates- snape, avery, and mulciber. they did tell him he’d regret calling snape a mudblood last week, but how was he to know they’d actually follow up on their word?

he turned his head, spitting blood onto the stone floor of the empty classroom he’d been dragged into. if he could only find a way to slip the conjured ropes, he could easily flick his wand out from his holster…

“if this is about the mudblood thing, you’re only proving my point here, snape,” he said, with his best attempt at his usual easy grin, “you know, punching me like a bloody muggle. did your daddy teach you that? or did your mummy? suppose your blood traitor mother is no better than a muggle with her family magic stripped from her.”

snape’s eyes darkened, and he gripped barty’s jaw, forcing him to look up at him. barty met his eyes, he knew snape wouldn’t breach his mental shields, no matter how good of a legilimens he was. his father couldn’t breach them, and he was the head of the fucking DMLE.

“goading me to curse you instead? i’m not stupid, crouch. leaving you with curse damage so you can run along and tattle. when i curse you, not if, when, it won’t leave a mark anyone will find-”

the door opened then, and barty whipped his head around before breaking into another grin. he knew they’d find him. sirius knew hogwarts better than anyone, and regulus, evan, and dorcas were like bloodhounds.

“you must forgive us for being a little late to the party, snivellus,” sirius said, dusting imaginary dirt off his robes, “you see, our invitations must have been a little bit delayed. surely, you wouldn’t want a little three on one action with our dear barty, would you?”

from the corner of his eye, barty watched avery and mulciber shift into duelling stances, looking rather worried. good, they should be.

snape’s face was twisted in rage, and he gripped barty by the hair.

“we’re just having a little chat, black. getting even-”

“avada kedavra,” sirius said, far too calmly, and the spell shot mere centimetres past snape’s head, crumbling the stone on the wall behind him.

snape released barty as if he had burned him, his face pale and his hands shaking.

fucking morgana, sometimes barty forgot just how close to the surface the black madness truly lay in sirius, and he was truly glad both him and regulus were with him and not against him. and, naturally, he found it incredibly hot that sirius would start throwing around unforgivable curses on his behalf.

“vanish the ropes. i’m not fucking playing around, snape, if i have to repeat myself then next time that curse will hit you.”

the ropes vanished, and within seconds regulus, evan, and dorcas had stunned the three boys. sirius pulled barty up, passing him to dorcas who began to heal him. sirius and regulus moved to the three boys on the floor and began casting in a language he couldn’t quite catch.

finishing with a grin, sirius strolled back over and pulled barty in for a tight hug.

“what were those curses?” he mumbled.

“variation on a nightmare curse, from one of the black grimoires. at the moment, they’ll feel as though they’re being buried alive. they’ll have horrific nightmares about all manner of deaths every time they sleep until the curse is lifted. mind, i don’t feel awfully tempted to do so any time soon.”

barty kissed him, gently, as evan and regulus made gagging noises behind them. dorcas was likely rolling her eyes.

“thank you.”

#sirius black #barty crouch junior #bitchkiller #sirius x barty #deathstar #evan rosier #regulus black #dorcas meadowes #harry potter #hp fandom #marauders era #harry potter drabble #harry potter fandom #yeah anyway ur honour i would kill for them

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stupid, sadistic, and suicidal: the holy trinity of barty and sirius

#barty crouch junior #sirius black #bitchkiller #deathstar #sirius x barty #marauders era #slytherin sirius black #aka i remembered the MSI song i used to love when i was like 12 and thought omg!! it’s so them!!

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it's givinggg jerk x nerd

#pansy parkinson #hermione granger #pansy x hermione

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#james potter #tom riddle #shshajsbdvej

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Regulus: This can't get any worse, can it?

Evan: Sure it can, just give me a minute to tell you what Barty did.

#regulus black #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #marauders era

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at first I was like “BitchKiller 4 life” as a joke

but bro I don’t think it’s a joke anymore…

#sirius black #barty crouch junior #bitchkiller #deathstar #sirius x barty #this is so real #marauders era

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Reg *after admitting to committing several felonies, betraying his own blood and catching feelings for James*: On the bright side, I'm NOT addicted to cocaine!

Evan: can't relate, LOL

Barty: guys wtf

#regulus black #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #slytherin skittles #marauders era

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Barty may have been fucking insane but he was also a genius who scored 12 O’s for OWLS without breaking a sweat

#barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #put some respect on his name #criminally insane homosexual

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"You bastard!" Barty doesn't think twice before throwing himself at the idiot who decided to try and push Pandora around. It's not that Pandora can't take care of herself - she absolutely can - but she also is one of Barty's best friends. And he will stand up for her no matter wha-

"Barty, you already have a detention for fighting, they'll call your father if you fight again now," someone murmurs while draging him away. Regulus. It's Regulus. But isn't he supposed to be on a date with James?

That question is answered to him when he hears a yelp and turns around to find James punching the bastard, twice.

Huh

Maybe Barty does like James after all

#barty crouch jr #pandora rosier #pandora lovegood #james potter #regulus black #marauders era #barty and james would be too unstoppable of a duo #it’s canon i think it’s just one of those things behind the scenes

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#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry

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we're having fun :3

#chamber of twinkness #harry potter #tom riddle #amazing #honestly

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harry potter pov:

#tom riddle

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When I say the Black brothers are dramatic little cunts, what I really mean is that Regulus is dramatic and Sirius is theatric. Regulus is out here writing sad boy poetry and regularly lays prone in the middle of the floor when he’s had a shite day, while Sirius is tossing out Shakespearean-level insults while dancing on the bar.

#regulus black #sirius black #the ancient and most noble house of black