#koldovstoretz tom beloved

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

There’s something different about Potter.

Draco heard the other boy had spent the summer before seventh year at some sort of student duelling program in Russia. Maybe he was hit with a lingering giddiness spell. Or he hit his head and is even more of an idiot than before.

Stupid Potter, with his stupid smiles.

The other boy is often writing letters or in the owlery, and the amount of owlpost he receives is far greater than in previous years. Weasley and Granger keep giving him looks when he gets a letter or a package, too. Maybe Potter made a new friend and the golden trio’s about to fall apart.

(Draco keeps his fingers crossed for that option.)

The first morning that’s chilly enough to necessitate a muffler, it all becomes clear. 

Draco spots Potter, Granger, and the Weasel in the courtyard during a free period. “Oi, Potter – what’s with the scarf? Gryffindor doesn’t want you any more?”

Instead of the expected red and gold, the muffler wrapped around Potter’s stupid head is navy with black trim.

Weasley, predictably, turns a startling shade of red; Potter and Granger roll their eyes at him.

“Wow, Malfoy, top-notch insult. Slytherin’s best never ceases to impress,” Potter deadpans.

“That’s one way to say you know nothing about the colours of other magical schools,” Granger snipes. “How expectedly Anglocentric of you.”

“Harry’s boyfriend is–”

What. “Boyfriend?”

“Ron…” Potter sighs, and oh, he is blushing.

Draco sneers. “Oh, a boyfriend at Koldovstoretz, eh? I’ve heard that one before.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Weasley growls.

“How pathetic, making up a fake boyfriend.”

“Why would I make up a boyfriend?” Potter says incredulously. “I don’t care whether other people know about Vee or not.”

“Just ignore him, boys,” Granger says, and the three do just that, to Draco’s indignation.

Pshah, like anyone would be interested in dating Potter.

…And what kind of a name is ‘Vee,’ anyway?

—

But, as becomes obvious in early November, someone actually is interested in dating Potter. Or the scruffy git is so desperate to prove his boyfriend is real that he has someone pretend to send him a Howler love letter. Either way, it’s downright embarrassing to hear across the Great Hall - almost enough to put him off his breakfast.

Potter opens the red parchment cautiously, but relaxes as soon as he hears the voice it contains.

“Hello, darling,” the Howler says in a smooth, cultured voice, with the barest hint of an accent. Draco swears it sounds a little familiar. “I wanted to wish you good luck for your first quidditch game of the season. I know you’ll do phenomenally. One day, I’ll be in the stands, but for now know I am there in spirit, zolotse.”

Several other students swoon and start tittering to each other over the romantic cheesy message. Really, how sweet crass to send that schlock as a Howler, forcing everyone to hear it.

Stupid Potter and his stupid Russian boyfriend.

He was planning to cheer for Ravenclaw in today’s match anyway, but now he really hopes they crush Potter and his merry band of Gryffindorks.

(They do not. Draco is irritated for the rest of the weekend.)

—

The Hogwarts Express is nearly empty of students excited to be home for Yule, and Draco is doing a final check of the carriages when he sees it. He rushes outside to make sure it wasn’t an illusion some brat placed on the window, but no. That’s Tom Riddle, five-time IMC schools' duelling champion and Koldovstoretz’s wunderkind. And he’s embracing Potter.

Draco must make some sound, because Potter is suddenly facing him with his wand out.

“Malfoy, what the hell?”

“That’s– You–” he gapes. “Tom Riddle is your boyfriend?? He’s not Russian at all!”

“Who is this?” Riddle says, frowning at Draco, before turning the frown on Potter. “You haven’t told your friends we’re dating?”

Potter wrinkles his nose. “That’s not my friend, that’s Draco Malfoy.”

Rude.

Understanding dawns in Riddle’s eyes and the frown dissipates.

Doubly rude.

“And everyone knows we’re dating. You sent a Howler to me at breakfast - the whole school heard it." Riddle looks so damn smug about that. "And people keep telling me to stop talking about it because of how ‘disgustingly soppy I am over you’ – their words.”

Riddle gives him a warm look. “Zaichik…”

“Your boyfriend’s name is ‘Vee!’” Draco insists. “How would anyone know that meant Tom freaking Riddle??”

“Because that’s what I call him? That’s what he likes to be called?” Potter says slowly, staring at Draco like he's grown an extra head. “I wasn’t aware all of Hogwarts needed to know his full name.”

He throws his arms up. “Unbelievable. How do you function on a day-to-day basis,” he mutters as he walks over to his mother, whose presence helps settle his vexed nerves. 

His only consolation is that he won’t have to see or hear about Potter for the next few weeks.

—

The first morning back from winter holidays, Potter receives another Howler. 

“Good morning, solnyshko. I’ve just gotten back to St. Petersburg and thought I’d drop you a line to wish you a good start to the term. I’m already counting the days until I see you again. 

“Yours, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“What?” someone squawks. 

Several different voices shout, “Tom Riddle?!” 

The sound of Potter’s embarrassed groan carries over the din. “Vee…”

Draco sits back and enjoys the chaos. At least one of those two love-struck idiots understands how these things work.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #same time different schools au #draco malfoy's awful teenage crush on harry #koldovstoretz tom beloved #thank you to evern for the howler love letter idea <3 #zolotse (золотце) - my gold #zaichik (зайчик) - bunny #solnyshko (солнышко) - little sun #heckin silly #outside pov

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry really should’ve expected something like this, but he’s still bewildered.

(And more than a little pissed off.)

Of course some bastard managed to enter him as the fifth champion in the Triwizard Tournament.

...Well. There are four schools participating, but “Quadwizard Tournament” doesn’t have the same ring to it.

There are several people shouting at each other and him in a variety of languages, and while he has no idea what they’re saying, he gets the gist of it: how did this scrawny fifth year have the audacity to trick the Goblet of Fire and enter the prestigious (and deadly) tournament?

He wishes they’d ask him so he could clear up that he hadn’t done that, and he doesn’t want to take part in this tournament, and they’re all being world-class prats right now.

Well. Except for Cedric Diggory. He just looks a bit confused, bless him.

Dumbledore asks him if he put his name in, and he says no, and maybe he overestimated these people because pretty much all of them scoff and don’t believe him. 

The Koldovstoretz champion’s voice cuts through the hullabaloo and says, in barely accented English, “If he is required to participate, why not let him forfeit?”

Thank Merlin, there’s a voice of reason in all this idiocy.

All eyes turn to the tall young man – Tom Riddle, Harry’d heard the name said by his love-struck peers enough times since the other schools arrived to remember it – who looks politely disinterested in the chaos around him.

“That sounds good to me,” Harry says, hoping that’ll be the end of it.

But of course it isn’t. 

The Durmstrang headmaster sneers something that sounds awfully rude at Riddle in a language Harry doesn’t recognise, which makes the boy tense and darkens his eyes. And then the shouting starts up again.

For all that the gathered headmistresses and headmasters and students were arguing against his participation before, they’re now demanding that he take responsibility and not besmirch the tournament’s prestigious history nor the Goblet’s choice by bowing out. Harry is once again of the opinion that there is no continuity or logic in the thinking of magical people, so he zones out like he does when Uncle Vernon wants to rant at him.

As the group finally quiets down and Dumbledore explains what the next steps are for the champions, Harry tunes back in to listen with half an ear. The other schools’ representatives send him dark looks as they depart, while Cedric gives him a pensive frown. Dumbledore ignores Harry’s attempts to catch his eye and disappears as soon as the discussion ends.

Well that’s just great.

Harry decides to head back to the Gryffindor common room – he needs to vent his anger at this madness to his friends, who will hopefully have his back.

(Though, the look on Ron’s face when Harry’s name had been called… No. Ron knows him better than that.)

Before he gets too far, he hears a voice call, “Harry Potter.”

He turns reluctantly, hoping it’s not another person ready to call him an attention-seeker or cheat, to find Tom Riddle.

Feeling his shoulders lower from his ears where they’d risen in pre-emptive defensiveness, Harry manages a half-hearted smile for the older boy. “Hey. Thanks for trying to help, back there.”

Riddle shrugs and somehow makes the motion elegant. “It was obvious you did not want to be chosen." 

Harry thought so, but apparently they're the only two of that opinion. “What did the Durmstrang headmaster say to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect,” Riddle says dismissively. When Harry doesn’t relent, he clarifies, “Igor Karkaroff rejected my application to Durmstrang because I’m not a pureblood. I’m sure you can imagine his opinion of me – and my blood – hasn’t changed in the intervening years.”

Harry can feel his hackles rise. Yes, he can imagine – he’s heard what the pureblood bigots have said about Hermione and the other muggleborn students over the years.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do, isn’t there?” Harry says, grinning sharply. “We’ll both just have to–” absolutely crush them all “–prove them all wrong.”

Riddle’s eyebrows rise slightly and one side of his mouth twitches. “I suppose we will.”

Harry holds out a hand. “May the best champion win.”

Riddle accepts the handshake. “Indeed. I’m glad to have your support.” 

Delivered in a perfect deadpan, it takes Harry a couple moments to realise the other boy is making a joke. He laughs, and Riddle finally lets his face break into a grin.

—

When Riddle uses parseltongue to get past the Peruvian Vipertooth (“What were they thinking, including a human-eating dragon?” Hermione demands when Harry first sees her after the first task) and retrieves the egg in less than two minutes, it causes an uproar. How did someone with Slytherin’s gift, who was born on British soil, not end up going to Hogwarts? The details of Riddle’s first introduction to magic and meeting with Professor Dumbledore are splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet the following day.

Needless to say, the headmaster is in a bit of hot water with the Hogwarts board of trustees and the pureblood crowd.

(Karkaroff is looking decidedly pale, too.)

Harry thinks he’s the only one who sees the vengeful grin on Riddle’s face while everyone else is staring at Dumbledore getting dressed down. When Harry congratulates Riddle later that day, he knows the older boy understands it’s for more than just retrieving the egg the fastest.

(As for his performance in the first task, Harry’s content with how he did against the Hungarian Horntail, even if he’d gotten a little singed. He might be in second place, but he’s nipping at Riddle’s heels.)

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarrymort #koldovstoretz tom beloved #triwizard tournament #same-ish age au #tom isn't joking