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English
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Part 9 of The Vault: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Fics
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Published:
2025-11-15
Completed:
2025-11-16
Words:
2,361
Chapters:
2/2
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46
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471
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The Catastrophic Case of Tom Marvolo Riddle Being Absolutely, Disastrously in Love

Summary:

Tom Riddle has never had a crush in his life. The word meant nothing to him.

Not until the moment Harry Potter transferred to Hogwarts.

It’s tragic, really.

Tom has no idea how to handle love, Harry has no idea anything is happening, and everyone else can see the disaster unfolding from kilometers away.

Notes:

English is not my first language.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Tom Riddle’s Very Inconvenient Epiphany

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tom Marvolo Riddle did not make mistakes.

He solved problems, created solutions, and orchestrated his life with relentless precision. He did not slip, stumble, or experience unexpected emotional derailments.

Which is why it was appalling, truly appalling, when he fell in love at exactly eight forty-three on a perfectly ordinary Monday morning in Transfiguration.

The cause of this unprecedented malfunction sat two rows ahead of him, unpacking his quill case with tidy, almost ceremonial care. This was Harry Potter, recently introduced by Dumbledore as a late-term transfer from a private magical academy abroad.

Suspicious. Transfers into Seventh Year were unheard of.

But instead of looking conspiratorial or secretive, Potter smiled, sunlight-in-human-form smiled, and waved at the class.

Including Tom.

Tom had promptly forgotten how to breathe. He covered the lapse with a cough. Abraxas Malfoy, seated beside him, leaned over.

“Tom.” Abraxas whispered. “Are you ill? Blink twice if you’re dying.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” Tom whispered back, wiping suspicious moisture from his eyes. “There was dust.”

“There is no dust.” Abraxas said flatly.

“There is always dust.” Tom replied, though he was fairly certain the only thing in the room capable of clouding his vision was Potter’s smile.

 

 

 

 

Professor Merrythought began lecturing. Tom absorbed none of it. He was far too occupied observing Potter.

Potter breathed. Potter shifted. Potter leaned over to ask Longbottom for parchment with such sincere politeness that Tom felt lightheaded.

Then Potter laughed at something Longbottom whispered to him.

The sound nearly caused Tom to drop his wand.

Abraxas nudged him. “You’re staring.”

“No.” Tom said. “I am observing.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Abraxas replied.

“Then I’m observing very thoroughly.”

Abraxas sighed the sigh of a man witnessing the collapse of a legend.

“He’s just a boy.” he said.

Tom’s head snapped toward him. “Just a boy? That is no ordinary boy. Harry Potter is- ”

“What?” Abraxas asked, defeated. “Go on.”

Tom gestured helplessly toward Potter. “Look at him. He’s… luminous.”

“Luminous?” Abraxas repeated, sounding faintly horrified.

“Yes. Glowing with a gentle charm that bespeaks genuine kindness and emotional warmth.”

Abraxas stared. “You sound like you’re writing poetry.”

Tom blinked. “Do I?”

“Yes. Bad poetry.”

Tom made a mental note to practice writing better poetry later.

 

 

 

 

By lunch, Tom was determined to regain his dignity.

That lasted thirty-eight seconds.

Harry Potter did not sit down like a normal student. He drifted from group to group, introducing himself with open, earnest friendliness. To Tom’s alarm, and delight, Potter waved at him again.

An entire wave. Directly at him.

Tom’s fork clattered against his plate.

Abraxas hissed. “Wave back.”

“I cannot.” Tom whispered. “That implies emotional investment.”

“You WANT emotional investment!”

“Yes, but not publicly.” Tom snapped. “People will talk.”

By people, of course, he meant himself. He would talk. About this. Forever.

Then Potter walked straight toward the Slytherin table.

Tom reorganized his cutlery twice. He forgot how shoulders worked.

“Hi!” Potter said, cheerful and warm, looking entirely adorable. “You’re Tom Riddle, right?”

Tom’s soul exited his body.

Up close, Potter’s eyes were even greener, violently green, weaponized.

“Yes.” Tom said stiffly. “I am Tom. Riddle. Me.”

Abraxas had to disguise his choking laughter as a cough.

“Sorry for interrupting your lunch.” Potter said. “I wanted to thank you for helping me find the Charms classroom earlier.”

“I didn’t help you.” Tom muttered.

“Oh.” Potter blinked. “Then who did?”

“No one. I mean, I would have. If you had asked.”

Abraxas made a strangled sound into his goblet.

Potter’s smile brightened. It was almost physically painful.

“Well… thank you anyway?” Potter said.

“You’re welcome.” Tom said, voice strained and strangled but trying desperately to be suave. “Even though I did not help. But I could have. And would have. If circumstances had aligned.”

Potter laughed softly. “See you around, Tom!”

He walked off.

Tom collapsed forward onto the table.

 

 

 

 

“Radiates confidence?” Abraxas said incredulously.

“Silence.” Tom groaned.

“And authenticity?”

“Utter silence.” Tom repeated.

“Tom, he’s going to think you’re conducting a psychological analysis of him.”

“I am.” Tom said immediately. “In my mind.”

“Stop doing that!”

“I can’t.” Tom hissed. “He’s too, too, good.”

Abraxas exhaled heavily, then patted Tom’s shoulder with the gentle resignation of a man comforting a dangerous, injured creature. “You are catastrophically smitten.”

“I do not get smitten.” Tom snapped.

“You’re composing mental sonnets.”

“They’re more like epics.” Tom admitted.

Abraxas set his forehead on the table.

 

 

 

 

In Charms, Potter ended up seated beside Tom.

Tom considered fleeing. He didn’t. Fleeing was cowardly and, far worse, would mean sitting anywhere but next to Potter.

Potter sat down with a bright smile. “Everywhere else was full. Mind if I sit here?”

“You can sit anywhere.” Tom said quickly. “You should sit everywhere. You should... sit wherever you want.”

Potter laughed. “You’re funny.”

Tom, who had never in his life been described as funny, stared at him in dazed disbelief.

Then Potter asked questions. Soft, sweet, friendly questions that Tom had no defenses prepared for.

“How long have you been prefect?”
“Do you like Charms?”
“Why does the ceiling drip near the Ravenclaw stairs?”

Tom answered all of them. Badly. Too quickly, or too eloquently, or too intensely.

Potter didn’t seem to mind.

By the end of the lesson, Tom had forgotten what steady breathing felt like.

Potter waved (again), then left with his housemates.

Abraxas approached. “Are you stable?”

“No.” Tom said truthfully. “He called me funny.”

Abraxas stared at him. “Tom. You have eliminated people for less emotional disturbance than this.”

“I know.” Tom whispered.

Abraxas sighed. “Do you want help wooing him?”

Tom blinked. “What?”

“You’re hopeless.” Abraxas said calmly. “Someone has to intervene before you start quoting Shakespeare at him.”

“…What do you mean, Shakespeare?”

Abraxas sighed, and waved that off. “Never mind. Let me handle it.”

Tom considered. A smitten Tom Riddle would never admit weakness.

But he was not smitten.

(He was violently, catastrophically smitten, but this was irrelevant.)

“…Fine.” He said. “But be subtle. No one can know.”

Behind Abraxas, the entire Slytherin table was already whispering excitedly.

Someone even clapped.

Tom closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

Later that night, Tom lay awake beneath his bed’s canopy, staring into the darkness.

He, Tom Riddle- Hogwarts’ brightest student, architect of plans, master of composure- had been undone by:

A smile.
A handful of freckles.
A laugh warm enough to destabilize kingdoms.
And Harry Potter saying, “You’re funny.”

It was intolerable.
It was glorious.

Tomorrow, Tom vowed, he would be calm.
He would be strategic.
He would absolutely not choke on his own breath.

Tomorrow, he would speak to Harry Potter like a normal human being.

…Probably.

Maybe.

(Almost certainly not.)

 

Notes:

I was debating on whether to post this, but this was just too cute to not post.
Short & Cute.
No matter if I already posted a longer oneshot on the same day...

May this be a little gift to the people subscribed to my account. 🎁✨️

Chapter 2: Harry Potter’s Quiet Little Discovery

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Harry Potter prided himself on being adaptable.

Transferred to Hogwarts late? Easy.
New accommodations, new subjects, strange staircases that have already tried to murder him three times? Manageable.
A whole school of people staring at him like he was the hottest news of the decade? Slightly uncomfortable, but survivable.

The only thing Harry did not know how to handle was Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was… peculiar.

Not in the bad way.
More in the, endearing but also slightly alarming, way.

He was brilliant, intimidating, elegant, and yet somehow behaved like a startled owl every time Harry talked to him.

Harry found it kind of charming.

Bewildering, but charming.

 

 

 

 

The next day, Harry spotted Tom in the courtyard.
Tom was pretending to read, Harry could tell because the book was upside down.

Harry approached with a smile.

“Morning!”

Tom flinched quite noticeably, as he nearly threw the book.

“Oh. Potter.” Tom straightened the book with the menace of a man reasserting control over his life. “Hello.”

Harry sat beside him on the stone bench. “What are you reading?”

Tom looked at the book as if he was seeing it for the first time.
“A text.”

Harry waited.
Tom continued to stare at the book like it had betrayed him.

“…About… subjects.”

The wind blew. A bird chirped. Someone sneezed across the courtyard.

“Right.” Harry said gently. “That narrows it down.”

Tom cleared his throat. “I was thinking about Transfiguration.”

“Oh! That’s one of my favorites. I’m not the best at the theory, but the practical bits are fun.”
Harry grinned. “Though I did accidentally transfigure part of my sleeve into a squirrel last week. That was weird.”

Tom blinked rapidly, then said with alarming sincerity. “You are endlessly fascinating.”

Harry beamed. “Thanks! That’s probably the nicest way anyone has described my magical accidents.”

Tom opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again like his brain was buffering.

Harry waited.

He was getting used to Tom buffering.

 

 

 

 

Later, at dinner, Harry spotted Tom and Abraxas sitting together at the Slytherin table.

Harry waved enthusiastically.
Tom… froze.
Completely.
As if waving were an unforgivable curse.

Abraxas smacked his arm. Tom jerked a hand up in what might generously be interpreted as a wave.

Harry wandered over. “Mind if I join you?”

Abraxas opened his mouth, likely to object, but Tom beat him to it. “Yes.”

Then, with visible panic. “I mean no. I mean, yes. You may sit. Please sit. Sit.”

Abraxas dropped his face into his hands, not very discreetly.

Harry sat down. “Thanks! I’m still figuring out where everyone sits. My old academy didn’t assign house tables.”

“That sounds slightly barbaric.” Tom said immediately.

Harry laughed. “Is it? We just sat wherever.”

Tom looked as if personally offended by this.

Harry served himself potatoes. “So what’re you two up to?”

Abraxas replied. “I am eating dinner quietly. Tom is experiencing- ”

Tom kicked him under the table.

Abraxas coughed. Loudly. And dramatically.

“ -indigestion.” He finished weakly.

Harry frowned in concern. “Are you alright?”

Tom looked at Abraxas with murder in his eyes, then turned to Harry with the fakest serenity imaginable.

“I am perfectly fine. Never better. My digestion is flawless.”

Abraxas inhaled sharply, like he was trying not to burst into laughter.

Harry blinked. “Okay…? Anyway! I wanted to ask, would you two maybe show me where the Charms corridor shortcut is? I keep getting lost near that tapestry of the dancing trolls.”

Tom straightened. “Yes. I know all the corridors. Intimately.”

“Not helping your image.” Abraxas muttered.

“I can help you.” Tom went on, ignoring him. “Everywhere you need to go, I can take you.”

Abraxas dropped his knife.

Harry grinned sweetly. “That’d be amazing, thanks!”

Tom looked like he’d been handed a sacred quest.

And then, for a fleeting second, Harry thought Tom smiled.
Really smiled.
Not the tight, carefully-controlled expression he usually wore.

Harry felt warmth bloom in his chest.
Tom Riddle should smile more.
He was… honestly very handsome when he did.

He made a mental note to tell Tom someday, once he worked out how to phrase it without sounding weird.

 

 

 

 

Later that evening, Tom led him through a maze of corridors.

“This stairway only tries to move if you step on the seventh tile.” Tom said, demonstrating with a graceful avoidance of said tile.

Harry attempted the same maneuver.
He tripped.

Tom caught him.

Very quickly.

Very staunchly.

Harry could feel the firm, lean muscles.

And then immediately dropped him as if Harry were made of cursed fire.

Harry landed on his backside with an “oof.”

“Apologies!” Tom blurted. “I didn’t mean- I mean- I meant- ”

Harry laughed so hard he had to sit on the floor for a minute.

Tom looked at him like Harry had opened the Chamber of Secrets using only his ridiculously cute smile.

“You’re very…” Tom began.

Harry tilted his head. “Very what?”

“Er.” Tom tugged at his sweater vest like it was attacking him. “Energetic.”

Harry squinted. “Is that a good thing?”

Tom looked offended he had even asked. “Yes. Obviously.”

Harry’s grin softened into something warm.
Tom Riddle might be bit of a peculiar personality, but he was kind in his own dramatic, intense, bewildered way.

“I like hanging out with you.” Harry said honestly.

Tom stared like he’d been struck by lightning.

Then he said, with deadly seriousness. “I also enjoy… your company.”

It was so formal, so stiff, so Tom, that Harry’s heart did a strange flip.

And for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry felt like he’d found someone he genuinely wanted to know more.

 

 

 

 

That night, Harry lay in his dorm bed, thinking.

He liked Tom.

That wasn’t surprising.

Tom was incredibly smart. And weird. And accidentally funny.

And he had this aura. Intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
People whispered about him in awe and caution, and yet… Harry had never seen anything but a slightly anxious perfectionist with too many feelings and no idea where to put them.

Harry liked that version.

A lot.

He remembered the way Tom had caught him. The way Tom had said, energetic. The way Tom had smiled.

Harry buried his face into his pillow.

…Was this a crush?

He considered it.

Hmm.

Possibly.

Probably.

…Yes.

Definitely.

Harry rolled over, groaning into the mattress.

“Oh no.”

He liked liked Tom Riddle.

And Tom Riddle was, quite possibly, the strangest boy he had ever met.

But he was also wonderful.

He was handsome.
Soft in ways he didn’t even realize.
Funny without meaning to be.
And when he looked at Harry, really looked, there was this quiet, hopeful intensity that made something flutter in Harry’s chest.

Harry smiled helplessly into the dark.

Tomorrow, he decided, he’d ask Tom if he wanted to hang out again.
Maybe study together.
Maybe just talk.

Maybe, if he was feeling brave, tell him he liked his smile.

Harry sighed happily.

This Hogwarts transfer might actually turn out amazing.

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorms...

Tom Riddle lay awake, staring at the canopy ceiling in silent, ecstatic agony.

Harry Potter had said, I like hanging out with you.

Abraxas rolled over in his bed, groaning loudly.
“If you don’t stop smiling in the dark like some creepy lovelorn wizard, I’m hexing you.”

Tom did not stop smiling.

He couldn’t.

Tomorrow, he vowed, he would be composed.

He would be graceful.

He would absolutely not explode into emotional shrapnel when Harry Potter looked at him.

Tomorrow would be perfect.

Probably.

Maybe.

(…Almost certainly not.)

 

Notes:

This really was an indulgence.

Last night, I just got so inspired by this and felt it was unfinished.
And today I had nothing else to do, so why not some fanfic writing.
Also, I kind of like this style, as it is a lot more simplistic than my other fanfics.

Hope you enjoyed, I guess?

Notes:

I was also, kind of, debating on whether to continue this past the two chapters.

I have no plan, but I guess I might just add something as the inspiration hits.