Fear [ Tomarry

Philophobia I

philo•pho•bia
(n.) fear of falling in love.

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Summary; Tom Riddle is fighting extremely hard against his strengthening feelings for a certain Harry Potter. Someone give him a lesson on 'how to show someone you love them without being a douche'.

Takes place in Riddle's era in Hogwarts, while Harry is still Gryffindor and Tom is still Slytherin.

Lucius and Draco are cousins, Hermione and Ron are included, and they are all the same age as Tom/Harry.

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From the safety of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Tom Riddle snuck glances at him.

The bane of his existence.

His enemy.

His crush— no, not that. Definitely not that.

Currently, he was trying to drown his fears in the mashed potatoes. He was Tom Riddle, for Merlin's sake, and Tom Riddle didn't get scared— other than for death, but that was a completely rational fear. This boy was an irrational and strange fear that just didn't make sense and seemed very irreversible.

For starters, he was very short— about 5"4 to Tom's 6"3. The hair certainly made up for that height, that lion's mane (that certainly represented the House he belonged to) was huge and rambunctious. His emerald green eyes (very cute ones— bad Tom!) were framed in wired glasses. Under the black robes Tom knew what was hidden, which was a lithe body type with a huge arse—

'Seriously,' Tom thought as he clenched down on his fork, 'get a grip. You're the next Dark Lord and you react like this when you see a tiny Gryffindor? That won't do.'

"My Lord?" Was muttered from next to him. Startled out of his glances, Tom turned his head to see Lucius Malfoy staring in distress at his white knuckles. Clearing his throat, the dark haired bloke straightened his posture— if he had only learned one thing in all of his life, it was to not let anyone see him in a weak moment.

Tom raised an elegant eyebrow. "Yes, Lucius?" He asked in a drawling voice. "What is it?"

"You seem... agitated, my Lord," Lucius answered in a hushed voice. "You were glaring daggers at Potter."

A smirk appeared on Tom's face. Ah, it seemed as though he was glaring at Potter. That was much better than any other emotion, if he were to have any emotion at all. "Yes, well, with hair like that it's quite hard for your eyes to wander elsewhere."

As everyone else laughed, he tried to ignore the tiny pain in his heart when he talked badly about Potter.

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Potter, the little shit, seemed to be found wherever Tom went. The Library? Potter was trying to sneak into the Forbidden Section. The Halls? Potter was walking with his friends. The Courtyards? Potter was out practicing for Quidditch before classes began. Honestly, how constant and annoying.

It was like Tom couldn't avoid him enough to get him off of his mind. Over the years, he had perfected the art of hiding his emotions in a bottle and throwing the bottle out to sea— and Potter couldn't be the person to find and uncork that bottle. Besides, Tom was not catching feelings. Definitely not. Potter was just annoying to him, that's all.