Caretaker (Patreon)

AN: One shot, no smut, Harry Fem!Riddle fluff. Might change the title when I post this on AO3

Emily Riddle felt terrible.

Her body was burning up, her head was thumping, and her vision was blurring. The sea of students ahead of her almost looked like they were dancing instead of walking as she made her way down to Charms.

But she was Emily Riddle, she did not get sick. She could not get sick, she was above such things.

She'd dismissed the other Slytherins, telling them she'd had something to discuss with Professor Vector, just so they wouldn't begin to suspect she was impaired.

She'd clawed her way atop the Slytherin hierarchy despite everything being against her, she wouldn't let them see her be weak, ever.

She could see the moving staircase off into the distance and she cringed. It would be a tall order, but she could handle it. She was Emily Riddle, after all, what was an enchanted staircase to her? Nothing.

A few steps behind Emily, Harry Potter followed with a frown. He had Transfiguration next, so he should have been walking the opposite way, but Riddle had seemed off during arithmancy, and he'd wanted to make sure she was ok.

The relationship between Harry Potter and Emily Riddle was a weird one. Harry was the Gryffindor star seeker, winner of two (soon to be three.) Quidditch cups. Emily, despite her disputed heritage, was the queen of Slytherin house, and the consensus scariest witch in the entire school.

At one point, they may have been rivals, both vying for that position of top student. There had been a lot of jabbing and insult throwing. Harry had started things, since he'd come into Hogwarts with a seeming burning need to annoy the hell out of the quiet Slytherin girl. Emily did not hesitate to put the arrogant boy in his place, even sending him to the Hospital Wing at one point during their first year.

They were fourth years now, and they still jabbered at each other, but over the years, one thing had become quite clear to everyone around them.

Harry Potter and Emily Riddle liked each other.

Emily denied it whenever her friends teased, insisting she had no need for such silly things, and especially not with Potter.

Harry had denied it at the start, but as time progressed, he would just stay quiet when his friends joked about his crush on the dark haired slytherin.

Harry considered himself an expert on all things Riddle, and he'd instantly known that Riddle was not right today. She'd barely shown off in class, she'd avoided eye contact when he'd looked at her, and she'd dismissed her cronies. If there was one thing Riddle loved, it was strutting around Hogwarts like she was the queen of the castle, surrounded by a bunch of pathetic idiots that worshiped the ground she walked on.

Harry also worshiped the ground she walked on, but he wasn’t a pathetic idiot.

Emily stepped foot on the moving staircase and immediately knew she’d made a mistake. She yelped, caught between trying to force another step forward and yanking her foot back from the staircase that had already begun to move, caring not for any student’s plight.

She lost her balance, and all she could do was brace herself for the tumble she was about to take. Her only consolation was that no one was around to witness her literal fall from grace.

Except there was someone there, and that person actually saved her from grievous injury by grabbing the scruff of her robe and pulling her back.

The air escaped her lungs as she collided with a hard body. She turned her head, ready to curse out whoever it was that had dared try and help her, but the action made her head swim as her vision blurred further. Her legs wobbled and her body went limp. The person reacted quickly, wrapping their arms around her to help prop her up.

“You’re heavier than you look, Riddle.”

She felt goosebumps on the spot where his whispered breath brushed up against the nape of her neck. No matter her mental state, she could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Are you calling me fa-” Her retort was cut short by a sudden fit of coughing that made her lungs burn as each hack sent thunder reverberating throughout her chest. Instead of jumping back and letting go of her, Potter, the buffoon, tightened his grip, managing to lift her feet off the ground as he carried her away.

“W-What are you doing?” Emily managed to get out in between coughs. She tried reaching for her wand, but her clammy hands were much too shaky, and his surprisingly strong arms were too tightly wrapped around her waistband, trapping her wand at her hip.

She knew she should have gotten a wrist holster.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Potter asked in that sarcastic tone of his. “You’re about to cough up a lung, I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing.”

“N-N-NO! Absolutely not!” her throat did not appreciate the exertion of her words, as it led her to another strong bout of coughing, along with the even more embarrassing mucus that dripped from her nose and smeared Potter’s sleeve.

She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as she watched the green slime fall on his arm. She was so used to being in control, she always needed to be in control, and yet here she was, not even able to corral her own bodily fluids.

If Potter noticed the snot, he didn’t say anything. “Riddle, I know you were born with a head made of granite, but even you have to realize that you need help.”

“N-No…Hospital Wing…look…weak.” Emily tried to articulate her words, but they came out as a slurred soup as she felt herself overheating. The strain of trying to maintain her facade had finally become too much, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she lost consciousness.

…

Emily woke up to a thumping headache, a dry throat that hurt every time she swallowed, and a stuffy nose that made it hard to breathe,

So it took a few seconds for her tired brain to get back on track, but when it did, her eyes popped open immediately.

And she instantly regretted that action. The light coming from the window burned her retina, adding a nice little accent to the throbbing in her head.

“Sorry! Sorry! Should have closed that.” She heard the curtains close and felt the light assaulting her closed eyelids dim considerably.

“Water.” she managed to rasp out. She opened her eyes to see a pair of hands already holding a glass up to her face. She brought her own hands up, wanting to take the glass but feeling too shaky to do so. Grudgingly, she allowed the hands to guide her own as she took some sips of the warm water, trying her best to ignore the pain as she gulped down the liquid.

She finished, and the person pulled the glass back. Emily blinked a few times, her pain having receded enough for her to finally be able to see.

She wasn’t in the Hospital Wing. She was in an abandoned classroom, which meant the bed she was laying on had likely been conjured.

As her eyes finally focused, she saw a cauldron bubbling away in a corner of the dark room. Her eyes swept up to her companion, and she saw Potter standing over her, his hair even more disheveled than usual.

“I think you have Dragonpox. Well, I’m pretty sure you do, you had all the symptoms from the book, and since you didn’t grow up around magic, you never had the chance to get it as a little kid.”

Emily coughed into her fist. “Your powers of deduction are truly extraordinary, Potter.”

Harry fiddled around with his hands, and she hated the look of concern that was plastered over his face. “I’m guessing that’s the anti-pox potion.” She tipped her head over to the bubbling cauldron.

Harry nodded. “It should be done soon.”

Emily returned the nod. It was an intermediate potion, but she trusted Potter to make it well, he was not as talented as her, but she could admit that he wasn’t incompetent at potions.

“How long was I out for?”

“Four hours maybe.”

Emily cringed. Her ‘friends’ would ask about her whereabouts. She was surprised Daphne or Pansy hadn’t already burst through the door and accused Potter of some nefarious intentions.

“Why didn’t you take me to the Hospital Wing?”

The question hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, and there went Potter again, looking down at her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

How dare he. She was already burning up, her breath was rattling, she didn’t need him to add to her misery by making her chest start fluttering.

“You said not to. I know how much you’ve worked to cultivate your image in your house, I didn’t want to hurt it.”

She was forced to hide her face so he wouldn’t see her reaction. If she had just been in her right mind, if she had just been healthy, she would have easily been able to school her emotions. But with such a bleeding headache, she couldn’t muster up the effort.

Then she remembered something that made her feel even worse.

Her eyes shot over to his sleeve, and he caught her. She tried to look somewhere else, to play it off, but his infuriating chuckle told her she’d failed.

“Don’t worry, I cleaned it up.” Harry said with a smile. “And I wiped your face up, too.”

“Potter, it goes without saying that divulging any of what has happened here would be detrimental to your health, and the health of those you hold dear.”

Another infuriating chuckle, it was almost as if he’d stopped taking her threats seriously past a certain point.

He settled into a seat in front of her. His green eyes shone from behind his glasses, and for a moment they were almost as bright as the sunlight that had blinded her when she’d woken up. But Potter’s eyes didn’t cause her headache to worsen, instead they made her feel warmth, a good warmth, a warmth that didn’t suffocate.

“Would you agree that this constitutes as owing me one, Riddle?”

Her eyes narrowed. They’d begun calling in favors on each other throughout the years, a cheeky little tradition that had started when Emily had saved the idiot boy from being caught smuggling a dragon. The memory of that act of stupidity, committed during their first year, still infuriated her to no end.

“Taking advantage of my vulnerability, Potter? I didn’t expect you to operate like that.”

Harry shrugged. “The hat almost put me in your house. I decided I should take my inner snake out for a walk every once in a while.”

She filed away the knowledge that Potter, bloody Potter of all people, had almost been sorted into her house. Instead, she tried to straighten up as best she could, to look as composed as she could while laying sick as a dog in a bed.

“What do you want?”

“I want a date.”

Her eyes widened quickly enough to make the pain in her forehead come roaring back with a vengeance, but Emily ignored it completely. She was trying to process his words, trying to make sense of what Potter had just said.

Fiddling nervously under her silence, Potter opened his mouth once more. “it…It doesn’t have to be in public. Doesn’t have to be a Hogsmeade date or anything. Just…I don’t know, we could even do it here, I just want you to give me a chance.”

“Potter, your rambling is making my headache worse,”

He quickly apologized. Suddenly, his hands went to the (very comfortable) conjured pillow under her head and he fluffed it up for her. It was a useless gesture, making absolutely zero difference in how comfortable she felt and definitely doing nothing to improve her headache.

But it made her want to smile, and she had never wanted to smile before.

Well, maybe a few times. Like when she’d looked over Potter’s shoulder during Runes and caught him drawing a very crude doodle of her.

“One date.” she said, shocking even herself.

His face lit up in happiness. “One date.” He agreed. “And this doesn’t count.” he added hastily.

“Who in their right mind could call this a date, Potter?”

Harry made to respond when the flame on his cauldron suddenly went out.

He must have used a time-delayed charm to stop the potion brewing at just the right time. He really wasn’t as big of an idiot as she always said he was.

Potter hustled over to the cauldron with a tankard in hand. He stood over the liquid for a few moments making sure nothing had gone wrong with the potion, before scooping up a nice helping into the tankard.

He returned, eagerly handing her the brew. “It’s got a cooling charm, so the potion won’t be too hot.”

She knew that already. She knew he wouldn’t dare risk burning her.

She took the tankard from his hands, feeling a surge of strength at the promise of finally being back to normal.

She gulped the potion down, leaving no thought to how she should sip it slowly, in a dignified manner. She could feel her sinuses clearing with each gulp. Her headache faded even before she’d finished her drink, but she still downed the entire flagon. When she set it down, she felt as if she’d never been sick at all.

Once more, Potter gave her a worried look as she hopped off the bed. “Y-You should maybe rest up a little bit more, you could still have some nausea.”

“I’m fine.” Emily said coldly, looking Potter up and down. His concern for her truly was pathetic.

And endearing. Maybe even more endearing than pathetic.

“You’ll take me to Hogsmeade on Saturday, I expect you to dress in a dignified manner, and under no circumstances will you take me to Puddifoot’s.”

Potter needed to understand that they were playing by her rules, she was the one in charge.

The boy grinned, “What about lunch at The Three Broomsticks?”

“Acceptable.”

…

Harry soared through the air.

The rush of freedom he felt whenever he hopped on a broom was unmatched, and if he wasn’t so disciplined, Harry was sure he’d be liable to completely forget he was in a Quidditch match and just start flying about, free as a bird.

But he had a snitch to catch, Slytherins to beat and one particular snake to lord his victory over. He chanced a glance at her among the silver and green in the stands, she stared right back at him, her humorless expression not changing even as Harry winked at her.

He felt a bludger coming and didn’t even turn his head, he looped expertly to let it pass harmlessly by him.

Montague and Warrington were aggressive, but they weren’t the most precise with their shots. Harry zoomed off, his Cleansweep Seven was slower than Malfoy’s Nimbus 2001 by an order of magnitude, but the gap in skill between them was much wider than that.

Speaking of Draco, the boy was trailing him now, using the time-worn strategy. He knew he wouldn’t see the snitch before Harry, but he figured he could outpace him whenever Harry managed to spot it.

“Better hope that piece of trash broom doesn’t fail on you, Potter!” Malfoy yelled from behind him. Harry swerved to the left and Draco followed, his broom allowing him to make the sharp turns almost as well as Harry.

“It’s good enough to leave you in the dust, Malfoy!” Harry responded, his eyes darting from side to side even as he jawed at his rival.

“Riddle can’t protect you here, Potter. You’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

Harry ignored him, even as he bristled as Malfoy tried to bring Emily into this. He saw a glint of gold on the edge of his vision, off to the right, and he immediately darted the opposite way.

Malfoy followed, as Harry knew he would. He made a show of suddenly looking downwards, diving into a Wronski Feint. Draco overtook him almost immediately. It was a big handicap, playing with an inferior broom, but Harry found it fun, it made the match a much more cerebral affair. Harry let Draco gain a few feet on him, enough so the boy wouldn't be able to catch up to him when he finally realized that the snitch was nowhere to be seen and Harry had feinted him.

Harry flipped upward until he was upside down, shooting off in the direction where he’d last seen the snitch. Of course, it had moved in that time, but Harry knew snitches. They tended to drift towards low visibility areas, areas where they could more easily be lost to the naked eye. They also knew when they were being closely pursued. A snitch being chased would always try to have the prevailing wind at its back whenever possible. A snitch that wasn’t being pursued could fly anywhere, but for some reason they tended to fly against the wind.

With all that information in mind, Harry quickly determined the general area where the snitch might be currently located. One quick scan and he found it, drifting near the top of the Gryffindor side of the stands, where the current angle of the setting sun camouflaged it almost perfectly.

Almost.

Harry shot off towards it, his body flat in order to squeeze out as much speed as he could out of the Cleansweep. He knew Malfoy must be in hot pursuit. He had the faster broom and benefited from riding Harry’s slipstream, but he had to trust that he’d built enough distance to make catching up to him impossible.

And he had, as he closed in on the snitch, which darted off to the left only for Harry to close the angle in a way that gained him a few extra feet, he knew that he would not be beaten to it.

But he could also feel the heat coming. One of the Slytherin beaters had actually done their job and sent a bludger on a perfect collision course with him. Harry’s mind did the math without him even have to spare a thought, the bludger would hit just as he caught the snitch.

But he would catch it.

And so he did, Harry surged forward, timing his jump just right so that when he lurched at the snitch, losing him speed and aerodynamics, he was at just the right distance to snatch it within the fingers of his right hand.

That was the first part, the second part was keeping a hold of it when a bludger smashed into his shoulder.

Harry felt he did an excellent job of it, considering the fact that his hand still squeezed the snitch even as it fell limply to his side, numb pain shooting down as he tried to slowly descend onto the pitch.

As always when it was Gryffindor vs Slytherin, it was pandemonium on the pitch. His fellow lions were roaring with excitement, and he had to constantly remind people that his shoulder hurt, so please be gentle with it.

But even as he celebrated the victory with his fellow housemates, his eyes searched the crowd of sullen looking Slytherins. He knew that she wouldn’t come up to him. Even after he’d finally convinced her to make their relationship public, she was never one for displays of affection, especially when their house rivalry was thrown into the mix. She was the princess of Slytherin, after all, she couldn’t be seen congratulating the enemy.

Thankfully, when his friends demanded he go up to the common room to party the night away, Harry had the ready-made excuse of needing to get his shoulder checked on by Madam Pomfrey. He did wait until they were on the seventh floor to let his disappointed friends know, though, allowing him to split off from the parade of Gryffindors and take the much shorter trip, not towards the Hospital Wing, but towards the Astronomy Tower.

It was almost completely dark out. The dying embers of sunlight painted their last great masterpieces in the Scottish sky before they faded away completely, ceding the stage to the stars and the moon, the latter of which was already visible as it waited impatiently to take over its starring role.

Emily was there, leaning against one of the many windows as she stared out into the night, her yew wand, so distinct with its bone white hue and almost sinister appearance, rested against her leg as it dangled down to the floor.

She looked so beautiful. Her dark hair rolled down to her shoulder in waves, perfectly coiffed as always. Her sharp, angular features that had once made her look masculine and had long since softened to reveal a stunning beauty were now set by the thin line of her mouth. She was upset, he knew that for certain.

"Did you have it mended?" She asked without looking at him.

Harry shook his head as he approached her. The numbness on his shoulder was giving way to renewed bouts of pain, "No offense to Madam Pomfrey, but I much prefer your tender mercies."

Something shone in her coal black eyes then, and she turned her head to look at him. They were only about a foot apart now, Harry could smell her distinct perfume, the one he'd gotten her that smelled of lilac and that she constantly said she hated because it was so unlike her. Harry had told her they didn't sell fragrances that smelled of death and destruction. She'd whacked him pretty hard in the back of the head then.

She sighed as she flicked her wand at his shoulder, the sleeve of his shirt tearing apart to expose his flesh, which was red and tender and prickled under the cold November air.

She beckoned him forward and Harry turned around, pressing his back against her front as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hands, always so cold, trailed down his injured shoulder. Harry let out an involuntary hiss of pain, which Emily ignored, continuing to put pressure on it to see where the damage had been done.

"It was Warrington. The one who hit the bludger."

"Emily, don't." Harry warned.

His girlfriend raised one of her thick eyebrows. "I thought you hated Warrington."

"I despise him, especially the way he looks at you, but if you start knocking off anyone who does something to me in Quidditch, I'll be a laughingstock."

Emily pressed her wand against his shoulder. Harry felt even greater discomfort before she whispered an incantation and relief began flooding in. Harry didn't bother to wonder whether his shoulder had been broken, fractured or dislocated, he just knew Emily had made it all better.

"I'l just deal with anyone who laughs at you, then." She said as she removed her wand and placed her hand on his shoulder, massaging the still tender skin.

Harry snorted. "Then it'll just be you and me left in the whole school."

He didn't have to be looking at Emily to know she was smiling. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Harry shook his head in amusement. He pressed himself further into her, and Emily wrapped her long arms around his neck, pressing her face onto his back. "It'd be amazing, right up until we get expelled and sent to Azkaban."

"We might get expelled, but we wouldn't be going to Azkaban." Emily responded.

Harry decided to drop it, hoping his girlfriend at least understood not to do anything to Warrington, at least not about this. The moment the idiot made even the slightest comment about her, it would be Harry himself who sent him to the Hospital Wing, if not St. Mungos.

Harry turned around in her embrace, which loosened just enough for him to face her. They looked at each other, and Harry couldn't help the flutter he felt in his heart. He knew they were only teenagers, fifth years with a lot of growing up left to do. He knew it was crazy of him to think this, he knew his parents would call it puppy love, but he was also a hundred percent certain that Emily Riddle was the love of his life.

"What's with that stupid smile?" She asked with a frown. Emily never smiled, but Harry had gotten good enough at gaging her frowns to know that this was her version of a smile.

"Oh nothing." He said, deciding it was best not to bring up his hopes of being bound to her for all eternity. "Just remembered our bet."

Her eyes narrowed, her frown definitely crossing over to 'disgruntled' territory. "Do you now?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll let you pick, Slytherin table or Gryffindor table."

She rolled her eyes, and Harry couldn't help but place a kiss on the outside of her lip. Emily turned her face, searching for full contact, and Harry readily granted it, meeting her in a tender kiss.

No matter how much she tried to hide her emotions, she could never hide what she felt when they kissed. All of the passion, the love that she felt for him transferred as their lips pressed against each other. She made to escalate the kiss, her tongue pressing against his puckered lips, but Harry pulled back, much to her ire.

"Pick first." He said, knowing he was playing with fire. Emily did not like being denied, and he could very easily see her shoving him against a wall, taking what she wanted and roughing him up a little for even thinking of making her wait.

That sounded like a wonderful time, so Harry was content with either outcome.

"Your table." Emily said finally, "If we're to spend time together during meals, I'd want to give you my full attention, and I can't do that if I'm constantly having to remind my idiot house-mates about the pecking order."

Then, she shoved Harry against a wall and forcefully claimed his lips. She dug her nails into his side, and Harry wrapped his arms around her, the world fading around him as he lost himself in her embrace.