Warnings: fluff, crack, trash, plot holes, anime, cosplay, wtf factor is high

Pairing: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)

Summary: In which Harry is cosplaying anime trash currently visiting Pokémon gijinka hell, and is deep enough to risk his secret and rope his best friend Tom into joining him.

Or, the one where Harry can't stop fantasizing what a cosplaying Tom would look like (and now neither can you).

Disclaimer: Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling, One Piece - Eiichiro Oda, Sailor Moon series - Naoko Takeuchi, Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha series - Akiyuki Shinbo, Card Captor Sakura - CLAMP, Toriko - Mitsutoshi Shimabukuro, Tokyo ESP - Hajime Segawa, Prince of Tennis - Takeshi Konomi, Katekyo Hitman Reborn - Akira Amano, Black Butler - Yana Toboso, Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin - Hajime Isayama, Pokemon - The Pokemon Company, Nintendo, Satoshi Hijiri, Game Freak, etc.

And I probably missed some other references I made but yeah. Anime. Manga. Now you know.

Harry wasn't sure when it all started, but—

No. Never mind. He knew exactly when this whole mess started. He was seven, visiting his Aunt and Uncle on his mother's side for the very first time, and apparently found out he had a cousin too, who had taken one look at him and said—

"Magic? Like Naruto?"

And then he was hooked.

In retrospect, while he could blame Cousin Dudley, Harry figured that 'blame' was too strong of a word here. And also gave off the wrong connotations. In some circumstances. It was kind of hard to tell—being a closet otaku had its downsides and upsides. On the bright side, it gave him a whole new perspective on the subject and existence of magic—which he'd grown up with—that allowed him to give it proper respect and a wholeheartedness he probably wouldn't have been able to summon up had he taken it for granted.

On the, well, other side…he was trash. But.

Sacrifices had to be made somewhere.

Fortunately, his Mum and Dad didn't mind. Dad because he thought Muggle creativity and imagination was great—thus, there was always a heavy week of pranking every time Harry showed him a new anime—and Mum because his grades and dedication shone through when he was at Hogwarts. After all, how else was he going to recreate everything he'd seen? Divine Busters and Starlight Breakers didn't go and make themselves, after all. There was technique behind it.

Harry's current secret project was trying to recreate the Clow Cards. It was long term, so he didn't mind taking up a few other projects along the way that would be considerably shorter—magic items that could temporarily lend power to squibs, developing ESP-like powers with the requirement that he couldn't use a wand, cultivating plants to work like Devil Fruits (he was getting Neville to help him on that one)…

All things that could, given the right application, be useful in the magical world! See. Being trash didn't mean he was useless. Well, he was still trash—trash was trash at heart—but not appearing as trash took effort, which he was giving. It was an art form, almost.

…Theoretically, if he could breed plants and animals to be something akin to Toriko's Gourmet World, would that end world hunger?

Harry had to think on that one. While everything would be edible, it would also give them a lot more power, making the world very dangerous. He wasn't sure muggles could handle that one, yet. Maybe put that aside. Focus on the (less) lethal things, first.

Right. Which was why he was currently doing what he was doing.

Part of being what he was (did he really have to state it again? Closet otaku trash!) also required more…harmless hobbies. He couldn't always be investing time and research into recreation. That would not only take too much energy, but graduate him into some sort of magical scientific nerd, which didn't sound like fun at all. Harry was not willing to give up his fun. He had a life ahead of him, and in no way was he going to start it now of all days, while he was still in Hogwarts. No, fun came first.

Harry bit his lip as he pulled out his measuring tape, looking awfully similar to Ollivander.

It all started when he was nine, well into his obsession and still starving and curious. It was only natural, after all—all the heroes and villains in his favorite anime had wicked outfits, but looking at other witches and wizards he realized that the truth was a bitter one. Witches and wizards preferred black. Witches and wizards preferred robes—and while some robes had special patterns or enchantments, robes were robes. Didn't have much variation in those, not even in the dueling robes.

In conclusion, wizarding fashion sucked.

At the age of nine, Harry asked his Mum to teach him how to sew. Now fifteen, he could say he sewed decently well, both in the magical manner and the muggle manner. Some things could only be done best by hand, after all.

Sometimes, when he wasn't too bogged down by his projects and needed something both inspiring and stimulating to do, Harry tried to start his secret revolution of wizarding fashion. He'd try to figure out what was the most stylish, wicked outfit that could prove both practical and awe-inspiring in the face of life-threatening danger. Tomoyo was right, after all—each occasion needed special clothes, and Harry lived by her motto that clothes could both be fashionable and protective.

Besides, he couldn't name a single Magical Girl anime that didn't have the heroine go through a magical transformation to get new protective clothing—Nanoha, of course, was an interesting one to touch upon since they actually labeled theirs as 'barrier jackets', and no one was ever going to convince him that the Sailor Senshi's outfits were just cute. They transformed—growth with the individual was important!—which showed they were magical items on their own right. Also, Harry was hypothesizing that they might be like a cross between a confounding spell and something like the Potter Family Invisibility Cloak…

Ahem. He digressed.

Creating outfits with an ulterior motive was all well and good, but Harry also liked to just calm down and wear clothes. While showing off that he was no good trash, of course. In other words, cosplay was both his worst enemy and his best friend. It was hard, frustrating, fun work, and wearing it and knowing he made it was amazing, and being able to support the fandom was doubly amazing, but then he was stuck in impractical clothing for however long the meet or convention lasted, trying to make sure his cosplay was perfect at all times of the day, and—

But. It was something he loved to do!

Which was why Harry couldn't restrain himself sometimes. From combining his love and his best friend, that is.

The measuring tape was charmed to be silent. Discreet, and silent. Which was good. Really good. Tom Riddle was, after all, Hogwarts' darling genius, and if Harry didn't get creative then he'd get caught.

"Height, waist, shoulders…" Harry muttered to himself. "Arm span too. The sleeves have to be perfect. Oh, and shoe size. Do I have a measure for that? Probably in my bag. Where's my bag? Oh. There."

Not even the bravest lion would ever dare to break into the snake pit, but fortunately for Harry, he was more obsessed than brave and he wasn't breaking into the snake pit, he was breaking into his best friend's room (which happened to be even more difficult to break into than the Slytherin Common Room, but he knew Tom Riddle and he was good with a wand, so).

His last hell had been Prince of Tennis. He'd been a tennipuri cosplaying trash for awhile, enjoying the job of learning the game, theorizing the moves (with the addition of magic), making rackets that could actually withstand the power used to do some of those moves, and then playing tennis with the other tennipuri trash who knew how at the convention. Of course, he didn't try using the more outrageous skills—Black Hole simply isn't possible for muggles—but the Twist Serve was fun! Oishi's Moon Volley was pretty impressive looking in real life, too.

He'd long left that hell and entered a new one. Pokémon. As ridiculous as it seemed, not really. Pokémon heavily reminded Harry of familiars in the magical world, and the whole concept of magical creatures certainly wasn't new—the Forbidden Forest was, after all, right there! But specifically, his interest wandered into gijinkas. They were basically anthromorphized Pokémon, usually but not restrained to fanart.

…And they were absolutely adorable and perfect to cosplay and wouldn't it be great if he could make their outfits that could loosely lend the power of the Pokémon to the wearer? Arcanine's extremespeed, raichu's thunderbolt (volt tackle was a tad too dangerous), Roselia's aromatherapy—

So here he was. Breaking into his best friend's room. Not for his very illegal books, or stolen artifacts, or hell, not even for his class notes. No, Harry was breaking into Tom Riddle's room to get his measurements. He'd never really needed them before—sure, he'd thought about what a Vongola!Tom or a Sebastian!Tom or even the ever popular Attack on Titan!Survey Corps!Tom would look like (dear Merlin those white tights and leather…), but he'd never dared to, well, make those things a reality.

Tom would ask. Of course Tom would ask, and Harry's lasted five years and counting keeping his secret identity as trash a secret, which was an accomplishment considering that Tom was his best friend, and he wasn't going to give it up for just anything.

…That was, until the image of a Zubat!gijinka!Tom popped into his head, and then all bets were off. He needed to do it. Needed. To. See. It.

It would be so simple, compared to his other cosplays, but that was the beauty of it! Tom Riddle, simple and in all his glorious beauty (friends could admit other friends were handsome, right?), in that Zubat purple and blue color scheme, looking nonchalant and dangerous and yes. It was going to be the cutest thing ever or else. Harry was sure of it.

Besides. Harry was in the process of making himself an adorably fluffy gijinka Mareep cosplay, and while he didn't think he would be anywhere close to how fabulous Tom would be, the fluffiness would pair well with his hair and they'd make a good contrast. The sleekness of a Zubat next to the fluff of a Mareep, with only the blue to connect their contrasting color palettes…

Harry was already planning photoshoots. And if not of them together, then he was sure to get at least five of Tom's, damn it! Maybe he'd ask one of his fellow muggle trash to photoshop them together. He was sure it would be amazing.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

The Gryffindor froze, quill in hand and parchment paper notes carefully balanced in his lap. That was another downside of being trash. Emotional investment and obsession usually equated to less caution and the focus of a cat.

…Damn it.

"Uh," he said, measuring tape still floating in the air. "Hi."

Tom gave him a deadpan stare. "Good evening."

"Morning," Harry corrected out of reflex. "It's two."

"…Fantastic. What are you doing in my room at two in the morning?"

Harry bit his lip. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you putting up with me? I mean, you always give me your notes when I don't pay attention in class, and—"

"Harry."

Woops. Harry visibly twitched. "Hi, Tom."

"Hi, Harry." His tone told him that he was waiting for an answer. Unfortunately, Harry forgot how to supply one.

"It's, uh, for a project."

"Project," Tom parroted.

"Yep."

"I don't remember Flitwick assigning us to sneak into each other's rooms at night—sorry, morning—though he would commend you on your enchantment of that measuring tape. It's almost as good as the one Madam Malkin uses."

"Oh, I based it off of Ollivander's. His is pretty creepy, but it's really efficient. Malkin's got too much personality."

"I see."

Harry fidgeted nervously. "Sorry for waking you."

"Next time, I'd prefer it if you actually plan to wake me up."

"Sorry."

Tom sighed, half in frustration and the other half in exasperation. While he didn't know about Harry's hobby, he was still privy to some of the projects Harry threw himself into drunk on insanity and adrenaline. Harry was hard to deal with. It was a wonder why everyone loved him so much. Not so difficult to see why he was hailed as the Golden Gryffindor, though. Insanity could easily be mistaken for bravery.

If Tom was Hogwarts' darling genius, Harry was Hogwarts' darling. Period.

"I need your measurements," Harry blurted out.

"For what?"

"Uh. Um. My project?"

"You still haven't told me what it is," Tom pointed out.

"It's…a secret?"

Tom crossed his arms. Harry shuffled—well, as much as he could kneeling on the floor. As a security measure, the Slytherin flicked his wrist and wandlessly fortified the enchantments on his door. Now Harry couldn't get out unless Tom let him.

"You're going to tell me what your project is, and then you're going to show me how you broke into my room so you can't do it next time."

"Can we do it the other way around?" Harry protested weakly. "I'll even show you how I got into the Slytherin Common Room!"

"No."

Harry hadn't expected Tom to ever go along with him. That, in itself, was a mistake. While he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about finding out about Harry's hobby (completely understood, by the way; Harry fully acknowledged his trash-like tendencies and, as it went, if you weren't one of them, you frowned heavily upon their shenanigans), he was interested in Harry's recreated ideas and the source of his projects.

Tom wasn't trash though—didn't have the inclination for it. Harry was. Which was acceptable, because Tom was his best friend and Harry was Tom's best friend, ergo Tom was okay with being dragged along if it meant he got a favor out of Harry.

Usually, Tom's 'favors' were to be feared. But Harry wasn't that worried. Until Tom didn't ask for a favor.

But the fact was completely forgotten when the outfits were completed and Tom tried his on.

Harry also had no idea why Tom was suddenly complacent to taking pictures with him in said outfit. Then he figured it was because Tom loved him more than he first thought, which was good and made Harry extremely happy for the next several weeks, all the way up to the photoshoot.

"So it's fine if I do what I like?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Your personality is already perfect. We'll probably have to shift a bit to make sure the lighting is good and there's a good angle for the shot, but I mean. You're already super photogenic. And we're about the same height. So it should be fine."

…He should've run when he saw the smirk.

"Then I can do this?"

Harry yelped at the feeling of being turned around, arms trapping him about his waist. Tom's chin rested against his left shoulder, and before he knew it, the sound of a camera clicked and his position was being changed again.

"And this?"

Tom lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder. Harry scrambled for balance, even as he knew his friend wouldn't drop him.

"W-w-wait! Tooom!"

With vindictive delight, the entitled 'genius' proceeded to manhandle his friend into a variety of different…er, positions. What was worse was that their photographer for the shot happened to be eating it up! And he was sure there was a permanent flush across his face, too! The poses grew progressively less innocent, until Tom was looming up above him and there was a camera shoved somewhere right above-behind-ish Tom and another at an odd angle between them to catch a view of both their faces.

Harry had never blushed so much in his life. No wonder Tom didn't ask for a favor, he thought in a daze, because embarrassing him was once of Tom's favorite pastimes.

Damn it.

By the time they left, Tom was smug. Harry looked like a disordered mess, some of his clothes having come off in the process—his scarf, specifically, along with one of his arm warmers; his shirt was falling off his shoulder as well.

"I hate you," Harry muttered, tugging the fluffy scarf up to cover his mouth and muffle the sound. Hopefully to hide the red of his face, too.

"Oh? Did you not enjoy it?"

"It was embarrassing!"

"Ah." Tom nodded seriously. "Then we'll just have to do it without the cameras, yes?"

Harry wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Either way, the red of his face flamed, following down a burning trail to his covered neck. It basically said, okay. You win. I give up.

"…"

"What did you say, Harry?"

"…Hogsmeade," he repeated. "Next Hogsmeade weekend. I know we can sneak out any time we want, but."

Tom smiled, utterly victorious in all ways. It'd been a bit of a game between them, who would ask the other first. "Then it's a date."

...

i'm sorry i've gone too far.

stuck in too many hells

send help

Sincerely,

R.R.