Disclaimer: Messrs Potter & Riddle are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. Later on, I intend to sell Riddle's diary; proceeds will be used to purchase at least the aforementioned characters.

This was written for Terrific Lunacy.

A groan followed by a moan.

Tom held in a breath as his charge suddenly lurched sidewards and a flushed cheek buried itself in his chest. In the back of his mind he was vaguely aware that, had they been found like this in a private setting, he would most definitely find himself out of employment, but the thought was pushed further away from his consciousness as a shudder ran through the lithe body that was partially leaning against him.

"This is sacrilege," Harry murmured, his forehead now nestled in the crook of Tom's neck. "He has ruined the entire piece by playing flat instead of natural; I would bet my fortune that Schubert, bless him, is now rolling in his grave."

"Your limitless fortune wouldn't be at stake if you had said yes to Lady Malfoy and saved us all from this... lacklustre playing," Tom tutted, then proceeded to poke at his tutee's side. "Your godfather is contemplating murder; sit up."

His worry was dismissed with a chuckle. "I would gladly play for Narcissa, but my dear cousin's son accosted me by the dessert table earlier, demanding that I remove myself from the immediate vicinity of his instrument. Also, playing would entail leaving you by your lonesome; you could fall prey to either Miss Parkinson or Mrs Parkinson. Possibly both."

He chose to ignore the last comment. "The last time you played for his family, you broke the keys with your pounding."

"I was not wholly at fault; he broke my mental faculties with his pounding." Harry sighed, finally pushing away from his tutor. "I never wish to see his coupling with Nott ever again, accidentally or otherwise."

Tom cringed, both at the image and at the dissonance produced by said Malfoy heir on the piano. Another E flat instead of an E natural.

Sacrilege indeed!

He could not prevent his eyes from rolling at the polite applause that the somewhat dispassionate performance received... and nearly jumped as lengthy fingers brushed against the inside of his thigh. The reprimand that was about to spill from his lips faded at the look he was given.

"Come," Harry breathed, shyly looking up at him from under his lashes. "Please," the fingers returned to his thigh, lightly stroking the fabric of his trousers in a sweet legato. "Strauss the Elder begs to be played tribute to with four hands."

Tom dumbly nodded, but as they took over the abused piano and began to play together, he suddenly felt exhilarated at the feeling of being pressed thigh to thigh with this charge. Half-way through the piece their eyes met in a lingering side-ward glance, their forearms purposely brushing together while their fingers masterfully played the Radetzky March. He began to relax and enjoy himself, even more so when Harry laughed in delight as the guests started clapping along.

He ducked his head, smiled, and then inched closer on the bench towards Harry, caressing the outside of his thigh with his own, not at all minding the protective stare of Lord Sirius Black. After all, it was not as though he was desecrating his godson.

I wrote this while listening to Johann Strauss I's Radetzky March, Op. 228. It is an orchestral piece, but my eldest sister and I rearranged it for four hands; if anyone is interested in hearing it, let me know and I'll send you the link.