Harry was back from his years-long assignment abroad in time for the annual Potter New Year’s Eve party. Music and shouting blasted from behind the closed door of the private room and his jaw clenched. He really didn’t want to go in there. His divorced father had booked a room at a restaurant and unfortunately invited his new girlfriend–Ginny Weasley, Harry’s (younger) ex, from whom James could not be convinced to part.
Tom Riddle’s meal was long finished. He sat at his usual back table not far from the younger Auror Potter. Years ago, then the undersecretary, Tom had been present when Potter was assigned, but he was certain the man would not remember him.
Harry then noticed Tom Riddle, who was as handsome as the day Harry left England. His sharp jaw was propped in his long fingers, the grey in his dark hair like a crown. Harry knew he was just promoted to Minister for Magic and was certain the man spared no thought for Harry, just another cog in the machine of the Ministry.
Audaciously, Harry approached the man’s table. “Excuse me, sir. I’m about to walk into a very bad night and wondered if you’d make it better.” He thought acting ignorant was the best way to approach the untouchable wizard. “Would you mind being my date to my dad’s New Year’s Eve party?”
Tom raised his chin. He’d always admired the younger Potter–the power under his glowing skin, the soft curls, and wild and brilliant fox-like eyes. But he must practice prudence, a trait he had not developed until long into adulthood. “Why me, of all people?”
“Because,” Potter said like he was starting a list, “you’re the most attractive person here.” Secondly, he said, “You’re older than my dad.”
Tom raised an eyebrow.
Potter leaned in, lowered his voice, and said, “And I have a feeling you have a sense of humour.”
The corners of Tom’s mouth were twitching. “You want to spite the party.”
“Yeah, I do. Will you help me?”
He shouldn’t; not knowing nearly everyone in that room was surely employed at the Ministry, and that anyone in this establishment could sell the story of Tom’s purported romance to the Daily Prophet.
But, he thought, his eyes tracing Harry Potter’s persuasive body, maybe he could use such circumstances to his benefit.
Harry, entering the room on his dad’s boss’s arm, squashed his grin at the look on James’ face.
At the end of the night, Harry was beaming. “You were brilliant!” he gushed, which was one way to describe the mind games and mean-spirited conjurations Riddle had played on Potter Sr. et al all night.
They were most certainly photographed when Harry leaned into him to say, “See you next Monday.”
Tom huffed a laugh. That was the date of Harry’s mission report.