1. Hate at first sight
The first time Tom Riddle met Harry Potter, he had been in his second year at Hogwarts. He was wearing a new set of robes - courtesy of his generous grandmother, who had insisted that Riddle’s should never be caught dead in second hand clothing, despite the fact that before that year, they weren’t even aware of his existence. He had turned the corner on the train heading towards the compartment where his fellow year-mates sat, and crashed into first year Harry James Potter, who was chasing after a toad of all things.
Tom had fallen to the ground like a plebeian, dirtying his new robes. His iron tight grip on his temper disappeared, and he’d snarled so sharply at the boy that the students in the nearby compartments stuck their head out curiously.
He glanced down, and saw a toad clinging to his sleeve, croaking loudly. Tom flicked his finger instinctively, sending it flying across the train corridor in his rage.
Harry Potter — famously known as the Boy Who Lived, for somehow ridding the Wizarding World of The Dark Lord Grindelward as a mere toddler — was the beloved heir to the Potter fortune and the apple of not only his parents eye, but the eyes of the Black House Lord, his brother and his husband. Tom had known this, had counted on befriending the child and luring him into his social circles. Yet all was lost when he’d caught sight of those eyes, glaring defiantly at him.
“Why’d you do that!”
Tom’s eyebrow arched instinctively. The boy was callous and rude, with a twist of his lips and a glare sharp in those green green eyes.
“That was Neville’s toad,” he continued, “and you just threw him across the hall!”
Tom ignored the child and straightened. Another flick of his fingers and the dust and dirt clinging to the dark cloth of his robes disappeared.
“That thing,” Tom sneered, “was about to ruin my robes. And shouldn’t the words coming out of your mouth be an apology for running into me?”
The child got up as well. Not bothering to so much as dust his dirty robes. Tom sneered harder.
“I would have,” he said, “if you hadn’t just hurt Trevor like that!”
Trevor? That insect had a name? And a plebeian one too.
Tom wished he were a prefect already, so he could extract points from the child.
“He’s Neville’s pet toad, and he just escaped our compartment.”
“Fascinating,” Tom drawled, he wasn’t so far gone that he’d do something so muggle as roll his eyes, but he was sure his tone conveyed his distaste anyway.
Potter glared up at him, the top of his head just barely came up to Tom’s chin, and it sent a vindictive thrill along his spine.
Tom was expert at reading and observing others, at cataloging every twitch and breath, storing the information to turn over and use against them in later conversations.
Harry James Potter was perhaps the easiest read he’d ever come across.
His eyes were an odd, addictive shade of green. Emotions flitted across them, like a film on a screen, and Tom knew — just as he knew about Theodore Nott’s crush on Daphne Greengrass, as he knew about the affair between Professor Sprout and Professor Vector, as he knew about the countless of Slytherin’s that lusted after him —
Though this was the first time they’d met, Harry James Potter hated him.
2. Really nice guy who hates only you
If anyone else watched him — really watched him — then they would be able to notice, perhaps as Abraxas and few other of his close followers had — Tom’s interest in Potter.
The first four years of their schooling together passed by quickly. Where they both thoroughly ignored one another. Yet when Tom had entered his sixth year, now Head Boy, and Harry had entered his fifth and newly named Prefect, something had changed.
Now forced to spend actual time with one another, Tom found his distaste quickly turning into fascination.
For the past five years, the entirety of Hogwarts was already aware of their distaste of one another, hard to miss when they were at each other’s throat nearly everyday despite being a year apart.
Both the staff and student body were equally as confused by their heated rivalry.
Tom Riddle was the top student in his year. He had the bloodline of one of the most controversial founders of Hogwarts, yet was polite, courteous, and charming to everyone that’d had the pleasure of speaking to him. He eased the feuding houses by keeping a tight rein on his own house — from the first years to the seventh. He was academically gifted, his magic a strength light years above his actual age.
There were arguably only two people at Hogwarts that were not utterly charmed by him; Professor Albus Dumbledore, and one Harry James Potter.
Harry James Potter was the darling of the wizarding community. With Head Auror father James Potter and Head Healer Lily Evans-Potter as parents, The Lord Black of the Black family and Cursebreaker Remus Lupin as a doting godfathers, Potioneer Severus Snape as a solemn but fiercely protective uncle, and the entirety of the Black and Malfoy family as relatives, there was no doubt he was one of the most blessed wizarding child in recent history.
Not to mention defeating the Dark Lord Grindelwald at a mere age of one, ridding the blight on their history and earning himself a title as the Boy Who Lived. He was equally as charming, in a roguish, delinquent type of way, with the heart of his Mother, wit of his father and the compelling beauty of them both.
The professors adored him, most having met him since he was a toddler, and the student body all yearned for a moment of his time, his fierce loyalty and love. For his deep friendship, gentle kindness and sarcastic quips. Yet Harry stood his ground; staying friends with a shy Neville Longbottom, and a typically overlooked Ron Weasley. He quickly befriended muggleborn Hermione Granger, and fought tooth and nail against anyone who said a word against her.
Tom hated to admit that a part of him envied how easy it all seemed for Potter. When Tom had started Hogwarts six years prior, he had been a poor orphan not yet claimed by his grandparents. He had no bloodline to latch onto, second hand clothing and books and nothing but his intelligence and cunning to back him up. He managed to climb the ladder to the very top, yes, but it wasn’t easy.
Potter seemed to have it easy. He entered Hogwarts knowing he was the heir to not one, but two Lordships. He had quickly become the youngest ever seeker to the Gryffindor team, had mediocre marks yet excelled in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts. There wasn’t a single person who seemed to dislike him - aside from the choice Slytherin’s.
Tom wished he could say that he held complete distaste for Potter as well. Yet a part of him was more intrigued by the boy. By his eyes the colour of the killing curse, by the lightning shaped dark mark on his forehead, by his knowing gaze and stubborn twist of those full red lips. He was affronted that someone whom everyone adored, someone who seemed to be friendly with even Filch, disliked him so thoroughly.
Harry James Potter was kind to everyone, but Tom Riddle.
And that made Tom crave him even more intensely.
3. Accidentally kidnapped a dark lord
Tom’s obsession did not dwindle as he’d anticipated.
He’d had his fair share of attraction, to both male and female and everything in between, yet he quickly tired of his bedmates. They knew what they were getting into; just a night or two of pleasure, and nothing more.
It didn’t help that Harry, who had grown broad and tan yet still came just below Tom’s chin, with wild black Potter hair and those thrice damned eyes, held a wand that contained the brother core of Tom’s.
Tom knew, as soon as their wands connected during a dueling club demonstration, that Harry was indeed meant for him. His beauty, his wit and charm and eyes, the representative color of Tom’s lineage, were all tailored to entice Tom entirely.
Yet convincing Harry of this seemed to be difficult.
Harry responded to Tom’s charm with suspicion. He responded to flirtation with stoicism, to his kindness with hostility.
Their years at Hogwarts passed with little to no advancement. Yet Tom was not deterred. He knew convincing Harry of their connection was not going to be easy. He would not have enjoyed Harry had it been easy anyway.
So Tom shelved his plans of being a Dark Lord, and turned to becoming a legal ruler of the Britain Wizarding World instead. Perhaps if he charmed Harry’s parents with his prowess, concealing the more nefarious aspects of his rule, Harry would be more susceptible to his advancements.
He buried himself at the Ministry, just barely managing to keep in touch with Harry. Years passed as he’d been elected undersecretary, then voted in as the youngest ever Minister of Magic in history at the mere age of thirty-two.
Harry had followed his father’s steps, and was now a Lead Auror, steps away from a promotion. Yet there was still no advancement to their relationship.
Until the day he accidentally abducted Tom.
***
Tom rarely made mistakes.
His Death Eater’s were mostly competent in their roles. Perhaps it was due to fear, or perhaps it was because they had a movement they truly believed in, but very rarely did Tom get news of their mistakes.
Until today.
The Wizengamot was flawed. Most of the seat holders were incompetent and downright idiots, bought out easily by the highest bidder. Tom needed to ensure his next bill was passed, otherwise it would cause another decades worth of paper pushing and meetings.
The — meeting — per say was to be in a discreet, normal location. Between the two of them and three of their most trusted guards. Yet somehow on the way to the location, Tom’s floo was intercepted, and he found himself losing consciousness with a blow to the back of the head — how muggle .
When he came too, snarling and determined to torture his abductors so bad they would be begging for him to kill them, he came face to face with a sheepish Harry Potter.
“ What .” Tom said, surprise flattening his voice entirely. He took stock of their surroundings and was partly amused and partly intrigued that they appeared to be in his room at his manor.
“So,” Harry began, sitting up from his seat on the armchair by the fire, “obviously this was a mistake.”
Tom sat up, glancing down at his clothes. He still wore the tailored slacks and white buttoned down he’d had one under his dress robes, which appeared to be neatly folded on the nightstand next to him. His tie was undone, yet still hung from his collar. His shoes were off and neatly tucked onto the floor next to him.
His head throbbed, and Tom fought the urge to crucio Harry. Something told him it wouldn’t be the greatest first step for their relationship.
“Dare I ask,” he said slowly, “what in Salazar’s name is going on? Are you aware that you have not only abducted the Minister of Magic, but attacked him as well?”
In a thuggish, muggle way, like some hooligan.
“Erm,” Harry shifted in his seat, and Tom let his eyes drop to where his shoulders stretched the material of his cable knit sweater, “see about that….”
In the silence that followed, Tom knew exactly how this conversation would go.
Harry would likely give an excuse - one that was awful and half-arsed, yet only mildly apologetic. Tom, angry and illogical as he ever only was when faced with one Harry James Potter, would snarl and respond back something scathing against the Order of Phoenix — a group of sycophants with Albus Dumbledore as their little ringleader. Harry would yell back, angry and self-righteous, and the argument would escalate until they were both angry and nearly spitting fire, each assured they were right.
Yet…
Tom managed to conjure up the iron clad grasp he had on his anger, the one that never failed him with the rest of humanity besides one other, and smiled.
Harry’s mouth fell open, jaw slackening with shock as suspicion immediately filled his eyes. Perhaps he too was relying on Tom’s fury, hoping it would get him from answering what exactly he had been up to.
Except, although he should be, Tom didn’t particularly care why he was attacked. At the moment, as Harry’s boss’s boss’s boss, Tom held the upper hand.
“Harry,” he purred, sliding up from where he sat sprawled on the bed he stalked over to the man.
“…sir,” Harry answered, every inch of his body tense.
“It seems you’ve made an unfortunate — yet rather understandable mistake,” Tom said, something not unlike excitement flooding through him.
“Er…yes.”
“You’ve likely simply mistaken me for an intruder. Floo travel can be quite unpredictable…”
Two thick brows pushed together. Harry tensed further in his seat, spine straight as he pushed away from the approaching figure. Likely wondering why Tom was so readily handing him an excuse for what’d happened. Tom fought the urge to laugh with pleasure.
“It seems as if it would only make sense for me, as your benevolent Minister, to allow this…unfortunate incident to go.”
Harry frowned, and Tom’s eyes dropped to those bitten lips and back up. He could tell the other man hated how Tom towered over him, especially now that he remained seated.
“That would be…” Harry said after too long a pause, “kind of you, sir.”
Kind? At that, Tom did laugh.
“For a price, of course.”
At that, Harry’s wariness snapped away, his eyes going bright with that same fire. He opened his mouth, yet Tom interrupted before he could say anything.
“Unless of course, I somehow happen to find evidence pointing towards some already suspected Order of Phoenix sympathizers,” he placed his hands on the armrest or the chair, balancing his weight as leaned down until he was eye to eye with green. “Mr Weasley, perhaps? Or perhaps Miss Granger. Someone who may not have the political and influential backing as say, the heir to two lordships may.”
It was a risky move, especially since he knew of Harry’s volatile and near murderous tendency to protect his friends. Yet it was true. Harry James Potter couldn’t be touched, but his friends — an auror with a modest background and a muggleborn just barely making her way through the ranks, were free game.
Those green eyes promised murder, and Tom wished briefly he could carve them out and keep them with him. Such a deep, blazing green. More emerald than some of the actual emeralds Tom had in possession, more ablaze than actual flames raging just behind them. He wondered how James and Lily Potter managed to produce eyes like these — for neither of them held even a candle to Harry’s, no matter how much everyone claimed they were identical to his mother’s.
“What,” Harry seethed, jaw cracking in anger, “is the price?”
Tom smirked. Victory was not a foreign feeling to someone like him, yet this time it tasted sweeter.
“Have dinner with me.”
He relished in the shock that flickered across the other man’s face.
“Excuse me?”
Tom straightened. He headed over to the table, where a tumbler of whiskey appeared. He poured out two glasses, then lifted one to his nose, relishing in its aroma before taking a sip.
Impeccable. Misky knew just what was needed for this conversation.
He made his way back to Harry and handed him the second glass, noting with sharp amusement how the other — usually so put together — was utterly thrown by the conversation.
He took a seat in the opposing armchair.
“Have dinner with me.”
Harry’s brow pulled together again, this time they stayed tense. “Wha—me? Why ? What for?”
“Harry,” Tom purred, “I truly do not believe you are as oblivious as you are playing to be. Why else would a man ask one to dinner?”
“Dinner ?” Harry seemed to mutter, under his breath. “Wha—there’s no way you actually…”
Tom raised a brow.
Harry choked. The sound was comical in the silence of the room and the crackle of the fireplace. Tom watched as the man took a gulp of whiskey.
“You don’t fancy me.” The words were rushed, half hopeful, and not nearly as firm as he’d likely thought they were.
Tom made a noise in the back of his throat. “I would not label it as something so adolescent. I desire you. I covet you; your beauty and your strength and your wit. I want your kindness — your fierce loyalty and devotion. I want what you’ve denied me for all these years.”
Harry’s jaw was slack once more, the glass of whiskey held limply in one hand. For the first time in his life, Tom found him to be at a loss for words.
“You—“ a small, pink tongue darted out, running over a thick lower lip. Tom tightened his grip on his glass, wondering if the boy was being a tease on purpose.
“Dinner.” Tom repeated. “Every Friday night for the next three months.”
“Hold on—that’s way too much!”
“For the price of your friends' livelihoods? I do not think so.”
That uncertain look vanished and Harry was angry once more. “Fine,” he bit out, “just leave Ron and Hermione alone.”
Gladly, since he had no reason to think twice about them.
Tom lifted his glass in a salute, and threw back the rest of his whiskey.
Just like victory, it tasted oh so sweet.
4. Too many beds
“Where the fuck are we.”
Tom fought the urge to sigh, instead opting to press down on the bridge of his nose. A headache was beginning to form, which was unusual for him. He made a mental note to write to Severus for a few more bottles of his altered Pepper-Up potions.
Beside him, Harry shuffled in place. His body tense, eyes darting from the floors to the high ceilings, to the stained glass windows.
“I thought we were looking for a local inn,” he continued, “not a bloody five star hotel.”
Tom barely managed to reign in his scoff. As darling as his Harry was — he understandably did not possess a refined palette, which was odd considering his more than elite background.
The inn Tom had found them was barely a five star hotel. It was an inn, albeit a slightly more refined one than the other rundown shacks they’d passed on their way. Tom had chosen this inn for that exact reason - it was upscale enough that they would not lack in service, yet was not as loud and luxurious as a hotel. A hotel would hardly help with the illusion that this was an unexpected obstacle, nevermind the fact that the only reason they currently were at this inn, awaiting a room was due to the meticulously planning curated by both him and a few of his most trusted Death Eaters.
After the incident with the floo, Tom had convinced Harry to settle into a stalemate of sorts. He’d spent the next three months carefully seducing the boy; taking him to dinners and galas, parading around his beautiful darling on his arm. He knew the boy was equally captivated by him as he was. It was there — in his pupil blown eyes, his reddening cheeks and defensive retorts. Tom wasn’t sure what was stopping Harry from making a move. Perhaps his boy was shy, after denying Tom for so long. Perhaps his foolishly rigid moral compass was preventing him from coupling with a Dark Lord.
Perhaps he was still confused by Tom’s intentions.
That would be ludicrous, however. He wasn’t sure how much more forward he could get with his intentions aside from dressing up as a groom and sticky-charming the Gaunt ring onto Harry’s finger.
Thus, Tom had decided to seek counsel from a few of his underlings. Through trial and error — much, much more error than he’d like —he’d finally settled on a semblance of a plan. One that would force Harry to give in to the magnetic pull between them.
A forced seek for refuge at an inn in a foreign country that contained only a singular room for the two of them.
More specifically, the only one bed trope, as Lucius had deemed it. It was apparently quite popular in dead-brained romance novels, the blond had explained, with shifting feet and eyes. Tom had barely managed to stop himself from crucio-ing him out of spite.
How low must Lord Voldemort, the Lord of Slytherin, rightful owner of Hogwarts, and the Minister of Magic go for one single, reckless, morally rigid, quick-tempered boy?
“My most sincere apologies, Minister,” the witch said in French, eyes wide with half fear and half admiration, darting between him and Harry with interest, “but it appears that all our rooms are booked.”
Tom nearly smirked. Of course they were. He had them booked himself.
From beside him, Harry stiffened, green eyes alight with suspicion.
“Are you sure?” he said, leaning forward, “there are no other rooms?”
“Non,” the witch said, “we do not have another room. Ze Horntail suite is ze only available one.”
Harry’s jaw clenched, and Tom watched with hunger as a muscle ticked in it. He wanted to nip at it with his teeth.
Soon, he promised himself, soon you can.
He was going to bring the seduction to its peak tonight. With two of them, heavy in attraction — both physical and magically — warm bodied and pressed up against one another.
His mouth practically salivated at the thought of tasting Harry so intimately.
“Harry,” he purred, “it appears we have no choice. The meeting with the French Minister isn’t until tomorrow, and this is the only available inn.”
“I can stay somewhere else.”
Tom nearly snapped out. “And leave the Minister of Magic alone in an inn, with no protection?”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“You hardly need me to protect you,” he muttered indigently, but didn’t seem to muster enough energy to argue further. “Fine, whatever. It’s one night anyways.”
Yesss. Tom nearly hissed out in victory. Instead he turned to the witch and flashed her a cordial smile - noting how her cheeks pinked instantly as she straightened. “We’ll take it.”
***
Murder.
It wasn’t something Tom was unfamiliar with. In fact, it was probably the one thing he excelled at most of all, which was quite the remark, seeing as he excelled at many things.
It would be so quick, so easy for him to let go of the tightly reins in control. To allow his wand to twitch, for the flash of green to emerge and hit the woman from downstairs, taking from her her life, her soul.
Perhaps he would save his anger, for the incompetent utterly idiotic wasteful excuse of an employee Lucius was.
The suite, which was located at a perfect location — top floor of the inn, in the utter back corner, where they would have nearly all the privacy in the world for a night filled with intimacy — was perfect in both name and description.
Yet there was one detail it appeared to omit.
It contained nothing but beds.
The suite — not the largest Tom had seen, but not the smallest either — had several rooms, all of which contained no less then three fucking beds.
Tom had entered the Master bedroom, and had nearly hardened at the sight of the large king bed - imagining the hours they would spend in there, his Harry with glazed eyes and sweat-sheened, whimpering in Tom’s ears as he fucked him into the mattress.
Then he had turned, just slightly to the left, and saw the matching set of twin beds just across the room.
Perhaps to whatever overlooked them — Merlin, Morgana, Fate and Death and Mother Magic Herself — the situation might have been comical, even.
All Tom felt was an unbinding rush of rage.
“Oh, cheers,” Harry said from behind him, oblivious at the utter wrath that consumed Tom, “the other room is set up about the same. I guess it’s meant for large families, huh? I bet the Weasley’s would fit in here perfectly.”
The Weasleys. Tom sneered.
He wanted to rage. Wanted to take out his wand and destroy every last bed in sight. Wanted to murder the witch and the hotelier and the French fucking Minister himself.
Instead, Tom spun on his heel and faced Harry. He took out his wand, ignoring how Harry flinched and fumbled for his own in response.
Then, wordlessly, with a single flick, Tom burned every last bed to ash.
The king remained, sitting peacefully just across from them.
Harry blinked in surprise, catching onto the anger on Tom’s face. “Er—”
Tom stared down at the boy. He took a step forward, then another.
Harry mirrored his steps, going backwards. An odd move from someone so typically reckless and callous in his actions.
Tom took the final step forward, satisfied when Harry’s knees hit the foot of the bed, nearly causing him to lose his balance.
He grabbed Harry’s face, learned forward — and kissed him.
Harry’s mouth was slackened open in shock. Tom seized the opportunity, deepening the kiss further. He sucked on Harry’s tongue, emitting a low groan from the boy.
Tom snaked his hand into that infuriating mess of a hair, and yanked until Harry’s head was pulled back — throat taut and exposed. He tasted of a strange, rather addictive mix of treacle tart, mint and the earl grey tea he’d had earlier, Tom deepened the kiss impossibly further, wanting — needing — more.
Harry seemed to melt into him, eliciting a deep ring of satisfaction. He moaned, gripping tight onto the lapels of Tom's robes, his lips at battle with Tom’s.
Finally, they pulled away, panting heavily. Tom was half-hard, and could feel how Harry was stiff against him. Smirking, he rocked his hips forward, eliciting another gasp and low moan.
Harry’s emerald green eyes were dazed, glazed over with lust. His glasses were askew on his face, lips redder than Tom had ever seen them, bitten nearly raw. Two plump cherry’s begging to be bitten further.
“What the fuck,” Harry gasped, then his eyes darted across the room to the twin beds, then back to the door of the Master bedroom and at Tom again.
Realization seeped into his eyes, at the situation. At Tom’s anger and the destroyed beds. Tom stiffened, preparing himself for another bout of argument —
Harry threw his head back, and laughed.
The sound like ringing bells filled the room. Despite the irritating fact that Tom was being laughed at and not with, he couldn’t dislike how the situation unfolded, as it gave him the uninterrupted view of Harry’s eyes shut in mirth, teeth flashing brilliantly as he roared with laughter.
Though no one could say Tom was patient. He grasped Harry and sent them both tumbling onto the bed, where he got set to reaping the fruit of his labour.
5. Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating
“My Lord,” a throaty, husky yet ever so feminine voice purred from above him.
Tom didn’t bother raising his gaze from the length of parchment in front of him. His quill nearly flew across the expanse, as he — not rushed, as Lord Voldemort did not rush for anything in his life — quickened his pace.
From beside him, the tempus he’d cast earlier was growing an alarming shade of red, as it got closer to the designated alarm he’d set for himself. It was nearly a quarter past 6, and if Tom wanted to avoid having another door slammed in his face, he would have to make haste.
“Bella,” he acknowledged, and when she didn’t speak further, fought back a sigh as he raised his gaze, “do you have something you’d like to report?”
It was such a thrill, to have the most dark, the most powerful and noble families at his beck and call. Bellatrix Lestrage was such a woman. A Black by birth and Lestrange by marriage, she had quite the array of titles to her name. She’d been established, and well feared for nearly a full decade before Tom had even entered his prime years at Hogwarts, yet now she was merely one of the many that hung onto his every word.
As well as one of the many that desired him so.
Age was but a number — especially in the Wizarding world, and though Bella was old enough to be his mother, it did not stop her from conveting him so. He’d used both his prowess and his charm to his advantage for years, and his lineage had only sealed the deal. He’s enjoyed years of subtle flirtation — but did not allow anything to come to fruition.
He had only one he truly ever desired, anyway.
Tom nearly allowed himself another check at the glowing tempus . He felt foolish, counting the minutes before he could see his darling again. Yet Harry was an anomaly he could never foresee. He long decided reason and logic were not going to work when it came to Harry James Potter, and accepting that fact had made acquiring his love much easier.
“I have been hearing…appalling whispers going about My Lord…so appalling I’d only just managed not to crucio the ickle Auror for saying so…”
Whispers ? Tom racked his brain for any slips, any wrongful sources that could be spreading amongst his people. He had planted enough of his Death Eaters strategically that he would have heard anything new being said against or about him…
“Whispers,” Tom echoed, he set his quill down, “...continue.”
Bella gilded closer, her blood red lips pulling up into a devilish smile when she came against the barrier he put up, and danced backwards. Tom was a happily taken man, after all. Allowing Harry — who was already so skittish, already so hesitant — to pull away from him for any misunderstanding was not something he would take a chance on.
He’d already dealt with days worth of silence after Harry had learnt of Tom’s tumble with Barty Crouch Jr and had mistaken it for being days and not decades old. To prove that there was simply nothing more than a dull bond of Lord and servant, he’d hexed Crouch so badly that the man was bedridden for three weeks.
The resulting cold shoulder from Harry had lasted months . Tom had learned to not commit such violent acts before his beloved.
Knowing that his possessive tendencies were at least somewhat reciprocated gave him such joy. Tom wouldn’t mind another bout of arguments just to witness it again.
“Whispers…” Bella purred, “of ickle Harry Potter.”
Tom stiffened. “Proceed.”
“I overheard some low-level Auror insisting to the Weaslette—”
Ginny, Tom could practically hear Harry say sternly, her name is Ginny.
Menace was more accurate. A menace that was undeserving of being Harry’s first love, first girlfriend, and now closest friend.
“That ickle Harry appears to have fallen in love— ”
Tom fought the urge to preen at the word.
“—and the little Auror claims that that person is you, my Lord.”
“Yes, and?” Tom said, not bothering to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.
Bellatrix stopped short, her eyes widening just the bit, betraying her shock. “Surely it isn’t true, my Lord—”
Any hints of good humour fell away, and though Tom merely raised a brow, it was enough for the witch to fall silent, stiffening against the increasing pressure of his magic.
“Harry is my fiance,” Tom said slowly, “he is mine, and will be the one to remain by my side, reigning as one.”
It was about time to make the announcement official to his followers. Though they knew Harry James Potter was not to be touched, it seemed they needed a reminder that he was to be worshipped as they worshipped Tom, for they were equals far above all else.
Tom dropped his gaze again, scratching in the last few words on the parchment before him, dismissing her silently.
It was the pure shock that kept Bellatrix rooted to her spot for a moment longer than anyone would have dared to, but she dropped into a low bow, and left the room, her fury at the turn of events evident.
Tom fought a sigh. Bella’s infatuation was becoming irksome. One more incident and he would need to remind her where she stood.
But for now, Tom smirked as a patronus burst into the room, a stag galloping across his office before turning to him with an expression he could have sworn was exactly like the caster, as it snapped out that he was late, I have better things to occupy myself with.
***
“You’re lying.”
Harry James Potter fought back a sigh. He had known breaking the news to his friends was going to be difficult — he just didn’t expect them to flat out not believe him.
“Is this revenge for the time I made you think Percy had a crush on you? Because that — that was funny. This is not.”
Harry scowled at his best mate, the anger and embarrassment that rose within him at the memory was nearly enough for him to send a hex his way.
“First of all - that was not fucking funny. Second of all, I already got you back for that—” by sleeping with your sister, and then your brother, he left unsaid, but judging by Ron’s sudden sour face he knew the words were conveyed, “and third of all why would I buy a ring just for some stupid prank?”
“You wouldn’t,” Ron said, “but James would!”
His dad would, actually. And Sirius would have helped.
“Yeah but mum would have stopped us before I could even leave the house.”
“Tom Riddle,” Ron echoed, “Minister for Magic Tom Riddle? Heir of Slytherin the man you quite literally wanted dead three months ago Tom Riddle? There was a bout of silence as the red-head considered Harry’s words again, “seriously mate, this is such a stupid prank.”
Harry nearly fought the urge to smack his head against the cafeteria table, but did it anyway. The resulting bang caused a few other Aurors nearby to jump in alarm, before they noticed where the sound came from and promptly ignored him, already used to Harry’s outbursts.
“What’s a stupid prank?” Hermione asked, dropping her tray of food onto the table and reaching up to pull her mass of curls back into a neat bun, “did James and Sirius do something again? I thought Remus and your mum had them on strict lockdown since the last one.”
They did, not that that worked. Harry knew they were scheming something new, and had already dragged out promises from them to not include him in it. Retirement clearly had the two of them with way too much time on their hands.
“Harry thinks it’s funny to claim that he’s been proposed to by the Minister of Magic.” Ron said, reaching towards his wife’s tray of food.
Hermione slapped his hand without looking up, and took a neat bite of her beans. “Tom Riddle?” she said with a small frown, “come on Harry, even I know that’s a bad joke.”
Harry smacked his head on the table again.
“I’m not lying! ” he said loudly, before clearing his throat and lowering his voice. It was a good thing no one bothered with the three of them anymore, just letting them be, otherwise they’d probably be much less liked.
He held out his hand and cancelled the concealment charm, trying not to cringe at the sight of the gaudy Gaunt ring that sat snugly on his ring finger. He tried leaving it at home this morning, but the look on Tom’s face quickly had him reconsider.
“Look, does this look fake to you?”
Hermione reached forward, nearly dragging him across the table as she yanked his hand closer to her eyes, turning it in the light as she inspected it. “Is this the House of Gaunt ring?” she said, her voice growing sharp, then immediately dropping, “as in the—?”
“Yes!” Harry hissed, “why else do you think I’m being like this? He gave this to me! Willingly! ”
It was an infamous non-secret within the Pureblood families, rumours and whispers passed down from generation to generation. Harry had heard of it from Sirius, who only knew of it as the Black Heir, and passed it down to Ron and Hermione.
The House of Gaunt — nee House of Slytherin — had many priceless heirlooms. One such heirloom was one of the three Deathly Hallows; the resurrection stone. Harry already held the invisibility cloak — only learning of its true roots from Sirius when his father had deemed him old enough to keep the Potter secret.
The ring was never seen before in public, except on the finger of a Gaunt descendent. Tom had never been so gaudy as to flash it around - only wearing it once at a formal event, alongside his Slytherin locket. To give it to Harry — no, to propose to Harry with it — was never done before in Gaunt’s history, and suddenly made everything a much, much bigger deal than he’d originally anticipated.
“It’s a good replica,” Hermione said finally.
This time, Harry shoved his face into his hands, and screamed.
***
“Potter!”
Harry didn’t bother to slow his stride. Instead, he quickened his pace, knowing he was well out of both patience and energy to deal with the blond ferret.
He had just spent the entirety of the last three days dealing with snickering coworkers, reporters, journalists and every other bloody wizard and witch and in between — all desperate to know if he was truly with the Minister for Magic, and all in clear disbelief at his reluctant agreement. Although he had been the one to plead Tom to keep their relationship a secret until he could think of a way to break the news to his friends and family, he was quickly tiring of it.
“Potter!”
Curse his long legs, Harry scowled, as Draco Malfoy somehow managed to catch up to his side, keeping pace with his brisk march with ease.
“What do you want, Malfoy,” Harry said, coming to a stop at the lift, his foot tapped against the floor impatiently, eyes locked onto the rising numbers.
Malfoy smirked, “I’ve been hearing the most absurd rumors lately, Potter,” he said smugly, “one of which has apparently been coming out of your mouth.”
Harry ignored him. He’d been subjected to rumors his entire life.
“I mean it’s quite pathetic,” Malfoy sneered, “of all the absurd lies to think of, going around telling people that you’re betrothed to the Minister of Magic.”
The lift opened with a quiet ping!, and Harry stepped into it, continuing to ignore the yapping ferret next to him.
Unfortunately Malfoy didn’t take the hint, following him inside.
“I mean surely there were thousands of other people you could have used for whatever you’re scheming. To be so bold — so stupid — as to name a potential Dark Lord— ”
The lift shot down, passing by floor after floor.
“—I mean even if the Minister were to ever take on a consort, it’s hilarious for you to even think that anyone would believe—”
The lift slowed, then came to a stop. The doors opened to the main hall, where there were clusters of ministry workers, some headed home, some starting a shift.
A few surrounded a man that towered over them all, his black robes tailored and sleek — hugging his figure. Harry’s eyes narrowed in on him, and he marched in his direction. Malfoy continued yapping by his side.
“—that he would take on a mere Auror such as yourself, left alone a Gryffindor— ”
“Harry!” Hermione called his voice from somewhere to his right, but Harry didn’t bother turning to glance at her or Ron.
Harry shoved past a few of the workers, some of them parting as if they sensed his anger. He came to a stop before Tom, noting absently that he could see Ron and Hermione come to a stop, their eyes wide in confusion.
There was a near palpable tension as the entire lobby filled with Ministry workers fell silent. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what they thought was inevitably a fight about to occur.
“...Harry,” Tom said slowly, his hands clasped around his back, he seemed calm, partially amused.
“I’m so fucking sick and tired,” Harry seethed, “I know I’m the one that said we should keep it a secret — but I’m really fucking sick and tired of this.”
Then he grabbed the collar of Tom’s robes, yanked him down, and kissed him.
1: office romance
“You’re fired.”
Harry ignored his husband, who stood looming beside him, arms crossed tightly and scowl etched on his handsome features.
“It better be hell of a severance pay then,” Harry said, leaning past him to grab the neatly folded stack of sweaters, “because firing a Lead Auror with no prior warning is worth at least a year’s salary.”
Tom scowled harder, childishly flicking his fingers and sending every clothing out of the trunk and back into the closet.
“Oi!” Harry snapped, throwing down the t-shirt in his hand onto the bed. This was what he got for insisting he pack the muggle way, as his husband had put it.
“Done,” Tom said, “I’ll pay you two year’s worth if required. I will not tolerate you not being by my side for such an extensive period of time.”
Harry rolled his eyes, “It’s a two week trip abroad. Floo calls exist, as do letters.”
“As does apparition and floo-powder travel! I do not understand why you forbid me from coming to you.”
“It’s an Auror training boot-camp,” Harry said, already exhausted with this conversation, it was near identical to the dozens other they’d had since Harry had announced his trip a week ago, “and having the Minister apparate in and out is only going to distract not only them but your own protection detail.”
“Then you come back to me.”
“I will not,” Harry said firmly, “it’s customary for the Lead Aurors to be with their trainees throughout the sessions. I refuse to be treated any differently.”
Tom scowled harder, and Harry fought the urge to sigh at the expression on his face. This was not the last he was going to hear of this, he was sure.
***
Two days later, Harry stood in front of the large sign plastered onto the Auror training hall, his trunk falling to the floor with a pathetic thunk.
Auror Training Boot-Camp Location Change!
Pack your bags for two weeks at Seaforth Island - the best of the best right here in Scotland!
“Bugger,” one of the new Aurors said, his own trunk falling to the floor, “I was excited to go to Italy.”
***
+2
The Auror room, which was known for a lot of things, was not known for being particularly quiet.
In order to be an Auror, there were a few characteristics that one must possess. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a requirement per say, but he could say without a doubt that nearly every Auror in his office at least, seemed to hold an uncanny ability to never stop talking.
Even Harry and Ron themselves, who were known alongside Hermione since their years at Hogwarts for never being able to stop talking to one another, were shocked when they’d first began their shifts at the office.
Which was why it came across as a shock to Harry when there was a sudden spike of tension in the air, before the office did what it has never done before - and fell completely silent.
Harry, wary and now slightly scared, snapped up from where he’d hunched over a new case file that’d been handed to him just this morning. He immediately knew why the room had fallen silent — and suddenly found himself very much unimpressed by just about everyone in the room.
Tom Riddle stood at the doorway, wearing a small yet genuine smile - one that Harry was sure was at least 40% of the reason why everyone had fallen silent in shock. His hands were clasped behind his back, spine ramrod straight with that same stupid posture Harry only ever remembered hating but somehow now found himself finding endearing.
“...Tom—er— Minister ,” Harry said slowly, rising from his seat, “was there something you needed?”
“Of course not, darling,” Tom purred, “I’m simply here to check in on my husband.”
Though he was almost suffocating in his affections, “dropping in” on Harry was one of the things Tom — as a Minister that was busy 25 hours a day — did not do often.
“I’m fine,” Harry said finally, eyes dropping to a half amused half bewildered Ron before shooting back up.
Tom strode towards him, his long legs eating up the distance across the room in five quick strides. He bent down to plant a kiss on Harry’s lips, which he found himself reciprocating out of sheer habit.
Tom lifted his hand, and ran it through Harry’s hair, tangling the unruly mess even more and responding with another small smile when Harry batted the hand away.
“How I missed you, love.”
Love?
“Are you sick?” Harry demanded, suddenly worried, “are you unwell? Is this polyjuice potion? An evil — er nice I guess in your case — twin?”
Tom let out huff, seeming almost insulted at the implication that someone could polyjuice him. It was that exact expression — so uniquely Tom that Harry was certain nobody would be able to recreate — that brushed his previous concerns away.
“Ah, Rosier, is it?” His husband said suddenly, head tilting to the right as his gaze landed on the desk next to Harry.
Suddenly, everything clicked together.
A memory came forth, almost unbidden.
‘We have a new Auror on our team," Harry said off handedly, his hands swept through Tom’s hair, trying and failing not to smile at the cat-like enjoyment on his husband's face, as he practically melted into the couch, head resting on Harry’s thigh, ‘he’s really good — and a Slytherin surprisingly, I think he’s the spawn of one of your lot - he’s been really proving all those nasty prejudiced Head Auror’s wrong. They’re learning not to bring pesky old house rivalries into the office. I mean you’d think they’d have grown out of it by now, for Merlin’s sake…’
‘Auror?’ Tom echoed slowly, ‘Rosier,’ he mused, ‘I didn’t know he had a son.’
‘He’s a kid, really,’ Harry said, ‘fresh out of Hogwarts. You’d think he was a puppy from how he does nothing but follow me around.’
‘Follow?’
Tom’s voice was calm, no outwardly show of interest, perhaps it was Harry’s fault for not recognizing it.
‘Yeah,’ he laughed, digging his fingers into Tom’s scalp, giving him a slight massage, ‘just asking questions non-stop. Huge Quidditch fan too apparently, since he knew about my time at Hogwarts as Seeker.’
‘Hm.’
Harry hoped the sheer level of Done he was with Tom showed on his face. He sent the man a look, trying hard to mimic the one his mum would have whenever James, Sirius and Harry had just finished a prank. It must not have worked because Tom merely sent another dazzling smile at him before stepping around his desk towards the tall blond on the other side.
“My Lord—I—I mean— Minister ,” the boy stuttered, his porcelain skin flushing an impressive shade of red, “such an honour.”
“Hm,” Tom said simply, and Harry didn’t think he was imagining that he’d pulled himself to his full height, just a few inches taller than the other, “I hear from my darling that you are quite a fan.”
Rosier flushed — if possible — deeper. Harry wanted to intervene, but something told him defending the boy would only result in something worse than childish peacocking — like a loss of limbs.
“O-of course, My-Minister. Auror Potter is quite impressive, even from his days at Hogwarts. His accomplishments are extensive, and he is so kind, too kind to new Aurors such as myself.”
“Is he now?” Tom’s voice went from cold to even colder, almost deadly. The temperature in the office felt as if it suddenly dropped ten degrees. “You sound quite…smitten.”
Even the dumbest man on earth would be able to detect the threat in the last word, practically hissed out. Rosier was simply mortal after all and his survival instinct seemed to finally rear its head.
“O-of course not, Minister. I-I was simply in awe of your cons-of your husband. As I am in awe of you as well.”
Rosier sneaked a small glance at Harry, who raised a brow in amusement, and he had to fight the urge to laugh when the boy went another brilliant shade of red.
“I see.” Tom said again, Harry knew he had deliberately paused long enough to induce more fear into the poor kid. Tom turned from him, dismissing the blond immediately, and missing out on how he practically collapsed against the desk. He strode back to Harry, bending down to steal another borderline inappropriate kiss, before striding out the door, just like that.
One year ago, Harry would have gotten mad. He likely would have even thrown a fit at Tom’s ridiculousness. Now, Harry merely shook his head, slapping a hand to Rosier’s shoulder in a lame attempt of comfort.
Tom Riddle was Tom Riddle, and Harry — despite his own better judgement, his father and godfather’s severe dislike and his mother's caution — had chosen him, and to this day, couldn’t seem to dredge up any semblance of regret, especially considering how they'd first met.
It was love at first sight, anyway.