Chapter Three
“What the fuck do you mean you’re running for Minister for Magic?”
Harry wasn't in the habit of being shocked at Riddle's mindless ideas and thoughts but sometimes the Slytherin came out with things that stopped Harry in his tracks. The ‘things’ currently being his apparent new found ambition to become Minister for Magic, not that Harry believed this idea had sprung out of nowhere, he was certain Riddle had been plotting for years. Riddle was what you could call a snake, not only due to him being a Slytherin but also because he was a cunning bastard. Riddle was notorious for flirting his way through life to gain his own means- flattery and small displays of affection got him very far.
Most would disagree, “Tom Riddle cunning? Never. How could such a handsome man not have a heart of gold?” But Harry knew.
Tom Riddle was the devil incarnate.
What a pity no one else recognised him for what he was.
“Have all the blows to your head finally made you senile Potter? I’m running for Minister, don't make me repeat myself.” Harry wondered why the Gods out there had cursed him to face the bombshell that was Tom Riddle. He really didn't need this maniac in his life.
Staring gormlessly at Riddle, Harry somehow gasps out, “I've just told you Kingsley’s resigning and your first reaction is to run and steal his spot instead of trying to stifle the havoc running through the Ministry right now?” Harrys expression quickly changes from dumbfounded to enraged, voice growing louder and louder every passing second.
To add fuel to the fire, Riddle just gives him his signature shit eating smirk and states very bravely in Harry's opinion, “What else did you expect, Potter? Shaklebolt has been my only obstruction all these years and he's finally out of my way.”
“I'm surprised you didn't just kill him off! I'm very aware of you and your dubious morals, if you hadn't realised. I might be the only one who sees what you really are but that doesn't mean you get to use others and then just chuck them away like second hand clothes!”
Riddle gives Harry a dry look.
“I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Potter. Maybe you really have gone senile.”
Energy depleted, Harry looks at Riddle with dissent in his eyes, “You infuriate me Riddle.”
Giving Harry another self satisfied smirk, “Believe me Potter, you have made your dislike very clear”
Riddle clears the cluttered desk in front of him with a twitch of a finger, “Now shall we leave instead of wasting more precious time on pointless arguments? I'm aware it may be hard for you seeing your incapability to listen to instructions but I insist.”
“Fuck you Riddle”
“My, my how crude”
Aiming a snarl at Riddle, Harry turns on his feet and steps out of the house. Evil laughter ringing in his ears.
Almost immediately, spells are fired at Harry and Riddle from every direction. Vibrant reds, pinks and yellows flying over their heads. A near miss from a certain lime green but Harry would rather not dwell on what ifs.
Bellowing instructions to get down at Riddle, Harry's years of Auror training kick in. A protego is shot out before even touching his wand- hoping to gain them a few mere seconds of safety but of course Riddle has to interfere.
Riddle's hands clutch at Harry's arms before a deafening crack resounds through the air and the stomach- lurching feel of apparation wrenches them away.
Immediately after Harry's feet are once again grounded he turns towards Riddle, a collection of profanities ready to be fired at him. The words die on his tongue.
Before him lies what he supposes it the Atrium but gone where the polished dark floors and peacock blue ceilings, all that was left was demolition.
As Harry's eyes scanned the scene before him, a pit of uneasiness weighing him down, Riddle stepped ahead, most likely trying to get a better understanding of his surroundings.
Riddle turned around, his lips curling into a smirk as he locked his mahogany eyes with Harry, “It seems that our plan is going to run much more smoothly than anticipated.”
“Smooth? Are you fucking stupid? How is any of this smooth?” Harry's voice rose with incredulity as he gestured wildly at the destruction surrounding them. “We have no idea who did this or how many people have died and you call this fucking smooth!”
Riddle, the egomaniac, didn't seem to be in any distress at all, “ Don't you see Potter?” He lets out a laugh, “It doesn't matter to me how many people die.”
“In fact, the fewer people, the clearer my path. Do you understand?”
Nothing but a strangled growl of fury leaves Harry's throat. When did Riddle ever listen to him anyway?