Harry awoke with a groan. His throat felt drier than a desert and a headache throbbed at his temples.
His eyes fluttered open. He tried to lift his arm and search for his glasses, but it felt too heavy.
"Healer, he's awake!"
Finally, something familiar. Harry would recognize that voice anywhere.
"Ron?" he rasped out.
A bright orange blur clumsily put his glasses on and shoved a glass of water into his hand.
"Ow," Harry muttered when Ron almost poked his eye out. After gulping down the water in a record time, he blinked rapidly, getting used to the sharp clarity of his vision.
The memories hit Harry all at once.
He tried to sit up and nearly fell from the bed. "The raid," he rushed out. "The fire, the hostages." He gripped Ron's arm hard with newfound strength. "Is everyone alright?"
"Everyone is quite healthy and sound, Mr Potter," a new voice said.
He whipped his head around. His eyes met those of a woman in St. Mungo's Healer robes. She had a gentle smile on her lips and kind eyes, Harry noted. It was the person next to her that made Harry swallow nervously.
"Sir," he said shakily.
The look on his superior's face almost made him wish he hadn't woken up at all.
In his sixties, Auror Douglas was one of the oldest people in the Auror Corps. Most people retired by their late forties, so training the rookies and making sure they don't fuck up that badly fell into his domain.
With a no-nonsense attitude and a mouth sometimes so foul it made Mundungus Fletcher spit out his Firewhiskey, he was a nightmare.
The Healer, clearly noticing the tension, cleared her throat and shifted. "Right, well, Mr Potter, my name is Healer Alissia MacMillan. I've been working on your case for the last two days. It seems you had taken some significant curse damage."
She paused to leaf through the file in her hands. "On top of the curse damage you had taken, your left arm was dislocated as well as broken, and not to mention your right leg took the brunt of your fall."
"But I'll be back to normal, right?" Harry asked anxiously.
She smiled genially. "Yes, you will."
Harry let out a relieved exhale.
"That does not mean, Potter," Douglas barked and Harry and Ron nearly jumped, "that you should disregard direct orders given to you by your superiors."
Harry looked away, the tips of his ears burning. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, yes, sir," Harry said loudly and defiantly met Douglas' eyes.
"I shall take my leave. My service is no longer needed," Healer MacMillan said and quietly shut the door behind her.
Her departure went unacknowledged by Harry and Douglas, who were now locked in a stare-off. Only Ron had the decency to nod a goodbye.
Douglas crossed his arms. "You'll be pleased to hear the hostages are well, as well as the rest of your crew."
Harry nodded.
"Now, as for your punishment," he continued and smiled rather sadistically, in Harry's opinion. "My first thought was suspension."
Harry's mouth fell open with horror. Suspension?
And by the particularly nasty smile playing on his superior's lips, he had something even worse in mind.
"However, I know for a fact you have a brain somewhere in your thick skull, no matter how much you sometimes pretend it doesn't exist. It would be a waste not to use it. Therefore," here he paused for dramatic effect and Harry held his breath,"your new job will be DMLE paperwork."
Harry's mind went blank.
"What?"
Ron valiantly jumped to his defense. "But, sir–"
Douglas' mouth thinned, not unlike Professor McGonagall. "For two months," he added.
"I can still do field work, sir, please-"
"Make it three. You start next week. I'm sure The Saviour," he mocked,"can manage." That being said, he left the room and, consequently, flabbergasted Harry and Ron.
Harry fell back onto his bed with a thump and sighed. He looked over to Ron. "What the hell was he talking about? Something about a savior? I know he must've been dropped in his head as a baby, but I never thought he was bloody crazy."
Ron was uncharacteristically quiet.
"What is it?" Harry asked, now properly worried.
His friend merely took one look at the nightstand by his bed, where lay an unnoticed copy of Daily Prophet. Harry hesitantly reached out and took it and steeled himself, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
"The Savior," he read aloud, stunned, "or better known as Harry Potter, a Junior Auror, son of the infamous James Potter seems to have followed in his father's footsteps."
He read the rest of the article silently, disgusted at the simpering tone of it. His eyes searched for the author. Harry was not at all surprised it was Reeta Skeeter who had created this garbage. Cheeks bright red, he threw the newspaper out of his sight.
"What am I going to do, Ron? Me and paperwork? That's a guaranteed disaster. Watch me misspell something and accidentally start a bloody riot or something."
"As a fellow Auror I commiserate with you, Harry, I really do," Ron said, looking away. His face was paler than usual, his freckles a stark contrast against his skin. "But as a best friend, I have to say you deserved it."
"W-What?" Harry spluttered. He got on his elbows and managed to lean back on the bed's headboard.
Ron was silent for a long moment . He faced Harry again, but this time his cheeks were flushed in a way that meant he was angry, and the tips of his ears were red.
"You can't scare us like that, Harry," he finally burst out. He flailed his arms, as if his words weren't enough to express his anger. "What were you thinking, going off alone like that? You could've died! You have other people to think of! Hermione and your parents and Sirius have already visited you yesterday. You just can't do that."
Harry shrunk into himself with every word coming out of Ron's mouth. He knew Ron was saying it out of worry, but that only made it worse.
He really hadn't been thinking of heroics when he'd gone into that burning building or the praises he could receive if he succeeded. The only thoughts in his mind were half-coherent plans to save a little girl and her younger brother from the Dark wizard holding them hostage.
But when Ron put it like that…
Hot shame made itself home in his chest and guilt burned behind his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly. It was barely audible, but Harry knew Ron could hear it. The heavy silence lingering between them was too quiet for it to be any other way.
"Just…" Ron started but broke off, heavily sighing and rubbing his eyes tiredly," just don't do it anymore."
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Harry said hoarsely.
He turned his head to meet his best friend's eyes. He didn't really know what he'd done to deserve such friendship, both from Ron and Hermione, and later Neville and Luna and Ginny. Most of the time he felt like he was still a first year at Hogwarts, stumbling in the dark, hoping someone could tell him the direction in which he should be going.
That was the problem with Hogwarts, Harry thought, a critic he and Hermione shared, for once. Hogwarts was a formidable fortress, guarding her students admirably and supplying them with knowledge, but did nothing to prepare them for the real world, where there would be no just McGonagalls to take points off of Malfoy because he'd called someone a Mudblood.
He felt infinitely lucky to have such good friends and family by his side. They were an infallible rock he could always lean on.
Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry took the hand and squeezed it. His best friend exhaled and looked him in the eyes, searching for something.
"Alright, I trust you on this one," he said finally.
Ron returned Harry's tentative smile, which turned into a grin, which turned into cackles and full–blown laughter.
Ron wheezed."You… at a desk job! Sounds like the beginning of a horrible joke, the kind only Malfoy and his goons would laugh at!"
Harry tried to glare, but his treacherous mouth betrayed him and twitched into a grin. "Just you wait until I start complaining about it. You'll have to listen to both Hermione and me about the deep intricacies of the Ministry," he taunted, imitating Hermione in the last few words.
Ron froze, horrified and Harry roared with laughter.
"Are you sure you're ready?" Hermione asked worriedly as she fussed over his more formal, desk-appropriate (stuck up) robes, cleaning his shoulders of nonexistent dust and fixing his collar.
Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I'm fine, Hermione. I swear not to curse someone if I find myself too bored."
He patted his robe pocket. Inside were the shrunken standard red Auror robes he was required to return, since he was sort of suspended, but not really? Just thinking about it made his head hurt. He would still be paid for his work, but just as much as only other workers in that field of expertise.
"Well," Ron said as he walked up to Harry from behind and slung his arm around Harry's shoulders. "If that's it, we should get going."
Ron was the first who fisted the Floo powder and called the Ministry's Atrium, disappearing into the green swirling flames.
"You go on first," Harry told Hermione. He'd like to stall as long as he could. Any means of magical transportation other than a broom didn't sit well with him.
Hermione gave him an understanding look and she, too, went through the fireplace.
Harry gave his flat one last longing look and went to his new job.
"Mr Potter, what a pleasure to meet you," Mr McMillan said cheerfully, shaking his hand enthusiastically.
Harry forced a smile on his face. "The pleasure is all mine, sir."
"I hear it was my sister who treated you in St. Mungo's," McMillan said. He didn't seem to realize he was still holding Harry's hand hostage.
"Oh, yeah, she was great. Really kind and, um, nice."
He watched as Earnest McMillan Senior puffed out his chest and preened. A proud Hufflepuff, he was fickle and arrogant, taking pleasure in making it known his entire family and ancestors were in that House.
They continued their walk to the office on the third floor from the lift, engaging in the details of Harry's bravery and now very known rescue.
"We're here, just around the corner," McMillan informed him jovially.
The door held the sign Secretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The office itself was located in the middle of the third floor, surrounded by other DMLE sub departments. McMillan had informed him it would be quite a rush later in the day, but they had come early so Harry could settle in and receive his tasks.
McMillan opened the door and they entered. The first thing Harry noticed was the person sitting by one of the two desks. Hadn't Harry been brought at this ungodly early hour so he wouldn't encounter anyone before ready?
The man at the desk raised his head from the pile of papers he'd been studying and Harry's breath caught.
He was beautiful.
An aristocratic, straight nose and a strong jaw, full, pink lips. Glossy black hair fell upon his dark brow, followed by even darker eyes. His brows were set in a frown, and–
Oh dear.
This was no mere handsome man. This was Tom Riddle. No, Harry wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing him stare at him like that. By the time Harry finished his internal raging war, Riddle had already stood up and was rapidly approaching him.
Harry extended his hand first. "Riddle," he greeted civilly in front of the audience.
Riddle took it without hesitation, while trying to break all of Harry's fingers, but quickly released his hand. "Potter. How do you do?"
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and finally looked around the office that would be his prison for the next three months.
His mother told him once that personal space was a kind of a window to the soul, so to speak. Harry couldn't find a single trace of personality in this one.
Everything was bland, from the bleak walls, to the small, desks set one across from each other. The room was so small, so tight that the desks were even goddamn touching. There were no windows, but Harry doubted he'd die of suffocation, simply because he couldn't imagine ever Tom Riddle perishing from that. And if he took one more look at the heap of papers cluttering his desk (he shuddered as he realized some of it would be his now), he figured out Riddle had been working here for some time now and was still very much alive. Merlin save him.
"I'll leave you two lads to it now," McMillan chirped and left them, but not before clapping Harry so hard on the shoulder his legs buckled and giving Riddle a dazzling smile.
And just like that, Harry Potter was alone in a room with Tom Riddle.
Anyone who had ever been in a room with the two of them together would know how wrong it sounded.
A tense silence descended over them. Harry coughed delicately. "So, I'll just…" He gestured in the direction of his desk. Riddle said nothing, continuing his unnerving stare. "Right," Harry finished lamely.
He sat down at his new desk and looked up to see Riddle raise a disdainful brow, now holding a large stack of papers. "This is yours now," he said gleefully and dropped it onto Harry's desk with a loud Thump!
"Enjoy," he added sweetly. The bastard tried to conceal a smirk as he dropped into his own seat, but Harry saw it and made himself remember it because Harry was nothing if not petty.
Harry would have liked to pass the next three months in complete silence and wilful ignorance of Riddle's existence at the desk across from him, but as his Potter Luck would have it, things did not go according to the plan.
Or, alternatively, it took Tom Riddle exactly two minutes and thirteen seconds to open his big mouth.
"I hear they call you the Savior now," he said deceptively casually. Harry immediately saw through his bullshit.
Harry ignored him.
"It is only a matter of time until Rita Skeeter goes on to interview your friends and family."
He gripped his quill like a lifeline.
"Of course, it is I who first saw the hero complex in you." Riddle tilted his head knowingly. "The girl's name was Myrtle, was it?"
Harry's head snapped up and he glared. "We both know it was you who tried to murder her, you tosser."
Riddle smiled smugly, seeming happy at having captured Harry's attention. "Was it me though? I'm sure you thought so, but the way I recall it, it was chalked as an accident."
"Only because you couldn't blame it on anyone else," Harry snapped.
Riddle's smile faltered, then fell. "Next time you won't be nearly as lucky. I wonder, whom would the public believe? You may have the support of your old family and the beginning of a career, but you forget my connections, my genius and prowess. You would be declared lunatic, out of your mind. Look around you–these small minded imbeciles are fickle. One feat of bravery is easily forgotten, lost among the numerous files of the Aurors Corps."
Harry's quill snapped between his fingers, the ink now freely flowing onto his parchment, dripping over the edge of the desk. Harry paid it no mind, fully focused on the man, for it was a man now, no longer a precocious boy with gangly limbs.
"If you try anything, I will end you," Harry said lowly, dangerously. "You forget who I am and what I am capable of. Do you not remember our duel in seventh year?"
Riddle smiled ferally, a twist of lips with far too many teeth. "Oh, dear Harry, I haven't forgotten for a second."
Harry startled at the endearment. He had no doubt it was intended to distract him from the topic at hand, if it could be called that, but he still spluttered, knocking over his pot of ink. It fell over and spilled all over his robes, the ones Hermione had painstakingly chosen for him to make a good impression.
With a quick flick of his wand, the mess was gone, but Harry, seething, held Riddle's gaze unflinchingly.
This was going to be a long day.
"And then," Harry fumed, dipping his chips in the watered down ketchup from McDonald's,"he essentially said I was stupid, uneducated, uncouth and all the other synonyms I can't think of right now!"
Harry chewed angrily, completely ignoring the looks his best friends exchanged, and instead shifted into a more comfortable position on his pillow on the floor.
After having survived his first day of new work, Harry had insisted on a party to celebrate it, although he could admit to himself it was partly because he wanted to complain to someone about Riddle other than his dad. Come to think of it, he would always give him a knowing look and then promptly burst into laughter.
"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said hesitantly. "You know what my stance is on your relationship."
Harry's cheeks warmed. "For the last time, there is no relationship."
She said something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like,"you wish."
"Excuse me?" Harry said indignantly.
Ron came back to the living room carrying the goods, if shitty liquor from Hog's Head could be called so. He dropped into the cushion next to Harry and started filling the little shot glasses with Firewhiskey.
He clearly waited until Harry had downed his shot in one swing before saying his piece of mind.
"Merlin, I'd thought we'd gotten rid of Riddle," he said, shuddering at the aftertaste. Or his dislike of Riddle, who knew?
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, grow up, you two. You're both no longer at Hogwarts and there are no detentions or points deducted." She wagged a reprimanding finger. "I can guarantee he's not as bad as you claim him to be. In fact, he's not bad at all."
"Tom Riddle is an arrogant git," Harry insisted. He took the Firewhiskey bottle from Ron's hands and chugged straight from it. "And you're just saying it because you used to have a ginormous crush on him." Hermione's cheeks colored pink, but she didn't deny it.
"Look," Ron sighed. "I like the bloke as much as the next person." He paused. "No, wait, that's wrong. Everyone likes the guy." He shook his head. "My point is, I can't stand him either. And you have my sympathy for having to be in his vicinity for the next three months, but you can't let it consume you."
Hermione kissed Ron's cheek. "There you go, Harry," she said proudly. "If Ron can let it go, you should be able to, too."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "How about I lock you in a room alone with Malfoy, huh? We'll see about the character development then." He turned to Hermione. "And you with Pug–face Parkinson."
Ron paled. "Okay, you might be right," he said hurriedly.
Hermione admirably ignored Harry's last comment, but he thought it wasn't his imagination when he saw her shudder. "I truly don't think it's healthy for you, Harry. You've been hyper fixated on him since, like, forever. You say he works a lowly desk job. Would a budding Dark Lord stoop down to that?"
"You don't know him like I do," Harry protested and downed another shot. "It's probably all a disguise," he said, voice hushed. "Rise up in the Ministry, make sure no one is suspecting him when a new Dark Lord appears."
Ron snorted and Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry glared. "What?"
Ron shook his head and just filled Harry's glass. "Nothing," he said innocently. "Just… let's drink up. We'll need it, if my suspicions are correct."
And Harry, for once, listened and drank.
When Harry showed up the next day with a migraine from hell and a hangover, Riddle was already there, sitting in his dingy chair as if it were a throne, his legs elegantly crossed and his posture straight.
Harry merely attempted his best impersonation of Malfoy's sneer that could offend even the gentlest soul and looked at the impressively tall stack of papers on his desk.
He peeked at Riddle. The git already had half his work done, and was smirking as if he'd followed Harry's train of thought.
"Having second thoughts?" Riddle asked without glancing up from his work. "You could always resign, make everyone's lives easier without your insufferable presence."
Harry dropped his bag carelessly on a desk, ignoring Riddle's wince. "You wish," he snorted, then paused. "Didn't you say just yesterday I had no presence and was a worthless ant in the scheme of things and universe?"
He thought it must've been a trick of light to see Riddle's cheeks pink. "Oh, now you choose to listen to what I say. Where was that attentiveness when I was handing you detentions like Chocolate Frogs?"
Harry gave him a stink eye. "You loved giving me the detentions and deducting points. It was your favorite pastime, when you weren't planning world domination and enslavement."
Riddle composed himself and straightened, ignoring the last remark. Probably because it was too true for him to deny it. "Why, one of the oaths when becoming Prefect and Head Boy are never to be biased. You deserved everything you got and more."
"Bloody Snape Junior," Harry said under his breath, unpacking his stuff from his bag. He had the pleasure of seeing Riddle grow indignant.
Louder, he said, seeming worried,"Do you ever find yourself not washing your hair? Having the urge to wear only black and glide through the halls like a dementor?" He gave him a pitying glance, and said in a hushed whisper,"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if your nose falls off and you grow a beak. Family traditions and all."
Harry smirked at Riddle's ever–redding face and whistled a merry tune Ron had made up last night when he was piss drunk.
Days passed as a blur, spent mostly trading blows at work and complaining about said work at home. Harry tried to get on Riddle's nerves as much as he could without actually getting hexed, and the bastard certainly returned the favor.
It was mostly cutting insults thinly shrouded as innocent remarks, glares and dirty looks, nothing much, really. Until one day, Harry fucked up. All the actions piled up, higher than Harry's tower of paperwork, and fell like dominos.
That day, Harry started a war.
Sirius, as Harry had been informed, had a new phase, this time an obsession with origami. He had told Harry once his greatest aspiration was to be his family's biggest disappointment, and he certainly tried to live up to it. Harry's godfather had ventured into a Muggle caffe for a strange contraption called a computer with Remus and Lily, and searched for a hobby.
Naturally, he had to let everyone know and make it their business as well.
That was how Harry found himself folding a piece of paper, a petition for removing Muggles Studies class from Hogwarts (Harry bet it was from Lucius Malfoy). He tapped his wand at his latest creation, turning it green, and Voilà! A tiny little frog.
Could it actually jump like one? Harry was sorely tempted to try it. He looked at his wrist watch. Three more hours of hell. What was the worst thing that could happen? It wasn't like he could start a fire with this paper, as he had one memorable family dinner.
Harry pressed the bottom of the paper frog with his thumb and let it go. He watched it fly high and far–
Where it hit Riddle square in the forehead, ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair.
Riddle froze, and Harry, horrified, put a hand to his mouth. He couldn't help but let out a shocked snicker.
Harry met Riddle's gaze, and his smile slowly fell away. Riddle's hand inched towards his wand, faint spots of red blooming high on his cheekbones. Harry hastily raised his hands in surrender.
"Sorry, Riddle, sorry! It wasn't meant to…you know, get you right on the…" Harry tapped his own forehead.
Riddle's left eye twitched. Harry scoffed, dropping his hands. "Oh, come on. Learn to have some fun." He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "bloody toerag."
Harry had to strain his ears to hear Riddle murmur something along the lines of you'll see and bloody revenge.
Harry ignored him. Riddle had always struck him as a secretly wannabe goth kid who'd been too scared to get his head out of his to prickly arse.
A few hours later, when both of them were packing their briefcases and throwing on their coats, Riddle clapped Harry jovially on the shoulder and said,"Have a nice day," and bloody winked.
Harry stared at the now empty doorway, too bewildered to do anything but gape. He should have known Riddle always did everything for a reason.
Harry waited for his friends by the Fountain in the Atrium, nervously checking his watch every few seconds.
On his way there, people stared at him, snickering with their coworkers and pointing fingers. Harry's own father, the traitor, upon seeing him promptly burst into laughter and left, cackling, before Harry could ask him what the hell was so funny.
"Harry!"
Harry raised his hand to greet his friends. Ron clapped him in the shoulder and Hermione kissed him on the cheek.
After another person passed him by and openly laughed at him, Harry finally snapped,"Is there something on my face? What's so fucking funny?"
"Turn around," Hermione commanded, and Harry slowly obliged her.
By the time he made a full circle, she was giggling and Ron had turned red in the face.
"What?"
Ron finally burst into laughter, clapping his knee as he doubled over. "Mate," he wheezed out. "You've got something in your back."
Harry quickly snaked an arm around his back and felt the crinkling of paper. He tried to tug it off, but it must have been a Sticking Charm.
He shrugged off his coat and stared incredulously at the paper stuck to its back.
"Bird-brained mophead," he read blankly.
"Mophead," Hermione repeated, giggling, causing Ron to dissolve into another fit of laughter. "He certainly got that right!"
Only one person could have done this. Harry's hands clutched at his coat, white-knuckled.
"Riddle," he growled.
Harry patiently waited for Riddle to come back from his lunch break the next day. Early on they had made an arrangement; in order to see each other as little as possible, they would step out of the office at different intervals.
Harry couldn't stand looking at Riddle's smug face this morning without almost decking him in the nose, but the thought of upcoming revenge held him back.
He cast a Tempus. Anytime now.
Just as he thought that, the door opened and Riddle stepped in, expression souring at the sight of Harry, per usual.
His expression twisted even further when Harry discretely twitched his wand and bright pink glitter fell all over him.
He's fit even when he looks as if he's covered in unicorn dung, Harry thought absently.
Either way, he got the pleasure of watching Riddle take a deep breath, his eyes closed and head tilted back, baring his smooth neck. It strangely reminded Harry of his mother when his father got too much on her nerves and she refrained from hexing him.
The glitter shimmered high on his cheekbones, bearing uncanny resemblance to Pansy Parkinson after overdoing her makeup on one memorable occasion.
"Potter," Riddle said calmly, though Harry could hear the underlying rage. His face looked blank enough, but his eyes betrayed him, murderously glaring daggers. "What in the seven hells is this?"
Harry flippantly examined his nails and looked up at Riddle through his lashes. "I don't know anything. Are you quite sure you don't have an enemy somewhere out here? In fact, I wouldn't be surprised–you're far too much of a prat."
Riddle sneered at that. "So juvenile," he said as he conjured a mirror, then promptly froze.
"Potter," he snarled, so different from the last time he'd called Harry's name.
"Yes?" Harry replied innocently.
The other growled as he Vanished the mirror and took off his outer robe to examine the damage. Riddle did smirk at Harry when he waved his wand at the glitter covering the fabric, undoubtedly with the intention of Vanishing it as well.
Harry grinned as the smirk fell away, replaced by a bewildered look. Riddle waved his wand again, now incantating, "Evanesco."
Harry leaned back into his chair, his arms behind his head, legs crossed before him. He sighed wistfully. "Ah, the wonders of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. The perks of not calling them poor blood traitors and Muggle lovers. Or, well, not so wondrous for you. I'm sorry to say you'll have to wash that by hand."
There would surely be retribution, but for now he reveled in the horror crossing Riddle's face.
Harry had the strangest feeling of Déjà vu as he walked his way to his customary meeting place with Ron and Hermione after work.
"How you doin', Weasley?" Someone clapped him on the back, followed by laughter.
Weasley?
Had Riddle slipped him Polyjuice with Ron's or his brothers' hair? Maybe now everyone would actually believe him when he explained all Riddle's shady business without looking at him like he was crazy.
On the other hand, no… Riddle was lots of things, but stupid he was not. Sighing, Harry conjured a mirror, reminiscent of Riddle's own actions, and nearly dropped it.
His hair was… a garish orange, not unlike the famous Weasley color. He even had bloody freckles! Harry quickly stumbled away, into an unused room nearest to him. First he had to get rid of the hair. Ginny and Ron would never let this down if they got a whiff of it.
The color was not going away. Growing more desperate, he tried to rid himself of the freckles, when they rearranged, bearing a message he read through the mirror.
The wonders of Parseltongue spells…
Harry moaned in despair. He was sure that somewhere in the Ministry Riddle was cackling.
He turned up at the office the following morning bleary-eyed, hair in an even worse disarray than usual. He'd had to beg Hermione to fix his situation. The first thing that caught his eye was a blackboard hanging on a wall, saying:
Potter – I
Riddle– I I
Harry scoffed and walked over while Conjuring a piece of chalk and put another point for himself.
"What are you doing?" Riddle finally asked, amusement lacing his tone.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, thinking you can cheat your way out of this."
He walked to his desk, but not before taking necessary precautions, such as checking if his chair would set on fire if he sat on it, or if his desk would turn into a frog, the usual stuff.
Harry looked at Riddle and oh, the smug bastard knew exactly what Harry was doing and he loved it.
Harry shrugged and answered Riddle's question in the form of a skeptically raised brow. "Oh, you know, the usual. Breathing, talking, existing, checking I'm not going to be poisoned at your earliest convenience… Need I go on?"
He watched, almost entranced as the corners of Riddle's lips twitched, almost curling into something genuine for the first time in all the time Harry had known him. Harry's breath hitched and he averted his gaze. The weight of Riddle's eyes on him, now hot and burning, his barely there smile… It was too much.
Cheeks red, he dropped down into his chair, pulling the pile of papers closer to him… and paused.
Riddle was watching him rather closely. Was there supposed to be a payback? Harry didn't feel anything, so it must have failed… right? He shifted, uneasy and turned his attention to the new paperwork calling his name.
Harry found himself yet again ditching his work for the most random of reasons. Today he declared the position of Mars in its third nocturnal turning warned him of dangers should he exhaust himself. Riddle had few things to say to that, considering he was mad about Divination, even though he saw through Harry's bullshit.
Now Harry was polishing his wand in easy methodic strokes of a handkerchief. He examined his holly wand. He knew there existed a brother wand, sold the same year as his own, but Ollivander had never divulged the person's name nor anything that would help him find them.
Harry idly twirled the wand between his fingers. What would happen if he just… hexed Riddle? He was looking far too tempting, with his fancy hair and robes and quill and all together just way too immaculate.
Suddenly a burst of light shot from his wand towards Riddle, a Stinging Hex from the looks of it. Riddle never saw it coming, and he almost fell from his chair.
Immediately there was another wand, yew if Harry had to guess, pointed in his direction. Harry didn't sheathe his own, and no matter how much he was currently itching for a fight, he felt a strange burst of responsibility to calm the situation down.
"It was an accident," he said. He would've added he was sorry, but that was where his good will ended.
"Accident my arse," Riddle snarled.
Harry was so startled from the foul language from Riddle's mouth, he burst into laughter.
"Only those who cannot express themselves intelligently would resort to such crude substitutions in vocabulary," Harry said snootily, parroting something Riddle had always said to him when he'd been caught swearing right before being given detention.
And by the look on Riddle's face, he recognised the quote, and wasn't happy at all about it.
Before he could react, Riddle shot an overpowered Tickling Charm. Harry was laughing so hard it took him a few seconds to cast a Finite.
They were both standing, Riddle dramatically kicking his chair away, Harry rolling his eyes.
"Is this it?" he asked. "About time, honestly. If you were anyone else, I'd say you have the patience of a saint, but," Harry shrugged," it's you, so…"
Riddle just glowered and sent a Stunner at him, which Harry easily deflected. He didn't want to know in what ditch he would turn up had he not stopped the spell.
Now, they circled each other, waiting for the other to pounce. The famed Gryffindor in him raised its head and Harry attacked, sending an experimental Blasting Curse, and the duel began in earnest.
The spells dripped from Harry's lips fluidly and naturally in a way that he had missed dearly in these weeks chained to a dreary office. He found himself pushing harder than he ever had against any opponent. He had dueled Riddle just once before in their seventh year, but this was different; there were no professors to call it off if it went too far. The thrill of danger pushed him even further.
Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes as he jumped aside and threw himself to the ground from the Blood Boiling Curse.
Riddle gave as good as he got, if not better. They circled each other, not unlike wild cats, the desks the only tangible barrier between them. But not for long, though, as Riddle's next spell, a sickly yellow light Harry was glad he wouldn't find out the effects of, split the desks right in half.
Harry pushed the pieces of wood and splinters away with a wave of his wand, rolling away from Riddle's next curse. But Harry was tired, and he could not dodge and cast forever. It would need to end one way or another, and with the way Riddle was dueling, there could only be one way.
Harry, in the last desperate attempt to even the ground, charged at Riddle and threw him to the ground like a Muggle. Riddle was so stunned by the display of brawling that he couldn't dodge the first punch, nor Harry hastily throwing both Riddle's and his wands to the furthest corner he could reach.
But Riddle took advantage of those few precious seconds and bucked his hips, and turned around, now himself on top and Harry at his mercy.
Harry tried to move his wrists, but they were held above him in Riddle's grip of steel. Their bodies were almost entirely flush together, Riddle's chest on top of Harry's.
Riddle's face was only a few inches above his, entirely too close for Harry's comfort. He tried to buck his hips in an attempt to turn the tides once again, but Riddle only tutted, as if disappointed. Harry wished he could add another forming bruise on Riddle's face.
This up close, he could see Riddle's own strain from the duel in his sweat-soaked hair and heavy breathing. What he didn't try focusing on was how he could count all the flecks of red in Riddle's dark eyes, or that tiny freckle at the corner of his lip.
"Not so fast, Harry," he murmured. "You obnoxious, irritating twit."
Riddle leaned in, their lips now almost brushing, breathing in the same air. He wouldn't… would he? Harry found himself leaning forward against his will. Just a little more and they would be kissing.
Harry locked gazes with Riddle and lost himself in his eyes, in the dark promise they bore. Not today, but soon. Riddle removed himself from Harry, and Harry almost whined at the loss of warmth he'd never known could be so familiar.
He ignored Riddle's outstretched hand and got up on his own, dusting himself off futilely. He surveyed the wreckage they had created together. The desks lay in splinters and pieces, the precious paperwork Riddle cared so much about were everywhere, mostly burned through or ripped apart. The most noticeable, though, aside from the scorch marks on the walls, was the blackboard. It was the only object in the entire room that was untouched, as pristine as the day Riddle had brought it in.
Something in Harry's heart warmed at the thought of Riddle casting protection charms at it. Maybe he did to save it from his rage when Harry won whatever they had started.
He glanced at Riddle walking through the debris, looking almost proud at the sight. Mentally deficient bastard, Harry thought almost fondly.
"I propose we stop here," Riddle said mildly. "No matter how much I want to bash your face into my desk and make you eat ink, we are far too evenly matched for it to be so easily resolved, wouldn't you agree?"
Harry grumbled his agreement, when in reality he wouldn't have lasted much longer. He did wonder how on Earth nobody had sent a message, but then remembered the ward Riddle must've put before the duel along with the Silencing charms.
Harry silently started repairing the damage. He only hoped he wouldn't have to stay after hours to finish it. "Well?" he snapped. "Help me!"
Riddle looked only too smug at the demand. Harry had no patience nor emotional capacity to tell him that, no, it wasn't a desperate plea for help and no, you're overestimating your importance, but he couldn't do it without starting another duel.
By the time they'd finished cleaning everything up, it was long past the working hours. Ron and Hermione must've worried sick when he hadn't met them at the Fountain, not to mention the office door locking everyone out.
"Expecto Patronum!" he called. The stag, lovingly nicknamed Prongslet, erupted from his wand in all its beauty, washing the room in its pearlescent glory. It galloped a few circles across the room, searching for a target.
Harry turned to see Riddle, and was stunned by the sheer hunger etched in his features. Harry returned to his Patronus, ears bright red.
"Go to Ron and Hermione," he commanded. "They're probably together. Tell them not to worry, I just got detained at work. I'll explain everything later." He flicked his wand and the stag was off, trouncing away.
"Er," Harry said awkwardly. "Goodbye?"
He was at the door when Riddle called out, "Wait." Harry turned to face him, heart suddenly pounding as if it would burst out of his chest.
"Yeah?" he croaked out.
Riddle slowly approached him. "I merely wanted to say that I look forward to future less destructive endeavors." The heat in his eyes left no questions as to what those endeavors were.
Harry had no doubt that them in a room together… Mind out of the gutter! Could he really be becoming one of those brainless Hogwarts students who used to follow Riddle around, begging for scraps of attention?
Harry laughed nervously, probably already beet–red. "Oh, I don't think so, Riddle."
Riddle smiled slyly. "You will see reason in time, of that I have no doubt. And, oh," his hand tangled in Harry's hair, lightning quick. Harry froze. "It seems you have a splinter in your hair."
He removed his hand, but it was empty, no splinter in sight.
Harry frowned. "I don't see a splinter."
"Well there is a reason you need glasses, obviously," he said snidely.
Harry scowled right back at him. "Whatever. Bye, Riddle. See you tomorrow." He left the room in what he hoped was style, channeling his inner Snape with his swooshing robes.
What the hell had happened?
Harry's friends gaped as he recounted tonight's duel. Hermione clutched her wine glass like Walburga Black clutched her pearls and Ron had abandoned his beer completely.
Ron furrowed his brows. "Wait, then who actually won the duel?"
Harry scowled at the same time Hermione raised an arm in exasperation. "Of course I did!"
"I can't believe it!" Hermione snapped. "That is what you have to say to all this?"
Ron gave Harry an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate. Are you alright, nothing injured?"
Harry waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, I'm all good. Like Riddle could do it." He perked up. "But you did hear when I said I punched him in the face, right?"
Ron nodded enthusiastically. Hermione very calmly set aside her glass of wine, dropped her face into her hands and screamed. The other two stared at her, too bewildered to do anything else.
When she'd had enough and straightened up, she said,"Am I the only one who sees where this is going?"
Harry and Ron exchanged a look. "Nope," Ron said. "Care to enlighten us, the stupid neanderthals?"
Hermione only scoffed derisively and shook her head. "Men," she muttered under her breath.
That night Harry made Hermione take him to a Muggle store. Ron tagged along, although he was as useless as Harry when it came to Muggles.
He'd explained his idea to her and, finally, with his and Ron's nagging, she acquiesced. Now, Harry strolled through the kids section, whistling a jolly tune.
"Hey, mate," Ron called. "How about this?"
Harry scrutinized it. "Nah, he'd never do it."
"This?" Hermione asked, holding the boxed product.
Harry gave it the deep consideration it deserved. "Has potential, but not now. We're not there yet."
His eyes drifted upwards, to the wall with more products hung up.
Harry grinned. "Perfect."
The following morning Harry made sure to come to work at an ungodly hour to set it up. He needed to do it before Riddle arrived, but his dry eyes protested. He'd been too excited to sleep properly last night.
Truthfully, Harry had no idea where he stood with Riddle. They should be back to hating each other now,, not that they ever like each other, mind you. He was reminded of how his and Ron's friendship with Hermione had started. But then, Hermione wasn't secretly a shady criminal. Harry's brain hurt just thinking about it.
He set his wand down at his desk and stepped back to admire his handiwork. He couldn't believe it when Hermione told him Muggles actually need specific machines to install it.
He yawned, the kind that made his jaw crack and eyes water. He looked longingly at his chair. Maybe he could transfigure it into a cozy couch, take a break and rest for a little bit…
"What is that?"
Harry turned around to meet a very blank-faced Riddle. Harry looked at the wall and back at him.
"What, never played darts before?"
Riddle scoffed. "Of course I have," he probably lied.
Harry didn't think so. Riddle seemed so uptight most of the time. Unless they played games, not the mind ones, in the Slytherin dungeons, but Harry learned not to trust anyone when it came to those rumors. Especially after he'd asked if they really had orgies and had to block hexes for the entire day.
"My question," Riddle continued," is as to why it is here."
Harry smiled cheekily. "Because I wanted it there. 'I merely wanted to say that I look forward to future less destructive endeavors'," he quoted. "Didn't I hear you once bragging that you have a perfect memory, Riddle?"
Something flashed in Riddle's eyes before he drew himself straighter. "You will not manage to provoke me."
Harry just hummed noncommittally. He had an actual list of things to say in order to anger him in his pocket.
"Where are the actual darts?" Riddle smirked. "Or have you put this up merely as decoration? Perhaps you're too insecure in your aim." He hummed thoughtfully. "I did feel it on myself last night." He paused. "Or rather I didn't, is said more accurately."
Harry grew red in the face. He clenched his fists, but unclenched them to whip out the bag with darts from his drawer.
"Catch," he snapped as he threw it at Riddle's bloody head. The bastard caught it just in time, of course. He could've easily become a Seeker, but Harry heard the legends of Riddle's distaste for brooms after he'd tried to fly on it, fell and broke his nose.
Harry waited for the anger and prepared to duck, should the other throw something at him, more along the lines of actual darts.
"My, my, how simply childish, Harry," Riddle purred instead.
Something clenched in Harry's gut. He looked away. "Well?" he demanded. "Are we doing this or not?"
Somehow, the question felt loaded with another meaning. It wasn't just the game, but also whatever this between them was. Truce, maybe?
Riddle smirked as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. He could know though, with Legilimency, the prat.
Harry decided that was enough and stole one dart from Riddle's hands and threw it carelessly at the board. He let out a whoop, when it hit right the smallest dot right in the middle.
He looked back at Riddle, beaming, and decided not to overthink the softening in Riddle's eyes.
"Ha! Try to beat that!"
Riddle merely smirked and removed Harry's dart from the board before trodding back to Harry. Riddle placed himself behind him and he was about to ask what he was doing when he felt a hand on his waist and warm breath in his neck.
Riddle leaned in fully, his front to Harry's back, their cheeks barely touching. "You'll see," he murmured into Harry's ear.
Riddle positioned his arm and Harry was so immersed in the feeling of the heat behind him he hadn't even thought about the sharp end being so close to his vulnerable eyes.
The dart parted the air with its speed and embedded itself firmly into the board so hard it made a crunching sound. Harry's mouth dropped open of its own accord. He could practically feel Riddle's smile, and Harry had to admit it, this time it was fully deserved.
"How–what–how?" he spluttered.
Riddle delicately closed Harry's open jaw with a finger under his chin. This near he could smell Riddle's cologne, something fresh and inviting, just begging him to nose along the pale column of Riddle's neck. With the height difference between them, he might be able to do it.
Get yourself together, Harry Potter! This is Tom Riddle, your enemy!
Harry found himself leaning in, his lips parted, before he snapped out of it, stumbling forwards. He briefly caught what he could've called disappointment on Riddle's face, but it quickly disappeared, replaced with the usual impassive mask.
Harry forced himself to think straight. His mind was too hazy with pure want and desire. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Did some Dark rituals for superb strength, have you?"
Riddle sat down on his chair fluidly, the perfect image of casualty and indifference. It was as if the moment between them had never happened. Harry fiercely stomped down his disappointment.
"Oh? Are you finally admitting I am indeed superb? If not in other things, such as not having ginger hair, then surely this?"
And just like that, Harry's mind cleared of the fog of desire and he grit his teeth. "Piss off. I know you did something to increase your reflexes and strength."
Riddle arched a brow. "All I hear is your pride talking, my dear, and not an ounce of logic. And here I thought it was a requirement for the Auror Corps."
The endearment shut Harry up fairly quickly. He merely glared daggers at Riddle as he settled down into his own seat. He enjoyed the few blessed moments of silence.
Three…
Two…
One…
"Say, are you ready for round two? I must say this was a brilliant idea, darling. I want to exhaust you so badly you can't even talk."
Harry dropped his face into his hands and let out a muffled scream.
Something in the office became different ever since. Oh, they still had their fights and spats and moments where Harry almost hexed Riddle, but not once did he wish him dead. Strange thing, that.
They almost settled into a routine. Harry would come in after Riddle, they would trade heatless jabs and sit in companionable silence. Until Riddle opened his fat mouth, of course.
In an unspoken rule they spent their lunch breaks together, throwing darts at the board in increasingly more difficult positions such as hanging upside down (Riddle rolled his eyes and called him an idiot but couldn't fully hide his smile), and later a crude drawing of Snape. (Riddle insisted it be Dumbledore, but Harry drew the line at that.) Unsurprisingly, no one liked that man. After work they would walk together to the Atrium and the fireplaces.
Harry had no idea what was happening. Sometimes he thought he was in an alternate dimension, but then he remembered if that really were the case, maybe Riddle wouldn't be such a prick.
He almost felt as if he were cheating, somehow. He never told his friends and family of the latest development, keeping it a secret. Harry wanted something just for himself this once. And anyway, his punishment for his mission would end soon and they could part ways much more amicably than when this whole thing started.
In the meantime he decided to just enjoy the time they had left and avoid Hermione's too knowing eyes.
When Riddle came into the office, Harry was already there, writing a note to Hermione.
"Whom are you writing to?" Riddle asked casually as he put his stuff on his desk.
"Oh, just Hermione," Harry said absently as he chewed on his quill. "There's been a change of plans, I just remembered I'm going to a wedding this weekend, so I can't go to the Burrow."
It was a credit to his concentration that Harry never noticed anything odd until Riddle called his name.
Harry's head snapped up and he gaped when he saw what now occupied most of the free space left in the tiny room. A giant pool table, looking freshly polished with all the balls arranged in a perfect triangle.
"Woah," he breathed as he approached. He caressed the shiny stick he'd picked up and wondered if he could skewer someone with it.
"You did say you wanted to learn one day," Riddle said.
Harry's chest warmed at the thought of Riddle doing just because Harry had mentioned something in passing.
Riddle just looked smugly at him, at least up until Harry said,"Did you steal this from someone? I bet it was the Malfoys."
"Excuse me?" Riddle said dangerously.
"You're excused," Harry answered generously. "So, you gonna teach me the rules or what?"
Harry was going to nail this.
Harry did not nail this. In fact, Harry was comically bad at this game. So bad, Riddle actually laughed at his attempts, a full belly laugh that rang like bells. Somehow, it made the losses a little bit easier.
"This is useless," Harry growled and threw the stupid stick onto the ground.
"No, you're just a sore loser," Riddle said helpfully.
Harry pointed an accusing finger at him. "You! It's your doing, I knew it!"
"Be reasonable, darling. It is merely your own incompetence holding you back." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "However, it is not far-fetched that I could be sabotaging you. After all, I am the heir of Slytherin, capable of anything I put my mind to."
Harry rolled his eyes at the comment he was getting used to hearing and bent down to pick up the stick. He wasn't going to give up so quickly, no matter what he said. He positioned his arm again and looked expectantly at Riddle. "Well?" Aren't you going to help me?"
It obliterated his pride to ask for help, or rather demand it, but he'd just practice at home and beat Riddle the next time they played.
What he hadn't expected, however, was Riddle's audacity. He stepped behind Harry, taking Harry's hand in his and bent them both over into the position. He pushed the ball with the stick, another ball falling into the hole, but Harry was too busy with the heat at his back and warm breath at his cheek to celebrate.
He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. He could feel Riddle's smirk. Slowly, he turned to face him and opened his eyes.
Riddle stared back unflinchingly, his brown eyes with red flecks smoldering. And Harry, unthinkingly, leaned in and kissed him. There were no more Hogwarts Houses or rivalry and animosity, just Harry and Tom finally doing something that had been hidden in the deepest corners of his mind since he was fifteen.
Riddle kissed back with startling ferocity, dropping the stick. It clattered loudly, but Harry was too focused on the hand on his neck holding him, grounding him down.
They broke apart, panting. Harry yelped when suddenly Riddle turned him around and lifted him up, Harry now sitting on the edge of the pool table.
Riddle turned his attentions to Harry's neck, and Harry put his arms around his neck, holding for dear life as Riddle sucked and licked and bit the sensitive skin.
It was no wonder they hadn't heard the insistent knocks, nor the muffled voice coming through the door. Harry was in the middle of finding out the wonderful things Riddle could do with his tongue and teeth that excused all his unnecessary blabbering when he heard a very snide, clearly shocked voice exclaim, "My Lord?"
Harry broke the kiss forcefully, and saw Draco Malfoy standing at the foot of the door, jaw down to the floor. It was such a funny sight he almost forgot what Malfoy had said.
"My Lord?" Harry repeated incredulously.
"Yes?" Riddle said immediately, then shut his mouth, seemingly realising he'd dammed himself.
"What the fuck? Potter?" Draco spat.
"Draco, make yourself scarce. And not a word of this to anyone," Riddle ordered.
Draco stood there for another moment and said again, "Bloody Potter?" before he all but ran out the door, slamming it behind him.
Harry turned to face Riddle, his arms still around Riddle's neck. "What the fuck just happened?"
Riddle smiled. Harry was not mollified.
"Nothing for you to worry about, my dear."
"When you say it like that it just sound even worse," Harry started but Riddle cut him off with a bruising kiss. Not a bad technique of evasion, Harry thought, not bad at all.
He would get his answers out of Riddle, all of them. The new moniker, the murderous tendencies, where their relationship was going, but for now, he was going enjoy the moment.
"Any chance I can get you to call me My Lord?"
"In your dreams, Riddle."
"Exactly."