Sugar Cane (Dance With the Devil)
Sugar cane, dance with the devil
Sugar cane, blood like a rebel
His hands are warm.
The first song of the night is reserved just for them (newly voted minister, of course he dances first) and Tom's hand envelopes one of his own as he leads them to the center of the room. Gentle and warm and familiar and Harry feels himself smile against his will.
Tom bows slightly over Harry's hand, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes spark, amused as Harry fights the eye-roll that pulls at him, and instead bows his own head - probably too low by the way Tom seems to want to roll his eyes (be regal, harry, he can hear it now). As he leads Harry around the ballroom with gentle eyes and a small barely-there smile (a genuine one, not the ones he wears at the Ministry or Important Functions. Not the one he wears in front of his friends, but the one he reserves for Harry), he wonders if there is anything so good as this.
The feeling of his partner so close, the smell of that stupid aftershave he insists on wearing (he doesn't even shave! He just magics the hair away, what's the reason for aftershave then?), the way his hair falls out of its perfect style after one too many spins. The way his skin feels hot against Harry's and those dark eyes of his warming into something closer to hazel (all greens and browns, Tom's eyes).
As one song ends and another begins, Harry lets the world fade away and looks only at the man in front of him.
Tom is gentle with Harry.
He has only ever been gentle with Harry (once they did more than look disinterested or suspicious at each other, that is). And while Harry has always held animosity (well, to be completely honest, it's probably closer to visceral hate) for Lord Voldemort, he's come to realise (over many, many, many years) that Tom Riddle isn't evil.
Not in the way Albus Dumbledore always preached about.
Oh, Tom can be a right bastard, don't get him wrong. The man isn't good or nice in the conventional sense of the word; he is, however, a human being. He may be morally ambiguous (though he's learned to be softer over this last decade than he ever has, and tends to take Harry's opinions to heart whenever he's unsure what move to take) and far too willing to murder another human being, but Tom has control of himself, much better than Lord Voldemort ever had.
So while Tom may not be the poster model for Stand Up Citizen, he's human enough for Harry to love (and it took so long - years, decades, spent learning and unlearning things about a man he's known so well but hardly understood eons ago and lifetimes ahead to get to this point).
And, over the years, Harry has become someone that Tom cherishes as well - as close to love as a man like Tom can feel (at least Harry hopes that's the case). It's one of the things that Harry both loves and loathes about Tom.
The man is obsessive (it's a side effect, Harry knows, of Tom's birth and the rituals he'd done as a teenager) and sometimes overbearing in his affection, but Harry knows how to curb the worst of it, these days. Knows how to talk and explain things in ways that make sense to Tom; to show Tom that Harry isn't going to leave, but he definitely still needs his own space, thank you.
So as the music plays softly through the ballroom and Tom leads Harry across the floor as if they've done this a million times (and well, what happens in their own home is for them and no one really needs to know just how often they do this), Harry realises with stunning clarity (but no surprise) that he's quite madly in love with this man - enough so that he wants to spend the rest of his life by Tom's side.
Living in this timeline - being with Tom Riddle (once known or, well, will never be known as Lord Voldemort) was never quite what Harry had planned for himself, but he doesn't regret it.
Because Harry knows, with a clarity that he once didn't think he'd ever achieve, that he has never quite expected himself to be so happy with someone in the way he's happy with Tom. Not after ... well. He can't go back, anyway, so worrying over the faces of Ron and Hermione will do him no good (so he tells himself, years and years later - decades without them and yet he still feels the ache in his chest beneath his ribs where a part of him is missing).
As the night draws to a close, Tom makes the last of his rounds around the room.
"Beautiful, you two are! Always knew you'd make something of yourself, Tom!"
"You flatter us, Horace. Thank you very much, it's wonderful to see you doing so well."
"You're quite welcome, quite welcome! Congratulations, again, on making Minister for Magic, Tom, and at only 53! Not even half your life yet, quite astounding, I say!"
"Thank you, Horace, for your support. We must be going now; however, I hope to see you soon."
"Quite right, Tom. I'll owl you soon for tea!"
"Oh, if isn't the Future Minister, himself!"
"Hello, Miss Fawley, how are you?"
"Quite well, Mr. Riddle, thank you. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"Not at all, Miss Fawley, please do."
"Thank you. Now, if you do not mind me asking, what are your plans for your tenure as Minister, outside of what has been said during your campaign? There have been rumors of some kind of … educational bill you plan to push forward?"
"Well, Miss Fawley, while I am unable to divulge anything specific, there are a few things I have in mind to better help the education of young wixen in this community. Of course, any and all educational bills or movements will be presented at official capacity and with, hopefully, the full support of the Educational Board. Please look forward to it."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Riddle, for your time!"
"Of course. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening."
"Congratulations on a successful campaign, Tom."
"Abraxas. Thank you, how are you, these days? I hear your son is engaged?"
"Indeed, just last month. Young Narcissa Black, even."
"Indeed? Congratulations are in order then."
"Thank you, minister."
"Not quite minister yet."
"As good as. Well, Tom, it has been wonderful to see you again, we should have tea sometime soon, it's been far too long."
"Of course, Abraxas. How does next Thursday sound to you? Say, noon?"
"Wonderful, I'll owl you soon with more details. "
"Very well, have a good evening, Abraxas."
"You as well, and give your partner my regards."
The next morning a letter arrives for him - for Harry, that is.
It's not often he gets a letter so early in the morning (it's barely half-seven in the morning - the prophet only just arrived!), so of course Harry's curious.
"What is it?" Tom asks from behind as he walks into the kitchen.
"A letter."
"Well, yes, a letter from who, darling."
Harry rolls his eyes and swats Tom's hands away from the cooling rolls on the counter, "Here, take this instead," he hands Tom a buttered scone, "-the rolls aren't for breakfast, that's lunch. Also, I don't know who it's from. There's no seal on the twine."
Harry pulls the bow and unravels the letter.
He reads the first two words and pauses, heart stopping in his chest and his hands begin to shake.
"Darling?"
Tom's voice seems it's from far away, Harry doesn't acknowledge him as he reads the rest of the letter with hungry eyes and a twisting hopeful feeling in the pit of his belly.
"Harry," Tom turns him around, hands on his shoulders, and Harry forces himself to look up into his partners' eyes.
"Tom.." Harry whispers, tears blurring his vision, "Tom he's here-"
"Who's here, Harry? What is going on?"
"It's, it's Ron. Ron's here!"
Scarhead,
I know he said it as a joke. You didn't need to take the ferrets words as advice! But well. If anyone would be Saint enough to be with Riddle it'd be you. At least you live up to George's Holiness now, he'd have been thrilled.
I miss you, you absolute berk.
Ron