Harry froze a smile in place as he nodded politely along, resisting the urge to pull on the stiff and scratchy cuffs of his sleeves.
The sharp beep of static sounded in his ear and he winced, the tiny movement imperceptible to the woman chattering obnoxiously on.
“Sorry, mate.”
The subdued words filtered through the skin coloured earpiece shoved into his ear and Harry sighed, he hated pulling rank on his best mate - not to mention he had promised Mrs Weasley he would look out for Ron - but not having their tech settled before an operation could very well cost them lives.
He ignored the expectant silence that followed, refocusing his attention on the women before him and internally grimacing at the coy look she shot him.
“You know,” began Alecto Carrow, dark eyes flooded with lust as a finger traced suggestively up his arm. “I know Tom Riddle. My brother is close to him, I daresay I could get you two a meeting.”
The last words were breathy, the words floating from her mouth as she gazed up at him hopefully.
He chuckled, the sound as smooth as the finest of velvets.
“Well, Lady Carrow, if you insist…” A heavy pause before a charming smile appeared on his face. “Who am I to say no?”
He extended his arm courteously, the woman giggling obnoxiously before clutching the proffered limb, her tight grip seemingly having no effect on Harry, the man stepping through the crowds with a slightly vacant smile on his face.
“You’ve got this,” he insisted to himself. “It’s a simple reconnaissance job, you go in, you go out, you never see his face again.”
But damn if something didn’t tighten inside him at that thought.
“Enough, Potter. He left you behind, and you left that life behind. He hasn’t found you for over two decades, he certainly won’t find you now.”
He repeated his mantra as he moved past the flood of people, nimbly evading any questions as his breathing evened out.
He would be fine.
They would be fine.
(He should have known he wouldn’t be let go so easily.)
~
Tom fixed a smile on his face as he reached over and grasped the man’s hand, holding tightly, shaking up and down, and letting go.
He tuned the nasally voice of Cornelius Fudge out as the portly man began rambling on, ignoring him in favour of scanning the large room, tracking Lucius with his eyes as the slippery man shifted out the room, a flash of golden hair shining for a moment before it was gone.
‘Heavens it is nice to have them to do all the dirty work’ he mused absently as his nimble fingers swirled the neck of the wineglass around, the ruby red liquid sloshing up the sides as he lifted it to his mouth. His crew of Lucius, Barty, Bellatrix, and countless others were the reasons his events ran smoothly. Bellatrix and Barty stayed by his side, the two of them ensuring no harm would befall him.
Tom returned his gaze back to his predecessor, nodding and replying earnestly: “It sounds like a brilliant idea, Minis- ah.”
Tom smirked inwardly at the blatant discomfort the man showed; it was about time he was reminded of his place. He had been stripped of his office just months prior by an outraged community under charges of domestic abuse; that along with the truth of Barty Crouch Senior being revealed mere weeks earlier was too much for an already weakening political party to bear. Elections were already in full swing, but there was no competition really, Tom was already Minister in all but name, he had been since he took a job as the Minister’s Undersecretary.
“My apologies,” he added belatedly, shooting an apologetic smile at the shifting man.
Fudge waved his arm loftily, the stiffness in his stance clear for all to see.
“It’s alright, Tom.” boomed the man, smiling at him like he had just imparted some great wisdom upon him. “Mistakes happen.”
“Indeed,” agreed Tom absently, already half turned away as he muttered a quick goodbye to the former minister.
“Alecto!” he called, voice easily rising above the crowd’s low buzz.
He watched as a disgruntled expression crossed her face before it smoothed out again, arm still latched onto the suited man like a limpet. She dragged the man over as she walked towards him, stumbling a little in the stilettos she wore.
“Minister?”
He paid her no attention, eyes wide with wonder as he stared at the man before him.
He had grown - why wouldn’t he when they had spent fourteen years apart? - and indeed, he had grown well.
His usually shaggy hair had been grown out to a tameable length, the carefully styled curls arranged haphazardly about his stunning features to create that windswept look Lucius’s brat Draconis had been trying to perfect for years to no avail. Tom had always known he would be beautiful, even as a child he had turned heads, but the man standing in front of him took his breath away. Any trace of childishness had been erased from his face, the baby fat replaced by a sharp, defined jawline. His shining eyes were piercing, pinning Tom down where he stood.
Harry had changed.
He had changed so, so much, and yet, what hurt Tom was not the sudden puberty boost that had appeared to have hit his friend - if friend was even the correct word for someone who meant so much more to him - no, but rather his eyes. His eyes, which had always looked at Tom with so much adoration, so much fondness and warmth, were now empty, a cold nothingness in the verdurous depths of his gaze. And perhaps that change was why his throat was suddenly as dry as the Sahara, why his voice sounded like he had just been struck.
“Harry.”
~
Harry didn’t know what he expected from the boy (‘he’s a man now isn’t he?’ his traitorous mind whispered) who had abandoned him in the cold hell that was Wool’s Orphanage all those years ago.
Perhaps it was for him to shout angrily, for him to perhaps reach out one of those calloused hands and grip his wrist, twisting and twisting until the sickening crack of bone sounded. God knows Tom had been prone to temper tantrums as a child, lashing out and hurting whoever he thought wronged him. It had started innocent enough, with name-calling and haughty sneers, but then it had escalated to slaps, to punches, and on that one fateful day on the top of the rickety staircases leading to the musky dining hall, murder.
That had been Tom.
That was what Harry had expected from Tom.
What he had not expected, however, was for Tom to say his name.
To say his name so incredibly softly, to say his name so miserably and sound so unbelieving and so fucking wrecked.
“Harry,” hissed Ron into his ear suddenly. “Talk! What the bleeding hell are you doing?”
Harry felt himself being ripped from his thoughts, years of training and fieldwork coming back to him as he relaxed his rigid stance, acutely aware of his stiff muscles relaxing and slackening. His face cleared of all expression, expertly shutting down his pained thoughts as his eyes blanked.
“Tom.”
~
When his reply came Tom realised this wasn’t the Harry he knew.
The Harry he knew was a creature of instinct and flight, someone who would lunge forwards with a knife rather than wait a few more minutes and advance with a pistol.
His Harry would have reacted immediately, would have snarled out accusations or exclamations of happiness.
This Harry - for he wasn’t his Harry, no matter what face he wore - had merely eyed Tom, vacant eyes flickering from head to toe before he had replied, Tom’s name leaving his lips cool and emotionless.
Next to Harry, Alecto started.
“Harry,” she began, voice simpering even as uncertainty lined her words. “I didn’t know you knew Tom.”
Harry flashed her a charming smile, a mask of coyness and charm stealing across his features, unruffled as he replied conspiratorially, shooting her an exaggerated wink: “I must confess, Lady Carrow, I have met Tom, though it was years and years back before he became the man he is today. Still, I am exceedingly grateful to have met a lady as wondrous as yourself, they were right when they said the people behind Tom Riddle is as spectacular as the man himself.”
She caught on to the thickly laid flattery, flushing darkly as she giggled obnoxiously behind a hand adorned with a dozen different clunky jade rings.
“Oh, you do flatter me, Harry.”
He grinned roguishly, turning to look at Tom, eyes still alight with an allure Tom knew was fake, but it was still Harry sporting that charisma and it was as if all the breath was knocked from him with a single glance from the person he had once held so dear to his stone-cold heart.
“It isn’t flattery if it’s the truth.” he paused for a moment, shrugging his shoulders carelessly as he continued. “And if it is flattery, I’m afraid I just can’t help it, my Lady.”
She blushed even darker then, ugly splotches of red appearing on wrinkled cheeks.
“None of that my Lady business Harry, my brother is Lord Carrow, not me.”
‘About time you noticed,’ thought Tom spitefully, garnet eyes boring holes into the dim-witted witch’s head.
As if sensing his thoughts, she turned towards him, a cocky smile on her face as Harry continued to lay compliments and words of praise onto her. Tom rose a single dark eyebrow, grinning in satisfaction as she paled, not dense enough to miss the thinly veiled warning behind his blood-red eyes.
“I have to go,” she blurted out inelegantly, interrupting Harry mid-speech.
“Sorry?”
“I have to go,” she repeated, eyes glancing around wildly before rushing off towards her brother who had turned to look at the earliest signs of distress, face scrunched up in displeasure as he swiftly chastised his younger sister, leaving a bewildered Harry behind.
“Shame she had to leave,” commented Tom loftily, handing Harry a glass of champagne.
“Indeed,” he repeated, any lingering traces of playfulness or confusion vanishing from his tone, fingers wrapping around the neck of the flute even as he refused to take a sip. “A shame.”
And like that, any hope Tom had held for his Harry coming back to him crumbled and blew away, the slowly disintegrating pieces of his hope suspending in the breeze of his mind for a few moments before soaring off. His Harry wouldn’t have so brazenly implied his wish to bed Carrow, not when his Harry was an oblivious mess when it came to romance. His Harry wouldn’t have flirted with a woman as vile as her, not for anything in the world, not when he thought love was nothing but a weakness.
Except that wasn’t quite true.
Because once upon a time, when Harry had barely learnt to speak coherent sentences, he had huddled into Tom, childish voice declaring his intent to stay by his side always, to promise that he would never forsake their friendship.
But that was before everything, when they were young and stupid and reached for the stars, giggling and stumbling up the narrow staircase to the roof to watch the brilliant rays of the morning sun chase away the blackness of night. That was when they had shone brighter than any galaxy or constellation, when the might of their ideas and dreams were too large for the dark hell they found themselves tossed in to contain, before those dreams had turned into nothing but a forsaken murmur of dust whirling amongst the stars they had thought they outshone so starkly.
That was before he had left, before he had fucked up so immeasurably.
“Was there a reason you wished to speak to me?” Tom questioned politely, pressing a hand to the small of Harry’s back, as he guided him to the edge of the room, all too aware of the stares that followed them.
Harry opened his mouth, about to reply when a resounding BOOM shook the room, followed by rounds of gunfire. Shrieks of terror filled the room, rendering the curse leaving Harry’s mouth barely audible as he body-slammed Tom down to the floor, causing the man to grunt in surprise.
Another volley of gunshots rang throughout the room, most of them flying in Tom’s direction. He hissed in pain as one of them grazed his leg, slumping onto the floor in an effort to alleviate the pain. Harry let out another string of curses as blood started pooling around the wound, glancing around before dropping onto his knees next to Tom, clutching Tom’s jacket and pulling him along as he slowly shuffled to the wall, eyes still darting wildly around the room.
He suddenly lunged to the side, behind a table that had been overturned by the hordes of screaming guests. Tom was tugged along like a limp rag doll, not given much choice when his leg was still unusable.
Harry shrugged his jacket off impatiently, causing Tom to smile faintly at the action, remembering when he used to do the same after church on Sundays, cursing Mrs Cole every other sentence.
Tom had merely laughed then, the old bat was far too terrified of Tom to force him into something he didn’t want to do. Harry, on the other hand, had insisted that at least one of them needed to stay on her good side, a role he had taken on for himself as he put on pretty smiles and feigned obedience, patiently listening as Mrs Cole clucked out expressions of sympathy for having to stay with the “devil child”.
Lost in a whirl of happy memories, Tom let out a contented sigh, happy to forsake the harsh reality of life for the sweet bliss of memories of a better time.
He let his eyes flutter shut as a weary exhaustion settled in his seemingly weightless bones, consciousness losing its grip on him slowly.
Just as he was about to fall into the land of Morpheus, a sharp, stinging slap was delivered to his right cheek, causing him to awaken and mumble incoherently.
“What?”
~
Hary sighed internally in relief when Tom’s eyes snapped open, dragging him closer under the cover of the fancy cloth-lined tables.
He was no field medic, but he had enough experience patching himself and fellow agents up to know when someone was going to pass out from blood loss, and this was not it. Tom was a hard-headed, stubborn bastard, he had a resistance of steel and a single bullet would not take Tom Marvolo Riddle down. Which meant… there was a sedative in that bullet, possibly poison.
Fuck.
Harry removed a small switchblade from the pocket of his jacket, slicing his jacket into makeshift bandages: there was a reason his particular jacket was made out of silk after all. He wrapped them around the wound, pulling tighter when he noticed Tom’s eyes begin to drift shut again.
Carefully propping Tom’s leg up on a plastic chair and pushing him further into the propped up table, Harry tried his best not to jostle the wound too much, popping his head above the table only to wince and duck back under when a bullet narrowly missed his head.
He frowned and narrowed his eyes at the party of bulky men on the opposite side of the room, facing Tom and Harry rather than fleeing like the rest of the guests were doing.
“Phoneix 1 and 4 spotted, Northeast by the fountain,” he reported into his earpiece, barely sparing a glance to Tom, who had now fully awakened and was blinking at him owlishly. “Phoneix 2 and 3 are unaccounted for, priority is the safety of Riddle, over and out.”
A chorus of curt acknowledgements sounded in his ear and he nodded despite no one seeing, continuing: “Units 1 and 2 with me to engage Targets. Smith and McLaggen, get the Riddle out of here.”
“Cover’s blown,” reported Nott of Unit 3, the grimace evident in his voice as even more gunshots sounded. “Zabini’s still in it, over and out.”
That was hardly surprising, Blaise was undoubtedly one of their best at espionage, forth only to Harry, Silvera, and the Big Boss himself.
“Zabini, stay with it,” instructed Harry, not bothering to wait for an answer as he quickly assessed the situation and continued. “Nott, initiate contact with HQ. McLaggen, Smith, move it, and I repeat: Tom Riddle is the priority. Get him out of here and to the medbay, he needs a medic, the hospital cannot be trusted. Units, wait for my signal, over and out.”
~
Tom pushed himself off his back, watching Harry speak under his breath before beginning to rummage in his pockets
“Harry?”
Harry finally turned towards him, face still impassive with the exception of his eyes, which had lit up with determination and something else he couldn’t quite place. He wrapped another strip of fabric around the wound, pulling until Tom hissed in pain.
“Hold it there,” he instructed, Tom complying with his words in his dazed state.
Harry reached to his side, grabbing a bottle of champagne that had somehow rolled over to where the pair were crouched. He pulled out a little vial, the white substance in it glowing in the soft light of the chandeliers. Gods it was idiotic how the Malfoys ceiling needed to be as posh as the people themselves.
“Harry?” slurred Tom, voice weakening. “I’m sleepyy, imma sleep for just a lil’ bit, good night..”
Another stinging slap.
“McLaggen, Smith!” he snarled into a walkie talkie he hadn’t noticed. “Where the fuck are you two?”
“Sorry Boss,” a tinny voice filtered through, panting. “Slight complications on our end.”
Harry cursed vigorously, head whipping over to glare at a dark-haired man tackling a group down to the floor with a loud thud. Tom smiled weakly, letting his eyes drift shut even as some distant part screamed to get up, to fight against the fog that overtook his mind.
“Weasley!” Harry barked, drawing Tom out of his thoughts. “Connect me to Granger.”
A few moments of static, then-
“Potter.”
“Granger. What can you tell me about what’s currently running through Riddle’s veins? Should we start planning a funeral?”
“Charming as ever, Potter, and no. The samples you sent our way were contaminated with-”
“I don’t give a fuck, Granger, tell me what I need to know.”
A terse silence; Hermione was well aware he would be the one to take the Director’s place once he inevitably stepped down, Silvera had long ago relinquished that lovely opportunity to him, and it did not sit well with Hemione knowing one day he would be her boss. Even now, he was technically her superior, he just knew to separate his work life from his personal life, even if the lines sometimes blurred.
“He will drift in and out of consciousness for the next hour or so, you can allow him to do so, once this is over he can be sent to us and he’ll be right as rain in a few months. Right now we have to focus on averting this situation, we can’t waste time on liabilities-”
“If I wanted your opinion I would have asked, Dr Granger.” His cutting town was punctuated with the slamming of the device onto the floor, a tight smile overtaking his face.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Riddle.” He waved the flask in front of his face, careful not to jostle it too much. “Tell me what you know about this.”
Tom focused hard, he recognized it, it was right there, at the edge of his subconscious, it was..
“Acetone peroxide.” he croaked out, fingers reaching out.
Harry grinned down at him, nimble fingers unpacking a black case as he spoke.
“Not bad. Go on.”
Tom returned the grin easily, the adrenaline pumping through him pushing away the pain. “Better known as TATP, it’s a peroxide - organic, used as an explosive. A popular home explosive, used in many terrorist attacks and obtained from a reaction of acetone and hydrogen peroxide.” Once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop, Harry’s intention was to keep him awake then. “The mixture yielded is of linear monomer and cyclic dimer, trimer, and tetramer forms. The dimer is known as diacetone diperoxide, known more commonly as DADP. The trimer is known as triacetone triperoxide, TATP, or-”
“Calm down, Riddle, I never know you were such a nerd,” Harry smirked wickedly, holding it up. “What would happen if I were to toss it through the air alongside a bullet?”
“Well,” mumbled Tom, head pounding as he sluggishly worked it through. “It’s incredibly volatile, so it can explode if exposed to power, friction, or heat. It would-”
“Go bang bang, yes. Hold on tight, Riddle.”
Harry threw the vial, glass shattering upon impact.
Three gunshots rang out.
“NOW!”
~
The next few minutes were a blur to Tom, it felt like everything and nothing had happened all at once. It was a disconcerting, sickening feeling, as if he was stuck in a moment of weightlessness as the world around him went to hell, the tranquillity in the eye of the hurricane. His vision around him warped and twisted, the sole hand clutching his wrist grounding him to reality, a comforting, steady presence.
And then spots dotted his sight as his vision seized, and darkness took over.
~
“Mr Riddle!” protested a medic, the awe in her eyes replaced by concern. “It’s not safe yet, the wound may open still, the poison has been neutralised but you are still at risk of an infection!”
“It’s alright Madame, I do understand but I simply must thank the brave man who rescued me, besides, there are others who need help, no?”
She wavered, face clearly torn as she stared at him.
As if on cue, a distraught “Help!” came from the opposite side, the medic sparing him a final stricken glance before bustling off.
He hobbled over to the middle of the room, Harry’s black-clothed figure cutting a striking form.
“Unit 3, secure the perimeter, no one goes in, no one goes out. Level 8 and above clearance, the badge is required, I will not settle for a string of numbers rattled off, are we clear?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Well? Don’t stand there like plucked chickens, get to it!”
A squadron broke away from the crowd, marching off determinedly, completely unfazed by his harsh words.
“The rest of you go make yourselves useful, Unit 1 begin with the standard procedures.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Is that all the lot of you can say? MOVE! Smith, McLaggen, stay behind.”
“Sorry, Sir!”
“Apologies, Sir!”
A chorus of yelled remarks arose from the moving group, two sullen-faced men lingering.
“Sir?” questioned one of them, features as unremarkable as his whiny voice.
“When I order my agents do something, McLaggen, what do I expect?”
His voice was cutting, the edge razor-sharp as the pair shrivelled under his stare, wisely remaining silent.
“I expect them to be followed!” hissed Harry venomously. “I do not expect my agents to go meandering off on some mistaken attempt to be the hero because let’s get one thing clear here, we are not heroes. We are murderers, thieves, trained brutes, assassins if we must, but we are never the hero. We are the villains of this story, and we will always be the villain in every tale we touch. We are the villains to every hero, we make this sacrifice so no other will have to, and I will not have you spit on everything we stand for because you feel like having a career change.”
He looked at them with nothing but contempt in his eyes, turning away eventually and saying: “I have no use for disobedient children, if you wish for a transfer to a different department, you can bring it up with Silvera. Now get out of my sight.”
“Rather harsh, weren’t you?” asked Tom lightly as they stormed off, no real admonishment in his tone - not that Harry would have cared.
Harry shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ manner, stacking some files and looking over him critically.
“On the contrary, I would say that’s exactly what they need.”
His words were clipped and curt, none of the fondness at Tom’s inane knowledge of an incredibly explosive chemical from before slipping through.
“Harry, can we talk?”
The man in question smiled reflexively, arms spreading a placating visage as he shifted his gaze from the files to Tom.
“Perhaps later, Riddle, I’m rather busy now, as you can see.”
He waved a hand around loftily to the bustling crowd, an unneeded but condescending gesture he knew wouldn’t go unappreciated. Any politician would have screeched, demanding some modicum of respect from a mere civilian. But this wasn’t any run-of-the-mill politician or any brainless civilian, no, this was Tom fucking Riddle and Harry fucking Potter.
“Of course,” Tom agreed amiably, keeping stride with Harry as he walked away. “If you could just give me a way to contact you I’ll have my secretary set up an appointment for us, dinner or lunch maybe?”
“Actually,” said Harry suddenly, turning and walking in the opposite direction. “How about we talk right now? I do believe there are quite a few pressing matters to get to.”
Tom blinked but shrugged, holding his arm out and taking his words as the good news it seemed to be. “Of course.”
Harry ignored the outstretched arm, flipping open the top-most file and saying: “The whole incident today was caused by a number of oversights made by your team. Ideally, we would prefer to swap them out entirely, but given your blatant paranoia and mistrust, I assume you would like to keep your team as it is. This is your team, correct?”
Tom blinked at the file shoved into his face, glancing over the swift profiles on his team and nodding, trying tentatively: “Well, yes, but Harry I was really-”
“Great, there’s the one thing Smith hasn’t fucked up. We would like to bring them in for a training session at HQ to update them on the new security measures, beginning with Barty Crouch and Bellatrix Lestrange, seeing as they were entirely useless. They’re getting patched up, by the way, I believe one of them got crushed under the rubble.”
Unsurprisingly, Tom did not give a damn.
“Harry this really isn’t-”
“Excellent reasoning, Agent Potter.”
Tom spun at the knife, hand feeling for the pistol residing at his belt. Next to him, Harry turned calmly, fisting an arm and bringing it to his left shoulder before bowing sharply, head bent in respect.
“Commander Whirlpool.”
The ‘Commander’ returned the bow, greeting back briskly: “Agent Potter.” He turned to look at Tom. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Minister Riddle.”
“Oh, I’m not really Minister yet,” corrected Tom bashfully, a demure smile on his face, the most appropriate response for a slightly overwhelmed assistant doing his very best to rise to a mounting challenge for the good of his country. “Even if I were to be elected Minister by some miracle, I would still be a servant of the community as I am now, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Albeit with just a little bit more influence?” questioned the Commander amusedly, keen eyes noting the way Tom started before working the motion into a beguiling shrug. “Charming, aren’t you?”
He nudged the Agent standing long-sufferingly at his side, whispering conspiratorially: “I can see why you were so taken with him, Harry, you certainly have a type.”
Tom frowned at the easy way the man addressed Harry, pushing down the distaste that threatened to rise and asking with a slight frown: “Pardon, who are you?”
The man laughed brightly: “Now you’re asking the right questions, son. I suppose I haven’t introduced myself, huh? But rest assured, I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
“Now, Potter, I assume you’ve done something to treat the wound on your arm?”
Tom whirled onto Harry, eyes frantic.
“What happened?”
Harry brushed it off, saying irritatedly: “A mere surface wound. And I was getting to it, Whirlpool, you needn’t be such a mother hen.”
He deftly caught the case tossed to him, pulling up his sleeve and revealing paper-white skin and blackened veins. Opening the case and tugging out a syringe filled with a pale purple substance, he pushed the needle right above his forearm, face scrunching up in discomfort.
“There,” he declared, giving his Commander the stink eye. “Happy?”
“Delighted. You don’t build up a resistance to these things, you know. And he would’ve had my head if I hadn’t made sure you were okay.”
He smirked as Harry slowly connected the dots.
“Your beau’s here.”
Harry lit up like a burst of sunbeam, a few passing agents chuckling at the puppy-like expression on his face.
“Y’know, for all the hardass Potter is, he’s whipped for that man.”
His companion rolled his eyes, saying: “Not as much as Silvera is, the second someone mentions Potter’s name he does a startlingly accurate impression of a golden retriever.”
“Silvera?” questioned Tom, turning back to see Harry sprinting away.
The Commander laughed, lightly disguising the threat behind his words. “His boyfriend - partner - fiance, if Silvera’s proposed, I have no clue when he will. They’ve never bothered defining their relationship, it’s always been just Harry and Adrian.”
(It used to be just Tom and Harry, a voice said.)
“Potter and Silvera.” The commander shook his head fondly. “They really are quite a pair.”
(“Riddle and Potter.” The priests shook their heads disapprovingly. “They really are quite a pair.”)
“Moving on, my name is Michael Whirlpool, Mr Riddle, Head of VENOM, the Valiant Enterprise for the Neutralisation of Organized Misconduct. We work with the government in order to protect valuable assets and eliminate potential threats, Agent Potter has been with us for the past seven years.”
(“My name is Albus Dumbledore, Mr Potter, Headmaster of Hogwarts. We send invitations to gifted individuals with certain traits in order to prepare them for their debut into high society at age seventeen. Mr Riddle began attending school seven years ago and he graduated last month, I am surprised he has never informed you of his graduation date. Ah, he hasn’t returned since then? I am sorry, child.”)
Tom broke his gaze past the speaking Commander, watching as a blur jumped into the arms of another, laughter bright as he was swung around joyfully.
(A four-year-old Harry jumped into the arms of nine-year-old Tom, giggling brightly all the
while)
“You’re back,” whispered Harry, words relieved.
“Why?” teased the man. “Did you miss me?”
‘Of course, Harry had missed the ungrateful man,’ thought Tom scornfully, ‘otherwise, he wouldn’t have sprinted to his side as he did.’
(“You’re back!” squealed Harry, latching onto Tom’s arm as he returned from an errand.)
“I missed you,” murmured Harry, burrowing his head into the man’s jacket. “Every day I missed you.”
“I missed you too, darling.”
(“I missed you,” muttered Harry, voice muffled in Tom’s jacket.)
“Don’t ever do that to me ever again you prat.” snapped Harry, thinly disguising the concern plain to see. “I was worried sick.”
He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the nest of raven hair and looking into the emerald green eyes.
“I won’t. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too.”
(The voice in his head was silent)