In Which Tom Has a Blast, And Other People Do Not
“My Tom is worth at least ten times whatever paltry sum you paid for Nott,” Harry hissed quietly, his eyes narrowed. “And when he’s released, I hope that he finds a way to pay you back for whatever you’ve been doing to him that’s over and above what Death Eater scum like him deserve.” There. That should communicate his anger clearly enough without inviting further scrutiny into his own situation. Smith stared at him, clearly taken aback by his fervent rebuttal. Even Nott had glanced up, his eyes wide, though he quickly dropped them as soon as he realised Harry had seen him looking, flinching in clear expectation of punishment. Harry pretended he hadn’t seen anything, looking away deliberately.
Wait...Harry had a double-take moment as he caught sight of a familiar mop of perfectly styled hair. One moment he could have sworn it was there, and the next...gone. Darting a quick glance over his shoulder, Harry verified that Tom was there and then mentally shrugged. Must have been his imagination.
Smith was talking again so Harry - reluctantly - paid attention to him, if only so that he could enjoy the other man’s discomfort.
(A bit later)
Harry was at the table, suffering through Madame Bulwark’s painfully detailed description of how she had mentally and physically tortured Avery until he had become the submissive creature currently eating from her hand and thanking her for every bite. He wished he didn’t feel obliged to be polite to her, given that she was the head of the Wizengamot, but… He might not need something from her now, but as he’d told Kingsley, he’d learnt how important image was the hard way.
Then, his gaze looking across the tables, desperately hoping for something that he might be able to draw the attention of the illustrious Madame Bulwark to, something that didn’t involve boasting about abuse. A moment later, he almost choked on his drink as he spotted something that made him gasp as he was taking a sip.
Kingsley pounded him on the back with a concerned look, asking if he was OK. Harry reassured him absently, still clearing his throat of the water he’d inhaled, but his attention was on the table at the far end of the room. He could see a man’s back, a man with dark hair and a build which was obscured by the robes he was wearing. An ordinary wizard, surely. But for a moment, when the man had turned around...Harry could have sworn he had seen someone impossible - himself!
(Even later)
Harry sat to the side of the dance floor, occasionally resigning himself to speaking to someone who came to have a conversation with the Man-who-Conquered. That was the downside of staying away from the dance floor, he decided. At least while he was dancing, he wasn’t expected to make banal comments about all sorts of topics he really wasn’t interested in. Some of them put Percy’s long, monotonous speeches about cauldron bottoms to shame. But Harry endured it, because that way, he knew his slave wasn’t getting into trouble while he wasn’t watching.
Then, something happened which drew not only Harry’s eyes but those of everyone in the room - and given what happened, probably everyone in half the country. There was a massive bang, but it wasn’t just a bang. It was like a brass band had mated with a group of Jamaican steel drummers to make the most unholy noise Harry had ever heard. Not only that...there were fireworks too. Exploding in flashes of attention-grabbing colour, Harry could only compare them to the Weasleys’ Wildfire Wizz-bangs, but more....obnoxious.
As silence fell across the room, the live band stuttering to a halt, Harry heard a few strains of Auld Lang Syne from people who were evidently drunk enough to think it was already midnight, before the people they were next to shushed them impatiently. In the silence, the final fireworks exploded into three massive arrows that pointed...at the head table.
The head table, on which was standing a very familiar figure. Harry stared at the figure, then he stared at the slave kneeling at his feet, and then back to the Tom who was impossibly also standing about fifteen metres away. With a shaking hand, Harry prodded Tom on the shoulder, just trying to make sure he wasn’t just an illusion. No, that was flesh and blood under his finger. At least, he was pretty certain it was.
At the touch, Tom turned towards Harry from where he had been gazing at the people in front of them. Of course, Harry thought, he wouldn’t be able to see. Knowing his face probably looked absolutely horrified from the concerned expression Tom gained in his eyes, he could just mutely point at the head table.
Breaking protocol, Tom stood up, and Harry quickly followed suit, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Of course, no one had - they were all staring at the figure who had, insanely, began to...rant?
“Welcome to my TED talk everyone! In this essay, I would like to complain- inform everyone, from the bottom of my heart, of the ruthless offenses brought against me yet again. Simply because I have made a mistake or two, or perhaps even three, does it truly warrant being banned eternally from kitchens? Never to be given a bowl of cereal, for fear of burning the house down with milk?” The Tom on the ‘stage’ put his hand over his heart, looking inconsolable and oppressed. “I ask you this, citizens, what offense would truly warrant the insult I have been shown? How does one live in these circumstances, denied what one truly deserves? How does one correct their mistakes of the past, if no one allows them the opportunity to fix what was once damaged? I hope, good citizens of this realm that I don’t care for, that my words have reached you, and that we can rise together in convincing my master,” at these words, the few people who had seen Tom with Harry at some point that evening turned around to stare at Harry, only to each gape at the fact that there was another Tom standing right next to him, “that I should be allowed to cook once more—to be allowed in the kitchen, so that I may cook to my heart’s content. Thank you, everyone, for coming to my TED talk.” As he finished, he did a dramatic bow and, complete with hand motions, looking at the crowd with a cocky grin, met eyes first with Harry, and then with Tom. As one, they looked at each other.
“Oh, no,” they groaned simultaneously. “Not again,” continued Harry.
“Why does he always have to ruin dinner?” Tom moaned, and fell back to his knees, covering his face with one hand in despair.
“Potter! What is the meaning of this?” Smith’s voice drifted over the crowd, coming steadily closer, but ominously. “Why is your slave -” his voice suddenly cut off as he broke through the final people standing between him and the pair...only to see Tom on his knees next to Harry. “What the…” he gaped, darting looks between the Tom on his knees, and the Tom....who had vanished from the stage?
Harry quickly looked around - the only worse thing than a dimension-travelling Tom was a dimension-travelling Tom that he couldn’t see. Where had he gone? And how the hell was he supposed to explain all this if he had disappeared?
“Um, it’s a bit difficult to explain…” he started, suddenly becoming aware that not only Smith, but everyone in his vicinity was looking rather interested in his explanation. Interested, in the way that sharks were rather interested in a scuba-diving tourist who was bleeding from the wrists, ankles and forehead.
“Oh Mastuuuuurrrrrr,” a voice from the crowd, and how had Harry ever lost sight of him when he’s both a giant and unnaturally good-looking.
“Why are you here?” Harry asked, knowing his tone sounded completely exasperated. But frankly, considering the last time Tom had appeared, he’d ripped Snape’s robe half to shreds and destroyed dinner, and then the time before he’d defeated Tom without even trying...he felt he had good reason.
Other Tom looked far too gleeful at Harry’s tone, “Oh damn, it’s been a while since my presence has been so thoroughly unwanted in such a short amount of time.”
“Tom, you’ve caused nothing but mayhem the last couple of times you’ve come around,” Harry pointed out. “If you’re getting the unwanted vibes, maybe you should have decided not to completely disrupt the Ministry ball,” he emphasised, half-serious, but also half-not-serious because, honestly, there was actually a part of Harry that thought the ball was so much more interesting now than it had been before. Still, he had to at least have the appearance of disapproval, didn’t he? “Can’t you just turn up when we’re not busy?”
“Master,” groaned the native Tom from down near his knees. “Stop encouraging him - we don't want him around at all.”
“Holy crap, I’m being vibe checked,” ImposTom’s grin grew. “Also, no, I can’t, simply because this is a plot point!’
“A plot point?” both Tom and Harry asked simultaneously in identically wary voices, and then glanced at each other. Unlike the previous times this had occurred, they didn’t immediately look away again in disgust, this time they shared a look of absolute exasperation, understanding each other completely.
“A plot point,” Other Tom nodded. He whipped out the same device that he’d been on the first time he appeared, ignoring the flinches of all the onlookers. “I am absolutely in love with this fanfic and- holy crap is that a new update?!” A painful expression crossed his face, but Tom forced himself away from the device. “Oh, that’s gonna hurt.”
Deciding that he really didn’t want to know, although a part of him really did, Harry just sighed.
“Look, Tom, now is...not a good time for this, alright? How about you...sort this all out,” he said uncertainly, waving a vague hand around to indicate the people, the ballroom, perhaps the whole manor house, who knew? “Then, you could come visit tomorrow - we’re not planning to go anywhere or do anything so…” he ignored the outraged ‘Master!’ hissed at him from near his knees. Because honestly? If Tom wanted to visit, maybe it was best to give him an actual time that wouldn’t be terribly inconvenient.
Other Tom looked like he was about to accept when suddenly, a hand gripped him by the collar of his shirt and yanked sharply so he stumbled sideways into the man who had just suddenly...appeared. Harry was pretty sure he heard a few more jaws drop on the floor - at least all those that hadn’t already been there from the conversation so far. He didn’t really blame them - suddenly seeing not only two Tom Riddles, but two Harrys as well, had to be terribly confusing. Merlin knew Harry himself could keep it all straight, and he had a bit of context to it!
“You are, in fact, busy, actually,” Other Harry denied out of nowhere.
“We are?” Harry asked in confusion.
“It’s my birthday tomorrow! Wait, no, it’s today. But you guys celebrate it tomorrow!” Other Tom said helpfully, not even trying to break free from the grip on his shirt. And then added, on, “Oh right, Tom’s breakdown.” No more context was given, as ImposTom gained a thoughtful look.
“Tom will not be joining you tomorrow, for fear of my sanity, in this case,” Other Harry sighed.
“You love me.”
“I tolerate you, at best.”
“We’re married.”
“You burned our marriage certificate, claiming “good luck trying to return me without the receipt”,” Other Harry deadpanned.
“It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?” Other Tom retorted.
“Weren’t you trying to file for divorce a month ago?”
“You tried to poison me. Again.”
“Pineapple on pizza is not poison. It’s delicious.”
“I’m filing for divorce. This is domestic abuse I’m having to put up with.”
“My point.”
So saying, the two stepped through a dimension rift, still arguing. As everyone stared after them, everyone except for Harry and Tom completely baffled at what was going on - Harry and Tom, who had seen this before were a little less confused, and a lot more exasperated - they could all see through to void, its blackness with a purple tinge evoking emotions of longing and fear within their hearts.
“Wait,” Harry said, just before the rift fully closed, turning and looking down at Tom. “You never told me it was your birthday today!” And then, as the rift closed, all their memories blurred once more and the ballroom returned to its previous state. Tom’s reply, had he thought of one, was lost forever. Or at least, until next time the dimension-travellers paid them a visit...