Chapter 6
"Is that really what you're wearing?"
Harry paused at the words, glancing up at Tom - hands stilling. He stared, for a moment, before looking down at his attire again. It wasn't shabby. It was what he would normally wear, to this kind of event.
Something soured in his mouth.
"You ashamed of me, Tom?" He kept his voice light.
If this had been the first time, he would have ignored it. Dismissed it as Tom simply wanting to make a good impression. Nerves, or something. He'd always known that his best friend was the ambitious sort after all.
But things had been changing for some time now, and Tom's silence spoke louder than anything else he could have said. Harry snorted, a mirthless smile twisting the corners of his lips. His chest ached.
"You could just change into something a bit less…muggle," his lover said finally.
"Heavens forbid Lestrange doesn't give me his stamp of approval," Harry muttered.
"It's not about Lestrange," Tom snapped.
"No?" Harry raised his brows at that. "Funny that. Your sudden interest in blood purism has nothing to do with your new pals either, right?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"You used to hate that crowd. Now you spend all your time with Lestrange and his band of bigots."
Tom gave a heavy sigh, turning to face him, eyes dark and unforgiving.
"Just change, will you? Just because you're a blood traitor, that doesn't mean you have to act and dress like one."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath at the cold comment, but suddenly it felt like there was a void of air in the room. His shoulders hunched, defensively.
"A blood traitor," he repeated. "Right. Tell me what you really think of me, then."
"Harry..." Tom scowled, tugging a hand through his hair. "Just change. It wouldn't kill you to support my beliefs and lifestyle for one night."
"I just don't see why you should go to such lengths to fit in with and impress a bunch of people you can't stand, and who can't stand you," Harry said. "Or is the fact they called you a mudblood and trash for the most of first year nothing?"
"You're so innocent." Unlike before when Tom had made such a comment, with a bit of exasperation, but a generally amused countenance, this time it was nothing but withering. Intended to insult.
Harry's fists clenched at his sides.
"Oh, by all means, explain it to me then," he growled. Tom was silent for a few beats, before turning to face him again, approaching fast.
"You have always had it easier, Harry. You're a Potter. I mean, you're the bastard son of Potter, but even that's better than being nobody at all. Except, I'm not nobody anymore. I'm the Heir of Slytherin…don't you see, this is our chance. We can get anything we wanted. Move up in the world. Rule it."
"You were never a nobody, Tom…" Harry's voice softened, and he reached forwards to kiss the man. "Christ. I've told you not to listen to them. They're all idiots, and blood purity is all a-"
"No." Tom pushed him away.
"No?"
"Blood Purity is everything."
Harry's blood ran cold, at that particular statement. The reverent tone which Tom said such an awful thing, the gleam of passion in his eyes. It all made him sick.
"We're not pureblood, Tom. We're never going to be."
"All the more reason why we have to be better."
"You think that will make a difference?" Harry's voice cracked. "Maybe if Blood Purity was anything but shit, then yes. But it's not. You can put on robes, and know your Wizarding etiquette backwards, and at the best all they will think is how good you are at pretending to be one of them. How well you can pass, despite your heritage. They're always going to hold it against-"
"If you say one more word, I'll curse you," Tom said seriously. Harry swallowed, and their gazes locked. The other boy took a step forward in turn, hand coming up to caress the side of his cheek, words murmured against his lips. "Please don't make me curse you, Harry. I'm not going to let you stop me from getting what I want. Now, change. For me. You love me, don't you?"
Harry's insides rolled.
He reached for his robes, and utterly hated himself for it.
Of course, the resistance hadn't taken his allegiance with Tom, well.
To be honest, Harry didn't take it well either – only with reluctant necessity. Being around the man for any significant length of time was painful. He'd find himself watching, looking for clues somehow. Ridiculous, small things, to show that the Tom Riddle who he had loved was still in there somewhere.
He didn't even know if he wanted to find something or not. If he did, and it meant nothing, changed nothing…that was worse than not finding anything at all.
"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Hermione hissed, in his ear. "It could be trap."
"He took an oath of immunity for everyone in the resistance," Harry muttered. "And, as I said, anyone who wants no part in a temporary truce doesn't have to take it."
They all stared at him sceptically, he didn't blame them.
This would hardly have been the first time such a thing happened.
Nonetheless, he strode up to the gates to Voldemort's HQ with the members who had decided to go along with this, after hearing him out – which was about half of them, though considering their small numbers that hardly meant much.
They were all given rooms and spaces. Offered food and refreshment. Harry was personally convinced that Tom was taking the opportunity to lure an end to the resistance all together, whilst he was at it.
Harry wasn't sure if he could bear this. He would have to see everyone again…everyone still alive, anyway. It was going to be horrible.
There was a time when he swore he would never let himself get into Tom's circle of gravity again.
Tom Riddle was nineteen year's old today, and honestly, he'd expected things to go differently at this point.
His campaign had started well – there were problems, of course, but it was hardly all out war yet. But he could feel the copper taste of blood starting to spread across his tongue. He could smell the battlefield, where it already lurked in the air. Feel the coldness of death in it, as crisp as the greying snow outside of his window.
He was poring over some papers, re-writing potential legislation. Hardly exciting. Later, he was supposed to be attending some event thrown in his honour by Malfoy.
It was funny how time's changed, in that way. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and forced himself to concentrate.
It turned out to be a futile effort, when not even a minute later he was interrupted by a knock.
"Yes?"
"I got the files you requested, my Lord," Avery murmured. "…It includes the one on Potter."
"Put them on the desk."
"You don't want to read them now?"
His gaze shot up, and Avery visibly baulked and dropped the files on the desk, nearly tripping over himself in the haste to do so.
"That will be all," Tom said, eyes returning to his papers. He didn't so much as glance at the files.
"Yes, my Lord."
When the door shut, his eyes flicked up again, across the harmless looking manila folders at the edge of his desk. His lips pursed, and he looked down at his work again.
After a moment, however, he sighed. Got up to gather a glass, and poured a healthy amount of red wine for himself. Then, his fingers moved deftly across the files, before he pulled one towards him.
He took a deep sip of wine, settling back comfortably in his chair.
Familiar green eyes stared back up at him.
It was an old photograph, which was maybe why the picture didn't glare at him with a defiant accusation. He drank some more wine.
'Undesirable Number 7. Strong suspected connections to Albus Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix. High level member of Underground Resistance. Dangerous Wizard, approach with extreme caution and alert the authorities on sight. To be heavily monitored.'
The photo looked like none of that, though he knew it was true. It was the man's yearbook photo. Smiling, happy, triumphant.
It mocked him.
Especially today.
Someone knocked on the door, and just as quickly he'd shut the folder and tossed it to the bottom of the file. Set the glass down, and snatched up his pen.
"What is it now?" his tone was one of thinly veiled patience.
"I…the Daily Prophet would like your comment on the St Mungos case."
He barely refrained from sighing, and shoved the files into his desk for later perusal.
The day's investigations had proved to be infuriatingly futile. Even with Harry's help – and if anyone was an expert at sabotaging an event, it was Harry Potter. The man had made a living out of ruining Tom's own happiness, certainly.
He'd requested the truce mostly because he honestly didn't have time to give the affair as much time as it deserved. If there was a new player on a global scale, he absolutely needed to know about it.
But life on the domestic scale had continued too: people to soothe, constant events to attend, an image to maintain, and foundations of society to stabilize.
He'd won, but things were far from as solid as he would have liked.
The second, far more personal reason was Harry.
As things stood, he could put it off but eventually he would have to kill the man if he didn't stand down.
Things were far from solid, and he could not afford the mercy of leaving Potter unpunished for his crimes.
It would give entirely the wrong message. He could lose everything for the weakness, and he'd sacrificed too much to give up his throne now.
But if Harry…surrendered, there was a chance. He'd still require punishment, of course. But it could be more temporary than a death sentence.
The problem was that getting Harry Potter to surrender on anything was nigh impossible.
The closest the man came, was out of love.
Harry had played along, for a while. Sat at the top with him, in Slytherin.
How different was that to the man doing so with the country?
He'd make sure Harry would be indulged, happy. All he needed to do was give up his ridiculous moral aversions, and let Tom give him everything.
"You better leave him alone."
Undesirable number two. Hermione Granger. Mudblood. Ravenclaw. Genius, by all standards. Known associate of Harry Potter.
Her expression was hard; bushy hair scraped up in a ponytail out of her face, and the word 'mudblood' cut into her arm. The word was bared to the open on tanned skin, like a claim of her defiance instead of a brand of her inferiority.
He'd never had all too much to do with her, though Malfoy always complained about her. She was the one behind the resistance's bomb designs. Behind their wards. If Harry was sword, then she and Miss McGonagall were the shield.
His fingers itched to reach for his wand, not that he would admit it. At least not, for it being in any other reason but fury for her audacity.
"I assume you're talking about your dearest leader," he drawled.
"Yes. Harry. You will leave him alone. You've hurt him enough already."
No. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not until the wretched ache in his chest had faded. Not until he could look at Harry, and not want and remember.
"You would do best to remember who you're-"
"-I know perfectly well who I'm talking to. And you will leave him alone," she said, coolly. His head tilted, and he paused on his way back to his quarters.
"You're not his type." He gave a cruel smile. She snorted, scathing.
"Yes, because obviously a women's motivations must only be romance, and never friendship."
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a step forward.
"I granted immunity. Accidents can happen. Stay out of my business, Miss Granger."
She folded her arms, unintimidated.
"I have seen too much to see you win. Maybe you should have stayed out of my business. Just a warning, Riddle. You really have no idea what you're dealing with. With any of this. It's bigger than even you could imagine. You should be more careful."
There was something to her eyes – something puzzling, that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something far older, then even the faces of the most hardened veteran.
She'd turned away, catching up with another one of the resistance before he could respond.
He refused to feel uneasy.
This was his time. He would make the rules.
And he'd sacrificed enough already for his crown.
A/N: Kind of a filler...but then not really? I forgot how much I liked writing this story. Hope you are enjoying reading it, even half as much.
PS: Reminder, italics means the past. Hope all the past bits aren't bothering y'all. :) And now back to my procrastinated work...