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Chapter Text

Tom Riddle had never yet met a problem he could not solve, or a fight he could not win.

In part, this was because he picked his positions, and his timing, carefully. He took the long view. Scorned and overlooked in his first year of Hogwarts, he had bided his time until the moment came to assert himself. Too soon and he might have been overwhelmed by the older students; too late and the hierarchy might have been too difficult to penetrate.

In much the same way, he had looked at the position of Defence teacher at Hogwarts, looked at Dumbledore’s unaccountable suspicion, and again chosen to bide his time. He had gone into politics instead. He could establish himself as a public figure, and perhaps look later at getting a chosen associate selected as a Hogwarts teacher.

He was also – concerned – with the prospect of his own mortality, but again, he stepped back and took the long view. He looked at Dumbledore’s horrifyingly good health. Tom had time to gain the worldly power he sought first; that would then make his search for the best method of immortality easier. It was a question of tactics.

And he had chosen wisely. The proof was in his current string of successes. He was rising fast in the Ministry, aided by judicious pressure applied to his opponents at opportune moments. It was never anything that would earn him implacable enmity, not if he couldn’t help it. No, it was simply an occasional suggestion, a whisper that perhaps an indiscretion would not come to light if a vote was cast in a certain way. And not a very influential vote, no, merely on a particular subcommittee.

Tom had grown very proficient in knowing where to apply such pressure to result in effects most people would never dream of. They added up; they added up to his present success. He held a prominent position, albeit still a junior one, enough to justify his hiring a host of underlings to run his daily business.

That was also part of projecting the correct appearance, of course. Nobody without a bevy of assistants was taken seriously as a career politician. Nobody without a couple of house elves, plus a wizarding cook and gardener, was taken seriously by the Pureblood factions.

Tom had gained all of those. His plans were on course, his followers reassured of their own future success by his own.

And then he hit a snag.

Tom stood in his office, looking very calmly at the top drawer of his desk. Until yesterday, that drawer had held a very valuable vial, one containing a memory that would have been excellent leverage against one of Tom’s more stubborn political opponents.

That drawer was now empty.

Tom breathed. He closed and reopened the drawer, making sure to recite the incantation that would show its true contents and not the illusory odds and ends (even though he had done so the first time; even though he had never in his life uttered an incantation incorrectly). The drawer remained stubbornly empty.

“Draco,” he called, mildly. Draco, his current personal assistant, stuck his head through the door, looking unaccountably nervous.

“Yes, sir?”

“Who has had access to this room since I left yesterday evening?” Tom asked him.

Draco gulped. “Nobody, sir. The cleaning staff only come on the weekend, and when I arrived this morning, all the wards were intact.”

“And you have been at your desk by the door since deactivating the wards?”

Draco turned an unpleasant shade of grey. “Yes, sir,” he stuttered. Tom closed his eyes, mustering up his patience again. He could hear what was about to happen. “Except,” Draco continued, “I – I left for just two minutes, sir, when a parcel arrived that needed picked up from the front desk. But I locked up behind me, I assure you, and nobody would have ever dared –”

Tom held up a hand and Draco shut off abruptly.

“Do not tell me that nobody would have dared,” he said, very measured. “The fact of the matter, Draco, is that somebody did. Something that I placed in my desk drawer – something very important to me – is no longer there. Do you think, Draco, that means nobody dared?”

Draco’s face had progressed from grey to bone white. Neither was a flattering complexion. He had yet to grow into his father’s poise. Lucius’s confidence might be unearned, but it was undeniably present in a way Draco had yet to learn.

“Sir,” Draco croaked, and Tom had abruptly had enough.

“Go,” he snapped, before he gave into the urge to curse his assistant. “Send Auror Longbottom to me and then make yourself scarce. Gregory will take over your duties today.”

Draco opened his mouth, then swallowed whatever he’d been going to say and nodded instead. “Of course, sir, right away.”

He then wisely fled, leaving Tom to pace around his office in steadily mounting fury. Draco, idiot that he was, was right about one thing – there had been enough precautions in place. Even without the overnight wards, his office ought to have been secure. None of those protections had been disturbed. And that was without starting on how the thief had known the vial was there. It had clearly been the goal, its location known. Nothing else in the room had been touched, not even the cleverly tempting decoys Tom had placed in other drawers and on shelves.

Tom cast every detection spell he could think of, then every location spell. Nothing worked. Auror Longbottom arrived in short order and did the same, including some of the more dubious spells restricted to the Auror division. None of them brought up anything useful either.

“Sorry, Tom,” she said with a grimace, as her last attempt sputtered out. “I can come back later to do a more thorough sweep, but it’s not looking good. I won’t ask if you’re sure someone was in here, but –” She shrugged. “As far as magical traces go, there’s nothing.”

“Thank you anyway for your time, Alice,” Tom said as warmly as he could. He had long ago made it a policy to be remain on friendly relations with as many of the Aurors as he could, particularly those Dumbledore would rather poison against him. “I would appreciate it if you could try that thorough look later.”

“Of course,” Alice said, nodding. “If someone this skilled has got in here, it’s got implications for the whole Ministry. I’ll pull up a few things from the archives, be as meticulous as I can.”

“I appreciate it,” Tom said, and maintained eye contact as she shook his hand. She’d kept her distance for a long time, but he was slowly getting through to her. This had helped, as infuriating as it was in other ways; she liked being of use. And she liked him acknowledging he wasn’t able to solve it by himself, even if she wouldn’t necessarily admit it.

There was a knock on the door as Alice turned to leave. She held it open for Tom’s cook to come in, floating a tray in front of him. Tom’s face softened minutely at the sight. He hadn’t realised he and Alice had frittered away the whole morning on this, but it must be lunchtime already. He would have to get Draco – or rather Gregory, today – to rearrange what should have been his morning’s work.

“I should go and get some lunch of my own,” Alice said, nodding goodbye to Tom and smiling at his cook on her way out.

“Harry,” Tom said, letting only a little of this morning’s frustrations into his voice.

“Hey, boss,” Harry said cheerfully, clearly having paid no attention to the atmosphere in the office. “Heard you were having a bad morning, so I brought something extra special. Do you want it on your desk?”

“No,” Tom started to say, but Harry had already sailed the tray down to thud onto the desk. The levitation charm would probably nullify several of the magic-tracing options Alice might yet have tried. Tom sighed. Harry might be easy on the eyes, but in many ways he was more of an idiot than Draco.

“Thank you,” he said, settling himself at the desk and curbing his momentary urge to lash out. Unlike Draco, he didn’t pay Harry for his brains; he paid him for his unerring ability to put food Tom always wanted to eat in front of him. Besides, Harry was too stupid to be scared of Tom, and Tom wanted to keep it that way. It was sometimes nice to have one underling who didn’t scurry away at the sight of him in a bad mood.

“No problem, boss,” Harry said with a grin.

Tom held up a finger before Harry could continue. “What have I said before, Harry?”

“About…?” Harry looked confused for a moment before catching on. “Oh, sorry, bo – I mean, sir.”

Tom stifled his sigh. Harry would inevitably forget the admonition, as he always did. Nothing stuck in that head except recipes. All of Tom’s pointed comments rolled off Harry like water off a duck’s back, entirely unheeded.

Harry was now wandering around the room, not at all disconcerted by Tom not offering him a seat. He had a knack, presumably a gift of his inability to read a room, of always appearing comfortable. Tom’s other underlings would have retreated immediately, knowing his mood this morning. Harry, though, wandered over to the bookshelves, heading for the ones with the most visually appealing spines.

“I saw Draco skulking about outside looking like a wet dishcloth,” Harry said as he wandered around, “that was how I got my hint that you weren’t having such a rosy morning. He didn’t appreciate me asking why he was hiding in one of the alcoves in the corridor – apparently it wasn’t to blend in with the gargoyles? Who knew. Anyway, he told me it wasn’t all good news, so I thought some nice risotto would maybe help, or at any rate, I guess it can’t hurt. I can prepare you something lighter for this evening if you’re wanting anything made. I quite want to try this soufflé a friend of mine made me recently.” His face lit up. “It was so good, boss, I’m sure you’d love it too. If I can get it right.”

Tom let him prattle on as he tucked into the risotto. It really was exactly what he’d needed, and as good as Harry’s cooking always was; filling but not heavy, the flavours delicate. That was the main reason Tom hadn’t fired him, despite his idiocy. Harry didn’t need any social skills to be a good cook, and he otherwise didn’t irritate Tom in the same way his other underlings, who were responsible for more important things, did.

He let his gaze linger on Harry’s face, on the way his hands were still gesturing excitedly about this soufflé that had supposedly changed his life. He was pretty enough that Tom would have considered sleeping with him – if the idiocy hadn’t been such a turn-off. Perhaps Tom would try it once, if he ever tired of Harry’s cooking and decided to let him go. But that would not be in the near future, not if Harry continued to produce satisfying dishes.

Harry was diverted from his own chatter by the sight of one of Tom’s newer acquisitions, a disc on a head-high stand that was able to neutralise or enhance lunar effects. Tom had not yet had a chance to try it out. It had reached him with very little in the way of instructions, so he was approaching it carefully.

Harry, inevitably, leaned in until his nose was almost touching it.

“This is cool!” he said. “Do you know what it is?”

“Something a little beyond your area of expertise, I fear,” Tom said dryly.

“You mean it’s not like the one I have for spinning salad? Shame, I thought it was the same,” Harry said inanely, and then still reached out a hand to touch it.

Tom sent a stinging hex Harry’s way at almost the same moment, causing Harry to yelp and jump back. Tom stood, ready to impress upon Harry the importance of not disturbing magical artefacts, but was prevented as a strange object was dislodged from Harry’s sleeve by the sharp movement. It thumped to the floor and then there were two, and then four, rolling over the floor.

“What did you do that for?” Harry asked, having the nerve to sound indignant.

“Explain,” Tom said icily. Were those –?

“Sorry about these,” Harry said, ignoring Tom’s warning tone. “Pocket potato. I was saving it to sort later, it’s got a duplicating charm stuck on it that’s a bit too sensitive.”

“And you have it with you now because…?” Tom asked, but Harry didn’t respond. He was too busy crawling under Tom’s desk to pick up the last of the duplicated potatoes, as though he couldn’t have collected them with a wave of his wand.

Perhaps he couldn’t, Tom thought, watching the way Harry bent to grab the last one. It was one of the spells required to pass your OWLs, but that didn’t mean Harry had cast it since passing his exam.

“You may head back to your other duties now,” he said a little sharply, as Harry continued to fumble about on the floor.

Harry jerked his head up, thumping it on the underside of the desk.

“Right!” he said, scrambling to his feet, the last of the potatoes disappearing into one of his pockets. “Sorry about that, but I’ve got them all now. I hope your afternoon goes better, boss!”

He left in a flail of arms and robes, still not cowed by Tom’s expression – possibly because he was too focused on the bizarre contents of his pockets to notice it. Before the door thumped shut behind him, Tom heard him start to whistle on his way down the corridor outside.

Shaking his head, Tom dismissed Harry from his thoughts. He had more important things to think about. There were several urgent matters that he ought to have dealt with this morning. His current position in the Ministry was secure, but it still required constant tending. He had a lot of work ahead of him to populate its departments and committees more thickly with his supporters and to render his opponents toothless. Work that, in the short term, would be slightly more difficult without that vial so conspicuously absent from his desk drawer.

And that, of course, was Tom’s other preoccupation. Once he had finished eating, he would need to put more thought into how to trace this thief.

Someone was working against Tom, and he was going to find out who it was.

After all, he had never before met a problem he couldn’t solve, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Chapter Text

When Dumbledore told him about the prophecy, Harry’s first thought was that Dumbledore had been eating too many sherbet lemons.

Harry didn’t have much first-hand experience of Dumbledore. His parents had apparently been close to him, but they died of dragon pox when Harry was a child, and he ended up shipped off to his Muggle relations. He survived their lack of care until he was eleven, when his Hogwarts letter arrived and he realised the half-remembered magic from his childhood hadn’t been a dream after all.

That was also the year Sirius clawed his way out of the legal system, somehow managed to get himself declared a fit guardian, and bundled Harry away before the ink had even dried.

Life really got a lot better that year.

Sirius was the one who told him his parents had been friends with Dumbledore, but to Harry he was never more than a twinkling presence in the distance at Hogwarts. He was a good enough Headmaster, Harry would have said if he’d ever stopped to think about it, and that was all Harry needed to know.

Until now, four years after Harry had graduated from Hogwarts, when Dumbledore asked to drop by for a “quick chat”. Sirius had warned him that with Dumbledore, a quick chat meant the opposite. Still, Harry was willing to listen to him, if only because he knew how much his parents had valued Dumbledore’s judgement.

So Dumbledore apparated in, very discreetly, and then sat staring disconcertingly at Harry over his half-moon spectacles as he spouted his absurd idea.

In the same tone he’d used to tell Harry he never took sugar in his tea, he explained that Tom Riddle, a rising star in the Ministry, was actually some kind of super evil Dark Lord, or was going to become one, or had the potential to, or something. Harry had gotten distracted by Fawkes appearing out of thin air behind Dumbledore, which he thought was very fair. It wasn’t every day you got to see a phoenix.

Anyway, the gist of it seemed to be that Harry could possibly be destined to thwart Tom Riddle in this Dark Lording business, unless it was Neville who was destined instead, or perhaps Pansy Parkinson. Dumbledore wouldn’t tell Harry the specifics of the prophecy, “for your own safety, my boy.”

“Sounds more like you’re worried I’ll pick holes in it,” Harry said dubiously. “Who made this prophecy, anyway?”

“Professor Trelawney,” Dumbledore said gravely, and Harry nearly spat his tea across the table.

“Professor, she’s – not the most reliable prophecy-maker. Prophecy-ist? Propheteer? Anyway, point is, she says some daft things,” he said. “You know she told Ron he was destined to die every single year we were at Hogwarts?”

“Death does come to us all, alas,” was Dumbledore’s response. “I am afraid to say that I also believe it will come to your friend Ron in time, though I hope it may not be for many, many years.”

Staring across at Dumbledore’s twinkling gaze, Harry gave it up as a lost cause. Clearly Dumbledore believed in this prophecy, or wanted Harry to take it seriously. And despite the fact that agreeing to get closer to Tom Riddle to see if he could dig up any dirt on his Dark Lord potential was an entirely idiotic idea, Harry couldn’t quite dredge up a convincing reason to say no. Not with Dumbledore kindly offering him yet another sherbet lemon and Fawkes preening behind him. If he annoyed Dumbledore, Harry might never get another chance to see a phoenix up close.

“Why not Neville?” he asked in a last-ditch attempt. “Or Pansy? She would love to do some snooping, I bet.”

“I am asking you,” Dumbledore said, “because an opportunity has arisen that will suit your particular talents, Harry.”

He winked. For one horrifying moment, Harry thought Dumbledore had somehow gleaned that Cedric Diggory had told Harry he’d given him the best blow job of his entire life. Harry was pretty proud of that talent, but he didn’t necessarily want to have to – utilise it.

“Your cooking,” Dumbledore continued, and Harry almost gasped out loud in relief.

“Yes!” he said. “Yeah, cooking. I’m great at that. For sure. Glad we’re on the same page.”

And, partly in relief at not having to talk about blow jobs and partly from the high of one too many sherbet lemons, he agreed to apply for a position as Tom Riddle’s personal cook.

Dumbledore had warned Harry against betraying any hint of Dumbledore’s involvement, anything that would make Tom suspicious, but he needn’t have worried. Tom clearly assumed that a wizard content to work as a cook didn’t have any more brains than a flobberworm, and Harry was happy to let him keep believing that. To Tom, Harry was mostly just part of the furniture, except for the occasional time he tried to draw Harry into patronising conversation.

“A beautiful piece of magic,” he’d remarked early on, one of the first times Harry had charmed egg yolks to stay exactly the right level of runny, a charm that only broke when you tapped the top of it. “It must take a while to perfect it.”

“Oh, I still can’t do it myself,” Harry said brightly. “I hate practising. I know a woman who sets it up for me, then I just have to crack it onto the eggs. Like cracking an egg onto the eggs, see?”

“Marvellous,” Tom said with his condescending smile, his attention clearly elsewhere. “Perhaps you will master it one day.”

“Wow, being able to cast spells I need for my job. I wonder what that would be like,” Harry said, but Tom had already stopped listening. Harry wondered what he’d have said if Harry had told him the truth – that he’d had to reverse engineer the charm himself after seeing it elsewhere. There were loads of great cooking charms out there, he’d found, only most of them were held by old witches who called them “family secrets” and refused to share them. Harry was convinced those old women were the ones single-handedly holding back wizarding society from advancing. They regularly solved any number of daily problems and then just didn’t tell anyone.

Tom didn’t often want actual conversation with Harry, though. He mostly just required an audience. He seemed allergic to the concept of any of his brilliant thoughts or stratagems going unnoticed. He just had to explain how adeptly he’d manoeuvred round one of the department heads in a one-on-one meeting, so they didn’t even notice Tom was outwitting them. All Harry had to do was nod along and look impressed.

And so Harry couldn’t resist leaning into the idiocy. It was hard not to, when Tom would start telling him about a bill and then cut off.

“I won’t go into the details,” he would say, “don’t worry. The concepts are a little technical.”

“Thanks,” Harry would reply, his smile wide. “It’s not like I need to understand the laws running our society.”

Harry couldn’t believe Tom never got suspicious; but no, he really did think Harry was some kind of culinary genius whose head couldn’t keep hold of a single other skill. As time went by, he became gradually less guarded in what he vented about. He never let anything obvious slip, nothing too terrible or incriminating, but because Harry was not in fact as dumb as a flobberworm, a pattern started to emerge. He found no evidence of Dumbledore’s insane idea, of course, no suggestion that Tom was any more likely to become a Dark Lord than Harry himself. But that didn’t mean he discovered nothing.

What he found instead was…

Tom was not the most honest of politicians.

In fact, Harry came to realise, Tom might not be planning to become a Dark Lord, but he sure was intent on grasping as much power in the wizarding world as he could in other ways. Beneath his legitimate politicking lay a sea of subtle ploys that all seemed designed to influence the wizarding world in Tom’s favour. Most of them were small instances, little nudges, but when taken together… Harry could see how Tom had risen so high, so quickly.

He thought for a while about leaving it be, because he did like how his life was at the moment. But as time wore on, he realised he was getting a bit bored. Seeing how much idiocy he could make Tom believe was natural was fun, but it got a bit repetitive.

And, he thought, he might not quite have Dumbledore’s idealistic tendencies, but he would prefer it if their society was just slightly less corrupt.

So he decided to take it on himself to put a stop to some of Tom’s less savoury practices. Really, Tom had made it too easy. He let hints drop. He gave Harry access to his office. He didn’t stop Draco trying to impress the importance of his job onto Harry by giving away slightly more than he should. It would be a waste for Harry not to take advantage of all of it.

And so he did.

He thought about mentioning the whole ‘my boss is doing some shady stuff and I may have done one or two illegal things to counter him’ to Ron and Hermione. Just, you know, in passing. But he couldn’t do that to Hermione. She’d joined in her fair share of escapades in the past, but she took her own Ministry job seriously. She would be genuinely conflicted about if she could keep either Harry’s or Tom’s actions secret. So he contented himself with a general update about how work was going when they next all met up.

“Draco’s been coming by my office recently,” Hermione told him, “doing some liaising for Riddle.”

“Right, the stuff about Gringotts,” Harry said, nodding. “How has he been?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Bizarre. He’s trying to be – nice, but in a terrible way. I think he’s chosen to assume that he can just power forwards with condescending politeness and I’ll magically forget what a twit he was in school.”

“He never even made a token apology?” Harry asked, and Hermione shook her head.

“It’s like he thinks mentioning it would be some kind of social faux pas, instead of a decent thing to do. It just makes me assume he’s as much of a twit as ever, although he is perfectly polite now.”

“Oh,” Ron said, bouncing up and down, “tell Harry what you told me, Mione.” He turned to Harry, grinning in anticipation. “He talked about you, Harry.”

“Right!” Hermione brightened up too. “So Draco is usually in my office to sort out meetings and so on. But now he thinks we’re colleagues, he comes in just as often to complain about you, Harry.”

“Really?” Harry said. “What does he say?”

Hermione leaned over the table. “Do you really pretend not to know him at work?”

Harry burst out laughing. “I’m so glad to have proof it bugs him.”

“So you do?” Ron asked.

“Sure do,” Harry said. “You’ve made my week, Hermione, this is the best news ever. Yeah, when I started I tried to work out what would annoy him the most, and I decided on pretending we were as good as strangers.”

“It is definitely bugging him,” Hermione told him. “I really think he wanted some kind of work-based rivalry, or to exchange witty insults, or something, and instead you’re swanning around cooking and calling him mini-boss? Is that right?”

“Excellent work,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back. “He must be fuming.”

“This is my finest achievement,” Harry told him earnestly. “I’m never going to stop now I know how much he hates it. Well, maybe I’ll cut it out if he ever apologises to you, Hermione.”

“Don’t stop,” she said. “It’s worth having to be polite to him when it comes with another little comment. ‘Oh, are you sure Harry didn’t suffer some kind of amnesiac episode? Or did he perhaps mention my work to you?’ It’s the highlight of my day every time.”

“But are you still pretending to be clueless around everyone at work?” Ron asked. “Is that why he’s asking that?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not pretending, exactly.”

“That means you are,” Ron said, nodding.

“Just around Tom!”

“You call him Tom?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“Still call him boss,” Harry reassured her. “And he makes it too easy, I can’t help myself.” He told them about the potato incident, albeit missing out the key info that he’d been trying to disrupt some of the traces he might have left around the desk when stealing the vial. He was pretty sure he’d covered the obvious evidence, but he’d wanted to be sure there wasn’t anything the Aurors’ more sophisticated instruments would pick up. “A pocket potato,” he concluded. “And he didn’t bat an eyelid! Why would he believe I would just have a pocket potato?”

“I cannot believe you haven’t been fired yet,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Me neither,” Harry said. “Every time, I’m sure it should be the tipping point, but there I still am.”

“Annoying Draco,” Hermione said in satisfaction. “And producing good enough food that even Tom Riddle is willing to overlook your antics.”

“That’s a good point,” Ron said, looking struck. “Food good enough that it can calm Tom Riddle’s temper. You should use that as a selling point, Harry.”

“I don’t need to for now, since I’ve not been fired,” Harry pointed out. He thought about the missing vial, and some of the other illegal things that Tom was going to find harder to carry out in the near future, and added, “yet. But maybe I should start putting some feelers out. Just in case.”

Chapter Text

One of Tom’s political obstacles – she believed herself to be an opponent, but she didn’t have the wit to truly oppose Tom except in petty ways – dodged a snare he had laid for her.

Elsa Prewett didn’t even appear to have noticed there was a snare to dodge. She wasn’t supposed to have noticed it, of course, but only because Tom had so carefully positioned both her and the memos she ought to have signed. It was only later, when those memos were leaked in a way that implied a very different context, that she would have realised something had gone wrong. And even then, she would never have traced it back to Tom. If his plans had worked as they ought, she would have come to him to help clear the minor scandal. Been left owing him a reasonably significant favour.

And it had not come to pass. A crucial memo had been mislaid. Her fate had been diverted as deftly as Tom had originally positioned it.

Tom might have believed it to be bad luck; not every one of his delicate and subtle schemes came to fruition, relying as they did on the machinations of lesser beings.

He might have, were it not for the timing. This was his thief at work again.

On hearing the news, Tom gave himself a minute alone. He did not require longer. Prewett was less than a pawn on the board, after all, and this minor setback was nothing to discompose him.

His underlings did prove to be particularly incompetent that afternoon. Tom did not understand why this supposed cream of the Pureblood crop was unable to meet his exacting standards. They were incapable of learning to anticipate his requirements, meaning he had to lead them all around step by unnecessary step. It almost made him regret that he had chosen a (mostly) legal path to power. He was sure a crucio or two would have had them jumping more promptly into line.

It also meant that Draco took every opportunity to remove himself from his desk in front of Tom’s door, a place he coveted when Tom was slightly more relaxed. But he evidently didn’t feel that the borrowed prestige of regulating access to Tom’s presence made up for Tom keeping a sharper eye on his bumbling progress.

Inevitably, the moment came when Tom required Draco’s presence and he was not within earshot. Rather than send a charmed note, Tom got up and stalked through the adjoining rooms. He would use it as an opportunity to assess how matters stood with his other underlings, those who had not fled along with Draco.

Strangely, Draco was in fact one of the first he came across. Tom heard his voice echoing down a corridor. A moment later, he realised Draco was talking to Harry, or at least attempting to.

“Not a bit beneath you, Potter?” Draco was saying, a strange tone to his voice. It sounded like desperation aiming for condescension. “I expect it galls you to fetch us all refreshments, hey?”

“It’s always nice to keep busy, mini boss,” came Harry’s reply. “Hey, thanks for coming all the way over to ask me in person. You must be so busy too!”

“Tremendously busy,” Draco said, that odd tone still in his voice, “but of course I just happened to be passing by –”

“– by this dead-end corridor?” Harry asked dubiously. “You can just send a patronus or something next time. I’m sure it would be easier for you than taking the time to come over yourself.”

Draco paused, presumably because Harry had inadvertently trapped him. He either had to admit he still struggled with patronuses, or agree he’d taken time out of his day to come and bother Harry in person.

Tom couldn’t quite see why he’d done so, except perhaps to keep out of Tom’s way. It was foolish of Draco to expect Harry to have kept up with him beyond school, to think any faint signs of promise he had shown back then had flowered. Surely he could see it was not so.

Tom made a mental note to admonish Draco about it at some point in the future. But first, he had more important business. He had to remind Draco that his job was to be available to assist Tom at all times, not to disappear to bother Tom’s cook. He had to set up various meetings with other Ministry personages, the latest steps in his long-ranging game that nobody else quite knew he was playing.

Because the latest setback was a minor one, nothing more. Nothing that could stymie him. His thief might imagine themselves a player, but they were little more than Elsa Prewett. Tom would find them, and crush them.

There could be no other outcome.

When Tom heard that Hepizibah Smith had loaned the Hufflepuff Cup to Hogwarts, to be displayed in the Entrance Hall, he very deliberately walked out into the gardens of his home and blasted every statue within range, one after the other.

There went his distraction. She had nothing else in her house anywhere near equivalent value. Now if he went to steal the Ministry-related papers in her possession, it would be impossible to disguise it beneath the theft of the Cup, the papers lost in the ensuing confusion.

And the timing was – suspicious. Deeply suspicious. Her family had clung onto that Cup for years, grasping it as the only claim to interest they had. For Hepzibah to decide to lend it to Hogwarts now, just a week before Tom had been planning his incursion…

He sent another spell flying viciously through the air, and a carved griffon melted into a puddle. It didn’t make Tom feel any better.

“Scuse me, boss!” came a voice from behind him. Tom rearranged the expression on his face before he turned round. It was Harry, of course, apparently unable to notice that venturing into the garden currently ran the risk of getting in the way of Tom’s spells.

“I was just wondering,” Harry continued, “if you were wanting to eat out here, since it’s such a nice day, or if I’ll just leave the sandwiches in your study?”

Tom took a deep breath. It really was a good job for Harry that his face and his food were so appealing, or Tom would have ‘accidentally’ sent a spell his way for this obliviousness to Tom’s mood. As it was…

“Bring them out here,” he commanded. “And then join me.”

Harry did so. He was very competent within his limited range – Tom wouldn’t have hired him otherwise – and so it wasn’t long before a table was set out on the terrace, in a sheltered but sunny spot, one place laid for Tom with his lunch and a spare seat for Harry.

“Did you want to talk to me about this week’s meals, boss?” Harry asked, before Tom had even managed to take the first bite. Harry did not seem to understand the concept of silence.

“No,” Tom said repressively, but it didn’t deter Harry.

“Just want a bit of company, then? I saw you getting rid of some of those awful statues. About time, I think, that one of the old witch always creeped me out.” He finally looked up at Tom’s face and, for a wonder, seemed to realise his chatter was not currently wanted.

“Someone is working against me, Harry,” Tom said, taking another bite. As always, the food was delicious, but it didn’t help his mood. Tom would almost have preferred something sharper. Not these soft brie sandwiches, not looking out over a calm, sunny garden, the scent of flowers in the air around him. Shattering the statues hadn’t helped; he needed to curse the person responsible a few times. That ought to help a little.

“In the Wizengamot, right?” Harry asked. Tom ignored the inane comment and continued.

“I have been personally stymied. Not once now, not twice, but three times within the last two months.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It is clear that someone out there has begun some kind of baseless vendetta.”

“And it’s just against you? That’s rough, boss,” Harry said, rubbing his hands over his legs. “You know, if there was anyone to vendetta against, I would’ve thought it was Mr Malfoy. He rubs everyone up the wrong way.”

Tom paused. Even idiots could provide insight occasionally. He had not thought to check if he was alone in this – his habitual secrecy had led him to shy away from discussing these incidents with his associates. He had asked Auror Longbottom to keep the incident in his office restricted to need-to-know for now, under the pretence of preventing wider worry about the Ministry’s security, and he had told nobody about the following occurrences. But if the targets were being spread more broadly… That would put an entirely different complexion on the matter.

He took another bite, feeling marginally less annoyed.

“You ought not to speak of Lucius in such a way,” he said belatedly, but there was no bite to his tone, and Harry just nodded easily.

“Right, right,” he said. “Not his fault that he has such an annoying face. I guess he can’t help it.”

Tom watched as Harry sat there happily, looking in appreciation at the remains of the statue of Helga Hufflepuff. Entirely unaware of the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Indeed,” he allowed himself to say. “Now, since you’re here, we may as well talk about the meal plans.”

Tom quickly had to revise his opinion. The insights of idiots were, as he ought to have expected, empty words.

Nobody else had been targeted. And in asking, he had given some of them an inkling as to his own setbacks, leaving him in a worse position than he had been before Harry’s inane idea.

He allowed himself to carry his annoyance over into actions that would otherwise be beneath him. Two evenings in a row, he vanished his meal after one bite and demanded that Harry make him something more to his taste. The most infuriating thing was that it didn’t help at all. Harry didn’t seem capable of being perturbed. Tom wondered what it would be like, to go through life so lacking in intelligence that you did not have the wit to be worried. Harry simply nodded happily, as though he didn’t realise the implied threat to his employment at Tom’s dissatisfaction, as though he didn’t mind spending his evenings conjuring up elaborate meals for a second time.

The third evening, Harry stayed hovering around to see if Tom would again demand something else. Tom went to vanish his meal again, before reining himself in. He was better than this. He did not need to spend his day taunting a lesser man; and, as it always was, the meal in front of him was delicious.

So he waved Harry to sit with him.

“You ought to know,” he said, in a tone that would have had his other underlings twitching, “that your suggestion was far off the mark.”

“My suggestion?” Harry asked, wide-eyed. “So you don’t like the garnish? I really thought it added something.”

“The – no, Harry. I have discovered that the vendetta against me is indeed a personal one. Nobody else is affected.”

Harry’s face wrinkled up. “Sorry, boss,” he said earnestly. “That sucks for you.”

Tom permitted himself to raise an eyebrow. “It does indeed,” he said. “And I have now lost time in ferreting them out.”

Harry flapped a hand, as though this was a minor inconvenience. “I’m sure you’ll sort it, boss. You’re so good at spotting people working against you. I remember when you trapped Mr – wait, I forget who it was. The old Wizengamot guy. But you got him good, boss, I sure remember you telling me that.”

Tom frowned. He was wary of listening to anything Harry had to say, but after all, Harry had not precisely meant what Tom had gleaned from his words.

“I do have a – tempting occasion coming up,” he murmured. “Perhaps a trap is in order after all.”

Chapter Text

Really, Harry thought, Tom was making it too easy. Why did he tell Harry it was going to be a trap?

Sure, he hadn’t mentioned a single detail, but it wasn’t difficult for Harry to work it out. He would tell Tom to make sure his assistants gossiped less, if it wasn’t so convenient for Harry.

He carefully levitated the locket out of the case, using a counterweight charm to ensure the fake locket lowered into place almost instantly. As he’d expected, the real locket started hissing, a low hiss that threatened to increase in volume very quickly.

“Quiet,” Harry hissed at it in the Parseltongue he’d dredged up from his old Care of Magical Creatures class. “Silence, calm, close, stop, I command you.”

One of those seemed to work – it settled down again long enough for Harry to slip the locket into his impervious bag, charmed to the hilt by Hermione. She hadn’t even asked what he wanted it for, just nodded approvingly as though it was common sense for everyone to carry around something like that.

Harry looked at the fake locket, now sitting in pride of place and with none of the alarms triggered. He hoped Tom appreciated the work he’d put into making it look realistic.

Tom did not appreciate it.

He must have gone to check on it first thing, because he threw his staff into chaos even before breakfast. Harry had half-hoped he wouldn’t notice until he saw the Prophet headline about Slytherin’s locket miraculously showing up next to Hufflepuff’s Cup at Hogwarts. Ah well, you couldn’t have everything.

Luckily, he was supposed to be bringing Tom his breakfast. Whistling, since he knew that would annoy everyone in earshot, he put the final preparations to the breakfast tray and wandered with it towards the source of all the commotion.

He passed Draco fleeing in the opposite direction just outside Tom’s saferoom, his metaphorical tail between his legs.

“Morning, mini boss,” he said cheerfully, re-energised about his interactions with Draco after his conversation with Hermione. He’d noticed Draco starting to twitch when they talked.

But Tom must have really been in a mood today, because Draco barely reacted.

“Come back later,” he hissed, not pausing before disappearing to a safe distance.

Harry continued into the room.

“Want your breakfast in here, boss?” he asked, as though you couldn’t have bludgeoned a badger to death with the thick tension in the room. “It’d be nicer to have it on the terrace today, I reckon.”

Tom glared at him, but it was his generic ‘wrath upon all the world’ glare rather than something Harry himself had done. Harry grinned at him. “Didn’t you sleep well, boss?”

“Do you know what this is?” Tom asked. He always did love to have an audience, despite the way he sent his underlings running.

“Ooh, that’s a nice locket,” Harry said, peering at it. “Lovely work. But don’t you want one with an R for Riddle, not an S?” He really was proud of his work. It was the spitting image of the actual locket.

Riddle held it up, his gaze icy. “This,” he said, “is an exact replica of Slytherin’s locket.”

“Cool!” Harry looked it over again. He was pleased Tom hadn’t spotted any flaws. It was nice to have his efforts appreciated. “Where’d you get that made?”

Tom’s face did something hilarious. He made it so easy for Harry.

“This,” he said, “is the trap that was not triggered, Harry.” And oh, ok, now he was angry at Harry in particular. Harry kept his posture deliberately casual, waiting to see what Tom was going to say. “Who, Harry, did you talk to about our conversation?”

Thankfully, Harry had seen this coming. “Which conversation?” he said, frowning. “We’ve had quite a few, boss.” Tom’s hand twitched, and Harry thought he’d better not bait Tom any more just now. He didn’t want to have to counter any of Tom’s magic. “You mean when you said that stuff about traps and being vendetta-d against? I didn’t tell anyone about that! My godfather always says that gossip is for fools and meddlers.” Sirius usually followed that up by saying “and I’m both of those things” before launching into whatever gossip he’d heard, but Tom didn’t need to know that.

Tom opened his mouth, but Harry barrelled on before Tom could formulate his reply. “Do you know, he also tells me not to talk about secrets by open windows.” He nodded sagely. “You never know who might be listening in. Did you ever read that kids book about the teenage spy who could turn into a spider animagus? I always reckon real spies do that too. How cool would that be?”

Tom was still looking enraged, but Harry could relax properly – he could see he’d successfully diverted Tom’s anger. He clearly had no memory of if a window had been open, but the possibility of an animagus listening in had struck him.

“I’ll go leave your breakfast on the terrace, will I?” he asked, and Tom nodded distractedly. Harry turned around, still balancing the tray, and went whistling off to set it up outside.

He hoped he was still in earshot when Tom got the news about the locket being at Hogwarts.

Harry defanged a couple more of Tom’s less-than-legal plans over the next month. The sight of Tom’s mounting rage gave him a glow of satisfaction almost as warm as when he made a particularly good meal. Really, he thought, maybe Dumbledore was onto something with his relentless do-gooding. It was pretty fun.

Harry did tone down his ‘helpful’ comments, because at some point Tom would have to become properly suspicious of how every single one of Harry’s pointers led him in the wrong direction.

As it was, though, there seemed to be no lower limit to Tom’s estimations of Harry’s intellect. Tom would often look frustrated, but never distrustful. He clearly rated Harry the same way he did house elves, as beings who could carry out his orders and plans but never think beyond them, or have plans of their own.

It was really his own fault that he was wrong on both counts.

As the weeks wore on, Harry realised he should probably store evidence of everything he’d been doing somewhere safe – somewhere it would be found if anything happened to Harry. He might not think Tom Riddle was a Dark Lord, but Harry had seen enough to know he was capable of some pretty dark things. Harry would have to make sure he had plenty of motivation not to harm Harry, if – or at this point, when – Harry slipped up.

“Hey, kid!” Sirius roared when Harry stuck his head in the door. Harry knew better than to walk into Sirius and Remus’ home without being prepared for chaos, but it looked like there were no experiments set to explode without warning today.

“Hey,” he said, coming in and pushing the door shut behind him. “Is it just you?”

“Remus is around somewhere,” Sirius said, waving a hand vaguely behind him. “Now, why are you here?”

“I can’t just want to come see you?” Harry asked.

“You can,” Sirius said, “but you never do, do you.” He said it with a warm smile, and that was just like Sirius – he’d softened in the years since Azkaban, but the sting was always still there. Harry wouldn’t have him any other way. “I know there’s something, sprout.”

“…There is,” Harry said, and Sirius fist-pumped in celebration.

“Spill,” he said. “Unless I should prepare myself first. Alcohol? Tea? Remus?”

Harry appreciated how much Sirius always tried, even when he didn’t manage very well. It really made Harry feel like they were family.

“It’s nothing like that,” he said, bringing out a small bag with one of Hermione’s enlarging charms on the inside. “I just want to – store this here. Somewhere safe. But you can’t look inside it.”

Sirius gave him a look, but took the bag. “You’re not doing something I would do, are you?”

“Maybe?” Harry said, wrinkling his nose. “But it’s nothing bad, honest. Just… it would help if you looked after this.”

Sirius, because he was the best, took one more long look at Harry and then nodded decisively.

“Can do, sprout.” He held out a hand, little finger outstretched, because he was the only adult Harry knew who still held pinky promises to be the most sacred of oaths. Harry hooked his finger into Sirius’s. “I promise,” Sirius intoned, “to keep this safe for you, and not to look at the contents unless it seems life or death. Will that do?”

“Perfect,” Harry said. “Thanks, Sirius.”

“No thanks!” Sirius said, tucking the bag into his pocket. “You have to take us for granted, and then we have to complain that you’re not grateful enough. You’re ruining the dynamic.” He reached out to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Anyway, speaking of ungrateful, how come we never see you these days?”

“Work is a bit annoying at the moment,” Harry told him. “Tom wants me to make every single meal, and he’s in a bad mood at the moment, who knows why, so he’s decided a warming charm won’t cut it. I have to be there to make everything fresh.”

“Leave that shit,” Sirius said immediately. “You don’t need that.”

“I’m going to keep at it for now.” Harry felt he did owe Tom, since he was pretty sure he was the cause of Tom’s ongoing bad mood. “It’s worth it. But don’t worry, I know I don’t have to do work I hate. You’ve told me often enough it’s tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.”

Sirius responded by grabbing him in a bear hug, crushing the breath out of him. “Still making up for lost time,” he said.

Harry squirmed, but it was more of a token protest. “Where are we up to now?”

Sirius hummed for a moment. “Hm, I reckon almost your eighth birthday.”

“Still a long way to go, then?”

“Afraid so,” Sirius said cheerfully, managing to squeeze Harry even tighter. “Still a real deficit of hugs around here. This is going to take a while.”

Harry huffed at that, but they both knew his heart wasn’t in it.

“As long as you know,” Sirius said, his voice a little rough, “that you don’t have to stick at something you hate. And – just if whatever’s in that bag gets you into trouble – you can tell me about it. Even better, you can tell me who to curse.”

Harry was thankfully saved from answering by the appearance of Remus.

“Harry,” he said warmly, “good to see you. Do you want to eat with us? There’s plenty.”

“Sure,” Harry said, still from within Sirius’s grasp. “That sounds great.”

And it was. Like every time, Harry told himself he should go back round more often, that Sirius and Remus meant it when they said he was always welcome. It was easier to remember while he was actually there, being smothered by Sirius and his catch-up hugs beneath Remus’s smiling gaze.

Next time he would go simply to see them, he told himself. And not just because he had shady evidence to hide.

Though as it turned out, his good intentions were stymied by the fact it wasn’t long before he had more evidence to slip into the bag now tucked away beneath a floorboard in their spare room.

Tom was putting a lot of effort into hiding his tracks, even more so than his usual caution. The thing was, Harry was always there. Bringing him meals, being pestered by Draco, wandering past to provide snacks when important discussions were going on. It meant he kept having just enough clues, and every time, it felt like it would be a waste not to. It was exhilarating in a way nothing in his life had been recently. He knew it was stupid – Tom was not exactly someone to cross – but it was also very fun, and so…

So he kept going.

Chapter Text

To Tom’s steadily mounting frustration, his unknown opponent kept slipping through his guard. Kept ruining ever more of his carefully laid plans.

The worst part was that Tom still didn’t have the slightest idea about who it was or how they were doing it. It made no sense. He ought to have some clue to go on, some hint of who was acting differently around him, or which of his opponents was listening in too closely.

But no. Nobody had ever seen anyone but his own staff on the premises every time. He – too belatedly – reinforced his charms against animagi, but the sabotage continued unabated.

And he could not let anyone else know he was being targeted in this way. He allayed the suspicions of his associates, masking his utter fury at his locket showing up at Hogwarts. He would have suspected that fool Dumbledore if he hadn’t seemed so suspicious of it being a trap in reverse. If Dumbledore had been behind it, there would have been many more smug words about an heirloom returning to its rightful home.

Tom restricted himself to a few choice comments each time to Harry, the only one of his staff not to look browbeaten when he let his anger show, and also the only one who would not think to take advantage of a seeming weakness. Harry merely looked at him wide-eyed each time, shaking his head in commiseration and offering banal phrases. They didn’t help, but Tom could not afford to discuss this with anyone more intelligent.

Harry was at least touchingly confident in his opinion that Tom would succeed.

“You’re so smart, boss,” he would say. “You know just who to keep an eye on, so you’re sure to catch them sooner or later.”

“The next time,” Tom permitted himself to say one morning, when he and Harry were alone in his office, the door and the windows securely shut, “I will set up something impossible to evade.”

“That sounds great,” Harry said earnestly. “If you make it impossible to evade, then that means they can’t get out of it, right?”

Tom stifled a sigh, and reminded himself again that he did not require stimulating conversation from all his employees. Tom knew all of his subordinates’ limits, and Harry’s limit was providing visual rather than intellectual appeal.

“It does,” he said.

“And you didn’t try that with the other traps?” Harry asked, wrinkling his brow.

Tom allowed his annoyance to drive his impulses for a moment, and grabbed Harry’s wrist slightly too hard as Harry went to turn away. Harry still didn’t have the wit to be alarmed. He just looked back at Tom expectantly, smiling, despite Tom’s vicelike grip on his wrist.

“This one,” Tom said sharply, “will be impeccable.”

“Right you are, boss,” Harry said reassuringly.

“Right you are, sir,” Tom said, but Harry simply blinked in confusion.

“You don’t need to call me sir, boss.”

Tom resisted the urge to sigh loudly or curse Harry blind for the day. He let go of Harry’s wrist, turning back to the papers on his desk.

“You can do it, boss!” Harry said, missing the clear implication that Tom wished him to leave the room. “You can stop this person doing all this mean, illegal stuff and messing with all your good causes.”

“…Precisely.”

“Nothing came of it, I’m afraid,” Alice Longbottom said to him, sounding genuinely annoyed. She shared that with Tom, at least; she hated the feeling of professional frustration. “And that was our last lead.”

“A shame,” Tom said, making sure his tone sounded regretful rather than furious.

“It is,” Alice said frankly. “I don’t like loose threads. But there have been no more incidents since then? No more signs of someone breaking in?”

“There have not,” Tom said. After some deliberation, he had decided to keep the thief’s other exploits to himself. He didn’t want the aurors poking around the less savoury aspects of his work.

“It’s a waiting game, then,” Alice said, sighing. “Seeing if they do strike again. I can install a couple of extra protections in your office if you like, though I suspect you’ve got it secure enough.”

“I do,” Tom said. “But thank you for the thought. I do appreciate it.”

He also appreciated the impression the two of them were making, striding through the Ministry. People moved instinctively out of their way, making room. Tom, though looking entirely focused on their quiet conversation, did not miss the admiring and envious looks cast his way.

It reassured him that his plans were working. His progress was secure, even if there was one specific thorn in his side.

And even that would soon change.

Tom did not breathe another word of it to anyone. He took precautions greater than any he had previously set; dug up magic from books untouched for a century or more. He utilised wards not seen since Merlin’s time, buried beneath more obvious modern versions as a feint. He did not speak of this research to any of his staff, ever mindful that his unknown assailant had ways of eavesdropping that Tom had not yet ascertained. This time, all knowledge would stay locked within his own mind.

Then, preparations made, he triggered the trap.

He organised a work trip, and told all his staff to vacate the manor for the entire weekend, as he would not be there. There would not be a single person on the premises. Then, he returned – by portkey, quietly, not apparating – to a precise corner of the room beyond his office. And there he waited.

For a long time all was still, but Tom did not stir. He waited, senses and magic all alert. And finally, finally, his patience was rewarded. There – a faint noise. He started moving instantly, though even as he did so, the trap paid off properly with a loud crash.

When Tom came bursting through the doors, wand raised and face curling into a triumphant smile at the thought of finally catching the intruder, he was faced with the sight of his hapless cook standing surrounded by shards of broken pottery.

“In hindsight,” Harry said, wide-eyed and guileless, “I have to say you were probably right about this one, boss. It’s a good trap.”

Tom sealed the door; the anti-apparition wards and anti-portkey wards were already activated. Then he stalked over and pushed Harry against the wall, one arm against his chest.

“Start talking,” he hissed. His mind was racing through the possibilities. His first thought had been Polyjuice, but one of the old wards had been set up to strip such effects. And it had been exactly Harry’s usual intonation; the intruder was holding Harry’s own wand. This was his cook.

Harry still did not have the wit to look frightened – and yet, Tom realised, if Harry was here deliberately, if Harry had been the intruder every time – he had that wit and more.

“I was… looking for a snack?” Harry tried, still relaxed, as though his life was not currently in danger.

“Do not take me for a fool,” Tom snapped, pressing more tightly. “Who put you up to this?”

Harry had the nerve to look annoyed at that. “That’s kind of harsh, boss. I came up with this all on my own!”

It didn’t sound like a lie, but Tom could not take anything Harry said for granted any more. He tried to press harder with his legilimency but hit a wall behind Harry’s eyes. He could sense those general emotions, everything he got from his passive legilimency, but nothing more.

“Did you,” he said, to cover his shock.

Harry’s eyes glinted in a way that suggested he had noted Tom’s attempt. He looked, suddenly, nothing like the idiot Tom had always taken him for.

You should know,” Harry said lightly, “I kept records of everything I’ve done. And everything you’ve done, too. If anything happens to me, those records will become public. And, you know, I don’t think I’ll be treated too harshly for doing some slightly illegal things to counter your super illegal things.”

Tom leaned in, letting all his frustration blaze through. The thought that the culprit had been under his nose for so long – that he had discounted the one person he had discussed his plans with –

“Why?” he snarled.

Harry shrugged, as best he could from his position between Tom and the wall. “Turns out I want to live in a just society. That was some pretty heavy-duty corruption and blackmail and the like you had going on.”

“Society is already corrupt,” Tom snapped. “You are not answering me properly, Harry. Why target me?”

For some reason, Harry grinned. “I was here already. It seemed like the least amount of effort?” He blinked, putting on what Tom was only now realising was a mask of guilelessness. “I spotted some of the security holes in my first week, boss. Seemed a shame not to make use of them.”

Tom had to close his eyes for a moment. His world had shifted on its axis. He ought to be furious; would have expected himself to be so. He ought to be crucio-ing Harry until he revealed where he had stored his evidence. He should be locking him up, finding out who he loved so Tom could threaten them instead.

He opened his eyes and looked at that face. Still grinning up at him, entirely unafraid. He couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Harry had accounted for those contingencies as well.

And he found he wasn’t angry.

“You first came into my service as a cook,” he said slowly, “and only later discovered my – less savoury activities. And then, entirely alone, you took it upon yourself to thwart them. All while maintaining your mask of stupidity at work every day.”

Harry laughed softly. “That was on you, Tom. You assumed I was an idiot when you met me. All I had to do was play down to your expectations.”

“And the way you evaded my traps?” Tom asked, ignoring his own reaction at Harry using his name.

“Well… You weren’t all that subtle with them, boss.”

Tom was about to unleash his instinctive reaction to that – because he was renowned for his subtlety, whatever Harry might think – only then he looked again at Harry’s expression. Saw the way his eyes were twinkling. And he realised that Harry somehow knew exactly which buttons to push. Had been cataloguing Tom his entire time here, while Tom had been busy overlooking him entirely.

He thought back to all the inane things Harry had said to him in the past, and his eyes narrowed. Harry stared back, still looking entirely guileless.

There was a beat of silence, the air tense between them. It was Tom who broke it.

“Magnificent,” he breathed.

That finally threw Harry off balance.

“Er, what? Did you overlook the bit where I messed up your plans?”

“You did disrupt them entirely,” Tom breathed. He could feel Harry’s pulse beneath his hand, beating quickly with adrenalin. Not quite as relaxed as he appeared, then. “As nobody else has managed to do.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. “Are you trying to throw me off-balance in revenge? Because it’s working.”

“The locket,” Tom said, thinking back. “How did you circumvent the alarm?”

“The Parseltongue warning, you mean?” Harry asked, and Tom nodded. Harry brightened. “Actually, this is handy,” he said, nonsensically. “You can tell me what the code word was!”

“Explain,” Tom demanded.

“I said some Parseltongue words at it until it stopped. But I don’t actually know which one worked.”

Tom dug his hand into Harry’s shoulder until Harry winced. “You know Parseltongue?”

“No!” Harry yelped. “Not properly, calm down, ow.”

Tom did not calm down. He slid his hand along to press it against Harry’s neck, his thumb on Harry’s pulse. “Tell me,” he hissed.

“Look, we all know you’re the only native speaker,” Harry said, finally getting that Tom was deadly serious here. “But that doesn’t mean other people can’t learn it! I thought it would be fun, you know, to pick up a few phrases. So that’s what I did with the locket.” He hissed in Parseltongue – he had a terrible accent, but the words were clear. “Open, quiet, that kind of thing, you know?”

Tom’s other hand moved of its own accord to also encircle Harry’s neck, running his thumb up and down. He could feel when Harry swallowed.

“Not sure what’s going on here,” Harry said, sounding a little hoarse. “Can I have some of my personal space back, maybe?”

“You learned Parseltongue,” Tom said, and perhaps he sounded a little hoarse also. “You simply – sat down and learned it.”

“There are books on it,” Harry huffed. His pulse was still thundering beneath Tom’s hands. “And they say it out loud for you as well. I never got the hang of the grammar, but I’ve still got a good number of words memorised. It’s a really cool language.”

Tom leaned in to press his forehead to Harry’s, ignoring Harry’s yelp of protest.

“You learned Parseltongue,” Tom repeated. “When?”

“…School? I used it as part of my Care of Magical Creatures coursework, it wasn’t a secret or anything.”

It was a subject Tom had paid only passing attention to. He would have to go back and scour the records for others such as Harry.

Though he was starting to suspect there was nobody quite like Harry.

“So,” Harry said, and this time his breeziness did sound slightly forced. “Much as I, er, appreciate all the looming you’ve got going on, are we going to get to the part where you… back off, and make me promise to keep quiet or something?”

“Perhaps,” Tom murmured. He would pull back in a moment, once he had got his expression under control. He really ought to be feeling anger. He ought to be suspicious.

“Tell me,” he whispered, noting the way Harry shivered beneath his hands. “What did you expect to gain from your – exploits? What was your goal? You had to know I would discover you eventually.”

“Still no personal space,” Harry muttered. “And, you know, boss,” he continued, dropping into his old voice – nothing sharp or sensible about it at all. Tom had no idea how he’d not noticed its artificiality before. Now it grated against Tom like barbed wire. “Even when you saw me at the scene of the crime just now, you still had to take a moment to believe it was me, right? How could Harry have anything to do with this?”

Tom ran his thumb up Harry’s throat again, and Harry’s breath hitched. “That is an evasion, not an explanation,” he said, letting a note of warning into his voice.

“Fine,” Harry huffed, wriggling a little beneath Tom’s hands. “So I was maybe overconfident this time. I was hoping if you ever twigged, I would have time to get away. Banking on that disbelief, you know.”

“Really,” Tom said.

“Would you believe that sometimes I actually am an idiot?” Harry was still grinning when Tom pulled back to look at him again, and his expression make it hard for Tom to believe these belated claims to idiocy. He still looked entirely in control. “I hadn’t actually thought this through to the end. I often don’t think things through, it’s a problem! I do things and then work out the consequences later. Apparently it’s a bad habit, but… I keep doing it anyway.”

“So.” Tom drew back a fraction further. “Where do we go from here, Harry?”

“I asked you first!” Harry retorted. “I thought there would be more – duelling, or something, I don’t know. I would make a dramatic getaway.”

Tom’s slid one hand back over to grip Harry’s shoulder. “And yet you have not drawn your wand.”

“Neither have you! Why haven’t you drawn your wand? Is this all actually some bizarre dream? Merlin, I kind of hope so.”

“It is no dream,” Tom said, feeling satisfaction curl through him at the thought. “You wish me to make the next move, Harry?”

“Well, someone needs to, and I’m a bit busy trying to work out why we’re not duelling, to be honest?”

Tom ran his hands down Harry’s arms to grasp both of Harry’s hands in his own. Harry had gone charmingly red. That, Tom thought, would be one way to try to discomfit Harry.

“Then,” Tom said, noting how Harry’s gaze dropped to his mouth, “I will see you for breakfast tomorrow. Eight o’clock on the terrace should suit. You may bring enough for yourself as well.”

“I have no idea what’s going on any more,” Harry said, seemingly to himself. “Sure, why not, I’ll just wander off and then show up for work tomorrow. No bother.”

Tom smiled. He had been off-balance for too long. He very much hoped he could make Harry feel the same.

Chapter Text

Harry had absolutely no idea what was going on. It must have been a dream. He’d had plenty of nice dreams where he’d been pressed against a wall by someone with a similar build to Tom Riddle, and where that someone had murmured to him in a velvet voice and run their hands all over him. This would fit right in.

And yet it kept stubbornly refusing to be a dream this time.

He went home. Spent a while pacing round the living room, wondering if he should just go straight back. Was this all some elaborate plan? Was Tom expecting Harry to bolt to where he’d kept his evidence or something?

None of it made sense. Harry might not have put enough thought into what might happen if Tom ever caught him, but he would never have guessed this. He would never have expected Tom to press him against a wall and then – invite him to breakfast.

Harry thought about going to see Sirius and Remus, or even Ron and Hermione, but resisted the urge. He didn’t want Tom to suspect their involvement if he was tracking Harry. Harry was going to stay right here, and pace up and down a bit more, and then he was…

Then he was going to back and make breakfast.

Harry made the best breakfast he’d produced in his entire life, and refused to examine his motives. He was doing his job. He was doing his job well. He was –

He was making poached eggs, and pancakes, and fruit salad, and croissants, and fresh bread, and marmalade, and yoghurt, and more, as though Tom might suddenly want a ten-person buffet for breakfast.

He had everything laid out on the terrace for two minutes to eight. The manor house was quiet, because of course Tom had told his staff he wouldn’t need them until this afternoon. Because of setting the trap. The trap that Harry should really, absolutely have seen coming.

It was another beautiful morning. The gardens looked peaceful, the gardener having heroically replaced every statue Tom had blasted to pieces. Harry should probably have mentioned the whole ‘alone with an angry Tom Riddle’ thing to someone. He thought about going to write a quick message to Sirius.

But the clock inside was chiming the hour, and Tom was striding out through the French doors.

Despite what Tom had said, Harry had only laid one place. Tom took one look, though, and didn’t say anything; he simply raised an eyebrow. Just as silently, Harry sighed and used his wand to wave over another place setting from the kitchen.

Tom watched him do so with an odd expression on his face, and Harry realised belatedly that Tom had never seen Harry do proper nonverbal magic before. What with the whole pretending to be an idiot thing.

The best he could hope for out of this was getting fired, probably.

Tom gestured to the spare seat, waiting for Harry to sit before he seated himself in turn. Harry refused to serve his own food first, gesturing back to Tom. Harry was here to make Tom’s breakfast.

Tom simply smiled and started ladling food onto Harry’s plate before he filled his own. He poured them both a cup of tea, then very precisely placed his napkin onto his lap. Harry wondered if the silence felt as stressful to Tom as it did to Harry. Maybe this was the next step in his cunning plan to throw Harry off balance. Maybe, Harry thought hopefully, he’d lost his voice since the night before and so couldn’t yell at Harry anyway. It was unlikely, but Harry was nothing if not optimistic.

When Tom spoke, Harry flinched. But it was innocuous.

“Good morning, Harry,” he said. “This looks delicious, as ever.”

“Thanks!” Harry said brightly. He was trying very hard not to ask “What are you going to do about the thieving and sort-of-lying?”

“Do eat,” Tom said, gesturing to Harry’s plate. “You must be hungry.”

Harry was, but it felt sort of beside the point.

“You’re feeling less chatty this morning than you usually do?” was Tom’s next remark. He looked entirely at ease. There was a strange look in his eye that Harry mistrusted.

And abruptly, Harry was himself again. He wasn’t going to let Tom Riddle start discomposing him now, not after all this time.

“Just not sure what you’d like to talk about,” he said, with a decent semblance of cheer. “I like the new statues!”

Tom inclined his head, as though acknowledging a hit. “I was in something of a temper when I removed them,” he said.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Harry still couldn’t work out why Tom seemed to be in such a good mood. Was he just happy to have caught Harry?

“Those remarks,” Tom said, taking another bite of egg, as though this was a normal breakfast. As though this was like all their previous conversations. “Have you ever said a serious word to me before, Harry?”

“…Maybe one or two.” Not that Harry could think of any.

Tom shook his head. “How terribly cruel of you,” he said, still smiling that strange, satisfied smile. “To have taken advantage of my good will like that, Harry. To have let me take you at face value.”

“That’s on you,” Harry told him, finally taking a bite of his own meal. He had made more than enough, after all. “You were the one who assumed I was an idiot.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Tom said unexpectedly. “I’m not often quite so mistaken about people, Harry.”

“So you think.” Now he’d started eating, Harry realised he really was hungry. He shovelled in some more. “But how would you know?”

Tom paused for a moment. When he spoke again, the words were deliberate. “Why did you deceive me?”

Harry shook his head. “I wish I had a better answer for you, boss. But it was mostly just because I could.”

He saw Tom’s hand tighten on his fork before he relaxed again. “You will refrain from calling me that from now on, Harry.”

Harry had to laugh. “Ok, I can probably manage that. I can’t believe you really thought remembering to call you ‘sir’ was beyond my skill set.”

He thought that would make Tom tense again, but it didn’t. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. Harry tried not to watch the line of his throat.

“I would not have you call me ‘sir’ now, Harry,” he said. “You may call me Tom.”

Harry gulped. He called Tom that to everyone else, but somehow the way Tom said it now…

“Sure,” he managed, taking a sip of his own tea to cover his weird reaction. His mouth felt dry. “Tom.”

Silence fell again. Harry kept eating, waiting to see what Tom would come out with next, but he continued to just sip his tea and stare at Harry. And Harry found he had plenty to say himself, now that he wasn’t being gormless.

“Do you think all your underlings are idiots?” he asked. “Or just me and Draco?”

“I ought to have paid more attention to Draco,” Tom said. Harry couldn’t predict any of his responses today, not like usual. “I saw how he reacted to you and I dismissed it.”

“Not surprising,” Harry told him. “I was messing with him as well.”

Tom hummed. His gaze had turned speculative again. “But if you are not, as it transpires, an idiot, what possessed you to touch my lunar rod? The one in my study?”

Harry tried really hard not to make an inappropriate comment about touching Tom’s rod, and instead focused on what Tom was actually asking.

“The lunar – oh, right!” He remembered the device that had shown up the time after he’d nicked the vial. “You had it set up wrong.”

“What,” Tom said, entirely flat.

“Yeah, the alignment was off? I assumed you were going to fix it, but I kind of wanted to nudge it along a bit further anyway. I wouldn’t have damaged it, I promise. I know they’re delicate, but still.”

“You know your way around lunar rods,” Tom said, and it still sounded suggestive. Maybe everything did when Tom said it in that commanding tone.

“I’ve used one before, yeah. Yours is nicer, though. Hey, can I actually have a play around with it?” That sounded just as bad as everything Tom had said, but Harry ploughed on heroically. He hoped Tom was appreciating his restraint. “It looks like it might be able to get more specific than the one I’ve seen, which would be cool.”

“You have used a lunar rod before. A rare and specialised item, of which there are only a few working exemplars extant in Britain… And you know enough to see that one is out of alignment at a glance.”

“We can go right now and I can show you,” Harry said, stung by the implication he was making it up. “Or not, and you can deal with aligning it yourself. It doesn’t matter to me.” It wasn’t like Remus would ever be able to benefit from Tom’s one, even if Harry got to play around with the settings.

Tom shut his eyes, pressing a hand to his forehead. “No, no,” he said, “I believe you capable of it. Why not.”

Harry went to start talking about the specifics, but then a thought struck him. “Is that really what you want to ask about that day?”

Tom lowered his hand so he could stare at Harry for a moment. Harry looked back expectantly, and Tom caved.

“Tell me,” he said. “Why the potatoes?”

Harry couldn’t help grinning. He had really loved the potatoes.

“They were a really obvious distraction.” He still couldn’t quite believe it had worked. “So I could flail around your desk and cover any last traces. It was a bit stupid of me, but I was still learning how to sneak around! I’ve got a lot better since then.”

Tom’s expression started to turn hard, but then something in what Harry said made him relax.

“I’m impressed,” he said, and Harry was thrown off yet again. He’d thought Tom would be more likely to curse him. “It shows an ability to improvise with the implements to hand. To use your counterpart’s misconceptions to your advantage. But,” he added, “I do not believe you were merely learning to sneak around then, as you put it. I ought to look up your school record.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Do not do that.” He, Ron and Hermione might have done their fair share of sneaking, to be fair, but that was entirely different. “The point is, I have learned since the potato thing.”

“Yet you still have some things to learn. Since I managed to catch you yesterday.”

Tom should be looking angry about that. He shouldn’t just be looking satisfied.

“…You did,” Harry admitted. “Erm… What were you planning to do about it?”

Tom’s eyes flashed, and Harry realised he must have been waiting for Harry to ask. Harry had a moment to be annoyed he’d let the conversation play out the way Tom wanted it, but his thoughts short-circuited when Tom reached over and grasped Harry’s hand. Before Harry could think to snatch it away, Tom raised it to his lips. Pressed a kiss onto Harry’s knuckles.

Harry stared at him. Tom stared back, still grasping Harry’s hand. He lowered it to the table but didn’t let go.

“This can’t mean what I think it means,” Harry said. He should pull his hand away. He would, in just a moment. “What does it mean?”

Tom looked amused. “Tell me, Harry, what you think it cannot mean?”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t get the words out. The thought was too ridiculous. There was no way Tom would want to – court him, with all the absurd Pureblood traditions that entailed.

He must just want to throw Harry off balance. That must be it.

“So you’re not firing me?” he asked, instead of answering. Tom pressed his hand. Harry was going to pull back in a minute.

“I am not,” he said. “I cannot do without your skills, Harry.”

“…Right. Good. That’s – good.”

Tom’s smile widened. “And I hope you will be able to join me for breakfast more often. Now that I know you can provide more – stimulating conversation.”

Harry widened his eyes. “You mean you didn’t appreciate my comments? I always tried so hard with them.”

“I’m very glad to know,” Tom said, “that you are not an idiot, Harry Potter. Very glad indeed.”

Chapter Text

Tom was somewhat surprised to find he was enjoying himself.

He had expected his anger to linger. For all he was pleased by the revelation of Harry’s intelligence, it had been at the expense of himself – of his long-term plans and goals. He ought to be infuriated by the fact somebody had worked under his very nose to taunt him, to oppose him.

And yet he was not.

It helped, perhaps, that none but he knew of Harry’s activities. It was a private affair. And the reward, the consequence of having finally unmasked Harry, was to see his knowledge of Harry’s true character unfurl.

Harry was not an idiot. Harry was, in fact, entirely the opposite.

“Why apply to work as nothing but a cook in the first place?” Tom had asked him during that first breakfast. “If, as you say, you did not start out intending to – undercut my endeavours?”

“Undercut my endeavours,” Harry muttered. “Honestly. Is it so hard to believe I enjoy my job?”

“It is,” Tom said plainly, but that just made Harry laugh.

“That’s your problem, Tom. You think everyone is like you deep down – but actually, some of us enjoy the easy life. I like cooking. I like knowing the most stressful thing in my day is making sure a roast doesn’t dry out.”

Sitting there in front of Tom, relaxed, he seemed to believe his own words. But Tom did not. Nobody content with an easy life would have acted as Harry had.

Tom decided to test his supposition. The next day, he swept into his kitchen when Harry might have expected to be finishing up for the day. He had never bothered to venture within before, preferring to summon Harry to him, and one glance around told him that had been an error. There were four sets of knives chopping away merrily in tandem, three pots on the stove stirring themselves, and Harry sat cross-legged on the counter directing it all.

“Afternoon!” Harry said cheerfully. “I’m just putting something together for your drudges, since you’re making them work late. Don’t worry, it’s all accounted for in the budget.”

“Very well,” Tom said, though he felt conscious of a faint annoyance that Harry was cooking for other people – even if it was Tom’s people. “And what is that?” he asked, gesturing to a separate pot bubbling away and emitting a faint burnt smell. Tom could not believe Harry had overlooked it.

Indeed, Harry looked sheepish rather than concerned. “That’s… for Draco,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I don’t need to worry that you are feeding my assistant substandard food?”

“No,” Harry said plainly. “And don’t try to tell me you do, because I won’t believe you.” He grinned. “It’s his own fault for bothering me so often this week.”

“He’s been bothering you?” Tom frowned. If Draco had time to do so, he must be underworked. Tom would have to see to that.

“Just to try slipping memory-boosting potions into my tea,” Harry said, flapping a hand. “Honestly, it’s been kind of great. But he also keeps telling me to make his favourite foods, so I’m making them all just a little bit badly. Only his portions, though.”

Tom would really have to find more work for Draco to do. It was unacceptable that he had so much time to spend with Harry.

He would deal with that tomorrow. For now, he had other priorities.

“Very well,” he said, “you may finish all that up. But I will also require you to put together something else for this evening.”

“Sure,” Harry said, then looked a little wary. He had perhaps spotted Tom’s expression.

“I am having guests this evening,” Tom announced. “Ten of them. We will require sustenance.”

“…What kind of sustenance?”

Tom smiled. “I’m glad you asked.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown as Tom detailed the five courses that would be required, with the first to be served in less than two hours’ time. The frown deepened as Tom mentioned the various dietary requirements that would be involved – all of them needing catered to discreetly, of course, and not with obviously inferior or separate dishes.

“You bastard,” Harry said, when Tom was done.

“Can you do it?” Tom asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “No. No, I can’t do my job, which you pay me to do.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, but Harry didn’t seem to realise that some people might consider this beyond his job description.

“I know you’re only doing this to mess with me,” Harry added.

“I shall await the results,” Tom merely said in response. Giving in to a momentary impulse, he stepped over to where Harry was sitting and pressed a hand to the curve of his knee. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Bastard,” Harry muttered again, but he had gone red and was staring down at Tom’s hand. “Shoo,” he added. “I need to get started on this stupid fancy meal asap.” But he made no move to remove Tom’s hand.

“Thank you,” Tom murmured again, watching the flush on Harry’s cheeks deepen for a moment before he left Harry to it.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the corridor that he realised he had not even considered reprimanding Harry for his language, as he would otherwise always do to his employees.

Harry confirmed Tom’s suspicions. Much as he protested that he wasn’t interested in making life difficult for himself, he thrived on the challenge. The food he produced that evening was exactly to Tom’s specifications. And Harry did not look stressed, or harried, when he brought in each course. Instead he looked at Tom with a glint in his eye, as though to emphasise that he knew that the point of the evening was not to charm Tom’s forgettable guests.

And he was right. It was for Harry himself.

And Harry was magnificent.

Tom told him so, after he had rid himself of his guests. Harry could theoretically have gone home by then, but Tom found him still in the kitchen, pottering around.

“You did beautifully,” Tom told him, and Harry jumped.

“Tom!” he said, turning round. “You need a bell or something.”

“What was that dessert?” Tom asked, crossing the room to lean against the counter next to Harry.

“A recipe from Molly Weasley,” Harry said, his eyes sliding up and down Tom almost involuntarily. Tom was pleased. He hadn’t worn his slim-fitting robes to please his guests, after all.

“Indeed,” he murmured, more to keep Harry talking as Harry paused, swallowing.

“She’s the only person I don’t have to blackmail the recipes out of,” Harry finally continued. “The trouble I have getting those old ladies to tell me their secrets – and it’s not even secrets all the time! Or at least it shouldn’t be. Why do they care if other people know how they make the icing for carrot cake? Or their charm for making roast potatoes extra crispy? But no, they’d rather take them to their graves.” He shook his head. “So, anyway, Molly Weasley is great. But I think it’s just because I accidentally became an honorary Weasley.”

Tom reached out to grasp Harry’s hand, lifting it to press a kiss to his palm.

“And how do you befriend these other old witches?” he asked, as though Harry wasn’t gaping at him.

“I – you –” Harry sputtered. Tom stroked his thumb over Harry’s wrist, looking at him expectantly. “I – know people,” Harry managed finally.

“An eloquent explanation,” Tom said, some of his amusement seeping into his tone, and that made Harry’s eyes narrow.

“I know people,” he repeated more firmly, and he stepped a bit closer. Placed his free hand right by where Tom’s hip was resting against the wooden counter, a hairsbreadth away from touching him. “I talk to them,” he continued. “Strike up conversations in tea shops.” He lifted his hand out of Tom’s grasp, only to run his fingers lightly around the side of Tom’s face, cupping his cheek briefly. “Got close to them,” he added, more softly.

Now it was Tom’s turn to swallow. “I hope not in such a way as this,” he managed.

That made Harry laugh. “No,” he agreed. “Not quite like this.”

Tom looked at that smiling mouth, that mouth which had so often been laughing at him unnoticed, and shifted minutely closer. Harry’s smile faded, but not into anything off-putting. His lips were parted. He was staring up at Tom.

But Tom was doing this to frustrate Harry, he reminded himself. To keep him off balance.

And he imagined that going through the motions properly would frustrate Harry. So he leaned in, slowly, seeing Harry’s eyes widen. Watching those parted lips. And at the last moment he ducked to the side and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“I would love for you to tell me more about it,” he said. “Perhaps over lunch tomorrow.”

Tom felt a delicious kind of pleasure as Harry did a double-take.

“…Lunch?” he repeated.

“On Diagon Alley,” Tom said. “My treat.”

 Harry frowned. “Why,” he said, flat, but Tom saw the realisation dawning even as he said it. “You – you really –”

“Indeed,” Tom said. “It is the traditional progression, after all.” And it was not an irrevocable step in the Pureblood process. It was one he could take to keep that look of confusion on Harry’s face, though he would not go any further. The aim was to discomfort Harry, not commit himself.

“You can’t really –” Harry spluttered. “I – I stole from you! I messed up your plans!”

Tom hummed. “You did, didn’t you. Perhaps, then, I will make you pay for lunch tomorrow.”

It only took a moment for Harry to right himself again. “I will,” he returned. “Then it’s my treat. Just like all the other food you make me give you when you’re feeling petty.”

Tom didn’t know why he kept being surprised by Harry. If Harry’s long-term commitment to playing the idiot had taught him anything, it ought to have been Harry’s adaptability. But whatever the cause, it was a pleasingly novel sensation.

“I am never unjustifiably petty,” he said, just to see Harry frown again.

“You absolutely are,” Harry said. “Remember when you made me redo all those meals because you were annoyed at your plans being ruined?” He paused. “I mean, they were ruined because of me, but you didn’t know that at the time.”

“I did not,” Tom said. There it was again – the complete lack of anger. Rather, something entirely the opposite of anger. “And,” he said, to be sure, “nobody else knows?”

“No,” Harry said, before immediately adding, “but people will if anything happens to me!”

“Oh,” Tom purred, giving in to the urge to lean in a little closer again, “nothing will happen to you that you do not wish for, Harry.”

Harry ducked his head, muttering something unintelligible. Watching the way his gaze darted back up to look at Tom’s mouth, Tom was satisfied.

Very satisfied indeed.

Their lunchtime outing the following day was instructive for a number of reasons. Firstly, Harry came prepared. He might have professed his distrust in Tom’s pursuit of the conventional Pureblood courting steps, but he was very ready to go along with them – more so than Tom had suspected. He brought Tom a charmed flower to set in his buttonhole, and only looked mildly disconcerted when Tom looped Harry’s arm in his to lead him along the street and into the café.

“You came prepared,” Tom said to him quietly, and Harry laughed.

“What, were you expecting me to back down? Jokes on you, I have never backed down from anything once in my life.”

“You do know that is not necessarily a positive trait…?” Tom asked, but Harry had stopped listening.

“Harry!” someone was calling, cutting across the street while waving happily. It was a young witch, her hair tied back into a rough ponytail.

“Hey, Padma,” Harry said just as enthusiastically, though Tom was glad to note that he did not remove his arm from Tom’s grasp.

“I won’t keep you,” the witch said, perhaps noting Tom’s stony expression. “I just wanted to ask if we’ll see you at practice on Thursday?”

“I’ll be there,” Harry said, nodding.

“Good,” Padma said with a grin. “Someone needs to keep Oliver in check, and you’re about the only one who can do it. Oh, and remind me to tell you the latest Millie and Romilda gossip!”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Harry said, giving her a friendly wave goodbye as he and Tom continued on their way.

“Practice?” Tom asked.

“Quidditch,” Harry said. “I play for a local team.”

“Which –” Tom started to ask, but was cut off by someone else stepping into their path.

“Harry,” the man said jovially. “What good luck to see you here, it saves me sending you an owl.”

“Don’t tell me this is about Matilda,” Harry said, shaking his head with mock dismay.

“Afraid so, afraid so,” the man said. “Do you think you could pop in and see her this week? She pines without you, you know. Absolutely pines.”

“Of course,” Harry assured him. “Maybe on Saturday?”

“That would be wonderful,” the man said, going so far as to grasp Harry’s hand and shake it firmly. “Wonderful.”

“And who is Matilda?” Tom asked, once the man had headed off.

“Look a little more vicious, why don’t you, it’s really helping the vibe here,” Harry said, nudging him. “Matilda is his elderly aunt. We play gobstones together and she always cheats.”

“You,” Tom said flatly, “play gobstones with the Head Auror’s elderly aunt.”

“Sure?” Harry had the nerve to look like Tom’s surprise was the odd thing going on here.

“And how did you come to know Matilda?”

“Oh, it was through Henry,” Harry assured him, as though that made it better. As though it were more normal for Harry to have befriended the Head Auror rather than his aunt.

“Tell me,” Tom said, with every ounce of patience he could summon. Judging by Harry’s amused glance, it was not quite enough.

“I did this duelling course the aurors ran last summer, it was pretty fun. That’s how I know him.”

That answered absolutely none of Tom’s questions. However, he never got the chance to make Harry explain how attending a duelling course had led to him being on first-name terms with both the Head Auror and his aunt, because they were accosted twice more before they reached the café. One was another friend of Harry’s who just wanted to say hi; the next was a passing acquaintance of Tom’s who still ignored Tom in favour of getting Harry to promise to swap a recipe charm with her mother.

“So,” Tom said when they were finally ensconced in a booth near the back of the café, after the owner had also greeted Harry by name. She’d already laid out a little cake for both of them ‘just as a starter, Harry, since I know your sweet tooth’. Tom had not yet picked his up. Harry had eaten half in one bite and somehow got icing on his nose. “You are well-connected, Harry.”

Harry wrinkled his nose, still chewing on his cake. “That’s a weird way of putting it. I guess I’ve got to know quite a few people, that’s all.”

“A few people,” Tom repeated. It seemed to be half of the wizarding world. “How did I not know of this? Why did nobody mention it to me?” It might have given him a chance to pierce Harry’s absurd charade sooner if he had known he was friends with the Head Auror.

“Well,” Harry said peaceably, “you don’t have an approachable face.”

Tom paused. It was undeniably true. He had, in fact, worked to cultivate an air of distance. Many people mistook it for authority, which was all to Tom’s advantage. Now, however, he could concede that it brought one or two downsides – if, for instance, it meant people had not been passing on vital insights into his staff members.

He could not regret it, though. It had brought him numerous benefits over the years, not least of which was being taken seriously within the Ministry from a very young age. No, he could not regret his forbidding demeanour. It simply meant he needed someone approachable to counterbalance that, to gather the information that people did not wish to speak to him about.

He looked over at Harry, who had run one hand through his hair and accidentally got icing there too. Who seemingly knew everyone in wizarding London that Tom did not. Who everyone felt able to wander up to with whatever was on their mind.

If Harry truly did not back down from any challenge, as he had proclaimed… Perhaps Tom would take this a little further after all.

Chapter Text

Somewhere along the way, Harry had lost control of things.

Just a couple of weeks ago, he’d known where they all stood. He was the bumbling idiot employee, Tom Riddle was a sketchy politician, and when Tom finally twigged on to who was sabotaging him, Harry would – use his evidence to get out of it, change jobs, something along those lines. He hadn’t worked out the details.

But whatever the hazy details had been, they had been nothing like this.

Tom Riddle still wasn’t angry.

Harry had been sure that the whole – courtship – thing had been a way to throw him off balance, or some form of subtle torture. Except that didn’t quite explain why Tom kept on going with it, even through to all the first public steps. He’d taken Harry on their lunchtime date to the café, and then taken him out to dinner a few nights later. If it was some kind of torture, then it was very subtle indeed, because so far Harry had been having a surprisingly nice time.

“Why is this still happening?” he asked Tom, the third time Tom took him out. This was the serious one, by Pureblood traditions at least. Once you reached the third public date, you were Announcing Intentions. Harry knew this because Ron had told him so at length a couple of days earlier. Harry couldn’t work out how Ron had managed to make the capital letters so clear when he was speaking.

Ron had also looked confused and slightly alarmed when Harry had mentioned that he was going to take up Tom’s invitation. Harry couldn’t explain that he was going along with it because he thought the alternative might be Tom cursing him.

Also because of the whole ‘surprisingly nice time’ thing, and the way Tom had looked, smiling at him across the table, but he didn’t want to explain that to Ron either. He’d settled for reminding Ron about the solemn vow they’d taken as eleven-year-olds high on Gryffindor pride to never back down from anything. That hadn’t made Ron look any less alarmed.

“You do know I was working against you?” he added now, as he had a hundred times so far.

“I believe you can summon up the intellect to work out why,” Tom replied, as he always did. “And you are not currently working against me.”

“True,” Harry conceded. “But only because I haven’t spotted you doing anything dodgy.”

“Would you, then?” Tom asked, studying him. “Work against me, if you saw… something against your own moral standards, shall we say?”

“If I saw you doing some illegal shit again,” Harry said, jabbing Tom’s arm, “then yes, Tom, I would do my best to stop it again.” He grinned in remembrance. “You have to admit, having the cup and the locket together at the castle is pretty funny.”

Tom stiffened for a moment.

“What is it?” Harry asked suspiciously, and jabbed Tom’s arm again when Tom shook his head. “I know it’s something.”

As ever, Tom still didn’t get annoyed at Harry pushing at him. Harry had given up wondering about it. And, even more astonishingly, he answered.

“The locket,” he said, “was a family heirloom.”

“…Of your family?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes, Harry, of my family. My mother… she was compelled to sell it. I merely returned it to its rightful home.”

“Well, shit,” Harry said. “You should have told me!” Then he thought that through. “Ok, I don’t know why you would have told me before I nicked it, but still. Sorry about that.”

The slight tightness that had appeared on Tom’s face eased.

“Apology accepted,” he said. “I would appreciate it, however, if you refrained from liberating any more of my possessions with asking first.”

Harry laughed. “I can probably manage that. But I’m not promising to hold back if you’re doing dodgy stuff to other people who don’t deserve it.”

Harry thought that would make Tom tense up again, but it didn’t. “Something dodgy,” he said instead, still soft. “Unlike your own… dodgy activities?”

Harry went to jab Tom’s arm again, but this time Tom reached out to grab his hand and enclose it in his own.

“Yours were dodgy as fuck, Tom,” Harry told him. “Mine were like, minor misdemeanours at best.” Before whatever emotion he was feeling from Tom holding his hand and looking at him like that, laughter dancing in his eyes, caught up with him, he leaned forwards. “You can’t hide it from me,” he said as sternly as he could, which wasn’t very. “All the rest of your office staff fold at the slightest glimpse of my triple chocolate brownies.”

“A real weakness in them,” Tom murmured. “I shall have to hope that I can – ah – persuade you not to exploit it.”

He was really very close. “Such a great tactician,” Harry said, grinning. “Stop your cook feeding your employees. Yeah, that’s going to go down well.”

“Er, should I come back later?” came the voice of their water. Harry pulled back to see him looking a little awkwardly at them both, notepad ready in his hand.

“No, no,” Tom said, entirely composed. He didn’t let go of Harry’s hand. “Harry here was a little overwhelmed by the intricacies of your menu, but I believe we are ready to order.”

Tom was such a shit, Harry thought happily. “I don’t know how you manage to keep track of so many things at once,” he said brightly, in the same tone he’d always used to talk to Tom in. “Such a long menu, wow.”

“So can I get you some drinks?” the waiter said a little desperately.

That conversation did get Harry thinking, though. He’d actually really enjoyed messing with Tom’s plans, and it did seem like Tom had put all that dodgy stuff at least on pause for now, since he’d sprung his trap. Harry wasn’t sure why, or what would happen when he restarted, but that was very much a problem for the future. His current problem was what to do instead of foiling Tom’s plans.

It soon came to him. He did now feel a bit bad for taking the locket. He’d thought Tom had only wanted it because it because of the whole Slytherin connection and because he loved having rare items nobody else did, but if it had actually belonged to his family…

Tom had been getting ahead of him, with this bizarre courtship business, and he’d looked way too smug as he’d paid for their dinner while various other people in the restaurant stared at them. Harry needed to catch up. He needed to get Tom something in return.

“What is this,” Tom said. It wasn’t a question; it was too flat for that.

“A present!” Harry said cheerfully. “Go on, hiss at it.”

Tom gave him a blank stare, as though waiting for Harry to follow this up with something else. Harry just kept beaming at him. Finally, Tom turned slowly, suspiciously, back to his gift.

“Open,” he said, and the locket did.

Tom swallowed.

“…So, is it a good present?” Harry asked, more softly that he’d meant to.

“It is an impossible one.” Tom was still staring at it. He reached out one hand to press the locket shut again, leaving his hand resting on top. “You cannot simply – take such a thing out of Hogwarts.”

“It’s impossible?” Harry said, “Damn. Wish I’d known that before I did it.”

Tom finally turned to him. “You are impossible,” he said. “How did you do it?”

“Swapped it in for my great replica,” Harry said promptly. “I’m so proud of that, you have no idea.”

Tom shook his head. “That tells me nothing, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. He didn’t exactly want to tell Tom all the details that had added up just right – Sirius and Remus’s map they’d lent to Harry, his cloak, the tunnels, Hagrid’s unwitting help. Partly because he didn’t yet trust Tom not to misuse any of that information, but more to keep the look of admiration on his face.

“It’s a present,” he said instead. “Don’t look it in the mouth, or whatever the phrase is.”

“That is not how you use it.” Tom still had that look on his face. Harry couldn’t look away. “But thank you, Harry. I could not have asked for a better gift.” He smiled. “It is not a customary courtship step, but it is a welcome one.”

Harry flushed. That wasn’t why – but he just found himself nodding. “I’m not bringing you the Hufflepuff Cup as well, though,” he said.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You do not believe the Founders’ heirlooms should all be united?”

“That would be cool,” Harry conceded, “but not tucked away in your safe room. I was the one bringing them together at Hogwarts, remember?”

Tom hummed thoughtfully. “Indeed. Well, then. If you manage to locate the other two – the diadem and the sword – I will also return my locket to the castle.”

Harry straightened up. “That’s just because you want to force Dumbledore to have to accept a gift from you.”

Tom inclined his head. “Alas, it would have to be an anonymous gift. Or shall I tell him an anonymous benefactor returned it to me after stealing it from the castle?”

“Good point,” Harry said. “I’m not taking you up on this, though.” He wasn’t even sure he knew what a diadem was, never mind where to find it, and the sword… “The sword will be tricky,” he said out loud. “Dumbledore said it’s got this enchantment on it that brings it to where it’s needed, so it’s never just lying around in one place.”

“Dumbledore is a fool,” Tom said dismissively.

“Sure,” Harry said, and Tom looked at him narrowly.

“You don’t agree?”

Harry shrugged. “Jury’s out. He’s told me some weird things,” he said, trying not to blurt out the whole ‘he thinks you’re a Dark Lord’ issue, “for sure. But Fawkes likes him.”

Tom shook his head. “You cannot approve of him merely because that creature likes him.”

“Can and will,” Harry told him. And tried not to start thinking about casually meeting up with Dumbledore to ask him more about the sword. Harry could not start hunting down the Founders’ heirlooms.

Even if it would put that expression on Tom’s face again.

He set about trying to find something else to distract him, and it didn’t take him long to land on it. There were more ways of trying out Dumbledore’s do-gooding beyond foiling Tom. Wizarding society wasn’t a bastion of honesty aside from him. In fact, there were all too many other witches and wizards that Harry strongly suspected of doing equally dodgy things.

One of them, Dolores Umbridge, had been bugging him for a long time. Better yet, she wasn’t at all aligned with Tom, so Tom wouldn’t be annoyed by Harry going after her. (Harry wasn’t sure when that had starting being a consideration, but that was also a future problem.)

Of course, Harry didn’t have the advantage of knowing all about her plans and movements like he did with Tom. What he did have, though, were nosy friends.

It turned out to be surprisingly easy to find something to work on. He got Ron and Hermione to the pub, and a few drinks in he got Hermione started on the topic of corruption at the Ministry. Hermione took the Ministry secrecy oaths she’d signed seriously, but she did drop a few things to Ron, and Ron happily relayed those to Harry when Hermione got up to go to the bathroom.

“Fucking Umbridge,” he said, shaking his head. “Hermione is sure she’s been illegally dosing people with veritaserum, but there’s no way to prove it. Everything’s locked up securely in her office. And she’s sneaky with it – there’s nothing definite. Nothing you could send the aurors in for, the ones who would be willing to take on someone so high up in the Ministry.”

“In her office?” Harry asked. “At the Ministry?”

Ron nodded. “But this is a fine topic for the pub,” he said. “How did we even get onto this?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “But we can definitely talk about something else if you like.”

After all, Harry had enough to work with.

In hindsight, he thought the next day, with everything crashing around him in Umbridge’s office, maybe he had not had enough to work with.

Harry woke up blearily, feeling like he’d forgotten something. He was aching all over, much more than after he played Quidditch. He cracked his eyes open.

Tom was looking down at him.

Harry went to flail upright, only to fall back with a hiss of pain. Tom pressed a hand to his chest, keeping him from trying to sit upright again, which is when Harry realised he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

He looked at what he could see from where he was. He was in a bed that wasn’t his own; the furnishings fit with Tom’s personal style. And he was lying there in just his jeans, Tom’s hand still a warm weight on his chest, Tom staring down at him with a frown.

That was when Harry remembered what he’d been doing.

“Eh…” he croaked. “I feel like I missed a few things.”

“Do you,” Tom said flatly, his hand shifting a little on Harry’s skin.

“No, not really.” It was slowly starting to come back to him, and – no wonder he was aching. “It makes perfect sense that I went right from triggering a curse in Umbridge’s office to here. No questions, let’s just carry on.”

“What were you thinking?” Tom asked, his voice sharp.

“…I maybe wasn’t thinking enough,” Harry said sheepishly. “Turns out Umbridge has some really good protections in her office. One more than I’d expected, which, you know, made it one too many.”

Tom was still frowning down at him. “What were you even doing there?”

“I wanted to swap recipes with her,” Harry said promptly. Tom pressed his hand down in warning, and Harry sighed. “What do you think I was doing? And what a waste, I was so close to her veritaserum stash.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. Looked meaningfully over to the far side of Harry, where Harry hadn’t turned to look yet.

Harry looked. And saw an untidy pile of veritaserum vials.

He turned back to Tom, gaping. “You? You did that?”

“I – noticed your misguided attempt,” Tom said. “I stepped in to help when things went wrong. Without which, I might add, you would be enjoying either the Ministry dungeons or Umbridge’s own personal brand of hospitality.”

Harry shivered. “Well. Thanks,” he said. It was a bit inadequate, but it still made Tom’s expression soften minutely. “Umbridge didn’t – see you, did she? She doesn’t know you were involved?”

“She doesn’t know either of us were involved,” Tom told him. “I got there quickly enough to extricate you before she could return. And you had indeed disabled all the monitoring charms and so on that she’d set.”

“Phew,” Harry said with real relief. “So it worked out! All she knows is her veritaserum is missing, and no idea about who took it.”

“It was foolish of you,” Tom said, frowning again, “to go in alone.”

Harry shrugged. “Ok, yeah, you have a good point. But who would I have asked?” He laughed. “You?”

“Yes,” Tom said seriously. He still hadn’t moved his hand from Harry’s chest, so he could probably hear how Harry’s heart started to thump at that.

“Really?” Harry asked.

“I clearly need to keep an eye on you,” Tom said. “You need constant attention to stop you wandering off into trouble.”

“That’s not true,” Harry retorted automatically.

Tom slid his hand up Harry’s chest, moving to cup the back of Harry’s neck. “It is,” he stated. “And as you are my intended, it reflects badly on me if you are found breaking into a Ministry official’s office. Clearly I have to ensure that any future endeavours are more considered.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to frown. “Intended?” he said. “Tom…”

Tom let go, but only to reach down and grab Harry’s hand. Distracted by his various aches and by Tom’s whole – thing, Harry hadn’t felt the pressure of something extra on his hand. Namely, a ring on his finger.

“Tom!” he yelped. “You can’t just – you surely don’t want to – what?”

“I do,” Tom said, a strange light in his eyes. “And if you do not, then you ought to say so now.”

“I – you should have asked me,” Harry muttered. He would have said no, obviously, but now that the ring was on… Well, it would be rude to take it off. “You should have asked,” he repeated.

Tom clearly heard that that wasn’t a no, and a satisfied smile spread over his face.

“As my intended,” he repeated, “I would hope that any – less legal activities you conduct are done in my presence. I believe I still have a little more expertise in that area.”

“But,” Harry said, struggling to sit upright again. This time Tom helped him, but possibly only as an excuse to slide a supporting arm round Harry’s back. “You can’t keep up your own shady stuff.”

Surprisingly, Tom nodded. “This little – escapade has clarified a few things for me,” he said. “I wholeheartedly agree with your mission to undercut those who are working to corrupt the legal and upright workings of the Ministry. I would like to support you in it, Harry.”

Harry looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Is it not clear to you?” Tom was still smiling, as though agreeing to drop all his illegal plans was exactly what he’d always wanted. “There is a lot of corruption out there, Harry. Why, I suspect that by the time we cut all of it out, there will be very few honest high-level Ministry employees left standing. And I, of course, will be one of them.”

“Huh,” Harry said. That made a weird amount of sense. “So instead of illegally clearing your own path, you want to just – clear out all the other dodgy people instead, and clear your path that way.”

Tom nodded. “An honourable goal, is it not?”

“They don’t get more honourable than you,” Harry said with a grin. “From now, I mean. As long as nobody asks about all the stuff you’ve already done.” He wanted to add something else, but he was distracted by the look that had appeared in Tom’s eyes. “What now?” he asked.

“You are my intended,” Tom said. He seemed to be waiting for more of a reaction to that, but he would be waiting for a long time. Harry had decided he quite liked the way the ring felt, really. “And I just saved you from a dreadful fate,” Tom continued. “Do you not think that deserves some recompense?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, as though weighing it up. “You know,” he said slowly, “isn’t it a bit improper for me to be here, in your bed? If you’re trying to be all old-fashioned and Pureblood about it, you know…”

He waited just long for Tom’s eyes to start to narrow before leaning in to press his lips to Tom’s.

And that turned out to be a much, much better idea than his Umbridge plan had been.

Chapter Text

Tom was satisfied.

It was true that it had been a wrench, abandoning his plans. His super illegal plans, as Harry would term them. Tom had dedicated a considerable amount of time and effort to perfecting those plans.

But cleaving to old plans when a better option had presented itself was the mark of lesser men.

And Harry truly was a better option.

Not only in himself, in his lively presence and his willingness to challenge Tom; though that in itself was an ongoing satisfaction. No, it was in the new path that he had opened up. One in which Tom could future-proof the slim possibility of someone else discovering his hidden plots by cloaking them in an aura of righteousness. With the right moves – and Tom always made the right moves – it would lead him just as surely to his original final goals.

And he was coming to find that undercutting his opponents’ own super illegal plans was a joy in itself. He could see why Harry enjoyed it so.

Umbridge had been spitting fire all that week, with no idea of where her rage should be properly directed. Tom was already making plans to slip some of the veritaserum he had liberated into her tea during one of the larger committee meetings they both shared, one where plenty of people would theoretically have the option to come near her drink. In the meantime, he and Harry had also hit a more low-level Ministry lobbyist who had acquired blackmail material on a swing voter for an upcoming bill. Returning the blackmail material anonymously to that voter rid the lobbyist of her leverage and struck a blow for justice.

It also, of course, happened to mean the voter would return to his original voting plan, one which aligned with Tom’s preferences.

He and Harry had argued for a while about whether to target people quietly and anonymously, or to reveal their identity in some way. Harry, in his usual infuriating way, had refused to debate with Tom properly.

“Go wild,” he’d said with a shrug. “Leave a calling card or whatever, if you want them to know it’s always the same person. Tell Travers that you retrieved his blackmail material. But I’m going to stay over here, sowing my anonymous chaos. I don’t want people on the lookout for me, or banding together against me, or anything.” He grimaced. “And I would never want to look Travers in the face again if he knew I knew the contents of that envelope. Literally no way.”

“What would suggest, then?” Tom asked.

Harry shrugged again. “We could go our own ways? Do things separately? Then we can each do what we prefer.”

Tom’s hand tightened involuntarily on Harry’s shoulder. “You will not be going into danger alone again,” he snapped. It had been bad enough last time. Entering the office to see Harry in the throes of the curse – seeing the pain on his face –

“Why,” Harry said, as though it were a joke, “would you worry? Pace around at home fretting?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

Harry turned to see his expression and swallowed. “Oh,” he said. “Right.” He ducked his head. “Well. We – won’t work separately?”

“We will not,” Tom confirmed. “We may work anonymously for now.”

And though Tom was very rarely wrong, he did have to concede that the anonymity made their activities easier. Much as he had been reluctant to notify others of the attacks against him, so too did other people try and keep their setbacks quiet. And without one figure to coalesce their enmity against, they remained impotent. There was no way to return a targeted response.

He had, of course, deliberated over the advantages of continuing with the courtship. It would prevent him from making a political match in future, but then he had never yet met someone he would consider such a match with. And it was clear, after the Umbridge incident, that the only way to keep Harry even slightly under control would be to have him nearby at all times.

It was also… not unpleasant, contemplating the prospect of having this man continue to wake up in Tom’s bed, warm and willing.

He did not inform his staff. He expected them to keep abreast of such developments themselves. This, of course, meant that the less politically savvy or more self-absorbed among them were at a disadvantage. Tom overheard Draco trying to get Harry to remove the ring, the day after Tom had given it to him.

“Look,” Draco was saying, “I don’t know what kind of – prank you’re trying to play, Potter, but you can’t let Tom see you wearing that.”

“Oh dear,” Harry said. “Why not?”

“Because it’s his!” Draco cried. “And when he fires you, I won’t step in to help, you know.”

“That’s alright, mini boss,” Harry said cheerfully. “I know you don’t like helping people.”

Whatever inarticulate thing Draco was going to come out with next was cut off as Tom moved into view, strolling towards them.

“Sir,” Draco said quickly, “I’ll have the reports on your desk immediately, I was just, I was advising Potter on how inadvisable it is to act unprofessionally in the workplace.”

“Were you,” Tom said coldly. “What is it you were doing, Harry?”

Harry turned to Tom, raising an eyebrow out of view of Draco. Tom simply looked at him expectantly, so Harry shrugged.

“I was just taking a break, boss,” he said, “it gets super tiring having to remember so many spells in a row. And Mr Mini Boss here was admiring my ring!”

Draco went even paler, which Tom had not thought possible.

“I was not admiring it,” he hissed, “I was telling you –”

“And why should you not admire it?” Tom said, cutting him off. He had better things to do than waste his time on Draco, as did Harry. Draco was perfectly competent when he was not sticking his nose in where it was not required. “As my intended, Harry deserves only the finest.”

Draco turned an interesting shade of red. He really needed to learn his father’s poise. He opened his mouth, but seemed unable to find any words to accompany the action.

“Go,” Tom said, tiring of him. “I expect to see those reports finished and you back at your desk, where I pay you to be.”

“Bye!” Harry said cheerfully, waving the hand with the ring on it as Draco wisely fled the scene. Once he was gone, Harry turned to Tom. “Do you really want people to know that your intended is a cook?” he asked. He didn’t sound worried about it, merely curious.

Tom shrugged. “It is expected,” he said, “for someone of my calibre to marry a person who can provide a comfortable home. People will simply assume that your culinary skills are matched by equivalent domestic skills.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “That’s stupid,” he muttered.

Tom nodded. It was a foolish assumption, but in this case it worked to his advantage. “Besides,” he added, “there are plenty of people, it seems, who are aware of your other qualities.” There were too many people who were aware, in fact. Tom would have preferred the rest of the world to have seen no more than Harry’s cooking and his façade of simplicity.

“I suppose so,” Harry said. “Did you know Draco could turn so many fun colours? That last one looked positively unhealthy.”

“It is beneath you to torment him,” Tom said, but he couldn’t quite make it sound reproving.

“I’m a do-gooder now,” Harry said, slipping his hand into Tom’s as they set off down the corridor. “I’m allowed to balance it out with stuff like this. That’s totally how it works.”

It was a little more tedious to have to sit through official introductions to Harry’s friends and family. Harry, looking a little guilty, told Tom that he might possibly not have mentioned it to his godparents, with the result that Black was furious and determined to play up to all the Pureblood traditions he otherwise openly disdained. Tom suspected this was entirely because the next step was a meal with his intended’s family.

When they arrived at Black and Lupin’s home, Black scowled at Tom and left him waiting in the hall while he took Harry into a side room. Tom, of course, immediately cast an eavesdropping charm.

“…blackmail?” Black was saying. “Just nod once, Harry.”

“It’s not that, Sirius,” Harry replied. “It turns out I want to, er, marry him? Apparently? No blackmail involved. Or not very much,” he added.

Tom thought that was not a promising approach, and indeed, Black’s next words were even further away from calm. “Right,” he said. “Right. There’s no need to move so quickly, though, is there? Can’t you just sleep with him instead?”

“But then I’d have to give back this cool ring,” Harry said.

Tom heard a noise that sounded like Black hitting his head against something. “Merlin give me strength,” Black muttered. “Really, Harry? That guy?”

“It’s looking like it, isn’t it,” Harry said thoughtfully. “You should like him though, Sirius. He also –”

“– Do not finish that sentence, sprout,” Sirius cut in. “You’re going to make it worse, I can already tell.”

Tom’s attention was diverted by the sound of a door opening and Lupin appearing in front of him. He looked wary, if not openly hostile as Black had been, but did still come over to shake Tom’s hand.

“You’ll understand that we’re a little hesitant about this,” he said plainly, instead of any traditional words of welcome. “But if Harry’s happy, then we will be too.”

Tom nodded graciously. Their hesitance was expected, after all, and he knew he would win them round in time.

Though given Black’s look of concentrated fury as he and Harry returned, he felt he might have to revise his time estimate upwards.

Black kept a scowl on his face as they all seated themselves at the dinner table, shoving Harry into the traditional seat at the opposite end to Tom. Harry sighed loudly, but took the seat.

When the first course showed up, though, Harry sprang up immediately and came bouncing round to Tom.

“This is totally a tradition!” he said cheerfully. “I looked it up and everything. Let me try a bit of your food first, Tom.”

“Sit down, Harry,” Black growled, but it didn’t work a second time. Harry came and settled himself in Tom’s lap.

Tom, very unusually for him, missed the next couple of seconds of byplay. Harry’s weight on his thighs was – distracting. Remarkably so.

He was brought back to his surroundings by the crash of Black reaching over and physically wresting the soup spoon out of Harry’s hand.

“Bit of an overreaction, Sirius?” Harry said, just as cheerfully. “It’s almost like you really, really don’t want me eating any of Tom’s food.”

“Sirius,” Lupin said reprovingly, “you promised not to interfere.”

“I promised not to curse him,” Sirius retorted. “No curses here, are there?”

“What is in the soup?” Tom asked quietly, his mouth by Harry’s ear.

Harry shifted pleasingly in his lap. “Dunno,” he said, less quietly, and turned to Sirius. “What is in the soup, Sirius?”

“Nothing all that bad!” Sirius said. “It might have made him feel a bit uncomfortable. You know. For the rest of the evening.”

Harry sighed, slumping back against Tom. Tom slid a hand onto Harry’s thigh, squeezing it. He was rather pleased with how the evening was progressing. Harry had, as ever, used his wits to throw the situation into sharp relief; and he had done so to support Tom, even against his godfather.

That boded very well indeed.

“He’s a guest in our home,” Lupin was snapping. “You’re the one who insisted on this traditional meal – the least you can do is maintain all the forms of hospitality too.”

“Should I order us a takeaway?” Harry asked, seemingly unbothered by the ongoing argument or Black’s permanent scowl. “If this is what you did to the soup, Sirius, I hate to think how the roast will go.”

Tom could no longer find it in him to be surprised that the traditional meal to meet his intended’s family ended up with him sitting on a sofa, Harry sprawled next to him while Lupin corralled Black on the neighbouring sofa, dishes of curry and rice spread across the low table between them.

His lack of anger also no longer surprised him. A year ago, he would have expected to be furious at such a slight. He had clawed his way up in society, and deserved the very best of what that society had to offer – he did not require a return to common muggle practices.

And yet there was no surprise, and no anger. And the reason for both of those was the warm weight tucked into his side, curry stains all round his mouth.

Harry was sharing what he had with Tom, and Tom would not disdain it.

Particularly since he knew Black was expecting him to.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home,” he said, the traditional words over food. It was yet another step taken in committing himself irrevocably to the marriage, having seen his intended’s home and family. “I hope I may return the favour.”

Silence. Harry threw a piece of naan at Black, while Lupin elbowed him.

“…Fine,” Black muttered eventually.

“Wonderful. Harry can tell me what date within the next two weeks suits you all,” Tom said smoothly, before Black could suggest a much more distant time. “Remus,” he continued, since Lupin – unlike Black – had insisted on first-name terms. “Harry tells me you are familiar with lunar rods. I would very much appreciate it if you would take a look at mine during your visit.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow. He knew, as they all knew, that Tom was offering something of value to Lupin as well. Lunar rods were so rare that getting the chance to examine another one would provide plenty of new insights for Lupin too.

“Of course,” Lupin said finally. “I would be very happy to.”

Harry had turned to burrow his head into Tom’s shoulder during the exchange, muttering to himself. Tom twisted round slightly to lift Harry’s head and meet his gaze.

“Is everything alright, darling?” he asked. He said it tenderly, since he knew that would enrage Black, and indeed heard a muffled oath from across the room.

Harry’s eye glinted. He knew exactly what Tom was doing.

“Of course, sweetie,” he said in exactly the same tone, before dropping into his usual voice. “Just – no more talking about rods. Just now. For my sanity.”

“Whatever you want,” Tom said, and he did not have to reach far to sound affectionate. Harry’s eyes were bright, and he was smiling. Tom leaned in to kiss that smile, and it was not even for the satisfaction of hearing Lupin having to physically restrain Black; that was merely a bonus.

It was for this man that Tom absolutely intended on marrying. He could see it clearly, now; how he and Harry would continue to work together, bound in work and in marriage, as they continued their hidden career to rid the wizarding world of corruption.

And when it ended with the two of them at the top – so much the better.

Chapter Text

Tom would no longer be surprised at anything Harry managed to do.

He had to repeat this to himself very firmly as Harry, looking faintly embarrassed, dropped a sword onto the desk between them, letting it clatter down onto the wood. It had a red pommel with an intricately engraved golden lion roaring defiantly on top.

Tom had only ever seen pictures of it before.

“This is not another of your replicas,” he said, testing.

“That would have actually taken more effort,” Harry said, bewilderingly. “I saw the locket up close before I swapped it, but I’d never properly seen the Gryffindor sword before. I’d have had to find it first anyway.”

“Of course.” Tom supposed that made sense, in a very Harry sort of way. “And, if I may ask how…?”

“These things just happen!” Harry exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Harry.” Tom came round the table to stand close behind Harry, reaching past him to run one finger down the length of the blade. “These things do not just happen. Not when these things involve acquiring the Sword of Gryffindor.”

“Well,” Harry said, undismayed, “clearly they do just happen.” He gestured to the sword, as though this were some sort of proof. Perhaps for Harry, it was.

“How,” Tom said more firmly, wrapping an arm round Harry’s waist. The sword was beautifully made, and clearly soaked in enchantments. Tom was itching to see if it would yield to his examinations, if it would give up any of the secrets of imbuing magic that did not fade even after centuries. There was vanishingly little research on the subject, because those who occasionally found and used the sword tended to be more interested in its active properties. When it was not in use, it then had an annoying habit of disappearing.

And Harry had just – dropped it onto Tom’s desk, like a bag of shopping.

Harry hissed a little, and Tom realised his arm had tightened too much around Harry’s waist. When he relaxed his grip, though, Harry wriggled until he tightened it again.

“I was just trying a few things out,” Harry said.

“Harry, that makes nothing clearer. What things?”

“Promise you won’t get annoyed,” Harry said, which was not an auspicious beginning.

“I will not get annoyed if there is no reason to be,” Tom said.

Harry wriggled round until he was facing Tom, reaching up to cup his face.

“This isn’t part of our do-gooding agreement, where I’d obviously never go off and do good without letting you know,” he said quickly, “but maybe I just happened to be up at Hogwarts where there is an acromantula infestation in the Forbidden Forest, and maybe I thought I heard someone in distress – just as I was passing by, you know, in the forest, near where the acromantulas are – so I had to go check it out. Since I happened to be there.”

Tom took a deep breath. He would have to refine his warning charms. He had thought Harry would be safe on Hogwarts grounds; a foolish assumption, in hindsight.

“You will tell me next time,” he said calmly.

Harry patted his cheek. “Sorry, I know you’re annoyed, please don’t set anything in here on fire, I won’t do it again. Without telling you, that is. But also it might not have worked if you were there? As backup? Because the sword only comes when you really need it.”

“Tell me,” Tom said, and Harry winced.

“You can tell everything worked out fine, because here I am,” he said hurriedly, and leaned in to kiss Tom. Tom allowed it for a moment – for a few moments, and then a few more – but pulled back before it could become too involved.

“…I made one or two tiny errors of judgement, maybe,” Harry finally continued, breathing a bit more heavily. “So there were a couple of students in danger – if you want to annoy Dumbledore, you should write to the Board of Governors about it, pretend you’re a concerned parent – anyway, Dumbledore did also show up, only I panicked and threw an expelliarmus the moment he appeared, because I was too jumpy. So then I had two wands, and Dumbledore had to take a moment to switch to wandless magic, and I went to use my own wand only Dumbledore’s must have got in the way because it – well, it sort of bit me.”

“The wand. Bit you.” Tom was not going to be surprised, he repeated for the hundredth time.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know how else to describe it. It was like it got annoyed at me using my wand while I was holding it too, I don’t know. Anyway, there we were, Dumbledore with his no wands, me with Dumbledore’s wand holding my own wand hostage, these spiders about to chew down on these two students – really, why do they ever send kids in there for detention? – and Dumbledore was looking confused about something, I don’t know. I honestly thought he would do a bunch of wandless magic and fix everything, but maybe he wanted it to be a learning experience. About being eaten by spiders.”

Tom could see the shape of it now. “And you, Harry, who happened to be nearby – because the sword only appears to those in great need of it?”

“And it worked!” Harry said, brightening, as though it had been eminently sensible to throw himself in the path of giant spiders with a taste for human flesh. Tom would have to double the number of warning charms. He was going to have to tether Harry to him. “The sword showed up! I stabbed a couple of mega spiders, Dumbledore got his wits together and did some fancy wandless magic, job done. Then, thankfully, one of the students burst into tears, so I looked meaningfully at Dumbledore, and he remembered that he’s an educator and he should see to his students instead of coming to grill me.” He grinned. “And then I threw his wand at him and ran off with the sword while he was distracted! So all’s well that ends well.”

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, leaning in to press his forehead to Harry’s.

“You have,” he murmured, “an unusual definition of ‘ends well’, Harry Potter.” And yet… “You are unhurt?” he asked, and felt rather than heard Harry’s murmured assent. “And you have returned with the Sword of Gryffindor. By some measures, the most elusive of the Founders’ heirlooms.”

“I wanted to save it as a wedding present,” Harry said, “but I was a bit worried it would decide to wander off to help someone else in need before then.” He paused. “Also I remembered that Dumbledore would definitely come bother me about it. Since. You know. He probably knows I have it right now. And that means you have it too.”

Tom kissed him. Harry kissed back enthusiastically, leaning into Tom, and Tom was just considering whether Harry would be amenable to Tom removing more of his clothing – here, next to the sword that Harry had brought for Tom, one of the most magical items in the world and one of the few which Tom could never have obtained on his own, and which Harry had got for him – when there was an odd clunking sound from the table.

Tom immediately looked over to check that the sword hadn’t already disappeared. Thankfully, it was still there.

But there was now something on the table next to it.

“Harry,” Tom said slowly, “that is not your wand.”

Harry, looking satisfyingly dazed, took a moment longer to grasp Tom’s words and turn around.

“…What,” he said, now sounding surprised himself. “That’s… that’s Dumbledore’s wand. His new one.”

Harry reached out a hand towards it. Before he’d done more than open his palm, the wand leapt off the table and into his grasp.

“Huh,” Harry said. “Weird.”

It was more than weird. Tom knew wands could change allegiances, sometimes even from as little as an expelliarmus, but they were not able to then throw themselves at their new witch or wizard. Particularly not from an entirely different location.

The wand brushed against Harry’s engagement ring, and the contact sent a small shower of sparks into the air.

“I’m sure that’s a completely normal thing to happen,” announced Harry. “Can we get back to where this was going a second ago?”

Tom looked from the ring to the wand. Thought about the other magical items Harry had mentioned having.

He was going to have to do some digging.

Chapter Text

“This is going to be so good,” Harry said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

Ron gave him a weird look. “I mean, it is meant to be. But I thought you’d be a bit more nervous, to be honest.”

“Really?” came Hermione’s sceptical voice. “You thought Harry would be nervous, rushing into something he should really have spent six more months considering?”

“Ok, you’re right. Harry, mate, this is going to go terribly, but I’m sure you’ll have fun doing it.”

Ron was grinning, though, and Harry grinned back.

“You’re just mad,” Harry told him, “that Percy managed to win your betting pool.”

“I’m sure you did it just to spite the rest of us,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Honestly, Harry, a big blow-out wedding that’s also rushed? Sorry, not rushed,” he added, when Hermione jabbed him, “just, er, speedy. I was sure Tom would take another six months to wear you down.”

“That’s right,” Harry said, still cheery. “I was ready to hold firm until Tom said it would be an unmissable chance to annoy all of you who’d put bets on. That’s the only reason it’s happening now.”

Ron slung his arm round Harry’s shoulders. “The thing is, I wouldn’t even put it past you, mate. Come on, Hermione, show us where we’re meant to be getting ready.”

Harry let Hermione grab his other arm and tug them off to wherever she’d hidden all their wedding outfits for safekeeping. In truth, the wedding was happening a bit too soon, but Harry hadn’t told Ron and Hermione the main reason why – and couldn’t tell them, even though it was contributing a good amount to his excitement. He genuinely kept forgetting that he and Tom were actually getting married today. It wasn’t just an elaborate charade to put the last piece of the puzzle together.

It was that too, though.

Today was the day they got Ravenclaw’s diadem.

The whole thing had started because someone else had located the diadem in some Albanian tree and brought it back to Britain. It was all a bit illegal and hush-hush, which meant of course Tom heard about it. He also remarked that if he hadn’t been so busy do-gooding, he would have had time to go to Albania and find it first. Well, he didn’t quite phrase it like that, but Harry got the gist.

Harry thought it wasn’t exactly a bad thing that Tom hadn’t had to go schlepping around prodding at trees in Albania to see if they produced a priceless artifact, but Tom didn’t see it that way. He didn’t blame Harry directly, but the man sure could pout when he put his mind to it. A few more hapless statues got vaporised – for entirely unrelated reasons, Tom insisted, while glowering indiscriminately at everyone around him.

Draco developed a nervous tick in his eye whenever he saw Tom coming. Harry tried to feed him cupcakes to make him feel better, but Draco just stared suspiciously at them and then at Harry and his eye started twitching even worse. Something had gotten into him ever since the engagement announcement; he’d taken to firing random healing spells in Harry’s direction. Harry had floated the idea of dropping his pretence around Draco, but both Tom and Ron – for once in firm accord – had both vetoed it.

“If he cannot work it out himself, he does not deserve to know,” Tom said dismissively.

“He still hadn’t apologised to Hermione,” was Ron’s more persuasive argument, and Harry couldn’t help but agree.

But Tom’s bad mood affected more than just Draco. It affected everyone working for him, and it affected Harry too. Harry resisted for a while, but eventually the pouting became too much.

“Fine,” Harry said, marching unceremoniously into Tom’s bedroom. “You win.”

“I do?” Tom said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Harry told him. “Let’s go get this stupid diadem.”

Tom’s look of confusion melted immediately into one of interest. It really should have put Harry off, to be marrying such a magpie.

It was just a pity that Tom looked so good with that glint in his eye, especially sitting up in bed and wearing nothing but a loose pair of trousers.

“We just need to work out how,” Harry said, then let his gaze drift down again. “...After.”

After, lying curled happily against Tom’s chest, Harry listened to Tom outline the main issue.

“It is in the Ministry, which is doubly disadvantageous. It is a heavily trafficked location, and although its present owner, Ludo Bagman, does not wish its presence to be widely known, he will no doubt sound the alarm if he thinks he is truly at risk of losing it.”

“So,” Harry concluded, “we can take Bagman, no bother. We just need to make sure all the other witches and wizards who could pose a challenge if he sounds the alarm will definitely not be there.”

“Indeed,” Tom said, idly petting Harry’s head as he thought. “Perhaps there is a way…”

Harry turned to look up at him expectantly. He was thinking Tom would come up with some major disaster in another part of the country, something that would draw off all the top aurors and maybe the other higher-up Ministry people too. Harry readied himself to talk Tom round into something with less risk of heavy loss of life.

But he clearly wasn’t quite used to the way Tom’s mind worked. Tom looked down at him and then said, “How do you feel about a spring wedding?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“...What.”

“A spring wedding,” Tom repeated. “An extravagant one. To which we will invite all the notable witches and wizards in Britain.”

Harry glared at him. “You can do better than that, Tom.”

Tom frowned in return. “I believe it to be an elegant solution,” he started to say, and Harry batted his arm.

“Of course it is! But there’s a process to these things. Ron told me so.” Ron had in fact done so in the course of complaining about them at length, but that was besides the point.

Tom’s frown deepened. “And what process is it that you wish to enact, Harry?”

“You have to woo me,” Harry told him. “You’re talking about setting a date for our wedding! If you can’t manage it here and now, you’re not going to get other people to believe you really want a massive star-studded event.”

Tom got an all-too-familiar expression on his face.

“Very well,” he said, and rolled them over until he was on top of Harry.

“Harry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek and letting his lips linger. “My darling. My intended. I wish the wizarding world to see you treasured as you ought to be treasured, and I wish for it to happen as soon as possible.” He shifted to bite at Harry’s ear, his voice dropping. “And, Harry, I wish to steal Ravenclaw’s diadem with you. Unite the Founders’ heirlooms as nobody has yet managed to unite them. Surpass what anyone else has yet managed to achieve.”

“Alright then,” Harry said a little breathlessly, as Tom kept nibbling at his ear. “Yep. Good work on the wooing. Spring wedding. Brilliant.”

They invited absolutely everyone, from Dumbledore to Umbridge. They emptied the Ministry out into their wedding reception down on the Cornish coast, a large enough distance that it would be very tricky to apparate as far as London after a couple of glasses of the heady champagne being served in copious quantities.

Harry spent ages closeted with Tom going over Ministry schematics and making backup plans for if anyone decided to stay at the Ministry; Tom seemed determined to avoid a repeat of the Umbridge fiasco. Harry was aware that actual wedding planning was going on in the background, but – as he couldn’t tell Ron – he kept forgetting that there was, well, an actual wedding involved. Not just an elaborate heist.

Then the day arrived. Everything was a bit of a blur – getting ready with Ron and Hermione, Sirius coming in to give him a hug so crushingly tight he felt his bones creak, making his way to the front after the many guests had all assembled and trying hard not to trip over – until suddenly he found himself stood opposite Tom, reaching out to grasp his hands.

Maybe, Harry realised ever so slightly belatedly, this part was also important.

His throat felt weirdly tight as he came to say the words.

“I do,” he said, staring at Tom, and Tom echoed the words back with an intensity that made Harry shiver.

He had to shake his head to clear it as Tom led him away, ostensibly to freshen up and spend a few moments together before they rejoined their guests. He couldn’t let himself be – carried away. They had things to be doing.

Because once they were alone, Tom placed a portkey round their necks and whisked them off to the Ministry.

After all the weeks of planning, the entire thing took less than twenty minutes. Harry only got to take out two underlings, and even that was because Tom hadn’t got the same memo to not get carried away. As Harry lifted up the diadem triumphantly, dropping it onto his own head, Tom swept him up into a bruising kiss. He didn’t stop there, either, pushing Harry against the wall to snog him properly.

Harry supposed he could also have stopped to point out that they were meant to be activating their return portkey, but – well – Tom was doing a good job of distracting him.

They only broke apart when they heard the sound of other people thundering into the room. But their plan had worked. It was only Bagman and two other very young-looking people who clearly weren’t being paid enough for this. Tom dealt summarily with Bagman while Harry dispatched the two underlings with a couple of stunners and memory charms.

While he was stood pondering the ethics of casting some kind of don’t-work-for-such-a-terrible-wizard compulsion charms, Tom grabbed his arm and led him further into the Ministry.

“Just while we’re here,” he said, “there are a couple of other items it would be worthwhile acquiring.”

“Communication!” Harry hissed at him as they moved swiftly through an empty corridor. “Isn’t that the basis of any marriage? You could have told me you were tacking this on the end!”

Tom turned and pulled him into another deep kiss before moving on again.

“I apologise,” he said.

Harry muttered something indistinct and made a vow that he wouldn’t keep letting Tom snog his way out of wrongdoing. Harry would only let him off today, on account of it being their heist-and-also-wedding day.

They got back with seconds to spare. The portkey returned them to the back room where they had been ‘freshening up’ for the last ten minutes or so, but as they materialised, the diadem very visibly clutched in Tom’s hands, the door started opening.

“Hey there,” came Ron’s voice.

Harry grinned. He knew just what to do, and it would pay back some of what Ron had put him through the time he’d forgotten about telling Harry he could drop by to see him and Hermione one evening. Harry hadn’t been able to look Ron in the eye for weeks afterwards, and still winced a little when he heard the word meringue.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, as breathlessly as he could, while Tom was still looking between him and the door. That was Tom’s problem – his mind went straight to pain spells, and if it was not a pain-appropriate situation, it took him too long to regroup.

Luckily for him, Harry was way ahead of him.

“Oh yeah,” he said again, really stretching the words out, “yeah, Tom, just like that.”

Ron squawked from the doorway.

“Fuck, mate, my ears!”

“Oh, sorry Ron!” Harry said, still panting. “Didn’t hear you coming in!”

He looked round to see that Ron had his hand clapped firmly over his eyes.

“Ok,” Ron said, “I get why you were a bit delayed, but like… We need you out here to come give your speeches.”

“Just give us a minute!” Harry said.

Ron, still wincing, closed the door again without removing his hand from his eyes.

“That was close,” Harry said cheerfully to Tom. “I wouldn’t have wanted to try a memory charm on Ron. Would have felt a bit mean.”

Tom moved closer to stash the diadem into an expanding pocket of Harry’s wedding robes as Harry hastily pulled them back on; they’d gone to the Ministry in just their underrobes.

Tom didn’t move away when the diadem was safely hidden.

“You thought quickly,” he said, reaching up to cup Harry’s face between his hands. “As you always do, my husband.”

Harry’s face burned.

“We just got married,” he said, like an idiot.

Tom’s eyes warmed even further. “We did,” he said. “And while we are on our honeymoon, the heirlooms will be mysteriously reunited at Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore is going to throw a fit,” Harry said happily. But it would probably be good to give him something else to worry about. He’d been acting weird around Harry ever since the whole Forest incident where he’d lost his wand. Now he could worry about the heirlooms instead. Change was as good as a rest, after all.

“Husband,” he said, to try it out. “I’m going to have to get used to that.”

Tom lifted Harry’s hand to his lips. “I am getting used to it already. Ravenclaw’s diadem is a fine wedding gift, my darling.”

They made it out to their wedding reception without too much more delay, though Harry was still a bit flushed.

“Here they are,” Ron said, announcing them, “the happy couple – and don’t ask what they’ve been up to!”

Harry took his seat in front of his friends, family – Sirius with suspiciously wet eyes, despite his ongoing feud against Tom – and all the great and good and not-so-good of wizarding Britain. He watched Tom stand up to give a grandiose speech, and thought about the diadem hidden in his wedding robes right now, and thought he could get used to this marriage business after all.