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Chapter Text

Harry felt a surge of energy surround him all at once. His limbs froze instantaneously as the spell cast by Voldemort enveloped him. It felt like it was consuming him from the inside, eating away his magic and destroying his soul. Harry had never felt like this before. This was probably how death felt; cold and unforgiving. He scanned the desolate landscape, searching for something, anything, to catch his gaze and bring him one last piece of happiness, but amidst the ruins of Hogwarts, there was nothing to be found. The chaos had enveloped everything, and all his friends were either fighting in the distance or were already dead.

Everything went blank. The light died, and the sounds disappeared like a fading whisper.

His corpse was left behind on the ground in the ruins of the place that had become his home. And like everything in the world, his life simply ended.

Sounds reached him after what felt like an eternity. He was sure he had died, but maybe the spell hadn't finished its work. He needed to move, but he was so tired. Maybe death wasn't so bad after all. He could simply lie there and relax and let it all just end.

It was comfortable. This was the first thing that stirred the growing panic in his mind. How was he feeling so comfortable? It felt like he was lying on silk sheets and surrounded by the softest pillows and a warm blanket. He could feel the smooth touch of the material sliding over his bare legs.

This seemed wrong.

Harry groaned. His head hurt. He must have fallen on the concrete block and torn his head open. His brain was probably spilling all over the place.

"Master," it was a quiet voice, gently speaking and nudging him. It almost sounded like Dobby. "Lord Riddle is angry. He is waiting outside. He wants to see you. I told him Master Harry is sleeping, but he insisted."

It went over Harry's head what was being whispered. He wanted to sleep. He moved his legs, and the soft touch of the blanket lulled him further into the sweet cocoon of slumber. He pushed a leg out to let the cool breeze touch his bare skin.

"Mhhm," he mumbled. "I am good."

There was a loud knock on the door. It was incessant. Unstopping.

"Ugh," he groaned again, pushing his head into the lap of pillows.

The knocking was making his headache worse.

"He is furious," the voice whispered and then gently rocked him. "He got mad when he read the news. It must be the article on the front page about Master Harry."

Front page? Article? He had no idea what these words meant, but he wanted all the sounds to stop so he could continue sleeping.

"Open the door," he heard an irritated demand come from distance, punctuated with a rough knocking sound. "You need to explain yourself. I will break the door if I have to."

Harry opened his eyes.

He squinted, trying to adjust to the brightly illuminated room. His eyes instantly teared up in response. He swept away the teardrops on his cheeks with the sleeve of his nightgown, vaguely noticing that he was wearing a needle-embroidered slip.

The room was huge. Harry had never been in such a big bedroom. It was a beautiful room with tall ceilings and enormous windows. The heavy curtains with the most intricate lace were drawn aside, and the light was rushing inside through the glass panels. The furniture was cream and gold with the most elaborate woodwork, and there were vases of roses everywhere; on the windowsills, the shelves, the dresser, the bedside tables, the table in front of the plush sofa and even on the vanity desk.

The place practically looked like a bridal photoshoot studio or something to that effect. Harry was never too interested, nor had enough time to know, and the constant impending doom prevented him from even flipping through a magazine.

He slowly took in his surroundings, and the panic set in.

What in the bloody hell was going on? Where was he?

He turned his head and looked at the timid elf standing by his bed, staring down at the floor skittishly. "Dobby?"

How could this be? His heart leaped as soon as the elf lifted his head and looked at him with worry. He wanted to sprint forward and hug the elf and make sure he was real, but the knocks on the door became more chaotic and demanding, snapping his attention away from the house-elf.

"I will not tolerate this disrespect," Harry heard them say. "You need to open the door right now."

"He is furious," Dobby supplied as if an explanation of the emotional state of whoever this was was needed.

Harry slipped out of bed and realised with horror that he was wearing something really strange. It was sheer nightwear with embroidered silk sleeves. Someone must have given him whatever clothes they had because this outfit was bizarre and definitely didn't belong to him. He looked around, trying to spot his wand.

He rummaged through the drawers of the bedside table, trying to find it, and in the process, realised that his arms were thin. It was almost like he had lost a lot of his muscle mass. He was never particularly well-fed, but this screamed starvation. He must have been in bed, recovering from whatever nasty curse it was for months.

Something was different though, and he couldn't ignore the fact that Dobby was well and alive standing beside him. His head still ached like the sound of millions of tiny grass-mowing machines was being broadcast into his brain.

"Who is that screaming person outside?" he asked Dobby, wincing and clutching his head. The pain throbbed like war drums alongside the knocking on the door that wouldn't stop.

Dobby gave him a worried look like Harry was insane. "That's your husband, Master Harry."

Husband? Yes, maybe Harry was insane. He was having a hallucination where Dobby was alive, and Harry was married and had a husband. He only barely dated Ginny and had a peck with Cho. And he was supposed to believe he had a husband?

"Dobby," the man outside spoke in a clear, authoritative voice. "Open the door. I know you are there. If you do not obey, I will punish you."

Dobby looked at Harry only for a short second with an apologetic look in his eyes, and then he appeared by the door and opened it.

The man standing in front of the door, dressed in an immaculate suit with his dark hair neatly brushed, walked inside. He stared at Harry, rage burning in his eyes. And Harry recognised him.

"Leave us," his eyes were focused on Harry, as he spoke brusquely to Dobby—his rough, low voice came in a firm command, making the elf vanish immediately.

The tiny hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up in fear. The intense gaze concentrated on him almost made Harry squirm. He recognised him right away. He looked young, healthy, and the strange disfigurement, that incited fear, wasn't present. The red, snake-eyes were not there either, but his beautiful grey eyes still managed to fill Harry's brain with dread. He was tall and looked imposing in the suit he was wearing. His perfect jaw and cheekbones making him look like a supermodel from those high fashion magazines.

The enraged expression on his face didn't take away one bit from his striking beauty. Harry scrambled backwards, not seeing any other way to protect himself and fell down on the bed in panicked frenzy. Young and handsome-looking Lord Voldemort, not only seemed furious, he also looked irritated like he couldn't be bothered with this and didn't have time for this bullshit.

His wand wasn't drawn, but it comforted Harry very little because he could see the wand holster. It appeared the rejuvenated Dark Lord didn't perceive Harry as much of a threat as he didn't even try to reach for his wand and strode forward towards Harry in measured steps.

He was holding something in his hand that looked like rolled-up Daily Prophet, and part of Harry suspected there was a hidden wand inside the newspaper.

"What is this?" young Voldemort threw the newspaper on the bed. Harry moved further away from him until his back hit the plush headboard of the bed.

Newspaper rolled open, and Harry caught an image of a couple in a passionate hug on the front page with the title "Trouble in Paradise? Minister Riddle's socialite husband Harry Potter Riddle caught in an intimate shot with a sweetheart from Hogwarts."

Harry scowled. Dobby's words came to mind and cold sweat rushed through his body. This was his supposed husband? Tom Riddle? This didn't make any sense. Even magic had its bounds.

"Must you ruin my reputation?" he demanded angrily, coming closer to Harry. "I warned you. I told you to behave, but you just can't help yourself, can you?"

Harry's brain short-circuited. He was completely baffled and at a loss for words. He couldn't imagine how he could have been married to Tom Riddle, as the article claimed. They didn't even live in the same era, so they could not have met, and it was inconceivable that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord would not have tried to murder him.

He looked young, but it must have been magic, right? The only thing Harry could think of was that somehow he was in a different reality where Tom Riddle wasn't Voldemort and was born in the same era as him. But if it was the case how did he even end up here?

Harry was still stunned to make any comments or even try to get away.

"Nott?" he seethed. "You decided to get drunk and throw yourself into Nott's arms? I don't care what you do with your time, but I won't tolerate you dragging my name through mud, humiliating me with your conduct. I told you if this happens again, I will kill whoever you find yourself in bed with."

Harry blanched at his words.

Riddle leaned closer until Harry could feel his hot breath on his face. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have reacted differently to having Voldemort so close in his personal space, but everything was happening all at once, and Harry was frozen in place as an avalanche of conflicting emotions were at war in his head. He was close... too close. Harry could smell him.

He smelled like a rainforest frozen in time.

Cool, icy, fresh...

It was strangely enticing and that fact was messing with his head.

He tried to move himself further, but Riddle grabbed his chin violently and pulled it up until their eyes met. "Did I not warn you?" he asked in a low threatening whisper. "Why can't you be good and do once as you are told, huh?"

"Let go," Harry managed through gritted teeth, grabbing his hand and trying to free himself from his grip.

His grip was too tight or Harry's body was too malnourished and weak to be able to move him away. He struggled trying to pry Tom's fingers open, but he was unmoving and his expression was dark and harsh. Harry was pretty sure that a bruise would be left on his face if he didn't let go. He tried to slap him on his arm, but instead, Tom let go of his chin and grabbed his hand, stopping his movement.

"You, dimwitted, dumb brat," he snapped. "Do you even understand how much trouble you have created?"

Harry hurried to rub his aching chin and glared at the man still hovering over him. "You think I am going to let this slide?" he asked. "You know that Nott works for me, right?"

Harry didn't care about Nott, and he had no idea what he had done other than wake up in this strange place after battling Voldemort. Maybe he was dead, and this was hell.

"I don't understand what you are talking about," he mumbled, trying to push Tom away, but he remained seated on the bed, looming over Harry, still firmly clutching Harry's arm.

"My lord," it was someone else's squeaky voice that interrupted whatever this was. Harry looked up. Tom's broad shoulders had obscured the sight, and he couldn't see who was standing by the ajar door to this bedroom which he assumed belonged to him.

Tom turned his head. "Pettigrew," he growled. "Wait outside. I didn't give you the authority to roam in my house."

"I am sorry, sir," he stuttered. "The meeting at the Ministry with Mr Malfoy is scheduled for 9."

"Close the door, Pettigrew," Tom ordered.

Harry couldn't see anything, but he heard the door shut. Riddle turned to him and glared at him. "This isn't over," he warned him. "Try to behave. I need to go. On top of all of my work, I need to sort the mess you have created, brainless little bitch."

Wow! Harry decided to just ignore him and hope Tom Riddle would go away. This made no sense. He needed to find out what happened to him, and he clearly couldn't do anything while the Dark Lord was hanging around calling him names.

"I will see you in the evening," he told Harry curtly as he got up. "Be ready for the dinner and try not to act out."

Harry remained still on the bed until Riddle left and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. He needed to find his wand and come up with a plan. Hermione was the one who always came up with good plans. He wished he could see his friend. He had no idea what happened to her and if she was still alive.

"Dobby," he called.

The elf immediately appeared in a quick pop. Harry couldn't get used to this even after so many years.

"Master Harry?" he looked concerned. "Can Dobby help?"

"Where is my wand, Dobby?" he asked, quickly turning to the elf and grabbing his tiny hands. "I really need to figure out what's happening?"

"Master has locked Master Harry's wand in his safe after the last accident," Dobby told him and added regretfully. "Master Harry knows that Dobby can't open Master Tom's safe."

"What accident?" Harry wrinkled his nose. This wasn't good. Things seemed worse and worse. He was completely defenceless and living under the same roof as Voldemort.

Dobby gave him a confused look. Harry realised that the elf must have found it strange that Harry didn't know details from his own life, but instead of explaining anything to the elf, he just looked hopeful and squeezed the elf's hands reassuringly which seemed to surprise the elf more.

"You know the accident at the Black house," Dobby told him slowly, and it seemed like there was something more that Harry needed to know. "You almost killed Master Sirius when you cast a drying spell wrong. Master Sirius spent a month at St Mungo's. Master Tom took your wand away after that since it wasn't the first time..."

Harry laughed. He was a moron? No way. It must have been orchestrated by Riddle, trying to restrict his access to magic. Harry felt a wave of anger pass through his mind, and he fisted his hands. He couldn't get angry. He needed to stay calm and reason rationally to get out of this situation. He moved about the room anxiously trying to come up with a solution. He wished Hermione and Ron were with him to help him make sense of this.

Clearly, this was a different world or maybe he had time travelled. He needed to find out for sure. The half-rolled newspaper was still sitting on the bed. The date on it that could give him a clue. He reached over and grabbed it.

"May 2nd, 2002?" he read out loud, baffled.

This meant he was 4 years into the future? This couldn't be true, because Dobby wouldn't be alive and neither would Sirius for him to be almost killed by an incorrectly cast drying spell. Harry still had the headache and thinking about this was making it worse.

"Dobby, where is the library?" he asked, turning to the elf.

Just because he couldn't use his wand didn't mean he couldn't use magic. Harry had done some minor wandless magic. The situation was dire, and if he knew the right spell, maybe he could find out what happened to him.

Dobby looked even more confused by Harry's behaviour and looked at him like he had a second head newly grown and attached to his neck.

"You don't like the library, Master," he informed him.

Harry blinked. "That's fine Dobby," he sighed. "I am just trying to clear some things up. Just show me the way."

Dobby nodded dutifully. "Dobby will take Master Harry to the library."

Harry followed the elf, and as he was passing by the large vanity table, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and froze in his tracks. The face looking back at him looked almost nothing like him. He slowly moved closer to the large mirrors and stared at himself, moving his arms up and down as if to make sure that he was actually looking at his reflection and not some enchanted painting.

"Bloody hell," he screamed.

What was going on? What was up with his face and body? He didn't look like a teenager anymore. His facial features were more refined and soft. His eyes were the only thing that he truly recognised. They still looked the same. Everyone told him he had his mother's eyes, and he kept that thought as a warm escape to go to whenever he was feeling lonely.

He was taller than before, skinner too and the girly nightclothes he was wearing didn't do much to make him look like himself. He wondered if these clothes belonged to him. They seemed a little going too far.

"Is Master Harry okay?" Dobby asked cautiously.

Did he have veela blood or something? He somehow looked otherworldly like a beautiful, ethereal creature that could seduce a person to its death. It was clearly him, but very different at the same time. He couldn't detect any magic on himself indicating of glamour charm so it must have been part of whatever this was.

"Yes," he mumbled absent-mindedly a little dazed that he looked like a goddamn nymph. "Do I have any robes I can put on? I don't want to prance around in this?"

He gestured the clothing he was wearing. Dobby vanished and popped back with pair of fluffy dark green robes. Harry would have scoffed if he cared enough, but the bloody thing was warm and comfy. He didn't have the best life and never even indulged in the niceties of life-be it muggle and wizard. Now wearing the fluffy robe, he felt regret. This was nice even if it was rum.

Dobby took him through a large corridor to a very spacious hall, and then they walked into the largest library Harry had seen in his life. Hogwarts library didn't have this many books. This place was enormous. The house itself seemed very big. He could probably hide in here, and nobody would find him unless they used magic.

"Thank you Dobby," he told the elf warmly.

The elf nodded and vanished. Harry looked around. It was going to be a challenge to find the right book.

It was hard to say how much time he spent in the library, going through piles of books, trying to find something helpful, but he guessed that had he had his wand, this would have gone much faster. He wanted to give up and take a break when he stumbled upon a book; "Travel between Worlds".

Harry skimmed through the book quickly, trying to find any information that would seem relevant for his case. He couldn't be certain that he was altogether in a different reality, but other than that, his other theory was that he was dead stuck in a bizarre afterlife or or had simply time travelled.

The book went on for pages on how it was nearly impossible to travel to a different version of reality, but insisted those existed, and the travel would require enormous amounts of energy and soul magic which was so dangerous that no sane witch or wizard would even think of meddling in it.

A piece of Voldemort's soul was inside him, and the man was insane. So, yes, there was soul magic involved in his case.

"Travel would leave a magical mark on the traveler's body," Harry read. He flipped through the pages to find the supposed symbol that would be left behind if he indeed travelled through dimensions and realities. He pulled out his robe and started looking at his body, trying to see if there were any marks or symbols. There seemed nothing until Harry lifted his foot and stared with horror at the symbol depicted in the book.

"No!" he grumbled.

This was bad. The book stated that the only way to travel was to actually die and have magic transport his soul into an available and corresponding form in the other reality which would need to be dead or dying too. This is what made this type of travel especially dangerous and nearly impossible. This meant this version of Harry was either dead by the time Harry found himself transported into his body or dying.

This version of Harry was married to Tom Riddle. Of course, he would die young. But Riddle didn't seem surprised to find him alive. Harry wondered what really happened to this version of himself.

The book didn't give any instructions on how to go back, but Harry realised that there was no going back since his body in his own reality was probably dead. He was stuck here.

He closed the book and tried to take a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves. Well, he could just lay low and live a peaceful life, maybe find a way and get rid of Riddle or maybe even better just go and live as a muggle and leave this whole magical mess behind.

"Master Harry," Dobby's voice startled him, and he dropped the book.

The elf looked worried. "Mistress is here. She wants to see you, and she looks worried."

"Mistress?" Harry wondered who the mistress was, and if it meant more problems for him.

"Mistress Lily," Dobby said. "Your mother."

Harry's heartbeat became faster. This was a different reality. This was where Tom Riddle probably never became Voldemort and never killed his parents. He rushed forward.

"Where is she?"

"In the drawing room," Dobby replied.

Harry bolted forward, feeling his heart leaping out of his body and realising he had no idea where the drawing room was.

"Dobby," he called. "Can you perhaps take me where she is? I am feeling a little unwell and can't orient myself properly."

"You had too much firewhiskey yesterday," Dobby explained. "Master was very upset about that. He brought you home in his arms because you couldn't walk."

Well, this version of Harry sure seemed something. He wondered if he died of alcohol poisoning or Riddle was involved in the death, after all.

Dobby took him to the most over-the-top room with paintings on the walls and beautiful antique furniture comfortably arranged around. His hands shook when he spotted his mother. Lily Potter looked just like he remembered her from all the photographs he had of her. She didn't look old at all. Dressed in a beautiful gown and her hair carefully styled, she looked so beautiful. Harry's eyes teared up, and he rushed towards her and wrapped his arms around his mum.

"Mum," he cried. "I have missed you so much."

She seemed a little startled by his emotional welcome.

"Aww, sweetheart," she mumbled, wrapping her hands around him. "It's going to be alright."

Hot tears went down his face. He never had the chance to hug his mother, feel her love. Her love saved him, but he needed her affection growing up and daydreamed of being able to spend time with her.

"Your father is angry about what happened," she told him, patting his back gently. "But I will speak with him, don't worry."

Harry didn't let go. He squeezed his arms around her tighter, trying to feel safe. His father was alive. His family was alive. Maybe things weren't as bad after all. Lily stroked his hair gently.

"What has happened, darling?" she asked. "I saw the news. Tom must be furious. Didn't I tell you to be more discreet about these things?"

Harry sobbed, still overwhelmed with the realisation that his parents were alive.

"Oh," she cooed. "It will be fine. I am sure we can resolve this. Tell me what happened. I will talk to your father. He will take care of it."

Lily Potter fussed over him like he was a little child. And Harry watched his mum with awe and affection.

"Harry, sweetheart," she cupped his face in her hands gently. "Tell me everything."

"I don't remember anything," he said with a smile, wiping his tears away.

"You shouldn't get caught with Nott anymore," she told him like this was a normal mother-son conversation. "It's best if you stop seeing him at all and deny having any involvement with him if your father or husband ask you."

"What?" Harry stared at his mum, not quite understanding what she was trying to convey.

"Your husband will kill him if your father doesn't first," she told him. "They are too concerned about their reputation, and you should have been more careful—"

"Mum, I don't care about Nott," Harry stopped her. "I am not with Nott or anything."

He waved his hands awkwardly, wondering if this version of himself was actually having a romance with Nott, cheating on the Dark Lord. Why did he even marry the man in the first place?

"But the picture in the Daily Prophet," she mumbled confused. "How did that happen?"

"I was drunk," Harry said, remembering that Dobby told him he came home really drunk. "I don't even know what happened myself. I was so drunk I couldn't even walk. Tom carried me. I must have fell down or something and maybe Nott caught me."

He just made up whatever seemed would make his mother feel at peace and seemed probable enough.

Lily sighed, looking relieved. "I am going to rip that bitch Rita Skeeter's hair," she said indignant, surprising Harry. "She just likes writing trash about you. And you know how people are. They like jealous gossip. You should really be more careful, sweetheart. Your husband is the Minister of Magic and people watch your every move."

Minister of Magic? Riddle sure had chosen a more interesting path. The article did mention that, but Harry somehow didn't think about it until now.

"All of these people trying to get a piece of you," she sighed dramatically. "The lurne blood giving you those looks, and no one can resist you."

Harry had no idea what a lurne was, but he suspected that there was some mythical blood involved since he truly looked almost unreal.

"It's a blessing and a curse," she brushed his hair back with her fingers. "I know you don't like Tom. But your father does, and he knows best."

Harry raised an eyebrow. This slowly was turning into a very uncomfortable situation. James Potter wanted Harry to marry Riddle? Why? And why didn't Harry have any say in the decisions concerning his life? Was he like a housewife in the 50s or something?

"You know what," Lily said, getting up suddenly. "We need to go shopping. Couple of nice outfits at Madam Malkin's, and you will make everyone forget about the bad press. Besides, the dinner party tonight is very important for your father, and I think we both should glam up with some new robes."

That's right. Riddle mentioned something about evening dinner. Harry couldn't give less fucks about outfits, but any time spent with his mother meant time spent happily, so he smiled and got up, showing excitement.

"So I will see dad?" he asked hopefully.

Lily didn't read this as eager enthusiasm, because she pursed her lips and nodded. "But don't worry, I will speak with him and explain that the whole thing with Nott's son Theo was a misunderstanding. Your dad's going to forget his anger the moment he sees your pretty face, my darling."

The relationship dynamic with his mother and father seemed very unusual. Harry realised that this version of himself must have been very close with his mum. It still felt strange, and Harry had an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Thanks, Mum," he said, smiling sweetly at her even though he didn't care about whatever the situation was with the whole news article about him and Nott. That was old Harry, and if he liked Nott, he liked Nott. Clearly, his dad was a controlling person in this universe who saddled Harry with a literal psychopath. Riddle never shied from killing people, splitting his soul, or engaging in other disturbing activities. And this guy was his husband chosen by James Potter.

Harry loved his father, of course, but he recognised that he didn't know the real James Potter, the pureblood hotshot who bullied Snape, his mother's best friend. His mother, on the other hand, was a literal sweetheart no matter the universe and reality.

"Of course, baby," she smiled back at him. "As for Tom, we will get something so stunning for you that he will forget he was ever mad at you."

She winked. Harry almost vomited into his own mouth. He gave his mum a strained smile, pretending that he was on board. There was no need to worry her.

Chapter Text

Madam Malkin's shop was crowded. Everyone stared at them as soon as they walked in. Harry wanted to wear a simple pair of robes, but his mother insisted on a cream silk button-down shirt and a pair of burgundy cashmere trousers. Harry didn't look ridiculous, honestly, with the way everything was, he was expecting full-on dresses in his wardrobe, but there was nothing unconventional. Everything was made from luxurious materials and had very subdued colours.

Probably, the style came with being the Minister's husband, or maybe this version of himself was just an elegant type of stylish or whatever. Clearly, he shopped with his mum, so things definitely looked good.

The stares and the whispering didn't stop. Harry knew this. This was familiar. He was used to this, so it wasn't hard to ignore, especially with the knowledge that his mum and dad were alive. They could gossip all they wanted.

"Lady Potter," Madam Malkin leaned in to kiss and hug his mother.

They fake-kissed and smiled at each other.

"Paula," Lily greeted cheerfully. "Tell me you already have the evening robes we talked about."

Madam Malkin winked happily and nodded. "Yes, this way," she said, leading Lily and Harry to a private room.

"I can't believe he is not ashamed to show his face here," someone sneered. "He is trying to sleep with the entire wizarding Britain."

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't stop in his tracks. His mum did. She turned around abruptly and stared at the girl with a vicious look in her eyes, the kinds of which Harry had never seen before.

"Ms Greengrass," she smiled. "Sorry, didn't notice you in that... outfit you were wearing."

Daphne Greengrass stared at them with a stunned expression.

"Please greet your mother for me and give her my condolences," she added with a smirk.

Daphne nodded awkwardly, and Lily gave her a big smile. Greengrass was probably speaking about Harry earlier. It looked like his past self was quite popular in the love department. He gave the Greengrass girl a small hand wave in greeting and followed his mother and Madam Malkin.

Harry wasn't sure how long they spent at the shop, but it felt like hours. His mother looked amazing in all the dresses she tried on, and he just couldn't help but beam with happiness at the way she happily moved about in a new outfit and asked what he thought of it.

"They all look amazing, Mum," he told her each time with genuine admiration in his voice.

Madam Malkin dressed him in a number of robes, adjusting them and making sure they were gripping "in all the right places". Harry stood there patiently like a marionette attached to a string and allowed the woman to craft and measure a gorgeous outfit for him. The silk and the wool and the gentle embellishments all looked very tasteful and subtle.

Harry stared at himself in the mirror and thought with amusement that he looked like a total catch.

"You look so handsome," his mother told him. "I told you this was going to be fun."

Harry smiled at her. It was fun to be with her, but this was exhausting. He probably wouldn't want to do this again. Madam Malkin was wrapping several pieces of dresses and several pairs of suits.

"Paula," his mum smiled coyly with a small blush on her face. "Do you have what I requested?"

Madam Malkin looked at her and then looked at Harry with a meaningful glint in her eyes and nodded. "Yes, and it is fire," she said excitedly. "Someone's going to forget about Wizengamot tonight."

Harry looked around dumbly and excused himself. He didn't want to be there when the women were acting secretive and coquettish. The implications hanging in the air were thickening the atmosphere to the point where Harry thought he would just choke if he heard more.

People in the main shop were still giving him shy glances, so Harry decided to busy himself by going through the containers of various enchanted accessories.

"Harry," a female voice spoke gently, capturing his attention.

Harry turned around and stared at Narcissa Malfoy. She had her signature hairdo and was dressed in a beautiful dark green dress which Harry started paying attention to after spending hours having his mother and Madam Malkin discuss the colour and texture of different fabrics.

"So glad to see you, sweetheart," she told him, pulling him into her arms. "Are you feeling okay? You seemed a little tipsy yesterday."

Harry went completely limp in her arms, wondering if Narcissa Malfoy had an ulterior motive for cradling him into her arms. Was their relationship different in this universe? She was a Black, after all. Maybe they had a different relationship. Although it was hard to believe, Harry knew he couldn't make assumptions. He needed to act very carefully and make sure he didn't do anything to make his situation worse.

"I am feeling better," he said politely, hoping she would say something else to give him an idea of what their relationship was like. He was treading carefully.

"I am glad to hear it," she said sweetly. "I was worried."

She looked around and leaned in closer. "Are you here with your mother or...?"

Harry wasn't sure who else he could be here with, but he simply nodded. "She is picking the purchase."

Narcissa looked relieved, which surprised Harry. He watched her carefully, trying to detect signs of malice or anything suspicious, but it appeared quite hard to read her facial expressions.

"See you tonight," she leaned in for a hug and Harry half-heartedly wrapped his hands around her.

"Mother," Harry knew that voice and that irritatingly sneering tone. Of course, how could he ever not recognise Draco Malfoy's annoying voice? Narcissa let go of him and turned around to look at her son. "What's taking you so long? Oh, Potter?"

"Sorry, Draco! I know you are busy. I will go get the robes. Lily is here as well, so I might be a little late, catching up with her." She said apologetically.

Draco Malfoy looked almost annoyed, and Harry expected him to throw a tantrum, but he pursed his lips and nodded with a sigh. Narcissa seemed satisfied, so she turned to Harry, gave him a tiny pat on the shoulder and walked towards the private room where his mother and Madam Malkin were sorting out the purchase.

He stood there awkwardly, staring down at the accessories, while his school nemesis stared at him unashamedly. Harry decided to play it cool and keep to himself.

"So," Draco cleared his throat, leaning closer. "I take it someone else is going to die today since you managed to stay alive after what you did yesterday."

Harry raised an eyebrow and glared at Malfoy, unimpressed. Well, at least some things didn't change.

"Riddle must be seething," he grinned like an idiot. "Theo's so dead. After all, no one can touch you. Not even Riddle. Your daddy will put them down like stray dogs if they did."

Harry bristled at that and almost lost his temper over the mocking tone Malfoy used to talk down to him. Even in a universe where their mothers were on speaking terms, the blonde needed to be a prick.

"Precious Harry," he laughed. "Everyone's doting on you, but you are a total bitch. A really hot, nasty bitch."

He whispered the last words, and Harry almost fell down on the ground. What the hell was wrong with Malfoy? He looked proud of himself which told Harry that he said what he said to get a reaction out of him, and he succeeded.

"Seriously," he unceremoniously brushed Harry's hair behind his ear and did it like it was a normal thing to do. "Why would you let Nott grope you? Are you trying to get yourself killed or something? You do know that Riddle's a psycho. My father and yours might be too charmed by his charisma, but you know very well that your husband is dangerous. He certainly didn't marry you for your pretty face, even though, that must be a bonus."

Harry scanned Malfoy's body movement, trying to discern his intentions. It seemed he wasn't really teasing him anymore and expressed a level of genuine concern.

"What's it to you?" he glared at him.

"Oh come on," Malfoy raised his hand indignantly, like he was offended Harry dismissed him. "I am worried about you. The media can't shut up about your scandals. It's something new every day. And if Riddle and your father are fine with you being a total bitch to some run-of-the-mill witch or wizard, or wear an exceptionally outrageous outfit from time to time, they are not going to be happy to have their name associated with you sleeping around with random people."

What was it with people assuming Harry was some kind of whore?

"Who have I slept with?" he demanded, already fed up with the bullshit.

Malfoy stared at him for a short moment and then his eyes darkened in some kind of thoughtful realisation. "Are you telling me that Nott was feeling you up without your consent?"

This was not a conversation he wanted to have with Draco Malfoy. "How would I know? I was drunk," he reckoned.

Only he didn't expect his words to cause Malfoy's total outburst. He looked like he could kill someone. This was concerning. "That bastard," he said, clutching Harry like he was some kind of proverbial pearl. "So, he took advantage of your drunken state and decided to paw you? The wanker's nerve!"

Harry strained to free himself from Malfoy's arms. This was getting ridiculous.

"You are so dumb," he scolded Harry like the latter was a child. "How could you get so drunk?"

Harry slowly was getting the impression that he was treated like some fragile princess. Even Malfoy acted like he was Harry's knight in shining armour. This wasn't the Middle Ages. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with the overall vibe.

"Don't worry," he told Harry. "I'll take care of this. Nott certainly will not let his hands loose again."

"Thanks?" Harry blurted, not really thankful and entirely peeved.

"Oh Draco," it was his mother's voice. Lily looked delighted to see the blonde wanker, as she rushed to hug him like he was a second son or something. "How are you doing? How is your Ministry work going? James is very impressed and speaks very fondly of you all the time. I wish you could visit us more often."

If Harry wasn't already surprised, his mouth would have dropped on the ground. Yes, this was a different universe. A very different one.

"The work at the Ministry is fine," he said. "Nothing exciting. I am glad Uncle James is happy with me."

Uncle James? Now Harry had to really open his mouth in surprise and gasp for air.

"Hopefully, we will see you tonight at the dinner, right?" she smiled sweetly.

"I wouldn't dream of missing it," Malfoy smiled back charmingly, annoying Harry that he was so chummy with his mother.

"Draco," Narcissa spoke, coming closer and clutching Draco's arm. "You are the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All the offices answer to you, could you perhaps do something about the Rita Skeeter situation? She is slandering Harry."

Harry was awfully surprised that Draco was the head of the whole department, not even the head of the office within the department, but the whole department. Draco was smart and studied hard in his version of reality, but he was a coward, and Harry was having a hard time imagining that Draco had managed to land such a high and coveted position at the age of 21.

And yes, Harry was getting the impression that everyone was trying to protect him for some reason like he was a delicate flower. Even Narcissa Malfoy, probably after speaking with his mum, was upset that Rita Skeeter was publishing articles about Harry.

Draco's facial expression tightened. It looked like he was irked. He gave his mother a tight smile.

"I know that she is lying about Harry," he said, looking at Harry with an expression that had a teasing glint. "But I can't misuse the authority of my position to intervene. I would advise though for Harry to file a formal complaint against the Daily Prophet."

"Cissy," Lily clapped. "You can't ask such a thing. Draco can't jeopardise his professional integrity and involve himself in Skeeter's gossip. I am going to personally rip that witch's hair out if she continues slinging mud at my son."

"But it doesn't mean Rita Skeeter can't be investigated for the misuse of specific potions and substances," Draco smirked, watching the women and giving Harry a meaningful glance.

"Thank you, Draco," Lily smiled. "I don't want to keep you here any longer. I know you are a busy man. Cissy told me you took time from your schedule to accompany her, which is so sweet."

"He is such a gentleman," Narcissa gushed. Harry wanted to vomit. "We will see you at dinner. Harry, sweetheart, as always you look stunning."

Yep! This world was the worst kind of screwed up. Draco Malfoy was a gentleman, and Harry was stunning. Like he cared about being stunning. Clearly, his life in this reality revolved around his looks and making dumb decisions while everyone else had normal accomplishments.

He smiled politely but wasn't sure he could hide the half-heartedness of his smile. Draco grinned at him and pulled him into a hug all of a sudden. Harry almost kicked him in the balls out of the habit of wanting to kick Malfoy's arse.

"What are you doing?" he muttered under his breath.

Draco pulled back, and the grin on his lips widened. "Try to stay out of trouble."

For a moment, he wished he had his wand so he could wipe that self-important grin off of Malfoy's face. It could wait, though. He had more pressing things to worry about. Things like what the hell he was going to do. Could he really continue living like this Harry? Someone killed this version of him, and they probably would try again. Was it Riddle?

"Let's go, sweetheart," his mum pulled him out of his contemplation.

He followed her wordlessly, leaning closer to her. Maybe he could get used to this world. Maybe he should get used to this world. His mum was here. She was alive. She looked happy. No one was dead. Tom Riddle was just Tom Riddle. His friends were probably alive. Things were quite good. If trouble was looming around, Harry would fend it off. He knew how to handle himself, and he could handle anything and everything.

"I also got what we talked about earlier. Paula had kept the piece only for you, my darling," Lily said excitedly, and Harry beamed at her. It was strange to be much taller than her. He never had the privilege to grow up around her and see how he grew taller than her, and now the observation made his heart grow full both with sadness and happiness. "Tom's going to lose his mind."

Tom was Voldemort, Harry was pretty sure, he had already lost his mind.

Lily gripped his arm, and they apparated. They landed outside the grounds of the house. Harry stared at the large, imposing manor. The place was bigger than the Malfoy one.

"The house is quite big, isn't it?" he said awkwardly as they walked through the gates.

"Is it?" she asked with a smile. "You must be feeling lonely. Tom is working all the time, and there is no one else at home. Maybe it's time to think about children."

Yeah! Fat chance! If they adopted a child, Riddle would probably murder the baby for some twisted magic ritual.

"Don't be stubborn about it," Lily continued. "What's the point of having lurne blood if you are not going to use the perks coming from it?"

Harry nodded with a thin smile. He had no idea what lurne was, and what were its perks. He needed to hit the library and do research. He couldn't just ask his mum.

"Mum," he started hesitantly, "do you like Tom?"

"Hmm," she pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I trust your father's judgement."

Harry sighed internally. He really wanted to know what his mother thought so he could somehow discern if anything creepy or murderous was happening around Riddle.

"But what do you think about him?" he tried again.

"I suppose he is very nice," she said as they walked into the manor. "Tom is very polite and charming. He is hardworking, and he fought hard to marry you."

She gave him a delighted smile, not realising the horrified expression painted on Harry's face. "What do you mean he fought hard to marry me?"

"You know what I mean," she giggled happily, dropping bags of clothes on the large leather sofa. "Tom was very ardent in convincing your father. James called him the most ambitious man ever."

You bet! He was a power-hungry psychopath. The question was, what did he want with Harry?

"Things will get better," Lily told him tenderly as if thinking Harry's questions expressed his uncertainty in the relationship with his husband.

"Thank you, Mum," he hugged her.

She didn't know of the storm of emotions running wild in his heart. He didn't want her to know... to worry. Harry tried to memorise his mother's embrace.

"I will see you in the evening, okay?" she placed a tender kiss on his forehead and got up.

Harry didn't want to let her go. If he could just crawl into her embrace and stay there comfortably, he probably would. It was such a childish desire, but he craved his mother's presence, affection and love. Lily used the Floo Network to go back home, and Harry stood in front of the fireplace to see her off.

After she left, Harry felt very alone in the enormous room, surrounded with bags and boxes of newly purchased clothes.

"Dobby?" he called listlessly.

The elf appeared in the room immediately. "How can I help you, Master Harry?"

"Could you perhaps help me get dressed for the evening dinner, Dobby?" he asked, awkwardly gesturing towards the clothes on the sofa.

Dobby nodded. He immediately grabbed everything and vanished with them, taking them to Harry's room. Once Harry got there, he found the elf was already waiting for him with the outfits properly arranged.

Well, he just needed to play along long enough to get the gist of things, and then he could come up with some exit plan. He definitely wasn't going to stay married to Riddle. That was a step too far into nonsense.

Dobby helped him dress into the outfit his mother had picked for him and styled his hair. He had no idea what spells those were, but his hair never looked this tame and soft. He remembered how crazy it was to deal with his hair and how Ron joked that the three of them had some interesting hair problems.

He could see from the window that it was already late. The evening was setting, and the sky was darkening.

"Master looks so pretty," Dobby said, adding a small brooch to the blouse he was wearing.

Harry looked at Dobby thoughtfully. "Would you want me to gift you clothes?"

Dobby stared at Harry and then his expression turned into utter horror, and he started hitting his head against the vanity table. "Dobby wouldn't dare, Dobby wouldn't dare..."

Harry rushed to stop the elf. "Dobby," he said gently, holding the elf's hands, "you don't need to worry about it. When you feel ready, tell me. You can always stay here."

That seemed to calm the elf, but he looked at Harry with confusion. Harry decided not to press further. This was a different timeline. Things were set differently.

There was a very short knock, and then the door was pushed open. Harry turned his head towards the door, heart beating faster, as he was trying to determine whether wandless magic would be enough to defend himself against whoever this was. His body was in defensive mode after months of running and hiding and looking for Horcruxes.

Riddle walked in and closed the door behind him.

It was hard to control his instincts of wanting to go into a defensive mode at the sight of Riddle. Despite looking youthful and very handsome, the way his cold eyes measured Harry dangerously, made him a threat in Harry's mind. Riddle didn't have his wand in his hand and walked towards Harry with an expression on his face that could have been best described as annoyance and irritation.

"Well, there is at least one thing you are good at," he said with contempt, scrutinising Harry with an appraising eye.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry retorted before he could think better of it. Something about the way Riddle looked him up and down, made him indignant. He felt naked under his gaze.

Riddle didn't deign him with an answer, instead, he strode across the room towards Harry, and to Harry's horror, laid his hands around him and tugged him up into his arms.

"You will behave tonight," he whispered into his ear in a sweet tone. Harry felt the heat of Riddle's body surround him at once, this closeness making him dizzy and lax. "Because if you don't, there will be consequences."

Harry felt like prey in a predator snake's arms that was constricting around him and had paralysed him with its neurotoxic venom, making his muscles lax and his breathing shallow. It was disturbing how much Riddle could influence his mind and incite such strange physio-psychological response. And the worrying part was that there was no magic involved, influencing him and making susceptible to Riddle's charm.

"And if I don't, what are you gonna do? Kill me?" Harry knew he should have controlled his mouth, but Riddle's patronising tone raised his hackles, and he couldn't stop himself.

Riddle's arms tightened around him as if in warning, but then he cocked his head slightly to the side and looked at Harry with an amused expression on his face.

"You do have quite the imagination," he said mockingly. "Kill you, huh? And here I thought you couldn't be more dramatic."

Harry shoved him, irritated. Did Riddle think he could gaslight him?

"Sod off," Harry grumbled, not being able to get rid of the vice grip of Riddle's embrace.

This seemed to anger Riddle, because he twirled Harry around and pushed him against the wall, knocking expensive vials of beauty potions on the floor and shattering them into pieces.

He leaned in closer, so close that Harry felt Riddle's body warmth on his back, and it felt oddly intimate.

"I told you to behave," he reminded Harry in his low, assertive tone. "That includes the way you talk to me. If you continue behaving like a child, I am going to treat you like one and ground you at home. No more meetings with your air-headed friends. Do you understand me?"

Harry was quickly getting fed up with the way he was being treated. Did the wizarding customs suddenly change? Riddle and everyone else was treating him like he was not a grown man, but a blushing maiden married in the 50s and expected to be obedient to her husband and all nine yards. Just what the fuck?!

He wouldn't put up with this bullshit if he was a goddamn housewife in the 50s. No way he was going to put up with any of this nonsense as a literal soldier fighting in the wizarding war. He wanted to lash out at Riddle and tell him off. But what good would that do for him? Riddle probably thought he was just a dumb socialite, spending his time shopping and cheating on him. Even if he wasn't Tom Riddle, the psycho, who murdered children and was a blood supremacist, he would still be understandably upset about the whole previous Harry behaviour.

"Look," Harry tried to speak calmly. "Can you just do your thing and I do my thing? We don't need to see each other or anything. You probably could do better than spend any time with me."

Riddle didn't take his words kindly at all, as he moved Harry backwards and turned him around, so now that they were facing each other. Riddle apparently liked to manhandle Harry. His every move was calculated and clearly taken to cement his authority and control.

He looked at Harry for a second and then sighed. "You are grounded. I will have Barty watch you from now on. Clearly, you still don't understand your role and responsibilities. Maybe it is my fault for letting you act out the way you did all this time. I have tried to be patient with you. You are an adult, but that seems to escape your understanding. What you did yesterday has caused me so many issues at the Ministry. You are damaging my reputation and tainting the legacy of your father."

Harry stared at Riddle, dumbfounded. He couldn't ground Harry, could he? Of course, he could. Riddle was the Minister for Magic and Harry was his childish, dumb husband. Even his mum would not think this was crossing a line. Harry seethed internally. He needed to be smart about this.

"You can't be serious," he tried anyways.

"I am," Riddle informed him, grabbing Harry's wrist all of a sudden and dragging him out of the bedroom. "Be at your best behaviour today. This is a very important dinner. Your father and I are meeting important people for the ministry project. And while you do not care, hundreds of magical children need this project to be approved, and we need the support of these people."

Harry now understood how Voldemort got to power. The way he manipulated and charmed must have been this strong, because if Harry knew nothing, he would be convinced that Riddle cared about the well being of magical children.

"Stop flailing," Riddle reprimanded him. "We'll be late for dinner."

This made Harry stop fighting Riddle. He wasn't sure where Riddle was dragging him initially, but now that he knew he was going to his parents' house he was happy. He wanted to see his father. This made him momentarily forget about the menace that was dragging him towards the fireplace.

Harry unknowingly had clung to Riddle while travelling via the Floo Network. Riddle didn't seem to notice or care. He simply pulled Harry into what appeared to be a very beautiful withdrawing room furnished elegantly and displaying various magical artefacts and heirlooms. Harry looked around confused, but then his demeanour brightened when he saw his mother's face.

"You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart," she said, walking up to them and giving Harry a kiss on the cheek. "Tom, so nice to see you."

"Thank you for having me, Lady Potter," he said politely, kissing his mother's hand.

"Tom, I told you to call me Lily," she patted on his arm playfully with a delighted giggle. "You are too formal. We are family."

Harry had to use the physical force of digging his nails into his own palms not to step between Riddle and his mum.

Tom smiled politely at her, nodding wordlessly. This was uncomfortable to watch. Harry sighed internally but tried not to show any visible disdain for Riddle. There was no point to do that right now, considering that he knew very little about Riddle's influence over his own parents and how it could potentially damage things for him more than help.

"Where is Dad?" he asked.

"He is in the ballroom," Lily told him. "All the guests are there already. Let's go."

Riddle grabbed his arm and clenched in a stern warning. "Behave," he mumbled.

Harry glared at him when Riddle's gaze shifted towards the corridor where Lily Potter was leading them. He rolled his eyes exasperated and annoyed that he didn't have his wand and had to go along with all this nonsense.

When they walked in, they were greeted with beautiful music and buzzing conversations. The ballroom was enormous, and this was definitely no family dinner since the huge room was crowded. Harry's eyes scanned the room, and he realised with horror that this resembled more a Death Eater gathering rather than a Potter family dinner.

Harry's hands shook as Corban Yaxley greeted Riddle and hurried to grab Harry's hand and, for some deranged reason, planted a kiss on it. Harry noticed Riddle stiffen next to him as he gave the man a curt nod of greeting.

"Minister," Yaxley turned to Riddle. "Very glad to see you and your lovely husband."

He stared at Harry with a strange look, and Harry fought the urge not to smack Yaxley. Why in the bloody hell was this geezer staring at him lustfully? This was getting way too uncomfortable. Riddle wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder to Harry's surprise and pulled him closer.

"Counting on your support, Corban," he said charmingly.

"Harry?" Harry turned his head around and saw his father walking up to them with a smile on his face.

James Potter looked happy and alive and much older than Harry remembered him from the photos. Harry was so happy, he couldn't even move. It was as if everything had stopped around him. He had imagined countless times, having his father alive and spending time with him. This moment was so dreamlike that he didn't even notice that Yaxley moved away towards a group of wizards having a drink and chatting.

"My beautiful boy," his father pulled him into a hug that almost lifted Harry off his feet. "You always look like an angel even when you act like a little devil."

"Dad," he cried, wrapping his hands around his father. "I have missed you so much."

James seemed to be a little surprised and looked at him bewildered, but then his expression turned into a knowing smirk. "Harry," he chastised. "Are you trying to get out of trouble? Don't worry, I will take care of everything."

What? No! Harry looked at his dad confused, but the man was already looking at Tom.

"How is the project going, Tom?" he asked as he shook hands with Riddle.

"I have everything running smoothly, Lord Potter," Tom told him with a slight nod. "It looks like Yaxley is still having some reservations though, but I will-"

"Don't worry about Yaxley," his father interrupted Riddle. "I will make sure that Yaxley knows his place and doesn't create problems for you. He should know better than try to muck about. I don't pay him to run his mouth. The critter will learn to show you the respect that you deserve one way or another. I've told you, Tom, I think of you as my son."

"Thank you, Sir."

Harry's mouth dropped open, and he nearly blanked out, processing the whole exchange. Riddle didn't kill his father for interrupting him and seemed to show a level of respect that was hard for Harry to comprehend. And what the hell his father just said?

"We need to talk though," his father said with a slight sigh. "In my office."

That seemed like he was going to scold Tom or something. If Harry didn't know any better, he would think he was having a out of body experience.

"Of course," Tom nodded, and turning to Harry, warned him in a low murmur. "Try not to create problems for me."

He walked away with James as Harry stared at their retreating backs. Great! Harry was surrounded by a bunch of people he didn't know in a world he wasn't familiar with feeling like a real imposter. He looked around irritated, trying to find his mum. At least, she believed that Harry loved him. It felt like his dad didn't care about him and thought of him as a silly child.

"Harry, my darling," a woman hugged him suddenly, and Harry let it happen as he didn't even have time to take a good look at her. "You have grown so beautifully. You have my grandmother's looks. I am glad you inherited our side of looks instead of your father's."

"Rose," a man reprimanded her. "He looks like his father too."

Harry looked at the old witch and the wizard. They wore expensive robes and looked like a bunch of purebloods that he had never seen before. He wondered who they were, and why this old woman was saying Harry looked like her grandmother.

"Mum, Dad?" Lily clapped as she walked up to them. "James didn't tell me that you would come today."

The witch hugged Lily and kissed her on the cheeks. "Oh, Lily," she said with a smile. "We weren't sure we would be able to come. Your father finally decided to let the hired witches and wizards handle the work at the company. He is such a grump when it comes to the whole potions work."

"Rose," the man chastised her again, but it didn't seem she cared about it.

They were his grandparents. Harry had never seen them. They were already long gone when he was a kid, and Aunt Petunia never kept pictures of them since she resented them for supposedly loving Lily more. They were Muggles, so it seemed strange that they were dressed like wizards and talked about a potions company.

"Are you going to stay?" Lily asked hopefully.

"No, baby," the man said. "We will leave after the dinner. I have some appointments with the Minister of Magic affairs. You know I am busy and we would love to stay in Britain, but my schedule is stacked. We have to go home, back to France."

"You are wizards?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Harry?" his mother gave him a look. "Did you already drink? Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

"That was a joke," Harry hurried to say. "A bad one. You know I always wondered what if my grandparents were Muggles and all."

"Don't even joke like that," his mother sighed, horrified.

"So what about Aunt Petunia?" Harry wondered. It would have been scary to imagine his aunt being a witch.

"Aunt who?" his grandmother asked.

"Petunia?"

"Okay, that's not funny," Lily shook her head. "You should stop being silly. You know I am an only child."

"I am so sorry, Mum," Harry looked at the strangers. "Grandma, Grandpa, I will go and get something to eat."

They nodded confused with Harry's behaviour, and Harry used the opportunity to flee. His grandparents were magical, and he didn't have an aunt. It was strange. And these people seemed very rich. Slowly, Harry was realising why his other self was a spoiled, childish man. He probably thought that he was some kind of pureblood prince with some extra special magical blood that made him look stunning, and it might have gotten to his other version's head.

No wonder Riddle married him. It seemed he was very connected and influential. He walked forward, not paying attention to anyone and somehow ended up in an empty hall. He could hear his father's voice. He was talking with Riddle. Harry walked towards the door. It was almost closed, except the tiny distance that was still there, allowing him to listen to their conversation.

Chapter Text

"You should control the media better," James said. "That article about Harry was unacceptable."

"I have already taken care of it," Riddle hurried to assure, but didn't move from the spot where he was standing. His posture was somewhat stiff. It was strange watching his father and young Voldemort converse as if they were father and son-in-law.

"Tom," James sighed. "Do you know why, out of all the people trying to marry my son, I chose you?"

Riddle didn't blink or move; he remained still as Harry's dad moved towards the large cabinets and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and two crystal glasses.

"I chose you," he said, approaching Riddle slowly, "because I thought you could handle this. You could handle my son."

"I—" Riddle tried to speak, but James waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, placing the glasses on his desk. "Merlin knows, I love my son. I was not exactly happy about his lurne blood as a lot of people might have thought I would be. Initially. You know what that magical blood entails and means... But then I realised that no matter what happens, now I can always choose the person whom I want to be my son by having them marry my blood and flesh. I can choose who inherits everything."

Riddle was listening without making any body movements. It was very hard to read him, as his face was impassive, hiding his emotions expertly. There was a strange smile on James Potter's face. Harry felt sick, realising that his own father didn't care about him and thought of him as a convenient pawn to get what he wanted.

"Harry is very beautiful," James continued, watching Riddle with amusement. "So why do you think I wanted my pureblood son with a rare magical heritage to marry you, a wizard with no family or name? Even your Muggle parents abandoned you."

Harry clenched his fists. This was not what he expected. He was feeling sick. He was feeling betrayed.

"It's because," he opened the whisky bottle and started pouring into the glasses. "You, Tom, impressed me, and I thought you could handle this. You could handle everything. You see, this firewhisky is an Eldar barral dragonwhisky, made by Godric Gryffindor himself. One bottle of this is 10,000 Galleons. It's more expensive than what your secretary makes in a whole year, probably."

He extended the glass towards Tom. "I only have the best," he said with a smirk. "You were the best when you came here and asked me for my son's hand in marriage. I believed in you. You became the youngest Minister for Magic, so Tom, always remember, do not disappoint me and make sure you are always the best."

"I will not disappoint you, Sir," finally Riddle spoke, accepting the glass. "None of this will happen again."

"I am sure it won't," James smiled, lifting his glass in cheers.

"There will be some measures taken to ensure that everything stays in its place," he assured, sipping the drink.

"You should always control the media," James sighed, leaning back in his chair. "They should never publish anything without your knowledge, and the way you do it, you have your people start working at the Daily Prophet. You pay whoever can be bought, and you threaten whoever cannot."

This was quite disgusting, and Harry wasn't sure he could continue standing there and eavesdropping.

"As for Harry," his father said, "I think that boy has too much free time. I know it has been just eight months since you have been married, but maybe it is time to think about children. Maybe then he will mature a little."

At the mention of children, something strange, something akin to disgust passed through Riddle's face that he couldn't hide. It didn't seem his father caught it, but Harry knew. Tom Riddle hated children.

"I will see to that," he said with a tight smile.

"Perfect," James poured more firewhisky. "Now we need to discuss the project about the magical children..."

Harry walked away. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't take in another word. This was a nightmare. He didn't want to stay here with all these strangers. He needed to find a way to get back.

Harry shuffled down the corridor and opened the first door he came upon. Shutting the door behind himself, he leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. He needed to be careful. If he couldn't get his hands on his own wand, maybe he could buy a secondary wand from Ollivander's wand shop in Diagon Alley. Riddle wouldn't even know.

He also needed to find some kind of safe space for himself. He could perhaps find a nice small flat in Muggle London, rent it and ward the place and formulate a plan for the future. Because this couldn't be his life if he had any say in it.

Harry started moving back and forth in the room, thinking.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice the door opening and someone walking into the room.

"Waiting for me?" Harry twirled around in an instant and stared at Corban Yaxley's sleazy face. What did this arsehole want?

"Excuse me?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Shame your father didn't give you to me," he whispered, walking closer to Harry. "I wouldn't be leaving you alone here all by yourself like Riddle does. Can't understand why your father would choose that Mudblood over me."

What the actual fuck?

"Yaxley, what do you want?"

He moved closer to Harry and suddenly wrapped his hands around him, pulling him tight against him. Harry recoiled in disgust and tried to move him away.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled. "Let go of me before I hex you."

"Don't be like that—"

Harry kicked him with his knee, and Yaxley fell on the ground in pain.

"Next time, I will kill you, arsehole," Harry threatened before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. It looked like he couldn't catch a break. If he had his wand, he would probably slice up Yaxley with Snape's curse.

He walked into the ballroom and went straight for the glass of alcohol passing by on the tray. He wanted to get drunk. If he had to deal with another person, wand or no wand, there were going to be dead bodies here.

"I leave you for a couple of minutes, and you start getting drunk," Riddle grabbed his hand tightly and took hold of the glass in Harry's hand. "Behave."

Harry stared at young Voldemort. He wondered if he knew that he was the Slytherin's heir and was pretending to be a Muggle-born or didn't know anything and thus turned out somewhat normal. No way. He probably had an ulterior motive for hiding everything. It seemed James Potter was going to leave everything to Riddle, as it appeared he didn't even consider Harry to be anything but a spoiled 'princess'.

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?" Harry bristled. Since he had arrived, everyone and their mother kept pushing him around.

Riddle's eyes narrowed at him. He crouched down, lowering his head to come face to face with Harry, and Harry realised just how tall Riddle was. He stared at Harry with an amused expression, and his lips curled into a mocking smile.

"Maybe you should try not to find out," he warned.

Harry moved back. If there was evidence that Riddle knew who he really was, this was it. Of course, the arrogant psychopath would have not believed that he was a simple Muggle-born wizard. Riddle definitely knew about his Slytherin heritage. Harry wondered why it was a secret, though.

"Do what you are good at," he advised, wrapping his arm around Harry's waist and pulling him closer. "Shut your mouth and look pretty."

Harry rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. The music continued playing, and some of the guests danced, while others drank, chatted and ate. It was a beautiful party, if anything, except Harry didn't enjoy it since Riddle didn't leave his side even for a moment. He kept his hand wrapped around Harry and didn't let go even when shaking hands with guests and holding a brief conversation.

Everyone sucked up to Riddle and despite this, this new and improved version of the Dark Lord kept smiling at them, charming them, but Harry could tell that with every friendly compliment or question, Riddle deep down hated all of these people. There was a well-concealed disdain hiding beneath layers of carefully crafted demeanour and polite countenance.

These people either ignored Harry or complimented his beauty. Some of them slobbered over him with downright disgusting lust. To Harry's surprise though, Riddle was snappy with these particular people. He didn't care about Harry, but it must have felt like a jab against him if others showed unwanted interest towards his supposed husband, and he let it slide. That would have been interpreted as a sign of weakness, and Riddle hated being perceived as weak.

At some point during the evening, Harry stopped listening. He was tired. He had been killed, woken up in the body of another version of himself, and found he was married to Tom Riddle, the man who tried to kill him since he was an infant and eventually succeeded. Then he had spent the rest of his day shopping and hanging on Tom Riddle's arm at this ridiculous party. He had been on his feet the whole day, and the bottom of his feet were killing him. He couldn't stand it anymore.

"How long is this going to go on?" he begrudgingly whispered in Riddle's ear. "I am tired."

Riddle looked at him with contempt. He exhaled irritated but pulled Harry towards the large balcony where flowers were hanging from all sides and gentle candlelight was illuminating the view. The balcony looked towards a beautiful garden with luminescent flowers and dark imposing trees. There were plush, soft sofas on the balcony. Riddle simply sat down, tugging Harry down with him.

"I am sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I forgot that you are too delicate to stand on your feet for a couple of hours."

Harry glared at Riddle, and Riddle had the audacity to laugh. He pulled his wand and directed it at Harry. Harry froze. Riddle mumbled something inaudible. The blue light tinged with magic left his wand and surrounded Harry's feet. The pain and soreness he was feeling vanished instantaneously. Harry didn't recognise the spell, but he wasn't about to complain about the lack of pain.

Riddle tucked his wand away and stared at Harry. "Better?"

Harry nodded. "Good," Riddle sighed. "Don't want to have you whining the whole night about sore feet. You can stay here. I need to see Yaxley."

Harry's mood had improved after Riddle's spell sucked out his pain, but the condescending tone directed at Harry soured it again.

"Yaxley, huh?" Harry said with malice he didn't know he had. "You must be thrilled to see Yaxley. But no matter what you do and what you achieve, he thinks you are a Mudblood."

A wave of anger passed through Riddle's features. It looked like Harry really had hit a nerve. Then his eyes caught Yaxley standing by his father and talking with him while having his hand pressed slightly towards his groin. Harry smirked. The bastard must have been still hurting where Harry had hit him.

"Oh," he smiled at Riddle. "Maybe you can use that spell on Yaxley and take away his pain. The poor thing must still be in pain since I kneed him in the groin for laying his hands on me. I must have done some damage. I think he could use your help. You like helping people, don't you?"

Riddle's hands were curled into a fist. Harry was sure he was mad Harry mocked him. But instead of saying anything to Harry, Riddle got up, took out his wand and strode towards Yaxley. Harry stared bewildered, wondering what was Riddle's deal. Was he pretending not to care about Harry's taunting?

He watched Riddle grab Yaxley by the back of his neck and yank him away towards the exit. James waved his hand angrily and called after Riddle, but Riddle didn't stop or turn back, he simply dragged Yaxley out of the ballroom while Yaxley struggled to free himself. His father followed right after them. It seemed he was angry at Riddle for rudely interrupting his conversation. None of the other guests noticed or cared to pay attention to them. Everyone was slightly drunk or having too much fun.

Harry rushed towards them. He had no idea what was going on. Riddle opened one of the doors and pushed Yaxley in. The man fell on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing, Riddle?" he yelled, trying to get up.

"Legilimens," Riddle directed his wand at Yaxley.

Riddle's eyes narrowed.

"What is going on here, Tom?" James asked, entering the room.

Harry watched them wide-eyed, hiding in the corner.

"Crucio," Riddle cast the spell, and Yaxley screamed and convulsed on the floor.

His father looked horrified. Harry could tell that he didn't know Riddle was capable of such action. He cast an Unforgivable Curse. Riddle was the Minister.

"Yaxley," Riddle ignored James and started moving around Yaxley. "I allowed you to play games. I allowed your disrespect. I was hoping you would come to your senses and know your place. But you decide to take one step further and lay your hands on my husband?"

Harry's heartbeat grew faster. Did Riddle get mad about what Harry said? He probably was angry because Yaxley insulted him and dared to touch Riddle's conquest since he didn't care about Harry any further than what Harry represented. Harry was Riddle's conquest.

"What does that mean?" James came forward, pulling his wand.

"Why don't you tell us, Yaxley?" Riddle mocked, moving his wand around, and Harry suspected he was twisting Yaxley's arms around. "I should break all of your fingers."

"You cornered my son and tried to touch him?" James asked in a low voice, clearly wandering through Yaxley's mind too. Yaxley must not have been very good at Occlumency.

James hunched over Yaxley's body and pressed his wand against Yaxley's throat. "I pay you, Yaxley," he said. "You think you have any right to touch my son?"

Harry heard crunches. James twisted Yaxley's arm around and the bone cracked. Harry felt bile rising in his throat. His father and husband were both fucking crazy.

"If I see you breathing the wrong way near Harry," Riddle warned, lowering his wand and letting Yaxley wail a sob of relief. "I will bury you."

"Winky," James Potter called in a gruff tone, and the house-elf appeared. "Escort this lowlife out of my house."

The elf nodded and disappeared, grabbing Corban Yaxley with him. Tom stared at the empty spot on the marble floor where Yaxley had been lying seconds ago, thrashing and twisting in pain. He gripped his wand tighter and gritted his teeth.

"I thought you had lost your mind," James laughed, patting him on the arm. "This is what I meant when I said I thought you could handle everything."

Tom nodded. He knew. James Potter would have thought him weak if he hadn't tortured Yaxley right then and there for defying him. Yaxley's transgression had been against Potter's spoiled, coddled son and despite how Potter spoke of his son, he wouldn't have accepted anything less than what Tom did to Yaxley as punishment. Tom knew this well. He knew this when he married the Potter family's waited-on-hand-and-foot pureblood heir.

Harry Potter was a pampered, selfish diva, who had been doted on by his parents and wrapped in cotton wool like a little fragile porcelain doll. Tom had never thought the little bitch would have been such a nuisance. He knew the guy was an airhead, barely graduating from Hogwarts, and that's only due to James Potter's very generous contributions to the school. But he had never expected the dumb brat to go around cheating on him and smearing his name.

He had spent the morning threatening the Daily Prophet over the Nott article and having Barty take care of the chief editor so the article would be retracted. Then he had to see Nott and make sure the git knew what would be coming for him if he had the nerve to provoke him again and so much as look the wrong way at Harry.

"How did you know though?" Potter Senior's voice brought him back to reality. "How did you know that Yaxley was letting his hands loose?"

Tom blinked, not sure why he was being asked this. "Harry told me," he said impassively.

"Hmm," Potter nodded. "That's good. Make sure to keep that silly boy in check. No more of these absurd articles about him appearing in the news. If you continue demonstrating your determination like today, I will make sure you are calling the shots at the Council."

"I appreciate everything you are doing for me, Sir. I'll join the party. Harry must be alone." Tom nodded politely and excused himself.

He walked out of the room and headed for the bathroom. Yaxley's pain-twisted face was still in his mind. It was getting harder to keep his composure. He shut the door behind himself and vomited. He wasn't sure if whatever he was doing for James Potter was worth the man's support. But he was feeling sick. Yaxley was disgusting, no doubt, but he had used an Unforgivable on him.

He washed himself, cold water dripping down his face as he stared at his own reflection. Is this what he wanted for himself? He tried to belong with Muggles as a child and then with wizards as a teenager, and now as a man, he was trying to fit into the pureblood society of wizarding Britain. He didn't belong anywhere no matter what he did. He was the best student at his Muggle orphanage school and the best student at Hogwarts. He became the Minister for Magic and married Potter's coveted pureblood nightmare of a son. But after everything he had done, he was still Tom Riddle, a person who did not belong.

He cast cleansing spells, fixed his hair and suit, took a deep breath and walked back to the ballroom. He couldn't afford to look anything but perfectly in control of himself around these people. His eyes scanned the room until his gaze landed on his husband. He was with Malfoy, glaring at the blonde, somehow irritated. Harry Potter was beautiful. He looked ethereal like a being from one's dreams. His lurne heritage made him so alluring that even Tom, hating the little brat with every fibre of his being, couldn't deny his physical attraction towards him.

Tom still remembered seeing Harry Potter for the first time. He was in his last year of school at Hogwarts, a Head Boy when Potter started his first year. After his first quidditch class, the boy ran into him, crying when he was patrolling the halls, making sure none of the students were getting in trouble. He remembered the little boy crying and demanding for Tom to help him and stop the pain of his sore feet.

He had used the pain-draining spell back then too. Then he had forgotten about Potter. After Hogwarts, he had other things to worry about, working at a shady Borgin and Burkes as an assistant. It was later on when he had managed to move to the Ministry that he kept hearing about Harry Potter. People liked to gossip about James and Lily Potters' airheaded pretty son. He had climbed up the career ladder at the Ministry pretty quickly, working hard, creating various connections. He hated that he was a nobody. People liked to remind him of this every chance they got.

He had met Harry at a Ministry ball, and the two barely spoke, but Barty told him that he was James Potter's son and everyone wanted him. He knew that he needed a powerful, pureblood wizarding family connection to get on top and stay there. James Potter was influential and powerful and his wife Lily Evans was the only daughter of the Evans family, a rich wizarding family with ties to the French Ministry.

A year after becoming the Minister for Magic he had gone to see James Potter and ask for his son's hand in marriage. He wasn't even sure what he expected, but Potter had treated him like he was dirt under his nails or a pest that needed to be squashed. He still remembered the conversation the two of them had and Potter asking him if he could be what it takes to marry his son.

He gave him his word.

They married in September. It was the wedding of the century. No minister had ever wed while in the office, since all of them were one foot in the grave and too old by the time they reached the position of Minister for Magic. Everyone talked about the wedding. Foreign ministers and media were present for the event.

Barely eight months into their marriage, and he was already regretting his decision. Harry Potter was insufferable. The only times he acted pleasant and agreeable were when they slept together, and that was only if he wanted something or had done something to piss him off or his father. Potter heir treated everyone like rubbish and with the snootiness of a pureblood socialite that Tom hated. The scandals were nonstop and the more he tried to stop them, the more aggressive and uncontrollable the little bitch became.

Harry had intentionally spilled his drink on Tom's secretary, Hermione Granger and insulted her on multiple occasions. Tom knew that Harry called him a Mudblood behind his back, but did not have enough nerve to call him that to his face. After a couple of successful projects at the Ministry, James Potter seemed more enthusiastic about him and he had spent frequent nights attending various gatherings with his father-in-law who introduced him to well-known and placed figures in the wizarding society.

He wanted Tom to take over after him. James Potter knew what his own son was and he had chosen Tom because he was nobody, a smart, accomplished, nobody who had the magical capacity of all of these pureblood idiots combined. Everyone knew this which was why despite despising him none of them had the guts to openly oppose him. They did it only in polite insults and snide remarks.

Tom knew that James would push for them to have a child. A child with his magic and born with the most rare magical birth. Despite the airhead that Potter's son was and his incompetence at basic magic, the capacity to create magical life was what made them so fascinating. The dusty old books at Hogwarts swore magic came from a lurne. He didn't want anything to do with Harry Potter and having any children with him was a sacrifice he hadn't prepared himself to make.

"Tom," Malfoy noticed him staring and moved away from Harry. He extended his hand for a handshake and walked up to him. "Was already thinking I wouldn't get to see you tonight."

He shook Malfoy's hand and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I apologise," he said curtly. "There were some things that needed to be discussed with James."

"Hey," Draco said, lowering his voice and directing a brief glance at Harry who seemed to have developed a sudden appetite for strawberry soufflés. "I needed to talk to you about Nott."

"What about Nott?" he knew that Malfoy was going to claim that his dear cousin had nothing to do with Nott.

"I didn't want to do anything about it since I thought it's best if you knew, but he had dropped some kind of strange draught in Harry's drink last night. I have checked the magical recordings from the Ministry party, and he seemed to have given something to Harry."

Tom didn't care. Harry liked to get drunk and cheat around without any draughts or serums. But Nott had already been dealt with. "I will take care of it," he said. "Send me the records."

He was tempted to act on his threats against Nott. It seemed Harry Potter brought out the worst in everyone.

"Good," Malfoy nodded with a smile. The Malfoy heir was more tolerable than his father, but he had a weird obsession with his cousin which Tom didn't understand.

Harry was staring at him. He could feel the man's insistent gaze transfixed on him. There must have been something that he had done or wanted to do. Tom stared back. Harry shoved another piece of soufflé into his mouth. The Potter heir was a picky eater and watched what he ate to look the way he looked. It was strange how he was shoving those sweets into his mouth and glaring at Tom.

"You'll make yourself sick," he sighed eventually annoyed and walked up to his husband. "I don't understand what you are trying to accomplish."

"Well, I guess what I eat must be up to you too. Sorry, I should have asked your permission." Harry rolled his eyes. "What do you want? Feeling better after torturing Yaxley? You must be getting a real kick out—"

Tom grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the table. "Getting a real kick out of it?" he laughed bitterly. "You must really enjoy pushing my buttons. That's fine. Just remember this, no matter what you do, you are mine."

Harry's pretty face scrunched up in anger and he tried to pull his arm away. Tom smiled amused, the souring mood of his husband providing him with much-needed vindication. Harry was pissed at the prospect of being married to him and had told him so since the beginning, reminding him that his father wanted this and there was nothing he could do was what Tom should have done from the start.

"Figures you'd be a possessive psychopath," Harry muttered under his breath and turned his head away in protest.

Oh, how much Tom wanted to crush his little rebellion.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned away, staring at the people dancing in the ballroom. Everyone seemed happy and right where they were supposed to be. He was the odd one here. He caught the sight of his parents, talking to his grandparents, smiling, and drinking and his heart ached because these people thought he was their child, but he was not. He was an imposter. They were not his parents, they were simply a version of what his parents could be.

These thoughts brought him back to the reality that he was stuck in. He couldn't go back, and he couldn't change the fact that his other version was dead. What he could do though was to make sure that Tom Riddle didn't do anything nefarious. Harry was sure that he was plotting something. He could find a way to get rid of Riddle. He wasn't just going to stay married to the psychopath who locked his wand away for "Harry's own good." Where else did he hear that?!

He fell silent and didn't even notice how the evening came to an end eventually, and the guests slowly took their leave. His parents were politely seeing them off until everyone, even his grandparents, left. The house was so quiet since only his parents, Tom fucking Riddle and him were left there. There were two house-elves that Harry had never seen before, cleaning the room, getting everything in order. Their magic was phenomenal. Harry always wondered why elven magic wasn't studied better. Hermione would have something interesting to say about that if she were around. He wondered if she was still alive in his version of the world. He hoped they all were alive and well.

"That was quite good," his mother smiled happily.

"It was exhausting," Harry admitted with a smile, allowing himself to fall into her arms.

"Winky," James Potter commanded. "Bring us tea."

"You'll feel better after you have some tea," his mother said soothingly, caressing his head. "You will stay for tea, right, Tom?"

Harry moved his head from his mother's embrace to look at Riddle. "Of course," Riddle said with a charming smile. "It'd be our pleasure."

"Then it's sorted," Lily said enthusiastically. "Let's go to the drawing room."

She didn't let go of Harry which Harry was grateful for. No, maybe this could work. Maybe he just needed to shut up and let things be as they were. His dad seemed off, not what he imagined, but his mum was exactly the bright ray of sunlight that he always thought she was. He could stay here for her and be happy. He could watch Riddle and make sure the git didn't do anything Voldy-like, but other than that he could get used to this. He was willing.

Soon they found themselves in the living room, seated on the soft sofas and sipping the most delicious tea ever. Riddle was staring at him, watchful eyes scanning his every move. It was as if he was expecting Harry to do something. Harry had no idea what Riddle expected from the other version of himself, but his impression was that old version of Harry was a spoiled airhead.

"We should be able to establish the magical childcare centres at that stage," Riddle said to James. "We would need to start the new department within the Ministry to detect early magic, so we can find and track the magical children and make sure they are raised in the right environment."

Harry blinked. He wasn't sure he was understanding what Riddle was saying clearly. "We should have done this centuries ago," James mused. "Squibs should register and their bloodlines should be monitored too. We can perhaps then find out the anomaly of squib births and prevent it."

"Speaking of magical children," Lily smiled, looking at Tom. "James and I are looking forward, especially considering that no child of Harry will be a squib with his lurne blood..."

What the hell was lurne!? Harry kept on hearing that about himself. He had an idea based on what he had heard so far, but still was unclear why this magical heritage was so celebrated and why everyone were so focused on it.

Riddle shifted uncomfortably, and Harry noticed that he slightly clenched his jugular muscles. It was almost unnoticeable, but Harry was watching him closely.

"Of course," Tom said, glancing at Harry briefly as if to check his reaction. "We are looking forward too."

"No," Harry got up against his better judgement. "I am not adopting a child and playing house with you."

"Harry," Lily admonished. "That's no way to speak to your husband. Sweetheart, where are your manners? I have taught you better."

James sighed. It seemed he was irritated.

"That's alright," Riddle smiled at his mother. "Harry is under a lot of stress recently. Aren't you, baby? But don't worry, we will not adopt any children from the project if you don't want to. Besides, your mother was referring to having our own children."

Harry had no idea what Riddle was sputtering. It seemed his father was happy with whatever he was saying, though. The man smirked and patted Riddle's back. Harry felt betrayed. Also, if they wanted Harry's own children maybe they shouldn't have married him off to Riddle. Neither of them were exactly equipped with childbearing abilities. So the conversation was nonsense as far as Harry was concerned.

"You have done tremendous work, Tom," he told him proudly. "This project will set a new era in the wizarding world."

"You are very hardworking," Lily smiled softly. "Britain should be proud to have a Minister for Magic as foresighted as you are. Magical children should not be raised in the Muggle world and end up feeling like outsiders when they learn of their gifts."

"They will always be treated like outsiders," Harry said, staring at Riddle. "But..."

"Harry!" Lily scolded, not letting him finish what he wanted to say about the crazy blood fanatics. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"It is the truth," Riddle interfered. "But it doesn't have to be. This is what we are working for."

Harry rolled his eyes. Like he didn't know this power-hungry arsehole's agenda. Who did he think he was trying to fool?

"What? Are you going to kidnap Muggle-born children?" he snorted.

A wave of anger twisted Riddle's features. Wait? Was he right? Was that this whole project they were talking about the whole day? They wanted to take away magical children from their Muggle parents and put them in wizarding orphanages?

"You can't be serious?!" Harry got up. "You can't just deprive children of their parents just because they don't have magic."

"Harry," this time it was his father who spoke. "Love, sit down. This is none of your concern. Do not contradict your husband. It is not a good look for you."

Harry sat down, fuming. He told himself to calm down and act like he didn't want to curse his own father. He was going to dismantle this whole insanity. He just needed to pretend everything was fine.

"I am sorry," he said, taking a deep breath. "I didn't want to sound... contrarian. I just care so much about magical children. I don't want them to experience the pain of having no parents."

"Awww, sweetheart," Lily gushed. "They will be taken care of. You shouldn't worry."

Riddle was staring at him with mild confusion. It was as if he was trying to figure out why Harry was acting out of ordinary. Harry smirked internally. Things were going to change. Maybe it was fate for him to be here and stop this insane plan of Riddle.

"You are right," he said with a sweet smile. "I am tired. I guess, we should take our leave too. Don't you agree, Tom?"

He stared at Riddle pointedly. "Of course," Riddle gave him a tight-lipped smile. "If you are tired, we can retire."

"You should stay here," James said suddenly. "Harry looks like he is about to pass out. My poor boy! Lily, have one of the elves prepare the guestroom. There is no need for you to go back home at this time, Tom."

"Thank you for the invitation, sir," Riddle politely nodded. "We can spend the night here."

Harry internally groaned.

Riddle didn't seem happy either. So maybe it was not so bad.

His mother rushed to give the elves instructions, and soon they were able to wish goodnight to his parents and go to the bedroom. Harry pulled his shoes off, the moment elves closed the door and vanished. The shoes were not bad, but his feet still felt sore. This Harry definitely wasn't used to standing up for hours. That's for sure.

"I need a bath," he sighed, pushing the door to the bathroom open. "God, I am exhausted like I have been battling fairies."

The bathroom was amazing. The marble tiles and the beautiful mother of pearl-encrusted walls gave the place a sort of regal excellence while the pretty, enchanted candle lights shed tender, soft light, making the bathroom appear cosy and warm. Harry extended his magic to the taps and wordlessly rolled them open. The hot water rapidly filled the tub, and the steam started to rise.

He discarded his clothing, cast a quick folding charm and modified packing charm to place them on the counter. He was pretty good at household magic since he had to do everything for himself.

This version of himself had a slender, lightly toned body, smooth and clean with silky skin. Harry was puzzled how anyone could have such smooth skin that it felt like he was running his fingers over a patch of silk and not human skin. There were no scars, or marks. It was bizarre. Even his toenails were trimmed and manicured. Well, he didn't have the need to ponder over this, but he would perhaps need to upkeep the body the way previous Harry did to avoid any suspicion.

He stuck his toe into the water to check the temperature and finding the comforting warmth satisfied stepped into the tub and lay down. There were various salts, body washes and body gels. He had no idea what was what, so he simply waved his hand to dump a bit of everything into the water.

It was so cosy and comfortable that he didn't even realise when he dozed off. It had been a long day.

Tom stared at the bathroom door and sighed. Finally, the circus was over. If only he could be at home in his study and have a few moments to himself, away from everyone, his idiot husband, his obdurate father-in-law, all of the witches and wizards from the Ministry and their ignorant pureblood children. But here he was, in his father-in-law's lavish guestroom, waiting for his brainless twat of a husband to finish taking a bath.

Tom loosened his tie. He could use a shower. He did take quick showers, growing up in stingy Muggle orphanage taught him a thing or two about efficiency. Opening the bathroom door to the left, he hopped in the shower. He didn't know how long he could live like this, but Potters did give him the power he wanted. James Potter opened so many closed doors for him and a lot of pureblood wizards were envious of him, for marrying Harry Potter, the most desired wizard ever. He could see Harry's appeal, if the twat kept his mouth shut.

He was pretty. There was no denying to that, but Tom hated him, the only thing keeping him tied to Harry was his desire to be powerful and never feel weak and vulnerable again. He wondered why his Muggle parents abandoned him, he had tried to find them when he grew up, but he was not successful in his search.

He got out of the shower, dried his hair with a quick spell and walked into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed. Sleeping came hard to him. His mind was always awake. There were still stacks of newspaper left on the bedside table. The elf must have forgotten to take them away. Tom grabbed the paper and flicked through the pages. It was mostly nonsense. The Daily Prophet was uncompromisingly asinine.

He set the paper aside and tried to read a book. After about half an hour, he realised that even for his spoiled, cossetted husband this was a bit overboard. What was he doing in the bathroom for so long? Tom shut the book and got up. He knocked on the door.

"Harry?" he called.

There was no response. He flicked his wand and opened the door. The bathroom was covered in warm steam. His husband was lying in the tub.

"Harry," he said firmly, getting annoyed that the brat was ignoring him. "Are you planning to sleep in there?"

There was no response. He walked up closer only to discover that Harry was asleep. Just how pampered the man was to fall asleep after a few hours of fulfilling a social obligation. Tom couldn't fathom.

"You are going to drown yourself one of these days," he muttered annoyed, caressing Harry's soft face. "Such a beautiful face for such a horrid bitch."

He leaned over and scooped him up into his arms. Tom, picking him up, cast a quick spell to get rid of the water dripping on the floor. Harry's thin, naked body was so warm against his cold skin.

"You are such a liar, Riddle," Harry murmured half-asleep and clung tighter to him.

Chapter Text

Being in such close proximity, Tom could smell him. Harry carried the scent of sweet spring flowers, fresh like newly blossomed snowdrops, fighting their way from underneath the snow. His lithe naked form, still covered in droplets of water like green meadow early in the morning sprinkled with dew, was holding onto Tom so sweetly. His skin was soft and smooth, his wet hair clinging to his temples, alluring and sinful. Tom could not deny the physical attraction he had for his flexile-limbed husband.

Harry Potter was an ethereal beauty, a prize Tom had won, a trophy he wasn't sure was worth his wounds. James and Lily Potter's pretty pureblood son was the wet dream of many wizards and witches, but this man belonged to Tom; he was his and his only. And yet, Tom felt nothing more than carnal lust and resentment for this spoiled, petulant 'princess'.

He gently dropped Harry on the bed, begrudgingly admitting that no matter how many times he'd seen the man's naked body, it looked more beautiful each time. He brushed away the silky strands of hair from Harry's forehead, his fingertips gently kissing over the smooth expanse.

"You have nice hands," Harry mumbled, half-asleep. "Too bad they are hands of a murderer."

Tom had never killed anybody. He did torture people, and he inflicted pain much worse than a Cruciatus curse could do, making those at the point end of his wand wish they were simply killed, but no one has died at his hands. He did everything for his father-in-law. He knew deep down that he had it in himself to kill someone. He didn't enjoy torturing anyone but also did not feel much of anything for them. He didn't care for them.

He looked around for a clean nightshirt for Harry, but finding nothing simply used one of his own. He had clothes left behind here as he had spent nights working with James. His shirt was too big on Harry. But Harry was half-asleep and Tom didn't give a shit about his husband's fashion sense while the pretty thing was in his bed.

When he lay down next to Harry and closed his eyes, trying to sort his thoughts, the sweet, soothing smell of Harry reached his nose again. He turned towards Harry and pulled him into his arms and imagined for a second that his husband was not Harry Potter. Harry felt so small and fragile in his arms. Tom wouldn't need to use magic, he could crush him with his bare hands. He wrapped his hands tightly around Harry's thin form and gripped him possessively. The warmth of the man's slim body and his soothing smell lulled Tom into sleep.

He had a dreamless night for the first time in many days, strangely comforted by Harry's soothing magic. It was strange. Tom wasn't sure what had changed, but the way Potter smelled was so soft. The brat always smelled good and took care of himself, but now there was something comforting, light and tender that was entwined with magic. He didn't ponder over it much and allowed himself to relax.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night. It was as if there was a defense mechanism set in his brain that set the alarms on after a prolonged peace. He had been on the run for months, fighting Death Eaters, hiding and always vigilant. He jerked, trying to get up, but warm arms were holding him down, tightly wrapped around him and someone's heavy leg was gripping his legs. Disoriented and half-asleep, Harry pawed the bed looking for his wand, trying to free him from whoever was holding him down until the memories of what happened yesterday rushed back like a tropical rain.

Tom Riddle was asleep and didn't seem to be bothered by Harry's intense fight of trying to free himself. Harry thrashed about for a minute and realise that he couldn't free himself from the vice grip of his newfound husband, gave up and laid still. He remembered being in the bathtub and realised with horror that Tom must have carried him out of the tub. He was totally arse-naked. Merlin! Harry was going to get brain damage from the embarrassment. His mortal enemy had seen him not only naked, but he had touched him and clothed him.

This was bad!

Harry squirmed trying to move his head out and see if he could tell if it was morning or not, but Tom bloody Riddle was holding him so tightly, one would think Harry was a delicacy in a starving man's hand. And if he thought things couldn't get bad, he was wrong, because his squirming had gotten him even closer to Riddle and to Harry's absolute horror, the man's erection was pressed against his bare ass. The shirt he was wearing had bunched around his waist.

His boggart had just changed from a dementor into his bloody nightmare!

"Hey," he squeaked, mortified. "Let me go."

"Why are you awake so early?" Riddle's voice came smooth and without a hint of sleep. Harry knew that he was asleep a second ago. It was strange how quickly Riddle became alert.

"Ugh," Harry complained, moving about. "Why are you holding me like I am your bloody wand? Let go of me."

Riddle sighed. "Just when have you started speaking in such an undignified manner?" he asked, moving up and trapping Harry underneath his tall, broad form. "Is this another ploy to make my life miserable?"

Harry stared up at Riddle's lifeless gray eyes. The man was handsome. Too bad he was a psycho.

"The world doesn't revolve around you," Harry snapped. "Just let go of me."

He couldn't help but stare at Riddle's bare chest. He gulped, hoping Riddle didn't notice anything and tried to push him off again.

Riddle grabbed his arms and pinned them above his head on the soft pillows. "Stop punching me like a petulant child," he chided. "What's up with you today? What else is not to your liking?"

Harry reminded himself that he had decided to play along and took a deep breath. "Just let go of me," he asked. "I need to go to... freshen up."

Riddle stared down at him, but loosened his grip. "Don't fall asleep in the tub again," he told him, moving off of Harry and sitting on the other side of the bed.

Harry flushed red. Shit, he was actually really exhausted.

"I am sorry," he mumbled, standing up and pulling down the shirt to cover his naked body. "I was really tired yesterday. But you didn't need to... um... well, pull me out of the tub, okay! I would have woken up eventually."

Tom was already dressed and tying his tie while Harry was standing there like an idiot, stuttering. Well, the Dark Lord was fast like a soldier in the army getting dressed for a drill. "Please get ready," Riddle told him politely, but there was a dismissive tone layering his voice. "My schedule is packed today. I need to be at work."

"Yeah," Harry rushed to the bathroom. "I will be in a minute."

Tom nodded unconvinced, grabbing his wand.

Harry rushed to wash his face, cast a cleaning spell on his body, fixed his hair and found set of new clothes left by the elf on the counter. He quickly put them on and walked out. Riddle was reading a newspaper when he walked back into the bedroom. He looked surprised for some reason but didn't say anything.

His parents were having tea and his mother insisted on them staying for breakfast despite Tom's reluctance, they had a quick breakfast before apparating home. Despite this home being one he shared with Riddle, Harry was strangely glad to be back. Dobby was already in the drawing room, but he wasn't alone. There was someone sitting on the sofa, rigid and awkward, staring at Harry.

"Dobby is so happy to see Master Harry," the elf said excitedly, making Harry smile.

"Barty," Riddle's voice brought Harry out of his happy place. "You'll be watching my husband. Make sure he does not get in any trouble. Am I clear?"

Barty Crouch Jr, who had impersonated Moody becoming one of the most effective DADA teachers Harry had had, almost dropped on the floor, staring at Riddle with such gratitude and worship in his eyes it was sickening. "Yes, my Lord," he hurried to say. "I will make sure he is well watched after."

Creep!

Tom nodded and turned to Harry. He gripped Harry's chin and tilted his head, whispering in Harry's ear. "Behave, baby," he told him in a mocking tone. "Or it will be like this for the rest of your life."

Harry forced himself to smile and did everything in his power not to punch Riddle in the face. But then Riddle went on and planted a chaste kiss on top of his head and turned to Crouch.

"Can I have a word with you, Barty?"

Barty nodded. Minister's husband was even prettier up close. Barty couldn't believe how absolutely perfect the young man was. He felt proud for talking Tom into marrying this ethereal creature of vivid dreams. There was a soft blush on his cheeks. Barty was happy for Tom. Tom deserved something as perfect and beautiful as the Potter family's pureblood child.

He smiled at the beautiful man and followed Riddle into a large office.

"My Lord," he said expectantly waiting for instructions once they were inside. Tom Riddle had always helped him since they were students at school. When the rest of the Slytherins were being horrible to him, Tom was the only one there for him. He was older than Barty for a couple of years, but Barty felt like Tom Riddle's maturity made him more of a father or an older brother figure he wished he had.

"Don't let that pretty face fool you, Barty," Tom smiled. "My husband is a menace. I want you to make sure he is safe and that no one is hanging around him. I don't want the Nott incident to repeat."

"Yes, my Lord, if I see Nott even so much as looking his way, I will hex that git to his mummy's lap."

"Just make sure the princess isn't getting into any trouble," Riddle sighed. "I will see you in the evening."

Barty felt honoured to be tasked with Tom's husband's security. It had been about eight months after the wedding and Barty hadn't had the pleasure to meet Harry other than a few times he had caught sight of him outside with his mother.

After Tom left, he found Harry sitting on the sofa in the drawing room, gazing out at the garden through the large window. His heart leaped out of his chest, seeing Harry's cute face and the demure expression on his face. Barty smiled.

"Lord..." he wasn't sure if he should call him Riddle, since for him Lord Riddle was Tom. "Riddle?"

The pureblood beauty tilted his head to look at him. "Ugh," he shook his head. "Just call me Harry."

Not only was he pretty, he was also so sweet! Barty nodded happily. "Harry," he said with a smile. "It is an honour to be your guard. Let me know if there is anything you need."

Harry didn't respond and for a while they fell silent. Barty kept extending shy glances toward Tom's husband, feeling overwhelmed by how pretty and graceful he was and trying hard not to stare. How could anyone be this elegant while simply sprawled on a sofa? Barty sat on the other side of the room, scanning the area for possible security deadspots. His stomach growled. In his excitement to be here, he had skipped breakfast.

"Would you like something to eat, Barty?" Harry's soft silky voice made him almost fall down on his face.

He stared at Harry bewildered and stammered. "Ahhh... eh...umm..." he wasn't sure what to say. Harry was looking at him expectantly.

"I have forgotten to eat," he confessed, mortified.

"Dobby," Harry called, sitting up. The elf immediately popped into the room. "Can you bring breakfast for Barty?"

"Yes, Master Harry," the elf said. "Would you like to have something too?"

"No," Harry shook his slender neck. "I have already had breakfast at my parents' place."

The elf nodded happily, disappeared and came back with food. Barty had never been offered food at anyone else's home. He was nervous his table manners were not refined enough, and he would annoy the pretty pureblood man. Everyone always gossiped about Harry Potter Riddle as being a spoiled, mean-spirited diva, but Barty could feel in his gut it was all lies. Harry was kind and caring. He even noticed that Barty was hungry and offered food.

"Don't mind me," Harry said as if sensing his uncertainty. "Just eat your food."

Barty nodded and dug in. It was delicious. His heart flattered at the thought of the food being provided to him by Tom's beautiful spouse. He ate quickly, trying not to make any strange sounds, but it seemed Harry was not really paying attention to him. He was deep in thought.

"I am going to take a bath," he said getting up. "Dobby, can you help me."

Barty got up too, wondering if he was supposed to follow him. "I will be in my room," he told Barty, seeing the hesitation on his face. "I am not going to drown there or anything. Dobby will be with me. Don't worry and you don't need to tell Tom. It's not like he is expecting you to stand in the bathroom with me."

Barty turned red. Of course, he wasn't going to ogle the minister's pretty husband. He respected Tom and wasn't one of those leeches that wanted to steal Harry. He was loyal and devoted to Tom.

"God knows what that psycho will do if you tell him," Harry muttered under his nose and walked away.

Barty blinked confused unsure who Harry was speaking about, but he followed him and stood guard in front of the bedroom door.

"Just call me if anything happens, Harry," he told him earnestly.

Barty stood in front of closed doors, wand in his hand like a guard dog, eyes scanning the surroundings. He was ashamed to admit that he had believed some of the gossip he had heard about Harry. But it was all lies, now he could see. All these jealous people said all kinds of horrible things about Harry and made even Tom doubt the sincerity of his husband, but the person Barty saw today was a piece of pure light.

When Harry came out of his bedroom, freshly dressed and glowing, Barty stared at him like a fish out of water. When he thought, Harry couldn't be more enchanting, here he was prettier and cuter than a moment before.

"I want to go out," he declared. "I need to get some things."

"But your husband forbade you from leaving the house today," Barty said dumbly.

"Am I a prisoner?" Harry rolled his eyes irritated, making Barty feel guilty for upsetting him. "You can come with me if that's what you are worried about."

"If you need anything," Barty said, "I can request one of the secretaries get it for you."

"No," Harry sighed. "I want to go out. Merlin! Is he going to put me in a cage?"

Barty looked at him conflicted. Tom had ordered him to watch Harry and make sure he wasn't getting into any trouble or sneaking out. He technically didn't tell Barty that Harry couldn't leave. If he accompanied Harry, that wouldn't mean Harry sneaked out.

"Okay," he agreed after thinking for a bit, "we can go out. I will come with you. Please stay by my side, so I can protect you."

"Yeah, sure," Harry sighed. "Because I clearly need protection."

Of course, Harry didn't think he needed to be protected. He was so pure and kind that he couldn't imagine what horrible things all these wizards and witches could do. But Barty would die before he let anyone touch this beautiful angel.

Diagon Alley was much busier than Barty would have preferred. There were too many people and too many unworthy eyes on his Lord's dainty little husband. He glared sharply at anyone who dared to linger their gaze at the gorgeous lurne. Harry didn't really seem to notice how he was turning heads, how all of these lowlifes were eying him with lust and desire, ogling his pretty, delicate body. Barty was getting pissed.

How dare they! Harry belonged to Tom. Barty gave death stares to the onlookers, and some of them, recognising him, backed off in fear. He moved his hand toward his wand holster and drew the wand. These assholes better knew what would happen to them if they continued trying his patience.

Barty's eyes were trained on Harry. He couldn't afford to let any harm touch the pretty thing. Harry seemed so innocent and oblivious. It was beyond Barty how the vicious rumours had portrayed him as a spoiled socialite when Harry was anything but a beautiful angel.

Harry suddenly stopped, making Barty come to an abrupt halt as well, looking around to see what caught his attention.

"Piss of little Mudblood," someone was sneering at a little boy, hand waving dismissively and trying to push him out of what looked like a bookstore.

The aggressive loud noise must have annoyed Harry and distracted him, so Barty was about to interfere and tell the bloke to cut it off. But before he could step in, the bulky man actually pushed the little boy, and the boy almost fell.

Almost...

The little boy fell backwards, stumbled and fell into Harry's arms before he could hit the patchy ground. Barty stared in awe and it seemed like everyone gasped for air for a moment as if the air suddenly had thickened so dramatically that breathing had become impossible. How could this little Mudblood just slam into Minister's pretty little husband?

Barty came forward to pull off the little vermin away, but he paused confused, staring at the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Are you okay?" Harry steadied the boy, holding him tightly and checking to make sure he had no scraps on his knees. Barty stared, still not comprehending what was happening, and his mouth gaping in shock. "Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head and wiped the tears escaping his eyes with the sleeve of his dirty jumper.

"Just what is wrong with you?" Harry stood up and glared at the stocky man. "Why would you push a child like this?"

"I am not about to let some dirty Mudblood into my store, princess," he mocked. "You look like a pretty pureblood thing, why are you sullying yourself with this filth?"

Who the fuck did this asshole think he was? Barty brought his wand out and immediately aimed it at the guy, standing in front of Harry, shielding him from the gaze of this moron.

"I would choose my words carefully if I were you," Barty warned.

"That's senior undersecretary to the Minister of Magic," people started murmuring.

"Circe, isn't that Lord Potter's son with him?" someone said horrified.

"Yes, that's the Minister's husband..."

The shopkeeper looked at Barty with concern and raised his hands. "I didn't mean to..."

"Just what did you mean?" Harry spoke, stepping forward and surprising Barty. "Pushing a child and calling him that disgusting word must make you feel so much more superior."

"I...um... eh," the man stammered clearly, realising that insulting Potter's son was going to get him in even more trouble than an issue with a Ministry official could get him into. "Sorry about that. Hey brat, you can come and shop in my store."

There was a rage in Harry's gaze that Barty felt could burn him alive. "Unbelievable," Harry sighed, taking hold of the little boy's hand. "Don't mind him. Where are your parents, sweetheart? You shouldn't be here all alone."

"I don't have parents," the little boy said, staring at Harry. Barty realised that the little Mudblood had been staring at Harry ever since he fell into Harry's arms. It was as if he was hypnotised and couldn't turn his gaze away. "Are you a human?"

Harry seemed a little taken aback by the question, but he smiled and nodded. "So this is your first time here?" he asked, taking note of the Hogwarts letter firmly clutched in the boy's hands. "They should have had a guardian or a teacher from Hogwarts come with you. It can't be easy alone in this place. I still remember my first time."

The boy was still starstruck. "Well," Harry said gently. "Have you gotten your wand already?"

"No," the boy shook his head, holding up crumpled-up bills. "They won't take my money."

"That's Muggle money," Harry said with a smile. "You need to exchange it. Here, have this for now. This should be enough to buy the supplies you need. But you can exchange the Muggle money and buy everything you need over there. Do you see that building?"

Barty had no idea Harry knew all of this, but above everything this was yet another confirmation of how kind and sweet he was, helping a poor Mudblood orphan, defending him so fiercely. These nasty gossipers had even Tom convinced that Harry was a spoiled, petty brat. Barty was infuriated. As an undersecretary, he would make sure to put all of this disgusting slander to rest. These vermin didn't have any right to tarnish Harry's reputation.

"You are so pretty," the little boy said in awe, making Harry laugh.

Of course, even this Mudblood couldn't ignore the ethereal beauty in front of him. Harry helped the boy to get his books and school supplies while talking about Hogwarts excitedly, answering all the stupid questions the brat asked him without a hint of annoyance or irritation. So incredibly patient and brilliant!

Tom needed to know about this. In rare moments of genuine frustration, he had confessed to Barty about his fears of having children with Harry. Barty knew that Lord Potter expected them to have an heir soon, but Tom expressed reluctance, mentioning how cruel and petty the lurne was and what neglect and lack of love any children they had would face. There was no cruel bone in the body of this exquisite creature.

Harry spend that afternoon, going from shop to shop and helping the boy get his wand and robes and explained so many things about magic and the school and shared his own experience of attending the school for the first time.

When they parted ways and Harry wished him good luck with the school, it was already afternoon.

Harry felt tired. He was still trying to acclimate to his new life. He knew that no matter how much he wanted to go back to his friends, to his world, there was no go-back ticket for him. He knew very little about his new life, and also the fact that the other version of himself had been probably murdered troubled him greatly. He needed to get himself a wand, but having Crouch breath down his neck didn't really give him the opportunity to do some needed shopping.

Barty Crouch Jr was staring at him like a total creep. Harry had zero idea of what was going on in the man's head, but he could tell that this version of Crouch was sickeningly devoted to Voldemort as well.

He had spent most of his money on hand, getting supplies for the little boy. He still had money to buy a wand, but he couldn't do it unless he found a way to get rid of Barty. He looked at the twitchy man and smiled stiffly. Well, Harry could always get a wand later.

"I guess we can return home," he told Barty. "I can go shopping another time. Maybe with my mother."

Barty nodded and moved to offer his arm for apparation, but a loud screechy voice interrupted him.

"Harry?"

"Is that you, Harry? That's him right?"

They both turned around and Harry was greeted by the disturbing sight of Pansy Parkinson, Lavender Brown and... and Ginny Weasley. That was Ginny with them. His heart leaped out of his chest as he felt his throat tighten. He was sure he had caught the sight of her dead body in the ruins of Hogwarts just yesterday before waking up here.

"Morgana's tits! That's actually you out and about, you sly bitch," Parkinson said, walking up to him, and to Harry's never-ending horror, gave him a hug. "Didn't I tell you girls?"

"Harry," Ginny smiled at him shyly. "So glad to see you."

"Wow Potter," Lavender said coyly, raising an eyebrow. "We thought your hubby would have locked you up after that stint with Theo. And my goodness, is that Undersecretary Crouch with you?"

Harry blinked, trying to understand how to respond and noticed how uncomfortable Crouch looked. That made two of them.

"Yes, Barty here is accompanying me," Harry said politely, letting the situation unfold before he could make faulty assumptions and do something that could complicate things for him.

"More like guarding him like a dog," Lavender whispered under her nose with an ill-concealed giggle.

Pansy elbowed her. "Don't be rude," she rolled her eyes and turned to Harry. "We are going to have coffee, will you join us?"

"Umm..." Harry looked at Crouch. "I was about to go home."

"They serve your favourite apple tarts there, Harry," Ginny said earnestly. "Please come with us."

"Yeah, you should come to catch up and all. We are friends after all," Lavender said, pulling her hair back.

"You can join too, Mr Undersecretary," Pansy whispered under her lashes, staring at Barty with a look that almost said she was going to eat him alive if he refused.

"I... well," Barty stuttered.

"I guess a tart and a cup of coffee won't hurt," Harry smiled. "Let's go Barty."

Harry couldn't believe he would be friends with Pansy Parkinson and Lavender Brown. Ginny he understood, but the other two? He felt awkward and strange walking with them. He smiled at Ginny, his heart swelling at the realization that she was fine at least in this world. There was a sense of loss gnawing at Harry's heart. He knew that even though this was Ginny, this was not his Ginny. He was still grieving the loss of his life, but he had no opportunity to properly reflect on his feelings.

The place was quiet and nice. The tart was amazing. Barty sat next to him and was staring at him like the creep he was, making Harry lose concentration.

"By the way, Daphne is still seething," Pansy chuckled. "She is really upset about being kicked out of our group."

"Her sister is spreading rumours about Harry. I say that bitch needs to be dealt with before things get out of control," Lavender chimed in, sipping from her coffee.

"Astoria?" Pansy scowled. "She has a thing for Draco. We should cut Daphne off. Serves her right after she bitched about Harry bringing Ginny in with that house rivalry nonsense."

So Daphne Greengrass was part of the group, but Harry wanted to be friends with Ginny too and that caused a rift? Harry was getting a headache trying to figure out what was going on. He silently ate his tart, hoping they would stop gossiping. He still couldn't believe he was friends with Pansy. Harry noticed that Crouch was feeling extra nervous and using the serving spoon, he put a piece of pastry with chocolate glaze and raspberry filling on Barty's plate.

At least Crouch was suffering along with him.

"Yeah," Lavender nodded snottily, "boys can care about that stupid house rivalry, we pureblood girls should stick together."

She waved her hand around them. Harry breathed in sharply and stared inquisitively at Lavender. Why was she lumping Harry with them anyway? For one he was a guy, and for two, he didn't give two shits about this bullshit.

"No one should care about house rivalries," he said instead. "Besides we are adults and not students at Hogwarts, getting points to care."

"Seems like your Slytherin husband is rubbing off on you," Pansy said with a smirk.

"Of course, his husband is rubbing off on him," Lavender licked her lips suggestively.

Barty choked on the drink he was having, and Harry stared at the girls horrified. He turned his attention to Crouch and patted him on the back.

"So crude, Lavender," Pansy grinned. "Are you ok, Mr Undersecretary?"

"Ye..s ..ss," Barty barely replied.

How could these be Harry's friends? He looked at Ginny again, and she looked at him shyly.

"Here Barty, have some water," Harry poured water for the man and glared at the girls.

"We missed having you with us for shopping," Pansy suddenly complained, playing with a strand of her hair. "I have heard there is some kind of Ministry ball. My father says it's for an important charity event. Need to buy something nice."

Harry nodded.

"Your cousin," Pansy continued. "Is he going to be there?"

"My cousin?" Harry looked at the girls, trying to scrap his brain to remember who she was talking about.

"Draco," Pansy sighed. "Can you put a word in for me?"

"No way he will date you Pansy," Lavender laughed. "Even if Harry asks him, and we both know how much Malfoy likes Harry."

"If Harry puts in the word," Pansy countered. "I will get a date with him. I never said I wanted to date him. Just have a date with him. Circe! Hold your horses! Draco listens to Harry. His precious cousin. Wouldn't let anyone date him at Hogwarts."

"Yeah," Lavender agreed. "He is awfully protective of you. And yeah was meaning to ask, what the hell were you doing with Theo?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Nothing," he said politely. "I was a little drunk. I probably was throwing up on him or something."

Barty seemed interested. He looked at Harry with fascination.

"Theo's such a slimy bastard," Pansy and Lavender looked at each other.

Ginny hadn't said a word. "How are you doing, Ginny?" Harry asked, smiling at her, hoping to change the subject

"I am good," she said with a smile back. "Thank you for inviting me. I always admired you."

Harry nodded awkwardly. This wasn't right. His life was not right. He didn't want to stay here any longer and be reminded of how screwed up things were. He wanted to go away. He got up.

"This was nice girls," he said softly, "I need to be home though."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to get in trouble with the Minister," the girls laughed.

Harry's smile strained. He wished them goodbye and left hastily with Barty.

"Are you feeling okay, Harry?" Crouch asked when Harry looked like he was about to pass out as they stepped into the manor. "If you are not feeling well I can call Lord Riddle."

Harry shook his head. He didn't have the strength to be around Voldemort. His life was torn apart because of that murderous psychopath. It had been just a day, and now that the shock of finding himself in this new world was wearing off, exhaustion and sadness were setting in. He sighed, rubbed his eyes and turned to Crouch.

"I will be in my room, resting," he told him, trying not to sound terse. "You can stay in the drawing room. If you need food or something to drink, feel free to ask Dobby."

Barty looked at him like an idiot, and it looked like he was going to argue, but then he pursed his lips resigned and nodded. "Call me if anything suspicious happens," he said earnestly.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Like he needed Barty Crouch Jr's protection. He could take care of the git even without a wand right here. Harry had learnt to throw a pretty mean punch after dealing with Dudley and his dumb gang of friends.

"Thank you Barty," he smiled instead, gritting his teeth and forcing himself not to let his Gryffindor pride make him do things that he would regret. People already treated him like a goddamn delicate maiden. They would have assumed he had gone mad if he suddenly acted weird and Merlin knows with Voldemort for a husband, he would be locked up in some psychiatric ward for wizards.

Harry didn't wait for a response and turned around towards the room he had woken up the previous morning. It still surprised him how full of light and bright the room was. It was roomy with furniture in light tones and colours as if this version of Harry also despised dark tiny rooms after spending all his life in a cupboard.

He slumped face down on the soft bed and sighed at the comfort the smooth silk sheets provided. Did he share this room with Voldemort? Well did the other version of himself do? It didn't really look like something either Voldemort or even this Tom Riddle would have had for a bedroom. But then again Harry here was a spoiled pureblood socialite so this was probably his room, and Riddle probably just slept here.

If that was the case, he needed to find a way to get rid of Riddle. While sleeping with the dark lord unintentionally last night wasn't something he planned, he certainly didn't want a repeat. Maybe he could pretend to be sick until he got his hands on a wand?

He sighed.

This was so fucked up!

He turned around, his head at the edge of the bed, hanging down and staring at the room upside down. He noticed something strange stuck under the dresser on the other side of the room. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. It glimmered reflecting the bright light coming from the large windows. Harry reluctantly rolled over and got up.

His curiosity got the better of him, and it needed to be satisfied. He walked up to the dresser, crouched down and narrowed his eyes. It looked like some kind of ornate small chest. He stuck his hand under the dresser and tried to pry it out. His other self didn't hide it very well if that was his intention. He was starting to get convinced that this Harry Potter was a dolt.

The chest was not magically warded or enchanted. It was locked with a key which was just another piece of evidence that his other version was an inept birdbrain. With a flick of his fingers, he broke the lock and opened the chest.

He stared at the contents confused. He wasn't expecting collection of letters in the chest. Whatever this was, the other Harry wanted them hidden. The letters smelled of magic like they were encrypted with spells so only Harry's eyes could see them. It was clearly done by someone else far more skillful than his other version.

Harry grabbed a handful of letters and walked to the bed. He felt bad about snooping into the dead guy's personal correspondence, but technically the dead guy was him and these letters could shed light on his death. Who knew maybe whoever killed the other Harry was unhappy that it was unsuccessful and would try again.

He skimmed through them, and they seemed to be love letters, all of them signed by someone with the initials GG. So Harry was cheating on Voldemort except not with Nott but with some mysterious GG. Harry tried to read them, but they seemed endless praise of Harry's beauty and some cringy musings about how much this mysterious suitor had missed his time with Harry. It was all pretty vapid.

He was going to leave it at that until he realised that there was a hidden compartment at the button of the chest. He quickly opened it and realised that these were the latest letters sent a couple of weeks ago.

"Beloved,

I can not wait to embrace you in my arms and feel the warmth of your beautiful body. Merlin knows, my heart aches thinking about you being with that filthy Mudblood. He doesn't deserve you, and I will never understand and accept your father's decision of separating us. That filthy scum must have threatened or blackmailed your family to get his dirty hands on you.

Father isn't happy about the situation either, but he focuses too much on Riddle being the Minister and doesn't understand that you are a prisoner kept in a cage. I have expressed interest in returning to politics if Father helps me free you, my love. He has promised his support if I get him what he wants. I will do everything for you, but you must already know this.

I am glad you have followed my advice and brought in Ginny Weaselly. I remember that little redhead was enamored with Riddle. Introduce them and make the affair between her and Riddle happen. And if it does happen, I will make sure every newspaper writes about it. Your father will drop Riddle off immediately. Riddle's reputation needs to be tainted with the public and especially with your father.

Love,

GG."

Harry wrinkled his face after reading the letter. Is this why he had suddenly befriended Ginny? So he could get Ginny and Riddle closer and have them have an affair? This Ginny didn't seem that kind of person and who the hell was this GG? He sounded like a pompous ass. Harry didn't want to be taken back by surprise when this git suddenly showed up somewhere. Dealing with a husband was already too much work. Harry didn't have the nerves for a side piece. This whole plotting and scheming reeked of Slytherin.

Fuck! What was he going to do?

ㅤ

Tom hated using the floo network. He contemplated apparating outside the manor and walking back into the house. The powder got everywhere, and he found this method of travel very crude. He was feeling exhausted though. Normally his work would hold him at the Ministry for longer hours, but he was discussing the education budget for Hogwarts with two of his former professors and dealing with them exhausted him more than he could have anticipated.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were awfully irritating, and Tom had to grit his teeth to keep his polite countenance from slipping. The meeting was cut short to his surprise as something happened at the school that required the headmaster's and the deputy headmistress's attention immediately. He usually would have stayed longer working on some proposal drafts, but dealing with his former professors had drained him enough for him to consider returning home on time.

Tom dusted his jacket as he stepped out of the large fireplace. It was quiet. He honestly wasn't sure what he was expecting. It was almost time for dinner. Harry's elf was probably already seeing preparations for meal. Tom sighed and walked into the drawing room, he dropped papers he had taken with him on the table and headed towards the dimwit's bedroom.

Barty was pacing around the room with the most eager and serious expression on his face. Tom always wondered why Barty wasn't sorted into Hufflepuff. He was studious and intelligent, but his loyalty to him was his most prominent trait which was why Tom brought him in as soon as he became the Minister. He needed to surround himself with supporters, and Barty was always loyal to him. Barty's appointment as the undersecretary was met with some reluctance, but Tom didn't care.

"Sir... um... My Lord," Barty greeted him excitedly, stopping dead in his tracks.

Tom smiled politely.

"Harry's in the room I take it," he said, gesturing towards the closed doors. "Did he give you any trouble?"

"No... My Lord," Barty stammered but shook his head vehemently. "Um... He was very... In fact I really need to tell you something very important about Harry."

Tom quirked a brow at Barty's use of Harry's given name. He sighed. What did the princess do this time that even poor Barty was willing to complain about him to Tom? He knew Harry could be very mean. He was petty and catty. Barty wasn't used to people like Harry. He did grow up in wizarding circles, and his father held a good position in the wizarding government, but he didn't deal much with the children of aristocrats, especially one as spoiled as James and Lily Potter's son.

"Of course, Barty," Tom nodded graciously, keeping his friendly demeanour.

"In private?" Barty asked with a pleading look in his eyes.

That bad, huh? Tom wasn't sure what the little brat did to get his undersecretary squirm, but he sure had the talent to get under people's skin. His pursed lips reluctantly curled into the faintest smile as he gestured for Barty to follow him.

They turned around the corner, and Tom opened the door to his office. He let Barty walk in and closed the door behind them.

"Well," he turned to Barty. "What is it?"

Barty waved his hands in the air dramatically, testing Tom's patience. "It's all lies," Barty snapped. "All of the gossip and articles and news! Vile, poisonous lies!"

Of course, the articles and news stories were all lies. Tom had taken care of it. If they kept on publishing the truth about his little snobby husband's behaviour, Tom's reputation would be in shambles. The brat was a magnet for creating scandals and getting in ridiculous spats with random witches and wizards. Poor Barty probably didn't expect the bitchy side of the pretty pureblood Potter child.

"They write all these lies about him, calling him vile names and portraying him as a spoiled socialite, but Harry is the sweetest and the most kindest person ever," Barty declared.

Tom stared at him in disbelief. What did the brat do to the poor man?

"He is very warmhearted and attentive. When he noticed I was hungry, he offered me food. We went for shopping, and he helped this little..."

"You went for shopping?" Tom interrupted Barty, watching the man tremble under his gaze.

"He was with me the entire time, My Lord," Barty swore. "I didn't let me out of my sight even for a moment. You need not worry about that."

Tom continued simply staring at Barty, and the man seemed to become more nervous under his gaze.

"Harry is not the person people say he is. He is nice. He helped this Muggle-born child to shop for his first year school supplies and that is when everyone else was mean to the child. Harry was the only one to step in. The bad ones are his friends... They are very vulgar and... and..."

Tom agreed with that assessment. They might have been purebloods, but the girls Harry was friends with were uncouth and crass. At least Lily Potter's graceful upbringing had hampered some of Harry's worse qualities.

"Like I have said, my husband can be a little manipulative, Barty," Tom smiled. "Don't worry about anything. Thank you for your assistance today."

"No, My Lord," Barty protested for some reason. "He is not manipulative at all. He is very sincere. I don't want you to believe the lies about him. Please sir... just give him the chance. You hardly spend time with him so your impression of him is tainted with all the gossip about him. I confess I believed the gossip myself, but Harry is not like that."

Well, that was the bravest he had seen Barty be. Tom smiled. "I will take your advice into consideration, Barty," Tom said charmingly. He didn't want to deal with the Crouch's blabbering anymore.

Barty's face broke into a big grin. "Will you need my assistance here tomorrow?" he asked eagerly.

"No," Tom replied. "I don't want to take you away from your Ministry responsibilities."

Barty didn't seem happy about this, but he nodded in acknowledgement. "It was no trouble to ensure Harry's safety," the man said. "Please My Lord, call me again if I am needed."

Tom wanted to roll his eyes, but he simply nodded and led Barty out of his office. "I will see you on Monday," he told Barty when the man got into the fireplace to use the Floo Network.

"Yes, My Lord," Barty stammered before disappearing.

Tom sighed frustrated and tired, finally finding himself alone in his home. He wondered what his dear husband was up to, but didn't have patience to deal with him today. He hoped the princess would be cooperative tomorrow as they were supposed to visit the wizarding orphanage opening ceremony. Being the Minister meant he had responsibilities and functions planned even for weekends, and he needed his husband's cooperation tomorrow.

"Master Tom," Dobby squeaked. "The dinner is ready to be served."

"What about my husband, Dobby?" he asked, turning to the elf. "Is he ready to be present at the dinner?"

"Master Harry said, 'I'll be there,' Master Tom," Dobby replied.

Tom pursed his lips. His life was a nightmare, surrounded by idiots.

Chapter Text

Harry didn't have an appetite. He stared at the food arranged on the table by Dobby and instead of feeling hungry, he felt sick. Riddle was sitting on the opposite side of the table, facing him. He looked irked as he sliced the steak on his plate and stabbed the piece with his fork. Harry didn't have patience for the man. His friends were all dead, and he could do nothing about it. Was he just supposed to give up and live his life like some snobby pureblood man-child?

"Are you planning to persist in playing with your food?" Riddle drawled in a clipped tone, dropping his knife and fork on his plate. "Tell me what you are so unhappy about now."

Harry lifted his head to glare at him but didn't respond. The man was so handsome, immaculately dressed, his hair brushed neatly, and he smelled like crisp, clean, cold winds. His eyes were impassive, but Harry could tell from his clenched jaw that Riddle was pissed. His eyes were somehow more lifeless than what Harry remembered from Pensieve memories of Dumbledore. This man's eyes were lighter in colouration and shade. They were grey instead of the brown ones that Harry remembered.

Even though Riddle in this particular universe didn't split his soul and start a genocidal campaign, something was still off about him, and Harry could feel it. He couldn't tell what was exactly different but the man was not an unassuming government official. There was something in Riddle's magic that felt like a restrained firestorm. It was somewhat stifled, like someone had subdued a warring beast inside Riddle that was ready to break its chains and burn the world alive.

"Well," he raised an eyebrow, staring at Harry pointedly. "What is it that you want? Stop the sulking and these little games. I don't have patience for that."

"Sulking and little games?" Harry snorted, the audacity of this arsehole to insinuate Harry was playing some conniving games to get his way. "If I was playing a game you would know. And stop pretending you care about what I want. Just let me be."

"Watch your tone," Riddle advised, his voice lowering threateningly. "Are you trying to drive me mad with these new mood swings?"

"Oh, fuck off," Harry got up, throwing the dinner napkin on the table. "You are so bloody insufferable. I am so done with this bullshit. I thought I could keep my mouth shut and live through this fucked-up crap, but I am so done."

Riddle's eyes widened in utter disbelief, and he stared at Harry, completely baffled and shocked. Harry was going to just leave and try to set a life for himself in Muggle London. Whatever the consequences might be, he wasn't having this shit anymore. He was a goddamn soldier of a war, not a bloody housewife.

"Is that the vocabulary you picked up while socialising with those vulgar friends of yours?" Riddle asked with disgust. "What are you hoping to achieve by this? Do you not understand your position?"

"Give me a bloody break," Harry rolled his eyes at Riddle's patronising tone.

"I've really tried with you," Riddle sighed. "From one scandal to another, moving from one lover to another. Your disgusting behaviour stops today. I will not tolerate this anymore. You should have known already that you were not going to marry someone of your choice, and you should have made your peace with it."

"Like this bullshit marriage makes any sense," Harry grumbled.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why, of all possible people in the world, he would be married to Tom bloody Riddle. It made no fucking sense.

"What? Did you think that you would get to choose who to marry?" Riddle laughed. "You are James and Lily Potter's pureblood son with Alluran blood, the first one in the last 300 years. Didn't you know, princess, that you were going to be married off to whoever offered the most to your father? Your father would have never agreed to marry you off to another pureblood family. Don't you understand that if that was the case he would have had you marry your cousin? It's not like marrying close family is such a taboo in pureblood circles. But no, your father never wanted some other wizarding family to get their hands on you. Were you to marry Malfoy or Nott or Lestrange, your children would have been Malfoy, Nott or Lestrange, and your father doesn't want that."

Riddle closed his eyes, levity waning, and his features hardening with exhaustion and resentment.

"I might be the Minister of Magic, but I am a nobody as far as wizarding families and lines are concerned which was why I was the perfect choice for a spoiled brat like you," he said with a sigh. "You should make peace with this idea and understand that no matter what you do, we will never divorce. So stop this little act of rebellion, it is getting tiresome."

Harry didn't want to feel sorry for this man or the other version of himself. This wasn't his war to fight. He just needed his wand back and once he had it, he would simply leave. How didn't the man know that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir? That seemed suspicious.

"Well," Harry let out an air of exasperation. "You got what you wanted. Now leave me out of this nonsense."

He turned to leave. Riddle followed him swiftly and catching up with him, grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. Harry tried to free himself from the man's grip, but he only tightened his hold.

"You must have always been told how special you were," he spat with venom and loathing. "It must have gone to your pretty head. You are married to me, and I want you to remember that. I will not tolerate infidelity or public outbursts from you anymore. You will play your role whether you want it or not. So again, stop this childish tantrum and tell me what you want."

Harry was itching to suckerpunch the asshole.

"You know what, I want my wand," he said, trying to control his anger and relaxing in Riddle's arms.

"You can't have it, because you have demonstrated to be completely inept at using it without hurting anyone," Riddle said, not letting him go and staring into Harry's eyes with a searching, inquisitive look like he was trying to detect a lie or a conspiracy.

"You asked me what I want," Harry insisted. "And I want my wand. How am I supposed to protect myself without my wand?"

"Protect yourself?" Riddle wrinkled his face. "From what? You are more likely to hurt yourself than manage to cast a proper shielding charm, and we both know it. How many people should land in the hospital before you understand that your level of incompetence is dangerous?"

"Fine," Harry grumbled. "How about I show you that I can use my wand safely and you give it back to me?"

"No," Riddle sighed, pulling Harry away. "You injured people, do you understand? Your control of your own magic is very unstable. Your magic is volatile. Not every time you cast a levitation spell you explode the object you are trying to levitate, but it only takes once, and I can't have you hurting people."

Harry was getting frustrated. He wasn't even sure why he thought he could make Riddle agree to give his wand back.

"Just put a hampering spell on my wand," Harry sighed. "One that doesn't allow the full force of the magic to be channelled. If I mess up it won't be catastrophic, and if I am able to control my magic, you will take it off."

Harry knew how to tinker those 'parent-control' spells off of wands, so as long as Riddle believed that Harry had a wand with magical blocks preventing the full force of magical energy from being channelled, he could enact his plan of escaping this place, getting a second wand and ditching the wizarding world for a while until he came up with a better plan.

Riddle was staring at him with suspicion like he could tell something was off. He brought his hands close to Harry's face, brushed strands of hair off his face and inhaled sharply.

"Fine," he mumbled after a moment. "I will give you your wand back but you will first demonstrate that you can cast the spells safely. I will block any spells other than the ones you can prove you are able to cast safely. The wand will have a hampering spell just in case, and all of this only if you agree to go to the orphanage opening tomorrow with me and act your part dutifully."

Like he had a choice.

"That's fine by me," he agreed. "As long as you promise not to go back on your word."

"I never go back on my word," Riddle said, staring into his eyes and coming so close to his face that Harry felt the man's breath making his skin shiver instantly.

ㅤ

Something was wrong with Harry. The spoiled brat was capricious as ever, but his tactics had changed, and Tom found it concerning. Tom rubbed his eyes and pushed aside the parchment. He didn't know what was on the little airhead's mind, but wanting his wand back seemed an unexpected request, especially considering that the princess didn't even put up much of a resistance when it was taken away. He pouted and sulked for a couple of days but then went on a shopping trip to France with his mother and forgot about it all.

Harry never spoke in such a vulgar manner. It was unsettling that he was becoming more and more mentally unstable. Tom suspected he was taking Chelidonium Miniscula—a sedative potion that was often misused to induce euphoria and intoxication. He needed to control the brat before he ran off the rails completely and not only destroyed his political career but also tarnished his credibility before James Potter.

Tom was so sick of everything.

It was too much work for very little reward. Just the reminder that he needed to procreate with the bloody idiot was already putting him off any political aspirations he had had. He couldn't stand children, and his dear little husband disliked them even more. Whatever unfortunate soul would be born off of their union was going to be miserable.

Tom was not looking forward to spending a whole day tomorrow with Harry. Especially with all the curious eyes of the wizarding world on them. Harry Potter attracted a lot of gossip. The spoiled socialite was rude and disrespectful and would not hesitate to insult anyone who he thought was slighting him anyhow. Tom had to constantly clean up the mess left behind by the numerous scandals, and it was getting tiresome.

He sighed again and got up. It was already late. He had to work on trade agreements with other wizarding countries. But the thoughts about his bloody husband's alarming behaviour wouldn't leave his mind.

He neatly stacked the parchments on his desk, locked the confidential documents in the safe and left his office.

He showered quickly, with a flick of his wand dried his hair and headed to the bedroom. Harry was already asleep when he walked in. He was sprawled over the covers hands under the pillow like he was holding something. Tom tilted his head to look at what Harry was holding, but there was nothing in his hand.

He was still wearing his clothes. Tom leaned over and started undressing him. Something was definitely wrong with Harry if he was falling asleep with his clothes on and not bothering to pull up the covers. He smelled different too; somehow more ethereal, light and intoxicating.

"Is that you?" Harry muttered sleepily.

Tom's hands froze on the buttons of Harry's shirt. It had been a while since he had heard that speech. How was it possible? He stared at his sleeping husband intently, trying to understand how this could have even happened. He had discovered in his youth that speaking with snakes was not common. It was said to be hereditary but Tom wasn't convinced of this theory as there were no records of any wizarding families in Britain speaking Parseltongue.

In his youth, he had thought that perhaps he had magical parents who both died and were not from Britain thus no one came looking for him, but later on, he realised that anomalies of magical skill occurred randomly all the time. He was incredibly magically skilled while most purebloods were much weaker due to a lack of genetic diversity.

"You can kill me," Harry hissed in his sleep. "I don't even mind. It's not like it ever takes."

Was he having a strange dream?

Tom ignored any further ramblings from his sleeping husband, undressed him quickly, wrapped him in one of his shirts and went into bed himself. Harry rolled about and hugged him. Tom didn't mind; it was always nice to have his pretty husband wrapped around him, in his arms. If he could minimise their interactions to only short dinners and sleeping, his life would not be as miserable.

The house belonged to Tom. He had bought it with his own resources even though James insisted on buying them the place. It was a big house but he didn't even have his own room. He spent most of his time at work and when he was at home he was working in his study. He ended up always sleeping in the brat's room.

People were envious of Tom. He was the youngest Minister of Magic married to the heir of the incredibly affluent Potter family. James Potter was the only child of his rich family, and he married Lily Evans another rich pureblood heiress, and the two had only one child. Of course, no one knew that Harry Potter was a nightmare and that being married to the brat meant doing things for James Potter.

Tom closed his eyes, the warmth seeping from Harry was comforting. Sleep enveloped him easily as Harry's soothing scent and magic surrounded his senses.

ㅤ

There were too many people. They were photographers from Daily Prophet, journalists, commentators and various correspondents on the scene who were all rushing to snap pictures. Harry was clutching his so-called husband's arm. He looked beautiful, dressed in elegant robes that emphasised his jewel-like green eyes. No wonder the other Harry was a conceited snob. He looked too pretty; even Harry would totally bang himself.

Tom smiled for photographers and pictures kept being taken with a blinding flash. He didn't look one bit affected by the awkward morning. Harry didn't expect to wake up in Tom Riddle's arms again. He figured the man would be sleeping in his own room, but it turned out Riddle took sleeping by his spouse's side very seriously. Harry just hoped he would be long gone before Riddle made any other advances.

"Mr Riddle," everyone kept calling Riddle's name even though they were more interested in capturing pictures of Harry.

The orphanage looked nice. It seemed the Ministry had spent quite a lot of money on the project. It looked somehow better than Hogwarts. The rooms were large and the common areas were cosy and spacious. There was a lot of land allocated for gardening and outdoor activities that magical children could use to practice their magic while away from school.

Harry looked around curiously. There were already house-elves working in the kitchens and were responsible for the upkeep, but Ministry-employed staff would be available as soon as the children started relocating to the orphanage.

It was all good if only the idea behind it wasn't disgusting. Harry hated that he couldn't tell Riddle to shove it. It was appalling that he thought he could steal children from their Muggle parents and raise them like orphans. A wizarding orphanage was needed, but not for children whose parents were actually alive.

"Mr Riddle do you agree with your Minister husband's politics?" someone yelled and Harry realised that they were speaking to him.

"I..." he mumbled, looking around confused as Riddle stiffened next to him. "I think having a place for children who don't have families is important. All children should have a place they can call home, somewhere safe and nice."

Riddle looked down at him with mild confusion. Harry gulped and stared at the crowd. He could do this. Just a little bit, and he would get his wand back.

The opening ceremony was more like a party after the initial meet and greet with the press. High-ranking Ministry officials, the crème de la crème of the wizarding society, purebloods with seats in the Wizengamot as well as diplomats and dignitaries from foreign governments were all present, having drinks, chatting with each other.

"Sweetheart, you look stunning as always," his mother gushed as she and his father approached them. "The opening ceremony was heartwarming, Tom."

"Thank you, Lady Potter," Tom smiled.

"Great job, Tom," his father said, patting Riddle's back. "That speech earlier was impressive."

Harry would have rolled his eyes if he didn't dread dealing with more useless chatter from Riddle and his parents.

"Baby," his father pulled him into his arms. "You are prettier than the last time I saw you. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? If any of these nobodies keep staring at you any longer your father is going to curse someone."

"James," Lily laughed. "He has a husband now to defend his honour."

Yeah, right like Harry needed the arsehole next to him to defend his honour.

"I know," his father grinned, looking at Harry. "But he will always be my little boy."

"I will see you tonight, Tom," James said shaking his son-in-law's hand while pulling him into a tight embrace. Harry wanted to gag.

After his parents left, Harry stopped paying attention. The guests approached them, greeted them, congratulated Tom on his amazing achievement and tried to awkwardly engage Harry in conversation while staring at him with immense interest.

"Minister Riddle," a man greeted them with a self-assured, wild smile, approaching them quickly. "Amazing undertaking. My congratulations."

"Thank you, Mr Grindelwald," Riddle said with a tight smile. "This is just the beginning. Wizarding society needs an urgent infrastructure update. It seems everyone has been quite content with the archaic state of affairs for a long time."

"Yes," Grindelwald nodded with a grimace. "It must be that fresh Muggle perspective you are bringing to the table. We should certainly consider having Muggle-born wizards at the International Confederation of Wizards. It's great that you are not forgetting where you came from."

The pleasant smile didn't leave Riddle's face, but Harry could tell that magic was brimming at his fingertips and if there was no one around, curses would be hurled at the man. Grindelwald for his part looked much younger and better and apparently wasn't locked up in prison. He was perhaps in his late 50s and looked quite smug about something, irritating Harry.

"Were you born this condescending or did you take special lessons?" Harry snarked, not being able to keep his mouth shut. "If you are on an official business from the International Confederation of Wizards or whatever, maybe you should learn some tact and diplomatic prudence handling the head of the government."

Riddle stared at him with wide eyes, in complete disbelief as if Harry had just transfigured his own leg into a cake and had taken a bite off of it.

"You don't need Muggle-borns at ICW, Mr Grinderwart," he knew it was childish to mispronounce the man's name but everyone already thought of him as some airhead. "The people who tolerate you every day at work can perhaps provide a better perspective if that is what you are looking for."

"Harry," Riddle quelled him with a look but didn't sound annoyed at all. Harry could tell he was amused.

"You must be Harry Potter," Grindelwald said with a bright smile, staring at him with hungry curiosity. "I can see why my son speaks of you all the time. You are feisty and exquisite."

"You should work on your compliments," Harry rolled his eyes. "Because-"

"Harry," Harry's heart fluttered as he heard the familiar voice of his professor. Dumbledore looked much younger too around the same age as Grindelwald and was dressed in modest robes. "So glad to see you. How have you been?"

"Professor," Harry mumbled still shocked. "I am glad to see you too."

"This is impressive. Congratulations, Tom," the man who still had the auburn streaks in his hair turned to smile at Riddle. "We may not agree on the definition of the word orphan, but I am glad that there is now a place the wizarding children can call home before they start Hogwarts."

"Ministry is hoping to coordinate the education at the orphanage with Hogwarts," Tom said with a polite but strained smile. "We are hoping to work together on this and have the best pre-Hogwarts curriculums."

Dumbledore nodded and then turned to Grindelwald. "Gellert," he sighed with a grimace. "I wasn't aware that you would be back in Britain."

"It was a last-minute decision," the man smiled cheerfully. "Your nephew asked me to come."

The grimace on Dumbledore's face deepened, and he looked angry.

"Oh, you didn't know he was writing to me," Grindelwald grinned. "Of course, he does, Albus. I am his father."

"We had an agreement," Dumbledore sighed, not letting the other man goad him into a burst of anger. "He is not your son. He is my sister's son, and I am taking care of him."

"This is not the place for this, Albus," Grindelwald grumbled, looking around. "You can't tell a grown man he can't write to his father, and you can't hold this forever against me. It was your sister's wish not mine. I only ever wanted a child I could raise with you."

"Let's go," Albus pulled Grindelwald away. "Harry nice seeing you again, sweetheart. Tom, we will see each other later."

They moved away in hurried steps, bickering about something.

"What was that about?" Harry said confused. "Grindelwald having a son, that one's new."

Tom glared at him but didn't say anything. Harry shook his head. It wasn't like he cared either way. He was going to get his wand soon, then apparate away and obtain a new wand and then leave all of this nonsense behind.

The day started stretching into boring small talk and people trying to take pictures with Harry for whatever reason.

ㅤ

Tom stared at Harry, hiding his growing suspicion. Something was wrong with him or the brat was so shameless and brazen that he was simply lying about not knowing who Gellert's son was. Grindelwald's son, who bore his father's name, was Albus Dumbledore's ward and nephew. Tom had heard rumours that Albus and Gellert were lovers but broke up after the incident with Ariana Dumbledore. Gellert had a child with his lover's sister, and she died shortly after the birth.

Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust just thinking about it. Gellert Jr was two years younger than Tom. He was sorted into Gryffindor house, and he remembered the asshole dating Harry at school. James Potter would have never agreed to have his son marry Grindelwald's spawn. He would never want the other man's influence and even more so because Potter was a traditionalist and found Gellert's extramarital children to be a disgrace.

And now, the princess was pretending he didn't even know that Gellert had a son when he spent all his waking hours probably daydreaming about the git.

Although, that wasn't the only strange behaviour today. The way he spoke with Gellert seemed out of character too. He was acting off since the Ministry party where he had thrown himself into Nott's arms. Malfoy said something about Nott putting some kind of draught into Harry's drink. It couldn't be that. It has been days.

Maybe he broke up with Gellert's son and was now using Tom to be nasty to the man's father. Tom wouldn't be surprised. The Potter heir could be extremely catty and show his claws if he felt wronged.

He was holding Harry's hand, but the brat suddenly stilled, moved his hand away and started looking around with mild panic. Tom grabbed his wrist and felt his husband's goose-bumped flesh.

The noise of the explosion startled everyone as strange men suddenly started apparating and blasting spells and curses around. Smoke, dust and fumes spread over the area. Part of the building was damaged and people were trapped under the rubble. Tom pulled Harry closer and pulled out his wand. He cast a protective shield over Harry and moved forward to disarm and stop the attackers. They were slinging curses indiscriminately.

"Wait here," Tom instructed Harry and rushed forward to lift the rubble and help people who were trapped inside.

It was a total chaos.

"Hey," Harry complained. "If I had my wand I could help now."

As he was levitating the stones and the rubble, one of the attackers tried to cast a slicing curse at him.

"Confringo," Tom cast the blasting spell without using his wand as he was using it to get rid of the rubble. The spell hit the man on the leg and tore it apart.

Casting two spells at the same time was not something anyone else could do, so this idiot thought he could take advantage of the fact that the Minister of Magic was trying to save the lives of the wizards trapped under the debris. His eyes turned towards Harry who was looking around slightly lost and still confined to the protective shield Tom had cast. It was a modified one and intended to trap someone. He didn't have time to babysit him but needed him safe.

"Expulso," he whispered when he saw someone approaching his husband fast. The blue light shuttered the man into pieces.

He was going to fire every Auror if they were this slow to properly respond to an attack like this. The attackers were moving randomly, it didn't seem like they had any particular target in mind until one of them spotted Harry. Tom lifted the last chunks of wreckage, allowing for the injured wizards to be pulled out before a ward spell was cast, creating a strong magic wall between him and Harry.

He rushed towards the Potter heir but was blocked by various attackers. They engaged in a duel with him and were defeated quickly, but a swarm of them kept coming and occupying him long enough that the protective shield he had cast around Harry faded.

"Shit," he slammed his hand against the wards, bursts of magic trying to crack it open and shatter it as he continued throwing off anyone who engaged in a fight with him. "Harry!"

Tom had never panicked. He was always capable of defending himself, but he had never considered that being married and having a husband would make him vulnerable. Harry was a liability. He slammed his wand against the wards muttering spells, trying to shatter the wall of magic separating the two.

"There he is," he heard one of the men say, approaching Harry.

Tom's heart was beating faster. He would be able to shatter the wards. It was a matter of time. He wasn't sure he had enough of it before these men would either kill the airheaded brat or kidnap him.

"Stupify," he mumbled, knocking down the mob of men still coming at him.

He watched as the men walked up to Harry, eyes wide and blood rushing to his ears as he continued blasting the wards with powerful magic, hoping to get to Harry before the men did.

One of the men pointed his wand at Harry.

"Imperio," the man said with a smile, throwing an unforgivable curse. "Come here, sweety."

Tom watched as Harry slowly moved towards the men. There were five of them, and none of them bothered hiding their faces. Tom would find them no matter what. They would beg for death once he was done with him.

"Harry, stop," he tried, but the ward separating them was numbing any of his compulsion efforts. "Shit."

He cast an entrail removing curse at someone in anger and the man dropped down like a marionette.

Harry walked slowly, Tom couldn't see his face as he was facing away from him, but he knew those pretty emerald eyes were probably glazed. Harry stretched his hand, his palm open and waiting, and as he was about to be just a step away from the men, a piece of metallic bar flew into his hand, and he caught it with an agility of the Quidditch seeker.

Tom stared bewildered, his heart still beating fast in his chest as his pretty socialite husband who barely held his own teaspoon swung a piece of reinforced steel bar across a man's face who was twice his size, knocking his bloody teeth out and when the man fell onto the ground, Harry didn't lose a second as he commanded this man's wand into his hand with a wandless accio.

"Stupify," he cast the spell knocking down one of the men who recovered first and managed to point his wand at Harry.

Another tried to cast a stunner at Harry, but Harry blocked it and cast a series of hexes.

"What are you? Some kind of discount Death Eaters?" he mumbled, battling all three of them at the same time.

Tom was so confused and out of it that he didn't even notice that more wizards were trying to attack him and one of them even attempted the killing curse. He would have laughed at them if he wasn't preoccupied by the fucking sight of his bratty husband, battling three skilled mercenaries at the same time.

Those weren't even some innocent spells. Some of the spells his dear little husband with Alluran blood in his veins was casting were outside of Auror training and were only for the special wizarding units for battling dark wizards. Tom stared and couldn't look away.

More men joined and Harry was now fighting against at least a dozen. The brat suddenly pointed the wand at himself and the men stopped for a short moment confused until the spell left Harry's lips.

"Gemino," he mumbled to everyone's confusion and rushed towards the group, allowing them to brush against himself and creating multiple copies of Harrys. Tom had never seen that spell being used that way. Several Harrys were standing and staring at the men who were now unsure which one was the real one.

"Oppugno," Harry whispered and then all the copies of Harry immediately attacked the men.

Harry rushed towards the ward where Tom was standing fighting against whatever insignificant wizard was trying to hold him back while the others were trying to kidnap his husband who clearly was not what anyone expected.

"What is going on?" he asked breathless and to Tom's absolute horror, a little too excited. "Who are these people?"

Tom pointed his wand one final time against the magic wall and blasted it open. The ward shuttered and dissolved, allowing him to grab Harry's hand.

"I don't know who they are," he said. "But they clearly want you. Let's go."

"Ardeo," Harry cast when someone jumped right in front of them, the man's clothes caught on fire immediately.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked as they moved out of the line of fire. The Aurors had finally joined and were fighting and seizing the attackers. "You are not injured, right."

"I am fine," Harry mumbled then added with an amused snort. "I have seen worse. Some noseless bastard was trying to kill me all my life, and he was much better at magic than these morons. Casting an imperio when he would barely hold his bloody wand, give me a break. I guess it doesn't take much these days to become a dark wizard."

He might have been physically fine, but Tom was sure a spell or two had messed up his husband's brain.

Spells were being fired right and left and then all of a sudden someone cast a blasting curse at Tom. He was so distracted by his thoughts about his husband's fighting skills that he had forgotten they were in the middle of an active combat situation. Harry pulled him away, and he felt his body apparating.

"Shit! Almost got spliced," Harry sighed as they both dropped right in the middle of Muggle London.

Tom stared still confused. There must have been some kind of rational explanation.

"It seems they were very interested in killing you," Harry mused. "We can't go back there. Your ministry officials were awfully slow at showing up and the Aurors were subpar at dueling. Merlin knows, you might have some naysayers in your government who organised this attack, Mr Minister."

Tom clutched his wand. Who the fuck was this man wearing his husband's bloody face?

"Let's go," he said, holding Tom's hand and pulling him away from the curious crowd. "You need to find out who was behind this before we can even go back home."

"I need to," Tom stopped, sighing. "I need to go back. People need help. I need to issue a special ordinance and investigate the attack."

"Well, if you haven't noticed you were the only one fighting those assholes and helping people get out from underneath the rubble," Harry rolled his eyes. "You can't go back, because these people clearly had orders to kill you and kidnap me."

Tom allowed this stranger to drag him away. This man wasn't his husband, but Tom was confident he would be able to defend himself if he was being led into a trap. He wondered if it was a polyjuice potion, although he had never heard of any of those lasting too long. He must have been drinking them periodically.

They walked into a Muggle hotel.

"We should be able to stay here, and you can call someone you trust from the Ministry to report on the situation," Harry said. "Can we have a room for two?"

Tom had never been to a Muggle hotel. Muggles sure knew how to build clean, cosy spaces. It certainly felt cosier than the wizarding hotels, not that he had much to compare it to. He stared in disbelief as his Muggle-hating husband handed the Muggle some money and grabbed the keys they provided.

"You know," he said with a sad smile. "I have never thought that I would see you helping people."

Tom didn't respond. He was waiting. They walked into a nicely furnished large room, and the moment they set foot in, Harry rushed to enchant the place with protective spells. Some of them were spells even Tom was unfamiliar with. Tom watched silently, waiting for a perfect moment.

Harry or whoever this truly was, dropped his wand on the bed and rubbed his eyes, looking tired.

"Immobulus," Tom murmured, and Harry instantly froze.

"What are you doing?" he asked panicked.

Tom started patting him down trying to find a bottle of polyjuice potion hidden somewhere.

"I don't know who you are," he said, searching in the pockets and patting down his husband's delicate legs. "But you are not my husband. Where are you hiding the polyjuice potion?"

"If you are implying I am not Harry Potter," Harry said still frozen in place. "Then you are wrong, but it's true that I am not your bloody husband."

"You are not Harry Potter," Tom insisted. "Are you going to claim I just didn't know you well enough?"

He patted everywhere and didn't find anything. "I will just wait until it wears off," he said. "It's not like you are going to wear his face longer than thirty minutes without the potion."

"You are out of your mind," Harry said. "Are you going to leave me immobilised for half an hour? I already told you I am Harry Potter. So you may as well leave me like this forever."

"My husband doesn't even know how to hold his wand, let alone do a wordless, wandless magic," Tom snorted. "You should have learned about him more if you wanted to fool everyone."

"Whatever, believe what you like," Harry said.

"I am curious what was your end goal," Tom said, staring at the stranger. "What have you done with my husband?"

Harry would probably grimace if he could.

"I don't know what happened to your husband," he said and Tom's heart started beating faster. "I guess whoever you married is dead. But if you are hoping that I am using a polyjuice potion and I am not Harry Potter then I will have to disappoint you. You could do a blood magic test with my parents and confirm my identity."

Barty told him that Harry was different not like people talked of him. But Tom had seen with his eyes his pretty husband's bigotry and prejudices, his incompetence and childishness. The potion wasn't wearing off, and this man looked like his husband, but Tom knew it was a different person.

Chapter Text

Waiting did not culminate in any results. Tom stared at the familiar face of his delicate husband, whose ethereal features did not morph or transform into the face of another person. His beautiful countenance and his slim, elegant body remained the same as minutes ticked by, and Tom knew that no magic in the world had this kind of strength.

The hesitant knock on the door interrupted the silent glaring match he was engaged in with his supposed husband. Tom hurried out of the bedroom towards the foyer of the suite and opened the door. Barty Crouch Jr fell to his knees, seeing him, and cradled his wand, exhaling with relief.

"My Lord," he cried. "I was so worried when I couldn't find you in the crowd. After you helped free the trapped people, you suddenly disappeared, and I feared the worst. I wasn't even sure the call was from you, but I came as fast as I could."

"Did you bring what I asked?" Tom leaned over to help the man to his feet, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the melodramatic display.

"Yes," Barty pulled out vials of truth serum from the inner pocket of his robes. "But what is happening? Where is Harry? His parents were looking for him. Is he alright?"

"He is fine," Tom said firmly. "Did you tell his parents that you were coming to see me?"

"No, My Lord," Barty stammered. "I followed your instructions and did not tell a soul."

"Are Harry's parents alright?" Tom asked, clearing his throat, uncomfortable that despite everything he cared to know they were safe.

"Yes, My Lord," Barty nodded. "Both Lord and Lady Potter are fine, but they seemed very anxious that you were missing. Lord Potter had brought in private security from France to look for you. He was unhappy with the Aurors."

Tom sighed. He was going to fire so many people once he was back. Either this was extreme incompetence or willful negligence, and in either case, he didn't wish to have these people work for his cabinet.

"I have something to take care of right now," he told Barty, gripping the Veritaserum tightly. "Once I am done, we will go straight to the Ministry and call for an emergency meeting. Wait outside."

"Yes, My Lo—" Tom shut the door before Barty could finish.

He fiddled with the vials as he walked back into the bedroom where the man bearing the pretty face of his husband was frozen and bound by his magic. Harry craned his dainty neck and glared at him when he noticed Tom approaching him with intent. Tom opened the vial; the cork came out with a loud pop. Harry's eyes widened as he realised that Tom was planning to feed him some kind of potion.

He pressed his lips together, resisting. Tom could feel Harry's magic fighting and flaring.

"Mhhm," he struggled as Tom forced the liquid into his mouth, gripping Harry's pretty neck with bruising strength, forcing him to part his lips. He held him and made sure that he swallowed the truth serum.

"Fuck you, Riddle," Harry coughed when Tom let him go.

The crystalline chandelier hanging from the high ceiling fell, shattering into a million pieces. Tom managed to step aside before he was crushed underneath the weight of the enormous contraption. Even with the immobilisation magic, binding him in place, this imposter had an incredible amount of power—with no wand and uttered spells, he had disassembled the chandelier and dropped it down with the force of a sledgehammer. Tom would have marvelled, impressed, if it wasn't for the fact that this stranger was his enemy right now, and he had no idea what his intentions were.

Tom waved his wand lightly, and the chandelier pieces assembled back together, floated up and got attached to the ceiling, leaving no trace of what just happened behind. Harry scowled, and Tom watched him. Veritaserum acted quickly. He knew that some witches and wizards could demonstrate remarkable resistance to the serum, but this one was brewed by him and had a special ingredient that rendered null almost all immunity, especially one obtained through truth serum antidotes.

"What is your name?" he demanded.

"Harry Potter."

"What name were you born with?" Tom closed his eyes, trying to sort his disarranged thoughts. The limitation of the truth serum was that people could circumvent the truth by giving truthful responses that were true only in the mind of the person. This man was Harry Potter right now, so he could say that he was, but Tom needed him to confess who was hiding behind the shell of his pureblood socialite husband.

"Harry Potter," came out the same answer.

"Are you impersonating Harry Potter?" Tom tried again, hoping to catch the slightest lie, the smallest misstep. He had always been good at reading people and forcing them to hand over their secrets. Everyone slipped, everyone failed, and nobody could ever leave his presence without telling him what he wanted to know.

Harry, or whoever this was, was struggling. Tom could tell from the expression on his face that he didn't want to answer.

"No," he forced the word out to Tom's surprise. "Let me fucking go."

Tom was baffled, and he was out of questions to ask. This didn't seem right. This was complete nonsense. He gulped and started pacing. It was one thing to make a very powerful Polyjuice potion and for the effects of it to last very long, but it was absurd that he could resist the advanced Veritaserum Tom had brewed.

Wizards powerful enough to brew Polyjuice potion so potent that could last for hours weren't unheard of, but his husband wasn't one of them. And Tom had no idea who this person was, wearing his husband's face. On the other hand, if this was someone powerful enough to brew a potion like that, wouldn't he also have a natural Occlumency gift to resist the effects of any Veritaserum, including the one Tom had made?

Tom was worried. He was in the dark, trying to navigate while completely blind. He had no idea what was going on and thus didn't know what to do. He didn't know the motive of a person trying to impersonate his husband. If someone was trying to impersonate Harry Potter, why would they do such a poor job at it? Why wouldn't they get enough intel to impersonate him believably? The contradictions were all there—if this was a powerful wizard with an unknown agenda who was able to produce the most powerful Polyjuice potion lasting hours, why wouldn't he do a better job at impersonating its target? And what could he possibly gain from this?

"Aren't you fucking tired of this nonsense? Just let me go," Harry spat.

Tom looked at him again. Curiously. Inquisitively. Excessively. He assessed him with the gaze of a meticulous man who always had control of his subjects. Tom could keep him here. He was a patient man. He could stay here, watch him for hours. For a whole day. He doubted any Polyjuice potion would last so long. It would defy the laws of Magic.

Tom could think of multiple methods of impersonation. It could be potions, a golem or a doppelgänger. But the latter two were mindless clones. They were never intelligent. They did not have their own will or magic. They were simply enchanted empty vessels; puppets of whoever created them, and they did not have life longer than a couple of hours. The lives of these magical abominations were fleeting—shorter than those of a butterfly. They rarely were able to speak, and if they did it was only to utter a phrase or two.

No, this man, glaring at him, had a personality; thoughts of his own. He wasn't trying to emulate Tom's husband. It was like he didn't even care to pretend. Tom started circling him, moving around with a distrustful and wary stance; his eyes trained on the imposter's body, looking for a clue.

"You said you were not my husband. What did you mean by that?"

Harry's glare deepened.

"Just exactly what I fucking said. I never fucking married you," his pretty face scrunched up into a scowl. "How long am I going to stand here? What are you trying to get out of this?"

Tom walked up to him and grabbed Harry's hand. His skin was so smooth and soft, and his fingers were bony and fragile. Impersonation through spells, potions and charms allowed a person to take on the physical form of another, but one could never replicate the magical vows, ties and bonds that person held. One could look like someone but one would not inherit the bonds and magical vows that person had taken. Tom and Harry were married, sworn to an unbreakable, magical bond.

Tom undid the cuffs of Harry's shirt, then he took off his own jacket, unbuttoned the rest and rolled up his sleeves. Harry stared at Tom incredulously, watching him with utter horror as he peeled away the soft fabric covering Harry's skin.

Tom held his hand, just exactly as he did a couple of months ago when they got married. He flicked his wand over their clasped hands and muttered the incantation. The golden threads of the magical bond they had sworn to each other crept out and tethered their hands together. This was an undeniable proof that he had sworn a vow of matrimony to this man.

They reached an impasse. Tom didn't know what this was, but he knew this was not a Polyjuice potion, a golem or a doppelgänger. This was not a person expertly glamoured to look like his husband. Someone under a glamour charm wouldn't have the nuptial ties binding them together as if they had taken blood vows for each other. James Potter, the old prick, was a traditionalist who wanted them wed in the old ways. So they took a vow of matrimony through blood magic, tying them to each other forever.

The magical ropes chaining their hands together indicated that he was Harry fucking Potter. But Tom couldn't believe it.

"So, what is it?" he said, aggravated, "Were you pretending to be an incredibly disgusting person all this time? And what did change your mind suddenly? Did you get an epiphany? Were you getting bored of having fun at other people's expense?"

Harry was silent and was watching him, annoyance clear in his eyes.

"I remember you from Hogwarts," Tom continued with a sigh. "You were not bright. This is nonsense. There must be an explanation for this that makes sense. Are you really going to claim that you have lived your entire life pretending to be an idiot? You failed all your classes at school, barely graduated, and only did so thanks to your father's interference. Are you also trying to tell me that you wanted to kill your godfather with an inept use of magic? Why the change of heart right now, huh? Do not lie to me."

Harry wasn't answering. He was just staring at him. Defiantly. Like a child who didn't like being scolded.

Tom never did this to Harry. He was a master Legilimens but had never used his ability on Harry. He had never tried to read his mind, shuffle through his memories, look through everything the brat had done. He didn't like Harry, but he owed him the respect of mental privacy. He had demanded answers, but he had never taken them forcefully. That was about to change because he wasn't going to allow some imposter to take over his life and do, Merlin knows what.

Tom muttered the spell and with the force of a master Legilimens pierced through Harry's mind. And there was nothing; he had hit a brick wall many times, trying to read the minds of skilled wizards, but this time, it was not a brick wall. No, it was not a wall at all. He just entered into a dark empty room with nothing in it. Harry didn't block or stop him. He didn't fight. He let him in easily but his mind was simply empty. There was nothing; there were no memories and no thoughts. This could be the mind of someone who had been obliviated or was not really a person—just an empty shell.

Tom was so shocked for a moment, his mind racing to come up with a sound reasoning as to what the bloody hell this was, but then he felt Harry, pushing at him and drawing him out of his mind with an unhurried ease of a person who knew that unwanted guests were received in an empty blank room where Dementors would die from hunger.

"Well, did you find anything interesting?" Harry asked with contempt.

"I did not find anything," Tom admitted but then added with a frown. "But that in itself is very interesting. Who are you? What are you?"

"I think I am getting tired of answering that question. And, I'm hoping that you are tired of asking the same question because the answer is going to be the same."

Fuck, this was bollocks.

Tom couldn't admit defeat. He couldn't acknowledge that this man was, in fact, his husband. At least physically he was the same man that Tom had married; his Alluran looks weren't changing or shifting. The lurne blood was still running through his veins. The magical vows they had given to each other were still intact. There was something he was hiding, and Tom wanted to know what it was more than anything in the world. Because no one ever surprised him like this. It was fascinating.

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Harry's fingers were twitching. He was trying to undo the magical binds immobilising him in place. His magic was feeding his bindings small bursts of energy, gradually destroying the spell Tom had enveloped him in, freezing his movements. He was letting his magic eat and devour the magic of his opponent like a swarm of moths would eat threads of wool and silk, destroying the fabric.

His magic was penetrating the inner structure of Tom's spell and compromising the integrity of the magical tethers.

He could have just left this bullshit behind and ran away when he had the chance, but part of him knew that he couldn't just leave without helping. Because for the first time in his life, Harry had seen a man, a high-ranking Ministry official, help others instead of running for his life, saving himself. Tom had protected his husband first, casting a protective shield over him and then he helped the trapped witches and wizards out of the building. Riddle was incredibly talented and magically powerful, capable of unimaginable feats of magic. Harry's stupid heart had fluttered.

His stupid, stupid heart had skipped several beats when he realised that the man whose version in his world was an evil son of a bitch could be a decent person here. And the magic he had could do so much good. He'd run to Tom to help him without a second thought when he saw all of those people, rushing towards him, trying to hex him and curse him.

Harry could feel his fingers, the numbness wearing off as magic was slowly setting him free from his binds. Tom looked confused. Harry didn't blame him. For a moment, he just wanted to tell him the whole truth. Tell him that even though he was Harry Potter, he was not Harry Potter from this world but from another one. He dropped the idea, realising it was too risky. He had already acted thoughtlessly when he had rushed to Tom's side to help instead of taking the wand, using the opportunity and just running away to live his life.

Now, he was paying for his reckless choice by being petrified, his mind being probed by his counterpart's arsehole husband who was trying to find out his secrets, interrogating him like he was some criminal.

If he told anyone, including this man, that he was a version of Harry, two things would possibly happen. One, most people would think that he was crazy, and Harry feared, the consequences of such assumptions about him. Considering the way they were treating him, they probably would lock him up somewhere until he was back to his normal self.

And two, Riddle really didn't seem like he would believe an explanation like that. He was certain that Harry was not his husband and he was right. But if he learned the truth, Harry had no idea what he would do. Would he even want his husband back? And what was Harry supposed to say? Sorry, your husband's dead. That's the only way I could be in this body. He could get blamed for the death of some stupid airhead that he didn't even cause.

Did he really want to get himself in so much trouble just to be truthful? He didn't lie, he wasn't Tom's husband but he was Harry Potter. And that was not a lie. Just because he didn't want to lie, it didn't mean that he was going to tell the truth.

His goal, after all, was to leave this place and go as far as possible. It wasn't like Harry had any family here. His so-called father was not someone he would miss. Lily Potter even in this world was a sweet woman, but she was not his mother. None of his people were his friends and family. He was alone here. Worse, the very idea that they looked like his family and friends while his actual friends and family were dead made Harry want to be away from them as far as possible.

Part of Harry knew that he couldn't just stay here. He needed to leave.

Merlin knew, what this man would do if he knew that Harry was occupying the body of his spoiled, pretty husband. With all the cheating and scandals, Harry doubted most witches and wizards would find the marriage with him amenable. But this Tom was all about rules, all about his image and all about how people perceived him.

There was a lot more common between this version of Tom and the one from Dumbledore's memories, than this version of Tom and Voldemort. The one from Dumbledore's memories also cared about his image to some degree which was why finding out about his Muggle father he had discarded his own name and had picked a fucking stupid, bullshit name as a replacement that sounded like a three-year-old came up with that thing.

This Tom Riddle embraced his Muggle identity. He took the other end of the story about his personhood. He was the Muggle-born Minister of Magic.

From what Harry understood, this world's Harry was one of the most desired wizards in Britain, and yes, he could see himself in the mirror. He looked like a total babe. Perhaps whatever strange heritage or blood or whatever it was, had made him exceptionally attractive. It looked like Harry's father had a lot of influence, his mother was also a pureblood witch and his grandparents were a bunch of rich people too.

So, from a personal image standpoint, Tom was on the top. He was the Minister of Magic, magically incredibly gifted, married to the most desired wizard in Britain who was an only child and an heir to a massive wealth of both of his parents. Only morons couldn't see how powerful Tom fucking Riddle was. He did care about this image and this version of him that cared about his image would stay married to Harry. He would not take kindly to anything that would jeopardise his status.

Harry didn't want to face the consequences. All he needed to do was to keep his mouth shut and leave as soon as possible.

The binds were loosening. Tom wasn't aware of what Harry was doing, and Harry was gleeful in his own mind. He was excited. He was undoing the last knots of the magic tightening his body in chains. Harry was finally able to dissolve the magical ribbons immobilising him and quickly dashed forward with his palm open, mumbling an Accio for his wand still on the bed.

As soon as the wand was in his hands, Harry cast a quick hex, sending it Tom's way. Riddle managed to lift a protective shield, and he looked at Harry surprised, but somewhat intrigued. Was this person a fucking psycho? Was he actually interested in getting hexed? Harry started flinging a rapid storm of hexes and curses—nothing fatal, nothing too dangerous. He just needed to find an opening and leave. But Tom was responding back to them, and Harry could feel that his stance was familiar. This was something he knew. The way this man was fighting was dirty. He was skilled. It was as if he really, really did this before.

Given that Tom was the Minister of Magic, he shouldn't have had a lot of experience duelling like he was some kind of back-alley criminal or some kind of a dark wizard, building an army. But Tom was skilled. He was not just an academic but someone with actual, real-life experience. That's how he fought.

Harry chose to simply jump out of the way of some of the curses, letting them smash against other surfaces and tear into pieces the lamps and chandeliers in a room. He cast a blasting spell and hit against the Riddle's protective shield. The protective shield ricocheted the spell and it flew off and hit the wall behind Riddle, leaving a large crack on the wall.

The room was a mess a couple of minutes later. Everything was destroyed.

Harry was panting, feeling alive. So fucking alive, it was gross! After being treated like a bloody fucking housewife for all hours he had been in this place, fighting was making him feel alive. It was making him feel himself.

Tom was breathing hard too. His pupils were dilated. It looked like he was enjoying himself. So, who the hell was Harry not to deliver?

Harry decided to go with some of the creative spells he and Hermione came up with, running around, trying to avoid Death Eaters. A cloud of smoke seeped out of his wand and bled into the room. Tom stared at him with interest. The smoke spread and started blocking everything. Tom cast a Lumos or some other variation of it because it was quite bright.

The smoke started eating the light. Harry realised that this was an excellent opportunity to finally flee. But he was an idiot and was enjoying this far too much. So instead of running away like a normal person would, he just stayed there and watched as the magical smoke started eating away the light coming from Tom's wand.

Taking advantage of Tom's distraction, he cast another spell, solidifying the smoke into a deformed animal. The creature took the shape and the form of the smoke and roared. Riddle looked surprised and intrigued although quite honestly, Harry couldn't tell what the man was thinking but it didn't look like he was put off by Harry's creation.

Riddle cast a couple of slicing hexes when the creature tried to attack him, and the body of the magical smoke beast fell down into the ground with a loud thud. Instead of evaporating, the beast remained on the ground in its corporeal form, and blood oozed out of it.

They both paused and stared at each other.

Harry wasn't sure why they were not fighting. He could tell that Riddle was assessing him. The man's wand was lowered, but it was not in a position where he couldn't cast another spell or attack Harry. He was just watching him with curiosity, his eyes shining with mad interest.

Riddle started circling the beast and Harry who was facing him, clutching his wand in his hand firmly, waiting for a response. A smile, a creepy one, broke on Tom's handsome face.

"Interesting," he said. "Your magic. You were able to create a corporal magical creature, and it didn't disintegrate as soon as it died."

"Well, I'm not the first one or the last one to be able to do that," Harry grumbled.

Riddle smirked. The room was destroyed; chandeliers, lamps and vases were broken. There were broken shards of glass everywhere. Some of the spells had hit the bed, and there was a huge burn stain in the middle of it.

The Muggle automatic fire extinguisher installed on the ceiling had activated due to the smoke, and the water was drizzling down, drenching the place. Someone from the Muggle building regulations should have given a visit to this place to check the hotel's water systems because if this was a real fire, the trickling water wouldn't have been much help, Harry thought amusingly.

Harry followed Tom's movements.

They were watching each other, waiting for the other one to attack first. Harry was always impatient. He wished he had the virtue of patience but he didn't, so he got too sick of waiting and started casting a series of curses at Riddle.

Harry was so quick that Tom was so stunned for a moment that he didn't register that one of the curses hit the side of his arm. The fabric of his jacket tore, and the blood started dripping down. The spell didn't do any real damage—it was barely a scrap, but Harry wasn't looking to maim Riddle. He just wanted to create enough chaos and destruction to swiftly escape.

Riddle sent a couple of hexes his way. Harry didn't recognise any of them. One of them bounced off of Harry's shield and spread over the floor, the wood started rotting.

"You are such a fucking arsehole," Harry said, annoyed.

The fight was getting more intense. They were both breathing hard.

Harry decided that this was the end of it. He needed to fucking leave. At the same time, something inside him was just trying to keep him there. It was telling him to continue until only one of them was standing. He just wanted to destroy this arsehole who was treating him like he was some kind of little boy that needed permission to do anything.

Harry cast a barrier spell and then rushed forward to get close to Tom. At this point, he was not above playing dirty. Harry smashed against Riddle, and they both fell to the ground.

Harry's wand fell and rolled away. He realised his idiocy too late. He lunged instead at Riddle and tried to wrestle the man's wand out of his hand but Riddle was much bigger and stronger. So, he was able to overpower Harry. He grabbed Harr's arms and pushed them down against the rough carpet on the floor, holding them over his head.

"Let go," Harry yelled, struggling.

Riddle's eyes were bright and gleeful and his grip was bruising. It was like he was very happy that he had won. If he was a four-year-old, he would have screamed, "I won!" and demanded for Harry to surrender. Harry couldn't surrender. He looked at Riddle with absolute fury and rage in his eyes and kicked him on the side of his back.

Riddle was startled by the sudden kick and loosened his grip on Harry's wrists enough for Harry to push him off and manage to crawl out over the floor towards the bed. But Riddle followed him, grabbed him and lifting him up, smashed him against the wall. Harry grunted in pain. Breathing hard they stared into each other's eyes.

Their faces were so close that Harry couldn't think. His mind was cloudy, and it felt like he was running out of light in his eyes. Harry was a fucking moron that's why without thinking, he smashed his lips against Riddle's and kissed him out of the blue like a madman who had lost his bloody mind.

Harry genuinely was going to blame this on the adrenaline and all the other hormones that were being secreted into the system, making his mind cloudy and hot and stupid. But being so close to the good-looking man after an intense fight made his rationality fly out of his window. Riddle's hands were soft and rough at the same time, and he was warm.

Harry's heart was beating so fast.

It felt like it could jump out of his chest at any moment. He could feel Tom's hands roughly tracing his face. And the kiss was not soft, sweet, or even normal. It was crazy and angry, and teeth were involved.

Harry was pretty sure he bit Riddle's tongue or maybe it was his lips. He couldn't tell. He was too busy enjoying the feeling of the intense, passionate kiss. He could feel Riddle's hands wandering over his body. He realised that he actually could touch Riddle too so he pressed his palms against the man's firm chest, felt his shoulder blades, moved his hands over Riddle's back and kissed him like a demented lunatic.

It really felt like Riddle was kissing him like a Dementor. It was as if he was trying to suck the soul out of Harry, but Harry was enjoying this. His fingers were clasped around Riddle's shirt. He wasn't sure why, but he was unbuttoning the man's shirt, trying to take it off, not really understanding what he was doing. He had no clue or any experience. He was simply following his instincts.

His brain cells were fumbling about, any rational thought had left his mind, and it was as if everything was being run by a bunch of overzealous Pixies at this point.

"My Lord?" an agitated voice reached them from the side of the room. At first, Harry didn't want to pay attention to it but then the startled scream made both him and Tom stop. They pulled away from each other reluctantly, panting and breathless, lips red and swollen and stared daggers at Barty Crouch Jr, who was standing in the corner with his wand in his hand.

The undersecretary was throwing horrified glances towards the destroyed room and looking at the Minister and his husband in panic. His face completely flushed when he noticed the state they were in.

Barty's eyes were pinned on Tom's hands gripping Harry tightly against him. It almost felt like the Minister was a niffler, trying to protect his treasure.

Barty looked embarrassed and didn't dare to stare at the Minister's husband. He looked at the room and waved his hands awkwardly.

"I heard a noise," he confessed.

Harry wiped his mouth and started buttoning his shirt quickly, looking away to avoid making eye contact with Crouch.

Fuck this bullshit. What the fuck was wrong with him? Harry was an idiot.

Riddle looked completely unperturbed and frowned at Barty with mild annoyance.

"Please wait outside," he commanded in an unaffected tone. Crouch shrunk under his gaze and then ran his tail between his legs.

"Epiesky," Riddle murmured, holding Harry's chin and examining him for any damage. Harry slapped his hand away and scowled. "Is this the infamous Black madness I am witnessing in progress?"

"Worry about the madness of your family," Harry spat, trying to fasten all the buttons of his shirt.

The amusement vanished from Tom's eyes, but he continued murmuring spells to heal any bruises or scrapes on Harry's body.

"I know you are hiding something," Tom whispered into his ear softly. "I intend to find out what it is."

"For Merlin's sake," Harry groaned. "Not this rubbish again. If you don't trust me, do some kind of DNA test."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on," Harry shook his head. "It's not like you don't know what a DNA test is."

"Oh, I know what a DNA test is," Tom said, lowering his voice and bringing his face close to Harry's lips. "The problem is that you know what it is, princess."

Harry rolled his eyes. Did he think he was insulting Harry or something? Tosser!

"We need to go to the Ministry," he told Harry, completing his examination. "You are coming with me. I need to keep an eye on you. Besides, your parents are looking for you."

"My parents?" Harry sassed. "I thought I was impersonating your husband."

"You are my husband," Tom narrowed his eyes. "You have our marital bonds. And I will find out what happened to your mind."

"My mind?" Harry looked curious.

Riddle just looked at him with an intense look, but didn't deign him with an answer. Harry knew that Riddle was concocting some wild theory in his head. Harry had lost his chance to escape. Riddle held his arm and pulled him out of the room.

"Barty, take care of the room," he told Crouch. "We don't want Muggles to find the room in that state. We are heading to the Ministry. As soon as you are done, come to the Ministry."

"Yes, Minister, My Lord," Barty nodded eagerly, shying a glance at Harry. Harry gave him an awkward smile and Barty's face lit up.

Tom held Harry's hand, and they apparated.

ㅤ

ㅤ

The Atrium was crowded.

People were staring, mostly at him. They were giving respectful bows to the Minister in greeting, but they were openly and without shame leering at him.

"Why are they ogling me so blatantly?" he muttered out loud, getting fed up with the lecherous behaviour of these people.

Tom blinked his eyes, slightly startled by the question, and pulled him a tad closer.

"Does it bother you?" he asked. "You always liked the attention."

"Does it bother me?" Harry grunted incredulously. "Are you bloody serious? Why would I want some creepy geezers staring at me like I am a piece of meat?"

"Ah, them being old is the problem, I see."

"Don't be bloody ridiculous," Harry rolled his eyes. "I want all of these wankers to watch their fucking step before I vanish their stupid eyeballs."

"It appears your new personality comes with a vulgar mouth and proclivity for violence," Tom commented.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Tom smiled at him, his lips curling into a delightful smirk then he lifted his head and looked at the crowd rushing through the atrium into their offices.

A man, dashing forward, staring at Harry, suddenly tripped face down.

"Mr Rancorn, watch your step," Tom drawled, voice having lilts of amusement.

The man shuffled about, lifted his head and stared at them.

"Sorry, thank you, Minister," he stammered, trying to get back on his feet.

Harry scowled.

"You did that," he accused.

"Well, now," Tom pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I am a firm believer that lessons of conduct should be demonstrative. I thought you'd be happy if my subordinates learned to watch their step instead of watching you."

"Don't embellish your penchant for inflicting punishments with pretences of sincere intentions," Harry shook his head. "You were pissed he was disrespecting you."

"He was disrespecting me," Tom stated, tilting his head to watch Harry. "You are my wedded husband, and he was leering at you in my presence. If I were to punish him for his transgression, he would lose his eyes."

"Merlin, you are so bloody benevolent. What have we done to deserve your mercy?" Harry snarked.

"You wanted to vanish their eyes too," Riddle accused him.

"That was a figure of speech," Harry mumbled, looking down at his hands as if a little embarrassed.

"I do not waste my breath on idle threats," Riddle said amused. "If I decide to punish him or anyone for that matter, they will receive their punishment."

"Why would it be disrespectful towards you?" Harry asked him, baffled. "It's not like they are looking at you."

"Generally, both in the Muggle and wizarding world it is disrespectful and tactless to show an open sexual interest in someone's intended especially in that person's presence. Are you being deliberately obtuse, or have you landed here from another planet?"

They moved through the atrium and took the lift to level one where the Minister's office was. There was a crazy rush of witches and wizards moving from one floor to the other.

"Minister Riddle," Harry stared at Hermione who was rushing towards them with a stack of Daily Prophet in her hands, ignoring him completely like he didn't exist. "Thank Merlin, you are here."

"Ms Granger," Tom greeted, moving to his office and dragging Harry along with him. "Brief me on the situation."

"The Auror department is working on catching the terrorists," she said walking along with them, her crazy curls bouncing as she moved. "There are no deaths, but many have been injured. They are currently at Saint Mungo's Hospital, getting treatments. Some of the attackers have been caught and are being interrogated. I have prepared a statement for you. The Daily Prophet-"

"Who is interrogating the attackers?"

"Um, Auror Weasley," Hermione said. Harry's heart skipped a beat hearing Weasley's name.

"Which one?" Riddle asked annoyance clear in his voice.

"Ronald," Hermione said, dumping the newspapers on the Minister's desk. "We need to do something about this before Skeeter creates chaos."

Harry glanced at the newspaper title, "Minister Riddle's ambitious plan to integrate Muggle-borns into wizarding society fails tremendously as new wizarding orphanage gets toppled down. Will Minister Riddle be able to recover from this?"

"Please have Mr Malfoy come to my office and Mr Weasley as well, as soon as he is done with the interrogation," Tom told her, and Hermione started taking notes.

"Your father-in-law was here earlier," she said, closing down the parchment roll. "He requested to be notified as soon as you were back or we got any information on you."

"Yes, please contact him, Ms Granger," Tom told her, staring at the newspapers with irritation.

Harry was watching Hermione with wide eyes. She was ignoring him. Purposefully. She pretended as if Harry wasn't even in the room, but then she turned around and looked at him straight in the eyes.

"Mr Potter, would you like to have anything? Tea, coffee, water?"

"Um," Harry smiled at her. "I am fine, Hermione. Glad to see you."

She blinked, confused, and glanced at Tom who shook his head.

"Alright," she cleared her throat. "I will take care of this, Mr Riddle."

She left the room, and Harry was alone with bloody Tom Riddle again.

Chapter Text

"Wow!" Harry folded the Daily Prophet and placed it back on the desk. "Skeeter must really hate you."

Tom's expression darkened at the mention of the dreadful witch. The woman was clearly trying to provoke him with the lurid and vulgar drivel she was publishing in the Daily Prophet. It appeared he had given her the impression that he would tolerate appalling and dirty tactics against his reign during his incumbency. Tom didn't intend to implement harsh policies restricting the freedom of the press, but that didn't mean he wouldn't enact penalties and sanctions against individuals slandering him in private.

Skeeter would soon find out what it meant to insult Tom Riddle.

"Well, I suppose no matter what, some people don't really change," Harry chuckled as if he had discovered something truly entertaining. "She is still publishing the same sensational garbage as always. On the other hand, she wouldn't write that rubbish if people didn't eat it up. Yellow journalism sells."

"Brilliant observation," Tom noted, audibly unamused. "Perhaps you have other observations and remarks regarding the sudden changes in your personality as well. Would you be a doll and enlighten me?"

His pretty husband froze for a moment, then scowled at him like an irritated kitten. He sighed and cupped his delicate face in exasperation.

"You won't ever let me be, will you?" he said, frustrated, slowly sliding his dainty hands over his cheeks.

He was so bloody unbelievably beautiful. Tom couldn't ever get used to the man's strange, captivating beauty. It helped that he was an incompetent, unruly bitch but now the recent developments had added to his allure, making Tom keenly interested.

"You have gravely misjudged my character if you believe for a moment that I would simply allow this to pass unnoticed," he said with a thin smirk. "I know you are hiding something from me. Something has changed about you, and you are well aware of it yourself."

Harry tilted his head to glare at him with his teeth gritted as if he was holding himself back.

"Better worry about the fact that someone is trying to kill you," he advised, voice taking a serious tone.

"Whoever is trying to kill me will certainly be disappointed," he remarked, watching his husband sharply to detect any signs of deceit or hidden machinations on his face. "I do not need to worry about some worthless conspirators. You, on the other hand, pose a significantly bigger threat since you are so close to my person, and I do find this sudden change quite alarming, but at the same time, fascinating."

"Charming," Harry grumbled.

Tom had his theories. There wasn't a lot of knowledge on the Alluran bloodline. Whatever they knew were myths mixed with outlandish exaggerations. This very rare magical genetic makeup carried through the mitochondrial DNA was always the subject of fascination for many wizards and witches. Except those born with this heritage were so rare and so highly regarded that no research or studies were ever conducted to properly understand the mechanics of their magic.

The Department of Mysteries had approached the Potters about their child, as some of the Unspeakables had expressed an interest in studying Harry's magic. They were all fired from the Ministry the next day. Tom knew about this because Rita Skeeter's rumour mill was working relentlessly. James Potter would have never tolerated anyone treating his spoiled son as a lab specimen. He had enough power and influence to wipe the floor with whoever dared to look at his son the wrong way.

Harry's magic had always been extremely unstable and even if that wasn't the case, he didn't have the capacity to properly control and wield it. Most magical heritages, in fact, just being magical in general, were manifested later in life. Children generally started showing symptoms of magic around the age of seven. Some exhibited signs of magic earlier, but they were always exceptional. Tom was one of those special wizards that could perform wandless intentional magic when was just four years old.

This new development with his husband could have been a simple manifestation of his Alluran heritage. Except even then Tom couldn't explain how Harry knew so many spells, some of them unknown to even Tom. No, something else was going on here. His husband's behaviour, knowledge and outlook were completely different. Maturing to one's obscure magical heritage didn't wipe out their entire personality.

Tom looked at Harry thoughtfully. The man was awkwardly flexing and jerking his legs. He walked up to him and crouched down in front of him. Harry moved backwards, startled, but Tom held him tightly, preventing him from falling over.

"Are your feet sore?" he asked, moving to untie the shoelaces.

He looked up when he didn't receive a response, their eyes locking. Harry quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"I am fine," he hurried to say, trying to stop Tom from undoing the knots. "I'll live."

Tom shook his head and pulled the shoes off. He could tell that his feet were sore and hurting. His husband was certainly the same delicate thing, except with a spitfire of a personality added to the mix. He let his magic envelop the aching tissue and drew out the pain. The moment the pain was forced out and replaced with the cool touch of his magic, Harry's face softened, and he looked at him with a strange expression.

"Thank you," he said meekly, his voice almost inaudible.

"You have changed, but your body hasn't," Tom told him thoughtfully. "Do you not trust me to tell me what happened to you?"

Harry looked almost guilty, his gaze running around the room in panic as if he was considering the moral implications of his confession.

"It's just that..." he started unsure of himself. "You are different too. Well, at least to me and I—"

An abrupt and hasty knock ensued against the door and then in a swift motion, the door was forced open as his secretary barged in visibly breathless as though she had sprinted all the way from level 2 to his office.

"Mr Riddle," she said, hunching down to hold her knees and catch her breath. "Oh, I am sorry. I didn't mean to rudely interrupt but one of the terrorists being interrogated just died during the questioning."

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line, getting frustrated that he was surrounded by incompetent idiots who didn't even take minimal precautions before apprehending the attackers and making sure to do everything according to procedures. He helped his husband put his shoes back on, gently guiding his feet into the footwear and got up, straightening his posture.

"What has happened, Ms Granger?" he inquired with an air of exasperation, reaching for his wand.

"He just started convulsing during the interrogation and then died," Granger explained, awkwardly staring at Harry and him. She seemed a little disturbed by the sight of the Minister sharing what she might have interpreted as an intimate moment with his husband in his office. "The Head of the Auror office is assuming it was some kind of poison he had ingested earlier. Perhaps to ensure he won't give away any information once he is caught. They are waiting for you and the specialists from Saint Mungo's. I did inform both Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy to come to your office for an immediate briefing."

"That's fine, Ms Granger," Tom said impassively. "I will be there in a moment. It seems I need to have a word with my own cabinet about proper protocols."

Malfoy's work left much to be desired. He had appointed the imbecile because his father-in-law asked him to and while Malfoy wasn't the worst academically, he was a complete failure as a leader for the law enforcement department. Tom clenched his fists, wondering if he should give him a formal reprimand. No wonder James Potter told him to watch Malfoy, knowing that his nephew was a pathetic, ineffectual fool with no skills to be running a magical law enforcement department.

"Please remain here while I handle this," he told Harry, holding his hand and squeezing it gently as if in reassurance. "I don't need to worry about you, baby, do I?"

Harry's softened expression immediately soured, and he glared at him like he wanted to throttle Tom. There it was—the intense fire and passion that he wanted to see.

"I am not staying here," his husband protested. "I am coming with you."

His secretary moved towards the door awkwardly, sensing the tension between them. Tom regarded his husband for a short moment. He didn't want to leave the man alone on his own devices. But taking him to the ground floor, where the interrogations took place with dangerous criminals around, didn't seem right either.

"You understand that it's not only dangerous but you also have no business being there, right?" he said in a disapproving tone.

"They attacked me," the man said unwavering in his resolve, then he leaned over to whisper into his ear. "I don't trust your Aurors. I should see for myself who these people are."

"I could perhaps offer you some refreshments while you are waiting for your husband to take care of this, Mr Potter," Granger asked, awkwardly grappling with the handle.

"That's alright, Ms Granger," Tom said after a moment of thought. "I'd rather have my husband with me. After today's traumatic experience, I fear he doesn't want to be alone, and I confess I do not wish to leave him out of my sight either."

"Yeah, aren't you the epitome of a caring husband? How did I ever manage without you?" Harry snarked, earning a raised brow from his secretary who was getting progressively more alarmed at Harry's odd behaviour. She opened the door and stepped outside.

"Behave, baby," Tom whispered with a mocking lilt to his tone as he pulled Harry closer. "I suppose I can take comfort in the familiarity of you still being a mouthy little brat."

"Yeah, right?" Harry shook his head, moving towards the door. "Whatever makes your day brighter."

They walked out and headed towards the stairs. Hermione Granger kept shooting curious glances at her husband, and he kept smiling back at her. There was some kind of nervous anticipation surrounding Harry almost as if he wanted to say something to Granger, but he was refraining from making a conversation.

The sound of heels against the marble stair steps was echoing as they were making their way down to the special interrogations chambers located under the Ministry.

Granger suddenly turned around and tumbled as her heels became twisted. She almost fell down the stairs, but Harry rushed to catch her and steadied her.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" he hurried to ask, holding her by the shoulders. Granger blushed embarrassed and nodded. Harry let go of her and cleared his throat. "Those shoes don't look comfortable at all."

"It has been a stressful day," Hermione confessed, awkwardly.

Tom moved around to pull his husband away from his secretary. Harry stumbled into his arms and looked at him with a frown.

"Take a small break, Ms Granger," Tom told her. "I do not wish for you to be overwhelmed. Maybe have some tea."

"I will be fine, Minister," Hermione gave him an uncertain smile.

"I insist," Tom said politely, voice bearing the tone of finality indicating that she was supposed to do as she was told.

"Okay," she nodded. "Please call me if I am needed."

She turned around and went up the stairs, leaving Harry and Tom alone once again. Harry was quiet, lost in silent thoughts. It was almost as if he was somewhere else, hiding in that strange dark room of his mind, alone and scared. It made Tom wonder what was hidden behind the shell of this man's mind.

Tom held his hand as they walked down the stairs, feeling the soft smooth skin under his fingertips.

They reached the basement level. Two hit wizards, standing guard in front of the barred gates, gave the Minister a polite greeting and stared at his husband in awe, barely hiding their curiosity. Harry Potter was a novelty of sorts no matter where he stepped foot. Even war-hardened special unit wizards couldn't help but be dazzled by his beauty and normally the airhead enjoyed the attention, but now he didn't seem to notice anyone.

"This way, Minister," they opened the warded gates for them.

The interrogation level was cold and musty, heating charms never clinging to these sullen, miserable walls. Harry's sweet smell reached his nostrils, carried by the thin breeze pulling through the grates. He smelled like fresh snowdrops blooming through the snow, fighting against the harsh cold to spread out their petals.

There were Aurors in the corridors and halls. Everyone was in a hurry but they stopped to greet the Minister with a quick incline of their head. A man was being carted out of the room. Two Aurors were examining the body in the stretcher while Malfoy and Weasley were having a conversation on the corner, their voices hushed and protected by muffling charms.

That's until Malfoy spotted his cousin.

"Harry," he rushed forward, relief washing over his tired, fretful face. "Merlin, where were you? We have been looking for you. I was so bloody worried."

He approached Harry and, wrapping his arms around him, lifted him into the air abruptly. Tom stared incredulously.

"What the bloody fuck, Malfoy?" Harry flailed in Malfoy's arms and hit him in the chest until the blonde let him down. Harry almost stumbled backward, but Tom steadied his husband, holding his delicate back. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy?"

"Are you okay? Are you injured?" Malfoy seemed to pay no attention to his cousin's enraged interjections. He cupped Harry's face, looking for signs of injury while the lurne was a hair's breadth from cursing Malfoy.

"Mr Malfoy," Tom wanted to swat away Malfoy's hands from Harry's face but controlled himself. "Please brief me on the details of the detained criminal's death."

"Yes, Minister," Malfoy let go of Harry and straightened his posture to address him. Malfoy's little spawn was always polite to him, but Tom knew he didn't exactly like him. "He started convulsing during the interrogation. We suspect he had ingested poison prior to being caught."

Harry was staring down at the corpse on the stretcher as Mediaurors were reviewing his body for curses and any dangerous artifacts. Tom stepped closer to his husband, placing his hand on his slender back protectively and briskly viewing the dead man's deformed face. He was tall and burly with bulging muscles visible through his tattered white shirt. His long crazy hair was dirty and dishevelled. His robes were grimy, tinted with strange purple liquid.

"Do you have a cause of death?" He asked one of the Mediaurors.

They shook their heads.

"Not yet, Minister. We are still running diagnostic spells, trying to detect any additional curses placed on him before we can take him to the infirmary for further investigation."

Harry's gaze was focused on the man intently. It was as if he was seeing something that no one else could see.

"I don't think he ingested the poison before being caught," Harry said, leaning over the corpse. "Look at his lips, chin and the collar of his shirt. It's lilac. There are still remnants of strange liquid on the surface of his skin."

The Mediaurors stared at Harry in confusion, clearly recognising him but didn't dare to stop him when the man approached the corpse and placed his hands on the criminal's face.

"What are you doing?" Tom tried to stop him but Harry gripped the man's jaw and pushed it down, prying his mouth open. He held the man's face and didn't seem disgusted to pull apart the lips of a rotting corpse.

"I can smell it," he said, lifting his head and looking at the Mediaurors. "This man is not dead."

"Of course, he is dead," one of the Mediaurors scoffed, offended at the suggestion that he wouldn't be able to distinguish between the dead and the living.

"He's not dead. He has just ingested a low dosage of Draught of Living Death," Harry said. "Look into his mouth. Do you see his first molar on his lower jaw? It's broken. There is still some residue of the draught there. He clearly had it inside his mouth all this time and shuttered his tooth when he realised he would be forced to give away crucial information. The liquid must have been preserved in a compacting spell and had burst into his mouth, making him cough it out. You can even see the broken pieces of dental tissue still on his tongue. He wasn't having convulsions, he was just retching out the draught in his mouth which is why it spilled out into his chin and shirt, tinting his collar lilac. He is alive."

Tom's eyes widened when he realised that Harry was right. How the fuck was he right? How the fuck was he correct about this? There was no way he could know. Harry was surprising him more and more.

"How did you know?" one of the Mediaurors asked, eyes burning with curiosity, but at the same time, a little upset that didn't realise what was going on with the man.

"I smelled it," Harry said. "And I've seen dead people, he doesn't look dead to me."

"You smelled it?" they laughed. "It doesn't have a smell, boy."

The other man elbowed his workmate.

"That's the Minister's husband," he reminded his colleague with a whisper but everyone could hear him clearly.

The man's head shot up, and he stared at Harry and Tom.

"My apologies," he said, stammering. "You're just too young to have such extensive knowledge about these type of potions"

Harry was silent. Tom could see the tension in his muscles. His fingers were curled around a bunch of fabric on his trousers.

"He's not dead," Harry repeated after a moment. "This technique has been used by Muggles in the past."

"That sounds brilliant," Weasley said, coming forward. Harry stared at the redhead with strange sadness in his eyes. "I have read about it too and that seems plausible."

"We can try giving him Wiggenweld Potion but I doubt it will help since this man seems dead," the Mediauror told them with a proud frown. "His body is stiffening and while it is possible that he has ingested the draught, it might have still caused his death. The potion also doesn't have any smell."

"It's not the potion that I smelled," Harry said tonelessly, still watching the corpse on the stretcher. "But lack of death. He doesn't smell dead."

That made the Mediaurors laugh in amusement and they shook their heads.

"Look, Harry, it seems you have had quite the day," Malfoy interjected. "How about I have my secretary take you to the Ministry cafeteria, and you can have some tea or coffee?"

"How about not?" Harry glared at him and moved away to the other side of the stretcher. Before Tom could get a hold of his pureblood husband, Weasley awkwardly waved at him.

"May I have a word, Minister?" he asked politely. He moved to the corner, indicating he wanted to discuss something discretely. Perhaps, Malfoy was being an arse again and had circumvented guidelines causing total chaos. Ron Weasley was not the brightest, but he was certainly more competent than Malfoy and had not reached his position due to connections and nepotism.

Tom nodded and moved towards Weasley while still watching his husband bicker with his cousin. It seemed this new Harry didn't exactly like Malfoy, not that the old one was fond of the spinless blonde coward.

"How can I help, Mr Weasley?" he asked, flicking his wand to cast privacy charms.

"I think we have a spy in the Ministry," Weasley said. "I have been reviewing the logs for the past several months, and I have noticed some inconsistencies in the Auror mission reports. I have dispatched my teams immediately today and some of them were re-directed to different locations to handle trivial objectives."

Tom's demeanour didn't change as he was in perfect control of his facial expressions. Showing weakness in front of his subordinates was unacceptable.

"Did you bring this to Mr Malfoy's attention?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I did," Weasley said with a bit of repressed vindication. "Mr Malfoy was adamant that I stop wasting Magical Law Enforcement's recourses to chase after moon frogs. He didn't think it was a big deal."

"You have my permission to start a special task force to investigate this issue, and please, make sure all the members are trustworthy," Tom told him.

Weasley nodded. The redhead and his family were vehemently opposed to him when he ran for Minister and were rooting for Longbottom. But the Weasleys had been cordial to him after he became Minister.

"I will handpick the members—"

The sudden commotion interrupted their conversation. Tom looked up and realised with horror that the man lying on the stretcher was on his feet. He pulled out his wand to subdue the criminal, but the bastard had grabbed Harry, shielding himself from any spells. The Mediaurors were both lying on the floor, either too startled by the sudden resurrection or because the man had kicked them.

"Don't," Tom ordered Weasley when the Auror tried to send a petrification hex at the man.

His long fingernails were pressed against Harry's delicate neck, the spell would petrify him and the pressure would push his nasty nails into Harry's throat. The disgusting vermin seemed to be a werewolf. The man backed away dragging Harry with him into the interrogation room and shut the door behind them.

"Fuck," Malfoy screamed at the Aurors. "How could you let this happen?"

"Open the door," Tom ordered as the Aurors fumbled about trying to find their footing after the incident.

"The doors can't be opened without the spellbound key," Weasley said. "Robinson, you took the key from the interrogation room like I told you?"

The Auror who must have been Robinson paled, losing all colour on his face.

Tom palmed his face in fury. He was surrounded by absolutely incompetent fools. He was going to dismiss all of these idiots.

"Get another key, Robinson," Weasley ordered. "Hurry up, we don't have time."

The man ran away with his tail between his legs as soon as the petrifying fear dulled down.

"This is all your fault, Weasley," Malfoy screamed. "Your stupid Aurors can't even take care of one puny criminal."

Tom didn't have time for these worthless arguments. He needed to get his husband out of that cell unharmed, and Malfoy's screeching and yelling didn't permit him to think.

"Mr Malfoy, please remain professional," he advised coldly, walking into the one-way mirror room. His heart thrummed in his chest as he watched his husband struggle in the man's tight grip. Tom pointed his wand at the mirror and started casting blasting spells. The mirror would shutter eventually. "Assist me with this."

"Easy, princess," the werewolf sneered. "Or I will rip your pretty head off."

Tom was going to skin this piece of shit when he got his hands on the man.

Harry suddenly went slack in criminal's hands, making the man smirk satisfied, but when he loosened his grip, Harry grabbed his arm tightly and executed a shoulder throw, flipping the man over his shoulder and onto the ground. The Malfoy stopped casting the blasting spell, staring at Harry in horror. The man on the floor seemed to be startled as well.

"You are welcome to try, tosser," Harry rolled his eyes. "My head is attached to my neck by some pretty sturdy bones and muscles. I'd say your chances of success are about as likely as finding a functioning brain cell in that empty head of yours."

The man on the ground groaned in pain, clutching his side. Harry was absolutely breathtaking in his rage as he glared at the vermin who had taken him hostage. Tom's eyes were greedily eating the image of his delicate husband, standing over the beast he had slammed down. He was enthralled. He couldn't take his eyes away and couldn't even hear Malfoy complaining about the Auror taking too long to bring the spare key.

"Aren't you a feisty, little thing?" the werewolf mocked as he got up, grunting and moaning like a badly tuned violin. "Maybe, I shouldn't kill you. Maybe, I should just turn you. What do you say? Huh? Bite that wee neck of yours and turn you into a bitch. Would your daddy still like you if you were turning into a werewolf every month?"

The moment stilled. Malfoy panicked. Tom cursed. He couldn't let this man intentionally give Harry lycanthropy. He knew darker spells that could do more damage to the mirror, so he cast them, making Weasley gasp shocked that the Minister would do that, but despite the fact, the head Auror continued the work without making any comments.

Something strange had twisted Harry's expression. Tom noticed how his hands shook, but it was not out of fear. It almost seemed he was holding himself back from lunging at the werewolf.

"And have you done this often?" he said, watching the man with the vigilance of a combat soldier, eyes focused and posture on guard. "Turn people against their will?"

Trap them in their heads, deprive them of their own will to act as themselves. It seemed those words went unsaid, but Tom could see Harry meant them. His husband had a barely restrained rage, burning in his evocative, pretty eyes. Such a strange but intriguing contrast. Harry had no wand in his hands, but his stance screamed danger.

"Wizards treat me like I am an animal," the werewolf laughed. "Might as well prove them right, no?"

"Stay where you are," Harry advised. "If you come close to me, I will hurt you."

"Really?" the werewolf laughed. "You've taken me by surprise the first time, but that won't happen again."

Harry didn't move from his spot when the man lunged at him. He remained still, standing his ground, and simply waved his hands. Powerful magic gripped the werewolf and tossed him against the wall.

"Your brain seems damaged," Harry commented. "You don't seem to understand simple warnings. Come closer, and it's your bones the Aurors will be picking off the ground. They might need a scraper and a mop too."

"What are you doing?" Malfoy screamed, agitated by Harry's brazen and provocative attitude, worried that the werewolf would maul his dainty little cousin. The git started knocking on the mirror instead of working on the spells.

"He can't hear you," Tom informed him. "He is doing quite well, buying time until we can get to him. Please continue maintaining the blasting spells without interruptions."

The werewolf's features were half-morphed and this was the first time Tom had seen a werewolf like this. Harry seemed slightly startled by this as well, but he didn't lose his focus. When the man lunged at Harry, Harry simply sidestepped, sending the man toppling down as he lost his balance and footing, trying to maneuver mid-attack. This seemed to make him more angry.

"I am going to enjoy ripping you into shreds," he promised Harry, showing his teeth as his canines grew longer.

"Oh, you're going to enjoy ripping me into shreds? Well, at least someone gets to have fun today!" Harry snarked. "Too bad, that would require for you to have teeth."

The werewolf charged at Harry but stopped halfway through as the force of magic seeping from Harry vanished his teeth.

"What have you done?" he hissed, slurring his sounds now that he didn't have teeth to pronounce the alveolar sounds properly, almost like a snake. Harry seemed amused.

The man attacked him and to everyone's surprise, Harry dodged his attack again. He jumped on the table gaining a higher ground. The werewolf turned around and charged at him, dropping Harry off the table, they tumbled on the ground. Harry was too slim and slight to be able to throw off the big werewolf, even though he was as tall as the latter.

Harry bridged his hips, throwing the other man off his balance, and then used the opportunity to crawl away only to wrap his legs around the werewolf's neck and lock him in a chokehold.

Tom was getting frustrated. He needed to get Harry out of there. The spells were ineffective so he resorted to something that would raise eyebrows if Malfoy and Weasley were any wiser. He cursed the mirror, making the elemental structure of the solid surface fall apart. The mirror shuttered. He pointed his wand at the werewolf and petrified him.

"Call a dark artifact unit," he ordered Malfoy. "Make sure not to touch anything until the clean-up is done."

Malfoy seemed stunned to say anything but nodded. Tom entered the interrogation room and rushed to Harry.

"Are you okay?" he asked, helping his husband to his feet. "You are really reckless, aren't you?"

"I had it under control," Harry commented, sounding defensive.

"You are lucky your magic is unstable," Malfoy said with a relieved sigh. "What were you thinking, antagonising a werewolf?"

Malfoy thought Harry wasn't intentionally casting spells. How naive! Tom knew that Harry Potter did everything in that room with a precision of a seasoned hit wizard, and it was absolutely mind-boggling.

"Let's get you out of here," he told Harry, pulling him with him. "Mr Malfoy, please, oversee the situation. I would want this incident to be under wraps. As for this man, isolate him for further investigation. We will have a briefing much later. I am afraid, Harry had had enough for one day. Let's go."

The Auror Robinson bumped into them when they were leaving. The man was red-faced and panting.

"Minister Riddle," he stammered ashamed, holding up the key.

Tom quelled him with a cold look and motioned him towards the interrogation rooms. The man fled right away without saying anything else. They walked silently and when they were in the Atrium, Tom pulled Harry into a quiet corner, away from prying eyes.

"Are you injured anywhere?"

"I am fine," Harry told him with a shrug.

"It seemed to anger you," Tom said thoughtfully. "The idea of being trapped in your mind, unable to control yourself. Is it something that happened to you?"

Harry Potter had changed and this could have been a possible explanation. Perhaps, the real Harry suddenly had gained control of himself after years of being trapped.

"What?" Harry blinked, confused, his beautiful lashes fanning his eyes. "No, it's just... well, it's not right you know... I mean I feel sorry for him. Werewolves aren't exactly treated the best, but intentionally contaminating others is just evil."

Tom knew that Harry wasn't telling him something but he didn't press. Harry moved to sit down on the bench, making Tom kneel in front of him to examine him properly. Tom held Harry's face, and Harry let him. He murmured spells to heal any injuries.

"I am fine," Harry said, trying to move away, but groaned in discomfort as he clutched his stomach. "Shit, must have bruised it during wrestling with that crazy lunatic."

"Let me see," Tom told him, placing his hands on Harry's stomach. He didn't even need to murmur any spells. The magic flowed from his hands, healing and soothing Harry's injuries.

There was a bright flash of a camera, and Tom sighed annoyed when he realised it was someone from the Daily Prophet, but didn't move or do anything. His glare was enough to send the man running.

"You are good at this," Harry commented. "Healing spells."

"Well, when you grow up in an orphanage," Tom smiled. "You learn a thing or two."

"You are different," Harry said, and there was a sad smile on his lips.

"Different than what?"

"Different... Just different," Harry insisted without elaborating.

"Feeling better?" Tom asked with a smile, not pushing Harry for an answer. Harry nodded.

ㅤ

The day was awful. Harry's plan of acting the part and then getting his wand and escaping had been rendered completely useless. He had tolerated a boring social affair, fought for his life against terrorists, was interrogated by Riddle, gawked at by creepy fuckers and was bloody attacked by an unhinged werewolf.

Shit couldn't be crazier, and Harry had died a couple of days ago.

Riddle seemed nice, well, at least he pretended to be nice, and it made Harry feel both relaxed and strangely disturbed.

Harry didn't know what he wanted to do with his new life. Clearly, someone was after him. They had already killed the other Harry and were now trying to take him out. Harry would have to stick around to find out who it was and take care of them.

Seeing Ron and Hermione was so strange. A part of him wanted to jump and hug them, tell them he was happy to see their faces. But Ron and Hermione didn't know him. They weren't his friends. They were different people. He had lost his friends.

It was hard to reconcile with the idea as they looked exactly like the people Harry loved and cherished.

Tom was attentive and caring. Harry couldn't call him a bad person. He had helped the people during the attack, cared for Harry and was cordial with his subordinates. It was strange, but Harry was not a man who judged others based on his own prejudices. Tom bloody Riddle was a decent man here and while Harry didn't exactly like him, he wished him all the best. He just needed to solve the issue of someone wanting to murder him, then he would leave Britain for good. There was no point staying around and torturing himself with being surrounded by loved ones who were eerie copies.

"You seem unwell," Riddle told him as they headed to his office.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I was just thinking things."

"Very eloquent," Riddle mocked.

And just when he was thinking the man wasn't so bad, he had to open his mouth and ruin the mood. Harry rolled his eyes.

"It was a long day," Harry complained. "I want to be home and just relax."

"I will take you home," Riddle told him, opening the door to his office. "I need to attend to a few matters before we can depart."

"Harry!" Lily Potter seated in the Minister's office got up and rushed to him. "Your father and I were so worried about you when we couldn't find you. Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"I am fine, Mum," he said, allowing her to cuddle him into her arms. "We had to apparate to safety. I am sorry we didn't contact earlier."

"Tom," James Potter seemed angry. "May we have a word in private?"

"Of course, Sir," Tom smiled politely, his demeanour not giving away what he was thinking or feeling. "We can go to my private chambers."

He opened the door inside his office that Harry hadn't seen before and invited his father-in-law. He promptly shut the door as soon as they both were inside. Harry didn't know how to react to that, so he simply closed his eyes and buried his face in his mother's neck, breathing in her soothing smell.

"Oh, sweety," Lily caressed his head. "You don't need to worry your father and husband will take care of everything."

Harry pulled back to look at his mother. She was a sweet, naive woman who for some reason thought that Harry was scared of what had happened and it almost appeared humourous that she would suggest for Harry not to worry because bloody Tom Riddle and whoever was that psycho man masquerading as James Potter would take care of things.

"I'm relieved to know that my father and husband will take care of everything. I was starting to worry about what I would do with all that extra time and independence," he snarked, unable to hold himself back, but his mother didn't react to it. She only smiled and plastered kisses all over his face.

"Such horrible people," Lily sighed. "How can anyone be opposed to magical children having a safe and cosy place to grow up? I can't believe anyone would want to destroy an orphanage."

Harry could think of plenty of people who wouldn't agree with that kind of orphanage. It seemed the world was black and white for Lily Potter. She seemed nice but out of touch and it was painful that a version of Harry's mum would be like this. Harry didn't begrudge her, but he also didn't agree with her.

Out of all the things in the world Harry had to put up with, this bullshit was never on the list. It felt like people around Harry were treating him like he was an incompetent child. He wanted to say something but was interrupted by the door opening and Riddle and his father walking back in.

"That's all will be settled tomorrow," Tom said, looking at James. "But for now, I am afraid, I will need to retire as Harry is incredibly tired."

Harry was sick and tired. That's right. But he didn't like how Riddle was propping that fact as a crutch.

His parents smiled, hugged and kissed him.

"We will see you tomorrow," James said, gently brushing away Harry's hair as Tom held his arm for apparition.

"Good night," Harry said with a halfhearted smile before their bodies were transported, and they landed outside the grounds.

Once they were home, Harry took a bath and went straight to bed to sleep. It wasn't even late, but he was really done. Riddle didn't speak to him at all after his conversation with James Potter and simply went to his study. Harry didn't care but he had to admit it bothered him a little that Riddle ignored him.

ㅤ

The morning light was bright, seeping through large windows and spreading over the bedding and the furniture in the room. Harry felt so cosy and comfortable, wrapped in a soft blanket and surrounded by the scent of fresh blooming flowers. Dobby must have brought in new flowers. It felt like he was swimming in the warm lagoon of soothing comfort.

His consciousness slowly stirred awake. Harry tried to move his head underneath the blanket to prolong his sleep but immediately feeling warm hands wrap around his waist forced him to open his eyes in alarm.

Riddle was awake, staring at him intently like he was observing an exotic animal that he had never seen before and wanted to dissect and understand its intricacies. Seeing Harry awake and staring at him, he smiled. Bloody hell! He was so goddamn beautiful when he was smiling. Harry's stupid heart fluttered in his chest.

"Good morning," he said, not letting go of Harry.

Well, it wasn't like Harry wasn't married. So he sighed and let himself be held. Riddle smelled so good. Harry inhaled his fresh crispy smell and gulped.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked Harry, petting his hair like Harry was a kitten. It was almost absurd, but Harry simply allowed it to happen. It felt so nice, and he didn't have the will to fight and deny himself small pleasures.

"Yes," he said, slowly stretching. "What about you? I didn't see you coming to bed."

His cheeks turned bright red. Merlin, he didn't even think how that sounded before he opened his mouth. And why was Riddle not sleeping in his own room?

"I had some work I needed to finish," he told Harry. "We need to make a public appearance today, and I needed to prepare for it."

"I see," Harry covered his mouth, yawning sleepily.

"You will need to come with me," Tom told him. "To show your support..."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "I'll be there. Will watch out for any terrorists if you give me my wand."

Riddle snorted. "I will give you your wand," he said with a grin. "But please do not wreak havoc. It seems you have quite the temper. All you need to do is to read your pre-written speech to the public. It has already been prepared. Barty will be here soon and provide you with your speech."

"Fine," Harry mumbled, pulling out of Tom's arms and getting off the bed. "I will go take a shower and get dressed then."

Tom didn't take his eyes off him, still watching him with a strange, attentive, almost obsessive gaze. Harry blinked awkwardly and left to take a shower. He would bathe, but he had no idea when Barty Crouch would show up, and he wanted to be ready. The shower was hot and quick and was the right step to ensure he was fully awake and alert.

He asked Dobby to help him dress up as he had no idea what to put on to look proper for whatever political maneuvering this public appearance was going to be. Riddle wasn't a bad man, and Harry wanted to help him. Also, he really needed to find out who killed the other Harry before he could leave the country.

Dobby seemed eager to dress him up. He dressed Harry into a dark suit and robes. It seemed the most suiting colour scheme, considering how somber the incident the day prior was.

"I am glad I have you, Dobby," Harry told the elf gently. Dobby seemed very proud to hear such praise.

"Dobby is happy to please master Harry," Dobby told him, gently brushing and taming Harry's hair, applying some kind of salve that made his hair strands smooth and soft.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry smiled softly at the elf.

Dobby preened under the praise and vanished. Harry got up, went to the drawing room and found Riddle impeccably dressed, standing by the fireplace, waiting. He stared at Harry, and Harry turned his head away, avoiding meeting his eyes.

"Barty is late," Tom told Harry as an explanation.

The floo network got activated, and Barty Crouch Jr stepped out of the fireplace. He was holding a huge bouquet of flowers and a basket of precious enchanted apples. Tom stared at his undersecretary, baffled by the man's wide smile that was directed at him.

"Congratulations, Minister," he said happily unable to hold himself back from squealing. "Congratulations Harry. I am so happy. We needed this amazing news at this period of turmoil."

What the bloody fuck!

Barty handed the flowers to confused Harry and placed the basket of blood-red enchanted apples on the decorative stand. These were expensive. Barty must have spent a fortune to buy them. Tom seemed a little disturbed by the excitement Barty was showing as well. Harry placed the flowers on the table and called Dobby to put them in a vase.

"Barty, I am afraid, I do not understand the reason for your festive mood and the congratulatory statements," Tom said, regarding Barty with a curt and sharp expression.

"Oh," Barty's expression faltered for a second, but then the grin came back with a little bit of guilt. "I didn't know that you didn't want to announce the pregnancy so soon."

Harry stared at Barty expectantly. Was Riddle's lover somewhere pregnant? Harry found the idea that Riddle could have children even if he was not Voldemort highly disturbing.

"Pregnancy?" Tom narrowed his eyes. "Please elaborate."

Barty looked puzzled by this line of questioning and handed his Lord a copy of the daily prophet. Harry leaned closer to see what was this nonsense about.

"Breaking news: Minister Tom Riddle's husband expecting. A new VIP addition to the cabinet?

The high profile couple was spotted after the disastrous event together at the Ministry in each other's arms while the Minister was lovingly touching his lurne husband's baby bump. Our correspondent was able to confirm with those close to the couple who wished to remain anonymous that Harry Potter Riddle was in fact expecting. Given the uncertainty of the current political climate, this lighthearted news has brought some hope and optimism to the wizarding public in need of good news amidst all the seriousness and terror attacks. Let's be real, a baby's giggle is more refreshing than a Minister's decidedly pro-muggleborn policies."

"What the fuck?" Harry yelled, snatching the newspaper and staring at the article. There was a photo of Tom and Harry. It was taken when Tom was healing the bruise on his ribs and had placed his hands on his stomach. Just what the fuck was wrong with Skeeter to come up with this crap?

Harry looked at Riddle who was palming his face in frustration. His eyes wandered to Barty who now looked concerned. Did this idiot seriously think Harry was pregnant? He was a goddamn man. Or did the creep fantasise that his master possessed such absolute vitality that even a man could get pregnant? Now that sounded amusing.

"She is bonkers," Harry yelled, shaking his head. "What the fuck is wrong with this crazy woman?"

Tom sighed.

"Barty," he said with a forced smile. "Please give us a moment."

He grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him into the nearby room, locking the door behind him to Harry's confusion.

Chapter Text

"Fucking crazy bitch," Harry ran his fingers through his soft hair in exasperation. "How insane must one be to write this kind of bollocks?"

He turned to glance at Tom, expecting to see the other equally baffled by Skeeter's raving mad declarations, but the man looked composed albeit a little displeased. Riddle sighed and sat on the sofa, pressed against the large oval windows. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then rubbed his temples.

"This complicates everything," the man stated, elegantly crossing his legs. "The journalists will be all over this. They are going to ask questions about the pregnancy. Please refrain from answering questions regarding this matter. Do not confirm or deny anything."

Harry snorted. Was everyone out of their bloody minds? Was Riddle seriously asking Harry not to deny being bloody pregnant? Did Riddle hit his head and forget he married a bloke and definitely not one with childbearing abilities? Some men could get pregnant, of course, but Harry definitely didn't have such ability. He had examined himself thoroughly on the day he arrived and was sure of it. Surely with how much interest the public had in Harry, everyone would know this as well. Riddle was just being a smug bastard. The git was so full of himself, he probably thought his dick was just that good he could get another bloke pregnant just by breathing around them with his overbrimming virility.

"Why are we entertaining this?" he demanded. "Anyone believing this rubbish must be off their trolley. I shouldn't be surprised though that the barmy cow wrote this shite. She had out for me. Baby bump? Where is she seeing any bumps here?"

He shook the Daily Prophet in his hands, glaring at the paper with petulant annoyance. Harry's body was thin and willowy. Skeeter had some kind of screw loose in the head and must have imagined accusing Harry of being pregnant was some kind of insult. There was nothing insulting about a pregnancy but Harry was itching to throttle Skeeter for telling lies about him. He wondered why she would come up with such a nonsensical lie of all things.

"You don't have to worry about this," Riddle told him thoughtfully as if he was calculating some kind of important outcome. "Just avoid answering their questions. I will take care of the rest. Either way, this will be interpreted as a political stunt to cause distraction in the current circumstances."

"In what world does this article deserve a denial or confirmation?" Harry asked, throwing the paper on the porcelain stand. "Clearly, she intended to mock me, but I am not one bit offended by her implications. I don't care what Skeeter and her ilk think of me. If she thinks calling me pregnant is a condescending jab at my manliness or whatever, I don't give a fuck. I don't need Rita's stamp of approval."

Riddle stared at him. There was a slight confusion marring his features. His eyes scanned over Harry like a predatory animal searching for its prey, looking for any vulnerabilities.

"I am unsure why you think the article was intended to be condescending," Riddle told him, maintaining an iron grip on his composure. "She is simply creating chaos with her lies and trying to destabilise the political discourse by injecting sensational news about your pregnancy. By virtue of it being untrue, my integrity will be questioned since this will be spun by my opposition as an attempt made by me or my cabinet to distract the public during my political failings. Skeeter will receive some flak for publishing fake stories, but the public will assume she did so on my behalf."

The man leaned back into the cushions, palmed his face, frustrated and let out an exhausted sigh.

"I am sorry," Harry laughed. "This is just hilarious. I can't get pregnant even if I wanted to. Why would anyone believe this?"

Riddle lifted his head to stare at Harry and raised an eyebrow, assessing him. Harry waved his hands in the air, annoyance becoming palpable.

"Are you pretending not to notice how absurd this whole thing is? Why would anyone take this article seriously and think I might be pregnant? I clearly can't get pregnant unless you are fancying yourself as some kind of virility god."

"I do not fancy myself as anything, baby," Riddle laughed, staring at Harry with a strange look in his eyes which Harry would like to label as unhinged but he wasn't so sure at this point. "You, on the other hand, do have a magic enabling it. Ancient, powerful magic, one of a kind that allows you to do things that no other can do. I don't understand why you are acting like this is such a shock. After all, having Alluran bloodline and being able to create a magical life has always been your only redeeming quality in the eye of the public. Surely, you are not going to stand there and pretend you don't understand what that means."

Harry froze.

Fuck!

He kept on hearing about his lurne blood and having children, but it couldn't be true, could it? Harry's mother kept on making comments about having children, and Harry just assumed... No that made no sense. Harry had bathed and seen himself naked. He didn't seem to have any anatomy suggesting he had any ability to conceive and carry any children. Riddle was just fucking with him, the bastard!

"I don't understand what that means," he insisted, his heart beating wildly in his chest. There was a sense of horror growing inside the pit of his stomach; a strange experience of fear and eerie sensation that made him feel almost as if he were under a spell.

Riddle was watching him with eyes full of wonder. Different emotions were passing through his face that Harry could barely catch as the man was expertly controlling his expressions. Harry could sense that some kind of realisation dawned on the man, and then he got up and strode towards Harry in quick measured steps. Harry almost fell back, but Riddle was quick and caught him swiftly, clasping Harry in his embrace and staring into his eyes.

Harry blinked and glanced up at Tom. Surrounded by the man's warmth, he almost felt weightless and comforted like a man sitting by the fire on a cold rainy day. Riddle's cool smell filled Harry's nostrils, making him shiver in the man's embrace. Blood rushed in all the wrong directions, and Harry blushed, shying away from the sudden proximity.

Tom's face was so unbelievably handsome. Harry had the urge to run his finger through the man's carefully combed hair. He was elegant and refined; he commanded authority by his mere presence, and Harry gulped strangely aroused by the idea. Riddle looked dashing and cultured, the kind of man that if one saw them walking in the street without knowing much about them, would assume that he had a pretty woman or a man warming his bed.

"It seems you are a different person after all," the man whispered into his ear, holding him closer. "If you don't know what your bloodline allows you to do. What it allows me to do to you."

What the fuck! Harry pushed Riddle away and moved towards the other side of the room, glaring at Riddle who seemed somehow amused by his reaction.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Riddle's amusement didn't wane. He moved towards him again and brought Harry back into his arms, gently wrapping his hands around Harry like Harry was a hissing kitten and not a real threat. He gently brushed away the soft curls on Harry's face, his fingers lingering and stroking the smooth, silky skin.

"Magic can do so many things," Riddle told him in a soft, almost sultry voice. "It can turn a mere goblet into a mouse and can make others discard their will and submit to another. Magic can create creatures, and it can give one a face of another. So many wonderful, awe-inspiring possibilities, isn't that right, baby?"

Riddle took a special pleasure in mocking Harry. Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Very funny," he said, staring back into Riddle's eyes. "I see what you are suggesting but I have never heard of such possibility. You'd think there would be plenty of pregnant wizards running about if such magic was possible. So stop pulling my leg."

Surely, this wasn't a thing in the new dimension.

"Exactly," Riddle agreed. "Strange that wizards can turn into animals by Animagus transformation, but you have never met a pregnant wizard, right? Do you know why?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't interested in the theory of magic to care to know. His pressing concern right now was that there was an article published in the Daily Prophet claiming he was pregnant, and the way Riddle was acting suggested it might be true. The worst part wasn't the suggestion of pregnancy but the implication that Riddle knocked him up.

"Because magic can create many things, but never another being with a magical ability of its own. It's why werewolves produce an ordinary wolf instead of a child when they mate in their wolf forms as their wolf forms are created with magic. Same reason why magical pregnancies end in stillbirths, it doesn't matter if you are a man or a woman, you can't use magic to create a human with magical abilities. Even something as simple as Amortentia can cause irreversible damage to a sorcerer conceived with the use of it. Magic has rules, and you can't use it to simply create an enormous army of magical beings. Many witches and wizards have tried through centuries to use magic to create life, but it never ends well.

"Do you know what Ekrizdis was doing in Azkaban? He had countless men and women locked up there and was experimenting on them, growing the necessary anatomy, healing and patching those who were barren but no matter what neither men nor women could conceive any children and those that did, gave birth to stillborn, soulless abominations."

"Well, great," Harry exclaimed. "I mean, not great. Never mind, I am confused about where you are going with this."

"Well, no one can create magical life using magic, except those with Alluran blood," Riddle told him softly, running his fingers over Harry's face. "It is why the legends say Alluran witch or a wizard created the first magic bearers. You do not have the ability to get pregnant naturally but were anyone to provide you with the right potions, you would be able not only to get pregnant but bear a very strong magical child successfully. Which is why Skeeter thought it was an excellent opportunity to write these lies because people are quite curious about you. A wizard with Alluran blood in their lifetime having a child? They must be intrigued."

Fuck!

Harry gulped. This was mental. The good thing was that he wasn't ever planning to take any potions and fuck Riddle. He looked up at the man, still surrounded by his warm arms and inhaled softly. Riddle was looking at him with amusement.

"Of course," the man leaned closer to whisper into his ear. "You should have known all of these already, baby, which begs the question, what has happened to you?"

Bloody hell! Things were getting worse the longer Harry stayed in this new reality. His counterpart must have had it rough growing up with the constant reminder of his worth being tied to birthing a bunch of magical children; no wonder the guy had lost his mind and acted out. Harry was horrified by the notion of pregnancy. Was this why Harry's father practically sold him off to Riddle? Is it why he married Harry? Was he expecting Harry to willingly subject himself to pregnancy and childbirth?

Harry pushed Riddle away and glared at him.

"Did you give me any of these potions?" he demanded awkwardly.

Riddle laughed.

"Shouldn't you know?" he asked, eyes focused on Harry. "Unless you tell me why you don't know any of these, I don't feel inclined to tell you anything more."

"I just don't remember," Harry said, and judging by Riddle's expression, he didn't believe him.

There was a soft knock on the door. Barty slowly opened the door and stuck his head into the room.

"I am sorry to interrupt Minister, but we are going to be late," he said anxiously.

"We are ready to go, Barty," Riddle told the man curtly. "Let's go, darling."

He held Harry's hand, and Harry allowed him because he was too shocked to protest. Riddle pulled out a wand from the pocket of his robes and handed it to Harry.

"Your wand," he explained when Harry gave him a confused look. This wasn't Harry's wand. It was an unfamiliar wand. Harry took it gingerly moving it in his grip, but the wand didn't feel right. "And for the record, I would never give you any potions without your knowledge."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled quietly.

Riddle glanced at him wistfully and nodded. His posture was stiff, and Harry could see that behind the carefully concealed demeanour, Riddle was stressed and exhausted. It was strange to see the man so human, but then again this wasn't Voldemort. Harry told himself it wasn't fair to treat Riddle as if he was Voldemort. However, he couldn't shake away the feelings of anger every time he saw the man and was reminded of the monster who destroyed his life.

They used the floo and were transported into the Ministry. As soon as they stepped out of the fireplace, they were greeted by the blinding flash of cameras and questions being sprung on them from all sides. Tom pulled him closer and then mumbled a spell quietly that dimmed the camera flashes.

"Are you okay?" he asked Harry, putting his arm forward to prevent any of the journalists from grabbing Harry. Harry was confused by the man's behaviour but nodded. Riddle seemed to at least care about his husband, and Harry felt a tiny twinge of guilt for lying to the man, but he wasn't crazy to tell him his husband was dead, and Harry had taken over his body.

"Stay close," Tom whispered.

Barty was pushing the journalists out of their way as they hurried through the Atrium to the floor where the Minister's office was located. There were already people waiting for them inside. Harry only recognised Hermione who hurried to congratulate him. He stared at her startled and then glanced at Tom for help.

"The news about my husband's pregnancy has been fabricated by Rita Skeeter," Tom announced. "We need to keep this under wraps before it evolves into something bigger."

There were murmurs and gasps as everyone's eyes went to Harry. Harry had never felt this bare. It was as if these people had peeled off all of his clothes and were watching him under a magnifying glass. He seemed to be given a lot of unwanted attention.

"Sir," one of Tom's staff members addressed the man. "Taking into account the current circumstances, the news about your spouse's pregnancy is an excellent opportunity to turn the public opinion in our favour. Given the public's high interest in Mr Potter-Riddle, the pregnancy and the child would strengthen your position among the people as well as the elite and the older wizarding families."

"And what do you suggest, Rabastan?" Tom asked irritated.

"I strongly advise you to make the rumours true and have a child," the man said.

Harry's eyes widened, and he glared at Rabastan with anger.

"Yes, leave me out of that conversation completely," Harry said unable to hold himself back. "Because whether I get knocked up and have a child is up to my husband's staff. It seems this family planning discussion doesn't need my input at all."

He wasn't even sure why he had accepted Riddle's position as his husband, but he got more upset by the fact that everyone, even Riddle's associates were trying to decide things for him. No wonder the other Harry was behaving like a menace. The man was stripped of any agency.

"My apologies, Mr Potter-Riddle," Rabastan hurried to say, but Harry waved his hands.

"Save it," he said, opening the door and leaving.

He needed to breathe a fresh gulp of air, maybe have some coffee or something. Harry was done. He rubbed his chest, trying to calm his heart. If he stayed here, would he be expected to have children with Tom? The idea made him feel all kinds of horror. Harry didn't know if he wanted children. He was never sure he would live to his adulthood.

The Ministry cafeteria was empty. He could have called elves working here to bring him coffee, but an enchanted vending machine standing in the corner captured his attention. It seemed more Muggle technology was utilised in this reality than in his original one. Harry rushed towards it and realised that there were biscuits and coffee available. Just for the novelty of it, he reached out for his pocket and pulled a couple of knuts.

"Look at that," a voice coming from behind him sneered. "His Highness is here all by himself. Do you know what kind of trouble I got in because of you?"

Harry abruptly turned around and stared at Nott. The tosser was leering at him.

"Your psycho husband almost killed me," Nott said, angrily twisting his face.

Harry sighed and turned back to the machine, pushing the buttons for the snacks he wanted, ignoring Nott altogether. He had no idea what was the git's business with the previous Harry, but that Harry was dead and the new Harry couldn't be bothered to involve himself in any of that rubbish.

"You are such an uppity bitch," Nott said, suddenly grabbing Harry and twirling him around so he could face him. "Still, you let that psycho Mudblood knock you up."

"Move your hands," Harry ordered, narrowing his eyes at where Nott was still holding him. "Move the fuck away from me before I knock you out."

The fuckhead laughed at Harry. Harry was pissed and was itching to get the anger out of his system. If Nott continued behaving like a proper twat, Harry was going to hand him his arse.

"You've got a lot of bottle to speak to me like that," Nott smirked. "I suppose it's why Gellert's into you. Wonder what he'll think when he sees the news about you falling up the duff."

Harry grabbed Nott's arm and abruptly twisted it upwards, making him yelp from pain and fall back surprised. The idiot reached for his wand, but Harry was waiting for him to draw wands and brought out his new wand and hurled Nott against the wall. He hit his head and fell down unconscious.

"Mr Riddle?" Ron was looking at Harry. Harry blinked. Ron was wearing his Auror uniform. Harry just assaulted Nott in front of the head Auror who was no longer his friend. Ron was staring at the body lying unconscious on the ground.

"He tripped," Harry lied awkwardly.

"Right," Ron said and then grinned. "Nott's very clumsy."

Harry laughed. The machine beeped and snacks fell down. Harry turned around and grabbed the biscuit bars.

"Minister asked me to come and make sure you were safe," Ron offered as an explanation and stared at Harry almost wistfully.

"Oh! Thanks! Here, have some," Harry gave him one of the bars. "I know you like these ones."

Ron shifted to take the offered snack but hesitated as if wondering how Harry could know he liked them. It seemed some things remained the same no matter the universe.

"I remember you liking these from Hogwarts," he said.

"Oh, thank you, Harry... I mean, Mr Riddle," Ron blushed and almost turned the colour of his own hair. "I can't believe you remember it. My sister, Ginny, she always talks about you."

"Harry's fine," Harry said with a smile. His heart was beating so fast as he felt a strange longing, being so close to one of his best friends and not being able to tell him how much he missed him. "Yeah, I saw Ginny the other day. Say hi to her from me. I doubt we will see each other with all that is going on."

"I will," Ron smiled. "By the way, I was very impressed with your knowledge yesterday. You noticed something my Aurors didn't. Um... well, we need to go back. The official speech given by the Minister will start any moment and..."

"Right," Harry said, moving towards the exit, but paused to gesture towards Nott still unconscious on the floor. "What about him?"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about him," Ron said. "I will have one of my men come and pick him up and take him to Saint Mungos."

Harry nodded and walked with Ron. He didn't know what to say because there wasn't anything he could say. This Ron knew him as a completely different person. Harry was constantly reminded of how lonely he was.

"I've read the news," Ron spoke, filling the silence with his voice. "Skeeter's article was messed up. I can't imagine what it feels like to have that kind of public scrutiny on you. And all of these pressure and expectations from strangers thinking they can have input on your life."

"Thank you, Ron," Harry said earnestly.

"Oh, and here are your cards for the speech," Ron said, handing him a stack of cards. "Crouch gave them to me. He wanted to give them to you personally, but the Minister had other errands for him to run."

Harry grabbed them. It wasn't like he had any other choice.

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Tom stared at the bookshelves in front of him, listening to his advisors. If only things went smoothly and people didn't try to thwart his plans, he wouldn't have to punish anyone. Now he had to teach Skeeter a lesson on what happens to those who interfere in his life.

Weasley walked in, accompanying his husband. Tom looked up, and their eyes met. This man wasn't his husband. Tom was sure of that. He had no idea about his Alluran heritage, but the curious thing was that he had no idea about the Alluran bloodline at all. Most wizards had a pretty good understanding of what a lurne was and what kind of powerful magic they had. Harry had no idea. It was as if he wasn't even from this world. Tom was coming to suspect that the truth about Harry was simpler than he thought.

There was only one way to test his theory and that involved undressing his pretty husband. He looked so fragile and delicate, but that was just the shell; behind those arresting eyes hid a little monster that would bite one's head off if they stepped on its tail. Tom watched him as he moved gracefully towards him, capturing the attention of his men who watched Harry like prehistoric men would watch a celestial storm unfolding in the night sky and couldn't help but feel insignificant in the face of the greatness of the distant stars.

Tom noted that Weasley was holding the wrappers of the same biscuit Harry still had in his hand. He narrowed his eyes at the Auror, but the redhead didn't notice him—his attention was fixed on Harry. Harry sat on the sofa close to him, placed his speech cards on the desk and unwrapped the biscuit.

"Want some?" he asked innocently, breaking the snack in half and stretching the other to him. Tom smiled. He didn't eat anything of that sort.

"Thank you, darling," he said, taking it off Harry's hands and watching how the men and women surrounding them were devouring their interaction with their eyes.

This was a different Harry Potter. This man was kind and caring but had a temper of the Fiendfyre.

"The press is waiting in the Atrium," Barty told him, inclining his head to nearly whisper into his ear. "It's time, Minister."

Tom nodded. He got up and reached for Harry. The pretty pureblood lurne gave him his hand, and they walked out of his office. The rest of the staff hurried to follow them to the Atrium, including the Aurors providing the security detail for them.

The photographers insistently started snapping pictures of them. Tom stood forward as the barrage of questions kept spilling from their mouths. He lifted his hand, forcing a thin wave of magic into the air and commanding silence.

"Today, we gather here with heavy hearts, as we witness the appalling depths to which our enemies sink. They have not only attacked our values but targeted the most innocent, the most vulnerable among us. In this moment of devastation, I stand before you, not just as your Minister, but as a resilient soul who shall not be broken by this cowardly acts of destruction," Tom spoke in a well-measured tone, making clear eye contact with all the reporters and the gathered public.

He had their attention. It took him years to harden himself, to make himself a man whose voice would be heard, regardless of what his critics and enemies thought. Tom Riddle didn't fit, but he didn't need to fit; he clawed his place with blood and sweat and earned what he had.

"The destruction of this orphanage is no mere accident or a random act of nature," he continued. "It is an act of cold, calculated malice orchestrated by those who wish to suffocate the flickering flame of hope in the hearts of our vulnerable children. These individuals, driven by their lust for power, have stooped to the lowest depths of moral bankruptcy, targeting the weakest amongst us to cripple the very foundations of our society. Children with magic hold our future, and these cowardly terrorists want to destroy our future."

Tom could feel Harry's attentive eyes on him. He could feel the way the pretty man was watching him as if almost fascinated. Harry was standing by his side, and Tom wanted him there. He wanted this man by his side, not the airheaded pureblood socialite who scoffed and turned up his nose at everyone he considered lower than him. No, Tom wanted this resilient, strong-willed absolutely reckless version.

The journalists were recording, so he turned to Harry and held his hand. Harry stared at him startled, but didn't pull his hand away. There were gasps. He rarely showed public affection or any kind of intimacy. The flash of camera lights became blinding.

"To the cowards who thought they could crush the dreams and hopes of innocent children, let me remind you that an attack on the vulnerable is an attack on our entire society. You may have razed the physical structure to the ground, but you will never destroy the foundation of compassion, resilience, and justice upon which it was built. Wizards and magic will forever live on," Tom declared. "The terrorists behind this disgusting act have been apprehended and justice will be served, and to those that hide behind these criminals, know that your days are numbered."

Harry was still holding his hand when he finished his speech.

"Minister, is your husband pregnant?" someone shouted. "Is that true?"

"When was the child conceived?" another yelled.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Have you picked up names?"

"My foremost priority as an official is to focus on the governance and leadership responsibilities entrusted to me by the people," Tom said curtly. "Personal matters, such as family or pregnancy, are of no relevance or consequence to the functioning of the government. Any insinuation or inquiry about such private affairs is an unwarranted intrusion into my personal life and an attempt to divert attention from matters that truly impact the wizarding community's welfare."

"Minister, could you comment on the recent interview given by Mr Grindelwald?" someone else shouted. "You have been heavily criticised for the slow response to the attack. Do you have any response to that criticism?"

"Look, lady, it's my turn to speak," Harry said, pushing Tom aside and pulling out the cards. Tom stared at Harry, scandalised. "Clearly, you weren't there yesterday, or you wouldn't open your mouth to bitch about the Minister's response. He was the only one helping people and fighting against the nutjobs attacking us."

Tom didn't know if he should admonish his husband or just let him continue. The reporter seemed to be so taken aback by Harry's interference that she just stared at the gorgeous lurne with a gaping mouth. Harry shuffled the cards, trying to give his words of support that were prepared by Tom's cabinet.

"Mr Potter," Skeeter called with a smile. "How is the joy of the pregnancy?"

Tom saw how Harry's pretty face scrunched up in irritation then a mocking smile played on his lips.

"I'm positively beaming with joy. Don't miss the next episode when I give birth to a unicorn," Harry snarked. The smile dropped from Skeeter's face.

"Harry," Barty handed Harry a strange tiny flower that resembled henbane. "I didn't know you liked these flowers ."

"I don't," Harry mumbled, gripping the flower in his hand, and walked towards Skeeter.

The photographers went crazy, taking pictures of Harry up close. They had never been allowed to be that close to his husband before. Tom sighed. This was going to end in a tantrum of some kind. He stepped forward to stop Harry, but the man simply held Skeeter's hand. Skeeter stared up at Harry who was taller than her but was still much more delicate, and blushed awkwardly.

"Ms Skeeter, you wrote in your article that your correspondent was able to confirm my pregnancy with someone close to us. Who was it?" Harry asked sweetly.

What was he trying to do? Tom had advised him not to create additional noise around Skeeter's slander. He was going to take care of the problem with her later.

"Oh, no one really," Rita laughed, still holding Harry's hand. "I made it up to make the news more solid."

Tom raised an eyebrow. People gasped. Harry didn't seem surprised at all by the response as if he was expecting her to tell the truth.

"I mean, I can't reveal the name of my sources," Skeeter hurried to say, realising her mistake. As soon as the words left her mouth she screamed and blood started pouring from her nose.

"Do not lie," Harry squeezed her hand. "Why did you write that I was pregnant?"

"I..." Skeeter was struggling, everyone was watching the situation unfold and was in no hurry to interfere.

"Harry," Tom said in a warning tone.

"I made it up, okay!" Rita confessed as another glob of blood dripped from her nose. "I saw the picture with you and the Minister and thought it would make a good story."

"Did the Minister or anyone in his office ask you to lie and make up this story?" Harry demanded.

"No," Skeeter cried. Harry let go of her hand. The flower was burnt. It fell down on the ground and Harry reached for a handkerchief and cleaned Skeeter's face off the blood smeared on her mouth, under her nose.

There were murmurs and chatter and everyone was watching Skeeter.

"I am very sorry for what just happened and what happened yesterday," Harry said, dropping the cards in one of Tom's aid's hands. "I hope no one will have to suffer for lies of other people and desire for power."

Tom closed his eyes with his palm. Fascinating, deadly, beautiful and still a major headache. He stepped forward, grabbed his husband's arm and pulled him towards himself.

"What are you doing?" he murmured, while politely waving at the public and turning Harry around so they could leave. "What kind of magic was that? I have never seen it. What did you do?"

"I have learned it from the worst," Harry said through gritted teeth, trying to push him away. Tom only shook his head and clutched Harry's hands tighter.

"That was rash, but I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy blood on that woman's face," Tom commented with amusement, causing his husband to bristle with annoyance for some reason, as if his approval was the worst insult.

They walked back to his office. He had a lot of work to do. James Potter would come to see him soon. He would need to ask Barty to take Harry home and watch him.

An Auror was approaching them at a high speed. It looked like it was Rockwood.

"Minister, Sir," the man stopped in front of him, breathless. "The convoy transporting the apprehended criminals got attacked by dementors who had escaped Azkaban. They have kissed all the criminals. No one has escaped unscathed."

"Dispatch Aurors to take care of the dementors and transport the criminals to the medical wing of the Azkaban," Tom said coldly. "Contact Daily Prophet and have them report on the accident."

"Yes, sir," the man nodded and swiftly left.

"You knew," Harry whispered, pulling his hand away. "You knew about the dementor attack even before he said anything. You were not surprised as if you were expecting to get this news. You did this."

Tom's heart started beating faster. There was nothing else that mattered in his life than to maintain his power and squash anyone who dared to threaten his reign. He did what he had to do. He did what his father-in-law expected him to do. These men couldn't go unpunished, if he let them simply see a prison time in Azkaban without any retaliation, his enemies would know he was weak.

Tom reached for the nearby door handle and pulled it open. He stepped inside, grabbing Harry's hands and forcing him inside with him. There were people inside working.

"Minister," Lestrange got up as well as some of the other men in the room.

"Leave us," Tom commanded. His men stared at his pretty husband, at the way he was holding the man's hand and quickly scrambled to leave.

He shut the door tightly as soon as they were alone. Harry was glaring at him with his vivid green eyes, as if he had just emerged from Tom's fantasies and stepped into his office. It felt as though Harry was a sinful distraction that would tempt him to his death.

"You killed these men," Harry screamed, breathing hard. "Just when I was thinking that you are..."

"I didn't do anything to them that they didn't deserve," Tom told Harry with anger. "They tried to kill so many innocent people—"

"They should have faced justice," Harry said, moving away from him, cupping his pretty face, "but you can't decide their fate single-handedly condemning them to fate worse than death."

"You don't know what you are talking about," Tom told him bitterly. "There is no justice in this world. There is just power and whoever has that power has the right to decide what justice is. You have lived your life coddled and sheltered from the real world, and you have no idea that the only thing that matters today is that these people received a message. A message that they can't step over me. They will think twice next time."

"You are mental," Harry yelled. "I don't care about your power trips. The real power is to do the right thing. Any twat can give orders condemning others to death, it takes real strength to do what's right. And you know nothing about me."

"Oh, that's right, I don't, baby," he mocked, stepping closer. "You are right. I don't know who the bloody hell you are. Do you know what my husband would have done today? He would have complained about coming here because it is beneath him to care about Mudbloods and other poor filth. Then he would have cried and whined about how boring the whole affair with the reporters is and demanded to go on a shopping trip to France because he is so bloody exhausted from standing in front of the common public for twenty minutes."

Harry went silent. Tom could hear the man's heart beating like drums, his chest was lowering and rising.

"Nothing to say to that, princess?" he continued. "Because that's who the real Harry Potter is—a spoiled, snobby airhead who cares about no one and nothing. So, who are you?"

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at him. "Get back," he ordered.

Tom didn't reach for his wand; he stared at Harry with a firm expression on his face, then cast an immobilisation spell. When the spell hit him, Harry's eyes widened. It was clear he wasn't expecting the spell and didn't even attempt to safeguard himself against it.

"You are not my husband, but you are Harry Potter, so there is only one explanation for this," he said, approaching the man.

He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, gently moving them towards his chest and slowly unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Harry mumbled, panicked, unable to move.

"There is just one way to know for sure," Tom told him softly, tracing his hands over Harry's chest chest. "Tell me, Harry will I find on your body what I am looking for?"

"Please let me go," Harry murmured. "Don't touch me."

Tom's hands froze on the man. He moved back and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Then tell me the truth."

Harry's anger bubbled to rage, and the magic binding him in place faded. Finding himself free of the binding spell, Harry reached for his wand and cast a blasting spell. Tom threw a shield against it and pulled out his own wand.

"We can do this all day," he told Harry. "I need the truth."

"The truth?" Harry laughed. "What truth? That you are a psycho? That you just deprived a bunch of men of their soul. Do you even know what it feels like to get your soul sucked out of your body by a dementor? Do you have any idea what it feels like?"

They threw spells at each other. Tom could tell Harry's words about dementors came from an experience, and it intrigued him even more.

"Whatever they got, they deserved it," he spat back. "The orphanage yesterday was empty. Just imagine if they thought they could do this when we had all of these orphaned children there. This was a message to let them know what will happen to them if they continue."

"Oh, don't pretend you care about children," Harry scoffed. "You are trying to abduct some of these children from their Muggle parents and make them grow up in a clinical environment where the love and care they receive is just a job—someone's job that they get paid for. Do you understand what that means to grow up without anyone who cares for you? Huh? No one who will sit by your side when you are sick, hurt your knees or have a bad dream? Do you even know...?"

The glass on the bookcase cabinets shattered into pieces as Harry's rage dripped from his words, and then he dropped his wand on the ground as if defeated. He looked like he didn't have any strength left him to fight anymore.

"Yes," Tom told him quietly after a moment of silence. "I know what it means to be alone. And I wished I grew up with wizards instead of being poked at by doctors at the Muggle orphanage who wanted to dissect me and see what was wrong with me."

"And here you are, killing people and depriving children of their parents," Harry whispered. "So did you want power for this?"

"Yes," Tom confessed.

The shards of glass flew up towards him and pressed against his neck, ready to strike. Harry was doing this, wordlessly and wandlessly. He looked angry and at the same time, there was grief and sadness and fear in his eyes. Tom leaned back, trying to move away from the sharp edges, pressed against his throat.

"You are insane," Harry cried.

"I grew up alone, surrounded by other unwanted, unfortunate souls like me, and every day was a war for food and comfort," Tom said, recalling his days at the Muggle orphanage. "I had no idea who I was, where I was from, and who my parents were. I kept wishing to be taken by a family like the other kids, but I was too strange and odd for people to like me. It didn't matter how hard I tried to be nice and well-behaved or how well I studied, I was a strange child that incited an eerie revulsion in others."

Harry was just staring at him plainly. Something was happening with him, but Tom had no idea what.

"When I learned that I have magic, I thought, finally, I will be with people who will accept me and understand me. I will be with my kind. Naive and childish! Muggles and wizards alike place importance on who you are, what connections you have, and who your family is. If you do not have any, they will consider you an inferior scum who does not deserve to breathe around them, lest you pollute their air," he told Harry.

"I could wave my hands right now and turn all of them into dust." Tom continued. "That's because I have power. I also have the power to make sure children with magic can grow up surrounded by magic unlike me. I don't want to separate the parents from their children, but that is the price of things you need to pay when you don't have enough power. Your father was rather pleased with this plan but only because it involved all the children of magical heritage not just those without any parents. That's what it means not to have enough power."

The glass shards dropped down. Harry stared at him for a moment and then his pretty husband lunged forward, grabbed his face and kissed him.

His lips were soft and fragile. He could feel the glide of wet, silky smooth lips moving over his own and his hands came to wrap around the man's thin waist and lift him up in the air. He tasted like sweet fruits and flowers, the scent of snowdrops poured into his nostrils. Harry wrapped his legs around him, and Tom pressed him against the wall.

Shivers spread over his body and his blood rushed through his veins, dopamine and adrenalin released into his system, and his pupils dilated. He felt Harry's hand pushing at his chest and when he opened his eyes, the pretty thing dropped down, grabbed his wand and ran out.

"Harry, wait," he rushed after him, ignoring his men waiting outside. They looked like they knew what was going on, but didn't dare to comment.

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Harry's heart was beating in his chest so wildly and abruptly that he was sure it would drop into his stomach any second. What was he thinking, kissing Tom bloody Riddle? Harry was out of his bloody mind. Just when he thought the git wasn't so bad, the man went ahead and proved him wrong. And then... then, when Harry was ready to end it all, he had to open his mouth and say things, making Harry feel bloody stupid things.

Fuck! What was he supposed to do now?

"Harry, wait," he heard Tom's voice and his stupid heart skipped a beat.

It had been less than a week and he was already falling for this nonsense? Was Harry so depraved needing love and attention that he was ready to throw himself into his enemy's arms at any given chance? The guy was no Voldemort, but bloody fuck if he didn't try hard to be an evil, manipulative son of a bitch.

Harry rushed through the corridors into the Atrium so he could apparate. He didn't want to stay in the Ministry any longer and be forced to see Tom Riddle's stupid, handsome face.

He could feel Tom catching up with him. How the fuck was he so fast? Tom caught his arm when he apparated. They landed in the middle of the Muggle London. Harry needed a drink.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked.

"You are right," Harry told him. "I am not your husband. That guy is dead. I don't know what happened to him. But he is gone. And since you know this, there is no need for you to pretend anymore. Just go and live your life. I won't show up and ruin anything."

"I don't want to," Tom said, holding him tightly so he couldn't move away. Muggles stopped to look at them, particularly at Harry. It seemed the other Harry's looks attracted wild attention no matter where he went. "You are still my husband, and you have our marital bonds."

"Isn't James Potter going to be there to meet you soon?" Harry grumbled, trying to move away from Tom. "Aren't you supposed to be there to meet him? Please leave."

"Are you mad at me?" he asked. Harry blinked momentarily confused and taken back by the question.

"Are you serious?" he shook his head in disbelief. "You find out I am not your husband, and you are asking me if I am mad at you? No other questions?"

"You kissed me and then ran out," Tom complained. "Other questions can wait. Also, you are my husband."

Harry groaned. The embarrassment he felt a moment ago dwindled and was replaced with indignation.

"Hey, any problem, mate?" some man asked, approaching them. "Is this blockhead bothering you?"

Harry looked at the Muggle stranger who was ogling him and glaring at Tom. Tom glared back irritated.

"Step away before I knock your teeth out of your mouth," Riddle threatened in a cold tone. The man lifted his hands in peace and walked away. It looked like whatever interest he had in Harry was unmatched by his fear of Tom's menacing face.

"I am not mad at you," Harry said. "I am mad at myself for..."

Harry stopped talking as he noticed a very old man barely standing on his feet, holding tightly onto the cane, staring at Tom.

"My goodness..." the old man grabbed Tom's arm to the man's surprise. "You look like you could be... yes, you look like me in my youth."

Harry blinked confused, wondering who this Muggle man was, and hoped that Tom wouldn't curse him, he clearly suffered from old age dementia. He was very old and frail. It was a mystery that he was still standing on his feet. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit and was well-groomed.

"Are you alright, sir?" Tom asked, startled by the sudden appearance of the old man.

"You must be his grandson," the old man said slowly, watching Tom with sadness and then his eyes fell on the wand Tom was holding, and it seemed to only bolster his conviction, triggering some kind of memory in him. "You are definitely his grandson. You have that wooden stick just like her."

Shit! Was this Tom's father? Harry internally shook his head. That couldn't be, this man looked like in his 90s and Tom's father should have been in his late 40s and early 50s. This man was old. Very old.

"You are confusing me with someone else," Tom told him politely, trying to move the old man's hands off of his arm.

"Mr Riddle," a man who looked like a bodyguard and was dressed in a suit rushed towards them. Tom lifted his wand, clearly not recognising the Muggle who was calling his name. But the Muggle rushed towards the old man and held him to ensure he was steady.

"Mr Riddle, are you alright?" he asked the old man and then turned to Tom. "I am sorry, Sir. Mr Riddle is unwell."

"Doesn't he look like me, Frank?" the old man asked his Muggle bodyguard. The bodyguard gave Tom an awkward smile and tried to direct the old man towards the nice car parked on the side of the street.

"Let's go, Sir."

The old man shook his head.

"Tell me, son," he asked Tom. "Are you called Tom Riddle too? That's what your grandfather should have been named. She told me she would name him after me and her father."

"How do you know my name?" There was understanding and realisation in Tom's eyes but he seemed taken aback and anxious.

"I went back for him," the old man cried. "After, I went back for him. But Merope was dead and my son was gone. The orphanage told me they lost him. He disappeared."

The old man seemed to be getting more agitated. Tom stared motionless. Harry realised that this was the first time in his life Tom was seeing someone who might have been related to him. Based on what Harry knew, this made no sense. The old man said Merope was dead and his son was gone. Merope was Tom's mother and this man was in his 90s. He couldn't be Tom's father... unless...

"Sir, your doctor's appointment will start soon, let's go," the bodyguard moved the old man towards the car and turned to look at Tom and Harry apologetically, his eyes widening comically when he spotted Harry.

"He knew my name," Tom murmured. "He recognised my wand. He is a Muggle but he knows of magic."

The old man got into the car, and the car drove away.

"We can find him and see if he's related to you," Harry offered.

Tom reached out and held his hand.

"Maybe another time," he said, taking advantage of Harry's change of attitude towards him. "Let's go, I can't believe I am in Muggle London with you."

"Well, I came here to drink," Harry told him, not liking how he was being roped to stay with the man. "Before Skeeter gives me another pregnancy, I better enjoy some alcohol."

"Are you serious?" Tom laughed. "Okay, let's go, I know just the place."

Harry sighed but went along with him. He kissed him. Tom kissed him back. This was bad.

They walked down the street and then a golden snitch came flying towards them at high speed. Harry's instincts kicked in and he jumped up and grabbed the snitch. The moment he touched it, the two of them were forced out of the Muggle street and dropped in the middle of a forest. The snitch was a Portkey, and Harry never had a stroke of good luck when these things were involved.

"Where are we?" he asked. Tom had his wand out and was watching the misty surroundings for danger.

"Well, well, see what we caught here," a voice said. "The Minister himself with his lovely husband."

Chapter Text

"The Minister?" another voice interjected, tone laced with irritation. "I specifically instructed you to bring only the boy. Why in Merlin's name did you drag that bastard here?"

"They were together," the other man complained. "What was I supposed to do?"

Tom grasped Harry's arm and attempted to apparate them, but the magic rebounded, the spell colliding with the anti-apparition wards. They were trapped here. He couldn't see the faces of their abductors. The darkness had enveloped everything; the towering trees encircling them were engulfed in a dense blanket of mist, obscuring any hint of sunlight attempting to filter through the dense foliage. Tom aimed his wand at the men advancing towards him and Harry.

"Who are you?" he demanded, casting a Lumos and illuminating their immediate surroundings with bright light.

Several wizards were standing in front of them ready for a fight. Tom could discern from their robes that they were aligned with the group responsible for the attack on the orphanage. Who were these people working for? Why were they trying to capture Harry?

"Now, Minister," the man with a shabby beard clicked his tongue in disapproval. "We do not want to hurt you or your dear husband. We just need to take him off your hands. In fact, nothing will happen here today if you simply comply and let us take him with us."

Tom narrowed his eyes at the men. What kind of game were they playing? Harry stiffened beside him, and Tom sensed the subtle movement of a wand sliding forward. Harry's movements were so elegant and precise that none of the others even noticed. Tom lifted his hand and gently patted Harry's back, almost as if in reassurance.

"Very brave but very stupid of you to try to abduct my husband," he said with a sigh, gripping his wand, prepared to fire a barrage of spells at the slightest provocation. "Not only are you imbeciles committing treason right now, but you are also way over your heads. You think you can portkey me here, threaten my husband, and I will just let you leave this forest alive?"

"No reason to get upset, Minister," the man laughed. "We won't hurt your husband. We merely want to reunite him with the man he truly loves."

Tom tilted his head to assess the man in front of him. Surely, this wasn't one of his husband's many lovers finally getting fed up with the prospect of sharing him. Well, they were too late; his husband was gone, and Tom wasn't giving this Harry to anyone. This one belonged to him, and if Tom was right, he was sent here by Fate itself to meet Tom.

"I am not going anywhere with you, discount Death Eaters," Harry said, an exasperated expression twisting his beautiful face. "Give me the bloody name of the twat who has sent you here because I really want to know who I should be hexing six ways to Sunday."

Tom's lips curled in amusement, hearing the mouthiness of his new husband directed at these scoundrels. It was just another confirmation that this Harry had no idea of his previous self's philandering endeavours. Tom's theory about what happened to his husband was being bolstered by increasing evidence. The body was the same with all the magical ties tethered to it, but the mind was different.

Wizards could not occupy the bodies of others. The body would simply reject the foreign soul and would fight against it to the point of rotting and decomposing its own cells. It was why soulbonds as a form of ancient dark marital magic were banned even though it simply involved fusing the soul of one magic-bearer to the soul of another. There were documented cases of such nuptial rituals resulting in death, as the two souls were incomparable. Although, it involved simply fusing the souls together, not replacing one with another completely and outrightly.

That left only one possibility: the soul of another Harry Potter. The man confirmed under a very strong Veritaserum that he was Harry Potter. Harry's body wouldn't reject the compatible soul of himself. Any other soul attempting to inhabit someone else's body would lead to decay and deterioration.

Tom was interested in soul magic in his early years at Hogwarts. He had even considered venturing into the dark side of soul magic and experimenting with it. He wasn't sure what exactly made him change his mind, but it was probably the fact that it would have been too easy to mutilate himself for immortality and invincibility. He wanted all of his snotty pureblood classmates to be forced to bow in front of him just as he was, a mere mortal, with no name or heritage, but still in possession of such power that they would have to chew on their pride and recognise him.

In retrospect, he realised that he had spent his formative years obsessed with desiring respect from people who were not ever worth his time and attention. He understood now that he was where he was thanks to his anger and vulnerability for being treated like a lesser person due to pseudo-traditional elitist beliefs about blood and purity.

"You don't need to pretend here, princess," the man laughed, making Harry bristle in annoyance.

"Merlin, I am so sick and tired of all of your fucking bullshit," he said, closing his eyes, thumb slowly stroking the smooth surface of the wand. "Stop patronising me, you pieces of shit, and just give me the name of the bastard who hired you, or I'm leaving."

The men exchanged a confused look. Clearly, not what they expected from the pureblood lurne. Tom stared at them with glee, barely holding his laughter.

"It's Gellert," the man said. "He did say you are a feisty thing, but man, he understated a little. Now, he is waiting for you, so you can ditch this bastard and come with us, and we will take you to him."

Tom stared at Harry, trying to catch his reaction, but as expected, his new husband didn't seem aware of anything and stared blankly at the men.

"Gellert?" He asked, wrinkling his nose. "Grindelwald?"

They nodded in response, smirking and exchanging knowing looks with each other. Tom tightened the hold on his wand. The corners of his lips twitched. These idiots had just given away the name of the man who was behind the attack, and they were not even realising it. They should have changed their robes if they wanted to keep the identity of their leader hidden. They must have been confident that they would be able to overpower Tom.

Oh, Tom couldn't wait. Grindelwald's little spawn had been a thorn in his side, and he was looking for a proper opportunity to squash the bastard under his shoes.

"GG? That's what it was? What the bloody hell was I thinking? The man is ancient. Replacing one Dark Lord with another" Harry murmured, in a barely audible tone then glanced at Tom and shook his head. "Never mind."

"I think they mean Grindelwald Jr, baby," Tom laughed, staring at his new husband's horrified face.

"Well, I don't care. The Jr part doesn't suddenly make it better, in fact, now that I think about it, it's suddenly worse," Harry seemed irritated beyond words. Tom couldn't help but stare at his little expressions with amusement. "I am not going with you anywhere, and you can go and tell this Gellert that if he wanted a meeting with me, he should have made an appointment or sent a fucking owl like a normal person, instead of sending his army of kidnappers."

"Well, too bad, princess," the man growled. "Because I don't care about your lover's quarrel and drama. I was ordered to take you to him, and I will, whether you want it or not."

A gust of light left the man's wand, the spell hurtling through the air towards Harry, but Harry deflected it easily and countered with a hex of his own. The others lifted up their wands and attacked. Tom was quick to block their curses with strong defensive shields. He wasn't attacking yet as he wanted to keep his attention on Harry and make sure to protect him if necessary. But Harry was magnificent; his stance was perfect, and Tom had a feeling he had duelled frequently, perhaps as a well-trained Auror or even a Hit-Wizard.

Spell after spell was being fired, and Harry was able to keep several of these wizards on their toes. None of them were expecting this kind of response, clearly. Tom was enjoying this too much. He wanted to see that scumbag Gellert's face when his little lackeys returned to him and told him that Harry Potter rejected him.

"I am so sick and tired of everyone telling me what to do and how to behave," Harry shouted, casting a blasting spell that sent the wizards flying and knocked a couple of them out. "Since I opened my eyes here, everyone and their mother is ordering me around like I am a bloody child."

Harry's magic enveloped a tree and yanked it out by the roots. Tom watched fascinated as Harry levitated the tree with force and hurled it at the advancing wizards.

He was perfect.

Tom could feel his pulse quickening with excitement. The elegance and dexterity of Harry wielding his magic through a wand was mesmerising to watch. Every movement was calculated and precise, with fluidity that showed years of training and mastery.

Tom couldn't take his eyes away; Harry's agility allowed him to swiftly parry incoming attacks, seamlessly blend offensive and defensive spells, and strike with impeccable timing and precision. With each curse, he moved effortlessly, showcasing a combination of speed, control, and finesse that made him a formidable and skilled duelist.

"Not so tough now, are you, you fucking assholes?" Harry's magic was like a raging storm, pouring out and sweeping everything in its path. "Well, what are you waiting for, huh? Come take me to whoever the fuck is your stupid master."

"As amusing and entertaining as it is to watch my husband bring you worthless miscreants to your knees," Tom said, his eyes cold and unwavering as the defeated men struggled to regain their composure. "I believe it's time to bring this little charade to an end. We've had a rather long day, and I have no desire to prolong our time in your unsavory presence."

Tom cast a series of offensive spells and unlike Harry, he didn't shy away from curses that did real damage.

"You are not supposed to main them," Harry grumbled.

"Really? And what am I supposed to do with them, huh?" Tom mocked, continuing to hex and curse the men. "You are naive if you think that these people deserve any of your compassion. They would kidnap you and sell you if someone offered a good price."

A dark curse cast by one of the men missed Harry and hit the ground, cracking the surface and making it brittle. The plants growing there instantly died. Harry hurled a disarming charm at him, but the wizard blocked it. This one seemed more experienced than the others. He cast several other spells, but Harry managed to counteract them and avoid them.

Tom's attention turned back towards his own opponents. He was a skilled duelist but not many were aware of this. Most ministers taking the office had very little combat experience. There were a couple of ex-Aurors who took the Ministerial post and could fight, but they were advanced in age by the time they reached the position of a Minister.

In the midst of him casting a slicing hex, he felt Harry's hand on his arm. He turned around, confused, only to be pushed aside by Harry. One of the attackers had sneaked behind him and was holding a large bulb of water that seemed to be expanding as it was being thrown towards him. He stumbled away and reached to pull Harry with him, but the blob of water engulfed his husband and as soon as it did, the mass water started enlarging.

He tried casting Finite, but that seemed to make the mass of water even larger. Harry was trapped inside, drowning. It looked like he was trying to move, but with every movement, the water was growing. Taking advantage of his distraction the others left standing tried to attack him, but he blasted them away. In his anger and panic, he channelled so much magical force that rendered all of them unconscious in one go.

"The doubling charm," the man laughed when Tom tried to conjure a burst of wind to blow away the water.

"End it right now," Tom demanded. "You'll kill him. I am sure even your master doesn't want that."

"Leave and let me take him," the man said, slowly moving back as Tom kept closing in on him. "And I will let the spell down."

"Do it right now!"

Harry was shaking and trembling inside the mass of water.

"So you'd rather have him die than be with someone else?" the man mumbled, panicking because Tom's movements didn't halt. "Very greedy, Minister."

"You are not taking him anywhere," Tom's voice went low. "End the spell right now or I will end you gladly, and the spell will die with you. The choice is yours."

The man cast a hex that Tom easily blocked. His eyes turned towards Harry, and rage babbled inside him. Tom flicked his wand transfiguring the broken branches lying on the floor into large snakes.

"Make him suffer," he whispered.

The snakes hurried to obey him. Tom felt nothing inside, not amusement and not glee at seeing the man's horrified face as the giant creatures slithered towards him. There was a sense of cold, calculated apathy that drove him to flick his wand and transfigure the man into the rat that he was before one of the snakes pounced on him and swallowed him.

James Potter always told him that while others couldn't see, he could see what Tom was capable of, and letting the opportunity of gaining someone like him pass up for a lesser man but a pureblooded one would be foolish, and he was anything but a fool. And now Tom knew that deep inside he was just as rotten and broken as people claimed.

The water mass, held by magic and expanding due to the doubling charm, tore into pieces and dropped on the ground like a cup of water, splashing its droplets on the trampled grass. Harry's body dropped down with a loud thud.

"Harry," Tom rushed towards his husband.

He cradled his delicate body and cast healing charms. Harry coughed up the water in his lungs and opened his eyes to stare at Tom. He grabbed Tom's hand, and Tom felt ancient dark magic surge forth from Harry's hand into his own body, connecting them together. It was strange, almost like there was a piece of his own magic inside Harry, trying to reach out to him. His eyes widened when he realised what it was. Their connection was like a lightning bolt tearing through the air around them, making the misty forest light up with shimmering light.

"Tom," Harry murmured before losing consciousness again.

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"How are you feeling?" Riddle's tone was gentle and cautious as if he was worried about upsetting a scared child. Harry locked eyes with him; he was sitting on the bed beside Harry, softly stroking his cheek.

Harry felt a lump in his throat as he recalled the terrifying sensation of drowning. He had frantically attempted to conjure and cast spells to disperse the water, but each movement only seemed to cause it to close in on him more tightly. He looked at Riddle, seeing his emotionless face that somehow was trying to convey concern. Was he really worried about Harry?

His eyes shifted. He glanced around, his expression darkening with worry. Where the fuck was he? This wasn't Riddle's home.

"Where are we?" he croaked and cleared his throat. The feeling was unpleasant. "What happened with the... with those men?"

He watched Riddle's face intently, eyes scanning for every subtle change.

"They have been taken care of, darling," Riddle said, not feeling the slightest bit awkward at calling him by a pet name. Harry had plainly told him that he wasn't the man's husband, but Riddle kept insisting on continuing whatever this was. And Harry had kissed him like an idiot. What was wrong with him? "We are at my flat. I used to live here before we got married. I didn't want to give it away after getting the Manor. I thought you would be safer here than back home."

Well, this place was decidedly Muggle—simple furniture, books stacked up on the shelves and even the TV. He couldn't imagine Tom bloody Riddle, the Muggle-hating Dark Lord, living in a Muggle flat and having a TV set.

Riddle's hand slid down from Harry's cheek to his chest and down on his leg. Harry realised that he was wearing a large shirt that didn't belong to him.

"I had to change your clothes," Riddle said as an explanation as if sensing his unease. "You were soaked."

He moved his hand up to clasp Harry's hand.

"You know," he smiled again, this time wistfully, like whatever he was about to say made him feel sadness, but Harry wasn't sure that he was interpreting Riddle's expressions correctly. "You have always had very sensitive feet. I always thought it was just you being a spoiled little brat, but I suppose you weren't whining for no reason."

Harry's face soured. He pulled his hand away, but the man tightened his hold on Harry's hand.

"And do you know what I found on the bottom of your foot, darling?" His smile widened.

Harry sighed. Well, it wasn't like he was trying very hard to hide anything. At this point, he wasn't even going to stay here. He would just leave, and Riddle could live his life happily without any husbands getting in his business. Although, he was surprised that Riddle would even know what to look for. Harry didn't even suspect what happened to him was possible.

"So you know," he whispered. "Good, I have never pretended that I was your husband."

"You keep saying that," Riddle gently rubbed Harry's knuckles. "But you are my husband. Just look at these marital bonds tethering us together."

He flicked his fingers over Harry's wrist, and the magical threads appeared, shimmering and bright, handfasting them together. Harry glared at the man and pulled his hand away, dissipating the magic into the air.

"If you have seen the mark on my foot, you know that I have travelled here from a different world into the body of your husband," Harry said, his voice getting shaky with anger and guilt. "And that was possible only because he died right before I transmigrated. So you should know that the man you married is no longer alive, and these bonds you speak of, they are just attached to his body. It's amazing how little you care that someone you married and vowed to love is dead."

"I care that he is dead," Tom said. "Only because that means someone killed that ditzy airhead, and seeing you parading around alive and well, they might try again."

Harry's face reddened in anger. What was wrong with this man? Was he an actual psychopath? He pushed Riddle away and tried to get up, but his feet gave way, and he almost stumbled down. Riddle hurried to catch him and helped him to stand upright.

"Try to lie down, you haven't recovered," he told Harry, trying to pull him back into the bed. "I have healed you, but being suffocated by magical water has drained you."

"Stop this," Harry slapped Riddle's hand away. "Stop this stupid charade. You don't need to continue pretending you care about me. We both know you had to do it for whatever you are gaining from having James Potter as your father-in-law. But you don't need to do it now. I am planning to leave. You can tell them I died. The abductors killed me."

"I thought I healed you properly. Is your head okay? Do you have a headache or nausea?" Riddle feigned concern, pissing off Harry. "Are you suffering from some kind of mental ailment? What is it? You saved me during the orphanage attack, then you kissed me, and then you attacked me. And the same happened earlier. That spell with the water was intended for me, but you saved me, knowing it could kill you. So what is it? Why are you so mad at me?"

Harry palmed his face.

Shit!

He didn't even know what the fuck he was doing. He had no fucking idea what to feel or how to live. His life was ruined. His friends were dead. He was alone and alive, and he hated himself for that. He was supposed to save everyone, not die and resurrect as Tom Riddle's decorative husband, not wake up one day and see his father's face but be greeted by an asshole who didn't care about his own son and treated him like a bloody pawn that could be bartered for power.

Not see his mother as a ditzy, naive woman who didn't understand that her own son didn't want to marry Tom Riddle and be used as some kind of novelty creature to mutilate his own body with magic and spells and potions to bear children. Like this nonsense was even normal.

Fuck, he was so sick, he wanted to cry. Why did he keep going back over and over again and trying to find momentary comfort in Riddle's arms? The man mistreated him from day one since he arrived.

Did the other Harry ask to be married to Riddle? No. Did Riddle force his way into that marriage? Harry wasn't even sure at this point that the other Harry was murdered. A silent part of him knew that there was a chance Harry had killed himself. All of these people around and none of them cared about the poor thing. Even the so-called lover, GG, Gellert Grindelwald Jr, or whatever didn't deign Harry with enough respect to come and get him himself. He had sent his henchmen who nearly killed him. What did he even do to deserve this kind of shitty hand at life?

Was Harry always destined to have a shitty life?

"I am sorry about all of that," he mumbled, trying to calm his nerves by rubbing his temples. "I shouldn't have kissed you. That was not right considering you didn't know who I was... I was just... It doesn't matter... I think it's best if we forget about everything and we both go our separate ways."

"Forget about everything?" Riddle raised an eyebrow. "No, you don't get to come here and give me a glimpse of what you could be and tell me I should forget about it. I will not lie and tell your parents that you are dead."

"They are not my parents," Harry protested, ignoring everything else Riddle said. "It's not a lie. Their son is dead."

Riddle reached down and held his foot, his hand tracing the mark left from the dimensional travel.

"Harry, do you know that there is only one copy of Travel between Worlds in the whole of Britain?" he asked softly. "The copy at our home. That's the only one. That's because I was the one who translated it. Do you think anyone else knows of this possibility? Of a wizard travelling between realities and worlds? Your father would never believe that you are a Harry Potter from another world. He would find you, darling, if you disappeared, he would look for you and I won't lie and tell him that you are dead because I don't want you gone."

Harry's lips twitched. Was Riddle threatening him? Why was he trying to keep Harry here? What was the point?

"You don't even know me," he said. "So why do you want me to stay here and play house with you? Pretend that I am your husband and everything is good?"

Riddle reached out to cup his face.

"I want to know you," he said, staring into his eyes. "And I don't want you to pretend with me."

"I don't understand."

"Stay here with me, please," Riddle said. "I can tell that you clearly feel something. I can tell... don't lie to me and tell me you just want to leave..."

"I want to leave."

"Don't lie to me," Tom demanded.

"It's not a lie," Harry shook his head, feeling his throat tightening, wondering if he really wanted to leave. He kept making up reasons why he needed to stay, why he needed to pretend to be this world's Harry.

"Oh, but it is, baby," Riddle laughed. "If you wanted to leave, you would have left on day one. I have seen you. I have seen your strength. You would have been far away if that's what you wanted."

No, Riddle wasn't right. Harry had his reasons. He didn't have a wand, and he wanted to help. He couldn't have just left without a wand or when those psychos were attacking innocent people. He shook his head in denial.

"It's not right," he tried. "I can't... I shouldn't stay here and continue this lie."

Riddle leaned in closer, and Harry felt his cool, icy scent that reminded him of the crystalline chill of a winter's eve or the frosty kiss of a snowflake on his skin.

"Then tell me that you want me to keep you here," he murmured. "Tell me to make you stay. If I am forcing you, you have no choice, right? You can't feel guilty about it if you have to stay here with me."

"I don't want to play that game," Harry shook his head.

"Then don't," Tom pressed his lips against Harry's bare neck. "Don't play any games. Be honest with yourself and stay here with me. Let me know you. Let me learn everything about you. The real you."

Harry's heart squeezed in his chest. Tom Riddle was coaxing him so smoothly, drawing him in and leading him down a path he wanted to follow. It was strange how strongly Harry felt the pull, almost as if he was losing control of his own thoughts. It was insane how much he wanted to give in. Harry was mental.

"And your husband," he asked. "The one who died. You are going to just pretend that he never existed, that he didn't die."

"I will find whoever is responsible for his death," Tom said. "You should help me with it. Help me catch whoever hurt him."

"Tom," Harry said, using the man's name and it felt so foreign coming from his lips. "None of this is right."

"Darling, there is no right and wrong in this world. We simply assign labels of right and wrong to things and sometimes it is arbitrary. And I'm telling you, it feels right for you to stay with me."

"Okay," he murmured, feeling defeated. "I will stay to help you find your husband's killer."

Tom nodded, brushing back his hair.

"Are you feeling okay? Does it hurt anywhere?" He asked.

"I am fine," Harry said. "Feeling just a little bit groggy. I wouldn't mind some tea now."

"There are no house elves here," Tom said, and then as if remembering that this was no longer his old husband, got up. "There might be some tea in the kitchen. I do not keep much food here because I don't stay here often."

Harry got up again, and Tom helped him up.

"That's fine," Harry said. "I can make tea. Just take me to the kitchen."

"That's the last thing I have ever expected to hear from your lips," Tom said amused.

"You do know I am not your husband, right," Harry said, shaking his head as Riddle helped him to the kitchen. The flat was very small. It seemed to have a small bedroom, a living room with barely any space and a cramped kitchen. There were books everywhere, even on the kitchen table.

"Could have fooled me," Riddle laughed.

"Do you want tea?" Harry asked, going through cabinets and pulling out cups, a teapot and a kettle.

"Yes, thank you, darling," Tom said, sitting by the table, pushing away the stacks of books.

"Can you not call me that?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. "Now that you know."

"Not call you what? Darling?" Tom asked. "Of course, baby. If you prefer something else."

"Whatever," Harry shook his head and went through Tom's fridge, trying to find something edible.

"Why did you do it?" Tom asked suddenly. "You know the ritual for the travel to other worlds. You must have known how dangerous it was that you could have died."

Harry opened the packet of flour and turned his head to look at Tom. Did he think that Harry travelled here intentionally?

"It was an accident. I didn't intend to come here or anywhere for that matter," he said, continuing to go through various ingredients and grabbed a few eggs.

"We knew each other in your world," Tom stated, tilting his head to look at Harry.

Harry grimaced. He didn't want to think about the monster who killed him and his friends.

"Yes," he sighed, whipping eggs in a bowl. "You could say that."

"Did I die in your world?"

"Die? Why would you think that?"

"Clearly, you knew me. When you saw me on that morning after the Ministry party, I remember that you were surprised to see me for some reason as if seeing me hurt you. I can tell that you are feeling guilty about this all because you know I am not the one from your world," Tom said, staring at Harry.

Harry had no idea about Voldemort. He doubted any spells had hit him. The monster probably destroyed the rest of Harry's world.

"I don't know if you died. It all happened too fast," he confessed, not wanting to elaborate.

"What was I like in your world?" Tom asked.

Harry stared at him confused and grimaced. He was showing too much interest in Harry's original world.

"Well, you were different," he said softly. Tom's eyes remained curious. He looked very handsome, and Harry had to look away so he wouldn't stare. "Very different."

"You must have loved me very much," Tom said, making Harry's eyes bulge. He coughed and sputtered.

"What? Why would you say that?" Harry asked, trying to get back his composure.

Why the fuck would Tom come to such an absurd conclusion?

"You clearly loved me enough in your world to marry me," Tom declared.

Harry dropped the spoon he was holding and went down in panic to grab it. What in the bloody hell was he talking about?

"You think we were married?" he asked carefully, washing the dirty spoon in the sink, trying to ignore the way Tom stared at him, cataloguing his every move, every gesture.

"Yes, I can tell that you and I were married in your world too. But we must have loved each other very much since marriage was sealed with the most ancient rite, a soul bond. I felt it before you passed out. It connected with me, the part of my soul that is still attached to yours."

Fuck! He must have sensed the piece of Voldemort's soul inside Harry.

"We weren't married," Harry said.

"But the soul bond..." Tom started.

"It was accidental," Harry hurried to say. "I don't think he intended for that to happen."

"You can't give someone a piece of your soul accidentally," Tom argued.

Harry flipped the pancakes in the pan and looked away from Tom. It wasn't a good idea to discuss Horcruxes with the man lest he gets the idea of making them.

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. Aren't you supposed to meet my father?" Harry asked, trying to change the topic.

Tom watched him for a second and nodded. He got up and walked up to Harry, standing behind him as Harry poured a ladle full of the pancake batter into the hot pan. He wrapped his arms around Harry and lowered his head.

"I understand that there is something more there," he murmured. "But I can wait until you want to talk about it. As for your father, baby, I will meet him later. I have already sent him an owl, and my people at the ministry are aware of the abduction. They will brief your father if necessary.

"Merlin, that man is insufferable," Harry said, moving around so he could grab the sugar pot, but he froze when he came face to face with Tom. Tom smiled at him. His face heated up, and he shifted about panicked and then pointed at the pot on the table and stammered. "I just need the sugar, sorry."

Tom stepped aside, letting Harry grab the sugar jar.

"Your father was different in your world?"

"My parents were killed when I was an infant in my world," Harry said, as he started setting up the pancakes on a plate and sprinkling the powdered sugar between the layers. "I didn't really know them, but they definitely were not like whatever they are here."

"I am sorry," Tom said, and Harry sighed.

"That was a long time ago," he said, pouring tea into the cup and placing it in front of Tom. "Sugar with your tea?"

"No, thank you," Tom smiled, sitting down. He took a small sip of tea and had a bite from the pancakes, and his eyes widened. "You are a good cook."

"Growing up alone with abusive Muggles around can make you learn a thing or two," Harry said with a smirk, remembering that's exactly what Tom said about his knowledge of healing spells. Tom stared at him, fork tightly pressed between his fingers and eyes wide.

"You were raised by Muggles?" he asked. "Why? Your family didn't take you in you after your parents passed away?"

"My grandparents were dead. My Godfather was in prison, and my mum's Muggle sister and her husband who raised me really hated magic."

"I think you were meant to come here so I could meet you," Tom said. "You and I are very alike."

Harry laughed and shook his head, drinking his tea as he wondered if he should tell Tom that Tom's counterpart in his world tried to kill him since infancy. The travel was a fluke fuelled by the Horcrux inside Harry. It wasn't some fate-given gift.

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Tom knew that Harry was not telling him the whole truth. He was sure that Harry and he were bonded in Harry's world, whatever had happened between the two, his other self had given Harry a piece of his own soul, and even though it was strangely imbued with dark magic, Tom could feel it attached and nurtured into Harry's soul.

He refrained from pushing the issue any further. It was evident that memories from the past world caused Harry pain. Tom was determined to keep this Harry—the kind, sweet, brave, and smart one. Tom could feel something flutter and freeze inside his mind when thinking about Harry.

The issue with Grindelwald's spawn needed to be resolved. Now that he knew the truth about Harry, Tom was more than excited to witness Gellert trying to put his hands on Tom's husband. He wanted to be there just to see Harry hex the bastard. Tom was going to crush this little stunt the idiot was pulling. Even his uncle and daddy wouldn't be able to save him. Gellert should have known better than to attack him.

"Tom," Harry called softly.

"Yes, darling," he said, turning back to face Harry, who had just freshly showered in his Muggle flat, and his hair was still wet and clinging to his pretty face. He was perfect now.

"Where did you put my clothes?" he asked awkwardly, wrestling with the towel.

"Here," Tom walked into the small bedroom and pulled the wardrobe open. "You want to go home? I can take you there, and you can properly relax."

"No," Harry took the clothes and started putting them on, anxiously shifting his body when Tom stared at him. "I was thinking of coming with you to the Ministry. You know I think the other Harry was poisoned. Dobby said in the morning of me waking up here that I could barely stand on my feet and was drunk. He told me you had to carry me home. It sounds strange that after that the other Harry just died. I think he might have consumed something more than just alcohol."

"Malfoy said he saw Nott putting something in your drink," Tom said, nodding in agreement. It didn't seem Harry's theory of poisoning was too far off. "I was going to check the tapes for the Ministry party, but with everything that has happened recently, I didn't really have the time."

"Would it be alright if I came with you and took a look at them?" Harry asked, casting drying spells on his hair. He was so fucking pretty. Tom got distracted for a second, and now that Harry wasn't the spoiled, rotten airhead, Tom felt unable to hold himself from admiring his pretty face. "We agreed that we would be looking for Harry's killer."

"Yes, of course," Tom nodded. "It's a good idea and a good place to start."

"Great then," Harry smiled. "We can go now if you are ready."

"Before we leave, Harry, I want to remind you that for the public, you are still my husband, and they need to think that we have a very good, close relationship," Tom told him, holding Harry's hand. "I hope you understand that you need to act like my husband in public. I can't afford another scandal or speculations after the Skeeter article incident."

"Oh," Harry's cheeks turned red. "Sure, I understand. Don't worry."

"Perfect then," Tom grinned at Harry and apparated them.

They landed in the Atrium. Harry seemed to be more used to the constant staring and ogling and didn't pay attention to anyone. They walked together to the lift so they could go down to level one where Tom's office was located. There were so many photographers still lurking in the ministry after the morning press conference, and they seemed like still hungry for more photos of Harry.

"Your wand, darling," Tom handed Harry his wand. Harry rolled his eyes at the endearment but took the wand.

The photographers kept a proper distance from them but kept snapping pictures. Tom wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him close. Harry tried to move away instinctively but Tom tilted his head and whispered into his ear. "Perfect, loving husbands, remember?"

"You are going to milk that, aren't you?" Harry grumbled, relaxing in his hold, and Tom smirked.

"Who can blame me?" he asked. "You are exquisite inside and out."

He would woo this Harry, make him his. Tom just knew that Harry felt something for him, but he needed convincing, coaxing, and Tom was very patient.

They stepped into the lift, and as soon as the doors opened, Tom glared at two ministry workers, prompting them to press against the corners of the lift. He looked down at Harry, playing with his soft hair and smiling at him while Harry glared at Tom, annoyed. He loved his expression—the barely restrained rage, the scrunched-up nose. He wanted to do things to annoy Harry just to see that expression on his face.

"You weren't this handsy before," Harry complained. "I recall, Minister, you couldn't stand to be in my proximity. I doubt people expect you to carry me around in your arms."

"I think it was a mistake, Harry," Tom said, grinning. "It's best to show everyone that we are stronger than ever."

He leaned down and kissed the top of Harry's head, taking in the scent of snowdrops and magic that Harry carried everywhere with him. When the doors opened, the men ran outside as if someone had set them on fire, and Tom nearly laughed, realising that they had never seen the Minister to be that intimate with his husband.

When they walked into Tom's office, James Potter was already waiting inside, and it seemed his secretary had brought the man coffee as he was glaring at the morning paper and sipping from the cup.

"Tom," the man stood up as soon as they entered. "Harry, baby, are you okay? I have received your owl, Tom. This is preposterous. One attack after another. Perhaps, we should get Harry a bodyguard."

"I wouldn't trust anyone but myself to protect Harry, Sir," Tom said politely, pulling Harry back into his arms and kissing Harry's hand. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, but kept playing his part. "Which is why I will have him come with me to the Ministry. I don't want him to stay alone until we have the issue with these scoundrels sorted."

"That's an excellent idea," James agreed, staring a little puzzled by Tom's overly enthusiastic kisses on Harry's knuckles. "Are you both fine? No injuries?"

"We are fine," Harry nodded. "Tom might be the Minister, but he sure doesn't duel like one."

Tom squeezed Harry's hand in warning but smiled regardless. It seemed Harry knew that most ministers in office were terrible fighters.

"Great," James sighed, sounding relieved. "I haven't told your mother about the newest attempt at abducting you, baby. You know she would worry. Keep yourself safe and listen to Tom."

Tom didn't need to glance at Harry to see his annoyed expression.

"And Tom," James turned to him, grabbing the newspaper. "What kind of rubbish is Skeeter printing again? This nonsense might hurt you politically. You should control the narrative, not let this vulgar woman turn your private life into a cesspool of cheap gossip. Though, I do think children would be a good idea."

"He is insufferable," Harry whispered, leaning closer to Tom just so his father wouldn't hear him.

Tom couldn't hold his laughter. "Of course, Sir," he smiled, exhaling sharply. "I have already taken care of the Prophet. Starting next week, the chief editor will be Colin Creevey, and he has been a fervent supporter of mine. He should be able to manage all of our current issues with Skeeter."

"Great," Potter said, throwing the paper back on Tom's desk and walking up to them. "Please come to our house in the evening; we have things still to discuss regarding the Council, and I do not wish to hold you back from your ministerial duties any further, Tom. Lily wants to see you both."

He patted Tom's back, but hugged Harry, lifting him off his feet to Harry's horror. "Don't get in trouble, baby," he told Harry. "I am going to have a heart attack one of these days."

He kissed Harry's forehead and headed to leave.

"I will see you off, Sir," Tom hurried to open the door for his father-in-law.

Keeping the man appeased was a monumental task, but not having to worry about his brat anymore was like a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was callous to feel that way, but seeing what his husband could have been, how perfect he could have been, and having a taste of that perfection made Tom unconcerned about anything else but the aim to keep this Harry with him, by his side.

He saw the man off and returned to his office, calling his secretary inside. She came in a hurry and stared at Harry with apprehension.

"Ms Granger, could you please request the tapes for the ministry party?"

"The charity ball?" She asked. "That is set in two weeks, Mr Riddle. What kind of tapes do you want for it?"

"No, I meant the tapes from the party last week," Tom clarified. "Please have the Ministry security retrieve the tapes and bring them to my office."

"Of course, Sir," she nodded and then turned to Harry. "Mr Potter, would you like anything to drink? Coffee perhaps?"

"I am fine, Hermione," Harry smiled. "And just call me, Harry."

She nodded, confused and left the room, closing the door behind her. "I was very good friends with her at Hogwarts in my world. She was like a sister to me," Harry said wistfully. "She seems to hate me here."

"Ms Granger is a reasonable woman. She will see you are different, and you might be able to rebuild your friendship here with her," Tom said. He was hoping Harry would connect with others here so he wouldn't leave.

"You think I should live the other Harry's life?"

"I think you should live your life," Tom said softly. "The old Harry would have never made friends with her. But you should if you want to. Harry, you being here is a gift. It's a gift to you from magic, and magic doesn't just give away gifts for no reason. You should not reject it."

"Thank you, Tom," Harry said. Tom stepped closer and hugged him. He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on Harry's lips. "There is no one here."

"I know," Tom smiled.

Chapter Text

"Protego!" Harry cried out as the spell cast by Tom collided with the shield and fractured like it was made of physical glass. The crystalline fragments of magic tumbled down the shimmering barrier and scattered across the lush, verdant grass. "Colloshoo."

"Really, Harry?" Tom laughed, fluidly stepping aside and avoiding the hex. A glimmer of mirth danced in his grey eyes. They looked so strange and lifeless, the pale, somber hue of his irises making his eyes even more striking. Harry still couldn't get used to them—he struggled to reconcile the eyes that stared back at him with those he recalled from his memories. Something was almost eerily unnatural about them, unsettling and yet so beautiful.

Before Tom could open his mouth and ridicule his choice of hex, Harry waved his wand and sent an Expulso Curse at Tom.

Smug bastard! See how he liked that now!

Tom's eyes lit up, and he smirked, excited. With a quick wave of his wand, he configured the air particles into a solid mass, and when the blue light of Expulso clashed against it, the configured mass floating in the air absorbed the blasting curse and evaporated as if it had never existed.

He launched a series of swift hexes at Harry, seeking to catch him off guard. But Harry seemed to get a thrill out of deflecting his attacks; he parried each spell with ease, his own magic flowing smoothly in response. Despite the intensity of the duel, Tom was an excellent opponent, and Harry found himself enjoying sparring with him.

It had been two weeks since he had confessed the truth, and surprisingly, time had flown by easier than he thought it would. He was sure that Tom would have a lot of questions to ask about his world, but to his surprise, Tom didn't really question him. If Harry didn't know better, he would think that the man was being considerate and wanted him to have space. The few questions Tom did ask seemed almost innocent and were about Harry himself, not Voldemort or the wizarding world. Harry thought Tom would be more interested in knowing things about himself in his world, but instead, Tom was being strangely accommodating. He would even let Harry be if, for whatever reason, Harry avoided answering his questions.

So, Harry had spent his time concentrated on finding out more about the circumstances of the other Harry's death. Visiting the Ministry every day with Tom was almost fun. Tom had set up a small desk inside his own office where Harry was meticulously going through the tapes of the Ministry ball and reading up on the newspapers from the archives about the other Harry, building a case and a list of potential suspects.

A lot of people hated Harry. And just as many had grudges against him. His counterpart only looked like a piece of sunshine.

"Exorior Ignis Irae," Harry murmured, and a bright, luminescent light flowed from the tip of his wand. A swirling vortex of flames coalesced into a massive, fiery entity. It appeared before him, a towering, humanoid figure with skin made of living flames that crackled and danced with energy. Its eyes glowed like hot coals, and its very presence seemed to draw the air around it into a vortex of heat.

Tom stared at the conjuration with curiosity, his wand up in a defensive mode as he regarded it.

"Oppugno," Harry muttered with a smirk on his face.

Tom's eyes narrowed as the fire wraith Harry conjured attacked him, sending blasts of fire his way and charging towards him. Harry watched Tom move quickly, casting protective shields. Tom's arms were bare; he had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, tucked into his elegant black suit trousers. His body was so fast despite his impressive height, and he looked so good in his well-tailored clothes.

Fuck, he looked so bloody hot! Harry's cheeks turned red. What the hell was he drooling over this guy for all of a sudden?

"Aguamenti!" Tom sent a blast of water against the walking fire wraith, bringing it to its knees. "You are very skilled. Were you an Auror, Harry?"

"Um... no," Harry said, eyes wide as he suddenly realised that Tom noticed the way he was staring at him.

"Hit wizard then?" A quick succession of water spells and slicing hexes drowned the conjuration. "You duel in a way that I have never seen before. I can tell that you have experience."

"Not a hit wizard either," Harry gulped and jumped aside when Tom hit him with an unknown spell.

"Now I am more curious," Tom smiled, skillfully avoiding the curse Harry cast in response. "And you need to teach me that spell that makes your conjurations attack. That seems very handy. Did you have to create a lot of diversions?"

"The Oppugno Jynx?" Harry asked, confused. "How don't you know that jynx?"

"I haven't seen it used before you," Tom said as they continued duelling. "I suppose there are some differences between the world you lived in and this one."

Harry nodded. That seemed logical. The attack jynx was very useful when dealing with snatchers. He had used it multiple times by conjuring birds, ferrets, badgers and just having them attack those bloody bastards. It created enough confusion and chaos that he always managed to get away.

The early rays of sunlight illuminated the gardens with a warm orange hue. Harry yawned as he continued duelling with Tom. In recent weeks, he hadn't woken up so early. Today was an exception because he told Tom he wanted to go to the Ministry with him to avoid having to deal with Ministry workers gawking at him as they accompanied him to Tom's office.

Tom had woken him up and then convinced him to have a duel in the gardens. He really liked duelling with Harry for some reason.

"Incendio!" A jet of fire was conjured, and Tom directed it at Harry; Harry jumped away, and the fire burned the lush grass on the ground. The earthy, pungent scent of burnt grass wafted into the air, carrying with them the released volatile organic compounds.

"That wasn't nice, Tom," Harry complained, making Tom smile amused.

"I didn't know you wanted me to be nice," he said, casting another hex, making Harry raise up protective shields.

"I didn't know you could be nice," Harry snarked.

"Oh, I can be nice, Harry," Tom whispered. "I am not sure you want me nice though."

"Why? Did I come with broken and damaged, do not treat nicely tags?" Harry cast a Jelly-Fingers Curse.

"No," Tom smiled, deflecting the spell easily. "If I were nice to you, you'd get bored."

"Wow, Tom! Thank you for trying to keep things interesting here then," Harry rolled his eyes. "What would I do if I wasn't trying to fight for my life constantly?"

"Oh, so there are some things you share with my dead Alluran husband, huh?" Tom laughed as he summoned a swarm of tiny, razor-sharp shadowy tendrils that attached themselves to Harry. Harry felt how they started to slowly drain his vitality and suffocate him. "Just as dramatic!"

He would have rolled his eyes at Tom's amusement if he hadn't felt a strange dread at the way the man found humour despite his husband being killed and the perpetrator still not being caught. Harry's magic went wild, and the dark tendrils eating at his energy were torn to pieces and dispersed by the bright light stemming from his entire body.

"And that's where the similarity ends," Tom said, watching mesmerised. "You are perfect! Your magic is so pure, and there is so much strength in you."

Harry glared at Tom. There was almost childlike mirth in his eyes. This elegantly dressed, perfect man who commanded respect with his mere presence was staring at Harry like a boy who had discovered magic for the first time.

"Master Harry, Master Tom," Dobby popped right into the middle of the duel, making the two wizards stop. "Breakfast is ready."

"Thank you, Dobby," Tom said, putting his wand in his holster and walking towards Harry. "We will be in a moment."

The elf glanced at Harry with curiosity and then vanished.

"Were you a rebel, Harry?" Harry turned his head to Tom abruptly, having not realised that he had managed to cross the distance between them and was standing in front of him, peering at him with his inquisitive eyes. "Some kind of fighter for hire? You are very skilled. I can see the experience in your movements."

"I was just a soldier, Tom," Harry said, not wanting to create unnecessary assumptions in the man's head that could lead to more problems in the future. "There was a war in my world. Some psychopath was trying to kill me because of a stupid prophecy."

"Psychopath?" Tom brought his hand to brush against the side of Harry's hand that was slightly bruised as he started healing it. "Who was it? Do they exist here?"

"Er... um, it doesn't matter," Harry cleared his throat and looked at the ground where the grass was burnt because of Tom's spell. "Look, you've burnt the grass. It now looks like an ugly patch in all these pretty green lawns."

"Hmm," Tom moved around to look at where Harry was pointing at. "Do you want me to show you something amazing, darling?"

Harry looked at Tom suspiciously. He was already used to Tom calling him his favourite pet names and knew he needed to pick his battles.

"Show me what?" he asked.

Tom unfastened the snake-shaped tie pin from his tie, grabbed Harry's hand, and to Harry's horror, pricked his finger. Blood dripped onto the burnt ground.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Harry screamed, trying to pull back his hand but Tom reached out and held Harry by the waist not allowing him to move away. He smiled, delighted, as he healed the tiny wound.

"Oh, I won't ever hurt you, Harry," he said, laughing and looking pleased with himself. "It was just a tiny prick. I have healed it and can make it better too if it hurts."

He tilted his head and kissed Harry's finger. Harry stared wide-eyed and tried to move away his hand, but Tom only tightened his grip on him as if Harry were a disobedient little kitten trying to escape the warmth and security of the nest.

"All better?" he whispered into Harry's ear.

"What was that for?" Harry demanded, deciding to just relax because once Riddle obsessed over holding him, there was no reasoning with him. This man was unhinged even if all the marbles were where they were supposed to be. Oh well!

"Let your magic flow," Tom told him, pointing at the ground. "It doesn't need to be any particular spell. Just a twirl of tiny magic."

Harry sighed and let his magic seep out from his wand onto the ground. Once the light hit the soil, the droplet of Harry's blood melted into the dirt, suddenly crackling and then flowers bloomed where the ground was tortured and bare. Harry stared astonished, his mouth open and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"How?"

"I take it you really don't know anything about Alluran blood," Tom smiled. "You don't have any lurnes in your world?"

"Not that I am aware of," Harry sighed, bending down to pick a flower to examine. It was pretty, a kind of flower Harry had never seen before, and it had a soft, comforting, sweet smell. "What else can I do other than make flowers with my blood and apparently have children? Anything more useful I can use in combat?"

Tom laughed at Harry's annoyed expression.

"Harry, darling," he said, gently stroking Harry's cheek. "Your blood isn't letting you grow flowers and babies. It lets you grow anything. You could start a literal army of monsters. Except, thankfully, the brat previously occupying that body had no interest in world destruction, although I wouldn't be surprised if his lover was. Old Harry didn't have the talent to do it, which must have been a blessing the wizarding world didn't know it had."

"Wait, grow monsters as in to birth them? Why would I or... er... old Harry for that matter do something so disgusting... Merlin, just the thought..."

Tom laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" Harry demanded. "The whole idea is so gross. I wouldn't be surprised if old Harry, as you call him, actually killed himself because of it."

"I don't know if I should pretend that your conclusions are true and let you suffer your imagination or be a nice husband and tell you the truth," Tom smirked.

Calling himself Harry's husband was a bit too much. Harry didn't know why Tom insisted on pretending when it was just the two of them with no outside eyes, watching them.

"Darling, you don't birth monsters; your magic grows them," he said. "Outside of you. It's like casting a Patronus charm, but Patronus isn't physical, not unless some powerful magic is involved to make it take its final form. No, you can create physical monsters that can reproduce on their own."

"Wait, can I also create human babies like that too?" Harry asked suddenly curious and confused.

"Why? Do you want to grow one in a cabbage patch?" Tom joked. "No, darling. Humans can not grow outside the human body. If you tried, you'd create a wraith or a soulless changeling. It won't be a child. That one you'd need to let grow inside you."

"Sounds like a horrific nightmare," Harry said, feeling cold shivers run down his spine just at the mere thought. Tom only laughed, brushing back Harry's hair off his forehead.

"Let's go have breakfast," he said. "Your house elf would be offended if you let the food he'd made go cold. We need to leave for the Ministry. I have an early Wizengamot session today. You can come with me and work in my office or if you are feeling adventurous, you can just sit in for the session."

"Sit there and do what?" Harry snorted.

"Just sit there and look pretty," Tom said. "Maybe one of these pureblood bastards will look at you long enough that I will have a reason to challenge them to a duel till death."

"That's not a thing?" Harry said, walking along with Tom towards the entrance. "That's not a thing, right?"

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Tom held Harry close, his arm wrapped around Harry's back, his hand resting on his hip as they walked down the Atrium. Normally, he came to work alone, since Harry was always asleep early in the mornings, and he didn't wish to wake him up. The crowd of people passing by stared at them with unconcealed curiosity.

The journalists waiting in the Atrium started taking pictures, and Tom had to pull Harry closer to avoid losing him in the crowd.

"Minister Riddle," a woman Tom didn't recognise from a clearly unknown publication started chasing them. "Do you have a comment on the recent barbaric attack on a pureblood family committed by a Muggle-born wizard? What would be the Ministry's response to the lax regulations allowing Muggle-born wizards not to specify their blood status when seeking employment?"

Harry shifted in his arms and tilted his head to glare at the woman as they continued moving forward. Tom didn't slow down and kept walking. He was already used to the usual provocatory line of questioning. It was one thing or another every other day. And now that Rita Skeeter and the entire editorial team had been fired from the Daily Prophet, they would most certainly try to create alternative routes for spreading their anti-Muggle propaganda generously sponsored by Gellert Grindelwald and his supporters.

"Mr Potter-Riddle," the woman wouldn't stop as she rushed after them, holding her quill and parchment and an enchanted floating camera. "In recent weeks you have been photographed wearing Muggle-inspired fashion outfits that have suddenly become extremely popular among pureblood fashionistas. Are you trying to influence the public by whitewashing your husband's pro-Muggle-born policies?"

Harry's movements became slower, and Tom had to put more force into dragging him away or his new and improved husband would definitely curse this woman in the middle of the Ministry.

"Are you aware of your influence on the public, Mr Potter-Riddle? How can you contribute to such Muggle-born propaganda being spread, being a pureblood yourself, when these people come into our world and wreak havoc? Of course, not all of them, but there should be rules, and you are willingly deceiving the public who trust you and your family."

"Merlin, can you shut up!" Harry told her, rolling his eyes. "I don't know your blood status, but I can smell the status of your hygiene, and I would prefer if you kept your distance, you fascist loser. Go cry some more, preferably under a shower."

A small smirk curled the corners of Tom's lips as he turned his head to look at the way the woman turned red and fumed, flailing her hands in disbelief.

"Thank Merlin and Morgana for Muggle indoor plumbing, or you'd be vanishing your excrement into the unknown. Although I am not sure you're using Muggle indoor plumbing since you seem to hate them so much. But that explains the assault you have just inflicted against my olfactory senses," Harry was being so rude, and Tom couldn't help but enjoy it.

"Mr Potter," the woman screamed after them as they reached the lift, and the attendant held the door open for them. "How dare you! How dare you mock me instead of answering me when there is a mother whose child has been hurt and another kidnapped by those so-called Muggle-borns!"

They stepped into the lift, and the attendant closed the doors before the woman could follow them. Tom pressed his lips into a thin line. This was a disaster.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

"Just the usual nonsense," Tom sighed. "Don't worry about it."

The attendant stared at Harry, and Tom felt a burst of irritation. He moved to stand in front of Harry and glared at the man. The old wizard inclined his head as if in apology and moved away from them. Harry hadn't noticed the exchange, and Tom tightened his jaw as he wrapped his arms around his husband. The last few weeks had been exciting. He had never in his life waited for afternoons, but now he did, as Harry always came to the Ministry during lunch and brought him coffee from a Muggle shop and some sweets from a bakery. They had lunch together in his office and sometimes outside in the Ministry gardens.

Tom had all the intentions of convincing Harry to stay, and things were going splendidly. Harry liked duelling with him and having lunch while they discussed different duelling techniques. He got sad at times, and Tom was sure he was thinking of his own world and something told Tom that Harry missed his friends, but Tom had a plan for that too. He just needed to make new ones, and when he did, he wouldn't just abandon them, would he now?

He wanted Harry. He wanted him for himself, and he was never one for rules and playing fair. The possibility of a wizard being able to travel through worlds into a particular one was so slim, so tiny, that the fact that Harry did only meant that Fate herself wanted them together. He was Fate's gift to Tom for all his prayers to the ancient magic when he was a child, and for when he begged for the hollow feeling inside him to go away.

Harry was what could fill that void, that strange emptiness.

The lift doors opened, and they stepped out together. When he stepped into his office, his secretary was already there at his desk, sorting out stacks of paper.

"Mr Ridd—" she paused when she noticed Harry and cleared her throat, moving away in discomfort. "Um... I have everything ready here."

Tom turned his head to look at his pretty husband. Harry looked at Ms Granger with barely contained sadness, almost like a kitten who had been denied a belly rub. Tom nodded and gestured for her to proceed.

"Today's session will begin with the introduction of the newly appointed head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department, Jeremy Peasegood, at 8:00 AM," she said, placing the stacks of paper in front of Tom as he sat down. "You are scheduled to make a statement on the current state of the economy and recent budgetary decisions during the Ministerial Statements segment, starting at 8:15 PM; here is the budget report."

Tom grabbed the papers, gave them a cursory glance and nodded. Ms Granger was anything but unorganised.

"After your statement, we have two private members' bills up for discussion. Mrs Amelia Bones will introduce Bill WG-2002-06, an act to reduce potion-making waste and subsequent disposal into muggle waters, and Mr Gilbert Wimple will introduce Bill WG-2002-06A, an act to establish a framework for the development and regulation of experimental magic and licensing for practitioners of dark arts."

Tom stared at the proposals but his attention snapped towards the door when it opened and his advisory staff entered along with Senior Undersecretary Barty Crouch Jr. Tom hid his grimace when he spotted the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Draco Malfoy. They greeted him politely and Tom responded with a quick nod, his attention back to the paperwork on his desk as he checked his watch.

"Following the private members' bills, the Wizengamot will present its proposal for a new trade agreement with the French Ministry. Debate will begin on this proposal, which is expected to be a key topic of discussion," Granger handed him the parchments for the proposal.

"Perfect," Tom's eyes snapped to Malfoy going through the shelf in his office where Tom had bottles of wine and firewhiskey and tea. He narrowed his eyes confused by what this moron was doing.

"Mr Riddle, public opinion on having an orphanage for magical children has shifted; in our recent polling, the approval ratings have increased dramatically. We should be able to resume the construction again this coming week, and there are several calls to our office from private citizens willing to contribute financially," Lestrange, his senior advisor informed him, placing polling reports in front of him.

"Perfect," Tom said. "Have our office release an updated statement on this matter. Also, we are going to need to postpone the Ministry charity ball given the recent incidents. Make sure the administrative office sends the updated invitations."

"Are you sure you want to postpone the ball?" Lestrange asked.

"Yes, it would be in bad taste if we proceed with the event as scheduled when many got injured during the orphanage opening incident. Even if the ball is delayed by a few days, the message sent is more important," Tom told him.

Malfoy's brat was making too much noise, clinking cups together as he was pouring tea and adding sugar to the cup and stirring loudly. Couldn't this bastard have his tea on his own time and not in Tom's bloody office! He wanted to fire Malfoy so badly.

"Sir," Rabastan moved about awkwardly. "You will need to have a press release to comment on the recent attack on the Smith family."

Tom closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

The men in the room looked at each other as if unwilling to break the news.

"It is... a quite delicate situation," Rabastan started.

"It's bad," Barty interrupted the other man. "Kevin Entwhistle, a Muggle-born wizard, employed by the Smith family, went absolutely bonkers and well..."

Barty placed the Daily Prophet in front of Tom. Tom stared at the photo taken from the scene—the destroyed house, the little child crying and holding his torn-apart arm and the Smiths' hysterical faces, twisted with fear and despair.

"Mr Creevey had them release as nuanced and neutral an article about this incident as possible," Rabastan said. "But the situation with the missing child and the grieving family has the public absolutely enraged."

"How is the search going? Does the Auror department have any progress?" Tom asked, staring at Malfoy, who was ignoring him completely and trying to convince Harry to have the tea he had made. "Mr Malfoy?"

The incompetent idiot turned around abruptly.

"Er... Yes, Minister," he said, leaning down to hand the cup of tea to Harry, who looked irritated but took it. "We haven't received any reports from the squad yet, but the Head Auror is personally overseeing the search. They must be outside the Floo network to be able to send proper updates."

Tom was tired of this. He was constantly trying to keep hold of all the stupid pieces and some insane unhinged bastard could simply ruin everything. Entwhistle's face would be on the front page every newspaper and his name on every radio channel, but instead of being presented as the lunatic that he was, they were going to emphasise his blood status, and Tom would need to control the narrative before it went out of control.

"After the Wizengamot session, schedule an advisory statement release to the press and organise a meeting with the family, Rabastan. Make sure we have a media presence. People need to know that Ministry is taking these matters seriously, and the criminals will be punished regardless of what some of these blood purists claim," he said.

"Maybe, I could help?" Harry's voice, soft and delicate, grabbed everyone's attention. "I could go look for the missing child."

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Malfoy screamed. "You know how dangerous it is?"

"I could go with Hermione," Harry said, pointing at Tom's baffled secretary.

"As if taking a glorified filing clerk with you is somehow better," Malfoy screamed, making Harry grimace and look pointedly at Tom.

"Mr Malfoy," Tom narrowed his eyes at the blonde. "Please refrain from raising your voice unnecessarily in my office."

Malfoy shut his mouth but kept staring at his cousin.

"That said, thank you, Harry, for your concern, but it would not be proper if two civilians were conducting any unofficial Auroral investigation," he told his pretty husband.

Harry clenched the teacup in his palm and looked almost like he was pouting. His secretary, on the other hand, looked alarmed at the sudden suggestion and seemed almost grateful that Malfoy protested. Tom turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.

"Mr Malfoy, please brief me with current information after the Wizengamot session," Tom told Draco, trying to snap his attention away from Harry. He always found Draco's obsession with his cousin a little creepy but never particularly cared to address it. But now that it was directed at this Harry, Tom bristled with annoyance and impatient anger.

The door to his office opened, and Pettigrew stuck his head inside.

"My Lord," he stammered. "The session will start in 5 minutes."

Tom glared at the idiot. He told this moron not to call him that in public when there were so many people around. He sighed, motioning to his men to collect the papers as he checked his watch again. The session was about to start, and he didn't wish to be late. He was punctual and didn't tolerate tardy behaviour at work. People scrambled to collect the necessary paperwork and followed him out.

"Ms Granger," he said, turning back to the witch. "You can stay here and keep my husband company."

He tilted his head to look at his husband. The pretty man perked up at that and looked at Tom's secretary as if waiting for her reaction.

"Um... sir," she rubbed her hands in discomfort, but before she could say anything, Tom turned around and left the room.

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Hermione turned around and looked at the Minister's pretty, pureblood husband. He was so beautiful. One could say many things about this man, but one could never deny his ethereal, superlunary beauty. There was something so cold, and at the same time, so whimsical about his facial features. His eyes were hypnotic; they could hold someone spellbound without any magic.

The first time Hermione had seen Harry Potter was at Hogwarts. He was surrounded by many others who were staring at him in awe, trying to become his friend, but he gave them no attention and seemed completely anxious about the attention he was receiving. Hermione was eager to know more about Harry, having extensively studied about magic when she learned she was a witch and being told that magic came from an ancient witch whose magic was not bound by the rules that others obeyed.

She soon realised that the magical world was far from accepting and didn't want to give a place to people like her, to outsiders. And Harry Potter was the first person to teach her that lesson. The illusion of his beauty shattered, and Hermione hated the little, snobby airhead who considered others beneath him.

She was always nervous around him and didn't really know how to behave as he was the spouse of his boss. Although it was only recently that Harry made frequent visits to his husband.

Hermione chanced a brief glance and saw that Potter was staring at her. It was concerning. She didn't want to be roped into some kind of scandal because the pureblood socialite was bored.

"Would you like..." Hermione cleared her throat, seeing as the man was already holding a cup of tea made by that insufferable bastard Draco Malfoy. "...well, anything to eat? I could perhaps bring you some scones?"

"No, it's fine, Hermione," he said with a smile, making Hermione's stomach twist with worry. "I think Tom has some biscuits in his office from the vending machine."

The man got up and walked to the Minister's desk and started going through the drawers, causing Hermione's blood pressure to rise and her heart rate increase as she didn't know how to politely stop this man from rummaging through what could have been sensitive state documents, not that Mr Riddle would keep them in such easily accessible place, but one could never be too cautious.

"Mr Potter," she started, raising her hands as if to indicate she meant no disrespect. It took very little to make this pretty man lose his mind and start screaming, and she definitely didn't need that kind of scandal today. "Maybe I can go and get you those biscuits from the cafeteria."

"Oh, here they are," Potter laughed and took out a handful of biscuits from the drawer and put them on the desk. "Want some? These are Ron's favourite, but they're not bad."

Ron's? Did he mean the Head Auror Ronald Weasley? Since when was Potter addressing Weasley by name? Surely, he wasn't one of Potter's latest paramours. Hermione's heart almost dropped, imagining it. Weasley didn't seem the type to be so foolish as to sleep with the Minister's husband. It would not only be a career suicide for him, but his life quite literally could end if he was in an adulterous affair with James Potter's son. Hermione liked Weasley, for Merlin's sake.

"Here," she almost fell to the ground as Potter shoved a bunch of wrapped snacks into her hands.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," Hermione moved to the other side of the office, nervously fiddling with the biscuits as she pretended to fix the books on the shelf.

"Just call me Harry," Potter said, continuing to smile at her.

Alarm bells rang in Hermione's head. There was no good reason in the world that this pureblood man would want to suddenly be pleasant to her. Especially when the Minister wasn't around to deal with his hysterics if he inevitably realised that whatever game he was playing, he wouldn't get his way.

Many people found it strange that Harry Potter was married to Tom Riddle, but Hermione didn't see anything strange in it. Perhaps because everyone expected a pureblood wizard like Potter with Alluran blood to marry another pureblood from a well-known wizarding family. Hermione remembered from school that Harry Potter was dating Gellert Grindelwald Jr. So it was a shock to many that Mr Riddle married Potter soon after getting elected.

Perhaps, because to Hermione Tom Riddle didn't come off as an actual Muggle-born wizard. There was just something extremely eerie about the man that many perhaps didn't notice, but Hermione couldn't shrug off the feeling. Riddle's magic was odd, too dark, and there was something in there that Muggle-born witches and wizards didn't have. She was pretty sure that he was either a half-blood or a pureblood. Riddle grew up in an orphanage, and there were no records of his parentage, which supported her suspicions even more.

The thing that many didn't talk about was that pureblood families were in the magic world long enough to carry familial curses. And every half-blood or pureblood had a high likelihood of inheriting the vestiges of these curses. They all had strange traits that they eventually were unable to control, no wonder Muggle-borns always outperformed them, but above all, half-bloods fared better than their pureblood counterparts. Their new blood and genes sometimes helped them fight better against the remnants of curses that their blood carried.

And while the Minister was a picture of perfect manners and charm, there was something about the man's magic that screamed generational insanity and dark arts. She wouldn't be surprised if Riddle was a product of what no one spoke about but people often whispered about—a lot of these Muggle-hating purebloods loved to use magic on Muggles and force them to their will. Hermione had checked her mother's memories once in fear that something might have happened to her too. But thankfully, she was her parents' daughter.

Riddle might have been a Muggle-born wizard on paper but that man was stranger than the purebloods, and Hermione wasn't surprised that he would marry the wizard everyone wanted for themselves. And perhaps, he was the only one capable of controlling this spoiled, self-centered man, which was why she was very nervous to be anywhere near him while his husband was away at the Wizengamot meeting.

"Ron's having all the fun, and we are stuck here staring at the walls," Harry said, inviting Hermione's attention again. "Sorry, it sounds awful when I say it like that. I didn't mean it's fun that a child got kidnapped and another was hurt, just that being an Auror must be fun, yeah?"

"Perhaps," Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. "I didn't ever wish to become an Auror so my opinion might not be the most fair."

"Really?" Potter smiled sweetly. "You'd make a badass Auror."

Hermione blinked at his choice of words and at the fact that she was pretty sure Potter was complimenting her. She turned red and gulped.

"These criminals wouldn't have stood a chance if you were in charge of hunting them down," Potter continued, and Hermione wished she saw deceit and mockery on his face because if she did, her heart wouldn't flutter in her chest like it did now.

She opted to keep her mouth shut as she had no idea what elaborate game he was playing. She glanced at him again, and he was chewing on a sweet snack, his face so pretty that Hermione regretted looking. She heard him sigh, and then he grabbed the newspaper from the Minister's desk and stared at the article on the front page.

Entwhistle's face was plastered all over it, and Aurors were looking for him. Hermione only hoped Smith's little boy was alive. Entwhistle seemed like a normal guy when they were students. Hermione didn't understand why he would do something like that. It was mental.

"Is it me or is that a residue mark on the wallpaper on the right upper corner?" Potter asked, turning the newspaper around and pointing at the animated photo of the crime scene from Daily Prophet.

Hermione turned her head to look at it. There was some kind of mark on the wall, but it could be from anything; she wasn't sure why Potter cared about it. Perhaps, it offended his delicate pureblood sensibilities that the decor in the picture was tainted by the ugly smear on the wall.

"Yes, Mr Potter... uh... Harry," she said. "Do you want the weekly fashion issue? I can fetch it for you."

Potter shook his head and took out his wand. Hermione watched him carefully. She thought he had stopped using his wand a while ago. Perhaps, the Minister had given it back to his husband because of the latest attacks. Still, she needed to be careful or this airhead would burn down the whole Ministry accidentally.

He flicked his wand, and the black and white newspaper image was colourised instantly, and Potter scrunched up his cute little nose, tracing the now purple stain on the wall with his delicate fingers. Hermione narrowed her eyes surprised.

"It's purple," Potter said. "Specifically Tyrian purple like the residue left from Purpura Curse; the Brainworm Curse."

Hermione grabbed the paper and stared. He was right. That was no ordinary stain. Most curses didn't leave stains behind, but Brainworm Curse always did leave a residue because it literally conjured and sent brain-eating worms into someone's brain, and these creatures carried by magic always left glowing purple slime behind.

"The official Auror reports don't have anything about this," Hermione said with panic. "It looks like it was cast at someone who was about 179 centimeters tall based on the smear on the wall. Both Smith and his wife weren't at home at the time of the attack, and there was no one else. The official reports show that Entwhistle's height matches, but that means that..."

The Auror briefing report was still on the Minister's desk. Hermione turned around, grabbed it and started going through it. Harry stepped closer and stood next to her, looking at the reports with her. Hermione felt his sweet, soft scent reach her nose. Potter smelled so good that she blushed by just thinking about it.

"That means there must have been someone else with him there who cast the spell on him, and that someone wanted him to get caught kidnapping and hurting these children," Harry said.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, still in disbelief that Harry Potter of all people would notice such things that trained Aurors missed. "But that's the least of our concerns—Brainworm Curse after 18 hours of being cast ends in violent behaviour like cannibalism. This paper said Entwhistle kidnapped Smith's child around 3 o'clock yesterday. This means he will descend into the final stage of the curse and hurt the child. Whoever cast the spell on him wanted him to do this, and there is only about an hour left."

"We need to find him before he goes insane and eats that child," Potter said. "These worms like cold, humid places like caves. Do you have any maps here so we can locate the closest cave to Smith's house?"

"We don't need a map," Hermione shook her head. "I know where the closest caves are. We need to reach out to the Auror department and let them know."

"Okay," Potter said, deflated, and sat down.

Hermione rushed to contact the Aurors but it seemed they were outside the Floo network range, and there was no response via Wizarding Wireless radio network.

"We need to go ourselves," Potter said, getting up. "The child will die a horrible death and the man will die too since those worms will eventually kill him after he goes insane."

"We can't just go after a crazy man," Hermione argued. "Your husband wouldn't be happy. I could get fired. It's unwise."

She couldn't understand why he wanted to do this. It seemed out of character. Maybe, he just wanted to get Hermione in trouble.

"I will go," the pureblood lurne took out his wand. "There is no time. Please tell me where these caves are."

"You can't go alone," she exclaimed.

"Then come with me."

She bit her lip. This was insanity. She shouldn't consider it. But Potter was already heading for the door and her best option was to go with him to keep him safe.

"We need to leave a note for your husband," she yelled, trying to keep up with him as he headed for the Atrium.

"We will square this issue away even before his meeting is over," Potter said confidently. "No need to waste paper with unnecessary notes."

Hermione's worry and confusion grew as she ran after him, her heels clicking against the marble floors. This could end badly, they could die or worse, she could get fired.

"Mr Potter! Harry," she stepped into the fireplace with him. "This is dangerous."

"Well, then Entwhistle better be prepared," the pretty man said, lifting up his wand.

Hermione closed her eyes, held the man's hand. She couldn't believe that his skin was so smooth and soft to the touch. They transported via the Floo Network in the middle of nowhere. Potter didn't let go of her hand and walked forward, still clutching her fingers as if his life depended on it. Hermione was going to get into so much trouble for endangering this ultimate trophy husband who was probably just entertaining himself with whatever this was.

A blasting spell came flying their way out of nowhere; Potter pulled her aside so fast that Hermione didn't even manage to blink. The spell hit the ground instead and burnt the dry leaves. Another curse was sent their way, and this time Potter blocked it with a shield. What was happening? How was he even so fast?

"Petrificus Totalus!" Potter screamed, immobilising a man rushing towards them.

"Locomotor Mortis," Hermione shouted, tripping another who seemed just as eager to run up to them.

"I think there is a cursed barrier enacted here," Potter said, fingers moving in the air. "Help me dismantle it. I think the caves are behind the barrier."

Hermione couldn't feel anything, but she experimentally sent a burst of magic to where the man was pointing, and the magic shattered against the barrier. How in the world would he feel and know this? What had happened to Potter? It was like he was a totally different man. Surely, the minister wasn't holding him under an Imperius Curse or something, right? Right?

"You bloody fucking fools," the man Hermione had tripped screamed, getting up. "Confringo."

Potter blocked the spell and hit him with a wordless one. Hermione stared completely astonished as the man who was barely able to levitate a feather at Hogwarts and ruined every single potion engaged in a highly technical duel with a crazy dark wizard.

"Hermione, I will cover you. Just undo the barrier and get to the child, please!" Potter told her, continuing to blast the barrage of spells at the other man.

She nodded without being able to articulate her bafflement over what was happening. Turning around, she worked on the barrier undoing the magic holding it in place. It was a very powerful one, but Hermione was very skilled with this type of magic and maybe Potter was partially right. Sometimes, she wished she participated in all the action instead of sitting in the office and writing briefs and preparing paperwork.

"Expelliarmus," Potter shouted, disarming the man and sending another petrifying spell his way. "What a bloody prick! I will tie these two up just in case."

Hermione watched him transfigure grass into ropes and tied the men up like this was something he did every day. No, this was definitely not normal.

The barrier shattered under the strength of Hermione's magic, and she ran forward, her heart beating fast and her throat dry at imagining the possibility that they might be late and the child would have been killed horrifically. The Purpura Curse would have completely altered Entwhistle's sense of reality—once the last stage happened, there was no reversal.

She entered the humid cave, where it smelled almost rotten. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned around to find Potter following her. They heard a cry from a corner and turned towards the sound. Running into the smaller area, they found Entwhistle sitting on the wet floor, his back pressed against the wall of the cave, his wand pointed at the child, his eyes all red and blood dripping from his nose. He was clearly near the end.

Someone wanted a Muggle-born wizard to commit such an atrocious crime that no one in their right mind would even be able to silence the mob of people calling for anti-Muggle-born laws. Their arrival alerted his attention, and he jumped up, holding his wand at them, but Potter disarmed him with ease.

"You need help, Entwhistle," he said. "It looks like you've been cursed, and you're going to die if you're not treated right away. Now, let that child go, and we will help you."

The child looked so scared in the man's hold, his small frame shaking with tears in his eyes.

"No," Entwhistle cried, tightening his hold on the scared boy. "My family will die if I do."

"We don't have time for this," Potter said, and without even using his wand or uttering a spell, levitated the bag sitting behind Entwhistle and smashed it against the man's head. He fell down unconscious.

"We should put a temporal dilation spell on him," Hermione said. "Or he won't make it."

She cast the spell as Potter picked up the scared child and held him in his arms.

"Hey, you're safe. I promise," he told the child. "We will take you to your parents soon."

The child looked completely taken by Potter's appearance and wrapped his tiny arms around Potter's neck and hid his face in the man's chest.

"All done," Hermione said. "Now we need to take him and those two idiots from outside to the Ministry and let the Aurors deal with the rest."

"Thank you, Hermione," Potter said sweetly, making Hermione's heart beat faster.

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Tom normally enjoyed the debate portion of the session, but today some of the Wizengamot members were being particularly belligerent, and he had enough on his mind to entertain any more of their nonsense.

"The proposed trade agreement is a recipe for disaster!" Bones shook her head. "They seek to flood our markets with cheap, subpar magical goods, crushing our own industries and putting hundreds out of work!"

Tom wasn't required to attend the debate or the votes, but he chose to since he was very keen on providing direction and leadership to his government, and he often focused on coordinating cabinet meetings, policy development, and international diplomacy. And especially international diplomacy, considering these morons were ruining the agreements he had managed to make after months of negotiations.

Tom would have to resort to backroom deals. He scanned their faces with a cursory glance, deciding which ones he would need to pressure and which ones would be open for a bit of a quid pro quo, and if everything failed, the threat of retaliation and assured destruction would do the trick.

"Sir," Rabastan Lestrange leaned over to whisper. "Your husband is in the Atrium."

Tom lifted his head to stare at his advisor. He quirked an eyebrow, waiting for an elaboration.

"Not exactly sure but it seems he has raised a ruckus there," Lestrange said, politely inclining his head to gesture at his communicator parchment that kept him updated on the Ministry events as he kept an eye on the log.

Tom clenched his jaw. If this was old Harry, it would be some petty drama, but with the new one, he only hoped the feisty thing didn't curse someone in the middle of Atrium. Tom took a deep breath and steepled his fingers in frustration as he stared at the clock.

"Sir?" Barty murmured. "I could go and see what's happening and show Harry assistance if he is in trouble."

Tom shook his head. He glanced at Remus Lupin, the Chief Warlock, presiding over the Wizengamot session, and when the man looked at him, he subtly waved his head. Remus was a close friend of his father-in-law and was appointed as the Chief Warlock by the Wizengamot by Tom's recommendation after James Potter asked him to.

Lupin wasn't hard to work with, but like his husband Sirius Black, the man seemed to dislike Tom on some level. Remus and Black were Harry's godfathers and despite the brat's incompetence, they somehow thought that Tom didn't deserve Harry. Lupin in a professional capacity was quite supportive of Tom, no doubt because James Potter wanted Tom to succeed.

Lupin grabbed the gavel and stood up.

"Order, order! I think it's time we brought this debate to a close. I am now calling the adjournment of the debate on the 'Trade agreement with the Ministry of Magical Affairs of France' motion. The Wizengamot will adjourn until tomorrow at 2:30 pm."

"Oh no, Mr Chief Warlock! We've only just started discussing the most important part of the motion!" someone protested, making Tom mentally scoff. This wasn't a productive discussion; they were talking in circles and wasting everyone's time. There was a chatter of agreement from some of the others.

"Order!" Lupin slammed the gavel on his desk. "The debate has been ongoing for several hours, and I think it's time we gave Members a break. The Wizengamot will reconvene tomorrow to continue this debate."

There was noise of protest, but some of the more bored members seemed really happy about having a break. Tom got up and motioned for his team to follow. The new Harry had a temper, and Tom hoped he wasn't about to walk into Atrium and find some sleazy bastard's entrails lying on the floor because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

When they reached the Atrium though, the group of people gathered there didn't seem upset, they looked shocked but none of them looked horrified. Barty hurried to open up space for him as he walked through the crowd. As soon as Tom's eyes met Harry's, he paused. Harry stood there in the Atrium, surrounded by all these Ministry workers and a couple of journalists taking pictures. He had the missing child in his arms while Tom's secretary was awkwardly trying to move people away from Entwhistle under a petrification spell—her wand remaining firmly pointed at two others tied up and petrified on the floor.

"That's the Smiths' missing son," Lestrange said, surprised as if Tom needed commentary.

"Minister," Granger spoke awkwardly when she noticed him walking towards them. "Mr Potter... Mr Riddle... I mean Harry... Well, Harry and I found some details on the newspaper, and we weren't able to contact the Aurors, so we went to get the child. Mr Entwhistle is under a Purpura spell and needs medical attention."

Tom stared at the man on the floor and detected a Time-Dilation spell. Purpura? That explained the violence. There were murmurs among the people, and the reporters kept shouting questions that the woman simply ignored.

"These two are definitely responsible," she said, glaring at the petrified men. "They attacked us when we went to save the child."

"Sorry, we couldn't wait," Harry said, patting the child he was holding on the back and not looking sorry at all.

Tom smiled at him, and Harry looked surprised. They stared at each other while his team scrambled to call in the Ministry Auror department to come to the scene and apprehend the criminals and take Entwhistle into the infirmary.

"This is perfect," Lestrange kept muttering. "Tomorrow all the papers will have your husband's picture on the front page cradling that child and the articles will write about how a Muggle-born Ministry worker saved the day."

Tom didn't respond, his attention concentrated on Harry standing there all pretty and brimming with powerful magic. Ms Granger's hand was occasionally moving towards Harry to shield him from the overeager Ministry employees, and Tom could tell that she was doing it on instinct. This was what he wanted; for Harry to make friends and never leave. Every connection this man made would be just another assurance for Tom.

"I want every paper with the picture of the Minister's husband and the missing child," Lestrange told his staffers. "Contact every news outlet and coordinate with our press office."

One of the healers reached out to take the child from Harry, but the child screeched and clung to Harry tighter.

"Ah, I just fed him some biscuits," Harry laughed. "Probably likes me better for that. Hey, sweety, I promise you'll be fine. They need to make sure you're healthy, okay?"

The child reluctantly turned around and opened his arms for the healer.

"You will need to accompany the Minister to meet the child's parents, Mr Potter-Riddle," Lestrange said. "This just solves all of our problems."

"Rabastan," Tom interrupted the man's overeager enthusiasm. "Harry, may I have a minute with you?"

Harry looked around confused, but nodded. He walked towards Tom's outstretched arm and allowed Tom to wrap his hand around his delicate shoulders. Tom could feel all eyes on them, and he smirked, tightening his grip. He pictured the provocative headlines of tomorrow's newspapers and for the first time in his life, revelled in the prospect of sharing salacious gossip with the audience.

He dragged Harry away into an empty room and closed the door behind them.

"Are you okay?" he asked, running his hands over the sides of Harry's face.

He stared at Tom, confused, but didn't move away or stop Tom and nodded.

"Did you have fun with Ms Granger today?" he asked with an amused smile. "I knew the moment we left the room you'd rope the poor woman into helping you hunt down those criminals."

"Is that why you asked her to stay behind?" Harry asked, his pretty eyes wide. He looked genuinely surprised. Tom wondered if his other self never indulged this man before. Because truly, that would have been a crime. He was so adorable in his confusion.

"I want you to get the chance to show the people you were friends with who you are now," Tom said, watching Harry's expression for signs of approval and when he noticed the corners of his pretty mouth open innocently, he reached with his thumb to trace them. "They will love you. Ms Granger looked quite excited about what you did together."

"Thank you, Tom," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and Tom found it delightful how shy and vulnerable Harry sounded when he was treated gently.

Things were going as Tom intended.

"I still can't believe that you were able to find and save that boy before the Aurors did. I should fire them all and have you run the whole thing," he said with a smirk. "Could save a lot of resources on the allocated budget."

Harry smiled back, looking entirely gleeful at being praised.

"Can you?" he asked.

"I could," Tom said, leaning impossibly closer and hovering over his pretty husband's slight form. "But what would people say?"

"That the Minister for Magic doesn't like incompetent Aurors?" Harry whispered, half-closing his eyes as he stared up at him.

Two weeks of tentative glances and stolen touches, and Tom's patience was wearing thin. He held Harry's face in his hands, Harry moved towards him, and Tom's lips crashed against Harry's as he drew him closer into his arms. The slender body melted against Tom as he brought his hands to wrap around him. Harry's soft gasps and throaty little mewls died with every dip of his lips. Tom pushed him against the wall and squeezed his hips, pressing his erection against Harry.

He was so turned on, he wanted to fuck him right in the middle of the Ministry, not even caring that they were in a room where anyone could walk in at any moment. Harry smelled so pleasant, like snowdrops, like cold winds, like flowers that bloom in spring, and like magic that seemed so similar to Tom's. He wanted to tear the expensive fabric of Harry's clothes off and bend him over the desk in the corner, then kiss every inch of his skin.

"Stay with me," he murmured between breathless gasps as he deepened the kiss. "Stay with me here, please."

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Harry didn't know what he was doing. It had been a week since the kiss, and they hadn't talked about it just like they hadn't talked about the fact that Tom slept by his side. Every night, he would come to bed when Harry fell asleep, and he would leave before Harry woke up. There was just some kind of silent agreement not to discuss anything as if things were the way they were supposed to be.

Tom had kissed him again, and Harry let him, but this time it wasn't because of intense feelings, or the influence of hormones brought forth by a fight. There was no excuse to make other than that he really liked him. Tom let him pretend that the kiss never happened, even though he could tell from Tom's attitude that the kiss had very much happened, and Tom was just waiting for him.

He felt free with Tom now that he knew the truth about him. Harry didn't have to hide or pretend with him. It was strange that he felt at ease only with this man.

"Master Harry so pretty," Dobby said, attaching the Ministry of Magic gem-encrusted pin on the lapels of his suit jacket.

Harry stood up and stared at himself in the large mirror. His hair was brushed back, showing his flawless skin and scarless forehead. It was so strange to stare at himself in the mirror and not see that familiar scar on his face. Harry wanted it back. It felt almost wrong to look at himself and see this strange creature staring back at him.

Harry still couldn't believe how bizarrely and eerily beautiful he looked. No, beautiful wasn't the right word. Tom was a beautiful man. Harry... Harry looked like an incarnation of magic, unnaturally perfect that his own face evoked feelings of awe in his own mind.

He ran his palm over his bare neck, his fingers brushing against the white silk shirt and dark wool jacket. Harry wasn't wearing a tie. His neck was bare, his pulse so fast under his own fingers.

"Master needs to go now," Dobby said. "Master is late."

Harry cleared his throat and headed for the fireplace. He was planning to go with Tom, but Tom had some kind of unexpected business to take care of so he left earlier. The Ministry ball had already been postponed once, so Harry reassured Tom that he would come on his own so Tom could go and take care of whatever new scandal was about to break. It's not like he didn't know how to use the Floo.

When magic transported him to the Ministry, and he stepped out of the fireplace, there was a large crowd waiting for him. Harry wished he had his invisibility cloak. The camera lights blinded him. Tom was always there to shield him from these people, and now that Harry was on his own, he wished he had asked Tom to finish his work at the Ministry and come back to take him to the ball. He shook his head.

For fuck's sake, he was not a two-year-old! He could bloody take care of himself.

Harry pulled out his wand and cast an anti-flash charm and then pushed the people out of his way. They stared at him confused as they stumbled backwards. Harry walked through the mob towards the Ballroom. Thankfully, the reception hall for Ministry balls and official parties was on level 8, and he didn't have to take the lift. The doorman hurried to open the door for him, and Harry stepped inside.

Beautiful music was playing. All eyes turned to Harry as he joined the party.

"Harry," Pansy Parkinson screamed, grabbing the fabric of her fancy silk dress to lift it up and run to him. "Look at you, you sly bitch, you look so hot."

She hugged Harry tightly, making Harry feel horrified and then moved back to look at him appreciatively.

"Is the Minister keeping you hostage or something?" she asked with a smirk, leaning close to whisper into Harry's ear. "We haven't heard from you in ages. Did he tie you up to the bed so you won't be out and about as you wish?"

Harry lifted his eyebrows in shock.

"Oh, don't look so coy," she lightly elbowed him, giggling like she was amused by her own words. "You should hear what theories Lavender had when you kept declining shopping trips with us. Don't worry, we understand."

"Potter," Lavender's cheerful voice made him turn around. "Your husband has finally let you out of his sex dungeon, huh?"

"Morgana, you are so crude, Lavender," Pansy laughed. "But seriously, Harry, are you fine?"

Harry nodded. Despite everything, these girls seemed to care about their friend.

"Did he forbid you from going out?" Pansy asked, grabbing a glass of drink from the tray that the waiter was carrying. "Because I can see Riddle being a controlling tyrant like that. He's probably jealous."

"I am fine," Harry shook his head. "Tom and I have... well, our relationship is fine. You don't need to worry."

Lavender and Pansy stared at him for a moment before exchanging glances.

"Harry, darling," Tom's voice made them all turn around.

Harry pressed his lips together not to gasp as Tom looked so handsome. He always looked good, but today he somehow looked more imposing and elegant. It must have been his choice of suit or the silver in his tie that brought out the pale colouration of his eyes. Tom stared back at him, the smile on his face twisted into a strange expression, and for a moment Harry was concerned that something about the way he looked made Tom upset, but the man leaned forward and wrapped his arm around Harry's waist.

"You are so pretty," he said, making Harry's face heat up. "And finally you are as exquisite inside as you look outside."

Pansy and Lavender covered their mouths. Clearly, they weren't expecting this handsy welcome by the Minister.

"Will you dance with me, Harry?"

Harry blinked, wondering if it was a good idea. He was a bad dancer. The last time he had danced was at the Yule party at Hogwarts, and he was pretty sure he had been stepping on Parvati's shoes the entire night. Lavender's whistle brought him back to reality, where Tom was watching him intently.

"Go have fun, Potter," Lavender said and added, snickering. "We will catch up later. Don't make the Minister wait or you might get punished."

Tom pulled him away, not sparing a glance at Harry's friends.

"What was she speaking about?" he asked, patting Harry's back gently as if trying to ease his anxiety.

"She's fantasising about you tying me up in some dungeon and not letting me out," Harry said dryly, shaking his head. "I think she's already drunk."

Tom laughed, guiding Harry to where people were dancing. The brilliant illumination in the room and the soft music made Harry feel like he was spinning himself.

"Don't tempt me," he said and then held Harry's waist and hand and twirled him gently. "I am only joking, darling. You're simply too brilliant for anyone to dream of hiding you away."

Harry shook his head, and almost fell on Tom as he messed up his footwork, but Tom seemed to know how to navigate and simply lifted Harry off his feet and moved him around in the air with ease.

"Unless you want me to hide you away?" he whispered into Harry's ear when he dropped Harry to his feet. "Would you want me to keep you all to myself? Because I'd want to. All you need to say is yes, and I'll steal you away from the rest of the world."

There was so much amusement in his voice that Harry wasn't really sure if Tom was teasing him or telling him something else. His heart was drumming in his chest from their proximity.

"That sounds like a threat," Harry told him, letting Tom move him to the music.

"It's a promise, darling," Tom said in a mocking tone.

"Harry?" an unfamiliar voice called his name, making Harry turn his head around as Tom gripped him tighter, almost painfully so.

The man standing there with auburn hair was staring at him intently, his eyes focused on Tom's arm around his waist and shoulder. His knuckles were white where he was squeezing the glass in his hand. He looked quite upset and was glaring at Tom as if he wanted to kill him. He was young, perhaps the same age as Harry, but Harry didn't recognise him.

"Mr Grindelwald," Tom's jaw tightened, his smile dropping from his face and his voice coming out rough and curt. "I hope you are enjoying the evening."

Chapter Text

Understanding crossed Harry's face. So this was his counterpart's lover? He was a handsome man—tall, well-built, with an attractive face—but Tom looked better.

"The evening is lovely, Mr Riddle," Gellert said through gritted teeth, maintaining eye contact with Tom. "I am quite impressed that the Ministry has managed to organise the ball without any further hiccups."

Tom's jaw set tightly, his lips pressing together in contempt for a moment before he nodded politely, tilting his head with a smirk.

"An apt observation, Mr Grindelwald," he drawled, his tone measured. "As you are aware, we couldn't resume the festivities so soon after the incident. The criminals responsible needed to be dealt with first; I am sure you understand. Rest assured, all necessary precautions have been taken to prevent any further... miscalculations. After all, in a game as delicate as this, it's vital to keep one's adversaries carefully monitored. It would be a shame to let them try again."

Gellert's expression became steely; he shot a resentful glare at Tom before his gaze abruptly shifted to Harry. Confusion flooded Harry—he wasn't exactly sure what the fuck was happening. Sensing his unease, Tom drew him closer, encircling his arm possessively around Harry's waist.

"It's a delight to see you, Harry," Gellert smiled at him, his eyes narrowing at where Tom's hands rested. "I hope we can—"

"Gellert!" Daphne Greengrass shouted, approaching them, interrupting whatever Gellert wanted to say. She stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing in her high heels, and clung to Gellert as if she were drunk. "Oh, I love this music. Let's dance."

Her eyes flickered to Harry, an amused smirk creeping to her lips as she tightened her hold on Grindelwald's arm. The smug look on her face said she was well pleased with herself. Gellert turned his eyes briefly to her, grimaced, but allowed himself to be dragged away to join the others dancing. Harry exhaled a little, exhausted from the whole exchange, and turned his attention back to Tom.

Tom smiled at him, looking somehow excited, and extended his hand, gently brushing back Harry's hair. He placed his hand on Harry's back and grasped his other hand with his own, pulling him forward.

"Shall we continue our dance, darling?" he murmured, guiding Harry to the flow of the music playing in the background, the sound of a string quartet weaving a melodic rhythm that enveloped the Ministry's spellbound walls.

The ballroom was grand, an elegant space suffused with soft golden light from enchanted chandeliers that hung like jewels from the high ceiling. The polished wooden floor gleamed, reflecting the elegant dresses and sharp suits of the dancers gliding across it.

Couples moved in graceful harmony, their movements delicate, with poise and precision. Gowns of sumptuous fabrics flowed around, swirling in a cascade of colour as they turned and twirled, the fabric catching the light in a dance of its own, magic and enchantments filling the air.

Tom held Harry gently, lifting him off his feet and spinning him around, his hands looping around Harry's body possessively, almost as if he were worried someone would snatch Harry right out of his arms.

"So this was Gellert Grindelwald?" Harry asked, gasping a bit after being spun about and returned to Riddle's arms. "The other Harry's... lover?"

"It was," Tom confirmed, holding him intimately. "I take it you were not friends with him in your world?"

"Well, he didn't exist in my world," Harry responded. "Grindelwald Sr never had any children."

"Your world sounds amazing," Tom quipped. "The more I hear, the more I want to know, baby."

Well, about that... Harry didn't agree his world was amazing, but he also didn't want to tell Tom about Voldemort and his psychotic murderous crusade against Muggle-borns, using it as a pretext for gaining power.

As the music swelled, Tom led Harry into a slow, sweeping motion, moving him away from his body in a elegant arc. With a subtle shift in weight, he stepped back and slightly lowered his stance, all the while holding Harry's hand, directing him into a deep bend. Harry dipped gracefully, his torso arching backward, feeling like his back might snap.

But Tom was gentle with him, cautious like he was handling something precious, and it made Harry feel things deep inside.

At the lowest point, there was a pause, and the two locked eyes. Tom held him gently, intimately, his hands firm around Harry, then pulled him back with strength and finesse. Harry was smoothed back to a standing position, spinning slightly before being drawn in close again.

He inhaled sharply. Tom stared back at him, his eyes dropping to his lips, and then he tilted his head, bent down and kissed him. Melting into Tom's embrace, his cheeks heated up, excitement coursing through his veins.

This was happening again. He didn't know what to do, but it felt right. Fuck!

He wrapped his arms around Tom's neck and let him kiss him senseless.

Gasps in the background, muffled by the music and the loud chatter of drunk wizards and witches reached his ears.

When he opened his eyes, Tom was smiling at him. Harry smiled back, his heart drumming fast. He kissed Tom again, and it seemed there was nothing he could do to stop himself from constantly being pulled back to his man, almost as if they were tied to each other by magic, by the universe, by something peculiar and unexplainable. Harry couldn't lie to himself anymore. He was simply too attracted to Tom.

And Tom... Tom was not Voldemort, so it was fine. It was fine to tell Tom that he'd stay...

Harry's eyes swept over to the others in the ballroom, and he caught Gellert Grindelwald glaring at him and Tom. He looked upset, his fists clenched, his eyebrows furrowed, while Daphne Greengrass tried in vain to get his attention. Harry didn't want to get in the middle of that. Tom placed a quick kiss on the corner of his forehead, and Harry turned to look at him, but Tom was staring at Gellert, smirking at him, mirth and delight twisting his expression.

The arse was clearly enjoying this, wasn't he?

The people in the ballroom who weren't already drunk were staring at them. Riddle's behaviour was definitely not characteristic? Lestrange was gaping at them in complete shock, while Crouch, in the corner, looked almost ecstatic.

"Would you like to drink something, darling?" Tom asked, appearing entirely unperturbed by the spectacle they were creating, as he casually grabbed a drink when the server stopped by offering refreshments.

Harry picked up the glass and took a small sip. Alcohol was overrated. It tasted nothing special and just burned the back of his throat when he swallowed it.

"Minister Riddle," Lestrange said, approaching with his companion, a rather rotund man with a very lively expression on his face. "Allow me to present Monsieur Pierre Bonaccord. Monsieur Bonaccord is a distinguished Abraxan breeder whose contributions are invaluable to the British Ministry of Magic. He supplies us with Abraxan hair, which is integral to the formulation of the Strong Exstimulo Potion utilised by the Auror Department in the execution of their duties. Our partnership with Monsieur Bonaccord is essential to ensuring the effectiveness and safety of our operations."

"Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Bonaccord," Tom said politely, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," the man hurried to say, shaking Tom's hand before his eyes bulged out comically wide at Harry. "You must be the Minister's enchanting spouse. You are even more beautiful than the legends proclaim."

The man grasped both of Harry's hands with his chubby ones, and to Harry's utter horror, kissed them with reverence.

Harry shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond, but before he could wrack his brain for anything suitable to say, Gellert appeared out of nowhere, with Greengrass hanging on his arm.

"Monsieur Bonaccord," he exclaimed, sounding excited and extending his hand for a handshake. "Such a pleasant surprise to see you here."

"Oh, Gellert," the man smiled, shaking Grindelwald Jr's hand. "You are back home with your uncle, I see. How is your father doing? I didn't see him here tonight."

"Yes," Gellert laughed, "he couldn't make it unfortunately. Too busy with work."

"Do send him my regards," Bonaccord beamed. "I must insist on meeting him next time he graces us with his presence in Paris."

"I'll make sure to tell him," Gellert smiled, taking a sip from the firewhisky. "I do hope you're enjoying the evening here."

"Yes," the man said, raising his glass and taking a sip, and then joked, "the whisky is good enough even for my Abraxan to go wild over this."

"We are pleased to hear that," Lestrange interjected promptly, clearly displeased that the conversation was veering towards the personal rather than maintaining its formal tone. "Perhaps we could explore a potential partnership in that regard, wherein we could arrange for the whisky that your esteemed creatures so favour, Monsieur Bonaccord."

"That sounds an excellent idea, actually," the man agreed, taking another sip from his drink. "Abraxans are very particular creatures. They like what they like. They are creatures of happiness, only ones left of their kind, so I need to care for them with utmost love."

"The only ones left?" Harry asked, surprised. "There are no Abraxans being created? Why?"

"Created?" The man stared at Harry, confused. "What do you mean created?"

"Aren't they created by very strong corporeal Patronuses?" Harry asked.

Everyone stared at Harry, surprised, as if knowing something so simple was astonishing. Gellert's face was wrinkled in utter disbelief, and Tom looked even more smug than before. Harry was losing his sanity with all the mind games being played while he was trying to keep himself together.

"That's true," the man said enthusiastically, gesturing in agreement. "My Abraxans trace their origin to a particularly strong Patronus cast by my great ancestor. Since then, though, no one has managed to conjure such powerful magic. Most people can't cast a Patronus at all, and those who can rarely manage a corporeal one. No one has ever summoned one strong enough to take physical form and never fade away."

"The British Isles are so dreary, the only things we manage to grow here are Dementors," Gellert joked.

Tom's head turned towards him, and he stared at Gellert, eyes scanning him mockingly.

"Ah, yes, the Dementors—dark creatures, indeed. But it seems we've also developed a certain appreciation for their... pruning services," Tom said with a smirk. "It's unfortunate, though, that they wiped out the scum from the orphanage attack before they could face justice. But I suppose fate had its own way of delivering retribution."

Gellert snorted, then turning to Daphne, pulled his arm away.

"I don't think it's prudent to blame fate for the incompetence of the Ministry handling this so atrociously," he said through clenched teeth, unable to hide his disdain. The smile on Tom's face only widened.

Harry sighed. He was getting annoyed. He took a small sip from the firewhisky in his glass and made a disgusted face, remembering why he hadn't been eager to drink it in the first place.

"Well, I hope, Mr Grindelwald, our incompetence won't stop you from enjoying the evening," Tom mocked.

"Thank you for your concern," Gellert licked his lips, his voice lowering and eyes sweeping to Harry, "I was actually hoping to have the pleasure of a dance with you, Harry. Would you do me the honour?"

He extended his hand, brandishing it in front of Harry like it was the Holy Grail. Harry stared at it, panic and irritation kicking in. Daphne let out an annoyed huff, flipping her hair back with all the grace of a snake whose lunch was running late. Clearly, she was less than pleased about being sidelined during the grand ball.

Harry's eyes darted over to Tom silently imploring him for help, hoping Tom would channel some of that usually intimidating possessiveness to rescue him from the clutches of this clearly unhinged stranger who seemed to think he could just sweep Harry off his feet like some sort of third-rate prince charming.

Riddle looked at him with a sweet smile, letting an amused sound leave his lips as he leaned down and planted a kiss on top of his head.

"I will hold your drink so you can dance, love" Bonaccord declared suddenly as he snatched Harry's glass before he had a chance to protest.

Harry held himself back from rolling his eyes and reluctantly grabbed Grindelwald's hand. He looked at Tom before Gellert dragged him away, and Salazar Slytherin's creepy hot heir somehow looked pleased with something. What was Riddle's deal? Normally he would throw a fit and now he was eager to have Harry dance with this nutjob.

The music played softly, and Gellert placed his hand on Harry's waist. Sighing, he decided to go with it. This could be an opportunity to dig deeper into his counterpart's life. He still had no clue who had murdered him and what had happened to him.

"I have missed you," Gellert purred.

Harry regarded him with all the warmth of a frostbitten snowman, trying to gauge his sincerity.

"Is that why you tried to kidnap me?" he asked.

Grindelwald spun him around instead. They glided across the dance floor; he swept Harry into a quick dip, leaned down and whispered, "I was trying to free you from him."

Bringing Harry back to a standing position, they slid away from each other and then swept back into a close hold.

"I don't remember you asking my opinion," Harry retorted, annoyed by the bastard's playful tone as if it were no big deal. "Do I look like I need rescuing?"

Gellert stared at him, confused, his eyebrows furrowing in clear bewilderment. The music picked up as the tempo increased.

"What has he done to you?" he asked, sounding almost disgusted. "When the very few of my men managed to return to me and told me you refused to come, I thought they were covering their incompetence with excuses, but—"

"Did they also tell you that they drowned me, and I would have died if my husband hadn't killed the man who cast the spell?" Harry asked coldly.

"What?" Gellert's hold on Harry's hand tightened. "Your husband? Is that how you are referring to that Mudblood now?"

"Mudblood? Really? That's rich coming from someone who clearly got their manners from the bottom of a troll's shoe," Harry spat, making a disgusted face. "You make it very hard for me not to punch you in the face."

Gellert exhaled sharply and shook his head.

"Why are you acting this way?" he asked. "Did he put a spell on you?"

"Acting what way?" Harry asked, getting annoyed that he was wasting his time with this arsehole. "Can you be more vague? What is it that confuses you? The fact that I won't tolerate you being a disgusting bigot, or that I am upset that you nearly killed me?"

"I am sorry for the incompetence of those men, but I had to get you."

"Well, I don't remember you asking me if I wanted to be gotten," Harry said curtly. "Everyone here seems to be putting their opinions, wants and needs before mine and sure, I am used to it, but viewing this from the perspective of an outsider does make me think I should have never been okay with that."

"So what? Now you are planning to stay with Riddle?" Gellert asked, rage twisting his features.

Harry's eyes glided over to where Tom was standing, conversing with various witches and wizards. Their eyes met for a split second, and Tom's smile reached his eyes. Harry looked back at Gellert.

"Maybe," he said. "I don't see how it's any of your business. I am married to him after all, aren't I?"

"It is my business," Gellert lost it, tightening his grip around Harry's hand in a bruising manner. "You are mine. You'll always be mine. I don't care what your father says; you were meant to be mine."

Harry was done with this arsehole's bullshit. How could the other Harry even put up with this fucking nonsense? This bloke was a total moron—rude, judgmental and really had no respect for Harry, whom he supposedly loved. Just another arse who thought he had any say about Harry's life.

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes. "I am sorry I had forgotten to ask permission from you, Gellert. It sounds like we need to sort out some very misplaced expectations. I'm flattered that you've chosen me to be your personal trophy, but I'll pass. Also, stay the fuck away from me. I don't need to be fucking rescued."

Gellert stared shocked, but before he could so much as say another word, Harry wrenched his arms away and pushed Gellert back. Without saying another word, he marched off, leaving Gellert standing on the dancefloor still utterly stunned. Tom's eyes met his and he grinned like a maniac, turning slightly to the side and extending his arm as if in invitation for Harry.

Harry headed towards him. He chose Tom. He wasn't planning on choosing Gellert. He barely heard the man's name, but he wasn't planning to leave now. The conversation with the git convinced him of how much better of a person Tom was, despite all his political machinations, and maybe Harry could even steer him away from some of the crazier things. Tom had been sweet to him since he'd found out that Harry was from a different world and had given him space, support, his friendship and had done nothing but encourage him.

"Harry," Hermione's excited voice stopped him. She was tipsy and looked a little drunk. "Oh Merlin, you are just so pretty. I've been thinking about you, you know? What we did was so much fun. I think I am going to take Auroral exams and become an Auror."

Harry laughed and helped her steady herself when she almost fell down.

"Auror Weasley, Ron, I mean is there too," she said, her voice slurred, eyes gleaming. "Do you know if they have any workplace romance restrictions in the department? No, right?"

"I don't think any department in the Ministry has any workplace romance restrictions," Harry laughed, thinking about Hermione trying to become an Auror because Ron was one made him feel both comforted and saddened at the same time. "Are you planning on dating Ron?"

Hermione's face heated up instantly. She nervously rubbed her face, fidgeting with the glass in her hand. Her eyes flitted through the crowd of people as if trying to make sure that Ron was nowhere near around them and then craned her neck to whisper into Harry's ear.

"Dating?" she laughed, mortified. "Of course not! That's absurd."

She hiccupped and shook her head, fanning herself.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice made her freeze. "I mean, Ms Granger... ah... sorry... I was just thinking maybe we could dance?"

Hermione closed her eyes embarrassed. Most likely she thought Ron had heard her. But Ron was quite oblivious, alright!

"Hi Ron," Harry said, waving at him. "So nice to see you here. Hermione and I were just talking about you."

Hermione's face morphed into an expression of utter horror. The warmth in her eyes that she held for Harry wore off, and she looked betrayed.

"Oh, hi Harry," Ron stared at him wistfully, looking like he wanted to reach out and hug Harry but refrained from doing so. "It's nice seeing you here too. I wanted to thank you and Ms Granger for the extraordinary courage you have displayed helping the Auror department with catching the criminals from the last time..."

"It was our pleasure," Harry smiled. "It was quite fun actually to investigate and catch them, so much so that Hermione was thinking about joining the Auror department. She's such a badass that I am afraid the Auror department doesn't even deserve her."

Hermione's eyes widened. It was like the entire time she was waiting for Harry to say something mean. She turned around to face Ron, a blush on her face, slightly wobbling from all the alcohol in her system.

"Oh," Ron turned red too. "I'd be happy to have an Auror as capable and smart as Ms Granger."

"Hermione," Hermione corrected, slurring her own name and fumbling the glass in her hand.

Harry reached out to steady her, but before he could do so, she grabbed Ron and kissed him right there, right in front of everyone. Harry grabbed Hermione's glass from her hands and decided to leave them in their little world, as Ron melted into Hermione's arms and hugged her tightly. Harry put the glass down on a nearby table and inspected the crowd surrounding him. The guests were drunk. It was a wonder how they could get so intoxicated so quickly.

Harry's eyes drifted to Tom. The man was chatting away with some fresh faces. Harry smiled, his heart filled with warmth at the sight of Tom. He was just about to make his way through the throng when he was nearly bowled over and someone spilled their firewhisky on him.

"Potter," Greengrass sneered. "It seems you think the world belongs to you, what with not watching where you're going."

Harry glared down at the patch of his shirt covered in firewhisky.

"Oh yes, because your navigation skills are the gold standard, are they?" Harry shot back, his patience wearing thin. "Apologies for intruding on your flawless trajectory through the galaxy. My mistake."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he waved his hand dismissively and headed towards the door in the furthest corner of the ballroom. He needed to go and clean the spillage. It wasn't a big deal anyway. Harry didn't really care, but there was no need to provide the Daily Prophet or any nosy bugger with an excuse to churn out their usual drivel about alcohol stains on his clothes—these creeps were obsessed with him.

He opened the door and walked into the corridor. The on-duty Aurors gave him a sideways look but didn't stop him as he slipped into the first office he came across. Pulling out his wand, he muttered a few cleaning and drying charms on his shirt, then turned to head back to the ballroom. But the door to the office opened, and Grindelwald walked inside. Harry sighed.

Not this, not now! He didn't have the patience to deal with the other Harry's side-piece. Gellert was a right twat, and Harry honestly wanted to go back home. With his wand out, he thought that if the git tried to pull the same arsefuckery here, nothing would stop Harry from unleashing some of that pent-up energy and wiping the floor with Gellert's smug face.

"I knew you'd be waiting for me," Gellert said with a smirk, his eyes stalking Harry as he walked towards him.

"I wasn't waiting for you," Harry said tersely.

Gellert stepped forward and stood directly in front of Harry. Harry almost felt bad for the man. The one Gellert loved was already dead. He watched him carefully as Gellert grabbed him and kissed him, shocking Harry. Harry stood frozen for a moment before he managed to push Gellert away.

"What the actual fuck?" he spat, wiping his mouth.

"Did that Mudblood put an Imperius on you?" Gellert asked with venom in his voice. "I wouldn't be surprised. Clearly, Riddle doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. Pretending to care about magical orphans? Give me a break; it's all a ploy to strengthen his power. He even bragged earlier about killing my men who tried to stop him."

Any speck of pity Harry felt for Gellert vanished the moment he opened his mouth and hurled around bigoted insults.

"Your men trying to stop him?"

"I had my men stop that stupid orphanage opening and, of course, Riddle went and killed them," Gellert said.

Harry saw red. So many people were injured, and Grindelwald was bragging about it.

"That was your doing?" he asked in disbelief.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I will bring Riddle to his knees and take you from him."

Gellert clearly was an idiot with an inflated sense of ego. His attempts to take Harry from Tom had so far resulted in many near-death experiences. The only reason Harry had survived was because, unlike his counterpart, he was a skilled soldier, had fought in the war, faced his fair share of dangers and duelled a horcrux-proof maniac. It was very possible that Gellert's careless little games with Tom had resulted in the other Harry's death.

"I just need to know what that bastard did to you," Gellert said, pointing his wand at Harry and casting Legilimency.

Harry gritted his teeth, clenching his wand in his hand. Gellert's magic hit his Occlumency shields. His eyes widened when Harry blocked him with ease and pushed him away.

"Stay out of my bloody mind," Harry told him harshly.

Gellert's shock wore off, and he tried to push into Harry's mind again, pissing off Harry even more. He lifted his wand and pointed it at the man. Gellert didn't seem concerned, but that was before Harry tore his Occlumency shields apart like they were made of paper and forced his way into the git's mind. Gellert took a shuddering breath, staggered backwards, staring at Harry in complete disbelief and trying to push him out.

What Harry saw made him clench his wand harder in his grip. Gellert was behind the orphanage attack, Gellert was behind framing the Muggle-born wizard for kidnapping a child. Gellert was insane. A few memories of the other Harry and Gellert lying in bed in each other's arms swam past Harry's mind, making him wrinkle his face in distaste.

"You piece of shit," Harry shouted. "You endangered a child. Got him nearly killed in the most horrific way all so you can say Muggle-borns are bad. What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?"

"Imperio," Gellert shouted, pointing his wand at Harry. "Your magic is acting up again. Come to me, Harry. I'll take you away from all this right now. Don't be difficult."

Harry lifted his wand and sent Gellert flying. His body collided with the wall and he fell on the ground.

"That doesn't work on me," he said, voice low.

Gellert now looked terrified. He lifted his wand and tried a petrification spell against Harry, but Harry easily blocked it and sent his own hex at him. Gellert barely blocked it and then got to his feet, looking at Harry in confusion and with clear fear.

"Has he done something to you?" he said, trying to block the stream of spells Harry shot his way. "You're different. How are you duelling like this?"

They continued exchanging curses, and Gellert seemed to be getting out of breath. Harry was getting bored. This idiot didn't have Tom's finesse and skill to make the fight entertaining and honestly, Harry was done with him. This man needed to be stopped. He needed to tell Tom about Gellert being behind all the attacks.

The door opened, and Tom rushed in. He took in the sight of Harry and Gellert fighting. After a second of observing and realising that Harry was wiping the floor with Gellert, a smile curled his lips. He pulled out his wand.

"What have you done to Harry, you Mudblood bastard?" Gellert screamed, turning his attention to Tom and trying to duel him instead.

"I find you in a room with my husband with your wand pointed at him, and you dare to ask me what I have done to him, Gellert?" Tom mocked, pushing Gellert's attacks away with no real effort.

"You've done something to him or he wouldn't have refused my kiss," Gellert said, enraged.

"You tried to kiss my husband?" Tom asked, anger seeping into his voice as he attacked Gellert.

"We both know that he loves me, and you are just a convenient tool for James Potter and nothing else," Gellert screamed.

Tom punched him in the face. Harry stood there confused and lost as the two started fist fighting each other like a bunch of drunk Muggles. He tried to break them up, but they both seemed so caught up in it that they pushed Harry away, nearly making him fall down.

"I am going to destroy you, Riddle."

"So far your mediocre attempts have done nothing but irritate me. You'll face the same fate as those fools you have sent to attack me during the orphanage opening."

Harry's eyes widened. Tom knew that Gellert was behind all this and hadn't sent Aurors to arrest him? Why? Was it because he wanted to play political games with him? He was done with both right now. He rolled his eyes, seeing the two fight like they were little boys over him of all people. Gellert was a fucking monster, and Tom was an arsehole.

He headed to the door, opened it and left, slamming it back shut. Loud argument coming from the corner caught his attention. It was Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass.

"I've done everything for you, and it's never enough!" Nott shot back, frustration spilling over. "All you ever talk about is Grindelwald! I risked my career for you, and I swear Riddle nearly killed me!"

"Well, it doesn't seem like it worked, did it?" Daphne countered.

They froze when they noticed Harry approaching them. Daphne glared at him, making Harry stop in his tracks. It seemed she was startled by Harry.

"What do you want, Potter?" she sneered. "Riddle wasn't enough for you? You just needed Gellert too?"

"I am sick of your catty nonsense," he told her dismissively. "I couldn't care less about Gellert. You want him? Go for it! Riddle too, for all I care. Honestly, just screw them both!"

Daphne shut her mouth and looked pale and scared for some reason. Whatever! Harry turned his attention to Nott, gave him a warning look and then stormed off to the ballroom, leaving their jaws hanging.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Tom saw red. He was pissed. He had always been able to control himself perfectly, but seeing Gellert extending his filthy hands towards Harry—his Harry—made him want to murder him slowly. He wiped his mouth, staring down at Gellert's bloodied nose, still panting on the ground, and felt a satisfaction he had never experienced before.

"Stay the bloody fuck away from my husband, Grindelwald," he warned. "I will kill you if I see you around him again. Even your daddy and uncle wouldn't be able to save you. Harry doesn't want you. He's mine."

Gellert glared at him and coughed.

"We'll see," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Tom threw him one last look, fixed his suit, and headed out. He returned to the ballroom, but Harry was nowhere in sight. He surveyed the room until his pretty husband's beautiful face came into view. Harry was visibly trying to avoid his cousin, Draco Malfoy, who stood before him, pleading.

"Just one dance," he begged, his voice dripping with petulance.

"I'll hex you, Malfoy," Harry shot back, his eyes flashing with irritation. The pretty boy crossed his arms, wand tightly clenched in his delicate hands.

Tom stepped forward, a knowing look on his face.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to him, a pouty glare on his pretty face that did nothing to twist his features.

"Done rolling on the floor with Gellert?" he asked, an edge of sarcasm lacing his tone. "Are you sure he was the other Harry's lover and not yours? You seemed a little too into it."

Tom blinked, amusement flickering across his face, and then a smirk broke through.

"Are you jealous, darling?"

"Jealous?" Harry scoffed, incredulous. "In your dreams!"

Tom grinned, clearly relishing the banter.

"I think you are jealous," he teased, his voice low and playful.

"Tom," Malfoy interjected, looking annoyed at being interrupted as he acknowledged him with a nod.

"Draco," Tom replied coolly, his attention shifting with casual ease. "I hope you are enjoying your evening, if you'll excuse me. Harry, darling, can I have a word?"

Malfoy deflated, but getting the hint, nodded and left.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

"I sense you're upset," Tom observed. "Did Gellert do something or...?"

"You knew that Gellert is behind the attacks at the orphanage," Harry said. "You knew, and you were pretending you didn't know anything. Why? Why haven't you involved the Auror department? Were you hoping he'd hurt more people?"

"You are upset about that?" Tom asked, looking at Harry incredulously. "Harry, darling, it's more complicated than you think. Gellert wields considerable influence, supported by his father and uncle. I suspected it was him all along, but dealing with Gellert demands a careful approach."

"You orchestrated the Dementor attack on his henchmen," Harry said. "You clearly don't like doing things properly, always plotting and scheming even though you are the Minister."

Harry was being unreasonable again. Tom just didn't understand why he cared so much about how Tom conducted his politics. Dragging Grindelwald into Azkaban on a personal vendetta would be a foolish move; it would only invite accusations of persecution against a political rival. Grindelwald's spawn had too much power to confront openly. As Minister, Tom had no intentions of taking him on directly. Instead, Gellert needed to be eliminated from the political chessboard in a manner that was subtle and strategic.

Tom was going to crush Gellert like a worthless pest. Harry didn't need to know that though.

"Darling," Tom reached out to hold Harry's hands, and when the pretty man didn't push him away, he decided to pull Harry closer. "You think I want Gellert prancing around after what he's done? He is a threat, and I'd be happy to see him behind bars, but you do understand that there is no evidence connecting him to the attacks. I realised it was him behind all this after he sent men to kidnap you, and their clothes gave them away. As the Minister for Magic, I can't accuse people left and right of political treason, especially someone as influential as him. You understand?"

Harry's shoulders slumped forward, and Tom couldn't help but notice the way the lurne's lips pressed tightly together—a betraying sign of guilt threatening to spill over. The remorse clung to him like a shroud, his pretty features focused on Tom.

"Sorry," he said. "I guess I can't look at you and not see the other you."

"The other me?" Tom cupped Harry's face intimately. "Did he do something to make you doubt my sincerity?"

"It's nothing," Harry murmured. "I am sorry. I am sorry about all this. Gellert honestly pissed me off. He was a right arse. Can't believe any version of me would put up with that. Spouting nonsense and being an obnoxious loser."

Tom caressed his face and leaned down to capture Harry's lips in a tender kiss. Harry melted into him, hands on Tom's chest, body pressed against Tom's, so slender and pretty.

"Gellert was definitely surprised to be bested by you," Tom murmured, lips curling into a smirk. "You should have seen his face."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"He's such a prick, bigoted prat, kept calling you Mudblood," Harry mumbled awkwardly, making Tom tense. "When it's not even true. Wanted to curse his stupid face and—"

"When it's not even true?" Tom interrupted him. "What do you mean?"

An adorable flush covered Harry's face, and he fidgeted awkwardly, suddenly realising what he had blurted out.

"It's... well..."

"Did you know my parents in your world?" Tom asked, his voice reserved but a flicker of excitement creeping to the surface.

Tom had always hoped, always looked for his parents; he didn't care if they were both Muggles or wizards, he just wanted to know who he was, but there was no trace of his parents. It was as if he had popped into the world out of nowhere. Harry's nervous face told him that he knew something.

"Harry?"

"One of your parents was magical," he said, making Tom's heart beat faster. "And the other was a Muggle."

"Was?" Tom clarified. "They were both dead? Do you know their names?"

"Tom," Harry gulped. "I don't think trying to know about your other self is a good idea. You don't understand. He was very different from you, and well, I don't want to speak about that man."

"I have searched for my parents for years," Tom murmured gently, trying to coax the information out of Harry. "I didn't find anything. And here you are, knowing something about me that no one knows, and you don't want to tell me? Please, darling... I have the right to know."

Harry rubbed his face and bit his lip in hesitation. What was it that made him so reluctant to reveal the truth to Tom? Surely, he wasn't Potter Sr's bastard son, born out of wedlock and conceived by some Muggle woman. A strange part of him entertained the idea, and that would have explained James Potter's eagerness to marry them despite Tom being a nobody. But surely he looked nothing like the man.

"Your mother was a witch," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Your father was a Muggle."

Thank Merlin, he wasn't fathered by Potter. That would have caused quite the scandal, but then why would Harry be so hesitant?

"Tom, you must have grown up talking to snakes, and they must have found you and spoken back to you," Harry hissed in Parseltongue to Tom's surprise all of a sudden. "Do you know why?"

"Are we related?" Tom asked. "Is that why you speak Parseltongue? I don't think my ex-husband did. But you clearly do. Were we related? Is that why you are reluctant to tell me?"

Surely, Lily Evans wasn't his mother, although that would have made more sense. Her family didn't live in Britain, and Tom searched for his parents here. Evanses had a long line of obscure and unique magical heritages, like his husband's Alluran heritage. He wouldn't be surprised to find out they had Parselmouths too, and maybe this Harry was one instead of being a lurne, and now he had both—a clear perfection.

"Are we half-siblings?" Tom asked.

"What?" Harry choked, looking around terrified, worried someone might have heard Tom. "No! Why would you think that? Merlin! No, we are not siblings, half-siblings, or related beyond what all wizards and witches are related to one another in Britain."

"Then who was my mother?"

"Merope Gaunt," Harry murmured.

"Gaunt?" Tom blinked, confused. "The Gaunt family has died out. Everyone knows that. They were the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin. There are no Gaunts alive. Merope Gaunt died in the 1920s."

Harry bit his lip and nodded.

"Yeah, she died in 1926 after giving birth to you. Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Tom laughed.

"Are you teasing me, darling?" he asked, searching Harry's eyes for deception. "Are you telling me I was born in 1926?"

Harry didn't respond for a moment. He looked at Tom with hesitation, shaking his head as if trying to convince himself to back out. With a reassuring hand on Harry's back, Tom tried to comfort him, to lull him, to coax him into his arms, hoping that Harry would open up about his other self. Silence stretched, but then Harry nodded to himself and cleared his throat. There was determination in his eyes.

"In my world, you did," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "You were born in 1926, grew up in an orphanage, and attended Hogwarts. You found out that your father was a Muggle named Tom Riddle and killed him when you were 16."

That sounded crazy. He nodded to encourage Harry to continue.

"In my world, you made up a new name for yourself," Harry murmured. "Voldemort."

Tom's heart slowed down, his breathing hitched as a cold wave passed through his body. Harry didn't notice anything.

"We are not related," he continued, his eyes searching something in Tom's. "But I have part of your soul inside me. You gave it to me when I was an infant, and that's why I can speak Parseltongue. It's not a marriage bond, Tom, that you are sensing; it's a Horcrux. You didn't intend for that to happen. You wanted to kill me because of a prophecy you'd heard and thought that the child in that prophecy who'd defeat you is me. In my world, you were not a twenty-something Minister of Magic; you were a seventy-year-old snake-faced monster who tore his soul seven times and wanted to annihilate all Muggle-borns. You killed my parents and tried to kill me. Do you know why I am here? Because your counterpart, Lord Voldemort, managed to rise to power again and cast the Killing Curse at me once more. Well, I suppose instead of dying, I just came to this world."

Tom's face was twisted into an expression of greed and horror at the same time. Harry wasn't lying. Tom couldn't move. Most people hadn't even heard of Horcruxes, and yet, the other him made seven of them. Incredible! It was insane and at the same time it made Tom's mind race.

"I didn't want to tell you," Harry cried. "Because there is always the fear that you'll just turn into that monster that has tried to kill me since I was a child. But I wanted you to know, Tom... because... because I have decided to stay... stay here with you."

Tom lifted his head and stared at Harry. There were tears in his eyes; he looked so beautiful, so fragile, so vulnerable. He rushed to hold Harry in his arms and gently squeezed his shoulders.

"I'll never turn into a monster," he assured Harry, still trying to wrap his head around the strange inconsistencies. But Harry clearly wasn't trying to deceive him. "Sweetheart, I don't know who the other me was, but clearly we are not the same person, and you're nothing like my ex-husband. It's fate that brought you here, to me, away from the monster that a version of me had become so I can protect you, and you can protect me back."

Harry cried. Tom gently stroked his back, trying to calm him down. His mother couldn't have been born in 1926 unless... Tom's mind strayed to the events that occurred a couple of weeks ago. The strange old man that the Muggle referred to as Mr Riddle. The realisation made Tom pause. Did he time travel to the future as a child? But travel would have left a mark on his body, and he didn't have any marks left on his that indicated travel through time and space.

He was the only remaining heir of Salazar Slytherin, and his pretty little husband had a piece of his soul inside him. Tom could feel it because despite the soul belonging to his counterpart, it was still his, had the same properties, and that was the reason for the connection he felt. He didn't need to tear his own soul to create a Horcrux, but he had one—a beautiful, powerful one—by his side. Harry was more precious than he could ever imagine.

"I like you," Harry said. "I didn't want to stay with you or admit that I like spending time with you because it made me feel like I was betraying my parents and my friends. All my friends must be dead now."

"Darling, I am not the person from your world. Do I look like a snake-faced seventy-year-old?" he asked, his voice coming off amused.

Harry laughed through tears. Tom smiled and brushed the teardrops away with his thumb.

"You think the reason why you are young is because the baby you time-travelled?" Harry asked. "I've thought about it, and that's the only thing that makes sense."

"It's possible," Tom said gently, holding Harry's hand. "But as I have told you before, travel through space and time leaves traces on your body, and I have no such mark on mine."

"Well, maybe you haven't looked closely enough," Harry said. "Because—"

"Are you hinting at wanting to see me naked, baby?" Tom teased, making Harry blush.

"No," Harry waved his hands, glaring at Tom. "I am just saying... well, if you travelled as a baby, you wouldn't even know if anything changed. For one, your eyes are grey here, but in my world, they were brown—well before you split your soul. After that, they were red."

"How do you know that?"

"I have seen memories of Professor Dumbledore when your counterpart was a student in the 1940s, and your eyes were brown; and now..."

"That could be it," Tom agreed. "You know what that means, darling? It means the universe couldn't bear us being apart, so it pulled you out of your reality and me out of my time so we'd meet."

"You're ridiculous," Harry huffed. "I can't believe I ever thought you were anything like Voldemort."

Tom laughed and kissed Harry's knuckles.

"Harry?" Lily Potter's excited voice made them turn around. "Sweetie, look at you—you're just so pretty! I wanted to spend a little more time with you today, but it seems everyone wanted to dance with you."

She hugged Harry and kissed him on the cheeks. Lily Potter was very affectionate with Harry.

"Tom," Lily turned to him with a smile. "I loved the ball. Everything was amazing."

"Thank you, Lady Potter," Tom said politely.

"Tom," his father-in-law's voice made Tom nearly groan, but he turned around politely to greet the man. "A word."

"Of course, sir," he said, following the man.

"I saw Grindelwald's little spawn here," the man grumbled. "That rascal has always been sniffing around my son. I don't want him anywhere near Harry."

Tom wanted to roll his eyes, tired of Potter viewing him as his son's babysitter when the brat was a grown man, although in the current circumstance, as ironic as it was, he was in total agreement with the older man.

"I have dealt with him," Tom said. "You've nothing to worry about, sir."

"Hmm," the man hummed, narrowing his eyes at Tom for some reason. "You know, I was watching Harry earlier, and he seems overly affectionate with you. Make sure that silly boy isn't doing something stupid. It's never a good sign when he smiles and gets too cute. I know it's a man's first instinct to look at something as perfect and beautiful as him and think he can do no wrong, but I'd be the first to admit my son is a little demon."

"I understand, sir," Tom smiled, nodding. It was quite hard to understand this man's feelings towards Harry.

"I am also expecting heirs," he said, taking another sip from his firewhisky. "I hope you haven't forgotten about it."

Tom wanted to laugh. The way Potter demanded things was almost amusing if the things he demanded weren't actual flesh-and-blood human beings. Tom had never wanted any children ruining his life, although he wouldn't mind them with his soulmate now that he knew that Harry and he were destined by magic to be tied together. Harry, on the other hand, would murder him if he suggested it. Perhaps he needed to find another way to procure those heirs for Potter.

"Of course, sir," he hurried to say.

"Great," Potter cleared his throat. "We'll have a special meeting at the council tomorrow. I am planning to announce your appointment as the new head of the council. Once that is done, you won't have much opposition in the Wizengamot."

"Won't the council oppose my appointment?" Tom asked. Those stuffy purebloods were very snobby. Even though he had just discovered that he was Slytherin's last remaining heir thanks to his precious pretty husband.

"No," Potter scoffed. "They can try, of course, but my vote and Sirius's vote will override anything the others may want to say. That's why I waited until he was back to make sure no one dared oppose."

"Thank you, sir," Tom said.

He wondered what the man would think if he knew that Tom was Salazar Slytherin's only blood left in the world. Tom doubted it'd make Potter happy. He was picked because he was a magically powerful, ambitious and intelligent nobody, ready to do what Potter wanted him to do and in exchange, Potter gave him his spoiled little princess of a son and his influence and power.

"Lily misses Harry," Potter said, clearing his throat. "Since we will be busy with the council tomorrow, I'd prefer if you came and stayed at our house today. Harry could spend tomorrow with his mother while we sort out your appointment."

Tom would love to say no, but he gritted his teeth and nodded.

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Harry felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he had told Tom the truth. His heart was drumming fast in his chest, vibrating with warmth and excitement. He had told Tom that he wanted to stay with him. He had confided in him, and Tom had assured him he would be there for Harry. The guilt he had been feeling since he had come to this new world had evaporated, vanishing without a trace.

Harry had fought to survive all his life. He didn't have enough food, enough warmth; he didn't have parents, a home of his own, nor the love and care of others. His first home was Hogwarts, but even then he kept losing the friends and the family he'd made, and was continually ignored and ridiculed, constantly lied to. Ron and Hermione were always there for him, and he would forever miss them. But now, in this new place, he suddenly had Tom, and he wanted Tom.

"You look happy, baby," his mother said, gently caressing his head. "Something good happened?"

"Not really," he blushed.

"Oh please," his mother smiled coyly. "Sweetie, don't be shy. I can tell you and Tom are in a much better place—the way he looks at you now."

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. This definitely wasn't a conversation he was willing to have with his mother. Maybe the other Harry did, but Harry couldn't imagine discussing Tom with her.

"It's not like that," he said. "We are just very... well, since we are married and all, we are friends, you know."

His mother's grin widened, and then she clapped.

"Do you want any tea? You look tired."

Harry shook his head. He was tired, but he wanted to go and sleep. He didn't know why they had come to his parents' home instead of their own. His mother rubbed his back gently. Harry felt like a little child in her arms, the feeling of comfort so foreign, yet so addictive.

"Harry," his father's voice startled him. "You look so tired, baby."

Harry lifted his head and saw Tom standing by his father, looking somehow pensive.

"He had to spend several hours on his feet," Tom interjected. "Of course, he's tired. Let's go, darling. You need to rest."

Harry glared at Tom. There was something very childish and juvenile about this Tom despite being extremely sophisticated, well-spoken and charming. He seemed to find the most inappropriate moments to tease him, like right now, in front of his parents.

"Right," Harry grumbled, getting up and kissing his mother on top of her head. "Let's go, darling, before I drop dead."

Tom's grin only widened, and he extended his hand to Harry. Harry noticed how his father stared at him confused and what appeared to be a very suspicions look, but he didn't say anything, just ruffled Harry's hair and wished them good night.

Once they were far enough from his parents, Harry pulled his hand away.

"Do you have to mock me?" he demanded.

"Mock you?" Tom laughed, grabbing Harry's hand back. "I know that despite that pretty brain in that head of yours, you still have my ex-husband's body. He would have been whining by now about his feet hurting and demanding the house-elves to massage them."

"Whatever," Harry rolled his eyes. His feet hurt like they were going to fall off any minute now. The burning sensation was the worst. His counterpart looked totally bangable but had a defectively frail body. Harry wasn't sure the beauty compensated for the pain he was feeling right about then.

Tom suddenly stopped and picked him off the ground. Harry managed to suppress the undignified scream that was threatening to spill from his mouth.

"What are you doing?" he demanded instead. "Put me down."

"I promised you today, I'll protect you," Tom said without a twinge of shame. "I like to keep my word."

"Protect me? Is the floor going to swallow me or something?"

Tom didn't respond; instead, he pushed the door open and walked inside. Harry, resigned to his fate, looked around and realised this was the same room they'd stayed in last time. It had new curtains, bedding, and flowers, all matching in hues and tones.

Tom gently placed Harry on the bed and then proceeded to kneel in front of him and take off his shoes. Harry closed his eyes. Tom's hands were cool when he cupped his feet, and the numbing burning ache vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Feel better?" he asked when Harry craned his neck to look at him.

"You really need to teach me that spell," Harry nearly moaned. "How did the other Harry live like this?"

Tom smiled, getting up and helping Harry into a seated position.

"I'll make you a potion to help with the pain from now on, darling," he murmured, pushing back Harry's soft hair.

He stared into Harry's eyes with his lifeless grey eyes, and Harry couldn't help but stare back, mesmerised. Why the fuck was he so bloody attractive? Harry gulped and blushed brightly.

"Thanks," he said, averting his eyes before he decided to do something stupid and reckless in true Harry fashion. "I guess I'll go take a bath or something. I wish we were home, to be honest. Why did you want to stay here today?"

"Your father insisted," Tom said. "Your mother misses you, and he wanted you to spend time with her since tomorrow we have some important business to conduct."

"So tomorrow I'm stuck here?" Harry groaned. He liked Lily, but she liked spending time shopping, and Harry hated shopping. "I wanted to continue investigating Harry's death, especially now that I met his idiot of a lover. Fuck, just remembering that arse raises my blood pressure. Should have punched him in the face."

"I punched him in the face," Riddle grinned.

Harry chuckled, biting his lower lip.

"Well, now you're just rubbing it in," he protested. "Hearing that you get to enjoy all these little things while I don't isn't exactly making me feel all chummy inside, you know. First, you're telling me I'm stuck home on princess Harry duty and then you tell me you punched that git. Life isn't fair, is it?"

Tom was laughing, and Harry could tell that it was genuine. The smile and mirth in his eyes were real.

"Would it please you if I told you Gellert was absolutely floored that you were able to take him down in a duel and accused me of puppeteering you?"

"Even my accomplishments are being taken from me," Harry lamented, his voice all serious, but the corners of his lips curled in amusement.

"I see, darling," Tom said, holding his hand. "How can I make you happy then? Would you like me to draw you a bath and wash you?"

Harry pulled his hand back and nearly fell off the bed. He coughed in embarrassment.

"You're so easy to tease," he laughed, getting up. "I'll draw you a bath, okay?"

He left Harry in the room and disappeared behind the bathroom door. Harry's heart was beating fast. What was wrong with him? Why was Riddle flirting with him such a big deal? He rubbed his chest and got up, following Tom to the bathroom. His bare feet touched the cool marble flooring as he headed inside. Tom held his wand over the tub and was watching the layer of white steam rise above it.

"Darling?"

Harry looked at Tom, stepped closer, and then put his hands around Tom's neck. Tom stood there unmoving, watching him and waiting. Harry pulled his head down and went on his tiptoes to bring their faces together. Riddle was so bloody tall.

Harry swallowed hard, his gaze flitting between Tom's lips and his eyes. Then he tilted his head and kissed Tom. Softly. Their lips touched lightly, and Tom placed his hands on Harry's hips and pulled him closer. The scent of magic and cool breeze in springtime enveloped Harry's senses. Tom had something dark and soothing about his smell.

"I want to stay with you," Harry murmured. "You said I could... before..."

"Are you proposing to me, darling?" Tom whispered into his ear. Harry tried to push him away. "Sorry, baby, it's just too much fun to tease you since you get worked up so easily."

"Forget I said anything," Harry grumbled.

"I want you to stay here by my side," Tom said, undoing the buttons on Harry's shirt. "I want you to be my husband, sweetheart. I have never felt a connection to anyone in my life, and now I know that I was waiting for you. You were meant to come here and be mine."

"Don't exaggerate," Harry huffed, allowing Tom to pull down his shirt. "This is all an accident. I could have easily wound up in a universe with no Earth or humans."

"But you didn't," Tom murmured.

The shirt fell onto the marble floor. Tom's hands ran down Harry's bare chest, his fingers light on the lean muscles, perfect silky skin. Harry wasn't sure what they were doing. Tom's hands slid down, and he undid the fastener on Harry's trousers. They stared at each other. Tom bent down to pull Harry's trousers down. Harry just stood there frozen.

What were they doing? Was he supposed to undress Tom?

"You're beautiful," Tom said, undressing Harry completely. "But I want to see you, Harry. The real you, as you were, if you are willing to show me."

"Um," Harry's hands flew to cover himself, but he reasoned Tom had seen it all anyway. He was married to the other Harry, and there was no way they hadn't fucked. He turned red when his mind went there, imagining all the filthy things this man must have done and said to the other Harry. Harry would have fucked himself if he could; with looks so beautiful and sinful, there was no chance they hadn't.

Just the mere thought made him feel both desire and jealousy. He was jealous of his other self, and it was pathetic.

"Harry?"

"Yeah? What is it?" he stammered. "You want to see me. You mean what I looked like before? I mean my body from my world?"

Tom smiled, his hand dipping into the water in the bath, creating small ripples.

"Well, I didn't look like this, that's for sure," he said, feeling self-conscious for some reason. Would Tom like him? He resembled himself, of course, but Tom's husband was perfect, and Harry was just Harry.

"Let's get you in the water," Tom said, changing the subject as if sensing Harry's unease. He stepped forward and picked him up. Harry definitely wasn't expecting such personal handling. Tom lowered him into the tub, the warm, pleasant water instantly surrounding Harry from all sides. Tom's hands held him firmly and didn't let go until Harry lay comfortably, placing his own hands on the sides of the tub.

Tom sat on the edge of the tub and brushed back Harry's hair off his forehead.

"Can I join you, Harry?"

"In the tub?"

"You have somewhere else in mind?"

Harry was sure Tom could see all the colour changes on his face. He kept imagining things in his head—filthy, hot things, and it made his breathing shallow, his heart racing, his blood coursing to places it wasn't meant to go.

"Sure, you can join," he said, trying to scoot away as if the tub wasn't huge, drawing up his knees towards his chest. "There is enough space for both of us."

Tom smirked and reached out to undo his tie. Harry gulped and averted his eyes.

"You like the water?" he asked, his voice smooth and seductive. "Is it hot enough, baby?"

Harry splashed the water around and nodded, stubbornly avoiding looking at Tom.

"It's good," he said, blinking as he caught the reflection of Tom on the surface of the water. Startled, he looked away and came face to face with Tom. The man smiled at him, completely unashamed that he was entirely naked. Harry's eyes widened in shock. He stared, and then, realising what he was doing, nearly fell on his back into the water. At this rate, he was going to drown himself from embarrassment.

Tom was so fucking hot; even fully dressed, it wasn't hard to imagine all that impressive physique the man was hiding beneath a well-tailored suit and robes. But imagining and seeing it were two different things. And well, other things much more impressive had caught Harry's eyes, and now his mind was working overtime, providing all kinds of improper images and conjuring lewd situations. It didn't help that Tom stepped into the tub and lay in front of him.

Harry gulped and looked at Tom. Tom's lips curled in amusement. It seemed Harry's suffering was cheering him up. The arse!

"You are flushed," he said. "Do you want me to make the water cooler? Is it too hot, darling?"

Harry glared at him, and that only made Tom's smile wider. The hot arse was definitely enjoying this. Harry bit his lip and swam towards Tom. The smile dropped from Tom's face when Harry pressed their wet, bare bodies together.

"Don't worry," he said. "I like it hot."

Tom placed his hand on Harry's back and pulled him closer. He held Harry's chin between his fingers, tilted it up and leaned down to capture his lips with his own. Closing his eyes, Harry melted into the kiss, all the thoughts in his head as if disappearing.

"You're too perfect," Tom murmured. "I wish I could see all of you. The you from your world. You don't need to show me, sweetheart, but I thought now that you've decided to stay, I'd get to see you—the real you."

Harry gulped. He took a deep breath, still safe in Tom's arms and nodded.

"Okay," he agreed. He owed Tom the truth about himself if he wanted to stay here by Tom's side. No one else needed to know who Harry was, but Tom deserved to know. "You want me to give you a memory for a Pensieve?"

"Hmm," Tom brought Harry's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "Pensieve memories are a good idea. But I don't want to disturb your parents at this hour for a Pensieve. They'd ask questions."

"You want to see me now?" Harry was a little confused by Tom's enthusiasm. "How else would you see without a Pensieve?"

"Would you let me into your mind?" Tom asked softly, his hands moving up and tracing the sides of Harry's face.

It seemed like a bad idea to let Tom into his mind, but it wasn't like Tom was Voldemort.

"I'll lower my Occlumency shields," he told Tom, the warm water splashing slightly as Tom pushed him towards the other side of the tub and kissed him in response.

"Thank you for trusting me, darling," Tom whispered. "Legilimens."

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Tom found himself in a dark, empty room. The cool, impersonal void sent chills down his spine. His gaze wandered over the emptiness he was confined in with fascination. He had never seen a mind as guarded as Harry's. The darkness swam around him, then dissipated like a wisp of smoke. Tom was in the Great Hall. He saw many students he recognised and some more he was seeing for the first time in his life.

"Harry," it was Ms Granger's voice.

Tom turned around and saw him. A smile curled the corners of his lips as he took in Harry's features. He was beautiful. Tom had expected Harry to look vastly different from his spoiled little husband, but this Harry was breathtaking. He had a scar on his forehead, green eyes pretty and full of challenge as he sat by his friends' side.

Tom sifted through the memories, watching with fascination as he saw Harry fly on a broom. The boy was gorgeous. He wished he had attended Hogwarts with this Harry. Tom was a natural Legilimens, but it was hard even for him to navigate through Harry's mind, despite the fact that Harry had willingly invited him inside. Tom concentrated and went to Harry's very first memory.

Harry was a cute, chubby baby. Tom wanted to smile seeing him at this age, but he was crying. When he looked around, he saw Lily Potter dead by his side. The memories after that were a blur. Tom watched Harry grow up with strange Muggles. They were disgusting—perhaps even worse than the impersonal staff at the orphanage Tom had grown up in. These filthy animals tortured Harry. It was as if he were their personal house-elf, cooking and cleaning for them, confined in a tiny space like old junk no one knew what to do with and hadn't bothered to throw away.

Tom would have gladly tortured them if he could have reached through Harry's memories and interacted with anything there. Years went by, and Harry's Hogwarts letter arrived. Tom realised how similar that experience was for both of them. Harry too thought of Hogwarts as his home.

Harry was nothing like his husband had been at school. He cared about others, loved his friends, and wouldn't stand for Malfoy's snootiness. The memories of Harry and Draco brought an actual smile to Tom's lips, because Harry definitely handled Malfoy in a way that Tom often wished he could handle the little git.

Tom's heart slowed down as he met his counterpart. It was horrid. Watching Harry dissolve the deformed monster's face was surreal. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. But the following memories of Harry finding the Chamber of Secrets had him mesmerised. Tom wished he had found it himself. Perhaps he would have, if he had known about his heritage. Then he saw a version of himself being destroyed by Harry—a Horcrux bound to a mere diary.

He watched Harry do the craziest things, watched him ride on a hippogriff, be the youngest champion of Hogwarts, win the Triwizard Championship and kill a Basilisk. He saw himself resurrected. The other himself was an abomination—hideous and deformed. Voldemort. Tom hadn't used that name in a very long time. This pathetic little creature had lost his humanity and intellect to hubris. Hearing a prophecy about himself and knowing there was a man destined to be his equal, he had decided to destroy him instead of keeping him.

He watched Voldemort with disgust. He had achieved nothing in life; like a pathetic little coward, he had joined hands with those who had humiliated and insulted him, even though he had the magic at his fingertips to make them bow before him. Followers? The moron had followed the purebloods who called him Mudblood in his first years before discovering his own heritage. That Tom Riddle was pitiful, seeking validation among those who thought he was of inferior blood.

He watched through all of Harry's memories—all of his pain, all of his fight and suffering. He watched it all with greed, saw every one of his nightmares, and watched the final moment of him dying, struck down by the Killing Curse cast by Tom's hideous version.

Tom was pushed out of Harry's mind, and when he came face to face with Harry, there were tears in his eyes. Tom wiped them away and hugged Harry closer, shielding Harry's head with his hand. He pressed his lips against Harry's—kissing his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead where he remembered the scar from the killing Curse was etched.

"You are magnificent, Harry," he told him. "Even more perfect than I had imagined."

Harry clung to him, and Tom let him. He felt he had the most perfect thing at his side. Tom held Harry, reassuring him with his touches and caresses.

They lay like that in the tub, relaxing in the warmth of the water, until Harry fell asleep. He had had a long day and was truly tired. Tom pulled him out of the water, dried his hair with a quick spell, dressed him in a nightshirt the elf had left for him, and carried him to bed.

Things were certainly going better than he could have ever imagined, and to think that he had considered, in his Hogwarts years, creating what his monstrous counterpart had done. He would have had a tragic end. Harry moved to his side, wrapping the blanket around him as if it were a shield, mumbling something incoherent in his sleep.

"I am on the right path, darling," Tom caressed Harry's face. "Thanks to you, I now know who I am and what fate I have avoided."

His wand flew to his hand with a wordless Accio, and Tom dried his wet hair and dressed. He checked the time, then produced a small pin from his pocket.

"I'll be back before you wake up," he whispered, leaning down and placing a kiss on Harry's cheek.

Activating the special Portkey, Tom left Potter Manor and landed in a quiet street in Knockturn Alley. He held his wand in front of his face and murmured spells. His face was obscured with dark magic, concealing his identity. It had been a very long time since he had called upon the knights. He held his wand up and summoned all of them. The street crackled with light. The walls from the surrounding buildings extended and enveloped the empty street, and Tom soon stood in the room alone.

One by one, masked wizards and witches appeared like wisps of smoke and stood before him. He watched them impassively as they gathered quickly, eager to be called upon after such a long time of inactivity.

"Good evening, friends," he said, his lips curling into a smirk behind the magical concealment that no one could see, his voice hoarse and foreign to him. "We meet again."

"Here to serve the cause, Lord Voldemort," they bowed to him in greeting.

Chapter Text

Tom stood before them silently, watching them like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes swept across the room, waiting for someone to step out of line. They all kept their heads down, eyeing the wooden floor conjured by magic as if it were a mosaic with mismatched tiles that required concentration to glimpse its true meaning. The silence stretched, and the unease grew.

Their faces were hidden, but he could see the uncertainty in the way some of them stood—their shoulders hunched and arms folded before them like dogs with their tails between their legs. It had been such a long time since Tom had summoned them. After his wedding, he had been very busy, and with James Potter's influence at his side, he hadn't had the time or need to call for a meeting. But things had changed. Now he knew.

"It has come to my attention," he spoke, his voice soft but with a disapproving lilt to his tone, as he paced through the circle of his knights, peering at them with disapproval, "that in the last several months, our country has seen quite the notable shift towards Muggle sympathisers. Especially after the election of Tom Riddle into the post of Minister for Magic."

He paused before a tall, lanky man whom he could tell was Macnair just by his peculiar, rotting, cotton-ball scent. Macnair made a strange glottal sound and tried to straighten his posture, but Tom placed his hand on the man's shoulder, making him freeze and breathe loudly through his mouth. His mask, white bone and silver, decorated with protection runes, tilted strangely, exposing the side of his chin. There was a strange mucous film glistening on the surface of his skin that was slightly red at the edges, and it looked like Macnair had tried to scrape it off, but with no luck.

Tom tapped on his shoulder, suppressing a sound of disgust that threatened to escape his lips and walked over to the next knight. He didn't know who this one was, but whoever it was had enough sense to step back a little and bow his head in respect.

"And you have, my friends, done nothing about it," Tom chided, turning back and walking towards the wall that shimmered with the transfiguration charms. "When I have summoned you in the past and given you my wisdom and my power to realise the dreams of our ancestors to have this world of ours protected, I had hoped that you would have shown prudence and willingness for our mission, for our cause, but you've disappointed me with your lack of action."

"My Lord," someone interrupted him, and when he turned to face them, the coward hesitated immediately. "We have been waiting for your guidance. We want to serve the cause."

Tom let out a condescending chuckle. He could tell it was Macnair from the potent stench wafting from his body. He wondered why the man even bothered with the disguise. He clapped dispassionately, trying to express his displeasure and annoyance in the most indistinct way. Although, he knew that many gathered here truly lacked subtlety and would not understand anything less than the obvious.

"So it was none of you who had orchestrated the attack on that sordid orphanage?" he asked, prowling around them in faint, quiet steps, not making any noise like a wordless enchantment, waiting to strike.

He watched them. He watched them carefully, his eyes wandering over every single last one of them, trying to detect the slightest movement—any hint of conspiracy and ploy to hide this from him or pretend to be at the crux of it. Tom wouldn't put it past these arrogant, snotty idiots to try and serve multiple masters. If any of them had clasped hands with Gellert, hoping to achieve their ill-fated dreams of pureblood supremacy, he would need to know and act accordingly.

A wave of chatter and whispers passed through them, and it seemed none of them stood behind the attack, which was comforting to know, as Tom didn't wish to compete with Gellert when it came to navigating his little side project of angry, scorned half-bloods and pure-bloods who were convinced that they were deprived of certain prestige and rights solely on the virtue of their blood and heritage.

"The project was proposed and partly financed by James Potter," someone argued defensively, as if worried they were being accused of inaction in the matter and implying that a wealthy pureblood's political notions were to be respected.

"I am aware," Tom asserted coldly. "And let me be the first to condemn the irresponsible attack on that orphanage. Several of our dear brethren were injured, and I can certainly say that whoever stood behind the attack does not carry the loyalty or love for our country and our world. My sources even confirm that some of those caught and involved in this attack were filthy beasts like werewolves."

The Knights exchanged looks with one another, nodding in agreement even though some of them were still confused about the implication behind Tom's words.

"Those who employ these creatures to spill magical blood, no matter how impure, are not to be celebrated," he declared. "I was, of course, trusting that those within our ranks are of exceptional judgement and wouldn't have fallen prey to such folly, but at the same time, I am afraid to say that there are forces at work among us that are trying to destroy everything we hold sacred, and they've managed to infiltrate every facet of our government and our institutions. I implore you to remain vigilant and careful when conducting yourselves under the decree and in the name of our cause."

"Yes, My Lord," they chanted in unison, their voices stitching themselves to one another and echoing in the emptiness of the magic-forged room.

Tom had to suppress a laugh of amusement at how docile and obedient these self-important pricks were being. If only they knew who Lord Voldemort was, if only they knew who stood behind the mask of their leader, they would perhaps lose their collective minds—not that there was much to lose, as most of them were ignorant, pea-brained morons.

"Nevertheless," he said after a moment of contemplation, as if he were assessing the importance of what had been said, "the orphanage for magical children, while not an idea we are opposed to, cannot be implemented in the lacklustre, shortsighted manner that our dear Minister Riddle is trying to push for. Of course, everyone here knows that a Mudblood like him would try to suck the resources you and your ancestors had created and accumulated for the betterment of his own kind..."

There was a hum of agreement, making Tom roll his eyes behind his mask at how dedicated these scoundrels were to hating him. It was amusing.

"We have not worked so hard to allow for some Mudblood to come and commandeer our money, our wealth, and expropriate these precious resources for his ill-judged political endeavours, while also getting all the credit and patting himself on the back," Tom continued, his voice grave and steely, waving his arms around as if outraged at the audacity of what was happening at the Ministry. "We simply cannot take Mudblood children and house them, feed them, and raise them with our money—all of this effort on our Galleons; all the while their Muggle parents to be free of them with a simple Obliviate Charm and go on their merry way? I don't think so."

"Well said, My Lord," someone shouted. "They want us to finance Muggles breeding like animals and then go scot-free while we pay for their magic-thieving spawns."

Tom chuckled. He was never surprised at the level of delusion these people engaged in. It was almost too easy.

"What would you like us to do, My Lord?" another asked as the chatter grew louder.

"I know you and I are not opposed to the children of our brethren who lose their parents due to tragic circumstances being cared for and supported until they become members of our society. I know we all agree that we need a home for them, so the orphanage should be supported," he said, eyeing them intently, wondering if they even had any thoughts of their own about whether they needed an orphanage or just liked the idea of being wise and benevolent amongst themselves. Tom knew that it was important to stroke their egos to achieve anything he wanted. These scoundrels liked to believe that they were special.

"Exactly my thought, My Lord!" someone hummed, nodding his head intensely enough that the mask nearly fell off.

"Great to hear that our values are not compromised," Tom proclaimed. A buzz of approval followed, but Tom stopped them, raising his hand and shaking his head. "But the same cannot be said for the completely imprudent agenda that Minister Riddle is trying to push. We will not pay for the Mudblood children, and while they should be introduced to the Magical world at an earlier age to avoid all these problems of integration, their Muggle parents should pay for it."

"Completely in agreement," Macnair mumbled, his voice barely leaving his throat. "But they want to obliviate the Muggles before taking the brats from them."

"I don't think we should create more responsibility for us," someone huffed. "Why should we pay for these children when they have their Muggle parents alive? They should pay us for providing the Muggle orphanage schooling."

They started going back and forth, agreeing and disagreeing with each other, and Tom listened to them, lips pressed together and jaw set tightly, wondering if they realised that they were having major issues with lack of wizarding population growth. The magical economy was operating at such a tiny scale because of low numbers, and each year, those numbers were shrinking; it was all due to the Muggle-born children that the positions that needed to be manned could be occupied.

While these idiots were just busy with bluster and pathos and weren't really ready to understand that Muggles could very well one day annihilate them if they felt inclined to do so, wizarding numbers were growing smaller and smaller.

"Gentlemen," he interjected. "Please, let us not get sidetracked. What is important here is that we need to pressure Minister Riddle to modify the law regarding the orphanage and have it so that Muggles will not be obliviated and would need to pay fees for their children's early magical education. I want you to work tirelessly to make sure that this is up for discussion at the next Wizengamot session and an amendment is made to the bill."

"We will see to that, My Lord," he heard several enthusiastic voices.

"Ready to serve you and the Sacred Cause, Lord Voldemort," they chanted.

The magic shimmered in the air, floating and binding the vow given, and Tom simply watched them impassively. They were always a means to an end, and now that end was to make Harry happy. If his little, pretty husband couldn't be happy with Tom yanking away some Muggle-born children from their parents, Tom couldn't simply let it happen, just because his father-in-law wished so.

"Before you go," Tom spoke, walking up to where Macnair was standing, ready to apparate away.

The man shifted nervously. They all knew his power and were wary of him despite their loyalty to him. Tom found it funny that they showed him reverence and respect because they didn't know his blood status. Perhaps they'd be more inclined if they knew that he was the only remaining heir of Salazar Slytherin. The others paused too, watching Macnair curiously.

Tom held his unarmed hand over Macnair's face, right above his chin, where the rot was spreading from, and murmured spells that none of these bastards knew—spells of his own creation mixed with magic that hadn't been used in a thousand years. Ashy dust, dark and inky, poured out of Macnair's skin and burst apart in the air. Tom easily vanished it with a flick of his hand.

Macnair stood for a second astonished, then brought his hand to his chin, his meaty fingers moving underneath his magical mask and feeling his healed skin.

"My Lord," he cried, falling to his knees. "Thank you for your mercy, for your gift."

Now he wouldn't have to suffer the stench of Macnair's rotting flesh.

"I would advise you to be more careful venturing into dark magic," Tom said with contempt. "I would not tolerate my followers making such mistakes, but of course, my gifts are for those loyal to me, like you."

Macnair nearly kissed his feet, and Tom had to step away to avoid that misfortune. The rest seemed in awe and quite stunned to realise what he had just done. Tom merely wanted to reinforce the understanding that there would be upsides for service to him. These self-serving wretches didn't operate in any different manner.

He waved his hands, prompting them to leave, and as wisps of smoke that they came, the wisps of smoke they left. Tom stood in the room, waiting until only two masked men were left behind. The moment they were alone, their masks faded away, and Tom could see the faces of Barty Crouch Jr and Peter Pettigrew. Only the two knew of his real identity and face. Barty had known from the start, and Pettigrew had found out by accident. Tom had to keep the rat on a short leash because he knew that Pettigrew couldn't be trusted.

"Sir, My Lord," Barty cleared his throat, rushing to him as Tom dissipated his own mask and the cloak shrouding his face and body. "It has been a while since you've called us. I am a little surprised by your standing order. Is it wise to have them go against you at the Ministry?"

"Oh, Barty," Tom smiled. "They will not go against me; they will do exactly what I want them to do. As you're aware, Harry is upset with the notion of us separating children from their Muggle parents, and as you also are aware, I cannot do anything about it, as my hands are tied and my father-in-law wouldn't have me go against him. I just need a little push and pull, and things will go as they are meant to go."

Barty looked stunned but nodded eagerly.

"Are you not worried that they might cause problems for you in the future, sir?" he asked. "It seems you're setting them up against yourself."

"Am I?" Tom laughed. "You know, Barty, in politics it's always important to have allies, but what is also important is to have an opposition—at least, the appearance of it. When you only seem to have supporters and very strong, powerful allies, people start to mistrust you. Powerful people only look out for themselves, and if they are supporting you, it means you're doing something for them. People operate on dualities: good and bad, strong and weak; and if you are with the strong and powerful, then you're not on the side of those who do not consider themselves strong and powerful."

Peter shifted about, dragging the sharp ends of his ridiculous shoes across the floor, distracting Tom. Tom glared at the man, making him freeze.

"...So, it's always important to have opposition. Lord Voldemort is a powerful wizard who opposes the Minister. And as long as Lord Voldemort opposes him, these people can rally around Lord Voldemort and not need to form their secondary and tertiary clubs and circles. Power always requires subtlety. No one likes the idea of someone other than themselves having too much power. If people can think that Minister Riddle is kept in check, then they won't worry about me."

"I understand, sir," Barty gulped. "It is still very hard for me to hear you speak in such a manner about yourself, I mean Minister Riddle."

He laughed awkwardly.

"And I appreciate your loyalty, Barty," Tom smiled; this time his smile was genuine. "But you don't need to worry about my pride. A man who walks with his nose up will trip. Sometimes it's good to keep your head down, or you won't notice any traps on the way to your throne. Hubris is dangerous. I have come to learn that."

"Of course, sir," Barty nodded. "And I shall keep this all to myself."

"Thank you, Barty," Tom said and then turned to Pettigrew. "And Peter, I do hope you understand the gravity of betraying me and accidentally spilling anything that is being discussed outside our official meetings."

Pettigrew's face became crimson, and he bobbed his head ardently. Tom had repaired Pettigrew's missing hand, and Peter knew that the gift came with strings attached.

"My loyalty is unwavering, My Lord," Pettigrew wailed.

"Let's make sure it is," Tom tilted his head.

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Harry was so cosy. A soothing warmth enveloped him. When he stretched his legs, the silky soft sheets brushed against his skin, and he curled his body into the comforting warmth of the blankets wrapped around him. His foot then glided over the bedding, and he stuck it out of the blanket only for a second, feeling the cool press of the bedcovers that were not heated in the cocoon of his blanket.

He opened his eyes for a short moment; the bright light had managed to creep inside through the threads and delicate needlework of the curtains. He closed his eyes again and pulled the covers to his face, sinking into the plush pillows. Harry's sleep-addled mind registered a comforting hand wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly in place. His eyelids fluttered, and he wondered, at the back of his mind, how he got to the bed yesterday. He remembered bathing in the tub, and then there was nothing.

Harry turned around, trying to settle back into the bedding and go to sleep, but came face to face with Tom. His cool eyes peered into Harry's as his lips curled into a smile.

"Good morning, darling," he drawled in a soft tone, his arm possessively pulling Harry taut against him. "Did you sleep well?"

Harry felt Tom's hard length press against him and gulped, his cheeks turning rosy and sleep evaporating from his eyes. He covered his face with his palms. Tom laughed and gently stroked Harry's hair.

"What is it, Harry?" he murmured, amused. "Are you shy?"

"Shut up," Harry shook his head, rubbing his heated cheeks. "You are just too warm. You're making me sweat."

"Am I now?" Tom smirked, brushing back Harry's soft hair off his face. He brought his hands and placed them on top of Harry's, murmuring a cooling spell. "Feel better?"

Harry froze, looking into Tom's eyes and realising the gentle way the man was looking at him. Harry had confessed all of his secrets to Tom, and Tom had seen the real him. Tom had seen the real him and told him that he liked Harry very much. A grin broke on Harry's face, and his heart thrummed in his chest, skipping a beat. Warmth spread in his stomach, and Harry felt like the air wasn't enough for his lungs.

Tom was looking at him, and he was smiling. Fuck! Harry couldn't look at Tom and not feel out of his bloody mind.

"Erm..." he cleared his throat, shuffling about in the bed, trying to get up. "I'll go and take a quick shower."

"Alright, darling," Tom said, moving forward and wrapping his arm around Harry's back while sliding the other under Harry's legs. "Let me take you to the bathroom."

He picked Harry up with ease as if Harry weighed less than a quill, less than a pocket watch, and walked towards the door on the side of the bedroom. His eyes remained focused on Harry, and the admiring smile didn't leave his lips.

"You are mine now, sweetheart," Tom told him. "You said you wanted to stay with me, and I suppose, even though we are married, I'd like you to date me."

"Date you?" Harry licked his lips, unable to look away. Tom was so bloody handsome. His hair was still perfect despite having just woken up. He looked so composed and collected even though he'd just opened his eyes.

"Yes," Tom said. "Go on dates with me. I hadn't dated my ex-husband, but you... you I would like to take out on dates and court properly. So today, after I'm done with the commitment I have to attend with your father, I'd like to take you out somewhere. I'm sure you'd enjoy it."

Harry's heart swelled. Tom lowered him to his feet and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. It was so chaste and light as if Tom was scared he'd frighten Harry. Harry didn't know there was much in his life that could frighten him anymore.

"Like Hogsmeade?" he asked.

He hadn't gone on any dates at all, so the idea that Tom wanted to take him on a date excited him strangely. Fuck, he felt stupid and embarrassed that spending time with this man made him feel childlike wonder and joy.

"You want to go to Hogsmeade, Harry?" Tom laughed. "I was thinking a bit more Muggle. My ex-husband wouldn't have indulged, but I am confident that you will like it. But I will take you to Hogsmeade. Although that might raise some eyebrows. I imagine the papers would love it."

"Is Hogsmeade too childish for a date?" Harry laughed awkwardly. "I guess I just want what I didn't have. My classmates would go on dates in Hogsmeade. My only attempt ended in a bit of a disaster, to be honest."

His own admission and reminder of that awful date with Cho made his cheeks burn.

"It's not childish," Tom argued. "We will go to every date spot in Hogsmeade. I will get you ice-cream, and we can have tea. If you want, we can shop for funny hats at Fickle Fabrics and those garish socks from Gladrags; we can do that too. Everything that crosses your mind."

Harry covered his heated cheeks in shame. Fuck, it sounded so juvenile, and he wanted it all.

"Okay," he agreed. "And I want the Muggle dates with you too."

"Of course, darling," Tom said with a smile, making Harry feel like his heart was trying to spring out of his chest and fly away.

After everything yesterday, Harry now knew that he had made the right choice. Tom was nothing like Voldemort. He was a different man. Harry felt safe for the first time in a very long time. Tom had been very subtle and careful about how he had treated Harry and had never pressured him into revealing things. Come to think of it, he didn't really think of Voldemort as himself when he had learned the truth.

"I am surprised you have taken everything about Voldemort and all so easily," Harry said, changing the topic. "I thought you'd be more upset about the whole insanity thing."

Tom smiled. "Are you upset about what the other you was?" he asked.

Harry bit his lip, a bit hesitant, and hummed.

"I suppose I logically understand what I was in your world, since you were also completely different in mine," Tom explained. "Do you feel different knowing what kind of person the other Harry was? The knowledge that all the bad and the good has led to this moment is what reassures me and helps me not feel burdened by it. All the bad that the other me did, your death, you travelling through space and time, me travelling into a different timeline has made it possible for us to be here in each other's arms, and that is what I care about."

"I didn't know you were so pragmatic," Harry said softly.

"I am nothing but pragmatic," Tom replied, bringing Harry's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "Besides, all the space and time travel has made sure we are in the same timespan. I imagine a romance with a seventy-year-old wouldn't have been as exciting."

"Gross," Harry laughed. "Don't put any images in my head."

"Oh, sweetheart, I didn't know you had inherited vanity from my ex-husband," Tom joked, feeling no shame or remorse in teasing Harry, in fact, Harry was certain the arse was completely pleased with himself.

A smile curled the corners of Harry's lips, and he went up on his tiptoes, placing a barely touching kiss on Tom's lips and forcing the man to hold him possessively. The smile didn't leave Tom's face, and he looked so much more handsome like this. Harry liked it.

"You know, Harry," he murmured, "now I know why you've been wary of me. And I am sorry that the other me was so horrible. I know, even though I am not him, I will still do things that you won't agree with, especially politically. There will be times I will have to do things that you do not approve of, but I promise you that I will do my best to make things as good as I can."

"Thank you, Tom," Harry felt his eyes water, and he widened them in the hope that the tears would just spread across and not spill over. He didn't want Tom to see him crying, but his voice cracked anyway, giving away how he felt.

Tom gently rubbed his back and smiled at him.

"I know you are very unhappy about the Muggle-born children being taken away from their parents and the parents being obliviated," he told Harry, his voice soft and low. "I may be able to stop that from happening. I can't change everything, but the things that I can, I will fight to change."

Harry hugged Tom, his hands wrapping around him tightly. They stood there like that in the elegant bathroom of the Potter Manor, in each other's arms for a moment. Tom eventually pulled away, patting Harry's head as if Harry was a tiny kitten.

"Alright, take your shower, darling," he said. "Or we will be late for breakfast with your parents. Unfortunately, I have a council meeting scheduled with your father and will need to leave soon."

"You're going to leave me behind? Is that how it is?" Harry groaned, reaching out and turning the hot water on.

"You will survive a few hours without me," Tom joked. "And I will make it up to you."

Harry snorted and, pulling off his shirt, stepped under the hot water. He closed his eyes, enjoying the way the hot water caressed his skin, and when he opened them, Tom was no longer there. He probably went to the other bathroom to shower and get ready. Harry mechanically reached for the soothing, sweet-smelling bath creams and ointments. He had already gotten used to doing this to maintain the other Harry's looks, so it was already a habit at this point.

The other Harry's body was so slender and lithe, like a meticulously curved marble statue. Harry couldn't understand how Tom would consider his original looks just as beautiful when Harry himself would have totally fucked this new version of himself if he could. He lathered the cream over his skin, feeling the silky texture beneath his fingertips, the water slowly gliding over him and washing away the soap.

He was still a little tired from yesterday and had slept so well after having the weight of his secrets lifted off his shoulders that he would have liked to stay in bed with Tom a bit longer. Quickly washing his hair and body, he exited the shower and cast a few drying charms on himself. He turned to grab his clothes left in the bathroom from yesterday, but they were no longer there. Instead, a new set of clothes, carefully pressed and folded, had been left for him.

Harry put them on and walked back into the bedroom. Tom was already dressed. He looked so good in his well-pressed suit and dark robes with the snake-shaped tie bar. The moment he saw Harry, his expression lightened.

"Let's go," he said, coming up to Harry and placing his hand on Harry's waist.

They walked out of the bedroom, and Harry leaned into Tom's touch, wondering internally how his parents would react to the change in their relationship. He felt bad about replacing the other Harry, but realised there was nothing he could do about it, as he could do nothing about his original world where he himself was dead.

"Baby," Lily Potter's voice pulled him back from his thoughts, and Harry looked up to see his mother, with her pretty red hair down, wearing a white silk blouse and a long pleated skirt. She looked so beautiful without any glamour or make-up. "You are up so early. You're never up so early."

She came over and hugged him, and Tom stepped back to allow Lily to wrap her arms around her son.

"I just..." Harry stammered. "Tom said we would be having breakfast with you, and I wanted to have tea with all of you."

"Aww," she laughed, her little giggles so sweet that Harry couldn't help the smile on his lips. "Come sit here, sweetie! With all the crazy things happening, we really haven't had much time to spend with each other, have we? But today, we have all to ourselves. We can shop for some pretty outfits for you. Madam Malkin has so many new pieces, and Cissy will come with us too."

Harry sat down on the plush sofa by his mother's side and glanced at Tom, resignation to his fate all over his face. Tom smirked. The bloody arsehole! Harry didn't want to spend a whole day shopping for new clothes. He was distracted by an elf popping in and bringing them tea that he didn't notice his father walking in.

"Does master want tea?" the elf asked, and James dismissively waved his hand.

"Don't put too much cream, Winky," he ordered as he sat down next to Tom, facing Harry. "Harry, baby, why aren't you having breakfast? Are you dieting again?"

Harry shifted with discomfort, unsure what to say. Truth was, he wasn't very hungry and just wanted tea.

"James," Lily furrowed her eyebrows, laughing softly and tossing back her long pretty curls. "He's having tea."

"Tea isn't enough to stay healthy," he rolled his eyes. "He's meant to have children and needs to eat properly."

Harry nearly snorted his tea and almost threw up. He coughed, startled, and Lily rushed to rub his back in a soothing pattern. What was this man's deal? Why was he bloody monitoring Harry's eating habits and demanding children?

"He's eating quite healthily, sir," Tom stated, tilting his head to look at James. His voice and demeanour were courteous, but Harry could tell from his stiff posture that he was annoyed. "And his regular healer checkups always confirm that. Harry is just not a morning person."

"Right," James nodded, staring at Harry. "You are awake a little too early for yourself, baby. I hope you are not up to some mischief again, are you?"

Harry cleared his throat and shook his head. James Potter was treating his son like he was a little child. Harry was meant to be an adult, a married man with a husband and his own life, and yet James was looking at Harry like a misbehaving, spoiled princess that needed to be scolded and patted on the head simultaneously.

"The gala yesterday was amazing," Lily laughed, as if sensing Harry's unease and deciding to reverse the conversation to something else. "Tom, the work you've put in is truly extraordinary."

"Thank you, Lady Potter," Tom said politely, placing his teacup back into its saucer.

"Yes," James agreed. "It was great. We do have important work today though. Your appointment as the head of the Council will be the first step in our plan to start the change that is long overdue. The Ministry's inactivity has resulted in the current disastrous state of affairs for us, and we simply cannot allow for that to happen."

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They landed before large silver gates, decorated and warded with ancient runes and magic. Tom had been a member of the council since his marriage to Harry, and Potter had been tactically pushing his prominence in the council's decision-making roles. The other members treated him with contempt, as he was neither a pureblood nor did he hail from a well-known wizarding family; however, Tom, being the Minister and James Potter's son-in-law, had effectively silenced them.

He wondered how they'd feel if they knew of his real heritage.

The gates opened for them, and they stepped into a dark, narrow room. As they strode down the long corridor, lanterns attached to the walls lit up one by one, illuminating their path. The council's chambers were several feet below ground, and Tom always found it strangely comforting. They stepped into the lift, and before the doors could close, Sirius Black hopped in.

"Sirius," James greeted him with a handshake and hugged him. "Glad you are back home. How was your trip?"

"Annoying as always," Black snorted. "You know how my mother can be."

"Is she not getting better?" James asked, not sounding too interested in the answer, and it seemed Black knew it, because he laughed.

"Fuck no!" he huffed. "If she did, she'd try to ruin my life, so let's hope that tragedy never happens. She was cross with me for dating Remus. Can you imagine the fit she'd throw if she knew I am now married to him?"

Potter nodded.

"Riddle," Black turned to him tersely. "I see you're being promoted today. Congratulations!"

The man seemingly couldn't stand him. Tom never understood where this hostility came from. He had never done anything to earn Black's discontent. But he assumed it was because of his marriage to the man's godson. Sirius Black worshipped Harry and thought the little brat was the best thing that walked the earth, and, in his opinion, Tom didn't deserve him.

"Good morning, Mr Black," Tom greeted politely. "Thank you. I wouldn't have been here without your support."

"How is Harry?"

"That brat, as always, is causing trouble," James laughed. "You know how unruly he is. Although I feel he's been a bit quiet recently. Tom must have his hands full with that one."

"Harry is a sweet boy," Black argued. "I've brought him presents from France. Maybe we can see him later today."

Perhaps Black should have gotten a child of his own instead of spoiling Potter's brat. Although now Tom was curious how he'd react to Harry not caring one bit for the gifts he'd brought.

The lift reached the ground floor, and they stepped out and headed to the council's chambers.

The members were already seated; some of them looked so bored and uninterested that Tom wondered why they even attended. Black took his seat; meanwhile, Potter sat next to him and motioned for Tom to sit next to him. He glanced over the gathered men and noticed Macnair, sitting all proud and happy in a new set of robes. He must have gone shopping after yesterday's meeting, happy for his healed face.

A few pleasantries were exchanged, and then the council's session commenced.

"Gentlemen, honourable members of the council, as you are aware after Mr James Blishwick's unexpected passing, the position of head of the Sacred Council has been vacant," James announced, standing up and commanding the attention of the attendees at the council meeting seated at the table. "Today we are gathered here to remedy this matter and vote for the new head of the council. I offer Tom Riddle's candidacy for this position."

"Your son-in-law, Potter?" Selwyn snorted. "I haven't seen a more blatant attempt at a power grab."

There was a slight noise as some of the council members shuffled on their chairs in clear discomfort. Potter, along with Black, was a major financial contributor to the council's treasury, and many here had a vested interest in keeping the man happy. No one wished to ruffle Potter's feathers and engage in a fight with him they couldn't possibly win.

"And I am sure you can express your opinion with your vote, Selwyn," Potter smiled, leaning forward and locking eyes with Selwyn.

Tom could tell that Potter was annoyed, as the smile lingered on his lips, almost like an unspoken threat.

"With my vote?" Selwyn shouted, unable to control himself. "You are speaking about my vote when you're shamelessly trying to push your influence into every institution we have."

He looked around, indignant and angry as if searching for allies amongst the members, and some of them seemed to have been emboldened by his outburst because they nodded and hummed in agreement. Things were getting tense. Tom found it frustratingly annoying that he had to leave Harry's side for this nonsense.

"Yes, with your vote," Potter mocked. "I was operating under the assumption that everyone here, Selwyn, knows how the council functions. To elect a new head of the council, a candidacy of a member should be proposed, and the said candidacy should be put up for a vote. If you are unaware of our bylaws, I suggest you spend your afternoon getting yourself acquainted with them. That is, of course, if you hope to remain a member of this council."

"This is outrageous," Selwyn screamed, his face getting red as he got to his feet. "The purpose of the council is to regulate the Ministerial affairs, and now you're trying to nominate your son-in-law as the head of the organisation that is supposed to keep him in check while he's the Minister for Magic."

"Funny," Potter placed his hand on the table and tilted his head to the side. "I was certain that the purpose of this council was its independent review and work from the Ministry to establish new projects and realise them, not oversee the Ministry of Magic or the Minister's decisions. The council is established to carry out the realisation of projects that are essential to the British wizarding communities but are not on the radar or under the management of the Ministry."

Potter's tone, calm and assertive, was dripping with condescension. The man was always patronising, but it seemed Selwyn was receiving special treatment. Tom knew Potter quite well, and he knew that the man wasn't just bark with no bite.

"And you think that your son-in-law is best suited for this position?"

"You keep repeating that word, son-in-law, Selwyn, as if that somehow undermines Mr Riddle's accomplishments," James snorted, placing his hand on Tom's shoulder. "I am sure everyone at some point has wondered, and perhaps even hoped, that they or one of their children would enter into such a relationship with me. So it should be telling of the level of competence Mr Riddle has to not only be the current Minister at his age, but also to be chosen to marry my son."

There was a hum of agreement. Tom couldn't deny that Potter's defence of him was quite strange but not unwelcome. He knew the man saw him as a means to an end, but Potter certainly was not one to be stingy with the men he used. Tom had gotten Potter's biggest prize, his son, who was now an utter perfection with the right soul inhabiting that body, one that no one could deny was made for sin.

"This council is meant to advance our interests, and it is in our interest to reform and better our institutions," Potter continued, his voice taking on a slightly calmer and more measured tone. "No Minister or council member has achieved the level of progress that Mr Riddle has managed. The Magical Children's Integration Act, the Education Reform Act, which I would insist has done more to produce qualified wizards and witches at their profession than any other educational programme, not to mention the trade agreements we are enjoying now that have been achieved through the hard work of... my son-in-law."

Potter smirked, and that pissed Selwyn off even more.

"Unless that is exactly what makes you so upset, Selwyn," Potter added, amused. "The very notion that you'd need to work or pay attention to this council's sessions. I am beginning to believe you were using your time at the council as a means to avoid your wife."

"How dare you, Potter," Selwyn bristled. "And now you are throwing personal insults."

"You were the first to bring personal matters into this," Potter countered. "I would advise you to sit down and show some decorum. Everyone who's displeased can offer their own candidacy or the candidacy of another of their choice, and we shall put it to a vote."

There was silence. Everyone looked at each other.

"Perhaps Mr Selwyn no longer enjoys the council," Malfoy sneered, crossing his legs. "The membership, I reckon, is not mandatory."

"Hmm, Malfoy, I don't need your commentary on this," Selwyn shot back. "Everyone here knows that you, Potter and Black are related by blood and marriage."

"Everyone here is unfortunately related," Black laughed. "An aunt of mine is married to an uncle of yours, so cut the shit."

"Mr Potter, Mr Black," Macnair inserted himself into the conversation. "We may vote in Mr Riddle's favour, but the old magic would need to sanctify his appointment, and we are well aware of his blood. I do not wish to sound crass, but the fire will not burn strong. The magic will not accept someone who isn't of old blood."

Tom gritted his teeth. Macnair seemed awfully sure of himself after nearly rotting to death and getting a second chance due to Tom. Although the idiot didn't know, and his current abrasiveness was perhaps inspired by his belief that his Lord Voldemort would protect him against Potter and the others present here, which was quite amusing in hindsight.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about that, Mr Macnair," Potter advised.

"Those in favour of Mr Riddle being elected as the new head of the council, please cast your votes now with a show of hands," Malfoy said, while keenly observing his manicured nails and then raising his arm.

Most members of the council raised their hands, save for Selwyn, Macnair and a few others. Potter watched the show of hands and then a smirk curled his lips.

"Mr Riddle is the new head of the council," he declared, getting up and clapping. The others followed suit. The only ones that remained seated were those that had voted against him.

"The ancient magic still needs to accept him, Potter," Selwyn sneered. "I think you are celebrating a bit too soon."

"Of course," Potter smirked and walked up to the pedestal facing the large wall that had been hand-carved, depicting a large ancient creature. He grabbed the silver dagger displayed on the pedestal and walked back to his seat.

He extended the dagger to Tom, and Tom took it. Tom walked up to the wall, held his palm over it, murmured the charms to awaken the creature carved into it, and then made a small cut into his hand, holding it over the wall. Blood dripped down into the basin at the foot of it, and everyone watched with bated breath, waiting to see if the fire would burn bright or if the magic wouldn't accept his blood.

The blood dripped, drop after another, and some of the seated members who had voted against him suddenly seemed very giddy as if vindicated, but then suddenly the creature lit up, lapping at Tom's blood, and fire burst out, nearly scorching everyone in its path. Tom turned around to look at the stunned faces of the council members; even those who had voted for him were shocked. Only James Potter didn't seem surprised at all. He smirked and turned to look at others with a gloating expression.

"It seems ancient magic was quite eager for this appointment," Potter taunted. "Some of you are—"

The door to the chambers swung open, and a man rushed in.

"Sir," he said. "I am sorry to interrupt. But we need to inform the Minister about a Dementor attack in Hogsmeade."

Tom froze. Harry was going to be there with his mother.

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Lily fixed Harry's hair, brushing it to the side, her fingers gently touching his face. Harry smiled at her, and Lily smiled back.

"Well, sweetie," she said, excited, crossing her legs. "Tell me how it's going with Tom. I have seen you looking at him. Don't deny it."

Harry's cheeks turned red. No, absolutely not! He was not going to discuss Tom with his mother. She had tried to pry yesterday too, and he had brushed her off, but his mother seemed awfully persistent.

"We are fine," he said, coughing and shifting in discomfort. Lily didn't seem to notice, though.

"That's for the better, baby," she said. "We can't afford another scandal right now. Things are very complicated, and your father is trying to make important changes."

"Important changes?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. James Potter seemed strangely interested in politics for a man who wasn't exactly involved with any political office.

His mother smiled and nodded, without explaining what she meant.

"Let's go, Harry," she said, holding his hand. "Narcissa is probably already waiting for us."

Harry held her hand, and they apparated into the street right before Madam Malkin's shop. The sun was beautifully bright. It was always nice in Hogsmeade. Harry loved this place, and he wished he had more opportunities to enjoy it. They walked down the cobblestone pathway, the buildings perched at odd angles with their façades adorned with colourful window displays. There were so many places he wanted to go, and a part of him excitedly told him that he could go with Tom.

Harry inhaled happily and glanced at his mother. Lily Potter was a beautiful woman and looked just as young as Harry remembered her. She seemed carefree and a little too detached from everything. Harry's heart swelled with longing every time he was with her, and every time he felt a little bit of bitterness inside that, despite the resemblance, this was not his mother.

There were shoppers passing by, browsing the windows, Hogwarts students holding hands, and most of them were staring at him. It was strange that so many people would be interested in him when Harry hadn't really done anything to earn this kind of notice. There were a few photographers snapping pictures of him with his mother.

"Narcissa," Lily waved at the woman walking towards them from the other end of the street.

"Lily, so good to see you," Narcissa Malfoy said, hugging and kissing Lily. "Finally, some time for ourselves. Oh, Harry, look at you. You were so beautiful yesterday. We didn't get to greet each other. The Minister had you all to himself; Lily and I noticed that, my stunning boy."

Harry was going to vomit if he had to hear any more of this nonsense. His lips twisted into a reluctant smile. Narcissa leaned forward and hugged him gently, kissing his cheek and smiling at him. She seemed so tender with him, and while the whole cooing voice she used was a bit patronising, it was nice to be treated so lovingly.

"He's being coy about it," Lily laughed. "Keeping secrets from me! Can you imagine?"

Narcissa laughed, and they headed inside Madam Malkin's shop, dragging Harry with them.

"Mr Potter-Riddle," someone yelled, making Harry look back and snapped a picture of him.

"These vultures," Lily shook her head and sighed. "They just won't leave us alone."

The door shut behind them, and they found themselves amidst the lively activity of Madam Malkin's shop. Lily patted him on the back and guided him towards the collection of ties set in a special section of the shop. The place smelled like sweet pea—floral, sugary, like orange blossoms and roses.

"I like the red ones," she muttered, grabbing a tie with little golden stripes. "Maybe I should get this for your father."

Harry nodded, not really caring. The day was going to be very, very long. He wished he could do something more fun than stare at ties. He could have spent his time investigating the other Harry's death. He hadn't had any new clues thus far, and there were so many tapes he still needed to review. At this point, he wondered if the other Harry simply hadn't died from alcohol poisoning.

"Harry, baby, come here," Lily said, and Harry realised that his mother had walked away without him noticing. "Look at this! It's so pretty."

Harry stared, confused, at the strange piece of lace fabric, all dark green with golden chains and gems, and wondered if it was a strange scarf. He grabbed it to take a look at it, and when he realised what it was, he dropped it like it was made of fire.

"Harry," Lily chided. "You don't like it? It's so pretty and would look so good on you. I bet Tom would love it too."

Yes! NO! He wasn't going to wear that, not even alone, but especially not in Tom's presence.

"I'm good," he said, waving his arms around, staring at what appeared to be a scandalous piece of undergarment. His mind raced.

"Harry, you're having sex with Tom, aren't you?" his mother asked incredulously, and Harry almost fell on his arse from shock. "Don't tell me you're depriving the man."

His cheeks turned hot, he reached out and grabbed the flimsy fabric and shoved it into a small basket sitting on the accessory table and then grabbed a bunch of scarves and dumped them on top to cover up the sinfully lacy underwear that no one in their right mind would ever wear.

"Harry!" she called after him as Harry rushed through the shop, grabbing whatever shiny thing his eyes caught and trying to bury the sensual piece of fabric that he regrettably imagined himself wearing, and having Tom pull it off him. He imagined Tom's heated eyes and the cold, assertive way he'd look him up and down. "Baby, wait!"

"I'll get it," he said. "See, it's right here. Let's just not talk about this stuff, okay?"

"What are you up to, Harry?" she asked, laughing. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"Um," Harry lifted his hands defensively, as if pleading for a ceasefire. He wondered if the other Harry actually discussed these things with his mother, and now the lack of gossip had worried her. "I'm fine, really, Mum. Just have been very busy with things. You know, the whole orphanage attack... erm... well, they don't know who is responsible for that, so I was kind of helping Tom with that."

"What?" Lily laughed. "Sweetie, leave that to the experts. You don't need to waste your time like that trying to get Tom's attention. There is no man who can reject you. Just be honest with him if you have changed your mind about him."

Harry wasn't really looking into the orphanage case; he was investigating his own murder, sort of, but it annoyed him that his mother thought Harry couldn't actually be valuable at a job like that and was doing it to get Tom's attention. As if! Riddle wished.

"Your mother is right, sweetheart," Narcissa Malfoy chimed in, holding a strange necklace that looked like it was itching to choke someone to death. "Leave all that work to trained Aurors. Draco will take care of it. You don't need to worry about those criminals anymore."

Right! They were blessed that Draco Malfoy was taking care of it. What would they do without him?

"Of course," Harry sighed.

There was no use arguing with them. It wasn't like they needed to change their minds for Harry to do what he wanted. The only person who could be a real hurdle to Harry going to the Ministry and investigating things was Tom, and Tom knew who Harry was and liked him for it. Harry's heart did a little jump in his chest, making him bring his hand and place it on his heart instinctively. It was crazy how much he was thinking about Tom. Harry needed to get himself together.

The shopping continued for a while, and judging by Madam Malkin's pleased face after both Lily and Narcissa left the store, they had spent a lot of money buying, Merlin knows, how many things. Harry held the bags and boxes of clothes, wondering what he'd need to do with them.

"Hmm, I want tea with ice-cream," his mum said.

"That sounds strange," Narcissa laughed. "I am intrigued."

They both giggled and walked down the street, but Harry froze mid-step. A cold wave passed through his spine, petrifying him. When he exhaled, the wisp of air leaving his mouth turned into a cloud, a vapour that had been frozen by a cold wind. Harry looked around and felt like all the joy he had ever felt suddenly left his mind.

"Harry?" his mother's voice startled him. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

The glass on the display windows of the nearby shops covered with fern frost. Harry knew what this was. He had felt it before, but this time it was much stronger. It was as if there were hundreds of Dementors nearby.

"Harry?"

The sky darkened, and the ground dimmed, the silhouettes of their shadows spreading across like a plague, like rot. People in the street looked up, horrified when they realised that the entire area was surrounded by a soul-sucking army of Dementors, and they were rapidly descending down. Harry felt his mother's hand on his arm. She pulled him and started running towards the shop.

Dementors reached the ground and attacked. There was panic and terrified screams, people rushing in and out of the buildings. Dementors were everywhere. Harry had never in his life seen as many as there were now in Hogsmeade.

A swarm of them flew towards him, and Harry, finally coming to his senses, pulled out his wand to send them all away. His mother pulled him back and stood in front of him, trying to shield him from the Dementors. Harry was so stunned that for a moment he didn't even move as she cast a Patronus of her own. The thin layer of magic didn't deter the dark creatures at all.

He could hear others shouting out the only spell that was meant to protect them against Dementors, only for it to be too weak to hold them back.

The Dementor was so close to him now, all the light extinguished. It tried to latch onto his mother, who was trying to protect him, but Harry pulled her away and pointed his wand at it.

"Expecto Patronum!" he screamed.

A silver stream of light shot from his wand, spreading forth. The light became intense and bright, sweeping away the Dementors. He faintly heard his mother's scream as she thought he was going to be killed by the creature, and the sound of her fall to the pebbled ground. It was strange that despite being so naive and almost airheaded, she really did care about Harry.

Before he could turn back and check on her, a silver stag leapt into the army of Dementors, chasing them away. Harry held his wand, trying to maintain the spell and push as many of them back as he could until the Aurors showed up. There were too many of them, and it seemed most of the people in Hogsmeade couldn't cast a proper Patronus.

His eyes fell to where his mother was. She was still on the ground, terrified, staring at him in stunned silence as Narcissa Malfoy tried to help her to her feet. She was too confused by the sight of the stag mauling away the Dementors. Harry felt relieved that she was fine and turned his attention back to the creatures.

He felt warmth spreading in his veins, and then his wand produced a silver stag after stag as they jumped out and rushed to fight the Dementors. It was strange. He could feel the wand in his hand burning, cracking. It seemed it was too weak to be able to channel this kind of magic. It was too much, even for Harry.

Harry realised that his magic was merging with that of the other Harry. The strange heritage he possessed had a kind of magic that was overwhelmingly powerful. The wand he had couldn't handle it. Harry felt like it was burning him from the inside, too. No wonder the other Harry couldn't use his magic. This magic was too strong; it was impossibly intense, and Harry could barely control it. He had the advantage of having an extra soul attached to his own. He was stronger than most wizards.

His Patronuses were everywhere. They were so bright that the light no longer looked silver; now it was white. His wand felt like coal in his palm, hot and scorching, and the magic was wild like a storm. The Patronuses grabbed the Dementors, lifting them into the air and binding them in bright light. People on the ground were no longer screaming or running away. They were staring. In awe. Stunned. Horrified. Relieved.

The entire expanse of the sky was scattered with bright, tiny stars as all the Dementors were shrouded and obscured by the magic of the Patronus. They had wrapped around the dark creatures like spheres. The air crackled with the sounds of the Aurors apparating into the street.

"Harry, baby, are you okay?" his mother cried. "How did you even..."

"I am fine," he hurried to assure her. Despite everything, Lily Potter still loved her son. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself falling?"

She wiped her tears and shook her head. Harry nodded at her and didn't lower his wand, watching the lights in the sky, worried that they would dissipate, and the Dementors would attack again. Normally, Dementors ran away from a Patronus, but this time, they seemed imprisoned by his magic, and Harry wasn't even sure if that was a good thing. Because he wanted all of these creatures away in Azkaban or wherever.

"Harry?" he heard his father's voice as the man came into focus. "What are you..."

He stared at the light streaming from Harry's wand right into the sky, keeping all the Dementors bound by magic. There was a strange expression on his face, a mixture of disbelief, worry, and amazement.

"Oh, Merlin," someone cried. "He has saved us all. So much magic to do it."

There were photos being snapped quickly, and Harry was losing his concentration. The wand burned his hand as it turned to ash, and Harry yelped, dropping it.

"Harry!" It was Tom rushing to him, with Sirius following closely behind. Harry's eyes flitted between the two, not knowing whom to look at. He had missed Sirius so much, and this man looked exactly like him but harry was also so happy to see Tom.

Tom was the first to reach him. He grabbed Harry's hand and murmured a quick spell. The burnt line left by the wand healed away without a trace.

"Are you okay, darling?" he asked as if looking for any marks left from his fight against the Dementors. "Your wand has burned. No wonder! How in the world could you channel this magic? A corporeal Patronus—no, not just one, not even two. A whole herd of them. No one has seen such a thing in my lifetime."

The photos kept being snapped as Tom held Harry in his arms, and Harry saw all the people around them staring at him. The Aurors seemed confused and didn't know what to do with the hundreds of Dementors lost in spheres of light floating above them.

"I'm fine, Tom," Harry murmured, allowing himself to be wrapped in Tom's arms. "I didn't intend these many Patronuses, to be honest. Just one, and one is really not a big deal, but I guess one wouldn't have solved this issue."

"You are perfect, Harry," Tom whispered into his ear. "Every time I am certain you cannot be more perfect, you prove me wrong."

"Oh, give it a rest," Harry shook his head. "Just don't ask me to undo the magic, because I have no idea how to do it. I think it has something to do with the whole Lurne thing. My magic normally is not this crazy."

Tom kissed the top of his head, and if the Patronus light hadn't almost blinded Harry, the journalists trying to take pictures of him would have. Tom released his hold and stepped back to look at the lights, and Harry realised that they were slowly dimming. His wand was gone, and he didn't know if the Aurors would be able to take hold of these creatures after what had just happened.

Harry's eyes fell to where his father was helping his mother and Narcissa, and then he saw Sirius standing there with him.

The lights dimmed, and people stared up, completely confused—the only thing left behind were hundreds of naked men and women floating in the air. There were no Dementors. Not a single one.

"Circe, save us!" someone cried. "Those are the Dementors. The Lurne has made them turn back into humans!"

Harry wrinkled his face. What the fuck was he talking about?

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Tom grabbed the paper placed on his desk by Barty and, scanning over the article, incinerated it with a flick of his fingers.

The papers wouldn't shut up about Harry. Everyone wrote about the Hogsmeade incident. The international wizarding news was all over it too. Many had arrived in the past few weeks, and Tom had to deal not only with the local idiots but also reporters from all over the world. They kept demanding an audience with Harry.

The International Confederation of Wizards kept sending summons to have Harry appear before its High Court, arguing that the existence of a wizard of such calibre should not be taken lightly and that his gifts belonged to the wizarding kind collectively, not just to Britain.

Harry had to stay home, away from public scrutiny, as the attention was getting out of control. The public had never seen anything like this. People were curious, and Tom couldn't even blame them. Harry's magic and control of it were magnificent. It seemed, though, that as many were in awe of him, just as many were equally terrified that there was a wizard as powerful as he.

"Things will calm down, sir," Barty said, awkwardly clearing his throat. "They are just amazed by what happened. It's not every day that a wizard casts a Patronus. A corporeal one. We are receiving letters from various places requesting Harry's help for healing, and many believe he can fix—"

"We need to actively stop this from spreading and getting out of control," Tom sighed, leaning back in his chair. "These people are out of their bloody minds."

"What would you like us to do, my Lord?"

"I want you to instruct Colin Creevey to publish a series of articles about Harry recovering after the incident. Have them do features on his fashion in Witch Weekly and please organise monitored interviews with select foreign journalists—those who are more sympathetic."

"Of course, sir," Barty nodded. "How about the ICW? They keep sending summons. Should we schedule a meeting with them?"

"No," Tom shook his head. "Grindelwald is, of course, trying to get his dirty paws on Harry, using his father's position at the ICW. Use diplomatic pressure to have them back off. We will suspend our cooperation with them if they continue to harass a private party like Harry."

Tom would need to kill all these nonsensical stories about Harry belonging to everyone before it stirred a mob of idiots.

"Also, Barty," Tom called, stopping the man before he could exit his office, "gather intelligence on these journalists and their publications. If they want a story, let's give them one—tell our own story about their misdeeds, plaster it across our channels, and challenge their narratives."

"So, a counter-offensive?" Barty looked a little surprised.

"Precisely!" Tom said coldly. "We'll turn their scrutiny into a spectacle—a chance to rally national pride. And should they cross a line, we may find a way to remind them of the consequences of antagonising our state. If they want to create a mob, we will be the first to let them know what happens when one forms."

"Understood, My Lord. I'll ensure our narrative dominates," Barty said, slightly bending his head in acknowledgement. "Do we need to add extra security for Harry?"

"Harry is safe at home," Tom replied, leaning back in his seat. "He's not in any danger, but I am confident that if anyone tries anything, my little husband knows how to handle himself."

Harry hadn't just produced a powerful Patronus; his Patronus was so strong that it had cleansed all the Dementors of the dark magic, pain, and suffering they were imbued with. There were several accounts that all the Dementors were human once but had turned into the soul-sucking creatures they were known as after years of torture in Azkaban. But knowing the story about Azkaban and the Dementors was one thing, and seeing them turn human was completely different.

Tom knew that no amount of redirecting the press would stop people from talking about what Harry had done. He had "cured" the Dementors. These tortured witches and wizards had turned into happiness-sucking monsters as all of their own happiness and soul had been corrupted, torn and taken away from them. Harry had done the impossible.

"Should we do any press releases on the newly cured?" Barty asked, his voice hesitant and unsure.

"We must consider the optics of the situation first. I will need a complete briefing on their current state before I can even entertain the notion of making such an announcement," Tom said, closing his eyes. "Based on the last report, they are still in shock, and most of them haven't even spoken. The last thing we need is to fan the flames of panic."

"I will call for a briefing in the afternoon," Barty said. "After the amendment to the Muggle-born integration act is voted on in the scheduled Wizengamot session."

"Thank you, Barty," Tom nodded, dismissing the man.

Tom's plan had worked, and his "opposition" had "pressured" him to make changes to the act and ensure the Muggle parents were involved and were paying for their children's pre-Hogwarts education and care. Tom would just need to sell it to James Potter as another victory for them since the man would now be able to use his money to finance some of these children's education and have them be grateful to him in the future after they entered into the wizarding world's politics and workforce as adults.

There was a knock on the door that interrupted Tom's musings. It must have been Miss Granger. Tom lifted his face, and his pupils instantly dilated as he stared at Harry. He was so bloody pretty. A smile curled his lips.

"What are you doing here, darling?" he asked, hastily getting up from his seat and walking up to Harry. The smell of snowdrops reached his nose as soon as he hugged Harry.

"Mmm," Harry's body went pliant, allowing Tom to hold him in his arms like the pretty little thing that he was. Tom smiled at him, unable to hold back his affection.

"Sorry," Harry muttered softly. "I was really bored. I was thinking maybe you'd need my help with something or I can work on Harry's case?"

"You know very well that we have postponed all investigation until the situation calms down," Tom said, holding Harry's hand and peppering it with kisses. "You have shocked everyone by turning a horde of Dementors into people. Even your father was stunned."

"Good," Harry laughed. "I can't just live like an incompetent idiot my whole life."

"I suppose I should hire you as the new warden of Azkaban, baby," Tom joked. "You have left the prison without any employees by removing centuries-old dark magic."

Harry laughed. "I can't tell if you sound proud or annoyed," he said.

"Can't I be a bit of both?" he asked, amused, guiding Harry towards the sofa in the corner, sitting down and pulling Harry into his lap. "You're a dream come true, Harry."

"A dream you leave at home so you can come here and have all the fun," Harry argued.

"All the fun?" Tom chuckled. "What kind of fun do you imagine I am having here without you? Just give me a bit of time, and I will make all of this go away, and you should be able to come and go as you please."

"Have you looked into why the Dementors were in Hogsmeade in the first place?" Harry asked, pulling himself down to curl by Tom's side on the sofa.

"It's under investigation," Tom said.

"Merlin," Harry rolled his eyes. "Would you let me investigate it myself? It doesn't seem Malfoy knows what he's doing."

"I have someone else looking into it and the orphanage attack separately," Tom told him.

Harry sighed and leaned towards Tom. Tom gently stroked his hair.

"I am sorry, darling," he apologised. "I promised we would go on dates and then couldn't keep my promise because of the incident and have been very busy here at the Ministry with work that I can barely see you. Please forgive me."

Harry snorted and grinned at him.

"You are so nothing like Voldemort," he smiled. "Merlin, now that you know, I can just freely say it. It's so odd for me how normal you are, and every time I look at you, I just can't help but think what Voldie would think if he saw you. He probably would be both jealous and dismissive."

Tom smiled. He needed to find a proper excuse to stop Harry from ever using that name in case someone who was a knight of his heard.

"Are you complimenting me, sweetheart?" Tom raised an eyebrow, amused. "Or are you having a laugh at my expense?"

"It's more of a compliment, I think," Harry said, excited. "It's surreal. I am glad, Tom, you are nothing like him."

"Baby," Tom said softly and leaned to whisper into Harry's ear. "I am beginning to feel jealous that you keep saying his name. So perhaps call him the monster?"

Harry leaned back, looked at him a bit dazed, and then burst out laughing. Tom stared at him incredulously.

"People nicknamed him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because there was a taboo on his name," Harry explained. "And now you are asking not to name him too. That's actually funny."

"I think you called him a noseless bastard before," Tom said, coaxing Harry back into his arms. "That's a perfect name. Go with that one."

"You are ridiculous," Harry laughed, trying to escape Tom's embrace. "I will go get us snacks from the cafeteria."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked, sounding worried. "I don't want you to deal with all kinds of nosy fools."

"Don't worry," Harry said, getting up. "I will show them my claws."

"Do you have your wand?"

"Yes," Harry pulled out the new wand Tom had gotten him temporarily until they could go for a real wand shopping. Clearly, Harry needed a wand that could handle his magic.

"Be careful," Tom warned him as Harry headed for the door. "Don't make me come up there to wring necks."

He was so pretty. If Tom could handle it before, now it was his sheer force of will and years of perfected composure that prevented him from doing something completely inappropriate. Harry gave him his pretty smile and closed the door behind him. Tom would go mad until he got rid of all these idiots stirring up controversy and noise about Harry and demanding Harry to be shown to the public.

He heard Harry talking with someone. His voice sounded cheerful, and Tom wondered if it was his secretary, but then the door opened, and Weasley walked inside.

"Minister Riddle," the redhead greeted him.

Tom nodded and motioned for him to sit as he headed towards his desk.

"Do you have any new findings for me, Mr Weasley?" he asked, sitting down.

Weasley looked uncomfortable. He shifted in the chair and rearranged the stacks of paper he had brought with him that must have been the written briefing. It seemed a lot of pages.

"Sir," he said politely, clearing his throat. "I am afraid there really is a leak in the Ministry. Someone is working against... I... I have thoroughly investigated to be sure, but it seems every single one of our Auror reports has been leaked and all our directives have been changed both during the orphanage attack and recently with the Dementor attack. Someone from the Ministry has keyed in and made the Dementor order and also redirected the Aurors both times."

"Do you have a name?" Tom asked, crossing his legs.

Weasley gulped. Tom furrowed an eyebrow, wondering who it could possibly be that he was so skittish and hesitant.

"Sir, the entry identification key both times belonged to Mr Malfoy," he said.

"Draco Malfoy?" Tom clarified, and Weasley nodded, placing the reports and the evidence on his desk. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Minister," he confirmed.

Tom closed his eyes, covering his face with the palm of his hand.

ㅤ

ㅤ

"You look beautiful," Tom said, admiring Harry from head to toe as the stunning man walked into the drawing room.

Harry tugged at the flower pins attached to his hair and sighed.

"Isn't this a little too much?" he asked awkwardly, waving his delicate hands over his head. "Dobby insisted, but I feel like a self-appointed flower girl at someone's wedding."

"Well, then you're a very pretty flower girl," Tom teased, raising his hand and motioning for Harry to come closer. "Don't worry, darling. You look good. People expect you to look like this, all dolled up and beautiful. You can take them off after the press take the pictures. I promise there are only approved journalists there."

Harry rolled his eyes, as if it were no big deal how perfect he was. Tom couldn't help but stare. He was so beautiful. The well-fitted trousers elegantly emphasised his slender legs, while the pale baby green satin dress shirt made him look as if he were wrapped in magic. He walked up to Tom, and Tom placed his hand on Harry's back.

The past few weeks had been a struggle. Tom was busy with the orphanage project, overseeing the financial side of it for James Potter, dealing with the press, and managing the incessant demands from various wizarding communities wanting to see Harry. A dam had been opened, and controlling everything all at once was a colossal effort.

"Hopefully, I won't have to stupefy anyone," Harry joked, reaching out to check the wand in the pretty wand holster. Tom had never seen one adorned with precious gems like that. It must have been something Lily Potter had bought, because Harry didn't seem to care anymore about fashion.

"Things have calmed down," Tom assured him. "There will be a lot of guests. Your parents usually host Midsumor festivities at their Highlands residence, and many people are invited, but no one who wants to be invited again will bother you, darling."

"I have never been to one of these," Harry explained. "I didn't grow up in the wizarding world, and my Muggle guardians didn't really let me out of the house."

"It's just a celebration, like Yule, except the Malfoys usually host Yule, and your parents host Midsumor," Tom said softly. "You will love it. There's lots of food, drinks and dancing. And if you want, we can make the fire when night falls."

"You sell a hard bargain," Harry joked.

"I am a politician at heart, after all," Tom said, holding Harry's hand as they headed for the fireplace. Harry tensed up a little. This was going to be a big appearance after the Hogsmeade incident, and people definitely had shown they couldn't be trusted to be polite. "You will be fine, darling. No one is going to ask you about your Patronus."

"How are the Dementor... patients?" Harry asked, clearing his throat.

"Traumatised, recovering," Tom said. "They do remember most of what happened to them, and unfortunately, it isn't pleasant. But the healers are working with them, helping them."

"I feel guilty that I've caused all their suffering," Harry explained as they entered the fireplace. "They would have been better off never becoming human, knowing all that happened to them."

"Harry, I assure you that they most certainly wouldn't have preferred that," Tom told him. "People don't want their identity or sense of self taken from them, no matter how hard it is to be that person. Even if they suffer now, at least they are themselves, and the suffering is not forever. All bad things end. You didn't intentionally do this to them, but you have given them a chance to live as themselves."

"Thank you, Tom," Harry smiled at him, leaning into him as Tom poured the Floo Powder on them, and they transported to the Potter residence.

Harry stared around with wonder. Even though Potter Manor was grand and beautiful, this place in the Highlands was almost as big as Hogwarts and much older than Hogwarts. It was grim inside, possibly why Lily Potter had refused to live there, but it did serve as the place they usually hosted Midsumor celebrations.

The large hall with high ceilings, where they found themselves, had beautiful paintings covering the walls, large lamps hanging everywhere with fire burning brightly in them despite it being daytime, and the old furniture looked far more inviting with flowers in vases on every possible surface.

There were people inside, but Tom knew that most of the guests were outside in the Potter gardens, where tables were usually set, and food and drinks were served. James Potter often invited bards for the occasion to sing the songs of old days, even though most of the guests were not exactly keen on it. They would gush about it just so they wouldn't appear uncultured, but Tom knew that most of them didn't truly care for tradition, despite their wealth and the talk of upholding traditions they usually peddled.

"This way," Tom said, guiding Harry towards the large glass-domed sunroom, filled with lilies and roses in precious gem-encrusted vases and pots. There were garlands of summer flowers and birch adorning the walls and doors, with glass lamps hanging and magical fire burning inside them. They walked through groups of guests, all eating and drinking, chatting, and laughing. Some were dancing and looked very happy.

The photographers waved at them, and Tom pulled Harry towards the wall adorned with summer flowers and posed for photos. Tom looked down at Harry, whose cute face was scrunched up in annoyance as he tried his best to smile, and Tom chuckled. Harry looked up, their eyes met, and the flash of the camera light became almost blinding.

"Harry!" Sirius Black's cheerful voice boomed, and seeing him, Harry ran up to the man.

It seemed Harry really loved his godfather. The man leaned down and hugged Harry, lifting him off his feet and twirling him around in the air as if he were a child. Tom's ex-husband liked Sirius because the man spoiled him. While James Potter indulged his son's every whim, he was at times quite strict with him, and Sirius Black had no such qualms. So if Daddy wouldn't do something, the brat would run off to Black, batting his eyelashes and asking his godfather for help. It always worked.

"We haven't had the chance to see each other properly for the last few months," the man said, ruffling Harry's hair and then awkwardly trying to fix the hairpins he'd displaced. Harry didn't care, and Sirius seemed a bit surprised as he patted his head apologetically. Tom smirked, watching them. The other Harry would have thrown a fit by now about his perfectly styled hair being ruined.

"How are you doing, Sirius?" Harry said earnestly. "I am so glad you're here."

"I am much better now that I see you," the man smiled. "I've brought you so many presents from France. I haven't had the chance to visit or send them to you yet, but I know you'll like them."

"I'm sure I will," Harry nodded. "If you have the time, you should come and visit."

"Remus has missed you too," Black said, smiling. "We will come for your birthday. It's in a few weeks, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, and the man patted his shoulder this time, deciding not to risk it and make Harry's hair worse.

"Good to see you, Mr Black," Tom said, approaching and extending his hand for a handshake.

Black shook his hand with some reluctance and then looked back at Harry.

"I will still see you," he said. "Let me go greet your mother and father. Lily has thrown such a great party as always."

Tom leaned down, pulled the pins from Harry's hair and gently brushed the strands to the side, kissing Harry's head.

"Thank you," Harry smiled, as Tom placed the pins into Harry's pocket.

"Do you want something sweet?" Tom asked, placing his palm on the back of Harry's neck and possessively pulling him back tightly against himself.

He had no idea why people, even Harry's family, touching him was getting under his skin. Tom had never felt like this about another person. But Harry wasn't just another person, so he understood that he couldn't let his claim on him go unnoticed. People needed to know and see that Harry belonged to him, and he didn't share.

"Maybe something to drink," Harry said, looking around and seeing Weasley. "Ginny?"

The redhead turned around abruptly, pulling her startled date, who looked to be Longbottom, along with her. She waved at Harry happily, rushing towards them and dragging the poor bastard with her.

"Harry," she exclaimed, letting go of her date's arm and hugging Harry. "I love your clothes. You look so good."

"You are beautiful, Ginny," Harry said, looking at her fondly. "Oh, is that you, Neville?"

"Oh, good to see you, Mr Potter-Riddle, and you, Minister," Longbottom said politely, adjusting the glass in his hand as he spoke.

Harry looked at him with a hint of sadness in his eyes, as if he were upset that Longbottom was so formal with him and then turned to smile at Weasley again. "Good to see you both," he said.

"Were you dating Longbottom, sweetheart?" Tom asked once both Weasley and Longbottom were away greeting the others and mingling. He hated the idea of Harry dating his political rival in any reality. "In your world, I mean."

"Neville?" Harry burst out laughing. "That's funny. No, Tom. I wasn't dating Neville. We were friends, I'd say pretty good friends over the years. But you know, I was actually dating Ginny."

He gave Tom a coy smile and walked up to the tables beneath the large flower-woven canopy to grab a drink. Tom stared at his retreating back in shock and rushed after him. He hadn't even considered that.

The music flowed freely. People danced, and after a few glasses of firewhisky, Harry seemed amenable to the idea of dancing too. They danced. Tom had never liked the summer solstice, as he always had to return to stay at the orphanage during summers, and as an adult, he felt out of place at these events. But it somehow felt different this time. It felt like all these people didn't matter; only Harry did.

And everything was perfect until Tom spotted Gellert Grindelwald among the guests. Tom hated him as much as his little brat of a son, especially because he knew Grindelwald Sr was the dangerous one, fueling his son's political ambition. He pulled Harry closer as they danced, watching the man take a sip from his drink and watch everyone with a smug expression on his face.

"Mr Grindelwald," James Potter greeted him politely. "I wasn't expecting to see you here today."

Grindelwald's smug smile widened as he turned to Potter. "I hope my visit is not unwelcome," he said. "I must say it's quite the celebration. Litha has always been one of my favourite summer festivals."

"We're happy for all our guests," Potter said, raising his glass in a toast and then taking a sip. "And certainly hope you're enjoying yourself."

Grindelwald responded in kind and then turned his attention to couples dancing.

"Oh, to be young again," he laughed, motioning at the people dancing. "Harry seems happy. I was afraid the news of him recovering his energy after the Dementor incident wasn't exaggerated. But I can see he's quite well."

Potter's expression darkened; his smile twisted into something unpleasant.

"You seem awfully invested in my son's health," he said, tilting his head as he watched Grindelwald. "Let me worry about that."

"Oh, James," Grindelwald laughed, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder and giving a friendly pat. "I wasn't implying anything. Simply, being happy for him. You know that my son is fond of Harry. Shame you didn't let them be together. And now, we find out how powerful he is. All that power in the wrong hands can be disastrous, and the ICW is concerned. I am sure you understand."

Potter's expression became more pinched.

"Everyone has always been aware of Harry's heritage," he said curtly. "I don't see why the ICW is concerned now all of a sudden. Surely, you're not suggesting I should hand over my son to you, because the poor boy was so scared for his mother's life that he cured all those Dementors out of necessity."

"Hardly," Grindelwald shook his head. "I wouldn't suggest such a thing. But others at the ICW do not share my beliefs. A wizard of Alluran blood who was able to do what Harry did belongs to everyone—not Britain, not the Potter family, and certainly not to the current Minister for Magic."

Tom was going to murder Grindelwald. He was crossing a line.

"Belongs?" Potter snorted. "It's sad that people operate under the delusion that they are owed something. I suppose they will be disappointed to learn that they have no say in my family matters and certainly no say in my son's life."

"Hmm," Grindelwald smirked, pretending to contemplate something. "This could have been avoided, James, if you had considered your son's marriage prospects with more prudence. You could have selected anyone. You were well aware of my son's affection for Harry, and in a situation like this, I am sure I would have been able to reassure the ICW members that Harry presents no threat to anyone or any nation had you allowed them to marry. But you decided to pick a nameless boy and then shoved him into every place you could with your influence. People are talking, and some think Riddle must be a son of yours."

This seemed to enrage Potter. His hands clenched into fists, and Tom wondered how the glass in his hand hadn't shattered yet.

"Unlike some, Gellert," Potter hissed, "I do not have children out of wedlock and certainly do not cheat on my wife. That would be crass. I am sure many cannot comprehend the notion of upholding our traditions and not running around laying with Merlin knows who. I also do not share the sentiments of marrying my son to family, because if I did, I'd have another child with my own wife for that purpose."

The smile dropped from Grindelwald's face. Potter's jab was obvious.

"Good luck, Mr Potter," Grindelwald said through gritted teeth. "This was lovely. I am afraid I have some other commitments today. I would have loved to stay longer. Please do keep me in mind if you need help with the ICW."

"Thank you, Gellert," Potter replied, his voice smooth but laced with an icy undertone. "I'll be sure to remember your generous offer."

Potter downed the entire contents of his glass as soon as Grindelwald left, looking furious and ready to murder someone. Tom rarely enjoyed doing things for Potter, but he knew that he would gladly kill Grindelwald if the man asked him to now.

He pulled Harry tightly against him, wondering what he'd need to do to make the intense feeling of wanting to keep Harry all to himself go away before it drove him mad.

"Tom," Harry whispered softly. "People are staring."

"Good," Tom said. "Let them see how much I adore you. Please kiss me, Harry."

Harry's face heated up. He went up on his toes, wrapped his arms around Tom's neck, and Tom pulled him up with ease. Harry could easily levitate himself, but Tom took every chance to touch him. Harry's sweet, cool scent filled his nostrils and his body instantly relaxed as Harry kissed him right in front of everyone—his friends, his parents, people from the papers.

Soon, the night fell, and the guests climbed to the top of the hill to light woodfires and bonefires. Tom dropped his jacket over Harry's shoulders. Harry refused to admit he was cold, but Tom knew how fragile his husband's body was.

"Do your feet ache?" he asked softly into Harry's ear as they walked side by side.

"I am fine," Harry said, and Tom knew he was trying to minimise the pain he was feeling.

"I can carry you, sweetheart," Tom offered. "Don't be stubborn, let me carry you."

"If it gets too bad, I will tell you," Harry compromised and then added with humour. "I still can't believe that the noseless bastard's counterpart is a pretty good husband."

"I am pleased to surprise," Tom laughed. "Let's go, you'll like the fire."

Harry did like the fire. His magic lit it up, and the smoke danced in the air. They sat together, and Tom held him in his arms. The stars above were bright and beautiful, and the moonlight shimmered like silver on the fresh grass. Tom felt content. The hole inside him that demanded to be filled was suddenly silent, no longer screaming and yelling at him to move, to act, to become more powerful, better. It was mellow and content, almost happy.

When they returned to the castle, the guests began leaving bit by bit. Harry was already tired, and Tom knew that despite the brave face he had put on, his feet were probably killing him, and he needed to lie down and rest. It seemed he didn't like telling people about his pain or discomfort and preferred to bear it silently.

"We will go home soon," he told Harry, holding him to prevent him from tripping.

"Your ex's body sucks," Harry complained. "I think I saw a sofa in the drawing room."

Tom leaned down, placed his arms under Harry's legs, and picked him up with ease. Harry yelped but wrapped his arms around Tom's neck.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Taking you to the drawing room to the sofa so you can rest until this night is wrapped up, darling."

"This is embarrassing," Harry protested. "I am not a child. I can walk."

"Shut up, Harry," Tom said fondly. "I can see you're barely awake and standing on your feet. It's okay to ask for help and admit when you are exhausted. I won't judge you."

Tom walked into the drawing room, ignoring all the stares, and lowered Harry onto the sofa. He sat next to him, held his hand, and murmured a few spells, hoping it would alleviate the pain.

"Better?" he asked softly.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the Floo system activating made him pause. Tom craned his neck to see who decided to visit the Potters at this hour after the celebrations were almost over. When the wizards appeared in the fireplace, he narrowed his eyes, recognising a few faces there. They were from the ICW.

"We are here for Harry James Potter-Riddle," one of the men said, holding up a parchment paper that had the official ICW summons written on it.

Grindelwald's ego clearly was wounded today. Harry stared, confused and a little startled, trying to get up, but Tom motioned for him to remain seated.

"I will handle this," he said. "Just rest, sweetheart."

He got up, walked up to the man, and grabbed the parchment paper. He scanned through the document as the ICW representatives stood in James Potter's drawing room, staring awkwardly at the lavish decorations.

"What is going on here?" James Potter asked, walking inside with his wife. It seemed they had bid their goodbyes as the last guests left and were ready to retire for the evening.

"We are here on official business, Mr Potter," the man who seemed to be the head of this little delegation said. "The ICW needs Harry Potter-Riddle's presence for an official hearing to determine the potential threat posed by a wizard of his strength being solely under the governance of the British Ministry of Magic."

"What?" Lily Potter screamed. "What does that even mean?"

"Lily, love," Potter turned to his wife, "even though our guests are a little late for celebrations, perhaps you can have the house-elves bring them some drinks and food. Gentlemen, please enjoy yourselves while we resolve this misunderstanding with—"

He stared pointedly at the head of the delegation.

"Spielman, Erik Spielman," the man hurried to introduce himself, awkwardly looking at Potter.

"Perfect," Potter pointed at the door in the far corner of the room. "This way, Mr Spielman."

Tom folded the parchment and followed them into Potter's study. Spielman looked very confused by this development. He must have never been in a place like this in his life. Potter had expensive taste and the money to show for it.

"Please sit down, Mr Spielman," Potter said politely, his eyes scanning over Spielman's tattered coat. "You seem like a nice lad, quite young, the Head of Incarceration at the International Wizarding Police?"

Spielman nodded. Potter grabbed a bottle of wine and pulled glasses from the ornate wooden cabinet, then walked back to his desk.

"Any relation to the Spielman family?" he asked, pouring wine into the glasses.

"No, my parents are both Muggle-borns," Spielman said, reaching out to accept the glass from Potter.

James smirked, nodding and handing the other glass to Tom.

"Quite the accomplishment then," he said, sitting in his leather chair and crossing his legs. "I am sure a hardworking nice lad like you has better things to do today than be here. Perhaps spend the evening with a lovely witch… or a wizard. I suppose this job you have is keeping you very busy and not paying you enough to have a family."

"Like I said, Mr Potter," Spielman stated, playing with his glass, "this is an official business visit, and we need your cooperation."

James laughed, leaning back into his chair.

"Mr Spielman, I am afraid you do not quite understand," he said. "No one takes my son from my home for any reason. Perhaps, if I feel very mean-spited, I might send him with you, but your superiors would then need to beg me to come and pick him up. He can be very difficult, and I doubt you are prepared to handle that."

Tom wondered if Potter was making a joke about what kind of little brat his son could be. Spielman took a sip from his wine and stared at Tom, wondering if he could simply leave without needing to listen to what James Potter had to say.

"With all due respect," he said, swiping his teeth over his lower lip, "but I am obligated to perform my—"

Potter raised his hand dismissively and shushed him.

"I must say, your tenacity is commendable, Erik," he said, his voice losing its friendliness. "But do you really think dragging my son into this is wise?"

Spielman steadied himself, glanced at Tom again as if asking for help and gulped.

"With all due respect, Mr Potter, this is a matter of public interest. It's not just about your son. There are serious implications at stake here."

"Oh, I admire your spirit. But let's not pretend you're immune from the repercussions of your actions if you decide to insult me like this," Potter sounded cold now; he looked at Spielman, feigning contemplation. "Now, here's a thought: I could arrange for a substantial grant for you, something to really make a difference. Something that could buy you a proper suit and perhaps even the wine you are enjoying now. All I ask in return is that you go back and end this frivolous pursuit of my son."

"Sir, my integrity..."

"Integrity?" Potter laughed, leaning closer. "Integrity won't shield you from those who don't share your ideals. I wouldn't want anything… unfortunate to happen to your career or your reputation, dear boy, but institutions like the ICW can be quite fickle towards half-bloods with no connections."

"Is that a threat, sir?"

Potter smiled. He got up from his seat and walked towards the window where a cage stood with a bird inside it. It was a Caladrius, a snow-white bird with a silver moonlight glow. Potter opened the cage door and pulled out the bird. He brought it to his desk and stood before Spielman, who was watching him, agitated.

"You know, Muggles believed that these birds could take away sickness," Potter said. "These are quite rare and expensive, and Muggles weren't wrong about them. They do have very strong healing properties and can provide vitality."

Potter rolled the bird's neck, snapping it with ease. Spielman gasped, startled. He watched, horrified as Potter cut off the head with a letter opener and allowed the blood to pour into his glass.

"I get to have this from time to time," Potter explained. "Because everything in this world can be bought, Erik."

Potter dropped the dead bird on his desk, grabbed the glass with blood and wine and drank it.

"I would advise you to think hard and long about how you would like to proceed with this," Potter said. "And of course, I am sure you're not planning to upset my son-in-law, the British Minister for Magic, by taking away the man's husband. I am sure you understand that sort of rudeness can get a man like you in trouble."

Spielman glanced at Tom, horrified to meet Tom's lifeless, impassive eyes.

"Look at the time," Potter laughed. "Need to return back and see how my wife and son are doing."

He looked at Tom, nodded and then left the room, shutting the door behind him. There was a short silence and then Tom turned to the head of the ICW delegation.

"If you are smart," Tom said slowly, his eyes narrowed at Spielman, "you'd take my father-in-law's generous offer. Because unlike him, I won't be so generous, and it wouldn't be the bird's neck snapped and bleeding on this desk."