Double-Aspect Paradox - TimaeusKosmou - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

James Potter took a slow drag from the cigarette, his eyes focused on the men, sitting on his sofa in the middle of his f*cking drawing room.

"My daughter, eh?" he laughed, leaning forward and exhaling the cigarette smoke. His men, standing behind him, placed their hands on their guns. "Think of something else before we have a real war at our hands."

Tom Riddle stared at him with his lifeless eyes and tilted his head sideways, staring at him without saying a word.

"Mr. Potter if I may," one of Riddle's men spoke up, putting his hands in the air when James's men stepped forward. "Both you and Mr. Riddle need to have thisdisagreementresolved between us. We need guarantees that you won't move against us. Marriage between your daughter and Mr. Riddle will ensure that."

James stared at Riddle who was still watching him impassively, not muttering a word. His posture was relaxed as if he wasn't sitting in his enemy's house, surrounded by men who would shoot him dead at the snap of a finger.

"I am not giving my daughter to this son of a bitch," James pointed at Riddle. "You can accept my word that the situation between us will end, and we can mutually benefit and not have the bloody peelers on our back when we are doing business, or you can choose not to, and we can war."

Riddle smirked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and putting it between his teeth, not ending eye contact with James. One of his lackeys hurried to light up the cigarette.

"I am not keen on marrying your bloody brat either, Potter," the man told him.

"Tom," someone whispered and shut his mouth when Riddle gave him a death stare.

James gave Riddle a condescending chuckle.

"My men here tell me I need a proper wife to enter politics, and I think we both can come to an agreement," Riddle asserted.

"Proper wife?" James raised an eyebrow. "Listen here, Riddle, you're not getting my girl. Harry's not the kind you are used to, alright! You are knocking around with bloody whor*s. My daughter is a good girl. She is not for you. She hasn't kissed a man, and I sure as hell won't give my sweet, pure girl to a psycho bastard like you. Does it look like you deserve a girl like her, eh?"

Riddle snorted.

"Is that what your wife's parents told you when you were marrying her?" he asked, crossing his legs.

Some of James's men made a movement towards him at the perceived insult towards their boss, but the older man stopped them with a wave of his hand. He chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette. James Potter married a good girl from the aristocratic Evans family despite being a lowlife mobster. Lily's parents kept their bloody mouths shut when he went to ask for her hand. He didn't give a rat's arse about what those inbred twits thought of him, and if they didn't hand their daughter to him, he would have killed them.

"Fair," he said, leaning his head back to stare at Riddle again. "But I am not giving my daughter to you, Riddle. A bastard like you would ruin her. You've been f*cking whor*s your entire life, you wouldn't know how to treat a girl like her. You pay these filthy women to sleep with you so they keep their mouths shut."

"Mr. Potter," Crouch got up. "Tom has never mistreated a woman. You wouldn't need to worry. He's not that kind of man."

Potter glared at Riddle.

"Well, this doesn't seem productive," Riddle finally spoke. "I need a wife, and we need an agreement. I am a bad man, I kill people but so are you, Potter. You can imagine that your daughter is not part of your business, but she is, and I bet everyone who hates you, daydreams of your daughter. Whoever you have in mind marrying her will surely have a hard time. Maybe, she deserves some sweet nice bloke from good stock, but that kind of man won't be able to keep her safe, no?"

"Is that a threat, Riddle?" Sirius, standing next to James, asked in a low tone.

"It's the reality," Riddle shot back.

Potter raised an eyebrow and waved at Sirius.

"Well," he said, turning back to Riddle. "If I were to agree to have you as my son-in-law, we would need the sea transports into the mainland Europe provided to us."

A small whispering clamor raised among Riddle's men as they started talking to each other. Crouch was mumbling something into Riddle's ear but Riddle wouldn't look away from James. After a moment Riddle nodded, sat forward and stretched his hand for a shake.

"We've got a deal, Potter," he said.

Potter shook his hand and then turned to Black sitting next to him.

"Sirius, call your sister here," he said. "Have her come here."

Black got up and headed towards the door. The atmosphere in the room was still tense despite the agreement they had reached.

"And Riddle," Potter said with a smug smile. "You hurt my girl, I will put a bullet in your f*cking head, alright!"

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Harry opened his eyes and blinked as the bright light blinded him. He stared at the beautiful woman, looking down at him with worry and, recognizing his mother's face, smiled.

It worked!It bloody worked.

"Harry, sweetheart," his mother said softly. "Are you okay? You scared me. Why would you do such a reckless thing? I almost thought I lost you."

Harry wasn't sure if it would have worked. He had calculated the trajectory and made the perfect runes at least half a dozen times but the travel to other dimensions was theoretical, and Hermione begged him not to take the risk. But he needed to. There was no other choice. Voldemort had caught onto them destroying his Horcruxes and had destroyed Gryffindor's sword and the fangs of the basilisk.

Harry had found an ancient book theorizing the existence of parallel universes and had the insane idea, as Hermione put it, to use the spells to calculate an approximate universe with the hope of finding Gryffindor's sword to send it back to his original universe so Ron and Hermione could destroy the remaining Horcruxes. Harry knew that whatever place he found himself stuck in, he wouldn't be able to go back.

Not only because it required massive amounts of energy, but also because he carried a piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him, and if he went back home, he would need to kill himself as well. He could stay here and live whatever life his counterpart had, clearly, he had taken their body.

He could see a bunch of pills around him. Looked like this Harry had just committed suicide. The realization made him feel chills, but there wasn't much he could do, and he knew that whatever universe he went to, it would be one where his counterpart died milliseconds before his arrival. Harry couldn't transport his whole body, only his soul which required a viable empty vessel of his counterpart. He could come here because this Harry just died.

"Can you sit up, darling?" his mum asked, placing her arm around his back.

He smiled sweetly at her. His body hurt like hell. Whatever drugs he took to kill himself were still running in his system. He needed to cast healing charms on himself. His mum was alive. What could possibly make him end his own life?

He tried to sit up and pressed his hands on the bed he was lying on. He narrowed his eyes at his fingers. He was scrawny. What the f*ck! His wrists were thin, and his arms so delicate. Maybe he died from starvation? He sat up, staring down at his bare legs, smooth and dainty like he was a bloody girl. He grabbed the hems of the lace gown covering his thighs and pinched it, annoyed.

Why the bloody f*ck was he wearing a woman's nightgown? Didn't matter, what mattered was that it worked, and he really travelled to a parallel world. This was his new life whatever it was. He had taken the risk knowing he could die. He would gladly take whatever life this was.

"Here have some water, darling," his mother said in a soft, soothing tone, helping him sip from a tall glass. "What were you thinking about taking all these pills?"

"I am fine," Harry croaked. His voice sounded strange. He cleared his throat. His mother leaned forward and gently stroked his head, bringing forward strands of dark, long curls.

His hair seemed very long. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling its soft, smooth, silky texture. He sighed, trying to push away the fatigue he was feeling and stared at the room. It was a nice, large room, that seemed a little over the top with antique-style furniture, but Harry already knew that things wouldn't be exactly the same in the parallel world.

"Silly girl," his mother cupped his face gently, making Harry stare at her confused. "I've told you that no matter what happens, you always have me. Trying to hurt yourself is never a thing you should think of."

Harry felt sorry for the woman. Her child just died, and she must have felt her heart ripped out of her chest at the realization that her child was dead before Harry had woken up in his counterpart's body, making her think perhaps that she misinterpreted his vitals.

"Don't worry about me, Mum," he said softly, his voice still coming too high and strange to his own ears. "I am sorry."

"Oh sweety," Lily hugged him. "I am sorry it came to this. But if your father agrees to marry you to that man, I will protest. I will be on your side."

Marry him tothat man? That sounded strange. Wizards married other wizards but it wasn't extremely common nor would that kind of marriage be arranged. Was his father trying to marry Harry to some strange man, and Harry committed suicide because of it?

He leaned forward and hugged the woman and gently rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. Harry didn't really care what his life would be like in the new world he would travel. He was ready to live it whatever it was. His goal was to complete his mission—find and send the Gryffindor's sword to his world so Ron and Hermione could finish off the monster and end the bloody war. After the battle of Hogwarts, it stretched for another five years, and the amount of horror Harry had witnessed had made him jaded and cold.

He stopped having nightmares a while ago because being in constant combat mode was normal for him and his friends. He would only miss Teddy and Rose. Hermione and Ron married in the midst of war, knowing that they could die any day, and their daughter was a bright speck of light for the Order. Between fighting against Death Eaters and different monsters, the only shred of normalcy in Harry's life was when he was looking after his godchildren. He would miss them dearly, but he was willing to do this, travel to a different world and live the life of someone else because he loved those children and he wanted to give them a chance.

He wouldn't have his own children. After the death of Ginny, his family was Ron, Hermione, Teddy and Rose.

His sweet, beautiful mum looked how he imagined she would look. He always wanted to hug her and feel her warmth. This woman gave her life for him, and Harry never got to tell her how much he loved her. But even if this was not his mother, Harry could feel with his magic that she had the same pure soul as his mum from his world.

She pulled back and then lowered her head and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Let's get you dressed, darling," she said. "If you can stand, of course."

"I am fine," Harry assured her, wincing every time he heard his voice that sounded so foreign.

He smiled at her again and got up. His new body felt unusually small and shorter than he was used to. He wasn't ever too tall and was always underweight for his height, but now it felt even more delicate. Harry took a couple of steps, trying to adjust to his new proportions and exhaled sharply when he caught sight of himself in the large mirror.

f*ck!

"Harry, baby, are you okay?" Lily's voice brought him out of his stupor.

sh*t!

"I am fine," he wheezed, rubbing his face, trying to make sure his eyes weren't lying to him.

Harry had spent a lot of hours calculating the correct arithmantic formula for the complex ritual and hadn't calculated the possibility of the fact that a version of him in another universe would be a woman. Well, whatever! It didn't really matter.

He looked like a pretty girl with long brown curls, beautiful green eyes like his mother and a soft girly face. He smiled at himself, thinking that if he had a daughter of his own, she would probably look like what he looked now.

Things made sense now—his voice, his thin wrists and his smaller stature, his mother calling him a silly girl.

"Here, put this on," his mother handed him a green, silk dress. "The colour compliments your eyes."

Harry rubbed his nose and grabbed the dress reluctantly. He knew that he would have to live whatever life he stumbled into when he performed the ritual, but the realization that this was real made him feel weird. He pulled down the nightgown, shoved the dress through his head and wiggled his legs to get it down. The f*cker was so tight on him even though his new body was scrawny as hell.

"Let me help you with that, sweetheart," his mother said, coming closer and pulling his hair up to button up the back of the dress. Harry stilled letting her do her thing. Once she was done, she twirled Harry around, beaming at her in happiness. "You are the prettiest girl in the world."

Harry laughed, realizing how f*cked up and ridiculous his plan suddenly was. He brushed down his hands against the smooth hems of his dress and pulled back his long hair.

"Do you know where my wand is, Mum?" he asked, looking around the room.

"Wand? What do you mean?"

"Magic wand?" Harry asked.

"Magic wand?" Harry felt his heart drop. "Like your hair comb? Give me a moment. I will brush your hair now."

Bloody hell! This was definitely not something that Harry had anticipated. He imagined a lot of different scenarios but definitely not a magicless world. How could he even travel to a parallel world without magic? The whole point of his sacrifice was to come here and find and send the sword of Gryffindor or a basilisk fang back to his world.

"Mum, do you know anything about Gryffindor's sword?" he asked, trying to even his breathing as his throat tightened in panic.

"Gryffindor's sword," Lily looked at him confused as she gently brushed his hair. "No. Isn't it from Grimm's fairy tales?"

f*ck!

He was screwed. Harry cupped his face, trying to calm himself down.

"Sweety, you will be fine," his mother told him as if sensing his unease. "I promise."

He extended his hand forward and willed his magic to come forth, and the book on the nightstand moved forward by the force of his magic and fell down with a loud thud, startling his mother.

"Oh my goodness," she exclaimed.

Thank Merlin, he still had his magic, but without a wand, things were going to be hard.

"I will get it," Harry said, moving towards the nightstand to grab the book on the floor. He placed the book on the stand only to notice the rolled-up paper still sitting on the stand, "West Bromwich Albion won the FA Cup for the fourth time. Will we find out if the "Team of the Century" will represent England at FIFA? May 1st, 1954."

Well, it seemed Harry couldn't catch a break.

"Is this recent?" he asked, pointing at the newspaper.

"Yes, that's today's paper," his mum said, craning her neck to take a good look.

Harry sat on the bed. Spacetime was a singular dimension, and he had f*cked up not taking this fact into account. Now he was stuck in a world that was still in the 1950s. Well, at least, his parents were alive, and he had time to fix things. Clearly, there was no magic, but he still had his magic, and he could spend his time completing his mission, he would need to create a basilisk here, grow it and then kill, recalculate the arithmancy behind the correct dimensional travel back to his own timeline and dimension and send the basilisk fang there, so Hermione and Ron could finish the job.

Harry rubbed his shoulders. He could do this. He was strong. He had the will and the knowledge.

"How old am I?"

"Harry!" Lily looked confused. "Why would you ask such a question? You know how old you are. Are you saying you're too young for this marriage? Sweety, if it were up to me, you would marry when you fell in love with someone worthy, but you know that these things are not always up to us. You are twenty, turning twenty-one at the end of August in a couple of months, so of course, the matters of your marriage will be discussed."

Great, Harry was a twenty-three-year-old man in the body of a twenty-year-old girl. He sighed but nodded at her with a sweet smile.

"I can do this,"he told himself."I have time here and can still complete the mission."

There was a knock on the door, startling both him and his mother.

"May I come in?" a voice called politely.

"Yes," Lily said, brushing down the wrinkles in her elegant skirt.

The door opened, and a man entered. Harry's heart almost jumped out of his mouth when he recognized Sirius. He was tall, handsome and young. He couldn't be much older than Harry himself. He definitely was in his early twenties, wearing a nice suit. The sullen expression on his face lit up as soon as he saw Harry.

"Father wants you to come to the drawing-room," he said begrudgingly.

His mother turned to him apologetically and held her hands.

"I will talk with your father, sweety," she promised. "But now do as he says."

"Let's go," Sirius said, coming to him and helping him up.

Harry had no problems following along with everything. Marriage to some random person and all that wasn't his main concern. His actual objectives were his true focus, and he didn't mind marrying anyone, without any complaints, as long as the marriage or any other commitments didn't interfere with his plans.

A sense of morbid pity lifted its ugly head inside Harry's head. Some unfortunate fool thought he was marrying a sweet girl when in reality, they were getting themselves into a marriage with a battle-hardened soldier who had become a military commander. He had overseen many military operations and trained numerous soldiers. By the end of the bloody war, he wouldn't have a f*cking empty spot on his chest if he got all the medals that he deserved.

He wanted to assure the woman that he would be fine in whatever marriage he was forced into, but he knew better than to create unnecessary suspicions about himself.

"Just say the word, Harry," Sirius told him, stopping in front of large doors. "Just say the word, and I will make sure you are not marrying anyone."

He leaned forward and hugged Sirius. sh*t, he missed him so much. "I am fine," he said. "You don't need to worry about me."

Sirius opened the door, and Harry stepped inside. He spotted his father first, he was sitting on the sofa, legs elegantly crossed, cigarette in one hand while the other was set on the armrest of the sofa. There were so many men in the room, several of them standing behind James Potter, holding guns in their hands, and then Harry's eyes widened when he saw who was sitting in front of his father.

Tom f*cking Riddle!

What the f*ck was he doing here? He was young and handsome, dressed in an elegant suit, his hair brushed perfectly. The man's eyes went to Harry, and Harry felt almost naked under the man's gaze. There were so many eyes right now focused on him, but the only one that made him feel uncomfortable was Riddle's gaze.

Sirius closed the door behind them, and Harry jumped up startled.

Harry stared at these people awkwardly. He recognized the Lestrange brothers, Crouch, Dolohov, Malfoy, Yaxley, Rowle and a bunch of other Death Eaters. They all looked funny in muggle suits, most of them holding a gun in their hands like this was a f*cking muggle movie.

"Harry, darling, bring us tea," his father said, turning his gaze from him to Riddle and looking at the young and handsome muggle Riddle with a smug smirk on his face. Why the f*ck was muggle James Potter in the same room with Riddle, and why did he look so pleased?

Harry was so confused that for a moment he forgot about everything and only managed to nod. He turned around and opened the door. He was expecting Sirius to follow him out, but the man stayed inside, and instead, an old woman and his mother snatched his wrists as soon as he stepped out of the room.

"Well, what is it, darling?" his mother demanded.

"Dad asked for tea," Harry said confused. This world made very little sense.

The old man called him inside, only to send him away for bloody tea. Why the hell couldn't Sirius tell him to bring these bloody twats tea? Harry shook his head, wondering if the request was because now he was a young woman. It looked like there were a bunch of maids and servants around. Whatever the f*ck was the reason, Harry had little reason to protest. He would bring them tea if that's what they bloody wanted.

It wasn't like he hadn't had the experience of making and serving food in all his years with the Dursleys. The war stretched for so long, and it was so brutal that Harry often remembered his horrid days with Aunt and Uncle with a degree of twisted fondness.

"Oh no," his mother looked dejected. "He promised me."

"It's fine, Mum," he said softly, wondering why she sounded so panicked all of a sudden. "Where is the kitchen?"

"Mrs. Potter," the old woman said in a kind tone. "Don't you worry about Harietta. She is a good girl, isn't she? She will be loved. No man would look at this pretty girl and not have his cold heart melted."

Harry nodded. Yeah, he was a stunning bird now, and it still sounded utterly ridiculous to his own ears.

"I hear he is a handsome man, isn't he," the woman said, ushering them into the large kitchen that seemed to be fully staffed. "He will love you, child. Don't you worry."

Harry's brain stopped processing any more information. What was she even about?

"Bring the pearl set, Alma," Lily Potter instructed the old maid. "Even if it has to be for this, I won't have Harry show up there with anything less."

"Yes, Ma'am," the woman said, hurrying to take care of the order.

Lily Potter placed a tray on the counter and set it up with pastries and preserves. She looked nervous and anxious. Alma, the old maid, appeared in a couple of seconds bringing with her the most beautiful tea set Harry had ever seen. The staff hurried to set up the teapot and the cups on the tray.

"I think this is too heavy," Lily said with worry, staring down at the elegantly arranged teapot and the cups.

Harry took the tray and moved it about with ease, wondering what she was on about.

"Harry, sweety, careful," she admonished him. "The tea is hot."

Harry nodded. He needed to get this over with so he could start working on the calculations for the ritual and plan out the basilisk growing. He didn't have bloody time to play some blushing girl putting hours of effort into serving tea in some nonsense meeting that didn't even concern him. That seemed to be the upside of being in the era he found himself in as a woman. He would get the bloody time to do what he needed to do. They wouldn't even suspect. Hermione would have hated this sh*te.

Before he could move out, his mother held him. "Darling, be careful with those men in there, okay?"

"Sure," Harry agreed.

He smiled at his mum and then gently knocked on the door to the drawing room and walked inside. All the eyes turned to him. They stared at him like he was some kind of novelty toy at a fancy trinket shop. It was weird. He walked up to where his father was sitting and placed the tray on the table.

Things weren't so bad, Harry thought as he started pouring tea into the tea cups from the teapot. He would need to create a new formula for the calculations and take into account the distance in the spacetime, but he could definitely do it.

He placed the cup in front of his father absentmindedly, wondering if he should recalculate the matter transference formula for the spacetime principle.

"Harry," his father's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to stare at the man confused, not having caught a single word the man said.

"Yes?" he mumbled quietly.

His father smiled at him and nodded at Riddle.

"You can serve tea to Mr. Riddle," he said meaningfully, and Harry had the suspicion that it was supposed to mean something, but he had no idea what the f*ck were the customs in this place. It looked to be magicless Britain in the 1950s, and there wasn't really much else to it.

He smiled and nodded and slowly poured tea into the cup and placed it in front of Riddle. As long as the guy was a muggle with no genocidal intentions, Harry had no issues with Riddle here. Riddle stared at him with an overly unhinged expression on his face.

"Here, your tea, Mr. Riddle," he said politely. The man didn't even smile back at him. He just stared. Harry shuffled around awkwardly, wondering what the f*ck was his deal and then looked at the men standing in the room and realized that he didn't have enough cups for all of them. "Oh, looks like we don't have enough cups for everyone. I can go bring some more."

"Sit down, darling," his father said, pointing at the empty spot next to him on the sofa. "It is fine."

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"No, James," Lily screamed. "You can't have my girl marry that murdering swine. Have you seen what the papers are saying about him?"

James Potter sighed, looking irritated.

"Love, please calm down," he said in a patronizing tone that made Lily even more upset.

"Calm down? How can I calm down when you agreed to give my daughter to a man whose reputation is so repugnant that patricide isn't even the worst of it."

The servants were all pretending not to hear or notice anything as the two argued.

"Lily, stop yelling," James warned as his wife got increasingly more upset.

"How is that man even going to treat her? She is scared of him, and you thought it would be a good idea to have him marry her?"

"And who is she to marry, Lily?" James asked sternly, stepping forward towards his wife. "You know that she is my daughter too, and you know who I am. I can't have my daughter marry some pretentious ponce that hasn't tasted someone else's blood in his mouth."

"And that means that you need to have her marry that man? A man who killed his own father, a man who has a reputation with courtesans that even I have heard of. You want that man's hands on your daughter? You promised me she would marry a good man. Riddle is not a good man, and you know it."

"And who do you suggest she marry? That ponce Lockheart? James laughed. "And what happens if she needs to be protected, sweetheart? What happens when my enemies try to hurt her, and her husband is some sweet, gentle, titled academic who hasn't held a gun in his life? You think some limp-wristed man-child like your father's choice for our daughter would have the guts to take care of her if the need comes."

"I never said for her to marry Lockheart," Lily screamed. "If she isn't safe here because of your work, then why not have her marry Graves? He is a good, respected man away from here and..."

"The American?"

"Yes, the American," Lily said, throwing back her beautiful, red curls. "What's wrong with him, huh? If my daughter isn't safe in Britain, why can't she marry 'the American' and lead a normal life over there?"

"I don't have any daughter to give to Graves so he can take her away to where I can't see her if I need to," James growled.

"Oh now you care about seeing her," Lily shot back. "If it needed to be someone from here and someone in the business why not have her marry one of the Weasley's sons? Percy is a good man, he is a barrister, well-educated and would take care of Harry well. Why did it have to be Riddle?"

James stepped forward and grabbed his wife's arm. She tried to move away, but he only tightened his grip.

"You knew who you were marrying, my love," he said darkly. "Unlike our daughter, you had the choice. I told you who I was and what I did, and I gave you the chance to stay away from me. I warned you that if you marry me, you are marrying my f*cked up life, and despite everything, you married me. So don't stand there and lecture me on what to do, because I do what's best for our family and our daughter, and I deem it best for her that she will marry Tom bloody Riddle."

Lily slapped James and ran towards the bookstand. She grabbed the decorative vase and threw it at him. The vase hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

"You gave me your word, you bastard, that you won't have my children involved in your dirty work," she cried and grabbed another vase.

"Calm the f*ck down, woman," James roared. "You are going to hurt yourself."

"Don't tell me to calm down," she cried. "God help me, James, if you tell me to calm down one more time."

She threw the vase she was holding at him, the glass hit the side of the sofa broke into pieces and one of the shards hit her hand. Sirius rushed to her side and held her bleeding hand.

"Mum, are you okay?" he asked, holding her with one arm while trying to pull the tiny shard with the other.

Lily was crying.

"You cold-blooded brute," she shook in Sirius's arms, glaring at her husband. "You weren't satisfied having my son in this dangerous life, you had to drag my girl into this too."

"Sirius isn't your child," James said, staring at her hand in concern but thinking better than to approach while she was screaming her head off.

"How dare you," that was the wrong thing to say to his agitated wife. "I raised him. He is my son. And you took both of them from me."

"Lily," James raised his arms in peace and tried to approach her but she screamed even louder.

"Don't come any close," she ordered. "I don't want to see your face. You can sleep alone today."

"Let me at least, take care of that wound," James tried.

"No, stay away," she yelled and left.

James sighed, cupping his face. "Bloody women!" he growled.

Sirius cleared his throat. "She will come around," he tried. "Maybe a bit of groveling from your side will fix things. She forgives easily."

"She is a bloody maniac, is what she is," James complained. "Go, Sirius, make sure she is bandaging that wound well."

"Yes, Sir," Sirius said, turning to leave, but then he stopped. "Was it really the best decision to have Harry marry Riddle?"

James looked up.

"Not you too," he said. "You know that he is the real deal. Not some prissy namby-pamby coward. You want a real man with your sister so he can make sure she is safe and always protected. People who did business with him speak highly of him, and I must say in the current issues we have with him he had held up the code and didn't break any of the old rules. You know that matters in our line of work, no? And if he dares to mistreat your sister, you know the drill. I have taught you how to handle that and Riddle knows that too."

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Harry rummaged through the drawers, gathering whatever items he could find. He would need to transfigure them into compound lenses and refractors to build a telescope. He planned to construct the pieces separately and assemble them on-site. Before he could start his calculations though, he needed to remap and recalibrate his current location in the dimensional continuum.

Collecting stacks of paper and pencils, he shoved them into a large bag. He used several charms and runic charting to create a locator compass to navigate to the perfect spot to do the space mapping. By the time he was done, it was already late at night, and he assumed he could leave home without anyone noticing. Harry climbed out of his bedroom, jumping out of the window onto the railings, then crawling over to the nearby tree and getting down from there. He had spent most of his energy transfiguring the objects and didn't want to use any more magic.

The streets were quiet. The quiet made him anxious. He walked, scanning his surroundings with the precision and anxiety of a trained soldier, waiting for bombs to go off. As Voldemort's war stretched for years, muggles started taking notice of magic. There were those among them who joined the witches and wizards against Voldemort but there were more who simply wanted to annihilate all wizards. Gunfire, muggle explosives and magical curses had been Harry's reality in the past several years, so any drop of silence seemed alarming and almost unnaturally eerie.

He was still getting used to his much smaller body, stumbling a little as his brain was telling him that he needed to take bigger steps. Pretending to be someone else and bearing the face of another wasn't new to Harry. He had spent several months disguised as a Death Eater, spying and planning a coup in the second year of the war. He knew he would get used to everything in a day or two.

He held the locator compass up as the movement of the needle started slowing, trying to detect the correct path he was supposed to take. About half an hour later, he entered a barely lit alley and started pacing about until the compass needle started twirling around in full 360 degrees. Harry closed the locator and stared around. Seemed like a dirty alley; he could hear cats meowing in the distance.

The lack of electrical illumination was perfect as he didn't want any light on the ground to interfere with his observation through the telescope. Except, in order to assemble the equipment, he needed light. He pulled the bag open, rummaged through it until he found a handheld flashlight and turned it on. He held it between his teeth and then started taking out the pieces of the transfigured telescope.

Placing a blanket on the floor, he pulled out the stacks of paper and the tools and started constructing the telescope. This wasn't new. Very often he did this with Ron as the two of them set up new anti-muggle attack stations and needed to create and build equipment.

He used the screwdriver to fasten all the parts together and then mounted the telescope tube onto an equatorial mount, attaching the finder scope and eyepiece, aligning the mirrors and lenses, adjusting the focus and calibration mechanisms, and fine-tuning the alignment of the optical system.

He stared at the assembly and then did a quick eye test. It looked like he needed to collimate the telescope to ensure the lenses were properly aligned for optimal viewing. Harry sighed and sat down on the blanket on the floor, placing the flashlight next to him and started centering the secondary mirror in the focuser tube.

He could hear loud voices reaching the alley. Harry lifted his head and stared into the darkness, wrinkling his face at the prospect of being interrupted. He bit his lip, annoyance flowing in his veins as he tried to ignore the sounds and adjust the primary mirror, changing the rotation of it.

"Hey look at that," Harry pinched his nose and grabbed the screwdriver. He needed to loosen some of those screws to make sure the mirror could be correctly tilted. "Such a pretty bird, all by herself standing in this dark alley."

Harry lifted his head and gave the men a sharp look. They seemed drunk. He shook his head and continued to work.

"She's even got the blanket and all sorted here," another laughed, staring at Harry's set-up. "Pretty popsy all alone 'ere. Aren't you chilly, love? I could take you to me gaff. Or are you on the job 'ere? 'Ow you gonna pull any punters in this quiet spot. Where's your fancy man, then?"

Their noise was breaking Harry's concentration so he moved his face away from the eyepiece and glared at the men this time with a little more venom in his expression.

"This spot is taken," he said. "Go somewhere else."

"Hear that, Bobby?" the man laughed, elbowing his mate.

Harry was losing his patience. He didn't have all the time in the world, and these twats were getting in his hair with their bloody yapping.

"What's your rate, love?" They wouldn't take the hint and f*ck off. "I could be real generous for a sweet bird like you."

Harry placed the screwdriver on the stacks of paper and got up. One of the men walked towards him, and Harry watched him lazily, feeling the adrenalin sweeping his system in preparation for a fight. He didn't really want to hurt anyone on his first day here.

"You f*cking brainless twits," Harry mumbled. "I'll give you the same advice I give my soldiers: if something seems out of place or suspicious, steer clear. Chances are, that oddity is there for a f*cking reason, and poking around could land you in trouble. Now, you two twats maundering into this bloody alley at this ungodly hour and see me here, setting that sh*te up, and you don't pause for a second to think? Does it not compute in your heads that I don't bloody look like a prostitute, and it's better to stay away? How you f*ckers don't have any self-preservation instincts?"

"Mouthy c*nt!"

"If c*nts had mouths, your mother's would need to apologize to the world for popping you out," Harry told him.

The man lunged forward, and Harry punched him in the face. The man fell down on the ground with a broken nose, knocked out. His friend stared, horrified, and tried to run away like a character in a horror movie. Harry bent down, grabbed the screwdriver and hurled it at the man. It hit him on the back of his head, dropping him down on the ground.

Harry approached, checked for a pulse and finding him still alive, but unconscious, grabbed the tool and walked back, annoyed. They took so much valuable time.

He sat down finished adjustments on the telescope and then lay down on the blanket on the floor, pressing his eye to the eyepiece. Placing the blank papers on his lap, he observed the night sky and started drafting the spacetime diagram so he could use it for his calculations.

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"Mr. Riddle, here is your drink," the barmaid told him, batting her eyelashes and dragging her hands over his arm as she put the glass in front of him.

Tom stared at her impassively, watching the way her eyes lit up when he gave her his attention. She had bright lipstick on her lips, making her bad teeth even more obvious even in this bad lighting in the pub. She smelled of alcohol, cigarettes and sweat. She was young, but he could already see some wrinkles on her bare neck.

She leaned over the counter so much that her blouse went down, and he could see her tit* popping out.

"Let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Riddle," she whispered.

"Romilda," Filch's loud voice made the girl fall back in panic. "What are you doing, you silly wench?"

The man stopped and looked at Tom in horror, noticing him too late. "I am sorry, Mr. Riddle," he hurried to apologize. "She is new. Come here, Romilda. You're supposed to clean the pantry. I am sorry Mr. Riddle. This won't happen again. She is my niece, hired to clean the kitchens. Nothing else."

The man dragged her away, scolding her loudly.

Tom closed his eyes. The noise was too much. He hated all of it. Grabbing the glass, he took a sip from the drink and turned around to watch his men getting drunk and screaming at each other. They were loud and rowdy like a herd of bulls. He took another sip and then pulled out a cigarette from the box he was keeping in his inner pocket.

Tomorrow he would need to meet with major party leaders and see who would benefit him most from joining. He had an appointment with Clifford Atherton, the Labour Party leader and later he would meet Churcher, the leader of the Conservative Party. He cared very little about their ideologies either way and wanted to see who would be most beneficial for him and his business.

"Tom," Barty sat next to him, shifting away when he blinked at the man tersely. "Here let me light your cigarette."

Barty pulled out his lighter and lit up the cigarette.

"The meeting today," Barty said, clearing his throat. "With Potter, it went well, no?"

"We came to an agreement," Tom acknowledged.

"What do you think of the girl?"

Tom blew out the smoke and leaned back.

"I hope she is worth giving Potter free access to our ports and ships," he drawled.

"She's gone to a top-notch finishing school, and her mum's an aristocrat with all the right connections," Barty said. "She's absolutely proper. That counts for a lot when it comes to votes. Atherton will take notice, and Churcher will be even more impressed if you join either of them. And it doesn't hurt that she is as pretty as a picture. You, on the other hand, have a bit of a reputation, Tom. People are wary of you, and you could do with a sweet little bit of crumpet by your side to soften your image."

"And have James bloody Potter breathing down my neck because I am f*cking his daughter," Tom said with a sigh, taking another sip from his drink.

Tom didn't give a rat's arse about the looks. They all felt the same in bed anyway. Who cared that this one looked like a pageant girl? Not that this bird would ever dream of getting her arse bare and hop on a stage to be graded by strange men. James Potter would probably shoot them all if his daughter had the gall to do something like that. Harry, that's what her father called her, was pretty, alright, but she was skittish and docile. Maybe some men saw appeal in that; waifish, demure virgin bride that didn't have any other men in her bed.

"She's a right dish, that one," Travers said, suddenly stumbling towards them, pissed as a bloody newt. "Bloody fine thing, with that thin waist and nice tit*, wouldn't mind one bit."

Barty stared at the man in horror and instinctively backed away. The bottle of gin sitting on the counter smashed against Travers's head, and the man dropped down on the floor. Tom threw away the broken shards still clutched in his hand and got to his feet. Travers palmed his bleeding head but before he could crawl away, Tom kicked him in the guts. Everyone froze in the pub, watching. Only a madman would step in the middle of it.

"You think you can disrespect me like this, you sorry son of a bitch? What gave you the gall to open your dirty gob and slobber over what's mine? For you, that'right dish' is your boss's future wife. She is not a subject for your dirty fantasies. You speak of her again in such a manner, and I will spit you like a pig. If any of you f*ckers so much as peep about her in disrespect, I will hang you by your bloody entrails."

He kicked the man until the fool started choking blood. No one dared to step in. Barty stared in horror but kept his mouth shut. Tom was unhinged on his best days, what was Travers even thinking opening his trap like that and insinuating he would want to put his hands on Boss's future wife? If he was that stupid, maybe he got what was coming.

"I don't hear you, you f*cking c*nt," Tom's shoes were covered in blood as he kept kicking Travers. "You look at my wife, breathe her way, talk about her bloody hair or tit*, I will f*cking shoot the lot of you."

He threw his cigarette on Traverse and moved away still angry. The others hurried to help the man on the floor. Filch showed up bringing a bucket and a mop.

Tom sat down on the leather sofa in the corner and crossed his legs. f*cking drunk morons! If they couldn't hold their bloody alcohol, maybe they shouldn't have drunk as much. Filch's niece showed up bringing a small bowl of water with her and a cloth. She got on her knees and washed the blood of his shoes, occasionally staring at Tom like she was some dumb tart.

"Romilda," Filch ran up to the girl and stared at her in panic. "Go tend the bar, I will help Mr. Riddle."

The girl got up slowly and walked away.

"She doesn't mean any disrespect, that silly girl," Filch hurried to say, shuffling to clean his shoes instead.

Did this moron think Tom was going to f*ck his ugly niece? Now that he was looking at her, he could see the difference between this brat and Potter's daughter. Potter's girl wouldn't get on her knees and lift up her arse for everyone to gawk in the middle of a bloody pub. She was raised to shut her mouth and nod her head and smile. And that's what Tom needed for the politics. A proper virgin bride who wouldn't have any ex-lovers that his political opponents could prop up to humiliate him.

Potter was right. He slept with whor*s. He had no patience for girlfriends, mistresses and kept women. One night stand with whor*s was his way, and he paid them so he could tell them to keep their mouths shut. His bloody co*ck didn't care to know their opinions. And now he was marrying his rival's little brat to enter politics. Potter was willing to offer him more once he was officially the man's son-in-law.

Tom had lived his life trying to get back what he rightfully deserved. His good-for-nothing father left his mother pregnant and destitute. The bastard didn't even divorce her, he married her, got her pregnant and then dropped her like she was ten a penny whor*. Tom enjoyed snuffing the life out of him. He grew up in an orphanage during the war and then was conscripted in January after he turned 18 at the end of the war.

He thought his father was dead and when he found the rotten bastard, he killed him like the pig he was.

The courts couldn't prove it was him, and his Uncle on his mother's side had bragged while drunk that he had killed Riddle Sr for disgracing his sister.

"All clean, Mr. Riddle," Filch said, grabbing the bowl and the cloth and scattering away.

Tom rubbed his temples, trying to relax. The sounds of clamour made him crane his neck, irritated that some new nonsense had sparked another burst of noise. He narrowed his eyes at Fletcher stumbling towards him, face blue and swollen. The others seeing Fletcher's rough appearance rushed to him to help him up. Someone handed him a bag of ice though Tom doubted it would be any help at that point. He sat on the chair in front of Tom, whimpering like a bloody girl.

"What has happened to your mug?" Yaxley asked, waving his hands in front of Fletcher's face.

"Bloody Baron's boys," Fletcher coughed. "I was at the flower shop, collecting the money and cooking the books, then his boys show up. I recognized them right away. There were four of them. They roughed me up and took the money. Said it wasfor protection."

Tom's cold expression darkened. He raised an eyebrow.

"Bloody Baron's boys came to my flower shop and took money for protection?" he said, laughing in amusem*nt. "How much money did they take, Fletcher?"

"Two grand," Fletcher said, looking down on the ground. "I tried warning them who I work for, but they didn't care."

"Barty, find a spot in my schedule tomorrow to pay these upstarts a visit," Tom laughed. "It seems some people are forgetting their place and need to be made an example of."

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"Add a little more cream, Alma," Lily told the maid. "Sirius likes his tea with more milk."

She didn't need to be in the kitchen early in the morning and do any kind of cooking or cleaning. They had a big house staff that took care of all household matters, but Lily loved making breakfast for her children. She started preparing the pancake batter when she suddenly felt her husband's presence in the kitchen. She froze for a second, noticing how the maids became stiff and uneasy and throwing furtive glances her way.

She snorted inaudibly, straightened her back and decided to ignore him.

He was watching her—she could feel his attentive gaze focused on her, observing and taking in her every move, waiting for an opening.

"How is your hand, love?" James finally asked, realizing that she wasn't going to be nice to him.

Lily turned around and glared at him. Her hand was bandaged. The wound wasn't even deep. James tilted his head and looked at her with an obsessive expression on his face.

"It's none of your business," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Is it not?" the man asked, rolling the morning paper and throwing it on the table. He took a step closer and started to slowly move towards her like an animal stalking its prey. "Everything about you is my business, love."

Lily moved back until her back hit the counters. The staff in the room moved out of the kitchen silently, leaving the two alone. James closed the distance between them and gently held his wife's bandaged hand, bringing it close to his face to inspect the damage.

"Does it hurt, love?" he asked, lowering his head and peppering kisses on the gauze covering the wound. "I don't want you to get hurt, and I am sorry for yesterday."

Lily gasped when her husband lifted her up into the counters knocking over the cups on the surface.

"James," she scolded him, mortified. "The staff is watching, and Sirius will be here any moment to have breakfast."

James only smiled and leaned over to kiss her. Lily wrapped her hands around her husband's neck. In moments like this, she knew why she married him. James was never shy of demonstrating his feelings for her. She had grown up not seeing her own parents so much as to hold hands or stand close enough to each other in public. Their relationship felt sterile. All the aristocrats in their circle had this type of vacant relationship. There seemed to be almost no intimacy. Kissing your wife in the daylight in front of others was vulgar and improper.

James was vulgar and anything but proper. And Lily loved him for that.

"Hope you forgive me, love," he said, pulling back and looking at her tenderly. "I mean well."

Lily scrunched up her nose as if still contemplating. She was still mad at him. He didn't even hesitate to have their sweet girl marry that crazy man. Maybe this was a divine punishment. When Lily told her parents that she would be marrying James Potter, they were appalled and wanted her sent to the countryside to stay at her aunt's estate. Her mother was horrified that she would throw away a good marriage prospect with honourable Vernon Dursley and marry some rowdy street thug. She wailed and cried, telling her she didn't understand how a mother would feel.

Lily's sister married Dursley, and Lily married the charming man whose dangerous life didn't really upset her until yesterday when he gave their daughter to some psychopath like she was cattle.

"Here," the man said, brushing her curls behind her ear with one hand and reaching for his pocket with the other. "I have something small for you."

He pulled out a pearl-encrusted lily-shaped hairpin and clipped it to her hair. James wasn't ever one for present boxes or notes, he loved to gift her expensive things, but what made it best in Lily's mind was that he gave them to her like it was just a trinket to make her smile, not some grand gesture that required introductions and ceremony and audience.

She looked at the hairpin, awkwardly propped on her hair and smiled.

"It is pretty," she confessed, taking it and properly clipping it to her curls. "But don't think, I will forgive you just because you are being sweet to me."

"And why not, eh?"

"Because you promised me you would have our daughter marry a good man but gave her so easily to Tom Riddle," she pouted. "Harry is scared of him."

"She doesn't even know the man, love," James sighed. "He will treat her right. I will straighten him if he doesn't."

"Once she is his wife, the law..."

"Do I look like I give a damn about the law?" James snorted.

"If he hurts my daughter, the law would say, it's his right as her husband," she insisted. "And I know that madman will hurt her."

"Lily, you don't even know him," James sighed. "How many people do you think think I beat you up every day? They probably think I am some monster that dragged you to my cave."

"Then give me your word that you will bring her home if that man hurts her," she demanded.

"Okay," James agreed easily. "I will take care of it. You need to start the preparations for the wedding though. It's next week."

Lily pushed James away and dropped off the counter.

"Next week?" she yelled. "You can't be serious. There is no time to prepare. What's the rush? People will gossip and say she is with a child. No, James, next week is too soon. That's no time for finding a perfect dress and preparing for the ceremony. No one is marrying so fast after betrothal. She didn't even get a ring. Couples marry months, years after. This isn't proper."

"Love, couples wait months and years because in your circles the men wait until their daddies die so they can inherit wealth and titles for marriage to support their wives. Riddle doesn't need to wait and neither should we."

"Yes, he doesn't need to wait for his father to die," Lily snorted. "He has already killed him."

"Love," James reprimanded her sternly, making her shut her mouth. "Don't go repeating gossip. It doesn't become you. There is no substance in those rumours, and if he did kill his father, that twat bloody well deserved it. What kind of man throws out his pregnant wife? In my book, Riddle did what a man should do when they found out how another disrespected and dishonoured their mother, no?"

Lily didn't know much about Tom Riddle other than what the papers said about him and what the people gossiped. She was aware that her husband and the other man were having some kind of business disagreement and that people had died. It was a reason enough for her not to want her daughter with the man.

"I know you will be able to prepare everything for the wedding in no time," James continued. "I am meeting Riddle later today to go over some paperwork details. Marriage contracts, inheritance and all. I will have him give me his guest list. He is also bringing her a ring. So, there is also that. This should be no trouble for you. You've always been perfect at throwing parties and celebrations."

Lily blushed and then took a deep breath, licking her lips.

"Fine," she said. "I will start right away. Alma, can you get Harry? It seems we need to go wedding dress shopping today."

"Yes, my lady," the old woman called.

James leaned down to kiss Lily's forehead and then moved to sit at the table. He grabbed the paper and started reading. One of the maids entered the room and proceeded to serve tea. Lily went back to making the pancake batter

The loud scream coming from upstairs made everyone freeze. It was the old maid screaming. James reached for his gun, but then they heard the woman's voice and rushed to see what spooked her. The old maid was standing in front of the open doors to Harry's bedroom. James and Lily stared in shock as their sleepy daughter lifted her head to give them a confused look.

"My goodness what has happened here?" the old woman exclaimed.

Harry was lying on the floor. The whole room was covered in pieces of paper. James stepped in and grabbed a piece of paper, staring at the writing. Looked like maths.

The papers were literally everywhere.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, getting up and straightening her gown. "Did I oversleep?"

"What is this, sweety?" Lily asked, waving at the room.

Harry blinked and then stared around in panic and started collecting the pieces of paper.

"I am sorry," she hurried to apologize. "I was just writing numbers for fun."

"For fun?" James raised an eyebrow. "Darling, I know you are anxious over your marriage, but you shouldn't stay up and doodle all night."

Harry nodded with a faint smile, continuing to collect all the papers. "I will be in a moment," he promised. "I will clean up all the papers."

"Sweety," Lily stepped inside. "We will need to go wedding dress shopping. Your wedding is in a week."

Lily tried to say the words as gently as possible, fearing the worst, but Harry only nodded.

"Sure, mum," Lily's girl agreed. "Just give me a moment. I will clean up this mess and come down and we can go shopping for a dress."

"My sweet girl," Lily couldn't help but cuddle Harry into her arms. "You don't need to be strong with me. I know that you don't want to marry him, but I promise you will have a place here if anything goes wrong, okay?"

Harry nodded and Lily's heart shattered. It felt like her sweet, darling daughter lost her will to fight and just accepted the decision of her father.

"Your father is saying that Tom will come today and bring you a ring," she told Harry.

"Tom?" Harry looked confused. "I am marrying Tom? Tom Riddle? So yesterday was about that? I thought the whole marriage talk was a separate matter."

There was a strange expression on her face that Lily had never seen before, but then her features relaxed and went back to the passive expression she had before.

"I suppose it could have been worse," she said with a sigh. "That's fine. Just give me a moment."

She pushed Lily out of the room and locked the door. Lily stared at the door, stunned. Just what was going on with her lovely daughter?

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Harry had a headache. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the tension in his temples. His throat felt sore as if he had been screaming the whole night. The dryness in his mouth made it uncomfortable to swallow. He felt drained. He had stayed up too long, working on recalculations and formulas and had fallen asleep on the floor against his will. He would have been still working if the overwhelming exhaustion hadn't overtaken his body.

He looked around and started gathering the pieces of paper scattered on the floor. The screeching wail of the bloody maid was still ringing in his ears. She must have been surprised that the room was in disarray. Harry groaned. For f*ck's sake, a couple of papers on the floor wasn't the end of the bloody world. These people acted like every little thing was a matter of grand importance.

He still had a lot of work to do and needed to continue his calculations, but he also had responsibilities as this world's Harry that needed to be fulfilled. Going to shop for a wedding dress was an unnecessary distraction that shouldn't have taken any time away from his mission. However, Harry understood the importance of living as his counterpart, at least for their sake, and to avoid making things more complicated for himself.

He removed some of the papers he had pinned on the walls, stacking them together as he hurried to tidy up the room.

The news of marrying Tom Riddle was an unpleasant surprise. Harry wasn't expecting the fate to be so bloody ironic. In one world, the man was trying to kill Harry and in another, he was marrying him like this was a sordid game of kiss, kill and marry. At least, he was hot, young and didn't have Horcruxes lying around in creepy hideouts.

Harry put the papers together neatly and scanned the room for a good spot for them. He didn't want the maids or anyone else for that matter to go through his work. This type of advanced knowledge would be catastrophic in the wrong hands. He opened one of the drawers of his vanity table and cast an expansion spell. He didn't have his wand to cast a complex Fidelius charm, but a modified and very simple concealment spell could do the trick. He placed the stack of papers in the expanded space and conjured a wooden plank over it to create a secret area that couldn't be accessed by anyone else.

He scratched his neck, stretched his shoulders, trying to untangle the muscles in his shoulder blades and scowled, seeing his reflection in the mirror. He needed a bath. He still had some of that dirt from the alley sticking to his skin and the dried-up blood of the fool he had punched in the face. His mother would probably faint if she saw how Harry treated her body.

He walked into the bathroom, filled the bath with water wandlessly, pulled off his clothes and lay in the hot water. He rubbed the dirt off his soft skin, his thin elegant fingers gently massaging his long hair as he stared down at himself with strange curiosity. His new body was so delicate and fragile. It was hard to imagine that this was truly a version of himself.

He used whatever bath soaps and creams there were and smelled like a bouquet of flowers freshly plucked from the earth after a rainy day. He didn't bother with a towel and simply cast drying charms on himself. It would take a while to dry his long hair, and he didn't have time for that. Prancing around naked, Harry rummaged through the wardrobe to find something to wear. These dresses were so tight on the waist that it seemed like the maker intended to choke the air out of whoever dared to put them on.

He grabbed the pink one that caught his attention and quickly got dressed. After scanning the room for any overlooked oddities and ensuring that all his mission tools were securely stashed away, he exited the room.

His parents were in the dining room, having breakfast. Sirius was sitting there with them, looking bored.

"Harry," he got up, pulling a chair for him. "You look..."

"Sorry, I must look tired," Harry hurried to say before Sirius could finish. He had never done any makeup in his life except that one time, Hermione asked him to cast certain charms on her face for her wedding with Ron. Harry had no idea how to manually apply any of the products and didn't even know what some of them were for. He did know the spells, so he cast couple of them on his face to get that dewy, soft look that was favoured among the witches.

"Beautiful," Sirius said. "You look beautiful."

Oh! Harry smiled at him and sat down. Sirius looked young for some reason, and he lived with them. Harry recalled Sirius referring to James asFather. It seemed surreal but this was a different world.

"You are glowing, sweety," his mother exclaimed, staring at him oddly. "You don't have any cosmetics on your face?"

"My sweet little girl looks better without all that sh*te on her face," James grumbled. "I hate when you women cover your faces in powder and paint 'em like bloody mimes."

"James," Lily chided, sounding cross. "A bit of a lipstick doesn't hurt anyone. Besides, beauty products play a role in refining one's look and presenting a well-put-together image."

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and took a sip from his tea.

"Well, look at her," James said, waving at Harry. "How much healthier and prettier she looks without warpaint on her face! You too look better with your natural face, love."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had a bunch of charms on his face that made the wizarding makeup look so natural. He doubted his father could tell the difference between a natural face and a little bit of makeup. Harry knew he for sure could never guess. He was pleased his magical efforts were appreciated though.

They started having a conversation that Harry completely blocked. His mind was occupied by the realization that he would need to hatch and grow a basilisk. The sword of the Gryffindor was out of the question. It was goblin-forged and the bloody arrogant bastards refused to help. There were no goblins in this universe, so Harry had to grow a basilisk here and then kill it so he could send the fangs to his world.

On paper growing a basilisk sounded perfectly easy—a chicken egg hatched beneath a toad. While the likelihood of this occurring naturally was low, it wasn't slim, so that begged the question; what else hatching a basilisk involved that the giant serpents weren't randomly popping all over the world?

"Sirius, take your mother and sister to the shop today," James said once Lily got up to clear the table, helping the maids. "I will feel better knowing you are with them. Now that the wedding's in the papers there will be more unwanted eyes on your sister."

"Will do, Father," Sirius said, pulling out a gun from the gun holster on his belt hidden underneath his suit jacket and loading it up.

Harry raised an eyebrow. It seemed over the top, but then again, Harry really didn't need a gun in his hand to put a bullet into someone else's brain. The first time he had redirected the bullets shot at him by muggles back at them, he felt guilt, but soon it became the normalcy of the war, and he taught his soldiers how to use the muggle weapons against the muggles.

"Take more men with you," James advised, getting up and patting on Sirius's back. "Watch over your mother and sister."

Lily gave the maids instructions and then came over to where Harry was standing awkwardly.

"Let's go sweety," she said. "We have so much work to do."

"Make sure to be back home on time for the meeting," James warned.

Lily ignored him completely and ushered Harry out of the room. The car was waiting outside. Harry didn't recognize any of the men, neither the driver nor the other one who seemed to be a bodyguard of sorts. They were smoking and staring around passively. None of them seemed to spare him a look which was fine by Harry, but it was unusual enough for him to notice that these men were looking away purposefully.

Sirius helped him and Lily into the car and sat next to him. Harry stared around in excitement, realizing he was going to ride in an old car. Soon his excitement turned into boredom when he realized that the car was considerably slower than the ones from his own timeline.

The car soon stopped in front of a shop. The street was quiet, and the silence was unusual for Harry; there was something suffocating about the lack of explosions. He hopped out of the car and stumbled forward, but the bodyguard, a skinny young man, wearing a suit a size or two too big on him, held his hand and steadied him. Harry noticed large burn marks on his hands.

"Let's go, Harry," Lily called him. "Madam Malkin is already waiting for us. I have phoned her and asked her to empty the shop for us."

She held his arm, and they moved towards the shop. There was a strange man loitering around the shop who moved towards them. Harry's eyes narrowed at him, mentally assessing the level of threat he presented but the man backed away when the skinny boy moved his jacket aside showing him the gun wedged in the belt of his pants.

They entered the shop, but Sirius and the men remained outside by the car. Harry looked back and found them smoking there. Some protectors they were. He snorted. Well, it was time to square away this dress business so he could go back to his actual work and concentrate on the basilisk breeding.

"Lily," Madam Malkin looked the same as she did in Harry's world, except she was wearing a fancy muggle tweed suit. She leaned over and hugged his mother, and they kissed in greeting. "This was such a surprise. Oh, look at my girl, Harietta, a real rose. You have grown so beautifully."

"I am sorry, Paula," Lily said with a sigh. "James doesn't have any patience and thinks once the marriage is decided, weddings can be performed. He just doesn't understand how much time it takes to craft the perfect dress."

"Don't worry, Lily," Madam Malkin hurried to assure her. "I will make sure that Harry looks perfect for her day. I have received a couple of beautiful pieces that will make everyone gape in awe at her. You know I will work extra to make sure everyone talks about her dress."

"Thank you, Paula," Lily said with a smile. "You are god-send."

"After what you did for my nephew," Madam Malkin smiled. "I will always be grateful."

Harry stared around, mentally cataloging the exits and all the tools at his disposal in case of an attack. It was hard to switch off his instincts after the battlefield had been his reality for the last several years.

"Water, tea, coffee?" Madam Malkin asked with a smile. Harry shook his head. "Lemonade?"

"Coffee is good," Lily said. "Thank you."

Madam Malkin turned to her assistant and had her prepare and bring them coffee.

"Let's start with the silk one," the woman said, turning back to them. "It's an exquisite piece. Very modest, very elegant."

She unlocked what looked like a built-in wardrobe and brought a pretty dress wrapped up in a garment bag. She hung it from the knob and opened the bag, showing the delicate dress.

"Put it on sweetheart," Lily said with a smile.

Harry grabbed the dress and walked into the fitting room.

"Call me if you need help," Madam Malkin told him. Harry shut the door. He scowled and undressed to get into the dress, absentmindedly wondering if he should simply disappear so he could concentrate on his mission instead of playing house.

"You don't look so happy, Lily," he heard Madam Malkin whisper. "The marriage not to your liking?"

His mother sighed, and Harry heard the shuffling of fabric. "You know she is marrying Tom Riddle," Lily whispered. "I can't help but worry about Harry."

"Riddle," Madam Malkin said, her tone high-pitched and a little screechy. "Goodness, I can see why you would be worried."

Harry pushed the dress over his head and slowly wiggled into it.

"You know what people are saying about him," Lily lamented. "He is the devil. James doesn't see it like I do. You know men. Giving our precious daughter to that horrid toerag. God only knows what he will do to her."

Harry started buttoning the billion buttons on his back, wondering why they didn't use a bloody zipper.

"Mr. Potter loves Harry," Madam Malkin said carefully. "He wouldn't let her be mistreated."

"If her husband is doing the mistreating, he won't even bat an eye," Lily said. "You know how it is."

"Don't worry so much about it, Lily," Madam Malkin tried to comfort her. "You know his father was an aristocrat, very wealthy, not very liked, but it was such a scandal when he ran off with that girl, Merope Gaunt. Everyone talked about it. The whole town was shocked. He left his fiancé for that girl and married her. I wonder what sort of witchcraft that was, but goodness, she was not a pretty woman."

Harry rubbed his temples, getting all sweaty, trying to reach the upper buttons. It seemed Riddle's story was the same here, except he wondered how Merope managed to marry the man without love potions. He heard his mother sigh, horrified, and finishing buttoning up the dress, stepped out.

The women stared at him.

"Good Lord, look at her," Madam Malkin smiled brightly. "She is such a beauty. The waist is perfect. Harry is the first one to fit into the dress. Greengrass's daughter was here a day ago and wanted this dress but she didn't fit into it; her waist wasn't as thin."

Lily smiled sweetly, moving to hold Harry's hand.

"Sweety, you are so beautiful."

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, getting annoyed that he had to listen to all the gossip and nonsense.

"Look at the back," Madam Malkin advised Lily, twirling Harry around. "Pearl buttons all the way."

Harry bit his tongue and decided to just let the women have their fun. He still had enough time to work on his mission.

"It's very pretty," Lily agreed, moving away the strands of hair covering the expanse of Harry's back

"And perfect for her husband to unbutton the buttons on their wedding night," Madam Malkin winked. "You know how men like that."

Harry choked on his own spit. What the f*ck! How many men did this woman survey to arrive at that ridiculous conclusion? Because surely men weren't known for their love of buttons and meticulously undoing them. Although, imagining Voldemort's muggle counterpart sitting and undoing a billion buttons on his bride's back seemed quite amusing.

"What do you think, Harry?" His mother asked.

"It's good," he said, tonelessly.

"It's good, yes," Madam Malkin agreed. "You just have the pretty figure to make all the dresses look good, but I do have something in mind that will be absolutely stunning. No one has ever seen this dress, let alone tried it on. Just give me a moment."

She walked into the backroom, leaving Harry alone with his mother.

"You are beautiful, my sweet girl," Lily said, tears in her eyes. Harry leaned over to hug the woman and pat her back. He wasn't sure why she was sad all of a sudden.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she sobbed. "You're all grown up and getting married. Makes my heart tremble in my chest."

"Alright," Madam Malkin panted, bringing in a dress wrapped in a garment bag. "You are going to look like a princess in this one."

Harry sighed, stepped forward and grabbed the bag. He winced, realizing that he would have to undo all the bloody buttons on the back of his current dress as he walked back into the fitting room and shut the door behind him.

"Let me show you the négligées we have," Madam Malkin said, and Harry shook his head, wondering if really was okay with living the life of his counterpart. Maybe it was better just to fake his death and run away.

"Look at these ones," she heard the woman giggle. "Sensual, yes?"

Harry's patience was running low. He willed his magic and undid the buttons. The dress slipped down, and he stepped out of it and pulled the new dress. This one was heavier. There were more pearls on it. It looked like it had diamonds and lace and soft silk too. He put it on and used magic this time to button it up.

When he opened the door and stepped out, his mother and the dressmaker jumped up, startled.

"Well?" he asked.

The woman stared at him. Harry gritted his teeth.

"This is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen," Lily exclaimed.

"I told you," Madam Malkin smirked. "She is perfect, Lily. The man she is marrying is so lucky."

Yeah, yeah, yeah! Harry was getting sick of being praised for looking good. So bloody insufferable!

"Paula," Lily said, turning to the woman.

Paula hugged Lily. "Don't you worry," the woman told Lily. "Just look at her. No man, not even one likehim, can resist the charms of this beauty."

"I will take the dress off," Harry said with an awkward smile, getting back into the dressing room.

He forced his magic through to undo the dress and put it back on the hanger and dressed into the clothes he was wearing initially. Once he was done, he came out and handed the dress to Madam Malkin. "I will be out there," he said, pointing at the small yard in the back of the shop, visible through the windows.

He couldn't handle any more of being stuck inside the shop, looking at pearls and lace.

When he stepped outside, the feeling of a cool breeze on his face immediately calmed his nerves. He was getting anxious, locked up inside the shop. The war had robbed him of the sense of enjoying the mundane. The calm, the quiet, the mundane made him alarmed. Adrenalin always coursed through his veins at the slightest bit of silence as he waited in nervous anticipation for an attack.

He looked around and making sure there was no one watching him, pulled his shoes and stepped on the grass. The grass was a little dewy and soft.

f*ck! He had missed this so much. The stupid little things that made life normal.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he noticed something tiny staring at him. It was perched on top of the fountain and for a second, Harry thought that it was a children's toy but then it made a slight movement and croaked.

Bloody hell!

He sprinted towards it, dropping his shoes down. The toad jumped into the grass, and Harry chased after it. It seemed to have a problem with its leg but was masterfully evading Harry, hopping away from his reach every time. Harry cast a petrifying spell, but it jumped away and hopped on top of the fountain again. Harry slowly approached it. The toad tried to escape him again but Harry was faster. He reached it and snatched it.

"This is bloody fate, you little bugger," he told the creature. "You will be the mother of my basilisk."

The toad croaked, and Harry realized that its leg was broken. He tied the broken leg with a small pink ribbon he had in his purse and placed the toad in his purse, putting a spell on it so it wouldn't run away.

"Harry," Lily's voice startled him. "What are you doing? My goodness, you are barefoot! Have you lost your mind? Put your shoes back on. We need to go back home. Your father is expecting us, and your future husband will be there with the ring."

The first great thing had happened today. Harry had found a toad. He smiled happily and nodded.

"I am sorry," he said, trying his best demure voice. "It was childish. I was just too excited for the dress. I will be back in a second."

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Tom stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back into the cushions. He scanned over the documents and nodded. James Potter was being very generous with the dowry of his daughter. He didn't care either way, but Malfoy and Yaxley seemed very interested in the matter.

"10% of everything will be specifically under her name regardless of everything," James said. "And another 20% will be transferred under her name after she has a child. I want these assets accessible only to Harry, you will have access to the rest of the assets as her husband, but not these 30%, that is strictly for my daughter and the child she would have."

They needed to finalize a couple of other documents, and everything would be official.

"Gentlemen," Potter turned to his men and stared at Yaxley, Malfoy and Crouch. "I will need to have a private word with Mr. Riddle."

His men looked at him and Tom nodded. They got up and left the room.

"You know that I don't give a f*ck about some worthless paper, saying you are her husband," the man said, wetting his lips and leaning forward to stare at Tom. "If you hurt my daughter, God help you, Riddle. Because I will put you down like a f*cking dog. It wouldn't matter to me that she is your wife. You hurt my daughter, and we will have bloody war the likes of which you haven't seen."

Tom snorted. Potter had way high of an opinion about his daughter if he thought Tom was going to spend enough time in the girl's presence to have a reason to hurt her. The girl was a decoration; a pretty thing you could show off to others and then put her back on the bloody shelf.

"I don't beat women, Potter," he said co*ckily. "You can ask the whor*s I f*ck."

Potter scoffed, tilting his head to glare at him.

"No more f*cking whor*s," he said in disgust. "Unless you want your bloody face in every morning paper. I won't have you marry my pure virgin daughter and then stick your dick in some lousy dirty whor*s and then try to touch my daughter. It's a miracle you are not dead from some nasty disease."

Tom laughed. Did this man seriously think he could tell Tom what the bloody f*ck he could and could not do?

"I think you are getting carried away, Potter," he said.

"You think?" Potter let out a condescending chuckle. "Listen here, Riddle. If you are not keen on the bloody terms, you can bugger off. When I think about it, your marriage to my daughter is too much in your blinking favour, isn't it? She fits the image you want to project, but she is also my daughter and that means you get the backing of my family and my name. Next time you have a row with someone, your bloody father-in-law has all the f*cking weapons you could want. I am not some soft toff; I have the biggest trade of weapons in this place, and you are marrying my daughter because you want my support."

Potter wasn't wrong, but Tom really didn't give a f*ck about Potter's criminal enterprise. He did think the man's support was beneficial, he also agreed that Potter's daughter was the most fitting match for him, but that didn't mean the man could try to stick his bloody nose in Tom's business.

"You think my marriage to your daughter means you can tell me what to do?" he laughed.

"I don't f*cking care about what you do or not do, Riddle," James told him. "As long as you don't screw around my daughter. I won't have you sire some bastards and then have my girl raise your spawn. No out-of-wedlock brats, no f*cking whor*s, no side bitches, nothing at all that would humiliate my daughter. My daughter is an obedient girl; she will listen to you and obey you like a good wife. She has been raised to be proper and a proper girl like her will never argue with her husband or say no to him, and you know what that means? That means that you won't give me any reason to defend her."

"I won't mistreat your daughter, Potter," Tom said. "I give you my word."

Potter reached his hand out and Tom extended his. They clasped hands in agreement.

There was a gentle knock on the door and then the door opened and Potter's wife stepped in along with his daughter. Tom stared at them. Potter had a beautiful wife and an even more beautiful-looking daughter. Unlike her mother, the girl had her father's dark hair that made her green eyes even more stunning.

"Love," James Potter said, softly motioning at his wife. "I hope the wedding preparations are going well."

"I will do everything to make sure it's the best celebration of the year," Lily Potter said in a soft tone, sitting on the sofa next to her husband and daughter. "I hope you are doing well, Mr. Riddle."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," Tom nodded politely as he continued to stare at Potter's daughter.

Most women in their circle had a horse face. This girl though was very delicate—soft features and a pretty face. She was quiet and seemed to avoid any direct eye contact. Sitting there by her parents quietly, clutching the small purse in her lap as she stared at the ground. The dress clung to her thin body perfectly. She was a really pretty girl.

There was another knock on the door then Barty's head popped through, and Tom gave him a stern look, wondering what was his f*cking problem.

"I am sorry," Barty said, running inside like a bloody housecat. He leaned over, handed Tom a small box and whispered. "It's the ring."

Right! He was supposed to put one on the girl's finger today. Make it official. He had Malfoy shop for one. The man, if you could call that little bitch that, was always yapping about jewelry. So Tom had him shop for a good ring for the girl. He had forgotten about it after his meeting with Atherton and Churcher.

Barty nodded at Potter and his wife and rushed out of the room.

Tom opened the box and pulled out the ring.

"Harry," the girl's mother gently tapped on her arm, and Harry stretched her hand. Tom grasped her fingers in his and realized just how thin and dainty her hand was. He placed the ring on her finger. The girl didn't even look at him or the ring. It seemed she was too shy to look at him.

"It is beautiful," Potter's wife commented.

"Well," Potter said, getting up. "Now that we have everything in order, I will let you get to know each other while we sign the final agreements with your lawyers."

Tom nodded. Potter and his wife walked out of the room, leaving their daughter alone with him.

Tom watched her. She was a pretty sight, but too quiet for Tom's taste.

"Harry," he said, making her lift her head slightly. "Your father tells me that your passion is charity work at orphanages. That is quite admirable."

And quite cliche for these rich, spoiled girls. She looked at him with confusion but then nodded. It seemed she wanted to say something, but simply smiled and added. "I like children."

"You do?" Tom laughed. "That's good that you do."

She looked up, letting the smallest puff of air out of her mouth. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but in the room with him.

"Hoping to have some of your own?" he asked, crossing his legs.

"Um..." she looked at him briefly then awkwardly shifted in her seat and nodded.

Tom snorted. She wasn't chatty at all. Skittish little thing that perhaps thought she was too good for a man like him. He got up from his seat and slowly moved towards her. She shifted back in her seat, instinctively moving away from him. Tom was towering over her, and he liked the way she curled like a tiny kitten as he sat next to her.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"Should I be," she whispered, gulping; the veins on her neck strained, becoming visible. "Afraid of you, Mr. Riddle?"

"No," Tom chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk and added in a husky voice. "Not if you are a good girl."

Her innocent eyes widened; the corners of her lips twitched. If Tom knew better he would think she was amused. But then her expression shifted and became neutral, almost like she was uninterested like the matter didn't concern her and was about someone else.

"I understand," she said demurely.

"Do you?" he said in a mocking tone. "Do you understand, sweetheart, what your role will be? What I will be expecting of you?"

Her face heated up only slightly before the detached expression returned, and she nodded.

"I think I do, Mr. Riddle," she said. "But I wouldn't like to presume so I hope you will tell me."

Tom smirked, got up and sat back on the sofa, facing her. He stared at her again.

This was the reason Tom was marrying this girl. She knew her place; was quiet and obedient... like a good girl. Pretty little thing that knew how to behave and didn't give him any attitude that most women, his men slept with, were happy to dish out.

She leaned over and took the teapot.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Riddle?" she asked softly.

Tom waved his hand, motioning her to proceed. She poured him tea and then placed the cup in front of him. Tom leaned over to grab it, but the hem of his jacket lifted up showing the tiny bit of blood on his wrist, and the girl's eyes widened.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

It must have been from the morning when he punched the moron who stepped on his shoes. He hadn't noticed their blood get on his wrist.

"I am fine," he said, irritated. "It's nothing."

"Let me give you a handkerchief," the girl opened her purse and to Tom's horror a f*cking toad jumped out of her purse straight onto the table and then off to the floor. The thing had a pink ribbon wrapped around its leg. What the bloody f*ck was that?

"Oh no," Harry threw her purse on the sofa and rushed after the toad. Tom turned around, confusion and disbelief on his face as he watched the girl chase the bloody frog all over the room until she caught it.

"I am sorry," she said, walking back and taking her seat on the sofa and placing the ugly thing next to her. What kind of girl would keep a bloody toad as a pet? The thing was hideous. She rummaged through her purse and then handed him her handkerchief. "Here, for your wound."

Tom grabbed it and wiped the blood off.

"I am not wounded," he said, staring at the frog with the pink ribbon sitting on the sofa. "I am surprised you are not disgusted by that thing and keep it as a pet."

She looked at the frog and then at him and then an expression of panic passed through her features and she shook her head.

"No," she said. "That's not a pet. I found it wounded in the dressmaker's yard and bandaged the leg. I had to put it in my purse so I could treat its injury at home. I found it today."

Tom laughed. Did she seriously stuff an ugly toad in her purse because it was injured?

"I can't judge its beauty," she added, patting the toad's head. "Maybe I look nasty to the frog. We all have our shortcomings."

Very sweet, but also very creepy. The girl wasn't right in the head. Did she think she was one of those fairytale heroines going around and saving animals?

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

The night had fallen. The pale moonlight filtered through the windows, casting soft glows on the glass. They were back to the main office preparing to pay a visit to Bloody Baron and his boys.

Tom had a cigarette in his mouth as he was meticulously cleaning his gun and loading it up. Barty stared at his boss with a sense of curiosity and awe. The meeting with the Potters didn't last as long as he thought it would, and Tom spent even less time alone with the girl. That surprised Barty because he thought the man would want to know his future wife a little better.

She was a beautiful girl, the kind that would change paths in the street if they saw Barty or even Tom walking towards them.

"So, what was your impression of her?" He asked, clearing his throat awkwardly as he walked up to Tom and pulled the chair next to him. "I thought you'd stay with her longer. Get to know her and all."

Tom stared back at Barty with an impassive expression, making him squirm in discomfort. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled the smoke and tilted his head.

"She smelled good," he said, placing the gun into the carry belt. "You know... she didn't smell like alcohol, or cigarettes or cheap perfume."

Barty didn't know. He knew that Tom's usual women drank and smoked and were working at brothels, but he had no idea what the man meant by saying Potter's daughter smelled good. Barty never really paid attention to the way women smelled.

"Tell me, Barty," Tom suddenly interrupted the train of thoughts Barty was having. "Do women like frogs?"

"What?"

"She had a bloody frog in her purse," Tom said, waving his hands over the table. "The bloody thing jumped out of her purse right on the table. She said it was injured so she picked it to patch it up."

"Oh," Barty stroked his chin thoughtfully. "She is kind and nurturing then, eh? I'm no blooming expert on women but I am pretty sure they don't like slippery critters."

"This one didn't seem to mind," Tom told him, getting up and dropping his cigarette into the glass of whiskey. "Grab Fletcher, it's time to go."

Barty nodded and ran off to carry Tom's orders. Tom was tough, and he was also very tough on his men and didn't accept excuses. Barty had a feeling that after they took care of the Bloody Baron's men who insulted Tom by stealing from him, Tom would punish Fletcher—the dodgy wanker who liked to spin a bloody yarn. Barty wouldn't be surprised that Fletcher's big mouth had contributed to this thievery and disrespect.

He turned down the corridor and opened the door to the left. Fletcher was stuffing his mouth in his office and jumped up choking on the food.

"Time to go, Fletcher," Barty sneered. "Get yourself together, man. You look sloppy. Boss is waiting."

Barty shut the door and headed out. The wedding was this week. He wondered how it would affect things with Tom. Boss wasn't used to having any women living with him. Even the maids working at his flat came and left. He didn't like having people around. A woman was different, of course, but it would be a big change. Although, part of Barty was excited and happy for Tom. Potter's daughter was a right stunner, a dolly bird.

Tom was by the cars outside, talking to Lestrange.

"Rudolphus, watch Fletcher so that git doesn't cause any more troubles," he heard Tom say. "Well, let's go, boys."

Tom got into the car and Barty took his next to him, motioning at the driver to start the engine.

"Did she like the ring?" Barty asked suddenly remembering about it.

Malfoy and Yaxley didn't ask Tom many questions about this. The two cretins were excited by the amount of money Potter was transferring as part of her dowry and didn't ask Tom any questions. The other men were too scared to mention the girl after what Tom did to Travers yesterday.

"She wasn't very chatty, Barty," Tom sighed, sounding annoyed. "Just like Potter said, his daughter is a proper girl, and didn't chatter uselessly."

Barty kept his mouth shut after that there was no need to annoy Tom any further. He lost his sh*t at the slightest provocation. Tom was a hard man to understand, but Barty knew him well enough to know that Tom didn't have the best patience in the world. Barty was one of the few that Tom told about how killed his father. The man pissed off Tom during their first meeting so much that Tom shot him dead.

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Tom narrowed his eyes at the faint street signs as the car turned and parked in front of the establishment belonging to Bloody Baron. He patted the gun hanging on his belt. The driver, Macnair, opened the door for him, and Tom stepped outside. His men also stepped out of their cars, with Lestrange dragging Fletcher with him. That worthless coward had gotten himself beaten and had lost Tom two thousand quid.

They walked towards the pub. Tom's mind absentmindedly drifted to the girl. He didn't know why her pretty face popped into his head all of a sudden, but the image of her running around trying to catch the f*cking frog in Potter's lavish drawing room made him smile in amusem*nt.

She was definitely different. The matron at the orphanage liked to read fairytales where the princesses cast away by evil stepmothers or on some ridiculous quest would run around saving animals and feeding old people. Somehow, Harry fit the profile of a fairytale heroine, and she was a pretty thing too, so there was that. Except, she wasn't getting a prince at the end of her story because Tom was no prince, he was the bloody monster.

Rabastan kicked the door open and held it for Tom to step in. The men inside the pub stood up, wary of the sudden arrival of the new guests, and some of them clearly recognizing Tom, lowered their heads and looked away.

"What's going on?" someone barked, turning to look at them. The imp looked like a clown in his flashy clothes. He stared at Tom for a short moment, face contorting as he recognized him, and then his eyes fell on Fletcher, standing behind Tom limply, held in place by Rudolphus.

"Oi, is that you, Fletcher," the man laughed. "Looking sharp, eh? Did you go home and grass to Daddy that you were treated poorly?"

Tom raised an eyebrow and stared blankly at the blithering idiot.

"Was it you that stole my money?" he asked sharply, stepping closer to the man in measured, imposing steps. Tom was taller than most people, and his impressive height often served as a source of intimidation. The man instinctively backed away, reaching for the vase with flowers on the table and holding it up like a hysterical woman about to throw a fit.

Others stood up and reached for their weapons.

"Stay back, Riddle," the man said, gritting his teeth.

"You should have thought of that before robbing me," Tom said dismissively, his tone cold and unnerving. "I do not forgive or give second chances. And I think we shall make that very clear today for anyone else stupid enough to try to repeat the offense. Is that clear?"

"Maybe we can talk this through, yeah?" someone shouted. "Look Riddle, we can pay it back, sort it out, Peeve's a bit of a dimwit, eh? And you are going into politics, yeah? it wouldn't look good if—"

"It wouldn't look good if what?" Tom smirked. "If I shoot this bloody moron for stealing from me? Was it under your boss's orders, Peeves?"

"You think we don't cotton on, Riddle, that you're trying to slither into politics like the sly snake that you are. You won't do a bloody thing because you're supposed to play it straight, otherwise, your mates in the parties won't put you up for nomination," Peeves shouted, suddenly gaining courage.

Tom pulled out the gun from the holster and shot Peeves straight in the head, execution style. The man dropped dead on the ground, the sounds in the pub died. Even Tom's own men were suddenly quiet. Peeves was bleeding on the ground, eyes wide open. The silence lingered as everyone stared at Tom in complete shock.

"Anyone else wants to try my patience today?" Tom asked, narrowing his eyes at the men gaping at him.

There were a lot of people at the pub, but all of them were people who wouldn't go to the police. The silence shattered as a cacophony of noise and screams filled the air. The doors to the private area swung opened, and Bloody Baron rushed in, accompanied by multiple armed men.

His eyes widened when he spotted the bleeding corpse of his associate on the floor.

"Riddle," the burly man growled. "You come to my pub and shoot my men right in the open? They told me you were a f*cking psycho, but man, you are more than a few screws loose in the head. What makes you think that I will let you leave this place alive?"

The Lestrange brothers pulled out their guns in response and pointed them at Bloody Baron. Everyone else followed suit, and the mob of men working for Bloody Baron took out their own guns.

"I can snap my fingers, and my men will blow your brains," the man said with a smirk, rubbing his belly and looking up and down at Tom.

"What makes you think you will be standing alive to give anyone any orders," Tom mocked, his eyes slowly scanning over the men pointing their guns at him. "Look at that, they can barely hold their guns upright. Real scary, Montford!"

Bloody Baron scowled at Tom, face scrunching up and turning bright red. He knew that Tom was right. Everyone who worked for Tom was much older than the kids Baron had surrounded himself with, and Tom's men had also served in the army, some even old enough to have been to the war.

"Well," Bloody Baron suddenly growled, getting co*cky. "I don't need them to be good marksmen. Lads!"

Around twenty more men came out of the backroom, armed to the teeth with guns.

"Even if they miss," Bloody Baron gloated. "In a minute there will be so many bullets here that it doesn't matter who aims well. You should have thought twice before you came here and killed one of my lads."

"You broke the code," Tom said blankly. "You robbed me, and you know what happens to those that do."

"You are outnumbered, Riddle," someone else shouted.

"Montford," another voice addressed the Baron, walking slowly towards where the man and Tom were standing, guns pointed at each other.

"That's Sirius Black," people started whispering. Tom tilted his head and saw Black approaching them with a group of men, all carrying large bags in their shoulders like they were some kind of music band.

"It sounds to me you've broken the rules," Sirius said. "I say the debt is paid, and we should all go home, yeah? That would be smart."

"This doesn't concern you, Black," Bloody Baron said, pointing his gun at Sirius. "Why don't you keep your nose out of my business?"

The men with Sirius pulled out automatic rifles from the big cases they were carrying on their shoulders and pointed them at Montford.

"It's Potter," Sirius said, pressing his gun against Baron's chest. "And this does concern me. Riddle's marrying my sister, and you are breaking the bloody f*cking code, robbing from one of the houses. And get out of my face before this turns into something you won't be able to handle."

There were gasps and whispers. It seemed very few were aware of the upcoming wedding. Tom lowered his gun and patted Black on the shoulder. The man was Potter's heir and was raised by him and must have thought of the man as his father even though everyone in their circles knew that James Potter was Sirius Black's uncle. James's sister had married Orion Black. When both of Sirius's parents had died, James had taken his nephew and raised him as his own.

"This isn't over, Riddle," Bloody Baron said, motioning for his men to lower their guns.

"That's right," Riddle smirked. "It isn't over. And I would try getting the safety off on the gun, next time you go around threatening to shoot anyone, you f*cking idiot."

The man stared at his gun, and his eyes widened, Tom only glared at the man with blank condensation. There was noise, there was chatter; all of these grown men were gossiping like a bunch of old wives about the news of him getting married. Black motioned at his men to lower the rifles.

"Do you want to have a drink, Riddle?" Black asked, putting his gun back into the belt.

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"Day 5 of the observational progress on the incubation of the basilisk egg remains consistent with previous observations. The egg does not exhibit any signs of life. No discernible changes in the external characteristics of the egg nor any behavioural changes for the toad. Continued monitoring of the incubation chamber for temperature and humidity levels indicates optimal conditions conducive to embryonic development. Controlled environment remains stable, with humidity levels maintained at a consistent range and temperature fluctuations within acceptable parameters," Harry adjusted the lighting on his metallic desk and continued recording his notes.

The incubation chamber he had built stood in the corner of the room, the toad reluctantly perched on top of the egg. He had found an empty warehouse after his unfortunate meeting with Riddle and had set it up for the basilisk hatching, spending the whole night building and assembling the necessary equipment.

"Non-invasive inspection of the egg's external features for signs of embryonic activity yields inconclusive results, as no notable changes or movements are detected. Absence of visible alterations in the egg's structure or behavior suggests a state of suspended development or dormancy," he added in the journal and then sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.

The bloody egg wasn't hatching. Harry had cast several diagnostic spells, and it seemed that whatever he was doing wasn't working. Harry needed to do some controlled experiments and see what was the reason for the lack of apparent progress in the hatching process.

He would do some controlled experiments, but he needed to get back home. His wedding to Riddle was tomorrow, and he was having a hen party or whatever the f*ck it was called.

Frankly speaking, Harry didn't want to go, but he couldn't ditch the party or even be late. He sighed again, closed his journal, stuffed it into the bag and then used several spells on himself to clean his hair and body of any possible spills; he had to make several potions to assist in the hatching process. He cleaned himself thoroughly, changed his clothes, wearing the perfectly pressed twin set suit, pencil skirt with elegant cardigan. The bloody skirt was so tight Harry could barely move his legs.

He rushed out of his base of operations and headed back home. He only hoped Riddle didn't live too far away from this place or Harry would really need to invest some resources in making a broomstick for himself.

Harry took the bag with the journal with him, hoping to work on data analysis. He didn't have enough data to make any kind of meaningful conclusions, but the lack of change in the hatching process required at least some kind of changes, and he needed to work with what he had.

It took him less than half an hour to get back home, and the moment he stepped inside, his mother immediately came to hug him.

"Sweety," she said. "Where were you? We have been looking for you all around the house. The girls are all here. Let's go."

"Sorry," he hugged her tightly. "I was walking in the gardens."

"Aww," Lily kissed his forehead. "If you ever feel like missing the gardens or your room, you can always come and stay here. I am sure your husband won't mind. I will have your father make sure of that."

The last sentence the woman said with some level of coquettish spite that Harry found amusing. He only nodded and followed her to the drawing room. The moment the doors opened, Harry's senses were assaulted with bright colours, loud chatter and noise. There were so many people inside, and Harry had no idea who most of these girls were. They were probably his counterpart's friends, but Harry recognized only a few faces.

"Harry!" he heard his name being shouted from all corners, and a bunch of girls rushed to hug him.

Bloody hell! Harry wasn't a recluse or anything, but this was too much for him.

"Have a drink," someone handed him a glass. "Your last night as a single girl, and tomorrow you'll be a woman."

Harry's face contorted in discomfort, and he nodded awkwardly, taking a giant sip from the drink. He sat down on the sofa and stared at the fun everyone else was having. They were talking and laughing and playing games and gossiping. Harry soon managed to relax and ignore the mindless noise.

"Harry," a girl Harry didn't know screamed, pointing at a black and white newspaper's cover page. "Dear, you are so lucky. Mr. Riddle is so handsome, and look, he is a philanthropist too. It says here he donates to children's orphanages. Isn't that sweet? Perfect match for you since you too care for the orphans."

Yes, some luck Harry had, being paired with Riddle. Harry nodded. Although he couldn't deny it, Riddle was bloody f*cking hot.

"Hot," he said out loud to the girl's confusion. "That's right, I think I need to increase the temperature in the chamber."

He would need to make the incubation chamber hotter. The toad didn't have any temperature of its own, and maybe he could adjust...

"Are you cold?"

"What?" Harry stared up. "Oh, no I am good. Never mind."

"Are you nervous about the wedding night?" the girl sat next to Harry, turning all red. "I bet it will be so passionate and romantic."

What the f*ck was this girl babbling about? Harry nodded and pulled out his journal to add more notes on the possible temperature adjustment. He would need to calculate the change and take the toad's lower body temperature into account.

"I have heard it hurts like someone is burning you alive from the inside," someone was saying, and Harry wondered what these girls were talking about. It seemed gory. He wrote down his notes and took another sip from the glass.

"It shouldn't hurt at all," Harry lifted his head, heart beating fast as he spotted Fleur Delacour, talking with a group of girls.

"You are married, Fleur," the girl seated next to Harry exclaimed. "Please give us some details."

"What about?" Harry asked curiously as he had missed Fleur. Seeing her here all healthy and well made him happy. Suddenly he was ready to pay attention to the conversation.

"You know," the girl winked at Harry. "The wedding night."

Harry blinked. She wasn't seriously asking another woman for details from her private sexual life. Harry had his own share of oversharing moments. There were almost no secrets between him, Ron and Hermione to the point that the three agreed that they were crossing some unsaid rule. Harry's brain went blank when some of the girls started sharing personal anecdotes. Good grief, he didn't want the details of anyone's sex life.

He had sex with men and women. The war had a way of making them seek intimacy and comfort in other's arms. But there was something incredibly inappropriate about the whole thing happening here, and Harry felt like he was intruding. This wasn't his hen party, and these girls weren't his friends.

"My nana had taught me a good song that you can sing, and it guarantees a pregnancy," someone was saying, making Harry's eyes nearly jump out of his eye sockets. Harry was a wizard with powerful magic, and even he wouldn't make up such rubbish.

"I can teach you."

"I am good," Harry said. He wasn't even sure he was planning to f*ck Riddle. He could just knock him down and go back to the base to work on the research.

"Let her be," another said that suspiciously looked too much like Lavander Brown. "She doesn't need to know any of that nonsense. Her husband will know what to do."

Harry stared down at the journal, wondering if he needed a second toad to experiment with temperature changes.

"Harry, dear," Molly Weasley hugged him. "Look at you, all grown up and getting married."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, hugging the woman back. They had lost her in the second year of the war. Ginny died on the same day, breaking Harry's heart into billion pieces.

Mrs. Weasley brushed a strand of his hair and smiled at him gently as if interpreting Harry's expression of sudden longing as fear and anxiety for the upcoming event.

"Dear, you will be fine. Marriage is always about compromises, just make sure the compromises are always in your favour and let your husband think he is getting you to compromise. Yes?"

Harry laughed and nodded. Life was surreal.

He wasn't going to play any games with Riddle. He had no time for that sh*te. But it still warmed his heart that Mrs. Weasley would bring the age-old'manipulate your spouse'advice. It was sad but the reality was either manipulation or total subjugation. He didn't blame these women for trying their best to take some kind of control over their lives by playing their husbands because they had tightened the leash so tight that there was nowhere else to move.

That sh*t wouldn't fly with Harry. He had nearly laughed at Riddle's face when the bastard told him he hoped Harry would be a good girl. Yeah, right, a totally good girl.

"Well, then have fun tonight, okay!" Mrs. Weasley said before walking back to where Lily was standing.

Harry looked around with the hopes of seeing Ginny. But he couldn't spot either Ginny or Hermione. He wished Hermione was here to straighten these girls a little. She would have something to say about this nonsense.

"...and yes, it was very romantic," he heard Fleur say in her thick French accent. "The moment I saw Bill I knew that I was in love."

"And you nursed him back to health," Lavander said with a sigh. "If war didn't happen, you two wouldn't have met. Even in the worst circ*mstances there is always something good."

"Harry," Fleur suddenly turned to him. "My mother-in-law and your mother asked me to give you the talk as I am a nurse."

Harry pinched his nose with a barely hidden grimace. Absolutely not! He didn't want to get any talk from anyone. He was definitely more experienced than all the people in this room and that included the married ones. In addition to his experience, Harry was a wizard with knowledge of magic that could blow off anyone's understanding of physical and mental pleasure so he didn't need any advice, thank you very much. He had no desire to subject himself to another session of torture.

"I am grateful Fleur," he said, trying his best not to scowl openly. "Could you perhaps write some of what you want to say on a piece of paper, and I will read it in private?"

"Oh, no need to be shy," the woman laughed. "But if that makes you more comfortable, I will write it down for you."

They left Harry alone after, that and Harry could concentrate on his work. He was tired. He hadn't slept well since he had arrived in this dimension. The stress of carrying out his mission exhausted him, and he also had to take care of his responsibilities as other Harry. The wedding preparations took so much of his time. Harry was dragged to multiple fittings for the dress, and Lily made him try one billion different outfits because apparently, one needs a totally new wardrobe after getting married.

The evening stretched and stretched, and Harry was barely staying upright by the time everyone left.

"You look tired," his mother said, hugging him. "My pretty girl. I am going to miss you so much. Tomorrow's going to be perfect. You will be the prettiest bride ever. That toerag is just so lucky to get his paws on you. I have already sent some of your things today to his house. His men came to pick them up. The rest of things I will bring myself and help you settle."

"Thank you, Mum," Harry said, kissing her hands. "It's been a long day, so I am a little tired."

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"I told you, sweety, you don't need to be strong with me," Lily said with a sigh. "I know this kind of change can be scary. Especially, because I know you didn't want to marry the man. But I know you will be fine."

Harry nodded.

"Just be careful, okay?" Lily said softly. "Keep yourself safe and don't make him mad. Riddle is not a man you can say no to."

Harry yawned, curling into his mother's arms. This was good. He could sleep like this. The wedding tomorrow seemed like a distant dream; something that wasn't even happening to Harry but someone else. It was strange to live his life through the body of someone else.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

"She is Evans's granddaughter," the woman said, holding the invitation letter in her hand. "Please, Thomas."

"Are you sure?" The old man grumbled with a snort and shook the paper he was holding.

"I have called them, and Rose confirmed that their granddaughter was marrying a man named Tom Riddle," the woman said. "She even asked me if he had any relation to us, and I told her that he is our grandson."

"That bastard is no grandson of mine," Thomas screamed. "He killed our son, his own father, Mary"

"Thomas, you don't know that for sure. That wench's brother confessed to killing our son," Mary shook her head, voice shaking slightly. "That boy is our blood despite who his mother was, and now, he is marrying a proper girl."

"I have heard he is a lowlife thug, extorting and blackmailing people, Mary," Thomas yelled, getting up. "I won't have my name associated with that son of a bitch."

"Then your name will die with you," Mary screamed back. "He is your blood—our son's only child, and it seems he is doing quite well for himself. I want to be at that wedding, and while we couldn't do anything for Tom's children, we can certainly make sure his son's children are raised in a proper family."

"What is Evans even thinking, giving his granddaughter to that boy?" Thomas sighed. "Surely, they know what kind of man he is."

"Well, the girl's father apparently doesn't ask Evans's opinion," Mary shrugged. "They are marrying either way, and I want to be there, Thomas. You understand we don't have any children. There is no one else. Certainly, you don't want your sister's husband to take over everything your family has worked for generations. For Riddle name to die with you. Let's make amends. Since he is marrying a proper girl, we can restore the family name and be in the lives of our great-grandchildren."

"Fine," the man sighed. "We can go since we have gotten the invitations. But don't expect much, Mary. I don't want you to hurt yourself thinking that bastard is anything normal."

"I will get your mother's jewelry set," Mary said, smiling that her husband gave in. "I want the girl to have it."

The old man shook his head and rubbed his eyes in fatigue. He was still mad at his own son for marrying the tramp's daughter and running off with her. After he came back, Thomas hoped his son would marry someone proper and forget about all that happened, but something was wrong with him, it was as if someone had put a curse on him, and he had lost his desire to live.

Thomas didn't even know that Tom had a son with the woman. The day Tom Riddle Jr showed up at their house, Thomas thought he had seen a ghost. He was angry that his son hadn't told him and his wife about his child all these years, but he understood that Tom didn't want anything to do with that inbred woman's child. The boy looked so much like his Tom. He had looked for his parents and came to meet his father.

It seemed after discovering his father alive and well, the boy had held no sympathy for the man. Thomas wished he stayed in the room with them, but had left to calm Mary down and by the time, he was back Tom Riddle Jr was gone, and his son was dead.

The boy's uncle later confessed that he had killed Tom, and they even found the gun in the man's house but Thomas knew that the boy was the one who had shot his father. There was something very dark and evil in that boy.

Thomas had heard more about him after the war. He made the papers very often. There were speculations on what he was doing and how ruthless and immoral he was, but Thomas knew that it all was true. That boy was the devil's spawn. Only a madman would give him their daughter. He didn't doubt, he had threatened or blackmailed the girl's parents to marry her. Just like his mother, always coveting and eying things above his station.

His wife Mary, the poor woman, just dreamt of nurturing and spoiling her grandchildren and now with the news of that bastard marrying Evans's granddaughter, a girl from a respectable family, she was hoping to fulfill her dream. Thomas knew better, but he also knew that the boy was the only heir to the Riddle family.

"Here it is," Mary said, rushing back with a big jewelry box. "I hope she likes it."

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"Oi," Barty yelled, waving his hand at the men who were trying to move away the flower pieces. "You blighters, I don't want to catch any of you ruining a thing here, am I clear?

Barty was so bloody anxious. Some of these idiots had no manners and could go on and ruin Tom's wedding.

"And God help me if any of you wankers get sloshed and start fights," he murmured under his breath. "You there, ensure no one is kicking off any trouble."

Barty was Tom's best man, and he took that bloody job seriously. Tom was up in one of the halls with James Potter, speaking. Barty had to watch their men so they wouldn't go around start flirting with random married women and stir up a brawl in the middle of the f*cking wedding.

The wedding was taking place at a fancy hotel belonging to the Potters. Tom's future mother-in-law sure knew how to set up a celebration; the wedding hall looked so bloody flowery and good, Barty thought he had died and gone to heaven.

The music, the decorations, the nicely dressed staff accepting the guests, the luxurious dining area and the atmosphere in general were as high class as Barty could imagine. Barty took out a cigarette to smoke to calm his nerves, but realizing that the smoke would linger put the cigarette packet back into his pocket. The ceremony was about to start, and Tom was still in there with Potter.

The doors to the private room within the hall soon opened, and Tom stepped out. James Potter followed in after him and patted on Tom's back. Barty greeted the man with a polite nod of his head, and Potter responded with the same gesture but then something caught his attention, and he grimaced.

"Oh bloody hell, not dealing with that sh*te now," he murmured, closing his eyes. Barty looked around and caught the sight of Vernon Dursley with his wife and son. Vernon was married to Potter's sister-in-law, but from the looks of it Potter couldn't stand the sight of the man. "Robinson, get the bloody priest."

Potter left quickly, leaving Tom and Barty standing there, staring at Potter's wife's family.

"Everything okay?" Barty asked nervously. "The wedding's still on, yeah?"

"Yes, Potter just wanted to discuss the situation with Bloody Baron," Tom said. "The boys are behaving I take it?"

"I have told them not to get blitzed and start a brawl," Barty said. "Everyone is here and ready. Malfoy is still picking his clothes like a bloody girl. But he will be here."

"You got the rings?" Tom asked. "The ceremony starts soon."

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Tom stood there, waiting for Potter to show up with his daughter. The bloody thing was taking too long. He looked at the gathered people and spotted both Atherton and Churcher. It really seemed these two stuck-up f*ckers cared about his bloody marriage. He didn't understand why people would put so much weight and importance on marriage.

They believed a married man was more respectable, especially if he married a good girl from a good family. Tom tilted his head to look at the priest who appeared terrified of being there. It seemed he knew who he and Potter were and wasn't thrilled to be anywhere near them.

Tom caught sight of his bloody grandparents. What the f*ck were they doing here? He scowled, staring at them—the old cow smiled at him. Tom regarded them coldly. They treated him like dirt under their feet when he went to meet them for the first time. He had not attempted to reach out to them since then. He didn't need them.

The music started playing, and everyone stood up and turned around to stare at the doors. Tom tilted his head, waiting.

The doors opened, and James Potter gracefully entered, his daughter's arm delicately clasped in his own. There were photographers present from local paper—poised and ready and immediately started taking pictures. Tom stared at her. She was wearing a shimmering white dress, illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling lights, her face hidden beneath a flowing veil. Potter held her with pride, a tender smile creasing his lips as he cast a loving glance at his daughter.

The guests were all staring. It seemed they all really liked the way his bride looked. She was a pretty sight.

When they finally reached him, James Potter helped her take the step and stand next to Tom. Tom stared at her again. She was such a delicate, tiny thing.

The ceremony started, and the priest spoke but Tom didn't pay attention—his eyes were focused on his little bride.

"...take her as your lawful wedded wife?"

"Yes," Tom murmured, putting the ring on her dainty finger.

"And you Harrietta Potter, will you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"Yes," she said, taking the ring from the golden tray and holding Tom's hand. She didn't look at him, eyes trained on his hand, she slid the ring on his finger.

The priest mumbled something more, shuffling around awkwardly.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Tom grabbed the veil and lifted it up. She looked pretty, her face soft and delicate, her dark hair framing it. He leaned over and pressed a faint kiss on her lips. There was noise and claps and congratulations from all sides. His wife looked a little overwhelmed by everything. People started approaching and congratulating them, but it seemed she didn't know most of the guests.

"Sweetheart," the girl's mother said with tears in her eyes, approaching and hugging her. "You are so beautiful."

The woman stared at Tom only for a brief moment and gave him the most restrained smile that Tom had ever seen. It didn't seem the woman liked him very much. She was a beautiful woman, and Tom could see where Harry got her looks from. She clearly didn't get those from her father.

"Reception hall is ready for the celebrations," she told them.

The rest of the evening they spent eating, drinking and greeting guests. His wife was quiet the entire time. If Tom didn't know better, he would think that the girl was awfully bored and couldn't wait to leave the celebrations. After several drinks and dances, Barty decided to have a speech, and Tom hoped, he wouldn't open his mouth and praise Tom's shooting and punching abilities.

"I am so happy for you, Tom," the man blurted, and his men cheered.

The celebration continued until late midnight. Guests started leaving soon after.

Tom ordered Macnair to prepare the car so he could take his wife to his place. The poor thing seemed tired after several hours of greeting the guests and making small talk with them. She even had to talk to Tom's grandparents, because Tom wasn't planning to open his mouth and deign them with any greetings.

"We are going home, darling," he told her when she yawned again. "Just a little more."

"Harry, sweety, come with me for a moment before you leave," her mother called her aside, and Tom stepped away not wishing to eavesdrop on their conversation. He stood outside the hall by the door and lit up a cigarette.

"Mr. Riddle, congratulations," Malfoy said, wiping his tears. "This marriage will strengthen your position and the connection with the Potters will help us greatly..."

"Boss, everything is ready," Macnair called, interrupting whatever nonsense Malfoy was about to spout.

"Great, wait for me in the car," Tom said and then turned to the rest of his men. "Boys, it's time to leave. We will meet later."

Everyone nodded, bid their goodbyes and left, except Barty who lingered around.

"Hey Tom," he started nervously. "I was wondering if you had the maids set up the bedroom with flowers and all for Harry."

Tom blinked.

"Flowers?" he looked at Crouch pointedly.

"Yeah, you know, silk sheets, flowers and candles all that stuff," Barty mumbled.

"Barty, you are drunk, please go home and sleep," Tom told him, wondering why Barty was talking about all that rubbish. Who the f*ck used candles when the electricity was available, and why would he need bloody flowers in his bedroom?

Barty gave him a purposeful look, arching his brows to the side as if that was meant to explain anything. Before Tom could tell him to piss off, Lily Potter opened the door, and Harry came right after, flushed like she had had a bottle of gin straight.

"Good night, sweety," the woman said, hugging her daughter again.

"Yes, good night, mum," she told her mother and then allowed Tom to take her to the car parked outside.

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They were back at Riddle's place. Harry was standing in the corridor, staring around with disinterest. The dress was heavy. He needed to get to the bedroom, change into something normal, stupefy Riddle and then go back to the warehouse. Harry had already lost the whole day at the wedding ceremony and reception. He was exhausted, and truth to be told, he wanted to curl up in a soft bed and sleep until morning, but with Riddle expecting to share his bed, Harry knew that he'd rather spend the night with the toad.

"Come with me," Riddle said, making Harry turn his head to look at his newlywed husband and the man's outstretched hand. Harry moved forward to grab Riddle's hand, but the man suddenly moved it away and instead wrapped his arm around Harry's back. "Don't be afraid. I don't bite."

Was he sure about that? Because he looked at Harry like he was about to devour him. Like he wanted to sink his teeth into Harry's flesh and draw blood. Harry could tell from the strange, unhinged expression on the man's face that he was not entirely sound.

Harry took a small step forward, but before he could bring his other foot along, Riddle picked him up into his arms, lifting him off the ground. Harry wasn't expecting this, so he gasped in shock and barely restrained himself from punching the man across the face.

He gritted his teeth and evened his breathing, bringing his arms to wrap around Riddle's neck. If the man wanted to move Harry about in his arms, so be it. Harry didn't mind being carried around. He could tell Riddle held him with ease. Harry's counterpart didn't weigh much; she was tiny so it wasn't exactly impressive that Riddle held him up in the air like Harry was a bloody feather.

When Harry's hands rested around the man's neck, their eyes met, and Riddle smiled at him. Harry stared into the man's cold eyes and wondered what the f*ck he was thinking. It seemed implausible that Riddle was attracted to him. Sure, he was a muggle, raised to believe he was supposed to be into girls like what Harry's female counterpart looked like, but surely Riddle was still Riddle.

Harry couldn't imagine his world's Voldemort to have had any kind of lust for anyone. That man lacked any decent passion to want to f*ck another person willingly, right? Right? And he was self-absorbed too. Surely, this one was the same. People like this didn't like baring themselves in front of others, no matter what kind of role they took, no matter if the encounter could serve as a means to control.

Even the most lukewarm, impersonal sex required some degree of feeling, some personal vulnerability. He doubted Voldemort could have ever allowed himself to be in such a position; to be bare, vulnerable, passionate with another. No matter what people said about the one who shall not be named, he was never particularly passionate. There was insanity and cold ruthlessness but it was dispassionate nonetheless.

So Harry had to admit he was a little curious, as he was being carried through the doors of the entrance into the drawing room and then to the upstairs, comfortably held in Riddle's arms. And no small part of Harry wanted to know what the man would do to his supposed wife. He wanted to just stay there and see what Riddle was planning to do. He was also ready to judge him if he thought Riddle's lovemaking skills were not up to his standards.

sh*t! Harry was supposed to concentrate on his mission not have fun, playing games with young muggle Voldemort.

Riddle lifted his arm, pushed the door open and turned on the lights. Harry continued looking at Riddle, wondering what was going on in the other man's head. His eyes only briefly wandered to glance at the bedroom when Riddle gently lowered him on top of his bed.

f*ck! Riddle was hot. And Harry would need to f*ck him at some point anyways, so why the hell not.

"I am going to judge you,"Harry thought with spiteful glee."You better not disappoint."

Harry didn't move and continued watching Riddle with bated anticipation.

Riddle's hands slowly slid up and gripped his chin to lift his face up so they could stare at each other.

"You are very pretty," he told Harry and laughed as if he said something funny. "They told me not to ever look at girls like you because you weren't meant for me, but here you are in my bed, lying down in your fancy wedding dress with my ring on your finger, all sweet and ready and all mine."

Harry wanted to snort but he only allowed himself to make an uncertain sound. He wasn't planning to say anything. He wanted to observe Riddle instead with the curiosity of a mad scientist.

Riddle's hands slid down to Harry's shoulders and then his arms as if he couldn't believe that someone could be so slight and lean. His grip tightened on Harry's upper arms as he pulled him close, sitting on the edge of the bed with Harry almost in his lap. Harry's enormous wedding dress prevented Riddle from seeing where Harry's lower body was as it was completely lost in the fabric of lush tulle and lace and heavy pearls.

Riddle snaked his arms underneath Harry's and cradled him in his embrace. He lowered his head into the crook of Harry's neck and inhaled sharply. Despite himself, goosebumps spread over Harry's body when Riddle's cool face and hot breath made contact with the sensitive surface of his neck, making him squirm away in the man's arms. Riddle tightened his grip, holding Harry where he was, not letting him escape.

"You smell so bloody clean," Riddle told him, confusing Harry.

His warm hands fumbled with the buttons on the back of Harry's dress. Harry had to bite his lip to keep from grinning at the prospect of watching Tom f*cking Riddle struggle with the billion pearl buttons on the back of the fancy wedding dress. Riddle tilted his head and stared at Harry, prompting Harry to meet his gaze. The intense way he locked eyes with Harry told him that Riddle was disturbed.

Harry felt a few buttons unfasten, but then Riddle held Harry by his neck, gripped the side of Harry's underarms and lifted him up in the air, pulling him closer. Harry groaned. Merlin, someone needed to teach this bloke not to manhandle dainty, delicate women like he was handling a bloody ragdoll. Harry could tell Riddle was a little confused by the slim and petite body Harry had because of the way his hands drifted over to constrict and secure his hold.

His warm hands fumbled with the buttons again, and he made a frustrated noise, delighting Harry and making him let out a choked laugh. Riddle on his turn must have interpreted it as a frightened gasp because he gently patted Harry's back in response. The bastard sighed as his hands glided up and held the neckline of the dress.

"I hope you are unattached to this dress," he murmured. "I will buy you another one if you do, doll."

Harry nearly laughed at being called a doll by bloody Voldemort's hot, young version but he genuinely yelped in surprise when Riddle tore the back of his dress, making all the bloody peal buttons burst free and shatter over the bed and the floor. There goes Madam Malkin's theory of button's being irresistible to men. Riddle tore those buttons like they personally insulted him.

He pulled the dress down, leaving Harry in the undergarments that his mother had picked up for him. All white lace and golden thread. Riddle bunched up Harry's expensive dress and threw it on the floor. He stood for a second and stared at Harry, taking in his appearance like a collector who had just unwrapped a rare art piece.

Harry wanted to smirk at Riddle's appreciative gaze. He knew that his female counterpart's body was quite beautiful. He remembered that he was supposed to be some kind of blushing virgin so he hurried to cover his body with his arms, enjoying the little expressions sauntering through Riddle's face.

f*ck, Riddle was hot, wearing that nicely tailored suit.

Riddle reached out and grabbed Harry's hands, pulling them away from his body. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Are you shy, darling?" he asked in a low, threatening voice, making Harry gasp bewildered. "Have you never been naked in front of another man?"

How trite! Didn't Riddle marry him for that reason? What was the bloody point of asking?

"I can tell," Riddle continued. "Because you are so f*cking pretty that if any man saw you like this, they would have told you that you shouldn't be shy of looking so bloody f*ckable."

Charming!

Riddle brought his hands to hug Harry and lifted him up off the bed. Harry realized how cold the room was when the warmth coming from the man's body surrounded him. He had to wrap his legs around Riddle's back, feeling like a desperate koala bear climbing a tree. His hand instinctively reached out, gripping onto Riddle's shirt and necktie to balance himself.

Riddle smirked, walking towards the wall and pressing Harry's back against it. He held Harry with one hand and removed the diamond hair accessories from Harry's hair, throwing them on the floor. Riddle's manners left a lot to be desired. The man clearly had no idea how to treat expensive jewelry and just tossed things around like nobody's bloody business. If this was the actual Harrietta, the poor girl would have been not only scandalized by the man's brutish behaviour but also completely horrified by Riddle's unceremonious manhandling.

Riddle gently traced Harry's face, running his thumb over his jaw and the surface of his lips.

"Close your eyes, doll," he whispered, leaning closer.

His hot breath made Harry shiver. Harry closed his eyes involuntarily when Riddle's lips brushed against his. A cool, freezing sensation passed through Harry's spine as the man holding him up in the air against the wall kissed him slowly, running his free hand over the sides of Harry's cheeks. Harry gasped, feeling too many things at once, and Riddle pushed his tongue into Harry's mouth.

Harry almost choked. Riddle pulled back, smiling at Harry with a twinge of amusem*nt.

"You taste like sweet citrus," he commented, sounding fascinated.

Ah! It must have been the cleansing potions and salves he had made for his gums and teeth. He didn't like the strange bitter mint flavour of the toothpaste in the 1950s of this universe. So Riddle liked it, huh? Harry's lips twitched slightly in excitement. He tapped his fingers faintly, willing his magic out, letting the charms bathe his lips with the light of magic.

Riddle leaned over and kissed his face, careless, hot kisses over his cheeks and nose and over his eyes, making him shut his eyelids.

"Your face doesn't have any f*cking powder on, and you taste like the air after the rain," Riddle whispered more to himself.

He kissed Harry again, and it seemed it took him by surprise when Harry's magic, shimmering on the surface of Harry's face, made contact with the man's lips.

"f*ck!" He murmured. "How the f*ck do you taste like this? You make my bloody head spin."

Riddle kissed Harry like he was trying to make Harry drown—strangulate from the lack of air. He moved Harry away from the wall, breaking the kiss, making Harry breathe sharply. Harry felt warmth spread over him, and something ticklish move in his stomach. Riddle could kiss, alright.

"Mr. Riddle," Harry gasped when the bastard dropped him on the bed and grabbed his face to lock their lips in another toe-curling kiss.

"Tom," Riddle corrected him. "Darling, you are not planning to call me Mr. Riddle, are you?"

Harry's long hair had twirled around and covered his face. Riddle brushed his hair back as he gently stroked Harry's face. Harry thought a megalomaniac like him would get off to being addressed with formality. Riddle reached down and held Harry's hand, his finger tracing the wedding band on Harry's hand.

"This on your hand has been my permission for you to call me by my name," Riddle, no, Tom said. Permission, yeah right, and Harry thought for a moment that Riddle wasn't a conceited megalomaniac. So much for that. "I am Mr. Riddle to my employees, and you are not my employee. You are my bloody wife. So go on, darling call me by my name."

"Tom?"

"Yes, darling," Riddle grabbed Harry's hand again and brought it to his neck. "Untie my tie."

Harry stared at Riddle for a short second before undoing his tie. When he undid the knot and pulled the fabric down, Riddle grabbed the tie from Harry's hands and to Harry's surprise, tied back Harry's long hair, gently pulling them back from his face. He shrugged off his jacket, and Harry's eyes widened as he noticed the double-shoulder gun holster.

Riddle noticed his expression and smirked, pulling the gun out of the holster. Why the f*ck would this psycho come to his own bloody wedding armed? Harry's blood almost froze when he realized that there was a possibility this madman was going to shoot him here. Riddle set the safety on and put his gun on the nightstand.

"Don't touch my gun, darling," he warned. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

He took off the holster carry and threw it on the floor right where Harry's wedding dress was. Riddle leaned over grabbed Harry's legs, gripping his delicate ankles and pulled him down towards himself in a swift motion. He undid the wraps on Harry's shoes and threw them away. They landed somewhere in the room. It seemed Riddle loved to toss things around without care.

He stroked Harry's bare legs, giving Harry the weirdest face in the world. What the bloody f*ck was wrong with Riddle? He seemed a little insane.

"Smooth," he said. "Your skin is soft and smooth, and you smell clean, and you taste like fruit. f*ck! Are you a woman or a bloody cup of ice cream?"

Harry laughed. He couldn't help. He couldn't stop himself before laughter escaped his lips. Riddle was ridiculous. He wanted to tell Riddle he was a wizarding war commander inhabiting his female counterpart's body, but he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

Riddle pushed Harry down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, Harry's heartbeat quickened in excitement. He pulled his legs apart and hovered over Harry. Riddle was definitely tall and much bigger than Harry but as long as he wasn't planning to crush him with all his weight, Harry was turned on by what was happening.

Riddle's lips were all over his throat; his warm hands roaming over Harry's thighs. Harry's brain was getting foggy, trying to interpret the unusual sensations he was feeling in his lower body. He didn't even realize the quiet, throaty breaths were escaping his mouth when Riddle's lips silenced him with a kiss.

"Shhh," he murmured between kisses. "Be a good girl."

Riddle slowly undid the buttons of his own shirt as he kissed Harry, peppering them everywhere like he had a mission to press his lips to every inch of Harry's skin. Harry tilted his head to stare at Riddle's bare chest when he pulled off his shirt. Riddle was so f*cking handsome. It was criminally unfair, and Harry was mad at himself for feeling so turned on by the f*cking psycho whose disgusting counterpart killed his parents and turned his life into a literal hell.

Riddle grabbed Harry's underwear and pulled it off, it slid off his legs and just tossed it away somewhere in the room. Their clothes were scattered everywhere. Madam Malkin sang praises to that bloody cloth, and at least Harry and Riddle were in agreement with something. Riddle stared at Harry and Harry would have felt self-conscious if he had any f*cks left to give.

Riddle seemed surprised. Harry glared at him. What was he expecting anyways? Harry had done a stellar job and vanished all the hair just in case something went wrong in his initial plan of stupefying Riddle, and he had to f*ck the twat. Riddle brushed his hand over the smooth, soft surface and then Harry felt his finger glide down and dip in.

Harry's nose scrunched up in discomfort. The feeling was unusual and strange, and his legs came together as if trying to crash Riddle's hand or force him out.

"None of that, darling," Riddle murmured, softly holding Harry's legs and pushing them down onto the sheets. "Try to relax. I promise I won't hurt you."

Like he could try and hurt Harry! Harry could wipe the floor with Riddle if he felt like it.

"Shhh," Riddle shushed him, kissing him again, and Harry let it happen because despite the discomfort and the eeriness he felt, having the man hovering over him, whatever he was doing with his finger inside of Harry, made him feel like some sore muscles were being untangled; like a spot that felt ticklish was being scratched.

In the silence of the room, the only sounds were their barely audible breathing and wet squelches of Riddle's finger moving in, and out of Harry. Harry was barely getting used to the strange sensation when Riddle added another finger and increased his rhythm. Harry jerked up, but Riddle held him closer, wrapping his hand on the back of Harry's neck. Harry shook in the man's arms. f*ck!

Riddle laughed, his grip tightening on Harry's neck.

"You like that, eh?" he seemed amused. "I want to hear you, doll. Don't be quiet like a church mouse."

Harry was going to smack Riddle once they were done.

An intense feeling spread over his body as Riddle added another finger and started thrusting in and out so fast that Harry's sight blurred. The stretch brought a twinge of burning sensation, but something else was building inside Harry, waiting to be popped, shattered and exploded into pieces, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling.

His breathing became laboured, and his toes curled at the warmth trying to seep out of him and spread everywhere, and Harry could feel himself org*sming, but suddenly, the bastard stopped and removed his fingers. Harry whimpered.

"I know, darling, I know," Riddle chuckled, whispering into his ear in that condescending tone of his, moving to undo the lace corset Harry was still wearing. "I want to feel you when you come. I want to be inside you, I want you to come on my co*ck."

Bloody ridiculous! It's just a f*cking org*sm. Harry glared at Riddle, and the wanker only laughed back at him, still fumbling with the hooks of the corset. Harry was going to throttle the piece of sh*t for wringing him and leaving him breathless on the bed. Two could play.

"Tom," he whispered, letting his lips gently brush over the man's ear. He brought his hands forward and grabbed Riddle's belt. Harry's magic snaked around the leather unbuckling it with ease. Riddle pulled the lace cloth apart, leaving Harry completely naked. He grabbed Harry's hands, moving them away from his trousers.

"Don't tempt me, doll," he warned. "I am not a patient man. I am trying to hold myself back."

Harry would roll his eyes but he was too horny and wanted Riddle to get on with it.

"Don't hold back," he whispered, biting his lips so he wouldn't openly laugh at Riddle's intense expression and stupid declarations.

"You are treading on thin ice, darling" Riddle told him harshly, pulling Harry down and pushing his legs apart so he could lie between them. "Don't play games with me or I will put you on your stomach and f*ck you so hard you, you'll be feeling me inside you the whole bloody week."

Harry nodded. Riddle was wasting his time, threatening him with a good time. They were both adults here.

"You'd like that, huh?" Riddle murmured, lowering his head to kiss Harry again and again like he couldn't get enough. "Lie back."

Harry lay down, and Riddle finally pulled off his suit trousers. A second later the man hovered over Harry again and then Harry felt something hot with a smooth, silky surface press against him. He gasped in anticipation, and then Riddle gripped his hips and started to slowly push in.

f*ck!

Harry's eyes teared up. It was not exactly comfortable. Riddle continued to move forward inch by inch, and Harry felt a pinch and burning. He gripped the sheets, trying to concentrate on something else other than the discomfort. It felt like he was getting impaled. He lifted his hand and brought it close to where he was connected with Riddle and murmured spells to relax his muscles and increase the natural lubrication.

Riddle snapped his hips forward and plunged deep inside Harry. The pain and discomfort faded, the magic enveloping everything. He felt Riddle's hot breath close to his face and then was being kissed by the man.

"You are so warm and tight," Riddle groaned between the kisses like Harry needed the commentary. "Are you in pain, love?"

Harry shook his head.

Riddle started moving, thrusting in and out at a slow pace, watching Harry's face in fascination, running his hands over Harry's naked body. Riddle had a beautiful physique that's for sure. Harry's mind was slightly clouded with pleasure slowly building inside his belly, threatening to explode any second, but his eyes could still catch and appreciate Riddle's fit body.

Harry's vision was slowly swimming, he couldn't breathe anymore.

The obscene sounds of wet skin slapping against each other and low almost inaudible gasps, leaving their mouths were driving Harry to the edge. f*ck, Harry felt so horny, he would have f*cked the snake-faced Voldemort now, but his muggle counterpart was so f*cking hot, holding him tightly in his arms and pounding Harry to the inch of his life.

Riddle sped up and was relentless, and Harry could barely hold a coherent thought in his head

His toes curled, then he felt himself tighten, and he came, warmth spreading over his limbs. Riddle kept f*cking him like an unhinged psychopath as Harry's internal muscles contracted around Riddle's co*ck. Harry whimpered, trying to move away as his whole body was too sensitive and convulsing, but Riddle had a vice grip on him.

"Don't move," he said, lifting Harry's body up into his arms. "Be a good girl."

Harry's body went lax. He was tired, and he had very little strength left in him. He closed his eyes and murmured spells, letting his magic swim and surround Riddle. A faint smile curled the sides of Harry's lips when the spell tethered around the other man with force and made his vision white and his blood hot in his veins. Harry's favourite spell for these encounters and Riddle came with a loud gasp and curses inside of Harry and dropped on the bed, holding Harry on top of himself.

Harry was sleepy. He would wash himself tomorrow.

"You're f*cking pretty, and the best f*ck of my life."

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The sunlight was bright in the room, pouring through the large windows. Tom watched the bright glittery glow of the rays dance like ocean waves on the walls and the rumpled bedsheets; shadows and light moving slowly as the morning sun slowly ascended in the sky.

He held the cigarette between his fingers as he exhaled; the wisps of smoke twirled in the air, dissipating slowly, and Tom tilted his head to look at his wife. She was still sleeping, curled up next to him, bedsheets wrapped around her slender form, soft and pretty. He didn't know what it was about her that seemed almost familiar like Tom had known her his whole life even though he had met her barely a week ago. He hadn't seen Potter's daughter before the man called her to the meeting.

He took a long drag, the ember tip burning brightly in the shadow cast by the walls and inhaled the smoke slowly into his lungs before exhaling. He felt relaxed. He had slept surprisingly well, which didn't happen often. He was a light sleeper, and his body was attuned to waking to every single little movement or noise, thanks to growing up in an orphanage where the other kids often tried to kill him—smother him while he was asleep.

One of the older kids even tried to stab Tom, and Tom took pleasure in destroying everything the f*cker valued. After he beat someone until their teeth dropped, the children mostly left him alone, but he still slept with difficulty. He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep next to the girl; she would move about in her sleep and wake him up, but he slept, and when he woke up she was in his arms, legs wrapped around his legs, clinging like a newborn kitten to a source of warmth.

The girl scrunched up her nose, mumbled something sleepily and buried her face in the sheets. He had thought f*cking her would feel the same as f*cking all the whor*s he had f*cked before; a warm body was a warm body, but something was really strange and different about Harry. Maybe, it was just that she was younger than his usual women and prettier too, but during the intercourse, he felt almost like some kind of strange lulling force was wrapping around him, like something had reached inside of him and frayed his nerves, speed up his heart.

A snort escaped his lips at his own ridiculous thoughts. There was nothing else about it other than his little wife being pleasing to the eye and senses. He flicked the ash into the tray on his bedside table and brought the cigarette to his lips again. She turned about, the sheets tangling around her hips, revealing her flawless skin under the bright illumination.

She opened her eyes and then shut them again, leaning in closer to him and wrapping her arms around his chest as though he were a cozy pillow. The action startled Tom as he wasn't used to people cuddling him. He blinked but didn't move her hands away. She was warm and smelled nice. She stretched her legs and opened her eyes again, yawning softly.

"Did you sleep well?" Tom asked, enjoying the way her expression slowly became alarmed as sleep evaporated from her eyes.

"Merlin," she gasped, sitting up and dragging the sheet to her face. "What was I even thinking...?"

Merlin? Who the f*ck was Merlin?

Tom grabbed the sheet and pulled it down with force, glaring at his new wife with a deranged expression.

"Who is Merlin, doll?" he demanded, wondering if he needed to take care of someone.

"Mhmm," she licked her lips, rubbed her eyes and sighed sleepily. "Merlin is a magician in the legend of King Arthur. What time is it? I can't believe I slept so long."

Tom crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, grabbed Harry's arm and pulled her up into his lap. She squeaked in surprise and then winced.

"You like fairytales, eh?" he asked, holding her chin up so he could look into her pretty eyes. His thumb traced her delicate face, and she groaned in discomfort when Tom lifted her leg up to kiss her thigh. "Are you in pain, princess? Does it hurt anywhere?"

She dragged her hands over her body, her fingers flexing strangely, and then she smiled.

"No, not anymore," she said. "I am fine."

Tom watched her carefully, her face had a relaxed expression, but he could see faint smears of blood on the sheets.

"Do you need a bath? I have sent the maids away but I can draw a bath for you," he said, brushing her long strands of hair behind her ear.

She opened her mouth in surprise and gave him a look of disbelief but then nodded with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said when he got up and walked towards the bathroom.

"Wait for me here, doll," he told her. "I'll have it ready in a minute."

It took him no time to run the water and fill the tub with hot water. When he walked back into his bedroom, she was writing down something in a small journal and seemed to be completely preoccupied with it. He walked up to her and picked her up into his arms. She was so easy to pick up that Tom was developing a taste for it. A real addiction. She let out her little gasp of surprise which didn't fail to amuse him.

"Sorry," he said, adjusting her in his arms. "Did I startle you? I will take you to the bath."

"I can walk there on my own," she protested.

He ignored her, walked up to the tub and proceeded to lower her into the water. Once she lay there, he got inside himself. The bathtub was big enough for the two of them. He studied her face—took in her annoyed expression; she looked like a kitten that was carried back where she was supposed to be and now was displeased somehow.

She lifted her arms up and splashed the water on her shoulders. Grabbing the soapbox from the vanity stand placed next to the bathtub, she wrinkled her nose.

"You can't be serious," she mumbled. "Even I wouldn't use this during the war."

Tom quirked a brow, wondering what she meant, but she placed the soap back and got up, water dripping down her perfect naked body.

"Getting my own soap," she said when Tom tried to pull her down into his arms. "I am not using that."

She pointed at the block of grey soap as if it had offended her. Stepping out of the tub, she grabbed the closest towel, wrapped it around herself and ran back to the bedroom. Tom closed his eyes and sank into the water. Bloody women! What was wrong with the soap the maids had bought? He got up, brushed back his wet hair, grabbed the soap, smelled it, and it didn't smell any different from any other bloody piece of soap.

His wife walked back into the bathroom, bringing with her a few bottles and jars. Tom stared at her with curiosity as she started opening the bottles and jars and washing her hair and skin. The smell of spring flowers and candy filled his bathroom. He laughed at how absurd it was that there was this girly girl in his tub, with his ring on her finger. Tom watched her like a curious man would watch a strange creature perform tricks in a traveling circus.

Tom moved towards her and brought her back into his arms. Her wet, soft skin pressed against his own naked chest as he kissed her lips. She still tasted like fruits, like sweet, freshly plucked oranges. He felt her shiver and smirked into the kiss when he could trace the goosebumps, spreading under his fingertips. He loved her reactions. He thought being married and having Potter's daughter as a permanent fixture in his space would drive him mad but he rather liked her presence.

"The water is getting cold," Harry murmured, breaking the kiss

"Are you cold?"

"Not yet," she said, pressing her head against his chest. "But I rather dry my hair and get dressed before it happens."

Tom nodded. This was unfamiliar. He had no idea what women did in their spare time or how their day went on. He lived alone. He had maids who cleaned his flat. He spent his day working, and if he slept with a woman, he parted ways with them before seeing the intricacies of their lives.

They stepped out of the tub, and he quickly dried his hair and went on to get dressed. His wife lingered back in the bathroom, but when she showed back up, to Tom's surprise, her hair was dry and smooth, and she had the towel wrapped around her body firmly as if she was scared he would see something he hadn't seen before.

"My mum said my clothes were brought here beforehand," she said, awkwardly shifting on her toes.

Tom tied his necktie slowly as he regarded her.

"Yes," he motioned towards the wardrobe. "They should have put your things there."

She rushed to get the suitcases and pulled them out of the wardrobe.

"I told the maids not to touch your things," Tom told her. "They wanted to assemble them in the shelves. But I didn't want them to get it wrong in case that's not how you did it."

The truth was that, he didn't want to upset his little wife by accident. He had no idea about what her type of women did with their clothes, but he knew they cared quite a bit about it. She nodded and pulled the suitcase open. There was an annoyed sigh and then she moved to the other one and palmed her face in frustration, mumbling something about Merlin again.

"Something wrong?"

"It's just shoes and purses," Harry said. "Where are my clothes?"

Tom looked over and exhaled. Potter's wife wanted to send some of her daughter's essential items and clothes in advance and then bring in the rest of her things later. Tom had sent his men to pick up the items, but unfortunately, those morons must have picked up the wrong suitcases. Frustrated, he got up, pulled a pressed dress shirt from his wardrobe and handed it to her.

"Here, darling," he said. "Wear this. You can call your mother and tell her what happened, and she can send you your clothes."

"Thank you," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You are... surprisingly nice..."

Tom laughed.

"I can be," he told her in a low tone, watching her as she unwrapped the towel and put on his shirt. It was long enough to cover her body. "You know, you look good with my clothes on."

"If you like it then perhaps I can borrow one of your shirts when I go have tea with your grandmother. She's invited me," she said, her innocent face lighting up in excitement.

Tom's expression darkened. The old cow invited his wife for tea? What was she playing at?

"No, doll, you with my shirts on and nothing else are only for my eyes," he told her, mechanically reaching to pull her closer. He was getting addicted to her smell, to the way she felt so right in his arms, to the way she gasped when he wrapped his hands around her back. "And you can't go and see that old bat. I forbid you."

She blinked, her features scrunched up as if she found his words humorous.

"If you insist," she smiled. "I will decline the invitation."

"I insist," Tom said sharply. The girl nodded in response, playing with the long sleeves of the shirt. f*ck, she was beautiful.

"Do you want to have tea?" she asked.

"I have sent the maids off, but the number's in the phonebook downstairs. You can give them a call and have them help you get settled, yeah?" Tom said, wondering if telling the women not to come was a bad idea. He didn't want to have outsiders at home when his wife arrived. "You can tell them what you like to eat, and they'll make it for you."

Unlike Potter, Tom didn't have a full staff at his house at all times. He could barely stand their presence when they came early in the morning to prepare breakfast for him and even more in the evenings if he had dinner at home. The girl must have been used to having maids and cooks catering to her whims, and Tom had resigned that marrying her would bring some chaos into his life.

"I can make us tea and some breakfast," she said, smiling. "Tell me you have a kitchen in this flat."

"You want to cook me breakfast," Tom laughed. "Do you even know how to cook, doll?"

"How hard can it be?" she laughed softly like there was some kind of joke playing in her mind that Tom wasn't privy to.

Yes, Tom's new wife was trying to poison him on day one. Tom loosened his grip on her and got off the bed, reaching to hold her hand. He would indulge her. How bad could it get? He had worse in the orphanage and in the army.

"Okay, let's get you to a kitchen," he said and pulled her towards the door. She moved on the tip of her toes, gracefully like a skilled dancer, and Tom realized that she was barefoot. When they exited the bedroom, and her feet made contact with the cold wood floor, she curled her toes in discomfort. Tom leaned over and picked her up. "Feeling cold, eh?"

"I'll be fine," she said. "My feet have seen worse."

Tom doubted that. Harry's feet were delicate and well-manicured. He walked down the stairs, holding her in his arms until he got downstairs and walked into the kitchen. He let her down, enjoying the way she rolled her eyes as if annoyed that he was treating her like a newborn fawn that couldn't stand on its own.

Tom was rarely in his kitchen. The room was spacious and had a dining table which he never used.

"Finally," Harry said, rubbing her hands together. "Merlin, I missed doing this as strange as it is."

She loved mentioning this fairytale figure quite often, and Tom found it bizarre. He watched her eagerly bustling about in his kitchen, gathering various utensils, pans and pots. When she reached for the knife, Tom tensed. He felt uneasy seeing his wife wave around a sharp blade; he wasn't even sure she knew how to use it properly.

She opened the fridge and retrieved fruits, vegetables, butter, and cheese, before fetching flour and beans from the pantry. The kitchen counter was covered in uncooked ingredients. As Tom settled at the dining table, he tried to relax, watching Harry effortlessly juggle multiple tasks. Harry was doing so many things at once, Tom wasn't even sure she could keep track of anything. With one pan, she expertly flipped crepes, while another sizzled with sausages, herbs, and mushrooms. A pot of nettle soup simmered on the stovetop, leaving Tom puzzled that the maids would even have those weeds in his fridge.

Soon, the smell of crisping food, sizzling dishes, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea spread throughout the kitchen. About an hour later, Harry set several plates on the table, and Tom's eyes widened in delight. There were eggs baked in rolled-in dough, crispy and flaky like the petals of a blooming flower. There was warm, green nettle soup that had a surprisingly appetizing look with its vibrant green colour. Sausages were smothered in creamy mushroom sauce, with roasted potatoes drizzled in fresh butter and herbs. Tender beans were simmered in a spicy tomato sauce, and crepes were filled with a luscious strawberry chocolate filling.

"Oh, here is your tea," she said, pouring the hot liquid into the cup and placing it in front of him. "I wanted to make some other things, but it doesn't seem like you had the ingredients."

How could she make all of these in such a short time? It made no sense. The delectable spread and attention to detail left him pondering whether this was simply par for the course for well-educated girls from wealthy families with ties to aristocracy, or if this particular girl was just extraordinary.

Harry sat down and started eating. Tom had some of the soup, thinking he'd start with the worst possible one and was instantly shocked to realize that the soup was delicious. He had no idea what she had done, despite watching her cook, but the flavour and the texture were perfect. He didn't even have food of this quality in restaurants.

"Do you like it?" she asked, grinning at him like she knew what kind of effect her cooking had on him.

Tom bit into the croissant-like pastry and the soft, rich flavour of the yolk exploded in his mouth. How did she even bake this without overcooking the eggs? Everything was well prepared. She was good.

"Your father didn't tell me you could cook, doll," he said with a smile, enjoying the food.

"Hmmm," she mumbled, drinking tea. "You must have not told him you had such high expectations either."

Someone rang the bell, interrupting them. Tom wasn't expecting anyone at his house at this hour. Whoever it was, they had come invited. He pulled out the gun and loaded it up.

"Stay here, darling," he said. "I will sort this out and come back."

Harry nodded without any protests and continued sipping on her tea. Tom walked to the drawing room then exited into the hall and opened the door. He glared at the invited guests and rolled his eyes, putting the gun back in the holster.

"Sorry boss," Rudolphus said with nervous laughter, patting Crouch's back. "Barty was anxious and wanted to see if everything was alright. I told him you'd be busy with..."

The man waved his hands in the air without clarifying what he meant.

"We brought whiskey," Rabastan said, lifting up the bottle.

"Can we come in, Tom?" Barty asked.

Not when his bloody wife was wearing barely anything, sitting barefoot in his kitchen with all the bloody food she had made for him.

"Are you f*cking idiots out of your bloody minds?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Piss off. I don't want to see your bloody mugs until I call you myself."

"Didn't I tell you, boys," Yaxley called, standing far away by the car, adjusting his gloves. "You can't just barge in uninvited. The man's just married."

"Tom?" Harry's voice interrupted the conversation. Tom shut the door in their faces and turned to look at his wife who was standing by the open drawing room doors. "Is everything okay?"

"Darling, I told you to stay in the kitchen, don't go wandering around where everyone can see you like this."

She nodded and walked back. Tom closed his eyes. f*cking bastards, turning up at his place at his hour on Sunday morning when Harry was barely dressed. Tom spun around to leave when the knock on the door stopped him again. He was going to spill some blood today. They were trying his patience.

He pulled the door open, barely containing his rage and was ready to punch someone when he came to a halt staring down at his mother-in-law, standing a few steps down, dressed up all fancy and looking at him expectantly. There were a few men there with her, and one of them was carrying a large suitcase.

"Good morning, Tom," she said with a tense smile, addressing him so intimately that Tom for a second was taken aback. "I am afraid I realized this morning that your employees have taken the wrong trunks, and Harry must have no... outfits available..."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh, rubbing the sides of his eyes in an attempt to get his temper in check. "I am sorry, Mrs. Potter. I wasn't expecting you so early. I thought my men were trying to..."

He glared at Barty and the Lestrange brothers and shook his head. Barty looked ashamed, Rudolphus was slightly uncomfortable, and Yaxley was eyeing Potter's wife like he wanted to get shot in the head.

"Please come in," he said, stepping aside and inviting her in. The woman turned to a young man and smiled at him, motioning him to follow her while the others stood outside with Tom's men.

The sharp heels of Lily Potter's shoes clucked loudly in the hall and then in the drawing room, as Tom guided her inside. The young man carrying the suitcase followed them silently.

"She is in the kitchen," Tom said, pointing at the door. "Having tea."

Lily Potter smiled and turned towards the door, eyes scanning her surroundings critically like she was displeased with the decor or something. Tom opened the door for her but when the man with the suitcase tried to follow her in, Tom held him by the shoulders and pushed him back. Lily Potter gasped like she was shocked.

"This is as far as you can go," he told the boy. "I will take this off your hands, yeah?"

He grabbed the suitcase and motioned the woman to walk in. He wasn't about to have some boy come in and catch his girl arse naked in his bloody kitchen. He shut the door behind them and, seeing the displeased expression on the older woman's face, cleared his throat.

"Harry isn't decent," he explained. "I don't think she would be happy if that boy came in with you."

"Oh," Lily nodded. "My poor girl must have been shocked not to find her clothes."

"Mum?" Harry must have heard her voice because she rushed in and came to hug her. "I didn't expect a visit today."

"This isn't much of a visit, sweety," the woman said, hugging Harry and pulling her back to look at her. Tom blinked at the way the older woman scanned through her daughter's face and arms and legs like she was looking for an injury; they just bloody f*cked, they didn't get in a punching ring. "I brought your clothes. I am so sorry, if I had checked in time, this wouldn't have happened. I was so busy with the wedding that I didn't think to check to make sure they had picked up the right things."

"You don't need to apologize," Harry assured her. "I am fine. Tom lent me his shirt. It's very cozy. See?"

Tom smiled, but his mother-in-law didn't seem pleased.

"I have brought you some things," she told Harry. "The rest of the clothes will be sent later this week."

"Here, darling," Tom said, placing the suitcase on the floor. "You can have tea with your mum. I will let you two talk. My men outside seemed to be needing something."

"Thank you, Tom," Lily pursed her lips, not letting the smile drop from her face. "I already had tea this morning with your grandmother, Lady Mary! Such a lovely woman."

The expression on Tom's face darkened. It seemed Lily Potter didn't particularly like him and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Then maybe you won't mind some excellently brewed coffee with some delicious chocolate strawberry crepes," Harry suddenly said, voice full of excitement and cheer, dragging her mother away. "Thank you, Tom. Let me know if your friends want any tea or coffee."

Tom smiled at her and nodded. Maybe, his men were really right when they told him he needed someone like this girl. She was very sweet and made him even forget for a moment that he was pissed off. She was graceful and polite and knew how to diffuse a situation.

He walked out of the kitchen and headed back outside. Opening the door, he found his men talking with Potter's men and smoking.

"Tom," Barty exclaimed. "I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I didn't mean to interrupt your personal time with your... with your wife."

"Give me that bottle," Tom said, stretching out his hand to take it from Rabastan. He held the door open and gritted his teeth. "Step inside, but if you ever turn up uninvited again, I'll be breaking the bloody legs of the lot of you, you blasted scoundrels."

They all laughed and hurried inside like a bunch of roaches. He motioned at Potter's men to come inside too.

"Don't go wandering off to rooms you are not supposed to," Tom told them, taking them to his office and locking the door so these f*ckers wouldn't accidentally walk into where Harry was with her mother.

"How is married life like, Mr. Riddle?" Yaxley asked smugly as they took a seat in his office.

"I would know if you bloody f*ckers didn't barge in first thing in the morning like you are my bloody alarm clock," he said coldly, motioning at Rabastan to pour the whiskey into the glasses.

"The papers are all about the wedding," Barty said. "Look at the photos on the cover page, Tom."

He put a Sunday paper on the table and Tom glanced at it, catching the image of him and his new wife dancing during the celebration.

"London, May 9th, 1954,
Philanthropic Beauty Wows in Exquisite Wedding Gown as She Joins Forces with Charity-Driven Groom
Miss Harriette Potter, stunned in a breathtakingly beautiful satin wedding gown adorned with delicate lace, tulle and shimmering pearls and diamonds. In a scene straight out of a fairytale, the stunning bride captivated onlookers as she glided down the aisle in a breathtaking dress that had heads turning in awe, with many already clamouring to recreate a similar design for their own upcoming nuptials. As Miss Potter said "I do" to her dashing groom, Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle stood proudly beside the beauty,a testament to their shared commitment to philanthropy and service.It was revealed that he is set to run for MP, further solidifying this power couple as one to watch in both the societal and political spheres."

"What a bunch of bollocks," Tom snorted. "Did you pay 'em, Barty?"

Barty shook his head.

"It's not just this one," he said. "It's all of the papers. It's mostly about her dress, but it seems there is a public interest in you too, Tom."

"It's in our favour that..." Yaxley was interrupted by a phone ring.

Tom lifted his hand, gesturing the man to wait and walked up to his desk to grab the phone.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Mr. Atherton, good morning! Didn't expect to get a call from you. Yes... Thank you... Today? No, I can find time in my schedule... Yes..."

He hung the phone and smirked. Atherton seemed eager after the news of Tom wanting to run spread through the papers. Atherton didn't want to lose his possible candidacy for his party now that Tom had a growing interest in him by the public.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Lily asked softly, her lips tense and pressed together in worry. She examined Harry, holding tightly onto the collar of his shirt and prying it apart as if she were looking for bruises and swelling on his body. "Did he... did he hurt you?"

Harry blinked, confused by the question, but then he shook his head.

"No," he told her gently, placing more chocolate strawberry crepes onto her plate. "You don't need to worry about me. Everything is going according to plan."

"Sweety," Lily chided him. "You can't say things like that. Of course, I worry about you."

Harry smiled at her tenderly and nodded. His mother was such a sweetheart. He didn't want to upset her. It seemed her life was complicated enough. He gently rubbed the top of her hand and grabbed his coffee cup to take a small sip.

"You need to keep yourself warm," she told him, staring at his bare feet horrified. "I told you, Harry, you need to protect your health after the night, didn't I? Let me get you some socks and something proper to wear or God forbid, this causes complications with fertility."

Harry tilted his head, thoughts rushing through his head. Fertility?

sh*t!

He was such a f*cking moron and wasted nearly a week trying to incubate an egg under a toad that wasn't bloody fertilized. He bought the egg from the store and didn't even think about the simple fact that in order for the egg to result in anything, it needed to be fertilized. Now, he would need to find a farm with hens and roosters and make sure they had at least a rooster for every ten hens. He would need to monitor the behaviour of the flock for a day or two and then pick up the eggs. And hopefully, Muggles would be none the wiser about the missing eggs.

"Here," his mother said, interrupting his musings. She stretched out a stack of neatly folded clothes she had pulled out of the suitcase. "Wear this and make sure to keep yourself warm from now on. I am sure your husband would want an heir."

A what? Harry's eyes widened. f*ck! He had forgotten to cast a contraceptive spell. Whatever! He would do it now. He was too tired yesterday and didn't even think that he needed to take precautions.

"Yes, thank you, Mum," he hurried to grab the clothes off her hands and rushed to the pantry room. Lily stared at his retreating back perplexed, blinking in worry. Harry shut the door behind him. The pantry was cooler, and it smelled of fresh vegetables. Harry threw the clothes on top of one of the shelves and held his hands over his stomach, muttering spells.

He was so bloody irresponsible yesterday. He f*cked Riddle on a whim and then fell asleep. Not that f*cking Riddle wasn't entertaining and fun. Riddle had no business being as hot as he was, and Harry just couldn't resist the temptation. Who was he kidding!? It wasn't like he wasn't planning to f*ck him again. Harry was stuck here; might as well.

After making sure the spells did their job properly, he put on the chiffon blouse and the velvet skirt his mother had picked up for him and walked back into the kitchen. His mother was still standing there and staring at him looking confused.

"Harry, are you okay, baby?" she asked, sitting at the table and drinking some more of the coffee Harry had poured for her as if to calm her nerves. "I worry about you. I hate that your father didn't listen to me. Oh, God, this place is so depressing."

Harry walked back and sat in front of his mother. The bloody skirt was so restricting.

Lily motioned around the kitchen in disapproval, wrinkling her face and looking disgusted.

"The decor is awful. Everything is tasteless and gaudy," she said, swiping her finger over the side of the table. "And look at this. Look how dirty it is. I don't understand. Doesn't he have anyone working in this place? I will send Alma and one of the girls to take care of this."

Harry looked around. The furniture was fine. It was the 50s, and he wasn't really sure what his mother expected, but Harry didn't care about the colour of the curtains or the shape of the countertops. Although, it was dirty. Whatever maids Tom had working here and maintaining the place were definitely slacking off, because Harry could see stains and the mess everywhere, especially on the stovetop. The whole flat needed a good scrubbing and dusting.

"Tom has sent the maids off," Harry said, rubbing his cheek. "No need to send Alma."

"Well, they are doing a poor job," Lily said, shaking her head. "You need a bigger place. Maybe I should have your father speak with him."

The place was big enough. His mother was being ridiculous. He didn't have time to reorganize a new house when he needed to work on his mission.

"No," he said, reaching out and holding her hand. "Everything is fine. I don't think it's a good idea to have Father interfere with these matters, yes?"

Lily sighed but nodded. She grabbed a morsel of the crepe from her plate and took a bite.

"At least the cooks know how to cook," she said, closing her eyes as the delicious flavours of fresh strawberries and chocolate exploded in her mouth. Harry laughed but nodded.

His mother didn't stay too long after that. They drank coffee together. She told him all about her meeting with Tom's grandmother and all the calls she had received about Harry's dress and gave her all the possible gossip that she could remember, and Harry halfway through the conversation slid into his own mind, wondering how long it would take him to find a proper farm with hens and roosters.

Maybe, he should get his own rooster.

"Baby, it's time for me to leave. I would stay longer, but I am supposed to meet with Molly," Lily said, brushing back Harry's hair behind his ear.

"I will see you off," Harry told her, getting up too.

He accompanied his mother outside, kissed her goodbye and walked back to his new home. He looked around critically, wondering if he should expand one of the rooms here and use it as a temporary area to keep his research.

"Tom?" he called, just in case, even though he had heard the man leave earlier.

Receiving no response, Harry exhaled, relieved. It was becoming annoying being surrounded by these people, and the worst part was that the more time he spent with them, the less time he had for his research and mission. He walked back into the kitchen and started cleaning off the table and washing the plates. He didn't want the bloody maids back here snooping around in his business. He didn't want anyone around to notice his visits to the warehouse.

Besides, they did a sh*tty job anyways. His mother was right about that, and Harry was getting really frustrated every time he spotted patches of grease or dirt somewhere. f*ck it! He was going to give this place a proper cleaning before he went mental over it. The messiness and the dirt were driving him crazy.

He pulled up his hair, tied it up, rolled up his sleeves, conjured a pair of gloves for himself, slightly modifying it to make them safe and sterile and started scrubbing the dirt off the walls and floors. He swept and polished the wood, scrubbed the tiles in the bathroom until everything shone brightly, collected all the cobwebs, to make things faster he charmed the broom and the duster to do some of the work while he was busy washing the sheets and the curtains.

It took nearly three hours of work to clean the entire flat, and by the end of it, he was sweaty and dirty, while the flat was pristinely clean. It probably hadn't been that clean ever before, and Harry felt much better by the end of it. He would relax after all the work he did, but he needed to go back to the warehouse, check up on the toad, feed the poor thing and then come back home.

The egg hunt would have to be postponed until he had a better idea of Riddle's schedule. The man didn't even tell him he was leaving which was fine by Harry except he needed to know so he could plan his research trips accordingly. He didn't want Riddle to come back home and not find him there; that would unnecessarily complicate things for Harry, and Harry had no desire to make things more difficult for himself.

He took a bath, washing himself properly, lying in warm water self-indulgently. He didn't have the chance to enjoy the little things almost all his life and especially during the war. Lying in warm water, relaxing, cleared his mind. He washed his hair too, then used all the bottles of creams his mother had packed for him on his body, got dressed into a pretty floral dress and left home.

Tom's house thankfully wasn't too far from the warehouse. It was far enough that he couldn't just walk there especially wearing the uncomfortable women's shoes. He had a half mind to transfigure them into trainers, but the people in the street would notice. He just needed to walk to a good spot and apparate from there.

He pressed the handles of his purse tightly against his side, avoiding bumping into any strangers as he walked until he was far enough from the busy street to apparate. He had taken some food for the toad from the house, mostly minced meat, and hopefully, the little bugger wasn't a fussy eater. Harry wasn't planning on catching bugs for it.

Landing outside the warehouse, he looked around, surveying the area for any strangers and making sure everything was in order, walked inside. He set the protective wards back up. He didn't want any twat to walk in and ruin his work.

Everything inside was as he left it. The toad was still inside the incubation chamber, the ventilator was working properly, maintaining the perfect temperature and humidity levels inside, and the frog was still sitting on the egg.

"Hey, little cookie, miss me?" Harry flicked his hands over the glass, casting diagnostic spells just in case something had changed, but it seemed the egg inside was really unviable for hatching. "I got married since I was here last, and I brought you food."

He opened his purse, took out the firmly sealed package of meat, placed it in the feeder box, pushed the lever to lower it inside the incubation chamber, and sealed it back up.

Harry walked back to his desk and opened his journal. He wished he could do more work, but he needed to get back home. There was no point in staying in the warehouse and watching the toad as the egg underneath it wasn't even fertilized. Rummaging through his drawers, he pulled out a pen.

"Day 7 of the observational progress on the incubation of the basilisk egg remains consistent with previous observations. Over the past week, regular monitoring of the egg has been conducted to track its development. Initial signs of potential life, such as blood vessel formation and movement within the egg, were absent during the observation period. Candling process would be required for any future egg samples to determine the quality of an egg before any further incubation research can continue," he wrote down in his journal.

The toad croaked unhappily, and Harry glared at it, irritated. The thing didn't seem happy. Well, Harry wasn't happy himself.

"After careful examination and additional tests, it has become evident that the chicken egg is not viable for hatching due to lack of fertilization. The absence of any observable signs of embryonic development, coupled with the prolonged incubation period, strongly indicates that the egg is unfertilized and will not hatch. The unfertilized egg will be removed from the incubation chamber and properly disposed of in accordance with research protocols. Future studies will implement stricter procedures for verifying the fertility of eggs prior to incubation to prevent similar instances and optimize research efforts," he added and closed down the journal.

He checked the rest of his work; some unfinished potions were still in the process of being brewed. Harry worked for a short amount of time on the spacetime calculations, still trying to work out the precise equations. Once the toad was fully fed, he removed the feeder, sealed the incubation chamber, and grabbed his purse to head back home. There was a lot of work to do, but most of it relied on him being able to grow the basilisk, which meant having a properly fertilized egg available.

He apparated back to the empty alley and walked back to Riddle's flat.

He walked slowly, looking around with mild disinterest. It's been more than a week since his arrival, and he had managed to get married and f*ck Riddle. Meanwhile, he hadn't made any progress in hatching the beast. Life had taught Harry that things could get bleaker. He needed to keep himself together and push. Raw determination alone sometimes worked wonders.

"Let go," a girl screamed, making Harry stop in his tracks.

His hand instinctively moved to his side, as if trying to pull out his wand, until he remembered that he didn't have one. The best course of action was to ignore it and go home. He had enough problems as it was. But before he could take another step, he heard a baby crying, and that made him pause.

He bit his lip, turned back and walked into a small street. There was a young woman, holding a crying baby while a man was trying to yank her baby out of her hands. People were going up and down the street, walking on the pavement, ignoring the distressed girl completely as if she didn't exist.

"You are hurting him," the girl cried, hitting the man on the chest without much force behind her punches.

"Oi, Lisa, Lisa," the man chuckled. "You little trollop, did you need to go and get yourself knocked up, eh? And what? Just because you've popped a sprog doesn't mean you can't graft. You reckon all these clothes on you and the brass I splashed out is something you're owed? You need to pay up, which means that you need to lie on your back and make me my money."

She looked somewhat familiar to Harry. It almost felt like she was in the same year as Harry in Hogwarts in his own world. Some of the people died early in the war, and Harry couldn't remember their faces anymore.

"I won't go back selling myself," She screamed. "You bastard, lied to me and used me. I can't leave my baby all alone to work."

He slapped her on the face, and she fell down, managing to twist herself so she would fall on her side and not on the baby. Harry stared and shook his head. He should turn back and go home. This didn't concern him at all, and it wouldn't even be smart to interfere. But the crying baby kept him glued to where he was standing.

"Please, please," the girl cried when the man kicked her. She curled around the child protectively. "Have mercy."

What the bloody f*ck was wrong with this f*cking twat! Harry had seen enough. He sighed and lifted his hand up to flick back his long hair.

"You there," he called, walking up to them. "Step away from her."

"This ain't your concern, love," the man said, eyeballing Harry. "Unless you're after a job with me, in which case, I'm all ears."

Harry smiled, calculating the shortening distance between himself and the man. He had expended considerable amounts of energy without a wand and was exhausted. But magic wasn't his only weapon. He had trained a lot of his soldiers in proper hand-to-hand combat. Wizards liked to turn up their noses at physical fights, thinking they could always use magic, but the truth was that in the heat of a battle, wands got knocked over, and it was physical training that often saved many of the Order members.

Fights were as much about one's physical strength as they were about the correct strategy. Harry didn't need to be strong. By understanding the principles of arithmancy and applying them to his combat strategy, he could effectively exploit his opponent's vulnerabilities and neutralize the threat, using calculated and precise attacks. He could calculate the most effective angles and trajectories and increase the force and accuracy of his strikes while minimizing the risk of injury to himself.

He focused on the man's throat, shifting into a relaxed stance, and stretched his fingers, preparing for action. He needed to time his attack carefully, considering the force and momentum of his movements. He understood the principles of energy transfer, and could deliver powerful blows with minimal effort and calculated precision.

He moved forward towards the man, clenching his hand into a fist and, reaching him, punched him in the throat. The man choked and fell down from the impact.

"I disagree," Harry said, putting his purse on the ground and getting on top of the man. "When scumbags like you think it's okay to go around kicking defenseless girls in the street, it becomes more than just my business. It becomes my mission to teach you a lesson you won't forget."

Harry pulled out the man's tie and looped it around his throat, pushing it to the side and tightening his grip. The man choked, unable to move, and started thrashing on the ground.

"I could break your neck right now, you piece of sh*t," Harry whispered. "Learn some bloody manners."

He held him long enough until the writhing weakened and then let go of him and got up. He fixed his skirt and grabbed his purse, inclining his head to take a look at the girl. She was no longer on the ground. Wiping her tears and rocking the baby in her arms, she stood in the corner.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. He swore he had seen her before. "Is your baby hurt?"

"No," she cried. "Thank you. All these people passing by, and they didn't even blink an eye, but you... thank you."

Harry nodded and walked towards the exit of the street, but then he stopped and turned to the girl.

"Look, it's none of my business," he said. "But you shouldn't let these scumbags harass you like this. Don't stay here. Do you have a family?"

"Yes," she nodded. "They live in the countryside, but I can't go to them like this. People will ask questions about my baby and... they will want to know how come an unmarried girl like me has a child..."

She started crying again.

"It's none of their business," Harry told her. "If it makes you feel better just tell them you were married, and he died. He was a sick soldier. And died before you could bring them to meet your parents. Don't stay here where this man can hurt you."

Harry opened his purse and pulled out a bunch of money.

"Here take this," he said with a smile. "Buy yourself a nice ring and use the rest of the money to get yourself a place rented near your family."

The girl's eyes widened.

"That's too much money," she said. "No, I can't take your money."

"Don't worry about me," Harry told her. "I don't really need the money."

The girl took the bills hesitantly as if she wasn't sure if Harry was just mocking her by giving her so much money or if he planned asking for something horrible in return.

"Just stay safe, okay?" Harry told her, patting her shoulder.

The girl looked at him, and the recognition passed through her face.

"You are the girl from the papers," she cried. "Oh my goodness, you are the girl who married just yesterday to that man who is running for the parliament. Thank you so much. You are just as kind as the papers said. I will tell everyone to vote for your husband."

Harry grimaced.

"No need to tell anyone anything," he told her. "Just stay safe and take care of your baby."

"Thank you," the girl said again, and Harry smiled in response.

She walked up to the man lying on the ground, groaning, and kicked him, which made Harry snort loudly and then break into laughter. The girl kicked the man once more as he tried to move away. Harry was amused.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the fatigue he was feeling. He had spent the entire day with Atherton and his party members, working on the nomination details, while the committee members, with their asinine comments, made Tom want to shoot them at least once. It seemed the papers had gotten ahead of the party announcement and revealed Tom's upcoming political venture, which seemed to have ruffled some feathers.

Some of them were unhappy with the amount of noise his little wife had attracted and the level of attention it brought towards Tom, considering that the other members were going to be announced by general public notices and just local publications. It seemed that the attention was solely focused on Tom, and these lardy twats weren't exactly pleased that Atherton would rush to bring Tom in when they had an opposition party leader as the Prime Minister.

Atherton, the toffee-nosed bastard, thought the attention was great for the party and wanted to send the notices to local radio and television channels to make sure the momentum was maintained. He also wanted Tom to launch his campaign by visiting a local orphanage with his wife, engaging with the workers there and taking pictures with the children for the papers.

The bloody ponce! Did he think Tom was running for the position of an archbishop or some rubbish like that?

Being back home was a sweet reprieve from all the noise of these cowardly bastards. They were pretending as if Tom needed to do this window-dressing, pretentious sh*te to get the public to think he cared. He didn't, and neither did these c*nts. Having grown up in an orphanage, he knew better than to think anyone gave any f*cks about penniless orphans.

He opened the door to his flat and walked inside. The lights were on, and as soon as he entered the living room from the hall, he was greeted by a faint smell of apples mingled with sterile chemicals. The polished floors carried a refreshing scent of disinfectant. Moving about, he noticed that everything had been meticulously cleaned and polished, giving the air a fresh, crisp feel. He casually removed his overcoat and draped it over the sofa.

"Harry?" he called.

There was no response, but he could see the kitchen light was on through the tiny space between the door hinges. He put his hand on his gun, secured inside the holster of his shoulder belt, and walked into the kitchen.

Harry was standing by the stove, stirring something in the pot. Tom stared at her slight figure, clad in a pretty dress that she had no business wearing outside. He wrinkled his face, feeling rage bubbling under his skin as he thought about the eyes of strangers on her.

"Tom?" She turned around and smiled at him. "You are back. I didn't know when you would be back. But I have made some food. Hungry?"

Tom tilted his head to look at her with greedy appreciation.

"You have cleaned the flat, doll?" he asked, sitting at the table and crossing his legs. "It smells good in here."

She turned the stove off and started setting up plates on the table.

"Yes," she said. "I thought to polish things a little. Did you have a good day? Do you usually come back home at this hour?"

Tom moved his arm off the table when she leaned over to place a plate in front of him and hugged her instead, bringing her into his lap. She smelled like bloody spring flowers. So f*cking clean! It felt like Tom had found himself somewhere on top of mountains and had plunged his head into a pool filled with blooming lilacs, lilies and honeysuckles.

He inhaled her smell, pressing his nose against her neck, and kissed her.

"You don't need to do all this work, doll," he told her. "Call the maids and have them do it. Although, it seems they were doing a piss-poor job now that I can compare."

"It's alright," she said quickly, tilting her head so Tom could continue kissing her. "I don't mind cleaning. I will call them later once I am more comfortable with having others around."

Tom ran his hands over her body, still in disbelief at how delicate she felt underneath his fingers and how soft and smooth her skin was.

"You can reorganize things here if you don't like anything," he told her, surprising himself.

Her shoulders shook as if she were amused, and she pulled herself back to get up from his arms and moved to the kitchen counter to continue setting the dishes she had prepared on the table.

"Things are fine as they are," she said, grinning at him like something was making her feel giddy. Tom chuckled at her and shook his head in amusem*nt. "Here is pumpkin soup."

Tom stared at all the dishes on the kitchen table. Everything looked delicious. Grabbing a spoon, he tried the soup. It was smooth and flavourful. He had never had anyone cook for him. He paid people to do it, and even then nothing they made could compare. Potter's daughter was probably what many men dreamed of. Not only did she know how to cook, but she was able to take the cheapest ingredients and make something taste like it was made in a fancy restaurant.

She also cleaned better than people who were doing it as their job. She was beautiful and soft-mannered. There was really nothing not to like about her, and maybe her homemaking skills would have been more suited for a man with lesser means. But the irony of the fact was that, were it not for who Tom was now, he would have never been able to have this pretty thing in his house.

Most of Tom's men were unmarried and the ones who were married didn't bring their wives around. Tom had met only Yaxley's wife, and only because the crazy wench had barged into the pub, where her husband was f*cking one of the barmaids in the storage room, and caused a bloody scene, screaming and breaking sh*t.

It was something this one would never do even if she found Tom f*cking some whor* in her bed. That was why Potter was so prissy about threatening him. There was something very funny about the man raising his daughter like a high society girl and then marrying her off to Tom.

"Do you like it?" her voice interrupted his trail of thoughts.

"I do, darling," he told her. "It's very tasty. Were you able to catch up with your mother?"

"Uhuh," she nodded. "She didn't stay too long. She already had appointments. How was your day? I didn't see you leave."

"I had to attend an important meeting," he said, reaching out and gently rubbing his thumb over the side of her face. "I am a busy man, and I am afraid I will be absent much more often. I do have a first campaign event scheduled this week, and I would like you to accompany me. It is at a local orphanage, and I am sure the children will be excited to meet you."

"This coming week?" she asked, reaching forward and pouring some kind of sauce over the dish Tom pulled in front of him to eat. "I'll be happy to be there with you."

Tom nodded, smirking. The marriage seemed much easier than he thought it would be. The girl was easy on the eyes and not bad to be around.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

The kitchen carried the sweet scent of freshly baked pastries. The smell of chocolate mousse mixed with fresh berries and vanilla lingered in the air like a tender, comforting childhood memory. Harry carefully placed the last piece of pastry into the paper box from the baking tray and injected it with rich, creamy peach filling.

He had arranged the pastries in a neat and organized fashion inside the box, taking his time to ensure each pastry was placed gently so as not to squish or damage them. He had decorated them with delicious toppings, using a piping bag to pump them with cream, jam, or custard. Expertly stacking them on top of each other, he made sure they were evenly distributed and not overcrowded. Placing the last one into the box, he closed the lid gently and secured it with a beautiful green ribbon to keep the pastries fresh and secure during transport.

Harry brought the boxes into the pantry. He had baked them for the orphanage visit, and if they remained on the kitchen table, he would be tempted to eat them. Riddle told him he would return in the afternoon, and they would visit a local orphanage. Harry didn't want to show up empty-handed. He considered buying toys for the children, but baking them some of his favourite treats seemed a more personal gesture.

He didn't mention to Riddle that he would be baking anything for the visit, and for a moment, he wondered if the man would object to Harry bringing the pastries, but he reasoned that Riddle wouldn't have any reason to complain. Their relationship seemed pretty smooth so far; smoother than Harry had anticipated. He thought the man was a little unhinged and crude at times, more so than his magical counterpart, but he was quite reasonable, if not a little patronizing, towards Harry.

It had been more than a week since their marriage, and Harry had come to the conclusion that Riddle truly had no idea how to behave with him. He seemed oddly obsessed with his smell, which was fine by Harry because Riddle's obsessive comments were always followed by bouts of hot f*cking. He sighed, amused, remembering muggle Dark Lord's mouth all over his body and imagined with immense glee how horrified Voldemort would have been if Harry sent tapes of himself f*cking his hot, young human version.

The psychopathic bastard would have had a heart attack!

Harry placed the last box on the shelf in the pantry, wondering if he had baked enough. He grabbed the eggs in the small basket and brought them out with him. Dropping the basket on the table, he looked pleased and contented. Finally, he had the fertilized eggs he needed. Over the past week, he had been foraging for a chicken farm that had the right conditions for producing fertilized eggs until he found one.

He was planning to take them to the warehouse today and set the first egg for hatching. He checked the clock, and there was about an hour before Riddle would show up so he needed to take a quick bath, change his clothes, rush to the warehouse and come back home to meet the man. Harry thought Riddle would be more demanding and difficult to handle, but he was mostly out working and when he came home, they ate and f*cked. Nothing else was happening nor did Riddle seem particularly interested in having long conversations with him.

Harry liked the way things were going.

He walked out of the kitchen into the living room. The doorknob for the hallway turned, and Harry froze. He didn't expect Riddle to return so early. He would need to reschedule his visit to the warehouse. f*ck! Why was Riddle even back so early on a Monday?

He sighed and fixed his skirt, but the door connecting the hallway to the living room was slammed open. Two masked men barged in, breaking the door as they kicked it shut. It hung loosely, being kept in place by one of the hinges. Harry stared frozen; one of them was burly and tall, towering over the room, and the other seemed much smaller in stature.

"Who are you?" he asked, taking a step backwards to assess the threat. Were they working for Riddle? "What are you doing here?"

The men stepped forward, causing Harry to retreat slowly to maintain a safe distance.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, we don't want to hurt you if you just come with us," the big and burly one growled.

Yeah, right! Like anyone would believe that bullsh*t. They were wearing masks, covering their faces for a reason. They had broken the door and barged in. Of course, they were planning to hurt Harry. Who the f*ck were they? Did Riddle send these f*ckers to kill him? He thought things were good between them. sh*t!

He tilted his head to the side, twisted his hand behind his back and clenched his fist. He hadn't used any magic today, and he was itching to beat the living daylights out of someone. If these twats wanted their arses handed to them, they could try stepping closer. They clearly didn't expect any resistance. Riddle should have known better than to send his henchmen to kill him.

The shorter one walked up to him and grabbed Harry's wrist. Harry glared at the man's hand wrapped around his arm and narrowed his eyes. Did this git think it would be that easy? In a swift motion, he delivered a roundhouse kick to the man's chin, causing him to stagger to the side. Taking advantage of the momentary disorientation, Harry then grabbed his neck and forcefully slammed the man's head against the wall. Several times.

The big, burly man suddenly attacked, engaging him in close combat, causing Harry to release his grasp on the other combatant. The shorter man slipped from Harry's grip and crumpled to the floor with a broken and bleeding nose. The big man seized Harry by the waist and hoisted him up. Harry thrashed in his hold and delivered a knee strike to the man's stomach. Wincing in pain, the man lurched forward while still clutching Harry, prompting Harry to grab pictures hanging on the corridor wall and smash them over the man's head. The man's grip faltered, and he dropped Harry on the floor.

Harry executed a foot sweep, tripping the massive f*cker to the floor. He fell down with a loud thud. The bastard probably weighed half a ton.

"You f*cking bitch," the man growled, making Harry laugh.

"Really?" he said, getting up and kicking him straight in the stomach. "Is that your usual term of endearment?"

Harry continued kicking the f*cker to the ground. The other man regained his footing and charged towards Harry, brandishing a Swiss Army knife that he had pulled out of his pocket. Harry watched the man approach. Reacting quickly, he used his footwork to propel a sharp glass shard from the broken pictures on the floor, grabbing it and driving it into the attacker's hand. The man screamed and dropped the knife in pain, giving Harry the opportunity to pivot and execute a shoulder throw, slamming him against the wall.

The burly one recovered, clinched Harry, and threw him against the wall. Harry tumbled to the ground, kicked the man in the face when he lowered to grab Harry and crawled away into the kitchen.

"The f*cking bastard tied the knot with some loony little tart," the man whistled, following Harry into the kitchen. "You're only going to hurt yourself, little bird."

Harry grabbed the kitchen chair and hurled it at the man. The man managed to grab it and toss it back at Harry. Harry ducked down and avoided getting hit by the chair. It flew across the kitchen, smashing against the table and breaking the eggs in the basket. Harry's eyes widened. No! His bloody eggs.

"You piece of sh*t," he screamed. "You are f*cking dead. I'm going to kill you."

The man smirked, wiping the blood off his face and ramming into Harry. Harry was pushed back against the kitchen counter. He twisted his legs around the man's neck and choked him; the man gripped his legs and slammed him back. Harry groaned in pain. Running his hand over the pieces of cutlery scattered on the counters due to their brawl, he grabbed a kitchen knife and leaned over. He twisted his legs down and stabbed the knife into the man's throat. The man choked and fell down on the ground.

Harry's dress was a torn mess, covered in blood. He slid down from the counters and grimaced in pain. The shorter man staggered into the kitchen holding the Swiss Army knife. When he saw his friend, bleeding dead on the ground, he froze in place. He turned around to run, but Harry was faster. He reached the man and kicked him on the head, dropping him down.

"Bloody f*cking assholes! You broke all the eggs, f*ck!"

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Theo slowly opened his eyes. His head was killing him. He couldn't breathe properly. Every time he took a breath, his chest heaved in pain, and his broken nose couldn't suck in proper amounts of air. He blinked, his vision blurry and unclear. He must have had a concussion. He tried to move, but he was tied down to a chair, his hands behind his back. Twisting in place, he realized that he was in Riddle's bloody kitchen.

f*ck! f*ck! He was so f*cking dead. He wasn't as lucky as Fat Friar to have his throat sliced during a fight. If Riddle found out what he tried to do, he would be tortured to death. There was nothing worse in the world than falling into that f*cking psycho's hands. Riddle would probably dissect him while he was still alive. And if Riddle decided to just shoot him in the head, his own father would probably want to beat him to death so he could shatter his bones under his fists.

He was such an idiot. He screwed up so badly. His life was f*cking over, and the worst part was that he wasn't even dead yet. Father would probably face repercussions too and take it on his mother.

His mask was removed, even though he couldn't feel his face. Tingling numbness had spread over his whole body.

Theo blinked away the unshed tears. What the f*ck just happened? How the f*ck did this little girl kill Fat Friar and beat the f*ck out of him? This wasn't supposed to happen. He coughed up blood, thrashing in the chair he was bound to, trying to free himself. There was a loud ringing in his ears. He wanted to vomit.

His vision slowly cleared, and he stared at the dead man on the ground in horror. Riddle's pretty wife was pacing in the room, hands clutching her head and mumbling something about bloody eggs. A part of her delicate thigh was exposed because her skirt was torn. Her dress was covered in blood, but Theo was pretty sure it wasn't her blood on the fabric.

Theo's first attempt at trying to prove himself, to prove to his father that he was not a bloody coward and was a grown man already ended in him getting the sh*t beat out of him by a tiny little girl. And f*ck, she was even prettier in real life than in the pictures published by the papers. His lips quivered when he realized that he was oddly aroused. What the f*ck was wrong with him?

"f*ck," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I will have to start all over again."

She grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the counter, took a swing and rolled up her sleeves. Theo watched her bring in a strange translucent bag and roll Fat Friar into it. She packed him up like he was a slab of meat and then kicked him to the side.

"f*cking twats," she shook her head. "I just scrubbed the floors this morning."

She grabbed a washcloth and cleaning products and started spraying the floors and cleaning the pool of blood. It didn't seem the sight of the blood scared her at all. It also appeared this wasn't the first time she had cleaned up blood splatters. She was quick and precise. She cleaned the blood and the mess in the kitchen so quickly that if Theo didn't know any better, he would think there was never a dead body lying in the corner.

She threw the bloody rags into a rubbish bag, constantly checking the clock as if she were running late. Once she was done cleaning, she turned her attention to Theo, and Theo wasn't sure if he wanted to know what this girl was planning to do to him. Although, he would still take his chances with her rather than her husband. No one dared to cross Tom Riddle and live to tell the tale.

"Well, look who's awake," she said, grabbing the knife she had just cleaned with bleach and walking up to him. "Why did my husband send you to kill me, huh?"

Husband? What? What did she mean?

"Bloody Baron has sent us," he blurted out without thinking. Great, now he f*cked up even worse. "We were just meant to take you to him. Not hurt you. I mean, that's what Fat Friar told me. I don't know. This was my first time."

"Bloody Baron? The ghost? Never mind. You are Theo Nott, aren't you?" she asked, waving the knife in front of his face. "Doesn't your father work for my husband? Don't try these lies with me."

"Please," Theo pleaded, losing any sense of pride or self-respect. "Sorry, my father can't find out about this. I was just stupid. I wanted to prove to him that I can do this kind of job. I wanted to prove myself. Fat Friar said if I helped him take you, he would recruit me into Bloody Baron's ranks. We were only meant to snatch you. He mentioned something about causing a right rift between Riddle and your old man. Like it would be a right kick in the teeth if you got nabbed on his watch."

The girl held her hand up to shush him.

"I knew that there was no reason for him to want to kill me," she mumbled to herself. "I feed him and f*ck him. What's to complain?"

Theo's face turned red at hearing this delicate girl use such crude words.

"Whatever," she said, getting up and walking to the sink to wash her hands. "You ruined my bloody eggs and took valuable time of mine. I am too busy for this drama. If you want to prove anything to your father or anyone else for that matter, please do it without involving me in this mess for Merlin's sake. I have sh*t to do, and now I have to postpone it. Not to mention, I have to clean the mess you've made."

"I am sorry," Theo mumbled.

She shook her head, and to Theo's horror, started undoing the buttons of her dress.

"Keep your apologies for someone who cares," she said impassively, tossing the blood-soaked dress into the rubbish. "How old are you even?"

She walked up to him, cut his bindings and pulled him up to his feet. Theo couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't look or look away. She was in her undergarments, and Theo realized just how slim she was. How was she able to beat him and Fat Friar? He tried to move but winced. The glass shard was no longer pierced into his hand, but it was bleeding.

"Sixteen," he muttered. She looked surprised and then shook her head.

"Here, drink this," she said, handing him a cup filled with a strange-smelling transparent liquid.

Theo grabbed it and hesitated.

"It's not a poison," she chuckled, somehow amused. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have killed you already. It's for the pain."

Theo quickly swallowed the liquid. The pain he was feeling instantly vanished, leaving him lightheaded. He stumbled forward.

"Stupid child," she said, grabbing his hands and applying some kind of paste over the wound. "Get your things and leave and do not ever pull this sh*te again. Because if you do, I will know. You want to rebel? Do it in more productive ways. And if you think abducting a defenseless girl is a way to prove yourself, I'll have to disappoint you. There is nothing more cowardly than what you did."

"But you are not defenseless," he blurted.

"But you didn't know, did you?" she smirked. "Now, bugger off. And not a word about this to anyone."

Theo nodded. "What about him?" he asked, gulping and pointing at the dead man.

"Hmm, he broke my eggs, the wanker," the girl scowled. "You are telling me Bloody Baron wanted me abducted so he could play games with my husband and father? Well, I suppose I will have to return his henchman to him with a message. Now, leave. I don't have time for this anymore. I need to get ready for a social visit. At least the pastries are safe in the pantry."

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Tom motioned for Macnair to wait outside as he walked back home. Starting his campaign at an orphanage seemed like a horrible idea. He didn't have the patience and temperament to be around children, and Atherton acted like Tom needed to prove something to someone. Any muckraking pen-pusher knew that Tom grew up in one of these filthy children's homes.

His humble upbringing, military experience, charitable work and newly acquired family were to be waved around as some kind of checklist to sell him off to the voters. Who was he going to fool with this bullsh*t? He was a bad man. Rotten from the inside. No good man would ever get where he was with good hard work. The rest were pretty tales and tall lies told by those who wanted to believe these delusions or wanted to manipulate the masses.

"Harry?" he called.

The sound of her heels attracted his attention, and he tilted his head to look up at her as she walked down the stairs. Tom stared. She was wearing a pretty dress, reaching her ankles. Her shoulders were bare, and Tom narrowed his eyes at her.

"Are you planning to wear that, doll?" he asked, waving his hand at her.

She paused, grabbed a handful of the puffy skirt of her dress and twirled it around as if looking for a stain.

"I can change if you don't like it," she said with a sweet smile, turning on her heels. "My mum had sent it after I told her about the orphanage visit."

Tom waved his hand.

"Come here, darling," he motioned to her. She smiled again and walked down like a bloody nymph in that cream dress of hers which seemed to have some green veil layer over it, making her seem almost airy.

Tom cradled her in his arms and lifted her up into the air so he could be face-to-face with her.

"I am afraid I'll go mad if someone puts their filthy eyes on you, doll," he said, kissing her soft lips. "I suppose I can always shoot them. So keep that in mind, yeah? Don't go around ruining some poor sod's life. Be a good girl and behave today."

Her eyebrows quirked, but the smile didn't drop from her face.

"If something is not to your liking about this dress," she said softly, "I could go and change, Tom. But are we not going to an orphanage? I thought there would be just children and caretakers."

She brought her hand up and brushed back a small strand of hair from her face. Tom noticed his ring on her finger and smiled. Was this how she was? His men talked about how bitchy and argumentative women were, but his wife was agreeable. No matter how harshly he spoke to her, she didn't respond with any hint of fear or aggression. Just a sweet and gentle smile.

He ran his thumbs over her bare shoulders. Was this dress even proper? He had seen women wearing these sorts of things all the time. He had seen them wearing less, but he didn't want anyone to see his little wife.

"I like your dress, doll," he said, kissing her knuckles. "Just warning you to be aware that I will kill someone if I think they're looking at you way too long with their grubby peepers."

She nodded. "I understand," she whispered, and Tom could swear her lips twitched in amusem*nt. "I will be careful, Tom."

"Of course, you will," he chuckled, gently putting her on the ground but still holding her waist. "Let's go, darling. I don't want to be late."

"I have baked some pastries for the children," she said shyly, brushing her hands over the translucent green fabric. "Can we take them with us? They are in the kitchen."

Tom frowned. Had she spent the whole morning working to make some bloody brats happy? He hadn't married her so she would ruin her pretty fingers making things for worthless strangers. It was just in her sweet nature, wasn't it?

"Sure, doll," he agreed, letting her hold his hand and taking him to the kitchen. "Next time, ask me before you decide to make such an effort."

There were pale green boxes with silky green ribbons stacked on the kitchen table. She grabbed the boxes, but he took them from her hand.

"I'll handle it," he told her, wrapping his free hand around her bare shoulders, loving the way she leaned into his touch. "Aren't you cold, eh?"

"Your hands are warm," she smiled at him. Tom snorted, despite her words sending blood rushing down to his co*ck. He needed not to think about her, or he would tear the f*cking stupid dress she was wearing and f*ck her on the kitchen table. And then, they would definitely be late.

Walking out of the house, Tom waved at Macnair, the driver, to come and take the pastries and put them in the boot. He wished he had brought Barty with him to handle these things because Macnair was a daft twit, but he had to leave Barty behind to watch things while he dealt with this nonsense.

"Gentle with these," he barked when Macnair grabbed the boxes as if they were last year's Christmas pudding. "This way, darling."

He helped the girl into the car and sat next to her. The driver soon returned and started the engine. Harry wasn't chatty. She remained quiet, and Tom could close his eyes and enjoy the silence. Potter could have asked more for his daughter. She was a precious thing, rare in her soft disposition and beauty.

"Oi, boss, there's coppers and hacks loitering around. Need me to nip off out the back?" Macnair asked.

"What kind of drugs are you on, you f*cking moron?" Tom wanted to punch him in the face. "They are here for my bloody campaign. Don't go around embarrassing me. Did your mum knock you off your trolley, or couldn't be arsed to fill your gob when you were a child? Park the bloody car."

Harry twitched in discomfort, and Tom kissed her hand.

"Don't worry, doll," he tried to comfort her.

He needed to be careful around his pretty bird. She wasn't used to all the cursing. She pursed her lips almost in discontent, but then her expression softened, and she smiled.

Macnair parked the car, and Tom opened the door. The journalists from the papers snapped pictures of them. Tom pulled Harry closer, not liking how these perverts were staring at her.

"Mr. Riddle, Mr. Riddle, look this way please!"

Noisy f*ckers! Tom put on his most charming smile as they walked into the orphanage. The orphanage staff was already waiting outside along with Atherton and some of his staffers looking all smug. Tom greeted them and gritted his teeth as they started the tour of the orphanage. Things seemed to be in much better condition in this place than in the one he grew up in. Either the times were better or this one was just better funded.

Tom listened to all the complaints, only occasionally interrupting to ask questions to maintain the pretense of caring. Harry followed him around dutifully. She was quiet and didn't wander off, staying by his side. The matron at the orphanage seemed to love complaining. She particularly stared at his wife for some reason, almost as if she was trying to convey the challenges to her rather than Tom.

"We could use more beds for the children," she said. "Just look, some of them have to share a bed."

"And more books," someone else added.

Tom nearly rolled his eyes. He wasn't there on a charity visit. He was tempted to pull cash out of his wallet and hand it to the old, barmy cow and tell her to buy the sh*t she wanted. But this visit was about nodding and agreeing to do something about it all once he got elected.

"And the children are so excited to meet you, Mr. Riddle," the woman said, finally taking them to the yard where the brats were playing that afternoon.

The children were noisy. Tom closed his eyes and pursed his lips as he was led to the table set for tea. The matron wanted to speak with him more about the issues the orphanage faced due to the lack of proper funding. One of the women working in this place started a conversation with his wife, and she stayed behind out of politeness. Tom shook his head, annoyed.

"Go ask Amy to bring us some tea," the matron told one of the kids as they were sitting in the yard.

"Things are going very well," Atherton whispered.

There was a loud scream, and Tom nearly pulled out his gun, but then he noticed an army of little brats circling his wife. She had the boxes of baked goods she brought, open and was handing out sweets to the children.

"There is more than enough for everyone," she was saying. "Chew slowly, yes? Who wants pastries with strawberry cream?"

"Good idea," Atherton remarked. "Having your wife buy and bring sweets for the children."

"She baked them herself," Tom corrected.

Atherton raised an eyebrow at that. Harry walked up to them, placed one of the boxes on the table and opened it.

"Help yourselves, please," she said sweetly.

The journalists went crazy with pictures. Atherton and the matron each reached out and grabbed a piece.

"Miss, Miss," a child pulled at Harry's skirt, pointing at something in the distance. Harry smiled, took the child's hand, and walked towards whatever the brat was pointing at.

Atherton devoured the treat and reached for another.

"You are one lucky man, Riddle," he chuckled.

Tom didn't respond. He just stared at how his wife was giggling and speaking with these children. She was never this talkative, especially not with him.

"Mhhhm," the matron was eating her second one too when a girl approached them with tea. "Oh, Amy, put it here. I'll pour."

Amy stared at Tom and then froze in place.

"Tommy?" she asked, looking at him surprised.

Did he f*ck this girl? She was skinny and tall, with a mousy face, wearing a simple dress.

"It's you," she laughed, putting the tray down. "Tom Riddle, yes? I am Amy Benson. You... you have changed. Oh my goodness, it's been so many years since the Wool's."

Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to remember her. He smirked. Oh, he did remember this girl. She cried a lot.

"Yes, Ms. Benson," he smiled. "I do remember you. Are you working here?"

"Yes," she nodded, blushing brightly. "I wanted to return the favour, you know. What are you doing here? I haven't heard anything about you since you joined the army."

"Amy," the matron chided. "Go help the children. Don't waste Mr. Riddle's time with personal anecdotes."

Amy smiled at him but nodded at the matron and walked to where his wife was standing, chatting with the children. Amy picked up one of the kids who was trying to steal another's treat and then turned to Harry.

"Sorry," she said. "They can be a rowdy bunch. They don't get many people coming to see them, so they are a little excited."

Harry nodded politely. Tom didn't catch any shift in her demeanour. Amy pulled out a compact mirror from her pocket and checked her hair, then laughed awkwardly.

"See that man over there," she said, pointing at Tom. "He was in the same orphanage as me. When we were children, I was scared of him."

She laughed again. Tom arched a brow. Harry nodded without saying anything, continuing to play the stupid paper-folding game with one of the kids.

"Oh, God, he is so handsome now," Amy said, closing her mouth with her palm and giggling. Tom watched Harry's reaction with interest. His wife nodded politely but didn't say anything else. Tom knew that most women would have already tried to at least make it known that he was taken.

"And he seems to be doing well too," Amy continued. "How do I look? Is my hair good?"

Harry nodded again, seemingly not wanting to engage with her.

"Are you here for charity?" Amy asked Harry. "It must be your first time. You should be more careful about wearing nice dresses like this. It's very pretty, but children at places like this have sticky hands."

"Oh, don't worry," Harry laughed. "I don't have anything on that I would miss."

"The hairpin looks very fancy," Amy said, pointing at the pearl and emerald hairclip holding Harry's hair together. "It's very pretty. You are very pretty too."

She laughed again. Harry pulled the hairpin and her hair dropped on her bare shoulders.

"Do you like it?" she asked the girl. "Here, have it."

She attached it to Amy's hair and smiled. Tom stared at the whole exchange, puzzled. Harry was so polite and soft-natured that instead of ripping this girl's hair for suggesting she had eyes for her husband, she simply gifted the girl her hairpin.

"...and we really need some programs in place when the children grow up and can no longer stay in the orphanage," Tom nodded at the woman and sighed.

One of the children rushed to his wife and gifted her with a white rose. She was so bloody pretty in that dress of hers, standing there with all these curious children wanting to get her attention. Harry was very gentle with them and didn't ignore any of them.

After the tea, Tom made a speech highlighting the importance of supporting orphanages and vulnerable children in society, and discussing his own policies and commitments in this area. Atherton and his men were very pleased with everything.

It was at the end of the visit when they bid goodbyes that Amy Benson approached him again.

"Tommy," she said shyly. "I was meaning to ask earlier, but I was..."

She stared at the ring on his finger and stopped.

"Oh, you are married," she said awkwardly.

"Yes," Tom told her, irritated, staring at the hairclip on her head. "Harry, darling, you have already met Amy, yes?"

Harry walked up to them, the white rose propped on the belt of her dress and nodded. Amy turned red and took several steps back, terrified. She leaned towards Harry and shook her head.

"I am sorry," she hurried to say. "I didn't mean to insult you or tell you that Tommy, er, Mr. Riddle is handsome."

His wife smiled in amusem*nt.

"But he is handsome," she said, patting Amy's arm. "And you said I was pretty too, didn't you?"

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Tom folded the morning paper and placed it on his desk. The news of his visit to the orphanage had garnered significant attention. He stared at the cover page where he was pictured with his wife. The papers were calling hera delicate roseand praising her bloody dress to the skies. She looked so f*cking pretty that Tom was getting hard just by looking at the black and white picture printed on the paper.

He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket and paused as a loud noise caught his attention. There was a racket of knocking and shuffling coming from outside his office. It must have been Barty. He had instructed the man to have Lucius shop for hair jewelry for his wife. He wasn't keen on how the pretty doll had given her hairclip to the girl from the orphanage. He reasoned that women liked sparkly little trinkets, and Harry was just too sweet-hearted not to gift it to the other girl when she expressed how much she fancied it.

The door to his study was kicked open and armed men barged in. The Bloody Baron, along with two of his lackeys, stared down at him, pointing their guns. Tom's face remained impassive and composed. Sighing, he reached out for the pack of cigarettes sitting on his desk, tapped the pack against his palm to loosen a cigarette before plucking it between his fingers.

"To what do I owe this unpleasant visit, Montford?" he asked, lighting the cigarette and pressing it between his teeth. Drawing the smoke into his lungs with a long, slow drag, he tilted his head to narrow his eyes at the men who had the guts to come into his f*cking home and point their bloody guns at him; his home where his wife was sleeping upstairs.

The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly as he exhaled a sharp breath, the smoke escaping from his lips in a controlled stream. His heartbeat remained steady, his breathing slow and deliberate, as a taunting smirk slowly curled the side of his lips, making the men more nervous as the silence lingered.

"You f*cking piece of sh*t," Bloody Baron screamed, waving his gun around and throwing stacks of photos on his desk. Tom's eyes spared the photos a brief glance before returning his focus to the men holding him at gunpoint. The photos were bizarre. There seemed to be a dead man lying on a kitchen table. Montford had finally lost all sense and gone completely mental. "You have killed one of my men again. And this time you thought it would be a good idea to send his corpse to my house and set his bleeding, rotting body on my kitchen table. You are a bloody monster, Riddle."

Tom blinked, raising an eyebrow. This mad rat didn't just barge into his home, waving his gun at Tom and then dared to spout some f*cking nonsense about Tom killing one of his men and setting the corpse down on his kitchen table. Tom didn't even know where this bastard lived.

"Did you get high on your own supply?" he asked, getting up and grabbing the photos.

Bloody Baron's men pointed their guns at him, panicking quickly. Tom snorted and raised his hands up in the air, exhaling an airy wisp of smoke.

"Who the f*ck is this lardy bastard?" he asked, shaking the photos at the man's face.

"That's Fat Friar," Baron clenched his teeth. "Why are you pretending you don't recognize the face of the man you have killed, huh? You have sliced his throat and dropped him on my kitchen table where my wife and my child eat their breakfast, you f*cking sick bastard. It's your handiwork written all over this."

Tom stared blankly at the man's hysterics and brought the cigarette back into his mouth. The ember tip glowed brightly as he sucked in the smoke, his body language exuding a sense of calm control, tempered by a sharp edge of ruthless impatience that was starting to slowly furrow his expression. He glanced at the photo again and sighed, exasperated.

"So now, every time some scoundrel gets his throat slashed, you are going to come and bang on my door, eh?" he mocked. "You're playing a dangerous game, Montford, showing up at my home, pointing your gun at me in my bloody f*cking home, accusing me of things I have no knowledge of. Keep pushing me, and I'll ensure your downfall spreads through the gossip mills of the town faster than the morning paper hits the newsstands. You don't want to anger me."

"Accusing you of things you have no knowle..." Montford spat, lowering the gun to rub his face before thrusting it back at Tom. "Listen here, Riddle, I know you have killed Fat Friar, and I wouldn't advise you being so co*cky when you are surrounded by my lads who are waiting for my sign to blow your brains out. I've sent Fat Friar to abduct your wife, and you are telling me he just somehow got bumped off by someone else."

"Abduct my wife?" The paper in Tom's hands was crumpled as the man's face twisted in rage. The other two men brought their guns closer to Tom's head, making him halt in his desire to snap forward and tear Bloody Baron's face from his head.

"Yeah, I did it," Montford taunted him. "But he is dead, isn't he? He was working with one of your own. Told me the lad wanted to switch sides. I told him to be careful, but he..."

"You have sent your men to abduct my wife from my f*cking home, and now you have the nerve to come back demanding why your lousy lackey is dead?" he said, his voice low but dripping with fury and venom.

Was there a traitor among his men? Did someone entertain the idea of betraying him but changed his mind and killed this Fat Friar bloke? Was Montford lying?

"You'll pay today, Riddle," the man said, suddenly laughing.

Tom had his gun in the back pocket of his belt. He narrowed his eyes at the three men. He recognized Charlie Rookwood as one of the other men in his study; he was one of Baron's best, but Tom was better. He was faster and had better reflexes. He watched them carefully, adrenaline running in his system as his heart rate increased, but then he froze in place. Harry was standing there by the open doors of his study. She must have heard a noise and came down to see what was happening.

Tom's eyes widened, and he stared at her in horror. Her hair was wet, clinging to her face and shoulders. She had a white towel wrapped around her body and was staring at him and the men who were holding him at gunpoint. Montford and his men couldn't see her as their backs were turned towards her. Tom pressed his lips into a thin line, wishing the girl would just leave and hide.

She was walking inside slowly, taking her steps carefully and lightly as if worried she would wake up a child. Her hands were crossed behind her back. What was she doing?

"Any last words, Riddle?"

"Don't move," Harry murmured softly, pressing a large kitchen knife against Bloody Baron's neck.

Tom stared in horror as Montford's men turned their guns at her.

"I wouldn't advise," Harry said, pressing the knife firmer against Baron's thick neck. "The knife is pressed against your carotid artery. Any wrong movement, and you will get hurt. Just keep in mind that if the carotid artery is cut, it will lead to severe bleeding. You will bleed out in under 4 minutes and die. If the cut doesn't kill you right away, damage to the carotid artery will impair blood flow to the brain, and without oxygen, you'll die. You move, you die."

How did she know these things? Tom stared at her calm demeanour, pretty face and the way she held the large knife in her hand, and felt his blood rushing to his co*ck—endorphins flooding his system and making his brain almost foggy.

"And I'd advise you to piss off unless you are here for the show, bird," Rookwood sneered. "Wouldn't mind your company one bit after we are done."

Tom pulled out his gun and pointed it at the man.

"Say another word, and you are dead," he promised. He was going to kill this twat.

"Tell your men to lower their guns," Harry said politely, pressing the knife with enough force that the side of Bloody Baron's neck reddened with thin blood. "Any wrong movement, and I will stab you. That is not what you want, correct?"

"We are not lowering any guns," the other man said. "Your husband's here, bird, won't let us leave alive. We will take our chances."

"If you lower your guns right now," she said with a sigh. "You can leave. I would hate if there was any blood on the floors and especially not on the rug. Do you agree, Tom?"

"Yes, love," Tom nodded, wanting these assholes out of his house as soon as possible. He would deal with them later. He didn't like the way Rookwood was staring at his wife's wet hair and bare shoulders, licking his lips like a stray dog. "I agree. I wouldn't want to upset you with any sight of blood."

The men hesitated until Bloody Baron grumbled and lowered his body to place the gun on the floor, all the while Harry was holding the knife to the man's neck like a kitten with claws. The other two followed suit. Tom leaned over and pushed their guns away with the tip of his shoes. He held his gun up, pointed at the men and walked around to get to Harry.

"You two, move along," he told them. "I am not keen on having you lot in my home."

When the men moved forward, Tom pressed his gun on the back of Baron's head and grabbed the knife his wife was holding.

"Doll, stay here," he told her with a smile. "I will see our guests off, yeah?"

She nodded, and Tom pushed Montford forward. He wanted to kill these bastards and especially Charlie Rookwood for speaking to his wife with disrespect. But Tom was a patient man; he would deal with them later. He watched them coldly as they reached the door leading outside.

"Montford," he sneered. "You made a grave mistake. The only reason I am not shooting you all is that my wife would be upset at the sound of gunfire."

Montford gave him a nasty look but hurried out to the car parked in the street. Tom shut the door, placed the gun back into his belt and walked back into his study. Harry was there standing by his desk, staring at the bookshelf. She still had the towel wrapped around her body, droplets clinging to her skin and glistening softly as the light coming from the chandeliers hit their surface.

She was just a little thing, all slim and delicate but didn't hesitate even for a second to threaten that scoundrel Montford when she thought he was in danger. A little insane, of course, but she was Potter's daughter after all.

"Doll," he drawled in a low tone, approaching her slowly. "That was reckless."

Harry awkwardly fumbled with the fabric of the towel as Tom reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"I had it under control, darling," he murmured, running his hands to the side of her face and brushing her wet hair behind her ear. "I don't want you to ever put yourself in danger. Do you understand me?"

She was silent, almost as if the adrenaline in her body was wearing off, and she was starting to feel exhausted.

"Do you understand me, doll?" he demanded, squeezing her arms.

Harry nodded. Tom sighed.

"You are not hurt, are you?" he asked, his voice softening as he hoisted her up and dropped her on his desk.

"I am fine, Tom," she said softly. "I heard a noise and saw them holding their guns at you, and I just couldn't..."

"Hey, shhh..." Tom murmured, leaning down and kissing her lips. "You were incredible, darling. I have never seen Montford as terrified as when you told him he would bleed to death."

Tom laughed and kissed her nose and her forehead, feeling his heart getting almost heavy with anticipation.

"You sure know your way around a knife, don't you, my pretty doll?" Tom said, making Harry chuckle, and Tom couldn't tell if she was crying or laughing. "But never do this again, yeah? If something like this happens, hide. I will handle it."

Tom kissed her hands and arms and shoulders, loving the goosebumps spreading over her soft skin. His men were loyal to him, and they would take a bullet for him if the need came, but having a woman care for him like this seemed so strange, so different, so much more exhilarating. She wasn't strong or battle-hardened, but she still walked inside and put that bloody upstart in his place, helping him handle the situation in a way that no one's guts spilled on his floors.

Harry was different from any other person in Tom's life. She was like a candlelight in the deepest, darkest holes of inhumanity, where the air was so cold that blood could freeze in your veins, yet she still burned brightly. Tom wanted to reach out and snuff out that light, to crush it between his fingers. He felt strangely drawn to her as if there was something inside her that belonged to him, and he wanted to reach out and claw it out, replacing whatever it was with himself.

"Merlin," she moaned, making Tom pause in his movements. That name again. "Thank you for trying to protect me, Tom, but in situations like these, hesitation can be more dangerous than action. Sometimes, you need to break a few eggs..."

"Appreciate your concern, doll, but I believe in measured and calculated actionsin situations like these. Hesitation can indeed be dangerous, but so can impulsivity. I will protect you, and this won't happen again," he assured her. "Do not contradict me."

She looked at Tom, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusem*nt. There was just something about Harry that Tom couldn't pinpoint. She was so soft-spoken and gentle, but at times he could sense some kind of wall, hard and solid placed between her and the rest of the world and behind the wall she was some kind of unearthly midwinter spirit, inciting horror and longing in his bones.

Tom laughed at his own trail of thoughts.

She was so bloody beautiful that he was going mental trying to rationalize things. He gripped her face and kissed her softly, loving her sweet little gasps in his mouth as she melted into his embrace. But he grew more desperate, more passionate, his brain providing him with images of Baron's worthless men looking at her, rage making him hold her tighter in his grip and kissing her with such vigour that she choked when he moved back to look at her.

He liked her wet eyes; it was like the morning dew had settled over a green patch of silky grass like the warm mist had evaporated and drizzled down and wet the glimmering forest floor.

"You are mine," he said more to himself than for her, pulling down the towel and hands gripping her bare body. She felt cold under his much warmer hands, and Tom clung to her like he wanted to heat up every little inch of her skin. "Do you understand that you are mine? Tell me that you do. I can't have you getting hurt."

She looked at him with confusion. Uncertainty passed through her face, and she nodded, leaning closer. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and she looked at him almost like she was seeing him for the first time. Like the unearthly being behind the wall had peeked through and had seen Tom.

"Okay," she murmured. "I have never belonged to myself anyways. I can be yours. If only you knew, Tom..."

Tom discarded his jacket to the floor, undid his tie and the buttons on his shirt and pressed her bare body against his warm chest. Tom wanted to have her; he wanted to have her until she was undone until there were no layers of her polite upbringing left. It was in his nature to see something as pure and perfect as her and have the desire to ruin it, to corrupt it. But Tom had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to ruin her even if he tried.

He undid his belt and pulled her closer to the edge of his desk. His co*ck was hard—the familiar ache, the feeling of blood rushing in his veins, the rage and the adrenalin coursing through his system felt like were spiraling him out of control. He wanted to f*ck her, f*ck her hard like his life depended on it, like he wanted to stake his claim and at the same time, he wanted to treat her gently like a little breakable fancy trinket that he didn't have any use for but still stole from the matron's office when he was a kid.

He wanted to bury his co*ck inside her and feel her tremble around him, stretch her legs so far apart that she would ache with every step she took. He wanted to give her pleasure, to make her curl her pretty toes. Harry placed her hands on her stomach and murmured something strange. Tom stared up at her in bewilderment, but her hand dropped lower, and she mumbled incoherent words that Tom couldn't understand.

Tom pushed her hand away and touched her. She was so soft and smooth. He still couldn't believe how her skin felt like silk under his fingertips, and she was always ready, wet and hot. The whor*s he f*cked would prepare themselves in advance, and he didn't like spending too much time with them, but Harry seemed almost unnaturally comforting and ready. His fingers thrust inside her, and she wiggled away as he took his time working his way into her.

"Tom, will you... please?" she ran her fingers through his hair, breathing out small wispy breaths on his shoulder as she pressed her head down against him.

"Be good, darling," he said, his voice stern. "Please be good or I'll lose my bloody mind."

"You always say that," she chuckled softly. "You can lose your mind. It's just the two of us. I won't judge, promise."

He squeezed her thighs as he withdrew his fingers and kissed her. She would say the most unusual and absurd things at times, and Tom didn't know how to respond. He pulled her onto his co*ck and closed his eyes as her warmth surrounded him. She was so hot, it was like all her body heat was pulled inside her, no wonder she always felt so bloody cold.

Tom kneaded her sides as he f*cked her slowly, loving every little tiny expression on her face, loving her gasps and moans and the way sweat dripped down the sides of her face onto her collarbones and chest. He loved her small fluttering movements he felt on his co*ck as her eyes rolled back. She always waved her hands around and mumbled something silly and somehow that made the smooth muscles in his blood vessels relax, making him harder than he had ever been.

His heart was beating in his chest so fast that Tom could hear it. Adrenalin had elevated his blood pressure, and his world had narrowed down to her; he could only focus on her. He leaned over and kissed her forehead as she squirmed on his co*ck, increasing the pressure and stimulating all his nerve endings. If Tom didn't know any better, he would say she was doing this on purpose.

He was thrusting in and out of her in a controlled manner, enjoying her reactions to the friction and pressure, her sweet whimpers and tiny bursts of contractions. The way she squeezed his co*ck inside her, almost as if she possessed the ability to reach out and grip him, made him thrust faster and deeper.

She was a sweet little torturer, intending to squeeze his sanity out of his mind.

Her eyes glistened as she org*smed, tightening around him, making him come too. His movements slowed as his muscles relaxed in a blissful, comforting tranquility, and then Tom realized that someone was banging on the door.

"f*ck," he cursed, pulling his softening co*ck out of his wife. His cum slowly dripped down out of her onto his desk, and Tom stared down distracted for a second before tucking his co*ck back and zipping his pants. He leaned down and kissed her face.

"Stay here, darling," he told her, grabbing his pistol. "I will go see who's causing trouble. Here, put this on."

He draped his shirt over her bare shoulders, haphazardly fastening a couple of buttons.

"Be careful, okay," she told him as he turned to leave his study. Tom smiled at her.

He walked into the drawing room, headed to the hall and opened the door, pointing his gun at the guests before recognizing Barty and Dolohov. Barty was holding a large box, and Dolohov had a bouquet of flowers that he seemed to have dragged from hell to here.

"Caught you at the wrong moment, Boss?" Dolohov asked, staring at his naked chest and disheveled hair. Tom was always properly dressed and didn't like when his men were sloppy, so his appearance might have been a little unusual.

"Is this a bad time?" Barty asked, sounding concerned. "We can come later. I just brought the jewelry you asked for, and Antonin was just back and wanted to congratulate you since he missed the wedding."

"Congratulations, Tom," Dolohov said.

Tom sighed. He stepped aside.

"Come in," he said. The men walked inside and headed towards Tom's study. "Don't go to my office. Let's take this to the kitchen."

They didn't protest or ask any questions. Everyone knew that Tom could be very particular about things at times.

"How was your trip, Antonin," he asked. "Did you manage to get us the partnership we need?"

"Karkaroff is a slimy scumbag, but he can be convinced," Dolohov smiled, showing his teeth.

They entered the kitchen, and Tom motioned them to take a seat at the table. Barty gave him the jewelry box, and Tom placed it away.

"This morning," Tom started, staring at the men. "Bloody Baron turned up to my house with his associates. He accused me of killing one of his men who was sent to abduct my wife. He said one of our men was supposedly helping this f*cker. I think someone wanted to betray me but thought better of it. But I want to know who it was. I need you to find this rat and bring him to me. Someone had put my wife's safety in jeopardy."

"Is she alright?" Barty asked.

Tom nodded. "We need to handle the Bloody Baron situation quickly," Tom said. "He is getting out of control."

"We could pay them a visit today, straighten them out," Dolohov said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

"I will pay a visit to Charlie Rookwood," Tom says. "He was one of the men Montford brought with him and that c*nt needs to be taught a lesson."

"I know where to find him, boss," Antonin said with a smirk, blowing out wisps of smoke. "I can gather some of our men later today to visit the establishment he works at."

There was a short knock on the door, and then the door opened. Tom stared as Harry stepped inside. Her hair was dry, smooth silky, and she was wearing a pretty dress. Barty stood up quickly, awkwardly waved at her, but then sat down immediately. She smiled at them, and Tom noticed she was holding something.

She walked up to where Tom was sitting and gave him a well-pressed shirt. Tom grabbed it, nodded at her and put the shirt on.

"Any news on getting our own man in the police?" he asked as he fastened the buttons. "We need to replace Wilkens."

"Yaxley is working on this," Barty said.

"Yaxley should appoint his wife," Dolohov laughed. "She would make an excellent prison guard."

Harry stood on her toes and tried to put Tom's tie around his neck, but even then she was too tiny to reach. Tom crouched down, letting her work on the tie. Antonin and Barty stared at them like one would stare at a dragon suddenly popping out of nowhere.

"Tom, do your friends want tea?" she asked sweetly, deigning them a brief glance once she finished tying the necktie.

"Thank you, darling," Tom said, brushing back her hair and patting her on the head. She was like a sweet little kitten. She smiled at him and walked to the pantry, pulling out cooking ingredients and instruments. His men blinked, confused, taking in everything carefully.

"I need the police issue handled," Tom said, sitting down and crossing his legs. "And please find out more about this Fat Friar character. I want to know how exactly that bastard died."

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The car came to a sudden halt, the tires screeching against the pavement as Macnair hastily parked. The engine idled for a moment before silence settled over the bleak scenery, save for the faint hum of the city in the background. The doors swung open, and Tom stepped out. The sleek metal frame of the vehicle reflected the harsh, dying sunlight, contrasting sharply against the aged stone facade of the building standing in front of them in an imposing fashion.

Tom stared at the club. The city was filled with post-war exuberance, and the nightclub's exterior was exuding a lavish opulence that Montford was using to throw dust in people's eyes. The stone facade of the building, weathered and aged with time, was adorned with neon signs and marquee lights, casting a warm and inviting glow onto the bustling street below. Curvy lampposts lined the cobblestone pavement, their soft light adding to the atmosphere.

A crowd of stylishly dressed patrons, men in sharp suits and women in elegant dresses, mingled outside, their cigarette smoke dancing with the crisp sunset air. Their eyes flicked briefly to the array of cars before returning to their conversations. The last of Tom's men exited their vehicles, taking out their weapons and approaching him as they waited for his orders.

"I've made sure that cretin Rookwood is here tonight, boss," Dolohov murmured, stepping close to him as he spun a bloody axe in his hand idly. "He works here with his family."

The expression on Tom's face was cold. His perfect facial features were etched with a mask of icily controlled rage, his eyes blazing with a measured, cold wrath that was both imposing and terrifying. He tilted his head towards his men and lifted his hand to motion them towards the building. His men followed. Rabastan kicked the door open and held it open for Tom.

"We are not open," a girl hurried to stammer, looking at them with fear in her eyes and uncertainty in her voice as she noticed the weapons they were holding.

"It looks to me, kitten, that the bar is open," Dolohov chuckled, smashing the cabinet of expensive liquor with the axe he was swinging around.

The girl screamed and fell back. The shards of the broken glass scattered on the ground, and the smell of spilled alcohol wafted through the air. Tom watched as his men started kicking the chairs down and breaking everything around. The clamour brought the men working at Bloody Baron's club into the room.

"What the bloody f*ck is..." a man yelled, but before he could finish there were bullets flying around.

Eyes trained on the crowd of men, Tom looked for Charlie Rookwood. The bastard dared to wave his gun at Harry and slobber over her. He needed to be taught a lesson. His muscles became tense, his blood pressure rising just at the thought of the f*cking piece of sh*t leering at his wife while she was wearing nothing but a bath towel. He looked at the chaos unfolding around him as his men continued to break everything around and incapacitate the few men working at the club while brawling with the ones still standing.

"Charlie," Tom called, his voice low and raspy as he spotted the man standing by the doors, reaching for a knife on the broken table. "It's been a real treat watching the clock tick by while I contemplated what I should do to you."

"I knew you wouldn't let go," Charlie gritted his teeth and leaped out, brandishing the knife.

"What did you imagine would happen, eh?" Tom asked with a sneer. "That you'd come to my house and threaten my wife, and I'll just forgive and forget?"

Charlie jumped forward, trying to strike Tom with the knife, but Tom sidestepped and grabbed Charlie's arm, twisting it back until the bones cracked. The man screamed in pain as the knife clattered to the ground. Tom did not loosen his grip on Charlie's arm, smashing his head against the counter and causing blood to spill from his nose. The sound of screaming spread as he tried to thrash and free himself, but Tom smashed his head against the wall again and again.

Rookwood dropped to the ground when Tom let go of him, his face bloodied, his nose broken and pieces of broken glass shards stuck in his forehead. He coughed up blood, staring at Tom. Tom crouched down and punched him in the face, breaking his jaw.

"You f*cking c*nt, you think you can look at my wife?" Tom's pupils were dilated, his eyes focused on the man sprawled on the floor below him as he continued punching him so hard that his own knuckles were drenched in Rookwood's blood. "I should rip your eyes out and shove them down your neck, you dirty f*ck."

Rookwood choked again, and it was a miracle that he hadn't fainted yet from all the pain and blood loss. Tom's fist landed on his face again, blood splattering on the man's shirt. There was a scream, and an old woman ran up to them, trying to push Tom away.

"Please, let him go," she cried. "Oh, Charlie."

Tom pulled out his gun and pointed it at the woman, making her fall down, but she didn't attempt to move away, still trying to reach and push Tom away.

"My poor boy," she cried. "You're killing him. Please spare him."

Tom narrowed his eyes at the woman and then tilted his head to look at Charlie. This must have been his mother. The foolish idiot had his whole family working for his boss, hadn't he? She was crying and begging for his life with no regard for her own. It was strange and unnatural for Tom to watch. He lowered the gun and grasped Rookwood's chin, squeezing the broken bones painfully between his fingers.

"Oh Charlie, Charlie, you are such a disgrace," he murmured. "It would be an act of kindness to you to simply end your miserable existence, wouldn't it? Look at your mum begging for your life. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

Tom stood up and pointed the gun at Charlie. His finger was on the trigger, as he stared down at the way the f*cker's bloodied eyes opened and closed, trying to blink away the blood dripping down his face.

"Whatever he's done, he's sorry... please..." the woman continued to cry. Tom sighed and gestured to Barty to move her away.

"You hear that, Charlie," Tom mocked, kicking Charlie to keep him conscious. "Have some bloody manners and show that you're sorry. Don't upset your poor mother."

The woman struggled in Barty's hold, but she was too weak to protest. The man easily moved her away from where her son was lying in the pool of his own blood, as the others watched. Tom took out a cigarette from the packet and lit it up. Mulciber hurried to pull forward a chair for him so he could sit. The other men grabbed Charlie from underneath his arms and lifted him up.

Tom sat down and crossed his legs elegantly, taking a slow drag on the cigarette. He exhaled the smoke and tilted his head to watch Rookwood with a strange expression on his face.

"I should kill you for your transgression," Tom drawled, leaning forward to press the ember tip of his cigarette on Charlie's bloody cheek. The man didn't even react, his face was probably numb from all the pain of the broken bones. "But I feel like being generous since your dear old mum is begging for your life, I suppose I can have her word that you won't misbehave, yeah?"

Tom's eyes snapped towards the noise coming from the corner. Travers was manhandling the girl from earlier.

"Let go," she screamed, fighting Travers's meaty fingers wrapped around her waist.

"Shhh," Travers was mumbling shamelessly, interrupting Tom's train of thought. "Your brother has f*cked up, birdie, now you're coming with us. If you're good, maybe I can keep you."

Tom sighed. His patience was wearing thin.

"If you tell me what I want to know," he said, narrowing his eyes back at Charlie. "Maybe, you can leave in one piece. Does that sound good to you, Charlie?"

Charlie didn't respond. His eyes were focused on Tom, but it didn't seem understanding or recognition passed through his features. He seemed completely out of it. Tom tapped his fingers against the side of the chair, raising an eyebrow in an irritated manner.

"Answer him," Dolohov demanded, slapping Rookwood in the face to bring him back into lucidity.

"Tell me, Charlie," Tom said, bringing the cigarette back into his mouth. "Did your boss lie about this Fat Friar bloke? Did he really send someone to take my wife?"

"Go f*ck yourself, Riddle," Rookwood spat.

Tom sighed, clicking his tongue. Rudolphus, holding Rookwood, twisted the man's broken arm, making him shudder in pain. Tom watched him for a moment before turning his gaze at Antonin and nodded. The man took out a small metal canister from his pocket and walked up to Rookwood.

"That mouth of yours needs to be washed, Rookwood," the man laughed.

Rudolphus and Rabastan held him tight, allowing Dolohov to pry his lips open and pour a liquid into his mouth from a small metallic canister. The pungent smell of kerosine spread through the air.

"Hey don't wiggle about like a child," Dolohov laughed. "My grandma used to make me sniff this stuff, said it was good for my cough whenever I was a little sick."

Rookwood coughed the liquid out and fell to the ground when the Lestrange brothers let go of him. Dolohov grabbed the man by his hair and lifted his head up, dragging him closer to Tom. Tom held his cigarette over Charlie's mouth, staring at the man's horrified face, amused.

"Well," Tom spoke, flexing his thumb as he tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette. "Do you want to speak or do you want me to jab my cigarette down your throat?"

"Fat Friar was supposed to take her so that Potter would be upset that she was snatched under your watch," the man coughed out, spluttering the droplets of kerosine, his bulging eyes focused on the cigarette held between Tom's fingers. "Some boy was supposed to be helping him with it. He said he worked for you or his family did, but wanted to do something on his own."

"Give me the name," Tom demanded.

"I don't have it," Rookwood shook his head in panic. "I don't have a name. Fat Friar never told me."

"Isn't that very convenient?" Tom laughed.

"I swear," Charlie struggled in Dolohov's hold, "I don't know anything else."

"Charlie," Tom shook his head in disapproval as if he were talking to a misbehaving child. "That's disappointing. You know what happens with people who disappoint me?"

Charlie's body was tense, his shoulders rigid, his veins bulging as he was being pulled up by his hair to stand upright. He shook his head, blood-soaked eyes watching Tom. Everyone knew that Tom Riddle was a dangerous man, one who would never let go of an insult. Charlie coughed up the rest of the kerosine still in his mouth, gagging and retching uncontrollably.

Tom gripped his broken arm and twisted it backwards. Charlie screamed.

"They die, Charlie," Tom whispered. "I'm sure you don't want to die. Your poor mum was crying and begging for your life. Looks like you're a bit of a dodgy bastard, putting her through that sort of trouble. Don't you think you should sort out your blunders, eh? I'll spare you, but you've got to cough up the name of the bloke who was working with Fat Friar and plotting to kidnap my wife. If you don't, your mum will get your disemboweled corpse in a body bag. You understand me?"

Charlie nodded.

"Good," Tom gritted his teeth and got up. "Don't cross me, Charlie boy. You might end up down the Thames."

He dropped his cigarette on the floor and trod on it. His men followed him as he headed for the exit. Barty let go of the old woman, and she rushed to her son, crying and sobbing like she was the one in pain. Tom stared at her briefly, wondering if she was alright in the head. The screeching voice of the girl that Travers was dragging with him was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"No fraternizing, Travers," Dolohov barked, motioning at the girl. "Let her go or I'll cut your bloody dick off."

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Dolohov," Travers hissed, grabbing a handful of the girl's hair. "She's fair game."

"I would watch my mouth if I were you," Dolohov said, tapping the axe impatiently in his hands. "I might take offence and chop your f*cking face."

Travers opened his mouth to argue but Tom had reached the man and was staring at him intently without saying a word. Travers looked at Tom, averting his eyes and shifted awkwardly, loosening his grip on the girl. She moved away and slapped Travers on the face.

"You might want to take a bath, Travers," Tom said, wrinkling his nose. "Even whor*s can take so much."

The man nodded, his eyes wide, his face still bearing some of the bruises Tom had given him a couple of weeks ago.

"And if I ever catch you harassing some bird," Tom tilted his head. "I'll kill you. I expect my men to control themselves. So control yourself, Travers, unless you want your organs rearranged inside your gut. Antonin, show Travers out, yeah?"

"Sure thing, Tom," Dolohov grabbed Travers's arm and dragged him out.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Harry scooped a small amount of the paste into the crystal jar, watching as it filled to the brim with a soft, green glow. For the past two weeks, he had been working on creating a healing potion in the small workshop in the warehouse. He had finally managed to concoct a paste with strong healing properties, and considering the frequency of his getting into fights, he reasoned it was best to be prepared.

Other projects were lying on his workbench—potions and salves in various stages of completion, along with several contraptions, tools, and half-finished projects scattered about. Glass beakers and flasks of different shapes and sizes were arranged on a nearby rack, each containing a different liquid. He intended to recreate some necessities, especially now that the basilisk hatching was in the process.

After the broken egg fiasco, Harry had stolen more eggs from the farm and then spent a few days choosing the one exhibiting the best internal viability for incubation. By the 10th day, he could observe a slight increase in the egg's natural resonance, indicating possible internal activity. It was likely that the embryo was now actively developing its sensory organs, which could explain the increased energy and resonance.

He needed to do another test today and then start working on post-hatching protocols for the basilisk snakelet. He wasn't exactly sure how long it took for these creatures to hatch, as there was no surviving literature on the matter but from what he had observed, it was a slow process.

He placed the jar into his gemstone-encrusted purse and walked up to the incubation chamber. The toad had just been fed, and it looked so bloody smug if you asked Harry.

"Hey, cookie," Harry tapped on the glass. "Are you feeling good there? You look a little too pleased with yourself, don't you, little bugger?"

He grasped the scanner he had built for internal imaging, realizing he'd also need to construct a data logger to seamlessly transmit the data, along with egg resonance analyzer readings. He carefully lowered the scanner, positioning it over the side where the egg was visible, and triggered the scan. The resulting image appeared on the small screen, and a pleased smile spread across Harry's face.

"Merlin and Morgana," he laughed. "We are in. This is working, cookie."

sh*t!

He needed to start preparing. Once the basilisk hatched, he would need to take precautions. Things like goggles both for the snake and for himself would need to be made, and considering that he was a Parselmouth, he could gaze train and socialize the snake so that the little monster didn't go around murdering people until he was able to get the fangs.

Harry pulled the equipment back into its station and rubbed his face. He had a lot of work to do, but he needed to get back home before Rowle became suspicious. After the incident with those assholes two weeks ago, Riddle had assigned f*cking Thorfinn Rowle as Harry's bodyguard. While it wasn't exactly a diligent job on Rowle's part, as the git spent most of his time smoking outside the building, too engrossed in his cigarette to be of any actual use, it still made Harry's life difficult. His afternoons had become a series of elaborate evasions, dodging the f*cker by feigning trips to the hair salon, getting his nails polished and pretending to shop for undergarments in fancy shops. It was already past lunchtime, and Harry was sure that if he didn't finish hisnail polish appointmentsoon, Rowle would start to get suspicious.

"It was nice seeing you," Harry tapped on the glass, getting a small croak from the toad and started pulling off his gloves and the lab coat. He cast cleaning charms on himself and grabbed his purse.

The beginning of June was cool. The sky was covered with dark clouds, and it was drizzling, albeit so lightly that Harry barely needed a raincoat or an umbrella. He cast a protective shield over his body, not wishing to get any stray raindrops in his perfectly pressed clothes or mess up his hair. Being Riddle's wife was starting to suck as some creepy journalists followed him around and took pictures of him. It seemed, though, his husband wasn't much fan of it; Rowle almost smacked a journalist and broke one guy's camera.

Harry didn't like the additional attention, as it inadvertently distracted him from his main objectives. Having Rowle follow him around like a lost dog made him almost rethink his stunt with the Fat Friar's corpse. He was so pissed that he didn't think it would result in the Bloody Baron showing up and almost killing Riddle, and then Riddle putting that useless birdbrain as Harry's security detail.

The maids were also back, working at the flat. But Harry purposefully would leave home whenever they arrived. The old woman seemed extra grumpy and didn't like Harry, and the young girl seemed oddly territorial over the way things were done in the kitchen. Harry, in all honestly, wanted to get rid of both, but Riddle f*cking refused, claiming he didn't marry her for housework, and Harry didn't have the patience or interest to argue.

Though Riddle still didn't touch anything the maids cooked and only ate what Harry prepared. Harry smirked, remembering Riddle's face when the man tasted Harry's food after trying to eat the sludge mess the maids made. Overall, life with Riddle was fine. The man definitely didn't spend too much time with Harry to grate on his nerves. He smoked too much and was very irritable and snappy with others but nothing that Harry couldn't fix with some good f*cking.

He turned to the corner and then paused as he heard a familiar voice.

"I think that's a little too far, Adrian. She can barely stand on her feet."

Harry spotted Theodor Nott with another boy who looked a year or two older than Nott, and they were robbing an old woman. Adrian was going through the woman's purse and throwing the contents out.

"f*ck, she's not even got a fa*g on her," he complained and smacked the purse down.

"What is this?" Harry rubbed his temples, walking up to them.

Nott recognized him right away and stepped away instinctively, his face turning bright red as he raised his hands in surrender.

"We're just mucking about, yeah, Pucey?" he said, elbowing the other boy.

"What's with you, Nott?" Pucey grumbled, then looked at Harry.

"Collect this woman's belongings, give them back to her and apologize," Harry demanded. "Seriously, what is wrong with you two? Didn't I tell you to straighten yourself, you stupid child?"

"Who the bloody f*ck..."

"Shut up! She's Mr. Riddle's wife," Nott murmured, kicking Pucey. "We're sorry. I'll get the things now."

Nott got on his knees and started collecting the discarded items, putting them back into the purse while Adrian Pucey stared at Harry with wide, curious eyes. Harry glared back, raising his eyebrows and pointing at the ground. The boy eventually came to his senses and started helping Nott. They handed the purse to the old woman, who fled as soon as she got it.

Harry sighed and shook his head.

"See if I catch you again being a rude brat," Harry said, wiggling his fingers at Nott's face. "Attacking defenseless girls and now harassing poor old women. There is no honour or respect in your behaviour, Theo. You seem eager to prove yourself, and it appears you're proving that you are a coward who can only attack those who won't punch you back."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Riddle," Theo blubbered. "I didn't mean to. I won't... I swear. If you ever need me to do something to prove... I mean to show that I..."

"Just go home," Harry shook his head. "And you too, Pucey. Just so I don't see any of you brats causing trouble."

It seemed Pucey wanted to argue, but Nott elbowed him again as if to tell him to zip his mouth.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Off you go," he motioned at them.

Pucey turned around and started walking away, but Nott hesitated and stared at him like he wanted to say something.

"You were in today's morning paper, and..." he blushed and then without finishing his sentence ran away.

Harry palmed his face. He didn't have time to deal with these idiots. Clutching his purse in his hand, he headed down towards the beauty salon, deciding to sneak in from the back and then go home just so that Rowle wouldn't know that he wasn't there.

He walked down the street and then froze.

"sh*t!" He cursed.

Rowle was wandering around the street, looking bored out of his f*cking mind but didn't seem in his usual spot. Harry hesitated to go forward but then froze in place when Rowle noticed him, eyes wide and confused, not understanding how he would have missed Harry leaving the salon and being all the way up the street.

Harry panicked, turned around and ran. He heard Rowle calling after him but didn't stop. What the f*ck was this creep running after him for?

Bloody hell!

Harry opened a door to a random building and jumped inside, heading towards the water closet. Locking himself inside the room, he flicked his fingers on his face, wondering if he could even transform himself. He didn't have a wand to properly channel his magic. Wandless magic was hard, and Harry had already cast his fair share of spells while working in the warehouse. His face transformed from the dainty feminine features to his old face, littered with an array of scars and marks; his body transformed too, growing taller and bigger in stature. He quickly transfigured his clothes.

Harry stared at himself in the mirror. It had been a while since he had seen his old face. He didn't have time though. The magic of this kind was fleeting, it would fade away any second. He needed to get out of there and get back home.

He opened the door and got out only to come face to face with Rowle who stared at him puzzled for a moment before sticking his head inside the room wondering perhaps if Harry was still hiding there.

Harry smirked and walked out into the front area of the business he'd walked into; it seemed some kind of pub. He hadn't been out in ages, and maybe he could have a drink before the magic wore off, and he went back looking like his counterpart.

"What are you doing here, Rowle?" Harry froze when he heard Tom's voice. His head snapped to where the man was seated on the leather sofa surrounded by some of his men and was smoking and drinking with them. There were a bunch of women around them, dressed in skimpy outfits; skimpy even by 1950s standards. "You're supposed to make sure my wife is safe."

Rowle cleared his throat nervously before speaking up. "Sorry, boss... I thought I saw her walk in here... I was mistaken."

Tom raised an eyebrow and brought the cigarette back into his mouth.

"Are you a f*cking idiot?" he snapped harshly. "Are you drunk?"

"No, boss," Rowle stammered. "I will go back to the beauty parlour. She is... I will go."

Tom elegantly crossed his legs, narrowing his eyes at Rowle's retreating back as Harry watched his husband. Bloody f*cking Morgana and Merlin, Riddle looked so bloody fine. He was hot as f*ck in that sharp suit of his, and his hair perfectly styled and parted almost made Harry want to walk up to the man and run his fingers through his hair strands. He was getting all horny just thinking about Riddle's perfect muscles and his bare chest.

"Want anything to drink?" Filch grumbled, bringing Harry out of his stupor. He didn't expect to see this f*cker here.

"Whiskey, neat," Harry said, his neck craning to watch Riddle.

He was seated on the sofa, looking all hot and elegant, his presence authoritative and imposing, and Harry was a little curious. He didn't really know what Riddle was doing with his day and in all honestly Harry didn't care, but seeing him here and being able to watch him without Riddle realizing that it was Harry gave him a strange sense of intrigue.

"The shipments have been sent in the morning," Barty said, drinking slowly as Tom nodded. "I have told Avery to tighten the security at the docks after the incident. I don't think anyone will try any funny business."

"Mr. Riddle," a girl came and plopped down next to Riddle and placed her hand on Riddle's thigh. Harry stared, wondering if Riddle was f*cking any of these girls here. It didn't seem out of the ordinary, judging by Riddle's lifestyle in this world. "You haven't been round to see us since the wedding day, have you, Mr. Riddle?"

"Bertha," Barty said in a warning tone.

Tom tilted his head to look at the girl. He leaned over, grabbed her hand and pushed her away. She almost fell down on the floor, but someone else held her up and moved her away. Tom didn't even seem to spare her a second glance or engage in any kind of conversation with her. She sulked a little before she found another man.

"Your drink," Filch slapped the glass on the counter, spilling some on the wood surface. "You're a new mug, ain't seen you around before."

Harry nodded and grabbed the drink, ignoring Filch's distrustful stares. He kept his attention focused on Tom. It seemed strange that he would reject a girl, trying to get his attention, since he was so clingy with Harry, but maybe the Muggle Dark Lord took his vows seriously, which was... well, Harry felt something strange as the thought crossed his mind. He ignored the feeling and started drinking. He needed to leave as soon as possible before he turned into his current appearance in front of everyone.

"Like he would touch her now that he's got James Potter's little princess snuggled up with him, warming his bed," some other girl snickered, and Harry turned his head to look at her. "They've got her mug on every rag, and she's a toffee-nosed bird, dressed up all posh and pretty, like a right plonker."

"Cor, and them fancy birds don't do what those blokes want, so they always leg it up to us," another girl said, laughing as she blew out thick wisps of smoke.

"Haven't seen you here before," a new voice whispered as Harry felt someone place their hand on his arm and squeeze it. Harry stared at the girl, recognizing Romilda Vane. This crazy bitch almost poisoned him in his world when they were at school.

"I didn't know you knew everyone in London," he said dryly.

"I don't," Romilda batted her eyelashes. "But I do know all the men who come here work for Mr. Riddle, and I'd remember you if I'd seen you."

"I wasn't aware that this place is exclusive to Mr. Riddle's employees," Harry grabbed the drink and took a sip. "Whoever he is, I'm afraid I don't work for him."

"The handsome man over there is Mr. Riddle," Romilda chuckled, nodding her head to where Riddle was seated. "He owns this pub."

Harry looked back at Riddle again. f*ck! The man was staring at Harry now.

"You're looking the bee's knees with all them scars on your face," Romilda said, running her hand over Harry's arm. "Got them in the war, then? You look a bit too young though, don't you?"

"Appearances can be deceiving," Harry told her and then lied with amusem*nt. "But I was just a doctor."

"And what is the brave doctor's name?"

"Romilda!" Filch suddenly appeared and grabbed Romilda by the back of her apron. "You silly wench! I told you not to dally with the customers. Come here, you ungrateful girl. Don't speak with men here."

Harry drank the whiskey quickly, gulping it down before dropped money on the counter and got up to leave. He turned around and almost bumped into Tom. The man gripped one of his shoulders, but quickly let go, staring at him with a strange look in his eyes.

"Sorry, mate," Harry hurried to say. "I think I got up too fast."

Riddle didn't respond for a moment, but his nostrils flared and leaned over as if he f*cking sniffing Harry. sh*t! He must have smelled Harry's cleaning serums. The sh*t that Riddle was obsessed with and nearly strangled Harry trying to breathe in every bit of his scent when they were f*cking. f*ck! He needed to leave.

"Do I know you?" he asked in that silky rasp of his voice.

"I don't think so," Harry whispered, pulling away. "I'm actually late. Need to visit my patient. Sorry!"

The expression on Riddle's face darkened, but he didn't try to hold Harry back and Harry ran out, feeling the magic wearing off as he rushed through the street.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Harry stepped out of the bath, the warm water dripping from his skin, his wet hair clinging to his scalp as he wrapped himself in a plush towel, feeling the softness envelop him like a warm hug. As he began to dry off, he couldn't help but notice the gentle glow his skin had acquired from the soothing bath. Harry had lathered his skin in a layer of the healing paste, and it seemed that when the skin was healthy and uninjured, the healing paste made it radiant instead. He could follow in his grandfather's footsteps and make a good living off of selling the healing paste to the Muggles.

He reached for the moisturizing lotions, squeezing a generous amount onto his palms and rubbing it into his skin, taking his time to massage it. He needed to maintain Harrietta's life as he had promised himself before travelling here that he would honour his dead counterpart and live their life without wreaking havoc. Perhaps, it would have been easier if he had left and dedicated his entire time to his mission, but it felt wrong to take over a dead girl's life and not at least give people who loved her his care and love.

He dried his hair, smoothing them into silky strands with a serum he had brewed himself. Harry was getting pretty good at upkeeping his appearance. Although, Riddle still stared at him oddly at times, as if Harry had something strange with his looks. He wore whatever his mother had bought for him to avoid making any fashion faux pas.

Riddle's face popped into his head, and Harry felt his stomach tighten. He was too sloppy today. He shouldn't have stuck around to have Riddle breathe down his neck. The man stared at him almost as if he could recognize him, and that made Harry uneasy. He would need to be more careful in the future.

In all honesty, he couldn't help but watch the man. Tom Riddle was strange and cold, like a stone statue, his eyes frostbitten and distant. But somehow, there was an unleashed storm brewing under his calm exterior, a warmth of sorts, a passion that was hard to decipher—so cold it could burn.

Harry shook his head, irritated that Riddle's face wouldn't leave his bloody mind. For Merlin's sake, there were more important things to think about. Why was he oddly touched that Riddle wasn't giving in to the advances of some prostitutes flirting with him? The sod probably thought he was better than them; it wasn't like he was ignoring them for Harry's sake.

He dipped his fingers into the jar of cream and then dabbed it on his temples and cheeks, slowly massaging his own skin as the magic did its work, making him dewy and radiant. He walked into his shared bedroom with Riddle, suddenly feeling warmth spread inside him as his mind supplied memories of what transpired here. Harry shook his head, mortified.

f*ck! He wasn't some blushing maiden. What the f*ck was going on with him that all of a sudden he was feeling all warm and tingly inside? Surely, it wasn't because Riddle seemed to have eyes only for him and even stared at him in his original form with a burning fire in his eyes that he gave to no one else.

Harry exhaled sharply, shook his head again as if to chastise himself and opened the wardrobe. Picking a two-piece suit made of expensive garments, he quickly put on the silk blouse and jacket with high fold-over collar, and then slipped into the tight matching pencil skirt. Harry crouched down to wear the high-heeled shoes, but when he heard a noise coming from downstairs, he froze.

This better not be another kidnapping attack, because Harry was at his wit's end and would not feel any hint of remorse for turning whoever barged in into little toads and then using them for his basilisk hatching as spares. He grabbed his purse and walked out of the room. The noise was coming from the kitchen. The maids must have stayed behind.

Harry descended the stairs and opened the kitchen door slowly, hesitant to reveal himself. Inside, an old woman was stirring a boiling pot on the stove with a fervor that seemed almost manic. The aroma wafting from the pot was overpowering, a pungent blend of cooking cabbage and acidic tomatoes that made Harry's nose wrinkle in distaste. He had no idea what the woman was cooking, but it certainly didn't smell appetizing.

Harry flicked his fingers to cast a protective shield around himself, not wishing for the steam of the food and the odor to cling to his clothes. He had just taken a bath and dressed.

The maid turned around and glared at Harry almost as if Harry didn't belong there. The young girl sitting at the table was peeling apples for some reason. She was annoyed by Harry's presence too. It was almost comical.

"Mrs. Norris," Harry tried to sound as polite and kind as he could, masking his irritation behind a pleasant smile. "There was no need to prepare any dinner tonight. We won't be dining at home. My parents have invited Tom and me to dinner."

"Doesn't mean Mr. Riddle won't want to eat something when he's back from dinner," the young girl shot back, crossing her arms.

Harry blinked in confusion, trying to understand the reason for the rude behaviour. After all, he barely interacted with them and didn't do anything to upset them, but the two women almost acted as if Harry had stolen their house.

"Tracey," the old maid grumbled in warning but then turned to Harry and raised her eyebrows in displeasure. "Mr. Riddle is a very picky eater, my lady. We will finish cooking and leave."

"Mrs. Norris, Miss Davis," Harry cleared his throat, "please follow my instructions from now on and refrain from making decisions and taking any action that are not explicitly instructed. I have told you that the two of you are dismissed and can go home; and I expect that you will follow my requests."

The less these two hung around at this place, the freer Harry would be. He didn't need two grumpy women watching him day and night. They turned crimson red at his words, and by judging the way their hands shook, Harry could tell he had pissed off both of them. They were staring at him with wide eyes. The slight shuffle behind him, though, told him that the women weren't startled by him but by something or someone else behind him.

"Doll?" he felt Tom's hand on his arm as the man pulled him abruptly towards himself, nearly bruising his skin. "What is going on here?"

"Sir, Mr. Riddle," Tracy hurried to inject herself and stepped forward. "Your wife is unhappy that we are making dinner and..."

Tom turned his head to the girl, wrinkling his nose in irritation and giving her such an icy look that she froze in place, timidly shifting on her feet.

"Darling," Tom returned his attention to Harry, and his eyes went down to where he was gripping Harry's arm before immediately letting go, almost startled.

Riddle had no sense of how to handle Harry's delicate body. He seemed to always underestimate the strength of his grip.

He gently rubbed the slight redness on the soft skin, inclined his head and kissed Harry's arm as if in apology, then put his arm around Harry's back and walked towards the door.

"Mr. Riddle?" the old maid called after him, making him stop in his tracks. "Should we stay and finish cooking or...?"

She looked at Harry with an uncertain expression on her face, clearly confused by her boss's unusual affectionate behaviour and the total disregard towards everything else.

"You can leave," Tom said. "Make sure to throw away the rotting food before you do."

"Rotting?" the woman gasped, but Tom's blank stare made her quickly come to her senses and nod. "Of course, sir! We will clean everything and leave. Thank you for having us back. We were eager to meet the new... the new lady of the house."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. The woman hated him as if Harry had stepped on her tail or something. He tried to move away, but Tom held him possessively, running his hands through her hair and inclining his head to inhale the scent of his skin, completely forgetting the bloody audience.

"Is anything here upsetting you, darling?" he asked Harry, pulling back to narrow his eyes at the maids.

"Everything is fine," Harry said awkwardly, trying to smile at the man who was scanning the women with murder in his eyes. It seemed very little was needed to set him off, and it was strange that he was so pleasant to Harry. Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he reached out to place his hand on Tom's chest. "We will be late for the dinner, Tom."

"Let's go, doll," Tom nodded, opening the door and guiding him outside, his hand warm and comforting on Harry's back. "How have you been today? Did you meet any... friends, family?"

Harry's heartbeat slowed down. Riddle seemed almost suspicious of him. The man held Harry's hand and kissed his knuckles.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I was getting ready for the dinner with my family. It's the first time we will visit them after our wedding..."

Tom hummed, stroking Harry's hair.

"Of course, darling," he smiled. "I know you've been a good girl. If anyone bothers you, tell me. I would hate to hear from someone else that some strange bloke is coveting what's mine. You understand me, yes, sweetheart?"

Harry nodded. Yeah, he knew Riddle was f*cking obsessed. Why the f*ck was Harry really into Riddle's weird behaviour? Did he suddenly lack enough thrills in his life? Tom pressed his lips on Harry's face, kissing him and exhaling sharply as if Harry was a cloud of oxygen floating in a sea of suffocating saltwater. Harry felt like he could ask Riddle to kill someone, and Riddle would murder them without asking questions. The realization was twisted and strange, making him feel all kinds of strange things.

Riddle opened the door to the car and helped Harry inside. He kissed Harry again, his mouth hot and lips soft as the car engine started, and the car exited the street.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Potter's estate was big. Macnair had to navigate through gates and eventually parked the car in front of the large, old building. Potter liked his security because the house was surrounded by men carrying weapons. Tom had thought in his initial visits that Potter was showing off, but the man clearly liked his house secure, probably because he had his wife and daughter to protect. Tom glanced at the girl. She was his now—his to protect and care for.

He held Harry's hand as they stepped out of the vehicle and headed inside. She seemed preoccupied with something. She was so bloody pretty and smelled so f*cking good that he was losing his mind thinking about her all the time. He needed to get himself under control. Now, he had started imagining her smell in the weirdest places, and it was driving him bloody mad.

"Harry," Lily Potter's excited voice filled the hall they entered, and the woman ran towards them, hugging her daughter and kissing her. "You are stunning, baby. I am glad the suit fits you. The blouse you picked is perfect."

Tom watched his wife smile at her mother sweetly.

"I have kept all the papers with you on the cover page, my pretty girl," the woman said fondly, brushing back a curl that escaped Harry's hairdo. "Everyone is impressed. Oh, and this hairpin looks beautiful too."

"Tom got it for me," Harry said softly, getting his mother's stare at Tom. Tom stared at the woman back with a cool expression on his face, despite the warm feeling that ran through his veins at Harry's tender voice and the way the girl said his name. Lily Potter didn't like him at all, but she managed to conceal her disdain for him with a polite, albeit slightly strained, smile.

"Tom," she said cheerfully, "Congratulations on your campaign launch. The orphanage visit with Harry was prudently planned."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," Tom nodded.

"I'm sure you will do splendidly with the public. Many of my acquaintances were particularly touched by the display of care for the unfortunate as the start of your political effort. Your grandparents were quite pleased as well. They are excited to show you their support. Lady Mary is eager to see you today as I have happily invited her and her husband for dinner."

Tom gritted his teeth and gave the woman a curt smile. Harry reached out and squeezed his hand, and when he looked down, she smiled at him. It was as if she could sense his anger and leapt forward to surround him with her airy, sweet scent and soothing touch.

"Harry," Sirius Black popped out of nowhere and grabbed Tom's wife into his arms, hugging her and twirling her around. "I've missed you."

"Sirius," Lily giggled, "put your sister down. You are choking the air out of her."

Black lowered Harry to the ground but still didn't let go of her.

"The house feels empty without you," he said, patting her head gently. "Missing your horrible, off-key singing too."

Harry laughed and slapped Black's arm as if she was offended, but he clearly cheered her. It was genuine and lighthearted, and Tom felt a twinge of envy that she laughed so openly and happily around these people, but she seemed reserved with him. She was always kind and polite, her demeanour was always soft and tender, but he could see the difference.

"Good seeing you too, Riddle," Black said, reaching to shake his hand. "Hope you're treating my sister right!"

Tom's lips curled into a smirk. "She is my wife," he said, tightening his grip on Black's hand. "I don't think it's any of your business. She's a grown woman; she can tell me when I'm not treating her right."

Black's expression hardened, but before he could say anything, Harry laughed and stepped between them, grabbing both Tom's and her brother's arms.

"Family dinners are fun, aren't they?" she said. "Tom and I are happy to be here, right?"

"Right," Tom agreed dryly, shaking Black's hand and sliding his arm around his wife's tiny waist to pull her closer to himself and away from Black.

"Lily, what's taking you... awww, Harry, come here, my girl," James opened his arms and made a motion for Harry to come towards him.

His wife stared for a second before smiling at him and Sirius, although Tom could see a slight expression of irritation pass through her face as she turned to walk towards her father. James Potter hugged her and then kissed her forehead. Tom stared. Potters were a weird bunch, overly affectionate if you asked him. It was understandable that they would dote on Harry as she was different, but it still left an odd impression on Tom.

"Riddle," Potter patted Harry's head and let her down, reaching to shake his hand. "Impressive work on the campaign. I know we've had our differences in the past, what with running our business and all, but I've always thought you've got the makings of a top-notch politician. Congratulations!"

Tom extended his hand, but his grip was firm and brief, lacking the warmth and camaraderie that Potter's words implied. His jaw set in a neutral expression, as his head tilted slightly to one side. His posture was relaxed, but his body was leaning slightly away from Potter, creating a sense of distance and reserve.

"Thank you!" he said coolly.

"The dinner will be served. Let's go to the dining room," Lily Potter smiled, clapping softly. Harry looked so much like this woman. They both were slender and had delicate facial features.

Harry squeezed his hand and Tom looked down at her.

"Are you okay, darling?" he murmured. "You look... sad."

Did she miss her family? Was she homesick? It wasn't like Tom had forbidden her to meet them.

"It's the gloomy weather," she said softly. "Let's go."

Tom nodded and ruffled her hair, feeling Potter's eyes on him. The man was smirking, pleased with something and saying something to his wife who was giving the man a petulant smile.

As they entered the grand dining room, Tom's gaze swept over the servants' meticulous arrangements, his attention drawn to the cluster of men in the corner. His grandfather's conversation with Henry Evans seemed to be carrying on with ease, but Tom's instincts prickled at the sight. Thomas Riddle's gaze flicked towards him, his eyes narrowing with contempt as he regarded Tom with a cold, calculating stare.

"My lovely girl," his grandmother exclaimed, enveloping Harry in a warm hug. "You're even more stunning than ever since your wedding."

Harry stilled in the woman's arms, tilted her head to look at Tom and then turned to the old woman with a polite smile on her face.

"Lady Mary," she said, her voice gentle. "You're too kind to me. I must confess, I'm feeling quite lovely today. Tom and I are thrilled to be spending time with the family. And I hope you're doing well, too."

Tom was standing nearby, his expression slightly pinched as he tightened his hold on Harry, giving the old woman an icy gaze. She opened her mouth to say something but hesitated, and the expression on her face morphed into an awkward smile. The atmosphere was tense. Thomas Riddle's face had that same snobby disdain that he showed Tom when he went to meet his father for the first time.

"You get used to it," Evans mumbled in response to something the old geezer said, patting his back. "The important thing is that now our families have a chance to fix the issues caused by past mistakes."

Potter glared at his own father-in-law, and the man shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, joy, this is going to be a lovely dinner," Harry whispered, leaning into his touch.

Tom smirked, his eyes locked on his wife's frazzled expression; she was starting to resemble a sweet, little kitten about to unsheathe its claws and shred the air. He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all - Harry, the epitome of refinement, reduced to a ball of irritation. Hidden beneath her prim and proper facade, Tom could catch glimpses of a wild storm fire that could not be tamed.

"Try not to contribute to thelovelinessof the dinner, love," Tom smiled fondly, whispering back. "I'd hate to ruin the tablecloth with someone's blood. Don't give me a reason to defend you; because I will, even if these people are your family. So, just be a good girl and behave, yeah?"

"Maybe I want to see you defending me," she said, amused, as she took her seat, tilting her head to look into his eyes. Tom shook his head, but a small smile curled the corners of his lips. She was a little menace.

The dinner was served. They ate in silence, the only sounds being the occasional clinking of silverware against plates. The food was delicious, but the conversation was stilted and consisted of a few bland remarks about pretentious nonsense that Tom couldn't care less about, his apathy reflected in his complete lack of f*cks to give.

Soon the drinks were served and suddenly the old aristocrats started chattering. Evans seemed to have a lot of opinions about things. Potter listened to the old man with a neutral expression on his face, clearly suppressing an eyeroll for his wife's sake, as he seemed to be on the verge of telling the old man to bugger off.

"Scrimgeour's reputation is in tatters," Evans sneered, sipping wine from his glass. "And what a bloody shame, too. He got caught with his pants down at the Savoy Hotel with some tart. I suppose it's not entirely unexpected. He's always been a bit of a rake, and his marriage has been on the rocks for years."

"You want sauce on the meat?" Harry asked, holding the sauceboat. Tom smiled at her and nodded. These people were beginning to grate on his nerves. They liked to gossip like any other but behaved like they were above everyone, and Tom despised them for that.

"Well, I suppose this is the final nail in the coffin," Lady Rose snorted. "His wife will be thrilled to get rid of him."

"Yes, and I'm sure his political career is finished now too," Thomas said, cutting the meat in his plate and looking disgusted. "He'll be lucky if he can keep his seat. I think Thicknesse will win this one. He is a respectable man and has a better political outlook than Scrimgeour."

"I agree about Thicknesse," Evans said. "He's got the right thinking for the country, and he is of the right stock. And he is no coward."

"Are we speaking about Pius Thicknesse?" James Potter tilted his head and laughed. "Ah, yes, because nothing says 'brave and courageous' like a man who's been living under his mum's skirt, dodging the draft, and only just now deciding to 'serve' his country by running for office."

"He's got the support of many right people," Evans argued. "Not everyone who has been tothe waris qualified for leadership positions."

Potter didn't respond but looked amused. It was no secret among their circles that Potter didn't like Thicknesse because of the twat's attempts to undercut the man after he was elected into office. Rumours were rife that Potter had put out a hit on Thicknesse, and that was why the twerp had run away and hid, claiming he had health issues. Of course, neither Evans nor Riddle Sr knew about the backdoor dealings that these scoundrels were cooking up with men like him and Potter. It was almost hilarious.

"Oh, let's forget about Thicknesse and Scrimgeour for a moment," Lady Rose clapped, beaming at her. "I have seen the papers, and they are writing about you, my beautiful girl, you are like a blooming flower, wherever you go, everyone gushes about you."

"You are so correct, Lady Rose," Tom's grandmother agreed, laughing cheerfully. Did this old cow think she could just pretend that the day he came to meet his father didn't happen? Did she think Tom would allow her to weasel her way into his life using his wife? "Such a beauty and... Tom, congratulations, dear! I feel very..."

"Thank you, Lady Mary," Harry said, leaning over the table and holding her hand. "We are delighted that everyone is happy for Tom's decision to step into politics. After all, he is—"

"Let us not indulge in a pretence," Thomas said, setting his knife aside on the plate, "that this is a situation that warrants a lack of concern— that this is normal. He is a thug who beats people. Everyone present is aware of this, and I fail to see why we would choose to ignore it simply because he has apparently decided to divert his attention towards more refined pursuits. Politics? Robbing, blackmailing and killing people is no longer fun, huh?"

Tom placed down his glass and reached for the inner pocket of his suit. Potter, sitting next to him, placed his hand on his arm and shook his head.

"Lord Riddle," the man laughed, voice coming off rough and unamused. "Those are some serious accusations. I would advise you to go easy on the whiskey at your age. I would prefer to remain hospitable, but I am sure you understand I don't fancy the idea of hearing insults hurled at my son-in-law—my daughter's husband in my own house at my f*cking dinner table."

"James," Lily Potter tried to cool the man's rising temper, but she shut her mouth when he glared at her.

"So, please, let's continue this lovely dinner without any of this f*cking nonsense," he finished, grabbing his glass and downing everything in a few gulps.

Evans patted Riddle's back and mumbled something. The two snorted but didn't say anything out loud. The atmosphere was tense again.

"Thomas," Mary Riddle laughed awkwardly, placing her hand on her husband's arm. "My apologies... It has been very difficult for us after losing our son and Tom, you look so much like your father... Thomas and I were just hoping to be part of your life now since we didn't get the chance to be part of your life when you were a child."

"Mary is right," the old man said, shaking his head. "You are still a Riddle, even if your upbringing leaves much to be desired. It can't be helped, but perhaps it can be for our great-grandchildren. Keep the family line going and all."

Tom quirked an eyebrow. The gall of this old bastard to sit in front of him like that and spew the bullsh*t that he did.

"Listen here, old man, I don't give a rat's arse about your family line. I don't need anything from you, and I'd advise you to remember that our names match only on the paper. You couldn't raise a proper man when you raised your son; what makes you think you'd be let anywhere near mine?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably next to him. It seemed the conversation was making her feel uneasy.

"And now you've upset my wife," Tom snapped, hands gently rubbing Harry's delicate wrists. "So maybe watch your tone and watch what you're saying, since in your words I'm just a thug who beats up people, yeah?"

Riddle Sr glared at him with venom, making Tom feel a sick sense of amusem*nt. The old coot fancied himself untouchable. Tom wouldn't hesitate to kill the bastard. He'd brought up a right dodgy little git who'd done a runner on his pregnant wife and then his own kid, and this old geezer was sitting in front of him spouting rubbish about propriety and upbringing. One could mistakenly think that Thomas Riddle didn't raise a cowardly little bitch.

"Great conversation," Harry spoke suddenly, voice sweet and gentle, pretty eyes focused on the old man, as she gently dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Now back to the initial topic, Lord Riddle. You said that Mr. Thicknesse has got the support of many right people. Who are these people?"

"Umm..." the man blinked, looking at her confused and taken aback. "People who can contribute to the campaign with the donations and people with connections with the press and the papers."

"Mhmm," Harry tilted her head back. "Connections? Do you have these connections?"

"I..." the man was completely confused. Tom wasn't exactly sure what the girl was trying to do. Was this just her sweet way of diffusing the situation? She was quite good at that.

"We do have all kinds of connections, dear," Mary intervened, cheerfully reaching forward to brush her old wrinkled fingers over Harry's hand. "What do you have in mind?"

Harry smiled brightly at the old cow like the polite, sweet thing she was.

"I am sure both you, Lady Mary, and yourhusbandare interested in Tom's success in his political endeavours," she said, her smile getting a twinge bit of coyness in the corners of her lips. "I was hoping you have the right recommendations, the right people to meet for the campaign, yes?"

The old man looked strangely even more confused. Tom narrowed his eyes at the girl, wondering what the bloody f*ck she was doing.

"The chief editor of Daily Politics is someone I know very closely, and he owes me a favour, dear," Mary smiled happily. "You are such a sweet girl to suggest it. Of course, we would be delighted to introduce you and Tom to acquaintances of ours..."

"Harry," Tom held her waist in warning. He didn't need any bloody help from these two shriveled snobs.

"Tom, this is perfect!" she said, leaning into his touch and smiling sweetly at him. "You do need connections in more serious publications and a meeting with the editor-in-chief of Daily Politics would be perfect for the success of the campaign."

Manipulative little thing. Tom gritted his teeth and smiled at her.

"Lady Mary, if you can arrange a meeting with the man, it would be perfect," Harry said, turning to the old woman with a strange cool expression on her face. "After all, it would be scandalous if these papers learned about Tom being your grandson from the tabloids. You know people talk."

f*ck! She was a little more than a pretty face. Tom stared at the faces of his grandparents. The old man looked still in shock, the woman was a little taken aback by the hint of thinly veiled threat in Harry's sweet voice.

Soon tea and dessert were served, and the evening was drowned in boring chatter about nothing.

"We need to talk business, Riddle," Potter told him when both Evanses and Riddles left, and Harry was dragged away by her mother to try on clothes the woman bought for her. "About the cargo ships. We need more."

Tom knew that the man would eventually come to him with more demands.

"That wasn't our agreement, Potter," Tom spat. "I need my f*cking ships for my f*cking business."

"I know," the man snorted. "That's what I want to talk about. I know that Montford and you are at war currently. Yes, you think I wouldn't find out that he is trying to encroach on your territories, your businesses. I have heard he had tried to take my daughter too."

"I am handling my business with Montford," Tom said in an icy tone. "And I don't need you to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, Potter."

"You are misunderstanding me, Riddle," Potter laughed, pouring them drinks and holding the glass for Tom to grab. "We're short on boats, yeah? I need more to get my gear in and out for my armaments racket, and you're after more for whatever it is you're peddling. And there's a bit of a bother with this bloke Simon Montford, isn't there? Well, Montford's got a patch of land at the docks with some cargo ships moored, and it'd be a cinch to get the transport lot to sort us out with the ports and Montford. I've got the right connections at the transport commission, and I can give 'em a nudge to have a butcher's at Montford's books."

"Do you want to strong-arm him into parting with his boats and the dock he operates?" Tom asked. "That's not a declaration of war, that is a threat of extermination."

Potter lit up a cigarette, placed it in his mouth and smirked. Tom crossed his legs and took a sip of the whiskey. There was a sudden, sharp knock on the door, and then it swung open with a bit of a creak.

"Sir," an old maid walked inside, rubbing her hands together. "We've received a call from a man named Barty Crouch, and he wants to speak with Mr. Riddle urgently."

Potter raised an eyebrow but nodded at the woman.

"Thank you, Alma," he told the woman and then turned to Riddle. "The phone's there. Must be something important."

Tom got up and walked towards the phone on the stand, surrounded with vases of flowers. He wasn't sure it was something important. Barty was neurotic enough to call him for the stupidest reasons. He grabbed the phone.

"Barty... yes... anyone injured? Okay, I'll be there," he put the phone down.

"Business problems?" Potter asked, sipping from his glass, sitting in the armchair, relaxed.

"One of my warehouses was blown up. It was freshly stocked with product too," he said, gritting his teeth. "Contact your man at the transport commission. I want that f*cking c*nt on his bloody knees."

"Will do. Let me know," Potter said, getting up, "if you need weapons. I would be happy to supply."

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Rowle stood at the entrance of the vehicle, his calloused hand extended to hold the door open, and with his free hand, he raised an umbrella to shield Harry from the rain. The street was quiet, save for the soft patter of the light drizzle hitting the pavement.

"Thank you, Thorfinn," Harry said, stepping out of the car.

The blond idiot stared at him, dumbfounded, gulped and shut the door. Shifting awkwardly on his feet, he palmed his chest as if searching for a cigarette packet before realizing that Harry was waiting for him to move.

"This way, Mrs. Riddle," he said, stammering, as he held the umbrella over Harry's head while trying to maintain as much distance between himself and Harry as possible. Harry rolled his eyes. Clearly, Rowle was terrified of Tom. "Are you certain you're... er... allowed to go to Boss's office?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and flipped back a strand of his silky curls. Rowle shut his mouth. They were late for a meeting with the chief editor of Daily Politics and some other influential acquaintances of Lady Mary and her grumpy husband. The meeting was arranged at the Savoy Hotel. Tom was already supposed to have been home by then, so they could go together, but he didn't show up, and Harry decided to visit him instead. He had asked Rowle to drive him to Tom's office.

It had been just a few days since that disastrous dinner, and Tom was extremely busy. From what Harry gathered, some kind of warehouse had exploded and some of Tom's employees had been injured. As a result, Tom was busier than usual and showed up home late. Harry had his own mission to worry about, and on top of everything, he had to deal with bloody crazy maids. The unhinged women were another reason he didn't want to wait for Tom at home and instead decided to visit his workplace.

They entered the building, and Harry stared at the men hanging around, smoking. These people weren't working. The moment he walked inside, everyone stared at him, recognizing him, and immediately looked away, as if Harry were invisible or something.

"Mrs. Riddle?" Barty Crouch Jr exclaimed, rushing to him in amazement. "We weren't... we aren't... we weren't expecting you. Would you like some tea? Hey, Fletcher go grab a cup of tea for the lady. Tom's busy. He's in the office with... eh... someone..."

Harry cleared his throat and smiled at Crouch, trying to be polite even though this man was inciting irritation deep in his bones.

"I'll have to decline, Mr. Crouch," he said. "I'll go to Tom's office. The door on the right at the end of the corridor, correct?"

Barty shuffled around in discomfort, shoulders hunching forward and his complexion taking on a faintly pale hue.

Harry's heels clicked against the hard floor, the sound echoing through the quiet space. He walked with confidence, ignoring Crouch, his strides long and purposeful, his hips swaying slightly with each step. The high heels added to his height, and he moved with an air of elegance and poise.

As he walked, the sound of his heels grew louder, a staccato rhythm that punctuated each step. The clicks were sharp and clear, like a metronome marking the beat of his movement. His gait was fluid, yet deliberate, as if he was savoring the sensation of the shoes on his feet.

"Mrs. Riddle," Crouch called, sprinting through the corridor. "I am sorry, but you can't go there. Boss is with someone."

Harry didn't care. Riddle was late. Harry didn't like being late for engagements. Especially not ones he had requested to be arranged. He ignored Crouch and headed for the door.

He paused when he reached the door, hearing the sound of whimpers and cries. Harry shook his head, sighed and opened the door.

"Mrs. Riddle, please!" Barty hurried inside, following him.

Harry paused, staring at the scene unfolding before him. Tom's jacket was off, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up, his hands covered in blood, and he was hovering over a man tied to a chair. The man's face was beaten to a pulp, covered in blood. It was so swollen that Harry couldn't make out its features.

There were a few others in the room. Rabastan Lestrange was smoking, leaning against the desk, while Antonin Dolohov was sharpening his knife in the corner.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Barty apologized. "I tried to stop her..."

All these men stared at Harry. Harry blinked, sighed and moved into the room. He pulled down the white silk gloves he was wearing and placed them on the desk.

"Doll," Tom tilted his head. "What are you doing here?"

Harry turned to look at him. He dropped his tiny purse next to the silk gloves. Tom was looking at him expectantly, his expression grim and displeased. Harry wasn't pleased himself.

Riddle didn't seriously beat up someone with his bare hands! Merlin only knew what diseases these unwashed bastards carried, and Riddle was f*cking Harry.

"If you're going to engage in a physical altercation," Harry said, keeping his tone soft as he grabbed a towel from the desk and walked up to Tom, "it's crucial to take proper precautions. Wearing gloves can help prevent the transmission of blood-borne pathogens such as syphilis, rabies and Merlin knows what else. These diseases can be transmitted through open wounds and contact with infected blood. You need to be careful, Tom."

Tom reached out and grasped the towel from Harry's hands, scrubbing the drying blood off his palms as he maintained unwavering eye contact with Harry. Harry's face remained calm, a mask of composure that belied the annoyance he felt. He could sense the weight of the other men's eyes on him. They were staring at him.

"What are you doing here, Harry?" Tom asked again, this time his voice was lower; there was more force in his tone.

Harry didn't belong here, that was obvious, and it didn't seem that Tom was pleased with having him where he was thrashing his underlings for not measuring up to his standards. Muggle or wizard, this man had a penchant for violence, and clearly, one unlucky bastard was getting the brunt of it.

Harry needed to be careful with his words. He was well aware that Riddle was into him, but they were surrounded by Riddle's men, and these people were watching them, eyes glued and waiting. Riddle couldn't afford to show any vulnerability. He had a reputation to uphold. As a man of his stature in this era, he couldn't be seen as weak or subordinate in front of underlings, especially to his wife.

Harry grabbed a handful of his evening gown's skirt and swung around towards the man beaten within the inch of his life.

"Ah, we have a meeting scheduled at the Savoy Hotel," Harry said, tone soft and smooth like a picture of perfect manners and poise. "And I didn't wish for us to be late, so I came here. And only to find you beating a man with your bare hands, Tom."

He turned to look at Riddle and gave him his most distraught expression, channeling Hermione's disapproving mannerisms. Riddle's jaw tightened but then his expression softened as he stared at Harry's slender figure draped in a stunning black satin gown with a fitted bodice that showcased his petite waist and a full, flowing skirt that was delicate layers of tulle, giving the dress a romantic, whimsical feel.

Harry grabbed another set of towels and the bottle of alcohol sitting on the desk and turned towards the beaten man. He kneeled down and pressed the towel to his bloodied face.

"What are you doing?" Tom narrowed his eyes at him as Harry poured the alcohol into the towel and started patting it on the skin of the man. "Don't touch that dirty bastard."

The man winced in pain, and Harry allowed his magic to flow forward and numb the pain he was feeling.

"Shhh," he whispered, cleaning the man's face, ignoring Riddle. He could feel the others in the room staring at him in awe.

Tom strode forward as Harry wiped the blood off the man's face and immediately recognized Pucey. He had seen this little rascal the other day with Nott. He got up and twirled around to face his husband, anger simmering in his eyes.

"He is a child, Tom," Harry said, annoyed and unable to hide his irritation. "For Merlin's sake, why would you tie up this boy to a chair and beat him up?"

"Step aside, doll," Tom demanded. "This is none of your concern. You can wait for me outside."

"I won't stand aside when you're hurting a child," Harry said, moving to shield Pucey with his body.

Riddle was out of his mind. This was a Muggle teenager! And these grown men had just tied him up and were beating the sh*t out of him like he was a worn-out pair of slippers being kicked around by a grumpy cat. f*ck this sh*t!

"A child?" Riddle laughed. "I understand, love, that you've got a different heart and this bloody bastard is making you feel all caring for his sorry arse, but this scoundrel is no child. He is a f*cking man. He was man enough to rat me out to my enemies, he is man enough to get what he deserves. Because of him two people are injured and my bloody cargo is gone. So, stand aside and leave the room."

Harry stared at Riddle. Surprisingly, Riddle wasn't throwing his hands at Harry. Harry expected at least some physical response from Riddle. At the very least, he thought the man would try to move Harry physically. Not that Harry wouldn't hand him his arse, but it was still strange that he was very patient with Harry.

"Mrs. Riddle," Barty cleared his throat, raising his hands as if trying to ease the tension. "I'll bring you tea. Please come with me. This violence must be upsetting for a lady like you, and we understand that you have a caring soul, but that boy there, he is right blighter, because of him a warehouse was blown to pieces, and people are injured, and he is refusing to talk. And, well..."

Tom glared at Barty, gesturing angrily to shut his mouth.

"Is this true?" Harry said, turning to Pucey who was still whimpering in pain. He pressed the towel against Pucey's face, cleaning the newly pooled blood and letting his magic flow inside to stop the bleeding.

"Yes, Mrs. Riddle," Pucey cried, relief washing over him as Harry's magic gave him a reprieve from the pain he was feeling. "I am sorry."

He started crying again, and Harry shook his head. Some man! This was a child and not even a tough one at that. Hermione had taken several times the pain and didn't even make a single sound, and she was younger at the time when it happened. Harry pressed his lips together, remembering his friends and the atrocities they had endured and survived.

It seemed Pucey's sudden admittance of his actions confused the men in the room. They had no idea how much the cool touch of numbing magic, sucking away the pain would loosen someone's tongue.

"Shhh," Harry brushed back his long stands of curls and kneeled in front of the boy to come face to face with him. "What's your name?"

"Adrian," Pucey gulped, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Adrian," Harry sighed. "Why have you done something like that? And why won't you answer Tom's questions? You're doing yourself no favours by hiding the truth. Please tell him what he wants to know, and I promise he will let you go."

"Doll!" Tom warned.

Harry turned his head back to glare at Tom.

"You promise, Tom," he repeated. "Please give me your word that you will let him go."

"I can't promise that," Riddle said, tilting his head to stare at him with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, and Harry could swear there was some kind of awe in his eyes. "He'll talk if he wants to live. I don't forgive rats. This little scoundrel begged me to employ him, promising that he has what it takes to work for me. I should have known better than to take him in and give him bloody purpose for his miserable life."

"Well, Tom, maybe you shouldn't hire children no matter how much they beg you," Harry shot back.

"He's not a f*cking child," Tom said, slapping the bloodied towel in his hands on his desk. "I was fighting a war at his age. He's old enough to understand what happens to traitors."

Harry was getting annoyed with the back and forth.

"Please," he asked as softly as he could, even though he was pretty sure it wouldn't work. "Just this once, give this boy a chance. He is a child. Children do stupid things all the time. If you've employed him, you're responsible for him. You speak about loyalty and purpose, Tom, but you need to show your men first since you are the boss. No? They need to know you've got their back even if they do the stupidest things in the world. Fear of consequences can go so far, fear of disappointing an authority figure you respect is far more powerful and proves to be more sustainable in any line of work."

Tom was staring at him like Harry was an otherworldly monster that had suddenly popped into his office, and his men had their mouths gaping; Dolohov seemed completely puzzled while Barty had forgotten to breathe.

"So show this boy that there is nothing more important than a loyalty he swore to when you let him join you," Harry said, moving back to undo the bindings on Adrian's hands. "Because mistakes are inevitable. Human beings err and quite often. If you surround yourself with men who fear you and know that they won't be forgiven even if they made an honest mistake, they won't come to you in time and correct their mistakes; they will run away or worse prepare to defend themselves, and they say that the best defense is offense. No?"

His magic filled the wounds on Pucey's arms and legs, prompting him to sag his shoulders in relief and make a strange squeaky sound that almost distracted Tom. The man was watching Harry, there was a strange, contemplative, careful expression in his eyes, and then he smirked and shook his head.

"Hear that, Pucey?" he asked, walking up to the boy still on the chair. "My little wife is advocating for you. Asking me to show you mercy, forgive you, because you're a silly f*cker and couldn't keep your bloody gob shut and because of you the men who trusted you are injured. Their families are upset."

Adrian opened his eyes and pushed himself back into the chair even though there was nowhere to go to escape Tom's icy gaze.

"Well, what do you say to that, boy?" Tom held Pucey by the collar of his shirt. "Do you think you deserve for my wife to spend her precious time on a right twat like you, eh? Give me the name of the person you've ratted out the location of our warehouse."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Riddle," Pucey wheezed. "I can't... I can't tell you the name..."

Tom slapped him. Pucey fell down on the floor and coughed up blood.

"Do you see, love, sometimes it's like tossing top-shelf whiskey down the drain to try to help a scummy bog-trotter like this?" Tom said in a low growl, pressing the heel of his shoe against Pucey's neck.

f*ck! This stupid child! Harry pushed his magic into Pucey's mind, surfing through his memories until he caught the sight of some girl. He tilted his head to stare at the boy and shook his head. Was he protecting the girl?

"Tom," Harry said, putting his palms on his husband's chest. In all honesty, Harry wouldn't mind a quick f*ck right about now. Riddle looked fine and had Harry's blood boiling with all that aggression. "Let me speak with him."

Riddle's hand wrapped around his waist, and he lifted Harry off the floor, holding with one arm and dropped on the other side of Pucey.

"I will indulge you, doll," he said, brushing Harry's hair behind his ear. "Only because I know you mean well - a sweet girl that you are, you speak smart, but you know nothing of these kinds of lowlifes. Go on, then."

Dolohov leaned against the wall and lit up his cigarette, looking just as curious as Tom.

Harry turned towards Pucey on the ground, helped him up, rubbing the blood dripping from his mouth with a towel. His magic enveloped Adrian like a cool, icy veil, soothing his burning flesh. His eyes widened in disbelief now that he realized that Harry's touch kept tearing away the claws of pain choking him.

"Here," he murmured, tilting the bottle of alcohol and helping Adrian have a few drops.

"How?" Adrian heaved after gulping the liquid.

Harry was pretty sure he was asking about the pain being numbed away. He smiled at Pucey.

"Adrian," he said softly, "why don't you tell Tom what he wants to know."

There was a silence, and Pucey shook his head. Harry had interrogated so many people in his life. He was always one using the soft force; one could never be sure of any information gathered through torturing. They would just blubber whatever they thought would stop the pain, which was why Riddle's style of questioning his subordinates was quite honestly amateur. It was true that many people engaged in this type of interrogation technique, but Harry found it crude and worthless.

A good interrogation was a well-performed mental game of chess, and maintaining control over the subject was the most important aspect of it. The moment the subject thought no matter what they said they would be hurt, the psychological advantage was lost.

"Adrian," Harry moved his hands away, taking away the cool soothing sensation that helped Pucey to stay lucid. He stared at Harry in panic. Now that he had tasted the soothing magic, he didn't want to feel the burning pain. "It's disappointing that you are willing to suffer pain for someone who has betrayed you. I can tell you're not a traitor. I know whatever you have said you've done it unintentionally."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Riddle," Pucey cried, almost reaching out to hold Harry's soothing hand. "She's got nothing to do with this. It's my fault."

Harry snorted.

"It is," he said. "Your irresponsible actions have resulted in people getting hurt, and instead of coming clean now to make sure the damage you've caused can be mitigated, you're being a coward. So, what is it? Did some girl smile at you? Ask you questions about my husband's business and you've told them what was trusted to you in confidence?"

"No... Uh..." Pucey stammered.

"What?" Harry didn't have time for this sh*t. If this little rascal didn't spill the beans willingly, Harry was going toimperiohim. They needed to be at that meeting to get it squared away so Harry could go back to his responsibilities. "You're not feeling the slightest bit of shame? Of course you don't; you are a clueless child who decided to play adults even though you can't handle it. This isn't about you or the girl you're trying to protect. This is about you hurting people who've trusted you."

"Mrs. Riddle, please," Pucey continued wailing and getting on Harry's nerves. "I don't want her to get hurt."

"Well, have you given her your word that you'd be loyal to her and not put her in harm's way?" Harry got up. "Because it looks to me as though you've made that promise to these men here when you've joined to work for them and with them."

Harry's hand made contact with Pucey's face again, stripping away all the pain, and his eyes nearly rolled back into his skull.

"It was Filemina," he cried in relief. "Filemina Alchin, I swear Mrs. Riddle, I didn't know she would tell everything to Bloody Baron. She only asked me where I work. I told her. It was an innocent mistake. I didn't know she worked for him. Please don't take away...um... I am sorry. I am really sorry."

"Now that wasn't so hard," Harry said, casting a preserving charm on the cooling sensation so the dumb child wouldn't feel any pain for a couple of hours until the blood settled and the healing process fully started.

"You've ratted us out to that whor* Filemina?" Dolohov barked.

Harry dropped the dirty towel into the rubbish bin and walked towards the door.

"Where can I wash my hands?" he asked.

Tom was staring at him; there was a smile, curling the corners of his lips.

"Come here, love," Tom said, motioning towards him. "I will take you to the lavatory, and you can wash your hands."

Harry grabbed his purse and gloves and followed Riddle out. They walked in silence until Riddle opened the door and let him inside a tiny room. He guided Harry to the sink and turned the water on. Harry started washing his hands under the cold water, feeling Riddle's warm back press against his arse. Riddle brought his hands forward, grasping Harry's and rubbing them under the cold running water.

"You're such a brilliant little bird," he murmured. "These stupid journalists are calling you a rose in the papers, and now I can see how fitting it is. You're a right pretty one, but you've got the prickles that can make men bleed, haven't you?"

"Tom," Harry ran his fingertips over Riddle's hand. "He is too young and stupid. Whatever it is you're doing, do not involve children."

Tom span Harry around and pushed him against the wall. His lips were soft, but the kiss was rough, with a taste of tobacco and whiskey burning Harry's lips as he kissed Tom back.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he whispered. "I don't know if you know what your father and I are doing, but it isn't pretty. Things can get quite rough. I don't want you to show up here without warning."

Harry was pretty sure he knew what they were doing. He didn't care. He had his own things to worry about.

"Are the people hurt during the explosion doing better?" he asked, deciding to change the topic. "Maybe I could visit them and their families, bake them some pastries."

Tom kissed his knuckles and shook his head.

"No, doll," he said, pulling Harry with him towards the door. "You don't need to do any of that. Let's go to the meeting; we'll be late if we don't hurry."

Harry nodded. He put on his gloves, adjusted his hair, putting a bit of magic into it to prevent it from getting disheveled and followed Tom outside. Dolohov, the Lestrange brothers and Barty were outside the room, smoking, and stared at Harry and Tom as soon as the two exited the lavatory.

"I need to leave," Tom said with a sigh, putting on his suit jacket and pressing Harry closer to himself. "Keep an eye on that git. Find the girl too."

ㅤ

ㅤ

Tom helped Harry out of the car as they headed into the hotel. These types of social gatherings were not something he had participated in; these people wouldn't look at him twice and if they did, only to turn up their snotty noses. They probably resented the idea of meeting with him or being asked to entertain him.

His wife smiled at him when he turned his gaze on her.

He wasn't sure how to feel about her. On one hand, she was a kind-hearted girl with a sweet nature, evident in her immediate defense of a perceived defenseless child, despite Adrian Pucey being a grown man. Tom was sent to join the army, fighting a war at Pucey's age. But Harry didn't see it that way—she was kind; she cared about injured animals and orphans and was nice even to girls, making eyes at her husband. She was polite and demure.

On the other hand, the girl wasn't afraid to intervene when she sensed someone was in danger. She had rushed to his defense with a kitchen knife, an unexpected sight as it was. In her mind, she believed she was defending Tom. She didn't realize that Tom could have easily handled the situation himself before anyone could pull the trigger. She was a fierce little thing. There was a fire in her that people wouldn't ever see unless she unleashed it and burned them.

It also didn't escape Tom's attention that just a couple of days ago she had stepped into a heated conversation with grace and politeness that Tom couldn't say he had the patience to possess himself and had skillfully navigated a tense situation with his grandfather and grandmother, effortlessly guiding them to comply with her wishes.

As they entered the private hall, Tom's gaze swept the room, taking in the lavish decor and the gathering of high-society individuals. The Savoy Hotel was renowned for its elegance, and this private hall was no exception. The hotel employee, dressed in a crisp uniform, led them down a long corridor to a large sitting area. Soft music floated through the air, accompanied by the muted hum of conversation. When they stepped inside, the room fell silent for a moment before the chatter resumed.

Tom's gaze swept the room with a mixture of disdain and wariness. He noticed Barnabas Cuffe, the chief editor ofThe Daily Politics, rising from his seat to greet him.

"Mr. Riddle, pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Barnabas Cuffe," he said, getting up and extending his hand.

Cuffe was a prominent figure in British politics, known for his influence on shaping public opinion through his writing and editorial direction.

Tom forced a smile as he extended his hand, trying to maintain a polite demeanour despite his reservations about the editor's reputation for being ruthless in his pursuit of scoops. Cuffe's hand was firm as he shook Tom's, but his eye contact was brief before he plopped down onto the sofa. The other guests, a mix of journalists and politicians, turned to regard Tom and his wife with curiosity.

They sat down on the plush sofa, surrounded by others, and soon drinks were served. The conversation resumed. Barnabas liked to talk. A lot. Tom barely held himself back from rolling his eyes. This man had an opinion about everything and anything under the sun.

His pretty little wife seemed bored out of her mind. She looked like she was daydreaming about something, staring at the wall in front of her. This wasn't exactly how Tom envisioned spending his Friday evening. He took another sip from a top-shelf whiskey, feeling the smooth liquid burn down his throat and gently placed his hand on his girl's back to bring her out of her daydreams. He smiled at her when she looked at him confused.

"...and of course, we knew about it way before, but you know these things need to be released at key moments," Cuffe prattled on about the latest scoop released by Daily Politics.

Tom nodded. It didn't take much to charm a man like Cuffe. He was a bit of a bounder, always waffling on about himself and his own importance. He loved the sound of his own voice so much, he'd be wanking off just to hear himself talk.

The conversation continued, and all of these snobby bastards pretended to give a rat's arse about each other's opinions. The only thing keeping Tom from completely blanking out was Harry's presence. She sat by his side, quietly listening.

"Mr. Riddle, your wife is pretty, quiet too," Cuffe suddenly spoke, inviting Tom's attention onto himself. "Not like many of these politicians' wives trying to gain points and putting themselves out there."

Tom pursed his lips, jaw locked and crossed his legs. Cuffe didn't notice; he leaned over with his gob open and grabbed the co*cktail to take a gurgling sip.

"Some of these women are just sticking themselves into politics thinking that now that they can vote they can also play the big game."

"I agree, Mr. Cuffe, politics isn't the woman's place," Albert Runcorn nodded laughing.

Tom didn't know this bastard well, but he knew that he was in the opposition party, thought of himself as some traditionalist, whatever that meant. The entire evening this f*cking asshole was getting on Tom's nerves, trying to inject himself into every conversation Tom was having with the men here.

"Politics isn't woman's place, Mr. Runcorn," Harry quirked an eyebrow. "But they vote, don't they? I am sure alienating half your voters by ill-conceived notions that really don't do any favours wouldn't be exactly wise."

Runcorn turned his attention to Harry.

"Ill-conceived notions? Mrs. Riddle, do you think it's a woman's place to stand high on the podium and give speeches about the wars she won't take part in? I am sure your husband, who has been to the war, can tell you that no woman would have survived that."

He stared at Tom as if he was expecting him to slap his wife. Tom stared back at Runcorn and raised an eyebrow.

"If participating in the war is the criteria to be allowed to give a speech at the podium, I'm afraid you'd be disqualified," Harry said, rolling her eyes and flicking back her pretty curls.

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line so as not to snicker.

"Harry," he warned even though there was no real admonishing tone in his voice.

"Mrs. Riddle, you certainly do have opinions, don't you?" Runcorn folded his arms. "I would think that your husband should feel embarrassed not to keep you in check."

Did this f*cking c*nt want to get shot? This insignificant son of a bitch wasn't going to disrespect his wife to his face and continue breathing. Tom tilted his head, hand reaching for his gun, but before he could pull it out, he felt Harry's hand on his leg. She smiled at him, the corners of her lips curling as she turned to Runcorn.

"Mr. Runcorn, I would advise you to watch your tone," she said sweetly. "My husband certainly is a busy man, I presume unlike you, since you seem unable to keep your abnormally large nose out of other people's business. He hasn't got the time to monitor my opinions as that seems to be an occupation suited for a school matron or a nursemaid. You surely have a lot of opinions on women and on how other men should conduct their relationships with their wives for a man who doesn't have a wife. Tell me, Mr. Runcorn, do you harbour some kind of ill feelings and envy towards women?"

"How dare you?" The man shot up to his feet. "Mr. Riddle, control your wife."

Harry was a vicious little thing. The way she embarrassed this man in front of everyone. Tom had no idea she had a tongue as sharp as a new blade. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Runcorn.

"Mr. Runcorn, you should control your temper in polite company," Harry said softly, her voice so sweet that patronizing condescension just dripped from it. "It's quite rude to suggest that another man doesn't know how to conduct his business with his own wife. I am afraid you must not have been taught the proper manners of conduct otherwise you wouldn't be screaming in front of all these gentlemen and ladies like a common fishwife. Speaking with such disrespect about women when there are so many ladies seated here, listening to you opening your mouth and besmirching them is gauche and tacky and not a mark of an educated man."

Tom noticed how all the women were smiling and some of the men were looking quite uncomfortable by Runcorn's sudden outburst.

"Mr. Riddle..." the man was now staring at Tom. Tom would have interfered but this was too hilarious. Watching his proper thing absolutely wipe the floor with this smug bastard in such a sweet tone was amusing. It wasn't every day these privileged scoundrels got their sh*t handed to them, and in such a polite manner too.

"Mr. Runcorn, are you confused by the prospect of other men not having the same ideas about their marriage? After all, a wise man knows that children inherit the traits of their mother as much as they take in the traits of their father. So it is always prudent not to marry someone weak-willed without a brain in their head. God knows, maybe their sons from that union would end up being like their obedient,weakwives. Clearly, your father shared your opinion, though."

The man screamed, but Harry didn't seem concerned. Runcorn made a movement forward and fell on the table and started gurgling like an overfed pig. People working at the hotel rushed to help him up, but he began vomiting on them.

"Doll," Tom pulled her away from the man. "Leave the poor man alone. It seems he's had a bit too much to drink."

"My apologies, Mr. Riddle," one of the men said with a sigh, staring at Runcorn wrestling with the hotel staff. "Such a disgrace! Runcorn acts like we are middle ages."

"Harry, right?" a nicely dressed woman who was smiling the entire time Harry was handling this bastard leaned over. "I am Andromeda Tonks. Nice to make your acquaintance."

"Andromeda?" something passed through Harry's expression, but then she smiled and leaned over to squeeze her hand. "You were a Black."

"I was," she smiled. "Sirius is my cousin. And you are James Potter's daughter, right? Oh, you are such a pretty girl and smart too. Finally, someone put this annoying man in his place."

"Well, he certainly was annoying," Harry agreed.

"Mr. Riddle, my husband would certainly be interested in having a live interview with you at a new radio programme that he is going to launch," she said, extending a piece of paper. "Please give him a call when you have the time."

Tom grabbed the paper. Radio programmes offered limited coverage, so this would be an excellent opportunity. He didn't expect this to happen.

"And Mr. Riddle," she smiled, "you have a lovely wife."