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Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring—
“Don’t the songs drive you nuts after a while?” Hermione asked. Her long fingers were wrapped around a hot cup of coffee, her nose still red from the freezing temperatures outside that she had just escaped. Harry shook his head, tempted to make himself something to drink as well - there were no customers lining up behind Hermione after all, and the lunch rush was still hours away. “Especially since it’s closer to the new year, now.”
“It all just kind of fades into the background eventually,” Harry replied, giving into the temptation and grabbing a cup for himself. The snowy weather outside was lovely to look at from where he was standing, and the current lull left him feeling content with the world. His mother’s coffee shop had been like a second home to him for as long as he could remember, and the comfort he felt only increased the longer he worked there. “I’m surprised to see you here, however. How’s work? Is Kingsley not keeping you busy enough?”
“Believe me, he is,” Hermione huffed. “But not doing the things I want. I know he wants me to make my way up slowly to experience the company at every level, but I’m truly tired of this recruitment gig. I’m a lawyer! Not a HR specialist at a law firm!”
“My condolences,” Harry grinned, leaning against the counter, ready to spring into action at the sight of a customer. “I imagine Ron finds your plight hilarious?”
“Oh, yes.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “He knows he’s got the most exciting job between us, and he’s not about to let us forget it! Just the other week he was telling me about this murder case that his division has been tasked with. You’d think that was his Christmas gift!”
“He’s always been like that,” Harry reminded her with a laugh. The three of them had left high school behind them years ago, and yet the friendship remained strong as they each went on to pursue the things they wanted in life. For Ron that had always been excitement and adventure.
“You were like that too,” Hermione replied. “You calmed down. Look at you now, with your big jumpers and fluffy hair and round little cheeks. Come here and let me pinch them you funny little man, you—”
“To be fair, he only recently got into homicide,” Harry said, dodging his friend’s wandering hands. “I swear we thought his stint as a desk officer lasted for a lifetime. Also - funny little man? Who are you comparing me to? Ron’s a goddamn giant, he doesn’t count!”
“Keep tell yourself that,” Hermione cackled. “The only one shorter than you is your mum—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry groaned. “You know what? You deserve what you have going on right now. I hope Kingsley never lets you exist the HR department. Which, by the way— I’m still not sure why are you there in the first place? Why does he need a lawyer to be present during recruitment?”
“Hell if I know,” Hermione replied, sighing mournfully. “I suppose he’s trying to one-up the Malfoys.”
“…ah.”
The Malfoys - or rather: Malfoy & Malfoy Ltd., was a large law firm in the area, merely a block away from where Hermione worked. The Malfoys were known for representing corporate clients, with a few politicians thrown into the mix here and there. If Shacklebolt wanted to compete with them, he’d have his work cut out for him for sure.
“It doesn’t help that apparently the Malfoys have some big-shot new client that they’re being all secretive about,” Hermione continued. “Are we even surprised? You remember Junior, right? Draco Malfoy?”
“Do I ever,” Harry replied, grimacing. He remembered Draco Malfoy all right - not just from high school, during which they had been at each other’s throats at every turn, but also from the simple fact that Malfoy frequented his little coffee shop here. Nothing short of a miracle had prevented Hermione and Ron from bumping into Malfoy yet. “I bet he remembers you. Somehow I doubt that anyone else has managed to land a punch on his smug little face.”
“The prick had it coming,” Hermione muttered, conveying nothing but a funny mix of pride and embarrassment, sounding almost exactly like Ron for a moment. “I’m so curious about their client, though. Apparently it’s not a corporation, but I can’t recall any politicians in need of a high-profile representation.”
“It’ll be only a matter of time before it’s revealed who their client is, right?” Harry said. “Or it could be a politician whose scandal is just yet to hit the papers. I doubt it’ll be anything too interesting, honestly.”
“I hate the he’s getting all these fun cases, while I’m stuck screening paralegal applicants,” Hermione sighed, finishing her coffee and eyeing the macarons on display with consideration. “I have to go, but I’ll drop by later again. I might even take something for Ron.”
“Better yet, tell him to drop by,” Harry said. “He can’t be that busy. Tell him I’ve got more things for him to try out. My chocolate macarons have to be better than a murder.”
“I mean, you don’t need to convince me,” Hermione replied, grinning. “Ron, however? Well… we just better hope that if there is a murder in town, it’s nothing too juicy, otherwise we’ll see him maybe next year, if we’re lucky. ”
Harry shook his head, deeply amused. He knew that no matter how busy, it was only a matter of time before Ron’s sweet tooth made itself known again, forcing him away from his cases and into Harry’s coffee shop for something sugary. Besides… chances were that if something scandalous did happen, it’d have more to do with Malfoys’ new mystery client than with a dead body that Ron would need to deal with.
Realistically, however, the end of the year was likely to be void of any excitement. Unlike Hermione, Harry was perfectly content in his little safe haven, away from the dramatics of his friends’ careers. Unlike them, he wasn’t looking to get involved in any adventures, and was fairly confident that his future had neither dead bodies nor Malfoys’ mystery clients.
*
MILLIONAIRE AND WIFE FOUND MURDERED
Harry eyed the headline of the newspaper for a few moments, before slowly turning to look at Hermione. The woman was drinking a cup of coffee while holding the handle of a cup of tea - presumably also for herself. A customer who had been eyeing the display of snacks for a few moments, was now looking at her with no small amount of concern.
“Don’t mind her,” Harry said, smiling politely. “She’s stressed.”
“Okay,” the customer said, still appearing hesitant. “Uh, a coffee and a cheese sandwich to go, please.”
“Sure.”
If there was something for Harry to be thankful about, it was that despite her visible enthusiasm to start speaking and share her thoughts on the news, Hermione was patiently waiting until there was no one else in their immediate vicinity. The moment the last customer in line had picked up their drinks and left, Harry couldn’t help but teasingly say:
“You know this doesn’t look good for you. We talk about exciting murders, and now there’s one right near us? Come on.”
“You have no idea how exciting this is,” Hermione gushed. “I mean, I feel bad, obviously. It’s sad that a man and his wife were murdered, and I don’t mean to sound so callous, but Harry— the man who died is Thomas Riddle Senior, who was a long-time client of the Malfoys. He’s one of those corporate big-shots. And - get this - apparently he’s been dead for a week, it’s just that the family had kept it quiet until now.”
“Damn,” Harry replied, not really caring much about the crime. He didn’t know any Riddles, and doubted that he’d meet any of them in his lifetime. Rich people - with the exception of Malfoy - didn’t really come to where he worked.
“He was found dead with his wife,” Hermione said, eyeing the article. “Allegedly it’s the brother-in-law, who’s now in custody. They’re survived by their only son, and it sounds like there actually aren’t any other Riddles running around.”
“Interesting,” Harry said, when the door of the coffee shop was pushed open, and Malfoy walked in. Which - of course he did, the smug prick, just when Hermione was there too.
“Potter,” Malfoy said, and Harry could see Hermione’s fingers twitching, indicating that she had instantly recognized the voice of the speaker even without turning. “Two lattes to go. One with oat milk. Make it quick.”
“If time’s an issue, you can always use our app for placing orders,” Harry pointed out, moving to make the drinks as soon as he handed Malfoy back his card with the receipt. Harry knew that for some reason treating Malfoy like a stranger made the other man absolutely furious. Which, in turn, was hilarious, and Harry made sure to treat Malfoy like he’d never seen him before every time the man turned up. “That way you’ll be only doing the pick-up. Anyway, may I have a name for your order?”
“Potter—!”
Hermione giggled, causing Malfoy to glare at her with a sneer on his face the moment he realized who it was. “Granger. Should’ve known that you’d turn up eventually. Where’s Weasley? Staying home and taking care of an army of children, I presume? How’s life treating him as a househusband to a lawyer with no cases and no experience?”
“Sir, Mister Weasley is an officer of the law,” Harry cut in cheerfully, mouth stretching into what he knew to be an irritating grin. “He’s a very respected man around here.”
Malfoy’s face, if possible, turned even pinker than it had been before. His thoroughly gelled platinum blonde hair remained unaffected despite the man’s agitated shaking, and Harry could see Hermione tearing up due to the laughing she was visibly holding back as she watched the other lawyer’s posturing.
“Your drinks are ready, sir,” Harry finally said, handing Malfoy the two cups, each with a complementary piece of chocolate. “Thank you for your patronage!”
“Oh my God,” Hermione giggled, wiping the tears off her eyes with a tissue as soon as Malfoy had left. “That was amazing. Does he come here often? How come you didn’t tell us? Do you think he’ll come back again?”
“He always comes back,” Harry replied. “The chocolate usually costs some extra, and he knows it. He just comes here often enough - usually around lunch, which is why you’ve never seen him - and spends quite a bit, so sometimes I reward him with a free treat. It’s hilarious how that works.”
“Oh man, I wonder if he’s personally working on the mystery case at the Malfoys,” Hermione said. “If they really are working on the Riddle case. I wonder what kind of dispute would lead Riddle Junior to seek out legal representation of that level.”
“Rich people, doing rich people things,” Harry said dismissively, wiping the coffee machine clean out of habit. “I doubt Malfoy himself gets to do anything exciting, if he’s the one being sent off to fetch coffee, you know?”
“Fair point,” Hermione said, finally finishing both of her drinks, and slowly reaching for her scarf and coat to put them on. “Wait till I tell Ron about this - don’t be surprised if he turns up.”
“If Ron turns up just to see Malfoy while having neglected me, his dear best friend, I’ll be very offended,” Harry huffed. “Although if he does turn up, could you tell him that Malfoy thinks you have six children?”
“I will,” Hermione promised, sliding off her chair and pulling the strap of her bag over her head. “And just in case he ends up confronting Malfoy, I’ll make sure Ron knows that our six imaginary children are all named Draco.”
“Beautiful,” Harry said with feigned reverence. “In return I promise to tell you if Malfoy brags about this case that they have. He’s surprisingly tight-lipped about his projects, but every now and then he just gets too smug and the bragging just bursts out of him.”
“Colour me surprised,” Hermione grinned. “All right then, you do that. I’ll tell Ron to drop by soon. Take care!”
“You too,” Harry called after her. He didn’t know how useful he’d really be in satisfying Hermione’s curiosity, but keeping an eye out was surely an easy thing to do. His uneventful days rarely contained anything worth retelling, and he doubted that any of that would change soon.
*
“I can’t thank you enough for taking the morning shifts every day,” Lily sniffled, standing by the doorway wrapped up in a large, thick cardigan. “I can’t believe I managed to catch a cold at this time.”
Harry, who was tying his shoes by the front door, made a dismissive sound. “It’s all right mum,” he said. “Let’s just be glad it’s a regular cold and not ‘rona. Besides, most people are still wary of crowded indoor areas, so even at peak of rush hours, everything is still manageable. So many prefer using the app for orders and pre-payment, and then just drop by to pick everything up, which makes everything so much easier.”
“Still,” Lily said, shivering despite the layers she had on. The house was already warm, with fire crackling in the fireplace, the hot porridge they’d both had for breakfast warming them up from the inside, though Harry knew what his mother needed was rest and not more layers on her. “Call me if you need anything, though. Your dad is on patrol duty today and will be able to drop by if he’s needed.”
“I mean, he can drop by with Uncle Sirius even if I don’t need them,” Harry said with a short laugh, zipping up his coat and grabbing the strap of his bag. “Anyway, I’m off now. See you later!”
“Take care!”
There was something about the early morning hours in wintertime, when the world was dark and quiet, with a layer of snow covering everything. Lights of all colours twinkled from the windows and doors and yards of people and premises that Harry drove past, soft music playing from the speakers of his car as he drove to work. With so many people either enjoying their holidays, or simply working from home, there wasn’t much traffic for him to be wary of.
His mother’s coffee shop was much closer to Harry’s own apartment than it was to his parents’ house, but as his apartment was in the process of being renovated, he’d opted to move back in with them for now, rather than attempt renting a second place in the meanwhile. His parents had certainly been delighted – his mum excitedly talking to him about the ways they could further develop the coffee shop, while his dad, a policeman in the same department that Ron had joined, felt clearly less guilty about his long working hours now that his wife had someone to spend her days with.
The first thing Harry did at work was always make a cup of coffee for himself. While that brewed, he switched on the computer and the till, making sure that everything was up and running to keep him on top of any orders placed through their app. He then went to the kitchen in the back to begin heating pastries and making sandwiches and salads. The tables and chairs had already been wiped clean the evening before, but a cursory glance to make sure nothing stood out as faulty always put his mind at ease.
By the time the coffee shop was set to open for the day, the display was full of food, and the smell of fresh coffee was everywhere. The fridge was stocked with several types of milks, the take-away bag box was stocked, and unless a particularly large group would arrive all at once, things would likely proceed smoothly. Harry, humming quietly to himself, slid easily into the routine of greeting the incoming customers, and preparing their drinks and snacks. He expected nothing more or less than an ordinary day.
And, in many ways, it was an ordinary day.
Except— a bit before lunch, a man entered. He was tall, towering over the customers who happened to linger nearby. Well built and well dressed, he seemed to capture the attention of the people around him without meaning to. He strode forward, unapologetic of the space he occupied, unafraid of occupying even more.
Harry didn’t quite know why that one customer was different from the others – why he stood out. He was handsome, sure, but it wasn’t as if there were no attractive people among the customers he saw daily anyway. And yet there was something undeniably compelling about this man, his clean shaven face, his neatly combed dark hair, and the way the suit he was wearing stretched tight around his biceps. The absence of a coat meant that he either had driven here, or worked nearby.
“A latte with oat milk to go, please,” the man said the moment he reached the counter. Harry nodded, slightly surprised by how soft the man’s voice was. He didn’t know what he had expected – hadn’t realized there were expectations to be had when it came to voices – and yet…
He didn’t hate it, though. Wouldn’t mind hearing the man speak again.
“Anything to go with it, sir?” he asked. The man appeared wholly uninterested in the food, nodding towards the newspaper rack instead.
“The day’s paper,” he said. Harry handed the man a copy of the day’s paper before moving to work on making his drink after processing the payment and handing him back his card.
“Yet another day of this case being in the front page,” the man noted aloud, tapping at the headline mentioning the murder of the Riddles.
“It’s not everyday a multimillionaire gets murdered,” Harry replied. “Forums online say the wife’s brother did it, but the newspapers haven’t mentioned anything of the kind as far as I’m aware.” He wasn't sure if the brother-in-law being in custody was common knowledge yet, and decided to not mention it just in case. A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s face before disappearing again as he kept reading.
“Yes,” the man said after a moment. “The brother-in-law was notoriously unhinged. A combination of poor life choices and hereditary issues, I believe.”
“You’re familiar with the case?” Harry asked, curious. Done with the drink, he pressed the lid onto the cup, before handing it over. “Here you go, sir.”
“Somewhat,” the man replied evasively, before offering Harry a charming smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. There’s no mystery to be found in this case.”
“Uh—”
“Have a good day.”
“Likewise,” Harry called after the man, his voice tapering off in the end. The stranger hadn’t taken the paper with him, leaving it on the counter instead despite having paid for it. Harry pulled it closer to take a look at the Riddle article himself, and was surprised to find no mention of the suspected brother in law. Notoriously unhinged, the customer had called him. Harry had heard nothing of the like, but perhaps he simply didn’t know the case well enough.
‘It sounds like something Hermione would know,’ Harry thought. ‘Although… I wonder how he knows it.’
*
Harry didn’t see the handsome stranger until a few days later. By then, the layer of snow on the ground had become even thicker, and the end of the year was just around the corner. Most people had their Christmas lights still up, and even more were now gearing up to celebrate the new year.
The day had begun like it always did, though with a single notable exception.
“You look familiar,” Harry said, watching the exception in question devour a second mozzarella-and-pesto-ciabatta. “I just haven’t seen you in so long, your name evades me. It’s as if we were familiar in another lifetime.”
Ron Weasley let out a loud laugh, somehow not choking on the mouthful he had as he swallowed it. “It weird, mate. I see your dad more often than I see you.”
“By choice!” Harry huffed. “You could visit me— Hermione does! But not you, nooo.”
“To be fair, turns people aren’t less likely to crime around during the holidays,” Ron replied. “Did you know, by the way, that there are journalists who follow cops on duty around? Imagine just lurking around, waiting for someone to commit a crime bad enough for you to write about.”
“Yikes,” Harry said, just as the door of the coffee shop was pushed open. Malfoy was back, this time with—
‘Oh, they know each other?’ Harry thought, watching as the handsome stranger from two days ago walked past Malfoy and towards the counter. It seemed like whoever this man was, he held a higher position of the two. “Hello.”
“A latte with oat milk, please,” the man said, seemingly forgetting about Malfoy lurking behind him. Malfoy, whose face had turned sour the moment he saw Ron, didn’t look like he was in need for a drink either.
“Well, well, well,” Ron said, a grin appearing on his face. “The rumours are true, I see. Draco Malfoy, in flesh.”
“Weasley,” Malfoy spat, pink dots of rage appearing on the apples of his cheeks. “I should’ve known it’s only a matter of time before you appear.”
Harry bit his lip, unwilling to join the teasing quiet yet. Instead he ducked behind the coffee machine, preparing the man’s latte and drowning the sounds of the conversation under the loudness of the milk steamer. He missed out on what doubtlessly had been brilliant banter, but by the time he was done making the drink and had handed it to the customer, Ron and Malfoy seemed to have found something to fight about.
“—no such a thing as open and shut case when there are so many things that don’t add up,” Ron was saying, visibly enjoying how upset he was making Malfoy. Harry felt almost bad, but then remembered that Malfoy himself very much enjoyed bringing misery upon others.
“The case is clear as day—”
“There’s no proof that the brother in law was even in town when it happened,” Ron said dismissively. “You’ll need physical evidence to show that he was there.”
“They’re talking about the Riddle murders?” Harry murmured to Malfoy’s companion, whose smile didn’t make him appear any friendlier. “The Malfoys are handling that case, then?”
“They knew my father well enough, I saw it fit to approach them with the task,” the man replied, his dark eyes watching Harry, perhaps to take notice of any reaction after he’d revealed who he was. Harry, who felt a bit foolish for not realizing it sooner, offered Riddle Junior an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
“Thank you,” Riddle Junior replied. “What matters now, however, is justice. Your friend is correct regarding our need for physical evidence.”
“To be fair, you don’t actually need it,” Harry pointed out, remembering some past cases he remembered Hermione ranting about. “If it’s a trial by jury then all your team needs is to convince the jury and judge that the man is guilty despite the absence of physical proof. People have been charged before based on circumstantial evidence. It really depends on how good the lawyers are. If he really did it, I mean. Otherwise it wouldn’t be right, even if it could work.”
“Pretty and clever, what a delight,” Riddle Junior murmured, leaning forward and towards Harry. “Perhaps I should come more often, if this is the service to be expected.”
“Well, I’m here every day,” Harry replied with a small grin, flushing pink at the compliment. “And the coffee seems to be better than our neighbours’, considering that Malfoy keeps turning up despite hating my other customers, it seems.”
“He’s so easily outraged,” Riddle Junior said, and there was no small amount of contempt to be found in his voice. It surprised Harry a bit— he’d expected Riddle and Malfoy to get along splendidly, especially considering how quickly Malfoy liked to suck up to people who were clearly in positions higher than him. Perhaps it was that smarminess that had put him at odds with Riddle?
“Well, we have plenty of work to do,” Riddle Junior then said, straightening up and clearly ready to leave. “As pleasant as this has been, we truly must leave now. Draco, follow.”
“Oh my God,” Ron cackled, watching the door swing shut after the two. “Malfoy didn’t even get a coffee, that’s how pissed he was. I love this!”
“Well, at least now we can tell Hermione that we know what the mystery case at the Malfoys is,” Harry said, still eyeing the doorway. “The murder of the Riddles, of all things. I suppose it makes sense that he’s seeking justice for his parents.”
“I think the more interesting question is: if his uncle didn’t kill them, who did?” Ron pointed out. “Because it’s really unlikely that he could’ve. From what I’ve heard, Morfin Gaunt - that’s his name - isn’t bright enough to get away with this kind of a thing.”
“I mean, he’s not getting away with it, is he?” Harry said. “If he’s innocent, however, I hope he’ll get a proper lawyer to help him out. The Malfoys aren’t going to back down, that’s for sure.”
“Neither is Riddle Junior,” Ron said. “Strikes me as a bit of a cold one, he does. Not that I know much about the man - his daddy was the famous one, not him.”
And, as much as Harry wanted to disagree, he couldn’t. Riddle Junior was charming and handsome, but there was something that just wasn’t quite there about him. His smiles didn’t reach his eyes, and there was no friendliness or warmth to be found upfront.
Perhaps all he needed was to get to know the man a bit better?
*
Harry’s chance to get to know Riddle a bit better came sooner than expected. Right after the coffee shop had reopened after the new year celebrations, with snow thick on the ground, and lingering colourful Christmas lights still illuminating the streets in the early morning hours, the older man had returned on his own for a drink.
“Is your office nearby, or do you just visit the Malfoys often?” Harry asked, feeling warm and happy in his coffee-scented bubble, basking in the attention he was receiving. Riddle’s smile was charming as ever, and it was easy to overlook the deadness of his eyes when he looked at other people, when he came so alive at the sight of Harry.
“The latter, sadly enough,” Riddle said. “Not that I mind, anymore. There’s plenty good to be found in this part of town, I’ve realized.”
“Good lattes?” Harry suggested, smiling brightly.
Riddle, responding with a smile of his own almost instinctually, replied: “Great lattes. Although that might be down to the one who makes them.”
Harry giggled - giggled! - and raised his hands for a moment to cover his pink cheeks, very aware of how lucky he was that no one he knew personally was there to see it happen. He was so very aware of how ridiculously giddy he was acting, and yet there was something about this time of the year - or maybe just something about this man in front of him - that made him indulge this feeling of soft happiness that had unexpectedly become so attainable.
“How is the case going with the Malfoys?” Harry then asked, less out of genuine interest and more to just hear Riddle talking. “You don’t have to tell me, of course, if it’s confidential.”
“It’s fine,” Riddle replied. “Quite a lot of public - do you follow the case at all?”
“My best friend’s a police officer, and so are my dad and godfather,” Harry said. “And my other best friend is a lawyer. I end up hearing quite a bit, though I’m sure nowhere near enough to convey the loss you must be feeling. It must be devastating, Mr. Riddle.”
“Please, call me Tom,” Riddle said. “My father had lived a good life, and for that I am glad. To be honest with you, at this point all I want is for all of this to just disappear. The trial will just bring everything back, and I worry for the legacy it’ll leave in the end. If only I knew how. But there’s no way to make my uncle confess.”
“Anything short of a purely accidental death on his part is unlikely to shorted the proceedings,” Harry said, knowing that while among officers this kind of callousness towards some murder cases was common, it was likely to be off putting to others - especially to the family of the victims.
Luckily, however, Riddle’s reaction was entirely unexpected. The man let out a laugh and said: “You’re a bright little idea bank, aren’t you?”
‘He’s got a dark sense of humour,’ Harry realized, feeling even more delighted than before. ‘He’d get along well with Ron and Hermione, too.’
“It might happen, if I’m lucky,” Riddle - Tom - continued. “He’s old, and far from healthy. I’d say that stress would also play a factor in this, but can a man with no remorse feel stress over his circumstances? He doesn’t seem to care much about what is happening, and though he’s denying all accusations so far, there’s a strange air of disregard about him.”
“As if he knows he’ll get away with this?” Harry said, intrigued.
“That’s what worries me,” Tom murmured, a frown appearing on his face. “Did he bribe someone? If he gets away with this, he’ll be a wealthy man. My father left the business and majority of the assets to me, but mother convinced him to allocate a large amount of shares to her brother. To take care of him, she’d said. He’s been financially struggling for a while now, and money is notoriously one hell of a motive to some.”
Harry couldn’t imagine how awful it would be, to have to share his parents’ legacy with their murderer. “As ridiculous as I find Draco, I know that the Malfoys provide excellent legal service. I have no doubt that you’re in capable hands.”
“Now what will you do if I tell Draco that?” Tom asked with a teasing smirk, the change in his tone and demeanor throwing Harry off for a moment.
“I’ll still keep pretending I don’t know his name,” Harry replied in the end. “It drives him nuts.”
“It does,” Tom agreed. “Apparently in high school he had envisioned some sort of a career-based competition between the two of you. A rivalry of sorts. It bothers him that you appear perfectly content with your life as it is.”
Harry smiled, thinking of how different his life would’ve been if he had followed Ron into the police academy, or gone into law school with Hermione. To enter a career that he didn’t want, simply to shield himself from the condescension of others.
“I don’t think he realizes that I’m doing quiet well,” Harry said in the end. “You see, my mother owns this place. We make quite a bit of money out of not just the regular services that other coffee shops have, but we sell shelf space to other brands - like those chocolates and teas from Lady Marquees over there - and our online following has allowed us to monetize our activities further. People like to look at my job and call it unsustainable, but honestly… I think the past pandemic showed us that no job is truly secure. So why not do the work you want to do if it allows you to earn a proper living, and disregard what other people say?”
“I agree,” Tom said, though Harry wasn’t entirely sure if the man was genuine, or if he simply agreed with Harry to flatter him. Either way, Harry didn’t mind. “Speaking of the Malfoys,” the man then continued, sighing as he straightened up. “I ought to head their way now.”
“Have a great day,” Harry said, almost offering to make Tom another latte. He felt too awkward for that, though, and decided not to. “It was nice to see you today.”
“Thank you for your lovely company, Harry,” Tom said. “I’ll be back.”
‘I hope so,’ Harry thought as he watched Tom leave. Why a man that handsome would look his way, Harry didn’t know, but he was undeniably happier for it.
*
“It’s not just his looks,” Harry told Hermione over a shared bowl of pasta. Ron was there too, but Harry wasn’t about to compete with the man’s lunch for his attention. “He’s just… so sweet, you know?”
“You’ve met him twice,” Hermione pointed out. “Just say he’s hot and you’re attracted to him. It’s fine. You don’t need to justify it by attributing him characteristics that you don’t know if he has.”
“He’s so hot,” Harry sighed, looking down at his lap and playing with the fried edges of his apron. His mother was at the counter, allowing him more free time to actually sit down and talk to his friends whenever they turned up. Which worked just fine for him, since it was infinitely easier to tell Hermione about Tom Riddle than it was to talk to him mother about the man. “But he’s got this dark strike to his humour, you know? I like that about him.”
“Also he makes fun of Malfoy, so that’s a plus,” Ron offered, finally joining their discussion. “Let’s see how useful the little prick will be, though.”
“I heard there are some complications popping up in the case,” Hermione said. “Apparently the wife’s brother has an alibi, but not a particularly solid one.”
“If it’s not the uncle, then who on earth could it be?” Harry wondered. “Poor Tom. Imagine having to go over all this again if they come up with a new suspect and the uncle is proven to be innocent.”
“I wouldn’t say poor Tom,” Ron said. “He’s playing nice with you, but the man’s got one hell of a reputation. He’s now in control of the VDM conglomerate, and he’s aware of everything happening in every single company he owns. Ginny works at the paper he owns, what the fuck was it called—”
“Imperio,” Hermione said.
“—yes, Imperio, thank you. She said they don’t even refer to him by name, just as You Know Who. The man’s terrifying, she says. Apparently him and his old man had horrible arguments about stocks and going international – Riddle Senior voted for Brexit, you see, and thought that British companies don’t need the rest of the world to succeed, even though all his suppliers are from abroad. Anyway! Junior’s a horror, I’ve been told.”
”Ginny didn’t say he’s a horror,” Hermione said. “She said he’s hard to please and negotiate with.”
“That would explain why Malfoy is so intimidated,” Harry murmured, trying to fit the description Ron was giving him with the man he had had such pleasant encounters with. “But I mean, he did just lose both of his parents in a brutal murder. A bit of empathy isn’t misplaced.”
“Fair enough,” Ron relented. “All I’m saying is that even if the uncle gets away with the murder - or if he actually is innocent - Riddle Junior will have more than enough money and influence to just make the man’s life a living hell no matter what the court says.”
“How likely is it that the uncle is innocent?” Harry asked. “I feel like I’ve been living under a rock, completely unaware of any of these people.”
“I mean, there’s no reason for you to know them,” Hermione replied. “I’ve never seen you pick up a single lifestyle magazine, let alone Imperio. His other brands are focused on luxury goods on one end, and on affordable cosmetics on the other. Again, I love you, but you don’t even style your hair.”
“I do brush it,” Harry said.
“I love that you don’t know the difference between styling your hair and just brushing it,” Hermione told him. “But quit while you’re ahead, all right?”
“I did not sign up for this hostile environment,” Harry said. “Anyway, I repeat: how likely do you two think that his uncle is innocent?”
“I mean, the motive would be clear,” Hermione sighed. “Also since he’s a familiar face, they’d likely allow him entry without much hardship on his part. So all he’d need to do, really, is just time things well and get it done. I know some people think he’s not smart enough to do this, but it’s not like the whole murder has been an act of genius to begin with.”
“But don’t you think he’s a bit too obvious?” Ron asked. “It could very well be a competitor of the Riddles, looking to shake up the company, finding it then easy to just frame the wife’s brother for it?”
“I don’t think that would check out either,” Hermione argued. “Because it’s Riddle Junior who’s running the show. The death of his father is sad, but it’s not going to affect the companies in any way. If someone truly wanted to shake up VDM, they’d kill Junior, wouldn’t they?”
“So we go back to the uncle,” Harry said. “Or brother in law, or the wife’s brother, whichever way we want to call him.”
“It’s not an enviable position to be in, for anyone involved,” Ron said. “But the uncle is fairly simple, brain dulled by years of alcoholism. The possibility of someone else having killed the Riddles and put it all on him has to be considered, if only to minimize the risk of a false conviction.”
“I agree, but unless the alibi he has actually hold, he’s on very thin ice,” Hermione said. “If he wants, he can make it very uncomfortable for Riddle Junior, too, by filing motions and disputing evidence at every turn. Even if the motions and disputations fail, it’d draw the trial longer.”
“Poor Tom,” Harry repeated.
“You can always go ahead and comfort him,” Ron said with a grin. “He was eyeing you up last time I saw him here.”
“How did you even notice—”
“It’s hard not to,” Hermione jumped in, giggling. “He’s kind of obvious. To be fair, you and your jumpers are really working that cuddly and cute coffee house barista angle. Not to mention that you’ve gained a little bit of weight, and it looks good on you.”
“It’s kind of enviable,” Ron pointed out. “You put on a few pounds, your cheeks round out and that’s it. If I gain weight, I just get a double chin.”
“All right, whatever,” Harry huffed, rolling his eyes. “Enough about the Riddles, then. Do you two have any other cases? Are you out of recruitment yet, Hermione?”
Luckily, his friends didn’t resist his attempt at changing the direction of the conversation. He didn’t feel uncomfortable, necessarily, talking about Riddle, it just… what was he supposed to say, at this point? They already knew that he enjoyed the man’s company and found him handsome, but what about it? It wasn’t as if Tom would want to actually spend any time with him outside the coffee shop. Especially not now when Harry had been made aware of how different their worlds were.
No, everything would remain inside the coffee shop. He’d enjoy Tom’s company here, and he wouldn’t dream of anything else. That was simply for the best.
*
The next time Harry saw Tom, there was something clearly bothering the man.
“My uncle’s alibi,” he explained after some gentle urging. “First he said that he wasn’t in town when my parents were murdered. Then a week later he said he’s got people who can confirm that he was there. Now he says he’s even got booking documentation to prove his whereabouts. I worry that he’ll get away with this.”
“Isn’t it odd,” Harry started while preparing a delivery order that would be picked up from the counter later, “how the alibi keeps developing over time? I mean, if he really had all the documentations and eyewitnesses from the start, why not just say so? Now it just makes him seem more suspicious; makes it seem as if he’s just coming up with these things after he’s taken the time to conjure up some evidence. Are his eyewitnesses reliable? Does the booking documentation check out?”
Tom looked at Harry, a pleased little smile appearing on his face. “How is it that you’re doing Draco’s job better than he is?”
“Draco isn’t good with thinking outside the box,” Harry said with a quiet laugh. “He’s always struggled with that, even when we were classmates back in high school and could be creative without consequences. He was great at structured debates, the best when it came to discussions that relied on some political on economic facts, but the moment his opponent went rogue with argumentation, he floundered.”
“And yet he’s the lawyer and not you,” Tom remarked. “You would’ve been brilliant.”
“Maybe,” Harry acknowledged. “I mentioned this before, but I had considered different career paths before I ended up working here with my mum. I used to think that all I wanted in life was excitement and adventure, but honestly? I’m happy with my life the way it is now. I see the work Draco and Ron - my cop friend, you’ve met him - do, and the stress is just insane. I’m not going to put myself through that just because other people think I should be achieving more.”
“Fair enough,” Tom said. “Considering what happened with my parents, I understand your perspective. While I myself thrive in an environment with high stakes, I imagine a balance is very much needed. Enough excitement to stave off boredom, and enough stability to prevent excitement from turning into chaos.”
Harry grimaced at the reminder of what had happened with Tom’s parents, before hesitantly asking: “How are you holding up? I was told that you’ve got a few companies that you run. That has to be stressful?”
“I delegate a lot,” Tom told him. “In the end so long as the numbers I see in quarterly reports are satisfying, I rarely have a reason to interfere with how the companies are operated by the people I’ve hired to handle them. My father had handed me the reigns a while ago when his health began declining.”
“I assume he trusted you quite a lot,” Harry said. Curiously, Tom’s smile faltered for a second, before the man nodded slowly.
“We had our disagreements, but trust was certainly there,” Tom replied. “We had such grand plans to expand our reach abroad, become an international company, and now I will have to do it without him. It is partly why I just wish for this whole trial to be over already - I have no interest in prolonging any of the proceedings.”
“Hermione - a lawyer friend of mine - was discussing that possibility,” Harry said. “If your uncle files motions and disputations despite knowing they won’t go anywhere, it’ll still keep the proceedings going for a long time.”
Tom hissed, expression darkening all of a sudden. He clearly hadn’t considered this, and while Harry felt sympathetic, a part of him couldn’t help but take note of how damn attractive the man looked even when displeased. How long would he get to enjoy his company, honestly? Once the case was over and Tom had no more reason to come to this part of town, Harry would likely never see him again.
“I will need to bring that up with the Malfoys, I suppose,” Tom murmured. “The accidental death you suggested is becoming an increasingly attractive option, I have to say.”
Harry laughed, feeling a tendril of unease at how his comment from before had been paraphrased. “Well, what would be the odds? Unless the stress really gets to him or something else changes to the worse in his lifestyle, I think he’ll be just fine.”
Tom hummed, before quietly finishing his latte as Harry refocused on the work he was doing. The companionable silence was pleasant, and even when Tom finished his drink and began pulling on his coat and gloves again, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. Harry didn’t know what exactly did te older man get out of his time spent here at the coffee shop, but couldn’t help but hope that perhaps Tom found him a reason enough.
“I might be unable to visit for a while after this,” Tom said suddenly. “The next few days are going to be fully packed with meetings. I’ll have to send Draco to fetch my coffee, but I assure you that I will return as soon as I’m able.”
“Oh.” Harry didn’t want to appear disappointed too visibly. How long was ‘a while’ anyway? “I understand.” Would it be too eager of him to say that he’d miss Tom? They got along but he didn’t want to come across as weird or desperate for his presence. In the end what he said was:
“You’ll find me here when you come back.”
To which Tom replied: “I look forward to it.”
*
Harry had never thought of himself as the pining type, and yet every day without seeing Tom felt strangely empty. He wasn’t unhappy – not at all – just… in anticipation of something he knew wouldn’t happen. Malfoy had dropped by twice to pick up oat milk lattes, and now that Harry knew who those were for, he couldn’t help but think of him.
“He might turn up today, that man of yours,” Lily said slyly, her gloved hands arranging the macarons on display. “It’s been nearly a week.”
“He’s not my man,” Harry shot back, hiding his now pink face behind a flower arrangement by the counter. “Also I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Not going to lie, they had us in the first half,” Lily narrated, before bursting out into loud laughter.
“Please don’t tell dad,” Harry begged, knowing he couldn’t dig himself out of the hole he had thrown himself into, now. “Because he will tell Uncle Sirius and that’s just not something you’d want me to endure. Mum please. Besides, he’s not really my man— I’ll probably never see him again after he’s done with the case.”
“Oh, my pouty little baby,” Lily cooed, holding out an earl grey macaron that she hadn’t yet added into the display. “Here, have this and cheer up. We’re about to open and I know that Linda from Honeydukes drops by just to see your happy little face”
“I like Linda,” Harry said, thinking of the old woman who had been a customer of their coffee shop for as long as Harry could remember. “She always brings me chocolate frogs.”
“Is that what those cheeks are sponsored by?” Lily asked, before laughing aloud. “You can thank me for the babyface, love. That’s purely my genes.”
“I can’t believe I’m being hassled like this,” Harry muttered. “I’ll have you know I look adorable.”
“You do,” Lily agreed. “And then you start talking. Does your man know what a menace you are?”
“Still not my man,” Harry said, rolling his eyes as he left the flower display to go and unlock the door of the coffee shop and turn the sign to ‘open’. “We’re supposed to get a ciabatta shipment around noon, by the way.”
“Let’s hope people aren’t in the mood for them early on, then,” Lily said. “Or, you know what – let’s have a discount on the bagels and hope that keeps ciabatta fanatics at bay. Could you go and work on those?”
“Of course.”
Humming to himself, Harry left the serving area, determined to focus on preparing a variety of bagels before too many customers dropped by. And so, with a mountain of bagels on the side, and a variety of stuffings in little jars and bowls on the table in front of him, Harry got to work.
With no sense of time left, but about eleven bagels later, he heard: “Harry! Could you give me a hand please?”
“Sure!” Harry hollered back, placing his precious bagels onto a tray to take them out with him on the way. The moment he existed the kitchen, however – even before he looked at his mother – he saw Tom standing there, looking possibly even more handsome than the last time Harry had seen him.
“Harry,” Tom said.
“Hi,” Harry breathed, barely aware of his mother taking the tray of bagels from him. “Um. Hi, how have you been? It’s been a moment.”
“He’d like a latte with oat milk, and since you’re great at preparing drinks, I’ll leave you to it,” Lily said, quickly arranging the bagels in another display counter, before slipping into the kitchen when no other guests turned up.
“I’m well,” Tom said, and Harry noticed that his hair was curling a bit at the tips, right behind his hears. Why was that attractive? “There was quite a bit of work to do, but at least there’s light at the end of the tunnel now.”
“Good progress, then?” Harry asked as he started making the man’s drink for him. “That’s good to hear.”
“We’re finding more and more holes in his claims,” Tom replied. “It is to our benefit that he keeps talking about his excuses before we’re in court, otherwise checking the validity of his claims would’ve been difficult. Now, however— you were right, his excuses come a bit by bit over time since they’re in development, and not actually genuine.”
“I imagine after all of this stress and hassle you’ll be happy to settle back into your regular work,” Harry noted. “Even if it’s fast-paced, it’s bound to be less awful than, well… this.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking of the merits of slowing down a bit,” Tom said. “Finding something that isn’t work yet so very interesting and pleasant to look at.”
‘Don’t be conceited, he’s not talking about you,’ Harry told himself sternly. “Have you found anything worth slowing down for, then?”
“I don’t know, Harry, have I?” Tom asked, another one of his slow smiles appearing on his face. Harry didn’t think he could be blamed for blushing then. Who wouldn’t?
“I would like it if you have,” Harry replied quietly, avoiding looking at Tom’s face and focusing on pressing a plastic lid on his take-away cup. “There’s a lot more than work to live for.”
“The thought of having a stable haven to which one could return after a hectic day is appealing to me,” Tom told him, and Harry wondered if he was right in making assumptions regarding what that stable haven could be. “I would like to pursue it.”
“I suspect you’re well suited to pursue anything you truly want,” Harry said.
“What about you, Harry?” Tom asked. “What would you pursue?”
“I’m— I’m not sure,” Harry stammered.
“You said you’ve no interest in disrupting the good pace of your life, or switching it out for a different career,” Tom continued, taking the cup of latte without looking away from Harry. “But you said nothing of your life outside of work. Could I ask you to do something?”
The question, unexpected as it was, caught Harry of guard. “Yes?”
“Think about it,” Tom said, preparing to leave once again. “What you wish to pursue outside of work. If the way your life is now… is truly enough, or if you have space for some additions.”
*
“That is so sweet,” Hermione said after Harry had finished retelling his latest meeting with Tom. “You being a gold digger is a twist I never saw coming. Truly, a Trojan horse. Entering under the guise of cuteness, filled with dark intentions. I’m so impressed.”
“I hate that we exist in the same timeline,” Harry replied. “Anyway - what do you think he means?”
“He’s literally asking if you’ve space for him in your life,” Hermione said. “How is that confusing to you? In such a lovely way too! Remember how Ron asked me out?”
Harry nodded, remembering an awkward evening about fifteen years ago, when Ron had tossed a half-melted chocolate heart and Hermione and said something along the lines of ‘my mum thinks we should date’, which— to this day, Harry refused to analyze that. How Hermione had accepted despite everything was nothing short of madness.
“I don’t think I could ever forget, sadly,” he said in the end. “And, I mean… you were right when you said that I don’t actually know him, you know? He looks great, and I’ve heard things about him, and he’s been so nice to me, but…”
“Isn’t dating all about getting to know him?” Hermione asked. “Also — breaking up is perfectly legal, you know? If you two are not compatible, you can absolutely back out. Don’t miss out on having a great thing just because you’re already imagining how it’ll crash and burn. Think about it.”
“I suppose it’s great that he’s so busy these days,” Harry sighed. “I’ll have enough time to think of how seriously I want to take this before he does turn up.”
“Speaking of— the first hearing of his case was yesterday, and mailroom gossip says it went somewhat well,” Hermione said. “The Malfoys are doing a great job highlighting his motives and debunking his alibi. It’s just… even if they succeed in both, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s no physical evidence actually tying him to the scene of the crime. And that’s just… not good.”
“The hearing was briefly discussed in an article in the paper today,” Harry told her. “People seem to think that the uncle is guilty, even if there’s no proof. Thoughts on that? Aside from the absence of physical evidence - do you think he’s guilty?”
“I’m still on the fence,” Hermione admitted. “Nothing so far has convinced me of his innocence or his guilt. I think the reason why he appears guilty in the eyes of the general public is because, well, he just handles pressure badly. He was sweaty, stammering, confused. Barely sober. He’s under a lot of stress.”
“He’s under surveillance though, right? Since he’s a suspect,” Harry said. “I mean, I was just wondering if the pressure will lead him to self-destruction. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened. It’d be good if he was being watched in case he tried to, you know.”
“I don’t think he’d kill himself,” Hermione said. “Even if he gets convicted, going by the character analysis that was done on him, he’s just more likely to be a general nuisance from behind bars than actually turn to self-harm. I say likely, though, because you truly never know.”
“What a sad case,” Harry sighed. “Even if it ended up in a confession and a conviction tomorrow, the thought of returning to a daily routine where you have this sudden, gaping absence of your parents…”
“To be fair, I don’t think Junior was that close with his parents,” Hermione said. “This is all speculation, but allegedly there’s been some bad blood for years.”
That was news to Harry, especially considering how fondly Tom had spoken about his father. Then again, Hermione had said that her words were pure speculation. “Anyway,” he finally said, “enough about me. How’s your work going?”
“Well, I’m out of recruitment, finally,” Hermione said. “I’m allowed to pick a few pro bono cases and work on those. Prove my worth before I start getting paying clients. So I’ve got two minor disputes coming up, but they’re both fairly straightforward. Nothing of the scale that Malfoy is getting, that’s for sure.”
“If it means anything, Tom told me that he’s not particularly impressed by Draco,” Harry told her. “From what I understood, Draco hasn’t been able to come up with solutions on his own.”
“Classic,” Hermione snorted. “That’s what happens when people get an easy pass thanks to nepotism: they don’t learn the things everyone else in an equivalent position had to learn on their way to the top.”
“And that’s why he’s the one picking up Tom’s oat milk lattes every day,” Harry replied with a grin. “Congratulations on finishing the recruitment stint, though. Working on new cases must be exciting.”
“I feel like I’m actually a lawyer,” Hermione said. “And that feels good. For so long I’ve felt like Ron’s the only one with a real job, since I was stuck doing tasks that had nothing to do with my actual degree. But now it’s just… it feels good.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Harry smiled. “Now you’ve joined the ranks of those with exciting jobs around me. I’ll be the only one sitting back and relaxing.”
“You’re not relaxing, though,” Hermione said. “Becoming a bourgeois housewife sounds like hard work.”
“Stoooop,” Harry groaned. “I’m still living under fear that mum says something to dad and Sirius. Nothing has happened between Tom and myself yet, and I don’t want them to find him and do something stupid.”
“I don’t thin your mum’s the risk factor here,” Hermione said. “I’d be more worried about Ron’s big, fat mouth.”
“Oh fuck, I forgot he works with them!”
“How could you forget? He only brags about it every damn day!”
“You have to make sure he doesn’t say anything,” Harry begged. “The last thing I want is for those two to arrest Tom for something dumb and irrelevant. You know they would, they’re assholes.”
“I don’t think they’d arrest him, but they would likely do something,” Hermione acknowledged. “All right, I’ll tell Ron to stay quiet about it. But you have to know that you’re working with a very unreliable trustee here - he will eventually slip up. This time of secrecy is temporary, so you have to sort out your thoughts and do something.”
“I will,” Harry promised. “The next time I see Tom, I’ll, uh, do something about it. For sure. I promise.”
*
The next time Harry saw Tom, he did not, in fact, ask him out. He had a very good reason for that, though: Morfin Gaunt had been found dead in his cell.
“I didn’t actually expect him to commit suicide,” Tom said, sighing. “It’s truly unfortunate. We were never close, but it’s just… now justice will never be served.”
“I’m so sorry,” Harry said, unsure of how to comfort the man. He was surprised by how wrong Hermione had been, though she had admitted that self-destruction wasn’t something anyone was fully safe from. “I suppose the silver lining here is that you won’t need to go through with further hearings.”
“You’re right,” Tom said. “Wrapping up will be enough of a task as it is. Since I am his last living relative, and despite the circumstances, it still falls on my shoulders to sort out any lingering affairs he has.”
Harry was surprised to hear that, and couldn’t help but feel sorry for Tom. If he was in this positions, he doubted that he’d have wanted to handle anything on behalf of someone who had killed his parents. Tom seemed to be handling all of his losses with grace and resilience that was remarkable. “How long do you think that will take?”
“Not long, thankfully,” Tom said. “He didn’t have much - which is why I assume he did what he did. It’ll take a bit longer to have him buried— I suppose that is the part that I resent the most. I have to make sure he’s buried.”
“Why?”
“I could technically leave his body unclaimed, but last time that was done by a wealthy family - the Notts, I’m not sure if you know of them - someone from a rival company had paid off the funeral director to allow them to have an autopsy conducted on the body. They had then fabricated some murder plot that the Notts spent millions to clear up.”
Harry thought about it for a moment: about someone hating the Riddles so much they’d pay to have Morfin Gaunt’s body autopsied, and then using that to attack Tom. Could anyone be that cruel? “That sounds terrible.”
“Yeah,” Tom said with a grimace. “As much as I don’t want that to happen, I do not appreciate needing to put my feelings towards him aside to arrange for a funeral and pay for a plot of land.”
“Why not just have him cremated, then?” Harry asked. “That’d sort out the autopsy problem, too. Cremated and scattered, no need to find a burial slot, no need to find a casket or pay for a service.”
Tom’s head snapped up, his wide eyes fixed on Harry. The expression on his face was that of pure shock and dawning realization, and so genuine that Harry couldn’t help but smile at it. Humming quietly to himself, Harry made a few drinks for incoming customers while Tom silently processed the suggestion. Eventually, when Harry had just finished sending a take-away order with a deliveryman, Tom finally spoke.
“You’re truly something else,” the man said. Harry looked at him from where he was standing, and winked.
“You bring that something else out in me.”
“Last time I was here, I asked you to consider something,” Tom then started, causing Harry to hold his breath in anticipation. “I came here expecting to pick up from where we stopped then, but I have to ask you to wait a bit longer. I want to put everything else to rest before— Before anything.”
Harry, feeling his chees pinken, said: “So there is something.”
“I think we’ve both known that from the very beginning,” Tom said, his voice lower now. Harry took in a shuddering breath, before nodding slowly. Yeah, he’d been attracted to the man from the first time he’d seen him. He just hadn’t expected Tom to view him in a similar fashion - after all, it wasn’t as if Harry had ever particularly care about his looks. He knew he was nowhere near as handsome as Tom; no one called Harry handsome - if anything, he was cute at best. And yet somehow Tom didn’t seem to mind that.
Seemed to be into that.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Harry said. “Just— just promise me that you will come back after you’ve sorted everything else out. That you won’t just…”
“Forget about you?” Tom asked. “Impossible. I could never.”
“Okay,” Harry replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll wait.”
*
It took Tom nearly three weeks to come back. When he did, he looked very much like the first time Harry had seen him: well-rested, well-dressed, with a presence that filled the room without him trying. Harry, in comparison, felt frumpy in his stretched jumper and worn apron, but couldn’t exactly come up with a way for him to change into anything better - he was still working, after all.
“If you’re here, then all is done, I take it?” Harry asked, wary of the hope he was feeling.
“All but one thing, and that involves you,” Tom replied. Harry desperately hoped that the man didn’t pick up on the quiet ‘aww’ from the kitchen.
“A-and you’re sure of it? I know I promised to wait, but that doesn’t mean that you owe me anything, I—”
“Do you remember when we spoke about our careers and preferred lifestyles?” Tom asked, cutting Harry’s rambling off. “About stable havens and how there are choices to be made between what you want to achieve for your own contentment, and what others think you should be achieving?”
“Yes… yes, I remember.” Harry watched Tom, standing there on the other side of the counter, the winter sunlight sweeping in through the windows casting him light. The man - this doubtlessly brilliant, hard-working man - was looking nowhere but at Harry as he spoke:
“And I thought, truly… that there is merit in what you said. Is it not your own contentment that you need to strive for in the end? No one else is going to live every day of your life but you. Do right by yourself, and the rest is confetti.”
Harry, heart pounding in his chest, nodded and repeated: “The rest is confetti.”
“And part of doing right by yourself is to pursue what you believe can increase your contentment with your life,” Tom continued. “From the moment I first spoke with you, I knew that meant you. For me, that meant you.”
“Tom,” Harry breathed, but the other man wasn’t done.
“You’re lovely,” Tom said, with intensity Harry hadn’t seen in him before. “And so, so clever. I’ve come here with my worries throughout this case, and every time left feeling better. I selfishly kept returning, thinking that perhaps some day I could bring you the kind of peace you’ve brought me. I don’t think I have - not yet. But if you allow me, I’d like to do that. I’d like to try, and keep trying.”
Harry, unable to speak a word - barely able to breathe - nodded. Once, twice - three times.
“Have dinner with me,” Tom said, before he bit his lip and said: “Or lunch. Or anything.”
“Yeah,” Harry finally managed to choke out. “I’ll— yes, both, all. Anything.”
He knew that after this his mum was bound to tell his dad and Sirius about this. Ron and Hermione would definitely keep talking shit, and who knew what Malfoy would say. And yet it all somehow seemed tolerable, because he’d get to spend time with Tom, and get to know him, and maybe even love him and be loved in return.
*
"And if the devil was to ever see you, he'd kiss your eyes and repent."
- Farouq Jwaydeh