Chapter Text
“Where are you?”
For the past ten minutes Harry had been pacing around the bedroom, turning over everything he could in a futile attempt to find the missing sneaker. Ron was supposed to arrive any minute now. If they were late again, the coach would skin them alive. He made it rather clear: anyone who doesn’t take discipline seriously doesn’t belong on the field.
“Shit,” Harry muttered, casting a quick look around. The room looked like the aftermath of a violent crime scene at the very least, and in this chaos, the chances of finding anything inevitably approached zero. “Finally!” he had all but given up hope when he caught sight of a bright spot behind the nightstand.
He quickly stuffed the missing sneaker into his sports bag and checked his phone. Ron hadn't called, which meant they were still on the road. Harry spared a brief glance in the mirror, adjusted the bag strap on his shoulder and left the room. There were loud voices coming from the living room downstairs, among which Harry recognized those of his father and Sirius. As he approached the stairs he identified a third, unfamiliar male voice, absently noting the pleasant depth of its tone. He remembered his father recently discussing a successful deal with his business partner, which was most likely the reason for their meeting today. What a bore.
Hurrying down the stairs, Harry quickly turned the corner and almost ran into Sirius.
“There’s my favorite godson!” Sirius grinned, sweeping him up in his arms as if he were eight, not sixteen.
“I’m your only godson, you’ve got nothing to compare,” unimpressed, Harry struggled to break free from the strong grip as soon as he realized all eyes in the room were now directed at them.
“Stop it, Sirius. Let go.”
“Surely I'm allowed to miss you?” Sirius finally released him and ruffled his hair affectionately.
“We saw each other last week,” Harry rolled his eyes, hugging him in return. Sometimes he felt his godfather was the same age as him.
“Leaving already?” James asked with a smile. He was seated in the chair opposite the unfamiliar man Harry was seeing for the first time.
He was about the same age as Sirius and his father, perhaps a little older, but just a fleeting glance at him was enough to tell the man was handsome.
He sat in an armchair, leaning back in a relaxed manner like he owned this place. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a legal services brochure, one of those stacked on his father’s office desk: perfect suit, polished shoes, and an expensive watch—the very image of a successful lawyer who could twist any law to his advantage.
Harry's eyes lingered on his face. The almost-too-perfect symmetry felt more off-putting than trustworthy. Completing the picture were perfectly styled wavy dark hair and a faint smirk playing on his lips. The man studied Harry appraisingly, and he felt a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. Feeling self-conscious, Harry found himself reaching to fix his hair, as he had to forcefully remind himself to look away. With warmth creeping up his cheeks, he turned to his father, trying to remember his initial question.
“Um, yeah, I've got practice,” he tugged at the strap of his bag, still perplexed by his reaction to the stranger. He could only hope nobody had noticed his confusion, let alone the cause of it.
“Think you’ll make it on time?” his father seemed oblivious to his embarrassment, or at least didn't acknowledge it in any way.
“Yeah, Ron should be here by now. Fred and George got their licenses and borrowed Mr. Weasley’s car,” Harry checked his phone but there was no call from Ron yet. He unconsciously glanced at the man in the armchair again.
Sensing his son’s confusion, James decided to introduce the guest.
“Harry, meet Tom Riddle, our business partner. Tom, this is my eldest son, Harry.”
Tom Riddle. Of course. The name was a common presence around the house lately, although he didn't expect him to look like this. Meanwhile, the man rose gracefully from his chair and closed the distance between them in two strides, extending his hand with a faint smile.
“A pleasure to meet you, Harry,” his gaze lingering on Harry's face for a second.
“Likewise, Mr. Riddle,” feeling even more flustered, Harry glanced away and shook the hand.
“Please, call me Tom,” he smiled charmingly.
Harry nodded, silently debating if it would be too rude to pull his hand away. Just then, the phone rang. He had never been so relieved to see a call from Ron before.
“I have to go, have a good night,” hastily bidding farewell to everyone, he hurried outside.
***
The following weeks melded into one continuous blur. After the game, which they actually managed to pull off quite well, the coach made it his mission to work on all the team's weak points, leading to nearly daily training sessions. There was probably only one good thing about it—he did not have any mental or physical energy left to dwell on anything else.
Since they first met, Riddle has become more and more frequent guest at their house. Occasionally, they would gather with a large group of people in his father's study, other times it could be a short one-on-one meeting with James Potter. It would all have been entirely ordinary (given the frequent presence of his father's business associates in general) if it weren’t for the odd feeling Riddle gave off. Every so often Harry would catch long studying looks directed his way; more often than not the man's face remained impassive, and Harry found it hard to tell what it could possibly mean. Sometimes he felt like he was being paranoid and was really just making it all up.
Several times he caught an unsettling something in Riddle's eyes but this look would quickly vanish or get replaced by cold indifference. Harry even had to resort to pinching himself as the relentless training sessions seemed to be finally taking their toll on him. Riddle hadn't spoken to him ever since their introduction to each other, so in the end, he blamed it all on his vivid imagination and fatigue, opting to simply push these thoughts out of his mind.
“Will you join us at the table, sweetheart?”
Harry looked up; the first thing he saw was his mother's bright red hair. She stood in the doorway, waiting for his reply.
It was yet another dinner for ‘their circle’, which meant Riddle would be there too. Harry grimaced. He didn't like how the man he'd only heard of from conversations before had so quickly become a regular guest in their house. It was unsettling. What scared him even more was his own reaction to his presence.
The fact that he was attracted to people of the same sex wasn’t news to him. He had realized and accepted it within himself several years ago. He didn’t hide his first relationship a year later and was pleasantly surprised by the support he received from his parents and godfather. One thing Harry was truly lucky to have was his family. Few of his peers could claim to have been as fortunate.
Yet, dating a boy from high school and being attracted to a grown man who was old enough to be his father, no matter how handsome he was, were two different things. The way his heart skipped a beat and his palms sweated unpleasantly every time he saw the tall figure with the straight back and broad shoulders left no doubt to him about the nature of his feelings for Mr. Riddle. Which was why he tried to avoid his company as much as possible. Whenever possible.
“I’m not hungry. Thanks, Mom.”
His stomach let out a treacherous rumble, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet of the room. Lily Potter raised an eyebrow.
“I’m waiting for you downstairs, Harry. Don’t make me drag you there,” uncompromising tone left no chance for argument. Lily Potter has always been firm in her convictions, and Harry, better than anyone, knew that protesting at this point would only make it worse.
“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” he sighed and collapsed onto the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. Well, Harry really couldn’t hide in his room forever. He couldn’t let some stranger control his feelings. He was a Potter after all, and that spoke volumes.
***
Five minutes later Harry was ready to take that back.
The only available seat at the table happened to be next to the person he wished to stay as far away from as possible. In different rooms preferably, or better yet, on opposite ends of London.
He paused on the threshold, then quickly put on the most indifferent mask he could muster before taking an unoccupied chair. Upon laying his eyes on him, Sirius, who was seated right across, broke into a wide smile.
“How was your game, Hero?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I thought I asked you not to call me that.”
Over the past two weeks his godfather had taken it upon himself to remind everyone of who was the reason they won that match.
“Somebody’s got to remember your glorious moment,” he winked at him. It seemed like there wasn’t a single soul left in the town whom Sirius hadn’t already boasted to about his godson’s achievements.
Harry shook his head, already knowing no argument would work.
“Football is a team sport.”
“Ah, modesty never fades, does it? When I was your age—”
“Not this again,” Lily muttered wearily as she placed a large platter of vibrant vegetables on the table. “Anything interesting happened today, dear?” she rushed to change the topic before Sirius could launch into his overly embellished recollections of past triumphs.
“The usual, Mom. Enough about me, maybe? I’m sure you had more important things to discuss. Mr. Riddle and his colleagues are hardly interested in any of this,” Harry glanced meaningfully at the men seated on either side of Sirius. He had seen them in the house several times before but he could never remember their names. Typically, they remained silent, with their boss doing most of the talking.
“Why not?” Riddle said, making Harry flinch in surprise. “I’m always curious to hear about the achievements of determined young people. Although I must confess, football has never really piqued my interest,” he half-turned towards him, a slight smile on his flawless face.
Harry hummed. Somehow he imagined Riddle in the stands, cheering enthusiastically along with the crowd, and had to hold back his smile. Unbeknownst to him, his father came to his rescue.
“Football is somewhat of a tradition for our family. Both Sirius and I used to play on the college team,” James’ eyes took on a nostalgic glint as he drifted into memories of his youth. “It runs in Harry’s blood.”
“And you have every reason to be proud,” as he spoke, Riddle kept a steady gaze fixed on Harry. After a brief pause, he finally turned towards James. “It must be gratifying to see your son following in your footsteps.”
“That’s an understatement. It would be even better if he were at least a little interested in our business,” James chuckled. “With the recent expansion, we could use some help. But Harry hasn’t shown any inclination in that area thus far.”
Harry stared at his father in surprise. Bringing up this in front of strangers… The last thing he wanted right now was to justify his lack of desire to work for the family firm, and his father was well aware of it, but clearly, that was his sore spot.
“Oh, I understand. I, too, gave up the family business in favor of my own. Perhaps your son would be interested in a position within a company that isn’t directly tied to the family?” Riddle suggested, seemingly sensing his unspoken thoughts.
That was unexpected. No, Harry absolutely had no intention of working for this man if he had any plans of keeping his sanity intact. The swiftness with which the offer had been made, however, made him wary. He was a sixteen-year-old teenager with no prior work experience anywhere but at the local coffee shop, which didn't really fit with a law firm. While James’ desire to involve him into family business was understandable, Tom Riddle’s motives remained known solely to him, judging by the puzzled looks on the faces of his subordinates.
Harry cleared his throat.
“Uh, thank you, sir, but I’ll pass. I intend to pursue a career in professional sports,” he tried to make his voice sound as firm as possible.
“I don’t expect an answer now,” the man insisted. He didn't seem fazed by refusal, and Harry somehow suspected that the conversation wasn’t over yet. He chose not to comment on Riddle’s last remark.
James, on the other hand, seemed to thrive at the prospect of finally getting his son interested in the field of law and thus securing a steadfast successor. His eyes lit up with a fervent fire as they often did when he had another brilliant idea.
“We’ll get back to that later,” he gave Harry a look, conveying a clear message not to defy. Acting as if he hadn’t noticed, Harry began to load his plate with a tantalizing dinner. Conversations about anything to do with law were endlessly exhausting. It puzzled him how his father and Sirius, known for their wild antics in their youth, could have ever ended up in the field at all. It must have been the years of work in the homicide division of the local police department that made them this way.
As always, Mom came to his rescue.
“What about you, Mr. Riddle? Do you have children?” Lily asked politely. The man flashed a wide smile, while his colleagues exchanged amused glances as if she told some funny joke.
“Please, call me Tom. It's not like we’ve just met,” he leaned back in his chair. “To answer your question, I don’t have children. It’s hard to call me a... family man.” His face mirrored Lily Potter's polite smile.
The two men across from Harry shared another look, their lips forming identical smirks.
The table fell into an awkward silence, prompting Sirius to interject.
“I agree. My only family since college has been the Potters,” he gave a mock curtsey to Lily and James before casting a warm glance at his godson.
“In this case I’m sure you understand.”
There was a strange undertone to Riddle’s words but Harry seemed to be the only one who noticed. The conversation smoothly shifted to mundane discussions about their latest deal with a wealthy client, while Harry himself was finally forgotten.
Dinner went on as usual. The main courses gave way to dessert and wine, while Harry was so absorbed in his thoughts about tomorrow’s plans that he almost jolted when he felt the light touch of fingers just above his knee. He froze, unable to move, and cautiously lowered his gaze down. A large pale palm rested on his thigh as if nothing had happened. Harry slowly looked over to Riddle who the hand belonged to. The man, however, was engrossed in conversation with Sirius showing no indication of anything amiss.
Harry blinked, checking if what he saw was real or if he was beginning to hallucinate after all. The palm remained firmly in place. Harry then discreetly tried to shift aside. He suspected Riddle had mistaken his leg for an armrest (which, by the way, didn’t exist on these chairs, and Harry personally found the comparison offensive because for all his training the last thing his legs resembled were armrests). Then the grip on his leg tightened, and the next moment Riddle gently trailed his thumb along the outside of his thigh, slowly moving his hand upward.
It was time for the second wave of shock to hit. The man’s latest actions made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing. Which begged another question—what the fuck? Harry's mind felt like melted rubber, unable to form into coherent thoughts of what he should do now. Give Sirius a sign? His parents, perhaps? The thought itself felt somewhat amusing as he imagined putting a teacup down and casually saying, “Mom, Dad, I don’t mean to distract you but I think Mr. Riddle here is sexually harassing me. Would you mind checking what his problem is?” At this point he let out a hysterical laugh and the light stroking stopped for a second.
“Is everything all right, dear?” his mother gave him a questioning look, while his father raised an eyebrow, amused. The grip on his thigh tightened.
“Um, yeah, I think I’m tired. I’m gonna go to my room, it's getting late,” having said that he started to get up. Riddle had no choice but to remove his hand.
Harry walked out of the room with no turning back. His cheeks burned hot.
He lay in bed for a long time staring blankly at the ceiling. He tried hard to process what the fuck had happened tonight before eventually succumbing to a deep sleep.
***
After a week since that unfortunate evening Harry nearly managed to convince himself that everything that had happened was a product of his not entirely healthy imagination. Neither Tom Riddle nor his coworkers visited their house since then, and that couldn’t help but bring some relief. Still, this closeness affected him in a deeply unsettling way. The thought of being with someone that much older..? It was just wrong. What pissed him off the most, however, was that despite all reasoning, he’d been replaying the moment at dinner all week and even the strongest arguments ‘against’ hadn’t helped at all. He even managed to fail his last chemistry test, much to Snape’s delight. The man was his mother's friend, true, but friendship apparently counted for nothing where Harry's marks were concerned.
As he stepped out of college doors, his attention was drawn to a large black car with a vaguely familiar man standing beside it. It took him a few moments to realize where he’d seen him. Harry stopped abruptly.
It was one of those people who had visited their house a week ago—one of Riddle’s subordinates. The man stood leaning against the car, staring directly at him. Harry felt uneasy. What was he doing here? Was he here because of him? Has something happened?
An icy shiver ran down his spine. Could this have anything to do with his family? He remembered all too well when just a year ago some lunatic threatened to murder James and their entire family—Potter Sr. had made numerous enemies during his years in the police.
“Mr. Crouch,” Harry greeted cautiously. “Has something happened?”
He tried to keep his voice steady, yet failed to conceal the rising undertones of panic. The man raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Instead, he opened the backseat door and gave Harry a meaningful look. Harry tensed.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happened.”
“Don’t keep the boss waiting,” he opened the car door a little wider in a gesture that was more insistence than invitation.
After a few long minutes of silence, Harry figured he'd sooner get answers out of Riddle than from his employee who clearly had no intention of saying another word. He got in.
They drove for about half an hour, the view changing outside rapidly, and by the time they stopped Harry had already run through every worst possible scenario he could think of.
It was some ridiculously fancy restaurant in an expensive part of town, the kind of place where Draco Malfoy probably had a reserved table. This was about the last place he'd ever expected to end up. He gave Crouch a questioning look but the man simply gestured towards the entrance of the establishment. Frowning, Harry climbed out of the car. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, a young girl approached him and without stopping for questions, she led him further into the hall and then through the back door to a spacious terrace. There were no visitors here except for one table. Tom Riddle, the only other person on the terrace besides them, sat comfortably in his chair, unbothered and relaxed.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked sharply. There was no point in formalities, what mattered now was finding out what had happened to his family.
Riddle raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise on his face replaced by one of amusement. There was something about Harry’s question he clearly found funny.
“Hello, Harry. Please, have a seat,” he offered him a friendly smile meant to be welcoming but instead made him even more wary. Hesitant, Harry sat down in the chair facing the man, his eyes fixed on him, waiting.
“You seem quite tense. You need to relax,” Riddle smoothly uncorked a bottle of white wine, poured it into glasses and offered one to Harry.
Harry frowned. The situation was starting to get even more confusing. Several minutes later, when Harry realized Riddle wasn’t going to answer his question, he couldn’t hold back anymore.
“What's that supposed to mean?” he repeated. He had no intention whatsoever of touching the offered glass.
Riddle remained quiet, studying him closely, a faint smile gracing his lips. Following a long moment of silence, he turned his attention to the liquid in the glass, its colors reflecting the sunlight in myriad hues. He finally spoke.
“To be honest, I expected a different reaction from our meeting. I must admit, though, you’re quite a surprise.”
Harry stared at him in silence, trying to understand what the fuck he was talking about.
“You still haven’t answered why I’m here,” he said, his expression grim.
“You’re a smart boy, Harry. I’m sure you can think of a few reasons why,” Riddle casually swirled the glass and took a small sip, dark eyes never leaving his.
Harry glanced at his own glass, then took in the scenery of the terrace before turning his gaze back to the man.
“I take it my family is fine then.”
Riddle made an uncertain sound, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time.
“So that’s what you thought...” he said with an amused smile.
This proved to be the last straw.
“What the hell was I supposed to think?!” Harry exclaimed, rising to his feet, unable to maintain his calm any longer. “I was literally kidnapped on my way out of college, and no one bothered to explain anything!"
He was incredibly angry at Riddle. The man sat there, enjoying his wine all this time, while Harry’s mind raced through countless awful scenarios for the past hour.
“I apologize for making you worry,” despite his words he didn't look the least bit regretful. On the contrary, Harry's reaction seemed to amuse him. “Next time, I'll make sure to warn you in advance.”
“Next time?” Harry took a step back and shook his head. “There won't be a ‘next time ’. I don't know what this was all about, Mr. Riddle, but you shouldn't have done it. I'll find my own way home.”
Not bothering to wait for a reply, he turned and headed towards the exit. His hand was caught in a firm grip moments later, the tug so strong it made him spin around.
“I’m afraid, you didn’t quite get me, Harry,” Riddle's calm voice, sweet as it sounded, carried a veiled threat. “That's not for you to decide. You'll leave when I see fit. So, be a good boy and make yourself comfortable,” he gestured towards the table. “You are my guest, after all…”
The man smiled warmly, yet within the context of those words, the warmth of his smile took on an entirely different, unsettling meaning.
“What do you want from me?” Harry asked slowly. Riddle tilted his head to one side, looking him over.
“There's no need to rush,” he finally replied. "Surely wanting a bit of good company isn't that strange?"
“We both know it is. I’ll tell my father and Sirius about it, and I assure you, you won't like the consequences."
“And we both know you won't do that. Just like you didn't tell them about our... little pastime.”
The dinner events flared vividly in his memory, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Catching his reaction, Riddle's smile adopted a self-assured curve.
“You see, Harry,” he raised his hand to Harry's face, brushing gently against his cheek. “I think you enjoy my company just as much as I do yours.”
His thumb traced gently along the corner of his mouth, barely touching his lower lip. For a second Harry forgot how to breathe. He fought to redirect his thoughts to the matter at hand—namely, to who exactly stood before him.
“And I think you're imagining things,” he yanked his hand away trying to break free from the grip but the pressure on his wrist only tightened. He vaguely thought it would bruise.
Riddle's expression suggested Harry's words had left him unimpressed. With deliberate slowness he leaned towards his face, his lips barely making contact as he sensually trailed his nose along his jawline. The breath, hot against his skin, made Harry inhale sharply and shiver. After a brief pause the man's lips brushed against his earlobe as he spoke softly. “Do you still think I am imagining things?”
The mocking words hit Harry like a bucket of ice water. He recoiled, wrenching his hand from the firm grip.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” he hissed before turning on his heel and storming out the door.
This time Riddle made no move to stop him.