Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was going to be a gorgeous day.

Harry yawned as he got into the glass elevator, pressing the button to the top floor with his elbow. He leaned back against the cool, transparent walls, taking in the shimmering waters and the reflective surfaces of towering skyscrapers.

He closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight that streamed through the glass. Sunlight. Harry smiled softly, eyes still closed. The Seattle sun was actually shining in December—miracles did happen every so often.

Yes, today was going to be a gorgeous day, he thought, sighing wistfully.

And Harry would be spending it at all indoors, at the mercy of his cruel, unrelenting boss and toxic superiors.

As the elevator dinged, reality seemed to shake him from his wandering daze. Wake up, his survival instincts yelled. You are now entering the beast’s den.

Harry walked out of the elevator the way a prisoner walked a ship’s plank: slowly, staring at the vast ocean in helpless terror, the same way he now gazed at the shimmering, expensive-looking logo of Morsmordre Inc.

He approached the glass doors to the office, swiping his card for entry as his eyes stayed glued to the eerie symbol.

The Morsmordre logo was an emerald green, writhing snake emerging from a ghastly skull. It was oddly gruesome and rather inappropriate, especially considering that it belonged to one of the world’s top publishing companies. A primarily educational publishing company, where K-12 textbooks were the money-makers.

And yet, Harry couldn’t imagine a logo to fit the publishing company more. Snakes. His upper lip curled in disgust. Indeed, the company’s headquarters was filled with thirsty, ruthless snakes, who terrorized him every second of every minute of every hour from the moment he stepped a foot inside—

“Potter!” Parkinson said sharply, jarringly. “Where have you been?”

“Good morning, Parkinson!” Harry greeted pleasantly as he entered the office, perfectly aware that he was a couple minutes late. “The coffee line was a bit long today—”

Parkinson fixed him with a stern, serious look. “Mr. Riddle’s been calling for you.”

Harry froze.

“Oh?” he uttered, still smiling painfully.

Shoot. Riddle usually didn’t call him in for another hour regarding daily reports. He’d needed at least half an hour more to brush up the trend analysis report—

He clenched his papers even more tightly and speed-walked through the halls, knocking on the door to his boss’s office. The golden plaque upon the door shimmered tauntingly, ominously.

Tom Riddle Jr.,

Executive Vice President

Great. What excuse would Harry possibly give now —?

“Enter,” drawled a low baritone voice, smooth and put-together as ever.

Harry slammed the door open, holding out the black coffee his boss had requested. “Sorry, sir. Lines were a bi—”

“Shut up,” Riddle said pleasantly, his casual cadence never changing. He might have been commenting on the weather, for all his tone implied.

But the dark, ominous glint in his stormy eyes said it all. Impending doom alert, Harry’s obnoxious internal monologue squealed, as those dark eyes skimmed over Harry’s form like he was the most insignificant boy who lived.

Tom Riddle was leaning back in his chair, his chin resting on a fist. The sleeves of his button-up shirt had been rolled up, revealing thick upper-arms that slimmed into powerful forearms. He had loosened his tie at some point, unbuttoning the first two buttons to reveal collarbones corded with thick muscle...

Thick. Powerful. Everything about this man screamed dominance, from his broad shoulders to his ridiculous height. The sharp planes of his face were hollowed out, highlighting his high cheekbones and thin, sharp nose. As shadows fell across his features, Riddle began to give off serial killer vibes.

Hot serial killer vibes, Harry adjusted with a sulk. He’d give Riddle that much.

And with the way Riddle continued to stare at him in a brooding silence, remaining absolutely still, those serial killer vibes were only growing more and more prominent.

Silences like these weren’t exactly uncommon. Riddle was a man who liked to intimidate... with or without speaking.

But then, finally, his boss moved.

A palm was stretched in Harry’s direction, and the message was quite clear.

Give.

Harry panicked, clutching the papers in his hand a little tighter. Not ready, not ready… not his best work…

“Ah, sir—”

“Must I remind you of precisely how precarious your situation is?” Riddle drawled, impatience bleeding through, and Harry couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the weighted, backhanded comment.

He didn’t need another reminder of how he’d gotten this job by mere luck, another reminder of how sorely out of his league Harry was at this company.

A year ago, he’d been waiting outside the recruiter’s office to interview for his dream position—Editorial Director of Science Fiction and Fantasy. While Morsmordre mainly published textbooks and other educational materials, its SF & F Department (though limited) was incredibly prestigious. It had published many of Harry’s favorite works over the decades… including a certain, beloved fantasy series by J. K. Roaring.

But as soon as he’d seen the other applicants, his future superiors, Harry had known he was screwed. Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini—all these high-achieving East-Coasters from big-name schools like Oxford and Harvard had made Harry’s lower-than-average GPA from a state university seem like…

Nothing.

And so, at the precise moment when the recruiter—Narcissa Malfoy— had finished skimming and dismissing Harry’s resume right in front of his face, a young lady had stormed into her office.

The woman’s face had been red with tears, her hair entangled even as she ran her hand through it. And with dark circles bagging underneath her eyes, she’d looked the part of a madwoman.

“I QUIT!” she had screamed. “HE’S GOING TO KILL ME AT THIS RATE!”

Harry had looked at her, wide-eyed and horrified. But Narcissa had merely stared at the woman dispassionately, as if this was a normal occurrence.

“Well, then,” she’d said briskly. “Goodbye, Myrtle.”

Then Narcissa had turned to Harry and added, rather hastily, “Look, Mr. Potter, you’re vastly unqualified for the Editorial position you’re applying for. How would you like to work as a personal assistant for our Vice President of Product Development, Tom Riddle?”

And that was how Harry, a double major in English and Political Science from the University of Washington, had ended up working for a very high-level company at a rather low-level position.

He had thought, naively, that he’d be able to slip in some pieces of his own edited work to his boss. Perhaps attempt to get the ‘promotion’ Narcissa hadn’t been willing to give Harry the first time. But from day one, Riddle had shown zero interest in him… except for his ability to follow orders.

“Black,” Riddle said quietly, his eyes skimming over Harry in curiosity.

“Excuse me?” Harry responded, confusion evident in his voice. Riddle continued to look at him quietly, in an evaluative manner, before turning away and responding,

“I like my coffee black.”

Those had been Riddle’s first words to him.

And that was exactly how their relationship continued to be—with Riddle biting out one-word orders like an illiterate caveman, handing out so many that Harry could barely keep his own timetable straight, let alone begin shoving his Editor's portfolio in Riddle’s direction.

Pursing his lips, Harry handed in the papers he’d printed last night.

“Sir, I was unable to complete the calculations for estimated trends in Geometry textbooks—”

“Why? ”

Dark eyes pierced Harry on the spot, cold and unsympathetic.

Because I’m not a mathematics or economics major, Harry wanted to scream. Because quite honestly, the things you demand of your personal assistant are a bit insane.

“Because I don’t know how to,” he said simply, instead.

Mr. Riddle was unappeased. “You don’t know… how to?” His voice had dropped dangerously. “We have free Wi-Fi access for employees at this office and you’re saying you couldn’t look it up and figure it out?” His jaw ticked. “Just how incompetent are you?”

Harry flinched, snatching back the papers. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do it right away.” Yes, Harry would re-teach himself fucking Multivariable Calculus if it meant finishing this goddamn assignment. 

“Is there anything else I’ll need to complete before I leave for the weekend?” Harry asked as he turned around, his hand reaching for the door knob—

“Leave?” Riddle asked, sadistic amusement evident in his tone.

Harry stilled, his hand freezing on the door knob as he closed his eyes in defeat.

No fucking way.

“Yeah. Tomorrow's Saturday, ” he said, his voice smaller than ever as he turned to face his boss.

Riddle smiled liplessly, displaying his sharp canines. “Whether or not you get the weekend off depends on the quality of your work.” His eyes flashed. “At this point, only perfection will save you from dire consequences.”

So in other words, Harry was fucked.

But Riddle wasn’t finished with him. He tilted his head sideways in contemplation, his eyes narrowing on Harry’s mouth. “And some manners would do you good as well.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Riddle… continued to stare at his mouth?

No, Harry realized with amusement, at the offending object in his mouth. He sucked on breakfast lollipops so often he forgot they were in his mouth; he’d merely forgotten to remove it before meeting Riddle.

Harry smirked, removing the lollipop in his mouth at a leisurely enough pace that Riddle’s jaw pulsed once more. Ah, the small pleasures in life.

“Better?” Harry asked, the slightest tinge of sarcasm present in his otherwise deferential tone.

Instead of replying, Riddle pounced.

“Sucking on lollipops in front of your superiors. Is this what they teach you at American schools? ” Riddle sneered, suddenly losing his cool exterior to violent rage. His boss’s rage was unpredictable — striking at the slightest tickle of a feather.

Oh, had Harry mentioned?

Tom Riddle was British.

Harry folded his arms, defiant and defensive all at once. He wasn’t about to admit that lollipops were more of a him-thing, really.

He also wasn’t about to admit that the American public schooling system was a lot less strict about certain things, like eating in class. From his experiences, anyways.

“Well… among other things. Like chewing gum.” Harry grinned, briefly thinking back to the way his middle school peers had traded gum sticks under desks like they were marijuana. “We do have a famous gum wall in Seattle, if you’re ever interested—”

Riddle cut him off with a snort. “Thank you. Please return with the documents completed.”

Harry saluted him back, smirking to himself as the door swung shut behind him.

Unlike Riddle’s previous assistants, who’d lasted less than a month… well, there was a reason Harry had lasted a whole year. He was practically a Riddle-expert by this point — he could handle him in just about any mood, calming his unpredictable bouts of rage into derisive amusement with a well-phrased remark.

Harry sighed as he reached his cubicle, switching on his laptop as he prepared his workspace.

*          *          *

Home.

Harry slumped onto the sofa, dropping his backpack unceremoniously on the floor. He pulled out his laptop with one hand, balancing his pad thai take-out against the cushions and the side of his leg.

Finally, Harry thought. A feeling of contentment flooded him as he drummed his fingers against his piece-of-trash Toshiba, waiting for it to log him in. Because by day, he worked as a lowly assistant to the controlling, egotistical Tom Riddle.

But by night? Harry lived, breathed, and wrote fanfiction.

He navigated to his Archive of Our Own account, automatically checking for comments and kudos on his latest works. Harry was a pretty respected author on the Ao3 website, and the rush of comments that greeted him when he logged back always made him feel so incredibly happy. Like he actually had a purpose in life, other than being a mess-up of a personal assistant.

Harry frequently dabbled in various popular fandoms, like Teen Lions and Marvel. But first and foremost, his top fandom would always be James Evans — J. K. Roaring’s legendary, seven-book series about a young wizard who went to Hogwarts and fought Marvolo Gaunt, an evil wizard who plotted to eradicate muggleborns and achieve world domination. 

And of course, Harry’s OTP (one true pairing) would always be… James/Marvolo.

He’d long since gotten over any feelings of guilt over how messed up the pairing was. Harry revelled in the forbidden, taboo nature of his favorite pairing. The possibilities he could take it in were endless.

He’d gone from writing James/Marvolo fanfiction within the James Evans Wizarding World… to writing the pairing with Alternate Universe tropes: No Magic, Coffee Shop AU, etc.

For instance, Harry was currently writing an Office AU for his OTP… in which James was the poor, overworked assistant and Marvolo was his wicked boss.

He bit his lip in amusement, twiddling the fork in his hand. It probably was hitting a bit too close to home… Harry had been drawing on many of his personal office experiences, lately, to craft every experience as authentically as possible.

But if the interactions between the main pair were influenced by real life events and a certain someone… well, who was going to know?

With a sly, guiltless smile, Harry opened up a fresh Google Drive document and began writing the next chapter… when he was interrupted.

Buzz. Buzz.

It was his Jarvolo discord.  

>> HotDiggoryDog: Holy fucking shit can’t believe Lord_Voldemort_ ended it like that.

Harry grinned, knowing exactly what Diggory was referring to.

His favorite Ao3 author of all time, Lord_Voldemort_, had recently published the final chapter of Haunted. And everyone was going nuts.

>> GingerGorl: WTF. He actually killed off James AND Marvolo in the end. Nobody fucking won.

>> LavenderBrown: What the… I can’t wrap my MIND around this…

Harry chuckled softly, shifting his position on the sofa so that he was lying on his stomach, head supported by his elbows.

He remained quiet, happy to sit and watch the reactions of his friends. For his part, he couldn’t say he was exactly surprised. Having read every single one of Lord_Voldemort_’s works thrice over, Harry had a decent grasp on the way the author’s mind worked by now. Killing off main characters was no issue for Voldemort.

There was no way of sugar-coating it—Harry was obsessed with Voldemort’s writing. He couldn’t help it. His favorite author wrote horror so naturally, so beautifully and heart-clenchingly realistically.

Voldemort never strayed far from the genres of horror and psychological thriller. His stories were usually gen as well—focusing on Marvolo’s upbringing in the orphanage. Powerful coming-of-age works about how Gaunt grew up to become the villain he was in canon.

Voldemort wrote so impeccably that Harry tended to sympathize with Marvolo by the end of each fic. And every time he fell for Voldemort’s characters, his respect for the author grew more and more—

Well, enough fanboying.

Harry plugged into his music and re-opened his blank sheet. Chapter 8, he titled it.

Put your head on my shoulder…

With Paul Anka crooning pure romance into his ears, Harry let the words flow from his fingers… typing faster than he could collect his own thoughts…

Whisper in my ear… baby…

*          *          * 

Harry yawned once more, rubbing his tired eyes as he finished typing the last sentence of his report.

He leaned back in his swiveling chair, rolling his shoulders. He craned his neck in the direction of his neighboring cubicles, frowning at the emptiness that greeted him.

Everyone… Hermione, Pansy, Blaise… had already left for the weekend. But had Mr. Riddle allowed his own poor assistant, Harry Potter, to leave?

Nope, Harry thought viciously. Because Riddle was the Devil in disguise, a man who held grudges longer than his own lifespan and found a sadistic pleasure in torturing Harry in every way possible... which included making him stay in on Saturdays. 

One saucy come-back, a hint of sarcasm… and Riddle had Harry paying for it.

Harry sighed as he began printing his report, logging into his email to kill time.

That was why, during lunch break, Harry was scrolling through his email, bored out of his mind, when he got a notification. And not just any notification—one from Ao3, regarding his most-favorite-of-all-time author in the world.

Lord_Voldemort_ had published… a new fanfiction? Harry clicked furiously at his keyboard, navigating to the work.

His jaw dropped as he read the tags. No horror or psychological torture in sight—it had been replaced by tags like fluff. And romance. And the main shipping was James/Marvolo.

Romance. Voldemort was writing romance. Harry didn’t know whether to cry or faint. Because this author was Harry’s favorite horror writer of all time—but from the way he wrote fanfiction to the way he replied to comments, he didn’t seem to have a romantic, sympathetic bone in his body.

Then again, this was Lord_Voldemort_ . Anything by him was bound to be good.

Glancing sideways at the cubicles around him one last time, Harry drummed his fingers and stuck his usual breakfast lollipop back in his mouth. Reading at office was never a good idea. But when it came to Voldemort, he could never resist.

He clicked on the first chapter, thrumming with anticipation.

This was going to be an experience.

*          *          * 

Harry leaned forward in his seat, a secret smile slowly whispering across his mouth.

Lord_Voldemort_ was writing an Office AU. Just like Harry.

The plot was already amazing, and the main character was as masculine and powerful as Voldemort always seemed to write him. He was a successful Vice President, at a publishing company.

Harry couldn’t help but snigger at the irony. God, this seemed weirdly similar to his own current fanfiction. Except that, of course, Voldemort was writing from Marvolo’s perspective…

Most Jarvolo authors—Harry included—tended to write from James’s perspective. Simply because it made more sense: James was the protagonist in canon, his voice was familiar and almost comforting.

But Voldemort always wrote from Marvolo’s perspective… perhaps because his writing style and author’s voice was more suited for Marvolo. Perfect for it, in fact.

And a fluffy, romance fanfiction would be no exception that rule, it seemed.

Harry’s eyes widened as he reached the part where James was being introduced.

… Green eyes sparkled madly behind spectacles as the man sucked the pink, baseball-shaped lollipop out of his mouth. “Yes, Gaunt?” the man intoned, rudely and impatiently, unaware of the shamelessly appealing picture he’d been painting a moment earlier.

“Sir,” Marvolo corrected, and the green-eyed man had the audacity to smirk.

“No need to call me ‘sir,’ Gaunt.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, choking and releasing the lollipop in his mouth.

Wh-what?

His breath left him in one go as Harry leaned back in his chair, mouth gaping in an undoubtedly unattractive fashion. His mind swirled as he processed the very first interaction between the main pairing… Voldemort’s very first, non-platonic written interaction.

Damn. Voldemort really made James seem like a prat in this one.

Harry sat back up, twiddling a pen in his hand.

How… original.

Intrigued beyond measure, Harry leaned forward and continued reading the fanfiction. And by god, how could he have ever doubted Voldemort’s ability to write romance? Well… perhaps not romance… but sexual tension, hot and steamy and stomach-twistingly good, seemed to waft off of his work desktop in heady waves.

Voldemort was a fucking god.

His words dripped lust, making Harry’s mouth water and his head dizzier than ever. Every glance between characters felt like a burning gaze upon himself… every touch between the pairing grazed him as well.

How could a writer have such a way with words? To be able to chill Harry to the bone in one fic, and make him shudder with warm gooeyness in another?

One thing was certain. If this was how Voldemort continued to write, future chapters of this would not be safe for work.

Harry continued to read anyway. He remained unaware as people filed back in after the lunch break had ended. He was so absorbed in the gorgeous, magnetic interactions of his OTP, his breath hitching at every second moment until…

He reached the cliffhanger at the end.

Harry suppressed a groan, still fixated on the last words of the protagonist.

Of course, there was a cliffhanger. Voldemort never failed to leave horrible cliffhangers on purpose.

“How else will I keep you ensnared?” he’d once stated at the end of an update, one of his few interactions with his fans.

Harry immediately began scrolling through the comments. Not that Voldemort ever replied. In fact, he rarely addressed any of the comments at the beginnings of each chapter, always preferring to “leave his readers in mystery.”

He shook his head fondly—Harry had never been able to resist responding to comments on his own fics, no matter how many he got these days.

Still. None of these habits seemed to detract from Voldemort’s fame and success on Ao3. Let alone Roaring’s — Voldemort’s own following was incredible. His most avid readers and fans called him, “My Lord” out of some mutual-founded respect. And somehow, they all seemed to know each other… intimately…

Harry’s eyes stuttered on an interesting chain of comments.

>> Ferret-Face: Still can’t believe you're writing romance! Still wondering if there were any… real-life influences on this decision? xD

  >> Bellabitch: How dare you suggest such a thing! Our Lord is way too hot and unattainable.

    >> Ummmm: uh hot? How do you know?

      >> Luscious_M: If you must know, newbie, Lord_Voldemort has a private, exclusive discord for his most loyal fans.

Harry stopped reading. He may have even stopped breathing.

A discord?

An exclusive discord? Where Voldemort showed his face and spoke to fans?

Harry’s mind raced, his heart palpitating in excitement. He had to get on there. By any means possible—

“What are you reading? ” a low, sharp voice spoke from behind him, and Harry’s heart jumped out of his chest, knowing precisely who was behind him.

He switched the Ao3 tab to his email and swiveled around. But it was no use. Riddle had already seen exactly what Harry had been up to, during work hours, when he was supposed to be printing, proofreading…

Harry cursed internally, teeth gritting. Why had Riddle chosen now, of all times, to ‘check up’ on him?

Riddle towered above him, his handsome face contorted in an expression of pure incredulity.

“Was that…”

Harry’s eyes widened.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, he chanted in his mind, pleading.

“... fanfiction?”

The office fell to a dead silence.

The heads that had remained in the mostly-barren office on this Saturday swiveled in Harry’s direction. Whispers and mutters floated through the air, gossip traveling faster than the speed of light.

Harry buried his head in his hands, face burning. A million thoughts and emotions fleeting through him.

Fuck shit no crap no fuc—

“No,” Harry lied unconvincingly, his voice broken and dead and monotone. Because this was literally his worst nightmare coming to life.

He looked up at Riddle, only to find the man, predictably, staring at him in silence... stone-faced, emotionless.

“No!” Harry said again, sharply, almost vehemently, and then he tried to laugh it off awkwardly. But nothing was working, nothing was making this situation go away because nothing ever seemed to go his way—

He gestured wildly to his screen. “That was just… a little manuscript, personal writing project I’ve been working on…” Harry trailed off, face burning hotter than ever. He’d never been a good liar.

Please, let me die already.

But of course, the situation had to get worse. Riddle was now staring intently at the Internet tab Harry had just switched from, his eyes narrowing as he read the tab's title... 

Riddle’s expression shifted completely.

It was one Harry had never seen on his face before. His eyebrows shot up, his dark eyes were wider than ever—burning with curiosity. His jaw had dropped slightly, his lips glistening as if he’d just licked them.

And then the most curious thing of all happened.

Riddle blushed.

A distinct redness flooded the high cheekbones of Mr. Riddle, the epitome of manliness and dominance, and Harry couldn’t stop staring in wonder, wondering how such a phenomenon had possibly happened —

“Then why is that browser tab titled, ‘Lord Voldemort’ ?”  Riddle asked, his face cleared of any redness within mere seconds—so fast, Harry could have sworn he’d imagined it.

As for the man’s voice, it was thicker than usual.

As if... Riddle was mortified.

But why?  Harry wondered, momentarily distracted from his own plight. Because this situation was already horrifyingly surreal enough without his boss turning into some blushing mai—

“Answer me,” Riddle commanded in a colder, firmer voice, his face once again wiped of all emotion and, oh yes, he was back to being the unemotional, unforgiving, Greek-sculpted devil of Harry’s nightmares and daily existence—

Answer me.

Why is that browser tab titled, ‘Lord Voldemort’?

Because he’s my favorite author on Ao3—

Because I was just reading his recent work, ‘Green-Eyed Monster’ — which I strongly recommend by the way —

Harry couldn’t say any of these. He’d already put his foot in his mouth and stated that it was his manuscript, his personal writing project, in the first place.

So instead, he opted to lean back in his chair and lie out of his ass.

“Well, that’s my pen name. On the website where I write.” Harry shrugged and nodded his head, as if those actions alone confirmed the authenticity of his words.

In an instant, the atmosphere seemed to change.

Riddle’s eyebrows furrowed, his mouth twisting indecipherably. His eyes narrowed and darkened in a heady mixture of amusement and fury. And although Harry couldn’t understand why it had taken Riddle so long to get mad at him, he didn’t understand why his supposed ‘pen name’ was what really drove his boss off the deep end, as opposed to the fact that Harry had been blatantly slacking off…

“Is that so… Lord Voldemort ?” Riddle asked, his tone dark and dangerous and tinged with heavy sarcasm.

Harry felt a very ominous tug in his stomach.

Chapter Text

“Is that so… Lord Voldemort?” Riddle asked, his tone dark and dangerous and tinged with heavy sarcasm.

Harry felt a very ominous tug in his stomach.

Dark eyes gleamed knowingly down at Harry, as if drilling into his soul. But he held Riddle’s gaze, willing him to believe the lie. He was still seated in his swivel chair, his work desk behind him as he faced his boss.

Harry was well aware of the office’s emptiness. The few who had come in to work over the weekend had quickly packed up and hurried off once Riddle exited the confines of his own office, unwilling to chance facing the wrath of the Vice President.

Cowards, he thought, before facing his boss once more. Yet, with everyone gone, the lack of an unwanted audience sparked something in Harry.

A desire to rebel.

But before Harry could reply, Riddle was suddenly stalking forward and leaning down over him… looking over Harry’s shoulder as he reached towards the abandoned desktop computer with his right hand. His left arm came down to rest on the desk behind Harry’s chair, his head nearly tucking into the crook between Harry’s head and shoulder.

Harry froze.

Shock and adrenaline rushed through his limbs. His mind went on overdrive, because Riddle had trapped him against the desk, and those exposed collarbones were inches away from Harry’s nose and he was too close too close too close—

Then Riddle shifted slightly closer, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling as they brushed against Harry’s. He breathed a whiff of the older man’s cologne. Fresh and citrusy and so crisp , just like the way Riddle enunciated his bloody ‘t’s.

“Potter,” Riddle breathed lowly, dangerously into his ear, his British accent more pronounced than ever.

And suddenly, uninvited heat was licking down his spine, pooling in his stomach. Harry shuddered back into his seat, his hands clenching the armrests of his chair so tightly they turned pale. He could hear nothing but the rushing of his own blood, no longer aware of the furious clicks and taps dealt to his work desktop.

Riddle turned his head towards Harry’s right ear, his sharp, clenching jaw suddenly visible from Harry’s peripheral vision.

“Such lies, ” Riddle spat, his mouth barely grazing the tip of Harry’s ear. Harry swallowed dryly, biting his bottom lip.

The older man leaned back a few inches to face Harry directly, eyes spitting fire.

“I despise liars—nearly as much as I despise slackers, if not more—”

And then Riddle paused upon truly seeing him, cutting himself off.

His features grew blank.

Dark eyes lingered on Harry’s flushed cheeks and raw-bitten lower lip before roaming down his figure. And for a second, they seemed to darken, flashing with a different sort of heat altogether—

Harry finally found the strength to place a firm hand against Riddle’s chest and shove him back.

“Wh-what the fuck, Riddle,” Harry gasped, and even though his voice was embarrassingly husky and his words were horribly unprofessional, he couldn’t stop the stream of unconsciousness flowing from his tongue. “What the fuck what the fuck, no concept of personal fucking space or privacy—”

“Do you think,” Riddle began, his tone quiet and ominous, “that you deserve any?” He stood to his full height, looming above Harry like a thunderous cloud. “After such a fine display of work ethic?” His voice grew even quieter as he muttered, “Fanfiction. Reading fanfiction when the stakes are so…”

What... stakes...? 

Harry could barely focus on what the other man was saying as he stepped closer, his hand grasping Harry’s chin and roughly jerking it upwards.

“Answer me , ” Riddle uttered imperiously, his voice filled with such an overpowering sense of command that Harry had no choice but to look back.

“No,” Harry replied simply, candidly. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to say, ‘ but—’

Riddle’s grip tightened on his jaw once more, as if reading his mind.

When he remained quiet, Riddle smiled approvingly at him.

Good boy, Harry thought hysterically.

And then, disgusted by his own thoughts, he ripped himself out of Riddle’s grip.

“You— motherfucking— ” Harry spluttered, and Riddle tensed with fury. “You can’t just, physically assault people like tha—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Harry froze instantly at the sound as Riddle leaned back, his hand slipping from Harry’s jaw and going to the vibrating Apple watch on his left wrist.

Riddle’s features seemed to revert back to their usual stoniness as he clicked the alarm off. His jaw ticked as he continued to stare at his watch, otherwise expressionless.

Then, moments later—

Ring! Ring!

Harry craned back to where his own phone had begun to ring, jarringly loud as its sound echoed over the wooden desk.

Quickly grabbing it, he swiped at his screen without a second thought, his eyes barely managing to catch the words labelling his alarm—

Oh crap.

There was a sinking feeling in Harry’s stomach as he slowly looked back up at his boss, suddenly very much aware of the reason he’d come to check on Harry.

Morsmordre’s board meeting was happening tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, and he was supposed to have finished the trend analysis report and given it to Riddle way in advance.

But instead, Harry had been reading fanfiction, completely unaware of just how important this report was, or how important the meeting Riddle needed it for was, despite having marked the date on his own calendar months ago—

“Mr. Riddle, sir,” Harry started apologetically, pleadingly. God, he was an idiot.

Riddle remained quiet and emotionless, locks of hair falling over his eyes as he continued to stare at the events on his watch.

“Mr. Ridd—”

“I had thought that surely, ” he began imperiously, “even the most scatterbrained assistant would not need to be reminded of the importance of this meeting.”

Riddle looked up, his eyes glinting unreadably.

“And despite your shortcomings, I had maintained confidence in your ability to perform when the stakes are high.”

Harry bit his lip, silently agreeing with the statement even as guilt settled in his stomach. For some reason, he’d always been able to pull off an excellent report in the nick of time… whether it was a product of luck or a few strokes of brilliance.

It was part of why he’d stuck around for so long. Hell, his colleagues had even even begun calling him the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ due to his reputation for having stayed on as Riddle’s assistant for so long.

But now…

Riddle stared at him impassively, icy coldness wiping away the fury that had dominated his movements a mere minute earlier.

“If I had any sense, I would fire you this instant.”

Harry flinched at the statement, his hand pulsing around his phone in a rhythm that matched his internal monologue. Stupid… Stupid… Stupid…

He looked up tentatively at his boss, his eyes wide and pleading. Harry hadn’t realized how much he needed this job until the very realistic possibility of losing it had popped up. Riddle paid him so well, and however shameful it was to admit, his previous salary as Chief Editor for The Quibbler had nothing on his salary as Riddle’s personal assistant—

Eventually, Riddle exhaled harshly, his eyebrows furrowing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just leave. And finish that report.”

Harry scrambled to his feet, grabbing his backpack.

“Of course, sir, thank yo—”

“Don’t.” Riddle grabbed Harry’s wrists, the jolting motion stopping him in his tracks.

He leaned in close to Harry’s ear, his cologne washing over Harry in heady, mind-dizzying waves that nearly made him forget everything that had occurred over the past few minutes.

“Don’t mistake this for forgiveness. I will find a way to punish you for this.”

He released Harry’s wrists. “I will see you in my office at six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning with the completed report.”

And with that, Riddle turned sharply on his heel and left Harry’s cubicle. His slow, sure footsteps clicked over the hospital-white, linoleum floors, so at odds with Harry’s racing heart.

*          *          *

Tom slammed the door to his office behind him, his hand clenching tightly around the door knob as he hissed through gritted teeth.

He really should have fired Harry Potter this time. In all honesty, Tom had left his office with the intention of doing so, had his assistant not finished the report.

But then he’d witnessed something so utterly shocking.

His personal assistant had been reading fanfiction. Lord_Voldemort_’s fanfiction.

He’d had bigger concerns on his mind… multibillion-dollar deals and a certain, upcoming board meeting. And yet, Tom was instantly distracted by this sliver of impossibility, unable to restrain himself from rushing forward and ravaging the boy’s laptop. He had searched for the boy’s Ao3 username until realizing, with disappointment, that Potter hadn’t logged into his account on the work computer. Even if he did happen to have an account in the first place.

It was bad enough that anyone related to his professional life was reading his fanfiction. Under no circumstances would Tom allow his professional and personal life to mix. Even if Tom was quite proud of the name he’d made for himself in the fanfiction world.

But the fact that, of all people, it was Harry Potter who had been reading it…

Tom slammed his head back into the door, exhaling a low, breathy, slightly hysterical chuckle.

His little green-eyed monster would be the end of him.

He’d already plagued and infected Tom’s sense of creativity.

Every time Tom sat down to write after finishing his previous work, pondering the plot and theme of his next work, all he could think of was Potter… rushing into Tom’s office every morning, perpetually flushed.

Those turbulent locks, curling around his pale ears as he held out coffee to Tom. The way he licked his lips nervously, the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke, “Black as always, Mr. Riddle.”

And when Potter wasn’t licking his lips, or biting them nervously… he was sucking on those horrid lollipops, day in and day out, their glossy reddish-pink color bleeding out his mouth and painting his lips a maddeningly appealing blood red—

No.

Tom slammed his fist against his desk, punctuating the sentiment. Fury licked up his spine at how weak the boy had made him… how easily the boy made him feel emotions he’d so long ago resolved to pour only into fiction.

It made no sense. Harry Potter was so un-special, so extraordinarily unexceptional. He was probably the most under-qualified worker at this entire office.

To think that this boy had become his unwitting muse ? It was laughable.

And yet, there was something in him. An unnameable spark—whether of defiance or something else—that boiled Tom’s blood every time. But he couldn’t put a finger on it… couldn’t put a finger on him.

He didn’t know what to make of Harry Potter.

And that made him a threat. In fact—now, more than ever, Potter was a liability.

At least, from his earlier reaction, it seemed likely that Potter didn’t know Tom was Lord_Voldemort_.

He scoffed at the brief reminder of his assistant’s inane attempt to claim he was Lord_Voldemort_.

Tom was confident that he would be capable of keeping Potter’s mouth shut if the time came. But what if the boy had unwittingly leaked details about him? Or what if anyone else happened to have found or leaked hints about his identity?

He knew that his true identity was a source of talk amongst Jarvolo fans. But he’d never once considered the possibility of his identity being discovered. He gave so little information about his past and self that he’d never worried about covering his tracks.

But he couldn’t take any chances. Once they pieced together that Lord Voldemort was Tom Riddle, all would be lost.

… There was only way to check.

Tom sat at his desk and powered on his laptop. And then he did something he hadn’t done for years—he logged into the Jarvolo Discord he’d joined back when his username had been completely different, back when he’d been a completely different person altogether.

23 New Mentions of: Slytherin’s_Heir_

Tom ignored them. He wasn’t interested in viewing any personal messages or notifications from his older days. He was only curious to see if there had been any recent mentions of Lord_Voldemort_…

He typed his fanfiction username into the search bar, after which Discord immediately pulled up the most recent conversation mentioning him. His eyebrows rose as he read the date—the discussion had only occurred two weeks ago.

Tom clicked on it and proceeded to read the whole snippet.

>> SeanTheSheep: Thoughts on Lord_Voldemort_? Be honest.

>> MickeyCorner: I bet Voldie’s a real asshole IRL

He paused, frowning. The curse word didn’t bother him much, but really? ‘Voldie’?

The disrespectful little brat.

>> MickeyCorner: He doesn’t have an updating schedule and he always posts so erratically. I mean, he made us wait two years one time. Remember when we all thought The Orphan was abandoned?

>> ChoAegyo: …

>> Gred: oh man

>> Forge: … HAHAHAH THE ORPHAN??? WAS ABANDONED??? Mikey I’m almost impressed

>> Gred: Right when you don’t think he has a sense of humor, he pulls something like this xD

Why was Tom reading this again? These imbeciles made him want to rip out his hair and go bald. 

He continued reading anyway, curiosity getting the better of him.

>> AngelinaBallerina: Oh shut up boys. @MickeyCorner don’t you think that’s a little harsh? Some writers DO have a life outside of fanfiction :/

>> RoonilWazlib: Mickey has a point though. He never gives a reason for updating late and he never responds to comments—even those long-ass essays @lightning_boi always posts

Tom paused. The name ‘lightning_boi’ did seem to ring a bell…

>> HeadGirl: I agree. I think Voldemort has a superiority complex. I’ve read all of his works obsessively, analyzing them vigorously… perhaps not as well as lightning_boi but—

>> RoonilWazlib: lecture time

>> HeadGirl: As you know, Voldemort grew so famous within the James Evans fandom world because of how well he writes Marvolo… even better, arguably, than J. K. Roaring herself. And the fact that he’s able to write such a convincing raging psychopath… I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s because, well, you know…

>> AngelinaBallerina: You think he’s mentally… off himself?

>> HeadGirl: I think he’s definitely mentally something. I just can’t quite figure him out. But I will, soon! He’s a very fascinating person and I’m quite the fan of his work, even if he is deranged :)

He narrowed his eyes. This HeadGirl… she was dangerous. Not to mention, very irritating and very wrong.

>> RoonilWazlib: @HeadGirl… know that I say this out of the goodness of my heart… but I really think you should change your name

>> SeanTheSheep: Yeah it’s really suggestive

>> RoonilWazlib: wtf sean I was approaching the situation DELICATELY

>> AngelinaBallerina: delicately my ass

>> HeadGirl: Oh fuck off. I’ll call myself whatever I like, perverts be damned.

Nonsense… nonsense… Tom scrolled down a bit further.

>> TheWrongBoy: Uh oh. Wait @RoonilWazlib—why’d you tag lightning_boi earlier?

>> RoonilWazlib: HUH? I DID?

>> TheWrongBoy: Yeah, when you mentioned his “long-ass comments” on Voldemort’s works

>> RoonilWazlib: Oh shit

>> SpinnetToWinIt: Ahhhh boiiii go change it! If our lightning man sees that part of the chat he’s gonna murder us

>> HeadGirl: You know how defensive he gets about Voldemort!

>> lightning_boi: … defensive?

Tom leaned in closer to the screen, a smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. This was getting interesting.

>> PossiblyRelatedToMichaelJordan: shit’s about to get reeeeeeeal

>> AngelinaBallerina: Not helping lee

>> PossiblyRelatedToMichaelJordan: what can I say? I love commentating ;)

>> SpinnetToWinIt: Jeeezus lee your name’s so obnoxiously long

>> PossiblyRelatedToMichaelJordan: All part of the charm ladies

>> HeadGirl: … lightning_boi? Are you there? Why aren’t you saying anything?

>> lightning_boi: I was reading the section of conversation I was tagged in.

>> PossiblyRelatedToMichaelJordan: ooohhh shit, he brought out the PERIOD!! Bringing out that PUNCTUATION! He mad

>> RoonilWazlib: lightning… my man… my best man, at my future wedding…

>> lightning_boi: @MickeyCorner. I find it pretty ironic that you called Lord_Voldemort_ an asshole.

>> MickeyCorner: hey whats that supposed to mean

>> lightning_boi: Nothing two brain cells can’t solve.

Tom smirked. His little savior had such a delightfully sharp tongue… and nice grammar to accompany it.

>> HeadGirl: lightning…

>> lightning_boi: “mentally something?” “deranged?” “superiority complex?”

>> HeadGirl: Now just wait

>> lightning_boi: Though be honest, I wouldn’t blame Voldemort if he had a superiority complex. He IS superior to all of us.

>> HeadGirl: excuse me?

>> lightning_boi: Yes, even you, Mione. “Deranged?” No. You have it wrong. He’s a genius. A complete and utter genius. His works are filled with plot twists that only lead to bigger ones, and every plot point is so meaningful and well-thought out. No one can craft plots the way Lord_Voldemort_ does.

>> RoonilWazlib: Mione? Wait a sec... @HeadGirl is that your real name?

>> lightning_boi: Think what you will of his personality! But Lord_Voldemort_ isn’t just the most incredible author on Ao3. He’s a mastermind. His way with words is unparalleled, and there is no doubt in my mind that he is destined for greatness… if he hasn’t reached that point already.

>> lightning_boi: Every piece of writing by Lord_Voldemort_ builds upon his legacy, immortalizing him.

>> lightning_boi: Lord_Voldemort_… is a god.

The conversation seemed to end there, timing out and starting again with a new topic hours later. But even if it hadn’t ended, Tom wouldn’t have been able to read further.

His eyes were stagnated on the paragraph from lightning_boi, reading it over and over until it was ingrained in his mind.

Tom was a selfish author. He wrote only for himself and deigned to post his work for others to read and enjoy. He rarely read comments, let alone responded to them. In fact, the few comments he’d read towards the beginning of his fanfiction career, ‘updaaate’ and ‘ I want moreee’ and ‘good story dude,’ had only incensed him.

But lightning_boi’s words of praise were magnificent. Worshipful. Eloquent and evocative.

Tom dragged his cursor over lightning_boi’s name, but the only information available about him was his gender. Male.

Not nearly enough information.

His little lawyer had mentioned Ao3, hadn’t he?

Tom pulled up the Archive Of Our Own website, searching for lightning_boi’s profile.

Yesss…

He found lightning_boi’s Ao3 account quite easily and promptly scrolled through it, absorbing it. His most recent work had a shockingly high amount of bookmarks and kudos, more than any of lightning_boi’s other works.

But…

The title of the work was boss from hell. Not a capital letter in sight, Tom noted with displeasure, so unlike the way lightning_boi had talked on the Discord. Anything less than perfect grammar usually put him off.

But it was an Office AU. Interesting… Tom narrowed his eyes competitively, eager to see how his fan’s Office AU compared to his own.

So he clicked on the work anyways, skipping past the summary and introduction to read the beginning of the first chapter.

I had no clue what I was getting myself into when I accepted the position of "personal assistant" instead of my dream job. But after meeting him for the first time time, one thing was certain—

Nnhgh. Tom grimaced, nearly exiting out of the work right there and then.

He hated first-person. It was too flawed, too personal, and he almost never related with the protagonist enough to enjoy their perspective.

But as his mouse hovered above the red X at the corner of the tab, snippets of lightning_boi’s impassioned and strangely touching words from the Jarvolo discord came floating back to him, unbidden.

He’s a mastermind…

Destined for greatness…

Lord_Voldemort_… is a god.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the glorious praise to wash over him again and again, like a rising tide underneath the moon's influence.

And then, once more, he began to read.

... one thing was certain—I had a boss from hell…

Tom was drawn into the story, falling deeper and deeper into lightning_boi’s world with every sentence. He barely noticed when the sun set, when darkness fell upon the towering skyscrapers outside of his top-floor office.

The words floating on the screen before him were all that existed.

*          *          *

Harry yawned as he slipped under the covers, tapping at his phone to check the time.

Two hours past midnight. He groaned, tossing an arm over his eyes and forehead as he plopped down on the mattress.

The report had taken him forever. And Harry still wasn’t quite sure he’d gotten everything correct—he was planning on getting to the office around five o’clock to check over his work with a colleague ( someone would be there, surely) and print out the report.

Harry’s eyes were just beginning to droop when his phone buzzed with a notification.

His hand twitched against his will.

No. Don’t do this.

You have to wake up in two hou—

His phone buzzed again, and this time, Harry reached for the plugged-in phone at his bedside table.

It had just been his email, he sighed, opening up the app to check anyways.

Subject: [Ao3] Comment on boss from hell

His eyebrows raised in delighted surprise. At least it was Ao3 email.

Harry clicked on it and read.

He shot up in bed, wide awake. No freaking way.  His left hand came up to clutch at the material of his own shirt over his chest, his whole body buzzing with uncontainable energy.

The message itself was nothing extraordinary. It almost clinical-sounding. It could have been commented by someone who’d never even read the work.

But the name above the comment—the reader who’d left the comment—was what got Harry’s heart pounding furiously, his mind racing crazily.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Kudosed, Bookmarked, Subscribed.

Harry screamed into his pillow.

Chapter Text

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Kudosed, Bookmarked, Subscribed.

Harry screamed into his pillow.

Needless to say, Harry got very little sleep that night.

He replied to Lord_Voldemort_’s comment in a daze, a stream of consciousness flowing from his fingertips as they flew across his phone screen.

When he’d finally finished typing out his comment, Harry fell back against his bed, gripping his phone to his pounding chest.

Kudosed. Bookmarked. Subscribed.

The clinical-sounding but powerful words played over and over in his head, like a catchy tune, making it impossible for him to focus on anything else.

A huff of hysterical amusement left Harry’s lips. It was so unlike his favorite author to comment—Lord Voldemort rarely even left author’s notes every time he updated. And yet, those three words were so quintessentially Voldemort—unsentimental but dramatic, unembellished yet enigmatic.

To think that they had been written solely for Harry… god, it was unreal…

Smiling helplessly, Harry resigned himself to lying awake on his bed, his mind a chaotic mess of heart-pounding thoughts revolving around those three unspoken words.

*          *          *

Harry groggily made his way to the parking garage elevator, eyes squinting beneath his glasses as he attempted to see in the dark. As the elevator doors closed, he leaned back against the walls as if attempting to catch one last, fifteen-second nap.

He’d finished his report around midnight, only realize that a lot of it was blatantly incorrect when he’d looked over it in morning. Hermione hadn’t been answering the phone—which, given that she was on the other side of the world, was completely understandable.

Thus, the plan had been to get to office as early as possible and ask a colleague to help him with his report.

But when he entered the building, there was no one there. It was half past four in the morning and the office was completely dark.

Harry bit his lip, restraining a sudden gust of panic. This was a publishing company. People worked long hours and came in early on the weekends, regularly. There was still a chance that someone would be coming in soon, right?

With nothing better to do but stall until someone came, Harry turned away from the direction of his cubicle and headed straight for the coffee machine. While on his way, he passed by the single lighted door on his floor.

Riddle’s office.

Harry paused, staring at the golden placard shimmering across it.

Of course Riddle would be here at ungodly hours in the morning. He was the definition of a workaholic, even by Morsmordre’s standards. And more than that—Harry’s stomach twisted with guilt once more—he was probably here early because Harry hadn’t finished his part of the report.

Even worse, Harry wouldn’t be able to finish it… without help.

He wavered near the door, his hand reaching towards the handle… but then just as quickly, Harry came to his senses and jerked it back. He narrowed his eyes before turning on his heel and stalking off towards the coffee machine, his mind made up.

No, he didn’t need Riddle. He didn’t need anything from the man except for some newfound respect when Harry handed in a perfect fucking report at six o’clock sharp—

Five minutes later, Harry was steeling himself as he walked towards the sole lighted room, now gripping two filled-up coffee mugs—one to keep himself awake, one to serve as a peace offering.

He set the mugs down and knocked. But it remained silent, completely still.

Was Riddle not here after all? Or perhaps, was he choosing not to answer? Honestly, the latter theory was much more plausible than the first.  

Harry scoffed, imagining the possibilities. Maybe his hellishly perfectionistic boss wasn’t looking his best at the moment and didn’t want people to see him with bags under his eyes or an extra button undone or, heaven forbid, a wayward strand of hair. Riddle always paid an ungodly amount of attention to appearances, both in himself and in those he bossed over.

After all, the first time Harry had come into office less than impeccably dressed, over a year ago, Riddle had dismissed him with cutting remarks.

“An untucked shirt tail? No belt?” Riddle glanced at Harry darkly, his jaw ticking as he walked forward. “I would hate for your poor dressing choices to reflect on me.”

His fingers grabbed Harry’s stray shirt tail, twisting it until Harry had felt his shirt tightening around his stomach, the constrictive cloth digging into his skin.

“Dismissed. No pay for today.”

Riddle leaned in to speak softly, the height difference between them growing more distinct as he imposed his physical presence upon Harry in the most tangible, intimidating way possible.

“Be prepared to hand in your resignation the next time you dress like this.”

Harry nearly snorted at the memory. Ah, the usual firing threats. He’d been shit-scared at the time, the inexperienced, newest addition to Morsmordre’s Seattle office. But after a year had passed with absolutely nothing changing, Harry was practically desensitized to the constant fear and utter lack of job security.

It was unhealthy, but with the salary Riddle paid him, he just couldn’t get himself to find another job.

Harry knocked one last time with a sigh. His hand slid down towards the door knob, resting but not opening. Maybe his boss had simply forgotten to switch off the lights after all.

“Er… it’s Harry,” he said at last, wincing at the awkward way the words rolled off of his tongue before turning away from the door—

“Come in.”

Harry stilled. His hand tightened around the door handle in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. So Riddle had been inside.

He entered at once, his earlier vindication withering when he took in his boss’s appearance.

Perfect, as usual.

His collar was perfect, his tie was perfect. His hair laid flat and styled in a way Harry could never manage on himself. The suit he’d worn for the Board meeting flattered his form in every way, and Harry found he couldn’t look away.

Riddle was leaning an elbow on his desk near his laptop, drawing Harry’s gaze to one long, muscled forearm that ended in a fist. And then Harry’s eyes trailed upwards, to where that stupidly flawless jaw rested against it, unerringly sharp, just like the rest of him.

Riddle raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes training upon Harry’s form with that familiar intensity that always caught him off-guard.

“Come to give me the report, at last?”

Harry stared, unsure of how to answer or where to begin. “Not quite, sir.”

Riddle’s expression immediately darkened in cold fury, and Harry rushed to correct himself defensively, “You said it was due by six! I just need…”

When Riddle continued to stare at him unforgivingly, Harry trailed off, biting his lip and looking down.

It was so difficult… asking his boss for help.

“I… require assistance.” Harry looked up at Riddle through his lashes, still keeping his head turned towards the ground. “I’ve finished all the write-ups. However, I don’t know how to extrapolate the demand for Anthony Buick’s Geometry series, and I’m confused on how to calculate its cross-price elasticity with the Geometry series being published by Pearson and McGraw-Hill.”

There, that had sounded professional enough.

Riddle raised both of his eyebrows, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Oh, so you can’t draw a simple line graph?” he asked innocently. “Surely you covered demand curves in your Introductory Economics class?”

Harry flushed. Of course, Riddle had to draw out his humiliation, tearing into him one horrible insult at a time.

This was exactly why he hated asking his boss for help.

Harry exhaled, his fingers clasping each other nervously. “It’s… been a while, sir.”

“Been a while? ” Riddle echoed monotonically with the slightest hint of disbelief, making Harry’s defense sound embarrassingly juvenile. “Please, correct me if I’m wrong,” he crossed his fingers and leaned his chin upon them, eyes gleaming knowingly, “but didn’t you major in Political Science?”

Harry’s following silence spoke for him.

It’s not like he’d actually used his Political Science major in the years after he’d graduated. He’d always taken on Editing positions afterwards, and thanks to—

“Truly, your incompetence amazes me.” Riddle’s eyes narrowed spitefully, even as his cruel mouth curled into a mockery of a smile.

Honestly, what could Harry possible say to that without getting himself fired.

He clenched his jaw in an effort to keep his mouth shut. Think of your pay. Think of your pay.

Riddle stared at him with cold, black eyes, belittling him with every second he continued to stare at Harry.

Then he tapped the back of his pen once against the table in front of him, gesturing to the seat facing opposite of his own.

“Sit. Show me your work.”

Harry let out a breath and hastily sat down—his first time actually sitting in Riddle’s office, strangely enough—and scrambled to open his laptop and navigate to the Excel sheet he’d performed the majority of his calculations on.

Riddle closed his own laptop and stood up, walking around the desk to view Harry’s screen. Puffs of warm breath swirled near Harry’s neck as he leaned down to look over Harry’s shoulder, grabbing a pen and a stray sheet of paper.

It turned out, all humiliation aside, that Riddle was an excellent teacher.

“A Joint PPF curve requires…”

Riddle explained concepts in a clear and exact way, never wasting or mincing his words. For someone who rarely spoke to Harry except to toss insults and bark orders at him, Riddle was quite well-spoken.

Harry listened intently, holding onto each word and taking notes furiously.

Riddle was now pointing to a particular column on Harry’s Excel sheet.

“You cannot use the midterm formula here — you must divide their percentages, because currency is not universally standardized.”

Harry scribbled furiously, attempting to calculate an example. “Oh, so, for instance, would I just multiply the the difference in price and quantity by 100…?”

A warm hand grabbed his own, pausing it. Harry’s breath stuttered unconsciously in response.

“No, idiot.” Riddle’s scoffed barb left another warm puff of breath against his neck, and Harry fought the urge to shiver with indignation. “There is a specific formula you have to use, known as the Price Elasticity of Demand formula…”

Riddle recited a formula that had way more variables than Harry could keep track of. Really, if this was the kind of stuff his boss wasted precious brain space remembering, it was no wonder he couldn’t remember something so simple as personal fucking space.

Harry tensed as Riddle’s shoulder brushed against him, more aware of every point at which they touched than the points populating the demand curve in front of him.

“So, applying this formula to all the numbers in row AL and summing them up, the elasticity of demand would be…”

Riddle paused for a few moments before answering. “-4.16.”

Harry stared.

No. Way.

Did Riddle just… do that all in his head?

Impossible. There had to be at least fifty numbers in column AL. And the applying the formula to one of the numbers was complicated enough.

“... and you want to integrate this curve to compute total profit, which is…” Riddle narrowed his eyes at Harry’s screen for a couple of moments, the calculator near them untouched. “$578,622. Give or take twenty five cents.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

He hadn’t realized his boss was a genius.

And then Riddle did it again. And again. He was faster than Harry’s calculator, mostly likely because Harry was slower at plugging and typing numbers, and he was spitting out calculations and completing whole sections of Harry’s report when merely one section had taken him ages.

He was so inhumanly fast , it was insane.

How?

Harry’s stomach tightened every time Riddle solved something. It was a strange, heated sensation, and it felt horribly familiar to…

Harry’s eyes widened.

What the hell?

For some reason, Harry was getting turned on by how good at math Riddle was. Which made no sense. Harry hated math, he sucked at it. He’d majored in English, which was very much the opposite of Math.

But somehow, listening to Riddle solve a hard math problem in his head, mentally, like it was nothing…

It wasn’t just the fact that he was intelligent. It was Riddle’s confidence, the hot gleam in his eyes when he answered, when he spoke the right answer and he knew he was right.

“Again, use the Price Elasticity formula here… the difference of 49,764 and 78,553, divided by their average and multiplied by 100…” Riddle raised an eyebrow, cocky and confident despite his display of utter nerdiness. “It’s basic, rudimentary math, really… nothing like the Calculus courses I took back in…”

Harry felt a flood of attraction rushing up his spine, hot and sudden and completely uninvited. He clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the words Riddle was saying…

But then Riddle casually said, “...Which equals -8.762,” and Harry was gone.

And only when Riddle had unwittingly ended up finishing Harry’s report ( “I’ll just finish it, there’s not much left, ”) and moved away did Harry finally breathe again.

Harry cleared his throat. “Right. Thank you so much. I’ll just print this—”

Riddle put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Harry tried not to scream in frustration. “Your laptop is connected to my personal printer, yes?”

Harry swallowed. Yes, it was… even though he’d never used it. He’d just really been hoping to catch a break from the man for two seconds.

As Harry stood near the printer, waiting for all the documents to print, the silence between them suddenly began to feel very heavy.

He gazed mindlessly at the the trail of papers sliding noisily out of the printer, watching as the completed pile grew larger and larger. The report was quite large, but by no means was it the largest of all the reports Harry had printed for his boss throughout the year…

“Wow, what a waste of paper,” Harry remarked as another sheet was pushed onto the pile. Really, one would think a publishing company would be mindful of how much paper they used, since the majority of their products were paper-based…

Riddle raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, I had forgotten all about your environmentalist tendencies.”

Harry bit his lip to restrain himself. “ His” environmentalist tendencies? What, did Riddle lack them? Did he not care about the environment?

Harry’s eyes widened in horror.

Just how conservative was this guy?

Riddle smirked up at him, sitting back in his usual swivel chair. “All about saving the world, aren’t you, Harry?”

Harry smiled politely back and hummed in assent, stubbornly keeping his mouth shut lest he bring up something else they might disagree on.

Instead, he looked around the office.

Because the printer was located at the inner corner of Riddle’s L-shaped desk, Harry found himself inside of Riddle’s personal workspace… standing right next to the swivel chair where Riddle was sitting.

In other words, for the first time, Harry was seeing the office from Riddle’s perspective.

His boss’s desk was as impeccable as ever, oddly bereft of any decor. However, the one picture frame that had always faced away from Harry whenever he entered the room was now turned in his direction.

It wasn’t holding a picture, as he’d always suspected it would. Rather, it held a wooden carving with Greek Letters. The first letter was unmistakable an alpha, but Harry couldn’t read the other two…

Still, Greek letters.

Harry stared back at his boss in disbelief.

No way.

“Were you a part of a fraternity in college?”

The words slipped out without any context, any permission of Harry’s, and the sharp look Riddle sent him was a stark reminder of the fact that this was none of his business.

But…

Riddle’s eyes flickered to the framed Greek letters and dropped in understanding.

“Many years ago… yes.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. Many years ago? Just how old was Riddle? He didn’t look much older than Harry. Of course, he had to be quite a bit older to have reached such a highly-ranked position in the company. But what Harry was more surprised by was—

Riddle? A frat boy? It just didn’t make any sen—

He looked at Riddle.

Okay, so maybe it did, Harry thought as he leaned back in his chair with a scowl. Riddle certainly looked the part, with all of his height and classical attractiveness. He definitely acted the part: rich, white boy vibes radiated off of him like he was born into old money.

Riddle was self-entitlement and arrogance rolled up into one, attractive package. He had the kind of alpha male-confidence that made Harry’s nerves bristle in retaliation and shiver with something else entirely, because it was both endlessly irritating and irritatingly… hot.

Harry bore venomous holes into Riddle’s back, simultaneously cursing his existence while trying not to admire how broad his shoulders looked in a suit.

And, perhaps because he felt the gaze upon him on some unconscious level, Riddle shifted in his seat after a few moments.  Keeping his back towards Harry, Riddle stretched an arm bent at the elbow back behind him, biceps flexing and straining his sleeves.

Suddenly, Harry’s mouth was drier than ever. All he could think of was how that arm would look without sleeves in the way, and how the movement of his arm was causing the muscles of his shoulder and back to ripple and, oh god, how it would all look without any barrier at all—

Ugh.

No, no, no.

Not here. Harry thought furiously, desperately. He’d sworn off fantasizing about Riddle at work after what had happened the last time he’d done it.

“What was the name of your fraternity?” Harry asked, scrambling to focus on anything else in front of his boss.

Riddle looked up from the screen his eyes had been glued to, annoyance written clearly across his features. “Not that you would know of it, having gone to college on the other side of the world… but I was a part of Alpha Omega Alpha. ”

Harry choked.

Because, oh man , that sounded like the title of some bad, torrid ABO fanfiction. Not like ABO works were bad. If anything, they were a guilty pleasure of his. But still …

He stifled his laughter, but it came out of his nose in weird mixture between a snort and puffed exhale. Then Harry was coughing, laughing, something in between. And, crap, Riddle was looking at him like he was crazy but Harry just couldn’t stop imagining—

And suddenly, Riddle was looking at Harry in a very different way, a very knowing way that had Harry’s amusement draining from him in one go.

It was like he knew exactly what was going through Harry’s head.

Harry blinked.

That was… simply impossible.

No, unimaginable.

Could Riddle possibly…? No, no, no. Riddle? Fanfiction? Ridiculous. The two words didn’t even belong in the same sentence.

And yet, Riddle clearly knew what fanfiction was—after all, he’d instantly recognized the Ao3’s icon from the browser tab Harry had switched from yesterday.

Still, on the off-chance that Riddle could read minds (which would actually explain a lot, damn)—surely he would have confronted Harry by now?

“Really, Harry. Omegaverse?” Riddle tilted his head. “How tasteless.”

Harry winced, flushing violently, tortured by his own made-up scenarios of being exposed as the sad trash he was. Once had been enough. Twice? He didn’t think he’d be able to endure it.

There had to be a help manual somewhere. What to do when your boss finds out you read fanfiction—

“It’s done,” Riddle said abruptly, cutting off Harry’s frantic flow of panic. At some point during Harry’s minor freak-out, he’d swiveled back around, his back once again facing Harry.

Harry blinked, caught off-guard. What’s done…?

In a show of impatience, Riddle rapped the back of his pen against his desk.

Harry straightened up, looking around until his eyes settled back on the printer, which had finally stopped printing.

Right. The report.

It’s done printing, Harry completed sarcastically in his mind, suppressing an eye roll.

… Yeah, despite his mathematical genius, the man was incapable of speaking like a normal human being.

Seriously, a few more words wouldn’t hurt him. “Hand me the papers, please ,” or even a “thank you,” every blue moon. Fucking illiterate bastard.

“What did you major in again?” Harry asked, out of the blue once more, before he could stop himself.

Tom raised an eyebrow at him, his expression long-suffering by this point. But for whatever reason, he indulged Harry anyways. “I have Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees in Business and Computer Science.”

Oh fucking hell. A Business and a Computer Science boy. No wonder he was insufferable.

Harry robotically lifted the papers from the printer and stapled them before holding them out to his boss, his grip tightening vindictively around the papers just enough to leave a wrinkle in them.

Harry smirked. Riddle hated wrinkles.

Sure enough, his boss snatched the papers from Harry’s grip with an almost predictable annoyance, his jaw flexing ever so slightly with frustration that one wouldn’t be able to pick up on unless they were actively looking for it.

Riddle looked up, meeting Harry’s eyes with his own dark, unreadable ones.

“You’re dismissed. Enjoy what remains of your weekend.” He eyed Harry analytically. “Get some sleep. You look terrible.”

Harry stilled, his muscles tensing up.

You look terrible.

Perhaps it was because of his lack of sleep. At any rate, Harry found himself standing up straighter, bristling at Riddle’s last comment with renewed irritability and utter humiliation.

Why, how observant of you, Mr. Riddle!

No, please, do go on. Is it the hair? Or perhaps the black circles under my eyes, courtesy of my boss?

Harry gritted his teeth. The tactless bastard was the very reason behind his haggard appearance and he had the audacity to comment on it?

“Thanks, ” Harry drawled sarcastically, not missing the flash in his boss’s eyes as he hastily grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He turned around, eager to leave before the man could possibly incite him further—

“Harry—the cups.”

Harry paused at the low voice, turning his head slightly and staying still.

Riddle raised an eyebrow expectantly, gesturing towards the two coffee cups at the edge of his desk. “Well? Throw them out.”

Harry’s eyebrows twitched.

There is a garbage right next to your desk. Attached to your desk.

But he didn’t say any of these things. Instead, he bore holes into the small black garbage approximately one and half feet away from Riddle’s hand, which lay resting on his desk.

Riddle raised an eyebrow, catching on. “But I only have recycling and trash here.” He crossed his fingers together and leaned his chin upon them. “Surely, being the environmentalist that you are, you are aware that the coffee cups are compostable. ”

Harry stared.

Yes, he was perfectly aware. He was also very much aware of the fact that the nearest compost bin was four floors up, in the opposite direction of this building’s exit, and another ten minute delay to the he reached back home.

Biting back a snarl of frustration, Harry turned around to face his boss fully, mustering up a pained, sleep-deprived smile.

“Of course, sir.”

*          *          *

After going over his notes one final time, Tom settled comfortably back into his chosen chair. The Board meeting room was empty save for him, guaranteeing complete privacy.

He swiped at his phone screen and, at last, deigned to view the messages that had recently flooded his Fanfiction inbox folder.

The notifications had been there since morning, but he’d resolved not to open it until his designated email-checking time. Discipline was a key aspect of his success, and even something as addictive as fanfiction could not threaten the stability of his schedule.

The first few emails were predictable. Updates on gaining Fanfiction followers, notifications for the kudos his stories had recently gained on Ao3, a couple of “Plz updateee” comments that nearly made him toss his phone across the room.

After a few more swipes, Tom came across something different from the norm.

A response to his comment on boss from hell.

>> lightning_boi: My crops are watered. My skin is clear. God has kudosed, bookmarked, subscribed to, AND COMMENTED (you forgot 😜) on my story and my life will never be the same. Thank you, thank you, thank you 😍😍❤️❤️❤️

Tom stared at the comment for a solid minute, nonplussed.

… Crops?

Was lightning_boi a farmer?

Why was he mentioning his skin?

And why was the comment so… noisy ? It would have been perfectly acceptable if not for all of those annoying faces— emojis —cluttering up the comment in an almost juvenile way.

Still. Tom found he couldn’t look away from the comment. There was something magnetic about lightning_boi’s enthusiasm and excitement, something about his message that drew him in.

… you forgot 😜

The corner of his mouth curled up without permission. Cheeky brat.

He typed out a rapid reply and sent it, before continuing to scroll through his email. But lightning_boi’s words seemed to stay with him even as he read other comments, like the way he’d called Tom ‘ God’ and the way he’d—

“Smiling, Tom?” said a brusque, feminine voice. “What evil plot to take over the world has struck your fancy?”

Tom stiffened, instantly swiping his screen shut and looking over at the woman he’d seated herself next to him.

“Good afternoon, Minerva,” he replied evenly, barely bothering to camouflage the distaste in his tone.

Minerva McGonagall—a manager within the Human Resources department—hadn’t reported to him for ages. He’d thought she’d quit, or been fired by someone higher than him…

And now she was here?

What was she doing here? She didn’t hold nearly enough importance to be attending such a meeting.

Reading the obvious question in Tom’s eyes, Minerva smiled thinly.

“Executive positions have been undergoing a shift for the past couple of weeks.” She pulled out another folder with documents, barely sparing him a glance. “I’m now the Vice President of Human Resources, reporting directly to the COO at the moment.”

Tom stilled, his features blanking in surprise.

Not only was that quite the promotion, but the fact that she now held a position which had previously belonged to a certain old fool…

His mouth curled into a genuine smile.

Had Dumbledore been fired ?

This was excellent news.

“Congratulations, Minerva.” Tom smirked conspiratorially, glee bubbling in his stomach. “I’m sure Dippet has eased your transition into the role quite nicely. Speaking from experience,” he couldn’t resist emphasizing his seniority, “He’s quite easy to work under.”

Indeed, Tom reported to Dippet as well. And he could definitively say that if there was anyone due for retirement among the executive board, it was that joke of an executive.

It was as if he came to office just to sit in a chair all day. Which, if Tom was honest, made it quite easy for him to make decisions however he liked on the man’s behalf.

Besides, if nepotism worked in his favor, Tom would surely be taking over the man’s role in the next set of long-due promotions.

Tom faced Minerva once more, only to find her staring at him silently, unnervingly.

“Did you not attend the last Board meeting?” she asked cautiously.

Tom raised his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “No. I was traveling for work on the CEO’s direct orders.”

Minerva stared at him blankly for a split-second longer. Then she smiled, a slow, secret, positively feline smile that Tom definitely disliked.

“I see.”

Tom turned away, refusing to be provoked.

After their conversation had died down, more executives filed into the room. Some new faces, mostly old faces.

With a minute left for the meeting to start, a certain old man with twinkling blue eyes and an eccentric pink shirt entered the room. All eyes in the room were drawn to him, the noise level abating with an enviable ease at the man’s arrival.

Tom scowled. Evidently, Dumbledore had not retired.

And if he hadn’t left his previous position at Morsmordre for the sake of retirement, that could only mean…

Tom tensed with uncertainty as Dumbledore began to speak. By what authority, Tom had no clue…

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he started cheerfully. “The results of last meeting’s votes have been out since two weeks ago. As of this meeting, your new roles are in effect.”

Tom paused in shock, unable to prevent his eyebrows from shooting upwards this time.

Voting? The board and non-board executives had voted on new executive positions at the last meeting?

… And the CEO had conveniently sent him away on the day this was scheduled to happen?

Tom’s hand curled into a violent fist underneath the table, rage boiling in his blood as he attempted to keep listening, to keep his head clear .

Dumbledore cleared his throat, his piercing blue eyes glancing around the room. “The CEO will be arriving a couple of minutes late, so I will start us off for the time being.” He smiled serenely. “As your new President and COO…”

Tom paled.

No.

Unacceptable.

Albus Dumbledore had been appointed the new COO by the board majority at the last meeting.

“... I would like to begin by saying a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

As the other executive member broke into laughter, no doubt finding their COO’s sense of humor endearingly eccentric, Tom remained straight-faced, numb.

This lunatic was now his direct superior, and everything suddenly had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

*          *          *

Harry fell asleep on the sofa as soon as he got home.

He woke up to Ron shuffling out of his room at eleven in the morning, half-asleep but fully-dressed and carrying a small duffel bag.

“I’m going to get this dry cleaned,” Ron yawned, holding up his police uniform to show off all the red blotches across the front.

That woke Harry up.

“Seriously mate? Again?” He rubbed his eyes as he sat up on the sofa, his hand instinctively searching for his phone.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. I know, I have got to stop visiting that burger place after my shifts. Ketchup stains are hell to remove.”

“Or you could just… eat more cleanly,” Harry offered with amusement as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen, causing Ron to frown exaggeratedly at him.

“Man, that boss has turned you into a downright priss.”

Harry rolled his eyes and swatted Ron’s backside, eliciting a strangled yelp from his best friend.

“Oi! Save that treatment for your future boyfriend.”

Ron paused, grinning. “Or perhaps for your boss from hell …”

Harry made a face, grimacing as memories of his wretched morning came to mind. “Oh, not now. Don’t even mention him,” He rubbed at his forehead wearily, “That son of a bitch …”

Ron hummed sympathetically. “Rough morning?”

Harry grunted noncommittally, still half-asleep, which Ron took as a “yes” and a sign to reassuringly (and somewhat condescendingly) pat him on the back. “It’ll get better. Moody hated my guts too when I first started, but I think he’s starting to warm up to me… he even called me by my actual name, the other day… ”

By the time Ron had left the house, Harry was starting to feel like a normal human being again… fully conscious, to begin with.

And in the mood for a good, purging rant.

So he FaceTimed Hermione.

“... When are you coming baack, ” Harry ran his hand through his distressed locks. “I need you. I need you to kick my ass and tell me when to work and warn me when certain horrible bosses are coming my way…”

His office-best friend and his cubicle neighbor looked back at him with exasperation. “Harry,” she began seriously, “Soon. Definitely way too soon. Because I don’t want to ever leave this place.”

She paused for effect, before continuing, “I am on a very exciting business trip in the City of Masks !”

Hermione gestured around herself, moving the phone screen to show the cute villa Italian coffee shop she was sitting inside of. The water right outside of the window shimmered underneath the sun.

Then, with a suddenness that had Harry’s head reeling slightly, Hermione jerked the screen back to herself.

“Do you know how long I have dreamed of coming here?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Ten years from now, Venice will no longer exist. Global warming will cause the water level to rise and completely submerge this wonderful city. At least let me savor it while I can —”

“Yes! Sorry! You’re right,” Harry raised his hands in surrender. The passion of Hermione Granger could not be withstood. “Let’s discuss Venice instead.”

He took a sip of his hot chocolate before raising his eyebrows in interest. “Oh yeah, and how did that deal with the author of A Song of Earth and Air go?”

Hermione leaned back in her chair. “Ohh, it was fantastic, Harry! He said that he’s willing to get out draft by next Monday, which gives me time to…”

Hermione went on about the meeting with him and Harry listened, intrigued as ever.

After all, she was the Editorial Director of Morsmorde’s Science Fiction & Fantasy Department… the dream job Harry had been applying for when he’d first entered Morsmordre.

He’d resented her for a bit at first because of that, which was probably why they hadn’t gotten along at first.

But then, weirdly enough, they’d bonded over the strangest of things.

She walked like a woman with purpose, back straight and stiff, her brown curls bounced around her.

Hermione slammed her papers down on the desk in the cubicle right next to his.

“I. HATE. RIDDLE,” she seethed, and at that moment, Harry felt himself warming up to his neighbor.

“... Okay but, enough about my work.” Hermione looked at Harry. “How is your new apartment?”

Harry smiled warmly. “Oh, it’s great! Ro—my roommate likes it too.”

His smile transformed into a grin. The redhead had faced no problems slipping back into their old apartment routines with him.

Ron was his best friend since high school, even though it felt like they’d been friends all their lives. They knew everything about each other at this point and, wow, he really owed Ron for putting up with all of Harry’s shitty attitude problems lately due to work. And Hermione, for that matter.

Harry was damn lucky to have such great friends.

And it helped that Ron was a heavy sleeper, so he didn’t so much as blink when Harry came home super late or left at ungodly early hours just because a certain boss of his was running him ragged—

“Well, that’s good.” Hermione smiled back before looking back down at her papers before her. “I should be back by next Thursday, so if you need help with moving in or anything—”

Harry held up a hand. “I’m good, Mione.”

Hermione looked up, biting her lip nervously. “Well, perhaps I could take a look around?” She smiled shyly. “I’d love to see it!”

Harry paused as guilt flooded him.

He’d been close friends with Hermione for quite a while now, and he’d always felt bad for never inviting her home despite how much she’d helped him, been there for him, and invited him over countless times.

But it’s just that he couldn’t afford to have his two best friends meet.

Ron. Hermione.

Because, you see, HeadGirl and RoonilWazlib were… acquainted on the Jarvolo Discord.

No. Acquainted was putting it friendly.

Their tastes, fanfiction-wise, were completely different.

RoonilWazlib enjoyed reading 10,000 words of smut, while HeadGirl would rather read 500,000 words of angst, unresolved sexual tension, and banter.

RoonilWazlib liked Omegaverse and femslash, while HeadGirl disliked both.

They were, in every way, opposite, and they’d made their contrary opinions very clear on the Discord, so much to the point where there was a separate channel made, inspired by them, called #oldmarriedcouple. Where fanfictionists with opposing opinions on tropes and ships could argue, separate from everyone else, thereby allowing everyone else on the Discord to (live) read and write in peace.

If they met in real life… if they ever knew got to know who the other was, all chaos would erupt.

Harry smiled nervously.

“Of course, Mione.”

Also, they would probably murder Harry for keeping the knowledge of each other's identities from them for so long.

Right then, his phone buzzed to let him know that he had about a dozen new emails. Because he had no self-control, Harry checked his refreshed email while FaceTiming Hermione (“Sorry, one moment,”)… and nearly dropped his phone.

It was another comment from Lord_Voldemort_. A response to his response.

Harry placed a hand on his beating chest.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ...Unsubscribed. ;]

Oh my god. That smirk-face.

Was Lord_Voldemort_ trying to kill him?

“... Are you done?” Hermione asked, now typing something up on the laptop screen.

“HERMIONE!” Harry burst out loudly, causing Hermione to look straight back at him. He collapsed down onto the sofa, buzzing with excitement. “I can’t believe I forgot to—you won’t believe what happened.”

“What? ”

“Lord Voldemort commented on my story.”

As Harry began to explain what had happened the night before, Hermione continued to stare at him in utter disbelief.

“Hold on, let me send you a screenshot of our conversation.”

Harry messaged it to her, watching her face as she read the whole thread of conversation between them. Her expressions were priceless—her eyes, wide with shock, grew even wider with awe.

She stood up from the desk she’d been sitting at abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. A few passerbys in the screen looked up at her in annoyance, but she only had eyes for the messaged screenshot Harry had sent her.

“Oh. My. God. Harry this is—”

“I know!”

“— Unbelievable. Do you realize how incredible this is? To the current knowledge of the James Evans fandom, Voldemort has never commented on another fanfiction, ever, before… this.”

“I realize that! I—”

“This must be shared!”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “I… um… okay?” He laughed, feeling more carefree than he had all day. “Sure, whatever. Share it on the Discord if you want—”

His phone buzzed again. A message, this time.

Tom Riddle: Come to the office. Now.

Harry’s smile froze on his face. He could feel the happiness draining out of him as a cold feeling crept up his limbs.

“Shit.” He bit out frustratedly. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Hermione looked at him through the FaceTime screen, alarmed. “What now?”

Harry ran a stressed hand through his wild locks. “Riddle is calling me back to the office.” And he sounds really, really mad.

Hermione looked at him with a frown. “Seriously? Even after this morning?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” Harry scrambled to send a quick reply back, pressing send. “Listen, I’ve got to go—”

“Of course. Talk later, Harry.”

“See you.”

After Harry had switched off the call, Hermione stared at the darkened phone call screen with concern for a few moments.

And then she switched back to the screenshot Harry had sent her, bubbling with excitement. Hermione posted the snapshot in the #general tab of the Jarvolo Discord, including a small blurb and link to where the comment thread could be found.

And that was how lightning_boi and Lord_Voldemort_ ended up becoming the talk of the Jarvolo fandom.

*          *          *

Chamber of Secrets: #general

>> SpinnetToWinIt: It’s gone viral! I repeat, the screenshot has gone viral

>> LavendarBrown: It’s ALL OVER tumblr, just search #lightningVolt

>> Parvati_AphroditeWho: THAT’S their new SHIP NAME?

>> LavendarBrown: I KNOW it’s FREAKING ADORABLE

>> AngelinaJolie: holy shit I’m with you guys. I just can’t stop thinking about that lightining_boi and Lord_Voldemort_ comment banter

>> MickeyCorner: No one can, apparently.

silence

>> Forge: wow buddy chill. Who broke up with you recently lmfao (@GingerGorl can’t believe you ever e-dated this dude)

>> MickeyCorner:

Discord: MickeyCorner has left the server.

>> Gred: HAHFHWEUHA

>> GingerGorl: Fred shut up and stop pinging me, I’m in class

>> AngelinaJolie: Huh, so that’s Fred.

>> HeadGirl: Forget Michael. Guys— guys. This is the perfect opportunity to discuss this wonderful snippet and insight into Voldemort’s personality aND MORE IMPORTANTLY, the possibility of a blooming romance!?

>> RoonilWazlib: so she does have a romantic bone in her body

>> Gred: Oh, brother…

>> HeadGirl: Graciously ignoring Ronald’s side comment—what are your thoughts, guys?

>> RoonilWazlib: don’t fucking call me that

>> Forge: Ronald show some respect for our mod lady for once jesus fucking christ

>> AngelinaJolie: Hold on—let me re-post the conversation thread here:

>> LavendarBrown: *sigh*

>> AngelinaJolie: I mean, this may look like nothing to an outsider who has no knowledge of Jarvolo fanfics and authors...

>> AngelinaJolie: But I mean, holy shit.

>> HeadGirl: “Unsubscribed,” he says. From anyone else, this would look straight-up aggressive.

>> HeadGirl: But coming from Lord Voldemort… well, it’s practically FLIRTATION from him.

>> AngelinaJolie: And that little smirk face, holy mother of god. Voldy’s tryna kill us.

>> SpinnetToWinIt: Our little lightning_boi ‘bout to cop some Voldemort :lenny face:

>> Voice_of_Reason: Hold it ladies. We don’t even know how Voldemort looks—how can we possibly be rooting for him?

>> SpinnetToWinIt: lee you shallow man

>> AngelinaJolie: lee? YOU CHANGED YOUR NAME AGAIN??? Dumbass you changed it two days ago

>> Forge: hey let the man breathe. Here on the Jarvolo discord, we have the freedom to express ourselves in whichever way we want—fanfiction, fanart, and yes, even usernames.

>> HeadGirl: To quote the Discord Rules, “Please refrain from changing your username once you join.”

>> HeadGirl: Also, to be fair, you don’t know what lightning_boi looks like either. But just because you don’t know how they look, doesn’t mean they can’t be shipped <3

>> Voice_of_Reason: but… what if he’s really ugly? Or really old?

>> Forge: or what if… Lord Voldemort is actually a seventy-two-year-old mass murderer who looks like a snake and has red eyes ‘cause he’s albinic and he lives on the other side of the world from Harry?

>> AnglinaJolie: …

>> SpinnetToWinIt: …

>> HeadGirl: You’ve been reading too much fanfiction.

>> Forge: Ha. Horror, gen, and quidditch fics amiright bois?

>> Voice_of_Reason: Damn straight

>> Parvati_AphroditeWho: Why are you guys even on this discord?

>> Gred: joined to look out for my kid sis after she e-dated some creep

>> Forge: ^^

>> AngelinaJolie: Hmm… okay, but going back a bit—Fred brings up a great point. I mean, @Forge, what if I am actually a sixty-year-old woman with bad breath? Would you stop declaring your love for me every two seconds?

>> Fred: 🤔

Discord: Fred has changed his name to Grannie_Lover

Discord: Grannie_Lover has kissed AngelinaJolie

>> AngelinaJolie: forget I asked

Two hours later:

Chamber of Secrets: #general

>> Viktory: forgeev my english

>> Viktory: i know my time zone is very off from most of yours

>> Viktory: but i couldn’t help but scroll back and view your previous conversation on Lord Voldemort

>> Viktory: I just wanted to confirm that—according to my sources—the Dark Lord is verry hot

>> ChoAegyo: uwu

>> ChoAegyo: how do u knowwww?

>> HeadGirl: Yes, what are your sources?

>> LavendarBrown: and why are you calling him the Dark Lord jesus christ you make him sound like a mass murderer or smth

>> Viktory: he has an exclusive discord for certain fans—I know someone in it

>> Viktory: and that’s what his greatest fans call him when conversing with him. It’s what he likes to be called

>> Viktory: and according to my sources—he is, “indescribably hot,” so presumably she has seen a picture of him

>> LavendarBrown: !!!!!!!!

>> Parvati_AphroditeWho: Oh. My. God.

*          *          *

Harry slammed the door shut behind him as he entered the apartment, his mood darker than the sky outside.

Riddle hadn’t even been at the office building. Harry had entered his office, only to see a sticky note atop a pile of papers on his desk that read: Spring cleaning. Call the top thirty authors and report on their productivity.

So. Freaking. Annoying.

Harry wasn’t completely oblivious. He could easily tell that Riddle had been in a bad mood when he’d messaged Harry. And yet, was it necessary to always take out his frustration on his PA ?

Screw it. If he read any more messages from his boss, Harry was going to murder his pet snake. (Because yeah, Riddle actually kept a pet snake, who has a fucking snake?) So he resolved to simply avoid that situation in the first place.

He shut off his phone and kept it aside.

He had an early morning tomorrow, but Harry didn’t particularly care. At the moment, all he wanted to do was plug into some music, open up a blank Google document on his laptop, and write.

So he did.

Harry sat down on his favorite sofa, purposefully keeping his notifications for Discord and other social media off so he could just focus on writing.

He doubted he’d missed much, anyways.

At first, after a long, gruelling day at work, the last thing had Harry wanted to do was write the next chapter of his Office AU fanfiction. But then he began to remember how boss from hell was the very work Lord_Voldemort_ was subscribed to… and, well…

Oh hell, Harry exhaled, a smile threatening to overcome his lips. Just thinking about it brightened his mood all over again. It filled him with nervous energy and disbelief and unbelievable happiness.

And suddenly, he didn’t know why, but he felt extremely impatient. Like his fingers were itching to type something out, like he was itching to get something out, he just didn’t know what.

He began to type.

“Enter,” drawled the low voice.

I walked in, steeling myself for the worst as I lowered my files onto the boss’s desk. Marvolo stared at the papers before flickering his gaze back to me, unreadable, waiting for something I could not comprehend.

“What?” I asked defensively, crossing my arms as I ran through a mental checklist of all the tasks. I’d pulled an all-nighter for this report, it had better have come out alright…

“Why aren’t you… ” Marvolo started, his gaze traveling downwards.”... wearing pants?”

Harry’s fingers stuttered to an abrupt stop.

He facepalmed.

What the hell. This work wasn’t supposed to be crack. Hell, this didn’t even read like crack, it read like the start of a bad dream.

No, this just wouldn’t do.

Harry deleted whatever he’d written and hovered his fingers over the keyboard once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of an idea, a scene, a moment, anything.

“... which equals, 4,987.”

I stared at my boss, feeling heat suffuse my cheeks with a vehemence that could not be prevented. Had he done all of that… in his head?

Harry smirked. A math kink… oh, yes. Let’s hope other people enjoyed this as much as he did.

“... Does that make sense?” Marvolo paused, staring at me penetratingly.

“Y-yes,” I stuttered, unable to say otherwise in the face of such intelligence. I’d always found intelligence intimidating, mostly because I was dumb as hell, but I never thought I’d find it so… attractive in a person. What the fuck.

This sucked. Riddle always made me feel so insignificant in every way—better-looking, more charismatic, more successful, more intelligent…

What right did he have to make me feel this way as well? This unwanted attraction, hopelessly unrequited and endlessly inconvenient. I was nothing more than a personal assistant to him, and that’s all I would ever be.

Perhaps it was that lovesick, blindly hopeful part of me. But as I exited the office, I could have sworn I felt his gaze lingering on me, tangible, burning heat across my limbs—

Harry stopped typing. Because as he’d continued to do so, a sudden flurry of images that looked like Tom Riddle had come to mind.

He frowned. Tom Riddle—associated with the dashing Marvolo of his dreams? This wouldn’t do.

Tom Riddle had nothing, nothing on the Dark Lord—

The loud, creaking swing of the front door vaguely alerted Harry to Ron’s entrance.

Harry pulled out his earbuds briefly, listening for the usual curse words as Ron inevitably hit his head on the door head, before plugging back in. He deleted a couple of paragraphs and began to rewrite them…

Ron grinned wildly at him as he walked into the living room.

“Hey, mate. How does it feel to be a celebrity?”

“Hmm?” Harry hummed as he continued typing. He was vaguely aware of Ron sitting next to him on the sofa, reaching an arm around the back of the sofa to grab the remote.

“Well, your conversation thread with Voldemort has been posted all across Tumblr, so that’s nice and all.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said distractedly as he continued to type.

Then he stopped, staring at his best friend with wide eyes as Ron’s words finally registered.

“WHAT?”

Ron laughed and showed him his phone, and the conversation from the comments section of his Ao3 work—his banter with Voldemort—was there, out on social media for the world to see. Originally posted by PossiblyRelatedToMichaelJordan and re-blogged by countless other familiar names… and unfamiliar names.

Harry’s eyes only grew wider as he took in the sheer number of notes and re-posts his conversation had.

5,488 notes. 1,734 re-blogs.

When he’d given Hermione permission to share the conversation, he hadn’t actually… anticipated…

Harry scrambled for his own phone, switching notifications back on for all of his social media and scrolling through tumblr after searching his name. There were countless mentions of lightning_boi, it was insane. And they all revolved around that one conversation.

Searching #lightning_boi before would have yielded him three results before—now, it yielded him over three hundred.

And Harry seemed to have gained a hundred followers as well.

He read through all of his comments, checked out the number of followers he’d gained on every other platform, and flickered through all of his messages.

Harry flushed.

“They’re… they’re—”

“They’re shipping you guys together,” Ron said, snorting. “Look up #lightningVolt—that’s your ship name by the way—”

Harry did. 456 results.

Oh my god.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god ohmoygodojmykofajksjfhaj—

Hell, there was fanart about him and Lord Voldemort. What the— what—how—

It featured a boy with glasses and a lightning bolt scar—probably based on Harry’s profile avatar from Ao3 and tumblr—and the mysterious silhouette of a man. Voldemort’s form was muscular, fully black… save for the white outline of tie and collar.

“Heh,” Ron muttered. “They made Voldemort taller than you.”

Harry found he didn’t mind one bit.

The artist had given Lord Voldemort a suit. And to be honest, Harry couldn’t imagine Voldemort wearing anything else now—the concept embodied him so perfectly.

The way Lord_Voldemort wrote was so classy, so strangely old-fashioned and yet timelessly sophisticated, like a mix between an Edgar Allen Poe poem and an Agatha Christie mystery novel. And if Voldemort dressed the way he wrote, well… surely, he maintained the same impeccable, classic taste.

Harry screen-shotted and saved the art in a folder offline—to treasure it forever—before continuing to flicker through his messages.

And finally, after checking all of his messages across all of his @lightning_boi accounts, Harry checked his long-since abandoned Fanfiction account.

There, too, was a message. A private, anonymous message:

“If anyone asks, I never invited you. I strongly recommend using an entirely new username.

Enjoy: https://discordapp.com/innercircle/713”

~ R.A.B.

Harry stilled, looking over at Ron—who, at this point, was blatantly looking over Harry’s shoulder.

Needing no further encouragement, he clicked on the link.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

It was an invitation to join The Inner Circle.

Lord_Voldemort_’s exclusive Discord.

Chapter Text

Harry’s jaw dropped.

It was an invitation to join The Inner Circle.

Lord_Voldemort_’s exclusive Discord server.

Harry’s fingers hovered over the keyboard while he tried to think of a new pseudonym.

“Alright… okay…” he muttered to himself. “Something elegant. Something impressive. ” 

Ron snorted, still looking over Harry’s shoulder as he jokingly suggested, “Scabbers,” and a couple of other names that had Harry staring back at his roommate in disbelief.

“Are you trying to name me or a pet?”

Ron’s mouth quirked once in good humor. “Oh, come on, I actually liked the name Hugo.”

As they continued to discuss possible Discord pseudonyms, Harry’s mind began to wander.

An excited buzz had been threatening to overwhelm him since he’d first read clicked on the Discord invitation link. He was thrilled and nervous and happy, hell, he was getting the opportunity to interact with Voldemort, and yet… 

R.A.B.’s mysterious message played in his mind once more.

“If anyone asks, I never invited you. I strongly recommend using an entirely new username.”

Harry’s mouth twitched in the ghost of a frown.

R.A.B. seemed to imply that his presence as lightning_boi might somehow displease some of Voldemort’s fans. Which was… ridiculous! Completely and utterly unfounded.

Although Harry had no clue what the environment of Voldemort’s Discord server would be like, and he didn’t wish to stick out like a sore thumb or incriminate himself in any way… 

He did want to gain Voldemort’s attention.

In case you already haven’t, a small voice whispered within him . 

Harry swallowed dryly, stomach churning with anticipation. He wondered just how Voldemort was taking all of this LightningVolt hype. Was he pleased? Amused? 

He frowned, his thoughts taking a darker turn. 

Or was Voldemort disinterested? Disgusted or annoyed, perhaps? 

“Hey, wait,” Ron said abruptly, distracting Harry from his downward spiral. “What about that fake name you used for Tinder once?”

Harry paused in contemplation. “Hadrian Evans?” A mash-up of a poshier version of his own first name and his mother’s maiden last name.

That… could work.

He logged in, now wearing a new pseud.

And was immediately pinged.

Inner Circle: #welcome

>> Nagini [Bot]: Hello @Hadrian_Evans, and welcome to The Inner Circle. This server tracks and discusses Lord_Voldemort_’s fanfiction. Please check out the #rules channel for more information. Enjoy ~

Harry stared. He re-read the bot’s impersonal message, inanely searching for any hint of Voldemort in it.

When nothing happened, he scrolled down the sidebar, checking out some of the other channels on the server.

Harry bit his lower lip cautiously, uncertainty beginning to build up within him. Because, oh man, #trash-talking and #trolling? Some of these channels seemed rather… unfriendly.

But before he could navigate to any of them, a flood of several pings vibrated from his laptop, within the same #welcome channel. 

>> Ra_beast_an: Oh? Fresh meat… 

>> Rodolphusss: @Bella_Tricks, if you’re up to a little hazing ;)

>> Bella_Tricks: Hehehehehehe. It would be my pleasure , hubby.

>> Bella_Tricks: @Hadrian_Evans, darling. How are you?

Harry startled as he read his own name on the screen. He didn’t know what to make of this, of them . But when he turned around to ask Ron, his redheaded friend was already asleep.

He turned back to face his laptop as it emitted another ping. 

And then another, and another.

>> Bella_Tricks: Oh, shy? Come on out, we don’t bite. Not really.

>> Bella_Tricks: Little itty bitty Evans… come out, come out wherever you are!

>> Bella_Tricks: @Hadrian_Evans 

>> Bella_Tricks: @Hadrian_Evans

>> Bella_Tricks: @Hadrian_Evans

Harry exited out of the tab, his heart pounding furiously, fingers trembling over the keys.

What … what had just happened?

That hadn’t just been uncomfortable. It had been terrifying. He’d been singled out, called out, harassed. 

Fresh meat?

We don’t bite?

What did they fancy themselves, sharks? Trolls?

Well, Harry pursed his lips as he navigated back to Discord with newfound determination. Troll-infested waters wouldn’t be stopping him from potentially meeting the… ahem… Volt to his LightningVolt.

(Really, Harry? Really? muttered a small, cringing inner voice.)

Harry clicked back onto The Inner Circle server and scrolled fiercely back to #welcome, typing in a response.

>> Hadrian_Evans: hey

He remained tense, awaiting the unavoidable ping that greeted him seconds later.

>> Bella_Tricks: Hadrian, darling! You finally came ;)))))) 

Harry shuddered, put off by her enthusiasm for some indefinable reason. 

When he didn’t respond after a few seconds, he received another ping.

>> Bella_Tricks: Hide and seek, Hadrian? Hehehe, tricks are for kids, silly.

Harry blinked. Okay, this woman was seeming more and more crazy by the second.

>> Hadrian_Evans: uh yeah, I

>> Hadrian_Evans: I was overwhelmed

>> Bella_Tricks: Well, we can’t have that! Let me introduce you ~ to my party people ~ in the cluuuuub

Against all odds, Harry found himself relaxing at the familiar reference, his mouth twitching into a smile.

>> Hadrian_Evans: Jennifer Lopez?

>> Bella_Tricks: So you have good taste! Lovely, lovely… 

Bella_Tricks is typing, read the Discord.

Harry leaned back, waiting.

And then, to his utmost horror—

>> Bella_Tricks: @Narcissus_Flower @SmolDragon aww nephykins your new pseud 

>> Bella_Tricks: @Mr. Always *eye roll* change your pseud moron, you sound like a pad ad

>> Bella_Tricks: @Fartemius_Slouch @Luscious_M @YOLOhov @Thunderous_Thor @Runaway_Regulus @FenrirLeers @KarkarofficiallyDead

>> Bella_Tricks: Everyone! Meet @Hadrian_Evans, our latest member!

>> Mr. Always: You forgot Peter.

>> Bella_Tricks: Oh, did I? 

>> Bella_Tricks:

>> Mr. Always: 

>> Mr. Always: *sigh*

>> Mr. Always: @quietUnsuspectingRat 

.          .          .

And so that was how Harry was introduced to Voldemort’s most loyal fans. Throughout the week, he explored the other channels of The Inner Circle server.

He quickly learned that these fans were absolutely nothing like his friends in the Chamber of Secrets.

Inner Circle: #trash-talk

>> SmolDragon: Have any of you seen that new Jarvolo fanfiction posted by HeadGirl? The Scientists AU? 

>> Mr. Always: I bookmarked it, actually.

>> SmolDragon: Honestly the author’s such an insufferable know-it-all. Like, if you know so much about chemistry, just go write a research paper.

>> Henchman1: yeah she shoold just go write a paper

>> SmolDragon: 

>> Henchman1: wut?

>> SmolDragon: … Since when are you on this server, Vincent? 

>> SmolDragon: I mean

>> SmolDragon: I didn’t know you could read

>> Henchman1: well, I learnd how to read the othre day, you see

>> Henchman1: in fckin preskool

>> Mr. Always: It appears he’s learned sarcasm as well.

>> Mr. Always: Still working on learning how to write, unfortunately.

>>SmolDragon: Still, at least he’s more tolerable than HeadGirl… and not to mention, she’s got the most ridiculous name too—

Harry gritted his teeth as his hand curled into a fist beneath his work desk, restraining the urge to tear into SmolDragon right there and then. 

While Hermione edited many fictional works for a living, she was quite sensitive and shy about her own writing. She had never posted fanfiction until joining the Chamber of Secrets server… where her writing was showered with the positivity and praises it deserved in #snippets.

If this dumbass Dragon said a word against her works outside of this server…god help him… 

Then, later that week:

Inner Circle: #trolling

>> YOLOhov: Why the fuck does that Quidditch AU posted by Forge and Gred have so many kudos? It sucks.

>> Fartemius_Slouch: Ikr? So cliched and and the writing style is way too casual for my tastes…

>> YOLOhov: Oh yeah, I even commented, “Literal Cringe” and “Your writing sucks” on the fic. Hopefully that’ll teach him to stop posting such nonsense.

Harry nearly exited out of the Discord server right there and then, his blood boiling with fury.

Put simply, the environment of The Inner Circle was incredibly toxic, filled with the worst kinds of trolls.

The users on it constantly bullied each other, interrogating each other about their stats on Ao3 and Tumblr. They frequently trashed on others’ fics. In fact, Harry learned that most of them were the main trolls that the otherwise free-flowing, friendly Jarvolo fandom had been dealing with.

The worst part was that Lord_Voldemort_ hadn’t been active on the server at all since Harry had joined. He had even searched up Voldemort’s username on the server, only to find no past comments from him.

How?

Apparently (according to some of the fans), Voldemort had recently grown paranoid about everything he’d posted on the server… which had resulted in a large-scale wipe out of all the channels on the day Harry coincidentally happened to join.

And no one dared to tag Voldemort in anything, ever, because that was against the #rules. He was evidently a very busy man in real life.

So for the rest of the week, Harry was trapped, wavering between wanting to quit the server immediately and sweetly awaiting, craving the moment Voldemort decided to speak…

Because surely Lord_Voledmort_, with his eloquent words and enthralling character-building, was nothing like his horrible, crude Inner Circle.

As it happened, the rest of The Inner Circle seemed to share Harry’s sentiments on Voldemort’s disappearance.

>> Bella_Tricks: hmm I’m bored.

>> Bella_Tricks: The Dark Lord hasn’t been on here in foreverrr

>> Bella_Tricks: @Rudolphusss Hubby play Hunting Mudbloods with me

>> Rodolphusss: Ah, Bella, I was just getting to a really good torture scene in No Glory … 

>> Bella_Tricks: … Darling Hubby.

>> Rodolphusss: Ofc ofc

Harry shook his head in exasperation, leaning further onto his work desk. The more he learned about Voldemort’s most loyal fans, the more he didn’t want to know.

Bella_Tricks had a nasty habit of talking sweetly when she was at her most vicious. SmolDragon was just a cruel, whiny brat. Rodolphusss and Ra_beast_an were bloodthirsty hounds, and Luscious_M was way too obsessed with showing off how much better he was than everyone else to make proper conversation—

“Harry,” Hermione called from the next cubicle. Harry turned his head, only to see his bushy-haired friend leaning back in her chair to see him. 

She sighed exasperatedly, peeking around in other neighboring cubicles before quietly saying, “Still obsessed with Voldemort’s new server?”

Harry swiped his Discord application off and dejectedly muttered, “No. ”

At the beginning of the week, he had been thrilled about joining The Inner Circle. Nervous, caught off-guard by the overwhelming introduction, but still buzzing with excitement and ready to spill—the motherfucking—tea about how he’d been admitted to Voldemort’s exclusive server to all of his Jarvolo buddies.

But now, Harry wasn’t sure if there was anything he really wanted to spill. The horrors of the new server were something he’d been internalizing, and the only two people who knew anything The Inner Circle were Ron (by circumstance) and Hermione—

“Good,” Hermione said brusquely, distracting Harry from his derailing thoughts. “Because lunch break is over and you had better get back to work.”

Right. Work. Harry scowled. 

Work this week hadn’t been too hot either. 

Riddle had been in a terrible mood lately. He’d been even more of a hardass than usual, cracking down on Harry constantly and spitting remarks that would have probably sent anyone else crying to the restroom. 

He didn’t let Harry go home until very late (even when he actually finished his work on time, the bastard), which had resulted in Harry feeling quite unsafe on the way home (because public transportation past eleven in Seattle  was terrifying).

And so there he was, seated at a public transportation station near two obnoxiously loud, scary-looking guys, waiting for the last bus before midnight… when the inevitable happened.

The Inner Circle: #trash-talk

>> Thunderous_Thor: I assume you’ve all heard the talk about LightningVolt.

Harry’s heart stuttered.

>> Mr. Always: Obviously.

>> Bella_Tricks: Ohoh, I was just waiting for someone to bring that up

>> Thunderous_Thor: It’s so stooooopid

>> Henchman1: riddikulus

>> Mr. Always: Pitiful.

>> Henchman1: nice one professor

>> Mr. Always: …Goyle, I was referring to your spelling abilities. | 1 angry react

>> Bella_Tricks: LightningVolt! Ha! The concept is laughable. The thought that someone so undeserving would be “Internet shipped” with our beloved Lord… ha.

>> Ra_beast_an: What’s the other guy’s full pseud anyways? Lightning _boy ?

>> Bella_Tricks: Certainly not man enough for our Lord… let alone woman enough. ;)

Harry’s jaw dropped in indignation, his fingers itching to type back a response. Because Lord_Voldemort_ was literally writing a male slash Office AU at the moment—

No, another part of him, more sly, whispered. Wait. See what the witch has to say… 

>> Bella_Tricks: I stalked lightning’s profile and stories the other day.

>> Bella_Tricks: First of all, he writes in first person.

Exclamations of disgust met her statement, and Harry fought back the urge to flinch at each of them.

>> Bella_Tricks: Ikr! And then the storyline of all his fanfiction is so mainstream! The main character (usually James) is always hopelessly in love with someone “way out of his league” and seems to have some sort of self-confidence issues.

>> Bella_Tricks: Always complaining… “Marvolo’s an asshole but he’s also hot and rich, thus I will continue to pine from afar.”

>> Bella_Tricks: Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Most likely a reflection of the author’s pathetic self.

Harry stopped reading, closing his eyes for a moment to keep himself together.

Yes, so he projected. 

So fucking what?

>> Bella_Tricks: And—oh, you have got to see the way he begs for comments at the end of his chapters.

>> Bella_Tricks: From the end of boss from hell:

[img: 

lightning_boi: Hey guys! Really hope you liked it and remember to leave comments! Seriously, your comments are everything to me, they give me joy and LIFE. <333 ]

>> YOLOhov: Give him life? More like get a life. 

Discord: Thor has high-fived YOLOhov.

>> Bella_Tricks: Honestly, he’s like an animal begging for love and affection. Disgusting, pitiful. Does he not get enough attention IRL? 

>> Rodolphusss: Did his parents not love him enough?

Harry’s fingers shook across the screen as he let out a shuddering breath.

What did they know of his parents? Nothing, absolutely nothing—

>> Thunderous_Thor: dirty whore attention-seeker

Harry stared numbly at his phone screen, helpless to do anything but continue to read. 

>> Luscious_M: I suppose most of you haven’t seen lightning_boi’s author’s note after Chapter 11 of Chained? 

>> Luscious_M: For context—He considered changing the main ship of his story (a risky, incestuous one, mind you) to a more popular one just to make his fans happier.

[img:

lightning_boi: I know boy-who-lived x godfather isn’t a ship that everyone likes, and I’m starting to realize that I’ve been really selfish about writing this when others feel uncomfortable.

lightning_boi: I’m really sorry about that. Should I change the ship? Be sure to comment below and let me know what you think.

lightning_boi: Your opinion means so much to me. <3333 ]

>> SmolDragon: Ha. How weak can a person be? To have zero confidence in themselves and their ability to sustain the original ship? To beg for approval from random people online?

>>Thunderous_Thor: And who uses “<3333” anyways?

>> Fartemius_Slouch: lightning_boi really is an inadequate little shit. 

>> Bella_Tricks: Unworthy of our Lord’s attentions.

>> Rodolphusss: yeah he should quit writing fanfiction, fckin faggot

>> Ra_beast_an: mong

By this point, Harry was holding back tears at the bus stop. 

His limbs were shaking and his fingers felt so heavy, his eyes were leaking leaking. He tried to clench his other hand over his mouth, as if it would stop the loud hiccups that were jumping out of his throat, but it only made it harder for him to breathe —

“Fine. Fine. ” Harry whispered angrily, inanely to himself, his fingers still shaking over the screen as he began to type. “Have it your way.”

>> Hadrian_Evans: I’m lightning_boi. Good fucking bye. | [ Send ]

He typed it out and read over it a couple of times. But before Harry could press send—

>> Bella_Tricks: Though, of course, I think we are all aware of whose opinion we really want to hear on this issue… @Lord_Voldemort_

Harry’s wet eyes widened. Did she just…?

The accompanying silence on the Discord was a testament of how shocking Bella_Tricks’s actions had been.

She had just broken the #1 rule in #rules… and tagged Lord_Voldemort_.

Lord_Voldemort_ is now online.

Harry’s heart began to pound.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: You

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Dare… 

There was a tense silence throughout the entire server, and it was clear that Voldemort was taking the time to read through the past conversation. Harry shivered, accepting a handkerchief from one of the scary-looking guys at the same stop as him.

Harry waited and waited, his body growing more and more tense. A breeze had begun to pick up, causing him to shiver and curl into himself on the bench.

At least it wasn’t raining—

Ping.

>> Lord_Voldemort: lightning_boi holds no importance to me. You may as well stop wasting time debasing him.

Harry stared.

He pressed send.

He quit the server.

.          .          .

Harry didn’t touch Discord for a week. He didn’t write fanfiction. 

( Happy, Rodolphusss?)

He was more productive at the office than he had been the entire year. And he was absolutely miserable. 

“Harry,” Riddle barked as he rounded the corner, nearly making him jump. “Reschedule all of tomorrow’s meetings for the following Thursday.”

“On it, sir,” Harry replied without a backward glance, only pausing once he’d pulled up Riddle’s calendar on his phone. “Er, including the one-on-one meeting with the CEO?”

Riddle’s expression grew sour and long-suffering.

“Especially that one,” he responded tersely, before waving a hand carelessly. “No need to call—just send the customary rescheduling email.”

Harry hummed in assent, inwardly wincing because, Riddle, this is why people don’t like you. Not to mention, some of the people he had been scheduled to meet with were quite influential… 

“And when you’re done, re-pack and return all of the interns’ laptops to IT.”

Harry nodded without a word of complaint, even as he spotted the pile of forty-ish laptops that had been placed in the corner of his cubicle. He estimated that it would take at least an hour and a half to re-pack them all, and that assigning them to the new incoming interns would take even longer. 

It was already seven in the evening, but that was quite irrelevant to him. What was he going to do when he reached home anyways? Read fanfiction?

Ha, never fucking again!

(That was also a lie, given that he’d been addicted to fanfiction since his teen years, but denial made him feel a lot cooler at the moment.)

As absorbed as he was in his dreary atmosphere of thoughts, Harry didn’t realize someone was standing inside of his cubicle until he heard the sound of an exhale just a couple of feet away from him.

Startling a little, Harry swiveled around in his chair. 

Riddle was still here. 

He was leaning against the opposite wall, looking around Harry’s cubicle with a mixture of boredom and blatant displeasure. His mouth was slightly open, glistening, showing a hint of the canines that hadn’t hesitated to bite out insults all week. 

With one glance at him, muscled arms crossed and his head tilted lazily to the side, any passerby would conclude the man to be relaxed.

But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. It was asking for trouble. 

“... Yes? ” Harry intoned, too tired to wonder what his boss was up to now. It was easy enough to guess, knowing the man… 

“Clean up your workspace. It’s a pigsty, almost as bad as your hair.” 

Ah. Harry almost wanted to roll his eyes at the monotony of it. There we go. Asshole boss had decided to take out his assholery trash on this fine Thursday evening, and the chosen garbage bin? Yours truly.  

But unlike every other time, Harry decided not to rise to the bait.

He swiveled around, turning his back on Riddle.

“Got it, sir,” Harry said quietly, returning to work diligently. A small, vindictive spark of pleasure filled him when his boss finally left, his urge to bully his poor PA no doubt left unfulfilled.

But once Riddle had taken leave and the office was quiet once more, the warm sensation vanished quickly. And Harry’s earlier dreary emptiness returned with a vengeance, somewhat stronger than before.

.          .          .

Friday was a disaster.

As expected, the customary, polite rescheduling emails that Harry had sent out yesterday night had not gone down well with some of the clients.

Harry ran a hair through his stressed locks, further messing them up. “Look, ma’am—”

“NO!” screeched the woman’s high-pitched voice. “I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIOR RIGHT NOW !”

At that point, Harry held the phone away from his ears, grimacing across his cubicle to Hermione. She was looking back at him, her concerned look making it clear that she could very well hear the woman’s shrill voice from twenty feet away.

Harry muted the phone (through which the woman was still talking, she never seemed to shut up ) and looked at Hermione helplessly, wordlessly asking for advice as he always did.

Hermione shook her head, shrugging “At this point, you have no choice but to just go to Riddle.” 

Harry stared at her in disbelief as he was unmuting the phone, miming out an emphatic, Seriously?

She frowned. “Well, unfortunately, she is one of our more important authors.” She held out her fingers, as if ticking off reasons. “And more than that, she has connections. ” 

Hermione looked at Harry meaningfully. “You know, the type that could really drag a whole company down with a snap of their fingers.”

Moments later, Harry was dragging his sorry, reluctant ass to Riddle’s office.

For once, Riddle didn’t make a fuss, seeming to understand just who was on the phone as soon as Harry had entered with a pained look on his face. He held out his hand in his usual, nonvocal, caveman way. Give. 

“Hello, ma’am. Tom Riddle speaking.” 

Riddle tilted in his head while on the phone, staring at Harry in a ‘ Get out’ sort of way. 

Harry, resolutely, raised an eyebrow and decided to stay. That was his phone, after all. 

Riddle turned away from him, evidently deciding to ignore him. And as he did, he seemed to change entirely—his demeanor lightened into something almost human, his usually stern mouth softening into an almost… strangely seductive smile. His eyebrows relaxed, his whole posture relaxed—

And then a low, rich chuckle vibrated from his throat, deep and enthralling. “Of course, Miss. Smith—alright, Hepzibah, if you insist.”

Harry stared at his boss with a severely disgusted expression. 

Tom Riddle, Executive Vice President… professional suck-up? 

What a fake-ass hoe.

It seemed he’d relied on more than his white-boy privilege, good looks, and intelligence to get far in life. 

Riddle muted the phone temporarily, shooting Harry an impatient look.

“Might as well make yourself useful and hold the phone to my ear as I pull up her information,” he said, gesturing towards his laptop.

And that was how Harry ended up holding the phone to his boss’s ear, his arm tilted at the most awkward angle. Every time Tom swiveled without a care in the world, Harry was forced to jump around to avoid his feet getting obliterated by the wheels, or his stomach being jabbed by the armrest, or god forbid, any part of his body make contact with Riddle’s.

His hand must have been at an awkward angle against Riddle’s ear though, because Riddle tsked irritably and suddenly grasped Harry’s wrists forcefully. 

The next moment, Riddle yanked the phone so that it fell parallel against the side of his face. Harry’s wrist was bent upwards at an impossible angle that had him nearly yelping in pain.  

As he was gritting his teeth to avoid doing precisely that, Harry vindictively pressed speaker. 

High-pitched, squealing giggles emerged from Harry’s phone at ten times the usual volume, causing his boss to flinch back in an almost comical way, his mouth twisting into a scowl and his eyes squeezing shut in displeasure.

Riddle quickly corrected the volume, flashing an irate look at his personal assistant as Harry stifled a laugh… which, of course, didn’t go unnoticed.

Riddle narrowed his eyes further until they were nothing darkened slits. His charming smile now had a blatantly strained look to it, and the dark, positively evil look in his eyes only made it creepier. 

He was glaring at Harry, but Harry only smirked back at him, taunting him. 

What could he possibly do? Riddle was too focused on kissing up to a client’s ass anyways—  

Without warning, Riddle swiveled his chair in the opposite direction to grab something from one of his drawers, conveniently stomach-butting Harry with the top of his chair. 

And then Harry was hissing in pain, stumbling, his phone-hand straying from Riddle’s ear as he tried to maintain his balance—

An arm wrapped around Harry’s lower back, catching him and shoving him down onto Riddle’s lap. They were chest-to-chest. Harry’s legs were on either side of Riddle’s hips, instinctively tightening around Riddle’s hips to prevent himself from falling off.

Wh-what?

All of Harry’s breath left him in one shocked exhale as his gaze landed on the face mere inches away from him… completely serious, focused, and still speaking to Hepzibah Smith like there was nothing he’d rather do.

“I see,” Riddle said carefully, hair falling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head forward in concentration, his fingers scrolling down the calendar on his laptop screen. “Is there no way you can finish the final installment of Lost Artifacts before the end of June?”

Harry shifted once, subconsciously attempting to get comfortable. But then Riddle’s hand trailed up his leg and squeezed his upper thigh tightly, his burgundy eyes flashing with the same warning.

Don’t move.

Harry froze. He didn’t dare to breathe. His heart was pounding so loudly, he was certain Riddle could hear it.

His mind had finally caught up to his body and gone on overdrive, scrambling his senses. Because Riddle’s fresh, citrusy cologne was permeating his senses once more. And the only thing he could feel was his hand, still there, resting on Harry’s leg like that was a perfectly normal thing to do to one’s subordinate. 

Harry’s legs tightened further around Riddle’s in nervousness. And then his heart dropped completely, fell through the center of the earth, because damn, had Riddle always been this solid?

“Of course, of course…” Riddle smiled warmly, which was simply too out of character for Harry’s mind to process, let alone appreciate. “As always, Hepizibah, you have a way of,” his eyes fell upon Harry, “... charming people that is simply unparalleled. We shall continue with this your way, then.”

Lies. Clearly, Hepzibah had already succumbed to thinking that what Riddle had wanted had been her desire all along. 

But Harry hadn’t been focusing on these little political details.

He was still stuck on the way Riddle’s eyes had fallen on him as he’d talked about charming people, unwittingly captivating both Hepzibah and Harry in one go. And now Harry couldn’t get over that low voice vibrating right underneath him, so close he could feel it. And that rare, warm smile, and the way Riddle smelled—uhh—

Harry was losing his mind.

It was like he’d fallen under a spell. He had no idea what he was doing. But suddenly, Harry was placing his hand against Riddle’s firm, firm chest and leaning forward, his shoulders touching Riddle’s biceps as placed his head against Riddle’s collar and breathed in his delectable scent. 

“An-and…” Riddle stuttered, before quickly recovering. His voice was deeper, rougher the next second. “Apologies, Hepzibah. A moment, please.”

He muted the phone (which he'd snatched away at some point) and glared at Harry. “What the fuck do you think you’re —”

Riddle paused at the utterly glazed look on Harry’s face. 

Harry’s eyes were fluttering shut in pleasure as he felt Riddle’s low voice rumble beneath him, dangerously attractive and comforting all at once. He sighed, pressing his forehead to the nook of Riddle’s shoulders before exhaling against his neck.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to call you back,” Riddle was telling Hepzibah now. His voice was strange and distant, a far cry from the friendly warmth he’d greeted her with. 

And yet, it held a rough undertone of seductive warmth that made Harry shudder and sink further into Riddle’s chest, tightening his legs on Riddle’s waist and hooking them around the back of his boss’s chair. 

“Yes I will. Good bye, Miss Smith,” Riddle said firmly, distantly, accidentally slipping back into formalities with her.

And then the phone was shut off.

Silence hung between them, tense and heated.

“Harry,” Riddle said, quietly, his voice too calm and controlled to be genuine. “Get off.”

That perfect facade… oh. It made Harry want to test his patience and shatter it to pieces.

“ Why? ” Harry murmured challengingly, lost and flustered and beyond reason. He breathed in, digging his nose into side of Riddle’s neck until he decided that breathing him in wasn’t enough. No, Harry needed to taste —

He bit down lightly at the junction between Riddle’s neck and jawline, reveling in the addictive saltiness of his skin. He licked, nearly groaning at the soft velvety texture beneath his tongue, at the fluttering pulse he wanted to capture as his own.

A shudder rippled through Riddle’s body as it tensed, giving away all pretense of calm collectedness. And then moments later, Harry had been lifted from Riddle’s lap and slammed back against a cool, wooden desk, his legs hitched upon Riddle’s shoulders as the man leaned down over him. 

Darkened, heated eyes gleamed down at him, elegant black curls falling over them as Riddle placed his thick arms on either side of Harry. 

“Harry…” Riddle’s low voice rumbled, “Do you know what you’re even asking for?”

In response, Harry tightened his legs around Riddle’s neck, bringing his boss’s face down to his hips. And then there was a sound outside of the door, and—

Harry snapped out of his daydream. 

Riddle was staring at Harry with an incredulous look on his face as he held Harry's wrist, which had been at an awkward angle the entire time Harry had stood next to him.

"The phone call is over. Move away already."

Harry stared at his boss, utterly mortified. Daydreaming in front of his boss? He'd clearly reached a new low. 

He jerked away quickly, his face turning redder by the second. As he did so, his butt painfully hit the corner of Riddle's desk, causing him to topple over onto the desk as his legs kicked in the air... vaguely in Riddle's direction.

“Harry! ” Riddle growled, holding his arms out in front of him. “What the hell —”

The door opened.

“Oh my,” said a cool, amused voice. “Am I interrupting something? I did knock, but no one responded...”

Riddle was in the corner of his own office, his arms still braced above him as though Harry had been kicking at him—

Oh.

Which he had.

Slowly, still sitting on Riddle’s desk (upon which the papers were now spread out haphazardly, yikes), Harry turned back to face the man who had dared to enter Tom Riddle’s office without permission.

And his jaw dropped.

Because the man who stood at the entrance, all lean limbs leaning against the door sill and soft amusement glittering from clear blue eyes, was the kind of person who radiated authority.

There was a steel determination in the way his arms were crossed, the way his thin lips fell into a line sharper than Harry’s jaw. His hair was peppered with silver, perhaps one of the few indications that he was quite a bit older than Harry.

“Well, Tom,” the older man murmured softly, his voice dripping with mirth, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your desk quite this messy.”

And then the man looked at Harry, and though he never lost his calm smile, his eyebrows raised a little. “And you must be his lovely personal assistant?”

Harry’s mind, already a bit scrambled from nearly kissing his boss… oh wait. He did do that. He’d bitten down on him too, holy shit, holy shit—

“Personal assistant, yes.” Harry laughed nervously, not even daring to look at Riddle now. How embarrassing—meeting someone like this right before his imminent dismissal. “Lovely? You’re mistaken there.”

The older man laughed, and it was a very pretty laugh. The kind that made you feel like you’d said something endearing, that he was charmed. 

And then he was walking forward, stepping into Riddle’s office like it was something he did every day. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” the older man said, holding out a hand for Harry to shake. He paused, glancing between Riddle and Harry once more as if attempting to gauge the situation that had occurred before his entrance.

He leaned down, whispering loudly and conspiratorially. “And if Tom fires you, don’t worry—I’ll just re-hire you.” He winked, before tilting his head in question. “Or just make him hire you again? Whichever you prefer, darling.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t know whether to be insulted that this much, much older man had called him a pet name… or to feel flattered, like he was itching to do so.

Because oh my, what an absolute charmer. And with those looks to boot—

Wait.

Wait.

“Or just make him hire you again?”

 Who was this man?

Harry turned back around, only to see a positively seething Tom Riddle staring back at the man. 

“Flirting with men—employees— almost thirty years your junior?” Riddle intoned with disgust. 

The older man’s mouth quirked upward in amusement. “Like father, like son…. I suppose.” He looked between Harry and Tom once more. “If I’m reading this correctly.”

Harry’s stomach dropped in instantaneous horror.

Father? Son? 

No way. Not unless the older man was...

Riddle tensed, crossing his arms. It was the first time Harry had ever seen his boss look so defensive. “What are you doing here, sir?”

Tom Riddle Sr., CEO and chairman of the board of Morsmordre, spread his arms out besides himself. “Do I need a reason to visit you, son?”

Riddle clenched his jaw visibly. “ Do not call me that, ” he snarled, bleeding poison with every word that fell from his tongue.

Thomas continued to smile in that calm, collected way of his. “Then what should I call you? My employee ?” He gave a small chuckle at that, before growing much more serious. “At any rate, I don’t think canceling your meeting with me was very wise, hmm?”

Riddle rolled his eyes. “I never claimed to preach wisdom. Perhaps that is why you promoted Dumbledore to COO instead of your own heir?” His eyes turned cold as he gave a frosty, returning smile of his own.

And in that moment, Harry saw the resemblance between them at its strongest.

The CEO was like a silver fox edition of Tom Riddle Jr., albeit a lot calmer. But the handsomeness, the charm, the big dick energy and sheer amount of dickery… oh, man. They were clearly very much related.

“Forgive his manners,” Thomas said lightly, tossing a faint smile in Harry’s direction. He was surprised the CEO still remembered he was still here. Hell, Harry had forgotten that he was here. “He was raised in an orphanage.”

Harry’s eyes widened. An orphanage ? 

Then he shook his head, because surely—that had been a joke, right?

Riddle hissed at that, straightening up to his full height and stalking forward until he was toe-to-toe with his father. 

“Just tell me what it is you came for and leave.”

Harry tutted inwardly, feeling distinctly like he was watching some kind of soap opera. Riddle was definitely being disrespectful towards his father, but the CEO was also provoking him. He didn’t know whose side he was even on at this point.

Meanwhile, Thomas had straightened up in response, not one to be outdone, Harry supposed. Really, in some matters, the Riddle men were quite predictable…

“I’d like you to travel back to England and personally meet with E. L. Thames.” Thomas held out a folder to Riddle. “Here are her manuscripts for the sequel she’s been writing—”

Riddle looked personally offended, holding the folder daintily by the tips of his fingers. “I don’t even know who that is —”

“She’s the author of Fifty Shades of Purple, ” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You know—one of our top bestsellers from the fictional publishing departments.”

Ah. No wonder Riddle hadn’t recognized the author— he avoided the fictional departments like the plague. 

Riddle narrowed his eyes at his father. “What I don’t understand is, why are you sending me? I am not an editor—I’m the Vice President of this company, formerly head of Technology and Product Development. This isn’t anywhere near my fields of expertise—”

Harry stared.

Was Riddle insane ? 

Meetinga bestselling author, any bestselling author, was an opportunity Harry would die for, and Riddle was giving it up ?

Thomas chuckled softly. “Have you forgotten your very first job at this company?” He crossed his arms leisurely. “A fresh, green intern at the age of eighteen—and your first job here was as the intern of the retired, former Chief Editor Gellert Grindelwald.”

The CEO looked Tom in the eye, his features growing serious. “Have you forgotten your passion for editing? For words?”

For words? Harry wondered at that. Riddle, who barely spoke at times except to bark out one-word orders like an illiterate caveman… had once enjoyed editing?

“Have you forgotten how it felt… becoming the Chief Editor of the S & F Department? Working directly with J. K. Roaring to edit the James Evans series, the leading fantasy book series to this date?”

Harry froze.

What?

WHAT?

Forget that Riddle had once been hired for his dream job. He’d personally edited J. K. Roaring’s work? Forget that—Riddle knew J. K. Roaring personally ?

Harry looked at Riddle incredulously, attempting to gauge the truth from his expression. But the man was as emotionless as a brick wall, the lines of his face wiped smooth.

“I am above all of that now,” he uttered simply.

“You cannot be above something you love.”

“Then it is no longer something I lo— enjoy! ” Riddle seethed, his hand thrusting forward as if to clutch at the other man’s collar before stopping itself.

Or rather, before it was stopped by another hand… resting upon his clenched fist.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as Thomas Riddle Sr. finally lost his charming smile, straightening up until he was eye-to-eye with his biological son. 

“It seems you are mistaken, Junior.” His blue eyes darkened chillingly, seeming to suck the warmth from Riddle’s office. 

“I am not asking you as your father. I am telling you as the CEO of this company.” Thomas Sr.’s hand tightened on Riddle’s fist. “You will be going on that trip.”

He let go of Riddle’s fist unceremoniously, turning on his heel as he walked back towards the door. 

“The plane tickets are already booked, car reservations have already been made. Everything is ready for you two—even the Manor and all of the household staff have been prepped—”

“The Manor.” Riddle spat poisonously. “I will not step a foot inside that place. I shall make my own hotel reservations—”

He paused, thinking.

“... Sir. ‘For you two ’? ” Riddle demanded. He glanced sideways at Harry for the first time since his father had entered. “I travel alone. As always.”

“Not this time,” Thomas replied smoothly. “You’ll be training Harry on how to be a professional editor, fit to edit at Morsmordre.” He winked at him. “The boy’s been after that position for over a year, now.”

“Since when do you know so much about my personal assistant?” Riddle questioned quietly, dangerously.

“Since I realized you hadn’t fired your current one for over a year.” Thomas smirked, looking at Harry more closely. “I’ll admit, I was curious. I did my research and looked over your portfolio, Harry Potter.”

He glanced back at Riddle. “And despite lacking credentials, the boy’s work… he has potential.”

One minute, Harry was shaking in fear of being caught in a compromising position by the CEO. The next? He was all the way up on cloud ninety-nine, trying to resist the urge to preen just because the CEO had complimented his editing work. 

Harry barely paid attention as the Vice President and CEO finished up their conversation, Thomas Sr. leaving quickly soon after. He was too caught up in all of the details—the fact that Riddle had personally edited J. K. Roaring’s books? Unbelievable. 

Illiterate caveman had the audacity to be some sort of prodigy at the one thing Harry had prided himself in. Editing and writing. Because of course he had to be, to have worked with Roaring of all authors.  

And now, even more unbelievably—the CEO was giving him the chance to train under Riddle for his favorite job ever?

This was insane—

“Pack your bags tonight. Be at the airport by four o’clock sharp.”

Harry blinked. Huh?

His brain caught up with the present, and Harry jolted out of his trance.

“Wait—we’re headed to the U.K. tomorrow ?” he asked disbelievingly. 

Riddle shot him a look of pure annoyance, his eyebrows furrowed upwards. “Were you not listening?”

“Well… uh… it got a bit personal in between—”

“The meeting with E. L. Thames is Monday morning,” Riddle interrupted, as if he hadn’t heard Harry. “And I have some… unfinished business to attend to, prior to that.”

Unfinished business?

Before Harry could ask for specifics that his boss would undoubtedly refuse to answer, Riddle was already by the door of his own office, slipping on that top hat of his that always made Harry cringe on the inside. 

Ugh, didn’t those go out of fashion roughly fifty decades ago? A man who wore top-notch brands like Twilfit and Tatting’s had to know that much.

“Lock my office on the way out,” his boss said without a backwards glance.

And then without warning, Riddle was suddenly gone, leaving Harry and his questions behind. 

It seemed he was always fated to have unfinished business with the man.

.          .          .

Maybe Harry really was slow. But between all the things that had happened today, from meeting the CEO to learning about Riddle’s tumultuous relationship with him, it took a while for the fact that he was going to motherfucking London to really hit him.

“RON!” Harry yelled, running upstairs with a fresh load of laundry. “DID YOU SEE THE EXTRA PACK OF TOOTHBRUSHES FROM COSTCO?”

“HUH? I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” yelled Ron, his volume barely overpowering the sounds of raucous cheering and football from the television that had been on all night . 

“OI! TURN DOWN THE TV,” Harry yelled back at the top of his lungs as he straight-up dumped his clean laundry into the open suitcase. Stuffing his Ziplock of toiletries into the front pocket, Harry slammed the top of his suitcase shut before painstakingly zipping it shut.

He dragged it down the stairs, unceremoniously dropping it near the front entrance, and clapped his hands together.

“THANKS FOR YOUR HELP, MATE!” Harry called out sarcastically.

“Anytime,” Ron said at a normal tone, a mere few feet behind him.

Harry spun around in surprise. “Oh, good. Help me with the luggage, will you?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “And who’s going to be helping you with it when I’m gone.”

“... Riddle?” Harry offered weakly.

Ron snorted, lifting one of Harry’s suitcases with a hand. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the other way around, but sure. I’ll let you dream on a bit longer.”

Harry exhaled as he lifted his other bag into the back of the car. “Well, I’ll have you know. He’s actually quite capable of being a gentleman when he wants too…”

Ron raised his eyebrows as Harry got his head out of the boot. “Are you really defending him?”

Harry was ashamed to say that he had to think about that before responding.

“No! ” He crossed his arms as he situated himself in the front seat of their van. “Just pointing out that despite his ability to act half-way decent, Riddle still can’t bother with any manners when it comes to his personal assistant.”

He reached back to grab his phone from the front pocket of his backpack. “You know, a wise man,” his godfather, Sirius Black, actually, “once said— ‘If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.’”

Ron’s eyebrows crept up his forehead in amusement. “Did you just acknowledge yourself as Riddle’s inferior?”

Harry’s eye began to twitch in a manner it had never done so before.

“Ron,” he said simply. “I am on the verge of suing you for blasphemy. You have the right to remain silent.”

Ron smirked but fell quiet anyways as he began to focus on driving Harry to Sea-Tac Airport. In the comfortable silence that followed, Harry yawned sleepily and he unlocked his phone to scroll aimlessly through Discord, checking out all of the servers and posts he’d been tagged in. 

He hadn’t opened Discord for two weeks, ever since he’d left Lord_Voldemort_’s server. But now more than ever, he wished he’d stayed a little longer… if only to tie up all loose ends.

The way he’d left the server in the first place—announcing his author’s pseud out of the blue, not waiting for any replies—had definitely been dramatic . And it had felt satisfying enough soon after. 

But he still had so many questions. There were so many things Harry wished he wasn’t curious about but was anyways.

Like Voldemort.

What did he think of LightningVolt? What had Voldemort said as soon as Harry had left?

Even now, part of him felt tempted to contact the author and end their correspondence on a more definitive note. His fingers hovered above the screen, as if thinking of what to type for him… but it was pointless anyways. It wasn’t like Harry had saved Voldemort’s Discord ID…

Ping!

Harry’s eyes widened as he glanced at his screen, nearly dropping the phone.

He’d just received a direct message. 

From Lord_Voldemort_.

Chapter Text

He’d just received a direct message. 

From Lord_Voldemort_.

Harry stared at his screen, brimming with confusion and bewilderment and—above all— curiosity. But right as he was about to open the chat, his phone began to buzz, his screen switching to show the familiar icon of his favorite colleague.

Harry frowned. Why was Hermione calling him?

“Is it Riddle?” Ron asked, continuing to keep his eyes on the road.

“No, a colleague,” Harry stated, before picking up the call. “Hey, Hermione.”

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice sounded, stressed and pitched higher than usual. “I came to work early today and… you left a folder titled ‘ For Trip’ on your desk. I just want to make sure that isn’t important or anything—”

Harry’s stomach dropped. 

“It is,” he said lowly, quietly, before his voice began to rise frantically. “Oh shit, Hermione, it is. That’s the whole itinerary for my fucking trip—”

“Harry!” Ron glanced at him sideways with concern. “What is it?”

Harry dug his fingers through his hair, pulling at his locks. “I forgot something important on my work desk.”

“Shit,” Ron and Hermione both said simultaneously, unheard by the other. In any other instance, Harry might have done a double take. 

“Now what?” Ron bit his lip, glancing at the time. “We don’t exactly have time to rush back—”

“Riddle said to be there by four, right?” Hermione confirmed on the phone. “Your flight probably doesn’t leave for at least another two hours. I can drop it off to you! If I start now, I’ll arrive within half an hour.”

“Ah—Mione.” Harry slunk into his chair, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “Hermione, I owe you so so much—” He looked at Ron. “She’s coming to the airport.”

Ron exhaled deeply. “Well, okay. That’s great. You go ahead and drop off your luggage to that escalator thing—”

“Did your friend just call the luggage drop-off an escalator thing ?” Hermione intoned judgingly, her words heard only by Harry’s right ear.

“—and I’ll get the folder from—er—your colleague.” 

“You said my name three times in the past two minutes and he still can’t remember it?” Hermione questioned, sounding more and more unimpressed by the second.

“Yes, Ron. That sounds great!” Harry stated loudly, ignoring Hermione’s comment and restraining the urge to tell them to both behave when they met.

Oh, hell. Harry blinked. They were going to meet. RoonilWazlib and HeadGirl were going to— 

“We’re here, Harry,” Ron stated, getting out of the car. “Get yourself checked in and I’ll get the folder from Hermione.” 

He clapped Harry’s back reassuringly once they were both out. 

“You’ll be fine, mate.” 

Checking into his flight? Not even an option.

“Pack your bags tonight. Be at the airport by four o’clock sharp,” his boss had said yesterday. He’d told Harry nothing else—no details about the flight, or where they would be staying every night. He hadn’t even given Harry his plane ticket.

And now, Riddle still wasn’t here.

Minutes later, Harry was calling him. He didn’t even know when the man was coming, because it was already half past four and he hadn’t gotten any texts—

A short, bushy-haired woman in black pumps and impeccable office attire came into view. His savior. Harry could almost see a faint halo around her. 

“Harry!” Hermione called out, waving the folder above her. 

“Wow, she got here fast, ” Ron muttered under his breath, whistling and looking impressed.

Harry jumped up, walking towards her with Ron in tow. “Great! Thanks, Mione.” He checked the time on his phone, frowning in thought. Clearly, he had some time before his flight boarded, whenever that was, because Riddle hadn’t even called him back yet.

Either that, an inner voice muttered, or he’s planning on leaving you at the airport—

Harry turned back towards his friends, smiling brightly. “Coffee on me, guys?” he offered, because he was here as demanded and really needed something to distract from his growing worry.

And that was how the three of them, finally united, ended up sitting at a coffee table in Starbucks. 

Hermione, who had been talking on and on about work and giving Harry a bunch of editing advice, fell quiet once Ron came back with their drinks.

Awkward silence.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Harry could feel a weird sort of tension between his friends already. 

Should he tell them about the whole Discord—? 

Nope. Harry sipped at his chai, perfectly content to just remain in silence as long as he was sitting next to his two best friends.

“So,” Ron cleared his throat, looking at Hermione. “I’m Ron Weasley, Harry’s roommate.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows before offering her hand to shake. “Hermione Granger. Pleasure. ” Although her tone of voice really tested the honesty of her sentiments.

Right as Ron was about to take her hand, she took her hand away, staring at Ron’s face with an unnerving intensity. 

“... What?”

Hermione’s lips were pursed. “You’ve got a bit of coffee on your nose.”

“Have I?” Ron repeated, before proceeding to rub his nose in a most unseemly manner. Harry winced. “Better?”

Hermione stared. “Not really, no.”

“Alright!” Harry abruptly clapped his hands together, drawing attention to himself before things could get worse. “Well, I am definitely excited for this trip. One of our hotels for the night will be right next to a major poetry slam event.”

Hermione’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh, Harry! That’s wonderful! Have you written anything?”

Harry grinned, shrugging. “Not yet, but you know me. I’ll have something in the nick of time.” He raised his eyebrows at Hermione. “As Ron once put it, I’m a ‘procrastinating fanfiction-obsessed human disaster.’”

Immediately after saying that, Harry froze. Mentioning fanfiction probably hadn’t been the best idea.

Fortunately, neither of his friends seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Ron snorted into his coffee. Hermione gave a bark of laughter, her shoulders shaking in sync. 

“Truer words never spoken.” She raised her coffee cup in Ron’s direction as if saluting him.

“I like to think I have a way with words,” Ron said smugly, looking down to observe his finger nails nonchalantly. Harry hadn’t seen him do that a day in his life. “After all, I write… poetry as well.”

Hermione looked at him with obvious, somewhat condescending surprise. “Oh?”

Harry shook his head frantically, but Ron didn’t seem to notice his warning. Instead, he began to straighten up, puffing his chest outwards.

Harry tensed up in worry, looking between his roommate and colleague. 

Ron had dabbled in poetry once, long ago, taking a poetry-writing class in college with Harry. And he’d done great. His poetry wasn’t always the best, technically speaking. But it came from his heart, just like everything he wrote.

Hermione would destroy him.

In fact, judging by the look on her face, she was waiting to do exactly that.

But, knowing how his best mate’s mind worked, Harry knew that all Ron could see was a pretty face looking up at him, saying, “Read me poetry, darling.”

“Yeah.” Ron sheepishly rubbed the back of his rapidly flushing neck. “A little something about my pet.”

Hermione leaned her chin upon her hands, fingers crossed together. “Well, let’s hear it then.”

Ron cleared his throat and began.

“Sunshine. Daisies. Buttermellow. My pet rat is bright and yellow.”

He finished and looked up at Hermione expectantly.

After a moment—

“That’s it? ” Hermione questioned incredulously. She gave a quiet, unkind laugh. “Well, it’s not very good, is it?” 

She shook her head. “Goodness, it sounded like a nursery rhyme. And even if you wanted to get this published… why write about a pet rat of all things? Perhaps choose something the audience will relate to more… like a pet cat.”

Ron’s face was turning redder by the second. “The point of reciting my own written poetry certainly wasn’t to get published —”

“Then why else would you recite such horrid writing to an editor such as myself—”

Harry’s phone rang, saving the day.

“It’s Riddle!” he exclaimed, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention as he swiped to accept. “Yes, sir! Where are you?”

“Why,” Riddle spoke at a dangerously low pitch, his voice thick with sleep, “are you calling me at bloody four in the morning?”

Harry shot to his feet.

“Did I just wake you up?” He put his hand on his hip incredulously, “Are you seriously not here yet? You told me to be here at four o’clock sharp. Do you have no respect for my time?”

There was a silence on the line, nothing save for ragged breathing on either side. Hermione and Ron were looking at him worriedly. 

And then, 

“Harry,” Riddle said quietly, his British accent more pronounced than ever. “Our flight is at six in the bloody evening.”

What?

Riddle only liked to board morning flights. Harry had booked flights for him countless times and knew all of his flying preferences, despite never having traveled with the man himself.

But—oh. Riddle hadn’t directed the booking of these tickets, had he? They’d already been booked. 

He closed his eyes, restraining the urge to pour his chai over someone, anyone who looked even remotely like his boss in this coffee shop. 

“Oh my god,” Harry breathed in shock. “You didn’t tell me— ”

The line went silent.

Harry was furious.

He couldn’t see straight, he was so mad. Anger, hot and heavy, licked down his spine.

As he clicked his phone shut, he looked back to see his friends staring at him, no doubt having heard his conversation from start to end.

“Well,” Ron began brightly. “Just… ah… have fun at the airport for a bit, I guess.” He looked at Hermione. “We’ll just head out.”

“Yes,” Hermione echoed cheerfully. “At least we know you won’t be missing your plane flight.”

“Yeah, I’ll just go find a sofa near the check-in area and chill.” Harry muttered irritably, briefly side-hugging his friends and accepting their best wishes before proceeding to do just that.

.          .          .

Once he’d found a comfortable place to waste the rest of his day, Harry sank into one of the chairs with a tired sigh and began swiping through his phone apps. 

What was he possibly going to do for ten hours—

His gaze landed on the Discord app, and he instantly remembered.

Voldemort.

Without a second thought, Harry tapped on the app and viewed the man’s message. His heart rate quickened rapidly, and he could practically taste his own anticipation as he began to read.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Greatness inspires envy. Envy engenders spite. Spite spawns lies.

Harry stared at the message in consternation. 

No, “Hi there, I’m Voldemort” (which, knowing what he did about the man, Harry really hadn’t expected in the first place). But this… strange piece of philosophy? He didn’t know what to make of it.

>> lightning_boi: wut?

He received a response a few minutes later.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: My most loyal followers—they were jealous of you. It is only natural.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: No one else has ever dared to be Internet-shipped with me.

Wow. Okay, wow. Talk about an entitled self-image.

Harry exhaled hysterically, not sure where to start.

>> lightning_boi: “Hello, Lord Voldemort! It’s good to connect! I’m a huge fan!” 

>> lightning_boi: That’s roughly how I imagined our first actual discussion going. 

>> lightning_boi: “lightning_boi holds no importance to me. You may as well stop wasting time debasing him.”

>> lightning_boi: ^^ This message you sent? This ruined it all for me. Screw your theories on human nature, and your fake-ass attempt at not-apologizing.

>> lightning_boi: Good bye, again.

Harry was about to exit out, thoroughly satisfied that he’d gotten to say what had been stewing in his head for ages. But then a series of pings came from his recently unmuted Discord app, drawing his gaze to the screen before he could shut it.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: You misunderstand. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I am trying to make amends here.

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief. 

>> lightning_boi: Oh, that’s okay. I don’t need your excuses. :))))

>> Lord_Voldemort_: It would be in your best interest to listen.

Harry steamed at that, indignance coursing through his veins. 

In his best interests? Oh, the sheer arrogance. What did a stranger online possibly know about Harry’s best interests? 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Greatness inspires envy. They were envious… envious of how far superior you are to them.

Harry froze, completely caught off-guard.

What the fuck.

He huffed in disbelief, typing back.

>> lightning_boi: Oh please.

>> lightning_boi: I can smell your bullshit over the Internet. Are you joking?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I don’t joke.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I rarely read first person works, simply because I cannot stand the protagonists. But your stories are some of the most refreshing first person perspective pieces of fiction I have ever read. 

Harry pressed a hand to his thumping chest. Stories, plural?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Instead of reading like a monotonous trail of thoughts, they read… rather like a diary.  

Had I been blind all these years?

Had Padfoot always been this rash, immature, stubborn… this cruel?

He was staring back at me, paying attention to me for the first time since he’d entered the arena. And like clockwork, I found himself clinging to that attention, wanting those piercing gray eyes to stay on me despite hating myself for it.

This—this attention. Was this perhaps the reason I’d been so blind? Seeking a parental figure’s attention, my own godfather’s attention… all the while remaining completely blind to the man’s true nature?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: This.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Your protagonists—unlike most—always demonstrate excellent self-awareness and metacognition.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: You have a way of expressing a character’s inner turmoil that is so delicious. With every word, you expose their innermost insecurities and deepest desires. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: It gives the reader a heady sense of… power.

Harry suppressed a shudder. Because the way Voldemort had described interacting with his work had sounded so… intimate?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: And your other work— boss from hell .

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Comedic brilliance and compelling characterization, wrapped in layers of mouthwatering unresolved sexual tension. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Your writing style is gritty, unique. Emotional and evocative in a way most writers cannot achieve their entire lives. 

Harry curled into himself, shivering in his sweater. 

He had a way with words?

Voldemort made everything sound like dessert. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: You captured the push-and-pull dynamics between the protagonist and his boss so well. I could feel the genuinity. It comes as no surprise to see that your work has such an impressive following.

Harry stared, still somewhat disgruntled but mostly, begrudgingly charmed.

Because Lord_Voldemort_ was an absolute charmer towards his fans. Unthinkably suave and persuasive. No wonder they were so loyal to him… despite being such savages.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I look forward to more. ;]

And holy shit, there it was. The legendary, signature smirk-face that made Harry and the entire Jarvolo fandom flip out. 

>> lightning_boi: thank you, wow. Thank you so much.

Forgiven. Lord Voldemort was forgiven.

Because that was, perhaps, the most magnificent apology Harry had ever received. Despite the fact that the other man had not said ‘ Sorry’ even once. 

Harry’s mouth quirked in amusement. How sneaky of him.

But then he stared at the message he’d sent, biting his lip in contemplation. His simple thanks seemed rather insufficient, but he just didn’t know how else to respond. He was flattered beyond measure, confused, and a bit overwhelmed because this was all so sudden.

One thing was certain, though. He was finally beginning to understand the power he had—sitting here conversing with the Lord Voldemort.

So he began to ask the man questions.

>> lightning_boi: If you don’t mind me asking… what other Jarvolo works have you enjoyed recently?

Harry winced, feeling his own awkwardness in the message.

But it seemed Lord Voldemort wasn’t quite ready to give up on him yet.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: The majority of my reading and writing has been gen-focused. I only got into the Jarvolo fandom recently.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Obviously, I’ve read many of the main ones. A Dangerous Game by Cybrid, Aconitum by VivyPotter, I Will Possess Your Heart by Leontina, and The Root of All Evil is Love by Crystia… to name a few. 

Oooh. Good taste, as expected from Lord Voldemort. 

Harry smiled at his phone, leaning his head against his backpack as he continued to read.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: TanninTele’s The Matchmaker is an underrated favorite of mine — a delicious and somehow fitting reversal of the villain-hero roles.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: But—

Lord_Voldemort_ is typing...

Harry leaned forward, buzzing with anticipation as he waited for the man’s next message. 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. The man liked to keep his readers in suspense even when it was a matter of simple direct messaging.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Well, my tastes tend to run rather… dark.

Harry’s eyebrows rose at that. But before he could ask further, he received another ping.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Perhaps you could recommend something, seeing as I’m quite new to this pairing? 

>> Lord_Voldemort: Though I must warn you, I’m quite picky… and I will not hesitate to reject your recommendations if they do not meet my tastes.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Think of this is a test, even. 

Harry let out a sound of amusement, imagining he could hear a responding soft chuckle on the other side of the line.

Challenge accepted.

Harry leaned back on the airport chair, running a hand through his flyaways. Man, there were so many works he loved and could think of on the spot, it was like he read fanfiction for a living (if only he actually could).

>> lightning_boi: Well, surely you’ve read Eternal Hilarity by Luxis?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I don’t believe so.

Harry sent him the link. Because, oh Lord, this was one of his favorite fics and the man had better appreciate the author’s knack for pure comedic fluffiness—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Oh.

That… didn’t sound promising.

>> lightning_boi: You’ve read it?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Only the summary. But as I mentioned, I’m quite particular about what I read.

Harry frowned. What was wrong with the summary ?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: On principle, I don’t read Master of Death James fics. Or Soulmate AUs—not unless they are done exceptionally well.

Harry gasped.

>> lightning_boi: You don’t like MoD James fics? Those are the best ones. BAMF James is the bomb.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I personally find it such a turn-off when the Boy Who Lived is as or more powerful than Lord Slytherin.

>> lightning_boi: Seriously? You’re missing out on so many good fanfics! 

>> lightning_boi: And not liking Soulmate AUs?

>> lightning_boi: Your Name on My Heart by whitedandelions? And Six Seconds by Acnara? How can you not have read these within six seconds of joining the Jarvolo fandom?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ...Those happen to be exceptions.

Oh thank the Lord.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: But generally, the concept that one is destined to be with only one person in the world...

>> lightning_boi: It’s so romantic.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: It’s ridiculous. Suffocating. And depressing. So much could go wrong —

>> lightning_boi: But so much could go right!

>> Lord_Voldemort_: They could be mortal enemies, not knowing they are each other’s soulmates until it’s too late—

>> lightning_boi: Which only makes it all the more delicious when they realize they are! And the angst factor? Yessss.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Are you always this optimistic?

>> lightning_boi: Love is supposed to be messy :) 

>> lightning_boi: I love works that are filled with misunderstandings and miscommunication (hidden identities are the bEsT), because then it’s so much sweeter when the couple inevitably ends up together in the end.

>> lightning_boi: <33333

>> Lord_Voldemort_: … Inevitably?

>> lightning_boi: ...yes. Yes. Happy endings are a necessity. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Ah.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: It is becoming clearer to me by the second how much our tastes differ.

Harry paused, thinking, drumming his fingers against the back of his phone cover.

>> lightning_boi: Well, then, Mr. Too-Vanilla-For-Me… 

>> lightning_boi: Have you read any of Katsitting’s works?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ...possibly. I’m pretty bad with names.

Without further ado, Harry sent him a few links to her stories.

Twenty minutes later—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Oh

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Interesting. Very well-written and unique. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: 

Something wrenched in his stomach, petrified and noxious at the same time he saw Slytherin move and turn.

Slytherin was—

James gagged, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment to brace himself, to find the strength he didn’t possess. Slytherin was monstrous, deformed. There was no word in the English language that could describe just what Slytherin was.

>> lightning_boi: Ahh I love Primeval! God, that fic gives me chills every time

>> lightning_boi: I just reread it and

>> lightning_boi: my heart is pounding so fast right now. I can’t get over how deliciously dark and terrifying and seductive this is. Every time I read it.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: So you like Monster Slytherin?

>> lightning_boi: Ohhhh yes. I like scary men, hahahaha

Harry snorted as an image of his scowling boss came to mind, unbidden.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I prefer it when Lord Slytherin retains his mental facilities, but this was quite the horror piece. I liked it. 

Something fluttered in Harry’s stomach at receiving the other man’s approval. 

>> lightning_boi: Well if you liked that, wait until you read her Priest James AU...

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Oh?

And so they continued like that, with Harry and Voldemort taking recommendations from each other, reading them instantaneously and gushing about them.

Well, the gushing was more on his part. Voldemort just gave a subtle “hmm” of approval followed by a comment or two when he liked Harry’s reccs. 

Harry was buzzing with excitement, with the energy that reading incredible fanfic usually gave him. Though he read the occasional dark fic (whenever he fell in love with an author, usually), Harry had always read more Marvolo Gaunt/James Evans than Lord Slytherin/James Evans in the past. This had resulted in him often turning to lighter works with Time Travel tropes and Same Age AUs and Fluff and Crack.

And then Lord_Voldemort_, perhaps one of the only horror writers whom Harry consistently followed, had gone and completely turned him to the Dark side.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Did you enjoy them?

>> lightning_boi: JAIELT:JRPOELJTWY”EO”PQ20I@(#$UTY

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I’ll take that as a “ yes, my Lord.”

>> lightning_boi: OH

>> lightning_boi: MY

>> lightning_boi: LORD

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ...I’m listening.

>> lightning_boi: exarite’s Prison Blues was absolutely incredible. The coercion… the power imbalance… 

>> lightning_boi: You’re corrupting what remains of my sweet vanilla sensibilities with all these dark works, I’m never going to recover :sob:

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Oh, darling, you think these are dark?

Darling ? Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the pet name, perhaps typed out unthinkingly. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: How... open are you?

Harry hesitated before typing out a message. 

>> lightning_boi: I don’t have any severe triggers, if that’s what you’re asking. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Hmm, good. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: How do you feel about torture? 

Harry raised his eyebrows at the question. That certainly wasn’t a question he got asked everyday. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Because there is this fanfiction, nevermind the end by slexenskee… 

Half an hour later, Harry was curled up in a corner of sitting area with another Starbucks drink, trying and failing not to openly sob. By the way some of the kids from a neighboring family were watching, he definitely hadn’t succeeded.

>> lightning_boi: I was

>> lightning_boi: so not prepared for that

>> lightning_boi: How can authors torture James like this? All that torture and cruelty and then—somehow consensual male pregnancy and then—in the end, they’re having a nice little family breakfast together?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Nevermind the end — did you like it?

Harry nearly snorted out loud at that. 

>> lightning_boi: I see what you did there.

He paused, thinking back on the fanfic.

He wished he could whisper on Discord, because that was certainly how he would have said his next few messages.

>> lightning_boi: yes, I did like it.

>> lightning_boi: I loved it.

Harry exhaled slowly, before continuing.

>> lightning_boi: The cum play, exhibitionism, the rough sex at the beginning vs. how it began to change when they developed feelings for each other… oh. 

>> lightning_boi: It was so hot.

Harry swallowed as he sent his last message, waiting. 

The chat remained silent.

And then—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I’m glad you liked it.

Simple, distant, impersonal. Harry visibly deflated at the message. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything different. The man played hot and cold better than Katy Perry. 

Sighing, Harry brought his cup to his mouth, taking another sip—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I climax every time I read the Love Potion scene.

—and spat his hot chocolate out. All over himself.

No flight necessary. Harry’s jaw had fallen straight through the earth’s core to London.

He was speechless. Because until now, despite his glorious writing, Lord Voldemort had been a faceless, somewhat unknown entity… somewhere between God and bot. But after chatting with him for so long, seeing him say that was like… 

Harry shuddered, something strange and warm curling in the pit of his stomach as he looked back down at the chat.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I have to leave now.

Harry stared, whiplashed to the point of incomprehension.

What?

He couldn’t just drop a bomb like that and leave. God, Voldemort was some kind of mastermind terrorist… terrorizing Harry’s sanity…. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: But perhaps we can message later?

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He smiled warmly to himself.

>> lightning_boi: Absolutely.

For that matter, Harry probably had to leave soon too… 

He checked the time, double-taking in surprise. It was already three o’clock in the afternoon. He’d spent hours talking to Voldemort. 

With an hour left until boarding began, Harry was surprised Riddle hadn’t called him yet—

Ring! Ring!

He picked up.

“Sir,” Harry greeted, looking at the board for his gate. “Already here. Early.”

“That’s a first,” said a low voice right behind him, making Harry spin around. 

Tom Riddle was standing behind him, his hand still holding up the phone that had called Harry. He was wearing business casual attire—a white shirt and gray, cashmere sweater that should have made him look about a seventy-two-years old but only flattered his damn fine figure instead—

“What did you do to yourself?” Riddle asked as he came closer, staring down at Harry’s figure in disgust. “Are you twelve?”

Harry looked down at himself, and sure enough, hot chocolate was dripping from his clothes down to the floor from when he’d spat out his drink earlier.

Immediately, he scrambled for the napkins in his bag and began to rapidly and roughly clean himself off. 

“Ugh, just—” Riddle put a hand to his forehead, turning away as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. How the man looked attractive even while making such an ugly expression, Harry would never understand. “Just go do that in the bathroom. And hurry. Boarding starts soon.”

.          .          .

Whoa. Business class. Hell, planes. So cool.

Sitting on the cushioned black seat, Harry watched the mini-screen on the back of the seat in front of him as it played American Airlines’ safety video.

Riddle, who had been looking outside from the window seat the entire time, continued to actively not look at Harry. Strange, it was like he’d been avoiding Harry for some reason. If anything, he should have been the one avoiding Riddle, given his earlier mistreatment.

Harry began to mess around with his seat for a bit.

“Sir, look,” Harry grinned as he pushed a certain button that caused his seat to move back, “I’m reclining… ”

Still looking out of the window, Riddle muttered sharply, “Stop. You’re embarrassing me.” His mouth curled in annoyance. “It’s as if you’ve never flown before.”

Harry remained silent, stopping momentarily before continuing to recline his seat.

“... I see,” Riddle’s eyes finally flashed in Harry’s direction for the first time since they’d boarded. “You’ve just lived here your entire life?”

Harry stopped messing with his chair’s settings. “Yup. Born and raised in the Seattle area.”

“College?”

“University of Washington,” Harry shot back, looking at Riddle with raised eyebrows. “Haven’t you seen my resume?”

“Never bothered,” Riddle replied, his body shifting to face forward instead of leaning in the opposite direction of Harry. “Narcissa hired you, and I didn’t think you’d stick around for so long. By the time you had, I didn’t care to look at it.”

Harry huffed, not sure whether to feel insulted or amused. 

Right then, a flight attendant came up to them. “Mr. Riddle, yes? Your request for an upgrade has been approved—please follow me.”

An upgrade from this ?

Riddle stood up, grabbing both of their bags before Harry could blink. Harry unbuckled his belt quickly, standing in the aisle to let his boss step out first before following him and the attendant to the front of the plane… to the completely empty, jaw-droppingly luxurious first-class cabin.

Oh, damn, Harry’s first flying experience was going to ruin all flying for him. 

There was nothing to recline here. The cabin contained two comfortable-looking, twin-sized beds, separated by a foot-wide armrest with cupholders in it.

It was a barrier that only gave Riddle all the more faculty to silently avoid him.

As the plane took off, the older man got out his laptop and began to go through the contents of a two-hundred-page Word document.

A few hours later, Harry had watched a movie, gotten a drink, played Scramble (with himself), and was about ready to resign himself to a fully conversation-less rest of his nine-hour flight to London.

Sighing quietly, Harry began to play the movie’s sequel— James Evans and the Chamber of Secrets (damn, young Christian Coulson made a spectacular Marvolo Gaunt)—while intermittently observing his companion in the window seat.

Harry had nothing better to do. He was curious. Bored.

Riddle, it seemed, was neither of those things.

The older man was pouring rapidly over the Word document, marking it up with brutal efficiency. His face would twitch oddly every now and then. In fact, it seemed Riddle had started to pick up strange new habits in the past few hours—such as running a hand through his locks and messing up his usually elegant curls, tugging somewhat harder than necessary. 

He had ordered wine at one point, and the glass was already half-empty. Odd . Harry had never imagined his boss being much of a drinker—

Suddenly, Riddle was coughing, spilling droplets of wine on his lap. And then he was clutching his head in visible pain, glaring back down at the documents like they had committed a sin.

Harry pounded his boss on the back, instantly handing him the napkins he’d stocked up on from Starbucks earlier.

He tsked teasingly. “Now who’s the twelve-year-old, sir —”

“Harry,” Riddle said in a strangled voice. “Have you read Fifty Shades of Purple? ”

Harry blinked at the sudden change of topic before slowly shaking his head. Nope, only thing he read these days was fanfiction.

Riddle handed him his own laptop in a get-this-thing-away-from-me sort of manner. “Read this.”

Harry did, with Riddle breathing down his neck, looking over his shoulder. He got through the first few chapters, and then—

Oh, man.

His eyes went wide.

“Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms—coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine.”

Oh, Lord.

“I had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on, watching him writhe subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.”

Inner goddess? What the fuck? Harry could barely breathe; he was too busy trying to suppress his laughter so that he didn’t wake any of sleeping occupants on the other side of the plane—

Harry stopped, slowly turning to look at Riddle.

Because, this whole time, Riddle had been reading smut next to him?

“Focus, Harry,” Riddle said firmly. “Let’s get done with this.”

Before Harry knew it, he was reading the document along with Riddle, editing the Word document chapter-by-chapter while discussing it with him.

“Mentally girding my loins, I headed into the hotel, ” Harry read out loud incredulously. “The woman’s about to have sex, not go to war.”

Riddle snorted. “It gets worse.” He adopted a slightly shriller voice than usual. “ My flan-mounds were at war with his meatstick.” 

He looked ill just from reading it, and quite frankly, Harry didn’t blame him.

“Yeah, I’m never eating flan again.” Harry ran a hand through his locks—really, no wonder Riddle had been doing that so often. “This protagonist is really getting on my nerves.”

“At least she has an excuse.”

Harry looked at him incredulously. “What excuse? ”

Riddle shrugged, loosening his tie. He’d lost his sweater at some point. “She’s incurably stupid.” Ignoring Harry’s glare, he pointed a few paragraphs down and continued. “But the man— I’m thoroughly disappointed in him. No self-respecting CEO would act like this—propositioning an incompetent stranger after the first meeting.” 

Harry scoffed. “She’s not stupid. ” And suddenly, he had no idea why, but he was defending the stupid heroine. “The man’s an incredibly powerful, wealthy, and influential executive officer. Maybe she felt like she had to accept his contract or face consequences.”

Riddle raised his eyebrows. “Oh, if she’d felt like that, I’m positive her inner goddess wouldn’t have been egging her on the entire time.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth curled upwards against his will. 

They continued to edit over the next few hours, and pretty soon, Harry was right there with Riddle, gripping his forehead agitatedly.

“This is shit,” he exclaimed breathlessly after laughing over yet another washing machine reference. “Oh my freaking god. I write better romance than this.”

Riddle’s eyes flickered unreadably at Harry’s words, before he casually said, “ I would write better romance than this.”

Harry snorted, turning to face Riddle. “Oh, please. You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.” 

Riddle raised an eyebrow in amusement, the corners of his mouth tipping in a wry smile. “My point exactly,” and at this, Harry couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted from his mouth.

And then he was looking at Riddle, really looking at him.

Somehow, seeing his boss like this—ruffled hair, missing tie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone—made him catch his breath. Harry didn’t feel that vicious satisfaction that he might have felt days ago at seeing his boss so unkempt. Instead, there was only the buzzing realization that, wow, Riddle was even hotter like this. 

“I can’t get over the BDSM scenes,” Riddle was shaking his head disapprovingly. “So unrealistic. ”

Harry let out another huff of laughter, smirking at Riddle tauntingly. “And how would you know?”

And suddenly, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with tension. 

Riddle tilted his head, his eyes darkening and falling half-shut. 

“Christian Grey is far too selfish and impatient to make a competent Dom, let alone experience the true joys of BDSM.”

Riddle leaned forward on the shared armrest between them, looking straight at Harry. And when he spoke, his voice was low, quiet, and heart-stoppingly seductive.

“Had I been holding my partner captive contractually, I would have kept them chained to my bed for hours. I would have used all manner of toys on them until they were left begging for more.” 

Riddle smiled slowly, his hooded gaze heated.

 “And only after edging my partner for hours on end would I, being a merciful master, allow them to come.”

Harry stared back at him, mouth slightly open. It took him a moment to get his bearings back, but when he did, something strange and familiar had uncurled him… the very same feeling that had struck him back in Riddle’s office… 

“That’s it?” Harry breathed challengingly, his lashes lowered unconsciously. 

At that, Riddle gave Harry a distinctly odd look, shocking Harry out of his trance.

He scrambled to amend his statement. “I mean, come on, details, boss. We practically have to re- write this scene,” Harry trailed off with nervous laughter, and Riddle was back to being his impassive, business-like self as he proceeded to read the next part.

“... You’re going to unman me, Ana…”

Riddle paused, looking extremely pained. 

“Delete this entire scene,” he uttered, and Harry, holding back laughter, did exactly that.

.          .          .

After editing, sleeping, and editing some more, they reached London around noon.

“Wow,” Harry murmured as he looked outside the large wall of windows. The sky was gray and cloudy, rather nondescript, and tall buildings were visible in the distance.

“Do you like it?” Riddle asked, checking their documents as they went to stand in line. 

“It’s like another America,” Harry said, provoking glares from a couple of passerbyers. “But with shittier weather.” He turned to look at his boss. “I’m excited. How far away is the Manor from here agai—”

“We are not going there,” Riddle said abruptly. “We will be checking into a hotel near the Diagon Alley Writers Conference, the one we’re scheduled to attend tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “However, our check-in time is at one—we need to hurry.”

They breezed through security and car rental, and before long, they were parked outside of Hilton hotel, carrying their luggage inside using the golden rack provided to them.

“Unfortunately, this is the best I could book us within a day’s notice,” Riddle said as he hefted the last of their luggage onto the rack, primly gesturing for Harry to push it. “I will be out running some errands. You may find the room and settle in as you need, but leave the bed farther from the entrance for me.”

“We’re sharing a room?” Harry asked, looking back at his boss in surprise.

Riddle’s jaw ticked. “Like I said—there were few vacancies left in the good hotels of this area. Now, stay here. I’ll check us in.” He began walking towards the front desk.

Half a minute later, chaos had erupted at the front desk.

“What do you mean you gave our spot away?” Riddle seethed, his eyes darkened with fury and his jaw clenched. “We are twenty-five minutes early.”

“Sir, we’ve had so many walk-ins this past week. It’s summer hols for many at this time of the year, and your reservation was one of the last we gave up.” The woman—Marie Malkins, by the looks of her nametag—looked at him pleadingly. “I’m sorry, but we simply cannot accommodate—”

“Where’s your manager? I could sue you for this.” Riddle scowled, crossing his arms.

“Bloody Americans,” muttered a low voice standing in line behind both of them. “Always threatening to sue over everything that happens to them.”

Oh, no.

Riddle turned around, giving the man a death glare.

“Mr. Riddle, sir,” Harry interrupted with enthusiasm, lightly setting a hand his boss’s upper arm. “Er—let’s just go somewhere else.” He tossed his own glare at the man behind them, who was wearing a shiny name tag that implied he was also faculty—huh, how rude he’d been. “Let’s not waste our precious time here.”

Waste our precious time? Harry ran silently over his tongue again as they were exiting the building.

Heh, Riddle had definitely rubbed off on him.

“There’s an inn two streets down that should have vacancies,” Malkin called out to them as they were leaving. Harry didn’t turn back, but he could have sworn he’d heard snickering from the hotel man besides her.

After loading their luggage back inside, they returned to the car and began looking up alternatives. 

Tom’s hands clenched around the driver’s wheel. “The nerve .” His upper arm muscles tightened as he shifted the gear. “I have errands to run, I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“Let’s try the inn nearby.” Harry showed him his phone. “The nearest hotel is twenty minutes away, and it’ll take at least half an hour in this traffic.”

And so, to the inn two streets down, they went. 

Amortentia Inn.

It was small, shabby, its brick walls clearly eroded over the years. Even in comparison to the shady neighborhood sharing its street, the motel was easily one of the more decrepit buildings there. How much the atmosphere of London could differ from street to street, Harry would never be able to understand.

“No wonder that lady mentioned that there would be vacancies here,” Harry muttered. “I would be surprised if there were any occupants at all.”

Harry turned to look at his boss, only to find him putting the keys back in starting up the car again.

“Whoa, whoa,” Harry splayed an arm out. “Hey, chill— ”

Riddle’s voice went eerily calm. “Did you just—”

“With all due respect, sir,” Harry interrupted, and damn, being in the U.K. was already bringing out a posher side of himself. “It’s one night. What could possibly happen?” 

He sighed, leaning back in his seat as he maintained eye contact with the man. “And don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

Harry’s hand crept towards the door handle of the car, opening it slowly before Riddle caught on. “Just leave the luggage with me. I’ll get us a room and let you know which one we’re in.” He got out of the car, removing the luggage from the boot before saluting his boss. “Call me when you’re on your way back.”

Once he had everything outside of the motel’s entrance, he waved to Riddle—who was still staring at him from the driver’s seat, looking at him through the passenger seat’s open window.

“I’m trusting you,” Riddle said sternly, his mouth frowning to show his displeasure at the thought.

“Good choice,” he replied, sending his boss a thumbs-up.

And as the black Bentley drove away, Harry muttered under his breath. “About time. ”

Because, in all honesty, it was a lack of faith that made their relationship so strained in the first place. It was probably what had gotten every one of his previous personal assistants fired as well. Distrusting as always, Riddle often woke up at ass o’clock in the morning to redo the work of his subordinates himself. He didn’t trust his own assistants with flight information, so kept the information to himself. 

And then, of course, he yelled at them for doing and knowing nothing.

Classic Riddle.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Harry entered Amortentia Inn without further delay .

A tall, dark-haired, pretty lady with light blue eyes looked up at him from the front desk as he arrived. Her name tag read, “Romilda Vane,” and a box of customary chocolates had been placed on the shelf.

“Hello!” She smiled brightly, giving a little wave. “Did you have a reservation?”

“No,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “But I only need a room for tonight.”

She gazed at him with an almost predatory look. “Just a… single?”

“No, sorry,” Harry shook his head, blinking. What the hell was wrong with him? Something about the hazy atmosphere and pink decor (which reminded him almost revoltingly of his tenth grade P.E. teacher, Mrs. Umbridge) was making him feel rather out of his depth. 

“Sorry—two rooms. Two singles. My colleague will be coming in later this evening.”

Romilda sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Unfortunately, we don’t offer singles here.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. What kind of inn didn’t offer singles?

”Two doubles, then,” he demanded, crossing his arms. Because there was no way he was sharing with his—

”Actually, I just checked the system, and it looks like only have one double left. A queen-sized bed.” Romilda looked up at him apologetically. “It’s very much hotel season, what with school kids off for the summer hols.”

Oh for the love of God. Even such a wretched place like this was fully-booked?

Since Riddle had taken the car, he couldn’t even try looking somewhere else.

”Will that be okay?” she asked.

It has to be, Harry groaned internally, begging someone above to take mercy on him.

He ran a hand through his messy locks. “Yeah, that should be fine. Two key cards, please.”

Romilda nodded, rounding the corner of the front desk. “Absolutely, right this way.” 

As Harry followed her, he could have sworn he felt eyes watching him from the darker, hazier corners of the inn. Quiet, hysterical giggles followed his footsteps.

And whispers.

“Bottom… definitely the bottom .”

.          .          .

Finally. Oxford.

Tom got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him as he headed straight for his first stop.

The library, of course. 

He skimmed through the books on display, sweeping across the grandest parts before walking towards a closed door at the quietest end of the room. 

Locked, as expected. But, Tom slipped a pin from under his sleeves, he had his ways. 

The door softly clicked open, opening to reveal his one of favorite rooms in the entire campus. The Bodleian Libraries’ Special Collections, keeper of manuscripts and rare books.

He switched on the lights and walked in, closing the door behind him as he ran his eyes over the illuminated papyri and paintings in various languages. Sanskrit, Aramaic, Egyptian, Armenian, Tibetan… Tom looked on in contentment.  

This was where history really seemed to come alive— here, in this room filled with medieval Biblical translations and Roman treaties. 

It was no surprise that this had been the headquarters for many secret societies during his time here.

“Tom?” spoke a booming, pleased voice. “Tom Riddle?”

Tom slowly turned around, a faint smile whispering across his lips. He’d been so lost in the manuscripts before him, he’d barely noticed the sound of the door opening. His former professor, Dean of the Saïd School of Business, stood behind him, his walrus mustache and rotund figure as definitive as he remembered.

“Professor Slughorn,” Tom said, allowing delight to color his voice. “I was wondering when we’d run into each other.”

“My boy, ” Slughorn said heartily, a warm smile gracing his features as he walked forward to greet his greatest former student. “Back from the U.S. already?” 

Tom chuckled. “Not for long, I’m afraid.” 

He paused, as if in deep contemplation. Slughorn, unable to restrain his curiosity for long, was looking at him with burning expectancy.

“... Well?” Slughorn asked, unable to restrain his curiosity for long. He looked at his former student with burning expectancy. “What is it, Tom?”

“Professor Slughorn,” he began, slowly, staring piercingly at the elderly man. 

“What do you know about horcruxes?”  

Chapter Text

“Professor Slughorn,” he began, slowly, staring piercingly at the elderly man. 

“What do you know about horcruxes?”  

Slughorn paled.

“Tom…” He slowly shook his head, staring at his former student with wild eyes. “I thought you were over that—”

Tom slammed a hand down on the desk before him, rattling the few manuscripts on display. For all their historical significance, it would be a pity if he had to break them before the elderly man answered.

“Now, now, professor,” he murmured lowly, “Those are the magic words, aren’t they?”

Slughorn straightened up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, they are. Although I have no clue how you managed to obtain the secret code for a society of writers you are no longer part of— ”

“ Tell me where she is,” Tom snarled furiously, patience running out, his hand reaching out as if to grab the man’s collar. 

“Even I do not know where she is,” Slughorn cried, veering away, his backside hitting the very door he’d come in from. “The last I heard, she was in Scotland… living in a great big castle…”

Tom’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Is that so?” 

Right then, Slughorn’s phone buzzed on the table between them. A bright message appeared on the screen: the beginning of a text. 

>> Joanne: Professor Slughorn! I’ll be in town tomorrow for the Diagon Alley Writer’s … 

They both stared at it, one in growing horror and the other in vicious satisfaction.

How utterly convenient, Tom thought with glee. 

In an action delayed by shock, Slughorn leapt for his phone and dug it into his trousers pocket. But it was too late and they both knew it.

“What a talented liar you are,” Tom hummed, a faint smile gracing his features as he walked towards back towards the door. As he passed by his former professor, he muttered into the man’s ear.

“Let’s keep this between ourselves, yes?”

And as the door slammed shut behind Tom, the elderly man hunched into himself, his head bowed and hands shaking  as the shock hit him.

“As if…” Slughorn whispered. “I have any other choice .”

.          .          .

For the first time in weeks, Tom felt content.

Because even though his work life was shit—Dumbledore and Riddle Sr. had been making his life hell—at least his James Evans business was finally on track.

For one, he’d made up with lightning_boi. 

In the two weeks following his comment (“Unsubscribed ;]”) on boss from hell, Tom had been too busy adjusting to a certain change in workplace leadership to check his social media. But during his sparse spare time, Tom had taken to stalking the boy’s writing on Ao3, reading everything down to his Author’s Notes at the beginning and end of every chapter.

A/N, boss from hell : Hello! I’m back from the dead (I have a boss from hell, I swear he’s the devil) with a new chapter!

It was strange, how much one could learn about the author from their notes.

At first, Tom had found lightning_boi’s Author’s Notes silly, albeit humorous and entertaining… much like the protagonist in most of his stories.

A/N, Chained : Sorry, I was going to update a year ago but then my cat ate the chapter ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (yeah bois he eats bytes for breakfast)

A/N, Chained : Hey! I updated! At least it wasn’t four months later like last time, right? ^^ *dusts off this fic* *coughs*

After some time, Tom began to find them… dangerously endearing. 

A/N, Daddy Firebolt: So it turns out I’m alive. I know, even I was surprised by it.

A/N, Yet Another Slytherin Wins AU : Haha, uh, hi? Don’t kill me please. I was trying I swear, but life has been cancelling all of my free time since I signed my soul away to this new job.

Lightning_boi was funny and sarcastic. He had a self-deprecating sense of humor that Tom found himself drawn to, despite his general dislike of those who lacked confidence. And what he found odd in the first place was how much lightning_boi interacted with his readers.

The boy apologized for updating late when he had no obligation to do so in the first place. He responded to every single comment without fail. And he always, always thanked his readers for being patient and keeping up with his updates.

Tom had never paid attention to Author’s Notes himself, having rarely written any except for that one time when he announced that he was abandoning The Orphan. 

But lightning_boi’s notes, which were somehow written in a way that seemed to draw the eye? He never failed to read them. 

A/N, boss from hell : No, your eyes do not deceive you. ‘Tis I, risen from the dead to give you this chapter. The power of fanfiction has disturbed my slumber once again.

A/N, Chained : *touches this fic like a walkie-talkie from the past century* H-hello? Is this still working?

A/N, Chained : oh look, inspiration strikes again on the story I least expected. Anyways, enjoy!

Witty and creative. Clearly intelligent. 

Strikingly honest.

It was no wonder that stalking lightning_boi seemed to have affected his mental faculties.

Settling down on a chair in the Bodleian Libraries, Tom absentmindedly opened his Discord App, searching and scrolling back to the conversation that had happened on that fateful day.

The Inner Circle: #trash-talk

>> Hadrian_Evans:  I’m lightning_boi. Good fucking bye. 

Because the mere memory of that message pinging his phone several days ago, of how stunned Tom had been afterwards… 

Discord: Hadrian_Evans has left the server.

Of how inexplicably frustrated he had been… 

>> Bella_Tricks: Ha, interesting. A lowly peasant hiding beneath our very noses.

>> Ra_beast_an: Rather like a rat, except even worse than Peter.

>> ThunderousThor: Serves him right

>> SmolDragon: God, how did he get in here? Is there a way to air out a channel?

Oh, the moments after lightning_boi had left his server had certainly been enlightening. 

Tom had been horrified to realize that he actually cared what lightning_boi thought of him. And to have him leave like that, daring to take away the last word from Lord Voldemort… 

No. No.

Ridiculous. It shouldn’t have mattered. Lightning_boi should have meant nothing to him.

But two weeks of stalking the boy’s writing on Ao3, reading everything down to his Author’s Notes on every chapter with a surprising lack of accompanying disdain… had taken its toll on him. 

Tom hadn’t realized he desired the other’s company until it was gone for good. 

The boy had practically been falling into his hands all this time, nearly within his grasp, only to fly away due to a lack of Tom's own— foresight.

Tom’s lips had curled in denial, refusing to call himself out on what it really was. 

Stupidity.

At this realization many weeks ago, he’d exited out of the exploding server without another word. 

The next thing he’d done was look up LightningVolt. The term had been all over Tumblr, revolving around the very chain of comments between himself and lightning_boi on boss from hell . And there was even fanart about them. 

This shipping. It was mad. 

He noted that Jarvolo fans (because that seemed to be the demographic mainly involved in shipping LightningVolt) were the thirstiest lot of the James Evans fandom. They weren’t content with shipping the main character with one of the greatest villains in twenty-first century literature. No, they wanted to ship the writers of these fanfiction pieces as well. 

And the most delicious irony surrounding this all was what they didn’t know: that Marvolo Gaunt, Lord Slytherin, was a character based on no other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

Yes.

Tom leaned back in his chair, taking a trip down memory lane.

Joanne, Joanne.

They’d met at one of Oxford’s many libraries, despite Joanne not attending Oxford ( “Exeter College, just three hours south of here!” ). After running into each other a couple of times in the same sections of the libraries, they had become acquaintances of a sort.

“Are you a Latin major?” Joanne asked, her eyes skimming the titles of the books Riddle had accumulated.

“Are you a French major?” Tom replied, with no small amount of derision. What, a man couldn’t read anything intellectual for fun?

Joanne appeared friendly as ever, perhaps not picking up on his desire to be left alone.

“French and Classics double-major, actually.” She smiled, before narrowing her eyes at one of the titles in Tom’s pile. “Well, that’s quite a long title for a book.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.” And then, anticipating Joanne’s lack of understanding, he translated. “Never tickle a sleeping dragon.”

With that, he resumed reading… only to be disturbed once again by the curious woman besides him.

“What is it about?”

Gritting his teeth, Tom turned to face the young woman.

“It’s a book,” he replied dryly, with an air of long-suffering patience,“On how one should not annoy their superiors.” He looked at her meaningfully, but as always, it seemed to go above her head.

She only hummed thoughtfully before proceeding to ask him about every other book in his pile.

Her full name, as Tom had later found out, was Joanne Roaring. And certainly Joanne Kathleen Roaring, as assumed by most. The middle name was fake.

“I need a fake middle initial,” Joanne muttered, more to herself than to Tom. “Something that makes my name sound more… masculine.” 

Tom rolled his eyes. “And what gave you that idea?”

She paused, looking at him in exasperation. “My bloody publishers, that’s who.” She adopted a fake, mocking voice. “Ah, but you see? Young boys won’t read it if they think it was written by a woman.”

Joanne stopped, scowling down at her laptop. “I hate this. I dislike having to change myself for the sake of marketing.”

“Then find a different editor,” Tom offered, still not looking up as he flipped the page of his textbook.

He hadn’t anticipated the weighted silence afterwards, or the way Joanne would respond.

“Are you offering, Mr. Riddle?”

And so, through circumstances quite by chance, Tom decided to work with Roaring after carefully assessing the woman’s manuscripts and outlines. It was quite fascinating, with intense world-building and character development that would surely leave readers spellbound. 

What a fitting start to his Editing career.

Being the perfectionist he was, Tom grew quite invested in the series, researching every little aspect of the story alongside her to make sure it fit together nicely.

“What about ‘Toujours Pur?’” Tom suggested, looking over the manuscript on his laptop. “French for ‘Always Pure?’”

Joanne’s eyes widened. “That’s brilliant!” She stood up, unnecessarily dramatic. “You know what? We should just use French and Latin references everywhere—”

And of course, the most important part—the character around whom they tended to get into rather heated conversations.

“Lord Horcrucio?”

“No.” Tom shook his head firmly. “Marvolo wouldn’t name himself after a mere spell or device.” He looked up towards the ceiling, searching for the right words to express the character’s motivations. 

“He would fashion himself a new name, something original and far more fearsome…” 

Joanne raised her eyebrows at him, muttering something along the lines of, “More fond of the villain than the author at this point…”

“Why not Conqueror of Death?” Tom suggested eventually.

“No, no, absolutely not!” She shot him an exasperated look. “He cannot conquer death, that’s the point! He fears it… he flees it…”

“Vol de Mort,” Tom said quietly.

Joanne looked at him, silently mouthing the translation of Tom’s French.

‘Flight from Death.’

It was perfect.

“I… quite like that,” she said contemplatively, before shaking her head. “But given that Marvolo inherits his mother’s last name on his birth certificate, he goes through his Hogwarts years knowing his wizarding heritage. Naturally, he would demonstrate an acceptance of his heritage by assuming the title of Lord Slytherin—”

“He would not.” Tom interrupted, his voice going hard. He looked away from the manuscripts, glaring at Joanne. “Marvolo would not credit all of his success to heritage, not when his own family failed him so egregiously—”

“What makes you think,” Joanne’s voice suddenly turned cold, just like the rest of her pale demeanor, “that you know my villain better than myself?”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Tom replied scathingly, “Perhaps the fact that you based him on me?”

Indeed, the main villain of James Evans continued to be a point of contention between them. And despite their occasional disagreements, he and Joanne had worked surprisingly well together, writing and publishing the first six books of the series… which went on to gain immense popularity and critical acclaim.

Everything had been going very well until halfway through the seventh book. 

They were already tired of each other by that point, but the reason for their argument was the same as always:

Lord Slytherin, again. More specifically, whether or not he deserved one last chance at redemption, an opportunity to survive the war.

Joanne slashed her pen across the freshly printed documents. “We kill him off. Struck by his own rebounding spell. Pure symmetry.” She leaned back in her chair, sighing contentedly.

Tom laughed mirthlessly. Unkindly.

Joanne tensed immediately.

“What is it?”

“Oh,” Riddle tilted his head, “I just find it rather insulting that you base a significant character on me, only to kill him off in such a manner because you decide he doesn’t deserve redemption.”

J. K. Roaring, of course, had believed Slytherin didn’t deserve redemption. In the end, just as she had wanted, Roaring killed him off without a second thought at the end of the seventh book. 

Unable to agree on this point, she and Tom cut ties, and Roaring published the seventh book with another company. 

Meanwhile, Tom had been furious. He had, perhaps foolishly, grown emotionally invested in the series with which he had begun his Editing career. And after years of seeing this character and his backstory being developed, inspired by none other than his own? 

He despised the fact that there was no redemption for this villain that was so much like him. 

And thus, the birth of Lord_Voldemort_.

Tom fashioned himself a new name, a name he knew James Evans fans everywhere would one day speak with awe, when he had redeemed and reaffirmed Lord Slytherin as the greatest villain of twenty-first century literature.

Through Fanfiction.

He wrote a variety of Lord Slytherin Wins AUs—his favorite trope. He posted works like No Glory, where James Evans started off as a mere enslaved Horcrux to the victorious Lord Slytherin. He wrote shorter stories like Mine, where James Evans was trapped, buried alive in a coffin, as Lord Slytherin continued his plans for world domination.

Tom gained over three thousand followers on No Glory within the span of months. His favorites-to-followers ratio was rather impressive. In fact, while he rarely read reviews, he tracked his Traffic Stats obsessively.

Power was in the numbers, after all.

Tom knew that Fanfiction.net was where the masses were. It was where he rapidly collected followers, and more followers meant more people reading his work and spreading the word to others until — yes. 

Lord Voldemort succeeded in establishing a loyal following.

(Of course, he discovered Archive of Our Own later on. It was a… cute platform, Tom supposed. He’d begun to cross-post once he’d found out it existed.)

So unlike ninety-nine percent of writers on the website, he did not start off writing James Evans fanfiction for the purpose of pure entertainment or shameless smut. Tom wrote it because he wanted to give the series’s villain the ending he deserved.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before he was writing shameless smut. And it was all thanks to him.

Harry Potter.

Because now that Tom knew the younger man was reading his fanfiction, a thrilling rush of adrenaline tingled down his spine each time he updated. 

Much in the way Lord Slytherin enjoyed pushing the boundaries of magic, Lord Voldemort enjoyed testing the limits of projection. The fine line he walked between fiction and reality grew finer with every chapter of his Green-Eyed Monster .

It was laughable to think he would ever be caught, least of all by his sweet, tempting personal assistant—his hopelessly oblivious muse.

Tom refreshed Fanfiction.net and Ao3, checking his stats one last time to see how his latest update of Green-Eyed Monster was faring . Then he launched a new Word document to begin the next chapter of his rom-com Office AU… as opposed to working on his other WIPs. 

Harry Potter always ruined his plans.

As if hearing his words and wanting to prove otherwise, his iPhone X pinged with a notification from Discord—one of the few types of notification he had turned on for his exclusive server.

Discord: lightning_boi has joined the server.

Tom’s mouth curled upwards against his will.

Well, Harry Potter and lightning_boi, both.

.          .          .

Harry couldn’t believe they’d gotten stuck with a room like this.

It was—it was—

Oh god, were those rose petals on the bed sheets?

Silken, red sheets were laid out over a surprisingly small queen bed, contrasting tackily with the petals strewn upon it. Pale, gauzy curtains hung around both sides of the bed like a canopy, providing the illusion of privacy while allowing light to stream in.

Not like there was much light to begin with. The room was dimmer than Harry on a bad day.

“I hope this meets your expectations?” Romilda asked, having guided Harry straight to the room. At least Amortentia Inn didn’t cut any slack on customer service—he couldn’t recall ever being escorted to his lodgings. 

As he turned back to view the room, his eyes widened on a big box near the TV, very explicitly labeled: Toys.

Toys?

Oh hell, no. Harry really hoped that wasn’t what his dirty fanfiction-mind thought it was. Because if Riddle saw that and thought the same thing—

“Sir?” Romilda questioned.

—he was dead.

Harry choked on what might have been his most diplomatic response (a sarcastic “Above and beyond, ma’am, mind if I vacuum the bed sheets?”) and ended up nodding silently.

“Please,” Harry began once he’d finally found his voice once more, “give the second key card to Tom Riddle when he comes to the front desk.”

Because he didn’t want to be in the room when his boss saw it for the first time. In fact—a nice cup of authentic English tea sounded splendid. Harry would definitely be exploring the town outside later today. 

“Very well.” Romilda nodded brusquely before promptly exiting the room, leaving Harry alone to bond with his new love shack.

Sighing, Harry shrugged off his jacket and opened the closet to hang it—

His eyes widened in disbelief.

Oh fucking hell.

Two towels lay hanging inside, one with a heart pattern and the other decorated with a collection of many different hand symbols. Harry swore the second towel contained two adjacent symbols that looked distinctly like 👉👌.

At this point, he dearly hoped it was just his dirty imagination.

But there were a couple of articles of clothing in the closet that even Harry couldn’t have dreamt up: two of the most transparent bathrobes he’d ever seen in his life hung from hangers at the right end of the closet, the wall behind them clearer than daylight.

Closing the closet with a definitive click, Harry proceeded to walk across the room and shove the toy box underneath the bed. Because with the kinds of symbols that were decorating its exterior, Harry had a feeling its contents were exactly what he was thinking of.

Afterwards, he got out his laptop and fell onto the bed. Wow, it was surprisingly comfy? He supposed this was where Amortentia Inn’s investments had been focused. 

Then, realizing he had a whole hotel room to himself with nothing to do but "stay put" until evening, Harry decided to mess around. After all, since he'd started living with Ron, he hadn't had this kind of privacy in ages... 

So he watched some porn. He drew smutty Jarvolo art... which came out looking like a banana fucking a slug but, hey, who was watching? Who was there to criticize his every word, every action, every breath? Nobody. 

And because nobody was watching, Harry connected his laptop to his portable bluetooth Bose speakers (a beloved birthday present from his godfather, who loved music just as much as him — Harry took them wherever he went), turned on Spotify, and had a mini dance party too. 

After tiring himself out and finding that he had nothing else to do, he logged onto the Jarvolo Discord server. He swiped through some of the channels—every one of them was highlighted as unread because he hadn’t been on in days—before deciding to stick with one. 

Chamber of Secrets: #general

>> lightning_boi: hey boisssss

A flurry of replies met his message mere moments later.

>> GaliLEO: lightning man! How you been boss?

>> ChoAegyo: lightning uwu, how does it feel to be famous? 

>> TheSnapeThatSmilesBack: Our new celebrity… 

>> Lav: omggg lightning where’s Volt <3333

Harry held back a smile as he absorbed everyone’s enthusiasm. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his fellow Jarvolo fans until coming back here.

>> lightning_boi: hey guys! Oh yeah, tea—I was dm-ed by Voldemort the other day.

As soon as Harry sent the message, he slid down all the way until his shoulders were touching the bed, grinning with anticipation.

He was not disappointed.

>> HeadGirl: What?

>> RoonilWazlib: DUDE!

>> AngelinaJolie: OHmygo

>> Lav: hhhhhhh

>> GaliLEO: holy shiT… pics plz?

Harry held back his grin with a fist to his mouth, responding with his other hand. He navigated to his earlier conversation with Voldemort and screenshotted sections of it.

>> lightning_boi: alright, no distributing beyond this chat (looking at you @GaliLEO ;])

>> ChoAegyo: awwwww

>> Lav: hhakhefekahaf I RECOGNIZE THAT SMIRK

>> AngelinaJolie: looks like someone’s already adopting Voldemort’s infamous habits~~

>> GingerGorl: Just don’t adopt his habit of staying aloof and unresponsive because we missed you! <3333

>> Forge: whoa ^^ someone’s not a fan of LV

Harry sent them images of his conversation with Voldemort, once again awaiting their reactions with anticipation. Man, this was almost as bad as waiting for comments on his chapters.

He needed more. He needed validation —proof that he wasn’t freaking out over nothing—

>> HeadGirl: You. Are. So. Lucky.

>> HeadGirl: To be on the receiving end of such eloquent compliments? From arguably one of the best fanfic writers ever?

>> GaliLEO: boy don’t you ever ask me for validation again because that right there is the cherry on Top

>> SeanTheSheep: don’t you mean Harry is the cherry and Voldy is the top? ;) | 7 lenny reacts

Harry felt his ears redden at that. Good thing he hadn’t shown the whole snippet where they had discussed nevermind the end. For some reason, that had felt too private.

Ha. Imagine telling the whole Jarvolo fandom that Lord Voldemort wanked to fics… 

>> AngelinaJolie: Mannn I am so binge-reading all of those fics you and Voldemort discussed

>> ChoAegyo: sameee

>> Forge: Lightning! Congratulations—

>> Gred: On your impending wedding—

>> Forge: When can we expect invitations?

Harry continued to chat with them for a while before deciding to wrap up his conversation to write fanfiction for a bit. It felt like it had been ages since he’d touched his writing folder at all. 

Did he even remember how to write anymore? 

Harry placed his fingers on the keyboard and began to type whatever came to mind—his usual process.

… And suddenly, I was falling down, pushed onto the other man’s lap.

My lips were a mere breath away from Marvolo’s.

As Marvolo continued to talk on the phone, unaffected as always, I held my breath. My muscles tensed up. I was starting to sweat and I highkey wanted to sniff my armpits to make sure I hadn’t forgotten to put on deodorant that morning—

Harry stopped, resisting the urge to headbang his keyboard because, Ugh. What the fuck was wrong with him? Could a scene get any unsexier?

He sat up on the bed, craning his neck and cracking his knuckles deleting all of the text and started anew.

“Greatness inspires envy, envy inspires spite, spite spawns lies,” Marvolo said eventually, his voice low and enchanting.

I stared at him with a clear lack of comprehension.

“What are you trying to tell me?” I returned incredulously, perhaps a bit more sharply than intended. Most likely because the man, as always, had me utterly confused.

Marvolo finally turned to face me, his dark eyes boring into mine with an almost frightening intensity belied eerily by the faint smile stretched across his face.

“All I am saying is that my fans are jealous of you, because you possess an opportunity they do not.”

He leaned in, his mouth brushing the tip of my ears.

“After all… no one has ever dared to spend the night in the same bed as Lord Slytherin.”

Harry paused in his typing, grinning at the scene he’d just written. Now he was getting somewhere. A bedsharing trope, how… fitting.

I raised my eyebrows at him, suppressing the urge to grin outright. “Are you saying you’re a virgin?”

Marvolo’s own eyebrows shot upwards at that, his mouth twitching downwards momentarily. But moments later, his expression had been smoothed out, every last indication of emotion ironed out of his features.

“Spending the night and having sex are two entirely different concepts—of course, you wouldn’t know, having never experienced the latter.”

At that, I felt myself heating up, blood rushing to my head in mixture of anger and embarrassment—

Harry was disturbed by the gmail notifications popping up on the bottom right of his screen. He skimmed over the subject line, ready to ignore it, but froze once he’d actually managed to grasp what it had said.

[Ao3] Lord_Voldemort_ posted Chapter 9… 

Suddenly, Harry couldn’t have cared less that it was cloudy and raining outside, or that he was sleep-deprived, because his day had just gotten so much brighter.

Bless. Praise the Lord. 

He clicked on the email and was navigating towards the link before he could stop his own fingers. Lord_Voldemort_ had just updated Green-Eyed Monster, his favorite work by the author yet. Well, technically not his favorite work… Harry couldn’t really decide on one when it came to Voldemort.

Without further ado, he began to read.

“Sorry, sir. The elevators aren’t working,” James gasped as he scrambled in, his face flushed (somewhat appealingly) from running. His hair, as always, was a bedraggled mess, and his apparel was in far worse state.

The boy had a prophesied knack for testing his patience.

“Are the stairs not working as well?” Marvolo intoned sarcastically. Because any normal human being who arrived at least five minutes early would have had no trouble being on time.

Harry snickered. Marvolo’s reactions to every little thing James did were priceless, especially since James remained oblivious to them. 

The protagonist was clearly obsessed with the other man.

Marvolo scowled darkly as James continued to scramble for excuses. He gritted his teeth, his mind automatically cycling through about fifty possible ways to berate his incompetent assistant for disrespecting his time.

“...And, well.” James bit his lip, looking at him sheepishly. “I know those all sounded like excuses—”

Marvolo paused in disbelief. Was the boy finally going to admit the error of his ways?

“—but the coffee line was way longer than usual!”

Nevermind .

Marvolo turned away from James to avoid being swayed by his naturally sympathy-inducing demeanor. Few things could phase him. But those large, pleading green eyes (the same eyes James showed him whenever Marvolo was on the brink of firing him) were practically his kryptonite.

Harry grinned, rolling onto his back and settling the bottom edge of his laptop against his stomach. He rather enjoyed getting the inside scoop on how it felt to be attracted to one’s subordinate. 

He continued to read the chapter, enjoying many of the tension-ridden interactions between Marvolo and James. As it progressed, Marvolo seemed to grow more and more hassled as his project deadline approached, mostly because his ‘bloody assistant’ wasn’t doing his job. 

Of course, given that work was written in third person limited, Harry was inclined to believe that the (poor, overworked) assistant was doing his job and that Marvolo was merely exaggerating for the sake of being dramatic. 

Harry rolled his eyes, biting back a grin as he scrolled down on his laptop. The protagonist was reminding him more and more of a certain someone—

He cut that train of thought off quickly and continued to read.

As they were traveling upwards, the elevator suddenly stopped.

James narrowed his eyes, jabbing at the buttons. None of them lit up.

He slowly looked back at Marvolo, dawning horror etched across his face. They were the only two people in the building past midnight, and neither of them had their phones.

“Shit!” James cried, evidently having reached the state of mind where he felt comfortable swearing in front of his boss. “Oh my god, oh my god—!”

“Stop,” Marvolo said calmly. As usual, he had to be the wiser one in a time of crisis. “Just breathe. Getting nervous will only make things worse—”

“I’m claustrophobic!” 

“Shit.”

Oh, yes! Harry mentally fist-bumped at that. Now that the main pair were alone, trapped in a confined space, things were sure to escalate. Of course, claustrophobia might get in the way sexy times, but there was a chance that something would happen.

And sure enough, Lord Voldemort did not disappoint. 

Marvolo leaned forward, grasping James’s perpetually messy locks and pulling his head back.

James’s green eyes began to water deliciously, blinking in pain at Marvolo’s grasp. But he was stubborn as ever, and he did not utter a word of complaint.

“If we ever contractually engaged in BDSM,” Marvolo began softly, “I would have you begging for release for hours on end. I would keep you chained to my bed, using all manner of toys on you until you were sobbing.”

Marvolo came closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. He felt the other man shiver as his lips brushed against James’s wet cheeks.

“And only after edging you to the brink of your limits would I, being a merciful master, allow you to come.”

At that, the fixed elevator finally dinged and conveniently opened. Marvolo unceremoniously let go of James and stalked away without a second glance.

Because if all went according to plan, the younger man would be crawling back to him… preferably, on his knees.

At the very least, with the completed version of last week’s overdue report. 

Harry slapped a hand against his mouth as he came to the end of the chapter, his eyes wide behind his glasses. His heart rate was elevated, his thoughts scattered in every direction, blown away by Voldemort’s incredibly awesome portrayal of sexual tension. 

That had to be the hottest thing he’d read in a while. And by ‘a while,’ Harry meant since he’d started reading fanfiction.

Shit. Fuck. 

Harry hadn’t thought he liked BDSM. But now? Damn, he was willing to give it a try, thank you very much, Lord Voldemort. 

After a few moments, he began to wonder what everyone else had thought about this update. He really wanted to fanboy over everything that had happened, preferably with a whole bunch of Lord Voldemort’s rabid fans. 

Without a second thought, Harry navigated back to the link R.A.B. had sent him a while ago and clicked on it, relieved that it hadn’t expired. While he wasn’t sure why he wanted to go back to chatting with them, a part of him wanted to give the Inner Circle another chance… perhaps for Voldemort’s sake. And, of course, another part of him was very curious.

But right as he was logged into the server (under his lightning-boi account this time), his built-up exhaustion from the previous day’s events seemed to catch up with him.

He closed his laptop and lay still on the bed for a while, soaking in everything that had happened while enjoying the feeling of the soft, satin bed sheets beneath his limbs. A stray rose petal caught between his fingers, and the warm, dim lighting of the hotel room suddenly seemed more appealing than it had earlier.

Harry drifted off to sleep.

.          .          .

Harry awoke to a violent bang as the hotel door slammed open, hitting the wall behind it.

“ Harry, ” Riddle snapped, his biting tone making Harry want to curl back into the bedsheets. “Do you know how many times I called you?”

Crap. He’d fallen asleep. 

Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily, wincing as the door slammed shut with an almost deafening click. He stretched against the sheets, restraining the urge to yawn. For some reason, he felt that showing hints of humanity in front of the man would only further piss him off.

 “No message, no response, nothing, ” Riddle continued scathingly as he stalked into the room, his handsome, angry visage coming into view. “I pay you to put my concerns above your own and you can’t even respond? ”

Harry pursed his lips in annoyance. Well, that was an asshole-ish way of putting it. But also… 

Shoot. Messages?  

Harry’s eyes widened as the last of his sleepiness left him. He began patting his hands across the bed he’d been sprawled upon as he searched for his phone. It was nowhere in sight; it must have fallen under the bed at some point.

He looked back up at Riddle sheepishly. “Sorry, I accidentally dozed off for a bit—”

Riddle’s back faced Harry as he took off his coat, opening the closet to hang it. “Of course you did. Usele—”

His boss suddenly fell silent, pausing almost comically in the middle of reaching for a coat hanger. 

Harry cringed knowingly. 

Riddle must have seen the towels.

The older man closed the closet without hanging his jacket inside. Slowly, he turned towards Harry, finally looking directly at him for the first time since he’d arrived. A series of indecipherable expressions flickered over his face.

“Harry,” Riddle began quietly, dangerously. His tone of voice, though far sweeter than before, held a poisonous lilt. “Why are we sharing a bed?”

Harry’s fingers curled into the silken bed sheets beneath him in fear.

“Th-they don’t have any more rooms,” he replied shakily, continuing to maintain eye-contact with Riddle. Then Harry straightened up, speaking more firmly.

“We’re both men here,” Harry began boldly, “Surely we can survive one night together in a less-than-ideal rooming situation?”

He didn’t really like pulling the manhood card, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Riddle straightened up at that, his arms flexing as he pulled his shoulders back. Okay, hot, but completely unnecessary. It wasn’t like Harry had questioned his masculinity—

“You’re right,” Riddle said softly, his tone light and almost delicate in comparison with the rest of him. “We are both men. Surely we can make adjustments. ”

Minutes later, one of the four pillows had been chucked onto the floor, along with the thinner blanket.

“Oh come on, ” Harry groaned, looking at Riddle in exasperation. “Seriously?” He glanced longingly towards the bed, which he now realized he hadn’t truly appreciated until it was gone. 

He turned towards Riddle, his mouth opening and ready to argue—only to see the man in the process of stripping his shirt.

Harry stared.

Mother of God.

Riddle was ripped. His chest and lower stomach were more defined than Harry’s sense of justice. And, fuck, there was obviously no justice in the world, of course Riddle looked like that.

His shoulders were as broad as they appeared when clothed. But Harry was completely unprepared for the way his back muscles rippled as he worked his shirt up, the way his abs flexed as he stretched his arms above his head. 

It lasted barely a second. 

It would last forever in his mind.

“Holy— dude—bro —” Once he’d found his voice, Harry couldn’t stop spluttering nonsensical, unprofessional titles. Although to his defense, this situation had rapidly become rather unprofessional. “There’s a bathroom for a reason— ”

Riddle raised his eyebrows at that, his mouth tilting faintly. 

“We’re both men here, Harry,” he replied smoothly, opening the closet to remove both towels from the closet and leaving none for Harry. Jackass. “But since I’m going to shower, I’ll spare your pride for now.”

Spare his pride? 

Hah. Harry rolled his eyes. Thankfully, he was (mostly) secure in his sense of self-worth. He didn’t feel (completely) emasculated after seeing his boss half-naked.

If only Riddle had spared his memory. Because that visual was burnt into his mind like a Dark Mark, and the only natural next step was to compare himself to that monster.

Harry looked down at himself, cracking his wrists and flexing his forearm a bit. The only visible thing that moved was a tendon. 

He sighed, lying down on his makeshift bed. Years of soccer practice had developed his reflexes, but they’d done absolutely nothing to build him up. And while Harry consistently worked out these days, his naturally slim form—possibly a product of childhood undernourishment—would never come close to a figure like Riddle’s.

God, what did the fucker eat? Baby cows for breakfast?

He was hot as fuck—

Harry groaned out loud, throwing a hand over his face and cutting that train of thought before it escalated.

Riddle was the one person he’d sworn off fantasizing about ages ago. Nevermind that Harry had been horribly unsuccessful lately. Of all the days to think about his boss in a sexy manner, today was absolutely not an option.

Hell, he couldn’t even jerk off if necessary; the bathroom wasn’t very private. The walls were so thin he could hear Riddle moving around in the shower—

Harry resisted banging his head against the wall to clear his mind.

Eventually, he found a way to distract himself. Through fanfiction, of course—giving up one kind of thirstiness for another. Because when Tom Riddle couldn’t do it for him, Marvolo Gaunt certainly could.

Harry leaned back against the hard floor, curling into the blankets as he selected a nice, relatively clean work of fanfiction to re-read during these dark times. Oh, yes. One of his favorites: In the Heart of the Sea by KaedeRavensdale. A heartwarming mermaid AU with compelling, unique word-building and a well-developed plot.

He was so absorbed in the story that he barely heard the click of the bathroom door as it unlocked, or heard the soft footsteps of cloth slippers upon carpet until they were too close.

“Reading fanfiction?” Tom asked casually.

“No,” Harry lied instinctively, rolling onto his back so that his phone faced away from Riddle.

Seconds later, he was still staring at his phone screen, but his mind was completely blanking out. No, freaking out.

Had Riddle just… addressed the elephant that had been in the room since he’d caught Harry reading Green-Eyed Monster at work all those weeks ago. 

No, nope. In fact, what elephant? There was no elephant—

“I’d almost forgotten that you read fanfiction,” Riddle murmured, beginning to dry his hair. Wet droplets fell on his face, and Harry wiped his cheeks, glaring up at the older man and trying not to focus on the way his shirt clung to his wet figure.

The next words out of Riddle’s mouth made that a lot easier.

“You were reading something by Lord Voldemort last time, yes?” 

Harry dropped his phone on his face.

“No,” he heard himself say faintly, his phone still blocking his vision. Harry picked it up, his heart rate speeding up as he stared intensely at his black screen. “That’s my pseud, remember? I am Lord Voldemort.”

Riddle stopped wiping his hair with the heart-patterned towel, narrowing his eyes at him.

In a sudden flash of movement, the older man was kneeling beside him on the floor, gripping Harry’s jaw between his fingers. As Riddle harshly tilted Harry’s face towards himself, his dark eyes grew ever darker. 

“Such lies, ” the older man spat, leaning in closer. “Do not lie to me, Harry Potter.”

Whether it was a trick of the light or reflection of the room’s rosy demeanor, his burgundy irises seemed to flash bright red. 

“If you enjoy reading another’s work, the least you can do is give due credit.”

Give due credit? 

And all of a sudden, Harry’s lingering irritation from the past few days—hell, the past few weeks—bubbled out him, seemingly from nowhere.

Harry snarled viciously, tearing himself away from Riddle’s grasp. “Giving due credit? Since when do you do that?” 

He stood up, the blankets falling around him.

“The only thing you give me credit for are mistakes, but what about the countless reports I’ve done? What about all the angry phone calls I’ve handled for you?” 

“That’s your job, idiot,” Riddle hissed in turn, standing up as well.  

Harry stalked closer to Riddle, his fists clenched at his sides. “What about all the times I’ve performed just fine despite your tendency to miss telling me anything important?” Just remembering how hassled he’d been at the Sea-Tac airport yesterday made him angry all over again.

He crossed his arms, teeth gritting as he finished. “I do all of this and I don’t even receive a word of thanks!”

“You receive a paycheck,” Riddle enunciated dryly, stepping even closer so that Harry had to look up. “And I consistently give you raises.” His voice grew even dryer. “Interpret that as a sign of my gratitude.” 

Interpret that as a sign of my gratitude. 

God, Harry was about ready to murder this man. 

He ran an agitated hand through his hair. He needed to cool down before he said something he regretted later—though he had a feeling he already had… 

“I’m going to shower,” Harry said abruptly, drawing vicious pleasure from pushing past Riddle, knocking the other man’s shoulder away with his own as he walked towards the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Of course, it was then that he remembered that Riddle had used up both towels.

Opening the bathroom door seconds later, Harry grabbed his key card from the desk and exited the room without another word.

As he made his way down to the first floor, he noticed something odd about the inn. For a place the receptionist had claimed to be completely booked, he didn’t bump into a single person. Not even staff.

As he approached the front desk, the tall, dark-haired girl from earlier—Romilda—looked up tiredly from what seemed like a textbook. 

“May I help you?” she asked, looking at Harry expectantly.

“Yes. I need an extra towel.” 

Romilda hummed, leaning down to extract a pink towel from the shelves beneath the desk. As she was handing it to Harry, her arm slipped and knocked over a plastic box of chocolates that had been at the edge of her desk.

The girl sighed before walking around the side of the desk and crouching down to stuff the wrapped chocolates back into the box.

Harry crouched down beside her to help gather them. Up close, Romilda looked a lot younger than he’d originally thought, and if the textbook she had been reading was anything to go by…

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at Harry for the first time. She held the box out to him. “Would you like a chocolate?” She rolled her eyes before smirking almost conspiratorially at him. “They’re for guests anyways.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered, hesitating before grabbing a wrapped chocolate from the box. “Er, thanks.”

“Of course. Anytime.” Romilda shot him a cheerful thumbs up, and wow , her personality had completely flipped from three minutes ago. He would never have guessed her to be the tired student she’d come off as at the beginning.

Harry turned away, unwrapping the chocolate and sliding it into his mouth. Delicious—crispy on the outside, creamy and almost buttery on the inside. It coated his tongue like silk, and it was the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.

He hummed contentedly.

Had he turned back, he might have seen the way Romilda’s smirk grew, or heard the way she dissolved into snickers and she continued to speak. 

“Nothing like a healthy dose of chocolate Viagra to speed things up . ”

Excited murmurs of approval from the rest of the hotel staff echoed down the barren hallways.

.          .          .

Harry had just gotten into the shower when it began.

The familiar tingle of arousal traveled down his spine, going straight to his cock. 

Shit.

Not now.

Harry tried to ignore it—tried to think about how thin the walls were and how his boss was on the other side. Strangely enough, he hadn’t had time to jerk off at all lately, with how much Riddle had been after him. 

But, really. Now, of all times, he grew unbearably hard?

Harry bit his tongue as another flare of arousal traveled down his spine, wreaking down his whole body. He tensed up, determined to ignore it, clenching his jaw as he reached for the soap. 

But then arousal hit him again, as suddenly as it had before. And then his back was arching in response, his ass clenching as he bit back a gasp, hitting his head against the back wall because what the fuck.

It was so intense.

Harry took himself in his hand and began to wank, quickly, routinely. He closed his mind and attempted to think of nothing but the feeling of his hand on his cock, wet skin on wet. Just the right amount of friction. 

And thank god, he came rather quickly. Harry leaned his forearms against the back wall of the shower, panting. He’d definitely been quiet enough—

Heat pulsed down his limbs once more, spreading across his flushed body, and he nearly collapsed on himself.

What the fuck?

Harry looked down at himself.

He was hard again. So hard he was visibly throbbing. 

Harry let his head bang against the shower wall as he began pumping himself in earnest. God fucking stop getting hard you stupid piece of— uhhhh—

“Harry?” Riddle called from beyond the bathroom walls, no doubt having heard the way Harry’s head slammed against the wall a couple of times earlier.

Harry ignored him, intent on finishing before he even spared a thought for the man outside. God, he could kill for a little more privacy right about—

He came, his back arching and hips thrusting into the shower’s back wall. His head tilted backwards, the water gushing out of the showerhead was starting to feel rather tepid (what kind of inn, honestly).

And now he had to clean himself again. Harry frowned, staring down at the creamy cum dripping down his upper and inner thighs.

Cracking his wrists after their uncalled-for work-out, he reached for the soap again—

Harry stopped.

He closed his eyes, attempting to control his breathing as relentless heat rippled down his limbs once more. He opened his eyes and watched, almost helplessly, as his cock slowly rose before his eyes. 

Why … wasn’t… it… going… down?

Harry growled in frustration and set both of his forearms against the back wall once more, losing patience and thrusting his reddened, chafed cock against the wall. The shower tiles were cold and hard enough to kill any hard-on, but even they couldn’t kill his. 

He continued to drive his hips forward, panting. God, it was hurting so much now, Harry was so sore, but it still felt so— uhhh— good. He hated this, hated—nnghhh— this.

“Harry,” Riddle called out, annoyance and impatience clear in his voice. “You’ve been inside there far too long.”

Fuck. Riddle.

Harry’s eyes fell shut as something coiled tightly in his stomach. And suddenly, all he could see were Riddle’s back muscles rippling as he stripped, the way his jaw clenched when he was angry ungh and how his cheeks hollowed when he pursed those sinful lips—

“C- Coming, ” Harry gasped, his voice rough and low and strangled despite all of his attempts to sound casual. 

Pure pleasure shot through his limbs, his eyes rolling back as he came again, much more powerfully than before. He slid down the wall, utterly exhausted, cum splattered across his thighs. 

Why, Harry wondered dazedly, were his orgasms only getting worse each time? 

It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. The water had turned fully cold, and he was still hard. He was screwed, so so screwed—

“Harry,” Riddle growled, “What the hell are you doing?”

He sounded suspicious, and rightfully so. 

“C-conditioning, you fucker,” Harry retorted, his voice still rough, his teeth chattering because the water was freezing cold. Had he mentioned the fact that he was still nursing a hard-on? 

Harry got to his feet again, feeling his back beginning to numb at the pattering pressure of cold water against it. 

“What did you just call me?” Riddle uttered menacingly, his voice low and hard and unforgiving.

Harry blinked, feeling water droplets on his eyelashes. What had he called him? His mind was in shambles, his limbs shakier than a colt's.

Oh. Oh.

“Sorry ,” Harry replied breathlessly, searching for a way to distract his boss. “I just… er, threw up, ” It was a wonder his erection hadn’t gone down by this point, “and I really need medicine. Can you please get me some? I’m sorry. I can’t leave the bathroom in this state.”

Had he been in a better state of mind, he would have been berating himself for begging his boss like that. It wasn’t as if Riddle would go anyways; the man was a selfish, self-absorbed prick who only cared about himse—

“I’m leaving,” Riddle announced right outside of the bathroom door, his voice louder than before due to his startling proximity. Then, after a pause, “You may take the bed if you’re feeling unwell.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the other man’s unprecedented generosity. But before he could–er— thank him, the door had swung open and firmly fallen shut, leaving him alone in the room.

Relief filled him, his body releasing tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Cleaning himself off quickly and jumping out of the shower, Harry tugged his clothes and got out of the bathroom. He plugged his phone charger into the lamp and packed his laptop back into his day bag, which he placed right next to his bed. He dragged his suitcase all the way until it was next to the bed.

That way, Harry would be able to reach everything while staying in bed, thus hiding his uncomfortable situation. 

Satisfied with his work, he got into bed—damn, the layers. The blanket beneath the silken cover was warm and fuzzy and furry. He sat back against the headboard, running his fingers through the fur before losing interest at the way his own cock seemed to tent against the blanket.

His furry little problem.

Right then, the door clicked open, and Harry quickly slid completely under the sheets, submerging himself up to his neck in the soft, warm blankets.

Riddle walked in, a polythene bag of medicines on one arm. Despite only having gone to the department store, he’d redressed in trousers and a button-up shirt before leaving. 

He held out the bag to Harry.

“Take a tablet every night for three days, starting today,” Riddle instructed. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, absentmindedly pinching the bridge of his nose. Wow, he was human after all. “The specialist I talked to suspects you may have gotten food poisoning.” He raised his eyebrows at Harry. “Either that, or a certain strain of stomach flu.”

Harry took it from him, thanking him pleasantly and setting the bag on his bedside table. Huh, Doctor Riddle. 

Riddle continued to stare at him.

“What?” 

Riddle looked at him expectantly. “Well? Take a tablet.”

Harry felt his stomach sink. He hadn’t planned on letting the ruse go this far… 

“Now? ” He rolled his eyes, trying to brush off Riddle’s show of concern. “In a bit. I’ll swallow it while you’re changing.” Yes, good plan. He would hide it away while Riddle was in the bathroom—

Riddle began stripping right there and then. 

Harry’s cock jumped.

He looked away firmly. “ Bathroom, Riddle.”

“I don’t fucking care about your virginal sensibilities right now,” Riddle growled, suddenly irritable. “I fetch you medicines late at night and you can’t even take them?”

Something guilty twisted in his stomach, but he pushed it down. Harry turned back to him, a remark ready on his tongue—

Only to have it dissipate as Riddle’s trousers pooled around his feet, leaving him only in boxers. 

Harry’s mouth went completely dry.

His heart rate skyrocketed. Somewhere in his chest, a monster awoke, and it was thirsty. 

Riddle was sculpted. His creamy thighs were thick and roped with muscle. Fuck, Riddle could choke him with those thighs and Harry would thank him. 

He was lean muscle all above, broad and strong shoulders slimming down to narrow hips. But his thick, solid thighs and long legs and just, how huge he was downstairs… uhhh. 

Riddle was so solid, so rock-solid, and fuck, Harry was rock- hard now. Painfully hard. 

The taller man walked forward to the other side of Harry’s bed, still naked, before ripping off the blankets and getting in.

Wait.

“Whoa, ” Harry yelped, curling into himself beneath the blankets while keeping a tight grip on them. “You said I could take the bed—”

Sharing was not an option. Harry would go insane—

“Did I?” Riddle asked lightly, his tone of voice growing soft and dulcet. His tone grew scathing rather quickly. “Well, that was before you ungratefully spurned the medicine I brought you.” 

He reached away towards his bedside table, switching off his lamp’s light. “Be glad I am a merciful boss and will gracefully allow you to share the bed with me.” With that, he turned away from Harry, tugging a good portion of the blankets with him.

Unfortunately, on a queen bed this small, the line of Riddle’s back was mere inches from Harry’s shoulder.

Harry tried not to scream.

He gave a small cough.

Briefly, Riddle twisted his head back towards Harry to toss him a glance of derision. “Don’t get me sick.”

At that, Harry sniffled loudly and exaggeratedly. “Don’t come near me then.”

He saw the way Riddle’s neck muscles tightened as the older man clenched his jaw. “Don’t make me. Switch off your lamp and go to sleep.” The older man turned away for good, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.

Harry stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.

Seeing as he was still unbearably hard.

Chapter Text

Harry stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.

Seeing as he was still unbearably hard.

After about twenty minutes of thinking unsexy thoughts, trying not to focus on how even Riddle’s breathing patterns were attractive, Harry reached for his phone on the bedside table.

On instinct, he opened up and scrolled through his Tumblr dashboard before switching (inevitably) to Discord. Right, he’d rejoined The Inner Circle earlier—his phone showed many notifications for the new server… a lot of which seemed to be taunting messages from Bella_Tricks.

But strangely enough, Harry wasn’t too interested in seeing what they’d tagged him in at the moment. Instead, he swiped through his direct messages before settling on the one chat he’d been waiting to continue.

[Yesterday at 4:22 PM]

>> Lord_Voldemort_: But perhaps we can message later?

>> lightning_boi: Absolutely.

Harry stared at the most recent bit of their conversation, resisting the urge to scroll all the way back up and reread it like he had mere hours ago.

With a courage that seemed to come from nowhere, he messaged Lord_Voldemort_.

>> lightning_boi: Hey, what’s up? Is now a good time to chat?

His anticipation spiked as he pressed send, proceeding to stare holes into his phone screen.  

Nothing happened… save for Riddle’s phone buzzing on the bedside table a moment later, temporarily lighting up. 

Harry waited a few seconds, staring at the chat for a bit before casting aside what remained his pride and messaging once more. He didn’t want to come off as needy, or bother the man. But perhaps one more recklessly-sent message, one more small push, to let Voldemort know he could reach out whenever he felt like… 

>> lightning_boi: Well, hit me up whenever you’re free to chat, discussing fanfiction with you the other day was really fun :)

Harry waited a few moments longer before sighing and swiping away from the chat.

What had he been expecting? Of course, he knew nothing about the man’s time zone or how often he checked Discord… not often enough, if his engagement on The Inner Circle was anything to go by… 

Riddle’s phone buzzed loudly once more, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Riddle groggily reaching for it with an explicit mutter. 

Upon seeing the content on his phone, however, Riddle’s demeanor seemed to completely change. Harry watched with avid interest as Riddle sat up in bed and straightened his shoulders. His face was serious now, as if he had important business in mind that required his immediate attention.

Sometime during this process, Riddle must have glanced over at Harry and seen that he, too, was wide awake. 

“You’re still up?” Riddle asked snidely.

“You are too,” Harry replied glibly as he stared back at his screen, trying to look as if he had better things to do on his phone than give Riddle his time of day (especially at this time). 

“I’m not the one who is sick.” Riddle looked at Harry coldly, making his lingering annoyance clear. “It seems I bought you that medicine for nothing.” 

Harry turned to face Riddle, channeling his inner P.E. teacher and smiling in a sickly-sweet manner. But whatever smart, self-condemning remark he’d been about to give was wiped from his mind as his phone pinged suddenly.

Harry’s attention immediately jumped to Discord, his eyes widening with delight at what he saw. 

Lord_Voldemort_ had responded.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Absolutely. I’ve been meaning to recommend some fanfiction to you. 

Harry bit back a stupid grin, replying quickly. He made sure to pay extra special attention to his grammar and spelling, though, because Lord_Voldemort_ was the kind of person who just made him want to sound… more educated?

No, that hadn’t been the right word—more impressive.

>> lightning_boi: Hit me with them. I’m sure I’ve read them, though.

After all, Harry had been in this fandom for quite a while.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Well, I have two recommendations—my first one is Counting Bodies Like Sheep by rightonthelimit.

At the mention of the familiar, well-loved title, Harry suppressed what would have been an inhuman-sounding stream of excitement.

>> lightning_boi: I love that fic! I love it so so so much. 

>> lightning_boi: I craved Zombie AUs so much after reading that work! I ~ couldn’t ~ get ~ over how brilliant it was.

The mattress dipped and shifted. Harry turned his head, watching as Riddle leaned over his bedside table, plugging his phone charger into the lamp before connecting the wire to his device.

Back… muscles… hnngh… 

Forcibly ripping his eyes off of Riddle’s form, Harry hastily turned back to his phone and resumed his Discord conversation. 

>> lightning_boi: But yeah, that fic? Just the premise of it—James and Marvolo on the run together, only able to depend on each other—is so fascinating. And, god, the twist on why Marvolo is so innately dark, and lustful, and bloodthirsty—

Harry paused his fingers when he noticed Lord_Voldemort_ hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t even typing anything.

>> lightning_boi: Sorry, I

>> lightning_boi: I got a bit distracted/overwhelmed with love for that work.

>> lightning_boi: It’s just that, I’m a huge fan of rightonthelimit. 

There was a silence on the discord. Harry was tapping his fingers against his phone case almost nervously.

Why had the other man suddenly fallen silent—?

“Stop that,” Riddle growled, his eyes sweeping in Harry’s direction before he picked up his phone from the bedside table, swiping into it.

His eyes stayed glued to the phone once he had.

Harry raised his eyebrows at his boss. That was strange and uncommon behavior for the older man. If anything, Riddle was the type of person who swept through his phone’s contents in an almost monotone, routinely fashion before clicking it shut.

He didn’t usually stare at the same part of his screen contemplatively.

Harry had turned his eyes back to his screen, relieved to note that Lord_Voldemort_ had begun typing again. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: No apologies necessary, I was plugging my phone into its charger. Also — I, too, consider rightonthelimit one of my favorite fanfiction authors, although I do not read fanfiction as often as I write it.

There was a pause on the other end before Lord Voldemort continued to type. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: The Jarvolo fandom is quite talented. There are a few authors whose writing styles I would consider addictive and magnetic, to the point where whatever they write—it is a success.

Harry’s eyes widened, his heart thumping with anticipation. Talking to his favorite author was insane enough — but hearing that he also read and liked and possibly worshipped authors?

Holy shit.

>> lightning_boi: Who?

Who, indeed, did Lord Voldemort respect the way Harry respected him?

RenderedReversed, who wrote the most brilliant AU works? MaidenMotherCrone, whose elegant writing style put his own to shame? 

There was another pause on the chat, as if Lord Voldemort was rethinking how he wanted to phrase his next words.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Obviously, my opinion will be controversial. I tend to rank and organize authors into “tiers” in my mind. 

Harry’s mouth quirked at that. Somehow, that just seemed so… Slytherin-like. 

>> lightning_boi: I absolutely do not mind! Would love to hear your opinion on the authors you consider Legend-tier ahahha

Harry sent the message, cringing as reread it. So formal. Being overly courteous was something he typically disliked.  But something about Lord_Voldemort_ — the classic, tasteful energy he gave off, the grammatically-correct way he wrote — just made Harry want to seem more… professional.

Not a moment later, he received a response.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ObsidianPen, TheFictionist, rightonthelimit, and Katsitting.

Harry let out a soft, breathy chuckle.

Of course. Dark, beguiling, heart-stopping works… it figured Lord Voldemort would respect the authors whose styles were very much like his own. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: These authors write my favorite tropes… and write them very well, never failing to keep James and Lord Slytherin in character.  

>> Lord_Voldemort_: They have all written at least one canon-compliant/diverging work that demonstrates the wide emotional spectrum of the quintessential Jarvolo relationship — enmity, guilt, disgust, unwanted attraction. Elements of horror, power imbalance. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: And most importantly, their writing deals realistically with Lord Slytherin’s inability to love.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: The build-up in their works is not only believable, but mind-twisting. It leaves the reader breathless, often panting for more despite an unparalleled ending.

Harry stared at the screen, his mind reeling at how Lord Voldemort had managed to perfectly (compellingly, seductively ) describe exactly the kind of work he loved reading. 

Because of course he read Jarvolo for the angsty romance. But Harry loved the James Evans timeline universe so much, and few fanfiction authors twisted canon itself into a believable, angst-ridden Jarvolo fic. Hell, there weren’t nearly enough Slytherin Wins AUs out there.

Except, of course, for his favorite. No Glory.

>> lightning_boi: Beautifully worded. I agree with you on almost every point, except… 

>> lightning_boi: You forgot one author.

There was another pause on the chat. Harry swallowed nervously, hoping he hadn’t somehow offended the man.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Oh?

Harry grinned, practically hearing the deadpanned hint of playfulness in the other’s tone. 

>> lightning_boi: Yourself, of course.

Harry’s shit-eating grin fell slightly with annoyance as the older man beside him shifted onto his other side, the whole mattress dipping once again. Riddle gave a low chuckle that sent a shiver down his spine.

It was a shiver of disgust, of course. Who suddenly laughed at two o’clock in the morning? Harry was in bed with a fucking creep. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry whispered, and Riddle froze, glancing at him with annoyance, as if he’d forgotten his assistant’s existence. 

When the man remained caveman-level silent, Harry rolled onto his side, his back to Riddle as he went back to ignoring the man and looked down at his screen.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Ah, so you’re a fan.

Harry bit his lip, his ears starting to burn. 

>> lightning_boi: Oh, don’t act so coy, my Lord. You have too many fans to be surprised by yet another.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Elaborate. Tell my why you like my writing.

Harry’s eyebrows raised at the… command.

>> lightning_boi: You want me to sing your praises now?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Want? I dare you. Praise me to tears.

There was an undignified snort from behind him… something Harry had never heard from his boss before. 

What the hell?

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, turning his head back to look at the other man. Because he was seriously concerned about how — excuse the fanfiction lingo — out of character his boss was acting.

Tom raised his eyes from the screen, slowly, as if the very action pained him.

“Never mind,” Harry muttered under his breath, turning back to his phone.

>> lightning_boi: Alright then, Lord Voldemort… brace yourself.

>> lightning_boi: Your characterization is always impeccable… but your characterization of Marvolo Gaunt? Out of the world. You seem to understand him and his motivations on a level I’m not sure even Roaring herself possible does… 

And partly because, as Harry had begun to notice, the man was very much like Marvolo Gaunt.

>> lightning_boi: I know you abandoned The Orphan, but the way you delved into his personality — explaining every bit of darkness within him as a product of some experience in his childhood, or as a lingering trait he may have inherited from his parents… it’s fascinating. 

>> lightning_boi: I rarely find Marvolo Gaunt a sympathetic character, but the whole exorcism scene? The scene where all those kids bullied him for being a “freak,” and how Marvolo took his revenge on them in the cave? You were probably trying to justify his actions rather than elicit any form of empathy for him. 

>> lightning_boi: But, oh god, I felt so much for him...

Harry paused before continuing once more, revealing more than he had intended to originally.

>> lightning_boi: After all, I’ve gone through something similar in the past.

Harry swallowed, pressing his knuckles against his mouth as he awaited Lord Voldemort’s reaction.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Were you bullied as a child?

>> lightning_boi: Hmm, I mean, yeah

>> lightning_boi: a bit, by my cousin and his friends but

>> lightning_boi: just the usual… the same kind that anyone goes through, I suppose.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Still, unacceptable. And it explains some things about you too.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up at that.

>> lightning_boi: Excuse me?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Like how you are always apologizing to your readers for updating “late” when there is no need to. You are providing them with free literature — that alone should earn their thanks.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: And still — you fear their reproach, you crave their approval. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: An inferiority complex?

Harry felt Lord Voldemort’s words piercing him, slicing him to bits. He felt exposed and naked, and suddenly, the blankets around him weren’t enough to stop the icy feeling threatening to overcome him.

He tensed, growing defensive.

>> lightning_boi: And how do you know all of this? What gives you the right to judge me like this?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I’ve read every single one of your Author’s Notes.

And just like that, the icy feeling growing within him disappeared, replaced by a fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach.

>> lightning_boi: you read my a/n’s?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Do not make me repeat myself. 

Harry huffed fondly. Terse and blunt and to the point, as always.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: You are a very good writer.

Harry’s heart jumped.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: But I have seen the way you interact with your readers. Do not let your readers have so much power over you. Take their criticisms with more than a grain of salt.

Harry eyebrows furrowed. The man was being oddly… kind?

Either way, he wasn’t sure he agreed with Lord Voldemort.

>> lightning_boi: But, like, comments are 87% of why I write fanfiction

>> lightning_boi: I adore their approval and enthusiasm, their thoughts about what’s to come

>> lightning_boi: Sure, I’ve had to deal with my fair share of flames and trolls; but interacting with the Jarvolo fandom is half of the fun

>> lightning_boi: Hell, I wouldn’t have even written boss from hell if not for all the encouragement and inspiration I got from the Jarvolo server

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Jarvolo server?

Harry froze. First, with excitement — introducing Lord Voldemort to the whole server? They would freak out.

But then he remembered all of the things he’d said, the way he’d thirsted like an insane person over Marvolo… and frick, his spelling was kind of shit too.

No, no way was he letting Lord Voldemort onto the server.

>> ligtning_boi: yeah

>> lightning_boi: Anyways — back to my mission of praising you to tears —

Harry drummed his fingers against the phone screen as he mentally switched gears.

A grin crept across his features.

>> lightning_boi: I know you always try to make James seem like the “attractive” and “lust-inducing” the object of Marvolo’s affections

>> lightning_boi: But your Marvolo

>> lightning_boi: is so

>> lightning_boi: goddamn

>> lightning_boi: sexy???

Harry heard a thump behind him—the sound of Riddle thumping his head against the headboard, followed by a stream of muttered curses. 

Serves him right for being so damn tall.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Well

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I am pleased to hear that

Lord_Voldemort_ is typing, Discord read intermittently. In fact, the author took a while to respond… as if he were typing and then deleting, overthinking. 

Caught off guard, Lord_Voldemort_? Harry smirked. 

He hadn’t missed the way the seemingly perfect author had forgotten a period at the end of his last few messages.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Though your words come as a surprise, given that I rarely describe him the way I do James.

>> lightning_boi: On the contrary, you do. All the time.

>> lightning_boi: His narration, the way he thinks… 

>> lightning_boi: Intelligence, dry sarcasm, and an almost morbid sense of humor that I can’t help but find endearing.

>> lightning_boi: I’m halfway in love with him, haha

Harry pressed send on his last message, unaware of the way his bedside companion drew a sharp breath moment later.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: And if I were to say that I project? That Marvolo’s thoughts do not stray far from my own internal monologue.

Harry stopped thinking. 

His mind froze, his throat drying up. And then his breathing suddenly grew faster, louder and—shit, Riddle could probably hear it at this point.

>> lightning_boi: Then I imagine you’re a very attractive man, Lord_Voldemort_.

Harry pressed send.

Silence met his message. 

The chat was utterly quiet. There was no sign that Lord Voldemort was even online anymore because the man wasn’t typing anything .

So, of course, Harry panicked.

 >> lightning_boi: Anyways, your characterization and style are really good

>> lightning_boi: your cliffhangers (I hate them, I love them) never fail to leave me breathless

>> lightning_boi: I always have to set aside time to read your work because I can never stop in the middle

Every message he sent felt like a plea, Come back. But nevertheless, all of his messages were facts, streams of consciousness that came from somewhere deep inside of him.

>> lightning_boi: In fact, I stayed up all night rereading Haunted two days ago and I just

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Yes, I seem to have that effect on my readers.

Harry could have let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the man was still online.

Then he reread Voldemort’s message, blinking in confusion. 

>> lightning_boi: What effect?

Behind him, Riddle let out yet another long-suffering sigh. Seriously, what was his problem? Was there a pea under the mattress?

If Harry heard anymore sighs from the fucking princess sharing his bed—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I tend to keep my readers up all night. ;]

It took Harry a moment to process that.

And then he was gone.

Hnnnhgh. Harry’s mind went crazy as he resisted the urge to key-smash right there and then. Holy fucking shit, was he batshit blind or was that actually —

>> lightning_boi: Oh my god. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ;]

Harry went insane.

>> lightning_boi: Fuck, all those innuendos. I thought it was just me seeing them, when you called readers “breathless” and “panting for more” but shit, you fucker, you were doing that on purpose I’m—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Sweetheart, you’re not the only dirty-minded fanfiction reader between the two of us. 

Sweetheart, Harry’s senses screamed back at him. He couldn’t lift his eyes from the endearment on his screen. It was so condescending and yet so quintessentially Lord_Voldemort_ it made Harry’s stomach flutter.

>> lightning_boi: They drove me nuts.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: More like they drove you to nut.

Harry spasmed then, kicking Riddle behind him. He might have gurgled too.

“You fucking—”

“I’m sorry, ” Harry gasped, turning back to face his still-awake boss. “Accident, accident —”

Riddle kicked him back, like the spiteful, vengeful creature he was. And, shit, it didn’t hurt that much but it hit a little too close, too close to the hard-on he somehow still fucking had.

So, amidst the chaos of his body, bed and online life, Harry messaged— 

>> lightning_boi: Nutting? God, I wish.

—only to realize, as soon as he’d pressed send, that he was in deep shit. 

>> lightning_boi: wait

>> lightning_boi: wait holy shit let me explain

Harry’s right leg jerked back, kicking his boss again… his spasming foot striking mere inches from his boss’s joystick.

“You little fuck ,” Riddle snarled. Harry froze, his heart rate skyrocketing as he craned his neck back. 

His boss was up on one arm, eyes flashing with murderous intent. He held his phone in the other hand, its brightly-lit screen illuminating the definition of his chest and abs, the blanket riding low across his hips. 

“Would you like to be kicked out of bed?”

Harry scrambled back on his elbows towards the very edge of the bed, knocking his phone off the bed through the slit between the mattress and the headboard. Shit.

“Sir,” he said at once, pleadingly. “I am—so sorry. I just received a very surprising message and I couldn’t help—”

“ Off! ” the older man hissed, his eyes already drifting back down to his buzzing phone. “Get off before I—”

Riddle cut himself off suddenly, his eyes staying glued to his phone screen.

Then the older man shot up in bed, his eyes wide and pupils fully blown as he stared at it. And, oh my, the poetry of his eyebrows rising—those devils had more arch than the parabolas in Morsmorde’s Algebra textbooks.

“Riddle?” Harry tried, only to be ignored.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Riddle so expressive. It was unfamiliar, but far from unpleasant. And with a plummeting stomach in his feeling, Harry realized exactly what kind of face his boss was making.

Somehow, Riddle was enamored.

… With whoever he was talking to. And Harry didn’t like that.

“Your face looks weird,” he said, because it was the only thing he could think of besides, ‘ So, who’s the unlucky girl?’ because he suddenly wanted Riddle’s attention very much.

Riddle’s eyes snapped back to him.

And then suddenly, the older man aimed a strong kick at Harry’s legs, finally causing him to tumble off.

Harry slammed hard into the carpeted floor, groaning as he landed roughly on his stomach… on his ever-present hard-on. Gritting his teeth, he slowly lifted himself upwards, kneeling on the floor and leveling a harsh, indignant glare in his boss’s direction.

Remorse for kicking the bastard? Long gone. Extinct.

“Are you human?” Harry seethed, holding back tears at the way his cock continued to throb painfully. “Are you sane ?” 

Riddle smiled coldly, dangerously. It was the kind of smile that implied he'd happily push Harry off a ten-story building. “Would you believe me if I denied both accusatio—”

He was cut off by a pillow thrown at his face, courtesy of Harry James Potter.

In the moment of his boss’s distraction, Harry stood up, grabbed the very top blanket, and began walking off to the opposite corner of the room. Honestly, after half a night’s worth of abuse, the floor was looking a lot more welcoming than the bed—

There was a firm, opposing tug on the blanket that stopped him in his tracks, and Harry slowly turned back. 

Was he going to be invited back to bed…?

Riddle looked at him, his expression unfathomable save for the chilling glint in his eyes. 

“Apologize,” he commanded imperiously.

Harry’s eyes widened incredulously.

“For kicking you?” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief at the nerve of this man. “You kicked me back —“

He stopped himself abruptly, caught off guard by Riddle’s expression.

His eyebrows raised as if he were coolly regarding a pest, his lips relaxed and unsmiling. But the icy glimmer in other man’s gaze destroyed the facade of mere annoyance.

Harry tensed slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a sense of foreboding struck him. 

“You deserved that,” Harry said quietly, defiantly, even as it came out sounding more like a plea. Because the tables had turned, and just like that, Harry remembered exactly why he had once feared his boss so much… why he sometimes still did.

That unbearable coldness. 

Harry would take Riddle’s heated insults any day over distasteful regard… or worse, disregard altogether.

Don’t fire me. Leave me alone. His thoughts were a flurry of contradictions even without the assistance of Riddle’s befuddling tongue. 

Harry held his breath, staring at the dauntingly expressionless man for a few moments more before facing away, his hands still gripping the top blanket as he took another step away from the bed—

Suddenly, there was a much harsher pull on the blanket, one that had Harry falling back onto the bed. A warm arm caught him around his waist, pulling him further backwards against tantalizingly firm, naked skin.

Harry stopped breathing. 

Riddle held Harry against his chest, the two of them breathing in silence for a few tension-ridden seconds. 

Then at once, he tightened his arm as he dropped his head against the back of Harry’s neck. The older man’s mouth grazed the shell of his ear as he let out the most seductive-sounding murmur.

“Oh? I deserved that?” His voice, mocking despite its beguiling pitch, dropped an octave. “Then tell me, Harry, what else do I deserve?”

Wh-what?

Harry remained silent, breathless. The sensation of Riddle’s warmth pressed up against him, of his breath hitting the back of Harry’s neck and tingling down his spine… 

It was unbearable, especially since he knew it was all just a game to Riddle anyways. 

But that didn’t stop Harry from wanting, from succumbing to the pleasure of his touch against the will of mind—

A cool hand suddenly crept up Harry’s neck, curling around his jaw menacingly, almost possessively .

“Since you failed to answer, I shall tell you.” The long fingers on his waist began to trace feather-light, distracting shapes. “As your superior, I deserve your respect. Your obedience.” Riddle punctated every virtue with a paralyzing squeeze against Harry’s jaw. “And above all, your utmost… attention. ”

And suddenly, the arm around Harry’s waist spun him sideways and pinned him flat against the bed. Riddle loomed over him, his eyes dark and ignited with a strange energy as he placed his arms on either side of Harry’s head.

His voice grew impossibly softer as he spoke the next few words, ending on a near-hiss.

“Do I… have… your… attention. ”

Harry trembled against the silken sheets, finally gathering the wits to whisper back. “Yes.”

Riddle held his gaze. “Yes, sir. ”

That shook him out of it. 

Fury licked down his spine, adrenaline energizing his limbs. Harry narrowed his eyes as he shoved Riddle back from him and sat up in bed. He straightened himself against the headboard, curling his fists defensively.

He was angry, he was humiliated, who did this jerk think he was—?

“Sorry, but I don’t call anyone ‘sir’ in bed.”

Riddle’s eyes flashed, though he made no movement to hold Harry once more.

“Perhaps you should get used to it,” he murmured patronizingly, suggestively, a faint smile gracing his fine features.

Harry saw red. He tightened his fist and pulled it back, aiming for Riddle’s stupid face—

Only to be stopped by two firm hands grasping his wrists, holding them up against the headboard… above Harry’s head.

Riddle leaned in tauntingly as Harry struggled against his grip. His smile grew sharper, almost cat-like.

“Oh, sweetheart, I could do this all night.”

Harry’s breath hitched at the endearment despite himself. So fucking condescending… and yet, he liked it so much.

“Let me go. ”

Riddle’s eyes fell half-shut a few inches from his own, his long lashes failing to hide their burning intensity.

“Never. ”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Sir—”

“There , ” Riddle sighed abruptly, releasing Harry’s wrists unceremoniously as he dropped the lover’s act. A cold smile curled across his lips, a far cry from the heat in his eyes moments earlier. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said softly, leaning back with satisfaction. 

Harry merely stared at his boss. 

Patronizing piece of shit couldn’t even let him finish a sente—

“Now, since we’re both wide awake, we might as well be productive.” He pushed Harry towards the edge of the bed again. “Go, retrieve our laptops.”

And that was how they ended up getting out their laptops in bed and editing shit at two o’clock in the morning.

Twenty minutes after being physically kicked out of bed, Harry was typing furiously on his laptop — which he had balanced on a pillow covering his legs “to avoid the radiation,” as he’d told his boss.

Really, the kind of bullshit he said to hide his hard-on. At this point, the situation was starting to feel unreal. It was a wonder his boss hadn’t noticed it by this point. 

Harry paused momentarily in his typing, staring down at his heavily-blanketed lower half in despair.

Was it something he’d eaten ?

“Why did you stop?” 

Harry glanced up at Riddle, who had tossed the remark without lifting his eyes from the screen. The annoying, asshole-ish, and seductive Riddle who had toyed with him earlier was gone — he was back to his typical workaholic self.

“I actually finished a scene. Is this good?” Harry turned his laptop slightly, striving to act casual for his own sanity’s sake. After all, if Riddle could do it, so could he. “I sort of deleted and rewrote the entire masquerade ball scene.” 

He tensed as Riddle leaned in to view his laptop screen, his shoulder brushing Harry’s. “Better,” he said simply, his narrowed eyes rereading the scene at a high speed.  “You’ve given life to a scene that was bland in the first place.”

Harry blinked at the compliment before slowly smiling, rather pleased with himself for having drawn praise out of the reticent man.

“Copy that whole scene and shift it onto the document I’m editing.”

Harry nodded, Control-C copying the entire passage and navigating to the document where Riddle’s icon was showing (a picture of Riddle in sunglasses and golf attire, damn, why did he look so attractive in even the preppiest-looking outfits). He scrolled down until reaching the page where Riddle’s cursor was.

What Harry pasted via Control-V, however, was not the scene that he’d just finished rewriting.

I spread my legs under his watchful gaze, dipped my fingers into the waiting glass of lube, and began to stretch myself open before him. 

Shit. Harry froze in horror.

Marvolo’s eyes grew dark and heated, running over my form before settling on the area my fingers were penetrating. He licked his lips once, twice, before saying, “Turn over.”

His voice was low, thick with arousal, enough to make me submit to my own.

Harry furiously began to backspace, before giving up and trying to highlight the whole thing with his mouse. But right on cue, his shitty laptop decided to freeze his screen, and his mouse stopped working.

Oh.

Fucking.

Hell.

The sound of Riddle’s typing had long since stopped, but Harry kept his eyes on his laptop, determined to avert crisis before his boss noticed—

“What the hell is this, Harry?” 

Too late. 

Harry key-smashed in earnest, hoping something would make the keyboard start working once more. He pressed Alt+F4, just wanting to exit out of the application altogether. Riddle had already seen his writing at this point, he was going to be murdered anyways—  

But instead of pressing Alt+F4, he accidentally pressed Alt+Tab.

And instead of closing his current application, it switched to his other open tab—the incognito tab upon which he’d been watching gay porn earlier that day. The video was paused at the most incriminating position, in the most incriminating position—

Holy fucking shit, could someone please shoot him right now ? Why hadn’t he exited out of this shit earlier?

Harry turned to look at Riddle, hoping the man was still looking at his own laptop—good god, still looking at the written porn he’d accidentally pasted into the doc, because anything was better than what his Toshiba was showing—

No such luck.

The man was staring at Harry’s laptop screen, his features wiped blank once more, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing such things on his subordinate’s laptop.

Harry sobbed a bit inside and turned his screen away from his boss, key-smashing once more because that had really helped in the past, and the definition of insanity was definitely not doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

This time, he accidentally pressed the spacebar while key-smashing, and the video began to play. 

“Ha… ha… faster, fuck me faster…”

Harry removed his hands from his laptop and splayed them across his face. He couldn’t bear it—the shame. The humiliation. 

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of porn playing, he slowly turned to peek at Riddle through his fingers.

The man’s eyes were glued to Harry’s screen. 

His expression was blank — as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, as though he hadn’t yet fully processed exactly what was going on with Harry’s Toshiba. A few moments later, Riddle blinked slowly and resumed watching with visibly dawning incredulity… as if he’d never watched porn a day in his life. 

Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing the man look so surprised. He let out a sound — something halfway between awkward laughter and a sob.

Riddle’s eyes snapped to him.

And then he continued to stare at Harry, like he’d never seen him before, like he was the strangest creature alive.

“What… the… fuck?” Riddle breathed ominously, still looking at Harry disbelievingly, like he didn’t know what to do with him. 

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly frustrated beyond measure because life was not fair and what had he done to deserve this humiliation, this—

“Stop it. Now! ” his boss snarled, with more fury than disbelief coloring his voice now.

“YOU THINK I HAVEN’T TRIED?” Harry yelled back in Riddle’s face, which only seemed to make Riddle angrier but what ever, who cared if his voice was a little loud, if the neighbors heard them—

Shit. The neighbors.

“Then turn the bloody thing off! ” Riddle hissed, the anger in his voice making his words nearly indistinguishable in their sibilance. 

“I can’t, ” Harry cried, having given up on key-smashing and just staring despondently at the porn playing on his screen. “The manual power-off buttons don’t work—and neither does closing the laptop screen.”

Riddle stared at him. “Then how do you usually turn off your laptop?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Well… I… either it just, naturally dies… ”

They both looked at the screen, which showed 98% battery remaining. 

“Naturally… dies?” Riddle intoned dryly.

“Yes, Riddle!” Harry snapped. “Like a fucking human being.” 

He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. 

“Either that,” Harry continued, after a calming breath, “Or I navigate to the main menu and click the power-off button.” He glanced at his laptop once more, desensitized to the porn playing on it by this point. “And given that the keyboard — including the mouse — isn’t working…”

“HAAAAAAAAH!”

 “Okay, who even makes that much noise while being fucked.” Harry snapped, staring pointedly at the twink bottoming in the video, wishing the boy a slow and painful death. “It’s unseemly.”

“Someone having better sex than you ever have,” Riddle deadpanned, looking at the twink as well. And now they were both watching the porn together, and that was just really fucking weird.

Harry frowned, glaring at Riddle. “Yeah, probably, considering I’ve never had sex before.”

Riddle faced him back, his eyes boring holes into Harry’s skull. 

“You’re actually a virgin? ”

And then Harry looked at back Riddle — really looked at him, at the definition of his naked lower stomach, the sharp planes of his face, his broad shoulders — and remembered exactly who he was talking to.

But before he could spit out a worthy excuse, which would have been something along the lines of snide and dishonest, “Not for lack of opportunity,” he was interrupted by a very loud ejaculation.

“COOOMIIII—”

And then the noise ceased.

Harry gasped. The video was still playing; precisely one hour and forty-three minutes remained. But for some reason, the audio had disappeared.

“It stopped! ” He declared with great joy, clapping his hands together. “It stopped, it actually—”

There was a weird static sound from his bedside table. Once, twice. And then, because Harry had forgotten to switch off his laptop’s bluetooth after his mini-dance party earlier that day—

The porn video’s audio began blaring at full volume, this time magnified through the portable Bose speakers resting on his bedside table. 

And Harry would be lying if he didn’t think the whole inn could probably hear it.

“Uh… uh… uhngh…” 

“You like that, baby boy? I’ll fuck you a cream pie, just the way you like it.”

“Yes, daddy! UNH!”

Harry’s face reddened. The audio was so loud, and suddenly, it was difficult to ignore the things they were saying. He didn’t even want to imagine what Riddle was thinking, hearing all of this.

“Get this… stupid contraption… out of the room,” Riddle said slowly, dangerously calm — as if mentally counting to ten.

“HAAAHAAAH!”

His ears felt like they were about to burn off.

“HHHNNAHHHHHHH!” The twink, a blonde man who reminded Harry of his coworker Draco, arched his back off the mattress as he came a second time in the video.

“Oh, baby,” muttered the the other man performing. “We’re only getting started…”

Harry glanced at the sidebar. One hour and forty minutes of hellish torture left.

“Ooohhh, I wanna ride dick—big dick—” 

“That’s it,” Riddle said testily, grabbing for Harry’s laptop. It was only thanks to his fast reflexes that Harry managed to avoid Riddle. “Give it to me.”

Harry jumped off the bed, cradling his precious laptop in his arms.

Unfortunately, Riddle got up from the bed as well, eyeing Harry’s laptop with murderous intent. He was still wearing nothing but boxers, and tantalizingly naked skin came closer, and closer—

Harry stumbled backwards a few more steps, hastily placing his laptop on the desk behind him.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” He faced Riddle, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.

“Give it here ,” Riddle enunciated lowly, looking at him with a no-nonsense expression. “So I can toss your bloody laptop out of the window.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Hell no!” 

Riddle’s eyes seemed to glimmer red in the dim lighting, narrowing viciously. Recognizing the look, Harry instinctively straightened up, spreading his arms out in front of the desk to protect his Toshiba, his baby. 

“Stand aside, you silly boy… stand aside, now. ”

“Not my Toshiba, please no— ” 

Why was Harry feeling the strangest sense of… deja vu? And now Riddle was looking at him strangely once more, and Harry found he no longer had the energy to try and decipher— 

“You… are you quoting James Evans at me?”

Harry blinked slowly, before gasping. No wonder. “ You were quoting James Evans at me!”  

“Lord Slytherin, actually.”

They stood very still, staring into each other’s eyes as porn played in the background. 

Riddle’s eyes were glinting knowingly, which made Harry remember that the man had been the main editor for Roaring’s James Evans series and that, oh my god, he’d recently read some of Harry’s Jarvolo smut so he probably suspected—

“Right.” Harry said eventually, trying not to think about anything in particular. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m just going to stuff this laptop into the deepest, darkest corner of my suitcase and hope—”

Riddle held a hand to Harry’s mouth, cutting him off.

“Ah,” he said after a pause, his eyes wide. “We… are idiots.” 

He looked at Harry’s bedside table, the source of all the noise and all their problems. “We should be dealing with the speaker.”

Before Harry could stop him, Riddle was at his bedside table, picking up the bluetooth speaker and turning it in all directions. With a new feeling of dread, Harry realized exactly what he was looking for.

“There’s no power button,” he said, before clarifying, “It’s an auto-off speaker — only turning off once audio stops streaming from it.”

Riddle froze.

And then, with a newfound rage, his boss was stalking towards the only window in their room.

“NO— STOP !” Harry scrambled away from his laptop as Riddle’s hand attached to the window’s latch. No way, that jerk was not throwing out the precious speaker Sirius had given him for his birthday. God, this man had no concept of value — he may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but these electronics were all Harry had.

Riddle’s hand clenched tightly on the latch, his naked back to Harry as he continued to face the window. “Be grateful these innkeepers child-proofed the window—though, perhaps I should simply break it…”

Harry finally snatched his speaker back, holding it to his chest. And surprisingly, Riddle had made no movement to avoid Harry, nor even shown any reaction at all… 

He simply continued to stare out of the window for a few moments, oddly calm.

“Forget it,” Riddle said quietly, still turned away. “The whole inn has heard by now anyways. In fact, I’m surprised that no one has come knocking at our door yet…”

He tilted his head sideways, and Harry caught the assessing glint in his eyes. “Unless, of course, the innkeepers lied to us and there are no guests in this decrepit place—”

Riddle stopped talking halfway.

Because their room’s window was right next to the shared wall, and the wall was shaking… as if being pounded into—

And maybe it was because they’d been so caught up in their own affairs that they hadn’t noticed, but judging by the voices on the other side, this had been happening for a while.

“Hnnngh, honey I’m close — ah !”

A woman’s voice. 

She moaned again, and Harry flinched, snapping out of it.

“Something…” His voice was faint, “Something tells me our neighbors don’t mind.”

The wall was shaking again — a minor sort of quaking that would not have been visible nor tangible from their bed. But the reason behind it was painfully clear. 

The woman moaned again, even louder, and Riddle hissed in displeasure as Harry held his hands up to his ears.

“Oh my fucking—”

“Don’t… ” Riddle’s voice was strangled, “Don’t say that word. This inn is cursed.”

Harry shuddered. “Agreed.”

And without facing further protest, he stuffed the laptop and his speaker into the deepest corner of his stuffed suitcase. It seemed Riddle was just as drained as him, because he didn’t even argue when Harry slid into bed next to him. 

He wrapped himself in the blankets, burying his face into a pillow. At least the couple next door wasn’t audible from here.

Ironically, the stressful accident of playing porn in front of his boss had successfully gotten rid of his boner at some point. 

Harry closed his eyes, willing away thoughts of what had occurred in the past few hours. 

With the sounds of two men fucking still playing faintly from his suitcase, he finally fell asleep.

.          .          .

The writer’s convention was hectic.

Potential authors had been throwing their manuscripts left and right at him, pitching their story concepts at the Morsmordre booth and leaving before Harry had even finished absorbing the previous two. And now there was a huge pile of unread manuscripts and Harry was so behind—

“Faster, ” Riddle hissed into his ear, as the latest writer left their booth. “You’ll never become an editor if you read this slowly.” 

Harry bit back a scowl. “Sorry, sir, ” he forced himself to say. Even though he was the one reading every single manuscript, filtering them by his boss’s criteria, while Riddle was only reading the ones in the ‘ good pile.’

Riddle’s eyes flashed, undoubtedly picking up Harry’s sarcasm. But anything he might have said was interrupted by the announcement that lunch break was now in session. 

Bless. Harry jumped up and walked away with a “later, boss” before Riddle could protest, making his way to the Indian take-out line.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he swiped into his phone. Being around Riddle was exhausting, and he was already drained from last night. And while neither of them had mentioned last night’s Porn Scare this morning (and what an awkward morning they’d had), many incriminating details about Harry’s life had just been put out there on display, in front of the one person he would never have wanted to see them and… 

Yes, Harry was definitely stressed for multiple reasons right now.

At least he was doing something he enjoyed this time. Editing and scouting talent was somewhat tedious at times, but nevertheless, satisfying overall.

As he sat down at a table alone and started digging into his spicy samosa chaat, his phone buzzed with a Discord notification.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Well, no need to explain.

Harry paused in confusion, his eyes traveling upwards for context. Explain wh—?

[Yesterday at 1:36 AM]

>> lightning_boi: They drove me nuts.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: More like they drove you to nut.

>> lightning_boi: Nutting? God, I wish.

Oh. 

Harry’s face began to redden. Explain the fact that Harry had stated his desire to ejaculate to Voldemort’s works… while under the haze of a hard-on and caught up in many other factors.

Right. Thanks, Lord Voldemort. Hopefully, the period at the end was more of a grammatical thing and less of a passive-aggressive statement.

>> lightning_boi: Ah, thanks. I was in a difficult position last night, so thanks for understanding.

Harry sent the message, drumming his fingers against the cafeteria table while trying to come up with something better to say.

>> lightning_boi: So how are yo| [Send]

He started deleting his message, disgusted with himself. Engaging in small talk with his favorite author would be a disgrace.

So, instead, because Harry was genuinely interested—

>> lightning_boi: So how’s writing been going for you?

At last, Lord_Voldemort_ began typing back.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Quite well. I’m on track to publish my next chapter next week, but my green-eyed monster is being rather difficult.

Harry reread the message, eyes narrowing.

>> lightning_boi: Your green-eyed monster — as in, your chapter?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: No. As in… my actual green-eyed monster. My muse… and my coworker.

Harry grinned.

>> lightning_boi: You weren’t lying when you said you projected, huh?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I’d be lying if I said I didn’t project.

He huffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes upward.

>> lightning_boi: Stop speaking in riddles. You’re not the only one who projects.

Harry glanced away, to where Riddle was standing in line, waiting for Italian food. The man was staring intently at his phone.

>> lightning_boi: I, too… have a boss from hell.

Harry glanced at his boss again… frowning when he realized that Riddle was smiling down at his phone. No doubt about it — he was clearly chatting with the same person from last night.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: What a dramatic little boy you are.

Harry’s mouth quirked. With a hint of daring, he sent:

>> lightning_boi: You like it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry glanced at Riddle once more. It was habit by this point, really. Call it survival instinct… or even human nature. Most eyes in a room tended to be drawn to Riddle anyways, given how tall and handsome he was.

What was not habit, however, was the way Riddle’s ears had turned positively pink.

The man was still staring at his phone.

Blood rushed in Harry’s ears. He nearly stood up. There was a growling beast in his chest and he didn’t know what to make of it. But it was definitely displeased with the way Riddle was staring down at his phone screen… nearly blushing at words written by some random chick .

His pinging phone snapped him out of his craze, stopping him before he could do something stupid like stalking up to the bastard. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I do. Want to be my new muse?

Voldemort knocked the breath out of him.

Harry felt his own cheeks burn.

>> lightning_boi: I do (~˘▾˘)~

>> lightning_boi: Look at us, saying our vows already.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: You’ll be Chained to me before you know it.

Harry sucked in a breath, completely caught off guard. That… was the name of one of his fanfics.

>> lightning_boi: Did you just… pun me? With my own work?

And then, with more vigor—

>> lightning_boi: Was that a Freudian Slip or an intentional innuendo?

At this point, their messages were rapid-fire. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Well, Paranoia and Puns happen to be my specialty.

Harry grinned like a fool. Of course they were, Mr. Nevermind the end.

>> lightning_boi: Oh, my Lord, you’re playing A Dangerous Game here. There’s No Glory in low quality puns. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: No worries, sweetheart, I happen to have a Sickly-Sweet Obsession with wordplay . It is Unlikely that you will be able to keep up.

Harry smirked.

>> lightning_boi: For Your Approval, Sir? I’ll do anything to keep up.

And thus began their punfest, with references blending into their conversation so seamlessly only a Jarvolo fan would be able to pick them out.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: So it seems your next update for the Office AU is Unplanned.

>> lightning_boi: Yeah, what can I say? Words Fail me.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Again and Again.

>> lightning_boi: Hey!

Harry muffled his laughter.

He was deeply offended. He could not stop smiling. What was this insanity? 

>> lightning_boi: I never said I would Abandon it!

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Oh, small mercies. 

>> lightning_boi: Seriously, though. I haven’t been able to write lately… I think I need a Diagnosis. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Writer’s block can be cured by anything… even The Love of a Good Wizard.

Harry’s chest began to thump wildly.

>> lightning_boi: Are you offering, Lord Voldemort? We’ve already said our marriage vows, after all. 

There was a pause on the chat.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I wouldn’t mind The Consequences of a Binding Ritual… if I was bound to you.

Harry put a hand up to his mouth, eyes wide.

This was starting to feel more… serious. And he wasn’t good at that sort of thing.

So he switched back to their previous topic.

>> lightning_boi: Well, writer’s block isn’t the only thing holding me back. Some of my earlier chapters are actual trash — they need to be Rewritten at some point.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I’ll give you 47 Days to Change them.

Harry’s eyebrows rose.

>> lightning_boi: And if it takes me longer?

Another pause on the chat. Then—

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Then I won’t beta for you.

Harry spluttered on his spicy chaat, his throat burning and mouth suddenly too parched for multiple reasons.

>> lightning_boi: you

>> lightning_boi: you were going to offer?

>> lightning_boi: oh my|  [Send]

“Harry?” 

“God!” Harry finished out loud, startling at the sound of Riddle’s voice so close to him. As usual, the man had crept on him from behind. “Ridd— sir, a bit more warning please!”

Riddle stared down at him, his mouth drawn tight with displeasure. None of his attitude detracted from deliciously distracting way his suit flattered his form. His shoulders somehow appeared even broader, crisper in the outfit. 

His boss hadn’t shaved this morning either, but the five o’clock shadow he sported was… mouthwatering… 

“You’re behind on the pile of manuscripts. Now is a good time to catch up—before the writers reconvene.”

Now was a good time, indeed. Now—his only break between now and the end of the convention.

“Of course, sir,” Harry sighed, cracking his knuckles and picking up his tray. It was a good thing he was enjoying his work — otherwise, Riddle’s workaholic tendencies would have been utterly unbearable.

Back to work, then.

.          .          .

It was half past midnight when they finished.

The actual writer’s convention itself had ended hours ago, right before six in the evening. But Riddle had declared that they wouldn’t leave until they’d finished looking through every single manuscript.

Even when the booths were being cleaned up and packed away, his boss had simply found them an empty meeting room in which to continue working.

And now the building was completely empty… completely dark, save for the room they were working in.

“Done,” Harry said softly, pushing his laptop away from him and leaning his head upon his palms. He rubbed his eyes sleepily beneath his glasses, his vision blurry from all the manuscripts he’d read.

“Is that the last pile?” Riddle’s voice sounded in front of him, hoarse and rough. 

Harry nodded as he got up, stuffing the pile into his backpack. “Yes—the rest are rejected manuscripts.” He picked up the rejections, stuffing them in the nearest recycling bin.

“And have you sent out emails to the writers we’re considering?”

Harry nodded again, yawning. “Yes, sir.” 

He walked forward a few steps before he was suddenly overcome by dizziness. Closing his eyes as he swayed on his feet, Harry reached out a hand to place against the wall, leaning against it.

A nice, warm wall.

“Harry, ” a soft voice murmured, with clear amusement, but Harry ignored it. He was warm, and so very… comfortable…  

After a few moments, warm hands grabbed Harry’s wrists, removing them with surprising gentleness. 

“The elevator is here.” Fingers flicked his forehead, and the soft voice grew firmer. “Wake up. ”

His eyes opened on command.

“Euurgh!” Harry jumped away from Riddle, whom he’d been leaning against, clutching at like a lifeline. How embarrassing. “Why didn’t wake me?”

Riddle raised his eyebrows explanatorily, and that was all the response Harry needed to flush twice as hard.  

As they got into the elevator, the older man pressed the button to the parking garage floor and turned to face Harry. “I got us separate rooms at the Hilton not too far from here.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling himself warm at the mere thought of luxury and privacy. “Thank you.”

They stayed quiet as the lift fell shut and started moving downwards, more out of tiredness than awkwardness by this point. And that familiar vertigo hit him once more, but Harry suppressed it, focusing on the ever-decreasing floor number displayed above the closed doors.

Nine… eight… sev—

The elevator jerked to a stop.

The lights went out completely, submerging them in darkness.

Chapter Text

The elevator jerked to a stop.

The lights went out completely, submerging them in darkness.

For a split second, Harry was frozen in fear. Brief flashes of an entirely different darkness came to mind — of his makeshift bed on the ground, his dark cupboard under the stairs. 

Then he spun into action, grabbing his phone from his back pocket and switching on the flashlight. 

“Riddle!” he gasped frantically, waving his device around before training it on his boss’s form. “The elevator stopped.” 

“No, really?” Riddle intoned with heavy sarcasm, though there seemed to be an underlying tension in his voice, as if he were gritting his teeth. And now that Harry was looking at him, he found the older man oddly still and almost… stiff.

Stiff. God, Harry’s muscles were so stiff from editing until midnight. He’d been fantasizing about lying in a bed for the past couple of hours, and now this happened?

Was his life a fucking joke?

Harry briefly checked his phone screen, dread pooling in his stomach as he confirmed he had neither signal nor Wi-Fi in the foreign country. Without further ado, he flashed his phone’s light on the elevator buttons and pressed one of them.

It didn’t light up. He pressed it again, along with the call button; nothing happened.

Harry stared blankly at the series of buttons, drained and deadened.

A sudden burst of frustration hit him — a flurry of long-held, bubbling-up of emotions rising with it. He was tired, hungry, aching. He’d been suppressing last night’s porn incident all day, and it had been emotionally-draining. There were so many elephants in the room — in the elevator — that he couldn’t even begin to count them.

Harry began banging on all the buttons in earnest.

A large hand firmly gripped his wrist, twisting it behind his back.

“You fool,” Riddle breathed down the back of Harry’s neck from behind him, causing a slight shiver to run down Harry’s spine. “Do you want to die?”

“Well, I’d rather not stay and suffoc— aghb. ” Harry cut himself off at the painful squeeze dealt to his trapped arm, his eyes smarting as nails dug into his skin.

“ Bastard, ” Harry gasped, narrowing his eyes and slamming his right heel down onto Riddle’s toe in response. “Get the fuck away—”

Riddle roughly shoved him head-first into the elevator wall, ending all discussion. Harry groaned in agony, his head throbbing and vision blurrier than ever. He’d lost his glasses at some point, which only made him feel dizzier.

Still holding Harry’s arm behind his back, Riddle leaned in closer and spoke his next words slowly and clearly.

“We are currently suspended seven floors above ground level by mere cables.” There was a dangerous undertone to his low voice, loaded with irritation and something… else . “This is an old building, so I suspect the cables are easily breakable. Attempt to refrain from your usual idiocy and listen to me for once .”

The last few words Riddle spoke hinted at an unfamiliar desperation that finally made Harry stop struggling, his temper calming as realization quickly washed over him.

“You’re afraid,” Harry whispered.

Silence.

Not a sound was made, save for ragged breathing that could have belonged to either of them.

“You’re… afraid…” Harry repeated in disbelief, still getting over his surprise at witnessing Riddle act less than infallible. “Afraid to die—”

“Most sane people are, yes,” Riddle said curtly, releasing Harry’s arm. Harry felt the taller man take a few steps back. He saw light reflect off of the silvery elevator walls as Riddle swiped at his phone.

“I don’t have signal or data either,” Riddle sighed, pausing before continuing. “Given that this is an office building and tomorrow is Monday, it is likely that the elevator will be fixed by morning at the latest.”

Harry turned around to face Riddle’s dimly-lit face. “So, you’re suggesting we should spend the night here?”

“It’s not a suggestion, ” Riddle replied bitingly, his eyes flashing bitterly. “We have no other choice.”

They stood in silence for a while, looking down at their useless phones. Harry eventually clicked his phone off when it reached ten percent battery, only using it as a flashlight. 

After what seemed like hours but was probably mere minutes, he sat down on the elevator floor, leaning back against the wall and hitching one knee up.

It wasn’t long before Riddle did the same, against the opposing wall. 

And then he continued to stare at Harry with an intense, uncomfortable sort of focus that Harry found he could not keep ignoring.

“ What?” Harry snapped, rubbing at his freezing arms.

Riddle narrowed his eyes, though his mouth remained relaxed. 

“For some reason, I thought you’d be more…. claustrophobic.”

Harry stared.

“I… I don’t know why you thought that… ” He trailed off, flashes of a dark cupboard and locked door coming to mind before Harry shoved them away. He rubbed his neck, turning his face away from Riddle.

“I used to be. Not anymore,” he finished tersely, briefly wondering why Riddle would have suspected that. Then he laid down completely on the elevator floor, facing the wall and away from Riddle.   

Harry eventually dozed off for a bit, but he was unable to remain asleep in the cold, metallic, and rather tense environment of the elevator. And then, after waking up for the second time, he began to panic once again. It hadn’t hit him how inconvenient this elevator trap was until he began to think about how it would affect work.

“You weren’t able to cancel our reservation at the Hilton,” Harry confirmed, trying not to sound accusatory. 

“No signal,” Riddle replied shortly, slipping more and more into illiterate caveman-mode as the night grew older.

“Right,” Harry nodded to himself. “As soon as we’re out, I’ll call E. L. Thames and reschedule our meeting with her accordingly.” 

Riddle snorted.

Harry froze in surprise. 

“What?” he demanded, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that prim, pristine Riddle had made such an undignified sound.

“This author… E. L. Thames,” Riddle began, pausing shortly, “is a joke. Meeting with her is a joke, my father is an asshole.” He glanced upward, his low voice growing quiet and scathing. “ He mocks me .”

Harry blinked, unprepared for the slightly incoherent burst of honesty from his boss. 

“I’m not sure—”

“Isn’t it funny,” Riddle continued, his voice once again calm, his tone speculative and unhumorous, “how books like Fifty Shades become bestsellers when thousands of better ones fail to?”

Harry tilted his head slowly, looking directly at Riddle.

His boss wasn’t wrong; they’d spent plenty of time making fun of the author’s writing and character development choices on the flight to London. But why was Riddle taking it so personally?

“Well, you of all people should know, seeing as how you have a degree in Business… ” Harry began cautiously. When Riddle raised his eyebrows and gestured for him to keep going, he let out a deep breath and continued.

“A lot of it is marketing. It also depends on the genre. Some genres do really well, depending on the current sentiment.” Harry drummed his fingers against his knees, vaguely remembering the research he’d done years ago back when he’d naively thought of writing his own bestseller. 

“For example, fantasy series — especially those with a lot of world-building,” like James Evans and Peter Jackson, “did really well in the early 2000s. Dystopian series like Divergent and Red Queen did really well in the mid-2010s… ”

Riddle waved a hand, cutting Harry off before training him with a piercing, almost daring gaze.  

“And Fifty Shades? ”

Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered bringing up the topic. It was a slightly inappropriate subject for small talk with one’s boss, now that he thought about it… 

Screw it.

“Sex sells.” Harry said shortly. “People will always be fascinated by sex. And Fifty Shades of Purple  doesn’t just have sex — it revolves around sex. The plot is sex. That’s what makes it different—”

His phone light suddenly died, and the elevator went completely dark once more. 

And just like that, as if his phone dying had been some sort of wake-up call, Harry stopped talking abruptly. Because talking about sex in a completely dark, enclosed space with Tom Riddle… was suddenly too much.

God, he’d said the word ‘sex’ way too many times in the past five seconds. 

Harry’s face was burning, and he thanked the stars that the elevator was now pitch black. 

“Right.” Harry looked vaguely in Riddle’s direction, unable to see that man’s face. He attempted to change the topic. “So, my phone just died…” 

There was a distinctive click as Riddle switched on the flashlight from his iPhone Pro Max… displaying a brightened phone screen showing ‘78% battery left.’

Harry’s mouth dropped. What a douchebag. Here he’d been, sacrificing his low-battery phone for the sake of a flashlight when Riddle’s phone was nearly fully-charged!

And then Harry’s gaze travelled upwards, and his mouth went completely dry.

Because now that the flashlight was in Riddle’s hands, the man’s face was illuminated, and the way Riddle was looking at him… 

Darkened eyes gazed at him below long eyelashes, heavy with unmistakable, challenging intent. Black curls played along the curve of his eyebrows, artfully messy… unlike the neat, pristine curl of his softly smirking mouth. 

“And how about you, Harry?” Riddle breathed tauntingly, his lids drooping heavily. “Are you fascinated by sex?”

Harry’s right hand slowly curled into a fist in his lap. Alarm bells rung in his head, though he didn’t need intuition to know that this was rapidly becoming a case of workplace sexual harassment. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” Harry said quietly.

“Oh, there are plenty of other things we can talk about.” Riddle’s gaze grew knowing, heavy, and it was exactly the kind of look that Harry had been attempting to avoid all day.

“Like the fact that you apparently watch gay porn in your free time.”

Harry flinched at the reminder of last night, a deep, mind-numbing sensation of horror dawning at the pit of his stomach as his heart began to race.

“Right, about that,” Harry said faintly. “Only, like, three people including family,” the Dursleys didn’t count, “know I’m gay,” in real life, at least, “so I’d really appreciate it if you kept that under wraps—”

Riddle smirked. “Why should I?”

Harry stayed quiet. His stomach began to churn, and he swallowed the rising bile in his throat. The Dursleys had already ruined his childhood over the fact that he was nothing but a FREAK, and he couldn’t… couldn’t afford to let it get out that he wasn’t straight. 

“Just don’t talk about it, please,” Harry repeated, fainter than ever. 

But the one thing that wasn’t quiet about him was his breathing… because it was starting to come faster, and faster, and then suddenly he was gasping and there was no breath coming in—

A warm, strong hand grasped Harry’s shoulder, grounding him back in reality.

 “Don’t worry,” Riddle said quietly, casually, “I’m not that interested in ruining your life.” 

Right, Harry thought sarcastically. How reassuring. And yet, his breathing began to slow down. The way Riddle phrased things — it’s like he expected a ‘thank you’ for being a decent human being.

“But for the record,” Riddle said lazily, “I agree.”

Harry blinked.

“About what?” 

Riddle tilted his head, keeping his eyes closely trained on Harry. “That sex sells. Timelessly. That’s why people watch porn, read novels like Fifty Shades… ”

His eyes glinted like sharpened knives.

“That’s why they read fanfiction.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his breath picking up pace. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

“Where there’s a market, there are people willing to provide the content,” Riddle continued on calmly, looking down casually at his phone screen as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. 

Then Riddle shifted his eyes to Harry once more, piercing him with that knowing gaze and dropping another bomb. 

“And that…” Riddle stared at Harry, almost triumphantly, “is why people write fanfiction.”

Harry physically flinched, the back of his head striking the elevator wall. Millions of thoughts and alarm bells were ringing in his head, in every part of his body, but he couldn’t process a single one. He was in a state beyond thought — he was experiencing complete panic, and most unfortunately, he couldn’t even emergency-evacuate this damn elevator.

“Er…” Harry began shakily, digging himself into his corner of the elevator as much as physically possible. “Very… interesting… analysis… ”

Riddle just stared at him in dark amusement, one eyebrow raised as he drew out Harry’s torture. Because all Harry could think was, fuck, he knows, fuck fuck fuck—

“Well,” Riddle said eventually, his tone viciously smug, “Anyways… ”

The way his voice trailed off suggestively, ominously, was Harry’s breaking point.

For some reason, the fact that Riddle definitely knew about Harry’s fanfiction addiction but refused to say a word —  to just confront him — was beyond stressful. It was painful.

Harry was sick of it. Sick of him.

“Stop playing your fucking games,” Harry bit out shortly.

Riddle’s amused smirk disappeared into a stone coldness that would have made him flinch had he not been so done with the man.

“I work hard,” Harry said quietly. “I get the job done and I’m an all around decent personal assistant. You can argue otherwise, but there’s a reason you’ve kept me around so long.” 

He took a deep breath, tensing as he awaited interruption. When none occurred, he continued.

“That said, the way you constantly insult and make fun of me — it is tiring, Riddle.” Harry looked up determinedly at Riddle — practically a silhouette in the darkness. 

“Let’s not beat around the bush: you probably know that I read smutty queer James Evans fanfiction, and you may even suspect that I write some as well.” Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “So now that it’s all out in the open, can you please stop using it against me? I have no desire to have my personal life conflict with my professional life any more than it already has. I hope you can respect that.”

Harry stared into the darkness at the vaguely Riddle-shaped form at the other side of the elevator, his jaw clenched stubbornly.

Riddle cleared his throat after a long silence and began to speak.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened next.

“ Marvolo’s eyes ,” Riddle sighed dramatically, his voice pitched high, “ grew dark and heated, running over my form before— ”

Fuck. Harry froze in horror. 

Riddle was reciting lines from Harry’s future fanfiction chapter… the very lines Harry had pasted into the editing document last night. And why the fuck did he even remember all of that?

Of course, leave it to Riddle to have photographic memory.

“ —settling on the area my fingers— ”

Harry held his hands up to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and suppressing the urge to scream incoherently. “SHUT UPPP! I BEG YOU!” 

He couldn’t handle the shame, he couldn’t handle this situation—

Riddle continued on mercilessly, his eyebrow quirking. “— were penetrating —”

“ STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!”

  Harry took a deep breath before continuing to moan loudly in protest, trying to drown out Riddle’s next words. “ STOOOOOOO— ”

A hand clamped down on his mouth, and Harry’s eyes flew open. Riddle was way too close to him, kneeling in front of Harry’s crouched up figure.

And the man was laughing, genuinely smiling. Harry might have been more shocked if he weren’t so embarrassed.

“Alright —  now it’s ‘all out in the open’,” Riddle breathed out while making air quotations with his fingers, half laughing. “And if I’d known you’d react this way, I would have brought it up much earlier than you did.”

“I hate you, ” Harry moaned, breathing hard, still keeping his hands over his ears despite being able to hear everything. God, he was unbearably embarrassed. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if being blind would help him escape his boss. “You’re so horrible to me—you have been all this time, ever since I joined—”

“Harry,” Riddle said firmly. “Listen—”

“Always threatening to fire me because my tie isn’t the right color—”

“Harry—”

“Or because I haven’t completed a report that my degree doesn’t even qualify me to complete. I mean, come on, I fucking hate math—”

“Potter—”

“And I just can’t deal with it, with you —  sometimes looking down on me like I’m the concrete below your shoes, and other times…  ” Harry trailed off, his voice going soft and uncertain. “Other times, looking at me like…” 

“Like?” Riddle prompted, his tone serious.

Harry stiffened, clenching his jaw to keep himself from saying the wrong thing.

Like you want me. But in a hateful, get-you-out-of-my-system way.

Harry thought back to the way Riddle had treated him back in the office, remembering the heated glances Riddle would throw his way while berating Harry for not wearing a tie or for messing up a report.

Like I’m a piece of meat, and you want to play with me a bit before throwing me away. 

Harry didn’t respond. Because the fact that they hated each other — but clearly wanted each other — was yet another elephant he very much wanted to avoid.

“Harry,” Riddle sighed after a moment. “I don’t hate you.”

Harry gave a mirthless, disbelieving chuckle.

“Then why do you treat me like that?”

“Open your eyes, and I’ll tell you.”

Harry reluctantly opened them.

Riddle was kneeling in front of him, in a posture that would likely stretch the knees of his trousers by tomorrow morning. His arms were balanced against both walls on each side of the corner where Harry was sitting, in a way that should have felt suffocating but felt oddly comforting instead.

The other man had taken off his coat at some point, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. His hair was disheveled, and a flurry of wavy curls was falling over one side of his forehead. His lower lip was slightly swollen, as if he’d been biting it. The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow was speckling his strong jaw, which was clenched and tense for some reason.

Harry had never seen the man looking like more of a mess in his life.

Riddle was fucking gorgeous.

“ Ugh.” Harry banged his head back into the walls of the elevator corner, looking upwards to avoid looking at him any longer. “As usual, you have no sense of personal space whatsoever—”

A hand gripped Harry’s jaw and pulled it down, so that Harry was looking directly at Riddle.

Dark eyes looked into his with a strange mixture of exasperation, amusement, and seriousness.

“Patience,” Riddle murmured somewhat patronizingly, causing Harry to bristle and nearly pull himself away. “Look at you, always in a hurry.” He traced Harry’s jaw with his thumb. “Never willing to listen or… understand… ”

Riddle leaned in, his forehead nearly touching Harry’s, and closed his eyes. Harry froze, too shocked to pull away. 

And then Riddle whispered, nearly hissing,

“Do you know how much you frustrate me? ”

Harry’s breath hitched — at the words, at Riddle’s proximity, and at the sensation of Riddle’s exhalation washing over his skin.

“What…” Harry’s voice was hoarse. “What do you mean? You’re the frustrating one — always demanding this and that—”

Riddle opened his eyes and leaned back slightly.

“Not nearly as frustrating as you are,” Riddle scoffed, though his mouth was curved into a soft smile. 

“In what way?” Harry demanded defensively.

“In every way,” Riddle murmured, his eyes not leaving Harry’s… as if daring Harry to break eye contact. 

Harry swallowed dryly under the man’s watchful gaze.

“Your eyes are frustrating,” Riddle continued. “So expressive and emotional. I used to find it distasteful — the way they displayed everything so freely. But now I just find them magnetic.”

Riddle paused after that, continuing to look at Harry as if searching for an indication of Harry’s sentiments.

When Harry, rendered speechless, gave none, Riddle kept going.

“And your mouth,” Riddle exhaled, chuckling under his breath. “So goddamn irritating — always moving and talking and sucking lollipops nonstop.” His eyes grew even more heated. “I have no choice but to keep… looking at it. ”

Riddle ran his thumb over Harry’s lower lip, and Harry lost half of his brain cells. 

“What are you trying to tell me?” Harry gasped, capturing Riddle’s wandering hand in his own and clasping it firmly. God, was Harry delirious? Was this actually happening?

“I’m trying to tell you,” Riddle said, looking at Harry with an unbelievably soft expression, “that you’re gorgeous in every way and that you shouldn’t take everything I do so personally, just because you’re in love with me.”

Harry blinked.

Riddle snorted.

And then, with rage bubbling up in his stomach once more, he pushed the man away and let out the incoherent scream that had been waiting to come out.

“AM I JOKE TO YOU?” Harry scream-cried, watching as Riddle doubled over with a wild sort of laughter that he’d never seen the man succumb to in his life.

“Just passing time, sweetheart . What else?” Riddle bit out between bursts of that unfamiliar-sounding laughter. It sounded rough, hoarse, uneven — imperfect yet strangely adorable. 

It was stupid how the man could be adorable even at moments like this. Because while part of him wanted to quietly admire the man, the rest of him wanted to bang his head against the elevator doors. He wanted to scream.  

Riddle’s eyes were gleaming with mirth as he stood to his feet, straightening his sleeves and running a hand through his hair. “Now, now, before you get all worked up again,” his head turned towards the elevator door, “people are here—”

“W-wait — what?” Harry stood to his feet as well. “I thought you weren’t able to get a signal… ”

“—So you might as well dust yourself off and try to look half-way decent.”

Right on cue, the elevator door opened and Riddle’s face was wiped blank once more.

 “You can jump that far, right?” sounded a call from a dozen feet away.

Riddle held up a hand. “Absolutely. Thanks for fixing it — I was worried that no one would be coming so late.” Then, without a backward glance, “Are you coming, Potter?”

If Harry’s footsteps were louder than usual, no one seemed to notice.

But as Harry passed by his boss, refusing to look him in the eye, Riddle’s mirthful, ever-suggestive whisper of, “Back to the hotel then, sweetheart , ” had him nearly dropping everything and strangling his boss right there and then.

.          .          .

Thankfully, they were able to check into the nice Hilton room Riddle had reserved. They’d only been stuck in the elevator for an hour and a half, which Harry — through all his delirium — had been very shocked to hear.

Now, as he was showering after the long day, fuming as much as the water he was standing beneath, Harry came to a couple of conclusions about his boss.

One — Riddle was an excellent liar and couldn’t be trusted.

This had become very obvious because of how Riddle had shamelessly played him in the elevator — not only fiddling with Harry’s feelings, but also lying about a lack of connection when clearly he’d been able to somehow get in touch with an elevator technician. 

Still, the signs had always been there. The way he schmoozed Hepzibah Smith, and many other older female clients on a regular basis, was quite telling. Riddle could be charming when he wanted, and that’s what made him so dangerous.

No, Harry definitely couldn’t trust him.

Two — Riddle knew Harry wrote fanfiction. 

… Which made Number One quite the issue. Because if it got out that Harry wrote gay romance in his freetime, that was it. He was quitting and finding a new job.

It was a wonder he hadn’t quit as soon as Riddle found out.

Three — 

Riddle was about to get both of them fired.

“There’s no need to reschedule the meeting with E. L. Thames,” Riddle stated while Harry was drying his hair post-shower.

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “So we’re gonna let a fifty-million dollar deal go? Just like that?”

Riddle nodded, continuing to pack up his stuff. He began stuffing all the free shampoos into his day bag—

Wait a second.

“Why are you packing now?” Harry asked, pausing in his hair drying.

“We’re leaving,” Riddle said shortly, briefly checking the watch on his wrist. “In half an hour.”

Harry blinked, no longer having the energy to freak out.

“But why?”

But why, was a question that remained unanswered two hours later, with Harry and Tom stuffed into a car with their luggage in the back.

It was a stormy gray night. Few cars were out on the roads past midnight. They’d been driving on an empty freeway for the last half hour, and Harry was both physically and mentally exhausted by this point.

One hour in, Harry could no longer keep himself awake in the passenger seat. He took a nap, waking up after what seemed to be a short time but had probably been a few hours… judging by the fact that the sky seemed to have lightened up a bit.

And now, he was more worried that Riddle would fall asleep while driving. The man may seem inhuman at times, but there was only so much a person could take.

Harry slid his eyes over to Riddle. The man appeared alert, strangely full of life and vigor for someone who’d been driving all night. Something had been on his mind since he’d said they were leaving the hotel, and Harry didn’t have a clue what the older man was thinking.

“You’re not tired?” Harry asked quietly, yawning and feeling his eyes start to droop once again.

Riddle glanced briefly in his direction. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Harry stopped mid-yawn, staring at his boss in disbelief. “Sleep is for humans, boss. Which you are, despite your best efforts to not act like one.” He shook his head. “And why did we have to leave that perfectly nice hotel room?”

What the hell is on your mind, Riddle?

Riddle bit his lower lip, his hands flexing on the wheel. Even half-asleep, Harry had to admit the man looked good while driving.

“I have something to take care of.” His jaw flexed. “The real reason my dad sent me back here.”

“And what is that?”

Riddle gave a small, close-lipped smile. “Unfinished business.”

Harry turned away from Riddle, mystified by his secretive responses. It was funny how a man like him had become an editor; in Harry’s honest opinion, Riddle would be a terrible writer, given how utterly terrible he was at communicating.

He squinted out of the window in an effort to distract himself, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. Now that there was some more light, Harry could finally see his surroundings a bit better.

The town was rather old-fashioned-looking. Green fields seemed to stretch out from the cobblestone roads they were driving upon. Small shops populated the sides of the roads, and greenery seemed to be growing out of the oddest places — in the cracks of the walls, along the edges of the roads.

And as they drove further and took a turn onto a wider road, Harry read a sign on the roadside. It was gray and shabby, yet oddly charming.

‘ Welcome to Little Hangleton’

Chapter Text

A bright warmth shined upon his face.

Harry turned away in protest, keeping his eyes closed as he grasped under his pillow for his phone and glasses. He groaned at the distinctive thud of his phone falling onto the wooden floor. And when he dropped an arm down from the bed, attempting to graze the floor for his iPhone 5...

An even larger thud followed as he fell from the bed, landing right on top of his phone.

Right on cue, the door clicked open, shattering any illusion of freedom and privacy.

“Mr. Potter,” the dark-haired man said, his voice tinged with polite disapproval. “Do you require assistance?”

Harry opened his sleepy, puffy eyes to squint at the blurry man.

“I’m good, thanks,” he replied hoarsely, watching as the servant gave a slow nod of acknowledgement before closing the door on him.

Harry dropped his head back to the floor and sighed tiredly. For all the luxuries of Riddle Manor, its house staff were nosy and meddlesome; he couldn’t so much as piss without them hearing of it. He could feel their eyes constantly boring into his back, unwelcoming and judgmental, as if they were waiting for him to mess up…

He was severely outnumbered by the twelve of them; Lord knew why the Riddles needed so many staff when they both stayed in the U.S.

And that was twelve not including Tom Riddle himself, who had been absent ever since he’d dropped Harry off to the East Wing of Riddle Manor and strictly instructed Harry not to leave or bother him for the next week.

Harry yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms above him. 

Well, time for another paid day of vacation.

He usually started off the day with a fancy breakfast, followed by hours of reading fan fiction. After lunch, he would try his hand at fan art. By three o’clock in the afternoon, he typically worked up the courage to open up a blank Google Docs in hopes of writing something… only to give up by four, at which point he would go on Discord to distract himself with fandom stuff.

Life was good.

… if not slightly lonely.

He tried FaceTiming Ron, but that didn’t go as expected.

“What the fuck? ” Harry blurted out. He watched, bug-eyed and thoroughly confused, as Hermione tucked herself against Ron, hiding under the blankets. “In bed? Together? ”

Hermione bit her lip nervously.

“We had been planning to tell you, Harry.”

“Yeah, mate!” Ron exclaimed earnestly, while shielding Hermione’s body with his shoulder. “It’s just that, lately, you’ve been so stressed about Riddle.”

“And we didn’t want to burden you!” Hermione ended weakly.

Harry immediately demanded an explanation. Apparently, Head_Girl and Roonil_Wazlib had decided to video call on Discord, and had been surprised to discover that they’d already met in real life. Through Harry.

“And I can’t believe you kept our identities a secret from each other,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and sitting up. Thankfully, she’d gotten dressed sometime during the call.

“Me neither,” Ron looked over at the brunette affectionately. “Who would have guessed Head Girl is so beautiful.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh, shut up, Officer.”

Then they started making eyes at each other, and that was when Harry decided to end the call, feeling distinctly single. 

To distract himself, he logged onto Discord.

His eyes stalled on his DMs thread with Voldemort, his fingers itching to swipe in and message the man. Part of him still couldn’t believe that he’d had whole conversations with his favorite author. He’d scrolled through them so many times over the last few days, smiling to himself.

But whenever Harry resolved to actually message Voldemort, his mind went blank. As much as the other writer filled him with excitement, he also made Harry nervous. And Harry knew he was overthinking his communication with Voldemort at this point. But he couldn’t think of anything… worthy to say to him. And he didn’t want to be a burden , didn’t want to waste Voldemort’s time...

So as usual, Harry’s insecurities stopped him from messaging the man and directed him straight to the Chamber of Secrets discord channel.

It was buzzing with excitement about Lord_Voldemort_’s latest update to Green-Eyed Monster , which Harry hadn’t visited since the release of its first chapter. With everything going on in real life, he’d completely forgotten about Voldemort’s latest fic.

Excitement bubbled in the pit of his stomach as he thought of all the updates he had to catch up on. 

Harry frantically scrolled through the channel, absorbing everyone’s thoughts and feelings to get hyped up before he inevitably swiped into the fic.

>> SpinnetToWinIt: AKSJFHAKKHSTEKJ

>> AngelinaBallerina: SAME GIRLIE

>> SpinnetToWinIt: The way he treats his assistant just KILLS ME

>> SpinnetToWinIt: Like, at this point,

>> SpinnetToWinIt: I’m not sure whether I’d pay to switch places with Marvolo’s PA, or need to be paid to be his PA, you know?

>> LustyLavendar: The first, obviously. Marvolo is so freaking hot

>> PervyParvati: Duuude ikr. My favorite part was when James was sitting in Marvolo’s lap and Marvolo Sr. came in 🤤 🤤

>> LustyLavendar: Doooon’t — don’t even get me STARTED on Marvolo Sr. 

>> PervyParvati: 😹😹

>> PervyParvati: I don’t think Voldemort was even trying to make him sound hot but… there’s just something about charming assholes I simply can’t resist 🤷🏽♀️

>> Lee_the_Hot: So many daddies at the office 👅 👅 👅 👅 👅

>> Gred:

>> Gred: Lee… c’mon bro

>> Forge: Yeah Lee you kinda sus

>> Lee_the_Hot: 😹

>> Lee_the_Hot: Y’all know I’m bi right?

>> LustyLavendar: Ofc we do!

>> AngelinaBallerina: Yeah it’s literally so obvious

>> Gred: 

>> Gred: 👁 👄 👁

Harry snorted in amusement. There was always some drama or the other happening on the chat. He was pretty sure everyone had been shipped with each other by this point.

He was about to exit the discord when a snippet of conversation caught his eye.

>> AngelinaBallerina: Just one question

>> AngelinaBallerina: Who the hell is Harry ?

Harry blinked, rereading the previous line.

Once he’d registered it, his mind blanked, his eyes rapidly flickering down the discord chat.

>> SpinnetToWinIt: wdym??

>> AngelinaBallerina:

Harry’s blood ran cold, his chest beginning to pound frantically.

No… no freaking way… 

>> SpinnetToWinIt: OMGGGGG

>> ChoAegyo: OmO

>> LustyLavendar: Oh yeah, the author’s note at the top of Voldemort’s most recent chapter. Idk sis — probably some real life friend

>> PervyParvati: **loverrr you meannn

>> PervyParvati: Do you not see those trademark smirk-faces of his?

>> PervyParvati: whoever Harry is, Voldemort must be in love

>> LustyLavendar: 😯

>> SpinnetItToWinIt: Darnnn there goes my LightningVolt ship 😭  Harry better be worth it

The conversation continued from there, but Harry’s eyes were already glazed over with panic. He clumsily navigated to the most recent chapter of Green-Eyed monster to look at the author’s note.

And sure enough, there it was.

“For Harry. ;]”

Harry let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh as he came to terms with the significance of that note.

Everyone’s speculations on Discord had been wrong. In love? Funny joke. That smirk-face served no other purpose than as a taunt.

Because somehow, Lord_Voldemort_ had figured out that lightning_boi was none other than Harry Potter. And Harry couldn’t stop mentally tracing back through everything he’d said, wondering how on earth he’d possibly given his entire identity away…

Without further ado, he messaged Lord_Voldemort_.

>> lightning_boi: We need to talk.

Harry pressed send and stared at the thread, biting his lip nervously. It was unlikely that Voldemort would respond immediately… after all, he’d suggested being a busy man in the past… 

But as it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Are you always this demanding?

Harry’s heart rate skyrocketed.

>> lightning_boi: I’m serious

He paused, before typing out:

>> lightning_boi: audio call?

Since Lord Voldemort already knew that lightning_boi was Harry, it wasn’t like he’d be giving anything away. 

>> Lord_Voldemort_: No. Messaging is fine.

Harry flinched.

Right. Just because Voldemort knew Harry’s identity didn’t mean he would be willing to let Harry know his. Why did he ever expect things to be… mutual?

Harry’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening.

>> lightning_boi: Alright, I’ll cut to the chase then.

>> lightning_boi: I’m not sure how you figured out who I am. But I don’t appreciate being doxxed.

There was a long silence after that.

It was times like these that Harry wished he could just see the other’s face.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: What on earth do you mean?

Harry stared at the message, fury slowly beginning to build up within him. The man posted an author’s note like that and then acted innocent ? How out of character.

>> lightning_boi: Your author’s note on Green-Eyed Monster. How the hell did you find out that my name is Harry?

Harry waited with bated breath. The silence seemed even longer than the last.

Then,

>> Lord_Voldemort_: I was not aware that your name is Harry… 

Harry’s stomach dropped.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: …But I suppose I am now.

His mouth went dry, his heart pounding, his mind refusing to believe that he’d just made a mistake.

>> lightning_boi: but

>> lightning_boi: but what about

>> lightning_boi: that note

>> lightning_boi: your author’s note

>> Lord_Voldemort_: For someone else. Someone else incidentally named Harry who also reads my fan fiction.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Perhaps it may come as a surprise, but you are not my only reader.

Harry clasped a hand over his open mouth as heat flooded his cheeks in sheer embarrassment.

Imagine giving yourself the amount of importance to believe Lord Voldemort would dedicate an entire chapter to you. And then imagine confronting Lord Voldemort about it, only to be dead wrong.

Yeah, couldn’t be lightning_boi. Certainly couldn’t be Harry Potter.

>> lightning_boi: oh

>> lightning_boi: ahahaha sorry

>> lightning_boi: never mind thenn lollll sorry to bother haVe a nice DaY!

With that last message, Harry switched off his phone, stuffed his face into one of Riddle’s luxurious pillows, and promptly began to scream in frustration at himself for being such an idiot. 

Really, there had to be a limit the amount of stupid things he did in a lifetime. Hadn’t he reached his quota by now? Could someone please just give him a shovel so that he could bury himself six feet under already?

Harry curled up into a ball, trying not to think about how he’d potentially ruined his relationship with his favorite author ever. With real life friends, making up was as easy as breathing — but online friendships were different. They drifted at the merest fluctuation: differing interests, trying out new fandoms, real life getting in the way, etc.

He groaned, running a hand through his messy hair and fighting the urge to rip it all out.

And right when Harry thought his day couldn’t get any worse, his bedroom door was abruptly slammed open.

“Awww, the wittle baby is upset!”

A slim, dark-haired lady with heavy-lidded eyes was leaning against the doorway, her red lips curled into a taunting smirk that was nearly as punchable as Riddle’s.

Beatrice… Botox… whatever her name was. She’d finally appeared.

His least favorite maid.

“What do you need?” Harry asked, too tired to play games with her.

She widened her eyes sarcastically. “No, no, sir . What do you need?”

Her eyes narrowed once again. “An invitation for dinner?” She looked him over with barely-contained contempt. “An invitation to shower and get dressed, perhaps? Is that so hard?”

Harry looked at her in disbelief, fighting the urge to defensively wrap a blanket around himself. Good lord, he was a night shower person, okay? And he had no one to get dressed for, considering that Riddle was always out.

What was this woman’s problem?

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to guests?” Harry bit out.

The maid raised her eyebrows at him.

“The only man I’m nice to is my master.” She grinned sharply at him. “Everyone else is fair game.” A dangerous glint flickered in her eyes as her voice turned sickly-sweet. “Now, get dressed and come down for dinner or I’ll make sure you don’t get food for the next three days.”

With that, she turned off the lights and pranced away, leaving the door wide open.

Harry was starting to wonder when his paid vacation would end.

. . .

That was it.

It had been two weeks since Harry first arrived at Riddle Manor — a week past how long Riddle had said he’d be gone — and he refused to sit tight any longer. 

Harry had tried calling Riddle recently, of course, but it seemed the man had blocked him. How… unsurprising.

Then he’d tried leaving the Manor, only to realize that the Riddle estate was far vaster than he’d anticipated. Harry had tried walking in one direction for ten minutes, but he’d seen no hint of a bordering fence or gate. He’d even tried following the maids and servants to see if they knew some shorter passage to the nearest bit of civilization… but they never went anywhere except the Riddle gardens or farm. That too, on foot.

After all, there wasn’t a single car parked near or within the Manor. Hell, there wasn’t even a garage. 

That was when Harry realized he was truly trapped in the middle of nowhere… that Riddle had abandoned him, leaving him to the mercy of his twelve merciless maids and servants.

Oh, the nerve of that man. He was getting tired of Riddle’s bullshit.

After a few more days of walking and failing to reach anywhere noteworthy, Harry finally spotted something useful. It was chilling in the middle of the grass field, and there were vines all over it, but there was no mistaking it.

A motorcycle.

Finally, a way out of this pretty prison. Now he just had to find the keys.

Motivated by his find, Harry began to search the Manor, discreetly visiting random rooms and opening drawers when no one was looking. He couldn’t afford to be caught by the staff, of course. They’d report him immediately.

… The only exception being his new friend — the cook.

“Harry,” Regulus sighed as Harry walked into the kitchen a little past midnight. The man hadn’t looked back once as he threw chopped vegetables into a pan, but he seemed to have a sixth sense for detecting whoever entered the kitchen. “You’re not as slick as you like to think.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asked, leaning over to grab one of the cupcakes Regulus had made and stuffing it in his mouth. 

The dark-haired man pursed his lips, finally looking back at him. “Bellatrix told me she caught you snooping around in one of the abandoned rooms.”

Harry froze. “Which person is that?”

The handsome cook raised an eyebrow. “Tall, dark-haired lady who hates you? Also known as my cousin? ”

“Ohhhh, her.” Harry’s thoughts lingered briefly on her name. Bellatrix. Why did it sound so… familiar? “Yeah, she hates me, I don’t even know why. I just told her I was lost though.”

He shrugged before pulling himself onto the kitchen shelf, letting his legs swing. “Anyways, explain this to me: why does Riddle Manor have twelve house staff who rarely leave estate grounds when both masters are absent from the country?”

Regulus glanced sideways at Harry. “You always know how to pick the most sensitive topics.”

Harry’s eyes widened with interest. “ Now you’ve got to tell me.”

Regulus huffed with amusement. “Because of the Riddle will.” He paused, dipping a large spoon in tomorrow’s soup to taste his cooking. “Both Riddle men have confirmed that they plan to stay in the U.S. Because they have no remaining relatives here, they have decided that the Riddle estate would be passed on to their most loyal staff member. Staying on and taking care of the estate is one of the ways in which we prove our worthiness.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. So while the twelve staff members were loyal to their masters, they were also — in a sense — competing against each other. Interesting.

“What about Riddle’s mother?”

Regulus’s face pinched with discomfort. “I’m not sure, but it would be better if you asked Lord Riddle. And best if you didn’t.”

Harry nodded quickly, getting the message. He didn’t want to lose his only confidant.

He slid off the kitchen counter, yawning. “Well, anyways. The hunt for the motorcycle key continues.” He frowned. “Even though I’ve literally checked everywhere at this point.”

He began to walk towards the door, pausing when he heard a softly-spoken remark.

“Not everywhere. ”

Harry opened his mouth to voice his denial while turning back… only to realize Regulus had not spoken.

A tall, sallow-faced man with a curtain of dark hair had appeared, lingering near the curtains at the other entrance to the kitchen.

Harry’s heart was racing. “I — er, hello sir.”

The older man stared at Harry for a split second before turning to Regulus. “He’s an open book. It’s a miracle he’s survived this long here.”

Harry really hoped the man had meant that metaphorically.

Regulus held a hand to his mouth as if stifling a smile. “He has me.”

“ Obviously ,” the older man said softly.

Regulus turned to Harry, his mouth twitching. “This is Snape. He’s the Estate Manager. Also — he’s right. You haven’t checked everywhere.”

Harry paused once more, before nodding in acknowledgement.

The forbidden and thoroughly unaccessible West Wing.

“I know. But I…” Harry shook his head. “I can’t even enter… ”

He trailed off as Snape came forward and pressed something cold and heavy into his hand — a silver, old-fashioned looking key.

Snape raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Harry. “Well, this should help.”

Harry clutched it to his chest, grateful if not slightly intimidated by the older man. “Wow… thanks, Snape!” he said, his voice unwittingly pitched an octave higher. 

He then turned to Regulus, clearing his throat. “Do you really think I can find the motorcycle keys here?”

Regulus tilted his head, bangs falling over to conceal his eyes. “I can’t say for sure. I think…” 

He turned back to his soup, stirring it. A smile flickered across his face, so fast Harry nearly missed it. 

“I think you might find some answers to questions you didn’t even know you had.”

Harry looked at Regulus for a long moment, trying to understand what that meant before turning to Snape. This time, he managed to speak in a normal tone. “Thanks again. I don’t even know why you’re helping me, but I appreciate it.”

Snape’s dark eyes hadn’t left Harry for a second. They seemed to be analyzing him, reading into his every word and breath.

“Your eyes… they remind me of someone,” Snape said eventually. “A girl I went to school with.” And with those words, the older man turned on his heel and swept through the curtains, blending back into the darkness of the dimly lit hallways.

Harry bid Regulus good night and went to bed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Dissatisfaction bubbled up within him; he felt as if he was missing something, but he couldn’t grasp what it was.

Tomorrow, he vowed, turning over in bed. He’d figure it out tomorrow.

. . .

“How much longer?” Tom gritted out, trying not to lose his lunch as they travelled up one last hill.

The blonde chauffeur glanced sideways at his master. “Ah… not much longer.”

“ What kind of response is that?” Tom hissed, causing Draco to flinch and his hands to twitch ever so slightly.

Tom’s eyes glued themselves to the blonde man’s trembling fingers; they were a reminder not to lose his temper with a man who literally held both of their lives in his shaky, unworthy hands.

Bloody hell. He should have just driven himself and left the chauffeur behind.

Two weeks. That was how long he’d been looking for the woman, in between taking care of other matters regarding his father. Someone must have tipped her off though, because she certainly hadn’t been present at the Writer’s Convention that Slughorn had said she’d be at… an event Tom had wasted all day at.

Well, it hadn’t been a complete waste.

His lips curled fondly as he remembered his elevator imprisonment with Harry. Finding out that his personal assistant read his fanfiction after catching him reading at the office had been terrifying at first. After all, what if Harry somehow found out that many of the scenes had been inspired by him?

It had felt terribly… exposing.

But then, after realizing his personal assistant had remained completely oblivious, Tom slowly started to feel an excitement. A thrill in knowing that Harry was reading his fanfiction… that he was given access to Tom’s feelings without knowing whose they were.

And so, just to play with fire, Tom — no, Lord Voldemort — had publicly dedicated his last chapter of Green-Eyed Monster to Harry.

… only to attract the attention of the wrong Harry.

Tom’s mouth curved into a sneer as he remembered lightning_boi’s words from last night. The audacity. Just because he’d enjoyed flirting with the boy online… enjoyed his conversations with the boy, yes… didn’t mean he had dedicated an entire chapter to him.

How ridiculous. The poor boy must have been so embarrassed.

“We’re here,” came the trembling voice of the driver, shaking Tom from his distracting thoughts.

Tom glanced sideways, severely unimpressed by the man’s character. Two weeks in Tom’s presence and Draco already seemed like a broken shell of the man he’d once been.

If Harry had been the one with him, the rebellious and challenging assistant that he was…

Well, no matter. Tom was beginning to realize there was no comparison when it came to his assistant.

They sat in tense silence for a few moments.

“Unlock the doors,” Tom gritted out eventually.

“R-right, yes, my Lord,” the blonde stuttered, apologizing effusively afterwards.

Once he was out of the car, Tom took in the cottage before him. It was in the middle of nowhere, with no neighboring cottages or houses in sight. Yet, there was a certain charm to it — its simplicity highlighted the natural beauty surrounding it: the greenery, the hills behind it, where the sun was beginning to set in the orange and purple sky.

He rang the doorbell.

Silence, save for hints of the resounding echo from within the cottage. Tom waited.

Then he heard footsteps. And something about the rhythm of those steps, something about this whole cottage, told him that he’d finally found her.

The door opened.

A pretty, middle-aged woman with wavy blonde hair stood at the doorway, her wide blue eyes staring back at Tom.

“Tom,” she said simply, her tone of voice at odds with her bewildered expression. It was calm, as if she’d been expecting him.

Good.

Tom smiled coldly at her. “Joanne.”

An intake breath, and finally, those blue eyes narrowed.

“What do you want?” she asked warily.

Tom raised his eyebrows. “May I come in?”

“No.” 

Tom tutted, tilting his head and looking at her with amusement. “How rude.”

Joanne tilted her own head to mirror his, her eyes considering him. “Almost as rude as showing unannounced.”

Tom bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I had no choice. You never responded.”

The tall woman’s mouth curled unpleasantly. “You’re on private property, Tom. Say whatever it is you came to tell me, and then leave.”

Tom looked her directly in the eyes. “I want you to remove your Copyright ownership on the James Evans series.”

Joanne stared at him.

And then her face twisted. Outrage painted itself across her face in violent brush strokes, from the firm line of her mouth to the clenched line of her jaw.

“I see,” she said, her voice colder than ever. “And why would I do that?”

Tom took a step forward, reveling in the one she took back.

“Because if you refuse, I am suing you for defamation of character.”

. . .

Harry observed the gray, wooden entrance to the West Wing. 

It was arching, grand and magnificent, something between a door and a wooden gate. Seemingly as daunting and impenetrable as it had been earlier this morning.

Without further ado, he shoved the silver key into the knob hole and pushed the door open.

The atmosphere here was completely different. Quiet, dark, and haunted, which made sense considering this part of the manor seemed to have been completely abandoned. Harry found himself in a long, dimly-lit hallway with doors on either side… doors that all turned out to be locked.

After trying to open yet another one, he banged his fist against it and leaned his forehead against the wooden plane. What had been the point of obtaining this silver key when he couldn’t enter a single room?

Harry lifted his head to face the last door he hadn’t tried… the one at the very end of the hallway. Unlike the rest, this one had deep scratches… as if it had been clawed by dogs at some point. He slowly walked towards the door, placing his hand on the cold, silver handle before shoving as hard as he could.

Seconds later, he had pushed himself through into a freezing cold, dark room. Harry stumbled, hearing the door slam shut behind him of its own accord.

But he barely paid any attention to it. Harry was staring at a window at the other end of the room, through which the moon was visible and it was clear that night had just begun to settle in. But there was something odd about it.

The window was broken… just like everything else in the room. Harry realized with a jolt, his eyes flickering across the room. Furniture had been tossed, shattered, and scraped. 

A chill went down his spine.

Harry’s breathing was audible at this point. He leaned his back against the door, trying not to let his panic overcome him. Small spaces, he could deal with. But darkness… reminded him of his cupboard, reminded him of… 

FREAK!

“Oh, shut up,” Harry mumbled to himself, straightening and stepping away from the door. He had to find those motorcycle keys. And more importantly… 

Harry looked around the room, curiosity slowly getting the better of his fear. 

… he had to find out the secrets this room held.

. . .

Joanne let out a laugh, somewhere between disbelief and indignation.

“Whose defamation?”

Tom leaned back. “Mine, of course.” He took a step forward, reveling in the one she took back. “After all, you based a villain on me…” 

His voice deepened menacingly. 

“... only to kill him off.”

She glared up at Tom as he took another step forward, not quite crossing into her house.

“We were in an agreement,” Joanne hissed, crossing her arms. “The last time you were furious with me over the fate of my villain, we cut ties and I published the last book with another company.” She shook her head. “I thought this was over.”

“You thought wrong,” Tom said coldly. “Do not pretend I was merely your publisher.”

Joanne stared at him.

“You’re right.”

Then, gradually, her narrowed eyes relaxed, her shoulders drooping as she exhaled. A pained expression crossed her face.

 “You weren’t, Tom . Together, we crafted many bits and pieces of the James Evans series… so many little details that made it as magical as it is today. I cannot forget the role you played.”

Joanne took a step forward, looking up at him. “But this, you must understand, was all part of your role as my Editor.” Her mouth narrowed into a fine line. “You may have given me inspiration, Tom. But every word of this series was written by me. ”

The last word was resounding in its ownership, its possessiveness.

She shook her head as she looked at him, a betrayal in her eyes. “And you… you were the one to offer yourself up as inspiration. From the second book onwards, when I struggled with painting a villain, you offered up your thoughts as his… ”

Her eyes burned into Tom’s.

“... only to demand them back now?”

Silence.

Her voice fell to a whisper that the howling wind nearly carried away.

“As you delved into Marvolo’s mind… I delved into yours.” Joanne stared piercingly at him. “And over the years, we got to know each other, and we became more than editor and writer.”

She exhaled.

“We became friends.”

“Friends,” Tom echoed, his voice mirthlessly. “Fickle thing, friendship.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps if you’d anticipated breaking it, you might have made me sign a contract to prevent this very lawsuit. After all… ”

His voice dropped to a dangerous pitch. “You must have a strange idea of friendship… to murder the character you based on me. Especially after I had devoted decades of myself to your writing, to our friendship. ” 

Joanne stiffened at the mocking tone.

“Not based on you,” she said weakly, “Inspired by you.”

“My middle name is Marvolo and my mother’s maiden name was Gaunt.” Tom gritted out. “I grew up in Wool’s Orphanage. My mother, a mentally ill prostitute, died giving birth to me. My maternal grandfather and uncle ran a snake taxidermy business. Do not dare hope this is a lawsuit you can win.”

Joanne could only stare at him, helplessness and fear finally settling into her eyes, clear as day.

“Tom… I’m sorry… ”

“You ask for forgiveness?” Tom murmured, his voice cold and indifferent. “I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… thirteen long years I spent on James Evans. I demand penance.”

The blonde-haired woman shuddered, closing her eyes as if trying to unsee what he’d asked for.

“And what will you do?” she asked, her hands clutching at herself. “What will you do to James Evans? ”

He leaned in close, his face mere inches from his past client’s.

“I will rewrite the end of the seventh book. And I may even write an eighth.”

. . .

The light switch had been smashed in, but thankfully, one of the lamps hadn’t been completely destroyed.

After switching one of them on, Harry observed the room. There wasn’t a single drawer, dresser, or table in sight — merely turned-over sofas and beds, under which only dust had accumulated.

There was, however, a white closet. He carried the lamp and plugged it in near the closet before opening it up.

Masses of boxes attacked him, papers spilling over. Harry fell down to the ground, wincing as the sharp corners dug into his stomach.

“Oww.”

Harry shoved the boxes off of him with a pained groan, sitting up to gather the papers rapidly and dump them back into their boxes. But when his eyes caught on some of their content, Harry paused.

“And Death spoke to them —”

“Sorry,” interjected James, “but Death spoke to them?”

“It’s a fairy tale, James!”

“Right, sorry. Go on.”

Harry’s eyes widened in recognition.

There were quotes directly from the seventh book of James Evans . He skimmed his way down the page, flipping through the pages beneath it.

Not just quotes. These were typescripts… pages of the seventh book. Which made sense, considering Riddle had once been the Roaring’s Editor. Perhaps this was an early draft.

There were notes in the margins too, scribbled all across the pages in Riddle’s distinct calligraphy handwriting.

Harry flipped to a random page.

“Would you like me to kill you now?” asked Prince, his voice heavy with irony. “Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph.”

And near it, in the margin —

Possibly allow Prince to live — develop his future relationship with James, uncluttered by misunderstandings.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Tobias Prince could have lived? He wasn’t too sure how he felt about that… though some part of him was tempted by the prospect.

He went straight to the beginning and began to work his way through the documents, skimming and skipping to his favorite scenes.

Pretty soon, Harry found himself paying more attention to the margins than the actual manuscript.

He was thoroughly fascinated by Riddle’s analysis of James Evans. Not just analysis; it seemed as though these notes had been written during his very first read of the final book… so reading Riddle’s reactions to everything was very entertaining.

James, though foolish, is an ultimately endearing character. He will live, of course — I only wonder if the Dark Lord will ever realize what James truly is before he dies.

These idiots. They wouldn’t survive a second in that forest without Miss Jean. Kill off the boy Weasel, Joanne, he’s useless.

Mmmm Madame Lestrange… she’s delicious. Very good job illustrating her character… 

Kill Ginevra. She’s annoying.

Harry found himself stifling laughter at Riddle’s remarks. They were so him, and hilariously so, even if Harry disagreed with a lot of them.

And then he reached the Final Battle scene.

“I thought he would come,” said Slytherin in his high clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.”

Riddle’s handwriting began to seem more… frantic. 

No, no. You wouldn’t.

“I was, it seems… mistaken,” said Slytherin.

“You weren’t.”

No. Joanne.

“Slytherin had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. James looked back into the red eyes, and wanted to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear —

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

Violent pen marks were slashed all across the page. Harry could barely read anything, spare a few, emotional phrases.

How could you… how dare you…

After all this time?

Seemingly incoherent bursts of rage were painted across the page. Alarmed, Harry turned to the next.

On this page, everything was different. The font was different. The tense was different. The writing style was different. And yet, it still felt so eerily familiar…

James remembers the Final Battle very vividly.

He remembers the way Slytherin had been sprawled across the floor after the Killing Curse rebounded, his form oddly still. Cheers had overtaken the Great Hall as Death Eaters scrambled away from the castle, knowing their days as free wizards were numbered.

They’d celebrated too soon.

He remembers the way Slytherin’s eyes opened again. Red, slitted, and eerily unaware.

The room had promptly frozen, laughter dissipating at once. Everyone had watched, paralyzed in fear, as Slytherin rose unsteadily to his feet. There had only been one question in the air, and it was the same question James continued to ask himself to this day.

How on earth had the man survived?

The tall wizard had reached his hands out, as if grasping for something, his movements oddly reminiscent of a toddler’s.

Then those red eyes had widened, unawareness overtaken by a panic. A ragged whisper had sounded from his form.

“ No… it cannot be…” 

Slytherin had reached his hands out one last time before letting them fall to his side. An inhuman sound of grief had sounded from his throat, somewhere between a moan, hiss, and crackle.

And then he’d fainted.

 

What broke the following silence had not been cheers, but screams.

Written below the passage, in Riddle’s unmistakable handwriting, was:

Alternatively — the Dark Lord survives, but loses his magic. He must learn to live as the muggles he once despised and grow from it… perhaps with James’ help.

James Evans and the Fallen Lord. Book 8.

Harry leaned back from the document, closing his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts. To think that there could have been an eighth book with that sort of premise… with that kind of title, which would make any Jarvolo fan go crazy… 

Had Riddle really written that last passage?

Harry’s fingers grasped at the papers, wishing there was more. He had never craved anything more in his life than that nonexistent eighth book.

To think it could have been canon.

Harry shook his head, exhaling. Placing the James Evans papers back into the box where he’d found them, he reached for another box. At the top of it sat a brown book, with a name —  Tom M. Riddle — engraved across the binding.

Riddle’s diary?

Harry took it out of the box and opened to the first page, seeing what appeared to be a series of… anagrams. In fact, it seemed that Riddle had run his name through an anagram program (perhaps he’d written it, being the computer scientist that he is) and pasted the printed results straight into his diary. And to the right of a few select anagrams was a handwritten reflection.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Advil Drool Mortem - Good lord.

… 

Dad rollover Tommi - Never.

Dildo Lover Rat Mom - … why bring her into this.

...

Immoral Lover Todd - It just keeps getting worse.

Immortal Love Rodd - …

Needless to say, Harry was dying. Holy shit, these were so funny. He just wished he could have seen Riddle’s face at each of these anagram titles.

Then he reached a circled name, and his blood ran cold.

I am Lord Voldemort - Yes.

Harry stared at the circled anagram.

Panic rose in him like a tsunami, immobilizing him, his brain. His pulse began to beat loudly in his ears, blocking out the sound of the howling wind beyond the broken window.

“ It can’t be,” Harry whispered to himself, feeling himself begin to tremble. “It can’t. ”

But he thought back to that passage of the unwritten eighth book… that perfect passage… and he knew, deep down, that it was true. And then every single memory of Lord_Voldemort_ began to crash down onto him, every single interaction, until Harry was absolutely overwhelmed.

Harry stood to his feet, staggering away from the boxes he’d strewn across the floor.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” spoke a cold, furious voice.

Harry's heart rate spiked. He quickly spun towards the door, whose opening he’d failed to register in all his panic.

It was Riddle.

His tall and well-dressed figure framed the doorway, his suited form a silhouette in the darkness.

But the surrounding darkness only emphasized the paleness of his face. Moonlight highlighted the sharpness of those ethereal features; shadows brought out the hollows of those long-gone cheeks. And perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for a moment, Harry could have sworn those burgundy eyes had glinted bright red.

“Neither… can… I…"  Lord Voldemort repeated venomously, his hissing voice inhumanly harsh. “... Harry Potter.”

Then he took a step forward, crossing the threshold.

Harry ran.

Chapter Text

Harry ran.

With Riddle blocking the doorway, he had no choice but to jump out of the broken window.

Harry landed in a bush, tripping over its roots and falling flat on his face. But adrenaline kept him going. He scrambled to his feet and continued running blindly through the forest behind the Manor, unable to see much at the dead of night until, eventually, he stumbled into a dimly-lit clearing.

No, a graveyard. The Riddle family graveyard.

Panting heavily, Harry picked a random headstone and hid behind it, removing his glasses to wipe stray droplets from them. He shoved them back on and closed his eyes, praying Riddle would go back inside.

No such luck. Footsteps crackled against fallen leaves as his presence steadily grew nearer.

“Playing hide-and-seek, Harry?” said a soft, cold voice. “You cannot hide from me… certainly not in my own estate.”

Harry remained ducked, hating the way his heart pounded when Riddle pronounced his name, caressing the vowels on his tongue.

A headstone was violently kicked down twenty feet from where Harry hid.

Harry’s breath caught. If that had been his, he would have been crushed.

What was Riddle thinking? Was he trying to kill Harry?

“Come out, Harry,” A dark chuckle sounded, low and decadent and far more evil than Harry remembered. “It will be quick . . . it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never been fired…”

Harry clasped a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a sharp intake  as Riddle laughed cruelly at his own words. Was it just him, or did the man seem a bit unhinged—?

He jolted as another headstone was kicked down beside him, and Harry’s terror mutated into the desperate fury of a cornered animal. He stood up and twisted around, only to find Riddle’s face mere inches from his own… that dark, polished dress shoe perched readily on the edge of the gravestone Harry had been hiding behind.

The taller man had lost his coat at some point, leaving him in a soaked, white shirt with the top three buttons undone, the wet material of his top clinging to his broad form.

Burgundy eyes bored down into his own, droplets framing the tips of his eyelashes.

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry flinched back a few steps, gritting his teeth in response.

“Nice of you to finally come back,” he responded. “Pity your timing sucks ass.”

A low, rich laugh sounded from the man, catching Harry off-guard. Two weeks without Riddle and Harry had forgotten how captivating the charismatic man could be.

“On the contrary, it seems my timing couldn’t have been better.”

Riddle’s cold smile finally fell, forest shadows darkening in tandem.

“Now, tell me, Harry. Did you enjoy reading my notes?” Fury filled Riddle’s low voice, but more surprising was the faint, foreign undertone of self-disgust. “Did you enjoy seeing how hopelessly invested I was in a series that wasn’t even mine? Or was it merely my diary you read?”

“I read everything,” Harry said defiantly, maintaining eye contact. “And maybe I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t left me in your estate for weeks.”

Riddle sneered. “If it had been my choice at all, you wouldn’t even be here with me right now.”

Right, because Riddle Sr. had been the one to force Harry to come along with Riddle. God, it seemed as if that day in the office had happened years ago.

“And if it were my choice at all,” Harry retorted, “I wouldn’t be your personal assistant.” He paused dramatically, before narrowing his eyes in his boss’s direction. “Oh wait… I guess it is. ”

Riddle’s face was wiped blank, leaving it utterly unreadable.

Despite threatening to fire Harry all the time, he’d never actually done so. It had reached the point of normalcy for Riddle to toss the threat around. 

But Harry… he had never threatened to quit before.

Not until today.

“Giving up?” Riddle asked quietly, his face still carefully devoid of expression. “How unfortunate. Persistence was one of the few traits I admired about you—”

“I quit,” Harry whispered fiercely.

Riddle’s eyes widened. “You…” 

He cut himself off, falling eerily quiet and turning his head sideway. As if he wanted to hide something. 

Harry swallowed nervously, a strange feeling of guilt beginning to settle in. But then he remembered every transgression and misbehaviour he’d had to deal with, and that guilt slowly melted away as he gained the courage to speak.

“I quit,” he repeated shakily, before shaking his head and saying it more firmly. “I mean it, Riddle. I quit, I’m done with you—”

Harry’s breath stuttered as a large hand grasped his wet neck, pulling him closer. 

And then he stopped breathing altogether.

Riddle’s face was twisted viciously, his expression so harsh it could barely be called human. His jaw was pulsating, his pupils so dilated that his eyes appeared black.

He looked… feral.

“Say that again,” Riddle growled furiously, his thumb swiping along Harry’s neck in a possessive, threatening way that sent chills down his spine.

Harry opened his mouth… only for his throat to close on him, dryness creeping down his lungs.

“Go on, ” Riddle dared him in a calmer voice, at odds with the bestial glint in his eyes . “Can’t say it? Cat got your tongue?”

Harry’s blood began to boil at the familiar tone of challenge. He shoved himself away from Riddle’s grasp and stared up at him determinedly, invigorated by the water droplets he felt dripping down his own face.

“I. quit.”

They glared at each other, soaking wet and shivering in the cold air. Harry was panting, waiting for Riddle to say something… anything.

“How dare you , ” Riddle whispered raggedly, with such venom and fury that it couldn’t have been anything but genuine. “You’re mine. ” 

Harry’s breath caught, another thrill traveling down his spine at the words even as cold, indignant fury began to settle into his bones. But before he could retort, Riddle’s face came even closer to Harry’s, his venomous voice turning poisonously sweet.  

“You’re sorely mistaken if you think you’ll ever be anything but my…”

That same hand grasped the back of Harry’s neck, pulling hard on his dark, curling locks. And this time,  Harry couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his mouth as his own head tipped back.

“Little…”

Fingers traveled across the delicate skin of his neck once more, and Harry could feel his heartbeat pulsing rapidly beneath them as Riddle’s lips grazed Harry’s ear to breathe one last word.

“Bitch. ”

Harry’s mind blanked at the word, mind-numbing heat curling inexplicably at the pit of his stomach.

Then, as the meaning of everything Riddle had just said crashed down onto him, Harry’s anger returned… his mind clearer than ever.

He tore himself away and bitch-slapped Riddle right across his stupid face.

A hand immediately fisted itself into the front of his shirt, lifting Harry from the ground. Harry’s eyes widened as he struggled against the fist near his collar, his hands pulling at the arm in front of him. But nothing and no one could prevent Riddle from raising him, his furious eyes and forehead now mere inches from Harry’s.

Harry stopped struggling. Putting his arms on Riddle’s shoulders and legs around the other man’s thighs, he brought himself closer to the man and shifted all his weight to his left side… bringing them both down to the ground.

Thud.

Suddenly, Riddle was on his back, flecks of wet mud splashed across his perfect cheekbones. And Harry was sitting right on top of his thighs, in the perfect position to toss a few punches at him—

A hand closed around Harry’s fists before they could come down a third time.

Harry was slammed onto his back, one large hand holding his wrists above his head. Riddle’s taunting face hovered above him, mud splattered across his left cheek and rain droplets dripping from his dark lashes.

Harry blinked dazedly. God, why did Riddle look so… 

“Still quitting?” Riddle murmured quietly, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, ” Harry breathed, unsure of what exactly he was responding to. He just knew that it had been the right thing to say, because when Riddle’s face once again twisted into something darker, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing into darkened, focused slits… it sent that familiar chill down Harry’s spine and—

That was when Harry realized he was no longer simply scared.

Still pinned down by his wrists, he bucked his hips against Riddle in an effort to get away. But the older man merely chuckled before pressing down firmly on Harry, squashing all his efforts.

Harry wiggled more frantically, panicked at the thought of his former boss finding out that he was… that he was… 

“Get off me,” Harry spat hissingly. “Off, now, ” 

“Or what?” Riddle hissed back, “You’ll quit? You’ll leave me?”

Harry bucked again, panic overtaking his actions as he repeated himself. Unfortunately, doing that only seemed to worsen his current state. “Get off me! Please. ”

Riddle froze at Harry’s last word. Then he smirked, jeering. “Maybe if you keep begging— ”

“I said please , Riddle! Please, ” Harry sputtered incoherently, unable to imagine what Riddle would do if he found out about his situation. “ Ughhh, fuck you, pleeeeease,” he ended with a moan, equal parts frantic and uncontrollably aroused. He squeezed his eyes shut and thrusted his hips upward once more, trying to buck him off one last time—

“Stop moving, you— Oh. ”

The grip on Harry’s wrists suddenly slackened.

Harry opened his eyes to see bewildered burgundy eyes traveling down towards the obvious tent in Harry’s trousers. 

Riddle stared at it for an uncomfortably long time, his mouth slightly open in an expression of such obvious surprise. When he eventually looked back up, Harry flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to even out his breathing and not— think — about anything—

“Bloody hell ,” Riddle breathed out, his consonants ever so slightly crisper in a way that reminded Harry just how British the man was. “You’re… ”

Harry gritted his teeth. “Don’t say it—”

“... hard .”

“I fucking told you not to say it !” Harry yelled, opening his eyes and shoving Riddle away from him, scrambling back and away on all fours. A red flush of embarrassment worked its way from his ears down to the rest of him, causing his erection to rapidly die, and all Harry could feel was the burning sensation of shame traveling through him and—

Why the hell was Riddle still staring?

Harry cleared his throat obnoxiously, and Riddle quickly looked away. The older man quickly stood to his feet and faced the other direction, and despite the darkness around them, a faint red blush was visible at the back of Riddle’s neck.

Harry blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight of it. The man had done all manner of things to him, said all sorts of things — but now that he’d seen Harry’s hard-on, he was being all… bashful? It made zero sense.

“Well, since you understand my — er, situation — why don’t you head back before I report you for sexual harassment?” he sniped.

Riddle made a choking sound of dissent in the back of his throat. “Report me? You’re the one being all — improper. ”

Harry scoffed in disbelief. “Are you forgetting the fact that we just rolled in the mud throwing punches at each other—”

Riddle spun around, arms folded and dark eyes piercing him. “You punched me. I didn’t exactly reciprocate.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply…

And closed it as the realization that Riddle was right struck him like a blow. Because it was obvious that Riddle had been holding back, merely attempting to restrain Harry, and that thought only made him even more enraged .

And now Riddle was staring back at him, his perfect face slightly marred by the bloody lip that Harry had put there, and oh, why did that give him so much satisfaction?

“Why…?” Harry breathed out in equal parts confusion and unexplainable rage. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

Riddle smirked, taking a step forward so that he towered over Harry. “Isn’t it obvious?” His voice dropped an octave, dripping with utter smugness. “If I even laid a hand on you, I’d crush you.”

That lit something in him.

“Bet,” Harry murmured darkly, enraged by the older man’s sheer arrogance, by the way he so obviously belittled Harry just as he’d been doing since the moment they’d met.

He threw himself onto Riddle, knocking them both to the ground again as he began to toss punches at Riddle’s face. And this time, Riddle made no motion to pin Harry’s wrists away from him, instead taking the punches with that arrogant, crooked smile of his. As if Harry’s punches didn’t even matter.

Harry gave up and squeezed his hands at the junction of Riddle’s neck and shoulders, still sitting on the man’s stomach. “Why won’t you fight back! ”

Riddle grinned slowly, one half of his face completely bruised. “Choking me, now?”

Harry pulled back his arm to throw another punch… only to pause at the odd, broken stream of laughter that fell from Riddle’s bloodied lips.

“Would it surprise you if I said I felt I deserved it?” Riddle murmured, looking at Harry through swollen, half-shut eyes.

When Harry remained silent in shock, Riddle gave another laugh — a breathy, mirthless chuckle, completely devoid of energy. It was somewhere along the lines of sarcastic and self-deprecating, though Harry failed to process such a sound coming from him.

“Because I do,” Riddle said, his voice quieter than ever. “I know more than anyone how I’ve treated you. Swearing at you, threatening to fire you and now, threatening you if you leave.”

Harry had continued to remain quiet, his breath hitched in anticipation. But upon hearing Riddle’s acknowledgement of his own misbehavior, he couldn’t help but wonder…

“Then why’d you do it?” Harry asked, lowering his poised, clenched hand as he frowned. “Why on earth do you treat me like this?”

Riddle stared at him, as if caught off guard by the question. Then, after a few moments, the older man turned his head to the side and stared pointedly away.

“I acted out simply because I am afraid,” he responded, his voice quieter than ever. “Afraid to lose…”

Harry stared at him, his mouth dry.

“... a good employee,” Riddle finished evenly, looking back at Harry.

Harry blinked slowly, his heart sinking. “Right.”

They glanced at each other once before simultaneously looking away, staying in silence. At some point, Harry cleared his throat and awkwardly removed himself from Riddle, moving to sit beside the man.

Riddle sat up, but otherwise stayed where he was.

Then he began to speak, his tone careful. “I’m also afraid because you have a lot of potentially harmful information about me. Enough to ruin my reputation, should you like…” Riddle pursed his mouth, closing his eyes in distress. “And I think you have a lot of motivation to do so, given how I treat you.”

Harry stared at Riddle with surprise, trying to absorb the fact that Riddle had essentially just apologized (in his own way) and admitted weakness to him. It was true that Riddle was semi-famous, given that he was an executive at a large publishing company. Leaking his fanfiction identity would be troublesome for someone like him.

He put a firm hand on Riddle’s shoulder, staring at him determinedly after Riddle’s eyes opened again.

“I’d never reveal your fanfiction identity to the public like that. That would be such a dick move. Besides,” Harry paused, shuddering at the thought of his relatives finding out that he wrote gay porn. “And as a fanfiction writer myself, I understand how damaging that could be.”

Riddle stared back at him, his face unreadable save for the slight flicker of amusement in his eyes when Harry mentioned himself being a fanfiction writer.

An odd sensation of foreboding prickled at the back of Harry’s neck.

“Oh, right. Your pen name is Lord Voldemort as well, isn’t it?” Riddle asked slyly, and rather gleefully.

Harry froze, his tongue caught in his throat.

“Well, that’s my pen name. On the website where I write.”

Then at once, he felt as if his whole face had been lit on fire. 

“Oh shit,” Harry blurted out, putting his hands on top of his face, covering it. “Oh shit. I… umm…. errr…”

Harry found himself blanking, unable to find the right words as a flurry of memories hit him—all the multiple times he’d dared to tell Riddle he was Lord Voldemort—

“No,” Harry heard himself say faintly. “That’s my pseud, remember? I am Lord Voldemort.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment hit him like a truck, mind-numbing and excruciating.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuuuuuuuuu—”

Harry contemplated throwing himself back into the mud and curling into a ball. He stared at the mud wistfully, watching a snail crawl over a rock. Perhaps he’d be better off as a rock in his next life, because he sure was dumb as rocks —

“It’s fine,” Riddle said, waving a hand nonchalantly, ignorant of Harry’s crisis. “I thought it was quite hilarious.”

Harry looked up to find Riddle grinning at him… and watched with interest as Riddle’s mouth softened, his expression growing rather thoughtful.

“Well, as compensation, tell me what you think of my stories.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Oh! Well, I love them, of course. I’m a huge fan, as you know because I’m—” Harry cut himself off, glancing carefully at Riddle for a split-second. Did Riddle not know Harry was lightning_boi?

Riddle raised an eyebrow in askance, as if to say, Continue.

Of course he didn’t, Harry realized with a jolt.

“Right, um. I love all of your stories, especially Haunted. ” Harry bit his lip, smiling a bit. “I couldn’t believe it when you killed both James and Marvolo, especially because you wrote it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Riddle asked, craning his neck to the side to stretch it out.

He stared at his boss’s neck, remembering the distressed, messy handwriting he’d seen in the margins of the seventh book transcript. “Despite desperately wanting Lord Marvolo to survive in canon, you had no problem killing him off in your own work.” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

There was a silence.

“It was the first fanfiction I ever wrote,” Riddle began quietly. “I wrote it when I was… angry. The incident with the seventh book was still pretty recent at the time.”

“What incident?” Harry asked.

Riddle sighed. 

And then he began to speak.

He talked about his relationship with J. K. Roaring, how they’d first met, how he’d partly been the inspiration behind the main villain. 

He told him everything, and Harry listened with awe.

“Amazing,” Harry said softly. “So that’s why you wrote that alternate eighth book ending. For what it’s worth, I think the Fallen Lord is a fantastic concept.”

Riddle’s mouth softened. “Well… thank you. I appreciate that.”

Their eyes met again. And this time, instead of being awkward, there was a welcoming feeling of warmth that accompanied their eye contact. 

“What did you think of Green-Eyed Monster ?” Riddle asked out of the blue.

Harry blinked. “Oh, your other work?” Immediate warmth bloomed at the thought of the fluffy rom-com. “Ooooh, I love it! Marvolo is so dreamy hehe, but,” Harry paused, “You really make James seem like some kind of shameless tease and—” Harry cut off the train of thought at Riddle’s odd expression, finishing up quickly. “Anyways, Marvolo’s great.”

Riddle was still staring at him oddly.

“I… see,” He said eventually with amusement. “So you don’t like James?”

“I just think he’s a little out of character,” Harry explained, waving his hand. “I mean, there’s no way canon-James, let alone any normal human being, would possibly be that clumsy—”

Riddle snorted loudly, interrupting him, and Harry glanced suspiciously at him. “What?”

“Would you consider yourself a normal human being?” Riddle asked him lightly, humor inexplicably heavy in his voice.

Harry was confused. What was Riddle doing, asking off-topic questions? They were talking about fanfiction. “Uh, yes? Anyways, that elevator scene was pretty great. Super steamy.” He didn’t really know how to go into details without being super awkward, so he just held up a thumbs-up and said, “Good job, boss.”

Riddle bit his lip as if to hide a grin, and Harry, feeling even more embarrassed, decided to shut up. In fact, it was about time they headed back. Harry felt ready for a nice, hot bath. Or shower. Preferably both. 

He began to stand up, only for a hand to grip his arm, keeping him in place.

Burgundy eyes stared at Harry, still framed by long, dewy eyelashes. And astonishingly enough, they seemed concerned.

“Your forehead…” Riddle frowned, reaching out to graze it with a finger that came back slightly bloody.

“Oh,” Harry responded intelligently. Not wonder he’d been feeling a bit… woozy. He must have bumped his head against a gravestone and reopened his lightning bolt scar. A random thought came to him out of nowhere, an inside joke of sorts. “Lol.”

Riddle stared at Harry, looking even more alarmed. Evidently, his boss wasn’t familiar with social media acronyms.

“Pardon?”

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken,” Harry replied solemnly.

Riddle snorted again, before quickly putting a hand over his mouth and looking at Harry more seriously. “You’d better not have a concussion from hitting your head on all those gravestones.” When Harry rolled his eyes in response, Riddle’s mouth quirked upwards. “At any rate, it seems you really do enjoy quoting James Evans. ”

“Not as much as you enjoy quoting yourself,” Harry quipped back.

Riddle blinked. “What do you mean?”

Harry made his voice go high-pitched. “ You’re mine. ” He raised an eyebrow at Riddle. “Seriously, that was straight out of Green-Eyed Monster. Step it up, Voldy. And that wasn’t even the only line,” Harry scrunched up his face and made his voice even higher. “ You’re sorely mistaken if you think you’ll ever be anything but my… little… ”

A hand slapped itself over Harry’s mouth before he could finish the dialogue.

Riddle was staring at Harry, his mouth slightly ajar… and his cheeks bright red. Fire hydrant red.

“That’s enough,” Riddle said, his voice sounding strangled. “Maybe I should fire you.” 

And then, within a few more seconds, Riddle had completely backed away from Harry. He was on his feet, looking way and casually brushing off his clothes as if he’d only gotten a few leaves on it and not the whole damn forest.

And then he turned back to look at Harry with the oddest expression on his face.

“... Voldy ?” Riddle asked eventually, sounding positively scandalized.

Harry burst into laughter.

. . .

Despite the fact that they’d more or less made up back in the forest (somehow), Harry soon realized that they hadn’t discussed everything.

Like the fact that Harry was lightning_boi.

[30 minutes ago]

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Good evening.

Harry had been sitting on his bed, staring at his phone screen for the last thirty minutes and wondering how on earth to respond. Should he really just reveal himself as lightning_boi? Or would that just… complicate things.

With one last sigh, he swiped out of Discord and threw his phone away from him (still on the mattress, of course) and resumed towel-drying his hair. He had no idea how to approach this situation. As it was, his mind was already buzzing from a series of other realizations — not just all the big revelations like, the fact that his boss was the Lord Voldemort, but also little details.

Like the fact that Tom Riddle could really blush.

Because now that Harry thought about it, he’d definitely seen that blush earlier, weeks ago. It had been back when Harry had been caught reading Lord Voldem— Riddle’s fanfiction during work hours, which had ended with him making up some shitty excuse about his pen name being Lord_Voldemort_—

“Gaaaahhhh !” Harry launched himself onto his bed and yelled into his pillow, clutching it to himself in utter embarrassment. What had Riddle been thinking at the time? No, what had he been thinking? No matter how much he thought about it, the embarrassment never seemed to fade. 

And so that was how Harry spent the next half hour — recalling embarrassing moments with his boss — when he heard a firm knock at his door.

“Harry?” called Riddle. The, ‘May I come in’ was implied, though from Riddle, it was more like, ‘I’m coming in, prepare yourself.’

“Prepare yourself,” Marvolo murmured into James’s ear.

Harry shook his head. Now that he’d realized Voldemort was Riddle, he couldn’t help but recall dialogues from his boss’s fics and compare them to the way Riddle spoke to him.

“... Harry. ” Riddle repeated, impatience clear in his voice.

Harry quickly cleared his throat. “Y-yes, come in.”

Without a pause, Riddle swept into the room in all his COO glory. It was as if mud had never touched this man; he was suited to perfection, his hair combed with not a strand out of place. And to top it all off, he was sporting a flawless five o’clock shadow.

The bruises on his face, however, were far from healing. 

He was also carrying a first-aid kit. And kneeling on the ground next to Harry, and taking Harry’s arm and—

“Hold up,” Harry said, his ears inexplicably burning red-hot. “ I’m not the one who’s injured here.”

Riddle quirked an eyebrow at him. “The bruises along your knuckles say otherwise.”

Harry blinked in astonishment. “Yeah, and I got those from punching you. I think the more pressing concern are your bruises, which—”

Harry stopped, horror finally settling in.

Oh my god.

He’d just… he’d physically assaulted his boss.

“Am I in trouble?” Harry whispered.

Some of his horror must have been evident, because Riddle took his hands and raised his eyebrows at him, forcing Harry to look back at him.

“Harry, listen. You’re not in trouble and I won’t be firing you anytime soon. As far as anyone else knows, these are bruises I got from falling down a staircase.”

Harry stared at his boss in anguish. “That’s completely unbelievable.”

Riddle squeezed his hands lightly. “And it doesn’t matter. They’ll have no choice but to believe it.”

Harry nodded.

“Good,” Riddle said firmly, swiping his thumb calmingly over the back of Harry’s hand. “You can breathe now.”

Harry nodded again.

“I said, breathe. ”

Harry let out a breath he’d been holding and breathed, swallowing air frantically. He looked back at Riddle, his vision a little clearer than before. “How did you know…?”

“That you have anxiety?” Riddle finished quietly, raising his eyebrows at him. “I picked up on it when we were stuck in that elevator. The signs are pretty obvious, I’m surprised I didn’t realize before.”

Harry tilted his head, observing his boss. The man had been strangely subdued since they’d gotten back from the forest, and at this moment, he even seemed a little guilt-stricken.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry replied slowly, ignoring the way his stomach flipped as he watched Riddle rub a disinfectant on his reddened knuckles. “But I’m glad you’re treating me as a human being with emotions rather than an object now.”

Harry pursed his lips immediately, eyes wide. He hadn’t meant to say all of that.

Riddle’s eyes shot up to his, piercing and dark.

“I may have been harsh with you, but I have never treated you like an object .”

Harry’s eyes widened further, “Oh? Do you not remember the way you played with me in the elevator—”

Riddle stood up, towering above him, “I care about you.”

Harry stood to his feet as well, his indignant face mere inches from Riddle’s. “No, you’re attracted to me.”

Riddle opened his mouth before slamming it shut, staring at Harry. His mouth opened slightly, and Harry stared at it intently, breathing hard and waiting for words to come out.

Eventually, the older man swallowed, licking his bottom lip before speaking.

“I am.”

Harry let out a breath in one big whoosh , his stomach fluttering. 

“I am,” Riddle repeated, his voice growing colder. “You’d have to be blind not to have noticed how attracted I am to you. Though, given it’s you ,” he spat the last word with vitriol, “I’m not surprised it took you so long.”

Harry found himself recoiling at Riddle’s sudden frostiness, hitting the back of his legs against the bed and falling back. He held himself up, propped on his arms. But Riddle came forward in response, placing a hand near Harry’s side as he leaned in.

“And besides, what the bloody hell am I supposed to do about it?” Riddle spat, his eyes darkening further as his pupils dilated. “Fuck you? My employee?”

Harry’s heart jumped at his words and proximity.

“See what I mean?” Harry whispered fiercely. “You don’t respect me.”

Riddle leaned back, standing straight as he looked away in annoyance. “I respect you more than I respect most people.”

“Then I guess you have little respect for anyone,” Harry muttered, sitting up at the edge of his bed.

Riddle looked sharply back, his eyes flashing heatedly with irritation and something that Harry now recognized as pure lust . “Do you enjoy being such a smartass?”

“Do you enjoy being such a big dick?” he retorted.

Harry immediately regretted his words as Riddle smirked suggestively. “Watch your mouth, Harry.”

“Or what?” Harry taunted, unable to help himself.

Riddle abruptly kneeled before Harry once again, his eyes nearly level with Harry’s. He stared into Harry’s eyes for so long that Harry, who’d stopped breathing again, began to feel faint.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Riddle murmured quietly, before taking Harry’s right hand and gently pressing on a band-aid Harry hadn’t even noticed the man had been carrying.

Riddle used his thumb to smooth out the band-aid one last time before letting go of Harry’s hand and standing up. He looked at Harry one last time.

“Given that you’re attracted to me as well, I suppose it won’t be long before you’re begging me to fuck you.”

And with those words, Riddle swept away from the room, leaving a thoroughly shocked, indignant, and embarrassed Harry in his wake.

. . .

Harry was sitting at a desk in his guest bedroom, going over the paperwork Riddle had assigned to him now that he was back at the Manor.

Not like that meant they were talking.

Nope. Harry was rigidly avoiding the man except for when he had to. He couldn’t tell if all their ‘talks’ had made their relationship better or worse. Sometimes, Harry wondered if those moments of vulnerability in the forest had even happened…

“Would it surprise you if I said I felt I deserved it?” Riddle murmured, looking at Harry through swollen, half-shut eyes.

Harry swallowed at the memory; it seemed more likely to have come straight out of a dream. Perhaps the only positive thing to come out of all their conversations was that he now knew the sexual tension between them had not just been in his imagination.

So it was on this fine, summer evening in Little Hangleton that Harry received yet another text from Riddle’s online counterpart.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: How interesting.

Harry clenched his hand into a tight fist, wondering why on earth Riddle was flirting with random people online when he’d admitted to being attracted to him, Harry . It was strange, being jealous of his own online counterpart.

It’s just that… Riddle’s online actions seemed so disloyal . Not like they were together or ever would be, Harry wasn’t expecting a thing. But— ugh.

Oh well. Maybe Harry should just respond at this point.

>> lightning_boi: What’s interesting?

Harry set his phone aside, but the response was almost immediate.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: That you’ve begun to ignore me after claiming to be my biggest fan.

Harry bit his lip, smiling. It was definitely easy to believe this man was Riddle.

Time to play with the man a bit.

>> lightning_boi: I’ve just been busy, don’t be so sad! I know you missed me :’(

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Actually, I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier — about the ‘For Harry’ author’s note I left on my Office AU. While it wasn’t about you, I should have been less cruel when rejecting that notion.

Harry tilted his head, remembering the embarrassing moment he’d experienced.

>> lightning_boi: Oh, no problem. I’m sure whoever it was ab|   [Send]

Harry froze his typing mid-sentence.

Wait.

If Voldemort was Riddle, did that mean… Green-Eyed Monster … actually was about him? 

Harry shook his head. No, it couldn’t be. There’s no way… no way Riddle would be that much of a romantic. And yet, he found himself swiping out of discord and logging into Ao3, looking up Green-Eyed Monster and re-reading it… 

And there he was again, my personal assistant… walking into his cubicle with his third button undone. He looked like he’d had a rough night — my doing, I suppose — but was there really any excuse to show up at work looking like that?

He hadn’t even gotten to his cubicle before he was stopped by yet another employee for a quick chat. Ah, yes. Mr. Popular and Sociable. His messy black hair and ruffled appearance did nothing to deter people from approaching him.

Though that wasn’t a surprise, either. He was handsome, pretty enough to give some of the women at work a run for their money. And the person currently talking to him was one of his many girlfriends, Henny Ganger.

Harry stopped reading.

Henny Ganger.

He held a hand to his mouth, trying to suppress laughter.

That certainly wasn’t the name of any James Evans characters, as far as Harry was aware of. However, it did sound uncannily like Hermione Granger.

And if that was true, then James… James had to be Harry. Which meant that Riddle thought Harry was pretty?

Harry blushed.

Then his eyes widened.

If James was him, then did it mean that all of those lollipop-licking scenes and other sexual tension scenes were about him?

Harry slammed his phone face-down on the table and put his face in his other hand, trying to calm down. He tried not to think about the fact that he potentially knew some of Riddle’s sexual fantasies — even though Riddle had yet to write an actual sex scene in his Office AU — because, wow, the fact that Riddle had written them and the fact that they were about Harry —

It was driving him nuts.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ?

Harry realized he hadn’t responded yet.

>> lightning_boi: Hey! No problem, I understand. I was also wrong for jumping to conclusions and accusing you of finding out my identity.

>> lightning_boi: How’s writing going?

This time, Harry had to wait a few minutes before receiving another ping.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Pretty slow lately.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: To be honest, I should be working right now… but I’m actually trying to write the next chapter of Green-Eyed Monster.

Harry’s eyes widened as he read the second message.

>> lightning_boi: Need a beta? I could read over what you’ve written so far and give you my reactions.

Harry sent the message and leaned back in his chair, thinking. Riddle also hadn’t left his room much in the past few days… which meant he was somewhere in this manor, writing fanfiction at this very moment.

He grinned, an evil plan forming in his head.

Perhaps it was time he paid his boss a visit. Harry wanted to see the look on Riddle’s face when he entered. He wanted to see whether Riddle x-ed out of any tabs or lowered his laptop screen the way Harry had done so countless times in the past.

Would karma work in his favor?

Getting up from his swivel chair, Harry peeked in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair a few times until it looked good enough. He was dressed up nicely, even had his third button done up and everything.

Then, without a backward glance, he opened the door and started down the hallway with a confidence he didn’t quite feel.

It took Harry a few minutes to realize he was utterly lost.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Hmm… I would like that, actually.

Harry read the message and froze in his tracks, wondering if he should make his way back to his room and get back onto his laptop. He turned his head in different directions, unsure of where he’d come from in the first place.

He needed to stall for time.

>> lightning_boi: Awesome! I’ll just use the bathroom. Share a link with me?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: What’s your gmail? It would be easier if I directly shared the doc with you.

Harry frowned. His gmail was a little too revealing. He wasn’t sure he could simply give it out—

“Are you lost, wittle Hawwy?” said a sly, female voice.

Harry jumped at the sudden sound, turning his head to face his least favorite Riddle Manor maid.

“Oh, hey Bellatrix,” Harry replied calmly. “Where are you headed?”

The tall, dark haired woman raised one judgemental eyebrow at him. Sheesh, why did Riddles and their staff enjoy belittling him so much?

“I was just on my way to inform Master Riddle of the arrival of an important…” Bellatrix’s face twisted with disgust, “... guest. ”

Harry’s own eyebrows raised in response. “A guest?” He hadn’t even realized someone had arrived, the Manor was so large. He cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re headed to Riddle, I’ll just come with you.”

Bellatrix smirked knowingly. “Of course. Though I must warn you, the news I bring isn’t going to put him in the best mood.”

With those ominous words, Bellatrix spun on her heel and began to walk. Harry followed her, his curiosity about the guest growing by the second. He couldn’t really imagine Riddle having friends, so perhaps it was family? But Riddle didn’t have any other family besides his father, did he?

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Or don’t.

Harry cringed at the message, stuck on how to respond but not really having time to think of anything better to say. It seemed that they’d already arrived at the correct door. 

As Bellatrix opened it, Harry glimpsed his first vision of his boss in a few days… and held back laughter.

Riddle’s top half was as pristine as usual. But his legs, from what was visible underneath the desk he sat at, were outfitted in fashionable emoji pajamas. And he was wearing fuzzy pink socks to top it all off.

It seemed Harry wasn’t the only one surprised by the view.

“Master!” Bellatrix gasped. “You—you— get dressed! ”

Riddle rubbed his eyes, and Harry realized the man hadn’t shaved for a few days either. Not that it mattered; stubble actually suited him. A lot.

“What are you doing here?” Riddle asked quietly, placing a protective hand on his laptop and, to Harry’s amusement, lowering the screen slightly. “I told you not to disturb me today.” His eyes flickered from his maid to Harry, narrowing slightly. “And what are you doing here?”

When Harry stayed silent, realizing he actually had zero excuses for being here other than to walk in on Riddle writing fanfiction, Bellatrix spoke up.

“Sir, your stepmother is waiting downstairs.”

Riddle froze for a moment, as if he’d been stopped in time.

Then everything was a blur.

Riddle stood up from his desk abruptly, closing his laptop and pushing his chair in on habit. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked a little stressed. 

“Step-monster? Since when?” Riddle said agitatedly. He stalked towards his made bed, where pressed trousers had been laid out, and pulled down his pajamas in one swift motion to reveal tiny black boxers.

Harry squeaked in surprise, but Bellatrix seemed completely unperturbed. 

“Since a few minutes ago. The woman didn’t even give any prior notice,” Bellatrix said primly. Harry was still quietly staring at a half-naked Riddle from behind her. In fact, his eyes wouldn’t stop straying towards that extra-large Amazon package.

“Great, ” Riddle said sarcastically, pulling up the trousers as he walked towards a closet and took out a pair of shoes. “Her usual mode of communication. Surprise attack.”

Their conversation finally registered as Riddle’s boxers disappeared beneath pressed trousers.

“Wait a second,” Harry said slowly, “Riddle Sr. is married ? To whom? ”

“To me,” said an unfamiliar voice.

Three heads spun towards the opened door at once.

A tall, pretty woman was leaning against the door sill, her arms crossed. She had flaming red hair and intimidatingly fierce green eyes, and her outfit was completely black from her elegant, V-neck top down to her stilettos.

She was smirking in that annoyingly infuriating Riddle way, despite not even being a Riddle from birth. 

“Good afternoon, Tom.”

Riddle’s jaw pulsed once before he deigned to respond.

“Good afternoon, Lily.”

Chapter Text

She was smirking in that annoyingly infuriating Riddle way, despite not even being a Riddle from birth. 

“Good afternoon, Tom.”

Riddle’s jaw pulsed once before he deigned to respond.

“Good afternoon, Lily.”

The tall redhead continued to lean against the doorsill, raising one judgmental eyebrow at the general chaos of the room. Her eyes lingered on Harry’s form for a split second before she looked back at Riddle with amusement.

“Entertaining guests? I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had friends.”

Harry stepped forward to introduce himself, but Riddle’s warning glance stopped him in his tracks. Then Riddle’s eyes shifted back to the woman, and his expression deepened into a poisonous glare. “He works for me.”

Lily rolled her eyes, her long legs guiding her to a chair opposite of Riddle’s desk. “Oh, well, never mind then. Like father, like son.”

She grabbed a glass of water from the tray Bellatrix had left behind. “Don’t worry, I won’t be staying too long,” she stated after a sip.

Riddle stepped away from the closet and sat back down at his desk. His lips were pressed against each other firmly, a clear sign of his displeasure. “Then get to the point and tell me why you’re here. ”

Harry quietly moved in the other direction, towards the shaded areas of the room. Things seemed tense; he didn’t want to interfere in family business. Thankfully, it seemed the intimidating woman hadn’t cared much for his presence.

Lily’s eyes were now narrowed, her jaw resting stubbornly on her fist— classic Riddle posture. And it struck Harry then, that despite being Riddle’s stepmother, she didn’t look that much older than him. At max, maybe ten years older, but nowhere near Riddle Sr.’s age.

“Very well. Stop annoying Joanne.” She sighed. “And for the love of god, stop trying to sue her just because she killed off your favorite character in the seventh book.”

Harry’s eyes widened at that. Was Riddle really… suing J.K. Roaring?

Riddle sneered. “Oh, yes. I forgot you two were best friends. Unfortunately, that doesn’t earn her any points in my books.”

Lily’s green eyes flashed venomously. “I see. Does that mean you’d respond better to threats?”

Riddle bared his teeth menacingly. “Go ahead and try,” he hissed.

Lily tilted her head defiantly, her lips beginning to part—

“It’s because J. K. Roaring villainized Riddle,” Harry interrupted, the details sprinkled in their conversation finally starting to sink in and piece together. 

Riddle furrowed his eyebrows in Harry’s direction, his tone low and warning. “Harry—”

Harry took a few steps in the direction of the woman, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Just to clarify, you’re discussing J.K. Roaring, the author of the James Evans series, correct?”

“Harry—” Riddle tried again, but Lily shushed him.

“Go on.” Lily crossed one leg over the other, gesturing with a hand.

Harry held his hands up. “Look, I’m a fan of hers. But everything from the main villain’s name to his orphaned childhood is based on Riddle, so—”

“Are you sure about that?” she mused quietly.

“—It makes sense that Riddle would want to sue her given that she killed off the character based on him,” Harry finished. He looked back at Riddle, and the furious look on his boss’s face caused him to triple his talking speed. “It’s confusing though, because you were her editor, so I’m wondering if suing her would negatively impact you, but—””

“Bloody hell— Harry Potter!” Riddle furiously stood up from the desk, and Harry flinched. Ah shit, here we go again. “For the last time, stay out of this!”

The sound of glass shattering against the wood floors stopped Riddle in his tracks. Harry’s eyes darted quickly in the direction of the sound— only to settle on Lily’s now standing form.

Lily was staring directly at him, Harry , with a look of pure shock. Her hands were no longer holding her glass, and shards of glass were strewn across the floor. But she paid them no attention.

“Harry… Potter? ” Lily choked out, staring at Harry in disbelief. 

Harry stared back at her, dumbfounded.

“Well, yeah.”

She stared at Harry for a few more seconds, scrutinizing him closely. Then she seemed to give herself a shake, looking away abruptly with a mirthless chuckle. 

“Sorry. It’s just… you share a name with my dead son.”

The room was still for a few seconds, before the clink of glass shards alerted them to the present safety hazard in the room.

“Do you mind cleaning up the mess you made,” Riddle interjected, gesturing vaguely to the glass shards on the floor. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get injured.”

Harry gaped at Riddle, but Lily only glanced at Riddle with weak amusement. “Insensitive as ever. I doubt even glass shards would penetrate your exterior.”

As the two began bickering once more, Harry ran a hand through his hair and began to stress. He didn’t know what to make of this Lily person, and Riddle wasn’t helping matters.

Riddle made eye contact with Harry right then and began to chuckle mockingly. 

“What,” Harry bit out defensively.

Riddle came to Harry’s side and began to pull at Harry’s hair, causing him to yelp. “You’ve made a mess of your bangs, with the way they're sticking up in the air.”

You’re not exactly helping, Harry sassed internally, swatting at his boss’s fingers with a frown of annoyance. While attempting to flatten his bangs himself, he noticed Lily’s slow stare boring into the both of them. Harry stared back in confusion, bracing himself for an inevitable callout from the strict, no-nonsense woman—

She slowly began walking towards him, stepping over glass like it was nothing.

Harry held up his hands in a stopping motion. “Wait— ma’am, mind the gla —”

His words became incoherent as his cheeks were squished between the palms of two hands. Harry froze as two familiar green eyes stared back at him, wide and incredulous.

“It can’t be… here, of all places…” Lily mumbled, her words nearly indecipherable. But her eyes weren’t looking at his; they were caught on his forehead, no longer hidden by bangs.

She went completely still at the sight of his scar.

“Oh,” Lily muttered numbly. “Oh my. It really is you.”

Panicking, Harry looked at Riddle for help. But the other man seemed just as dumbfounded as him.

“I hadn’t dared to hope… I didn’t think I’d ever…”

Harry gripped the woman’s wrist and tried to pull her hand away. “Ma’am?”

“ Ma’am ,” Lily repeated, her voice robotic and her face wiped blank of expression. “You don't recognize me.” She stepped away, suddenly sounding very tired. “Of course not. Perhaps that’s for the best. And maybe… maybe I’m completely mistaken.”

“Er—” Harry didn’t know what to say. Instead, he led her to another chair away from the shattered glass. “I’m sorry…?”

“But you have my eyes. And you really do look so much like James,” Lily said quietly, putting a hand up to her head as she sat down. Her voice fell to somewhere in between a whisper and a mumble as she chanted, “Oh my god… oh my god… ”

At that, Harry’s blood ran cold. Now that was a name he’d heard plenty from the lips of his godfather. 

“Wait… wait a second,” Harry gasped. He kneeled down, putting his hands on the woman’s shoulders and shaking her slightly. “Are you talking about my dad? Did you know him?”

Before he could hear an answer, Riddle stepped in front of him, crossing his arms. Harry tried to shove past him, but the man wouldn’t budge. In fact, his boss wasn’t even looking at him.

“You seem oddly fascinated with Harry.” Riddle raised his eyebrows. “Comparing him to your dead son isn’t very… logical though, is it?”

Lily stood up from her chair and walked forward until she was a few inches away from Riddle. At full height, when wearing her very pointed, dangerous stilettos, she was only a few inches shorter than her stepson.

“His presence here isn’t very logical, either , ” Lily said simply, her voice quiet and fatigued as she turned to stare at Harry once more. “And yet, there he is, in the flesh… my son, Harry James Potter.”

The room seemed to freeze after that, as if under a spell… only to be broken by a slow, loud clapping that filled the air.

One final figure stepped into the room.

“Well, well. Looks like we’re all finally united,” Thomas Riddle Sr. said, smiling. “One big happy family.”

Chaos ensued.

. . .

“You promised you wouldn’t touch a hair on him,” Lily said angrily, her voice hoarse from hours of screaming. “You promised—”

“And I haven’t,” Riddle Sr. said calmly as he picked up a serving plate. “Yet.”

“ YET?” Lily and Riddle exclaimed.

“I’m kidding. Harry, chicken?” Riddle Sr. offered.

“No thank you, sir,” Harry replied quietly, his plate untouched. He hadn’t had much of an appetite today, to be honest. Having dinner with his new Riddle family had shocked the hunger out of him.

“Harry… you should eat,” Lily pushed, her voice softening with concern.

Harry stared back at her unflinchingly. “I’m fine. I don’t need to be mothered when I’ve done just fine without one.”

Another awkward silence filled the air, save for some coughing from Riddle Sr.’s direction. Lily glared at him before turning back to Harry. 

“I’m sure you want answers—” Lily started.

“Actually, I’m not sure I do,” he replied tersely, causing her to wince. “Why don’t you go back to pretending I’m dead? Makes things easier, doesn’t it?” 

Another flinch. It almost made him feel guilty… almost.

Riddle snorted, provoking a glare from Lily which he pointedly ignored. “Well, I do. ” He glared in his father’s direction. “Especially from you.”

Riddle Sr. finished chewing before putting his cutlery down, a charming smile creeping across his face. “Indeed, Tom. It is exactly as you have feared,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Harry is your stepbrother and has legal claim to the Riddle inheritance.”

As his boss broke out in a stream of profanity, Harry struggled to wrap his mind around the last few sentences.

A random inheritance? He hadn’t even considered the possibility of receiving such a thing… hadn’t even considered the possibility of his mother being alive when everyone had told him both of his parents died in a car crash long ago.

Harry put his fork down, the clink of cutlery jarring him from his silence.

A simmering rage began to take hold of him.

“I take it back. I do want answers.” He glared at everyone around the table, one by one.

“Ask away, Harry,” Riddle Sr. insisted. 

“What happened to dying in a car crash, mother? ” Harry asked quietly, scathingly emphasizing the last word. He could feel himself growing angrier with every word he spoke. “If you’re alive, why are you here, with Mr. Riddle Senior? Is that why Uncle Sirius never mentions you, did you cheat? Why—”

“I would never ,” Lily growled.

“—Why did you leave me, and with Aunt Petunia of all people? Were you ever planning—” Harry’s voice began to grow thick, tears threatening to spill because he was the type to cry when he got mad, “—did you ever think of… of coming back for me?”

“Of course I wanted to! You have to understand, I left you because I had to !” Lily pleaded. Then, whipping around to glare furiously at Riddle Sr., she bore holes of fire into his skull. “You left him with Petunia ?”

“Why are you in freaking England? Since when?” Harry couldn’t stop himself. Furious accusations kept pouring out of his mouth like vomit. “Why do you know the author of James Evans ? Why are we meeting now, after twenty—”

“She’s your godmother,” Lily butted in.

“—years when it doesn’t even ma— wait— what the actual fuck ?”

Lily looked once at her husband and stepson, who remained oddly quiet, before turning back to Harry.

“Let me start from the beginning, Harry.”

. . .

Your father and I got married straight out of high school. We were in love and— well, obviously it’s not something I’d recommend, but— we had you right after we graduated.

Oh, Harry. You were just… the loveliest child.

“He’s got your eyes, Lils,” James said fondly, looking at the baby in his arms.

“And he’s got your everything else,” Lily replied grumpily. “ Nine months of carrying him and he comes out looking exactly like you.”

James laughed loudly, before leaning down to nudge his forehead affectionately against Lily’s. “I love you.” His gaze felt like the soft warmth of a candle. “Thank you for having him, darling.”

Everything was perfect.

When you were one and half, we decided one of us had to go to college.

Lily smiled down at the giggling baby in her arms, watching his tiny hand curl around her pinky. “Shouldn’t one of us stay home to take care of Harry?”

James sighed. “Ah, yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He grinned. “Rock-Paper-Scissors for who has to stay?”

Lily shot him a look of exasperation.

In the end, we both found ourselves studying very hard in an effort to best the other and… well, we ended up going to Oxford and dragging you along with us.

“You’re in this class too, Lily?” James asked, with a stupid little smirk.

Lily poked his forehead. “Dummy, we sent each other our schedules last week.”

We even ended up studying the same major: Law and legal studies. Though for us, college ended up being more than just about studying; it was where we made some of our best friends.

“FUUUUUUCK!” A loud voice suddenly blurted from the opposite end of the law library. “WHY DID I PICK THIS MAJOR!”

“What a moron,” Lily scoffed, “yelling in a library like tha—”

“I FEEL YOU, DUDE,” James yelled back. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”

The guy looked back at him. “OH, I’M SIRIUS. WHAT’S YOURS—”

They ended up being kicked out of the library and, naturally, bonded over it.

Although James and his friends stopped frequenting the library afterwards for… reasons, I stayed there and made many close friends.

Such as Joanne. 

I met her in my fourth year, when she was a first-year. We were both in the Creative Writing club together.

“I loved your latest piece, Lily,” Joanne walked up to her, smiling shyly. “The one about the curious baby.”

Lily giggled. “That one is inspired by real life events.” When Joanne looked at her inquisitively, Lily hastily clarified. “I have a child. A son.”

Joanne’s eyes instantly lit up with interest. “Oh… could I meet him?”

She used to play with you a lot, Harry. Joanne was very fond of you… and like me, she also began to make you her muse.

She would write stories about you, imagining adventures you might go on when you were older… or if you lived in a completely different universe.

“What is Harry this time?” Lily asked amusedly. “A pirate?”

Joanne nodded seriously. “Harry Potter and the Cursed Treasures.”

Much to Joanne’s annoyance, Lily burst out laughing.

Our fourth year of college was marked by other events though.

That was when I met Professor Riddle, who took an unhealthy interest in me despite knowing I was happily married.

He didn’t respond to rejection well.

“You make me sound like such a villain,” Riddle Sr. interrupted, at which Lily merely glanced at him across the dinner table.

“Were you not?” Lily asked him calmly.

He threatened me, attempted to fail me. And when nothing seemed to work, and no amount of harassment shook my resolve, he decided to take matters into his own hands… and plan a very convenient car crash.

“No … no ,” Harry gasped, interrupting Lily this time. Her voice had begun to shake, just like the rest of her. And he didn’t dare look at Riddle Sr. Not after what he’d heard… he didn’t want to see the look on the murderer’s face. “Why didn’t you report him? Didn’t the police do anything…?”

Lily smiled sadly. “Harry… law enforcement doesn’t work on the rich and powerful; it works for them.”

On October 31st, a police car crashed into our car, taking the life of James Potter immediately. It was a very strategic crash; fatal for the passenger seat and right backseat, but absolutely safe for the left side of the car.

I escaped unscathed. Harry… you were sitting in a booster seat towards the right side of the car. 

You should have died. But you didn’t. It was a miracle.

You, too, escaped unscathed… save for a lightning bolt scar on your forehead.

Tears were streaming down Lily’s face now, and Harry could feel them streaming down his own. 

I knew exactly what had happened. I rushed you to the hospital, scrambling back home to collect a few belongings. I had planned to run away with you, Harry. To flee the country.

But by the time I made it back to the hospital, you were gone.

Lily gave a short burst of mirthless laughter, wiping away tears from her face.

I knew exactly who the perpetrator was, and I was ready to take him to court myself. I filed a report against Professor Riddle, but I had no evidence that he’d caused the crash or kidnapped you. 

I gave up on the case. I just wanted you back, Harry. I hired a detective and started looking for you myself, but before I could make any leeway, I was arrested by corrupt policemen paid off by Professor Riddle.

He bailed me out of jail, and once I was out, he was waiting for me with a contract.

I agreed to marry him and to not have any contact with you in exchange for your safety. In exchange for the promise that Riddle, too, would not contact you either… would not touch a hair on your head…

“And yet, here you are,” Lily said bitterly. “Brought to me by the very man who banned me from seeing you.” She looked at Riddle Sr. “I still don’t understand why he was left with Petunia instead of… I don’t know, Sirius .”

Harry froze.

“Well,” Riddle Sr. replied calmly. “There’s one detail you seem to have forgotten, Lily. Your car didn’t have three people at the time of the accident, but four. And the driver was none other than Sirius Black.”

The older man leaned back in his chair, his expression overly thoughtful. “ Someone had to take the blame for James’s death. He was simply the most convenient choice.”

Bastard.

Harry clenched his shaking fist underneath the dining table, staring down at his plate. He’d only met Sirius much later in his life, while he was in college. He still remembered his first meeting with the man, straight out of jail… how his godfather had gotten down on his knees, apologizing for killing his best friend and Harry’s father. He’d been gaunt and sickly pale at the time, and it had looked as if he hadn’t slept a day since the accident.

To think that he’d been losing sleep over a crime he didn’t commit, while this bastard had the audacity to act utterly remorseless. It was so… unfair.

Riddle spoke for the first time since Lily had started her story. “Is that why you rushed over here today? Did he tell you Harry was staying at the Manor?”

Lily blinked, her tears subsiding as she shook her head. “Oh, no! I didn’t even know Harry would be here.” Hey eyes narrowed. “Riddle informed me that you would be here though. So I came because I wanted to stop you from suing Joanne, from ruining the James Evans series, and to inform you that I would be legally representing her if you continued to pursue this course of action.”

Riddle reared back in his chair. “ Seriously? I understand that she’s your friend, but why are you so concerned about me ‘ruining the series’? You know my exact reasons for wanting to sue her, you know she based the villain on me—”

“Because James Evans isn’t just based on you. It’s also based on Harry,” Lily snapped.

Riddle stopped talking. “Right, of course.”

Harry was still having a hard time processing everything.

“W-what?” Harry asked slowly.

Lily took a deep breath and tried to re-explain.

“Remember how I told you that she liked to write stories about you?” She breathed again, as if trying to stop herself from blurting everything out at once. “ James Evans—  a combination of your middle name and your mother’s maiden last name. A boy with a lightning bolt scar, just like you, who grows up thinking his parents died in a car crash when he was five.”

“A lightning bolt scar… like Harry’s?” Riddle repeated quietly, looking curiously at Harry.

Harry glanced bemusedly at him before turning back to Lily. “Wait. So the ‘fake’ reason that James’s parents die in the series—”

“— is the real reason your father died.” Lily finished. “Correct. And the villain was inspired by  the Riddles. While none of us stood a chance against corrupt legal systems, against the power of the Riddle family, there was nothing stopping her from using real-life crimes as the inspiration.”

Lily took a deep breath, training earnest eyes back on Harry.

“But more importantly, Harry— Joanne adored you, missed you; she wrote the James Evans series mainly as a tribute to you… to remember you by. To re-imagine adventures you might have wished for in your wildest dreams, despite not being able to contact you…”

Harry closed his eyes, sighing. His head was hurting. The deeper Lily had gotten into her detailed account of events, the faster she’d talked, and it was all just too much information to process.

“I wonder if Joanne knew who I was when she approached me, asking me to be her editor,” Riddle said faintly, his expression unreadable.

Lily looked at Riddle regretfully. “Asking a Riddle to publish a series in which she purposefully villainizes Riddles… it was probably her idea of poetic justice.” Her eyes slid past him to Riddle Sr. “However, it’s very likely that Joanne didn’t base Marvolo purely on you.”

Harry looked at Riddle Sr. too. The man had been oddly quiet, serenely observing their discussion. But now, a faint smile seemed to ghost his lips.

Riddle leaned forward, staring at Lily in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lily looked cautiously at Riddle Sr. one more, as if waiting for him to stop her, before continuing. “I mean that despite Joanne drawing influence from you, such as by using your name, the villain of her series is based primarily on your father.”

Riddle blinked uncomprehendingly.

Lily leaned back, crossing her arms. “Think about it— you were raised by your mother and adopted by your father, yes? Marvolo’s backstory is much more similar to your father’s.”

Riddle raised an eyebrow. “Father’s backstory? Of what, childhood opulence?”

And finally, Riddle Sr. stepped in. “No, son. She’s referring to the fact that I, too, grew up an orphan. Except that I found my parents when I was sixteen, murdered them, and inherited everything they’d owned. Also, I was a professor for a short period of time— which was Marvolo’s dream job, if you recall.”

So Riddle Sr. had read the series as well, Harry pondered with narrowed eyes.

He picked up the napkin from his lap and set it on the dining table. “Not to mention, I gave Harry that scar on his forehead… and killed his dad.”

Harry gritted his teeth, holding back his fury as Riddle Sr. made eye contact with him, his mouth tilting into a knowing smirk.

Meanwhile, Riddle looked shocked. It seemed he’d known nothing about his father’s childhood.

“You were an orphan too?”

Riddle Sr. looked down at his plate. “Yes. Same as you, boy, Wool’s Orphanage. Except it was during WW2, when conditions were… slightly worse.”

“And… you still left me in an orphanage,” Riddle stated hesitantly, as if not wanting to confirm the truth.

Riddle Sr. stared at Riddle, his expression blank. “Yes.”

His response was simple. He made no excuses to justify his actions.

Thomas Riddle Sr. was simply not a good man.

Harry hadn’t realized he’d said that last part aloud until he heard Thomas Riddle Sr. chuckling in response. “No, I’m not, Harry. But I did reunite you with your mother in the end.”

“You killed my father, so it cancels out,” Harry bit out, causing Riddle Sr. to break out in cold, chilling laughter. 

His skin crawled at the sound.

Harry was surprised his own voice wasn’t shaking. Sitting across from a murderer who’d killed his own parents, Harry’s father, and nearly killed Harry was terrifying. He’d always suspected Riddle was some sort of mafia leader, but he’d been suspecting the wrong Riddle all this time.

And Riddle Senior was far more terrifying than the mafia.

He was a cold-blooded, psychopathic murderer who didn’t care for his own son, murdered as he pleased, and took what he wanted.

As the gravity of his own situation sunk in, Harry began to notice the way Lily’s fingers trembled ever so slightly despite her earlier defiance, the way her wide eyes had been locked on Harry’s the entire time, as if screaming at him to run. He noticed the way Riddle’s overly relaxed form contradicted his razor-sharp gaze, constantly scanning his surroundings.

Harry’s righteous anger was quickly replaced with heart-stopping fear.

His heart began to beat faster.  If he’d been his teenage self, he probably would have thrown a butter knife. If he was smart, he’d have attempted to run away by now. Instead, he’d done nothing more than hurl angry remarks at Riddle Sr. and his family.

He was probably in deep shit.

Lily stood up from the table first, calling for some of the maids to help clear up the dinner table. Harry didn’t know what to think of his mother. He understood that she’d been a victim, that she hadn’t really had a choice. A part of him was happy to even see her again. But she was a Riddle now, and she had been for nearly twenty years.

Right now, the person he trusted the most in this room was his boss. Even so, it wasn’t enough to share his suspicions with him.

Harry had a sinking feeling this entire trip had just been a set up.

He narrowed his eyes at Riddle Sr. as everyone got up from the dinner table. His senses had been tingling from the second Riddle Sr. had clapped in the hallway. Because while Lily had been telling him her backstory, Harry had started to piece things together, and something wasn’t adding up.

For some reason, Riddle Sr. had forced his son to take Harry along with him on a “business trip” that ended up with him in England— in the Riddle Manor. And after twenty years of keeping Harry and Lily apart, Riddle Sr. had suddenly, very conveniently decided to reunite them.

The only thing Harry couldn’t figure out was why .

Harry fought the urge to recoil as Riddle Sr. returned Harry’s gaze, forcing eye contact.

“Harry,” Riddle Sr. smiled. “Why don’t you join me in my room for a drink? I’d like to get to know my stepson a little more.”

Drinking with a murderer? Terrible idea.

“Of course, sir,” Harry replied carefully, trying his best to manage a smile that didn’t expose the turmoil he felt. At any rate, maybe slipping that butter knife into his sleeve hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

. . .

Harry’s heart pounded the entire time he followed Riddle Sr. through the dark, twisty hallways of Riddle Manor. Great, he was lost already. There was an ominous silence broken only by the echoes of their footsteps, and eventually, by the creaking of Riddle Sr.’s doors.

“Come in, Harry. Make yourself comfortable,” Riddle Sr. said, walking towards a cupboard near the master bedroom entrance.

Harry slowly walked in, taking in the room with a sense of wonder. It was the largest bedroom he’d ever seen. It was probably bigger than his entire apartment, and the bed was… why did Riddle Sr. even need such a big bed? It was red and luscious and— hold up— were those rose petals? 

Harry felt a spark of unease as his mind flashed back to the rose petals on Amortentia Inn’s beds.

“Enjoying the view?” Riddle Sr. said with amusement.

Harry flushed. Had he been that obvious? “Yessir.”

Riddle Sr. hummed, a suggestive glimmer in his eyes. “Me too.”

Harry stared at him dumbly. Was Riddle Sr. trying to rub his wealth in Harry’s face or something? He crossed his arms defensively, resolutely staying near the doors. To be fair, he'd probably be a smug asshole if he woke up everyday to this kind of view as well.

Closing his cupboard, Riddle Sr. walked over to the sitting area of his bedroom, setting two glasses and a wine bottle down on an antique-looking, intricate mini table.

It was the ugliest table he’d ever seen.

“Do you like this table?” Riddle Sr. asked Harry casually as he sat down on a sofa near it. The older man picked up the wine bottle and began to open it with a corkscrew. “I imported it from abroad. Bought it in a foreign art museum.”

People actually bought the art in museums? Harry tentatively took a few steps forward to get a better look.

Nope. Still ugly.

“It’s stunning,” Harry lied.

Riddle Sr. smiled, patting the seat next to him. “Don’t be so shy, Harry. Come sit.”

Harry begrudgingly dragged himself closer to the man and stiffly sat on the corner of the same sofa. From this angle, Riddle Sr. was a lot closer, and Harry began comparing him to the only other Riddle he was familiar with.

Riddle Sr.’s hair may have been peppered with silver, but the natural color of his hair was a lighter, medium brown. His skin was tanner than his son’s, his lashes just as long but not quite as full. The only major difference that Harry could spot between them was in the color of their irises.

“Hmm, it seems this corkscrew is broken,” Riddle Sr. tossed the corkscrew in a nearby can, fingering the wine bottle’s cork thoughtfully. “May I use your butter knife?”

Harry froze, his heart jumping out of his chest.

“What butter knife?”

Ice blue eyes fixated on Harry.

“The one in your sleeve, of course.” Riddle Sr.’s smile grew ever so slightly. A sudden chill crept across Harry’s spine as he realized he rarely saw the man without a smile of some sort. “Just place it on the table along with your phone. I don’t particularly enjoy being recorded.”

Silence.

Harry wordlessly placed his items on the table, preparing himself for death.

Riddle Sr. chuckled. “Relax, Harry. I’m not going to kill you.”

Whatever expression Harry had made at that statement caused Riddle Sr. to break out in low laughter once again.

“You’re more entertaining than I anticipated.” Riddle Sr. tilted his head, his serene smile ever-present. “Since you know of my true nature, I’ll speak more candidly with you.”

The older man began pouring red wine into one of the glasses.

“Harry… do you know what it takes to be a successful murderer?” he asked rhetorically.

Harry stayed quiet. All of his anger was being channeled into mental sarcasm that he was desperately trying to hold back. “No, sir.”

“Attention to detail,” Riddle Sr. answered after a few moments. "And Harry—” Riddle’s eyes shifted from the wine to him. “I have eyes everywhere. ”

Harry swallowed. He could no longer contain his curiosity.

“Sir—”

“Thomas is fine in the bedroom.”

Harry really did not like the sound of that. But he didn’t want to risk being murdered, so he obliged.

“Thomas,” Harry forced out after a few moments. “Since we’re being candid now— why did you bring me here? Why did you plan,” he gestured vaguely in no particular direction, ”this very happy reunion, and why now? What’s your motive?

Riddle Sr. raised his eyebrows at him, his smile curving into a smirk. “So your eyes aren’t just for looks.”

Harry couldn’t even hide his grimace at this point. Thankfully, he didn’t have to, as Riddle Sr. had already turned away to light up a cigarette.

“You know, when I first met your mother, she was so different from how she is now.”

He exhaled in Harry’s general direction, causing Harry’s eyes to water. But the look in his ice-blue eyes was far, far away.

“She was feisty and full of life.”

Harry coughed at the next exhale. As if in response, Riddle stood up and walked towards the bedroom window, sweeping away curtains and sliding it open. A chilly breeze swept through the room as moonlight flooded in.

“She was one of those students that stuck out. Speaking up for her classmates, standing up against bullies around campus. Such a… goddamn heroine.” Riddle Sr. snorted, his eyes warm at the memory as he looked out towards the dark woods.

“Unfortunately, Riddles have a bit of a destructive tendency; we tend to kill things.” Riddle Sr. looked back at Harry, his face shrouded in the shadows.

“Since you paid the Riddle graveyard a visit, you might have noticed that over half the names don’t end with ‘Riddle.’ Those, Harry, are victims.” Riddle’s teeth glinted through the darkness. 

And then he saw it again— Riddle Sr.’s smile. But this time, it barely resembled one; his face seemed more like an animal’s, teeth bared predatorily.

“Lily didn’t die, but her spirit did. Slowly, over the years, turning her into a bitter woman with none of her earlier passion.”

Gee, I wonder why. Harry frowned, feeling sorrowful for her.

“And oddly enough, though I hate to see her like this…” Riddle Sr. leaned against the wall near the window, facing Harry once more with that odd, sharp smile. “Breaking her was part of the fun.”

Psycho.  

Harry suppressed a shudder as Riddle Sr. continued to smoke, speak, and breathe in his general direction. He watched carefully as the older man exhaled again, staring off into the distance.

“I still wish she could go back to her old self though.”

What?

“So—” Harry started tentatively, utterly confused. “Is this your way of saying you plan to let her go? You feel bad for how she… turned out… so you’re letting her into my life again?”

Was the man trying to atone now?

Riddle Sr.’s mouth curved at the corners, as if he’d found something very amusing. “How cute, but no. I’m — ah, how do you say it.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes glinting as his gaze traveled down Harry’s form. “I suppose you could say I’m upgrading to a newer model.”

Riddle Sr. grinned.

Harry paled as realization finally struck him, his stomach revolting at the thought. He shot out of his chair, stumbling back. 

“Hell no—”

“It wasn’t a request, Harry,” Riddle said softly. “I know you’re already attracted to my son, and I’ve seen the glances you’ve thrown my way at the office…”

That was before I found out how you screwed up my life, jackass. 

Harry clenched his jaw, too angry to feel embarrassed. “Not on your life —”

“If you don’t oblige, then I may end up punishing your poor mother. Granted, she’s already been punished for twenty years, so what’s twenty more?”

Is this really happening? Harry panicked, scrambling back behind the chair he’d been sitting on. He took a few more steps backward before tripping into Riddle Sr.’s bed. 

“I’ll give you time to think, Harry. You can come back and take your phone once you’ve made a decision—”

“My answer is no, ” he gritted out firmly.

Riddle Sr. tilted his head in askance, his bright blue eyes dimming.

“No? ” he repeated, in a dangerous tone of voice. “What do you mean, no?”

Harry looked at him incredulously. “I mean, no . You wanna hear it in Spanish? No. ”

All hints of serenity vanished from Riddle Sr.’s face.

He did not see the punch coming.

Harry gripped the bedpost, lightly touching his stinging face with his other hand. Internally, he knew Riddle Sr. was far stronger than him. The best course of action would be to duck and avoid. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until he was backed into a corner. The punches began to leave him dizzy, and they’d finally caused his verbal defenses to act up.

“Congratulations, you’re officially worse than your son. Well, you were already worse, but now—”

Another punch. This time, a metallic taste filled Harry’s mouth, blurring his vision further.

“You’re pretty strong for an old man—”

The next few punches had Harry sliding off the bed, onto the floor. He felt his breath leave him as a kick connected with his stomach. Bright, colorful spots filled his eyesight, causing him to close his eyes for good. He vaguely felt as a hand grasped his jaw, turning it to face upward.

A faint tsk-tsk filled the air.

“If only we hadn’t had to do things the hard way. Then I wouldn’t have had to mar your beautiful face.”

Right as Harry swore he felt the beginnings of a kiss being pressed against his bruising cheek, the bedroom doors banged open.

Bang! Bang!

“Police! Hands in the air. Right now, get down, onto the floor… onto your knees…”

As a rush of police flooded in, Riddle Sr. was forced to the ground, a booted foot pressing his back into the floor as various guns pointed his way

“You’re brave to defy me like this,” Riddle Sr. noted calmly, cold anger evident in his tone. “What makes you think you’ll be able to arrest me?”

Another laugh filled the air, low and decadent. 

“You assume you’re still above the law after years outside the country?” Riddle stepped forward from behind the police. “How naive.”

He bent down and grabbed his father by his hair, raising his head. “The maids, the butler, the police… they’re no longer your eyes, father.” Riddle smiled sharply, his eyes dark and terrifying. “They’re mine.”

As Riddle stood up and police rushed forward to restrain the older Riddle, someone bumped into Harry once more, and the last bit of willpower that had been keeping him conscious died.

Harry passed out.

. . .

When Harry opened his eyes again, there were twenty people in the room. The chaos was slow to sink in, but when it finally did, he realized someone was shaking him.

“...Harry! Oh my goodness,” Lily cried, on her knees beside Harry. She was holding an ice pack to his swollen cheek, careful to avoid the bandages around Harry’s stomach. “I told you we should have called the police earlier!”

Harry winced at the noise, closing his eyes again. The bright, sterile whiteness of the hospital was almost painful to witness. He just wanted to shut everything out. 

A tired voice answered Lily. “If we had, then we wouldn’t have had enough evidence to lock him up for good. But you’re right, I didn’t realize…” the voice wavered, “... he would go this far.”

Harry reopened his eyes at the sound of his voice. “Riddle?”

“Harry,” Riddle whispered raggedly, lightly clutching Harry’s hand. “Harry, I’m so sorry…”

“Evidence?” Harry asked hoarsely. He cleared his throat, attempting to sit up. “How did you collect that?”

Riddle and Lily exchanged a glance.

“Remember how my father had already bought plane tickets and made various reservations for us?” Riddle started, sitting down in one of the sofas near Harry’s hospital bed. 

Harry nodded slowly, wondering where this was about to go.

The older man looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Those tickets and reservations were booked for two weeks after we actually came. However, it was clear from the way he’d interacted with you that he was planning something.”

Riddle sighed. “I knew that my father would be leaving for another business trip the day after he spoke to us. So I decided to fly us both to London two weeks in advance and… prepare for his inevitable arrival and plans.”

Harry crossed his arms, listening intently. “What do you mean, prepare?”

“Talking with the police in advance. Gathering evidence of his past transgressions from the maids and butler. Some…” Riddle grimaced, “Minor bribery work to get them to confess. Planting mini-cameras around the house, including his bedroom.” Riddle’s frown deepened, his eyes flickering uncomfortably. “He has a history of making… transgressions in private areas. And while I’d known vaguely of them in the past, I’d had neither the power nor… the motivation to openly go against him.”

Before Harry could ask more questions, Lily’s phone began to buzz. 

“It’s Joanne,” she said, checking her screen. She looked at Riddle. “She’s texting me. I should probably call her?”

“Go ahead,” Riddle replied, “I’ll watch over him.” He turned to look back at Harry. “Lily planned the second part of our plan last night; we’re delivering copies of the evidence to Joanne, in order for her to write an exclusive piece exposing my father.” His eyes narrowed. “With this, he’ll be properly ruined.”

As Lily stepped outside to take the call, Riddle got up and closed the door behind her, leaning against the wall.

“Well,” Harry sighed. “ That was a mind-fuck.” He leaned back into his hospital bed, trying to get comfortable—

He sat up abruptly, facing Riddle. “For the record, in case your dad actually dies in jail or something — I don’t want your inheritance, so… rest easy.”

Riddle scoffed. “As if I care about that. ” He looked downward, furrowing his eyebrows. “After everything my father has put your family through… ” 

He looked at Harry with a soft warmth that made Harry’s stomach tingle. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Harry.” Riddle bit his lip. “I’m also glad you survived that car crash.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, well, it left me with this scar on my forehead. And got me sent to my homophobic aunt’s house, so…”

Riddle took a few steps forward, bending down and reaching a hand towards Harry’s forehead with a curious gleam in his eyes. “May I… ?”

Harry’s brain began malfunctioning at the close proximity, his voice coming out as a slow, robotic drone. “Yeahhhhhhhhhsssure—”

His vocal chords stopped working as he felt Riddle’s fingers brush his hair back from his forehead, burgundy-brown eyes staring at the scar.

“So Joanne really did base James Evans on you,” Riddle breathed out softly. “Daniel Bratcliffe did not do you justice.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed. “Huh?”

Riddle only tilted his head in response, observing Harry’s scar more closely. “His scar is so inaccurate. It barely resembles a lightning bolt. But yours looks so much more natural. A main bolt of lightning with many fainter, tiny lines streaking from it. I’m guessing you were actually struck by some form of electricity during the car crash, because it resembles a Lichtenberg figure.”

A what?

Riddle let Harry’s hair fall through his fingers and back onto his forehead, covering his scar.

“Your bangs cover it perfectly too,” Riddle murmured, his eyes flashing as his fingers lingered near Harry’s left ear.

“Oh. T-thanks?” Harry stammered, blushing more deeply.

“I never would have guessed you were lightning_boi.”

Harry froze, his mouth halfway open.

The silence was too loud.

“ W-what did you say?” The idea of denying it didn’t even occur to him. How did he guess? Harry gasped, scrambling back towards the headboard on all fours. Unfortunately, a strong grip captured Harry’s ankle and pulled him back.

“Stop moving, you’ll injure yourself,” Riddle uttered sternly, before his mouth melted into an amused smirk. “Why are you running away now ?” 

When Harry remained frozen, Riddle’s smirk softened into a smile. “Honestly, Harry, I’m just happy it’s you.”

He stared at Riddle, his mouth once again agape, before shaking his head in disbelief. Well, if identities were at stake, two could play at that game. 

After a moment of deliberation, Harry proceeded to tug his ankle out of Riddle’s grip and turned to face the other. “Took you long enough, Lord Voldemort.”

Riddle put a knee on Harry’s bed and leaned down, softly capturing his jaw. “Shut up, Harry Potter.”

Then, he kissed Harry.

Chapter Text

Then, he kissed Harry.

At first, Harry didn’t even process what was happening.

His body remained limp until he felt Riddle’s weight press a little more firmly against him, a soft bite tugging him out of his paralysis.

Harry gasped.

He arched up against Riddle’s chest, his whole body shuddering. His eyes rolled back into his head when he felt Riddle chuckling softly against his lips, the most seductive sound he’d ever heard.

How many times had he dreamt of a scenario like this? This didn’t seem real.

Harry’s hands began to roam, into Riddle’s hair and down his neck and between his shoulders, tugging at the collar because he wanted— he didn’t know what but he wanted —

His wrists were pinned above him with a rough “ Behave ” that made Harry want to misbehave more than anything. 

Riddle’s mouth traveled down and bit Harry’s neck, before sucking on it so hard Harry couldn’t say anything but please and more. Which, naturally, made Riddle pause, his smug mouth hovering above Harry’s skin.

“Fuck you!” Harry spat, except it was way breathier and needier than he’d intended. 

Riddle laughed, burrowing his face into the crook of Harry’s neck while keeping his weight off of Harry. Harry’s heart fluttered at how careful Riddle was being.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured into his ear, giving Harry butterflies. Riddle gave him one last peck before sitting up, observing Harry’s flushed cheeks and messy hair with darkened, feral eyes before turning away with a sigh. “We should talk first though.”

Harry sat up as well, leaning on his palms behind him. He swallowed dryly, trying to calm himself down and refocus. “Ah yeah, sure. About what?”

Riddle tensed perceptibly.

“Well, a lot. Given that you’re my assistant, stepbrother, and… online friend. It’ll probably make things confusing and difficult.” Riddle cleared his throat, looking down. “But I’ve realized that whether it’s your online persona or your real life self, I’m clearly obsessed with you.” 

He looked away from Harry, biting his bottom lip. “So much so that I felt the need to threaten you to not quit despite me treating you badly—”

Harry grinned smugly, and Riddle cut himself off, his face twisting as if he’d tasted something sour.

After a moment’s pause of looking upward and attempting to recover from his embarrassment, Riddle continued talking. “My point is, despite everything, I want you in my life… in a romantic sense. And if that means you quitting your job, I’m willing to help you find another— a better one, even, that isn’t at my father’s company. After all, I’m sure you want nothing more than to get away from him. And we can help your mother move to Seattle, if you want… and I could introduce you to Joanne… and I know none of this makes up for anything I’ve— we’ve — done to you but—” 

Harry stared at Riddle in amazement. The man was rambling.

Before his boss could say anything else, Harry hugged him, his eyes beginning to feel misty.

“It’s okay, Riddle,” Harry said softly, “I won’t leave you.” He buried his face into Riddle’s chest, breathing in the man’s comforting scent while subtly wiping his snot and tears. He then leaned up and pressed a brief kiss to Riddle’s cheek, looking up at him with a small smile. “You have a lot to make up for, but I suppose I can forgive my office crush.”

Riddle’s eyebrows raised, holding his hands to Harry’s face as he wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “Your office crush?” he asked warmly.

“Mhm,” Harry nodded, swallowing before shooting Riddle a watery smile. “Probably my biggest crush ever. I even write fanfiction about him.”

Riddle paused, his eyes widening almost comically. The slightest of blushes crept across his cheeks. 

“I had suspected it but… boss from hell is about me, isn’t it?”

Harry let out a nervous giggle before slamming a hand over his mouth, his own eyes wide.

Riddle grinned. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.” He pounced on Harry, tickling him until Harry couldn’t hold back his giggles. Then he leaned down to Harry’s ear, biting it softly. “Wait until you read what I’ve written about you.”

Harry gasped at the sensations Riddle’s mouth was causing him. “I’ve already read Green-Eyed Monster, dummy.” Pretending to be clueless had been so difficult.

That familiar low chuckle sounded again.

“Not the future chapters, darling.” Riddle kissed Harry’s neck once before leaning against one arm, his face on his palm. “Though maybe you could help me write some extra chapters with a little role-playing.”

“Step brother role-playing?” Harry suggested innocently, before snickering. “Oh, wait— we’re already—”

Riddle pushed him back down to the bed, a definitively evil expression on his face.

“What are you doing step bro?” Harry asked, unable to stop snickering at social media references his boss would never understand. 

It took an embarrassingly short time for Harry’s snickers to turn into moans.

. . .

Chamber of Secrets: #extra

>> lightning_boi: Hey guys! I have an exciting announcement to make :)

>> SpinnetToWinIt:: Duuude! It’s been forever!

>> HeadGirl: Hey Harry! :)

>> RoonilWazlib: Yoo what’s up mate

>> sLEEpy: Maboiii good to hear from u

>> Forge: Hewwo hawwy (◕ ω ◕✿)

>> AngelinaJolie: … fred ew

>> Forge: @AngelinaJolie bb jealousy does not look good on u

>> lightning_boi: So I’m dating Lord Voldemort. In real life. It turns out I knew him.

>> 

>>

>> AngelinaJolie: HOLD UP

>> LavendarBrown: NOOOO FREAKING WAY

>> HeadGirl: Impossible . The only people you talk to irl are me and Ron.

>> sLEEpy: important question- is he ugly?

>> PrincessParvati: OMG CONGRATS HARRY

>> HeadGirl: Unless… oh. That… that makes sense. Oh my goodness.

>> lightning_boi: @sLEEpy he is definitely not. Think hot businessman vibes. Except hotter and more assholey than whatever you’re thinking.

>> lightning_boi: @HeadGirl shhhh ;)

>> LavendarBrown: ok idk about y’all but I’m DROOLING at that visual

>> SpinnetToWinIt: we been knew that voldy is an asshole 😩😩  doesn’t stop us from being fangirls tho

>> AngelinaJolie: Get it boiiiiii get that d1ck

>> lightning_boi: Also he agreed to join this server so I’m gonna invite him (could a mod please delete the above messages)

>> HeadGirl: on it 

>> LavendarBrown: NO. WAY. LORD VOLDEMORT IS JOINING??

>> PrincessParvati: ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod

>> sLEEpy: Oh nice another dude joining

>> AngelinaJolie: *screaming*

>> Forge: @AngelinaJolie 🧐 🧐  chill he’s taken. And so are u 😏

>> AngelinaJolie: huh since when no I’m not

>> Forge: b-but we’re discord lovers

>> Forge: we’re literally married

>> AngelinaJolie: sir—

Chamber of Secrets: #general

>> lightning_boi: Hey guys! Ok inviting him in now

Discord: Lord_Voldemort_ has joined the chat

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Thanks darling. Hello everyone.

 >> lightning_boi: 😊

>> PrincessParvati: Ohmygoodness hello Lord Voldemort?

>> LavendarBrown: I can’t believe it I’m literally— in the same discord server as Lord Voldemort

>> RoonilWazlib: … wow Harry’s never used the blushy emoji before

>> AngelinaJolie: Lord Voldemort I’m your biggest fan omg

>> lightning_boi: @AngelinaJolie 🧐

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Flattered to hear that, miss.

Harry glared at Riddle over the edge of his phone. “Riddle!” he hissed.

Riddle raised his eyebrows at him in innocent askance.

Harry frowned. “You know what you’re doing. Stop flirting with other people online.” He was starting to feel thankful that only twenty minutes were left until their plane began boarding and his boss no longer had internet access.

Riddle tilted his head. “Then stop calling me Riddle.”  He looked at Harry with a deep, dark, and heavily suggestive gaze. “Call me something else instead.”

Harry rolled his eyes, suppressing an unwanted shudder. His boss— ex-boss, whatever he was— had been encouraging Harry to call him something else ever since they’d become… a thing.

As if Harry would give in that easily.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Mind your choice of words though. You might make a certain someone jealous.

>> lightning_boi: I’m not jealous!

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Of course not, darling. 

>> Forge: Are you actually Lord Voldemort?

There was a nervous silence in the chat. Harry looked up, only to find Riddle’s face unreadable.

>> Lord_Voldemort_: Well, that’s my pen name. On the website where I write.

Harry’s face flamed at the familiar dialogue. 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Harry muttered, ignoring Riddle’s laughter.

>> lightning_boi: i hate u

>> Lord_Voldemort_: ;]

Six months later

A lot had happened in the last six months.

Harry had finally gotten his dream job as an editor in the Sci Fi & Fantasy department of a rival publishing company. At first, he’d felt a little guilty using Riddle’s connections to get a job.

Riddle had merely rolled his eyes. “That’s how everyone gets jobs these days. Just accept it.”

So he had, with no regrets. Harry had so much more time to hang with friends and focus on hobbies now that he wasn’t working for a slavedriver (*cough*). The higher pay had allowed him to lease his first car— a sleek, matte black Mazda 3.

And it was sitting in the garage, practically unused because Riddle always insisted on dropping him off and picking him up. As well as feeding Harry a whole lot in between.

Harry was getting spoiled big time.

He’d also moved in with Riddle last month, and his ex-boss’s sky-high penthouse apartment was… something out of a movie. 

Basically, Harry was thriving in every way.

Except for his fanfiction writing.

Tom set the coffee mug down on his kitchen counter, raising an eyebrow.

“So you want me to role-play as the Dark Lord? While you role-play as the protagonist?”

Harry nodded. “Correct.”

Tom smirked. “Darling… don’t you think we should have regular sex first before we try anything extra?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He raised his hands, flushing wildly. “I don’t mean role-play in a sexual way!” And it wasn’t as if Harry was opposed to anything sexual in the first place. It was all because of their stupid bet of who’s going to give in first that Harry was this sexually frustrated in the first place.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “It’s for my fic. I feel like I’m not writing my interactions between the main pair naturally,” he’d been struggling with writing Marvolo, especially, “and I just need some inspiration, okay?” 

He eyed Tom pleadingly. “That is, if you’re willing to…” 

He had been hitting a writer’s block on one of his most recent works of fanfiction— a Marvolo Gaunt Wins AU, where the Dark Lord takes James as his prisoner.

“And you,” Harry waved a hand in Tom’s general direction, over his entire body. “You have an excellent grasp on his character,” so good you’re famous for it, Lord_Voldemort_, “… and I just want to try it out.” 

His voice had progressively gotten higher and higher, a testament of how embarrassed he was, but Harry had carried onwards. Even though he’d never role-played in his life, role-playing with Tom Riddle as Voldemort— role playing with the man who wrote Haunted, oh my god, his inner fanboy was screaming— seemed like it would be the opportunity of a lifetime. 

Tom stared at him, his expression indecipherable. 

And then he was reaching for his tie, loosening it, still keeping his eyes on Harry’s form as he slipped his jacket off. Riddle unbuttoned the top of his shirt without breaking eye contact, wrapped his tie around the back of his neck. As he stalked closer, Harry found himself unconsciously walking back towards the nearest wall.

Tom undid his belt and held it in his hands like a whip, and Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Wh-what are you going?”

Tom looked at him with dark, unreadable eyes, the corners of his mouth curling. 

“Punishing my prisoner, of course.” He stalked closer, and closer. “You wanted to role-play, didn’t you?”

His eyes glinted, as if to say, Oh, Harry. You don’t know what you’ve asked for.

Harry’s breath hitched in anticipation. He slipped off the gorgeous kitchen stool (seriously, why was everything this man owned so aesthetically pleasing) and tried to run away.

But a firm grasp on his wrist inevitably caught him, shoving him against the wall. The same hand  came up to finger Harry’s jaw, the other still holding onto a black belt.

“Tom,” Harry breathed, eyes wide.

The fingers on Harry’s jaw clenched scoldingly, even as Riddle’s eyes glinted playfully, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “How dare you call me by that name… James Evans.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the name of his character. Right, he was role-playing. Harry frowned, not happy to be drawn back to reality by something that should have drawn him further into this fantasy—

But Tom must have noticed how distracted Harry was, observant bastard, because his hand slipped downward and his fingers squeezed ever so slightly tighter around Harry’s throat. Harry gripped at the other’s wrist with instinctual panic, locking eyes with Tom.

“Lord Slytherin, ” Harry spat with venom, because with the way Tom was looking at him, it was very easy to believe his counterpart really was the embodiment of Roaring’s Slytherin. Dark eyes and handsome features and the familiar cruel twist of his mouth… yes, perhaps this man was every bit the charismatic murderer he played… 

Tom’s eyes leaned in even closer. All Harry could see was Tom’s eyes boring down onto his own, like black holes threatening to swallow him up.

“No,” Tom said quietly, “That is not my name.” 

Harry froze, caught off-guard and unsure of how to proceed.

Then,

“I am Lord Voldemort…”

Harry’s eyes widened. A small part of him was laughing—because of course, Tom wouldn’t want to be called by any other person’s title even when role-playing. Really, the narcissistic bastard was exactly like Lord Slytherin…

But another part of him had begun to shiver in anticipation. 

They were going off, moving away from canon and the books, but Harry had never felt more immersed than in this moment.

“And you will fall for me, Harry Potter. ”

Harry gasped.

Upon hearing his real name fall from Voldemort’s lips, a feeling of utter rightness flooded him.

“You see, Harry,” Voldemort breathed, as his cold fingers tracing Harry’s scar. “I can touch you now…”

A shiver wreaking down Harry’s spine as his skin began to tingle, as if touched by magic. He tensed up, his blood rushing as he felt himself falling completely into the illusion.

The lights suddenly flickered out.

Out of nowhere, cold lips brushed against Harry’s left ear, a low whisper rattling his insides. “You dare to believe you can escape Lord Voldemort?” A low, mirthless chuckle chilled the back of Harry’s neck. “You fool—”

A feral instinct overcame Harry. He attempted to jerk away, but the hand gripping his neck and slammed him back against the wall. 

Harry struggled, equally for air and in shock.

“Tell me, Harry —  are you always this helpless?” 

Red-hot anger spiked through him. Harry gritted his teeth and kicked, feeling Voldemort’s grip on his neck loosen ever so slightly. He clawed at the fingers with his nails and slipped away from his captor, keeping a hand on the wall as he walked a few steps back and crouched against the floor.

A few moments of silence passed, his heart beating wildly the entire time.

“To be helpless, ” Harry breathed raggedly into the darkness, “is to be afraid.” The corners of his own lips curled as he began to taunt. “Are you afraid, Voldemort? Afraid to die, to lose—? ”

The near inhuman snarl that sounded from his opponent sent an exhilarating rush of energy through Harry’s body. He braced himself as a hand curled around his ankle, pulling him closer—

Ring! Ring!

The lights came on after a moment. Harry groaned as Tom let go of him, shifting away to check his phone.

“It’s from work,” Tom noted with boredom before looking back at Harry. “That should be enough inspiration for you.”

“That was so good,” Harry moaned. “I need more— ”

“I’ll check how much you’ve written when my call ends. It better have a word count over 5k,” Riddle stated, before picking up his phone and wandering off to his office. “Hello Albus…”

A word count over 5k? Impossible.

Harry cracked his knuckles, pulled out a stool, and got to work anyway. He was so immersed he barely realized when Tom came back into the kitchen an hour later.

“Lunatic… calling me on the one day off I’ve requested all year, seriously,” Tom muttered viciously as he re-filled his coffee mug. “So, Harry, what’s the word count?”

Harry checked eagerly. 

Shit.

“S-seven—something” Harry stammered. “Why don’t you guess?”

Tom smirked. “Seven thousand? Likely not.” He tapped his chin twice. “I’m guessing seven hundred?”

Harry’s ears burned red. “Seventy-five.”

Tom snickered very loudly. 

“Shut up!” Harry crossed his arms defensively, “For the record, my longest fanfiction is about 70K—”

“70K?” Tom mused, interrupting him. “That’s it? ” His eyes flickered playfully, his voice dropping suggestively. “Don’t tell me you lack the… stamina to write more.”

Tom’s face broke out in a grin as Harry flushed furiously. What a dick. Honestly, he couldn’t believe Lord_Voldemort had turned out to be such an assho—

Harry paused.

Nevermind.

“Well, I have a thousand kudos on boss from hell so I’m doing pretty good,” Harry finished firmly. “Not amazing. But then again, not everyone can be a fanfiction god and have twenty-five thousand kudos—”

Tom waved his hand. “Speaking of kudos… there’s something I wanted to talk about with you.”

Harry closed his laptop and set it aside. “What is it?”

“I’ve noticed you only post on Ao3, and not on Fanfiction.net.”

Harry scoffed. “Well, of course. Why the fuck would I post there? It’s ugly and hard to use, and readers there are generally far less accepting.”

“Well, therein lies your problem,” Tom leaned forward, crossing his fingers together. “You’re not maximizing your followers and readers. You’re only posting on one platform, simply because its user interface is a lot easier on you. Thus, you’re completely losing out on a platform that—though admittedly less polished in many ways— is much older and has undeniably more people on it.”

Tom stood up, leaving his coffee cup on the table (presumably for Harry to pick up after him, the bastard). 

“Honestly, even if I were to only choose one platform, I would be posting on Fanfiction.net over Ao3… simply for viewership and the fact that it has much better visibility, statistics-wise.” He pushed in his stool. “It is a much better platform for amassing a large following.”

It is a much better platform for amassing a large following. Huh, did he think Harry honestly cared much about that?

It wasn’t the kudos or follows that made him happy and kept him writing.

It was the comments.

Through each of his characters, Harry shared his soul with a bunch of strangers. He spent so much time writing, and the comments he got on Ao3 were just so much better than the ones he got on Fanfiction.net—

Harry hadn’t exactly had the best experiences with Fanfiction.net. But perhaps… 

No. Never again.

“Well, then, I prefer Ao3 because it is a better platform for amassing a quality following,” Harry shot back, “and a more accepting following to boot. Besides, Fanfiction.net doesn’t even allow some of the things I write…”

Tom raised an eyebrow.

Harry trailed off, his face turning red. There was an odd taste on his tongue, the distinct feeling of having put his foot in his mouth. 

“And what sorts of things do you write, Harry?”

This man. Harry clenched his jaw. They both knew what kinds of stories Harry wrote— the NSFW kind—

Tom burst into laughter again. Was it just him, or was the man laughing way too much these days?

His ex-boss leaned in to kiss Harry on the cheek. “Don’t worry, darling. Just keep writing; I’ll make all your sexy fanfiction dreams come true.”

He could still hear Tom’s chuckling far after he’d left the kitchen.

. . .

Harry’s Author Notes: 

Hey guys! It’s Harry! I wanna thank you all for reading boss from hell , it’s come to an end and I honestly can’t believe I finished a fanfiction lol ig there’s a first time for everything! Special thanks to my beta and special friend Lord Voldemort because he really kept me in check whenever I felt like ditching this. Anyways, hope you liked it!

Comments:

>> Lord_Voldemort: gj

     >> lightning_boi: thx

>> HeadGirl: Harry! I love it so much. The attention to detail, the dialogue, the ties to canon… It’s all so wonderful. To celebrate the completion of your very first fanfic, I wrote a little google doc essay-comment-spam for the entire fic hehe. Thank you for sharing this fic :)

     >> lightning_boi: I LOVE U SO MUCH xoxoxoxoxo THANK UUUUU

>> Ferretface: good job writing a sex scene despite being a virgin

     >> lightning_boi: bro… 

     >> lightning_boi: not for long okay

>> RoonilWazlib: How the heck did ferretface get here before me? Anyways, great job mate. Good story. I’m still not gae but good writing good stuff

     >> lightning_boi: lmao that’s funny and also thanks mate :)

>> Gred: “special friend,” huh?

     >> lightning_boi: very special indeed

>> BellaTricks: hmmmph

     >> lightning_boi:  hmmmph

>> Forge: not bad not bad. That last scene was seggsy. Also the boss has got some moves , I should try some of those on angie

     >> lightning_boi: haha thanks, lmao go for it (lmk how it goes)

     >> AngelinaJolie: Please don’t.

>> AngelinaJolie: Harry! I love it. Great job, the characters are both so attractive (especially the boss) and everything from the bed sharing scene to the elevator scene was just. Too good.

     >> lightning_boi: Ahhhh thank you ange! Yah I tried to make it as steamy as possible lol. I’m so happy you liked it!

     >> Forge: So which parts did you specifically like?

[load more comments…]

. . .

The blonde woman observed her friend’s son entering the coffee shop, holding hands with a taller, well-dressed companion. Riddle, she recognized, attempting to hide herself deeper in the shadows. She watched as the older man (still quite young, in her books) handed something to the boy before sitting near the opposite end of the store. The boy then went up to order, presumably for the two of them.

Right as the boy finished ordering, the barista called out her name for the drink.

“Joanne!”

She got up to fetch her hot chocolate. As her hand wrapped around the warm cup, the boy— no, young man now— made eye contact with her.

The blonde smiled, tilting her head in greeting.

The boy quickly smiled back, greeting her in response. “Hello, ma’am.”

Her smile grew bigger. She thanked the barista for her drink and sat back down, happily sipping at her hot chocolate.

He was exactly like what she’d imagined.

~ the end ~

extra: ice cream drabble

Tom: “You’re so predictable it’s laughable.”

Harry: “Oh really? You don’t know shi—”

Tom, gesturing: “You’re going to order strawberry, your favorite flavor.”

Harry: …

Harry: “How the hell do you know my favorite flavor? You creep—”

Tom: “Please, you’re not special. I just happen to be rather good at reading most people (given their utter predictability).” *points to Ron*. “Your friend is ordering vanilla.”

Ron: …

Ron: “I’m ordering chocolate.”

Tom: *waves hand* “That was my next guess.”