Chapter Text
Dealing with James Potter and Malfoy the youngest in one day is not for the weak.
A thought Harry held in his mind as he stood in line at Waitrose later that evening. Dusk had fallen, and so had the vice on his head.
“Next” The cashier muttered out, a woman in her early twenties and hoop earrings.
Harry put down a small container of Boots Clay Mask and a piece of cucumber on the counter then ruffled through his pockets for some coins.
“Spa day?” The woman asked Harry curiously as she swiped the items for checkout.
“Ye-ep.” Harry replied absentmindedly, handing over a couple muggle coins. Leone had introduced him to the art of skincare a couple years earlier, with his cobalt-blue La Prairie jars and Crème de la Mer. The daily criticism of his pale, dry skin at an interval of 3 hours every day drove him crazy until he was forced to apply skincare himself.
Harry settled for the 50 pence clay mask he could buy at any convenience store and a piece of cucumber, seeing as buying two small slices was Not A Thing. He could munch on the remaining cucumber though, so that was a win.
She nodded approvingly, going on about how her boyfriend refused to do spa days or even skincare with her.
“I mean, think about it! Spa days are always with the girls. How hard is it to have just one with my man?” She sighs, putting his items into a paper bag.
Privately, Harry envisions Tom with chilled cucumbers on his eyes in a bathrobe and a clay mask drying on his face. He would be very pretty, with his shiny wavy hair and a serene expression plastered on his face.
Harry takes the paper bag, the fatigue from meeting Potter Sr. and Malfoy Jr. earlier that day already forgotten. With a smirk on his face and a bathrobe-clad Tom in his mind, he makes his way home.
If the vein in Leone’s forehead almost bursts in frustration at the sight of Harry very aggressively rubbing clay on his face, well. The good thing is that it's an almost.
*
“Harry.”
“No.” He yawns, biting the cucumber. The sliced pieces on his face make a good excuse for not looking Leone in the eye.
“It isn’t—”
“No-oope.”
“Goddamnit you unabashed idiot I’m not asking you to cover for me while I go party in the Vatican for the third time this week. There’s a letter here for you.” Leone said loudly in one angry breath, rolling his eyes as he waved around a black velvety letter.
“Auuuuggghhh.” Harry sighs out, plucking the sliced cucumbers off his eyes then puts them in his mouth to munch on them. Mmm. Not as good as the fresh ones, but it's alright.
Ignoring Leone’s horrified stare and agape mouth, Harry stands up and snatches the letter off the man’s pristine, manicured hands. How he came to be a painter, Harry would never know.
The black, velvety letter had Tom’s stamp— a snake, how original— on it which doubled as a wax seal. The two had an interview just the day before, and it had been roughly 21 hours since he had last left his estate. An image of Tom in pristine bathrobes and a drying clay mask greeted Harry’s mind.
Well… no. Tom would most certainly never use Boots clay mask. Leone’s La Prairie jars would fit the man much better. Also, Tom hated anything unartistic. The Boots bottle was as beautiful as Harry’s future as an Auror. He snorted. Yes, Tom would enjoy those cobalt-blue jars very much indeed.
He opens the letter.
Dear Harry,
If you recall from our previous interviews, I am meant to have a meeting with the French delegates regarding the Beauxbatons exchange program tonight. Much unfortunately, due to a few miscommunications that will be swiftly handled by the department, instead of landing in their carefully-prepared London suites, they ended up in an eccentric wizard’s cottage located in the North of Scotland.
They seem to be enjoying it there, and inform me that they’ll be in London by tomorrow. My schedule has freed up a 13-hour window, from the hours of tonight till tomorrow at 8AM, where I am meant to greet the delegates, in hopefully sober states.
Do with this information as you will. I expect to see you within five minutes.
Signed,
Tom Riddle
British Minister of Magic
“Pssh.” Was it really that difficult for the man to tell him he wanted the portrait to be finished sooner? Though, he did feel bad for the delegates that got caught up in Tom’s schemes.
Whatever, Harry thought as he swallowed the last of the cucumber. Tom wouldn’t mind the clay mask on his face… maybe. Who cares.
A moment's surprise graces Leone’s fine features as his roommate disappears in front of him with a small pop of apparition.
“Why am I even surprised?” He grumbles, staring at the spot where Harry once stood.
If he was quick, he could make it across the world for a couple swishes of wine. The priests miss him anyway.
*
Whenever Harry apparated to Tom’s Estate, he’d picture the lavish living room, and imagine himself popping in on the spot right beside the Bernini Statue— or at least, what he assumed was one.
But much unfortunately— due to Tom’s impeccable wards— he’d always find himself standing right outside the gate. And thankfully not falling into the Seine.
This time was different, though.
With a quick pop of apparition and only a moment of Leone’s shifting expression, Harry finds himself not outside the gates— with the cold winds that usually greeted him— but in the living room.
Right beside the gorgeous statue.
Huh.
Was he keyed into the wards now? He wondered, with an increasing sense of curiosity. A quick look around showed him that Tom was nowhere to be found, and with a shrug, Harry took one more step toward the statue to identify its origins.
It was made of a rare Carrara marble, depicting Proserpina being abducted by Pluto. Beneath her is a Cerberus, symbol of the underworld. And it looked so real. The trickle of a tear down Proserpina’s face made her all the more expressive and human.
Beneath it was a pedestal, signed with the title ‘Ratto di Proserpina’, and what was undeniably Bernini’s signature. A small carving stated it was sculpted in the year 1622. Harry was a large fan of Bernini’s works, who was a muggle but gifted with a skill of the Gods. When he had visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, he found his feet grounded for half an hour in front of the first Bernini work he saw, which was ‘Bacchanal: A Faun Teased by Children’. He had only travelled and sought more of Bernini’s works afterwards.
But for Tom to have a real, life-sized statue of Bernini’s in his Estate… wo-ow. The lucky bastard, Harry thought idly, and wondered how much firewhiskey he’d have to pour down Tom’s throat for him to steal the statue unnoticed.
“I’d prefer the 1787 Château Lafite, darling.” A deep voice cooed in his ear as Harry startled with a yelp.
He turned to see Tom standing only two inches away from him, his breath warm on Harry’s collarbone.The man was dressed in a cashmere turtleneck and cotton slacks, seeming very comfortable indeed.
“Jesus Christ, Tom! How the hell did you—” Harry started, before being interrupted.
“Two christian connotations in one sentence, you never struck me as a religious.” Tom said with a smirk, as Harry pushed past him to hide the blush painting his cheeks. Since when did Tom get so close? Why was he occupying his mind so much recently?
“I’m not, but Leone’s been a great fan of the Vatican priests lately.” Harry scowled, breathing in slowly to steady his heartbeat.
“Leone?” Tom asked before shaking his head, “Nevermind. It seems I’ve caught you at a bad time, would you like to wash up?” He looked at Harry’s face with no small amount of bemusement.
“Uhhh.”
“You have a bit of clay on your face, darling.” Tom clarified, as he led him to his bedroom and inside the Master Bathroom.
If Harry wasn’t so busy simultaneously thanking the clay mask for covering up his blushing, he’d notice Tom watching him with a glint of hunger in his eyes at the sight of warm water dripping down Harry’s eyelashes as he patted his cheeks with a soft towel.
Tom’s towel.
Dear Merlin. Maybe he needed the Vatican after all.
*
“All done?” Tom asked, eyes on his watch as Harry came out of the bathroom.
“Ye-ep” He said as he summoned a notebook and looked around. “...I’m assuming you want me to interview you in your… bedroom?” Harry said with no small amount of skepticism, and a tad bit embarrassment if the red of his ears were anything to go by as he took in the sight around him.
An awkward pause greeted the two gentlemen which Tom broke with a cough.
“No, however there was somewhere I’d like to bring you.”
“...For our interview.” He clarified.
“Alright-o,” Harry said, regaining his previous cheekiness. “Lead the way then.”
Tom nodded and gestured for him to follow as they exited his bedroom, down a couple halls with intricate wallpaper and chandeliers and whatever it is these sophisticated, rich people with taste had in their house. He led Harry through one turn right, then straight ahead, then through a ballroom, and finally to their destination: The garden.
The garden was… beautiful. There were trees all around a clearing of grass and daffodils, with fairy lights hanging on them. It was nothing like the posh, soulless gardens of the Malfoys’ with their albino peacocks and sculpted hedges. Tom’s garden was soft, with an inviting aura. There were a couple wild flowers very delicately planted here and there, and the wall opening to the garden was glass. Once outside, the pathway was made of little stones which glowed when you stepped on them and a small pond to the left of the clearing.
In the middle was the classic red and white checkered picnic blanket, made of the softest material. The pair made their way to the picnic blanket, which was when Harry saw situated in front of them two glasses of wine.
Upon closer inspection of the bottle sitting in a bucket full of ice, Harry found out it was indeed the 1787 Château Lafite that Tom was cooing about earlier.
Jesus Christ indeed.
“Whewwww. Kinda fancy for an interview, doncha think Tommy?” Harry chuckled out loud, internally cursing the fact he hadn’t brought chocolate.
Why hadn’t he brought chocolate? And a croissant. Man, that’d go so well with the wine. He sighed, all previous thoughts of Tom lost in the sewer of his mind.
“Hm.” Tom mulled over his words, before adding “The muggle forecast said there was to be a meteor shower tonight, a shooting star. I didn’t want to miss it, all cooped up in the office.” Tom said softly, eyes to the dark sky.
Harry’s eyes softened.
“I used to enjoy meteor showers, once.” Harry said, lost in thought, barely louder than a whisper.
“Do you not, anymore?” Tom asked curiously.
“It remains to be seen.” Harry replied, closing the subject for now as the two fell into an easy camaraderie and something much more. Clinks of glass were heard, along with the sipping of wine, and the summoning of a notebook— Harry wasn’t an imbecile, he was there to interview the man after all.
‘Though…’ he thought, and shook his head. It was best not to run away with his thoughts.
*
“ — So I found him, after years of searching. I wanted to know the... It was an accident, you know.” Tom said softly, evading Harry’s eyes.
The two had been talking for what seemed to be forever, about their life and everything in between. The meteor shower hadn’t started yet, but the pair had finished half a bottle already and there was still not chocolate.
“Killing your father was an accident?” Harry raised his eyebrow at the thought, with no tone of judgement. Accidental murders happened all the time… maybe.
“I don’t know anymore,” Tom mulled over truthfully. After a glass of wine, he was much less uptight, telling Harry the pitiful story of his origins.
“I guess I just wanted to know why.”
“Why?” Harry asked, encouraging him to elaborate.
“Why he left my pregnant mother, who had to die alone on the steps of the orphanage where I was to be reluctantly raised.” Tom said with no emotion at all, before continuing.
“It was accidental magic. I was so angry, upon realizing he held no remorse at all. My magic brought the entire house down. Today, the only thing left of the estate would be the gardener’s shed where the gardener, Frank something, was oversleeping that day. Thank goodness, honestly. I was too young for a murder of three.”
“...It left a crater in the hill, with the whole house eviscerated. I liked to think I was the meteor who made the dinosaurs extinct.” He ended, the shadow of his eyes indicating he was a world away.
“Pssh. I wish I did that.” Harry smirked.
“...You wish you eviscerated your own father?” Tom questioned, head whipping as his eyes met Harry’s.
“Uhhh, well, no.”
“No. After saying you did.” Tom deadpanned, staring Harry down as he rubbed his neck with his hand and started looking everywhere but Tom.
“Not really… I mean I wouldn’t like to kill him, at least. I just…”
“You just what, darling?” A glint of concern sparked in Tom’s eyes as he took in the nervousness clouding Harry’s thoughts, and the jumbled ideas running through his mind.
“I just think they would’ve been better off if I was never born at all,” He proclaimed softly. It was Harry’s turn to look at the sky, to hope for the promised meteor shower as he took a sip out of his glass of wine.
“...Harry.” Tom’s voice spiked with alarm as he took in the smaller man’s expressions, which changed from worry to delight in a second. Within that second, dozens of shooting stars lit up the sky and the precious expression on Harry’s face. His eyes were filled with such childlike wonder, that Tom was amazed.
“You’re perfect, Harry.” He mumbled, “It would be a sin to change a thing.”
“What was that, Tom? Oh look! Hurry, it's the biggest one. Make a wish!” Harry turned slightly to meet Tom’s eyes and grin like the sun in the night, before looking back at the largest, brightest star falling from the sky and closing his eyes with a smile on his face.
Tom had many wishes in his life. To integrate the magical and muggle worlds peacefully, to eradicate the class system, to make a greater education, to covet all of Bernini’s statues, to make magical telephones.
Tom had many wishes in life. But as he looked to the sky that night and pleaded dearly in the face of the stars,
All Tom wished for was to be good enough for Harry, now and forever.