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Harry all but tripped through the entrance to his workplace, barely dodging an equally flustered woman rushing out. They shared a brief, commiserating look before carrying on, Harry navigating between the rest of the suits heading towards their respective offices.
A quick glance at his wrist watch showed thirty minutes remaining, which would be more than enough time if he didn't have to stop by accounting to discuss the last-minute additions they added in after a few inconsistencies had been caught.
Today was not a day to be late, but it was better than showing up unprepared.
The open elevator he was rushing towards started to close, and he called out to the man within.
"Hold up! Hold the lift!"
He saw the man reach out, and despite the hand pressing against a button, the doors were still closing.
In a desperate bid to make it, Harry flung himself through the gap, eyes catching sight of the man's finger firmly pressed against the 'close' button. His shoulder hit the back of the lift, causing him to let out a soft 'oof'.
Rubbing the soreness away, their eyes met, and Harry might have found the man attractive if there was an ounce of apology about him.
There wasn't.
Regaining his dignity as much as he could, Harry deliberately, with carefully maintained eye contact, moved to the console and pressed every single button from Ground Floor to the 33rd.
...Talk about cutting off his nose to spite his face.
With feigned tranquility Harry straightened himself, ignoring the other man and staring up at the glowing number above the door.
"Come here often?" Harry asked like an idiot. Two days ago, Hermione had told him he had a very contentious nature, which he’d argued against until she told him what the word meant.
It was always best to know and accept your faults.
The man glared, mouth in a flat thin line, and Harry fought down the urge to tell him his iciness could single-handedly save the polar ice caps. No doubt it wouldn't be appreciated.
The man looked away, crossing his arms and turning his nose up. Being ignored was nothing new to Harry; it was in fact preferred in some cases, so he took the chance to check the other man out.
From the pointed shoes, close-fit trousers and buttoned, tailored jacket, Harry could guess that trouble may be headed his way once they reached the top floor. If the suit meant anything, the brunette was definitely a higher-up.
Good thing his own boss was the highest of them all.
The elevator stopped on the 5th floor with a bright ping.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear in a deep purple paisley suit.
Albus Dumbledore stepped forward and between them with a delighted smile.
"What a spot of luck," he said, clapping his hands together, "I rather thought I'd have some trouble corralling the two of you together."
He twinkled merrily at them, body shifting to the console before the glare of the buttons registered.
"Oh my." Raising a bushy brow, Albus looked at them both, considering.
Harry staunchly avoided his gaze.
"Excuse me? Sir." The other man cleared his throat pointedly, mouth even thinner than before and looking as if he'd rather fling himself down the elevator shaft than call Albus 'sir' again.
Harry's brow furrowed at the added tension.
Clearly his boss either missed it or was outright ignoring it.
"As you may have already heard, Tom, I have decided to take a step back, reassess, and see the world! I travelled in my youth, you know, and what an experience it was. I met my husband while in Germany, though of course he wasn't my husband at the time—"
"Sir," Harry interrupted gently. He liked Albus' stories; they were long and winding and often led onto several other tangents before he got to the point. One glimpse at 'Tom's' clenching fist made the decision to speak up easy.
As amusing as it was to watch the previously controlled man twitch, Harry would like to be out of the blast zone when it hit.
"Ah, yes, forgive me!" Albus jingled. Literally, he jingled, a little bell pinned to his breast pocket.
"Point being, I am somewhat in a conundrum as to what to do with young Harry here."
Harry blinked, foot tapping a rapid beat and the floor number declaring 10. He rolled his shoulders and snuck another peek at Tom, dread creeping in.
"Minerva would gladly take him; however, she will be running operations from our Edinburgh branch, far too long a commute for Harry to travel. And then I had the most wondrous thought!" Albus was gesturing wildly now, buoyed by giddiness.
Ron had made a few uncanny predictions over the years, but neither Harry nor Hermione believed in the mystic arts, both skeptical over their wishy-washy nature. Listening to Albus now, Harry felt he could see his future spread out before him.
Boy, did it look bleak.
"Who among the higher ups have an opening for an assistant in our branch? Who would be able to appreciate Harry's abilities and keep him within the company? Why, I thought, Tom Riddle, who has had a string of rotten luck with his own assistants. A match more perfect could not be made!"
The floor number shifted to 15, and Harry contemplated getting off and walking the remaining 18 flights of stairs. The look on Riddle's face said he was thinking something similar.
The silence after Albus finished talking was heavy and lasted the rest of the way. It also did nothing to quell Albus' beaming smile.