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Harry absolutely loved days-off.
And he’d really come to appreciate them more since he started working. He’s had a precious few of them and, for the last nine months, they were often cut short. He had even gone three weeks once without a single day-off.
Thankfully, the Aurors’ Chief Medical Advisor, Kathleen Travers, had ordered Harry to take seven days off of work. Effective immediately and with absolutely no interruptions whatsoever. A formal memo delivered to both his immediate superior and the Head of the DMLE, with the words “Unless the world is ending in an hour, Auror Potter is excused—no, forbade—from reporting to duty or assigned any task related to his Auror responsibilities. If this is not followed to the exact wording, I will invoke all my authority as Chief Medical Advisor and give every single punishment and sanction I can legally dispense to the parties liable for this breach. Do not try me!”
Harry totally adored that woman. She was definitely the doting mother he never had, knew or even realized he wanted. Smiling drowsily at the memory of her briskly ushering him out of her office with a gentle smirk alongside a reiterated promise of much deserved, uninterrupted rest and relaxation, Harry sunk deeper into the sinfully comfortable mattress and burrowed deeper into the sweet-smelling, warm quilt.
Wait.
Harry didn’t own a ‘sinfully comfortable mattress’ or a ‘sweet-smelling, warm quilt’. Hell, even calling his present bed a ‘bed’ was being generous! It was a cot, at most, with an old worn mattress. It had come with the tiny studio apartment Harry rented.
It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford them; he just kind of neglected to actually buy these commodities since he would forget, be too lazy to brave a shopping trip or would just endure his lumpy old mattress and threadbare sheet. After all, he had slept in worst places…
But, now… maybe he should take the time if this was the result.
Still, it was very unlikely Harry had slept-shopped these long overdue luxuries… was that even possible to do? No, probably not. So, the only other possibility was—
I’m not home.
The epiphany struck him like a jolt of espresso injected into his veins and Harry was instantly alert.
As per orders from Healer Travers, Harry hadn’t made any side trips; she had been equally strict with him that he head straight home and turn in early at least for today and tonight… or was that yesterday and last night? Before he ventured out if he wanted.
Shaking his head lightly and rubbing up against what had to be the fluffiest pillow ever, Harry felt a mild frown creep onto his face. The young Auror racked his brain but couldn’t easily bring up what had happened after he stepped out of the Ministry. Why was his memory so hazy?
This faint grimace faded quickly as he nuzzled into the cushion again. Wow. He really had been missing out a lot! When he got home, he definitely should pop over to a shop and get some of these along with a real mattress and quilt. Maybe, even a bigger be—wait, wait! He wasn’t at home and this was more serious an issue than his sleepy mind was dismissing!
Real problem at hand, Potter! Focus!
Somewhat reluctantly, Harry cracked open his eyes and, even more begrudgingly, shifted and sat upright. He slowly lowered the quilt to his lap. A nearly inaudible grumble of annoyance escaped him as the warmth cocooning him was replaced by cold.
Harry hated the cold; he had always been cold as a child and the sensation brought up too many unpleasant memories and feelings. Pursing his lips, he pushed them away. He had a more important matter he needed to handle after all.
Namely, where was he and how did he get here.
Harry finally looked around.
And felt his jaw slacken and drop.
Definitely. Not. Home. Was the very unhelpful remark of his mind.
The large bedroom was extravagant, although, not excessively so. His trained eyes roved the lavish furnishings and concluded several things immediately.
The chamber screamed wealth, luxury and a dash of personality. Meaning, this was not some room in a fancy hotel Harry had ended up in. The shelf with a wide collection of hardbound books were not staple for a rented space after all. Also, even the most expensive hotels in Britain wouldn’t devote this much galleons to design and furnish a single suite so grandiosely.
This was clearly someone’s bedroom.
Harry furiously tried to recall what happened yesterday or even just how he wound up here.
He grew increasingly frustrated and alarmed when he kept drawing a blank.
The night club he would frequent on the rare nights he could go out for a drink didn’t have clientele that lived like this. There were more ‘posh’ establishments that catered to such elite patronage after all and Harry knew those kinds of customers wouldn’t be caught anywhere close to good Old “Dancing Goblets”.
Instead, they would be found in “Circe’s Isle” or some other equally pretentiously named and high-class Club.
More likely they’d be at the Chamber of Secrets, the unwanted thought rose before Harry could shove it down. The young Auror scowled. Don’t think about that place! I’m supposed to be on vacation. The last thing I need is to remember one of the main reasons I have this Forced Leave to start with!
Huffing, Harry scrutinized the bedroom again.
He had entered many extravagant places as part of his job but even he had to concede that this bedroom was incredible. Tasteful, artistic, and even strangely cozy. The darker shades of emerald amidst the dark woods and silver highlights were soothing and blended together in a style that was both modern and classic. I doubt I picked someone up while I was working… Harry mused suddenly.
He had an unbending code of keeping business—in this case, his Auror work—and his personal life entirely separated from each other. He also took steps they didn’t even come close, let alone overlapping like it would have clearly done so if he had somehow agreed to a date with some bloke or bird he had met while on duty.
Unfortunately, from what he could see in this bedroom alone; the clues were pointing towards that very unpleasant conclusion.
Harry’s swirling thoughts slowed then vanished when the door the bed was facing quietly opened.
An all-too-familiar man stood in the wide doorframe.
“Good morning, Harry. I’m happy to know you slept well.”
Tom Marvolo Riddle was illegal in every, single way imaginable.
From his a deep, rolling voice Harry that had secretly (shamefully) often wanked to in the privacy of his little flat, to his godly good looks that Harry was constantly comparing to the men he’d chat up (why he could never hook up with just any bloke anymore… I’m sorry, Cedric!!) and his mind that surpassed even Hermione Granger’s brilliance (Sorry, ‘Mione! But it’s true!). Everything about the Wizard was perfect.
However, what made him truly criminal was exactly in the term.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was the Wizarding World’s most powerful, dangerous and cunning Crime Lord.
His wealth was unmatched and, if the rumors were true, incalculable. Because it wasn’t only measured in mountains of gold and gems he owned but in the countless favors and the multitude of secrets so deadly Tom Marvolo Riddle could topple entire governments if he so wanted in his grasp.
This had been the reason the Wizard had been uncontested for over half a century.
Until Harry had come along and managed to damage a (tiny) part of his vast Underworld empire. Nearly a year ago, the young Auror had made several key arrests involving high-placed individuals associated with Riddle in Magical Britain. The feat had been lauded internationally but this had also put him right in the center of the Crime Lord’s eye.
Tom Marvolo Riddle could definitely hold a grudge.
Harry was very knowledgeable about what happens to those Tom Marvolo Riddle noticed.
In the months after the arrests, Harry had faced off with many Wizards, Witches and Creatures who had been a part of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s empire. Despite the high odds stacked against him, he always came out on top. Many times, only just barely, but the win had been undisputedly his.
It was a miracle, really, how he was still alive.
Or, if his instincts were right. It wasn’t only because of divine intervention or fabled Potter Luck.
Harry hoped his gut was wrong.
However, staring into the strikingly handsome face with an oh, so sexy smirk accenting those unforgettable features in sharp relief, Harry simply knew; his instincts were right on the mark.
I am so screwed, the Auror concluded shortly. Fucking fucked.
The Crime Lord stepped fluidly into the room and closed the door behind him softly but with an uncannily loud click that said more than words the door wasn’t opening at all.
Harry watched him warily, poised to act. With no wand, he only had his physical training to rely on—something most Aurors couldn’t claim (Thanks, Padfoot!). While this would do little against Riddle who had a wand, even if he wasn’t holding it presently, Harry wasn’t simply going to surrender without a fight.
He prayed the rumor that Riddle was a master at Wandless Magic was just that—a rumor.
His hands gradually tightening on the folds of the quilt in his grip, Harry held the intense gaze as the man came closer. Luckily, Riddle stopped before the end of the bed.
“I was informed that you were to take a medically mandated Forced Leave of Absence,” Riddle declared smoothly, peering down at him with his dark, smoldering eyes. “It was long overdue; you look terrible, my Darkling. You haven’t been sleeping or eating well. You’ve lost some weight and you haven’t even gone out to drink for months now! They really have been pushing you too harshly.”
“Funny, I thought that was you,” Harry drawled, unimpressed. “I’m sure you remember Greyback.”
He didn’t need to ask how Riddle knew what Harry had been doing. The man had armies of informants, moles and spies on spies. Knowledge was power, after all.
Riddle’s mouth quirked and a flash of dark anger turned his dark eyes glowing crimson momentarily before they returned to their fathomless depths. He tilted his head elegantly sideways in generous concession. “You have an unprecedented capacity to aggravate, Harry. But, even I have to admit you that I was impressed on how thoroughly you provoked him. He had entirely different orders concerning you.” A slow, satisfied smirk overcame the quirk of his lips. “Do not worry. He was appropriately punished.”
Harry had to swallow at that and resisted the urge to repeat the motion when Riddle’s eyes fastened onto his neck avidly. Drawing in a fortifying breath, he asked brusquely,
“Why am I here?”
Not dead or, worse, in one of your ‘cleaning’ houses? Harry tagged on silently.
From the crooked upturn of that smirk, Riddle had heard that thought.
Stupid Legimens! Harry purposefully threw out mentally. The other wizard’s lips merely twitched into a wider smirk.
“Well?” Harry prompted, glaring.
“It’s very simple, really.” Riddle moved around and up the side of the wide bed; his stride languid and predatory. “You are here because I am ensuring you follow your Healer’s recommendations.”
Harry leaned back into the pillows behind him as Riddle lifted one leg onto the bed, bent at the knee, and loomed over him.
His long arms fell to rest on each side of Harry’s head as emerald eyes were pinned by once more blazing crimson orbs.
“That you have uninterrupted rest and relaxation.”
The smirk was now, unmistakably, a wide leer.
“Trust me, Harry Potter, you will not be leaving my bed for the next seven days… or until I decide you may leave. The possibility isn’t even remotely plausible at present.”