Chapter Text
After Harry graduated Hogwarts Sirius offered up Black Cottage as a “bachelor pad” for Harry to use over the summer before he started on his defense mastery. It became apparent, once Harry apparated to the cottage, that it wasn’t much of a bachelor pad at all.
There was dust an inch thick on every surface. Cobwebs clogged every corner. And there were piles of boxes in every available room.
It took the better part of a week to get it back into a condition that met the standards that Lily had ingrained in Harry from an early age. And that was with the help of magic. Merlin only knows how long it would’ve taken cleaning the place out the muggle way.
Harry hadn’t taken a lot of time to enjoy the views of the other cottages and manors nearby during the week he’d been cleaning, but now that the work was finished, he set out into the only slightly overgrown garden to take a look around.
And what a view it was.
To the left of the property was a grand manor. Tall and picturesque, with a series of staggered verandas leading down to the back garden which contained the most impressive collection of magical flowering plants that Harry had ever seen. And that was saying something considering he grew up visiting the Longbottoms who indulged Neville’s herbology obsession.
That wasn’t even the most impressive thing about the place. Oh no, the impressive fixture was the gorgeous man sitting down to breakfast at a table on the highest veranda, turned out in a clean set of formal dress robes. The man looked up as Harry was admiring the view and smirked. And Harry flushed violently and ducked down behind the hedge separating the properties.
That night, the entire street was shaking from the bass coming out of the back garden of that glorious manor and Harry was regretting working so late cleaning every other night that week as he laid there in his bed staring up at the trembling light fixture overhead.
And that wasn’t the last time Harry had to deal with the loud parties next door. Near every night there was a party being thrown in the manor next door.
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Another week in and Harry was about as ready to strangle his neighbor as snog him.
But then, right when he was ready to do it, there was a knock at his door. And there he was, the handsome devil that’d been interrupting Harry’s sleep all week.
In his hand was an envelope, “An invitation to my party tonight,” he said, holding it out to Harry.
Harry just stared at him for a moment.
“Ah,” said the neighbor, “How rude of me. My name is Tom Riddle.”
Harry finally managed to get his jaw working with his brain again, “Harry . . . uh, Potter,” he said.
Tom smiled at him and Harry felt heat rushing up to his face that he willed to stop and settle.
“So, will you come?” Tom asked.
“Uh . . . Oh! To-To the party. Yes. Yes, I will.”
And then he left Harry there, holding the invitation, thoroughly embarrassed.
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That afternoon, Harry flooed across the bay to the Malfoy’s summer estate where Draco and Pansy were enjoying their own post-graduation breaks.
They briefly went about the traditional pureblood chitchat that chafed Harry’s nerves, but it passed quickly enough, giving way to teasing from Draco. It was mostly about the state of the cottage and Harry’s desire to enter a field as low class as teaching when he was the sole heir to the Potter and Black fortunes. Harry sniped back that at least he was planning a career. Draco had told him before graduation that he wasn’t sure of what he was going to do after.
“Actually,” Draco said with a smug smile, “I intend to enter the Wizengamut.”
“That’s hardly work at all,” Harry muttered.
Pansy snorted and Draco puffed up like a defensive peacock.
Then they got to the topic of neighbors. And it became apparent that this is exactly what Draco and Pansy had been waiting to talk about the entire time, perhaps since they extended the invitation to lunch.
“Black Cottage is right next to Riddle Manor, right?” Draco asked, none too subtle.
Pansy nodded, “Have you met the owner, I believe his name is Tom?”
‘Yeah, actually. He invited me over to one of those parties he’s always throwing just this morning.”
“What?!” Draco shouted, jumping up from his spot at the table.
“What?”
“You got an invite to one of Riddle’s parties!”
“And?”
“And they’re the most exclusive parties in all of wizarding Britain, Harry!”
“Draco’s right,” Pansy agreed, “Nothing is more sought after than an invitation to one of his soirees.”
Draco and Pansy both started moving towards the stairs to the second floor, dragging Harry along with them.
“Where are we going?” Harry asked.
“To get ready, of course,” Pansy answered.
“To get ready?”
Draco shook his head, “For the party, of course.” At Harry’s confused look, he informed Harry, “You’re brining us with, obviously. Can’t let you go bumbling into such an important function with your social skills.”
“Gee, thanks.”
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They spent the next several hours getting prepared for the party. With Pansy and Draco both getting themselves ready before descending on Harry with combs and creams and stiffly pressed robes. In the end, Harry felt pinched by his pants, stifled by his robes, and suffocated by the fumes from the product that Draco and Pansy had employed to tame his hair.
But he couldn’t deny that he looked good in the sharp black robes trimmed with a shiny emerald green. And the tight pants showed off his assets whenever the robe flared just right.
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More daunting than the prep was the party itself. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he knocked on the door of Riddle Manor, but after a week of sleepless nights from pounding bass, it wasn’t the black-tie event that greeted him. But what else could he expect from the elite purebloods that Draco and Pansy would wish to rub elbows with?
Harry felt even more stifled as he sat, stiff and distinctly uncomfortable, between Pansy and Draco at one of many round tables scattered across the tiered verandas of the manor.
Riddle was starting the party off with a fast-paced waltz that almost made Harry dizzy to watch. He was dancing with a witch who had a cascade of dark curls falling down her back. He recognized her as Draco’s aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.
And then Riddle spread his arms, a sonorous charm placed on his voice, and said, “And now, let the party begin.”
And it did.
Immediately the seated purebloods rose and spread across the verandas, accepting drinks from the army of house elves that appeared with a scattering of pops. The party quickly turned from the type of party Harry dreaded as a child into the type of party that he dreaded as a teenager. The music was loud, booming, and Harry knew that he would be getting even less sleep now that he was in the thick of it because he’d be dragging Draco and Pansy home in the early hours of the morning. This was the type of party they’d loved while at Hogwarts.
Pansy and Draco were quick to abandon Harry once they’d gotten a drink in his hand and Harry was quick to escape to the garden entrance where he could be alone while he sipped at the champagne he’d been handed. It was almost peaceful once he got off the veranda, there was no actual music there, just the booming of the base which couldn’t be contained by basic silencing charms. Harry sat himself on the steps and stared out into the garden which was lightly illuminated by the occasional phosphorescent plant.
His eye caught on a particular light that stood out from the rest, despite its miniscule size. It was a color he was familiar with, but only barely. It was the color of some potions . . . and the killing curse.
He rose to his feet and shed his robe, draping it over the garden gate before walking down the dimly lit paths towards the light. It really was a beautiful garden. Harry wished to see it this close during the day awash in brilliant sunlight. In the end, he walked all the way through the immense garden, down to the lake’s edge, and to the end of the dock that lay there.
The green light was larger than it had appeared at the garden’s gate and it was radiant, though fuzzy around the edges. Harry stood there, leaned against the railing of the dock, staring into the light until a voice startled him out of his trance.
“Harry?”
It was Tom, he was looking down at Harry, confused, but not unhappy. That was good. He didn’t seem mad that Harry had ditched his party to stand alone in the dark by the lake.
“Harry?”
Tom was closer all of a sudden, hands on Harry’s shoulders. And his eyes were so dark in the lowlight. Harry’s eyes refocused, centering on Tom’s face.
The man smiled, his grip loosening some. “There you are.”
He looked past Harry and Harry knew that he was looking at that same beautiful light shining from across the lake. “You know,” he said, “I also like to come down here when the parties get to be too much.”
“Why do you throw these parties of they’re too much?” Harry asked.
Tom laughed, a great booming laugh that startled Harry, and said, “Honestly? I don’t know. Originally it was to show off the wealth I’d acquired, but now I’m not so sure.”
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Eventually, Tom went back to host the party with Harry following along sometime later.
It was strange going back to that party and seeing some of the most prominent members of wizarding society getting absolutely smashed. They were all turned out in their expensive dress robes throwing back shots and grinding on each other like horny teenagers. (He was pretty sure he saw Sirius’ father doing something unseemly with a member of the Rosier family.)
Harry lingered at the edges of the party until it began to wind down in the wee hours of the morning. That was when he managed to track down Draco and Pansy, both drunk off their asses and near belligerent, and dragged them back over to the cottage where he let them collapse into his bed while he took the couch.
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Harry rolled off the couch around noon with the intense desire to bake something. And with Lily’s manners drilled into him, he knew exactly who was going to be on the receiving end of the results.
So, he trudged into the kitchen and baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies which he carefully transferred into a large plastic container.
He didn’t know what he expected of Tom after the rager the night before, but it wasn’t to see him in a neatly pressed set of dress robes looking every bit an aristocrat’s wet dream. Tom was gracious in his acceptance of the cookies after an initial raised eyebrow and he invited Harry in for tea.
“Oh.” Harry said, flushing, “Um, I still have guests over at mine, actually . . . but maybe another time?”
And Tom’s eyes filled with soft amusement, “Another time,” he agreed.
They bid each other farewell and Harry walked himself back over to the cottage, leaning his forehead against the door once it was closed. He was still flushed a brilliant pink and he didn’t know why.