Work Text:
Fate is terribly cruel. Writing out tragic beginnings and tragic endings, or sometimes just fucking over someone's life entirely.
Merope Gaunt was raised in a poor and abusive household, and her one chance at happiness ended in misery. Though this was somewhat her fault, as rape is generally frowned upon. Someone else could have told her, that just because you drug a man's drink and then coerce him into having sex with you, doesn't mean he'll propose and carry you off into the sunset after he wakes up. But Merope didn't know this, or perhaps she was just that desperate, and so her life ended just as tragically in the backroom of an orphanage. Her dying breath used to name the child that killed her.
Tom Marvolo Riddle also seemed to be destined to a similar fate. An orphanage is not a kind place to live and the temporary homes he was returned from were no better. His unusual intelligence isolated him from his peers and unsettled the adults. He was a lonesome, tragic child that refused to live a life dictated fate. After all, Tom Riddle is a lot stronger than his mother and he clawed his way towards a better life, where he crafted a new name for himself. A name that would haunt the shadows and the whispers of people who barely breathed the words of his cruel and dark deeds. He is the villain in every fairytale.
By contrast, Albus Dumbledore's life has been long and prosperous. He is a well-respected member of society, and highly-regarded with few exceptions. He also holds the prestigious position as Chief of the London Police. And every once in a while, he indulges in his favorite candy and a new pair of warm, fuzzy socks. To him fate is a tool to manipulate in his favor. Dumbledore is a villain of a different make.
The most intriguing by far, however, are the ones who greet fate in passing, as if an old friend.
Harry Potter's bad luck was as much a part of him, as his messy hair and poor eyesight. He had lived with it for 19 years so far, and has survived well past the point that most would have broken down. However, Harry is not bitter or resentful for his sorrowful circumstances, misfortune and Harry have learned to live side by side, and there are far more important things to dwell on. Such as, what to have for dinner.
The pub he worked at and lived above, didn't have much in the way of food outside of regular bar snacks. And though Remus was a good man, the only reason he had the job was because Sirius liked to take in strays. Strays like Harry, who he'd found sleeping in the alley behind his bar, and had taken in and given a job and a place to sleep.
Sirius liked to say it was because Harry was the spitting image of his dead best friend, but Harry knew that as an ex-convict, Sirius sympathized with those struggling to get back on their feet. It was why they had a recovering addict as a chef. They were a mangy crew at The Grim, a pub that stayed open mostly because no one on the 'right side' would be caught dead in such a disreputable place. Harry was pretty sure that Sirius kept his nose clean of any underhanded business, but The Grim would turn a blind eye and deaf ear to any dealings that went on it's shadier corners.
Catching sight of the familiar black dog, Harry sped up into a half jog. He slipped into the back nearly running into Remus who was in the middle of frying something. Yelling out a quick 'hello', Harry darted into the locker room and quickly changed into his bartender uniform. Nothing fancy, just a white button down, a pair of dark slacks and a half apron that tied at the waist.
Harry didn't really need to rush. He wasn't late, and although boys and girls had to share the locker room, Hermione nearly always beat him to work. Sometimes it seemed to Harry that the bushy-haired girl had mastered the art of teleportation. She was always popping up at least 15 minutes before Harry, even though they both attended the same university half an hour away. Hermione's boyfriend, Ron, had once confessed that not even his long legs could keep up with Hermione's power walk.
Making it out to the bar, Harry bumped his hip into Hermione's in a silent greeting and she flashed him a smile before hoisting a tray of freshly poured drinks and taking them out to the floor. Spotting someone coming up to the bar Harry went over to take their order.
Hermione came back, and the two of them fell into a well practiced dance that had no music. Moving around each other, serving customers, washing glasses, sometimes bringing out food from the back. Their near silent communication was a habit they both picked up from working in a place where drawing attention to yourself was hazardous. Sirius was protective of his staff, but some rough characters visited The Grim and it was bad for business to leave your customers bleeding out on the floor.
Glancing up in time, Harry caught sight of another customer taking a seat on Hermione's side of the bar. There was a glimpse of high cheekbones and the sophisticate cut of a suit, but Hermione was already moving towards the man, so Harry dismissed him. He looked over to Hermione's side once more a couple minutes later to see another man join him, before turning back once more to his own customers.
Hearing a soft grunt to his right he saw Hermione lift another large tray of drinks to distribute to take out onto the floor. Harry moved to the middle of the bar, to better serve customers from both sides of the bar. That was the only reason he saw it. Harry didn't get much from their conversation, but he saw Mr. Suit's companion make a large gesture with his hands, and use the action to covertly drop something in Mr. Suit's drink. Mr. Suit, unknowingly, reached for the glass, but Harry was already moving. He slammed his hand down over the top of the glass before Mr. Suit could even lift it. The loud noise instantly had everyone's attention.
In his periphery, Harry could see Hermione's worried face and the indignant look on Mr. Suit, but his focus was solely on Mr. Suit's companion.
"We don't condone that here."
The man spluttered, but the sweat that dripped from his forehead gave him away. "This- This is outrageous. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"We don't condone spiking drinks," Harry repeated slowly, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir."
"I- I didn't do anything to The Boss' drink. What proof do you have that I did anything to it."
"Then I'll just call the cops over, and they can test it," the man gaped at Harry's suggestion and a few of the other customers were looking nervous at the mention of cops.
"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary," a silky voice interrupted. Harry turned to Mr. Suit, who's attention had left Harry and moved to his companion. Although the man's face was neutral and his voice was pleasant, his companion seemed to wither under the weight of the man's stare. Harry got the impression that this was not a man you played games with.
"If Karkaroff is so certain in his innocence, he can drink it himself and you can poor another one for me."
The so-called Karkaroff whimpered and recoiled from Mr. Suit as if he were an especially poisonous snake.
"Karkaroff," Mr. Suit crooned, "our conversation seems to have taken an unexpected turn. Perhaps we should to move it to somewhere with more privacy."
The man snapped his fingers and a literal bear melted from the shadows. Harry flinched on instinct but the bear didn't spare him a glance, but grabbed Karkaroff by the neck and began dragging him out of The Grim. With all the grace of a dancer, Mr. Suit slid from his barstool and followed them out the door, a second impossibly burly man appearing by his side.
Hermione sidled up to him, "what the fuck just happened?" But Harry had no answers for her.
~~~
The incident had honestly slipped Harry's mind. It had been a week, and though he had reported it to Sirius, the man had told him not to worry unless someone bothered him about it. Nothing happened the days following, so Harry had just forgotten completely.
At least until Mr. Suit returned.
Harry wouldn't mind normally, except this time the man seemed to be interested in more than just drinks.
That day, it was Sirius working the floor with him, as Hermione had taken time off. (Sirius always gave Hermione a few days off before exams to study. With how studious his friend was, Harry sometimes wondered how Hermione fit in with their off-brand group, but apparently being a black woman was as much a crime as anything.)
However, at that moment Sirius was caught up with their bouncer Hagrid, trying to corral a group of rowdy drunkards. So Harry was alone at the bar when Mr. Suit stepped into The Grim.
Harry looked up automatically when he heard the door open, and somehow managed to control a blush as Mr. Suit strolled in on ridiculously long legs. In a tribute to Harry's silent nickname, the man was once again dressed in a suit that made him stick out in the grungy crowd.
Mr. Suit was also once again accompanied by two enormous goons, who cleared a path for Mr. Suit to walk through the bar. Privately Harry felt that even without them, the sheer danger that draped the man like a cloak would part the crowd just easily.
The man slid purposefully into the seat right in front of Harry. Harry, for his part, was apparently not professional enough to keep from commenting, "surprised you would come back."
"Well what do I have to fear, with my knight in shining armor to protect me?"
This time Harry couldn't stop the blush, and furiously scrubbed at the counter to mask his embarrassment.
"What can I get you to drink?" He asked in response, trying to move to safer topics.
"Whiskey straight," a pause, "and your name Darling," the man practically purred. Despite the man's handsome face, Harry tensed. This wasn't the part of town where you could give your name out to just anyone, especially a stranger. A quick glance showed that Sirius was still preoccupied.
The man noticed Harry's discomfort, but merely smirked and accepted his glass of Whiskey. "How about a trade? My name is Tom Riddle."
With much hesitancy, Harry replied, "Harry Potter." He figured that if a man like Riddle wanted to do terrible and awful things to Harry he wouldn't let something like a name stop him.
Riddle's smirk grew, "a pleasure to meet you Darling." The tone of his voice sent shivers down Harry's spine, and judging by his smug face, the insufferable man knew it.
It was at this point that Sirius finally made an appearance, putting a protective hand on Harry's shoulder. "Is there something wrong here, sir?" To which Riddle shot the ex-con an amused glance. Riddle drained his whiskey before standing.
"No, nothing at all. Merely enjoying Harry here's brilliant company." The man put down a wad of cash, at least twice the price of the whiskey. He then reached out to brush his knuckles over Harry's cheek.
"I'll see you around Darling," he said like a promise. When he left, there was something that felt horribly like anticipation stuck in Harry's chest.