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“Mr Prime Minister, sir!”
Tom raises one gloved hand and gives the cameras a smile and a short wave. Flashes of the camera nearly blind him if not for his charms. The crowd also is in hysterics. It was a private fundraising event, one of his last, but many well-wishers were there to see him tonight.
The door closed and rapped knuckles signalling the driver for safe leave. Argus Filch, his driver grinned under his hat. “Had a good night, sir?” he asks, turning the wheel.
“Yes,” Tom says sighing with a fond smile. “It was good.”
Tom Riddle caught his reflection in the polished surface of his car window. He was in his vintage blue overcoat with the gold emboss on the trim. Runes expertly intertwined with his muggle clothing, he swipes back his black hair once then takes his wand from his sleeve to clear the crease.
"Looking good, sir."
“Thank you, Argus.” Some might call him vain, but his youth is what helps him win over the young and remain in office for as long as he is. He loves feeling strong, capable, and active, no one could tell his real age by the way he carried himself.
Argus turned on a classical tune, and Tom kept his gaze at the window. Watching the muggle shops, the streets, passing through all the important markers he’s spent nearly more than a decade as Britain’s Muggle Prime Minister, serving his country, his people.
Today marked his final official appearance at a Ministry Event, with even the Queen in attendance, monopolizing his attention for much of the evening with reminiscences of their shared times and an appreciation for his grasp of her quips and musical references. Unknown to her, believing like the rest of the Muggle world, he was decades younger than his true age.
Tomorrow, he plans to submit his resignation and issue his last press statement. Despite moving on to new projects, a sense of melancholy lingers. He made history by venturing into Muggle prime ministership, an unparalleled move prompted by his commitment to safeguard the Wizarding World during the Cold War era. His tenure as Minister of Magic for ten years highlighted the interconnectedness of the Muggle and magical communities, reinforcing his dedication to issues like muggle-born rights and the coexistence of both worlds.
His realization came: the Muggle world could benefit from magical wisdom without direct magical intervention. After stepping down as Wizarding Prime Minister, he re-entered the Muggle realm, leveraging his father’s legacy. Despite initial scepticism and limited support, he pursued Muggle law and politics, advocating for policies that harmonized Muggle and magical societies without compromising the Statute of Secrecy.
"Sir," Argus's comments break Tom's muse. He nods at him and bids him goodnight. Argus and the rest of his loyal staff will follow him and return to the wizarding world. They deserve the good life for believing in him.
Tom steps into his townhouse, and Terry, his House Elf, pops in and greets him. When he's alone, the magic wakes up with him. He wonders how it will be when he takes it all with him. He's already planned on leaving some portraits behind.
The long night had taken its toll, and the comfort of his bed called to him. His journey was far from over, but for tonight, he's done enough.
***
There was already an excited crowd behind the row of reporters and cameras. Citizens who missed him last night waving their handkerchiefs and gifting his staff flowers of farewell. A crowd that represented a cross-section of society like no other. Tom can spy on the magical folk, their presence unknown to the non-magical among the concealed muggle. Tom's sharp gaze identifies Albus Dumbledore, wearing an eccentric purple and yellow muggle long coat. Tom’s lips twitch, but he can’t stop the man from coming even if he wants to. There are a few others, casting muggle-repellent charms, even Aurors, behind glamours in the back.
As Tom prepared mentally for the monumental speech ahead, Andromeda Tonks fondly known as “Andy”, his long-time secretary and adept at navigating both magical and non-magical worlds, approached with his notes.
"Dashing, sir," she says smoothly as if she isn’t dressed to the nines herself. As she hands them over, she leans in slightly, whispering, "Malfoy asked after you last night. He wishes to throw a party to celebrate the end of your Muggle career. He's been bugging me all morning about it."
Tom couldn't help but chuckle at the mention of Abraxas Malfoy.
“He’s finally serving the elf cognac?”
“Rumour has it, sir,” Andy confirms.
Tom smirks, adjusting his coat. “And how well can we trust these rumours?”
“Well, my sister is married into the family.” Andy says with a mischievous wink, “I think we can rest assured they will put on all the stops for you sir.”
Tom sighs, pretending it's a hardship but deep down he’s excited too and a little touched. "Tell him I'll visit if he manages to pull Nott and Rosier in. I have a lot to catch up.” Andy quickly taps her reply into her phone.
Finally called to the podium, Tom gave his notes a cursory glance, his mind already well-rehearsed with the words he was about to deliver.
He takes a deep breath, this was the future he chose for himself. A future shaped and changed by his decision.
Are you proud of me? He wanted to ask. Can I find you now?
Instead of the face he longs for it’s the crowd of strangers, awaiting his words with bated breath.
"To the beloved people of Great Britain, and for those who have maintained their votes for the Progressive and supported my cabinet thus far..."
***
He’s figured out the Chamber of Secrets, Tom’s heart beating fast and his nerves all alight.
Finally, finally, he will receive confirmation, and he will prove himself to Abraxas Malfoy and every Slytherin who doubted his blood and magic. This was his first step, to a future that will be all HIS.
The door to the chamber slowly opened, snakes slithering upon his command. Tom gasped in shock.
A silhouette… a wizard stood in the middle of the dimly lit chambers. In white and gold robes, at first, Tom thinks it is a statute, but then it moves and–
“Expalliarmus!”
Before Tom has a chance to defend himself his wand is taken from him.
"No!" Tom's desperate scramble for his wand ends as the other wizard catches it effortlessly, fixing him with a piercing green stare. Tom's unease mounts; he'd anticipated a creature, not a fellow wizard.
"Amazing," the wizard says, advancing with a scrutinizing gaze that sets Tom on edge, prompting him to retreat.
"Who are you?" Tom demands, his resolve returning. This was his moment to shine. "What are you doing here?"
The wizard, adorned in golden glasses and with curls framing his face, exudes a presence Tom can't ignore, magic practically crackling in the air between them. "I’m here for you," he states, revealing a creature–the Basilisk!-- behind him, lifeless with dull, grey eyes instead of vibrant yellow, a sight that shocks Tom.
"What did you do?" Tom's voice is a mix of disbelief and anger, seeing his plans for the creature unravel.
"It’s dead," the wizard replies evenly, a blood-stained, ruby-hilted sword at his belt. "I killed it. I needed to stop you."
Fury courses through Tom, his magic flaring in response. But as he lunges for his wand, the wizard's quicker spellwork seals their wands and his sword away, employing a spell in Parseltongue Tom doesn't recognize. Suddenly, Tom is trapped in a forceful embrace, immobilised by coiled snakes at the wizard's command.
"You... are you..." Tom stammers, realising the wizard knows Parseltongue.
"No, I’m not Slytherin’s descendent, that would be…awkward.”
“Then, how…”
With a smirk, "You taught me that spell and all I know about Parseltongue. Quite handy in my line of work."
"I taught you?" Tom's confusion grows.
"Indeed," the wizard asserts, his grip tightening. "One day, you’ll teach many eager students. Parsel Magic is famous for its healing magic. You're a good teacher, Tom." A hand caresses Tom’s face.
Tom protests, unsettled by the wizard's familiarity and the unexpected tenderness. "Unhand me at once!"
"Sorry, I know you too well. You’re already plotting your next move," the wizard says fondly.
"I’ve never met you before!" Tom insists, bewildered.
"You will," the wizard says, his expression softening. "You once told me how long you waited for me. Searched for me. You changed the world, and made it perfect for us."
Tom's realization dawns slowly. "You're from the future," he whispers, captivated by the promise in those green eyes.
"We’re married," the wizard reveals, their proximity sending Tom's heart racing. "You sent me here as a wedding gift."
“Gift?”
"To remind you there's love," then his lips touch Tom’s forehead in a chaste kiss, Tom’s eyes close, a current of emotion–anger, confusion, deep longing and home— the wizard pulls back, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”
Tom ignores it, his heart conflicted. “In this future I… you….” he hadn’t dared to think, to even hope. “You’re lying.” He says automatically. “You think I would fall for something so… so pathetic…”
“Your love isn’t pathetic.” The wizard presses a palm over Tom’s chest. “You told me, you were so angry with the world, you wanted to ruin and burn it to the ground.” The wizard swallowed. “Don’t you see, Tom? There is a future where you are loved, if you choose differently. You can protect our world and make it better– become happier.” His words tumble in a rush, “All you have to do is abandon Voldemort.”
He’s never shared the name with anyone before.
“Release me.” It sounds more like a plea than a command. Tom is still in the wizard’s arms, impulsively, he wraps his hands around the beefier wizard’s neck, “Tell me your name.”
“Harry.”
“Harry,” Tom repeats, more reverently than he intended, he inspects the wizards– Harry’s face– memorising his curls, and the green of his eyes. The hope it signifies. He couldn’t resist, Tom pulled Harry’s face closer to his.
Harry begins to fade, still clutching Tom as hard as he can. “I’m sorry, the ritual wasn’t meant for long, delicate magic playing with time, but please choose us again, I know you can Tom, you’re brilliant, you built our world, made it better–”
Tom tries to hold on to Harry longer. “I’ll find you.”
Harry smiles. “I know you will.”
***
Abraxas Malfoy had always possessed a flair for opulence, and the party he threw that evening was no exception.
"Still look as young as you did when you were thirty," Abraxas remarked with a huff, his hair tied back in a white knot. “Won’t you share with me the secrets of your youth?”
Tom offered a playful smile, sipping his well-deserved cognac. "One day.” He scans the ballroom. “Thank you for this,”
Abraxas’s chest puffed, “Well, what else is there to do, for the Great Tom Riddle? You’re as great as Merlin now! Oh, here, have you met a recent acquaintance of mine? They Potters have just returned from their stay abroad. Retired from Quidditch and finally decided to settle down here, in Great Britain. Their son is quite the magical creature expert… I think he’ll be invaluable to help grow the Potion Trade… he studies Basilisks…"
The moment Tom laid eyes on him, his reaction was visceral. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched in surprise and recognition.
"Harry?"