A/N: Hey, guys. Just wanted to attempt something new. Never actually tried to write a fic heavy on politics before. Some of you may have noticed I deleted a story I started recently; was just experimenting with the odd bits and pieces and I'm not actually sure if I'm going to continue this one. Tell me if you have any thoughts, ideas or if you think this is something that can actually work. I'm always very happy to hear from you all, and reading your reviews are always a joy :)

The Politician

"The minute we step out of these doors," said Tom casually as he straightened his already perfect tie, "I am going to devour you whole."

"What do you want?"

Tom Riddle, legendary politician and legendary bastard, threw him a disarming smirk – the one that made reporters swoon and cameras flash in frenzy. It was, apparently, too charming. Harry personally begged to differ.

"I hope you're on top of your game today."

Harry, for his part, glanced at him suspiciously, too familiar with the gesture to feel entirely comfortable. He was treated to that particular smirk each time Tom was about to push him down a volcano of political mess.

"Is anything the matter?" Tom asked.

"Only your arrogance."

Tom laughed.

Harry tilted his head. "Besides, isn't it a bit too early to make such an egocentric claim? We still don't know who is going to come out the victor and who is going to come out weeping."

"You are ever the optimist." Tom clicked his tongue.

"If only you still remember how much your arrogance cost you last time we had this conversation … Maybe I should brush up your memory again."

"That was a fluke," Tom said dismissively, waving a hand. "I practically let you win that time."

"You sound very confident."

"Oh, but I am." Tom's smile widened alarmingly, bordering on feral. "I am going to kill you, skin you and feast on your dead corpse, Harry. Your stand on this issue is too weak, and it won't take much to bring you to your knees. Don't you see? The Wizarding World doesn't want to think about Hitler when they have Grindelwald."

Harry reached up a hand and patted his hair, running his fingers through it: a nervous habit he developed ever since he first treaded the waters of politics. It had been smoothed down and waxed, pretty and pristine for the camera.

His hair would probably be greying in his thirties. Every time he faced off with Tom Riddle, his most formidable opponent by a long stretch, Harry swore he lost a few years of his life.

"You always insist on playing up your saviour side," Tom murmured.

"As opposed to kissing babies, hugging puppies and flirting with your female voters?" Harry arched an eyebrow. "That sort of fluffiness doesn't suit you."

"Sometimes I wonder whether it is just an act for the reporters or your natural personality. It certainly brings in the votes –"

Harry tensed.

"– but it's not going to work this time."

Tom's eyes glinted with steely determination. Ruthlessness. His predatory traits made him a flawless politician.

The pure intensity behind that look always intimidated Harry back in their school days. Stripped away his defences and made him feel rather like a butterfly caught in a spider's web.

He still remembered how Tom had dealt with his own father that fateful night, the things he had seen.

Tom was staring at him, directly in the eye.

Harry's heart pounded against his chest.

Occlumency. Tom knew Occlumency.
He really shouldn't be thinking these things here.

He yanked up his shields and thrust his hands into his suit pockets lest Tom realised they were clenched into fists. The first rule on the political battlefield: never reveal your weakness to your rivals or you deserved to be torn apart.

"I hope you won't hold what happens today personally against me."

Harry tossed Tom a relaxed smile and straightened his shoulders. "All is fair in love and war … and politics."

The doors opened.

...

Cameras flashed in front of his eyes. It burned his eyelids. Hands, belonging to reporters and journalists, came from nowhere and grabbed at him. Invaded his privacy. The sheer noise in the boardroom was deafening.

Harry looked up directly into the cameras and flashed them his most radiant smile. He waved and grinned and bowed deeply. Beside him, Riddle was doing the same. They shared a look.

As if to outdo him, Riddle took the arm of a reporter and began whispering in her ear. Whatever he said clearly had an effect and the reporter began writing frantically on her piece of paper.

"Mr Potter! Mr Potter! Mr Riddle!"

They walked to the front of the room, polished shoes clicking against the wooden floors, and took their seat next to Leonard Spencer-Moon, current Minister of Magic. Harry got to the Minister first and lowered himself into the chair on his right.

Tom sat down beside Harry.

Then the salvo of questions began firing.

"Minister, what are your comments on Hitler's bombing of London?"

Leonard looked down at his hands grimly.

"It is a tragedy."

"Sir, what are you going to do about it?"

"The deaths are appalling and I am as upset as you are. Regrettably, we can do nothing. I am in talks with Winston Churchill and he has been keeping me informed. Beyond that, we cannot hope to deter Hitler nor attempt anything that will break the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Churchill has assured me that he understands and has everything under control –"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tom's lips curve into a pleased smile.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"We must sit tight through these dark times –"

"With due respect, Minister," Harry interrupted, drawing all eyes in the room onto himself, "we can do something about it. Hitler is a menace to all of us and it hardly seems right to stand aside and no nothing while he obliterates –"

"Mr Potter," Tom drawled, "do please keep a level head."

The room was suddenly filled with the sounds of quills scratching paper. Harry was well aware of what Tom was doing. By making him seem irrational, Tom had the most to gain.

"Pardon me, Mr Riddle, but unlike some people, I have been contemplating this matter for months," Harry bit back. "If I may suggest, Minister, a plan to bring down Hitler –"

"This is not our war." Tom's eyes were hard like diamonds. Mouth drawn in a tight line.

"I thought you were a man of action, Mr Riddle."

"I am, but I know when it is futile and unnecessary," came the sugary response.

Harry almost brushed his glass of water onto the floor.

"You call this unnecessary? Mister Riddle, you're aware that this makes you sound rather callous?"

Tom merely inclined his head.

"Though I am sure that is not your intention." Harry leaned back in his seat and straightened his collar.

The Minister of Magic stirred from his surprise at having the topic spiral out of his control, and was now listening to the pair attentively, unblinking. The room watched with bated breath. Cameras flashed. Every quill was perched to write.

"Dealing with Hitler is not our duty," Tom repeated tonelessly. "While your morality is praiseworthy, it is illogical. Think about it. If we help the Muggles of Great Britain, how long will it be before the wizards in Germany feel affronted? Do you want to incite an international wizarding war?"

Murmurs broke out.

Harry closed his eyes.

This was not going well.

His mind spun.

"Hitler is not our concern," Tom stressed. "Grindelwald is."

Harry grabbed his glass of water. "It won't cause a wizarding war. You're dramatizing things, Riddle."

"Who is to say? I understand that you feel sorry for the Muggles, but pure emotion has no place in this room, Mr Potter. Emotions lead to mistakes, which lead to deaths."

"You think we should do nothing."

"That would be the logical thing to do."

Harry bit back a swear word.

Tom looked at him gently. "You were brought up by Muggles, were you not?"

Harry shut his mouth with a click. Steepled his fingers so that he wouldn't clench them into fists. He knew exactly where Riddle was going with this.

"Mr Potter?"

"Yes, yes I was. Is it relevant?"

"I only wished to point out that you would share a natural feeling of kinship with Muggles." Tom smiled ever so sweetly. "Very understandable, of course, but your opinion on the matter is clearly biased. What you think is best may not be best for the rest of us –"

Before Harry could open his mouth, he was kicked sharply beneath the table. The bone in his shin smarted. Caught unawares, he let out a pained gasp. His eyes watered. Tom looked on neutrally as if nothing had happened. That filthy snake.

The journalists wrote wildly.

Brilliant.

Harry could only guess how his gasp would be interpreted.

"Is my personal life really relevant to the topic at hand?"

Tom's eyes followed Harry's hand as he raised the glass to his lips and downed the contents. The liquid cooled his burning throat, calmed his mind.

And then he knew what he was going to say.

Tom wanted to use this opportunity to throw shade on him and make him out to be an overtly emotional child and thus shift people's faith in Harry as a trustworthy politician? Well, he wasn't going down without a fight first.

"This is our war."

"How so?"

"Are you not a Half-blood, Mr Riddle?"

The veins in Tom's neck throbbed visibly.

"Yes," he practically hissed.

Harry smiled. Time to turn the tables on the bastard.

"Surely you can also identify with my pain? Our pain? Do you have any idea how many Muggleborns and Half-bloods suffer at Hitler's hand? Their relatives die and you are sitting here, nonchalantly, claiming that this is not our war. Not all wizards have your luxury."

"Do elaborate," Tom sneered.

"Over half of us have Muggle relatives. Our communities aren't segregated. These are the facts, not feelings. Do you think you are above the Muggles who fall at the hands of Hitler, Mr Riddle?"

"Absolutely not –"

"If this is your attitude towards Hitler, I fear for what your attitude will be towards Grindelwald. Action is worth more than words"

Tom's eyes blazed.

"Furthermore, I have a plan," said Harry. "We needn't break Hitler from the outside. It can be done from within. Operation Valkyrie." He leaned back with a hum and took another sip of his water.

And immediately felt lightheaded.

Harry's fingers went to his tie, subconsciously, and began loosening it. It was too tight, far too sight – and was it just him or had the temperature in the room become unbearably, suffocating hot? Sweat dripped down his neck.

"Operation Valkyrie is an operations plan in Germany where …" Harry faltered. It felt as if someone had taken a dagger and pierced his skull with it. "It's a plan that they will use in case of a breakdown in civil order. If we can get someone to alter it slightly, from within, we can take control …"

His fingers flew to his temples to rub the headache away.

Water. He needed water.

Harry blinked a few times to clear away the haziness. Reached for his water glass, only to have it shatter in his hand from the force.

The Minister glanced at him sharply. "Mr Potter …?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Harry said firmly.

"That is a ridiculous idea," Tom cut across him.

His headache erupted into a migraine. Damn the bloody etiquette. Harry brushed Tom aside and took his water glass unceremoniously. He tipped it down his throat.

"Operation Valkyrie." Harry cleared his throat. "Operation Valkyrie … I believe …"

It was unbearable now.

Sweat was pouring from his hair and Harry could barely see past the disgusting, sodden strands. His hands twitched in pain. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, out of the glaze, Tom was speaking.

"Yes, Mr Potter? What about the Operation?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but found that he couldn't.

Tom smirked at him. "Well, Mr Potter?"

Tom. His water. He spiked his water. That bastard. Harry shook. His headache. Was this why Tom had been so confident this morning?

"I –"

A fraction of a second before his world turned black, Harry heard yells of panic.

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