Okay, this is a fic I am writing in response to one of DarkCrimsonFlame3's challenges. The summary is as follows:

Harry Potter/Magician: Tom Riddle is the famous magician, and Harry Potter is just your average Joe. But when Harry comes to his magic show and gets called up. Tom sees love at first sight! Harry's world turns up-sie-down with Tom trying to make him love him as he plays tricks to get Harry's attention. But Harry doesn't want love because of someone who broke his heart already before.

Well, the challenge just sounded too great to pass up, and before I knew it I had started writing this chapter! There are other challenges on DarkCrimsonFlame3's profile, as well as some great stories that you can sign-up to write chapters for. I've already written a chapter for a fic called The Riddle, which is a Harry Potter/The Mummy crossover. Go check them out if you get the chance!

Before reading, there are some things you need to know. This is an alternative universe story. The only one with magic is Tom, and it is not the magic that J. K. Rowling came up with. This is more of the stereotypical magic we think of one we think of magicians and such, so that means Tom will not be casting any lumos spells at any time.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: If it is not already apparent, this is a slash story, as in two males in a romantic relationship. The phrase "Don't like. Don't read" applies. It is also a Tom Riddle/Harry Potter pairing. Again. Don't like. Don't read.

Now on to the fic!

"Thirty minutes 'til show time Mr. Riddle," one of the assistants said timidly, poking her head through the open dressing room door.

"Thank you," the man said, a little smirk on his face. "Fetch me a glass of Cabernet would you?"

The girl frowned, but a little blush stained her cheeks at having been addressed by the handsome man. "I'm sorry Mr. Riddle, but the manager said-"

"Did I ask what the manager said?" he practically hissed at the rapidly paling girl. "No, I asked for a glass of wine. Do I need to make myself clearer?" he spat, red eyes sparking with displeasure.

"N-n-no sir! One glass of Cabernet coming up sir!" she said before quickly leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Tom Riddle laughed after the door had shut. It served the foolish girl right to be afraid, trying to tell him that he was not allowed something. He walked over to the mirror, checking his reflection. He studied his face thoroughly, making sure the person who did his make-up had not made any mistakes. His very pale skin made the stage make-up hard to apply at times, but it had to be perfect. Frowning as he noticed that they had made his cheeks a bit too rosy, he waved his hand lightly and watched as the hue toned down to the perfect shade. If it wouldn't look so suspicious Tom would do his own make-up before shows, as he always ended up having to fix it anyway. He made a mental note to fire the person, then dropped the thought for the moment so he could check his hair. Satisfied with how he looked, he snapped his fingers. His outfit for that night's show, a tuxedo with a red cape that matched his eyes, appeared instantly on his body.

Perfect, he thought with satisfaction, walking back to his seat on the black leather couch. His dressing room was large, leaving plenty enough room for a couch, coffee table, chair and television while still being able to hold the large walk-in closet that held his clothes and the long vanity infront of the extremely long mirror. He flicked his fingers to turn off the bright mirror lights, then settled comfortably, waiting for the insolent girl to return with his drink. He knew he could have just gotten the drink himself: one thought and the wine bottle would appear before him. However, his rather pompous side enjoyed having others fetch things for him, and he so loved the look of fear on their faces when they dared to try and defy him.

A knock sounded on his door, and, after bidding the person to enter, a boy appeared, carrying a wine bottle.

"Excuse me sir, but Amanda told me that you requested some wine?" the boy said politely.

"Indeed I did. Can you tell me why the young lady was unable to deliver it herself?" Tom asked in an annoyed tone.

"Well, she mentioned something about 'no Cabernet', whatever Cabernet is, and 'he's going to kill me'. When I tried to talk to her she just told me to take this bottle to you, then marched right out the door. I think the poor girl was having a breakdown," the boy said naively, concern in his voice.

Tom contained the chuckle that wanted to escape, red eyes dancing with malicious pleasure. "I have no idea. She seemed fine when I made my request. I suppose she just wasn't meant for show business," he gestured to the bottle in the boy's hand. "My wine if you please."

"Oh! Sorry! Here you go," he set the bottle on the table. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, that will be all," he gave a dismissive wave of his hand, obviously telling the boy to leave.

"Idiot," he said after the boy had left. "Not even bothering to get me a glass." He added the boy to his growing list of people to soon be fired, before waving his hand, a glass already filled with a deep burgundy wine appearing. He sipped at it gingerly, relishing the sweet taste on his tongue. He would enjoy something stronger, but he knew that it was not best to drink strong alcohol before a big show. Leaning back against his seat, he waved his hand, the television turning on to the beginning credits of a romance movie. Not interested, he flipped through the channels. He was about to give up hope of finding anything suitable, when he saw the credits of a talk show, one that he had appeared on not too long ago. Wondering if it was the same episode, he watched with vague interest.

"Our next guest is someone who has made a real smash in recent times," the obnoxious host said, claw like fingernails, painted crimson, clacking eagerly on her armrest. "His world tour show Voldemort has been rated number one on the Daily Prophet list of best shows, and is close to breaking the record for most sold out performances. He is a man of mystery, magic, and, if I might say, good looks," she gave a flirty wink to the camera, the audience laughing in the background, "please welcome the one and only Tom Riddle!"

The audience, nearly all female, screamed loudly as Tom came out. He saw himself smirk confidently at the hysterical crowd, causing more than one woman to swoon, before he headed towards the chair next to the hostess. Though unnoticeable to most, he saw his eye twitch just the tiniest bit as he shook hands with the hostess, whose magenta colored clothes were nearly blinding to look at. He shivered in disgust as he noticed the eyes behind the jeweled spectacles sweep his form, before she gestured for him to sit.

"Well, it seems you're even better looking in real life," she said only half jokingly, eyeing the bit of skin that was revealed where his dress shirt was unbuttoned appreciatively. The audience screamed again in response and Tom saw himself chuckle. He acting skills must have been improving; the only reason he knew it was fake was the way his hand clenched from annoyance.

"So it would seem," his television self replied. The audience screamed even louder than before, and he saw the vile woman twist a finger in her ridiculously curled blonde hair, as if by making it even more curly would attract Tom's attention. If he remembered correctly, the thought that went through his mind at the time was similar to Disgusting insect, but he couldn't be sure.

"Well Tom—you don't mind if I call you Tom, do you?" she said in a sickeningly sweet voice while resting her hand atop his own. He knew without out a doubt that his thought at the time was Yes I do mind and you had better let go of me you cow, but no such thoughts appeared on his face, only a sharpening of a glance and a subtle twitch of his hand to get her to release it.

"No, not at all," he said, though he glared slightly at her when she didn't get the hint to not touch him. Completely out of no where, the woman suddenly snapped her hand back with a yelp. He knew her hand had to be hurting; one normally is in pain when they get burned. She stared at him incredulously, not having a clue what happened. Tom thought she was lucky he didn't do worse to her.

She coughed slightly to cover her shock then continued with the conversation, very aware that the cameras were still on and millions of viewers were probably watching. "Lovely," she said, though she made no move to touch him again. "I suppose the question on everyone's mind is this: how do you do it? How do you perform such amazing tricks? And more importantly," she said while leaning in slightly, eagerly, "is it really magic?"

"Now now," his television self said with another fake chuckle, "you know a true magician never reveals his secrets. Where would all the wonder be if I did that?"

"Oh come now Tom," she said in an admonishing tone, "I'm sure you can tell us one little bitty secret."

"Hmmm, let me think about it," he said with a pensive look on his face. He turned to her and gestured for her to lean in. She was obviously weary of touching him, but couldn't resist the thought of learning one of his secrets, so she leaned in as close as she dared. The crowd too was leaning forward in their seats, hopeful and awed expressions on their faces. Even the cameramen were holding their breaths. His television self took an exaggerated breath before closing his eyes and saying in a stage whisper "Nope."

Everyone let out the breaths they had been holding and a resounding "Aw!" of disappointment could be heard throughout the room. The hostess looked like she was close to smacking him for joking with her like that, but gave a too wide to be real smile towards him instead. "That wasn't very nice Tom! Getting our hopes up like that!"

"I'm terribly sorry," he said without an ounce of remorse. "Can I make it up to you by…" he paused while swirling is hand in the air. Out of no where, a purple geranium appeared and he continued, "…performing a little magic?"

His answer was obvious as the crowd started to scream again, many jumping to their feet in their excitement. He mockingly held out the flower for the woman to take, which she did with an overly exaggerated flattered face. He stood up, walking to a cleared area that had been set up for him to perform close to where he had been sitting, then turned back to the audience.

"Before I start," television Tom said, "I would like to recite a bit of Shakespeare for your enjoyment." He cleared his throat, watching in amusement the audience's confusion. "To be," he started dramatically, "or not to be…"

A sudden buzzing could be heard and the hostess screamed as a bee came flying out of the flower she held. She scrambled back, yet it was pointless as the bee completely ignored her. It flew over towards Tom and landed in his outstretched hand.

"Or bumblebee I should say," he said with a chuckle. The audience laughed as well and started applauding. He bowed his head a bit, then turned towards the startled hostess. "Don't worry, there are no more surprises you should have to worry about from that flower."

She nodded with false good humor, picking up the flower from where it had fallen on the floor. She had just seated herself when it burst into flame, startling yet another scream from her. It went out instantly, and all she held was a pile of ashes.

"Whoops," Tom said innocently, "my mistake."

The hostess grit her teeth and visibly forced herself to smile, tipping the ashes onto the table. "Well I do hope there won't be anymore mistakes anytime soon," she said with a forced laugh.

"No, that was all," he said, though his eyes danced with mischief. Focusing back on the no longer buzzing bee, television Tom brought up his other hand and with no hesitation smacked the hand on which the bee was perched. The audience let a cry of shock, some even saying things such as "Ew!" and "Gross!"but they instantly went quiet when Tom pulled his hands apart.

Instead of squished bug guts as one might expect, a white handkerchief was pulled across from the two hands. He saw himself snatch the handkerchief before throwing it into the air. As it floated towards the ground, it somehow grew bigger, until it was five times as big as it was originally. It landed as a perfect square on the ground, not one part overlapping the other. Television Tom stepped up to it and reached down, grasping a corner of it before snapping it up. The audience gasped, as instead of the normal carpet, there was a large circle shaped piece of wood lying underneath the cloth. They started clapping enthusiastically.

His television self wasn't finished yet. He picked up the circle, not straining despite the fact that it was thick and appeared to be very heavy. He grasped it by a handle that had been on the other side, and held it high above his head, one-handed.

"All right," he addressed the audience, "I'm going to spin this around above my head, and when I say 'Go' I want all of you to count down from ten. Understood?" The crowd nodded enthusiastically, cheering. Satisfied, Tom began to spin the disc, gaining momentum as he continued. When he seemed to reach the correct speed, which was very very fast, he turned his head to the audience and shouted, "Go!"

Immediately the crowd began counting down, watching expectantly as Tom continued to spin the disc. It only seemed to get faster; a mahogany colored blur above his head. They got louder as they went down, finally shouting out a loud "One!" As soon as they finished, Tom stopped spinning, gripping the object firmly to cease movement. The crowd gaped.

The mahogany disc had become a cane, made of the same shiny wood that the disc had been made out of. Before they had time to react, Tom brought the cane between his two palms, and it disappeared as he snapped his hands together in a clap. He quickly opened his hands, and the entire audience cheered and laughed as they were covered in a spray of confetti and glitter that shot from his hands.

Television Tom bowed before the cheering crowd, turning back to sit next to the hostess who, despite her earlier reaction to the bee and igniting flower, was clapping just as enthusiastically as the audience.

"Marvelous!" she exclaimed. "Simply marvelous!"

"Thank you," was the reply, a very smug smile painting the man's lips. The audience eventually calmed, and the hostess turned to the camera.

"Tom Riddle will be performing at the Hogwarts Theatre next month. Please visit his website or call the following number to get ticket information and show dates and times," she paused, allowing said information to be shown to the audience and viewers before continuing. "Before we go, how about we show the commercial for this amazing show?" The audience screamed, and the hostess gestured to a television sitting by her.

Real life Tom watched as the screen faded to a dark grey, close to black in color. Suddenly, a classic top hat poofed onto the screen. However, instead of a rabbit hopping out as one might think, a large python slithered out of the hat with a prolonged hiss. The snake grew larger and larger as it slithered its way across the screen, until it lunged forward suddenly, dangerous fangs exposed. It froze mid-lunge, before the head ignited, burning the long body to the tip of its tail before collapsing into dust. Ominous music began to play as the dust was blown away, and marching could be heard, steadily growing louder. A mass of hooded, shadowy figures emerged, heads bowed down so as to not reveal their faces. Only when the music stopped did they raise their heads, revealing skulls with eerie glowing eyes. The chimes of a cemetery bell rang out as behind the group of bones rose another hooded figure, though this one had no legs to be seen. You could see nothing within its hood except pitch black nothingness. It came ever closer, reaching out one decaying hand to pull down its hood…

When everything was sucked back into the top hat, held in the hands of none other than a blindfolded Tom Riddle. He gave a smirk, before somehow folding the hat as if it was a piece of paper, until it was merely a few inches wide, completely flat. He tucked the miniature hat away in his shirt pocket, before turning and walking away, a dark mist trailing behind him.

The talk show came back into focus, the audience once again cheering. Real Tom saw that his television self was, unfortunately, still sitting next to the vile woman known as the hostess, who was turning towards him.

"I must say, your show seems rather…dark, going by the commercial at least, yet your performance here was anything but!" the woman remarked.

"Yes, the show isn't all that gruesome in my opinion. The atmosphere, though, is rather intense, and the audience is never really sure what will happen. There may be a spook or surprise here or there, but it's mostly a thrill," Tom said thoughtfully, or at least that's how it appeared.

"I noticed you were blindfolded in the commercial. Is that something significant in your show?"

Tom smirked. "Terribly sorry, but I can't just go giving away what happens in my shows. If you want to find out, you'll just have to go see it for yourself."

The woman pursed her lips as though to argue, but after a quick glance to the side, she straightened and turned on one of her best smiles despite the frustration that was poorly hidden. Tom knew she had just seen one of the producers signaling to her that time was running out.

"Well thank you so much for being here today Tom," she said falsely. The audience cheered and groaned at the same time, ecstatic that Tom had been there in the first place, but disappointed in his upcoming departure. Tom saw himself shake hands with the woman, who was very nervous with the contact, before standing up and walking off set. The hostess turned back to the camera.

"We've had a great time on today's show and I'd like to thank all are guests once again for coming! I'm Rita Skeeter, join us next time on-"

With a flick, the television screen turned black as Tom got up and stretched. Glancing at the clock, he noticed he had about ten minutes left until show time. With a sigh and one more quick glance in the mirror, Tom made his way to the door, pulling on a pair of white gloves as he did so. He ignored the startled boy who had been about to knock, and made his way through the hallways, receiving appreciative and shy glances from the surrounding workers. A few came up him to inform him that everything was set up and ready, and he dismissed them either with a curt nod or wave of his hand.

Now close to the stage, he could hear the slightly muffled roar of the audience settling into their seats. Waiting by the place where he would enter the stage, he held out his hand, and was unsurprised as a bottle of water was handed to him by one of his many assistants. Most assistants he had were for smaller tasks that were too menial for him to do himself, and they normally never lasted long under his harsh attitude. Glancing to the side, he noted it was one of his newer assistants. She was somewhat scrawny and had light brown hair that was pulled back into a messy bun, with pale blue eyes. Her clothes were plain but adequate, and unlike many female assistants he had had in the past she never wore high heels, only tennis shoes. Her choice in footwear alone had helped her survive the three weeks she had been his assistant, as fetching items and traveling to and fro were two of the main tasks his assistants performed. Many women had left his presence limping from their abused feet after having to climb flights of stairs throughout a day in a pair of six inch heels. Of course the elevator was always "coincidently" broken.

He couldn't remember the girl's name, but he had started to mentally call her "Notepad Girl", as she always kept a notepad in her back pocket. She frequently pulled it out to scribble any orders down, and was often seen making notes of little details involving everything, such as the fact he always ordered a bottle of water before he made his entrance onstage. She was quiet and performed the tasks given to her swiftly and accurately, and most importantly of all, without protest. Also, she was confident enough to make suggestions when the situation called for it, yet always knew her place. If she continued to do well, he would see about promoting her to his secretary or personal assistant.

He occupied himself by sipping his water, watching as the girl waited patiently for further orders. "Time?" he asked eventually.

"Five minutes and twenty-two seconds left sir," she responded promptly after a quick glance at her watch.

"Excellent," Tom said. "Have the idiots up in the sound department fixed the faulty speaker?"

As expected, the girl snatched her notepad quickly from her pocket, flipping through it as she began talking. "It took the greater part of the day, but they managed to complete repairs in time. It turned out that Dale was wrong in his assumption that rewiring the system would fix the problem. It was only after they had begun working that Jones located the fried circuits. The whole speaker itself had to be replaced, but luckily Smith had saved one of the spares from the last show in New York, despite Dale's wish to leave it behind."

Tom hummed thoughtfully. "Inform Dale to come see me later. I believe a demotion is in order. This is his third blunder and I'm tired of mistakes."

"Yes sir," she said while writing the bit of information down. "Shall I file an ad to find a replacement sir? Or do you already have someone in mind to take his place as Head of the Sound Department?"

"As I'm sure he has not been doing his duties, who has he been shirking them on to?"

"Jones has been covering sir. She was the one to convert the machinery to fit the theatre's old system last week, despite the fact that the producers told Dale to, as they believed it was too important of a job to leave to anyone else 'less experienced'. Production has increased by fifteen percent in the areas that Jones has been covering for, and generally everything seems to be more organized in the department itself."

"Perfect. I want Jones promoted to head of the department immediately."

"Yes sir, I will inform her and the producers right away," she said, scribbling the last of her notes. "Anything else sir?"

"No, that will be all," he said, holding out the half-filled water bottle for her to take as he was signaled to get ready to go on stage.

She took it, and, after a brief respectful nod of her head, quickly left to fulfill her tasks. He watched her go before tuning out his surroundings, focusing on his magic and the tricks he would be soon performing. He went over every last detail twice, as always, before he walked up behind the small curtain he would enter. He could hear the audience slowly becoming more quiet as the lights dimmed, until a complete silence overcame the crowd. With a signal from a man with a headset, Tom put on his best smirk and confidently walked on stage.

I am not sure how many chapters this fic is going to be. Once it gets farther along I'll have a better idea. The rating may or may not increase.

For those wondering, I'm not sure how big a role "Notepad Girl" will play within the story. I have a feeling she will be popping up quite a bit, but I don't think she will be a major asset. She doesn't have a name at the moment, so I am open to suggestions, just nothing too fancy sounding please.

Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

Chippy