Chapter Three

"McLaggen?!"

Harry paused in midsentence, intentionally allowing the redhead to stew at the mention of Cormac.

They were at Harry's flat, sitting at the breakfast nook that currently served as their makeshift bar. It wasn't rare to see Ron at his house, but it was rare to see justRon. Hermione was busy working on a new case and Ginny had opted to give her brother and Harry some 'guy-time', as she liked to call it.

It hadn't been planned, this night with Ron. After all, it was Thursday and the redhead hardly made a habit of drinking his weight in booze the night before a workday. Ron had called in ill today and decided to stop by Harry's flat that night. Considering the excessive talking and the excessive drinking, Harry assumed Ron was feeling better. He wondered if the boy would call in sick again tomorrow, only this time, he would actually have a valid reason to stay in bed.

Harry had hesitated in letting Ron into his home that night.

While he cared for the redhead, he wasn't particularly fond of sharing his evenings every night of the week. The guise he used during the day tended to weigh more heavily on him toward the evenings. He usually reserved Friday and Saturday nights for any potential social gatherings, the rest of the time, however, he was free to dwell in his own pathetic company.

Nonetheless, Ron's absence at the Ministry today was the reason Harry agreed to this guy time. How could he deny Ron's self-invitation when he could plant seeds in both Ron's and Riddle's heads?

It was the perfect opportunity.

Because Ron wasn't at the Ministry today, he'd missed Riddle's sly interrogation. There was a high possibility that Riddle would approach Ron tomorrow. Until that time, Harry would indirectly prep Ron for the interrogation, orchestrating what the redhead would deliver to Riddle.

Unfortunately, there was the chance that Ron was so far gone in his alcohol haze that he wouldn't remember Harry's spoon-fed words. Though, even if Ron somehow managed to drown a whole bottle of firewhiskey, he would still remember a conversation about Cormac McLaggen and Hermione Granger.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, she couldn't meet for lunch because she had a meeting with McLaggen. Anyway—"

"That slug," Ron interrupted again. His long hair fell in his sour face as he scowled at the space above Harry's head. "She has lunch with him? Bloody hell, how can she keep an appetite while looking at that bloke? He's a slimy git, that's what."

Harry tapped his fingers on his glass tumbler, allowing the redhead's bemoaning. Hermione would be furious if she knew Harry had divulged that bit of information to Ron. Even if Ron did confront Hermione about it, Harry always had the cover of having too much to drink and a loose tongue.

Ron was too cloudy to realize Harry hadn't even touched his whiskey.

"As I was saying," Harry started again, reassured that Ron would remember the mention of McLaggen by tomorrow morning. "Riddle began interrogating me during lunch, asking me about Hermione's line of work."

Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Like you really understand any of that stuff…"

"Exactly," Harry agreed, offering the boy a toothy grin. "It completely slipped my mind to mention McLaggen. I mean, McLaggen is always hovering around 'Mione. Obviously, if she talks to anyone about her case work, he would be the one to understand most of it."

The redhead nodded, silent, as he comprehended the words. "What do you think they're investigating? Do you reckon it's about Custos?No matter what it is, I know that git had something to do with it. Those two are always together; I just don't know why they aren't a couple…"

Ron trailed off pitifully.

Harry pressed his lips together to keep from scowling. Ron had fancied Hermione since Fifth Year and Hermione had fancied Ron since… well, he really couldn't say. Harry noticed their emotions begin to change for each other; the two didn't even have to confide in him. Neither of the two had mustered up the courage to confess their true feelings.

It was horribly pathetic, and that's why Harry didn't bother getting in the middle of it.

Perhaps one of these days he could end his suffering by manipulating Ron's emotions and giving him enough courage to approach Hermione. It would certainly give him more time for himself.

"I don't want to go to work tomorrow," Ron complained suddenly, tipping back his glass and drowning the rest of his whiskey in one go. "I don't know why you won't join the Aurors with me, Harry. Training is a pain in the arse. It would be nice to have my mate there with me."

"Continue to skip and you'll be done with training sooner than you think," Harry responded dryly.

Now wasn't the time to reassure Ron or try to give him any advice. He knew the redhead had no real interest in being an Auror. He could feel true dread coming from Ron about the prospect of going back to work. The boy was doing what he thought was expected of him, something that would set him apart from his brothers.

Life is far too short, Ron, to live up to not only your own expectations, but others' expectations as well.

Times like these proved just how far Harry was from normalcy. What he wouldn't give to sit back, relax, and complain about work. Instead, he felt guilty sitting here with a tumbler of untouched whiskey when there were people out there that needed help, his help. They could be crying and no one would feel their desperation.

Harry tapped his fingers in disarray across the table, subconsciously drawing Ron's attention.

"How did your counseling go?" Suddenly, it was if Ron hadn't consumed a single drop of liquor. His face turned solemn and serious as he peered at Harry blearily. "It was today, wasn't it? Aren't you down to twice a month?"

"You're not the only one who is allowed to play hooky, Ron," Harry snapped, standing.

A dark emotion warmed his belly, the same sensation one would get after a few sips of whiskey.

His trembling fingers intentionally knocked over his tumbler of firewhiskey, hating the amber liquid more than ever for not being able to pacify him, for not being able to give him a moment's peace. He knew, once he began to drink, he would have no control, and when he had no control, the memories would come back with startling clarity.

"Oh god! Harry! Please! Please no! Not my baby!"

Harry pressed his eyes closed, his throat contracting in an attempt to stop the miserable whine that swelled in his chest. His mother's hoarse and shrill cry resonated across his mind and into his ears. It was if she were standing there again, begging for a moment of relief and mercy.

Back then, her emotions had choked him and rendered him insane with anguish during those days of torture. Now that it was over, Lily and James' emotions haunted him more than their spirits, bringing him back to those days more effectively than a simple memory.

Turning away from the table, Harry shakily stood by the sink and turned on the facet. Ron knew to remain silent, allowing Harry a moment to gather himself.

Harry did nothing to break the silence, hating himself for allowing the past memories to control him and his actions. He was better than this. It had been two years, and yet, he was still too sensitive about what had happened. He was already fucked up, why must the memories continue haunting him with such precision?

"I'm sorry," Ron stuttered quietly. "I shouldn't have asked."

Harry stared out the window as he held his whiskey-stained hands underneath the scalding water. The reflection that stared back at him was gaunt and grey, reflecting the true inner state of his broken soul.

Contorting his expression into one of sheepish guilt, he glanced back at Ron. "No, it's alright, Ron. I feel a bit silly for skipping the counseling session. I've been doing better, too." He sent the redhead a sloppy and half-attempt at a grin. "I guess it's just harder some days."

Ron shrugged, patting his fingers on top of his glass in attempt to ease his unease. "You don't have to convince me, Harry. If you don't want to go, you shouldn't have to go."

Right, that was Sirius and Hermione. They alone convinced Harry to seek counseling. Though convince was a very mild term for what they had accomplished.

He didn't need counseling. It was just another act; another role he had to master and play.

He had his own therapy through hunting down and killing those who destroyed the lives of the innocent. Each kill bathed him in a sense of calm, it was extremely therapeutic for him and Harry knew he would never feel remorse for what he did. Not only were the killings in his benefit, but he also saved helpless children, men, and women.

Why sit back and let the legal system spend worthless time for the chance of maybe locking up the perpetrator? Why wait when Harry could take care of the scum at the opportune time?

"I'm doing better, I'll do better," Harry repeated numbly.

"Harry, I never—"

Before Ron could finish, the fireplace ignited with green flames and two forms gracefully stepped into his living room. He cast the two women a glance before turning and occupying himself with washing his hands. His movements were precise as he scrubbed every inch of flesh from his wrist down. Paying special attention to the area between his fingers, Harry rubbed his skin raw, the motions calming his wired nerves.

"Hey you two," Ginny greeted, Hermione at her heels. "I've come to bring you home, Ron. Merlin knows you'd probably splinch yourself if you try to Apparate, or land in Malfoy Manor if you Floo."

Her smug expression faltered as she eyed the spilt whiskey. She then zeroed in on Harry furiously scrubbing his hands and deflated noticeably. Behind her, Hermione sighed softly.

In the back of his mind, he was aware of Ginny helping Ron to his feet and escaping the kitchen. Only when the water turned off did Harry snap from his tranquil haze, noticing he was alone with Hermione.

"What set you off this time, Harry?" she asked quietly, taking his crimson hands and gently patting them with a towel.

His mind sharpened and he pulled his hands from her, self-loathing tearing him apart once again. It was extremely rare, these failures, but they happened occasional when he was feeling particularly empty and helpless.

"The usual," he replied bitingly, moving past her and cleaning up the table with the towel. Shame bubbled through him. If only Riddle could see him now. The Minister would laugh and claim Harry an easy and unworthy target.

"You're a wizard," Hermione chastised as she watched Harry pat the spilt whiskey. She waved her wand, cleaning up the mess within seconds. Her eyes were a bit delirious and her tone a little too high in pitch. "Have you forgotten that, Harry? People will start to suspect that you…"

Harry listened as the fireplace flared up, taking Ron and Ginny away from his flat.

"People will suspect what, Hermione?" Harry whispered, turning to eye her sharply.

Out of all the others, his relationship had altered the most with Hermione. She was so incredibly intelligent and she knew him better than all the others. In a way, he felt as if he were insulting her intelligence and loyalty by keeping a charade in her presence.

Her face softened when she spied his cold countenance, fear rippling through the air before it calmed into stubborn defiance. "That you're Custos,the serial killer who seems to forget he's a wizard and kills his victims the Muggle way." She crossed her arms over her chest, assessing Harry critically. "You need to stop this, Harry. Please. You can't continue this. They're getting closer now."

It was the first time Hermione had the courage to address the heavy issue between them. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew the moment Hermione put the pieces together. He just hadn't believed she would ever truly come to terms with it or admit it aloud in front of him.

He expected that he would feel shame if one of his closest friends confronted him about the killings. He imagined he would stand motionless as they expressed their disappointment, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed in humiliation. Frighteningly enough, he felt nothing but cool nonchalance and a small smidgen of self-preservation.

The latter emotion took him off-guard. Harry wanted nothing more than to keep his friends safe and happy, but he also needed them to stay oblivious. If Hermione threatened his freedom, his therapy, Harry needed to make a difficult decision.

Luckily, he knew Hermione well enough to know the girl wouldn't go to the authorities. At least not yet.

"You know that's impossible," Harry responded calmly, putting a stopper on the firewhiskey and breezing past her immobile form. "You know I won't stop."

"You're so different," Hermione suddenly exclaimed after a moment of silence. She turned around, watching Harry tinkering around in the cabinets without a care in the world. "Underneath it all, you're like a completely different person, someone I can't possibly know or understand. How can you deceive us like this? How can you make us believe that you're the same person when you're not? Are you using us—?"

"I'm doing this because I love you. All of you." Harry snapped his head around, eyeing her vulnerable form. "Do you think Ron or Sirius would appreciate this new me? That something they could never understand turned me into this new person? By giving them a false sense of security, I'm keeping them blissfully ignorant. They don't need to experience what I'm feeling, what I'm doing."

Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked at the ground, her eyebrows knitting with sorrow. "You're killing people, Harry! How can you think this is acceptable, even after what you've gone through? You need help; you can't continue hiding this secret."

Harry smiled suddenly, a sardonic smile before calmly turning away from Hermione. For being so smart, Hermione was rather thick. "You think I'm killing people, Hermione?" he asked lightly, casually as he closed the liquor cabinet. Stepping away from the counter, he slowly approached her, noticing her arms crossed defensively over her chest. "I'm killing monsters, not people."

Tears refused to fall from her watery brown eyes. She kept face as he closed in on her. He had expected her to run, to back away, but she remained standing tall, the taste of her unease the only thing giving her true feelings away.

"They were bad people to do what they did, cruel people," Hermione agreed. "But is killing really the answer, Harry? How are you any better than them for committing such an act?"

It took Harry a long while to piece together what she had just asked. How was he any better? Did she truly ask that? Killing… killing… was an act of mercy for what they truly deserved.

"Do you understand what it's like to be an Empath? Not only to feel and taste the grimy and slimy soul of the individuals, but to experience what their victims felt?" His neutral tone pitched low in a dangerous whisper. "Sure, you read about what happened, and you may even get the chance to see the victims confess their story and experience their tears and sorrow."

He stood directly in front of her, their bodies a hair's breadth away. His posture was confident and tall as he gave Hermione a good look at his true self. Eyes wide and unblinking, Hermione absorbed everything he had to offer. She wanted to know the person underneath and Harry had no qualms showing her.

He wasn't ashamed. He'd never be ashamed.

"But you've never felt what they were feeling," Harry continued cruelly. "It's rare that I get to experience what they felt, as they're already dead before I could save them. But I'm sure you remember hearing about Albert Kinley and the two girls he allegedly raped. They were alive after he finished with them and I encountered them after the attack."

"Harry…" Hermione warned, having an idea of where their discussion was heading.

He had no misgivings as he sent wave after wave of despair and torment in her direction. It wasn't hard to remember what those children experienced, how broken they felt after the rape. He remembered every emotion vividly; hopelessness, fright, pain, confusion… defeat.

Hermione's legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground, her hands clumsily bracing herself and preventing her head from connecting to the floor. Her face contorted in horror and fright as she absorbed the emotions Harry manipulated in her direction. Her eyes were wide, as if she were trying to identify the attacker causing her this pain.

But there was no attacker and she began sobbing hysterically.

Green eyes watched her in fascination, in slight glee. If only he could show them all this, then they would never question his motives, they would never see him as an enemy. One truly never understood another's pain unless they experienced it firsthand.

Reluctantly, Harry stopped feeding Hermione the emotions and watched her choke at his feet. "Imagine…" Harry whispered airily. "If this is what they felt like after the attack, imagine what they must have felt during the rape. Those girls will neverbe the same. And that monster walked free. But according to you, he didn't deserve to die. He was a person."

Hermione pressed her palms against her face and continued to sob. He thought her continued grief was due to the after-effects of feeling such raw emotions, but he slowly began to realize her sadness was directed toward his person.

His smirk trembled before deepening into a frown.

"You've been through so much already, Harry. Someone needs to help you," Hermione cried. Feelings of disappointment and betrayal omitted from her and there was even a bit of disgust.

Harry stared at her, unable to believe it. Had she not felt it? Those girls were ruined forever because of a monster. And Hermione felt pity for Harry?

"You need help," she repeated, sniffing wetly and looking up at Harry. Black mascara smeared around her eyes and stained her cheeks in rivulets. "What did they do to you, Harry?"

A loud scream pierced his ears, the echo of Lily Potter's last moments crashing around him. He gave a roar, matching her scream in volume and startling Hermione at his feet. "No!" he growled. Taking an advancing step forward, he grabbed at her angrily, but she scrambled away before he could touch her. "Get out!" he yelled after her retreating form, furious at her lack of understanding and empathy for those children.

She cast one last look at him before exiting the flat. The door slammed with a resounding thud and Harry locked the Floo Network before escaping toward his bedroom.

His thoughts were scattered and he had the overwhelming urge to hunt. He pushed the temptation aside, knowing he would make sloppy mistakes when he spent months of covering his tracks.

He entered the bedroom. Like his office at the Ministry, Quidditch posters hung on the walls and a disorderly bookshelf stood to the side with crooked picture frames placed articulately. Stepping past the unmade bed and the clothes placed strategically across the floor, Harry entered his closet. He pushed aside the clothes that hung according to color and pressed his palm against the exposed brick of his closet wall.

It trembled before moving aside, revealing an entrance to another room.

Harry entered the room quickly, closing the wall behind him. As soon as he stepped inside his true bedroom, he released a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall.

White embraced him and soothed his frazzled nerves. Nothing stood inside his bedroom but a white-framed bed with white sheets and a white nightstand standing beside it. The floors were white, the walls were white, and the ceiling was white. There was nothing else residing inside his white haven and he preferred it that way.

Well, almost nothing else.

His eyes jumped to his nightstand and the object on top of it. It was the only source of color in the entire room.

As if drawn to the item, Harry subconsciously made his way over to the bed, his eyes never leaving his source of comfort. He crawled on top the bed, resting his head against the ivory pillow to get a better viewing angle to the picture frame. His parents smiled back at him, their appearance unflawed from the horrors that awaited them.

Hermione thought he needed help. Even when faced with overwhelming evidence that the prey he hunted were not people, she still didn't understand or agree with what he did. He was so certain that if she had felt what those girls had felt, she would sympathize and respect him for what he did.

Instead, she looked at him with pity, as if he were a wounded animal that needed proper care and handling.

A cruel voice wondered if she was right, if he really did need help.

Harry blinked before chuckling lowly. Of course he needed help. He slept in an artificially lit room, too afraid to fall asleep in the dark. But when it came to saving the lives of innocents, Harry knew he was doing the right thing. There were even members of the public that often sided with Custos and applauded him for his actions.

Without Harry, those monsters would walk free, ruining the lives of other innocents.

And yet, no matter how fiercely he disagreed with Hermione, he still felt a twinge of uncertainty and sharp betrayal. Her reaction made him feel belittled, it made him question his morality and give him lingering doubts.

These new feelings didn't sit well with him, but his determination to save innocents offset the doubts Hermione ignited within him. She didn't understand what it was like to constantly be around men and women who walked away from their crimes.

But it isn't just about saving those in need; it's about sating your own desires, isn't it?

Harry exhaled and forcibly pushed the question from his mind. Instead, he stared admiringly at his parents. It had been a difficult day with breakdowns and blunders.

Tomorrow, he would be better.

. . Dreams . .

Once Kingsley entered the Auror Department, he approached the man sitting in his office. He had just escaped a swarm of reporters who felt it necessary to bombard him with questions, the same questions each day. How close were they catching Custos? Did he consider Custosa true killer? Would he be tried like all the other murderers?

They were silly questions and Kingsley hardly had time to repeat himself.

Custos was getting more attention than he warranted. Granted the man was the first serial killer the Wizarding World had seen in decades, but Kingsley still thought Custos was getting off on all the press.

"Find any leads?" he rumbled in question, eyeing Minister Riddle with a critical eye.

No matter if the Minister had reassured Kingsley that he had no ulterior motives regarding their current serial killer, he still decided to keep an exceptionally close eye on the man and his findings.

Riddle stared off into space and didn't seem inclined to acknowledge Kingsley's presence. The older wizard's face was drawn into an expression of weariness. "I believe Ron Weasley has supplied us with a new direction in regards to Custos."

Kingsley's eyebrows rose at the news. He knew the Weasley boy hadn't shown up for training yesterday and Riddle had to postpone his questioning for this morning. "Oh?" the tall wizard pushed off from the doorframe and slowly approached the desk. "And what did Mr. Weasley imply?"

Finally placing the bit of parchment on the desk, Riddle turned around and adjusted his thin-framed glasses. "A rather… brilliant quip about Cormac McLaggen being too close to Hermione Granger."

The black wizard grunted, trying to piece together what had turned the Minister sour. "McLaggen is a Half-blood lawyer," he began, trying to jog his memory of the young man in question. Suddenly, a weight dropped in his belly. "His uncle, Tiberius, is an important figurehead in the Wizengamot and is good friends with Rufus Scrimgeour." That did not bode well. Kingsley respected Scrimgeour, the old Head of the Auror Department.

Riddle watched him closely, blinking slowly and smiling just as gradually.

"This isn't good," Kingsley continued. "The boy's uncle, Tiberius, has been a member of the Wizengamot since before lawyers were used in court. Surely having a family as involved in the law as McLaggen's would count for something."

The Minister's continued silence slowly became deafening and that piercing stare was beginning to unsettle Kingsley. "Ronald Weasley may just be jealous of Granger and McLaggen's relationship." It was a half-hearted attempt to steer the suspicion away from McLaggen.

"Of course," Riddle conceded slyly. "And that is exactly how careful killers are caught, Shacklebolt. No matter how perfect they may be, there is always someone with a grudge against them."

Silence spread thick between the two wizards as they surveyed the other. Kingsley forced himself to take a deep breath before nodding. "You're right," he agreed, "I should look at this from another perspective." One that does not have any ties to Rufus."If McLaggen and Granger are in a romantic relationship, or even if McLaggen fancies her, it would make sense that he would want to avenger her losses in court. He also has a position of power during the day, he has the connections, and he's rather smart considering his current occupation… he fits your profile of Custos."

Riddle's smile was now predatory. "He fits the profile just perfectly, no?" The tall wizard stood from the chair and took a step towards Kingsley. "You are improving, Auror Shacklebolt. If you remember to not let your personal feelings blind you, you may actually discover your hidden potential."

Kingsley frowned, watching as Minister Riddle abandoned the papers and made his way toward the door. "Where are you going?"

The Minister looked over his shoulder. "I think you have a solid handle on this case, Auror Shacklebolt. Question Cormac McLaggen and continue on from there. I will occasionally check up on your progress, but the case is in good hands with you."

He tried to remain unaffected, but he couldn't help but to feel a bit flattered at the man's praise. Minister Riddle was a man many tried to impress. As ashamed as he was to admit it, he felt flattered to have such a powerful and intelligent man see him in a respectable manner.

And yet, somehow, he felt a twinge of unease.

. . & Darkness . .

It wouldn't last long, this game of blaming McLaggen.

Harry frowned, staring through the viewing glass as the Tutshill Tornadoes played the Chudley Cannons. Next to him, Ron was on the edge of his seat, his feet bouncing up and down with excitement. He clutched his Omnioculars tightly, but he seemed to forget he had possession of them.

A fond smile played Harry's lips as he watched the redhead. The excitement and pure joy radiating off Ron was a welcomed change. For just a moment, Harry closed his eyes, inhaling and opening himself up to Ron's emotions. It had been ages since he'd ever felt this human, this innocent. Merlin, he missed it. He would give anything to experience that excitement over a simple Quidditch match.

The adrenaline racing through Ron soon had adverse effects on Harry. His mind began to darken and his thirst for a hunt began to grow unbearable.

Quickly, he pulled away from Ron's emotions and turned his attention back on the game without really seeing it. It had been over five days since the incident with Hermione. Since then, he hadn't talked to her and she had been rather distant with Ron as well. It had also been five days since the Auror Department had the name Cormac McLaggen whispered in their ear.

Unfortunately, it had also been more than a week since he'd stalked his next intended target.

He was supposed to be lying low, but it was also slowly destroying him. Underestimating Riddle had never been an option. For days, he felt as if he were being watched, tested. And because of that, he never stepped out of Harry Potter's character.

He would eventually have to outsmart the eyes watching his home, or he'd go insane.

He'd also have to tread carefully with McLaggen. For right now, putting the bug in the Aurors' ears would be enough. Why start slathering evidence that McLaggen was present during the murders? He had gone through eight victims so far without leaving a clue. If he suddenly left a piece of McLaggen's hair at the scene, it would look extremely suspicious. No, he had a subtle plan.

Even Riddle would have extreme doubts.

Riddle… the Minister was a bloody pain in the arse. Sirius had informed Harry that the Minister had walked away from the case the day McLaggen's name flourished. Either the man was disappointed in Custosfor being such an obvious individual like McLaggen or the Minister didn't believe McLaggen was the suspect. Harry assumed it was the latter, but why would Riddle not speak up and persuade the Aurors that McLaggen wasn't the one they were looking for?

Did the man have his own game he was playing? Did he somehow want to give Harry a false sense of security by making him believe the Aurors were on McLaggen's tail and he could now relax? The man would then watch from the shadows, waiting for Harry to let his guard down before striking.

No.

It couldn't be that. If that were the case, if Riddle were that intelligent and twisted, then Harry definitely had a dilemma on his hands.

Despite his refusal to believe Riddle would conduct his own investigation, away from the Aurors, Harry had a sinking feeling that his assumptions were correct. Nonetheless, Riddle would soon grow impatient by Harry's lack of action. Or, seemingly lack of action. He would find ways to escape surveillance undetected. Moreover, he would use traces of McLaggen in the next murder, miniscule traces that would take the authorities a long time to track.

He knew just the thing.

"Bloody hell!"

Harry looked up just in time to see the Tornadoes score another point. He smoothed his expression into one of amused pity as Ron turned to look at him. "I guess the Canons just can't catch a break, can they Ron?"

The redhead turned red. "Go to hell, Harry. The Canons are going to take this one. Just you wait."

"I'll be looking forward to that," Harry replied dryly.

Ron shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll never get over the fact that I get to go to whatever game I want. You have the best job in the world, mate. Free tickets, free room and board on the road, the chance to talk to the players… free merchandise!" Ron gushed, his eyes bright. "Hey, do you think maybe Parvati and I could get tickets to the next game?"

"Parvati?" Harry repeated, unsure if he heard right. "I thought you two didn't get along. What about you and Hermione?"

The redhead grimaced sickly. "What about you and Ginny?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Ron immediately appeared guilty. "I'm sorry, I…" the boy trailed off, his blue eyes looking above Harry's head. His mouth fell into a perfect oval.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, boys."

Harry's eyes widened a fraction as the purr-like voice echoed across the box they currently occupied.

That man!

He seethed, slowly turning around to glance at the Minister of Magic, immediately spying that egoistic smirk on the man's face. Harry prided himself with his sharp senses. And while he wouldn't be able to detect the man's approaching emotions due to the strong Occlumency block, he should have been able to hear his approach.

The man had been silent, too silent.

"N-no… not us, I mean, no, not at all," Ron stuttered painfully, his eyes wide as he watched Riddle walk down the steps to the front of the box.

Harry smiled thinly, shaking his head as brown eyes turned in his direction. "Not at all, sir." He watched as Riddle turned back around toward the field, standing next to the glass.

Usually Harry sat in this box himself, other times Ludo Bagman, the old Head, would keep him company if Ron wasn't able to attend the game. Harry's box certainly wasn't the main attraction at the stadium. Other boxes were meant for high officials at the Ministry, or prestigious patrons that paid a large sum to reserve a luxurious seat. Harry, though, enjoyed the solitude this small box had to offer.

One would really have to search him out if they wanted to find him.

"I don't recall you being a Quidditch fan, sir, especially just for Regional games." The fan base had a larger turnover for National games, whenever England hosted a team at home. Even then, Harry couldn't quite recall a time Minister Riddle sat in his prestigious box.

Riddle, his hands clasped behind his back, turned to look at Harry. "I came to see what all the fuss was about for the Chudley Canons." The older man smiled warmly, a bit too warmly at Ron. "When I spoke to Mr. Weasley last week, he suggested I attend the game. I truly hope I'm not intruding on anything."

Shock jolted across Harry at the turn of events. Ron had successfully mentioned the name Cormac McLaggen to Riddle, but Harry hadn't thought they would be so… chummy.If the topic of Chudley Canons had come out, what else was mentioned between the two?

Unsettled, but not missing a beat, Harry offered the Minister a toothy smile. He reached over and slapped Ron on the back, perhaps a bit too harshly. The boy's cheeks reddened with shame, but he kept his eyes focused on the game. No doubt he was afraid Harry would be upset that he invited the Minister.

"I'm afraid Ron steered you wrong, Minister. You see, he's had this unhealthy obsession with the Chudley Canons since he was young. As you can see, they aren't good enough to warrant his overzealous loyalty." He noticed Ron appeared a bit less green at Harry's good-natured response.

"We all have an unhealthy obsession, Mr. Potter." Riddle responded silkily, his eyes penetrating as they held Harry. "It takes a great deal to break that obsession once it's begun."

Harry's mouth grew dry, never remembering a time he had felt so… owned.

The man's cheater glasses did nothing to soften the aggressive eyes as they looked straight through Harry. The younger wizard found himself looking away in submission, internally screaming at himself for being so meek. The Minister was definitely not shy in his challenges today. Apparently, the man was now more than ever convinced Harry was Custos.

Hating himself for turning away from a direct challenge, Harry forced himself to look back at the Minister, this time, noticing the man was offering a pleased smirk and his eyes were not nearly as penetrating as they had been. The man had actually made Harry tuck his tail between his legs.

It wasn't supposed to be like this!

"I suppose you're right," Harry acknowledged the man's earlier comment. "Obsessions are tricky buggers. Here, please sit." He patted the seat next to him, grinning widely past the burning hate.

Riddle nodded gratefully and sat down, his pose fluid and showing no signs of uneasiness. Instead, the man radiated smugness. Suddenly, as if to antagonize Harry further, Riddle lounged arrogantly in his chair, crossing his legs together and throwing a casual arm across the back of Harry's seat. The Minister's posture was dominant and challenging as it angled toward Harry.

The younger breathed harshly through his nose and kept motionless, his blank eyes watching the Quidditch match without really seeing it. He had a sinking suspicion that Riddle had found a new tactic to force Harry's hand.

They were both Alpha men.

What better way to get Harry to slip than by playing on his weakness? With anyone else, Harry found it easy to shrug off his controlling tendencies, only because he didn't see them as a threat. With Riddle, though, it was a whole different playing field. The man got on his nerves and it was difficult resisting the urge to rise up to the challenge.

He glowered at the players on the pitch when the arm behind him grew impossible to ignore. With a casual air, Harry leaned forward in his chair, away from the arm stretching behind him. Even with the Occlumency barriers, he knew Riddle was basking in another quiet victory.

Harry glanced at Ron, the redhead oblivious to his companion's mental struggle.

Riddle obviously didn't think Ron a threat and felt confident enough to forgo his Minister act. To think Riddle was this forward with Ron present made Harry realize it probably wouldn't be a good idea to be alone with the man. Arguably, Harry would lose control and then he would have a very large problem on his hands.

"Mr. Weasley and I had a very pleasant conversation last Friday," the Minister drawled, drawing Ron's sudden interest, enough to pull him away from the Canons.

Harry planted one hand against his head as he faced Ron's direction, away from the Minister. His position permitted him to observe the flush staining Ron's face. The overwhelming taste of flattery soured Harry's tongue as he realized his redheaded companion was complete putty in the Minister's hands. He couldn't exactly blame the boy. Ron was a struggling Auror-in-training. To have the Minister's approval and interest was a quick ticket out of training and into the field.

"Is that right?" Harry wondered vaguely, tossing the Minister a glance long enough to label it as respectful eye contact. The arrogance oozing from the elder man made Harry sick.

"Yes," Riddle answered Harry cordially. "I was impressed with his dedication. As the youngest son of the Weasley family, he has taken the initiative to stand apart from his brothers and make a name for himself. He will make a fine Auror that will do the Ministry proud."

Harry straightened from his hunched position and out-right stared at the Minister. His mouth had fallen open and he gave a dry chuckle. It drew Ron's betrayed attention and Harry struggled to gain his self-control. The man was good. Taking all of Ron's insecurities and using them as means of bait. The Minister had Ron eating out of the palm of his hand, all because he identified Ron's deep-seeded doubts and gave him false security.

He chuckled once again at Riddle before turning to look at Ron. "That's what I try to tell him all the time, Minister. I guess he just needed to hear it from an unbiased source." He winked at Ron, easily soothing the redhead's anxiety.

"Thanks Harry, Minister." Ron nodded his gratitude. "But I told Minister Riddle you'd make a far better Auror than I would, Harry. I mean, you made an impressive Seeker, but you were wicked in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Oh Ron…

Ron wasn't an idiot, but at times, Harry tended to think otherwise. The redhead was loyal and he was a good friend. Harry couldn't ask for a better person standing beside him, and yet, there was always that small part of him that wanted to shake off his friends and continue alone. It would be easier to cover his tracks if he didn't have someone like Ron handing out blatant clues to his enemies.

"A very interesting claim," Riddle's tone demanded Harry's attention. "Ms. Granger said something similar to me when I spoke to her."

It wasn't a big deal, Harry supposed. Dueling and DADA had nothing to do with Custos."I suppose," Harry acknowledged, offering the man a sheepish grin. "It's not that big of a deal. I was more interested in Quidditch. My mother always told me to chase after what made me happy."

Deep brown eyes caught Harry's gaze. "A smart woman," he praised. "It is very unfortunate what happened to her and your father. Mr. Weasley and I agreed that being an Auror may help you cope with what happened, a way to release some of your pent-up aggression, perhaps."

Harry's whole being froze. Even his pulse came to a staggering halt before accelerating unevenly in his chest. His upper lip began to twitch and his hands began to tremble. Curling his hands into fists, Harry turned away from Riddle and threw an accusing stare in Ron's direction.

"No," Ron denied sharply, suddenly pale. "I only mentioned that I was surprised you didn't choose to become an Auror after your parents' murder. I didn't say anything else about it, Harry." His eyes were imploring as he looked at Riddle over Harry's head, silently begging the older man to reassure him.

"Oh, of course. Mr. Potter, I assure you that Mr. Weasley was the ever-loyal friend. He never disclosed anything personal." Riddle reached over and patted Harry on the knee, chuckling when Harry jerked it away from his hand. "No need to get hostile."

"I'm not hostile," Harry argued, struggling to reign in his control. He then looked Riddle in the eye, not caring if the man saw it as a challenge. Harry Potter could get angry, not every angry wizard was Custos."If you have questions relating to me personally, sir, I would prefer if you approached me and not my friends. On top of that, I would also prefer if we kept our conversations strictly on politics or Quidditch. Knowing your dislike for Quidditch and my dislike of politics, we have nothing more to discuss."

Ron stood up quickly from his seat, his eyes wide and his mouth opened in shocked dismay. "I- I have to go use the loo. Excuse me."

Harry refused to look away from Riddle, knowing beneath that gentle mask of concern, a predator lurked. As if to prove Harry's speculation, the Minister's face contorted into dark amusement as soon as Ron exited the box. He leaned closer, easily getting in Harry's personal space.

"Such green eyes you have, Harry," he purred, "why hide them?"

The younger wizard closed his eyes, breathing to steady himself. "I don't know what you want from me."

He could play the innocent and he could also play the victim. Opening his eyes once again, he was almost taken aback by the raw power Riddle channeled. It was startling to look underneath the Minister's mask and peer into something that was much more than a predator. Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering the mystery that was Riddle.

What was the man? What were his motives?

Before Harry decided to play with the man's exposed self, he forced himself to stand and walk away. He braced his hands against the glass of the box and stared out into the pitch. "I know you're investigating Custos. And I know, for some reason, your focus is on me." He turned, pressing his back into the viewing glass and glancing at the Minister through lowered lids. "Yes, my parents were murdered two years ago and I witnessed it."

Harry permitted his voice catch, but cleared his throat a moment later. "I guess the death of my parents could make me a prime suspect. And I guess my limp makes me suspicious, on top of my decision to play Quidditch instead of being an Auror." He gave a humorless laugh. "Yes, all those incriminating clues point to a solid making of a serial killer."

Riddle, still lounged easily in his chair, tipped back his head and let a pleased chuckle escape. "I'll let you in on a secret of mine, Harry, only because I know one of your own." The Minister suddenly stood and approached Harry with grace a man his age couldn't possibly possess. He then placed an arm on the glass beside Harry and leaned forward, their eyes level. "I can detect lies," the man hissed. "And you are a walking, talking contradiction."

Harry stared at the man. "Really?" he asked in dry humor. As if he'd fall for that juvenile trick. "Then ask me if I'm Custos and let me know if I'm lying."

The tall wizard suddenly pulled away from Harry and smiled cruelly. "Oh no, I wouldn't do that," he admonished. "Not only because I already know the answer, but because I enjoy this game between you and me." A hand curled around Harry's chin, grabbing it possessively. "I will catch you red-handed. And when I do, I will be eager to see what really hides beneath that innocent façade of yours."

Harry tried to pull his chin out of the man's grasp. When it proved he would have to use force to extract himself from the Minister, Harry slumped against the window in boneless submission.

"You're really insane," Harry chided, snickering in wary amusement.

If it ever came down to Riddle catching him red-handed, then Harry could hardly wait. Ever since all these challenges of dominance had begun, Harry's desire to wrap his hands around Riddle's neck had intensified. In fact, he hoped Riddle would catch him in the act. He looked forward the show Riddle who truly belonged on top.

Minister Riddle tsked and released Harry. "So good to see you again, Mr. Potter." The wizard backed away from Harry. "I had hoped you wouldn't be in poor spirits after your argument with Ms. Granger."

Harry frowned, his eyebrows rising in mock confusion. Surely the man wouldn't know about his argument with Hermione. Even though Ron noticed Hermione's distance the past few days, the redhead didn't know the cause of it.

"The two of you used to eat lunch together, now you avoid each other in the corridors." Riddle shook his head, running a hand down his parted hair, assured each strand was in perfect order. "I'd certainly love to see that argument unfold through her eyes. She is a level-headed witch; I can't imagine it was about anything petty."

It took Harry a moment to grasp Riddle's hinting. When he finally connected the dots, the Minister had already exited the box.

Harry straightened from his position against the glass, suddenly vulnerable. He hated himself for letting Hermione walk away from him that night, especially now that Riddle planned to use Legilimency on her.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't obliviate Hermione, no, that was exactly what he wanted. Riddle would be watching Hermione, waiting for Harry to show his hand. If Harry took the bait and obliviated Hermione, then it would send a message to Riddle that he really was guilty and he had something to hide. Not to mention, an obliviate could be broken. However, if he did nothing, then Riddle may stay true to his threat and perform Legilimency on her.

He pressed his lips together as rage washed through him.

He would be damned if he was bested by Tom Riddle.