Tom felt a glowing warmth inside of him; he had taken Harry Potter, and now the man was his. The possessive feeling was now bursting freely out of his heart, instead of clawing at the walls in a desperation to own. He was completely and utterly satisfied, and he almost felt as if he didn't need to take the Ministry, too. Of course, he did still want the Ministry, but he didn't need it, not nearly as much as he had needed Harry Potter. The man in question still lay on his bedsheets, the rise and fall of his pale chest, calming down after the exertion it had experienced. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect. Only the best for Tom Riddle, after all. Tom quickly had his trousers done up again, and his hair was easily put back into shape. His followers would still be waiting for his return to the meeting, he was sure of it.
He left Harry Potter to make his own way out, and though he was half expecting the man to take one of his own shirts after he realised Tom had banished the one he'd been wearing, he would certainly not complain that in the end, he had not. In fact, it made more sense; Harry Potter was too polite to take somebody else's shirt without asking, and if the Knights noticed the topless man strolling past their meeting room, door open ajar, they did not dare question it.
Once home again, Harry felt like celebrating. He'd been rewarded in the most wonderful way, after all, for coming into this timeline. True, his arse was a bit sore, but what could he say? That was only natural, and it was nowhere near on the level of euphoria he'd felt when the act was taking place. He wanted to celebrate with dinner, on his successful afternoon. Perhaps not dinner with Tom; that seemed a bit soon, all things considered, knowing that Tom would need time to consider the level of intimacy he'd initiated, even if the man himself did not realise this. Dinner with Tom could come another time. Dinner with the backbenchers, also, simply would not do; he would have to cancel all future meetings with them, having had a most thorough telling off about that. He'd invite the Longbottoms out. Harfang would undoubtedly be concerned as well, so soothing his fears this way would be killing two birds with one stone.
After finding a new shirt to put on, Harry strode over to the fireplace to contact the couple. Harfang did not take long to respond to the fire call.
"Harry! Are you alright? What happened?" he exclaimed immediately.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry! I promised you I know what I'm doing, didn't I?" he was certainly not going to delve into what had happened to Harfang.
"You look suspiciously content, I know that isn't right Harry, I know he's up to something. Riddle is notoriously charming when he needs to be, don't let him manipulate you!"
"Harfang, trust me" Harry insisted once again. "I know more than you think I do. Besides, will you please just let me invite you and Callidora out for dinner already?"
The man looked sheepish, "that would be grand Harry, a wonderful thought. I shall get Callidora to find somebody to watch over the children."
"Wonderful, wonderful. Be at my home for 7:30 and I shall apparate us to the venue."
"I'll see you there, then, Harry. And be careful."
"I will, don't you worry. Farewell, my friend!" Harry laughed as Harfang disappeared to find his wife.
Fiercely loyal, are Longbottoms.
It did not seem too long before the Longbottoms arrived, looking incredibly dapper, and Harry certainly felt the same; wizarding fashion did not change much, but he really did prefer that of the 50s. As Harry had booked their place, once they arrived at the door of the restaurant, a waiter was present to escort them directly to their table, placing a menu before each of them.
It was a grand restaurant, and though Harry didn't exactly consider it to be his preferred style, he knew that in these times, it was very important for wizards of status to be seen in the right places; you would not catch the Malfoys ordering a bacon butty from the Leaky Cauldron. The hall was incredibly large, with some of the walls bending in to provide a more hidden table, used most by celebrities avoiding the press. In the far corner, there was a smooth jazz band playing, making for a relaxed atmosphere accompanied with the soft clinking of cutlery and light chatter. The ceiling was tall, and lined with floating candles, much like that of Hogwarts, and there was a single tall candle for each of the silk covered tables. The group of three sat in silence for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere and reading the menu.
"Anyone for an elven wine?" Harry put forwards, and there was a nod of agreement from both Longbottoms.
"I heard this place has the finest" Callidora gushed, before returning to her menu.
Harry was just returning his attention to the food menu when he felt a warm shiver go up his spine. He could not see, but he could feel the presence. As if on cue, Tom Riddle strolled past the table with a trail of his lackeys behind him, being led to their own place. No eye contact was made, but from the slight turn of the head Harry knew that Tom had clocked him as well. Looks like he wasn't the only one with the idea of celebrating the day's events. Harfang leaned slightly into the table.
"What exactly is it you were doing with Riddle earlier?" he murmured, a subtle look behind him as the group sat down.
"Harfang," Harry near-pleaded "I am truly afraid I cannot say." He wasn't sure how much of the conversation topic he would take before beginning to turn red, no matter how much he had practiced the cover of his emotions.
"I just want to know what sort of business the likes of you has with the likes of him, especially you knowing his reputation."
"Gentlemen, please" cut in Callidora. "May we not have this discussion at dinner?"
Conveniently, the waiter returned to take their orders, distracting them momentarily. More distracting, however, was that Harry was feeling watched. Knowing not to make an obvious looked, Harry glanced towards Tom's table. Though Tom was facing Harry's way, he was not looking at him. Perhaps it was just the angle. Once he looked away again, however, the feeling returned. And again. And again. Yet every time he snuck a glance at the man, he seemed entirely engaged in conversation.
"Harry, I do want to know your opinion on something" Callidora started.
"Ask away, my lady," Harry allowed, tilting his head.
"My husband and I are having conflicting views on how much we should teach the little ones before they go to Hogwarts. Harfang is suggesting that we should teach them all the spells before they attend, so that they know what's happening and don't fall behind. I am of the belief that we need only teach them how to read and write, so that they can at least know how to complete homework that is given to them."
"Harfang, I understand your concerns, I really do" Harry started, and the man was already beginning to slouch, seeing that Harry was about to contradict him and knowing that he would not be able to argue his case outnumbered. "But these are children, let them have their childhood before they go to school! Let them be learning new and exciting spells with all the other children, let them grow at the appropriate rate. Any children of yours, I can guarantee will be bright and magically powerful. They won't fall behind, yeah?"
Callidora's face lit up in a smug smile, and Harfang merely huffed "fine".
"Have you heard this new Bill of Dumbledore's?" Harfang changed the subject, now leaning into the table again in anticipation. "He wants to let muggle parents of magical children visit Hogwarts. An absolute madman, he is!"
What? Harry couldn't remember such a thing being ever introduced in his timeline. In fact, Dumbledore hadn't made any radical suggestions such as this until Voldemort was thought to be long gone, from what Harry had seen in his research. He must be getting concerned, Harry himself being an uncertain variable having been introduced into the equation. Callidora was shaking her head, curls bouncing sadly as she did so.
"It's one thing allowing them in Diagon Alley, but Hogwarts is absolutely saturated in magic, and a definite danger to muggles even if we factor out just the thought of having muggles snooping around in our business." Harfang shuddered at his wife's words. Harry leant back in his chair, thoughtful.
"Dumbledore's greatest falls are when he fails to consider the Statute of Secrecy. To allow the muggleborn parents to see Hogwarts and enter it for what it is, the wards around the castle would have to be weakened. The wrong muggles, with stronger resistance to repelling magic may stumble upon it. There's too many risks. I don't know how serious Dumbledore is about it, actually. He's a clever man, the only reason he'd not consider this is if he's getting desperate…" perhaps he shouldn't have been having his internal monologue aloud, especially considering how odd it must be for him to know so much about Dumbledore, but it couldn't really be helped. He was certainly confused about it, but it wasn't necessarily a massive issue.
"It's understandable for him to be concerned," Harfang murmured, and Harry only just caught the warning look that Callidora sent him as he started. "Riddle's been progressing faster than expected, and in a different direction than first calculated. You know how Dumbledore feels about him."
A slight tension reached the table. A newcomer would not have noticed it at all, but Harry knew that three practiced socialites could sense it, could predict it merely from circumstance. The group talked politics, and often had disagreements, that much was true, but they never had clashes enough to break the friendship. They were close. But it was yet to be tested if they were close enough to bridge the gap of Tom. Harry knew that despite how much he had grown to like the Longbottoms, he was not here for them. He would choose Tom over them in an instant, if it came to it. And the Longbottoms, though nowhere near in knowledge of just how far it went, could sense that this was a topic to be treated with extreme caution. The previous comment was perhaps the limit. The expected response of a concerned friend. But this was mixing politics and relationships, and Harry knew that Harfang knew that that was never a good move.
"Your wine, sirs and madam" a waiter interrupted, very likely trained to identify when slight tensions needed easing. Harry was certainly glad for the distraction. And the alcohol.
They all nodded their thanks, and took a sip from their glasses (a gulp, of course, would be unacceptable). Callidora had been correct, as the wine truly was splendid. It was cool on his tongue, but when he swallowed the liquid it warmed him through to his fingernails. Just what he needed, really.
Conversation moved onto lighter topics. The food arrived; all fantastically prepared, and most definitely worth the ridiculous price. Callidora provided the group with light selections of gossip, Harfang told a few of his stories from his Hogwarts days, and the mood had largely improved. If not for the fact that Harry still felt like he was being stared at. Tom must just have a separate pair of eyes for keeping an eye on his possessions. He mostly avoided such thoughts, however, for the remainder of the evening, because he could always feel the beginnings of a blush, despite how hard he tried to keep a grip of his expression. Must be the wine.
At the end of the evening, Harry said an enthusiastic goodbye to his dinner company, and apparated back home, quickly making his way to his bed to fall on it with a thump.
Sometimes he wondered if he would ever settle for an uneventful life.