It was the second day into the start of his first year at Hogwarts, so by all standards Harry didn't think he could have made too many enemies.

Okay, so Malfoy hated his guts considering he all but introduced himself by punching the bastard in the face…but he figured the snooty pureblood started it with his use of the word mudblood.

Still, though he hadn't lost any points, he'd managed to get himself a warning before the first night was over. Quite a record, really.

Charlus had been most impressed.

That would have explained why Malfoy, or Lestrange, would have cornered him for round two.

It didn't explain why he had an apparently furious Tom Riddle in front of him.

"I didn't need your help, you know," the other boy said haughtily. "I could have handled them fine on my own."

Harry blinked. Stared for a few moments.

"I didn't do it for you." Well, maybe a little bit, but saying so apparently wouldn't help much. "I just don't like people who use – use that word. It's foul."

"You made me look like I need protecting." Riddle took a step towards him, fists clenched at his sides, something cold in the air. "I don't need you to protect me, Potter."

"Okay. You're not weak," Harry shrugged. "You don't need protecting. See ya."

He turned away dismissively, not having applied any great significance to his defence in the first place, only for a hand to close around his shoulder.

"Is that it?" Riddle's carefully composed features slipped, just for a second, before the other boy looked icy and beyond his years again.

"What do you mean, is that it?" Harry asked, brow furrowing. "Did you have something else that you wanted to say?" All things considered in Riddle's stuffy behaviour, he hadn't been expecting a thank you.

The other first year floundered. Harry studied him for a moment, before smothering a smile. "Or you can come, you know, if you want." He gave another careless shrug, though suddenly his heart was pounding rather fast. "I was going to explore the castle. It would be nice to have someone to get lost with in case I get stuck in one of the suits of shining armour."

"What on earth are you planning to do that will get you stuck in a suit of shining armour?" Riddle sniffed. "You're an idiot, Potter."

And yet, he followed.

This time Harry didn't bother to smother smile.


Harry smoothed out his robes - of course, he'd once had the money to buy expensive robes without problem. Unfortunately, his assets and bank account was still bloody frozen because Lord Voldemort was a bastard, and no doubt wanted to foster financial dependence, or...something.

Reasons to stay, anyway.

But Harry was trying really hard not to think about Tom in any capacity, though this whole building was a breeding ground for old scars and memories to resurface. And their conversation kept playing through his head too, damnably, despite his best efforts.

There was another bloody cup of cinnamon-coffee waiting for him when he woke up again. He wanted to punch something.

The worst part was that though he wanted Voldemort to just stop it, to let them move their separate directions and thus maybe spare them both the sheer torment of the situation...he also didn't want him to stop at all.

He didn't want to see Tom happy with somebody else, be it Miss Rowle or anybody. Maybe that made him cruel. But having seen the opening pictures in the Daily Prophet of Tom and Evelyn opening up that new branch of St Mungos together, made him sick.

The thought of Tom giving up on him made him feel cold, and maybe that made him a raging hypocrite too. But no matter his feelings, he couldn't let them get in the way of what he needed to do.

It was frightening how easily the Dark Lord could go from genocidal war general, to looking like he was quietly smitten with the woman. He stiffened as he heard the door to his quarters open, and swing shut.

"Last chance to come to the press conference and tell everyone how much you don't fancy me." Tom's voice rang out from behind him, as Harry leant over to fiddle with his tie, lips pinching thin.

"I think I'll pass, strangely enough. I have a meeting with the American Ambassador," he replied. His attention was carefully diverted, his tone measured. He watched Voldemort appear in the reflection of the mirror, impeccably dressed as always.

"Oh, so you're fine with everyone thinking we're in love? Interesting."

Harry's jaw clenched further, before he gave a sweet smile, eyes meeting Tom's in the reflection.

"Unlike you, I am not a coward terrified of everything authentic about my identity. Half Blood, Blood Purism. Homosexual, let's just get ourselves a pretty trophy wife to sweep it all under the rug. It's pathetic. If you really want, I could come and very loudly comment that back in the day just because we joked and called it friends with benefits, the use of the word friend didn't actually render you on your knees sucking me off as platonic."

The man's expression darkened. Harry broadened his smile viciously, and went back to the tie. To his surprise, or maybe not, after a moment Tom stepped forward nonetheless, arms sliding around his shoulders and batting his hands away.

The silken knot of the tie slid flawlessly, if a little tightly, to press against the hollow of his throat. The touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Harry's heart pounded furiously.

"And yet," the Dark Lord murmured, voice dangerously honeyed, head tilting and cool breath puffing over his cheek. "You were the one that ran first. And you always resort to your oh so trying to be witty comments when you're uncomfortable. Which one of us exactly is the coward scared to commit?"

The air could have been crackling, as they continued to keep their gazes locked via the mirror. It was easier, in some strange way, to look at Tom through a mirror. It distanced the whole affair.

"Oh, you were running a long time before the physical act," Harry snapped. "It's called living in denial. I can hope that one day you would get over that." He tore his eyes away, shifting away from Voldemort's hands.

"The thing is," Tom said, voice still deceptively mild, "that you only believe in authentic identities when it's an identity that you personally believe in. When it comes to murder, you're perfectly happy that people should repress their darker instincts and deny themselves."

Harry scowled.

"And you think that you can have your cake and eat it too. You're a hypocrite."

"I'm a politician," Voldemort replied.

"You don't get to use that as an excuse!" This was getting them nowhere. "Did you want something? And don't say me."

"Now who's advocating denial…"

He turned to glare at the bastard properly. Amusement gleamed in the Dark Lord's eyes for a moment, before his expression was entirely blank once more.

"There's a line between complete hedonism at the expense of everyone around you, and being true to yourself," he said. "And consequently different forms of denial in regards to that. I'm not getting into a bloody debate with you." It was too easy to fall back into old patterns, far too easy. "What did you want?"

"Am I not simply allowed to want to see you anymore?"

Harry didn't even bother sighing, before walking out.

Maybe Voldemort had something important to say, but he had that awful-squeezing feeling that, outside of a vague attempt to make him attend to conference, the man did just gravitate towards his company. Still, after so long.

They used to spend most of their time together, even if only in proximity without communication.

Git.

The Wizarding Branch at the London American Embassy was acting as a secure location for their meeting - they were renting out a private interview room.

Michael Grayson was a man who hovered on the lines between corpulent and robust. Glib-tongued and normally sporting a pleasant smile. Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to questioning him.

They shook hands firmly, as the man scrutinized him behind the mask of radiant geniality

"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice," Harry murmured.

"The pleasure's all mine," Grayson returned. "I trust this is just a formality?"

Well, that remained to be seen.

"Merely a thorough investigation, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." They both sat down. The room was sparse, the air heavy with wards that made Harry's skin itch with the weight of them.

It went better than he could have expected.

Of course, Grayson thought Alkaev and the Russian Party were behind the whole affair, and was happy enough to complain from having suffered the lingering effects of the poison himself.

"The Dark Lord does seem quite invested in the whole affair if he has you on the job," the ambassador noted. "But the Dark Lord seems invested in a lot of things, don't you think?" Grayson's head tilted.

Harry stayed still in his seat, calmly, expression not changing as he studied the man in turn.

"The Dark Lord was poisoned just like everyone else. From what I know of him, if he was behind the Paris poisonings he would be investing rather less into it, and would instead be working harder to hush it up." But the thought did occur to him - that Voldemort was behind all of this, and was simply trying to use this all to a) establish the truce to get Harry into his webs again and b) more significantly, to turn the global playing field against each other, instead of against him.

As if the whole damn world wasn't on the brink of another war anyway. The last one had been more than enough, in his opinion.

"You're the last person I would have expected to defend him. Interesting."

The meeting couldn't end sooner. Grayson was brash, and he made more than his share of mouthy comments for a politician, but Harry didn't think he was behind this. Or, at least, if the Americans had some involvement, than Grayson knew little to nothing of the whole affair.

He'd investigate the diplomat's group further, and question Alkaev. If both of those leads were a bust, he had no idea what he would look into next. Certainly, the thought of someone getting away with all of this galled him.

He left the embassy, considering his next move, and started. It was going to be far more difficult making any form of contact with the Russians.

He'd get absolutely no help from the Russian government, and Alkaev didn't seem all too communicative considering British-Russian relations were at what could almost be considered an all time low.

Still, he started to make his way to the embassy. Not because he thought he would get anywhere with them, but because news spread, people were always watching...and maybe the Russian rebels would consequently contact him instead.

It was the best option he could hope for.

He'd barely walked several streets before something caught his eye, and he went very still.

It was the redhead, from the attack. Watching him, just off down a quiet road. Harry's wand was immediately in his hand, but the man didn't attack. He was dressed in plain clothes, this time, rather than the white robes.

Harry could have mistook and looked past him entirely if his instincts were not so honed for combat...and maybe if he hadn't spent so long obsessing over the mysterious confrontation.

He probably should have walked away. He should have summoned his back up, something.

He followed.


Evelyn Rowle knew what she wanted from life.

She wanted security, she wanted power. If a woman's place truly was to be in the home, then why on earth would she ever turn down the man who's home was the entire country?

She would have tremendous influence for her children. She would be the socialite, the one that absolutely everyone envied and wanted to be. She knew the Dark Lord was capable of dark things of course, but she was sure that she could make a good life with him.

She knew she was there for his image, but she hardly minded that. It did not seem so bad a thing at all to be the woman who tamed the monster and called him her own.

Being the Dark Lord's wife offered opportunity, position. It was the best she could hope for. She was capable. She would support him, and he would make sure that she got what she needed in turn.

A perfect arrangement. Only fools married for love, as much as she craved the freedom and thought of it.

The Dark Lord was currently at his press conference, express earnest. He wasn't handsome, not in the traditional voice. He was too deathly pale, too sharp around the edges. But she knew he had been gorgeous once, and something of it lingered.

And of course, the general aura around him was mesmerizing. And he was good conversationalist, charming.

Honestly, the only thing that gave her any concern was Harry Potter.

"Allegations have been made," Lucretia Black leaned forward, "that your rumoured previous sexual relations with Harry Potter are the reason behind your truce with the Order of the Phoenix. Can you shed any light upon these accusations?"

"Harry was my best friend throughout our Hogwarts years, and it is true that I grew platonically very close to him during that time. Indeed, there may even be some truth to the claim that I am perhaps more reluctant to see him dead than most." The Dark Lord leaned forward in turn. "However, neither of us would see our ideals compromised on old sentiments. As I stated previously."

"As for the reasons behind our truce, the explanation of which last time was interrupted," the man continued smoothly. "The investigation of the Paris poisonings is a globally significant event, that we both agreed took precedent over civil squabbles. Neither of us desires another world war, and would do everything in our power to prevent even the smallest possibility of such a thing. The truce is not a matter of lenience, it is a matter of united co-operation against much larger and more potent outside threats."

And so it continued.

She watched him quietly. Watched him bat away accusations of his sexuality, and knew that the need for an heir, and a distraction, grew only more paramount.

"Is there a reason Mr Potter is not here defending these accusations himself?" Skeeter demanded. "You hardly seem united in this case."

"Mr Potter is currently busy investigating leads, which we deemed more important than the addressing of these rumours." She knew he was trying to make it seem like the rumours were just that, rumours so trivial that they did not even require full attention.

"It is true that Mr Potter is staying at your home?"

"Yes, it is true. It seemed practical, considering the need for quick response," he replied.

"You seem very eager to have him close to you."

She was close enough to see his eyes darkening, even if his expression remained closed off and composed. He was quiet for a moment.

"Unity aside, it would be foolish to entirely trust a man who has dedicated his life to seeing myself and my policies removed from power," Voldemort said.

Pretty words weren't going to put this to rest so easily.


"What exactly is all this about?" Harry folded his arms. "Who are you? How is it that you knew me?" And what was for the best, for that matter.

The pub was not particularly crowded, but a few spells took care of the possibility of them being overheard either way.

Certainly, whilst he followed, he had no intention of following a strange assassin somewhere that wasn't public - at least, he would tell himself that, and ignore the stirrings of familiarity in his chest.

The redhead grimaced.

"I'm...uh...I'm not quite sure where to start. Some of the others didn't even think I should talk to you, all things considered."

"The others?" Harry prompted, resisting the urge to comment on how maddeningly unhelpful the initial response was. The redhead sighed.

"You're...uh...you're going to find this difficult to believe. Even for you."

"Even for me," Harry repeated, expression blank and stony. "You seem to know what is apparently difficult for me surprisingly well, considering we met once and I still don't know your name."

The redhead grimaced, before sticking out a hand.

"I'm Ron. I used to be one of your best friends. I'm the Strategic Lieutenant for the Order."

Harry stared, not entirely sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. He half wanted to laugh, for lack of any better response.

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember you if you used to be one of my best friends."

"You'd think so, yeah," the man muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But it's...complicated. I'm not sure where to start, but we need your help."

"Who's we?"

"I'm the Strategic Lieutenant for the Order."

"The Order?"

"The Order of the Phoenix."

There was a lurch in Harry's chest.

"Oh, did I forget when I appointed you as my Lieutenant too?" Harry bit out. Was this some kind of sick joke? A distraction of some sort? If he wasn't so bloody curious, he would have walked out right then.

Ron watched him for a moment, quietly, head tilted.

"Technically, yes. I told you that you were going to find it hard to believe. Drink?"

"No thanks. I'd prefer some answers."

Ron sighed, but nonetheless went and fetched two beers for them, as Harry watched him with narrowed eyes. He made no move to take the pint when it was set on the table.

"Trust me, mate," Ron said, "you're gonna want it later."

Harry's jaw clenched, fingers itching for his wand. The man had the audacity to roll his eyes, hands racing in a placating gesture as he took a sip of his own drink.

"Okay, where to start," Ron hummed. "What do you know about time travel?"

Harry nearly gaped.


Dinner with Miss Rowle was the last thing Tom wanted to be concerned with right now.

Black had the set up for the carnival well under way, and the press whilst not persuaded had been temporarily been assuaged. Soon enough, he was sure things would unravel and the truth of the situation would be revealed.

Harry was missing.

But on the whole, it was a good day.

Well, maybe late was a better word. But Tom had been sure he would have been back to report something by now, and of course he wasn't worried or anything, but…

The wine was excellent, and Miss Rowle an intelligent conversationalist. They had very quickly come to an agreement on the general premise of how their involvement would work, with only some of the finer details requiring further discussion. Harry, and Harry's position, was among that small print. Not that his former lover knew that yet, but nonetheless.

There were plenty of reasons why Potter, idiot that he was, would not have turned up yet. The man had always had a penchant for trouble, from the very day he met the fool.

"Is everything alright, my lord? You seem troubled."

And if it was that obvious, he really was going to slit the rebel leader's bastard throat.

"It's fine," he gave her his best smile.

"I suppose it's understandable that you would have a lot on your mind, given your position," she murmured. "We can talk about it, if you would like? I'd be happy to listen."

Tom studied her. She wasn't the bad sort, and really, perfect for the purpose so he could commend Abraxas for that one. She knew what she wanted, but was happy to rely on him to get it.

"Or," she continued, wetting her lips, "we could give you a distraction and the press something to talk about."

The dining room was softly lit, the ambience flawlessly designed to encourage this type of thing. Abraxas' doing, no doubt. It always continued to be surprising how many things the Malfoy Lord had a hand in. Especially when it came to everything that pertained to his public image.

He was indispensable really, which was thus one of the reasons his old friend was alive to remember Tom Riddle, when so few others were. He wanted little reminder of the specimen he used to be, and yet…

Miss Rowle reached across the table slowly, pressing a delicate hand on his, encouraging but not pushing the topic. Watching him, with shrewd eyes.

She would make a fine wife, he was sure. Getting started on the whole thing would be for the best, really. She was tolerant in ways most weren't. It was a fine offer, and she was fair enough of face too.

He pulled his hand away, and took another sip of his wine.

"I am organizing a ball for the start of a summer carnival," he said, instead. "Would you do me the honour of attending as my date?"

After a moment, she smiled.

Maybe Harry had come back whilst they were dining. He would check.

He no longer trusted the man to always find his way home like he should.


A/N: You will find out most of what's going on behind this mess next chapter. Or at least a significant amount, don't worry. Another note, in case you guys cared for reference, this story is about halfway through :) It's not going to be one of my epic-ly long ones, though I have a lot planned. But yes. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, anyway! :) Next chapter should be up soon!