Work at the Ministry grew busy. This was what Harry had assumed, because Tom was working more than usual, and that meant many of his tasks as Minister were being handed off to Harry.

Harry didn't mind. These were all tasks he knew how to do, either from watching Tom, or from reviewing the process himself.

The surprise came much later, when Harry was informed he had a guest waiting for him in his office.

Harry's office had come to pass as a status symbol rather than out of any practical need for the room. Tom liked Harry nearby whenever he was at the Ministry, and so Harry had at first used his office for work-related meetings and storage for his filed paperwork.

Over time, however, the room had filled itself with things. Books and trinkets, gifts from friends and coworkers. Tom's magpie tendency never waned; he had taken to presenting Harry with all manner of interesting rarities whenever he came across them.

Harry kept those items aside from the rest, displayed in a row directly on his desk. His favourite item, however, was the cloak pin with the Potter family crest that hovered, suspended, above a small crystal dais.

Following the death of his parents, the Potter family assets had been seized by the Ministry.

Harry had inherited it all, but by then he'd been too firmly entrenched in the Order, too well known by Voldemort and his associates. Everything had been legally his—the properties, the gold, the heirlooms—but he'd had no way to claim it.

Voldemort had rectified that matter very quickly once he'd been assured of Harry's loyalty. All that had once belonged to James and Lily was now his.

Potter Cottage had been emptied of sentimental items and placed under layers of preservation charms. Harry kept everything that mattered to him either at home or in his office at the Ministry. He had no desire to revisit his childhood home anymore.

The community of Godric's Hollow was now fully restored and populated with families; it was no longer the place Harry had grown up in, no longer the place he had stood, blood-smeared and grieving, fresh scar on his forehead marking him for death. It wasn't the same, it never would be, and therefore it was no longer a place he wished to visit.

Harry pushed open his office door and was greeted with a head of grey hair and shabby robes.

"Remus?"

Remus Lupin stood, turning. Time had never been kind to Remus, but this fact was clearer now as they gazed upon each other. Harry knew how his own face, fixed and youthful, so like his father but also not, could hurt to look at.

Remus was withering, pale and shrunken in on himself. Harry felt a pang of guilt, sharp and tangy in the back of his throat, and wished he'd had the courage to reach out sooner. He had avoided thinking of that part of his past, because it was a part of him that no longer existed in the same form.

The man who had saved Remus Lupin had grown into the Dark Lord's right hand. Remus had tried to save him, only Harry had saved Remus instead. This was the guilt they carried, the burden of shame and regret that had forced them apart for so many years. They had betrayed their cause for each other, and for Harry, this had always felt unforgivable to the point of physical pain.

"Harry," said Remus, quiet and tender, the greeting so achingly familiar that Harry stepped forward and enveloped the man in a hug.

They held each other for a moment, tethered in comfort, and then Remus pulled away to place both hands on either side of Harry's face, thumbs stroking the cheekbones.

"I haven't aged a day," Harry said, rueful.

"Potter family genes, as James would have said." Remus smiled, but the expression crumbled away just as quickly.

The hands pulled away. Harry missed the feel of them, calloused and papery and warm.

"It's nice to see you," Harry said honestly. "Have a seat."

They sat. Harry eyed the clutter of his desk, suddenly embarrassed by all of it. Remus seemed equally ill at ease as he looked down at his lap.

"It took me longer than it should have to come here," Remus said. "So I'm sorry for that."

"You don't have to be," Harry told him. "I understand. It's not… it's not easy to reconnect with the past."

"Still," said Remus. "I feel like I failed you, Harry." His gaze swept the room, mouth falling into a frown. "After Sirius passed, I told myself that I would always be there for you. That I would keep you safe no matter what the prophecy said."

"And you were," Harry said. "You were there for me."

"Except for when it mattered."

Harry exhaled, counted three breaths in a row. "It's not your fault. None of what happened to me was your fault, and I don't blame you for trying to save me. I've... accepted my life and made peace with it. This is who I am now. I work at the Ministry, and I do what I can."

"Harry—"

"No, listen," Harry insisted. "You can't live like this, feeling like this. I know you can't. The past is gone, Remus. There's nothing we can do to change it."

Remus sat back, stiffening. "You've given up."

Though he knew the words weren't true, Harry couldn't help his flinch. "I haven't," Harry said. "I never give up. Not on you, not on myself. Not on other people. But the only thing I can change is the future. Lingering on the past hurts more than it helps."

"You're going to live forever," Remus said. "Immortal like—like the Dark Lord."

Maybe he would, but he didn't want to confirm any of it. The uncertainty was something he had to deal with every day when he met Tom's eyes. He didn't need to see it in Remus', too.

"It's what he wants," Harry said instead. In this Ministry, under this reign, the Dark Lord's will was immutable. This was the image that needed to persist in order for Remus to remain safe.

Remus deflated. "I don't know what to do with myself," he admitted. "It feels wrong to just… let all of this happen. There are more creature rights in place. We never had those while I was at Hogwarts."

Harry knew. He'd worked on many of the additional laws himself. Creature rights had always been on Voldemort's agenda in exchange for assistance in apprehending members of the Order. Ever since Harry had witnessed the Order's dissolution, leaps and bounds of progress had been made on that front.

"We're doing the best we can," Harry said. "To help people."

"But not Muggleborns."

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, deliberating. "It's better than it once was," Harry said. "And I have hope it'll keep getting better." With enough time, anything was possible. Changing the Dark Lord's mind was one thing. Changing the mind of an entire nation was another. But Harry had faith he could steer their magical world to where it needed to be.

"I suppose that's all any of us can ask for," Remus said softly. "You do look well, Harry. I'm glad. But if you do need anything, if there's anything I can do…" The word trailed off, the first sign of hopefulness since their conversation had begun flickering across Remus' face.

"This might be some years too late for me to say," Harry said, pacing his words with deliberate care, "but I'm old enough to look after myself. I don't need someone to parent me anymore. What I want, what I really need right now, is a friend."

"A friend," Remus repeated. "I can do that." Then he shifted, straightening. "So Harry, what can I do for you as a friend?"

Harry didn't actually have anything at the moment. When he wasn't swamped with work, all his spare time went into worrying over Astoria and Tom. But he didn't want to turn Remus away right now, not when they'd only just reconciled. There had to be something he could offer.

On his desk, the Potter family crest spun a slow rotation. Harry eyed the motion, felt the tug of an idea in his mind.

"There is something you can do for me," Harry said, realizing, his sentence solidifying further as he spoke. "Something that I think I've been waiting to do for a while."

At the end of the day, Harry met Tom in his office. It was a Thursday, which was usually the worst day for paperwork, and so Harry was unsurprised to see a stack of such things on Tom's paper tray. Tom was occupied when Harry came in, and so Harry settled into one of the empty chairs to wait.

There was no more extra desk here in this room. Sometimes Harry missed the closeness of it, of just the two of them scribbling away at their respective work stations. But he liked the privacy of his own office as well, and given they spent so much time together, the space was probably a good thing.

"I'm giving Potter Cottage to Remus," Harry said, once he noted the clock was well past the hour when Tom should have wrapped up.

That got Tom's attention, as Harry had known it would. "Your family home?" Tom asked.

"It's not as though I'm using it."

Tom frowned, a crease marring his forehead. "Did you want to?"

It was hard to explain why he didn't want to, and even harder to explain it to Tom, who still failed to grasp most of the emotional intricacies that Harry waded through on a regular basis.

"No," said Harry. "I want the house to go to someone who'll appreciate it, and that person is Remus."

"If the house has value to you," Tom said, setting his quill aside, "we can see about re-furnishing it."

"Tom," said Harry, exasperated. "I don't want or need the house. I'm perfectly fine with the way things are."

Tom was still frowning, so Harry got up and went to hop on top of the side of the desk. This particular side of the desk had once been home to a neat pile of various research manuscripts. Harry had made a habit of moving them around whenever he came into Tom's office, much to Tom's annoyance.

But nowadays, that space was conspicuously clear of clutter. Harry was sure that, were he to press for a reason, Tom would say it was because he kept messing the spot up.

"Are you done yet?" Harry asked, when it became clear Tom was not about to respond.

"No," Tom said. He sounded grumpy now, which Harry took to mean he was annoyed at having emotions.

"That's okay." Harry swung his legs out and rotated his ankles. "I can wait as long as it takes."

Late afternoons began to stretch into late nights. Harry ended up having to hire an assistant—even though, technically, he was already the Minister's assistant. Not to mention Barty was the Undersecretary with his own junior assistant. The chain of command had been bent sideways because of Harry's presence, and Tom had assigned Harry the label of 'Advisor to the Minister of Magic' to provide Harry with an official role in the eyes of the people.

Harry figured the addition of another person could hardly make things any more confusing.

People already looked to him as the Minister's second, outclassed by Barty only in terms of encyclopedic knowledge on the way their nation worked. Harry had no official powers and responsibilities in the Ministry, but the sway he held over them all was surpassed only by the Dark Lord. It was a heady feeling to have so much responsibility, but over the years Harry had grown into it.

With a new assistant, Harry was able to manage all of his new workload and still have time leftover for other things. Tom, however, was sighted with less and less frequency at the Ministry. In fact, Harry was beginning to suspect that Tom only appeared in his office at five sharp because he knew Harry was expecting him to be there.

They would land back in the manor, and then Tom would mutter some excuse or another, saying he would return for dinner before stalking off in the direction of his home office.

Aside from the annoying hypocrisy of the situation, Harry was growing concerned.

After some time of this pattern, Harry decided the best way to sort it was a direct confrontation. Tom never took well to Harry's attempt at subtleties—he typically ignored them, and then went out of his way to make a big show of ignoring them. As though only Slytherins were capable of being subtle, Harry thought derisively.

So when they landed in the entrance hall one evening, Harry spun around, placing himself in Tom's way. "Who's overworking themselves now?" Harry demanded, seizing the sleeve of Tom's robes to hold him in place.

"No one," Tom said smoothly, jerking his arm away. "I am well aware of my limits, and I am perfectly capable of managing my time."

"I hardly see you," Harry said.

Tom faltered, but the doubt slid away quickly, replaced by the pleasant, condescending look from before. "You see me more than anyone else does," Tom said. "I assure you it's not a competition."

Irritation flared up in Harry's chest. "That's not my point. You're a bloody hypocrite, that's what my point is. You need to rest just as much as anyone else does."

Tom's lip curled as he took a step forward, staring down. "I know what's best, Harry. You forget yourself by questioning me. My health is fine, your concerns are noted, and I will see you at dinner."

"Delivering statements in shorter sentences doesn't make me any more prone to listening to them," Harry said.

Tom sighed and pressed a hand to Harry's face, cupping his cheek. "I promise that once I'm finished with my current project, things will return to normal. Does this reassure you?"

It was as good of a concession as any, though Harry was suspicious Tom wouldn't keep to this agreement. "How long?" Harry pressed, undeterred. The promise would mean little if Tom planned to continue this trainwreck lifestyle for the next few months.

To his surprise, Tom's eyes softened. "Not long, I should think." His hand slid down to clasp Harry's shoulder, the gesture gentle, comforting. "I'm very hopeful that it will be done soon."

Harry had to remember to take a breath. "Okay," he said.

"So you believe me?" Tom asked, his voice so low that it was hypnotic.

"I guess." Harry squirmed a bit, suddenly uneasy. "I guess I do. But if you start skipping meals and things then I'm going to bring this up again."

Tom smiled. "I would expect nothing less."

Harry felt a press of fondness in those words, a lulling affection buried between the pauses. His heart swelled oddly in his chest, thumping. "Okay," Harry repeats. "Good. Glad we've got that sorted."

Tom pulled his hand away, and Harry exhaled a rush of air all at once. "I will see you at dinner," Tom said. He left.

Harry rubbed at his elbow rather than his shoulder, because rubbing at his shoulder would have been too obvious. The large manor felt emptier without Tom's presence close to him. Maybe a walk before dinner would help him shake the sensation of oddness.

Some weeks after that, Tom barged into his office.

"Tom?" Harry said, immediately alarmed. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Then he caught sight of Tom's face properly. Triumph. His eyes blazing with splendour, a high flush of colour tainting his cheeks.

If Harry had to name a sin, Tom Riddle would be the sin of pride many, many times over. Slytherins were the ambitious sort, but Tom put them all to shame—for his goals were lofty and his achievements were numerous, and he balked in the face of nothing, not even death.

When Tom succeeded, he was glory personified.

"I've done it," Tom said. "I've cured her."

Harry's mouth dropped open before the statement could even register.

"You—" Harry said. Words failed him. Nothing he could think of seemed good enough.

"She's at St. Mungo's now," Tom continued, "being monitored. But all the initial checks have passed, and they believe she'll make a full recovery."

"This is what you've been working on," Harry said, no small amount of awe present in his voice.

Tom's smile stretched smugly across his lips, and Harry was no longer mad, no, he was overjoyed at the sight of it.

"You did it," Harry said, leaping up and stumbling around his desk to meet Tom at the door. "You did it!"

He did not initiate a hug so much as practically tackle Tom with his entire body. They fell awkwardly against the door with a crash as Tom coughed out all his air over the top of Harry's head.

Harry could tell that he was crying, that he was soaking Tom's fancy shirt and robes with his snot and tears, but all of that was so distant that it barely registered. Tom's arm settled around his upper back, pulling tight. Tom's nose was pressed to the side of his head.

"You saved her," Harry mumbled into the fabric. "Thank you."

Tom's chest expanded underneath Harry's face, a dragging inhale, and then Tom said, "You're welcome," in a low rumble. The pride was still there, but it was less distinct, more blurred by the presence of other emotions.

Harry thought of how Voldemort had taken everything from him. His life, his parents, his friends. His blood and his loyalty sold as bargaining tools. His innocence left to burn in a ruined white room.

And though Harry would never have love or family in the traditional sense, he had some of what Tom had given back to him. He had Astoria and Scorpius. He had Remus. He had this.