Chapter 9: All Bets Are Off

"I have no idea why we have these conversations if you only intend to shoot down all my ideas."

"Your ideas are not amenable to my goals," Tom said flatly.

Lucius sighed. "Your goals are concerning, which is why I felt the need to intervene to begin with."

"Intervene poorly, I may add," Tom said, raising a brow. "Draco? Really? You could do better."

"Options were limited," Lucius allowed. "And it worked for some time, based on what you told me. I can't say I expected poor Draco to derail you forever. You're far too persistent for that."

Tom smirked and took a sip of his wine. They were on the balcony of Lucius' flat, having a Saturday night drink together. "You know I'll succeed. Your concern is noted, and appreciated, but unnecessary. There is nothing about this situation that could go wrong. If anything, Lucius, this is far safer than my attempts to climb the corporate ladder."

"You say Harry is interested in you?"

"I know he is."

"Then, I don't know, quit your job. Or threaten to quit your job. God knows you can do better than that firm, Tom. I've said it a thousand times. There's a place for you with me, if you want. Draco keeps asking, dropping hints, but he wouldn't last a week there. You, though—" Lucius nodded. "You would thrive, Tom. You've got the intelligence and the ambition to go almost anywhere. We're young, we have time. Why do you stay where you are?"

It was hard to explain. Tom had been with Hogwarts since the early days, back when Dippet had been CEO. Nowadays, the company was less aggressive than Tom would have liked or thought wise, but he had faith it could pull ahead. It just needed the right guidance. The right leader.

"It's a good company," Tom said slowly. "Stability is hard to come by. I have excellent benefits and regular raises. Other firms can't offer what I want so easily. Hogwarts has… potential. I want to see it through."

"You're a far better man than you let on," Lucius grumbled. "I couldn't imagine working there and not losing my mind. The redundancy of the operational processes alone is enough to age me several decades."

"It will improve with time and the correct leadership," Tom said dismissively. "But to return to your point: you advise me against courting my superior, and now you tell me to quit my job? Hardly good advice."

"You've already gone to such extremes, Tom. What's one more? If it sets you on a different path, then I'll agree to it. Your potential is wasted there."

Tom thought of what Harry had said to him—that his accomplishments would be recognized, that his efforts would be rewarded.

Part of the reason Tom had stayed for so long was because Hogwarts had taken a chance on a scruffy orphan with lackluster connections and lower-class schooling. Tom had grown and flourished here, setting his roots down. It would be shameful to throw it all away, not when he knew that this company had just as much potential as he did to become something better.

"I don't need to leave my job to convince Harry to date me. He'll see that his protests are weak."

Lucius shook his head. "Are they? Could you honestly tell me you won't leverage a relationship for your own ends?"

"That's only natural." Tom mulled it over. "Besides, it would not be only for myself. It would be for the both of us. Eventually I'll move to head office, and then there will be no conflict of interest."

"I love how you've planned your lives out already. It's endearing."

The rest of the weekend was spent poorly. Tom was frustrated with himself; it seemed whenever he attempted to concoct a plan to win Harry over, he was confronted with an irritatingly accurate mental model of Harry's voice in his head, stating very clearly that workplace relationships were frowned upon.

Goddamn morality. Tom didn't give one whit what anyone in the workplace thought about them, and if anyone dared to try anything, he would blackmail them. After years spent toiling away at the same branch, Tom had enough information to topple the entire place from the inside. He simply chose not to because he enjoyed the relative workings of his current environment.

But make no mistake, the minute anyone set a foot out of line, there would be hell to pay. Draco had escaped unscathed after no small amount of grovelling, and Tom would not hesitate to treat anyone else the same way.

Possible consequences aside, the original issue remained. How to convince Harry that dating would be fine—preferable, even. Tom had plenty to offer; he was handsome and intelligent, he owned his own flat and worked in a stable sector of the economy. He had impeccable tastes and was willing to educate himself on whatever interested Harry in order to make conversation easier. And he was a younger man, if that was the type of thing that mattered to Harry.

It seemed ridiculous to let something like company policy stand in the way.

Oh, hm. There was a thought. Perhaps it was not the policy itself that was the issue—rather, it was the location. Harry would not feel comfortable engaging in romantic activity where there were witnesses. To Harry, the office was a place of variables. Too many watchful eyes. In this context, it was understandable to be hesitant. After all, one wrong word to the wrong ear could result in disaster.

What Harry did not know and Tom did, was that the denizens of the office were well under control. Even if Tom was not well-liked by all, he was respected. And with that respect—and blackmail—came compliance.

Tom would need to arrange to meet Harry outside of office hours. That was all. He would corner the man in a different public setting, and then Harry would be in no place to refuse him. No risk, no cause for concern.

Only Tom's practical timing and sense of dramatics, planned to the nines. Casual clothing that would dissociate the clandestine meeting from their interactions at the office. Perhaps he'd even style his hair slightly different—just for the variety. A different cologne, even.

Tom's mind was awhirl with the possibilities. At last, a plausible solution for his problem and an explanation for Harry's behaviour. Perfect. He'd have to do some more research—where did Harry live, exactly? What places did he frequent? Then once that was done, he'd have to arrange some excuse.

It would take some time to organize this, which was perhaps for the best. Harry would relax once more in Tom's presence, convinced that his words had been taken to heart. When they ran into each other, he would not suspect Tom of manipulation.

In the meantime, however, Tom would resume his friendly behaviour. Coffee in the mornings, the occasional lunch date if Harry seemed amenable, and natural instances of physical contact. It wouldn't do for Harry to think he'd lost interest.

"You're in a cheerful mood this morning."

Tom offered Granger a benevolent smile. He had just delivered Harry's morning coffee with nothing other than a pleasant greeting and an offer of aid if necessary.

Harry had been surprised, having clearly expected Tom to once again test the boundaries of their relationship. He had thanked Tom for the coffee, blushed when their fingers had touched, and promised he would ask for help if required.

All in all, Tom considered Monday morning to be a success. "Is it illegal to be cheerful on a Monday, Granger?"

"No," she answered slowly. "It's a nice change, actually."

Tom's smile faded into a glower. "Let us hope it lasts."

Granger's mouth twitched with mirth. "Yes, let's."

The rest of the morning passed without incident. Harry stayed in his office, working, and Tom remained at his cubicle, also working. A half hour before they were due for lunch, Pansy came over to their clump of cubicles. Likely she was here to gossip, Tom thought with interest as she approached girl-Weasley's workspace.

"So you know where Harry lives, yes?" Pansy asked. "Draco says you came in together the other day."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Call it curiosity." Pansy gave her hips a sway. "A catch like that, you know. Bit oblivious, maybe. Brown was in the other day when he came by. He didn't even bat an eye at her."

"Harry's too proper for that," Granger chimed in from her cubicle. Her voice was sharper than usual. "He's not one for office romance with just anyone."

Rightly so. Everyone remembered, rather vividly, the dramatics between Granger, Weasley, and Brown. The trauma of it had kept the water cooler talk going for three entire weeks.

"Harry lives on his own, if that's what you mean. Ron and I didn't get a look inside or anything. That'd be weird, don't you think? He's our boss."

Pansy pouted. "Isn't there anything interesting you learned? A gym nearby? Or where he plays rugby with his friends?"

There was a pause, and then girl-Weasley snorted. "Way to make it obvious, Parkinson."

"Oh, I live to please." Pansy grinned widely and bent over, hands clasped on her knees as she beamed down at Ginny. "Besides, even if he isn't interested in women, he might have a friend or two who is, wouldn't you say?"

"This is stalking," Granger said disapprovingly.

"It's an exchange of information," Pansy defended. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. I know what you've been betting on." Then, quite deliberately, Pansy shifted her head in Tom's direction. And winked.

Tom had not been watching closely—he wasn't foolish enough to be caught eavesdropping—but the gesture did not escape his peripheral vision. Neither did the implications of that statement.

The office betting pool had existed even prior to Tom's induction to the company. It was tradition, even, for the employees of this branch to encourage and participate in said pool.

Despite finding it distasteful, Tom had partaken a couple of times, mostly for the bragging rights but occasionally for the extra pocket money. He had a knack for predicting or manipulating outcomes in his favour; he would have been foolish if he did not take advantage of that.

If there were bets going on about him and Harry, then there were sides to be had and aid to be taken. Tom waited patiently for Pansy to leave, then stood and walked over to girl-Weasley's desk.

"Bet?" he asked her bluntly.

Girl-Weasley smiled blankly at him. "Why, yes, Riddle. A bet. Wouldn't you like to know?"

Tom was not someone involved as a subject in the office betting pools. Most of them involved romance or other such frivolities involving his coworkers that he did not care for. Therefore, he kept his nose out of the drama and focused on his ambitions.

This was a first for him, and he did not appreciate being uninformed of this fact. Perhaps he'd been too preoccupied with Harry lately. It was unlike him to let something as important as this slip beneath his notice.

A small part of him, however, was rather pleased that everyone was interested enough in the outcome to part with their money over it. Not to mention that if there was money exchanging hands, they were as good as condoning what he planned to do.

Tom eyed Ginny silently, debating what response would work best on her. "If you have a bet, then you have a side. If you have a side," he continued, speaking as though he was talking to a child, "then you ought to help whoever is involved." The involved person being himself, obviously.

"Maybe so." Girl-Weasley smiled wider. "You make an excellent point, Riddle."

Tom stared back, stone faced. "Where does Harry live?"

Granger made an offended noise and came wheeling around her cubicle wall to glare at them. "That's cheating, Ginny. They'll call you on it if they find out."

"I'll say I asked him myself," Tom interjected. "No one has to know." Though, admittedly, he was curious as to why girl-Weasley had chosen his side of the issue to bet on. He did not consider them to be on friendly terms. On good days, they were cordial. On bad days, they snapped at each other like piranhas.

"Pansy went through the trouble of coming over here and dropping hints," Ginny retorted. "I'd argue at this point she must be more invested in the outcome than we are."

"Still," Granger said, doubtful, "I want us to win this outright."

"Do you all really have nothing better to do," Tom deadpanned, folding his arms over his chest. It did surprise him that Granger was involved, and on his side no less. "Simply give me the information I need, and I can assure you that you will pocket your delightful, hardwon winnings in due time."

Granger glared at him. "No need to make us sound like criminals."

Tom scoffed. "You are the ones betting on my love life, Granger. You hardly have moral ground to stand on."

"To be fair," Girl-Weasley mused, "we didn't know it was possible for you to even have one until recently."

"Very amusing," Tom said flatly. "How clever of you to notice I have standards."

"Don't worry, the general consensus is that you're very adorable," she reassured him. "I doubt there's a single person in this building that prefers ol' stick-up-the-arse Riddle to this new, lovely besotted model you've got going on." She gestured up and down his person, a smirk plastered to her lips.

"Address, before I decide it is no longer in my best interests to be kind," Tom demanded. "You seem to forget there is a reason why I don't participate in your childish betting games, Weasley, and that reason is I have enough to bury all of you if I liked."

"Oh, boo hoo," Ginny said. "As if I care whether you tell Ron that I like to have a little fun on the weekends."

Granger made a funny choking noise at that, then retreated to her cubicle. Her giggling was still very much audible.

"Address?" Tom repeated, frustrated.

"Fine, fine. Only because I find you so wonderfully convincing." Girl-Weasley reached for her pen and scrawled out an address onto a sticky note. "Have fun stalking him. I hear the gym down the block is full of hot blokes." She dangled the note out in front of him.

Tom snatched it up and walked away without bothering to say anything further. Bloody gossiping, meddling hens, the lot of them. Now that he had gotten what he needed, there was no longer any reason to be kind.

To his right, Harry's office door creaked open. Tom turned to look, automatically attentive to the sound. If Harry required help, Tom would be the first through the door.

Harry shuffled into the doorway, blinking out at the cubicles. He stood there for a second as his gaze focused on Tom, who was the only person easily within sight.

"Did you need help with something?" Tom required politely, as if he did not have Harry's home address written on a yellow sticky note and pinched between his fingers.

"No," Harry said immediately. "I mean, no. Maybe." He squinted. "D'you mind coming in here for a moment, Tom?"

"Not at all." Tom smiled and made his way over, taking care to tuck the note into his shirt pocket as he went.

Harry ushered Tom into his office and shut the door behind them both. Unfortunately, Harry did not sit down right away. Instead he began to pace the room, a nervous circuit that set off alarm bells in Tom's head.

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

"It's difficult to explain." Harry bit down on his lower lip—a habit of his that was the result of anxiety.

"Take your time," Tom said, seating himself. "I am here to listen."

Harry breathed in, then out, then made another lap around the tiny office space. He halted in place and swiveled in Tom's direction. His eyes, green as ever, were suddenly very serious.

"I think Quirrell's been framed."

A/N:

this ending ran away from me and got all dramatic lmfao but -jazz hands- enjoy!

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