Part Two: Harry

Harry knew he should never have agreed to go to Riddle's Death Eater garden party. He should have stuck to his threat and run off to another country or continent. Anywhere but here in Britain where Riddle's unwanted attention would follow him like a blistering spotlight.

Ever since landing in this time period, Harry had done all that he could. He had prevented Riddle from creating Horcruxes, from killing Myrtle Warren, the Riddle family, and Hepzibah Smith.

Whatever else happened now was beyond his control. It had to be, and he had to accept that because he could not wage war against a young Voldemort on his own. Already, Harry worried for his impact in this world, a world like his own, a world with a timeline that ostensibly led to Lord Voldemort.

If a new war began, Harry would involve himself in it, but until that point, he would do his best to lie low and not change more than he already had. This Riddle had no Horcruxes. He was presumably sane enough to avoid the actions of the Voldemort that Harry knew. That had to be good enough until Harry could figure out what Riddle was up to.

Maybe that was why he'd agreed to go. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Harry doubted he would ever be invited to a Death Eater party again in his lifetime. This was an opportunity to see for himself how Tom Riddle operated.

The memories that Dumbledore had collected did not paint a full picture; the few glimpses of Riddle that were given to Harry featured the mask, not the man. Who was Voldemort with his lieutenants, his beloved followers? Who was the man that so many willingly called Lord?

Harry had witnessed Voldemort's madness and cruelty. He had yet to witness the inspiration behind such loyal, fanatical devotion.

Soon, however, he would.

As promised, an invitation was forwarded to him the next day. There was an enclosed guest list of Britain's Pureblood elite. Harry recognized all the names and then some.

Riddle had also included a brief note thanking Harry for his attendance and genuine consideration. He hoped that they would 'share an enjoyable time together'. Harry refrained from setting the letter on fire, but only just. He had the strangest feeling that Riddle would know if he did.

On the day of the party, Harry rose early and spent his entire morning with imaginary scenarios of shady backroom deals and torture basements stained with blood. Still, Harry dressed in the nicest set of robes he owned, tidied his hair, and tucked Riddle's locket into his mokeskin pouch.

If he was going to attend, he wasn't going to give Riddle an inch to complain. Harry would extend this event as much courtesy and decorum as could be expected, and when Riddle once again offered him a place at the table, Harry's firm refusal would be all the sweeter.

The gardens of Malfoy Manor were impeccable. A photograph had been provided in the invitation with instructions to adhere to the listed arrival time; Harry Apparated directly to the entrance and was promptly greeted by two House-Elves dressed in clean, monogrammed towels.

Harry handed off his cloak and refused the offer of a drink. As he stepped further on, his eyes scanned the area for Riddle. There were little clumps of people all around: by the drinks table, by the tall stone fountain, by the lavender flutterby bushes.

"Harry Evans, is that you?"

Harry spun in the direction of the question and promptly had his arm seized by Walburga Black. As he was dragged off, he made a few spluttered noises of protest, but something in Walburga's gaze—bright and wild, so much like Bellatrix Lestrange's—told him he was better off letting her have her way.

So that was how Harry found himself situated in the midst of several young women, each of them beautifully dressed and holding champagne glasses in hand.

"Ladies," Walburga said sweetly, "look who I have with me! You all remember Evans from school, don't you?"

There was a faint titter of agreement from a few of the girls. Harry felt his face begin to redden. He had gone out of his way to avoid notice at Hogwarts. Surely none of these girls remembered him at all and were only flattering him because Riddle had invited him.

Harry raised a hand and waved. "Hello," he said awkwardly.

"Won't you sit with us?" Ophelia Malfoy said with a smile. "It has been an age since we've all seen each other, after all." She and Walburga exchanged a glance that only served to increase Harry's discomfort.

"I was looking for Riddle, actually," he said slowly. "Is he here somewhere?"

"Oh, he's certainly somewhere," Walburga simpered. "Off with one of our husbands, no doubt. You'll find him soon enough, Evans darling." She paused, smirking, then added, "Or else he'll find you."

There was a lengthy pause filled with sounds of amusement from the other girls. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering if it would be rude of him to make an excuse to leave.

"Do you have business with him?" Ophelia asked, in a heavy tone that implied business was the furthest thing from her mind. What business she meant, however, Harry couldn't tell.

"Something like that," Harry said distractedly, turning away and looking to the crowd once more.

"He's quite green," muttered Roselia Parkinson.

Harry swiveled back to stare at her in bewilderment. They had sat together in sixth-year Potions for the entire year. Harry had hardly spoken to her outside of asking her to pass tools or ingredients.

Before he could vocalize a protest, Ophelia rose to her feet. A House-Elf appeared beside her instantly, silver platter raised high. She placed her glass upon it and smiled benignly at Harry. "I will help you find him."

As she led him away from the group, Harry caught snatches of the conversation that resumed behind him.

"Better him than Orion, Walburga—"

"Do you think he's married?"

"No ring—"

"I will admit I was surprised when Tom told me he had invited you today," Ophelia said, as if the gossip behind them was merely background noise. Her smile may have been gracious, but her eyes were sharp, calculating. "How did you catch his eye, I wonder?"

Harry could hardly tell her the truth, not when he barely understood it himself. "You'd be better off asking him."

"I may do just that." Ophelia looked him up and down, gaze discerning, then offered her arm. Harry took it, unwilling to show discomfort or let her win. "A majority of the gentlemen are conversing in the solarium," she told him in a hushed voice.

Harry nodded. His skin was crawling, his nerves strained. Riddle was hosting his true meeting in the solarium, no doubt. No matter what promises Riddle had given about an innocent garden party, Harry knew better. This party was a cover for far more sinister acts.

Perhaps he would simply give Riddle the ruined locket and leave. His instincts were already screaming at him to go. Whatever insight he had hoped to gain was surely not worth the cost to sanity and safety by remaining here a moment longer.

Ophelia led him across the garden, each of her steps graceful and fluid. They made their way around the side of the house, past the flutterby bushes. Ophelia greeted her guests along the way, thankfully refraining from lingering or introducing Harry as she did so. Soon enough, Harry caught sight of the solarium.

Tall, sturdy beams of steel bracketed large glass panes that looked into a luxurious space filled with outdoor lounge chairs. Most of the chairs were occupied by Riddle's Slytherin classmates. Avery, Black, Malfoy, Mulciber, Rosier. Then, of course, Riddle himself, seated near the front while all the other men looked to him as their leader. As their lord.

"There he is," Ophelia said, still in that same odd, hushed tone. "Off you go, then." She gave his arm a pat, then released it. "He seems to have been waiting for you."

She was not wrong. Riddle had caught sight of their approach and risen to his feet. Harry was struck by how casual he looked. Sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie missing, top buttons of his shirt undone. The left strap of his suspenders slightly askew. Even the curl of his hair seemed different.

Riddle had never looked like this at Hogwarts, Harry was sure. Or if he had, it must have been behind closed doors. Doors which, Harry thought belatedly, were now open to him.

As if on cue, the door to the solarium swung open. Harry did not wait for a verbal invitation; he dropped Ophelia's arm and gathered his Gryffindor courage. He was entering the snake's den, so to speak. He would need every scrap of bravery he possessed.

Riddle's dark eyes followed his progress through the door. "Harry," he greeted warmly, stepping forward and offering a hand. "I'm glad you could make it."

Harry was acutely aware of their audience, of the over-familiarity that Riddle was proposing between them. "Riddle," Harry said bluntly, and then, after a brief hesitation, took Riddle's hand to shake.

Riddle's hand was large and warm. The shake was firm, but it lasted longer than Harry would have liked. Before Riddle released his grip, Harry could have sworn Riddle's fingers had deliberately swept over the back of his hand to unnerve him.

"Welcome." That was Abraxas Malfoy speaking; his greeting was friendly, but not overly so, and when Harry looked at him, his smile was devoid of any real cheer.

"Now, now," Tom murmured. Though his voice was quiet, velvet soft, it swelled to fill the room. Here was a taste of the confident orator that Voldemort was boasted to be. "Let us all welcome Harry into our fold this afternoon, shall we?"

The ripple reaction that ran through this crowd was unlike the one that had run through the group of women in the main garden area. While the women had been interested in speaking with him, even if it was only to make fun of him, Harry got the impression he would get no such warm welcome from the men.

"Tom tells us you've been working at the Quidditch shop in Diagon," Orion Black said. He, at least, seemed willing to make the effort. Tom offered an approving look in response, similar to the kindly smile that he greeted Harry with.

Harry nodded once. "Yes, I have." Why did that matter? Harry knew he did not fit in here, that he had—as far as they knew—no money or impressive surname to speak of. Was this a power play of some kind?

"How quaint," said Mulciber. There it was again, an inspection of his person that Harry felt not only failed to be subtle, but also was rather offensive.

Riddle's hand settled on Harry's forearm without warning, resting warmly on the crook of his arm where Ophelia's hand had been only moments ago. "Why don't you have a seat, Harry?" he said.

Harry didn't want to. "I have your item."

Riddle's gentle smile only widened. It was decidedly unnerving, how genuine it looked. "Wonderful. I knew I could count on you."

The men were all staring at him; the combined weight of their attention was uncomfortable. Harry cleared his throat, recalling Riddle's original threat—if Harry brought the ruined locket out, he would be confessing to the crime that Riddle had threatened to jail him for. Perhaps it had been a bad idea for him to bring it after all.

Only, Riddle had never asked him why he had destroyed the cup and the locket, and Harry had never volunteered the information. There were reasons for Riddle to view him as an enemy, but this contradicted the man's claims of wanting to recruit him.

By stealing the cup and the locket, Harry had proven himself competent and adept with magic. Maybe that was enough of a reason. Riddle had recruited half-bloods before, though not during his time at Hogwarts as far as Harry knew.

"Can I speak to you?" Harry asked, pulling his arm away from Riddle. "In private," he clarified with a half-glance to the rest of the room.

Riddle's eyes danced with mischief, and as his head tilted, loose curls of hair fell across his forehead. He did not appear affected by Harry's cold demeanour.

"Not quite yet, I'm afraid," Riddle said softly.

The implication was clear: sit and stay.

Harry gritted his teeth. He owed Riddle nothing. He could leave right now if he wanted to.

"If he has places to be," drawled Malfoy, "you should let him go, Tom."

Riddle laughed. His hand resettled, this time on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry about them," Riddle said conspiratorially, leaning in so that Harry could feel the faintness of Riddle's breath on his skin. "They're only jealous of you. Please, have a seat. I won't bite."

Orion scoffed and reached for his drink. "Yes, we do compete for your attention, don't we, Tom? Though I daresay you've yet to bite us."

"I wouldn't rule it out just yet," Riddle said brightly as he nudged Harry over to an empty seat. "The afternoon has hardly begun."

Harry sat down stiffly and eyed the other men with caution. It was apparent they had been here for some time; most of their drinks were drained or empty, and Avery seemed half-asleep in his chair.

"So what is it you do here?" Harry asked them, wondering what the answer would be. Surely no one would confess to torturing Muggles or practicing dark magic, but every immoral organization had to have some front to it.

"What do gentlemen do?" Abraxas said rhetorically. "We drink and enjoy each other's company. Occasionally we play cards, though there is little joy to be had there as of late." Here he paused to glare at Rosier, who raised his empty glass in a mock salute.

"We host gatherings at Abraxas' expense," Mulciber added with a snicker.

Harry glanced at Riddle, who was watching the banter with amusement. Upon catching Harry's gaze, however, he raised a questioning brow. Of course, Riddle did not know what Harry knew. Harry knew that this group was not what it appeared to be.

"You make our lives sound so tiresome," Riddle said lazily. He was looking at Harry as he spoke. "We have intellectual conversations, do we not? We debate topics of intrigue, we duel recreationally."

"That reminds me, Tom, you owe me a rematch!" Orion shifted his weight, bracing his forearms on his knees. "It's been far too long. I've a score to settle with you." He wagged a finger in the air. "Black honour and all that."

"All that," Rosier echoed. "I don't recall seeing your honour when Tom swept the floor with you, Black. It was quite shameful, actually—"

Riddle clicked his tongue in disapproval. Rosier fell silent, chagrinned. "None of your bickering in front of Harry," Riddle said calmly, tapping a slender finger on the armrest of his chair. "He is our guest today."

Harry was further reminded that he did not actually want to be here. What he wanted most at this moment was a drink, but that would be ill-advised given his current company.

Riddle stretched back in his seat, lifting his feet to rest upon the footstool in front of him. The long line of his legs drew attention; fortunately, Harry was not the only one to stare. There was something to be said for the flawless confidence with which Riddle moved, each action choreographed to perfection.

Riddle raised a hand to rest his jaw upon and dragged his dark eyes over his gathered associates. From where Harry sat, he had an excellent view of Riddle's open collar, the slender column of his pale throat.

No one spoke. It seemed they were all waiting for Riddle to decide on a conversation topic. Harry was baffled by the dynamic; he had known that these men looked to Riddle as their leader, but he had somehow forgotten, in the midst of all his carefully imagined scenarios for today's party, that these were, at heart, normal wizards.

They were not wholly monsters, and even once they fully succumbed to the temptation of dark magic, they would still be young men who liked to banter and play cards.

"A duel may be an excellent idea after all," Riddle said into the silence. Immediately, the tension faded from the room, banished by Riddle's honeyed tones.

Orion perked up, visibly eager to have his request fulfilled. "Oh? In the garden?"

Riddle hummed, his eyes flickering to Harry. "If Harry is amenable, that is."

"Me?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. A duel was a recipe for disaster. He had a spare wand on him—he'd have been idiotic not to invest in one—but the idea of dueling Riddle in front of so many witnesses churned his stomach something awful.

"Why not?" Riddle got to his feet with a little bounce that further jostled his disheveled clothing. Was he drunk? He didn't seem like it. "Think of it as a chance to prove yourself."

"I'd like to watch," Malfoy said slowly, looking between Harry and Tom. His expression was unreadable. "If Evans is amenable," he added.

"We'll clear a space out for it," Riddle decided, already moving to the door. Everyone scrambled to follow him. "Cast the appropriate protective spells to keep your precious garden intact."

"I haven't agreed to anything," Harry said hotly, getting to his feet.

Riddle swivelled to regard Harry over his shoulder. "Is that a no, then?" he asked, so casual that it could have been an offer for a glass of water.

"Yeah," Harry said, in a tone that dared Riddle to do something about it. "Yeah, it is a no."

Riddle pursed his lips for a second, then shrugged and turned away. "Orion," he said cheerfully, "it seems you get your wish after all."

Ophelia Malfoy was not pleased about pausing the party to host a duel between her husband's friends. The House-Elves cleared a space in the middle of the garden, moving tables and chairs aside to make room for a smaller version of a standard dueling ring. Rosier was chosen to oversee the event, and it was agreed that the traditional dueling limits would be used to a simplified degree. No lethal spells, no physical contact.

Harry was interested in seeing what would happen in a friendly duel. There were, as promised, children in attendance. Anything that happened would have to remain appropriate.

Protective spells went up to shield the crowd as Tom and Orion arranged themselves in the dueling circle a few steps apart. Once the green light was given, both men bowed respectfully at the waist. Orion had shed his jacket but not his waistcoat; Tom remained underdressed considering the early spring weather, though at least now he had the excuse of a duel to support it. The left strap of his suspender might give way at any moment, Harry thought wryly.

Tom and Orion's duel began without further ado, only it was less of a duel and more of a... a dance? Neither wizard was aiming to cause serious injury; all the spells used were seventh year or lower. Instead, the focus seemed to be on who could be the flashiest, who could be the most creative with their spellwork.

Riddle dazzled here, of course—his control was impeccable, faultless. Each spell cast was utterly precise and his footwork was fluid and impressive. Harry's basic knowledge of dueling methods were enough to convince him that Riddle was very experienced with the dueling circuit. Riddle had the art of dueling—and there was no argument here, it was definitely an art form, clay molded in Riddle's hands—honed to absolute perfection.

Spells flew back and forth, a colourful light show that elicited vibrant cheers from the crowd. Riddle was playing with his opponent, Harry realized. There were several openings where the right spell could have ended the match altogether, only Riddle was choosing not to use them, he was deliberately choosing other spells to prolong the match.

A thin sheen of sweat clung to Riddle's forehead, sticking his curls there. At this rate, he would sweat through his shirt.

Harry shook himself of that thought in time to see Riddle land a finishing blow upon Orion Black, who fell victim to a powerful Stunner and landed in a heap on the grass. Rosier declared Riddle the winner to the delight of the crowd.

Riddle accepted his victory with grace, his face flushed with rosy hues of pink and red. He ran a hand through his hair, smiling and nodding even as his eyes scanned the crowd. When he located Harry, his gaze sharpened; he made a beeline for where Harry was standing awkwardly alone on the sidelines.

"Congratulations," Harry said once Riddle was close enough to hear him.

Riddle's handsome face split into an even wider smile. "Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the show." His hand lifted to his shirt and undid yet another button. "Quite the workout," he added, sounding slightly breathless. He tousled his hair a second time, then quirked his brow up. "I don't suppose I've changed your mind?"

"I'm not joining you," Harry said firmly.

Riddle laughed, light and carefree. He once again laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and pressed down gently, thumb smoothing just above the hollow that led to Harry's collarbone. "No, I'm afraid we've yet to reach that portion of our afternoon together, Harry. I mean to ask if you'd like to duel me."

Not for the first time since he'd arrived here, Harry was confused. "You must be tired," he protested. "Why do you want to duel me?"

"It's all in good fun," Riddle assured him, gesturing at the crowd around them. "If I am as tired as you say I am, then you'll be sure to win, won't you?" Then Riddle winked at him, and it was so audacious that Harry felt his blood begin to boil.

"I don't care about winning," Harry retorted, jerking his shoulder back.

"Oh?" Riddle widened his eyes. "But you care about proving me wrong, don't you? I can see it in your eyes, Harry. You want to confirm to yourself that I am every bit the dastardly villain you've painted me to be. What better way to do so than to best me in a duel? I promise you, I won't hold back. Not like I did with Orion."

"You're baiting me," Harry said flatly, but even so, his fists were clenched tight, his magic rolling over him in thick, heavy waves, begging to be unleashed.

"I am," Riddle confirmed, leaning in, his pretty smile morphing into a savage grin that made Harry's heart rate speed up. "But it's working."

"Fine." Harry shoved Riddle away from him, finally pissed enough to concede. "We'll duel." He would be at a disadvantage, unable to use his holly wand, but Riddle had to be tired from dueling Orion Black, so they would be evenly matched.

Harry shrugged off his outer robes and handed it off to a House-Elf while Riddle announced the new plan to the surrounding guests. Riddle would underestimate him, he told himself. Riddle thought he was a neat little parlour trick to impress his minions with. Well, Harry would prove him wrong. He would blast Riddle into the ground and ruin Malfoy's fancy garden while he was at it.

A/N:

next chapter is back to tom's pov for their spectacular duel hehehe