I am so sorry for the late post! I re-wrote this chapter three times while trying to do a bunch of research on how Board meetings and stuff with higher-up executives work to make this as accurate as possible (still not sure I succeeded). Also, I took a break to experiment with fanart, so that was fun.
On the bright side, this is the longest chapter I've ever written at 8.6 K words (longer than what the entire fic had been so far lol). So, enjoy!
Beta-read by the lovely Ava/Luxis—an actual goddess.
Lord_Voldemort_: Kudosed, Bookmarked, Subscribed.
Harry screamed into his pillow.
Needless to say, Harry got very little sleep that night.
He replied to Lord_Voldemort_'s comment in a daze, a stream of consciousness flowing from his his fingertips as they flew across his phone screen.
When he'd finally finished typing out his comment, Harry fell back against his bed, gripping his phone against his pounding chest.
Kudosed. Bookmarked. Subscribed.
The clinical-sounding but powerful words played over and over in his head, like a catchy tune, making it impossible for him to focus on anything else.
A huff of hysterical amusement left Harry's lips. It was so unlike his favorite author to comment—Lord Voldemort rarely even left author's notes every time he updated. And yet, those three words were so quintessentially Voldemort—unsentimental but dramatic, unembellished yet enigmatic.
To think that they had been written solely for Harry… god, it was unreal…
Smiling helplessly, Harry resigned himself to lying awake on his bed, his mind a chaotic mess of heart-pounding thoughts revolving around those three unspoken words.
... ... ...
Harry groggily made his way to the parking garage elevator, eyes squinting beneath his glasses as he attempted to see in the dark. As the elevator doors closed, he leaned back against the walls as if attempting to catch one last, fifteen-second nap.
He'd finished his report around midnight, only realize that a lot of it was blatantly incorrect when he'd looked over it in morning. Hermione hadn't been answering the phone—which, given that she was on the other side of the world, was completely understandable.
Thus, the plan had been to get to office as early as possible and ask a colleague to help him with his report.
But when he entered the building, there was no one there. It was half past four in the morning and the office was completely dark.
Harry bit his lip, restraining a sudden gust of panic. This was a publishing company. People worked long hours and came in early on the weekends, regularly. There was still a chance that someone would be coming in soon, right?
With nothing better to do but stall until someone came, Harry turned away from the direction of his cubicle and headed straight for the coffee machine. While on his way, he passed by the single lighted door on his floor.
Riddle's office.
Harry paused, staring at the golden placard shimmering across it.
Of course Riddle would be here at ungodly hours in the morning. He was the definition of a workaholic, even by Morsmordre's standards. And more than that—Harry's stomach twisted with guilt once more—he was probably here early because Harry hadn't finished his part of the report.
Even worse, Harry wouldn't be able to finish it… without help.
He wavered near the door, his hand reaching towards the handle… but then just as quickly, Harry came to his senses and jerked it back. He narrowed his eyes before turning on his heel and stalking off towards the coffee machine, his mind made up.
No, he didn't need Riddle. He didn't need anything from the man except for some newfound respect when Harry handed in a perfect fucking report at six o'clock sharp—
Five minutes later, Harry was steeling himself as he walked towards the sole lighted room, now gripping two filled-up coffee mugs—one to keep himself awake, one to serve as a peace offering.
He set the mugs down and knocked. But it remained silent, completely still.
Was Riddle not here after all? Or perhaps, was he choosing to not to answer? Honestly, the latter theory was much more plausible than the first.
Harry scoffed, imagining the possibilities. Maybe his hellishly perfectionistic boss wasn't looking his best at the moment and didn't want people to see him with bags under his eyes or an extra button undone or, heaven forbid, a wayward strand of hair. Riddle always paid an ungodly amount of attention to appearances, both in himself and in those he bossed over.
After all, the first time Harry had come into office less than impeccably dressed, over a year ago, Riddle had dismissed him with cutting remarks.
"An untucked shirt tail? No belt?" Riddle glanced at Harry darkly, his jaw ticking as he walked forward. "I would hate for your poor dressing choices to reflect on me."
His fingers grabbed Harry's stray shirt tail, twisting it until Harry had felt his shirt tightening around his stomach, the constrictive cloth digging into his skin.
"Dismissed. No pay for today."
Riddle leaned in to speak softly, the height difference between them growing more distinct as he imposed his physical presence upon Harry in the most tangible, intimidating way possible.
"Be prepared to hand in your resignation the next time you dress like this."
Harry nearly snorted at the memory. Ah, the usual firing threats. He'd been shit-scared at the time, the inexperienced, newest addition to Morsmordre's Seattle office. But after a year had passed with absolutely nothing changing, Harry was practically desensitized to the constant fear and utter lack of job security.
It was unhealthy, but with the salary Riddle paid him, he just couldn't get himself to find another job.
Harry knocked one last time with a sigh. His hand slid down towards the door knob, resting but not opening. Maybe his boss had simply forgotten to switch off the lights after all.
"Er… it's Harry," he said at last, wincing at the awkward way the words rolled off of his tongue before turning away from the door—
"Come in."
Harry stilled. His hand tightened around the door handle in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. So Riddle had been inside.
He entered at once, his earlier vindication withering when he took in his boss's appearance.
Perfect, as usual.
His collar was perfect, his tie was perfect. His hair laid flat and styled in a way Harry could never manage on himself. The suit he'd worn for the Board meeting flattered his form in every way, and Harry found he couldn't look away.
Riddle was leaning an elbow on his desk near his laptop, drawing Harry's gaze to one long, muscled forearm that ended in a fist. And then Harry's eyes trailed upwards, to where that stupidly flawless jaw rested against it, unerringly sharp, just like the rest of him.
Riddle raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes training upon Harry's form with that familiar intensity that always caught him off-guard.
"Come to give me the report, at last?"
Harry stared, unsure of how to answer or where to begin. "Not quite, sir."
Riddle's expression immediately darkened in cold fury, and Harry rushed to correct himself defensively, "You said it was due by six! I just need…"
When Riddle continued to stare at him unforgivingly, Harry trailed off, biting his lip and looking down.
It was so difficult… asking his boss for help.
"I… require assistance." Harry looked up at Riddle through his lashes, still keeping his head turned towards the ground. "I've finished all the write-ups. However, I don't know how to extrapolate the demand for Anthony Buick's Geometry series, and I'm confused on how to calculate its cross-price elasticity with the Geometry series being published by Pearson and McGraw-Hill."
There, that had sounded professional enough.
Riddle raised both of his eyebrows, looking distinctly unimpressed.
"Oh, so you can't draw a simple line graph?" he asked innocently. "Surely you covered demand curves in your Introductory Economics class?"
Harry flushed. Of course, Riddle had to draw out his humiliation, tearing into him one horrible insult at a time.
This was exactly why he hated asking his boss for help.
Harry exhaled, his fingers clasping each other nervously. "It's… been a while, sir."
" Been a while? " Riddle echoed monotonically with the slightest hint of disbelief, making Harry's defense sound embarrassingly juvenile. "Please, correct me if I'm wrong," he crossed his fingers and leaned his chin upon them, eyes gleaming knowingly, "but didn't you major in Political Science?"
Harry's following silence spoke for him.
It's not like he'd actually used his Political Science major in the years after he'd graduated. He'd always taken on Editing positions afterwards, and thanks to—
"Truly, your incompetence amazes me." Riddle's eyes narrowed spitefully, even as his cruel mouth curled into a mockery of a smile.
Honestly, what could Harry possible say to that without getting himself fired.
He clenched his jaw in an effort to keep his mouth shut. Think of your pay. Think of your pay.
Riddle stared at him with cold, black eyes, belittling him with every second he continued to stare at Harry.
Then he tapped the back of his pen once against the table in front of him, gesturing to the seat facing opposite of his own.
"Sit. Show me your work."
Harry let out a breath and hastily sat down—his first time actually sitting in Riddle's office, strangely enough—and scrambled to open his laptop and navigate to the Excel sheet he'd performed the majority of his calculations on.
Riddle closed his own laptop and stood up, walking around the desk to view Harry's screen. Puffs of warm breath swirled near Harry's neck as he leaned down to look over Harry's shoulder, grabbing a pen and a stray sheet of paper.
It turned out, all humiliation aside, that Riddle was an excellent teacher.
"A Joint PPF curve requires…"
Riddle explained concepts in a clear and exact way, never wasting or mincing his words. For someone who rarely spoke to Harry except to toss insults and bark orders at him, Riddle was quite well-spoken.
Harry listened intently, holding onto each word and taking notes furiously.
Riddle was now pointing to a particular column on Harry's Excel sheet.
"You cannot use the midterm formula here — you must divide their percentages, because currency is not universally standardized."
Harry scribbled furiously, attempting to calculate an example. "Oh, so, for instance, would I just multiply the the difference in price and quantity by 100…?"
A warm hand grabbed his own, pausing it. Harry's breath stuttered unconsciously in response.
" No, idiot." Riddle's scoffed barb left another warm puff of breath against his neck, and Harry fought the urge to shiver in indignance. "There is a specific formula you have to use, known as the Price Elasticity of Demand formula…"
Riddle recited a formula that had way more variables than Harry could keep track of. Really, if this was the kind of stuff his boss wasted precious brain space remembering, it was no wonder he couldn't remember something so simple as personal fucking space.
Harry tensed as Riddle's shoulder brushed against him, more aware of every point at which they touched than the points populating the demand curve in front of him.
"So, applying this formula to all the numbers in row AL and summing them up, the elasticity of demand would be…"
Riddle paused for a few moments before answering. "-4.16."
Harry stared.
No. Way.
Did Riddle just… do that all in his head?
Impossible. There had to be at least fifty numbers in column AL. And the applying the formula to one of the numbers was complicated enough.
"... and you want to integrate this curve to compute total profit, which is…" Riddle narrowed his eyes at Harry's screen for a couple of moments, the calculator near them untouched. "$578,622. Give or take twenty five cents."
Harry's jaw dropped.
He hadn't realized his boss was a genius.
And then Riddle did it again. And again. He was faster than Harry's calculator, mostly likely because Harry was slower at plugging and typing numbers, and he was spitting out calculations and completing whole sections of Harry's report when merely one section had taken him ages.
He was so inhumanly fast , it was insane.
How?
Harry's stomach tightened every time Riddle solved something. It was a strange, heated sensation, and it felt horribly familiar to…
Harry's eyes widened.
What the hell?
For some reason, Harry was getting turned on by how good at math Riddle was. Which made no sense. Harry hated math, he sucked at it. He'd majored in English, which was very much the opposite of Math.
But somehow, listening to Riddle solve a hard math problem in his head, mentally, like it was nothing…
It wasn't just the fact that he was intelligent. It was Riddle's confidence, the hot gleam in his eyes when he answered, when he spoke the right answer and he knew he was right.
"Again, use the Price Elasticity formula here… the difference of 49,764 and 78,553, divided by their average and multiplied by 100…" Riddle raised an eyebrow, cocky and confident despite his display of utter nerdiness. "It's basic, rudimentary math, really… nothing like the Calculus courses I took back in…"
Harry felt a flood of attraction rushing up his spine, hot and sudden and completely uninvited. He clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the words Riddle was saying…
But then Riddle casually said, "...Which equals -8.762," and Harry was gone.
And only when Riddle had unwittingly ended up finishing Harry's report ( "I'll just finish it, there's not much left, ") and moved away did Harry finally breathe again.
Harry cleared his throat. "Right. Thank you so much. I'll just print this—"
Riddle put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Harry tried not to scream in frustration. "Your laptop is connected to my personal printer, yes?"
Harry swallowed. Yes, it was… even though he'd never used it. He'd just really been hoping to catch a break from the man for two seconds.
As Harry stood near the printer, waiting for all the documents to print, the silence between them suddenly began to feel very heavy.
He gazed mindlessly at the the trail of papers sliding noisily out of the printer, watching as the completed pile grew larger and larger. The report was quite large, but by no means was it the largest of all the reports Harry had printed for his boss throughout the year…
"Wow, what a waste of paper," Harry remarked as another sheet was pushed onto the pile. Really, one would think a publishing company would be mindful of how much paper they used, since the majority of their products were paper-based…
Riddle raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, I had forgotten all about your environmentalist tendencies."
Harry bit his lip to restrain himself. " His" environmentalist tendencies? What, did Riddle lack them? Did he not care about the environment?
Harry's eyes widened in horror.
Just how conservative was this guy?
Riddle smirked up at him, sitting back in his usual swivel chair. "All about saving the world, aren't you, Harry?"
Harry smiled politely back and hummed in assent, stubbornly keeping his mouth shut lest he bring up something else they might disagree on.
Instead, he looked around the office.
Because the printer was located at the inner corner of Riddle's L-shaped desk, Harry found himself inside of Riddle's personal workspace… standing right next to the swivel chair where Riddle was sitting.
In other words, for the first time, Harry was seeing the office from Riddle's perspective.
His boss's desk was as impeccable as ever, oddly bereft of any decor. However, the one picture frame that had always faced away from Harry whenever he entered the room was now turned in his direction.
It wasn't holding a picture, as he'd always suspected it would. Rather, it held a wooden carving with Greek Letters. The first letter was unmistakable an alpha, but Harry couldn't read the other two…
Still, Greek letters.
Harry stared back at his boss in disbelief.
No way.
"Were you a part of a fraternity in college?"
The words slipped out without any context, any permission of Harry's, and the sharp look Riddle sent him was a stark reminder of the fact that this was none of his business.
But…
Riddle's eyes flickered to the framed Greek letters and dropped in understanding.
"Many years ago… yes."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. Many years ago? Just how old was Riddle? He didn't look much older than Harry. Of course, he had to be quite a bit older to have reached such a highly-ranked position in the company. But what Harry was more surprised by was—
Riddle? A frat boy? It just didn't make any sen—
He looked at Riddle.
Okay, so maybe it did, Harry thought as he leaned back in his chair with a scowl. Riddle certainly looked the part, with all of his height and classical attractiveness. He definitely acted the part: rich, white boy vibes radiated off of him like he was born into old money.
Riddle was self-entitlement and arrogance rolled up into one, attractive package. He had the kind of alpha male-confidence that made Harry's nerves bristle in retaliation and shiver with something else entirely, because it was both endlessly irritating and irritatingly… hot.
Harry bore venomous holes into Riddle's back, simultaneously cursing his existence while trying not to admire how broad his shoulders looked in a suit.
And, perhaps because he felt the gaze upon him on some unconscious level, Riddle shifted in his seat after a few moments. Keeping his back towards Harry, Riddle stretched an arm bent at the elbow back behind him, biceps flexing and straining his sleeves.
Suddenly, Harry's mouth was drier than ever. All he could think of was how that arm would look without sleeves in the way, and how the movement of his arm was causing the muscles of his shoulder and back to ripple and, oh god, how it would all look without any barrier at all—
Ugh.
No, no, no.
Not here. Harry thought furiously, desperately. He'd sworn off fantasizing about Riddle at work after what had happened the last time he'd done it.
"What was the name of your fraternity?" Harry asked, scrambling to focus on anything else in front of his boss.
Riddle looked up from the screen his eyes had been glued to, annoyance written clearly across his features. "Not that you would know of it, having gone to college on the other side of the world… but I was a part of Alpha Omega Alpha. "
Harry choked.
Because, oh man , that sounded like the title of some bad, torrid ABO fanfiction. Not like ABO works were bad. If anything, they were a guilty pleasure of his. But still …
He stifled his laughter, but it came out of his nose in weird mixture between a snort and puffed exhale. Then Harry was coughing, laughing, something in between. And, crap, Riddle was looking at him like he was crazy but Harry just couldn't stop imagining—
And suddenly, Riddle was looking at Harry in a very different way, a very knowing way that had Harry's amusement draining from him in one go.
It was like he knew exactly what was going through Harry's head.
Harry blinked.
That was… simply impossible.
No, unimaginable.
Could Riddle possibly…? No, no, no. Riddle? Fanfiction? Ridiculous. The two words didn't even belong in the same sentence.
And yet, Riddle clearly knew what fanfiction was—after all, he'd instantly recognized the Ao3's icon from the browser tab Harry had switched from yesterday.
Still, on the off-chance that Riddle could read minds (which would actually explain a lot, damn)—surely he would have confronted Harry by now?
"Really, Harry. Omegaverse?" Riddle tilted his head. "How tasteless."
Harry winced, flushing violently, tortured by his own made-up scenarios of being exposed as the sad trash he was. Once had been enough. Twice? He didn't think he'd be able to endure it.
There had to be a help manual somewhere. What to do when your boss finds out you read fanfiction—
"It's done," Riddle said abruptly, cutting off Harry's frantic flow of panic. At some point during Harry's minor freak-out, he'd swiveled back around, his back once again facing Harry.
Harry blinked, caught off-guard. What's done…?
In a show of impatience, Riddle rapped the back of his pen against his desk.
Harry straightened up, looking around until his eyes settled back on the printer, which had finally stopped printing.
Right. The report.
It's done printing, Harry completed sarcastically in his mind, suppressing an eye roll.
… Yeah, despite his mathematical genius, the man was incapable of speaking like a normal human being.
Seriously, a few more words wouldn't hurt him. "Hand me the papers, please ," or even a "thank you," every blue moon. Fucking illiterate bastard.
"What did you major in again?" Harry asked, out of the blue once more, before he could stop himself.
Tom raised an eyebrow at him, his expression long-suffering by this point. But for whatever reason, he indulged Harry anyways. "I have Bachelor's and Master's Degrees in Business and Computer Science."
Oh fucking hell. A Business and a Computer Science boy. No wonder he was insufferable.
Harry robotically lifted the papers from the printer and stapled them before holding them out to his boss, his grip tightening vindictively around the papers just enough to leave a wrinkle in them.
Harry smirked. Riddle hated wrinkles.
Sure enough, his boss snatched the papers from Harry's grip with an almost predictable annoyance, his jaw flexing ever so slightly with frustration that one wouldn't be able to pick up on unless they were actively looking for it.
Riddle looked up, meeting Harry's eyes with his own dark, unreadable ones.
"You're dismissed. Enjoy what remains of your weekend." He eyed Harry analytically. "Get some sleep. You look terrible."
Harry stilled, his muscles tensing up.
You look terrible.
Perhaps it was because of his lack of sleep. At any rate, Harry found himself standing up straighter, bristling at Riddle's last comment with renewed irritability and utter humiliation.
Why, how observant of you, Mr. Riddle!
No, please, do go on. Is it the hair? Or perhaps the black circles under my eyes, courtesy of my boss?
Harry gritted his teeth. The tactless bastard was the very reason behind his haggard appearance and he had the audacity to comment on it?
" Thanks, " Harry drawled sarcastically, not missing the flash in his boss's eyes as he hastily grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He turned around, eager to leave before the man could possibly incite him further—
"Harry—the cups."
Harry paused at the low voice, turning his head slightly and staying still.
Riddle raised an eyebrow expectantly, gesturing towards the two coffee cups at the edge of his desk. "Well? Throw them out."
Harry's eyebrows twitched.
There is a garbage right next to your desk. Attached to your desk.
But he didn't say any of these things. Instead, he bore holes into the small black garbage approximately one and half feet away from Riddle's hand, which lay resting on his desk.
Riddle raised an eyebrow, catching on. "But I only have recycling and trash here." He crossed his fingers together and leaned his chin upon them. "Surely, being the environmentalist that you are, you are aware that the coffee cups are compostable. "
Harry stared.
Yes, he was perfectly aware. He was also very much aware of the fact that the nearest compost bin was four floors up, in the opposite direction of this building's exit, and another ten minute delay to the he reached back home.
Biting back a snarl of frustration, Harry turned around to face his boss fully, mustering up a pained, sleep-deprived smile.
"Of course, sir."
... ... ...
After going over his notes one final time, Tom settled comfortably back into his chosen chair. The Board meeting room was empty save for him, guaranteeing complete privacy.
He swiped at his phone screen and, at last, deigned to view the messages that had recently flooded his Fanfiction inbox folder.
The notifications had been there since morning, but he'd resolved not to open it until his designated email-checking time. Discipline was a key aspect of his success, and even something as addictive as fanfiction could not threaten the stability of his schedule.
The first few emails were predictable. Updates on gaining Fanfiction followers, notifications for the kudos his stories had recently gained on Ao3, a couple of "Plz updateee" comments that nearly made him toss his phone across the room.
After a few more swipes, Tom came across something different from the norm.
A response to his comment on boss from hell.
lightning_boi: My crops are watered. My skin is clear. God has kudosed, bookmarked, subscribed to, AND COMMENTED (you forgot 😜) on my story and my life will never be the same. Thank you, thank you, thank you 😍😍❤️❤️❤️
Tom stared at the comment for a solid minute, nonplussed.
… Crops?
Was lightning_boi a farmer?
Why was he mentioning his skin?
And why was the comment so… noisy ? It would have been perfectly acceptable if not for all of those annoying faces— emojis —cluttering up the comment in an almost juvenile way.
Still. Tom found he couldn't look away from the comment. There was something magnetic about lightning_boi's enthusiasm and excitement, something about his message that drew him in.
… you forgot 😜
The corner of his mouth curled up without permission. Cheeky brat.
He typed out a rapid reply and sent it, before continuing to scroll through his email. But lightning_boi's words seemed to stay with him even as he read other comments, like the way he'd called Tom ' God' and the way he'd—
"Smiling, Tom?" said a brusque, feminine voice. "What evil plot to take over the world has struck your fancy?"
Tom stiffened, instantly swiping his screen shut and looking over at the woman he'd seated herself next to him.
"Good afternoon, Minerva," he replied evenly, barely bothering to camouflage the distaste in his tone.
Minerva McGonagall—a manager within the Human Resources department—hadn't reported to him for ages. He'd thought she'd quit, or been fired by someone higher than him…
And now she was here?
What was she doing here? She didn't hold nearly enough importance to be attending such a meeting.
Reading the obvious question in Tom's eyes, Minerva smiled thinly.
"Executive positions have been undergoing a shift for the past couple of weeks." She pulled out another folder with documents, barely sparing him a glance. "I'm now the Vice President of Human Resources, reporting directly to the COO at the moment."
Tom stilled, his features blanking in surprise.
Not only was that quite the promotion, but the fact that she now held a position which had previously belonged to a certain old fool…
His mouth curled into a genuine smile.
Had Dumbledore been fired ?
This was excellent news.
"Congratulations, Minerva." Tom smirked conspiratorially, glee bubbling in his stomach. "I'm sure Dippet has eased your transition into the role quite nicely. Speaking from experience," he couldn't resist emphasizing his seniority, "He's quite easy to work under."
Indeed, Tom reported to Dippet as well. And he could definitively say that if there was anyone due for retirement among the executive board, it was that joke of an executive.
It was as if he came to office just to sit in a chair all day. Which, if Tom was honest, made it quite easy for him to make decisions however he liked on the man's behalf.
Besides, if nepotism worked in his favor, Tom would surely be taking over the man's role in the next set of long-due promotions.
Tom faced Minerva once more, only to find her staring at him silently, unnervingly.
"Did you not attend the last Board meeting?" she asked cautiously.
Tom raised his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "No. I was traveling for work on the CEO's direct orders."
Minerva stared at him blankly for a split-second longer. Then she smiled, a slow, secret, positively feline smile that Tom definitely disliked.
"I see."
Tom turned away, refusing to be provoked.
After their conversation had died down, more executives filed into the room. Some new faces, mostly old faces.
With a minute left for the meeting to start, a certain old man with twinkling blue eyes and an eccentric pink shirt entered the room. All eyes in the room were drawn to him, the noise level abating with an enviable ease at the man's arrival.
Tom scowled. Evidently, Dumbledore had not retired.
And if he hadn't left his previous position at Morsmordre for the sake of retirement, that could only mean…
Tom tensed with uncertainty as Dumbledore began to speak. By what authority, Tom had no clue…
"Good afternoon, everyone," he started cheerfully. "The results of last meeting's votes have been out since two weeks ago. As of this meeting, your new roles are in effect."
Tom paused in shock, unable to prevent his eyebrows from shooting upwards this time.
Voting? The board and non-board executives had voted on new executive positions at the last meeting?
… And the CEO had conveniently sent him away on the day this was scheduled to happen?
Tom's hand curled into a violent fist underneath the table, rage boiling in his blood as he attempted to keep listening, to keep his head clear .
Dumbledore cleared his throat, his piercing blue eyes glancing around the room. "The CEO will be arriving a couple of minutes late, so I will start us off for the time being." He smiled serenely. "As your new President and COO…"
Tom paled.
No.
Unacceptable.
Albus Dumbledore had been appointed the new COO by the board majority at the last meeting.
"... I would like to begin by saying a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
As the other executive member broke into laughter, no doubt finding their COO's sense of humor endearingly eccentric, Tom remained straight-faced, numb.
This lunatic was now his direct superior, and everything suddenly had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
... ... ...
Harry fell asleep on the sofa as soon as he got home.
He woke up to Ron shuffling out of his room at eleven in the morning, half-asleep but fully-dressed and carrying a small duffel bag.
"I'm going to get this dry cleaned," Ron yawned, holding up his police uniform to show off all the red blotches across the front.
That woke Harry up.
"Seriously mate? Again?" He rubbed his eyes as he sat up on the sofa, his hand instinctively searching for his phone.
Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. I know, I have got to stop visiting that burger place after my shifts. Ketchup stains are hell to remove."
"Or you could just… eat more cleanly," Harry offered with amusement as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen, causing Ron to frown exaggeratedly at him.
"Man, that boss has turned you into a downright priss."
Harry rolled his eyes and swatted Ron's backside, eliciting a strangled yelp from his best friend.
"Oi! Save that treatment for your future boyfriend."
Ron paused, grinning. "Or perhaps for your boss from hell …"
Harry made a face, grimacing as memories of his wretched morning came to mind. "Oh, not now. Don't even mention him," He rubbed at his forehead wearily, "That son of a bitch …"
Ron hummed sympathetically. "Rough morning?"
Harry grunted noncommittally, still half-asleep, which Ron took as a "yes" and a sign to reassuringly (and somewhat condescendingly) pat him on the back. "It'll get better. Moody hated my guts too when I first started, but I think he's starting to warm up to me… he even called me by my actual name, the other day… "
By the time Ron had left the house, Harry was starting to feel like a normal human being again… fully conscious, to begin with.
And in the mood for a good, purging rant.
So he FaceTimed Hermione.
"... When are you coming baack, " Harry ran his hand through his distressed locks. "I need you. I need you to kick my ass and tell me when to work and warn me when certain horrible bosses are coming my way…"
His office-best friend and his cubicle neighbor looked back at him with exasperation. "Harry," she began seriously, "Soon. Definitely way too soon. Because I don't want to ever leave this place."
She paused for effect, before continuing, "I am on a very exciting business trip in the City of Masks !"
Hermione gestured around herself, moving the phone screen to show the cute villa Italian coffee shop she was sitting inside of. The water right outside of the window shimmered underneath the sun.
Then, with a suddenness that had Harry's head reeling slightly, Hermione jerked the screen back to herself.
"Do you know how long I have dreamed of coming here?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Ten years from now, Venice will no longer exist. Global warming will cause the water level to rise and completely submerge this wonderful city. At least let me savor it while I can —"
"Yes! Sorry! You're right," Harry raised his hands in surrender. The passion of Hermione Granger could not be withstood. "Let's discuss Venice instead."
He took a sip of his hot chocolate before raising his eyebrows in interest. "Oh yeah, and how did that deal with the author of A Song of Earth and Air go?"
Hermione leaned back in her chair. "Ohh, it was fantastic, Harry! He said that he's willing to get out draft by next Monday, which gives me time to…"
Hermione went on about the meeting with him and Harry listened, intrigued as ever.
After all, she was the Editorial Director of Morsmorde's Science Fiction & Fantasy Department… the dream job Harry had been applying for when he'd first entered Morsmordre.
He'd resented her for a bit at first because of that, which was probably why they hadn't gotten along at first.
But then, weirdly enough, they'd bonded over the strangest of things.
She walked like a woman with purpose, back straight and stiff, her brown curls bounced around her.
Hermione slammed her papers down on the desk in the cubicle right next to his.
"I. HATE. RIDDLE," she seethed, and at that moment, Harry felt himself warming up to his neighbor.
"... Okay but, enough about my work." Hermione looked at Harry. "How is your new apartment?"
Harry smiled warmly. "Oh, it's great! Ro—my roommate likes it too."
His smile transformed into a grin. The redhead had faced no problems slipping back into their old apartment routines with him.
Ron was his best friend since high school, even though it felt like they'd been friends all their lives. They knew everything about each other at this point and, wow, he really owed Ron for putting up with all of Harry's shitty attitude problems lately due to work. And Hermione, for that matter.
Harry was damn lucky to have such great friends.
And it helped that Ron was a heavy sleeper, so he didn't so much as blink when Harry came home super late or left at ungodly early hours just because a certain boss of his was running him ragged—
Hermione bit her lip. "Well, that's good." She looked back down at her papers before her. "I should be back by next Thursday, so if you need help with moving in or anything—"
Harry held up a hand. "I'm good, Mione."
Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Well, perhaps I could take a look around?" She smiled shyly. "I'd love to see it!"
Harry paused as guilt flooded him.
He'd been close friends with Hermione for quite a while now, and he'd always felt bad for never inviting her home despite how much she'd helped him, been there for him, and invited him over countless times.
But it's just that he couldn't afford to have his two best friends meet.
Ron. Hermione.
Because, you see, HeadGirl and RoonilWazlib were… acquainted on the Jarvolo Discord.
No. Acquainted was putting it friendly.
Their tastes, fanfiction-wise, were completely different.
RoonilWazlib enjoyed reading 10,000 words of smut, while HeadGirl would rather read 500,000 words of angst, unresolved sexual tension, and banter.
RoonilWazlib liked Omegaverse and femslash, while HeadGirl disliked both.
They were, in every way, opposite, and they'd made their contrary opinions very clear on the discord, so much to the point where there was a separate channel made, inspired by them, called #oldmarriedcouple. Where fanfictionists with opposing opinions on tropes and ships could argue, separate from everyone else, thereby allowing everyone else on the discord to (live) read and write in peace.
If they met in real life… if they ever knew got to know who the other was, all chaos would erupt.
Harry smiled nervously.
"Of course, Mione."
Also, they would probably murder Harry for keeping the knowledge of each other's identities from them for so long.
Right then, his phone buzzed to let him know that he had about a dozen new emails.
Because he had no self-control, Harry checked his refreshed email while FaceTiming Hermione ("Sorry, one moment,")… and nearly dropped his phone.
It was another comment from Lord_Voldemort_. A response to his response.
Harry placed a hand on his beating chest.
Lord_Voldemort_: ...Unsubscribed. ;]
Oh my god. That smirk-face.
Was Lord_Voldemort_ trying to kill him?
"... Are you done?" Hermione asked, now typing something up on the laptop screen.
"HERMIONE!" Harry burst out loudly, causing Hermione to look straight back at him. He collapsed down onto the sofa, buzzing with excitement. "I can't believe I forgot to—you won'tbelieve what happened."
" What? "
"Lord Voldemort commented on my story."
As Harry began to explain what had happened the night before, Hermione continued to stare at him in utter disbelief.
"Hold on, let me send you a screenshot of our conversation."
Harry messaged it to her, watching her face as she read the whole thread of conversation between them. Her expressions were priceless—her eyes, wide with shock, grew even wider with awe.
She stood up from the desk she'd been sitting at abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. A few passerbys in the screen looked up at her in annoyance, but she only had eyes for the messaged screenshot Harry had sent her.
"Oh. My. God. Harry this is—"
"I know!"
"— Unbelievable. Do you realize how incredible this is? To the current knowledge of the James Evans fandom, Voldemort has never commented on another fanfiction, ever, before… this."
"I realize that! I—"
"This must be shared!"
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I… um… okay?" He laughed, feeling more carefree than he had all day. "Sure, whatever. Share it on the discord if you want—"
His phone buzzed again. A message, this time.
Tom Riddle: Come to the office. Now.
Harry's smile froze on his face. He could feel the happiness draining out of him as a cold feeling crept up his limbs.
"Shit ." He bit out frustratedly. "Shit, shit, shit."
Hermione looked at him through the FaceTime screen, alarmed. "What now?"
Harry ran a stressed hand through his wild locks. "Riddle is calling me back to the office." And he sounds really, really mad.
Hermione looked at him with a frown. "Seriously? Even after this morning?"
"Ugh. Yeah," Harry scrambled to send a quick reply back, pressing send. "Listen, I've got to go—"
"Of course. Talk later, Harry."
"See you."
After Harry had switched off the call, Hermione stared at the darkened phone call screen with concern for a few moments.
And then she switched back to the screenshot Harry had sent her, bubbling with excitement. Hermione posted the snapshot in the #general tab of the Jarvolo discord, including a small blurb and link to where the comment thread could be found.
And that was how lightning_boi and Lord_Voldemort_ ended up becoming the talk of the Jarvolo fandom.
... ... ...
Chamber of Secrets: #general
SpinnetToWinIt: It's gone viral! I repeat, the screenshot has gone viral
LavendarBrown: It's ALL OVER tumblr, just search #lightningVolt
Parvati_AphroditeWho: THAT'S their new SHIP NAME?
LavendarBrown: I KNOW it's FREAKING ADORABLE
AngelinaJolie: holy shit I'm with you guys. I just can't stop thinking about that lightining_boi and Lord_Voldemort_ comment banter
MickeyCorner: No one can, apparently.
silence
Forge: wow buddy chill. Who broke up with you recently lmfao ( GingerGorl can't believe you ever e-dated this dude)
MickeyCorner:
Discord: MickeyCorner has left the server.
Gred: HAHFHWEUHA
GingerGorl: Fred shut up and stop pinging me, I'm in class
AngelinaJolie: Huh, so that's Fred.
HeadGirl: Forget Michael. Guys— guys. This is the perfect opportunity to discuss this wonderful snippet and insight into Voldemort's personality aND MORE IMPORTANTLY, the possibility of a blooming romance!?
RoonilWazlib: so she does have a romantic bone in her body
Gred: Oh, brother…
HeadGirl: Graciously ignoring Ronald's side comment—what are your thoughts, guys?
RoonilWazlib: don't fucking call me that
Forge: Ronald show some respect for our mod lady for once jesus fucking christ
AngelinaJolie: Hold on—let me re-post the conversation thread here: picture of conversation thread
LavendarBrown: ~sigh~
AngelinaJolie: I mean, this may look like nothing to an outsider who has no knowledge of Jarvolo fanfics and authors...
AngelinaJolie: But I mean, holy shit.
HeadGirl: "Unsubscribed," he says. From anyone else, this would look straight-up aggressive.
HeadGirl: But coming from Lord Voldemort… well, it's practically FLIRTATION from him.
AngelinaJolie: And that little smirk face, holy mother of god. Voldy's tryna kill us.
SpinnetToWinIt: Our little lightning_boi 'bout to cop some Voldemort :lenny face:
Voice_of_Reason: Hold it ladies. We don't even know how Voldemort looks—how can we possibly be rooting for him?
SpinnetToWinIt: lee you shallow man
AngelinaJolie: lee? YOU CHANGED YOUR NAME AGAIN? Dumbass you changed it two days ago
Forge: hey let the man breathe. Here on the Jarvolo discord, we have the freedom to express ourselves in whichever way we want—fanfiction, fanart, and yes, even usernames.
HeadGirl: To quote the Discord Rules, "Please refrain from changing your username once you join."
HeadGirl: Also, to be fair, you don't know what lightning_boi looks like either. But just because you don't know how they look, doesn't mean they can't be shipped 3
Voice_of_Reason: but… what if he's really ugly? Or really old?
Forge: or what if… Lord Voldemort is actually a seventy-two-year-old mass murderer who looks like a snake and has red eyes 'cause he's albinic and he lives on the other side of the world from Harry?
AnglinaJolie: …
SpinnetToWinIt: …
HeadGirl: You've been reading too much fanfiction.
Forge: Ha. Horror, gen, and quidditch fics amiright bois?
Voice_of_Reason: Damn straight
Parvati_AphroditeWho: Why are you guys even on this discord?
Gred: joined to look out for my kid sis after she e-dated some creep
Forge: ^^
AngelinaJolie: Hmm… okay, but going back a bit—Fred brings up a great point. I mean, Forge, what if I am actually a sixty-year-old woman with bad breath? Would you stop declaring your love for me every two seconds?
Fred: :red thinking face:
Discord: Fred has changed his name to Grannie_Lover
Discord: Grannie_Lover has kissed AngelinaJolie
AngelinaJolie: forget I asked
Two hours later:
Chamber of Secrets: #general
Viktory: forgeev my english
Viktory: i know my time zone is very off from most of yours
Viktory: but i couldn't help but scroll back and view your previous conversation on Lord Voldemort
Viktory: I just wanted to confirm that—according to my sources—the Dark Lord is verry hot
ChoAegyo: uwu
ChoAegyo: how do u knowwww?
HeadGirl: Yes, what are your sources?
LavendarBrown: and why are you calling him the Dark Lord jesus christ you make him sound like a mass murderer or smth
Viktory: he has an exclusive discord for certain fans—I know someone in it
Viktory: and that's what his greatest fans call him when conversing with him. It's what he likes to be called
Viktory: and according to my sources—he is, "indescribably hot," so presumably she has seen a picture of him
LavendarBrown: !
Parvati_AphroditeWho: Oh. My. God.
... ... ...
Harry slammed the door shut behind him as he entered the apartment, his mood darker than the sky outside.
Riddle hadn't even been at the office building. Harry had entered his office, only to see a sticky note atop a pile of papers on his desk that read: Spring cleaning. Call the top thirty authors and report on their productivity.
So. Freaking. Annoying.
Harry wasn't completely oblivious. He could easily tell that Riddle had been in a bad mood when he'd messaged Harry. And yet, was it necessary to always take out his frustration on his PA ?
Screw it. If he read any more messages from his boss, Harry was going to murder his pet snake. (Because yeah, Riddle actually kept a pet snake, who has a fucking snake?) So he resolved to simply avoid that situation in the first place.
He shut off his phone and kept it aside.
He had an early morning tomorrow, but Harry didn't particularly care. At the moment, all he wanted to do was plug into some music, open up a blank Google document on his laptop, and write.
So he did.
Harry sat down on his favorite sofa, purposefully keeping his notifications for discord and other social media off so he could just focus on writing.
He doubted he'd missed much, anyways.
At first, after a long, grueling day at work, the last thing had Harry wanted to do was write the next chapter of his Office AU fanfiction. But then he began to remember how boss from hell was the very work Lord_Voldemort_ was subscribed to… and, well…
Oh hell, Harry exhaled, a smile threatening to overcome his lips. Just thinking about it brightened his mood all over again. It filled him with nervous energy and disbelief and unbelievable happiness.
And suddenly, he didn't know why, but he felt extremely impatient. Like his fingers were itching to type something out, like he was itching to get something out, he just didn't know what.
He began to type.
"Enter," drawled the low voice.
I walked in, steeling myself for the worst as I lowered my files onto the boss's desk. Marvolo stared at the papers before flickering his gaze back to me, unreadable, waiting for something I could not comprehend.
"What?" I asked defensively, crossing my arms as I ran through a mental checklist of all the tasks. I'd pulled an all-nighter for this report, it had better have come out alright…
"Why aren't you… " Marvolo started, his gaze traveling downwards."... wearing pants?"
Harry's fingers stuttered to an abrupt stop.
He facepalmed.
What the hell. This work wasn't supposed to be crack. Hell, this didn't even read like crack, it read like the start of a bad dream.
No, this just wouldn't do.
Harry deleted whatever he'd written and hovered his fingers over the keyboard once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of an idea, a scene, a moment, anything.
"... which equals, 4,987."
I stared at my boss, feeling heat suffuse my cheeks with a vehemence that could not be prevented. Had he done all of that… in his head?
Harry smirked. A math kink… oh, yes. Let's hope other people enjoyed this as much as he did.
"... Does that make sense?" Marvolo paused, staring at me penetratingly.
"Y-yes," I stuttered, unable to say otherwise in the face of such intelligence. I'd always found intelligence intimidating, mostly because I was dumb as hell, but I never thought I'd find it so… attractive in a person. What the fuck.
This sucked. Riddle always made me feel so insignificant in every way—better-looking, more charismatic, more successful, more intelligent…
What right did he have to make me feel this way as well? This unwanted attraction, hopelessly unrequited and endlessly inconvenient. I was nothing more than a personal assistant to him, and that's all I would ever be.
Perhaps it was that lovesick, blindly hopeful part of me. But as I exited the office, I could have sworn I felt his gaze lingering on me, tangible, burning heat across my limbs—
Harry stopped typing. Because as he'd continued to do so, a sudden flurry of images that looked like Tom Riddle had come to mind.
He frowned. Tom Riddle—associated with the dashing Marvolo of his dreams? This wouldn't do.
Tom Riddle had nothing, nothing on the Dark Lord—
The loud, creaking swing of the front door vaguely alerted Harry to Ron's entrance.
Harry pulled out his earbuds briefly, listening for the usual curse words as Ron inevitably hit his head on the door head, before plugging back in. He deleted a couple of paragraphs and began to rewrite them…
Ron grinned back wildly at him.
"Hey, mate. How does it feel to be a celebrity?"
"Hmm?" Harry hummed as he continued typing. He was vaguely aware of Ron sitting next to him on the sofa, reaching an arm around the back of the sofa to grab the remote.
"Well, your conversation thread with Voldemort has been posted all across Tumblr, so that's nice and all."
"That's nice," Harry said distractedly as he continued to type.
Then he stopped, staring at his best friend with wide eyes as Ron's words finally registered.
"WHAT?"
Ron laughed and showed him his phone, and the conversation from the comments section of his Ao3 work—his banter with Voldemort—was there, out on social media for the world to see. Originally posted by PossiblyRelatedToMichaelJordan and re-blogged by countless other familiar names… and unfamiliar names.
Harry's eyes only grew wider as he took in the sheer number of notes and re-posts his conversation had.
5,488 notes. 1,734 re-blogs.
When he'd given Hermione permission to share the conversation, he hadn't actually… anticipated…
Harry scrambled for his own phone, switching notifications back on for all of his social media and scrolling through tumblr after searching his name. There were countless mentions of lightning_boi, it was insane. And they all revolved around that one conversation.
Searching #lightning_boi before would have yielded him three results before—now, it yielded him over three hundred.
And Harry seemed to have gained a hundred followers as well.
He read through all of his comments, checked out the number of followers he'd gained on every other platform, and flickered through all of his messages.
Harry flushed.
"They're… they're—"
"They're shipping you guys together," Ron said, snorting. "Look up #lightningVolt—that's your ship name by the way—"
Harry did. 456 results.
Oh my god.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god ohmoygodojmykofajksjfhaj—
Hell, there was fanart about him and Lord Voldemort. What the— what—how—
It featured a boy with glasses and a lightning bolt scar—probably based on Harry's profile avatar from Ao3 and tumblr—and the mysterious silhouette of a man. Voldemort's form was muscular, fully black… save for the white outline of tie and collar.
"Heh," Ron muttered. "They made Voldemort taller than you."
Harry found he didn't mind one bit.
The artist had given Lord Voldemort a suit. And to be honest, Harry couldn't imagine Voldemort wearing anything else now—the concept embodied him so perfectly.
The way Lord_Voldemort wrote was so classy, so strangely old-fashioned and yet timelessly sophisticated, like a mix between an Edgar Allen Poe poem and an Agatha Christie mystery novel. And if Voldemort dressed the way he wrote, well… surely, he maintained the same impeccable, classic taste.
Harry screen-shotted and saved the art in a folder offline—to treasure it forever—before continuing to flicker through his messages.
And finally, after checking all of his messages across all of his lightning_boi accounts, Harry checked his long-since abandoned Fanfiction account.
There, too, was a message. A private, anonymous message:
"If anyone asks, I never invited you. I strongly recommend using an entirely new username.
Enjoy: w ww.d iscord./innercircle/713"
~ R.A.B.
Harry stilled, looking over at Ron—who, at this point, was blatantly looking over Harry's shoulder.
Needing no further encouragement, he clicked on the link.
Harry's jaw dropped.
It was an invitation to join The Inner Circle.
Lord_Voldemort_'s exclusive discord.
*Some context behind Parvati's nickname (Parvati_AphroditeWho)—Parvati is the name of the Hindu goddess of love.
Food for thought: If Dumbledore is the COO, who do you think is the CEO? ;)
And finally—I now have a tumblr:
(I made some KBS fanart lol so be sure to check it out if you're interested hehe.)
Thanks for reading guys!