Chapter Two: Duty of Care

The next time Harry saw Tom, there was a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. Harry attributed it to nerves—he was still more interested in Tom than he should be—and tried to grab the man's attention on his way in.

"Harry," Tom greeted him. There was a briefcase tucked under his arm and a gaudy locket draped around his neck. The locket swung out as he made his way over; it glinted prettily even under the harsh hospital lights.

"Hey," Harry said. "What've you got for us today?"

"Oh, this?" Tom gave his briefcase a shake. "Nothing too excessive, I promise. How's your roster looking?"

Harry shrugged. "It's alright. Same as ever, really. If I'm not covered in vomit by half past noon, it's not a day's work," he joked.

One side of Tom's mouth lifted in the half-grin that Harry liked. Part of him still held onto a pathetic hope that maybe this wasn't a case of a bored, wealthy businessman collecting tax write-offs at a hospital. Maybe Tom was coming here to see him.

"I'm sure only the most heartless of patients would dare defile you," Tom said lightly.

"I'm a bit of a mess even on a good day," Harry muttered. "But thanks." He could feel the traitorous blush creeping up his neck, giving away his stupid crush.

Tom eyed him for a moment longer, as though he was appraising Harry's response. Then he said, "When you're free for lunch, meet me back here in the lobby. My treat."

It took a moment for Harry to process the words. "You want to go to lunch?" he asked, just to make sure he hadn't accidentally inhaled some potion fumes and hallucinated the offer.

"Lunch," Tom confirmed. His free hand came up to brush Harry's arm, and then he was gone.

Harry stood there for several more minutes. He had a lot of concerns. First, Tom didn't know when his break was. Second, Tom wasn't supposed to want to go to lunch with him. That was just a fantasy in Harry's head that had no basis in reality.

Someone smacked him on the elbow with a clipboard. Harry jumped and whirled to face his attacker.

Padma was looking at him crossly. "Are you listening to me, Harry?"

"Tom asked me out to lunch," Harry blurted in disbelief.

Padma scoffed. "Wonderful. You couldn't have held out another week and let me win the pool." She swatted his elbow again. "Fourth floor. Fletchley won't listen to me, the senseless moron."

"I'll talk to him," Harry said firmly.

"Tell him I am perfectly willing to leave his ears the way they are for the rest of his life," Padma said in a scathing tone. "He is making my ears hurt by speaking."

Harry made a vague noise of sympathy as they made their way to the lifts. "What happened to him?"

"He has replaced his eyes with a second set of ears."

"Fun," Harry said absently. Where would Tom pick for lunch? Somewhere expensive? The idea of using the wrong utensil was suddenly a very real, very frightening possibility.

Padma sighed. "I don't know why I even bother. You will be useless to me until lunch."

Harry flushed. "I won't." Padma gave him a long, measuring look, and he swallowed. "Okay, maybe I will be a bit distracted."

"You will handle nothing harder than a case of dragon pox," Padma instructed. She gave him a push towards the lift. "Now go."

Harry groaned as he stepped onto the lift. It was going to be a very long day.

News of Harry's lunch with Tom rapidly made rounds through the grapevine. Ernie even stopped by while Harry was in the middle of reattaching a Splinched arm to offer congratulations.

But as the hours wore on, Harry began to worry that he wouldn't have time for a break until well past noon. He didn't want to make Tom wait.

It turned out he shouldn't have worried. At noon on the dot, Romilda came to kick him out.

"Have fun," Romilda said cheerily as she shoved him towards the lift. "Use protection spells if you decide to suck him off in the bathroom."

"Shut up," Harry said, face flaming. "It's just lunch."

"You've been making eyes at him for ages," Romilda retorted. "You make me sick, Potter. Go get laid already so I can win the betting pool."

"I don't know why you're all allowed to make fun of me for not having a life when your source of entertainment is betting on mine," Harry complained.

"We're covering you for an entire hour," Romila said, smacking her hand on the call button for the lift. "Go. Your rich cock is waiting for you in the lobby."

Harry went.

Lunch with Tom was nothing like Harry had expected. They went to a quiet Muggle cafe a block away from the hospital, and spent the entire hour tucked away in the back corner. Tom laughed at all of Harry's jokes and touched his arm multiple times. Harry had never been so charmed.

As they left the cafe, Tom reached for Harry's hand, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk. Harry tried not to be disappointed that it was time to part ways.

"I had a wonderful time," Tom said, his eyes boring into Harry's. "Can I see you again?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Of course. So long as you don't mind my schedule being lousy." A tiny, awkward laugh edged its way out before Harry could choke it down.

Tom squeezed his hand. "Let me walk you back."

Back at St Mungo's, things had been thrown into chaos. There were Aurors and Ministry workers swarming everywhere. Nott looked absolutely murderous, so Harry ran over to find out what was going on.

"Some idiots in masks decided to torment some Muggles," Nott explained in a low voice. "The Aurors arrived and a fight broke out. The Obliviators have their work cut out for them, certainly. But we're the ones that have to deal with this fucking circus show."

McLaggen would be on their asses soon, interrogating them about their procedures and other pedantic bullshit. He already wasn't very happy with the recent uptick of deaths occuring in the hospital.

"Did they get away?" Harry asked. "The wizards in the masks?"

"Yes," Nott said. He pursed his lips. "You should see if you can find out more from Weasley. He's remarkably tight-lipped about it all."

"Yeah." Harry glanced across the room at where Ron and Kingsley were deep in conversation. "I might do that."

"Perhaps I should go," Tom said from behind Harry's shoulder. Harry had nearly forgotten he was there.

"Yeah," Harry said again, contrite. "You probably should. I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," Tom reassured him. "I'll see you soon." He bent his head to kiss Harry's cheek, then nodded in farewell before departing.

Aware of Nott's amused gaze, Harry fought down a furious blush and turned to scan the room, which was full of injured Aurors and unconscious Muggles.

"Alright," he said firmly. "Where should I start?"

Ron came by later that evening, much to Harry's surprise.

"Hey," Ron said, tossing his cloak up as he entered Harry's tiny flat. "Sorry for not calling first."

"It's fine," Harry said. "I'm a bit exhausted though. Probably not good company."

He'd been about to go to bed when Ron knocked on the door. Today's incident had resulted in fourteen deaths, mostly Muggles, and over a dozen severe injuries. Thankfully, Harry had the late shift tomorrow. He planned to take advantage of that by getting as much sleep as possible.

"Sorry," Ron said again. He sounded distracted. "I just needed to talk to you about your lunch with Riddle."

Harry blinked, now wide awake. "My lunch?" he asked. How had Ron even found out about that?

"Yes," Ron said, stomping over to the couch and collapsing onto it. He rubbed his eyes. "Vane says the two of you went to lunch between noon and one. Says you were with him the entire time?"

"We did," Harry said. "We had lunch."

"He never stepped out to use the loo or anything?"

"No," Harry said, befuddled. "He didn't. Ron, what is this about?"

Ron blew out a frustrated sigh. "And you haven't noticed anything strange at the hospital lately?"

"No." Harry sat down on the couch. "Ron, seriously. What's going on? You show up here to ask me about my date—"

"We've been watching Riddle for a while," Ron admitted with a grimace.

Harry didn't understand. "The Aurors are watching Tom?"

"Some of us." Ron sighed again. "Dumbledore thinks—"

"Dumbledore thinks?" Harry repeated, baffled. "What does Dumbledore have to do with any of this?"

"He thinks we need to watch him," Ron said, sounding impatient now. "I really can't say more than that Harry, I'm sorry."

"You realize how ridiculous that sounds."

"Well, yes." Ron rubbed at the back of his neck. "But really just—stay away from him. He's not just bad news, Riddle. He's not a good man."

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry promised. That much he could do without being dishonest. "Is there anything else?"

Ron pulled a face. "Yeah, actually. I'll need a copy of all the visitors and patients from the last six months. Can you see those find their way to my office?"

Six months was a lot of records. "Sure," Harry said. "I'll try to get those over this week."

"Thanks, Harry. You're the best." Ron clapped him on the back. "See you soon, yeah? And get some sleep. For the both of us."

Despite his belief that there was nothing wrong with Tom Riddle, Harry was anxious and paranoid the next day. He wished he had an easier way to contact Tom, to be reassured that what Ron thought was borne of some happenstance misunderstanding.

What a surprise it was, then, to find Tom waiting in the first floor lobby at the end of his shift.

"Hey, Tom. You haven't been waiting long, have you?" Harry asked. He knew he must look a mess right now—tired eyes and rumpled hair. Changing out of his Healer's robes could only do so much when his regular clothes were a worn Weasley jumper and a pair of Muggle jeans.

"Not very," Tom replied easily, a smile sliding across his face. "Besides, I set my own hours. Perks of owning your own business." He offered his arm. "Dinner?"

"Yeah," Harry said happily. Any doubts about his shabby appearance were quickly overshadowed by the pleasure he felt at Tom's invitation. "Let's go."

Dinner with Tom was just as lovely as lunch had been. Harry found himself smiling constantly, thrilled by Tom's confidence and quick wit. How long had it been since he'd enjoyed himself this way? He could not quite remember.

Work at St Mungo's was never-ending. He'd gotten used to the constant drain and strain of long, laborious shifts. He'd forgotten how to have a good time.

"So, since I didn't catch you earlier," Harry said between bites of chicken alfredo, "what was today's present?"

"Nothing," Tom said with an easy grin. "Unless you count dinner."

Harry set his fork down and met Tom's gaze, hoping to look more composed than he felt. "And if I do?"

"Then I'd consider myself very pleased with the results."

Harry liked that answer a lot. He resumed eating as he thought of his next question. "How was your work today? I feel like I know what you do, but not how you do any of it."

"My work?" Tom mused. "I'm afraid that convincing people to part with their valuables is neither an easy nor exciting process. I'm hard pressed to say which I dislike more, the materialistic clients who hire us, or the cantankerous private citizens we purchase from."

"I can imagine." Harry reached for his glass of wine and took a small sip. "Do you find a lot of interesting items, though? Or is it all useless, overpriced stuff?"

"Not always," Tom said thoughtfully. Then he launched into an entertaining story about some ancient vases that were significantly less interesting than the drama surrounding its acquisition.

Harry listened attentively, pleased that he'd gotten Tom to share more about himself, and made sure to react when appropriate and comment during the pauses. By the time the story was done, they were halfway through pudding.

"Nightcap?" Tom asked, after flagging a waiter for the bill.

There were two voices at war in Harry's head. One of them belonged to Ron, who was firmly anti-nightcap. The second one, embarrassingly enough, belonged to Romilda, who was loudly shouting about the opposite.

"Or maybe next time?" Tom added, when Harry failed to respond. "It is rather late. You must be tired."

"I don't mind," Harry found himself saying. Truthfully, he had been a bit worried about falling asleep face-first in his meal, but Tom was… Tom was so fascinating to him. Harry had spent nearly every moment utterly captivated, hanging on Tom's every word and micro expression.

On some level, Harry was aware this fixation was a bit not good. It said a lot about his sad life that he'd latched onto the first handsome man to hit on him. But then again, Tom wasn't just any man. Harry genuinely liked Tom. The scary part was how much Tom seemed to genuinely like him, too.

Tom helped him with his coat and tucked an arm around his waist as they headed for the door. "Shall we?"

"Yes, please," Harry said, leaning into Tom's touch, putting Ron's warnings from his mind as they Disapparated into the night.

Later that week, Harry sent off the logs that Ron had requested. He had already decided that the warning, while appreciated, was unnecessary.

Harry did not want to ruin what was the first real romantic relationship he'd had since graduating Hogwarts. He was willing to give Tom the benefit of the doubt.

Now that they were sort of dating, Tom began to stop by the hospital more often. He no longer carried flowers or chocolates with him—or if he did, they were for Harry only. The other Healers had even taken well to Tom's frequent presence in the reception area. They referred to him as 'Harry's bloke' and took great pleasure in making fun of Harry whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Even the regulars were getting in on the fun, much to Harry's dismay.

"You really ought to invest in some nicer clothes now that you're dating your rich bloke," Lavender tutted while Harry checked her over. "I could make some suggestions if you like. You should never wear anything tan, for example. It'll wash your colouring out entirely."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said drily, jotting down a note in Lavender's file.

"And you really ought to do something about your hair," she continued. "It's much too messy. I could give you the name of my stylist, if you like. He could give you a nice cut and style that would suit you so much better!"

Harry offered evasive comments for the rest of her appointment, hoping she would drop it. Somehow, he still found himself with a business card by the end of the hour.

"Call him," Lavender said, kissing him on the cheek in farewell, "I swear you won't regret it."

Harry shared his ire with Tom as they enjoyed a quiet walk through a mostly-deserted Diagon Alley. They had been Fortescue's last patrons of the night, and Harry had successfully bullied Tom into trying a violent pink-and-blue bubblegum and cotton candy monstrosity.

"She gave me her stylist's number," Harry complained. "This was not how I expected to find out that Blaise Zabini has opened a hair salon since graduating Hogwarts."

"Oh? Should I be jealous?" Tom asked, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

"No," Harry retorted, unimpressed by the joke. "You know, I might have considered it more if she didn't keep implying my hair looked awful."

"I find your hair quite charming," Tom said, reaching over to ruffle it. "Very puppy-ish."

"Puppy-ish?" Harry demanded, leaning back to glare at him.

Tom laughed and kissed him on the forehead. "Definitely puppy-ish. Some pups have those floppy ears, and you have…" He flicked at a stray curl. "These."

"I hope your ice cream makes your perfect teeth rot and fall out."

They went back to Tom's flat that evening, and Harry was surprised to realizing he'd begun thinking of it as home. It was just easier to go home with Tom. Tom's couch was perfect for napping and his fridge was always stocked. Harry was spending more time here than at his own place, just for the convenience.

He had made a joke about this to Tom, who seemed unbothered by it.

"Someone needs to take care of you," Tom said wryly, "since you seem to be doing such an abysmal job of it. I'd gladly keep you here with me all the time if I didn't think you'd kick up a fuss."

Harry scoffed at that. "Like a pet?" he asked. "Good luck with that."

Tom's mouth twitched. "Oh, I don't doubt you'd make for a terrible pet, Harry. A pretty trophy husband, maybe."

Harry rolled his eyes this time. "I'll have you know that my salary is nothing to sneeze at." With all the overtime he put in, his paycheck was very hefty indeed. The main problem was that he had no time to enjoy spending any of it. "I'll take you to a Healer's convention this year, and you can be my arm candy, how about that?"

"Only if I'm permitted to return the favour." Tom smirked at him. "A Ministry gala or two may change your mind about the trophy husband business." He raised a challenging brow, daring Harry to contradict him. "They are terribly boring and packed with the most insipid people. You may find you prefer to say nothing and simply look pretty instead."

Harry did not like how accurate that sounded. "I'll do what I want," he said firmly, pecking Tom on the cheek. "And I might let you take care of me if you ask very nicely."

Tom took Harry's face in his hands and spread his thumbs delicately over Harry's cheekbones. "May I take care of you, Harry?" he breathed, voice softer than Harry had ever heard it before.

Harry's heart stuttered. How could he say no? He had never been asked like this before, and Tom's eyes reminded him of the Great Lake after midnight, inky black and reflecting the stars.

Harry nodded, flushing furiously, and watched as Tom's lips curled into a rapturous, triumphant smile.

Romilda came stomping into the staff room, a book in her hand. "Have you lot seen this?" she demanded loudly.

Everyone in the room jumped. Padma, who had been napping on the couch, tumbled onto the floor with a yelp.

"What is it?" Ernie demanded.

"Rita Skeeter's written a book on Dumbledore," Romilda said, brandishing said book back and forth. "You're not going to believe half of the shit in here. The Prophet's run an article on the scandal, but you bet that won't be the end of it. Did you know he has a brother? A sister? And he was best mates with Grindelwald—more than best mates, even, if you believe what's in here—"

Padma's eyes went wide. "No way! Let me see that—"

Romilda yanked the book out of reach. "I'm in the middle of reading! Get your own copy."

While the two girls bickered, Harry and Ernie exchanged a glance.

"You know," Ernie said with a snort, "I always thought Dumbledore popped into the world as a bearded old man."

Harry laughed. That did seem to be the case. He could not imagine the wizened old headmaster as a young man with darker hair and a rounder face, let alone as a teenager or a child.

"Oh, come on!" Padma groaned. "Where did she even get this information from?"

"Rita says she interviewed Bathilda Bagshot before she died," Romilda said, now perched on the couch and flipping through the book's pages. "And that she only waited to be respectful of her passing." Padma made another swipe for the book, but Romilda leapt to her feet and danced out of the way. "Now, now, you'll all get a chance to read it eventually—"

Harry was no longer listening. He was thinking about what Ron had said. Dumbledore believed that Tom needed to be watched. Although Harry did not pay much mind to scandal, nevermind anything written by Skeeter, Ron's concerns were looking more ludicrous than ever.

A/N:

my hypothetical estimate for this story is 5 chapters total, but i have absolutely no faith in myself

comments are like cookies, i eat them too quickly and forget to savour them, but i enjoy and appreciate them all the same 💕