Harry is 19 and Tom is 25 in this
Harry smiled somewhat awkwardly as he walked down the corridor towards the Auror Training room. Even two years after the war ended, people were still needlessly thanking him for defeating Voldemort; shaking his hand, giving him a hug or worse yet, suggesting with a rather poor attempt at a wink, there was someone they knew he might like. Matchmaking was the last thing he needed right now. Not when Bernard Hodges was working him to the bone. The man was a mence. He'd had it out for him since Harry had begun training. For one, he believed it was necessary to be tougher on him, just to show everyone else he wasn't going to show Harry any favoritism because he was technically at a celebrity status. Harry might have appreciated it if the man wasn't a plain old git that answered his questions condemningly or skipping over him entirely or barking out orders. So long as he was interacting with Harry, he showed no indication that he could treat someone like a human being.
But he digressed.
Harry didn't like the attention he was still receiving, even after all these years. It was a bit uncomfortable. More so when he had to actually explain to people that no , he wasn't looking for someone right and absolutely not could they come back to his flat with him. He'd had a couple of those encounters; scantily dressed women going for a seductive smile. Unfortunately for them, Harry was not interested.
"Hiya, Harry," Ron fell into step beside him. His Auror robes were a darker blue, just like his were, to indicate that they were not fully authorized yet.
"Oh, hi, Ron," Harry greeted his friend.
"What's going on in your head?" Ron glanced at him questioningly.
"Nothing."
"Yeah, right," Ron snorted. "You've got that look on your face. What, got another love letter from Romilda Vane?"
Romilda had not yet given up on her desire to have Harry, or perhaps it was his status she was after, but she'd tried two separate times to send him letters that were doused with perfume combined with a love potion. Harry was smart enough not to take a whiff, remembering the chocolate incident in sixth year.
It wasn't even just Romilda , that was the thing. He'd dealt with this sort of thing before. People thinking it wasn't the least bit suspicious to have him suddenly all mad over someone he didn't even know.
Honestly, did no one think anymore?
Harry grimaced. "No. Haven't had one of those in a while."
Thank merlin
Ron made a noise of amusement through his nose before sobering up. He cleared his throat, likely trying to stall before he had to get to his point. "Are you busy this weekend?" He said casually.
Harry side-eyed him. "Are you asking me out?"
Ron started to choke, causing Harry to grin. His friend was in a fully committed relationship with Hermione. Nothing had really changed much between them; the two of them were still at each other's throats most of the time but now Harry was subjected to seeing them kiss or snuggle or anything else he preferred not to witness. " What ? No! No ! I'm-"
"Straight," Harry chuckled. "I know. Just kidding."
When Ron started to calm back down, his face returning to its natural pigment and not a deep red, he elaborated, "Mum wanted to know if you were coming to the Burrow for dinner on Sunday. I..I told her I wasn't sure. Said I'd ask."
Oh, right.
Sunday dinner.
He exhaled.
Admittedly, he hadn't been around the Burrow as much as he used to or as much as Mrs. Weasley would have liked him to be. That was all due to his failed relationship with Ginny. He wasn't blaming her, they'd both confessed to each other how it simply didn't have the spark it used to, but now it was sort of awkward. Actually, very awkward. Highly awkward to sit around, even more so when Mrs. Weasley would try little ways of getting them to be around each other again. Once he'd stopped by for dinner and conveniently, the only vacant chair was beside Ginny. Another time they'd both been reaching for the pot of mashed potatoes, accidentally touching their hands. Mrs. Weasley had been delighted, thinking that they'd felt something by the way they both pulled back their hands as if they'd been electrocuted.
He did feel something, but it had nothing to do with love. Embarrassment. Mrs. Weasley had cooed how sweet and Harry had wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole.
He loved Mrs. Weasley; she was the mother he'd never had but for Godric's sake, he could do without her meddling.
"I don't know," Harry said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. They piled into the lift, standing on the right side for there were already three people in there. A man with pristine looking robes, an already lady with white wisps of hair hanging down on her cheeks and a tall bloke with more muscles than Harry could ever dream of having, who could have easily snapped them all in half. He stared straight into Harry's eyes and a sense of panic overtook him, he lowered his own. He waited until they got off to start speaking again.
"I'm not sure."
"Because of Ginny?" Ron guessed. Harry had initially been apprehensive of how his friend was going to take the breakup, not wanting to be blamed for her hurt feelings even though she had none. "Look, mate-"
"I know," He interrupted. "I know I should go, your Mum'll want to see me but I just can't right now. It's too...strange."
"I know what you mean," Ron nodded understandingly. "About the meddling thing, right? She's been going mad trying to find a date for you. She's been asking me questions."
Harry groaned, just imagining it.
"I don't need a date. I'm fine."
His mouth went ajar, a scoff in the back of his throat when Ron looked away after that was said. "What?" He demanded.
"Nothing..."
"Ron, tell me," Harry said firmly.
" Well , I wouldn't say you don't need a date..."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry didn't need a date, thank you. He was perfectly content by himself and even then, he technically wasn't by himself since he was around his friends quite often.
"You're lonely, mate," Ron was like him, he didn't like getting all touchy and feely but this was an exception he was making, it seemed. "We all know that. Ever since you and Ginny broke up, you've pushed yourself in training. Hermione's worried about you."
"She's got nothing to be worried about," Harry shrugged. "M'fine."
"I dunno, Harry. Maybe Hermione and Mum are right; maybe you're not happy."
That was ridiculous. He was happy. How could he not be? He was working to get a great job, he still had his best friends in his life and a godson he was helping Andromeda raise part time. He didn't need anyone else to be happy. He wasn't one of those people that needed to be in a relationship in order to be fulfilled in life.
"That's stupid," Harry rolled his eyes.
"Harry-"
"I'm fine," He insisted.
"Really? You haven't looked at anyone since the breakup," Ron wasn't convinced. A strange look came over his face, eyebrows furrowed. "You're not still stuck on her, are you?"
Harry was gobsmacked. "What? You think-? No. Definitely not. I don't feel anything for your sister, Ron."
"Okay," Ron accepted that. Then he whispered, "And my brothers?"
Harry could have throttled him.
/
The office was moderately sized; a large mahogany desk, a leather chair, filing cabinets, and a couple of pictures on the wall that displayed his achievements. It all overlooked a beautiful view which was, at the moment, a gorgeous sunset with red and orange hues as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Tom blew out a puff of air in annoyance when his pen ran out. He tossed it to the side, grabbing a new one from the holder. It was bound to, he'd been using that one for ages but of course it had to run out just as he was finishing up his sentences and naturally he didn't have another pen in the same color. Oh, well. Some white out would have to be used and he would need to start over.
Not many imagined Tom Riddle, the quiet orphan with a seemingly permanent scowl on his face to work his way up the ladder, all the way to the CEO of a prestigious company but here he was. All because of his immense hard work, ambition and perseverance.
Not only that, not only had he gained success, but also a stable life. Long gone were the castoffs he had to wear while at Wools because that was what was donated, making him a laughingstock by the other children of the primary and secondary schools he'd attended. Rationing out food was not necessary, as he had a fully stocked refrigerator with no worry of going hungry. His flat was probably considered a bit extravagant, having purchased the kind he had dreamed of as a child of living in. Preferably with parents and perhaps a sibling or two but this would have to do. It had a few spacious rooms, a big TV and other nice appliances and electronics.
If only he had someone to share it with.
While some parts of his life were thriving, his romantic life was not. Tom had gone through a couple failed attempts at meeting a suitable someone. There was a single one night stand he partook in when he went against his better judgement and had far too much to drink. That had been a nightmare, waking up with a mouthful of blonde hair that was obviously dyed that color. She'd tried to get him to give it another go but he'd been firm, curtly saying he wanted nothing more of this and she'd fled in tears.
He'd given up hope after that. There was simply no one he found to be competent enough and fulfilling all of the qualities he wanted in a partner. Although there had been one man who he thought he'd truly thought he was in love with.
A sneer came on his face, imagining that prat's face. What a mistake that was, wasting several months on him, thousands of dollars worth of money and for what? To be left abruptly with a mere text explaining that he couldn't do it anymore, that Tom was too much.
Too much? Too much ? Too much of what? He certainly hadn't complained when Tom had bought him those numerous gifts, which he'd left with, mind you. However, he did get one tinge of satisfaction; Tom had bought him a new phone, one of the best on the market as an anniversary present. That was promptly canceled which left the prick without any service for a while.
Served him right.
He hadn't wanted to admit it, which would have only been himself in the first place as he had no one else to say it to-there were his colleagues but that was all they were. No one had managed to get close enough to Tom for them to be considered friends-but Elias' departure tore him up on the inside. There had been no indication something was amiss between them. Alright, well there might have been; in the coming months, Elias had turned sort of distant and Tom had never been good with dealing with people's emotions so he turned to work instead and by the time the end came near, it hit him like a freight train.
He'd been typing away on an email when his cell phone dinged . It was a simple chime he'd purposefully set to let him know it was Elias messaging him, mentally telling himself he'd get to it in a moment. He figured it was to ask him if he'd be home soon- no . He had much too many things to get done, none of which could be finished before nine-but what he read made his stomach drop and a lump appear in his throat.
I can't do this anymore , he'd said. It's just too much. You're too much .
That was it. Tom tried to call him but came to find out he'd been blocked. Blocked ! And later on, when he'd gotten back to the flat that they'd shared, he found all of Elias' belongings had vanished. He was gone. Truly gone. And he wasn't coming back.
After that, Tom had let go of the idea that there was someone out there in that cold, lonely world for him. If there was, none of this would have happened.
The moonlight was shining down and in through his windows which had their curtains pulled back. His flat was dark, the lights turned off when he arrived back. It was empty as usual, with takeaway containers stuffed into the trash can because he'd worked so late this past week and a half it left him no time to prepare a nutritious dinner.
Perhaps this was how it was meant to be, he couldn't help but feel bitter at the thought.
Some people got their happy bloody ending and he got this .
But it didn't really matter, did it? He had success. Who needed love?
Tom switched on the telly, scrolling through his phone for the pizza delivery number.
