Chapter 3

The next few weeks continued on the same vein. Riddle would catch him when Harry least expected him and invite him to something or other. Harry without fault would say no. Riddle seemed to be under the delusion that if he could find the right place Harry would relent. Invitations included but were not limited to exclusive restaurants, VIP passes to quidditch games, movies, and the memorable occasion of dinner at his apartment.

At first, Harry was perfectly polite with vague but firm denials but as the invitations continued relentlessly his patience fractured. And then ran dry. And then the entire forest went up in fucking flames because it has been WEEKS. The expressions of his followers when Harry flat out denied him were priceless. The slack-jawed, wide-eyed petrified faces were a balm to Harry's tired soul. Yeah, yeah, he knew he was going to die for the slight. But he would die laughing dammit.

Harry's excuses ranged from plausible to absurd. Including classics like "washing my hair today", "not dressed for the occasion", and "Riddle, I would sacrifice a finger before showing up at the Malfoy Charity ball". It had been only Riddle for that last one so he felt more at ease to express his opinion. Riddle's laughter had accompanied Harry until he left the hallway.

Harry wasn't too worried about Riddle's persistence yet. From what he'd seen in the last three years, Riddle's obsessions were short-lived (to the dismay of many of his victims). Harry had a few more weeks before his vacation started and after that he fully expected Riddle to have moved on to a new victim.

"I'm just saying," Harry responds as he picks up his beer to sip, "Sex with Riddle has to be horrible." It was his birthday and they were out celebrating at a popular bar. "No, no, no, hear me out," Harry interrupted what would have been Pike's loud protest.

"He is selfish and self-centered. That's a fact. He probably spends like a minute in foreplay, if any, three minutes jackhammering while his partner is looking at the ceiling trying to make the best out of a bad situation and then collapsing on the bed, putting up his trousers and leaving."

Pike laughed so loud he drooped his beer on the table. "True, true. But the view, man. The view. A shirtless Riddle all sweaty on top of you." Pike fawned himself with the napkins for the spilled beer.

Harry looked skeptical, "Sweaty? From what? His four minutes of hard work?" Pike snorted so hard he choked on his beer.

Martinez was looking faintly nauseous. "I can't believe you both gave it any thought, much less this much thought. I have a meeting with Riddle this week. I won't be able to look at him in the eye," Martinez complained.

Harry and Pike ignored him. "You don't think he has some S&M type of bullshit kink?" Pike whispered/shouted. Martinez signaled him to keep it down, looking around in panic for anyone that might be listening.

Harry put the beer-soaked napkins in a pile at the center of the table shaking his head vigorously. "No way!" Harry protested loudly. Martinez shushed him and told him to fucking stop shouting before the entire bar hears. "He's probably as vanilla as they come. Bellatrix tho, her kinks probably have kinks."

"Would you prefer vanilla sex with Riddle or go down into Bellatrix's sex dungeon?" Pike asked seriously.

Harry gave it serious thought. "I'll probably die with Bellatrix from some oxygen deprivation bullshit tied up like a pig for slaughter. She doesn't seem to be into the whole safeword thing. So I'll go with vanilla sex with Riddle. But like, maybe if I'm dying anyway? If it's my last day on Earth?"

"And you Martinez?"

"Meh, worst ways to die."

Pike and Harry exploded in laughter and cheers while Martinez's face turned red with embarrassment and hushed them.

"I'll get the next round," Harry said as he took out his wallet and pushed his way to the bar. He was a little wobbly.

"Harry, blimey is that you?"

Harry turned around and smiled. "Ron! It's good to see you, man." He looked behind Ron to see Hermione. "Hermione! Hi."

"Harry!" Hermione screamed and hugged him. "It's been too long!"

Harry laughed and went with them to say hi to Ron's brothers that were at a table on the other side of the bar and get introduced to Hermione's friends from her Mastery and Ron's buddies from quidditch.

"You still at the Ministry, Harry?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Yeah," Harry responded with a smile, ignoring Hermione's frown. After a few more moments he said his goodbyes, went back to the bar to grab the beers and pushed his way to his table.

"Finally!" Pike groused.

"I bumped into Hermione and Ron," Harry explained.

"What are they doing now?" Martinez asked taking the beers from him and passing one to Pike.

"Hermione finished her Mastery and Ron is a substitute keeper for Chudley Cannons." He was proud of his friends' accomplishments, but without a war to bind them together, they were only friendly acquaintances at best. They didn't even remember that today was his birthday. But as they hadn't written or visited in three years it was safe to say the friendship was a superficial one at best.

Martinez put an arm around him as if he could protect him against heartbreak with his body.

"Your armpit smells," Harry complained because he was still unused to being comforted. Martinez squeezed him harder and then pushed him away to pay attention to his beer.

"Brat," he huffed.

As the night progressed more Aurors sat at their table and insisted on buying more rounds of beer until Harry had absolutely no idea what was happening.

"And then..." Johnson stopped with his story with how much he was laughing, "then Pike jumped out of the window and landed face-first on the restaurant's trashcan." The entire table roared in laughter and Pike whined about bullying.

Harry was laughing so hard he was wheezing. He was dying. His chest hurt, his face hurt. "I'm I asthmatic?" he asked the table worriedly. He chugged his beer to stop himself from laughing anymore but Pike mentioned how the trash was mostly rotten food and his beer made an unwelcome comeback through his nose.

"Fucking hell Harry!" Someone threw napkins at him, which he gratefully used to mop-up the beer pooling on the table.

"I have to pee," he announced to the table seriously because the filters had come off three beers ago. After a few false starts, he was able to wobble to the loo. Youngest Seeker of the century or no, he peed on almost everything but the inside of the bidet. He washed his hands because he was drunk, not a savage. He was closing the door when Charlie materialized right in front of him.

"Charlie, hey!" he greeted with a confused smile before he was crowded and a tongue shoved into his mouth without warning.

Harry pushed him back. "The fuck, Charlie?" he asked angrily.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, not looking very fucking sorry. "It's just you are looking so good tonight and you were looking at me as if we were strangers."

Oh.

Charlie was the ex-boyfriend. Fuck. Well, at least it wasn't Riddle or Malfoy. But fuck if he wasn't mad on behalf of this-Harry. Harry punched Charlie in the face with as much coordination as he was capable under his state and the man staggered back looking gobsmacked.

"Fuck off," he said and stumbled back to his table.

He was in hell the next morning. A fucking Monday. Why the hell did they go out drinking on a fucking Sunday? Ah, right, his birthday. His right hand hurt. This-Harry had probably never thrown a punch in his life. He had the worst hangover of his miserable life. He opened every cabinet on the small, decrypt apartment but there wasn't one single hangover potion. He left for the Ministry at almost nine, too late to catch breakfast at the cafeteria and just managed to reach his office on time.

"I heard you had fun last night."

Harry jumped and whirled towards the sound, "Goddamit, Riddle! I almost had a heart attack," Harry said with one hand to his poor heart and the other to his mouth. He breathed through the sudden urge to vomit until his rolling stomach calmed down. His head pounded with the sudden adrenaline rush battling it out with his dehydration. "Can you not creep in other people's offices?" he grouched.

Riddle extended a hand with a to-go coffee cup from the bakery across the street.

"Black, with sugar," Riddle tempted with a smirk. God, he was handsome. Harry stared at the coffee and licked his dry lips. His eyes went from Riddle's smug face to the coffee and back again.

So this was how the Great Harry Potter would be defeated? Hermione would be so disappointed. Ron would understand. Harry sighed. He reached for the coffee. "Worst ways to go, I guess," Harry murmured.

"Better ways to go," Riddle parried with a smile that had too many teeth. It was too early for Harry to interpret the many smiles of Tom Riddle so he contented with sipping the coffee. Black, two sugars. From his favorite place. What a creep.

Now that he had Harry's attention, Riddle leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Heard you punched one of the Weasley's."

Harry frowned perching against his desk for support. "I don't remember seeing one of yours there." But the second half of the night was fuzzy with too much beer and laughter. For all Harry had been paying attention Riddle could have been there.

"Crouch Jr. had a date."

Harry snorted, the laugh pulled out almost against his wishes. "Ah. And who was the poor thing? Did he have to Imperio them?"

Riddle smiled, looking genuinely amused and surprised. "His father arranged the blind date."

"Figures," Harry said with a smile. He was smiling. At Tom Riddle. He was going to get murdered before the year ends, he just knows.

"Happy belated Birthday," Riddle pushed the wall and walked the two steps he needed to reach Harry. "I would have taken you to a much nicer place... if you'd let me."

Was... Was Riddle flirting? With him? Harry felt the laughter bubble out of him. The gall. He put the hand that wasn't holding the cup on Riddle's chest and pushed. "The place was good," Riddle stepped back; Harry pushed more, "the company great." One more step. "I have no complaints." Harry opened the door and pushed Riddle towards the door. "I'll see you around, Riddle."

"And the punch to Weasley?" Riddle pressed.

"Very much deserved."

"Why?"

"Some people don't understand the meaning of no," Harry said looking at Riddle pointedly. Riddle got the message and left without another word. Harry shook his head and closed the door.

It would seem that Riddle was a big believer of the wisdom of 'don't change the winning recipe' because every morning after that he met Harry with a cup of coffee. After the third morning, Harry resigned himself that this was his life now and led Riddle to the cafeteria to have breakfast. There was no use being hungry if he was going to be stalked anyway.

He could say no to the coffee and turn Riddle away but... it was expensive coffee and Harry did not make enough money to buy it more than once a month as a rare treat. He could exchange an hour of his morning for that coffee. Easily.

It did not surprise Harry that Riddle was an excellent conversationalist; he had talked with the Horcrux in the journal and had found it engaging. What surprised Harry was how many interests they had in common. And the bright excitement in Riddle's eyes when they got deep into a subject. And his loud laugh when Harry was being particularly stubborn or difficult. It was not what Harry had expected from the man.

Conversation flowed easily from the moment they met at the floo, to their short walk to the cafeteria, and sitting down with plates of eggs and toast. Even on the mornings Harry woke up sullen and drawn after a nightmare, Riddle would slowly draw him into a conversation.

By the end of the week, Riddle knew more of his day-to-day life than anyone except Pike and Martinez. But that was probably because no one else seems to care about what Harry Potter is up to. Eventually, Harry opened up about his Masters and his plans after graduation, and Riddle talked more about his work in the Ministry.

It quickly became apparent that Riddle enjoyed finding the limits of his knowledge; pocking and prodding subjects until Harry admitted defeat. From his decades as an Auror, Harry's knowledge of the occult would give anyone palpitations but it was nothing compared to a Master of Dark Arts like Riddle that had dedicated a lifetime to studying it. It was alarmingly easy for Harry to get used to the new routine of having breakfast with Riddle.

The second week Bellatrix followed them to the cafeteria to sit down with them for breakfast. Bellatrix had to be around 50 but still young-looking (not going to Azkaban was fantastic on the skin), beautiful, sharp, and ruthless. Like in his world, she married Lestrange and was still (mercifully) childless. She was a badass woman and Harry would like her if she didn't simper behind Riddle and stared daggers at him. It made eating uncomfortable. Harry made his excuses and left after ten minutes. He took it back; he wouldn't go to her sex dungeon even if they paid him.

The next day Lucius sat at their table as they were debating the correct placement of blood during a ritual. Harry greeted Lucius and in the same breath announced it was already time to leave for his office. It was 8:20 am.

After that, no one sat with them. Riddle dismissed anyone who approached them before they got too close. Harry would like to say he was training Riddle, but more than likely it was Riddle who trained him to sit and stay.

"Riddle, do you want to die in a horrible, explosive way? Because I see no other result from this and frankly there are easier ways to kill yourself if that's what you are aiming for." Harry asked as he analyzed the ritual.

Harry was by no one's standard a genius. But after a few decades in the Auror Force, you tend to see a fair bit of rituals, and Harry was particularly drawn to the subject. He eventually got to be the go-to guy for ritual mishaps. Not many people got to be an ingredient in a dark ritual at fourteen (and survived). The experience gave him a vested interest in learning the craft (and you know, not be an ingredient in a dark arts ritual).

"It will work," Riddle insisted with a fierce frown. As if he could intimidate Harry into agreeing. How cute.

Harry smirked and returned the paper to Riddle, "Yeah, at blowing you up."

Riddle looked at the paper with frustration and Harry took pity on him.

"How bout you try it out with a frog first and let the frog suffer for your mistakes."

"There are no mistakes," Riddle insisted with a petulant frown.

"Sure." Harry hid his smile in his coffee.

That night as Harry lay on his mattress and stared at the cracked ceiling he received an owl with a box. Inside were the remains of a frog with a note. Please come help if you have the time.

He looked around at his empty apartment and thought fuck it.

Riddle's apartment was as big and posh as Harry had expected it to be. With high ceilings, classic architecture, and modern decoration. But it felt like entering a sauna from the released energy of the failed ritual. Harry took his jacket off immediately and rolled his sleeves. The ritual took most of the living room floor. The sofas and table were cramped in a corner.

"Riddle," Harry groaned, "you are killing me. Why in the seven hells do you insist on using blood, entrails, and bone for this ritual? It doesn't call for it."

Riddle's jaw clenched. "It's stronger that way."

"Theoretically. Practically it just makes things go boom in really horrible ways. Come on," Harry cajoled, "take out the bone. You don't need the bone."

Riddle breathed deeply like a bull ready to trample, "Fine," he spat out like the brat he secretly was.

"Where's the wine?" Harry asked as he walked towards the massive open kitchen that was visible from the living room. He opened the cupboards randomly until he found what he was looking for. He took out two wine glasses.

"So needy," Riddle mocked as he searched the fridge for the wine. Harry looked at the label and was not surprised to see his favorite red wine. The creepy creep being a creep.

"Oi! I'm doing this for free, you know," Harry grumbled. When he had his glass of wine he returned to the living room to study the markings closely.

"You realize we'll have to start over?" Harry asked over his shoulder. Riddle grunted.

"You have tattoos?" Riddle asked looking at his back. His sweaty white shirt was probably plastered to his back and doing a bad job of hiding his tattoos.

"Yeah, a few," Harry hedged.

"Can I see them?"

Riddle's hungry eyes made Harry shift in place. "Don't be a creep, Riddle. Come here and help me clean this up."

Riddle snorted but obligingly put his sleeves up to start the cleanup. Two bottles of wine, three hours later, and some choice curse words they had a working ritual. Riddle looked from the intact frog to him.

"You're terrifying, you know that?"

"I know."

He never learned not to flirt with danger.