Harry only realises Tom and James are competing when Voldemort points it out. Harry is standing next to the Dark Lord because Voldemort wants to show he gets along well with the children he's mysteriously acquired. This is a Light-centred gathering, which is also partly why Voldemort has chosen to take up a more passive role here instead of seeking people out and talking business.

James and Tom though are across the room, and completely overwhelming the poor girl who approached James first.

James is all wide roughish grins and eyes curved up with the force of his smiles. You can't help but get sucked into his stories, to laugh along. Tom is the opposite, cool expression and sharp smirks. In front of someone like him you can only follow his words and stay silent, entranced.

It's actually very cute because even from across the room, Harry can tell James is talking about Remus and Sirius - like James has been, constantly, ever since they agreed to be boyfriends. James has even been gushing to Voldemort about it while the Dark Lord ignores him.

"I should go and stop them," Harry points out, not quite asking for permission – more like requesting backup.

"I'll watch," Voldemort says with a tip of his champagne glass.

Harry manages to slowly coax James away and Tom quickly loses interest when it isn't a competition. They end up clustered around Voldemort, the two Dark Lord counterparts discussing Tom's conversation with a 'mutual friend' which Harry takes as 'I'd kill her if I could get away with it'.

"There are so many werewolves," James muses as he looks around the room, and then his eyes widen. "I mean, I don't mean it like that. I'm just saying I don't usually see so many of those kinds of people." James grimaces, raking a hand through his hair. "Merlin, what's wrong with me today? 'Those kinds'? Gah, not that they aren't allowed to be here either, it's just – fuck, make me stop talking."

Harry passes James a drink, just some nice orange juice and James takes big gulps.

Voldemort is scanning the room now. "How many?"

James comes up for air, licking the orange juice off his lips. "What? No, that's so ugh, I'm not counting them for you."

Voldemort rolls his eyes. "I know what it is anyway. Come on children, move along to the other room, make nice with the other kids."

"Are you ditching us?" Harry asks.

"Yes. Tom, go with them, I don't want James causing trouble."

"I would never," James lies happily.

The children are ushered off to go to the 'little kids table' in a separate ballroom only slightly smaller and with no alcohol -or better disguised alcohol- full of teenagers and young adults.

They get two steps in and a teenager-bordering-man -maybe Harry's age- steps forward where he was lingering near the side away from the other groups like he was waiting for them.

"Voldemort's heir, is it?" he asks, the boy draped in finery and clearly not British from his accent – maybe something like Filipino. "I heard your father was a half-blood," he continues without pause, loudly and pointedly enough for the crowd around them to hush and his voice carries further. "Strange, one would think you'd be advocating mudblood rights."

Tom doesn't react, only because he can't. It's a Light venue of proper political standing and if he throws a crucio over, that's going to cause a problem. It's fine, he doesn't need a wand to make someone cry.

Tom offers up a sharp smile. "Imagine insulting someone like that when you can only trace your family back to the 17th century. Correct me if I'm wrong, I just assumed you must be a Divata to be invited here, but why do you look like a branch member?"

The teenager rears back in outrage and a few quiet snorts of amusement through the watching crowd.

James' laugh cuts in, one hand raised and half covering his eyes like he can't bear to look. "Excuse me, does anyone know this man? Why would you bring him without making sure he has the proper etiquette?"

After James calls attention to it, there's some shuffling as people look around in curiosity. If the man was with anyone, they certainly don't want to step out now.

"I was invited personally by the son of the hosts," the Divata snaps, eyes darting from Tom's icy stare to James' raised eyebrow and selecting who he thinks is the easiest target. "I've heard about you, Potter-"

"Everyone has," James points out.

"-and as I understand it-"

"I doubt you do."

"-the Potters are Light," the man finishes, eyes narrowing. "Why are you submitting to being a Death Eater? Though I suppose you're hardly the most pureblood family around."

"I'm sorry, are we really starting a pureblood dick measuring contest?" James scoffs, cutting over the top with his hands on his hips because that's a difficult question he doesn't want to answer. It's fine, he can play cute and dumb very well. "Eleven inches." He winks. "Mahogany and perfect for transfiguration - as in I make your girl into mine."

James barely gets through the sentence before he cracks up laughing and he's not the only one.

"I don't know what I just said," James sniggers, glancing to a group near his right, locking onto the person who's laughing the most for some crowd interaction to bolster this performance. "I'm so sorry you had to hear that. It was bad, wasn't it? I've had two shots and I'm already like this."

"Not the worst I've heard," a girl giggles.

James glances to his left. "I mean I could have said greenwood and stiff." James blows a kiss into the crowd and gets more laughs, some exaggerated groans of pain.

James' gaze slides towards where the Divata is hesitating, because he knows he lost but doesn't know how to end this without it escalating. The Divata doesn't have the confidence, nor the standing for something like this. He was ordered to do it, petty games for the children.

James' eyes flick back and he spins on a heel like someone called him. "Okay, fine! I'm leaving before I can get myself into trouble." He hooks an arm around Tom's, walking them to a food table, with Harry at their back and waiting just in case the Divata decides to escalate.

The crowd is chattering away, a new wave of laughter coming when someone mutters pine and supple because they're heirs but still dumb teenagers, turning away back to their own groups and gossiping now that they know a confrontation won't happen. They're still darting looks towards Tom but the air isn't so tense anymore.

Harry leans into Tom, voice dropping to a hush. "That was enough, right? I don't think you need to find him later and…" Harry trails off pointedly.

"I'm still debating on that," Tom murmurs back.

"I'm not exactly the poster boy for self-discipline but I believe in you," James jokes, grabbing an entire plate of tiny quiches. "Wanna grab some wine and snoop around?"

"Good idea," Tom muses. He's done a scan of the room already and there's no one of note here. Tom would be wasting his time.

Harry shoos them both towards the door, enthusiastic about this venture because if Tom is already in trouble doing something else, he's not stalking his prey.

They leave the 'kids room' and Harry catches sight of Voldemort walking past the end of the hallway with Greyback. Harry takes a quick step and places a hand under the quiche plate. "James, why don't you go find something fun? Tom and I will bring the snacks and juice."

"I said wine," James reminds Harry.

"And you're underage so no," Harry retorts, slowly sliding the plate into his grip. "I heard that comment about the shots too, but I know you were playing it up for the audience. Pumpkin, orange or apple?"

"Apple juice," James grumbles but he trots off.

"Left!" Harry calls quickly because Voldemort went right. "Go left, I heard there was something…fun down there."

James gives a thumbs up over his shoulder and turns left.

Harry looks around the hallway and raises a quick muffling ward before he turns on Tom. "Why is Voldemort after the werewolves? Is it going to happen today? Because I need to get James out."

Tom is looking over Harry's head to where James sneaks back out into view and goes right. "Do you know what Voldemort is doing? In general right now?"

Harry frowns. "Dark Lord things." He huffs out a laugh. "Nice Dark Lord things apparently. Making friends, influencing people. At least keeping any murder subtle."

"Exactly," Tom declares and picks out a nice sweet potato and fetta quiche. "I wouldn't say he's going slow but, yes, he's certainly being nice about it." He takes a bite and it's good, doesn't have that house elf magic aftertaste.

"So he's…going to make nice with the werewolves?"

Tom chuckles, licking his lips. "Oh, Harry, when there's a power vacuum something needs to fill it, don't you know?"

"But there's isn't a vacuum…" Harry trails off, brows furrowing as he considers Tom's comment. "Voldemort isn't exactly quiet. Is he? They must know what he's doing."

"Half the world still thinks he's just a Dark wizard politician, not a Dark Lord," Tom explains, gesturing vaguely with the treat in hand. "Even Britain only has rumours. What kind of Dark Lord takes on children to mentor? Me, his ambitious son that he's letting run wild. James, a Light Heir. You, a branch cousin halfblood. People think he's a joke. They think him domestic."

Harry dumps the plate off on a side table and it clinks against a vase in too much gold leaf. He crosses his arms. "What are you saying, the werewolves are trying something on their own?" Harry pauses. "Or there's someone else here giving orders."

Tom leans in, eyes alight in shades of red, terribly amused. "You just sent your dear father to go find himself some entertainment. Better move fast, Harry, lest he find himself caught up in the games of another Dark Lord."

Harry takes off running, but he goes left at the intersection.

Tom pops the rest of the quiche in his mouth and turns to head down the other end of the hallway. He has his own fun to have after all.