.

.

"You should control the media better," James said. "That article about Harry was unacceptable."

"I have already taken care of it," Riddle hurried to assure, but didn't move from the spot he was standing. His posture was somewhat stiff. It was strange watching his father and young Voldemort converse like they were father and son in law.

"Tom," James sighed. "Do you know why out of the people trying to marry my son I chose you?"

Riddle didn't blink or move; he remained still as Harry's dad moved towards the large cabinets and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey and two crystal glasses.

"I chose you," he said, approaching Riddle slowly, "because I thought you could handle this. You could handle my son."

"I—" Riddle tried to speak, but James waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, placing the glasses on his desk. "Merlin knows, I love my son. I was not exactly happy about his lurne blood as a lot of people might have thought I would be. Initially. You know what that magical blood entails and means... But then I realized that no matter what happens, now I can always choose the person who I want to be my son by having them marry my blood and flesh. I can choose who inherits everything."

Riddle was listening without making any body movements. It was very hard to read him as his face was impassive, hiding his emotions expertly. There was a strange smile on James Potter's face. Harry felt sick, realizing that his own father didn't care about him and thought of him as a convenient pawn to get what he wanted.

"Harry is very beautiful," James continued, watching Riddle with amusement, "So, why do you think I wanted my pureblood son with a rare magical heritage to marry you, a wizard with no family or name? Even your muggle parents abandoned you."

Harry clenched his fists. This was not what he expected. He was feeling sick. He was feeling betrayed.

"It's because," he opened the whiskey bottle and started pouring into the glasses. "You, Tom, impressed me, and I thought you could handle this. You could handle everything. You see, this firewhiskey is an Eldar barral dragonwhiskey, made by Godric Gryffindor himself. One bottle of this is 10000 Galleons. It's more expensive than what your secretary makes in a whole year probably."

He extended the glass towards Tom. "I only have the best," he said with a smirk. "You were the best when you came here and asked me for my son's hand in marriage. I believed in you. You became the youngest Minister of Magic, so Tom, always remember, do not disappoint me and make sure you are always the best."

"I will not disappoint you, Sir," finally Riddle spoke, accepting the glass. "None of this will happen again."

"I am sure it won't," James smiled, lifting his glass in cheers.

"There will be some measures taken to ensure that everything stays in its place," he assured, sipping the drink.

"You should always control the media," James sighed, leaning back in his chair. "They should never publish anything without your knowledge, and the way you do it, you have your people start working in Daily Prophet. You pay whoever can be bought, and you threaten whoever cannot."

This was quite disgusting and Harry wasn't sure he could continue standing there and eavesdropping.

"As for Harry," his father said. "I think that boy has too much free time. I know it has been just eight months since you have been married, but maybe it is time to think about children. Maybe then he will mature a little."

At the mention of children, something strange, something akin to disgust passed through Riddle's face that he couldn't hide. It didn't seem his father caught it, but Harry knew. Tom Riddle hated children.

"I will see to that," he said with a tight smile.

"Perfect," James poured more firewhiskey. "Now we need to discuss the project about the magical children..."

Harry walked away. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't take in another word. This was a nightmare. He didn't want to stay here with all these strangers. He needed to find a way to get back.

Harry shuffled down through the corridor and opened the first door he came upon. Shutting the door behind himself, he leaned against the wall and took a deep breathe. He needed to be careful. If he couldn't get his hands on his own wand, maybe he could buy a secondary wand from Ollivander's wand shop in Diagon Alley. Riddle wouldn't even know.

He also needed to find some kind of safe space for himself. He could perhaps find a nice small flat in muggle London, rent it and ward the place and formulate a plan for the future. Because this couldn't be his life if he had any say in it.

Harry started moving back and forth in the room, thinking.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice the door opening and someone walking into the room.

"Waiting for me?" Harry twirled around in an instance and stared at Corban Yaxley's sleazy face. What did this asshole want?

"Excuse me?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Shame your father didn't give you to me," he whispered, walking closer to Harry. "I wouldn't be leaving you alone here all by yourself like Riddle does. Can't understand why your father would choose that mudblood over me."

What the actual fuck?

"Yaxley, what do you want?"

He moved closer to Harry and suddenly wrapped his hands around him, pulling him tight against him. Harry recoiled in disgust and tried to move him away.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled. "Let go of me before I hex you."

"Don't be like that—"

Harry kicked him with his knee, and Yaxley fell on the ground in pain.

"Next time, I will kill you, asshole," Harry threatened before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. It looked like he couldn't catch a break. If he had his wand, he would probably slice up Yaxley with Snape's curse.

He walked into the ballroom and went straight for the glass of alcohol passing by on the tray. He wanted to get drunk. If he had to deal with another person, wand or no wand, there were going to be dead bodies here.

"I leave you for a couple of minutes, and you start getting drunk," Riddle grabbed his hand tightly and took hold of the glass in Harry's hand. "Behave."

Harry stared at young Voldemort. He wondered if he knew that he was the Slytherin's heir and was pretending to be a muggleborn or didn't know anything and thus turned out somewhat normal. No way. He probably had an ulterior motive for hiding everything. It seemed James Potter was going to leave everything to Riddle, as it appeared he didn't even consider Harry to be anything but a spoiled 'princess'.

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?" Harry bristled. Since he had arrived, everyone and their mother kept pushing him about.

Riddle's eyes narrowed at him. He crouched down, lowering his head to come face to face with Harry, and Harry realized just how tall Riddle was. He stared at Harry with an amused expression, and his lips curled into a mocking smile.

"Maybe you should try not to find out," he warned.

Harry moved back. If there was evidence that Riddle knew who he really was, this was it. Of course, the arrogant psychopath would have not believed that he was a simple muggleborn wizard. Riddle definitely knew about his Slytherin heritage. Harry wondered why it was a secret though.

"Do what you are good at," he advised, wrapping his arm around Harry's waist and pulling him closer. "Shut your mouth and look pretty."

Harry rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. The music continued playing and some of the guests danced, while others drank, chatted and ate. It was a beautiful party if anything, except Harry didn't enjoy it since Riddle didn't leave his side even for a moment. He kept his hand wrapped around Harry and didn't let go even when shaking hands with guests and holding a small conversation.

Everyone sucked up to Riddle and despite this, this new and improved version of the dark lord kept smiling at them, charming them, but Harry could tell that with every friendly compliment or question, Riddle deep down hated all of these people. There was a well-concealed disdain, hiding beneath layers of carefully crafted demeanor and polite countenance.

These people either ignored Harry or complimented his beauty. Some of them slobbered over him with downright disgusting lust. To Harry's surprise though, Riddle was snappy with these particular people. He didn't care about Harry, but it must have felt like a jab against him if others showed an unwanted interest towards his supposed husband, and he let it slide. That would have been interpreted as a sign of weakness, and Riddle hated being perceived as weak.

At some point during the evening, Harry stopped listening. He was tired. He had been killed, woken up in the body of another version of himself, and found he was married to Tom Riddle, the man who tried to kill him since he was an infant and eventually succeeded. Then he had spent the rest of his day shopping and hanging on Tom Riddle's arm at this ridiculous party. He had been on his feet the whole day and the bottom of his feet were killing him. He couldn't stand it anymore.

"How long is this going to go?" he begrudgingly whispered in Riddle's ear. "I am tired."

Riddle looked at him with contempt. He exhaled irritated but pulled Harry towards the large balcony where flowers were hanging from all sides and gentle candlelight was illuminating the view. The balcony looked towards a beautiful garden with luminescent flowers and dark imposing trees. There were plush soft sofas on the balcony. Riddle simply sat down, tugging Harry down with him.

"I am sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I forgot that you are too delicate to stand on your feet for a couple of hours."

Harry glared at Riddle, and Riddle had the audacity to laugh. He pulled his wand and directed it at Harry. Harry froze. Riddle mumbled something inaudible. The blue light tinged with magic left his wand and surrounded Harry's feet. The pain and soreness he was feeling vanished instantaneously. Harry didn't recognize the spell, but he wasn't about to complain about the lack of pain.

Riddle tucked his wand away and stared at Harry. "Better?"

Harry nodded. "Good," Riddle sighed. "Don't want to have you whining the whole night about sore feet. You can stay here. I need to see Yaxley."

Harry's mood had improved after Riddle's spell sucked out his pain, but the condescending tone directed at Harry soured it again.

"Yaxley, huh?" Harry said with malice he didn't know he had. "You must be thrilled to see Yaxley. But no matter what you do and what you achieve, he thinks you are a mudblood."

A wave of anger passed through Riddle's features. It looked like Harry really had hit a nerve. Then his eyes caught Yaxley standing by his father and talking with him while having his hand pressed slightly towards his groin. Harry smirked. The bastard must have been still hurting where Harry had hit him.

"Oh," he smiled at Riddle. "Maybe you can use that spell on Yaxley and take away his pain. The poor thing must still be in pain. Since I kneed him in the groin for laying his hands on me. I must have done some damage. I think he could use your help. You like helping people, don't you?"

Riddles hands were curled into a fist. Harry was sure he was mad Harry mocked him. But instead of saying anything to Harry, Riddle got up, took out his wand and strode towards Yaxley. Harry stared bewildered, wondering what was Riddle's deal. Was he pretending not to care about Harry's taunting?

He watched Riddle grab Yaxley by the back of his neck and yank him away towards the exit. James waved his hand angrily and called after Riddle, but Riddle didn't stop or turn back, he simply dragged Yaxley out of the ballroom. While Yaxley struggled to free himself. His father followed right after them. It seemed he was angry at Riddle for rudely interrupting his conversation. None of the other guests noticed or cared to pay attention to them. Everyone was slightly drunk or having too much fun.

Harry rushed towards them. He had no idea what was going on. Riddle opened one of the doors and pushed Yaxley in. The man fell on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing, Riddle?" he yelled trying to get up.

"Legilimens," Riddle directed his wand at Yaxley.

Riddle's eyes narrowed.

"What is going on here, Tom," James asked entering the room.

Harry watched them wide-eyed, hiding in the corner.

"Crucio," Riddle cast the spell, and Yaxley screamed and convulsed on the floor.

His father looked horrified. Harry could tell that he didn't know Riddle was capable of such action. He cast an unforgivable spell. Riddle was the minister.

"Yaxley," Riddle ignored James and started moving around Yaxley. "I allowed you to play games. I allowed your disrespect. I was hoping you would come to your senses and know your place. But you decide to take one step further and lay your hands on my husband?"

Harry's heartbeat grew faster. Did Riddle get mad about what Harry said? He probably was angry because Yaxley insulted him and dared to touch Riddle's conquest since he didn't care about Harry any further than what Harry represented. Harry was Riddle's conquest.

"What does that mean?" James came forward, pulling his wand.

"Why don't you tell us, Yaxley?" Riddle mocked, moving his wand around and Harry suspected he was twisting Yaxley's arms around. "I should break all of your fingers."

"You cornered my son and tried to touch him?" James asked in a low voice, clearly wandering through Yaxley's mind too. Yaxley must not have been very good at occlumency.

James hunched over Yaxley's body and pressed his wand against Yaxley's throat. "I pay you, Yaxley," he said. "You think you have any right to touch my son."

Harry heard crunches. James twisted Yaxley's arm around and the bone cracked. Harry felt bile rising in his throat. His father and husband were both fucking crazy.

"If I see you breathing the wrong way near Harry," Riddle warned, lowering his wand and letting Yaxley wail a sob of relief. "I will bury you."

"Winky," James Potter called in a gruff tone, and the house-elf appeared. "Escort this low life out of my house."

The elf nodded and disappeared grabbing Corban Yaxley with him. Tom stared at the empty spot on the marble floor where Yaxley was lying seconds ago, thrashing and twisting in pain. He gripped his wand tighter and gritted his teeth.

"I thought you had lost your mind," James laughed, patting him on the arm. "This is what I meant when I said I thought you could handle everything."

Tom nodded. He knew. James Potter would have thought him weak if he didn't torture Yaxley right then and then for defying him. Yaxley's transgression was against Potter's spoiled, coddled son and despite how Potter spoke of his son, he wouldn't have accepted anything less than what Tom did to Yaxley as a punishment. Tom knew this well. He knew this when he married the Potter family's waited-on-hand-and-foot pureblood heir.

Harry Potter was a pampered, selfish diva, who had been doted on by his parents and wrapped in a cotton wool like a little fragile porcelain doll. Tom never thought the little bitch would have been such a nuisance. He knew the guy was an airhead, barely graduating from Hogwarts, and that's only due to James Potter's very generous contributions to the school. But he had never expected the dumb brat to go around cheating on him and smear his name.

He had spent the morning threatening Daily Prophet for the Nott article and having Barty take care of the chief editor so the article would be retracted. Then he had to see Nott and make sure the git knew what would be coming for him if he had the nerve to provoke him again and so much as look the wrong way around Harry.

"How did you know though?" Potter Senior's voice brought him back to reality. "How did you know that Yaxley was letting his hands loose?"

Tom blinked not sure why he was being asked this. "Harry told me," he said impassively.

"Hmm," Potter nodded. "That's good. Make sure to keep that silly boy in check. No more of these absurd articles about him appearing on the news. If you continue demonstrating your determination like today, I will make sure you are calling the shots at the Council."

"I appreciate everything you are doing for me, Sir. I'll join the party. Harry must be alone." Tom nodded, politely and excused himself.

He walked out of the room and headed for the bathroom. Yaxley's pain-twisted face was still in his mind. It was getting harder to keep his composure. He shut the door behind himself and vomited. He wasn't sure if whatever he was doing for James Potter was worth the man's support. But he was feeling sick. Yaxley was disgusting, no doubt, but he had used an unforgivable on him.

He washed himself, cold water dripping down his face as he stared at his own reflection. Is this what he wanted for himself? He tried to belong with muggles as a child and then with wizards as a teenager, and now as a man, he was trying to fit into the pureblood society of wizarding Britain. He didn't belong anywhere no matter what he did. He was the best student at his muggle orphanage school and the best student at Hogwarts. He became the minister of magic and married Potter's coveted pureblood nightmare of a son. But after everything he had done, he was still Tom Riddle, a person who did not belong.

He cast cleansing spells, fixed his hair and suit, took a deep breath and walked back to the ballroom. He couldn't afford to look anything but perfectly in control of himself around these people. His eyes scanned the room until his gaze landed on his husband. He was with Malfoy, glaring at the blonde, somehow irritated. Harry Potter was beautiful. He looked ethereal like a being from one's dreams. His lurne heritage made him so alluring that even Tom, hating the little brat with every fiber of his being, couldn't deny his physical attraction towards him.

Tom still remembered seeing Harry Potter for the first time. He was in his last year of school at Hogwarts, a Head Boy when Potter started his first year. After his first quidditch class, the boy ran into him, crying when he was patrolling the halls, making sure none of the students were getting in trouble. He remembered the little boy crying and demanding for Tom to help him and stop the pain of his sore feet.

He had used the pain -draining spell back then too. Then he had forgotten about Potter. After Hogwarts he had other things to worry about, working at a shady Borgin and Burkes as an assistant. It was later on when he had managed to move to the Ministry that he kept hearing about Harry Potter. People liked to gossip about James and Lily Potters' airheaded pretty son. He had climbed up the career ladder at the Ministry pretty quickly, working hard, creating various connections. He hated that he was a nobody. People liked to remind him of this every chance they got.

He had met Harry at a Ministry ball and the two barely spoke, but Barty told him that he was James Potter's son and everyone wanted him. He knew that he needed a powerful, pureblood wizarding family connection to get on top and stay there. James Potter was influential and powerful and his wife Lily Evans was the only daughter of the Evans family, a rich wizarding family with ties to French ministry.

A year after becoming the Minister of Magic he had gone to see James Potter and ask for his son's hand in marriage. He wasn't even sure what he expected, but Potter had treated him like he was dirt under his nails or a pest that needed to be squashed. He still remembered the conversation the two of them had and Potter asking him if he could be what it takes to marry his son.

He gave him his word.

They married in September. It was the wedding of the century. No minister had ever wed while in the office, since all of them were one foot in the grave and too old by the time they reached the position of Minister of Magic. Everyone talked about the wedding. Foreign ministers and media were present for the event.

Barely eight months of being married and he was already regretting his decision. Harry Potter was insufferable. The only times he acted pleasant and agreeable is when they slept together and that is only if he wanted something or did something to piss off him or his father. Potter heir treated everyone like garbage and with a snootiness of a pureblood socialite that Tom hated. The scandals were nonstop and the more he tried to stop them, the more aggressive and incontrollable the little bitch became.

Harry had intentionally spilled his drink on Tom's secretary, Hermione Granger and insulted her on multiple occasions. Tom knew that Harry called him a mudblood behind his back, but did not have enough nerve to call him that to his face. After a couple of successful projects at the Ministry James Potter seemed more enthusiastic about him and he had spent frequent nights attending various gatherings with his father-in-law who introduced him to well-known and placed figures in the wizarding society.

He wanted for Tom to take over after him. James Potter knew what his own son was and he had chosen Tom because he was nobody, a smart, accomplished, nobody who had the magical capacity of all of these pureblood idiots combined. Everyone knew this which was why despite despising him none of them had the guts to openly oppose him. They did it only in polite insults and snide remarks.

Tom knew that James would push for them to have a child. A child with his magic and born with the most rare magical birth. Despite the airhead that Potter's son was and his incompetence at basic magic, the capacity to create magical life was what made them so fascinating. The dusty old books at Hogwarts swore magic came from a lurne. He didn't want anything to do with Harry Potter and having any children with him was a sacrifice he hadn't prepared himself to make.

"Tom," Malfoy noticed him staring and moved away from Harry. He extended his hand for a handshake and walked up to him. "Was already thinking I wouldn't get to see you tonight."

He shook Malfoy's hand and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I apologize," he said curtly. "There were some things that needed to be discussed with James."

"Hey," Draco said, lowering his voice and directing a brief glance at Harry who seemed to have developed a sudden appetite for strawberry soufflés. "I needed to talk to you about Nott."

"What about Nott?" he knew that Malfoy was going to claim that his dear cousin had nothing to do with Nott.

"I didn't want to do anything about it since I thought it's best if you knew, but he had dropped some kind of strange draught in Harry's drink last night. I have checked the magical recordings from the Ministry party and he seemed to have given something to Harry."

Tom didn't care. Harry liked to get drunk and cheat around without any droughts or serums. But Nott had already been dealt with. "I will take care of it," he said. "Send me the records."

He was tempted to act on his threats against Nott. It seemed Harry Potter brought out the worst in everyone.

"Good," Malfoy nodded with a smile. Malfoy heir was more tolerable than his father, but he had a weird obsession with his cousin which Tom didn't understand.

Harry was staring at him. He could feel the man's insistent gaze transfixed on him. There must have been something that he had done or wanted to do. Tom stared back. Harry shoved another piece of soufflé into his mouth. Potter heir was a picky eater and watched what he ate to look the way he looked. It was strange how he was shoving those sweets into his mouth and glaring at Tom.

"You'll make yourself sick," he sighed eventually annoyed and walked up to his husband. "I don't understand what you are trying to accomplish."

"Well, I guess what I eat must be up to you too. Sorry, I should have asked your permission." Harry rolled his eyes. "What do you want? Feeling better after torturing Yaxley? You must be getting a real kick out—"

Tom grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the table. "Getting a real kick out of it?" he laughed bitterly. "You must really enjoy pushing my buttons. That's fine. Just remember this, no matter what you do, you are mine."

Harry's pretty face scrunched up in anger and he tried to pull his arm away. Tom smiled amused, the souring mood of his husband providing him with much-needed vindication. Harry was pissed at the prospect of being married to him and had told him so since the beginning, reminding him that his father wanted this and there was nothing he could do was what Tom should have done from the start.

"Figures, you'd be a possessive psychopath," Harry muttered under her nose and turned his head away in protest.

Oh how much Tom wanted to crush his little rebellion.