Word Count: 3389

Warnings: Off-screen murder / Off-screen character death

the dark side really does have the best cookies

"You know, I was told that the dark side has cookies by a very reliable source, and yet, I arrived here, and there's not a cookie to be seen. It's a bit of a disappointment, really."

Tom almost strained his neck with the speed that he looked up from the parchment he'd been reading.

"Potter," he greeted, his head tilting slightly to the left. "Is there a reason you're sitting in my office, when I'm quite sure that we're fated to be sworn enemies?"

Potter shrugged his shoulders lightly. The young man was sitting—or rather, was perched—on the mantelpiece. "I prefer to decide on my own fate, in all honesty. It makes life a lot more fun."

"And your decision to do so has brought you here? To me?"

"Actually, I just really fancied a cookie, and like I said. Good authority. Since you don't have any…" Potter trailed off, winked at him cheekily, and disappeared from the office.

Tom stared at the place he'd been for a long moment, and then frowned. He checked the wards on his Manor meticulously, but couldn't find a single kink in them that would allow Potter entry without alerting Tom to his presence.

Lucius and Severus were both as confused about it as he was, which did very little to improve Tom's darkening mood.

How had the boy done it?

…

"You do have cookies!"

Tom had been waiting for Potter to arrive for almost a week, and had had the elves replace the cookies every evening in anticipation of his arrival. Where Potter had gotten the idea that Dark Lords kept cookies, Tom didn't know, but if it would make him appear again, Tom would indulge him.

"Just for you," Tom said, sitting back in his seat. "How are you getting in here without my wards alerting me of your arrival?"

Potter smiled at him widely, and, instead of the mantlepiece this time, perched himself on top of the sofa that Tom kept in his office for his own comfort.

He often liked to read in front of the fire when he had an evening to himself. It didn't happen as often as he would like, unfortunately.

"I wanted to be here," Potter said, causing Tom to arch a single eyebrow in question.

"You wanted to be here, and so it happened? Just like that?"

Potter nodded, clearly pleased. "Exactly. Most people don't understand as quickly as that, well done you!"

"Magic doesn't work like that, Potter."

"Mine does."

Deciding to leave further questions on that for later, Tom switched gears. "Why did you want to be here? I'll refer you back to your first visit. We are enemies, Potter."

"Are we? Did you want to be?"

"I killed your parents."

Potter wrinkled his nose. "That wasn't even a slightly good answer to the question, how dull. And my parents… knew what they were doing when they signed up for a war. A bit dumb, really."

Tom blinked. Dull? "There's also the small matter of the many skirmishes we've engaged in over the years."

"That wasn't you," Potter said, frowning now. "That was Voldemort. The psychotic part of your soul that you had left. You've got most of your soul back now. I can't imagine that you're planning to go back to not having a nose, I mean, it wasn't the most attractive thing in the world, you know?"

"How do you—"

"Who do you think sent your soul back in the first place? Did I miss the piece that was holding your intelligence?"

Tom growled low in his throat and his hand twitched towards his wand. THe smirk on Potter's face told Tom that he'd seen the movement, perhaps even anticipated it.

"I thought it was Dumbledore," he admitted, glaring hard at the boy-wonder.

"Well. He was involved, I suppose. He was the one who told me about the Horcruxes. Two of them were destroyed completely, but the others, I got to them first, and removed the soul shards from them. That's how you're all," Potter paused to wave a hand absently at Tom's face. "Pretty now."

Tom had realised that his Horcruxes were no longer working, but he'd been flummoxed as to how Dumbledore had found them, and also, how the pieces of soul were being returned to Tom.

Or rather, why they were.

"Which two—"

"The diary," Potter said, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Sorry about that, but in my defence, sixteen year old you did set a Basilisk on me, so I didn't have that much of a choice."

"Basi—how are you alive, Potter?"

"And the ring," Potter added, as though Tom hadn't spoken. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure that Dumbledore is about to go off to his next great adventure from one of the curses that you'd cast on it."

"You didn't want to save him?" Tom asked, sarcastic but also slightly curious for an actual answer.

"Not particularly, no," Potter replied.

Tom watched as he wiggled his dangling legs, swinging back and forth slightly where he was perched. He looked impossibly young, despite Tom being fully aware that he was almost seventeen.

"And now, you've just decided to start visiting me for… cookies?"

Potter grinned and snagged another cookie from the plate. "Precisely."

He seemed to shimmer as he disappeared from view, and Tom cast various detection spells before admitting to himself that Potter had likely left again.

He really needed to figure out how in Merlin's name he was doing that.

…

Potter waved at him subtly from near the front of the crowd. Tom stood at the back of the mourners, not even bothering to take a seat, not that there were any left. He was only there to see Dumbledore's coffin alight; to make sure that the job was done.

Nobody paid him any attention—bar Potter, of course—since nobody recognised him as he was now. Nobody knew what an older Tom Riddle would look like.

Or Tom Gaunt, as he'd chosen to call himself.

He watched the proceedings with cool eyes, and remained until the people in the seats began to stand. He'd rather hoped for a moment with Potter, but the boy—almost man now, he supposed—seemed in no hurry to leave his own seat.

He was chatting with Severus and Minerva, and seemed quite comfortable despite the way that Severus was looking at him.

It was quite amusing, really, watching the conflicting emotions on his long-time spy's face. Like he wanted to hate Potter, had a grudging respect for him, and was thoroughly surprised by him, all at the same time.

Not surprising really, given he had knowledge of the two visits that Potter had made to Tom's manor.

Tom lingered, despite his wish to leave, and eventually, he was greeted with a bob of the head from Severus, who walked past him first, and then Potter paused in front of him.

"Mr Gaunt," he greeted, his lips tilting up just slightly into a barely noticeable smirk. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, as though they were sharing a private joke amongst the masses.

Tom supposed they were, even if he didn't particularly want to be.

"Mr Potter," he greeted in return, nodding his head.

"Gaunt?" McGonagall asked, coming to stand behind Potter, almost protectively, which was quite amusing.

Potter clearly needed no protection, not even from Tom, which was galling to admit, even in his own head.

"Are you related to Marvolo?" McGonagall asked, frowning slightly.

"A different branch of the family," Tom replied.

Complicated magic had assured that, should anyone look into his 'past', or his identity, he would be found on all magical records.

She looked a little suspicious, but held her hand out to greet him anyway. He took it in his own, and lifted it to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it.

"An honour, Headmistress," he murmured, as he released her hand.

She appeared startled by the address, and Tom supposed that she had yet to get used to being named as such. She nodded her head to him, and then patted Potter's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"I'll see you after, Harry."

Potter smiled at her, and then turned his attention back to Tom as she was quickly caught up in conversation by a few Ministry officials.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," Potter said, rocking on the balls of his feet slightly.

"Are you incapable of being still?" Tom asked.

"Yes. Completely. Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see it finished with my own eyes," Tom admitted, glancing over to where the tomb remained.

"Why are you still here?" Potter pressed.

"I thought to have a conversation with the Minister," Tom replied, his words only a little true, since he actually had a meeting planned with Fudge later in the week. "Given that I'm taking up the Gaunt Wizengamot seat."

"You're going into politics?" Potter asked, grimacing. "You got your soul back, and now you want to torture yourself? Is this some twisted kind of penance?"

"I thought, perhaps, to do things the legal way, Potter. I thought you would be pleased."

"Eh. Mayhem and murder has its place."

"You are… entirely unexpected," Tom said, after a long pause. "Did you take some spell damage that I'm not aware of?"

Potter laughed, and it was the sound of pure, unadulterated happiness. He shook his head. Wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "I just took off the blinkers. It's amazing what can happen, when you can really see everything."

"Potter—"

"I'll be by your place later," Potter said, taking a step back. "I expect cookies."

…

"Ooh, you brought friends."

Tom saw Potter perching on the mantelpiece and sighed. "Do you ever just sit in a chair, like a normal person?"

Severus and Lucius twisted in their seats to look at Potter, before they exchanged a glance. Between them, they spelled a cage around Harry, one that was supposed to stop him from being able to just wander off, before he'd finished answering all of Tom's questions.

To Tom's surprise, Potter snorted. "That's not very nice, Tom. It's almost like you don't trust me, or something."

"I don't trust anyone," Tom replied flatly. "And since I can't find any fault in my wards, I want to know how you've been gaining entry here."

Sighing, Potter waved his hand, and the magic surrounding him dissipated away like it was nothing. "I don't like being caged. Makes me… edgy. And I've answered every single question you've asked me, Tom. You can't blame me because you don't ask the right questions."

"Potter," Severus said, scowling. "How are you getting past the wards uninvited and undetected?"

Potter tilted his head, and then smiled slightly. "Magic."

"Why are you here?" Lucius asked, voice calm and almost soothing.

Tom was surprised by the tone; Lucius didn't even speak like that to his own wife most of the time.

"Finally, someone asks a competent question," Potter grinned. "I'm here for… well, because I was told that I'd find cookies. And also," he added, when he saw Tom open his mouth to complain, "Because I want to help Tom gain control of the Wizarding World now that he's got a nose again."

"You want to help me?" Tom asked, incredulously.

"I'm quite sure that's what I just said," Potter replied, tilting his head slightly. "Does being a parrot help you take information in easier?"

"Why would you want to help?" Severus asked.

"I'm devastatingly bored," Potter replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But now that Tom's decided on going the political route, I'm going to have to go and find my own fun. I'm allergic to bureaucracy."

"You wanted a war?" Tom asked, leaning forwards slightly on his desk.

"How much of a war did you actually think it was going to be?" Potter asked, wrinkling his nose. "Without me, they have no real resistance. Sure, they'll put up a fight, but Dumbledore isn't around to lead them, and I've got no interest in fighting for them, so…" he shrugged again. "The country is literally yours for the taking."

"Rather arrogant, isn't it?" Severus asked, frowning. "To think that the light side is banking entirely on you?"

"Or honest," Potter replied. "Tell me, Snape, who do you think is going to take the lead, now that Albus is enjoying his eternal whatever-the-fuck."

Severus glanced at Tom, who nodded his head, interested in Potter's point of view on a possible war.

"Kingsley or Minerva will take Dumbledore's place," Severus began. "Both of whom are very able. The Order of the Phoenix will continue to try and defend against the Dark side, along with the Ministry of Magic, and the war will tear the country in two. When the Dark eventually prevails, it will be to undertake many years rebuilding a war-torn Britain. Not quite the victory that anyone wants, Potter."

"You really are a glass-half-empty kinda guy, aren't you, Snape?" Potter said, shaking his head. "Really, where's your optimism?"

Lucius snorted, and even Tom felt his lips tilting up slightly.

"Well, how do you foresee it happening?" Severus challenged, arching his eyebrows.

Potter bit his lip for a moment, and then said, "Professor McGonagall has entirely enough on her plate running the school—and should be left where she is, since she is a very able witch and will do her best for the students."

He flicked his finger, and one of the cookies on the plate that the elves had once more left out for him floated into his hands.

"And Kingsley," he added, "is a wonderful wizard, and is sensible enough to listen to reason, so I don't actually see him being a problem either."

Tom frowned. "You think that Shacklebolt would listen to me?"

"You? No, absolutely not," Potter replied, shaking his head. "Me? Yes, of course he will."

"There will always be staunch supporters for the light, Potter, regardless of what you could convince a few witches and wizards to do. There will always be some sort of rebellion," Severus said flatly.

"Hmm. Maybe. But then, there are many sitting in the middle, waiting to see who has the right ideas for our world, aren't there? And given the nose, and the lack of… bloodthirstiness without reason… I don't think there will be as many against you as you think. And those that are… well. There are ways to make them see your perspective."

Lucius frowned slightly, and then tilted his head. "Who are you?"

Potter grinned, and then looked at Tom. "I like this one. You should make sure he's here the next time I visit. He asks great questions. I'm… gonna take these cookies."

With that said, both Potter and the plate of cookies disappeared, leaving the three men behind to look at each other and wonder what in the hell had just happened.

…

Fudge was voted out of office by the Wizengamot on the grounds of 'no confidence' the following week.

Potter had made a comment to the press that the newest Lord on the circuit might be the best bet for Minister; with no connections, and no bias, he'd be the best bet to lead the country into the present.

A slight missed by most.

Rumours of unexplained deaths hit the news over the following weeks. There were no signs of a fight, no signs of foul play, but perfectly healthy witches and wizards were falling down dead.

Fear and suspicion permeated the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, Hogsmead.

Tom gave an interview about the direction that he thought the country needed to go in, and thanked Potter publicly for his support.

It was all very civil. Lawful.

Dreadfully boring, really. And there was so much paperwork.

He didn't see anything of Potter during that time, though the elves informed him that Potter stopped by the kitchens periodically for cookies. He really was a very strange young man.

Tom found his days stretching before him, endlessly dull. His magic, though he used it daily, felt like it was building up inside of him, insistent on him letting loose.

He wanted to do something.

Make a scene, hear a scream, something.

It was three months after his last visit that Potter eventually made an appearance, and Tom, as frustrated as he was, immediately pulled out his wand and fired spell after spell at the infuriating little twit.

By the time he was panting, sweat pouring from his brow, his office had been thoroughly trashed. He looked around to see Potter in a similar state to himself, leaning against the far wall, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Feel better?"

And Tom did, he realised. He felt more like himself. Nodding his head, he pulled himself together, and waved his wand in an arching wave, watching as his office righted itself until it was perfectly orderly once more.

Potter approached, and dropped into one of the two chairs in front of Tom's desk.

"So, you can sit in a chair," Tom commented, as he sat down in his own seat. "I did wonder."

Harry tilted his head. "How are you enjoying the politician's life?"

Tom opened his mouth, and then paused. There was little point in lying to Potter, it seemed, since he always seemed to know things, regardless of what Tom said.

"I hate it. It's so boring," Tom said eventually.

Potter, the arse, nodding his head. "I thought as much."

"What would you have me do, Potter?"

"Be yourself. You don't need to consider a massacre, Tom. It's not about going to extremes, it never had to be. But you cannot deny that you're a Dark Lord, no matter what pretty robes you dress up in to impress your peers."

"Potter—"

"Besides, the Death Eaters are getting restless. A lot of them are wanted criminals, and they can't leave the house. They've been loyal to you for decades, a lot of them. You're not being very fair to them."

Tom tilted his head. "You care about my Death Eaters?"

Potter snorted.

Sighing, Tom said, "I actually rather thought that they were behind the spate of murders that people are discussing at the moment. I was quite proud of them. Almost every single one of the victims have been strong, light-minded people, with the odd death of a fence-sitter. It made sense for it to be them."

Potter smirked, and a plate of cookies appeared on the desk between them. He picked one of them up and twirled it around in his fingers, before he took a bite. When he'd finished eating, he stood up from his seat.

"Your Death Eaters, for all of the eagerness and loyalty, aren't exactly the most… subtle bunch in the world. It wasn't them. BUt you know… there's a reason that the Dark Side has the best cookies, Tom."

Tom frowned slightly, glancing at the plate, and then back at Potter. "Care to explain?"

"Wouldn't you want to make sure that they taste good, if you're using them to poison people?"

Potter left, in his usual, infuriating way, leaving Tom to stare at the cookies lying innocently on the desk in front of him. A few minutes later, a smirk lifted his lips, and he banished them cheerfully.

Potter was correct. He was a Dark Lord, not a politician.

He called his Death Eaters to him. There was planning to do.

…

"I knew that you weren't cut out to be a politician."

Tom nodded, as he stepped up beside Harry. He'd only thought about the man, and he'd been able to Apparate to his side. They were standing on the edge of the white cliffs of Dover, overlooking a slightly rough sea.

"You're my Horcrux, aren't you, Harry?"

Green eyes looked up at him. "You called me Harry."

"You're the Master of Death."

"Of sorts," Harry agreed. "And yes, I'm your Horcrux. You can't die while I live, and I… am the Master of Death. Intriguing, no?"

Tom reached out to touch Harry's cheek. "Eternity is a long time."

"I suppose it is. You'll just have to keep me entertained."

Eyes gleaming as he looked out over the sea, Tom smiled. "That's a challenge that I'm sure I'll never get bored of."