Work Text:
It was late in the evening on Monday, and most of the employees at Walpurgis Inc were settled happily in the home of Harry Potter. They had been drinking for the past hour or so, and were at the point in the night where they would engage in childish games of their own making.
“Truth or Dare?” Ron asked, leaning back against the sofa and cradling his empty shotglass and directing the question at his least favourite co-worker.
Draco Malfoy scoffed, “Truth, obviously. God knows what sort of depraved actions you would make me commit, Weasel.”
Ron scowled, and Harry found himself giggling from beside him. They didn’t really hate each other, Harry thought, it was just… healthy competition. And any hatred was immediately rid of once the topic of their boss came up.
“If you were to date anyone in the office, who would it be?” Ron said, almost slurring his words and shooting Draco a vindictive smirk.
He scoffed, glancing around the room, “Easy, Pansy.”
Pansy Parkinson, who sat beside him, rolled her eyes fondly and continued to sip at her drink. It was a nasty concoction, more alcohol than mixer, and Harry didn’t know how she could drink it without flinching.
“Thanks, Drakey,” She teased.
Draco flushed red, directing his attention back to the game, “Potter? Truth or Dare?”
Harry sat up, realising he was slouching, and said, “Dare! You lot are so boring, we need to spice this up a bit.”
Their dares in the recent weeks had been few and far between, often involving various sexual acts or disgusting food challenges that found Harry reminiscent of his time at school. Not that school was long behind him, it was most of his work friend’s first year or two out in the working world.
He threw another shot back, feeling his eyes burn at the sensation of liquid down his throat, and muffled a cough. For that reason, he didn’t notice Pansy whisper something in Draco’s ear. He didn’t notice the snicker or the evil glint in his eye, either.
“That’s harsh,” Hermione said, seeming more sober than the rest of them and looking between Draco and Harry as if she were worried. She shouldn’t be, Harry pondered, as he was up for anything at the moment! Hell, they could tell him to snog each and every one of them and it’d be another day in the office.
“Go on then, Drakey,” Harry said, well aware of his slurred speech, “Shoot.”
“I dare you to try and seduce Tom Riddle,” Draco replied, pronouncing the words with a clipped and excited edge.
Harry shrugged, though Neville interrupted before he could answer.
“I didn’t think we were allowed to do long term dares?” Neville asked, but Harry waved him off. Tom Riddle was a stuck up, pompous ass who deserved a bit of taking down. He likely wouldn’t even notice Harry’s attempts at seduction, especially as it was all done in jest.
“I’m down,” Harry said, “Riddle’s hot.”
“If you like forty year old murderous pricks…” Ron muttered.
“And–” Harry stressed, ignoring his friend, “He likely wont even notice. It’ll be fun, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Nobody replied. Draco stared at his coworker in shock, surprised that he would agree to this. They all knew Harry was brash, but this was… likely a product of too much vodka and not enough parental guidance. He was signing his death warrant.
Harry opened his mouth to continue, before turning to the side and vomiting in the plastic bin that Hermione had subtly placed there.
“Do you think he likes dark chocolate?” Harry asked later that night, when he, Ron, and Hermione were laying on his sofas. The rest of the group had gone home, but they always stayed to sleep over after their impromptu nights of drinking. They even had spare suits and workwear folded away in Harry’s drawers for the following day.
“Who?” Hermione muttered, her head resting on Ron’s chest. She didn’t open her eyes, and had fallen asleep before she heard Harry’s reply. It was lucky she did, for she may have had a conniption if she had heard his next words.
“Riddle,” Harry clarified to empty air, “He doesn’t seem the type for sweet chocolate, so I reckon I’ll drop by Lidl tomorrow for a box of dark chocolate. The fancy ones, you know?”
“Lidl?” Draco repeated, appalled, “You got Riddle chocolates… from Lidl?”
They were walking up to the front doors of the office block, having ran into each other in the car park.
Harry regarded him with confusion, “They’re the nice ones. I splashed out on the ones with a fancy bow, they aren’t even Lidl branded.”
“But he’ll know…” Draco said, having paled quite significantly thinking about the repercussions of his dare. Well, Pansy’s dare. That gave him some assurance at least.
“Isn’t that the point? That he knows they’re chocolate? And from me?” Harry asked, fiddling with his second-hand tie and double checking he still had the card in his pocket, “Are you quite alright, Draco? I have a redbull if you want it, to stave away the hangover.”
Draco let out a strangled sound, looking between Harry and the office block with worry. If he ran now, he could make it back home in time to phone Riddle and plead off sick. No, Draco Malfoy was some things, but he wasn’t going to be a coward.
He straightened, patting Potter awkwardly on the shoulder, “Thank you, Harry, but I am quite all right. Good luck in there.”
Draco hurried inside, checking his watch to see that it was 8:45. He was early enough to set up at his desk before Riddle arrived, and to seem hard at work when he glanced around the office. Riddle always arrived at 9 on the dot, storming straight into his office and locking the door. If you weren’t in by then, then you could expect a personal meeting. A meeting that had only happened once, six months ago, and had never happened again. The worker had been fired on the spot, and sent packing the same day with no assurance of a reference.
Harry fiddled with the door to Riddle’s office, pleased to find it open and empty. He placed the chocolates in the very centre of his desk, settling the card neatly on top and making sure it aligned neatly with the rest of the papers and stationary around it. Nodding once to himself, Harry slipped back out and made his way to his far less organised desk. He was quite pleased with his choice of card– one of the pale pink ones with a teddy bear on, holding a heart shaped balloon– and thought that Riddle would appreciate it too.
Seduction evidently came easy to Harry, and he settled himself to watch Riddle’s office door.
“You’re mad,” Ron said, stopping beside his desk and holding two rather large cups of coffee, “Absolutely barking, mate.”
Harry grinned, accepting the cup and settling it next to his unopened can of redbull, “It’ll be entertaining! Just you watch, I bet he throws the whole gift away. Which bin do you reckon? Or do you think he’ll make Bellatrix carry it out to the skip? I think the latter is more up his street.”
Ron gaped at him, shaking his head, before answering, “He has a fireplace, doesn’t he? Perhaps it’ll go in there.”
Harry pouted, “I want to get the chocolate’s back after, though, I spent a whole five quid on them! That’s almost half an hours work, Ron.”
“I’ve bet £10 on him eating them,” Pansy piped up from the desk beside him, buffing her nails with some kind of rectangle, “And placing the card on his mantlepiece. It’ll be a Harry Potter shrine in no time.”
“And Ron said I was mad,” Harry laughed, his gaze returning to the office door. Any second now…
He was briefly aware of Ron and Pansy shaking hands, some sort of bet happening to his side, before the clock struck nine.
“Places!” Someone shouted, the general alarm for Tom Riddle approaching. It was Neville, whose desk was by the window that overlooked the carpark. There was a scuffle of people taking their seats and turning on their computers.
For the next few seconds the only sound was the clicking of keyboard keys and the shuffling of papers, until Riddle strided through the room and into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Harry rested his chin on his hand, watching the door with excitement. Fire, bin, skip, or mantlepiece? Fire, bin, skip, or mantlepiece?
At 9:05, the door reopened. Harry turned to press absentmindedly on his keyboard, keeping the door in his peripheral vision and attempting to restrain his grin. This was the moment of reveal… Riddle seemed to pause, regarding the room for a second, before striding back out of the office.
He wasn’t holding a box of chocolates, nor a card.
“Not skip, then,” He muttered, turning to Pansy and raising his eyebrow, “Dare you to go and peer in his office? It’s the least you can do.”
“Anything for love, dear,” Pansy said, smirking and walking quickly to the office. She slipped through the door, and after only a few seconds, exited with a confused look on her face.
“Fire, bin, or mantlepiece?” He asked as she sat back down in her seat, turning around on his chair and fiddling with one of his pens.
“Neither,” She replied, considering him, “They were nowhere in sight. Not in the bin, nor the fire, nor the mantlepiece.”
Harry nodded to himself, vaguely disappointed in the non-reaction. The office could do with some excitement, even if it was Riddle shouting at them all.
“So is my dare done?” He asked, turning his chair to look at Draco, who had the desk behind him.
“Yes,” Draco said quickly, seeming almost relieved, “Please don’t do that again.”
“But Draco,” Pansy said, smirking, “I don’t think Harry even tried to seduce him. Lidl chocolates, I hear. That isn’t very romantic.”
“I was working on a budget, Pansy, not everyone has unlimited funds to buy off half of Harrods.”
“Only half?” Pansy and Draco said in unison, sharing one of their rich and snobby moments. Why they were even working in an office, Harry didn’t know.
“Try again tomorrow, and we’ll let you off. I’ll even buy you a drink on Friday,” Pansy said, turning her attention back onto Harry. There was a glint of something in her eye that looking remarkably like she was scheming… But oh well, a free drink is a free drink.
“Lend me £10?” He asked, holding out his hand, “I’ll need to at least double my price range.”
She handed him a twenty immediately, “This should be more than enough for someone with your standards.”
The following morning, Harry found himself in his local Waitrose. He steeled himself to enter, clutching Pansy’s twenty pound note, and wandered around the isles in order to find something appropriate. Wine, perhaps. Though Riddle seemed like a classy man who would stick his nose up at a wine not from the 18th century, and so Harry moved on.
After ten minutes of perusing, he was still empty handed of a good gift. He didn’t know why he was even thinking so hard about this… Harry fished his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text to Sirius.
Harry: what do you buy someone you’re trying to seduce? i’m in waitrose.
Padfoot: SEDUCE?
Padfoot: WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO SEDUCE? CALL ME NOW.
Harry groaned, calling his godfather, and saying quickly: “It’s for a dare, I’m meant to try and seduce someone. For a dare, Padfoot, a dare.”
“Oh,” Sirius laughed, “You scared me there, Prongslet. Flowers and chocolate? I’m not the right person to ask, men and women flock to me like flies. I’m practically sex on–”
Harry hung up, unwilling to listen to Sirius’ tales of sexual prowess in the middle of the supermarket. His advice had been sage, anyhow, so flowers it was.
He picked up a bunch, and saw that they were only £2, before tucking them under his arm and continuing on the hunt. Harry paused in the card isle long enough to swipe another garish, pink card with flowers and hearts dotted over it, before making his way to the wine isle. Snobbish as Riddle may be, Harry realised that his boss could hardly object to alcohol from Waitrose. The shop was like heaven for middle class folk.
His eyes glanced over the price tags, until they landed on a bottle that was £16 and just in his price range. There was even a little french flag on it, which meant it must be good.
After paying, Harry placed his gifts in a plastic bag and wandered over the road to the office. He didn’t need to be in for another twenty minutes, but it would give him time to write a note in the card and leave his wares in Riddle’s office.
The office was empty, save one or two early workers, and so Harry swiped a pink gel pen from Pansy’s drawer and settled himself at the desk. He tapped the pen on the side, wondering what to write. His last note had been simple:
To Tom,
Hope you like the chocolates!
From,
Your Secret Admirer.
But Pansy wanted him to try harder, and so there was no harm in stepping the whole process up a notch. He wrote, in his very best handwriting, a letter of seduction.
Dear Tom,
I do hope you enjoyed the chocolates I left for you, and didn’t throw them into the fire. If my advances are too bold and unwanted, you must let me know so that I can retrieve the gifts and have them for myself. You always seem to work too hard, and so this time I have gotten you a bottle of the very best wine on offer in hopes that you can relax.
Yours,
Harry.
He grinned to himself, not bothering to slip the card into the envelope, and hurried over to Riddle’s office. The flowers and wine he set carefully on the desk, placing the card upright beside them. Snapping a picture, he sent it to the group chat he had with his friends.
Harry: See? I’m excellent at seduction. Dare completed.
It was only fifteen minutes later, when Riddle had already entered his office, that he realised he had signed the card with his name, instead of anonymously.
He groaned, hitting his head on the table and willed himself to sink through the floor.
But by lunchtime, nothing had come of it. Riddle hadn’t left his office, and there had been no scathing email from his secretary informing him of a meeting. So Harry assumed Riddle hadn’t cared, and didn’t even know who Harry was. Besides, there were at least three Harrys working at Walpurgis Inc and so there was no way of Riddle deducing it was–
“Potter.”
Harry swung round on his chair, clasping at his ham and cheese sandwich, and looking up at the voice. He swallowed his mouthful as quickly as possible, trying not to choke as he saw Tom Riddle standing behind him. Riddle thrusted out the box of chocolates Harry had left on his desk the other day, no discernible expression on his face.
He hurried to place his sandwich back in the cling film, brushing off the crumbs on his fingertips, before taking the gifts back. Before he could open his mouth, Riddle had turned on his heel and retreated back to his office.
“At least he read the card,” Harry muttered, catching Draco’s eye. The blond had turned paler than usual, looking between Harry and Riddle’s office as if something terrible had happened. The expression would be suited to a murder scene or a robbery, not an interaction with the boss.
“He… gave them back,” Pansy stated, seeming equally baffled and entertained. She fumbled around with a piece of paper on the desk, raising her eyebrows, “Lovegood wins, damn it.”
“Just the chocolates, though,” Harry added, prying open the box and waving them in the air, “Anyone want one? These are the fancy ones from Lidl!”
“Lidl isn’t fancy,” Draco said, seething, but it didn’t stop him from leaning over the desk and plucking a chocolate from the box.
When the office had each taken their share of Harry’s chocolates, and the top layer completely demolished, Harry went to throw them in the bin when he saw a little, yellow sticky note tucked away underneath.
He threw the plastic away, unfolding the note with a frown.
I don’t like dark chocolate.
Thank you for the wine and flowers.
TMR.
Harry went back to his desk, slipping the note in his inside pocket, and decided that nobody else needed to know about Tom Riddle’s thanks. He was doing his boss a service, really, by protecting his image as the dark and evil overlord of the office. It was nothing to do with the fluttering low in his stomach at the handwritten note, the looping letters that looked so out of place on an luminous yellow post-it. Nothing at all.
The rest of the week went smoothly, with no abnormalities and no more seduction dares. That did not mean that the week would end smoothly, however, as with Friday came the weekly round up of office comings and goings. Tom Riddle would stride down the stairs and meet with other department heads, usually taking Draco with him to take notes and hold his briefcase, and he would always return in a fowl mood that put the rest of the office in an uneasy state.
Harry wasn’t sure what exactly went on in these meetings, just that they were the bane of Draco’s existence, and was happy he would never find out.
Except, when Riddle exited his office that day he didn’t shout for ‘Malfoy’, he shouted for ‘Potter’.
And it caused Harry to spill his coffee down his shirt in shock.
“Shit, shit, shit,” He muttered to himself, grabbing tissues in order to attempt to clean his front.
“Potter,” Riddle called again, seeming agitated, “I do not have time–”
“Coming!” He interrupted, equally as frustrated and ignoring the muttered prayers of Draco from behind him.
Harry stood, wordlessly accepting a clipboard handed to him by Draco, and grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair. He slung it over his shirt, and approached Riddle with an awkward smile.
Riddle’s eyes lingered on the stained shirt, before handing him his briefcase and striding from the office. Harry turned back to the office, shrugging, and followed him out of the room.
“What is it exactly–”
“You will hand me the notes in that clipboard when prompted, you will not speak unless spoken to, you will write down any key points that are brought up, and you will attempt to hide that hideous stain from the rest of the department heads.” Riddle ordered, casting one last glance at Harry before pushing open the door to Meeting Room 3.
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied loudly, and slightly sarcastically. But he thought it was subtle enough that Riddle didn’t notice his disdain.
“Sit beside me,” Riddle said quietly, prompting Harry to sit on one of the plastic chairs with a faint touch on his back.
“Tom, my dear boy, I am glad you could join us,” A grey haired man said, his eyes twinkling and his tie an absurdly bright pink colour.
“Albus,” Riddle acknowledged, though his voice was stiff and tense. He did not seem to like this Albus bloke, and Riddle didn’t care enough to hide it.
Harry vaguely understood that this must be Albus Dumbledore, the CEO of Walpurgis Inc, though he was unsure who most of the other department heads were. He smiled over at Remus, his other godfather, who shot him a surprised look but smiled warmly back at him.
“And you have a new note taker, I see,” Dumbledore continued, turning his attention onto Harry, “Was Mr Malfoy not up to scratch?”
“Surely not,” Another man said, his hair long and blond and his face looking remarkable like Draco’s. A relative, perhaps.
“Nothing of the sort, Lucius,” Tom replied, addressing the blond man, “Your son has other matters to handle today.”
Lucius Malfoy nodded, seemingly pleased with the explanation. An explanation that was, as far as Harry was concerned, a lie. The last Harry had seen of Draco, he had been simultaneously playing Chess against Ron and marking down numbers on an excel sheet. Hardly important work, and hardly enough to warrant missing out on this meeting.
Harry made a mental note to enquire about the compensation he would recieve for this extra work, as he knew Draco often got bonuses for taking on jobs as Riddle’s assistant in meetings.
He zoned out ten minutes later, passing sheets of paper over to Riddle whenever he motioned for them, and absent mindedly doodling in the margins of his notes. Harry decided he didn’t need to listen, nor understand, to write the words that they were saying down.
“Any thoughts, Potter?”
Harry’s head swung to the side, staring at Riddle, before looking back down at his notes. He was in the middle of doodling some flowers, and the last words he had written were ‘Important Meeting’.
“No, sir.” He replied hurriedly, looking to Remus for help. The brown haired man looked at him with pity, simply shrugging.
“Well, then, I suppose we should wrap this up,” Dumbledore interrupted, seemingly awfully cheerful for a work day, “Have a good weekend, all!”
As they returned to their floor, Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Maybe he should have paid attention to the meeting, and maybe he shouldn’t have defiled Riddle’s notes with shitty drawings. They entered Riddle’s office, and the door clicked shut behind them.
Riddle extended a hand, and Harry passed over the clipboard. He waited for the inevitable condemning, but it didn’t come. Riddle hardly glanced at the notes. But he didn’t move away either, and didn’t dismiss Harry, just simply… stared.
After a minute or two of what must have been the most stressful and awkward time of his life, Harry cleared his throat.
“Is this all you needed, sir?” He asked, unhappy to find his voice slightly higher pitched than usual.
No response.
“Okay… well, I should get back to my work. Yeah… work,” Harry said quickly, shuffling under Riddle’s gaze for a second, before slipping out of the door and running back to his desk.
“I’ll tell you later,” He said, waving off the inevitable questions from his co-workers and spending the rest of the day staring absent mindedly at the computer screen and scrolling through pinterest.
Later that night, Harry and his co-workers were at one of the local pubs in the area– The Three Broomsticks– and already several drinks deep.
“And then–” Harry was saying, “He just stared at me! Didn’t say a thing, and so I ran away!”
Pansy laughed, “He was probably checking you out.”
Harry shook his head, the room already beginning to blur, and motioned to her with his drink.
“He was being a creep. A smoking hot creep!”
“Why don’t you ask him out, then?” Pansy replied, leaning forward over the table and watching him closely. He could vaguely hear the someone groaning, but didn’t think much of it.
“Why would I do that?” Harry asked blankly, looking between Pansy and Hermione. The latter had her head rested on her hand, and was looking at him with despair.
“He’s hot, you’re cute,” Pansy said, listing things on her fingers, “He’s obviously into you.”
“Well–” Hermione interrupted, “I don’t know about that.”
Pansy shushed her, placing a hand on her forearm, “He is! Trust me.”
“He won’t remember this in the morning, Pansy,” Ron piped up, having brought over a round of shots for the table. He began handing them out, and Harry cradled one in his hand.
“So…” Pansy said, thinking to herself, “Why don’t you text him? Or email him?”
Harry sat back in his seat, considering but objecting slightly too late, “I don’t like him, though. He’s a creep.”
“A– quote on quote– ‘smoking hot creep’,” Hermione reminded, handing him her shot. She didn’t seem to want to drink more, and so Harry gladly accepted it.
“I’ll buy you two drinks,” Pansy said, “And I’ll give you £30 for the date. But only if you send him a message now asking to hook up or something.”
“Three drinks,” Harry bartered, downing his shots before holding out his hand.
“Deal,” Pansy replied, shaking it, and he saw Draco’s head hit the table beside him. He’d probably had too much to drink.
Harry whipped out his phone, opening his work email app, and typing in Riddle’s name.
TOm
We should hang out1~! Text me 07328394422
Your secert admiror, Hazza.
“There, sent,” He said, feeling quite smug, and turning the phone around to show Pansy and Hermione. The former snickered, and Hermione just rolled her eyes. They were obviously jealous of his drunk texting abilities, and so Harry just sat back and accepted the three free drinks.
Harry regretted it tomorrow. He regretted the drinks, he regretted the faint recollection of him and Ron doing karaoke, and he regretted the lack of water consumed throughout the night. At least it was a Saturday, and he wouldn’t need to go into work in his current state. Harry lay in bed for the better part of the morning, only rolling out to grab himself some water and caffeine, before falling back under the covers.
By mid afternoon, he worked up enough strength to cook himself some food. Something hearty– eggs, sausage, and bacon with heaps of ketchup. He then checked his phone for the first time that day.
And promptly lost all of his appetite.
There was a message from an unknown number, and several texts from Pansy asking him ‘how it went’ and ‘did he reply’. How what went? Did who reply?
His answer came once he opened the text from the unknown number.
We should ‘hang out’ as you so eloquently put it. I shall collect you at six on Saturday -TMR.
It was five.
“What the fuck.” Harry said out loud, staring at his phone with a mixture of confusion and excitement.
He quickly phoned Pansy, asking the very same question.
“So he replied?” She said, sounding remarkably excited, “And you’re going on a date?”
“No– well, yes I suppose so,” Harry said, “But I don’t want dinner with the boss! That’ll be so awkward, Pansy, why did you let me do this? How does he have my number?”
She laughed, “Oh, Harry, you sent him a lovely email last night. And don’t lie, you find him very attractive. It was all you could talk about in the pub.”
Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands, “He is hot, but not… dating material. I can’t date the boss, that’s… illegal or something.”
“It is most definitely not illegal,” She replied, and he could almost hear her rolling her eyes, “Just go on the date and shag him. Maybe he’ll come into the office feeling a little bit nicer than usual, after letting off some steam.”
“He’s collecting me in an hour,” Harry said, and Pansy squealed.
“I’ll come round,” Pansy replied, then promptly hung up.
Ten minutes later, Harry opened the door to an entourage of Pansy, Draco, Ron and Hermione. The former two were carrying boxes and clothes, the latter were looking rather sheepish and pitiful.
“What…” Harry deadpanned, letting them inside.
“You look awful, mate,” Ron said, patting him on the shoulder and collapsing on the sofa.
“Ron, that’s rude,” Hermione rebuked, shooting Harry a sorry look, “You know you don’t have to go, don’t you?”
“Quite right, Granger,” Draco said, nodding, “Please don’t sleep with the boss, I’m terribly sorry for daring you to seduce him, can we leave?”
“No!” Pansy said, glaring at the three, “Harry will go on this date, and he will look amazing while doing so. I have some of Draco’s clothes that will fit you, and some aftershave. The other two just tagged along, for some reason, but if they aren’t going to be positive then I shall have to ask you all to leave.”
“Don’t you care about what I want?” Harry asked, placing his hands on his hips.
“No. Here, try this jacket,” She pulled out a blazer that looked remarkably similar to one that Remus owned. Harry settled Draco with a look of raised eyebrows, conveying the thought.
“Anything less… tweed?”
She tutted, but forty minutes later Harry had to admit that Pansy Parkinson was a miracle worker.
“You own clothes like this?” Harry said, looking carefully at himself in the mirror. He wore a simple, pale blue shirt and black trousers that were… incredibly fitted. Even with the stretchy material, Harry felt as if he would tear them with one wrong move.
Draco frowned, “I don’t recognise them…”
“They were in the very back of your wardrobe, Draco darling,” Pansy piped up, gazing at Harry with pride, “I doubt you ever wore them, and I don’t know why.”
“They’re plain,” Ron joked, “Malfoy won’t wear anything that isn’t embroidered with golden thread or gifted by the Queen.”
“They’re from Marks and Spencers,” Pansy said, “Likely from when your mother was still buying you clothes.”
Draco nodded, understanding, but Ron flushed– Mrs Weasley still bought or made Ron his clothes.
“You aren’t going to try and tame his hair, are you?” Hermione asked.
Harry scowled, “My hair does not need taming.”
But before Pansy could answer, Ron let out a noise of shock, “Riddle’s here… and he’s early.”
“Fuck,” Harry swore, “You lot hide in here, I’ll go…”
“Shag him?” Pansy said lightly, before pushing him out of the room and slamming the door shut.
Harry took a deep breath, just as there were two, controlled knocks on his front door. He was not prepared to face Tom Riddle, not even knowing that he had four friends ready to back him up in the other room. Riddle knocked again, and Harry walked over to the door.
“Hi,” He said, as the door opened to reveal his boss. Harry was momentarily stunned by his appearance, even though he knew that this was very similar to Riddle’s everyday workwear. A white, button up shirt that was rolled at the sleeves, and black trousers very similar to the ones that Harry wore. He was leaning casually on the side of the doorframe, his blazer slung over one arm.
“Hi,” Harry said again, after having taken in the view– the very attractive view.
“Harry,” Riddle said, his mouth twisting up into a smile, “You look exceptionally good today, are those new clothes?”
Harry stuttered, glancing down at himself, “Yeah, could say that. They’re actually Draco’s, but I doubt he’s ever worn them.”
Riddle hummed, his eyes darting up and down Harry’s body, “They suit you. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry replied, shutting the door behind him and following Riddle down the steps, “Where are we going?”
“Oh, just a simple restaurant I’m quite fond of. Nothing too fancy, mind.”
The restaurant was exceptionally fancy, far more posh than anywhere Harry had ever set foot in before. He was used to fast food, or greasy takeaway, or sandwiches made from week old bread that were slightly stale and not very nice.
“Wow,” He muttered, more to himself than to Riddle. The restaurant had tall, arched windows and lights strung from the ceiling in a golden, pinkish colour. A waiter approached them, donned in a full suit, before leading them to a table in the very far corner.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Riddle said, pulling out a chair for Harry to sit in. He nodded, engrossing himself in the menu. It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting, and he recognised most of the food items on the list. Not that he had tried half of them– truffle chicken?– but it was more simple than he had thought, compared to the decorative interior design.
“A bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild, if you please,” Riddle said, addressing the waiter who smiled, nodded and then wandered off.
Harry found the bottle on the menu, and almost fainted on the spot.
“That’s… over £1000,” He stated, staring at Riddle in shock.
Riddle only cocked his head, smirking, “I will accept only the best.”
Harry shuffled, before smirking himself, “Snob.”
“I find I am allowed to be… snobby, after all the work I go through on a daily basis,” Riddle responded smoothly, barely acknowledging the arrival of a jug of water. Harry was sure that there was a hefty price, even on tap water, and wondered whether Riddle would be the one paying.
“What work do you do?” Harry questioned, pouring his own glass of water and taking a sip. Yep, just tasted like tap water. He returned his attention to the menu, deciding that if Riddle was paying then he would choose the most expensive item he could.
“You would only get bored if I explained it,” Riddle said, “After all, you could hardly get through a meeting without drifting off.”
“I did not!” Harry objected immediately, “I only… stopped listening. You’re self aware then, to know that this work stuff is super dull.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Riddle said, bowing his head in consolation, “But if you find your job so boring, why do you work here? I’m sure a man of your talents could find something elsewhere.”
“My… talents…” Harry repeated, stifling a snort and shaking his head, “It pays alright, and it’s really the first proper job I’ve had since school, but I won’t stick around forever. My godfather works here too, so I guess I’m a nepo baby.”
“Your godfather?” Riddle questioned, watching as the waiter showed him the bottle of wine.
“Remus Lupin, head of HR?”
“Ah, yes, nice man.”
Harry snorted properly this time, “I doubt you’ve ever had a one on one conversation with him, have you? But yes, he is a nice man and I won’t hear any talk against him.”
The waiter poured them two shallow glasses of red wine, and Riddle picked his glass up by the stem and sniffed it. Harry copied him, unsure about what the wine-drinking etiquette was.
“What year is this?” Riddle asked before taking a sip.
“2006, sir.”
Riddle nodded, seeming to approve, “Excellent. Harry, dear, are you ready to order?”
“Er–” Harry stuttered, glancing down at the menu, “Yes?”
“We’ll have the Whiskey Barrel Smoked Steak Tartare and the Roasted Scallops for starters…” Riddle said, barely even glancing down at the menu, “And I’ll have the Malaysian monkfish for my main.”
Harry blinked a few times, his mind whirring, “Yeah, okay, can I have the Lobster linguine? Please.”
“Good choice,” Riddle praised, as the waiter took their menus, “Have you been here before?”
“No,” Harry said, “This isn’t really up to my speed… What were those things you order for starters?”
“Scallops? Or the Tartare? I was thinking we could share, as they are two of my favourites. I can never choose between them.”
“Don’t you try something new every time?” Harry asked, sipping slowly at his wine. It was nice, sure, but not worth over a thousand pounds.
“No, why would I? I know what I like, and so I have it.” Riddle said, seeming quite intrigued with Harry’s philosophy.
Harry grinned, running his fingers over the base of his glass, “My godfather, Remus, recommended it. When I went to live with him, I didn’t have much experience with going out to have new foods so he and Sirius wanted to take me out everywhere. So I guess I got in the habit of trying a different dish each time.”
“But what if you don’t like it?”
“It doesn’t matter, Riddle, because then I know I don’t like it! Like I know I don’t like salmon, so I won’t order it again. But at least I know now.”
“Tom,” Riddle said, his eyes baring into Harry quite intently, “Call me Tom.”
“Okay,” Harry replied, his smile still there, “Tom.”
The starters arrived then, two dishes of food that Harry hadn’t ever seen before. Riddle manoeuvred them so they were in the middle of the table.
“This is the steak tartare,” He said, motioning to the reddish coloured dish, “And these are the scallops.”
Harry perked up, grasping his fork and piercing one of the scallops. It was delicious, the flavour of some kind of parmesan sauce bursting on his tongue.
He hummed, happy and completely unaware of the way Tom was staring at him.
“I take it you approve of my choice?” Tom asked, seeming amused at Harry’s love of the food.
Harry nodded enthusiastically, taking his fork and dipping it into the tartare to try next, “It’s amazing… not sure about this tartare thing though.”
“How about you have the scallops, then, and I’ll have the tartare.” Tom suggested, moving the plates around so Harry could have his dish of choice.
“Thanks,” He said, watching Tom eat his dish. It was quite mesmerising, really, they way he wrapped his lips around the fork, delighting in the flavours.
“Enjoying the view?” Tom teased, after catching Harry’s eye. He blushed slightly, diverting his eyes to look for something else in the room.
“I don’t mind,” Tom continued, “You’ve already made your affections… heard.”
Harry shuffled, “Yeah, I guess. You didn’t like the chocolates?”
“I am a normal human being, Harry, I like milk chocolate. Dark chocolate is too bitter, and you did say to give them back if I wasn’t a fan. I do hope you didn’t feel shunned.”
He shook his head, “No, really it’s fine, I just took you for a dark chocolate person… you know, kinda moody.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult me,” Tom said, the teasing edge of his tone still present.
Harry blanched, still looking around for something to look at (that wasn’t Tom).
“I’m going to the bathroom,” He said quickly, jumping to his feet and hurrying towards the sign.
The bathroom was even nicer than the actual restaurant, all pink marble and golden statues and even a wall of different coloured flowers. He faced the mirror, splashing his face with water to try and rid it of the redness, before leaning on the counter and closing his eyes. It wasn’t like he wanted to leave the… date, it was just that he felt so out of place, like Tom Riddle was only teasing with him for the sake of it.
He stood like that for only a few minutes more, when he felt strong hands placed on his hips. Harry jerked upwards, eyes widening as he caught sight of Tom in the mirror.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked, his voice hinting at worry.
Harry nodded, “Yeah… just uncertain, I guess.”
“About what?” Tom replied, tilting his head and holding eyecontact in the mirror. His hands were still on Harry’s hips, and it was all Harry could focus on.
“This. Us.”
Tom seemed to falter, removing his hands but still allowing them to hover over Harry’s side, “You don’t… want this?”
Harry twisted around, so that he could face Tom, “I do, that’s the point. I don’t know if… if you really do.”
“You think I’m not serious?”
He shrugged, looking away. Tom placed his hand on Harry’s chin, tilting it to look at him again and seemingly put off by the lack of Harry’s attention.
“I’ll admit, I was surprised to see your gift. And then you sent another… and then you sent me an email.”
Harry blushed, reminded of the awful thing he had sent after too many drinks.
“So I thought I’d take you up on your offer, and I was very pleased when you joined me. Especially as you looked so… put together. I was quite taken aback, I’d known you were handsome but dressed in something so form fitting… I told myself to take you clothes shopping so you could get more of these trousers.”
Tom’s hands returned to Harry’s hips, and Harry realised that he had missed to contact.
“Can I show you how serious I am?” He muttered, dipping his head so that it was hovering over Harry’s mouth.
Harry looked between Tom’s eyes, looking for deception. He found none, but he noticed how Tom’s pupils were blown and his breathing was almost erratic. So he moved forward, allowing the kiss.
He arched forward into it, wrapping his arms around Tom’s neck and pulling him closer, wanting more. Hands wrapped around his arse, fondling them and seeming to grasp Harry– almost like he didn’t want to let go.
“So…” Harry said, after pulling back, “Can we go back for the main? I was quite looking forward to my pasta.”
Tom chuckled, kissing Harry once more, “Of course, dear.”