Chapter Text
“Mr. Potter,” Tom cast a fleeting glance at the young man, who only recently could have been considered a boy. His bold expression and confident posture failed to impress. “Head Auror Potter is in good health, I hope? Frankly speaking, I meant to discuss this matter with him.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His words had the intended effect. Another heir of questionable blood, a 'worthy' successor to his father. The only noteworthy virtue could be his relatively attractive features, but could black curls, green eyes, and a dimple on a sun-kissed cheek really compensate for mediocrity of mind and magical abilities? Hardly.
“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Riddle. The Head Auror is doing perfectly well,” Harry replied dryly. The urge to call out the parchment-pusher who decided to rub his nose in his ties with the Auror leadership—even if he was Senior Undersecretary—was far too compelling. ' You're better than this ,' he reminded himself as he relaxed his posture. This wasn't the first time someone hinted at the means by which Harry managed to land this position. He smirked, a gesture not usually typical of him. “I regret to disappoint you, but I will be the one advising you on this case, as well as in all future cases of a similar nature. Do you have any questions about it perhaps?” He pressed, noting the glint of red in the cold eyes.
For a long moment, Riddle studied his relaxed stance and defiant look before returning the smirk and extending his hand for a handshake.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Potter. I trust we will get along well.”
There was something in what he said that struck Harry as odd, almost like a warning or a promise to regret his decision. Either way, it didn't have the desired effect, rather the opposite, it made him relax even more. Riddle, although a Senior Undersecretary, was not the first official Harry had dealt with. He had his own tricks up his sleeve and wasn’t shy about using them. The name of James Potter no longer defined him, and truly, Tom Riddle was in for many disappointments.
***
This case turned out to be the loudest yet the least conclusive investigation of the past six months. Top Auror teams were assigned to the case, but none managed to make even the slightest progress. Rumours of a planned assassination attempt on the Minister for Foreign Affairs, which circulated through closed channels back in January, were confirmed by April with two, fortunately unsuccessful, attempts. However lucky the circumstances of their rescue may have been, they couldn’t keep relying on fate and chance.
Now, every resource of the Auror Office was thrown into urgently resolving the problem: in light of the current Deputy Head resignation, Harry Potter—a promising Auror who, as rumours suggested, had garnered impressive professional accomplishments abroad—was appointed to take on the role. Some claimed that Potter Sr., the Head Auror of the past seven years, has swayed this decision. Others believed that the connections he made during his time studying in America and working overseas played a crucial role. Both sides agreed on one thing: Harry Potter had become an unexpected choice, and his recent appointment could not be a mere coincidence. As is often the case, people were quick to dismiss professional qualities, labelling youth as a lack of experience and familial connections as corruption and nepotism. This sentiment was especially strong given how circumstances seemed to align against him.
Harry unconsciously ran his fingers through his wild hair while keeping his eyes fixed on another scroll of parchment. His gaze skimmed over the jagged lines of his predecessors' old reports, picking out key details that, in theory, could play to his advantage.
One of the reasons he had received this position at such a young, by Auror standards, age, was a certain flair for catching criminals. Their team's success rate was well above the average. In the missions leading up to his recent appointment, Harry had visited several countries and earned a good reputation in some of them.
He had never sought to deliberately stand out among colleagues or in the eyes of superiors. Instead, he devoted himself to studies and improving his combat skills, and then, he worked his fingers to the bone. Perhaps his magical potential could be classified as slightly above average, and some things came to him more intuitively, but the truth was that every accomplishment was the result of long and hard training. Back in the early days of his career, he was hardly different from any other rookie Auror. Countless nights spent in the training room, a desire to be more than just his father's son, and his natural stubbornness led him to where he was now.
“Mr. Potter,” came a deep voice from the office doorway, causing Harry to tear his eyes from the document he had been reading. The voice belonged to the Senior Undersecretary, who entered the room without waiting for an invitation before settling into the chair opposite.
Harry raised an eyebrow, while Riddle took his time, studying both the office and its owner. Eventually, he smiled, although the smile did not reach his eyes.
“There are rumours you've sent people to the archives for the evidence check,” his voice sounded somewhat detached, which was clearly just a facade. “I value your time, and solving this case is in my best interest, so I’d like to offer you a friendly piece of advice… Don’t waste your time or ours. Previous Auror teams, under my people's supervision, have thoroughly examined the evidence; all the necessary documents are already at your disposal. I’d prefer you direct your resources toward genuinely important… pressing matters,” he said, lowering his eyes deliberately to the scroll on Harry’s desk.
Riddle's speech did not elicit the response he likely anticipated. If anything, it only solidified his first impressions of the Senior Undersecretary's person. The 'friendly advice' was nothing more than a threat and a reminder that his every step was being closely watched.
Harry smiled. Well, he was no stranger to working with vultures; in fact, it added an element of intrigue to his otherwise steady routine. A tiny spark of curiosity flared inside him.
He reclined in his chair, twirling a quill between his fingers and studying the man on the other side of his desk.
“You sound like someone very well-versed in the intricacies of the investigation process, Mr. Riddle. Considering your role, that’s quite... impressive.” Harry began, noting the mocking tilt of the man's head accompanied by the glimmer of disdain in his eyes conveying the lack of interest in the poorly concealed flattery. Holding back a smile, Harry continued. “I greatly appreciate your involvement in this matter. As someone engaged, perhaps you could explain why none of the previous reports mention a certain M.N., while here,” he casually nodded toward the document that Riddle had referenced before, “his initials appear twice?”
Riddle's face remained as still as if it had been carved in marble; he picked up the parchment and began to skim its contents. Occasionally, his eyes would seem to freeze, and a vein on his temple would barely twitch. A few minutes later, he reluctantly set the parchment aside and met Harry's teasing gaze. His face remained unreadable.
“That’s… an interesting question indeed, Mr. Potter. I must confess, you’re quite perceptive,” Riddle's lips mimicked a polite smile as he waved his hand, summoning a small paper airplane note. After a few terse words dictated to the quill, another quick wave followed, and the note vanished. “My assistant will be here shortly. I suggest we hear his perspective.”
Harry bowed his head in silent agreement. The urge to hum was strong, but he resisted. He wasn’t stupid enough to openly mock a man of Riddle’s calibre. Judging by how tense his posture had become compared to the start of their engaging conversation, and the pace of his fingers tapping out on the armrest, it was clear that he was not in the best frame of mind.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, Harry stood up and walked over to the coffee table next to the bookshelf, where a neatly organized tea set rested under the stasis charm. He took his time filling one cup and then the other, placing both on an ornate silver tray before sending it floating in front of him with a flick of his wand.
“Please, help yourself, Mr. Riddle. I brought this tea from China.”
Riddle sat in the same position, his head tilted back slightly as he continued to observe Harry, making no effort to move. Eventually, he seemed to settle on something; he took a porcelain cup, blew on its contents softly, and took a small sip, keeping his eyes fixed on Harry. He felt uneasy under the weight of that gaze. There was something otherworldly about it, something Harry couldn't quite put a name to. In an attempt to mask his discomfort, he brought his own cup to his lips, taking a small sip too while leaning back in his chair.
Just then, someone knocked on the door.
“You called for me, Sir,” a tall, imposing figure clad in a costly floor-length robe said as he appeared in the doorway. Roughly the same age as Harry's father, the man had long, blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, highlighting his proudly raised chin. After a blank, uninterested look at Harry, he again directed his gaze toward Riddle.
Now, Harry had the opportunity to observe a rather amusing transformation: the man stiffened, his icy facade faltering, followed by a barely perceptible bow. Although Harry didn't know the man personally, he had no trouble identifying him as Lucius Malfoy. What kind of person must Tom Riddle be for the head of the Malfoy family to show him such respect and... fear? Had the position of Senior Undersecretary really gained such prestige during his absence?
He decided to revisit this thought later, making a note to gather more information about Tom Riddle.
“Lucius… Do come in,” Riddle's voice held a hospitable tone, yet it sent a chill down Harry's spine. He couldn't quite understand it, but there was something disturbingly eerie about it. Malfoy seemed to sense it as well, for just a few words from the supposed superior made him turn unnaturally pale. Meanwhile, Riddle continued. "Mr. Potter and I had quite a fascinating conversation. To my knowledge, it was you and your team in charge of quality control for the work done by the previous Aurors?
Malfoy swallowed nervously, nodding. Riddle hummed.
“Perfect. In that case, would you be so kind as to tell us about this supposed witness?” he said, casually handing a document to Malfoy.
The more he read, the more Malfoy's face grew increasingly bewildered.
“This wasn't in the reports, m... Sir. This is the first time I'm seeing this document, I swear.”
Harry watched as Riddle's eyes narrowed at his subordinate's bleating. He could see where it was coming, so he decided to step in. He had other tasks awaiting him and no desire to be a free spectator at this public reprimand.
“There's no need for that, Mr. Malfoy. It's not your fault. After all, capturing dangerous criminals isn't part of your job—that's what we are here for,” Harry opened his arms and gave them both a radiant smile. He noticed Malfoy's eye twitch, while the long, pale fingers tightened around the handle of his cane.
Before Malfoy could respond, there was another knock at the door, then a man with short chestnut hair in an Auror uniform strode confidently to Harry's desk, ignoring the other visitors. Becker had been assigned by him to lead the team Harry had sent to study the archives a few days ago.
With a curt nod, Becker held out a sealed scroll and a small glass vial with a memory inside it.
“You might want to see this, Boss.”
It looked like their investigation was finally starting to make progress.
***
The silence of the dimly lit room was once again shattered by hoarse screams. The man on the floor resembled a puppet: his limbs twitched in a chaotic and unnatural manner, as if an invisible force was pulling strings, controlling his body against his will. The cloak had become a tangled mess, and the man’s face was twisted into a mask of agony. When the piercing screams turned into gurgling sounds, the hand clutching the wand slowly lowered.
“You’ve disappointed me, Lucius,” the voice was tinged with boredom. The man it belonged to regarded the scene with indifference, observing the figure at his feet. It looked like a broken doll, the chest rising and falling heavily, sharp wheezes escaping its throat with every breath.
“I'm starting to doubt just how useful you can really be…” the owner of the bored voice continued, pondering aloud. “I have honoured you with my utmost trust by placing you over my other loyal followers, and what did I get in return? Tell me, Lucius, are you so stupid that you thought you could get away with such ignorance?” The low voice turned into a hiss, and in the next moment, it all happened again. This time, however, the torture didn't last that long.
“M—my L—lord…”
“It seems to me you still haven't grasped the gravity of your situation,” ignoring the wheezing, the man rose from his chair and began to slowly walk around the body stretched out before him. When I said that resolving this case was a priority, you clearly did not take my words to heart. Perhaps you considered your Lord's words insignificant…”
There came weak attempts at self-justification, and the man who called himself Lord grimaced in distaste.
“And now, some boy achieves in days what my best men failed to manage in six months. It makes me wonder... Why do I need people like you, Lucius, when one Potter is enough for me to know the job will be done right?”
“M—my Lord, I beg you…”
As the minutes passed, the silence stretched on with the blond-haired wizard's form seeming to shrink further. It was as if the longer the Lord awaited an answer, the harsher the punishment would become.
“I’ll give you one chance to prove your loyalty. You know what awaits you, should you fail me again...” with a nudge of his boot, he pushed the cane with the wand toward the blond man, and a sigh of relief escaped from below.
Slowly, he headed for the door and only at the threshold did he pause, as if remembering something important.
“Please convey my warmest wishes to Narcissa and Draco…”
The door closed behind him.
***
“Thank you, that will be all for now. Does anyone have any questions?”
There were about twenty people in the briefing room—all the best Aurors in the unit. They were skilled professionals. Harry couldn't help but feel proud of his team. They functioned like a finely tuned mechanism, expertly extracting information overlooked by former groups.
Harry had already worked directly with most of them even before his promotion. They respected him, trusted him, and were ready to follow his lead. His success was their success, and vice versa. Harry always made it a point to listen to everyone’s input; it was important to him that his team knew they were valued here. The results spoke for themselves.
Naturally, when it came to this particular case, there remained a rather unpleasant need to work alongside ministry officials and their confidants, but even that had its merits.
“And make sure to be more civil with them,” he concluded, addressing everyone present when no one had any further questions and the meeting was coming to an end. “Many of you may not like this, but these people, whether they realise it or not, are a valuable resource for us given their positions. They are potential witnesses to both incidents, and you know what to do with this information.”
A wave of approval swept through the hall, and then people began to disperse, chatting as they departed for their assigned duties.
***
The flames in the fireplace danced to life, twisting and forming patterns that involuntarily drew the eye. Long fingers touched the slender stem of the glass, lifted it to eye level, and swirled the contents. The reflection of the flame in the ruby liquid made the drink look like blood—a shade he had always been particularly fond of.
After a small taste, he stared back at the deep red flames in the fireplace. Blood… What was the real goal behind the recent assaults? Torres was entirely his man, merely a pawn, a mouthpiece in his carefully devised plans. Whoever was behind the assassination attempts surely knew this. Torres was responsible for expanding his influence in neighbouring countries; his role involved negotiating influential deals to pivot further east. The attacks and the commotion surrounding them severely hindered the progress of his original plans, something he felt particularly strong now. At first, the rumours of a potential assassination attempt did not warrant much concern. He was preoccupied with other, more pressing issues. Now as things grew more heated and that bunch of idiots still hadn’t managed to do anything even remotely useful, his patience was slowly wearing thin. If he had to take matters into his own hands…
Yet, it seemed that won't be necessary after all.
‘ Harry Potter ,’ he mused with a smirk.
Well, he was ready to admit, the boy had pleasantly surprised him. It had only been a week, and he had already achieved what others before him couldn’t. Was it a coincidence? It could be.
Still… He was willing to admit that perhaps his initial judgement of Potter had been somewhat mistaken. It wasn't just his own observations that spoke to that, which, in fact, was more than enough. The records of Harry Potter from his days at Ilvermorny, and later at the Academy, were quite a curious read. There could have been potential there.
With the right approach, the boy could serve his purpose rather well. There was only one small 'but'—from what he’d gathered, it didn’t seem they shared the same ideals. And yet… that was unlikely to be a real trouble.
With a faint smirk, Tom Riddle lowered his hand, tracing the smooth, cold scales of the snake coiled beside his chair. His fingertips moved slowly along its strong, supple body, while his thoughts drifted far outside this room.
The task promised to be entertaining. After all, he always appreciated a little challenge in his potential followers.