The Heir Returns

Chapter 6

He landed with a thud in the alleyway directly beside the Leaky Cauldron, a well-favoured apparating destination it seemed, as he saw three witches exiting the alley.

Harry quickly left the narrow alley with a suspicious look around and walked straight into the leaky.

Scanning the bustling room for Voldemort, Harry's eyes landed on unsavoury happenings at the corner of the pub. Two teenagers were snogging each other's faces off, entirely oblivious to the annoyed looks they were receiving from guests seated near them.

He quickly averted his eyes from the amusing scene, chuckling all the while searching for Voldemort, whom he found sitting at the opposite corner nursing a glass of red wine and intensely focused on the table in front of him.

Wondering what caught the man's attention so thoroughly, Harry made his way to him gingerly, looking over his shoulders every few seconds wondering when the Aurors would show up.

As much as he'd like to avoid a confrontation with the Aurors, Harry had been getting quite restless over the past few weeks. Harry itched for a proper duel, or perhaps even a battle. Doing nothing stuck in Peverell Manor reminded him a lot of Azkaban. He felt as though he was back in his prison cell. Harry wanted out.

Maybe that was why he was so attracted to meeting up with Riddle. With Riddle, his life was exciting. Riddle forced Harry to be witty and always on his feet. The banter that flowed between them was natural. As if they'd known each other for years. Technically, they had, but one hardly considered briefly meeting each other in the Headmaster's office before Harry got courted away to Azkaban a meeting.

For Merlin's sake, they hadn't even exchanged any words.

Harrison wondered if Riddle would be up for a duel anytime soon. Otherwise, he'd have to settle for Adelaide, an accomplished witch but not the strongest dueller.

Quietly groaning to himself, Harrison paused before he called out a greeting to Riddle, "Ah! There you are."

Riddle's vaguely crimson eyes shone as they settled upon him, a charming smile creeping up on his mouth, "Harrison. How wonderful to see you again!" His voice sounded falsely cheery and high-pitched though not entirely unwelcoming.

Harry sat down in the dark booth gingerly when he felt the golden warmth of magic wash over him, "Wards?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Of course. I wouldn't want anyone to overhear our conversation. I'd rather not participate in unnecessary confrontations between myself and some light follower with a martyr complex." Riddle answers rather dryly, taking a sip of his red wine, eyes still glued to a piece of parchment on the wooden table.

"Of course." He repeats, for lack of a better response. What the hell was he supposed to say anyway? Riddle was the one who had asked him to come. Shouldn't it be him who started the conversation?

Just as Harry was about to open his mouth and question why he was here, a waitress appeared seemingly out of nowhere with a false smile on her lips, practiced.

"What may I get you, sir?" She seemed to ask him.

Raking his head for a drink, one Adelaide would have recommended to him, "I'll have a Swott Malt Whisky, thanks." He eventually decided on the wizarding world's finest whisky, remembering its mention in the Daily Prophet months ago.

"Good choice!" She grins at him, jotting down the order on a notepad before striding away.

Finally, after a few moments, Riddle speaks, "You must be wondering why I asked to meet you here."

Harry rolls his eyes, refraining from saying, Duh, instead he nodded his head sagely.

"Well. I have a proposal for you." Riddle said shortly, lacing his fingers on the table in front of him, looking at Harry for the first that that evening.

"Oh?" He asked, curious now.

"Yes. I wish for you to join my Death Eater ranks. I know of your power. I can feel your magic rolling off of your body in waves. It's untrained. I wish to help you with controlling and mastering it. In return, I merely ask that you become part of my inner circle and serve me." Riddle seemed to be expecting his quick agreement as he leaned back ever so slightly, satisfied.

Harry wondered if the man's mind was alright. Did he truly believe that Harrison would be bound to someone as he was bound to Azkaban?

"No," Harry stated coldly, all self-preservation thrown out the window.

"No?" Riddle asked darkly, his eyes turned a deeper crimson shade. He leaned towards Harry marginally, looking as imposing as ever, "You aren't in the position of refusing me, Harrison. I can easily have you killed in a matter of seconds, yet I choose to remain merciful. Should you run out of use, I shall not hesitate." His voice was dark and threatening, eyes flashing with cruelness.

Harrison sneered, "Oh yeah?" He challenged mockingly, "then why didn't you murder me during our last interaction. Our conversation should've clarified that I did not wish to serve anyone. Least of all you." Harrison fingered the wand in his pocket, ready to apparate out of the pub at any second. He was on a thin line with Riddle, and Harrison was afraid that he might fall off. Of course, he couldn't let that show on his face. Riddle would jump at any sight of weakness.

Riddle swirled his wine glass, eyes gazing thoughtfully at the blood-red wine. Who knows, maybe it is blood. Harrison fiddled with the wand in his pocket, looking intently at Riddle's face to gouge a reaction, but the man let nothing show on his face. It was a clean slate.

"You know, Harrison, I have often found myself wondering why I have kept you alive," Riddle's voice seems distant, distracted. Harrison feels as though Riddle is talking more to himself than Harrison, "If you were anyone else, I would've killed you the moment you showed your insolence. Yet, I didn't. Trust me when I say I have killed people for lesser."

Harrison nodded, knowing that was true.

"Perhaps it's because of whatever transpired between us in Dippet's office, 1943. Because, since then, I have felt an inexplicable connection towards you. I hadn't realized it while you were in Azkaban, but one October night, I felt something tug at my very soul and again the night you escaped Azkaban."

Harrison swallowed. He knew what Riddle was describing, as he had felt it too. Maybe not as prominently as the other man, but that fateful October night was when he had come out of his trance, the moment he felt more alive than ever before.

Riddle looked back at him, clearing his throat. "I will make one final offer to you, Harrison." Setting his wineglass down with a clink, he made sure the green-eyed man was paying attention before continuing, "how would you like to ally yourself with me, become a partner of sorts?"

Harrison grinned. 

A/N: So, so sorry for updating this fic after months, I've been having hardcore writer's block these past few months. Again, I apologize and will be trying to go back to my original posting schedule. Have a great day/night! :)