#needat

The Minister’s office was lit well past midnight, as usual.

Harry Potter, hair wild and eyes sharper than a fresh quill, hunched over a pile of parchment. He didn’t look up when Tom Riddle silently slid into his office.

“You missed dinner again,” Tom said, placing a cup of black tea on the desk. “Tragic. If only you had a loyal, devastatingly handsome assistant.”

Harry scribbled furiously. “I did. Then he became a sarcastic nuisance.”

Tom smirked. “I hear those are excellent for productivity.”

Harry finally looked up, eyes bloodshot, and—damn him—smiled. Just a twitch. But Tom caught it.

“You’re staying late again?” Tom asked, tone falsely mild.

“There’s unrest in the Floo Regulation Committee. Again.”

“There’s unrest in you, Minister,” Tom purred, leaning closer. “You never stop. It’s almost like you’re running from something.”

“I’m running from incompetence,” Harry muttered. “And from the fact that you only seem helpful when you’re trying to flirt.”

Tom raised a brow. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to. You stare like you’re planning something.”

“I am.” Tom’s voice dropped a note. “Revolutionary. Treasonous, even.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Go home, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom smirked. “You say that every night. And yet, here I am.”

Harry didn’t reply. Didn’t tell him to stay, either.

Tom took a seat on the edge of the desk, watching him. The clock ticked on. Harry didn’t ask him to move.