A/N: So. Dancing with Deceit. Some of you may vaguely remember this one. Now being rewritten, in a more fresh angle. A lot of events may be similar, but at the same time there are several huge differences, so…enjoy. I hope.

Chapter One

It was strange being back in England again.

Harry had spent the last five years abroad, travelling, fighting against the forces of Grindelwald, among other things. Now, at the age of 22, he'd returned to take up a position as an Auror.

The worst part was that even now that he'd avenged himself as best as he could against the wizard who murdered his parents, it wasn't over.

Rumours of a new rising dark power were growing, stirring in the shadows, centred on Britain and spreading outwards like a black taint. Rumours of something stronger; insidious, which had crept faceless into the heart of society without knowledge or warning.

Lord Voldemort.

That was all there really was to go on the matter, which wasn't a lot at all to be perfectly honest, but...he'd do his best to deal with it. The worst part was that he'd seen him before, during his Hogwarts days, though he still had no identification.

Just a name. Always that bloody name, it followed him quietly everywhere he went - and, maybe now, he was starting to hunt the shadow down in turn.

Or, rather, he would be if he wasn't stuck at this god awful Ministry party.

Harry plucked at his dress robes, feeling uncomfortable in the stiff expensive material, before smoothing it down and letting his hands clench around the stem of his wine glass instead.

All around him people swirled in splashes of colour and laughter, conversation washing in and out of his ears like a badly tuned radio.

"-another attack, dreadful business, the minister's doing everything he can to deal with it-"

"-getting old-"

"-But he's young, isn't he? Potter? Dark Wizard catcher y'know-"

"-the junior under-secretary-"

"-Riddle-"

"-Then there's that renegade bloke-"

"-Shh, don't talk about it-".

It was more interesting than who was dating who, or who was wearing the best dress, he had to say - but, nonetheless, boring.

Harry had spent most of the evening so far catching up with his old friends. Hermione was working as a Wizarding Lawyer, in the department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ron - who'd joined him on the front line more directly - was also entering the Auror system.

It was strange seeing old faces again.

He took another swig of his drink, only to pause at a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, before blinking in surprise. He felt his stomach drop, something strange fluttering in his chest.

He felt like he'd been smacked.

"Tom-my god-what are you doing here?" he asked, not recognising his own voice. It was a little terse, however warm he tried to keep it. Maybe a bit breathless too.

Tom Riddle had been in the year below him at Hogwarts, a Slytherin where Harry had been a Gryffindor and, normally, that would mean he had absolutely nothing to do with the other.

The difference was that they'd grown up in the same Orphanage together.

"Harry," the man murmured, offered him a smile. That smile, flawlessly charming. "I heard you were here and back in England. It's been a long time. How have you been?"

"Good...yeah, I've been good," Harry replied, finally managing a smile back, clapping the man's arm. "How have you been? Heard you graduated with straight O's. Can't say I'm surprised."

Riddle laughed, softly.

"Should I be flattered that you kept tabs on me?" he purred. Harry bit his lip, shrugging, shifting his feet. Memories flashed through his head, but he clamped down on them, and some in particular. Felt his gut squirm again.

"Rumour spreads. You're making quite a name for yourself. Half of what I've heard since I got back has been about you. Junior Under-secretary to the Ministry at your age? Very impressive."

"Why, thank you," Tom smirked. "I do my best."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, and Harry took another deep sip of his wine, looking around the hall.

The room was extravagantly done, with a large diamond chandelier and every surface polished until he could have licked the buffet off it without need for a table.

It was so different to what he was used to - what they were both used to, that he couldn't help but feel jealous at how seamlessly Tom seemed to fit in. As a child, the boy had been...different, rougher around the edges, sharper. He blazed where now he radiated a suave sort of coolness.

They'd never been particularly close; only briefly, like a flash each summer when there was no other proof of magic being real.

Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't exactly have a tendency for closeness and, if the Sorting Hat had almost put him into Slytherin, Harry would keep that to himself, along with the knowledge of how different everything could have been between them.

It wasn't worth dwelling on.

"You're becoming an Auror, aren't you?" Riddle started again, studying him. Harry's eyes snapped back to the man.

"Uh-yeah. How did you-?"

"You've made quite a name for yourself, soldier," the other drawled. "Heard you've been catching Dark Wizards. What do you think of this Lord Voldemort? Do you think you'll be put on the case."

For a moment, involuntarily, Harry stiffened completely. His throat thickened, bobbed.

"I can't imagine I would be. I'm just a new recruit. We'll all do our bit in the Department, I'm sure, if things develop," he replied, with a careful shrug. "And I thought people didn't say his name around here anyway?" he raised his brows.

Tom's eyebrows arched right back.

"Yes, but you hardly seem the type to obey such things. Nor did you flinch or anything. Don't even try it, Potter."

Harry grimaced, eyes starting to twinkle a bit with good humour, despite the darkness of the topic.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the Junior Under-Secretary to the Minister, am I?"

"Oh, don't judge me on that, please," Riddle waved a hand. "Everyone needs to start somewhere."

"I'm sure you're great at making tea," Harry smirked, teasing, before clapping the ex-Slytherin on the shoulder once more. Awkwardly. Not touching for long, not lingering. A pat. "Seriously though, congratulations. I'm sure you'll go far. Don't mind me."

There was a pause in their conversation as a large gaggle of people pushed in between them to get to the punch, and Riddle seized his arm, dragging him closer with a slight smile.

Harry was abruptly aware that he didn't think the man's eyes had moved away from him once during the entire course of their conversation, fixed on his form with a dark intensity, examining everything. He was starting to feel like a lab specimen pinned down for dissection.

He'd forgotten many of the small details of Tom over the years, like the rich warm scent of the man's cologne so at odds with his personality – but those piercing eyes had haunted him even on the battlefields of Europe.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation away from the drinks-" the Slytherin began.

"Tom?" someone in the crowd had obviously spotted the other, and now weaved over. "I've been looking for you - oh." The blond, Malfoy, came to a stop, nose wrinkling a little as his gaze moved over Harry. "Am I interrupting?"

"It's nothing!" Harry said, quickly, with another smile. "I just saw someone anyway. You two talk." He looked at Tom, nearly crushed against the other man as people moved away from the table again. "It was nice seeing you again."

"I'm certain we'll do so again sometime," Tom murmured, with a smile back, if not a bit crisper than before. "Harry."

"Malfoy," Harry nodded curtly, before darting across the hall. He hadn't actually seen anyone, but with the discomfort of Riddle staring at him and how close they'd ended up, he figured it best to retreat.

His mouth felt dry and he didn't quite know why.

He beelined towards Hermione instead.

Well, it was good to be back?
He put the matter from his mind.

Tom Riddle tried not to let his eyes darken with annoyance as he watched the young man sweep across the room. Away from him.

Harry Potter; the name had been playing on his mind for a very long time now.
When he first met the boy, he'd thought nothing of him, just another stupid child in that stupid place.

That had changed when he was six. The other children were behaving to their normally loathable standard, and, of course, he could have easily taken care of himself with magic (even if he wasn't aware of the very nature of his gifts yet). He'd been about to, actually, to teach them a lesson he was sure they would never forget.

Harry had interceded, leaping at the group of older boys like a wild-cat of punches and kicks and snarls. The boy had got himself a bloody nose and several bruises, but his tormentors had backed off of him, at least then, for a while.

Since then, he knew he wanted Harry. He didn't care how he had him, but he wanted him. Wanted him to keep out the cold and the darkness with his own warmth and light.

Naturally, he'd immediately given his gratitude, smiled and looked innocent and teary-eyed. He'd let the older child protect him, look after him - not in the least because it was amazing watching the boy willingly get torn apart by the bigger boys on his behalf. It made him feel warm inside, seeing the pain flash, knowing it was for him.

He was pretty sure Harry didn't remember those days that much, and they'd drifted far apart at Hogwarts for the most part. They had different circles. Different ambitions. He stopped letting anyone protect him, let alone Harry Potter.

How could he prove himself a worthy match, after all, if he was always one stop behind? Weak and in need of protecting?

Harry was so special, Tom knew he had to either make himself worthy or claw the boy down to his level for them to be together.

Harry, of course, didn't seem to realise how extraordinary he was, how he was made for so much more than the filth he associated himself with.

They diverged; he found the glory and the power of the Darker Arts, Harry lowered himself and stuck to paltry light, repressing that initial violence, that ruthlessness, that power which had drawn him to the other on their very first meeting.

It was a pity.

It wasn't so much that he couldn't see the strength of Light Magic, it was that Harry grew to flinch away from any kind of power and authority despite such things belonging to his natural domain of character.

After everything Tom had done to catch up, Harry shrunk himself into the mediocre instead – desperate to fit among the sheep.

Harry knew nothing of his feelings, either. All those long years, and the man had never looked at him twice, running off the war instead.

Well, he'd started getting the boy's attention in the end, hadn't he?
Or rather, Lord Voldemort had.

It was a complicated matter, and one he couldn't claim full credit for nowadays – but Harry's attention was flattering nonetheless.

He suppressed a smirk, concentrating instead on the blond, masking his irritation well. Like he'd told Harry, junior Under Secretary to the minister was just a starting point.

He had a feeling that this was going to be a very good year.