Title: On My Radar

Pairings: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Hermione Granger, Severus Snape/Remus Lupin

Rating: M

Warnings: verbal abuse, male/male sexual content, AU, 13-year age difference between the main couple

Summary: Harry Beauvais can't wait to get away from his gold-digging mother. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, his mother has found a new target: the British Minister of Magic, Voldemort. Dragged into her plot to snag the man's heart (and bank accounts), Harry finds himself falling for the handsome politician as well…

Chapter 1

The French Ministry's Annual Winter Ball was in full swing. Classical music filled the ballroom as witches and wizards glided across the floor in a sinuous dance. Their decorative robes swished around their ankles with each step and turn, creating a vibrant collage of flowing fabric. The grand ballroom was adorned with silver and white decorations that shimmered in the dim lighting. Small clear globes containing twinkling white lights floated through the air on an invisible current of wind. Those who were not engaging in the dance stood about the edge of the rectangular room and talked in groups. Every now and then, flurries of magical snow would fall from the ceiling and flutter to the ground, disappearing the instant they came into contact with any object.

There were light blue plush couches and tiny round tables set around the room for resting. On one end of the ballroom was a set of stairs opposite the ornate double doors that opened to the front yard of the Minister of France's mansion. These stairs curved inward to meet at a long balcony overlooking the ballroom. Many witches and wizards stood along the steps and balcony, chatting amiably with one another, but one wizard in particular was leaning against the banister alone.

Harry Beauvais swirled the wine in his glass and scanned the hall for the only woman wearing a shiny silver gown with a white fur cape. His eyes narrowed as they rested upon her, noticing the men she had surrounded herself with. Easily, he picked out the influential wizards: Sir Pierre Belmont, the French Ambassador for Britain; Lord Armand Baptiste, one of the richest wizards in France; and Lord Elliot Devereux, head of the Ancient and Noble house of Devereux. Harry sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable; his mother was at it again.

At the age of thirty-six, Elise Beauvais didn't look a day over twenty-five. She was always the belle of the ball with her eye-catching style and graceful air. Her youthful appearance (which Harry knew she spent hours upon hours maintaining) combined with her perfect crescent-shaped smile made Elise the ultimate seductress. The woman knew how to hood her eyes and lower her voice and touch just so. But that was not all Ms. Beauvais was capable of. Harry was well aware of her deceitful nature and was often forced into following along with whatever scheme she had planned to snare the next unsuspecting man with.

Only one more year left under his mother's care, before Harry would be seventeen and an adult in the Wizarding world.

He was eagerly anticipating that day.

After another sigh the tall, curly-haired teen straightened from his slouch against the banister and began to weave his way through the groups of people toward his mother. Perhaps he could stop the process before it got started.

"Oh! And here he is; my darling son!" Elise exclaimed as she saw Harry approach her group. Her mouth melted into a fond smile; expression softening with the ease of years' worth of practice. On cue, one of her delicate hands reached up and tugged on a stray curl of Harry's ebony locks.

"Your hair is falling out of its ponytail, Harry. Just like your father's hair…" she adopted a solemn expression and glanced down. It was her first time speaking with these men, so she could always start with that story to capture their hearts.

Inwardly, Harry groaned. He knew that line like the back of his hand; the "you look so much like your father" line Elise used to prompt the sob story about her "deceased husband". In truth, Elise had never married, though she'd been engaged to countless men. After years of stubborn silence on the identity of his father, Harry was beginning to wonder if she honestly didn't know who it was. It wouldn't be too far fetched, considering the type of woman Harry's mother was. The teen couldn't help but feel horrible for thinking such thoughts about his own mother, but it was true; while Elise wasn't a whore by any means, she was certainly a gold digger who had dated more men than she could remember the names of.

"His father?" one of the three men in their group, Elliot Devereux, asked. Elise barely managed to keep the smile off of her face as the man fell for the bait.

"Oh, yes," she murmured, staring off into the distance as if remembering something profound and heart wrenching, "I was married, once, years ago—"

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but you can't mean years; you are only in your twenties!" Pierre Belmont exclaimed. Her son did look to be in his teens, but he was sure that Elise was no older than twenty-seven. She was much too young and energetic to have married once already.

"Oh, you flatter me, Monsieur Belmont!" Elise gushed. Her cheeks reddened with pleasure and pride—though it was interpreted as a shy flush—over her youthful appearance. Yes, she put quite a bit of money and time into her glowing skin and shiny hair. It definitely paid off, though, for her charms were her most valuable assets. First impressions were everything, after all.

"No, it was years ago. He was a good man—very kind—and he gave me my beautiful Harry. I miss him terribly and often regret being unable to help him when he was in pain. But I could not save him, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't stand that feeling of being helpless while my love died; it nearly broke me. Fortunately, Harry was there with me, and he helped me to move on through the pain." Elise concluded her brief story, nodding to herself at the skillful lie. It was important to keep it short and vague, in order to make it appear to be a delicate subject and to avoid looking as if she were searching for pity. Mixing in truths with lies made the story all the more genuine and believable.

That was the core of Elise's acting; mixing honesty with deceit. Since she preferred handsome, young men, it wasn't difficult to show lust and attraction. The lying came into play when love was confessed. Elise's only true love was money and social standing, but the men didn't need to know that. It took a bit of practice, of course, to feign romantic love, but Elise had flattered herself as part of the game before she had even graduated from school.

"That's horrible! I would never have guessed that such a sweet and energetic woman like you would have such a sad past."

"It was difficult, but with Harry, I could believe that there was still happiness in the world." Here, Elise turned to Harry with a loving and grateful smile and hugged his arm like an admiring little sister. This had the intended affect of emphasizing her innocence and youth, while simultaneously pulling a chuckle from her listeners. Rule #1 of a Seductress: Always keep them entertained.

Harry, desperately trying to change the subject, turned to Sir Pierre Belmont.

"What is Britain like, Sir Pierre?" he asked quietly.

"It's amazing! The British are surprisingly friendly, and extremely hard workers! Why, in our last meeting…" the man then launched into a detailed explanation of the latest meeting between the British and French Ministries. Harry listened to the animated man attentively. While Elise had dragged Harry all over the world—"to meet a variety of different types of men," she'd once told him—they had never visited Britain. Harry was insatiably curious about the island country, and soaked up the information like a dry sponge.

Elise, on the other hand, hardly spared the conversation an ear. She had been to Britain once, before Harry was born. It wasn't anything special, and she was hesitant to return when there was a chance that they might run into Harry's father. They looked too alike for Elise's comfort.

True, Harry had her bright green eyes and slim stature, but his curly black hair and amazing height were all from his father. Not to mention those striking aristocratic facial features that could only be found in the bloodlines of ancient Britain.

"The British Minister is very capable for his young age. Actually, I think that he is the youngest minister to ever be elected in Britain. He's very intelligent; he proposed the plan to give the werewolves the Wolfsbane Potion every month." Pierre boasted. Even though he wasn't under the man's authority, he was still proud to be working with the British Minister. The man was a good "bloke", as the British say.

Harry opened his mouth to comment, but Elise beat him to it.

"Really?" she asked, suddenly intrigued with the conversation. "Exactly how old is he?"

Harry wanted to bang his head on the wall. Could his mother be any more obvious? Yet, as he glanced at the three men gathered around them, he was amazed to find that none of them noticed anything odd about the question. Really, was the male population's intelligence declining? While his mother was cunning and good at lying, she wasn't the best of the best. She had her faults and little slip-ups that would have given her away to any man who was half-blind. Harry had yet to meet a man that could see past his mother's deceits. It was pathetic, and an insult to his gender!

With a huff, Harry excused himself from the conversation as his mother began to pry information on the young minister from Sir Pierre. It seemed that his coming over to chat had not only failed in holding back Elise, but it had sent her plans into action that much faster!

The tall sixteen-year-old slowly traveled across the ballroom, ducking away from the giggling girls seeking his attention and avoiding any drinks or food. The one glass of wine he had permitted himself was too much already, and the thought of what his mother might be planning was enough to kill any appetite he may have had. Choosing a partially hidden and blessedly empty corner, Harry leaned against the wall and watched the dancing couples with only half of his attention.

If his mother really planned to go after the British Minister of Magic, then she had more guts than Harry thought. Elise had only gone for the young rich heirs of old families, and had no experience with truly politically powerful men.

Could she actually pull it off?

Harry had no clue.

Blinking his eyes back into focus, Harry realized with more than a little embarrassment that he'd been subconsciously watching one wizard dance the entire time. The wizard looked about the same age as him, and was exceptionally tall and handsome. Well, if Harry was being honest with himself, the guy was drop dead sexy. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't being honest with himself.

Due to Elise's habit of never staying in one city, let alone country, Harry had never been enrolled in a school. Elise had taught him all of his basics, and then all of his magical knowledge, herself. Thus, Harry had zero experience with his own age group, especially when he was often dragged to adult balls and forced to converse with people twice his age. To add to this lack of a childhood, his mother never sheltered him from "adult concepts". Harry had known exactly what was happening when Elise brought home her dates.

Elise was strongly opinionated about relationships. She believed that sex was the best thing since the Nimbus 2000—after money, of course. It was her goal in life to tease Harry about his lack of relationship of any kind; be it a serious long-term love, or a one-night-stand. His virginity was a constant amusement to her, and she was always trying to see who he liked. After all, if Harry snagged a girl from a rich household, Elise might get introduced to a relative; or better yet, Harry might get married and she could leech off of him as the mother-in-law.

Harry hadn't told her that he was gay.

And he didn't plan on doing so anytime soon. If Elise found out, she would never let Harry live it down. She would make fun of him, like she did whenever they saw a gay couple in another country. The woman appeared to find something funny about homosexual relationships, and Harry did not want his own mother to scorn him for his sexual orientation; she already made it clear that his entire existence was an accident nearly everyday.

But there was more to it than just his mother's opinion. Harry was honestly afraid of romantic relationships. He was distrustful of the word "love", since he'd seen his mother deceive a copious amount of men using it. He just couldn't trust that someone could actually love him; it made him feel like the person was lying to him, like his mother.

Then there was his aversion to loose, sex-only relationships. That kind of thing made Harry feel like he was turning into his mother; only in it for the sex and money. So he feared a serious relationship, but refused to have sex with just anyone.

Quite the dilemma.

Harry steadfastly ignored the wink that the sexy wizard sent his way and decided that another drink wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. It was going to be a long night…

Meanwhile, Elise was having the time of her life.

"Actually, I believe that the British Ministry is planning to hold a Halloween Ball this month. Their balls and conventions are always so extravagant." Sir Pierre leaned close and whispered into Elise's ear with a conspiratorial air, "Apparently the minister, Voldemort, has money to spare."

Elise nearly squealed in delight. How perfect! The man was young, powerful, and rich! Perhaps a trip to Britain was in order after all…

"Maman, you can't be serious!" Harry pleaded desperately. Elise had just informed him, offhandedly, of her plans to visit Great Britain, and attend the Halloween Ball at the British Ministry of Magic. How she'd managed to get them invitations to that, Harry would never know.

But that wasn't the problem; Harry had long ago resigned himself to the background while his mother cheated men left and right. No, the problem was that she was only telling him this now—the international portkey to Britain left tomorrow morning.

"Of course I'm serious, boy! Did you honestly think that I had time to tell you earlier? I was busy planning my outfit, getting my nails manicured, cutting my hair into the latest British style, researching Minister Voldemort and so much more! I didn't have time to explain all of my plans to you, and then listen to you complain about all cette putain de morale you always spout." Elise huffed and, having finished her rant, turned around to fold more clothes and reverently place them into her open suitcase while muttering to herself about "annoying kids".

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, cursing when a curl got snagged between his fingers. He should have expected that his mother forgot to inform him of the move; when Elise started preparing for a visit to a new country, everything disappeared in the face of plans, outfits, and all that other junk women call "getting ready".

Not that it was hard for Elise to forget about Harry under normal circumstances.

The green-eyed teen turned and weaved through the maze of Elise's ghastly number of suitcases. Just as he reached the door, he overheard some of his mother's mutterings.

"Saloperie de gosse. Why did I have to have a son? I should have known that that mongrel would forget the contraceptive charm if he was drunk…can't even remember the sex…un perte de temps…"

Harry tensed, but didn't flinch; he hadn't flinched in years. Elise always reminded him that he was an accident. He was only useful for her image, after all.

Translations from French to English:

Cette putain de morale - those fucking morals

Maman - mother

Saloperie de gosse - fucking kid

Un perte de temps - a waste of time

A/N: I used Google to translate these, so please correct me if they are wrong.