Shades of cool

                                    

                                          
Summary: The Duke of Hangleton has been spotted several times at local  establishments, though he has not yet deigned to make an appearance at  any respectable evening function. This Author wonders whether His grace  will finally enter society, returning from time abroad merely six years  after his father's passing... or; The only person at the Malfoy's Ball that catches Harry's eye is Tom Riddle, The Duke of Hangleton.
Ship: HarryPotterxTomRiddle
All credit goes to Purplemineralwater on Ao3
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The Potters are by far the most prolific  family in high society. They own the majority of the businesses in town  and the land around it, they have deep pockets and even deeper  connections, their name alone has weight in every social circle that  matters, and the people of the ton know how commendable their  industriousness is. Lady Potter with the grace of a gazelle, though far  better manners. Lord Potter with his orderly and clean cheque books.  Their one and only child- and one does begin to wonder why they never  conceived another- Harry completes the collection. One must pity the  lady who marries him, this Author thinks, despite the impressive quality  of the Lord and Lady Potter...
  Lady Skeeter's Society Papers, 2 April 1813.  
"How outrageous," Lily Potter muttered, crumpling the single-paged paper into a ball and throwing it across the drawing room.
Harry  didn't respond, gazing out of the tall, ceiling length window and out  into the expanse of green grounds that the Potters owned, his gaze  distant and his thoughts faraway.
"Did you read this nonsense?"  She asked, turning her affectionate yet piercing gaze on her son,  "Slandering your name like that. I should think she wasn't brought up  right, spreading such rumours."
Harry blinked, the sound of his  mother's voice pushing past his daze, and looked at her, his eyes  clearing. He offered a faint smile.
"I don't bother with it," He said, "How could Lady Skeeter's words affect me?"
Lily narrowed her eyes.
"Don't  be so dismissive of Lady Skeeter," She said sharply, standing and  smoothing the creases of her silver gown, "No reputable lady would  accept your hand in marriage while that woman talks down on you."
Harry laughed, a carefree and amused sound.
"Mother," He settled, "What does she say that makes me look so bad? That I have unruly hair? That my countenance is pale?"
"She  says," Lily replied, her tone clipped and her green eyes blazing, "And  has said several times previously, that your affections don't fall for  the right sort."
"The right sort?"
He chuckled, letting his head rest on the wall.
"Yes," Lily snapped, "The right sort. You know what I mean."
She  raised a hand to her forehead, as if feeling faint, and leant back into  the settee. Harry paid it no mind; he knew she was exaggerating. So  what, if he had never asked more than one lady to dance? So what, if he  wanted to spend his days horse riding, or gambling, or beating Ron up in  the boxing ring?
"The season starts soon," His mother stated,  finally having recovered from her fainting spell, "You are to find a  wife this year- No, don't object."
Harry hadn't said a word, yet he supposed his silent wincing had done enough work on that front.
"You're almost twenty-five," Lily continued, "It's time you married, had children."
Harry sighed, looking back out of the window.