Chapter Text
"You freaky little brat," Uncle Vernon screamed. "Open the door this instant. You ungrateful son of a bitch, do you think you live here for free?"
Harry bit his lip and hugged his shoulders, curling into his own embrace for comfort. Uncle Vernon was kicking the door with such force that Harry was sure it would come off its hinges any second. He closed his ears with his palms and shut his eyes, trying to imagine himself being somewhere far. Somewhere safe and warm, away from his aunt and uncle.
Uncle Vernon was mad. He always got mad at Harry when he thought Harry was being ungrateful. And he thought that all the time.
Uncle Vernon never got mad at Dudley because Dudley was his son, and Harry didn't have parents who would protect him.
"Open the door, boy, before I force it open and punish you," the kicks became louder and more persistent.
Harry was strong. He could open the door and let the punishment happen. It would hurt only for a little bit, and he would heal. Harry was good at healing. He was sure his uncle didn't like how good Harry was at healing. All wounds healed, leaving behind memories of pain. Harry remembered the pain in his heart, and he wished he could have extended his hand and let his uncle know how he felt. Harry was sure that if he knew how painful loneliness and helplessness felt, maybe his uncle wouldn't hurt him.
"Open!"
Harry felt hot tears on his face. He wiped them with the sleeve of his shirt and then opened his eyes to stare at the door. A strange bubble of light was floating in front of the door. Harry extended his hand towards it, and as soon as he did, the door was pushed open, and Harry fell face down onto the pebbled pavement.
"Oh my goodness, child," a lady yelled, and Harry lifted his head and stared at an old lady bewildered.
How was he outside? What had just happened?
"Try to be careful," the woman scolded. "Don't bump into people."
"I am sorry," Harry hurried to apologise. "I'll be careful."
The lady looked at her purse then screeched frustrated and turned around, mumbling something about forgetting her handkerchief.
Harry looked at her retreating figure and rubbed his eyes confused. Sometimes strange things happened around Harry; things that he couldn't explain, things that made other people wary of him and his uncle and aunt mad at him. It looked like he had done something freaky again and had been transported into a strange street that he couldn't recognise. These things always happened when he was scared, worried or happy.
He wished he could get away from Uncle Vernon and perhaps his wish made him disappear and appear in this strange street.
Harry was about to turn around and follow the same path the old lady took when he heard a cry. It sounded like a baby, but he couldn't be sure since he wasn't around a lot of babies even though his cousin Dudley always cried like one and was being babied by his Aunt Petunia all the time.
Harry needed to get back home and apologise to Uncle Vernon for eating the extra slice of bread without permission and not properly dusting the bookshelf.
"Die you little freak," someone laughed. "Get me the lid or this demon baby will fly out and come back to the orphanage."
"What was his name?" another asked.
"Tom Riddle," a voice spat.
Tom Riddle...
Who was Tom Riddle? Why did Harry feel like he knew that name? He didn't have any classmates at school with that name but Harry felt his heart tremor, anxious anticipation swirling in the pit of his stomach. He leaped forward to see what was going on and froze in place when he noticed three older boys trying to get a crying baby into a large rubbish bin.
The baby's face was red from crying, and he was waving his small hands in the air. These boys were older than Harry. They were 12-13 year-olds and Harry was half their age, but he couldn't just stand there and watch them hurt an innocent baby.
"Hey," he shouted, rushing forward with all the force his legs could afford him. Harry was always fast. He could sprint forward and run through the school and the parks, and he always managed to outrun Dudley and his gang of bullies, not that they were much of a competition.
Even though Harry was tiny and barely presented a threat, his sudden shouts and bold rush toward the older boys made them drop the baby into the skip. They screamed and ran away, leaving Harry behind shouting at them all the bad words he knew. Harry's heart was beating so fast. He didn't think when he decided to charge at them, but now with these mean boys gone and the adrenaline wearing off, he was feeling worried.
The baby wasn't making any noise anymore.
"Hey, are you okay?" Harry tapped at the large bin. He was too short to be able to see inside the bin and make sure the baby was fine.
"What are you doing, loitering around, boy?" a strangely dressed man asked, waving his hand threateningly at Harry. "Are you one of those orphanage brats?"
Harry blinked, confused. "I am sorry, Sir," he said in a small voice. "Some boys were trying to hurt a baby, and they threw him into the bin. Can you get the baby out?"
The man kicked the bin with his foot and then glared at Harry.
"Do not lie to a policeman," the man demanded. "You think you can play funny games with me? Run off to your orphanage before I throw you into a cell for mischief."
"But..." Harry protested, wondering why this policeman was wearing such strange clothes. The man's cold glare quelled him into silence. "I'm sorry."
Harry curled into himself again, rubbing his own shoulders in an attempt to comfort himself and then walked away, dejected. He looked around in confusion, then noticed a pile of newspapers on the corner.
"November 8th, 1927.
Number of Bovine Animals in respect of which Notices of Intended Slaughter issued by Local Authorities under the Tuberculosis Order of 1925 have been received by the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries during October 1927."
Harry read slowly, stumbling a little over the big words. He liked to read since he spent a lot of time hiding from Dudley and the other children who would try to bully him at the school library.
Why were all of these newspapers outdated? He looked at posters, and they were all bearing the year 1927 on them. Something was wrong. It was as if he was asleep and was having a strange dream. After all, what kind of horrible children would throw a baby into the garbage?
Harry peeked at the alleyway and noticed that the police constable was nowhere in sight. He dragged the pile of papers toward the large metallic dumpsters and got on top of them. He was scared to look down and see a dead baby. The stacks of papers though did not give him enough height boost to be able to see inside. So he had to look around for anything else to prop under his feet.
There were pieces of wood planks that someone had stacked in the corner, Harry tumbled towards them, dragged the wooden planks and placed them on top of each other. When he climbed on the top and looked down, he saw the baby sitting in the rubbish, staring at him curiously.
"There you are," Harry smiled at him. "You gave me such a scare when you didn't make any noise. Come here."
The baby crawled towards Harry and wrapped his chubby arms around Harry's neck. This baby was huge. Harry was six, and this baby who looked barely one year old was almost as big as him. His aunt and uncle didn't feed him enough, so he was always hungry and according to the nurse at the school needed more food to grow bigger.
The baby was warm. Harry didn't even realise how cold it was outside until he felt the cute baby's arms around his freezing neck. He put all of his strength and pulled the baby out of the bin. The baby was heavy, and Harry stumbled a little, not being able to balance himself properly. He fell down on the pebbled ground but instinctively safeguarded the baby's head and landed on his back with the baby resting on his chest.
"Auch," he yelped as the sharp edge of the pebble smashed against his back.
The baby lifted his head and giggled at Harry's scrunched-up expression. Harry scowled but then smiled back.
"Maybe my aunt and uncle will let me keep you with us," he smiled at the baby, sitting up and patting its soft head. He was so squishy and soft.
The wind was cold. It felt like it was getting into his bones. Harry hugged the baby closer as neither he nor the baby had proper winter clothes. He was at home when he had popped here all of a sudden. And it wasn't even that cold, but the weather had suddenly gotten colder for no reason. Harry patted the baby until he saw a small paper bracelet attached to his tiny arm.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, 31/12/1926.
"This can't be your birthday, can it?" Harry said, wondering out loud. "I didn't time travel to the past. I do sometimes travel to random places and then have to walk back to where I was before, but I have never gone back in time."
"Blargbl," the baby touched Harry's face and smiled at him again.
"Oh no," Harry got up in panic, scaring the baby into a worried squeak. "My aunt and uncle aren't even born. Where are we supposed to go?"
"Bla...blegl," the baby mumbled, clinging to Harry's neck.
"There must be an orphanage nearby," Harry decided. "But they were mean to you and threw you into the bin. We can't go to them, Tom."
The baby started making gurgling noises that weren't any help to Harry. He wondered if babies were supposed to be talking when they were almost a year old. This one, though, couldn't say a word and was just giggling at him like he really liked Harry. Harry smiled at him. He liked the baby back. But then again, Harry didn't know anything about babies. He couldn't remember if he was able to talk at that age.
He moved through the street, carrying the baby in his arms.
There were so many people around walking and talking with one another. Tiny motor buses were passing through the streets. The carriage-shaped old cars were advancing forward, letting Harry know that he had indeed time-travelled to a distant past where he knew no one and had no way of getting back home. Men and women dressed in suits and old fancy dresses were passing by him, ignoring him like he didn't exist. It was like Harry was watching a movie.
Harry saw another police constable who was moving through the traffic, and for a moment, he wondered if he could approach the man and ask for help, but then he remembered how mad the other policeman had gotten and changed his mind. He sat on the steps of the fountain where many other kids were playing. He didn't know what to do.
"Where is your mummy?" a strange man asked him, seeing Harry holding the baby and staring aimlessly at the crowd of people.
"At home," he lied. "I am here with my father."
The man stared at him suspiciously, and Harry got up, getting an unsettling feeling about the stranger. "Oh, there he is," he said, pointing at a random man and running towards the crowd of people.
Harry ran as fast as he could. The burning feeling in the back of his legs did not deter him from moving as fast as a lightening bolt. It was quite hard to run about with a baby in his hands, but it was as if the baby knew that they were in danger and was clutching Harry's neck for dear life.
"I think we are safe," Harry told the baby as he finally reached a quiet street and hid behind the small enclosure between two buildings.
The evening was falling and the weather was getting colder. Harry lifted up his shirt and hid the baby's face underneath. He was worried the baby would freeze and get sick. He tried asking for help from passersby when he realised that staying outside in the middle of winter with a small baby could result in the baby freezing to death. But people ignored him and some even threatened him.
Harry kept walking until he got to the outskirts of the city where the lights coming from the houses became far in between. The baby wasn't fussing or making any kind of noise. Harry checked to make sure a couple of times and realised that he was asleep. The baby was warm and was somehow keeping Harry warm too. His soft baby hair was sticking out of the collar of Harry's shirt. Harry placed soothing kisses on top whenever the baby made a distressed sound.
"I will find a place for us," he promised, continuing to walk despite his legs and feet being sore and his arms hurting from holding Tom in them all day long.
The shorter the buildings became, the more scarce the street lights illuminating the patchy roads turned. The trees were bare but there were many of them here. Harry wondered if he walked outside of London.
A bird flew over, rustling the dry tree branches, scaring Harry into running. He moved about and turned into a corner. There was a short fence in front of him he climbed over it, holding the baby in his arms tightly and ran towards the house inside the fence. He knocked on the door ardently still in panic and then realised that there was no one inside as unlike the rest of the houses around it, this one didn't have any light coming out of its windows and looked like the garden had patches of dried up weeds that hadn't been trimmed during summer or fall.
Hesitantly, he pushed the door open and walked inside. He searched for a light switch but there was none. It didn't look like this particular house even had electricity. It was very dusty inside, and the floors were creaking. Harry could make out cracks and mould on the walls. No one had lived in this place for a very long time.
It was cold inside but unlike the outside, the wind didn't blow through his thin jumper. Harry shut the door tightly and sat on a broken bed where the mattress was very dusty and clammy and curled around the baby he had found in the rubbish bin.
"I told you I'd find a place for us," he said, gently petting the baby's head.