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Chapter Text

"Thanks for meeting on such short notice."

"Not a problem." Harry ruffled his hair with his left hand, then cast a glance around the empty lot. It was early, shortly before the morning shifts all across London were due to start for the day. "So, er, you've got him?"

Dudley nodded. He looked exhausted; his jawline was sloppily shaven and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Right here." From the trunk of his car, Dudley drew out a stuffed golden retriever with floppy ears. Harry had bought this dog for Dudley's daughter as a birthday present two years ago.

The poor pup had clearly seen better days—two of its limbs were hanging on for dear life and there was stuffing peeking out through the seams. Dudley's daughter, Harry surmised, had taken after her father when it came to taking care of her things.

This particular stuffed dog was a magical, animated model that changed colours depending on the mood of the child holding it. Right now, 'Doggy' was the colour of a golden lab.

Doggy's tail gave a vain attempt at a wag while Dudley cursed at it. "I keep thinking it's going to fall off, the tail. Good riddance if it does. Blasted thing. Sarah can't sleep without him. She's been driving Alice and I up the wall, shrieking at all hours of the evening about how we need to take him to surgery."

"Sounds rough." With both hands, Harry grasped the dog around the middle and gingerly lifted it up. "Sorry about this, by the way. I didn't realize a simple repair—er, repair spell—wouldn't work on it. But there's a specialized place in Diagon that does magical toy repairs, according to Hermione. I'll take him there later today." Thank goodness for Hermione and her encyclopaedic knowledge of everything.

"That'd be great," Dudley said, nodding fervently. It seemed he was too relieved about getting Doggy back in mint condition to care about Harry's mention of magic.

Though Dudley had been doing fairly well on that front lately. He no longer grew flustered or uncomfortable around the subject of magic. Harry would talk around most of the terms Uncle Vernon had banned from their childhood home, and Dudley would pretend that the things Harry could do were simply neat parlour tricks. It was not the best arrangement, but it was easy enough for Harry to get used to. Admittedly, it was also nice to stay in touch with Dudley, who was the only semi-decent blood relation he had left.

"I'll stop by later tonight if all goes well," Harry said, carefully tucking the dog into the cloth bag he'd brought with him.

"I'll be praying it does," Dudley muttered. He clapped Harry on the shoulder and gave it a friendly shake that still wobbled Harry more than he was honestly comfortable with. "Try not to come too close to seven, yeah? That's when we have dinner."

Of course, Dudley was still Dudley. Harry resisted the urge to offer a sarcastic response. He had the feeling Dudley would have agreed to do anything for Sarah, paid any amount of money so long as it made his daughter happy, and that was a noble cause Harry could get behind.

After meeting with Dudley, Harry returned home. He had a few appointments booked for today, various clients with cursed objects and antiques that required the magical equivalent of childproofing. Harry wasn't sure how long it would take—it was difficult to get a measure on the difficulty of a job until the object was right in front of him—but he hoped that it would be quick so he could detour to the shops before they closed for the day.

The first appointment of the day was a House-Elf that refused to say which family they had come from. Harry normally refused appointments from shady clients that did not provide accurate information, but curiosity had gotten the better of him with this one. He had his guesses as to who this object—an ivory-backed enchanted hand mirror, according to the owl-delivered application that Harry had received—belonged to, but he was waiting for the mirror to arrive at his flat before he could confirm his suspicions.

When the House-Elf arrived, Harry was surprised to see that the mirror was actually a mirror and not something else entirely. Sometimes clients tried to skip ahead in the queue and have their larger items serviced by listing them as smaller items on their appointment forms. In this case, Harry had been prepared to receive an object both larger than expected and also highly illegal.

As it was, this ivory hand mirror was simply an ivory hand mirror. Harry ascertained the age of the antique by dating the magic used on it. The result suggested that the object was an heirloom of some sort. Then Harry proceeded to untangle threads of magic woven into its reflective surface. This was a delicate process that could take anywhere from fifteen minutes to several hours depending on the power level and complexity of the magic.

Further inspection revealed that the magic embedded in this mirror most closely resembled a thick knot the size of a coffee mug, and was composed of at least a dozen different spell threads. The challenge of such a difficult problem was thrilling. Rarely did Harry come across something genuinely interesting in his line of work. Most people who booked appointments with him brought in everyday objects they'd accidentally mucked up and been unable to reverse on their own.

However, today Harry wanted to finish early and get Sarah's stuffed dog seen to. A ridiculously-complex cursed object was not a welcome addition to his schedule.

With a heavy sigh, Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and settled in to work. The sooner he got this giant knot untangled, the sooner he could identify the part of it that was actually causing the problem.

The mirror took longer than expected. Harry finished up for the day with barely half an hour to spare before most of the shops in Diagon Alley were due to close. With Doggy safely ensconced in his cloth bag, Harry locked away all the items he had yet to finish working on, locked up his flat, then Apparated directly to the Leaky.

The dinner crowd had yet to trickle in, meaning it wasn't too late for Harry to barge in on some poor worker and beg to have his niece's stuffed toy fixed before the day was over.

Harry would have preferred to make an appointment, but Dudley had intimated that this was very much a time-sensitive emergency. Given his cousin's disheveled, knackered appearance, Harry was inclined to agree.

Despite having no appointment to speak of, Harry was willing to pay extremely well to get this done today. He hoped money would be enough incentive for the shop clerk to overlook his blatant trampling of the usual client-employee niceties.

Harry was aware that he was about to become the type of customer that he hated to see, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If the answer he got was 'no', he would accept it, but he'd be damned if he didn't make an effort to see his task through before the day was over.

The shop Hermione had spoken of was a specialty shop located to the left of Gringotts. Harry quickened his pace, weaving through the crowds and cursing each shop he saw closing up along the way.

When he arrived at his destination, he nearly walked right past the door. Nothing about the storefront signaled that it was a toy-repair shop. Harry had expected a sea of teddies, owls, and dragons in the shop window. He had expected bright, bold displays and flashy colours. Instead, there was only a very stately and professional storefront built out of dark oak and semi-frosted glass.

Harry paused in front of it, checking the name etched into the sign propped above the doorway: Marvolo's Magical Toy Repair. A straightforward name for a straightforward shop, it seemed. If not for the shop sign, Harry would have seriously questioned if he had arrived at the right spot.

Curiosity sufficiently peaked, Harry pushed his way inside. The soft tinkle of a bell signaled his arrival. The interior of the shop was exactly like its exterior—Harry could have sworn that he'd walked into a law office, not a toy-repair shop. There was a large menu of listed prices hanging from the ceiling above the clerk's desk, and one singular stuffed teddy seated on the counter by a small silver bell meant to call for service.

Harry tapped the bell. Not one second later, the backdoor opened, revealing the shop's current minder. Dark-haired and conventionally handsome, the man on the other side of the counter greeted Harry with a pleasant, but distant, smile. He was dressed impeccably for a shop clerk; Harry did not doubt that the man's robes were expensive, cut from expensive fabrics that cost more than Harry charged for an entire weekend's worth of work.

Suddenly, the oddness of the shop made sense. This was not a teddy shop, this was—this shop belonged to this man, which was why everything was the way it was.

"Hello," Harry said cautiously. "Sorry to come in so close to closing."

"Not a problem. What can I help you with today?" The question was polite and professional. Harry could find no fault in it. For some reason, it still bothered him.

"My niece," Harry started, then paused, trying to gather his thoughts. He'd been so worried about getting here on time that he'd forgotten to plan what to say. "She has a stuffed dog. He's been rather... under the weather lately," Harry joked. He reached for his cloth bag and retrieved Doggy from it. The pup's right ear had a suspicious wet spot on it that Harry really hoped was either water or drool and not something else.

Setting the pup on the counter, Harry looked back up at the shop clerk, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. "She has trouble sleeping without him. Been driving my cousin up the wall. If it's at all possible, I'd like to have him fixed today. I'm willing to shell out whatever it costs."

The man held out a hand; Harry passed Doggy into the shop clerk's care and watched as the man examined the pup's injuries with practiced precision, lifting the floppy limbs to examine the joints and prodding lightly at the seams, fingers brushing over the pup's matted fur. Then the man cast a few spells. Shockingly enough, Harry recognized some of them from his own line of work. This was the start of a process he was intimately familiar with.

"This won't take long," the man said decisively, setting the dog down on the counter and propping it with a stack of books. "You'll have to fill out some forms before I can begin. Standard release of liability. In the rare case of error or damage, a reasonable replacement will be provided."

This was also a process that Harry was used to, though this was the first time he'd been on the receiving end of it. "Sounds perfect," Harry agreed, and was promptly handed a clipboard with several sheets of parchment pinned to it.

"Sign here, here, here," the man said, pointing. "Initial here and here." He flipped the first two pages up. "Similar process for these pages here. You can have a seat if you'd like to read through it all."

Harry was already reading through the pages and signing as he went along. There was nothing out of place. This was all very reasonable and routine. As he initialled on the last page, however, an unease lingered in the back of his mind. "What will the rate be?" he asked. "I can see the usual rates you've got listed up there, but—"

"Shall we say, double the usual? For the overtime and for the late hour."

"That's fine," Harry said. It was less than he'd expected to pay. Harry set the quill down on the counter and handed the clipboard back. The man took it and quickly skimmed through the pages, checking for the signatures.

"Everything is in order," the man declared. He unclipped the form and rolled it up with wandless magic. "Did you intend to wait? It may take an hour or so."

Harry checked his watch. "Er, I might wait, if that's alright. Unless you don't like people watching you work, which is understandable."

"It does not matter to me." The distant, almost standoffish quality to the man's voice was disconcerting. What Harry had originally assumed was the result of professionalism was clearly something else.

"Right. I guess I'll just go have a seat?" Harry asked, but the man was already turning away.

How did someone like that end up owning a toy-repair shop? This man did not seem particularly interested or emotionally attached to the work he was doing. If not for the solemn atmosphere of the shop, Harry might have guessed that this place belonged to someone else. In that case, it would have made sense for the clerk to be less invested in the shop's performance. However, Harry would have bet a decent sum of money on this man being the owner of this shop.

"Sorry to interrupt," Harry said, knowing that he was about to cross yet another possibly-fatal line regarding retail interactions, "but I didn't quite catch your name."

"My name is Tom." Tom levitated Sarah's dog into the air with his wand, encasing it in a shimmering sphere.

So Tom wasn't named Marvolo, but perhaps this shop had been passed down to him? "And this shop is yours?"

Harry could have sworn he saw the man's jaw tick. "Yes, this is my shop."

Harry knew that he should shut up and stop asking questions before Tom got distracted and/or irritated and accidentally blew Doggy's arm off, but the mystery of Tom plus this entire store was getting to him.

"Sorry for all the questions," Harry said, trying to sound earnest. "I'm just really interested in your work here. I'm a curse breaker," he added, hoping it would help to break the ice. "I recognized some of the diagnostic spells you used."

"If you are interested in my work," Tom replied, not bothering to look over, "then I suggest you limit your questions to work-related ones."

Yikes. Harry scrambled to think of an intelligent question to ask, failed to do so, and instead wound up babbling about his morning. "Maybe if I talk through my process, we can compare methods? I had a client this morning deliver an enchanted object with about twenty different spells on it—"

Tom did not look over, but he did not tell Harry to shut up, either. So Harry kept talking, describing his work methods and his difficulties with keeping the main threads of magic intact while removing the cursed ones.

"Mostly it's like a very dangerous puzzle," Harry finished, hoping that he didn't sound too lame. "But there's a certain amount of satisfaction to be had once it's done, you know? You probably know, though, because your work is like mine." Harry let out a nervous laugh. Now that his rambling was done, the lack of response was getting to him. "Fixing things, dealing with customers who don't realize that 'fixing things' isn't synonymous with 'making miracles happen'."

Tom had said nothing during all of this. The floating sphere of protection surrounding Doggy had been banished some time ago, which meant Harry could no longer see what was happening from where he was seated.

"All finished," Tom said suddenly. He glanced back at Harry for the first time since he'd started and raised an expectant brow.

"Oh, that was quick." Harry stood up and walked back over to the counter. "Was it all fixable?"

"See for yourself." With a wave of Tom's hand, Sarah's beloved stuffed pup made its way back into Harry's hands.

The first thing Harry noticed was how soft the fur was. While only a few years had passed since Sarah had gotten Doggy as a gift, the pup's fur had rapidly declined from soft and fluffy to worn and matted. Now it felt new again. Harry ran a gentle hand over the dog's head and was startled when it let out a happy yip-yip in response. Harry had not heard the dog speak all day.

Entranced, Harry examined the rest of the pup in more detail. The seams were once again seamless. There was no stuffing in sight, and all the limbs were properly attached and moving about.

"This is amazing," Harry said in wonderment. "I can barely tell that he's over two years old. If you'd shown this to me without context, I might have said he was brand new."

Tom leveled him with a discerning look. "This may be the only magical toy repair shop in Britain, Mr. Potter, but make no mistake: it is the very best."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed. "This is—wow. Sarah's going to be over the moon. I'll be her favourite uncle forever."

"I'm sure she will."

Harry glanced at the little teddy seated on the counter and gave its head a pat. "I think... I think it's special, what you do here. Giving a second chance to all the Doggys and Sarahs of the world." Harry smiled. "Someone's got to take care of them. It's nice to know that that someone is you." As if on cue, Doggy barked at them both, reminding Harry of his original purpose. "But, um," Harry said, dragging the topic away from his oversharing, "you probably get that a lot. How much do I owe you?"

Tom was staring at him. Harry felt embarrassment rise up in him like a tidal wave. He'd just gone off about stuffed animals like a sap in front of a total stranger. Not only that, but a total stranger who ran their toy-repair shop like it was a lawyer's office. With clumsy hands, Harry drew his money pouch from the inner pocket of his robes. "Um, payment?" Harry repeated, blinking owlishly from behind his glasses. The sooner he could escape, the better.

Tom cleared his throat. "One moment, please. I'll draw up an invoice."

Right. Invoices were a form of paperwork that existed for services like these. Harry gave himself a firm mental slap, then put Doggy back into his original cloth bag. The pup barked a few more times in response to the movement, then went quiet. There was probably a way to turn it off, only Harry didn't remember what it was.

A minute later, Harry was presented with an invoice. There was a fee listed clearly at the bottom. Harry counted out the coins and laid them on the counter, noting that Tom had his hands behind his back. "There we are," Harry said, hoping to Merlin that he hadn't miscounted and made an idiot out of himself.

"There we are," Tom echoed. The money vanished into a register with a quiet metal clang. "Thank you for coming in. I hope your niece enjoys her gift."

"Thanks again," Harry said. His pouch was put away. His cloth bag was shrunken down and also put away. "Er, if you ever need your ivory-backed hand mirror or whatever de-cursed, feel free to ask me. You have my name and contact info. I can give you a discount or something?" It seemed like the least he could do.

Something flickered in Tom’s eyes. "I'll certainly keep that in mind."

Was it Harry's imagination, or had Tom lost the aloof, unapproachable air from before? Unfortunately, Harry had no more reasons to linger in this shop—when had he gone from trying to escape to trying to linger, anyway?—and so it was time for him to go.

"It was nice to meet you," Harry said. "Hopefully if I'm ever back in here, it won't be with Doggy." He cracked a grin. "If I'm back in another two years, though, you'll know why."

Tom drummed his fingers on the counter. "I'd hope my work lasts longer than two years, Mr. Potter." He paused, looking thoughtful, then added, "Your niece must be quite the budding witch, to have dealt so much damage so quickly."

"Oh, she's not—" Harry grew flustered, though there was no reason to be. There was nothing wrong with what he was about to say. "My cousin's a Muggle."

"Ah." Tom's brow furrowed in an intriguing way. His lips twisted before he seemed to settle on a response. "All the more impressive, then."

"Something like that," Harry agreed. He tapped his foot once on the floor. "I should get going, I think. Don't want to keep you any longer. Um, my offer is open for de-cursing, if you ever need it. Have a good night, Tom."

Tom lifted his hand from the counter in a gesture of farewell. "Have a good night, Harry."

Harry left the shop. The bell tinkled on his way out.

There was a funny weight in his chest. Harry blew out a heavy gust of air, trying to clear it, but it wouldn't seem to leave. Taking a deep breath, Harry held tight to the bag with Sarah's Doggy, then Disapparated.

When he reappeared, it was on Dudley's doorstep. The area was uncomfortably suburban and always reminded him of Privet Drive. Harry rang the brass doorbell and tapped his foot impatiently on the cork-coloured welcome mat. Normally, he would be excited to stay and see Sarah for a while, but his mind was so preoccupied that he'd probably be poor company.

The door opened, revealing Dudley. "Harry? What're you doing here?"

For a moment, Harry was at a loss for words. Why was Dudley asking him this? He lifted up his cloth bag and gave it a gentle shake. From within, Doggy let out a soft yelp. "I have Sarah's dog?" he asked, wondering why he was being forced to ask this as a question.

Dudley squinted for a moment, then tugged the bag from Harry's hand, opened it up, and examined its contents. "Hmm," Dudley said, sounding reluctantly impressed. "Magic, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "magic."

"Well, thanks," Dudley said. "Thanks for getting him fixed. Nice to know Alice and I will be able to sleep tonight."

"Happy to help," Harry said truthfully as Doggy yipped softly from within its bag. Sarah was going to be so thrilled. Harry couldn't help but glance over Dudley's shoulder to see if Sarah was nearby.

This glance did not escape Dudley's notice. "We're in the middle of dinner," Dudley said abruptly. "Which is when I told you not to come."

Oops. Harry had forgotten about that particular instruction. He had not thought to check the time before leaving Tom's shop. "Right. Sorry about that. This was just the most convenient time for me," he lied. "It's alright, I didn't expect to stay and eat or anything. Tell Sarah 'hello' for me, will you?"

"Yeah, I will," Dudley said with a nod. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome," Harry replied. After an awkward second of silence, the door was shut in his face.

That had been fun. Harry sighed. Time to go home. Once there, he would consider tackling the ivory hand mirror again. Or else look into the kinds of spells that were involved in toy repair. After taking one last look at the surrounding neighbourhood, Harry spun on the spot and vanished with a faint 'crack'.

Chapter Text

Some weeks went by. Harry couldn't stop thinking about his visit to Marvolo's Magical Toy Repair. He was too old for stuffed animals, but the little boy who had lived in the cupboard under the stairs still mourned Dudley's ruined discards. Little Harry had kept the creatures safe, had given them a home alongside the cobwebs and layers of dust.

There had been the bear with the missing leg, the dog with the loose button eyes and nose, and the lion with half of its mane sheared off by Dudley's craft scissors. Harry hadn't known how to help them, but he had tried his best to love them. So the idea of a special shop dedicated to fixing up broken toys appealed to him. There was no reason for any toy to be tossed away when there were people like Tom to help them.

Speaking of Tom... Harry remained baffled by the enigma that Tom presented. Tom did not seem like the type of person who would own a shop that focused on stuffed toys, but it was also clear that Tom put a lot of effort into his work and took great pride in it.

Harry could only hope that the man would take up his offer of discounted curse breaking. For now, he had other problems to deal with. Problems that were not technically his problems, but were being made his problems nonetheless.

"I know what I'm buying for her," Ron said defensively. "I just need you to come with me."

"Really?" Harry asked in a wry tone. "What you possibly need me there for?"

"Moral support. Besides, what else do you even have planned for this Friday? Nothing. Hermione and Ginny are going to the pub for their weekly with Luna."

"I have other friends," Harry retorted.

"Other friends that you spend actual time with instead of choosing to mope at home with your pile of dangerous magical crap?"

"It's not magical crap, you bastard—"

Of course, Harry did end up going along as moral support. Merlin knew if Ron fucked up with his Valentine's Day gift, they'd both be paying for it, and Harry wasn't eager to hear from Hermione about how he could find someone if just 'put himself out there more'.

Surprisingly, the 'support' part of Ron's request made more sense when they arrived at their destination, which was a very sparkly, pink-looking shop owned by Lavender Brown.

"What," Harry asked as they stood in front of the shop, staring helplessly at the sea of pink trinkets and shimmering fabrics, "could Hermione possibly want from this place? Have you gone mad?"

"Listen," Ron said quickly, "I swear this all makes sense. It's just—you know Hermione! She would never go in here, not in a thousand years. Her pride's too much for it." Ron shook his head. "But I know she'd really like this hair iron they sell here. She goes on about it in that way she has, where she talks it up then says how stupid it is that it exists."

Admittedly, that did sound like Hermione. Harry did not pretend to understand all that went on in Hermione's head, but he could understand why she would not want to visit this excruciatingly feminine shop owned by Lavender Brown. "If you think she wants this, then I believe you."

Ron exhaled. His posture was ramrod straight like he was preparing to go into battle. "But you see now why I asked you to come with me, right?"

"I see now why you didn't tell me where we were going until we got here, yeah."

Ron grinned. "That's the spirit! Now your job," Ron pointed at him, "is to buffer. That's all. We find the thing, buy it, and leave right away."

There were about a million ways this could go wrong, but he and Ron had been through worse traumas together. For Ron, Harry could stomach fifteen minutes in the presence of Lav-Lav.

They entered the shop. As they passed through the doorway, they were promptly showered in golden sparkles. Harry spluttered, nearly sneezed, and knocked his glasses half off his face in his attempt to dislodge the glitter.

"Bloody great start," Ron muttered, rubbing at his face. "Do you see the iron anywhere?"

Harry didn't even know what said iron was supposed to look like. He assumed it was pink, if only because of the shop's theme. "I see nothing."

"Ronald Weasley? Is that you?"

Even from a reasonable distance away, Harry could feel Ron flinch.

"It is you," Lavender said, beaming as she trotted up to them and seized Ron by the arm. "I haven't seen you in so long! And you've got Harry with you, how wonderful."

"Actually," Harry said, hating each word as it left his mouth, "Ron's been in here before, he just, um, brought me by to take a look. We weren't expecting you to be here, so this is a, er, great surprise."

"Aww. You must have come by on my day off." Lavender pouted at Ron. "But no worries! I can give another tour, I'm sure there's always more to learn! We've got these lovely glass lamps imported from France—"

"I need to pick something up for Hermione, actually," Ron said, finally having collected himself enough to speak words. "I'm just going to have a quick look through—" Ron was already backing swiftly away. Harry couldn't blame him, but also he dearly wished that he was the one making an escape. Wherever the hair irons were, Harry hoped they were easily located.

"So," Harry said, turning back to Lavender, "why don't we start the tour?"

The tour was not as bad as it could have been. Lavender dragged him around her shop, talking about all her products in great detail while Harry nodded and made agreeable noises. It turned out that most of the pink items in the front display were there because of Valentine's Day. The same went for the glitter that had assaulted them on their way in.

Harry was prepared to find Ron and make a run for it when he noticed a beaten-up cardboard box sitting by the counter. It was held together by packing tape and looked very out of place when compared to the glorious sparkling splendor of Lavender's shop. "What's in there?" he asked, gesturing at it.

"Oh, it's so sad, you have to see!" Lavender's face crumpled up into an exaggerated expression of desolation. "I ordered in these pink plush phoenixes especially for Valentine's Day, but they didn't survive the trip." Lavender bent down to open up the box flaps. Inside the box was a pile of fluffy pink birds, all of them flapping their wings weakly. "They don't fly properly and some of them have wonky beaks or missing claws." She sighed. "We can't sell them like this, unfortunately, and it would cost far too much time and money to have them all repaired."

"I've got it!" Ron crowed, suddenly marching over, bright pink box in hand. "This is what I need to buy." He placed it delicately on the counter. "D'you mind ringing me through, please? Harry and I are in a bit of a hurry."

"Oh, yes, certainly." Lavender seemed flustered by the sudden change in attitude, but she took the hair iron and proceeded to ring it through. Ron paid, then dangled the resulting pink gift bag a good distance in front of him.

"Excellent." Ron nodded. "Thanks a lot! It was nice to see you, but we'll be going now—"

"How much?"

Both Ron and Lavender turned to stare at him.

Harry felt his face heating up, but he powered through it. "How much for the phoenixes?"

No one said anything, so Harry continued, "You said they're unsaleable, right? So you can give them to me for a discount?"

"I mean, yes, I suppose I can?" Lavender said, confused. "Are these for your girlfriend, Harry? There's quite a lot of them in here, and I've got three more boxes in the back. I was thinking of just giving them out to some kids, actually."

"Um, not for a girlfriend. I know someone who can fix them, that's all. I guess I might give one to my niece?" Harry was growing flustered. "I can bring the rest back if you want, once they're done."

"You want to buy them, get them fixed, and bring them back?" Ron asked incredulously. Harry could hear the silent 'Have you lost your mind!?!' that was tacked on at the end.

"I won't make you pay for them!" Lavender protested. "I'll just give them out to the kids that come into the shop. It's not a huge loss."

"We've got to, er, support small businesses," Harry said. He was pulling lines out of his arse now. "It's fine, Lavender. I don't mind doing it. I have a soft spot for toys." Great, now he sounded like a creep. "Er, it's just upsetting to see them broken like that. I'd like to see them fixed so other kids can enjoy them properly." There, that sounded better.

Lavender stared at him for a long, long moment. Harry was quite frankly terrified of her answer.

"You are so sweet," Lavender gushed. "You are going to be such a wonderful father someday, Harry. So thoughtful!" She reached for his shoulders, which he let her do, and then he was horrifically startled when she reeled him in to place a sticky kiss on his cheek. "I'll have all these packed up for you in no time at all!" she promised. "Just give me a few minutes."

Harry and Ron watched as she vanished into a backroom.

"Have you lost your mind?" Ron hissed. "What the hell are you doing, Harry? We had a chance to get out of here and you ruined it!"

Harry was steadfastly avoiding Ron's gaze. "I just need to get these toys, then we can go."

"I swear to Merlin the next time Hermione accuses you of having a hero complex, I'm telling her about how you made me stay in Lavender Brown's shop so you could save some stuffed animals that weren't even dying, let alone sentient."

Thankfully, Harry's potential response was cut off as Lavender came back into the room, her arms laden with boxes.

"I can shrink these down and put them into some gift bags," she said as she dumped the boxes onto the counter. "How long do you think it will take for your friend to fix them?"

"I have no idea," Harry said honestly. "I'll have to get back to you on that."

Four large boxes full of phoenixes were eventually packed into two medium-sized gift bags. Harry thanked Lavender profusely and promised to return the products as soon as he could.

"Make sure to keep one for your niece!" Lavender called after him while Ron hauled him in the direction of the door.

"Okay," Ron said once they were a good distance away from the shop. He took Harry by the shoulders and pivoted him so that they were facing each other dead on. "Now that your brain is no longer clouded by glitter and floral perfume, d'you mind telling me why the hell you just took on four boxes of pink stuffed toys? Do you have someone I don't know about? Do they have a phoenix fetish or something?"

"There are so many things wrong with that last sentence," Harry said mulishly. "It's what I told Lavender, alright? I just really want to see them fixed up properly."

"Fine. Don't tell me." Ron scowled. "Don't expect me to go back to that awful place with you, either. You can ask for any favour other than that."

"I wasn't going to," Harry said, amusement creeping into his voice. "But now that I think about it..."

"No," Ron said loudly. "No, you are not allowed to do that. You can take your pink birds and do whatever, I won't ask why. I am not going back to Lavender Brown's shop."

Harry snorted. "I said I wasn't going to make you. But depending on how long it'll take to get the birds fixed, I might ask you to keep the extra boxes in your flat."

"That I can do," Ron agreed, sounding relieved. "I'll just tell Hermione that they're yours though, yeah?"

Harry was sorely tempted to say 'no' just to see what would happen, but he had frankly exhausted his capacity for social nonsense while talking with Lavender. The sooner this was wrapped up, the sooner he could get home. "Whatever you like."

"Great." Ron clapped him on the shoulder and lifted his pink bag up, giving it a shake. Harry sincerely hoped that this hair straightener was everything Hermione had dreamed of and more. "A successful day all around, then," Ron said. "Did you want to go grab dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, then wondered why he’d said that when he had just finished thinking about how he was done socializing for the day.

"Awesome!" Ron's face lit up. "I'm starving. I feel like I could eat a horse. I think talking with Lavender must have worn us both out, honestly. I don't know how you kept up with her for so long..."

Harry smiled. Alright, maybe seeing Ron in a good mood was more than reason enough to agree.

After a lengthy dinner, Harry made his excuses and went home with his four boxes of pink phoenixes. He was going to have to bring these to Tom’s shop tomorrow, and he was also going to need some kind of reasonable explanation as to how this flock of birds had come into his possession.

Harry unshrunk the boxes and began opening them up. Perhaps he could combine their contents into one box? However, upon being enlarged, several of the birds proceeded to squawk and hit him with their wings.

"I'm trying to help you," Harry told them pointedly, only to receive a face full of feathers for his trouble. The birds would be Tom’s problem soon enough. Well, Harry didn't exactly want to cause Tom problems, but surely Tom would be better equipped to handle these birds than Harry was.

Harry boxed the birds back up rather than combining them into one container. He was not entirely sure it would be worth the effort. In the morning, he would shrink them back down. Hopefully, the birds would be in a better mood by then.

That evening, Harry dreamed of pink phoenixes and—for some unfathomable reason—silver peacocks. There was a particularly heartwarming bit where the phoenixes flew off into the wilderness while making happy chirping noises, but other than that, Harry did not remember much of his dream come morning. He thought that Tom might have been in it, but he wasn't certain, and the entire idea of Tom being in his dream was rather embarrassing the longer he lingered on it.

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. Harry was not about to make himself into a lovesick fool before he even set foot into the shop. As for what would happen after he went back into the shop, well, that was another can of worms entirely.

Harry packed up his pink birds, shrunk them back down, and placed them into his satchel bag. If the birds burst out of the boxes during transit, he would give up on life and move to Canada to become a hermit.

Diagon Alley was reasonably busy despite the early hour. This did make sense; it was the Saturday morning before Valentine's Day. Harry steeled his nerves and made his way towards Gringotts, which was where the street would split in two. The left branch would take him directly to Tom's shop.

This time, Harry kept his eyes peeled for the correct storefront. Dark oak. Frosted glass. Silver gilded lettering that spelled out ‘Marvolo's Magical Toy Repair’. Harry pressed his hand tentatively against the door and pushed his way inside. The bell overhead chimed as he did so.

Tom was seated a short distance away from the front desk, but he glanced up as Harry entered. Surprise splashed across his features before he composed himself and stood up, smoothing his clothes as he made his way to the counter.

"If you've come to tell me your niece has already experienced a mishap," Tom began, his expression perfectly neutral, "I'm afraid we don't do refunds."

"I—what?" What kind of customer did Tom take him for?

The corner of Tom's mouth twitched. "Just a joke," Tom clarified. His head tilted to one side as he regarded Harry with undisguised curiosity. "What brings you back so soon?"

Harry felt suddenly nervous, but he reached into his bag and withdrew a cardboard box. He set the box down on the floor, then enlarged it with his wand. "I was hoping you could take a look at these? And maybe fix them."

Tom came around the counter while Harry peeled the packing tape off the top of the box. "They're missing some parts and they don't fly right. Also, I think they're a bit angry after being carted about, so be careful." With an awkward jerk, Harry tore the final piece of tape off, nearly losing his balance in the process. He stumbled back half a step but managed to catch himself before he fell on his arse.

Tom lifted one of the box flaps and peered inside. He stared. He stared some more, and then he reached in with two hands and carefully picked up one of the pink birds. The phoenix fluffed its feathers indignantly, craning its neck this way and that while Tom examined it.

"I also kind of have three more boxes," Harry said quickly, just to get that fact out in the open.

"What happened to these birds? And why do you have four boxes of them?" Tom asked in a flat tone, and wow, the penguins in Antarctica were probably very upset about all the missing ice that Tom was now using to fuel his glare.

"They were like that already," Harry hurried to explain. He didn’t want Tom to think he’d hurt the birds himself. "I think they were damaged in transit? I'm not entirely sure, actually. You see, my friend Ron's ex-girlfriend owns a shop—"

Tom shifted the pink phoenix in his hands so it was cradled against one of his arms. Harry could see that this bird was missing the claws on its left foot. "These aren't yours?" Tom asked.

"No," Harry said hotly. "Why does everyone keep thinking that I want them for myself?"

Tom snorted and gave the bird in his arms a pat on the head. It chirped in response and butted its head against his palm. Harry did not find that action utterly adorable.

"I would think," Tom said, "that owning four boxes of pink toy birds may be considered a sign of preference."

"Well, I don't have a thing for birds," Harry said loudly, folding his arms over his chest.

Tom blinked at him, then set the bird in his arms back down into the box. The bird flapped its way out, however, and began to strut around the shop like it owned the place. The two of them—Harry and Tom—watched its progress with interest.

"I don't either," Tom agreed after a pause. He brushed what appeared to be pink glitter off his hands—of course Lavender had managed to get glitter into the box, somehow—and straightened up. "You want all these birds repaired for your... your friend's ex-girlfriend?"

When Tom put it like that, it did sound pretty stupid. "It just, er, well, it just—" Harry stammered. "It was just sad, seeing them all taped up in a box and left to sit alone." Harry gave the box a light nudge with the toe of his shoe. "When I was a kid, all the toys I got were hand-me-downs from my cousin. None of them were ever in good condition, and I would never have thought to bring them to a place like this." Harry exhaled slowly to stall the emotion rising in his throat. "I didn't even know there were toy repair shops until I heard of yours." 

Harry gave his head a shake to clear the depressing memories of his less-than-desirable childhood. "So when Lavender said she was going to give the birds out to some kids, I couldn't help but think it would be... it would just be nice if they could be patched up first."

Tom was looking at him strangely. Harry didn't feel uncomfortable, but he did feel self-conscious. "My friend Ron's already taken the piss over my hero complex involving stuffed animals," Harry joked to fill the silence. He dropped his gaze to his shoes, then muttered, "You probably think I'm crazy, but that's alright."

"I don't," Tom said, and though his voice was soft, it filled the room quite well. "I don't think you're crazy."

"That's... that's great," Harry said for the lack of a better, more coherent response. What was anyone supposed to say to that? Thank you? To stall his oncoming panic, Harry decided to switch topics. "So, um, you can fix them all? And I can pay you for it, however long it takes. But you can take your time!" Harry hastened to add. "There isn't a rush or anything. The birds were meant to be for Valentine's Day, but that's obviously not going to happen."

Tom eyed the box. "How many did you say there were?"

Harry could have pinched himself. "Er, I didn't. Sorry. I didn't think to count them, I should have—"

"It's no matter," Tom interrupted. "I was only wondering."

"Right." Harry shuffled around in place, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He didn't want to assume that meant a 'yes' to his request, but he also really hoped that the answer was 'yes'.

"May I see the other boxes?" Tom asked politely. He was smiling the slightest bit, which helped set Harry's nerves at ease.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course!" Harry hurried to comply, retrieving the other three boxes and placing them down on the floor for Tom to peruse.

Together, the two of them opened the boxes up and examined the contents. Most of the birds looked fine aside from their missing parts. Harry had yet to see any of the birds fly, but that was presumably part of the issue at hand. In total, there were maybe five dozen birds to be fixed up.

"This is a lot," Harry said as he rocked back on his heels. "Sorry about that. I wasn't thinking about how much work it would be. I'm going to fill your entire roster, at this rate."

"This will take some time," Tom confirmed. "I'll have to spread the work out over the course of a month, at the least, and most of that time will be spent crafting replacement parts.”

"Right, right," Harry agreed. "Take all the time you need."

"And then there is the matter of storage."

"Storage?"

"Once the work is complete, I'd prefer we not shrink the boxes down again. It may contaminate the magic that animates them. In fact, I would hypothesize that might have caused their issues to begin with, especially if they were transported over a long distance."

"Oh. Should I not have shrunk them down, then?" Harry asked, embarrassed. He should have known better than to do that. He worked with magical items, for Merlin's sake.

"No harm was done," Tom promised. "You didn't leave them overnight, did you?"

"That would be idiotic," Harry said, "I would never do that." If he'd left them overnight, there was every chance in the world he would have woken with a flat full of pink, angry birds.

Tom nodded. "I thought so. But to return to my original point: I'm afraid I don't have the space to store these here at their full size, even on a semi-permanent basis. We'll have to arrange for the delivery of batches as we go along."

"That's fine." It was a relief to know that the problem was so simple. "So should I leave one box here with you? Or is that too many?"

"Shall we say, a dozen to start with?" Tom summoned a fresh clipboard with parchment attached and made a few notes on it. "A discount rate for the bulk order," he continued, "and an agreement to revisit this contract every two weeks to ensure the work is satisfactory."

"Brilliant." Harry was itching to snatch the quill up and sign away. "Sounds fantastic."

"You also mentioned your interest in my work," Tom said as he passed the clipboard over.

"Er, yeah?" Harry looked down at the page and began to read and sign.

"If you wished to observe, I would not be opposed to explaining some of my methods. I assume we would narrow our focus to the specifics of my specialty, given your existing expertise on the finer aspects of magic."

"That would be really nice," Harry said, signing his name with a flourish and already thinking of ways to free up his schedule for the next month and a half. "I'd be interested in hearing about that, even if it's just you and me and a dozen pink phoenixes in the same room for an hour."

"Then it appears we've reached an accord." Tom extended a hand for the clipboard. Harry passed it over, eyeing where Tom's hand was placed opposite to his own.

"We've got a deal," Harry agreed. On a whim, he offered his hand up for them to shake on it.

The clipboard jumped from Tom's right hand to his left, almost quicker than the eye could see, and then his palm met with Harry's. The handshake was warm, dry, and firmer than expected. The back of Harry's hand tingled oddly in the response to the physical contact; he could hear Hermione calling him 'touch starved' in the back of his head.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Harry," said Tom, in a low voice that inspired a pleasant flush in Harry's face. "I'll be seeing you soon, I hope."

"I hope so," Harry echoed. He would have to see if his next visit would coincide with their set two-week date, or if Tom would be finished with twelve of the birds before then. Would it be odd if Harry dropped by without asking first? Tom's phrasing made it seem like an open invitation, but Harry didn't want to impose.

"Let's see about selecting twelve of these birds before you go, hm?" Tom asked. "We'll start with the ones closest to full health and work our way down from there."

"Okay." Harry was only too glad to help wherever he could.

Twenty minutes later, their hands had bumped no less than five times, and Harry was careening dangerously close to a cliff labelled with a sign that read 'DANGER: EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT' in large neon letters. The universe had no right to make a man like Tom handsome, clever, and interested in repairing toys for children. It was just asking for poor blokes like Harry to come along with four giant boxes of stuffed phoenixes and nearly two hundred galleons of spending money to burn through.

By the time Harry finally left 'Marvolo's Magical Toy Repair', his bag might have been twelve birds lighter, but something far heavier had taken up residence somewhere in the general vicinity of his heart.

Chapter Text

Sunday was Valentine's Day. Harry had planned to spend it holed up in his flat waiting for the inevitable discount chocolates he'd buy the next day, but what he woke up to at half-past eleven was an owl pecking insistently at his bedroom window.

His heart was beating wildly as he staggered over to let the bird into his flat. The owl stuck out its leg, revealing a tiny scroll tied with a silver ribbon. Harry plucked at the bow until it came undone, and unrolled the scroll to reveal a brief missive in tidy, slanted handwriting.

It was addressed to him (unsurprising) and it was from Tom (surprising, mildly terrifying). Harry read the note twice over to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Tom wanted him to come in and help? Tom wanted him to come in because there was something odd with one of the birds that required curse breaking expertise.

Apologies if you have plans for today. The matter is not urgent, but if you have the time, I'd be much obliged if you would come by to see me.

Harry had no plans for today. The only thing that was stopping him from running straight over was a looming fear that he would somehow mess it all up.

Now, to write back or to just show up? Just showing up was generally considered rude if you weren't invited, but Harry had been invited. If he did write a response out, he would spend at least twenty minutes agonizing over his word choices, and that seemed like a poor activity for his nerves to engage in before going over in person.

Harry gave himself the mental equivalent of a hard slap, then marched into his bathroom to get ready for the day. He was going to look presentable, no, he was going to look amazing. He was going to look very amazing. Tom was going to be impressed by his curse-breaking knowledge and his amazing looks.

With his new burst of self-confidence, Harry powered through his morning and managed to make it out the door without doubting himself. It helped that Tom was always overdressed; Harry could wear a nice pair of trousers and a fancy jumper without feeling out of place.

Diagon Alley was practically deserted given it was lunch hour. Most people were at restaurants or at home. The people Harry did run into were few and far between, which was nice because it lessened the chances of him seeing someone he knew and being interrogated about his date outfit. Which it was—it was a date outfit.

Harry had not gone into this entire ordeal with the idea of getting a date out of it, but truthfully, no sane man paid for sixty stuffed animals to be fixed up because they didn't also find the shop clerk to be exceedingly attractive. However, if Harry wasn't completely misreading the situation, Tom seemed to be interested, which meant today’s encounter could do wonders for Harry's bleak Valentine's Day plans.

They would save all the pink birds and then... fly away on a phoenix into the sunset. Something like that. Harry had his fingers crossed for a dinner invitation before the day was over.

Harry paused in front of Tom's door for the briefest of seconds when he arrived. There was a sign on the door stating that the shop was closed for the day, which couldn't possibly be right. Tom had invited him over. Harry squinted at the frosted glass. It was impossible to see inside unless he looked in through the display window, and he couldn't do that without looking like a weirdo.

Maybe Tom had closed the shop so he could work on the birds? That made as much sense as anything. Harry pressed his fingertips on the door to brace his weight so he could try and look through the glass again, then almost fell on his face as the door gave way. As always, the bell above him tinkled, signalling his disastrous entrance.

Tom was standing at the counter, but he scrambled forward as Harry narrowly missed a collision with the floor. "Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry wheezed. "Do not look at me."

Tom made a vaguely amused sound from somewhere above Harry's head, which prompted Harry to look up at him. Then Harry promptly wished he had waited until he'd gotten to his feet before he'd looked, because Tom had forgone his usual professional attire in favour of grey sweatpants and a black, v-neck jumper.

"Do you need a hand?" Tom was asking.

"No," Harry answered. What he needed was a Time-Turner so he could redo the last five minutes of his life and try again.

"Don't be ridiculous." Tom took him by the arm and tugged him to his feet. "I should have left the door locked. That was my mistake."

"Pretty sure most people don't fall through your doorway like over-excited windmills," Harry said drearily, noting how warm Tom's arm was where it was pressed against his own. "But thank you for pretending otherwise."

Tom tsked, but said nothing else as they walked over to the counter. Harry went to stand in front of it, then paused as Tom shot him a funny look. Right. He was here to help, which meant he was supposed to go behind the counter. Almost wiping out on the floor had cleared him of his common sense. Harry rubbed at his face and attempted a smile, temporarily averting his gaze to the little teddy on the counter so he could gather his wits.

It was a plain brown bear with a tiny red bow tied in front of its neck. Harry wondered if Tom had given it a name.

"It's a replica," Tom said, answering some unspoken question he must have thought Harry was asking. "Come, let me show you my workshop."

Harry followed Tom into the backroom. The workshop there was tidy, meticulously so. There were neat rows of boxes that were labelled with their respective parts, and an entire back shelf dedicated to bolts of fabric. Laid out on the large wooden desk were a number of tools and one very large pink phoenix.

"Why's it so big?" Harry blurted out.

"I find it easier to replicate the details when the animals are enlarged," Tom explained. "Especially for a project as delicate as this one. Recreating the claws and beaks will require a substantial amount of patience."

"Right." Harry took another look around the workshop. "This is very nice. Do you do all your work in here?"

"Most of the time, yes. I try not to take my work home with me." Tom made his way over to the desk and laid a hand on the phoenix's head. It cooed softly in response, leaning into the touch.

Harry, who worked out of his tiny flat to save costs, couldn't quite say the same. "What did you want to ask me about?"

From there, they dug into the problem, which was not really a problem so much as a specific issue that required a curse breaker's expertise to fix, as Tom had mentioned. Harry was able to sort out the issue in short order, which was hopefully impressive, but it was also bad because it meant he now needed another excuse to stick around.

"Were you going to keep working on it?" Harry asked. "I wouldn't mind, er, sticking around to watch. If you were."

Tom stepped back from the desk and quite deliberately raked his gaze up and down Harry's outfit. "Did you have plans for today?"

The question was blunt and confusing. Harry wouldn't have come if he'd had plans. Well, that wasn't quite true. Harry probably would have cancelled all his hypothetical plans so he could come here instead. But the fact was that to Tom, it should have been obvious that Harry had no such plans for his Valentine's Day other than ‘hope Tom asks me out to dinner'. So Tom's question, combined with what Tom was doing, resulted in Harry somehow blurting out, "No, I don't, but I could if you wanted me to."

Tom looked very pleased by this answer. "Why don't we spend the rest of the afternoon here? I can walk you through my process and show you my repair methods," Tom said. He paused, a slow smile stretching across his face as he added, "And we shall see where we go from there, won't we?"

Talking shop sounded much better than the alternative, which was Harry attempting to think of topics that were not weather-related. "That sounds fantastic," Harry agreed.

The rest of the afternoon was comfortable. Harry felt confident enough to chime in from time to time with his own thoughts and questions. Partway through, however, they were interrupted by Harry's stomach, which was rightfully protesting the fact that Harry had skipped lunch in favour of enjoying Tom's company.

"Er, I was in a bit of a rush this morning," Harry admitted.

Tom only smiled with indulgence and vanished into a side room that must have had a full-stocked cupboard, because when Tom returned it was with two helpings of pasta.

"Leftovers," Tom said, handing one plate over. "I tend to work through my lunch hours."

It did not taste like leftovers, but Harry felt it would be rude to ask if they were home-cooked leftovers or restaurant-bought ones. "Thanks!" Harry glanced at his watch to check the time and was bewildered to note that it was nearly three in the afternoon. "Guess it's about time we took a break."

They were both seated in chairs next to the desk, but now that they were eating, it felt rude to potentially ruin the cleanliness of the area with food fallout. Harry shuffled his seat back a few inches and angled himself so he was facing Tom better.

"Did you have any other questions?" Tom asked idly. Once again, Harry was struck by the casual air Tom exuded. Elegance and sweatpants were not in any way related, but Tom was a walking contradiction if Harry had ever met one.

"Not really. I think I've gotten everything you've shown me so far."

Tom laughed. "Not about work, Harry. About me."

Oh, so personal questions were allowed now? Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't fit to burst with questions about Tom's personal life.

"I have been wondering," Harry began, trying to broach the topic in a way that wouldn't come across as offensive, "how you ended up in the business of toy repair?"

Tom tapped a finger on the desk, lounging back in his chair. "Clients do tend to ask how someone such as myself ends up wasting my time in a shop like this." Tom smiled without mirth. "My response may vary depending on how irritating I find the person asking to be, but rest assured it is almost always a lie."

"If people don't appreciate and value the work you do, then they shouldn't have the nerve to ask for your help to begin with," Harry said bluntly. He would have liked to wring those jerks out to dry on Tom's behalf. There was nothing wrong with honest work, and there certainly wasn't anything wrong with the work Tom did here. "You do amazing things. Nothing about this is a waste of time."

"I know you see it that way," Tom said, leaning forward. "Which is also how I know your question is genuine."

Harry smiled, pleased to know that Tom saw him as separate from the horde of rude, demanding customers that no doubt barged in here on a regular basis. "Yeah, of course. I'm only asking because, well, because I find your work impressive," Harry said truthfully. "Do you have to train under someone? Are there books on the subject?"

"We're getting rather ahead of ourselves," Tom chided. "Didn't you want to know how I ended up here?"

"Well, yes," Harry said. He poked at his plate of pasta to distract himself from his embarrassment. Too many questions at once. Tom likely thought he was being pushy. "Sorry."

"Curiosity is not a sin." The way Tom was looking at him—eyes gleaming, lips curled in a half-smile—gave Harry the impression that the excessive attention was not unwanted.

"So, this shop," Harry prompted, feeling safe enough to ask more questions, "it's yours. Has it always been yours, or was it passed down to you?"

"It has always been mine," Tom confirmed. His gaze traced a lazy path around the workshop before it resettled on Harry. "What you see before you has been built by my own hands."

"That's great," Harry said, injecting enthusiasm into his tone. What else could he say that wouldn't sound hollow and inauthentic?

"The shop is named after my grandfather, though I never knew him. His name also lives on as a part of my own, the singular tangible connection I have to my magical heritage."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "Were your parents close with him?"

"I never knew my parents, either."

Harry was at a loss for words. It felt rude to offer up his own experience—the experience of growing up without parents. Tom's pain had nothing to do with his own, and so it would be unfair for him to share, even if their lives had been similar. "That must have been very difficult for you."

"I persevered." Tom waved Harry's sentiments away with a sharp gesture of his hand. "The path of my life would not have led me here otherwise."

Was Tom referring to the path without parents, or the path on which he had persevered? "Here is a good place to be," Harry affirmed.

"It improves by the day," Tom said with a smile. He looked over their plates. "Are you finished?"

"Er, yes. I think so, thank you."

Tom vanished out the door for the second time. As Harry watched the door swing shut, he realized that Tom had yet to answer his original question. How had Tom ended up owning a toy repair shop? Tom had promised him the truth; so far, truths had been offered. However, none of them were the ultimate truth that Harry was seeking.

When Tom returned to the workshop, Harry could not bring himself to ask the question again. If Tom wanted to share, then he would. Harry would not push for an answer unless it was going to be freely given.

They worked through the rest of the afternoon without revisiting the subject. Despite the distraction of Harry's presence, Tom managed to fix up one of the birds. Harry was delighted to witness the phoenix in action; now fully healed, it was able to fly circles around the tiny room and spit bursts of pink sparkles into the air.

"Dinner?" Tom asked as he began to tidy his workspace. The casual edge to the question made Harry's answer seem like a forgone conclusion, which it may as well have been.

"I'd love to," Harry said, relieved to have that matter settled once and for all. "Where to? I feel like most places are booked solid because, you know." Because it was Valentine's Day.

"I may have somewhere in mind."

They stepped back into the main area of the shop. Tom summoned Harry's coat from the nearby rack and offered it up. Harry let Tom put the coat on him, blushing all the while, very conscious of the way Tom's hand lingered at the nape of his neck, folding the collar down.

It was then that Harry recalled his choice of attire. He was dressed up while Tom was not. Wherever they went, one of them was bound to stand out. "Should I go change?" he asked, then winced, hoping that his question did not imply he thought Tom was underdressed. If anything, he was the idiot who had gone overboard.

"Don't worry about that." Tom was still very close, his words a low rumble in Harry's ear. Then Tom's hand slipped down to cover his, like it was natural for them to be holding hands, and suddenly Harry was quite prepared to tell the anxious voice in his head to shut up and go to hell.

"Are we Apparating?" Harry asked. If so, Tom would be taking them there, most likely, which meant the hand-holding would go on for a while longer.

"I have to fetch my coat and lock up a few things," Tom told him. "But yes. Do you mind waiting here for me?"

"Of course not." Harry would be mourning the temporary loss of Tom's hand in his, however.

"Wonderful." Their hands parted ways, leaving Harry alone next to the front desk.

With nothing to do but wait, Harry turned his attention to the little teddy propped against the register. Harry couldn't help but smile at it. It was as if the tiny bear was guarding the till against theft. Harry would have liked to pick it up, to see how soft it was, but it was not his toy to touch, so he let it be. Besides, Tom would return to close up the register soon, meaning that the teddy's duties would be done for the day.

Harry was staring at the teddy's tiny red bow when Tom's voice startled him out of his reverie.

"A replica, as I said," Tom murmured. Tucked under his arm was the large pink phoenix they'd spent today fixing. "The original belonged to my mother."

Harry smiled. "That's very sweet. Does the teddy have a name?"

Tom narrowed his eyes, like he was checking to see if Harry was teasing him, then said, "His name is Marvolo."

"Aww." Harry could feel his grin widen. "At last, I meet the namesake of this fine establishment. I'm honoured, Tom. Really and truly."

Tom scoffed and snatched the teddy up, tucking it into one of his coat pockets. "Enough of that. I need to close the register, and then we can be on our way."

Tom's response to being teased only confirmed to Harry that he had a heart after all. Tom may act aloof and distant, but he owned a toy repair shop for what Harry suspected were admirable, compassionate reasons.

"I'm not trying to be mean," Harry promised. "I do think it's sweet you have a tiny baby version of him here at the shop. Is the original Marvolo still hanging around somewhere?"

"I keep him at home." The answer was innocuous enough, but there was a strained undertone to Tom's words that belied a more serious issue.

Tom finished with the register, shutting it with a soft clang. "Now for the shop," he said, but as the seconds ticked on, he failed to move from where he was standing.

"Tom?" Harry asked, now sorely wishing he hadn't brought the subject up at all. "You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to."

"It's fine." Tom exhaled slowly, then retrieved the miniature teddy from his coat pocket, setting it on the counter.

With a tap of his wand, the little bear came to life, rising on unsteady legs and wobbling around on the desk as it spoke in a pre-recorded voice. "Hello," said the bear in its pitched, warbling voice. "My name is—" The recorded voice cut off, only to be replaced by a fainter, feminine one that finished the sentence with, "—Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Harry's heart clenched painfully upon hearing Tom's name spoken so softly, so tenderly. "Is that your mother?"

"Yes."

For long, long moments, there was nothing to say. The teddy on the counter repeated its catchphrase twice more, then went silent. Harry approached the counter with care, stretching his hands out slowly so as not to cause alarm, and pulled Tom into a hug.

At first, Tom stood stiffly in Harry's embrace, but as they hugged in the quiet of the dimly-lit shop, his posture relaxed enough for his arms to wrap tightly around Harry's shoulders.

After a time, Tom cleared his throat and pulled away. "Dinner?" he asked, as if they'd not just experienced a rather profound and touching moment together.

"Dinner sounds great."

Tom closed up the shop while Harry waited outside. Once that was done, Tom laced their fingers together and Apparated them away.

Tom's impromptu dinner destination turned out to be a small cafe owned by one of Harry's former classmates. Was everyone a small business owner these days? If Pansy Parkinson thought that Harry's Valentine's Day date was strange, he hoped vainly that she would keep it to herself.

"Tom comes in here all the time," Pansy commented after taking their order. She looked down at the pink phoenix perched under their table, then added, "Nice to see he's finally branched out to having human company."

Harry laughed. Tom did not. If anything, he looked about one second away from committing murder.

"Please spare me the dramatics," Pansy said with a scoff as she caught sight of Tom's expression. "As if you don't owe me for giving you a table during one of the busiest nights of the year. I'll toss in some heart-shaped cookies if it makes you happy, darling, but you won't be hearing anything other than the truth from me."

Harry had not given much thought to Pansy during his time at Hogwarts, but he rather liked the woman he was getting to know right now.

Pansy's teasing aside, dinner was every bit as wonderful as Harry could have hoped it would be. Now that they had spent the day together, Harry felt he had a better understanding of the man behind the counter.

Tom liked to flirt. He liked to say and do things that prompted Harry to provide an immediate positive response. The back-and-forth banter of a first date was a fun dance that Harry had not engaged in for a while; he found he was pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Or, perhaps, how much he enjoyed doing it with Tom.

When dinner was finished, they stayed another hour, just chatting, until Pansy kicked them out and told them to go and get laid already. Tom was irritated that Pansy had ruined the moment, but it left Harry wondering if Tom had planned to ask if Harry wanted to spend the night with him.

Spending the night together was not exactly a first-date activity, but it also was not completely out of the question for Harry, who had jumped right off the imaginary cliff that lead to 'EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT' and was now drowning in the waters of 'INFATUATION' and 'DESIRE FOR SNUGGLES'.

Pansy shooed them out, forcing them onto the street. Tom had an arm wrapped around Harry's waist, keeping them close together. Neither of them had touched any alcohol all evening, but Harry felt drunk on the moment, flush with giddiness over what he hoped was a blossoming relationship. Even the pink bird flapping wildly under Tom’s other arm could not ruin the perfection of this evening.

When they hit the main street, their footsteps slowed. Harry was pressed against Tom's side, but as they paused, he twisted his upper body so that he could look up at his companion. "So," he said, trying to keep any hint of expectation out of his tone, "what now?"

"What now?" Tom repeated lightly, as if the question had not occurred to him prior to this moment. The hand touching Harry's waist slid downward, fingers spreading over Harry's hip bone. "Miss Parkinson's suggestion was rather direct."

There was definitely a teasing edge to Tom's voice. Was the teasing only teasing, or was there more to it? Harry scanned Tom's face for clues, but there were none to be found. Should he invite Tom back to his? Would that be too forward?

Regardless of what happened tonight, they would be seeing each other again. That thought reassured Harry that there was no need to overthink this. Honesty was the best policy. They were interested in each other, they had gone on a date, and Harry would very much like for them to go home—to someone's home—together.

"I've had a wonderful time today," Harry said. He braced himself, then added, "So I wouldn't say no to extending it a little longer."

"A nightcap?"

Harry's vision was going blurry because of how nervous he was. All he knew was that Tom's gaze was very warm, meaning Harry was approximately one impulsive second away from snogging Tom on the spot. "Maybe even after that."

"Then hold tight, darling." Tom's words wafted over Harry's forehead as he pulled Harry into an embrace. There was no time to think while they were squeezed through the uncomfortable sensations of Apparition, but the process was made more bearable with Tom's presence by his side. The two of them vanished from Diagon Alley and reappeared in the entryway of what could only be Tom's flat.

Harry took half a second to orient himself in this new space. It was very pretty and posh, much like Tom was. The pink phoenix flapped out from where it was hidden under Tom’s coat and vanished into another room that Harry couldn’t see from this angle.

Tom seemed about to say something, but he paused as Harry placed both hands against his shoulders. Yep, now was the time for that impulsive decision. Harry telegraphed his intentions, though he felt they must have been obvious, and pulled Tom in for a kiss.

Tom responded to Harry's enthusiasm with eagerness, his hands wandering all over as he backed Harry up against the nearest wall. Harry was spurred on by this, clutching Tom closer to him so that they could feel more of each other.

However, the lips that moved over Harry's were gentle—each soft kiss Tom bestowed upon him only served to weaken Harry's knees. Harry felt dizzy with longing, like his grip on Tom's shoulders was all that was keeping him upright.

When they broke apart, Harry was breathless, distracted by the way Tom was nuzzling against his cheek. "I think we'll be skipping over our nightcap," Tom murmured, pausing to nip gently at Harry's jawline. His hands slid to the front of Harry's coat, to the buttons there, and pressed down upon them. "Unless you have any objections?"

'Hell no' was probably not a very appropriate response, but—

"Hell no," Harry breathed, and let Tom take him to bed.

Chapter Text

Harry woke the next morning with his face pressed to a warm chest rather than his cotton pillowcase. He yawned quietly so as not to disturb his bedfellow and was rewarded by the soft touch of fingers threading through his hair. Harry curled closer to the body next to his and made an appreciative noise.

"G'morning," he said. His voice was rough with sleep and perhaps mild fatigue, but in the quiet of the early morning, it carried well enough.

"Good morning." The hand on Harry's head paused, then slid down to his back, coming to a stop where the bedsheets were bunched up around his waist. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." Harry wiggled his arms and legs to get some of the feeling back into them. This decision did interesting things to the way their bodies were entwined. Harry opened his eyes enough to glimpse the bottom of Tom's face. "Did you?"

Tom traced a line up Harry's spine with his fingertip. "Never better."

Harry shuffled closer and shut his eyes. His heart's desire for snuggles was being terrifically fulfilled.

That was, until Tom's voice reached his ears for the third time since he'd woken up. "You do realize it is a Monday morning," he said, faint amusement tinging the words.

There were a full ten seconds of sheer, heart-stopping terror before Harry was able to recall what his schedule looked like for February 15th. "My appointments can wait," Harry muttered in the direction of Tom's collarbone. "Nothing's due to arrive until half past one."

"I do own a shop," Tom said. Harry was certain that if he looked up, he would see Tom struggling not to smile. "Shops tend to be open on Monday mornings."

"You own the shop." Harry paused to stifle a yawn. "So you can give yourself a day off. Besides, your very important client requires that you stay in bed with him. He's paying you extremely well to fix up five dozen stuffed phoenixes, which means you can't say no."

"Is that so?"

Harry quite deliberately planted his chin on Tom's chest, knowing the pointiness would inspire discomfort. Tom shot him a mild glare in response. Grinning, Harry worked his arm out from where it was pinned between their bodies, braced a hand on the mattress, and crawled up to give Tom a kiss.

"A tip for excellent service," Harry teased. At this distance and without his glasses, he could take in the sight of Tom's perfect hair in reckless disarray, and the fond gleam in his eyes as his arms shifted to hold Harry better in this new position.

Tom dipped his head to touch their foreheads together. "Perhaps said service includes breakfast?"

"Perhaps."

Contrary to yesterday's lunch, breakfast was not composed of leftovers. Instead, Harry was treated to French omelettes with a small helping of bananas foster on the side. Was there such a thing as dessert with breakfast? Harry decided that even if it was not, it was now officially a thing.

Given the rumpled state of Harry's date outfit, Tom had loaned him a t-shirt and fresh pair of sweats to wear while he sat waiting at Tom's dining table. The clothes were well-worn and smelled like a mix of Tom's cologne and fabric softener.

While Tom cooked, Harry chattered about his Valentine's Day last year. Ron had enlisted his help in preparing a Valentine's Day lunch for Hermione. Ron, who had grown up with his mother's cooking, lived the epitome of a bachelor's life. It was an existence that consisted of take-out boxes and leftovers from weekends spent at the Burrow. For Hermione, though, Ron was prepared to make the extra effort. Two weeks before the special day, he had asked Harry to teach him how to cook something simple but impressive. The results had been... interesting.

When breakfast was done, Harry paid his compliments to the chef. Tom preened while simultaneously pretending not to and placed an affectionate kiss to Harry's temple. With a bit of magic applied, the dishes marched themselves into the sink and proceeded to scrub themselves clean.

Now that the event of eating was over, Harry was feeling a little worried. He'd asked Tom to clear the morning for him, but they hadn't made any plans for what to do. Tom had made breakfast; it seemed unfair for Harry to expect Tom to plan the rest of the day as well.

The sound of running water filled the room as dishes washed themselves in the kitchen. Tom came over and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Any plans for today?" he asked.

"No," Harry said, stalling. They could go back to the workshop, but that defeated the purpose of skiving off work. "Er, I have my appointment at half past one, but that's all." Honesty had seen him this far, hadn't it? Perhaps he ought to exercise some more of that. "Sorry," Harry said, "I didn't really think of what we ought to do past having breakfast together. I can think of something now, though?"

"There's no hurry."

Harry didn't quite subscribe to that belief. He also felt awkward sitting when Tom was not, so he stood up. At their feet, the pink phoenix from yesterday was hopping about. "I don't want to waste your time. Maybe we can go for a walk?"

Tom smoothed his hands down Harry's forearms, then released his breath in a slow exhale. "Before we do go anywhere, I'd like to introduce you to someone."

"Someone else?" Harry asked, perplexed. On reflex, his eyes drifted around the room. There was no one but them and the pink bird spitting pink glitter onto Tom's hardwood floor.

"You've met his successor," Tom said mildly.

"Oh," Harry said as the meaning dawned on him. "Oh, you mean Marvolo? Marvolo... Junior?"

Tom's mouth twisted on one side. "I suppose you could say that." The words fell flat, leaving Harry to wonder what about his comment had altered Tom's mood.

"Well, I'd be honoured to meet your teddy," Harry said with solemnity. "If I could, I'd return the favour, but I'm afraid my childhood toys are no longer around to be introduced." Oops, that was more depressing than Harry would have liked for it to be.

"Hand-me-downs," Tom said quietly, and it took a moment for Harry to realize Tom was repeating what he'd previously been told.

"Yeah, my cousin took care of his toys about as well as his daughter does," Harry joked, hoping to break up the glum atmosphere.

The way Tom was looking at him was almost unbearably soft. "I can imagine."

Harry followed Tom back to the bedroom. The bed was unmade and rumpled from their morning cuddle, but this changed when Tom straightened it with a wave of his wand. The sheets and covers pulled themselves taut while Harry looked around the bedroom.

Last night, Harry had lacked the... focus... to take in the sight of Tom's room, but now the lights were on and there was plenty of time for him to explore. The first thing Harry noted since arriving at Tom's flat was how different it was from the repair shop. The repair shop was awash in dark tones and painful elegance, but this flat was graceful, brighter. The wood here was oak, but it was a lighter variety. The bed was dressed in fabrics coloured in ivory and pale cream. 

Despite the more cheerful theme of the room, there was no teddy in sight.

Harry turned to Tom, to see what would happen next. Tom had finished with the bed and was walking back over. Harry tried to step aside and was taken by surprise as Tom sped up and tugged them both into an embrace. It was a bone-crushing hug, the kind that squeezed limbs tight, like Tom was afraid to let go. Harry tucked his face against the side of Tom's neck and breathed slowly. They stood there, listening to the slowing beat of Harry's heart as Tom ran gentle hands up his spine.

Then they were kissing again. Harry had no idea why and could not quite bring himself to complain as Tom's hand cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so their lips could meet at a better angle.

It was borderline desperate, the way Tom was kissing him, holding him. Harry had never considered himself to be overly-romantic, but the ache he felt at being needed stirred greater emotions in the pit of his stomach. They broke apart, gasping, mouths panting warm puffs of air against each other's flushed cheeks.

"Not that I'm not enjoying myself," Harry whispered, "but I think we've gotten a tad distracted from our original purpose."

Tom pressed his forehead to Harry's. His fingers were dancing across Harry's collarbone, tracing the dips and curves there. "There's always time."

"There is," Harry agreed. He leant back so he could press the tip of an index finger to Tom's lower lip. "There's time for everything, including this. I know we've really only just met but… I feel like I do know you, to an extent. I know you're brilliant and witty and a damn good kisser. I know you care about toys. I think you're a wonderful person, Tom, and I think there's time for me to get to know the rest of what you're willing to share, when you're ready."

The pensive look in Tom's eyes flickered, replaced temporarily by the barest hint of doubt. For half a second, Harry expected to be kissed again, for Tom to seek solace and distraction from what was likely a painful childhood memory, but that did not happen.

Instead, Tom pulled away. He padded silently over to the nearby vanity table and waved his wand over the back corner, the corner closest to the wall. A glass case revealed itself; within the glass case was the regular-sized version of the teddy Marvolo.

"He belonged to my mother," Tom said once again, then carefully lifted the glass away. The glass was set aside, the teddy bear delicately scooped up into Tom's hands. Tom held the bear gingerly, like it was fragile. Which it may have been, given how worn it looked.

"He looks very friendly," Harry said kindly, wondering if he ought to step closer.

Tom walked over to the bed and sat down on it. Harry paused, deliberating, then sat down next to him.

"I've had him since I was a baby. The only piece of my childhood that was my own, the only item left to me by my mother before she died, leaving me at an orphanage."

"I'm glad you have him." Harry eyed the teddy, which was silent and limp. "Does this one talk as well?"

Tom stroked the teddy's bow. "Not anymore." He raised his wand for the second time and tapped Marvolo on the head. Harry had to strain to hear the bear's mumbling. The words were faint, nowhere near as clear as the tiny teddy Tom had sat on his shop counter. As the mumbling continued, the bear's arms twitched and stretched out as if it was reaching for a hug.

Harry smiled at the bear. "He's very sweet. I would have loved to have a friend like him while growing up." What Harry wouldn't have given to have a favourite toy of his own, a memento left by Lily Potter.

"Marvolo was not mechanical or battery-operated like other toys," Tom said, "but he was my friend. I carried him with me throughout my childhood, for better or for worse. Many of his scars are related to ones of mine."

Tom gave the teddy’s head a pat. "When I learned about magic, I realized that my mother had been a witch. The bear she had left to me was special because it was enchanted. I visited the toy shops in Diagon Alley, unable to purchase anything but curious all the same. Marvolo did not act like other magical toys." Tom frowned, a mild crease forming between his brows. "When I was a child, I simply assumed his behaviour was normal. This was not the case. He required repair, but there was no place for such a repair to be done. Or if there was, it was not accessible to a first-year Hogwarts student."

"So you decided to make one," Harry said in awe.

"I swore I would fix him," Tom said, glancing down at Marvolo. The bear wiggled its arms in response to the weight of Tom’s gaze. "I studied every branch of magic that was relevant to my cause. I touched upon spells that fell under other magical disciplines, such as curse-breaking. The library at Hogwarts became a second home to me, and when that fount of knowledge ran dry, I sought aid from my professors. Every connection they had, I exploited. I knew there had to be someone, somewhere, who had studied this subject in detail."

"And did you?" Harry asked, riveted. "Did you find someone?"

"I spent several years in Albanian following my Hogwarts graduation," Tom confirmed. "All there was to learn, I learned it. I excelled and perfected each technique, then progressed to creating my own. When I returned to Britain, I opened Marvolo's." He smiled, a beautiful, genuine smile that warmed Harry from head to toe.

"That's a happy ending if I ever heard one." Harry shuffled over so he could place a hand on Tom's knee. Their shoulders bumped slightly. "So you fixed Marvolo?"

"He has always been like this," Tom said. "Unable to speak or move properly."

Harry looked at Marvolo, at the worn fur and loose red ribbon. Tom had not repaired the teddy yet, but why? Was he afraid of getting it wrong? "You made Marvolo Junior. Is that how he's supposed to act?"

"I recreated the magic that made Marvolo. Each thread of magic, each unique spell that went into his creation. It took years of work for me to perfect the duplicate. I have several parchment scrolls documenting my process."

"That's incredible." Harry thought back to his encounter with Marvolo Junior. The bear had declared its love for Tom in the voice of Tom's mother. That could not have been easy to replicate. It was possible that it was no longer accurate either, since so many years had passed since the bear had been given to Tom. "It's special that you get to have a memory of your mother with you."

Marvolo waved one of its arms and mumbled softly, as if trying to respond to Harry’s words. "I will repair him someday," Tom said. It sounded defensive.

"I understand.” Harry gave Tom's knee a squeeze. “It's not a job that can be rushed. I do think you're absolutely fantastic at what you do. The best in Britain, certainly." He smiled, hoping Tom could hear the sincerity he was attempting to convey. "I'm sure that when you do decide to fix him, you'll put in all the love and effort that he deserves."

Tom swallowed and let Marvolo's arm drop. The bear slumped back against him. "He is made of memories. I've repaired him the Muggle way a few times over the years. Each stitch of his, I know intimately. His tail requires the most work; many of the threads—magical and physical—are close to snapping. The charm that allows him to recognize the presence of others has nearly faded away. The issue with his gross motor skills is similar."

"You've taken great care of him," Harry said reassuringly. "You've done the best you could, more than most people would have."

Tom’s hands balled up into fists, the knuckles white with tension. Harry waited patiently until it relaxed, then lay his head down on Tom’s shoulder. Marvolo bore witness when Harry took Tom’s free hand in his, the weight of it a balm and a comfort, and held tight.

"You don’t have to fix him to be brand new,” Harry promised. “I know that… that scars can have meaning. There are memories attached to everything, and sometimes those memories are worth keeping."

With his wand, Tom tapped the teddy on the head, quieting it, then settled the bear in his lap. "I am used to him the way he is," Tom admitted. "Fond of it, even. I worry that if I fix him, he won't be the same. His personality will change."

“Then don’t. Do whatever feels right to you.” Harry laid a hand over Tom’s heart, felt the nervous beat of it increase in response to his touch. “There’s always time, as a wise man once said to me.”

Tom’s lips curled into a smile. “Wise man, indeed.”

Harry smiled back. “Now, why don’t we see about taking that nice, scenic walk in the park? We can hold hands and watch some real birds flap about,” he teased. “Buy some hotdogs and ice cream. Then you’ll have something to report back to Pansy.”

Tom’s smile melted into a scowl, but Harry could tell it was only for show. “And after that?”

“Leave dinner to me,” Harry said decisively. It was the least he could do.

After lunch in the park, they went to Harry’s flat for Harry for his appointment and to pick up a change of clothes, then back to Tom’s flat to pick up a change of clothes for Tom. Harry had yet to decide where they would go for dinner, but sweats were not the mood Harry wanted for their second evening together.

As it turned out, leaving the pink phoenix alone in Tom’s flat had been a mistake. There was glitter everywhere, and several of the couch cushions had bite marks on them.

Harry expected Tom to be upset or angry, but he only eyed the pink phoenix with a strange sort of thoughtfulness. "Perhaps a temporary stop is in order?"

"Oh?" Harry wasn't certain what Tom was getting at, but he was curious.

"Your niece," Tom clarified. "I think she'd enjoy having a new pink companion to play with. Especially one that spits glitter."

Harry snorted. "My cousin is going to hate me."

"I suppose I do owe him for bringing us together. But don't worry," Tom said, sidling close and looping an arm around Harry's waist. "I'll keep you quite safe, darling."

"If that means I am allowed to blame the fallout on you," Harry said seriously, "then by all means, lead the way."

When Dudley opened the door, he made the mistake of allowing his daughter near the entryway.

“Uncle Harry!” she declared, delighted, only to be held back by her father’s hand as he scrutinized the stranger by Harry’s side.

“Tom Riddle. Pleasure to meet you,” Tom said, offering his hand. Dudley shook it once then dropped it just as quickly. “Harry and I were in the neighbourhood when we had the thoughtful idea to drop off a present for your daughter.”

“A present?” Sarah struggled through the gap under her father’s arm and flung herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around his waist. “For me?”

“From me and Tom,” Harry clarified, holding out the pink phoenix. “A pretty bird for a pretty girl.”

Dudley looked from the bird to Tom. He did not appear impressed despite Sarah’s squeal of delight. “You picked this for her?” Dudley asked Tom. “A pink, girly toy?”

Tom only smiled. “She likes it, does she not?”

The phoenix promptly barfed an abundance of pink sparkles onto the welcome mat while Dudley stared in horror.

“We’re having dinner,” Sarah said cheerfully, clutching the pink bird to her chest. “Does she eat spaghetti?”

“I’m sure she will love whatever your mum’s made,” Harry said.

“Dudley? Sarah? Who’s at the door?” That would be Alice speaking, Harry thought.

“Uncle Harry and his friend!” Sarah exclaimed, running back into the house. “They brought me a present!”

The three men at the door watched her leave. Dudley shook himself from his stupor and said, “Thank you for the present, but it’s likely best that you leave now—”

“What’s this?” Alice appeared, putting an end to Dudley’s dismissal. “Harry! How nice to see you. Dudley mentioned you came by a while ago to drop off Sarah’s pup. Thank you for that, by the way. She’s been over the moon since. We can only hope she takes better care of him this time.” She shot her husband a fond look. “Takes after her dad, she does.”

“Tom repairs toys for a living,” Harry said. “He’s the one to thank, honestly.”

“How wonderful. You have my thanks, then.” Alice looked between the two of them. “Would the two of you like to stay for dinner? We’ve hardly started and I’ve made plenty of extra.”

Dudley opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at his wife with a constipated expression, then slunk away from the door and into the house.

“Wonderful,” Tom echoed. His grin was positively dazzling. “We would be positively delighted to if you’d have us, Mrs. Dursley.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Please, call me Alice.”

Harry looped his arm through Tom’s. “Looks like that’s dinner sorted then,” he said amicably. “Thanks, Alice. Saves me the trouble of having to choose a place.”

Alice scoffed. “As if you can’t cook, Harry.” Her eyes did flicker to where their arms were connected, but she said nothing further as they made their way into the living room.

Sarah had situated her new toy on the carpet so she could watch it strut about. “She makes glitter, mum! I’m going to call her Pinky.”

“Very nice,” Alice agreed. “But what about dinner, hm?”

“Pinky can have dinner,” Sarah said, pouting. “Uncle Harry said she eats spaghetti.”

“Er—” Harry looked at Tom. Could Pinky eat spaghetti?

Tom shrugged in response. “Best keep her off the table,” Tom suggested. “Just in case she finds it disagreeable.”

“Okay.” Sarah wrapped her chubby arms around the bird’s skinny neck and gave it a hug.

Dudley came back into the living room. “You two are staying, then?” he asked.

Pinky hiccoughed a fresh batch of glitter onto the carpet. “We’re all having spaghetti!” Sarah declared.

Alice squinted at the carpet. “I do hope that’s easier to clean up than it looks.”

“It’ll pass after a few days,” Tom said cheerfully. “It was an additional feature for Valentine’s Day, I presume. If it doesn’t clear up, I’d love to come by again to help.”

Harry took pity and used his wand to vanish the glitter on the carpet. Sarah glared at him, but the glare vanished as Pinky hopped up onto the couch and began pecking at the cushions. “So cute,” she squealed. “I love her!”

Dudley sighed, long suffering. “I’ll go set the table.”

Harry had a strong feeling that he and Tom would be back for dinner next week.

END.