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Chapter Text

Harry had not slept in three days. It wasn’t just the nightmares. Harry had been dealing with nightmares for longer than he had even known his name was Harry, back when the only things he was called was Boy or Freak. Even the visions from Voldemort, didn’t stop him from lying down on the thin cots inside Perkin’s tent. He would never admit it to Hermione, but he sometimes welcomed the visions. Harry knew it was sick but to be someone else, even Voldemort, for a second felt like a reprieve from the hellscape that was his own mind.

He tried to sleep but every rustle of leaves outside or twig snapping, sent him bolting upwards, wand in hand. It had only gotten worse since Godric’s Hollow. Not even the sounds of Ron snoring and Hermione soft breathing brought him any comfort.

“I can take first watch tonight,” Harry said to Hermione, already scanning the forest around them that was bathed in a warm glow from the setting sun. There was still a layer of frost on the evergreen trees from the night before. Hermione was sitting outside the tent, sorting through her beaded bag. Her every breath came out like a puff of smoke in the cool air.

At Harry’s voice, Hermione looked up at him. Harry felt her eyes lingering on the deep purple bruises under his eyes.

“You took watch last night,” Hermione said, “you should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Harry said, his fingers tracing the scar on his left hand.

Hermione simply raised her eyebrows at him.

There was ripping sound behind him and Harry spun around, wand raised but it was only Ron unzipping the tent’s entrance. He ducked out, raising his hands.

“Same side,” Ron said, jokingly. He was holding a pocket radio in one hand, the same one he’d spent the last few weeks fidgeting with.

Harry lowered his wand, cheeks burning.

“We’re out of food,” Ron turned to Hermione.

She put down her beaded bag with a sigh. “There’s a village within apparating distance, Crickhowell.”

“I-I can go,” Harry stumbled over his words in a rush to get them out. That’s just what he needed: a distraction. Without sleep the days bled into each other and the thought of spending another night, lying idlily on his bed staring at the canvas ceiling made his skin crawl. He needed to get out of here, just for a moment.

He hated Hermione’s pitying look. “You need sleep. There might be dementors and we know how that went last time.”

“That’s only because I was wearing that damn locket,” Harry hissed a little angrily.

“We could all go,” Ron suggested.

“We won’t all fit under the cloak,” Harry argued. He’d found himself fluctuating between desperately needing to stay close to his friends and wanting to be alone. Without them near, he couldn’t stop envisioning horrifying scenarios where they were kidnapped by Snatchers, leaving Harry with no idea where they were or if they were still alive. Yet, a voice in his head kept yelling at them to get away from him. No one survived long when they stood beside the Boy-Who-Lived.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes, thirty at most,” Harry said, reaching into Hermione’s beaded bag and pulling out his cloak. Before the others could protest, he wrapped the cloak around him and spun on the spot.

Staggering slightly, he found himself on a mostly deserted cobblestone street. There were a few muggles walking by. He saw a young couple holding hands and two boys chasing a slightly deflated soccer ball down the road. Behind them ran a slightly frantic looking woman with a stroller and several bags of shopping.

“Not near the road!” the woman called out and Harry noticed that the shadows under her eyes could rivel his own. Under the cloak, he flicked his wand and the ball froze. The woman caught up with the boys and Harry watched her scold them gently but firmly, completely unlike Aunt Petunia’s behaviour to both Dudley and Harry. Harry couldn’t remember her ever saying “no” Dudley and he knew Aunt Petunia would be delighted if he ran directly into traffic. He cast a minor feather light charm on the woman’s shopping and scanned around for signs of a supermarket.

Hermione and Harry had scouted out this village before setting up camp in the middle of the forest that bordered it. It didn’t take long to find the local corner store. He crossed the street silently and ducked inside just as another man was leaving. Noticing that there wasn’t anyone else inside except the teenager at the counter, he flicked the sign outside from open to closed. The shop itself was an eclectic mix of crowded shelves with no sense of order that Harry could see. There was tinned tomatoes next to the bread and candied pecans beside the toothbrushes. It was much too small for Harry to take products off the shelves without the single employee noticing them disappearing.

He could just cast a confundus charm on the girl behind the counter but she barely looked twelve. She was humming some muggle song that seemed vaguely familiar as she wiped down the counter, tucking a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. He’d heard stories of muggles getting brain damage from overpowered spells.

Instead, Harry walked deeper into the store, peering around the shelves. There was a chipped red door labelled as toilet. Waiting until the girl was briefly distracted with a particularly stubborn smudge on the counter,  Harry ducked inside. Checking that there were no cameras, he took off the cloak and studied himself in the dirty mirror. A quick glamour covered his scar and changed his eyes to a dark brown. It would have to do. Even if someone looked into the girls memories, they wouldn’t immediately recognise him. Harry turned to the toilet and pointed his wand at it, casting Aguamente until it overflowed.

He pushed the door back open causing the girl to startle.

“Sorry,” Harry said, ducking his head apologetically, “the toilet’s got clogged.”

The girl wrinkled her nose. She came out from behind the counter, sighing. As soon as she stepped inside the bathroom, Harry caused the door to close and fired off a weak sticking spell that would only hold for thirty seconds or so. In that time, he grabbed as much non-perishable food as he could carry, stuffing it into a plastic bag. He heard the girl struggling with the door handle and wrapped the cloak back around him. Trying to ignore the guilty squirming in his stomach, he emptied his whole supply of muggle money on the counter. He knew it still wasn’t enough. Promising himself he’d come back if he survived this war, he cast a tergeo over the counter and rushed out.

He was about to apparate back to the tent when he heard something that made his blood freeze. It was a scream, high and terrified. The screams of a child.

Harry didn’t even hesitate. He ran towards the sound, wand at the ready. Up ahead, people were running towards him, their faces stricken with terror. There was another scream, this one older and so full of anguish that it nearly made Harry double over as if their pain was in own.

In the middle of the street there was a crowd of men in black cloaks and white masks that were all too familiar. He counted at least fifteen of them, all laughing. Harry crept closer and to his horror, caught sight of just what they were laughing about. At the middle Death Eater’s feet, there was one of the boys he’d seen earlier. He was writhing on the ground, whimpering. Tears rolled down his face. His mother stood to the side, locked in a full body bind curse, forced to watch on. The other boy was clasped by the collar by another Death Eater, struggling desperately to get away. Harry had to do something.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry tore his cloak off and sent the spell directly at the Death Eater in the centre. His wand flew out of his hand and Harry caught it. All fifteen Death Eaters turned to him. Distracted by Harry, the body bind curse on the mother weakened and she dropped to her knees by her son, drawing him into her arms.

Harry did the only thing he could think of. He ran.

The Death Eaters took after him, firing spells off wildly. Harry ducked and dodged, weaving through the streets. He just needed to draw the Death Eaters away from the family, giving them enough time to find somewhere safe to hide.

“CRUCIO!” The spell hit him and Harry fell to the ground, gasping. He hadn’t recognised the voice that had cast it but it sounded young, barely much more than a teenager. The spell hurt but he could tell its caster wasn’t that experienced. He rolled out of the way of another burst of red light, noticing that several of the other Death Eaters were swaying. Their spells were coming out slurred like they were drunk. Anger coursed through Harry. Was this some sick form of Death Eater bonding? Why not grab a beer after work and torture some children?

He raised his wand, returning fire with any spell he could think of. A few of the Death Eaters fell, their legs wrapped in ropes or else unconscious on the ground but it wasn’t enough. There were just too many of them. Even though they were inexperienced and half of them were drunk, he was hopelessly outmatched. Harry almost felt like laughing. He wondered what Voldemort would do if he heard that a group of fresh-faced recruits had killed Harry Potter when he had repeatedly failed.

“DIFFINDO!” A fierce cutting curse slashed his right shoulder and Harry felt blood dripping down his arm. He tried to apparate away but there was another flash of red this time aimed directly at his throat. Harry choked. He raised shaking hands to his throat, trying desperately to stop the blood pouring out. Darkness was creeping into his vision. No, no, NO. Harry collapsed forward. He couldn’t actually die, he couldn’t. Hermione and Ron were waiting for him. The whole wizarding world was waiting for him. Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. He couldn’t just die here.

He spluttered, coughing up blood. Above him the Death Eater’s laughed. One of them kicked his side and he Harry groaned. It came out more of a gurgle. Why did he think he could take on fifteen Death Eaters? He was no saviour. The muggles would probably die anyways…all he had done was delay it and condemned thousands more. This couldn’t really be it, not some chance encounter in some Welsh town in the middle of nowhere.

The darkness grew. He could no longer feel the pain, everything was turning numb. Despite everything he had trained to do, his last thought before the darkness over took him wasn’t about the muggles, his friends or even Voldemort.

Eyes slipping shut, Harry let himself fade away thinking that perhaps, just perhaps…this meant that he’d finally be free.

Chapter Text

“First years,” Tom Riddle looked down at the new group of eleven year olds, sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table. They all looked identical: the same tailored uniforms, slicked back hair for the boys and low single braids for the girls. He saw their eyes slide past his prefects badge to his second hands robes and his shoes with the soles coming undone despite frequent Reparos. Irritation flickered inside of him but he didn’t let it show. They would learn.

“I am your prefect, Tom Riddle,” he said shortly, “I will show you to your common room.”

“That’s not a wizarding name,” a pudgy blonde said, wrinkling his nose.

“And who are you?” Riddle stared at the blonde, raising a manicured eyebrow.

“Adonis Carrow,” the blonde stood, stubbornly crossing his arms. Tom internally snorted. Whoever had named this boy after the Greek god of beauty had made a serious miscalculation.

“Carrow,” Tom lip curled, “I know your brother. I was sad to hear about his little accident last year.”

Carrow paled.

Tom turned swiftly to the other first years, all staring at him. “To answer your question, no it’s not a wizarding name. If any of you want to challenge me, I’d advise you to speak with those who have already tried first. Now follow me.”

No one else questioned him as he led them out of the Great Hall.

“Argentum,” Tom said to the serpent, coiling languidly around the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The stone arch swung open and Tom strode inside. He took a moment to admire the room within. To others, the stiff backed couches and marble columns, all doused in a flickering green light from the lake above might have appeared cold and uninviting. It wasn’t the kind of home Tom used to read about in muggle fairy tales but anything was homelier than the orphanage and it was HIS. The other Slytherins already inside, stood as he approached.  

“A few rules before we start,” Tom spun around. Some of the first years took a step back. “Slytherin house is a united front. Any problems you have with each other, will be sorted internally. You will not smear Slytherin’s name. I don’t care who your parents are. We have won the house cup for the last six years and if you jeopardise that, you will be dealt with. Understand?”

Tom glared at the first years until they all nodded, even Carrow.

“Boy’s dormitories are up to the right, girls are up to the left. Breakfast starts at seven.” He continued to outline the basic housekeeping. The other prefect, Parkinson joined him, assuring the first years that they could come to them for anything, no matter how trivial.

Tom concealed his disgust at the idea of comforting some home sick brat. He would leave that up to Parkinson.

“I’ll take the first patrol,” Tom told Parkinson when the first years had all ascended to their dormitories.

“Thanks, Tom,” Parkinson said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“It’s Riddle,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, but we’re prefects together now,” Parkinson dared to touch his arm, “you can call me Dahlia.” Tom jerked away.

“Goodnight, Parkinson.” He turned away from her and marched back out of the common room. It was still fairly early, not yet nine thirty, but he might as well start patrol now. He loved the castle at night, the way his footsteps clicked against the stone floor and how the moonlight poured through the windows.

Tom heard something in front of him and strode forward, wand clasped in hand. He rounded a corner and saw a small figure, curled below a window. Coming closer, he realised it was a girl, a first year by the look of her with blonde plaits, tied off with a yellow bow. She was crying, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Tom grimaced. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

“Are you lost?” He tried to put on a somewhat compassionate voice.

The girl started. She rubbed her eyes and stared at Tom with huge, blue eyes, not saying anything.

“I asked a question,” Tom gritted his teeth.

Slowly, the girl nodded.

“Hufflepuff?” Tom asked though it wasn’t really a question. He could see her yellow and black tie. The girl only sniffled. Tom was getting impatient. “Stand up,” he snapped. He grabbed the back of her robes and hauled her to her feet. Tom practically dragged the little girl to the Hufflepuff common room and dropped her by the pile of barrels that marked its entrance.

“Do you know the password?”

The girl still refused to speak. If she wanted to spend the night in the corridor, so be it. Let this teach her a lesson not to wander off. Tom turned away from her but a small hand on his robes stopped him. Hardly bothering to mask his irritation, Tom tugged his robes out of her grasp.

He cast a quick Scourgify on his robes.  

It was now past ten. Tom would never admit it but he was exhausted. He longed for his four poster bed. It was impossible to sleep for more than a few hours at the orphanage between the scratchy mattress, the crying children and the…

Tom shuddered.

He ascended a flight of stairs, careful to skip the trick step. The halls were all deserted. It seemed that even horny teenagers were willing to wait one night before sneaking out. He was about to head back to the Slytherin common room when there was a burst of white light and something slammed against his chest. Blinded, Tom fell to the ground, his head slamming into the stone. He groaned, lashing out against the thing on top of him. His fist collided with something that let out a whimper. Tom scrambled to his feet, clutching his head. He blinked out the white spots in his eyes and stared down at the thing at his feet, wand drawn.

At first he thought it was another first year. It was letting out soft, gurgling cries from a pile on the floor, clearly not any kind of threat. Tom lowered his wand. He poked the thing with his foot, rolling it over. He frowned. Something seemed to be wrong with this child. Even as a half-starved eleven year old, he hadn’t been this small.

“Lumos,” light filled the corridor and it was only then that Tom saw the blood. It was slowly spreading out from the child. Tom looked down at his robes and grimaced. Some of it had stained his uniform. It would be annoying to get out.

The child must be dying. Tom tilted his head.

Under his wand’s beam of light, he noticed the child was lying in a pile of cloth, wearing only a red sweater with a gold H on the front. Tom crouched down and slid the fabric out from underneath him. He cast aside some pants made of a strange coarse, blue fabric that were much too big for the child and a plastic bag filled with canned food. They looked muggle. He was far more interested in the other shimmery material that felt like water under his fingers. Peering around to make sure that no one was watching, he stuffed it into his satchel.

He could leave. Someone was sure to find the child in the morning and Tom wanted to sleep. But he was curious. The child looked about three years old, far too young to be a Hogwarts students. Regardless, he couldn’t risk one of the portraits seeing him leave the child in a pool of his own blood. Dumbledore would take any reason to expel him. Not wanting to get any more blood on his nicest set of robes, he levitated the child up and its few possessions. A wand fell from under its sleeve and Tom picked it up.

The Hospital Wing wasn’t far. He floated the child forwards, leaving a bloodied path in its wake.

“Madame Blainey,” Tom called out, throwing the hospital wing doors open.

It turned out that the matron was still awake. She rushed forward, pulling on her white apron.

“Put 'em on the bed,” Madame Blainey said firmly. Tom watched her cut the sweater off the child. There wasn’t much he hadn’t seen in war torn London. After raids, he’d witnessed men trapped under fallen debris, young children left dead on the streets and the carcasses of dogs scavenged by rats. Yet, looking at the clean slash across the child’s throat as if from a knife, Tom froze.

What had happened to this kid and would it live long enough for Tom to find out?

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. Wasn’t dying supposed to take away the pain? But was this dying? Eyes shut, Harry extended his other senses, noting the softness under his head and the muffled sounds of footsteps. His neck might have well been wrapped in a molten iron collar. It burnt with such ferocity that he couldn’t stop himself whimpering like a child. He’d always managed death would be quiet, peaceful.

There was a snipping noise and Harry felt a cool wind against his bare skin. He shivered. With a great effort, he opened his eyes, just a sliver. He was assaulted by a bright light and let out another whimper. The sound only caused his neck to burn with a white hot intensity that nearly made him black out.

“Shh,” Someone put a hand on his shoulder and the sudden touch was enough to make him fight through the pain. Eyes half open, he scrambled backwards until his back hit something solid. A glass vial was placed against his lips and he pressed them tighter together.

“I won’t hurt ya,” the voice said but Harry nearly scoffed. When had that ever been true? As his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was in a white room. The walls were lined with shelves of different potion bottles and assorted bandages. He was lying in a cot surrounded by a curtain rail. It all seemed familiar but where…the Hospital Wing. Of course. He should really have recognised it sooner given how much of his school years, he’d spent in a bed identical to this. That meant he wasn’t dead at all. He was at Hogwarts.

This didn’t bring him much comfort.

Last time he’d checked, Snape was headmaster. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be soon.

He saw movement and twisted around to see a woman with a traditional nurse cap. She was younger than Madame Pomfrey, late twenties maybe. Her eyes were a warm brown, almost amber, framed by loose black curls that had escaped from under her white cap. She smiled down at Harry.

“It’s just a pain reliever, darlin’,” she said with a slight cockney accent. Harry still hesitated. He didn’t know her and he didn’t much appreciate how she was talking to him like he was a scared child.

“You sent for me, Marlene?” An older male voice joined the matron’s. Harry tried to shuffle around but the woman Marlene placed a hand on his chin.

“Try not to move. I’ve healed your throat and your shoulder but there’s some internal swelling. It will take a few days to go down and its best if you don’t agitate it. Do you know what that means?”

Harry frowned. Did she think he was stupid? Well, he had gotten himself into this mess as if he stood a chance against fifteen Death Eaters. He needed Hermione. Where was she? Where was Ron? He’d abandoned them. They could be dead. It would be his fault, all his fault. His breaths sped up. Marlene shushed him again, gently, running fingers through his hair. He should be repulsed by the foreign touch but it only seemed to make him sleepy. He was so tired.

“It means you’ve got ta stay as still as you can,” Marlene said, “you can just sleep, little one. No one is going to hurt ya ‘ere.”

Harry fought harder to keep his eyes open.

“Is this the patient?” The male voice said, “who is he?”

“I’d quite like to know that myself,” Marlene turned to someone out of Harry’s periphery. “Can you tell me everything you know?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” This voice was younger. It also seemed familiar but Harry couldn’t say from where. He was distracted by the older man’s question. They didn’t recognise him. How could they not recognise him? His face was on posters across half the country, not to mention the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing. Not to sound egoistical but he doubted there were any wixen in Britain who didn’t know exactly who he was.

“I just found him in the corridor on my prefect round,” the younger voice continued. “He was carrying this.”

Marlene reached forward across the bed. She drew back, holding his bag of groceries and more importantly his wand. Harry wanted to snatch it out of her hands but he doubted he could even lift his arms. His whole body was filled with concrete.

“I’m more interested in how he got in the school.” This was a third voice. “ Harry knew who it belonged to instantly. Dumbledore.

He flopped his head to the other side, looking around for the man he never thought he would see again. There he was by the Hospital Wing entrance but something was off. It was clearly Dumbledore. The same twinkling pale blue eyes and crooked nose but his hair was auburn with only a few specks of white mixed in. It was shorter, just reaching his shoulders and his beard was neatly trimmed. There were fewer lines on his face and he wasn’t wearing spectacles. He looked fifty years younger. What was going on?

Beside him stood another man. He was older. Grey hair reached down his back and his beard was cut into a sharp V, making him look like someone important. His black eyes lacked the intensity Dumbledore’s had but his stare still made Harry squirm uncomfortably. He somewhat remembered seeing his face in one of the portraits in Dumbledore’s office.

“I won’t have ya turn my ward into an interrogation ward,” Marlene said sternly, “he may not be a student but he is under my care.” She turned back to Harry. “Can you tell us your name, darlin?”

Harry opened his mouth, considering whether or not he should lie. The only thing that came out was a weak whimper. His throat burned.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Marlene said, “don’t strain yourself.” She looked back at Dumbledore and the other man. “His throat was split,” she said the word in a whisper as if it might upset Harry to hear it, “it could be a week before he’s able to talk.”

“Couldn’t we give him some parchment?” Dumbledore sounded impatient, “he could write his answers.”

Marlene frowned. “Look at him, Albus. He can’t be older than five. I’d guess three or four. If you want a detailed written report, you’ll have to wait some time.”

WHAT?

Harry's mind blanked out. Dread pooling in his stomach as he peered down at his body. He was still wearing Molly’s sweater. It had been ripped, exposing his throat and injured shoulder, now wrapped in bandages. That alone was expected but what he wasn’t prepared for was how large it was. He’d lost a considerable bit of weight in the last few months but that couldn’t explain why it now fit him like a dress. In fact, now that he looked around, everything was bigger. No…he was smaller.

The only explanation he could think of was time travel. But, even if he had somehow travelled back to his three year old self, it didn’t explain why he was here and not in his cupboard and why Dumbledore didn’t recognise him. Everyone had always said he looked just like his father. Was this all just some fever dream? It was a much more comforting thought. He couldn't move his arm to pinch himself. Instead, he bit down on his tongue. It hurt. A lot. Not a dream then.

But if this was time travel…how…and when?

He shifted his head, scanning the room for any kind of clues. His eyes settled on the last person in the room he hadn’t yet seen. No, no, no, no. This could not be happening.

Standing next to his bed was a young Tom Riddle, looking just like he had when he stepped out of the diary. His head was cocked slightly to one side, studying Harry intently. Harry’s hand instinctively went for his wand before realising that he could barely move, he didn’t have his wand and he was apparently somewhere between three and five years old.

Why couldn’t he have just died? Oh that’s right because the universe hates him.

Harry groaned. Shit.

Chapter Text

The child was panicking. He was staring directly at Tom, his dark brown eyes wide and fearful. There was something old about them like he had seen in those clips of soldiers coming back from the war. Tom didn’t remembering ever meeting this child but he looked at Tom like he knew him. His quick breaths came out as pained wheezes

Madame Blainey kept running her fingers through his messy black hair, speaking in a soft voice. The sight made Tom shift uncomfortably.

“Can you pass me a calming draught, Riddle?” Madame Blainey pointed to a shelf behind him, “It’s the one in the purple bottle.”

Feeling Professor Dumbledore’s eyes on him, he grabbed a bottle and handed it over. The child followed his every movement. He refused the potion, shaking his head slightly. His breaths were only speeding up, his chest barely rising and falling.

Madame Blainey kept assuring him that he was safe here, trying to get him to take the calming draught but he kept his lips tightly together. He stopped making any noise at all.

“Breath,” Madame Blainey said, “come on, darlin. Follow my breaths.” The words didn’t seem to have any impact. Tom watched the child’s eyes roll back in his head and he collapsed against his pillows. Madame Blainey glared at the two professors in the room. “You should all leave. He clearly isn’t up for any question. You can come back in the morning.”

“There could be a breach in the wards,” Professor Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling at the matron, “we can’t wait for tomorrow.”

“Well, you’re not waking him up,” Madame Blainey put her hands on her hips, “what he needs is-.”

“Is he a wixen child?” Headmaster Dippet interrupted. He held a hand out to take the plastic bag and wand from the matron. Opening up the bag, he drew out several cans of soup, some pineapple, beans, corn and instant noodles. “This looks muggle.”

“He’s a wizard,” Madame Blainey said, “my scan shows quite severe magical exhaustion. I believe it’s been keeping him alive. If he wasn’t a wizard, he’d be dead.”

Professor Dumbledore picked up a tin of pineapple. “This has an expiry date for September 1999.”

That couldn’t be right. Tom snatched up a tin, turning it upside down to read the numbers on the bottom: November 2000. Professor Dippet glanced at Dumbledore questioning but Madame Blainey and Tom exchanged a look. It had to be a typing error. He knew canned goods could last a while but not fifty-seven years. He checked the other cans and found the same thing. None of them expired before 1988. Tom might be able to accept that, however implausible, but left inside the bag was a single loaf of bread that was apparently BEST BEFORE March 21^st, 1998.

“You said he’s suffering from magical exhaustion,” Tom said to the matron, keeping his voice light, “could he have…” Tom didn’t really want to finish the sentence. It seemed absurd. Not even Tom had ever performed accidental magic powerful enough to send him back in time.

“There have been cases of children as young as three apparating great distances to get away from danger,” Madame Blainey said, “I remember reading about a little girl who was kidnapped. She managed to apparate herself all the way from America back to Germany, straight into her mother’s arms.”

“You think that’s what happened?” Professor Dippet asked her, “Could accidental magic get him through the wards?”

“It shouldn’t,” Dumbledore said, staring at the boy consideringly, “but there is much we don’t know about magic. It is an endless wonder, to be used but rarely understood.”

Tom inwardly glowered at Dumbledore. He could just say he didn’t know.

“Are you sure you don’t recognise him?” Madame Blainey asked Tom, “If this was accidental magic, I can only imagine there was something that drew him here, something that made him feel safe. He’s much too young to have visited Hogwarts which only leaves…”

“No sorry,” Tom crossed his arms, “I’ve never seen him before.” He didn’t mention how the boy had stared at him so knowingly, as if he could see through his many masks, right into his soul.

“He does look quite like you,” Professor Dippet looked between Tom and the unconscious boy.

“I don’t have any living relatives,” Tom grit his teeth. He had noticed the similarities, the dark eyes and hair, but they weren’t the only two people with those features. Tom knew he was an orphan. His parents had to be dead. That’s why he was left at the orphanage.

He felt Dumbledore’s gaze on him.

“Unless,” he held up one of the tins, “he hasn’t been born yet. There’s a simple test we could do.”

“No.” Madame Blainey was firm, “I won’t have you taking any more blood from this child.”

Professor Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. “There are other ways to test familial connections.” Before Madame Blainey or Tom could say anything, he drew his wand and traced a complex pattern above Tom and the boy. There was a burst of white light and a scrap of paper appeared. Dumbledore caught it out of the air and studied it. Tom saw his eyes widen.

“What is it?” It took everything not to snap at the old man. “Do I have a brother?” Tom wanted to snatch the paper out of Dumbledore’s hand. Could he really have family out there? All this time at the orphanage…was there someone out there for him? Was he not alone anymore?

Agonisingly slowly, Dumbledore looked up at him. He held out the scrap of paper. “According to this…you have a son.”

Tom stilled, paper in hand. In clear lettering, it indicated a 99.9% connection between the two of them but that wasn’t possible. What use did he have for a child? Not now and not in fifty years. He stared down at the boy, whimpering pathetically in this sleep. This couldn’t be his child.

Dumbledore took the paper back from him and stuffed it into his pocket. There had to have been some mistake or a ploy by the meddling transfiguration teacher.

“This conversation can wait,” Madame Blainey said, “this boy needs rest. You can all come back in the morning.”

Tom had never been happier to listen to the matron. He waited just long enough for Headmaster Dippet to nod at him in a clear dismissal before almost running out of the Hospital Wing. Tom took every shortcut he knew back his dormitory and into the dorm he shared with the other sixth years. Lying down on his four poster bed, he decided not to think about the boy two floors above him. Everything was sure to be solved in the morning. For now, all he needed to do was sleep.  

Chapter Text

Harry woke up alone. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was. The Hospital Wing, that was right. He looked around at the empty beds, straining his ears for the sounds of any other voices or footsteps. All he could hear was the rustle of trees outside his window. Peering through it, he saw that the sun had not yet risen over the Forbidden Forest.

He manoeuvred himself so that his legs dangled over the side of his bed and hopped down. The movement hurt but not anywhere near as badly as yesterday. Harry just grit his teeth, stepping silently away from the bed. Right now the priority was to get out and get answers.

By the time he reached the Hospital Wing entrance, he was panting heavily. While Harry may be used to pain, it had been a long time since he was quite this small. The other beds and hospital shelves towered over him and what would have taken him a few steps at seventeen, felt like forever to his tiny body. He stared up at the last obstacle out of the Hospital Wing: the door handle. Even on the tips of his toes, he couldn’t reach it. If only he had his wand. Harry patted himself down. His invisibility cloak and the Hawthorne wand he had been using were both gone as was his bag of canned goods. They weren’t on the bedside table and Harry could only imagine that Dumbledore or the other professor had taken them.  He touched his neck, feeling the bandages wrapped around it. Fumbling around, he found the cord for his mokeskin pouch and pulled it out from under his ripped sweater. He held it close. There was some emergency galleons inside, enough to buy a new wand if he had to and the marauders map. Right now, he needed clothes. The stone floor was freezing under his bare feet.

He found some boxes of spare bandages and dragged them over to the door. It took a while, his shoulder stinging but it gave him just enough height to turn the handle. The door swung forward and Harry fell with it. He landed on his wrist, hard. Struggling to his feet, he examined his wrist. It didn’t seem to be broken.

Harry tottered through the deserted corridors, peering around each corner. He had to use both his hands and feet to get up the stairs. As he wandered the halls, he noticed slight differences from the Hogwarts he remembered. He didn’t recognise some of the portraits and a few of the tapestries had changed but Harry probably knew the castle better than anyone. Not even Fred and George knew where the Chamber of Secrets is. Though he hadn’t known where he should go when he left the Hospital Wing, Harry soon found himself in the Astronomy Wing beside a portrait of trolls learning ballet.

He walked up and down the corridor three times. “I need answers about where or when I am,” Harry thought, “and supplies.”

After the third lap, a door formed. The handle was just low enough for Harry to turn it and push inside the Room of Requirement. Looking around, Harry saw that the room had materialised into something resembling a department store. There was a full length mirror, racks of different clothes and a low table right in front of him with an open newspaper on it. Harry reached out and grabbed the paper, dragging it towards him.

He scanned the articles, a piece on the regulation of wolfsbane, a two page spread on some new celebrity couple. Harry turned to the front page and couldn’t stop staring at the date in the top corner: September 2^nd, 1942.

This wasn’t ideal.

If it wasn’t for a lifetime of nothing ever going as planned, Harry would probably choose right now to freak out. As it was, he closed the paper, putting it back on the table. He focused instead on stripping off the sweater and choosing a long sleeved blue shirt, grey hoddie, underwear and navy sweatpants that all looked to be his size. The white sandshoes he found were a little loose but everything still fit better than all his old clothes, handed down from Dudley.

Harry stood in front of the mirror, twisting this way and that way.  He frowned. The matron had made it sound like he was a baby. He did not look seventeen but Harry would guess he was five or six not three, he wasn’t that small. There was something wrong with his reflection though. His eyes were brown, not green and his lightening scar was gone but why. Harry thought back to what he’d been doing just before the Death Eaters had corned him. He’d put a glamour on. That must be it but how had the glamour stayed while the rest of his body changed? Harry had pictured some kind of mental transference, right out of one of the sci-fi books Dudley never read, where his seventeen year old mind was put in his five year old body. However, looking in the mirror, Harry realised that this wasn’t the case. Pulling up his sleeves, he saw the scar where the basilisk had bit him and the carved letters on his left hand. He couldn’t tell whether he was skinner than he was at five. His cheeks were sunken and all his ribs were visible when he pulled up his shirt but he had always been thin as a child, especially at this age. It was before he went to primary school and the Dursleys took a step back from some of the more visible punishments.

His stomach grumbled. How long was it since he’d last eaten? He’d had a bacon sandwich two days ago or fifty years in the future if Harry was correct. A slightly hysterical laugh formed in his throat, coming out as a raspy gurgle. He was glad there wasn’t anyone around to hear him. One step at a time. He had clothes, now he needed some food. He slung a black backpack on that should fit enough food for at least a week. Would the house elves still give him food if he didn’t look like a student? It was worth a shot.

The corridors were still empty but Harry saw the sun just starting to rise outside the windows. He hurried down the moving staircases and past the Great Hall. It grew colder as he descended into the dungeons. He hugged his arms around him, silently following the smell of frying bacon and fresh bread.

Someone tapped him on his shoulder.

Harry jumped, spinning around. He automatically reached for his back pocket before realising he didn’t have his wand. In front of him stood a young girl with messy blonde hair falling out of two braids. She had wide blue eyes, rimmed in red like she’d been crying and a yellow striped tie. Harry tried to say something but the only thing that came out of his throat was a dull whine.

The girl moved her hands around in some intricate pattern.

Unsure what would be the best response, Harry just stayed still. The girl didn’t look like a threat. He’d guess she was a first year or a particularly small second year. Her robes were rumpled like she’d slept in them. Harry looked to his right and realised he was just outside the Hufflepuff common room.

The girl followed his gaze. Harry watched her face fall.

Harry grabbed her hand and walked over to a stack of barrels. He tapped the one two from the bottom in the middle of the row and a circular door appeared beside the barrels.

The girl’s eyes widened. She put her hand against her chin and moved it away from her, stepping close to the door. Harry waited but she didn’t go inside. The little girl looked exhausted. She could still get an hour or so of sleep before breakfast yet she motioned for Harry to come too, seemingly unwilling to leave him alone.

Harry shook his head, pointing down the corridor towards the kitchen. He started to toddle towards it and the girl hurried after him. He reached up to open the kitchen door and the girl rushed to help him. The kitchen hadn’t changed at all since the last time Harry had been down here. There were five tables laid out in front of him, matching the ones upstairs in the Great Hall. Beside them were benches, cupboards and stoves overflowing with platters of toast, frying pans of sausages and eggs and jugs of pumpkin juice. House-elves rushes towards Harry and the girl as they entered, sporting the same white togas with the Hogwarts’ crest emobroided into them.

“Welcome little sir and miss,” a house elves said in a high pitched voice, “what can we be doing for you?”

Once more, Harry tried to speak but his throat only burned. His stomach answered for him, growling. The house elves took this as a command and pulled Harry down into a chair, placing loaded plates of food in front of him.

“You be much too skinny,” another house elf said, “you need to eat more.” Harry smiled gratefully. The house elf reminded him of Molly Weasley. They pushed the girl into a seat beside him, giving her a platter of eggs, bacon, toast, yogurt and fruit. The girl repeated the same gesture as before, looking a little overwhelmed. The house elves only started at the girl. She drew a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled something down on it, holding it out to the elves.

The house-elf piling more food onto Harry’s plate, glanced down at the note. “I be Mipsy,” she said.  

“And I be Dottie,” the one pouring them both pumpkin juice added. The girl wrote something else, holding it out to the elves and Harry.

It read: I am Alaya Filch. You can call me Ally.

Harry stared at her. Filch? This little blue eyes girl couldn’t possible be related to the old caretaker who liked to threaten students with manacles. He held out his hand, silently asking for the pen. She handed it over to him and Harry wavered for a second before five letters in his chicken scratch scrawl. Harry was a common enough name. He couldn’t think of any danger in using it.

The girl, Ally reached out a hand formally and Harry shook it.

Chapter Text

What to do now?

Harry had clothes and food, enough to last a week stuffed into his backpack. All he needed now was a wand. He doubted Olivander would sell one to someone who looked five years old but there were some places in Knockturn Alley that might. If Harry could get to Diagon Alley, he could pick up some ageing potion and then…he didn’t know.

The evidence was clear. Harry could try and deny it all he wanted but that didn’t change the fact that somehow he was in the past or some alternate universe where Tom Riddle still had a nose. Hermione and Ron could be dying and Harry was trapped here. He had no idea how to get back or if it was even possible. In the Department of Mysteries, there had been a room dedicated to time magic. He remembered seeing a Death Eater transformed into a full grown man with a babies’ head. Had something similar happened to him? Harry shuddered thinking of the last time he’d broken into the Department of Mysteries. He could try and do it again, search for the time room and…what? Hope for the best? He wasn’t Hermione. Wixen studied for years to understand time magic and Harry hadn’t even graduated.

He slumped down on the table, head in his hands. There was a tap on his shoulder and Harry looked around at Ally, pushing away her now empty plate.

Are you ok?

She wrote in her notebook.

I’m fine.

Harry scribbled back. Ally raised an eyebrow at him. She crossed out Harry’s words and shoved the notebook back into his hand, folding her arms stubbornly. Harry hesitated, gripping the muggle pen.

I don’t know what to do.

He admitted.

I’m not meant to be here but I don’t know how to get home.

Ally bit at her lower lip. She took the notebook and pen from him.

Do you want adults involved?

Harry shook his head, forcefully. The only adult he knew here was Dumbledore and he wasn’t entirely sure whether he could trust him. Dumbledore had always presented himself as a grandfatherly figure. Harry remembered how vehemently he had defended the headmaster to Riddle, proclaiming him as the greatest wizard of all time. After wandering aimlessly around the countryside with nothing but a snitch and a half formed list of Horcruxes, Harry wasn’t so certain. He looked over at Ally. At Harry’s refusal, she only nodded, her eyes reflecting something like understanding.

Where is your home? She wrote. I could try and help you get back there.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. I don’t think I can get back. He wrote. I don’t even know it still exists.

Ally stood, holding out a hand for him. Not about to refuse the small girl, Harry took it. They walked towards the kitchen entrance, Ally repeating the same gesture as before that Harry thought might mean thank you. Ally put her head through the door, looking to her left and right down the hallway. She pulled Harry gently forward towards the Hufflepuff common room. Harry trailed after her, listening intently for the sounds of anyone else heading to breakfast.

Up ahead, he heard some muted voices and tugged at Ally’s arm, stopping her. He put a finger to his lips and silently peered around the corner. There were three girls standing over another girl on the ground. Two of the girls had wands pointed downwards while the other was rummaging through a leather satchel throwing out the belongings.

“What’s this?” the girl with the satchel drew out a brown, hardback book. She flipped open the book and a cruel smirk spread across her lips, “is this your diary?”

“Give it back, Hornby,” the girl on the ground cried, clenching her fists. Hary looked across at her and started. It was Moaning Myrtle. Her brown eyes were filled with tears behind Sellotaped glasses that were much too big for her face.

The girl, Hornby, waved the book mockingly above her. She threw back her blonde plait and turned to the latest page. “Dear Diary,” Hornby said, “it’s another year at Hogwarts.”

The other girls were already snickering. Myrtle tried to snatch the book back but one of the girls, a brown haired girl with a narrow face, fired off a stinging hex making Myrtle shrink away.

“I hope I can make some friends this year,” Hornby continued.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” the brown haired girl crooned.

 “Ooh look at this.” Hornby grinned. “My mum told me I just need to talk to more people. She says to keep trying. I can’t get her to understand that everyone hates me.”

“Give it back!” Myrtle repeated, tears now streaming down her face.

“Go on,” Hornby leered, “run off to a bathroom and cry.”

Myrtle staggered to her feet, wiping her eyes. She held out a hand for her satchel and book but Hornby pulled the items close to her chest.

“I don’t think so,” she said, “you see, I’ve got a few friends who have been looking for something new to read. In fact, I reckon that everyone in the school might want to have a look. What do you think?”

Harry had seen enough. He looked at Ally, miming waving a wand. She drew out her notebook and scribbled in it frantically.

I don’t know any spells.

Harry shook his head, pointing at himself. Ally cocked her head to the side but didn’t hesitate to hand over her wand to him. It didn’t feel quite right in his hand but as he pointed it at Hornby, it didn’t fight him like the Hawthorn wand had. He fired off a silent summoning spell and Myrtle’s diary flew out of Hornby's hand into Harry’s. Hornby spun around but she couldn’t see Harry, hidden behind the corner. Myrtle used her confusion to snatch back her satchel and run off in the opposite direction from Harry. He tugged Ally down behind the barrels in front of the Hufflepuff common room. Hornby marched towards him, glancing around and muttering under her breath.

“We’re going to be late for breakfast,” the brown haired girl called to her, “there’s no one there.”

“There must be,” Hornby turned to look at the barrels.

“Come on,” the other girl whined, “we’ll miss out on the hash browns.”

“Fine,” Hornby retreated, “but I’m going to get that diary back.”

The three girls hurried off towards the Great Hall and Harry stepped out from the barrels. He handed the wand back to Ally, tucking the diary into his backpack. Seeing Myrtle alive, not exactly well but breathing, it made an idea form in his mind. Harry would need to do a lot of research about time magic and what better place to do that than right here in the Hogwarts’ library. He could hide out in the Room of Requirement and get food from the kitchens. No one would even know he was here. That didn’t mean that Harry would step back from the other students. He may be smaller than he was used to but Harry had one advantage that not even teenage Voldemort had. If this really was time travel, it meant that Harry knew exactly what was about to happen this year but it didn’t have to. Myrtle didn’t have to die, Hagrid didn’t have to be expelled and as for Riddle, Harry could stop him from ever even making a Horcrux. He could change things, really change them.

Excitement built inside of Harry. He knew Hermione would tell him not to mess with time but she wasn’t here. Surely, he couldn’t make things worse than they already were. Ally gestured to the Hufflepuff common room but Harry shook his head.

Go get ready for class. Harry wrote. I have something I need to do.

Are you going to be ok on your own? Ally scribbled back before hesitating. Will I see you again? Harry noticed that she was tugging on her lower lip with her teeth. She wouldn’t quite meet Harry’s eye. Harry thought over the words. He didn’t like the idea of dragging an innocent young girl into his mess but she didn’t seem keen to leave him alone.

I’ll be on the fifth floor in the astronomy wing. Look for a picture of trolls learning ballet. Harry smiled up at her. If you need me for anything, walk up and down the corridor three times and think of me.

Ally took the notebook, reading the long description. She nodded firmly. I will come. With that, she waved at Harry and tapped on the barrel he’d shown her earlier. Harry waved back, already making a mental map of everything he could remember from both his second year and the memories Dumbledore had shown him in his pensive about Voldemort’s time at Hogwarts. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. If Voldemort detected that he was a threat, the teenage dark lord could just kill him. In this body, Harry would be practically defenceless. Still, Harry had always been a Gryffindor at heart. It might not the smartest move or the most cunning but Harry couldn’t stand around and do nothing. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could stop Tom Riddle from ever becoming Voldemort at all and that was worth dying for.

He ducked back behind the barrels as a group of Hufflepuffs moved past, chattering about their upcoming classes. As he waited for them to go past Harry made a list in his head. First up: he needed to find a way to get the Hawthorne wand and his cloak back without anyone seeing him. Harry grinned, the first real smile in weeks. How hard could it be?

Chapter Text

“I don’t know where he is.” The Hospital Wing looked like it had been ransacked. All the cupboards were open and their contents was spilled across the wooden floors. Madame Blainey’s ringlets spilled out of her nurse cap that was hanging lopsidedly on her head.

“He can’t have gotten far,” the matron said compulsively straightening the bedsheets. “He shouldn’t even be able ta get out of bed.”

Tom Riddle stood in the doorway watching the chaos. He didn’t quite know what to think. As usual, he’d slipped out of bed before any of his dormmates awoke. He spent an hour smoothing down his natural curls and polishing his prefect badge, cataloguing his To Do list for the day. It was a consistent routine, one of the few times Tom could really relax but this morning it was ruined. He couldn’t stop thinking about the boy in the Hospital Wing. Tom was so distracted he nearly slid back into his Cockney accent when he ran into Professor Slughorn outside the Slytherin dorms. He made an excuse to get away, pretending to rush off to the library but taking a sharp left at the last second. Madame Blainey was already up and waiting for him.

“I came down this mornin’ and he was already gone,” Madame Blainey said, wringing her hands.

“What time did you arrive?” Tom felt a strange emotion stirring in his chest.

“Just past six,” the matron glanced over to the empty bed where the boy had slept last night. “I’ve sent a patronus to Armando and Albus.”

Tom hid his scowl. He wouldn’t be surprised if Dumbledore tried to steal the boy away from Tom, either as a misguided attempt to protect the child from him or to raise him as a weapon against his least favourite student. Tom hadn’t forgotten how the transfiguration professor had lit his wardrobe on fire, the first time they’d met. He should have stayed in the Hospital yesterday. Tom clenched his fists. People might claim that the deputy headmaster was one of the greatest minds of the last century but Tom would find a way to end him if he had done anything to the child.

“I will look,” Tom said. He was already turning back out to the hallway when he felt a hand touch his shoulder gently.

“We’ll find him,” Madame Blainey said, her warm amber eyes looking directly into his, “he’ll be ok.” Tom pulled himself out of her grasp and strode out of the room. He knew the castle better than anyone. Tom would find the child and he would get the answers he needed from him. He didn’t trust anything Dumbledore said. Scanning the surrounding hallways, Tom recalled all the spells he knew to test paternity. Blood tests could take up to a week for results. His best option would be the Anima Nexum enchantment that he’d read about in a volume in the Restricted Section. He suspected it was the spell Dumbledore had performed, an instant test that would reveal any and all familial connections in the nearby area.

Tom skipped breakfast, the odd feeling in his chest growing increasingly tight. He searched Hogwarts top to bottom, even checking out some of the lesser known secret passages for the boy. Despite his knowledge of the castle, Tom found nothing, not even a trace of blood to show where the boy had been. He didn’t realise that class had started until a frantic looking Gryffindor sixth year practically bowled straight into him.

“Sorry, mate,” the Gryffindor said, “didn’t see you.”

“Clearly,” Tom drawled, looking down at the Gryffindor’s sloppy uniform and windswept hair.

“Well…” the boy rubbed the back of his neck, “sorry. I made a new year resolution to be on time, can’t break my goal on the first day.” Tom cast a quick tempus.

“You’re already late,”

The Gryffindor grinned. “Five minutes is fashionably late, that doesn’t count.”

“You’ll be more than five minutes late if you keep talking to me.”

“Better be off then,” The Gryffindor waved at Tom before taking off again, disappearing out of sight. Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Thirty points from Gryffindor,” he muttered into the empty corridor. He hadn’t been late for class in nearly six years, bar that one time in his first year when an older Slytherin locked him in a bathroom. The Slytherin was lucky Tom didn’t know the unforgivables at eleven.

“You’re late,” Dumbledore said as Tom took his usual seat at the back of the transfiguration classroom, “five points from Slytherin.”

Tom grit his teeth. “Sorry, professor.”

The last thing he wanted right now was to sit through an hour with Dumbledore but he didn’t fancy getting detention for a month. Dumbledore would take any excuse to punish him. He shot Dumbledore suspicious looks, trying to gather whether he knew where the boy was. Tom was acutely aware that Dumbledore was staring right back at him. It made his skin crawl.

He pretended to be absorbed in the task of transforming a flowerpot into an armadillo. Dumbledore made rounds of the classroom, correcting student’s grips and pronunciation. He came up behind Tom.

“Try again, Tom,” he said, barely looking at his perfect armadillo. It's Riddle, Tom thought.

The rest of the day was painful. Between classes, he kept darting off to retrace his steps around the castle. His followers noticed but none of them dared to question him. Tom had no more success than this morning. Sometimes though, he could have sworn he was being followed but whenever he spun around there was no one there. Tom’s chest had grown so tight, it was painful. He wondered if someone had poisoned him.

Tom told his follows to go down to dinner without him. He was about to try the astronomy tower when a silvery hummingbird appeared and spoke in Madame Blainey’s voice.

“I found him,” the patronus said, “he’s in the Hospital Wing.”

Tom sped off the to Hospital Wing before the patronus had even stopped talking. He threw the doors open and saw the matron fussing over a familiar boy. The child looked much better than yesterday. There was some colour in his cheeks and he was dressed in much more suitable clothes though his hair was still a mess. His brown eyes met Tom’s. He stilled, gazing into those intelligent eyes that were studying him intently. Yesterday, he thought he saw pure fear in them. Today, he saw something much closer to basic wariness.

“I don’t think we got to be formally introduced,” Tom said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. Held out a piece of paper and Tom took it.

I’m Harry. It read in a scratchy style that was almost illegible.

“Well met, Harry,” Tom kept up his easy smile that put everyone at ease. The boy’s eyebrows just raised higher, looking thoroughly unimpressed but he did return his handshake. When their hands touched, Tom felt a spark, like a burst of static electricity. He jerked his hand back. At least it seemed like the boy could write. Tom had questions and he wasn’t leaving the Hospital Wing until he got them.   

Chapter Text

Looking at Tom Riddle in the doorway, Harry curled a hand around the wand in his pocket. He’d been lucky when sneaking into the matron’s private office while she was distracted with a group of first years who had added nettles to the cure for boils without first removing it from the fire. Harry had been less lucky when trying to sneak back out. He missed his invisibility cloak. It hadn’t been on the bench with the hawthorn wand and plastic bag of canned goods.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” Tom Riddle expectantly stuck a hand forward, “I’m Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect.”

Harry stared at the hand in front of him. He’d only ever heard Tom Riddle speak to him like this inside the Chamber of Secrets before revealing his true identity. The young dark lord kept a placid smile on his face, his Queen’s English accent without the cold, high pitched amusement that haunted Harry’s nightmares. Harry took out a piece of paper, he’d borrowed from the matron, Marlene which had his name written on it.

“Well met, Harry,” Riddle said, hand still stretched out. Reluctantly, Harry shook it, bracing himself for the pain he usually felt in his scar. Instead, all he experienced was a slight shock. Riddle pulled back his hand, eyes widened briefly before returning the same blank mask.

“Ah, Armando, Albus you’re here.” Marlene beckoned the two professors over.

“Headmaster,” Riddle bowed his head respectfully at the professor that must be Armando Dippet. He didn’t even look at Dumbledore.

“You found the boy,” Dippet said, clapping his hands together. Harry took a small step back from the sudden movement. Even with a wand, he still didn’t reach much higher than their waists.

“He wrote that his name is Harry,” Marlene said.

“Did he write a last name?” Dumbledore asked, looking down at Harry. Marlene turned to him and spoke gently.

“Do you remember your last name? Or maybe your parent’s names?”

Harry shook his head, trying to look like an oblivious five year old.

“Is there anything you can tell us?” Marlene knelled fully onto the ground so she was on his level. “I imagine it must be very scary being here but I promise that no one is going to hurt ya. We only want ta help.”

Harry wavered. To change things, he had to stay at Hogwarts. Why did he have to be a five year old? There was no way he could pass for even the tiniest first year.

He mimed writing and Marlene passed him over a pen.

My parents are dead.

Marlene took the paper from him, her eyes widening as she read it. She passed the note around. The most surprising reaction was from Riddle. When he saw read the note, Harry saw his mask momentarily crack. He caught a glimpse of emotion, shock, confusion and fear all in quick succession.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my boy,” Dumbledore said. Harry winced at the term of endearment. It reminded him just a bit too much of Uncle Vernon. For some reason, he was looking at Tom as he said it.

“When?” Riddle spoke firmly, his smile gone, “When did it happen? How did it happen?”

Yeah, right. As if Harry was going to do was discuss his parents to their murderer. He took the note back and scribbled: They died in car crash when I was a baby. It would be an easy lie to remember. The headmaster would probably assume they were muggles and not bother to check the facts.

“That cannot be true,” Riddle said stiffly.

Harry just shrugged. He wasn’t sure why Riddle looked so horrified at the idea.

“No need to worry,” Dippet clapped Tom on the back, ignorant to how he stiffened at the contact, “it hasn’t happened yet.”

How did he know that? Harry’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t written anything about time travel and he couldn’t imagine that it would be anyone’s first guess about how he arrived. Harry shuddered, imagining all the things both Riddle and Dumbledore could want from a time traveller.

“This could be your chance to get to know each other,” Dippet continued, “You could look after him until we figure out a way to send him back wherever he comes from. We don’t usually allow children at Hogwarts but it would just be temporary. We would give you a private room of course and the house elves could help out when you have class.”

Harry was lost.

“Riddle is only fifteen,” Marlene interrupted, “and Harry will need some serious medical help and not just for his physical injuries. You can’t expect Riddle to parent him alongside his studies, no matter what the paternity test shows.”

“I agree with Marlene,” Dumbledore said, “I do not believe Tom can be trusted with a child. I could…”

“Riddle is a model student,” Dippet cut in, “Horace has only ever had positive things to say about him. If there’s anyone who could raise a child and complete his education, I’m sure Riddle could manage.”

Ok, Harry was very lost. He stared between Riddle, Dippet, Dumbledore and Marlene.

“I would like to perform my own test,” Riddle said and Harry blanched. No, no, no. He wasn’t letting Riddle take any of his blood. There were enough scars on his body, thank you very much. Riddle drew his wand and Harry instinctively materialised a shield around him. However, Riddle only carved a complicated symbol in the air that caused a burst of white light and a scroll to appear. He plucked the scroll from midair.

For an agonizing second, Harry watched him read whatever was on the scroll. Whatever it said made him stand straighter and look directly at Dippet, his smile returning, twice as bright and twice as fake.

“I’ll take him,” he said.

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Marlene spoke softly, “this is a big responsibility. It is not a decision that should be made lightly.”

“I’m sure,” Riddle said.

Harry had the horrible feeling that everything was about to get much, much worse.

Chapter Text

A CAR CRASH! Tom Riddle would not die in a car crash. He refused. Tom stared down at the parchment in his hands, unable to deny what he saw there. Harry was his son. He had a son. Up until the last moment, he’d half-hoped that Harry was only be distant cousin or sibling but Dumbledore had not forged the results. They had a 99.9% connection. From what he’d read about the spell, it was a percentage only found between parents and their children or in rare cases soulmates. He wrinkled his nose at that thought, looking down at the child. This must be his son whose parents had apparently died when he was a baby. Tom would not let that happen.

What Dumbledore’s scan hadn’t shown though was another name below his: HENRY POTTER. Tom was vaguely aware that he was a Gryffindor in Tom’s year but didn’t know much else about him. He peered at the percentage beside his name and noticed that is kept changing. As he watched, it flickered between 18% which indicated a distance cousin or great uncle and nearly 99%. Harry hadn’t just mentioned one parent, he’d said parents. Tom hadn’t even considered that Harry must have a mother...or another father. Surely, surely it couldn’t be a Potter. Tom would never sink that low. They might be wealthy but they were a light family and nauseating soft-hearted. He would need to investigate this.  

“Wonderful news,” Professor Dippet said, “I’ll contact the DOM. They’ll know what to do about the whole time travel business In the meanwhile, I’ll show you to one of the private rooms we have here. They’re usually reserved for head boys and girls but we can make an exception.” Tom didn’t miss the twitch in Dumbledore’s eyes.

Dippet led Harry and Tom out of the hospital wing, chatting amicably with them. “I have two granddaughters, you know,” he said, taking the staircase down to the Slytherin dorms. He reached into his pocket and drew out a golden pocket watch with a celestial pattern. Clicking it open, Dippet showed Tom and Harry the moving photograph stored on one side of the watch. In it was a woman with long, blonde hair and Dippet’s thick eyebrows. She was holding the chubby wrists of two little girls, forcing them to wave at the cameraman. Tom concealed a grimace at how quickly the stern Headmaster had changed at the mention of his children. No one looking at him describing how his youngest granddaughter had just learnt to walk would mark him as a threat. Tom would let this child become his weakness.  

Obviously noticing Tom’s silence, Professor Dippet’s face fell. “But of course, you must be terrified. I don’t know what I’d do if one of my children got hurt.”

Tom glanced at the child’s bandaged throat. That same unknown emotion from earlier flared up inside of him. Someone had dared to touch his child. Harry must have seen something sneak through his occlumency shields. He skittered away from Tom and closer to the headmaster. Tom was tempted to reach out and pull him back.

Dippet came to a stop just inside the Slytherin common room. He opened a door just off the staircase that led to the boy’s dormitories. “The head boy this year is in Ravenclaw so the room’s all yours.” Dippet stepped through the door into a room that was the same size and style as the dorm he shared with the five other sixth year Slytherins but with only one bed. “You’ll need to get more clothes for him and some toys of course.”

Tom turned from the bed, his heart sinking. “Professor, I don’t have the money for that,” he said, each word painful to get out.

“Don’t worry about that,” Dippet said, patting Tom on the shoulder again. He kept himself from flinching away. “I wouldn’t let a kid go without basic necessities.”

Tom was tempted to mention how he’d refused to let him stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays.

“My daughter has heaps of boxes of old stuff she’d be delighted to get rid of and I’m sure that some of your friends’ parents would be happy to donate.” He went to ruffle the boy’s hair but Tom instinctively stepped forward to block him, noticing how the kid jerked away from the touch. Dippet chuckled awkwardly. “Wel…I’ll leave you to get to know each other.” The headmaster stepped out of the room and closed the door. Tom and the child were now alone.

“Do you still have the paper and pen?” Tom asked. He tried to keep his voice light and friendly. At the orphanage, he knew how easily the younger children got upset. He did not want to deal with a childish tantrum, not when he already had a head ache. How was he going to explain all this to his followers? They needed to fear him. This child wide brown eyes and curly hair that sat like a bird’s nest on his head would not provoke fear. Tom would have a lot to teach him.

The child nodded, holding out his pen and paper. His eyes kept flitting over to the door. It was almost like he was scared of being alone with Tom.

“Good,” Tom said, wondering how he was supposed to talk to this tiny human, “I expect you to answer all my question honestly. Understand?”

In answer, the boy held out his left hand, palm down. Tom looked down and saw a strange looking scar. Peering closer, he felt a burning anger rise in him. Carved on this boy’s hand were the words: I must not tell lies. He wasn’t aware he was gripping the boy’s wrist tightly until he heard a faint whimper. As if the touch burned him, Tom let go at once.

“Who did this?” he demanded. When the boy didn’t immediately start writing, Tom added force to his words, “TELL ME.” This usually made anyone obey him but Harry only raised an eyebrow. He scribbled on his parchment, slow enough that Tom was sure it was deliberate.

Tom took the parchment and read it. A teacher. He glared at the child. That was it.

“You will tell me everything.” Tom thrust the parchment back at him, “I won’t tolerate disobedience.”

He waited as the child wrote. The boy was taking forever, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he wrote. Tom couldn’t bear the wait. After what had to be five minutes, he was given the parchment. He stared down at it, expecting to see a lengthy written explanation but instead there was a crude cartoon drawing of what looked like a toad with a fly on its head. Tom bit back his aggravation.

He had no idea what made his future-self want a child. This was going to take forever.

Chapter Text

Harry looked longingly at the door. In his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of irritation break through Riddle’s mask as he stared down at Harry’s drawing. It probably wasn’t a good idea to smile back innocently. He knew he might be flirting with death but he’d never been that good at bowing meekly in the face of danger. Harry doubted that this teenage dark lord would just kill him. He was more worried about Riddle trying to extract information about the future. Just being here might have irrevocably changed things in ways Harry couldn’t predict and though he hoped it was for the better, there was just no way of knowing.

“Very nice,” Tom said with clenched teeth, looking like he wanting nothing more than to rip the parchment to shreds, “but I need a name. Was it the same person that did this?” He moved his hand, hovering just over Harry’s bandaged throat.

Harry shook his head.

“What about your guardians? Who looked after you when your parents died?”

Harry just shrugged.  

Tom sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Fully aware that he was alone with his greatest enemy, Harry could still admit that there was something immensely satisfying about seeing Riddle suffering. He knew he shouldn’t purposely test his patience. By now, the Dursleys would certainly have hit him or sent him to his cupboard. He wasn’t sure why Riddle was holding back. Perhaps he was trying a “good cop” approach or he didn’t want to risk the matron’s wraith if he left bruises on his supposed son. Wasn’t that a crazy thought? His son.

He knew he couldn’t actually be Voldemort’s son. Everyone always said how much he looked like his father. It must have something to do with his connection to Voldemort but it would only take one look at muggle biology to disprove whatever the parchment said.

“Alright,” Riddle said slowly, “let’s start with some simpler questions. What is your favourite colour?”

Harry stared at him. Looking back, Harry didn’t think anyone had ever asked him that. What was his favourite colour? He liked the colour of the dress robes Mrs Weasley had bought him, an emerald green that apparently went with his eyes. Harry was about to write that down when he had a better idea.

“Red and gold?” Riddle sounded so disgusted that Harry nearly snickered out loud. He nodded enthusiastically. “I will not buy you red and gold clothing.”

The Dursleys had never bought him any new clothes. Riddle was going to have to try much harder to be a worse guardian. Harry pointed from the parchment to Riddle.

“I do not understand…” Riddle said, watching Harry jabbing the air in front of him. “You want to know my favourite colour?’ Harry nodded, wondering if Riddle was going to punish him for asking questions. Riddle paused and Harry braced himself.

“I like green.” In that moment, Riddle sounded much younger and less certain. He didn’t move to hit Harry or even shout at him. Riddle straightened and moved closer to the bed. He sat down on one end and indicated for Harry to sit opposite him. Feeling like he’d rather do anything else, he joined Riddle. He didn’t know what Riddle would do if he just ran out of the door but he doubted he would get far in his shrunken body. The bed was soft, so much softer than the cot he’d been sleeping on for the last few months. His eyes started to grow heavy and he had to purposely hold them open. He would not fall asleep in front of Voldemort.

“What is your favourite animal?” Riddle went back to his game of twenty questions.

Stag. Harry wrote, glaring at him. He couldn’t let himself get comfortable.

“At least it’s not a lion,” Riddle grumbled to himself. He looked over at Harry and added, “I prefer snakes. You will find that our family has a deep connection to them.” He tapped his chin consideringly. “A snake could supervise you while I am at class. You’re not scared of snakes, are you?”

Harry shuddered, thinking back to the Batilda Bagshot transforming into Nagini.

Tom obviously noticed Harry’s discomfort but ignored it. “I will get you a snake. How much do you know about your ancestry? You will need to be taught proper pureblood etiquette and family history.”

That sounded like fun.

Riddle kept asking him innocuous questions about his interests and hobbies, occasionally slipping in questions about his family and future. Whenever he did that, Harry just played dumb. He learnt that Riddle liked something called Fry’s Peppermint Creams and an artist called Tommy Dorsey. Harry was fairly sure that these were both muggle things. Tom seemed cautious when admitting it and Harry didn’t see why he wouldn’t just lie. All adults lied.

Throughout the interrogation, Harry’s eyes grew heavier and heavier. Falling unconscious from holding his breath too long wasn’t really the same as falling asleep. He wondered if his mind had changed alongside his body or if it was just a cumulation of weeks without proper sleep. The bed was so soft. It couldn’t hurt to just lie down for a second.

No. Harry jerked himself awake. He would not fall asleep.

Riddle was still talking and Harry focused on his voice.

I don’t want to answer any more question. Harry wrote, pushing the paper away from him. Riddle glanced from the paper to Harry.

“Have you eaten today? Dinner is not for another hour. You could…take a nap or something.” It was weird seeing Voldemort so unsure. He still hadn’t so much as raised his voice. Riddle shuffled forwards, stopping just short of touching him. Harry was too exhausted to try and get away. He wanted to sleep so badly that it hurt.

His eyes flickered shut and this time Harry couldn’t reopen them.

“I’ll wake you for dinner,” Riddle said.

Harry kept shaking his head up until the moment he tilted sideways and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Tom was frozen, staring down at the little boy with his head in Tom’s lap. Tom hadn’t moved for the last forty-five minutes, having no desire to wake him up. Asleep, the boy looked even younger. He was so small, smaller than even Tom at that age. If he ever found out who had hurt his child, they would suffer a long, painful death. He carve into their flesh, all the way down to their bones and starve them until he could see his markings through their skin.

Tom was pulled out his daydreaming when the boy shifted on his lap. He cast a quick tempus and saw that it was nearly time for dinner. Cautiously, he shook the boy.

“Wake up,” he said.

The boy stirred, blearily opening his eyes. At the sight of Tom, he started so violently that he fell straight off the bed. Tom rushed to catch him but the boy only scrambled away from him. He made a pained gasp, one hand stretched defensively out in front of him and the other reaching for something in his pocket. Tom stopped moving forward.

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. The boy’s frantic breaths slowed and he let his arms drop to his side. He stood, keeping his back to the wall and nodded. “Are you hurt?” Tom tried to touch the back of the boy’s head where he had hit the ground but the child slapped his hand away, glaring at him. He felt a burst of irritation at the child’s disobedience but he preferred the child’s stubbornness to the pure, unfiltered fear he’d seen on the child’s face when he woke.

“Come on,” Tom said, “let’s go.” Together they headed out of the room and through the Slytherin common room. Most of the Slytherins had already left for lunch but the few that remained stared openly at the child pattering an arm’s length away from Tom. Not wanting to be bombarded with questions, he walked briskly towards the Great Hall.

“Who is that?” Abraxas Malfoy asked the moment Tom and Harry sat down at the Slytherin table. Tom bit back a sight. He waited until all the Slytherins in his year were focused on him.

“This is my son,” Tom Riddle said. Half the Slytherin table erupted into noise.

“No way,” Orion Black leant forward, “you’ve never even had a girlfriend. We’d know.”

“Unless it was a muggle girl,” Walburga sniffed haughtily.

“Quiet.” Tom snapped and the noise settled down. He released his magic, turning the air cold and dripping with power. Those closest to him shivered. “As I was saying, this is my son…from the future. I suspect around 1988. From what Professor Dippet determined, he was attacked and sent himself back in time. He appeared out of nowhere two nights ago and we performed a paternity test that confirmed he is my son. My protections extend to him and anyone who dares insult him will lose their tongue. I will accept questions one at a time.”

There was a moment of silence. Even a few first years were leaning over the table trying to get a look at the small boy. Orion broke the stillness.

“What’s his name?”

“Harry,” Tom said, glancing down at the boy who seemed to have clammed up in front of the other Slytherins. His eyes darted between them, focusing mostly on the Black family. It wasn’t just wariness in his eyes, there was something else, something sad.

“That’s not a pureblood name,” Walburga said, daintily spreading a napkin across her lap.

“And that’s not a question,” Tom let the tendrils of his magic extend to Walburga. She had always been the most reluctant to bow to him. Walburga stiffened slightly but did not back down.

“Who is his mother?” She asked rigidly.

“I do not know,” Riddle said, “he cannot talk presently due to his injuries and I am yet to get many substantial answers.” He wasn’t about to reveal what Harry wrote about his parent’s death. It was inconsequential. He would never succumb to such a fate.

“How old is he?” Abraxas shifted the tension away from Walburga and Tom. That was a good question. In their get to know each other session yesterday, Tom hadn’t even thought to ask that. He gave Hary a questioning look and the boy raised six fingers in response. Tom wouldn’t have guessed he was a day older than five.

“You would have had him quite late if he’s from 1988 then,” Avery said considerably, “how did you even know that’s when he was from? I’ve never heard of time magic sending someone that far back.”

“Professor Dumbledore thought it was a form of accidental magic.” Tom pulled some platers of food towards him and ladled some out for Harry. He remembered him writing how much he liked sweet foods and made sure to include a treacle tart alongside tonight’s beef pie, potatoes and garden salad. Tom poured him out a glass of milk, recalling something the matron at the orphanage said about growing boys needing milk.

“You son must be very powerful,” Nott looked at the boy with renewed interest.

“Naturally,” Tom said, filling his own plate.

Between mouthfuls, he kept answering questions. He  noticed that Harry was merely picking at treacle tart and frowned.

“Do you not like the food?” He asked, cutting off Dolohov.

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head, taking a large bite of the pie.

“You need to finish at least half of what’s on your plate,” Tom said sternly. This child needed to eat more. “And not just the sweets. You can stop if you feel nauseous but I want you to try a bit of everything. You won’t know if you don’t like it, if you don’t try it. And drink the full glass of milk.”

Harry’s eyes were now so wide that he could see a complete ring of white around his irises. He wasn’t the only one looking at Tom strangely. A few of his Knights were staring at him. He glared back at them until they looked away. Tom couldn’t figure out what he had said that made his Knights seem so shocked but Harry was eating more. He didn’t quite get through half his plate but Tom knew that Hogwarts’ food was very rich. He could barely finish half his own plate. The boy’s eyes were drooping once more and Tom was glad for an excuse to get away from all the questions.

“I’m going to take him to bed,” Tom said, standing up. He remembered what Dippet had said about asking his followers if they had any clothes or toys for the boy but he just couldn’t do it. Tom would find another way to get the supplies.

“Come on, Harry,” Tom said, “you’ll need to shower and brush your teeth before bed.” He was about to lead Harry towards the perfect bathroom when a tiny blonde girl ran up to them, her hands waving widely. She drew out a notebook and shoved a page into Harry’s chest. Tom went to block his son off from this hyperactive girl but Harry didn’t seem to be trying to get away from her. He read the note and scribbled his own response. Tom snatched the paper from him.

Where were you? I went to the picture of the trolls learning ballet and you weren’t there.

I’m sorry. Some things came up. I’m staying in the Slytherin dorms now.

“How do you know my son?” Tom demanded. When he spoke, the noticed that the girl stared at his lips, a slight frown on her face.

She held out a hand for the paper.

“Can you not speak?” Tom refused to hand it over.

“That’s Alaya Filch,” Walburga said from the table, “Caius Filch’s youngest. She’s deaf.”

Curious. Tom had never met a deaf wixen.

“Was it a curse?” He asked, looking at the little Hufflepuff.

“I don’t know,” Walburga said dismissively, “the Filch’s aren’t part of the sacred twenty-eight.”

The little first year dared to snatch the paper out of his hand. She wrote down four words and shoved it back.

Harry is my friend.

Tom glared at the girl. This was usually enough to make anyone cower but the girl only stared back, arms crossed. He vaguely recognised her but it took a second to realise from when. This was the same Hufflepuff he had found on his first night back, crying in a corridor. How could his son be friends with this girl? He hadn’t even been here for two days and she was a Hufflepuff, a weak one at that. Though, she didn’t seem that weak now. There weren’t many that could look him in the eyes. He had briefly known a deaf boy at the orphanage who knew how to communicate with his hands. It would be useful not having to wait for Harry to write down every answer to his questions. His handwriting really was atrocious.

“Harry is going to bed now,” Tom said to the girl, “you will have to wait until tomorrow if you want to talk with him.”

The girl looked at Harry, raising her eyebrows. Harry gave her a reassuring look. He willingly followed Tom, waving back at the Hufflepuff. Tom would need to get the full story about how they met later. For now, he would need to find something to transfigure into a toothbrush.

Chapter Text

“I assume you are old enough to wash yourself.” Riddle said, standing outside the prefect bathroom.

Harry nodded frantically. He already had enough nightmares. Riddle fished a quill out of his pockets and tapped it with his hand transforming it into a toothbrush.

“There should be toothpaste in there and…” Riddle took off his outer robe and shrunk it down to Harry’s size. “You can change into this. We’ll find some new clothes for you tomorrow.” He handed the robe and toothbrush over to Harry and turned to the prefect bathrooms. “Squeaky clean.”

The door slid open. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”

Face burning, Harry ducked inside. He almost preferred when Riddle was trying to kill him. Harry had no idea what to do with a Voldemort who was encouraging him to drink milk and brush his teeth. Dumbledore had always said that Tom Riddle was incapable of love but there was no one watching them here. There had been no one watching in the Slytherin dorm when Riddle had let Harry sleep on his lap. If this was all a façade, who was it for?

Harry made his way to the pool-sized bathtub in the centre of the bathroom. He turned on some of the taps at random, watching a bubbly purple soap that smelt like lavender and a thick white foam spread across the heated water. Stripping off his clothes, he slipped into the tub. It felt like heaven.

He hadn’t been this warm in months. The heat soothed his aching muscles. Harry let out a long sigh, sinking down until only his head was above water. He could have stayed in here forever but he didn’t want Riddle to come in thinking he’d drowned. Reluctantly, Harry swam over to the taps and squirted some more lavender soap onto his palms, spreading it over his body. He realised that his bandages had become soaked but couldn’t bring himself to care. The water around him turned a brownish red as Harry washed himself. Peering at the taps through his fogged up glasses, he found some shampoo and conditioner and applied it liberally to the tangle of knots on his head. He added a little extra soap behind his ears.

When his fingers and toes started to prune, he heaved himself out of the tub and wrapped a huge fluffy towel around him.

“Everything alright in there?”

Harry jumped at the sound of Riddle’s voice. Nearly tripping over his feet, he grabbed his underwear and Riddle’s robe and slipped them both on. Seconds later, the bathroom door opened. Riddle stepped through the steamed up air, eyes scanning around the tub before they fixed on Harry.

“Good you’re dressed. Have you brushed your teeth yet?”

Harry shook his head, rushing over to the bathroom sink with the transfigured toothbrush.

“Wait.” Riddle called out and Harry paused. He watched Riddle stalk towards him, putting a hand under his chin and lifting his head up. “Your bandages are wet.” With a flick of his wand, the bandages around his throat and shoulder unravelled. Cold fingers pressed against his neck and Harry shivered. “There’s a nasty scar but it looks months old. I’ll just rewrap it now but we’ll go back to Madame Blainey at the end of the week.”

Great. Another scar to add to his collection.

Riddle tapped his neck and fresh bandages wrapped around his neck. He asked Harry to slide his robe down a bit and did the same to his shoulder wound. With the bandages secure, he pushed Harry towards the sinks.

Harry found some toothpaste and brushed his teeth quickly. Above the sink, Harry caught a look at his reflection. His glamour was still in place, hiding his mother’s eyes and his scar. He didn’t want to make it easier for Riddle to recognise him or his parents in the future. It seemed safer if Riddle continued to think Harry was his son.

“Let’s go,” Riddle said, gripping his shoulder and leading him out of the bathroom. Harry was so warm and his stomach was full. His eyes started to slip closed once more and he knew he was dragging his feet. To his mortification, Riddle bent down and picked Harry up. He held him close, one hand under his bottom and the other hand on his back. Hary unconsciously leaned into his touch until he realised what he was doing. This was still Voldemort. He couldn’t forget that. Riddle rubbed his back and Harry instinctively tucked his head into Riddle’s neck.

He was so warm.

Harry must have dipped into a light sleep for the next thing he knew, he was in the Slytherin head boy dorm being placed down on Riddle’s bed. Riddle transfigured the bedside table into a rough bedframe and enlarged a pillow in place of a mattress. He moved Harry over to the small, misshapen bed and shrunk the other pillow to go under his head. A blanket was draped over him and he snuggled into it.

“We’ll get some more clothes and supplies tomorrow,” Riddle said in a voice softer than Harry had ever heard. Harry let out an embarrassing whine when Riddle shifted away from him back to his own bed that now had only a thin sheet and no pillows on it.

“Goodnight,” Tom said.

Harry couldn’t say anything in return. His eyes slid shut and he fell asleep in less than a second.

Chapter Text

Tom woke to a gurgling scream. His eyes snapped open and he jumped out of bed, wand raised. For a second, he was back at the orphanage, listening to terrified shouts of other children as bombs shook the thin walls. He braced himself, torn between wanting to cast a protective shield charm around him and terrified of being punished for breaking the statue of secrecy. Without his wand, Tom had nothing.

There was another whimper and Tom spun around. His gaze landed on a makeshift crib and a small boy, shivering and crying in his sleep. Harry. Tom rushed over to him, dropping onto his knees. He turned Harry over onto his back, scanning him for injuries. Harry didn’t seem hurt.

“Hey, wake up,” Tom shook him. Harry squirmed under Tom’s hand, letting out pained gasps but he didn’t wake. The sound made Tom’s chest tighten. He pointed his wand at Harry. “Aguamente.”

Harry jerked up, spluttering. He glared darkly at Tom. It was an oddly adorable expression on a face so young. Tom had never thought that a child could be considered adorable. He usually just saw them as weak and sticky. Hiding his smile, he cast a quick drying spell.

There was a popping sound beside him and a house elf appeared, holding a bundle of clothes. “Master Tom, Master Harry," the house elf squeaked, “I be Mipsy. Master Dippet has sent me.” The house elf held out the clothes. “I be having washed your clothes from yesterday, Master Harry.”

“Thank you, Mipsy,” Tom laid on his charm to the elf. It could be useful having someone to help clean and supervise Harry. He would not let him disappear again.

“Would you be wanting breakfast here or in the hall, Masters?” Mipsy said, fluffing up Harry’s pillow.

“We’ll eat in the Great Hall but I’ll drop Harry back here afterwards,” Tom said. Now that Harry seemed to have calmed down, Tom rose to his feet and took a freshly pressed uniform out of his new closet. He would need to find out what made Harry so upset but he didn’t have time right now for a written conversation. Busy with Harry yesterday evening, there was still homework he had to get done before breakfast.

“I be getting you more blankets,” Mipsy said firmly, “and pillows.”

An idea struck him and Tom looked down at the house elf. Tom wouldn’t dare ask this of any of his housemates but this was only an elf. “Could you get more children’s clothes?” Tom kept his voice polite but there was an undercurrent of a demand, “or toys, books, anything like that?”

The house elf bent its head. “We don’t be having clothes,” Mipsy sounded apologetic, “I could be trying to make them with fabric but I be only fixing buttons here at Hogwarts.”

“And you couldn’t go out and get them?” Tom bit down his frustration.

“We be not allowed to leave the school,” Mipsy said sadly.

“Alright,” Tom sighed, “I will bring Harry back soon.” Mipsy nodded and disappeared with a pop. Tom changed quickly, buttoning up his shirt and adding considerable amounts of gel to his air. He glanced at Harry and saw that he was mostly dressed except for his shoes.

“Do you need help with the laces?” Tom asked, watching Harry’s tiny fingers struggle with them. Harry shook his head fervently. Tom waited for another few minutes before coming over to Harry’s bed.

“Here let me,” Tom said. He nimbly tied two perfect bows and helped Harry to his feet. Harry grumbled but let Tom lead him out of the room. The common room was mostly deserted except for a few seventh years, bent over books and looking like they hadn’t slept all night. It was still an hour and half until breakfast. Plenty of time to finish his potions essay.

“I’ll show you the library,” Tom said, “I’m sure we can find some picture books for you.” Tom relished the stillness as they walked through the empty corridors. This quiet was disturbed when Tom rounded a corner and heard movement from inside a broom closet. Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was barely seven in the morning.

“Wait here,” Tom said, stopping Harry. He rounded on the closet and wrapped on it. Inside, he heard something like a bucket falling over and a muffled gasp.

“Come on out,” Tom said, using his prefect voice. He tapped his foot impatiently. When the door remained shut, Tom knocked on it again. “If you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds, I’m opening the door.” Let this be a lesson in proper behaviour. There were young children at this school. Honestly, he couldn’t see why anyone would want to engage in such behaviour.

After thirty seconds where the door stayed closed, Tom checked that Harry wasn’t looking and flung the door open. Instead of seeing two students with far fewer clothes than was appropriate, Tom saw two much younger children than he was expecting staring up at Tom with wide eyes. He recognised one of them as Alaya Filch. The other child was a boy who looked near identical to Filch. He had the same light blue eyes and wavy blonde hair though it was cut short around his ears. Tom didn’t recognise the boy from the opening feast. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform. His clothes were clearly muggle and looked ratty and unwashed.

“Who are you?” Tom crossed his arms, enjoying how much taller he was than these children. They both looked terrified of him. Alaya waved her hands, forming signs that Tom couldn’t even start to interpret. It seemed that the boy understood them though. He turned away from Tom and answered with his owns signs.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” Tom grit his teeth, “tell me who you are and what you’re doing right now or I’ll take your directly to the headmaster.”

The boy scowled but it seemed that the threat was enough to make him talk. “I’m Argus Filch,” he said, reluctantly, “her brother.”

Harry ran up to Tom. He skidded to a stop in front of Argus, looking the newcomer up and down warily.

“What house are you in?” Tom addressed Argus, pulling Harry closer to him. Argus scuffed his peeling sneakers against the stone floor.

“Um…Hufflepuff,” he said. It was an obvious lie. Walburga had called Alaya, Caius Filch’s youngest. She hadn’t mentioned anything about her being a twin. From what he knew of pureblood culture, twins were sacred, an heir and a spare in one. If the Filch’s had a twin, Tom would have heard about it leading to only one conclusion.

“You’re a squib,” Tim looked at Argus with renewed interest. He’d never met a squib. Alaya pushed Argus behind her, raising her wand like she was going to fight Tom. The idea was simply laughable. “So, I am right then?” He smiled slyly, “I should go straight to the headmasters office and report you. I hardly think you’re supposed to be here.”

Tom felt Harry tug on his shirt. He glanced down and saw two puppy dog eyes looking back.

“Or…” Tom drew out the word, watching Alaya grab her brother’s hand and hold him tight. “I could offer you a deal in exchange for secrecy.”

Alaya extended her index finger and made side to side motions.

“She says what is it.” Argus translated.

Tom put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re going to teach us how to sign.”

Chapter Text

Harry had no idea how he got here.

“Actually please and thank you are the same sign,” Argus Filch said, touching his chin and extending his hand forward. It was beyond strange to see his old caretaker as a young kid. He looked nothing like the scowling man that threatened to hang students by their ankles. If anything, he looked small and defensive. Ally stood beside him, showing Harry and Tom the hand motions.

Harry expected Riddle to be impatient. He knew that the teenage dark lord wanted answers from him and that his silence was a hindrance to that. From the memories Harry had seen in Dumbledore’s pensive, Riddle was not afraid to demand answers or else manipulate people like Slughorn into giving him them. Harry would never have imagined he would stand and copy signs from two eleven year olds for an hour without complaint. He only stopped Ally and Argus to repeat certain signs or request others, watching intently. If Dumbledore had shown him this memory, he…Harry didn’t know what he would think.

“How would you sign for help?” Riddle asked.

“This is help me,” Argus held one hand out flat and made a thumbs up with the other hand. He placed the thumbs up on top of the flat hand and drew both hands to his chest. Riddle copied the sign.

“And what about other essentials, food, water, sleep?”

Argus showed him the signs for each one. “Are you really not going to tell on us?” He asked after showing the last sign.

Riddle straightened. “You will be here every morning from six-thirty to seven-thirty,” he said, “as long as you are here, on time, I will keep your secret.”

Ally did a flurry of signs. A small line appeared between Riddle’s eyebrows. “What’s she saying?”

“Uh,” Argus signed something back, “she says it’s already seven-thirty.”

“Huh,” Riddle cast a tempus, “I suppose that means you’re dismissed.” Ally and Argus fled the room, pausing only for a second at the door to glance back at Riddle. Harry quickly ran after them and tugged on Ally’s sleeve. Remembering the lesson, he made a closed fist and rubbed a circle on his chest.

Ally shook her head. She signed something back but it was much too fast for Harry to understand. “She says you don’t have to be sorry,” Argus filled in for him, “she’s happy to help you and that…your dad’s a bit of git.”

Harry let out a huff of laughter. That was an understatement.

“I don’t think he seems that bad,” Argus said, signing along with each word. His expression turned a little darker. “You could have someone much worse.”

At that moment, Riddle came out of the classroom and Ally tugged on Argus’ sleeve. Ally waved at Harry and disappeared down another empty corridor, pulling Argus with her. Harry silently hoped that no one else caught them. Argus could stay in the room of requirement. It might be a little boring but it was more spacious than a cupboard.

“Let’s go to breakfast,” Riddle said. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry forgot to pull away. Riddle and Harry turned around and were nearly bowled straight into.

“Sorry,” a boy skidded to a stop, “oh hey again.” He waved at Riddle. The boy had messy brown hair, a few shades lighter than Harry’s and brown eyes that were almost gold in the morning sunlight. His Gryffindor tie was undone and his robes hung off his shoulders.

“And who’s this?” The boy knelt down onto Harry’s level. “Wait let me guess, you’re Harry. I overheard some rumours about the little time traveller.” He put on a very serious expression. “Now tell me, do the Chudley Cannons ever win the world cup?”

Harry let out a soft giggle. It was a distinctly childish sound but he couldn’t help it. The boy was going to be very disappointed.

“And that means, you’re Riddle,” The boy stood up, “not that you need to introduce yourself. Everyone knows the golden boy of Slytherin. I don’t think we’ve ever really spoken. Henry Potter.” He extended his hand out. Riddle took it, shaking once.

Henry Potter. Harry vaguely remembered that his grandad had been a man Fleamont, the maker of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Did Fleamont have a brother?

“And yet we’re speaking now?” Riddle quirked his eyebrows.

“Yeah, weird story,” Henry rubbed the back of his neck, “Dumbledore pulled me back after class yesterday and of course I thought, oh no, don’t tell me I’ve failed another transfiguration quiz but apparently he wanted to warn me about you.”

“What?” Riddle eyes flashed, “What exactly did he say?”

“He said you were a bad influence,” Henry grinned lopsidedly, “that you weren’t as goody-goody as you appeared.”

“I doubt those were the exact words he chose.”

“And then he told me to stay away from you,” Henry scoffed, “like that would deter me.”

“We’re heading off to breakfast,” Riddle said. Harry noticed that Riddle’s voice was unusually stilted. It didn’t contain the suave charm he used on the teachers or the underling threat his followers were faced with. It almost seemed a little…uncertain?

“Want some company?” Henry fell in step beside him. “I’m curious why Dumbledore singled me out. Why not all the other innocent students? Who’s going to stop them from being corrupted by your evil ways?”

Riddle glared at Henry. “Your tie is undone.”

Henry put a hand on his tie defensively. “No, no, I won’t fall for your manipulations. Dumbledore was right. I think we’re just having a conversation and the next thing I know, I’m following the dress code.” He looked down at Harry and mouthed help me. Harry was surprised that he let out another quiet giggle. The boy’s bouncy energy reminded him of Fred and George. He'd never thought he’d get to meet any of his family outside pensive memories or the Mirror of Erised. That must be where he recognised Henry from. He had Harry’s knobbly knees.

“Dumbledore should have warned me against you,” Riddle sniffed disapprovingly. They had reached the Great Hall, filled with the sounds of cutlery against plates and the chatter of a thousand students.

“I’ll see you later, Riddle,” Henry said. He bowed to Harry, “Mini-Riddle.” Henry bounced away to the Gryffindor table where a group of other students welcomed him.

“Let’s go eat,” Riddle said, directing Harry to the Slytherin table. “I want you to drink a whole glass of milk.”

Chapter Text

Tom glanced over at the Gryffindor table. He saw Henry Potter laughing openly with his classmates. Somehow his uniform had become more dishevelled. Tom could see a white, cotton shirt under his robes with half the buttons done incorrectly. He touched his innermost pocket where he kept a copy of the paternity test. Tom was seriously doubting his future self’s sanity. Potter had confirmed everything he knew about that family. All that money and influence squandered on children that had no respect for anything.

It made him all the more irritated that Harry seemed to instantly connect with the messy haired boy. He had relaxed around him in a way he hadn’t with Tom, even giggling at his antics. There was recognition in Harry’s eyes. He must know Potter in the future though Tom could see no reason why he would keep the Gryffindor around. Tom would need to find out more about him.  

“Don’t play with your food,” Tom tore his eyes away from Potter to Harry who was only moving scrambled eggs around with his fork. Harry looked up from his eggs. Tom followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at the raspberry pastries on the other side of the table.

“If you take two mouthfuls of your eggs, you can have a pastry,” Tom said. He pulled out his potions books and spare parchment, shuffling around his plate and goblet to make space.

“Are you coming to the Quidditch trials this weekend?” Lucretia Black leaned over the table towards Tom, curling a loose stand of black hair with her finger.

Not likely. As a prefect Tom might be forced to attend the Quidditch matches but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the stupid game.

“You could introduce the sport to Harry,” Malfoy said, pushing the raspberry pastries towards him. Harry glanced up at Tom with wide brown eyes.

“One more mouthful,” Tom pointed at Harry’s eggs. He looked back at Malfoy. “My son shall have better things to do than Quidditch,” he said. Harry would surely take after Tom. He was clearly magically gifted. There had never been a record of anyone else powerful enough to travel back in time. With private tutoring, Harry could grow to be a wizard even greater than Riddle himself. He wouldn’t waste his time with a game that seemed designed as nothing more than spectacle.

“I still have my old practice broom,” Crabbe said. Harry perked up at this.

“Absolutely not,” Tom said firmly, “he’s much too young.”

Harry opened his mouth looking like he wanted to say something. When no sound came out, he made the sign for both please and thank you.

“When you’re older,” Tom wouldn’t bend so easily. He looked at Harry’s plate and saw that half the eggs were gone, as well as most of a pastry. “Are you all done with breakfast?”

Harry nodded.

“Alright, I’ll drop you off with Mipsy.”

A brief flash of emotion appeared on Harry’s face.

“If you need anything, you can come to me,” Tom said, looking directly into Harry’s eyes, “I’ll be back at lunch and after class we can go and get you some new clothes. How does that sound?”

Harry nodded again. Tom ruffled his hair like he’d seen other parents do to their children. Harry squirmed away, swatting at his hand but a small smile flickered across his lips.

Mipsy was already waiting for them outside the Slytherin dormitory. Handing Harry off to the elf made his chest feel oddly tight. “Keep a close eye on him,” Tom told the elf sternly, “if he so much as stubs his toe, I want to hear about it.”

“Yes, Master Tom,” Mipsy squeaked.

“And you will behave,” Tom addressed Harry, “no more running off.”

Harry reached out towards Tom, extending the pinkie finger on his right hand. Tom stared at him. Was this a sign he didn’t remember? Harry huffed and grabbed Tom’s hand, moving his fingers so that he too had a pinkie outstretched. A mischievous glint in Harry’s eye, he shook Tom’s pinkie with his own.

Mipsy clicked her fingers and the Slytherin dormitory entrance slid open. Harry waved at Tom and disappeared through the stone archway with the elf. Not wanting to be late for class, Tom could only turn around and head down the corridor to the potions classroom.

“Come in, come in,” Professor Slughorn stood outside the classroom, beckoning to the waiting group of Slytherin and Gryffindors.

“Want to partner with me?” Lucretia Black batted her eyelashes at Tom as he strode inside the dark classroom, lit only by torches and filled with conflicting potion fumes that made his nose wrinkle. Tom had partnered with her in the past but she tended to spend more time looking at Tom than the instructions on the blackboard. He looked instead for Malfoy. The blonde haired boy could be obnoxious but years of private tutelage with the best potioneers made him a decently competent brewer. His eyes fell instead on a pair of golden, brown eyes.

“Can I join you?” Tom walked up to them. It was unconventional for a Slytherin to work with a Gryffindor but this could be the perfect chance to learn more about the boy.

Potter’s face lit up. “Do you mind?” He asked a red headed girl that was sitting in the chair next to him.

The girl looked Tom up and down, a sly smile appearing on her lips. She jumped up from her seat. “He’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Nance,” Potter said, “I’ll make it up to you.”

The girl, Nance apparently, rolled her eyes. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of this conversation after class,” She said. Winking at Tom, she pranced off to another huddle of Gryffindor girls, sliding into a seat beside one of them.

Potter waved a hand at the chair Nance was just in. “Sit down.” As he sat, Tom could feel everyone in the class turning to look at the two of them.  

“Don’t make me regret this,” Tom glared at Potter. “I won’t let you fail us.”

“Good thing I know what I’m doing,” Potter grinned.

“Settle down class,” Professor Slughorn said from the front, “we’ve got a very special lesson prepared for today. Can anyone tell me what this is?” He raised up a tiny bottle filled with a shimmering, gold liquid. Tom’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Yes, Tom.”

“That’s felix felicis,” Tom said, a little breathlessly, “also known as liquid luck. It gives the drinker a spell of luck where anything they want or try will succeed within reason.”

“Exactly, five points to Slytherin,” Professor Slughorn nodded in approval. “It’s not a genie in a bottle that can grant you three wishes but it will give you that edge.” He tapped the blackboard with his wand and a list of instructions appeared. “And I will be giving out a twenty four hour dose to whoever can brew this potion the best today.”

There was a murmur of excitement in the classroom.

Tom scowled. He should have just partnered with Malfoy. Potter would not stop him from getting his hands on that bottle.

“We will be brewing the Draught of Living Death,” Professor Slughorn spoke over the student’s excited chatter. “You will have one and a half hours.”

“I’ll get the ingredients,” Potter said, still grinning in an infuriatingly cheerful manner, “this will be fun.”

Chapter Text

“That’s not how you do it,” Tom hissed, trying to pull the knife out of Potter’ hand. “You’re meant to cut the beans, not squish them.”

The fumes from their shared cauldron was making Tom’s slicked-back hair start to curl slightly at the ends. He had to keep flattening it. According to his potions book, their draught of living death was meant to be a pale lilac. It was currently blue.

“Watch and learn,” Potter smirked. He pressed down on the shrivelled beans with the flat of his knife and Tom was surprised to see how much juice was in them. Before Tom could stop him, Potter scooped up the juice and emptied it into their cauldron. In an instant, it turned the exact shade of lilac in the book’s illustration.

Tom scowled. “That’s not part of the instructions.”

Potter waved his hand dismissively. “The book’s outdated.

“It was released four years ago.”

Potter shrugged. “You should stir anti-clockwise on the seventh stir,”

“The book says clockwise.”

“And add some lavender,”

Tom threw down his ladle. “I won’t have you jeopardise our potion. We are following the instructions.”

“Suit yourself,” Potter leaned back, hands behind his head.

Tom tried to count his stirs but Potter’s mere presence was distracting him. He couldn’t remember if he had stirred six times or seven.

“And now anti-clockwise,” Potter said.

Tom didn’t know what came over him but he stirred anti-clockwise. Potter smiled that same infuriatingly crooked smile.

“One more minute,” Professor Slughorn said over the bubble of cauldrons.

“I’m not adding lavender,” Tom insisted.

“What if I say please?” Potter batted his eyelashes. Tom had never wanted to curse someone more.

“And time’s up,” Professor Slughorn clapped his hands. “Everyone put your ladles down and turn off your Bunsen burners.”

Tom glanced around at the rest of the class. He could see some potions that were about the right colour but none as pale lilac as theirs. A few cauldrons were emitting sparks or the smell of burnt rubber. Professor Slughorn walked through the isles, occasionally remarking on the potions or offering suggestions.

“You need to cut the Sopophorous bean finer, Avery and Johnson the instructions specifically say to stir the mixture, not whip it around like you’re trying to make meringue.” He came up behind Potter and Tom and his expression broke into a wide grin.

“Well, there’s no doubt about our winners,” He exclaimed, “Not that I would expect anything less from our top potioneers.”

A few students around them groaned but no one looked surprised. Professor Slughorn presented the vial of Felix Felicis to Potter.

“I’m sure you can figure out how to share this between you,” Professor Slughorn slapped Potter on the back. “I don’t want to see you using it for the next Quidditch match. Slytherin won’t stand a chance.”

“We don’t need Felix Felicis to beat Slytherin,” Potter grinned back, “we just need to show up.”

The surrounding Gryffindors cheered, drowning out the Slytherins’ boos.

“And with that, class dismissed,” Slughorn said.

Tom’s fingers itched to grab the vial from Potter’s hands. He stayed close to Potter as the rest of the students bustled out. Tom had no intention to share the liquid luck. Since Harry had appeared, Tom hadn’t spared a thought for finding the Chamber of Secrets. Looking at the tiny gold vial, he could almost picture himself standing before Slytherin’s monster, proclaiming himself to be the one true heir.

As soon as they were out of the dungeons, Tom pulled Potter into a disused classroom. Nothing would stop him from taking that vial. He could always obliviate the boy afterwards.

“Look, Potter-.” Tom blocked the doorway, wrapping a hand around the wand in his pocket.

“Do you want to come to the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts?”

“What?” Tom stared at Potter. He was running his fingers through his hair and making it even messier.

“You can bring Harry.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Just think on it,” Potter took a step towards Tom. “It might be fun.” He reached forward and adjusted Tom’s tie even though Tom knew it was perfectly straight. The action distracted him enough that Potter easily slipped past Tom into the corridor. Tom was about to draw his wand and force Potter back into the room when something was thrown towards him.

“Catch,” Potter said.

Tom just managed to snatch it out of the air before it fell on the ground. He glanced down and saw that it was the Felix Felicis. Potter had just given it to him like it was nothing.

“Don’t you want it?” Tom asked, staring at Potter in disbelief.

“Nah, I don’t need luck,” Potter said, “you can share it with Harry.”

“And you don’t want anything for it?” Tom couldn’t believe that there wasn’t a catch. No one ever did anything without a motive. It was the first lesson he learnt at the orphanage and later in Slytherin house. Nothing was ever for free.

“Well,” Potter smiled slyly, “there is something.” And there it was. Tom braced himself, prepared to negotiate or fight back. Whatever it took.

“Call me Henry,” Potter said. With that, he turned around and walked off, leaving Tom to ponder what the hell had just happened.

Chapter Text

Harry never thought he’d find someone who could fuss over him more than Molly Weasley. It turned out, he just hadn’t met Mipsy.

“Little Master should not be straining himself,” Mipsy hovered anxiously around him. Harry appreciated the concern but he wasn’t actually a six year old. He had faced far worse dangers than a moving staircase and he doubted the poorly regulated safety rails would be what took him down. Not to sound cocky, but even death had failed to kill him. He didn’t think he’d die from not wearing a warm enough sweater or going thirty minutes without a snack. With his injured throat, he couldn’t exactly explain any of that to Mipsy.

It had taken almost half an hour to convince her to let him out of the Slytherins dorms. Mipsy only agreed when Harry tried his new technique that was proving to be unusually effective: puppy dog eyes. He had approximately three hours until lunch. Three hours away from Riddle. It was time to commence plan change the future.

Step one: Defeat the basilisk.

Harry would need to be strategic. He couldn’t just dive feet head first into the plumbing. That being said, the longer he planned, the more time Tom had to discover the chamber on his own. The way Harry saw it he needed three things: a broom, a rooster and phoenix tears.

With Mipsy close behind him, he dragged his feet up another flight of stairs, wishing the room of requirement wasn’t so high up. His legs were tiny. He walked up and down the fifth floor corridor three times.

“Show me the room for hidden things,”

A familiar door materialised right in front of him. Pushing through the door, Harry travelled back to his fifth year, desperate to hide the Half Blood Prince’s book. The room was just as he remembered. Teetering piles of miscellaneous items towered over him, everything from tables to China teapots. As he walked through the chaos, he picked up a few other items that could be useful. He found some clothes that might fit him and a pair of lace up boots. Peering up, he saw a collection of broomsticks. They looked more like actual brooms than something you could fly on. Their bristles stuck out in every which direction and their handles were dull enough that Oliver Wood would probably faint just looking at it. Harry could only tell their were racing brooms but their silvery inscriptions that pronounced them as Comet 1.

“Accio racing brooms.” Harry thought. The Hawthorne wand protested in his hand but Harry was too relieved that the brooms moved at all. He had been a little worried that his magic had regressed back to its six year old self. Harry snatched one of he brooms out of the air and tapped it with his wand. The broom shrunk down enough to fit into his mokeskin pouch.

“Do not be thinking about flying,”

Harry jumped. He had forgotten that Mipsy was behind him.

“Or I be telling Master Tom,” Mipsy gave Harry the sternest look he had ever seen on a house elf.

Harry frantically shook his head. That would be the worst possible scenario.

“If I be seeing you on that broom, I be telling,” Mipsy crossed her arms.

Harry mentally revised his list.

Step one: Find out how to get away from Mipsy.

She might have the best intentions but Harry didn’t want to know what she would do if she caught Harry sneaking into the Chamber of Secrets. Once the Basilisk was dead, Harry would buy her the best...whatever she wanted. Harry doubted she would appreciate socks as much as Dobby. He’d find something.

With the broom safely tucked away, Harry surveyed the rest of the room. Did Tom know about this place yet? Most of the stuff appeared to be broken but Harry wouldn’t put it past Tom to find something amongst the piles of garbage to turn into a horcrux. His eyes rested on the vanishing cabinet that Malfoy had used to smuggle Death Eaters into the castle.

Without even thinking of a spell, Harry pointed his wand at the cabinet and it disintegrated into dust. Mipsy gasped and pulled Harry away.

“You are not being careful,” Mipsy insisted.

Feeling a little guilty, Harry tried to look as apologetic as possible. He made the sign for sorry, rubbing a circle on his chest. Mipsy’s glare softened somewhat.

“We be leaving,” Mipsy insisted. Harry didn’t fight her grip on his arm. He doubted he would find phoenix tears or a rooster in one of the drawers or inside a teapot. Wordlessly, Harry cast a tempus charm and saw that it had been two hours. There was still an hour until lunch.

Harry let himself be pulled back towards the dungeons but slipped out of Mipsy’s grasp when he heard the sound of muffled sobs. He backtracked down the corridor and stopped in front of a bathroom he was much too familiar with.

“That be a girl’s bathroom,” Mipsy protested but Harry only pulled the door open and headed inside. All the stalls were empty except for one at the end. It was the exact same stall a certain teenage ghost would haunt in fifty years time.

Harry padded over to the stall an softly knocked on it.

“Go away,” Myrtle voice came from behind the door.

Harry knocked again. The Myrtle he knew was a little bit of a creep, he would never get over the shock when she suddenly appeared in the prefect bathroom, but he wasn’t going to let her spend any longer crying in a bathroom stall. When it still didn’t open, Harry pulled Myrtle’s diary out of his pocket and slid it under the gap between door and floor.

The crying stopped.

“Where did you get this?” Myrtle said, suspicion replacing her hiccupping sobs. “Did you read it?”

Unable to speak, Harry could only stand there. At last the door opened and Myrtle peered out, a red ring clearly visible around her eyes.

“You’re not a girl,” Myrtle said, looking Harry up and down. “This is a girl’s bathroom.”

Harry played dumb, simply shrugging.

“Wait, you’re Riddle’s kid from the future,” Myrtle’s eyes widened, “Riddle hasn’t read my diary, has he?” Her face flushed and she clutched the diary closer to her chest.

Harry pulled a notebook from his pocket and a pen.

Are you alright? I only read your name on the inner cover. No one else had seen it.

“Yet…” Myrtle sighed. “I tried to draw a secrecy ward on it but I mustn’t have done it very well. Hornby always says the sorting hat made a mistake when it put me in Ravenclaw.” She glanced at Harry and perked up a bit. “You must know a lot about Riddle if you’re his son,” a dreamy tone filtered into her voice, “what’s he like?”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought of anyone longing after Riddle. They should get a look at him in the future. He had not aged well.

Having no desire to talk about Riddle, Harry shrugged again. There’s more to being smart than school grades. I’m sure you’re smart in your own way.

It was meant to sound encouraging but Myrtle’s frown only deepened. Where was Hermione when you needed her?

“That’s what my mum always says,” Myrtle picked at her nails, “as if I’m suddenly going to become an…I don’t know…a professional opera singer or something.”

You’re still young. There are things you might not even know you’re good at.   

“You can’t call me young. You’re like three,” Myrtle complained.

Harry felt a strong urge to insist that he was actually six. Or at least his body was.

“Why are you even here?” Myrtle leaned against the bathroom stall. “You want a favour for giving me my diary. Hate to break it to you but I don’t have any teddy bears or matchbox cars.”

This was going nowhere. He decided to just skip the pep-talk.

I don’t think you should use this bathroom. I don’t have a good feeling about it. Just use one of the other bathrooms.

Myrtle puffed up indignantly. “You don’t get to tell me what bathroom to use,” she glowered at him, “you’re not even a girl. I don’t care if you know Riddle. You shouldn’t be in here.”

“We be best going Little Master,” Mipsy spoke up, “We wouldn’t want Master Tom to worry where you are.”

Not his finest moment. Harry thought he would prefer to face the basilisk. He could sympathise with Myrtle, remembering how the whole school had ostracized him when they thought he was the heir of Slytherin, or had put his name in the Goblet of Fire or had lied about Voldemort’s resurrection. Still, he had Hermione and Ron, for the most part, to help him get through that. Who did Myrtle have?

Ron always said he had a saving people thing. Harry would find a way to ensure that Myrtle didn’t end up as just another Hogwarts ghost. For now, he waved goodbye and let Mipsy lead him the rest of the way down to the Great Hall. He would have to try again tomorrow.  

Chapter Text

Tom swept into the Great Hall, deliberately avoiding the Gryffindor table. He strode in the opposite direction and noted that half the Slytherins were clustered at one end the bench. As Tom drew closer, the Slytherins cleared a path for him, allowing him to see whatever had captured their interest.

“Harry!” Tom rushed forward, sweeping the little boy into his arms. Harry struggled against his hold, letting out an indignant huff. Tom only put him down so he could scan him for injuries. He turned to Mipsy, standing beside Harry. “How was he?”

Mipsy and Harry exchanged a glance. “I be thinking he is like his father,” Mipsy said. Tom sat down on the Slytherin table and drew Harry close to him.

“Naturally,” Tom purred. With Harry’s back to his chest, he didn’t see the look of disgust on Harry’s face. He ladened French onion soup into two bowls and pushed a buttered roll at Harry. They fell into an almost familiar routine, Tom encouraging Harry to eat a little more and Harry scowling over the food like Tom had poisoned it. Around them, the other Slytherins gossiped, occasionally casting Tom somewhat perplexed looks.

“I swear Professor Merrythought is trying to kill me,” Orion groaned. He’d pushed his soup to the side and spread out sheets of parchment covered in red ink. “What does your writing lacks experience even mean?”

“Is that the dementor essay?” Parkinson peered over Orion’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our next field trip was to Azkaban.”

Harry looked up from his roll. His head only just reached over the table. He had to sit up on his knees to drag Orion’s essay over to him. Parkinson awed at the serious expression that took over Harry’s face. His eyebrows came together and he poked out his tongue a little. He held out his hands for a quill, giving those wide innocent eyes. Tom didn’t believe them for a moment but he was curious to see what was going to happen. Looking mildly confused, Orion handed over a quill and inkpot.

Harry scratched out some of Orion’s writing, scribbling his own notes above it. He hopped off the bench and padded over to the other side of the table, pushing between Orion and Parkinson.

“Riddle never helps me with my homework,” Orion grinned, helping Harry up, “want to become my tutor?” He was clearly humouring Harry, putting on a voice that made Tom’s teeth itch. Harry huffed, pointing firmly at the circled sections of his essay.

As Orion read Harry’s notes, his smile slowly faded. “How do you know this?”

Tom snatched the essay back. He scanned Harry’s barely legible handwriting and felt unease squirm in his gut. Harry had described an experience with a dementor in way that was too much personal detail to have been read out of a book. Tom had heard how dementors made the air cold and radiated misery. He had never read about they had rattling breaths like a dying man and scabbed hands that would cradle their victim’s jaw in an almost loving manner. None of the books in the library wrote about how they sucked all memories of happiness away, leaving only the worst moments of a person’s life. How they were drawn to despair, relishing in the emotion like it was a drug. Just reading these descriptions sent a cold shiver down Tom’s spine.

“You haven’t…seen one?” Tom asked, unable to keep the horror out of his voice.

Harry shook his hand in a so-so manner. Tom wasn’t the only one staring at Harry. Orion took back his essay gingerly, stuffing it into his bag.

“I think Harry should meet Professor Merrythought,” Parkinson said.

“Don’t even try,” Tom stopped Harry before he could see those puppy dog eyes. “I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire.”

Harry’s lip wobbled.

“No,” Tom said firmly.

***

Thirty minutes later Harry bounced excitedly outside the defence classroom. At Tom’s insistence, he held his hand, swinging it in a way that seemed designed to annoy him.

“You are to stay behind me the whole time,” Tom flicked lightly at the back of Harry’s head, “are you even listening?”

Harry nodded, his smile almost blinding. Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t just stand outside,” Professor Merrythought flung the door open. “Class started two minutes ago.” At first glance someone might mistake her greying hair and lined face for signs of weakness. Their second glance would be of Merrythought’s wand at their throat followed by a two hour lecture on constant vigilance.

The Slytherin and Ravenclaw sixth years filed in, filling the classroom from the back row.

“Stand up,” Professor Merrythought snapped. She vanished all the chairs in the classroom with a wave of her wand and a few students collapsed onto the floor. “This will be a practical lesson.”

With another flick of her wand, all the tables skidded away, clearing an open space in the middle of the classroom.

“We’ll be tackling boggarts today,” Professor Merrythought kicked a padlocked chest at her feet. She glared at the students. “I’ve already tested this on the first years. I expect as sixth year students, you’ll have far more practical fears. If I see another clown, you will be writing lines for three weeks.” Her eyes finally fell on Harry in the front row.

“I don’t remembering having you in my class,” she said.

“This is Harry,” Tom put a hand on his shoulder, “my son. He wanted to come to a class.”

“Yes, good,” Professor Merrythought nodded curtly, “start them young.” She clapped her hands, “Now everyone get in line.”

Tom stayed back. He knew exactly what his bogart would be. It was a sight permanently burned into his nightmares, drawn from the many images of dead bodies he had seen abandoned on London streets, their faces replaced with his own.

“Alohomora.” The padlocks clicked open and Professor Merrythought drew the chest’s lid up.

“Stay to the side,” Tom instructed Harry, “and don’t make me regret letting you come.”

A Ravenclaw student was pushed forward, directly in front of the chest. He stumbled, raising his wand.

“You didn’t tell us the counter curse,” he said, a little shakily.

“You’re a Ravenclaw,” Professor Merrythought said, “figure it out.”

Tom watched something emerge from the chest. It looked like a corpse, pale skin sketched over a skeletal frame with ragged clothing hanging off it.

“An inferi,” Professor Merrythought mused, “only a real threat in large numbers.”

The Ravenclaw shuddered. Another student whispered something in his ear.

“Riddikulus,” The Ravenclaw cried. Nothing happened.

“It’s more than just an incantation,” Merrythought leaned against the front of her desk, “you need to picture your fear turning into something amusing.” The inferi dragged its feet, hands outstretched towards the Ravenclaw.

“Riddikulus!” The Ravenclaw brandished his wand. The inferi tripped over his own feet, his rags replaced with a flowery, pink dress. A few students laughed, others appeared even more disturbed.

“Next!” Professor Merrythought said.

Tom crawled closer and closer to the front. He scoffed at most of the students fears. They clearly belonged to teenagers who had never experienced true hardship.

“That’s not even a venomous breed of snake,” Merrythought said, “five points from Ravenclaw.”

“You can’t do that,” The Ravenclaw in question protested.

“Watch me,” Merrythought snapped back, “Next!”

At last it was Tom’s turn. He kept his head high, the only sign of emotion his clenched fists. How was he supposed to turn his own death amusing? He could not stand to humiliate himself in front of the class.

Tom stood in front of a acromantula that morphed and twisted into a new form. One second Tom could hear the rustle of students whispering behind him, the next moment there was a deafening boom above them, drowning out anything else. It took everything not to raise his hands above his head. This wasn’t real, none of it was real. There was another boom and that whole room seemed to shake. Dust rained from the ceiling, coating everything in a white layer like a grotesque imitation of freshly fallen snow.

At his feet, Tom saw the boggart reform into a corpse. His own lifeless eyes looked back at him. Tom held his wand so tightly that pinpricks of blood appeared under his nails. He pointed it at the corpse.

“Ridik-.” The word died on his lips. His body was not alone on the ground. There was another body, smaller than his own, their face almost peaceful in death. Their eyes were closed. They could have been asleep except for the trickle of dried blood down the side of his face.

“Harry,” Tom breathed out. He dropped to his knees, reaching out to shake the still body. “Harry.”

A warm hand closed in his own. It tried to tug him away from the sight but he refused to move. Instead, the person shoved in front of Tom, blocking his view of Harry’s body. Tom raised his wand, ready to force the person aside until he realised it was Harry, alive, standing between Tom and his own corpse.

The room stopped shaking and the dust vanished. Tom struggled to his feet, face burning. He had sworn never to show weakness. Tom was not meant to fail.

Heart still racing in his chest, Tom was about to pull Harry away to the back of the line when the boggart changed again. Two people appeared where the corpses had just been. He did not recognise either of them. One was a redhead, long limbed and freckled. The other a bushy haired girl. They looked around seventeen, both pale and much too thin to be healthy.

“How could you leave us?” The girl wasn’t speaking to Tom. She was focused on Harry, her voice full of pain. “How could you?”

“Where were you?” The redhead stepped towards Harry. “We waited for you.”

More people were appearing behind the two figures.

“You were meant to be our hero,” a smaller redheaded girl said, “we thought you would save us.”

“We couldn’t stop them,” this was said by a wide-eyed blonde girl, “no one was there to protect us.”

The classroom became crowded with more and more people. They all cried out to Harry, begging and whimpering.

“We’re all dead.”

“You killed us.”

“YOU KILLED US.”

The crowd swarmed towards Harry.

“RIDIKULUS!” Professor Merrythought yelled over the rising voices. The crowd turned on her but she didn’t even flinch. It morphed into a confusing mess of colours and shapes and the next moment Merrythought slammed the chest closed and the boggart was gone.

The class was left in a strained silence.

“I want two rolls on how to defeat boggarts,” Merrythought said, “class dismissed.”

Tom cautiously drew Harry to his chest. This time, the boy did not protest.

“Let’s go,” Tom whispered softly, “I’ll take you back to the dorms.”

Chapter Text

It took a long time for Harry to fall asleep. After the defence lesson, Harry not made any attempts to communicate with Tom, by signing or writing in his notebook. He seemed detached, unfocused. Tom took him to Madame Blainey and he just sat on a bed, letting himself be prodded at without complaint. Madame Blainey told Tom he was in shock. She gave him some dreamless sleep but said there wasn’t much else to do but wait. Tom hated waiting.

He managed to make Harry eat a little shepherd’s pie and potatoes at dinner. Mipsy fussed over both of them, refilling their glasses and combing through the tangled mess that was Harry’s hair. She showed Tom the new outfits Harry had somehow acquired. Tom would usually have a lot more questions about their sudden appearance but all he could think about was Harry. He couldn’t get the picture of his body, tiny in death, out his mind.

Tom gave Harry the dreamless sleep and tucked him into bed. Even with the potion, it was almost an hour until Harry’s breaths evened out and his body relaxed. Tom didn’t even try to sleep. He needed a distraction.

He padded softly over to his trunk and unlocked it, pulling out the slippery fabric he had found beside Harry when he first appeared at Hogwarts. He held it up, admiring how the fabric seemed to change colour in the light. After casting a series of curse-detection spells that all came back negative, he slung it around his shoulders and stood in front of the mirror.

A gasp escaped his lips. His head appeared to be floating in the air. Tom lifted the cloak over his head and even that disappeared, leaving him entirely invisible. He had heard of invisibility cloaks but they were incredibly rare and incredibly expensive. Pulling it off his shoulders, Tom closely inspected the cloak and couldn’t find so much as a rip or fraying edge. He turned to look at Harry’s sleeping body. Where had he found a cloak like this?

Heart beating widely, Tom drew the Felix Felicis out of his robe pocket. This was it. He could find the Chamber of Secrets tonight. With the cloak and the lucky potion, nothing could stop Tom from finding what was rightfully his. He glanced back at Harry, thinking of the unknown crowds of people screaming and begging at him. Tom thought of what Harry said about his parents dying in a car crash, about the scar that was permanently etched on Harry’s neck.

He held the Felix Felicis up, turning over the bottle. For a second, he wavered, hand hovering over the cork. If Tom had opened the Chamber of Secrets in Harry’s original timeline, surely he would not have ended up dead in a muggle vehicle, leaving Harry to be raised by people who withheld food and scarred him. He should have been Minister for Magic or have rebuilt the whole magical community from scratch.  

Tom plucked out the cork and just touched his tongue against the golden liquid inside. Professor Slughorn said that this bottle would last twenty-four hours. He only needed an hour. Tom carefully wrapped the rest of the potion in his warded trunk. The effect of the Felix Felicis was near instant. It was like drinking hot chocolate on a cold, winter night. Warmth spread through Tom’s entire body along with a deep-seeded calmness. It was slightly unnerving how calm Tom felt. Yet, Tom could not be bothered to care about how unnatural the feeling was. He did not have to look over his shoulder or check the exits in each new room he entered. Tom walked right out of the Slytherin common room, unbothered about the other students still awake and watching him.

Outside the Slytherin dorms, Tom draped the invisibility cloak around him and let Felix lead him through the castle. In all the books he’d read, Tom had never found so much as a hint about where the Chamber of Secrets was located. Many of them doubted the room even existed but Tom was determined to find it. It was his birth right.

With Felix encouraging each step, he ascended four staircases and found himself close to Gryffindor tower. For the first time, a flicker of unease cut through the golden bliss. In all his nights exploring Hogwarts for the Chamber, he had never thought to check Gryffindor tower. Still, he allowed Felix to carry him forwards until he almost ran straight into Henry Potter, sitting completely silently in a window sill.

Henry started and spun around. The invisibility cloak completely hid him from sight but it did not muffle his footsteps. Tom froze. He watched Henry draw his wand and point it directly at where Tom stood, the end lighting up.

Felix whispered in Tom’s ear to remove the cloak but he resisted it. There was only around forty-five minutes left of the potion. He could not afford to be distracted by the overly cheerful Gryffindor. Though, in the light from his own wand, Tom could see that Henry didn’t look quite as smiley as he usually did. His face was pale and his eyes rimmed in red. Distracted by this observation, Tom’s hand moved against his will and pulled the cloak off him.

“Riddle?” Henry lowered his wand.

“I thought we were on a first name basis,” Tom said, studying the Gryffindor.  

“I asked you to call me Henry, you never said I could call you Tom,” Henry smiled lopsidedly but it seemed more forced than before.    

“What are you doing out here?” Tom couldn’t hear Felix in his head anymore, just a slight warmth in his body. He wondered if Professor Slughorn had made a defective batch. “It’s past curfew.” He could just leave, go back to exploring the dungeons where he thought the Chamber must lie. But something kept him here, whether Felix or his own curiosity.

“Same reason as you, I suspect,” Henry said, leaning against the window edge, “same reason as half the school. I don’t think anyone’s sleeping much tonight.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. He couldn’t imagine Henry had anything to fear from a boggart. As far as he was aware, the Potters had never wanted for anything.

“Did you see a snake?” Tom said, somewhat derisively, “A big spider?”

Henry kept smiling, that empty smile. “Nah, not much scares me,” he said, “it’s what makes me such a great seeker. I look death in the eye and scoff.” He tilted his head at the cloak still clasped in Tom’s hand. “Did Harry arrive with that?”

Tom clutched the cloak tighter in his hand, “Why do you think that?”

“Because I recognise it,” Henry said simply, “and I doubt you stole it. I swear, Fleamont sleeps with it under his pillow.”

Tom considered Henry. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“You don’t need to make a deal,” Henry grinned a little more like his usual self, “I’ll answer anything if you ask politely.”

“What’s your boggart?” Tom snapped at once.

Henry tilted his head. “I’m not sure if that’s asking politely but whatever,” he sighed, suddenly looking exhausted. “Did you know boggarts use a low level of legilimency.”

Tom said nothing, unwilling to admit there was something he didn’t know.

“Yeah,” Henry took his silence as an answer, “it’s how they determine what to change into. Thing is, legilimency isn’t just reading someone’s mind, its accessing their memories.”

“It showed you a memory?” Tom guessed.

“I didn’t even know it was a memory at first,” Henry let out a pained huff of laughter, “it showed me my parents.”

Tom walked around and sat on the window sill next to Henry to get a better look at his expression. He cast Lumos and let the spell hover over them, illuminating the empty corridor and Henry’s pale face. There was a far-away look in his eyes, like he didn’t even know Tom was there. It should not be surprising that someone’s worst fear was their parents. In their defence lessons, he had witnessed Parkinson's mother and Nott’s father, yelling or armed with a belt. Tom would not have even questioned it, except this was a Potter. They were supposed to be a golden beacon of parenting who loved their children to a somewhat nauseating extent. What parents needed to come to every one of their children’s Quidditch games or actually bought and framed their school photos?

“Martha and Paul Potter?” Tom had to check.

“Oh no, I thought everyone knew,” Henry said, making Tom seethe. He knew a lot of things. Tom must have shown some of this emotion on his face for Henry laughed softly. “It was a long time ago, it stopped being gossip long before you came to Hogwarts.” Henry closed his eyes and leant his head against the window sill. “Martha and Paul adopted me when I was six.”

“You look like a Potter,” Tom gave him a once over, gesturing vaguely at his messy hair.

“I am a Potter,” Henry explained, “My dad was Paul’s cousin.”

“They died then,” Tom said, “is that what you’re afraid of? Dying?” Perhaps they had more in common than Tom thought.

“I told you,” Henry’s eyes were still closed, “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Then why aren’t you sleeping?” Tom was getting tired of asking questions. He didn’t see why Henry couldn’t just give him a straight answer.

“Aww, you sound so concerned,” Henry smiled, “I wasn’t scared. I just…” He faltered, opening his eyes to look at Tom. “I don’t have any pictures of my parents. I don’t even remember what they look like. Guess there’s a memory somewhere at the back of my head though,” Henry let out another pained huff of laughter, “cause the boggart sure did.” He looked directly into Tom’s eyes. “My mother had blonde hair.”

“How’d they die?” Tom said but Henry stood up abruptly.

“I think you’ve asked enough questions. It’s my turn. Where did you get that cloak?”

“Your brother...well...adopted brother can’t be the only one with an invisibility cloak,” Tom stood up as well. Standing this close to Henry, he noticed with satisfaction that he was slightly taller.

“Don’t try that,” Henry said, eyes narrowing, “I know that cloak.”

“You should get to bed,” Tom stepped back from Henry. He half-expected Henry to insist but he didn’t.

“You’re right,” he sighed, turning away from Tom, “I don’t even know why I told you that stuff. Goodnight Riddle.”

Tom felt a burst of warmth inside him, pushing him to call after Henry. “You can call me Tom,” he said.

Henry looked back, a real smile on his face. “Goodnight, Tom,” he said and disappeared into the darkness.

Tom stood in the empty hallway for nearly a minute, staring at where Henry had gone. A distance hoot outside the window brought him back to his surroundings and Tom pulled the cloak back over him. The Felix Felicis must be defective. He could feel its warmth fading, leaving Tom frustrated. This had been a pointless waste of time. He had achieved nothing, except reveal a potentially priceless magical object to a relative stranger.

Tom would need to keep a closer eye on Henry.

He moved quickly back to the Slytherin dorms, only relaxing when he saw Harry sleeping peacefully in his bed. So much for a lucky potion. This must be why everyone wasn’t constantly drinking the stuff. Glaring at his trunk where the rest of the potion was hidden, Tom slipped into his bed. He would have to find another way to the Chamber tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Harry woke and just lay in his bed for a few seconds, burning with embarrassment about his behaviour the previous day. It wasn’t the first he had retreated into himself but he was usually better at hiding it. Riddle had tucked him into bed. Harry didn’t know if he could look him in the eye after that.

The combined shock of seeing his own dead body as Riddle’s boggart and his friends pleading with me had made Harry act like he really was a six year old. He had faced much worse than a boggart. Harry wouldn’t let his friends suffer and die. This morning, he was even more determined to change the past.

“Feeling better?” Riddle was already out of bed, slicking down his hair with copious gel.

Harry hurried out of bed, slamming on his glasses. He was seventeen; he didn’t need to be babied.

“I thought we could do something nice today,” Riddle said hesitantly.

Harry shrugged. He had no idea what Riddle considered to be nice.

“We’ve got special permission to go down to Hogsmeade,” Riddle looped his tie around his neck. “I don’t assume you’ve seen it before.”

Harry shook his head slowly.

“See if Mipsy has found any jackets for you. It’s a bit windy today,”

Sorting through the clothes from the Room of Requirement, Harry found a blue hoodie that went down to his knees and a pair of black trousers. He ducked into the ensuite bathroom and changed quickly, stuffing his moleskin pouch under the hoodie.

“That will have to do,” Riddle waved his wand and the hoodie shrunk enough for his hands to poke out from the sleeves. “Come on now. We’ll leave after breakfast and our signing lessons.”

Harry was relieved to see that Argus and Ally were on time, waiting outside the same classroom as yesterday.

“I have a list of words,” Riddle said, without evening greeting the two of them. He pulled out a diary and Harry froze, staring at the book. Riddle closed the classroom door and flicked the pages until he found the one he was looking for.

Ally waved at Harry. Argus…it felt so weird to call him that…merely scowled. He wondered how Argus ended up the caretaker. Harry vaguely remembered Molly Weasley mentioning a caretaker before Argus, someone named Pringle or something.

“Here’s the list,” Riddle duplicated the page with his wand and handed it over to Argus. They went through the list together and a few extras that Ally threw in. Harry signed along. It would be a useful language for stealth situations.

“This is who, what, where, why and how,” Argus said, showing Harry and Riddle each sign. Ally nudged him and made a sign like she was tracing a question mark with an “okay” sign.

“And that’s the sign for a question,” Argus translated, repeating the sign.

They continued like this for the remaining hour until it was time for breakfast. Like before, Argus waved goodbye to Ally and scurried off to wherever he went during the day. Harry hoped he was eating enough.

Completely ignoring both Riddle and the rest of the Slytherin house, Ally slid into the seat next to Harry. None of the Slytherins dared to question it, glancing between Riddle and Ally.

How are you going? Ally signed.

Harry was about to answer “good” when he paused.  He hadn’t really stopped to consider the question. Since he had arrived in the past, Harry had been focused on surviving or changing the future. He hadn’t thought about much else. Harry looked over at Riddle filling his glass with more milk.

He was having three meals a day, sleeping in a bed that didn’t smell of cats. It felt like a betrayal to Hermione and Ron to be in any way enjoying himself but there was something comforting about being back at Hogwarts. He never would have thought he could sleep two metres from a teenage Voldemort, let alone better than he had in weeks. Harry didn’t know what to do with that information.

I’m ok. Harry signed back. How was yesterday? He finger spelled boggart and the question sign.

Ally shrugged. She did a flurry of signs which Harry didn’t entirely understand but he recognised the word mother, father and the sign for Argus’ name.

I’m sorry. Harry signed.

Heard you saw the boggart. Ally smirked at her own wording.

Yes. With his limited vocabulary, he couldn’t quite figure out how to describe yesterday. He simply added the sign for bad.

Riddle watched the conversation over his toast. He signed much more fluently than Harry. Do you want to come to H.O.G.S.M.E.A.D.E with us?

Harry thought he must have read the signs wrong.

Ally cocked her head to the side. She drew out her notebook and scribbled quickly on one of the pages, pushing it at Riddle.

“First year Hufflepuffs have potions on Thursday mornings. I can get permission from Professor Slughorn,” Riddle said. “I can say you are there as support for Harry.”

Ally smiled. Like a guide dog. She wrote in her notebook.

“Well,” Riddle shifted looking actually uncertain for once, “you are a child and he is a child. You can show me what children need.”

Ally bit her lip. Can Argus come too?

“If he can leave the castle without getting caught,” Riddle said, “but I’m not waiting for you to get him.”

I’ll let him know.

Harry didn’t have to wait long to know how Ally was going to do this. She reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out the tiniest kitten Harry had ever seen. It was not much more than a ball of grey and black fluff with two glowing yellow eyes. Ally hands blurred in a flurry of signs and the kitten blinked comprehensively. It jumped off Ally’s lap and scampered away.

“Are you not joining us in class then?” Parkinson asked Tom, looking scathingly at Ally.

“I will be back by the afternoon,” Tom said, standing up. “Come on Harry, Filch. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Hogsmeade was unusually quiet. It was easy to forget about the war within Hogwarts’ walls, but as Tom wandered into the small town he saw shops with boarded up windows and a man dressed in rags curled up in an alcove hidden from the wind. Without the bustle and colour of other Hogwarts students, hurrying to escape from their schoolwork and stock up on sweets and fireworks, the wizarding village was somewhat depressing.

Riddle heard a gasp behind him. “It’s beautiful,” Argus said, staring up at the oddly shaped, stone buildings and their protruding window displays. He turned to Ally, signing so fast his hands blurred.

“What are you saying?” Riddle snapped.

Argus glared at Riddle.

“Don’t forget that it is thanks to me Professor Dippet hasn’t already thrown you out of the castle,” Riddle wouldn’t let himself be undermined by some squib child.

Argus didn’t stop glaring but his hand motions slowed. “I was asking Ally if it was like she remembered.”

“You’ve been here before?” Tom raised his eyebrows at the tiny girl.

With my parents. She signed back at him.

“Where did your parents take you?” Tom pulled his charmed muggle wallet out of his pocket. He had five galleons, twenty-three sickles and three knuts. Mipsy had already found some clothes and blankets for Harry. Tom had transfigured him a toothbrush and the school provided food and toiletries. What else did children need?

Ally took the lead and hurried over to the bookstore, bouncing excitedly outside its doors.

“Do you want to get a book?” Tom looked over at Harry. He noticed that Harry had an odd look in his eyes, not quite sad, not quite happy. At Riddle’s question, Harry plastered on a smile and nodded. It wasn’t quite the enthusiasm that Riddle might have expected but he was mostly just glad Harry wasn’t trying to drag him over to Zonko’s. Riddle would rather cast crucio on himself than enter that place.

Entering the bookstore, Tom was washed in a calming wave of warm air that smelt like old books and lavender. Ally pulled Harry and Argus straight over to the children’s section. Riddle hesitated, unsure if he should follow them. He had to make sure Harry wasn’t going to chose anything too expensive. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a tantrum like the ones he’d seen at the orphanage.

On the way to the children’s section, Tom was distracted by a shelf just next to it. Most of the titles featured pregnant women or children’s face, smiling creepily up at him.

My son blew up the fridge: a parent’s guide to managing accidental magic by Elissa Abott.

Wizarding Culture and Traditions for the Young Wixen: An Introduction by Martin Pinkerton.

How to raise a wixen?: The complete guide from the hospital to platform ¾ by Reginald Bell.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching him, Tom reached forward and grabbed the last book. He skimmed through the thick volume, noting chapters on everything from discipline to dietary plans. Tom was relived to see that in the chapter on discipline, Bell advocated against physical forms of punishment. He still had scars from the matron’s idea of discipline and it had only ever made him better at hiding and controlling his magic. If Tom had his way, Harry would never experience the same humiliation and pain. He glanced over at Harry, staring a little baffled at Ally who was picking up book after book from the shelf and signing in length about each one with Argus translating. As Harry raised a hand to push up his slipping glasses, Tom saw the pale scar on his hand. The bookshelf beside Tom shook and he had to forcibly calm himself down.

He glanced back down at the book and saw that it was on special, reduced from two galleons to one. That was still almost a fifth of his budget. Tom wavered for a second before shoving the book under his arm.

“Found anything good?” Tom asked, walking over to Harry. While, Ally and Argus looked up, Harry bent his head, shuffling his feet. Tom thought he looked very young in that moment.

Ally waved her hands and Tom made out the sign for Harry but the rest of meaningless.

“She’s asking Harry what kinds of books he read before he was sent back in time,” Argus said.

Harry’s eyes shifted away from the children’s books towards the section of school textbooks.

“You can’t have just read textbooks,” Argus said indignantly, signing as he spoke, “what about the stories your parents read to you?”

Harry scuffed the carpet with his shoe and shrugged.

“What books do you read?” Tom asked Argus. Filch was a wizarding last name. It wasn’t part of the sacred twenty-eight but he surely had access to a library that Tom couldn’t only fantasise about in the orphanage. Argus lit up.

“There’s the Tale of Beedle the Bard,” Argus said in a rush, “I don’t believe there’s a wizarding child that hasn’t read that though I always preferred Prince’s tales. My mom used to read me The Upturned Cauldron whenever…” Argus visibly deflated, his usual scowl returning.

Ally touched his arm and signed something. Argus let out a little huff of laughter and pushed Ally away playfully. “Ally says she’s better at reading bedtime stories than mom,” Argus explained at Tom’s questioning look.

I can do all the voices. Ally signed proudly.

“We could get you one of Prince’s books,” Riddle said to Harry, trying to hide his reluctance. Prince’s books were expensive. Instead of reaching for Prince’s latest novel, featured prominently in the centre of the children’s display, Harry’s hand moved tentatively towards a book almost hidden at the bottom of the shelf stack.

“Grimm’s fairytales?” Riddle glanced at the completely stationary cover in Harry’s grasp, “isn’t that a muggle series?” It explained why the scuffed up book was only a sickle and two knuts.

Harry went to return it to the shelf but Riddle reached out and stopped him. “That’s not to say you can’t get it.” Tom vaguely remembered the matron reading them a story about two children that got lost in the woods. He thought that might have been one of the Grimm Fairytales.

Harry hesitated. He reached into something hidden under his shirt and drew out a galleon.

“Where did you get that?” Tom demanded. He quickly lowered his voice when Harry flinched ever so slightly. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway.” Tom said, “I’m paying for it.” He took the book from Harry’s hand. Tom went straight to the counter, laying out the Grimm fairy tales and the parenting book. He glared at the young woman behind the counter, daring her to judge him for his choices. The woman barely seemed to notice the books, however, simply taking Tom’s money and putting them in a bag.

“We don’t have too much time,” Riddle said, stepping out of the shop and casting a quick tempus. As happy as he would be to spend the whole morning in the bookstore, Dippet had only granted him a few hours. The next Hogsmeade trip wasn’t for a month.

Where are we going next? Harry signed, taking the book bag from Argus and holding it close to his chest.

Riddle let a rare smile grace his lips. “We’re going to get you a snake.”

Chapter Text

Harry stood outside the cramped menagerie, trying to remember if it had existed in his time. It was rather ominous looking on the outside. The door was painted a chipped dark red like it had been splashed with blood and the window display mostly consisted of empty cages piled on top of each other. Harry heard a pitiful meow from Ally’s pocket. She pulled the kitten out and stroked its speckled fur.

“This is where we got Lottie,” Argus said, glaring at the store, “when Ally’s Hogwarts letter arrived.”

With the hand not holding the kitten, Lottie, Ally gestured angrily. Harry didn’t need to know sign language to understand she had some choice words to say about the shop.

Riddle pushed open the door, causing a bell to let out a depressing chime. The store was dimly lit and Harry’s nose wrinkled at the smell, a mixture of kitty litter and stale urine. This wasn’t any place for an animal. He saw a barn owl huddled in a cage much too small for it and thought of Hedwig. Rage burned inside him and he had to focus on his flimsy occlumency shields to stop himself from drawing his wand and cursing the whole store.

“Looking for something?” A bored looking teenager came up to them.

“We want to see your snake selection,” Riddle straightened up, looking down his nose at the teen.

“Not much of a selection,” the teenager muttered. He dragged his feet over to the darkest corner of the store where there was a single tank, filled with a sickly green light. Harry peered into the tank and saw a huge snake coiled into a tight black ball, only its red eyes visible.

⚕Take another step closer and I will bite you.⚕ The snake hissed, its black tongue darting out to taste the air.

“What species is she?” Riddle glowered at the tank. There was not even a warming pad for the snake or a rock for it to hide under. Harry didn’t quite know what to make of the creature. He shuddered at the image of Nagini erupting from Batilda’s Bagshot’s neck but, looking at the snake, another memory resurfaced of a bower constrictor at the zoo who longed to see Brazil. This snake’s black scales were intersected with scars. They looked deep. One scar criss-crossed the snake’s diamond shaped head like a lightening bolt, nearly splitting through one of its red eyes.  It was eerily similar to Harry’s own scar.  

“I dunno,” the teenage stayed away from the tank, casting it wary glances. “It’s got a real bite on it. Mr Graves’ still at Mungo’s. I’m just filling in for ‘im.”

“How much?” Riddle pulled out a felt pouch.

“Six galleons,” the teenager said.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. “I doubt this whole building is worth six galleons,” his voice dripped in derision.

“It’s not any snake,” the teenager shuffled his feet but didn’t back down from Riddle’s glower, “it straight up disappeared its glass to bite Mr Graves. Five galleons is the best I can do.”

“Really?” Riddle turned to the tank.

⚕What is your name, great one?⚕  

The teenager paled considerably. Argus visibly shuddered while Ally looked at him questioningly, her head tilted to the side.

⚕You speak.⚕ The snake reared up.

⚕I do.⚕ Riddle bowed his head respectfully to the snake. ⚕I am looking for a guardian to oversee my son. If you accept, I will take you from here.⚕

Harry should have guessed Riddle wanted the snake to spy on him. He wondered if he should reveal his ability to speak parselmouth. Even with his injured throat, Harry could still let out small noises. He might be able to hiss. This was not the place to test it out. There was a chance he could use the snake, either by feeding it false information to report to Riddle or change its loyalties to spy on Riddle. From what Harry knew from listening to garden snakes, their loyalties greatly depended on whoever fed them the most mice.

⚕I do not have a name.⚕ The snake hissed, ⚕But you may name me, speaker. I will protect your hatchling if you free me from this cage.⚕

Riddle waved his wand and the glass around the snake vanished. He extended a hand forward and the snake wound around it, twisting up his body to lay its head on top of Riddle’s slicked-back hair. There was no way Harry could wear the snake like that. It was longer than Riddle was tall, its tail trailing on the ground and its head the size of Riddle hand with fingers extended. Harry noticed that its underbelly was the same crimson colour as its eyes.

Riddle turned to the teenager. “I will give you three galleons.”

The young shop keeper gulped. “Three galleons,” he squeaked, nodding frantically. He stumbled with the cash register, taking Riddle’s money with a shaking hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” Riddle said. He strode out of the store and Harry had to run to keep up with him.

“I didn’t know you were a parselmouth,” Argus said a little hesitantly once they were outside, “my mum says gifts like that only exist in the purest families.”

Riddle stroked the snake with his index finger and scowled down at Argus. “If you tell…”

“Can you ask her if I can pat her?” Argus said all in a rush, “please.”

Riddle stared at him.

⚕Can the boy pet you?⚕ Riddle hissed after a few seconds.

The snake twisted its head to face Argus. ⚕He needn’t ask.⚕ The snake replied, ⚕I have nothing against hatchlings.⚕

Riddle nodded briskly and Argus hurried forward, stroking under the snake’s chin in a way that made the snake purr like a cat.

“This is your snake now Harry,” Riddle said, returning to English, “you may find a name for her,”

Harry considered the snake. He looked from her down at his new book of fairytales.

When he was five, Hary had seen this exact book in the library. Aunt Petunia had been in a rare charitable mood and had let Harry pick out one book while she piled bedtime stories for Dudley into a trolley. Harry had loved the pretty illustration on the cover of a girl surrounded by rabbits and deer. He’d shyly brought it up to Petunia but she had cast one look at the title and let out a screech. Looking back, he should have known Aunt Petunia would never allow a book about magic mirrors and cannibalistic witches in the house. He’d gone home to his cupboard without the book and without dinner. But Aunt Petunia wasn’t here now.

Harry pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled down a name.

“Kallo?” Riddle asked, “What does it mean?”

Before Aunt Petunia had taken the book, Harry remembered reading the story of Kallo and the Goblins. In the story, Kallo and Marbo were twin girls but they couldn’t have been more different. Marbo was hunch backed with pointed teeth and slitted eyes while Kallo’s beauty could rival a goddess. Despite their differences, the sisters cared deeply for each other. When Kallo was threatened by a hoard of goblins, Marbo fought for her using her sharp teeth and clawed hands to save her sister.

Harry used to recite what he remembered of the story inside his cupboard, desperately trying to ignore the pain in his stomach. He had never believed in Fairy Godmothers but he liked how Kallo had fooled the goblins and how the sisters had found true family in each other. As a child, he had always wondered if one day he and Dudley could be real brothers. They were only five weeks apart in age. In another life, they could have pretended to be fraternal twins.

Harry looked at the snake’s glistening black and red scales. From his language studies at Hogwarts, Harry knew that Kallo translated as skull or hairless in Latin and beauty in Ancient Greek. It seemed appropriate for the snake.

Harry scribbled something about word’s etymology on the paper, not mentioning its role in a muggle fairy tale. Riddle seemed satisfied.

⚕What do you think of the name Kallo?⚕ Riddle asked the snake. She hissed contentedly, giving Hary’s cheek a lick with her forked tongue. Kallo it was.

“We have time for one more store,” Riddle went back to stroking Kallo and glanced at Argus and Ally. “Where would you suggest?”

H.O.N.E.Y.D.U.K.E.S. Ally signed at once.

Riddle nodded. “Very well, let’s go.”

Chapter Text

With a pocket full of sweets, Harry dragged himself back to Hogwarts. Kalo slithered at his feet like his own personal bodyguard, hissing at anyone who came too close. He didn’t know what to make of Riddle being so…nice. It was just too confusing. His young body ached from all the walking. Ally and Argus were struggling alongside Harry, up the long pathway back to the school. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief when they stepped out of the sun and into Hogwarts’ entranceway.

“Lunch is just about to start,” Riddle said, turning to Harry. “I expect you to finish it before you eat any of your sweets.”

Harry nodded sleepily.

“You better leave before class ends,” Riddle glanced at Argus. Harry hastened to sign thank you before Ally dragged Argus away to wherever he hid when other students were in the corridors. He drew out two peppermint toads and handed them over. Ally took hers and put it straight into her mouth, grinning. She waved at Harry and pulled on Argus’ hand, tugging him through a hidden passageway.

“I bought those for you,” Riddle said, clearly pouting.

They helped us. Harry signed. And I have more.

“It is not necessary,” Riddle said, leading Harry towards the Great Hall, “Filch will not risk her brother’s discovery.”

Harry glared at Riddle. Of course Riddle would think the only normal human interactions were bribes or threats.  They helped us. He reiterated.

“Let’s just got to lunch,” Riddle seized Harry’s hand. Too tired to push him away, Harry let himself be pulled to the Great Hall and sat down beside a plate of chicken and leek pie. Kallo slithered under the table and Harry fed her pieces of chicken.

The new addition to the Great Hall was not missed by any of the students or teachers. It was difficult to hide a snake that could comfortably eat a cat. Harry could feel Dumbledore’s eyes on him and by the way Riddle was scowling, so could he.

Harry ate quickly. As much as he wanted to take a midday nap, he hadn’t forgotten his promise to change the future. When Riddle was satisfied with how much he had eaten, he let Harry slip away, hissing softly for Kallo to follow him back to the Slytherin dorms.

Once he was around the corner,  Harry made a sharp right turn, following the familiar route down to the potion classroom. He touched the mokeskin pouch around his neck where the shrunken broom was hidden. Step two: phoenix tears.

When he’d left the hall, Harry had seen Professor Slughorn at the head table talking with Professor Merrythought. Harry guessed he had about fifteen uninterrupted minutes. He knew where Slughorn’s office was from the memorable incident when Ron had eaten cauldron cakes spiked with a love potion. Pheonix tears were near impossible to obtain if you weren’t already a lord but Professor Slughorn had always found a way to afford the finer things in life. They were a core ingredient in Felix Felicis and Harry distinctly remembering Slughorn bragging about the many times he had brewed it.

Harry stopped outside Slughorn’s office and extended out his magic, feeling the wards surrounding the door.

⚕This does not smell like your nest.⚕ Kallo hissed, wrinkling her scarred nose.

Opening his mouth, Harry focused on the snake’s red eyes. ⚕Riddle told you to follow me back to our dorm. He didn’t say we had to go straight there.⚕ The words came out strained and rough from disuse but Harry was relieved to find he could speak at all.

⚕You speak?⚕ Kalo whipped her tail around like an overlarge puppy. ⚕The other speaker…he is your bearer?⚕

⚕Sort of.⚕ Harry shuddered at the mental image that produced. ⚕But you can’t tell him anything. Not what I’m doing here or that I can speak.⚕

⚕He does not know?⚕

⚕Not yet. I imagine he will find out but there is something I must do first.⚕ Harry hoped that the snake wouldn’t slither straight to Riddle. He didn’t want to hurt her but he couldn’t let Riddle open the Chamber of Secrets. If Riddle used Myrtle’s death to create his first horcrux, he would become that much harder to defeat, not to mention that an innocent girl would be left to haunt a bathroom for the rest of eternity. ⚕Please, Kallo. He can’t know.⚕

⚕I will not tell your bearer, little speaker.⚕ Kalo hissed, licking Harry’s cheek. There seemed to be real concern reflected in those blood-red eyes and something like understanding. ⚕Does he hurt you? I will bite him. My poison might not kill a speaker but it will be painful.⚕

⚕No,⚕ Harry hissed quickly, ⚕there’s no need for that. Just don’t tell anything.⚕ The scar on Harry’s shoulder in the shape of a basilisk fang twinged. However, as satisfying as it would be to see Riddle get bitten by a snake, this Riddle hadn’t technically hurt him. He had tucked Harry into bed and bought him sweets. That didn’t mean he didn’t deserve it but it wouldn’t be as satisfying.

⚕If you insist,⚕ Kallo lowered herself back down to the ground, ⚕but if I see him hurt you, I will bite. I do not serve those who mistreat hatchlings.⚕

Harry reached down carefully and stroked the snake’s head. She closed her eyes at the touch, her tail wagging. ⚕Thank you, Kalo.⚕

Casting a wandless tempus, Harry saw that he only had about ten minutes. It didn’t take long to detangle the ward’s around Slughorn’s door. Spending months on end hiding from half of wizarding Britain was a rather thorough crash course on creating and destroying wards.

He slipped silently passed the door and found himself in a room that was exactly how he remembered. There were several overstuffed armchairs overflowing with cushions and throw blankets. In the centre of the office was a mahogany desk, covered in papers and packets of chocolates and crystallised pineapples. The walls showed off Slughorn’s collection of past students, grinning with varying degrees of enthusiasm from ornate photo frames.

⚕Accio phoenix tears.⚕ Harry hissed, not surprised when nothing happened. He started pulling open drawers and cupboard doors, searching for the hidden stash of rare potion ingredients that he was sure was somewhere in here. With a flick of his wand, Harry saw that there were several sections on the room shrouded by strong ward magic.

Kallo was sniffing at once of the sections, nudging her nose against a carved wooden chest.

⚕What do you smell?⚕ Harry asked, bending down beside the chest.

⚕Hmm, occamy eggs,⚕ Kalo licked her lips.

That sounded promising. Harry focused his magic, threading it around Slughorn’s detection spells and loosening the chest’s lock. It opened with a click and Harry threw the chest open. Kalo dived inside the box and latched her fangs around a blue, somewhat iridescent egg that was about the size and shape of a tennis ball. She swallowed it whole and Harry had to stop her from taking another.

⚕Slughorn won’t be happy if half his potion supplies went missing.⚕

⚕I don’t care if he’s happy.⚕ Kallo voice was somewhat muffled by the second occamy egg she had managed to snatch from under Harry’s arm.

⚕But we don’t want him to be angry with us.⚕

⚕I will bite him.⚕ Kalo hissed threateningly.

⚕Again thanks but not necessary. Let’s just get out of here before Slughorn comes back.⚕ Harry rifled through the chest of ingredients until he found a tiny crystal vile labelled as Pheonix Tears. It was mostly empty but there was still a few pearly white droplets at the bottom. They wouldn’t be enough to brew a full dose of Felix Felicis but it should heal a basilisk bite. He stuffed the bottle into his mokeskin pouch and closed the chest, carefully restoring the wards. With Kalo close to him, Harry poked his head out of the office door. Seeing that the corridor was deserted, Harry slid out, letting out a long breath.

⚕That could have gone wor-⚕

There was a crack and Mipsy appeared just in front of Harry, arms crossed.

“Little Master is not supposed to be here,” Mipsy said, “you be needing sleep, not whatever you be doing.”

Nothing. Harry signed frantically. I’m going to bed.

“You better be, Little Master,” Mipsy said sternly.

Mipsy followed Harry until he was inside the Slytherin dormitory. He pushed inside the head boy’s room and, under Mipsy’s glare, slid into his bed. Kallo slithered into the cot beside him, looping around his legs and laying her head protectively on Harry’s chest. Despite her size, the weight was comforting rather than restrictive.

“Goodnight, Little Master,” Mipsy said softly.

⚕Sleep, little speaker. I will protect you.⚕

Harry wanted to protest that he wasn’t that little but he was already slipping into unconsciousness. A short nap couldn’t hurt.

Chapter Text

Tom was comforted to hear from Mipsy that Harry was curled up asleep in his dorm. He had seen Harry’s eyes droop on the walk back to Hogwarts. On the way to Tom’s final lesson of the day, he tapped the cover of his new parenting book so, to an outsider, it would look like a lightly used copy of Hogwarts a History. He started at the beginning, recoiling slightly at mentions of “burping the baby”, “avoiding nappy rash” and how to tell the heath of a baby by the colour of their “sick up”. Thank goodness that Harry was not a baby. Tom shuddered at the thought.

Absorbed in the book, he barely noticed that he was already at the entrance to the potions classroom. Tom quickly tucked the parenting book into his bag as Professor Slughorn beckoned him inside. He scanned the room for Henry and found him sitting on the Gryffindor side of the classroom, talking with the red head Nance. The seat beside him was empty.

Tom strode over to it and Henry looked up at him, smiling brightly.

“May I join you?” Tom said, hating that he even had to ask. Henry should be begging to brew with him.

Instead of answering, Henry gently grabbed Tom’s wrist and pulled him down into the chair. The point where Henry touched him burned.

“Looking to brew with the top potioneer?” Henry grinned cockily.

Tom scoffed. “That’s what you should be saying.”

“Yeah?” Henry raised an eyebrow, “prove me wrong.”

“Quiet down, quiet down,” Professor Slughorn said from the front of the class. He was rubbing at his forehead and flicked his wand so the lights in the dungeon dampened. Tom recognised the familiar signs that the professor had overindulged in Ogden’s Old Firewhisky at lunch.

“We’re going to be working individually today,” Slughorn summoned a glass and filled it with water. “Eh, just chose a potion from your book and brew it.” He fell into his cushioned desk chair and drained the glass.

“Perfect,” Henry’s grin widened. “I love when he does this.” He flipped right to the back of his potions textbook and settled on a heavily annotated recipe for Veritaserum. Henry glanced over at Tom, golden eyes dancing under the dim torch light.

“Want to put your theory to the test?” Henry said, pushing his textbook over to Tom’s side of the table.

“Have you brewed it before?” Tom wasn’t about to enter into a competition where he was already at a disadvantage.

“Not yet,” Henry said, “but I’m excited to try.”

“I’m in,” Tom pulled out his cauldron and Bunsen burner. No one had ever beaten him in a competition since he’d learnt to control his magic at the orphanage, certainly not a Gryffindor. Tom chose to ignore how proficiently Henry had brewed the Draught of Living Death. He was sure that Henry’s new techniques were nothing but showy tricks. Libatius Borage’s was an awarded potioneer whose work had been the sole reference for proper potion making for the last twenty years. Tom would rather follow his instructions than an over-confident sixth grader.

“Five, four, three, two…” Henry grinned at Tom, moving down each finger on his left hand as he spoke, “one.”

Tom leapt up and raced over to the store cupboard, Henry close behind him. He didn’t need to look at his book for the ingredients. His hand darted out and clasped an adder’s tongue and a handful of the finest Jobberknoll feathers. He made sure that none of the were bent or greying at the tips. The recipe only demanded twelve feathers but he snatched an extra few. Good luck making a better Veritaserum with crushed feathers.

Tom glanced behind him and furrowed his brow. Henry was humming tunelessly and picking out mint leaves from the climate controlled garden inside one of the cupboards. What the hell did he need mint for? Henry must have felt his stare. He looked over at Tom and smirked.

Bristling with infuriation, Tom stashed the last few ingredients into his pocket and hurried back to his desk. He poured deionized water into his cauldron and brought it to a simmer. Henry returned when Tom was adding a spoonful of powdered moonstone. He didn’t seem concerned about Tom’s head start. Instead, he lit his Bunsen burner and let his cauldron simmer as he diced the mint leaves into a green dust.

Tom tried to focus on his own cauldron but he kept getting distracted. When he brewed, Henry’s face shifted from his easy grin to a look of through concentration. His eyebrows came together and his calloused hands moved independently of each other, one hand adding mint leaves to the moonstone as the other stirred his cauldron anti-clockwise. In the steam from his cauldron, his light brown curls stuck up everywhere. Tom was gripped with the sudden compulsion to reach over and flatten them back down.

He ignored it and returned to his own cauldron. Tom sliced the adder’s tongue into even pieces and dropped them into it, turning the shimmery silver liquid a dark grey. He raised the heat of the cauldron and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The fumes were thick and made his head spin. The next instruction was to cut the sopophorous beans but Tom hesitated. He remembered how much liquid they had produced when Henry crushed them with the flat of his blade. Tom wavered. He couldn’t afford to lose this competition and dent his pride.  

Determined to win, Tom discarded his indecision and crushed the beans, scooping up the liquid and dumping it into the cauldron.

“Interesting move,” Henry said, pressing down on his own sopophorous beans.

“Focus on your own potion,” Tom grit his teeth.

“Sorry your majesty,” Henry gradually poured the resulting liquid into his cauldron along with half a cup of pineapple juice for some reason.

Tom turned off his Bunsen burner, stirring the mixture as it cooled. He tried not to breath in the fumes. His head was already spinning and he had a horrible feeling that if someone asked him something right now, he would have a hard time lying to them.

“The potion will need to cool for a week,” Tom said, satisfied that he had finished before Henry.

“Let’s see what Professor Slughorn thinks of them so far,” Henry gave his cauldron one last stir and took it off the heat.

Tom was content to raise his hand and bring the professor over. Years of crystalised pineapple and polite small talk had granted him Slughorn’s favour. Unlike Dumbledore, he had no doubt that Slughorn would chose the superior potion without bias. At least, without bias against his favourite Slytherin.

“Oh this is wonderful,” Slughorn said, leaning over both cauldrons. “I haven’t seen a finer example of Veritaserum in all my time at Hogwarts.”

“Which one do you think is better?” Henry clasped his hands on the table, his face a picture of politeness. Tom doubted Slughorn saw the upwards twist at the corner of his lips.

“It would be hard to say,” Slughorn bent forward and inhaled the silvery fumes coming from the cauldron. He picked up Tom’s ladle and spooned a little mixture from each cauldron, watching it fall back into the rest of the potion. “It would have to be…” Tom leant forwards, “young Mr Potters.”

What?!

“I don’t know what you did with it but I’ve never seen Veritaserum quite as clear.”

Tom scowled.

“Why thank you professor,” Henry smiled innocently.

“They’re not finished yet,” Tom protested, “they still need to cool for a week.”

“No, Mr Potter’s is better. The week only increases the potency of the potion, it doesn’t change its colour. Five points to Gryffindor.”

Tom noticed that Slughorn’s voice was somewhat distant. Based on Tom’s readings, it sounded like Slughorn was under a light dose of the Veritaserum just from inhaling the fumes. He couldn’t lie. Tom had lost.

Slughorn moved on from their table to the rest of the class and Tom rounded on Henry.

“Why did you add the mint?” He demanded.

“It’s slightly acidic,” Henry leaned back on his chair. “The mint balances out the moonstone without interfering with sopophorous beans.”

“And the pineapple?”

Henry grinned. “That’s just to improve the flavour.”

Tom bit back a curse. He wanted to wipe that smirk off Henry’s face. “Why would the flavour matter?” Tom said frustrated. How had someone who cared about such frivolities beaten Tom? “I hardly think criminals will complain about the taste.”

“They might,” Henry shrugged, “but I’m not planning to use this on criminals. I have a feeling that truth or dare is about to get that much more interesting.”

“Of course you would use a powerful truth serum as a party trick,” Tom glared at the Gryffindor.

Henry learnt forward until Tom could see each one of his eyelashes. “How else am I going to celebrate Gryffindor’s first win against Slytherin?”

“I,” Tom stuttered, briefly forgetting what he was meant to be arguing about.

Henry leaned away and Tom let out a shaky breath. He felt his face burn, an effect of the Veritaserum fumes no doubt.

“Sooo,” Henry drew out the word, “Do I win?”

“Fine,” Tom conceded, “yes, you win. Happy?”

“Very,” Henry said. “Do I get a prize?”

“What do you want?” Tom suddenly felt very nervous. He hated owing people anything. Henry had already given him the Felix Felicis, asking only for Tom to call him by his first name. What could the Gryffindor possibly want from him?

“You still haven’t said if you’re coming to my try out on Saturday,” Henry didn’t frame it as a demand but there was something hopeful in his eyes.

“Is there any doubt that you’ll make the team?” Tom didn’t know anything about Quidditch but after running into Henry at night, he’d asked the other Slytherins about him. Apparently, Henry had been Gryffindor’s seeker since the second year and many people assumed he would play professionally after school.

“It’s never guaranteed,” Henry said. “I could do with a friendly face in the stands.”

Tom couldn’t stop his derisive snort. The sound was indelicate, nothing like a pureblood’s polite laughter. It was fortunate that the rest of the Gryffindors seemed focused on clearing away their own potions.

“No one has ever described my face as friendly,” Tom packed up his potions kit, picking up his dirty ladle and measuring spoons.

“Let me help you with that,” Henry flicked his wand and levitated the rest of Tom’s utensils, alongside his own. Tom could appreciate the casual display or wordless magic. Together, they moved to the sinks and doused the utensils in warm water and soap. It would be easier to cast a simple scourgify but using the spell too often could damage the utensils and make them more liable to rust.

“I’ll come to your try outs,” Tom sighed after a moment of quiet.

“Yes!” Henry bounced on his toes, showing far more enthusiasm than Tom thought was warranted. He still didn’t know why Henry would even want him there. “Bring Harry,” Henry said, “he should learn how the game is played.”

“I doubt Harry has any interest in Quidditch,” Tom dried the utensils.

“Give it a school year,” Henry walked back to the desk and slung his bag over one shoulder, “I’ll convert him." He started moving towards Nance and another Gryffindor girl, holding his cauldron by its handles before turning back. “See you on Saturday.”

“See you,” Tom said, feeling a little dazed.

“What in Merlin’s name was that?” Parkinson appeared beside Tom, glaring at Henry’s retreating figure.

“I have no idea,” Tom said, levitating his cauldron onto a spare shelf with his name and the date the potion would be finished clearly visible. He didn’t know what to make of Henry Potter. The sloppily dressed Gryffindor had beaten him when no one else had even come close. Tom thought he would rather like to see him duel. Potions may be Henry’s best subject but defence against the dark arts was Tom’s. He briefly pictured himself with his wand at Henry’s throat, successfully wiping that cocky smirk from his lips.

“Let’s just get to dinner,” Parkinson sniffed disapprovingly, “Want to sit next to me, Riddle?”

Tom hummed non-committedly. He would se Henry on Saturday. Tom could challenge him to a duel then.

Chapter Text

“You gotta get up,” Tom ran his fingers through Harry’s silky, black hair, briefly slipping into his cockney accent before he caught himself.

He had come back to his dorm to see Kallo cuddled protectively around Harry, her tail drooping off a bed that was too small for her. Tom had stood in the doorway, watching Harry breath. In sleep, the boy was so small.

Harry whimpered a little and Kallo snuggled tighter around him, licking. His heart twisting almost painfully, Tom stepped over to the bed and sat down on the edge.

“It’s dinner time,”

Harry grumbled, his eyelids flickering. Kallo manoeuvred herself out of Harry’s grip and slithered around Tom’s shoulders.

⚕I want mice.⚕ Kallo hissed.

⚕Can’t you hunt for yourself?⚕ Tom took the pillow out from under Harry’s head but his son only shifted so that he was lying on Tom’s knees. It couldn’t have been as comfortable but Harry hummed contentedly.

⚕I am protecting your hatchling. Would you have me desert him?⚕

“Mipsy!”

The house elf appeared beside Tom, hands clasped behind her back. “Master Tom called.”

“Yes Mipsy,” Tom heaved the grumbling boy up. “Could you bring us two serving of dinner to have in our room? I do not think we will be making it to the Great Hall.”

Kallo hissed.

“And some mice.”

“Of course, Master Tom,” Mipsy disappeared with a crack and Harry’s eyes finally flickered open. He blinked up at Tom before scrambling back to the other side of the bed.

Mipsy reappeared with a tray ladened with roast lemon chicken, green beans, mashed potato, poached peers and five white mice. The mice jumped away from Mipsy and Kallo streaked after them.

“Potatoes?” Tom served out a portion for Harry and bit delicately into his own chicken.

Why here? Harry signed.

“That’s a rather existential question.”

Harry frowned.

“I thought we could have dinner in bed. Just this one time, mind you. Don’t get used to it.”

Looking suspiciously at Tom, Harry picked up a fork and sleepily tried to stuff a green bean into his mouth, missing twice.

Tom finished first, dabbing at his mouth with the napkin Mipsy provided. Harry was still struggling to get the food in his mouth, his eyelids drooping while vehemently refusing any help from Tom.

Resisting an urge to laugh at Harry’s drowsy clumsiness, Tom leaned back and saw Harry’s new book of muggle fairy tales. He snatched it up, noting the way Harry tensed when he touched it.

“Eat your beans,” Tom said, flickering to the first story. He cleared his throat and began to read.

“Once upon a time, before mankind could dispel night with the flick of a switch and when the winters were cold and killing, when the gears of the world ground thanks to the muscle of man and beast with blood for fuel, a widow gave birth to twin girls on the night she was told of her husband’s death.”

Tom had to lean over to catch the glass from it slipped out of Harry’s hand. It seemed that this was a losing battle.

“Get under the sheets,” Tom said, safely taking the food tray away. He cast a quick cleaning charm on Harry, aware that a shower was out of Harry’s ability right now. Kallo slithered back onto the bed, looking satisfied and curled around Harry and Tom. Stroking her head, Tom shifted into a more comfortable position and kept reading.

“She screamed and she kicked and she called out for him, even though she knew he was dead, until finally, with one great push, gave birth to a little girl. She held the screaming infant in her arms, but as she looked upon it closer in the lamplight, she wept and cried and beat her chest. For the babe had been born with a hunchback and great long teeth and eyes narrow and slitted, like a snake’s.”

Tom felt a weight hit against his shoulder and saw that Harry was losing a battle with gravity. He looped a hand around Harry’s body and pulled him closer. The boy struggled for a moment but gave in with a yawn that made his whole body shudder. Tom went back to running his fingers through Harry’s curls and reading from the book.

““Christ and his Mother in Heaven! How happy it makes me now, to know that my husband is dead and did not see this terror.” Hardly had she spoken the words, when the convulsions began anew. Before she even knew it, the widow gave birth to another girl, who she beheld in the lamplight and exclaimed: “I take back what I said; this little thing is the very picture of delight!””

Harry’s head dropped onto Tom’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Goodnight Harry,” Tom said softly. He was gripped by a sudden compulsion and leant over to kiss the top of Harry’s head. The boy sighed and snuggled closer to him. The sight made Tom’s heart ache.

⚕Goodnight hatchling.⚕ Kallo hissed. She curled up around Tom, flickering her tail in his face before finding a perch with her head on Harry’s pillow and body in Tom’s lap. ⚕Goodnight speaker.⚕ She said with far less tenderness. ⚕Try to hurt my hatchling in his sleep and I will bite you.⚕

⚕I wouldn’t expect anything else.⚕ Tom said, supressing a slight smile. He tried to extricate himself from under Kallo but the snake didn’t make it easy for him. Eventually, Tom gave up and lowered himself down onto the bed, his head resting on Kallo surprisingly soft scales. In a few minutes, all three of them were asleep.

Chapter Text

“What’s the sign for dad?”

Harry and Riddle were back in the same disused classroom with Ally and Argus. Kallo was off in some corner chasing mice as they practised new signs.

At Riddle’s question, Ally tapped her right index and middle finger twice against her left index and middle finger. Harry hesitated to copy the sign. He might have woken snuggled close to Riddle but he had no intention to start calling the man dad.

Ally must have noticed something in Harry’s expression as she nudged Argus and made a circle with her left hand, hitting it against her forehead.

“Um, that’s the sign for dick head,” Argus translated, glancing unsure at Riddle.

Harry happily copied that sign.

***

After a shared breakfast of piklets and strawberries where Ally completely ignored the Slytherins glaring at her, Harry waved goodbye to Riddle and headed out of the Great Hall. Mipsy popped in front of Harry the moment he took a step in the opposite directly of the Slytherin common room.

“What you be doing today, Little Master?” Mipsy said sternly, blocking Harry’s path.

Nothing. Harry signed innocently. I go walk outside.

Mipsy narrowed her eyes. “What is you be saying?”

Harry reached for the notebook in his pocket but Mipsy shook her head.

“I be learning,” she squeaked, “but go more slowly.”

Feeling a burst of warmth in his chest, Harry repeated the signs more slowly, hoping he got them right.

“I be understanding,” Mipsy said, “I not be stopping you but if I see you be going near the Forbidden Forest or-.”

Harry shook his head. I won’t.

Mipsy kept staring at him for a long second before moving out of his way. “I will be keeping an eye on you, Little Master. Don’t be staying out too long.”

Mipsy disappeared with a crack and Harry skipped excitedly over to the entranceway, Kallo slithering at his feet. The morning air was crisp and Harry breathed it in, enjoying the burn in his lungs. His eyes swept over the forbidden forest where a few of the trees were just starting to turn orange and the lake, glistening brightly. He took the pebbled path down from the castle and towards a wooden hut, puffing smoke into the still air. Fond memories of tea and rock cakes hard enough to break his teeth made Harry smile sadly.

As he got closer, he saw a group of Gryffindors and Slytherins clustered together around a paddock. He saw a brown moustached man standing in the centre of the paddock, a bandage over one eye and a hook instead of a left hand. That must be Professor Kettleburn, the care of magical creatures teacher who left to spend time with his remaining limbs. He was surrounded by orange and white crup puppies, their two tails wagging as they jumped up on the man. One of the Gryffindors towered over the rest even as he sat on the ground with a lapful of puppies. Harry didn’t need to see his face to know instantly who the boy was. He reached the wooden cabin and peered out. It was strange to see his old friend without a beard, his face smooth and round. Harry's heart ached a little to see how all the other students stood away from him.

He longed to go up to up to him but he couldn’t afford to get distracted from his mission. If he did this right, Hagrid might never become the groundskeeper. He would have a chance to finish school, explore the world, hatch dragon eggs on a reserve and not in a wooden hut.

Silently, Harry retreated away from the scene and towards the garden at the back of the hut. It looked almost identical to the one he remembered, giant pumpkins and all. He stepped carefully between the plants and surveyed the chicken coop that smelt strongly of hay and was full of the sounds of clucking.

“What are you think you’re doing, boy?”  

Harry spun around, instinctively raising his wand. In front of him was a man with what looked like a permanent scowl and cropped black hair that was greying at the temples. In one hand was something that reminded Harry of Dudley’s smelting stick. There was nothing kind about the man’s dark eyes, looking down on Harry.

He really missed his invisibility cloak.

Harry stepped away from the man as Kallo reared up in front of him. The man faltered at the sight of the huge snake but only for a second. The next moment he raised his own wand and slashed the air in front of Kallo. Harry wordlessly cast a shield charm around them, stopping the man’s diffindo from adding another scar to Kallo’s neck. Eyes blazing, Harry struck back, disarming the man and wrapping rope tightly around his wrist.

“What?” The man spluttered, struggling against the bindings. “Get here boy!” He tried to grab at Harry but with his hands bound together, it was easy to dart away from him. The man reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon. He could see the exact same vein popping in the man’s neck. Harry fired another set of ropes at the man’s legs, ensuring that they were loose enough that they didn’t block circulation. After making sure that Kallo was unharmed, Harry scampered back and towards the chicken coop.

He ducked inside the wooden and wire structure and found himself surrounded by chickens, looking expectantly at him. They were plump with shiny red feathers and didn’t seem at all phased by Kallo. Harry summoned some seeds from outside of the coop and let the chickens pluck at his hands. Peering over the sea of red feathers, he saw three birds with green and blue feathers worked into their tails. They were larger than the rest of the hens and shoving their way to the front of the crowd. The moment one of them bit at the seeds in his hand, Harry muttered a silent apology and stunned the bird. He dispersed the rest of the seeds on the hay covered floor and slipped out of the coop, holding the unconscious rooster gently by its middle. Hiding the bird behind his back, he walked past the man still struggling with the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Harry really should release him but he had tried to hurt Kallo. Instead, he dropped the man’s wand into the garden and started to make his way back to the castle.  

His path was blocked by a tiny crup puppy running towards him followed closely by a lumbering figure that stopped just short of crashing into Harry.

“Oh, sorry,” Hagrid said, scooping up the puppy that was trying to snap at the rooster in Harry’s hand.

Harry stared into those familiar beetle black eyes that were focused not on Harry but on Kallo.

“I’ve never seen a red belly like ‘er,” Hagrid bent down, reaching forward to stroke Kallo’s head, “one of the most poisonous snakes in Australia, did ya know?” He glanced at Harry, grinning widely. Kallo let herself be pet, nudging her diamond shaped head into Hagrid’s hand.

“Never seen one this big,” Hagrid moved Kallo’s head, taking note of the scars on her scales. He forced her mouth open and inspected her fangs and black tongue. “Looks healthy,” he stood back up, causing Harry to be completely shadowed from the sun. “Little thin but reckon you just got ‘er. There’s no shortage of mice in the castle.”

Harry nodded, unable to takes his eyes off Hagrid. He looked so young.

“Boy!”

Hagrid and Harry spun around to see that the man from earlier had detangled himself from the ropes and found his wand. Glaring at the man, Hagrid stepped protectively in front of Harry.

“Don’t you try defending the brat,” the man spat out, “he was messing with my garden.”

“He’s just a kid Pringle,” Hagrid refused to budge, even as the man, Pringle, thrust his wand in Hagrid’s face.

“Got to learn young,” Pringle held up the smelting stick and despite years being hunted by people far more intimating than this old man, the sight made Harry flinch away. He squeaked as Hagrid picked him off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all and put him on his shoulders, far from the man’s reach.

“Detention for a week,” Pringle spat at Hagrid.

Hagrid ignored him. One hand supporting Harry, he let Kallo slither onto the other and strode away. Pringle fired off a red spell at Hagrid’s back, yelling at him to turn around but Hagrid didn’t even seem to notice.

“I’m taking you back to the castle,” Hagrid said as gently as his booming voice allowed, “Pringle thinks he owns the school. Best not ta get on his bad side.”

Harry thought it might be too late for that. Hagrid let him back down to the ground once they got to the entranceway.

“Ya good to find ya way back to ya dad?” Hagrid said, “Reckon you’re too little to be wanderin’ around by ya self.”

Harry pulled out his notebook. Thanks for helping me. You can go back to class. I’ll be safe.  

Hagrid took a while to read the note but grinned widely when he finished, ruffling Harry’s hair and almost making him fall over.

“See ya then,” Hagrid said.

Before Hagrid could head back down to Professor Kettleburn and the rest of the Gryffindor second years, Harry remembered something and tugged on his robes.

You have to release the acromantula. Riddle My dad knows about it and he will tell Dippet. You can’t keep him.  

Hagrid’s brow furrowed. “But he’s just a baby. I can’t release him.”

Find a sanctuary that will take him in or anonymously tell Professor Kettleburn about him. You won’t be helping Aragog if you’re expelled.

“But, but he’s my friend,” Hagrid looked down, looking like the twelve year old he was.

I’m sorry but I think it would be for the best. Harry didn’t feel that sorry for the spider that had tried to eat him but he didn’t like seeing Hagrid upset. He remembered Hagrid telling him that his dad died sometime before the end of his second year and it didn’t seem like the boy had many friends in his house. Still, he couldn’t raise an acromantula in a school.

“I think about it,” Hagrid said, dejectedly, “I’ll see ya around kid.”

Harry waved at Hagrid, hating how the man had shrunk into himself at Harry’s words but it really was for the best. He wouldn’t allow Riddle to pin his crimes on Hagrid. Speaking of which, he had a broom, phoenix tears and the rooster. It was time.

Harry was going to open the Chamber of Secrets.  

Chapter Text

Harry waited until night fall to put his plan into action. Like usual, he ate lunch and dinner with Riddle and Ally, relishing the house elves' cooking and washed himself in the prefects' bathroom. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, blinking sleepily up at Riddle. Aunt Petunia would have slapped him for such a childish display but Riddle only tucked him into bed. He read a few more chapters from Harry’s collection of Grimm fairytales and Harry had to actually make a conscious effort not to fall asleep.

It was hours before Riddle put his textbooks away and climbed into his own bed, plunging the room into darkness with a flick of his wand. Harry listened to his breaths even out. When he was sure Riddle was well and truly asleep, he slipped out of bed, soundlessly changing from his pyjamas into his boots, jacket and thickest pair of pants.

In the common room, the dim embers in the fireplaces did nothing to provide warmth. The flickering blue light cast strange shadows onto the walls and Harry pulled his jacket tighter around him. He cast a disillusionment charm and experienced the odd feeling of an egg cracking over his head as the spell trickled down his body. Even if he had his holly wand, the spell wasn’t as effective as his invisibility cloak. If people looked out of the corner of their eyes they might still see movement or his reflection in the glass window panes but it would have to do. At the very least it might delay Mipsy long enough for Harry to disappear into the chamber.

Wand aloft, he hurried up to the room of requirement taking every shortcut he knew. There, he collected the rooster, scooping the grumpy bird up from inside in the artificial field Harry had summoned.

⚕I’ll buy you all the seeds you could ever want tomorrow,⚕ Harry whispered, stroking the bird’s cowl. He stunned it as gently as he could and carried the limp rooster downstairs to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. The bathroom was empty, the stalls and sinks lit by a single beam of moonlight. He found the carved snake on one of the taps and muttered ⚕open⚕. The sink slid back and to the side revealing the wide pipe under that disappeared into blackness.

⚕I do not want to go down there.⚕ Harry spun around and saw Kallo slithering soundlessly on the bathroom’s white tiles.

⚕I am not asking you to. ⚕ Harry responded without thinking. He cursed himself for not noticing the snake following him. All this time back at Hogwarts had made him soft.

⚕Of course I am going to.⚕  Kallo hissed. ⚕I’m just not happy about it. ⚕

⚕You should stay here. If I’m not back by tomorrow…⚕ Harry must be going mad, ⚕…get Riddle.⚕  He had no intention to die tonight and change nothing about the future. If the difference between life and death was revealing the chamber to Riddle, he would take that risk.

⚕Foolish hatchling.⚕ Kallo gave him a look of fond exasperation. Her face was surprisingly expressive for a snake. ⚕The passage smells of death. I will not let you go down there alone. ⚕

Harry hesitated, looking between the pipe and Kallo, ⚕but…⚕

Kallo rolled her eyes. Before Harry could so much as blink, she sprang forward and dropped into the pipe. Harry let out a raspy shout and jumped after her. He fell through the darkness, feeling his jacket get soaked with the mildew climbing to the pipe’s slippery walls. His hands reached out for Kallo but couldn’t find her in the darkness. The rush of wind as he descended below the school stung his cheeks and just as he was regretting every decision he had ever made, the pipe levelled out and he collapsed onto a pile of rat bones.

“Ugh,” Harry groaned. Body aching, he frantically scrambled to his feet, searching for Kallo amongst the bones. She wasn’t anywhere.

⚕Kallo. Kallo.⚕

⚕Calm yourself hatchling. I am unharmed.⚕ Kallo was sinking through the air like it was water, floating gently down from the pipe. Harry stumbled over to her, drawing the snake into a relieved hug.

⚕Don’t ever do that again.⚕

Kallo let out a hissy laugh but still licked his cheek apologetically. ⚕Magic snake.⚕ She touched the ground and wrinkled her nose at the rat skeletons. Heart still beating much too fast, Harry waded through the bones. He closed a hand comfortingly around his mokeskin pouch and the phoenix tears inside it. He kept his eyes on the ground, ready to close them at any sign of movement. Without Lockhart to slow him down, it took only a few minutes for the room to narrow into the water soaked entranceway into the chamber. Harry stepped onto the dark grey stones, taking a second to secretly admire the carved snake statues leering over him on both sides. The sight may have haunted him at twelve but at seventeen/five he could appreciate the interior design. It just needed a few less rat skulls and a drainage system.

⚕Renevarte.⚕ The rooster woke and let out an indignant cluck. Harry held the bird, softly stroking the feathers until it calmed down. He faced the statue of Salazar Slytherin, glaring down at him from within a pool of murky green water. This was it.

Harry closed his eyes.

⚕Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.⚕

He heard the heard a grinding sound and could imagine the gigantic stone face moving, it mouth opening wider and wider. Come on. Come on. There was a soft hiss in front of him and a Harry felt filthy water splash onto his shoes as something huge came towards him. He held up the rooster.

The bird made an unhappy cluck.

Crow. Come on. I know you can do it. Harry shook the rooster a little but it only pecked at his hand hard enough to draw blood. He stepped back, hissing out a curse. Crow. I’ll give you a crate of seeds, a hundred pretty hens, whatever you want. Just crow.

Something slithered closer to him. He could feel the floor shaking ever so slightly, more water lapping over his boots. Crow you stupid bird. This is your natural enemy.

Harry cracked his eyes open, ever so slightly and immediately shut them when he saw a flash of dark green scales. ⚕CROW!⚕

He raised his wand, thinking over ever spell that might be able to cut through basilisk hide.

⚕Speaker?⚕ A deep hiss reverberated through the cavernous chamber. Something soft and wet touched Harry’s head and he recoiled back. ⚕You are so tiny.⚕

Harry nearly opened his eyes and glared at the voice. ⚕ I’m not that small for my age.⚕

⚕Tiny Master.⚕ The voice hissed. Harry let out a muffled scream as he was picked right off the ground and deposited on something silky smooth. The wet softness returned and Harry released it was the basilisk’s tongue, flattening down his messy curls.

What in Merlin’s name was happening?

Chapter Text

Tom woke far earlier than usual, his stomach fluttering in a way that made him feel vaguely nauseous. He found himself trying on all his near-identical versions of the Slytherin uniform, tying and untying his Windsor knot. Staring at himself in the mirror, he fiddled with his hair. It looked like it needed a trim. There was a ringlet starting to form at the back of his neck that he smoothed down flat.

Peering over, Tom was surprised to see that Harry was still asleep. He had not yet woken, gasping for air and making pained little whimpers that made Tom want to wrap him up in blankets. Tom noticed that there were dark circles under Harry’s eyes making him wonder how much sleep he had gotten last night. At the end of his bed lay his boots which for some inexplicable reason were soaking wet.

“Time to get up,” Tom said to Harry, combing through Harry’s bed hair.

Harry groaned. He blearily swatted away Tom’s hand.

“We’re going to miss the Quidditch tryouts,”

Harry eyes snapped open, round with excitement. He scrambled out of bed, getting tangled in his blankets and nearly falling onto the ground. Tom threw a pair of pants and a shirt at Harry.

“Get changed. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

They cut their signing lessons short and Tom just grabbed Harry a few pieces of toast from the table before pulling him out onto crisp lawns, speckled with dew. The Gryffindor Quidditch stands were already half filled with onlookers, cheering for those waiting in line with their fancy brooms.

Tom scanned the group. His eyes fixed on a boy in the centre, standing firm with his hands on his hips. “Don’t even try it.”

“Uh, come on,” a kid that was half the size of his brooms complained.

“No first years, that’s the rules,” Henry said, “and you,” he pointed at a teenage girl. She looked up innocently, twirling her blonde braid between her fingers. “Nope,” He waved at the whole crowd. “Anyone here who isn’t in Gryffindor, leave now.” A few more people grumbled, reluctantly sidling back to the stands to sit and watch with the rest of the Gryffindors.

“I did not know you were the Quidditch captain,” Tom strode up to Henry, Harry close beside him. “You don’t even need to try out.”

“My favourite Riddle!” Henry’s exasperated look disappeared in an instance as he spun around. He heaved Harry off the ground and placed him onto his shoulders in one smooth motion. Harry let out a surprised squeal. Henry sidled close to Riddle, bouncing Harry above the crowd.

“The team could still commit mutiny,” Henry said grinning. He reached out and pulled Tom’s tie out from under his jumper. “I see I couldn’t get you in red and gold.”

Tom tugged back his tie, scowling. “Be grateful I’m even here.”

“Your dad is so mean,” Henry pouted up to Harry.

“Put my son down,” Tom sighed.

“Right you are,” Henry lowered Harry to the ground and ruffled his hair. “I better get started.” He mounted his broom and kicked off into the pale blue sky, calling down to Tom.

“I’ll look out for the green in the stands.”

Grumbling to himself, Tom shepherded Harry through the crowd and found a spot on the very edge of the Gryffindor stands. He crossed his arms and lowered himself into a seat, ignoring the curious glances from those around him. Harry was staring between Tom and Henry hovering above the prospective Quidditch players.

“Do you still have Quidditch in the future?” Tom asked, watching Henry divide up the group by their Quidditch positions. He hoped in fifty years someone had found a better alternative than this sport.

Harry looked at Tom like he was deranged.

“Don’t tell me you actually like this?” Tom groaned. If he didn’t have enough reasons to hate Harry’s previous guardians, this alone would be enough. Had no one ever taught him what good sport was like? “The point system is highly unbalanced,” he brandished a hand at the Quidditch pitch, “all the power lies with the seeker. And the bludgers are frankly primitive,” Tom sniffed disapprovingly, “the game is medieval. It is humiliating that wizards are yet to create sports on par with muggles.”

You like muggle S.P.O.R.T? Harry signed, cocking his head to the side.

“Cricket is a far superior game,” Tom said quietly but firmly.

Below them, ten or so students kicked off the ground each holding beaters bats. Raising a protective shield around both of them, Tom scoffed as many of the players swung at the bludgers widely.

They do that in C.R.I.C.K.E.T. Harry pointed out.

“They actually hit the ball in cricket,” Tom leaned back, sullenly.

Henry flew between the players, adjusting their grips and tugging others out of the way of wayward bludgers. Tom had to reluctantly admit that Henry was a decent flyers. He didn’t even seem to need his broom, flitting around the players in a smooth dance. Tom didn’t realise he had gotten distracted watching Henry until Harry pulled on his sleeve. He held out one of the pieces of toast Tom had snagged for him. It was covered in rhubarb and apple jam. Tom’s favourite. They munched their toast in content silence, shielding their eyes from the rising sun as the beaters were replaced by the wannabee chasers and keepers.

The last tryout was for the seeker position.  

Henry hovered in the middle of a line of students. He held up a single snitch and even from this distance, Tom could see his lop-sided smile. With an unnecessary flourish, he released the snitch and waited back as all the other students dove in pursuit of it. Henry remained completing still except for his eyes, darting around the pitch. At the sixty second mark, Henry flattened himself close to his broom handle and shot straight up into the air. The other players were distracted from their own search, staring at the blur of red and gold flying directly up. Henry made a sharp turn in the air but instead of diving for the snitch, he flew at one of the students.

Tom's heart jumped into his throat. His hand jerked over to Harry, unsure whether he should cover his son’s eyes but Henry and the student never crashed. At the last second, Henry twisted to the side only lighting skimming past him. The other players unfroze, seemingly to remember they were supposed to be chasing after the snitch. Henry sped across the pitch, weaving between the players all searching for the tiny golden ball. Tom couldn’t see what Henry was trying to do but he could tell that he was completely relaxed.

After about five minutes, Henry dropped into a nose dive. He pulled out of it easily, his toes skimming across the grass and threw up a hand, clasped around a struggling, winged ball. The crowd burst into applauds. Even the other potential seekers clapped, none of them looking at all surprised by Henry’s display. There was no doubt about who had won.

Arms crossed, Tom was surprised when Henry pushed back off the ground and flew over to him.

“Show off,” Tom muttered once Henry was close enough to hear him, “you’re the captain. You didn’t even need to hold seeker tryouts.”

Henry laughed, an unsophisticated sound, bright and warm. “Did you like the show?

Harry nodded enthusiastically and Tom’s scowl deepened.

“Give it back, Potter,” a young girl with many intricate braids piled into two buns on her head pulled to a stop next to Henry and held out a hand expectantly.

“Why Dee I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Henry said innocently.

The girl, Dee, clicked her fingers. Henry reached into his Quidditch robes and pulled out half a dozen watches, three bracelets and bird-shaped broch. He threw one of the leather watches at Dee and she caught, glaring at Henry somewhat fondly.

“I still don’t know how you do it. Every time I think I get away.”

“Keep it up,” Henry said, “you’re too reliant on your dominant hand for steering. It opens up your left side.” He chucked over a bracelet and Dee stuffed it into her pocket. “Give that to Milly and tell her to work on her barrel roll. It’ll help her keep bludgers away.”

“And you,” Dee said. She spun her broom around and glanced back at Henry. “Next time, you won’t catch me.” Throwing up a middle finger at Henry, she dived back to the ground.

“You stole from them?” Tom said, half disbelieving and half impressed, “in midair?” He thought back to the Dumbledore lighting his wardrobe on fire.

“Everyone’s got to have a party trick,” Henry said, shrugging. A few more players came up to Henry, taking back their possessions with varying looks of wonder and affectionate exasperation.  

“Where’d you even learn how to do that?”

“Germany, 1931,” Henry said easily, not elaborating more than that. He flew closer to Harry and unfurled his hand to show the snitch, its wings a little crumbled. Harry took it, looking far too adoringly at Henry. “Use it wisely,” Henry’s voice turned dead serious and Harry nodded like he had just received a personal mission from the Minister for Magic.

“Ooh, before I forget,” Henry said, “I’ve got to speak to my new team but meet me outside the storage room.”

Before Tom could either agree or refuse, Henry saluted at Harry with two fingers and dropped down to the pitch, jumping fluidly off his broom.

Harry looked over at Tom, eyes wide and hopeful. Tom really needed to find a way to resist those.

“Fine, we’ll go,” Tom said, “lead the way.” Harry hopped off his seat and hurried down the stands. Tom followed behind him and ignored the way his stomach fluttered. Quidditch was still a stupid game. There was nothing Henry could say to make him think otherwise. Tom should learn how to fly without a broom. Henry had never done that.

It would make a pretty cool party trick.

Chapter Text

Harry waited impatiently outside the storage shed, swinging from Riddle’s hand and clutching the still fluttering snitch. He had missed Quidditch. It hadn’t been the same since third year. First there was the Triwizard tournament and then Umbridge. By the time sixth year came around, it was hard to enjoy anything when he was too caught up in his own survival and grief.

Looking up at Riddle, Harry realised something that made his chest oddly warm and fluttery. For the first time in years, he felt safe. All the people he had mourned were not even born yet and it was getting harder and harder to see this Riddle and Lord Voldemort as the same person. Harry could almost imagine that he wasn’t Harry Potter, seventeen year old child solider but instead Harry Riddle, five year old kid whose only responsibility was to drink his milk.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry interrupted Harry’s thoughts, bouncing over. He had removed his outer Quidditch robes and was now just dressed in grey padded pants, maroon knee length boots and a lace-up yellow undershirt. With ease, Henry picked Harry up and put him back on his shoulders. Harry wrapped his arms securely around Henry’s neck and rested his head on top of Henry’s windswept Potter hair. It was surreal to be this close to his family. He hadn’t taken any pictures of his father into the past but he could see him in Henry’s messy hair and something about his nose and slim, athletes build.

“Watch your head,” Henry said, opening the storage shed and ducking inside. “I asked my mum to send this over,” he called back to Riddle, scanning the racks of old brooms until his eyes landed on a tiny model.

“Absolutely not,” Riddle said when Henry re-emerged clutching the broom.

“His feet won’t even leave the ground,” Henry set down the broom and it hovered half a metre above the grass. “It’s the one Fleamont used as a toddler.” Harry’s heart leapt excitedly and he struggled on Henry’s shoulders, eager to get to the broom. He remembered his mother’s letter about the broom Sirius had bought him for his first birthday. It must have been a model like this one.

Henry set him down and Harry ran up to Riddle, eyes wide and pleading.

“No,” Riddle crossed his arms firmly, “you can learn to fly with everyone else in first year.”

Harry hesitated. There was still a secret weapon up his sleeve but he was wary about using it.

Please dad. Harry signed and he visibly saw Riddle deflate.

“Not without a helmet,” Riddle relented slowly, “and you have to behave yourself or there’s no treacle tart for two-three weeks.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

“Here,” Henry passed over a beaters helmet “You’ll just need to shrink it.”

Tapping it with his wand, Riddle fastened the helmet onto Harry’s head and Henry pulled him over to the broom. Harry didn’t need to be told how to mount it. He swung himself easily onto the tiny broom and pushed off. His toes dragged across the grass and it wasn’t much faster than a normal jogging speed but Harry felt free. He made a circle around Henry who cheered as if he was watching the Quidditch World Cup.

“He’s either a natural or this isn’t his first broom,” Henry clapped. Riddle was watching Harry intently, his arms braced by his side like he was prepared to run and catch Harry if he so much as wobbled on the broom.

“I doubt he’s flown before,” Riddle said, his eyes flashing, “he says he was raised by muggles.”

“What?” Henry’s smile dimmed, “What about his parents? What about you?”

“They died in a car crash when he was a baby,” Harry saw a complicated series of emotions flicker across Henry’s face at those words.

“I won’t let it happen,” Riddle spoke with conviction. Harry almost felt bad about the lie but it was still better than the truth.

“Do you know who is other parent is?” Henry’s voice was casual. He wasn’t looking at Riddle, instead focusing on Harry whizzing around. Flying closer to Riddle, Harry strained his eyes, curious about what Riddle might say.

“I don’t know,” Riddle said, “he wouldn’t tell me but…” Harry didn’t miss the way Riddle’s eyes flickered over to Henry and Harry wondered what the look might mean. Had he noticed the similarities between Henry and Harry? Had he guessed that Harry was a Potter?

“I don’t believe it matters,” Riddle dismissed. Henry looked at Riddle consideringly, the corner of his mouth curving upwards.

“I’ve got a great idea,” he bounced over to Harry who pulled to a sharp stop. “Can I borrow the snitch?” He asked, reaching a hand forwards. Harry let him take the slightly crumpled snitch and Henry fiddled with something on the back of it. A golden flap opened and Henry muttered a series of spells. He clasped a hand around the front of Harry’s broom, keeping it from moving forwards and held out the snitch.  

“When I release your broom, you’re going to try and catch the snitch,” Henry said, “you got that?”

Harry nodded, eyes already narrowing to follow the snitch’s movement.

“Alright,” Henry let go of the snitch and it flapped forwards, far slower than before. “Get ready,” Henry said seriously, “five, four, three, two one.” He pushed the broom forward and Harry used the momentum to tear after the golden ball. Feeling a slight breeze, he spun around on the tiny broom and leapt forward to catch the snitch hovering just above Riddle knee. Raising it above his head triumphantly, Harry was swept off his broom by Henry and held high in the air.

“And Riddle catches the snitch,” Henry cried out, putting on the voice of a sport commentator, “a hundred and fifty points to…what house do you want to be in?”

Smirking at Riddle, Harry curled his fingers into claws and growled, shaking his hair.

“Gryffindor wins!” Henry punched the air, “One hundred and fifty points to nil.” Riddle scowled as Henry plucked a dandelion off the ground and waved his wand in a complicated pattern. “Tropaeum Aurum.” The dandelion grew and twisted into something that resembled a slightly squished golden cup with two bent handles. “Close enough,” Henry passed the cup up to Harry. He took it and drew it close to his chest.

“I can fix it for you,” Riddle offered but Harry shook his head and clutched the cup closer.  

Harry spent the next hour, racing after the snitch as Henry provided commentary.

“Ooh, that was a close one,” Henry said as Harry tried to make a sharp turn on the broom and had to grab it with both hands to stop himself from falling off. “The snitch has flown away.”

Riddle slowly relaxed over the hour, eventually conjuring a picnic rug and sitting down on the ground. Henry sprawled next to him, cheering every time Harry caught the snitch. Harry couldn’t stop smiling.

Exhausted, Harry flopped down at last between Henry and Riddle, wiping back his sweat soaked hair. “You’re going to make quite the seeker one day,” Henry filled Harry’s misshapen trophy with water and handed it over to him. With a huff, Riddle pulled Harry close and fussed over him. Harry let himself be manhandled, too warm and content to worry that this was still Riddle. He crawled into Riddle’s lap and rested against his shoulder.

“He’s going to be a scholar,” Riddle wrapped his arms around Harry, “or perhaps a politician or a teacher.”

“What do you say Harry? What do you want to be when you grow up?” Henry peered under Riddle’s arm at Harry.

The question stumped Harry. He had told Professor McGonagall that he wanted to be an auror but Harry wasn’t so sure about it anymore. If he was being honest, he never thought he was going to survive the war.

Harry shrugged.

“You’ve got plenty of time to decide,” Henry leant back on the picnic rug, folding his arms under his head. “I’m going to be a potioneer with Fleamont. We’ve already got some ideas for a potion to tame Potter hair.”

“I think you would need more than one potion,” Riddle said causing Henry to let out a huff of laughter.

“What about you, Tom? Any plans to take over the world?”

Riddle glared at Henry. “I hardly have the background to take a seat on the Wizengamot.”

“I doubt that’ll stop you,” Henry said, smiling, “you rule over Slytherin without a pureblood name and all the teachers love you.”

“Except Dumbledore,”

“Except Dumbledore,” Henry agreed easily,  “and there’s always blackmail and thievery.”

Riddle raised his eyebrows. “I would have thought a Gryffindor wouldn’t approve of blackmail and theft.”

Sitting up, Henry leaned over until his nose was inches from Riddle’s. Harry heard Riddle’s breath hitched and peered curiously up at Henry. Slowly, Henry reached into his robes and drew out a black, leather wallet.

Riddle snatched at it and Henry darted away. For a second, Harry worried that Riddle might curse Henry but, glancing at his expression, Riddle looked somewhat impressed.

“I didn’t even notice,” Riddle said. He caught the wallet Henry threw at him and tucked it securely into his innermost robe pocket. Still clutching Harry to his chest, Riddle stood and vanished the picnic rug. “I should get Harry back to have a nap before lunch.” Harry grumbled, fighting his eyelids that kept slipping closed.

“And I should get changed,” Henry jumped up and grabbed the small broom off the grass. “This was fun.”

“It was,” Riddle admitted. Harry wriggled in Riddle’s arms, freeing his hands to sign.

Do it again?

“What’s he saying?” Henry asked.

“He wants to do this again?” If he wasn’t teenage Voldemort, Harry thought Riddle might have sounded a little nervous.

“I’d love to,” Henry walked up to Harry and smoothed down his curls. The soft touch made Harry’s eyes flicker closed and he let out a deep sigh. “I’m free Wednesday afternoon,” he heard Henry say as he carded through Harry’s hair. Harry blearily opened his eyes when the pressure lifted and Henry stepped back towards the storage closet.

“I am too,” Riddle took over from Henry and Harry practically melted as his hair was played with.  

“Meet me on the fifth floor, near the astronomy wing.” Henry called out, “look for a painting of trolls learning ballet.” With that, he disappeared into the storage shed. Riddle stayed staring at the shed for a moment longer before he shifted Harry higher into his arms and started the trek back up to the castle. Despite his best efforts, Harry’s eyes slipped closed and within a few seconds he was asleep.

Chapter Text

Waking Harry briefly for a quick lunch of meat and cheese sandwiches, Tom carried him down to the Slytherin common room and tucked him into bed. He smoothed down the bedsheets and stood. Looking fondly at Harry’s sleeping form, Tom slipped out of the room, thinking about heading up to the library to finish his transfiguration essay.

He headed out of the common room and was halfway up the great staircase when his path was blocked by Malfoy, Parkinson and the Black cousins.

“Riddle,” Parkinson had her arms crossed, “we need to talk.”

Intrigued, Tom let himself be led into a spare classroom, turning his wand over in his hand. Walburga closed the door with a snap.

“Well,” Tom drawled.

“We want to know what is going on with you,” Parkinson snapped, “You’ve been letting that Hufflepuff sit at our table and now you’re supporting Gryffindors. I saw you with Potter.”

Tom’s stomach clenched uncomfortably but the feeling was quickly replaced by silent rage.

“Serpensortia,” Tom flicked his wand and a black snake, even larger than Kallo, reared back in front of Parkinson, exposing its razor-sharp fangs.

⚕Restrain her.⚕ Tom hissed and he watched Parkinson’s face pale as the snake wrapped around her legs.

“You have forgotten your place,” Tom bit and the snake wound tighter around her, its fangs resting just above Parkinson’s neck.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Parkinson spluttered but Walburga did not back down so easily.

“That hild, he’s making you weak,” Walburga said. Malfoy and Orion nodded in agreement even as they cowered on the other side of a desk.

“Silencio,” Tom slashed his wand across the air and Walburga fell silent. He prowled towards her and bent down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Crucio.” Walburga writhed on the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream. He released both spells and Walburga whimpered, her body still convulsing from the aftershocks of the unforgivable.  

“Do I look weak to you?” Tom hissed, his eyes flashing red. He stood above the four Slytherins, all shrinking away from him. They muttered apologies but skimming their minds, Tom saw that they were not sincere. Were they right? He had sworn that Harry would not turn him soft but when had he refused his son? One glance at those puppy dog eyes and he bent to the kid’s whims like he had never done to anyone else. He could not let his son steer him astray from his destiny.

“Send a message to all my knights,” Tom said, vanishing the snake. “There will be a meeting tomorrow night, same time and place.”

“Yes, my lord,” Walburga bent her head.

“You may go.”

The four Slytherins fled the room and Tom slouched against the closed door. He thought of Henry, smiling crookedly at him. There had been no fear in Henry’s eyes, no treacherous thoughts lurking beneath the surface of his mind. Henry had said that he ruled Slytherin but Tom knew that one slip and he could end up back at the bottom of the hierarchy. There was no room for weakness.

Tom shook the image of Henry out of his head and marched back out into the corridor. He headed up to the library but his heart wasn’t in his studies. The warmth in his chest from this morning had faded and he could barely concentrate on his transfiguration essay. Outisde the library window, the sun lowered in the sky but he was still stuck on the essay’s main body paragraph. Frustrated he jabbed his quill into his inkpot a little too forcibly and it tipped over, spilling black ink all over his unfinished essay. He tried to vanished the mess but the ink had already sunk into the parchment.

Tom swore under his breath and stashed the ruined essay into his satchel. From his table slightly hidden behind the bookshelves, Tom could see the Quidditch pitch. He gazed out at it for a moment before tearing his eyes away and standing up. Curse Dumbledore and his stupid essays and curse his Knights. Tom pulled at his hair. He needed to find the Chamber of Secrets. No one would dare question him with Slytherin’s monster by his side.

With renewed purpose, he strode out of the library. He would take a full sip of Felix Felicis, enough for a few hours.

Tom threw open his bedroom door and found Harry and Mipsy playing a silent game of chess on the floor. Harry was losing badly, half his white pieces scattered on Mipsy’s side of the board. Kallo was curled around both of them, hissing at Mipsy’s pawns.

At the sight of Tom, Harry abandoned the chess game and scooped up his fairy tale book. He bounded over happily, holding it out. Tom was about to take it from him when four words whispered in the back of his mind.

“He’s making you weak.”

Tom pushed the book away.

“I’m not going to read that muggle book to you,” he straightened, “I think it is high time to start lessons on pureblood etiquette and customs.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. He caressed the book’s cover and widened his eyes, peering up at Tom through his eyelashes.

“No!” Tom hadn’t realised he had shouted until Harry jerked back. Kallo hissed threateningly but Tom ignored her. “You are not my son, you are my heir!” He stepped forward. “Do not forget your place!” He raised a hand to smooth back his hair and Harry flinched, hands flying to cover his face. There was real fear in Harry’s eyes. They both froze, staring at each other.

Tom lowered his hand slowly, “Harry, I…”

Harry didn’t stay to listen to him. He fled the room, Kallo slithering close behind him, only hesitating to glare back at Tom.

“Mipsy…”

“I be going after the young master,” Mipsy said, clear disapproval written on her face, “I be thinking it is best if you do not follow.”

Tom collapsed onto his bed and put his head in his hands. He felt numb. Outside the window, night was approaching. It should be nearly dinner time but Tom had never been less hungry. Tom didn’t know how much time passed as he sat stiffly on his bed, staring out of the window. Harry had been scared of him. He had looked at Tom like he was the man who had covered his body in scars and made him far too small for his age. The idea made him want to scream or curse someone until they were nothing more than a blubbering mess. Was this weakness? Tom tugged at his hair, barely feeling the pain.

His foot nudged against his trunk and he resurfaced from the haze creeping into his mind. He deftly undid the protective wards and recovered the bottle of Felix Felicis, turning it around in his hand. Should he go after Harry? Mipsy had told him to stay behind but he had to talk to him, to explain that he wasn’t like the Mrs Cole or the muggles that had taken Harry in.

Tom took a quick swig from the bottle and was filled with an immediate sense of calm. He knew what he was supposed to do.

A small voice whispered in his ear, causing him to stand and walk with purpose out of the Slytherin common room. It spoke about a girl’s bathroom on the second floor, just above the Great Hall and Tom knew that was where he was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

The hallways were filled with students making their way to dinner. None of them spared a glance for Tom, slinking through the crowds. He made his way up to the girl’s bathroom with ease and found it empty.

One of the sinks seemed to be calling for him and Tom’s feet carried him towards it. His eyes focused on an engraved snake on the tap’s handle that almost seemed to be moving in the bathroom’s cold light.

Tom stared at it.

⚕Open.⚕ He hissed and the sink retracted back, exposing a dark tunnel directly downwards. Looking down, Tom could barely breath. Was this it? The Chamber of Secrets couldn’t just be in some random bathroom, could it? He scanned the bathroom, noting the slightly damp tiles and fogged up mirrors. Tom wouldn’t have spared it a second glance if Felix hadn’t been urging him forwards. An hour ago, this discovery would have been celebrated. After years of searching, he had found evidence of his birth right. Tom should not be hesitating but for once, he couldn’t find himself to care about the Chamber. He needed to find Harry.

Felix kept whispering for him to jump into the tunnel but Tom resisted. The whispering grew stronger, his feet edging closer to the pit against his will and Tom gripped the sink, stopping his progress. His panic was subdued by the artificial warmth spreading across his body like a siren’s call.

Outside the bathroom, he heard footsteps coming closer to him. There were girl’s voices and laughter right outside the door and Tom knew he couldn’t be caught like this. The door handle rattled and Tom stopped resisted Felix. He fell downwards through a wide pipe, lined with algae and moisture that sunk through his robes. Above him, the sink closed and he was plunged into complete darkness. Peering through the blackness, Tom gripped his wand and slowed his descent, cringing at the filth now coating his uniform.

The pipe levelled out and Tom saw a greenish-blue light below him. He gently landed on dirty marble tiles, dotted with rat skeletons and stared at the cavern he had found himself in. The ceiling was high and appeared naturally carved into Hogwarts’ stone foundation with stalactites glistening like crystals above him.

Tom walked across the tiles, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. There was a tunnel up ahead blocked by a circular door, intricately designed with stone snakes, curled around each other.

⚕Open.⚕ Tom repeated and the door swung wide, revealing another corridor flanked by statues of snakes. He stepped through the doorway, heart beating much too quickly. At the end of the corridor, Tom saw a flicker of movement and he closed his eyes tight. He knew what creatures were carved in stone around in and he was not prepared to meet one.

Tom pressed close to the shadows, listening to the drip of water and a squelchy sound like a mop on tile but it couldn’t be that. There was no universe where the monster of Slytherin spent their time cleaning the floors.

“Do not be missing that spot,” That was Mipsy’s voice. What on earth was she doing here? Tom opened his eyes, just a sliver and saw Mipsy, mop in hand, directing four other house-elves. They were polishing the statues and picking up rat bones, using a mixture of magic and muggle cleaning supplies. Kallo slithered between them, sniffing at the rat bones and looking around hopefully.

Tom saw a murky pool of water beyond them, reflecting the carved face of Salazar Slytherin. Something dark and green moved beneath the water’s surface and Tom squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a splash and a high pitched giggle that Tom recognised instantly as Harry's. Tom was ready to leap forward, basilisk be damned, but a hissing voice stopped him in his tracks.

⚕Stop that tickles.⚕  The words were high and childish. There was no fear in them. ⚕No, no, nooo.⚕ The voice hissed followed by another splash and giggle. Water soaked into Tom’s shoes and he heard Mipsy let out a disgruntled humph, “I just be mopping there.”

⚕My apologies, young elf.⚕ This voice was much deeper, a resonating hiss, full of laughter.

Tom’s curiosity over took him and he cracked his eyes back open. His breath caught at the sight of scales, towering over all of them. He raised his eyes a little higher and saw a flash of white fangs longer than his arm, curled into something like a smile.

⚕Your bearer is here, Master.⚕ The snake moved with surprising speed and Tom was met with two, huge yellow eyes looking directly at him. He froze. His panic was subdued by the gold warmth in his veins but for a second Tom was convinced that those eyes would be the last thing he ever saw.

⚕Do not look so scared⚕, the basilisk hissed. ⚕I will not kill you.⚕ The eyes narrowed and something dangerous flickered within them. For now. Tom watched the basilisk slithered closer, causing waves of water to lap out of the dark pool. ⚕But if you hurt my Master again, I do not care that you are his bearer, I will hunt you down.⚕

Tom swallowed dryly.

⚕You do not need to protect me.⚕ Tom looked up and saw Harry, perched on the basilisk’s head, his clothes soaking wet and his eyes wary. Tom forgot about his fear as his heart ached. It was his son’s voice. Tears prickled in his eyes and Tom longed to sweep the boy into his arms.

⚕My mistake.⚕ The basilisk turned away from Tom and he unfroze. ⚕You are a fierce warrior.⚕

⚕And don’t forget it, Sy.⚕ Harry crossed his arms, pouting.

“Harry,” Tom stepped forward and Harry’s gaze locked on him. He gripped the basilisk’s neck tighter.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” the words rushed out of Tom’s mouth, “I’ll swear it on my magic.” Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. The basilisk lowered its head and Harry slipped off, teetering closer to Tom though his posture remained guarded.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Tom continued, desperately wanting to pull Harry away from the basilisk and into his arms. “And I will…” Harry was already shaking his head.

I’m fine. He signed, stiffly.

Tom tried to connect with the golden liquid coursing through his body, searching for the right thing to say to Harry but Felix had fallen silent. Harry glanced between the basilisk and Tom, drawing his attention back to the creature in front of him. This was it, Slytherin’s monster. How had Harry found this place? Why had the basilisk’s gaze not killed him? Tom didn’t know if he should be running away or making demands from the beast.

He bowed his head. ⚕Mighty serpent, I am Heir Slytherin.⚕

The basilisk hissed out a laugh.

⚕Not anymore.⚕ She tried to lick Harry’s hair and he darted away, batting above his head. Watching Harry soften under the basilisk’s gaze when he was barely looking at Tom, felt like a spike worming its way into his chest.

⚕Well met, Lord Slytherin.⚕ The basilisk hissed. ⚕You may call me Sylas.⚕

She wrapped her tail around Harry and pulled him closer. Tom’s hand instinctively tightened around his wand.

⚕I mean your hatchling no harm.⚕ Sylas successfully flattened Harry’s hair down with a lick. ⚕He has awoken me from my slumber and I shall do his bidding.⚕ She was looking at Harry with such fondness as if he was her hatchling and not Tom’s.

The sight made him feel completely alone. Tom had to fix this and it didn’t seem that Felix was going to do it for him.

Chapter Text

When Riddle had raised his hand, Harry felt walls crash back around him. It was only in that moment that Harry realised how far he had lowered them. Dumbledore always said how Riddle could manipulate anyone, force them to do his bidding with sweet words and bribes.

It wasn’t fear that made him run from their shared room. Harry was ashamed.

He didn’t know where he was running, desperate only to put space between himself and Riddle. After years of being hunted down by Voldemort, Harry couldn’t believe it had only taken a week of soft gestures to make him think that Riddle could actually care about someone. Of course, this was all just some long game to discover Harry’s secrets or use him as some political tool to gain power.

It was a surprise to find himself in front of a familiar sink in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Do not be jumping down there,” Mipsy spoke behind Harry and he started, spinning around.

Last night, Mipsy had caught him flying out of the Chamber clutching a disgruntled rooster and covered in grime and basilisk saliva. She had seemed more upset about Harry staying up late than the basilisk. It had been surprisingly easy to convince her not to tell Riddle. Apparently, the house elves had been trying to enter the Chamber for years but not even they could apparate through parseltongue wards. They seemed to take it as a personal afront that there was a room within Hogwarts that was gathering dust and mould. Mipsy had agreed to keep silent as long as Harry went straight to bed and didn’t return after curfew.

That whole night had not gone anything like Harry predicted. The basilisk hadn’t tried to kill him once unless you counted attempted drowning from licking his hair. Desperate Harry’s insistence, the basilisk kept calling him Master. She swore to do all and everything Harry commanded and then refused to stop trying to groom him with her tongue. The rooster had remained silent, glaring at Harry. It had been surprisingly comforting, wrapped up in the basilisk’s soft scales and pet like he really was her snakeling.

Maybe that’s why his feet had unconsciously brought him back to this bathroom. He couldn’t return to Riddle and hide in his arms, knowing it meant nothing.

“I am not stopping you,” Mipsy corrected, no doubt seeing the stubborn glint in Harry’s eyes. “It not be curfew yet but I insist that you let me float you down. We be needing to build stars,” she mused, “or find another entrance.”

⚕Open.⚕ Harry hissed and after a another second added. ⚕Stairs.⚕ He took an unvoluntary step back when the surrounding sinks split apart and stone steps rose out of the ground. Mipsy nodded in approval and followed Harry, tuttering at the algae covered walls and lack of safety rails. They entered the Chamber together, Kallo slithering behind them and Mipsy visibly recoiled. She disappeared with a pop and reappeared with four other elves.

Harry left Mipsy to order the elves around and hurried over to the statue of Salazar Slytherin, his feet slipping on the wet stone.

“Master!” Sylas burst out of Slytherin’s mouth and wrapped Harry close to her instantly. Harry faltered momentarily at the sight of her luminous, yellow eyes. Sylas had insisted that parselmouths could not be petrified by her gaze and that she kept a protective lid over her eyes regardless but her stare was still intense. It was like standing in front of Dumbledore and being X-rayed by those twinkly eyes. Harry’s brief spike of fear was quickly replaced, however, by annoyance as Sylas smothered him in snake kisses.

Kallo looked Sylas up and down, eyes narrowing. ⚕I found him first. ⚕

⚕We can share the hatchling,⚕ Sylas let Kallo slither closer to both of them. ⚕He can have two nest mothers.⚕

⚕I already had a mother.⚕ Harry didn’t need to have any more parents, not another mum and certainly not a dad.

⚕There is no right number of nest mothers. ⚕ Sylas licked Harry’s cheek. ⚕I, myself had two nest mothers here at Hogwarts.⚕ Harry saw Sylas’ expression turn somewhat wistful. ⚕Though they have long passed now. Wixen live such short lives.⚕

Sylas shook herself. ⚕Since your original nest mother is gone. I shall teach you how to survive.⚕ In one smooth motion, she picked Harry up and dumped him into the water.

⚕Hey!⚕ Harry protested, paddling to the surface. The water was much deeper than he thought and freezing cold.

⚕You must learn to survive on both land and water.⚕ Sylas instructed, ⚕Stop thrashing your tail. You must relax.⚕

⚕In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not actually a snake.⚕ Harry protested but he relaxed and let himself float on the waves. Sylas moved fluidly through the water. The moment her nose was close enough to touch Harry, he twisted in the water and splashed her. Sylas hissed in surprise.

⚕You have a fighter’s instinct.⚕ Sylas sounded approving. ⚕You will make a fine Master.⚕ She flicked her tail and a wave of water sent Harry spluttering back. Their survival lesson quickly dissolved into an all-out water fight. Harry ducked around Sylas, using his small size to his advantage. He wiggled between her coils and climbed onto her back as Sylas playfully tried to catch him. Kallo kept hissing suggestions on dry land, telling Harry the best places to bite Sylas like his teeth could ever puncture those thick scales. At some point, she got distracted by a rat, judging Harry safe enough with Sylas to leave them to it.

He was so focused on evading Sylas that he barely registered her words.

⚕Your bearer is here, young Master.⚕

Harry stiffened. How had Riddle found the Chamber? He expected him to demand Sylas to bow down to him and petrify muggle-borns. He didn’t expect Riddle to apologise to him but Harry wasn’t going to fall for it this time, whatever this act was. Harry knew that the game was over. Tom knew he was a parselmouth and could insist on far more thorough answers to his questions about the future or Harry’s past. Harry clamped his mouth shut and spoke only in sign language.

He wouldn’t forget who Tom Marvolo Riddle really was. A week of him reading bedtime stories and holding him with more tenderness than anyone had ever…no. Harry wouldn’t think of how Riddle had insisted he eat more at every meal and tucked him into bed or how he had made him wear a helmet to play on a broom. None of that changed who Riddle was, no apology would excuse Voldemort’s crimes. His hand reached unconsciously up to touch his glamoured lightening scar.

He wasn’t Harry Riddle and he never would be.

Chapter Text

Tom managed to get Harry to leave the Chamber and into dry clothes but he wouldn’t speak. Harry only nodded or shook his head in answer to Tom’s questions, shying away from his touch. At the Slytherin table, he barely ate anything. Aware of all the other students watching him, Tom didn’t keep insisting Harry eat another mouthful. He didn’t want to yell at Harry to finish his meal but he knew that any soft words would come off as weak to the traditional pureblood families. Instead he just stayed silent.

Carrow leaned forward, speaking through a mouthful of kidney pie. “I heard about the meeting. Are you taking new recruits? My cousin got sorted Slytherin this year.”

For the first time all dinner, Harry looked up.

“This is not the place to discuss it,” Tom snarled through clenched teeth. He would probably end up letting that snot-nosed brat Adonis join, the Carrows were not the wealthiest family but they had solid connections in the Ministry. That didn’t stop him from shuddering at the thought of schmoozing with another pureblood child who thought the world rightfully belonged to him.

Tom was tired. Every meeting was the same with his Knights. What had they ever actually accomplished? It might be better if Tom could simply ask Sylas to kill all of them and rebuild wizarding society from the ashes that remained.

Harry put down his cutlery and jumped off his seat.

“Harry,” Tom stopped Harry from walking away. The other Slytherins all stared between them. “Behave for Mipsy,” Tom said, already turning back to the Slytherins. As Harry disappeared through the Great Hall entrance, Tom’s heart ached. Harry’s plate had barely been picked at. He hadn’t drunk any of his milk.

“I thought no one could drag you away from babysitting duty,” Parkinson joked.

Tom smiled thinly and let himself be dragged into Hogwarts gossip and whatever was in the latest Daily Prophet. By the time, Tom returned to his dorm Harry was already tucked into bed and fast asleep. Tom sat on his bed and just watched Harry breath. He saw Harry stiffen and let out a whine in his sleep, tossing under the bedsheets.

“Shh, it’s ok,” Tom stroked his curls. “You’re safe here.”

Harry sighed, nudging his head further against Tom’s hand but he didn’t wake. Tom's chest burned and he wondered for the first if this was what love felt like.

The next day was painful. Harry still refused to speak to him even though Tom heard him snickering with Kallo in parseltongue. Ally and Argus seemed to notice something was off between them and spent their daily signing lessons teaching Harry a list of words that Tom certainly did not approve of. Tom even offered to take Harry flying if he agreed to say something, anything but Harry shook his head. He left with Mipsy after lunch without even telling Tom where he was going.

Aggressively scribbling out his transfiguration essay in library, Tom wondered what he was doing wrong. He had apologised. Tom never apologised. Was that not enough? Why couldn’t they just go back to the way things used to be?

Night came quickly and with it, Tom’s first meeting with his Knights. He found Harry and Mipsy walking back from the grounds but didn’t have time to read him a bedtime story before the meeting. Tom didn’t know if Harry would even let him.

“Welcome my knights,” Tom said, striding into the blocked off classroom he had found while looking for the Chamber of Secrets. All the desks and chairs had been removed, replaced with a long, mahogany table in the centre with seven chairs on each side. The walls were charmed a dark green and two chandeliers were raised above them, glowing dimly. His fourteen Knights bowed their heads as Tom sat at the head of the table.

“Another year has begun,” Tom’s voice was the only sound filling the room, “and with it we are one step closer to achieving our goals.” He let each of the Knights imagine what exactly those “goals” entailed. Tom glanced between each of their Knights, seeing their desire for wealth, power, love or attention. “I know that this year has come with unexpected challenges but they will not hinder our progress.” This was the time to reveal that Tom had found the Chamber of Secrets and secure his place above them all. But he thought of Harry curled around Sylas, hissing exasperatedly. Sylas was right. It wasn’t just Tom’s birthright anymore; it was his legacy. Did he really want to share that with these people?

“I believe we should start by recounting what we have achieved over the break,” Tom diverted. “Crabbe, has your father accepted that promotion?”

The meeting dragged on.

“My mother has accepted a high level position at the Daily Prophet,” Parkinson drew the table’s attention to her.

“I thought they gave that spot to some mudblood,” Malfoy said, “I heard my dad talking about it.”

“They were going to give it to that Baker woman,” Parkinson corrected, “but the council voted for my mother in the end.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Tom smiled in a way he knew would make Parkinson blush, “it is through the media that we secure soft power. The current narrative only refers to dark magic in relation to Grindelwald or his men. I believe we need to rebrand its image.”

“Can’t we just force the Wizengamot to change their laws on blood and ritual magic?” Nott crossed his arms, looking like a child who had never been denied anything in his life. Tom’s fingers itched to wrap around his wand.

“Not as long as men like Dumbledore hold seats,” Tom wished for patience, “we cannot allow the public to equate dark with evil.”

“But what about dark creatures,” Lucretia Black shuddered.

“The problem isn’t Dumbledore, it’s the mudbloods on the council.” Malfoy interjected.

“For the last time there are no mudbloods with Wizengamot seats,” Tom felt like he was talking to crate of flobber worms.

“There’s Longbottom,” Malfoy persisted, “and her daughter is dating a muggle.”

“Avery’s son married a muggle girl,” Tom said.

“He’s not their son anymore,” Malfoy waved the argument away, “but the Longbottom’s didn’t disown their daughter. We should focus on removing that family.” Several others on the table murmured in agreement.

They were talking in circles. Tom tried to refocus the discussion onto name rebranding but the conservation dissolved into the same argument on blood purity. He was not blind to the power of a strawman but Tom would not limit himself to become another Hitler or Grindelwald. It was easy to kill, Tom intended to rule.

Exhausted, Tom adjourned the meeting close to midnight and instructed the Knights to leave in pairs. He was the last to exit through the tapestry covering the classroom’s entrance. Another meeting, another pointless discussion. Tom trekked back to his dormitory and slid into bed, casting a look at Harry still asleep beside him.

“Goodnight, Harry,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until Wednesday that Tom got Harry to break his silent treatment.

“We’re meeting Henry today.” Tom said, on the way back from breakfast. That made Harry perk up and look around like he expected Henry to appear in the corridor.

When? He signed, rapidly.

In the afternoon, once class ends. Tom signed back, forcing Harry to actually look at him.

Harry’s hands twitched like he wanted to say something but he dropped them back down. I’ll see you after class then.

You could come with me. Tom signed in a rush. To class.

Harry was already shaking his head. Tom let him slip into their room and close the door behind him, not so much as looking back a Tom. He knew logically that Mipsy and Kallo would look after him but his mind seemed to disagree, urging Tom to keep his son close. Tom had to remind himself that pureblood parents were all perfectly content to pass their children off to tutors until they were old enough for Hogwarts. Even then, Tom never saw any of their parents at Quidditch matches or duelling tournaments.

Tom wished he had potions today. He hadn’t seen Henry since the Quidditch tryouts, since everything turned cold and dull. Classes dragged on and Tom had no interest in learning cheering charms or how to change the colour of his eyebrows. As soon as class ended, he rushed down to the Slytherin common room and found Harry waiting outside, bobbing excitedly. Colour had returned to his pale cheeks and Tom could actually sense his magic swirling around him like a mini snow storm.

Kallo slithered at his feet, snaping at the tendrils of magic. He could tell that Harry was impatient to leave. Tom looked down at his clothes. Should he change? Did he have time?

Harry actually reached out and gripped his hand and Tom stayed completely still, worried that any movement might make Harry let go.

We’ll be late. Harry signed with his other hand, dashing up the stairs and through the corridor. With Harry’s small legs, Tom fell into a sort of half-walk, half-jog to stay beside him. Harry moved fluidly through the castle and Tom once more wondered how he knew the layout so well. He had never really gotten an answer about how Harry found the Chamber of Secrets in the first place. They reached the fifth floor corridor and Harry dropped Tom’s hand.

“HENRY!” Harry ran forward and crashed into Henry.

It took a second for Tom to process exactly what had happened. Harry had spoken, not in sign language or parseltongue, he had actually spoken for the first time and it wasn’t to Tom. Henry had frozen, half way through lifting Harry into the air. He held him out at eyelevel, looking between Harry and Tom.

“Harry,” Henry said softly, eyes wide. “I didn’t know you could talk.”

Tom rushed forward and shifted Harry’s shirt collar, exposing the bandages under it. Harry stiffened but let Tom unwrap them, exposing a raised, white scar that looked months old. There was no longer any redness or bruising.

“Is there any pain?”

Harry paused and signed. Not much.

“How did this happen?” Henry was staring transfixed at the scar. He pulled Harry close to his chest, rubbing at his back and making Harry melt into him.

Tom was definitely not jealous. He was above such petty emotions.

“He wouldn’t say,”

“I didn’t know their names,” Harry whispered against Henry, his voice a little raspy. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re not even born yet.”

Henry held Harry tighter, carding through his hair. “You want to talk about it?”

Harry shook his head, burying his face into Henry’s neck. “Rightio. I’ve got something to show both of you.”

Tom could still not believe Harry had spoken. He had a soft, British accent, not quite as posh as Malfoy but without Tom’s natural cockney twang. Part of him wanting to rip Harry from Henry’s grip and never release him. Preoccupied with his own questions, he didn’t notice Henry walk up and down the corridor three times. As distracted as Tom was, even he couldn’t miss a door materialising out of nowhere right in front of him.

Henry threw it open and brandished for Tom to go inside, “welcome to the magic room.”

Tom stepped through the door and found himself in a wooden cabin, complete with a roaring fireplace and window looking out onto a snowy forest. “How did you find it? I’ve searched through the whole Hogwarts library.”

Henry shrugged infuriatingly. “It was just by chance,” he said, “I was looking for a bathroom and I stumbled across this place. Came back the next week and couldn’t find the door. I just kept wandering around until it reappeared.” He grinned at Tom over Harry’s messy hair. “Took me weeks to realise it didn’t just do bathrooms.”

“It’s officially called the Come and Go Room or the Room of Requirement,” Tom spun around, examining the cushy leather couch and fluffy, white rug. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“It would make a pretty great venue for parties,” Henry dropped down with Harry onto the couch, “but nah. They can find it on their own.”

There weren’t any other chairs in the room so Tom sat down on the couch next to Henry. It was small enough that Tom could feel the heat radiating from Henry beside him. “What is this place?” Tom asked, looking at the cabin walls.

“I don’t exactly know,” Henry shifted Harry so that he was sitting on his lap with his back to Henry’s chest. “I’m pretty sure my parents took my here as a kid, my first parents not Martha and Paul. The memories’ fuzzy but I remember the fluffy carpet and watching the snow fall.”

“It’s nice,” Tom didn’t quite know what to say. The Slytherins would call him a traitor for spending any time with a Gryffindor but no one could see them in here. Regardless, this was reconnaissance. He still needed answers from Henry to explain the Gryffindor’s strange behaviour.

“The room doesn’t provide food,” Henry stood back up, hoisting Harry onto his shoulders, “but I got some supplies from the kitchen. I thought since you let me play Quidditch with Harry, I could do something for you.” Tom craned his head to see Henry move into the kitchen with a brick oven and saucepans hanging from a rack in the ceiling.  

“How does apple-roasted pork with a cherry and balsamic glaze sound?” Henry dug into two brown paper bags on the marble countertop. He paused. “I should probably have asked if either of you have allergies.”

“I don’t have any,” Tom joined Henry at the counter, watching him unpack the ingredients.

“Shellfish sometimes makes it hard to breath,” Harry spoke quietly on Henry’s shoulders, “but I can eat it.”

“Hey, me too,” Henry plonked Harry down on the counter, “and you really shouldn’t eat them if you’re allergic.”

“I won’t die,” Harry sounded confused, his head tilting to the side.

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t sound pleasant,” Henry divided up the ingredients, “lucky for both of us, there’s no shellfish in this.” He pulled out cinnamon, cardamon, cloves, nutmeg, ginger and black pepper. “And it’s not Christmas but I know a mean recipe for pfeffernusse cookies. Martha’s idea of connecting to my cultural roots.”

“You want to cook for me?” Tom stared at all the food.

“I was hoping we’d cook together,” Henry summoned a book from the shelf and opened it to a two-page recipe spread. “It’s not that different from brewing a potion.” He glanced over to the other side of the room. “I didn’t think to get anything for your snake.”

Kallo was curled up in front of the fireplace, hissing contentedly.

“She can catch her own food,” Tom slung his robe over the coach and rolled up his sleeves. “I can help cut the potatoes.” He didn’t have much experience cooking at the orphanage but he knew how to prepare vegetables.

“Oh,” Henry looked up from Tom’s forearms, “right, yeah, I got potatoes, onion, shallots and bacon. If you do the vegetables, I’ll prepare the pork and apple sauce.”

“I want to help,” Harry spoke up, “I can fry the bacon.”

“You can use the stove when you can reach it,” Henry ruffled Harry’s hair.

Harry pouted. “I’ve been using the stove since I was four,” he raised up four fingers.

Henry faltered, looking at Tom. “Well…” he said slowly, “I need an expert taste tester. How do you feel about a promotion?”

“I can eat the food?” Harry’s voice was so small that a part of Tom’s heart ached.

“Of course you can, mein löwe,” Henry took out two cutting boards, a few glass bowls and measuring spoons. Tom caught the potatoes Henry threw to him and washed them in the steel basin, scrubbing off the dirt. Cooking would provide an ideal distraction to interrogate Henry.

“You speak German?” It would be best to start with simple questions.

“I used to be fluent,” Henry said, a little sadly, “I try and practice when I can but I haven’t found any other German speakers in the school and I doubt a German language club would be popular at the moment.”

“It would be useful if you were ever captured by the Jerries,” Tom pointed out, “how big do you want the potato slices?”

“Just quarter them,” Henry offered a slice of apple to Harry who ate it happily. He grinned slyly at Tom. “And if I met a Nazi, I doubt I’d be doing much talking.”

“You couldn’t use magic on them.”

“Who said anything about magic? I’d punch them in the face.”

“Not very patriotic.” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“But effective,” Henry smiled. It didn’t seem like it would be easy to rile Henry up. In his experience, Tom found that men were most revealing when they were angry and women when they were flustered.  “What about you Tom?” Henry said, “I feel like I hardly know you.”

“We only started speaking last week,” Tom rolled his eyes.

“But we’ve shared classes for six years,” Henry whisked together the balsamic vinegar and cherry juice and carefully lowered the pork into the mixture. “I know you like defence and the colour green. What about hobbies? Ambitions?”

“He likes cricket,” Harry spoke around his apple slices.

“The long muggle game with bats?” Henry asked.

Tom scowled. “It’s more than that.”

“Ok, explain it to me,” Henry folded cling wrap over the marinating pork. “Give me all the details.”

Tom had the distinct feeling he was losing this interrogation. “Well…there are eleven players on each team.”

The dinner preparing went surprisingly fast. Tom never thought he would enjoy the manual labour involved in cooking a meal but it was oddly soothing with Henry and not Mrs Cole leering over his shoulder. Henry never interrupted him, seemingly content to watch Tom talk on about cricket. The conversation naturally flowed to how muggle and wizarding sports compared and then more generally about wizarding culture.

“It’s a real shame we haven’t find a way to make wixen TV’s,” Henry said, “we don’t even have cinemas.”

“I doubt anyone will focus on selling something so clearly muggle to wizards,” Tom said, taking the potatoes and pork out of the oven.

“You say that but that’s exactly what happened with the radio. It started in the muggle world and now every wizarding family has one. They only needed to rebrand it as the Wizarding Wireless.”

Tom put the roast down. “Do you think the same could apply to dark magic?”

“Hmm,” Henry stopped helping Harry roll the pfeffernusse dough into little balls and came over to Tom. “I’ve always thought the titles dark, grey and light magic are too broad. I’m not saying we should allow the unforgivables but I don’t see how banning whole sectors of magic based on flimsy definitions is doing the wixen world any real good. What makes diffindo different than corde scalpere? They both just cut things.”

“What would you do then?” Tom forgot all about the dinner, focusing on Henry’s golden-brown eyes.

“We need a idol,” Henry said thoughtfully, “someone universally loved by both old and young, men and women, muggle-borns and purebloods. I’m thinking a heart throb character, all charm and smiles, someone safe and relatable. Maybe a rags to riches tale, everyone likes those.”

“And they would use dark magic?” Tom finished. “I don’t see that working. Light wizards won’t follow someone dark and dark wizards won’t follow anyone who isn’t pureblood.”

“You’re thinking too much in black and white,” Henry bent down and drew out plates, ladling out the food. “Sure, the sacred twenty-eight won’t follow a muggle born and people like Dumbledore won’t back a dark wizard but that still leaves most of the wizarding population. You need numbers more than anything. Give the public good looks, a tragic backstory and policies that sit just outside their comfort zone and you’ll get the popular vote.”

Henry moved over to the dining table and put down the plates. He shovedthe pfeffernusse cookies in the oven and picked Harry up, moving him to sit in a high chair that magically appeared at the table.

Tom took a bite of the pork and had to admit it was alright. Maybe better than alright.

“Or they could defeat Grindelwald,” Henry considered, cutting up Harry’s pork for him. “War hero turned politician.”

“That could work,” Tom had to concede, “everyone is looking at Dumbledore to duel him. If he wins, how likely do you think it is that Travers will just hand over the Minster for Magic position?”

“I doubt Dumbledore would take it but Travers has always bent to public whims,” Henry said. He hadn’t even touched his food yet, focused intently on the discussion.

“Why wouldn’t he take it?” Dumbledore did not strike Tom as someone who would shy away from power.

“I can’t see Dumbledore spending all his time making public statements and attending meetings but behind the scenes…Dumbledore would be unstoppable.” Henry finally started on his dinner and conversation briefly abated, replaced by the clink of cutlery.

Harry watched Henry and Tom, head still slightly tilted. He hadn’t spoken much as they cooked but he was clearly listening intensely.

A timer went off and Henry jumped to his feet.

“That’ll be the pfeffernusse cookies,” Henry said, “back in a moment.”

Tom’s attention refocused on Harry and he realised that his son had finished his whole plate. It was a small thing but it made relief flood through Tom. Harry was still so tiny. Maybe Henry was alright if he could make Harry smile like this and finish his dinner.

At least…for a Gryffindor.

Chapter Text

“You know, there’s magic for that,” Tom said, watching Henry scrub the dishes in hot, soapy water. Harry sat beside him on the counter, happily munching away on the pfeffernusse cookies.

“It’s relaxing,” Henry placed the dishes on a drying rack and wiped his hands on a tea towel. The fire was still crackling in the background and Tom thought he could almost hear the snow falling outside. The whole cabin was mundane, the watercolour landscapes unmoving and the plants muggle. Something about the whole room made his shoulders lose their tension and his face soften. He would never have guessed that a place so muggle could be beautiful.

Harry yawned, scrunching up his little nose.

“Aww,” Henry cooed, wrapping his arms around Harry. “I think it might be time for bed.”

“But the Potters are pureblood,” This place may be pretty but if Tom could use magic outside school, he wouldn’t stop. They had been in this room for nearly two hours and Henry hadn’t use magic once.

“I’m not,” Henry said so casually as if it didn’t mean anything, “my mom was a muggle.” His expression turned wistful. “She used to kick my dad out of the kitchen when he used magic, said it wasn’t how her Oma made it.”

“Oh,” Tom didn’t know what else to say.

Harry yawned even wider, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Right,” Henry picked him up, letting Harry press his head into Henry’s neck. “Bed.” He swept the rest of the pfeffernusse cookies into a brown paper bag and threw them at Tom. “Lead the way, prefect.”

Tom wavered for a second, two equally strong emotions battling against each other. His desperation won. “Mipsy.”

The house elf appeared with a pop, making Henry jump and curl himself tighter around Harry.

“What you be needing Master Tom?”

“Could you please take Harry back to the dorm. Make sure he brushes his teeth.”

“I can be doing that,” Mipsy reached for Harry. Looking rather reluctant, Henry lowered Harry to the ground. The sleepy child grumbled but let Mipsy hold his hand and apparate them both with another crack.

Henry turned to Tom questioningly. “Don’t want your Slytherins to see me in their territory?”

“Actually I was hoping to talk to you,” Tom said, “alone.”

For some reason those words made Henry blush. “Yeah,” he sounded a little breathless, shuffling his feet slightly. Perhaps he had heard the stories of what happened to other students who were never quite the same after spending time alone with Tom. It didn’t matter. They had all deserved it. Henry had no cause to be nervous.

“It’s about Harry,” Tom said and some of the tension left Henry’s body.

“Harry, of course,” Henry straightened.

Gazing into Henry’s warm eyes, something inside of Tom broke. “I need him to like me,” he said in a rush, “I need you to get him to like me again. He won’t speak to me. I didn’t even know he could speak. You have to help me. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Woah, woah,” Henry reached forward and clasped Tom’s hand. He would usually curse someone who dared to touch him without asking but Henry’s hands were so warm. They were calloused, no doubt from years on a broom and the contrast between his tanned skin and Tom’s paleness was striking. Henry led Tom to the couch and made him sit down.

“What brought this on?” Henry sat facing Tom, his legs crossed underneath him. “I saw you together on the weekend. Harry likes you.”

“I ruined it,” Tom admitted, “I yelled at him and he ran away.”

“Back up,” Henry leaned against the edge of the couch, “tell me the whole story.”

Tom didn’t know why but he complied. He told him about the fear in Harry’s eyes and the silent treatment, only skirting around the bit with the basilisk. Henry listened silently, occasionally nodding for Tom to continue.

“What should I do?” Tom’s voice may have come out more pleading than he intended. It was frankly disgraceful but Tom was desperate. “Harry hates me now.”

“Alright, wait here,” Henry said, disappearing back into the kitchen. He re-emerged a minute later with two steaming cups of tea. He handed one to Tom who curled his hands around the warm cup but didn’t drink it.

“How much of this have you told Harry?” Henry asked, sipping from his own cup.

“What do you mean? Harry already knows this. He was there.” Tom stared at Henry.

“But does he know why you yelled at him,” Henry persisted, “From his perspective, it kind of sounds like you yelled at him for no reason and have been pretty much ignoring him ever since.”

Tom recoiled from Henry, “I haven’t. He’s been ignoring me.”

“He’s five,” Henry said patiently, “trust me, just talk to him.”

Just to do something with his hands, Tom took a sip of his tea and found that it had a pleasant hint of chamomile and orange. “What if that doesn’t work? He was scared of me.”

“From what you’ve told me, Harry hasn’t had an easy life,” Henry put a hand on Tom’s shoulder and Tom couldn’t pretend the touch wasn’t comforting. “Show him you’re not like those who have hurt him in the past, future whatever.”

Henry took his hand away and stood. “And stop taking parenting tips from Parkinson and Black,”

Tom finished his tea and joined Henry. The Gryffindor made it all sound so easy. “Ok, I’ll try it,” he said and followed Henry to the door.

Tom had almost forgotten they were in Hogwarts. Leaving the Come and Go Room was a bit like stepping out of a warm shower. A cold breeze trickled through the uninsulated walls and Tom shivered, already missing the fireplace.

"Same time, next week?” Henry asked.

“Next week?” Tom didn’t like the idea of waiting seven days to see Henry again. He remembered something he had planned to ask Henry on Saturday but had completely forgotten in the moment.

“I want to duel you,” Tom said. He might not know as much about potions or cooking but Tom could duel. It would almost be child’s play.

“We already know you’ll win,” Henry grinned, “but sure, why not? I have Quidditch practice tomorrow but I could do Friday.”

“Yes, Friday,” Tom agreed. Henry was proving to be quite useful. It would only be beneficial to spend more time with him.

Henry stepped close to Tom. His hand reached out and Tom didn’t stop him, standing completely still in the deserted corridor. Henry’s fingers touched the single curl at the back of Tom’s head that he couldn’t get to lie flat no matter how much gel he used. He ran his fingers through it and Tom stopped breathing.

Henry smirked, hand dropping to his side. “It’s a date,” he said. With that he turned around and disappeared down the corridor.

It took a minute for Tom’s breathing to return to normal. His hand reached up to touch the curl. He really needed to get his hair cut. Casting tempus, he saw he had about two minutes until curfew. He wondered if Harry was already asleep.

Tom would talk to him tomorrow. If Henry was right, if he didn’t screw it up, perhaps Harry would say something back.

Chapter Text

Harry woke with a start, cries for Cedric to run dying on his lips. His throat ached from all that talking yesterday and he longed for a cool glass of water. It had been a surprise when his shout for Henry had come out as actual words and not the unintelligible rasps from last week. Despite the slight pain, Harry couldn’t wait to speak to Henry again. There was something comforting about the Gryffindor, like the warm feeling when Mrs Weasley hugged him or when Sirius used to call him pup and ruffle his hair. He just hoped that Riddle didn’t hurt him. Harry didn’t know if he’d survive another connection to his family being stripped away.

“Harry?” Riddle slid off his bed and knelt down beside Harry’s cot. “You feelin’ alright?” He wordlessly summoned a glass of water and filled it, pushing it into Harry’s hand. He glared at Riddle but drunk the water anyway. It felt like dittany, sliding down his sore throat. It was harder to be suspicious of Riddle when he saw him like this with his curly bed hair and the slight cockney twang in his accent. Though it did evoke an image of a snake-like Voldemort with hair and he didn’t need to add that picture to his nightmares.

“I think we need to talk,” Riddle started to say and Harry nearly scoffed. He had no intention of breaking his silent streak with the future dark lord. If Riddle wanted to demand answers, he would have to deal with Harry’s handwriting or his basic signs.

“You don’t have to speak,” Riddle added and that made Harry pause. What sort of game was this? “But there’s something I want to say.”

Harry sat up on his cot and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

I’m listening. He signed, his body tensing in case Riddle chose to deploy some more painful methods to make him speak.

“Can I…” Riddle hesitated, “can I hold you while I talk?”

It was such as absurd request that Harry found himself nodding before he’d even fully comprehended what Riddle had said. Riddle reached his hands out slowly and lifted Harry up, moving both of them over to his bed. He sat against the wall and put Harry down on his lap, arms wrapped securely around him.

“I spoke with Henry,” Riddle said and Harry could feel the Slytherin's words in his chest. One of Riddle’s hands started to card through Harry’s hair and he had to resist the impulse to become a puddle of goo in Riddle’s lap. “He made me realise I’ve been neglecting you these past few days. I don’t know how to be a parent.” Riddle admitted and he sounded so unsure that Harry almost felt sorry for him.

“I thought I was acting too soft,” Riddle said, “that’s why I yelled at you. I know most ancient pureblood families can hardly tolerate to be in the same room as their children. But I don’t want to be distant with you.” Riddle manoeuvred Harry around so that he could see his expression, so openly sincere. It looked like even the lousiest leglimens could dive into those wide, brown eyes and read all of Riddle’s thoughts.

“I don’t want to be like the people who hurt you in the future,” Riddle said, hugging Harry close, “I don’t want you to fear me.”

Riddle kept stroking Harry’s hair, not seeming to expect any answer to his little speech. It was a nice thought. To think Voldemort really could be defeated by love as Dumbledore had predicted, that a few days with his “son” was enough to quell his dark lord tendencies. Harry wanted to believe him but he wouldn’t let himself be fooled twice.

“I’ll make an oath,” Riddle fumbled under his pillow and held up his wand.

Harry flinched at the sight of it.

“Give me a moment,” Riddle said, moving Harry off his lap. “Just one moment. I promise I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared out of the room and true to his word, returned a second later with a grumpy looking Malfoy.

“It’s too early for this,” Malfoy groaned. Harry almost laughed when he saw that Malfoy’s pyjamas were monogrammed with his family crest but swallowed the impulse at the sight of Riddle’s still drawn wand.

“We’re going to do this properly,” Riddle held out his dominant hand and wrapped it around Harry’s wrist. Harry struggled for a moment, unsure what Riddle was trying to do but the Slytherin’s grip was gentle yet firm. The Hawthorne wand was still under Harry’s mattress and both Malfoy and Riddle were armed.

Malfoy approached and tapped their joined hands with his bone-white wand. A golden whisp flowed and curled around their hands, writhing like a live snake up their arms. Riddle looked straight into Harry’s eyes, his face determined.

“I, Tom Marvolo Riddle swear to never knowingly or willingly hurt you or order anyone else to do the same. With the only exceptions being that the alternative would cause a greater physical or mental toll on you or you give informed consent.”

The golden light glowed brighter for a second and then vanished, leaving Harry’s body tingling all over.

“So mote it be,” Malfoy removed his wand and Harry was able to pull his hand away.

“Now, if you could tell me why I had to get up at four…”

“Obliviate,” Riddle pointed his wand and Malfoy and the blonde’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He was pushed rather unceremoniously by Riddle out of the room and the door was closed in his face.

Harry sat on the bed, staring dumbly at Riddle. What had just happened? It sounded like Riddle had sworn not to hurt him but that couldn’t be right. The golden thread, the joined arms, those were all signs of an unbreakable vow and as Ron had said, you couldn’t break them. The punishment was death. He knew Riddle was a lot of things but he had never thought he lacked self-preservation.

Harry was ready to dismiss the vow as a showy trick but his magic told him otherwise. When Riddle had recited that oath, his magic had tugged at him, weaving into Riddle’s so tightly that nothing could separate them.  

“Now do you believe me,” Riddle pulled Harry back into his lap and Harry was too stunned to resist, “I will never hurt you, not on purpose. I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes but…” Riddle’s voice was almost frantic, “please say something, just anything.”

This was all too confusing. It made Harry’s head hurt and his heart ache with something like longing. He wanted to rip himself away from Riddle and never leave, to curse him so thoroughly that he could never hurt anyone again and hold him until he took all the pain away.

“Ok,” Harry said, speaking softly into Riddle’s shirt, too tired to fight anymore, “I believe you.”

Chapter Text

Things got a little better after their conversation.

Harry started to eat more at mealtimes and would answer Tom’s questions though he rarely said anything unpromoted. They kept going to signing lessons with the Filch twins. Tom noticed that near the end of the day Harry would often fall back on sign language, rubbing at his throat and sucking on the ice cubes Tom made for him. It wasn’t perfect. There was a still a coldness between the two of them that Tom’s vow hadn’t erased but it was better. He didn’t regret making the oath. Dragging Malfoy out of bed may have been a little impulsive but Tom knew there was no world where he would harm his son. It had been worth it to hear those three little words from Harry: I believe you.   

On Friday morning, Tom took Harry to see Madame Blainey. Harry hopped up on a bed and the matron removed all the bandages, prodding the wound with her wand.

“It’s healed nicely,” Madame Blainey said, “it might hurt ta speak for another week but all the swelling has gone down.” She dropped the bandages into the bin and plucked a small, purple bottle from the shelf. “This will soothe ya throat if it gets too bad,” the matron passed the bottle over to Tom. “Just a sip will do and no more than three times a day.” Madame Blainey waved her wand over Harry’s body.

“He’s still a little underweight,” she said, “but just keep encouraging him to eat. You can always come to me for nutrient potions or stomach soothers if there is ever an issue.”

“Thanks, Madame Blainey,” Tom said, tucking the potion into his pocket. “I’ll let you know.” He had always like the matron.

They left the Hospital Wing and had time for a quick breakfast.

“I have potions today,” Tom said, passing over Harry’s usual glass of milk and completely ignoring Walburga and Parkinson on the other side of the table. “Henry will be there.”

Harry looked up from his toast.

“I thought you might want to join me,” Tom said keeping his voice nonchalant.

“Ok,” Harry whispered in that flat voice he used around Tom. One day, Tom was going to make him laugh hard enough that the whole hall could hear it.

On the way down to potions, Tom kept up a steady stream of warnings and cautionary tales. “And you shouldn’t touch anything unless I say you can. I know a boy who put his hand into his cauldron and it’s still green.”

“But what if I just touch it with my tongue?”

Tom spun around, “What?! No! Obviously that’s a terr-.” Wait. He saw a flicker of amusements in Harry’s eyes, quickly snuffed out as he returned to the same seen-not-heard kid Tom had grown used to. Tom was so eager to see that life return to Harry’s brown eyes that he momentarily forgot how to speak.

“Uh, um,” Tom flailed. At that moment, Professor Slughorn opened the classroom door and beckoned for the milling Gryffindors and Slytherins to come inside. He smiled down at Harry and his walrus moustache twitched.

“Welcome, Young Harry. Let’s hope you take after your father.”

Tom saw Henry on the other side of the classroom at the same time as Harry.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Henry said, wrapping Harry into a quick hug. “We better find another cauldron.”

“Make sure it’s brass,” Tom called over to Henry. “And get some cocoa butter.” He grabbed a seat from the back of the classroom and brought it up, transfiguring the legs so Harry could sit a little higher.

“Get out your books class,” Professor Slughorn said, “we’re brewing amortentia today. Can anyone tell me what that is?”

Tom tensed.

“It’s a class A Motus Mendacium potion,” Henry held up his hand, “it simulates false emotions that make the drinker feel an unusual closeness and affection for the brewer.”

“Correct as always Potter,” Professor Slughorn smiled, “though it’s more commonly known as a love potion.”

Yeah, right.

“Now can someone tell me what’s particularly unique about this love potion?” Slughorn waved his wand and a list of instructions appeared on the board. “Anyone?”

Tom lifted his hand reluctantly. “The vapour changes smell depending on the person. It’s supposed to smell like whatever someone loves the most.” He stared down at his desk. “But it’s scentless once added to a drink…and mostly tasteless, like a spoonful of dissolved sugar.”  

“Five points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor,” Slughorn smiled at the class, “you’ll be working in pairs for this one. It’ll take an hour to brew so best get to it.”

Half the class rose to gather ingredients from the storage closet, whispering and giggling about the potion.

“I’ve already got the ingredients,” Henry sat down beside Tom and Harry. “And some extras.”

Tom glanced at the bottle of pufferfish spines, rosemary and willow bark. “Don’t tell me it’s to improve the flavour.”

“Not exactly,” Henry put down a small, brass cauldron for Harry. “This potion's kind of a special interest of mine.”

“Yeah, why?” Tom asked, his voice turning colder.

“People know I’m a good potioneer,” Henry shrugged, “they sometimes ask me to brew things for them. They think I’ll brew anything for the right price.”

“And do you?” Tom gripped his wand hard enough that he thought it might snap in his hand.

Henry’s gaze levelled with Tom’s. “No I tell them to fuck off and report them to Dippet but you’d be surprised how many people ask.”

Tom covered Harry’s ears, glaring at Henry even as he felt a rush of relief. If Henry had brewed the amortentia from three years ago, Tom was certain he never would have detected it. “What’s this then?” Tom waved his hand at the new ingredients.

Henry looked more serious than Tom had ever seen him. “It’s a counteractive,” he pointed at each of the ingredients. “Puffer spines for the ashwinder eggs, rosemary for the moonstone, willow bark for the pearl dust. If we do this right, the potion should look, smell and taste exactly the same but be completely functionless.”

Henry pushed up his sleeves. “So,” he said looking Tom up and down, “are you willing to stray a little from the instructions?”

Tom lit the Bunsen burners and removed his outer robe. “Alright,” he said, “I’m in.”

They worked in sync, Tom passing ingredients over to Henry without even looking up. Henry explained his whole process to Harry as Tom wrote out a simple potion for Harry that didn’t need a knife.

Harry followed the instructions easily, reducing sugar crystals to a fine powder and adding it to his bubbling cauldron, looking up and Tom and Henry for approval.

“Don’t sprinkle it directly into the cauldron,” Henry stopped Harry’s hand, “it’s less controlled. You should always sprinkle it into your hand first or a measuring spoon if its hazardous.”

“And turn down the heat a little,” Tom added, “you don’t want the mixture to burn.”

Harry soaked up the advice, sticking out his tongue in concentration.

Henry put down their wooden spoon and let the amortentia simmer. It was an iridescent, pearly white with a purple sheen. Tom checked his potions book and compared the image to the cauldron.

“Do you think it looks the same?” Tom asked.

“It’s a little paler I think,” Henry pulled the cauldron closer to get a better look. “We should probably add more rose petals.”

Henry leant forward and breathed in the fumes.

“What does it smell like?” Tom couldn’t help but ask.

“Hmm,” Henry tapped his chin, “freshly cut grass, broom polish and…” Henry grinned wistfully, “pfeffernusse cookies.” He pushed the cauldron back to Tom.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Tom bent forward. The smell was intoxicating. It was a mixture of old books and ink and…lavender? He looked down at Harry, stirring his cauldron with a determined look on his face. It was the exact flowery smell from that bubbly, purple soap that Harry liked to fill the prefects’ bathroom with. He smoothed down Harry’s curls and gripped with a sudden impulse, he kissed the top of Harry’s head.

“Time to test it,” Henry broke Tom out of his reverie and grabbed up a glass, scooping some of the potion into it.

“Wait,” Tom tried to say but Henry had already downed it. The reckless Gryffindor paused, staring at Tom until Tom felt his cheeks redden.

“And…?” Tom said, holding his breath.

Henry shrugged. “Inconclusive,” he put the glass down. “It would be better to test it between two strangers.” He looked down at Harry and snatched his cauldron off the fire. “Oops, I think that’s enough simmering.”

Tom scooped the tiny red crystals out of Harry’s cauldron.

“Can I eat it?” Harry said that same amusement returning to his eyes. Tom loved it.

“Actually you can,” Tom smiled softly, “it’s popping candy. Have you ever had it?”

Harry’s bounced a little on his seat. He shook his head and opened his mouth like a baby bird. Chuckling lightly, Tom dropped a few crystals onto Harry’s tongue. The reaction was immediate.

Harry’s eyes widened. He reached for more and Tom let him take another few crystals.

“We can save the rest for later. I don’t want you filling up on sugar.”

At the front of the class, Professor Slughorn cleared his throat. “And time’s up,” he said, “put your ladles down.”

Henry stored the rest of the fake amortentia into a bottle and tucked it into his robes while Tom washed up. Harry offered to help but ended up with more soap on his clothes than the utensils.

“I’ll see you tonight then?” Henry walked to the door beside Harry and Tom. “Still eager to show off.”

“Still eager to lose?” Tom grinned back.

“Very,” Henry pulled Harry’s popping candy from his pocket and stole a few crystals. He handed it back to Harry with a wink. They walked together until they reached the Great Hall.

“I’m going this way,” Henry said, jerking his head at the left corridor. “Guess this is goodbye.” He sighed dramatically as if they were never to meet again.

“See you tonight, Henry." Tom said.

“Bye,” Harry hugged Henry one last time.

Henry gave them a two finger salute and disappeared out of sight with the other Gryffindors, leaving Harry and Tom alone in the corridor.

“What class is next?” Harry said, turning to Tom.

“Charms,” Tom said, ruffling his hair, “want to see if you can make some objects fly?”

When Harry’s face brightened into a grin full of mischief, Tom knew for certain.

“I love you,” Tom whispered, more to himself than Harry. “I love you so much.”

Chapter Text

“I surrender,” Henry lay beneath Tom with his hands in the air. He was breathing hard with both his and Tom’s wand at his throat.

“Thirty-six seconds,” Tom swung his legs off Henry and hauled him to his feet. “That’s one second better than last time.”

“Come on,” Henry protested, taking his wand back from Tom, “that had to be at least a minute.”

“Not even close,” Tom laughed, surprising himself. He stepped away from Henry, drawing his wand and settling into an official duelling stance. “Again.”

They had been duelling in the Room of Requirement for close to an hour. Tom had tucked Harry into bed after dinner and read Grimm Fairytales until he fell asleep. Harry hadn’t said much since potions class, looking somewhat dazed and overwhelmed but he had snuggled close to Tom as he listened to the story. When he was asleep, Tom snuck out and met Henry next to the painting of trolls learning ballet. Henry had tugged Tom inside the Come and Go Room without a word.

“Expelliarmus,” Tom let Henry make the first move, easily lifting a shield to deflect the spell.

He countered silently, firing off an alarte ascendare. Instead of being lifted into the air, Henry managed to dodge the spell. He had a lightness and flexibility that Tom lacked, able to move around the makeshift duelling stage like he was floating. Tom had to get creative, shooting spells on either side of Henry and coaxing him into a corner.

“Flipendo,” Henry fought back, trying to recover his side of the room. With a flick of his wand, the spell spun off course and Tom retaliated with the tongue tying curse. Henry spluttered, his wand falling to his side as he clasped at his throat. It was easy to disarm him. Tom caught Henry’s wand and levelled it at him, his smile widening.

“You need to work on your shields,” Tom released the spell and Henry’s tongue unfurled. “20-0 to me.”

“Really?” Henry rushed Tom and collided directly into them. They both collapsed onto the ground and Henry straddled Tom, wrestling for his wand. Tom sent a stinging hex at Henry and he managed to flip them around so that Tom was on top.

“Thirty-two seconds,” he panted, “I’ve won.”

Henry thudded his head back onto the stone floor. His messy curls were drenched in sweat and his eyes were bright.

“I haven’t surrendered yet,” Henry said breathlessly and surged up. Tom was ready with a curse but Henry didn’t go for his wand.

He leaned up and kissed Tom, right on the cheek.

Tom forgot every single spell he had ever learnt and Henry snatched both of their wands easily. He scrambled up and fired off ropes that wrapped around Tom’s wrists and ankles.  

“I think,” Henry said as Tom struggled, “that 20-1.”

Tom could feel his face burning. “Fine, I concede,” he muttered once he realised there was no way he was getting out of these ropes.

Henry threw Tom’s wand at him and he deftly removed the ropes, struggling to his feet.

“I’m fairly sure that move is not in the official duelling handbook,” Tom leaned against the walls. A couch appeared in the middle of the room and Henry collapsed onto it.

“It worked,” he put his feet up on the couch, grinning shamelessly. Tom shoved his feet off and fell down beside him. For a minute, neither of them said anything. Tom could still feel the spot where Heny had kissed him and he was sorely tempted to put his hand against it. He was not above using such tricks to persuade Hogwarts’ female population to do his bidding but he couldn’t see why Henry thought it would work on him. Tom wasn’t a girl.

“You and Harry seemed happier today,” Henry broke the silence.

“I spoke to him,” Tom said, “like you told me to.”

“I’m never wrong,” Henry kicked his feet back up and into Tom’s lap. “Well actually I’ve been wrong exactly one time but that was the only Quidditch game I’ve ever lost.”

“I think you should stick with Quidditch,” Tom pushed at Henry’s un-shined school shoes.

“I think I’ve got real potential,” Henry sprung up, “not many people can say they’ve beaten that Tom Riddle in a duel.”

“Maybe a little,” Tom admitted, “you’re fast and your spells have power behind them but you lack variety. You’re too predictable.” At least until the last duel.

“I resent that,” Henry spun his wand around in his fingers, “I bet there are plenty of spells I know that you don’t.”

“Yeah?” Tom wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

“Speculum pila,” a silver bolt of light came out of Henry’s wand and hit the ceieling. The spell reformed into a glowing, spherical shape that sent multicoloured lights all around the room. As the sphere rotated, the lights moved, glittering off the floors and walls. “Did you know that one?”

“Showy but hardly practical,” Tom stepped forward. “Speculum piscis.” The glowing ball split into four, smaller shapes. They twisted in the air, forming fins and a tail until four koi fish swam around them, chasing after one another.

Henry raised his eyebrows, “ok,” he said,  lifting up his wand, “it’s on.”

A record player appeared on the ground. Henry flicked at it and some jazz song started playing. They fell into their duelling stances, circling each other slowly.

“Vesica calor,” bright red and yellow balloons flew out of Henry’s wand and joined Tom’s fish, floating around the room.

“Paipilio Erupt,” the balloons burst into a cloud of butterflies that the koi fish instantly attacked.

“Finite incantatem,” Henry quickly said and all the animals vanished. They kept firing off spells but not at each other. The music picked up in tempo as Henry and Tom battled for control over the room. Henry turned the walls a bright gold and sent glitter everywhere. Tom hit back, summoning a nest of snakes but Henry only laughed and darted away from them.

They crept closer and closer together, their spells growing wilder.

The whole room was a mess of Gryffindor and Slytherin colours. It had definitely been longer than thirty-six seconds but they weren’t slowing down.

Tom turned his wand on Henry and charmed his brown curls, a neon green.

“My best feature,” Henry pretended to pout. He summoned a mirror and examined himself in it. “Actually I think it suits me, maybe I’ll keep it.”

“You really shouldn’t…”

“Roseus,” Henry moved faster than Tom could have anticipated. The spell struck him and Tom had a horrible feeling.

Henry burst out laughing. “You have to keep that.”

Tom raised a hand to his head and pulled down a stand of his hair. It was a bright pink. They were standing close enough that Tom could reach out and shove Henry. Their duel fully dissolved into a mess of limbs and glitter. Both their wands were forgotten as they rolled on the ground, completely ruining their school uniforms.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Henry gasped.

“You better be,” Tom spat out a mouthful of glitter, “I’m never getting rid of this.”

“You think any of these spells are in the official duelling handbook?” Henry fell back onto the ground, running his fingers through his green hair.

“I think we would have been kicked out of the tournament.” Tom leaned back beside him. His body ached and the glitter had definitely worked its way into his shoes somehow but he had never felt so alive. No one had volunteered to duel him since third year and all his fights since then had been dreadfully one sided.

“Worth it,” Henry grinned, looking up at the ceiling.

“You are never to use those spells around Harry,” Tom didn’t want to think about trying to wash the glitter out of Harry’s hair.

“Why use it around Harry when I could teach it to him?”

With his last remaining energy, Tom punched Henry in the shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”

“Consider it revenge for all the questions my friends have when I get to bed after curfew covered in glitter. They’ll think I had the weirdest broom closet rendezvous.”

For some reason that image made Tom blush. He cast tempus and saw that it was nearly midnight.

“Won’t they all be asleep by now?”

“No chance,” Henry shook his head, “they’ll all be waiting up to tease me mercilessly.” He pushed himself up onto his forearms. “You should meet my friends. There’s going to be a full house party when Gryffindor wins our upcoming Quidditch match. You should join us.”

“Mighty confident that you’ll win,” Tom shuddered at the idea of being trapped in a room with a whole crowd of Gryffindors.

“It’s not confidence, it’s realism. Slytherin doesn’t have a strong defensive or attack. All their players bought their way onto the team and turns out money can’t buy talent.” Henry clasped his wand and waved it, removing most of the glitter from Tom’s uniform.

“I never said the confidence was misplaced,” Tom stood and brushed off the rest of the glitter. He turned his hair back to its usual black and checked it in the mirror Henry summoned.

“You should walk me back to my dormitory,” Henry said, pushing open the Room of Requirement’s door. “I wouldn’t want to be caught after curfew.”

“Lead the way,” Tom gestured to the dark corridor in front of them, “but don’t think I’m not going to take points.”

“Aww,” Henry groaned, “I knew this was all a ruse to take points from Gryffindor.”

Side by side, they walked through the empty corridors. The only sound was the click of their shoes and the wind outside the castle. They didn’t meet anyone on the way there but Henry stayed close to Tom until they reached the Gryffindor portrait hole.

“And what time do you call this?” a woman in a ruffled white dress with her hands on her hips, demanded from the portrait hole.

“Sorry, Beth,” Henry grinned, “but look I have a prefect with me.”

The woman Beth raised an eyebrows, glancing between Tom and Henry. “I’m not letting him in.”

Henry gasped. “Who do you take me for? I’m a proper gentleman.”

Tom wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about but waited patiently. He wasn’t surprised when Henry turned back to him and stepped close but it didn’t stop his heart beating unusually fast. Tom could hear it in his head. Behind Henry, Beth huffed and sidled out of the portrait, muttering something Tom didn’t catch.

“I’ll see you and Harry on Wednesday,” Henry said, shuffling his feet a little.

“See you then,” Tom swallowed dryly. Henry went to turn around but Tom called after him. “Gut-er -nac.”

Henry spun back around.

“That’s goodnight in German,” Tom willed his heart to stop beating so hard, “I think. I looked it up in the library. I don’t know if I pronounced it right but…”

“Not at all,” Henry smiled softly. He stepped forward, teetering on his toes before he leant forward and brushed a quick kiss on Tom’s cheek in the same exact same place as before. “But thank you.”

Beth reappeared in the portrait. “That’s enough boys,” the door swung open and she beckoned impatiently for Henry to get inside the common room.

“Gute Nacht,” Henry said, pausing just inside the portrait hole. “Du hast immer noch Glitzer in deinen Haaren.” With that the portrait hole closed and Tom was left wondering what any of that meant.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Tom said softly, turning around to head back to his dorm. “And five points from Slytherin.”

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Of course, the first person to ever tell Harry that they loved him was Tom Riddle.

Well, his parents might have said it to him before they were murdered but Harry’s only memory of them was a flash of green light.

Harry decided to just forget Riddle had said anything and went about his day like usual. He signed with Ally and Argus, attended Riddle’s classes and played chess my Mipsy. In the evenings, Riddle and Harry went down to the Chamber of Secrets and listened to Sy’s stories about the Hogwarts’ founders.

⚕Helga was terrible at sharing.⚕ Sy hissed, curled up around Harry and Riddle. The Chamber of Secrets was now spotless. Under Mipsy’s direction, even the stalactites were gleaming. It was a Tuesday night. Riddle was re-writing a transfiguration essay while Harry leaned against Sy’s scales.

⚕She was the kindest nest mother to us but she would bite your hand off before she let you take any food off her plate.⚕

⚕I would have liked to meet her.⚕ Harry hissed to Sy. In his perphial vision, Harry saw a small smile form on Riddle’s lips. He glanced up from his book and Harry couldn’t ignore the pride shining in Riddle’s eyes.

⚕You could talk to her.⚕ Sy unfurled herself and slithered over to the far end of the chamber. She nudged her nose against one of the stone basilisks and it twisted with a grinding rumble. A door opened in the side of the chamber and Harry saw a sliver of yellow light pour across the damp tiles. Mipsy leapt up from where she’d been reading quietly on the ground and ran over, throwing the door wider.

“There be more rooms?”  Mipsy looked horrified. “Dottie! Bitty! Tilly!” Three more house elves appeared and the four of them hurried inside the room, sporting feather dusters, brooms and rags.

Sy couldn’t fit through the door but she picked Harry up by the back of his robes and dumped him in front of it.

⚕I believe you will find her portrait in there.⚕

Riddle scrambled up and rushed over to Harry, checking that Sylas hadn’t nicked him with her fangs before turning curiously to the open door.

⚕Bring the portrait out if you find it.⚕ Sylas hissed softly. ⚕I have missed talking to her.⚕

Harry stepped through the doorway and found himself in a cosy looking room complete with a brick fireplace, small kitchenette and a worn, leather couch wide enough for ten people. Everything looked frozen in time with a half-filled whisky glass still sitting on the piano and an open, yellowing book on one of the cushions. There were two more rooms diverging off this one and Harry caught glimpses of a bedroom and shower. He ran a finger over the couch and it came away covered in a thick layer of dust.

“I’m surprised there isn’t more green and silver,” Riddle followed Harry into the room and glanced around at the wall’s wooden panelling.

Against his better judgement Harry smirked back. “You could always redecorate.”

“We should start by removing the dust,” Riddle grinned over at him, “who knows. We might find some green under all the grey.”

“You should have seen Sal’s original room design,”

Harry and Riddle jumped and looked around at the source of the voice. There, beside an overcrowded bookshelf was a portrait of a round-faced women with two long, dark braids and dimples. Around her eyes were deep smile lines though she only looked around forty. Beside her were three other golden frames but all of them were empty.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you dears,” the woman said. “It’s been a long time since anyone visited me down here.”

“Are you Helga Hufflepuff?” Harry asked. He vaguely remembered seeing her on one of Ron’s chocolate frog cards.

“That’s right,” Helga said, “and who might you be?”

“I’m Tom Riddle,” Riddle bowed his head at the portrait, “and this is my son, Harry.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Helga smiled widely, “Sal would be delighted to know that his legacy has lived on.”

“Is he around here?” Tom glanced at the other portraits.

“Sal visits on occasion,” Helga smile dimmed a little, “though he spends most of his time at his ancestral home. There is not much to see here anymore, unless you like watching dust settle.”

“Can’t you leave the chamber?” Harry asked, wondering exactly how alive the paintings really were. It seemed like a sad existence, trapping forever in a canvas.

“I can visit Saint Mungo’s,” Helga said, “but most of my portraits have faded with time. There is only so long a preservation charm can last.” Harry noticed that the paint was indeed peeling on Helga’s yellow, floor length dress.

“I can take you out of here,” Harry offered, “I could show you the rest of the castle.”

“I would love that, dearie,” Helga said, “it has been far too long since I saw my school.”

As gently as he could, Harry took the portrait off the wall and carried it back out of the room. Tom ran a finger over the book spines and tuegged a few off the shelf, following after Harry with his arms full. 

⚕Nest mother!⚕ Sy slithered over to the portrait, her tail sending waves of water across the room.

“Sy,” Helga reached her hand out like she could pet the snake through the portrait. Sylas kept hissing excitedly at Helga and even though it was clear the founder did not understand a word of parseltongue, her grin only grew brighter.

The scene made Harry smile. He translated between the two of them, ignoring the subtle twinge of guilt at the knowledge that in fifty years, he had stabbed this very basilisk through the roof of her mouth.

“I’m so glad you’re still here, Sy,” Helga said.

⚕And I do not plan on leaving,⚕ Sy hissed back fondly.

“It’s getting late,” Riddle said, “we can show Professor Hufflepuff the castle tomorrow.”

“Just place me in a corridor above us,” Helga turned from to Riddle, “I can move between portraits if I am directly beside them.”

“I can do that,” Harry held the portrait steady, “I know the perfect place.”

The three of them said goodbye to Sylas and walked up the staircase to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry led them up to the fifth floor and towards the Room of Requirement. On the wall opposite the painting of trolls learning ballet, Harry found an empty spot, the perfect size for Helga’s portrait. Tom cast a light sticking charm and Harry placed the portrait carefully onto the wall.

“Thank you,” Helga said, gazing around at the castle, her painted eyes were a little wet. She looked at Riddle. “And please call me Helga. Now,” Helga put her hands on her hips, “I know it has been a few hundred years but I think it’s nearly curfew.”

“We’d never be out after curfew,” Harry said earnestly.

“Of course not,” Riddle nodded in agreement, “we’re rule abiding students.”

“Get to bed,” Helga rolled her eyes and muttered something like “children.”

“Right you are professor,” Riddle nodded his head once more to Helga and Harry waved. He stifled a yawn and leaned a little on Riddle for support. Riddle kissed the top of his head and together they made their way back to their Slytherin dorm.

“I really need to get you to bed earlier,” Riddle said, making Harry huff.

“I’m not three.”

“That’s really not the argument you think it is,” Riddle smiled fondly. They reached the Slytherin entrance and Harry was just about to say the password when he heard the sound of running footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see some Slytherin first year desperate to avoid detention for being out after curfew.

As the footsteps came closer though, Harry saw something that made his chest tighten.

Harry. Harry. Ally signed frantically, running towards them with loose strands of hair flying behind her. Her signs grew so desperate that Harry couldn’t understand them.

Slow down. He signed, I can’t understand.

Ally skidded to a stop in front of them. You have to help me, she signed, her chest heaving, they found Argus.

Chapter Text

“Attention students,” Professor Dippet rose from his place at the head table. The Great Hall fell quiet. Students placed down their buttered toast and cups of English breakfast, staring at the headmaster with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

At the Slytherin table, Ally subconsciously pressed closer to Tom and Harry, her eyes transfixed on the boy standing next to the headmaster.

“I’d like to introduce you all to our new caretaker assistant,” Professor Dippet said and Tom saw Argus flinch when the headmaster put a hand on his shoulder. “Mr Pringle has kindly agreed to take him on as an apprentice.”

Pringle sat at the far end of the table, tapping his wand methodically against his knee. His eyes did not leave Argus, a rare smiling curling on his lips that looked anything but kind.

“I hope you will all welcome young Argus here.” Dippet went to sit down but stopped himself, clearly struck by another thought, “oh and before I forget. Argus here is a squib so I ask you all to be patient with him. I don’t want to see any of your pranks.” Dippet laughed lightly and sat down.

The hall broke into whispers.

Beside Tom, Ally’s hands were shaking. Tom put an arm around her, drawing the Hufflepuff closer to him. He did not care much for the first year but she had had been useful. The Filch’s had been there at six every morning to teach him how to talk to his son. They should be rewarded for their loyalty, not, not this.

Argus’ eyes met Ally’s.

It’s ok. Argus signed.

“I didn’t know the Filch’s had a squib,” Walburga looked between Ally and Argus.

“How tragic,” Parkinson smirked, “they think they’re getting twins and end up with two defects.”

“I don’t know what would be worse,” Malfoy leaned forward, “actually I do. At least the girl can attend classes and not just clean them.”

“Enough,” Tom snapped, “this behaviour is unseemly.”

“It’s not like she can even hear us,” Nott said and the surrounding Slytherins all snickered.

Ally slammed her fist down on the table making the plates and cutlery rattle.

I bet your mother hopes she’s deaf. She signed furiously, so she wouldn’t have to listen to you.

Tom nearly choked on his tea.

“What’s she even doing at our table?” Nott’s frown deepened, obviously aware he was being insulted even if he couldn’t understand her. “I didn’t know it was possible to be so pathetic that even the Hufflepuffs don’t want you.”

Tom seethed. He would make them all suffer at his next meeting.

Ally’s hands dropped to the table. She looked over at the Hufflepuffs and all the students staring back at her.

“I’ll escort you to herbology,” Tom rose from his seat. In his head he could hear Walburga’s voice.

You are weak. They are making you weak.

The Slytherins would never dared to have questioned him last year. Harry gripped Tom’s hand, glaring at the other Slytherins with such dark anger that Nott momentarily faltered.

“Why are you defending her?” Parkinson snapped, “I didn’t know you were into little blondes.”

 A butter knife rose from the table and flew straight at Parkinson. The knife sunk into the table right where her hand had been a second before.

“Tom?” Parkinson said, eyes widening in fear.

“It’s Riddle,” Tom said and pulled Ally and Harry out of the Great Hall.

There was still ten minutes before class started. Tom slipped into the disused classroom they used for their signing lessons and directed Ally to sit down on chair. There was a soft meow and Lottie squirmed out of Ally’s pocket and into her lap. Ally hid her face in the multi-coloured fur, subtly wiping her eyes.

They are going to kill him. She signed. I told him he never should have come to Hogwarts.

Tom had to wait for Ally to look up before he could reply. Your parents won’t take him back?

Ally shook her head. They’ve already got an heir.

There was no hesitation in her hand movements. It made Tom want to curse someone.

Harry had an odd look on his face, almost like he was lost in a memory. I don’t have class. His eyes refocused and Harry turned to Ally and Tom. I’m going to find Argus.

I don’t want you near P.R.I.N.G.L.E. Tom started to sign but Harry put a hand out and stopped him.

I’ll have Mipsy with me and Kallo.

Tom didn’t like it. The caretaker made his magic want to lash out around him. There was something hungry in the man’s eyes that Tom had seen before in some of the men that came to adopt children at the orphanage. He hid in his room whenever those men came.

Tom knew he couldn’t really stop Harry. The kid had ended up under the school with a fifty feet long basilisk curled around him. Tom was going to have grey hairs before he was thirty but he would kill Pringle if he ever laid a hand on his son.

“Mipsy,” Tom said and the house elf appeared in the room beside them. He should really get moving if he wanted to take Ally to herbology before class but he was reluctant to leave Harry.   

“Yes, Master Tom,” Mipsy said.

“Look after Harry,” Tom said, “try and keep him out of trouble.”

“I’ll be fine dad,” Harry rolled his eyes. He switched to sign language, stroking Lottie between her ears. I’ll see you later, Ally.

See you. Ally signed back, standing up and rubbing her eyes. She gave him a somewhat forced smile. Tell Argus I said hi and I’m sorry.

I will. Harry and Mipsy ducked out of the room and Tom sighed. He needed to talk to Henry. It was a good thing they were meeting tonight to make dinner. Tom vaguely wondered if Henry would mind if he brought two more guests but was distracted from his throughts when he realised what Harry had called him. Despite the uncomfortable churning his stomach, he couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face.

Chapter Text

Harry found Argus with a mop and bucket, hiding in a dusty corner of the castle.

“Argus,” Harry ran over to him. He stopped just short of him, scanning for any signs of harm. “Is Pringle still around?”

“He just left,” Argus rubbed at a spot on his upper arm.

“Are you alright?” Harry followed the moment. There was a look on Argus’ face that he recognised from the future caretaker that prowled Hogwarts at night and threatened students. His lips were pressed closely together and their was a hardness in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Argus said stiffly, “they’ve let me stay here. I’m grateful.” He thrust the mop into the bucket with enough force for water to splash over the side. “It was bound to happen.”

“Ally says hi,” Harry kept his voice light. He couldn’t decipher exactly how Argus was feeling but he knew the man he would become. Harry had already decided that he would not Myrtle die or Hagrid get expelled. It seemed that there another person to save, the only question was how. “And she says sorry.”

“It’s not her fault,” Argus jerked the mop around on the floor. “Neither of us heard Pringle coming. Suppose we’re lucky it was him and not someone else. Dippet was all for sending me back home. At least here I’ve got a bed.”

There was a clatter for footsteps and giggling voices. A group of Ravenclaw girls rounded the corner and fell silent at the sight of Harry and Argus.

“Oh, Argus wasn’t it?” Harry recognised the speaker as Olive Hornby. She smiled sweetly, stepping forward and offering out a hand. “The new caretaker, right?”

“Yeah,” Argus took the hand wearily, shaking once before drawing back.

“Look at him, he’s adorable,” the same black haired girl from before cooed.

Argus bristled, clutching the mop close to him.

“So small,” Hornby stepped forward. Her foot knocked against Argus’ mop bucket and water spilled everywhere. “Whoops,” Hornby giggled, “how clumsy of me.”

“Well…” the black haired girl put her hands on her hips, “aren’t you going to clean it up?”

Silently seething, Harry glared down the Ravenclaw girls. He strode towards Hornby and wrapped a hand around his wand. Argus reached out and stopped him. He deliberately dunked the mop into the puddle, sending a spray of soapy water onto Hornby’s shoes. She leapt back, nearly tripping on the damp floors.

“Whoops,” Argus deadpanned.

“Furnunculas,” Hornby whipped out her wand, eyes blazing. Hidden in his pocket, Harry flicked his wand and a shield materialised in front of them, deflecting the spell back on Hornby. She let out a cry of pain as her skin erupted in painful, red blisters.

“You should get to the hospital wing,” Harry said coldly.

The Ravenclaw girls hurried away, casting furious looks back at the two of them. Two of the girls supported Hornby who was whimpering pitifully, scratching at her arms and neck.

“Did you do that?” Harry saw a flash of longing in Argus’ eyes.

“Just accidental magic,” he didn’t like to lying but Harry couldn’t exactly reveal just how much magic he knew.

“Well, thanks,” Argus visibly deflated in front of him, “but you shouldn’t have done that. You won’t always be here.” He dragged the mop around the floor, looking at the empty mop bucket. “Pringle said he’d be back,” Argus tugged on his lower lip, “I…”

“We’ll refill it in the bathroom,” Harry watched Argus struggle with the mop. “Do you…” he tried to find the right words, “have you had much experience with muggle cleaning?”

Argus’ shoulders slumped. “My parents are wixen. They don’t need to know about muggle things.”

“Here,” Harry held out a hand for the mop, “let me show you.” It was an old fashioned model but there was only so much a mop could change in fifty years. He showed Argus how to spin the mop and wipe the floors, covering the most surface area with each sweep. Handing it back to Argus, he gently corrected his grip.

“I grew up with my Aunt and Uncle,” Harry said so softly that he wasn’t sure Argus had even heard him.  “I know it’s not the same but they hated magic. They tried everything to squash it out of me and when that didn’t work,” Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat, “I’m just…I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“My mum pushed me down the stairs once,” Argus said in a small voice, “I guess she thought it would scare some magic out of me.” He gripped the mop tighter, his knuckles turning white. Harry looped an arm around his waist. He was too short to rest his head on Argus’ shoulder but he leaned against him, thinking back to how Riddle would comfort him.

“You know,” he said, letting his lips curve into a tiny smile, “no one ever notices the caretaker and they can go everywhere. Think of all the pranks we could pull off.”

Argus smiled shyly back at him, “do you know any muggle pranks?”

“Do I?” Harry’s smile broke in a full grin, “let me tell you about the Weasley twins.”

Chapter Text

Tom collected Harry, Ally and Argus after class, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that none of them appeared harmed.

“How was your day?” he asked, eyeing the dirt stains on Harry and Argus’ pants.

The two boys shrugged in sync.

“I do not see why they be cleaning,” Mipsy huffed from beside the kids, “that be our job.”

“And you do it wonderfully,” Harry placated.

“Is that all you did today?” Not even the matron had forced the kids at the orphanage to do chores all day. He hadn’t broached the topic of education since his disastrous first attempt but he really should organise some maths and English classes at least for Harry. Tom considered Argus. Had the kid ever gone to school or was he homeschooled like most of the pureblood children? It could be beneficial for him to take muggle studies and there was no reason he couldn’t participate in astronomy, herbology, flying and potions. Argus had taught them sign language for nearly three weeks. It would only be proper to return the favour.

“We ate lunch,” Harry grinned, filling the slightly intense silence, “you should know. You were there.”

Tom ruffled up his hair making Harry squeal and try to smooth it back down. Ally had gotten impatient and started herding them up the stairs. At the top, Tom paused. “Did Pringle do anything?” His stomach twisted at the idea of the caretaker.

Argus rubbed at his arm. “He only came every half hour or so to check my progress.”

“He didn’t notice me,” Harry said, “I just hid whenever he came close.”

“Good,” Tom nodded, “keep it that way.”

The four of them reached the Room of Requirement and Tom looked around for Henry.

He wasn’t there.

The wall in front of them was nothing more than smooth brick. He cast tempus and saw that they were a few minutes early.

“I suppose we’ll just wait,” Tom said, worrying his bottom lip. Henry had said he was going to come.

“Sorry I’m late,” at that moment, Henry came into view, his hair looking more windswept than usual. “I almost forgot the onion powder,” Henry held up two bags. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not at all,” Tom offered to take one of the bags.

“Oh, uh,” Henry spluttered, seeming to forget how to move his tongue. He handed over a bag, his fingers brushing against Tom’s and the point of contact burned.

Ally shoved Tom and signed two words. Tom only recognised one of them, stop.

“Hi,” Henry turned his attention to the Filch twins, “Ally and Argus right?”

“I thought they could join us,” Tom said, wondering if he had made a mistake in inviting them. He had never been good at sharing.

“Lucky I got enough sausages,” Henry grinned crookedly. He gestured at the smooth wall. “Does someone else want to summon where we should cook today?”

Harry stepped forward hesitantly, casting backward glances at Tom and Henry. When no one stopped him, he moved up and down the corridor three times and a door materialised in front of Tom. Unable to resist his curiosity, Tom pushed straight through the door and found himself in a kitchen dining room that looked like the only things holding it together was magic and spello tape. There were half-finished knitted clothes and dismantled muggle appliances on every surface. He saw photo frames on the walls but they were each empty. It seemed that the room had its limits.

Tom twisted around and saw tears in Harry’s eyes. His hands shook slightly as he ran his fingers over a marron sweater.

“I like it,” Henry squeezed Harry’s shoulder on the way to the kitchen counter. Questions swirled around in Tom’s head but he pushed them down, focusing on helping Henry unpack. Harry already seemed overwhelmed.  

What are we making? Ally signed, peering over the counter.

“I think I got that,” Henry bounced on his toes, “you asked what we’re cooking, right?”

“You know sign language?” Tom asked, his heart leaping into his chest.

“About as much as you know German,” Henry shrugged, “I learnt this one.” His signs were messy but Tom recognised the words I think you’re – for a Slytherin.

Ally broke into giggles.

“What?” Tom demanded, “what was that word?”

I have no idea. Ally signed with one hand, muffling her snickers with the other.

Tom scowled.

“We’re making currywurst,” Henry said, gesturing to the sausages, potatoes, curry powder, smoked paprika, tomato sauce and beef broth. “And bienenstich for dessert. I hope neither of you have nut allergies.”

Argus shook his head. “We’re not allergic to anything but I’ve never had,” he waved vaguely at the food.

“You cook much at home?” Heny divided the ingredients, setting the oven to two hundred degrees.

“Not really,” Argus fiddled with his pants, “do you need me to…I don’t know if I could make dinner.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Henry voice turned gentle, “but if you want to learn how to make curried sausages, I can teach you.”

“I want to learn,” Argus insisted, looking up at Henry eagerly.  

“Alrighty then,” Henry grinned back. He picked up a potato and threw it for Argus to catch. “Lesson one: how to cut a potato.”

It wasn’t long until they fell into the same routine as last Wednesday. Harry sat on the counter, eating whatever was handed to him while Tom prepared the vegetables. Henry did most of the cooking, dancing around the kitchen while juggling three frying pans simmering on the stove. He showed Argus how to test if the sausages were cooked and to always add more spices than the recipe recommended. Ally had joined them initially but wandered off halfway through to play with Lottie and Kallo. The kitten was trying to sneak up on Kallo’s tail and Ally was silently egging her on. Tom found himself smile fondly at the scene.

The kitchen was soon filled with the delicious smell of grease and paprika.

Ally offered to help set the table once the sausages were done. Henry carried over the plates and was about to sit down when Ally shook he head hard.

You sit there. She pointed at the other side of the table. Ally had organised the table with two seats on one side and three on the other. When Tom came over she shoved him into the seat beside Henry.

Tom was a little disgruntled to be manhandled by an eleven year old but he didn’t protest. Perhaps he should have. Sitting this close to Henry was distracting him. The curried sausages were rich and warm but all he could focus on was how Henry’s legs kept accidentally brushing against his.

“What’s the time?” Argus asked suddenly, putting his fork down with a thud.

“It’s quarter to eight,” Henry said, “there’s still plenty of time before curfew…” Argus was already standing up.

“I need to get Pringle,” he said, “I can’t be late.”

“He’s not making you work after dinner, is he?” Henry’s eyebrows rose, “you should be getting ready for bed.”

Argus was halfway to the door, hands tugging at his sleeves.

“At least take some cake,” Henry stood from the table, “you could bring some to Pringle. The sugar might do him some good.”

“Sorry, I have to go,” Argus ran from the Room of Requirement. Ally followed after him, stopping only to scoop up Lottie and sign a quick thank you. The room seemed to turn colder after the twins left. Tom, Henry and Harry just sat there at the table for a minute.

“I’ll get the cake,” Henry said eventually, “I can give it to them tomorrow.”

Tom was wondering if he should speak to Sylas about Pringle. The dinner had ended far too soon.

“I wondering where Argus is staying,” Henry looked at Tom, “he could sleep here. I bet it would be more comfortable than whatever Dippet organised.”

“I’ll speak with him at our signing lessons tomorrow,” Tom said, “thank you for dinner.” Henry's hand shot out and stopped Tom.

“Don’t go yet,” he said, “there’s still cake.”

Tom leaned back in his chair and took a slice of the almond and custard cake but it tasted a little bitter in his mouth. He didn’t think that had anything to do with Henry’s cooking. Harry only ate a few mouthfuls.

“Next week I’ll speak with Pringle,” Henry decided, pushing away his slice.

Tom glanced over in surprise. He hadn’t been certain about bringing the Filch twins but now it sounded like Henry expected to make dinner with them again. Tom still didn’t know what to make of Henry. He would need to do more reconnaissance.

“Walk us back to the Slytherin common room,” Tom stood, voice firm. He ignored his heart beating against his rib cage. The memory of Henry’s lips on his cheek resurfaced and he felt his face burn.

“I’d be honoured to,” Henry said. He hoisted Harry onto his shoulders and put the rest of the cake in brown paper bags, handing them to Tom.

They walked down to the dungeons together, keeping an eye out just in case they saw Argus or Ally. There were a few students coming back from the library or the owlery but the corridors were mostly empty. Tom paused outside the Slytherin common room. He told Harry to go ahead and get into his pyjamas.

Henry and Tom were left outside the common room.

“It was nice to meet your friends,” Henry said, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“They’re not my friends,” Tom protested automatically. He didn’t have a need for friends. Besides, Ally and Argus were children…and a Hufflepuff.  

Henry rolled his eyes. He stepped forward and Tom’s heart jumped up into his throat. “See you tomorrow, Tom,” Henry said.

Tom held his breath waiting. He wasn’t quite sure what he was waiting for but he didn’t move for fear it wouldn’t happen.

Henry put a hand on his cheek and Tom’s whole body froze.

“Gute Nacht,” Henry’s thumb brushed across Tom’s cheek once and fell back to his side. With a strange expression on his face, he turned away, backing up the stairs and out the dungeons. At the last second he looked over his shoulder, “sweet dreams, Sonnenschein.“

He disappeared out of sight and Tom slumped against the wall. Looking at the spot where Henry had vanished, he couldn’t pin point why he felt so disappointed.

Chapter Text

Tom went straight to Headmaster Dippet’s office before breakfast the next morning. Dippet never changed his password so Tom easily bypassed the stone gargoyle and knocked on the office door.

“Come in,” Dippet’s voice came from inside the office.

When Tom pushed the door open he found the headmaster crouched over his desk, rifling through a stack of letters.

“Oh, Tom,” Dippet put down the letters and clasped his fingers together, “what can I do for you?” He indicated for Tom to take a seat.

“I still haven’t gotten a response from the Department of Mysteries,” Dippet said, “but that’s to be expected with their screening process. I imagine we’ll hear something after Halloween.”

Tom realised he hadn’t thought once about sending Harry forward in time. Was that even a possibility? The idea made his chest tighten.

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he sat down on the cushy armchair opposite Dippet. His back remained rigid though he laid his hands casually on the armrest, balancing the line between formal respect and a familial kinship with the aging headmaster.

“Harry has been here for nearly three weeks,” Tom said, “and Madame Blainey says he’s healed nicely. Mipsy is with him during the day but I don’t believe he’s being challenged. I want to look into tutors for English, maths, history, etiquette, basic magic theory. There’s only so much I can teach him after class.”

Dippet nodded along to his argument. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” he smiled, “my daughter’s looking for something similar for her children. I could get some suggestions.”

“Thank you,” Tom said, ignoring the churning in his gut. He doubted he could afford anyone Dippet recommended but Harry needed a tutor. Tom wouldn’t allow him to start Hogwarts worse off than the muggleborns who only learnt about magic a few months ago.

“They could stay in the teacher’s quarters if needed,” Dippet continued agreeably, “though I would need to approve whoever you choose.”

“Of course,” Tom nodded, “though I don’t plan for a live-in tutor. Three sessions a week should be sufficient.” He didn’t want some other person to monopolise Harry’s time.

“Was that all you wanted to ask?” Dippet said, leaning back in his chair and picking up another letter.

“Yes, that’s all,” Tom stood, grateful that Dumbledore was not the headmaster. That man would no doubt have accused him of trying to force his own beliefs onto Harry and then hired a tutor with nothing but distain for a whole sector of magic.

Tom stopped at the door and turned back, struck by a thought. “Just one more thing.”

“Hmm,” Dippet looked up.

“I wondered if you could speak to Pringle,” Tom said, “Argus could join Ally for history, astronomy and perhaps herbology but he should continue his muggle education. Unless his parents want to organise a tutor, I would be willing to find someone who could teach at a first and sixth grade level.”

He expected Dippet to agree easily but the headmaster only stared at Tom.

“I don’t know what you mean, dear boy,” Dippet said at last, “why would young Mr Filch need to attend classes?”

Tom frowned. “I understand he has an arrangement with Pringle to work for his keep but it would be remiss to allow him to fall behind in his studies. I’m sure we could create a schedule that works for all of us.”

Dippet kept staring, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “I don’t see any reason why he should need to study. Mr Filch appears to be a hardworking young man. I have no doubt he could take over the caretaker position when Pringle retires.”

“He could,” Tom conceded, wondering why Dippet looked so confused, “but he’s only eleven. There aren’t many who know what they want to do for the rest of their life at eleven.” Tom had studied at Hogwarts for six years and he still didn’t know half the jobs the wizarding world had to offer.

“A caretaker is a perfectly acceptable position for a squib,” Dippet waved his hand dismissively.

The casual gesture made Tom’s mouth shut with a click. It was clear that he had misinterpreted a squib’s role in society. Dippet made it sound like Argus should be grateful for the opportunity to clean a magic school for the rest of his life.

“Right,” Tom said, “I’ll contact you when I find a tutor for Harry.” He bowed his head respectfully and stepped out of the headmaster’s office. On the way down to the Great Hall, Tom saw Argus, Ally and Harry arguing silently up ahead as Kallo and Lottie played catch-that-tail. He hung back, watching them sign to each other.

Sit with us. Ally signed, reaching for Argus’ hand.

Argus pushed it away. I can eat in the kitchens.

Please. Ally insisted. Just once.

Why do you even want to be seen with me? Argus signs grew harder to decipher. What will your friends think?

I don’t need other friends. Ally shook her head, they don’t even try to speak with me. I just want to sit with you.

Tom was about to reveal himself when Harry cut into the conversation. They might stare but Riddle won’t let them hurt you.

The words might have made Tom all warm inside except…Riddle? He wasn’t expecting dad but did Harry really call him Riddle to other people? That was not acceptable.

He strode forward and the three kids jumped a little when he spoke. “Let’s get going before the toast gets cold,” he said, signing along with the words he knew. Tom didn’t let Argus protest. It was evident that the boy would need to harden himself against the world.

It felt like the entire hall turned around to watch Ally, Argus, Harry and Tom head over to the Slytherin table. His Knights cleared a space for them but he could see the reluctance in their eyes.

“Pass me the paper,” Tom said to Parkinson. The girl handed it over, casting mutinous glances at Argus curling into himself at the table.

Tom flicked to the classified section and drew out a quill. He scanned the advertisements, circling anything that seemed promising.

“I was thinking of finding you a tutor,” Tom said, not looking up at Harry, “someone to help with maths, English, history.”

“And how to be a pureblood?” Even though Tom couldn’t see his expression, he could feel Harry’s scepticism.

“Yes,” Tom glanced up and kept his voice soft, “it’s important to understand the society you live in. I will of course teach you what I know but I never received a formal pre-Hogwarts education, wizarding or muggle.” The other Slytherins leaned forwards but he spoke low enough that they could not hear him.

Harry fiddled with his knife and fork.

“Why don’t you help me find someone?” Tom pushed the newspaper towards him. He noticed that Argus was only picking at his food and shifted the paper so that both boys could read it. “You will need to chose someone who can teach lower and upper grades. Both of you can attend class together though I believe we will need to renegotiate your contract with Pringle directly.”

“What are you hoping to teach it?” Malfoy sniffed haughtily. “I didn’t think it was that hard to clean.”

“There will be a meeting tomorrow,” Tom spoke over the Slytherins mutterings, “usual place and time.”

“I think its about time,” Nott stabbed at his eggs. Tom ignored him

“This one,” Harry pushed the paper back, his eyes challenging.

Looking down at the paper, Tom saw that Harry had circled an advert cramped at the bottom of the page.

Tutor

Need a tutor for your young witch or wizard?

Call 44 7123 4567 or owl Evangeline Crouch

Proficient in maths, English, science and muggle and magical history grades 1-12

Certificate III in etiquette training

5+ years as a muggle teacher at Saint Mary’s Primary School

Squib

“I will send an owl this afternoon,” Tom said, ripping out the advert and stuffing it into his robes. Argus stared at where the newspaper disappeared, eyebrows together.

“Drink your milk,” Tom ordered Argus, “you’ll need your strength today.”

Chapter Text

Tom didn’t want to leave Harry sleeping in their shared room. It was Friday night. He had all weekend ahead of him for catching up on schoolwork. Tom could have an early night or read one of the books he had taken from Slytherin’s private rooms. Instead, he had called a meeting with his Knights that had grown more and more restless. He wrapped a hand tightly around his wand.

“Good evening my Knights,” Tom strode into the meeting room. “I believe we need to have a long overdue conversation.”

“So do I,” Nott spoke up from the seat closest to him. “What are you doing, Tom?” he sneered.

“You’ve gone soft,” Parkinson stuck her nose in the air, “it’s that kid.” The room murmured in agreement. “You weren’t like this before he came.”

“And now you’re inviting squibs to our table,” Malfoy said the ‘squib’ like the word itself tasted foul in his mouth. “You are sullying the name of Slytherin.”

“Silence,” Tom’s voice was ice.

His knights fell quiet but there remained an undercurrent of resistance.

“I understand you have questions,” Tom said, “and I will answer them. My goals have not changed.”

“And what are those goals exactly?” Nott bit through clenched teeth, “what goals would need a squib? You promised to rid our world of that filth.”

“Argus has proven to be a loyal-.”

“Can you even hear yourself?” Nott slammed his fist against the table. “Argus? You’ll call it by its first name. Are we not loyal? Have we not proven ourselves?”

“You continue to question-.” Tom’s voice rose but Nott did not let him speak.

“What have you actually done for us?!” Nott stood. “You keep making promises and yet all you do is talk about rebranding and soft power. I say we should go out there and show the mudbloods their place!”

The room burst into mutterings.  

“And what?” Tom pushed his chair back, eyes flashing red. “You would kill all muggle borns at our school? What will that achieve? You will be expelled and sent to Azkaban.”

“If we are caught,” Not continued to push Tom, not seeming to care about the wand clasped in Tom’s hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be the heir Slytherin? Set Slytherin’s monster on them.”

“I…” Tom faltered. He could. Sylas lay below their feet, loyal to his son. Without him, Sylas would become Tom’s familiar and he could make his Knights kneel below him once more.

“That’s if…” Nott strode forward and stabbed his finger at Tom’s chest. “You really are the heir of Slytherin.”

The room was silent but this time it had nothing to do with Tom’s command. They were all bent forward, listening to Nott.

“I have already proved my lineage,” Tom raised his wand, staring down Nott, “I am a parselmouth.”

“We’ve heard you hiss at some snakes.” Nott stared right back. “How do we know that’s really parseltongue?”

“They obey my command.”

“They’re animals,” Nott dismissed, “they could be trained.”

The room swivelled between Nott and Tom.

“Riddle is a muggle name,” Walburga spoke from the far end of the table. “how do we know you’re any better than the mudbloods?”

“Why don’t you duel me and find out?” Tom raised his wand higher.

“Yes, curse us,” Walburga snapped, her black eyes gleaming. Orion sunk lower into his chair beside her. “Torture us. That’s what you do.” She rose up to her feet and walked over to stand beside Nott, facing down Tom’s wand. “And that’s all you’ve ever been able to do.”

“But not to the mudbloods,” Nott spat, “We give you a place amongst us, despite your name, despite that accent you tried to hide and your patched robes and this is how you repay us.”

Tom’s fingers clenched tighter around his wand but he couldn’t curse them now. Nott took another step forward and Tom made a fatal mistake: he stepped back. The cruel grin that spread across Nott’s face was like a death knell.

“We need numbers to change the wixen public,” Tom’s tried to speak, “with the mudbloods we could garner…” His voice was drowned out by his followers.

“The mudbloods can have you,” Nott turned away from Tom and marched to the door. He looked back at him. “I won’t follow you anymore.”

Walburga strode after Nott. “I should have known,” she said at the door, “someone like you could never lead.”

One by one, the Knights filed out of the room. Parkinson was last to remain. She walked over to Tom and put a hand on his shoulder.

“They’ll come back,” she said, “they followed you once, they’ll do it again.”

Tom looked into her dark, brown eyes, narrowed into something that could have been compassion. She pat his cheek. “Just get rid of the child,” she said, dropping her hand and turning to the door. “And stop seeing that Gryffindor boy.”

The door slammed shut and Tom was left alone.

He sunk into an empty seat. What was he going to do now?

Chapter Text

Harry noticed that Riddle was unusually withdrawn the next morning. The castle was bustling with life, students from every house discussing the upcoming Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor and sporting green or red on their uniforms. Harry woke early buzzing with anticipation to see Henry slaughter Slytherin this morning. He was ready to pull Riddle to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast before heading down to find seats with a good view of the pitch. Harry knew that Riddle didn’t care much about Quidditch but he didn’t expect him drag his feet the whole way to the hall. He wasn’t the only one to notice something off about Riddle.

Argus was quiet, staying close to Ally.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered outside the hall. It was jam packed with students, cheering as each quidditch player entered through the door.

Riddle reached out and grasped Argus’ hand. “You can’t hide from them,” he said, his voice completely serious, “you have to demand a space at the table, understand?”

Argus didn’t say anything and Riddle dropped his hand back down. “We won’t stay long.” Harry watched the exchange, trying to imagine Voldemort in Riddle’s place. He couldn’t.

Riddle led them into the hall and over to the Slytherin table. He walked right up to the other sixth years but they didn’t even acknowledge him. Harry watched them divert their eyes.

“This seat is taken,” Nott said, looking poignantly at the only clear spot.

Maintaining eye contact the whole time, Riddle sat down. The students on either side of him hissed out in pain and jumped back, leaving space for Ally, Argus and Harry.

“Well look at that,” Riddle said, “plenty of space.”

The breakfast was tense. Harry didn’t know what had happened between Riddle and the Slytherins but they refused to talk or even look at him, only glaring at Argus like he was infectious.

The hall erupted into cheers once more and Harry twisted around to see Henry. He bounded into the hall, blowing kisses into the crowd. His eyes found Tom’s, narrowing slightly when he saw the other Slytherins bent away from him and sneering at Argus. The look was brief. A second later, Henry’s smile returned and he winked at Riddle making him drop his butter knife.  

“We should get to the pitch,” Riddle said, “before the good seats are taken. Bring your toast.”

“I can’t come,” Argus stopped in the entrance hall, “Pringle is expecting him.”

“What about the match?” Harry stared at Argus.

“The castle will be empty,” Argus shuffled his feet. Thinking back, Harry realised he had never seen the caretaker at any of the Quidditch games.

“Will we see you afterwards?” Harry didn’t want to leave Argus.

“I’ll be at dinner,” Argus said, looking at Ally. Go enjoy the game. I’ll be fine.

His absence dampened Harry’s jittery anticipation for the game but it didn’t stop him from jumping up to the highest row of seats. He had never seen a game from this angle, always looking down from above. They were directly opposite the commentary box.

The stands quickly filled around them, a sea of green with Harry’s red sweater the only contrasting colour.

“Welcome,” boomed the young commentator’s voice over the sounds of the chatter of the whole school, “to the first Quidditch match of the season!” His freckled, pale complexion and red hair made Harry wonder if he was Ron’s distance relative.

The stands exploded. Ally pressed herself forward, peering out at the commentator. Riddle tapped her shoulder and repeated his words with clear signs.

“Put your hands together for our players. In Slytherin…Finnerick Crabbe…Hector Lestrange…”

Down below, Harry saw the Slytherin team emerge clutching their brooms. The Slytherins shouted until their voices were hoarse but still found the energy to boo when the Gryffindor team appeared.  Harry noticed that there weren’t any women on the Slytherin’s team. The players all had the same pureblood look, high cheekbones, thick eyebrows and pointed noses.

The referee, a witch named Madam Astor, joined both teams, holding a wooden chest. She released the bludgers and snitch with a flourish, the action met with an almighty roar from all sides. Harry fists clenched, his whole body humming with energy. Madam Astor blew the whistle and all fourteen players rose into the air.

“And the players are off!”

They were high enough above the ground that the hoops were almost eye level.

“Whitney has the quaffle,” Harry watched a girl in Gryffindor colours, her dark hair twisted into complex braids piled on top of her head. She dived with the quaffle clasped in her hand. She darted around the Slytherin players and Harry saw that Henry had been correct. The Slytherins had sleeker, more polished brooms and classically trained postures but they were nothing compared to the Gryffindor side. They acted as individuals, each trying to outshine each other. Both beaters slammed a bludger towards Whitney but almost hit each other instead. Whitney fell into a barrel role, skirting around the green players towards the keeper. She fainted to the left and the keeper dived, leaving the right hoop unguarded.

“And Gryffindor scores! 1-0 to Gryffindor!” The red stands cheered so loudly that Harry feared he might become deaf.

As Whitney completed a victory lap, Harry looked up, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. There was Henry, watching the chaos unfold. Harry couldn’t see his eyes but his head tilted every now and again, following the movement below. The Slytherin seeker kept pausing in his search to find Henry but he was rested directly in front of the sun, making it painful for anyone to watch him.

He didn’t move, even when Gryffindor was fifty points ahead of Slytherin. It wasn’t until the Slytherin seeker dived that Henry reacted. He tilted his broom directly done and shot at the other seeker. Harry narrowed his eyes and could just make out the glittering, winged ball hovering near the base of the Gryffindor goal posts. The Slytherin seeker reached out a hand but Henry was there to deflect him. Henry didn’t even try and catch the snitch. He blocked the Slytherins every attempt to skirt around him until the snitch disappeared. Once it was gone, Henry returned to the skies. This whole process was repeated several times as Gryffindor kept racking up more and more goals. It wouldn’t matter if Slytherin caught the snitch now. There was no way they could recover the points and scrape a win.

Harry was not the only one that realised this. The Slytherin’s cheers grew subdued. It wasn’t until a they were hunched in their seats, looking embarrassed at the green on their uniforms, that Henry took pity on them.

He swooped down and caught the snitch in about ten seconds.

“Gryffindor wins,” the commentator’s voice was almost drowned out by the crowd, “Three hundred and sixty points to eighty.”

That was brutal. Ally signed.

“It was brilliant,” Harry’s grin stretched ear to ear.

Riddle only hummed.

Not waiting for Riddle, Harry rushed down from the top stand and onto the pitch. He ran into Henry who had just jumped off his broom. His cheeks were flushed and his hair even more wind swept than usual. He lifted Harry up and put him onto his shoulders, letting him hold the now docile snitch.

Riddle joined them moments later, holding Ally and preventing her from being lost amongst the celebrating Gryffindors.

“Good game,” Riddle said.

“I wouldn’t describe it as good,” Henry cocked his head to the side, “but I think rather deserved.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at the Slytherins drooping out of their seats, their tails tucked between their legs. “Where is Argus?”

“He couldn’t join us,” Riddle had to press closer to Henry to be heard over the crowd.

“Pity,” Henry’s smile wavered, “well, we’ll have to give him a blow by blow account.”

“Party, Gryffindor common room. Now.” The redhead Nance appeared out of the crowd and tugged on Henry’s arm.

“Join me,” Henry said to Riddle, “come on. It will be miserable in the Slytherin dorms.”

“Yes!” Nance turned on Riddle. “You have to come. We’ve been dying to meet you properly.”

“But…” Riddle looked down at his green robes.

Nance rolled her eyes. “Any friend of Henry is welcome,” she said, putting a strange emphasis on friend.

Riddle glanced back at the Slytherin sixth years, clustered around Nott. “Alright, I’ll come.”

He might have just announced that Christmas had come early. Henry’s smile was blinding. He threw an arm around Riddle and pointed an accusing finger at Nance.

“Tell Mac and Jasper to hold off on the alcohol,”

“That’s not going to last long,” Nance smirked.

“It’s not even midday,” Henry waved a hand at Ally and Harry, “and there are children present.”

“I’ll hold them off,” Nance agreed, “but you owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, the next round is on me,” Henry waved Nance off.

Riddle reached up to his Slytherin tie and unwound it, stuffing the fabric into his pocket. “Well, then,” Riddle said, “let’s get going.”

Chapter Text

It had been three hours and the Gryffindors were still celebrating like they had just won the house cup and not obliterated Slytherin in a one-sided massacre. Tom had to admit, he might be having fun.

Compared to dungeons, the Gryffindor common room was warm and bright. The space was filled with overstuffed armchairs, couches, red throw rugs and little, wooden coffee tables. All the pieces looked like they had come from a different second hand store, worn down from years of use until they practically moulded around anyone who used them. There was a brick fireplace in the centre of the room and windows that overlooked the forest, filling every corner with sunlight. Even the portraits on the walls were comforting scenes of old ladies having tea and lions napping in an open field.

When Tom was first herded into the common room, he noticed none of these things. The room was crowded with Gryffindors, passing around drinks and snacks. A red and gold banner was raised above them proclaiming “In memory of those who bet on Slytherin.” The Slytherin common room had never looked this alive.

“Welcome to the enemy camp,” Henry said, leading Harry, Tom and Ally over to a couch.

“That better be pumpkin juice,” he stopped and glared at a baby-faced kid with lion themed face paint.

The kid scowled.

“Jasper!” Henry called out to a skinny, freckled boy with impish features. “What have I told you about distributing the minors?”

“Chill, Cap,” Jasper raised his hands in surrender, “it’s just ginger beer. I know to keep the good shit until after eight.”

“If I see-.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jasper looked past Henry at Harry and Ally. “I’ll keep the baby locks on.”

“Never buy anything from Jasper,” Henry said when the skinny kid wandered off to the drinks table. “There was bet going last year about how long it would take for him to get suspended. He only lasted four weeks until he was found with his own underground moonshine business. Turns out he was the one who started the bet and spent all the money on malted barley and rye to make more moonshine.”

Henry pulled them down onto the couch and put Harry in his lap. Gryffindors kept coming up to him, congratulating him on a good game. They stared at Tom but looked more curious than hostile.

Nance and the chaser Whitney worked their way through the crowd with a platter of mini sausage rolls, cheese and crackers and assorted Honeydukes sweets. They sat down cross legged on the worn red carpet at Tom’s feet. A wispy, blonde haired boy with over-large blue eyes joined them, perched on the armchair beside them.

“So…” the blonde boy tilted his head to the side, “this is the boy that’s got you coming back to dorm late and covered in glitter.”

“Tom,” Henry interrupted and waved at the three sixth year Gryffindors, “these are the assholes I cohabitate with. You’ve already met Nance,” he gestured to the curly redhead.

“Henry calls me Whit,” the dark-haired chaser shook Tom’s hand and he felt the callouses under his fingers, “at this point my first name is obsolete. I have to say I’m a huge fan. I love to see Henry suffer.”

“And I’m Leo,” the blonde waved.

It was strange seeing the Gryffindors interact with Henry. They didn’t have any respect for each other’s personal space or the end of their sentences.

“I dare you to eat the grey one,” Whit shoved a bowl of Bertie Botts every flavour beans at Harry and Tom.

Harry turned it around in his hand, “pepper.” He bit off the end and scrunched up his nose.

I want to try. Ally reached into the bowl and tried a bright yellow one. Pineapple.

Tom was content to just watch Harry and Ally interact with the Gryffindors. Henry disappeared at one point and returned in loose fitting muggle clothes and wet hair. He sat back down with his side pressed against Tom. It was all very strange.

“I heard that kids should eat their greens,” Whit chose three different green beans from the bowl and dropped them into Harry’s hand.

“Don’t try that one,” Tom recognised one of the beans and picked it out. “And I think you’ve already had enough sugar.”

Harry pouted.

“You should use that power sparingly,” Tom ruffled Harry’s hair, “I might become immune.” He let Harry chose one more sweet from the platter.

The party died down slowly, stopping for lunch that was brought up from the Great Hall. Even as people left to complete homework or play exploding snap, there was an underlining hum of anticipation that never went away. It wasn’t enough to keep Harry awake. He was currently curled up with his head in Henry’s lap. Tom would have taken him back to the Slytherin common room sooner but he wasn’t eager to return to the dungeons.

The sun slunk lower outside, casting long shadows across the mulling crowd.

“I thought you would be interrogating Tom,” Henry said, carding through Harry’s hair, “I was ready to defend your honour.” He leaned his head against Tom’s shoulder, his messy curls tickling Tom’s cheek.

“Oh we will,” Nance grinned, “we’re waiting until after eight.”

“I should take Harry to bed,” Tom didn’t want to leave the warm environment.

“I’ll carry him,” Henry stood, scooping Harry up without waking him.

They walked out of the common room and down the familiar path to the dungeons, stopping off at the Hufflepuff dormitory to wish Ally goodnight.

“I’ll take Harry from here,” Tom paused a few corridors away from the Slytherin common room. “They might actually murder you if you get too close.”

“If they try, I’ll just summon a broom,” Henry grinned, “if today has proven anything, they’ll never catch me.”

“Or you’ll never fly again,” Tom didn’t like to think of what might happen to Henry if he didn’t watch his back. He knew better than anyone that the Slytherins could be ruthless.

“I’ll wait here,” Henry relented, “but you better come back. The best Gryffindor parties happen after dark.”

Tom wasn’t sure. He had planned to get some reading done and take an early night. His mind drifted back to the Gryffindor’s plush couches and the warm air that rested like a blanket over everything in the room.

“Consider it an experiment in human nature,” Henry said, “if you want the popular vote, you’ll first need to understand the general public. What better place to learn about the fallibility of man than in a room of drunk teenagers?”

Tom considered this. It could be valuable to expand his connections into other houses, especially now Slytherin had deserted him.

“I cannot stay too late,” Tom said eventually, “but I will be there.”

Henry beamed.

It might have been cowardly but outside the Slytherin common room, Tom drew out the invisibility cloak he had taken to carrying around with him. The atmosphere inside could only be described as depressing. Students were grouped together in complete silence as if they had just witnessed an unspeakable tragedy. Tom and Harry slipped into the head boys room and Tom tucked Harry into bed. Kallo slid off Tom’s pillow where she had been napping and wrapped around Harry.

“Goodnight,” Tom whispered, flattening down Harry’s hair, “I love you”. Harry mumbled in his sleep but didn’t wake up. Tom kissed the top of Harry’s head and retreated before the palpable cold in the dungeons seeped into him. He stuffed the cloak back into his magically enlarged pocket and joined Henry.

“I should warn you,” Henry said once they were back at the Gryffindor portrait hole. “never bet against Whit when she’s drunk, you’ll both lose. Last time Gryffindor won, someone bet that she couldn’t steal the sorting hat from Dippet’s office and she came back with like fifty witches hats. We still have no idea where she got them.” He was bouncing on his toes and tapping a rhythm against his leg. “And Nance will not admit she’s a lightweight. You have to keep swapping her drinks out with water. And they will probably pester you with questions now Harry isn’t here and I don’t know how long-.”

“I’ll manage,” Tom said. He rested his hand gently against Henry’s, making it still.

The portrait hole swung open and Henry and Tom stepped inside.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, dousing the room in a cool, white light. Tom had about one second to enjoy it before he was pulled inside and a paper cup was shoved into his hand. All the chairs in the common room had been pushed to the side, leaving a wide, open space in the middle. The snack tables were replaced with some kind of makeshift bar that any prefect should have shut down on sight. Tom decided he was off duty for tonight. He went to put the drink down, shivering at the idea of drinking anything he had not poured himself but found that it was empty. Wondering why someone had given him an empty cup, he let himself be manhandled into the middle of the room.

Most of the Gryffindor fifth, six and seventh years had formed a circle on the ground and beckoned for Tom to join them. He noticed that he was the only Slytherin amongst them but there were a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaw uniforms amongst the red and gold. In the background, some popular wizard song was playing but quietly enough that people didn’t have to shout to be heard over each other.

“Have you got it?” Nance pulled Henry down next to her as Tom chose a spot between Leo and Whit.

“It’s in my trunk upstairs,” Henry looked sternly between his friends, “don’t scare Tom away while I’m gone.”

The moment he left, Whit, Nance and Leo rounded on Tom.

“What are your intentions with our friend?” Nance said, her grass coloured eyes narrowing.

“Um,” Tom flailed, wondering what she was talking about.

“Will you be there,” Whit added,  crossing her arms, “for better or for worse.”

“For richer or poorer?” Leo raised his pale eyebrows.

“Till death do you part?” Nance finished.

“I’m back, I’m back,” Henry raced down the stairs and planted himself between Tom and his friends. “You can stop with the threats.”

“Captain,” someone called from the other side of the circle, “you got it?”

“Right,” Henry reached into his robes and fished out a glass bottle. “It’s here.”

He waved it in the air and the crowd cheered. They clamoured forward with their paper cups and Henry poured a small amount of the clear liquid into each cup.

“That’s the Veritaserum we brewed,” Tom’s stomach squirmed.

“I’ve kept modifying it,” Henry poured himself some and downed it in one. “It’s heavily diluted. You can’t lie but you can skirt around the truth or stay silent. Don’t feel that you have to take any.”

Tom hesitated for a moment. There was a reason he never got drunk at the Slytherin parties. He had no desire to lower his inhabitations, especially not in public.

But this wasn’t just any party…this was reconnaissance. Maybe he could pretend to be a teenage boy for a night.

Tom pushed his cup forward. “I’m in.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Tom to figure out the game. They went around the circle and each person would be asked to pick a truth or a dare. If they refused to do whatever people told them to do, they drank. If they did do whatever people told them to do, they drank. And if no one asked them to do anything, they drank. The Gryffindors hadn’t even completed a full circle rotation and everyone was fairly tipsy. Except Tom.

He tried a drink offered to him after thoroughly checking that the bottle had not been tampered with, but it tasted too much like fruity sugar. It wasn’t unpleasant exactly, it tasted better than the fancy wines and spirits at Slytherin parties, but he couldn’t ignore how easy it would be to slip amortentia into this drink without Tom even realising. He didn’t need to get drunk to experience teenage debauchee. If anything, without the influence of alcohol he could objectively observe those around him and concluded that while Gryffindors were more welcoming of strangers, they were, at the end of the day, idiots.

Nance thrust a piece of parchment and a quill at a seventh year with her hair pulled up into a tight bun.

“I dare you to draw something.”

The girl pursed her lips. “That’s it?” She said in a thick Scottish accent.

“Do you take it?” Nance met her gaze challengingly and raised a paper cup. “Or do you drink?”

The girl dragged the parchment towards her and scribbled on it. Tom could see she was drawing a slightly wonky tabby cat with spectacle shaped markings around its eyes. It’s legs were too long and its body was more of a blob than a solid shape but the girl seemed happy with it.

“Done,” the girl went to throw the parchment back but Nance stopped her.  

“Don’t give it to me,” Nance turned to a small kid with ink splotches on his robes. “I dare you to let Declan permaspell the drawing onto you.”

The crowd erupted into excited whispers. Someone started a chant of “do it,” which was somehow both childish and vaguely threatening.

“My parents will kill me if I get a tattoo,” the girl considered the drawing. She took a long swig from her cup, “uh…fuck it.” She tugged off her robes and pushed down the top of her skirt to expose a patch of skin on her hip. “Give it to me.”

The crowd cheered and Declan approached with his wand. He tapped the parchment and whispered something that made the image transfer to the girl’s hip.

“Hold still,” he said and traced the image with his wand, its tip lit with black light. The girl winced a little when the light flared but didn’t make a sound. Tom had never seen magic like that. It left behind neat, black linework, capturing the cartoonishly proportioned cat the girl had drawn. Unlike muggle tattoos, it appeared instantly healed and pulsed with a low level of magic.

“Keep it dry for twenty-four hours,” Declan stuck his wand back behind his ear.

“Looking, good Minnie,” Nance called out.

The girl, Minnie flashed a smile right back at her. “Just you wait until it’s your turn.”

The game kept moving around the circle. A girl was dared to only speak in rhyming couplets for the next week and another boy had to recount an embarrassing story about being discovered in a broom closet with his pants down.

Though the questions were intrusive and Tom would rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than accept most of the dares, there was never anything malicious in anyone’s voices. He shuddered to think what people in Slytherin would demand of each other if that person couldn’t say no. That being said, by the rules of the game people could refuse the truth or dare. Anyone in Slytherin would just chose to drink rather than divulge their secrets and humiliate themselves. So far no one in Gryffindor had backed away from a challenge. Everyone seemed to know just how far they could push whoever was next in the circle. For some people, especially the younger ones, the truths or dares they were given were incredibly lame. They had to recite the school song or say who they thought was the hottest girl in their year. Despite the lacklustre challenges, these students were applauded the loudest and beamed like they had overcome something of note.

Henry had been right. In all his years at Hogwarts, Tom had never witnessed this side of human nature. It was…interesting.

“Truth or dare.” The circle had reached Leo on Tom’s right.

“Truth,” Leo settled on, “do your worst.”

“Did you really find a Crumple-Horn Snorkack in Africa this summer?” Someone yelled from the other side of the circle. More whispering broke out and everyone leaned forward. They all tracked the movement as Leo lifted up his glass and drank. Everyone groaned.

“I knew they weren’t real,” Minnie said, looking triumphant.

“Their existence has been supported by multiple peer-reviewed publications,” Leo grinned slyly, “I even have a horn to prove it.”

“But that…” Minnie spluttered.

“By peer-revied publications, do you mean the Quibbler?” the pink-haired Gryffindor keeper Eddie said, crossing his arms.

“It has two editors,” Leo’s grin widened, “and they are peers.”

Someone threw a paper cup at Leo but Henry snatched it from the air without even looking up.

“You know the rules,” Henry said. Tom watched the grumbling died down. It was strange how everyone seemed to obey Henry with no fear in their eyes for the consequences of disobedience. The Potters were a well-respected pureblood family but if what Henry said was true, he wasn’t even a pureblood and he didn’t seem to be pretending otherwise. Yet, the crowd quieted down and all the attention turned to Tom.

“Truth,” Tom said at once. He had no desire to sing in public.

The room’s atmosphere seemed to shift as forty or so pairs of eyes focused on him. A pale boy in slightly tattered black pants and a cheap, cotton button up stared at Tom from the other side of the circle.

“Do you really believe in that blood supremist crap?” He asked.

Tom could feel the Veritaserum coaxing him, urging him to tell the truth but he stamped it down, thinking over his next words. There were no Slytherins in here but anything Tom said could still go back at them. Would that even matter? His Knights had given him an ultimatum and Tom would rather sit alone for every meal than have his son refuse to speak to him again. He had prepared to circumlocute around any humiliating stories from his past; he hadn’t prepared for this.

“I do not believe that children with muggle parents are less magically capable than those of pureblood descent if you control for environmental factors,” Tom said carefully.

“Whatcha mean by environmental factors?” The pale boy said, an aggressive undercurrent to his words.

“Well…” Tom rolled the words around on his tongue, feeling the Veritaserum prod and poke at him like the vine of a curious venomous tentacular. “it is only to be expected that children raised outside of the magically community would start at a disadvantage. They lack the pre-Hogwarts magical education and cultural exposure that pureblood students have.”  

It was difficult to hold the words back once they came out. The Veritaserum almost seemed to purr in content as he revealed thoughts that he had never even hinted at with his Knights. Tom glanced to the side and saw a soft smile on Henry’s face. He quickly looked away when they made eye contact, his cheeks flushing red.

“I’ll take it,” Minnie said, “Henry can keep him.” At those words, the simmering tension disapparated. Students grabbed for their drinks and various snacks, whispering to each other as they turned their attention to Henry. Tom noticed though that a few people in the crowd continued to stare at him. The pale boy met his eyes and Tom saw a fire still lit within them. He looked away. It seemed that not all Gryffindors were quite as welcoming as he thought.

“I’ll take truth,” Henry said and Tom focused on him instead of the pale boy’s dark eyes. This would be the ideal time to interrogate Henry but his thoughts were drowned out by other people all calling out questions.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?” Someone yelled.

“Making out with Daniel Greens in my bedroom,” Henry said without hesitation.

“Oh, boo.” Nance shoved Henry lightly. “At least you still had your clothes on. I’m surprised my parents can look at me in the eye.”

“Don’t they ever knock?” Eddie asked.

“They do now,” Nance smirked back.

The conversation flowed around him without Tom noticing. He must have misheard Henry. He knew Daniel Greens. That was that seventh year Hufflepuff that won some gobstones tournament against Ilvermorny. Tom vaguely remembered Dippet handing him a disproportionately large trophy for what was essentially inferior-marbles. He couldn’t think of anything remarkable about the boy. His face was plain, rather rounded with dull blue eyes and tawny hair that hung in low curtains. Tom couldn’t think of anything else about him, he was simple unmemorable. Except…he was a boy.

Tom had heard about homosexuals at the orphanage.

Mrs Cole was a catholic woman. Before Tom knew to hide his abilities, she would call a priest to exorcise the devil out of him. Once, and only once, had someone joined him in the dark cellar where the priest would tie him up and recite Latin until Tom swore that the devil had left him and he was God’s child.

It had been an older boy, fourteen or fifteen. His name was William. He had never joined in with the other boys games. Instead he would sit under a tree with a book. It was a shady spot, partially shielded from the eye of Mrs Cole and the other children. Tom wanted that spot. He had demanded that William give it over but the older boy had only patted the spot next to him.

“You can join me, kid,” William had said, “there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

The next week William had been there in the cellar. Tom heard that he had been caught kissing a boy from the village. The priest had chanted and splashed holy water on them. By that point Tom knew what to do. He let his eyes fill with tears and promised that he would never be swayed by the devil again. William didn’t seem to understand how the game was played. He stayed silent, glaring at the priest. Even when the man switched his rosemary beads for a cane, William did not speak.

Tom was allowed to leave the cellar but he never found out what happened to William. The boy he had been caught kissing told everyone William had forced himself on him. Tom remembered the softness in the boy’s eyes when Tom demanded that spot under the tree and wondered if that was true.

He forced himself to return to the party, his hand reaching for his wand. The game had moved onto Whit and everyone was trying to one up each other’s suggestions for ridiculous dares. No one was looking at Henry like the priest in that cellar had. Tom would need to do some research.

The game continued.

Tom watched Whit disappear from the common room and come back with a live rooster.

“Where did you even find that?” Minnie asked her.

Whit pouted. “I don’t think he likes me.” The rooster went to bite her fingers and Henry rushed over to gently take the rooster away from her.

“I dared you to steal a book from the restricted section,” Eddie stared at the rooster, “how?”

“Nooo…we were bonding,” Whit reached for the rooster in Henry’s hands.

“I’ll get you water,” Henry said. He looked out at the crowd now slumping over each other and their drinks. “I’ll get everyone some water.”

It was nearly ten. The Gryffindors had been drinking for two hours now and it was showing. Tom’s lips quirked up a little when he saw Henry pointing at his cup and looking surprised when no water came out.

“Agua-agua,”

Tom stood up and went to help him with the cups.

“Aguamente,” he filled it with water and watched Henry pass the cups around.

“You’re so smart,” Henry said, slurring his words a little and leaning close into Tom’s space. Someone must have added another log to the fire. The common room was much too warm. Henry reached up to the only ringlet on the back of Tom’s head that he still hadn’t cut.

“Ich liebe deine Haare. Ich möchte sie morgen früh sehen. Ich wette, sie wären wirklich flauschig und weich wie ein Schaf, ein kleines schwarzes Schaf. Sind Schafe weich? Ich habe noch nie ein Schaf gestreichelt.“ Henry’s words devolved into German mumblings.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Tom looked around at some of the more sober Gryffindors.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Leo stood. Whit waved them goodnight, her hand threading through Nance’s curls in her lap.

Henry kept muttering in German, half walking, half leaning on Tom for support. The three of them fumbled up a staircase to the Gryffindor dorms. Leo led Tom over to Henry’s four poster bed and together, they helped Henry under the silk sheets.

“Gute Nacht,“ Tom said, smoothing down the sheets.

“Gute Nacht Sonnenschein,” Henry whispered back.

Tom left Henry and Leo to sleep the alcohol off and headed down to portrait hole. The party was dying down. Tom easily snuck past the drunk students and out of the common room. He slipped through the corridors and down the moving staircases, thinking of the way Henry had smiled at him.

Distracted by his thoughts, he almost missed a small figure moving towards the entrance hall.

“Argus?” Tom stopped, recognising the ratty clothes hanging off the little, blonde kid. “What are you still doing up? You should be in bed.”

“I’m going,” Argus shuffled his feet as Tom moved over to him. The kid smelt strongly of cleaning products and there was a strange green substance that had burnt holes in his pant legs.

“Really? It looks like you were about to leave the school,” Tom’s brow furrowed.

“That’s where my bed is,”

“He makes your sleep outdoors?” Tom couldn’t imagine that even Dippet would allow that.

“No,” Argus rubbed his arm, “I sleep in groundskeeper hut.”

“Where Pringle lives?” Tom looked out of the window and could just make out a flickering light close to the forest. “I didn’t think there was enough room for two people.”

“I’m fine,” Argus turned away from Tom, “I sleep on the couch.”

“That’s…”

“I better get going,” Argus reached for the front door and heaved it open. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappeared into the night and Tom felt the urge to rush after him and drag the kid back. A couch. They hadn’t even given him a bed.

Tom stopped himself from wrenching the doors open and hurrying off onto the grounds. He would speak to Pringle tomorrow. His mind already felt fuzzy from everything that had happened tonight. He needed to get back to Harry and catch up on sleep. It had been a long week.

Stifling a yawn, Tom ducked into the Slytherin common room and straight to his bedroom. He saw Harry still curled around Kallo and slipped under his covers, a small smile forming on his lips. Tom would figure everything out on Sunday. For now, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a crooked smile and whispered words in a language he didn’t understand.

Chapter Text

“I’m coming with you,” Riddle said, following Argus outside the Great Hall.

There was still thirty minutes left of breakfast but Argus had barely eaten anything before rushing away from the Slytherin table. Harry couldn’t blame him. The tension between Riddle and the other Slytherins was palpable. Riddle refused to sit elsewhere and the Slytherins weren’t strong enough to  force him out of their group. Harry desperately wanted to know what had caused this rift but none of the Slytherins said anything.

Watching Riddle put down his knife and fork and trail after Argus, Harry pushed away his toast and ran to keep up with them, Ally close behind him.

“Where are you meeting Pringle?” Riddle looked around, “I need to speak with him.”

Argus shuffled his feet. “You don’t need to do…”

“Someone needs to go over your contract,” Riddle smoothed down his tie, “and Dippet is incompetent.”

“I don’t think it was a contract exactly?” Argus fiddled with a hole in his brown tunic-style shirt.

“Did Pringle make you sign anything?” Riddle pushed, focusing intently on Argus.

“There was something about not sending me back to my parents,” Argus said softly, “but it didn’t have anything to do with working hours or sick leave. Pringle said it was only until I was seventeen.”

“Did Pringle give you time to read it?” Riddle raised his eyebrows.

Argus met Riddle’s eyes and Harry saw his posture become defensive. “It was either sign that or leave Hogwarts. I’m not leaving Ally.”

“I know,” Riddle’s voice turned gentler, “I will look over it.” Ally shuffled over and tightly intertwined her fingers with Argus’.

“You can come too,” Riddle said, “let’s all go.”

“But you have class,” Argus tried but Riddle was already shaking his head.

“It's Sunday,” Tom waved his hands, shooing Argus to move. The kid relented and led the way out of the entrance hall and down to the caretaker’s hut. The grass crunched beneath their feet and Harry wrapped his overlarge red sweater closer around him.

Riddle marched up to the little, wooden hut and wrapped sharply on the door. It flew open and Riddle had to jump back, subtly pushing Ally, Argus and Harry behind him.

Pringle leered over them from the doorway, his black cloak buttoned down past his waist. His long fingers were curled around his ebony cane, tapping it lightly against his thigh.

“Argus,” Pringle looked right past Riddle, his voice dropping into a sort of purr. It made Harry shudder. “You are early.”

“I am here to discuss Argus’ contract,” Riddle said.

“Hmm,” Pringle’s black eyes did not leave Argus. “We don’t have a contract.”

“I am here to see the document you made Argus sign,” Riddle moved to block Argus from Pringle's view but Pringle still did not turn to him. The care taker sighed.

“Well then, come in,” he shifted to the side, gesturing for Riddle to move past him into the hut. There wasn’t much space around the caretaker and Harry accidentally brushed up against him when he followed Riddle inside. He felt the caretaker’s hand rest on his neck, pushing him forward. It was unusually soft for someone whose job was to manage the castle and grounds. Nausea rose in Harry’s throat and he skittered closer to Riddle.

The caretaker’s hut was far cleaner than Harry had ever seen it. Gone were the unicorn hairs hanging from the ceiling and the Hagrid’s muddy boots by the door. The wooden table and chairs were polished and there was lingering smell of lemons. Looking around the hut, the only thing out of place was a thick, woollen blanket slung over a couch outside the bedroom door.

“Take a seat,” Pringle drew out the chair beside Argus. He swept into the bedroom and emerged with a stack of parchment, dropping it in front of Riddle.

Harry leaned over Riddle's shoulder to read the parchment. As he read, his nausea grew. He stared at Argus crouched low in his chair with Pringle resting a hand on his shoulder.

“These are adoption papers,” Riddle shoved the parchment away. “You need a parent to transfer custody, you can’t just…”

Pringle flipped over the last page. Harry peered down and saw Argus’ childish scrawl on the bottom. Beside it were two names: Medea and Caius Filch.

“What?” Argus pulled the papers towards him and glanced up at Pringle. “You…why would you want me?” He didn’t even look twice at his parents names. Something dark flickered inside of Harry, a whisper to seize his wand and…Harry had to push the urge down. The feeling reminded him of those fleeting moments inside Voldemort’s head, memories Harry had tried to supress.

“Of course, I want you,” Pringle’s lips curved upwards though his eyes remained cold.

“Then this should be easy,” Riddle rose from his chair, “I want to hire a tutor for Argus for both muggle and magical studies. They will come three times a week. And he shouldn’t have to work for more than three hours a day, five days a week.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Pringle stepped towards Riddle. He was a head taller than him, forcing Riddle to tilt his chin up to look him in the eyes. “I think you’ll find that these documents make me his father.”

“My father…” Argus repeated the word breathlessly, almost reverently.

Ally shoved him, hard. Her hands blurred as she signed but Argus wasn’t following their movement. He gazed at Pringle.

“That doesn’t make you his father,” Riddle cast a disgusted look at the papers.

“But it does,” Pringle leaned closer over Riddle.

“You should…”

“What?” Harry saw a flash of emotion in Pringle’s eyes, “listen to a sixteen year old boy who can’t even control his own son.” He flicked his wand and Harry flinched but it was only a tempus charm.

“I have work to do,” Pringle stepped back. “You will have to visit some other time. He swept over to the door and swung it open.

“Argus stay behind,” he said, “we should talk.”

Harry and Ally looked up at Riddle.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Riddle said to Argus, his shoulders slouching.

“Say goodbye, Argus,” Pringle put his hand back on Argus’s shoulder.

“Goodbye,” Argus repeated obediently.

Harry didn’t want to leave but what else could he do? Maybe he was just paranoid, seeing danger where there wasn’t any. What had Pringle actually done? He had tried to hurt Kallo and threatened Harry but they were sneaking into his garden. Harry should have been more careful.

There was something about Pringle that made his skin crawl and his magic wrap protectively around him but Harry couldn’t articulate exactly what it was. Pringle had saved Argus from being sent back to his parents and given him a place to sleep. He couldn't be that bad.

Harry trailed after Riddle, looking back at Argus before Pringle moved forward and blocked his view. He closed the door but Harry could still see his emotionless eyes. He just didn’t know why they made him shiver.

Chapter Text

Tom did not want to leave that hut but it wasn’t like Argus was his child. The kid had found someone to adopt him, something the children at the orphanage longed for and what would Tom know. It was just a feeling.

He let himself be distracted, heading up to the library and telling Harry and Ally to go find something to read. His eyes kept being drawn to the window with a view of the Hogwarts grounds. If he squinted, he could just see a pillar of smoke rising from the caretaker's hut.

He tore his eyes away and focused on the book shelves. His feet dragged him over to one of the few sections he had never visited or even thought about. Tom looked over his shoulder, making sure that no one was watching him. He peered over at the book titles, feeling his face heating up as he read them.

“We found a book.”

Tom jumped away from the section.

“Right,” he ducked towards the nearest table and pulled a seat out for Harry and Ally. “What did you find?”

Harry pushed a thick, leather bound volume at Tom and jumped onto the seat.

“A recipe book?” Tom heaved it open and ran his fingers over beautifully, hand painted illustrations. There were cakes, slices, pies and tiny little chocolates but the most intriguing part in Tom’s opinions were the lists of cooking and cleaning charms crammed in the margins.

Harry and Ally nodded eagerly.

“Alright then,” Tom flipped to the front of the book and some recipe for coconut, cream pie. He started to read and Harry settled down with his head on his hands. At the end of the page, Tom squinted to read the hand-written notes. “Cortices Cocoes, flick your wand up and in a semi-circle to the right. With practice, this will remove the coconuts’ outer shell.” Tom wondered what that spell might do to a human head. He turned to the next page when he caught a flash of tawny hair in his peripheral vision.  

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Tom pushed the book towards Harry, “read to each other for a bit.”

He scanned the library and found him, riffling through the fantasy section.

“Greens,” Tom approached him, keeping Harry within his line of sight.

The seventh year Hufflepuff spun around and his eyes narrowed. “Hey Riddle.” Tom noticed that he had a thick, Irish accent, apparent even in those two words.

“I want to speak with you,” Tom said, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard or attacked by the librarian.

“Sure,” Greens put the book he had been reading back on the shelf.

Tom opened his mouth and closed it. He should have practised this conversation in his dorm.

“Look at this,” Greens shoved a book into Tom’s hand. Too surprised to resist, Tom glanced down at the title: Luis Lou and the Lightbulb. The cover was a cartoon drawing of a child skeleton holding something that only barely resembled a lightbulb.

“Well, it is in the fantasy section,” Tom responded dryly.

“I should show it to Henry,” Greens took the book from Tom, “he might get a kick of it.”

The mention of Henry, spurred Tom to find the right words.

“You’re still friends with him?” he said, keeping his voice casual.

“More acquaintances,” Greens shrugged, choosing another book from the shelf. “We had fun but there wasn’t much else there.”

Tom glanced around him. Everyone in the library was bent over their parchment or whispering to each other in the corner.

“Henry mentioned you last night,” Tom lowered his voice further, ignoring the fluttering in his chest, “he said that you two had…”

“We don’t anymore,” Greens said, “He had Quidditch, I had gobstones. We knew it would never work.” He flipped the book over to read the blurb, “you don’t have to worry.”

“But…” Tom moved closer, dropping into an almost whisper, “you’re both boys.”

“Oh,” Greens looked over at Tom, “this is that conversation.” A warm smile broke across Greens’ face and he slung an arm around Tom’s shoulder. Tom started and pushed Greens away from him, looking around at the other students.

“Why don’t we sit down somewhere more private?” Greens suggested, stepping back to give Tom space. His face had shifted into something sympathetic that made Tom feel like he was missing something. He looked back at Harry and Ally, crouched over the recipe book.

“Let’s go over to the corner,” Greens gestured to a spot under the window, with bookshelves blocking it off from the rest of the library. From the table, Tom could still see his kids but there was less chance that they would be overheard.

Tom nodded, following Greens into the corner and sitting straight-backed against the window. “I have questions,” he demanded in a hushed voice.

“Ask away,” Greens said, relaxing in his seat, “I’ll try to answer but it’s not like I am an ambassador. I always found it was best to learn through experience.” He quirked up one eyebrow.

Tom spluttered. “I’m not, that’s not.”

“Not with me,” Greens laughed, not unkindly. “I’m just saying it’s different for everyone. You could ask Madame Blainey if you want to learn about-.”

“No, no,” Tom rushed to interrupt him, his cheeks burning. Greens chuckled and it only made Tom flush darker. He tried to recomposehimself, smoothing down his tie. Despite the bookshelves around him, he still felt exposed. Looking around the shelves, he kept expecting to see Mrs Cole staring back at him, her hand already reaching to call for the priest. He should have applied a glamour or taken Polyjuice Potion before seeking out Greens.

“You know, she wouldn’t send the coppers on you,” Greens said in a much gentler tone, “there’s no law against it, not like in the muggle world.”

“It’s not?” Tom would have to re-examine wizarding law. There must have been an oversight.

“It’s not like I can get married,” Greens shrugged, “but it’s more an open secret, as long as you’re not expected to carry the family line. I’m halfblood. My mum found out and just told me not to keep it from my dad’s side of the family. I’d rather focus on gobstones anyway.”

Tom took in that information. Did the Potter’s know Henry had kissed a boy? They must. Henry had said that his mother was the one to find them. It was only natural be concerned about him. If Henry disappeared like William, that would be inconvenient. Tom didn’t want to think about it.

“Hey,” Greens bent to meet Tom’s eyes. “You don’t have to have it all figured out.”

“It’s not, I’m not asking for me,” Tom stood up abruptly, “I have to get back to Harry.” He turned away from Greens, clenching his fists inside his robe. Greens didn’t say anything else as Tom strode over to Harry and Ally who seemed to be having a whole conversation with their eyebrows.

“It’s too crowded in here,” Tom said to the kids, “let’s borrow this book and find somewhere more secluded. We could go down to the kitchens and test out some of the recipes.”

Ally rifled through the pages and pointed at a five-layered chocolate cake.

Tom doubted Henry had ever made something like that. It was far more elaborate than the cream cake or pfeffernusse cookies.

“Let’s do it,” Tom said, rolling up his sleeves.

Chapter Text

“Do the young masters be needing help?” A house elf popped up beside Tom, their eyes sweeping over the counter.  

“We are fine.” Tom grit his teeth, “ouch!” He sucked on his finger that had brushed up against the cake pan.

“You’re supposed to let it cool,” Harry said, perched up on a stool and whipping the icing with practised ease.

“Why is it so crumbly?” Snatching up a tea towel, he tried to carefully pry the cake out of its pan only for a crack to form down the middle.

“I told you not to overmix it,” Harry pulled the pan towards him and use a knife around the edges.

“You’re five,” Tom muttered.

“I will leave you to it,” the house elf looked down at the cake, their nose wrinkling.

Tom didn’t think it was that bad. The air was filled with the smell of warm chocolate and he could always cover up the cracks with icing. Henry wouldn’t even notice.

Do you have any strawberries? Ally signed to the house elf, they are Argus’ favourite. She had to stand on her tip-toes to dip a spoon into the chocolate icing and taste it. Tom translated and the house elf scurried off to get some.

“Thanks Dottie,” Harry took the strawberries and grabbed for the knife.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tom stopped Harry’s hand.

I can cut them. Ally volunteered. Argus doesn’t like any of the green bit. She pushed up her sleeves so they didn’t drape over the counter and Tom saw a flash of dark purple.

“What is that?” He reached for Ally’s wrist but she skittered away, tugging her sleeve back down.

It’s nothing.

“Accio,” Tom summoned Ally closer to him and held her wrist out. Under the sleeve was a bruise, extended all the way down her forearm. It was darker near her inner elbow, forming a rough square like the heel of a boot. “Who did this to you?” Tom demanded, not realising he was squeezing Ally’s wrist until she let out a soft cry. He dropped Ally’s wrist like it had burned him.

I’m sorry. Tom signed.

Ally shrugged. From her pocket there was a tiny meow and Lottie clawed her way up onto her shoulder. The little kitten snuggled against Ally’s cheek and she pet her gently.

“Was it the Slytherins?” Tom made an effort not to let any emotion leak into his voice. If one of his Knights had hurt Ally, someone would end up in Saint Mungo’s.

It was just an accident.  Ally closed into herself, I didn’t hear them coming.

“Who?” Tom considered using legilimency on her but he could only really tell when someone was lying.

Can’t we just ice the cake? She turned away from Tom and pulled handful of strawberries towards her. Tom tried to move around so Ally could see his hands but she only closed her eyes, stopping the discussion.

Reaching into his satchel, Tom pulled out the bruise balm Madame Blainey had given him for Harry. Gently, he curled a hand around Ally’s wrist and applied a thin layer of yellow paste over the bruise. Ally opened her eyes and watched the colour fade to yellows and greens.

“I won’t push,” Tom conceded, “but I will have to tell Henry about this.” As much as it pained him, the Gryffindor had made Harry talk when he wouldn’t speak with Tom. They were meeting with him on Wednesday. Tom could spend the meanwhile plotting his revenge.

“We need to let the cake cool,” Harry spoke up, his gaze oddly intense for someone so young. Looking relieved, Ally took that excuse to grab the cake tin with oven mittens and hurry off to put it in the fridge. The mood in the kitchen had soured somewhat but they kept working on the cake together.

Tom finished cutting the strawberries and mixed them into the chocolate mousse centre. Remembering a spell from the Madame Massey’s Cookbook, he waved his wand and the nearest sink instantly filled with hot, soapy water. Harry helped him wipe down the counter and put away the clean bowls. It took fifteen minutes for Harry to announce that the cake was cold enough and Tom turned his wand on the chocolate sponge.

“Quinque ordines,” the cake split and Tom leapt forward, worried he had ruined it. The five layers were uneven, the middle layer so thin that is crumbled into chocolate dust.

“We can fix it,” carefully, Harry divided up the layers. He added the strawberry and chocolate mousse between each section and stacked them on top of each other. With a spatula, he coated the outside of the cake and spun it around until everything was evenly covered.

“Where did you even learn all of this?” It was somewhat disconcerting to see Harry’s little hands handle the cake so expertly.

“I’ve made chocolate cake before,” Harry said absently, “it was Dudley’s favourite.”

“Who’s Dudley?” Tom pried. It had been nearly two weeks since Harry had first spoken out loud but he had never really talked about his family.

“Just someone I lived with,” Harry clamped up like Ally had done. All these secrets made Tom wish he had saved some of Henry’s Veritaserum.

“All done,” Harry put the last few strawberries on the top of the cake with a flourish.

“Good job,” Tom had read the importance of praise in Reginald Bell’s book on parenting. Sure enough, Harry’s cheeks turned a little pink and he ducked his head.

“We can be keeping that for you,” The house elf Dottie returned.

“Thanks, Dottie we’ll collect it on Wednesday,” Tom said.

I want to lick the bowl. Ally looked up at Tom.

Go for it. Tom really needed to learn how to deny these kids. Ally leapt for the icing bowl and put the spoon in her mouth, grinning around it. Her braids had come undone and loose blonde strands were blocking her eyes.

“Stand here,” Tom directed Ally to come closer and turn around, without upsetting Lottie still on her shoulder. He delicately undid the braids, pulling her hair back. At the orphanage, Tom had seen the older girls help the little ones with their hair. He remembered the intricate braids they had done but no one had ever come up to him for help. Tom settled on a simple ponytail, struggling a bit to wrap the hair tie securely in place. Ally didn’t seem bothered by Tom’s attempt, happily licking the spoon. She let out a tiny giggled when Tom accidentally snapped the hair tie and cursed. It was strange to hear Ally make any noise at all. The sound was quiet and unusual, almost like she was laughing in the wrong key but it made Tom smile. He repaired the hair tie and managed to get all the hair into it.

“Finished,” he spun Ally back around. She had a bit of chocolate icing on her nose. Tom summoned a handkerchief and wiped it off.

“Go wash your hands,” he told Ally and Harry, “you’re covered in chocolate.” He picked Harry up by his underarms and carried him over to the sink.

“I’m not,” Harry protested, wriggling in Tom’s arms.

“Don’t forget to use soap,” Tom put Harry back down and pushed him forward. “And wash under your nails.” He went up to Ally, pumping soap into her hands and put the bruise balm on the counter beside her.

Use it twice a day, he signed.

Ally hesitated, soap dripping off her hands. After a few seconds, she washed and dried her hands and shoved the bruise balm in her pocket.

Thank you, she barely touched down from her chin but Tom could still understand the sign. The movement exposed the yellowing bruise on her wrist and Tom had focused on scratching Lottie under the chin to stop his magic from lashing out. He breathed out slowly.

Do you think Argus will like the cake? Ally signed.

I’m sure he’ll love it, Tom signed back, now that’s enough sugar. You need to leave some room for lunch.

Chapter Text

The rest of the weekend past uneventfully. Tom didn’t see Argus outside of meals but he didn’t appear harmed. He was even smiling a little on Monday morning, sliding into the spot beside Tom.

“Are those new?” Tom asked, looking Argus up and down. His stained and ripped clothing had been replaced with neat brown slacks and a beige sweater.

“Pringle gave them to me,” Argus said, running his fingers over the soft wool.

“He took you shopping?”

“No,” Argus dragged a plate towards him, “but he said he would. This is just something he had lying around.”

The same uneasiness curled in Tom’s gut. The clothing fit Argus perfectly.

A barn owl fluttered down to the Slytherin table and dipped its beak into Tom’s goblet of pumpkin juice. There was an envelope tied to one of its legs with Tom’s name in neat, black cursive. He tore his eyes away from Argus’ new clothes and ripped it open.

“It’s from Evangeline Crouch,” Tom said, passing the letter over to Harry, “she’s offered to come this afternoon for an interview.”

“A Crouch?” Walburga must have forgot she was supposed to be ignoring Tom. She glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. “I haven’t heard of her.”

“Walburga,” Tom raised an eyebrow, “I forgot you were here.”

Walburga huffed and stabbed at her plate.

“You can come to class with me today,” Tom pretended he didn’t see Harry sneak sausage under the table for Kallo, “we’re leave herbology a little early to meet Crouch outside Dippet’s office.”

“I want to stay with Argus,” Harry said, nudging closer to the eleven year old.

Tom hesitated. He didn’t want Harry to clean all day under Pringle’s blank gaze but he didn’t want Argus to be alone. If only Tom could scoop both of them close to him and shove a portkey into Pringle's hand that would send him straight into the centre of the Blitz. It would make everything simpler.

“I’m just going to be cleaning,” Argus protested but Harry only linked their hands and refused to let go.

“Same rules,” Tom said, “you must stay with Mipsy and I want you to join me for history and herbology this afternoon.”

“I will,” Harry promised.

“And keep away from Pringle,” Tom shuddered to think of the caretaker around his son.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Nott muttered.

Tom fists clenched white around his fork. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

“And yet you’re still here,” Nott sneered back, lifting his eyes up to meet Riddle’s. “You just don’t seem to get it. You’re not welcome.”

“Why don’t you sit in Hufflepuff or with your precious Gryffindor?” Parkinson picked at her tiny portion of fruit and yogurt.

Tom didn’t bother to answer but Parkinson’s comment made him think. Ally had joined him for every meal at the Slytherin table for weeks. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her with any other Hufflepuffs.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. As soon as Harry pushed away his plate, Tom stood up and offered to walk Ally over to her first class. On the way down to the dungeons, Tom decided to broach the subject with Ally.

“You know,” Tom said, balancing Ally’s heavier books in his arms, “you don’t have to eat at the Slytherin table for every meal.” To his surprise, the comment made Ally’s lower lip wobble. He switched to sign, worried that Ally had misunderstood him. It only seemed to make things worse. Tears filled Ally’s eyes and she hastily wiped them on her sleeve.

“Hey,” Tom stopped walking, trying to think about where he had gone wrong. “Don’t be upset.” He looked at Argus for an explanation. “I’m only saying you don’t have to.”

They had reached the potions lab and Ally reached out for her books. She took them back and ducked into the classroom. There was no point calling after her. Tom was left to wonder what the hell that was about.

 After a quick see you later, Mipsy came to supervise Harry and Argus and Tom had to rush to make it to transfiguration in time. They were learning about animaguses which could have been interesting but Tom hated every second of the class on principle. He wanted to get back to Harry and the Filch’s.

In her letter Evangeline Crouch had sounded perfectly professional. He hoped that she would prove adequate. No son of Tom’s could ever be stupid but he didn’t trust Harry’s future guardians to have provided a balanced education. Harry's handwriting was nearly illegible but he could read, write and apparently cook.

Tom brainstormed questions to ask Crouch on a spare bit of parchment.

He escaped transfiguration with only five points taken for “not answering a question appropriately,” whatever that meant, and took his usual seat at the front of the charms classroom. The time dragged on and he had to fight the desire to summon Mipsy and get a full status report on Harry.

At lunch, Ally was strangely absent. Tom leaned around Harry to see if she was at the Hufflepuff table but he couldn’t see the curly-haired blonde. Argus joined them for a quick bite but didn’t stay long. It seemed that every time Tom had a moment to breath, something was ripped out from under him. He had more homework now than during OWLS and he was getting sick of the other Slytherins fighting with him over every seat.

In herbology, Harry seemed happy to replant a small flutterby bush and collect some mint for Slughorn. Professor Beery let them pack up early and head back to the castle. Harry skipped alongside Tom, talking in detail about some boy called Neville.

“And the Mimbulus Mimbletonia just exploded,” Harry said, cheerfully, “it was awful. I couldn’t get the smell of gasoline out of my robes for days.”

Tom added that new piece of information about Harry’s past into his mental list.

They rounded a corner and Tom saw Madame Blainey up ahead. She was talking to a woman with blonde, almost white hair in a single elaborate braid down to her waist and pixie-like features. Her skin was so pale that compared to Madam Blainey’s dark complexion, she seemed to glow. Paired with her slightly pointed ears, she could have been mistaken for an illustration from one of Grimm’s fairytales. The illusion was only somewhat spoiled by her clearly, muggle clothes. She was wearing a grey jacket, white blouse and floor length checked skirt. The look was complete with gloves, stockings and a tilted felt hat. It was all very proper and very muggle.

“Mr Riddle,” Madame Blainey came up to him, “Harry. “You’re out of class early.”

“We have permission,” Tom assured her. Unable to resist his curiosity he added, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of the Hospital Wing.”

“Today has been-.” The rest of her sentence was cut off by the stranger leaping forward and putting her hand over Madame Blainey’s mouth.

“Don’t say it,”

Tom was ready to go for his wand but Madame Blainey didn’t seem at all alarmed by the sudden movement.

“I don’t believe in superstitions,” she said once the stranger released her.

“It’s not a superstition,” the other woman protested. “It’s like saying what could possibly go wrong. You are tempting fate.”

“Well, I don’t believe in fate,” Madame Blainey seemed to have forgotten that Tom was even there.

“One of your co-workers is a divination teacher.”

“And she’s lovely,” Madame Blainey smirked, “but I’ve yet to see any empirical proof that the practice is anything more than lucky guess work.”

“I can’t believe that out of the two of us, you are the cynic,” the woman sighed, something soft in her eyes as she gazed at the matron.

Tom cleared his throat and the two women leapt apart.

“Sorry, dear,” Madame Blainey said, turning back to Tom. “How rude. I haven’t even introduced my…friend.”

“Evangeline Crouch,” the woman said, reaching to shake Tom’s hand, “but everyone called me Eve."

Chapter Text

When they entered Dippet’s office, Evangeline Crouch bent into a low curtsey. She sat with her ankles crossed and her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. Harry thought he might have found a someone from the magical community that even Aunt Petunia would willing invite over for tea.

On the other side of the desk, Dippet studied Eve, hands clasped together.

“You’re a primary school teacher, is that right?” he said, “in a muggle primary school?”

“That is correct, sir,” Eve said. Her perfect Queen’s English reminded Harry of that film with a nanny on who could fly with an umbrella or something. Harry had watched it through the slats in his cupboard door until the nanny had brought out a carpet bag and Aunt Petunia had nearly broken the TV in her haste to turn it off.

“You are a squib?” Dippet said bluntly.

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t look like a squib,” Dippet looked Eve up and down, noting her braid with no hair out of place and her pressed gloves.    

“Apologies,” Eve’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, “I wasn’t aware there was only one look.”

“But how?” Dippet barrelled on. “I can’t imagine the Crouch’s would keep a squib.”

“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Riddle spoke up from the seat beside Harry. “I’m more interested in why you posted that ad. What inspired you to make the shift to private tutoring?”

“In answer to you,” Eve looked at Dippet, “I had the fortune to be adopted into by a well-respected muggle family.”

“You kept your family name.”

“I have legal right to it,” Harry noticed Eve’s composure slip on those words, smiling through clenched teeth. She turned to Riddle.

“And as for your question,” she said, “I used to work in London but with the children moving the country, my school has closed. I was offered a position on the east coast but I did not wish to be so far from a floo network.”

“And Madame Blainey?” Riddle prompted. Looking at Eve, Harry caught a flash of fear in her eyes before her face returned to a serene mask.

“We are friends,” Eve said shortly.

“And she can vouch for your character?”

“You would need to talk to her,” Eve said, “but I believe so, yes.”

Riddle nodded. “That is acceptable.” He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and he could admit that he had long since stopped trying to shy away from Riddle’s touch. This kind of casual affection was strange but Harry was starting to think he might cry if Riddle stopped. It must be his five year old body.

“Would you be amendable to a trial lesson?” Riddle said, “I would be interested in seeing you teach.”

“I would be-.”

“Tom,” Dippet interrupted. He lowered his voice but not low enough that Eve couldn’t hear him. “You got that list I sent you?”

“I did.”

“And as a matter of safety, children are volatile…”

Harry looked between Riddle and Dippet. “I like her,” Eve could have Voldemort on the back of her head and Harry thought she would still be preferable than anyone on Dippet’s list.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you are a lovely, young lady,” Dippet smiled at Eve.

“Can we borrow a classroom?” Tom pushed his chair back.

“If you think it’s best,” Dippet said. Unlike Dumbledore, the headmaster’s dismissal didn’t seem calculating. He leaned back in his plush armchair and was already reaching for a stack of parchment. Harry had the feeling that there wasn’t much that would get him to leave that chair.

It was a relief to step out the office. Just sitting surrounded by familiar portraits and silver trinkets brought back memories that he didn’t want to think about. He had to keep reminding himself that none of it had happened yet. Dumbledore wasn’t dead; Riddle hadn’t made any horcruxes.

Eve had a neat clutch that could have been crocodile or dragon leather. With precise movement, she flicked open the latch and brought out several sheets of paper. Despite being in her bag, there were no creases on the parchment. Her heels clicked on the stone as she stepped away from the office, bowing her head respectfully towards Dippet. She didn’t even look at her feet as she descended the stairs, balancing on the steps behind Riddle.

They reached the classroom they used for signing lessons and Riddle pushed the door open for Eve.

“Thank you,” Eve said, “would you prefer to be addressed as Tom or Riddle?”

“You can call me Tom,” he said, directing Harry to sit down at one of the desks.  

“In that case, Tom this is my standard lesson plan,” Eve set down the parchment on Harry’s desk. Harry noticed there was a full hour dedicated to etiquette. He wrinkled his nose. These lessons would be a fine line to balance. At least in etiquette sessions he wouldn’t have to pretend to be ignorant.

“Hmm,” Riddle put the list down. “And what about discipline?” Harry had to suppress his flinch.

“I never engage in physical discipline,” Eve said, “I prefer time out or writing lines.”

At that, Harry couldn’t hold himself back. He jerked his hands off the desk and tucked them protectively under him.

“Sorry,” Harry’s face burnt in shame. He should be over this by now. It hadn’t even been that bad, he had faced worse in that graveyard. It hadn’t happened yet. None of it had even happened yet. Except…Hary brushed his thumb over the scar on his right hand. If none of it had happened, why did he still have the scars?

“Or we could just talk,” Eve’s voice was soft, “I find that most children act out for a reason.”

“Harry?” Riddle asked and Harry couldn’t stand how gentle he sounded. He was tempted to shrink into his seat but he didn’t want Riddle to send Eve away.

I’m fine. He signed. When Riddle raised an eyebrow he added, really.

“No lines,” Riddle said to Eve, “And if I hear that you have hurt him, I will personally ensure that you will never work again. Harry is well-behaved. I don’t believe you will have any trouble with him.”

“Understood,” Eve said, not reacting in the slightest to Riddle’s threats, “I’m happy to adjust any of these plans to best suit Harry.”

“Are you familiar with sign?” Riddle asked.

“Just the basics,” Eve made the signs for hello, goodbye and thank you.

Riddle hummed. “Let me see you teach. I won’t interrupt.”

Eve nodded briskly and scanned the room. “We will need to do placement exams to assess Harry’s level.” She crouched down a little to be eye to eye with Harry. “For today though, let’s do something fun. What do you think?”

“Ok,” Harry said, wondering what exactly she was going to do. His only experiences with tutoring was learning the patronus with Professor Lupin or his disastrous attempts to learn occlumency. Both those lessons had left him drained and aching. In comparison, learning maths or English was remarkably mundane. A month ago, he would have considered those skills useless, algebra hardly mattered when you were running for your life, but now. No one was trying to kill him.

His primary school days had been spent hiding from Dudley or sitting in detention for turning his teacher’s wig blue. All the teachers were already convinced he was a trouble maker before he had entered the classroom and there was no point in trying to do well in class when he was punished for any grades better than Dudley’s. This could be an opportunity to actually learn without his bodily safety being the main motivator.

“Do you have a favourite subject?” Eve asked.

Harry would say defence against the dark arts but was that really true? He was good at DADA but, except for third year, his classes had been reading the same chapter of his textbook or watching a spider being tortured. As for the other classes. Even without Snape, his potion lessons had been uncut somewhat by Hermione accusing him of cheating. He had rarely failed a class but he had never really made an effort.

“I don’t know,” Harry said in a small voice.

“That’s ok,” Eve said.

“I like practical things,” Harry decided. He had always struggled to sit still for a whole lesson.

“What about a science experiment?” Eve straightened up, “have you ever made a terrarium?”

“What’s that?”

Eve looked up at Riddle.

“I’m just watching,” Riddle said, indicating for Eve to go on.

“Well,” Eve focused on Harry, “why don’t you follow me and find out?”

Harry could barely remember learning science. Since coming to Hogwarts, science was basically discarded as muggle nonsense. When the laws of physics could be disproved with a single word and antibiotics were replaced with bat livers, science was almost laughable.

“We’ll need to stop off at the Hospital Wing,” Eve said, “you might need to give me directions.”

“I know the way,” Harry wished he had paid more attention in primary school. He imagined science had changed a lot since the 1940s. It could be interesting to compare the two.

Riddle stayed a little away from them, watching Harry navigate the mostly empty halls to the Hospital Wing. There was only one student in a bed. Marlene was wrapping bandages around her wrist and lecturing her on proper bubotuber maintenance.

Eve knocked on the open door and Marlene glanced over. Her face visibly lit up.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Eve said.

“Drink this,” Marlene thrust a bottle in the bedridden girl’s hand and came over to Eve, straightening her nurse’s cap.

“Professor Crouch,” Marlene said.

“Madame Blainey,” Eve nodded back. “I was wondering if you had a sealable jar we could use.”

“Is she forcing you to make a terrarium?” Marlene smiled at Riddle and Harry as she searched through her cabinets until she found a glass jar about the size of a fish bowl. “I swear our, uh, her bedroom is full of them…I think, I’ve never seen it.”

“Subtle,” the girl with bandaged hand muttered.

Marlene glared at her. “Drink your potion.”

She handed the jar over to Harry and he clasped it securely in hand.

“Thank you, matron,” Eve made a two fingered salute at Marlene.

“Professor.” Marlene returned to the girl, sending one last smile at Eve.

“Make sure you support the bottom of the jar,” Eve said and Harry shifted his hands on the jar.

On the way out onto the school grounds, Eve started to talking to Harry about plants, sunshine and how everything was connected. She didn’t seem to mind that Harry mostly listened, only asking a few questions. It was a warm afternoon, the sun slowly lowering in the clear, blue sky. Eve led Harry around, pointing out the different plants, both magical and muggle.

“That is bindweed,” Eve said, crouching down beside a vine with circular, white flowers. “I know it looks pretty but it’s actually a weed. It smothers the other plants around it and stops anything else from growing. We don’t want to add this one to our terrarium.”

“I know about bindweed,” Harry said, pulling on the weed. “We used to have an infestation in our backyard. I once confused them with the begonias.” Harry shuddered.

“That’s an easy mistake to make,” Eve said, “I have accidentally killed plenty of my own plants but you can always grow new ones. Why don’t we start with something simple? I like to use moss and clover.”

They kept exploring the grounds, adding plants and dirt to the jar. Harry had never really had a class like this. Nothing was attacking him or threatening to explode. Even in herbology, Madame Sprout had never really talked about the environment or the role of earth worms. It was usually, “here is how not to get mauled by the plant of the day.”

Eve helped Harry fill the terrarium, add water and seal the lid tightly. Harry couldn’t resist the urge to turn around with the terrarium and show it off to Riddle.

“Do you like it?”

Riddle came over to him and knelt down. “Very impressive,” he said and Harry felt his chest swell.

“Do you think you’ve learnt something?”

Harry nodded eagerly.

Riddle straightened to stand face to face with Eve. “When is the soonest you can start?”

“Next week,” Eve said, “I just need to pack my belongings.”

“And payment?” Riddle’s eyes dropped a little, not quite meeting Eve’s eyes. “I can get it for you but there might be a delay.”

“A galleon a week,” Eve said.

“A galleon,” Riddle stared at her. “But that’s-.”

“You are already providing room and board,” Eve said, “and I am a squib. You were the first person to reply to that ad.”

“A galleon it is,” Riddle shook Eve’s hand, “you’re hired.”

Chapter Text

Ally had still not returned for dinner that night. Tom didn’t want to admit he was getting worried about the first year. A pain was building behind his eyes and the knowledge that he needed to scourge up four galleons a month for Harry was not helping. He knew it was pittance compared to any other tutor, brought on by pity or Crouch’s desire to be closer to her friend the matron, Tom wasn’t sure. Even with that discount, it would empty Tom’s savings. In the past, he could have demanded the money from one of his followers but they were unlikely to spare a knut now. It would be humiliating to lower himself to a homework helper but there were always rich purebloods who would pay for that sort of thing. He could wake earlier to complete his own studies or stay up later. Tom didn’t need that much sleep.

Four galleons a month would be feasible but that wasn’t his only expenditure. There was still supplies for Harry, Christmas presents, birthday presents, non-perishable foods. Harry was already thin. He couldn’t allow him to survive on the orphanage’s dry biscuits and slop during the summer. Where would Argus stay? Did the caretaker stay at Hogwarts for the summer?

Tom could make a fortune selling basilisk venom or books from Slytherins private library on the black market but one undercover auror and Tom’s future would be forfeit. He couldn’t risk prison time, leaving Harry to the orphanage.

The ache behind Tom’s eyes was worsening. He rubbed his temples trying to ease the pain. Above him, the evening owls flew down and a collective gasp around him was like a steel rod through into head. Please, just one night.

The gasps turned into cries. Someone broke into wretched sops and Tom groaned. He looked up and saw that everyone in the hall were crouched over the closest copy of the Daily Prophet. It wasn’t their usual paper. The last time he could remember the prophet sending an evening paper, Japan had just bombed Pearl Harbour and Hitler declared war on the USA.

Across the table, Parkinson was gripping the paper, her knuckles white. It was shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

“Dahlia,” Walburga reached out for Parkinson. She started, the paper slipping out of her hand. Tom reached forward and dragged it towards him. The title was printed in bold black letters:

GRINDELWALD INVADES ENGLAND

“About time,” Nott said, “someone has to get rid of the filth around here.”

Parkinson abruptly jerked back from the table and practically ran from the hall.

“I don’t understand,” Malfoy watched her leave, “She can’t know any of the muggles.”

Walburga turned on the boys, eyes blazing. “Aloysius’ parents live in Dover.”

“Who?” Tom asked and Walburga was clearly too worked up to remember to ignore him.

“Dahlia’s fiancé,”  Walburga snatched the paper back, “he was staying with them for his gap year.”

“So?” Malfoy said, “The Aubert’s are purebloods.”

“He doesn’t have his apparating license,” Walburga smoothed the paper down, nearly ripping it.

Tom tuned out the discussion. He couldn’t see why Parkinson seemed so upset. She had never spoken of a fiancé before and from he knew of pureblood culture it was no doubt an arranged affair. His thoughts drifted back to Ally. Did she know about this? Was this why she was avoiding the hall? Was she eating enough?

“I’m going to find your sister,” Tom looked over at Argus, “watch Harry for me.” He peered under the table.

⚕Watch Argus for me.⚕

Kallo slithered closer to the boys, coiling around Harry’s ankles.

Tom slipped off his seat. He knew half the hall was watching him leave but he couldn’t bring himself the care.

“Mipsy,” Tom said as soon as he was outside the hall. The house elf popped up beside Tom.

“What can I be doing, Master Tom?”

“Do you know where Ally is?” Tom asked, hoping he wouldn’t have search the entire castle.

“Oh, I be knowing that,” Mipsy squeaked, “she be in the kitchens.”

“Could you take me to her?” Tom didn’t know what he would do if he found her crying or something. Mipsy was only too happy to lead him down a flight of stairs and to the kitchen’s hidden entrance behind a basket of fruit.

“Ally,” Tom was relieved to see the little blonde sitting unharmed with a nearly empty plate in front of her. Lottie had somehow found a perch, curled up on her head. He ran up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

Ally dropped her fork in surprise, turning to read the last of his words.

You said I didn’t have to sit at the Slytherin table. She signed.

“But why here?” Tom looked around but there were only other house elves, preparing tonight’s dessert. “I thought you could sit with your other friends.”

Ally pulled herself away from Tom. I don’t have any other friends.

But, Tom switched to sign, wondering what was going through the girl’s mind. I don’t understand.

That’s what adults say when they’re trying to be polite. Ally’s turns turned jerky. Go play with your friends.

Ally looked up at Tom and there were tears in her eyes. You don’t want me.

Tom’s headache was building. That’s not what I said. These children were testing his patience. He breathed out slowly. I don’t have a problem with you sitting at the Slytherin table but you won’t make friends there. You should, Tom couldn’t believe he was saying all this. Where were this girl’s parents? You should make friends your own age.

I don’t need friends. I have you and Argus. Ally signed back stubbornly.

The Hufflepuffs are nice. Tom couldn’t see what the problem was. And I’m not your friend.

Ally slumped in her seat, fiddling with her skirt.

What’s the problem? Tom pushed, I’m not saying you have to make friends. It’s not my business but don’t hide in the kitchens.

There was silence, except for the clink and bubble of dessert being prepared.

They don’t listen to me. Ally signed at last.

The Hufflepuffs?

Argus always translated for me. I can’t write fast enough.

Tom thought back to the night he had met Ally, crying alone in a random corridor. What about now? He signed. You could have Argus translate.

They’ve already made friends.

This conversation was going nowhere. They’re Hufflepuffs. I’m sure they have room for another friend.

I can’t talk to them.

Teach them sign. Tom saw Ally raise her hands but interrupted before she could find another argument. They won’t try if you spend all your time with me or Argus. Tom sighed. Why don’t you have breakfast and dinner with us and lunch with the Hufflepuffs?

You’re not trying to get rid of me?

What would Henry do? Tom reached forward and dragged Ally into a hug, careful not to dislodge Lottie. Ally was stiff but after a second, she relaxed and practically sunk into Tom. Lottie clawed her way down into Ally’s lap and Tom was able to rest his chin on Ally’s curls. He curled Ally’s hand into a fist between them and dragged her other hand down past it. Ally hugged him tighter.

By the time they parted, dessert had been sent up to the Great Hall.

You wouldn’t know anyone from Dover? Tom signed, pulling them up to their feet. Ally shook her head.

Good. Well then, ready to go back up to the Great Hall?

Ally gripped Tom’s hand, her hand tiny in his.

You are my friend, you know. Ally signed with one hand.

Tom’s heart constricted. Was this friendship? He had always insisted that he had no use for friends, certainly not a Hufflepuff half his size but she had served her purpose. Harry could speak now. There was no reason to invite Ally to dinner or listen to the worries of a pre-pubescent girl. He could pretend it was payment or her loyalty but Ally had never asked for this in return. So, why was he here?

You are. Ally insisted.

Ok. Tom relented, removing his hand from Ally’s to sign. I’ll be your friend.

You already were, dick head. Ally smiled, now we have to go or we’ll miss pudding.

Watch you language. Tom tried to sign but Ally was already hurrying off and out of the kitchen, forcing Tom to run to keep up.

Chapter Text

The whole school was abuzz with the news of Grindelwald’s attack in Dover. Students huddled in groups as if Grindelwald was hunting the castle looking for anyone caught by themselves. Rumours were abound. There were stories of muggles being rounded onto trains like cattle or entire villages being burnt to the ground, whether by Grindelwald or the encroaching German forces no one quite knew.

On Tuesday, Madame Blainey interrupted ancient runes, an envelope in her hand. Everyone knew what those envelopes meant by now. They avoided Madame Blainey’s eyes as if that would stop the matron from coming any closer, as if the envelope was blank until she chose whoever met her pained gaze. Tom was the only one to look up. There was no one waiting for him outside of Hogwarts.

The matron’s heels on the stone floor was the only sound. She walked up to Professor Dromgoole and whispered something, handing over the envelope. Professor Dromgoole turned to the class and everyone held their breath.

“Ruth,”

The girl in front of Tom’s desk froze.

“No, please,” she murmured, quiet enough that Tom thought no one else had heard her.

“I’m sorry,” Professor Dromgoole said, her words catching in her throat, “please go with matron.”

Ruth collapsed into sobs. Madame Blainey had to support her out of the classroom, running a hand over her frizzy, dark hair. Everyone except Tom watched them leave, praying to whatever god they believed in that they wouldn’t be next. Tom had never believed in anyone but himself.

And yet…at lunch he held Harry tighter to him and sent a silent plea that he knew would go unanswered. He swallowed his pride and spread the word amongst the other prefects that he was looking for students to tutor. With his academic record, he could probably get away with charging four sickles for an hour. Tom would need five sessions a week to pay for Harry’s tutoring. He would find the time.   

In defence against the dark arts that afternoon, Professor Merrythought divided the class into pairs.

“We’ll be duelling today,” she said, clearing the desks with a wave of her wand. “I know some of you are familiar with duelling from your private tutors,” her gaze rested on the pureblood Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

“Forget it,” Professor Merrythought wrapped her wand against the blackboard. “This is not about etiquette, this is not about dignity, this is survival.” She punctuated each word with a whack on the blackboard.

Tom was paired against Nott. From the look in Nott’s eyes, he knew that Professor Merrythought would do nothing to stop him from deploying every trick his father taught him. Still, while Nott had more experience and formal training, the only person to ever beat Tom in a duel was Henry. Tom doubted that Nott would use that particular tactic. He knew what to expect with Nott, though the hatred rather than wariness in his almost crystal blue eyes was new.

“There is no starting signal,” Professor Merrythought said, “your enemy will never wait for you.”

That was all the encouragement Tom needed. He shot off his first spell and it collided midair with a flash of red from Nott’s wand. Sparks flew around them as they fired off spells without need for words. Tom deflected Nott’s attacks, summoning invisible shields around him that shifted with his footwork. Gradually, he moved closer and closer, pushing Nott back against the wall. He could tell Nott was losing focus.

“Incendio,” Nott gasped, the verbal spell overpowering one of Tom’s shields. Tom hit back with three silent spells that fused Nott’s shoes to the ground, stopping any progress forwards.

“Diffindo,” Nott sliced the spell in a wide arch, his whole body shaking with its power.

The split second of warning was enough to reinforce his shields but a weak point near Tom’s ankle left a deep cut, instantly dying his sock crimson. Nott kicked off his shoes and stepped forward, raising his wand to point at Tom’s neck.

Tom had the feeling he was going to start gloating. He was tempted to roll his eyes. The Slytherin really needed to learn who was the real king of Slytherin, with or without followers. Barely noticing the pain in his ankle, he used glacias on Nott’s hand, turning his fingers blue. He could have just disarmed him but Tom might have been feeling a little petty. Thinking back to a certain duel in the room of requirement, he made red glitter explode in Nott’s face and snatched his wand directly out of his hand.

The entire duel hadn’t even lasted five minutes.

Nott spluttered, trying to rub the glitter out of his eyes. His hand was still stuck in a twisted claw, blood-filled blisters rising on the skin.

“You best go to the nurse,” Professor Merrythought came over to them.

Tom shifted his robe, covering his bloody leg. “I’m fine.” He looked around the room at all his former Knights, whispering the same five spells under their breath.

As Nott stumbled out of the class, past snickering Ravenclaws complimenting his glittery new look, Tom approached Walburga. She was standing, without a hair out of place, two wands pointed at a short Ravenclaw boy.

“Next time I won’t go easy on you,” the boy spat, his cheeks dusted with pink.

“Next time,” Walburga drawled, “I’ll break more than just your pride.”

“Black,” Tom tucked Nott’s wand into his pocket. Let him beg for it at dinner.

Walburga spun around and aimed both wands at him. “Everte Statum.”

Tom dropped into a duelling stance, summoning the black board to intercept the spell. Oppugno he thought. As he predicted, Walburga dodged the spell by ducking around the black board and it hit the rickety, old board. It sprung to life, forcing Walburga to retreat. Tom repeated the spell at the nearby desks. They all worked together, cornering Walburga from every direction. She tried to blast them back but Tom kept repairing them.

Walburga shot a dark spell Tom didn’t know past the desks. His shield did nothing against it and Tom was only just able to duck. The spell hit the wall behind him, leaving a circle of ash and mortar dust. He transfigured one of the desks into chains and forced Walburga onto her knees.

“Expelliarmus,” Tom said and in five minutes and twenty-two seconds, the duel was over.

He kept moving around the room, his collection of wands growing.

Orion, Crabbe and Goyle were all defeated in less than a minute. Parkinson and Malfoy lasted a little longer but the purebloods were no match for him.

By the end of the lesson, Nott was the only student who had managed to land a strike.

Tom left the classroom with his head held high.

“I heard you were looking for students to tutor. Uh…I think that would be really super.” One of the Ravenclaw girls hurried up to him. He vaguely recognised her as the girl who had been dared to only speak in rhyming couplets for a week at the Gryffindor quidditch party.

Tom looked her up and down. Her uniform was well-tailored and her shoes clearly new, polished enough to be used as a mirror.

“I charge four sickles an hour.”

“I can do three, if you let me,” the girl crossed her arms.

“Bring a friend and I’ll make it three each,” Tom bargained.

“That deal, it appeal,” the girl shook his hand. “Can do this Friday if that’s ok? Got a space we can stay?”

“The fifth floor. There’s a disused classroom by that tapestry of a kraken attacking a boat.”

The Ravenclaw nodded. She turned as if to leave and Tom had to call out to her. “You didn’t say your name.”

The girl looked back. “Some other time, can’t find a rhyme.” With that she left.

Six sickles a week, he only needed to find eleven more. He might have to ask Madame Blainey for a headache cure.

At the dinner table, the Slytherins were glaring at Tom. He handed back their wands, unable to hide his satisfaction.

“You should really be more careful with these,” Tom said.

Ally stifled her little tuneless giggle in Lottie’s fur. Nott scowled at her like he wanted to kill something.

“Did you have a good time at lunch?” Tom asked Ally, ignoring the Slytherins.

It was ok. Ally signed, taking a bite of sausage.

Don’t sign with your mouth full. Tom signed back just to annoy her.

Ally’s expression was thoroughly unimpressed. She held Lottie’s tiny paws and made them sign the rudest gesture that didn’t need fingers.

And no cats on the table. Tom signed. Ally rolled her eyes but returned Lottie to her robe pocket. Tom had to wonder where the girl had got all this attitude from. He remembered her being a lot more scared of him four weeks ago. Harry and Argus were no help. They kept eating dinner, seemingly oblivious to his very real struggle.

Tom took a long sip of water and rubbed at his temple. He would see Henry tomorrow.

Chapter Text

“We brought cake,” Harry ran forward and held up the chocolate cake.

“You made this yourself?” Henry crouched down and took the cake from Harry, turning the plate around in his hand.

I helped. Ally signed, bouncing on her toes.

“You helped?” Henry guessed and Ally nodded eagerly. I cut the strawberries.

From a few metres away, Tom watched the scene. He had spent his remaining classes staring out of the window and willing the sun to go down. Seeing Henry now, pretending to sneak bites of the cake as Ally tried to stop him, insisting they had to wait until after dinner, it made the pressure in his head ebb away. There was something soothing about that crooked smile. All his worries faded, leaving only the image of Henry. He had never met a person with this power. Tom would have suspected some kind of potion or spell except he had already tested for that.

Henry looked up at Tom, his eyes gold in the flickering light from the candle brackets. His light, brown curls were more artfully styled than usual, the wilder locks tamed with some kind of product. There was a flash of silver under the hair.

“You got your ears pierced,” Tom approached. Without realising, he reached forward and brushed the hair away to reveal little, silver hoops. The area around the earring was red and slightly inflamed. Tom had never seen a boy with earrings before.

“Nance did it for me,” Henry showed off the other ear. “You like it?”

Tom mouth was oddly dry. He realised that he was still working a strand of Henry’s hair between his fingers.

“What are we making for dinner?” At the sound of Harry’s voice, Tom jerked his hand away from Henry.

“Pork schnitzel,” Henry said, holding up a bag of groceries, “and pretzels. I can’t introduce you to German culture without making pretzels at least once.” He walked over to the blank wall and paused. Twisting on his heel, he turned to Argus standing to the side reading a book.

“Why don’t you chose where we eat tonight?”

Argus closed the book, folding over the page that marked his spot. “Do I just go up and down three times?”

Henry indicated for Argus to go ahead.

Tucking the book under his arm, Argus walked back and forward until the door formed. He waited for Henry to go first, staring at the space beyond with a strange look on his face. Curious to see Argus’ ideal kitchen, Tom shepherded all the children inside and closed the door behind him.

The room of requirement had been transformed into a simple kitchen that opened out onto an outdoor dining area. There was a nautical theme to much of the room, the cabinets painted a light blue and circular port-hole like windows with a beach view. Somehow there was even a light breeze making the hanging lights sway that smelt faintly of salt water. Spinning around, Tom saw that while parts of the room were crammed with little beach knick-knacks and artworks, there were whole walls that were completely blank. The effect was a strange mix of maximalism and minimalism side by side. It was almost like someone had gotten bored of designing the room half way through.

Argus ran into the centre of the room and flipped his book open. He ran his fingers over the text, resting on a watercolour illustration. “It’s perfect,” he said, “they even have Finley’s carvings.” Argus picked up a tiny wooden mermaid.  

“Finley, like Finley Galahad,” Henry examined another statuette, “my mum used to read me those books as a kid.”

“My mum,” Argus said, “she used to call me her little sailor. I wanted to be Finley when I grew up and go on adventures.” He placed the mermaid back down and turned away. His hand shifted on the book cover and Tom noticed it was that book they saw in Hogsmeade, Prince’s new book, the one Tom couldn’t afford. Argus was stroking the cover, seemingly unaware that he was doing it. The cover was a picture of a small, blonde boy about Argus’ age standing on a ship, his wand pointed at a mass of tentacles.

“Where did you get that?” It was hardcover book with gold dipped pages.

“Pringle bought it for me,” Argus said, “he took me shopping today.”

Tom clenched his teeth, stopping himself from saying anything. Argus was legally the caretaker’s son. There was no reason he couldn’t buy his son nice things that Tom could only look at in a shop window.

Henry dropped the groceries onto the white, granite countertop. “I spoke with Pringle,” he said, “I asked him if you could stay longer tonight.”

“I have a curfew,” Argus said, “I can’t miss it.”

“That’s what he told me,” a small frown formed between Henry’s perfect eyebrows, “I’ve seen you cleaning pretty late though…”

“That’s different,” Argus explained like it was obvious, “it’s easier to work without so many students around.”

“That reminds me,” Tom said, “there’s something I need to discuss with you.” His gaze drifted to Ally. She shrunk into herself, hiding her arm behind her back.

“How about we wait until the pretzels are in the oven?” Henry suggested, noticing Ally’s discomfort. “They’ll need twenty minutes to bake.”

Tom agreed and they fell into their usual routine. While Harry tasted the ingredients, Tom prepared the vegetables for later and Henry taught Argus how to fold the pretzels. Ally offered to set the table but grew bored of the actual cooking and lounged on the couch with Lottie. A brush appeared out of nowhere and she combed through the tiny kittens, orange, white and brown fur.

Tom almost cut his finger on the edge of his knife, distracted watching Henry interact with the kids.

“Ooh, that’s an interesting shape,” Henry held up Argus’ mutilated pretzel. “You can eat that one.”

Tom didn’t think he had ever heard Argus giggle. It was such a small noise that seemed to surprise Argus more than Tom.

“It was meant to be a sailing ship,” Argus reached for the pretzel.

“The Crusader?” Henry threw it back to him.

“Yeah,” Argus perked up.

“I think I can see it,” Henry said, “it looks like the Crusader in the Captain’s Revenge.”

“When it gets blown up?” For a moment Argus looked indignant, turning the pretzel around in his hand.

“I see it,” Harry put down his apple slices to peer over at the pretzel.

Argus made two fists, smacked them together and threw his thumb over his shoulder.

“Teach me that one,” Henry said, excitedly, “that looks rude.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Tom whined. Henry repeated the sign at Tom, somewhat clumsily and stuck out his tongue.

“Which one's your favourite book,” Henry preheated the oven and found a baking tray in a cupboard

“The Upturned Cauldron,” Argus said at once.

“The first one?” Henry cracked two eggs into a bowl dotted with seashells. “I always thought that one was kind of boring.”

“No!” Argus exclaimed, “that’s the one where Finley learns he’s got magic, that he’s special. My mum always read me that one. Well, she did.”

“The Captain’s Revenge is better,” Henry insisted, “it has dragons in it.”

When the pretzels were all folded and covered in egg yolks, Henry set a timer and relocated to the couch.

“Can I show him now?” Tom asked, sitting beside Ally. Sighing, Ally snuggled closer to Lottie but allowed Tom to take her arm. Henry examined the fading bruise, the crease returning between his eyebrows.

It’s really nothing. Ally shrugged.

“You won’t say who did it?” Henry asked, not looking surprised when Ally shook her head.

Gently, Henry pulled Ally’s sleeve back down. “Have they done anything before or after this?”

Ally bent her head. Yes.

Tom opened his mouth, his magic crackling around him but Henry put a hand on his knee. “And do you see them often around the castle?”

Sometimes. Ally signed.

“Are they in your year?” Henry kept broaching questions, Ally answering yes, no or maybe. She refused to say exactly who did it but Tom got the impression it was an older student and more than one at that.

“Thank you for answering my questions,” Henry said, cupping Ally’s cheek and rubbing a tear away with his thumb. “You want to pick a best pretzel?”

Ally hiccupped but nodded. I want Argus’ sailing ship one.

They ate their pork schnitzel, potatoes and pretzels in the “outdoor” area. If Tom squinted, he could just see the shimmer, marking the distant beach as an illusion but it was impressive none the less. Henry kept the conversation light throughout dinner but once the chocolate cake was served, it inevitably drifted to the only thing the school was discussing.

“I feel awful for the kids from Dover,” Henry said, “Leo's grandparents had to evacuate from Walmer. They’re staying in Ottery Saint Catchpole for the time being, they think they’re safest closer to Dumbledore.”

Tom scowled. “I don’t know why everyone is saying Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald.”

“They say he is the only man Grindelwald fears,” Henry said.

“Didn’t stop him from coming to England."

Henry paused, his fork hanging in midair. He looked over at Harry. “Would it be cheating to ask?”

Everyone at the table faced Harry, their cake momentarily forgotten. Harry met their stares, puzzlement morphing into understanding.

“I don’t know,” he said, stiffening, “it might be different this time.” His eyes strayed over to Tom as he said this. “I don’t know much. We only really learnt about goblin wars in history.”

“Don’t tell me Binns is still teaching in fifty years,” Henry groans, “that’s it. I have no hope for the future.”

Tom added that information to his list. It was yet another piece that didn’t quite make sense. If Harry was raised with muggles, why did he know anything about goblin history, how did he meet a boy with a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, how did he navigate the castle like he already knew where everything was? Tom shook himself out of those thoughts, focusing on Henry and Harry.

Henry didn’t bring up the future again, finishing his cake and thanking the chefs. Harry’s body slowly relaxed and he offered to wash up. The result of that was more bubbles out of the sink than in it, an endeavour that Henry only enabled. Argus had to run off to meet his curfew, waving goodbye to them all. Rather than finish washing up, Ally chose to follow her brother. Henry wished them both a goodnight, making them promise to come back next Wednesday.  

“I heard from Lorenge that you’re offering tutoring now,” Henry said, once they were gone. He vanished the bubbles with a flick of his wand and dried his school robes.  

“On Fridays,” Tom said. He pulled Harry towards him and blew warm air from his wand over Harry’s clothes.

“Got room for one more?” Henry asked, “I think my duelling skills could be improved.”

“If you can pay for it,” Tom crossed his arms, “I charge four sickles an hour.”

Henry grinned slyly and leaned forward. “For you, I’d pay five.”

Rolling his eyes, Tom pushed him away. “It’s three sickles if you bring a friend.”

“Done,” Henry agreed, heaving Harry into his arms.

Without discussing it, Henry started to walk Tom back to his dormitory. With every step towards the dungeons, a fluttery sensation in Tom’s stomach grew. He tried to ignore it but it was getting distracting. This feeling only seemed to worsen, the more time he spent with the Gryffindor. It was a significant tactical weakness that Tom would have to find a way to overcome. If they were ever caught in a battle together, Tom couldn’t afford to be distracted.

They reached the Slytherin entrance and Tom stopped. A memory resurfaced in his mind and he felt his cheek burn in the exact spot Henry had kissed it.

“Gute nacht,” Henry said, just like he had on that night. He wavered on his toes and Tom was gripped by a sudden, fierce need to stop Henry from leaving.

“Wait here,” he demanded, taking Harry from Henry “I need to do something.” Not even bothering to say the password, Tom just hissed at the portrait hole and rushed through it. He laid Harry down gently and kissed the top of his head. Harry murmured sleepily, snuggling into his blankets. Kallo took her usual position around him and Tom felt safe to leave them together for the moment. He hurried back, hoping Henry hadn’t left. Tom wasn’t entirely sure why but he couldn’t let Henry go back to the Gryffindor common room, not yet.

Henry was still standing in the exact same spot, staring intently at the snake coiled around the secret entrance. At the sight of Henry, Tom relaxed a little.

“I,” Tom wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

“Was that parseltongue?” Henry said.

“What?” Tom hadn’t even realised he had spoken it. His heartbeat quickened. He hadn’t meant to speak it. No one was meant to know about it, except the Slytherins. Tom couldn’t get his lungs to fill with air. He could already hear what Henry would say. Sure, he might say that dark magic was poorly labelled but there was no ambiguity when it came to parseltongue. The Slytherins might have called him their leader but he knew what other people would think. It was the devil’s gift. 

“I didn’t,” the words died in Tom’s throat.

“It’s just,” Henry said, “there might be a problem.”

Tom couldn’t breathe.

“It might take me a while to learn that one for you.”

“What?” Tom stared at the Gryffindor.

“Well, I can understand some sign but I imagine parseltongue has a whole different alphabet and-.”

Tom grabbed Henry by his robes and tugged him forward. Henry let out a very un-Gryffindor squeak, nearly tripping over his feet as he crashed into Tom.

“You don’t,”

“Don’t what?” Henry said, sounding almost as breathless as Tom. They were nose to nose.

Tom let go of Henry’s robes and he stumbled back. “Sorry,” Tom didn’t know what had come over him. The dungeons had never been this warm. “I suppose you should get to bed.”

“Um, yeah,” Henry said. He moved back and paused. “Was that…you said there was something you needed to do.”

“Oh,” Tom tried to remember what that was, “oh, right.” He took a tentative step forward. Before Tom could think better of it, he leaned up and kissed Henry cheek, “see you Friday,”

Fleeing through the entrance hole, he didn’t see Henry touch the spot he had been kissed or hear him whisper “Gute Nacht Sonnenschein.” He didn’t see the Gryffindor practically run up the eight flights of steps to his dorm or the three other Gryffindors waiting for him.

The only thing Tom saw and heard was the pillow he crashed face first into and his own voice muttering “why did I do that?” over and over again.

Chapter Text

“How did you know you liked boys, not girls?”

It wasn’t until Friday that Tom managed to track down Daniel Greens. The seventh year was back in the library, sorting through the fantasy section during his lunch break. Pretending he had forgotten to complete his charms homework, Tom had left Ally and Argus at the Hufflepuff table and followed Greens from the Great Hall. In the library, he sat Harry down with the recipe book, instructed Kallo to be on guard and snuck closer to the Hufflepuff.

He had planned to ease into this conversation but the moment Greens turned around, the question burst from Tom’s lips.

Greens put his book down, looking more amused than Tom thought was warranted. He led Tom back to the small nook tucked away from prying eyes and sat down.

“I wondered if you would be back,” Greens said.

Tom fidgeted in his seat. He didn’t like Greens’ knowing smile.

“I had some more questions,” Tom refused to be intimidated by the older boy.

“I have arithmancy in fifteen minutes,” Greens said, “but ask away.”

Tom looked down at his hands, trying to figure out the right words.

“You wanted to know when I started liking boys?” Greens prompted and Tom felt his cheeks burn at how openly Greens spoke, his words not much lower than normal speaking volume. It was like he wasn’t even ashamed of it.

Slowly, Tom nodded.

“Well,” Greens relaxed in his chair, “it all started with my old gobstones club. I’d been in that club for years, before I got my Hogwarts’ letter and we’d all been friends since diapers. But…”

Green shifted, tapping on the tabletop. “Around fourth year, all the girls started talking about boys and all the boys started talking about girls and I just wanted to play gobstones. There was a girl, Ruby and everyone kept saying how great we would be together. Our friends kept locking us in closets or they would pretend we were going to Hogsmeade together and then leave me alone with Ruby.”

“I hated it,” Greens admitted, “Ruby had everything that I should look for in a girl. She was, well still is, pretty and she was very good at gobstones but I resented my friends for trying to force us to be a couple. Ruby came up to me one day and straight up admitted she had a crush on me. Turns out all our friends knew about it, that’s why they kept doing all this. They had been telling her that I liked her back but just didn’t know it yet. It was all very teenage drama.”

Greens looked up at Tom. “Sorry I tend to ramble. I’ve never actually told anyone except Henry…”

“Go on,” Tom needed to hear what happened next.

“Well,” Greens said, “I told Ruby that I wasn’t interested and she was understandably embarrassed. She had asked me in front of all our friends, thinking I would say yes and I didn’t.” Greens shrugged. “I might have called her delusional which I shouldn’t have but she shouldn’t have told the whole school I was gay as revenge.”

“What did you do?” Nausea squirmed in Tom’s stomach, just imagining what would have happened if one of the girls at the orphanage spread that rumour.

“It was pretty bad at first,” Greens admitted, “all my friends were part of that gobstones club and they turned on me, saying I’d led Ruby or that I’d lied to watch them shower. But then…” A grin stretched across Greens’ face. “Boys started to come up to me. They’d heard what Ruby had said and were wondering if it was true. Turns out it was true. Very true.”

“Is Ruby still at Hogwarts?” Tom processed Greens’ story.

“She graduated last year,” Greens said, “but she really did me a favour in the end. I don’t need anyone to go after her.”

Tom hummed under his breath. He was tempted to ask how Greens had ended up making out with Henry but that seemed personal. It put images in Tom’s head that he really shouldn’t be thinking. He could almost feel Mrs Cole’s sharp nails, biting in his neck.

“Would you change it?” Tom bit his lip, “if you could have liked Ruby?”

“I wouldn’t,” Greens’ word were soft yet firm, “it might be easier but I like it, I like kissing boys. I could meet the prettiest girl in the world and I would still end up in a closet with her brother.”

Tom flushed.

“Anyway, I’ve got to get to class,” Greens said, slinging his satchel around his shoulder. “But if you think of anymore questions, you can find me.”

Tom leapt up, casting tempus and finding that he was nearly late for charms. He grabbed his books, looking around for Harry.

”See you Riddle.” Greens waved at him as he waltzed out of the library, “tell Henry I said hi.”  

“See you,” Tom watched him leave, his mind reeling. He found Harry and Kallo in the T section and shepherded them out. Harry chose to join him for charms and sat beside him. They were learning gemino charms and Harry kept pointing out things for Tom to duplicate.

“You know I should try and duplicate some of your clothes,” Tom mused, handing Harry another feather quill replica. “I could change the colour.”

“Red,” Harry plucked at his sweater.

Tom looked down at his green robes. “We look like a Christmas tree.”

“Everyone likes Christmas,” Harry grinned.

“Not all year round,” Tom grouched, “what about some greys or dark blues?”

“Red,” Harry’s grin widened and Tom could only sigh.

With ten more points for Slytherin, Tom and Harry left charms class. Harry chose to go with Mipsy, rather than spend an hour in arithmancy class. Without Harry, the class was rather dull but it gave Tom a moment to breath.

His thoughts drifted back to Henry.  

There was something about that Gryffindor that he still couldn’t explain. It was like there a string between the two of them, dragging Tom closer.

“Riddle, come up to the board,” Tom started, jumping out of his chair. He refocused on the equation in front of him. With quick strokes, he added the numbers together and cross referenced them with his dictionary.

“Thank you, Riddle,” Professor Lamorack said, “you may sit back down.”

Tom returned to his seat and put his head back in his hands. He hoped Henry would come to his first tutoring session tonight. The idea made his heart quicken.

Chapter Text

Harry was on his knees scrubbing at a particularly stubborn piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

“You don’t have to help me clean,” Argus said.

“It’s relaxing,” the rhythmic motions of washing and sweeping allowed Harry to clear his mind in a way he never had in occlumency class. Without Aunt Petunia breathing over his shoulder criticizing his every move, he could focus on the familiar slid of sponge on stone and the ache in his tiny arms.

Argus stabbed his mop into a puddle of troll brain fluid. “Very relaxing.”

“We could take a break,” Harry suggested. It didn’t escape his notice that Argus’ new clothes were already littered with strange stains and burn marks.

“I get a break in thirty minutes,” Argus said. He looked over his shoulder as he dumped the mop back into a bucket.  

Harry followed his gaze but didn’t see anyone. “Or we could just take it now?”

Argus shook his head vehemently. “I already had a lunch break.”

“But that was hours ago and you barely ate anything,” Harry knew what it was like to clean on an empty stomach. These mops and buckets of water were heavy, not to mention the endless staircases.

“I ate,” Argus didn’t look at Harry.

“Come on,” Harry insisted, “just five minutes.” The potions lab they were cleaning was empty. No one would notice if they sat down in one of the chairs for a few minutes.

“I can be bringing you a snack,” Mipsy said beside them.

“I’m not hungry,” Argus insisted. He bent to drag the mop bucket over to another patch of floor and stumbled. Harry leapt forward to catch his arm and Argus let out the smallest whimper. He wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp, gripping a desk to steady himself. The force was enough to send Harry backwards, tripping on the wet floor and falling onto his butt.

“I’m sorry!” Argus paled. He ran forward to help Harry up.

“Is little Master alright?” Mipsy came over as Harry stood. He ignored both of them, staring at the spot Argus was absently rubbing on his upper arm. It wasn’t the first time he had noticed the gesture. Argus was wearing the long sleeve, beige sweater Pringle had found for him. The dungeons were always a little cold but Harry had quickly abandoned his own red sweater twenty minutes into cleaning. There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead from scrubbing so intently.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” He stepped forward but Argus backed away, putting a desk between himself and Harry.  

“I’m fine,” Argus said stiffly, fiddling with the ends of his sweater. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Harry waved Argus off. “That was the floor’s fault. It shouldn’t have been so slippery.” He tried to come around the desk but Argus kept stepping away from him, pulling his sweater down over his fingers. “Was it Pringle?” Harry said, unease curling in his gut, “did he hurt you?”

“Don’t make it sound like it was his fault,” Argus snapped, “he’s been really nice to me.” He snatched the mop and drew it close. With his back turned on Harry, he dragged the mop across the floor.

“What did he do?” Harry moved forward and gripped the mop, forcing Argus to look at him. That same dark feeling crept into Harry’s mind as he pictured Pringle laying a hand on Argus.

“He didn’t do anything!” Argus struggled with the mop.

Mipsy snapped her fingers and Argus’ sweater disappeared. Peeking out from under a grey tunic, Harry could see fading greenish-purple bruises. There were five darker smudges in the distinct shape of an adult hand.

Argus turned on Mipsy. “What the hell? That was mine!”

Mipsy didn’t blind at Argus’ raised voice. “You are injured.”

“I am fine,” Argus reiterated, pulling his shirt sleeve down.

“I cannot be keeping this from Master Tom,” Mipsy said.

“He’s not my dad,” Argus’ fingers were white around the mop, “just give me my sweater back.”

Harry was tempted to ignore Argus’ protests. Part of him wanted to force Argus into a seat and not let him leave until he explained exactly how and when he got that bruise. A memory came to the forefront of his mind of Mr Weasley describing how Pringle had canned him for being out of bed at night. Argus was so young. At eleven, Harry had thought he was capable of taking down a troll and stopping Snape from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone. Had he been this small?

Harry looked at Argus more closely. Behind the anger in his eyes, Harry saw the slight tremor in his hand and the way he was huddled into himself. Mipsy must have noticed it as well. The beige sweater reappeared in her grasp and she handed it over to Argus. He shoved it on, pulling his arms through the sleeves.

“We should take a break,” Harry said more softly. He released Argus’ mop and retreated to Mipsy. “Please, let’s just sit down for a bit.”  

“I think this room is done,” Argus heaved the mop bucket up. “You should have a break. I’m going to clean Slughorn’s room.”

At the door he stopped and turned back around to look at Harry. “If you ruin this for me, I’ll never speak to you again.” He slammed the door closed, taking most of the room’s light with him.

Harry ran his fingers through his birds nest. “Don’t tell Riddle anything,” Harry said to Mipsy, “I’ll find out what happened myself.”

Chapter Text

Tom was distracted at dinner. Eve would expect her first paycheque next week. If the class tonight did not work he would need to find a new source of income and scourge up the money in only seven days. He noticed that Argus was a little quieter than usual but he said he was fine. Tom made sure he finished his plate and ignored the Slytherin’s mutterings.

He would have liked to tuck Harry into bed but he had told the Ravenclaw to meet him at five. Tom had to hurry up four flights of steps to set up the disused classroom he used for Harry’s signing lessons. While Mipsy took Harry to take a bath and brush his teeth, Tom pushed all the desks over to the walls, clearing a patch in the centre of the room. He tapped his wand against his other hand, wondering if there was anything else he should do. The space was rather drab from disuse. He cleaned away most of the dust and used a tricky variation of Lumos to send glowing orbs into ceiling corners. There was probably a spell to repair all the scratches and smudges on the walls and floor but neither Reparo nor Scourgify made any difference. He would need to read up on house hold charms.

At five, Tom stood outside of the classroom waiting. He kept his hands by his side, his face locked in a look of polite anticipation. Minutes dragged by. Tom resisted the urge to cast a tempus charm.

“Riddle!” Eddie, the pink haired Gryffindor keeper, bounced through the hall. “This where your defence club is being held?”

“Defence club?” Tom’s mask briefly slipped.

“Yeah,” Eddie grinned, “heard you’re going to teach us how to defeat Grindelwald.” He reached into his pocket and drew out three sickles, throwing them for Tom to catch. What was it with Quidditch players and always chucking things at him?

Tom rolled the coins around in his hand. “It was four sickles.”

“Three if you brought a friend,” Henry came into view. His fingers brushed against Tom’s as he handed over the money.

“Don’t fear, we’re here,” the Ravenclaw girl and some boy with buzz cut came up to him. They both gave over the three sickles. Tom looked between the four of them.

“Well,” Henry sidled up close to him. He pushed the door wider behind Tom. “Lead the way.”

Wondering what he had gotten himself into, Tom led them into the room. Before he could close the door, three more students stopped him.

“This where we learn to fight?” Whit said, “Professor Merrythought wouldn’t shut up about how you defeated half her students.”

“I wish I had seen that,” Nance sighed wistfully.

“I brought the money,” Leo handed over it over.

“This is only nine sickles,” Tom said, “there’s only three of you. One will have to pay full price.”

“Am I late?” This voice was soft. Tom looked past Henry’s friends and saw a short girl, hunched into herself, a circle of red around her eyes. She glanced up. It was Ruth. Tom hadn’t seen her since Madame Blainey delivered that envelope in ancient runes.

“And that makes four of us,” Leo said, pushing past Tom. “Let’s go.”

“Form a semi-circle.” Tom stood in the centre of the classroom, wand ready in his hand. He would need to scrap his original lesson plan if they thought this was some kind of defence association. It didn’t matter. Twenty-four sickles would cover Eve’s pay with a little left to save. “Wands out.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Henry said and Tom glared at him.

Ruth stood with her wand clasped tightly, her bloodshot eyes filled with a fierce light. She looked ready to kill.

“There are three fundamentals to duelling,” Tom said, “unpredictability, adaptability and speed. To survive a duel against someone like Grindelwald’s men, you’ll need to master all three.” He shot a blast of light at Henry and the Gryffindor was only just able to duck out of the way. “We’ll start,” Tom said, “with speed.”

***

Tom went around the room, correcting grips and student postures. He had transfigured four desks into roughly human shaped dummies and enchanted them to circle the eight students at a normal, jogging pace.

“You’ll need to cast wordlessly,” he stopped at Ruth who was whispering under her breath and pointing at one of the dummies.

“I can’t,” Ruth lowered her wand. “I’ve never been good at this stuff.”

“Hmm,” Tom studied Ruth, “cast Lumos.” The frizzy haired girl looked confused but she said the spell and her wand lit up brightly.

“See,” Tom said, “you know the spell. The only difference between verbal and non-verbal casting is the split second advantage your opponent gets when you say the spell out loud. You just need to picture the spell in your mind and let the magic flow out of you.”

Ruth closed her eyes and gripped her wand tight. Her knuckled paled as she focused but there wasn’t so much as a spark out of her wand.

“I can’t do it,” she repeated, hanging her head low. “I can’t.”

Tom changed his tactic. “What are you picturing?”

Ruth shrugged. “I don’t know, the spell. I’m thinking of Lumos.”

“Just the word?” Tom stepped closer, “you need more than that. Thinks about what the spell does. Picture a white light, a single candle growing brighter and brighter and forcing the darkness out. Feel your magic seeping out from your chest, down your arm and out of your wand. Think of it as electricity and your wand is the bulb and when your magic builds, until it’s almost bursting out of you, turn on that switch and see your wand light up.”

During Tom’s speech, Ruth’s eyes had closed once more. At Tom’s final words, Ruth took a sharp inhale. The tip of her wand started to glow ever so faintly. With each breath, the light grew until it burnt brightly enough that Ruth could see it even through her closed eyelids. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at her wand, mouth slightly open.

“Good job,” Tom said, turning to look at the dummy, “now imagine that is one of Grindelwald’s followers and you want to set them alight.”

Ruth raised her wand, her whole body taught like an exposed electrical wire. Tom had the feeling he wouldn’t want to face Ruth on the wrong side of the war.

By the end of the hour, all four dummies were dust.

“That was fun,” Henry said, throwing up his wand and catching it. “I liked your spell that sliced the dummy into five pieces.”

“I’ve been practising,” Tom couldn’t help a small smile, “that’s the same one I used on that chocolate cake. If your opponent doesn’t know the spell, they won’t know how to defend against it.”

“Harsh,” Henry stuffed his wand into a holster under his robe, “I’d hate to be a cake around you.”

Tom made an undignified snort. He quickly covered the sound with his hand but it wasn’t enough to stifle it.

Henry’s grin widened.

“That was a good lesson,” Whit said, “when are we meeting next? I want to learn how to do that moving shield thing.”

“We can meet every Friday,” Tom suggested.

“That’s ages away,” Nance complained, “what about next Monday.”

“We have Quidditch practices on Monday,” Eddie came over to them.

“We can’t do Wednesdays or Thursdays,” the Ravenclaw boy, Callum, said.

“Tuesdays it is,” Nance clapped her hands. “Same place?”

Tom could almost not believe his luck. Two days a week with eight people. By the end of the year, he might have enough to rent a small apartment for Harry and him for a few weeks at least, enough time to have a break from the orphanage.

“You all want come back?”

Ruth nodded. “I want to train,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I need to.”

“Well then,” Tom said, “same time, same place.”

Tuesdays and Fridays. They were the same times that he had regularly hosted meetings with his Knights last year. He supposed he wouldn’t need to leave them free anymore.

The other students all agreed. Wishing Tom goodnight, they all filed out of the classroom except Henry. Nance whispered something to him and pushed him towards Tom, closing the classroom door behind her.

Tom felt his heart rate pick up as the door shut and they were left alone.

 “What did Nance say?” Tom broke through the silence.

“I always ignore at least half of the things she says on principle,” Henry flipped a seat around and sat on it backwards. “She reads too many romance novels.”

The mention of romance was like a spark beneath Tom's skin. It was both painfully hot and somehow addicting.

“The lesson is over,” Tom felt like he had to mention it.

“Oh, Nance locked the door,” Henry waved his hand, “this isn’t the first time she’s done it. You can try and break the seal but I find it unsticks on its own in about ten minutes.”

Tom ran over to the door and tried it. Just as Henry said, it was locked.

“Why would she do that?” Tom tried Alohomora but, as he suspected, it didn’t work.

Henry shrugged. “I told you, she reads too many romance novels.”

Tom couldn’t see how those two things were related. He’d never had the time for much fiction reading, especially not some trashy romance.

“Sera aparta,” the stronger spell made the lock smoke lightly but it still did not unlock. Tom repeated the spell again and again until the lock burst into flames. When the flames died, the door was still locked.

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” Henry got up from the chair.

“Sera aparta,” Tom grit his teeth. This room didn’t have any windows in it. He focused on the crack of moonlight under the door. There was never any light in the cellar. One of his Lumos globes flickered and died out.

“Hey, hey,” Henry gripped Tom’s left hand that was clasped around his wand. “I’m sure Nance wouldn’t have locked us in if she knew you were claustrophobic.”

“I’m not,” Tom said but he focused on the warmth of Henry’s hand. Henry squeezed him tighter and Tom’s eyes slipped shut. He could feel Henry’s thumb moving in little circles over his palm. His grip on his wand loosened and he let out a shuddering breath.

“Reducto!” Tom jumped, his eyes snapping back open in time to see the entire door be reduced to dust. Henry flicked a loose curl out of his eyes and stashed his wand away.

“After you,” Henry said, gesturing to the now open doorway. He let go of Tom’s hand and he found that he missed the feeling.

“Someone’s going to notice the missing door,” Tom stared at where the door had just been.

“You better hurry along then, Mr Prefect,” Henry said. “I wouldn’t want either of us to get caught.”

“Yes, right,” Tom stepped out of the room. The moment he was out of the dark space, Tom could breath again.

“I’ll talk with Nance,” Henry’s voice became serious, “it won’t happen again.” He seemed strangely nervous despite the fact that they had both been victims of this particular prank.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm,” Tom would usually punish someone who had attempted something of this nature but she was Henry’s friend. He could be merciful, just this once.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday then,” Henry said, giving Tom a small smile.

“Yes, Tuesday,” Tom agreed. His heart was still beating faster than usual, a byproduct of his confinement no doubt.

“Night,” Henry backed away from Tom down the hallway.

“Goodnight,” Tom said. Resolutely ignoring the fluttering in his chest, he made the familiar trek back to the Slytherin dorm, hoping his son was still awake. There were still a few Grimm fairytales they hadn’t read together.

Chapter Text

Tom had a terribly mistake that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. That was if he didn’t die from own embarrassment first. Clearly he was unfit to a member of sophisticated society because despite all the clear evidence of what a ruinous idea this was, Tom had joined Daniel Greens’ gobstones club.

“Come on in,” Greens, please call me Danny, you’re in our club of course we’re friends, said. The Saturday morning gobstones club was held in a rather expertly renovated bathroom. All the stalls, toilets and sinks had been ripped away, leaving a wide expanse of light green and white tiles that formed little flowers. There was an arched, stain glass window that sent colourful dots of light over the floor. Small cushions formed a circle around a gobstones chalk line. Each of the cushions were taken except two. The other five members were each strange. There was a boy with black khol around his eyes and another who Tom couldn’t tell whether they were a boy at all. He was surprised to see Henry’s friend, Leo amongst them, staring off dreamily into the distance. Tom really hoped Leo would not tell Henry about this; he might die of shame.

Greens went around the circle. “This is Connie,” a girl with choppy hair that looked like she had cut it herself and dark lipstick waved. “And her boyfriend Alex.” He pointed at the boy with makeup around his eyes and long eyelashes. “You’ve probably already met Leo and there’s Tee.” The neither-boy-nor-girl, nodded at him. “And Myrtle.” Danny finished. The last girl was rather drab looking with a dour expression on her face. He vaguely recognised her from the Ravenclaw table though she lacked the tear tracks he thought were permanently attached to her cheeks. The group's whole impression would probably make Mrs Cole skip the priest and go straight for an exorcist.

Danny plopped down and patted the cushion next to him. “Everyone welcome Tom.”

Tom itched to insist they call him Riddle. It seemed far too personal for them to use his first name when he rarely extended the same curtesy.

“Do you know how to play?” Danny asked, “I was kind of surprised when you said you wanted to join at breakfast.”

Tom had surprised himself. He had been thinking about his strange reactions around Henry all night and had perhaps been hasty in his decision to ensure a weekly method by which to talk to his Henry's old fancy man. Still, this psychological torment could prove useful.

“I know the rules,” Tom sighed. He would have to find a way to prevent anyone from using this information to blackmail him. It was a good thing Harry was currently away with Ally and Mipsy in the library. He would need a few hours to cleanse himself before he looked his son in the eye again.

“Great,” Danny pulled out a silver case, not flashy or expensive but clearly well-maintained. Inside were different coloured, glass marbles filled with a swirling, green liquid. Tom cast a wordless impervious charm on his clothes and face. “Want to go first?”

Tom squashed down his revulsion. “I would be delighted.”

He took one of the marbles and rolled it across the floor. Tom overshot it slightly and the marble carried through the central ring and ended up in the outermost circle. He felt his face redden. Not only was he playing the most demeaning of wizarding sports but he wasn’t even that good at it.

“Not bad,” Danny said encouraging, “you have good aim, you just need to work on power.”

Tom clenched his teeth to prevent himself from saying something insulting that would get him sent out of the club.

“I’m next,” Danny took a blue marble and curled his wrist as he sent it forward. It ended up in the dead centre of the smallest ring. Tom scowled.

The girl Myrtle was next in line but she seemed distracted by something. She kept tucking her thin, dark hair behind her ear like Parkinson did whenever she insisted Tom call her Dahlia. Her marble missed Danny’s by a longshot but nearly hit Tom’s. For the first round, they continued around the circle, barely talking until Danny’s had the only marble in the centre and everyone else was covered in foul smelling gunk. Tom was grateful he had thought of the impervious charm. His robes might have otherwise been ruined, along with his pride.

“Myrtle, those last throws were a lot better,” Danny said, making the mopey girl blush an unflattering pink. “You’re definitely improving.”

“T-Thanks,” Myrtle stuttered.

“She’s our newest member, apart from you,” Danny turned to Tom, “just joined last week. You can, uh, improve together.”

“Great,” Tom mumbled under his breath.

They started up the next round and the room relaxed into casual conversation.

“Your two year anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” Danny asked Connie and Alex.

“Next Wednesday,” Connie said, rolling a marble forward. “We’re booked a table at the Three Broomsticks for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.”

Tom hadn’t known about that. He didn’t spend much time in the Slytherin common room nowadays. It would be a good time to get Harry a new bedtime story. He wondered if he should invite Henry. Would he say yes?

“Ah, stop,” Tee said, covering their ears, “think of the poor single people.”

“You’ll survive,” Alex deadpanned.

“I keep offering to set you up,” Connie said, “Morene’s been asking about you.”

Tom found it hard to believe a girl would actively seek out any member of a gobstones club.

“No, no,” Tee shook their head, “I’ve sworn off girls, not after Clarissa.”

“Well then,” Connie smirked, “I’ve heard her brother is cute.”

It must be a sin to listen to this kind of debauchery. If it wasn’t for the fact that Mrs Cole would have approved, Tom might have made an excuse there and then to leave the room. He decided to redirect the conversation into safer territory.

“So, Myrtle,” Tom said, “what made you join the gobstones club?”

Myrtle blushed and ducked her head. “Um.”

“I recruited her,” Connie said, “I’m trying to form a coven.”

“She found me in the bathroom,” Myrtle admitted.

Tom could guess that she had been crying.

“Hornby was making fun of my glasses,” Myrtle played with a marble in her hand. She pushed it through and it managed to knock one of Alex’s out of the centre ring.

“Nice,” Alex said and Myrtle smiled. It looked strange on her face like she hadn’t had much practice.

“It was actually something your son said to me,” Myrtle admitted to Tom, “he told me that I might still find something I was good at. Connie offered me a spot in this club.”

“And we’ll make a profession gobstones player out of you yet,” Danny said, smiling at the younger girl.

“Maybe,” Myrtle handed the marble case over to Alex.

The topics kept changing and Tom found it was easy to add his own little comments. The conversation was strange but he found that there wasn't the usual pressure to find the right words. All the members, except maybe Myrtle who mostly looked confused, talked about boys liking boys in much the same way they talked about boys liking girls. Alex even offered to give Tom a makeover. Looking at how the smudged black lines drew attention to Alex’s greenish, brown eyes, Tom found he didn’t hate the idea. Maybe he could pierce Tom’s ears like Nance had done Henry’s. He would just have to remember to take any earrings out before he went back to the orphanage.

“There’s a handy charm for it,” Alex said, “If you get eyeliner, add it around your eye and say fumigant oculi, it will neaten it up.” Alex offered Tom a black stick. When he pulled off the top he saw it was filled with a ink-like substance. No one told him it was only for girls though Leo did warm him to check it wasn’t infested with nargles, whatever they were.

Tom didn’t win any of the gobstones games but he left feeling more relaxed than embarrassed. It was odd, almost like he had enjoyed it. Tom had never made friends his own age before, except maybe Henry. It wasn’t anything like a meeting with his Knights. He didn’t know how useful they could be but maybe...it didn’t really matter. Maybe they could just be there.

Tom shook off the thought. He couldn’t risk trusting a group of relative strangers. Still, he tucked the eyeliner into his pocket. He would test for those nargles later.

“You coming back next week?” Danny asked him, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah,” Tom decided after a second. No one had to find out he was ever here. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Despite living for hundreds of years, undisturbed in the bowels of the castle, Harry insisted that Sylas might get lonely if they didn’t visit her. Keen to explore the chamber, Tom agreed though he put his foot down at the idea of bringing a treat for Sylas to eat.

“She can hunt for herself,” Tom said, checking the no one was in the girl’s bathroom before ducking inside.

“But there’s nothing in the chamber,” Harry protested. He hissed and made a hole open behind the sinks, a stone staircase rising to fill the space. The whispered parseltongue made Tom’s heart swell. He wished Harry would use it more often around him. It could be their secret language.

“She’s lived this long,” the stairs were better than jumping freely down the tube but they were still slippery and crumbling in places. He scooped Harry up, despite his protests, and carried him down into the chamber. “I’m sure she’s getting food somehow and besides basilisk’s tend to eat pteranodon eggs or acromantulas. Where do you suggest we find those?”

Harry muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

⚕Ooh do you have pteranodon eggs? ⚕ Kallo slithered down the stairs behind them. Tom often wondered how much English the snake understood. She rarely responded to anything they said but she could clearly understand some words. For all Tom knew, she could be fluent and simply chose to ignore them.

⚕They’re an endangered species. I don’t know if you can even buy them on the legal market.⚕

⚕Of course I can’t buy them.⚕ Kallo hissed. ⚕But you have hands. You can buy them for me.⚕

Tom sighed. He was doing that a lot lately.

⚕Master.⚕ Sylas burst out of the murky, green basin under the statue of Salazar Slytherin and Tom nearly jumped out of his own skin.

The basilisk curled her tail around Harry and dragged him towards her.

⚕Hello Sy.⚕ Harry hissed, wrapping his arms around the tail in a strange kind of hug.

Part of Tom remained wary of the fifty foot long beast, her fangs inches from Harry’s delicate neck but the snake was gentle with Harry. She licked his cheek and Harry spluttered, trying to wipe the slobber off him. Tom smiled softly.

Keeping Harry in view, he drifted over to the concealed second chamber. The door slid open to reveal Salazar’s study and Tom ran a finger over the dusty book spines. He had already read all the books he had carried out of the chamber last week. Tom hadn’t really checked the titles before he took them. It turned out that Slytherin, or one of the other founders, had an intense love for detective novels in a nearly indecipherable combination of Latin and Gaelic. He had muddled his way through half of them but was rather keen for something that focused a little more on facts than fiction. A dark, leather volume caught his attention and he slid it off the shelf. Flickering it open he saw graphic paintings of men turned inside out or else contorted with a black tar-like substance drippling from empty eye sockets.

Gingerly, Tom perched on one of the cushy armchairs. He started at the beginning, turning the pages slowly as he kept one eye on the doorway.

⚕Play nice.⚕  He hissed when Sylas scooped Harry up and dangled him by his ankle over the green water. Harry was giggling so hard that his whole body was shaking.

⚕No. No. ⚕ He squeaked.

⚕If you get wet, you’ll have to walk back to the dorm with damp clothes. I won’t dry them for you. ⚕

Tom could feel Harry pouting but Sylas grudgingly set him back down on dry land.

⚕You must teach him to hunt.⚕ Sylas hissed at Tom. ⚕He won’t stay a hatchling forever.⚕

Tom looked up from his book at his son, still only a whisp of messy black hair and an oversized red sweater.

⚕Nope. ⚕ Tom decided. ⚕He’s always going to be my hatchling. ⚕

Harry detached himself from Sylas’ coils and came over to Tom. He pulled himself up into the armchair and curled into Tom’s side. Tom absently sunk his free hand into Harry’s curls.

⚕I’m not that young.⚕ Harry mumbled into Tom’s shoulder.

⚕You are my baby.⚕ Tom stroked Harry’s hair. He pulled Harry closer to him, admiring just how small and fragile his son was.

⚕I’m not.⚕ Harry insisted. There was something deeper in those words but Tom ignored it. When he had planned for his sixth year, he hadn’t exactly anticipated this. His carefully organised lists and twenty step programs had crumbled into dust, alongside all the bridges he had formed in Slytherin and yet…Harry was his. This boy, this tiny boy was his. Tom turned another page in his book.

If he could go back in time, Tom didn’t think there was anything he would change.

⚕You are my son. ⚕ Tom whispered back at Harry. ⚕That’s all that matters. ⚕

Harry was quiet. There was no sound except the turn of pages and lapping water.

⚕I’ve heard you talking to Argus and Ally. ⚕ Tom broke the silence gently.

⚕Yeah? ⚕ Harry’s voice turned defensive. ⚕What about it? ⚕

⚕You called me Riddle.⚕ Tom’s fingers became tangled in a particularly stubborn knot. ⚕I don’t expect you to call me dad if you’re not ready but…I’d like it if you called me Tom at least. ⚕

⚕Tom.⚕ Harry sounded out the word. ⚕I-I can do that.⚕

Tom kissed the top of his head. ⚕You know, I love you so much.⚕

Harry squirmed in his chair. ⚕I.⚕ He hesitated, looking up at Tom. ⚕You’re not so bad.⚕

⚕Thanks, kid.⚕ Tom laughed.

Sylas hissed outside the study, ⚕Come master I have found something shiny.⚕

⚕Go on, ⚕ Tom pushed Harry gently, ⚕I know you want to. Just don’t let Sylas convince you to eat any of the rats.⚕

⚕But how else am I supposed to learn to hunt? ⚕ Harry jumped off the armchair and glanced back innocently.

⚕Get going brat,⚕ Tom smiled. ⚕You know where to find me.⚕ Tom watched Sylas drop a tiny of cutlery, old muggle coins and strange metal scrap at Harry’s feet, wapping her tail like she was an oversized puppy.

⚕I found it in the pool. You can keep it. I know humans like shiny things.⚕

⚕I love them.⚕ Harry hissed, looking back to raise his eyebrows at Tom.

Tom bit back his grin as he shrugged. He wished he could preserve this moment forever, tether it to the ground and never let go.

Turning to his book, he flipped over another page. His eyes were drawn to the title in bold, capital letters.

HORCRUXES

Chapter Text

Riddle, or well Tom, Harry supposed, wouldn’t stop fussing over him.

“What about the light blue button up?” Tom held it up, “It has little sailing ships on it. I’ve shrunk it down to your size.”

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” Harry plucked at his red t-shirt with a picture of a Hungarian Horntail on it. It was a little childish and rather crinkled but Harry liked how inaccurate the dragon was, its fangs curved into a goofy smile.

“You’re meeting Eve today,” Tom put the blue button up on Harry’s bed. “I think this will go nicely with your black slacks and we can polish your shoes.”

“I don’t think Eve will care,” Harry said but he pulled on the button up anyways. It seemed to make Tom relax a little. He stopped fiddling with Harry’s laces and obsessively smoothing out any wrinkles. The actions were all so human. He couldn’t see Voldemort caring about whether Harry had his shoes shined or his shirts ironed. It made Harry wonder where everything had gone wrong. His future self would probably, no definitely, call him crazy but Harry couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t mean anything when Tom said he loved him or that Harry was his son. He had never had a father. It was nice.

“She’s doing us a favour,” Tom said, “and it never hurts to dress well.” He moved to stand behind Harry and did his best to smooth down Harry’s hair. “I should ask what product Henry uses,” he muttered under his breath, turning one of Harry’s loose curls around his finger. “Uh, it’s part of your charm.” He pat Harry on the head and pushed him forwards.

“We have time for signing lessons and breakfast before she arrives. Try not to spill anything on your clothes.”

“I won’t,” Harry tucked his shirt into his pants. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“I know you will,” Tom said, “you’re a good kid.”

Yeah, Harry could not longer pretend that those words didn’t make his whole body feel warm and light. He was getting tired of keeping his emotions locked up. It was easier just to lean into Tom’s hand and believe him.

***

Argus wasn’t at their usual signing lessons.

For the full hour, Harry and Tom waited but Argus never appeared. Ally showed them a few new signs but without Argus to translate, she had to keep switching between signing and scribbling in a notebook. His absence hung in the air around them like distant rainclouds, dark and heavy.

They stayed around for an extra ten minutes but had to admit that Argus was not coming.

He wasn’t at breakfast either and if it wasn’t for Tom’s insistence, Harry would have pushed away his porridge and left to search for his friend. When Tom wasn’t looking, Harry dropped his spoon and ducked under the table. Making sure no one was watching, he pulled out the marauder’s map and scanned it for a tiny black dot with Argus’ name. There he was, moving around close to the owlery. Had he eaten today? Ally’s leg nudged against Harry and he jerked up, almost banging his head against the table.

He poked out from under the table and held the spoon up triumphantly.

“Hurry up now,” Tom said, “I want to speak to Eve before class.”

Have fun. Ally signed. She bit at her lower lip. If you see Argus, make sure he’s ok.

We will. Tom promised.

Eve was waiting for them next to the gargoyle outside Dippet’s office.

“Hello, Tom, Harry,” Eve said. She was dressed in a sun yellow plaid skirt, white blouse and white gloves today. Her white hair was in neat rolls stacks on top of her head with tiny, daisies dotted amongst them.

“Eve,” Tom nodded at Harry’s new tutor. “Has Dippet provided you a place to stay?”

“Oh, yes,” Eve said in her crisp, English accent, “it is perfectly pleasant. He has allowed us use of the transfiguration classroom on level three and a potions lab.”

“That sounds amenable,” Tom said and Eve smiled, exposing dimples on both of her cheeks.

“I will leave Kallo with you,” Tom added, “this is non-negotiable.”

Eve let out a small shriek when she saw the huge snake slither around the corner and nudge Harry’s foot. “What, what is that?”

“She is not venomous,” Tom assured Eve. Harry was almost certain that was not true but it made Eve relax a little.

“She’s very well trained,” Tom pet Kallo on the forehead, “but…” he narrowed his eyes, “highly protective.”

“Understandable,” Eve swallowed dryly, “but maybe warn me next time.”

“Apologies,” he might be faking it but Harry thought he heard sincerity in Tom’s voice, “it won’t happen again.”

“Do you have any more gigantic snakes for a pet?” Eve watched Kallo flick out her tongue and taste the air.

Tom exchanged a quick look with Harry, “I’ll leave you to get acquainted. I can’t be late for transfiguration.”

“I’ll meet you after class,” Eve said, “come with me Harry. We have quite a few placement exams to complete.”

That didn’t sound much like Harry’s idea of fun but he supposed it was necessary. Now he just had to figure out how much he should reveal.

The first test was mathematics. Harry helped show Eve the way up to a disused transfiguration classroom and sat down on a desk near the front. Eve placed five loose sheets of muggle paper on the desk and pulled out a silver pocket watch.

“You have one hour.” Eve said, “it’s alright if you don’t finish all the questions. Just try your best.”

Harry flipped over the first page and was relieved to see it was covered with simple addition and subtraction questions. They seemed easy enough for a five year old. He filled them all in and turned to the next page.

The questions escalated in difficulty but they were all things Harry remembered learning in grade one, two or three. If he pretended to get these wrong, Harry would probably die of boredom before Christmas. It might be impressive for a five year old to know basic multiplication but it was still within the realm of possibility. Tom would no doubt explain it away as evidence of his superior genes.

This pattern was repeated for maths, science, English and Latin. Harry pushed away the maths papers and reached for the next satchel of questions. Eve hadn’t given him any tests for history or magical studies but there were a few bonus questions about what he found easy, hard or wanted to learn in the future. Harry answered them as best as he could and slid all the pages back to Eve.

She scooped them up, her eyebrows rising higher and higher as she read through him.

There was a chance Harry had made a slight miscalculation but there was no changing things now.

“Good job, Harry,” Eve said. There was a tinkling chime from Eve’s watch and she fiddled with a dial on the side. “That’s the hour up,” she looked at Harry, “and you’ve completed all four exams.”

Whoops.

Chapter Text

Tom shoved his runes textbook back into his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, already half way out of the door before Professor Dromgoole dismissed the class. He headed straight to the transfiguration classroom and pushed the door open.

“Harry,” Tom saw his son sprawled across the ground with a stack of crayons and loose paper. Eve sat opposite him, her legs neatly crossed.

At Tom’s words, Harry looked up and ran over to him. “Look what I drew.” He held out a colourful drawing of five stick figures and a scribbling line that might have been a snake.

“Is that me?” Tom pointed at the tallest figure. “Why don’t I have a nose?”

“Oops,” Harry bit back a smile, “guess I forgot.”

“How was he?” Tom turned to Eve. She rose to her feet, dusting off her skirt.

“He was a delight,” Eve said. She handed over a pile of papers, each marked in red ink. Every single one of them has fifty/fifty in the corner. “You have a little genius on your hand.”

Hary ducked his head, blushing. It was very cute.

“I have written up a new lesson plan,” Eve passed over another piece of paper, “I thought we would start with muggle studies and integrate magical theory later. If you would permit it, I would add a few meditation sessions. From what you’ve described about Harry’s arrival, he has a powerful magical core and it could be valuable to prevent outbursts.”

“That sounds advisable,” Tom agreed. He looked back at Harry. “Did you have fun?”

“Yep,” Harry said, bouncing on his toes, “I made more pictures.” Littered on the ground was something that somewhat resembled a ferret being attacked by a hippogriff, a bat drowning in cauldron and another toad on fire. It was somehow vaguely threatening and adorable.

“I love the shading on that one,” Tom said, gesturing to one of the drawings. Harry beamed.

“How does Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays work?” Eve ruffled Harry’s hair.

“That will work but I will need to pick Harry up early on Wednesdays. I can pay you on Fridays.”

“I will see you on Wednesdays then,” Eve said, “Or at dinner, I suppose. I have given Harry a few worksheets and picture books for the meanwhile.”

“Thank you,” Tom could appreciate Eve’s conciseness. With a final nod at Harry, Tom and Kallo lurking under a desk, Eve stepped from the room.

⚕Did she do anything?⚕ Tom hissed at Kallo.

⚕I fell asleep.⚕ Kallo slithered out from under the desk and nudged Tom’s foot. Tom bent down to scratch under her chin. ⚕It was very boring.⚕

Tom could accept that.

“You must be hungry,” he said to Harry, “I see you’ve been working very hard. I’m proud of you.” Tom had read how important that phrase was in Reginald Bell’s book. “We can ask Mipsy for some treacle tart tonight.”

Harry had hid his face at the praise but two brown eyes peeked out hopefully at the mention of food.

“Come along,” Tom said, “you can show Ally your drawings.”

Argus made an appearance at dinner but he seemed distant. He ate mechanically and said nothing, only signing to Ally.

Nott was watching Argus closely. He had an odd look on his face.

At the end of the night Tom tucked Harry into bed. He stood and admired the drawings he had arranged neatly on the walls. They were a good addition to the space. It seemed that Eve would do nicely as Harry’s tutor. It would have been ideal if Argus could join him in class. His silence was growing concerning but Tom didn’t know what he should do about it. Was it even his place to try?

Tom turned to Harry’s stick figure drawing. There he was. From the messy, black lines on one of the figure's head he could tell which one was Harry. Beside him was two near identical people with bright yellow hair and another tall boy with brown hair and a red tie. It looked like a family portrait.

Tom’s gaze drifted over to the thick volume on his bedside table, a spare bit of parchment acting as a bookmark. Watching Harry to make sure he was sleeping, Tom sat on his bed and drew the book near to him.

He had already read the whole thing but his eyes kept being drawn to the same chapter.

Immortality.

It sounded too good to be true. Tom could outlive Dumbledore. Change the wizarding world, year by year, watch it enter a new golden age and live to see it fall. He would never die in that car crash, he would leave Harry alone with those muggles.

The book was frustratingly vague. It outlined the spells and rituals but Tom needed proof. He could kill someone. There were people Tom had pictured curled on the ground, gasping for a final breath of air. It would be easy.

And yet, much of the page was overcrowded with warnings and cautionary tales that left very little room for the answers Tom desperately needed. If a vessel was damaged would the soul shard return to him or simply vanish? Could you secure your immortality with more than one anchor point? Most importantly, could you make a horcrux for another person? For multiple people? Tom looked over at the stick figure drawing on the wall. Everyone in the picture was smiling, their hands intertwined.

Tom would have to visit the restricted section.

It was earlier than he usually went to bed but the book’s cursive scrawl was growing blurry as he strained to read it. Tom slipped under his quilt and flicked off the light, leaving only a jar of bluebell flames beside Harry’s bed to keep the room from pitch blackness. Within second, his eyes flickered shut.

That night he dreamt of his bogart and woke feeling thoroughly unrested.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong with Argus.

He wasn’t there for signing lessons, he wasn’t at breakfast. Tom tried to catch him between lessons but it seemed that in the few weeks Argus had worked with the caretaker, he had already learnt to disappear into the castle and become just another ghost. Whenever he did see Argus, their interactions were infuriating. Tom just couldn’t figure out what was pushing Argus away from him.

At lunch, Tom ate quickly. Ally was off at the Hufflepuff table and Argus was still gone. If it wasn’t for Harry, Tom would have pushed his plate away ten minutes ago. It wasn’t fleeing; Tom was merely reluctant to spend more time with his Slytherin housemates than necessary. He mostly tuned out their conversation but Parkinson’s words filtered through his musings.

“The funeral’s on Friday,” she was talking to Walburga, her voice hushed.

“Are you going to go?” Walburga asked.

“It’s not like I knew the man,” Parkinson stabbed at a pierce of lettuce, “we’d only met twice.”

Tom frowned. From Parkinson’s reaction to Grindelwald’s attack on Dover, Tom had assumed that she was at the very least fond of that French boy. He knew arranged marriages were customary and there was rarely love involved but Parkinson had fled from the hall crying. That seemed like an overreaction for someone who was barely an acquaintance. Then again, Parkinson had batted her eyelashes at him and twirled loose hair around her finger. Tom wasn’t oblivious. He could tell when girls wanted more from him even if he had no desire to indulge them. Parkinson couldn’t have been in love with that Aloysius if she was going fishin’ with Tom.

“Have you finished your homework?” Tom stored Parkinson’s conversation into the back of his mind and turned to Harry.

“All done,” Harry said. He pulled out a pile of papers and handed them over to Tom.

“Hmm,” Tom skimmed through them. “I have a few handwriting books I don’t need anymore. I think it would be beneficial to improve your writing.” He saw Harry’s smile falter and hastened to add. “But good job. You’ve done very well.”

Tom added a few more green beans on Harry’s plate. “Eat up. You have a lot growing to do.”

Harry grumbled but ate the vegetables.

Since Eve didn’t work on Tuesdays, Harry joined Tom for afternoon classes, sitting at a spare desk with more crayons and parchment. While Binns droned on about goblin wars, Tom’s eyes kept being drawn to the window. He could see Pringle’s hut. Tom gripped his wand tightly under the desk.

“Switch seats with me,” someone whispered to the kid in the desk beside him. Tom twisted around and saw Alex slide into the spot next to him. There was a ring of golden kohl around his eyes today, matching the glitter high on his cheekbones and in his dark, shaggy hair.

“Oi, Tom,” Alex hissed.

Tom weighed the merits of ignoring his fellow gobstones player. Uh, wasn’t that a unfortunate sentiment. He could only hope that Alex wouldn’t start talking about gobstones. Harry was within hearing distance. Tom couldn’t have his son thinking he was uncool.

Alex opened his mouth and Tom couldn’t risk them being overheard. His social standing was already tenuous.

“What is it?” He mouthed back.

“Your club,” Alex said, casting Dumbledore furtive glances, “you looking for more members?”

For a second, Tom thought Alex was referring to his Knights but even if he had heard about them, Alex was a muggle born.

“My tutoring group?” Tom guessed. It was hardly a club.

“Leo told me about it,” Alex said, “I have the money. Three sickles, right?”

“If you bring a friend.”

“Sweet,” Alex leaned back into his chair, “I’ll them know.”

To Tom’s relief Alex did not try and engage in further conversation. Tom finished his transfiguration essay and began to doodle absently on the back of the parchment. It could be beneficial to focus on spells that could be both defensive and offensive. A ricocheting shield or conjunctivitis curse could end a duel in one move.

“You have a tutoring group?” Harry spoke up as they left the class. He spoke innocently but there was something like suspicion in the way he said “tutoring.”

“I do,” Tom said carefully, watching Harry’s reaction.

“What do you tutor?” Harry’s voice was still casual. They made their way down a moving staircase and Harry easily stepped over the trick step, without looking down.

“Defence mostly.” Tom said, feeling Harry’s intense gaze on him.

“When is your next session?”

“Tonight,”

“I want to come,” Harry stopped walking and stood firm.

“Ok,” It could be valuable for Harry to see defensive magic in action even if he was too young to replicate Tom’s methods. “You would have to be in bed by seven thirty and stay behind my shields.” He looked over and saw Harry’s mouth hanging slightly open. Surely it wasn’t that surprising that Tom would allow Harry to join him. It was just a tutoring club.

All the way through dinner, Tom’s whole body was buzzing. He had never had the chance to show off his magic to Harry. There some parseltongue spells from Slytherin’s library that he hadn’t tried yet.

Tom led Harry away from the table, the moment the desserts vanished. He shed his outer robes and rolled up his sleeves, ducking into the disused classroom. With a wave of his wand, he set up more enchanted dummies and some crash mats. After a second of thought, he added some soundproofing spells to the walls and door.

Harry jerked up at those muttered incantations. He schooled his expression but Tom didn’t miss the way he eyes widened behind his glasses.

At five to five, Tom added the final touches to the room and stepped out to wait for others to arrive. Henry was the first to come, joined by Whit, Leo and Nance. As expected, Harry ran straight past Tom to Henry, his face splitting into a wide grin.

“I’ve missed you,” Henry said, scooping Harry up.

“It’s only been a week,” Harry undermined his protests somewhat by immediately tucking his head under Henry’s chin and snuggling close to his chest.

“Yeah, but you’re a baby,” Henry rocked side to side. “That’s like half your lifetime.”

Ruth and the two Ravenclaws came up to Tom and handed over the money.

“I’ve been reading,” Ruth said, “I found a book in the restricted section.”

“How did you get permission?” The Ravenclaw Lorange interrupted, “I can never get anyone to sign those slips of paper.”

Ruth shrugged. Tom noticed that her eyes were still bloodshot though there was more colour in her cheeks than last week. “I didn’t get a note. I just walked into the isle. No one stopped me.” She pulled a thick, dusty volume out of a faded backpack. Flipping to her bookmark, she shoved it under Tom’s nose.

Just skimming the titles, Tom saw that it was a book outlining fairly graphic torture methods. His focus was drawn to a modified flame freezing spell that would leave no mark but make its victim feel like they were burning to death. Another spell could draw oxygen straight out of someone’s lungs causing them to slowly suffocate to death. He looked up at Ruth.

“Well,” she said, “I thought some of these could be useful.”

“I think we’ll start with some more defensive spells,” Tom pushed the book back towards her gingerly. He almost felt a little bad for whoever had hurt Ruth’s family. Henry carried Harry into the classroom and the rest of the group followed, spreading out to fill the space.

Tom stood at the front next to the room’s only surviving blackboard. “Today I am going to be focusing on shield charms,” he said to the class, “there are sev-.”

The door burst open.

“Hey,” Danny said, “sorry we’re late.” The question about who exactly this “we” referred to was answered a second later when what must have been Hogwarts’ entire gobstones club filed into the room. It wasn’t just the students Tom had met on the weekend. There were about twenty people, some of whom couldn’t have been older than twelve with ties in each house colour, even a tiny Slytherin that might have been related to the Fawleys. They all shared a look that screamed “outsider.” There was Myrtle with her thick rimmed glasses, Alex with all his glitter, students that were hunched into themselves or else posturing like they were ready to duel anyone that looked at them funny. There was barely enough room for all the students. One by one, they passed over their three sickles until Tom’s pockets grew heavy. How on in heaven's name had Danny got so many people to come?

“Well,” Tom cleared his throat, feeling a little light headed, “as I was saying…”

He started with the most basic shield, protego. It was probably for the best. Some of the younger students couldn’t even hold their wands correctly and kept dropping them. Tom hadn’t been prepared to battle against such incompetence but they had paid the fee and he was not in a position to refuse the money.

He would have to find another space for these tutoring sessions. Tom had to dodge misfired spells more than once as he tried to reach those who were struggling. In the crowd, it took a while to notice that Harry had moved away from the little, protective bubble he had created and was wandering between the students.

He stopped in front of the Slytherin boy. With the Slytherin’s poor posture, they were almost the same height. The tiny boy was sweating, jabbing his wand at the dummies but only a sparks came out of it. Harry was saying something to the boy and Tom strained to catch his words under the sound of nearly thirty people shouting incantations.

He watched as whatever Harry said made the boy relax. The kid stopped trying to poke out someone’s eye and within a few tries, a wispy, white fog poured out of his wand and formed a feeble shield around both of them.

Entirely distracted by the display, Tom didn’t notice a streak of light coming towards him. Someone grabbed his arm and he was roughly pulled to the side. The spell struck against the wall and exploded in a puff of dust.

“That was close,” Henry said, hastily letting go of Tom. “I’d hate to see something happen to your pretty face.”

Tom scowled. “Thank you,” he bit out, feeling his face burn. It was bad enough that Henry had beaten him in a duel. He wasn’t some girl that needed rescuing.

“Don’t mention it,” Henry said easily. “Want to see my shield, professor?” he raised his wand, “I’ve been practising.”

“I know you can cast protego.”

“I modified it a little,” Henry grinned crookedly, “I think you’ll like it.” He silently drew a complicated figure of eight in the air and a shimmering, semi-translucent shield formed in front of him. It didn’t look much different than a normal protego.

“Go on,” Henry said, “cast a spell at me.”

Tom raised his eyebrows but shot off a quick stupefy. The moment it struck Henry’s shield, there was a sound like a rubber duck being squeezed. Somehow, Henry had combined the protego charm with a sound mirroring charm. It was a combination Tom had not seen before.

“That could be an effective distracting technique,” Tom mused.

“That’s what I was going for,” Henry nodded seriously.

At the far end of the room, there was a flash of orange light and the distinct smell of smoke.

“You better get that,” Henry stepped back from Tom. “I’m going to see if I can make it change colour.”

“I’d go for something neon,” Tom suggested over his shoulder as he wormed his way towards the explosion, “perhaps a bright green.”

“Or a bright red,” Henry called after him.

The fire was put out and Tom managed to wrangle Harry away from the most volatile students. By the end of two hours, everyone could perform a basic protego and Henry’s shield could change colour and sound with every spell that struck it, creating an almost nauseating effect.

“We need a name,” Henry said as everyone worked their way out of the classroom.

“Why do we need a name?” Tom held Harry’s hand so he wouldn’t get swept up with the crowd.

“It’s not a proper club without a name,” Danny came up to them, “hey Henry.” He nodded at the Gryffindor.

“Danny,” Henry looked between Tom and Danny. “how do you two know-?”

“It’s not a club, it’s just a tutoring group,” Tom interrupted before Danny could reveal his shame.

Henry gestured to all the students lingering around to talk to each other. “It could be.”

Tom looked around. There were more people here than had ever been part of his Knights. Everyone was smiling and discussing the spell they’d learnt in excited voices. They seemed happy to be here.

Harry was watching Tom closely, his head tilted to the side.

“On Friday,” Tom said to Danny, “tell anyone who wants to come to meet me on the seventh floor, next to the portrait of trolls learning ballet.”

“I know the one,” Danny nodded, “I’ll let them know.”

“I’ll talk to the quidditch team,” Henry said, “we could add some physical defence lessons along with the magic. It could be useful to know how to throw a punch.”

“And survival skills,” Harry spoke up below them, “how to get food and shelter.”

“Not a bad idea,” Danny hummed, “I know people who have been forced to go on the run.”

“We still need a name,” Henry circled back. “We could be a coven.”

“Or a church,” Danny added.

“We could all be high priests,” Henry grinned, “that would be swell.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed movement. He twisted around and there, at the end of the corridor was Walburga. She was staring at the group, her lips pinched together. For a single moment, Tom thought he saw a flash of hurt on her face. Walburga turned on her heel and strode away from Tom, disappearing out of sight.

“Uh, I’ll think on it,” Tom said, watching her leave. “I better take Harry to bed.” He wished Danny and Henry goodnight, his thoughts drifting away to the look on Walburga’s face. Tom kept thinking about it all the way down to the Slytherin dorm. The Black family were trained to hide their emotions behind a cool façade that Tom had learnt to copy. In rare moment, he had witnessed bitterness or fury in Walburga but never such unfiltered hurt. It was a dangerous look and Tom was left to wonder what had caused it and what Walburga would do next.

Chapter Text

Tonight Henry was going to teach them how to make Apple Bavarian Torte and Argus was going to be there. Harry was not letting his friend disappear, not this time. He spent the morning doing chemistry experiments with Eve but he couldn’t focus on the volcanos and bubbles. Eve could clearly sense his distraction.

“I’m just hungry,” Harry said, pushing away the glass beakers Eve had brought with her.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Eve suggested and Harry pounced on the offer.

“Could I go down to the kitchens, please?” He said, “Mipsy can come with me.”

“Of course,” Eve straightened up. “I’ll set up our next activity. Make sure you’re back in fifteen minutes.”

Harry jumped off his chair. “I will.” Before he had fully rounded the corner out of Eve’s sight, Harry pulled out the marauders map and scanned for Argus’s dot. With most of the school in class, it was easy to find Argus on the fifth floor but as Harry peered at the parchment closely, he saw that he wasn’t alone.

There was another dot, almost overlapping his. It belonged to Tiberius Nott.

Harry took every short cut he knew up the moving staircases and through the corridors. He heard Nott’s voice ahead and slowed down. Peering around the corner, he saw Nott standing over Argus, his fingers curled into fists. Argus stared right back him, his mop discarded.

“You think you’ll end up one big, happy family,” Nott was speaking with such vitriol that Harry physically recoiled.

“What do you know about it?” Argus spat. He wasn’t backing down against the older student, despite the wand clasped in Nott’s fist. It made Harry wonder what house Argus would have been sorted into if he was a wziard. He could have made quite the Gryffindor. 

Nott growled. He grabbed Argus roughly by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. “He doesn’t care about you.” Nott snapped, “if you had any sense you would leave, go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Argus struggled against Nott’s grip.

Harry wrapped his fingers around the hawthorn wand but Nott had already released Argus. He let him drop to the ground in a heap and turned away.

“You won’t last long here,” Nott muttered, “he’ll find someone new, mark my words.” Looking over his shoulder, Harry was surprised to see unfiltered anguish in Nott’s eyes. “Give it a year,” he said, “and when you get replaced too, don’t come crying to me.”  

Leaving Argus on the ground, Nott strode off with a swish of his cloak.

Harry ran over to Argus and knelt down.

“Are you alright?” He helped Argus to his feet and handed him his mop.

“I’m fine,” Argus brushed down his pants. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Right,” Harry quickly stowed his wand into his pocket, trying to think of the right thing to say. “And Nott, did he, has he-?”

“I can take care of myself,” the same defensive tone he had used with Harry last week crept into Argus' voice, “I don’t need you, or Nott or anyone telling me what to do.”

“I won’t,” Harry backtracked, stepping a little away from Argus. “I’m not trying to control you. I just…want to make sure you’re ok.”

Argus relaxed a little. “I’m ok,” he said but Harry wasn’t sure if he believed that.

“How’s your arm?”

Argus’ hand instinctively went to rub at his shoulder. “Ally gave me some bruise balm.”

“That’s good,” Harry fiddled with his sleeve cuff. “You haven’t been showing up at meals or for signings lessons.”

“I’ve been busy,” Argus wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“I’ve missed you.”

Silence fell between the two of them.

“I know you say you're ok,” Harry said at last, “but are you happy?”

“I like being busy,” Argus dumped the mop into its bucket and sloshed the water around. “I have a place to live. I get to stay with my sister. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“And Pringle?” The name made Argus’ head snap back up.

“He told me he loved me yesterday,” Argus said. He stopped mopping for a moment and stood still. "He seemed to mean it. I don't think my parents ever really meant it, even before they found out I was..." He gestured vaguely at himself. 

“And what about you?”

“I don’t know,” Argus murmured, “I don’t know what its supposed to feel like. What is it like for you?” He turned to Harry, “to have a dad?”

Harry's immediate reaction was to say he didn’t know but that wasn’t quite true anymore. He thought of Tom fussing over him, making sure he wore a helmet and drank his milk. “Safe,” Harry decided, “and warm.”

“That sounds nice,” Argus’s eyes scanned around the corridor, just like he had in the empty potions classroom. It was as if he was searching for a camera, hidden somewhere between the portraits. “Pringle he…” Argus lowered his voice and Harry leaned closer to him, “he cares about me. He has bought me new socks and he’s already picked out my Christmas present. I saw him stow the box under his bed. He caught me, told me not to look. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“And do you feel safe with him?” Harry couldn’t imagine Pringle’s dead eyes full of any kind of love but he would have said the same thing about Riddle once. What did he know?

“I do, of course I do but sometimes,” Argus’ voice dropped even lower, “at night. I hear Pringle’s door open and he just stands there. I can feel him watching me.” Argus shifted between his feet. “And he just keeps watching. I asked him about it once and…I might have just been dreaming. I don’t know but…”

“Harry! There you are.” Eve’s heels clacked against the stone. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Sorry, Eve,” Harry hadn’t realised just how much time had passed.

“I feel you’ve had more than enough time for your break,” Eve said, raising an eyebrow, “we still have work to do before lunch.” She smiled past Harry. “And you must be Argus. Tom has told me about you."

“Yes ma’am,” Argus nodded.

“You’re always welcome to come to my classes,” Eve said softly, “I’ll make sure to save a seat.”

“I don’t think I have the time for that,” Argus went back to mopping, “but thank you.”

“Anytime,” Eve reached for Harry’s hand, “come on now. We have work to do.”

Harry forced himself away from Argus. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?” He said, before Eve had led him out of the corridor. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Argus smiled, leaning against his mop, “alright. I’ll be there.”  

Chapter Text

It had been thirty minutes and Argus was still no where to be seen. Tom hovered outside the room of requirement, his arms aching under the weight of Henry’s groceries.

“I can take them from you,” Henry offered. Hoisting the groceries higher, Tom scowled at the Gryffindor. Henry just rolled his eyes. He drew his wand and cast a featherlight charm on the bags and Tom wished he could sink into the floor.

“He promised he’d be here,” Harry looked around the empty corridor. Beside him, Ally was wearing a hole in her jumper.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” Tom ignored the worry gnawing at his chest.

“But he promised,” Harry’s words were barely above a whisper. He stared down at his oversized sneakers. Henry put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it softly.

“Do you want to chose the room?” Henry said to Ally, signing along with the words he knew. It was a good thing that Ally could read lips. She giggled at Henry’s signs. They were certainly enthusiastic.

Ally glanced at Tom and he nodded, gesturing for her to walk up and down the corridor three times. The familiar wooden door appeared in front of Tom and he held it open. Once Harry, Ally and Henry were inside, he stepped through and into a beautiful garden. The castle’s walls had melted into wide, lush hedges that stretched up into a cloudy sky, heavy with the promise of rain. Tom was standing in a patch of thick clover, dotted with tiny, white flowers. In the centre of the room was a steel table and a set of chairs, their joints rusted from what looked like years under the elements.

“It’s lovely,” Henry said, “is this part of the Filch estate?”

Ally nodded, running a hand over the hedge until it met a section of leaves that were less densely packed. They parted under her hand, revealing a hole big enough for a small child to slip through.

“I didn’t know the Filch’s could afford this,” Tom said.

It’s my grandmother’s garden. Ally signed. She left the manor to my father.

“We might need an oven,” Henry moved over to the table and wiped off the dirt. “And a stovetop.”

Ally closed her eyes and a bright red counter appeared with a matching, oven, stove and sink. Just like the garden chairs, there was rust between the hinges but when Henry cranked the dial, flames flickered to life.

“This will work,” Henry summoned a pan and dribbled a generous amount of oil and garlic into it. He looked at Ally. “Do you want to cut up the steak?”

Ally shook her head. She trailed back over to the chairs and Lottie squirmed out of her pocket. The kitten crawled onto her shoulder and sat on her new perch to watch Henry remove the fat from around the steak. He offered the potatoes to Tom and went to give Harry a piece of caramel from the bag but Tom snatched it out of his hand.

“Not until after dinner.”

The air filled with the smell of frying meat as Henry chatted with Henry and Ally about their day.

I think I made a friend. Ally signed, her gestures small.

“Yeah?” Tom looked up from the boiling potatoes, "someone from Hufflepuff?” He signed along as he spoke.

Ally had her face half buried in Lottie’s fur. He’s in Gryffindor, in the year above me. He likes cats.

“Would I know him?”

I don’t think so. Ally buried her face deeper into Lottie’s fur. Argus saw us talking.

“Your friend knows sign language?”

Ally scratched under Lottie’s chin. He did most of the talking. Lottie’s part K.N.E.A.Z.E.L, you know. You can tell because her…

Tom couldn’t understand half of the words but there was a gleam in Ally’s eyes. And he said that he used to have two crup puppy he kept under his bed and…Ally hands faltered. That was when Argus saw us.

“Was that today?” Henry was watching Ally and Tom closely, following their hand movements.

Ally chewed her lower lip. After lunch. I didn’t get a chance to talk with him.

And now he’s not here went unsaid.

 “It’s good you’re making friends your own age,” Tom said, drawing out his journal. “Now tell me everything about this boy.”

Henry brought over three plates ladened with steak, mashed potatoes and salad. “I’ve set some aside for Argus,” he said, “There’s some caramel apples as well.”

“Thanks, Henry,” Tom pulled out a seat for him.

They lapsed into silence as everyone cut into the steak and vegetables. The steak was nothing like the bland, stiff meat Mrs Cole would give them at Christmas that was like eating leather. It was soft and somewhat buttery. Tom had to make a conscious effort not to wolf it down. Harry didn’t care so much for manners.

Henry threw a napkin at him. “How was school?”

Harry caught it easily and swallowed his mouthful of food, looking a little abashed. “It was good. Eve is teaching me about states of matter.” At Tom and Ally’s blank looks he added, “you know, solids, liquids and gasses. We made a balloon swell up over a bottle.”

“I want to try that,” Henry turned contemplative, “it’s a shame really that the Potter’s never hired a science tutor. I’m surprised my ma and da haven’t risen from the dead to lecture me on chemical bonds.”

“What did they teach you? The Potters?” Tom turned to Henry.

“Well,” Henry rubbed the back of his neck, “The Potters mostly homeschooled us. They hired tutors in English and maths for Fleamont but I didn’t exactly make it easy for them.” He picked at one of the green beans on his plate.

“In what way?” Tom asked, leaning forward.

Henry smile was too symmetrical. “You’ve seen me at practice. It’s mostly a party trick now but I was a little kleptomaniac,” he let out a self-deprecating huff of laughter. “I’d steal the tutor's wand and barricade myself in the attic. The Potters decided it was better for everyone if they kept to homeschooling.”

“That weren’t mad?” Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“Nah,” Henry finished the last of his plate and pushed it away, “I think the Potters were just happy that I didn’t shank any of them.”

“Did you try to?” Tom had seen the boys at the orphanage that went in and out of the police stations. He couldn’t picture Henry amongst them.

“No but I did hoard the kitchen knives,” Henry shrugged. “enough about me. There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He looked at Tom. “How do you know Danny?”

Tom froze. “Uh, we met,” he said vaguely, glancing between Henry, Ally and Harry.

“You met?”

“In the library,” Tom said vaguely.

“It seems like you know him pretty well,” Henry stood up and took the empty plates to the sink. “He calls you Tom.”

“He does.”

“And you call him Danny.”

“It’s complicated.”

Henry paused at the sink. “Complicated?”

Tom searched for someway to reroute the conversation into safer territory. Thinking of the gobstones club he remembered Alex and Connie talking about an upcoming Hogsmeade trip. That must be this weekend.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you as well…” Tom started but Henry interrupted him.

“Just how complicated is it?”

“What?” Tom stared at the Gryffindor.

Henry met his eyes and he seemed to deflate. “Sorry,” he muttered, “it’s not my place.”

“Is there something I should know about Danny?” Tom asked. Henry seemed to be struggling with something.

“No!” Henry said a little too loudly, “he’s a great guy, a little too into gobstones,” Tom ducked his head, “but um, he’s great.”

“You said there was dessert?” Harry piped up and it was like a string was cut. Henry visibly relaxed and rushed over to a pot on the stove.

“Of course,” Henry found three bowls, “there’s caramel or chocolate sauce.”

“Chocolate,” Harry said at the same time Ally signed caramel.

The rest of the dinner was uneventful. They tucked into their roast apples and Harry talked about a time he had ended up on his school roof.

I would have joined you on the roof. Ally signed. I was always trying to drag Argus away from our tutors. He was such a suck up to adults. Ally glanced at Argus’ uneaten portion on the bench and her fond expression faltered.

Henry packed it into a to-go box and handed it to Ally. “Tell your brother we missed him tonight.” he said, “he’s always welcome here.”

I’ll tell him. Ally signed, waving goodnight to Harry and Tom. Her hand lowered, if I can find him.

Tom and Harry followed her out of the room, leaving the garden behind them. Outside, Tom offered to walk Henry back to his tower but Henry shook his head.

“I can find my way,” he said, “take care, Tom, Harry.”

Tom watched him leave, something twisting in his chest until Harry tugged on his hand.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Tom hoisted his son into his arms.

Once they were back in the Slytherin dorms and Harry was tucked into bed, Tom realised that he had never asked Henry to go to Hogsmeade with them. Tom slid under his covers and pulled out some spare parchment. He would just have to ask him on Friday at his next tutoring session. Even though he knew there was no one else here, Tom still checked the room before he pushed his quills aside a chose a black pen.

At the top of the parchment he wrote: Tutoring Group Agenda.

Tom wrinkled his nose. Henry might have been onto something. He should really think of a better name.

Chapter Text

At breakfast on Friday, Walburga was smiling and Tom did not like it. He had witnessed that smile thrice before, had found a morbid fascination in watching Walburga’s victims cower away from it. Tom had never been on the receiving end. He pulled Harry and Ally closer to him, suppressing a shiver.

“Riddle,” Walburga started to say.

That’s my friend. Ally's signs cut her off as the little Hufflepuff perked up from the plate of toast she had barely picked at. Grateful to tear his eyes away from Walburga, Tom twisted in his seat to see who Ally was waving to. It wasn’t difficult. The friend in question towered over the rest of the students and teachers alike. His face was round and boyish but he cast shadows on his surrounding classmates. They skittered away from him, dodging his dust pan hands waving back at Ally enthusiastically. Tom stared. Ally’s friend was the half giant Rubeus Hagrid.

“Ally!” Hagrid boomed and Tom resisted the urge to cover his ears. The half-giant lumbered over to them. “An’ ‘Arry,” he nearly knocked over Tom’s glass of pumpkin juice. Lottie stuck her head out of Ally’s pocket and sniffed in Hagrid’s direction, her ears pricking up. Hagrid reached into a pocket and drew out a small chunk of meat. Tom did not want to know how long that had been in there. Lottie clearly did not have the same standards given the way she pounced on the mystery meat.

“Kneazles like rabbit,” Tom noticed that Hagrid made sure to face Ally when he spoke, mouthing around the consonants he didn’t pronounce. “An’ low fat fish. My da had a kneazle Pumpkin an’ we used to catch cod and bass for ‘er.” Hagrid’s beetle black eyes grew watery and Tom leaned away from him, not prepared to comfort an overgrown twelve year old.

Kallo slithered out from under the table and Hagrid was sufficiently distracted from whatever memory he was in.

"Are you moisturisin’ those scars?” Hagrid turned to Tom. “They look magical. I’ve got some dittany and unicorn horn I could lend ya.”

“You have unicorn horns?” Tom studied the second year.

“I find ‘em in the forest,” Hagrid shrugged, “they shed ‘em sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Tom looked between Ally and Hagrid. He extended a hand out to him. “It’s nice to properly meet you Hagrid.” His hand was engulfed in Hagrid’s fist and he winced when the younger boy squeezed too tightly.

“Ooh, sorry,” Hagrid released him.

“Hey Hagrid,” Harry waved. “How have you been?”

“Brill,” Hagrid grinned, revealing his slightly uneven teeth, “I got my wand to light up in charms. Professor Ronen gave me five points.”

“Nice one,” Harry high fived him and was nearly pushed out of his chair. Tom caught him in time.

“I betta get to breakfast,” Hagrid looked over to Ally. “I’ll see ya at lunch?”

See you then. Ally signed back.

Hagrid left for the Gryffindor table and Walburga returned that smile on him. “And just when I thought you couldn’t sink any lower,” she said.

As if summoned by those words, Walburga was once more interrupted.

“Why is Henry glaring at me?” Danny came up the table, “He looks like I just spilled stink sap in his cauldron.”

Tom peered around, searching for Henry amongst the other Gryffindor. Sure enough, Henry gaze was fixed on Danny and he was stabbing at his bacon with more force than necessary. “I can’t think what that would be about. He called you a great guy yesterday.” Tom said.

“You were talking about me?” Danny raised his eyebrows.

“Henry asked how we knew each other.”

“I suppose you said-.”

Tom flicked his wand under the table, silencing Danny. He looked meaningfully at the other Slytherins. “I just said it was complicated.”

Danny threw his hands in the air. He reached for his own wand and removed the spell. “Honestly,” Danny said, “children.”

He stormed off towards the Gryffindor table and Tom watched him go, his hand tightening over his wand. If Danny said anything, Tom was going to make sure he could never play gobstones again.

“Let’s get going,” Tom said to Harry. He had no desire to spend anymore time at the table. Harry pushed away his plate and jumped off his seat. He signed goodbye to Ally and the two of them left the Great Hall. Once Tom could no longer feel Walburga’s eyes on him, he drew out the parchment he had been working on last night and handed it over.

“What do you think of these names?”

Harry scanned the list and tapped at his chin. “I think we can do better.”

***

Tom ran into Argus on the way to arithmancy. He hadn’t even been looking for the kid. Dumbledore had kept him back in class to lecture him on some part of his homework, not so subtly asking him prying questions about Harry. He had only just got away. In his rush he skidded on a patch of wet ground and nearly tripped over Argus.

“Are you alright?” Tom steadied the boy. Argus flinched away from his hold. Looking closer, Tom saw that his face was pale except for two spots under his eyes that didn’t quite match his skin tone. That alone was strange but more alarming was the fact Tom could see Argus at all. He had searched for Argus and found nothing but clean hallways in his wake. Now here Argus stood in broad daylight, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Just tired,” Argus muttered, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Tom frowned. “We missed you at dinner on Wednesday. Did you get the food Henry made?” It might be Tom’s imagination but Argus was looking thinner.

“Yeah Mipsy gave it to me,” Argus stifled a yawn behind his hand. He blearily gripped his mop, using it as a makeshift cane to stay upright.

“That’s good,” Tom scanned Argus up and down. “Is Pringle still making you sleep on that couch?”

“I like the couch,” Argus murmured.

“Come to my defence club,” Tom said abruptly, “we’re learning self-defence tonight.”

“I have-.”

“Your cleaning duties, I know,” Tom said, “you don’t have to stay for the whole hour.”

“I can’t-.”

“Do you know how to throw a punch?” Tom considered Argus. “You should. It’s a versatile skill.”

“You’d teach me that?” Argus looked up, some of the light returning to his blue eyes.

“We meet at five,” Tom said, “don’t be late.”

Argus looked around them, his gaze lingering on the shadowy alcoves in the wall where the mortar had worn away. “I can’t.” He straightened up and raised his voice, pronouncing each word clearly. “Sorry I have work to do.”

Tom couldn’t say he was surprised but Argus’ words still made his chest clench uncomfortably. He was about to move past Argus and up the stairs to arithmancy when Argus dropped his mop to the ground with clatter. Argus knelt down to retrieve it and Tom rushed to help. The moment he lowered himself onto the floor, Argus bent forward.

“Where’s the meeting?” He whispered, pretending to be occupied with the mop.

“In the room of requirement,” Tom lowered his voice instinctively.

Argus gave the tiniest nod and jumped back to his feet. “You better get to class,” he said, in that same slightly raised voice he’d used before, “have fun with your group.”

With that, he heaved the mop bucket off the ground and swept out of the corridor leaving Tom to wonder what had just happened.

Chapter Text

“Gather around everyone,” Tom said, surveying the crowd in front of him. He noticed a few new faces amongst them bringing up their numbers to thirty-two.

“Woah. What is this place?” Nance said, staring around the room, her mouth hanging slightly open. She wasn’t the only one. Tom had transformed the room and requirement into a replica of the Great Hall, down to the wax candles hovering above them. The only significant difference was the lack of tables and chairs, replaced instead with training dummies, crash mats and a small library of defence books he hadn’t even meant to summon. Everyone was doused in blue starlight from the ceiling, giving the space a surreal quality that Tom deemed appropriate for their purposes. It might have been more strategic to conceal the room of requirement from so many others but there was certainly enough room now for his lessons.

“This is where we’ll be holding meetings each Tuesday and Friday,” Tom said. He summoned a black board towards him and a few people gasped at the casual display of wandless magic. Tom had to supress a smile. “Before we begin today’s lesson, I thought it prudent to discuss some of our team goals.”

“Kill Grindelwald,” said someone in the crowd, causing a ripple of mutterings and nervous laughter.

“We shall start with more attainable goals,” Tom said and the noise instantly died down as everyone turned to listen to him. “After last week, I have ascertained four key objectives.” He shifted to write them down on the board with a piece of chalk. “Defensive magic, offensive magic, survival skills and muggle self-defence.”  

“You’re going to teach us how to fight like muggles,” the little Slytherin from last week said, his eyes almost cartoonishly wide. “But don’t they hit each other with their hands. Isn’t that barbaric?”

“What’s your name?” Tom asked.

“Elias Fowley, sir,” the Slytherin said.

“Well Fowley,” the little boy shrunk away from Tom’s intense look, “what would you if someone disarmed you? They overpowered you, snapped your wand and are now blocking your only way out.”

Fowley chewed at his lip. “Well, uh, I don’t know sir. I would run away?”

“Where?” Tom said, “there’s only one exit.”

“I suppose I would stab him?” Fowley guessed.

“With what?”

“My fists?” Fowley raised his hands like he was holding two imaginary candlesticks. One of the Gryffindors laughed and Fowley flushed a deep pink.

“There is no need for that,” Tom turned on them, “this is why we are here, to learn. Muggle fighting may be primitive but it may also be your last line of defence. Today we will be focusing on throwing punches, dodging attacks and undoing bindings with help from a few volunteers.” Henry, Whit and Eddie all grinned with a little more enthusiasm than Tom thought was called for. He knew for a fact that Henry had trained with his Quidditch team for three hours yesterday and yet he was bouncing on the soles of his feet like a puppy that needed to let out for his daily walk. Tom looked past them, hoping to see a head of blonde hair and a familiar scowl. He found Ally standing near the fringes of the group next to Hagrid looking like he had spent the day in the Forbidden Forest but there was no Argus.

“But first we have the matter of our name,” Tom said, forcing down the lump in his throat.

“I still like the wixen’s coven,” Nance spoke up.

“Sort of redundant to have wixen and coven in the same title,” Eddie said. “Only wixen have covens.” His hair was no longer bubble-gum pink but instead a shade of bright yellow that hurt a little to look at. Tom briefly wondered if this was a new Quidditch strategy. He hoped Henry wouldn’t dye his hair. Glancing over, Tom thought that the strands of blonde amongst Henry’s light brown curls always made it look like he was bathed in sunlight. If Eddie made him dye that hair, Tom would hunt the keeper down and psychologically destroy him.

“And vampires,” Nance said, drawing Tom back from his wandering thoughts.

“My vote is for a parliament,” Danny said, “like in gobstones.”

“Can I vote to veto anything Danny says if he follows it with like in Gobstones?” Alex said beside him and there was a collective aye from the crowd.

“I have already settled on a name,” Tom said, drawing attention back to him. “It is of my opinion that, despite how bleak it may seem, this war will not last. There will be a world afterward and I believe our name should reflect that.” His eyes swept over the sea of heads.

No one was staring at him like his Knights had when he spoke about the future, as if his dreams were nothing more than somewhat amusing fantasies. Their eyes lacked the hardness, the acceptance that the wixen would sooner replace their quills with biros than make any meaningful changes. Tom saw hope looking back at him and it was exhilarating.

“We will be an order,” he said standing tall, “the order of the phoenix.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I like it,” Henry said at last.

“Me too,” Nance piped up and everyone followed with murmurs of agreement.

“It was my son’s idea,” Tom said, looking over at Harry who, for some reason, seemed to be trying to stifle his laughter.

“Right,” Tom clapped his hands together, “time to get started. We are going to divide into-.”

The door flew open and Argus ran inside. He skidded to a stop in front of Tom, gasping for air, his face flushed. “I’m here.”

Ally barrelled towards him and wrestled her brother into something that was either a hug or a fairly decent demonstration on how to incapacitate the enemy.

Get off. Argus signed, trying to struggle out of her grasp.

Ally just held him closer.

It took longer than Tom thought to divide the room into groups of three but he managed it. They were roughly arranged by age group though Hagrid had been tentatively placed in a group of his own with a specially reinforced dummy. The boy could prove useful but he would need to learn to control his strength. Tom would not allow Ally to be hurt by her new friend.

Henry was managing the youngest group. He had slung his outer robe over a chair and was now only in a white singlet and his maroon, Quidditch track suit pants. Tom walked between the groups, making sure no one was off task or at risk of grievous injury but his eyes kept being drawn back to Henry.  

He was crouching in front of Harry and showing him how to protect his thumbs.

“And now punch me,” Henry said, holding up both of his hands.

Harry oscillated on his toes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Henry said, “I promise. Go on, take your best shot.”

Looking hesitant, Harry drew back his fist and hit it into Henry’s hand with all the force of a five year old.

“Did I hurt you?” Harry said at once, biting his lip.

“Not at all,” Henry reassured him. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“That’s-wait…hey.” Harry crossed his arms, pouting. He muttered under his breath and Tom caught something about a dragon and a golden egg.

“Your turn,” Henry turned to Argus, raising his hands back up. “Do you worst.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” Argus said in a small voice.

You are all wusses. Ally signed beside him. She raised her tiny fist and aimed them straight at Henry’s shoulder but he caught her wrist, stopping any movement.

“You’ve already had your turn,” Henry said, patting Ally on the head and making her huff in irritation. “At this point it’s just bullying.” He turned around to face Argus and wiggled forward a little on his knees.

“Go on,” Henry encouraged, “just imagine I’m someone you hate.”

Argus’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his fists tightly together but Tom could still see that they were shaking. In one swift motion, Argus brought his fist back and slammed it directly into the centre of Henry’s palm.

“Ah, fuck,” Henry shook his hand, “uh, sorry I mean,” he moved his hands to sign a word that was considerably ruder making Ally giggle.

“Are you alright?” Argus asked, rushing forward to examine Henry’s hand.

“You’ve got power, little man,” Henry said, jumping up this feet, “but I could be much worse.” He dragged over a dummy and stood with his hands on his hips. “Now let me show you where to hit if you want your opponent to cry.”

“Uh Tom,”

Tom started and tore his eyes away from Henry.

“Sorry to take you away from that,” Danny waved vaguely at Henry, “but I think someone needs to stop Ruth.”

Tom glanced over to see Ruth pummelling what was left of a duelling dummy.

“Right,” he said, drawing out his wand, “yes I should-.”

“I spoke to Henry,” Danny said and Tom paused.

“You-.”

“No, I didn’t tell him about the gobstones club,” Danny rolled his eyes, “I didn’t even talk about you. I’m not going to be like my old friends and push people around. Just,” he smiled softly over at Henry who was pointing out the best places to punch someone to a crowd of rapt eleven year olds. “Talk to him,” Danny said, mirroring the advice Henry had once given him all those weeks ago, “and quick tip, maybe don’t say our relationship is complicated. It makes it sound like we’re sneaking off into broom closets while our girlfriends think we’re at Quidditch training.”

With that, he pat Tom on the shoulder and went off to join Alex, Connie and Tee. Feeling a little dazed, Tom followed them.

The session came to a close without incident, aside from a few bruises. Henry passed out a homebrewed bruise balm as Tom tidied away the dummies and crash mats.

“Thank you for coming today,” Tom said once the area was clear, “you have all made much progress. We will be meeting next Tuesday for a split lesson in warding and barricading spells. If you have not already paid the three sickles, please do so.”

He watched the students file out of the room of requirement, all talking about the lesson. The defensive students appeared more relaxed and the nervous ones stood a little straighter. A few of them met Tom’s gaze and smiled back at him.

“We should have a suggestion box,”

Tom looked around and saw that he was now alone except for Henry and Harry.

“As long as you do not insist that I listen to them,” Tom said to Henry.

“They might have good ideas,” Henry came over to stand in front of him, “you never know-.”

“Come with me to Hogsmeade,” Tom said in one breath, making Henry go quiet.

“Just you, Harry and I,” Tom could feel his heart thudding in his chest, “I’ve been meaning to get more books and with the funds from these meetings-.”

“Yes,” it was Henry’s turn to interrupt. “I’d love to go with you.”

“Ok then,” Tom said, “I can meet you at ten. I’m doing…something with Danny in the mornings.”

“Oh right,” Henry’s voice sounded strange.

“We’re not sneaking off into any broom closets,” Tom rushed to add. For some reason this didn’t seem to appease Henry. He looked over at Harry but he was no help. His son was perched on a pile of crash mats reading a book on defensive magic.

“Well,” Henry said slowly, “I suppose I’ll see you at ten.”

“See you then,” Tom nodded.

Harry hopped down from the crash mats and took his hand. “Bye Henry,” he said, waving.

“Bye mein löwe,” Henry ruffled his hair.

The three of them parted outside of the room of requirement, Henry going up to Gryffindor tower and Tom and Harry back down to the dungeons. Harry’s footsteps grew sluggish and Tom scooped him up into his arms.

“Have fun?” Tom asked, holding Harry close.

Harry nodded into his shoulder. “Like the name. Death Eaters is stupid.”

“I think it’s time you went to bed,” Tom stroked his hair, ignoring whatever he was talking about. “Ambrosius.” The wall in front of them slid open and Tom stepped into the Slytherin common, thinking of his pillow and thick duvet.

“There you are Riddle,”

Tom jumped, jostling Harry and almost causing him to wake. His head jerked up to see his Knights sitting in the darkened common room, all staring in is direction. In the centre of the group was Walburga, clutching a yellowing newspaper. She was smiling.

“I thought you might find this interesting,” Walburga flung the newspaper at his feet.

Feeling a deep coldness sinking through him, Tom glanced down. The newspaper headline was written in all capitals.

TOM RIDDLE JNR RUNS OFF WITH THE TRAMPS DAUGHTER

Below the headline was a picture of a man. Tom’s finger trembled as he reached for the page and drew it close. It was like staring at a mirror.

Chapter Text

When Harry woke up he was alone. Tom’s bed was neatly made, the corners tucked under the mattress. It looked unslept in. Harry untangled himself from Kallo’s tail and padded over to the closet, choosing a pair of pants and his usual red sweater. Checking that Tom wasn’t in the ensuite bathroom, Harry used the hawthorn wand to cast tempus and saw that it was nearly ten. They should be meeting Henry in ten minutes.

Harry tugged on his sneakers, not bothering to untie and retie the laces. He rushed out of the bedroom and up to the Great Hall. There were still a few people eating a late breakfast but Tom wasn’t among them. Harry checked the marauders map and saw Tom’s dot in the library. He ran up the stairs, cursing his small legs and burst into the library. Looking around, Harry saw groups of students gossiping or slouched over textbooks. He wandered between the tables until he reached an alcove by the window partially obscured from the rest of the library. Behind the bookshelves, Harry found Tom passed out amidst piles of old newspapers and genealogy books. His cheek was stuck to a yellowing page and Harry bent close to read the headline.

“I WAS ATTACKED BY A WITCH” TOM RIDDLE JNR RETURNS HOME WITHOUT HIS NEW WIFE

Where had he gotten this? It wasn’t the sort of thing you would find in the library. Harry peered at the other newspapers. There were faces he recognised from Dumbledore’s pensive, underlined names of familiar places that brought back images of a graveyard. Harry saw a piece of parchment lodged between the pages of a aged, leather book and flipped it open. The word at the top of page made Harry jerk back from the table as if someone had yanked on an invisible string around his waist.

HORCRUXES

Harry fled from the library. He didn’t look back, he just ran, right out of the library and down the steps. Skidding around the corner, he crashed straight into someone and fell back.

“Harry?” Two hands caught him and stopped his head from colliding with the stone floor. “I’ve been looking for you. Where’s Tom?” Henry let go of Harry’s shoulders and peered past him.

“He’s not coming,” Harry stepped away from Henry. He needed to get out of here, anywhere but here.

“Woah, wait up,” Henry said, “is he still with Danny?”

Harry was hardly listening. He could feel the scar on his forearm burn. The smell of blood, wet earth and sulphur stung his nose. In the pensive, Harry remembered Riddle fiddling with the dark stone inlaid in Slytherins ring. By the end of Riddle’s seventh year, he would have murdered his father and grandparents. How could Harry have let himself be blinded, yet again? He had befriended the basilisk, warned Hagrid to get rid of Aragog. How could he have forgotten about Riddle’s father? He wouldn’t need Myrtle to make this first Horcrux. All he would need was a portkey to Little Hangleton.

“You’re pale,” Henry placed the back of his hand on Harry’s forehead.

Could you buy portkeys in Hogsmeade? Harry vaguely remembered Hermione mentioning something about Ministry regulations but this was the 1940s during a war. He was sure there were people that would pay anything for a quick, traceless means of travel and with demand, came supply. If there weren’t any in Hogsmeade, it didn’t cost much to buy floo powder and make the trip to Nocturn Alley. There, Tom could flag down a taxi or even the Knight Bus if that existed yet.

Harry paused. Should he have stayed in the library? Riddle could wake at any time and…

“Are you feeling sick?” Henry said.

Harry thought he might throw up. He couldn’t monitor Riddle 24/7. Even if he had his invisibility cloak, his young body required far more sleep than he was used to.

“Hey, hey,” Henry knelt down, pulling Harry closer. He rested his hand against Harry’s chest and the weight was comforting. “I need you to breathe.”

Harry hadn’t even realised he was holding his breath.  His chest was burning and he gasped for air.

“Follow me,” Henry said. He took long, exaggerated breaths and Harry tried to copy him. Slowly, the pain died down and his head stopped feeling so fuzzy.

“Speak to me,” Henry rubbed soothing circles on Harry’s back, “what’s got you so upset? Do I need to find Tom?”

“I don’t want to see him,” Harry muttered.

“Ok,” Henry’s voice was patient, “have you had breakfast?”

The question made Harry look up. “Not yet.”

“Well that won’t do,” Henry said, “why don’t we go down to the kitchens? I can make you whatever you want.”

“Aren’t we supposed to go to Hogsmeade?” Harry said, an idea was forming in his mind.

“I can’t take you without your dad,” Henry straightened back up.

“He’s not coming,” Harry repeated, shaking the last of the fog out of his mind, “he was busy but he said I could go by myself.” He quickened his steps towards the front entranceway but stopped when he saw Pringle checking student’s permission slips. Pivoting to the right, Harry slipped behind a tapestry.

“I take it back,” Henry called after him. “I think I’m going to come with you.”

 With a shove, Harry pushed open a hidden door that lead onto the third floor, near the defence classrooms. He ducked into a crowd of first year students and fell into step with them. Up ahead he saw a one eyed witch statue and jabbed it with his wand, muttering disendium.

“That doesn’t look like Tom’s wand?”

Harry spun around.

Henry was leaning against the wall, his eyebrows raised. Inwardly, Harry cursed. He must be losing his touch. Oh well, it was too late now. In one fluid motion, Harry heaved himself up into the witch’s hump and scampered out of sight.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Harry heard Henry behind him but he didn’t slow down. He might be shorter and objectively weaker in this body but he knew this passageway. It hadn’t changed in fifty years. Even in the dark, Harry knew where to step and he didn’t have to hunch to avoid the low roof. The passage grew steep and he felt the stone turn to packed dirt under his feet.

“Hang on,” Henry managed to reach him. “I’m not going to get you into trouble but…”

Harry ducked out of his hold, his eyes trained on the trapdoor he knew was above him. It was out of his reach. He looked back at Henry who now had his wand lit up, flooding the dark with a soft, white light.

“Harry,” Henry said.

Fumos. Harry thought and the tunnel filled with black smoke. It was less of a shield and more of a light breathing hazard, curse that hawthorn wand, but it provided just enough of a distraction. With the smallest flick of the wand, Harry unlocked the trapdoor and levitated it open. Levicorpus. Harry yanked himself up, through the hidden trapdoor, by his ankle.

“Harry!”

Liberacorpus. Harry landed in a heap on the floor of the Honeydukes’ cellar. He scurried up the steps into the overpacked store and was hit with a wave of warm, sugary air. The urge to stop and just breath in the familiar smell almost made him falter but he had a mission. Harry pushed through the crowd of students, straight towards the door.

He shoved it open and burst out onto the street. It was freezing. Harry pulled his sweater around him, shivering. There was no snow but the shallower puddles of water around him were just starting to crystalise. Winter must be coming early this year.

“Tepidus,” A voice said behind Harry and a blanket of warm air settled over him. He spun around, instinctively reaching for his back pocket.

“Uh, uh, uh." In the doorway, Henry held up the hawthorn wand.

Harry scowled. He looked around for somewhere he could disappear but before he could run anywhere, Henry reached forward and picked him right off the ground.

“Hey!”

Henry ignored him. He shifted Harry into a firemen’s carry and started walking away from the sweets store.

“Where are we going?” Harry said, wishing he was taller.

“To get you breakfast,” Henry hoisted him higher, “I know the perfect place.”

***

Harry sat in a booth, stabbing at his blueberry pikelets. Henry sat opposite him, sipping on butter beer and studying him intently.

“Are you going to tell Riddle?” Harry couldn’t stand the silence.

“About what?” Henry put his fingers together on the table, “the wand you own, your knowledge of secret passages that Fleamont hasn’t even managed to find or perhaps it’s the spells that I’m sure Tom didn’t teach you.”

Harry looked down at his pikelets.

“Just tell me,” Henry’s voice was more serious than Harry had ever heard it. He leaned forward over the table and waited for Harry to meet his eyes. “Are you on a secret mission for MI6?”

“What?” Harry stared at Henry.

“The Secret Intelligence Service?”

“No?”

“The Defence Intelligence.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Hmm,” Henry leaned back, “you’re good.”

Harry stammered, trying to figure out what on earth was happening. Just to do something, he moved the fluffy pieces of pikelet around on his plate. It made him realise just how hungry he was and he resisted the urge to wolf them all done.

“Alright,” Henry finished off his butter beer, “you’ve beaten me today. I’ll keep your secrets but you have to do something for me.”

“What is it?” Harry held his breath.

“I want you to finish your pikelets,” Henry said, “and then we’re going back up to the castle.”

In the end, it took about two minutes for Harry to finish his plate. The pikelets were warm and sweet and there was a small serving of vanilla ice cream to go with them. He tried to slow down but it was a fruitless endeavour. These past few weeks had made his body accustomed to regular meals.

“Are you going to run away?” Henry asked once they were done. “I’m not afraid to carry you.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised.

“Alright, I’m trusting you,” Henry said, “but know that if you escape me again, I’m going to be really embarrassed.”

They left the Three Broomsticks and walked in silence for a few minutes. Henry reapplied the warming charm but it did nothing to protect them from the freezing wind that was picking up around them. Students hurried across the street, eager to stay indoors. Harry’s teeth were chattering and he couldn’t help leaning closer to Henry. They passed a clothes store and Henry paused.

“If I keep your secrets from Tom,” Henry said, “do you think you can keep one for me?”

Harry looked up at Henry, head cocked slightly to one side and nodded. Reaching out for Harry’s hand, Henry pulled him out of the wind and into the little shop.

“Can I help you boys with anything?” A young, blonde woman came up to them.

“I’m looking for jackets,” Henry said, gesturing to Harry, “anything in his size.”

“I think we can find something,” the woman smiled down at Harry, “is this your brother? He’s cute.”

Harry wrinkled his nose.

“In a fashion,” Henry said, following the woman over to the children’s section. It wasn’t that large but the clothes were clearly expensive and well-made. “Go on,” Henry pushed Harry forwards, “chose whatever you want. Just don’t let Tom know I bought it for you. Pretend you got it in the lost and found or the room of requirement.”

This whole experience was giving Harry whiplash. He stared at Henry. “You don’t need to buy me things.”

“Hush now,” Henry pet his head, “the Potter’s are rich and you need a thicker sweater.”

“Can I get it in red?” Harry asked.

Henry pretended to wipe tears from under his eyes. “I’m so proud.”

“What are the Potter’s like?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, running his hands over the soft fabric. He hadn’t thought much about his grandparents. The only thing he knew was that Fleamont had invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and hadn’t had James until very late in his life.

“Disgustingly generous,” Henry smiled warmly at Harry, “and horrible gossips. I swear Martha and Paul know all our neighbours’ dogsitters by their first name which seems sweet but try and tell them a secret and it will be the subject of their next book club meeting. I think you would like them.”

“And Fleamont?” Under Henry’s encouragement, Harry tried on a red jacket with a fur lining. It had a small lion on the front pocket. Riddle would hate it. “Are you close with him?”

“I think if Martha and Paul hadn’t adopted me, Monty would have,” Henry said, twisting his finger to tell Harry to do a spin, “He was only eight when they found me but Monty took one look and refused to leave my side. And I mean that literally. You will never meet anyone as stubborn as my brother. I was a right little bastard to him at first but he would sit with me every night, without fail and read me Prince’s stories. I think I only learnt English to tell him how to shove off and leave me alone.” Henry’s eyes turned a little distant, “but he refused to and I will never be able to thank him enough.”

“I don’t understand,” each word Henry spoke seemed to carve a chasm through Harry's chest, full of questions he didn’t have answers for. Why couldn’t he have had this? What had he done to grow up in a cupboard with only a flash of green light to remember his parents by?

“You weren’t their son, Fleamont wasn’t your brother.” It felt like there was something blocking Harry’s throat. “But they still cared about you.” Was there just something wrong with Harry?

“Tom cares about you too,” Henry said softly.

Harry almost laughed. He hadn’t even been thinking about that. A new emotion, one that Harry had become intimately familiar with, reared up inside of him: guilt. Harry suspected that Henry was right. Riddle did seem to care about him, or at least the boy he thought was his son. Would Riddle still care if he learnt the truth? Would he tuck Harry into bed and read him bedtime stories? All this lying. Harry could write essays justifying it but had hadn’t really considered that Riddle was still a teenager who had seemingly become a parent overnight. He had learnt sign for him, spent money on children’s books, hired a tutor for him. Had Harry just tricked someone into loving him?

“You had a fight with him?” Henry guessed, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. “With Tom?”

“Not really,” Harry said at last, his eyes on the ground.

As if sensing Harry's conflicted thoughts, Henry redirected the conversation, “Martha, Paul and Fleamont are coming to my next Quidditch game. You can meet them if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said in a quiet voice.

“Wear your new jacket,” Henry flagged down the store clerk, “it suits you.”

He paid for the jacket and they left the store. Henry didn’t try to ask him about Riddle again, instead regaling him with stories of Fleamont’s many mishaps.

“He is confident, a little too confident, especially about potions,” Henry said as they walked back up to the school, “he once bet a girl that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t brew. I think her exact words were: I bet you can’t brew a potion that will deflate your big head. Monty ended up in the Hospital Wing because he couldn’t find a way to reflate it and the girl felt so bad she took him to Hogsmeade to make up for it.” Henry grinned at the memory. “You’ll probably meet her too,” he said, “her name’s Euphemia. They’ve been dating for three years now and I would bet anything that they’re going to end up married.”

They had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade. There were a few students gathered together, clambering into a carriage to take them back up to the castle. The sight of the thestrals made Harry’s heart squeeze. He reached forward and stroked their muzzle. The thestral trilled in response, nosing at Harry’s hand.

Feeling Henry’s eyes on him, he dropped his hand and looked past the carriages. Next to the sign for the village was a small post office, looking a little cleaner, but otherwise exactly how he remembered. Henry’s followed his gaze.

“Can we make one more stop” Harry said, “before we go back?”

“If you’re quick,” Henry agreed, “Tom’s probably worried sick by now.”

“I will be,” Harry promised, “I just have a letter to send.”

Chapter Text

Halloween was approaching and with it the smell of roast pumpkin and cloves. Paper bats had been charmed to chase each other down the corridors and the floating candles in the Great Hall appeared to be dripping blood. As if getting into the holiday spirit, the weather outside the castle had steadily worsened. Sheets of icy rain pelted down on the windows and dark clouds shrouded the castle, forcing its residents into a permanent night.

Tom noticed none of this.

He felt like he was experiencing the world in third person. Classes passed and Tom went through the motions, writing his essays, making sure Harry drank his milk, but his mind was elsewhere.

His father was a muggle. With his parseltongue, Tom had known he had wizarding ancestry but he had always imagined his mother was the muggle. How else could she have died from something as trivial as childbirth and left him at the orphanage? The latest newspaper Walburga had found was from 1932. At least thirteen years ago, his father had been alive and apparently living in a manor. Tom had found Little Hangleton on a map. It was only an hour from Wool’s.

There were no pictures of his mother in the muggle papers. She was a tramp, a harlot, a witch, anything except her real name but Little Hangleton Daily was not the only newspaper Walburga had provided. At the bottom of her pile was a copy of the Daily Prophet. Cramped under an advertisement for Madame Glossy's Silver Polish, Tom found a small piece outlining an assault on a muggle man. The wizard, Morfin Gaunt, was not officially charged for breaching the Statue of Secrecy, but for someone like Walburga, the name Gaunt would have stood out.

Tom read the library’s entire family history section until his eyes itched. There was a line connecting the Gaunt’s directly back to Salazar Slytherin, or more accurately a circle. The Gaunt family tree didn’t so much branch out as branch in, ending in three people: Morfin, Merope and their father Marvolo Gaunt.

Tom couldn’t focus on class, he couldn’t sleep. Last week he had been an orphan. This week he was the son of an affluent muggle man who had abandoned him and a woman who was both his mother and second cousin. Tom felt sick.

He managed to get through the weekend somehow but it was like he was merely a rag doll being dragged about. On Wednesday, his dinner with Henry tasted like ash in his mouth. Tom tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, complimenting the cooking and asking for seconds even though he had never been less hungry. It helped that Henry was more distant than usual. Tom might have been concerned but he could only focus on putting his fork in his mouth and swallowing. Argus wasn’t at dinner nor did he come to the defence club on Friday. Tom couldn’t remember seeing him at all that week.

Danny dragged him over to the gobstones club on Saturday. He sat beside him, not commenting on Tom’s game. One second Tom was rolling a gobstone, the next he was at the Slytherin table opposite Walburga, then lying awake in his fourposter bed as the moon slunk like a wounded animal across the night sky. Monday came and Tom could feel his mask slipping. He poured over every book, ever newspaper, every photograph until they were burned into his mind. There wasn’t any room left in his head for hunger, weariness, happiness. All that remained was a deep rooted bitterness that had leached into his bone marrow and a name: Tom Riddle Junior.

“Hey, Jasper right?” Tom caught up the Gryffindor.

It was a Wednesday, the day before Halloween and Professor Dromgoole had let them out of class early with a pile of homework about Celtic Runes. Tom suspected she was leaving to prepare her own Samhain rituals. Animal sacrifices and blood stones had long been banned by the Ministry but most people tended to turn the other way on Samhain. Harry was off with Eve and Ally was at the Hufflepuff table with Hagrid. No one questioned Tom when he left lunch early and ran to meet the skinny, freckled boy.

“You’re the person who provides alcohol at Henry’s parties?” Tom said to Jasper, stopping him on the way to the owlery.

“Why?” Jasper said, an Irish lilt to his voice, “you looking for some?”

“I’m not looking for alcohol,”

“Oh?” Jasper pulled Tom into an empty classroom and closed the door. “After something stronger?”

“I need floo powder,” Tom said, “two pinches. I have money.” His hand moved over to his wallet. He had been planning on spending that money on a new bedtime story for Harry.

“Ten sickles,”

“Five,”

“Eight,”

“Eight if you can bring it to me tonight,”

“Deal,” Tom and Jasper shook hands.

“Meet me by Professor Dromgoole’s office,” Tom said. “Six o’clock.” He would have to cancel dinner with Henry tonight but Tom didn’t think he could stomach any of the rich, German food anyway. It was necessary. Tom could not bear another second opposite Walburga’s smile. He would make it up to Henry when he returned.

Throughout the rest of his classes, Tom grit his teeth. While everyone else speculated on whether Professor Dippet had hired a real band of skeletons for tomorrow, he kept his head down. It was far too early for Harry’s bedtime but Tom fed him a heavy dinner of roast chicken, potatoes and warm milk that was bound to make him drowsy after a long day with Eve. Carefully, Tom tucked him under the covers and placed a light kiss on the top of head.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, once Harry’s breaths slowed. Tom retrieved the invisibility cloak from his trunk and after a second of deliberation, he ripped out the page on horcruxes from the book on his bedside table and stuffed it into the pocket of his black slacks. He left his Hogwarts robe behind.

“Here you go,” Jasper said, throwing over a leather pouch. Tom caught it and passed over the eight sickles.

“You won’t talk about this with anyone.”

“I know the rules,” Jasper rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be good for business.” He turned away from Tom, walking down through the steadily darkening corridor. “Don’t forget to leave a five star review,” he called back, “and refer me to a friend.”

Tom ignored him. It took a little over thirty minutes to detangle the wards around Professor Dromgoole’s door. He waited with his ear pressed against the wood but, not hearing anything inside, he pushed it ajar.

The layout of Professor Dromgoole’s office was simple. It did not look like she had changed it much from its original design, merely adding a few photographs on the desk and mug with runes that pronounced her as the No.1 Best Teacher.

Tom did not linger. He made straight for the brick fireplace that came standard with each office. With one last look at the closed door, Tom lit the fireplace and threw in a pinch of green powder. He stepped inside and felt the flames lick harmlessly up his arms and legs.

“The Leaky Cauldron,”  Tom said and, with a tugging sensation in his gut, he was swept into darkness.

Chapter Text

Tom fell out of the fireplace without from his usual grace. He spluttered, wiping off the soot.

“Eh kid? You good?”

The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty except for the toothless barman, wiping dirty glasses with a rag. It was dark and Tom was backlit by emerald green flames, hiding his face but it would not do to linger. Ignoring the barman, Tom headed straight for the doorway. The sight that greeted outside made him shiver.

London was a ghost town.

There was a layer of fog that reduced the surrounding buildings into silhouettes, looming over him like fallen mountains. Rubble and glass crunched under his feet and there was a smell that still haunted him, an acrid mixture of plaster and dust. Recent rainfall had put out the fires but in their place were puddles of grey water and a persistence dampness that stuck to his skin. Tom felt exposed. He gripped his wand tighter, knowing that if he used it there would be no sympathy in the courts for a halfblood that had snuck out of school.

The road was a mess of potholes that no muggle taxi would risk traversing. It was fortunate that an alternative had risen in their place. Tom stuck out his wand hand and waited.

With a crack, a purple, triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere and screeched to a stop in front of him, nearly on top of him. Tom jumped back as the door slid open. The conductor, a one armed man with a bulky frame and scarred upper lip, looked down at him and Tom ducked his head.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Barnes Granger and I will be your conductor this evening.”

Tom nodded through the speech, eager to get off the road and into the half-filled bus. He handed over the five sickles, hating how light his pockets were becoming. The Knight Bus was far from comfortable but it was the only consistent method Tom had found to go from the orphanage to Diagon Alley each year for his school supplies. He couldn’t wait until he had his apparition license. There would be far fewer witnesses.

Tom instructed Granger to take him to Little Hangleton but managed to skirt around giving his name. Gingerly, he sat on an unsecured bed at the back of the bus that could have come out of the Hospital Wing. With another bang, the Knight Bus took off, nearly hitting the shell of a house that skittered away just in time.

Outside the bus, it had started to rain again.

Tom leaned against the glass, watching water droplets race each down the pane. He still felt detached. With each stop, slightly green looking witches and wizards tottered off the bus until Tom was the only person left. He wiped the glass, trying to peer out into the darkness. From his glimpses of overgrown lawns and cobblestone roads, it was apparent that he had left London.

“Little Hangleton,” Granger said and Tom practically fled out of the bus. He dragged the invisibility cloak over him using it both as a shield from prying eyes and the elements. The village appeared mostly untouched by the Germans though there was a general air of abandonment. He passed a primary school and noticed the rust gathering on the monkey bars outside of it. There was a church with a cramped graveyard attached. All the stones were riddled with moss, except for three graves on the outskirts of the yard that shone under the dim moonlight.

The streets were empty.

Tom walked between the uniform limestone houses, looking for any signs of Riddle Manor. He reached the end of the street before he realised he had been searching in the wrong place. All he needed to do was look up.

On a hill that leered over the village was a multi-story structure that towed the line between a house and a small castle. It was all symmetrical sandstone and glass windows, with two fucking turrets on either side of the double front doors. As Tom approached, the manor appeared to block out the moon.

He curled his fingers tighter around his wand. Oh, it was tempting to stroll right up to the manor and blast the door open but Tom had not been relieved of all his senses. Remembering the article from the Daily Prophet, he looked past the manor and towards a trampled pathway, disappearing into a forest that bordered the village.

Tom took a detour off the paved road, cutting through the churchyard. He stepped onto the pathway and resisted the shiver that rose inside of them at the sight of the forest, draped in shadows and crawling vines. With a slow breath out, Tom pushed back his shoulders and strode forward.

The forest beckoned for him. It might be his imagination, but Tom swore he could hear whispering from the behind the trees. As he was swallowed into the darkness, the temperature kept dropping until he could almost feel frost forming on his fingertips.

⚕A two-legged? ⚕ It wasn’t just in Tom’s mind. There was a voice coming from around his feet.

⚕He smells of magic.⚕ Another voice hissed out of the leaf litter.

Tom’s head snapped towards the noise. He could just make out something dark and shiny, squirming over the forest floor.

⚕Reveal yourself to me.⚕ He hissed. Two brown snakes slithered out of the underbrush and nudged curiously at the cloak, sniffing the air.

⚕Another speaker?⚕ The snakes reared up, exposing their fangs.  

⚕Another?⚕ Tom raised an eyebrow. Snakes were usually submissive around him, ready to obey his every command.

⚕We have heard of the speakers that live in the wooden nest but we do not enter it. ⚕ One of the snakes hissed

⚕We keep away.⚕ The other agreed. ⚕Those that go in, do not return.⚕

Tom mused over these words. ⚕Take me to it.⚕He demanded, allowing his magic to seep into the words. The snakes’ eyes became glazed. They twisted around and started to lead Tom deeper into the forest. At a curve in the pathway, the snakes diverged off the beaten track and Tom’s boots sunk into mud as he followed them. Stray twigs scrapped at the cloak and he could feel the freezing mud seep into his socks.

The trees parted and Tom saw a wooden shack up ahead. It was falling to pieces, overgrown with vines, the windows boarded up. As he moved closer, he saw snakes nailed to the door. At the sight, the brown snakes recoiled, their eyes refocussing. They scurried away into the forest before Tom could say anything. No matter. He could do this alone.

In a swift motion, Tom removed the invisibility cloak and knocked on the shack door.

Finding it unlocked, he pushed it open with a creak and peered into the darkness. Two black eyes looked back from the tattered remains of an armchair. For a few seconds they just looked at each other.

“YOU!” The man staggered upwards, a knife glinting in his hand. A bottle fell from his chair and shattered. Tom’s lip curled. The man’s hair was oily, the teeth that remained were black and cracked. His face was weathered, making his age difficult to determine but he moved with surprising speed, brandishing the knife at Tom. It took a great effort to remain where he stood, his face devoid of fear.

⚕Stop.⚕ Tom hissed through his teeth.

There was a long silence. ⚕You speak it.⚕

⚕Yes, I speak it.⚕ Tom wrinkled his nose at the alcohol on the man’s breath. ⚕Where is Marvolo?⚕

⚕Dead.⚕ The man said. ⚕Died years ago, didn’t he?⚕

⚕Who are you, then?⚕

⚕I’m Morfin, ain’t I?⚕

Morfin. Marvolo’s son. Tom’s uncle. He had to conceal his disappointment at the sight of his family. It did not matter. Tom had Harry. He didn’t need any other family.

Morfin pushed his hair out of his dirty face, squinting at Tom.

⚕I thought you were that muggle. You look mighty like that muggle.⚕ He said. ⚕But he’s older now. Older’n you, now I think about it.⚕

⚕Riddle?⚕ Tom thought of the man that shared his face on the cover of Little Hangleton Daily.

⚕Ah,⚕ Morfin nodded. ⚕He came back. Left her ‘n’ serve her right, that little slut but he came back. Livin’ in that manor on the hill.⚕

⚕He’s still alive.⚕ There was a buried part of Tom that stirred, a whisper of something that he forced down the moment it reared its head. The man had abandoned him. He was nothing.  

Morfin ignored him. He seemed to be working himself into a rage. ⚕Stole from us, she did, that whore. Where is the locket? Where is Slytherin’s locket? ⚕ His eyes narrowed. ⚕And who’re you to be askin’ questions? It’s over innit, innit it over?⚕

He waved his knife at Tom, his wand limp in his other hand. Something on his finger caught Tom’s eyes. It was a ring. Unlike the rest of the shack, it was polished to a shine.

⚕Get out!⚕ Morfin was still raving. ⚕GET OUT!⚕

Tom had no desire to listen to this. He struck forward. Remembering Henry’s self-defence lesson, he twisted the hand holding the knife behind Morfin’s back and squeezed on the joint until he dropped it. Morfin struggled but he was weak. Under the filthy clothes he wore, Morfin was mostly bones with skin stretched tight over them. Tom tore the wand from his grip and petrified him. Morfin fell onto the floor with a thud, the shards of glass crunching underneath him.

Bending down, Tom held up Morfin’s hand, inspecting the ring. It had a simple silver band and a dark stone embedded into it. There was some symbol carved into the stone but he couldn’t make it out in the dark. He slipped it deep into his pocket before focussing back on Morfin.

His eyes were half-open, a mixture of fear and outrage reflected in them. Tom pointed Morfin’s wand at him and muttered obliviate. Morfin’s eyes rolled back into his head and Tom stood up. He looked down at the muck on his knees and shoes.

“Scourgify,” Tom repeated the spell a few times. He would need a long shower after this.

Leaving Morfin on the ground, Tom left the shack. He drew the cloak back over him, holding Morfin’s wand aloft. Under its light, hidden beneath the cloak, the forest bowed to him. Tom marched between the trees, his head high. They path opened up and his eyes locked on Riddle Manor.

He did not waver. He did not stop. Tom walked right up to the door with its golden handles and his surname on the polished wood. His hand drifted down to his pocket with the page torn from Slytherin’s collection. There was something else, another piece of paper crinkled at the bottom of his pocket. Tom fingers closed on it and he drew it out.

It was a crudely drawn picture of two people holding hands, one small, one tall. Tom stared at it. How had it gotten in here? His hand brushed over the artwork and for a brief moment, his eyes stung. He stuffed it back in his pocket and returned to the door. Tom removed the cloak once more and knocked on the wood three times.

It took a solid minute before he heard footsteps behind the door. It slid open at an agonizing pace and Tom held his breath. Just when he thought he would suffocate, a face was revealed, pale and wide-eyed, looking down at him. Tom raised his head and stared back at familiar brown eyes.

“Hello father,” he said, twisting his lips into a smile, “may I come in?”

***

Over a thousands kilometres away, Harry jerked up in bed, his scar burning.  

Chapter Text

“It’s freezing out here,” the man’s eyes did not leave Tom as he stepped to the side of the doorway. “I have the fire going.”

Tom did not move.

“I can take your coat,” the man said, his voice soft. He was hunched into himself, his clothes well-made but ruffled, the buttons done all wrong as if he had tried to dress himself in the dark. There were shadows under his eyes and around his jaw. It had clearly been a few days since he had last shaved.  

“Do you not have butler to do that?” Tom raised an eyebrow, wrapping his jacket closer around him.

“Ah, no,” the man let out nervous laugh, “he’s with my parents. I sent them away.” He ran fingers through his hair that fell just past his ears, curling at the tips. “It’s just me here.”

Tom didn’t know what to make of that.

He stepped past the man into the hall, daring him to comment on the mud he tracked onto the polished wood flooring. He did not.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” the man said, following after him. They reached a parlour and Tom noticed stacks of unwashed cups on the coffee table and resting on the top of a grand piano. There was sheet music strewn over every surface, covered in scribbles and coffee stains. Tom unconsciously gravitated towards the stone fireplace.

“I was going to clean up,” the man rambled, still staring at Tom. “You can sit anywhere.” He waved at the winged armchairs facing the fire. “Or I could get you something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Are you too young for coffee?”

“You were expecting me?” Tom’s eyes snapped away from the fire.

“I wasn’t sure,” the man’s gaze flickered over to a stack of old newspapers and letters, “but…” his eyes ran over Tom, “you’re my son, aren’t you?”

“You’re Tom Riddle?” Tom cringed at the name.

“Thomas,” the man corrected lightly, “I go by Thomas and…you’re…she gave you my name.”

“My mother?” Tom said.

“I’m going to get you tea,” the man, Thomas, went for the door.

“Don’t move,” Tom raised his wand and Thomas froze.

“Sit,” Tom flicked Marvolo’s wand at one of the armchairs. Thomas stumbled onto it. In careful strides, Tom moved towards the other chair and perched on the arm rest.

The man’s eyes were now transfixed on Tom’s wand. He was muttering to himself, something about tea.

“My mother,” Tom interrupted the man’s murmurings, “did she tell you about me?”

 The man’s face paled.

“TELL ME.” Tom demanded.

“She said she was pregnant,” Thomas shrunk into the leather seat.

Something cold coiled around Tom’s heart. The man had known. This whole time, he had known.

“I thought…I didn’t…how is she?” Thomas fiddled with the buttons on his waist coat. “Your mother?”

“Dead,” Tom said bluntly.

Those words seemed to cut a string that had kept Thomas upright. He slouched further into the chair and he let out a slightly hysterical sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The man stifled the noise behind his hand, biting at his thumb nail.

Looking down at what could have been a mirror of his future self, cowering before him…it was pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. Tom didn’t believe the words for a second.

“Don’t lie,” Tom spat, “did you ever try to find her? Find me?” Had this man even spared a thought for Tom’s mother once he had abandoned them?

“I am sorry,” Thomas tried to say but Tom had heard enough. He sprung forward and stabbed Marvolo’s wand into Thomas’ neck, his eyes flashing.

“DON’T LIE!” Tom couldn’t feel his fingers. His whole body was numb.

“I’m not,” Thomas raised his eyebrows, “if I had known…”

“Don’t say that,” Tom couldn’t feel the rough wood of Marvolo’s wand, “you knew, you said you knew.”

“If I…”

“NO!” Tom flicked the wand and Thomas choked on his words. “You chose not to look for me. You chose to leave me there!”

There was no where for Thomas to go. He gazed up at Tom, his eyes wide, full of fear and something like acceptance. Tom drew back the wand, his jaw set.

CRACK.

Both Riddles jerked away from each other, their heads spinning towards the sound.

In the middle of the parlour, two small figures appeared out of nowhere. One of them stumbled and had to be caught by the other before they collapsed on the Persian rug.   

Harry looked around the room, holding onto Mipsy’s hand. He was still wearing the dragon patterned pyjamas that Tom had dressed him in, the overlarge sleeves stuffed into a red jump.

“I haven’t seen that coat before,” Tom said dumbly, transfixed on the sight in front of him.

“I got it in lost and found,” Harry muttered. He lifted his eyes to meet Tom’s gaze before slowly moving to focus on Thomas. “You’re still here,” Harry said.

“I…” Thomes broke free of the silencing spell, weakened by Tom’s surprise. He stared at Mipsy who was already pottering around the room and arranging pillows. “What?” Harry stepped forwards, drawing attention back to him.

“I told you to leave,” Harry said.

Thomas looked between Harry and Tom. His eyes rested on a simple, white envelope under the pile of newspapers.

“It was you,” he picked up the envelop, letting the newspapers slip onto the floor, “you wrote the letter.” Thomas’ fingers ran over the address on the front and Tom noticed the childish scrawl in red crayon.

“Is he your brother?” Thomas looked up at Tom, his voice distant, “I thought I would have remembered if she…”

“He’s my son,” Tom said shortly.

Thomas recoiled. “Your son but...” Tom couldn’t supress a slight smirk at the way Thomas’ face turned vaguely green.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Harry crossed his arms.

With another flick of his wand, Tom summoned the envelop in Thomas’ hand towards him, ignoring the man’s flinch. He tore it open and read over it, his brows furrowing together. It was short, only a few sentences. It looked like something that could be dismissed as a childish prank but none of the papers had used Merope’s name or warned about her son returning to Little Hangleton.  

“Did you know him?” Tom gestured towards Thomas, “in the future?”

“No,” Harry’s gaze snapped back to Tom, “I never got the chance.”

The silence of stifling.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Tom said at last. “You should be in bed. Mipsy,” he called over to the house elf, “take Harry back home.”

“I’m not leaving.” Harry did not budge. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Mipsy,” Tom repeated.

“You should both be being in bed, Master Tom,” Mipsy said, putting down the stack of dirty cups she had gathered.

“I’ve got adult supervision,” Tom waved at Thomas, feeling a little hysterical. He wanted to rip his hair out; he wanted to scream. How had Harry known to come here? Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? The cold was leaving him and with it, the numbness. Tom didn’t want to feel anything, please don’t let him feel anything. He raised his Marvolo’s wand, clenching so tightly around the rough wood that no one could see his hands shaking.

Harry rushed in front of Thomas, his arms outstretched, trying to block the man with his tiny form.

“Move,” Tom clenched the fist not holding the wand.

“No!” Harry shook his head. He crawled up onto Thomas’ lap so his head was in the direct path of the wand. “You made an unbreakable vow not to hurt me.” His lip quivered a little.

“Don’t try and protect me,” Thomas’ voice was so quiet, Tom could barely make out the words. “I’m not worth it.”

“You heard him,” Tom did not lower the wand, “he left you too. He admits it.”

“Did you ask him why?” Harry glared right back at him.

“Why? Tom placed his other hand over the wand, holding it firm. “Why should it matter why? He chose to stay here. He chose to leave my mother, to abandon me in that orphanage. It was his choice!” Tom squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting the bile rising in his throat. “He left us in hell,” he raised his wand higher, “I think it’s about time he joined us there.”

Harry flinched back and Tom realised that he had been shouting. Behind the stubborn glint in Harry’s eyes, Tom saw real fear as he pressed away from him. It was this, and only this, that made Tom drop the wand. It clattered to the ground and Tom fell to his knees in front of Harry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tom couldn’t bear it if Harry refused to speak to him once more. He put his hands on Harry’s arms and could have cried when his son didn’t push him off. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m not going to hurt you."

“I know,” Harry whispered, looking at Thomas, “just hear him out. You deserve the whole story.” Harry didn’t move off the chair but he shifted to the side, giving Tom an unobstructed view of the man. Thomas was watching Harry and Tom, wringing his hands in his lap like he was scared of brushing against Harry and accidentally breaking him.

Disregarding this, Harry poked Thomas with a little more force than necessary. His eyes narrowed. “Speak.”

Thomas shook himself out of whatever daze he was in. “You were right,” the words rushed out of him, seemingly without his control, “I did leave you. You’re, you’re mother said she was pregnant but I didn’t want to believe it.”

Tom scoffed. He had heard this story before in the orphanage. “You married her,” he kept stroking small circles on Harry’s shoulder, resisting the urge to reach for the fallen wand. “I do not see what is so unbelievable. It was hardly a birth out of wedlock.”

For some reason, those words made Thomas’ already chalky skin drain of any blood that remained.

“Let me guess,” Tom said bitterly, “she didn’t tell you she was a witch until after you were married. You wouldn’t be the first to run away from the devil’s child.”

“I knew she was a witch,” Thomas was shaking his head, “we all knew about the family in the woods that could talk to snakes. Parents would tell their children to stay away but the best hunting grounds were beyond the shack.”

The words stung. “Then why?” Tom said, “Why did you leave us?”

“I,” Thomas was digging his nails into his palm, leaving crescent moons on the pale skin. “I was scared.”

Tom could have laughed. “Of what? Afraid I’d be born with a forked tongue?”

“Of Merope.”  

The laughter died in Tom’s throat. There was something about the way Thomas’ said his mother’s name. It sent shivers down his neck.

“Why?” Tom repeated and when Thomas didn’t say anything he growled, “tell me.”

“I don’t,” Thomas looked at Harry who was observing both of them with a soft intensity that belonged to a much older man. “I don’t know if I should. You’re young, you don’t need to hear this. I don’t know if you’ll even believe me.”

“Speak,” Harry poked him again, hard.

Thomas took a long, unsteady breath. “It was over seventeen years ago now,” he started, staring at his hands. “I usually rode with my father but that day I was by myself. He had been trying to introduce me to a girl from a village and we got into an argument. I had no desire to settle down, you see.” Thomas let out another weak chuckle.

“I was riding past the Gaunt Shack and I saw a face looking back at me from one of the windows. I had caught her watching before but thought nothing of it, plenty of women would stare at me.” Thomas’ eyes were growing more distant as he spoke, his hands trembling in his lap. Tom went to interrupt, curious what his mother had looked like, but Harry silenced him with a look.

“It was one of the hottest days of summer,” Thomas continued, “in my rush to leave the house, I had forgotten to bring water. I didn’t want to end my hunt early but even under the forest canopy, I could feel myself burning.”

“I stopped for a moment, trying to soak up the shade but to little use, when I heard a twig snap behind me. I turned around and there she was. I should have fled but I was curious. I had never seen any of them leave that house. She was holding a glass of water and offering it to me. On any other day I would have refused but it looked cold and clear and I had never been that thirsty so I drank it. I downed the whole thing before I realised that something was off about the taste. It was…sweet like someone had dumped a spoonful of sugar in it.”

A horrible feeling rose inside of Tom. He had the sudden desire to stop the man, to stuff his fingers in his ears or silence Thomas with a wave of his wand.

“I don’t remember everything that happened after that,” Thomas kept going, “it came in waves. Sometimes it was like I was dreaming, watching what was happening but unable to move. Other times, I could almost believe it was real. My parents thought I had just chosen her to upset them, that it was only a matter of time before I ended the charade and got myself a nice, village girl.”

“We had to elope in the neighbouring village. None of the priests here would officiate the wedding. It was getting harder and harder to tell what was real. In my more lucent moments, I wrote myself notes but they would always vanish by morning.”

Tom’s eye caught on the sheet music littered about the room. Looking closer, he saw that the notes scribbled all over them were not musical annotations. Instead, there were same phrases written over and over again: Don’t drink anything. It’s not real. Get away. At the bottom of another sheet were three more words in bold capitals, almost puncturing through the page: IT IS OVER.

“My parents refused to let me back into the house when we returned,” Thomas said, “they threatened to disown me if I didn’t end our relationship. I could only watch them close the door and hear it lock behind me.”

“We got a place in Brighton and I worked at the docks, loading the shipping crates. Sometimes, I would wake and not recognise where I was. I got as far as Saltdean once before she found me. And then one day, it was all over.” Thomas uncurled his fingers slightly and Tom saw traces of blood on his palms where he had dug in too deep.

“For the first time in nearly two years, I was entirely myself again. She said she was pregnant, that she was ready for us to start a family and I just ran. I found my way back to Little Hangleton and my parents agreed to take me in. They spread the story that I was bewitched but I don’t even know if they believe me.”

Watery, brown eyes met Tom’s and it hurt like a bullet to the gut.

“I am sorry,” Thomas said, “not that she died but that I ever left you with her.” He glanced again at Harry. “You look so much like me. Please tell me she didn’t…”

“She died giving birth to me,” Tom’s mouth was dry.

“Thank god,” Thomas murmured under his breath and Tom couldn’t take it anymore.

He leapt to his feet. “Mipsy,” he called and the house elf hurried up to him, “yes, Master Tom?”

“Can you apparate us back to the castle?”

“I can be doing that,” Mipsy squeaked. Dismissing his son’s protests, Tom scooped up Harry and grasped Mipsy’s hand.

“Write to me,” Thomas stood as well, his voice pleading, “please. Just let me know if you are safe.”

Tom wavered, just for a moment, sparing one last look at his father. “Take us home, Mipsy,” he said, and the three of them disappeared with a crack, leaving Thomas and Marvolo’s wand behind.

Tom felt like he was being pulled through a very tight tube and he held Harry close to him. Solid ground slammed into his feet and he collapsed. The nausea that he had been fighting for the past week and a half returned and this time he could not stop it. He wretched up bile, trembling on the ground. Harry squirmed away from him as Mipsy vanished the mess. He went to pat Tom’s back awkwardly but froze at the sight of something that had slipped out from under his jacket.

“W-where?” Harry stammered, glancing at the shimmery, slightly iridescent fabric on the ground. “Where did you get my dad’s cloak?”

Through the fog clouding his mind and the burning in his throat, Tom could only made out two words. He looked up at Harry, his eyes narrowing. “Your fathers?”

Chapter Text

Harry’s eyes widened and he stepped back from the cloak.

“Your father’s?” Through the haze of nausea and pain, Tom’s own voice was muffled. He picked up the cloak and let it flow through his fingers. “I recognise it,” that’s what Henry had said, “Fleamont sleeps with it under his pillow.”

“I found it with you,” Tom said, “and I took it.” He looked up at Harry and offered him the cloak. With faintly trembling fingers, Harry drew it to his chest and stroked the fabric like it was a beloved childhood toy he thought he had lost or the only surviving photograph scavenged from a fire.

“It was my…other dad’s?” Harry whispered. His voice was wistful.

Tom dug into the pocket where he still kept the soul test he had taken all those weeks ago. His name was still there, dark against the parchment and below that one more name: Henry Potter.

“Your other dad,” Tom repeated.

Harry nodded with enough force to make his messy hair bounce.  

Slowly, Tom reached up and touched his own more rigid curls that were falling loose from all the gel that had been washed away by the rain. He looked closely at the slope of Harry’s nose and the glasses perched upon them. His eyes trailed down to the lion on Harry’s jacket.

If Fleamont and Euphemia couldn’t have a child, if they had died prematurely…who would the cloak go to? Tom glanced around them and saw that Mipsy had apparated them into the room of requirement. It had transformed into the wooden cabin where Henry had first made them dinner. He was kneeling on the same, soft, white carpet and could almost smell the cloves and nutmeg in freshly baked pfeffernusse cookies.

Tom thought’s drifted back to the library and the books he hadn’t dared to open. Wizards had Polyjuice potion, human transfiguration, blood adoption. What else could they do?

Tom saw a single tear fall down Harry’s cheek, quickly hidden behind the cloak. They died in a car crash when I was a baby. They. Something heavy thudded into his stomach

“I think it be time you be getting to bed,” Mipsy said, “it be late.”

Tom didn’t think there was any way he would be sleeping tonight.

“You should take Harry,” he said to the house elf, “I’m just going to stay up for a bit.” At Mipsy’s glare Tom raised his hands defensively, “I’m not going to leave the castle.”

“Hmph,” Mipsy huffed. “I be thinking you should not be alone tonight.”

“I won’t do anything,” Tom promised.

Mipsy narrowed her eyes. She marched over to Harry and reached for his upper arm, making his son jump and look up from the cloak.

“I’m not tired,” Harry said quickly, glancing at Tom, “you can leave me here.”

Mipsy ignored him. She seized his arm and dragged him off towards the door.

“Wait,” Tom stumbled to his feet, reaching into his pocket. “The cloak,” he said, “is that all you have from your parents?” He couldn’t remember seeing Harry with anything but a bag of tin cans and bread when he arrived.

Harry tilted his head to the side.

“Here,” Tom undid one of his shoe laces and transfigured it into a simple silver chain. He drew out Marvolo’s ring and threaded the chain through it before holding it out to Harry. “Take this.”

Harry stared at the ring but didn’t make any move to take it.

“It should be yours,” Tom insisted. He looped the chain around Harry’s neck and fastened it securely.

As if to check it was real, Harry closed his fingers around the ring gently. His eyes were still wide, looking up at Tom disbelievingly.  

“Bed,” Mipsy pulled them out of the moment. She opened the door and pushed Harry through, only stopping to point sternly at Tom. “Stay.”

The door closed and Tom collapsed onto the small leather couch. He ran a hand over his face but it did nothing to stave off his growing head ache. This was all just too much. Perhaps Mipsy had been right. He didn’t want to be alone tonight.

CRACK.

Tom nearly fell off the couch.

Mipsy appeared back in the room of requirement but this time she was holding onto someone else.

“I was just going for a walk, I swear. Whatever you think I did, it was probably Nance or Whit. I know that they…oh hey Tom.” Henry turned towards him. “Want to tell me why I’ve been kidnapped?”

“You two, stay here,” Mipsy said, hands on her hips. There was no room for argument in her voice.

“Tom?” The smile faded from Henry’s lips. His eyes trailed over Tom’s face down to the mud on his shoes. “Is everything alright?”

Tom didn’t know what his face was doing. He couldn't take this.

“Hey,” Henry didn’t hesitate. He rushed over to Tom and pulled him into his arms. On the couch, Henry drew him close and Tom couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears soaked into Henry’s robe but he didn’t push Tom away, he just held him as Mipsy slipped quietly from the room.  

Tom came back to himself in waves. He realised he had Henry’s shirt in a vice-like grip and was muttering apologies under his breath. His face burning, he tried to detangle himself from the Gryffindor but Henry only shushed him. He ran his fingers through Tom’s hair and to his mortification, the soft gesture forced more tears from his stinging eyes. Mrs Cole would be so disappointed in him. All her hard work and here he was, crying like a child. Tom buried his face in Henry’s shirt. He couldn’t bare to look him in the eye.

“Do you want to talk?” Henry said softly but Tom shook his head. There was something stuck in his throat.

“What if I talked?” Henry was still carding through Tom’s hair, “and you listened? I could tell you a story?”

Tom wanted to protest. He wasn’t some kid who needed a bedtime story but in Henry’s arms he was so warm. Tom found himself nodding against his will.

“Why are you still up?” His voice was scratchy but Tom was surprised he was able to speak at all.

“Ah but that’s not a happy story,” Henry leaned back against the couch, pulling Tom with him, “I could tell you a happy story.”

For the first time, Tom managed to peek up at Henry’s face and saw there were shadows under his eyes. It was strange to see him without his crooked smile.

“What happened?” Tom pushed himself up on the couch. He scanned Henry's body. His clothes were ruffled and his hair windswept but no more than usual. The only sign that something was wrong with Henry, was a faint, red tinge around his eyes just like on the night Tom had first tried Felix Felicis.

“Nothing,” Henry said. Tom glared at him and Henry laughed. It sounded real, if a little quiet. “I meant nothing new. You don’t need to run off and defend my honour. Some nights it’s just harder to sleep.”

Tom sat up fully.

“I’ve got it,” Henry said, “I’m going to tell you about Mama Dottie.” He moved to sit beside Tom, his arm resting on the couch behind him.

“Mama Dottie wasn’t really my ma,” Henry said, “she was this little, old lady who lived on the corner of Jahn Street. She had been living on the streets for half her life and barely spoke a word but man, she knew how to curse. You shouldn’t let yourself be fooled by her sweet, old lady act. She could get you anything but only for a price.”

As Henry spoke, he relaxed into the couch. His arm drifted onto Tom’s shoulders and Tom let himself be tucked close into his side.

“And she wasn’t afraid to skimp you,” Henry said, “you could usually get better deals from the pawn shops but they would ask questions. Mama Dottie could watch you steal a purse from a woman right in front of her and offer you a jar of sweets for a job well done.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” it was easier for Tom to speak now.

“Oh, she was never fair,” Henry smiled as if the memory was a fond one, “but she knew the streets. If it was going to be a cold night, she would trade you a blanket, even if you asked for food. She gave me a knife once and let me tell you, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I’ve still got it.”

Henry reached down and rolled down his sock, revealing a small switch blade.

Tom had so many follow up questions.

He stared at the switch blade. The handle was made of metal, the blade sharp and clearly well-cared for. Tom recognised the make. He kept a similar one under his pillow during the summer.

“Why did you call her Mama Dottie?” It probably wasn’t the most pertinent question but he had a head ache.

“It was a joke in the village,” Henry smirked, “she would call everyone Du Hurensohn, sons of bitches but to the coppers she was the town’s Miststück. If she was the bitch and we were all the son of a bitch…”

“You were her children,” Tom finished.

“Exactly,” Henry smiled and the sight was beautiful. Tom wanted to keep looking and never stop. If what Harry said was true, that might not be possible. Without realising, Tom hand had returned to Henry’s shirt, gripping it tight as if that could stop Henry from ever leaving him. The future had already been changed, Tom was sure of it. He would not lose Henry.

“Though it was more than just that,” Henry’s smile dropped and Tom thought it would do just about anything to bring it back, “Mama Dottie wasn’t fair but I think she cared, deep down. She wouldn’t give us up to the coppers. They could be screaming at her and she would not budge, even when they drew out their gun. In the end, it was a damn teenager, showing off for his buddies.”

Henry reached up and clasped Tom’s hand, still gripping his shirt. He held on for a few seconds before he realised it. “Well, anyway,” the shift back to his smiling self was a little unnerving. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep tonight. Some memories are just harder to forget.”

“I saw my father tonight,”

“Yeah?” Henry twisted to look at him better.

“Did you remember Caterina Rocha?” Tom didn’t know why he was saying any of this but the words poured out of him and he didn’t think he could stop them.  

“I think?” Henry frowned, “Wasn’t she that fifth year Slytherin? Three years ago she accidentally sealed her mouth shut or something. I remember she had to go to Saint Mungo’s to get it unstuck.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Tom should really stop talking. “I did it.”

Henry didn’t say anything. He kept his arm around Tom, the weight grounding him.

“When I was first sorted into Slytherin, they all knew I didn’t belong. I couldn’t hide my muggle name and the Hogwarts grant didn’t exactly cover a tailoring service. Rocha was the only one who would talk to me. She was a third year back then. In the Great Hall, she would spare me a seat, offer to help me with my homework. Rocha could be a little…intense but she was there.”

“Things got better,” Tom rubbed the fabric of Henry’s shirt between his fingers. It was a soft material. “I learnt how to handle the Slytherins, how to gain their respect. They started to invite me to sit with them.” Tom shrugged. “I didn’t need Rocha anymore.”

“There was a party, the Slytherins won the semi-finals and…” he faltered.

-FLASH BACK-

It had been three years ago. He could still smell the gunpower from the no heat, wet start fireworks Malfoy had set off. The common room had been packed, green and silver banners draped overhead. In the centre of the room, the Quidditch players were downing shots, spurred on by the cheering crowd. The noise was deafening.

Tom sat in the furthest corner, watching the chaos over a copy of the Daily Prophet. At his feet, Malfoy and Parkinson were discussing the game while Nott ignored them behind a book.

“Lestrange could have caught the snitch sooner. It was hovering by that goal post for nearly five minutes.” Parkinson’s words were already a little slurred.

“Slytherin needed the points,” Malfoy said, raising his own glass to his lips, “we’ll need to be more than fifty points ahead if we want to win the cup.”

“Ravenclaw’s chasers are too good,” Parkinson shook her head, “it would have been better to catch the snitch early. They nearly lost.”

“But they didn’t,” Malfoy grinned, “now we just have to beat Gryffindor.”

“I wish them luck.” Parkinson snorted, “They’ll need Felix Felicis to beat their new seeker.”

“What do you think?” Malfoy shifted to look up at Tom, “Reckon Slytherin has a chance?”

Tom put down the newspaper. “I think they would appreciate your luck, Parkinson.”

“Where’s your house spirit?” Malfoy slapped Tom’s knee and he resisted the urge to flinch. “Bet you ten galleons Slytherin wins.”

Tom’s held the newspaper back up. “I think, I’ll leave the betting to you.”

“Tom, Tom,” Rocha emerged from the crowd and draped herself over his chair. Her long blonde hair tickled against his neck, obstructing his view of the paper. “Have you tried the fire whisky?” Rocha crooned. “Lestrange got a few bottles.”

Tom tried to squirm away without making it obvious. She had a glass in her hand and was pushing it at him, causing the golden liquid inside to slosh over the top.

“Score,” Malfoy went to take the glass but Rocha jerked it back.

“It’s not for you.” She turned back to Tom. “Try it. I’ll think you’ll like it.”

Parkinson scowled at Rocha.

“I’m busy, Rocha,” Tom ground out.

“You’re no fun,” Rocha flicked her hair, “come on Tom, you used to be fun.”

“Go on,” Malfoy winked at Rocha, “no one here will tell. They’ll still make your prefect if you relax every now and again.”

“Just a sip,” Rocha coaxed.

“If you take a sip will you go away,” Tom sighed, taking the glass.

“Oh, I will,” Rocha promised, “just try it.”

“Fine,” Tom raised the glass to his lips as Malfoy whooped. He wrinkled his nose at the taste. It was much too sweet for his liking.

-END OF FLASH BACK-

“What happened?” Henry asked, pulling Tom out of the memory. He clamped his mouth shut. Even the feeling of Henry’s arm around him was suddenly too much and he shied away to the far end of the couch.

“It’s ok,” Henry let him go, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“I…you’ll think less of me.” Henry was right, Tom didn’t have to say anything. He could have kept his mouth shut. It had been years. Tom had never had the desire to tell anyone about Catrina Rocha.

“Listen to me,” Henry bent to meet Tom’s eyes, his expression serious. “There is nothing that could make me think less of you.”

“I’m in the gobstones club,”

Henry let out a chocked laughter that he stifled behind his hand.

Tom crossed his arms, glowering.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Henry assured him, “it’s a popular game.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, “that’s how you knew Danny, wasn’t it?”

“We did meet in the library,” Tom said defensively. “I thought it could be valuable to learn about the teenage experience.”

“Through playing gobstones,”

“Well, yes.”

The two of them fell back into silence. Peering over his knees, Tom saw that Henry was watching him softly, not laughing or standing up to leave. His arm was still resting on the couch. The coldness was leaking back into Tom and the cabin’s fireplace was doing nothing to slow its progress.

Eyes never leaving Henry, Tom inched forwards. Henry’s fingers brushed against his shoulder and the touch was warm. With no energy to resist, Tom collapsed back against Henry.

“I couldn’t think less of you, Sonnenschein,” Henry’s fingers returned to Tom’s hair, “If you want me to, I’ll be there for every one of your gobstones games. If you asked, I would hunt down Rocha. I’m quite handy with the switchblade.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Tom murmured into Henry’s shirt. “Rocha wasn’t a good potioneer. Nothing happened. It wasn’t strong enough or I didn’t drink enough. She took me to her dorm room, pressed me down into her bed but I could still fight back. I don’t remember everything but I know she tried to kiss me and my magic lashed out. I don’t think I even thought of a spell.”

“I just wish I knew why,” Tom burst out, gripping Henry’s robe. “Why anyone would do that?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said, stroking the hair back from Tom’s face. “But I think it’s a real shame Saint Mungo’s were able to unstick her mouth.”

Tom huffed. “Me too.”

His eyes were growing heavy. It must be nearly midnight. Tom’s whole body felt drained and yet somehow lighter. There was a comforting heat around him. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. Henry shifted underneath him and Tom seized his robes tighter.

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Henry assured him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tom rested his head against Henry’s chest, soaking in the warmth and listening to the steady beat of Henry’s heart.

“Go to sleep, Sonnenschein,” Henry murmured, summoning a blanket and draping it over the two of them. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

For the first time in more than a week, Tom’s breathing slowed and he drifted into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

Harry was woken by a flash of lightening, searing through his closed eyelids. He sat up in bed, breathing hard. It took a moment for him to realise why his heart was beating like he had been running for his life. His hand snaked up to grasp the ring hanging around his neck. It was warm. Harry pulled the chain over his head and rolled the ring once over in his fingers.

The room was lit up once more by white light and he saw a strange symbol carved into the stone. It was a circle inside a triangle with a line through the centre, right where Dumbledore had split this same ring in fifty years’ time. That was the same symbol Xenophilias' had worn at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, the one Hermione had become obsessed with deciphering. Krum had called it Grindelwald’s symbol. Harry studied the ring closer, noting the small scratches and discolorations inside the silver band. He might not know much about jewellery but he had spent hours washing and polishing Aunt Petunia’s collection. This ring was old, far older than Grindelwald. It looked like a real family heirloom, not the cheap imitations Aunt Petunia had flaunted. That only made Harry wonder why had Tom given something so precious to him?

Harry clambered out of bed, tucking the ring back around his neck beside the mokeskin pouch. He glanced over at Tom’s bed and once more found it empty. Panicked seized him. Harry remembered falling asleep and waking behind Tom’s eyes, watching Morfin attack him and feeling emotions that weren’t his own coil inside of him. He had fled to Mipsy, his scar burning for the first time in weeks, sure he was already too late.

Harry ran his finger over the ring. It seemed to buzz under his skin but it must just be his imagination. He remembered how the locket had felt on his neck, a heavy weight that had seeped the warmth from him. In contrast, there was something about this ring that was oddly comforting.

Slipping out of the bedroom, Harry padded silently through the empty Slytherin common room. Henry had given him back the hawthorn wand with a warning to not blow anything up. He cast tempus and saw that it was just past six in the morning though the storm clouds outside blocked the rising sun. As Harry hurried through the castle, the story of Merope and Thomas Riddle spun around his head. Last night had not been the first time that Harry had faced down his brother wand though he had never seen such raw pain in those brown eyes that would one day become red. It had scared him more than the wand at his neck. All these weeks he had spent trying to protect the world from Tom, maybe he should have been more worried about the teenager from Wool's orphanage.

Harry had tried to stay awake when Mipsy had pulled him out of the room and requirement and under the covers but his body was weak. And now? It looked like Tom had never come back to bed.

Harry reached the portrait of trolls learning ballet, his heart twisting in his chest. Had Tom got any sleep last night? Show me Tom Riddle. Harry thought, walking up and down the corridor three times. The door appeared and he rushed through it into a winter cabin. He heard voices in the darkened room and paused.

“I knew it,” Harry could make out Henry lying on a leather couch, lit faintly by light streaming in from an artificial window. He was gleefully running his fingers through Tom’s hair which had gone all curly overnight.

Tom grumbled. “Wot time is it?” His cockney accent slipped through but he didn’t seem to notice. What was Henry doing here? Harry expected to find Tom obsessing over half the library, not willingly lying in someone else’s arms.

His eyes narrowed. Hermione had once said he had the emotional awareness of a brick wall but Harry was starting to wonder. Was there something going on between Tom and his great uncle?

“Early,” Henry said, plucking at one of Tom’s curls.

“That doesn’t help,” Tom pushed himself up a little, “I’ve seen what you consider early.”

“Hey,” Henry protested, “I’m always early to your things.”

“You’re always on time,” Tom rolled his eyes, “and only just.”

Harry didn’t think he should be watching this. It felt strangely intimate. Perhaps he should leave them to it. Harry went to back away but his shoes hit the still half-open door. It closed with a bang and both boys jumped, springing apart from each other.

“Harry!” Henry ran over to him, not looking that upset to be interrupted. “Nice jacket.”

“Thanks,” Harry let himself be pulled into a hug.

“Martha and Paul should take parenting tips from you,” Henry called back to Tom, “they could never get me and Fleamont up this early without some serious bribery.”

“It’s not that early,” Tom came over, smoothing down his hair.

“Nooo,” Henry whined, “your best feature.”

“You like my hair?” Tom pulled at it self-consciously.

“Ich liebe alles an dir.” Henry whispered.

Harry cleared his throat. “We’re going to be late for signing lessons.”

This morning, Tom’s clothes were rumpled but there was actual colour in his cheeks and he looked more relaxed.

“Let me have a shower first,” Tom said and another door appeared out of nowhere in the wall beside him. He pushed it open and Harry saw that it led to a fairly lavish bathroom. “I’ll be quick,” he said over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

Harry and Henry were left in the room together.

“Was Tom ok last night?” Harry asked Henry once he heard the water turn on.

“I think he will be,” Henry said, artfully undoing his tie and untucking his shirt, “your da’s made of strong stuff.”

“What exactly are your intentions with Tom?” Harry turned on Henry. The Gryffindor had not shown any reason to distrust him but after last night, Harry had to make sure. People couldn’t stop raving about how great his father was but he had still turned out to bully Snape.

Henry froze. “Uh, why don’t you take a seat?” He gestured to the couch.

Harry sat down and waited for Henry to join him. Henry perched on the edge of the couch, twiddling his thumbs together.

“My intentions to your da,” he tapped at his knee, “I want to make him happy.”

“Is that it?” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Well,” Henry said, “he makes me happy. It’s only fair if I return the favour.”

“If you hurt him…” Harry’s hand gravitated towards the hawthorn wand.

“I promise you,” Henry said, “that’s the last thing I want to do.”

The water shut off and Tom emerged a minute later, his uniform immaculate. The only thing out of place was his hair. Instead of his usual gel, the curls hung free, just reaching the top of his ears. Tom fiddled with it, looking unsure.

“I love it,” Henry stood up from the couch.

“Mrs Cole would shave it all off if she saw me,” Tom tucked a curl behind his ear.

“All the more reason to do it,” Henry helped Harry to his feet.

“Maybe I should pierce my ears next,” Tom’s lips lifted into a small smile, “she might faint.”

“Please,” Henry smirked back, “Nance got me little pentagrams at Hogsmeade. They could really complete the look.”

Instead of laughing, Tom’s eyes widened in horror. “Hogsmeade,” he said, “we were meant to go to Hogsmeade together. I was doing research on my father and I fell asleep.”

Henry pat Tom on the shoulder. “You’re forgiven,” he sat, walking towards the door, “but next time I’m paying.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Harry and Tom followed after him, “and where are you going? Breakfast still isn’t for two more hours.”

“To your signing lesson,” Henry opened the door for them, “I’ve made a list for Ally.”

Harry went to take the list but Tom snatched it away. “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” he shrugged, stuffing it into his pocket, “and you,” Tom looked at Henry, “you can come but you might want to expand your vocabulary into something more productive.”

“I think you underestimate just how versatile those words can be,” Henry winked, “but fine, I’ll stop corrupting the youth.”

The three of them filed out of the room of requirement, the door sealing into nothing behind them.

Chapter Text

“I don’t recognise those signs,” Tom stood by the door, arms crossed, watching Henry wave his hands enthusiastically in front of Ally.

“Oh, these are just a few things I learnt in Germany,” Henry said. He made a fist with his right hand brought it up, slapping the upper part of his right arm with his left hand.

Ally copied the movement.

“A little more force on the jerk up,” Henry instructed, “you have to really mean it.” He repositioned Harry’s hands and repeated the sign.

“Yes, just like that. Perfect.” Henry high fived Ally, who was grinning wider than Harry had seen in weeks, “we’ll make a delinquent out of you, yet.”

“Don’t let the innocent act fool you,” Tom grumbled, “Ally is already a little menace.” Ally poked her tongue out at Tom.

“And I think that’s the lesson over,” Tom stepped forward. “Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

I want French toast. Ally signed, bouncing forward. With strawberries.

Tom glared at Henry, gesturing to Ally. “See, menace.”

Ally giggled.

Harry followed behind Henry, Ally and Tom as they left the old classroom. The feeling of unease he had woken with was still there, humming at the back of his head. It had abated somewhat when he saw Tom but with every step towards the Great Hall, it was growing stronger.

Henry pushed the double doors open with a flourish and Harry’s heart dropped. He stared up at the dripping candles and paper bats. How could he have forgotten?

Today was Halloween.

“Sit with me,” Henry said, “all of you. Let’s go to the Gryffindor table.” His eyes were focused on the Slytherins or one Slytherin in particular. Walburga sat beside Nott and Parkinson, her chin resting on her interlocked hands. Her gaze was on Tom and she was not smiling anymore.  

Tom shifted a little closer to Henry. “I can’t just avoid them.”

“You’re not avoiding them,” Henry took hold of Tom’s arm and steered him away from the Slytherins. “You’re just having breakfast with me. I’ve always found that we have the best French toast at the Gryffindor table."

"I know that’s not true,” Tom said but he let himself be dragged over to Nance, Leo and Whit. Ally leapt over to a plate of thick slices of bread sprinkled with icing sugar. Leo cleared a space for her, looking amused as she piled strawberries on top of the French toast pile.

It's Argus' favourite. Ally signed. She drew a slice up to her mouth but paused, scanning the hall. Ally slouched and put the slice back down, reaching for a strawberry instead. Ally nibbled at the end of a strawberry, eyes shifting to focus on the door into the Great Hall.

Harry moved to sit next to her but his body couldn’t relax. His hand kept unconsciously checking that the hawthorn wand was still hidden in his back pocket. At any second he expected a troll to burst into the hall, a disembodied voice to filter through the walls, a convicted killer to sneak into the castle…really the list went on. Strangely enough Harry did not have the desire to flee from the one man who was behind so many of his Halloweens, the man who would have killed his parents on this very night. More than fight or flee, he was oddly tempted to curl up in Tom’s arms. 

“You hungry?” Henry said, offering him the French toast.

Harry shook his head.

“I like your new look,” Nance leaned over to talk to Tom. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see them at the Gryffindor table. “It suits you.”

Tom lifted a hand to touch his loose curls. “Thanks. I’m trying to save money on hair gel.” Harry suspected that most people might have missed it, but he noticed the slight upward tick of Tom’s lips. He piled food onto Harry’s plate and death glared him until he ate a few bites.

Breakfast passed without incident.

Harry couldn’t say he was surprised. These things always waited until nightfall. Above them, the ceiling occasionally flashed with lightening but the sounds of the storm had been dimmed. Harry focussed on Henry, Whit and Eddie discussing their upcoming match against Ravenclaw while Tom read the Daily Prophet.

Across the hall, Harry could feel Walburga’s gaze on them. He pushed away his plate.

This wasn’t one of Eve’s tutoring days. Once breakfast was over, Harry was free to do whatever he wanted but he was torn. Was it better to be alone or with someone? Trouble tended to find him and Harry would not allow anyone else to be caught in the cross fire. But what if something happened to Ally, Argus, Henry or Tom and Harry wasn’t there to protect them.

Gripped with indecision, Harry spent the morning flitting between classes, Kallo at his heels. He didn’t stay anywhere long. Using the marauder’s map, he followed his friends, checking in on each of them every thirty minutes or so. Argus was the hardest to find. If he heard anyone coming, he would disappear into a secret passage and it could take hours for Harry to track him back down. He was even thinner, jumping atevery small sound and looking over his shoulder. Harry felt the urge to check for cameras or microphones around him but of course, they didn’t work in the castle. Still, Harry felt watched. With his newly returned invisibility cloak, Harry could have snuck up on him but he didn’t want to scare Argus. For now, he left the boy to his mop and bucket though he kept bringing out the map, just to make sure he was alone.

Hours dragged by and the buzzing in Harry’s mind worsened.

In the afternoon, he scanned for Ally’s dot and his heart stopped when he saw it in the hospital wing. He fled down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet. Pushing through the hospital wing doors, Harry saw that several of the beds were full. There was a girl with duck feet, another with a long, crooked witch nose and scales on her arms. Marlene was running around, her bun falling apart and matron hat lopsided.

“I swear it gets worse every Halloween,” She drew two bottles out of a cupboard. “Drink this.” Marlene thrust a bottle at the girl with duck feet, “And I mean all of it. I don’t care how it tastes.”

The girl grumbled but took the bottle.

“Say what you want but I admire their creativity,” Eve was leaning against the wall, watching the matron. “In finishing school, it was all glue on the chairs and switching the shampoo and conditioner.”

“Well, a bad hair day never hurt anyone,” Marlene returned to the cabinet and reached for a yellowish paste.

“Speak for yourself,” Eve said, “the girls there could be ruthless. Oh, hello Harry.” She turned to the door and smiled at him.

Harry peered past her at the other beds and saw Ally, sitting up and nursing her hands. They were both covered with thick bandages.

What happened? Harry signed, rushing over to the bed.

Ally raised her hands and winced at the movement. Biting her lip, she tried to sign but her fingers were wrapped tightly together. She let out a tiny noise of frustration and slumped on the bed. Curled up in her lap, Lottie raised her head sleepily and nuzzled Ally’s stomach. Ally bent the kiss the top of her head. Smelling the kitten, Kallo reared up and nudged at her playfully. Lottie batted at Kallo’s nose and they fell into their usual game of tag.

“Undiluted bubotuber pus,” Marlene came over to them, “I’ve drained the boils but they will need to stay wrapped for at least a week.”

“Isn’t there any other way?” Harry stared at the bandages.

“I’m afraid not,” Marlene sighed, “we can use murtlap essence for the pain but it will take time to heal.”

Ally buried her face in Lottie’s fur, not looking at Marlene’s lips. She had clearly already heard the news.

Harry ducked to try and catch her eye. Did someone do this to you?

Ally shook her head, shrinking into herself.

Did it happen in class? Harry had popped in and out of Ally’s classes all day. She had never gone down to the greenhouses.

Ally didn’t nod or shake. She just sat on the bed, coiled around Lottie. Guilt rose in Harry’s gut. He should have been there. Whatever had happened, it was within he last half hour and Harry had missed it. He should have stayed with Ally. She didn’t have the experience or strength that Tom and Henry had to defend themselves.

As if reading his thoughts, Ally looked up. She jerked her head at the space next to her on the hospital cot. When Harry didn’t immediately move, Ally held out her bandaged hand out and brought it to her chest. It wasn’t quite the right sign but it was simple enough for Harry to figure out.

Come.

“I can close the curtains,” Marlene said, “give ya some time together.” She looked over at Ally. “And there are no pets allowed in the hospital wing.”

Ally drew Lottie protectively to her.

“So, don’t let me see what’s in ya lap,” Marlene winked. “Or on the floor.” Kallo hissed. She pulled the curtains shut and Harry heaved himself and Kallo up onto the bed next to Ally. They both shifted back against the pillows and Ally leaned against him.

I could go and get Argus. Harry offered. If there was anything that would drag the boy away from his cleaning duties, it was sure to be his sister.

Ally shook her head again.

My friend once got her hands covered in B.U.B.O.T.U.B.E.R P.U.S. Harry switched tactics. He could see that Ally was tense and though she was trying to hide it, she kept wincing.

At Harry’s signs, Ally furrowed her eyebrows.

There was a story in the papers about her. Harry explained. It wasn’t a very nice one. She got a lot of hate mail and one of the letters was full of that.

Ally made the universal sign for go on.

Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal too much about the future but Ally wasn’t someone to run off and tell on him. She shifted her hands to pet Lottie and let out another muffled whimper.

It all started with a woman R.I.T.A S.K.E.E.T.E.R. Harry began. He made a new sign for her, placing his fingers together to indicate something small and swatting it with his other hand. Ally widened her eyes at the new sign and she leaned forward to watch his hands more closely.

For the rest of the day, Harry stayed with Ally, telling stories about Hermione. It was nice. He skirted around some of the facts, aging down Hermione and only mentioned Ron and Draco by their first names but it eased a little of the grief Harry didn’t know he was carrying around with him. His internal alarm quietened a little and he was beginning to suspect that this might be all this Halloween had to offer.

And Hermione punched him in the face. Harry signed. Just like wham. He curled his hand into a fist and slapped his other hand. It was beautiful.

Ally snickered.

There were footsteps outside of the bed curtains and Harry peered over. The curtains slid aside and Tom hurried towards the bed.

“Harry? Ally? Eve told me that you were in the Hospital Wing. I’m sorry I couldn’t get out of class sooner.” He reached for Ally’s hands and examined them, his face darkening at the sight of the bandages.

Who did to this to? He signed but Ally went back to shaking her head, her whole body tensing.

Is it time for the feast? Harry asked.

Not for another hour. Tom let go of Ally’s hands. I should get Henry. He might be able to brew a something to accelerate the healing process.

Ally shrugged and cuddled up to Lottie and Kallo.

Can I join you? Tom asked instead. When Ally nodded, he clambered onto the bed and swept both Ally and Harry close to him.

I’m going to find who did this. He promised. Ally rested her head against Tom’s chest and closed her eyes.

With his back to Tom, the buzzing in Harry’s mind lessened even further. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until very late last night and his whole body had been wired up all day. Tom’s hand slipped into his hair and that was all it took. Against his will, Harry’s eyes fell shut.

***

“Hey, hey,”

Someone was shaking him. Harry groaned, desperate to cling onto the warmth.

“It’s time for the feast,” a voice filtered through his sleep addled thoughts and Harry reluctantly opened his eyes. He was met by the harsh, Hospital Wing fluorescents.

“Madame Pomfrey?” Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called that,”

“Tom?” Harry sat up, blinking away the fog.

“Welcome back,” Tom was smiling softly down at him. He put his hands under Harry’s arms and heaved him off the bed. Harry stumbled for a second before finding his footing. Ally hopped down beside him and Lottie squirmed out of her arms. She landed on the ground and followed the three of them out of the Hospital Wing on foot. Once they were outside, her eyes locked onto something scampering through the shadows and tore after it. Kallo stayed with them, looking up at Tom.

⚕I want chicken.⚕ She hissed. ⚕And eggs.⚕

⚕Or you could hunt for yourself. ⚕ Tom grumbled but he let Kallo slither beside them into the Great Hall.

It was abuzz with chatter. Giant pumpkins decorated the tables and there was a raised stage beside the head table with a string quartet of animated skeletons, filling the hall with the woeful peel of violins.

Tom glanced from the Slytherin table to Ally’s hands. Do you want to sit with the Hufflepuffs? He signed.

Ally looked around and saw Hagrid at the Gryffindor table, opposite Henry and his friends. She nudged Tom and gestured to them.

We can ask Henry about a potion to heal Ally’s hands. Harry had no desire to spend the Halloween feast beside the Slytherins.

We can’t avoid them indefinitely. Tom signed but he didn’t seem that eager to join them either.

⚕Just for tonight.⚕ Harry dropped into parseltongue, letting his eyes widen pleadingly.

Tom sighed but he was still smiling. “Fine…for tonight.”

Over at the Gryffindor table, Henry saw them coming and perked up. He pat the spot next to him and Nance and Whit moved over to clear more space. Ally jumped up beside Henry, waving at Hagrid.

“What happened to your hands?” Henry asked.

“Bubotuber pus,” Tom said, sitting on his other side. “Have you worked with it much?”

“Not really,” Henry looked at Ally apologetically, “I could brew murtlap essence but bubotuber pus repels healing magic like reticulated python venom. I’ll do some experiments but as far as I’m aware, it has to heal on its own. Do you know who did this?”

“I’ll go to the library tomorrow,” Tom said, “and no.”

At the head table, Dippet stood up and the hall fell quiet.

“Welcome back to another Halloween feast or for the first years amongst us, get ready for one of Hogwarts’ oldest traditions.” Dippet smiled down at the students, “I know these past few weeks have been hard for many of us. In these trying times, I believe it is even more important to sit down and enjoy a home cooked meal with friends and family. With that said, enjoy.”

There was a flash of lightening up above as the tables filled with towers of mashed and boiled potatoes, sausages, steaks, salad and a hundred other types of food. Harry hadn’t eaten much for breakfast or lunch. He loaded his plate and helped Ally ladle her own plate with everything she gestured to.

“Not the most inspiring speech,” Whit said, piecing a string bean, “I’m sure there are a lot of people that wished they were eating with their friends and family but, you know, can't anymore.”

“At least it was short,” Nance shrugged. “I’m starving.”

Harry noticed Tom glance up at the head table and followed his gaze. Dumbledore was looking at them behind his half-moon spectacles. His eyebrows were slightly raised but after a second he turned away and dug into his plate. Harry’s eyes moved along the table and settled on Pringle at the far end. He was sipping on a glass of wine and scanning the students below him. Argus was not beside him or anywhere else in the hall.

“Do you need a hand with your knife and fork?” Henry asked Ally. She was struggling to wrap her bandaged hands around the cutlery but scowled at the offer of help.

“Let me cut up your sausage at least,” Henry bargained. Ally stabbed the sausage and lifted the whole thing up to bite into it.

Kallo nudged at Harry’s foot and he slipped a piece of chicken off his plate.

“Did you ever celebrate Halloween in London?” Whit asked Tom.

“We did not,” Tom spoke slowly, shifting in his seat. “The matron, Mrs Cole, she considered it the devil holiday.”

“She’s not wrong,” Whit said, “it’s a holiday where children are given unrestricted access to sweets. That seems like the devil’s work to me. I swear my brother on a sugar high could be mistaken for a demon.”

“In Germany we have Süßes oder Saures, sweet or sour, best time of year for a street kid.” Henry grinned over his mashed potatoes.

“That’s cute,” Nance said, “my mum and dad used to do the whole pumpkin carving with us. I won a prize for it once in primary school.”

“You’ve told us,” Whit rolled her eyes, “and you were six. I don’t think that’s much to brag about.”

“I’d say it’s even more impressive,” Nance argued, “my mum gave a six year old a knife and I still have all my fingers.”

“Do you ever celebrate the traditional way?” Tom asked Leo, “I know the Lovegood’s are an ancient family.”

“My dad and I would burn mistletoe in honour of Saint Gertrude the Great. We haven’t kept up the tradition much with me off at school but I keep a few matches in my trunk.” Leo said airily.

Harry stifled a snicker behind a forkful of roast chicken at the confused looks on everyone’s faces. He knew he recognised Leo. Merlin, he missed Luna.

The dinner was eventually replaced by dessert and Harry leapt at the treacle tart. It was as delicious as he remembered but that didn’t stop him counting down the seconds until the feast would be over. He could relax once he was back in his own bed. Harry must not be the only one to feel this way. He saw Walburga and Nott stand up and leave the hall, disappearing behind the double doors without a sound.

At long last, the cakes, ice-cream, pies and chocolates disappeared. Harry was one of the first to stand up.

“You tired?” Tom asked, “I could carry you back to the dorm.”

Harry was tempted to say yes but he had to remind himself that though he may look like a child, he wasn’t one. He could walk down three flights of stairs.

“Will we see you wearing red this weekend?” Whit asked as Tom got up to go.

“I’m sure Harry will wear enough red for both of us,” Tom said. He turned to Ally. “We’ll walk you back to the common room.”

Ally crossed her arms but there was no room for argument in Tom’s face. She let out a huff.

“I’ll come with you,” Henry said. He scooped Harry off the ground and it would simply be rude to resist at this point. Harry tucked his head under Henry’s chin and let himself be carried out of the Great Hall.

“Do you plan to go straight to bed after the meeting tomorrow?” Henry spoke a little louder to be heard over the crowd flooding down the stairs.

“I suppose not, why?” Tom said, stopping in his path. There was a crowd of students up ahead blocking the corridor and Harry really wished they would get out of the way so they could all go to bed. They were whispering, craning their necks to see over each other.

“I was just thinking about how you could make up for Hogsmeade,” Henry’s voice was casual. He peered over the crowd, trying to see what was causing the impasse.

“I’m listening,”

“Meet me outside the entrance hall tomorrow night,” Henry said, “bring your thickest jacket.”

“I can do-wait Ally,” Tom cut himself off, reaching out to stop the small blonde. She had broken away from Henry and Tom and was squeezing through the crowd. Harry squirmed out of Henry’s arms and dropped onto the floor. Henry cried out for him to stop but he hurried after Ally, ducking around student’s legs.

They reached the front of the crowd and Harry saw Argus.

“Hey Argus, I’ve been looking for you all-.” Harry words died out. Without students standing in his way, he had an unobstructed view of the corridor.  

“Harry, there you are. Don’t-.” Tom and Henry had managed to work their way beside them. They both froze, staring at the castle wall that everyone was crowded around.

There, on the bricks was a scene that transported Harry right back to his twelve year old self. He had to fight down the nausea that flooded through him. Spread across the wall were four words, their dark crimson letters dripping onto the floor.

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE

Below them was a torch bracket. The torch had been removed and a piece of rope was wound around the bottom of the bracket. Something was hanging from the bracket, blood pouring out from underneath the rope around its neck.

It was Lottie.

Chapter Text

Rage, white hot rage, burnt through Tom’s shock, as he stared at Lottie’s body. She looked so tiny hanging from the torch blanket, her paws limp. Her eyes were open and glassy, reflecting the words written above her.

Ally let out a whimper. She stepped forwards, her bandaged hands shaking. Argus scooped her close to him, guiding her head to his shoulder. He held her close, eyes transfixed on the words dripping onto the floor.

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE

The words were crudely drawn, clearly applied by hand and yet each of the letters were evenly spaced. There was a curved flourish on the T and the E’s were all slanted slightly to the right. Tom recognised that handwriting.

He scanned the whispering crowd and there, hidden in the shadows beside Walburga, was Nott. His hands were deep in his pocket and he was staring right at Argus. Tom’s eyes flashed.

“Do you still have Veritaserum?” He asked Henry.

“In my trunk,” Henry followed Tom’s gaze, “if you wait I-.”

“Mipsy,”

The house elf appeared with a crack. “Yes, Master Tom?”

“There’s a clear bottle in my trunk,” Henry turned to Mipsy, “it has a cork stopper. Could you retrieve it for me?”

Mipsy caught sight of the bloody letters. She froze. “I be having access to private store rooms,” she said, “I can be bringing something stronger.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tom assured her. “I will do this myself.” Mipsy popped away and returned with the glass vial. Tom stowed it into his pocket, his eyes still trained on Nott.

“Move out of the way," Professor’s Slughorn’s voice cut through the crowd, “go on , you’re blocking the corridor.” The students parted to let him through.

“Dear god,” Slughorn reached the front of the crowd. He covered his mouth, looking nauseous. “Who did this?” The crowd fell silent, no one meeting Slughorn’s eye. Tom noticed Nott and Walburga slip silently out of the corridor.

“Go,” Henry said, drawing Argus, Ally and Harry towards him, “I’ll look after them.”

“Are you su-.”

“Go,” Henry reiterated. He stroked the back of Ally’s head, keeping her from turning around and looking at Lottie’s body. “Give them hell.”

That was all Tom had to hear. He tore himself away from the bloody scene and followed Nott and Walburga. Moving silently with Kallo at his heels Tom caught up to two Slytherins. He saw them duck into the Slytherin common room and slipped in after them.

The common room was packed with students coming back from the feast. Tom had to quicken his steps to keep Nott within his line of sight. Before he could disappear up to his dorm room, Tom pounced.  

“Did you do it?” Tom shoved Nott against the wall, pointing his wand at the boy’s neck. The students surrounding Tom and Nott scattered.

“Get off me,” Nott struggled. He went for his wand but Tom disarmed him wordlessly.

“Drink it,” Tom shoved the Veritaserum at Nott.

“Let go of me.” Nott fought harder against him. A burst of magic forced Nott back and his head smacked against the stone.

The Slytherins formed a circle around Tom and Nott, whispering to each other.

“Drink it,” Tom repeated through gritted teeth. “Or I will force it down your throat.” He gripped Nott’s jaw hard enough to bruise.

“Stop it!” Walburga stepped out of the crowd. Kallo reared up at her, baring her fangs and Walburga faltered. Some of the students paled and backed away.

“I know a spell that will transport this potion directly into your stomach,” Tom growled. “I would be curious to test it.” He had found the spell in Pinkerton’s book when Harry was only picking at his meals. This had gone on for too long. Someone was hurting his children and he would not spare them.

Tom raised his wand. “Poci-.”

Nott snatched at the vial but Tom wrenched it away from his grasp.

“I’ll drink it, I’ll drink it,” Nott glared at him, “you don’t need to spell it into me.” He took the potion from Tom and in one smooth motion, Nott tipped the whole vial into his mouth. Tom’s waited for him to swallow before he lowered his wand. Nott instantly gagged, trying to spit it out but it was too late. His eyes grew hazy and Tom snatched a chair, pushing it under his knees as he collapsed.

The Slytherins broke into whispers. Kallo hissed at them and they fell silent.

“Did you kill Lottie?” Tom demanded. Henry’s Veritaserum would not force an answer from Nott but he couldn’t lie. Tom suspected he had about five questions before Nott realised he could fight the potion and clamped up.

“Lottie?” Nott frowned.

“Yes, Lottie, Ally’s cat,” Tom snapped, “did you kill her?”

“Yes,” Nott said, his voice not quite emotionless but still lacking in his usual disdain.

“Did you work alone?”

Nott glanced over at Walburga.

“Why?” Tom looked at both of them.

“I can answer that,” Walburga stuck her chin in the air. “It was the pet of a squib and a Hufflepuff girl. Last year you would not have noticed, let alone cared.”

“The Filch’s are under my protection,” Tom’s fingers clenched around his wand.

“And what were we?” Walburga stepped forward and this time she ignored Kallo’s hiss. “We were your Knights.” She found Parkinson in the crowd. “Merlin our fiance, could have died and you would rather sit with the Gryffindors.”

Tom slammed his hand into the chair Nott was sitting in and everyone jumped. “Not this again,” he glowered, “I don’t understand you Walburga. You know the truth now, you know about my father. Get another leader, why don’t you?” Tom ran his fingers through his hair. “You want to know why I care about the Filch’s because they are my friends.”

“We-.” Walburga started to speak but Tom cut her off.

“No, we weren’t friends,” he waved at his Knights, “You were my followers, nothing more.”

“We could have been.” Parkinson spoke up.

Tom wanted to rip his hair out. He turned back to Nott. “Did you use bubotuber pus on Ally?”

“No,” Nott said.

“Do you know who did?”

“No,” Nott repeated. With each response, Tom could see the blank look in Nott’s eyes fade. He probably only had more question left. Tom looked around at all the students still crowded around them. It must be half of Slytherin house by now.

“What is your most embarrassing secret?” Tom said and the crowd quieted, leaning in to hear his answer.

“I,” Nott wavered for a second but ploughed on in the same slighly toneless voice, “I slept with a teddy until I was thirteen,” he said and a few people snickered, “its was a one-eyed rabbit, Bugs. I still miss her,”

The snickers erupted into laughter and Nott’s face turned steadily redder.

“Oh, yeah?” Tom smirked down at him, “and what happened to Bugs?”

“She was,” Nott clamped his lips shut, tightly. 

Oh well. He had his confession. Tom's hand was itching to raise his wand and use one of the spells Ruth had found but he had an audience.

“Well, you heard him,” Tom straightened up, “we found the killer.”

“Professor Slughorn isn’t here,” Walburga lips curved into a smile, “it is still your word against us. Surely, you don’t think anyone here is going to support you, the disgraced half-blood.”

Tom sighed. He really did not understand Walburga’s motives. “Elias,” he said and the tiny, Slytherin first year scampered out of the crowd.

“Yes, sir?” He looked up at Tom.

“Go and get Professor Slughorn,” he said, “tell him what you’ve heard tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Elias nodded, bouncing on his toes. He ran off and Tom turned back to Walburga and Nott.

“And you,” Tom leaned close to them, “leave my family alone.” With that, he pushed past them and out the common room, slipping the empty potion vial into his robes.

Chapter Text

It was probably a good thing that Tom chose to continue eating with the Gryffindors the next day. If Harry had to sit opposite Nott, he didn’t think he could resist the urge to punch him in the face and with his weak body it would likely do more harm to him than Nott. He heard from Tom that Professor Slughorn had given Nott and Walburga detention every day until Christmas. It didn’t feel like enough. Ally burst into silent tears at breakfast and there was nothing Harry did could calm her down. For the first time in weeks, Argus joined them at the table. He just held Ally, stroking her hair and humming tunelessly.

By lunch everyone knew what Nott and Walburga had done but not all the gossip was sympathetic. Harry saw a group of Ravenclaw girls giggling as Hagrid and Ally walked past them. They were later seen rushing into a bathroom covered in thestral dung. Harry couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel a rush of satisfaction at the sight. He doubted any of them could see what they were trying to clean.

Eve was off sick today. Harry visited her in the Hospital Wing where she was being fussed over by Marlene.

“Lie down,” Marlene was using her stern, doctors voice. “You won’t get better if you keep resisting my help.”

“I’m fine,” Eve protested but her words dissolved into hacking coughs. Her braid had become undone and there were creases on her skirt and blouse. Sighing, Marlene sat at her bedside with a comb and gently brushed out her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Eve said to Harry, “do you still have the worksheets I made for you?”

Harry assured her that he could complete the worksheets by himself and that she should rest. He retrieved the worksheets from his bedroom and was on his way up to the library when he saw Ally and Argus. They seemed to be having a one sided argument.

You saw the message. Argus was signing. It wasn’t meant for you.

With her hands still bandaged, Ally couldn’t sign. Instead she crossed her arms and shook her head hard.

Argus looked pained. He stepped closer to Ally and raised his hands. I don’t want you hurt because of me. If I left…

Ally kicked him in the shin and Argus let out a cry.

“Argus,” Pringle seemed to materialise out of the shadows and Harry shrunk closer to the wall, out of sight. The caretaker  walked up to Argus and put a hand on his shoulder, looking at Ally. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

You should go back to potions. Argus signed. Pringle was rubbing his shoulder with his thumb but the gesture only seemed to make Argus stiffen.

Ally glared at Pringle but at Argus’ insistence, she slumped.

“Go on,” Pringle said, “or it will be ten points from Hufflepuff.”

Go on. Argus repeated.

With a last glance at her brother, Ally left the two of them. Once she was out of sight, Pringle’s grip on Argus tightened.

“Come on,” Pringle said, “I think we need to have a talk.” He took Argus’ bucket and mop and steered him away.

Harry reacted instinctively. Reaching into his jacket, he draped his invisibility cloak over him and followed them.

“I’m sorry to hear about your cat,” Pringle said as he led Argus down the corridor.

“Thanks,” Argus muttered.

“I heard it was Tiberius,”

“Yeah,” Argus looked down at his feet.

“You aren’t planning on leaving, are you?” Pringle reached an office that Harry recognised as the same one Argus would later use. Harry just managed to slip in after them before the door closed. There wasn’t much space in the office and he had to crowd himself close to a bookshelf. He must have made some sound as Argus’ eyes snapped over towards him but upon seeing nothing he turned back to Pringle.

The caretaker moved to sit behind the office desk and indicated for Argus to take the seat on the other side.

“I can speak with Tiberius,” Pringle said, “he won’t do it again.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Argus sat down and curled into himself.

“I want you to be comfortable here,” Pringle leant over the desk. He sounded sincere but there was still something off, a tugging in Harry’s gut that told him not to trust anything Pringle said. Harry wondered if Argus could feel it too.

“I know that,”

“You need to relax, you’re too tense,” Pringle reached under his desk and drew out a teapot and box of tea leaves. He filled the kettle with Aguamente and tapped it with his wand. The kettle instantly started to whistle and he poured the tea into two cups, pushing one towards Argus. “Drink,” Pringle said, “you’ll like it.”

Argus took the cup and raised it to his mouth but from behind the desk, Harry could see that he his lips remained sealed. Pringle wasn’t touching his own cup.

The uneasiness in Harry’s gut grew.

Looking around, he saw a glass clock on the bookshelf. Harry shifted the cloak just enough to aim the hawthorn wand at the small trinket. Locomotor mortis.

The non-verbal spell hit the clock and it tipped off its shelf, smashing into pieces on the stone floor. Pringle leapt up and scanned the office. Harry had to press his back to the door as Pringle skulked over to the fallen clock.

The moment Pringle bent down to repair the clock, Argus tipped his still full cup into his mop bucket.

“As I was saying,” Pringle placed the clock back on the shelf, “I feel like you’re drifting away from me Argus.” He returned to his chair and laced his fingers together. “Have I done something?”

“You haven’t,” Argus shook his head.

“Then why are you pulling away?” Pringle asked, “You haven’t been sleeping much, you haven’t been eating. It’s not healthy. Is this about Riddle? Is he still trying to force us apart?”

“He hasn’t said anything,” Argus insisted. “None of them have. I’m just tired.”

“Are you still having nightmares?” Pringle said.

“I guess,” Argus fiddled with a loose thread on his pant leg.

“I care about you,” Pringle reached over and lifted Argus’ chin up to meet his eye. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Argus repeated.

“Good boy,” Pringle pat Argus’ cheek and smiled.

“Can I go?” Argus asked, “I still have to clean the owlery.”

“You may,” Pringle stood up and went to open the door for him. “Just remember to be home in time for dinner. I don’t like not knowing where you are.”

“I will,” Argus said, picking up his mop and bucket.

Harry tried to sneak out with him but the door was closing too quickly. He snuck his foot out and just managed to wedge it between the door and its frame. Argus wrenched on the handle but it couldn’t close over Harry’s shoe. Holding his cloak around him, Harry shoved himself through the gap and out of the office.

Heart beating in his head, he backed away from Pringle. Argus gaze drifted from the door and almost seemed to follow Harry before he heaved the cleaning equipment more securely in his arms and headed in the opposite direction. Pringle watched Argus go until he was out of sight. He disappeared back into the office and Harry breathed out slowly.

He went up to the library but couldn’t focus on his worksheets. His mind kept drifting back to Pringle and Argus. The caretaker had appeared seconds after Argus had suggested leaving the castle. It was strange. Was that just a coincidence or had Pringle somehow been watching him? Harry hadn’t seen anyone else in the corridor except the twins and a portrait of bearded wizards drinking wine.

He hoped Argus would come to Tom’s order meeting tonight but he wouldn’t hold his breath. It seemed that Pringle wasn’t the only person Argus was pulling away from and Harry wished he knew how to bring him back.

Chapter Text

“Impedimenta,” a jet of white light shot across the room and hit an animated dummy, directly in the chest. The dummy slowed down for a few seconds, coming to a stop in front of a tiny, Slytherin boy.

“I did it!” Elias jumped up and down, his fluffy hair bouncing. “I actually did it!”

“Nice work,” Tom said, “but remember to keep your wand steady. The moment you let it drop, you are giving your opponent the advantage.”

“Yes, sir,” Elias said, “I will, sir.”

Ally pretended to gag.

“My mama told me to be polite,” Elias turned to Ally, scowling.

Ally jerked her head at Tom and raised her eyebrows as if to say yeah, but to him?

“Be nice,” Tom signed along with his words.

Ally jerked for forearm at Tom, just like Henry had taught her. Tom sighed. What had he ever done to deserve this?

“How’s it going?” Henry came over, trailed by Harry who was starting to drag his feet and rub his eyes.

“My authority is being undermined,” Tom brandished a hand at Ally.

“You’ll survive,” Henry waved his wand and the dummy returned to its starting position. “Are we still on for tonight?” He asked, “I wasn’t sure, after what happened…” Henry trailed off looking at Ally.  

Ally shoved Henry towards Tom, wincing a little when her bandages hands connected with Henry’s back.

“You are a very violent child,” Tom said.

Ally just put her hands behind her back and smiled sweetly.

“I’ll be there,” Tom turned to Henry. He was impressed at how calm his voice sounded. With each minute that passed, his heart seemed to flutter more widely in his chest like a butterfly struggling out its cocoon. Something about this night felt significant.

“Good, that’s good,” Henry bobbed on his toes, “oh and hey, I read up on bubotuber pus. I couldn’t find anything on that but I broadened my search to all forms of anti-healing venoms. It seems that there is a cure…”

Before Tom could brighten, Henry rushed to add. “But it’s rare and expensive, like sell you soul expensive.”

“What is it?” Tom demanded.

Henry bit at his lip. “Pheonix tears.”

“Oh,” Tom slouched.

“I can ask Martha and Paul,” Henry said, “but it’s not the sort of thing they would have lying around. It would probably take at least a week for them to get any and by then…”

“The wounds would have already healed,” Tom finished.  

“I can still ask but…”

Harry was fiddling with something hanging around his neck. He reached into a pouch and drew out a tiny crystal bottle, his eyes lighting up.

Tom took it from him and his mouth fell open. “How?”

Harry just shrugged.

“This is Slughorn’s handwriting. Did you steal this?” Tom examined the pearly liquid inside the corked vial. He handed it over to Henry.

“It’s phoenix tears,” Henry said. “This has to be from Slughorn’s private storage cupboard.” He looked at Harry. “Did anyone see you take this?”

Harry shook his head sleepily, “no one.”

“Impressive,” Henry ruffled his hair, “you’ll make a fine criminal one day.” He uncorked the bottle and told Ally to hold out her hands.

“Have you stolen anything else?” Tom asked as Henry gently undid the bandages.

Harry shuffled his feet. “Just…a rooster.”

“How does that feel?”

Tom shook himself out of his daze and focused on Henry. He had poured one drop on each of Ally’s hands and Tom saw the raw, blistered skin fade. A healthy, new skin replaced it and, gingerly, Ally moved her fingers.

It feels alright. She signed. A little stiff. Ally turned to look at the front and back of her hands. Visible relief slowly made its way across her face. She drew out her wand and pointed it at the dummy.

Impedimenta. Ally made a sign with her left hand and a shot of white light burst from her wand, striking the dummy and making it freeze. She looked up at Tom, eyes bright.

“Well done,” Tom smiled back at her, “exemplary form.”

Ally beamed. Thank you, sir. She signed, exaggerating the honorific and smirking at Elias.

The Slytherin clearly couldn’t understand her but he still pouted.

***

The meeting ended and Tom stayed behind to tidy up. Harry was already asleep on the crash mats and Mipsy came to carry him back to the dorms.

“Could you stay with him until I get back?” Tom asked, packing away the cushions, “I don’t want him to be alone with the Slytherins.”

“I will,” Mipsy promised, a hard glint her eye, “I be living a long time in this castle. They be not finding the bodies.”

“Or…he could stay in my room,” Henry said, “I know Nance will be waiting up anyway. She babysits during the summer.”

Tom considered this. “Just until we get back,” he settled on, “Nance isn’t scared of snakes, is she?”

“You might find Kallo with bows in her hair, but I’d say that’s the only danger,” Henry assured him.

“I can be taking him,” Mipsy said, picking Harry up with a surprisingly amount of strength considering they were about the same size. Tom kissed Harry on the top of his head and whispered goodnight.

Harry mumbled in Mipsy’s arms. “Goodnight, dad.”

Tom thought his heart might melt.

Mipsy disappeared with a crack and Henry reached out to take Tom’s hand.

“Shall we?” He said.

Tom thread his fingers between Henry’s, his whole body thrumming with nervous energy. Henry’s hand was warm and calloused from years on a broom. They walked hand-in-hand out of the room of requirement and down to the front entranceway.

“What are we going to do?” Tom asked, his mouth was oddly dry and his heart was rabbiting in his chest.

“It’s a surprise,” Henry said, “unless you don’t like surprises. I can tell you.”

“No, that’s ok,” Tom shook his head, “I trust you.”

Henry smiled softly. “Wait here,” he said, “I’m just going to get something.”

While he was gone, Tom summoned a mirror and hastily checked his face and hair. He had let it dry into its natural curls that fell just past the top of his ears. There were footsteps down the corridor and Tom hastily vanished the mirror and straightened up.

Henry came back holding his broom and what looked like a muggle radio.

“You know that’s not going to work here,” Tom said, gesturing to the radio, “I found,” stole, “a pocket radio once. It only ever played static.”

“Oh, I know,” Henry shoved the front door and it opened with a low creak. “Whit is always complaining about missing the football.” He slipped through the door and reached out for Tom’s hand.

“Pringle doesn’t lock it until ten,” Henry explained, pulling Tom out onto the dark grounds, “if we stay out longer, I know other ways back in.”

Outside, the storm had abated somewhat to a light drizzle. Tom wrapped his robes around him, grateful for the extra jumper he had on underneath.

“This is actually Whit’s radio,” Henry lit his wand with a faint light and led the way down to the Quidditch pitch. “I’ve been experimenting with it, trying to figure out why it won’t pick up any radio signals.”

“I thought there was just too much magic in the air,” Tom said, feeling water seeping into his socks. It wasn’t exactly comfortable out here but there was something beautiful about the castle at night. Without the London smog, Tom could see a detailed tapestry of stars above them, peeking out from between the clouds.

“There’s partially true,” Henry waved his wand across the pitch casting cushioning charms. He faltered, seemingly to realise what he was doing. “This is just a precaution,” he said, “I promise I’m not trying to kill you. If I were, I’d just…”

“Use poison,” Tom said at the same time as Henry.

“Way less messy,” Henry nodded seriously.

“I hope you’re no expecting me to fly,” Tom looked at the broom warily.

“Just hold onto me,” Henry finished the cushioning charms and tucked his wand into a holster, “I won’t let you fall.”

He mounted the broom and tilted up, hovering beside Tom. Tom clambered on behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around Henry’s waist. The points where they made contact seemed to burn. Henry kicked off and their was a rush of wind through Tom’s hair. It was exhilarating. They rose higher and higher, the cool night air filling Tom’s lungs.

He peered down and saw the Quidditch pitch fade into a postal stamp but Henry kept shooting up. They flew straight through a low cloud bank and the sky seemed to open up above them. A gasp slipped out of Tom’s lips. This high up, Tom felt like he could reach out and touch the stars.

“It’s beautiful,” Tom breathed out, his breath turning into a white mist.

Henry cast a warming charm over the two of them, keeping the broom perfectly steady.

“That’s not even the best bit,” Tom could only see the side of Henry’s face but, even in the dark, his smile was unmistakable.

“It’s not the just castle’s magic that blocks radio waves,” Henry said, “I think it’s specifically the muggle repelling charms.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we’re above them right now,” Henry’s smile widened, “and I can do this.” He twisted the knob on the radio and the still air filled with the sounds of static. Henry kept fiddling with the dials until Tom heard two male voices with English accents.

“Robertson strides out to the centre, takes his guard from the umpire. Stands just outside his crease.”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think the game had started yet,”

“Is this cricket?” Tom stared at the radio.

“I think so,” Henry furrowed his brow, “I have to admit I know jack all about cricket.”

“I thought they suspended games for the war. Is this a re-run?” Tom listened closely to the commentary, trying to figure out the team.

“It’s Army against the Royal Navy,” Henry said, “at Lord’s, whatever that means.”

“That’s a cricket ground in Westminster,” Tom shushed Henry.

“Ready with bat. This is Robertson first game back. He suffered from shrapnel to his shoulder early this year. We’re yet to see how that will affect his game.”

“That must be Jack Robertson,” Tom explained, “he’s the opening batsman. The game has only just started.”

“Is he any good?”

“He averages forty-six runs per inning in tests.”

“And is that good?”

Tom laughed, resting his chin on Henry’s shoulder. It felt natural. “That’s pretty good. He’s no Len Hutton but he’s good.”

They fell silent as the commentators’ voices rose, talking over each other.

“Sixth ball, just a flick of the wrist and there she goes into the crowd. Consecutive sixes here for the left-hander.”

Tom could almost picture it. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the rhythmic ebb and flow of the muggle sport.

“I’m not even going to ask you what the rules are,” Henry said.

“I know there isn’t a rule against attacking an opponent with an axe,” Tom rolled his eyes even though Henry couldn’t see it. “Or setting fire to their broom handles.”

“You’ve read Quidditch through the ages?” Henry twisted on the broom.

“I read,” Tom wasn’t going to admit he’d only borrowed it before Henry’s first Quidditch match.

“Those are important rules,” Henry leaned back against Tom, “you wouldn’t want the opposition to have an unfair advantage just because they brought an axe onto the pitch.”

“In cricket that’s attempted murder,” Tom would never understand the wizarding world, “you would be arrested.”

“I would say it’s a motivator for creativity,” Henry argued, “doesn’t cricket get predictable?”

“No two games are the same,” Tom said, “there was once a seagull on the field.”

“Riveting.”

“Oh, shush,” Tom reached over to turn up the radio, filling the night with the comforting sounds of battings and innings.

The rain picked up around them and Tom shivered. He pressed closer to Henry but even with the warming charms, their body heat was leaking into the cold. In the distance, there was a rumble of thunder.

“We should probably head back down,” Henry said at last, “I don’t fancy getting hit by lightning.”

“That would shame,” Tom was reluctant to leave the sky. It was so still up here with nothing but Henry, the stars and cricket. And yet, his body was starting to hurt from being on the broom and the chill had settled into his bones.

Henry tilted the broom down gently. As they lowered, the commentators’ voices sputtered and turned back to static. They broke through the low-hanging cloud layer and Tom watched the Quidditch pitch grow closer. He half-expected Henry to break into a dive but he simply spiralled down in lazy circles.

They reached the ground and Henry hopped off easily. Tom’s legs were a little shaky and he had to grip onto Henry’s hand to steady himself. The rain was now an outright downpour and both Henry and Tom were soaked. Tom’s hair was plastered back as if nature itself was encouraging him to use more pomade.

Henry drew Tom closer to him. He reached out and adjusted Tom’s tie, just like he had all those weeks ago outside the potions classrooms. Tom caught Henry’s hand before he could pull it away.

“Thank you,” his voice had dropped into a whisper. He couldn’t say exactly what he was thanking Henry. Tom had the feeling he would never stop thanking the Gryffindor boy; he didn’t think he would ever want to.

“You’re welcome,” Henry smiled, stepping even closer to Tom. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stay out longer. I was thinking if we could somehow create a sort of ward bubble around the radio that we could block out the muggle repelling spell and we wouldn’t have to fly-.”

“Can I kiss you?” Tom said, cutting off Henry’s ramblings.

“Uh, really?” Henry swallowed. For the confident Quidditch champion, he seemed suddenly unsure of himself. He fiddled with Tom’s tie. “Are you sure?”

Tom looked into Henry’s eyes, reflecting the starlight up above. He nodded.

Henry moved his hand to rest against Tom’s neck and goosebumps rippled across his skin at the delicate touch. He drew him even closer and Tom went willingly.

Their lips met and Tom let out a sigh.

It was nothing like when Rocha had kissed him, sickly sweet and demanding.

Henry’s lips were wet from the rain. They pressed against Tom’s softly, not much more than a brush.

Henry stepped back, scanning Tom’s face. “Was that ok?”

Tom seized Henry’s robes and yanked him back in. He didn’t know what he was doing but it felt right. His hands moved into Henry’s damp hair and he shifted until their shoes knocked against each other.

There was a flash of lightening above. Henry and Tom jumped away from each other.

“We should get back inside,” Tom said, a little breathlessly.

“Yeah, we should,” Henry took Tom’s hand and together they headed up to the castle. It was five to ten. They just made it into the castle and had to duck into a classroom to avoid Pringle and his jangling keys.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Tom was still holding Henry’s hand.

“I have a match against Ravenclaw,” Henry’s cheeks were flushed. “You can meet my parents, if you like, I mean.”

“That’s very forward,” Tom didn’t know how he still had control over his tongue but the butterflies in his chest had died down. He was only warm and somewhat floaty, in a good way.

“Is it working?”

“I’ll allow it.” Tom peered out of the classroom and saw that Pringle was gone.

“I suppose this is goodnight,” Henry said, turning to look up the main staircase. He ducked towards Tom and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Tom.” With that he backed towards the staircase.

Tom stared. “Harry’s in your room. We’re going in the same direction.”

“Oh, right,” Henry said, “let’s go get ou-your son.”

Tom ran to catch up with Henry, tugging him up the stairs and feeling like, just for this moment, he was a every bit the teenage boy, he swore he would never be.

Chapter Text

There was something going on between Henry and Tom. Harry was nearly sure of it.

He took a bite of toast, watching Henry and Tom closely as they walked down to the Quidditch pitch. They were standing close to each other, their hands brushing up against one another. Tom was smiling, a small, yet unreserved smile like he just couldn’t stop.

“I have to get changed,” Henry said, stopping outside the Quidditch changing rooms. “I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Good luck,” Harry said, peering down at the pitch. “Is your family here, do you know?”

“Thanks kid,” Henry ruffled his hair, “They usually come a bit late, Fleamont doesn’t do mornings. I’ll introduce you to them after we win.”

“And if you lose?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

Henry smirked. “Are you going to wish me luck, Tom?”

Tom crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “You won’t need it.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Henry said.

“Stop flirting and get in here Potter,” Whit’s voice called from inside of the changing room. Henry saluted Tom and Harry with two fingers and backed into the changing room door, pushing it open.

“See you on the other side,” he said and closed the door behind him.

Harry watched him go, his head cocked to the side. Yeah, something was going on between those two.

Tom led Harry over to the Slytherin stands and right past the other sixth years. They chose a seat at the top of the stand beside Elias, his older sister and their friends.   

“Are you supporting Gryffindor?” Elias wrinkled his nose at Harry’s red jacket.

“I’m just a big fan of lions,” Harry grinned.

“My mama says everyone is allowed to have their own opinions,” Elias sniffed and turned to watch the Ravenclaw team file onto the pitch.

The stands cheered as Madam Astor blew on her whistle and both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams rose into the air. Harry's eyes locked on Henry. Just like he had in the match against Slytherin, Henry shot straight up and hovered above the pitch in line with the sun. This time though, the Ravenclaw seeker followed him.

The Ravenclaw chasers were evenly matched against their Gryffindor counterparts. Every time it seemed that Gryffindor would take the lead, the Ravenclaws would seize the quaffle and score three goals in quick succession.

This whole time, Henry remained still in midair. The Ravenclaw seeker was clearly getting agitated, teetering between staying with Henry and going to search for the snitch herself.

Harry gripped the guardrail, his eyes hurting from staring at the sun for too long. Yesterday’s storm had died out, leaving a blue, cloudless sky. The Ravenclaw beaters tried to aim the bludgers at Henry but they had to squint to see him. One of them struck a bludger directly at him but it fell short of Henry’s high perch.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for Henry or the Ravenclaw seeker. No matter what the chasers did, they couldn’t escape a stalemate.

The Ravenclaw seeker caved and flew down to the pitch. She circled the goal posts, scanning for the tiny winged ball. The moment her back was turned, Henry dived straight down. Looking in the other direction, the Ravenclaw seeker didn’t notice. What must have been half the watching onlookers, stood up in their seats, yelling at the seeker to turn around. The Ravenclaw chaser seemed to completely forget about the quaffle, screaming at their seeker to dive.

While they were distracted, Whit was able to score six times.

At last, the Ravenclaw seeker caught on. She turned and streaked off towards Henry. Even from this distance, Harry could see her spurning her broom on, her face pale. She managed to reach Henry’s ankles only for the Gryffindor to change directions a foot away from the ground and shoot back up.

The crowd was silent.

Everyone leaned forward, trying to see if there was a winged ball in Henry’s fist but Madame Astor hadn’t blown her whistle.

It had been a Wronski feint.

The Ravenclaws collectively let out a sigh of relief. Harry saw the chasers recover, scanning for the quaffle still in Whit’s hand. One of them rose up to meet her as the Ravenclaw beaters drew their bats.

The whistle blew.

Henry was now hovering by Gryffindor stands, clasping the struggling snitch in his hand. Harry wished he had a omniocular to replay what had just happened. The commentator announced that  Gryffindor had won three hundred and thirty points to a hundred and twenty.

It took almost a complete minute for the Gryffindors to realise what had happened before they jumped up and cheered themselves hoarse. Henry flew over to them with another snitch for Harry to add to his collection, ignoring the dirty looks all around him.

“Are you allowed to keep giving those away?” Tom asked, crossing his arms.

“They have flesh memories,” Henry explained, “you can’t use the same snitch twice. We use these for training sometimes but they get slower after you catch them.”

“Just don’t bring him a beater’s bat.”

“There goes my Christmas gift idea,” Henry sighed. “Oh well, I can give it to Ally instead.” He spun his broom around, calling back at Tom. “Meet you on the ground.”

Harry scrambled to his feet, peering over the guardrail. He saw Henry land among his teammates and four people approached him. Without waiting for Tom, Harry sprinted down the steps and onto the still slightly damp grass. He ran forwards, stopping just short of the four people. A young man in maroon tailored pants and a forest-green sweater with rolled up sleeves, turned towards him and Harry froze. It was like looking at his father. The man had the same messy black hair, warm brown eyes and circular glasses as the photos of his dad. His ears stuck out more and he had the beginnings of a moustache and beard but he was mistakenly a Potter. This must be Fleamont, his grandfather, his actual living and breathing grandfather.

Harry was gripped by a sudden urge to hide behind Henry’s legs.

“Hello,” Fleamont bent down to Harry’s level, “I swear the first years get tinier each year.”

A tall woman with a blonde bob and bright red lipstick studied Harry with an intensity that made him squirm. “You don’t have a secret love child I don’t know about, do you dear?” She said to Fleamont.

“Harry!” Tom made his way across the pitch, panting a little, “I will buy you a leash.” He threatened.

“Effie, Monty,” Henry bounded over them, “meet my friends Tom and Harry. Tom, Harry, meet my brother and his soon-to-be wife, Fleamont and Euphemia.”

“We’re not engaged,” Euphemia said at once.

“You’d better hurry up then,” Henry shoved Fleamont, “we only have one family ring.”  

“Stop harassing your brother,” an older man with grey around his temples and at he simple, grey suit of someone who had money but didn’t care much about clothes joined them. He was arm in arm with a woman who looked quite a bit like Molly Weasley except for her mousy, brown bun and rimless glasses.

“You must be Tom,” the woman clasped Tom’s hand. “Henry has told us so much about you and this must be your son Harry.”

“Your son?” Euphemia gaped at Tom and Harry.

“Yes, my son,” Tom stepped behind Harry and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go and find somewhere to sit down?” The older woman, Martha said, “We can discuss the match and get to know each other.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Paul agreed, “is The Snidget and The Badger open on Saturdays? They have the best scones.”

“It is,” Henry said, “I’ll just take a shower and let Nance know we’ll be in Hogsmeade.” He pointed a finger at Fleamont. “Don’t make me look bad.”

“Cross my heart,” Fleamont promised, drawing a cross on his chest with his finger. The second Henry was out of sight, Fleamont flung an arm around Tom.

“Has Henry ever told you about the time he mistook the family broom for an actual broom and nearly broke his ankle?”

Harry looked up, “how did he do that?”

Fleamont grinned and booped Harry’s nose.  “I can tell you on the way.”

By the time they made it to Hogsmeade, Harry was starting to doubt Henry’s sanity. He noticed that Fleamont was trying to skirt around the more adult themes to some of his stories. Harry imagined that “feeling under the weather” was code for drunk out of his mind. Martha and Paul occasionally made fond remark about Henry and Fleamont’s antics, appearing neither surprised nor scandalised.

The Snidget and The Badger was packed with young families and older wixen enjoying an early lunch. Harry couldn’t see a free table but Paul stopped to speak with a chef and a table for six seemed to magically appear.

Paul pulled out a chair for Martha and flagged down a waitress to ask for a kids menu. The waitress came over with water and a bottle of wine.

“Mr Scouts asked me to give this to you,” the waitress said, placing down four wine glasses.

“Tell Benny he shouldn’t have,” Martha uncorked the bottle and poured herself a glass. “And that I hope his poodle has recovered from her knee surgery.”

“I’ll let him know, Ma’am,” the waitress smiled, “anything I can get for you?”

“What’s your name, dear?” Martha asked.

“Uh, Susan,”

“We’ll all good for now, Susan,” Martha said, “we’re just waiting for my youngest.”

It only took a few minutes for Henry to return in muggle dress with slightly damp hair. “Whatever Monty said, it’s not true,” Henry sat down and pulled the menu towards him.

“So, you didn’t swallow a galleon on a dare once?” Tom asked.

“I was eight,” Henry defended, “and it was actually two galleons.”

“You played very well today,” Martha said, “I liked that dive thing you did with the broom.”

“Thanks, mum,” Henry grinned.

“And Tom,” Martha turned to him, “Henry has told me that you’re quite good at potions.”

“I’m still learning,” Tom smiled modestly, “your son has taught me a thing or two.”

“My sons are quite the double act,” Paul boasted, “there’s nothing they can’t brew.”

“Well, almost nothing,” Euphemia had relaxed but she was still glancing between Harry, Henry and her boyfriend a little suspiciously. “You never did find a way to deflate your head.”

“It can’t be done,” Fleamont gave an exaggerated sigh, “I’m just too brilliant.”

The waitress returned and Harry saw Tom pause as he skimmed through the menu.

“We’ll pay for anything, dear,” Martha put a hand over Tom’s, “just order what you like?”

Tom agreed easily but it didn’t escape Harry’s notice that he ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Harry asked for extra chips just in case.

The conversation flowed easily from Quidditch to school to Euphemia’s new job at a wizarding floristry. Harry was content to just sit and listen. The Potter's would casually mention their estate in Godric’s’ Hollow or some family traditional Harry had never heard of. It was strange and yet Harry couldn't get enough.

“I tried to make Henry’s birthday cake once,” Fleamont was saying, “I guess my skills at potions did not translate to baking.”

“That’s because you never follow the instructions,” Henry took a bite of his loaded chips. “It’s not like cooking, you can’t just substitute baking powder for bicarbonate soda.”

“I thought the cake was lovely,” Martha finished her wine glass and poured herself some more.

“That’s sweet mum but it was inedible,”

“When is your birthday?” Tom turned to Henry, “I realise I’ve never asked.”

“No idea,” Henry shrugged, “we never found my birth certificate. I tend to pick a different day every year.”

“Why not just chose one day and stick to it?” Tom asked.

“Because he’s a bastard,” Fleamont playfully shoved his brother, “he chose my birthday once just because I dumped worms in his bed.”

“For a week straight.”

Fleamont snickered.

It took nearly three hours before the lunch meandered to a close but it could have been minutes. Martha left a generous tip on the table and a list of contacts that would help Susan get into a ballet academy of her choosing. She had let slip it was an aspiration of hers after she delivered their fifth round of drinks and apparently, Paul was friends with not one but three high ranking professors at various ballet schools.

“It was lovely meeting you Tom,” Martha said, clasping his hand, “and your son. He’s a beautiful young boy.”

Harry blushed at the praise coming from his great grandmother.

“We still have Henry and Fleamont’s baby clothes,” Paul said, “we’ll send them to you. Just return anything that he doesn’t like or that doesn’t fit.”

“We can send you a few of Henry’s baby pictures,” Martha winked as Henry and Fleamont groaned in protest. “I have a great one of Henry baking his first cake.”

“Mum,” Henry whined, “I’m trying to look hip.”

“I still think you’re hip,” Tom pat Henry’s shoulder, forcing his face into something sympathetic. The effect was defeated somewhat by the slight upward tick to his lips.

“Still coming home for Christmas?” Fleamont asked Henry.

“I…” Henry glanced at Tom. “I’ll let you know.”

“That’s all we ask,” Martha smiled and pat Henry on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back up to the castle. Don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t,” Henry hugged Martha and Paul. “Thanks for coming to my match.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Paul said.

“See you little brother,” Fleamont waved goodbye. He took Euphemia’s hand and the six of them trailed out of the pub.

“Your family is nice,” Tom said, watching the Potter’s disapparate.

“They are,” Henry pulled Harry up onto his shoulders. “They really are.”

Harry rested his head on top of Henry’s. He hadn’t thought much about why he had been sent back in time, assuming it was just another stroke of Potter luck, another trial for him to overcome. His eyes burned and Harry had to bury his head into Henry’s hair to hide his tears. Harry had died, he remembered that much. His throat had been slit and he had bled out in a muggle street. He might have thought that this was some kind of penance for leaving his friends, for failing them.

“Ready to go back to the castle?” Henry asked, “The after party will still be going on.”

“I wouldn’t want to miss it,” Tom said dryly but he held his hand out for Henry to take.

Harry let himself be carried up to the castle. The weather was calm, his body was warm, he knew more about his family than he had ever learnt from Hagrid or Dumbledore’s pensive. This didn’t feel like penance. For the first time, Harry wondered if, perhaps, travelling back in time wasn’t another “fuck you” from the universe. If Harry got the choice to go forward to his time, he didn’t know if he could say yes, if he would even want to try.

“You all good?” Henry asked, glancing up at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured into Henry’s hair, “I’m good.”

Chapter Text

Tom rolled a gobstone forwards, directly into the central ring. It knocked another gobstone out and foul smelling liquid sprayed all over Danny.

“Nice hit,” Danny said, wiping the stink sap off his face. “You’ve been practising.”

“I certainly have not,” Tom wrinkled his nose. He passed the marble case over to Alex.

“I can’t stay long this morning,” Alex said, taking the marbles in one hand as he reapplied lip gloss with the other. “I have tutoring with Ruth on Sundays.”

“We’ll keep this meeting short,” Danny agreed, “I’m surprised you’re here at all,” he looked at Leo and Tom. “I thought you would still be hung over after the match.”

“I don’t see the point in drinking,” Leo took a marble and spun it between his fingers. “It’s funnier to watch people get drunk than participate.”

“Careful,” Connie said leaning against Alex, “I know it’s too early when I can understand what you’re talking about.”

Tom leant back on his hands, content to listen to the group banter and discuss their upcoming week. His thoughts drifted back to the lunch with Mr and Mrs Potter. He played a few more hands but lost to Danny and surprisingly Myrtle. To his irritation, the drab Ravenclaw had improved quite a bit over the past few weeks. Despite her other inadequacies, Tom was yet to win against her.

Danny wrapped up the game but didn’t appear to be in a rush to leave. He dawdled as the other filed out, polishing the marbles before putting them back in their case. Curious, Tom stayed behind.

“I think congratulations is in order,” Danny looked up from the gobstones.

“Congratulations?”

“Henry isn’t glaring at me anymore,” Danny didn’t even bother to hide his smirk.

Tom felt his cheeks heat up and he unconsciously touched his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure,” Danny moved past him to the door, “word of advice,” he said, turning back to Tom, “if you ever go over to Henry’s house, lock the door. His parents never knock.”

With those cryptic words, Danny left.

Tom hadn’t been alone with Henry since the night on the Quidditch pitch but Danny’s words made him think back to those books in the library. His skin prickled and he hurried from the room, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He found Harry in the library surrounded by Ally, Hagrid and for some reason the Slytherin boy Elias. Kallo was twisting around their ankles lazily, hissing whenever anyone stopped petting her.

“Studying hard?” Tom asked.

We’re learning reparo. Ally signed. She pointed at a small rip in Harry’s sleeve with her wand.

“Why do you sign when you cast a spell?” Elias said bluntly, “Why not just do it non-verbally?”

I don’t know. Ally shrugged while Harry translated. It just feels right.

Tom chose a spot between Ally and Harry. Elias seemed a little star struck to be sitting opposite him and buried himself in his books.  

“And what are you doing?” He asked Harry who was scribbling on a pierce of parchment.

“I’m writing a letter to Monty,” Harry showed the paper to him. The handwriting was still a mess but perhaps a little neater since his lessons with Eve had started. “He said I could.”

“Yeah?” There was an uncomfortable squirming feeling Tom’s gut. He remembered the way Mr and Mrs Potter had doted on their sons. They had welcomed Tom over to their table, paid for his lunch, shared stories with him. It made him think of all the families that had come to the orphanage and spoke with him except the Potter's hadn’t left with empty promises and smiles. Tom didn’t know what to make of that.

“Can I have a piece of parchment?” Tom asked.

Harry pushed one over to him and Tom drew out a quill and ink pot from his bag. He dipped the feather quill into the ink and hesitated over the page. His heart quickened, disproportionate to the still library full of students doing their homework or playing chess quietly. Tom glanced at the crudely repaired rip on Harry’s shirt and the way his son was bent over the table, drawing a picture of himself on a broom with Henry and Tom beside him.

He lowered his quill onto the parchment and wrote a few words. Blowing on the ink to dry it, Tom inspected his handwriting.

Dear Father,

At our previous meeting you indicated that you wanted to start a correspondence between us.

“Tom,”

He started up from his page and glanced up to see Nance coming up to him.

“Nance,” Tom crumpled up the parchment and thrust it into his pocket. “What can I do for you?”

“Dippet asked me to find you,” Nance said, “you and Harry.”

“Did he say why?”

“No idea,” Nance shrugged, “but it sounded important. The password’s Doxies”

“Well, we better not keeping him waiting,” Tom said, standing up. Harry hopped off his chair and waved goodbye to Ally, Hagrid and Elias as Kallo slithered out from under the table to be fussed over by Nance.

The corridors were mostly empty. It was a clear morning, the sun peeking over the surrounding hills and providing what may very well be the last warm Sunday before winter. Through the windows, Tom could see students spread out over the grounds with a late breakfast. Tom took a short cut up to the headmaster’s office wondering what Dippet could possibly want with him.

“Doxies,”

The gargoyle sprung to the side and Tom ascended the spiral staircase, knocking three times on the door.

“Come in,” Dippet said from inside. Tom pushed the door open and saw that Dippet was not alone. There was a man standing on the other side of his desk in simple grey robes and highly polished shoes. He tried to get a look at the man’s face but his eyes kept drifting over him. The man had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, Tom could see all of that but for the life of him he couldn’t say what colour, size or shape any of it was.

“Hello Tom,” Dippet said, “meet X. He’s an unspeakable from the Ministry who has agreed to talk with you about Harry.”

“Hello,” the man turned to Tom, sticking out his hand, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Chapter Text

“I didn’t know Unspeakables made house calls,” Tom shook the person’s hand.

“We don’t usually,” the Unspeakable chucked, “but for time travel, we thought that warranted a face-to-face meeting.”

Dread pooled in Harry’s gut as he looked up at the man. He could hear the Unspeakable’s voice but he couldn’t say whether it was low or high pitched, rough or smooth; he couldn’t even tell if he was a man. It hurt to focus on him but Harry couldn’t turn away.

“Have you encountered it before?” Tom indicated for Harry to sit down though he remained standing behind him, his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

“I cannot disclose much, you understand,” the Unspeakable said, “but travelling back more than fifty years, past the point of the traveller’s birth, it’s unheard of. Your son is truly a marvel, Mr Riddle. With your permission…”

“Can you send him back to his own time?” Tom interrupted, gripping onto Harry tighter. Harry tensed. He didn’t know if he wanted the answer. He missed Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, his friends from the DA, sometimes it felt like there was a chunk missing in his side, but what else was there waiting for him in the future? What about Ally, Argus, Henry and Tom? Could he leave them here?

“Ah,” the Unspeakable said, “the simple answer is not yet. We would need to study exactly how your son came back in the first place.” He turned to Harry. “I’m sorry but it’s unlikely.”

“Is Harry safe here?” Tom pressed on, “If he stays in the past, he’s not going to disappear or…”

“It’s been two months, was it, since he appeared?”

“Nearly nine weeks,”

“And you haven’t noticed any unusual symptoms, nausea, memory loss, impaired cognitive function?”

“Nothing like that,” Tom peered around the chair to look at Harry, “right? You haven’t felt sick?”

Harry shook his head.

“We have our own tests we could run,” the Unspeakable said.

“I’m not letting any prod and poke my son,” Tom turned back to the man, his voice firm.

“Let me finish. I understand that he is your son. We can come here and you can supervise but time travel is fickle, unpredictable. Your son could still be in danger.”

Harry could feel Tom’s fingers curl protectively around his shoulder.

“You don’t have to make any decisions today,” the Unspeakable said, “I thought we could get to know each other.”

“Alright,” Tom crossed his arms, “I’m Tom Riddle, I’m fifteen and I like peppermint chocolate. What about you?”

The Unspeakable chucked again. “You can call me X. I can’t disclose more than that.”

“Pretty hard for us to get to know each other then,”

“Come on Tom,” Dippet warned behind his desk.

“No, no, it’s alright Armando,” X said, “I understand this is a delicate situation. Why don’t we start with what we do know?” The Unspeakable withdrew a thick notebook and handed it over to Harry along with a sharpened pencil.

“I want you to write down everything you can remember about the future,” X flipped to a blank page in the book. “Don’t spare any details. I can assure you that no one will read this outside of my team but as I said, there is a lot we don’t know about time travel. Just by being here, your son would have changed the future and will need to ascertain exactly what those changes mean for the rest of us.”

Harry gripped the notebook, the feeling of dread spreading to his fingertips. He held the pencil up the page. If his time on the run had taught him anything, it was that you couldn’t trust anyone. A faceless, nameless, Ministry employee was at the bottom of his list of people to confide in.

“Can he write?” X looked at Tom, “You believe he is around five. If you prefer, he could talk and I will write.”

Harry shifted in his seat and raised his hands. Don’t let him know I can speak.

Tom raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with what that means,” X said, “is he deaf?”

“He’s selective,” Tom said slowly, “but he can write.”

Harry showed the page to the Unspeakable. He had drawn a picture of an explosion with buildings on fire in the background and the Unspeakable paled.  

“He has a very active imagination,” Tom examined the picture, “nice shade work. You’re improving.”

“This is important,” X pressed, “I know he is a child but his testimony could be invaluable, it could prevent a disaster. If he cannot write or speak, we can bring in a leglimens.”

Harry flinched back.

“Absolutely not,” Tom straightened. “He’s too young. Legilimency could permanently damage his mind.”

“Now, Tom,” Dippet poured himself a cup of tea, “X is a ministry employee. He knows what he is doing.”

“He’s admitted that he knows little about time travel,” Tom brandished his hand at X. “You will not interrogate my son and you won’t perform tests on him.” He hoisted Harry to his feet and strode off towards the office door.

“Here’s my card,” X held out a sleek, grey business card with a name and address. “I swear, I’m not here to upset you. I only want what is best for the wixen community.”

“And I only want what is best for my son,” Tom thrust the door open, “good day.” Before he could storm out of the office, X tucked the card into Harry’s top pocket.

“Think about it,” X said, “you’d be doing the country a great service.”

Dippet called out to Tom but he didn’t stop. He closed the door in X’s face, pulling Harry down the spiral staircase. As they left, Harry drew out the card. The only name provided was Agent X and the address was a generic owl drop off sight. Harry might be mistaken but that particular address wasn’t anywhere near the Ministry.

Chapter Text

It would be accurate to say that Tom had been neglecting his prefect duties. With everything that had happened this year, his prefect rounds had sunk to the bottom of his priority list. On Monday, Parkinson dragged him away from the dormitory looking perhaps appropriately pissed.

“We’re supposed to patrol together,” Parkinson held his arm firmly, preventing him from moving away from her.

“I’m sorry,” Tom placated, smiling in a way he knew would make Parkinson go red and stumble over her words, “I shouldn’t have left you to patrol by yourself.”

“That’s not going to work on me,” Parkinson snapped, “not anymore.”

Tom frowned. That always worked on women. It must have something to do with Parkinson’s dead fiancé, whatever his name was.

Parkinson released him and they fell into step along the usual patrol route. She kept up a frosty silence with Tom which seemed thoroughly undeserved. End of term exams were coming up and Tom found three students passed out over their textbooks and another couple that seemed to be taking a break from studying inside a broom closet.

“Detention,” Tom crossed his arms, feeling his ears burn, “and put your shirt back on.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” a boy he vaguely recognised as a Ravenclaw seventh year, tucked his shirt back into his pants scowling.

“Right,” Parkinson rolled her eyes, “you just fancied a midnight stroll in a broom closet.”

“Sorry Dahlia,” the girl hanging off the boy’s arm grinned sheepishly. “Only having some fun.”

“Get going,” Parkinson said, “don’t let me catch you out here again.”

The girl pulled the boy away and Tom hoped they were actually heading back to their dormitory. He had no desire to interrupt anymore illicit rendezvous.

He and Parkinson rounded another corridor and Tom couldn’t take the tense silence between them anymore. They had never been friends but it was still strange to see her so cold and aloof.

“What exactly have I done to offend you?” Tom snapped, turning to Parkinson. “You and all the other Slytherins have been acting like I’ve committed a personal slight against you. What is it? Struggling to find a pureblood to replace me with?”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” Parkinson said.

“Don’t say that, you’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“Well, like you said,” Parkinson voice was snippy, “we’re not friends.” She strode off down the corridor and Tom had to run to keep up.

“No, you don’t just get to walk away,” he said, “I’m done with this. If you have something you want to say, say it?”

“It’s not like it matters anymore,”

“It’s matters when Walburga and Nott are hurting the people I care about,” Tom checked the surroundings corridors and moved closer to Parkinson.

“Alright fine,” Parkinson glared at him but she slowed her pace. “Listen, we all knew each other before Hogwarts, Abraxas, Tiberius, Walburga, all of us? We were raised attending the same parties and galas and once we were eleven, we all went to Slytherin just like our parents expected. You were the only one, we didn’t know.”

Parkinson turned away from him, focussing on the corridor in front of her. “And yeah, I’ll admit we weren’t the most welcoming.”

Tom almost laughed. “I would hardly call a fractured skull unwelcoming.”

Parkinson shrugged. “Tiberius was angry at everyone back then. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he meant to push you down those stairs. And it’s not like you were a saint.”

“Just get on with it,” Tom didn’t want to relive those early years at Hogwarts.

“I’m only saying that…look I’m sorry,” Parkinson said, “but things changed, you saw that. Ok, so we weren’t friends but you were so sure you could change the world. You made all these promises to each of us and it was nice, for a few hours a week, to believe it. And then your son came and you chose him over us. You took all those promises with you.”

“I still don’t get it,” Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “if you care that much about killing muggleborns, you don’t need me to do that.”

“It wasn’t just that.” Parkinson huffed, “you promised change. It’s not polite to talk about it but…you know Walburga is already engaged to Orion. He’s two years younger than her, not the mention her first cousin and Tiberius…he comes back from Christmas covered in bruises but he refuses to stay at Hogwarts for the break.”

Parkinson stopped walking. “And…I’d only met Aloysius twice but he was French and young. Now that he’s dead I’m set to marry Ambrose Crouch.”

“The head of law enforcement?”

“Yes, that Crouch,” Parkinson leaned against the wall, “he’s four years older than my dad and I’ve heard rumours that he already has at least one bastard.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“Of course not,” Parkinson said, “that’s just the way it is but…for a brief moment we got to imagine it didn’t have to be. I’m not saying Walburga and Tiberius were right to kill that kitten but it hurt, alright, watching you play happy family.”

“Are you saying…” Tom couldn’t quite believe this, “everything that Walburga and Nott did…they were jealous?”

Parkinson moved away from the wall and kept walking down the corridor. “Yeah, whatever,” she muttered, “like I said. It doesn’t matter now. I doubt they’ll try again in a hurry.”

They fell back into their patrol route. Tom thought over everything that Parkinson had said and anger flared within him. He couldn’t help but think so what? Everyone had a tragic backstory. Tom wasn’t about to forgive Nott and Walburga just because life was shitty.

Tom thought back to Billy Stubb’s rabbit. He hadn’t meant to kill it. Stubbs had always been Mrs Cole’s favourite and she had given him the creature for his twelfth birthday. Of course, his whole “sweet boy” act disappeared when Mrs Cole turned her back. Tom hadn’t meant to kill the rabbit but he had chosen to loop a piece of rope around the dead rabbit’s neck and suspend it from the rafters. He was not going to forgive Nott and Walburga because their life was hard but...it did make him think. 

“I hold meetings every Tuesday and Friday,” Tom looked down at his feet, “I’m not giving you a discount. You’ll have to pay three sickles like everyone else but you could come to one, if you wanted.”

“Really?” Parkinson glanced at him.

“I’m not inviting Walburga or Nott,” Tom said firmly, “I’m only offering this once and if you say a word against Harry, you’re out.

“Why?” Parkinson asked, “I thought you were done with all of us. You don’t even sit at our table anymore.”

“We teach self-defence,” Tom heard another cupboard up ahead rattle suspiciously and he sighed, “come or don’t come, I don’t care. We meet beside that portrait of trolls learning ballet on the seventh floor.”

“I know the one,” Parkinson strode forward and knocked harshly on the cupboard door, “if that’s you again Phylis, you’re getting worse than detention.”

She looked back at Tom with a look of exasperation. “Do you teach silencing charms in your meetings?” A small smile formed on Tom's lips.

“I’ll add to the list,” Tom said back dryly. “Now get going, we still have two more floors to patrol.”

Chapter Text

Harry stuffed the marauders map back into his pocket and slung his invisibility cloak over him. It had been four days since he had seen Pringle make Argus tea in his office. Between the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match and meeting his grandparents and great-grandparents, Harry had briefly forgotten about the strange interaction but now it was all he could think about. The scene had reminded him a little too much of Umbridge. It was a different kind of evil than Voldemort, a kind that hid behind nice words and tea. Harry was more certain than ever that there was something rotten about Pringle. He had spent all of Monday trying to find an opportunity to give Eve the slip but she had grown more observant over the past few weeks.

It wasn’t until Tuesday that Harry got the chance to escape Mipsy and draw out the map. Pringle was currently off near the forbidden forest and Argus was in the astronomy tower. Lunch wasn’t for another few hours. 

Harry snuck around the corner and stopped in front of Pringle’s office. He’d been wrong before about Snape in first year and fake Moody. What he needed now was solid proof.

Harry put his hand on the doorknob and he was physically repelled back a few metres. He collided with the wall and he felt a portrait’s wooden frame cut into him. His invisibility cloak slipped off of him before he could catch it. Harry glanced around the corridor but lucky for him, it was still empty.

He approached the door more warily, drawing out the hawthorn wand. It wasn’t difficult to detect the wards around Pringle's office door. They were almost visible, flickering like a heat haze in the summer. Harry recognised a few of the spells but there were others, entangled around them making it difficult to know where one spell began and another ended. He raised the wand, searching for a place to start.

“Are you alright, dearie?”

Harry spun around, his cloak catching under his feet. At his current height, it was less of a cloak and more of a blanket. He scanned for the voice and he found it coming from one of the portraits he had collided with.

“Professor Hufflepuff?” Harry pulled off the cloak. The Hogwarts founder was standing in a portrait of a wheat field, looking especially faded compared to the vibrant stalks of wheat and blue sky.

“How are you? I looked for you outside the room of requirement but you weren’t in your portrait.” Harry asked.

“I’ve been exploring the castle,” Helga said, “a lot has changed but at the same time very little. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I could have sworn I was only just speaking with you and Tom.”

“It’s been weeks,” Harry approached the portrait.

“Oh,” Helga said, smoothing down her painted dress, “I can never tell. Are you trying to break into the caretaker’s office?”

“Yes,” Harry couldn’t see a reason to lie. It wasn’t exactly like the portrait could give him detention. “I have reason to believe he’s hurting a friend of mine.”

“It looks like a Kyoor Cincinno ward,” Helga moved between the portraits, switching to the opposite wall at the point where the corridor narrowed. She approached Pringle’s door and examined the flickering air. “Similar to the one Sal uses around the Slytherin common room. You will need a password.”

“Pringle didn’t say anything when he opened the door,” Harry watched Hufflepuff’s eyes sharpen as she examined the ward. “The Kyoor Cincinno ward, that’s what’s causing the shimmer? I don’t remember seeing it when I was here last week.”

“Yes. These wards tend to warp the air if they’re not done correctly.”

“Or done hastily,” Harry moved his hand through the air. Where was Hermione when you needed her? She could probably take one look at this and know twelve different ways around it. He closed his eyes, trying to think. When Harry’s foot had got stuck in the door, Pringle must have noticed and put new wards around his office. He opened his eyes and looked around at the other portraits surrounding them. There was a painting of a greyhound in a three piece suit and a somewhat eery picture of Victorian children playing hopscotch. Where did Hogwarts even get these portraits? It seemed that the founders had either ransacked every grandfather’s attic or a robbed a museum founded by someone who was eccentric, blind or both.  

“Uh, excuse me,” Harry said and one of the Victorian girls stopped playing hopscotch to stare at him. “Do you play here often?”

The girl just blinked.

Harry sighed. He might have better luck with the greyhound.

Harry drew his map out and saw that Pringle was still wandering around the forest. The caretaker must have some way of watching Argus. He had appeared moments after Argus had mentioned leaving the castle but he wasn’t an animagus. Harry could see him on the map nowhere near Argus.

“Is there any way to get around the ward without the password?” Harry asked Helga.

“Not that I know of. I’m afraid I was not much of a warder. That was more Rowina’s area. I tended to focus on herbology and cooking.”

“Could you…?” Harry bit his lip. It felt wrong to ask anything from someone who was quite literally hundreds of years his senior.

“What is it?” Helga said, “If there is a way I can help, I will.”

She sounded so sincere. Harry hadn't really expected anything else from someone who founded a house based on friendship.

“If you could watch the door, maybe follow Pringle around, just to see if he does anything suspicious or if he mentions the password.” Harry could ask Kallo but Pringle had already tried to hurt her once.

“Of course,” Helga said, “I can’t let anyone hurt my students. On that note,” her face turned serious, “I have noticed at least five hundred and six health and safety violations in the castle.”

“Just you wait fifty years,” Harry couldn’t help grinning a little, “you haven’t even met the three headed dog or the tree that tries to kill people.”

Harry spent the next few hours trying to guess the password into Pringle’s office and undo the other wards but the door remained closed. He tried to kick it but strangely enough that didn’t work. Professor Hufflepuff stayed with him sharing stories and complaining about the castle.

“The moving staircases were Godric’s idea,” she said as Harry nursed his foot. “He said it would be the most efficient method but Sal and I thought he just liked how it looked. We added all these trick steps to mess with him. I didn’t know they would still be around.”

“They add to the castle’s charm,” Harry said, “what about the secret passages? Did you design them?”

“That was mostly Godric and Sal. They were always competing with each other, making bets. They once lost at cards against Rowena and she made them design each other’s common rooms. Sal made Godric’s at the top of the tallest tower and Godric put Sal’s in the dungeons, covered it in skulls and green velvet. Sal acted all indignant but I know he secretly loved it.”

 “What changed?” Harry asked, “The story is that Salazar Slytherin didn’t want to allow muggleborns into the castle and he fought with Gryffindor.”

Professor Hufflepuff’s smile dimmed. “I don’t know the whole story. Everything was fine when they painted me. I know Sal was dabbling in a lot of dark magic. It changes people, brings out their worst qualities.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Harry gave up on the door. He would have to wait until Pringle next visited his office and overhear the password.

“That quite alright, dear,” Helga said, “I’ll keep a look out for the caretaker. You should get to lunch.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry agreed readily. Pringle and Argus didn’t tend to return to the castle for lunch but he would keep an eye on the map.

Harry said goodbye to Professor Hufflepuff and headed down to the Great Hall where he found Tom waiting for him at the Gryffindor table.

“Have a good morning?” Tom asked, “Mipsy told me you ditched her.”

Harry shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He took a large bite out of a bread roll and focused on chewing it quite thoroughly.

Chapter Text

“We haven’t really got a chance to talk,” Henry said as Tom wandered between the students correcting their posture and wand movements.

“It’s pronounced winGARdium leviosa, make the GAR nice and long,” Tom said to Elias. He adjusted the young Slytherin’s hand, raising it in line with a pile of cushions. Beside Elias, Harry snickered.

“What?” Elias turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing,” Harry blinked at him, “common mistake.”

Elias swished and flicked and one of the cushions slowly rose into the air. It wobbled for a few seconds and fell back down.

Tom pat Elias’ shoulder. “Your turn,” he said to Ally.

She flickered her wand and the cushion flew off the ground and into Elias. Sorry. Ally signed, unapologetically as Elias spluttered. He snatched the cushion up and seemed ready to retaliate but froze when he caught Tom’s eye. Elias quickly hid the cushion behind his back.  

“Sorry, sir.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Tom said. He ruffled Harry’s hair and moved past them to a corner of the room where he could survey the whole group.

His eyes trailed over the mix of red, yellow, blue and green ties. Elias’ sister and her friends had joined and Danny was currently speaking with Parkinson. Tom hoped he wasn’t trying to recruit her to his gobstones club.

The Ravenclaws were mostly huddled together as far as possible from the more excitable Gryffindors who were trying to charm the mannequins to fight back. Tom should probably go over and stop them before something blew up but he trusted the Hufflepuffs to manage conflict resolution.

Henry leaned against the wall next to him and their shoulders brushed against each other.

“Well…” he said.

Tom hesitated. He desperately wanted to reach down and weave their fingers together. No one seemed to be looking his way, absorbed into his lesson plan on using charms and transfiguration for self-defence.

“What…what did you want to talk about?” Tom spoke softly.

“The weathers quite nice but I was referring to the other night,” Henry said, “when you asked me to kiss you.”

“Shh,” Tom stared around at the other students. “We shouldn’t talk about this here, someone could overhear.” He remembered siting in the basement with William as the priest spat at the older boy. William hadn’t flinched. He had stared right back at the priest and refused to pretend the priest’s holy water and chanting could cure him. Tom had thought he was an idiot.

Now, he glanced over at Henry, his eyes trailing unconsciously down to his lips.

“They won’t set the coppers on us,” Henry said, “I told you, it’s not illegal, not in the wizarding world.”

“Doesn’t mean they…” Tom pressed his lips together to stop himself from talking.

One of the mannequins lit on fire and all the Gryffindors around it leapt back.

“We can talk tomorrow,” Henry said, “if you want, there’s no pressure.”

Tom looked around and saw everyone crowd around the mannequin, shouting and using Aguamente to douse the blaze. Before he could stop himself, Tom jerked his hand out and curled it around Henry’s. He squeezed it, revelling in how warm and solid it was. Tom quickly withdrew it, moving towards the fire.

“We’ll talk then,” Tom agreed, smiling back at Henry. Seeing the way Henry’s crooked smile made his eyes crinkle around the edges, Tom thought he might have been wrong about William. His heart fluttered in his chest and he felt his ears heating up. He hurried off to the mannequin and extinguished the fire.

“I’m splitting you up,” Tom rounded on the Gryffindors. “Go on, pick someone with more than one brain cell.”

He called to Parkinson and she came over to him. “Nance you can pair up with Parkinson.”

“What?” Parkinson and Nance glared at each other suspiciously, “Why?”

“Because I know you won’t set anything on fire,” Tom said to Parkinson.

“I didn’t set the fire,” Nance defended, “if anything it was a combined effort.”

It took a lot of self-control not to roll his eyes. “Just do it,” Tom said, “and Whit you can go with Lorange.”

“This is hardly fair,” Nance glowered, “why do I have to go with the Slytherin?”

“I thought you didn’t have a problem with Slytherins?” Tom raised an eyebrow at Nance, “You didn’t have a problem with me.”

“Henry has good taste,” Nance shrugged.

“I don’t know why you invited me here if you just wanted me to babysit your little Gryffindors,” Parkinson muttered.

“And I can force you to leave at any time,” Tom said, “this is your one chance, Parkinson. If you want to come back, you’ll go with Nance.”

“Fine,” Parkinson turned her back on Nance and strolled off to another mannequin.

“Slytherins,” Nance swore under her breath but she followed Parkinson. Tom watched them go, his gut squirming uncomfortably.

“Do you think I made the right decision bringing her here?” He asked Henry. Tom wasn’t about to turn down three sickles but there was something about this group, something that had been missing from the Knights of Walpurgis. He saw how Parkinson’s eyes trailed down Nance’s uniform that was a bit too big for her and patched at the elbow. Nance scowled back, pulling her curls into a ponytail and rolling up her sleeves.

“I think everyone has a reason to be here,” Henry said gently, “give her a chance.”

“Are you sure?” Tom looked over to Nance and Parkinson. They both looked like they wanted to banish the mannequin and fire spells at each other. Tom subtly checked that Ally and Harry were safety on the other side of the room.

“Don’t worry about Nance,” Henry dismissed easily, “I’ve seen her take on Nott. She came out with a broken nose but she was still smiling.”

Tom kept an eye on Parkinson for the rest of the meeting but he didn’t find a reason to kick her out. Henry was right about Nance. Her spells weren’t as bright or destructive as Parkinson’s but she still managed to reduce the mannequin to ash and burn the edges of Parkinson’s skirt.

Henry stayed close to him. He didn’t pressure Tom to speak; he stood by him and let their shoulders occasionally touch. It was nice. Tom couldn’t remember ever having someone who would casually touch him. He let his hands brush against Henry’s, curling just his thumb around his.

The meeting came to an end and Tom left Henry to collect the sickles. There was more than enough to pay Eve. He could send an owl order for a new book for Harry. Would it be strange to get Henry something? Fleamont had said that Henry chose a different birthday each year. Tom didn’t want to be unprepared.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Henry said once the rest of the students had filed out of the room.

“See you then,” Tom beckoned Harry over to him. Double checking that no one was around, he reached up and kissed Henry on the cheek.

Not looking to see his reaction, Tom heaved Harry into his arms and hurried from the room.

Chapter Text

“Hey professor,” Harry skipped up to a portrait, taking a bite of the sandwich he’d hastily snatched from the great hall.

“Harry,” Helga looked up from the family of kittens that surrounded her. They must all be from different paintings as they varied from a hyper-realistic ginger to some kind of human faced-cat amalgamation that was curled up in Helga’s lap.

“How has your day been?” Harry moved closer to her. She burst into a tirade about Professor Binns' entirely inaccurate account of some goblin war and Harry wanted to listen but he only had about ten minutes until Eve came to collect him from lunch.

“That’s good, well not good but pretty standard for Binns,” Harry interrupted when Helga stopped to breathe. “Did you get any chance to keep an eye on Pringle?”

“Oh yes,” Helga shook himself, “sorry I can get so distracted. I saw Pringle this morning, I think, I can hardly keep track.”

“The password into his office, did you get it?”

“Bellerophon,” Helga said, “I remember that. The son of Poseidon and Eurynome. Rowena always liked the ancient Greek myths. She would share the stories, even owned a raven Nyx. He liked to bite.”

“Bellerophon,” Harry repeated carefully. “Thanks Professor.”

“Have I told you the story about why my house mascot is a badger?”

“I would love to hear it but I’ve got to go,” Harry was already backing away, repeating the name in his head.

“Alright dear,” Helga waved him off, “be safe.”

With a quick see you later, Harry hurried up the stairs and around the corner to Pringle’s office. He checked the marauder’s map and saw that the office was empty but he still draped his invisibility cloak over him.

“Bellerophon,” Harry said and he heard a faint click sound. Turning the handle, he slowly opened the door and slipped into the office.

It was dark inside.

He closed the door behind him and cast lumos. With the hawthorn wand held up, Harry moved around the office. It was almost clinically neat. There wasn’t a quill out of place or a speck of dust on any of the books. Harry opened one of the drawers and saw hundreds of colour coded files. Pulling a few out, he saw that they were student disciplinary records, divided by year, house and surname A-Z. Under a picture of each student were lists of student’s misdemeanours and their punishments. He resisted the temptation to find Tom’s and moved onto other drawers. There was spare parchments, quills and ink pots, stacks of blank journals and a packet of soft caramels. Harry tried a few revealment charms on the journals but there didn’t appear to be anything hidden in them.

He reached for the top drawer but when he tugged on the handle, it didn’t budge.

“Alohomora,” Harry whispered. Nothing happened. He rattled off the other unlocking and warding spells he knew but the drawer remained closed. Bending down he saw a series of tiny, carved runes on the keyhole. If only he had taken ancient runes with Hermione. He could have stormed out of divinations and saved himself three years pretending to see hippogriffs in crystal balls.

Harry ran a finger over the keyhole. There were some scratches on the gold, both fresh and old. If there was a key for this drawer, Harry would bet anything that Pringle carried it on him. He cast tempus. There was about five minutes before he had to be back in the Great Hall. Screw it.

Harry pulled the chair away from the desk and crawled into the space under it. He felt the drawer. It was all made of the same thick, oak wood but he couldn’t see any runes on this side.

Sectumsempra. Harry thought, trying to forget the last time he had used this spell. A deep cut formed in the wood, not quite reaching all the way through. He traced a shaky rectangle, focusing all his effort in controlling the cutting curse.

The section of the desk fell away and Harry reached into the space left behind. He pulled out a plain black teapot and a packet of teabags. The packet was for English Breakfast but he could smell lavender and some other flower. Harry tucked one of the teabags into his pocket and refiled through the drawer for anything he had missed. His fingers touched something sharp, the edge of a hardcover book or a photo frame maybe. He had to manoeuvre it around but it just fit through the gap.

Harry pulled it close and saw that it was a simple wooden frame like the kind you would keep a picture of your family in. There was a painting of this room enclosed within the glass, the same desk, bookshelf and chair. No one was sitting in it.

Harry checked the time and quickly stuffed everything back into the drawer.

Vulnera Sanentur. The wood sealed back together, leaving only a faint outline. Harry shimmied out from under the desk and returned the desk chair to the same spot. His eyes trailed over the bookshelf but he didn’t have the time to inspect it.

He glanced at the map and upon seeing that the corridor outside was empty, Harry slipped out of the office and closed the door.

“There you are,” Eve said, striding up to meet Harry as he entered the Great Hall. “You can’t keep disappearing on me.”

“I just went to the bathroom,” Harry shrugged.

“Come on,” Eve clearly didn’t believe him. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“Can we keep talking about space travel?” Harry bounced beside her.

“We can,” Eve said patiently, “but like I told you, it will be a long time before we have the technology to leave Earth. That’s why we have telescopes and star charts.”

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to land on the moon?”

“I don’t know, kiddo.” Eve said, “it seems unlikely but who knows. Maybe you’ll be the first.”

Harry suppressed a grin. “I bet you five galleons it happens in less than thirty years.”

"If you say so."

He curled his fingers around the teabag in his pocket. Henry would probably know what it was made of. Harry could ask him tonight.

Chapter Text

“Is this the Potter’s house?” Tom glanced around the room of requirement, his eyes trailing over the eclectic mix of moving photographs and muggle cooking books. The space was divided into a kitchen and dining room, separated by an brick archway. There were wooden beams on the ceiling and saucepans hanging from a rack over the marble counter. Every free wall space was covered in photographs, newspaper clippings, children’s drawings. They were mostly random scrap parchment or school photos in cracked glass frames, clearly the room had limits about what it could produce, but Tom could imagine pictures of little Henry and Fleamont racing around on their brooms.

“Yep,” Henry bounded over. “Or mostly.” He examined the pieces of paper attached to the fridge. “I think Martha still has my first year transfiguration homework on the fridge at home. It wasn’t even a good essay.”

“What are we making tonight?” Harry asked, peaking into the bags Henry had brought with him.

“Chicken and mushroom pie,” Henry pulled out the ingredients and laid them across the counter. “It’s Paul’s specialty. He used to make it once a week before they started rationing butter and meat.”

“I didn’t know wixen followed war rationing,” Tom slapped away Ally’s hand that was sneaking over to take a piece of chocolate from another bag.

“The Ministry doesn’t enforce it but there aren’t many wizard farms and the floo isn’t designed for importing produce en masse. Have you seen Diagon Alley this year?”

“Only briefly,”

“There’s a lot of empty shelves,” Henry laid out cutting boards and started chopping the mushrooms. “Makes you feel kind of bad about all the feasts.”

“I think the house elves would rather go on strike than serve cabbage soup and dripping.” Tom dragged over the chicken. He gave Harry a stick of carrot and let him occupy himself with nibbling on it. Ally made grabby hands and Tom handed one to her as well.

“They probably import specially from the US. Unless this chicken is actually acromantula meat.”

“I’ll risk it,” Tom scraped the chicken into a bowl.

They worked together seamlessly, moving around the kitchen like it was a rehearsed dance. Ally left to play with Kallo but there was heaviness in her movements. Kallo ignored her half-hearted attempts to play fetch and just curled around her, resting her head under Ally’s chin. Harry went to join her and Tom and Henry had the kitchen to themselves. Tom shook spices into the palm of his hand like Henry had taught him and added them to the chicken and mushrooms. He had to repeatedly tear his eyes away from Henry, kneading the pastry. Henry glanced up, his lips curling into a smile. It was hesitant, not quite as bright and cocky as usual.

Tom put down the spices and moved closer to him. “You wanted to talk.”

Henry draped the pastry over a dish and added the chicken and mushrooms, placing the whole thing into the oven. He wiped his hands on a tea towel and threw it onto the counter. “I think we should.”

Tom bit at his lip. There was that same fluttering feeling in his stomach and he found it difficult to look directly into Henry’s eyes. The smell of the creamy chicken and mushroom pie was suddenly not so appealing. Tom gripped the counter, clamping down the nausea rising in his throat.

“We don’t have to-.”

“No, I want to,” Tom interrupted.

“Why don’t we start simple?” Henry leaned against the counter. His sleeves were rolled up and there was still flour on his knuckles. Tom stood awkwardly in front of him.

“We kissed…” Henry said slowly, “how did that-.”

“I think I’m a homosexual,”

Tom felt his face burn. He twisted his fingers together, staring down at them.

“Oh,”

Tom risked looking up at Henry.

“That’s…” Henry was biting the inside of his cheek and his were bright.

Tom stared back at him. “You’re laughing at me.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

“You are.” He couldn’t believe this.

Henry took Tom’s hands gently, uncurling his fingers. “I’m not,” he said, his eyes still bright, “thank you for telling me that.”

Tom squirmed under Henry’s gaze.

“I’m a homosexual too,” he said like it was an afterthought. It seemed so easy for him to say it. Tom was seriously regretting not practising this talk with Danny first.

Without warning, Henry spun them around and now Tom had his back to the kitchen counter as Henry leaned over him.

“Does that mean you liked the kiss?” He asked. Henry was close enough that Tom could feel his warmth and see the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know,” Tom swallowed dryly. He felt Henry move to release him and seized his untucked shirt with both hands. “I might need another demonstration.”

Henry did actually laugh this time. He leaned down and their lips brushed softly together. Tom surged up, the sick feeling in his stomach melting away. His hand dug into the curls at the base of Henry’s neck and he didn’t think about Mrs Cole or the priest.

“I knew it!”

Tom and Henry jumped apart. They spun around and saw Harry standing in the arched doorway.

Finally. Ally rolled her eyes. She reached up and snatched a piece of chocolate as Tom stood dumbly, unsure what to do.

“Uh, Harry,” Tom struggled to get the words out.

“Are you my new mum?” Harry blinked up at Henry.

“What? Um, well…” Henry spluttered. “I mean…I think the pie is almost done.” He rushed over to the oven, snatching up the tea towel.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” Tom twisted away from Harry.

“It’s a charmed oven,” Henry pulled it open and fumbled with the pie. He hissed as the tea towel slipped, exposing the heated porcelain. The pie crust had already darkened by its wasn’t quite a golden brown yet.

“I think...ten more minutes.” Henry returned the pie. “It’s an older model than the one Paul has…”

Harry hurried over and dragged Henry to the kitchen sink. He shifted onto his tip toes and turned on the tap, forcing Henry’s hand under the flow of cool water.

“Me and your dad,” Henry glanced between Tom and Harry, “we were just…”

K.I.S.S.I.N.G. Ally signed gleefully.

“That’s enough,” Tom said but he knew his ears were bright red.

Harry seemed to take pity on him. He let go of Henry’s elbow and scrounged in his pocket, holding out a teabag of all things. “Sorry,” he said, a little stiltedly, “for interrupting. I remembered this.”

“Where did you find this?” Henry tried to move his hand away from the water and Harry glared at him. Tom passed the teabag over to him, glad for the distraction.

“On the floor…” Harry shifted his feet, “outside Pringle’s office.” He added in a rush.

“It looks like the ingredients in a dreamless sleep potion,” Henry rolled the teabag over, “it’s got that smell of lavender and daisy roots. I’ve never seen it as a teabag. I imagine it would dilute some of the more addictive qualities, relaxing someone without rendering them unconscious.”

Is it illegal? Ally signed, not bothering to hide the hope in her eyes.

Henry shook his head. “Dreamless sleep is heavily regulated but it’s not illegal to brew, only to distribute without a medical license.”

Harry bit at his lip.

“I’ve told you to stay away from Pringle,” Tom voice was stern, “what were you doing outside his office?”

“Nothing,” Harry said innocently, “I was just walking by and I saw it.” He hurried over to the oven. “I think it’s been ten minutes now. It looks done.”

Tom narrowed his eyes but took the pie out of the oven, careful to avoid burning his fingers. He found four plates and divided the pie up, keeping an eye on Harry. Tom would need to speak with Mipsy and Kallo about not letting Harry out of their sight.

Henry put a hand on Tom’s shoulder, slipping the teabag into his pocket. “Let’s go see if I made it as well as my dad,” he said.

“Yeah let’s,” Tom agreed, blushing slightly at the feeling of Henry’s warm hand on him. He really needed to learn to control himself. This was unbecoming of a prefect. He sat down at the table, watching Ally dig eagerly into the pie and Harry take little bites like a small bird. If only Argus could be here tonight.

Chapter Text

Tom didn’t think he had ever been happier. In past years, he had thought he was happy, ecstatic even when he received class dux for the fourth year in a row or beat Nott in his first duel but none of that had felt like this. With Henry, Harry, the Filch’s and his order meetings, he was lighter. The never-ending pressure in his chest and in his throat had lifted.

Tom divided his time between the Slytherin and Gryffindor table. After Halloween, the Slytherins had left him alone except Parkinson who complained excessively about Tom’s new friends but kept coming back to his order meetings. Whenever he was feeling petty, he would pair her with Nance and let them fight it out.

Even Dumbledore seemed to be less antagonistic towards him, almost apologetic. He had given Slytherin ten points when Tom correctly answered a question about reparifarge spells. It was honestly unnerving. Tom avoided Dumbledore as much as possible and stopped putting his hand up in class.

Christmas was now only a week away and Tom was looking forward to spending some one on one time with his son. Harry still wouldn’t call him dad unless he was already half-asleep but they would have two weeks together, a lot could change in two weeks. Henry had offered to stay with them but Tom didn’t want to drag him away from his family.

He would miss him. Tom was starting to understand why students would sneak into broom closets at night. In the last week and a half, Henry hadn’t done more than kiss his cheek or hold his hand under the table but each touch was electric. Henry promised to write over the break and Tom had a feeling he was going to preserve those letters like a lovesick teenage girl.

The only dark spot in his life was Argus’ absence. Henry had tested the teabag and found that it was indeed full of the ingredients for dreamless sleep. Searching through old catalogues, Tom found that the teabags used to be sold to parents as a quick and easy way to make their children fall asleep before the Ministry relisted the potion as a controlled substance. Tom suspected that, even if Pringle was giving it to Argus, Dippet would just chuckle and say something about back when he was younger. It wasn’t exactly dangerous in moderation.

Are you going home for Christmas next week? Tom asked Ally, pushing a plate of eggs towards her.

Ally bent down to rummage in her bag. She stuck her hand out towards Tom, holding a letter. Tom turned it over, noting the return address.

Caius Filch

Filch Manor

Ilkley, Yorkshire

He said doesn’t want me to come home. Ally scoffed, shovelling eggs into her mouth. As if I wanted to.

Tom’s brow furrowed. He knew the Filch family weren’t close but they had already given up their son. Even for middle class pureblood families, heirs were supposed to be precious.

What about your mother?

Ally stabbed at her plate. She won’t notice.

Won’t it be a lonely Christmas without you? Tom hedged.

Ally let out her tuneless laugh but this time there was something bitter about it. Trust me, she won’t.

Why not?

Throughout the conversation Harry had been quiet. He glanced up now, looking neither surprised nor confused by Ally’s signs.

I have thirteen brothers.

That got a reaction out of Harry. “What? How is that even possible?”

Tom and Henry glanced at each other. “Uh, I’ll explain that when you’re older.”

“That’s not…” Harry spluttered, his face going red.

“Thirteen, that’s what you said right?” Henry looked at Ally. “I didn’t know that .”

Ally shrugged. Don’t know why she kept going. Mom never really liked children.

“I haven’t seen them at Hogwarts.” Tom scanned the tables, half expecting to see thirteen more blonde and blue eyed children around them.

They’ve all already graduated.

Tom frowned. “They had thirteen children and just stopped for eighteen years?”

Guess they made a mistake. Ally took the letter back and ripped it in two, dunking the shredded paper into her glass of pumpkin juice causing it to overflow.

Tom was saved from having to think of something reassuring by the morning post. A barn owl dropped down in front of Henry clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. He shifted over so Tom could read over his shoulder.

“Another attack?” Tom mused, “Maidstone. He’s getting closer.”

Tom’s sentiments were reflected all throughout the Great Hall. There was a wave of shocked voices and spinning heads, turning to all the students that had grown pale and shaky.

“I wonder what he’s after,” Tom flipped through the article, “his path is almost linear. He’s covering distance, not land.”

Henry stared up at Dumbledore. He wasn’t the only one. “Do you think he’ll do anything?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Tom moved the paper out of Harry’s reach.

An owl landed beside him and pecked at his bacon. He tried to wave it off but it only shifted closer, holding out its leg.

“Go on,” Tom muttered, “shove off.”

The grey owl clicked its beak. It had a letter tied to it with a muggle postage stamp.

“I think that’s for you,” Henry said, “it’s got your name on it.”

Tom glanced down. Slowly, he untied the letter, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands. “That’s not my name, that’s my fathers.”

He flipped open the envelop, not even realising he was holding his breath. His eyes trailed over the words. The letter covered three pages with barely any full stops and a circular tea stain in the corner.

“What does it say?” Harry craned his neck.

Tom looked at Ally and the spreading orange stain around her glass. He shoved the letter into his robe pocket. “Nothing,” Tom said. “We should get to class,” he stood up, “and you should get to Eve. Don’t even think about sneaking away from her. I wasn’t joking about that lead.”

“I need to brush my teeth,” Harry hopped off the bench.

“I’ll go with you,” Tom grabbed his hand. He said goodbye to Ally and Henry and left the Great Hall, trying not to think about the letter. But as he watched Harry show off his clean teeth, the last few lines swirled around his head.

I don’t know what you’re doing for Christmas but you are welcome to come here, I’d like you to, if you want, if it’s not too much.

I’m glad you wrote to me.

Thomas.

Chapter Text

For some reason Tom didn’t seem to have accepted Harry’s story about finding a teabag outside Pringle’s office. Harry was almost tempted to tell Tom he wasn’t actually a five year old just so he would stop hovering over him like a paranoid mother hen. Every time Harry tried to sneak away, Mipsy, Kallo, Eve or Tom would materialise beside him.

It was only three days until the Christmas break and Harry was getting desperate. Checking the map, he had seen that Argus wasn’t moving around as much. He kept returning to an out of the way bathroom on the sixth floor and staying there for over ten minutes at a time.  

“Excuse me.” Keeping his voice low, Harry glanced between Mipsy and Professor Hufflepuff, pretending to be very interested in a portrait of a bearded wizard with his hair on fire.

“Harry,” Helga smiled widely, “how are you? I have just been to visit the divination tower. Have I ever told you the story about how Sal tried to trick Godric into thinking he could predict the future?”

“You’ll have to tell me later,” Harry shifted to hide the Founder from Mipsy. “Look, professor. Is there any chance you could help me cause a distraction.”

Helga’s eyes lit up with mischief.

“Ooh…a distraction.”

“Shh,” Harry didn’t risk turning to look at Mipsy but he could feel her eyes on him.

“Give me five minutes,” Helga said and disappeared from the frame.

“No, wait.” Harry heard Mipsy clear her throat and he spun back around.

“What was that?” Mipsy said.

“Just thinking out loud,” Harry smiled innocently.

Mipsy hummed, her eyes narrowed. It was a little insulting how suspicious everyone was of him. What had he ever done?

Harry returned to their game of chess, subtly pulling out the map under the table. Argus was back in the same bathroom, his dot stationary. They played for a few more moves and Mipsy successfully stole his queen. He couldn’t be sure if Mipsy was good at chess or he was just that terrible. In a matter of minutes, he only had the king and a single pawn.

“Just checkmate me already,” Harry sighed, “the game is yours.”

Mipsy shifted her queen forward two places. “Check.”

“Mate,” Harry finished for her.

“We could play another game,” Mipsy gathered the pieces together.

“Well…”

There was a crash above them and someone screamed.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He ran from the room, dragging the cloak over him. Whatever Professor Hufflepuff had done, it seemed to have worked. He managed to hurry up the stairs unnoticed and past a group of students clustered around the stair rail.

Ignoring whatever that could be about, Harry ducked around the corner and into the bathroom, the door partially hidden behind a suit of armour.

“Argus,” Harry said softly, taking off his cloak. He heard something like gagging. Alarmed, he stepped towards the only stall with the door closed and knocked on it. “Are you alright in there?”

There was no response. Harry pushed the door lightly and was surprised to find it unlocked.

“Argus?”

Behind the door, he heard another choking gasp. Slowly, Harry peered closer.

“Argus!”

The short boy was crouched over the toilet, gripping the lid with white, clenched fists. He seemed to be trying to throw up his intestines but was only managing to couch up bile.

Harry fell onto his knees beside him. He pressed the back of his hand against Argus’ forehead and found a layer of sweat on his temples.

Argus wiped his mouth, “what are you doing here?”

“Getting away from Mipsy,” Harry dismissed as casually as he could manage. “You want some company?” Without waiting for Argus’ answer, he sat down with his legs crossed.

“I read one of those Prince’s books, your favourite one, The Upturned Cauldron. I found a copy in the library.” As he talked, Harry looked Argus over, noting the flushed cheeks and his quick breaths. He kept his voice light and unaccusatory.

“I liked the bit with the mermaid.” Harry continued, carefully drawing out the hawthorn wand. He nonverbally transfigured the toilet paper handle into a crude, metal goblet and filled it with water behind Argus’ back.

“It was a kelpie,” Argus corrected, a little light returning to his eyes. He unfurled from around the toilet seat. Harry offered him the water but Argus hesitated before taking it.

“I haven’t poisoned it,” Harry drew the glass back and took a quick sip. “See.” He held the glass out again, smiling.

Slowly, Argus curled his hands around the goblet and took a tentative drink.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Do you want to talk?” Harry tried to think about what Hermione would do.

Argus shook his head. “I’m fine,” he mumbled into the goblet, “lunch just didn’t agree with me.”

“You weren’t in the Great Hall.”

“I had lunch with Mr Pringle,” Argus finished the glass. Harry took it and filled it with more water from the sink.

“You have a lot of lunches with Pringle.”

“Don’t,” Argus cut him off.

“I’m only saying…”

“Don’t.” With a burst of movement, Argus covered Harry’s mouth with his hand. “Just leave it. I’m fine.” His eyes trailed over the empty bathroom.

“You’re hurting,” Harry tried to say but his words were muffled by Argus’ hand. His wrist were almost skeletal. He hadn’t been much to begin with but Harry could see each of his bones nearly poking through the skin.

“I’m fine,” Argus repeated firmly.

“Alright,” Harry relented and Argus let go of him. “You’re fine.” He kept offering him water and saw the green recede from Argus’ face. “I didn’t like the bit with the troll,” he shifted the conversation back to Prince’s book, “Finley was what ten in the first book? There’s no way a ten year old could beat a troll.”

Argus puffed up, fully turning away from the toilet. “But Fin was magic.”

“I don’t know,” Harry drawled, “I think he would have been troll lunch meat.”

They kept discussing the book until Mipsy found them with her hands on her hips. Harry felt himself cower under her gaze.

“Hello Mipsy.”

“Harry,” Mipsy said shortly.

“I should get back to cleaning,” Argus stood up.

Harry started, instinctively reaching out to stop him but Argus shied away from him, his eyes still trailing over the room.

“I’ll see you,” the small boy started to make his way to the door.

“Wait,” Harry approached him more cautiously. He looked around the bathroom, seeing nothing but dirty tiles and crude graffiti. Still, he moved close and lowered his voice to a whisper, wondering if Pringle really was somehow watching them. “If you’re ever not fine…” Harry stood on his tip-toes to reach Argus’ ear, “the password to the Slytherin common room is Mercutio. Anytime, day or night, we’ll let you in. Please, just be safe.”

“I will,” Argus whispered back, nodding once.

As Mipsy dragged Harry back to the dormitory, he had the horrible feeling that he hadn’t done enough.

Harry sat on his bed, bored with chess and full of nervous energy. Mipsy blocked the doorway and he thought the castle could be on fire and she wouldn’t take her eyes off him. He slid off the bed onto the floor searching for something, anything to distract him and saw Tom’s trunk half under his bed. Looking up at Mipsy, Harry shifted towards it but the house elf didn’t stop him. Moving his hands and only his hands just out of her sight, he drew out his wand and surveyed the wards around Tom’s trunk.

After running through his entire list of de-warding spells with no success, Harry switched to a new tactic.

⚕Open.⚕

There was a faint clicking sound and the trunk lid lifted. Silently, fist bumping the air, Harry examined the trunk’s meticulously organised interior. Christ, who folded their socks. Were you supposed to do that?

The only thing out of place was a letter with a familiar return address: Riddle Manor.

Harry hesitated for a few long seconds. He glanced at Mipsy who narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything. Carefully, very carefully, Harry flicked open the letter and pulled out the paper inside.

The door swung open.

“Harry, Kallo reported to me…”

Harry jumped at the noise, stuffing the letter hastily back into Tom’s trunk.

“That you had…” Tom faltered, turning to him and his still open trunk.

“Sorry,” Harry backed away, “I was just…”

“Reading through my personal mail,” Tom glanced at Mipsy.

“You said he should not be running off and doing anything dangerous or illegal,” Mipsy shrugged. 

“You don’t know what’s in my trunk,” Tom muttered under his breath. He looked back at Harry and sighed. “So, you read the letter.”

“Are you going to stay with Thomas over Christmas?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. They had never really talked about the last time Tom had snuck out of Hogwarts. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of the letter but Tom hadn’t murdered his father this time around and Thomas Riddle had certainly never invited him over to visit. Would he let Tom stay over the summer?  

Harry had seen glimpses of Wool’s Orphanage and it hardly seemed like a nice play to grow up. He remembered all of Dumbledore’s stories about Tom stealing from the other children and stringing up their pets. Mrs Cole had called him the devil’s child. It certainly painted a particular picture of the budding dark lord but Harry wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

If someone had come to number four Private Drive and asked Aunt Petunia to describe Harry, he could vividly imagine the words she’d use. Hadn’t he sometimes snuck into Dudley’s room and used his computer or slipped into the kitchen in the middle of the night for something to eat? If he had become a dark lord, Harry could picture Dumbledore saying he was a troubled child from a difficult home.

Surely, Tom deserved better than that.

“Do you want to?” Tom asked. He picked up the letter and ran his fingers over the seal.

“It could be nice,” Harry chewed his lip, choosing his words slowly, “to try.”

“I don’t know,” Tom rubbed a hand down his face.

“He said his parents wouldn’t be there. It would just be the three of us.” Harry said, “If something happened, if it didn’t work out…I reckon we could take him.”

At that, Tom’s lips quirked into a smile. “We wouldn’t be able to use magic.”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry corrected, “I’m only five.” He held up five fingers. “I can’t control my magic.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tom chucked, ruffling Harry’s hair. “We better start getting ready for dinner.”

“Do you think they’ll be treacle tart tonight?” Harry jumped up. “I’m starving.”

“Probably,” Tom closed his trunk, “but not for you.”

“What? Why?” Harry could feel himself pouting.

“You were looking through my stuff,” Tom slung an arm around for him, laughing at Harry’s expression, “I’m not letting you get away with that. No dessert for a week.”

“But daaaaad,” Harry whined, feeling every bit the child everyone thought he was.

“Nope, not going to work,” Tom said in a sing-song voice, “now go wash your hands. Dinner is in thirty minutes.”

***

The sounds of cutlery against plates and the usual gossip about who liked who and how much homework they had been assigned over the break, filled with the Great Hall. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table with Henry and his friends as Ally watched Hagrid discuss a baby unicorn he had found by the edge of the forest. The was a hum of excitement in the air. Students that were usually buried in their textbooks, pushed them away and even some of the teachers had let their hair down. Everyone it seemed was looking forward to Christmas and two whole weeks away from lessons and early mornings.

There were only two people missing from the Great Hall.

They sat silently opposite each other in a small, wooden hut on the castle grounds. The younger one swirled his spoon through his bowl of soup but wasn’t eating any of it.

“Is there something wrong?” The older man asked.

“Nothing,” the boy froze.

“You need to eat more,” the man said, “go on, we’re not leaving until you finish that plate.”

The boy didn’t move.

“If you finish it,” the man leaned forward, a smile curling across his lips, “there might just be a little something for you.”

“Really?” the boy looked up. “What?”

“It’s a surprise,” the man said, his hand resting over the boy’s. “But I think you’ll like it. Consider it…an early Christmas present.”

Under the older man’s gaze, the boy slowly raised the spoon to his mouth.

“Good boy,” Pringle said, his smile widening. “Just like that.”

Chapter Text

Argus raised the spoon to his already full mouth, waiting for Pringle to look away. On his tongue, he could taste the faint flowery something that made his eyes itch and grow heavy. He forced them open, his throat constricting.

“Is something wrong?” Pringle said.

Argus shook his head. He lowered his spoon back into the bowl. Even the small movement made his head spin, a stark reminder that he had thrown up all he had eaten today. The soup was a relief against his dry mouth but his throat was pleading with him to swallow. Argus resisted.

Pringle was not a bad cook. The onion soup was warm and the lavender taste barely noticeable under a generous seasoning of salt and pepper but Argus couldn’t bring himself to eat it. With fifteen children it was understandable that mother and father did not have much time for making dinners. He should be grateful that Pringle cared to prepare anything for him. Still, his body repelled the thought.

He needed to stay awake.

Pringle bent to take a spoonful from his own bowl and Argus quickly spat the soup out into his mug of tea. As his stomach tried to eat itself and his eyelids slowly turned to led, he thought of his sister up at the castle, the lights of which were just visible through the window.

“Are you getting tired?” Pringle lowered his spoon, “We still have dessert. It’s chocolate cake and strawberries, your favourite.”

Argus almost perked up. He remembered when his mother used to bring home a chocolate cake for their birthday. It had been a little dry and often a few days late but it hadn’t mattered.

“I am feeling a little tired,” Argus said, trying to meet Pringle’s eyes. The man didn’t like it when he looked down. He couldn't give Pringle a reason to send him away. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Just have a little,” Pringle stood and brought over a prepared slice. “I made it for you.”

Guilt curled inside of Argus. “Thank you,” he murmured, taking the slice. He poked at the cake, moving around the pieces, but Pringle didn’t look away. Under his intense, dark eyes, he forced himself to swallow down a few forkfuls.

He excused himself to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. At the bathroom sink, he couldn’t seem to wash away the flowery taste. There was a knock on the door and Argus jerked away from the tap. He flushed the toilet and hurried out of the bathroom, past the strangely blank painting hanging by the shower.

“Alright?” Pringle asked. He put a hand on Argus shoulder and he didn’t manage to hide his finch. Argus cursed himself. It wasn’t difficult.

Clean the castle.

Look him in the eyes.

Don’t flinch.

Don’t talk about his dreams of Pringle standing over him at night, breathing heavily.

He had just to follow these rules and he could stay at the castle.

“I almost forgot,” Pringle held Argus closer to him, squeezing him briefly in warning. “I haven’t given you your early Christmas present yet.”

“You don’t have to,” Argus bit at his lip. He couldn’t remember the last time an adult had given him a Christmas present. It might have been the practise wand his mother had gifted him two years ago, still hoping there was something useful about him.

“But I want to,” Pringle pat him low on the back. “Come with me.”

He led Argus back into the kitchen and towards his bedroom. Argus couldn’t help the small flicker of excitement. His gaze lowered to look under the wide bed in the centre of the room. He could see a wicker box, large enough to fit a racing broom in it. He hoped it wasn’t a racing broom. His dad had once tried to teach him to ride.

It had taken days for Ally to pluck out all the splinters from the gashes in his back.

“Should I get it out?” Argus suggested when Pringle kept standing in the room, not making any motion to get the box.

“Oh, it's not in that box,” Pringle was smiling, “I thought it was about time you got a bed.”

“But isn’t this your bed?” Argus couldn’t say he liked the couch. It was stiff and he felt exposed outside Pringle’s room without his own bedroom door and lock. That didn’t mean he wanted to take Pringle’s bed.

“We’ve grown close, haven’t we?” Pringle slid his hand lower, touching the waist of his pants. “We love each other, right?”

“Uh, y-yes,” Argus stuttered.

“Say it,” Pringle voice shifted. His nails dug into Argus skin and he shivered.

“I love you,” Argus barely stumbled over the words.

“I love you too,” Pringle pushed Argus closer to the bed. “And there is not much space in this cabin.”

The older man smoothed down the thick white blanket on the bed. “Why don’t you get changed into those pyjamas I got you?” He said, “They look good on you.”

Argus shifted. “But…you haven’t said where you’ll sleep.”

“There’s enough room for two of us,” Pringle said.

“Um,” Argus looked at the bed and his throat tightened.

“You don’t like my Christmas present to you?” Pringle said and Argus realised he’d been quiet for too long.

“No, no, I like it,” Argus hurried to say, backing out of the room. “I’m just going to get changed.” He grabbed the clothes he kept at the end of his couch and rushed into the bathroom. After throwing up, his weariness had evaporated somewhat but he had still spent all day cleaning and he hadn’t exactly been sleeping much these days. Argus brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face. It helped a little.

Returning to Pringle’s bedroom, he found the caretaker waiting for him. Feeling his skin prickle, he slid under the covers and shuffled to the furthest end of the bed. He curled protectively around himself, away from Pringle.

“Goodnight,” Pringle said in what might have been a fond voice. The light flicked off, plunging Argus into darkness.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled back.

The bed was probably the softest thing Argus had ever felt. It seemed to mould around him, almost like a hug but one that didn’t make him want to throw up. The blanket was heavy and Argus hadn’t realised how much he’d missed having an actual pillow. It would be so easy to just close his eyes but some part of him refused to sleep. There was a thrum of energy that remained deep within him, flashing like an evacuation siren though Argus didn’t know what he was supposed to be escaping from.

Pringle wasn’t like his parents. He hadn’t hit him or beat him or thrown him down the stairs to force magic out of him. The only times he had raised his voice or gripped a little too tightly was when Argus broke one of the rules or slagged off his duties to meet Harry and Tom. He could do this. He could be good.

Argus heard Pringle leave the room and his body relaxed. He felt the minutes trickle by and with every second, it was harder to stay awake. His eyes kept slipping shut. At one point he might have actually fallen asleep but a sound outside the bedroom made him jerk up.

***

There was a creak as the bedroom door opened slowly. Light footsteps approached the bed and Argus closed his eyes and let his breathing slow. The bed dipped and he felt the blanket shift around him.

“Argus,” Pringle whispered. A hand rested on his shoulder and shook him gently. Argus kept pretending to be asleep. The hand started to stroke his back and neck and it took a great effort not to tense. Was this what parents normally did? Argus wouldn’t know.

His eyes cracked open and saw that the room was pitch black. The curtains had been drawn across the room’s only window. He wondered if Ally was in bed. It must be late.

The hand travelled under his shirt and Argus shivered.

“Shh,” Pringle said, “just relax.”

His cold fingers moved up his spine and this time Argus couldn’t stay still. He wrenched himself away from Pringle, nearly toppling off the bed. Pringle caught him and pulled him from the edge. He shifted Argus onto his back, his wrists pinned to his side.

“Go back to sleep,” Pringle curled his fingers tighter around Argus’ wrists.

“What are you-?”

Pringle shhed him. He leaned over Argus, putting all his weight on Argus’ legs. The man was heavy, almost painfully so. In the dark, Argus couldn’t see his expression.

There was still a faint flowery taste on his tongue. It seemed to be tugging his mind in one direction even as his body protested.

The hand returned under his shirt. Argus struggled. This didn’t feel right.

He attempted to kick out but his legs were trapped under Pringle.

“Stop moving.” A hard edge slipped into Pringle’s voice and Argus instinctively froze. The hand toyed with the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. His other hand caressed Argus’ cheek. He felt hot breath on his neck and something wet touched him.

“No,” Argus whimpered, “no, please.” He struggled harder, freeing one of his hands from under Pringle.

He heard Pringle make a noise of frustration against his neck.

“Relax,” he said again. There was a clink of wood against wood and Argus felt the tip of Pringle’s wand cut into the soft part under his chin.

Argus lashed out. He curled his hand into a fist, just like Henry had taught him, and hit Pringle with everything he had. There was a deafening crack.

The pressure on his body lessened as Pringle cursed. Argus fell off the bed and scrambled to his feet. He shoulder whacked against the edge of the window frame but he didn’t feel the pain.

“Lumos.” There was a burst of light and Argus could see Pringle’s face as the caretaker held his wand aloft. His eyes were wild and his nose dripped blood onto the wooden flooring.

“You-.” Pringle growled. He leapt at Argus and Argus only just managed to duck out of his grasp. Adrenaline replaced the weariness in Argus’ head. There was another flash of light but it missed him as he searched for the door in the dim room. He didn’t think about Pringle’s rules. He just needed to get as far away from Pringle as possible.

Argus yanked the door open but before he could pass through it, he was wrenched back. There was a pop and an odd feeling like pins and needles in his shoulder. An arm wrapped around his neck and he choked. Without thinking, Argus bit down on the arm. He tore at it, tasting blood in his mouth. Pringle cried out and Argus took his chance.

He fled.

***

Argus tore through the cabin and didn’t look back. All he could hear was his own heart beat and Pringle’s pained gasps close behind him. He welcomed the cold night air and the crunch of grass under his feet.

His gaze didn’t leave the castle. It was a lighthouse in the dark, the only thing his mind could focus on. There were more flashes of red and green behind him but if Argus knew how to do anything, it was to disappear. He stayed close to the boundary of the forest and the empty carriages along the path up to the castle.

His body felt strange. The pins and needles had spread to his fingertips and toes. He reached the castle doors but found them locked.

“Argus,” Pringle called out.

Argus pivoted. He ran along the edge of the castle until he found a cluster of thorny bushes, half hidden between Gryffindor tower and the Great Hall. Squeezing through the wiry branches, he revealed a familiar tunnel that smelt of wet earth and damp. He crouched in the tunnel entrance, peering out. Argus held his breath as he saw Pringle round the corner, his wand aloft.

“Argus,” Pringle’s voice echoed through the night, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Argus turned around and shuffled through the tunnel on his elbows and knees. It was a tight space. Moisture leaked into the thin fabric of his pyjamas. The passage widened into a cavern-like room that looked ready to collapse on itself at any second.

As he ventured deeper, the room dimmed until he was relying on touch alone to find the way out. There were other tunnels that branched off into dead ends but Argus managed to avoid them, treading a familiar path into a barely used cleaning closet in the dungeons he had found a few weeks ago. He listened intently but couldn’t hear anyone following him.

Argus found the cupboard but when he tried to push it open, he found he could only lift his arm a few centimetres. The pins and needles were in his throat and head now. He shoved the door with his shoulder and fell out into the empty corridor.

“Mercutio, Mercutio,” Argus panted in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The bricks shifted into an archway and rushed through it, hoping that Harry and Tom had meant it when they said he could come to them at any time.

Chapter Text

It was a good thing that Tom had decided to stay up late to finish his potions essay or he might have missed the faint knocking at his door. Wondering what home sick first year was bothering him at this hour, Tom sighed. He closed his potions textbook, tempted to ignore the sound.

The knocking didn’t stop and Tom reluctantly swung his legs off the bed.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered to himself. He pulled on a robe over his pyjamas and shuffled over to the door.

“What is-?” Tom’s words died in his throat.

“Argus?” He caught the boy before he could collapse. Half-carrying the small boy, Tom closed the door with his shoulder and manoeuvred them both over to the bed. Argus clung onto his arm. His face was pale and his thin night clothes stuck to him, providing little protection against the cool night.

Tom hurried to tug a blanket around him. “What happened?”

“Can I stay here?” Argus’ voice was small. He still hadn’t let go of Tom.

“Of course but-.”

There was a sound on the other side of the room and Tom lowered his voice to avoid waking Harry.

“Are you sick?” Tom put a hand on Argus’ forehead. He was cold to the touch.

“I’m fine,” Argus murmured into Tom’s shoulder. Tom didn’t believe that for a second.

“Your shoulder is dislocated,” Harry’s voice made both of them start. He crawled onto Tom’s bed in his dragon patterned pyjamas and shifted the blanket around Argus. Peering through the dim light, he saw that Argus’ shoulder was positioned oddly and there was a lump protruding from under the low collar of his night shirt.

Tom studied the boy’s face. Argus didn’t seem to be in any pain. His eyes were distant and his lips dark, tinged with something that looked horribly like blood.

“Are you sure?” Tom asked.

“Trust me, I know what a dislocated shoulder looks like,” Harry said. For someone who had been asleep seconds ago, his voice was clear, almost medical. He shuffled to sit in front of Argus, his face more serious than Tom had ever seen on a child.

“Was it Pringle?” Harry said.

Argus face grew paler. Slowly, very slowly, he nodded.

Sparks flew out of Tom’s wand as he leapt to his feet. “I’m going to kill him.”

“You will not,” Harry looked pointedly from Tom to Argus

Tom realised that Argus had shrunk away at his outburst, hitting his already injured shoulder against the bedhead.

“We are going straight to the hospital wing,” Harry said in the tone that left no room for argument. That didn’t stop Argus from trying.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said, “but you need medical attention. I am no good at healing spells.” His entire posture had shifted, back straight, chin up, ready to fight.

“But it’s late, she’ll be asleep,” Argus fiddled with his sleeve cuff.

“I don’t think school matron’s ever sleep,” Harry said, with a small glimmer of amusement on his lips, even as his eyes remained deadly serious.

“I can carry you,” Tom said. Signposting his movements, reached for him. “Are you in any pain?”

“I don’t feel anything,” Argus’ eyes remained distant, not quite focusing on any one of them. Gently, Tom scooped him into his arms, careful not to nudge his shoulder.

“Stay here,” he told Harry, not surprised when his son merely scoffed and followed them out of the room.

The whole way to the Hospital Wing, Argus eyes darted around the empty corridors, his body tense. Tom curled protectively over him, his wand held tightly in his other hand. When they reached the Hospital Wing, Harry knocked sharply on the door.

“Marlene,” he said urgently, “open up.”

Seconds later the door flew open to reveal the matron with her nurse cap lopsided and an unusually frazzled looking Eve.

“Come in,” Madame Blainey said at once. She gestured for Tom to put Argus down on a bed.

“I can walk,” Argus grumbled, sounding a bit more like himself.

“Hush now, dear,” Madame Blainey said, “looks like you’ve done quite a number on that shoulder of yours.”

“It wasn’t me,” Argus said under his breath but Tom could tell the matron caught it. She exchanged a worried look with Eve. Anger flared once more within Tom and it took all his control not to storm right down to the caretaker’s hut.

“Take this,” Madame Blainey took a blue vial from the pocket of her apron, “it will help with the pain.”

At the sight of the potion, Argus’ eyes widened. He scooted back on the bed, almost falling off. “No, no,” he said, ‘I don’t want it.”

“It’s going to hurt,” Madame Blainey said.

“I don’t care,” Argus shook his head, “I’m not taking it.”

“Can I perform a diagnosis spell?” the matron lowered the potions bottle. “It will just take a second.”

Argus hesitated. “Ok,” he said in a tiny voice.

Madame Blainey cast the spell and a scroll appeared in front of her. As her eyes trailed over it, her mouth became a thinner and thinner line.

“I’m going to reset your shoulder,” she put the scroll aside, “I’ll need you to relax.”

For some reason the word relax seemed to make Argus practically turn to stone.

“Look at me,” Eve came around and crouched down in front of Argus. “We’re going to count down from ten.”

At one, Madame Blainey pulled back on Argus’ shoulder and he let out a whimper of pain. She drew a triangular bandage from nowhere and carefully made a sling.

“Here,” Eve went and got some ice. “It will help with the swelling. You want to tell us how this happened?”

Silently, Madame Blainey passed over the diagnosis test.

“Nothing happened,” Argus wouldn’t look at them in the eyes, “he didn’t do anything.”

Tom desperately wanted to rip the paper from Eve’s hands. He scanned Argus’ thin body and noticed the bruising blossoming on his neck and across one of his knuckles. Pringle was going to die for laying a hand on his friend.

“There’s another test I need to do,” Madame Blainey said, her voice soft.

“I just want to sleep,” Argus drew the stiff, hospital blanket up to his chin.

“I know, sweetheart,” Madame Blainey sounded like she was almost on the verge of tears, “but I need you to be brave for a few more minutes, ok, do you think you can do that?”

Argus buried himself into the blanket.

“Please,” Madame Blainey insisted, “just a little longer.”

“Ok,” Argus whispered.

Madame Blainey raised her wand and muttered a spell.

Tom froze. He knew that spell.

There was a soft, warm breeze that traced over Argus’ body.

It had been in one of the books he’d read for potions, the one about amortentia. He backed away from the bed, images flashing in his mind. There was Rocha pressing him against the bed, a woman in rags offering Thomas a glass of water, the feeling of cold lips forcing his open.

“Tom?” Harry said, looking over.

His back hit a rack of empty vials. One of them fell to the floor and shattered.

“Tom?” Harry repeated.

Tom turned away from him and fled the room.

He ran out the door and down two flights of stairs not stopping for breath. How could he have let this happen? He had known that something was wrong, had seen Argus retreat into himself, stop turning up for meals. Tom had let it happen and done nothing.

He reached the entrance hall. Without touching his wand, the doors burst open in front of him.

Tom strode down the castle grounds. His eyes were locked onto a spot of light by the forbidden forest. As he moved closer, he saw that the cabin door was wide open. There was a flicker of movement inside and Tom gripped his wand tighter.

He reached the cabin and stepped right over the threshold.

The cabin interior was just how he remembered it. There was not a speck of dust out of place or a dirty dish in the sink. He stepped further into the room, scanning around for any sign of the caretaker.

“Don’t move,” said a voice behind him.

Tom spun around and found a wand pointed directly at his neck.

“Put your wand down,” Pringle said. He dug his own wand deeper into Tom’s beck.

“Pringle,” Tom didn’t so much as flinch. “You’re not looking so well.”

The caretaker’s nose was bloody and there was a crimson stain spreading under his shirt sleeve.

“Obli-.” Pringle started to say.

Tom wrenched himself away from Pringle, raising a shield around him. He dropped into a duelling stance and flung out two spells in quick succession. Pringle blocked the first one but the other caught him in the leg. He grunted, clasping at the scorched fabric.

“What did you do to Argus?” Tom demanded, raising his wand higher and pointing it directly between Pringle’s eyes.

The caretaker sneered. “Nothing he didn’t want.”

Tom sliced his wand across the air but Pringle drew up a shield around him.

“He’s a child,” Tom spat.

Pringle’s hand dropped away from his leg. He straightened, his dark eyes gleaming. “He’s old enough to know what he wants.”

“You sick bastard,” Tom grit his teeth, “cru-.”

“Poen-.”

The two spells collided in midair and Tom was momentarily dazed by the spray of sparks. Two hands gripped him and he was shoved back into the wall. His head collided hard with the frame of a painting.

“Obli-.”

Tom rolled to the side. He hand fumbled blindly for something and found a chair. With all his might, he swung it around and it hit Pringle with a crunch. The chair splintered.

Pringle fell to his knees. He drew a hand up to his face and touched a fresh cut on his cheek.

“What has he told you?” Pringle wheezed.

“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Tom hand was shaking as he stared at the man.

“Oh, really?” Pringle leered up at him, “did he tell you how he looked at me? How he loved me?”

Tom was so angry that his next spell missed Pringle entirely.

“Incarcerous.” Ropes flew out of Pringle’s wand and wrapped around Tom’s ankles and wrists. He stumbled.

“You shouldn’t have interfered,” Pringle rose to his feet as Tom struggled. He stepped closer to him. His hand rested on Tom’s chin, lifting it until their eyes met.

“Relashio,” the ropes fell away from Tom. He struck Pringle right in his already broken nose and the man let out a shout.

“Avada ke-.” Pringle lifted his wand and Tom had to summon the table to block the jet of green light. The spell fizzled out centimetres from his heart. He struck back, summoning any and every spell he thought of.

Pringle was blasted off his feet once more. Tom transfigured the kitchen kettle and metal chains forced Pringle into a kneeling position with his hands behind his back. His wand flew into Tom’s hand and he snapped it in half.

“You can’t keep him from me.” Pringle growled. Even as he knelt at Tom’s feet, there was a smile on his lips. “He’ll come back. They always do.”

Tom’s wand trembled. He gripped it with his other hand, holding it steady. “I should kill you.” Despite his shaking fingers, his voice was steady.

Pringle laughed. “You’re a child,” he said, “you don’t even know how.”

“Oh, I know how.” The chains around Pringle’s wrist tightened and he let out a gasp. Tom cocked his head to the side, studying the caretaker.

There was a sound outside of the cabin.

“In here!” Pringle cried out, his eyes twinkling. His voice transformed, the humour replaced with what sounded like real fear. “You have to help me.”

Behind Tom, the doorknob rattled and he stared over at it.

“Two days,” Pringle’s voice dropped back to the same dry amusement. “Give it two days and he will be back.”

The door started to open and Tom spun back around to Pringle.

“Two days,” the caretaker mouthed.

Tom raised his wand, rage coursing like a bursting dam, and said the first spell that came to mind. He flicked his wand up and in a semi-circle to the right, his thoughts drifting for some reason to a recipe book to make a coconut cream pie.

“Cortices Cocoes,” Tom said, his wand directed right at Pringle’s head.

The man’s smile froze, only for a second, before it opened into a silent scream. Blood exploded outwards in every direction, dousing Tom’s face and clothes, just as the door burst open revealing Madame Blainey, Eve and Harry.

Chapter Text

Harry watched Tom flee the hospital wing. He had a pretty good idea exactly where he was going and was struggling to find a reason to stop him.

Marlene cleaned the shattered vial Tom had knocked over with a dismissive wave of her wand, focused on Argus. He looked so small and pale on the white hospital sheets. His eyes were focused on his trembling hands, blinking sluggishly. Harry wasn’t sure he had even noticed Tom leave. It seemed to be taking all his remaining energy to stay awake.

“You’re safe now,” Marlene said to him. She pulled back the sheets and helped Argus under the covers, running a gentle hand through his hair once before drawing it back.

Those words were like a switch. Argus slumped against the pillow and within minutes his breathing slowed. Even in sleep there was a crease between his eyebrows and his hands were curled protectively across his chest.

“Marls,” Eve said, her voice broken.

“I know,” Marlene linked her fingers through Eve’s.

Emotions warred through Harry, too many for him to focus on just one. An image flashed in his mind of Pringle kneeling in a pool of his own blood and he couldn’t say for certain if it came from Tom or his own mind. He tried to wipe the image from his head but it only grew clearer. Harry could almost smell the blood.

Argus whimpered in his sleep and Harry stopped trying.

“It’s late,” Eve turned to Harry.

The implications of her words almost made Harry laugh. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

“Can I just st-.”

Harry’s words died in his throat.

Horcruxes.

He had forgotten about horcruxes.

Harry jumped up from Argus’ bedside, his heart beating like it was attempting to break out from behind of his ribcage.

“Harry?” Eve asked slowly.

“We have to go,” Harry rushed over to the door. How could he have forgotten about horcruxes? Tom knew what they were now. He may have hesitated to kill his father but Pringle had hurt their friend.

“What is it?” Marlene asked but Harry didn’t have time for this. He grabbed Marlene’s hand and dragged her with him.

Marlene let herself be taken along but she hesitated once they reached the Hospital Wing door.

“Harry”

“No!” Harry tugged harder. “We have to stop him.” He didn’t want to leave Argus here alone but he could picture the snake faced barely-a-man that Tom had become. Harry could hear Voldemort’s cold laugh and almost feel his skeletal fingers brushing against his scar.

The Hospital Wing lights flickered and Marlene let out a soft gasp. She was physically jerked forward and through the door. Eve had to run, her heels clattering on the stairs, to keep up with Harry and Marlene as he dragged her towards the front doors. They were already open, hanging slightly on broken hinges.

Dew soaked through Harry’s socks. He hadn’t had time to put shoes on.

Up ahead he saw the caretaker’s hut and could only pray that they weren’t already too late.

There was a muffled sound and Harry made out the words help me. It sounded like the desperate pleas of a man on the brink of death.

He wrenched the door wide, just in time to be sprayed with droplets of blood.

For a second, no one moved. Harry watched Pringle collapse onto his side and go still. Tom stood above him, his wand raised and the snapped halves of Pringle’s wand at his feet. He looked over at Harry, Eve and Marlene.

Eve was the first to move.

She drew Harry behind her, blocking his view of Pringle’s body.

“Harry, I want you to stay here,” she said.

Marlene stepped carefully around the blood and nudged Pringle with her foot.

“Give me your wand,” she said to Tom. He numbly handed it over and she cast a quick series of random spells, lumos, wingardium leviosa, the charm to get ink out of parchment. Without a word, she gave it back before raising her own wand. With a flick, all the blood on Tom’s and Harry’s clothes vanished.

“What are you thinking?” She looked from Pringle to Eve. “Suicide?”

“A magical accident,” Eve said, head cocked to the side, studying Pringle. “Or he could have decided to take up a new job out of the country. Does he have any family that would look for him?”

“Not that I know of,” Marlene looked Tom up and down. “What spell did you use?”

Only half listening to the two women, Harry pushed Marlene and Pringle’s body. He had seen worse. His eyes caught on a flicker of movement in the corner of the room.

“All the windows are closed,” Eve said, “I don’t imagine there were any witnesses.”

“I think there was one,”

Everyone turned towards Harry.

“Get back here,” Eve said but Harry just pointed at a simple wooden frame. Inside it was a painting of the living room in the same realistic style as the picture in Pringle’s desk. Just like that painting, there was a chair in the centre of the canvas but this time, it was occupied. There was a painting of a man who could only be Pringle, surveying the scene before him. It was hard to read his expression, something between horror and disgust.

“That’s how he did it,” Harry muttered to himself, stepping up to the picture. All the emotions swirling through him stilled as his body fell into a familiar defensive stance.

He remembered wondering how Pringle knew to arrive seconds after Argus suggested leaving the castle when the only people in the corridor were the twins and a portrait of bearded wizards drinking wine. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? It was the exact same method he had used to spy on Pringle with Professor Hufflepuff. All this time, a painted version of Pringle could have been sitting amongst those wizards and Harry hadn’t realised it.

The man in the picture stood, making as if to step out of the frame. Harry acted on instinct. He snatched the painting off the wall and smashed it.

The sound seemed to draw Tom out of whatever daze he was in. He spun around and his eyes widened at the sight of Harry clutching the ruined painting.

“I thought I saw a spider,” Harry dropped the painting. Before anyone could stop him, he slipped out of the kitchen and into the joining room. He found another painting in the bathroom and shuddered at the idea of any version of Pringle watching someone shower.

Eve and Tom followed Harry into the bedroom where he sunk to his knees and peered under the bed. What was it that Argus had said?  

He’s already picked out my Christmas present. I saw him stow the box under his bed and he told me not to look. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Looking under the bed, he could see the box. He reached for it, ignoring Eve’s protests. Throwing it open, he saw that is was full of a variety of seemingly unconnected items. There was a soft, checked blanket with the name Billy stitched into it, a battered chess set, a collection of softball cards. At the top of the pile, Harry drew up a copy of The Upturned Cauldron and flicked it open. There was an inscription on the first page.

Happy Birthday Argus and Alaya.

Tom pounced forward and grasped a toy bunny close to the bottom of the box. One of its eyes was missing.

“Bugs,” Tom said, turning the rabbit over.

“What is all of this?” Eve stared at the box’s contents.

Tom looked like he was going to be sick. He put the rabbit back and shrunk the box, stuffing it into his robe pocket. “Trophies.”

“Eve!” Marlene called from the kitchen.

She came into the bedroom, her white apron dyed red and her hands dripping on the wooden floors. The three of them turned towards her.

“Marls?” Eve asked, hesitantly, “what is it?”

Marlene looked directly at Tom. “He’s alive,” she said, “Pringle’s still alive.”

Chapter Text

“Attention students,” Dippet stood up from the head table, hitting his goblet with a spoon. The ping of metal on metal rang over the crowd. At the Gryffindor table, Tom looked up at the headmaster as the hall quieted, his heart twisting in his chest.

“I have a sad announcement this morning,” Dippet said.

Instead of going silent, the hall broke into whispers.

“Has there been another attack?”

“Is Grindelward coming here?”

“Has Quidditch been cancelled?”

“I’m afraid our caretaker Mr Pringle has been taken ill,” Dippet’s voice rose over the whispers. “He will no longer be able to fulfill his position here at Hogwarts. If you would like to send him a get well card, he will be transferring to Saint Mungo’s later this morning.”

The worried mutterings throughout the hall died down, replaced with a general air of curiosity and very little actual concern.

“I don’t know who would want to send that man a card,” Nance said, ladling out more scrambled eggs onto her plate, "he always seemed like a bit of a creep to me.”

“I’ve heard rumours,” Whit leaned over conspiratorially. “Apparently he stumbled into the hospital wing early this morning covered in blood.”

“Really?” Nance raised her eyebrows.

“Really, really,” Whit nodded, “Eddie overheard the matron talking about it when he went to get his daily meds.”

“Did she say what happened?” Nance turned to Eddie.

“She thinks he was experimenting with some pretty volatile magic,” Eddie said, “didn’t exactly say what but…” he lowered his voice, “from her tone, I’d say it was something unseemly, if you know what I mean.”

Tom and Harry exchanged a glance.  

“Dark magic?” Henry asked.

“More like trying to magic himself a bigger dick,” Whit said and Tom choked on his pumpkin juice.

“That’s what Madame Blainey said?” Tom spluttered.

“It was implied,” Eddie grinned, “imagine that. Madame Blainey was saying she did her best but she couldn’t save everything.”

As soon as breakfast was over, Henry pulled Tom aside into an empty classroom.

“What happened?” he demanded

“He deserved it,” Tom spat. He deserved much worse. In his pocket, Tom could feel the shrunken box he had stolen from under Pringle’s bed.

“Argus?” Henry said.

“Madame Blainey said he’ll be alright but she won’t tell me everything,” Tom ran a hand over his face. “He was still sleeping when I last visited.” He looked up at Henry, his eyes burning. “But…I could’ve stopped it, Henry. I let it happen.”

“No,” Henry said firmly. He put his hand over Tom’s. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

“But…”

⚕The young one is awake. ⚕ Kallo slithered into the room.

Tom didn’t hesitate. He rushed out of the room, Harry, Henry and Kallo trailing after him, and up the stairs. The matron was waiting for them. She bustled them inside the hospital wing and towards a bed with the curtains drawn up around it.

“Is he…” Tom hovered outside the curtains, “does he want to see me?”

“He’s been asking for ya,” Madame Blainey said. She drew back the curtain and Tom stepped up to the bed.

“Hi,” Tom said uncertainly, his hands fluttering over Argus. The small boy was wrapped up in blankets. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes had faded somewhat. Ally was already curled up beside him, her chin resting on Argus’ shoulder.

Argus took one look at Tom and threw himself into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Argus murmured into Tom’s robes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Don’t let them take me away.”

“No one is taking ya away, Mr Filch,” Madame Blainey said.

Harry crawled onto the bed and Henry drew up a chair to sit on Argus’ other side.

You’re staying right here. Ally signed.

“Take this,” Eve came up to the bed with a tray of buttered toast, milk, a nutrient potion and an anti-nausea potion.

“Don’t force yourself,” Madame Blainey said, “just eat as much as you can.”

“DId you check for dreamless sleep?” Henry turned to the matron, “Was he taking it?” He took the teabag Harry had “found” out of his pocket and handed it over. “This was outside Pringle’s office.”

Madame Blainey studied the teabag, rolling it over in her fingers. She looked at Argus. “Are ya comfortable with me sharing information with ‘em?”

Argus made the gesture for go ahead, still clinging to Tom like he was afraid someone would appear at any second and try to drag them apart.

Madame Blainey turned back to Henry and Tom. “There were elevated levels of linalool and sodium in his blood but the body will expel it naturally. The main priority right now is getting food in ‘em.”

Argus didn’t seem to be listening. He picked at his breakfast, looking reluctant to eat any of it. Casually, Henry leant over and snatched up the toast. He took a bite from each piece and a sip of milk.

“Hey,” Argus pulled his plate away from him, looking indignant, but he ate the toast more easily after that.

“There is one matter we need to address,” Madame Blainey said, her voice turning more serious.

Tom felt his chest constrict. He had been reckless. If he had only waited for Madame Blainey to be distracted. He could have disposed of Pringle’s body in the pumpkin patches he worked so hard to maintain.

“It’s about custody arrangements,” Madame Blainey said shortly.

Tom stared at her. He wasn’t expecting that. “You don’t mean…” he said slowly.

“He’s going to send me away,” Argus said into Tom’s shirt, “I broke his rules.”

“Don’t tell me that monster still has custody,” Tom gripped Argus closer to him. “Is he even capable…” Tom had seen the amount of blood around Pringle’s body.

“Unfortunately there are no laws surrounding the guardianship of a squib,” Eve said softly, “even if Pringle gets convicted, he’d still be Argus’ legal parent.”

“No laws,” Tom murmured to himself.

“Don’t send him to prison,” Argus unfurled from Tom, “he didn’t really do anything.”

“Could I take custody?” Tom said, “Argus could stay here with Harry.” He could pay Eve to tutor five days a week, he had the sickles from the Order. There were still clothes and toys and food over the summer but he could pick up another job.

Ally and Argus’ heads snapped over to look at him.

“Legally, yes,” Eve said, “if you can get Pringle to transfer custody.”

“But ya are still a child,” Madame Blainey added. Tom wanted to argue that he hadn’t been a child in years but the matron cut him off.

“We’ve been talking,” the matron looked at Eve and back to Argus. “I have my own rooms next door. There is a spare bedroom.”

“And what would you need me to do?” Argus eyed the two women. “I don’t know anything about healing.”

“Oh sweetheart,” the matron knelt beside the bed. She put a gloved hand close to him but didn’t try and touch him. “Ya don’t need to do anything. Just be yourself.”

Argus shifted on the bed.

“You don’t need to make any decisions right now,” Eve said, “but think about it.”

“Would you make an unbreakable vow not to harm him?” Tom said. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Argus again, not Pringle, not the Slytherins, not the matron or Eve.

“I would,” Madame Blainey said, not even hesitating. “I would swear it here right now.” She looked Argus right in the eye.

Tom couldn’t tell if she was bluffing. She sounded sincere but she was still an adult.

Argus finished his breakfast and put the plate aside. He rubbed his eyes and settled back against his pillows.

“Rest,” Madame Blainey said to Argus before looking at Tom. “I’ve already written to ya professors, Tom. You can stay here.”

Tom’s own eyes felt heavy. He hadn’t slept at all last night. Before he could relax though, there was still one thing he had to do. He gently untangled himself from around Argus and swung off the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised.

Henry stood up as well, closing the curtain behind the two of them.

“Is he still here?” Henry asked the moment they moved away from Ally, Argus and Harry.

Madame Blainey jerked her head to the other side of the hospital wing. “The healers from Saint Mungo’s will be here soon. You have about twenty minutes.”

“That’s enough,” Tom said.

Madame Blainey raised her eyebrows.

“I just want to talk,” Tom reassured her.

“I doubt he’ll have much to say,” the matron walked Tom and Henry over to another closed off bed. She pulled back the curtain, her lips twisting in disgust.

“I’ll let you leave your get well card in peace,” she said. Madame Blainey spun around, striding back to Eve. Tom rounded on the bed, his fists clenched, not sure what to expect.

It certainly wasn’t this.

Lying in the bed was a man. Tom recognised Pringle’s shined boots poking out from under a thin hospital gown but his face was just...gone. Instead of eyes, a nose, a mouth or hair, there was only smooth, new skin stretched over the blank white canvas. There were just two holes where his ears had been and a tube coming out of his throat. Pringle lay still. Without the soft rising and falling of his chest, Tom could have mistaken him for a shopping mannequin.

There were bandages wrapped around where his legs met his waist. Tom didn’t think he had even cast a spell in that area, making him wonder what they were for.

“What spell did this?” Henry said.

Tom glanced at him, biting his lip, but he didn’t see disgust or fear in the Gryffindor’s eyes. Henry crouched beside Pringle. He poked Pringle’s chest and the man let out a low sound in his throat.

“You’ll have to teach it to me,” Henry straightened. “Can he hear us?” Pringle didn’t move.

“Raise your right hand or I will carve a smile back into your face,” Henry said, his voice low. Tom had never heard him use that voice. It was cold, completely unlike his usual warmth.

Slowly, very slowly, and making muffled groans in his throat, Pringle lifted his hand.

“Oh, so you can hear us,” Henry voice shifted abruptly back.

Tom stared at the body but he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say to the man. He turned around and headed back to the other side of the hospital wing. Argus was already half asleep. He reached out his tiny hand for Tom’s and Tom didn’t think about Pringle anymore. This was all that mattered now.

A few minutes later Henry joined him. He sat down, tucking loose strands of hair out of his face. Silently, he handed over a piece of paper to Tom.

“Where did you get this?” Tom read the paper, focusing on the signature at the bottom.

“I summoned the one from Pringle’s cabin and duplicated it,” Henry said.

“And you got him to sign it?”

Henry smiled innocently. “He was quite keen to. Now it just needs one more signature.”

Tom tucked the paper into his pocket. He would ask Argus about it when he woke up.

Chapter Text

Tom hesitated outside the sixth year dormitories. He hadn’t stepped inside them since Dippet had pre-emptively given him the head boy’s room and he couldn’t say he missed the presence of four other teenage boys. For some strange reason, he felt the urge to knock on the door. At some point, a physical barrier seemed to have formed between him and the other boys in his house, thicker than just a wooden door. The idea of storming into his old dormitory had become paramount to walking into a stranger’s home and sitting on their couch.

Before he could make a decision, the door opened and Malfoy barraged past him.

“Oh, sorry Riddle,” Malfoy said.

“It’s alright,” Tom said through gritted teeth, “is Nott in there?”

“He is. Hey, look Riddle…”

Ignorning whatever Malfoy wanted, Tom pushed through the door and closed it behind him. He saw Nott alone in the room rummaging in his trunk. When Tom entered, he looked up.

“Riddle,” he said.

“Nott,”

The two of them looked at each other, neither of them saying anything.

“Do you have a moment?” Tom said at last.

Nott raised an eyebrow at the question. “I didn't think you would care either way.”

“I don’t,” Tom conceded, “I needed to talk to you.” With a flick of his wand, he locked the door and crossed over to Nott in two strides. Nott watched his movements warily as Tom drew out the shrunken box from his robe pocket and enlarged it. He placed the box on Malfoy’s unoccupied bed and reached into it.

“I believe this is yours,” Tom said, holding out the one-eyed stuffed rabbit.

“Bugs?” Nott’s hands unconsciously stretched out. A look of unfiltered vulnerability flickered across his face but only for a second. A moment later his eyes shuttered and he raised his wand.

“Where did you find that?”

“I think you know,” Tom easily disarmed him and took another step forward. He held out the toy.

With shaking fingers, Nott took it. He stared at the rabbit like he was expecting it to vanish.

“Apollyon?” Nott asked, stumbling over the word.

“He won’t be returning,” Tom said.

“He’s not dead?”

“As good as.”

Nott was silent. He cradled the rabbit close to him, not even attempting to get his wand back. His eyes grew wet and Tom had the decency to look away.

“Don’t think that this changes anything between us,” Tom said when the silence stretched on, “you still hurt Argus and Ally. I want nothing to do with you or Walburga.”

“I tried to tell him to leave,” Nott said, “he should have listened to the message on the wall.”

“You could have told me!” The words burst out of Tom. “You knew he was a monster. You could have stopped this.”

“And what?” Nott’s eyes flashed. “Let the whole school know I was…weak,” he spat out the word. “That some nice words were enough to make me…” He choked and ducked his head.

At last, Nott snatched his wand back from the floor and pointed it at Tom’s neck. “If you tell anyone…”

“I won’t,” Tom said simply, “not because I care about you but because I care about Argus. It’s his story to tell, not mine.”

“Argus is lucky to have someone that cared.” Nott turned away from Tom. He stormed out of the dormitory, slamming the door behind him.

Tom let him leave. He didn’t know what to do with the confirmation of his theory. The word of a pureblood heir alone could get Pringle sent to Azkaban for the rest of his sorry existence but Tom suspected Nott would rather drink bubotuber pus than say anything.

Tom absently ran his hand over the other items in the trunk. He took out Argus’ book and put it aside. His fingers drifted towards something at the bottom and he found them wrapped around a chess set. It seemed to be almost whispering for him. There were warding runes carved into the box but Tom only needed to alter them with his wand to flick it open. The whispering grew louder.

His hand trailed over to the white king. He was just about to touch it when the dormitory door reopened. Goyle entered, his mouth locked onto some unfortunate girl’s. They didn’t even notice Tom.

He snapped the chess set closed and fled from the room as fast as humanly possible.

Chapter Text

Harry stuffed his spare pair of socks into a bag with his toothbrush and book of Grimm fairytales.

“And that’s why Godric is no longer welcome back in France,” Professor Hufflepuff said from a picture frame above him.

“I just want to know where he got that many squirrels,” Harry stood up, heaving the bag onto his back. He walked over to the portrait and leaned beside the Founder who, like usual, was sitting down in a pile of cats.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Oh don’t be silly, dearie,” Professor Hufflepuff said, “it is only two weeks.”

“But that’s forever,” Harry whined, using the tone he had perfected over the last three months.

The door opened and Tom strode in, clutching his trunk. “Ready to go?”

“Nearly,” Harry rushed over to his bed and pulled a stack of paper from under it, covered in crayon.

“I made this for you,” he rifled through them until he found one with a drawing of a squashed faced, orange tabby. “Nance charmed it for me.” Harry stuck the drawing next to Professor Hufflepuff and the cat slunk off the page, directly onto the founder’s lap. The crayon ball of fluff looked particularly out of place next to all the other cats but Professor Hufflepuff immediately scooped it into her arms.

“Her name is Crookshanks,” Harry said.

The cat blinked at him, looking every bit as unimpressed as her real life counterpart.

“I love her,” Professor Hufflepuff proclaimed.

“Very good,” Tom ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, “do you have all your pyjamas? Your toothbrush?”

“Da-ad,” Harry rolled his eyes. The word slipped past his lips before his brain could fully register it. He had to clamp his mouth shut. To his horror, Tom’s eyes grew a little misty. Harry quickly shoved his bag into Tom’s arms and pulled him out of the room, waving goodbye to Professor Hufflepuff.

“We don’t have to leave,” Tom said as they made their way up to the hospital wing. “There’s the Christmas feast and Dippet usually arranges fireworks on New Year.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than Harry.

“I want to see Thomas,” Harry said firmly, crossing his arms.

“We don’t even know-.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harry interrupted. He dragged Tom into the hospital wing where Henry was reading Argus a chapter from Prince’s new book.

“Hey Tom,” Henry said without looking up from the book. Ally was sat on his lap, munching through a pile of raspberry slathered toast.

“I’ve got presents!” Harry rushed over to the bed and clambered onto it.

“Is this supposed to be me?” Henry held up his picture as Harry passed them around.

“It’s you and Tom,” Harry pointed at the characters. He was quite proud of them. They weren’t even stick figures this time.

“And that one’s me?” Henry gestured to the man with messier hair. “It’s quite flattering.”

Lottie. Ally signed, running a sad hand over her drawing. The cat seemed to purr, curling into a ball on the page.

“I’ve got ones for you too,” Harry reached out to Marlene and Eve as they came towards them, carrying Argus’ daily nutrient potion.

“Why thank ya,” Marlene took the picture like it was something highly valuable, balancing it on her tray of potions.

“It’s us,” Eve peered over the matron’s shoulder, “look I’m taller than you.”

“We’re the same height,” Marlene rolled her eyes. She passed over Argus’ dosage and watched until he downed the last drop.

“Not when I’m wearing my heels.”

“I’ve already sent Mipsy to collect ya stuff,” Marlene said, ignoring Eve. “But we can always come back to the castle if ya’re missing anything.”

“Don’t they need you here for the Christmas holidays?” Henry asked.

Marlene glanced at Argus. “I thought we could all do with a break,” she said, her words measured. “I’ve got someone coming to fill in for me.”

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Tom said to Argus, “or we could stay here with you.”

Argus looked between Tom and the matron. “I think…” he cleared his throat, “yeah, I’m sure.”

“Wait here,” Henry lifted Ally off his lap and ran out of the room. He returned a few minutes later, clutching something behind his back. “I know it’s not technically Christmas yet," he said, “but Tom and I have got something for you.”

Argus and Ally perked up on the bed.

“It was my idea,” Harry said.

“It was both of our idea,” Tom corrected.

“And I paid for him,” Henry shifted the thing behind his back. “So, really a group effort.” Slowly, with two sets of curious blue eyes on him, Henry held the present out.

“Watch out,” he said as Argus put out a hand, “I’ve heard that he bites.”

In Henry’s hand was a silver cage housing the most irritable looking owl Harry had ever seen. It was pitch black with little horned tuffs on its head and narrowed, feathery eyebrows. His amber eyes were unnaturally bright and full of what could only be described as general distain for all human kind. The owl still had a little downy plumage under its wings but Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he had already committed a long series of homicides.  

“This is for me?” Argus asked. He looked up at Tom as if he expecting the older teen to pull the cage away from him.

“Of course it’s for you,” Henry said, “and we’re both expecting letters over the break. If we don’t hear from you, I’ll break down the door and storm the place.”

“Our house is open to the floo,” Eve took the empty vial from Argus, looking at the owl warily. “You can come over at any time.”

The owl hooted and Eve jumped.

“Does he have a name?” Argus asked. The owl clicked its dark talons against the bars of the cage as if trying to sharpen them. Tom looked quite proud of his choice of bird.

“Harry did choose one,” Henry said, “but don’t feel like you have-.”

“I’ve got the perfect name,” Harry cut him off, “Peeves.”

P.E.E.V.E.S. Ally considered it. She studied the small bundle of aggression on the bed. Do you like it?

The owl puffed up his feathers and clicked his beak. Ally took that as a yes.  

“Peeves it is,” Henry clapped his hands, “I got some owl treats and a water dish as well.”

“Peeves,” Argus said, reaching hesitantly towards the bird. His reverential tone almost made Harry fall off the bed as he attempted to stifle his snickers.

The owl, Peeves, let Argus gently brush his feathers.

“We better hurry this up if we want to get the train,” Tom said though his gaze was soft as he watched Ally and Argus huddle around the bird.

“Indeed,” Marlene agreed.

“You’ll-.” Argus turned to her, twisting his fingers together. “You’ll let me keep him.”

Marlene crouched down to his level. “You will both need to take care of ‘im,” she said, “but yes, he is yours.”

Argus hesitated a moment before ducking forward and giving Marlene a quick hug. The matron kept her hands by her side but Harry could see a soft, slightly sad smile on her face. There was none of that predatory gleam that had flickered in Pringle’s no-longer-existing eyes.

Argus released the matron and hopped off the bird. He took the birdcage from Henry and held it like it was the most precious thing he had ever seen. Peeves clicked his beak and glared daggers at anything that moved.

Outside of the hospital wing, the seven of them joined the flow of students going home for the holidays. They tracked through the front rooms and down the frost covered lawns to the train. Marlene, Eve, Argus and Ally turned off towards the side of the train reserved for professors. Henry scooped both the Filch’s into a hug on the platform, making them to promise to come over to the Potter’s for Christmas.

Tom pulled Argus aside at the last moment. Harry couldn’t hear what they were talking about over the hustle and bustle of the busy platform but he saw Tom clench his fists. Argus nodded and fell back to the matron, a little less tension in his shoulders.

“Bye Argus,” Bye Ally. Harry waved, hopping up onto the train with Henry’s assistance.

Bye. Ally waved back. She disappeared in the opposite direction and Harry hoped they would be alight. If anything happened to them, Harry would have find out what spell Tom used on Pringle.

Kallo cleared a path for them down the train corridor. She chose a compartment near the end and Tom scared away the group of third year Gryffindors that had tried to occupy it. They looked imploringly at Henry but he only shrugged.

“He’s a prefect.”

They settled on the familiar worn seats and Harry laid his head on Henry’s shoulder. Tom tried to sit on the seat opposite them but Henry tugged him over, causing him to almost collapse on top of him. Grumbling, Tom settled on Henry’s other side.

“You’ll come over for Christmas, won’t you?” Henry said.

“I doubt Thomas’ fire place is connected to the floo.”

“What about the Knight Bus? Or we could come and get you?”

“If I must,” Tom sighed. “I’ll try to get away.”

“You better.” Henry knocked his shoulder.

Harry felt like he should give the two of them some space.

The train rattled on and the back and forth sway of the carriage was soothing. Harry nestled into Henry’s side. It might have only been early morning but within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.

***

In a distant village, a blonde man ran a finger along a row of book spines. He pulled some of them from the shelf, skimming the first few pages before casting them onto the ground. The man paused at a photo in a sleek, silver frame. He traced the picture of a young couple posed with a baby in one of their arms and a pig-tailed toddler struggling in the other. The couple were smiling with the worn-out look of new parents.

“You have a beautiful family, Mr Mason.” He turned to the man from the photograph hunched on his knees, a trickle of blood running down the side of his face.

“Please,” the man rasped, “please.”

“And here’s me thinking that you lived alone.”

“Please.”

“Quiet.” The blonde man snapped. “You lied to me, Mr Mason. I don’t take kindly to liars.” He slashed his wand and the man screamed, clutching his face.

There was the sound of the door opening and a cruel smile stretched across the blonde man’s lips.

“It seems that someone is at the door.”

“No, please,” Mr Mason whimpered.

Ignoring him, the blonde man stepped over the bloody body and down through a cluttered kitchen. He crossed over to the door just as three more men burst through it. There was no sign of the woman or her children.

Scowling, the blonde man stepped to the side.

“What is it?”

“My lord,” the men bowed their heads at him.

“Yes, yes,” the blonde man said, “get on with it.”

“I have news on the supposed time traveller,” one of the men said in a rush. The blonde man paused. He looked back to where Mr Mason could still be heard moaning and crying pathetically.

This could wait.

Chapter Text

“Do you think Ally and Argus will be alright?” Tom shifted Harry’s sleepy body in his arms, resting the boy’s head in the crook of his neck. After the last few months of consistent meals and nutrient potions, his son wasn’t quite the light pile of bones he had once been.

Moving a strand of messy dark hair out of Harry’s face, Tom saw that he no longer looked like he could pass for a three year old. It wouldn’t be long until it became difficult to carry him. The thought made Tom’s chest feel tight. He snuggled Harry closer to him as they dismounted from the Knight Bus onto the deserted streets of Little Hangleton.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Tom said. His fingers flexed around the wand in his pocket.

“If they aren’t…” Harry murmured into his neck, “I’ve always wanted a brother or sister.”

A sudden image flickered in Tom’s mind of himself with a tiny swaddled baby on his lap as Henry knelt on the ground playing with Harry. He hastily shook the image out of his head. Harry was enough of a handful as it was. He should be focusing on his upcoming OWLS and plans for revamping wizarding society, not whatever that was. For Merlin’s sake, he didn’t even have somewhere to live during the summer that wasn’t a muggle orphanage.

“I’m sure Madame Blainey won’t let any harm come to them,” Tom said, “but they are welcome to stay with us.”

“Really?” Harry asked.

Tom heaved Harry high in his arms. “Really.”

The sun had already set behind the hill by the time Tom reached Riddle Manor. He paused outside the double front doors. Ignoring the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat, Tom lifted his hand to knock.

“Tom!” The door flung open before he had even touched it.

Thomas stood on the other side. He looked even more of a mess than last time. There was a pink flush on his cheeks and the suit hanging from his shoulders was spattered in flecks of blue paint.

“Come in,” Thomas beckoned Tom inside, “I didn’t know-I know you said you’d come but I wasn’t…” He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own unpolished shoes. “I tried to get the place ready.”

Tom carried Harry over the threshold and his eyes widened at the sight waiting for him. It looked like Christmas and a store’s entire baby section had thrown up on the place. There was tinsel on every surface and strings of fairy lights over the piano and chandelier. Every single one of the cupboards had been fitted with plastic child locks and there were rubber safety pads over anything close to the ground.

Tom’s eye was drawn to a Christmas tree set up in the corner with an excessive amount of messily wrapped presents under it.

“We had most of this stuff in the attic,” Thomas wrung his hands, “Frank got the tree, uh, he’s our gardener, just got back from the war. If you don’t like it…”

Tom still couldn’t quite believe that this was his father. Harry shifted on Tom’s shoulder, snuggling closer to his neck.

“Oh, right, you must be exhausted,” Thomas lowered his voice but he still sounded like he had drunk nothing but coffee for a week straight. “I didn’t know if you wanted to sleep in the same room or-.”

“The same room,” Tom cut the man off. He had no desire to be separated from his son in this unfamiliar house.

“Uh, yes,” Thomas bobbed on his toes, “well then, follow me.”

He led Tom through the living room and kitchen. Tom couldn’t help but glance at the photographs on the wall, noting a picture Thomas standing beside an older man with the same sleek, dark hair and aristocratic nose and a woman who might have been pretty except for the look on her face like she thought the cameraman was beneath her.

“That’s my parents,” Thomas said when he caught Tom looking.

“Are they here?”

“Oh, no,” Thomas opened a door at the end of the corridor, “I thought it was best…uh, they are off at the moment.”

Entering the room, Tom found the reason why Thomas was covered in paint.

“Did you do all of this yourself?” Tom said. It wasn’t really a question. The room had clearly been prepared by a man with more enthusiasm than talent. Two not quite identical shades of blue were coating the walls and there was some kind of “mural” on one of them.

“I thought…” Thomas waved his hand at the vague colourful blobs and streaks of green at the bottom of the wall, “I’d be better at that. I can change it or you could…” He moved his finger like he was casting a spell and shuddered.

Tom wasn’t about to mention that he wasn’t allowed to use magic outside of school.

“This will do,” he said. The painting job was uneven but for some reason it still made Tom feel oddly warm.

“I have a crib,” Thomas was still hovering by the door, “is he too old for a crib?”

The crib in question was a bit smaller than the bed Harry had been using but Tom could see the use in those bars. It might hinder Harry’s unfortunate habit of sneaking off.

Tom set his son down gently and tucked him under a soft, blue blanket that was like goose down under his fingers.

“Have you had something to eat?” Thomas was watching Tom interact with Harry, something odd in his expression. “I’m not much of a cook but I could do eggs.”

Tom could feel his stomach rumble. He looked up at the man warily. “Eggs would be nice.”  

“Right then,” Thomas said, “I could do fried or scrambled or…”

He didn’t stop talking as he left the room. Casting one last look at Harry sleeping soundly in his crib, Tom followed after his father.

Chapter Text

Harry jerked awake to the sounds of screaming. His hand instinctively leapt to the wand under his pillow as he opened his eyes, searching for the danger. He saw Thomas standing over him with a breakfast tray, his face pale, and could feel Kallo wrapped tightly around him, her head resting on his chest. Bypassing both these things, his eyes settled on the real horror in the room.

He was in a crib.

A CRIB.

A BABY'S CRIB.

Twisting on the admittedly comfortable bedding, Harry stared at the wooden bars surrounding him and the teddy bear patterned blankie he was unintentionally clutching. Throwing it to the side, he felt a familiar spark rise inside of him. He could not stay here. Harry would rather be in his cupboard than suffer this humiliation.

There was a crack and the next second Harry was on the carpeted floor.

Thomas dropped the tray he was holding and toast, eggs and oatmeal went everywhere.

“I guess that answers that question,” Tom drawled, sitting up in his bed because of course he got one.

Harry glared at him. How could he have allowed this?

“Get back,” Thomas motioned frantically at the crib where Kallo was still curled in a tight ball, taking up most of the space. “There’s a, a snake and…” He seemed to realise that Harry was no longer in the crib.

⚕I like this den.⚕ Kallo hissed, flexing her tail against the bars.

⚕You sleep in it then.⚕ Harry hissed back.

Thomas looked like he might faint.

A sliver of fear curled inside of Harry at the older man’s expression, replacing the burst of indignation he had felt. He remembered the last time he had produced accidental magic in front of the Dursleys. With his thin, almost sickly, frame and clean shaven face, Thomas looked nothing like Uncle Vernon but he was still bigger and taller than Harry. He glanced at the mess on the carpet and bent his head.

“You speak it,” Thomas stared between Tom and Harry. “I had heard rumours…”

On the bed, Harry saw Tom square his shoulders.

“We do,” he said, chin in the air.

Thomas faltered, oscillating on his toes. “Uh…how about breakfast? We can’t eat off the ground.” He clapped his hands together and laughed awkwardly, scooping up the fallen bowls and plates before running out of the room. Tom stared at the door where Thomas had disappeared.

He heaved himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes and peered out of the window. Tom rimaced at the sight of the sun already rising over Little Hangleton. Come to think of it, Harry couldn’t remember a time when Tom had awoken after the sun.

The teen went over to his trunk and opened it up, revealing organised stacks of clothes, books and parchment.

“Come here,” he said. Harry shuffled over and took the pants and t-shirt offered to him. “Are you ok?” Tom asked as Harry hastily pulled the fresh clothes on, “You didn’t hurt yourself getting out of bed?”

Harry scoffed at the word “bed.”

Tom only rolled his eyes. “It’s got to be nicer than a transfigured pillow.”

“It’s for babies,” Harry crossed his arms, the brief flicker of panic he had felt in his chest fading as he stood beside Tom.

“But you are a baby,” Tom said, poking his nose and Harry very nearly spluttered out I’m older than you.

He had to bite his lip as he batted Tom’s hand away.

Laughing, Tom moved over to the crib and fiddled with the sides until the bars popped off. Kallo let out an irate hiss and slithered off to sunbathe by the window.  

“Better?” Tom asked.

“It’s still a crib.” Harry wrinkled his nose but he could begrudgingly admit that it was better.

Tom grabbed some more clothes out of his trunk and Harry noticed that they were far shabbier pieces than his school uniform. There were the tell tale sign of too many growth and repair charms on the fabric, making it warp and split at the seams. Tom laid them all out on the bed. Beside the bed’s thick cotton blanket and cushions, they looked particularly shabby. They weren’t much better than Dudley’s cast offs.

“You should wear that one,” Harry pointed at a button up when Tom did nothing but stare at them for a solid minute. At least, the black fabric hid some of the worst signs of age.

With a soft sigh, Tom shrugged it on and made his way to the door. He stopped in front of it and crouched down next to Harry.

“Harry,” his voice was serious. “Before we go out there I need you to promise me something.”

“Ok…” Harry said, wondering what this could be about.

“I don’t want you to be alone with Thomas,” Tom said, “at all. I want you to stay by my side and if he ever does anything to make you uncomfortable, I need you to come and tell me. No matter what. You have to promise me this.”

Slightly amused, Harry nodded anyway. He doubted Thomas could do anything worse to him than Voldemort or Uncle Vernon had ever done. There was none of that darkness he had seen in Pringle. If anything, the biggest fear was probably giving Thomas a heart attack before Christmas was over. Still, Harry glanced over to a cupboard in the corner of the bedroom.

He took Tom’s hand and together, they followed after Thomas.

They found him in the kitchen, bizarrely wearing a frilly women’s apron like one Aunt Petunia would have over another suit. His suit jacket was slung over a chair and his sleeves had been rolled up as he tried to flip eggs in a frying pan. With over a decade of experience cooking for the Dursleys, Harry could tell his technique was rather lacking.

“The heat shouldn’t be that low,” Harry said, padding up to the stove and Thomas jumped.

“Oh, uh, right,” he stuttered, “we usually have a cook.” He fiddled with the knobs on the stove, twisting it too far in the opposite direction and causing the gas flames to lick the bottom of the frying pan greedily.

“I can do that,” Tom said. He took the spatula from Thomas and saved the eggs from an early death.

“I…” Thomas fumbled, “do they, uh, teach cooking at your school? You do go to school, right?”

It occurred to Harry just how little the two Riddles knew about each other. Thomas had essentially invited a complete stranger to his home.

“My friend taught me,” Tom said, his voice clipped. He turned the stove off and transferred the eggs over to slightly burnt pieces of toast.

Thomas rushed to pick up the plates and bring them over to a table. At the same time, Tom and Harry’s eyes landed on the high chair beside the head of the table.

“Don’t even try it,” Harry said and crawled onto a normal chair.

“I wasn’t sure,” Thomas snatched up a jug of orange juice and nearly spilt it over himself.

“He can use his own cutlery,” Tom said, passing it over to Harry, “but by all means use the plastic cups.”

Harry’s face was murderous.

“So…” Thomas said, playing with his small portion of toast and eggs. “Tell me a little about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Tom’s posture was stiff. He raised a piece of toast to his mouth with all the poise of a pureblood heir.

“Anything,” Thomas was sat on the opposite side of the table from Tom and Harry. He looked like he wanted to lean across the divide but couldn’t bring himself to shuffle closer.

Tom cocked his head a little to the side. The tension in the dining room was almost solid.

“Why do you have so much baby stuff?” Harry broke the silence with the first thing he could think of.

“Oh, it’s mine,” Thomas said, “I’ve got more clothes and things if you need them.” His eyes trailed over Harry’s oversized shirt and the holes in Tom’s button up.

Tom flinched back like the gaze stung. “I can get my son his own clothes.”

“It’s no problem,” Thomas barrelled on, “I’m sure I can find something that would actually fit.”

Tom slammed his fork down. “Do you think I can't look after my own son?”

“What?” Thomas brow furrowed, “I wasn’t suggesting…”

“I like the art,” Harry interrupted. There were paintings on the walls that he hadn’t noticed the last time he was here. Most of them were flowers though there was a few that might have showed a distant wooden hut on the edge of a garden. “Did you paint them?” He recognised the same uneven strokes as the mural in the bedroom.

“I’m learning,” Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ve heard that it’s…relaxing but I can never seem to get it right.”

“I like drawing,” Harry said. He dug into his pockets and found some scraps of paper. Smoothing them out, Harry traced over crayon facsimiles of Ron, Hermione and Hedwig.

“They’re very good,” Thomas said.

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks warm. “If you want, I could draw yo-.”

“We go to a school in Scotland,” Tom cut him off before Harry could get the words out.

“Would I have heard of it?” Thomas turned to him.

“Unlikely,” Tom sniffed, “it’s a school for witches and wizards.”

Thomas’s cutlery clattered against his plate as he put them down. “There’s more of you?”

“Thousands,” Tom leant forward, “all over the world.”

Thomas swallowed.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Harry brought the attention back to him. He glared at Tom. Did he want them to be kicked out?

“Glad you liked it,” Thomas pushed his half eaten plate away. “I better start washing up.” He scampered back to the kitchen.

Tom finished the last of his eggs and put his knife and fork neatly on top of the empty plate. He reached out and held up Harry’s glass of juice.

“He didn’t even offer you milk.”

Harry snatched the plastic cup back. “I like juice.”

“You’re still growing. You need milk.”

Harry sighed. He had a feeling these next two weeks were going to pass slowly.

Chapter Text

The first few days at Riddle Manor were tense. Tom was starting to think he’d made a mistake coming here.

It was nothing like the orphanage. The food, while fairly basic combinations of eggs, bread, sliced meats and vegetables, was fresh and the house was warm. He had not been aware that muggles could create blankets and pillows that were quite this soft. Tom had already rummaged through the closets and stuffed anything he didn’t think would be missed into his trunk. No one was trying to exorcise the devil out of him. No bombs were falling above him.

And yet…Tom could not relax.

At mealtimes, he could feel Thomas’ eye on him. The man kept interrogating him about everything from how his day was to what were his favourite subjects. Tom knew how to charm adults but whenever Thomas asked him another seemingly random question, he could only grit his teeth. The man would not stop.

If it was only the questions, Tom would have been fine but Thomas kept suggesting…activities. He didn’t know what to make of the man. First it was playing catch indoors, Thomas managed to break his own window, and then it was cards. Somehow the man only knew Snap and Go Fish. Tom managed to convince him to switch to poker and earnt twenty muggle pounds.

He would be content to stay in his new bedroom and complete his summer assignments but Harry actually seemed to like the activities. Tom didn’t want to leave him alone with the man so he was forced to participate.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Tom figured out how to get away from his father.

“I thought I might take Harry into the village today,” Tom said at the breakfast table.

Across from him, Thomas froze. “You want to leave the house?”

“Is that not allowed?” Tom would not be trapped in this house.

“No, no, it’s-you don’t have to stay here,” Thomas stumbled over his words.

“Well then,” Tom stood up, “I want to leave for the day.”

“Ah,” Thomas’ eyes flickered over to the door. “I…I can get Frank.” He hurried over to the window and looked out. Tom could just make out a wooden hut on the outskirts of the garden.

“You’re not coming with us?” Harry asked, putting down his toast.

“Well I…” Thomas gaze returned to the door.

“We don’t need supervision,” Tom pushed his plate to the side and sent Harry off to get his coat.

“The village…some people in the village. I’d feel better if you had someone with you.” Thomas glanced out of the window and raised his hand.

“Afraid they’re going to start asking questions?” The flames that had been simmering in him all week rose back to the surface.

“Well, they do like to talk,” Thomas muttered, more to himself than Tom.

There was a sharp rap on the door and Thomas ran to open it, tripping over nothing. On the other side stood a man. If Tom was to guess, he would say the man was about the same age as Thomas but with his tanned, weathered skin it was difficult to say for sure. He had a flat cap low over almost unnaturally blue eyes and mud splattered overalls with a shirt underneath that showed off his arms.

“Mista Riddle,” The man leant heavily against a cane.

Tom wondered why his father would keep around a clearly crippled gardener when he had gotten rid of the rest of his staff.

“Uh, hi,” Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, “Frank.”

The gardener jerked his head past Thomas to where Tom stood. “That the kid you were talkin’ bout.”

“You’ve been telling others about me?” Tom glared at the gardener.

“Shouldn’t I have?” Thomas asked. “I thought you were just saying…”

“Frank,” a voice murmured.

All three of them turned to Harry. He was studying the gardener like he was trying to remember where he had last seen him.

“Looks a lot like ya,” Frank said, “and tha’ must be the lil one,” He tipped his hat at Harry. “Need somethin’ in town?”

“I was actually wondering if you could take Harry and Tom into the village,” Thomas said, “and show them about.”

“I have not agreed to go with him,” Tom protested.

Under his breath, he heard Frank mutter something that sounded like “city boys.” Tom felt his cheeks flush. The words were said like Tom was some posh tosser. At school he might regret ever telling the Slytherins about his past but he would be damned if he let Thomas present him as just another hoity-toity socialite. It was thanks to him that he was left in an orphanage. Tom wasn’t about to let Thomas forget that.

“Well, we betta get goin’,” Tom let his full cockney accent slip through.

Thomas and Frank stared at him. Tom raised his eyebrows, daring them to question him.

“I’m ready,” Harry piped up.

Frank shrugged one shoulder. “I can take ‘em,” he said, “chill will kill most’ve the weeds anyway.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Thomas rubbed at his neck, glancing at Frank and away again.

Ten minutes later, Tom was out of Riddle Manor and walking down the main street with Harry. Frank limped behind him, scaring away any curious villagers that tried to approach them.

They stopped at a sweet store and Tom delighted in spending the money he’d won from Thomas on enough Fry Peppermint Creams to stuff his pockets and some treacle toffees for Harry. He even found a row of sandwich cookies stuffed under a stack of American sweets with the German sounding name De Beukelaer Prinzenrolle.

The shop keeper cast Tom a suspicious look at the counter but he didn’t stop them. Tom stifled a grin at the thought of assuring the police “oh no officer. I’m not a spy. It’s just for my German boyfriend.” That would go over well.

“Havin’ fun?” Frank asked them as they exited the store.

Tom’s immediately scowled. He should have just stayed at Hogwarts.

They had lunch at a dingy bar that Tom was certain Thomas had never set foot in.

“’Ow old are ya?” Frank asked Tom as he ordered at the counter.

“Why do ya want ta know?” Tom crossed his arms.

“Fourteen?”

“What? No!” Tom spluttered, “I’m turning sixteen at the end of the month.”

“That’s old enough,” Frank turned to the barman. “Two pints and a lemonade for the lil one.”

“I don’t think Thomas would approve,” Tom perched himself on a bar stool, heaving Harry up onto his lap.

Frank just grunted and pushed over the tapered pint glass.

Tom tipped the glass a little to the side, watching how the foam moved. He had tried Malfoy’s whisky and a bit of the sweet vodka at Henry’s party but he had never tasted beer.

Hesitantly, Tom put his lips to the glass and recoiled at the bitter taste.

Frank huffed. “Don’t make it like tha’ at ya fancy boarding school?”

“What’s in this?” Tom coughed.

“Tha’s the ‘ouse special,” Frank grinned. He had the same, slightly crooked grin as Henry.

Tom tried to take another sip but the taste only seemed to get worse.

Frank dragged the pint towards him and handed him another lemonade instead.

When the sun started to touch the top of the rooftops, Frank led them back up the manor.

“Ya kids,” he pushed them through the door and Tom stumbled into Thomas’ arms. The man steadied him, his warm hands resting on his shoulders. Tom shied away from him and pulled Harry over to their bedroom. He heard Frank behind him talking with Thomas.

“Ya got a goodin’,” Frank said in his gruff voice.

“No thanks to me,” Tom caught Thomas say before he closed the bedroom door and focused on sorting his sweets.

Yes, Tom thought as he watched Harry stuff his mouth with toffee flavoured candies, he shouldn’t have come here. There was surely nothing for him in Little Hangleton.

Chapter Text

Harry watched Tom mutter to himself from his modified crib. He was still a little bitter about that but he couldn’t be that mad when he was sucking on treacle flavoured sweets.

“Dinner’s ready,” Thomas called from outside the room. Tom scowled as if Thomas’ mere existence was irritating. Harry had to crawl off his bed and grab Tom’s hand just to get him moving.

He didn’t know what Tom had against his father. Sure, it was natural to be wary. Thomas had more reasons to hate magic than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon ever did. And yet, they had been here for days and the worst thing Thomas had done was ask Tom if he needed to worry about Harry teething. The man didn’t seem to expect them to clean or cook and he hadn’t try to hit them with a soapy frying pan. Harry might not like his crib but it was a hell of a lot better than his cupboard. Unless Thomas was hiding a second, eviler head on the back of his first, Harry thought the man might just be alright.

“How was the village?” Thomas asked, passing over a plate of slightly overcooked lamb.

Tom stabbed into his steak, not saying anything.

“It was good,” Harry spoke up. “We got sweets and went down to the duck pond.”

“That sounds nice,” Thomas said, smiling down at Harry. “I used to go down to that sweet shop every Friday and get two mint patties for a farthing.”

“You like mint?” Harry looked from Thomas to Tom.

“I find the other chocolates too sweet,” Thomas offered Harry another dish. He took the sightly watery potatoes and filled his plate.

“Did Frank show you the village green?” Thomas tried again to get Tom to look up from his plate.

“He showed us the pub,” Tom cut back.

“I prefer caramel to mint,” Harry rose his voice over Tom, supressing a sigh.

***

Something was wrong.

Harry had gone to bed like usual, tucked into pyjamas that trailed past his wrists. As he laid there waiting, he swore he could almost feel Tom’s presence beside him, somewhere deep in his chest. Within minutes, he had sunk into a soft blankness ready to wake and humiliate Tom and Thomas in a game of Snap.

Flashes of memories had passed through his mind, too fast for him to latch onto just one. He heard the roar of a crowd, the clink of cutlery in the Great Hall, saw a head of bushy hair disappear around the corner. Harry reached out for that memory but was met with a blank wall. He pushed against it but it resisted. Harry backed up and took the wall at a run, slipping through it like it was the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice echoed in the empty space. He looked around and saw train tracks and a domed glass ceiling stretching in both directions. It was Kings Cross Station except too white and too clean.

“Harry.”

A voice whispered and Harry spun around.

“Who is it?”  He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come out. As if wading through a swamp, Harry made to take a step forward and fumbled. He fell. The ground parted beneath him and he threw his arms out, desperate to slow his descent.

He peered down and saw a familiar lake growing at an alarming rate below him. With enough force to make his bones rattle, Harry crashed into the freezing water. The cold went straight to his heart. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t swim. His whole body protesting, Harry fought against the force tugging him downwards. He managed to drag himself over to the shoreline and collapsed onto the cold grass.

A dog whined.

“Sirus,” Harry tried to crawl forwards but his arms were shaking too much. His breath came out as a white mist. And then he saw them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding over the lake.

Harry reached for his wand but it broke in his hands, two pieces of holly connected only by a single phoenix feather. The cold was all around him, inside him. Someone was screaming.

***

Harry jerked up in bed. His pyjamas were drenched through with sweat, leaving him cold and uncomfortably sticky. It had been weeks since he had been woken like this. Harry twisted around and his eyes was drawn to Tom.

He stumbled out of bed and was halfway over to Tom before he stopped himself. What was he doing? Looking out of the window, Harry saw that it was still dark outside.

Tom was asleep, curled into himself. There was a crease between his eyebrows and he was clutching his pillow tightly. Harry was gripped by the sudden impulse to crawl into Tom’s bed and under his arm. He resisted the urge.

Instead, Harry grabbed a spare change of clothes from his bag. He just needed to splash some water in his face and swap out his sheets. On sock covered feet, Harry pattered out of the room and down to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. He changed quickly and stood on his tip toes to reach the sink. His dream faded until all he could remember was a distant chill and the sound of rattling breaths.

Harry wavered outside of his bedroom. He could just strip the bed and sleep on the bare mattress but he didn’t want Tom waking and asking questions. There must be spare sheets somewhere in the house.

Turning away from his room, Harry headed through the dark corridors, lit only by moonlight. He ended up in the living room. A wave of warm air flooded over him and his feet moved, against his control, over to it. There, in the fireplace, a few coals were still smouldering.

All thoughts of fresh blankets forgotten, Harry crouched down next to it, his hands outstretched.

“Harry?” A voice said from behind him.

Harry yelped and fell backwards onto the carpet. He whipped around and saw Thomas standing in the doorway with a cup of tea.

“What are you doing up?” Thomas asked, coming over to him. “Couldn’t you sleep?”

Harry shook his head. He hid his sweaty clothes behind his back and wondered if Thomas would go away if he just stayed quiet.

Thomas hovered above him, moving between his heels and the balls of his feet. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

That…wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Tea?” Harry said dumbly.

“I have English breakfast or, uh chamomile. That’s good for sleep.”

Harry stared. Thomas was wearing striped pyjamas and fluffy slippers that didn’t quite match the shadows under his eyes.

“Um,” Harry said, “tea would be nice.”

“Or I have hot coco,” Thomas fiddled with his mug, “or coffee but I don’t think children are supposed to drink that.”

“Tea is good,” Harry interrupted.

Thomas smiled at him and it struck Harry just how different he looked from Uncle Vernon or Snape or Umbridge or anyone that had hurt him. The smile was soft, a little unsure, but undeniably real. Thomas extended a hand towards him and Harry took it.

“Tea it is,” Thomas said, “I think even I can manage that.”

Chapter Text

Tom woke to find something hard sticking into his ribs. He rolled over in bed and his fingers closed over the small object. Drawing it out from under the sheets, Tom squinted through the dim moonlight and saw that it was a chess piece. The white king was oddly cold in his hand, despite being under the covers and close to his body heat. Tom turned the piece over. There it was again, a faint whispering like someone speaking on the other side of a door. He drew the piece up to his ear but the whispering remained undecipherable. It didn’t seem to matter where he held it, the words were just out of reach.

Only half awake, Tom fell out of bed and rummaged in his trunk. He found the shrunken box from under Pringle’s bed and enlarged it. There was the blanket and softball cards and the chess set except…Tom threw it open and saw that one piece was missing. He shoved the white king back into the set and slammed the box closed. Kicking his trunk under his bed, Tom fell back onto his pillow. If only he could cast tempus. It was much too early to be woken up.

He turned to peer out of the window and saw the moon sinking low over the horizon. Tom’s gaze lowered to Harry’s bed, expecting to see his son star-fished under his blankets with one foot sticking out.

The bed was empty.

Suddenly wide awake, Tom jumped up. Not bothering to throw a coat over his shabby pyjamas, he ran over to Harry’s bed. The sheets were rumpled at the bottom of the bed like they had been tossed aside with little care. Heart beating in his throat, Tom ducked out of the bedroom and down the corridor. The wooden floorboards were like ice under his bare feet as he checked the bathroom and surrounding guest rooms.

Up ahead, he heard voices and his hand gravitated down to his wand. If Thomas had hurt Harry, the trace would not be enough to stop him. Tom peered around the corner and his heart stuttered to a halt.

Harry was perched on the kitchen counter, his feet swinging and his hands clasped around a cup of tea. Thomas leant on the counter beside him with his own mug. For once, he wasn’t fidgeting or rocking on his toes.

“You really use broomsticks to get around?” He was saying.

“Not just brooms,” Harry took a sip of tea, “we even have flying carpets but there’s currently a travel ban on importing them to the UK. Not sure why. It doesn’t seem much stranger to have a carpet in your house than a broom that you clearly can’t sweep with.”

“They don’t seem that safe,” Thomas said, “what if you slip off them?  Unless there’s a spell to keep you on a carpet or a broom.” 

“There isn’t,” Harry shrugged, “I once fell off a broom at fifty feet. I don’t think the wizard world is really that concerned with safety.”

Fifty feet. Tom was surprised he hadn’t already had a heart attack. He was ready to storm into the kitchen and drag Harry away from Thomas but…

Harry didn’t speak about the future with Tom.

They didn’t really talk about anything. Harry would answer Tom’s questions about his day or draw him pictures but what did he really know about his son? Who had raised him? Were they the same people that had slashed his throat and if so, why? Thinking back, Tom didn’t even know his middle name. Did he even have one?

“Fifty feet,” Thomas said faintly, “How could someone let you on a broom? You could have died.”

Tom saw Harry roll his eyes. “I’m not actually a baby, you know. I don’t need bars around my bed or locks on the cupboards.”

“You just said you fell from fifty feet!”

“And I was fine,” Harry insisted, “I’ve been through a lot worse than falling off a broomstick. I didn’t even break anything that time…well except the broom.”

Thomas was opening and closing his mouth, seemingly unable to speak.

“What could possibly be worse than that?”

Harry had to gall to laugh. “A teacher once vanished all the bones in my arm. I had to regrow them overnight.”

Thomas' faced somehow grew paler. “Where was Tom for all of this?”

From behind the corner, Tom bristled. How dare he. What right did he have to question Tom’s parenting? Where was he when Tom was beaten or locked in the cellar?

But you weren’t there either.

Another voice whispered in the back of Tom’s mind.

Harry nearly died and you weren’t there.

On the kitchen bench, Harry stilled. There was a long pause. “I suppose he hasn’t told you.” Harry said at last.

Thomas muttered something that sounded like, “He doesn’t really tell me anything.”

“I’m from the future,” Harry said in one breath. “There was…an accident and I came back in time.”

“Wizards can do that?” Thomas asked, eyes widening.

“Did you think Tom had a kid at eleven?” Harry smile was wrong. It was far too knowing for a small child. “It wasn’t Tom’s fault he…” Harry faltered.

Tom drifted closer, desperate to hear what Harry was saying.

“Does…” Thomas put down his mug of tea, “does something happen to him?”

Harry's fists clenched around his own mug. “Not anymore,” he said firmly, leaving no room for follow up questions. He drained his cup and hopped off the kitchen bench.

“Ready to try and get some sleep?” Thomas asked. He seemed to sense that Harry wasn’t going to say anymore tonight.

Harry nodded. “Thanks for the tea, Thomas.”

“Anytime,” Thomas ruffled Harry’s hair. Tom grit his teeth, resisting the urge to rip Thomas’ hands off his son.

Harry turned towards Tom and he had to flatten himself against the wall to avoid being seen. He took a careful step back, having no desire to be caught eavesdropping.

“Harry,” Thomas called and the small boy stopped. “You can call me grandad…if you want.”

Harry turned back to him and Tom couldn’t see his expression. “I’ll think about it.”  

Tom had to scramble to get back to their bedroom in time. He almost didn’t make it, so distracted thinking about Harry calling Thomas that. It had taken months for Harry to stop calling him Riddle. Tom could probably count on one hand the number of times Harry had referred to him as dad.

The moment Tom pulled his blankets back over him, Harry stepped into the room. He made his way towards his bed and hesitated over the covers. Through the darkness, Tom watched Harry throw them to the side and crawl onto the bare mattress.

His heart ached. All he wanted to do was get up and draw his son close to him but Harry clearly didn’t want that. He thought they were getting closer but what did he know about being a dad? What did he really have to offer except for second hand clothes and transfigured toothbrushes?

Tom didn’t get back to sleep that night.

Chapter Text

“SNAP!” Harry’s hand flashed forward before Thomas had even placed the next card flat on the table. He dragged his winnings back to his already overflowing pile of cards. Not bothering to stifle his look of triumph, he twisted around to see Tom’s reaction.

His smile fell.

Tom wasn’t even paying attention to the game. He was sitting at the table glaring at Thomas, his small stack of cards discarded at his side.

Since the day they had gone down to the village, Tom had been distant. In the last two days, he had barely spoken to Harry. It was stupid and childish but Harry missed their bedtime stories.

Thomas put down the last card and Harry snapped it up.

“Do, uh, you want to play again?” Thomas asked, reaching for the cards.

“I should get Harry ready for bed,” Tom said shortly. His posture was stiff and his hand gripped onto the back of Harry’s chair.

“That reminds me,” Thomas perked up. He practically fell out of his chair and scrambled to his feet, sending a few of the cards flying.

“Come on,” Thomas tripped over himself, beckoning Harry and Tom over to their bedroom. He threw the door open and stood to the side.

“Do you like it?” Thomas bounced on his toes. “Frank got it for me. We set it up when you were in the garden this morning.”

Harry ducked into the room and stared at his side. His crib had been replaced with an actual bed, decked out with blankets and pillows. They were all decorated with a star print pattern. Harry could see the Canis Major constellation in the centre of the bed.

“I thought you might like it. You might not be fifty feet in the sky but you can see the view.”

Harry stared at Thomas. “You bought this for me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Thomas fiddled with his suit. “Do you, uh, like it?”

Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Thomas’ waist. Thomas floundered for a second before returning the hug, one hand patting Harry’s back awkwardly.

“I love it,” Harry said softly. “Thank you.”

He heard something crack behind him and spun around.

Tom was standing by the window, his knuckles white. One of the window panes was broken, right down the middle

Thomas rushed over to it. He peered out of the window and into the moonlit garden, scanning the manicured hedges and trees.

“Are you alright?” Thomas turned to Tom, reaching to put a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Tom pushed himself away from Thomas, “I’m fine.”

“Oh, ok,” Thomas said. He lowered his arm.

“I need to get Harry ready for bed.” Not meeting anyone’s eyes, Tom bent down and snatched up Harry’s bag. He pulled out one of Harry’s overlarge shirts and pants and shoved it towards him.

“I got pyjamas to match,” Thomas went over to the bed and held up star-patterned pyjamas. “I thought-.”

“FINE,” Tom grabbed the pyjamas from Thomas. “TAKE THESE.”

He flung the pyjamas at Harry and Harry barely caught them. To his horror, he felt tears swell up in his eyes. He rubbed them, trying to force the tears back. Harry had carved words into his own hand, he wouldn’t cry now.

Above him, Tom froze.

“Tom?” Thomas said slowly.

Tom backed away until he hit the door. Before Harry could say anything, he tugged it open and disappeared down the corridor. Thomas went to follow him, leaving Harry alone in the bedroom. He sunk onto his new bed but found that he couldn’t quite enjoy it.

Harry heard Thomas knock on the bathroom door, calling Tom’s name but it didn’t open. It must have been ten or fifteen minutes before he gave up. Wiping his eyes, Harry changed into his new pyjamas. He snuck into the kitchen to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face. No one came back into his bedroom as Harry slipped under the covers, hugging a pillow to him.

Outside, the moon rose. Harry had to forcibly keep his eyes open. He watched the trees rustle outside and could just make out Frank pottering in the garden, packing up his tools and cleaning away discarded branches. There was something so familiar about the man but Harry couldn’t remember where he had seen him. On another night he might have been bothered by this but tonight his chest felt strange like something heavy was pressing down on him.

He didn’t know why Tom raising his voice affected him so much. Even Molly Weasley yelled at her kids and she might not be the perfect parent-Harry never understood what exactly was wrong with Bill’s long hair or Fred and George wanting to open a joke shop-but she was the only real example of a good mother he knew. Harry needed to get over himself. He wasn’t five.

At some point he must have fallen asleep for the next moment he was jolted awake by the soft click of the door opening. Through the darkness, he saw Tom slink back into the room.  

Harry turned around on his bed. “Tom?”

Tom’s eyes widened. He stopped approaching.

“I thought you were asleep.”

Harry sat up in bed. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

“Why didn’t you just ask Thomas?” The words fell past Tom’s lips seemingly against his better judgement. He bit his lip.

Harry slid out of his bed and padded over to Tom’s. He patted the spot next to him. “I wanted you to do it.”

Looking wary, Tom sat down on the furthest end of the bed from Harry.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said to his hands.

Harry crawled over to Tom. He sat beside him, not quite touching. Part of him wanted to cuddle into his arms but Harry stopped himself. He had acted enough like a child today.

“I don’t care about that,” Harry said.

“But last time you wouldn’t speak to me for a week,” Tom burst out.

Harry frowned. “You were trying to turn me into a Malfoy.”

“You know about the Malfoy’s in the future?” Tom raised his head and met Harry’s eyes.

At his mention of the future, Harry felt the impulse to clamp his mouth shut but…what was the harm? All these secrets were exhausting. It wasn’t like he was revealing Tom’s fatal weakness: monologing.

“I knew one of them,” Harry said, “he was a right prat.”

Tom let out an undignified snort. He relaxed a little against the mattress and slung an arm around Harry. The touch was warm and Harry melted against it.

“I really am sorry,” Tom said, “I like the new pyjamas.”

Harry touched the soft fabric. “I liked the pyjamas you found for me too.”

“They aren’t as nice.”