Hoot hoot...hoot...
The darkness of the forest was a constant force, pressing down around everyone in the village of Hogsmeade. Most nights, when the woods were at their darkest, the villagers would be huddled up in their modest homes, curled up by a very warm, very bright fire. Younger people would try to scare each other with stories of what allegedly lived in the forest.
But not tonight.
While everyone still stuck close to the inner borders of Hogsmeade, they were outside, and that was enough to count for something at least.
Huddled even closer, in the far back of the group, was a midwife and her charge, still very round with pregnancy. The baby was due any day now.
"D-do you think he's dead yet?"
"I reckon so, dear," the midwife said in a soft, assuring voice, "but still we should wait, at least till dawn."
The redheaded woman nodded, her hands resting firmly atop her swollen abdomen.
"Have you decided yet?"
"Yes. I'm going to keep him myself." This way, he'd at least have her love- everyone else in Hogsmeade frowned upon children like this one, born out of unrequited love or, worse still, lust, and likely to harbor either the victim's resentment or the assailant's wickedness.
The midwife's lips curled into a smile.
"You truly are kind, Lily."
The younger woman said nothing, and instead hissed as she felt her water break. The midwife looked at her knowingly.
"Aye!" The gathering of people looked at her. "The child's coming now!" Then, with not a word more, the middle-aged woman supported the trembling Lily and guided her to her house, closest to where they were.
The piercing cry of a newborn boy split the air of the cozy hut. The midwife was quick to cut the umbilical cord and wash the baby, and even quicker to wrap him in a pink cotton blanket and place him in his mother's arms.
"Such a lovely child..." Lily cooed, looking down into her son's bright eyes which mirrored her own. "My lovely son..."
"Have you named him?" The midwife asked as she began cleaning her tools.
"Yes," Lily said with a nod. Her son had settled and was now just looking around, his eyes wide and curious.
"I'll name him Hadrian, after my uncle, and James after my grandfather."
In the years that followed, Hadrian- Harry, the villagers called him- proved to be nothing at all like the exiled James Potter who'd contributed in his conception.
Where James was often angry, Harry was usually very calm. Where James loved playing cruel, oftentimes hurtful pranks, Harry was always considerate of others, and the rudest thing he did was pick a flower from Mrs. Tonks's flowerbox to give to Mrs. Malfoy- and even that was "because she looked sad and mummy says flowers make everyone happy".
Most importantly, though; when James went to the forest every night to pick fights with its inhabitants, Harry only ever went during the day, to pick herbs that he could sell to Mrs. Longbottom or Mr. Snape for their healing teas and poultices.
And even though his mother often asked him not to, this was the one thing he continued to do anyway. It was the only way he could get money for her, after all, and it seemed to be working fine.
Or at least, it did until winter.
Of course, winter was always difficult, but this year- the winter after his eleventh birthday- was especially hard. It was longer, lasting all through March and stopping April 4th.
Because of all the snow that'd piled up, food was a bit more scarce, and thus, more expensive. On top of that, however, Lily fell ill with a fever, so she and Harry had to spend extra money on medicine.
And so, when the snow finally melted away, their funds were low enough to cause concern.
Lily, who'd been doing various odd jobs to earn money before, grew desparate for the funds necessary to take care of her son, and began sneaking out at night to do only she knew what.
In the meantime, Harry continued selling the herbs he'd gathered- which, due to a generous amount of luck, were usually rare ones he'd just stumbled across laying by the entrance of the forest just outside Hogsmeade- and when he wasn't doing that, he took to dancing in the street.
Often his dances were just improvised movements flowing along with his friend Neville's flute, and he ended up dressing as a girl, too, hoping that if he looked like a cute girl, people would be more likely to give him money.
Slowly, very slowly, Harry and Lily were raising their funds to what they'd been the previous autumn.
And this is where our story truly begins- on a late spring day, just after noon, in the village square where the mayor and townspeople had come to an unwittingly unanimous decision to take lunch outside and admire the delicate, decidedly sin-less dancing boy.
The village of Hogsmeade, by this point, had expanded greatly, and was divided into four neatly organized districts, each governed by their own heads, and those heads, in turn, were carefully watched by the mayor, who ultimately obeyed the king of Hogwarts.
Godric Gryffindor was the head of the Gryffindor district to the northwest. This district was where citizens lived who didn't own a shop, or else didn't hold a job that required them to live close to their workplace. This was also where the sheriff's office was, right beside the prison.
Slytherin district was right beside Gryffindor. Ruled by Salazar Slytherin, this district was where one could find various antique shops and apothecaries. There were a few restaurants as well, and a small library.
Ravenclaw district was to the southeast, right below Slytherin. The head, Rowena Ravenclaw, prided knowledge over all else, so this district was where the school was located, along with the main library, and a couple artisan shops where one could find jewelry and silverware and fine-crafted dishes.
Hufflepuff district neighbored Ravenclaw, and was thus right below Gryffindor. Helga Hufflepuff, who ruled it, was a very caring and motherly individual, so in her district, there were many restaurants and shops selling everything one could think of. There was also an orphanage, but since the entire village helped to raise any parentless children anyway, it was never used, and seen as little more than a precautionary measure for when the population grew. There were also a few doctors here.
These four districts met at the center of Hogsmeade, at a large fountain. Once a month, the district heads would meet here to confer with the mayor- who traditionally lived at the edge of Gryffindor closest to the fountain- and get his advice on matters they couldn't work out on their own.
And once every few years, as decreed in the Hogwarts constitution, the king of Hogwarts would also attend, to meet with the mayor and check on things, and forcefully impeach and reassign a new mayor if the current one was doing poorly.
And on this day- the day a village took lunch outside, and a boy decided to dance to help his mother- mayor Albus Dumbledore was to hold one such meeting with his four district heads as well as King Thomas Riddle II.
The black carriage trailed into the village and stopped before the mayor's house just a little past noon.
Tom, as he preferred to be called (if only so his citizens wouldn't be so guarded around him) stepped out, dressed in black clothing with silver accents. He also wore a luxurious green spring cloak, lined with silver fabric. Upon his head was the heavy, extravagantly decorated crown all kings wore. Combined with his naturally guarded, unimpressed expression, the young king of Hogwarts was an imposing figure.
He brushed aside his attendant- honestly what was his mother thinking, hiring a dwarf with a pathetic name like Kreacher to be his personal attendant?- and sharply rapped his white-gloved knuckles against the light oaken door.
It opened almost as soon as he put his hand down, to reveal Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore in all his twinkly-eyed glory.
"Your Majesty," he greeted with a slight bow of his head, "What a pleasant surprise for you to be here on this day."
Tom hummed uncaringly, so Albus continued, "I was planning on holding the meeting outside in the square. I trust that is acceptable?"
Tom nodded, his face betraying nothing, and said simply, "That's fine," then stepped aside so the aged mayor could exit.
Albus led him to the village square where, a few meters from the fountain, someone had brought out a large picnic table. There were six seats, four of them already occupied. But Helga, Godric, Rowena, and Salazar were all focused on what appeared to be a young girl dancing quickly right in front of the fountain while a chubby blond boy sat on the edge playing a flute.
Tom watched- just to see exactly what had them so riveted- and was, for just a moment, taken aback. The girl was not dancing any dance he was familiar with, and yet, as she hopped and twirled in such an arrhythmic way, she did so with the grace and confidence of one who knew exactly what they were doing.
Tom heard Albus shuffle to his seat and forced himself to remember why he'd come. He took his own seat at the head of the table, and the four district heads snapped their focus to him. The plump blonde flushed in embarrassment while the ginger looked sheepish.
Albus chuckled.
"Now then, as you can see, we have a very special guest in our midst..."
The meeting was dull, and not even Albus, in his attempts to make it sound entertaining or at least interesting, was able to remedy that. More than once, Tom found his eyes wandering to the dancing girl by the fountain- and once or twice down to the cookie tin on the edge of the fountain, where he'd caught a young couple tossing in a few coins.
She must not have much money, he concluded, and for one who dances like that, untrained- perhaps- and fragile, I refuse to allow it. Or at least, that was what he told himself. Really, she just looked pretty and he wanted an excuse to gaze upon her face whenever he pleased.
"-and with that, I call this meeting to an end."
There were a couple relieved sighs- from Helga and Godric- and a tired slump in Salazar's shoulders. Rowena looked at the three of them disapprovingly, then quickly got up and began making her way to the fountain. The black haired woman reached into her purse and drew out a small handful of coins, and what looked like a small wrapped sweet, and then carefully placed them in the tin before walking off.
Salazar stared, and Tom couldn't quite read his expression. Helga chuckled.
"You certainly look surprised, Salazar. Did you think Rowena was some sort of heartless witch?"
"I wouldn't blame you if you did, mate," Godric cut in, "rare that anyone sees her outside of her library, let alone giving sweets to young lads."
"I was thinking nothing of the sort!" Salazar protested. Helga returned her attention to the dancing girl with a kind smile. "Perhaps she just feels it necessary to reward young Hadrian for his hard work. It's not every day you see a boy willing to dress in drag for his mother."
"I suppose..." Salazar agreed contemplatively. Godric scowled in mock indignation.
"Hmph. And here I was thinking she actually liked children. Thank you kindly for ruining my delusions."
Tom heard all of this, but it was just mindless drivel as far as he was concerned. Although, what Helga said was somewhat intriguing.
"You mean to say," he cut in, "that there is a young boy beneath that dress." It was more of a question than a statement- not that either of those three could really tell.
Helga nodded her head.
"Yes, your majesty," her voice turned sympathetic, "you see, Hadrian James Evans- that's our dancer's name- has only his mother for support, and they've been struggling since winter, so Hadrian's been entertaining everyone with his dancing so he could earn more money for his mum."
"I see." That shows dedication. Furthermore, that shows the boy is still somewhat malnourished, to have such a feminine figure.
Vaguely aware of his actions but choosing not to stop himself, Tom inched closer. He could hear Helga, Godric, and Salazar begin to depart towards their respective districts and felt bold enough to get even closer to the dancing boy.
He waited for a pause in the boy's movements- for something to indicate exhaustion. It only took a few minutes.
"You there!" A few heads turned. "Hadrian, I presume!"
The dancer stopped and curtseyed before him- as one aught to do in a dress, male or not.
"I am he, your majesty. How may I be of service?"
Polite and- outwardly, at least- eager to serve. Good qualities for anyone to have under him.
Tom bent down a little to get a better look at the boy, and silently marveled over how green and bright his eyes were- why, there wasn't even a word to describe such a shade of green!
He hesitated for just a split second.
"Young Hadrian...you do not appear to be in the best of financial states. Is this so?"
Hadrian nodded his head with a heavy air about him. Was it shame? Reluctance? He knew not.
"Yes, my king. It is so."
"I see...and how many summers are you?"
"Eleven, your majesty- this'll be my twelfth."
"I see..."
I was right, then. No eleven-year old boy should be that thin and bony.
"Well then, Hadrian," he said at last, "You may not be aware of this, but most boys your age are not so thin as to be able to dress well in women's clothing," he said, his voice stern and decisive, "and as such, that means your mother is not taking care of you as well as she should."
For just a second, Hadrian looked like he was going to interrupt, but appeared to have thought better of it.
"As your king," Tom continued, "I refuse to accept this. You shall have a fortnight to say your goodbyes and gather up whatever you deem necessary, and starting then, you shall live with me."
Again, Hadrian looked as if he was going to protest, but Tom kept his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
"My mother shall look after you as if you were her own son, and you shall never want for anything. You will never go hungry, or without anything- whatever that may entail. I shall give you all that you ask while you are under my care, and you will be my surrogate brother."
He took a moment to observe Hadrian's awestruck expression before closing off with a demand thinly veiled as a question.
"I trust this will be acceptable?"