Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
The Bastard
Brilliant green eyes lock onto the large onyx ones through the window, it's slightly warped reflection speaks of many reparo spells.
The dark pair blinks and the owner takes a step back, his bare feet crunching on the fallen leaves. His nose was pink and running, a few bruises peppered his legs and arms, but despite this, the child manages to convey a regal presence that reminds the green-eyed man of many Pureblood children he's met.
The man watches as the child turns heel and runs towards the forest, he contemplates calling out and letting the child in, as it was getting dark out, but he was interrupted.
"Hadrian?" He turns back and automatically smiles charmingly at the admittedly charmless woman.
Her eyes still wandered to opposite sides, making him wonder if their children will have the same as it seems to be a hereditary trait from the supposed noble Gaunt Family. She picks at her worn gray clothes, white once but dulled from too many washes. His nails are bitten to the quick and shined from hard labor, from what he doesn't know, as it obviously hasn't gone into the house they were in.
He comes back to his senses when he sees that her hands are shaking slightly, "Harry." The curtain of lanky black hair bobs upward when he speaks, "Just Harry." He can see her grip tighten on the bouquet of white roses. She had a vice grip on them ever since he'd placed them in her hands.
She gives a thin smile though her cheeks redden slightly, a bright contrast to her pale skin. She looks as though she wants to say something else but then the Gaunt Patriarch makes his presence known, in his usual abrupt rough way.
"When will we get the money?" Marvolo grunts, as he has been reminding Harry since the moment he crossed the threshold of the door. The elderly man leans over the slightly wobbly table, his patience has run out.
Harry frowns slightly, "The dowry can be given now as long as you sign the contract." He had to trail off slightly as the older man picks up the waiting quill and signs the parchment before he was finished speaking. The man then places his hand out across the table, knocking it a few times on the surface pointedly.
The young man reluctantly brings out the negotiated sum in a magically shrunken bag. The thump of 50,000 galleons is heavy in the air. The woman flinches slightly at the sound before turning to stare down at her hands.
Marvolo, shakes the container roughly, as though he can verify the amount even though Harry knows for a fact that the Gaunt's haven't had more than 100 galleons in their vaults in over 200 years. He could only be grateful that the supposed insane son is still in Azkaban as one of his coworkers that works in Improper Use of Magic office, reassured him shortly before coming here but advised him to still keep his wand close to him.
While the man is busy feeling the purse, Harry quietly takes the contract and places it in his brief case. He wildly contemplates for a moment if he should just rip it up but remembers that he has too much at stake, not only from the Potter Line but also his mother's.
He turns to smile again at the shaking woman, "Merope?" She jumps slightly at the sound of her name, as if she hadn't heard anyone say it before. She peeks out of her hair again and nods timidly.
"Who was that boy outside the house?" Judging by the clothes looking suspiciously the same quality and design as hers, he realized the child must be a family member. She blanches to a sickly gray color, her grip on the flowers has twisted them beyond recognition.
The older man snorts slightly, "That's the bastard. The one she had with that filthy muggle from down the road." He smiles at her cruelly, "Came back didn't ya? After the filth dumped you and the boy." Harry leans back sharply before looking out the window again.
His mind races, his mother had reassured him that there were no children but then again, he wouldn't show up on the family's tapestry if he wasn't a pureblood, as he would have to be recognized by Marvolo to be able to inherit.
Must be the reason they were so eager to sign today, he thinks with growing resentment but he squashes it down harshly as he is a man of action and doesn't have time to dwell on what could have been. He feels a headache come on and has to take a few deeper breaths as he gathered himself.
He supposed he couldn't blame the family for not telling him, as they are not in a position to lose a suitor, and he has to curse himself for not being more suspicious over their eagerness. It was truly well played.
There were two options to this, the child would stay here and the head of the house will decide his fate, something that brings a cold pit in Harry's stomach. Or he could come with them, which will lead to a whole slew of uncertain consequences.
He realizes that his mother will not tolerate a bastard in his household, for fear that many may think that he was his. Even his much more sympathetic father will have similar reservations, as well as worrying about the inheritance issues that will arise if Merope and him have children.
But he remembers the bruises, patterned like cords on the child's body and the cold tone his grandfather uses when speaking of him. And the horror of his uncle, who was in jail for cursing muggles for pleasure. No, this child would not survive here.
He cursed his Gryffindor heart.
"Would you mind if he comes with us?" He asks the still chortling man, making him choke slightly.
He pushes forward before the man could recover, "He may not be an official member of the household but I would not be opposed to giving him a home." If his mother is truly against him, then he will hire a nanny and the boy will be raised in seclusion in a nearby estate.
The man's eyes bulge, "You want to take it?" The veins in his neck now strain as the man seems to be working his way to a heart attack.
"You, from two noble households, want to take that?" He hisses in incompressible language, making the hairs on the young man neck rise. He's not entirely sure if he wants to know what the man is saying.
He stands up, scooting in the slightly lopsided chair, "Yes, if anything, he could be used as a spare if Merope and I can't conceive." Which will most likely be the reason he will tell his parents, he can already feel his ears ringing from the fights that will ensue later.
The man seems to calm down as he narrows his eyes shrewdly. On one hand, this is advantageous to the Gaunt family as this guarantees the furthering and prestige of their lineage, which would be lost if Merope and him do not conceive an heir. It will be looked down upon and it will tarnish the family name slightly with the possibility of a bastard gaining some of his family's holdings but the child will not have the seats in The House of Lords as Harold is the head of the Potter family and Orion already has been declared heir of the House of Black.
Because of this, he felt a sick sense a dread when the man hesitates to take this generous offer. At first, he considered that Marvolo didn't have the same training most purebloods or was just unaware of heritage laws. But then, he recalled that the man was aware enough to see the advantages to this marriage so that only leaves the man just being so malicious to his grandson that he didn't want him to have any advantage in life.
Feeling sick from the coldness emanating from this man, he looks over to his bride.
She has a strange expression on her face, her thin eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth is slightly downturned. There was no happiness that he was going to take the child in or gratitude, making him feel even more sick.
He finally speaks, "Where will he most likely be?" He wanted to tell the child to pack up his possessions, if he had any, and also to have a chance to introduce himself. He doubted the child knew he was coming, as he had done this on short notice after the incident with the Weasley Family.
Merope speaks up with a morose tone, "In the forest by the clearing."
He takes off quickly, unable to take the toxic atmosphere of the Gaunts.
Walking through the woods, he realizes how cold it has gotten, as it was almost November and worries about the boy, who was only clad in a flimsy shirt and shorts. He wonders why the boy wouldn't have been given a scarf or a sweater as Merope and Marvolo had them on but then again, he supposes that it wouldn't have been in the child's size.
He ends up in a small clearing, surrounded by bare trees and dead leaves. There was frost forming on some of the piles of leaves and it was so dark out that he could barely make out the boy, who was sitting on the ground.
He turns to look up at Harry with hard eyes, "Who are you?"
Harry smiles softly but it just seems to make him more on edge. After a few moments of tense silence, he opts to go with the formal and direct method.
"Hadrian Cygnus Potter, and I am your stepfather as of today." The boy frowns more severely before replying coldly.
"Why do you want to marry her?" He tilts his head to the side with genuine perplexation. He supposes to a child, this would be a valid one considering his mother has no money, looks, and from what he can see, personality to her name.
He wonders if answering truthfully will result in a better start to their relationship or if it was turn the child against him. He feels uncomfortable lying to a child and he doubts it will work on this particular child, whose eyes bore into him with eerie intelligence.
"The Gaunts are related to many prestigious families and it is a good match if you consider their legacy. My mother encouraged this as it is a rare chance to marry into their family." Not only because of the Gaunt's preference of their own blood, but also Merope happens to be the same age as him, and there is no one else asking for her hand.
The child pauses for a few moments, before going to look at the ground. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, so Harry decides to try and continue the conversation.
"What's your name?" The boy shifts slightly.
"Tom." Harry smiles before coming to sit in the dirt next to him. His mother will argue with him later for messing up Acromantula silk robes but he reasoned that he could get another set soon.
He turns to see Tom peeking up at him, "How old are you Tom?"
The anger in the boy's eyes startles him, both in intensity and suddenness, "I'm seven but you don't have to treat me like that." His lips pursue in a tight line.
Harry blinks, "Like what?"
"Like I'm stupid." Tom glares, and in that moment Harry is struck by how similar him and his grandfather look.
The man stares in bewilderment, "I don't think you're stupid." He mumbles softly. The child furrows his eyebrows as he surveys the man's earnest face with great seriousness. Harry watches as the child seems to struggle with his thoughts, darting glances at his face. After a few seconds, he seems to have come to a conclusion.
"Am I going to live with you?" He frowns slightly.
Relieved, Harry tries to smile in a reassuring way, "Only if you'd like."
"Can I go with you now?" Tom's eyes dart back in the direction of the house.
Slightly unnerved by the child's eagerness, the man is unsure of how to respond. He decides to go with the original plan as he would still have to explain to his parents about the situation. He also would most likely have to bring Merope, and the tradition states the bride should remain in her family's house until the actual ceremony, yet he didn't want to leave the child. He sees the tenseness to the boy's shoulders as he stares at the ground and remembers how Marvolo reacted when he requested the child come with them.
He reckons that he is already breaking quite a few traditions by taking in the child, and decides to suffer his mother's wrath.
"Come on, we'll pick up your things." Harry stands and wait for Tom to hesitantly do the same.
The boy mumbles, "I don't really have anything."
A lump forms in the man's throat but he pushes forward and walks back to the house with the child in tow. The boy tries to keep pace with the man but struggles for a few yards. Harry slows down ever so slightly, as to not hurt the child's pride.
They walk in tense silence, neither one of them feeling like breaking it.
When the reach the front door, Harry pauses to look at Tom before opening it. Only to see the boy staring at it with great stoicism. He turns the handle and walks in to see Merope already standing there with a large frayed handbag.
Harry pauses at the sight of it, "I was thinking of having the both of you come with me early. It will be easier to plan the wedding at our estate." She nods meekly before coming to stand next to them, she reaches over to clasp her hand on the child's shoulder, to which he accepts with stony silence. The man wondered if Marvolo pressed her to leave with him as he does not object to the breaking of tradition.
"There will be no wedding." Marvolo spits from his chair, "At least not one I'll go to." Harry presses his lips in a tight line at the man's words but doesn't argue as it was really only necessary for the bride and groom to officiate the marriage. The head of the household's only responsibility has already been achieved.
He notices that neither Merope or Tom seem to be too bothered. In fact, the woman looks slightly more relaxed as she clutches on to Harry's sleeve. With a little prompting from his mother, the boy does the same.
Harry takes a deep breath before turning on his heel and they vanish.