AN: okay, here's thew next chapter. it's quite a bit later than i actually wanted/meant to post it, so i'm really sorry about that. i also apologize in advance for any strange or abnormal things you may find in these coming chapters. i tried.:P
"Life is a series of rooms, and who we get stuck in these rooms with shapes who we become in life" -Anonymous
Harry awoke the next morning to the annoying drone of his alarm at exactly 7:30 in the morning. It took him a moment to gather up the energy needed to fuel the necessary motor skills in order to shut the inconvenience off, and when all was quiet again, he pulled the sheets over his head and cocooned himself within them. Last night, after Mrs. Cole had come back to inform Tom and him that their "time-out" was over, Tom, having somehow warmed up to him during their punishment (not that Harry wasn't grateful that the other boy had begun to like him; he was sure he'd been making an arse out of himself), had taken it upon himself to show Harry where the bathrooms were, something Mrs. Cole had forgotten to do. Each bathroom was, apparently, right across from the stairs at the top of each floor. They were segregated by gender and the boys' bathroom, at least, had another dividing wall for the shower cubicles. When Harry saw that the showers weren't all clumped together in a large space with no privacy, he was very relieved. He didn't want other boys looking at his naked body, which he knew they would because people just seemed to glance at each others bodies when they were naked, wet, and in a shower together, whether they wanted to or not.
It was also Tom who had, the night before, shown Harry how to use the alarm function on his clock and Harry was, again, indebted to Tom's second random bout of kindness. It was weird, though, how the other kids stared at them when they were together. Harry had noticed it when Tom was showing him the bathroom. They had looked intrigued by his presence, but quickly averted their fear-filled eyes from Tom. Even the older students were more cautious around the young Dark Lord. It made Harry wonder what the five year old had done to warrant this kind of behavior.
Harry stretched his body out, exposing his feet from under the sheets, and rolled over in a fruitless attempt to become unconscious once again as a sharp knock sounded at his door. He peeked open an eye as it swung open to reveal Mrs. Cole and another lady Harry hadn't seen the previous night.
"Oh good, you're up." Mrs. Cole said briskly. "This is Martha. She'll be taking you out to buy you're clothes. Ordinarily I wouldn't be here, but I have a few things that I forgot to give you the other day. Here. Your towel–don't lose it you won't get another–, your toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo and a comb. Here's a pen, write your last name on them. I really must stress to you not to lose anything. New toothpaste will be given to you when your tube runs out, same with shampoo. You need the empty tube, or bottle as proof that you really do need it and aren't just wasting my or my staff's time. You'd be surprised as to what children have done in the past.. New toothbrushes will be given out twice a year and soap will be given out when you run out. Please show us the small amount you have left before using it up so we can give you more. Towels and combs, however, will not be replaced unless they are broken. Eat some breakfast before you leave. Good day, Martha, Mr. Evans." Mrs. Cole left the room but didn't close the door.
Harry blearily blinked at the empty spot where Mrs. Cole had been standing and turned his attention to Martha. She seemed like a pleasant lady in her early thirties; blue eyes and long blonde hair braided down her back. She was a bit on the plump side and reminded Harry of a yodeler. She was nothing like the skinny Mrs. Cole with her sharp black eyes and peppered grey-brown hair. "Alright, love, you heard Mrs. Cole. Lets get you some munchies before we head out, hmmm?" She left the room, but waited in the hall for Harry. He put his name on everything, like Mrs. Cole suggested before following her out and closing the door.
They got to the top of the stairs and Harry told Martha that he would meet her in the mess hall. She nodded and went down the stairs while Harry popped into the bathroom to relieve himself. He felt odd as he was urinating, holding his new, small appendage in his hand when he had been used to something much larger for years. He sighed, flushed the toilet and washed his hands before going down to join Martha.
The orphanage didn't have a cooling or heating system and Harry could already feel the sticky August heat squeezing into the building from any available open space. The stairs creaked under his light weight as his little legs took them on one at a time. He didn't pass anyone on the way down and was surprised by the continued absence of children when he got to the mess hall. Then he remembered that it was a weekend and that it didn't matter what time the other kids got up because there would be food in the hall until lunch was over. He wandered over to the untended counter where someone had left oatmeal out in a sizable pot for people to consume. Harry grimaced at the food but scooped some up and put it in his plastic bowl anyway. The only other inhabitant of the room was Martha, who had seated herself at a table in the middle. He walked over and sat down across from her since it would have been rude of him to try and find another place to sit, especially when she was the one who was taking him out shopping for clothes and Harry really didn't want to deal with the awkward atmosphere that would be hanging around them if he chose a different table to eat at.
Harry ate the slimy food in silence since Martha didn't try talking to him, and he didn't strike up a conversation with her.
When they both had finished, Martha took their dishes to a tub at the end of the counter opposite to where the clean dishes were waiting to be used. "Let's go." Harry followed her out of the room, back down the hall and out the door. It was already quite hot outside, even though it was only around 8 in the morning, but the fresh air was more welcome than the stuffy counterpart that lurked inside Wool's. Martha didn't bother locking the door behind her as she took off at a brisk pace down the dirt path. She reached the gates at the front and pulled an ancient key from the pocket of her skirt. The key was the same charcoal grey as the gates but lacked their oxidized image. Harry winced at the piercing squeak when Martha pushed them open, indicating that they were in need of a good oiling.
"Hold my hand, dear, so you don't get lost."
Harry mentally scoffed. Now they start treating me like a child? He held up his small hand and it was lost in Martha's larger one.
Tom didn't seem as bad as Harry had initially thought he would be, but, then again, Harry had only just met him last night. The other kids in the orphanage seemed weary of Tom for some reason and he was only five. It wasn't normal. To Harry, it was obvious that Tom had done something to vindicate the looks sent his way, but from the way Tom had acted towards him, he couldn't seem to figure out what it was. I'll just have to keep him under close scrutiny for a while, then, to see where the demon in Tom is hiding.
At the corner, they turned right and Harry caught his first glimpse of the park Mrs. Cole had told him about. It undoubtedly wasn't as elaborately constructed as the play structures of 1997; the swing set, the jungle gym made up of monkey bars various heights off the ground, the small play structure, and the slide were all made of metal but not painted over. Two wooden teeter-totters were off to the side of the single slide and a medium sized field surrounded the sandbox where everything was placed. Even though the park, being made of all metal, would be hell to play on in the summer, Harry felt that it was a million times better than the crunchy brown grass Wool's supplied.
Martha and he continued on their walk, passing many townhouses along the way. All of them were made of bricks and painted over in different colors. The rainbow of homes each had a small, fenced in, twelve-by-twelve yard in the front with mostly green grass and patches of yellow and brown blending in with the short blades. Some houses boasted vibrant flower gardens and one even had an orange tree about a foot higher than Harry was. He still didn't talk to Martha and their mutual silence continued three more blocks into the minor downtown district. Some shops were just as bland as Wool's, but other owners had taken time to paint polychromatic signs over their doors and create enticing displays in their windows. However, the muggle street still couldn't hold a candle to Diagon Alley. God I miss magic, Harry groaned in his head. At least magic made things more exciting.
Martha led Harry into one of the smaller shops that had an uninviting exterior but a well put together display of second-hand clothing in the window. As Martha opened the door, the top corner brushed passed a small bell that let out a tinkling sound, alerting the clerk that potential customers had arrived. The inside of the store was actually much larger than it's deceiving semblance. Unfortunately, the amount of clothing that had been stuffed into the cavernous space caused the interior to become a cramped and twisted maze of clothing racks and bins.
Martha closed the door and let go of Harry's, now sweaty, palm in order to pull a miniature sheet of paper out of her skirt pocket. "Right, then," her eyes trailed down the sheet, squinting as she listed off items written there, "You'll be needing a coat, two pairs of shorts, three pairs of pants, a few button up shirts, a vest, a tie, some socks, and some underclothes. Depending on what you choose, and if there's enough money left, you may get more things that aren't listed here." She lifted her azure eyes from the paper and handed it to Harry. "Well go on then. Pick out what you like. You don't need me to help, do you?"
Harry shook his head and went off to explore the store. The hardwood floor had a thin layer of dust and Harry could just barely discern dainty trails of footprints leading every which way through the labyrinth of clothes. Even though the shop only had second and–Harry was sure–third hand clothing, some of it was unquestionably in better condition than others, like the rack with pairs of silk breeches mixed in with frayed cotton pants and wool overalls. Harry refused to select anything that was coming apart at the seams, but he didn't want to strut around in silk clothing either. It would be an extreme waste of all his spending money in addition to making himself look stuck up in regards to the other orphans' perception of him, so he continued on into the store in search of cheaper–but not too cheap–clothing.
All of the supplied bottoms seemed to come in the same colors: brown, light grey, forest green, normal grey, black, navy blue, and charcoal grey. Harry thought there might be a slim chance that more colors to choose from were hidden away in the store, but he didn't want to go on a treasure hunt looking for them. He ended up picking one pair of brown shorts and one of light grey, one brown pair of pants, one of navy blue, and one charcoal grey pair. After he had made quite sure that they fit and were three sizes too big, so he wouldn't have to come back and spend his money for a while, he went off in search of shirts. When he was satisfied with his those, he went over to a large bin located in the back left corner of the store that had socks. It took longer for him to pick out socks because he had to fish through the whole container in order to find ones that matched. It was a tedious process and it made Harry exasperated with the system the store employed. Everything he ended up choosing was plain and easily made him an unnoticeable being. He didn't want to stick out at Wool's and be picked on for his colorful assortment of clothing.
Finding the last few items on his list went by decades faster than his sock-search and he ended up getting a grey vest and a green tie. Since he was feeling daring and exuberant after speedily attaining his outerwear, he got his underwear in scarlet, emerald, sapphire, and onyx. The last thing on his list, a coat, ironically ended up taking the most time. There were even more coats to choose from than there were pairs of socks and Harry wanted to make sure he got a good one since he didn't think that the clothes he'd already picked out would keep him very warm when the winter months came blowing in. In the end, he chose a simple double-breasted black pea coat with shiny plastic buttons.
When Harry was done perusing the shop and trying on clothes, he went back to the front to try and find Martha so she could pay for his items. His quest for the woman ended prematurely when, after pushing through a tight space between two racks of kilts, he spotted her at the front counter gossiping with the cashier. When Martha saw Harry, her smile stretched out further causing its nature to lose its genuine impression. "All done then, eh? Let's see what you got." Harry handed his findings and she rapidly sifted through them nodding her head the whole time. "They all fit right?"
"Yep."
"Okay. Ring these up for me, will you, Darla?" Darla, the brunette cashier with a short bob, nodded her head and went about tallying up the cost.
"That'll be about 10 pounds."
Martha grinned down at Harry. "Excellent. Your limit was 15 pounds, love, so if there's anything else you'd like from in this store, you can get it." Harry nodded before receding back into the jungle of habiliments. It might be the middle of summer now but he didn't want to be unprepared for the coming winter, and he highly doubted that the orphanage would give him a scarf and ear-muffs if he told them he was cold, so that's what he got. He picked out a warm-looking knit scarf, a pair of mittens, a beanie, and a pair of earmuffs; all grey of course. He also picked out a brown messenger bag made from a soft fabric for when he would be forced to attend muggle school and found a matching set of an over-sized green pajama top and bottom. Harry could roll up the sleeves and legs so he wouldn't trip, but he found it strange that Mrs. Cole hadn't required him to attain some when she wrote out the list. He brought his newfound things back to Martha and she gave them to Darla, who rang them all up. The total amount came out to fourteen pounds, two shillings, and eight pence.
Darla handed Martha the change, since the caregiver had paid only in pounds, and folded all of Harry's clothes in order to place them into two huge brown paper bags. "Have a nice day," she called after Harry and Martha as they left the shop. When they were back on the street, Martha grasped Harry's free hand again and proceeded to half-drag him back to the orphanage. The shopping trip had taken longer than Harry had expected and it was after lunch by the time it was over. More people were out on the street and the sun was beating harshly down on the back of his exposed neck from its placement high in the sky. They passed the park again and Harry saw many children romping about on the play structure even though shimmering heat waves were rising from its metal surface. Martha didn't stop to look if any minors from Wool's were enjoying their free time at the playground, simply breezing past the greenery and briskly around the corner in hopes of reaching their destination faster.
When they reached the foyer, Martha let go of Harry's hand. "Alright, now I've got to go help out with the laundry. You take these straight up to your room and write your name on all the tags, got it?" Harry nodded. "Good. See you later, Harry." With that, Martha moved away from Harry and walked down the left hall towards the laundry room.
Harry adjusted his grasp on the bags holding his clothes and began the long trek up two flights of stairs in order to reach his bedroom. When he arrived on the third floor landing, he paused and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. It was stuffier on the third floor than it was on the first and all he wanted to do was go back to his room, open both the windows, strip down, and lie on top of his bed as a cool, gentle wind tickled his damp skin. It was an ingenious plan, but he didn't know if such a lovely breeze would come just for him.
He rolled his sore shoulders in a half-circle and continued down the dimly lit hall towards his room. He couldn't help but think about how poorly constructed Wool's was as he furrowed his brow to see better. It was midday but barely any light came through to where he was because of the lack of windows in the area.
Harry paused in front of room twenty-seven and glanced up and the brass number nailed to the door, contemplating knocking. It wasn't that he had anything in particular to say to the older boy, no. It was more like…he felt a need to deepen their connection; strengthen their bond of friendship even more before it frizzled out into nothing. It would be difficult for them to remain "best friends" if they never talked to one another and there was no point in remaining at Wool's or even in the past if they became indifferent of one another. It also didn't hurt that Tom seemed to be more intelligent than a regular kindergardener.
Dumbledore did say he was bright for his age…a genius among geniuses.
Making up his mind, he knocked twice and waited for Tom to open the door, figuring that the older boy would be there since they had been banned from leaving the orphanage that day. As predicted, it wasn't a long wait. Almost 5 seconds after he knocked, the door was opened to reveal a suspicious Tom.
"What?" he asked, eyeing Harry up and down and not opening the door more than just to let his head slip through.
Harry smiled. "Hey, Tom, I just got back from my shopping. Martha took me out early this morning so I didn't really have a chance to say hi to you before then. You're not angry at me, are you?" he finished with a small pout.
Tom's wary mien instantly morphed into stupefaction at Harry's display of simplicity. "Um, no, I'm not angry. Why would I be?" He quickly regained his composure and smirked. "Show me what you got." Tom stepped out of his room and closed the door.
Harry's pout modified itself into a grin and he led to his room next door. He pushed open the door and skipped over to his bed. Tom closed the door behind him and Harry turned both his bags over so that their contents could freely spill out over his sheets. Tom took five steps in to cross the room and began rifling through Harry's things. "I see they gave you the usual fifteen pound limit, huh?" Harry nodded and made a small noise of acknowledgment. He was too preoccupied with writing his name and room number on the tags of his clothes to pay any real attention to what Tom was saying, and because of that, Tom swatted the back of his head. It wasn't powerful enough to leave a bruise, but the hit left a subsequent tingling sensation on his scalp anyhow.
"Ouch!" Harry dropped the pen into his lap and rubbed his skull where Tom's hand had connected, overdramatizing his response. "What was that for?"
"Oh, you mean you didn't hear me? I asked if I could hit you, and you simply nodded your approval." Harry glared at Tom's smug expression.
"Don't lie to me," Harry snapped, "Just because I didn't answer you with words doesn't mean I wasn't listening. I know what you said and you most definitely did not ask if you could smack me!"
"It's not my fault if you have a pestiferous brain."
"A what?" Harry had never heard the word before in his life and was amazed to hear it come from Tom's mouth.
"Pestiferous: to harbor infection and disease," Tom quoted as if a dictionary was sitting in front of him. "In your case, Harry, we're speaking of Alzheimer's since you can't seem to remember me asking if I could clout you." Tom paused and brought a finger to his chin. "Or maybe it's a problem with your hearing. Glue ear, perhaps." Tom stared at a fuming Harry with mock concern showing in his eyes. "Should we take you to a doctor?"
"It's you who'll be needing a doctor when I'm through with you, Tom," Harry growled, tossing his pen to the side.
"I'd love to see you try, Harry." No additional taunting was needed to provoke Harry into jumping up and chasing Tom out of his room, down the hall, and out the building into the yard. It was the beginning of a truly odd, friendship.
0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0
The rest of August passed quickly and Harry and Tom were able to deepen their friendship, something Harry was very proud of. He had yet to observe anything from Tom that warranted the behavior of the other children, but he didn't stop looking out for it. He'd come to know Tom as sarcastic and occasionally funny, but really good company, which, Harry couldn't deny, surprised him.
Sadly, Tom would be going off to kindergarten tomorrow and Harry would spend every day alone at Wool's with the select few other children who were too young to attend primary school. Harry knew that in order to entertain himself he'd have to play the simplistic games created by their underdeveloped minds. He'd live through it, but not for a whole school day, and by the end of it he'd be craving something with more content to feed his hungry mind or, simply, drop dead from boredom. He tried explaining this to Tom but the other boy merely brushed it away with a scoff, saying that dying of boredom was impossible. However, Tom did understand that Harry was more quick-witted than the other toddlers, so he proposed that they go on an outing in search of a public library, considering that they both had already plowed through Wool's meager collection of reading material. The only problem with that tactic was that the library was in central London and Harry highly doubted that any adult working at the orphanage would be willing to take either Tom or him there. But Tom had a solution to that problem as well; Sunday. The last day of August providentially fell on a Sunday, one of the two days they were allowed out to go visit the park. Harry knew that no adults ever came out into the swaggering heat to go around the corner and keep an eye on the orphans, so it was a good plan. Risky, but good.
That was how Harry found himself strolling about, with Tom, in the middle of London looking for a library after spending fifteen minutes on a bus. Tom had asked the driver about the building's location before exiting the vehicle and Harry was now searching for a four-story, white, rounded building with high windows and columns positioned around the first level. Unfortunately, the man didn't remember the actual name of the library, only a description of what it looked like and the general direction of where it was. That didn't deter Tom though. He was determined to get books for both himself and Harry.
"There!"
Tom's shout prompted Harry to swivel around and follow Tom's extended arm with his eyes to a majestic structure across the street that forced him to squint as the sun reflected off it's gleaming white coat of paint. "Let's go!" Tom grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him across the road to the base of a short marble staircase leading up to the front doors. Tom ceased his jog only for a second, taking in the towering building in front of him, before dashing up the steps and through the dark, wooden doors at the top. Harry went after him at a slower pace but still nearly ran into the other boy when he ultimately made it indoors. Tom had frozen just beyond the threshold and was staring, slack-jawed with his eyes popping out, at the mammoth collection of books resting on hundreds of shelves. The expression was so comical and completely un-Tom that Harry couldn't help the small snort of laughter that escaped his body.
"Where should we look first?" Harry's query startled Tom out of his book-induced daze.
"Well, I want to look in the science section," Tom said slowly, "And you wanted fairytales. Should we split up?"
Harry scrunched up his nose in confusion. "Why would you want books about science?"
"I like to know why things work," Tom answered with an uncaring shrug. "How do you think I know about so many things? I read the Life magazines every time I'm taken to the doctor's for a check up."
"And you understand it?" Harry asked, astounded.
"No, there are words in there I've obviously never heard used at the orphanage, due to our caretakers low intelligence. But I take the magazines in with me to see the doctor and I ask him any questions I have."
Harry shook his head, smiling slightly. "You're amazing, you know that?"
"Of course I am," Tom said pompously with an elaborate flourish of his hand. "No mere mortal could accomplish the things I have."
Harry rolled his eyes at Tom's display. "Whatever, tom. I'll just go get a few fictional books and then meet up with you in the science division."
"That sounds good." Tom turned and looked over his shoulder at Harry. "See you in a bit then, yeah?" Harry's head bobbed up and down and Tom smirked. "Just don't get lost." He turned back around, but didn't miss the scowl Harry sent his way.
"I hate you sometimes," Harry mumbled, not really meaning it, but Tom was already out of hearing-range. Harry smiled faintly at his friend's retreating back and set off to find the fiction section. It took a while, but he finally found that portion of the library and began checking the spines for Greek mythology. He eventually discovered the volumes and couldn't suppress an amused smirk at the picture gracing the cover of one he pulled out. It was a centaur in the middle of a dense forest surrounded by glowing blue, yellow, and pink pixies. In the background there was a small pond and Harry could barely recognize the head of a water nymph peeking through the surface. He then picked out a second tome, this one with a Minotaur standing on the disemboweled bodies of hundreds of muggle men.
Happy with his selections, he strode off to find Tom. During his hunt for the dark-eyed boy, he reflected on how Tom and his relationship had expanded over the preceding month. When he'd first thought of starting up a friendship with Tom Riddle, Harry'd had no idea that he would actually grow to like the young Dark Lord and that real emotions would come out of it. He'd thought it would just be a fake friendship built on lies but, for some reason Harry couldn't understand, Tom trusted him. The trust Tom placed in Harry and the almost kind way he treated him caused Harry, in turn, to subconsciously place trust in Tom as well. It wasn't the instant bond he'd felt with Ron on the Hogwarts Express or the silent agreement that produced his friendship with Hermione. It was slower, and had taken a full month to reach the point it was at now, but was still a budding flower not yet ready to completely blossom and expose it's petals to the dangerous ecosystem outside it's corolla.
It also amazed Harry how he was able to become friends with his parent's murderer, even if he was fifty-eight years younger. This Tom was innocent of homicide, though Harry had once or twice observed malevolence flickering through Tom's eyes when he looked at some of the older orphans. But it doesn't matter, at least, not to me. We're friends, and I'll continue being his friend until he doesn't want me anymore…or he really starts to transform into Voldemort.
The conviction Harry heard as the first words formed in his head surprised, but didn't stop, him from agreeing with them. Tom had somehow managed to become one of his most treasured friends, and he hoped nothing would ever happen to change that.
0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0
By December, unpigmented snow blanketed most of London, including Wool's Orphanage. Harry sat on his bed with the dark comforter from the bottommost drawer of his dresser pulled tightly around his shivering body. It was ridiculous how cold his room got during this season. During the summer his room was blistering from the heat, but at least he could open one, if not both, of his windows. However, now that the temperature outside was below freezing, having two curtain-less windows only caused his bedroom to be a portal for the glacial temperature to access the rest of the orphanage. Harry would have cried tears of joy for his moment of brilliance when he decided to purchase his warm jacket, but was too scared that they might turn to ice on his cheeks. It was Christmas Eve and he had better things to do than rush off to the bathroom and stick his face under scalding water.
He heard shrieks coming through his window from the other orphans playing in the front yard. At lunchtime, a few of the older ones had declared that they would be having a gigantic snowball fight and anyone else who was interested would be welcome to join in. Harry had wanted to go out and play in the fresh powder, but he wasn't so half-witted that he didn't identify the stunt the senior boys' were trying to pull. As soon as anyone stepped outside, they would be pelted from all sides with a compacted mixture of icy snow and slush.
That, accompanied by a second aim, was why he abstained from exiting the confines of his room and rolling up a snowman in the backyard. He still had to put the finishing touches on his Christmas present for Tom. He hadn't planned on making anything for the boy, and he certainly had no money to purchase a present, but one day as he was watching Martha knit a sweater in the commons, the idea had come to him. For Christmas, Harry was going to give Tom a friendship bracelet. It would be black, silver, and green (Slytherin colors) and made of yarn, but something was always better than nothing. It wasn't like he felt obligated to give Tom a gift either. He simply wanted to.
He'd only recently obtained the strings from Martha's knitting kit while she wasn't looking and it was taking him a while to finish since he'd never really been good in the arts and crafts department. Tom was studying more of the books they'd gotten from their most recent trip to the library in his room and had specifically asked Harry not to bother him for another thirty minutes at least, which meant this was the perfect time for Harry to complete his gift as a whole. The green-eyed boy had complied with Tom's wishes and had gone straight to his room to finalize the bracelet and his very own Hallmark card.
A week before school had let out, Harry had managed to persuade Tom to retrieve some coloring material for him from the kindergarden's stash under the guise that Harry was bored and the books weren't always doing it for him. It had been a real hassle for him with Tom's constant interrogation over the matter, not believing Harry for a minute, but the boy had done it anyway. They were, after all, friends.
When he finally finished the bracelet he couldn't help but swell with pride about how good it looked. He checked the tarnished clock on his bedside stand to confirm if Tom had completed his homework and would be ready to entertain him, noting there were three minutes to go; just enough time for him to clean up and make a mad dash through the freezing air to the neighboring room.
Harry unraveled himself from the warm den he'd constructed atop his bed out of what little blankets the orphanage provided. The chilly floorboards generated a minuscule prickly sense to travel down the soles of his covered feet when he stood and a shiver zipped up his spine. His room might be cold now, but frigid afternoon temperature paled in comparison to the gelid wind that would settle during the night. Harry would be ecstatic when spring arrived.
He placed the card and present in the bottom drawer of his dresser and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, warming his muscles for the speedy shuffle that was about to occur. When he was sure he wouldn't get a leg cramp, he dashed to the door and flung it open, pivoting and side stepping to Tom's room, knocking only once before entering anyway without and sound of approval.
Tom made a face as Harry invited himself into the room and clambered onto his bed. He continued to watch the smaller boy as Harry attempted to snuggle under the covers as well.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Harry didn't look at Tom as he replied, "Trying to get warm."
Tom's eyebrow's rose a quarter of an inch. "By sneaking into my bed?"
"It's hardly sneaking," Harry explained. "You're looking at me now, aren't you?"
"That just means you're bad at it," Tom scoffed. "You still came in here without my permission." He narrowed his eyes and smirked at Harry's half-covered form. "Maybe I should inform Mrs. Cole of your misdemeanor. I'm sure she'd take pleasure in any punishment brought down on you."
"As if you'd ever do something like that." Harry propped himself up on his elbows. "If I'm penalized, whom will you converse with about your books? I highly doubt you'll get much insight from Martha or anyone else in this boring old place."
Tom reopened the textbook in his lap that he'd been reading when Harry burst into his room. "What makes you think I'd talk to one of those lower-class specimens?"
"Who's lower-class?"
"Anyone who volunteers to spend his or her time here." Tom's upper lip twisted in disgust. "What kind of imbecile would choose to work at an orphanage around the children no one else wants?"
"Just because a select few care enough about us to relinquish their precious life by working here doesn't mean they're inferior," Harry stated quietly.
"Say's you," Tom dismissed, "But we're all entitled to our own opinions." Harry sniffed and let his head fall onto Tom's soft pillow as the other boy went back to scrutinizing the musty novel in front of him. Since there was only one window, it was much warmer in Tom's bedroom than it was in Harry's, which was why the two boys' had spent most of Tom's Christmas holiday in room twenty-seven. Harry still felt a slight chill whenever he exposed his small frame to the air on the other side of the bedding, but the trapped heat his body gave off, as well as the pleasant warmth flowing from Tom's form beside him, resulted in Harry's eyelids becoming heavy and he was lulled into a catnap.
It felt like he was asleep for only a moment before a sharp poke at his ribcage woke him from his dream about broccoli attempting a musical.
"Wake up you twit, it's time for dinner."
Harry groaned and tried to swat the annoying hand away, but Tom only grabbed his fingers and yanked him from his side to his back. Harry let out a yelp as his appendages felt like they were ripped from their sockets. He quickly righted himself on Tom's mattress and tenderly cradled his abused digits.
"That hurt."
"You wouldn't get up. I would have just left you and gone down myself, but they always make better food today and I don't want you to miss out, seeing that this is your first time after all."
Harry frowned, not completely forgiving Tom, but climbed out of bed anyway. "First time for what, exactly?"
Tom rolled his eyes and exited his room, Harry closing the door behind them. "Christmas dinner."
"But it's not Christmas yet–"
"I know. They just like to feed it to us a day early because they don't want to have to do laborious work in the kitchen tomorrow."
"Why not?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Harry attempted to see what Tom was getting at. The only visible reason he could come up with was that the cooks were too lazy to toil in the kitchens on Christmas day. Tom sighed and shook his head in annoyance. "They don't want to come here and see us when they could be spending time with their families."
They continued on in silence but as Tom and he got closer to the mess hall, Harry heard a low rumbling of unidentifiable noise. It was only when he got to the doorway of the dining room that he was able to ascertain the sound. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. What seemed to be the whole population of Wool's was currently standing in line, waiting for the food to be put out. He turned his head to the left in order to view the timepiece on the wall and saw that there were still five minutes to go before seven o'clock. It was an amazing first for him.
"Is the food really that good?" Harry asked in awe.
"No," Tom said, amusement shining in his eyes, "But it's better than the stuff we normally get. And the portions are somewhat more substantial."
They walked together across the room to stand at the back of the queue of children. Neither talked to the other as the line began to move, and the silence persisted even after they'd picked up trays and had their meal unceremoniously dropped onto them. Harry was the first to reach their special table in the back right corner of the room; unique owing to the fact that none of the other orphans dared venturing over.
Harry poked at the sliced turkey on his plate with his fork, inspecting the meat for any deficiencies it might carry. When he was satisfied that the cooked fowl wouldn't jump off his plate when stabbed, he cut it up and placed a piece in his mouth. It was dry.
Tom chuckled at the face Harry pulled when the texture of his food was discovered.
"I thought you said this would be like ambrosia compared to the bland edibles we normally consume," Harry whined.
"Tch, I only said it would be more suitable than usual. I don't ever recall saying it would be fit for the gods." Tom smirked superiorly. "It's nice to know you actually expanded your vocabulary from those mythology books. I was worried they might just fill your brain with silly fantasies, rotting it."
Harry frowned at the food on his tray ignoring second Tom's comment. The turkey may have been dry, but there were more flavors added to it. Count that along with everything else on his platter and his meal could be considered a small feast as opposed to what he typically ingested.
He ate leisurely with Tom and went to his room by himself without his friend; creating the excuse he was tired. Tom had tried to disprove that theory by bringing up the nap Harry's taken earlier in the afternoon, but the younger boy turned it into evidence supporting him by claiming that it was further proof he needed more sleep. When he arrived in his room, he clambered into his bed and forced himself asleep, only to be woken again at five in the morning by a pre-set alarm.
Harry was excited as he switched off the buzzing coming from his clock. To him, sneaking through the silent orphanage made him feel as though he was a spy in the middle of a James Bond movie. His pajama bottoms provided some protection for his feet against the subzero temperature drifting up from the floor and because he had no desire to gain frostbitten toes, he hurriedly grabbed Tom's Christmas card, present, and tiptoed swiftly out into the dark corridor to Tom's room. He knew that children weren't allowed into any room other than their own without permission from said room's owner, but he was Harry Potter; rule bending was not a new subject for him.
He reached Tom's room and quietly pushed the door open. The old wood groaned as it was forced to move in the cold, but Tom didn't wake up. Harry was in and out like a flash, placing the items on Tom's dresser and closing the door when he left, this time with no extra noise. He swiftly returned to his sleeping quarters and dove back under the covers, curling up into fetal position in order to gain back the warmth lost from his nighttime stroll. The last thought Harry had before drifting off once more was of Tom thanking him and repeatedly assuring Harry that he loved his gift.
0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0
Harry sat in the grass, eating the vanilla ice cream Tom had bought for him with some money they'd found in the gutter. It was a lazy summer day and no one seemed to want to move very fast. Harry finished up his cone and fell onto his back with Tom next to him, watching two particularly active children run past them, giggling, probably in the middle of a game of tag. The grass itchy, but neither he nor Tom seemed to mind, each lost in thought.
Tom's school year had already finished and Harry was overjoyed to have his friend back full-time, but he was also worried. He had attended muggle primary school during the 1980's, and was well aware of the impending war looming over Europe's doorstep. The Nazi Party was already in control of most of Germany, Hitler was reigning as Chancellor, and nearly the whole of the German population had already been brainwashed into believing that the Nazi's were truly going to help them instead of fulfilling their own political agenda. He'd already done the math in his head and when Germany invaded Poland, officially starting the Second World War, he would hopefully be enrolled at Hogwarts.
Tom, noticing his friends unease, looked over at Harry and asked, "What are you thinking of right now?"
Harry, not wanting Tom to know or question him about how he knew what was in store for England in the future, replied with a sly smile, "Thinkin' 'bout what you got me for my birthday."
Tom chuckled softly. This was not the first time Harry had tried to weasel the information out of him, but usually he was much more sneaky about it.
"You'll see when the time comes."
Harry pouted. For some reason, whenever he pouted, Tom gave in to whatever silly request Harry made. He didn't know exactly why that was, but he liked to think it had something to do with the cuteness that oozed from him.
"But Toooommyyyyy. That's, like, two whole days from now."
Tom glared at Harry when the disgusting defilation of his name left the boy's lips. He despised the horrid nickname Harry thought up and made sure to let him know it whenever Harry dared utter the word.
Tom's scowl quickly turned into a crafty grin when he thought of the present he'd made for Harry. The depression raging in America had leaked over into other European countries and, because of that, the government wasn't granting the orphanage as much money as it used to. This in turn led to Mrs. Cole hording all the extra cash for herself that she didn't need to spend on food, essentials for the orphans, and wages for her staff. So, Tom decided to give Harry the same thing Harry'd given him on Christmas; a friendship bracelet.
Tom had forced the younger boy into telling him where he'd gotten the strings and had snagged the same colors Harry's used from Martha too. Tom liked the idea that he and Harry would have something linking them together that no one else had. To him, it would show anyone who happened to get a glimpse of both boys' wrists that they were connected and that nothing could tear them apart, but more importantly, it bonded Harry to him. It showed that Harry belonged to him; was owned by him because the emerald-eyed boy would always wear the band around his wrist as a symbol of Tom's ownership. Tom inwardly cackled at the possessive thoughts. Harry was undoubtedly his for life.
Harry ignored the eerie aura engulfing Tom's being and changed his musings into ones that would help him attain more food since the ice cream was gone but his stomach still wasn't full. He lay on his back with his eyes closed and started to rub his abdomen, knowing Tom would get the message and praying he would respond to it.
"How can you still be hungry after eating that ice cream?"
"I'm always hungry. It's not like we ever get completely full at Wool's," Harry retorted, enjoying the balmy rays playing on his exposed eyelids.
"True…"
Harry allowed the silence to continue, choosing not to reply and consequently letting Tom ponder what they would do about the situation. Tom always wanted Harry to be happy, not that the other boy minded. He knew it was very selfish of him, but he liked having someone always trying for him to be happy. It might just be Tom's way of apologizing for having to be in school for nine and a half months, but Harry was fine with that.
He heard the grass rubbing against cloth beside him, so he rolled his head over and cracked open an eye to observe what Tom was doing. The boy in question has stood and was brushing off the seat of his pants. He glanced down at Harry and ordered, "Well, get up."
Harry smiled and sluggishly righted himself but did not make any move to stand.
"What for?"
Tom sighed and crossed his arms over his chest glaring pointedly at the boy situated on the grass.
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
"Yes, but dinner's hours away-"
"So we'll find something elsewhere," Tom interrupted. "Do you want something or not?" Not waiting for an answer, Tom turned away from Harry and quickly walked in the opposite direction from the orphanage. Harry jumped to his feet and jogged in order to catch up to his friend. They exited the park together and crossed the street. They weren't going to the bus stop that would take them into the main shopping district, or the marketplace close by. Harry stayed quiet, curious about their destination, but believing that Tom would acquire the necessary morsels to diminish his hunger.
Tom led Harry into a more suburban area the younger had never been before with one-story houses one either side of the street. He didn't say anything to Harry and continued at a brisk pace, scanning both sides of the road for something Harry couldn't identify.
"There it is," Tom said after they turned a corner, not stopping his attempt to seem casual. Harry, who was next to Tom, looked about to see if he could identify what it was Tom found. No one was out in their front yard selling anything; in fact, no one was outside at all. The street Tom had turned on to was completely deserted.
"I don't see anything."
"That's because you aren't looking," Tom replied in his best know-it-all voice, "Just keep walking and don't stop, no matter what. When you get to the next corner, turn left-"
"Why can't I follow you?"
"Because I'm about to engage in a top-secret mission only I can fulfill. Do what I said, got it?" Harry scowled and didn't answer; he didn't need to. Tom knew he would do what he'd been told without question. Harry trudged down the sidewalk, noticing out of his peripheral that Tom was falling behind. He didn't pause to look back, however, and ambled all the way to the corner, where he turned left and continued walking until he was out of sight from anyone on the previous street.
He waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, thinking about what Tom might've been doing, when the other boy hurdled around the bend, arms full of some sort of fruit. He sprinted past Harry who got the message and flew after him until–many twists and turns later–they fell back down on the tickly grass at the playground. Harry's breathing was labored and it took several minutes before he could form a coherent sentence. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tom simply held up one of the five fruits he had obtained and Harry's words rearranged themselves into something entirely different.
"Peaches?" Tom grinned triumphantly and tossed one over to Harry, who caught it and stared at the tasty sunset-colored treat in bewilderment. "But where did you get them?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Tom asked, expression not changing. "Think really hard about the street we were on." Harry did, scrunching up his face in concentration. There were some cars parked on the curb of the other side of the street and none of the houses went above a single story–something that couldn't be held true for the other homes in the neighborhood. All the grass in the front yards was well-watered and many boasted pastel flowers along the walkway leading up to the front door. One house had a pond in the front, and two more had trees–
Harry's eyes widened behind his round glasses as he realized what Tom had done.
"You stole them?"
Tom shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "So; you've stolen before. It would be hypocritical of you to tell me what I did was wrong. I only took five, whoever lives there won't even notice they're gone."
"I know, but what I took was string. This is food–"
"It's the same no matter what it is that's been stolen. A thief is a thief whether he steals a blanket to keep his family warm or a diamond necklace from the Queen. No one cares about the reason the thief had for breaking the law, they just care that he did. Be grateful that I managed to get some more food."
While Tom was ranting, Harry couldn't help but smilie. "I never said I wasn't grateful." To prove his point he bit into the peach he held and let the juice dribble down his chin, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.
"That's revolting, I'll have you know," Tom stated as he watched the drops of nectar slither down Harry's face.
"You're just jealous that I'm lavishing myself in this delightful treat while you sit there in the hot sun doing nothing to cool yourself down," Harry teased. Tom glowered at the boy and snatched up a peach of his own, biting in to the fuzzy skin. Harry giggled as fluid erupted down Tom, wishing that he never had to return to the future and could just stay in this happy time forever.
0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0
Harry was speaking animatedly with Tom as they walked to school. Harry had just started third grade and Tom was in fourth. Like the orphanage children, their schoolmates stayed away from them, allowing the two boys' to play alone. Neither minded, choosing the small school library as their base of operation. Harry was elated to find out that their rundown public school was in possession of a library. Granted, the books weren't the best quality and the room itself was only nine-by-eleven, but to them it was a paradise that stayed open until five in the evening. Wool's small stock of reading material was atrocious and it cost too much to take the bus into the middle of London every weekend, so to have their own library close to home was a blessing to their young minds.
Harry couldn't wait to get out of the muggle world and back to the magical one. He only had to suffer through three more years of review of muggle knowledge. Incomplete muggle knowledge, considering he'd taken classes during the 1980's. It was bad enough learning it once; he didn't want to go through it again. Sometimes when he was drifting off in class, he wondered if re-learning his lessons at Hogwarts be as boring as it was in muggle school. He hoped not. Magic could never bore him, and maybe he'd get better grades this time since he already knew the material and Snape wouldn't be teaching potions.
The muggle school Tom and he attended was very low class, even with the reading facility, but, then again, it was a public school in the 1930's. He couldn't expect education to be like it was when he first went to school. Luckily, though, this time he had Tom. Tom was his savior; his light that kept him out of the dark depths of hellish boredom he was sure to fall into if not for the intelligent conversations they were able to have together. That, together with the fact that his cousin, Dudley, wasn't running around trying to use him as a punching bag, kept Harry from committing suicide in order to find out if death really was the next great adventure.
Tom thought it was rather funny whenever Harry got bored of the material. It seemed as if somehow Harry already knew it. He guessed that this phenomenon was because Harry'd read his schoolbooks and school notes when Tom took the classes the year prior, so Tom and Harry always talked about Tom's classes rather than Harry's. It was always the lessons they would talk about too, not the people. Harry knew that if he'd tried he could have become friends with the kids in his class, but he never did. He never wanted to befriend any of them because not only would they take time away from the extraordinary amount he was spending on Tom, but he knew that he would be out of their lives in a few years anyway. No need to give them false hope, was the excuse he mentally told himself every day before he went back to the overcrowded classroom to learn about over-taught subjects.
Tom, on the other hand, just didn't like people. He had Harry, and that was all he needed…for now.
0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0
To say Harry was annoyed would be an understatement.
He was livid, furious, in fact. It had been over an hour since Dennis Bishop, Amy Benson, and Tom had gone missing and Harry was forced into looking for the three rather than savoring what precious little time he had to explore the White Cliffs of Devonshire. The whole thing was completely ridiculous. Of course, he knew where they were. He knew what Tom was doing to them, and did he care? Harry smirked as he peered over the jagged ledge to the ocean far below. If you'd asked him that question five years ago, his immediate answer would have been, "Where's my wand, it's time for me to kill Tom," but now…it meant little more to him than what he'd be having for dinner.
Tom was Tom and would be Tom no matter what Harry tried to do to prevent it. After a few events that had taken place over the years, he was fairly certain that Tom would become Lord Voldemort one day as well, but instead of trying to prevent it, Harry had resolved to stay by Tom's side and keep his friend from going insane. It was his time spent at Hogwarts and immersion into the Dark Arts which was what twisted Tom's mind and body, creating the deformed mass that was Lord Voldemort. If Harry was there, he could prevent most of it from happening.
Harry knew Tom and could not accept that the devious, witty, conniving boy who could also turn on the charm and get whatever he wanted was also the megalomaniac Dark Lord in the future, obsessed with a sixteen-year-old boy he couldn't defeat, and quite frankly, Harry didn't think he'd be able to defeat Voldemort either. It had nothing to do with any feelings he developed for Tom so much as the fact that Voldemort was the most powerful Dark Lord ever. Period. And he, Harry, was sure that he didn't even know a quarter of the dark spells Voldemort had tucked under his belt. Harry knew he was okay in duels, usually coming out on the winning end, but against Voldemort–who even Dumbledore couldn't defeat–Harry was sure that he would lose. It wasn't a comforting thought, but it was honest; not sugarcoated, not seen through rose-colored glasses, but an undeniable fact.
Harry had promised himself the day he decided to become friends with Tom that if Tom started acting even a bit like Voldemort he would off him right then-and-there, but could he do it? Could Harry kill his best friend? No, he couldn't. Asking that was like asking him to kill Ron or Hermione, it was simply impossible for him to do it even if he had a wand at his throat. Harry felt like he was going through a mid-life crisis. Kill your best friend, or let him live to kill all the people you hold dear. It was a tough choice and he wished he had an outside, totally neutral, party he could discuss his problems with because he really didn't want to do it.
After an hour of unsuccessful searching, a joyous shriek given from Martha alerted the party that the three had been found. Amy and Dennis looked shell-shocked and just about ready to piss their pants with Tom following behind, insouciant with his hands in his pockets. While Martha and Mrs. Cole tried to pry from Amy and Dennis what had happened–completely ignoring Tom–the source of Harry's problems walked over to him.
As Tom got closer, Harry's eyes got smaller until they were two slits on his face. "What were you doing, Tom?" he hissed as soon as the boy was within earshot.
Tom soaked in Harry's onslaught of wrath like it was nothing. "Experimenting," was his clam reply.
"'Experimenting', huh? On them?"
Tom seemed to have anticipated this question and not even a muscle on his face twitched in disloyalty.
"And if I did?" Harry stared at Tom, not expecting him to admit to it so easily.
"Erm, I don't know. Why'd you do it?"
"Curiosity. Isn't that what fuels any analysis?" Tom threw back coolly. Martha was still trying to get Amy and Dennis to talk, but Mrs. Cole was glaring over at where Tom and Harry stood.
"Fine," Harry huffed, knowing that he wouldn't get Tom to feel remorse over using human test subjects. "Then what were you doing to them?" Now it was Tom's turn to become tight-lipped as Harry pursed his. He had his own hypothesis about what Tom'd done, aware that Tom, by now, had the ability to make people hurt along with parseltongue, forcing animals to do his bidding, and "telekinesis", but still wanted Tom to divulge the information to him on his own accord.
Their trip continued with Harry trying to get what he wanted out of Tom and Martha doing the same to Dennis and Amy but none of the three children gave anything away.