Have I mentioned that I love you guys? Have I? I'm mentioning it now. Seriously, I will find you guys and hug the living daylights out of you. You're awesome. Thank you.

To Berlin: Thank you, dear. I will keep writing, for as long as I have ideas and fingers to type them down with :D

Disclaimer: I totally own Harry Potter. Tom and Harry are my bitches. Only, you know, not really.


Diagon Alley was the most beautiful place Harry had ever seen in his entire life.

The men and women in robes vaguely reminded him of a half-forgotten building and an odd lady with cats, but he ignored the almost-memory. It was from before, and none of it mattered. It was nothing.

His life truly began when he landed in front of Tom Riddle, outside of Wool's Orphanage, five years ago. And maybe they weren't easy years, not easier than before had been, but they were happier. And they were the only years Harry cared to remember, those and the ones that would follow.

Diagon Alley was most certainly one place he'd never forget.

His breath caught sharply and he stared, wide-eyed. He knew his friend was just as awestruck, even if he concealed it better.

"Bloody hell, Tom, this is..."

"I know," Tom whispered, eyes darting around, taking everything in hungrily. He cleared his throat. "...Now stop staring like an idiot. We have shopping to do, and so many other things."

Harry snorted.

Other things like discovering the nastier people or places in the Alley, no doubt. Trust Tom to turn an innocent shopping trip making connections with the wizarding world's underworld.

"No," he said firmly, and before Tom could protest, he continued quickly, "Not today, Tom. We know where the place is. We can come again another day and do whatever creepy villainous things you like. For now, let's just shop and explore a bit, 'kay?"

"I'll think about it," Tom grumbled, glancing around hesitantly.

Harry glowered. "Tom."

"Harry."

"...Please?"

"Fine. But you're not allowed to bring this up again, ever!"

God, and Tom accused him of being the childish one. Harry snickered quietly, the sullen glares he received from Tom not helping his composure at all.


The biggest part of shopping passed uneventfully. Robes, books, cauldrons, telescopes and all the like were bought quite quickly.

And then it was time for wands.

The wandmaker- and seller, that was- Olivander, was quite quirky, but Harry was mostly amused by him, if a bit confused too. They were informed that 'the wand chooses the wizard' and therefore left for their wands to choose them.

Tom's wand was yew, 13 1/2 inches long, with a phoenix feather core.

Harry's wand was holly, 11 inches long, also with a phoenix feather core.

And, apparently, the two feathers were from the same phoenix; making their wands twins, connected. Harry almost felt like he should have seen it coming, somehow, but nonetheless it was a wonderful surprise.

...They got funny looks from Olivander, though.

"You should see your grin, Potter. You look like you're on drugs," Tom noted, but there actually was no mockery in it.

His friend was genuinely happy too, Harry could tell. He wasn't openly smiling or giving any sign of his happines- because god forbid he did that in a public place, it would be so terrible to appear happy- but there was a warmth in his eyes that Harry rarely ever saw, and his posture was open and relaxed (well, for Tom's standards).

Drugs, Tom said. Ha. As if Harry would ever do anything like that. As if his friend himself wasn't an addiction enough of his own.

...Shit, he did not just think that.

"Better watch yourself, Tom," he teased, ignoring the blush that threatened to creep on his cheeks. "I've got a wand, and I'm not afraid to use it! I have no idea how to use it, but my point remains!"

"What are you going to do, poke me to death?" Tom taunted as Harry nudged his shoulder with the wand.

"That was the plan," Harry admitted cheerfully, poking him again. "Of course, it may not seem like a very interesting way to commit murder, but you gotta give it some credit; it's creative."

Tom rolled his eyes. "It is. Creatively moronic."

"Git."

"Shrimp."

"I am not a- Did you just- Uh. Making comments on my height is childish and petty," Harry huffed. "I was born like that, you know. Can't help it."

"I'm certain," Tom returned lightly, looking majorly unconvinced. "But then, is it not reasonable to conclude that, as you were born to be short, I was born to be, as you place it, a git?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "...It doesn't work that way."

"And you know that how?"

At that, instead of a reply, Harry decided to go to his newly acquired books, in hopes of finding a neat little spell to shut his friend up. Nothing good, as far as he could see (which meant nothing, he was too impatient to read past page three). So he settled with jabbing the book at Tom's ribbs instead.

"Now, that's just rude."

"Well, maybe I was born to be rude."


They'd been practising magic every day.

Technically, it was forbidden to use magic out of school until they turned seventeen, but technically, since they hadn't started Hogwarts yet, it wouldn't count as breaking the law, but as an accidental magic outburst.

Or at least, Tom said so. Personally, Harry found the Trace too much of a headache to read about, so he trusted his friend in that. Nobody came to arrest them, so he must have been right.

But practising magic was the easy part; the spells in the first's years books came naturally. The hard part, for him at least, was theory.

It was completely unfair just how quickly Tom got everything they read in the books, while Harry had to struggle and study for hours on end to get the point of it. He wasn't stupid, and he liked reading, he just wasn't very academically intelligent either.

When his friend did him the courtesy- as he should, because it had been his damn perfectionism that insisted they both know everything in their books before even arriving to Hogwarts- of explaining those things in slightly more simplistic terms, Harry understood just fine. The big fancy words and complicated definitions that only served to confuse people simply weren't his cup of tea.

Of course Tom was smug about that, Tom was smug about everything.

Still...it wasn't like Harry really had any objection with studying- otherwise he wouldn't have done it, and let Tom be as grumpy as he liked. But the books, currently, were his only information source about the wizarding world, and it went without saying that he wanted to know more about that.

With most being schoolbooks- they couldn't afford much else, and Harry refused to let Tom steal on that occasion- they had to read between the lines to find any real information, that wasn't all about classes. Hogwarts: A history, dreadfully boring as it was, helped with that, along with a few other books.

Apparently there was a Ministry of Magic( and why did that somehow ring a bell?), that was split in seven departments, which all had ridiculously long names just to irritate him. Harry was certain of it.

There were other magical places, too: Platform 9 and 3/4 (however that worked), from where they'd be taking the train to Hogwarts, and of course the school itself, the place where Tom and Harry would spend the biggest part of the next seven years.

There was so much to learn, it felt like a dozen new questions sprung out of each answered one. It was frustrating, but also exciting.

Tom was being a bit of a prat, too, but that wasn't exactly new.

It was perfectly fine, Harry would soon know all sorts of nifty spells to pay him back. Fear the wrath of an eleven year old, untrained wizard!

He did not like that train of thought. Damn, Tom was a really bad influence. Next thing he'd start laughing evilly, and then he'd being aiming for world domination.

Speaking of plans and aims...

"Oh, we'll be going to Knockturn Alley tomorrow," his friend informed him lightly, not bothering to even look up from his book.

Tom was sprawled across the bed, studying, a small pile of books on the floor next to him. Harry was siting by the desk, practising a levitating charm. The window was flung open and curtains pulled to the side, bright August sun rays invading the room.

With a flick of his wand and a muttered Wingardium Leviosa, Harry sent a pencil on his desk flying. "...Sure. What's that?"

"The dark side of Diagon Alley, so to speak. Dangerous books, dangerous objects, dangerous people."

Well, it made perfect freaking sense that Tom wanted to go then, didn't it?

"Yippie. I'm excited," Harry deadpanned. "Must we honestly get in trouble before we even start our first year?"

"How many times have we gotten in trouble?" Tom asked challengingly.

"Tons," Harry replied automatically.

His friend smirked devilishly. "And how many times was that because you refused to listen to me?"

'Most of them', was the only honest answer Harry could give, and he'd rather not do that.

"How many times did we avoid getting in trouble because I refused to listen to you?" he shot back instead.

Tom stared at him blankly. "None."

"What!" Harry protested. "It's happened lots of times! Don't you just smile all prettily, it changes nothing, I still did!"

"You like my smile, Harry?" Tom mused, head tilting to the side.

"I...Don't change the topic!"

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

Harry bristled. "Whatever. I've still gotten us out of trouble."

Tom's smile only got bigger. "Then do it again tomorrow."

Harry fumed in anger but agreed, eventually.

And of course, he regretted it deeply. They miraculously didn't get into trouble, how that happened he'd wonder forever, but Knockturn Alley was downright disturbing. Among other less-than-pleasant things, one could puchase human bones, fingernails, and toenails- how the bloody hell were toenails even of any use to anyone?!

Tom, the absolute creep, found all those things interesting and delightful. Borgin and Burges, The Coffin House, Ye Olde Curiosity shop, half of the shops there made Harry want to throw up.

Okay, so he didn't know enough about Dark or Light arts to have anything against either, and he'd happily study whatever Dark Arts books Tom managed to snatch- he only agreed to it because obviously, their previous owners didn't get them clearly either...and maybe because Tom was unbearable when he didn't get his way- but that didn't mean he had to like the shops, did it?

"Bloodstained cards and Hangman's rope," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at the window display of a certain shop. "Why would somebody need Hangman's rope?"

"To hang someone, I assume. Or it could be a murder fetish," Tom replied with a shrug, completely nonchalant.

Harry choked on air. "What the hell?! This place is creepy enough without you saying stuff like that! Bloody hell, we're eleven! That's an image I did not need in my head, okay!"

"Keep your voice down, you're making a scene," his friend said simply. "Really, Harry, this is not a place for kiddies throwing tantrums. You have a brain, please try to use it, I promise it doesn't hurt."

"Oh shut up," Harry scoffed, though in a lower tone. "So what did you actually get? Or did we come here just for you to look at creepy cards?"

"A couple books, and Peruvian instant darkness powder," Tom said, "but that's hardly the reason we came here. I wanted to get a glimpse of the wizarding community's underworld. I did."

"It's utterly disgusting, you must be ecstatic with it."

"Quite...I think, Harry, this will prove to be very, very interesting."

Harry snorted. "More interesting that the rope? I think not."

The sarcasm was either lost on Tom- highly unlikely!- or simply ignored, because his friend only gave him a sly smile in response. "I hadn't realized it fascinated you so much. I can always get it to you for Christmas, if you like."

"Er-yeah, um, no- thanks, but no. I'm not into murder much," Harry bit out, paling visibly.

"Oh, I don't know," Tom crooned, just as they exited the dark (in both senses) alley and were hit by the light and liveliness of Diagon, "it does have a certain appeal..."

Say what now.

No. No, Harry would not analyze that. He refused.

He sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. "Seriously, Tom, that's the last thing I want to be thinking about."

"I disagree. I'm quite certain I could inspire far worse thoughts."

Harry wasn't certain at all there was worse. He didn't want to know.

He'd daydream about Hogwarts instead.


...I'm actually satisfied with this. I'm usually not satisfied with my writing and this is suspicious. Something's up. This will be looked into.

I hope you were satisfied with this chappie-tappie too? :)