Dislclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Warning: Fem!Harry Potter AU, Tom Riddle AU

A/N: I've made Harry quite different from what he's depicted as in the original stories. In this fanfiction, I intended on creating a female Harry that inherited more of her father's unruly, stubborn, and mischievous traits than her mother's, just like the canon Harry was stated to have had a nature which resembled more his mother. Although I do realize now that I've probably overdone it to an extent, I try to stay as close to what Harry's depicted as in the books as possible (example: love for treacle tarts, sass, quotes, etc.).

I will attempt at making Harry more canon from now on and I sincerely apologize if it has been of any inconvenience to some of you who have read this and thought "this is too different". I've enjoyed your support immensely and, although I have not responded on any reviews, I DO read them and take them into account and answer the questions I receive by adding the details into the plot.

Thank you again for your attention and support. Enjoy.

Chapter 6: The Professor

If you asked the majority of the staff at the orphanage what the date 31st of July meant to them, they would have said something along the lines of "No idea," or "It's the last day of the month. So, what?" If you asked the children, they would have answered much the same as the adults, and no answer would have been distinctively different from the others. Mrs Cole might have had an idea as to why the date was considered significant to someone, but so far, not even she harboured much sense of importance towards it.

"I spy with my little eye, something that is…" Harry paused as her eyes scanned across the dull room. Her eyes fell on the wardrobe. "Brown."

"The wardrobe," Tom answered dully, looking at Harry as if she was an idiot. They had been playing that game for a few minutes now and none of them were enjoying it. "There's not a whole lot of variety to choose from here."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted, leaning back in the chair and looking up at the ceiling with a distant gaze in her eyes. She spotted a spider crawl across it and disappear into the corner. Even though it was technically her birthday, she felt no joy or significance towards the date.

Over the course of the last days, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop had barely spoken a word since the trip. It was evident that Mrs Cole suspected Harry or Tom, judging by the way she was constantly glancing nervously their way, but she had never mentioned anything in order to confirm this insinuation. As such, Harry and Tom had spent most of the days cooped up in their rooms, either together or alone, as to avoid the constant stares they were receiving. It was much more convenient this way, anyway.

Harry sighed as she watched the spider disappear, trailing her eyes over its moving-pattern. "I only realize now how monotonous this place is."

"Congratulations," Tom said, no less indifferently. "It only took you eleven years to figure it out."

She glared at him but didn't seem to object against his statement. Wool's orphanage was far from someplace where a child ought to grow up, with its grim walls and cold demeanour. It surprised Harry that she had managed to stay alive there for so many years, but then she remembered that it was far from as poor as most other orphanages in London could be. She should've actually been grateful, and she was, but for any sentimental reasons.

Mr Wool, the director himself, wasn't as generous and thoughtful as his image made him appear to be. He had been around several times in the past and made snide remarks about how filthy he thought the children were, calling them "strays" and the sorts.

Surprisingly, despite all of the trouble Harry tended to stir, the director had never mustered the courage to permanently banish Harry from there. He was probably worried about his image if it ever came out that he had deliberately left an orphan on their own. Perhaps popularity did have its use after all?

"What do you plan on doing once you get out of here, Tom?" Harry asked, eyes still glued to the ceiling. She spotted a crack there and slowly trailed her eyes after it.

"That depends," Tom said. "On what kind of options that are at my disposal then,"

Harry looked as if she was torn between exasperation or boredom at the sound of Tom's conditions. "Options? All options are available to you," she said and sat straight up in the seat across the bed, staring at him sharply as though she was supposed to reprimand him for something he had said. She didn't. "All options will surely be available to you. You're on the top of our class," she pointed out. "The teachers adore you and you always get good marks."

"That's not the point," Tom contradicted her, much to Harry's bemusement. She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it. "I don't think that there's anything left here for me, at least not in London at least. Not here. Maybe I'll leave for someplace else when I'm old enough,"

"I get that," Harry agreed with a nod. "But how do you imagine yourself in the next ten years? Successful job? Married? Children?" She couldn't help but to smirk a bit at the last part.

"Marriage and children is not something I consider a priority," Tom answered blatantly, shaking his head. "Too complicated."

"For someone like you? No doubt," Harry turned to look out the window again. The weather seemed as nasty as always outside, dull grey clouds that hung over the skies and prevented any sun from getting through. She spotted few people walking outside on the streets either. So much for a birthday, though she didn't really mind that much if nobody acknowledged it. There was hardly anything to celebrate at Wool's at all, except the seldom holidays.

"You're unusually quiet today," Tom noted, settling his elbow on top of his knee and resting his head on top of it. "Considering it's your birthday."

She scoffed. "You know as much as me that neither of us tends to celebrate anything, much less a birthday. This day is just like any other. However, at least I have no reason to feel beneath you now that we're the same age,"

"Age isn't required for that," Tom couldn't help but grin somewhat patronizingly at her, to which Harry merely scowled. Tom was older than Harry by several months, seeing it as his birthday was at the end of the year whereas Harry's was at the end of a summer month, ironically enough. Another thing which differentiated the two of them other than their personalities.

"We're getting older," she said and resumed with watching the exterior of the building through the window. "And here I was hoping something exciting would happen."

"You're expecting too much,"

"I know, but I am a child, after all," She turned to look at him, a genuine smile on her lips. "Am I not allowed to dream?"

Tom didn't say anything at first, merely observing the Potter girl's features, everything from her smile to her bright green eyes. He wondered if she had inherited them from her mother or her father, but he quickly discarded that thought. "Only if you remember to wake up and face reality like an adult,"

And with that, he resumed with reading whilst Harry continued to try and find simple things to do in order to ease her vague boredom. Neither of them were aware of the fact that something interesting was about to happen sooner than they expected.

At the same moment the Potter girl and Riddle boy had settled down, a middle-aged man stepped within Wool's perimeter, looking down at an old pocket watch in his hand. This man was far from as ordinary as he appeared to be at first glance, or more specifically, he wasn't looking ordinary at all to those few people that passed him by on the street, with long auburn hair that matched his peculiar-looking beard. The primary source of this unwanted attention, however, was the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet he was wearing.

The man, deciding that it was time, put the pocket watch back into the comfort of his pocket and passed through the iron gates which lead up to the entrance door. The building was dark-looking and didn't seem as inviting as one would've imagined an orphanage to be like. Many individuals would have viewed the place with scepticism due to its cold exterior and somewhat grim appearance. But the man didn't seem to fret for anything at all as he finally mounted the few pair of stairs and reached the entrance door, knocking only once before it opened only a few moments later.

A scruffy-looking girl with messy hair and a dirty apron opened the door for the stranger, looking quite distressed and sleep-deprived by the looks of things and the heavy bangs under her eyes. The stranger smiled and inclined his head towards her. "Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the young woman, clearly caught off-guard by the man's eccentric appearance. "Uhm, just a mo'… MRS COLE!" She turned around and shouted over her shoulder. A distant voice of approval came from inside the building and the young woman turned back to the stranger. "Come in, she's on 'er way."

The stranger expressed his gratitude before he stepped inside the building. True to its exterior, it was quite gloomy-looking inside, yet it was spotlessly clean and didn't seem like it was in any poor state whatsoever. Before the door shut completely behind them, scurrying towards them came the skinny, fatigued matron of Wool's, looking more anxious and stressed out than anything even resembling hostility. Behind her was another aproned caretaker, to whom she shouted orders to.

"… and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets – Chickenpox on top of everything else." She said, though it didn't seem like she was speaking to anyone but herself. The other aproned caretaker left after a quick nod and it was then that the matron's eyes fell on top of the stranger standing there in the hallway, smiling pleasantly at her.

"Good afternoon," he said and held his hand out to her. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Mrs Cole blinked once, then twice, as if to conclude that she was not hallucinating the odd-looking man. "Oh, yes," she said feebly. "Well – Well then – You'd better come into my room. Yes."

She led the strange Dumbledore into her office room, which frankly looked more like a place where she composed herself after particularly stressful days. The room was as mismatched and shabby as the rest of the place, but Dumbledore didn't complain nor did he imply that he was in any discomfort. Mrs Cole gestured for him to sit down in a rickety chair across her desk, which she sat behind whilst eyeing him nervously.

Dumbledore took her silence as a sign that she was waiting for an explanation, which he would've been more than happy to indulge in. "I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and Harriet Potter and arrangements for their future," he said calmly.

"Are you related to any of them?" Mrs Cole asked. "Tom or Harry?"

"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer them a place at my school."

"What school's this, then?"

"It's called Hogwarts," Dumbledore answered.

Mrs Cole nodded. "And how come you're interested in them? Both of them?"

"We believe that both Tom and Harriet have qualities we are looking for," he explained.

"What do you mean? Have they won a scholarship each or something? How could they have done that?"

"Well, their names have been down for our school since birth–"

"Who registered them?" Mrs Cole asked, as sharp as she was confused. "Their families? Why the both of them? Are they truly related in some way?"

"According to their records, they are not," Dumbledore explained mildly. "They are, however, both obligated to enter this school, given the conditions and their qualifications. I'm sure you understand." There was no doubt now that Dumbledore grasped the fact that Mrs Cole was inconveniently sharp, despite her evident anxiousness. As such, he knew that certain strings needed to be pulled.

Pulling something mysterious out of the pocket of his suit, as Mrs Cole was about to question him further, he placed a completely blank paper on top of her desk. Her eyes fell on top of it in confusion, and just then, the man waved something in the air just once. "Here," said Dumbledore and put whatever had previously occupied his hand back to where it came from. "I think this will make everything clear."

Mrs Cole felt her mind become disorganized for no reason. The paper in front of her seemed like it truly made everything seem clear. "That seems perfectly in order," she said with a nod and handed the note back. As she looked at Dumbledore again, she noticed that there were now two glasses and a bottle of gin sitting in front of her. "Er – May I offer you a glass of gin?" she asked.

Dumbledore inclined his head towards her. "Thank you very much,"

It now became clear to him that Mrs Cole wasn't as timid as she initially appeared to be. After pouring the both of them a generous amount of liquor in each of the glasses, she downed hers in one simple gulp. Dumbledore, meanwhile, seemed like he was planning on something as he watched the matron smile at him for the first time since his arrival.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything regarding Tom and Harriet's history? Were they both born here at the orphanage?"

"Not Harry," Mrs Cole said, helping herself to another glass of gin. "Harry was placed here on the doorsteps almost a year after Tom was born. It was a chilly summer morning we found here on the steps alone."

"All alone?" Dumbledore asked.

Mrs Cole nodded. "There was no note with her, no guardian, no mother who explained how she couldn't afford to care for her child. There was only an infant with a blanket wrapped around her which read her name as Harriet L. Potter, along with the date we assumed to be her birthday… Oh," The matron turned around to look at a calendar that hung on the wall. "It's today. I remember."

"No relatives came here in search for her? Did you make sense of what her middle name might have stood for?" Dumbledore asked.

"No middle name to think of. Nobody ever showed up. There's no Potter around in London as far as we know, and nobody came here in search of their missing daughter." Mrs Cole said, sipping the gin with little effort. "It's different with Tom, however. I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour, and she was dead in another hour."

She poured herself another glass and downed it only a moment afterwards.

"Did she say anything before she died?" Dumbledore asked. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs Cole, who was evidently growing more and more affected by the liquor by the moment. "I remember she said to me 'I hope he looks like his papa'. I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty – and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, Marvolo, for her father, and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.

"We named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all. Like that, they've both stayed here at the orphanage ever since." And like that, the matron didn't hesitate to pour herself yet another glass of the liquor that was nearing emptiness bit by bit. She seemed like she struggled to stand straight for a moment until she said, "They're completely different, but they are both funny, you know?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I thought they might be. What can you tell me about their interactions? Are they close friends?"

Mrs Cole let out a hiccup and supported herself to the desk as she explained, "They're always with each other, one way or the other, despite being completely different. They seemed like they got along ever since they were babes," Her cheekbones turned bright pink. "They would disappear off wherever together and do all sorts of stuff. Seeing them apart is strange. As babes, Harry was just like any other child, but Tom…. He was a funny boy. Rarely cried. It wasn't until they began to group together when they were older that Harry started to separate from everyone else just like him. We've tried to get them help, to see doctors, but they don't want to. We've debated taking them to the nearest psychiatry and see if there's anything wrong with them, but–"

"I can assure you," said Dumbledore gently. "Nothing is wrong with them."

"Oh?" said Mrs Cole, not really sounding very relieved. "That's good."

"About earlier, you mean to say that Tom was a bad influence on her?" Dumbledore inquired.

Mrs Cole shook her head. "Not a bad influence, I'd say. Harry's always been rowdy, even after she began to stick around Tom, but it would seem as though neither of them quite knew how to deal with everyone else. However, if I'm allowed to state my true opinion, it's Tom that's the oddest one of the two…" She paused, prompting Dumbledore to continue.

"Odd in what way?" he asked gently.

"Well, he…." Mrs Cole looked interrogational over at him over the brim of her glass of gin, no note of vagueness or disorganization written over her features as opposed to earlier. "You say that they definitely got a place at that school of yours?"

"Definitely," said Dumbledore with a nod.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing,"

"And you'll be taking the both of them, whatever?"

"Whatever," Dumbledore answered seriously.

Mrs Cole sat back into her seat but her eyes never left those of Dumbledore. She continuously opened and shut her mouth, as if still deciding whether to trust the stranger, but evidently, she decided to do so because the next thing that happened, she said in a rather briskly tone, "He scares the other children, Tom,"

"You mean to tell me Tom is a bully? Isn't Harriet the one to initiate trouble around?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"No, Harry gets into trouble with the other children, that's true, but she's never bullied anyone. At least, not as I've seen. Tom, meanwhile, I think he must be, but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents…. Nasty things…"

Dumbledore waited patiently for her to continue, but there was no doubt that he was interested in listening further. Mrs Cole took another gulp of gin before she proceeded, looking vaguely more nervous than before. "There once came a snake into Billy Stubbs' room, and his room is on the third floor, so I don't see how it could've gotten there. Harry was the one to take it out without difficulties, and since she's always had some sort of affinity, so we just assumed…. but said she didn't do it," she said, frowning slightly. "It ate the boy's rabbit. We tried calling exterminators, but she had already released it before anything could be done."

"Did you believe her?" Dumbledore asked patiently. "When she said she didn't put it there?"

"I …. I didn't know what to think," Mrs Cole answered. "They had ended up in a fight earlier, at least, according to Mr Murphy."

"He's one of the caretakers here?"

Mrs Cole nodded. "He arrived here only a few years ago, but he's never been one to get along with children. He seems to dislike Harry in particular, calling her a 'nasty little liar' when he reported the incident to me. He even openly said he supported the theory that she had been the one to bring the snake into Billy's room, but there was never any proof. We just assumed that it had somehow gotten through the pipes, but…. I'm not sure now." She took another swing of gin before she continued. "On the summer outing, we take some of the children out, you know, once a year, to the countryside of the seaside. Well, we were there not too long ago, but Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop have never been quite right since then. They were quiet, and we could get no answer out of them. All we heard was that they had been somewhere with Tom to play, but it didn't sound like nothing. When we asked him, he said that he had done nothing but explore the area with them. He said nothing had happened, which is odd in more than one way."

"How so?"

"Earlier that day, all four of them, Tom, Harry, Amy, and Dennis, had gotten grounded because of some arguments earlier. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was just Harry that had ventured outside, but this time it was just Tom and them. He never mentioned Harry getting involved, which is highly unusual for them." She let out a hiccup, having almost downed two-thirds of the bottle already. "He said nothing happened, but something must have happened. And, well, there have been a lot of funny things going on throughout the years… Some which Harry wasn't involved in. When we asked her about the incident with Amy and Dennis, she didn't seem like she knew anything of it. Said she'd been sleeping."

When she looked at Dumbledore again, the colour on her cheeks had deepened, yet her eyes were as sharp as could be. "Honestly, I don't think many will be sorry to see the back of him. Harry, like you said, will be going with him?"

"Of course, but we won't be keeping them permanently," Dumbledore said. "They will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," Mrs Cole said with a slight hiccup and got up to her feet. It was a miracle that she managed to get on her feet steadily enough considering the amount of alcohol she had just consumed. "I suppose you'd like to see them? Without looking, I'd say that they are not far from each other."

"Very much," Dumbledore said and rose to his feet as well.

A pair of knocks. That was all it took. Just two knocks and both the Potter girl and the Riddle boy snapped their heads towards the door, wary as could be. Harry sat straight up in her seat, eyes glued to the door with such scepticism that it was practically oozing from her irises. Tom instantly put the book down and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, not any less cynical.

The door opened up and standing there was a far from sober Mrs Cole and an old gentleman with an eccentric choice of clothing. His nose seemed as though it had been broken several times before and he smiled gently towards them. Neither Tom or Harry smiled back, as they both felt threatened by the presence of this stranger. They didn't know why, but something was off about him.

"Tom, Harry, you've got a visitor," said Mrs Cole and gestured to the stranger beside her. "This is Mr Dumberton– sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – Well, I'll let him do it." As the old man stepped into the room, Mrs Cole exited and closed the door behind her, leaving the two children completely alone with the old man.

Neither of them said anything, but their eyes never averted onto something else. Both Harry and Tom could agree that the man's clothes were far from ordinary in any way, yet the man didn't seem to take any notice of their obvious distrust of him. "How do you do, Tom, Harriet?" He stepped forward and reached it first to Tom and then to Harry respectively, but only Tom hesitated before he took it. Harry, albeit bemused, took the stranger's hand whilst exploiting less time than her companion did to finish the action.

"I am Professor Dumbledore," said the man.

"'Professor'?" Tom asked. "Is that like a 'doctor?' What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at us?"

"I don't think he's a doctor," Harry admitted, looking up and down at the stranger. "Doesn't look like one, at least."

"You would be correct," Dumbledore said gently. "I am not a doctor."

"I don't believe you," said Tom suspiciously, not utterly convinced. There were rare occasions when Harry saw him like this but she couldn't criticize him for his cynicism. Give his poor relations with doctors in the past, as well as her own unpleasant experiences, they knew not to trust grown-ups too easily. "Tell the truth." As he finished with this, Harry swore she could feel the faintest vibration in the floor wood as though Tom had shouted. However, it quickly subdued and Tom stopped glaring, instead choosing to refrain from losing his equanimity. It wouldn't look good on him, after all.

Harry turned her attention away from Tom and looked at Professor Dumbledore again, noticing every detail about his appearance. It was a peculiar choice of wardrobe, to say the least, and she had never seen something akin to this in her life. The chances of him being a doctor were low, as she doubted the typical doctors or medical experts wore purple on a daily, but she was no less suspicious than before. "Who are you?" she asked, finally meeting the old man's eyes like an equal.

"I have told you," said Dumbledore kindly and inclined his head towards her. "My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school – Your new school, if you would like to come."

"'Hogwarts'?" Harry found this hard to believe. "A school? What kind of-"

Yet before she could finish, Tom all but leapt out of the bed and made sure to keep as much distance between himself and Dumbledore as possible. He placed a hand on top of Harry's shoulder and gestured for her to do the same, but she didn't move an inch from her original spot. Her eyes were still fixed intently onto the old gentleman as though they were glued.

"You can't kid me!" Tom yelled furiously, his other hands pointed sharply at Dumbledore. "The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor', yes, of course – We'll, we're not going, see?"

"I'm not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently, reaching over to grasp the back of the unoccupied chair next to the wardrobe beside him and sitting down. Even Harry took a cautious step back as she saw this. There definitely hadn't been another chair in the room earlier, nor had one been brought in. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you–"

"That would be tremendously ambitious of them," interrupted Harry, narrowing her eyes at Dumbledore, not entirely convinced just yet. With Tom standing next to her, still glaring coldly as ever at the gentleman, it was hard to become any more reassured. However, if this was going where she imagined it would go, and she certainly hoped it would, then she would listen. "But tell us, then."

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore began slowly. "is a school for people with special abilities–"

"We're not mad!" It was Tom's turn to interrupt, the hand that was placed on top of Harry's shoulder was curling harshly against it. "Stop lying!"

"Neither of you are mad," said Dumbledore softly. "Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It's a school of magic."

Had they just heard right? Magic? That was impossible, thought Tom with wide eyes. There was no such thing as magic. It was just stupid stuff grown-ups had told them about. Even he had told Harry that magic and all that was just phantasmagorical products of the imagination created to make up for the dreadful circumstances which surrounded them. Doubt flooded through his mind like the blood in his veins, yet at the same time, so did curiosity.

"Magic?" Tom asked, daring to take a step forward.

"That's right." Dumbledore answered.

"It's magic what we do?" Harry asked, shoulders lowered. "Are you joking with us now?"

"I'm completely serious."

"You mean to tell us that there are other people like us? People who can do the same things we can?"

Dumbledore nodded. "There are others like you, that is correct."

"Hah!" Harry abruptly turned around, grinning from ear to ear at Tom. "I told you that there were other people." She said victoriously. "Other people that can do the things we can." As she looked at Tom, she noticed that his eyes seemed as if they were not exactly in the present. They were distant and slightly... unnerved? She had never seen him like this before.

"What is it, exactly, that you can do?" Dumbledore suddenly asked, causing both of the children to snap their attention back at him. As Harry was about to answer him, Tom beat her to it, sounding much more relieved and enthusiastic than she had ever heard him. She couldn't exactly blame him. She, too, was excited.

"All sorts," Tom breathed, looking as if he was on the verge of collapsing. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." Something both Harry and the old professor noticed was the way Tom's voice seemed as though it was shivering, but not out of fear. It was as if he had just walked out of icy water, but without a drop of water on him. In fact, he wasn't even looking at Dumbledore as he spoke. It was as if he was talking to himself, in a way, or someone invisible.

With his knees trembling, he stumbled back to his bed again and sat down, looking at his quivering fingers with his head bowed. "I knew I was different," he whispered. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something." Unbeknownst to him, Harry stared incredulously down at him, not knowing quite what to make of the state her friend had been rendered to.

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, but his smile was completely gone now. Instead, there was a thin line between his lips, and he was staring intently at Tom. "You're a wizard and witch, Tom, Harry."

Harry's eyes snapped back to Dumbledore. "Witch and wizard?" she asked, the same scepticism returning to the surface. "Is that what we're called?"

"Correct."

"Are you a wizard, too?" Tom asked, looking up again at the old professor. The wild happiness that was painting his facial features did little to enhance the handsome appearance most people saw during first impressions. Not knowing why, Harry couldn't help but to find it slightly unnerving instead.

"Yes, I am."

"You would think that someone other than a wizard or witch would come here to retrieve us?" Harry said, imagining that her words of reassurance would be enough to convince the Riddle boy.

He wasn't.

"Prove it." Tom demanded at once, sounding as if he hadn't heard a word the Potter girl had said. "Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your places at Hogwarts–"

"Of course we are," Harry said as though the answer would be obvious. "But some verification wouldn't be too much to ask for, would it?"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'Sir'." Dumbledore said sternly, sounding just like the authority figures she couldn't bear to handle. Harry scoffed quietly and suddenly didn't like the situation very much anymore. People who demanded that kind of respect weren't of the sort she would wish to mend with.

However, she bit into it and said slowly, as if her mouth was filled with bitter poison, "Yes, sir."

But as Harry had to visibly struggle to mouth the words, much less speak them, Tom didn't seem to have a problem obeying to the wishes of those with authority. He was gifted with more than just magic, apparently, and that was his ability to behave like an angel if the situation called for it. "I'm sorry, sir. I meant, please Professor, could you show us?"

When Harry looked back at the professor, she was surprised to see him still looking oddly suspicious at Tom. Whereas most adults would break beneath the pressure of his charm, he didn't look as if he was affected in the slightest. That was a first.

Then, right before their eyes, the professor reached for something from inside his coat and pulled out what looked like a stick of sorts….. No, it wasn't just a stick. There were odd markings on it, few cracks as well, and it reminded Harry terribly much of a wand. Was it a wand?

With the flick of his wand, Harry and Tom watched as a box adorned with a red ribbon materialized itself out of thin air on top of Harry's unoccupied chair. Both children stood frozen in place, staring at the package with wide eyes.

Dumbledore put his wand away again and gestured to Harry, then to the box. "Open it," he said kindly. Harry reluctantly did as she was told and grasped a hold of the edges of the box, then she hesitantly opened it.

Inside was a cake with pink frosting and words that spelt "Happy Birthday Harry" on top. Mouth ajar, Harry's eyes flickered between the cake in her hands and then to the professor, not knowing quite what to say. This was the first time she had been given a cake like this on her birthday, much less had one appear right in front of her out of nowhere. She had never been able to do that herself, and the thought of having Billy Stubbs disappear for a few hours a day felt good.

"I was made aware that it's your birthday today," Dumbledore said.

"I- Uhm….. Thank you." Harry said after finally having found her voice again, though she was still a bit in disbelief.

Tom stared at the cake in Harry's hand, then at the wand that was now hidden in Dumbledore's coat. "Where can I get one of them?" he asked and pointed at Dumbledore rather bluntly.

"All in good time," Dumbledore answered patiently and got up to his feet. Harry put the cake down on the chair again, deciding that it would be better to eat it later. "At Hogwarts," the professor went on. "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely."

Harry scratched the back of her head inadvertently at this.

"All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws." Dumbledore finished.

"Yes, sir," Tom said.

"I… suppose." Harry said reluctantly, as the thought of anyone holding her on a leash wasn't something she enjoyed thinking about.

"Stirring up trouble and getting into fights, with or without the aid of magic, is not tolerated at Hogwarts either, Harriet." Dumbledore said, and she nodded only once.

"I get that," she said and looked up again. "But we're broke as rats. We haven't got any money."

Surprisingly, Dumbledore didn't seem worried about the children's ordeal. "That is easily remedied." He then drew what looked like an odd money-pouch from his coat. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spell books and so on second-hand, but–"

"Where do you buy spell-books?" Tom abruptly interrupted and quickly grasped for the money-pouch, not even thanking Dumbledore as he pulled out and inspected what looked like a golden coin, a rather large one at that. Harry stared at it as well, equally-curious. That was truly some weird-looking money.

"In Diagon-Alley,"

"Diagon-Alley?" Harry raised an eyebrow and looked away from the golden coin. "Where is it?"

"It's a shopping district here in London," answered Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything–"

"You're coming with?" Tom suddenly asked, not sounding too enthusiastic about the prospect of being supervised whilst shopping. True enough, Harry didn't like it either, but maybe it wouldn't be too bad this time. They didn't even know where this Diagon Alley was.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "If you–"

"I don't need you.""Yes, please."

Harry and Tom looked at each other, having spoken at the same time. "We don't need him, Harry," Tom said. "We can find it on our own."

"The old man …. – Professor – seems like he knows a lot about where we're headed. Besides, I would rather not wish to get lost in the middle of nowhere."

"You manage that fine even without an adult with you," Tom contradicted.

Harry scowled, "That was one time, alright?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Water under the bridge."

"You managed to end up there at one point, too." Tom sighed and turned to Dumbledore. "We can do this on our own, sir. We go around London on our own sometimes."

"Stubborn mule," Harry muttered under her breath but relented. "Fine, we'll go on our own. But how do we get to this Diagon Alley…. Sir?"

Dumbledore didn't seem like he was about to establish a dispute. Instead, he handed an envelope of sorts to Harry. As she opened it, she saw that the list contained everything that would be required at this school, including cauldrons and books with odd titles. Dumbledore then proceeded to explain the route to the alley. "There's a pub in Charring Cross Road called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – Easy enough to remember, as he shares your name." He inclined his head to Tom, who seemed displeased with this.

Harry knew very well why he harboured such disdain for it. Mundane things had never been amongst the few things he enjoyed in life, and unfortunately, Tom was a mundane name. However, that made her think about something. "You're able to find witches and wizards, right?" she asked. "You found us here. How?"

"When a witch or wizard is born, their names are noted by the Ministry with the aid of a special quill that is used for such purposes."

"What about our families?" she asked, growing increasingly curious. "Were they wizards and witches, too? Do you know them? Do you know where they are? Can you find them?"

At the mention of this, Dumbledore's eyes turned sad. "I'm afraid I do not know."

"My middle name is L," Harry said hopefully. "Are there any wizarding families whose names begin with that letter?"

"I would imagine that there are quite a few families in the non-wizarding world whose names begin with that letter as well," said Dumbledore gently. "I'm terribly sorry, but I do not know."

"What about Tom Riddle?" Tom asked. "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle, too, they told me. My mother can't have been magical, or she wouldn't have died. It must have been him…." Tom paused before he continued. "So, when we've got all our stuff, when do we come to this Hogwarts?"

"I don't suppose we'll get there with a magical carpet?" Harry joked.

"Those are illegal in Britain," Dumbledore said, completely serious.

"You're joking." Harry's mouth hung ajar.

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope." He gestured to the envelope still in Harry's grip. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There are train tickets in there, too."

Dumbledore reached for their hands, shaking Harry's hand first and then Tom, but before he let go, Tom asked a question that neither of them had even thought about asking before then. "Is talking to snakes considered normal for wizards, too?"

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate. "It is unusual, but not unheard of. Why?"

"We can talk to them," Tom said, pulling his hand back. "Harry and I."

"The both of you?" Dumbledore's eyes flickered between Tom and Harry, as though he was struggling to believe them for a moment.

Harry nodded. "Both of us. They're cool, but slightly odd at times."

A minute or so of silence passed before Dumbledore said anything else. When he finally did speak, he was already touching the door handle. Only then did he turn around, his eyes distant. "Good-bye, Harriet, Tom. We shall see you at Hogwarts."

And like that, the professor was gone.