Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Thanks to all reviewers!
Now, clarifying some points:
I didn't blindly choose to have a McLaggen as the Minister of Magic. Indeed, in canon, Slughorn should have said something to Cormac McLaggen -in the meetings of the Slug Club- about the boy's relative who once was the Minister of Magic, but he didn't. So there must be a reason why Slughorn didn't mention Charlemagne McLaggen and why he didn't fawn over Cormac due to his relation to the man.
Hint: Slughorn ignored Draco Malfoy…. Enough said, lol ^^ We'll see what becomes of Charlemagne McLaggen. But don't be too hard on him, the man means well - what he does is for the sake of British wizarding kind, in his opinion.
Also, for certain matters I'm following the timeline of Harry Potter Lexicon. Thus, Tom Riddle was born on December 31, 1926 and he'll be attending Hogwarts in 1938 (current present year in this chapter). But whether Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald in 1945 or not, remains to be seen, because Harry's presence will surely change many things.
IMPORTANT: I couldn't fit in another word in the summary, so for those who are asking, this fic will have M/M, I don't think there will be explicit things though, and NO Mpreg either.
Note: I couldn't fit in all the scenes I wanted in this chapter, it would have been too long. I'm sorry, it will come in the next chappie – and it won't be more than a week or two before I write and post it.
Part I: Chapter 7
Alice Jones had finished all her chores for the day. The children were in their respective bedrooms, packing the things they would take along with them the following morning for their excursion to the seaside. And Kathy was in her office, no doubt going through the orphanage's accounts and having a glass of gin to relieve her tiredness.
Meanwhile, Alice was standing at one corner of the empty playroom, right in front of a rackety table holding the wireless – or 'radio', as some people called it– which was Mr. Robert Hutchins' latest donation to the orphanage.
Her ears were focused on the voice of the BBC's newscaster and her eyes darted now and then towards the window, in the hopes of seeing Robert striding towards the orphanage, to pay her and the boys a visit that evening.
Much had happened in the last years, and many things had changed in the orphanage and in her life.
Life at the orphanage, in particular, had changed drastically ever since Kathy had become the Matron. And though Alice was very glad for it -because her friend was an excellent administrator and no longer did the children go around wearing rags or without having milk or meat for whole months- she couldn't say that Mrs. Sharpe's parting had been a happy occasion.
It had all changed nearly three years ago. At first, taking a turn for the worse after the incident of the blow up of the window in Mrs. Sharpe's office. Mr. Jenkins' wounds, caused by the volley of glass shards, had been grave. They had been forced to call for a doctor, who hadn't managed to salvage Mr. Jenkins' right eye nor prevent the man's face disfigurement.
If Mr. Jenkins had been a foul man before, after that, he became unbearable. For two weeks he had lashed out at the children, his temper becoming increasingly violent and markedly focused on Harry and Tom in particular, more than ever.
The man had used any excuse to dole out punishment to the Riddle brothers – for raising their voices too high, for being too loud when playing, for running along the corridors, or for walking too slow or being too silent. Even the feeblest of reasons became an excuse so that the man could can them.
And Harry, who back then hadn't yet suffered such punishment, came to know what it was to be brutally canned on the buttocks and what it was to spend a whole day and night in the small, dark, Punishment Room.
The other children had been terrified; barely speaking, keeping their eyes cast down, their faces pale, barely moving so that they wouldn't make a noise that could catch Mr. Jenkins' attention.
Those two weeks had been sheer torture for Alice as well, since she hadn't been able to do much about it. Both her and Kathy had appealed to Mrs. Sharpe several times, asking her to restrain him in some way, even imploring her to fire Mr. Jenkins before something truly grave happened. The nasty old woman had refused, siding with her old friend.
And then, one day, when Alice had been in the kitchen preparing the children's meals, she had heard an ear-splitting scream of pure fear.
Alice had run as she had never run before, and she had been the first to reach the entrance of the orphanage, to see Mrs. Sharpe taking her last tumble down the stairs, her body crashing on the landing, right in front of the entrance door.
Alice had shrieked then -just when Mrs. Sharpe's scream abruptly ended- when she could see nothing but the old woman's neck twisted in an impossible angle, her knees unnaturally bent, one of her elbows grossly sticking out.
And then, still shrieking, because she had seemed unable to stop the sounds coming out of her mouth, she had glanced up at the staircase's landing on the first floor. And there she had seen him: Tom Riddle, standing like a statue, fixedly staring down at Mrs. Sharpe's body.
In the next instant, when Kathy and the children had arrived at the site, Tom had vanished. But even when Kathy shook her shoulders and frantically started asking her question, Alice's eyes had remained riveted on the empty space Tom had left behind – still in shock.
That day had been pure chaos; the children screaming and crying, Kathy having to take them away so that they wouldn't keep staring at Mrs. Sharpe's body... Alice, after Kathy slapped her out of her daze, had run to the nearest police station. And soon after, two policemen and an ambulance had arrived.
Mrs. Sharpe's body had been taken away, the police officers had asked her questions, and she had recounted the little she had seen but had been unable to mention Tom. But something had been gripping her heart with fear, and that night, for the first time, she had purposely invaded the privacy of the Riddle brothers.
She had had to know. Over the years she had allowed many things to happen, she had protected the boys in many ways, but murder –no matter how much she loved Tom- was something she couldn't turn a blind eye to. As much as it would deeply pain and wound her, she had been prepared to turn him to the police if she discovered that Tom was the cause for Mrs. Sharpe's death.
After the ambulance took away Mrs. Sharpe's body and the children were ordered to go to their rooms and remain there, Alice had followed Tom and Harry at a prudent distance, so that she wouldn't be detected. She had seen in Harry's expression -as the boy took Tom by the arm and pulled him along with a firm grip- that Harry would be questioning his brother as soon as they were alone.
When they had closed the door of their bedroom behind them, Alice had come forth and had pressed her ear against the door.
At first, there had seemed to be a tense silence in the bedroom. Then, a shuffling sound, as if one of the boys had taken a seat on a bed. And at last, she had heard Harry's voice, low and quiet.
Inside the room, a seven-year-old Harry had been standing before his brother, who was placidly lounging on his bed, eyeing him both expectantly and challengingly, Tom's lips upturned into a faint smirk.
"Did you do it?" piped little Harry, biting his lower lip as he pierced his bright green eyes into Tom's dark blue ones.
"Do what?" drawled Tom, a hint of mockery in his tone as he arched an eyebrow.
"You know what," snapped Harry impatiently, huffing as he uneasily carded his fingers through his unruly hair. He glowered at him as he whispered harshly under his breath, "Kill her. Did you do it?"
Tom's arched eyebrow rose even higher, though his smirk seemed to spread on his face, bellying the impassive tone of his voice as he said, "Why would you think I had anything to do with that? You heard the policemen. It was an accident."
Harry narrowed his eyes at him, clearly seeing that he was being taunted. "You left the playroom, you told me you were going to our room to fetch a book, remember? You didn't come back, and some minutes after that-" he shuddered slightly, his eyes losing their focus "-we all heard that… that scream. And then we rushed out and saw Mrs. Sharpe…"
The small boy trailed off, unable to recount the sight of her… her head and limbs bent so awkwardly. Harry shuddered again and swallowed thickly, before he pinned his brother with his gaze, adamantly.
Tom scoffed loudly, waving a hand dismissively. "I cannot believe you can accuse me of…" He shook his head, and then said curtly, "I did see what happened, but I had nothing to do with it. I was coming out of our room when I saw Mrs. Sharpe in the corridor." He shot Harry a sneer, as he continued, "She was hiding her bottles of gin. You know where, in that broom cupboard she uses. And she was drunk. I saw her taking the first steps down the stairs, and then she lost her balance and tumbled down. That's all."
A deep exhalation of breath was let out by Harry, his expression clearly relieved as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. In the next second, he plopped down on the opposite bed, relaxing and grinning at Tom.
"I suppose, if I had run very fast," said Tom, his expression mussing in a clinical, analytical way, displaying no remorse, "I could have perhaps grabbed her before she fell…"
Little Harry nibbled on his bottom lip but said nothing at that. He simply shot his brother a glance, and shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."
Tom widely smirked at him, and simply said, "True."
Behind the closed door, Alice –as Harry had done before her, seconds ago- had exhaled with relief. Thanking God that, indeed, Tom was blameless. It had pained and disappointed her that the boy hadn't tried his best to save Mrs. Sharpe from her fall to death, but it was hardly a crime.
Thus, with her conscience clear, Alice had stopped eavesdropping on them and retired to her own room.
However, inside the Riddle brothers' bedroom, matters hadn't ended there.
As he heard the sound of footfalls becoming fainter, Tom's eyes flickered away from their closed door and he smirked as he stood up to his feet.
Quickly, he moved forwards until he was towering over Harry; looming over, forcing a startled and wide-eyed Harry to lie back on his bed, supporting himself with his elbows.
"Wh-what is it?" stuttered Harry, perplexed by his brother's weird actions and the strange, kind of sinister glint in Tom's dark blue eyes.
"What if I said now that I haven't told you the full truth?" said Tom, his smirk widening when a baffled expression crossed Harry's face. He leaned down even further, his nose nearly touching Harry's, as he whispered quietly, "I wasn't just leaving our room. I was much further along the corridor. Mrs. Sharpe had her back turned to me. She didn't see me. When she tripped, I was just one step away from her. I only had to stretch out my hand, and I could have grabbed her. But I didn't."
He paused, for a brief moment, before his eyes gleamed, almost feverishly. Licking his lips, he breathed out heavily, "And I enjoyed watching how she fell and hearing her screams. And when she crashed, I stared at her and I knew she had died, and it made me feel happy."
Harry stared at him, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, his heart pumping hard and fast in his chest, his breath hitching.
Tom shot him a glance, before he abruptly pulled away and stood up to his full height. "What do you say now?"
Harry gaped some more, and then blinked - not quite sure of what he was being asked. At last, he quickly sat up on his bed and then frowned, glancing up at his brother yet remaining silent.
A hard expression spread on Tom's handsome face as he crossed his arms over his small chest, his eyes narrowing and pinning Harry, as he demanded, "Well? Are you going to do anything about it?"
Harry's frown deepened as he gazed down at his lap, his fingers fretfully playing with the hem of his shirt.
Now he did understand what his brother wanted. It wouldn't be the first time that Tom tested him in that way. Always, when Tom had done something Harry felt was wrong, his brother wanted to see his reaction. Tom wanted to see if Harry would turn on him or accept him for what he had done.
Harry had never understood it – the need Tom had to be reassured by him. As if Tom thought that their relationship as brothers was a feeble and easily breakable one – as if Tom feared that it could be so, and also feared that due to it, that Harry could turn away from him if Tom went too far. But Harry never would, and he couldn't understand how Tom didn't know that already, since he implicitly expected the same loyalty from Tom, and knew he had it as well.
"I won't tell on you," said Harry finally, his tone of voice firm, despite the wariness he felt with Tom's confession – that his brother had enjoyed watching as Mrs. Sharpe broke her bones as she went down and hearing her screams of terror…
Harry shook his head at himself. It didn't matter. It filled him with apprehension and he couldn't understand how on earth Tom could enjoy such things, but Tom was his brother.
He had always accepted Tom as he was, with all his weird quirks and all – and his brother had many of those. And Tom accepted him, even if Tom complained much about his loudness, and chatterings, and whinings.
Tom's eyes narrowed to slits, his posture unchanged, as he bore his eyes into Harry's even more intensely than before. His lips contorted as he sneered acidly, "She died because I did nothing. I might as well have shoved her, no? It's almost the same, isn't it?"
"Maybe," mumbled Harry, glancing away from him, a hint of uneasiness resurging with Tom's pressing.
"So?" bit out Tom impatiently, clearing expecting Harry to say something more - perhaps to rail at him, or chastise him, or say how awful and monstrous he was.
Little Harry fiercely scowled at him and snapped, miffed, "So nothing! She's dead and I'm going to sleep!"
And with a huff, he yanked his bed sheets to a side and jumped under them -in his day clothes and with shoes and all- instantly rolling over to turn his back towards Tom.
As he firmly slammed his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep as quickly as possible, he heard Tom snorting contemptuously. Yet his brother seemed satisfied, since he no longer pressed the issue.
Some minutes of blessed silence led Harry to believe that he would, at last, be left alone. However, he heard his brother speak again, but it was in a quiet, subdued whisper.
"We won't have to worry about Jenkins anymore. That's why I did it."
Harry wouldn't understand what his brother had meant by that until two more days had passed. And Alice herself would remain ignorant of the fact that events after Mrs. Sharpe's death unraveled precisely how Tom had expected and planned.
Indeed, two days after, a man from the government visited the orphanage and then asked questions around the neighborhood. In the end, the man offered to Kathy the post of Matron, which she had accepted with great aplomb, much to Alice's joy.
"How little everyone knows him!" had bitterly grumbled Kathy to Alice about her horrid husband, after the man from the government had disclosed that it was the favorable remarks about her well-respected husband from the people of the neighborhood -as well as Kathy's long years of service in the orphanage- which had led him to choose her as the new Matron.
Mrs. Cole's first measure as Matron of St. Jerome's Orphanage had been to lay off Mr. Jenkins, which was met with everyone's rejoice. One small boy in particular had gazed at his brother with sudden understanding, and with wide, green eyes filled with loving admiration and gratefulness.
With Mr. Jenkins' wage, Kathy had afforded to hire two new caregivers – young neighborhood girls who had instantly fit in, their sweet temper much like Alice's.
And thus, all their lives had taken a turn for the better, even if Alice had heard that Mr. Jenkins was still living in their neighborhood, now working at the docks.
What had caused some problems was that the resentful, odious man had taken to heavy drinking, spending his evenings at the pub, where he told to everyone who would listen that his disfigurement was the Riddle boys' fault.
Indeed, those who had forgotten about Father Patrick's ramblings, now had reason to remember it once again, and this time, including Harry.
To Alice's pained frustration, she had seen how once more Tom was eyed with wariness and dislike, and how even some cast such glances at Harry as well. And she had seen that, even though Tom was utterly unaffected by it, or appeared to be so, it did cause a shadow of hurt to emerge in Harry's normally cheerful green eyes.
On the other hand, a positive influence had entered the boys' lives. Indeed, Mr. Robert Hutchins' association with not only Alice but, through her, with the orphanage as a whole and the Riddle boys in particular, had deepened.
It had started the day in which Kathy's suspicions -regarding all the times in which Alice took Harry along with her to shop for groceries- had reached a peak. That day, Kathy had followed them, and her lips had pursed when she had seen them entering Mr. Hutchins' shop.
Not really surprised, since she had already heard ill-natured rumors about it, Mrs. Cole had swept inside the store. Her eyes had narrowed, seeing Alice cozily chatting with Mr. Hutchins while little Harry was playing with some toys on a shelf.
Kathy had stomped her way to the pair, catching them unawares and then startling them, when she had boomed, "Vile tongues are already wagging, and I will not have it - Alice has a good reputation to maintain! If you wish to continue seeing her, you will do it properly."
"Kathy!" had squawked Alice, utterly mortified.
Alice had known that her friend watched over her like an older, protective sister would, even if there was only two years of difference between their ages. And she also knew that Kathy feared that she would make the same mistake Kathy had, when choosing a husband.
Nevertheless, Alice's face had reddened and she had shot Mr. Hutchins an apologetic glance as she attempted to grab Kathy to pull her away.
But neither of them had paid any attention to her. Mr. Hutchins had looked amused for a brief moment, though he had been wise enough to wipe such expression from his face the moment Kathy scowled at him.
"Properly chaperoned," had continued Kathy in the same stern tone of voice, as she pointedly shot a glance at little Harry, who was by then gawking at the squabbling grown-ups. "Not by a child, but by me."
Instantly, Mr. Hutchins had held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a small smile tugging his lips as he had said candidly, "I'm willing to abide by your rules, and I'm open to suggestions."
Kathy had seemed startled for a moment, clearly not having expected such easy victory. She had eyed him closely, as if reshaping her previous opinions about the man.
Finally, her shoulders had relaxed as she had said curtly, "Very well. I give you leave to visit Alice at the orphanage during the evenings – after you close your shop, if you will."
Robert Hutchins, or Bob as Harry called him, had immediately agreed, more than gladly, sharing a joyful smile with Alice.
And so it came to happen that the man became a fixture at the orphanage. Not only playing with the children, and sometimes helping Alice with her last chores of the day, as well as repairing whatever needed to be fixed, but also giving little gifts for the enjoyment of the full house– the latest of which would be a brand new radio.
He had even found a solution for a problem Alice had one day found herself with. Indeed, she had been noticing that her fairy tales no longer satisfied the children. The girls still seemed to enjoy them, but the boys had lost interest, even Harry.
She had been a bit flummoxed, and it had been Robert who had chuckled as he said, "They're growing up, Alice. They need something with more adventure and fights in it. I think I have just the thing."
His clear blue eyes had sparkled, and the following day he had arrived at the orphanage with two books in hand: The Iliad and The Odyssey. Alice had gaped. She had heard about them, and indeed, once she had even attempted to read one of them, but had found the archaic poetry impossible to understand.
She had at first thought that perhaps the man had taken leave of his senses. Yet, he hadn't read from the books but used them as reference, as he started telling the stories in his own words, easily understood by any child.
So it was that, in the evenings, while Alice did her story-telling with the girls, Robert took charge of entertaining the boys. Harry soon came to worship Mr. Hutchins, and the boy couldn't stop babbling and asking to be told more about Ulysses and his adventures with cyclops, sirens, the six-headed monster Scylla and the witch-goddess Circe, or about the interfering Greek gods and their quarrels, or about Achilles and his good friend Patroclus, King Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus, Paris and his beloved Helen...
Not much later after that tradition had begun, Robert had come up with another brilliant idea.
In those months he had been expanding his business. His shop had been doing extremely well and he had been able to afford to buy two used Ford Model A station wagons, with which his store could deliver its wares and foodstuff directly to homes and other shops.
One late evening, when Alice, Kathy and Robert had been sharing some cups of gin in Kathy's office, he had musingly proposed, "I have an old friend who lives two hours away - we worked together in a factory up North. Now he lives and works in a charming town by the seaside, and he absolutely adores children. We could all go together to visit him one of these weekends, and the children could play in the beach. I can drive one wagon, and I can ask one of my lads to drive the other, and between the two wagons, we should all fit together… Some other month, we can go to the countryside. Fresh air will do the children good."
Both Alice and Kathy had readily agreed. Indeed, even Kathy had come to grudgingly warm up to the man.
From then onwards, at least twice a year the children of the orphanage were taken to Southend-on-Sea, where they were always warmly welcomed by Mr. Hutchins' friend, Old John Bryce.
On sunny days, the old man's son, twenty-one year old Frank Bryce, would take them to the shore. In those occasions, Robert had taken it upon himself to teach the boys how to swim, and even Tom Riddle had participated –with the cheerless determination he applied to master any skill which he deemed could be useful, even if it wasn't a source of joy and pleasure as it was for the other boys.
By sunset, before making the trip back to London, they usually partook of tea and biscuits in Old John's small cottage, all cramped together, with the boys surrounding the old man, sitting crossed-legged as they eagerly prompted him to tell them stories about his days as a soldier, fighting in the Great War.
Alice had been vastly tempted to put a stop to it when the old man gave unadorned details about life in the trenches on the Western Front, about lice, rats and diseases, hunger and despair, about the death of comrades and all other sorts of information which, in her opinion, should not be heard by any child's ears.
Robert had halted her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he whispered, "Let the boys hear about it. Let them see war in its crude and cruel reality. It does no good to molly-coddle them, Alice."
However, by the expressions on the boys' faces, it hadn't seemed to her as if they were taking it seriously. Indeed, they had looked as if they were being told of great, fantastic adventures.
"How many Germans did you kill?" had piped in Harry breathlessly, his eyes bright with hero-worship and fascination as he gazed up at the man.
Alice had pursed her lips, not at all liking the turn in the conversation. The last thing the children needed to hear was about gore and murder, about the disemboweling of soldiers who got themselves trapped in barbed wire, about death by asphyxiation from poisonous gases, about dismemberment caused by land-mines and machine guns.
"Wait," had said Robert to her, stopping her from interfering once again. "Old John is a judicious man, you'll see."
At Harry's question, the old man had then spit out his chewed tobacco, his crinkled, aged eyes sweeping through his audience as he boomed sternly, "There's no honor or fun in war, boys! There's nothing noble about killing a fellow human being. War is nothing but senseless death – there are no victors! War means that fellows like me, and like you, when you grow up, are sent to their deaths, for the greed and power-hunger of politicians!"
The boys had looked properly chastised then, most of them lowering their heads and cringing, though after a brief pause, little Harry had persisted in his chiming voice, "But how many did you kill?"
At that, Alice had shot Robert a scowl, to which he had replied with a shrug of his shoulders as he chuckled wryly, "Oh well, boys will be boys. I was the same at that age. When they're older, they'll understand."
Gratefully, for Alice, Tom had then decided to ask questions. He had been the only boy who hadn't seemed that much awed or interested in knowing about fighting and battles. Instead, he had wanted to know about the causes for the war, about the political maneuverings behind the scenes. It had been Robert who had answered. Even if the man had been a young boy in those days, it was clear that he had later studied the matter. And Alice had seen then, in Tom's expression, how grudging respect had been born.
As often happened when someone garnered the affection and attention of Harry, Tom had always scowled every time Robert spent time with his brother. But from that day onwards, when both Tom and Robert had discovered that they shared similar intellectual interests, Tom had seemed to come to tolerate the man's presence in both his and his brother's lives.
Indeed, after that day, Robert had started bringing books and newspapers to the orphanage, for Tom, and he had begun spending alone-time with the boy, discussing God knew what. They seemed to have formed a frail, tentative bond of some kind, just as Robert had formed a deep one with Harry.
Nevertheless, although Alice had brimmed with joy as she saw that Robert started to love the Riddle brothers as much as she did, there had been two instances in which she and Robert had had vastly differing opinions of how boys should be raised.
The first had been when Robert had learned about Harry's fascination with motorcars, which had only increased with the years. And when the man had decided to use some weekends to teach Harry how to drive, Alice had argued against it – worried about the boy's safety and considering that he was too young for that.
In the end, she had relented, but she hadn't liked it nonetheless.
They would use one of Robert's station wagons, with Harry siting on the man's lap as their drove around the neighborhood, the boy shrieking with joy and waving at passers-by, with his short legs dangling on top of Robert's without reaching the pedals, but nevertheless guiding the car with one small hand on the wheel and the other on the stick.
The second occasion had been when, one late evening after story-telling time and when the children had been ordered to go to their rooms for their night of sleep, Harry had approached them.
"Can you teach me how to fight?" he had asked Robert, peering up at him with eager anticipation and with wide, innocent green eyes that had the ability to cajole anyone into doing anything.
However, Alice had seen the quick side-glance that Harry had shot at Dennis Bishop as the older boy left the playroom, and her lips had pursed into a flat line.
For some time, it had seemed to her that Dennis had stopped bullying Harry. Indeed, for some reason, the older boy seemed wary to attempt to do so; he even seemed to fear to be around Harry or Tom. But that peaceful period of time had only lasted for a few years.
Lately, she had caught Dennis tripping Harry, or painfully yanking his hair or insulting him. She always chastised the older boy, most sharply and sternly. And even though it was clear to her that her words didn't have much effect on Dennis, Harry's request could only lead to further trouble.
"Absolutely not," she had snapped, before giving Robert a chance to speak first.
"I will," had interjected Robert, beaming at little Harry and utterly ignoring her angered expression. He had mussed Harry's wild mop of hair, conspiratorially grinning at him. "I can teach you how to box - how to fist-fight. Will that do?"
"Yeah!" had burst out Harry, with an utterly excited expression on his face and a satisfied, mischievous glint in his green eyes that could bode nothing good.
And with that, the small boy had cheerfully gone back to his brother's side so that they could leave the playroom together.
Alice had instantly rounded on Robert, but the man had raised a hand, halting whatever she had to say in order to be allowed to speak first.
"I was also the runt of the litter at his age. I had to learn how to defend myself from bullies. You cannot protect him from it - it would do him more harm than good in the long-run. Let them fight it out and settle their issues between themselves."
Alice had not agreed with him on that matter, but as often happened, Robert –just as Harry– had the uncanny ability to persuade her of just about anything.
Months later, during which Robert had taught Harry his lessons of how to fight like a 'man', Alice had seen the consequences of it.
One evening, when Kathy had been locked up in her office working on the orphanage's accounts, and when Alice and the two young caregivers had been preparing dinner for the children, they had heard loud shouts coming from the playroom.
Robert had been with them, helping them out, and he had jumped to his feet, a vague smile on his face as he said, "Stay put. I'll see to it. I'll make sure that neither of them seriously injures the other."
The man obviously had an inkling of what was going on and had clearly been expecting it. Alice had frowned with dissatisfaction but allowed Robert to take care of it, since she herself had had her hands full with taking care that the chicken casserole they were preparing wouldn't burn in the oven.
Twenty minutes later, when Alice had been about to wipe her hands clean on her apron so that she could go to the playroom and firmly put at end to it –since the encouraging shouts and the yells of the children had only gotten louder- silence had abruptly reigned in the house, and then the sounds of faint, congratulatory cheering.
A few moments after, Robert had stridden back into the kitchen, with one hand on Harry's shoulder, a look of pride on the man's face.
Alice, for her part, had gaped in horror as she caught sight of the small boy – Harry's lovely face covered in bruises, his mop of hair drenched in sweat, his pouty lips split in the middle, bleeding, one of his beautiful eyes swollen to such degree that it was clamped shut with black and yellow around it.
"I won, Alice!" had proudly declared Harry as he ran towards her, visibly limping in one leg. He had then peered up at Robert. "Didn't I, Bob? Dennis looks much worse than I do, right?"
"He sure does," had said Mr. Hutchins, warmly smiling down at the boy as he patted him on the back. "You're a young man now. You fought very bravely."
Harry had positively beamed, and had then turned around to face Alice once more. He had widely smiled at her, a wide gap in his row of teeth. Then he had brought up an open hand, with a small white tooth lying in the middle of his palm, as he asked her, "Um - can you glue it back?"
Alice had nearly fainted.
Robert, in the meanwhile, had chuckled and then tenderly gripped the boy's chin to inspect his mouth, as he said at last, "It's a milk tooth. Don't worry, Harry, the real one will grow at some point."
Little Harry had nodded, seemingly not too concerned if the tooth grew back or not, but he carefully pocketed the one he had lost, as if it were a treasured trophy representing his victory and his passage into adulthood.
Alice had then finally gathered back her wits and had barked out orders for the two caregivers to take Harry to his room and tend to his injuries, and to do the same with Dennis Bishop. When they were gone, she had instantly given Robert a piece of her mind.
Nevertheless, despite that they didn't see eye-to-eye about such matters, Alice had known that he was the man for her.
It had been one day, when Alice's eyes had strayed to watch how Robert play-acted the battle between Prince Hector of Troy and Achilles –making Harry play the part of Achilles, causing the small boy to beam and then shriek with joy as they mock-fought with sticks for swords- that she had known that she had fallen utterly and irredeemably in love with the man.
And somehow, they had started speaking of themselves as a couple. And at some point, they had openly started to discuss the possibility of their marriage and their wishes for the future.
"I can give you a good life," had said Robert to her, tenderly cradling her hands within his large ones, one day in which they had found themselves sitting alone in the kitchen. "And I can provide a good home for those two boys as well."
Alice had gasped, misty-eyed as she stared at him and saw the loving expression on his handsome face. It had become clear to her, then, that he had seen the longing and yearning in her eyes when she had been watching him interact with Tom and Harry – that he already knew what she dreamed about.
"Both of them are extraordinary in their own ways," had continued Robert, then shooting her a warm, knowing smile. "And I love them already as a father would his sons. We can both give them a good home-life. After we marry, we can adopt them, and then we can have other children of our own."
After that, Alice had been in a state of perpetual joy, walking on clouds, humming songs and with such high spirits that nothing seemed able to dampen her mood.
However, it all started to crash down when Austria had been annexed to Germany.
"It's a breach of the Treaties of Versailles and St. Germain!" had boomed Robert irately, in such a fierce state as Alice had never seen him before. "And no one is doing anything about it– they're letting the Nazis do whatever they want! Even Churchill does nothing – I expected more from him!"
He had jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, angrily, as he spat out, "Last year Churchill said that if he had to choose between Communism and Nazism, he would choose Communism, but he sure isn't acting like it! The League of Nations opposed Japan's invasion of Manchuria, yet Churchill viewed it favorably because, according to him, the Japanese have the menace of Soviet Russia on one side and the 'chaos' of spreading Communism in China, on the other. Now the Japanese have signed a pact with Germany and they have taken over Shanghai and Nanking, killing hundreds of thousand Chinese civilians. And Churchill turns a blind eye, and he's even been praising Mussolini, of all people, until recently. And he's saying that the Spanish Republican government is a Communist front and he's praising Franco for starting a civil war there. And now he's doing nothing about Austria!"
Alice had gaped at him, not understanding what Robert was so indignant and angered about, and she had stuttered, "But the Austrians voted in favor-"
"Don't be naïve, lass!" had snapped Robert with frustration. "Their votes have no validity – they were already invaded by Nazi troops!"
Alice had decided not to argue about it. Indeed, she no longer shared his opinion about some of his views. For starters, in the last couple of years, she had seen no mention in the newspapers about Jews, homosexuals and other kinds of minorities being persecuted in Germany and being carted off who-knew-where. Not a word was said.
Thus, she had come to believe that Robert and his fellow Communist friends had to be wrong regarding their suspicions. Surely if something like that had been going on in Germany, everyone would know about it by now! After all, the newspapers did write a lot about Stalin and the prison camps of forced labour he had, condemning the man for it and for a whole load of other things.
Robert's beliefs now sounded like ridiculous conspiracy theories to her and she wished she could persuade him to stop attending secret Communist meetings – those people were only filling his head with nonsensical ideas.
Not much later after that, news had come about Germany occupying some region of Czechoslovakia she had never before in her life heard about. That day, when Robert had visited the orphanage, he had asked to talk to her in private. There had been a very grave, strange expression on his face; somehow, he had looked satisfied but also sorrowful.
"I'd marry you right now if I could," he had said to her when they had been alone. "But what kind of selfish man would I be if I married you just to abandon you in the next second to go to war, when I could give you no reassurances that I'd come back a whole man or even alive. I won't have you chained to a cripple you'd have to care after for the rest of your life, and I wouldn't want you to know the grief and sorrow that comes with widowhood. I can't marry you until the war in Europe doesn't end-"
"But there's no war!" had cried out Alice, utterly perplexed, hurt and fearful.
Robert had shaken his head, saying softly, "Don't be silly, girl. Now everyone can see that the Germans are not satisfied with only having Austria. Now that they have occupied the Sudetenland, Britain and France will have to take action. They will surely declare war on Germany."
Alice had pleaded and sobbed and done her best to change his mind, with no success. Yet, she didn't care if he had to go to war; she would wait and marry him no matter in what condition he came back.
Moreover, secretly, she hoped he wouldn't have to go to war at all. She hoped that if it came to that, that the British Army wouldn't take him because of the two fingers he had missing in one of his hands - how could he properly hold a gun or whatever other weapon when he had such disability? But she couldn't be certain that it would work as she hoped.
Thus, at present, she was listening to the radio with fierce intensity, as she had done for the last couple of weeks, glued to the contraption every single minute of spare time she had. She was waiting to hear the news that would define her life.
Their Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, had sent Lord Runciman to Czechoslovakia in order to see if he could obtain a settlement between the Czechoslovak government and the Germans in the Sudetenland. The Lord had returned without accomplishing anything.
And now every newspaper and radio station was speculating that soon, the Prime Minister himself would have to travel to personally negotiate with Hitler.
For Alice, she believed it could mean two things: that Chamberlain wouldn't reach an agreement and thus Britain would declare war and she would lose Robert and have to wait to marry him until he came back; or that the Prime Minister would convince Hitler to withdraw from the Sudetenland, and thus there would be peace in Europe and she could marry, adopt the Riddle boys, and lead a happy life.
"…the Duke of Windsor and his Duchess, the once Wallis Simpson, twice divorcee American who aspired to become our Queen and for whom the Duke abdicated as King Edward VIII, have been seen fraternizing with Nazi…"
Alice bit her lips with sheer exasperation and turned off the wireless – evidently, no news regarding Chamberlain's expected trip would be coming forth that day.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eyes, something of a flashy yellow color caught her attention. A man? She blinked as she peered out the window. It had started to rain heavily, and she couldn't see well, but it had to have been her imagination. There was no one outside.
Abruptly, the doorbell rang loudly and Alice nearly jumped out of her skin. Befuddled, wondering who on earth could be at the orphanage's doorstep at such an impolite, late hour in the evening, she made her way to the entrance and briskly pulled the door open.
Then, her jaw dropped and she simply gawked.
Before her was some kind of one-man macabre spectacle – wavy hair and beard of a coppery red both reaching the man's waist, a suit of blinding canary yellow, pinstriped with …violet lines? And the material was velvet, of all things. Her eyes swiveled along the man's frame as she attempted to take him in. He was not carrying an umbrella, yet, that velvet looked dry…
The man cleared his throat and Alice's eyes snapped up to meet his bespectacled gaze, her mouth still hanging open.
"Good evening," said the man pleasantly, his eyes looking kind and with a faint expression of amusement crossing his features, perhaps due to her reaction to him. "I would like to have a word with the Matron – Mrs. Cole, I believe. Is she here?"
Alice was still bewildered and dazed -all that bright yellow…- but not to such degree that the man's eccentric appearance didn't raise some alarm bells in her mind.
Who was to say that the man wasn't some kind of lunatic, perhaps a violent one. And they didn't have a man in the house to protect them, as Mr. Jenkins could have once done - not that she regretted one bit that the odious man was gone. And if Robert wouldn't be visiting her that evening…
Biting her lower lip with apprehension, her hands clenched the wooden door, as she inch-by-inch attempted to close it before the man could realize it.
Abruptly, Alice suddenly felt very calm and warm. And she shook her head, frowning at herself. What had she been thinking? Obviously the man represented no threat.
She peered at him, seeing nothing but benevolent eyes gazing back at her, patiently and kindly.
"Yes, of course," said Alice when she found her voice, opening the door wide open as she gestured at him. "Please do come inside."
As the man entered the hallway, she turned her face to a side to call over her shoulder, "Kath- er, Mrs. Cole, you have a visitor!"
She closed the door and turned around to stare at him, prompting, "Your name, sir?"
"Mr. Dumbledore."
"A Mr. Dumby-"
"Dumbledore."
"Right," said Alice, blinking once at the weird name, before she yelled once more, "Um - a Mr. Dumberdoor!"
"Show him in!" came Kathy's muffled voice from a distance, sounding as perplexed and curious as Alice herself felt now regarding their unexpected visitor.
"If you'd follow me…." mumbled Alice, trailing off as she started down the corridor.
When they reached the door of Kathy's office, she knocked once and then opened it without waiting for a reply.
The man with the strange name, and an even more bizarre appearance, thanked Alice before he crossed the threshold.
Alice was bursting with curiosity, and she shared a glance with Kathy, but she nonetheless closed the door after the man entered the office and granted them privacy.
Kathy, seated behind her cluttered desk, stared at the man before her, astonished and blinking repeatedly.
"Good evening," said the man, whose name Kathy couldn't remember, as he took a seat on the rackety chair before her desk and then held out his hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."
"Er…" Kathy shook her head, as if clearing it of cobwebs and then shook the man's hand briefly, before she frowned and started searching for something on her desk, as she muttered, "Did we have an appointment? I don't recall…"
"I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."
Kathy blinked at him. "Did I?" But then she sighed and stopped perusing her cluttered, swamped desk. "I apologize, I don't know where I have my head nowadays, I've been very busy-"
"No need to apologize, I understand," said the man cordially, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle's and... Harry's arrangements for their future."
At that, Kathy snapped her head up to pierce him with her eyes. She frowned deeply. If she had received a letter about them, she would certainly remember.
"I'm a teacher," continued the man –Mr. Bumble-Dumbyby, or whatever the man's name was– as he placidly eyed her, "at a private boarding school in Scotland. I've come to offer them a place there. Their names have been down for our school since birth-"
"Who registered them?" interrupted Kathy, still frowning as she stared at him, puzzled. "Their parents?"
"Yes," replied the man, nodding. "Both their parents did."
"Both?" echoed Kathy feebly, as she felt a wave of apprenhension gripping her. Oh, she had known that someday it would come back to bite them in their arses. How would she explain now what Alice and her had done? How to explain that Harry believed himself to be Tom Riddle's fraternal twin?
"Yes, of course." The man was now frowning at her, as well.
Kathy cleared her throat, squirmed uncomfortably on her seat, and then said, "You know then, who their parents were?"
Mr. Bumbles looked troubled now, and he gazed at her over the top of his half-moon glasses. "Don't you?"
Kathy eyed him uneasily, but then her eyes narrowed. The man hadn't answered her – he wasn't giving her names. There was something very strange about the whole matter.
Albus stared at her. The haggard-looking woman before him looked jittery and nervous, as well as wary and suspicious. And she seemed to be very concerned about something in particular.
He wasn't the type of wizard who liked to cast spells on muggles - who by nature had no defense against it. And indeed, he always refrained from doing so when possible. But current circumstances seemed to require it.
Albus covertly drew his wand out from his velvet trouser's pocket, and gave it a flick, as he intensely bore his eyes into hers, deciding to find out the reason for her evident worry.
Instantly, his non-verbal Legilimency spell allowed him to see the memory floating at the forefront of the woman's mind – apparently, it was the very root of her apprehension. And without further ado, he plunged his own awareness into it.
The recollection unraveled before his eyes, the sounds and voices echoing in his ears.
There was Mrs. Cole, looking many years younger, and the woman who had opened the door – Alice Jones, it seemed her name was. They were being yelled at by an old woman… then the cry of a baby… the rushing of their feet… the baby on the doorstep…
Oh, he was intrigued now. A blanket depicting flying snitches. The baby's clothes with 'Harry' embroidered and an image of a moving lion cub on it. With those clothes, there was no doubt – the boy called Harry was no muggleborn. He had to be a halfblood, since pureblood parents wouldn't have abandoned him unless he was a squib. And that, he evidently wasn't, or Hogwarts' ledger wouldn't have had him in its list.
And then the nursery, with the other baby…. Ah, he understood now. The decision both women had taken. Alice Jones' reasons for it. Hmmm.
Albus pulled out of Mrs. Cole's mind and frowned musingly, pondering about what to do.
Finally, he quickly decided to let matters lay as they were – he could understand and sympathize with Miss Jones' feelings about the matter. And he would see for himself what had come out of it.
Now eager to see the boys, he picked up a piece of blank paper from the woman's desktop and tapped it with his wand's tip, before he handed it over. "Here. I believe this will make everything clear."
When Mrs. Cole's eyes gazed down at the piece of paper, Albus flicked his wand in her direction, as he said in a deep, clear tone of voice, "The Riddles registered their twin sons at my school before the accident which took their lives."
A small memory adjustment – a necessary lie, Albus deemed, since if not the Matron could decide to tell the boys the truth, believing that Albus would. And he rather not have Mrs. Cole believe that his school knew who Harry's parents had been, either. She certainly was a sharp and inquisitive woman, inconveniently so - with the spell he had cast, she would have no reason to suspect anything or dig into it.
Moreover, if he ever had reason to think that, for the boys' sake, they should be aware that they weren't twins or related, then it was something he could easily undo and fix back.
Yet, the mystery of the identity of Harry's parents, and the decision the caregivers had made regarding how to name him, didn't explain why the boy had no surname in Hogwarts' ledger. Albus felt extremely puzzled.
The woman's eyes glazed over, and then she nodded. "Everything seems perfectly in order." Then her eyes focused back, and she blinked, before she set the blank paper on her desk and offered amiably, "May I offer you a glass of gin?"
Dumbledore hesitated. He was eager to see the boys as soon as possible, since he had little time left before he had to prepare matters for the Order's meeting.
However, seeing the longing glance the woman was shooting at her bottle of gin, he nodded and smiled politely. "Thank you. I would enjoy one."
Mrs. Cole poured both of them a generous measure, and Albus took the opportunity to ask with mild interest, "What can you tell me about the boys?"
"About the Riddle twins?"
Kathy abruptly frowned at herself; there was something not right with what she had just said. But in the next second, she shook off the strange feeling, and drained her glass.
She pondered about what to tell him regarding the brothers. Perhaps how they had been born, yet… Her forehead crinkled. She clearly remembered about the weird-looking woman and how she had given birth to Tom, but after that, she didn't remember about Harry coming out.
Kathy wearily sighed. She had to be more tired than she had thought, and clearly getting old, if she couldn't quite remember that last part. She poured herself another glass of gin and chucked it down in one gulp.
Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks, and she rubbed her forehead pensively.
She could tell him about the many strange things that had happened: about the couple who had wanted to adopt Harry and then had ran out of the orphanage, shrieking with fear; or how Billy Stubb's bunny had died, and she had seen the piece of hair ribbon hanging from the rafters and known that Tom had somehow killed the bunny, and certainly not by 'accidentally stepping on it'; or how she had asphyxiated to the point of fainting and Tom had been standing there, watching, and she knew the boy had been causing it because they had been arguing about something... something she couldn't quite recall; or how Mrs. Sharpe's window had exploded for no apparent reason when Tom was being punished, with Harry in the room; or perhaps how they had found Mrs. Sharpe lying with her neck broken, and Kathy had her own dark suspicions about the matter because Tom hadn't been in the playroom with the rest of them when it had happened; or simply how all the children, except Harry, were scared of Tom and wouldn't go near him.
She could tell him that, and more, but Harry didn't deserve to lose the chance of going to the man's school just because his twin had turned out bad. And Alice would never forgive her if Tom lost the opportunity, anyway.
Her friend had always wanted the best education possible for Tom, in particular. And the man had said his school was a private one, right? It surely had to be much better than the public school in their neighborhood.
Moreover, Mr. Bunderbore had said it was a boarding school, so that meant the boys would only be coming back for their holidays and she could dearly use a respite from having Tom in her orphanage all year round.
So, she finally settled for telling him about the most innocuous of happenings, by comparison.
"Um, well," she began, "some things have happened… nothing serious… some years ago, the children's birthday presents started disappearing, if you know what I mean-"
"One of the boys is a thief?" interjected the man gravely, looking not at all pleased.
"Oh, not Harry, I'm sure!" she blurted out, firmly shaking her head. "And it only happened for a short period of time, then it stopped. And Alice even found her thimble on top of the kitchen's table." Bleary-eyed, she gazed at him and said vehemently, "Harry Riddle is a very good little boy - too energetic, perhaps, but he has a sweet disposition. Tom is… er, a bit odd, but… he's polite."
She felt her cheeks reddening with her lie, more of omission than anything else. And then a sudden hiccup jumped out from her throat. Feeling further uncomfortable under the man's gaze, who was staring at her as if he was about to skewer her with his eyes, she suddenly wanted nothing more but to put an end to the conversation. For some reason, the man now made her feel wary.
Kathy rose to her feet, with surprising steadiness, and prompted quickly, "I suppose you'd like to see them now?"
"Very much," said the man, rising too.
She reached her door and opened it, relieved when she found Alice standing against the opposite wall of the corridor, waiting for them.
"Could you take Mr. Dumberton up to the Riddle twins' room?" Kathy said, wondering why her friend then shot her a quizzical glance, as if she had just said something weird.
"Sure," said Alice, smiling warmly.
Kathy gave her farewells to the man and then locked herself in her office, wanting to finish her work of the day as quickly as possible, since for some reason she felt a sudden headache.
As Albus Dumbledore followed Alice Jones up the stairs, he would use his wand once again that evening, to cast on the woman the same spell he had cast on Mrs. Cole.
