Ch. 9

Harry Charms a Weasley

Mr. McMann is not a morning person. He is not the type of person to be fully conscious, or dressed, at nine in the morning on a Sunday afternoon. To be completely honest, Mr. McMann hated weekend mornings when he had to be up before ten. Which is why, just two days after Harry Riddle visited, he found himself abrupted waking up to the annoying high-pitched buzz of his doorbell, followed by three consistent knocks.

"Bloody hell," the portly man groaned as he shifted out of bed, accidently waking up his wife. "Who the bloody blazes is stupid enough to knock on my door on a Sunday morning?" Dressed in just his pajamas, the man shuffled his way to the front door, growing more annoyed and agitated with each step. "Go away!" he cried out. "I don't make anything today—if the post ain't working, then neither than me, so do yourself a favor and sod—Oh Mr. Riddle!"

The figure of Mr. Riddle, dressed, as always, prim in a sleek suit, stood on his doorway, his handsome face with brown eyes looking agitated. "Hello Mr. McMann," the man said with some unfriendliness. I was wondering your sons are around."

"Usually Harry comes to get Logan—"

"No, not him," Mr. Riddle said dismissively. "Your other sons."

Mr. McMann's face screwed up in confusion. Why the blazes does he want his sons for? He was about to ask the man that when his wife appeared from behind him. "Mr. Riddle! What an unexpected surprise. Come on, come in—is Harry with you? Logan is asleep right now, I'll get the kettle going."

"Harry is still asleep," Mr. Riddle said smoothly as he walked past Mr. McMann. "He was up late last night making sure that he had everything he needed for school, even though term does not start till September."

"I've heard about that, Logan's told me all about it," Mrs. McMann said.

"Has he now?" Mr. Riddle asked.

"Yes, you must be very proud for him to get accepted into your old school," Mrs. McMann said. "Though you must be worried for him. London's a terrible place for such a small boy. And he is living there?"

"It is a good school," Voldemort said. He took a second to search the muggles' minds and was relieved to see that they were still ignorant to magic. "And we will have a constant communication between us. Weekly letters, and the such."

"They do not have telephones there?" Mrs. McMann asked curiously.

"Telephones are only for the staff use," Mr. Riddle lied. "It keeps penmanship alive."

"That's a good thing. Would you believe that my oldest barely knows to sign his name? Terrible really, the things they don't teach in schools anymore," Mrs. McMann tutted. Mr. McMann entered the room, fully given up on trying to go back to sleep. "So you be wanting to talking with Logan, I suppose."

"No actually, your other sons," Mr. Riddle. "Now I understand that Harry is friends with them all, and while I have nothing against their friendship, I do, however, am a little worried about certain words they are teaching him."

"Really?" Mr. McMann grunted. "How you know that he picked them up from our boys?"

"Because Harry told me," Mr. Riddle said. "And please forgive me if I believe my son over yours."

"Boy's lying then," Mr. McMann grunted.

"John!" Mrs. McMann said, giving her husband a dirty look. Looking back at Mr. Riddle, she asked, "What sort of words is Harry saying?"

"To my knowledge, only prick and poof," Voldemort said. "And I hope that that is the end of it."

Mr. McMann gave a short laugh. "Those ain't swear words," he said. "Prick and poof? Really? I hear me mother say worst words when I was five! The boy's fine cursing a little."

Mr. Riddle frowned. "The boy," he said, "is not fine cursing a little. He is only barely eleven. I am grateful that he is not asking me about sex or masturbation or 'wanking' as your boys would call it. I am not, and will never, criticize or judge you on the way you raise your sons, but I am trying to keep my only child away from such language until he can fully understand them. So either you can tell your children to learn to watch their tongues while they're around Harry, or I will."

"He's gonna turn into a pansy if you keep this up, Mr. Riddle. I'm not criticize you either, but the boy needs a little toughening up! The way you going, the boy's going to end up a poof, and it ain't going to be me boys' fault," Mr. McMann said before he could stop himself.

Mr. Riddle turned to stare down at Mr. McMann, for a second, it seemed as though his eyes turned red before returning to their normal brown. "Believe me when I say," Mr. Riddle hissed, his voice low and poisonous, "Harry is a much stronger boy than you think. Riddles do not need physical strength to show how 'strong' we are. I've little respect for you Mr. McMann, but our sons practically love each other. So for that, I will respect you and your raising methods. That said… stand up, and bring your sons to me. All of them."

The muggle looked pale. Gapping like a fish, and several shades lighter, he stumbled to his feet and walked away from Mr. Riddle, their eyes never leaving each other. When he spoke, his voice crackled as if going through puberty again. "B-boys! Get down here!"

Mr. Riddle waited, sitting down at the kitchen table after helping himself to a cup of tea ("Mrs. McMann, please sit down." He said to Mrs. McMann after she tried to get it for him). Mr. Riddle heard the sounds of footsteps pounding away from upstairs. One by one the McMann brothers appeared. Some wearing pajamas, some choosing to wear only a pair of boxers. Thank God I never allowed Harry to sleep here, Mr. Riddle thought to himself. Logan was, thankfully, in full pajamas.

"Morning Mr. Riddle, Harry here?" he yawned.

"No, Harry is sleeping," Mr. Riddle said. "He was packing until late last night. I'm here to talk to all of you. To give you a simple request."

"What is it, Mr. Riddle?" Logan asked politely.

"Your language, keep it clean when around Harry," Mr. Riddle said. "I do not want to hear him talking about poofs and pricks around me—I don't believe I've said anything funny, Johnathan, why are you snickering?" Mr. Riddle looked at the middle McMann child, who went quiet immediately. "I do not care if you decide to speak to each other using as much profanity or colorful language as you can muster. However, until you are told otherwise, when my son is around, those words will not leave your lips. Or else…"

He let his threat hang in the air, waiting for one of the brothers to ask him. He was not disappointed as the eldest, Shawn, asked, "or else what?"

"Or else, I will personally make sure that Harry never sees any of you again," Mr. Riddle said.

"No!" Logan said immediately. "You can't do that, sir!"

"Then keep your tongues while my son is around," Mr. Riddle said simply. "That is all." The six muggle boys nodded as Mr. Riddle leaned back. He looked back at Mr. and Mrs. McMann and said, "Well, if we are all understanding each other, I will take my leave. Goodbye." He stood and left the kitchen. A second later, the sound of a door opened than closed again.

The McMann boys all turned to Mr. McMann, shocked that Mr. Riddle thoroughly talked him in his place. The man looked at the boys, an annoyed expression on his face. "What're you looking at? Go back to bed, the lot of you!"

.

Harry's final month before Hogwarts went by fasts. Too fast, in both Harry's and Logan's opinion. The last two weeks, they've spent all their time together, fantasizing what Harry is going to learn at Hogwarts. Logan thought it would be cool to learn to shoot fireballs and control lightning while Harry, having a little better idea of what magic he can do, was really excited to learn how to transfigure things. He couldn't wait to be able to show off to Logan!

When September 1st came, Harry again woke up early. He dressed in his best muggle clothes, and was practically jumpy as he waited for his Daddy at breakfast. When the man came down, he chuckled at the sight. "I knew you would be up before me," he said, sitting down. With a snap of his fingers, house-elves appeared and set breakfast on the table.

"I just can't wait to go to Hogwarts," Harry smiled.

"Is everything packed?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes Daddy," Harry said. "My trunk is packed and ready."

"Good," Voldemort said.

"I'll write an owl to you as soon as I get into Slytherin," Harry smiled. He looked at his Daddy and frowned. "Dad? Are you going to be okay?"

"With what?"

"Being alone," Harry frowned.

Voldemort shrugged. "Do not worry yourself, Harry, I will be fine."

"But Dad—"

"No, stop," Voldemort said shortly. "Do not worry about me, Harry, just focus on yourself."

Harry frowned, but said nothing, deciding to leave the subject alone. The two finished their breakfast, and Voldemort checked the time. He snapped his fingers and an elf appeared. "Bring Harry's trunk and belongings to the front room," he said.

The elf bowed and disappeared with a loud crack. Ten minutes later found the Riddles in the front room, Harry's large trunk by the small boy's side, a caged black owl named Arc hooting on top of it. "Do you have your ticket?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes Daddy," Harry said, and he pulled out the ticket. "But Dad, I never heard of Platform nine and three quarters. You sure it's right?"

"Of course, it is, now come on," Voldemort said.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked.

"We first have to go to King's Cross," Voldemort said. "It will be dangerous to Apparate there, both because of your luggage and the large amounts of muggles."

"Then how about using the Floo Network?" Harry asked, but Voldemort shook his head again.

"That would be dangerous with your luggage. We don't want it to accidently go out the wrong fireplace," Voldemort said.

"No we don't," Harry said.

"So instead, we will take a more… muggle way, though I very much loathe it so," Voldemort said, taking Harry's luggage. Confused, the boy followed his Daddy outside. Expecting to see a taxi, Harry was surprised to see that the road that led to their manor was, like usually, empty. Voldemort pulled out his wand and stuck it into the air. There was a very loud bang, and Harry jumped in surprise as a very large dark blue bus stopped in front of them. "The Knight Bus," Voldemort muttered, looking sorely disappointed. I must ask Malfoy how he gets to Platform nine and three quarters after I drop Harry off, the Dark Lord thought to himself.

He lugged the luggage onto the bus, "King's Cross," he simply said to the driver. Harry looked around at the interior of the bus. It was much bigger on the inside then the outside. There were various seating from wooden chairs to long couches, none seemed bolted down and there was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Most of the seating were full, witches and wizards with their children, luggage tucked as best as they could under the chairs.

Harry's Daddy was grumbling to himself, as he led Harry to a couch, both sitting down. "Hold onto your owl, Harry," Voldemort said. "This will be a quick, but uncomfortable, ride."

Harry nodded and held onto the cage tightly as the Knight Bus started with a loud bang. Immediately the seating seemed to start sliding around, trunks smashing against each other as couches and chairs swerve right or left along with the driver's reckless driving. Harry looked up at his Daddy to see the man holding an intense scowl, his hands curled tightly and a murderous glint in his eyes. Harry laughed at it.

Ten minutes later, the bus banged to a stop in front of King's Cross station. Harry and Voldemort joined the other parents and children off of the bus, the Dark Lord looking extremely pleased to be off of the bus. "That was fun," Harry smiled, earing him a hard look from his father.

They went inside the train station, and Voldemort checked his watch, frowning. "That took too long," he said. "Come along Harry."

They walked deeper into the station and the two heard a voice saying, "—They do this every year, packed with muggles of course—"

The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of them—and they had an owl.

Voldemort frowned. "As if our secrecy meant nothing," he sighed. "Might as well follow them and let them go first…" He looked at the plump woman and frowned. Harry saw this. "What's the matter, Daddy?"

"Pretty sure I've fought her during the war… oh well, nothing Harry, hurry along," Voldemort said and the two followed the family of redheads. "Alright Percy, you first," the woman said when they reached the divider between platforms nine and ten. A large swarm of tourist came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Just walk through the barrier," Voldemort whispered to Harry, who nodded. He started pushing his cart, but Voldemort stopped him. "Wait until they're done, Harry!" he said a bit loudly, getting the redheads' attention.

"Sorry," the plump woman said.

"Nothing to worry," Mr. Riddle said smoothly. "My son is just excited to get to Hogwarts."

"Oh, Ron's new too," the plump woman said, pointing to her youngest son. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose. "If he wants, he can go first—does he knows how to go?"

"Yes, I've just told him, of course I will be right behind," Voldemort said, giving the plump woman a charming smile. Harry mirrored it.

"Oh, all right," the plump woman said. She looked at Harry and gave a motherly smile, "No need to be nervous dear."

Harry nodded and felt his Daddy's hand on his shoulder. "Come on," the man said. The two walked briskly towards the barrier. For a moment, Harry thought they were going to crash, but his father kept pushing him towards the barrier. They were getting closer and closer until—they walked right through it.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier has been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.

"Come along, Harry," Voldemort said as the rest of the redheads started to go through the barrier. Harry stared at the train, which was already packed with students, as Voldemort searched the crowd. Harry looked at Voldemort, and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

"Malfoy," Voldemort said. "I need to have an… adult conversation with the man."

"Oh… can I listen?" Harry asked.

"No Harry, it would be better if you do not," Voldemort said. He stopped for a moment, seeing a head of platinum blond. "There he is. Harry, why don't you find a compartment? I'll find you once my talk is done."

"Okay Daddy," Harry said. The two separated, Harry taking his trolley while the man walked deep into the crowd. Harry watched for a moment until the platinum-blond man turned to Voldemort, paling dramatically. Harry couldn't help but smirk at that, he loved seeing people's reactions to his Daddy. Smiling to himself, he pushed on, searching for an empty compartment.

He found one near the end of the train. He put Arc inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-heads he and Daddy followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

An identical red-head ran over. Twins, Harry thought. With their help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thank you," Harry smiled, he pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" one of the twins said suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar. The other was just blushing.

"Blimey… are you—?"

"He is," the first one said. "You are, right?" he added to Harry.

"Harry Potter," chorused the twins. "Heard all about you! Stories how you and You-Know-Who disappeared, you having a scar on your head," the second one said.

Harry frowned. "Yes, but— my last name is Riddle now."

The two twins gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry did too, waiting for his Daddy who came a moment later. "Who were they?" Voldemort asked.

"Fred and George," Harry said. "They helped me with my luggage… and found out that I'm Harry Potter."

"I see… well, hopefully they will not pester you about it," Voldemort said.

Harry nodded. "How was your talk with Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"Good. I've had to remind him about a couple of things, but I think they've sunk in," Voldemort said. Harry nodded. He looked at the train anxiously. "Harry… come here," Voldemort said. Harry step forward, and gave a gasp as Voldemort knelt down to hug him. "Be good, Harry. Don't listen, or care about any rumors flying around about you. You are, and will always be, my son. And I am so proud of you."

"Daddy…"

"Don't be afraid Harry, we'll be together soon enough," Voldemort said.

"I love you Daddy," Harry said into the hug.

"I love you too, Harry," Voldemort said. "You've done more for me these past ten years than I've ever done for you. Now, get on that train, and show Dumbledore and the world how good of a father I am." Voldemort smirked, and Harry nodded. He kissed Voldemort's cheek and got into the compartment. He waved enthusiastically to Voldemort.

The Dark Lord returned the wave, before turning to leave. He stopped for a moment, listening to how the twin of redheads saw his son, before the mother forbidding them to ask him about "You-Know-Who." Walking away from that family, he caught one more look at Malfoy and stopped, staring at him. The Malfoy patriarch froze, feeling as if someone was staring at him, and paled as he turned and met Voldemort's eyes. Quickly searching Malfoy's mind, breaking the pathetic barrier, he barely put up, the Dark Lord smirked as he obtained the required information, and disappeared with a step just as the train began to move.