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the gift

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December 1938

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Professor Slughorn had decided to host his holiday party in the large music hall that is typically reserved for choir or orchestra practices. The ceiling here is just as high as the one in the Great Hall, though it is not enchanted. Its gold baroque pattern is quite fixed and unmoving, albeit pretty to look at. Looking further around the room, Harry can see that the party's theme—elements of gold and crystal arranged tastefully on the tables—is unexpectedly simple considering Professor Slughorn's extravagant tastes.

"It's all very pretty," Annalise comments, sounding similarly surprised.

There are a few people milling about near a punch bowl by the wall. Harry only recognizes one of them, Prefect Laine, who is immersed in conversation with an older girl dressed in stately gold robes. There are even a few waiters and waitresses walking about, each of them bearing trays of appetizers and shots of alcohol.

"Should we go get a drink?" Septimus asks.

None of them seem eager to move just yet, as no one answers him immediately. They're saved from having to make the decision to move, however, as Professor Slughorn comes walking over to them. He already has a crystal goblet in hand, though his steps are steady as he stops in front of their group.

"Ah, hello! Happy holidays to the four of you. You're all looking quite sharp tonight. Please, have a drink or two—we've got some plain punch for you youngsters—and enjoy the merriment! And, oh, Mr. Riddle, there are some former pupils of mine I should love to introduce you to—"

"Of course, sir," Tom says. "I'd love to meet them."

"Well, not everyone is here just yet, but make sure to seek me out later if I forget!" Professor Slughorn laughs lightly, then claps a friendly hand onto Tom's shoulder, adding, "And congratulations on your top ranking, Tom. I said from the very beginning that we ought to expect great things from you, and I have never been so pleased to be proven correct!"

The change from surname to first name doesn't escape Harry's notice, and it certainly doesn't slip past Tom, who grins widely at their professor.

"Thank you, sir. That means a great deal, coming from you."

Professor Slughorn hums happily for a moment, giving Tom's shoulder another pat. "You're an excellent student and it is an honour to teach you." Then, as he finally refocuses on the group of them as a whole, he adds, "All of you! All talented students."

"It's nothing, really," Tom says modestly. "It's a group effort, sir. Septimus came up with an excellent outline while we were preparing for our exams."

"Ah, is that so, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Slughorn turns to look at Septimus, who flushes.

"Well, yes, but it was just an outline." Septimus shifts awkwardly in place, though he's trying valiantly to maintain eye contact with Professor Slughorn.

"No, it was really helpful," Annalise says suddenly. "It was a really good outline."

That catches Septimus by surprise. "Thanks, Annalise," he says.

"Very good on you, Mr. Weasley," Professor Slughorn says loudly. "But I do see some other guests I ought to greet, so if you all would excuse me!" Then he takes off towards the door, where Harry can see some other adults have just arrived.

"Let's go and get drinks," Tom says, and he leads them all over to the punch table.

One of the bowls is clearly labelled 'alcohol-free', so they each pour themselves a cup. Harry takes a sip of his drink, which is a rich, red colour, and is not surprised to taste the sharp flavour of cranberry juice as well as a hint of mint. As they move away from the punch to allow others near it, they hear someone calling out to them.

"Annalise!"

They look over to see Adelaide clad in a dark purple dress with silver stars patterned all over it. She's striding quickly towards them, the Nott boy at her heels. The two sisters embrace, and Nott nods curtly once in the direction of the group.

"This is Bertrand Nott," Adelaide says to the rest of them. "You've seen each other at Professor Slughorn's start-of-year dinner."

"Pleasure," says Septimus, holding his hand out to shake.

Nott stiffly accepts the gesture, shaking once with each of the boys in turn, though he looks pained as he does so. "I'll fetch you a drink," he says to Adelaide, then turns and walks away.

"He's nice," Septimus says mildly.

"He's a bore," Adelaide says in an undertone, her gaze flickering over to the short line of people who are waiting for drinks. "But I'm stuck with him for the evening. You're lucky," she adds to Annalise. "You get to go with your friends."

There's a bit of a pause, then, as no one seems to know what to say. Then Nott comes back, two drinks in hand. He hands one of them to Adelaide, then looks over at the rest of them.

"Let's go and find my cousin," Nott says, taking Adelaide by the arm. "It was nice meeting you all," he adds brusquely. "Have a good evening."

Annalise is the only one of them who waves goodbye at the retreating pair, leaving Harry to ponder the meaning of such an abrupt departure. He doesn't have long to think about it, however, because then Tom spots some important person or another, and the socializing has officially begun.

Harry eventually finds himself, as predicted, ensconced in a corner with Septimus at his side. The two of them had chosen to eschew the conversation of higher society in favour of enjoying the various appetizers that have been provided for the evening.

"Wait," says Septimus. "Isn't that Joscelind Wadcock, over there? Tom said she'd be here tonight." He jerks his head over to the left a bit. "In the green dress robes."

Joscelind is a tall, tan-skinned woman with a long nose and dark brown hair pulled up into a braided bun on the top of her head. She looks at ease in the crowded social setting, as though she's been to many such events before. There are thin gold bangles glinting from where they hang around her wrists as she makes her way through the crowd towards the punch bowl.

"Maybe we should go talk to her," Septimus says slowly. "I would kill for an autograph."

Harry thinks about it. He'd like to ask her questions about Quidditch, and what it's like to play professionally. "We could," Harry agrees. "We're all guests at this party together."

"Right." Septimus nods, huffing a breath. "Exactly. We've been invited to talk to people at this party, so we should go talk to her."

Neither of them move for a moment.

"We're Gryffindors," says Harry, trying to sound confident. "We can do this." He seizes Septimus by the elbow and walks them over before he can overthink it any further.

Joscelind seems to sense their approach before they even get there, because by the time Harry and Septimus pull up to the punch bowl she's already looking at them. There's an aura about Joscelind that radiates perfect confidence; the set of her shoulders, perhaps, or the way her brow quirks when she smiles.

"Hello, boys," she says kindly.

"Hello, Ms. Wadcock," Septimus stutters out nervously. Then he adds in a rush, "My name's Septimus Weasley, and I'm a really big fan of yours. My brothers, too. We follow all your Quidditch games on the wireless."

"That's wonderful," Joscelind says, smiling. Then she turns her warm gaze to Harry, who feels himself flushing under the attention. "And you?"

"I'm Harry Evans. I don't know much about Quidditch just yet, but I'm really interested in learning more," Harry says nervously.

"That's just as wonderful. Muggleborn, I take it?" she asks curiously.

"Yes," Harry says hesitantly.

"Harry's really good at flying, though," Septimus blurts out. "He's going to try out for the house team next year." Then he gives Harry a nudge, as though to encourage him to speak.

Joscelind eyes Harry for a moment, likely taking in his plain black robes and his short, skinny stature. "Seeker, if I'm guessing correctly?"

Harry nods wordlessly.

"Well, Quidditch is a very exciting, very noble sport. Lots of glory, lots of thrill-seeking. It's the perfect thing for the right kind of person." She pauses to regard both Harry and Septimus with a serious expression. "That said, the most important part of any Quidditch game is your team. If your team doesn't support you, if you can't count on them to watch your back when it matters, then you might as well not play at all."

"Your team's really good," Septimus agrees. "Everything you do is so incredible, like you've practiced it a dozen times even though it's all happening so quickly."

"We certainly have practiced everything a good deal more than a dozen times," Joscelind says.

It is then that Tom and Annalise come up to them. "Hello Harry, Septimus," says Tom. Then he looks up at Joscelind, who is offering him and Annalise a friendly smile.

"Tom, Annalise, this is Joscelind Wadcock," Septimus says nervously. "Ms. Wadcock, this is Tom Riddle and Annalise Greengrass."

"Hello," Tom says, bowing neatly.

"Pleased to meet you," Annalise says, dropping into a curtsey. Then she straightens, looking shy. "I have thirteen copies of your Chocolate Frog card," she adds.

"Quite the fan," Joscelind says, nodding. "And your dress is very pretty, by the way."

"Thanks," Annalise says, blushing as she smooths at the non-existent wrinkles in the fabric.

"We were just talking about Quidditch," Septimus says. "Ms. Joscelind was telling us about what playing professional Quidditch is like."

"Yes," Joscelind continues, "I was just saying how important teamwork is. Even a team with the best Seeker in the world falls apart if the Chasers, Keeper, and Beaters don't do their jobs. A stray Bludger could knock just about any Seeker out of the sky if it wanted to."

"That sounds like very wise advice," Tom says slowly.

"Tom was worried that Quidditch would be too dangerous for Harry to play," Annalise says. "But it really isn't, right? Not for Hogwarts students."

"Quidditch, like all endeavours, has its risks. But Quidditch here is safer than most, as your Professors are watching, and you do have a trained Mediwitch on hand should something really go wrong. But that is not the same as being not-dangerous." Joscelind wagged a finger at them, then continued, "However, I do find that those with a taste for recklessness do often find themselves with a taste for Quidditch, and, personally, I find that the rewards certainly live up to the risks of it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry says honestly. "Thank you for the advice."

Their little group of four ends up leaving early as Annalise is expected home by a certain hour. Septimus is meant to be escorting her back to the Floo in Professor Dumbledore's office. They're standing just outside the hall, prepared to say goodbye, when Annalise makes a noise and begins to dig through her purse.

"I have your presents," Annalise says, retrieving three small, gift-wrapped boxes. Each box is a different colour, but they are all wrapped in bright white ribbons. "One for each of you, from Adelaide and I."

Septimus takes his and gives it a little shake. "Thanks, 'Lise," he says.

"Only Adelaide calls me that," Annalise says, her tone a bit testy as she frowns at him. "But you're welcome."

Harry tucks his box into his pocket. "I've got something for you both as well," he says nervously, and then he feels Tom's surprised sideways glance.

"Oh," Annalise says. "You didn't have to do that, really!"

"You can consider these to be from Tom and I," Harry says, and hands over three small packages wrapped in parchment: one for Septimus and two for Annalise.

"Merry Christmas," Septimus says. "And Happy New Year, since we won't see you until January, either."

"And happy birthday, Tom," Annalise adds. "Harry told us you were born on New Year's Eve! There's a second gift in your box, Tom, for your birthday."

"Yeah, happy early birthday!" Septimus says, smiling. "It's sort of neat, to start the new year at the same time."

Annalise shifts her weight from one foot to the other, clearly dithering about something else. Then she suddenly leaps forward to grab both Harry and Tom into a tight hug. "I shall see you both in the new year," she says, voice quiet.

Harry pats at her back awkwardly. "See you," he says, and Tom makes noise of confirmation.

As Annalise withdraws, she flickers her gaze over to Septimus, whose ears have gone a bit red. Harry only has a moment to wonder if she's going to hug him as well, but then Annalise is holding out her arm, which Septimus takes.

"We should get going," Annalise says, and she seems sad to leave.

"Good bye," Tom says. Harry knows he isn't that sorry at all to see them go. "See you both in the new year."

Septimus waves at them before he walks off, Annalise at his side.

Once they are out of sight, Tom gives Harry a questioning look, a look that's laced with a mild hint of… jealousy? Or annoyance. It's hard to tell sometimes, with the way Tom's mood can change at the drop of a hat. Harry likes to think that he adjusts pretty well, that he knows what Tom's thinking, but on a rare occasion like this, where Harry does something surprising, it's not so simple.

"It's a surprise," Harry says, because he knows this must be about the Christmas gifts. "I've got a present for you, too."

This seems to mollify Tom somewhat. "I still want an explanation later," Tom says, which Harry assumes is because Tom wants to know what Harry had gotten them, given that they had no extra money for buying presents.

It is because of this assumption that Harry rolls his eyes. "You can't be happy with just getting a present, can you?"

"No," says Tom. "Because I want to know where or how you got them."

"Where's your Christmas spirit?" Harry asks, spurred on by the stubborn look on Tom's face. "You know, the spirit of giving and receiving without questioning your friends to death about where they got your gifts."

"It better be a good present, then," Tom says seriously. "Or else you'll wish that I had questioned you to death."

Harry snorts. They've now reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, so Tom gives the password and they climb through together.

Not a second after they enter their dorm room, Tom says, "Very well, let's have it," and then proceeds to stand there, his eyes landing expectantly on Harry.

"It's not Christmas yet," Harry says, unamused.

"I want to know," Tom says. "We can do presents early."

Harry knows Tom just wants to be first, to know what Harry's gotten as gifts before the rest of their friends do. And that's alright, Harry decides, because they'd never put much importance on the holiday at Wool's—they'd only ever bothered with each other's birthdays.

"You still owe me a gift for my birthday, too, I hope you know," Harry says, but he goes to open his trunk up anyways.

"Don't worry," Tom says, seating himself imperiously on Harry's bed while he waits. "I have a plan to make us some money. I'll be able to get you a present then."

Harry doesn't like hearing Tom say that, because it doesn't leave Harry with much to do. "Do I get to help?" he asks.

"Of course," Tom says immediately.

Harry turns around to peer at Tom suspiciously, to see if he can catch any of the signs that mean Tom is only humouring him. But Tom is straight faced, still sat on Harry's bed and waiting for his gift.

While Harry cherishes Tom's promises to take care of him, to take care of them both, he knows better now than to think Tom can do everything by himself. Harry is very much aware of the frail nature of Tom's ego, of Tom's need to be in charge and in control. But Tom's said before that he trusts Harry to do things, which means Harry needs to do more so Tom doesn't end up overworking himself again.

"Okay," Harry says at last, his hands clasped tightly around Tom's present. He walks around the foot of his bed to stand in front of Tom. "Hold your hands out."

Tom splays both of his hands out, palms up.

Harry hovers his hands above Tom's, but something is still missing. "Close your eyes," Harry adds, and then sets his jaw firmly as Tom stares back in annoyance.

After a battle of wills, Tom shuts his eyes, shaking his hands impatiently. Smiling, Harry opens his hands up, allowing the object he'd been holding to drop into Tom's waiting grasp.

Tom's eyes shoot open almost right away, barely giving Harry time to pull his hands back to reveal the object properly.

"You're hopeless," says Harry, but he watches Tom's face carefully as Tom examines his Christmas present.

Lying across the palms of Tom's hands is a snake carved from stone. The stone looks like any one of the many stones they'd chucked across the Black Lake: smooth and vaguely discoloured. Harry had spent a great deal of time on it, trying to make it look like the snake that was shown on the Slytherin badges and banners. Harry wanted to show that he understood just what Tom following Harry to Gryffindor had cost.

"Thank you, Harry," Tom says, running his finger down the back of the snake, touching gently at the little ridges that represent the scales. "This is… perfect. When did you find the time to make this?"

There had been a number nights of when Harry had let Tom think that he'd gone to bed early so that he could repeatedly practice the spell Professor Dumbledore had taught him while Tom read books down by the fireplace in their common room.

"It's a Transfiguration spell," Harry says. "I just had to practice loads of times to get the shape the way I wanted it."

Tom turns the snake over in his hand a few times, examining all of the angles. "You'll have to show me," Tom says eventually, smiling over at Harry. "So I can return the favour. And I'll find a spell to make them unbreakable."

Moving slowly, Harry sits down on the bed next to Tom, close enough so their arms are touching. He can feel warmth coming from Tom through their shirts and jackets, which is comforting.

"Okay," Harry says, content and relaxed at seeing Tom happy. "I feel really good about this year," he adds. "I think things are going really well."

"They are," Tom agrees, and then they both lapse into silence. Eventually, Tom leans over to set his snake down onto Harry's bedside table. He nudges Harry with his elbow, then lies back on the bed. Harry mimics him, lying back and looking up at the bed canopy.

"Are you still going to try for Quidditch next year?" Tom asks.

Harry tries not to squirm. Their arms are still touching, and so Tom will feel it if he does. "I want to," he says truthfully. "Do you think I'd be good at it?"

"Of course you'd be good at it," Tom says. "Why wouldn't you be?"

Harry doesn't have an answer to that, so instead he refocuses on the canopy above them, trying to see if he can find shapes in the texture of the fabric.

"I only worry you're letting those two pressure you into it," Tom continues, after a pause. "You should only try out if it's what you want."

"I like flying," Harry says, trying to shove down his self-doubt so that Tom can see it is what he really wants. "And I think I'd really like to try Quidditch."

"Alright," Tom says. Then, more firmly, "Very well. We'll have to see if Annalise's plan to get you a broomstick will work, then."

This time Harry does shift a bit, because he's not sure how he feels about the Greengrass sisters obtaining a broom for him. It's not quite being dishonest, because the broom won't really be his, they'll only be loaning it to him, but the idea of having something so expensive still doesn't sit right. As though sensing Harry's unease, Tom rolls over onto his stomach, peering at Harry.

"If you want to play," Tom says, "then you will. Owning a broomstick will not be an issue. We're at Hogwarts now, Harry. We can do magic. I'm not going to let the things that held us back at Wool's keep us from achieving our goals here."

A/N:

hello hello it's me again with a new chapter!

also, i've decided to (finally) cave and make a tumblr sideblog specifically for my writing. so if you want to see me try to be cool on a regular basis, or maybe even ask me some questions, you can find me at duplicitywrites dot tumblr dot com.

i will be posting updates, excerpts, and sneak peeks at other things i'm working on :)

anyways, to end this lengthy a/n, hope you all enjoyed this chapter!