When their shopping is at last done, the four of them head to Fortescue's to meet Nathaniel at the appointed hour.

"I ordered for everyone already," Nathaniel says upon seeing them. "My treat. We can go for some proper lunch at the Leaky afterwards, but don't tell mum and dad I fed you all dessert first."

They find a table inside and gather around while Nathaniel—boisterous and cheerful, bouncing on his feet—hovers at the counter and waits for his order to come up.

"Was Atticus busy?" Tom asks Septimus. "Or is it just you and Nathaniel today?"

Septimus shakes his head. "Atticus has different hours all the time at St. Mungo's, and they change a lot, too. It's hard to catch him unless he books off time in advance. I'm hoping he'll be able to nab a day before the start of term though, for the check up."

Harry had forgotten about the check up. "It's fine," Harry says. "I can wait if he's busy."

"Well, if he can't get away before then, we can do it during the winter holidays," Septimus says. "I don't think my parents would mind if you both came home with me this year."

"That would be excellent," Tom says. "I'd like to meet your parents."

"Yeah," says Septimus, excited. "You should come over, really. It's not like we don't have the space."

"If you're sure it won't be a bother," Harry says. "It is the holidays and everything."

"Course it won't," Septimus says. "Usually my brothers who work abroad come home for Christmas, but it's only for a few days, and dad pitches our tent in the backyard for them to stay in. Worst case, you can just all bunk in my room. I'll even take the floor if it means you can stay."

"You don't need to do that," Harry says quickly. "Sleep on the floor, I mean. I'd be just fine with some blankets, and I'm sure Tom would, too."

"We'd be guests," Tom says, nodding. "Not inconveniences."

Nathaniel walks back over, gigantic ice cream bowl in hand. "There's a bit of everything," he says. "So I have spoons for everyone. You don't mind sharing, do you? I felt it was better than trying to divide it all up."

"It's perfect, thank you," Adelaide says, taking one of the proffered spoons and daintily scooping some of the pink ice cream up.

Once the ice cream has been demolished to about half its previous size, Nathaniel asks, "Have you all finished your shopping?"

"I still have to visit the Menagerie," says Adelaide. "To buy some owl things."

"We can do that," Nathaniel says. "Anywhere else?"

"I need a new nib for my quill," Septimus adds. "My old one's gone wonky, and the ones mum uses don't fit my quill."

"We'll split up, then," Tom says. "I'll go with Septimus, and the rest of you can escort Adelaide to the Menagerie. We can meet back at the Leaky Cauldron for a late lunch."

Harry keeps his expression neutral as they finish their dessert, pack their things up, and leave the shop. Tom had promised they would talk later.

At the Magical Menagerie, Nathaniel wanders off to look at the fire crabs, leaving Harry to purchase owl treats with Adelaide.

"He split us up on purpose," Adelaide says, and Harry doesn't need elaboration to know she's talking about Tom.

"I know that," Harry says, irritated.

"How much has he told you, then?" Adelaide sounds more curious than aggressive or mocking, and this is what forces Harry to relax his shoulders a bit.

Still, he hesitates before he answers. "Not much."

"He should know better than that," Adelaide says, matter-of-fact.

Harry gazes over at the selection of owls, most of which are fluttering their wings or strutting about in the available space as they wait to be chosen and taken to new homes.

"Is there something else that I'm missing here?" Harry asks, when he decides he can't take the silence any longer.

Adelaide stays quiet, lips pursed, thinking. Then she says, "Riddle originally wanted to play on the Gryffindor team with you. As a Beater. To protect you. I had to talk him out of it, and that is why Septimus is trying out instead."

This derails Harry. Of all the things he had expected her to say, this had not been anywhere near the list.

At first, he's angry. Tom is everywhere, all the time, and while there is comfort in that, it is also stifling. Harry had crept on eggshells all summer, mindful of Tom's temper—temper directed at others, but temper nonetheless. And now this, this single thing that Tom had given him, had told him to reach for, had told him that he could have on his own, is still being meddled with, because Tom can't leave well enough alone.

But the anger melts into confusion shortly after. Tom doesn't care for Quidditch in the slightest, and he doesn't excel on a broomstick, either. If Tom had planned to make the team, he must have tried to practice before Adelaide talked him out of it.

"Riddle was practicing," Adelaide says, reading the expression on Harry's face. "Starting after spring break last year. I let him borrow my broom for a while. But it wouldn't have worked out, and I told him so. Weasley's family has boys who've played on teams at Hogwarts before, so he's the closest to a natural talent besides you, and therefore he's the most logical choice."

Harry takes a deep breath, releases a lungful of air in a slow exhale. He has to remember that Tom had done this to protect him. Though misguided and overbearing, the intention had not been harmful.

"You've a right to be cross with him," Adelaide says. "Because he kept this from you. But he was only doing what he thought was best."

"I know," Harry tells her. He is cross, even though he also understands.

Adelaide's eyes—a dark, cool brown, like Tom's but also different—narrow at him. "You're something else, aren't you? You're not about to let Riddle walk all over you, I can tell. But you're still going to forgive him far sooner than he deserves. If it were me he'd done that to, I would want to teach him a lesson."

Harry and Tom's walk back to Wool's is not what Harry would call 'tense'. It's not at all like the last time they'd fought, which had also been August, albeit last year. This time, it's Tom who's been keeping secrets.

And so they go through the motions at Wool's: unpacking their new things, joining the other orphans for dinner, dragging out the evening until it is time to return to their room. Tom must know that Harry is a bit upset with him, but Harry knows that the Quidditch issue is really just the tip of the iceberg.

Once in their room, Tom seats himself on his bed, legs crossed, shoes off, and gestures for Harry to sit across from him.

Harry sits on his own bed, feet firm on the floor.

"Adelaide told me about Quidditch," Harry says. "That you wanted to play, but she convinced you to ask Septimus to do it instead."

Tom's face is perfectly impassive, and the seconds stretch on. Then he says, "I'm sorry I kept that from you."

"And what else?" Harry asks.

"Else?" Tom's head tilts, a curl falling across his forehead.

"What else have you been planning?"

Tom glowers for a moment, redirecting his gaze to the wall. "You know that I trust you," Tom says. "So can you trust me with this?"

"That's not fair." Harry shakes his head, weary. "It's not the same thing, Tom. You're only doing this, keeping this from me, because you know I won't like it."

Tom looks back over, jaw scrunching up as he grimaces. "I don't know what to tell you."

"The truth?"

"You—" Tom sounds frustrated. "You don't understand, Harry. You're too nice. I'm only trying to protect you—I know you don't want me to, but it's necessary."

"I don't need protecting all the time," Harry says, swallowing down his irritation. "I just want to know what's going on. Is that really too much to ask for?"

Tom stands and starts to pace back and forth across the room. Even though Tom has no shoes on, the forceful thump of his feet on the floor is audible. "It's not," Tom says at last. "But that doesn't mean I want to tell you."

"But why not?" Harry asks, voice rising. "What's so important that you're keeping it from me? Is it about Annalise?"

"No, it's not about Annalise."

"Then what is it?" Harry says, his annoyance at last overriding his self control.

"It's because I can't trust you to tell me when things are bad!" Tom says, whirling around, and he sounds about as frustrated as Harry feels.

The outburst smarts. Tom had just asked for Harry's trust, had said that he gave it in return. And now, this—the truth. Harry steps back despite himself, shock replacing his anger.

"I told you I would look out for us," Tom continues, crowding closer, incensed. "And that means I will be taking things into my own hands, Harry." But then he relents, his shoulders drawing back, his brow stretching out, the creases vanishing. "I trust you with everything else, I do. But when it comes to safety, you have to believe that I know what I'm doing."

"I said I didn't want anyone to do anything about the Slytherins."

"Harry—"

"Why can't you leave it alone, Tom?" Harry says, loud enough to be considered a shout.

Tom actually flinches, then goes still, and all Harry feels is regret, regret, regret. He hadn't mean to yell, to be mean. And Tom is—Tom is his best friend in the world.

"Very well," Tom says, quiet. "Is that what you want? For me to leave it alone?"

Harry sucks in a breath to avoid speaking and tries to order his thoughts. "No," he says. Then, more confused, "I don't know."

"If you want me to leave it alone, then I will." Tom sounds as contrite as Harry has ever heard him, his eyes widening just so with unfiltered honesty.

"I—" Harry falters. "I know you only want to help, Tom. I'm sorry I yelled."

"That's alright," Tom says. "I understand you were upset with me."

Harry feels worse upon hearing that, though he's not sure why. It's like he's disappointed Tom, somehow. Like they've disappointed each other, only Harry had been the one to push things too far by yelling, and now his chest hurts, too, and it's hard to unstick the painful lump that's lodged in his throat.

"I don't mind if you do things," Harry says slowly, pausing between the sentences, "if you talk to me about them first. That's what trust is supposed to mean."

Tom's face changes again, only this time it's an expression of worry that flickers across his features. "You should sit down," Tom says. "You're breathing funny again. I shouldn't have gotten you mad—"

"I'm fine," Harry says, but he allows Tom to steer him back onto his bed.

Tom's hands remain firm on his shoulders as he gazes down, his dark eyes serious and endless in their concern. "How about this? You let me plan things the way I want to, and before I actually do anything, I'll tell you what the plan is."

It's almost too easy to agree to that, Harry thinks. "You promise you won't leave me out?"

"I promise."

"Okay," Harry says. "Does that mean you'll tell me what the potion was all about?"

"The potion?"

Harry frowns. "The Sleeping Draught."

Tom sighs and sits down, the bed creaking underneath the additional weight. "Well," Tom says. "I had been thinking it might be good to help you with your nightmares."

"Oh." Harry hadn't thought of that, admittedly. "How does it work?"

"It puts the person who drinks it to sleep, but only temporarily. The length of time depends on the strength of the dosage." Tom reaches over and pats the top of Harry's hand with his own.

That all makes sense, but it doesn't tie into the rest of what Harry has been worrying about. "And the Slytherins?"

Tom pauses, then repeats, "I'll tell you once I'm done planning."

"Tom—" Harry begins, flustered.

"I promised, didn't I? I said I would tell you. But not before everything's been settled on."

"I'd rather you did nothing," Harry says.

"I know you would." Tom presses his lips together, then adds, "You know, you're very smart, Harry. I know I tell you this, but you really should start to believe it."

"Tom, you're getting away from the point," Harry says.

"I mean it, though," Tom insists. "You are. If you weren't, we wouldn't have been having this conversation to begin with."

"I'm smart because I can see through all the excuses you try to give me?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, yes," Tom admits. His legs swing out, then thump back against the mattress. "But that's fine, because I wouldn't accept that from anyone other than you."

Anyone other than him. Harry bites down on his lower lip, staring down at his shoes.

"You're important," Tom says gently. "Important to me. That's why I want to make sure those Slytherins don't bother you anymore."

"I can handle myself."

Tom's hand slides up the back of his head, and Harry can feel the individual fingers against his scalp. "I know," Tom says, his hand stroking down, petting. "But I want to do it anyways. Will you let me?"

Harry closes his eyes. His throat still feels a bit funny, like it usually does before he comes down with a cold. "I don't want any trouble," Harry says. "No trouble, Tom. Promise."

"No trouble," Tom agrees. "Just a warning, to put them in their place."

Swallowing hard does nothing to dislodge the soreness in his throat, so Harry nods and places his hand on top of Tom's knee, steadying himself.

"Okay," Harry says, glancing over, meeting Tom's solemn gaze with his own. "I trust you."

"Good." Tom's hand drops to his forearm, enveloping Harry in a one-armed squeeze, halfway to a proper hug, and Harry leans into it, his head nudging against Tom's, and they sit there until the lump in Harry's throat goes away.

.

September 1st, 1939

.

The station had been crowded when Tom and Harry arrived.

Harry isn't quite sure if it's because they'd arrived later than usual, or because there were simply more children attending Hogwarts this year. People had kept stopping them to talk, to ask them how their summer had been—to which Tom had always responded with good cheer, because there were parents here, too, grown adults with more influence than their children possessed, which meant that there was only more socializing to be done.

With adults, Tom is different. More eager and less composed, but only in such a way that endears him to the eyes and hearts of mothers and fathers waiting to see their children off for the school year. And Harry, of course, is only ever tangentially involved in the conversation. He is used to shrinking down, to smiling shyly, to letting Tom do most of the talking.

But by the time they spot Septimus and Nathaniel, Harry is thoroughly sick of acting the part of the poor, beleaguered orphan, and he is glad for some company that does not involve pretending to be less than he was.

There is a much older woman with them, old enough to be a grandmother, but she's likely the Weasley mother, as Septimus had only older brothers in his household, and Atticus is already in his mid or late twenties.

"Harry! Tom!" Septimus beams and waves them over. "Mum, these are my friends—"

"Mrs. Weasley," Tom says, a charming smile spread across his lips, and Harry decides to head things off before they have a chance to get too far, lest he once again be given the role of 'quiet and unassuming sick child'.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley," says Harry, sticking out his hand. "I'm Harry Evans."

"It's very nice to meet you, Harry," she says, her grasp on Harry's hand firm. Her blue eyes are very kind, with soft lines around the edges, and her light grey robes are neatly pressed and patterned with faint white daisies. "And you—?"

"Tom Riddle, ma'am." Tom's got a little dimple on the side of his cheek, a result of his lopsided smile.

"I'm glad to meet you, Tom. Septimus talks about you all non-stop—"

"Mum!"

"—and you are both welcome to join us for the holidays this year."

"Only if it's no trouble," Tom says, employing the same tones of careful politeness Harry has grown used to Tom employing around their professors at Hogwarts.

"Nonsense. We would love to have you visit us." Mrs. Weasley pats Septimus' shoulder, and then mother and son exchange a smile. "And if you need us to escort you home at the end of term, we'd love to do that as well."

"You're very kind," says Tom. "Thank you."

Mrs. Weasley reaches across to pat Tom's shoulder as well, just a light touch, and then her arm jerks as the train whistles. "You boys better get on," she chides. "And we will see you in December."

Nathaniel plants a kiss on his mother's cheek. "Bye, mum."

"Love you," Septimus says, squeezing his mother quickly around the waist.

Harry waves goodbye and follows his friends onto the train. "Have you seen the girls yet?" he asks Septimus.

Septimus shakes his head. "No. It's a pretty crowded platform this year, though. They might just be running late or something. There's still some time yet."

Tom glances through one of the compartments as they walk by. "We should walk the length of the train, just in case they're already here. If we see an empty compartment, one of us can save it, and we'll go back if we do find them later on."

So they continue on, peering through here and there for two familiar heads of dark brown hair. Harry starts to worry again, so he stuffs his hands into his pockets to avoid twisting them together. They run into more of their classmates, and Tom makes excuses, declining invitations to join existing compartments of students. Soon enough, the train begins to move under their feet, a motion that causes Septimus to frown and glance over at Harry. Harry frowns right back, trying not to let the unease overtake him.

"Have you seen the twins?" Septimus asks every time they stop, and he gets negative answers again and again, all the way until they've reached the last section of train.

"They're at the end," says Chang, slowly, reluctantly. From behind her, Francesca and Leo crane their heads and wave solemnly in greeting. "Adelaide pulled the curtains shut. I think they might be waiting for you."

"Thanks," says Septimus, already jerking back from the doorway and turning around.

"Thanks," Harry adds, just as quick, before he goes to follow.

Tom lengthens his strides, pulling ahead of both Harry and Septimus, and knocks sharply on the compartment door, which has its curtains shut. "Greengrass? It's us."

"Come in." The voice is muffled, but Harry thinks it must be Adelaide speaking, because the directive is perfunctory.

There's a bit of commotion on the other side of the barrier as Annalise protests, but Tom is already shoving the door aside and stepping through the threshold.

As the inside of the compartment comes into view, Harry sees that the sisters are wearing identical dresses, but are seated on opposite sides. Annalise is staring at the curtain-covered window, frowning, the skin around her eyes pink and vaguely puffy, though her cheeks are dry.

"Hey," says Septimus. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Annalise says, her gaze shifting over. She blinks a few times, her jaw firming despite the wobble in her lower lip.

Adelaide scoffs, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Sit down, Weasley." Her entire body is rigid, wound tight, as though one wrong comment will send her spiraling into unrestrained aggression.

They sit, and no one speaks, not even Septimus, who almost always has something to say to break a tense atmosphere.

Annalise wipes at her face with a handkerchief while everyone pretends not to notice the dampness staining the cloth. "I'm fine," she repeats.

"Of course you are," Tom says. "You're fine. It doesn't matter whatever it is that they tell you, Annalise. I'm telling you that you're just fine—in fact, you're doing better than they think you are, because there are things you know that they don't, things only you know about yourself, and those things are much, much more important than the things they tell you."

"Oh." Annalise mouth drops open, a tiny o-shape, her misery melting into surprise. "That's—that's—" She fumbles for the words, sniffling a bit, then finishes, "Thank you, Tom. That's really kind."

"It's more than kindness. I believe it, and I want you to believe it for yourself. Remember that next time someone tries to tell you that you're worth less than you are."

A/N:

writing this chapter was hard because the balance between tom and harry is such a thin line to tread when they're disagreeing with each other. hopefully it came across not too unbalanced, though tom does have the advantage of being more manipulative.

anyways, i do wonder what you all think of what was revealed...

fun fact! in the early, early, early plot draft of this series, i thought about actually having tom play quidditch (mostly because i find it amusing), but it doesn't really fit with the rest of the story, so you all get septimus instead... which will have its own impact on the plot to come :)

anyways i have a cold rn and i'm feeling bleh. thanks to hannah for looking over this chapter for me, if there are other mistakes it's my bad, oops.