A/N:

tw implied past sexual assault for this chapter

Chapter 3: A Bot Named Harry

Tom washed for bed and changed into his pyjamas. His head was aching, probably from lack of hydration, and his eyelids were drooping every other second.

As if fate was laughing at him, a notification popped up on his display. A video call request from Abraxas. Tom had been very careful to only take video calls when he was in-game. To avoid them entirely would arouse suspicion, but it was unwise for him to let anyone see the inside of his flat. Given the current late hour, however, it would not be unreasonable to do voice-only.

Tom connected audio and picked up the call. "Abraxas? It's unlike you to call so late."

"My apologies, Tom. I don't mean to bother you, but I have some news I think you'd like to hear."

"Oh? What is it?"

"I have confirmation that a new launch is dropping tomorrow," Abraxas said in a low voice. "Now, I don't have all the details, but I have been told it will be similar to the Golden Snitch saga. I'm hosting a small gathering at my manor to celebrate. Just close friends, you understand."

Tom took a moment to process the information. A new launch meant new items, and new items meant new opportunities for profits. He could not afford to waste several hours at Abraxas' manor while the free market flooded with listings. However, if what Abraxas said was true and the new release was similar to the Snitch saga, that also changed things.

The Snitch saga was a series of limited-edition mystery boxes launched shortly before Tom had joined Hogwarts. They were best known for being the first and only mystery boxes that were not wholly based on chance. To open a Snitch box, you were required to solve a labyrinth. The faster you solved it and the less wrong turns you took, the better odds you got for a rare prize.

Tom believed, as a general rule, that people were stupid. Odds for receiving decent prizes from mystery boxes were already quite awful, but with an added intelligence test on top of that? There was little hope that many rare items would be released from the boxes at all.

"You work so hard, Tom. Take some time off and enjoy yourself," Abraxas insisted. He was not totally incorrect, but Tom would be hard pressed to explain why he was hesitating. "There'll be a box in it for you if you attend."

A free box? Tom's hesitation doubled. As much as Tom disliked the often insouciant attitudes of Abraxas and his rich friends, mystery boxes tended to cost anywhere in the range of a hundred to five hundred pounds.

Given the secrecy around this launch, Tom was willing to bet it was the latter. So the choice was obvious: he could spend several hours working and maybe manage to make that much money, or he could spend the afternoon at Abraxas' manor, rubbing noses with the elite, and receive a prize for his efforts.

"I'll be on tomorrow," Tom decided. "Ping me when you're about to start."

"Brilliant. It will be a fun time, Tom. You'll see. Have a good night."

"Good night," Tom said. The call ended, taking the holo-screen with it. Tom stared at his blank, empty wall. The entirety of his tomorrow was now planned out. He would spend the morning with the bot, and then his afternoon at Malfoy Manor.

He was going to be connected all day tomorrow. He was going to be connected to Hogwarts, which meant he was not going to be aware of his surroundings here in the real world. Which meant he was going to have to ask Myrtle for help again.

Slowly, Tom shuffled around his desk and laid his palms on the wall so he could gently thump his head against it several times. If he survived tomorrow with his sanity intact, it would be a bloody miracle.

The next morning, Tom woke to a new message from Abraxas. There were no attachments, only two words in cursive script—Hogwarts Legacy—and an invitation to Malfoy Manor at half past noon. Hogwarts Legacy had to be the name of the new release. Tom wondered if the box would be related to the four main characters of the game: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.

After a few more minutes of lazing about, Tom crawled out of bed. It was currently five in the morning. No doubt both Borgin and Myrtle were still asleep, which gave him time to get his affairs in order.

Tom made a cup of tea, checked his email, and sorted through his current market listings. Most of the old ones had sold. Tom looked through the rest, checked their updated values, and relisted three of the remaining ones at slightly lower prices. He wasn't about to be undercut by a measly fifty credits.

After sifting through the market for a while, Tom bit the bullet and called Myrtle.

"Good morning, Tom! I didn't expect you to call again so soon. Did you miss me already?"

"I didn't," Tom said. "But I need a favour."

"Oh? Do you have to leave the house again? I haven't seen Borgin since yesterday, you know."

"I have some business to attend to on Hogwarts," Tom began haltingly.

"Oooh? So you need me to watch you?"

Yes, but Myrtle didn't have to sound so goddamn eager about it. It was downright disturbing.

"Yes," Tom said. "It'll be for most of the morning and afternoon."

Myrtle blew out a loud gust of air. "Oh, I don't know, Tom. That's a long time. I don't think I could keep an eye on your flat and my cats."

"If it's easier for you," Tom said, hating every word as it left his mouth, "I could connect at your flat."

"Aww, if you wanted to come over so badly, all you had to do was ask!" Myrtle exclaimed. "Alfie and Pumpkin will be so happy so see their favourite neighbour again."

Tom reminded himself that he only had to put up with Myrtle's esteemed company while he was conscious. Once he was connected, the only thing he had to worry about were the copious amounts of cat hair that would surely end up clogging his lungs after spending the entire day at Myrtle Warren's flat.

By the time Tom signed on to Hogwarts, it was quarter past six. Myrtle had talked and talked for so long that Tom was certain he would suffer permanent hearing loss.

From the window of the master bedroom, Tom could pick out the solitary figure toiling away on the grounds. The bot's white linen shirt was as pristine as it had been yesterday. Even the cuffs of the bot's pants were unsoiled by dirt.

Tom blinked and shifted his focus to the grounds themselves. They had not yet passed the twenty-four hour mark since yesterday's meeting, but the space had already seen significant changes.

All the weeds were now gone, the grass had been trimmed down, and several trees had been rearranged to suit the layout better. At least half a dozen small plants and bushes had also been removed from the premises.

Tom made his way downstairs and exited through the backdoor. The bot looked up upon his approach and paused its movements as Tom drew closer.

"What do you think?"

Tom took the time to formulate his answer with care. "You've done quite a lot of work. More than I expected. I enjoy the direction you've chosen to take with the garden, and I look forward to seeing your vision come to life."

The bot's green eyes were so bright and vibrant that it was like they were burning. "Thank you, sir. It's nice of you to say that."

"What are you working on right now?" Tom asked. There was a shovel in the ground and a holo-screen with pictures of various plants pulled up on it.

"I'm picking floral arrangements that will match the ones I have planned for the base of the birch trees. With a longer project like this one, I try to choose the flowers in advance so I can watch for price drops."

"Clever," Tom remarked. "Is the information built into your code? I wasn't aware that groundsbots could have such add ons."

"I'm special," said the bot, dropping its gaze to the shovel. The statement was tinged with bitterness that faded just as quickly as it had arrived. "Didn't you have work to do? Sir? I don't mean to keep you."

"I have the time." Tom paused. If he was to stay and watch, he would need somewhere to sit. "I don't suppose you have a bench picked out for the garden swing yet?"

"There are a few options I've picked out." The bot called up a new holo-screen with three different bench designs on it. "Two of these designs were custom made by other users, so those'll be more expensive."

Tom waved it off. "Choose whatever you think is best."

"...Alright."

A moment later, a bench materialized a few paces away from them. They both walked over to examine it. Tom ran his hand over the curved backing. The quality was nice.

"I'll be making further alterations," the bot added thoughtfully. "I may reshape the back and swap out some of the metal fixings. Er, that is, if you want me to?"

"Whatever you think is best," Tom repeated, raising a brow.

"Okay." The bot's foot twitched, as if to scuff its plain black boot against the ground, then stopped.

"Is that all?" Tom asked. "Did you have any other questions for me?"

The bot stared at him for a moment, then said, "You're wearing the same outfit."

"What?" Tom looked down at himself. He was, but that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand.

"I mean," the bot said, "your house is very empty." It winced. "I don't have much information to go off of. Sir."

Tom was transfixed by the bot's chagrined expression. "You want to see my wardrobe?" he clarified.

"If you don't mind." The bot lowered its gaze again. A programmed inclination towards deference, or something else?

"The wardrobe is in the house. I'm afraid I haven't purchased a portable one yet."

"That's alright. I don't need to see—"

"We'll go in," Tom interjected. He gestured towards the house. "After you."

The bot shot him a wary glance—definitely wary, this time—but obeyed the order, walking steadily towards the manor.

They entered the house and went upstairs to the master bedroom. Once there, Tom opened his wardrobe and went over his various outfits, explaining their purpose and any reasoning that went into their design. The bot listened attentively, asking questions here and there for clarification. Then, once all the outfits had been talked to death, Tom shut the wardrobe menu and spun around to face the bot.

"Do you enjoy gardening?" he asked without preamble.

"Sometimes," the bot answered. It stared at him. "Some gardens are nicer than others, like I said."

Bots did not enjoy things. This statement had to be pre-programmed. Tom took a step forward; the bot took a step back in response. Confused, Tom paused to gauge the situation. The bot's face showed no fear, but—

"Are you enjoying your work here?" Tom asked.

"Your gardens are very nice."

"Not an answer," Tom pointed out, eyes narrowed. He took a deliberate step forward and eyed the bot's visible hesitation. If it took another step back, he would know it was afraid of him, and if it was afraid of him, then—

Then what?

But the bot displayed no fear. Its eyes, previously spirited, had lost their fire. Its expression was flat, dead, devoid of emotion as all bots were supposed to be.

Tom drew closer, closer, close enough to touch. He raised a hand—to do what, he was unsure, but he had to know—

"Are you going to touch me, sir?"

Tom froze. Something about that voice, not quite plaintive, not quite empty—it churned his stomach. His hand dropped down, fell to hang limply at his side.

The bot gazed at his hand. If it was relieved he had stopped, it said nothing. Tom's heart was beating rapidly in his chest. It looked… smaller. It looked smaller like this, shrunken in on itself. it looked almost human.

"What is your name?" Tom asked roughly.

"Sir—"

"Your name," Tom repeated, angry. "What is it?" If he had to phone up Grunnings and demand it, he would do it.

"Why do you want to know?"

Because you're too real. Because I want to know you. "Because you deserve to have one."

Green eyes flickered with screen static. "I can't tell you my name," said the bot, and then, when Tom opened his mouth to protest, it added quietly, "but if you wanted to call me something, you could call me Harry."

Tom set up his holo-screens around the bench swing that Harry had placed in the middle of the garden. Admittedly, there were benefits to working in-game. Here, Tom could have a larger number of screens open at once, and utilize the official Hogwarts market interface, which was much more user-friendly than the one on Tom's operating system.

The downside to working in-game was, of course, the frankly ridiculous number of distractions that the game provided. If you idled too long, Hogwarts would prompt you with suggestions for tasks and activities, or worse, with advertisements. Tom had gotten used to ignoring them, but he still found them irritating.

Today, however, Hogwarts advertisements were the least distracting objects in his peripheral vision.

Harry had begun landscaping the area around the pond, uprooting aspen trees and replanting them in different places. It looked ridiculous that such a skinny person could carry an enormous tree with one hand. Typically, when people carried out such actions in-game, it looked normal because their avatars were adorned in unrealistic items, but Harry was dressed in non-descript starter items. Normal clothes. It made for a strange sight.

Every so often, Tom would find his eyes drawn to whatever Harry was doing. He would then proceed to watch for several minutes before he caught himself and snapped out of his stupor. This continued as the morning wore on, thoroughly disturbing Tom's regular single-minded focus on his work.

The longer Tom sat there, the more questions he had. How old was Harry? How long had he been doing garden work? Grunnings was not a new business, but all of their latest gallery examples were quite clearly Harry's handiwork.

An hour before he was due at Malfoy Manor, Tom stood, closed all his holo-screens, and strode over to where Harry was in the middle of trimming some hedges. "Harry?"

"Yes, sir?" Harry lowered his hedge clippers. His eyes were bright and clear. Lucid.

"How many days do you estimate the rest of the work will take? An honest answer, if you please."

Harry frowned. He cast his gaze about the garden. "If you're worried I won't finish on time—"

Tom shook his head. "Not that. Give me a reasonable time and date."

Harry's frown deepened. Tom stared at the little crease lines on the bot's face. "If I had to guess," Harry said after a few seconds had passed, "at the most, it will take four more days. It will be even less if the right materials become available on the market at a cheap rate."

Under the one week deadline that Petunia had promised him. "I may have some ideas I wish for you to implement tomorrow. Please keep the day open, if possible."

"Of course." Harry paused. "Can I ask what you have planned?"

"I had envisioned a large glass terrarium," Tom said, gesturing with his hands to indicate a general dome shape. Large terrariums may have gone out of style, but a small one to house pets would work just fine. "To put snakes in. I'm unsure where it would fit in with your planned design, but we can discuss the details tomorrow."

"I think I can include that," Harry agreed. "I'll draft some ideas to show you."

"Wonderful. I am interested in seeing what you come up with." Tom checked the time. "I have to go now, but I'll see you then?"

"See you then, Mr. Riddle."

Tom paused as a notification ping popped up in his peripheral vision. Abraxas was expecting him. "If I'm to call you Harry, then you'll have to call me Tom. I insist."

"Tom," repeated Harry. He pressed his lips together. It was yet another unsettling human mannerism. "Thank you for your kindness, Tom."

Tom nodded. "Take as long as you need. I want everything to be perfect. If we have to extend your contract, that's perfectly fine. I will take care of it."

The price he was currently paying Grunnings was reasonable. Tom could see himself extending it for a few more days, paying a little more, if it meant keeping Harry around longer. He could imagine where they would send Harry next, and what might happen to him at the virtual homes of the rich and entitled who looked at service bots as nothing more than slaves, as toys to use and discard. Harry was a bot, but he was also... he was real.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Tom nodded again. "I'll be on my way now, unless there is anything else?"

"No, I have everything I need." Harry blinked once, twice, and then... smiled. It was slight, but it was there. "You'd best be on your way if you don't want to be late."

"Abraxas should learn some patience," Tom retorted, but he smiled back. "Until tomorrow."

Harry raised his hand in a half wave as Tom finally accepted Abraxas' invitation and vanished from the gardens with a faint swooshing sound that signalled Apparition.

A/N:

next chapter: tom plays a game for some high stakes aka an excuse for me to make graphics for this fic