Chapter 2: Ἀπόντι μὴ μάχου

Stepping out of King's Cross station to the sight of dozens of horse drawn carriages and motor vehicles in heavy traffic quickly reminded Tom of the chaos that embodied London. Pedestrians trotted between cars with their luggage as they came to and from the train station. A couple walking their auburn haired spaniel made rude gestures at a black cab as it peeled out and nearly flattened the dog. A mustachioed constable, who's uniform belt barely held on against the strain of his pot-belly, lazily waved cabs into place to take on new passengers, taking no notice or care for the couple or their poor dog. Having only been to King's Cross once, a fond memory he shared with the bartender of the Leaky Cauldron, with whom he also shared a first name, the lack of collisions or notable incident surprised Tom as he held onto his suitcase and watched with rapt, wide eyes.

Meanwhile, his own suitcase propped against the curb, Blink Crockett surveyed the area with narrowed eyes as he searched for suitable black cab. Twice he thought he found it, tugging on Tom only to curse loudly about the relative size of Merlin's 'tenderloin' to his 'potatoes' in response to their drivers shaking their heads at him. Over the bustle, he yelled over his shoulder to Tom, "Come on, Tommy-boy, we ain' gon' ge' annuvah chance if we miss i'. Help me hay-oo one down, ma'e."

Tom walked past the rotund constable, who Tom noticed had enough sweat pooling underneath his helmet to fill the Black Lake twice over, and smirked as he reached Blink at the edge of the road. He slowly pulled out his wand from his trousers and nudged Blink in the elbow. When Blink looked down and followed the path of where the wand pointed, he firmly grabbed Tom's wrist and pulled it close to block out any sight of the wand. He grunted just loud enough for Tom to hear while staring hard into Tom's dark green eyes, "Are you men-too? On'y jus' go' back to vuh Mugg'oo world and you awe-ready wanna break 'vuh Statu'e? An' he don' deserve i' uvvuhwise, ma'e. Now pu' va' away and help me ge' us a… Ah, 'ere we go…"

Tom clicked his tongue, reconsidered making the strap of the volunteer constable's tighten even more, and joined Blink as he handed a man in a lightly-worn and faded black suit and white gloves his and Tom's trunks to place across from the bench-seated back row of the cab. The man's uniform hat hid his eyes as he gestured for the two boys to get in and promptly, yet politely drove away after a man with a broken umbrella in each hand walked across the path of the cab's exit. Tom squeezed his arm behind his propped up trunk as he asked Blink, "What part of London is Old Red, Blink?"

At the mention of the bar and the boy's name, the cabbie poked his overlarge hat up and turned his right side mirror to face them with a toothy smile and soft blue eyes, "Oh, it can't be? Is that you, Blinky? Back from Whales already?"

Blink lurched forward, the sudden redistribution of the weight in the cab forcing the driver to yank hard on the thin wheel to avoid crashing into a cyclist on his left. "Collins? You've shaved! An' 'ere I fough' I los' my mar-boos. When did you ge' vis one, ven?" gesturing to the mint black leather and wooden frame.

The young man called Collins turned his mirror back and gestured outside with his right arm and swung the wheel around one-handed to turn left. As they came to a stop at the next intersection, Collins turned around beaming at Blink, "Only got her last week, chap. Just happened to be in the PCO office when a fine lad from Austin came in with keys to four of them. All new line called the "Seven". Not my favorite color, but the luggage space works quite nice for me and my passengers. Ain't she just beautiful? And the wife grew tired of my connoisseur, so, off it went. I do miss the routine with the oils and balm Attie gave me but, I can't go displeasin' the missus. Who's the lad you've brought today?"

Collins held out a hand to Tom, who promptly, but unfortunately weakly, shook it and answered, "Riddle, Tom Riddle. How long have you known Blink?"

Collins's eyes narrowed for a moment before turning back to continue driving and answered over his shoulder, "Oh, its been years now. Poor lad waited outside in the rain 'alf an hour before I came around the corner one day after a long drive 'round Watford. Lost his way, covered in sludge from the roads, couldn't just let him stand there, now could I? Tells me he's run away but needs a ride home. And to a pub on the east-end, no less. I'm a little worried, so I make sure he gets back. We get there and…"

Blink, a small smile slowly reaching across his face as he turns to continue the story to Tom, "Ve owner of vuh pub, Chef A'ie I tol'joo abou'…She comes runnin' ou' like 'veres been a fire, yanks me ou' vuh back of vuh cab, an' nearly smuvvahs me tuh def'. Collins, the madman, rakes up a tab as tall as Big Ben va' nigh'. Drank Fisher unduh vuh tay-boo, an' va's no easy fea'." He turns to Collins and asks, "Did she tell you I was comin' back today?"

Collins answers as he makes a sharp right turn and overtakes a horse-carriage carrying two women in obnoxiously pink and green dresses, "Nah, just chance this time. She did ask after you when I came 'round to show off my new cab last week, though. Worried sick, she is. Says you didn't answer her last letter. Also said that you need to teach your owl to not bite her so much. Said she nearly cooked it for breakfast that day."

Blink chuckled and winced as he kicked Tom's trunk in front of him, "Aah…Well, va' owl's vuh schoo's, so no' much tuh be done. Say, Collins? Min' takin' us roun' vuh Savoy on vuh way tuh Ol' Red?"

Collins nodded enthusiastically and peered over his shoulder to make a sharp U-turn. To Tom's surprise, the cabbie took shortcuts and alleys his didn't know existed on their way back towards central London. He only knew, by its growing stench, that their path took them closer to the River Thames. They passed a tall, opulent building Collins pointed out as the new Freemasons Hall. Tom marveled at how it commanded the Roman-inspired, architectural style of the square and the curious robes of those walking in and out as they slowly passed. They also passed the Royal Opera house, which Collins told them was largely overrated with a haughty laugh and something about what a proper ballet looks like. However, what caught Tom's eye the most was the subject of their temporary destination on their way to Blink's home, the Savoy Hotel.

Collins parked his cab on opposite side of the t-intersection in front of the street and Tom poked his head out and beheld its grandeur. Situated at the center and end of a court name after it, a large gold sign proclaimed its name, Savoy, with a golden statue holding a shield and spear on top. Blink, poking nudging Tom to scoot over so he could lean out as well, yelled over the passing cars and carriages, "Nice, inni'? Bi' much for my tas'e bu' va' don' ma'uh when you've go' Galleons tuh spare. I heard from a drunk a' Ol' Red two summers back va' vuh young Malfoy heir bough' i' outrigh'. As if vey didn' own enough of vis country already."

Tom racked his brain for how he knew the name before it came to him and whispered to Blink as they both retook their seats, "Isn't that one of the pure-blood families? Why would they want a muggle hotel? It's so…"

Blink snapped his fingers at Tom and said with a sneer, "Exac'ly, Tommy-boy. Wha' be'uh way tuh brag va' you're invici-boo to vuh Ministry 'van tuh buy vuh most gaudy place in all London-town? I even heard vere mee'in Chamberlain inside, too. Breakin' wizard law like va' takes bollocks bigger 'van Merlin's. An' we still make his vuh joke! Alrigh'…" He tapped on the wooden frame behind Collins's chair in the front, "I guess i's time we go' tuh Ol'Red. Fancy a pin' or do yuh need a few more before ge'in home tuh Mrs. Collins?"

Collins got out of the car and after a few cranks, the car sputtered to life again. When he got back in, he looked over his shoulder and responded as he watched a few cars pass before getting back on the path to Old Red, "As aces as one of Attie's pints would be on scorcher like this, Mrs. Collins wants me home for dinner and I can't well take her round to a mo… ahem… a bar like Old Red. Not sure what her parents would think."

Blink got out of his seat and leaned into the front cabin with an eyebrow raised, "So you DID know, 'ven, Collins? For how long?"

Keeping his eyes on the passersby and another carriage that cut him off mid-turn, Collins muttered, "It's hard to miss after-hours, mate. I'm surprised the peeler's haven' come round by now…Sit back on the bench; Attie would pummel me with every iron pot she's got if I told her you went through the glass because I pulled the brake too hard." Blink obeyed and promptly kept his hands in his pockets and mouth shut for the rest off the long drive to Old Red.

Tom joined his silence as their small cab rumbled along the often poorly paved or cobbled streets of London. Every so often, Collins's loud protestations at the driving of another car, the brazen acts of a cyclist cutting him off in front of an otherwise "occupied" constable, or, to Tom and Blink's brief amusement, his immediate reaction to get out of the cab to pick up and fireman carry an old woman across a muddy patch of road after her cane got stuck, kept them occupied. Tom also wondered what a pub centered around a football team would be like, having never played the game or known anyone besides Blink who did. If the fans of football were anything like the student body, and professors for that matter, of Hogwarts leading up to and after a quidditch match, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be around anything that loud again. Cheering for Blink was one thing, but he couldn't see himself attending one for anyone else again.

Collins slowed the vehicle to a to a bumpy stop on a cobbled road between a large, patchy field and an unmarked building with a large red door. Blink mumbled something indiscernible as he stepped out shoved his hands in his pockets. Without grabbing his trunk, he waved Tom over to follow him as he walked towards the narrow alley next to the red door with a large, gleaming brass handle. If not for the puff of smoke and the lit match in the middle-aged woman's hand as she lit a putrid cigarillo, Tom never would have seen her or the bench she sat on in the unlit alley. She didn't turn as they approached, waving her match out before she flicked it against the brick wall of the building across from her.

Blink stopped and leaned on the wall a few meters away, his hands still in his pockets as he inquired accusatorially, "Taken 'em back up, 'ave we? An' wha' happen' tuh Jimmy takin' care of my field while I'm off in enemy territory, eh?"

The woman took another match, lit the lantern next to her on the bench, and then brought it back up to relight her cigarillo. She clenched down on it as she brought the lantern up to light up Tom and Blink as well as herself. She reminded Tom of a more deviant Mrs. Cole. Slightly taller and noticeably muscular along her visible forearms beneath the rolled up sleeves of her grey and red chef's coat, she wore the same short bob haircut, though this woman showed more age both at the roots and the tips of her light brown hair than Cole. Her dark irises were nearly the same color as her pupils and Tom took a step back as she smirked and inhaled the cigarillo deep into her lungs before blowing out a set of 5 larger and then progressively smaller smoke rings into the air between them. In one, swift motion, she produced a curved blade, cut off the burning end of her cigarillo, and put both the cigarillo and her blade back into a side pocket of her chef's coat.

With another smirk, she lifted the lantern up and said in a hoarse, heavy accent similar to Blink's, "An' how abou' we don' mention you leavin' wivou' cu'in i' for a las' time? An' we don' mention no' comin' home for two years? Or sendin' a letter when you break your arm on vuh field practicin' in vuh dark like we said we'd stop doin', eh?

She blew out the candle inside the lantern as she emerged from the dark with a hoarse chuckle and Blink ran forward to hug her. "Ah, A'ie, it was on'y a li-oo break. Min', Tommy-boy here was quick on vuh take, ge'in me all wrapped up and wha' no'. Ge' in 'ere, Tommy. Ain' nuffin like an 'ug from A'ie."

Tom took another step back, bumping into the front left wheel of Collins's vehicle as he said, "It is nice to meet you, I assume you are who Blink calls 'Attie'?"

Attie looked up and down at Tom with a quizzical eye before letting go of Blink to march toward him. She snatched Tom's clasped hands and sighed as she unfolded and surveyed them. "He's gonna bleed on his firs' nigh', Blinky! You could'uh' leas' helped him ge' a few callouses before bringin' him here. You know nex' Friday…"

Collins stepped forward and asked he set down the last of Blink and Tom's trunks, "Oh, Attie, it's been so long since I've been to it, may I join as well? I'll even bring along 'Liza and her famous lamb stew."

Without looking away from Tom's hands as she brought them even closer to her face, examining every wrinkle and following the path of every line, she asked pointedly, "When does she star' he prep?"

Collins immediately answered, "Four days if she can get fresh lamb from Allens' and the herbs from the docks."

Attie looked up and stared into Tom's dark green eyes for moment before letting go with a slap on his back and a cheeky smile. As she turned toward the large red door outside the unlabeled building, she waved at Collins and noted, "Good girl, you're fed well for a young cup-oo. She may come, bu' I won' have annuvah man in my kitchen if his hands look like this lad's. Blink, se' him an' Tom up tuh help Jimmy wiv vuh puhtay-oes and carro's. An' you'll be bandagin' him…" She pointed at Tom with a crooked pointer finger, "…up; don' even fink of ge'in Arny or I'll ligh' va' field up like aftuh Livuhpoo los' tuh vuh damn Wolves." She turned one last time before entering the building, "Wha's you full name, Tom? I don' know how, bu' I recognize your eyes."

Tom took a hesitant step forward to pick up his trunk and responded, "Riddle. Tom Riddle. I doubt you would know my father. He's not…" Attie turned away before he could finish answering and the thick, red, wooden door slammed after her. Blink shrugged at Tom and followed her into the building, waving goodbye to the already driving away Collins in his new cab.

For how nondescript the outside of the bar was, save for the bright red door, the inside made up for it and then some. Every inch of the bar, from the wooden tables to the makeshift amphitheater of chairs of all shapes and sizes surrounding a large, standing radio in the corner of the room screamed red at Tom as he entered. What gave the bar's purpose away most, however, was a massive trophy, even larger than the Quidditch Cup, sitting in a display case atop a red and white jersey. Tom moved closer and saw, scratched into a piece of broken plank in front of the trophy, was the year '1923'. Just before Tom could put his hand on the glass between him and the trophy a small, bright red cherry tomato pelted bounced off the back of Tom's head.

Tom turned to see a chuckling Blink who cautioned him as he made his way to the stairs on the far right of the large dining area, "Even a smudge' an' A'ie will take a finger. Now come on, bes' ge' up and hide our fings now before vuh res' of vuh cooks ge' in."

Tom nodded and followed Blink up 2 flights of wooden stairs before walking across a short hallway to a relatively large room about twice the size of his own at Wool's. Unlike Tom's old room, however, this room had exposed brick, a large, overfilled yet dusty bookshelf, and most notable of all, a large selection of what Tom only vaguely recognized to be muggle equipment for chemistry. Glass tubing, beakers, various sizes of Bunsen Burner, and an assortment of other equipment Tom couldn't recognize cluttered the lone desk at the back of the room. Noticing his confusion, Blink laughed aloud and whispered, "Have tuh keep from breakin' vuh Statu'e somehow, righ? Watch vis…"

He lifted a well-hidden string from behind the top of the bookshelf and when he tugged on it, the bookshelf slid out on undetectable wheels to reveal a smaller bookshelf placed inside an alcove in the brick wall. Tom peered inside and his jaw dropped at the sheer number of rare and coveted potions books he'd heard about from both the ever braggadocios Professor Slughorn and Blink himself. Blink pulled a hefty tome out, blew off light coating of dust, and handed it to Tom. "Recognize va' one, ma'e?"

Tom opened the book to its title page to smile at the same book Blink asked for the day of Dumbledore's first challenge. Tom flipped through the pages, wincing at the sheer number of twisted, aptly named vindictive potions and concoctions inside the Vindictus Viridian's Vindictive Volumes. As Tom sat down on a small couch near the lone, red-blanketed bed in the room, Blink sat next to him and pointed at a few spells in the table of contents. "Ah, I've made va' one. Nasty side efffec's. Nastiuh van vun potion itself." He pointed to another and winced, "Tommy, if you evuh wanna ge' back a' Rodulph, va's vuh one."

Tom turned to the page of potion Blink pointed to and read aloud, "For tho…Merlin's…I hate those esses…"

Blink nodded and added, "No' our brigh'es' time, ma'e."

Tom continued, "For those of patience and will, and with enemies with little self-reference, perhaps the Olfactory Fooling Serum proves useful. Combining the effect of eliminating the taker's ability to smell even the most pungent odor, this potion also forces the user's pores to emit a stench so foul it often causes those within a meter to vomit uncontrollably. Particularly useful in dinner settings or for want of diplomatic disaster, its true genius comes from its relative ease of ingredient procurement."

Tom moved his finger past the informative, if basic, illustration depicting the potions effects to the ingredients and chuckled, "Blink, look at these… We get all of these in the post often enough I could make this in the Hospital Wing and Hogbin wouldn't notice"

Blink who busied himself with flapping away the accumulated dust on his pillows, bedding, and clothing hanging from a wire rack i the corner, answered as he came closer and leaned over too look at the book upside down. "I'd ravuh you nicked i' from Slug van Hoggy. She's rough cu' but oh-ways does me righ'. 'Ere…" He turned around and pulled away a carpet and loose floorboards, gesturing at the already present collection of cauldrons, magical ingredients, and quidditch memorabilia with overt references to the sport's magical nature, namely a moving, black and white picture of a woman with a claw insignia on her robes repeating the same motion of catching the snitch and winking at the camera. "Put vuh res' of your 'fings in 'ere. Wand too, tha'll have tuh stay all summuh, I'm afraid."

Tom put his school robes and the rest of his possessions from Hogwarts inside the hideaway but kept his wand close, hesitating as his hand hovered over it. He looked to blink, who slid back the bookshelf and covered up the slide marks on the wood, and asked, "Can…If underage magic is restricted, is it only in muggle spaces? What if we went to Diagon Alley or…"

Blink sat on the couch and answered, pandiculating wide with his arms before resting his hands behind his head and the couch's cushions, "A loophole, indeed, Tommy. Well, I know Bell… well, she told me she go' ahead by practicin' a' home, bu' she lives in a wizarding communi'y up norf. So, vere mus' be some reason vuh ministry didn' chuck her mum in Azkaban, among uvvuh reasons. Chains an' I don' ge' on well, bu' if you wan' tuh risk losin' i' worse van vuh secon' challenge, I won' stop yuh. I can do all I wan' up 'ere so long as I keep my bells…"

Before he could finish, a single, bong of a bell rang from below Blink's makeshift workstation and he stood up. "Va's probably A'ie comin' tuh get us for vuh dinner shift. You're gonna wan' tuh ro' vem sleeves up, Tommy. An' wear vis'" He reached behind the couch to a bin on the windowsill and brought forth a thin, circular piece of red fabric. He smelled it, nodded, and underhand tossed it to Tom. When Tom looked down quizzically, Blink mimed stretching it out with both hands on the inside and then placing the invisible band around his forehead.

Tom copied him and as they walked out of the room and descended the stairs, Tom asked jokingly with a pat on Blink's back, "Lie to me and tell me that not everyone that comes here talks like you and Attie."

Blink halted mid-step, as if frozen in the moment before his foot touched the second floor landing, and said deadpan, "I am offended. I am hur'. My pride will nevuh recovuh…" He turned to Tom with an evil grin and added, "…And for va', you torture will be va' much be'uh. For, Tom…EVERYONE 'ere talks like me." He cackled the rest of the way down the stairs and into the kitchen where Attie stood, her crooked knife plunged into a cutting board between herself and a group of large men in bright red chef's coats.

Attie introduced each of them to Tom after giving him an equally red waist apron and tossing Blink the same coat her line cooks wore except it had neat stitching at the shoulders instead of sleeves. The first, a tall, balding man named Arthur with patches of greying blonde hair at his crown and cropped sideburns, squeezed Tom's hand a little too tight and he swore he felt his middle finger pop out and back into its socket. Bradford, a man shorter than Tom with square spectacles that barely hung onto his squished nose, wouldn't shake his hand, instead handing him a knife, handle side first, with a gleaming steel blade just shorter than his index finger. Next came a man with a short, black ponytail and pointed features Tom thought might be sharper than the knife the previous man gave him, and introduced himself with a bow at the waist as just 'Fisher', before walking away to a cooking station with an already bubbling pot of what Tom smelled to be beef stew. The last man, shortest and thinnest of them all, shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes, shook Tom's hand like he thought it might wilt at the slightest touch and said, "Mmmm, Graham, mmmm. Riddle. Mmmm, yes."

Tom looked at a laughing Attie and Blink as the latter put his red chef's coat on over his bare chest. Blink 'blinked' at Tom and announced to the group, picking up a knife in size to Tom's but with a wooden handle with the initial's C.C. branded into it, "I'll be wiv vuh new-blood for vuh firs' hour." All of the men Tom met groaned and Fisher slammed his ladle into the wooden countertop. "Ah, come on. I can' 'ave him sendin' Ar' skins on his firs' day. Le's have good nigh', all." With a single cheer from the other men in the kitchen and Attie cheered once and Attie patted him on the back as she got to work next to the line cook named Fisher.

Tom followed Blink to a far corner of the kitchen where, next to an overflowing canvas bag of potatoes of all shapes and sizes, two wooden buckets sat with another, larger bucket in front of it. They both sat down but as Tom picked up a potato and brought his knife up to make the first peeling cut, Blink grabbed him by the wrist and said flatly, "No offense mean', Tom, bu' I've seen your cu's and pee-oo's from Potions. You migh' do well enough for Slug, bu' in vis kitchen, we don' even ge' tuh boil wa'uh until we can peel a tay'uh, ma'e. Watch close, every par'."

Blink proceeded to show him the proper grip on his own knife, maneuvering Tom's hands when he tightened too much with his middle and pinky fingers. Blink mimed with an imaginary potato how he used his thumb to control and rotate the potato. Again and again, they mimed the motions until Blink seemed satisfied and handed Tom back the potato he took and explained that the goal with every one is to removed as thin a skin as possible, giving 'Fish' and Attie a potato with as few edges as possible. He showed Tom the end product three times, each of which amazed Tom because each only took a few rotations and came away with spiraling swirls of razor-thin skins.

Blink chuckled at Tom's first attempt, which took Tom a couple minutes to finish because he missed many sections. As Blink guided Tom, his hands helping him stabilize both the potato and the angle of the blade, Tom asked him, "Why here, Blink?"

Blink didn't look up to reply as he watched Tom's hands carefully, making micro-adjustments as Tom rotated the potato with the same hand wielding the paring knife, "My mum and dad lef' me wiv' A'ie a' firs. I don' remembuh vose days bu' she couldn' take me in until aftuh my firs' year a' Hogwarts, an' vuh orphanage on vis' side of vuh Thames ain' vuh nices'. Lo'sa boys whose dads died in vuh war or worse. Lo'sa boys who don' much like pee-po wiv my skin. A'ie told me vuh same fing I told yuh, go'a work tuh stay. Firs year, barely eleven, and 'ere I am usin' a rusty knife in 'er kitchen. Come home aftuh secon' year an she han's me vis one…" He finished peeling a potato with only one long cut and spins the skin on the blade before shaking it into the bucket between them and showing Tom the handle of the knife.

Tom's eyes shot to the initials on the handle again and he asked, continuing to slowly peel, coming away with three good slices to finish off another, "Is that your father's?"

Blink laughed to himself and shook his head, "Nah, me mum's. You fink A'ie is rough. From wha' she tells me, an I believe her from vuh pictures I've seen, my mum used to be vuh sous chef of vis place AND a gangstuh in Souf' London. She go' vuh scars tuh prove i'. I'll show you sometime you're here. So, I en' up here. I on'y stayed at Hogwarts wiv you and Iz las' year because Professor Dumboo-dore offered tuh let me use Sluggy's ingredients and books. Righ' gi', no' mentionin' I'd have tuh mee' blokes like you and ven mee' Iz…"

Tom paused as Blink stopped too, his hands shaking as they drooped and he half-heartedly tossed a perfectly carved potato into there 'ready' pile. He put the dangling end of the skin he just peeled into his mouth and chewed slowly. Tom wondered what to do for nearly a minute as they sat in relative silence, the sound of the kitchen creeping into their corner. He carved the rest of his potato and asked, tossing his skin into the bucket between them, "What'd she say, Blink? Why can't she…"

Blink sighed and shoved the rest of the potato skin into his mouth. He chewed on it for a while, scratching at his bare, muscular, and scarred arm before answering as he picked up another potato and continued to peel, "She…She's gonna send me le'uh when she can. I don' know vuh whole picthuh… or anyfing really… Bu' all I know is McGona-goo is takin' her somewhere now va' she's gradua'ed and done her NEWTs. An' I don' know McGona-goo beyon' va' dumb challenge. I jus…Le's no'. I don' fink Fish wan's my sal'y tears in vis batch."

Tom nodded, even more unsure of what to do as he and Blink continued to peel well into the dinner rush, only abating for a brief dinner with the rest of the kitchen staff at 9:30. During the rare lulls in service, other members of the kitchen and serving staff would join them and sing songs about Liverpool or football in general Tom could barely understand. Fisher showed to be the most boisterous in these lulls, at one point using an empty bucket as a helmet that echoed his already loud voice. Service and cleanup ended at a startling 1am and Tom massaged his pulsing forearms as he handed Fisher his knife back. Fisher shook his head and pushed the knife back to Tom with a curt nod and barest smile. With fresh bandages on few, freshly ripped open callouses on his palms, he and Blink slowly climbed the stairs back up to Blink's room on the third floor where they both promptly fell asleep a few inches from each other on the bed and couch respectively.

A/N:

Apologies for the delay. Trying to balance too many projects at once and let editing this one fall away.

Some notes for this chapter:

The title, as with every title for this book, for reasons, is greek for "Do not Fight and Absent Foe".

The cabbie named Collins is a reference to a conveniently aged man named Alfred Collins, who served as a London cabbie for 70 years.

The Old Red pub in south-east london, one of my own invention, is based closely on the Blue Eyed Maid, which is also a bar for Liverpool FC fans. It is also 4 stories so it was a fitting inspiration.

A note on the previous use of "f" looking letters in British English: I hate them and you should too. That's all.

I hope you liked this one. When I outlined this book last year, I knew I needed to give Tom a lot more time for things outside of magical and Hogwarts because it gets bonkers down the road.

*initiate puppy dog, begging eyes* Whether you liked it, meh'd it, or vehemently hated it and want my head on a pike for my transgressions, leave me a review. I like seeing feedback, no matter the kind.