02.09.1930
He can't pay attention to the numbers.
Scrubbing a hand down the side of his face, Tom stares out the window down to the stables, even though he knows he is nowhere near clear headed enough to go riding right now. That'd be a one way trip to the hospital and there's nothing at Great Hangleton's hospital that holds his interest. Not anymore. Because Sophia has completed her training there and her base of work is York now. She lives in Poppleton now, not Great Hangleton and she's not living alone anymore. Because yesterday she took his son from the orphanage and brought him up north.
Tom sets his pen down, well aware he will not be finishing the accounts today. He can't; how can he possibly focus at a time like this? Which is absurd because it is not as if he can do anything. The very thought of getting involved has the goosebumps rising in great waves across his arms, a subtle tremble to his hands. It's not just his son, it's the last living evidence of Merope Gaunt and that isn't something Tom can face right now. Which is why it is ridiculous that he cannot set aside the acknowledgement and get on with his day. His mind keep gravitating towards it, circling the idea but never quite getting close enough to touch, to get bitten.
Sophia is a twenty minute drive away, it would take him less than a half hour to be at her door, the Humber parked before the little cottage she has purchased. Just as he had done the last time he had visited. The house will be different now though; he had last visited just as she had begun redecorating. He had seen the deep green that Zander had painted the upstairs bedroom, the one in which his son could very well be sleeping in at this moment… Well, dependent on how early he wakes. The horizon has just birthed the morning son. Tom is only awake now because he cannot sleep, had tried to put his restless mind at easy by working on the accounts but damn it, not even that could distract him.
Pushing back and away from his desk, Tom gets to his feet, walking over to the window to stare down across the neatly trimmed gardens. Had life been different, had he been able to overcome the mental deficiencies that Merope Gaunt had scarred into his very being… then perhaps the boy would be asleep on the floor above his head. Perhaps he would spend his days running through the grounds that Tom's office overlooks, weaving in and out of the hedges, sneaking down to the stables to see the horses. Perhaps it would be Sophia dwelling over the idea of visiting him instead of Tom trying and failing to drum up the courage to visit her.
He turns back to his desk, seating himself again and setting the books aside. There's no point in even trying, nothing has change other than the fact twenty minutes has passed since he first seated himself here and tried to begin working on them. Instead, Tom reaches for a sheet of paper, his eyes slowly drifting to the one photograph currently displayed in a small frame upon his desk. It is the photo of both himself and Sophia at Whitby, laughing at that dreadful seagull that had surprised both of them. Maybe he is being a fool, keeping such explicit evidence of their relationship upon her desk where either of his parents could stumble upon it. It is not that they are unaware he is courting the woman, though he doubts they understand the severity of his intentions. Were he not serious, he would have broken all contact upon Sophia's admittance that she were taking his son into her care. It had scared him at first, terrified him. But the thought of breaking all contact had not once crossed his mind and that is by far the most telling element in their relation.
He likes that he is improving, he likes that he is making progress. What is important now is that he needs to ensure his feelings for Sophia are not tied completely to that heady sensation of improvement.
Turning back to his paper, Tom plucks up his pen.
'Dearest Sophia,
It feels trivial to open with such a question, though I wish to know how you are. Is all well in your little cottage home? It is the early hours of dawn as I write this…'
Tom had woken up in his own bed. It had been a jarring experience. Even though he'd known that he was no longer at Wools, waking to a completely different ceiling had been startling.
Now, stomach full from a breakfast of cereal and fresh fruit, he stands beside Sophia at the station of Poppleton, his new hometown. Home-village? He doesn't think it's big enough to be a town, it hadn't looked like it when they had walked through it this morning. The clothes he's wearing had been the one from the wardrobe he'd found last night, before he'd gone stumbling to Sophia's room. It's easier to think of her as Sophia now. Miss Lovegood had been like a princess out of a storybook whenever she appeared in his life. Sophia had been the woman he'd seen in the kitchen this morning, blurry-eyed and with a sleepy smile when he'd hesitantly come down the hallway to join her in the room. The wooden floorboards had somehow been warm beneath his feet. Probably something to do with magic, because his new house is magic and Sophia is magic and Tom himself is magic.
"You'll like York, I think," Sophia muses, stroking her thumb across his knuckles from where she's holding his hand. Mrs Cole had always made them hold hands with another when they were walking to church or the one time he can remember walking to the train station. So they didn't get lost, she'd said. Tom had hated it, had clung to his assigned partner's sleeve instead, no matter how much the other whined. But Miss Lovegood— Sophia's hands are soft and not sticky with mud or what little butter the orphans were given for the week. It's not unpleasant holding her hand so Tom clings to it.
"What is it like?" Tom asks, cocking his head back to better look at her. She's dressed pretty again, in a light blue skirt and a warm yellow top, and she's in those strange shoes that make her even taller. Different from everyone else that passes by them, no other woman looks quite like her and Tom had thought it was because she wasn't from London before but that can't be it. Is it because she's magic and everyone else is not? Will there be other people like Sophia when she takes him to the magic places?
"Well, it still has its castle walls, though some parts were destroyed. We can take a walk along them and look out over the city. There's a great big cathedral—" she cuts off, frowning before she squats down to meet his eyes. A small smile lights her face and she can't seem to help pressing the hand not holding his to Tom's cheek, thumb stroking across his cheekbone and Tom tries his best not to lean into the touch. "Truthfully, Tom, I don't quite believe in the Christian god, though if you still wish to go to church on Sundays. I'm happy to take you."
"I don't want to go." It's an easy decision to make; he'd hated going when Mrs Cole had taken them and it'd only become bearable when he thought he was going t run into Miss Lovegood again. If Sophia doesn't want to go, then Tom's more than happy to go along with that. He gets a smile and another brush of a thumb across his cheek and then Sophia is standing, looking to the train that is just arriving at the station ready to cart them to York.
.
"—two of these, Tom can pick the colours, then we'll move on to finding some shoes."
Head spinning slightly, Tom does his best to keep pace with Sophia as she whirls around the department store, selecting out tops, shorts, trousers, jumpers, shirts, the list goes on. She does pause, checking that he's happy with what she's pointing out to him but all Tom can really do is nod along dumbly, still overwhelmed with the building they're inside of and all of the choices that are on offer. Even when she had been fresh from her bed this morning, Sophia had looked well-presented so he isn't worried that what she picks out will make him look silly. The clothes will be the best he's ever worn, that's for certain. So, Tom doesn't pay too much attention to them. Instead, he keeps all his focus on Sophia, trying to decipher if she's using magic to get the people to pay attention to her, or if it's just the way she moves and talks that does it. He hasn't seen her use her wand, which she'd explained every witch and wizard used to direct their magic, but that doesn't mean she hasn't used it. After all, she'd made his zouwu and must have used her wand for that, though she'd had him cover his eyes. Maybe that's why she wears such flowy skirts, so people can't see her wand move in her pocket?
"What do you think, pumpkin?" Sophia asks, gesturing to the two jumpers that the assistant is holding out. One is a soft blue that matches Sophia's skirt, the other is a grey close to the carpet of his new room. They both look comfortable and nice; he's not sure which one to pick.
"They both look good," he admits and Sophia hums in agreement, letting go of his hand to run her fingers through his hair. It feels nice. Shuffling a bit closer to her, Tom reaches out with one hand and grips carefully at the seam of Sophia's long skirt. He can't feel her wand in the pocket he knows is there, so it must be in the other one.
"I agree, we'll take both." Is she planning to get him as many clothes as she has? He'd seen a lot in the one wardrobe she'd had open and it's obvious that Sophia likes dressing up to look pretty. Lots of people pay her attention when she walks into places, just like when they'd gotten on the train or when they'd walked into the department store. Tom had stared exceptionally hard at one man in a suit to get him to stop looking. Even then, he'd only stopped glancing when his hat had fallen forward and he hadn't been able to peel it off his face. He'd performed magic there, Tom's sure of it, but he hadn't dared to tell Sophia, not when she'd mentioned it was important they kept their abilities a secret.
"Shall we go see the city walls now, Tom?" Her hand is still weaving through his hair, soothing the waves back into the neatness the wind had messed up and Tom nods.
"What about the clothes though?" Wouldn't Sophia struggle to carry all of the bags she has?
"I'll show you when we get outside."
.
The moment they are outside, Sophia slips her hand into the pocket he hadn't had a chance to inspect and draws her wand forth, giving it a quick wave after looking both ways to make sure no one is watching them.
"That one is so people's eyes slip over us for a moment," she explains, directing the stick toward the small pile of bags filled with all his new clothes. Another quick wave and Tom watches, fascinated, as one bag opens up wide and begins inhaling all of the others, one after another. It doesn't get any bigger though, remaining the same size. Even when he picks it up, it's not heavier than he expects two of the shirts originally inside had made it.
"How did that work?" he asks, peering inside the bag to find all the others lined up neatly inside along with the shirts.
"Honestly, pumpkin, I don't know the specifics of it. I've never needed to. We can only shrink muggle items for extended periods of time because magical items are just that, magical, and it upsets the shrinking charm when if it's put on them." Sophia plucks up the bag once she's done speaking, her other hand offered out to him and Tom slips his own into her grasp, curling his fingers around her palm.
From there, they make for the city walls that they had passed under in order to get from the train station into the town. They're not as big as Tom had been expecting, nowhere near the height of some of the buildings in London. Still, he supposes if someone were to approach trying to get into the city, they would seem very big indeed. If there weren't big holes in them that is, like there is now. Sophia leads him up the old steps and they walk along the walls, Tom keeping to the side that looks out over the outside of the city. While he's curious about what York looks like from the top of the walls, he's not so eager to get closer to the edge when there's no barrier. Sophia doesn't seem scared of it, but she's much taller than him. Maybe the drop doesn't look so big when you're taller.
Standing on his tiptoes, Tom peers out through the little slots in the wall where arrows would have been fired, only all be use one eye at a time with how thin the gap is. Do wizards have castles like this? Did they fire magic from between the little gaps in the stone like normal people fired arrows?
"When can I learn some magic?" Tom asks as they come to a bit where two of the walls join each other.
"Hogwarts starts at eleven. Yes," she laughs, ruffling his hair when Tom quite keep the upset from his face, "I know that seems like ages away. But you need to learn how to read and write and you need a good grounding in arithmetic before you can learn magic. Your brain isn't developed enough until you are eleven to start consciously using magic. It's the same for everyone."
"Will you teach me that stuff?" He knows it's a stupid question, knows that it's not just orphans that go to school but everyone. He can't think of anyone that doesn't go to school to learn things and the whole thing doesn't sound very good now that he's not at Wools anymore. Anything he needs to learn he can read about, can't he? Sophia can teach him at their house near the river.
"Oh, pumpkin." And Sophia is kneeling beside him again, one hand cupping his cheek and Tom doesn't lean into it. He doesn't, not when she's got a sad look on her face like bad news is coming. "I would love to teach you. But I can't. I have to go to work because otherwise we'll have no money." That makes sense. The clothes Sophia has bought him today weren't free but—
"Can't you just make it all with magic?" She'd made his zouwu after all. Sophia sighs, a slight sound that brushes across his cheeks, warmer than the slight breeze that can nip at their skin up here on the city walls. Softly, she explains to him that, unless a wizard focuses extremely hard, most transformations aren't permanent. And even if she were able to do it, that still wouldn't change the fact she cannot magic up books or other magical objects he'll need when he goes off to school at Hogwarts. It makes sense, but that doesn't mean Tom has to like it. What he likes even less is—
"I have to go to your parents?" He has to leave his little house with his nice green room at its bookshelf and draws that will be filled with his new clothes.
"Just while I'm working, darling," Sophia whispers, her face looking so sad but he can't focus on that, not when she's dropped that bomb on him. His fingers curl into fists and the wind whips at the grass that wants to climb the walls, to escape the city. "I'm afraid we're not like the standard family, Tom. We don't have a man of the house to go out and earn the money, so I will do that and look after you. I promise, my parents will adore you. How could they not?"
Yes, they're not like a normal family. And, and that's a good thing, isn't it? They're magic. Sophia has magic and probably has a magic job and she has a house of her own and she isn't struggling to put food on the table like Mrs Cole had started to complain about before he left. He doesn't have to share Sophia's attention with anyone else because if she's not married, she won't have her own children to pay attention to.
"Can't I come with you?" It would be better. He could learn about Sophia's job and how she uses magic. "I can be quiet."
She hugs him. Somehow, Tom knows that it's going to be a no and his lip wobbles, even as he bites down on it to stop it. Tears don't help.
"I'm sorry, Tom. That's not how it works. It would solve so many problems but I can't bring you to work with me." She draws back, brushing his hair back from his forehead before her thumb swipes at the skin beneath his eye, leaving a wet smudge across his cheek. He hates it, hates that he's getting upset about it when this is so much better than Wools but it's not fair. "I have this week off— oh, and I can see if you we can get you into school earlier since you can read. Then I could change my shifts so I am working while you're at school. How about that?"
He mumbles a quiet, "I don't want to go to school," even though he knows it's stupid. School is how you learn things, school is what he wanted to do when he was at Wools and the only thing that's changed is that he's with Sophia now. But Sophia is better. She's better than Wools and probably better than school too and he doesn't want her to leave him.
What if she doesn't come back.
"You'll change your mind when you see Hogwarts. Now come here, tears need a hug." Tears don't need a hug. It doesn't stop Tom from stepping forward and letting Sophia scoop him up. She wiggles her nose against his before planting a kiss to his forehead. Then, she presses the back of his head ever so lightly and Tom takes the invitation for what it is, burying his face into her neck and clinging tight to her shoulders. He doesn't want to go to Sophia's parents or to school, but he knows he needs to. Otherwise, they'll have no money and Sophia won't be able to look after him and then he'll end up at another orphanage; that's how some of the other children had come in after all. So, he'll swallow down the part that's screaming no, squash it down and pretend it's not there. Right now, he just wants Sophia to keep rubbing his back and holding him close.