It was Saturday night.

Most nineteen year old's had their Saturdays filled with plans to party or otherwise making memories. Harry, on the other hand, did not. Than again, he supposed he couldn't really compare himself with most nineteen year old's. After training was over, he'd initially prepared to go out for a spot of supper to take back to Grimmauld Place, winding down for the night doing mindless things like studying for that surprise test over the material for the section they were on in training which really wasn't a surprise per se. Or he might forget about it altogether, waiting until Monday morning came. He had a decent memory when it counted. He'd probably pass without having to cram everything in one night.

That was his thought.

That wasn't what happened.

Andromeda sent him a letter which Hedwig delivered to him; he'd just gotten out of the training room when someone offhandedly mentioned they'd seen his owl with a letter attached to her. Harry had wondered who was sending him letters; if it was George or Percy, both could have simply stopped by as the joke shop was close and the elder Weasley's office was located in the same building, in addition to knowing where the training room was. Unless it was Mrs. Weasley further inquiring whether or not he was coming over tomorrow. That was a strong possibility. He'd never given a final answer to Ron for him to tell her.

But it was neither one of Ron's brothers or his mum. It was Andromeda. Harry scanned the letter, finding out that she had developed a horrible case of the wizard's flu and asked him if he was willing to take Teddy for the time being until she properly recovered. He said yes, of course; watching as Hedwig hooted and flew off with his reply. It wasn't like there was much of an option, honestly. Mrs. Weasley might have been someone else to ask, but he didn't think Andromeda would necessarily feel comfortable about it. Not that he minded it. He liked Teddy and enjoyed their time together. He never believed himself good with kids, having not had the chance to be around any at all because the parents of Privet Drive kept their children away from him, thinking he was the delinquent the Dursleys made him out to be, ready to corrupt their angel.

But Harry surprised himself; being around Teddy had unlocked some stored away paternity feeling he didn't know existed. He didn't mind dealing with the toddler's sleepless nights or tendency to cause havoc wherever he went-George proudly said he got it from him, despite being impossible. Perhaps this was somehow filling a void of his. Hermione had said something along those lines once but Harry, unbeknownst to her, had tuned out, having no desire to listen to her be his pseudo psychologist so he couldn't recall everything that was said.

So now, instead of spending his evening alone in the empty house that brought back far too many memories of Sirius, Harry chewed on another forkful of his lo mein, eyes wandering beside him where Teddy grabbed a fistful of his white rice, jamming it into his mouth with drool trailing down.

Tomorrow was Sunday, which meant no people staring at him, no paperwork-he didn't think he'd have any until he was certified. Apparently that was not the case- and most importantly, no Hodges. Harry still needed to decide if he was going over to the Weasleys for dinner. He'd been putting it off until the last minute, knowing he would likely cave in and go. At least this way, bringing Teddy would be in his favor. Mrs. Weasley was not so subtly encouraging her children to get a move on it so she could have grandchildren to spoil and dote on already. He knew Bill and Fleur were trying and he thought he remembered Percy mentioning Charlie had a witch he was seeing in Romania. But they were the only ones. The rest of the Weasley children were not dating anyone at the moment. So that meant all of Mrs. Weasley's focus for the evening would be on Teddy. She adored him as he was as close of a grandchild as she would get for the time being.

It was the perfect way to deter her from grilling Harry about the lack of romance in his life.

"Hawwy!" Teddy squealed, waving his tiny, chubby arms around madly. "Hawwy!" His hair was vibrantly switching colors, going from a bright blue to a deep purple to a popping yellow and now jet black to match his. It reminded him so much of Tonks when she would come to Grimmauld Place for Order meetings, showing off all she could do. Her son was able to change his facial features as well. That often happened out of nowhere, which was why Harry thought it was best to avoid taking him out where the rest of the muggle population could see him. That was all he needed was for Teddy to break the Statue of Secrecy by transforming his face into that of a pig in front of some unsuspecting, innocent woman. If word ever got to Bernard Hodges, which it most certainly would, Harry would never hear the end of it.

So, for now, they stayed confined to places like Diagon Alley or other wizarding areas where it wasn't so unusual. People were still fascinated by it, sure, as it wasn't a common gift, but at least no one was screaming.

Harry brushed back a few of the boy's now dirty blonde curls from his face. The front of his cozy onesie was stained with food and the pumpkin juice that was in his sippy cup. He'd need a bath before the night was over. Harry would have to take him upstairs for that, putting an anti wet spell over him or else Teddy would splashed the majority of the water out of the tub and onto him. That happened once. Back when he was just starting to help Andromeda out, offering to take Teddy for the weekend to give her a break. She'd been skeptical of him being able to handle it. He'd been seventeen, nearly eighteen, at the time. Hermione had tried to give him helpful tips, but those were what he deemed unnecessary. He appreciated that she was trying to help, of course, but he'd wanted to do this on his own. He was determined to. Remus and Tonks had entrusted him with being the child's godfather and for them, he was going to be the best he could possibly be without having to ask for help from everyone.

And as a result of his prior stubbornness, he wound up soaked.

"Kreacher," He called.

The old elf popped into the room with a sounding crack. "Master Harry called for Kreacher?" He said. He'd been doing better at being nicer but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the elf wanted to strike him down dead all the time.

"Yeah," Harry gave him a smile, knowing the elf wouldn't reciprocate. "I've got to give Teddy here a bath. Do you suppose you could clean all this up for me, please?"

Hermione had given him quite the earful when she learned Harry would be keeping Kreacher instead of freeing him like he'd done Dobby.

"Harry-" She started, ready to launch into the same old tirade he'd heard many times before.

"Hermione," He leveled her with a look, breaking it off seconds later, sighing. "He doesn't want to be freed. Most of them don't. Dobby was different. Please just drop this, alright?"

He never anticipated how difficult keeping two elves would be. For one, Kreacher greatly disliked Dobby and said awful things to him which made him wail. He often said Harry was going to get rid of him, which then meant he had to take several moments in order to console Dobby. And then there was the fact that he had to find things for them to do. Dobby was thrilled to just about anything for him, still insistent on calling him Mr. Harry Potter Sir no matter how many times he said just Harry was fine.

"Kreacher would be honored," The elf said in a tone that conveyed the opposite. "Kreacher would like nothing more."

Right, Harry thought.

Out loud, he said, "Say, Kreacher. Have you seen Dobby lately?"

A thought came to mind and he hoped the old elf didn't run him off or worse...kill him.

Kreacher's smile was nasty. "He's upstairs, Master Harry."

Harry knew he would regret asking. "What's he doing up there?"

He watched as Kreacher began to vanish the Chinese containers away, looking all too satisfied. "He's where bad elves go."

"That's not a thing," Harry said slowly.

"But Dobby does not know that."

Harry groaned. For Merlin's sake. No one told him he'd have to deal with two feuding elves. "You know you're not to mess with Dobby, Kreacher."

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher bowed his head. "Kreacher will gladly take his punishment."

Was there even a point in punishing him? Harry wouldn't have been cruel. Honestly, the worst he could think of was instructing Kreacher to give Teddy a bath but he wasn't so sure he trusted leaving the toddler alone with the old elf. Teddy had a way of winding Kreacher up on occasion. Mostly by merely existing but that wasn't the point.

"I'm not going to punish you," Harry said. "Just...just leave Dobby alone, alright?"

Kreacher wasn't pleased by this. "If that's what master Harry wants," He said with reluctance.

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. That's what he's been saying.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "That's what I want."

The elf grumbled but otherwise nodded respectfully.

"I suppose I should go find Dobby," Harry muttered to himself. Calming Dobby down could be time consuming, depending on how upset he was. He picked Teddy up, holding him close as they climbed the stairs. He swore he heard Kreacher grumbling about idiotic masters and rolled his eyes.

/

Dobby? Are you in here?" Harry decided to put Teddy down in his own bedroom with a few toys to keep him entertained while he looked through several rooms for the elf. But they were all empty. He wondered if Dobby went somewhere else and hoped not. At last, he opened the creaking door at the end of the corridor and the sound of quiet sniffling reached his ears.

"Dobby," He said, coming into the room. He found the elf on the other side under a window, weeping into his knobby knees. Harry came beside him and slowly sat down so as to not startle him. He didn't need the elf vanishing after being given a fright.

"Mr. Harry Potter Sir," The elf looked at him with tears in his large eyes. "Dobby is sorry for sitting down. Did Mr. Harry Potter Sir need something?"

"Don't be sorry," Harry said before the elf could get the idea that he needed to punish himself. "It's okay. And no, I'm fine. I just-"

"Is Mr. Harry Potter Sir getting rid of Dobby?" Dobby looked like he was on the verge of bursting into noisy tears.

"What? No," Harry shook his head. "That's ridiculous. Did Kreacher tell you that?"

It was obvious he had. But Dobby was not willing to admit it. Probably to avoid the elder elf's wrath.

Harry bit back another sigh. "I'm not getting rid of you. Whatever Kreacher said was a lie. You're not going anywhere."

Suddenly, Dobby leaped into Harry's arms, his face buried in the crook of his neck. Harry shifted, caught off guard momentarily. As expected, the elf began to sob.

"Mr. Harry Potter Sir is so kind to Dobby! How can I ever repay you, Sir?"

Harry cringed at the feeling of tears on his neck. "Err, no need to repay me. Really, it's fine."

Dobby pulled away, his face determined which made Harry feel wary. "Dobby will do something for Mr. Harry Potter Sir to show his gratitude."

"Oh, no. That's not necessary-"

"Dobby will make Sir some treacle tart," Dobby declared.

"There's really no need," Harry started to say but the words died off when Dobby apparated away, likely down to the kitchen. And sure enough, he heard shouting-shrieking-coming from down there; Dobby and Kreacher were going at it again.

Terrific.

/

It was Saturday night.

Most people in their twenties spent it partying or other; getting absolutely wasted, generally enjoying the time they had before hitting their thirties were some, yet not all, would smarten up and change their ways. Tom was the exception. He didn't do those kinds of things and he didn't have to smarten up. He was the youngest CEO in Britain, his life was already in a good spot. And that was why, instead of sitting in a dark night club with illuminating lights overhead and music loud it could've popped a blood vessel, he was sitting in the conference room with people he'd rather not be around.

It was night time now; he was still in his finely pressed suit, matching tie hanging around his neck and slick shoes on his feet. The table was long, extending downward with files and pens in front of each spot. Some were diligently taking notes, others were conversing and the older gentleman at the end subtly hid a yawn behind his hand. This was his life. Albeit not exactly what he imagined but it was still something nonetheless.

Toward the end of secondary school, Tom had a growing interest in politics. It fascinated him, he wanted a piece of it. Particularly the prime minister position. Oh, yes, that would have been splendid. He'd yearned for the notoriety, the riches, the glory. To think how astounded Billy Stubbs, Amy Benson and Mrs. Cole would have been to find out their minister was none other than him.

Delicious irony.

It never happened, a fact of which Tom was greatly still bitter about. A lowly orphan like him didn't have a chance. Not when everyone else was equipped with the money or connections, never mind that Tom knew he was knowledgeable enough for it. Probably better than those buffoons. It was difficult to garner support; to some degree, he could easily charm plenty of women to listen to him. They would disgustingly drool at the sight of him, enamored by his looks which was the only thing he was grateful towards his father for. It even worked on a few men as well. But he learned those people were not even. Voters wanted to be rest assured that whoever was coming in charge knew what they were doing and had their best interests at heart.

He would have assumed his background was enough to convince a few. But evidently an orphan rising all the way to the top was not what they cared about. No, they wanted another man. A man who Tom wanted to throw a dart right between his eyes.

In the end, his ambition to become a politician was not meant to be.

He supposed it wasn't all that bad. The day it happened, the day he realized he ought to simply give it up, he was walking down the street when he came across a large sign in a window. It said the company, Eureka, was hiring. He'd heard of them before. They helped invest in small businesses to help them go big or invest in ideas. Some of the most amazing inventions had gone through Eureka.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there. Not too long but enough that an older bloke came out the front door, saw him and invited Tom in for a chat.

"You interested, boy?" The man asked in his gruff voice.

Tom snapped his head up. "What?"

"I asked you if you were interested. Yes or no?"

"Yes," Tom said, having a gut feeling to do so.

He didn't know it would change everything for him.

Upon going inside, Tom went through an interview which he wasn't prepared for in the least but that was okay because Otto Johnshon, the man who came across him, hired him on the spot. Tom had sat in the chair in a daze, comprehending what just happened. He promised Mr. Johnson he would do a good job.

And he did very well.

It began as lowly intern work. He went through a series of training before he was instructed to answer phone calls or inform people of what was on their agendas for the day, if any important meetings were coming up. Things like that. Dull work but necessary in order to succeed.

After his trial period was over, Tom was given the opportunity to assist in the financial department. Some people protested to this, not convinced he was the right person to be in charge of something so crucial. But Mr. Johnson refused to listen to them. He said he had a good feeling about Tom. He was one of the few that believed in him. Most of the others were distrustful of him. They saw him beneath them for he didn't come from a similar background as they did. They didn't like him, which was fine for Tom because he wasn't fond of them either.

Eventually, through hard work and dedication, Tom became the COO. That was at the age of twenty. Twenty. By age twenty-three, he was the CEO and the youngest in Britain to hold the position ever.

It was great. He'd been elated when he found out about his promotion. It was still the best thing to have ever happened to him but-

He wasn't happy.

It hardly made sense. Tom had everything he could have ever wanted. He was fulfilling his dream as a child and yet, something was missing. Tom didn't know the specifics of it. He didn't know why he felt this way, just that he did. It was a constant feeling, an ache in his chest that won't go away. A feeling of dissatisfaction.

What was wrong with him?

A foolish man would think that perhaps there was something out there, something Tom desperately needed.

Yeah right.

Tom didn't believe in any sort of fate and had no belief that there was some force working to make everything right for him.

Perhaps this was it. This was where he was meant to be.

"...isn't that right, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom straightened up, eyes blinking back into focus. "Yes," He said, having no idea what they'd been discussing for the past few minutes. "Yes, I agree."