What would you do if you could manipulate time?
Would you meet your demise and rewind?
Make every consequence part of your design?
The sands of time are no longer in your hands,
Tell us how will it pass?
Simple-folk.
The people of Diagon Alley, and by extension- Carkitt Market, could be summed up as simple-folk. They trudge along day after day working, providing services to fellow wizards and witches in need of their everyday auxiliaries, ensuring to make ends meet, only to repeat it over again. It's a monotonous, yet to most, a content and satisfactory life. The most excitement they may have, if not from within the happenings of their own lives, then from whatever made the headlines of the Daily Prophet. They are mostly people of habit who wouldn't mind having a little spice every now and then.
Even if that took the form of a little boy.
"The boy came to the shop with his mother. Wide-eyed and all as he looked around the shop. It was a slow day so I got to observe him a bit. It was quite curious, honestly. He skipped the shelves kids his age would typically go to and went straight to the more advanced books. Didn't think he understood them, honestly," recounted Mr. Trihart, the current manager of Flourish and Blotts.
"Did he buy anything?" asked Mr. Biscus, the owner of Eyecatcher's Second Hand Books.
He nodded, "Sure did. I was surprised, really. He pointed at the cage where I kept stock of The Monster Book of Monsters when his mother asked him if he wanted anything."
"Truly?!"
"Yes," he nodded again, firmly this time, "Of course, I warned them about those special books. Wouldn't want those little devils biting off the boy's fingers, after all, but both mother and son seemed sure, and they were paying customers so… I punched it in. But then…"
"Then? Come now, don't leave us in suspense!" Mr. Buttonwood exclaimed, a mutual friend of the shop owners who had asked if anything interesting happened in their day-to-day lives in their weekly get-together at The Hopping Pot- a wizarding pub.
"Alright! Alright!" Mr. Trihart held his hands up to placate his ever-excitable friend, "See, before I could even tell the boy to stroke the book's spine, he just up and opens the book with no problem at all! The book barely even growled in his hands! Honestly, it was the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. I would have thought it defective if it didn't snap at me when I tried to get it out of the cage. I've never seen that book so docile in another's hands before."
A collective hum in wonderment came from both his companions. Their eyes wide in amazement, with a hint of disbelief. He wasn't offended because even he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen the occurrence with his own eyes. Those books aren't called Monsters for no reason, after all. An adult would still have some semblance of difficulty using them, let alone a child.
Mr. Buttonwood snapped from his momentary stupor and turned to the bookstore owner, "What about you? Have you met this extraordinary boy as well?"
The owner of Eyecatcher's nodded, "I sure have. Although I've never seen his mother. He comes by the shop every other day to check on whatever's new. I've chatted with him as well. He's a good lad, seems smart, and very polite too. Hasn't caused me any trouble and always puts back the books in the right shelves. So I just let him stay in the shop and read if he ever came by." He finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"He doesn't come by my shop as often as yours," Mr. Trihart commented, "but when he does, he only does a quick browse. I've seen him come and go Ollivander's though. Do you think they're related?"
"Maybe? Though I can't say for certain," Mr. Biscus held his chin in thought. He wasn't that close with the wandmaker but he's had a couple of drinks with him before, "I've only ever talked about books with the boy- and you know I'm really not one for formalities. I just personally find it odd when conversing with a child that way. So, I let him call me William, and he introduces himself as just Alduin. Although I have seen his father."
"Oh?"
He nodded firmly, "I've not conversed with him, but trust me when I say there is absolutely no doubt that he is Alduin's father. They look exactly alike it's almost scary! They stopped by the shop twice already and both times he bought the boy a book."
If only he could show his friends how eerily the two looked so much alike. Children looking closely like one of their parents aren't uncommon, but that father and son was on a whole other level of similarities. They even give off the same vibe. It made him wonder what the boy's mother might've looked like or if he resembled any part of her at all.
There's just no question about the relationship of the two.
They continued to converse a bit more about the unusual boy who favored books more than Quidditch, drawing their own assumptions on why he seems free to roam around the ever-busy Diagon Alley unsupervised. Someone so young shouldn't be left by their own devices, after all. Until their conversation eventually drifted to their personal lives. Finding nothing else unusual about the boy who frequented Diagon Alley for the last few weeks.
.
"You're late!"
The group of witches, huddled together at a booth of a café, stopped in the middle of their chatter to turn to the figure heading towards their way.
"I'm so sorry ladies. Truly, I am," the newcomer, Lavinia, said with her head dipped in apology before she slid onto the empty chair they had saved for her.
"I'm surprised. You're not usually the late one to come to our soirees," commented Holly, eyeing Lavinia's slight breathlessness. She obviously speed-walked her way to get to them.
"Yes, well, Madam Benette had us all very busy lately," she answered, taking a sip of the offered tea before continuing, "Someone had asked for a commission that had the madam dump all of the work to us."
"Oho?" Rosia hummed, her eyes wide, "That must be quite the commission if the Madam Benette had to make it a priority. Is it a request from the Malfoys? The Blacks?"
Lavinia shook her head, "Neither. None of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, actually. Now, did I miss anything before I got here?"
"Nothing much. We've just been catching up actually," Eloise supplied, "Although Sierra was just telling us about this charming little boy."
"Oh ladies, you have no idea! That boy is just precious," the apothecary assistant cooed. "I've never met such a well-mannered child before. Such a little gentleman. He's even more polite than any of those pureblooded children."
"Who put up the commission then?" Rosia pushed, leaning towards Lavinia, "Were they a noble foreigner?"
Lavinia stared down at her friend for a moment with a quirked brow. Noting the eager expression on her face. Although she supposed she couldn't blame the witch for being curious. Any witch whose even remotely interested in fashion would know the brand Benette. Infamous for only having one store in the entirety of UK, in London; if there are restaurants whom people had to make reservations months in advance, Benette's would be its tailoring equivalent. Unlike other stores, they sold no ready-to-wear collections, and only accept commissioned work- that never seem to run out. Anyone whose anyone would want to wear a tailored outfit made from them, and anyone who had been fortunate enough to wear one would all say that they feel like royalty.
"I don't think so," she finally answered after a moment's thought, "They seemed as English as we are."
"So they just happen to be sickeningly rich? Surely, that can't be all to sway the Madam to make them a priority. Can't you give us a hint of a name, at least?"
"Rosia, you know I can't tell that kind of information. Even if they're not from the Twenty-Eight. Besides, the commission was for a little boy. I've only ever seen the missus and she's not someone whom I recognize so I don't know which sickeningly rich husband she has. The boy is such a dear though, very well-mannered," Lavinia suddenly paused upon remembering the customers in question who gained the Madam's favor. Then unbeknownst to her companions and herself, her eyes glossed over absently for a moment, making her seem to have been lost in thought before her brows creased together, "You know, now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever quite gotten their names."
"Welcome back, husband."
The greeting came to him the second he stepped out of the fireplace and Abraxas let his public mask slip as he approached his wife. The bags under her eyes were about nonexistent by now since the incident. To his relief, Serafina had kept herself hidden and safe when the boy's mother came and practically tore down their home.
"Things are progressing smoothly, Sera," he said after giving a kiss to her cheek, "Just be patient a bit more and we can finally go home."
A small understanding smile was her response to his words.
It would be a lie if he said he was no longer in shock and denial over what had happened to his ancestral home. How could he not? When the very manor that withstood the test of time and history had fallen in one night by the wrath of a single witch. Fortunately, her only goal in mind had been to retrieve her son so the only carnage she left in her wake was the path that led to the meeting room, but it did not mean the damage was any less extensive. Putting back the house together was easy enough, and any furniture and décor can easily be replaced, but the greatest challenge was restoring the wards that had been destroyed, and frankly, Abraxas would not want him and his family to be left vulnerable in their own home.
"How is Lucius?" he asked.
"He misses us. Worried, but in good health," Serafina answered, cupping a hand to her weary face, "I miss my boy, Abraxas. Can we not call him back to us now?"
A deep breath left his lips in thought. Because of the incident, the Malfoy couple had to stay at one of their nearby villas while they wait to get their house fixed. Whereas they had decided to extend their son's visit at his grandparents as an added precaution. But with the way things are moving now…
"I suppose that is possible. Although we would still have to stay here in the villa for a few more days. I don't think Lucius would mind," He lets out an encouraging smile, "Besides, Tom is helping restore the manor's wards himself so I'm sure it won't be long now until we can finally come back home."
Abraxas did not miss the way the shine in his wife's eyes at his acquiescence of reuniting with their son again, had dimmed at the mention of his esteemed lord's name.
As far as he knew, his wife knew nothing about Tom Riddle apart from being the charismatic, powerful wizard he was. He had introduced him as an old friend since his days in Hogwarts whom he deeply respected with the highest regard. She may not fully understand the grasp of his influence and power over him and the other Knights but she was a witch who knew to stay out of his business. However, the happenings of a few days ago may have stirred guilt and doubt over herself for approaching the boy in the first place.
Even though he knew she was not to blame as circumstances just happened like a chain reaction; a little too well, in his opinion, that he might've thought it was staged. Surely the boy's meeting with his wife was just pure coincidence, right? But if Tom's son inherited more than just his appearance…
He shuddered at the thought.
"Oh I almost forgot. Your friends have come and are waiting for you at the parlor."
He blinked his eyes inquisitively at her. He did not recall any meeting being held today but true enough, the familiar faces of the Knights of Walpurgis greeted him the moment he entered the room.
"Gentlemen," he started, squaring his shoulders, "I must admit this is quite the social call."
"We apologize for the short notice," said Theoden Nott, "but each of us here are in a consensus that this is a most pressing matter."
"And you all believe this pressing matter is best consulted with me because?" Abraxas drawled, his grey eyes surveyed each of his fellow Knights and noted the uncertainty in their expressions. He was tired from the restoration of his manor (there were specifically tailored wards that can only be used by those within the Malfoy bloodline), ensuring the ties with his associates, and steering off any curious reporters wanting to get anymore scrap out of the story he told about the incident.
"Because as you are the one directly related to the recent misgivings, you would have the higher opinion second only to our lord," answered Jericho.
Understanding what they came for, Abraxas heaved out a sigh before sitting himself at an unoccupied chair.
"Well then, let us hear it."
Jericho Avery, Theoden Nott, Philip Rosier, and Markus Lestrange, turned to one another in silent conversation. Each of them made up the innermost circle of Tom's Death Eaters, and all of which now heads of their own houses with families of their own. If there were anyone who believed in Tom's cause then it would be them. So with that in mind, Abraxas highly doubted they came because of a sudden doubt they developed over Tom's integrity. Their lord always kept his promises especially in terms of power, and he had delivered on numerous occasions even whilst they were still at school. Just being by his side and in his favor already made them feel powerful. Besides, it would be foolish (more so suicidal) of them to suddenly jump over the fence this late in the game.
"I suppose I could start," Markus volunteered. He gestured with his hand, "I know none of us here are much into women's gossip, but my wife had told me this interesting thing she saw the other day whilst she was having tea with Theoden's wife and some of their friends at a café. They claimed to have seen our esteemed lord walking about the streets of Diagon Alley with a little boy that looks exactly like him."
"Apparently, it gave them quite the shock," supplied Theoden, "Melissa had to harp it over me the second she came home."
"My wife had the same reaction as well," Philip added, "Except she was out shopping with our house elf when she saw them browsing at a bookstore."
Abraxas turned to Jericho, "And did your wife happen upon the same sight as well?"
"No, but this kind of gossip travels fast and she heard it from Melissa," Jericho answered, "I'm afraid I can't tell you verbatim over the hype they said about it but I can say it was a bit exaggerated if it even sparked the interest of my wife to interrupt me in my study just to ask about it."
"Well, knowing your reticent wife, I have no doubts," quipped Markus, to which Jericho just waved his hand in no offense.
Meanwhile, Abraxas had to gather all of his willpower to suppress a groan, knowing full well where the direction of this conversation was going. Except for his wife, theirs have attended Hogwarts alongside them. Even though Jericho and Theoden's wives were in the year after them, they all knew of Tom Riddle and have known him personally since they married their husbands. Obligations mandated them to know the man whom their husbands held highly so it's no surprise that they would have such reactions if the charming, powerful, dark, and mysterious Tom Riddle suddenly appeared with a miniature version of himself for the world to see.
"But the query still stands," Jericho continued and now all eyes were fixed on Abraxas, "Why is Tom freely walking around with his bastard?"
A litany of words erupted with their own variation of the question. Not that Abraxas blamed them. Weeks ago, Tom ordered them a tight lip as if the boy was their own closely guarded secret, but now he's practically announcing that he has a son.
"We were wondering if our lord has mentioned anything to you about this sudden turn of events," said Theoden, "because we certainly weren't sure what to say. We understand if he wished to remain it as a secret but this is just…"
Abraxas nodded slowly in understanding. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I think… our lord wants everyone to know," he started, "Honestly he hasn't told me of his plans directly but if you think about it, just by walking with the boy, anyone would conclude that they're related. And from the blasé way he's doing it, I say it's purely intentional."
"But why is he risking it?"
"Tom's not even married."
"People will talk, and with our wives- women of high society- knowing, word will travel fast. I wouldn't be surprised if other houses have heard of it already."
"I agree," Abraxas quipped, "But thinking about it, what do the words of a few shopkeepers and bystanders matter? He and the boy's mother didn't exactly go off on the right foot."
"That's an understatement," someone snorted.
"Don't misunderstand. The witch is clearly still a problem, and we all know Tom wouldn't just let this offense go without retaliation a hundred-fold," Abraxas leaned forward, elbows atop his thighs, "I hypothesize that Tom wishes to lure the witch through the boy. What better bait to use, after all?"
"But wouldn't he also put himself at risk? Having a bastard would not bode well for his reputation."
"True, but it's not as if he needed to say anything. After all, some houses would endear more to him knowing he's a family man. Like the Blacks and Selwyns. It's not the first time for him to capitalize on a situation and turn it in his favor. I just don't exactly see the picture, but I'm sure that's the gist of it."
Something feels wrong.
"-and then, he showed me the difference between linear and circular arrays-"
Hermione listened to her son's rambles while half of her attention was on the bubbling cauldron before her. While she was relieved that she had collected enough from her hunts to compensate for the time she had initially ignored the pull, she can't help but notice that unexplainable force has been waning bit by bit. It concerned her because after each of her son's feasts, the number would usually increase in order to satiate him for his next hungry bout.
But recently, the pull hadn't been as strong as it was compared to the last five years. She could still feel it regularly; feel it call to her inner hunter, but something niggled at the back of her mind that this almost undiscernible feeling shouldn't be ignored. Has something changed in her son's appetite? Is this related to what that Allsehend showed her? If she couldn't feel that tell-tale pull anymore, then how would she be able to feed her son? Will she have to go look for the prey herself?
She shuddered at the thought. Even though her hands have long since been stained during her past life, she had never killed anyone in cold blood. But if it's for her son…
Something feels very, very wrong.
"-said this book will help me understand better about the basic principles. Mr. Riddle said he'd give me a week, but I believe I can finish it in three days."
The brunette smiled at her son's raised chin in pride and challenge, yet her brows were furrowed slightly in concern. She was happy to see her son happy. There was that usual shine in his eyes whenever he found something interesting, and just like her, he rambled whatever he learned to her willing ear, foretelling his excitement of learning something new. The only problem was the source of his current interest.
Ever since she resumed her hunts, there wasn't a single day Tom Riddle didn't take advantage of her absence to get close with her son. She wasn't surprised. She had even expected it. Whenever she came from her hunt and meet her son at the fountain, Riddle would be there too, talking to her son. Every. Single. Time. It was only because of Alduin's insistence on cordiality that made her give him terse thanks, and in return Riddle would make a suggestive remark about Alduin being his son.
Oh, the nerve of that git!
"Al," she turned to him over her shoulder, "Has he done or… said anything else while you're with him?"
Alduin cocked his head at her before he shook his head, making her frown.
As promised, Alduin would tell her about how his day went, especially during the hours he spent with Riddle. While it's blatantly clear that he was trying to get close to her son, the only exchanges that had happened between them so far were about topics on magic. From potions, ancient runes, arithmancy, even magic theory; it seemed that Riddle even tested how much Alduin knew about every subject. And these discussions then brought a shine in her son's eyes.
The churning in her stomach grew worse each time Riddle's name flew easier and easier out of her son's lips. Diagon Alley could only offer so much for Alduin's entertainment, and learning about wandlore had satisfied him for a time, but Riddle's presence had provided that intellectual stimulation her son needed during her absence. She knew Tom Riddle was a brilliant wizard, both in power and intellect. He had even received the title as the best student to have ever graced Hogwarts. Harry had told her so. And based on what her son had told her about the knowledge Riddle had shared with him, she'd have to begrudgingly admit it.
Still, it didn't mean she liked the idea of her son growing fond of the dark wizard just because he- in her son's words- can also answer all of his questions just like her.
But really, what is Riddle playing at?
He hardly even made a move to confront her since that incident at the Malfoy Manor. If it hadn't been for the sheer cold beneath his void-black eyes, she would've thought otherwise.
For all his claims of being Alduin's father, she had absolutely zero faith that it was because Tom suddenly developed a paternal instinct. He's interested, yes, but for what reason? She's not foolish to believe this façade of his.
.
"Mr. Riddle asked where we use to live before coming to London."
"And what did you tell him?"
"Here and there. I told him we've been travelling around the world, and when I asked him if he had gone anywhere outside the country, he said that he had been travelling too."
.
"Has he taken you anywhere you're not familiar in?"
"Not at all, mother. In fact, Mr. Riddle just follows me around wherever I go. No matter which shop I go to. Sometimes he would even pay for the things I buy. I would've found it strange but he actually makes a good conversationalist. We often just talk about magic though."
"He doesn't ask you about anything else?"
"No… well, sometimes… he a bit about our travels like where we went, how long we stayed, and what we did. He only asked once what your occupation was and I told him you make potions and do curse-breaking. I promise I didn't tell him anything else like our Den and your hunts!"
.
"Blood? Well, Mr. Riddle asked if we have relatives here but I just told him that my grandparents aren't here anymore like you said I should. Other than that, he's never questioned me about family or anything related to blood status again."
.
She noticed the rod stopped stirring in the cauldron from her periphery and peered over the contents. This potion was meant to freeze the cells of any organism, thus losing their metabolic function in exchange for keeping itself perfectly preserved until an external source destroys it. It was a recipe she made to preserve the flower her son had given her for Mother's Day. Satisfied at the shimmering light blue liquid and slightly spicy scent, she turned to her son who had been reading silently atop one of the clear desks with the new book Riddle had bought him on his lap.
"Hey, Al, would you mind helping me? Postino ordered a batch of my Eterna Solution for the flowers he'd want to give to Carmela on their upcoming anniversary."
Alduin perked his head up at her words. Just like he wouldn't mind sitting and reading all day, he also wouldn't mind doing any physical activity. Besides, helping her with potions is the only time she would allow him to use a knife.
His head turned to the cauldron and then down to the book as he hummed in contemplation. Hermione didn't even try to hide her smirk when Alduin set the book down and grabbed the nearest stool to set beside her.
As if she'll let Riddle hog her son's attention while she's here.
Alduin stared up at the older man with his head cocked to one side in silent wonder, question, and confusion. Mr. Riddle had only ever followed him around wherever he went, falling into step just a foot behind him. Not too far to say strangers nor too near to invade his space, but just enough to convey they were familiar with each other.
He would also only arrive after he's done with his meeting with the wandmaker. No matter how early or late he decided to leave the shop, Mr. Riddle would be there, appearing out of nowhere just waiting for him outside. He never once stepped foot inside the shop.
Until now.
Which is why Alduin can't help but wonder why. He entered the wand shop just as he was bidding farewell to Mr. Ollivander.
Alas, Mr. Riddle only met his curious stare with that familiar nonplussed expression of his. His chin high and head tilted just slightly to the side in mockery of his own. Alduin was no ignorant that Mr. Riddle was a man on a whole other category. His mother's evident worry and constant warnings told him more than enough. But he didn't need his mother to tell him of his capabilities as well.
Mr. Riddle's soul song may be broken, but the melody still played a mesmerizing tone almost as equal to his mother's.
He was powerful, and someone whom should definitely be wary of, but in the face of Alduin's hunger, the craving he's never felt before took great precedence above everything else. Now if only his mother could also see that there's nothing to be afraid of.
He was also aware that Mr. Riddle wanted to form a sort of bond or connection with him but he's yet to solve the reason behind them. His mother's constant reminder not to trust the man also added fuel to his own precautions. He wouldn't want to upset his mother again, but he would be lying if he said that Mr. Riddle wasn't compelling. If there's anything Alduin couldn't resist, it's good food and new knowledge, and Mr. Riddle knew a lot of things. He gives a new perspective on topics (magic), even the ones he had tackled before with his mother.
So, for today… should he just… play along?
"I'll be off now, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you again for today," Alduin snapped his head towards the wandmaker behind his front desk. His grin split his face from ear to ear.
"O-Oh yes, of course. It's a pleasure as always. Do send my regards to your mother," Mr. Ollivander stammered, eyes blinked rapidly as if in a trance. He wore the same expression as all the other shopkeepers, and even passersby, who saw him and Mr. Riddle together. The man whom he resembled so much didn't even need to utter a single word.
"Of course, I will, sir," Alduin said cheerily before walking towards the door. It didn't take long for Mr. Riddle to follow suit.
Once outside, Alduin waited for Mr. Riddle to close the door behind him before opening his mouth. An innocent, playful smile tugged at his lips while his eyes shone with mirth. Wholly unafraid of the man who had pointed his wand at him in clear threat not too long ago.
"I'm hungry. Can we go eat first?"
Mr. Riddle's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, "Haven't you eaten enough at breakfast this morning?"
"I ate a lot," he answered as-a-matter-of-factly. He had noticed how Mr. Riddle became quite inquisitive whenever food became a topic or whenever he mentioned he was hungry, "but I'm a growing boy so…"
He rolled his wrists and shrugged his shoulders playfully. Mr. Riddle huffed out in response.
"Very well. Where would you like to eat this time?"
Alduin pressed his finger to his chin and hummed dramatically, "I was thinking maybe you should pick a place this time, Mr. Riddle."
A fine brow arched at his suggestion, "I suppose. Any requests?"
"Something new?"
"Something local then. Come," with a swift turn of his heel, Mr. Riddle began walking down the cobblestone path. Alduin dutifully took his place just a foot shy behind him as he followed in curiosity.
Yes, maybe it would be more fun to play along with Mr. Riddle in the lead this time.
The older man led them to the end of Diagon Alley, where a small chilly courtyard stood. Alduin knew this area, of course. There was a brick wall at the end that would shift and mold into an entranceway where both wizards and witches alike would come and go. However, instead of the familiar wall, Alduin averted his gaze towards one particular dark corner. Its entranceway was a lopsided sign that read Knockturn Alley.
"Have you been down there before?" he heard Mr. Riddle ask as he kept his curious gaze on the alley.
"No," he answered, "Mother said I shouldn't go down there without her."
"But would you like to? I can take you down there, seeing as you're so curious."
This time, Alduin turned to look at him. There was something strange on Mr. Riddle's expression, as if he was anticipating something that was in his favor, or like a cat that finally caught the canary.
"Don't you want to know what's down there?" he goaded.
Alduin hummed as he placed his hands behind his back, then he turned away from the shifty alley.
"Not really," he said with a bit of pep, "Mother said there are a lot of riff raff there that don't have any manners, and I find discourtesy to be unspeakably ugly."
"Pity," Mr. Riddle said noncommittally.
With that topic dropped, Mr. Riddle opened the brick wall as expected where he led him inside an unassuming door.
Dingy, was Alduin's first impression of the pub he stepped into. Despite the early hours, the place had a stark contrast of lighting that needed the aid of candles. It was a bit noisy from all the patrons talking amongst each other, and there were even those occupying the bar getting drunk.
"Mr. Riddle," Alduin began as he followed him to one of the unoccupied tables, away from the long table at the center, "Where are we?"
"The Leaky Cauldron," he answered once they sat themselves comfortably, "it's a known pub and inn here in Wizarding London. Mostly because just outside that door is the muggle side of London."
The older man gestured with his head towards another nondescript door. It swung open as a witch entered and showed him the sunlit road where a noisy car just passed by.
Alduin hummed, "Ahh, not bad. It has a convenient and strategic location."
"I take it you've never been here before?"
"No, but I've heard of it. I've never been in an inn before," Alduin said as he let his curious eyes wander and commit to memory every detail of the place.
"No?" came Mr. Riddle's genuinely curious tone.
"No," he confirmed, "Mother always found us a flat so there was no need for us to stay at an inn. But we ate at a pub once because I was curious of the food there."
"It must be daunting jumping at one place to another all the time," Mr. Riddle commented before casually asking, "Wouldn't you like a more permanent residence?"
Alduin shrugged, "Not really. I like learning and seeing new things so I don't mind. We even lived inside a tree once."
At this slip, the older man's stygian black eyes snapped into full attention, "A tree?"
"Uh-huh."
"How peculiar," he drawled in exercise of patience, "would you mind elaborating on that?"
Alduin fought the snicker at his apparent sire's obvious interest, "I apologize, sir, but I can't tell you much at all. Mother only said we stayed there until I was three years old. I wouldn't even know about it if she didn't tell me! It makes me wonder what it was like. I couldn't imagine how someone could live inside a tree, could you?"
"No, I couldn't."
"Ah but knowing mother, she probably did something amazing to make it possible," Alduin leaned forward playfully with a toothy grin, "because my mother is a very, very powerful witch. Don't you agree, Mr. Riddle?"
He didn't answer immediately, but there was a wrinkle between his brows that only encouraged him to keep up his grin.
"Yes, she is."
This time, Alduin couldn't help bark out a laugh. Mr. Riddle always seem to get riled up whenever his mother was mentioned, no matter how much he expertly hid it. The songs he could hear never lie, and Mr. Riddle's would always increase in tempo. Fortunately, whatever retort Mr. Riddle had over his response didn't came out as a waitress arrived at their table to fetch them their orders. And just like almost every other person, she had an awed expression on her face as she looked at him and Mr. Riddle more times than it was necessary. It's honestly starting to get bothersome.
"What's that?" Alduin paused from taking another bite off his kidney pie to point at a man who began plastering posters along the walls and pillars of the pub.
Mr. Riddle set down his mug to follow his line of sight. Alduin's blatant pointing and louder question must've caught the man's attention as well, as he turned to the boy with a smile. It was only when Mr. Riddle motioned for the man to approach did he dare to step closer.
"Good day!" the man greeted cheerily, lifting his newsboy cap. There was nothing to take note of his meager clothes, his face looked ordinary as well, perhaps a shy of a few years younger than Mr. Riddle. The only things that stood out and caught Alduin's interest of him however, were the rolled-up posters tucked under his arm and the pin of a red tower at the lapel of his outer robe.
"Hello, sir," Alduin led, "I apologize if I bother you, but I can't help but notice the posters you were putting up. Might I know what it is?"
He beamed, "Why certainly, young sir! Here, have a look at this."
Shifting to slip his hand into the bag that slung across his chest, the man procured a simple flyer for him to take. Alduin gasped as his eyes widened at the picture of a red tower protruding out of a striped tent. Creatures of different kinds made up the space unoccupied by the large text as they moved about in a constant loop.
"A circus!" he turned the flyer around and shoved it across the table for Mr. Riddle to see. Excitement sparkled his equally dark pools.
"So it is," Mr. Riddle commented casually, his eyes passed over the paper boredly.
"That's right, sirs, the Redtower Circus!" the man enunciated with jazz hands, "With over fifteen sensational acts from the most unique talents you'll ever see! This is our third stop in our European tour and we boast not only an amazing show but there will also be games and prizes, and a parade of exotic beasts from all over the world! I guarantee you will have a most fun and exciting time of your lives!"
Alduin was practically beaming at this point. He's never been to a circus before. There just wasn't any of those traveling shows during their travels, and he's always been curious to see one.
"Would you like to go?" Mr. Riddle asked, the corner of his lips tugged upwards ever so slightly in amusement, no doubt at his expression.
"Oh yes!" he answered before suddenly deflating a bit, "but I will have to ask mother first."
Looking back down on the flyer, the event will start two days from now. Maybe, if he asks nicely (with a little show of his puppy-dog eyes), he could convince his mother to reschedule a hunt or whatever plans she has on that day so they could go see it together. After all, it's just for one day and who knows when he'll have the chance to see another circus?
"I'm sure she can be convinced," Mr. Riddle said, "If not, we could just go together."
At this, Alduin's smile completely dropped. Any shine of excitement in his eyes faded as he stared at his apparent sire. He vaguely even heard whatever their audience said, except for the key words: 'father' and 'son', when Mr. Riddle dismissed him and he went back to his work.
The silence stretched, and though Mr. Riddle had his brow up in question, he didn't dare break the silence, as Alduin noticed it was his way of prompting others to talk out of their own volition.
"Mr. Riddle," Alduin began, not caring at all that he dropped his cordial façade, "Do you think yourself as my father?"
To the unaware, that question might've been strange. For their appearances alone spoke of their relation.
"Have I not been clear during these past few days, Alduin?" he answered back with a question.
"Yes, but I was asking if you think of yourself as my father," Alduin stressed those chosen words. He was not ignorant that Mr. Riddle was making it clear to others that they were father and son, he might as well announce it. The question why though, remains unsolved.
As expected, Mr. Riddle understood his question. The silence that followed spoke volumes for it. So before he could come up with another cryptic answer or elusive question, Alduin continued.
"I think you misunderstood something, Mr. Riddle. I apologize for being frank, but I don't particularly care about this biological relation between us," he motioned between them, "I am intrigued by you, yes, and I admit I enjoy our discussions but I can never forget the discourtesy you showed my mother. See, until the day my mother acknowledges you as my father, then I will never call you otherwise, Mr. Riddle."
Something shifted in the air. Subtle and unseemly, only for the small bubble around them. Alduin felt it, his natural sensitivity made it so, and he heard it even as he didn't need to try, the deep sonorous tone echoed in his ears for the briefest moment. Enough to tell him the displeasure that wrought the man before him. Mr. Riddle's eyes were alit. The lone candle stuck to the wall beside them gave his visage a stark contrast with the pub's dingy atmosphere.
Mr. Riddle was angry.
It made Alduin's hackles rise a second time. The first being when he tried to force his way into his mind if not for gigantic body of a snake that pushed him back.
Quick as a serpent's strike, Mr. Riddle's hand clasped around one of Alduin's wrist. His fingers sunk into him like fangs, and Alduin tried not to wince at the pain of his vice-like grip.
A deep, mocking laugh rumbled from the older man's chest, his next words a sibilant hiss only meant for him to hear, "Is that what you think I've been doing, Alduin?"
His much larger hand tightened and Alduin couldn't hold his expression as the pain coursed through him. His own fists balled as he mustered his strength to endure this unpleasant sensation. His mother would never even dare to think of raising a hand on him, but that did not stop others, and the first time that happened, he suddenly became indescribably hungry.
"I think," Alduin began, meeting brave eyes with his threatening ones, "I think you should show some semblance of courtesy to the mother of your son next time. Casting legilimens without her knowledge is pretty rude, you know."
"You're too bold for a snake."
"No, sir. I'm just an adorable little boy," willfully ignoring the pain on his wrist, hoping that it wouldn't bruise for his mother to see, Alduin smiled a genuine, innocent smile, his pearly white teeth flashed unabashed under the candlelight. "Now, if you would please, sir. I need to go."
Mr. Riddle sneered. His grip loosened only slightly at the flash of his smile, "Do you think you can escape that easily after saying all that?"
"Not at all, sir," came Alduin's immediate reply, "It's just that I really need to go. Right now."
The thick tension that wrapped around them snapped, popped like a balloon, especially when Mr. Riddle realized what he had just said. Now there was an incredulous expression painting on his face. Yet his eyes remained untrusting as his grip still locked in place over his wrist.
The silence stretched, and Alduin squirmed in his seat not because of his scrutiny. He wasn't lying when he said he needed to go. wordlessly, Mr. Riddle's hand loosened considerably, and Alduin took that cue to stand from his seat. As a show that he will not be running away, he left his bag on his chair before approaching the nearest staff to ask them where the loo was. He didn't need to look back to know Mr. Riddle was watching him closely.
Inside the small bathroom where a lone toilet and sink was, Alduin raised his wrist to his eye-level and clicked his tongue in displeasure at the small patches of discolor there. Who knew Mr. Riddle couldn't handle a bit of criticism? No, he wasn't afraid. No matter how powerful, there was nothing to be afraid of a broken soul.
From his pocket, he fished out a small tin and opened the lid to reveal mint-green colored cream. He spread a bit of the salve with two fingers over the colored splotches of burgeoning black and blue and watched in satisfaction as the cream and bruises faded as if they were never there.
Alduin sighed. Honestly, if Mr. Riddle didn't have that something he was craving for, he wouldn't even be exchanging a single word with the man.
After doing his business, Alduin exited the small bathroom with squared shoulders and unblemished wrist. Gingerly, he maneuvered his way around the busybodies of the pub to return to his table where his apparent sire was waiting in, hopefully, a little better mood.
Suddenly, a mug was dropped in front of him. Alduin stepped back quickly to avoid the suspicious liquid of mead from staining his shoes. When he looked up, Alduin tried not to stare rudely at the fat man with a small gingery blond moustache and thick straw-colored hair. His pudgy hand remained outstretched to where his mug had been as he froze from where he stood. Despite his girthy appearance, he wore velvet waistcoats made from fine material whose buttons he feared would pop out anytime soon. However, what Alduin noticed the most, was the uncensored look of shock on the older man's face, as well as his ashen white complexion as if he had just seen a ghost.
"Excuse me, sir," Alduin began, his brows scrunched in mockery of concern, "but are you alright?"
The fat man stammered incoherent syllables, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Alduin had half a mind to just excuse himself when he suddenly said, "T-Tom?"
At that, Alduin blinked and stood straighter.
"Tom Riddle?" the man pointed a shaky finger at him, "Y-You look so... so… young!"
How curious. This is the first time he met someone who knew his apparent sire. At least, someone who told so in his face.
A genial smile pulled up at the corners of his lips, making the man gasp once more, "Well, I am only ten years old, sir. But I'm afraid you're mistaken. I am not Tom Riddle."
"Alduin."
As if being summoned, Mr. Riddle came up to them in measured strides, "I heard a noise. Is everything alright?"
Alduin looked up at him and noted the expression on his face as that of concern. As if he had not just grabbed his wrist and held it so tightly it bruised.
"Tom?" said the fat man again, earning his attention.
At this, Alduin watched Mr. Riddle very closely.
"Professor Slughorn," he greeted with a practiced smile of his own. "It's been a while."
"It is you!" the fat man exclaimed, his face instantly brightening up like a fireball, "My word! It's been years! You look swell, m'boy! sharp as ever! Then that means this must be…"
The fat man, Slughorn, turned his attention back at Alduin. A knowing grin now pushed the fat of his cheeks. Alduin however, just kept his silent smile as he waited for what's to come.
"Ahh, this is my son, Alduin," Mr. Riddle introduced, the hand he gripped his wrist with now held his shoulder in a familiar gesture while he motioned for the professor with the other, "Alduin, this is Horace Slughorn. He was my potions professor and the Head of our Slytherin House during my time at Hogwarts."
Smaller black orbs looked up at sharp stygian ones. So this is how he would play it? Well, Alduin did decide to play along today. It would be rude to go back on his own word to himself.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Slughorn," Alduin beamed and stretched out his hand, "I've heard of your name, of course, but I never thought I would actually meet you so soon."
If possible, the man's expression became brighter as he shook back his hand most enthusiastically. His round stomach bounced as he gave off a hearty laugh, "All good things I presume? But it is my utmost pleasure to meet you! Do excuse my blunder earlier, m'boy. I mistook you for your father there. You just look so much alike! Why, for a moment there I thought I was dreaming, or Tom had found the solution to eternal youth!"
"Not at all, sir. You aren't the first person to make that mistake." Alduin laughed along politely at his joke, "My mother reads the Potions segment of the Daily Prophet all the time, as well as The Practical Potioneer. She's very familiar with you, sir, and says that your inputs are always a welcome read."
"Really now?" Slughorn beamed, his thumbs hooked at the lapels of his jacket in clear display of pride. Alduin found him funny, "Well, of course, I am a professor at our illustrious Hogwarts and also a proud member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. I was surprised myself when the editor approached me to write in that segment of theirs."
He guffawed.
"Very eloquent, sir," Mr. Riddle deadpanned to which Alduin let out a genuine laugh.
"Your mother must be very adept at potions, and also a formidable witch to garner your father's interest," Slughorn gave Mr. Riddle a nondescript wink. A gesture that Alduin eagerly lapped up especially at the praise of his mother. "As for you, Tom, I didn't know you were married! And you didn't think to invite your dear old professor?"
There was a brief flash of conflicted expression on Mr. Riddle's face. Alduin decided then and there that he liked Horace Slughorn.
.
"Don't look so smug."
He heard Mr. Riddle say with a hint of a warning growl, but Alduin just flashed him a smile as they continued to walk towards the fountain. Conversing with Mr. Slughorn had been most illuminating, not to mention entertaining. He learned a lot about his apparent sire and Mr. Riddle's responses gave him insight to what he was really planning.
Oh how he can't wait to tell his mother!
She won't like it. He would bet that she would probably even be angry, but the amusement granted upon him was just too much that he was almost skipping in his step. To be honest, he didn't particularly care about what Mr. Riddle was planning. So long as he got what he wanted from him in the end, then everything else he will freely give to his mother to decide.
"Mother!" Alduin exclaimed, both in joy and surprise as, for the first time, his mother was the one waiting at the fountain.
He rushed to her side to give her a hug to which she hugged back. However, once he pulled back to tell her a prelude of what happened today, he paused at the expression on her face that made his lips clamp shut.
His mother's face was stormy, and the tempo of her song was raging just like Mr. Riddle's earlier at the pub.
It wasn't directed at him. No, never at him, but that didn't stop the shiver that went down his spine.
His mother was extremely angry, and her eyes blazed the moment she looked up at Mr. Riddle.
Horace was practically glowing as he sat on his seat at the staff table. Who knew his quick excursion to Diagon Alley would grace him such auspicious results! To the point the joy and pride of his discovery had followed him back to Hogwarts even when the sun fell down.
"Why Horace, you look as if you found the secret to creating the Philosopher's Stone!" Professor Beery said good-naturedly beside him, "Or tell me, with whom have you won a bet against with?"
The potions professor guffawed, "Oh Herbert, as theatrical as ever! No, no, I did not acquire that kind of accomplishment I'm afraid. In fact, I say I found something better!"
"Ho ho? Care to share?" Silvanus Kettleburn piped in.
Horace grinned widely, unable to hold himself, "Well you see, my dear fellow-professors, my little trip to Diagon Alley this afternoon had let me to an unexpected reunion with one of our proudest graduates in Hogwarts' history! No- I dare say, he is the greatest student that has ever stepped foot into Hogwarts!"
"Greatest… you don't mean?"
"Are you referring to Tom Riddle?"
At that, Horace was almost bouncing at his seat in nothing but pure excitement like a child. "Precisely!"
Upon hearing that, the rest of the nearby teachers became abuzz upon remembering the boy with extraordinary talent and intelligence.
"How was he, Horace?"
"I haven't heard from him in years."
"Was he not offered several positions at the ministry?"
As the questions piled up, Horace took the reins by recounting his tale of how he stumbled upon an incredibly charming, polite, and courteous little boy who looked exactly like his most favorite student.
"-and as you can imagine, to my utmost surprise, it turns out the boy wasn't Tom Riddle at all! In fact, he was his son!"
Gasps of awe and delight erupted from his coworkers except from one man who about spit his drink.
"I beg your pardon, Horace," Albus coughed as he hastily wiped his mouth, "but did you just say Tom's son?"
Horace hooked his thumbs at the lapels of his coat as he puffed out in pride some more, "Alduin Riddle! A powerful name, if I do say so myself. It seems that brighter days will be heading towards Hogwarts again. Next year, perhaps? He did mention he was ten years old. Oh! How could I forget to ask!"
"You are saying… Tom is married?" came Albus' additional befuddled question amidst the excited chatter.
"Well of course he is, Albus! How could you think otherwise?" Horace retorted, "I have not met her personally as she was not there but the boy spoke very highly of his mother and she seems to be familiar with my name as well!"
There had always been a bit of tension between Tom and Albus, but how could he even question such a thing? Obviously, Tom is married if he had a son. Anyone could easily assume that. Someone like Tom would never do something so… so… scandalous as to impregnate a woman out of wedlock!
Last time he had heard from Tom, he was working at some shop at Knockturn Alley. He never understood why he would choose such a career and for a time, he lost contact as if he disappeared. Now however, Horace finally got his answer about his favorite student's sudden disappearance. He had apparently been traveling, and no doubt in those years he had met an extraordinary witch that had caught his attention, and now he is raising a family of his own!
It made him immensely curious about this supposed wife of his. During his time at Hogwarts, Horace was a bit concerned for Tom in his apparent lack of interest in romance. He was always so focused in his studies that it made him worry over his health as a growing boy. Ah but now those concerns are finally put to rest. And if he were to put money on a betting pool, he would put it all in that she is someone brilliant, if not as closely talented as Tom. He wouldn't expect less from Tom to choose someone up to his caliber.
Not to mention his son. Uncanny resemblances aside, he would also bet the boy had inherited his father's talents as well. He could tell. He can spot a diamond in the rough a mile away and Alduin was certainly a beacon; he would be blind to not notice!
Oh if only they weren't in a hurry and he wasn't in a time crunch to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, he would've loved to know more about them!
"But does it not make you wonder-" Albus followed with a stroke of his beard.
"Oh Albus," Beery, ever the romantic at heart, came up in defense, "I'm sure we are all curious to know about the witch that had captured our brightest alumni's heart. Aren't you the one always toting on about love and fate and destiny and whatnot? I bet theirs is a romance befitting a play!"
Excited chatter once more erupted, this time at the prospect of a new generation to grace the halls of Hogwarts that would add another gem to the school's crown of jewels.
"Ah now that I think about it, Riddle once asked me if he could take up the position as the new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts after Galatea's retirement," Headmaster Dippet said, cupping his chin in recollection.
"And what did you say, Headmaster?" Albus asked.
"I told him he was too young and to come back in a few years to gain some experience," the older man waved off a hand casually, "I wonder if he's still interested in the position? But either way, I don't think I'll be here to make that decision seeing as this will be my last year in Hogwarts. I will be leaving everything in your hands, Albus."
He placed a hand on the soon-to-be-new-Headmaster's shoulder.
"Come now, Armando, don't be so ominous," Albus chuckled jovially.
Dfpc bv bjv Rwkwiv fd iam Eqijs tb Eqijs'l Mvf.
Nftkm bjv kdhv ncuch tvl vyc hnv kqcjpiamu.
The only beast that should give you a fright-
Is the thing inside you called your appetite.
BONUS SNEAK PEEK OF THE NEXT CHAPTER:
"You are a self-respecting witch, Hermione, of course I would think you're married! Now I wonder why I would even think you were a single mother…" Mr. Ollivander hummed absently before waving his hand in casual dismissal, "Ah silly me. I mean no offense, my dear. My brain must've fried from all the work I've been doing lately!"
Hermione stared blankly at the wandmaker. His dismissive joy and amusement at his own apparent silliness juxtaposed the horror that reflected in her eyes.
"Mr. Ollivander," Hermione began, her voice croaking, "I can't be married. I don't even wear a ring."
"Is this a test?" he murmured softly as he tilted his head, "So? My own parents married but they never wore a ring. I'm not sure what kind of marriage you and your husband had but traditional binding rituals never required an exchange of rings. In the wizarding community at least, because that's just a trend that decided to stay. Ah! Now that I think about it, I'm afraid I never did quite get your last name. You never did mention it."
FINALLY an update! Tomione interactions will finally start on the next chapter.
The reasons for the hiatus being Finals, and I always became busy with work during the last three months of the year. Holiday craze and all that. I wanted to at least update on Tom's birthday but I got sick. Yeah, I celebrated New Years in my room because I don't want those in my family to catch what I got, but at least it wasn't covid!
I do hope you've all had a great New Year and everything's going well for you so far!
I read all your comments and thank you so much for the continued support!
Weekly updates will resume from now on.
Take care everybody! And STAY AWESOME!
Ciao~!