Gellert wakes up to Harry standing at his bedside, arms outspread and slowly tipping forward.
"No!" Gellert cries, frantically trying to kick off his blanket and run but it's twisted around his legs. "No, no, Harry. Harry-!"
Harry bellyflops onto the small child and Gellert wheezes.
Tom watches all of this from the doorway, unsympathetic. "You know what day it is. If you sleep in, there are consequences."
"Quality Quidditch Supplies has a sale!" Harry cheers, pushing himself off the flattened blond. "Up, up, up! Broomsticks!"
Gellert groans.
There is actually quite a crowd around the shop, not only for its sale but also because there's a new Swedish-designed broomstick just out on the market.
As soon as Harry sees the large, colourful advertisement hovering above the store, he perks up and starts ushering the kids forward. "Come on boys, daddy's gonna get himself a new broomstick."
"You have like four," Tom complains, letting his hand be grabbed without much of a fuss because he's feeling oddly tolerant today.
"And apparition works just fine as transport," Gellert whines, flopping his arm around in Harry's hold. "I'd even take the Knight Bus."
"You don't understand my love for flying," Harry insists, dragging them along behind him. "If I had to pick between a broomstick and you boys then - like, I would pick you, but then I would pick the broomstick."
Tom, the little shit, goes completely limp and flops down, only held off the ground by Harry's hand.
Gellert then decides to be a horrible older brother and follows along instead of being mature.
"You think I won't?" Harry cackles and ducks down, throwing the boys over his shoulders with help from a feather-light spell.
Gellert shares a look with Tom. "We need a new Harry, this one is defective."
Harry comes out of the store, arms laden with a new set of Quidditch balls because Mooney keeps chewing through them, a cute little tiny snitch for the inferi kitten to play with, the new broomstick, and finally a giant calendar of all the Quidditch games that are going to be played this season.
The boys stumble out after him. They thought about leaving but Harry wondered (threatened) if he should by child sized broomsticks for Tom and Gellert so the poor boys had to stay.
The three of them edge out of the still quite sizeable crowd and end up in a clear bit of road. The place is too small for the boys to do their usual huddle without Harry overhearing so instead Tom and Gellert mutter together in German.
After all, the initial translation potion for Gellert did wear off after a few months, and instead of relying on it, the blond decided to simply learn English.
Not to be outdone, Tom learned German out of spite.
Gellert then upped the ante by trying Parseltongue. Which, kudos to him, he can manage a very accented but passable conversation - with lots of magical help because normal human vocal cords cannot make the sounds needed for Parseltongue.
The boys then went on to teach themselves Mandarin, Italian, Afrikaans, and Harry thinks they might be on Norwegian at this point.
To be fair, it's not just their extreme competitiveness talking, because if they're going to take over the world then they don't want to rely on translation spells and potions, which are often short-lived or accented or don't quite get the meaning across.
Harry is not exactly ecstatic about the reasoning but as long as the boys enjoy themselves (and no one is being hurt) then it's all fine.
Gellert pulls away from the huddle and smiles at Harry. "Now that we have what you want, how about you stay by the café and we can go get our things?"
"What are you two getting?"
The boys share a look because they're not getting anything, they are in fact going to confront the witch that's been following them through Diagon Alley all morning.
"Books," Tom says.
"Yeah, books," Gellert agrees.
"Do you need money?" Harry wonders, already shuffling his things around to try and reach his pocket.
"We have enough," Tom says, already backing away.
Harry accepts this because on top of the income from the Unspeakables, the boys have actually been giving Harry pocket money from all of their many commercial ventures.
"Have fun, stay away from weirdoes," Harry says easily, wandering off.
When Tom and Gellert follow the frantically retreating witch down the shopping lane, they end up in a hat shop.
The witch is inside, whispering to a wizard getting a fitting, both of them decked out in precisely detailed robes, a heavy and soft fabric, expensive. Purebloods, definitely, and probably old blood judging by the way they carry themselves.
The wizard gestures sharply and the hatmaker quickly ushers her assistant away and then disappears herself, leaving the shop empty.
The wizard's eyes land on the necklace around Tom's neck, the ring strung up there. "You're a Slytherin?"
"Oh," Tom realises, bored. "Never mind."
"Wait a moment," Gellert says in amusement when Tom starts to leave. "This might be fun."
"I doubt it," Tom sighs but stays.
Harry already told Tom all about the Gaunts when Tom asked because Harry is a firm believer in knowing your family and where you come from. Harry even offered to buy the Slytherin locket from Borgin and Burkes but quite frankly Tom wants nothing to do with those pathetic people -that run down family line- and the less said about the muggle Riddles the better.
The only reason Tom wears the ring is because of its connotations with the being of entropy that follows Harry, not out of familial pride. People will fear the name Tom Riddle because of who he is, not because of long dead ancestors who could never amount to Tom even if they were alive.
"Your heritage," the wizard says, eyes alight in awe. "Do you know what it means to be a Slytherin?"
"I will be much more than just a Slytherin," Tom promises.
The wizard takes out his wand and places it over his heart. The witch soon follows and they bow low.
Gellert has to elbow Tom. Twice.
"Fine, yes," Tom sighs and frowns at the two adults before him. "You get one chance. Don't disappoint me."