Chapter 5
Riddle caught him by the elbow and kept him upright when it seemed Harry was about to fall flat on his arse right in front of his prophesized enemy. Riddle's absurdly handsome face did some very complicated things as he stared down at Harry.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, willing strength back into his legs. "I skipped lunch. Just feeling a bit light in the head."
Nodding slowly, Riddle gently released Harry when it seemed he wasn't about to keel over again. "I would offer you some of mine, but I'm afraid I've skipped lunch as well," Riddle said with a regretful little smile.
Harry blinked up at him, realizing that Riddle probably was going a little hungry in the muggle orphanage. The whole country was on food restrictions, and he doubted that some rundown orphanage in London would get any priorities when it came to food distributions.
"I'll be fine," Harry assured Riddle, feeling all sorts of embarrassed that he'd made such a scene in front of Tom Riddle of all people. "I should return home anyway. What time suits you best for me to stop by tomorrow?"
"First thing in the morning, if that's not a problem for you. There's hardly ever any customers when we first open," Riddle said as he walked Harry to the door. Riddle really was good at roleplaying as a perfect gentleman.
"Sure, I'll see you then," Harry said, offering Riddle one last smile before slipping out the door. He flipped his hood up and hurried out of Knockturn Alley, meanwhile wondering what the fuck that had all been about.
Why the hell had Riddle's magic felt so fucking good? Like something that hit every last cell of Harry's body in just the right spots. Was it because Harry had been a horcrux? But that had been his previous body. Harriet Hubble never had a piece of Riddle's soul stuck on her forehead.
But wait. Harry had lived with a piece of Riddle's soul right next to his own for just about 17 years. And while Harry had never consciously missed that piece of Riddle's soul once it was gone, perhaps connecting with it again through their brief magical exchange was enough to trigger…something that felt really good, for some reason.
Hm.
These were the kind of mysteries Harry always felt compelled to solve, especially because it involved his prophesized enemy. Or rather, his former prophesized enemy, if that was even a thing. Harriet Hubble didn't have any prophecies hanging around that connected her to a Dark Lord, Harry didn't think.
Harry kept mulling over these things in his head as he spent the rest of the afternoon brewing the ancestor potion, which he kept under stasis at Murder Cottage for the night.
When he returned home, ready to magically cook his family some dinner, he found Evelyn sitting at the kitchen table, a cold cup of tea in front of her while she stared at the wall.
"Mother?" Harry asked as he carefully approached her.
Evelyn snapped her head towards Harry in obvious surprise. "Harriet, darling. Your brother received a letter drafting him for the service."
Something got stuck in Harry's throat and he coughed a few times while he stepped up to the sink. He filled a glass of water and swallowed it down, blaming his suddenly parched throat on having spent time hovering over a hot cauldron without hydrating himself.
"When is he leaving?" Harry asked, standing at the sink, back turned to Evelyn. He felt terrified for Vincent, even though he'd only known the man for a few weeks. Not even a month. But he had a lifetime worth of memories from Harriet, who'd loved her big brother a lot. Though Vincent was a lot older than Harriet, he had always been a caring sibling. In the short time Harry had known him he'd certainly enjoyed playing chess and checkers with him in the evenings while they all sat in the living room and listened to the radio.
"This Friday," Evelyn said, and Harry could tell she was desperately trying to keep a brave face, though her cheeks were very pale.
Harry stared at his terrified mother, the only one he'd ever known, and offered her a reassuring smile. "They won't sent him into the battlefield. He's a medic. He'll be well behind the fighting, working hard to save lives."
Evelyn ducked her head for a moment and then pushed her chair back to get up. "You're right, darling. Vincent will help his fellow soldiers win us the war."
"Should I prepare something special for dinner? We've still got those smoked sausages," Harry suggested, and Evelyn gave Harry's shoulder an agreeable squeeze.
"That's a wonderful idea. I'll head back to the practice, clean up today's paperwork."
The moment Evelyn left through the side door that led into the doctor's practice that was located in a different part of the house, Harry got to work to prepare his brother a feast. He roasted potatoes, carrots and parsnips, quickly pickled some beets and radishes, and fried up the smoked sausages until they were nicely browned.
Vincent was in good spirits and gave Harry plenty of compliments for the feast he'd prepared. Martin, who'd been a medic for the British armed forces during World War One couldn't stop giving his son advice on everything and anything to do with surviving on the frontlines.
After they all got up to go to the sitting room, as they did every night, Harry pulled on Vincent's sleeve and stood up on his tiptoes to whisper in his ears. "Drop your watch off in my room. You'll get it back tomorrow morning."
Vincent frowned at him for a second, and then got an understanding look on his face. "I thought you weren't allowed to do magical things during the summer?"
"Not all magic requires a wand. Let me do this for you," Harry whispered urgently. He really, really wanted to do what he could for his new brother.
"Sure," Vincent agreed easily, though he looked like he wasn't quite sure what Harry could possibly do to his watch that would help him.
Well, Harry could do plenty, even if Vincent wouldn't understand all of it. Harry went to bed early and found Vincent's watch on his dresser. It was a sturdy metal windup piece that Vincent had inherited from their grandfather, and that he always wore. Harry added lots of different rune sequences, for wards of safety and protection, and he added whatever shield charms he knew. Harry had no idea if any of those things would protect Vincent from actual bullets or bombs, but it was better than nothing.
He quietly slipped out of his bedroom after he was done and left the watch in Vincent's room on his nightstand. Harry honestly hoped Vincent would make it through the war in one piece. He'd only just found this new family. He didn't want to be losing parts of it so soon.
The next morning Vincent was excused from the doctor's practise to start packing. He invited Harriet to help him, but Harry brushed him off with an excuse that he needed to run an errand for a neighbour, but that he'd be back in a few hours to assist him.
As Harry picked up the ancestor potion at Murder Cottage he got an idea. He quickly transfigured a vase into a thermos and filled it with tea. After he apparated to Diagon Alley, he stopped by the bakery and picked up some lardy cakes and a few slices of malt loaf.
Fuck it. Harry knew what it was like to go hungry, and he doubted Riddle was getting enough calories at that fucking orphanage, especially since Riddle seemed to be right in the middle of a growth spurt that would send him well over 6 feet eventually. And while Harry didn't give two shits about Riddle, he hated seeing anyone go hungry. And since he had sort of snatched up the basilisk from under Riddle's nose, Harry figured the least he could do was spend a few knuts so Riddle wouldn't go hungry.
The bookstore was empty, save for Riddle who sat behind the counter, book forgotten in his hand as he was obviously keeping an eye on the door for Harry to arrive.
"Brought us some treats," Harry said as he all but smacked the paper-wrapped cakes on the counter. "It's not every day a witch gets to prove there's no such thing as muggleborns," Harry added, as an excuse, because Riddle seemed just the type of proud person to start bristling at the thought of charity.
Not that Harry cared, because he didn't. At all.
Harry unwrapped the cakes, got out the thermos, pulled out his wand and conjured two teacups. He filled them up and then noticed Riddle staring at him with wide eyes.
"You use magic during the holidays?" Riddle asked carefully.
"You don't?" Harry countered with a grin. "Don't tell me you of all people haven't figured out how to break the trace by now."
Riddle got an incredibly sour look on his face for a moment before he schooled his features into something a bit more polite. "I do know I can safely practice magic around adult witches and wizards without setting off the trace," Riddle said with a haughty little sniff.
Harry snickered. "But you can't use it around muggles? Shame." Harry pushed the cakes towards Riddle and then snatched up a lardy cake for himself. "Here, have some cake."
Riddle got this complicated look on his face again as he stared at Harry, but he did pick up a slice of malt cake and took a big bite.
"The potion uses Thestral hair and blood," Harry said, just to make conversation as he finished his cake.
Riddle's eyes widened and he quickly swallowed his mouthful of cake. "Really? Were you even able to buy any at the apothecary?"
"No, and they looked at me as if I was insane when I asked for them," Harry said with an amused smile, wiping his hands together to get rid of any crumbs before picking up his cup of tea. "Thankfully, I know where to find a sizable herd of them."
"Who did you see die?" Riddle asked, blunt as you please. He seemed to realize at once that what he'd just said was very rude. "Apologies, I didn't mean to say it like that."
Harry's mind was going a mile a minute, because he wasn't sure of the answer, but then he remembered that Harriet had seen her grandmother die. Gran had collapsed from an aneurysm, and she'd passed on the next day in her own bed, with her whole family around her. "My grandmother, a few years ago," Harry whispered, because remembering those things filled him with a strange sense of grief. Harriet had loved her grandmother a lot.
"My condolences," Riddle whispered before picking up his own cup of tea to take a big sip.
Harry shrugged but then gave Riddle a pointed look. "And you?" If Harry was confessing to such things, Riddle had better be prepared to do the same thing.
Riddle did look for a moment as if he wanted to brush Harry off, but then he sighed and put down his teacup. "At the orphanage, there was an outbreak of the measles. Again. Most of us got it at some point. Most of us came out of it just fine."
"But not all," Harry guessed. He knew measles were very infectious and could lead to terrible consequences, even death. Martin talked about it often enough during the evenings because measles were always going around.
Riddle nodded. "Yes, one of the younger boys in our dormitory was badly affected. It was surreal how quickly he went from a cheerful little boy to his deathbed."
"My father is a doctor, so I've heard all the stories," Harry said, not sure why he was sharing that bit with Riddle. Perhaps it was because Riddle was looking rather disturbed by his own memory, and Harry knew very well that Riddle had a very real fear of death. Perhaps actually talking about it might help him deal with that kind of fear a bit better.
"That must be nice, to have your own private doctor," Riddle said with a brief grin. "At the orphanage the doctor is only called when someone is practically standing at death's door. Our Matron firmly believes her quackery is just as good as the advice of an actual medical professional."
Harry grimaced in sympathy, and he couldn't hold back a chuckle. Thankfully, Riddle chuckled along for a moment. Then Harry finished his tea in one big gulp, wrapped up the rest of the cakes and shoved those towards Riddle. He didn't give Riddle a chance to protest by distracting him with the potion he pulled out of his bag.
"You need to add 7 drops of your blood." Harry left Riddle to it while he unrolled a large sheet of parchment. Riddle pricked his finger with a small penknife he pulled out of his pocket and squeezed out enough drops of blood. "Now pour out the potion over the parchment," Harry said, reaching for his wand and healing the small wound on Riddle's finger without thought. "And then we wait for 10 minutes."
Riddle was staring at his own healed finger with a small frown before he remembered his potion and carefully poured it out. Like before, the potion fanned out over the parchment and sank into it.
Harry refilled their teacups because they might as well have some more tea while they waited. Riddle's face was a blank mask, and Harry could only imagine how he must feel. So much depended on this for him. Muggleborns had a very low status in the world. Someone as clever as Riddle had to know that being a half-blood meant much better opportunities for a career than being a muggleborn.
The first name that popped up was of course Tom Marvolo Riddle, and the next one was Merope Gaunt. Where Riddle's muggle father would be there was only a smudge, as was expected.
"Oh boy," Harry said, playing along at being surprised by these results.
Riddle stared at him with wide eyes before fixing his attention back on the parchment. "What does that mean?"
"It seems your father was a muggle and your mother was either a witch or a squib," Harry explained while Riddle's brows furrowed deeper and deeper into a frown. "Well, to be honest, seeing as your mother was a Gaunt, it's reasonable to assume she was a squib. In fact, you should be glad your father is a muggle, or you would have been a squib as well, guaranteed."
"Truly?" Riddle said in a voice thick with disbelief.
Harry tapped the parchment where the names of Marvolo Gaunt and Marsila Gaunt had just appeared. "You know that unofficial Slytherin credo 'better a cousin than a mudblood'?"
Riddle released an utterly undignified snort, as though he'd never expected Harry to say such a thing.
Harry grinned in return. "Yeah, well, the Gaunts take that one step further, and generally add 'better a sibling than a cousin'." Harry tapped the parchment again, where the branches now showed that Marvolo and Marsila had indeed been siblings.
"Merlin's balls," Riddle muttered, eyes wide as he stared at the names of his grandparents. Yeah, Harry figured, it must be a bit of a shock to realize you were the product of some serious incest.
"Yep," Harry agreed with a solemn nod. "The Gaunts are utterly inbred and because of that they're also certifiably insane and have about as much magic left in their lines as the average squib."
Then, much to Harry's surprise, a name appeared on Riddle's father's branch, above Riddle's grandmother, three generations removed.
Athena Scamander.
"Wow," Harry said, in genuine surprise. "You're related to the Scamanders!"
Riddle blinked as he looked between Harry and his family tree. "That name sounds familiar."
"Yeah," Harry said with obvious enthusiasm, and then he remembered that it was the 1940s and Newt Scamander hadn't written his book yet. "They're an old, respected family, purebloods mostly. They're pretty big in the Ministry, I think. And they do some stuff in zoology." There, that was nice and vague. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see the name Scamander, because Luna had married Rolf Scamander, Newt's grandson, just the previous year, and Harry had got to know that family a bit.
Riddle gave a few thoughtful nods, but he still looked very unsure about the whole thing.
"So, you're not a muggleborn," Harry said, hoping to assure Riddle a bit about these findings, and to steer him away from his obsession with his heritage. "But you are a descendant of a surprise squib."
"Are there any Gaunts left, do you know? My mother died in childbirth," Riddle asked quietly, eyes fixed on the parchment.
Harry frowned, pretending to think. "Not many, I don't think. Perhaps your uncle, but he's been in and out of Azkaban. I'm pretty sure your grandfather and grandmother are both dead already."
"How do you know all this?" Riddle demanded, using a bit of force in his voice that made it sound like he was feeling quite frustrated.
"My aunt is also a muggleborn witch, and she works for the ministry," Harry said, figuring that Aunt Carole could be a good excuse to explain away all the knowledge Harry had that a 15-year-old muggleborn witch probably shouldn't be having.
"I see," Riddle said, just as the branches leading up from the Gaunt family showed a new name.
Syldara Slytherin.
Riddle inhaled a shocked breath, his face rapidly losing colour before moments later his cheeks flushed.
"Ah, you're related to the Slytherins," Harry said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to find out.
Riddle gave Harry an incredibly incredulous look.
Harry shrugged. "Salazar Slytherin had something like five kids. He has a lot of descendants, but I think his name has been lost for a while now. Did you know Ilvermorny, that wizarding school in the USA was founded by a descendant of Slytherin?" Harry gave Riddle a quick little grin, still trying to steer Riddle away from thoughts of grandiosity just because he was related to good old Salazar. Harry wasn't lying. Slytherin had a lot of descendants, but those days most of them could be found in different countries where they'd married into all sorts of interesting families. Hermione had stumbled across that information while she'd briefly been obsessed with wizarding genealogy.
Still staring at the parchment, Riddle remained quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Harry didn't blame him. It was an emotional journey to figure out where you came from, especially when growing up an orphan.
"If you want to get in touch with any of your relatives, your best bet is the Scamander family," Harry said, trying to add some sympathy to his voice. "They're reasonable people who will most likely enjoy hearing that one of their squib relatives has eventually produced a magical child. The Gaunts would not welcome you or accept you. They're known muggle haters and pureblood fanatics."
"Yes," Riddle said with a little sigh. "The fact that my grandparents were siblings does suggest such a thing."
"Exactly." Harry gave Riddle an agreeable smile. If Riddle did get in contact with the Scamanders, he might genuinely find acceptance there, which might keep him from losing his shit when finally finding the Gaunts and the Riddles.
"What about you?" Riddle asked, looking up at Harry, his eyes shining. "Who are you related to?"
"Oh, I can show you." Harry didn't mind sharing his own ancestry. It might help Riddle accept his own lot in life, if he realized others were also getting interesting results. Harry pulled his own parchment out of his bag and spread it out for Riddle to see.
"I haven't been able to research anything yet," Harry explained as he pointed at the name Ebba Feborg. "I think that's Scandinavian."
Riddle actually laughed, which made Harry gape at him in surprise. "Swedish," Riddle said, giving Harry a wicked grin. "Not all the Feborgs are dark, I don't believe, but Arvid Feborg certainly was."
"Do enlighten me," Harry said eagerly.
"He was a Dark Lord at the end of the 1700s, and he invented quite a few interesting curses," Riddle happily explained.
"Really." Harry couldn't help return the grin Riddle was giving him. "Imagine being related to a Dark Lord."
Riddle gave a careless shrug. "Imagine being related to Salazar Slytherin."
"Pah." Harry waved Riddle's comment away with an impatient hand. "Slytherin is the wizarding world's equivalent to Dzjengis Khan."
When Riddle frowned in confusion, Harry said, "He has like 16 million descendants or something. He got around. A lot."
Riddle ducked his head while he laughed outright. It was such a warm sound, which took Harry completely by surprise and inexplicably, he suddenly felt a bit flustered.
"Anyway," Harry said quickly to get rid of the hot feeling in his chest. "The Graves are an old pureblood family, who migrated abroad, I think. I have to research that as well." Harry remembered meeting a few American Aurors named Graves during an international Auror conference in Helsinki where he'd been invited to speak. Apparently the Graves family was well known for producing lots of Aurors. Harry tapped against the last name on his family tree. "And the Potters are still around."
"You could perhaps contact them," Riddle suggested, eyes still shining with mirth. "Just don't mention your connection to Arvid Feborg. The Potters are an exclusively light family."
"Yeah, yeah." Harry rolled his eyes, and then he got an idea. "I'll write the Potters, if you write the Scamanders."
"Why?" Riddle said, suddenly looking a bit suspicious.
"I still believe that all muggleborns are squib descendants," Harry said, leaning both his hands on the counter and leaning a little closer to Riddle. "And I think it will be interesting to see how different families react to the news that there are new magical witches and wizards out there who are distantly related to them."
"It might be an interesting enough experiment," Riddle conceded with a nod. "Very well, but I do expect to hear about your results."
"Sure, we'll share the results." Harry couldn't help the flush of pride at his own brilliance. Here he'd managed to steer Riddle towards the family that would hopefully keep him from developing such a strong urge to commit patricide eventually. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have commitments," Harry said with a real sense of regret. Now that he'd actually spent some time talking to Riddle he wouldn't mind doing it some more, since Riddle was easy to talk to and seemed just as willing to exchange knowledge that could help them both.
"Certainly," Riddle said as Harry vanished the teacups and put away his thermos and his own family tree in his bag. "Thank you," Riddle added in a whisper, and either Riddle was the greatest actor in the world or he truly felt a little emotional about the whole discovering his ancestors thing.
"You're welcome," Harry said with a genuine smile. "If you know anymore muggleborns wanting to find their squib ancestors, let me know."
Riddle's brow pulled together in a very tight frown while his lips all but disappeared, so tightly did he clench his jaws. He even briefly closed his eyes before he said in a most contrite tone. "It would help me greatly to send people in your direction if I knew your name."
Harry grinned so widely it hurt. If Riddle was anything like Hermione in his obsession with needing to know every little detail of everything that was going on, then Riddle had just spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, wondering what the fuck that name of that mystery classmate was. It was hilarious to imagine Riddle bursting with frustration over Harry's name, but in the end, Harry decided to put Riddle out of his misery. "My friends call me Harry."
"Harriet Hubble!" Riddle yelled, slapping one hand on the counter in sheer victory. "That's your name!" Oh yeah, Harry was now more sure than ever that this had kept Riddle up last night.
"And it only took you twenty-four hours," Harry said with a teasing chuckle.
Riddle's eyes crinkled with obvious amusement. "Don't exaggerate, Ms Hubble. It was barely eighteen hours."
"Ah yes, because that makes all the difference." Harry gave Riddle a cheerful little wave before turning around. As he walked to the door, he called over his shoulder, "I'll stop by in a few days, so we can see if we've received a reply from our distant relatives."
"Have a good day, Ms Hubble," Riddle called back before looking down at his family tree again with a satisfied smile on his face.
Well, that had been an interesting meeting. Harry was amazed that Riddle had opened up so much. Then again, this Tom Riddle was only 15 years old. Still a child in some ways, only now finding his own place in the world. And while Harry still had no desire to directly interfere with Riddle's life more than he already had, he did have to admit that spending an hour chatting with the young man had been a pleasant enough experience.
As Harry pulled up his hood and walked through Knockturn Alley towards the exit, it suddenly dawned on him that at no point since his rebirth Harry had considered killing Tom Riddle. Just do away with him entirely before he could ruin anyone's life. And it would have been easy, too. Riddle had eagerly accepted food and drink from Harry without checking them for contaminants. This Riddle, while suspicious at times, wasn't yet so paranoid that he trusted no one around him.
But Harry had no intention of poisoning a 15-year-old Riddle, no matter that Riddle might become a Dark Lord again. Harry didn't want to play judge, jury and executioner to a teenager who hadn't yet done anything wrong. In fact, Harry had made a few significant changes that would alter Riddle's life one way or the other. Riddle might not even become a Dark Lord this time, or if he did, he might go about it in an entirely different way.
Harry would happily sit back and watch what happened to Tom Riddle from now on, but he wouldn't take out the man until he actually deserved it for his current actions, not for what he might have done once upon a time.
As Harry entered Diagon Alley, he realized that he might as well buy an owl for himself if he was going to correspond with some distant family members. He was definitely writing the Potters. And he was going to research the Graves and the Feborgs, and who knew, he might end up writing them as well.
In his previous life, Harry hadn't bought a replacement owl after the war. At first, he'd missed Hedwig too much. And later, he realized that he really didn't need an owl. He didn't send that many letters in his private life. The Ministry had owls to use for any outside correspondence, and on the rare occasion Harry had a personal letter to send he simply popped by the post office and spent a few knuts to send it.
But now that Harry had an actual family he wanted to stay in contact with, having an owl of his own was probably a good idea, especially with Vincent joining the armed forces and Edith working as a Land Girl. It would be nice if Harry could keep in touch with them as well. Back in her first year, Harriet's parents had offered to buy her an owl, since that animal was mentioned in her Hogwarts letter. But Harriet had found the large birds with their glowing eyes a little scary and hadn't wanted one. A cat was out of the question as well, since Evelyn and Margaret were allergic, and Harriet had no desire to own a toad either. So in the end, she'd refused any kind of pet. Whenever she wrote her family a letter, which wasn't often since she didn't think she had many positive things to write about, she simply used a school owl.
Now Harry decided it was time to get himself a new owl, perhaps a barn owl or a tawny owl. Something that wouldn't stand out too much.
But the moment Harry opened the door to the Owl Emporium, he saw the spitting image of Hedwig sitting on a perch to the right. Such a beautiful snowy owl, and Harry had to swallow against a sudden lump in his throat.
While Harry tried to be strong, in the end he couldn't help himself and some fifteen minutes later he stood outside again with his new snowy owl in a cage in his hand. He apparated them to Murder Cottage.
"This is where you'll be staying until we go to Hogwarts," Harry explained while he released the bird. "There's lots of mice to hunt here in the countryside. I'd introduce you to my family, but I can't explain to them how I got the money to buy you, so that will have to wait."
The owl blinked at him with patient eyes.
"Your name is…" Harry frowned, trying to come up with something that fit his new companion. "Holly." That was a nice tribute to his old life without giving too much away.
The newly named Holly bobbed her head at him agreeably.
"I have a letter for you to deliver right away," Harry said as he grabbed some paper and a quill. He kept the letter to Fleamont and Euphemia Potter relatively short. He briefly introduced himself, told them about his theory that muggleborns were squib descendants, and then he mentioned the ancestor potion and what it had revealed. He included a quick copy of his family tree and sealed the whole lot up in an envelope. "Please take this to Fleamont Potter," Harry said as he offered Holly the letter. His stomach did a very strange little flip as he watched his new owl fly away. The idea of contacting his actual family was a peculiar one. As Harry Potter he'd never known them, had barely known of them. But here he was, a brand new person and he might actually get to meet them after all.
While Harry closed up the cottage he wondered if Riddle had already written his own letter to the Scamanders. And then he sincerely hoped he hadn't made a huge mistake, foisting Tom Riddle, potential Dark Lord to be, onto someone as gentle and softspoken as Newt Scamander.