Life was busy, so I apologize for the late update. Thank you for the reviews, faves, and follows, though! I appreciate them all :)
Chapter Three: Fleeting Sanctuary
Tom stood before the manor, assessing it silently. To anyone walking by, his expression would have been inscrutable. But to Tom, there was nothing but a torrent of white-hot rage surging inside of him, threatening to consume him whole.
He couldn't believe he was back here in Little Hangleton, at the Riddle Manor.
His lips curled. The mere sight of his father's home brought a wave of repulsion and hatred to course through him. Tom detested the idea of remaining here for who knew how long, but at the moment, he didn't exactly have a choice. He couldn't remain in Hogwarts because it was too risky, so the Riddle Manor would have to do.
When he stepped inside, his disdain only grew when he saw how filthy everything was. The house had been left untouched for years on end and the floor was layered with a heavy coating of dust. The air was ripe with the stench of rotting mold, almost making him gag. Roaches crawled over the walls and spiderwebs hung from the corners of the walls and the low chandelier.
With a simple flick of his fingers, the filth and grime vanished in an instant.
Tom spent the next several minutes exploring the manor. There were dozens of spare bedrooms and an enormous dining hall. The kitchen was completely devoid of any food or utensils and silence lay heavily over the place. As Tom inspected the amount of work that would need to be done, he supposed it wasn't a bad idea to have a house-elf. He wasn't fond of the hideous and shameful creatures at all, but it wouldn't hurt to have one around.
He also supposed it would be nice to dispose of Muggles whenever he wanted, now that they were so closeby.
But that wasn't the time for that. Tom needed to focus on what he would do now.
He now had a body and even though it was the body of his teenage self, it wasn't a disadvantage in the slightest. As a matter of fact, his physical appearance would only come as an advantage from now on. He had managed to escape Hogwarts without Dumbledore being aware of his presence. The foolish Potter boy clearly considered him to be a friend, which worked in Tom's favour. The boy was indeed talented and a quick learner. He was cleverer than Tom had anticipated. Having him as an ally rather than an enemy who continuously got in his way would truly be beneficial.
Yes, so far everything was going well.
The Riddle Manor would be used as his temporary home and hiding spot until he found something else.
Tom sat down on the chair at the head of the dining table. He drummed his fingers, listening absently to the ticking of the clock. Should he search for his Horcruxes? The diary was with him, but the fact that it had fallen into Ginny Weasley's hands meant that Lucius had been careless with it. Tom couldn't trust his Horcruxes with him or anyone else.
He feared that Dumbledore might one day locate all of them. Even if he did, Dumbledore wouldn't be able to find the diary and Tom had already taken on a human form. Perhaps he should go and locate Nagini and bring her here to the Riddle Manor.
But the diary was the most important Horcrux. If it was destroyed, Tom would lose his current body. Or worse, he would completely vanish and be reduced to that feeble, wraith-like creature again.
He couldn't risk that. The diary must remain safe.
Moreover, there was the issue with his Death Eaters. All the loyal and competent ones were in Azkaban at the moment. Tom didn't doubt his power, but he deemed it unwise to attempt to break his followers so soon out of Azkaban. Perhaps he would contact Lucius and Narcissa first. Perhaps Snape, too, but Tom didn't trust him as much. During his time at Hogwarts with Potter; Tom glimpsed Snape always entering Dumbledore's office and being around the Muggle-loving fool. If he came to Snape in his current appearance; he may relay that to Dumbledore. And Dumbledore knew exactly what Tom looked like in his youth.
Lucius and Narcissa, on the other hand, would evidently keep their mouths shut.
His mind made up, Tom summoned a parchment and quill and got to writing.
. . .
Lucius Malfoy stared at the letter clutched in his hands. His heart hammered against his ribcage, like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. His fingers trembled ever so slightly and he had to exhale slowly to soothe his nerves. It didn't work.
He cursed softly and glanced at the Portkey that had arrived with the letter. It was a small silver ring and just the mere sight of it prompted his stomach to churn with anxiety.
How the hell was this possible?
Was this even real? Was this truly the Dark Lord who had been writing to him? In the letter, he had mentioned that because of the diary, he had managed to acquire a human body; the body of his teenage self. He had stated in the letter that the diary had fallen into Ginny Weasley's hands and Lucius went several shades paler at that thought.
He had accidentally given the Dark Lord's Horcrux to a Weasley? But that was the girl who had gone missing, wasn't it? Was the Dark Lord responsible for her disappearance and was that why he had managed to return with his body back?
Lucius exhaled heavily, setting the letter down. He wouldn't have believed this, but the mention of the diary and how the Dark Lord had given it to him wasn't something anyone knew of. If this was actually the Dark Lord requesting to see him and his wife; he very well couldn't refuse. Lucius valued his life too much for that.
"Dear," Narcissa said, staring at him across the table with evident concern. "What's the matter?"
"We are to see the Dark Lord this evening today," he said flatly, cutting to the chase.
Narcissa's breath hitched. She stared at him silently, her expression one of disbelief and plain horror. She pursed her lips tightly, clearly thinking hard.
"What do you mean?" She asked carefully. "Lucius, who sent you that letter?"
"The Dark Lord."
"How?"
"He acquired his body back," he said. "To be more specific, his teenage body. More importantly, he requires our presence during the evening. We'll be using the Portkey he lent us to get there."
A long moment of silence stretched between them
"We go?" She said at last, incredulity lacing her tone. "Just like that?"
"We cannot ignore a direct order, Narcissa."
"Now, hold on a moment," Narcissa said, frowning. "How can you be so sure it's him? We all thought he was dead. He hasn't reappeared in years, but all of a sudden, he's writing you letters?"
"The diary saved him and lent him his body," Lucius said. "He explained everything to me in the letter," he said, glancing towards the double staircases and hoping Draco wouldn't overhear from his bedroom. "Listen, if we go and it turns out it's a prank by some lunatic who somehow knows this sensitive information, then we can forget it. But my gut tells me we shouldn't ignore this. You know what happens when you ignore a direct order from the Dark Lord."
Narcissa shuddered, a haunted look in her eyes. He could tell she was recalling all the times the Dark Lord had punished his followers.
"Is he angry with us?" She whispered.
Lucius frowned. "I don't know. He certainly has reason to be angry, whether at me for being careless with his diary or at the two of us for not attempting to search for him when he was defeated."
A look of fear crossed her beautiful features. Lucius remembered what a nasty temper the Dark Lord had and how unpredictable he was. A shudder snaked down his spine. The Dark Lord would often cruciate or even kill some of his supporters over the smallest slip-ups and mistakes.
Lucious had mishandled his Horcrux.
What unspeakable torture was awaiting him?
. . .
By the time it was evening, Lucius and Narcissa each held onto the ring, which was a tight fit for them both. He silently realized it was quite clever and meticulous of the Dark Lord, and also a sign that he still didn't trust them. By having such a small Portkey, there was no way Lucious or Narcissa would be able to ambush the Dark Lord and bring more recruits.
Not that Lucius planned to.
The Portkey activated and they both were pulled into a swirl of blinding colors and sounds before the bottom of his feet landed on solid ground.
Lucius blinked, taking in his surroundings. They were both standing in the middle of what appeared to be a manor; an ancient manor that almost rivalled his own. They stood in what seemed to be a dining hall with a glittering chandelier above them, a soft velvet rug, a crackling fireplace, and walls that were covered with paintings and canvases.
"Welcome," a voice said smoothly.
Lucius's head whipped towards the voice and his eyes stretched wide with disbelief. Beside him, Narcissa stiffened, her breath hitching in her throat.
It was indeed a teenage boy; no older than seventeen.
He was startlingly handsome with jet-black hair, pale features, and dark brown eyes that bored right into him. Lucius shuddered. He didn't know if it was a trick of the light, but had his eyes glinted red just a moment now? He swallowed tightly.
The boy— no, the Dark Lord— regarded them calculatingly. Despite his youthful appearance, Lucius was aware of the powerful magic that throbbed around him like a shroud.
It was undoubtedly the Dark Lord.
He had really acquired his teenage body.
"M-my Lord," he stammered, quickly getting down on one knee. Narcissa did the same. "It is the greatest honor to be in your presence once more. My Lord, I assure you, had I known of your survival; I would have searched every inch of—"
"No matter, Lucius, that's in the past," the Dark Lord said, waving a hand dismissively. "Rise, both of you. Take a seat at the table."
Lucius blinked, exchanging a startled glance with Narcissa. Despite being in a teenage body; his voice was overwhelmingly powerful and spell-binding. Hesitantly, they both rose to their feet and cautiously took a seat across from him at the table.
Immediately, two glasses filled with delicious champagne greeted them. Did the Dark Lord have house-elves in his manor? Lucius couldn't help but stare with undisguised bewilderment. Since when did the Dark Lord offer his followers to sit with him and bring them wine? Especially right after Lucius had disappointed him?
"Thank you, My Lord," he said, dipping his head. "Your generosity is truly appreciated."
He hesitantly took a sip of the champagne and was relieved to see that it tasted normal. It didn't seem like the Dark Lord would poison him. When Narcissa saw that it was safe, she also accepted a glass of her own.
"For now, I request that you both keep my identity a secret," he said.
"Are we the first ones to be alerted of your return?" Lucius asked.
"Indeed."
"Will you be telling the others, My Lord?"
"In time," the Dark Lord said calmly. "I don't plan on keeping Yaxley, Nott, Macnair, Avery, and Mulciber in the dark. They will all know soon."
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a puzzled glance. The Dark Lord had left someone out; his most powerful Death Eater.
"My Lord," Narcissa said hesitantly, keeping her gaze downcast. "Will you be telling Severus?"
His expression darkened. "I don't trust him."
Lucius's brow furrowed. Severus was the Dark Lord's right-hand man; his most trusted follower who never once failed an order. If the Dark Lord couldn't trust Severus, then who could he trust out of his followers?
But then, he supposed that would have to be Barty, Antonin, Bella, and the Lestrange brothers. Lucius always considered their loyalty to be rather frightening. It didn't matter, however, seeing how they were all in Azkaban.
"If you don't mind my asking, my Lord," Lucius said, his curiosity too great to ignore. "Did Severus do something to lose your trust?"
"Not necessarily," the Dark Lord said, taking a sip from his cup of black coffee. "Consider it a gut feeling. More importantly, neither of you will speak of this to anyone. Am I clear?"
It felt odd to have a teenager speak in such a dangerously soft voice, but Lucius knew this was no child. This was the most powerful Dark Wizard in history. He nodded, hoping he didn't appear as unsettled as he felt.
"As the rest of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban; I'll be relying on you both for the moment," he said, a bone-chilling smile tracing his lips. Lucius struggled to hold his penetrating gaze. "Consider it a second chance to prove yourselves. You know, after mishandling my Horcrux and not attempting to search for me."
Narcissa ducked her head. "My Lord, had we known of—"
"I don't care for excuses and apologies," the Dark Lord said flatly, prompting her to flinch. "I care about actions. Do not disappoint me again."
"Yes, My Lord," they both said in unison.
"Moving on," the Dark Lord drawled, evidently bored by the conversation. "The only thing I deem necessary is to kill Dumbledore. With him out of the picture, obtaining power and dominance over the Wizarding world will be easier. That's the only thing I want to focus on."
"Do you have a plan, My Lord?" Lucius asked.
The Dark Lord smiled, that same chilling smile. "Dumbledore's death won't happen anytime soon," he said. "Before that, I plan on breaking out the rest of my followers."
"Out of Azkaban?" Narcissa said, evidently surprised. "My Lord, what about the Dementors?"
"They'll join our side," he said calmly.
Lucius couldn't ever imagine Dementors agreeing to leave Azkaban, but he didn't dare voice his thoughts. He had to cage in a groan at the thought of having to tolerate Bellatrix once more. He would much rather have her remain in Azkaban for the rest of her life.
The Dark Lord stood to his feet; surprisingly tall for a teenager.
"It was delightful to have you both back," he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You'll remain silent about my return, won't you? Severus will know nothing of this?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Good," he said quietly. "You're free to go. I'll contact you again soon."
Narcissa shifted slightly, looking uncharacteristically unnerved. "May I ask you a question, My Lord?"
He didn't respond and only looked at her stoically.
"What–" Narcissa said, swallowing tightly. "What will happen to the Potter boy? Are you… are you going to dispose of him?"
Lucius's breath hitched. He stared at the Dark Lord, desperately wishing Narcissa had remained silent. But to his relief and slight surprise, the Dark Lord's expression remained inscrutable.
"He will live," he said at last. "For now."
"Is that wise?" Lucius asked before he could stop himself. Beside him, Narcissa stiffened. Horror crashed over Lucius and he opened his mouth, ready to beg for forgiveness while simultaneously bracing himself for the inevitable Cruciatus curse.
I'm dead, he thought. I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead–
"I don't believe that a twelve-year-old boy can pose much of a threat, Lucius,"
Lucius looked up then to see amusement gleaming in the Dark Lord's eyes as he regarded him. Despite the mirth in his gaze, Lucius sensed an unspoken warning. Don't question me again, you worm.
"O-of course," Lucius stammered. "My Lord, forgive me, I meant no—"
"As I said," the Dark Lord said, cutting him off. His voice was deceptively smooth as he spoke. "The real threat is Dumbledore. But about the Potter boy, you two can forget him. He's not worth our concern at the moment."
"Will you ever deal with him?" Narcissa asked.
"Perhaps in the future," he said. "If he starts getting in my way and allying himself with the Order and Dumbledore, I'll dispose of him. Right now, he's allowed to live," he said, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Anything else you need clarifications on?"
They both wordlessly shook their heads.
"Splendid," the Dark Lord said quietly, the same dangerous smile playing across his lips. "Get going now."
. . .
Harry pressed his forehead against the window, enjoying the cool sensation of it. He stared outside at the street, watching as a little girl rode her bicycle, with her father jogging along after, shouting at her to slow down. His heart ached at the sight. If only his parents were alive. He wondered what sort of activities he would do with them. Would his father have taught him how to fly a broomstick? Would his mother make it a habit to read him stories before bed? What would his life be like?
He sighed, hating how depressed he was on his birthday. He'd woken up, ecstatic, and rushed to see the letter from Tom.
Only that it wasn't there.
He hadn't received any letters or any gifts.
Harry had risen earlier than usual, so he gave it some time. But as the hours went by and as morning became the afternoon and the afternoon became the evening; all his joy faded, to be replaced with numb disappointment. He had genuinely believed Tom would come, or at least write him a letter. But he had gotten absolutely nothing.
To think he had gotten so excited over nothing.
Harry had spent the first half of July looking forward to his birthday just so he could go with Tom.
But it looked like that wouldn't happen anytime soon.
He released a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. Had Tom never been a real friend at all? But then why did he put so much time and effort into helping Harry and teaching him? Harry didn't understand him at all.
Well, it looked like there was nothing he could do.
Dejected beyond words, Harry dragged his feet to his bed, deciding to sleep in early when a shout that almost shook the walls made him freeze.
"I don't know of any Potters! Get out of my house!"
He immediately recognized Uncle Vernon's voice. Heart racing, Harry tore out of his bedroom, dashed through the halls, and raced halfway down the stairs to see what the commotion was about.
He saw Uncle Vernon standing at the doorway with Aunt Petunia and Dudley standing a bit farther off. Petunia noticed Harry on the stairs and quickly shooed him away with her hands, but Harry ignored her. His eyes were fixed on the handsome boy standing before Vernon, a contemptuous look schooling his features.
Tom Riddle.
Harry's heart soared and a dazzling smile overcame his lips.
"You came," he breathed.
Vernon rounded on him, his veins throbbing, and face turning a blotchy red.
"Go back upstairs, boy!" He snapped.
"Why are you speaking to him as if he's a dog?" Tom asked icily. Harry stiffened. He'd never heard such cold rage in someone's voice before.
"This is none of your business," Vernon snarled, turning back to Tom. "Leave my house or I'm calling the cops!"
"By all means, call them," Tom drawled. "It makes no difference to me. Harry's coming with me for the remainder of the summer. Shouldn't that delight you, to be able to get rid of him so soon? You're clearly not very fond of him."
"Out of my house!" Vernon roared.
"Raise your voice at me one more time," Tom said dangerously. "And we'll see what happens."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Tom—"
"Don't give me orders in my own house!" Vernon yelled. "Freak!"
Tom didn't move but Harry detected the slightest twitch of his wrist. Immediately, Vernon was lifted off his feet and thrust backwards as if by an invisible force, slamming against the wall and falling to a crumpled heap.
Both Petunia and Dudley screamed; Petunia rushing forwards to where Vernon lay and Dudley backing away from Tom, petrified. Harry stared at Petunia sobbing over Vernon, speechless and strangely cold. He looked towards Tom, who was watching him closely.
"He's alive," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Go get your things. We're leaving."
Harry hesitated for a moment but after a single look from Tom, he turned and dashed up the stairs, packing whatever he could into his suitcase. When he rushed back down, Petunia and Dudley were crouching over Vernon. Vernon was stirring feebly and Harry's stomach clenched when he saw that his forehead was bleeding. He hurried over to Tom's side.
"Tom," he said breathlessly. "What the hell was—"
He didn't get to finish as Tom seized him by the forearm and suddenly, Harry was pulled into a swirl of colors and sounds, his feet leaving Number Four Privet Drive.
. . .
Harry landed on his feet before staggering, falling face-first into the ground. Bright stabs of pain erupted over his nose and when he lifted his head, he could feel warm blood trickling down his face. He shakily stood to his feet, out of breath.
"Tom," he said again, voice shaking. "What the hell was that?"
Unlike him, Tom was completely nonchalant. He shrugged off his coat and slung it over a chair. He glanced at Harry, his expression perfectly neutral.
"What?" He said.
"You know what I'm talking about," Harry snapped.
"Sympathetic of Muggles now, are we?"
"Tom."
"It was a blasting curse," Tom said, sighing impatiently. "He's not dead."
"No, but he was bleeding!"
"And?"
Harry stared at him with disbelief. "You know he could have died, right? Throwing him against the wall like that with so much force?"
Tom's eyes narrowed. "You told me of the way they treated you, of the way they abused you for years. Why do they deserve your sympathy?"
"I don't like Vernon, but that doesn't mean I want him to die."
"He's not dead, Harry. He's fine. The worst thing he could possibly receive is a concussion."
"Why did you even attack him, anyway?" Harry demanded. "You can't just attack people because they're rude to you, Tom!"
"I can do as I please," he said coldly, the faintest trace of a warning lacing his tone. "Especially if it concerns Muggles."
Harry shook his head, overwhelmed and exasperated. What the hell was the deal with Tom? Harry had come across plenty of people who were disdainful of Muggles; most of his Housemates were like that. But Tom was downright vicious and ruthless. He hadn't even batted an eye when he attacked Vernon and he didn't seem to have a shred of remorse.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. It was his birthday. Tom had kept his promise and taken him from the Dursleys; even if his methods were extreme. He probably did it because he was upset about their treatment of Harry, which honestly flattered him a little. Tom was still his very first friend and had done so much for him. Perhaps Harry was overreacting.
"Okay," he said. "Look, I'm sorry for getting angry. But next time you come across my relatives… just don't get violent, okay?"
"Your uncle is the sort of man most people would love to get violent with."
Harry bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. "I won't deny that. Anyway, thanks for coming to get me. I really thought you wouldn't come."
"I always keep my word," Tom said. "Speaking of which, happy birthday."
He reached for a neatly wrapped present that was on the table next to them and handed it to Harry.
Harry took it, staring at it with surprise. It was soft to the touch and he could tell the material inside wasn't solid. His curiosity growing, he quickly tore apart the parchment and after unwrapping the present, he saw that they were robes. Long, high-quality black robes that were feather-soft and silky beneath his fingers. He could immediately tell that these were the sort of robes the likes of Draco Malfoy would wear.
"It's a unique set," Tom said. "Those robes have enchantments that ward off certain spells. Although they're soft, the magic wielded around them is very protective. Even a knife wouldn't be able to slice through it."
"Whoa," Harry said, his eyes widening. "That's insane. Thanks, Tom."
"Thank me by dressing properly from now on," Tom said. "Quit walking around like a peasant. It's embarrassing."
Harry scowled. "When do I ever dress like–"
"Virgo," Tom said suddenly.
Out of thin air, a small and scrawny house-elf appeared next to them. Harry let out a cry of surprise and staggered back; staring with shock at the bulging eyes and the drooping ears of the creature. The house-elf bowed lowly to him, then to Tom.
"What can Virgo do for Master Tom tonight?" he said, his voice high-pitched and squeaky.
"You have a house-elf?" Harry said incredulously, staring with awe at the odd creature.
"I got him recently. Virgo, go show Harry to his bedroom," Tom said and he glanced toward Harry. "Put your belongings there, change into your new robes, and then come meet me down here. We're going to Diagon Alley."
. . .
Diagon Alley was just as stunning as he remembered.
Harry stared, fixated at the towering buildings, the cobbled streets, and the dozens of witches and wizards that passed by him in a hurry. Owls flew above, their feathers fluttering down to the earth. Delight overcame him. He couldn't believe he was back in the Wizarding World, away from the Dursley's. It was as if he was in a dream.
"Where should we go first?" He asked.
Tom adjusted his cloak, seemingly unbothered. "Wherever you want. Though there is a particular store I want to visit by the end."
Harry looked around, his gaze landing on the Ice Cream Parlour. He remembered Hagrid taking him there and purchasing him a deliciously large chocolate ice cream, all those years ago. His heart ached. He still missed Hagrid dearly, but just like with many others, he'd avoided Harry after he was sorted into Slytherin.
"Are you just going to stand there or will you pick a place?" Tom asked impatiently.
"We can head to the Ice Cream Parlour first," Harry said, frowning as a thought struck him. "But I forgot my stash of galleons at home. I think I might only have enough for one scoop, so I guess that means I won't be able to buy things at other stores."
"Fool," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "I'm paying."
"What?" Harry said, visibly startled. "You are?"
"It's your birthday. Why wouldn't I pay?"
"Okay, then," Harry said brightly.
He first led Tom to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour. Harry bought chocolate-flavoured ice cream with three scoops and Tom didn't get anything, claiming he didn't like ice cream. Harry then spent a good few minutes admiring the broomsticks put on display at a window, but seeing how he already had his Nimbus Two Thousand, he didn't purchase anything. They stopped at a candy store and Harry exited the shop with his arms full of chocolate frogs and sugar quills, his favourite sweets.
While he was purchasing every candy there was, Harry noticed how the witch who served them kept eyeing Tom hopefully, clearly drinking in his appearance. She followed them around the store, asking if Harry was Tom's younger brother, if Tom had a girlfriend, how old he was, and flirting quite obviously. Harry had expected Tom to grow annoyed, but he had only smiled charmingly and said Harry was a friend of his and that he wasn't looking for someone. He dismissed himself politely before ushering Harry out of the store.
"Women," Harry had heard him mutter under his breath.
By now, the sun was setting, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange. The streets were beginning to become less crowded and Harry stifled a yawn.
"You said you had one more destination?" he asked.
"That's right," Tom said. "Follow me."
He led Harry through the streets and after about ten minutes of walking, they emerged into a darker place that seemed to be outside of Diagon Alley. Harry looked around, growing unsettled. The place was empty, except for a few wizards and witches lurking in the corners, all sketchy-looking. They leered at Tom and Harry as they walked by. Harry flinched and inched closer to Tom, who unlike him, seemed to be at total ease.
"We're here," he said, stopping in front of a store.
Harry peered over Tom's shoulder. The store was small and dingy with such rusty windows that it was impossible to see through them. The more he looked at it, the more reluctant he was to step inside. When he read the front sign, he realized it was a bookstore. That only served to puzzle him. There were bookstores back in Diagon Alley. Why had Tom brought him all the way here?
"I think I'm okay," he said, stepping back. "We can just go back to Diagon—"
"Don't be ridiculous," Tom scoffed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him forwards. "You'll thank me later."
They entered the store and Harry didn't like how dark it was. There were only a few feebly-lit candles that hardly served any light. The air was heavy with the scent of old leather and something rotten; so intense that Harry held his breath. He reluctantly followed Tom into one of the spaces between the bookshelves that towered above them. Harry's heart lurched when he heard whispers that spoke in a tongue he didn't understand. He realized with fresh horror that it came from some of the books surrounding him.
"Tom," he whispered. "Can we please leave?"
"Relax," Tom said, his eyes scanning the books. "Nothing will happen to you while I'm here."
Harry glanced over his shoulder and startled when he saw two haggard-looking women staring at him through the shop windows. They grinned when they caught Harry's eyes, their yellow and black teeth cracked. One beckoned Harry forwards and he quickly looked away, grabbing Tom's arm.
Tom glanced at him irritably. When he looked towards the shop windows, spotting the two witches, his eyes only narrowed. "Ignore them. Knockturn Alley always has weird folks in it."
"Isn't that more the reason why we should go?"
"This will do," Tom murmured, ignoring him as he reached forwards to pull down a book. Harry didn't care enough to see what the title was. He was staring at the women out of the corner of his eyes; praying they wouldn't enter the store. Tom continued pulling down books from the shelves. "Let go of me already."
"No," Harry said.
Tom sighed with irritation and only shook his head. "Alright, we're done here. I'll buy these and then we can leave. I'll apparate us out since you look like you're about to faint. But know that we'll have to go outside for me to apparate."
He bought the books, putting them all in a bag. The store clerk, while not as shabby and creepy as the women outside, leered at Harry, his eyes beady. Harry tightened his grip on Tom's arm.
His heart lurched when the door opened as the two women stepped inside.
"Dears," one of them crooned, her voice like gravel. Her eyes were wild and unfocused. "You're such pretty little things, such sweet boys. Are you boys lost? Do you need help finding your way?"
"Come with us," the second one rasped. "We'll help you."
"Out of my way," Tom said coldly.
"Now, now, don't be like that, Old Jane doesn't like the rude ones–"
She didn't get to finish as Tom slashed his wand through the air; two red streaks protruding from the tip of his wand, hitting each witch square in the chest. They fell to the ground, like puppets whose strings were severed. Behind them, the store clerk shouted something but Tom only stepped over the unconscious bodies, leading Harry outside. Without a word, he apparated the two of them back to his manor.
. . .
"I'm never going back there ever again," Harry said the moment they arrived home. "Why did you bring me there? Did you see those two women? They weren't the only creepy ones; I saw a man who was selling human nails. Nails, Tom! What kind of—"
"You need to toughen up," Tom said, glaring at him. "You won't get far in life if you lose your composure over a place like Knockturn Alley."
"But it's creepy."
"And don't ever cling to me like that again."
"Well, you shouldn't have brought me there in the first place!"
Tom sighed and set his bag full of books onto the table. "I suppose you're still young. But that was why I bought those books; they'll help you grow stronger."
Harry's brows furrowed with puzzlement. "What kind of books are they?"
"You'll see," Tom said. "But since it's gotten late, you should go to bed now. You remember the room Virgo showed you, don't you?"
Harry nodded before a thought struck him. "Hey, when's your birthday?"
"Why is that important?'
"Oh, come on," Harry said, exasperated. "You got me a birthday gift, so I need to do the same."
"I don't need gifts," Tom said flatly. "But if you must know, it's December thirty-first."
"Huh," Harry said, frowning slightly. "That's so far away."
Tom rolled his eyes. "Get to bed already."
After thanking him again, Harry headed up the stairs, still uneasy with the incident at Knockturn Alley. He secretly vowed to never set foot in that place again, no matter what Tom said. When he stepped inside the guest room Virgo had shown him earlier, he was still in disbelief by the sheer size of it. It was bigger than the entire living room back at the Dursley's. There was a king-sized bed with silk red sheets, a window that showed a spectacular view of the mountains with a desk in front of it, and an enormous wardrobe.
Sometimes, he wondered just how rich Tom was.
Now that he thought about it, his parents were dead, weren't they? He wondered what sort of job they used to work, in order to live in such a grand manor. But Harry thought only purebloods lived in manors, mainly those of the Sacred-Twenty-Eight. Riddle was certainly no Wizarding surname, and it was at that moment that Harry realized just how mysterious Tom was.
But he supposed it was none of his business. He didn't know Tom well enough to start asking personal questions.
Yawning, Harry sat at the edge of the bed, putting the robes beside him. He could still hardly believe his current situation. It was the first time he was spending the summer away from the Dursley's. To think he went from sleeping under the stairs to sleeping on a king-sized bed inside a manor made him light-headed with disbelief. But it certainly didn't displease him in the slightest.
Harry went to bed that night with a smile on his face, his heart lighter than it had ever been.
I was super unsatisfied with this chapter but you know as they say; when in doubt, yeet it out!
As always, reviews are the best motivation :)
