Harry just wants people to communicate, Harry and Tom go shopping, and everyone heads back to Hogwarts.
LAST TIME: The Black family (and Harry) learnt that Apus Black, Walburga's fiance, was dead. And if that wasn't enough of a shock, they then learnt that Walburga would be getting a new fiance: Orion. Orion had a small breakdown as he faced the guilt of chaining Walburga to a loveless marriage and becoming like his parents. Walburga wasn't holding up too well either, as Harry learnt on a visit. She told Harry of how she blamed muggles for the murder of her fiance. On his way out, Harry ran into Druella and foiled a proposal attempt from Cygnus Black, possibly irreparably damaging the time line. As he took her out for ice cream, Druella told Harry of how Walburga had broken off communication with her, as she feared she wouldn't be able to remain loyal to Orion otherwise, and revealed the root of Walburga's anger: the fact that she loves Orion like a brother and will have to start a family with him, and her lack of new life in Romania, where she would have been free from judgement. Harry then ran into Tom. After first advising Tom to stop smoking, Harry had another 'moment', Tom's orphanage was really miserable, and we heard of Tom's increasing interest in immortality. That doesn't bode well.
It took another week of everyone moping before Harry finally exploded. He'd done his best to keep quiet and be a good friend- he didn't want to impose his views on Orion, after all. The world of pureblood marriage and etiquette was not one that he was familiar with, and he didn't feel wholly confident about shouting anyone down-
But this was really getting ridiculous. Orion had taken to hiding out in the Black family library, reading book after book on etiquette and history with very little sleep- it just wasn't healthy.
"Orion," Harry said tactically as he sat down beside his friend. "It's lunchtime. Don't you think you should eat something?"
"I don't want anything," Orion said, keeping his eyes fixed to the page before him.
"I made some cheese sandwiches-"
"I'm not hungry."
"That's ridiculous. You haven't eaten anything proper since the day before yesterday-"
"I'm just not hungry."
"You can't let yourself waste away," Harry said in frustration. "Rigel's stopped eating now, too."
Orion's face, if possible, turned even more desolate. "I ruin everything-"
"You've never ruined anything in your whole life," Harry said comfortingly, but as he reached out to pat Orion's shoulder, his hand was knocked away and flung onto the edge of a bookshelf. Harry flinched and clutched his injured limb to his chest. It had been a solid hit.
"I'm sorry!" Orion gasped, already starting fuss. Obviously it had been an automatic reaction. "Did I hurt you? I told you, I'm the worst-"
"I'm fine!" Harry said quickly, concealing his wince as he wriggled the fingers of his hand. "Seriously, you're not that strong. I live to duel another day."
"Mother always said I was weak." Orion slumping into his chair pathetically.
"Your mother's a psychopath."
"She mostly just sleeps these days," Orion murmured. "I thought a psychopath would do more."
"I don't know," Harry frowned. "I never did psychology. I bet Cassius would know." Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Cassius had the definition of psychopath scribbled down somewhere in pink, encircled by little love-hearts.
Orion frowned darkly. "Cassius once told me that my sweetheart would be my downfall."
"You know Cassius," Harry said helpfully. "A bit overdramatic."
"He doesn't lie though."
"You're not going to have a 'downfall', Orion," Harry said patiently. "You'll be fine."
Harry saw that Orion was one encouraging word away from slipping out of his chair and onto the floor, so he gave his friend a pat on the shoulder (carefully, this time), and left the room. As he did, a knock sounded at the door, and Harry's shoulders dropped in relief. "Oh thank God," he muttered.
Harry rushed to open the door, tugging it open with desperation-tinged enthusiasm. "You're late."
"A lady is never late," Walburga said coolly, stepping inside primly and removed her silk shawl. "Merely delayed."
"Pretty bloody delayed," Harry grumbled. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."
"Well, I wasn't sure if I'd come," Walburga said stiffly, twisting the shawl back and forth.
"I'm glad you showed up," Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair. "This is kind of a last resort."
"How is he?"
"Worse than he was. 'Time heals' is a load of bullshit."
"Very polite," Walburga remarked, her nose wrinkling.
"Yeah well, there's not much that's 'polite' about any of this crap, is there?"
"You said he was worse."
"He doesn't eat, barely sleeps- and now Rigel's picked up on it."
"Poor dear," Walburga frowned, and there was a flicker of a girl behind her eyes, soft and kind.
"Will you talk to him? Please?"
\Walburga looked taken aback. "I didn't agree to that. I was under the impression that I was summoned to discuss the terms of the betrothal with Arcturus."
"That was a tiny lie," Harry said meekly, pinching his fingers so that they almost touched. "Just a small one."
"Oh. I think I should go-"
Walburga turned, but before she could leave, Harry fired a quick locking charm towards the door. Walburga rattled the doorknob and then withdrew her wand, but before she could act, Harry disarmed her and tucked her wand into his pocket.
"Harrison Peters," Walburga hissed dangerously, turning back to face him with a vicious scowl. "Give me back my wand. Now."
"You just need to talk to him," Harry said convincingly. "Work something out between you-"
"That's a terrible idea. I'm sure he'd rather not see me now-"
"No," Harry said strongly, getting angry now. "This isn't about him, it's about you. You don't want to think about it. You want to avoid the guilt. And I get it. But listen to me." He took a few involuntary steps forward as Walburga's eyebrows twitched minutely. "He's going to do something really stupid if he isn't stopped. So get your head out of your arse and talk to him."
Walburga's cheeks flushed slightly. "How dare you?"
Harry rolled his eyes, entirely done with dramatics. "I get that you're in a shitty situation, believe me, I'm familiar with them. But you have each other. You're friends. And I know that's part of the problem, but you can use it, for Merlin's sake. Make an agreement, run away, I don't really care- but you can do it together. You're not alone. Get used to it."
There was a long silence, as Walburga regarded Harry with shock. Harry, on the other hand, was breathing heavily. Whilst he was completely sympathetic towards Orion and Walburga's situation, at least they had each other. At least they had some kind of love between them. Harry (and even Tom) never had that luxury. They'd been truly alone.
"Where is he?" Walburga asked at last.
"Library."
"He always used to hide there," Walburga said very quietly, so much so that Harry knew it wasn't meant for his ears. "When we were children."
"He needs help," Harry said firmly. "And so do you. Help each other, or for fuck's sake, I swear I'll kill you both."
"Touchy. You were much more 'sensitive' when you came to see me before." Walburga noted archly.
"Yeah, well, back then I hadn't been trapped in this house with a living corpse for a week."
"…He's that bad?"
"Yes."
Walburga let out a low growl and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, drawing it tight. "Is it locked?"
"It shouldn't be."
"If you listen in to our conversation, I'll skin you alive." Walburga extended her hand expectantly.
"What happened to the girl who was squeamish about butterfly wings?" Harry asked, as he handed over Walburga's wand.
Walburga tucked the wand into her pocket, and made her way towards the stairs. She paused, and glanced over her shoulder. "She grew up."
The talk took hours, and Harry spent most of it sat in the dining room, glancing up at the ceiling where the meeting was taking place. He didn't think he'd ever drunk more tea before in his life.
Finally, there was movement and footsteps on the stairs. Harry perked up, and watched in interest as Orion and Walburga passed the doorway. There was noticeable distance between them; distance that wouldn't have been there before this whole thing happened, but at least they were in the same room. It was a start.
There was the faint muffled sound of voices, and then the bang of a door and a lock sliding shut. Harry waited, and sure enough, Orion wandered into the dining room, heading straight for the bell on the wall. As it rung, a fresh cup of tea appeared on the table, joining the pile of empty cups from Harry's nervous binge.
Orion sat down opposite Harry and picked up the cup, inhaling deeply and taking a long sip.
Harry barely waited until the cup was placed back on the table before he asked eagerly, "Well? How did it go?"
Orion let out a heavy breath. "It was okay," he said hopefully. There was a spark of life back in his eyes.
"Any more details? Or was it just 'okay'?"
"We made some agreements. We're going to do our best to remain friends, at least. Walburga will produce 'an heir and a spare', and nothing more. We'll be loyal to one another. She's… she's going to break off communications with Druella. She doesn't trust herself," Orion added quietly. "I wouldn't object if she wanted to carry on the affair, but… someone will find out. And Walburga doesn't want to tarnish our reputation. Not now. I'm almost glad," he admitted.
"See?" Harry said encouragingly, trying not to remember Druella's wretched expression at the concept of never seeing Walburga again. "It's all going to be fine."
Harry thought he might also have been trying to convince himself. Despite the apparent success of his plan, Harry felt uneasy. This moment felt like a fuse setting itself alight, blazing steadily towards the inevitable explosion- but what else had Harry been expecting? What had he wanted to come from this meeting? He didn't know anymore.
"We've agreed not to discuss it until after I graduate Hogwarts. I've got a year." A small, determined smile broke over Orion's face, and a slightly manic light shone from his eyes. "And I'm going to make the most of it. I'm going to have my career and my friends- I'm going to make sure of it."
Well, Harry thought, if there was anything Orion was good it, it was smiling through eventual, inevitable tragedy. Just look at Rigel.
Harry was fairly sure this wasn't a healthy path to go down (denial was basically just repression, and that never went well.) He couldn't help but liken this fix to a plaster: obscuring but not solving the problem. But at least Orion was acting alive again. It was better than nothing.
"Did you, er, discuss her new views?" he asked hesitantly.
"We're not going to discuss it. We'll raise our children with tradition, she says. We'll see," Orion shrugged. "I'm sure she can't hold onto all that anger. She'd burst! She'll see that it isn't all the muggles' fault soon. Maybe I can take her into muggle London." He smiled, small and eager.
Harry winced, pretty certain that this wasn't the case (Sirius could attest to that), but he didn't want to burst Orion's bubble. Maybe it would all get better.
"But you feel better, yeah?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Orion agreed.
He seemed genuinely happier, but Harry suspected that this veneer of understanding between Orion and Walburga was like a fraying rope holding back the guillotine suspended above their heads. There was only so much he could do though- this whole marriage was doomed.
"Thank you for calling Walburga," Orion took a sip of tea, and Harry tried to find comfort in the brightness of his eyes. "We're going to get through it together, and… at least I know she doesn't hate me now. I'll be okay if she is."
If there was one thing Harry was sure of, it was that Walburga definitely wasn't okay. Orion was playing a dangerous game.
"Something might be broken," Orion admitted quietly, "but it's nice not to feel alone."
Yeah, Harry considered, his mind flickering elsewhere. It was.
He could think of someone else who might appreciate that feeling.
Dear Tom,
How's your summer going? I hope you don't find this too weird, but I got the impression that you might appreciate a letter the last time I saw you. I guess that Avery's probably not a fun pen pal, so… here I am. Have you done all the homework yet? Charms homework is killing me slowly.
Orion and Walburga finally talked. (You've probably heard all about it through 'the grapevine' or whatever sycophant passes on news to you, but I thought I might mention it. It's always nice to be kept in the loop.) They've made some kind of agreement: 'an heir and a spare' was how Orion phrased it, which I'm wholly against but, y'know, it's not my marriage. I suppose my 'half-blood upbringing' makes me reluctant to call any child a 'spare'- but then again I don't really understand purebloods. You do though. You always seem like you know how to interact with them. I don't. Half the time it's like they're speaking a different language.
Read any interesting books recently? I've done nothing but read for the past week-there's not much else to do here. Orion hasn't exactly been up for Quidditch. I've read a lot of sports journals, actually. Did you know that the Golden Snitch was originally a bird called the Snidget? Wizards hunted them to extinction. Wizards can be vicious, really.
Ignore the blood stains at the bottom of the letter. Orion's falcon is crazy.
Harry Peters
Harrison,
You'll never get me to call you 'Harry', you know. It's a ridiculous nickname. 'Harrison' is strong. Powerful. Harry's a five year old at the seaside. Names can change us- you shouldn't reduce yourself.
My summer is progressing, and that's all I can really say for it. It's certainly not fun. I appreciated receiving your letter, though. It livened up the place (which isn't difficult.) If you sent me your Charms homework, I could certainly put you on the right path. I object to doing homework for anyone, but I'm sure I could let slip a few clues.
Funny you should mention that. Avery's letter is sitting in my bin. He is an atrocious abuser of superfluous adjectives- it's really quite shocking.
No matter what you may think, interacting with purebloods isn't difficult. It's about knowing when to give respect and when to demand it.
I haven't been reading a lot, as there isn't much access to books in Wool's. If you can find it in the Black library, would you mind sending me 'The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts' by Arsenius Jigger? I've been meaning to leaf through it. There are only so many times you can reread Huckleberry Finn.
Lastly, I know we haven't addressed the Chamber of Secrets incident. I was hasty and reckless. I apologise if you were upset.
Disinfect your wound. Falcons are filthy animals.
Tom Riddle
Tom,
Harrison is the name of someone's grandfather. Harry is my name. Besides that, I still don't agree with you. Names don't define us. I can be called whatever- Harrison, Harry, Delores- it doesn't make any difference. I'm still me.
I've attached my essay draft. I can't get anywhere with it- I just keep arriving back to the point that a Summoning Charm is technically illegal. I know it's not, but I can't understand why. I've attached the book you wanted too. The library here is ridiculous- they have triples of practically everything.
I suppose it's my temper that does the damage most of the time (with purebloods). I just can't keep my mouth shut when they spew racist bullshit. See- that's what I mean. It's just the Gryffindor in me, I suppose.
The most important thing is that you stopped. No one is permanently hurt, thank god. I don't know if I can forgive you for the fanclub though.
The wound did get infected, thanks for the late warning. Magical healing is a miracle.
Harry
Harrison,
The children here are so effortlessly dull. Everything they say irritates me. Yesterday, Billy Stubbs broke up with his plain little girlfriend and cried about it for over an hour.
I've attached some sources on the legalities of Summoning Charms.
Would you fancy meeting up in Diagon Alley to buy school supplies (I trust you've received your letter)? You can ever bring Orion if you must. Seventh year is important, after all.
We should make sure we're prepared.
Tom.
Tom,
Sure. Sunday, 1pm?
Harry
Harrison,
It's a date.
Tom
Tom waited beneath the flaking 'Ollivanders' sign, tapping his foot impatiently. Honestly, how difficult was it to be on time? Tom had managed it, and he'd had to fight past Mrs Cole's suspicious bag checks and an air raid practice. He checked his watch, and scowled at the bustling crowd of people. Even if Harrison were here, Tom wouldn't see him.
It was time to move on.
But just as Tom picked up his bag, Harrison emerged from the crowd, struggling past a large-bellied man (who bore a startling resemblance to Professor Slughorn.) The other boy wore almost-fashionable robes and his hair cut into some semblance of order, but that wasn't what had Tom blinking in surprise.
Harrison, who Tom was beginning to realise would never fit into his neat picture of the world… had a small human on his shoulders.
"Come on, Meissa, stop kicking," Harrison said, his voice distant and rough as he craned his neck to squint at the child.
The sound of Harrison's exasperation was so familiar that it sent a shiver of… something running down Tom's spine, electrifying his senses. His fingers stopped twitching towards his pocket, his lungs felt lighter.
He relaxed.
"You're going too slow," the little girl said, her expression unimpressed. "Orion said you were fast."
"On a broomstick, yeah. Not Diagon Alley during rush hour."
The child kicked her feet back and forth, assaulting Harrison with her heel. "Faster!"
Harrison fastened a hand around the girl's ankle and held it away from his collarbone, but he didn't seem genuinely upset. If anything, her childish tantrum seemed to make him smile.
Tom would never understand people.
Harrison finally spotted Tom, his eyes widening and his smile growing broader and friendly. Tom shifted uncomfortably- he never had that effect on anyone (other than Orion, but Orion was happy to see everyone). It was probably just Harrison's crush. Nothing more.
"Tom!" Harrison called out.
Tom had never comprehended why people did that. They'd made eye contact; Harrison obviously knew that Tom had seen him- and it wasn't like Tom could have forgotten his own name. There was no need to yell it out loud. Regardless, Tom smiled slightly.
It was good to be back in the Wizarding World.
"You seem happier," Tom observed as Harrison shuffled towards him, bending under the child's weight.
And he did. Harrison had seemed drawn and tired the last time that Tom had seen him, his usual dark skin bleached pale with stress. This Harrison was reinvigorated, and walked with a spring in his step. The panic had melted away.
"Well, Orion's determined to be happier, so it's sort of bled through into the rest of the house. This one," Harrison bounced the little girl slightly, "is finally seeing some sunlight."
"I've seen sunlight before," the girl said petulantly.
"It doesn't count if it's through your bedroom window," Harrison said cheerily.
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Who's this then?" Tom asked, peering up at the girl.
"This is Meissa," Harrison introduced, lifting the girl from his shoulder and setting her down.
"Meissa Black of the Ancient and Noble House of Black," the girl said, extending her hand. "You're Uncle Harry's friend."
"Uncle Harry?" Tom echoed amusedly, ignoring the girl's hand. "How sweet."
"'Uncle Harry' is not becoming a thing," Harrison insisted, and then when Tom smirked: "It's not a thing!"
"I think it's cute. You're so… paternal," Tom said, in a tone of voice that left even himself confused about whether it was a compliment or not.
Harrison didn't appear to care, and simply rolled his eyes. "Well, are we shopping or not?"
"Certainly. I thought we could begin by heading over to Flourish and Blotts."
"You're the boss."
"Oh, if only that were true." Tom imagined a world where Harrison was as subservient as everyone else; where he cowered and held his breath whenever Tom raised an eyebrow. Where he gazed at Tom with blind adoration, or sighed as he left a room.
Perhaps not.
"So have you lost your twin?" Tom said curiously, as they set off down the street. "I can't see Orion anywhere. Unless he's shrunk several inches and put on a dress."
"Orion decided to stay at home. He and Walburga are spending time with Orion's parents, so we have Meissa instead!" Harrison said, grinning down at the girl. The smile was slightly off though, and Tom waited until Meissa was trotting in front of them, distracted by the sights, to lean over to Harrison.
"Is everything well with Orion?"
"Yeah," Harrison said, and now Tom knew that he was lying. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Tom adopted a dubious expression, and let the silence linger.
Harrison broke. "It's just… he's a lot better now, sure. I just think… he and Walburga talked about all these ideas: 'an heir and a spare' and what with Walburga's new ideals… he may be happy now, but I have a horrible feeling that one day, when all of this is actually happening, he's going to wake up and realise that he never got out. That's he's still living in the nightmare. He was worried about Walburga before… but I think he should be more worried about himself."
Tom hummed thoughtfully.
"I don't want to say anything though. He can't go back to how he was before. This just feels like a very temporary fix. All these promises and agreements… they're just hiding the issue. The problems haven't gone away."
"They never will though, will they?" Tom said thoughtfully. "The problem is with the match. The only way to solve it is to end the marriage."
"Exactly," Harrison said darkly. "This whole thing is stupid. At least Orion's a bit happier now though." He didn't seem to believe what he was saying.
"Orion's happiness is always relative."
"Tell me about it," Harrison snorted. He sighed. "How's the 'not smoking' going?"
"Fine. It was barely a habit, really, just something to pass the time…"
Tom had only started smoking that summer, anyway. And that was only because Billy Stubbs had started. Watching the other boy desperately search through the orphanage for his cigarettes as Tom took a slow, satisfied, stolen drag was a source of endless amusement.
"Good," Harrison said absently. "Smoking's a terrible habit. I could never snog a smoker."
Tom's attention shot to the other boy, and a delighted smirk crept along his lips. He loved it when Harrison wasn't paying enough attention to censor himself.
All of a sudden (before Tom could work out how to best tease Harrison), his attention was caught by the child wandering in front of them. Whilst Tom had initially dismissed her, he now noticed how she watched everything with an eagle eye, very serious for her age. She was tiny, but crackled with contained anger. Like something used to being unnoticed, growing still more dangerous as eyes drifted over it.
"She's a funny little thing," Tom said, watching as the girl- Meissa?- carefully stepped around a pile of owl droppings and gave a little skip, like she was delighting in the filth.
"She's been stuck in a house with her depressive mother and dying brother for most of her life. I don't think she has a full grasp on 'normal'. I've been trying to take her outside more."
Tom gave a slow nod. A poor grasp on normal. He could respect that.
"…So, about that snogging comment-"
"Oh my god."
Finally loaded up with textbooks, Harrison, Tom and Meissa made their way into Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"I just need some gloves if I'm gonna try out this year," Harrison said, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. The Quidditch supply shop always looked terribly crowded from the outside- Tom had just never thought that he'd have to actually go in. There was even a radio in the corner, broadcasting some kind of sports… thing to an eager mob.
"You still want to try out for that ridiculous venture?" Tom asked, an unimpressed eyebrow adding extra emphasis. Nothing wore him out like sports. They were ridiculous, hyper-masculine ego-trips with very little benefit. (Tom, funnily enough, was rather terrible at anything to do with a ball.)
"Yeah," Harrison agreed happily. "I love Quidditch."
"Why?"
"It's fun."
"It has no real value."
"I could say the same about Arithmancy, and that's not even fun."
Tom bristled. "No, you couldn't say the same about Arithmancy, because Arithmancy happens to form the basis for-"
"-Every spell and potion ever made, I know, I've heard it before," Harrison rolled his eyes, and then inhaled sharply. "Oo, is that the new Quidditch Quarterly?"
As Harrison dived towards a magazine stand, Tom blinked. He'd never been cut off quite like that before. "You've 'heard it before'?"
"Mmm," Harrison hummed distractedly, buried in the magazine. "Hermione was into all that Arithmancy stuff."
"She was, was she?" Tom said, not sure if he was affronted or amused. "I'm beginning to think Hermione and I are the same person."
"Don't worry, you're much more sadistic than her- did you know that they're releasing the Cleansweap Five soon? The broomsticks these days all seem so medieval…"
On the nearby radio, the tinny voices rose to a soft yell as something 'significant' happened. A loud roar rose from the gathered crowd, and a fight promptly broke out.
"It's loud," the little girl said, pressed close to Harrison's side.
"It is rather busy in here, isn't it?" Tom asked, his lip curling in disgust as a harried-looking mother chased after her offspring, knocking her handbag into Tom's chest.
For a moment, he and the child were united.
"You could always wait outside," Harrison offered, ducking a broomstick as it was swung overhead by an enthusiastic first year and picking up a pair of brown leather gloves to inspect.
"That might be a good idea," Tom agreed, and snapped out a sharp "watch where you're going," to an over-excited store assistant. God, he hated Quidditch.
And then, out of nowhere-
"Take Meissa with you," Harrison ordered, pushing the girl towards Tom.
Tom, possibly for the first time in his life, was struck speechless.
"I… I… but…" His lips were moving, but no sound came out. He'd never experienced anything like it. "What am I supposed to do with a child?!"
"Just take her where you're going."
"But she's all… little, surely there are safety measures-"
"Don't sell her to child traffickers and you'll be fine."
"I hardly think that's written anywhere in a parenting manual."
"But it should be, shouldn't it?" Despite Harrison's surface carelessness, Tom didn't miss the steel in his eyes as he glanced up from a page. "And if she gets hurt, I swear to Merlin, I'll kill you. Or worse, I'll set Myrtle on you."
There was a pause between them, and Tom knew they were both remembering the last time a young girl had stood between them. Tom felt a stab of something that might have been guilt- Harrison had looked heart-broken when the Warren girl was scared.
"I'm putting trust in you, Tom," Harrison said very deliberately. "Don't let me down."
And that was how Tom Riddle found himself stood outside Quality Quidditch Supplies with a child hanging from his robes.
"I don't let anyone push me around," Tom said very quietly, like he had to convince himself.
The little girl gazed up at him seriously. "I've only known you for an hour and a half, and even I know that's a lie."
"Harrison Peters," Tom said very grimly, "is turning out to be the exception. I don't like exceptions."
"You might as well accept it," the little girl said, and Tom got the impression that she was laughing at him.
"You're very… loquacious, all of a sudden," Tom said distastefully, glancing down at his new attachment.
"I'm precocious," the girl recited, obviously from experience, and then smiled. Tom wasn't sure if eight year old's smiles were supposed to be so unnerving. "Want to see something interesting?"
Well, Tom considered. He had nothing better to do.
"Mother goes here when she wants table toppers," the girl- Melissa?- explained, leading Tom into Knockturn Alley.
Tom had been delighted when he learnt of their destination. The further they got down the inky street, the more relaxed Tom became, as he felt dark magic trail careful fingers down his spine. The heaviness of being in a goddamn Quidditch shop lifted from his shoulders. This was where he belonged.
Tom was very familiar with Knockturn Alley, but Melissa led him towards a shop he'd never frequented before. 'Borgin and Burkes': Tom read the sign above the entrance with interest as Melissa pulled them confidently into the shop.
They had barely taken two steps before they were accosted by an old man with a thick thatch of white hair lying thick over his forehead and a self-important dinner jacket. "Welcome to Borgin and Burkes!" the man greeted them, his enthusiasm wavering as he saw that they weren't wealthy purebloods. His expression brightened upon second inspection of little girl.
"Meissa Black!" the man declared dramatically, sweeping into a low bow (so that was her name). "Back in my establishment! Well, I never. How's your mother?"
"Still crying herself to sleep each night."
"Good, good," the man said, patting Meissa on the shoulder. "Bring her around soon. Who's your friend?"
"This is Tom Riddle," said Meissa. She turned to Tom. "Mr Burke is the owner of the shop. Everyone comes here."
The man chuckled, and Tom was witness to an elderly man desperately try to ingratiate himself with an eight year old. Pureblood society was weird. "You flatter me," Burke almost cooed.
"No, I don't," Meissa replied unemotionally. "It's the truth."
Burke just kept grinning, and fished around in his pocket. "Would you like a sweet? I get them just for madames like yourself."
Tom was fairly sure that someone had once mentioned something about children and strange sweets, and he could only imagine Harrison's face if he brought back the child poisoned.
"I think Meissa will have to do without confectionaries," Tom said firmly, taking a step forwards and drawing the old man's attention. "She's only just had lunch, after all."
"Of course," Burke agreed.
"May I be excused?" Meissa asked, tugging on Tom's sleeve.
Tom shooed her away. "Yes. Go and play with the severed heads."
Meissa didn't need more prompting than that, and disappeared amongst the shelves of curiosities with something close to eagerness.
When Meissa was far enough away, the veneer of respectability fell away from Burke, his shoulders sagging with age, his jaw sharpening defiantly. He looked Tom up and down, pursed his lips, and shuffled away behind his counter, taking up a cloth and resolutely beginning to polish the wood.
Tom took his opportunity to inspect the book selection; all of them ancient-looking and leathery (one bound in what Tom swore was human skin). He tilted his head to read the spine of 'Torture Methods for the Modern Man', and pulled out 'Housekeeping Charms with Bite'. He especially liked the page on heating up saucepans until they melted into the flesh of whomever touched it.
Tom's attention was at last drawn to an inconspicuous little volume.
"Death's Hold Will Loosen," Tom murmured, tracing a finger lightly over the title. He took a quick scan of the introduction.
Death's permanence has never struck magical creatures as hard as it does wizardkind. Phoenixes have forever possessed the ability to cycle through lifetimes like slipping into a new robe, renewing and rebirthing with a surge of fiery glory. Unicorn's blood holds valuable qualities that can retrieve one from the brink of death and restore life, often used in early childhood by unicorn mothers to save their children from a dangerous developmental period. Vampires are forever frozen in time, caught in an idealised snapshot of their death throes and saved from their own mortality.
Wizards have no such gift. All attempts to gain immortality whilst retaining humanity have ended with terrible curses. Drinking unicorn blood for a mortal is like poison, gifting the recipient with a twisted half-life which leads only to the agony of a tattered soul and eventual suicide. Men who try to tether themselves to life forcibly face similar conundrums. The horcrux, first discovered by Herpo the Foul, is magic dark beyond comprehension, involving the manual splitting of one's own soul. Whilst a horcrux does bind one to life, the fate that comes after the heart stops beating could, perhaps, be considered worse than the ruination it seeks to prevent.
Endless myths warn against searching for an escape from the Grim Reaper's grasp. The Tale of Three Brothers is a traditional bedtime story, telling of three powerful items; the Deathly Hallows, each individually cursed, that once united can save the user from oblivion by elevating him to Master of Death. No such occurrence has ever been proved, but the dark, blood-splattered past of these items only proves how irreparably intertwined wizardkind and Death have always been.
But do these myths hold any weight? And can eternal life be achieved, whilst circumventing the curses and doom that so closely follow? It is the hope and life's work of so many that, if wizardkind could lift themselves out of the mortality they share with their muggle counterparts and live forever victorious, Death's hold might, finally, loosen.
Tom felt a spark of interest as he read of the Deathly Hallows, but those were just myths. A horcrux… now that was real.
"80 galleons to read it," Burke called out, and Tom smiled politely before pointedly placing the book back on the shelf. As the man glanced away, Tom waved his wand and sent the book slipping down into the space behind the shelves. He didn't imagine Burke cleaned very often- hopefully it would remain there until Tom came to collect it. He'd see what time the shop closed.
Job done, he moved closer to the old man, leaning casually against the wall with a very open posture. Burke eyed him suspiciously, before putting down a cloth and ending all pretence of polishing.
"Babysitting's an odd job for a young lad like you," Burke announced, eyes narrowed and bushy eyebrows creased.
"It's a favour," Tom smiled politely.
"If anything happens to Ms Black, I imagine it's your head on the chopping block," Burke said, his threat utterly unsubtle. What a sad attempt to wrestle power in the conversation, Tom thought with disappointment.
"If anything happens to her, I imagine we'll be checking her pockets for sweet wrappers," Tom replied easily, wiping a speck of lint from his sleeve.
"Yes," Burke said, his smile harder. "There are some odd characters on Knockturn Alley."
"Aren't there just?"
Burke fiddled around with beneath the counter, and Tom wondered if the old man was currently pointing a wand at him. How cute.
"Are you going to buy anything?"
"Oh no," Tom mused, glancing around at the objects surrounding him. "I'm sure I could never reach any of your prices."
"Just have to see what Ms Black comes up with, eh?"
"Such is the way of the world." Tom wandered towards a mirror, cracked straight down the middle, and glanced at the price. 60 galleons. "You established this shop yourself?"
"Way back in 1863. It must seem ancient to a young 'un."
"On the contrary," Tom said softly. "I have the greatest respect for things with a little… history."
"It has history alright," Burke admitted grudgingly. "I remember when we first opened. Borgin was sure we'd only last a week. Look at us now, eh?"
"Where is Borgin now?"
"Oh, he died young." Burke lowered his voice to a disagreeable mutter. "Although suddenly his son wants to take up the co-ownership. Now that he's lost that fancy job on Diagon, he's finally ready to 'lower himself'."
"I'm sure you don't need the help," Tom said graciously. "Your collection is quite extensive."
Burke's chest swelled in the way that elderly men's chests did when complimented. "It is, isn't it?" he said proudly.
Tom took a look around the shop, standing up straighter and sliding his hands into his pockets, the picture of youthful curiosity. "This seems an interesting place to work."
"Yes, you get to know everyone in a shop like this," Burke said wistfully, finally relaxing under Tom's interest. "I've had some characters in here, I tell you. I've had the goddamn Minister in here. Under a glamour, of course- but folks like that never realise how obvious they are. I even had a descendent of Slytherin, though telling the truth she wasn't much to look at."
"A descendent of Slytherin?" Tom asked sharply, his attention caught.
"She was a huge thing; nine months pregnant, I wager. Staggered in here desperate to sell it- I suppose she was running from an abusive husband or the like. Well, she sold it alright. 10 galleons- best deal of my life." And Burke grinned, clearly very pleased with himself.
"It?"
"Slytherin's locket."
Tom's eyebrows shot up.
Burke chuckled. "I know. That was my reaction, but I checked and it was the real bloody thing. I don't think she had any idea what was stuffed down her shirt. There weren't any tits, that's for sure." He smirked at Tom, expecting the other to share in the joke, and didn't notice when Tom only let out a flat 'ha'.
"Did she give a name?" Tom asked, perhaps a touch too eagerly.
Luckily, Burke was caught by his own story now, eager to share the details. "I think she did, yes. Can't bloody remember it though- I might've written it down." Burke turned around to select a book from the shelf behind him, taking one from the middle of the row. "Here we are. December, 1926. It could have been yesterday."
"That's when I was born."
"You sure know how to make someone feel old," Burke said wryly, and finally found the page. "Ah, here we are. Slytherin's locket, purchased for ten galleons from one Merope. It doesn't appear she gave a second name."
So it was her. His mother. Tom had known she'd been desolate and abandoned in London, but… it was odd to receive confirmation. He smoothed his expression, but Burke must have noticed some kind of reaction, as he asked: "you know her?"
"Vaguely," Tom said with an uncertain lilt, mask securely back in place. "The name sounds familiar."
"Funny. I always assumed she crawled off somewhere to die. Lots did, in those days. It was a different time."
"Perhaps she did," Tom shrugged. "I may be mistaken."
Burke sighed, and lent forwards thoughtfully. "I tell you, all this talk about that trinket has me missing it. One of my biggest regrets: selling that locket. And to Hepzibah Smith too. It'll never see the light of day again with that goblin guarding it."
"Why did you sell it then?"
"Because this is a shop," Burke snorted. "It's our job. Ah, if I'm honest though, there are some pieces I keep back. There's a necklace in the back that I'm very fond of. A few portraits. I only wish I'd done the same with that locket. Smith never sells anything in her collection- it's vanished into the void."
"I'm sure that's not true, sir," Tom said lightly. "No one's immoveable. You just have to find the right incentive."
Burke quirked an eyebrow, looking Tom up and down, assessing.
"So you have an interest in artefacts do you?" Burke asked, limping around his counter. Burke only came up to Tom's chin, but he carried himself in a way that suggested he felt ten feet taller. Tom found the old man's delusion quite precious.
"Certainly. I find the history of pureblood families utterly… fascinating."
Tom picked up a house elf bone bracelet and glanced at the price tag. 5 galleons and 12 sickles- ridiculous.
"You know, a lot of folks on this street have a problem with mudbloods," Burke said abruptly. "I don't. I think starting from the bottom gives a man incentive. Teaches him when to blend and when to stand out. Makes him… flexible."
Tom rankled at the assumption, but gifted the man with charming smile anyway. "Valuable skills," he agreed.
"I always thought so."
"Look!" Meissa's little voice echoed through the shop as she wandered around the corner clutching a vase to her chest. She held it up for Tom's inspection. "It spits blood."
Tom gave the object a perfunctory glance and confirmed that it did, indeed, spit blood.
Burke, charming fellow that he was, thought it relevant to mention that "if she holds that for another minute and a half, she'll start to dissolve."
Tom lifted the vase from Meissa's grasp and placed it on a nearby table. "I think that's our cue to leave. Harrison won't be happy if I return you damaged."
"He won't care really," Meissa said uncaringly. "No one does."
"That's certainly not true," Tom disagreed. "Harrison is excruciatingly sentimental, even about you."
Meissa, strange thing that she was, sighed like her own existence was an inconvenience, and slipped out of the door without another word. And then it was only Tom and Mr Burke left inside the shop.
"You know what? I like you, boy," Burke declared, a calculating spark to his expression. Tom knew what he saw; handsomeness, charm and low-born enough to not be threatening. Tom could be a valuable asset.
The old man offered a business card. "Call me when you leave Hogwarts. Perhaps we can find a place for you here."
"Perhaps," Tom agreed, taking the card from the man. "Good day, Mr Burke."
And Tom joined Meissa outside the shop, slipping the number into his pocket. It was always nice to feel wanted, and that locket sounded tantalising.
In Harry's opinion, going back to Hogwarts couldn't have been more overdue. Harry and Orion bid the two youngest Blacks farewell (Rigel burst into tears whenever Orion went out of view, and Meissa remained stubbornly emotionless). Melania and Arcturus luckily didn't try to take them to the station, so they made it onto the train with minimal drama.
"They've never tried to take me," Orion said wearing a small frown, once Harry had expressed his surprise. "I just tagged along with Lucretia."
The Weasleys had always been Harry's idea of a 'conventional' family, so it was very odd to realise that they were a rather idealistic family model. Not all parents hurried their children along to the train station fussily, wiping their faces and fixing their robes before running alongside the train and waving goodbye. Lily and James would have, though. Harry was sure of it.
Orion and Harry found a compartment on the train, heaving their suitcases into the top compartment. They took their seats, settling next to the window. (Harry ignored the younger students that passed by their compartment and openly oggled. He'd forgotten about the whole 'Saviour of Myrtle/Hogwarts' thing.)
"We're going back to Hogwarts!" Orion declared eagerly, watching the bustling station with excitement dancing in his eyes. Getting out of the house had done him good.
"Yeah, we are. Hopefully this year will be less disaster-filled."
"Disaster-filled?" Orion scoffed. "Last year wasn't disaster-filled."
"Daisy Meadowes' murder, the petrifications, the prank war-"
"It wasn't as bad as you're making it seem."
Before Harry could list any more of the terrible things that happened last year (carefully avoiding the summer), the rest of the Slytherins flooded in.
Tom was the first to join their compartment, entering with nary a knock and sliding his luggage alongside Harry's, before smoothly taking a seat and burying himself in a book. Dolohov and Avery followed close behind, miraculously still friends despite their apparent dislike of one another. Harry wondered what bound them other than arseholery (but perhaps that was enough.)
Still, every familiar face that entered their compartment had his heart grow just a little lighter, until he felt almost like he did when sat on the train surrounded by Ron and Hermione. Familiarity and warmth at the end of a long summer.
This feeling lasted until Rupert opened his mouth.
"So I hear you're engaged to Walburga," Rupert grinned wolfishly at Orion, aiming a playful elbow at his ribs. "She 'Walburgled' your heart?"
There were groans from everyone in the compartment, but at the mention of Walburga, Orion's expression dropped.
Rupert hadn't seen the danger, and snickered. "Seriously though, well done. She's got great tits."
"I'd appreciate you not talking about my fiancé like that," Orion said, his jaw set.
"Sorry, mate. It was just a compliment."
"No, it wasn't," Tom said, not raising his eyes from his book. It was one of those old ones: bound in dusty old leather that could be human skin for all Harry knew, and it showed an ominous grim reaper figure creeping over the cover of the book, extending a beckoning finger. It looked extremely cheerful. Despite Tom's averted face, Harry could see that his brows were slightly furrowed, in what Harry had come to know as an expression of disapproval.
Rupert snorted. "Walburga having nice tits isn't a compliment?"
Tom sighed. "It was more of an invasive observation about Walburga's body when she isn't here to object. A compliment is defined as a 'polite expression of admiration or praise'. I didn't see anything polite about your choice of phrasing."
Rupert rolled his eyes and shuffled back defensively, further into his seat. "None of my girls ever complained," he muttered.
"No," Tom said, his lips curling into a smirk, "not out loud."
("You okay?" Harry murmured to Orion, who returned a small smile and said, "of course.")
But Rupert wasn't done yet, and turned to Atticus (who Tom was far less likely to defend). "Your Daddy get kicked out of any more clubs yet?"
Atticus gave Rupert a snide glare. "My father's financial situation is none of your concern."
"Jeez, calm down, Atty-lad," Rupert chuckled, sinking back into his chair. He glanced around the subdued compartment. "Tough crowd. I take it everyone's backstories got a whole lot sadder this summer?"
"Actually," Atticus said loftily. "Despite what you appear to believe, I had a wonderful summer. We had dinner with the Vice Minister many a time. It was wonderful."
"'Many a time', eh?" Rupert mocked, adopting a heightened upper class drawl. "Fancy."
"Yes, it was," Atticus said defiantly, crossing his arms.
The door to the compartment slid open partway, and Cassius' face appeared in the gap. Harry's stomach did that twisty thing that it always did whenever Cassius was involved- halfway between attraction and disgust. Cassius opened the door fully and wandered in.
"Has Rupert said his stupid thing yet?" he asked curiously, a comic hanging loosely from his hand. "There'll be at least three of them."
"He's on his second," Harry said wryly, and Cassius nodded.
"That sounds about right."
"Are you going to join us, Cassius?" Tom inquired, finally glancing up from his book.
"Of course," Cassius said, looking directly into Harry's eyes even as his words were directed towards Tom. "Otherwise I might miss out on all the fun. This year's going to be marvellous."
Great, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. That wasn't ominous at all.
Tom gifted Cassius a charming smile. "I'm glad you have such a positive outlook."
"I'm not," Harry muttered.
Cassius' positivity rarely led to good things, in Harry's opinion.
"Well, I think we're going to have a brilliant time," Orion said contently. "It's our final year. All we have to worry about is homework and NEWTS."
There was a series of disgruntled yells, and Orion was hit by several balls of scrunched-up paper.
"Shut up, Orion. I don't want to think about NEWTS yet," Rupert said, stretching languidly across the seat and whacking Atticus in the face.
"They will come," Tom said warningly. "Whether you think about them or not."
"You don' need tho worry abou' them, Thom," Atticus said, covering his bloody nose with his hand. "It'th ditherent thor the reth oth uth,"
"I'll still be revising, Atticus. We all should." Tom flicked his wand in Atticus' direction, and his nose cracked back into place.
"You got all O's in your OWLS," Atticus complained, rubbing his face gingerly. "You don't need to pour over books until you can't feel your eyes. Unless you feel like helping the rest of us…?"
"Actually, I was thinking Harrison and I could do some studying together," Tom said with a genial smile.
Harry's attention was snapped back into the conversation. "Wha'?"
"Well, you do still want to be an Unspeakable, don't you? You'll have to do well in your NEWTS to do Magical Theory TOADS."
Oh yeah. In all the chaos of the summer, Harry had kind of forgotten that education was a thing. He'd have to buckle down this year if he wanted to stand a chance of getting home.
"Yeah, I might take you up on that offer," Harry admitted. "I need help on Charms. Desperately."
"And you aren't… entirely useless at Defence," Tom admitted reluctantly.
"Are you saying I'm better than you at something?" Harry asked, a delighted smile spreading over his features.
"I would never say that."
"It's 'Defence Against' the Dark Arts now," Rupert said snidely. "My dad's pissed. Says it's an 'outrage'."
Harry suspected that was because Rupert's father was a staunch supporter of Grindelwald, and wished for the subjugation of all muggles, but who was he to judge? (Just kidding, he did judge, and fiercely.)
"The new DADA curriculum is rather odd," Orion commented. "It's all… light. And fluffy. Half of it's on magical creatures."
Tom tilted his head. "I did flick through those textbooks we bought, Harrison, and they were rather… tame."
"Dippet and Dumbledore are scared. They're just halting the inevitability of the dark lord's invasion," Atticus said with great pomp, his smile very close to vicious. Harry, on the other hand, was very close to punching him.
It was then that the compartment door slid open once more, and the familiar figure of Caspar Grahams entered.
"Are we talking about the Dark Lord?" Grahams asked, a whine to his voice as he gazed at Tom for approval.
"We were just discussing his… increased proximity," Tom said delicately. His look towards Grahams was carefully neutral, and Harry became suddenly sure that Tom loathed this sniveling boy.
Grahams didn't appear to realise, and straightened up as he glanced around the compartment, realising he had an audience. He cleared the phlegm from his throat. "Well, did you hear about the attacks in Bristol?"
It was Atticus that answered, disturbingly eager. "No?"
Tom merely raised an eyebrow, and Harry was fairly certain that he knew exactly what had happened in Bristol, but was keeping carefully quiet.
Grahams looked delighted to know something of interest. "Grindelwald's forces launched an attack on Bristol this summer, late July. Only muggles were killed or injured, so the Ministry is trying to keep the information from spreading. To prevent panic, I think. I only know about it because my father's a newspaper editor and they were told to keep it quiet."
"Very impressive," Tom said quietly, and Grahams practically glowed.
"Well, if it was only muggles," Atticus said, waving a dismissive hand. "Better them than wizards."
"I'd say I've never heard so much bullshit before, but that would be a lie," Harry said very coldly. "I know we've been over this, Avery, but it doesn't seem to have stuck in your head. Every human life is worth the same."
Rupert sniggered. "I'd hardly go that far."
It all felt very familiar; events repeating themselves again. But this time, Harry wasn't alone.
"I would," Orion said fiercely, rising. "Harry showed me things this summer. Muggles are just like us, Atticus, but without magic. They're not lambs for slaughter, or monsters in the night, they're people."
"They're muggles," Atticus said coldly. "Hardly worth reporting on."
And then the biggest surprise of all, Grahams spoke up. "Everyone's 'worth' reporting on," he said, quivering slightly, but standing straight. "And m-muggle deaths should affect us just as much. I-if I were, perhaps, a halfblood, my m-mother's death would be just as w-worthy to be talked about."
Harry (and, indeed, everyone else) regarded Caspar Grahams with awe.
"This is why you have so many Hufflepuff friends," Orion said slowly, understanding dawning.
Caspar shifted uncomfortably. "The Sorting Hat considered both Houses," he mumbled. "But ambition edged out."
Atticus sneered, an unpleasant curl to his upper lip. "Of course a Hufflepuff would support muggles."
Tom cleared his throat. "Statistically speaking," he said, very deliberately. "Muggles produce just as many magical children as purebloods do each year. They contribute to our society quite… monumentally."
The shock of Tom Riddle almost taking a side seemed to jolt the compartment out of any tension that lingered. Granted, Harry thought, the opinion was more in favour of wizards' gain than muggles in themselves, but… it was a start.
As the silence lingered on, Tom finally broke it.
"Thank you, Grahams, for paying us a visit. It was nice of you to stop by." And with that, Tom dismissed Caspar Grahams, who flushed pink with pleasure at the acknowledgement.
"I'll see you all at Hogwarts," he said, the whine back in his voice, and stumbled out of the compartment.
"I can't believe I suspected that guy of murder," Harry said in wonder, watching Caspar walk into a window.
"You did what?" Orion asked.
Harry shook his head. It was far too elaborate to go into- it would take something like 4 hefty chapters to cover it all. "Nothing."
They sat in silence for a little while: people getting out various books or scrolls and working quietly. Rupert worked through a small pile of sweets, aided occasionally by Atticus. Atticus appeared to be sulking slightly, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. It was only when they began nearing the castle that Orion sighed and put down his quill.
"So many people left last year," Orion said thoughtfully. "Abraxas, Lucian… Druella. It's going to be odd attending school without your sister, isn't it, Cassius?"
"Who'll keep Rupert in check?" Tom drawled.
Rupert tossed his hair dramatically. "I don't need to be kept in check. I'm a wild animal- nobody tames me."
"Druella did," Orion pointed out.
Cassius smiled secretively. "Oh, I don't think we'll miss her for long."
A long pause, as everyone in the compartment narrowed their eyes and contemplated what Cassius could possibly be talking about.
Well, not everyone.
"…So if I can't say how good Walburga's tits are, can I at least comment on her arse?"
Harry sighed, remembering Cassius' early warning. "And that makes three."
Aw, Tom's so good with children.
I have three pieces of fanart! Head over to my tumblr to check them out (my tumblr's under the same name as my fanfic).
I have my exam results this week. Help.