Tom and Buffy at Breakfast

The children in Cole's orphanage were not allowed to take toys or books into the dining room. Putting a book onto the table and reading it during mealtimes would earn the miscreant an instant scolding and a repeat offender would be punished by giving them more chores.

As far as Tom Riddle was concerned, the rules were made for others and none applied to him. Of course, the staff would not have agreed with him. However, Tom had a way around the rule of no books in the dining hall. All his Hogwarts books carried an anti-Muggle, disillusionment charm on them and that enabled him to read them in peace. He could sit there all day if he wished and neither staff nor resident would notice him – a luxury in a busy orphanage.

The morning after his expedition to the Town Hall, he was sat eating his breakfast with 'Hogwarts, A History' propped up in front of him and feeling at peace with the world. He'd gained more clues to his parentage in the last few hours than he had in the last five years. There was still more research to do, but he felt sure he'd soon be able to find his magical family. With a small sigh of pleasure, he lifted the cup to his lips, his eyes still glued to the page, when something destroyed his peace.

The whole table jumped into the air as a tray was slammed down onto it. Tea spilt over the sides of his cup,, down his sleeve and drops feel onto the pristine pages. With a frown, he looked up to find Buffy had thrown her breakfast tray down on the opposite side of the table. She was in the process of dragging a chair across the floor with a noisy screech before placing it at his table.

Tom shot a fast look at Mrs Cole, who'd stopped in the dining hall to speak to Martha. The thin woman was sat, looking over in their direction, a scowl of disapproval on her face calculated to strike fear into the heart of any child. Buffy either hadn't noticed or she was pretending not to have seen her. She simply threw herself down in the chair opposite him and started forking scrambled eggs onto her toast.

Tom decided that she hadn't seen him and must have thought the table was empty. The charm on the books wasn't a particularly strong one, a magic-user would see through it, but Buffy was a Muggle even if she–.

"So what's the plannage for today, Tom?" Buffy asked and took a bite of toast. She chewed it slowly, her hazel eyes fixed on him.

Taken aback that she could see him, Tom looked over to a group of children sat on a nearby table and tried catching their eyes. No one took any notice of him so the spell was still working. Tom turned back to the girl sat opposite him. She sat calmly, chewing her food, and watching him with a faint smirk on her face. It was as if she thought he was the weird one here and not her.

Surprised that she could see through the charm he might be, but he quickly rallied. Replying acidly, "I believe that in most polite societies it is customary to greet a person first before launching into conversation. The phrase you are looking for is 'Good morning, Riddle'. Perhaps, I would then reply with, 'It's a pleasure to see you, Summers. How are you today?'"

Unfortunately, she took that to mean that he was actually interested in hearing her answer.

Buffy put her toast down and began her tirade. "Oh, my day was going well until 5.30 am," she replied, her mouth turned downwards. "That's when Martha barged into my room and shook me awake."

She cocked a finger at him for him to come closer. He obediently leaned in, their heads were so close that he could see each individual speckle of brown in her green eyes.

Buffy asked, "Do I look like I eat worms?"

If he'd been feeling uneasy before at being so close to her, now he was thrown completely off-balance. "What?" he asked.

Looking vindicated at the response, Buffy leaned back and prodded her eggs with her fork. "That's what I asked Martha when she told me the early bird gets the worm. I said, 'Do I look like I eat worms?'" Buffy huffed with annoyance and then sipped her tea, grimacing at the taste.

"Not that it did me any good. She dragged me off to the nursery and dumped a wet, screaming child in my arms and told me that she needed changing!" Buffy shuddered. "I'm traumatised for life. I think I need therapy."

Tom almost laughed out loud at her face. Buffy's plan to get on the good side of the staff had backfired. The way she cooed over a stranger's brats as she did, he wasn't surprised they'd eventually given her nursery chores.

"You have only yourself to blame," he said, feeling smug. "You made them believe you like babies by cuddling that one when you arrived for as long as you did. I knew at the time you were overdoing it."

Buffy gave an unladylike snort. "Passing coochie-coo interest only. Me and babies are totally non-mixy." She pouted, obviously hoping for sympathy and whined, "She puked in my hair!"

When Tom refused to commiserate, Buffy picked up her teaspoon and stirred her tea noisily, glaring at him as though it was his fault."I was made to do two diaper changes."

"Diapers?" Tom had been forced into helping in the nursery once or twice and couldn't recall what a diaper was. From the look of revulsion on Buffy's face, he might be better off not knowing.

"Um, guess that would be a nappy to you Brits. They have pins and poop in them. I had to scrape and soak, scrape and soak, and there were still bits in it," Buffy said, scraping her eggs into a pile on her plate.

Tom stared at his plate, appetite gone. "This isn't a fit topic for the breakfast table, Buffy," he said sourly.

"I asked her," Buffy continued, ignoring him, " I said, why have you dragged me in here at the crack of dawn to change poopy diapers. You know what she said?"

Tom mentally sighed. Knowing that no matter what his feelings were he was going to find out.

"She said that it would be good experience for me to have for when I'm married and the babies start appearing. Not gonna happen."

Tom watched her fork eggs into her mouth and silently appraised her. The most beautiful girl he knew was Walburga Black, an elegant Pureblood witch with impeccable table manners. Buffy didn't have the same heavy-lidded, dark beauty of Walburga, but he conceded that, for a Muggle, she was pretty. Tom wondered if there might be a Veela in her pedigree somewhere. That would explain not only her blonde good looks but also why the disillusionment charm hadn't affected her. His continued eyeing her thoughtfully and wondered if she was fishing for a compliment? It wouldn't be the first time a witch had wanted him to sit up and take notice her.

"Why not?" he finally asked, "Isn't the aim of every girl, to marry, and start a family?"

He didn't know a lot about Muggle courtship and wasn't interested, but at Hogwarts, he'd overheard witches discussing their marriage prospects. He knew that many of the Purebloods had matches made for them by their families and married straight out of school, tying themselves and their magic to another for life. It was one Pureblood tradition that Tom had no intention of following.

He was Tom Riddle and once he left school would become Lord Voldemort. He didn't need anyone. There were far more important things to do in life than seek a witch to suck the life out of him. Tom's gaze drifted to Buffy's lips, watching as her tongue peeked out and licked away crumbs. With an embarrassing clatter, he dropped his cup back into its saucer and his cheeks flushed.

Luckily, Buffy didn't notice his discomfort. She'd developed that inward look in her eyes that she got when a memory came to her. "I don't think I'll live long enough to marry and have kids."

The words were said so quietly said that he'd a feeling they weren't meant to be heard. He tilted his head, the dark tangle of hair falling over his temple as he considered her. If she believed she'd die you it didn't appear to bother her.

She looked up, caught him watching her and flashed him a wide smile. "I told Martha that now I've seen the contents of a diaper, I'm put off babies for life."

With a shake of his head at her mood swings, Tom continued with his breakfast, pushing scrambled eggs onto his fork.

"Do you like eggs, Tom?"

He stopped, his fork hovering in mid-air, and eyed her with suspicion. "Why?"

She pointed her fork at him. "Those aren't real eggs. They're powdered and came in a packet. Dried out eggs, can you believe it?"

He made a small non-committal reply. Food in the orphanage had always been plain and unpalatable. He hadn't known how bad it was until he'd eaten his first meal at Hogwarts and realised what he was missing out on. The thought of Hogwarts and magic made him realise that he was giving too much attention to someone who was a Muggle. Tom turned his attention to his book. Maybe if Buffy saw him reading, she'd get the message and go away.

After a few minutes of silence, Tom gave up attempting to read. He'd read the same passage several times over, and still none of the words made sense. He was simply too aware of Buffy. The way she ate her breakfast, white teeth tearing at the bread and licking her lips. Tom decided that her table manners must be terrible for him to keep watching her as he did. Without realising it, he'd shut his book, and sat blatantly staring at her.

Undisturbed by his scrutiny, Buffy merely swallowed, and asked, "So what's the sitch?"

Tom put his elbows on the table, something that he'd not done since his first days at Hogwarts, and leaned across the table towards her. "I have absolutely no idea what language you're speaking."

Buffy rolled her eyes and smirked. "Guessing that Mrs Scold-Face hasn't spoken to you?"

Tom looked over to where the thin woman sat drinking tea and chatting to other members of Wool's staff. "Mrs Cole has yet to see me."

"Ah, have you been hiding out because of your swollen jaw?" she asked.

"Sort of," he replied evasively. Tom's hand stroked the left side of his face. He'd been lucky most of the bruising was on his body and not his face, otherwise, he would have a lot of explaining to do. As it was, if anyone questioned him, he'd claim that he'd had an argument with a door.

"Coley volunteered you to come with."

When he made no reply just raised a querying eyebrow, she huffed, "Try to keep up, Tom-Tom. I'll translate into Tweed for you. Mrs Cole kindly volunteered your services to me."

"My services?"

"Yeah. I need to go to the hotel where Mom and I were staying before we were caught in the blast. The hotel said that if I don't claim our stuff they are gonna throw it into the street." Buffy looked sour, until she looked back at him and grinned. "Mrs Cole volunteered you to be my very own pack mule."

Tom's nostrils flared as he shot a death glare at the thin woman. "Bitch." The word was not one that he normally used in polite company, but Buffy choked with laughter and almost dropped her cup, making him feel better.

When she smiled at him, Tom found himself smiling along with her, united in their dislike of a common enemy.

.

A/N

just a short one to move the story along.

Tom knows he is a little too aware of Buffy and is also knows that she is not your normal Muggle girl. He is thinking there's a Veela in her parentage. Boy, you are in for a big surprise.

Next chapter the hotel and clues to Buffy's family. Also she needs to get rid of the boggart. Any ideas how she will take it there under Tom's nose?

Thank you for reading and leaving me feedback. Even if you only write 'hi, I am reading,' I know that you are enjoying this.