Eighteen months passed.
Even as young as he was, little Tom knew that Harry- Papa Hawwy with the pretty, pretty green eyes and soft hair that was always fun to play with- was not his father. Because both him and mummy had said he looked like his papa, and then mummy asked if 'papa Hawwy' knew his papa (and he did, but not very well, and not for any good reason).
But Tom liked calling Harry 'papa' anyway. He liked the way his eyes would light up and the fond smile he'd wear even as he said 'I'm not your papa, Tom' in response. Sometimes, baby Tom wished he could reach up and steal those shining eyes and that smile and keep his father-figure's smiling face all to himself.
And on those days when mummy went to try and get money and 'papa' was left to look after him, he would pretend he could.
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In 1930, the markets crashed, the economy went down the loo, and Tom turned four years old.
He still called Harry 'papa', and at some point Harry stopped discouraging him- Merope had stopped when Tom turned two.
Around that time, too, Tom met Harry's one-sided friend Hades. It was an odd name, but not too much。The man himself was what took him by surprise. And judging from Harry's reaction that day, he wasn't expecting him either.
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It was December 28th, three days before his fourth birthday. Merope was out working- as a caretaker at the nearby orphanage- and Harry was taking care of him. Breakfast was toast and orange marmalade-homemade, of course- and lunch was cabbage and potato soup. St. Wool's hadn't paid much, and Harry was trying to spread his money evenly- so Tom could have a decent inheritance.
Harry had just set Tom down for his midday nap and was going to start washing the dishes- in fact he'd only just gotten to the sink- when there was a loud pop.
Harry's first thought was, 'dear Merlin please don't let that wake Tom, and then he saw exactly who it was.
Oh Godric why?
"Hello again Harrykins!"
It could've been the lack of exposure, but Hades' high voice sounded more obnoxious than usual.
"Please don't wake the child," Harry said, already agitated.
Hades huffed.
"So sensitive. Oh well. I was planning to meet widdle Tommy today anyway."
"You won't want to if you wake-"
"Papa? Who's that?"
Inwardly cursing, Harry let Tom cling to his leg, then picked him up when the boy's hands began tugging on the hem of his shirt- a maroon polo this time.
"Tom, this person is-"
"Well hi there Tom! I'm your uncle Hades!"
Harry shot Hades a half-hearted glare but didn't refute him. He didn't know what name Hades was using.
Tom ignored him anyway, digging his hands into Harry's shoulder blades and laying his head in the crook of his neck.
"Papa read to me," he demanded. Harry sighed again.
"Alright. Let's go, cub."
He began heading towards Tom's room- right besides the master bedroom where Merope was staying. Hades followed him, prattling on about Cerberus and the latest antics involving the prisoners of Tartarus. Harry tuned him out as he tucked Tom back into bed.
"-and you know how Cerberry absolutely loves those rubber balls, so Chronos just conjured one up and-"
"What story shall I read you, Tom?"
"-and then he left- Harry are you listening?"
Harry hummed distractedly as Tom clutched onto his shirt.
"Mm...I dunno! Papa- tell me a story!"
Harry nodded his head agreeably and settled himself at Tom's bedside.
"Alright cub. Once upon a time-"
"-Once upon a time there was a mighty and powerful god who was sick of his human love interest-slash-friend ignoring him, the end!" Hades interrupted quickly, indignant.
Harry hummed again.
"Your fault for coming during naptime and waking my adoptive son. But you're welcome to try again tomorrow morning after his mum leaves for work," he said, his voice falsely sweet.
"Hmph. Fine. See if I save your neck when Chronos comes knocking."
An empty threat and they both knew it, but Harry was nonetheless pleased when Hades popped out of the mortal realm. Tom was fidgeting impatiently.
"Now then...Once upon a time, there was a man named James and a woman named Lily..."
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"And they died to keep their son Harry safe from a dark lord..."
The words of a long-forgotten story echoed in his mind, and Lord Voldemort found himself recalling a kind face, untouched by age, with eyes the color of Avada Kedavra.
Potter...Harry Potter...
Even like this, the boy continued to haunt him. But why?
Why was such a memory coming forth now of all times? Was it even a memory, though?
It must've been a dream- there was no way Potter would ever end up telling him a bedtime story, and certainly no way he'd actually listen.
The Dark Lord was in a good mood regardless. He took over Hogwarts, finally, and his Death Eaters had killed off a good number of the Order. They'd all celebrated around a bonfire made up of the corpses, and no one really noticed that Potter's body- which everyone saw him hit with the killing curse- wasn't with them. No one, of course, except him.
And what was especially irritating was that he still didn't know how to feel about it.
On the one hand, Potter was dead, finally.
On another, he actually wanted to display that corpse- to send a message if nothing else.
On a third hand, a tiny part of him remembered the eternally warm eyes of the man he called 'papa', and dared to hope that Potter hadn't died.
Blasphemous.
But that sickening soft and childish part, the part that missed his father and wanted to keep him to himself, had been cropping up more often lately. It was like a constant buzz in his ears, and it seemed determined to drive him mad. Not even the enjoyment of a well-placed Cruciatus could put an end to it.
Truly vexing indeed...
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Merope Gaunt was a hard-working woman, at least by muggle standards. They had no idea that half the work she got done was done with magic. They also didn't know that she had a child- a fine thing, as they would've pitied her for it, and that wasn't quite what she wanted.
What they did know was that she was living with a man who had no need to work himself. At first the girls questioned it- the suffrage movement having passed not so long ago, how dare he laze about and force her to work?- but then Merope explained her reasons, and all was well.
She'd decided to work herself, first of all- else she'd lose her mind in that house (lovely though it was).
Secondly, Mr. Potter was a very kind man, and she'd grown to love him. If he stayed home, no one could take advantage of his love, and more importantly, no one could steal him away from her.
After her explanation, Merope and the women of the orphanage got along quite well, and would end up idly conversing as they worked cleaning up.
"I say Merope," began Ms. Kate one day, "Have you become Mrs. Potter yet?"
Merope paused at the cutting board a moment before shaking her head. "No, but I hope to some day soon."
Ms. Kate hummed at that and said, "Well, I hope he asks the question soon. I don't know why he hasn't already- the two of you are already living together, after all."
Yes, why indeed, mused Merope. It's not like a marriage would worsen things- together they'd be more financially stable, and they were already living together, raising her child together, and if they got married, it would be another form of insurance, so Harry would have no choice but to stay with her.
Forever and ever and ever, never able to abandon or abuse me like them.
"Perhaps I'll speak with him about it tonight, then."
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That night, after Tom was tucked in, Merope asked Harry why he hadn't proposed to her. The sadness and guilt she saw in his eyes as he answered almost made her regret asking.
"It's...it's complicated, Merope. I...I had a wife once already, you see-" and suddenly he was telling her his life story "-and I loved her very much. We married young, but we were in love, and we even had a son on the way. She...she died in childbirth, and my precious son fell ill a few months later. The doctors and healers- they couldn't do anything, so- so-" his voice hitched, and now Merope really did regret bringing it up"- little Albus died in my arms and just- I'm so, so sorry but I can't-"
He cut himself off and Merope pulled him into a hug and rubbed small, light circles on his back, and he sniffled and cried and that was the last time marriage came up in any of their nightly conversations.
The next day Ms. Kate asked how it went, and all Merope could say was, "He's a widower". Ms. Kate only nodded her head sympathetically- "much like my cousin, you know"- and that was that.
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There weren't many children in the area, unless one counted the many children in St. Wool's, so there weren't many who'd bully Tom for his little bursts of accidental magic. However, "not many" is different from "none at all", and Harry failed to consider this when, one Saturday, he decided to take Tom to the playground just beside St. Wool's.
The venture started out well enough, though Tom was reluctant to leave Harry's side at first, and kept glancing at him from the sandbox a meter and a half away. After ten minutes, Harry gave up trying to reassure him that he wasn't leaving, and instead just watched him toddle around with the stuffed puppy Harry had gotten him for Christmas.
And then the kids from the orphanage came out.
They were loud and very violent, and Tom didn't like them at all. He made a beeline towards Harry, feeling safest with 'papa', but fell down when a larger boy was accidentally pushed into him. He whimpered.
"Oi! Watch it ya freak!"
Tom looked down at his knee, skinned from the fall, and whimpered again. The bigger boy forced him up, the stuffed puppy dangling from the younger Tom's hand.
"Well freak? Ain't ya gonna 'pologize?"
Again, Tom didn't answer. He wasn't in the wrong and he knew it.
The boy holding him spit off to the side as two other boys joined him.
"'Ey. I think we gonna hafta teach this freak 'ere some manners!"
He threw Tom onto the ground and, without any warning, kicked him. His lackeys joined in, not even giving Tom the chance to curl up into a ball. Harry's blood boiled at the sight- he loved children, but he'd been bullied enough himself, so to see a group of kids hurt a boy half their size (and his son, at that) was unacceptable. He went to intervene, but just as he was nearing the corner of the playground, green sparks shot out of Tom's hands, and a stray brick conked one of the boys in the back of the head.
He yelped and fell back, his wound bleeding lightly. The other two looked at him and then glared down at Tom, whose fingertips were still sparking.
"You freak! You did that, didn't you!?"
Before things could escalate further, Harry intervened.
"That's enough!" He exclaimed harshly, "Why don't you ruffians go and bully someone your own size!"
At the sight of an adult, the boys scrambled to get away, and Harry picked Tom up, remembering to grab his stuffed puppy, too.
"Tom..are you okay, cub?"
The boy moaned and Harry's eyes softened.
"...Let's go home and get you fixed up."
