Chapter 3

A Little Boy's Crush

Summer 1940

Under a brilliant blue sky, with his eyes closed in peaceful reverie and his fingers gently stirring ripples along the surface, Harry laid stretched out on the float that he and Tom had made nearly six years back. It remained stationary in the centre of the water hole and had been mended over a hundred times. One long leg dangled over the edge, the other was bent up and swaying from side to side. Harry sighed with content. Tom would be returning within the day and nothing in the world meant more to him than that.

It was times like this - the quiet, the warmth surrounding him that kept his meaningless existence stable, and the anticipation of his own impending tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry crept very close. He wondered if Morfin would slaughter all of the owls that tried to deliver his letter, as he had done with Tom's, and whether the tall and long-bearded, elderly man in the eccentric robes would come to deliver it to him, too.

As much as it frustrated and hurt Harry, he did not blame Tom for wanting to go and further his limited education. They had never been to school before. There were a handful of instances, Harry could recall, when Muggles had dared to step foot onto the property and inquire about Tom's and his schooling. It was unthinkable to allow. Morfin had threatened them with violence, and Merope had assured them that she, herself, was educating their needs.

No matter how uneducated they were, the need for infant school never seemed to become a problem for either boy. As if magic itself catered to their disadvantages, everything just came together all at once. Like on a warm summer day over three years back, without cause or reason, Tom had looked up at the front of the village pub, The Hanging Man, and realised that he could read the sign. Harry could read it, too. There was no explanation for this, but Merope had thought it might have something to do with the tiny (and imaginary) elves living within the cracks of their home. Nonetheless, several unexplainable occurrences were always blamed on these mystifying creatures.

His bent leg slowly slipped and fell into the cool water of the pool. His mind wandered off, unable to focus on any one real thing. Tom, Morfin, the village, Mr Riddle's wicked glare and the sharp contrast of his beautiful horse… Harry had grown to loathe the village below. He was not like the other boys his age, or even Tom; he was small, sweet-faced, and waif thin, and everyone took liberties in pointing that out. And the fact that he was as blind as a bat did little to help his pitiable self-esteem. He had taken up working along side his mother in the village for pocket money. He saved every penny, and having nearly enough to purchase a pair of spectacles, he declined putting himself through another minute in town without the protection of his big brother. On such a wondrous day as today, he chose to drift instead… to drift and dream.

"Harry..."

Unsure of whether he had fallen asleep or if Morfin was up to his old tricks, Harry sat up with a start and nearly tumbled off of the raft. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them as he gazed around the perimeter of the pond. "Morfin?" he called, feeling a cool chill trickle down the length of his spine. "Just lay off, alright?"

The sun had already set. The darker it grew, the more perilous the woods became for Harry. His poor vision and sociopath-of-an-uncle made every obstruction around him a trap. He dove into the water, abandoning the raft to reach the shore and head inside in wait for Merope's return from town. He grabbed his hanging breeches off of the twig he hung them on and stepped into them. There was something out there – something was off.

"And where do you think you're going, runt?"

Without turning to see where the man was in proximity to him, Harry prepared himself to run. "I didn't do anything, Morfin, leave me alone." He moved forward, reaching out to part the branches that were seemingly growing and stretching out to cover the passage. These obstacles were not there earlier in the day. Was this even the path? Harry was confused, disorientated from the water dripping into his eyes and the taunting words filling his ears.

"There's nowhere to run to, dirty-blood. Can't even get through the woods on your own… Where's Tommy when you need him, hmm?"

Harry's heartbeat had escalated to astounding heights. For the most part, Morfin ignored him altogether. He was not worthy of normal attention, or the strange, eerily-feeling-notice he gave his sister every so often. Harry hated any and all interest Morfin gave either of them. The man was not stable.

"Just leave me alone!"

He put his back to one of the larger trees, feeling the rough bark scratch against his damp skin. This really was the worst time to get caught. His scar was prickling, Tom had not yet arrived, and Merope was away… There was no one to stop this.

Out of nowhere, something hit Harry hard across the face. He pushed away from the tree and ran; the other hand outstretched in front of him to drive back the branches scraping along his skin. A flash of red light hit a tree, close to his head. "Stop it," he whimpered, finding little breath left in his lungs.

Now on the path, Harry ran as fast as he could in order to put enough distance between him and any sound behind him. There was shouting up ahead and a loud rustling to his side. His heavy panting muffled all sound. There was someone standing at the entrance to the copse; a tall silhouette with their arm outstretched and brandishing a wand. "No!" he screamed, throwing himself back to slow his momentum as the dark figure took chase after him.

An arm threaded around his waist, hoisting Harry off of the ground. "Harry, stop—I've got you." The wand, outstretched and shaking, was pointing over Harry's shoulder. He craned his neck, spotting Morfin screeching to a halt on the path behind him. "Stay back! If you even think about frightening him again… I'll… I'll hex your face off!"

It was Tom. Tom was home. Harry threw his arms around the boy, clutching him with all the strength that he had. Tom was home, he was finally home. Everything would get better now.

"I was only playing with the little scamp, but now you've gone and done it, you pointless lump." Morfin raised his wand to the ready and Harry winced in reaction. He felt Tom take a huge breath and tense up.

"Oh, there you are," from behind Tom, the familiar wisp of a voice called out into the darkness. "You're home, angel!"

Tom did not take his eyes off of Morfin. His wand, his breathing was now steady. Hurried footsteps drew closer. Harry exhaled a great sigh of relief, watching Morfin duck and flee into the woods. It was only then when Tom lowered his wand and turned to face his mother.

Nearly tripping over the large trunk blocking their path, Merope scurried around it and took both boys into her arms. "I've been waiting all day to see you. My baby is home… My first born baby. Look how big you are! And so strong! You look so handsome in those robes, Tom."

Tom was still wearing his school robes, and he had, as Harry shockingly noted, grown taller than Morfin.

Absently, Tom leaned into his mother's hug before backing up a step. Harry was now wrapped firmly around his mother's torso while she petted his hair. Both he and Merope blinked owlishly at the handsome young man.

The hapless woman cleared her throat and tipped her head. She was so proud of her boy. "How is school, darling?" With her eyes staring off in different directions and her dull, heavy face covered in charred ash, Tom swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in his throat. The thick moss covering the outer walls of their home had grown thicker, the grimy windows grimier. The house as a whole was nothing more than a shack, in needing of something very big to knock it over.

Tom gripped Harry by the arm and, pulling him away from her, gave his mother a forced smile. "I'm all sweaty. I had to walk from Greater Hangleton to get here and drag that blasted trunk behind me. We can talk tomorrow, mummy." He took another step back as she came closer. He yanked Harry back to his side. "You look worn out. Go rest, we'll be in bed shortly."

Merope's expression contorted from sheer pride to being wounded as she nodded and made her way to the front door. Harry glanced up at the taller boy with pursed lips. "That wasn't very nice. She really missed you."

"I didn't hear a 'thank you' for saving your bloody life either. Whatever, c'mon," Tom growled, jerking Harry out of place to make haste toward the pond. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his robes. He pulled them off and folded them neatly over his arm. "I got top marks again," he said snottily, as they entered the opening to the pond and he kicked off his shoes.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't gotten your results back yet, liar." He watched Tom situate his clothing over a branch of a tree, tucking and adjusting them to hang just so. There were strange differences about Tom that Harry had suddenly noticed. Little hairs had grown on his legs, and his silken voice had somewhat deepened. He watched him stepping out of his shorts. More hair… down on his nethers, under his arms; it was everywhere! With a snort of embarrassment for the poor soul, Harry tossed his breeches on the tree and dove back into the pond.

Tom plunged in behind him and broke the surface with a shiver. The cold rush of water attacked every nerve in his body. Harry was in the centre, already lounging on their make-shift raft. As he swam toward it, he wondered if it could still hold both of them. "I don't need them," he said, propping his arms on the edge to look at Harry, "All of my teachers told me. I'm the brightest Wizard they've come across in a long, long time."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this. "Well, I still think you're a right totty - no matter what they say."

"Budge over." Tom pulled himself onto the raft and collapsed next to Harry, grinning. It was painfully jagged on his back, but he didn't care. All that mattered was he was home, spending some quiet time with the one person in the world that he cared for.

Harry could not help but giggle. He was so excited to have someone to talk to again. "So, what do you do at this school besides get top marks?" he asked him, turning on his side to face him.

"I've done other things…" Tom's lips curled upward with a mixture of boastfulness and embarrassment. "I've had sex."

"What? You have not!" Harry wasn't actually sure what sex was. It was an act of some sort; something men and women did in private, behind closed doors. Up until then, at this moment, he hadn't thought of it as anything other than a vulgar word. "I thought only adults did that stuff."

Tom shrugged innocently. "They talk about it all the time in school. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

There was a long pause while Tom waited for Harry to question him further on the matter. The experience itself had been awkward, unpleasant, and downright messy, but now he knew firsthand what sex was all about. Irritated at Harry's dumbfounded gawping, he huffed. "It was fantastic. She's sixteen and in Slytherin, fit, but as dim as they come."

"Sixteen? But you're only thirteen!" Harry cried, aghast.

"Don't you dare tell mummy," Tom warned.

He tried not to show it, but Harry was captivated. This school sounded very iniquitous and frightening all of a sudden. "Are you going to do it again?"

No. "Course, loads of times. It appears that I'm very good at that, too."

Harry groaned, unimpressed. "Oh, yeah, course you are."

"Anyway," Tom said, needing to change the subject as fast as possible. It seemed strange talking about the subject of sex with Harry. He wished he hadn't told him. He was completely embarrassed by it, and felt like a fool. "I've been so busy doing research on our bloodlines. The Restricted Section is difficult to get a pass for, but I've managed to squeak in a few times. You just can't take in near enough information in one or two sittings. When you get to school, I expect that cheeky smile of yours to help me get inside more often."

"Sure!" Harry cried, "I'd be happy to!"

Tom reached up and ruffled Harry's wild mop of hair. Warmth flushed his cheeks. There was an indescribably aching need inside to be close to Harry, to touch his wild hair and let him know that he meant something to him. "It's so good to see you again."

Harry made a little noise in his throat and impishly coiled a leg around Tom's. Before the older boy could react, he was swept, headfirst, into the water.

Harry leaned over the edge, giggling uncontrollably as he waited on Tom to surface. "It's good to see you again, too, you hairy ogre!"

The giggles began to die off. The water had stilled but Tom was nowhere to be seen. Harry dipped a hand into it, feeling troubled. What if Tom hit his head on something underneath? What if he were drowning…? "Tom?" he said, pulling himself further over the edge to look deeper into the clear pool. "You alright there, Tom?"

With a great push from behind, Tom capsized the raft. Harry screamed as he fell into the water. Now it was his turn to laugh, long and hard. Harry popped up, throwing his head back. "That was uncalled for!"

"You look like a great drowned rat," Tom teased, wagging his eyebrows at the smaller boy. The warmth had gone, and he had no idea where it had come from. "You ready to head off? I'm freezing."

Harry made some kissing-noises while he wrapped his arms around his chest to hug himself. "A shame your girlfriend isn't here to keep you warm."

"Ugh," Tom grumbled as he made his way to the shore. "She is not my girlfriend." He did not have a girlfriend, or any other friends to speak of. He had… admirers and cronies; people who followed him around in marvel of his blood lines and keen grasp on the use of magic. He was friendly with none of them, although they had never seemed to notice or care.

"…Gaunt, you coming out, or what?"

"He doesn't really live here, does he?"

"Nah, this is his uncle's place. He said he had to stay here because his mum's off on holiday."

"Ah, makes sense… What a hole."

"Gaunt, come on already! We've got a portkey waiting!"

The pounding fists on the front door only served to annoy Harry more than he already was. Who were these blokes outside, and what did they want with his brother? Standing on the end of the rickety counter, Harry peeped at them through the kitchen window. He was wearing his new spectacles, catching all of the detail he had always missed before. These two were much older looking than Tom, foul-faced and sneering as they waited. They weren't as tall, but their postures were stiff, their noses upturned in disgust, and their hands were balled into fists with impatience. No, Harry did not like these two at all.

"You!" One of them shouted, catching the quizzical eleven-year-old staring at them. "Who are you then?" Both boys took a step closer to the window, smirks now plastered on their maws.

"None of your business!" Harry shouted back.

The dark-haired one chortled. "Come on out, we won't hurt you."

"Where's your brother hiding?" The sandy-haired one snapped.

Harry frowned at them. "He's asleep. Who are you?"

The dark-haired boy spoke for both of them. "Name's Lestrange, and this is Avery, and that's all you need to know. Tell Tom we're outside or we'll break through the door and tell him ourselves, you little bugger."

"Why don't you just try it? My uncle will hex the teeth right out of your mouth!" Harry slammed the window down and hopped off of the counter. The pounding against the front door resumed impatiently; piles of ash fell into the fireplace. Harry began to believe what they had said. He was sure the door was about to crumble under their fists.

"What's that noise?"

Morfin put a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. Harry's knees nearly buckled under the pressure, but he held himself steady. There were very few times when his uncle addressed him without an insult. He was not going to show a hint of weakness during this one. "There're two boys outside wanting to see Tom. I don't like them," he mumbled over the banging.

Turning toward Tom and Harry's bedroom, Morfin hissed, "Wake up, you useless filth, take care of your business!"

"Did you hear that? Someone in there's speaking Parseltongue!"

"Blimey, he really is the Heir of Slytherin!"

Morfin flung the door open, and Harry tittered under a hand. Both boys on the stoop nearly jumped from their skins at the sight of him. "You're not welcome, get out," he said lowly, sending even more frightening signals their way. Morfin was a terrifying individual, completely unhinged; someone you did not want to upset.

"I'm up," Tom called, stretching through a yawn on the threshold of the living area. He was already dressed, wearing a fine-looking pair of trousers and a light cotton shirt. "Close the door; we'll be gone in a minute."

Tom had been home for a month and had yet to stay planted in the house. He left every morning and returned late every evening, and no one, except Harry, seemed to worry about this.

"Can I go this time, please?" Harry implored. Now that Morfin was up, and angry, he wouldn't have time to slip away without catching it from him. That - and he was fairly sure that today was his birthday. Spending a day with Tom, even if those two thugs outside were among them, was something he very much wanted to do.

"No," Tom said simply. "I'll come back early tonight. We'll go fishing."

"Fish are still all dead," Harry returned.

"Then we'll go swimming."

"It's sort of gloomy today."

"Then we'll skip rocks," Tom said in a slow, flat tone.

Harry shrugged it off, hiding his jealousy of those two boys outside. "Fine."

"Right. Well, I'm off." Tom pushed past Harry to get to the door. Morfin had already retreated back into his bedroom, giving Harry a chance to slip away unnoticed. He followed Tom outside, closing the door behind him, completely forgetting about the two arrogant ruffians waiting on his brother.

"Well, well, the little snitch comes out," Lestrange said in a sing-songy voice. "Where's your uncle now, you little pissant?"

Tom looked down at Harry, shaking his head. "I said 'no', Harry. Get back inside."

Avery hitched a thumb at the small boy. "He's coming with?"

"No, he's not. I said go! " Tom's eyes were narrowed to slits as he scolded Harry.

"I'm not following you! I'd rather die!" Harry cried, and took off into the woods with tears welling up in his eyes. Why had Tom avoided him all month? Why was he so cruel to him in front of those two blokes? He ran as fast and as far as he could. It happened to be in the opposite direction of the water hole, but he did not care. All that mattered was that he was as far away from Tom as possible.

Wearing nothing more than a ragged pair of knee pants, Harry found himself standing in the centre of Little Hangleton's main road. He adjusted his glasses and looked around, wondering which of the shops his mother might be working in today. Merope did various odd jobs for everyone throughout the week; she could have been anywhere. The tears on his cheeks had dried. He grabbed his knees to catch his breath and let the stitch in his side subside.

The chomping of hooves caught his immediate attention. Harry whirled around with a bright smile. A carriage came to a halt in front of him. The driver; a kindly old man, somewhat acquainted with the boy, tipped his hat. "Morning to you, sprite!" he chimed, giving the boy a wink. He reached down into a wrinkled paper bag and tossed out several sugar cubes.

"Good morning, Mr Hitchens!" Harry caught one in each hand. "Hullo, Matilda," he whispered soothingly, and held a flattened palm out for the striking Friesian to indulge. Her dark coat and luxurious mane were as beautiful as anything Harry had ever seen. The mare nipped at his skin, licking the remnants of sugar glazing it. He held out the other quickly, hoping the old carriage driver wasn't in too much of a hurry. "Am I keeping you?" he asked him, looking over the tail end of the horse.

"Funny you should mention that," he said, scratching his whiskery chin. "Frank's gone to join the war, and the groom is now tending the gardens more than anything else… You wouldn't happen to need work, would you? I was on my way back from meet a fellow about this, but he never showed. I need a stable boy to keep Matilda happy till I can find a permanent replacement. What say you?"

"Work for Mr Riddle?" Harry felt a huge lump form in his throat. Tom hated the man with all of the passion in the world, but Matilda was nuzzling his hand so affectionately, as if to coax him into it.

"He won't even know you're there. He never goes to the stables. I'll pay you good wages, sprite. You're a good lad."

It would be a swift kick in Tom's pants if Harry did this. The idea suddenly felt very, very right. "When would you like me to start?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Hitchens beamed. Harry had a reputation for being a good, hard worker from all of the shopkeepers he aided. The boy was as poor as they came, with the sweetest, unbroken spirit he had ever encountered. "Hop on up here," he said, patting the empty seat beside him. "I'll give you the tour. Matilda will need a bit of rest anyhow."

Harry climbed into the carriage without hesitation and looked at the man with slight worry. "Just as long as Mr Riddle doesn't know, okay?"

The man patted Harry's knee. "Don't worry that little head of yours."

"Maybe we can get the stableman to teach you a thing or two about riding. What do you think so far? Interested?"

With stars in his eyes, Harry was in a dream-like bliss. He was surrounded by four large, beautiful beasts and had never felt more at home. He gave the man a curt nod. "I'd love to."

Hitchens cocked an eyebrow and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Mighty proud of you, sprite. I reckon it took a lot of nerve coming up here to the Riddle House, knowing what that man's done to your mother."

"I can't tell her, or Tom… or Morfin. They'd murder me," Harry confessed. "It doesn't matter; no one cares where I go anyway. So, what do I have to do?"

With a knowing nod, Hitchens grabbed a pitchfork and placed it in Harry's hand. "Cleaning the stables, grooming the beasts, giving them exercise, feeding… that's about it."

Harry gripped the wooden handle as if it were made of solid gold. "I'll do my best, sir."

"I know you will, Harry," he replied.

For the first time since his return, Tom walked into an empty home. The sun was hanging low in the sky; with yellow and orange hues bursting through the kitchen window. His mind began to wander. Morfin was always gone around this time, doing whatever he did to keep his simple mind occupied. Merope was probably on the road, returning from town. Harry, on the other hand, was always home by this time getting things ready for supper.

Tom looked into their room to be sure it was empty. He stashed his wand and changed into a faded and patched pair of shorts. Maybe Harry was back at the water hole. It had gotten quite warm, and Tom had promised to return early enough to skip rocks with him.

A thought occurred to him as he walked through the front door. It was the thirty-first of July; Harry's birthday. He was now eleven years old. "Oh, stupid," he groaned, slapping his forehead. It was no wonder now why Harry was so dejected when he was not allowed to go with Tom. He would have to make it up to him.

-

Strangely enough, Harry was not at the pond. He was not in the woods; he was nowhere to be found on the grounds. Merope was sitting at the kitchen table rubbing her swollen ankles when Tom returned to the house. Morfin was hanging outside in a tree. Neither had seen hide nor hair of Harry all day.

"Don't you think someone should go look for him?" he murmured, gazing at his mother with intent.

"I'm sure he's fine—hand me that pot on the shelf," Merope replied. "I'll start dinner, I guess. He'll turn up, trust me."

The words 'You must protect him; keep him with you at all times.' flooded Tom's head. He did not fancy not knowing where Harry was. He took the pot from the shelf and slammed it on the counter. "What if your imaginary guardian angel came and took him off? What if your little elves decided to carve him up? Maybe those vagabonds you see every so often kidnapped him and sold him to the drifters! What's wrong with you, you fucking lunatic? Why aren't you out there looking for him?" Tom had never shouted at his mother before, but the anger he felt could no longer be contained. It was gnawing at his insides. He could not believe how blasé this woman was acting, and the thought of losing Harry was killing him on the inside.

Merope froze in place, stunned by her son's bitter words. "Tom, did you just say…"

"Forget what I said! Where is Harry?" He had to stop her before she could scold him for using a vulgarity in front of her. That should have been the least important thing in the world! He was far too upset to care, and if her squeaky voice reached his ears one more time, something very bad was going to happen. "Today's his birthday and we all forgot!"

Morfin cackled under his hand as he stood in the doorway. "Funny that."

Lowering her head in her hands, Merope began to weep. It was the loud, annoying wailing Tom had heard all of his life and had learned to loathe it as much as anything else in this ghastly shoe-box of a home.

"Weepy, weepy, old maid Merope," Morfin hissed, and cackled again.

Fed up with the laughter and crying, with his mind spinning out of control, Tom shoved Morfin out of the way and ran outside, aimed at finding Harry. He ran to the direction of the road Harry had; he might have gone to town.

Harry's bright green eyes flicked toward the shadow of someone walking toward him. Without even thinking, he knew who it was. There was a fury in the other boy's step, a sense of heightened emotion that emanated from him like an aura. Tom's hands were in fists, his back was stiff, and he walked a straight line toward his younger brother.

Gripping his upper arm and looking him over in the moonlight, Tom's nostrils flared. He could smell the wet, awful scent of straw. Harry was also covered from head to toe in filth. "Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is?" The bitterness of his words slipped out before he knew he had spoken them.

Unlike his mother, Harry gritted his teeth and jerked out of his embrace. "I need a bath. I don't care what time it is," he replied, and kept walking.

"Gods, why are you such a bastard?" Tom cried, running to catch up with him.

Harry whirled around, mimicking Tom's fuelled anger. "I am a bastard, Tom. Mummy said it herself - Mr Riddle's not my father. So call me whatever you want, I don't care!"

Tom nearly laughed. He was about ready to burst. He wanted to pound Harry's face in for being so goddamned daft. "She says a lot of inconceivable things! She said she wasn't your mummy neither… you going to believe that one, too? She's fucking mad, Harry! If you haven't noticed, you and I are the only two sane people in our home!"

"Oh yeah? Well I waited all year for you to come home and all you do is ignore me! If they're so mad, why did you leave me with them?" Turning on his heel, Harry stomped off.

"I was doing research—Harry, wait!" Tom stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't research that had kept him away, although it had been extremely useful. It was the reddening cheeks and sudden shyness that developed each and every time he caught sight of the smaller boy. He hated that feeling, it was uncontrollable and troublesome. It had been better to avoid Harry than to figure out why it was happening. He just wanted to run away and hide from it.

"Oh, come on," Harry said, waving the taller boy over to him. They clasped hands and that dreadful bashfulness soared through Tom's veins once more. Harry seemed completely unaware to this, and Tom thanked the heavens above.

Ignoring the urge to part hands, he focused on the stench radiating off of Harry instead. "You smell like a barn, you know."

Harry swung their arms back and forth while he skipped along. "Good, get used to it."

"Oh, yeah…so er… happy birthday, Harry," Tom mumbled under his breath. He had finally adjusted his self control enough to hold Harry's hand in his without breaking a sweat. Whatever this virus afflicting him was, at least it could be guarded with enough willpower.

"Thanks," said Harry through a giggle. They reached the path toward their home, neither wanting to enter. Harry pulled his hand away and pointed off to the east. "I'm just going to go clean up. I'll see you later." As quick as he could, Harry got up on his toes and placed a tiny little kiss on Tom's cheek. "Oh, and that's for saving my bloody life last month. I never did thank you for that."

Feeling like a love-sick puppy that so desperately wanted to follow him, Tom mentally kicked himself to keep from moving. The spot on his cheek where Harry's lips had touched him was on fire. "Course. Hurry back, dinner's probably done."

The soft, dark curls framing Harry's pretty face bobbed with his nod. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back in such a graceful manner. He turned and dashed off and was gone, and Tom's heart skipped a beat. Pushing it away, he walked to the house he hated, to sit among the two people he could not stand, but all was right in the world because Harry was finally home.