Originally posted on AO3, where I usually do my finally edits. Some stuff might be a tiny bit different but overall, it's the same story.
When he graduated from Hogwarts, a job at Borgin & Burkes was not exactly high on Tom Riddle's list. Sure, the chance to work with so many Dark magical artifacts was great, but he had always pictured himself doing something grander. Less... this.
It wasn't that there was anything particularly wrong with the job. Mr. Burke wasn't nosey and hadn't been particular about his references, of which Dumbledore seemed to have soured. Since Grindelwald's defeat, his old professor's name carried a lot of weight, weight that he had thrown around to make Tom's life more of a living hell. First, it was the turned down Defence job. Then, the Ministry jobs that had previously been lined up that suddenly withdrew their offers.
Even after spending time abroad, the Ministry remained closed to him as long as Dumbledore held power. The job that Burke gave him seemed to be as good as he'd get. Sometimes it felt like a punishment. A way of saying "I know what you're capable of, but I'll keep you from it." Tom hated it.
He didn't think he'd be particularly happy at the Ministry either, but the pay would be better than this. A flat in Knockturn Alley was the first place he could claim as his home outside of Hogwarts, but he wasn't particularly happy with that either.
In the months after Hogwarts, he had been homeless. Mrs. Cole refused to allow him to return to the orphanage, not that he wanted to. He was an adult and could find his own way, she had said. Part of him was tempted to go back and kill her, just because it would be a mercy to the children still stuck there. The flat was an improvement to the orphanage, and definitely an improvement to sleeping in the back storeroom of Borgin and Burkes. But...
The flat wasn't home. It was cold, impersonal, and none of the magic he felt at Hogwarts permeated the walls. The wards were whatever he had managed to erect when he moved in, temporarily and easily enough pulled down by anyone with enough patience. But it was his.
The bell rang on the front door and Tom straightened behind the desk, doing his best to look interested. He hadn't expected anyone to be out in this weather.
"Welcome to Borgin and Burkes," he greeted a man in a wet cloak, feeling his soul die just a bit more as he did. If he kept at this job long enough, he could earn better commissions, or so Burke had said when he took the job.
The man closed the door behind him and muttered a drying charm. At least he had the good sense to vanish the water from the floor as well. It would have been a pain wait to dry the floors after he left. The man pushed his hood off and Tom took in the dark hair and rigid stance.
"Can I help you find anything?"
The man turned and Tom took the chance to study him a few moments. Pureblood features, a scar across part of his face, and bright green eyes like nothing he'd ever seen, hidden behind a pair of big round glasses that seemed like they dulled their intensity. The man was young, probably around the same age as him, but Tom didn't recognize him from Hogwarts.
His clothes definitely belonged to a Pureblood too, despite the cut of them being more fashionable amongst the Muggleborn and Half- Blood crowds. No Muggleborn would be able to afford anything like it, not unless they were related to the king. Somehow, Tom doubted that was the case here.
"I'd like to take a look at your books," the man said. Tom schooled his features. The man even sounded like a toff.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Tom asked as he walked around the counter. The less time he gave the man to browse, the more time Tom could spend talking him into ones he probably didn't need.
Most of the Purebloods he met were painfully dull. They liked to collect Dark objects but only a fraction of them knew what to do with them. He didn't think this man, barely more than a child, knew what half of the items here could do.
Still, he fixed his eyes on Tom. A smirk played on his lips.
"Just browsing. I'm sure I'll know it when I see it."
The man moved to the book section, and Tom gritted his teeth, trying to hide his annoyance. He could be unhelpful, but that usually meant he didn't get the commission for the sale, the deal he had spent the better half of the last year wrangling out of Burke.
Still, something told him if he annoyed the man too much, he wouldn't get any sale at all.
Leaving him alone paid off, it seemed, when the man left book after book on the counter. The subjects ranged from curses to necromancy to potions to rituals, and Tom couldn't help but wonder if he had the next Grindelwald wannabe in the shop. Because England really needed another useless dark lord for Dumbledore to glare disapprovingly at and become even more of a hero.
The man finished the stack with a copy of Magick Moste Evile on top.
Tom sighed and totaled it up, quoting an amount they both knew was far too much. The man narrowed his eyes for a moment, pursed his lips, then pulled out a pouch. Tom stared.
"You're not even going to haggle?" Everyone, rich, poor, young, or old, haggled in Borgin and Burkes. In most of Knockturn Alley. It was just how things were done.
The man, probably truly a boy, shrugged and set the gallons on the counter. "It's almost Yule."
What. The... well, Tom was not going to look a gift hippogriff too closely in the mouth. Seemed rather stupid and Tom wasn't stupid. If the boy wanted to waste his money, that was his prerogative. Who was Tom to stop him?
"Mipsy," the boy called and an elf in a pristine black tea towel appeared.
"Master be calling Mipsy?"
The boy smiled. "Put these in the library."
The elf bowed her head, took the books, and disappeared.
With that, the boy gave Tom a grin, pulled his hood back up, and went back into the rain. Tom stared after him. There was something about the boy... he just couldn't put his finger on it.
Since graduating Hogwarts, Yule was painfully quiet. He had the day off because no one in Knockturn Alley was opened on the holiday. Only Mudbloods and Muggle-raised Half-Bloods didn't celebrate. Tom didn't celebrate it either, but it was less by choice and more that he didn't know any of his family's rituals. He tried, but the rituals were the sort of thing passed parent to child and it wasn't like he could just summon his ancestors' spirits and ask them. No longer a student, he was no longer invited to the Malfoy's annual Yule Ball.
"My sincerest apologies, my lord," Abraxas had said with a bowed head. "My parents are the ones who approve the guest list."
And Tom was painfully aware of what Lord and Lady Malfoy thought of him. A Half-Blood with no name and no connections and no money... he was nothing to them.
His flat was cold and dim. The only consolation was that Burke, in an unusual fit of holiday spirit and generosity, had allowed him to keep fifty percent of the sale from the boy. Tom had been quick to take it to Gringotts and ask for an investment. Maybe next year, he could live somewhere better. He doubted it.
Christmas held little meaning for him. His memories of the holiday were of Mrs. Cole making them attend mass on Christmas Eve, standing still for hours and then marching back to the orphanage in an orderly fashion. The next day, he would watch the other orphans get presents, while he got socks or a new coat if he was lucky, and then they would all crowd around the radio to hear the Christmas broadcast and stand still and straight and sing "God Save the King" while Mrs. Cole got drunk on sherry.
Christmas during his years at Hogwarts was always quiet, but most of Slytherin house celebrated Yule and held to the old traditions, so Tom had learned to as well. Still, they had families to return to and would go home and he would be alone once more. As the years at Hogwarts went on, he would receive token gifts from his followers, but they were never the personal sort of thing. Graduation meant a severe decrease of Christmas and Yule presents to decorate his bare flat.
New Year's Eve came a week later, as always, and found him in a sourer mood than ever. It was his birthday. He was supposed to change the world. Was supposed to be great. Instead, he was nothing.
Happy birthday, Tom, he wrote in his diary. The ink faded into the page and words appeared.
Is that today? A beat. How old are we? Tom glared the diary. Old enough.
He closed it and locked it away again under his blood wards. Any auror sniffing around and finding them would give him a one way trip to Azkaban. He wasn't sure his flat was any better.
Twenty-five years old and immortal. It was strange how he went through so much to prevent his death and he felt like he was barely alive. A ghost possessing his own body.
Tom settled in a pub off the main row of Diagon Ally, but not anywhere that his so-called loyal friends would see him. The people around him were content to get drunk for the holiday, and that sounded like as good a way as any to celebrate his birthday. He twirled the ring he took from his uncle around his finger while he waited for his drink.
"Something special?" a voice beside him, a posh accent that had no business being in a place like this.
Tom glanced up. The boy with green eyes stared at him through those rounded glasses. He was dressed more plainly, but it was impossible to miss the way the robes were tailored to him and not some second-hand used ones he'd found. It was even easier to see in these robes that the boy was all lean muscle. A bit on the small side, but not everyone was as tall as Tom was.
Tom glanced at his own. He had tailored them with the charms he had learned so they fit properly, but he had only ever bothered to buy a new set of dress robes. Anything else was a waste of money he didn't have.
"It's my birthday."
The boy motioned to the barman and ordered them two glasses of fire whiskey. He didn't even like fire whiskey, but if this boy... this man wanted to buy him a drink, who was he to say no?
The man lifted the glass in a toast.
"I'm twenty-five today." He wasn't sure why he bothered to tell him. Tom didn't even celebrate his birthday most of the time, or ever, really. It was just... he thought by now that he would have done something more than just be a shop assistant.
A half-smile played on the man's lips. "Happy birthday."
Tom downed the drink and snorted. "Some birthday."
The man motioned to the barman, who brought over the bottle and refilled their glasses. The man grabbed his wrist. "Leave it."
The barman eyed him but let go of the bottle. There was something dangerous in his drinking partner's electric eyes. He couldn't explain it, but it called to him. This man... he was like him.
He let go of the barman's wrist and turned back to Tom with a smile that was too sharp, too other .
"Where were we?" he asked.
A bottle later, a few subtle touches and soft looks, and Tom couldn't bear it anymore. The man was beautiful when he laughed, eyes lit up like a curse and sparkling in the dim light of the pub. He leaned in closer, giving the man a chance to pull away. Say no. Reject him like everyone else. But he hoped... Tom wanted him. He couldn't remember the last time he actually wanted someone.
Tom grabbed his companion's face, leaned in slowly, watching his eyes for any hint that he was misreading the situation and when he found none, Tom kissed him.