A/N; Sorry for the absence. I have been struggling with my health and just thinking about writing has been hard. Then Musey made me write a chapter and led me down a rabbit hole I didn't want to go. I put my foot down, deleted the entire thing and rewrote it.
If you are still reading, don't forget to leave a comment. Thank you to all who did so last chapter. It is most appreciated.
ps. next chapter Buffy has to juggle a Lestrange, Tom Riddle and Rory! Oh, and all in chains. Fun.
Breaking The Boy Code
Grabbing Tom's arm, Buffy began pulling him towards the row of shops.
"Buffy!" Tom hissed in warning, looking sharply at the others in the lane. Most were already looking away, seeing nothing unusual in a pair of Hogwarts students fooling around on Hogsmeade weekend. Still... the next time they might not be so lucky. What if a teacher was near? They might have come over and investigated.
Buffy smiled at him and the scolding he'd been about to give her died on his lips. I wish she'd look at me like that all the time. Had his mother felt like this when she met his Muggle father? If she had, it came as no surprise that she'd used a spell or Love Potion to enchant him. Why no? She had magic he didn't. Not that he loved Buffy or cared for marriage, or intended to use a spell on her. He wasn't that stupid. This was all down to hormones and magical attractors, and knowing the cause meant he wouldn't be as foolish as his mother.
Buffy tapped his shoulder impatiently. "Tom, you gotta come look at this!"
He dragged his eyes off her smile and looked over at what she was pointing to. Above the shop, the sign proudly proclaimed 'Mossley Bros. Est 1485. Robes For All Occasions. We're Simply Wizard At Tailoring!' While inside the window, a single mannequin modelled a set of men's dress robes.
Bemused at what she wanted him to look at, he took a second look. The understated window suggested an establishment that had no need of drumming up new customers. They no doubt pandered to a clientele with money and old bloodlines. It was the sort of place Malfoy and Lestrange's fathers would shop, safe in the knowledge they wouldn't meet a Mudblood there. One day, he'd buy all his clothes from places like this. Today, though, was not that day. Today, he'd be hard pushed to buy a secondhand scarf off McGorty's market stall down in Carkitt Market.
"It's very nice," he replied neutrally, wondering if someone she knew shopped there. He shifted, ready to move away, but Buffy stopped him, her fingers snaring his wrist. Her magic slid across his – like silvery moonlight pouring across a dark glade – and his magic hummed pleasurably around him.
Merlin! She had to feel this! It couldn't just be him! It made him want to grin madly and... panic insanely. He felt off-kilter. This was all wrong. He wasn't like Malfoy. Girls bored him. He had plans; plans for immortality, plans for his future, plans on rising to power. Buffy was too different... She was odd. A Slytherin who was more Gryffindor than a Slytherin should be. She was... a Dark Gryffindor! It was never going to work... was it? Perhaps... What if he kept his Lord Voldemort side a secret from her? He could pretend to be like Dearborn... but without the sunshine.
"Let's go inside," she said.
"No!" Didn't she realise every minute they risked discovery? They could only get away with this if they remained cautious and didn't take unnecessary risks. He'd known Buffy would feel the lure of shops and been prepared to argue them, but this... this wanting to go inside a gentleman's outfitter, it threw him. Why? Just why?
"We don't have time," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. His Knights would have accepted it – almost blindly. Buffy? Not so much.
"Nice try, Tom, but we've another hour to kill before meeting Rory." She pranced onto the shop's doorstep and slanted him another of those mind-blowing smiles. "When it comes to retail therapy, I'm an expert. Trust me on this."
Tom paused. Secretly enjoying how her smile made him feel, yet knowing it was a senseless risk. That slight hesitation was all the encouragement she needed.
"Okay, Calling for a restroom break." She turned the handle, pushed the door, and set the shop's bells jangling.
"Restroom? What's a... Salazar! What are you doing?" The chains binding them broke and vanished. Tom groaned, not caring who heard. He'd counted on using their allotted toilet break to sneak into Three Broomsticks. Anger roiled inside him at having his plans ruined. Then he grudgingly admitted that he should have told her earlier.
Buffy strode into the shop, throwing off her hood to look around more easily. "Hey, look at this!"
"Oh... for Merlin's sake!" he muttered and followed her in.
Inside, the walls were stacked high with racks of fabric in a rainbow of colours. Drawers hung half open with their contents spilling out, and the counter was piled high with pattern books and fabric samples. Everywhere you looked was a riot of colour and texture. Thankfully, it wasn't full of customers. There wasn't even a shop assistant in sight.
He moved further in, following Buffy, when a movement in the opposite corner of the room caught his eye. The shop assistant? No, just their reflections in a half-hidden mirror. A tall, sinister, pale-faced figure stalking behind a fair maiden stared back at him. He scowled, hating the imagery, and threw back his hood. He might not be a golden boy like Dearborn, but he wasn't sinister. At least, not when he didn't want to be.
"There's nothing of interest here," he said coldly. He could understand if this was Borgin and Burke's, their shop was jammed to the rafters with all sorts of magical artefacts. He could spend an entire day in there looking at everything and still not be bored.
Buffy walked over to the counter and began flicking through the pattern books before moving on to rotating a rack of acromantula silk ties. "Oh, these are so pretty and silky! Should I buy one?"
"A tie?" he asked, incredulous. They both wore ties for school, but it wasn't fashionable for girls to wear ties, even he knew that.
She spun the tie rack faster and it began to make a horrible squeaking noise. It was bound to bring the shop assistant. "Buffy, we need to go."
"Spoilsport!"
"I'm not a –."
A cough had them both swivelling guiltily. Tom stepped closer to Buffy, his hand going to his wand; Buffy frowned as she peered across at a curtained recess in the opposite wall. Neither had noticed the doorway on coming in here, was it charmed to go unnoticed?
"How did you two get in here?" a man asked in a deep baritone.
"Huh?" Buffy's face had screwed up in genuine confusion. "Is that a trick question?" She pointed to the door they'd come in by. "Handle, push, door, swing and voila! People appear. It's almost like a magic trick."
The silence grew. Was the man annoyed, shocked, or trying to intimidate them?
Finally, the man in the recess sighed, and asked, "What spell did you use? The door was warded and locked."
"Um, it wasn't. Warded or locked." Buffy shot Tom a bewildered look. "You saw it open when I pushed it, didn't you?"
Tom nodded. "It wasn't locked." Did he think they'd broken in? Would he contact the Aurors or Hogwarts? He needed to convince him otherwise. "I'm sorry if we've disturbed you, sir. We didn't mean any harm to you or your property by coming in here. We'll go at once." He touched Buffy's arm, indicating they should leave.
The shadow in the doorway moved. "Stay! What do you want?"
"You stepping into the light would be a good start," Buffy called. Her eyes were watchful despite the lightness of her voice. "Lingering in shadows is never a good look, not unless you've got something to hide. You know, like a horrible disfigurement or... you're a slime demon or... something from the creep zone."
There was silence once more. Then the shadow moved and a man with iron-grey hair stepped out into the light.
"My apologies." He had a fake, practised smile. Tom knew because he'd been practising his own and had almost perfected it.
"Welcome to my shop. I'm Alred Mossley and, as you see, I'm neither disfigured nor ..." the smile looked more genuine, "a slime demon. I apologise for my rudeness. We have a client in the fitting room and I thought Rollo had locked up before we began the fitting. Can I be of assistance?"
"Shoes," said Buffy. She stepped around Tom. "I saw the shoes in the window. Which I'm guessing, you think is kinda strange. A girl interested in your shoes? Don't worry, I know you're only interested in doing guys."
The man raised an eyebrow.
Buffy coloured, and stammered, "Um, I don't mean... I'm talking about the fashion side of things! I'm not saying there's something weird going on in your private room."
Did she think there was?
"And even if there was..." The man's eyebrow rose higher. "It's totally fine by me because I'm not here to judge. Y'know, if you're all consenting adults in there. It is consenting adults isn't it? Because –."
"Buffy," Tom interrupted. Mossley was looking more amused by her babbling than affronted. "I'm sure Mr Mossley knows exactly what you mean."
Buffy almost sank with relief. "Oh, thank God. I was worried in case you all thought..." She bit her lip, looked at the rack of ties, and pouted. "So no Buffy fashion here."
Alred Mossley's gaze dropped and fixed on Buffy's pout. Unable to help himself, Tom scowled and hissed an insult in parseltongue. It was a quiet hiss and Alred didn't hear him, but Buffy did. She turned her head, shot him a puzzled frown, looked as if she was about to ask him to repeat it and thought better of it.
"Anyhow," she said, turning back to Mossley. "I came in because I've a friend who needs new shoes. He wants them for school."
It took Tom a couple of seconds to realise who this friend was who she was talking about. "No, I don't!" He couldn't afford a pair of shoelaces, never mind a pair of brand-new shoes!
Buffy ignored him. "We've walked all the way from Hogwarts this morning and my friend's shoes got all ruined in the mud and covered in sheep poo. See?"
Alred and Buffy looked down at Tom's shoes and Tom inwardly cringed.
"They're fine!" Tom exclaimed. "It'll scrape off! I really don't need a new pair."
Mossley clucked in sympathy. "Dear me. Those shoes are quite ruined, my boy. Don't you see? Not only is the leather water-damaged, the stitching joining the upper to the sole is coming away in several places. It's time for a new pair."
Before Tom was forced to admit that he couldn't afford any, Mossley added, "However, I'm afraid I can't help you. Appointments at Mossley's are strictly for clients who have references –."
Tom instantly knew what that meant. He'd need references from rich, well-connected Purebloods and they wouldn't cater for a half-grown orphan boy who'd wandered in off the street. He'd been in shops like this in Muggle London and had had a similar reception.
"Oh, don't worry," Buffy was saying, she didn't seem to hear what Mossley was really saying. "I'll reference him all you like. He might still be in Hogwarts, but he's top of every class and popular too. The teachers even made him a prefect this year, they trust him so much. You could say, he's your typical all-round nice guy."
The thrill of her praise dimmed when she added, "Not that he doesn't drive me crazy because he does. Like the time he glued my essay to the desk and I almost burned library down trying to find a spell to unsticky it." Realising what she'd just admitted, she pouted again at Mossley. "Can we keep that bit between ourselves? You know what teachers are like and no harm no foul, right? Anyhow, despite the gluing, the arresting me for meeting invisible boys, and his general sulkiness, I'll still recommend him to be one of your cu–."
Mossley put a hand, stopping her. "Please, no more. I understand what you're trying to do here. You believe your friend is worthy of the very best. However, even if he were our client the task is impossible. All our shoes are bespoke –."
"He doesn't need any spokes. Unbespoke are fine," joked Buffy.
"I don't need any shoes," hissed Tom. "Bespoke ones or not."
"By bespoke, I mean, they are made to measure," Mossley explained, unsure if Buffy was joking about shoes with spokes. They both ignored Tom.
Buffy wasn't deterred. "What about when you make prototype shoes? You know, the ones you have to see if anyone wants to buy that style? I know that they can be Charmed to make the fit. Walburga Black taught me a few fashion charms to get a more tailored look. And if it's the money you're worried about, that isn't a problem." Buffy pulled a pouch from her pocket and poured the contents out into her hand.
Tom saw a lot of gold mixed with silver and bronze. Where did she get all that money from? The Lovegoods weren't a rich family. As usual, someone else had money and he didn't. "Girls don't buy boys their shoes," he growled sourly.
Once Abraxas had bought a girl a hat and scarf in House colours, he'd done it to try and bribe her into going in a cupboard with him. Tom didn't think Buffy was offering to buy shoes to bribe him into a cupboard and let her remove his clothes. This was done out of pity.
Buffy caught her lip between her teeth and looked at him anxiously. "Have I just broken this decade's code? Um, a guy code? No shoe buying?"
"What?" This decade?
"I don't want to break any guy rules," she went on. "But if you hadn't come here, your shoes wouldn't be broke."
He didn't want her pity. "You didn't force me."
"I'm still getting the guilty feelings here."
It should have caused glee – a sense of obligation meant they were in his power – but Tom didn't want that. Not from her. He wanted admiration and respect, and... to like him for who he really was... and... probably a whole lot of things Malfoy would say, and he wasn't prepared to think about right now.
Flirting should come easy – he'd played on his good looks and charm all of his life – but there was too much awkwardness in this. He resorted back to moodiness, folding his arms and scowling at her from beneath his fringe, and saying gruffly, "Fine, buy the shoes if it makes you feel better. I suppose I can always repay the debt later." When, he'd no idea. His reward for giving her what she wanted was another dazzling smile.
"Cool." Buffy turned an imploring look on the shopkeeper. "Please, sir. We just need a simple pair of shoes, simple but nice ones, so my friend doesn't die of wet foot disease. That's a real thing, you know."
Alred considered the request. "I suppose," he replied grudgingly, "we may have a pair that weren't collected ones somewhere around. Customers occasionally order things and then change their minds." Mossley retreated to the counter, squatted and began opening cupboard doors. "I'm making no promises, Miss Summers."
Tom and Buffy stilled. "How do you know my name?" Buffy asked.
Mossley peered over the edge of the counter at them. "Why, from the article Peter Skeeter wrote and your picture in 'The Prophet'. How else?" He rose and picked up an ornate key off the counter. "Not here. Perhaps, I put them in one of the cupboards under the shirt collar drawers."
He moved off to a set of drawers. "You must remember, my dear, Hogsmeade is a small village and we're all rather eager to read about the latest students who are at Hogwarts. In fact, thinking about all you've gone through, I'm rather surprised the Headmaster allowed you out of Hogwarts' protective wards. There were Aurors in the village not long ago. Some said they were searching for Grindelwald supporters as well as Dementors." He shook his head sadly. "I wouldn't risk it. Von Kendrick may yet prove a danger."
Salazar! Tom wasn't sure what he should be more worried about. Grindelwald or Mossley telling the Headmaster he'd seen them. Since the Headmaster seemed the biggest threat, he'd deal with that first. "I'm sure Headmaster knows what's best," he said with a nod to Buffy. "He knows there are always plenty of teachers around and I'm sure they'd help a student if they needed. Nor would I stand idly by if someone tried to hurt Buffy."
Mossley stopped fiddling with the key to give him a long, hard look. "How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
"I'm fifteen," replied Tom, feeling pleased that he looked older.
"Fifteen! And do you really believe yourself powerful enough to take on Von Kendrick?" Alred shook his head. "Why, you're naught but a schoolboy! He'd flay the flesh off before you'd drawn your wand!"
"I doubt it," Tom replied quietly. Few knew about his darker side, and certainly not a shopkeeper!
"There are spells you know nothing about," Mossley insisted, peering at them solemnly. "Far, far worse than anything you've learnt in DADA. If Von Kendrick appeared in this shop right now, what would you do?
"Hey, what about me? I'm no damsel!" Buffy's eyes darted around the shop. "I'd start by throwing the tie rack at him, then grab a roll of cloth – the heavy tweed one – and hit him over the head. I can also cast a mean Solaris Maximus and while he's blindly staggering round complaining about his loss of sight I'd rat-ify him."
"Rat-ify?" Tom asked wondering what sort of hex that was.
"Turn him into a rat."
"Ah, but would you?" Mossley asked, picking up the tie rack and putting it out of Buffy's reach. "I've heard you dislike Animal Transfiguration and even formed a club to stop it. You were overheard saying that you intended to bring the Wizarding world to it's knees."
Tom regarded Buffy steadily. Had she really said that? That was ambitious. He was impressed.
Buffy gaped at Mossley. "I never mentioned knees! I said it wasn't gonna cripple them if they stopped all the senseless testing on animals."
"And what about BATT?"
"Jeez, you really do know everything."
The wizard tapped a finger to the side of his nose. "Ah, the magic of tailoring."
Buffy pouted, and he relented.
"Clients talk. One of your teachers called in to collect an alteration last night and he told me all about it. It's created quite a stir. Causing ripples in our world is never a good thing, Miss Summers, especially when there are enemies watching."
Tom's hand went to his pocket, his fingers closing around his wand. If a lowly shopkeeper saw the need to warn her, the danger must be real. He decided that if he met Von Kendrick he'd show him what a true Dark Lord was like, and throw a few blasting hexes and fire balls at him. With any luck the Ministry would give him a medal for it.
Mossley turned away to the cupboard. "Ah, the elusive shoes! It's come back to me. I know the very place I put them. They were ordered a while ago by a man who met with an unfortunate accident whilst out on dragon safari in Romania."
"He died?" Tom asked. He didn't like the thought of stepping into a dead man's shoes.
"Tsk, no. His legs were burnt off below the knees when a dragon sprung out at him. The shoes were no longer needed," Mossley replied. He used the key to open the cupboard and felt around. The first thing he pulled out was a large umbrella. "I wondered where that had gone," he muttered and felt around inside the cupboard again.
"Ah, here we are!" This time he took out a pair of shiny, black patent shoes. "Dress shoes, I'm afraid, but with the right polish to dull down the shine they should suit well as a school shoe." He side-eyed Tom's secondhand robes and slightly pilled, worn trousers. "I'm sure with care they'll last a good few years."
Tom sat on a stool and tried not to look too eager as he tried them on. He didn't want to look as if new shoes were a rarity in his life. Mossley tutted a few times, taking back the shoes and casting Charms to enhance the fit.
Getting bored, Buffy wandered around, looking at the rolls of fabric, examining the fashion plates hung on the walls and finally stopping at the recess. A long, dark curtain hung over it and she glanced back, checking if Mossley was watching. Seeing his back to her, she raised a hand – intending to draw back the curtain and investigate behind – when the curtains moved as if someone was behind them.
Hurriedly, she stepped away and only just in time. A tall man with grey hair emerged, immediately followed by a customer – an auburn-haired man whose genial smile was familiar to Buffy. The older man merely raised an eyebrow at her presence, but Lestrange greeted her as an old family friend.
"Why, if it isn't Buffy! What a delightful surprise!"
"Um, hi," She took a few more steps away.
"I saw Marcus earlier," Lestrange continued. "He didn't think you'd be joining us in Hogsmeade today."
"Last minute decision. It's the shops, I can't resist."
"Hmm." Minister Lestrange's eyes drifted over to where Tom was still trying on his new shoes. "And you are Tom Riddle, I presume?"
"Good morning, Minister." Tom rose, standing awkwardly, one shoe on, the other off. This was Marcus' father, and Marcus had told him all about the files he kept on Buffy and her mother. What did Minister Lestrange find so interesting? The files went back well before Buffy's birth, so it must be centred around Joyce Lovegood.
"Hmm, Riddle, Riddle, Riddle?"
"Riddle-de-dee," added Buffy unhelpfully, then shot an apologetic look at Tom. "Sorry, I was channelling Scarlett O'Hara. It was one of Mom's favourite movies. We used to watch it together in our house in America. Fiddle-de-dee... um, never mind." She waved a hand. "Forget it. Muggle stuff."
Lestrange frowned disapprovingly and then looked back at Tom. "I can't say the Riddle name is one I recognise."
Tom flushed, knowing the Minister was really asking about his blood purity. "My mother was a Gaunt, sir. From Yorkshire. I don't know about my father. I was orphaned as a baby."
"How very sad." The Minister looked uncaring. "Buffy dating a Halfblood... at best..." Tom saw the calculation as the man's eyes darted between the two of them. "Whatever would Joyce say if she found out? Whatever will the rest of your family say."
"Mom wouldn't care," replied Buffy. She'd moved back over to the counter and was discreetly paying the bill for Tom's shoes. "Uncle Peregrine and Lovell would be cool about it, the others..." She shrugged, telling him she didn't care what anyone else thought. "Tom and I aren't here on a date-date anyway. We're just here.. .um, together."
Lestrange smiled. "So it's more a case of being forced to enjoy one another's company?" The smirk and glance at their wrists said he knew all about their chains. "I do wonder," he began, going to stand next to Buffy and looking down as she put away her coins, "what Headmaster Dippet will say when he finds out that you've sneaked out of Hogwarts?"