Chapter Text
1938
"Little Tommy isn't coming today either?"
Harry looked up from the fabric he was carefully cutting and was met with Marie's disappointed face. He didn't have the heart to tell the woman that at least part of the problem was her habit of calling Tom ‘Tommy’, and offered an apologetic smile instead.
"He's preparing for school," Harry said. "He's a smart one, as you know, and he earned himself a scholarship to a boarding school in Scotland."
"That's amazing!" Marie gasped. "Oh, but do allow me to give him a gift for an achievement like that! When will he be leaving? Not soon, I hope!"
"In September," Harry replied, smiling. The fact that there were people like Marie who adored Tom despite his grumpy attitude made him happy. "And I'm certain that he'd be happy and honoured to receive a gift from you. It'll be tough on him to move so far away and I have no doubt that having something from home will help him."
"Oh, absolutely," Marie agreed, when the bell tied to the door jingled and a group of four men entered the store.
"Hello," said one of them, walking closer to the counter where Maggie was. "My friend here is looking for a set of hat and gloves for his sweetheart. Do you have a selection or do you make custom?"
'I'm glad that I don't work on hats,' Harry thought, watching Marie join Maggie and the newest customers at the counter. Soon Marie was talking enthusiastically to two of the four men whereas Maggie had returned to designing a bridal gown for one of her usual customers.
"What kind of event is it that the hat must be suitable for? A cocktail party?"
"No, not at all," one of the men hurried to say. "But it is said that Professor Freud himself will be coming to London soon. My father is a lecturer at Oxford and will most certainly invite Professor Freud at some point for dinner, and perhaps even host a welcoming party in his honour. Therefore, if possible, I'm sure something slightly less colourful and more suitable for a gathering of intellectuals would be appropriate."
"I've heard of Mister Freud," Marie said, nodding. "Though I had no idea that he was planning on coming here. He lives in Germany, does he not?"
"In Austria."
"Goodness. What could drive him from Austria all the way to England?"
"There's some sort of political unrest going on there at the moment," one of the clients said, joining the conversation. "It traces back to Germany but those two countries have always been close. I also heard that he's quite sick, but perhaps those are just rumours, I'm not sure. He's quite old, too. In his eighties, if I remember correctly."
"I heard there are a lot of starving people in Germany right now," another one said. "And no jobs available. Which understandably has made people restless. I doubt anyone as old as he would prefer to stick around and watch that chaos take over."
"Oh, but I don't think it's the depression that's making people angry."
"Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with us, and therefore we have no reason to care about it," the fourth man huffed, clearly bored with the discussion. "In fact, I'd say it is fortunate for us since it's making Professor Freud move to London. I heard his sister-in-law is already here."
'They can't be talking about what I think they are,' Harry thought, frowning while continuing with his task. 'Surely it's too early for Hitler to be on the move already? Merlin, if only I could remember when the Second World War did start. I'm so happy that Tom will be going to Hogwarts - at least there he will be safe from any muggle attacks.'
The thoughts of the upcoming war were still on Harry's mind when he made his way back home. He didn't remember much of what he had read about the Second World War, but he did know that London had been one of the cities that had been attacked the most. Would he be able to risk having Tom home during the summers? Did he have a choice?
"Don't you like the soup?" Tom asked suddenly, snapping Harry out of his musings. The boy had helped Harry make soup for dinner and hid his worry over its success quite well. Not well enough to fool Harry, though.
"I love it," Harry replied. "Today just feels like it has been going on forever."
"You do work at Maggie's for way too many hours almost every day," Tom pointed out. "Are they getting more customers now?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Your suggestion was spot on. A better location and shared premises have made more and more people notice the boutique. I'm quite sure that the business will continue to flourish for a long time to come."
"I just hope that you won't be working there forever," Tom said. "Really. You'll overwork yourself into an early grave if you don't find a job that allows you to rest."
"It could be worse," Harry sighed, not denying how tiring it was to work for so many hours with only a few short breaks. "People in construction have tougher jobs and worse salaries than I do."
"I believe that you could find a job that lets you use more of your potential," Tom told him. “If you tried.”
"Potential," Harry repeated, a smile tugging at his lips. "You mean magic. You want me to find a job where I can use magic."
"Well, I'm not telling you not to do that."
"I'll consider it."
"Will you really?" Tom asked, narrowing his eyes at the older wizard. "Or are you just saying that to make me stop asking you about it?"
"No, I will consider it," Harry assured him. "I promise.
*
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
It was a late Saturday afternoon when Tom looked up from his book with what Harry assumed was intended to be an innocent and hopeful expression. Perhaps it would have convinced Harry of Tom's innocent motives had he not known the boy so well.
"You haven't let me try anything with my wand yet," Tom said. "I've had it for months already and I haven't used it once. Can you teach me something? Anything? I promise I won't use it without permission. I've almost ran out of books to read and I really think I'm ready to try a spell or two."
Harry wasn't sure if what he was going to do was the right and wise course of action, but he doubted that sending Tom off to Hogwarts - and the Slytherin House in particular - without him knowing a single spell was…not necessarily a good thing. Therefore he put down the plate he was washing and turned to the boy with a determined expression on his face.
"All right," Harry said. "But I pick the spells and you don't try them without me being here to supervise. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Tom agreed quickly. He then watched with a happy expression as Harry went to get Tom's wand from its case and handed it to the boy. His wand, made of yew and the feather of a phoenix according to the wandmaker, fit into his hold like it belonged there. Tom waved it a few times before he focused on Harry, who had pulled out his own wand as well.
"So," Tom started. "What are you going to teach me?"
"We're going to start with some simple spells," Harry said. "The locking and unlocking charms. Do you know why those are useful?"
"For privacy reasons," Tom answered quickly. "You said I'll be getting a trunk, too, right? To put my things into. In that case I think it's very useful to know how to lock and unlock the trunk to prevent other people from opening it."
"Also if you're locked somewhere," Harry said, thinking of multiple situations that he hoped would never happen. "Or if you need to lock someone somewhere - but only for a very good reason, Tom, not for pranks."
"I don't prank people," Tom huffed, rolling his eyes. He wouldn't prank people, but if he would ever need to punish them by locking them into a bathroom stall or a closet, then he wasn't about to hesitate. 'I don't think Harry needs to know that, though. He's very sensitive when it comes to doing bad things to people who deserve it. It's as if he thinks that no one deserves being punished.'
"We'll begin with the unlocking charm," Harry started, kneeling down next to Tom. "To make it work, you need to point at the locked object - be it a door or a trunk or a locker - and move your hand as if you're writing the letter S in reverse. And while doing so you say: alohomora."
Tom frowned, focusing on doing as instructed. His hand movement was sharp in the beginning but he corrected it quite fast before Harry could help him with it. It made the older wizard think of Hermione, and how delighted she would have been to teach a child like Tom. Feeling proud, Harry watched Tom repeat the spell a few times before he pulled the boy closer towards the bathroom door.
"I'll lock this door now," Harry said, using a spell to lock the door as he spoke. "And you can see how successful you are with the unlocking spell. Give it a couple of tries and don't worry if it takes some time before you figure it out. First time doing magic is a little bit strange, but I'm sure that you'll get the hang of it quickly. Keep in mind, though, that the spell doesn't work on locks that have been protected with stronger magic."
"I figured," Tom muttered absently, pointing the tip of his wand towards the bathroom. "I mean, it makes sense, right? There's no protection to be had if all locks can be opened with a spell that any kid can cast correctly, right?"
"Right," Harry sighed, not surprised at all by Tom's conclusion. He also wasn’t surprised when less than an hour later he heard a small click as the bathroom door was unlocked. By then, despite his success, Tom looked a little bit drained and tired.
"I did it," the boy said, smirking proudly as he pushed the bathroom's door open, as if to prove to himself and Harry that he had indeed succeeded in casting the unlocking spell. "See, Harry? I did it."
"I knew you could do it," Harry said. "Usually it takes students a bit longer to succeed, but I'm not surprised that you managed it so quickly. That's enough for today, though."
"But--!"
"I promise you that tomorrow I'll teach you the locking spell."
"You really promise?" Tom asked, and Harry felt a moment of surprise at the lack of resistance, wondering if practicing the spell so intensively had drained the boy enough to make him too tired to argue. "It'll be Sunday so you have time then, don't you?"
"Yes, I promise," Harry replied, brushing aside Tom's fringe and thinking of taking the boy to the barber to have his hair cut. Then again he wasn't the only one to need a haircut – Harry's hair could be easily pulled into a small ponytail now, and he didn't particularly like the look. "And yes, I do. Now, how about some dinner?"
"Not porridge," Tom was quick to say. "We keep eating porridge almost every day. Let's have something else. I want potatoes."
"All right," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and standing up to start looking into what to prepare. "Something with potatoes. As you wish."
*
It was nearly a week later that Harry came home carrying what Tom assumed to be his future school trunk. He wasn't wrong, but he didn't like it, and he wasn't about to be quiet about his disapproval.
"It's old and ugly," the boy protested, eyeing the trunk in question with no small amount of disgust. Harry had set it down near the couch and eyed it with a satisfied expression. Tom hated Harry's habit of buying cheap things and pretending that he could somehow make them better. "And it smells bad."
"It doesn't smell bad," Harry sighed, opening the trunk and peering inside. "Besides, you'll have this for the first year only. I just need to save up a little bit before I get you a proper trunk from Diagon Alley or somewhere else like that."
"I notice that you didn't argue against it being old and ugly," Tom pointed out, crossing his arms and scowling at the man. "I can't use that. Everyone will laugh at me. I don't want people to think that I'm too poor to afford a proper school trunk."
"I'll fix it up so it'll look better," Harry assured him, though his words did nothing to improve Tom's mood. "It's in pretty good condition. And you can always tell them it's a family heirloom. I know people there appreciate family heirlooms no matter how ugly they are - in fact, the older it is, the more value it has."
"I don't care," Tom said, now glaring at the turn. "How can you fix it? What kind of fixing would turn that into something acceptable?"
"I've become quite good at transfiguration, I'll have you know," Harry told him. "Even though this won't be as good as a custom made trunk, it'll do for now. I'll fix the interior first, make sure there are no holes or stains. Give me a couple of weeks and it'll be good as new."
"Let's not exaggerate," Tom said, still looking disgusted. "I don't think anything can make that look good as new."
"Rude," Harry huffed, but couldn't quite stop himself from smiling. "How about you come with me to work tomorrow? Marie misses you greatly. Besides, you hear plenty of interesting things at the store these days. Last week I heard that Sigmund Freud is coming to London. You've read about him, haven't you?"
"Not much," Tom said. "I didn't really understand some of the things he wrote about and most of it sounded like rubbish to me."
"Give yourself some time," Harry grinned. "Maybe you'll understand in a couple of years. I suppose the love you have for numbers and money doesn't extend to other subjects, eh?"
"Numbers make sense," Tom insisted, scowling as he returned back to the chair he had been sitting on. "They're logical. People are not."
"Magic isn't particularly logical either, most of the time," Harry reminded the boy gently. "And you will need to learn how to understand people if you want to get along with them."
"I don't--"
"And before you tell me that you don't want to get along with people, I would like to remind you that getting along is important for the sake of establishing connections. Which, I am sure, will help you in the future."
Tom fell silent for a few moments, and Harry could see that although the boy could reach for the book he was currently reading, he didn't. Instead Tom said:
"You told me about Hogwarts Houses. Which one do you think I'll get into?"
"Slytherin," Harry said immediately. "If you don't end up in Slytherin, I'll eat my soggy socks for breakfast."
"Thank you for that mental image," Tom said with a disgusted expression. "You said, though, that the studious ones are the Ravenclaws. How can you be so sure that I won't end up there?"
"You can be a very studious and smart Slytherin," Harry told the boy. "There's no rule that says that there's only one right way to be anything at all."
"You said you were a Gryffindor?"
"Yes."
"Hm." Tom looked at Harry quietly for a few moments, before he said: "I don't think I'll be a Gryffindor."
"I really doubt that you could get yourself into Gryffindor," Harry said with a grin. "You'd find us all frustratingly loud and reckless, I'm sure. I had a good time there but I know that you wouldn't.”
Realistically, Tom would perhaps enjoy being a Ravenclaw the most. From what Harry had understood, the Ravenclaw House had never cared much about bloodlines or wealth, and focused mostly on the students' love for learning.
'Not just their grades,' Harry thought. 'I think Cho told me that good grades were admired but that they weren't seen as the definition of intelligence.' It was unlikely, however, that Tom would end up anywhere outside of Slytherin, due to his heritage. Which was a bit of a pity, and Harry knew he'd spend plenty of his days worrying about how Tom was being treated in the dungeons.
"The fourth House you mentioned was Hufflepuff, right?" Tom said. "So if Ravenclaws are smart and Slytherins are cunning and Gryffindors are brave, what are Hufflepuffs?"
"Loyal," Harry said, and when he saw Tom's unimpressed expression, he continued: "Don't underestimate how formidable bottomless loyalty to a person or a cause can be. Besides, it's not like students don't have traits that could have made them end up in another House. There are brave Slytherins and cunning Ravenclaws and smart Gryffindors. And I assure you that there are smart, cunning, and brave Hufflepuffs as well."
"Bottomless loyalty," Tom said, narrowing his eyes with a strangely contemplative expression. "You mean loyalty that can make people do anything for the sake of whatever they're loyal to?"
"Yes, so do keep that in mind," Harry advised him. "Now, do you want something else to do? The locks of this trunk are rusted but you can practice the locking and unlocking charms on them anyway. Interested?"
*
Time seemed to fly by so quickly, and often Harry caught himself thinking of how much time had truly passed since he had seen Ron and Hermione. There were days when he missed them very much, but somehow the realization that he had gotten used to their absence hurt even more than missing them. It didn't help that aside from Tom and his work, Harry had rarely any time to find new friends that he could hang out with.
Then again, even if he did manage to make a friend or two, how would he find the time to spend with them? It wasn't as if he could spend the weekends he had reserved for Tom on anyone else. He didn't even want to.
Practicing spells, watching Harry work on transfiguring the trunk, and reading his school books were activities that kept Tom entertained for nearly two weeks. Eventually, though, the boy finished his study material and Harry finished working on the trunk, and Tom found himself looking for something else to occupy his mind.
Harry had suggested sorting through his growing book collection in order to decide which books to take with him to Hogwarts, but Tom had done that a couple of times already and didn't want to do it again. He had even put some books into the now decent looking school trunk, ready to take them with him in September.
"You could practice the locking charm."
"But I'm so bored of the locking charm," the boy said, waving his wand in random patterns with an annoyed expression on his face. "I know how to lock and unlock things now. Harry, I've been doing it all week, I swear."
"I believe you," Harry muttered tiredly. He was lying down on the couch, still dressed in the clothes he had worn for work, and was resting his eyes for a couple of minutes before he'd have to stand up, shower, make dinner, and prepare for the next day.
"Can you teach me something else?" Tom asked, climbing to sit on Harry's stomach, making the man groan and open his eyes. Tom resisted the urge to stick the sharp tip of his wand into Harry's disturbingly green eyes and simply pouted instead. "Anything else? Just another simple spell that will make my day better?"
"I'm tired," Harry whined, closing his eyes again. "And I have so much else I still need to do today. Like dinner. I'll teach you a new spell during the weekend, I promise."
"But I want to learn now," Tom insisted. Why didn't Harry understand? Surely teaching Tom another simple spell wasn't that tiring and time consuming? Harry had done it before, so why couldn't he do it now? "I'll die of boredom if I have to wait until Saturday for you to have time and energy to teach me. This is why I'm telling you to find a better job with fewer hours. You wake up early and go to work, and you come back home drained like this!"
"Mm-hm."
"Harry! Open your eyes and teach me!"
"I'm tired," Harry repeated, and laid still as he waited for Tom's response. The child’s position on Harry's stomach made him close enough to stab Harry in the throat with his wand if he wanted to. Harry hoped that he didn't. Eventually he heard a huff, before the boy plopped down to press his face against Harry's shoulder. A sharp elbow hit him on the side and bony knees dug into his thighs and Harry knew that resting for much longer was not an option anymore.
"I just really want to learn from you," Tom said, his voice muffled by the fabric of Harry's shirt. "If I have something to do, I won't get bored. And if I don't get bored, I won't feel lonely. You don't want me to feel lonely, do you?" Or rather, Harry didn't want Tom to go and find his own entertainment from somewhere else, knowing how destructive the devious child was. No matter how well the two got along now, Harry wasn't blind to the mean streak that intertwined with every aspect of Tom's personality.
"You can always come with me to work," Harry reminded him, lifting his hand to pet Tom's soft hair. For some reason it made him think of Crookshanks and the way the cat had demanded pets from Hermione no matter how busy the witch had been at the time. "That way you'll be with me and you won't be lonely."
"But that's not the same," Tom hissed, his voice becoming clearer as he turned his face. Some strands of his thick hair tickled Harry's chin, making the man shift to brush them aside before he continued to pet the boy's head gently.
"How is it not the same?"
"It just isn't. Please? Could you just... do this for me? One tiny spell and I won't bother you anymore, I promise."
"Fine," Harry relented with a deep sigh, but couldn't regret it when Tom slid off him with a happy grin on his face. "I'll change my clothes and shower first, all right? And then make something quick for dinner. It'll be better for the both of us if I teach you this spell after we've eaten."
"Which spell is it?" Tom asked. "Is it something useful?"
"It's the general counter-spell to undo spells of all kinds. It doesn't work on potions or transfigured objects and it won't help any actual wounds or injuries a person receives due to a spell," Harry explained, standing up and stretching a bit, before heading towards the bedroom to fetch a change of clothes. "It undoes a spell but it doesn't undo the damage. It's usually taught during the second year at Hogwarts, but I think it'll be useful for you to learn before you even get there. Just in case someone tries something."
"So if someone hexes or jinxes me, I can undo the damage with this spell?" Tom asked, looking pleased and intrigued. "Neat. Let's get to it, then."
*
It wasn't until July that Harry finally decided to take Tom to Diagon Alley and buy him his robes and a few extra books in addition to anything else the boy would need for his first year at Hogwarts. He knew that spending considerable parts of his savings on Tom's expenses now would make Harry live on a pretty tight diet after the boy left for Hogwarts, but he dreaded to think of how having cheap and second hand things could affect his standing with the Slytherins.
Ron, in Gryffindor, hadn't been safe from people's mean comments about his old and worn belongings, and Harry suspected that in Slytherin they'd be even less merciful. Especially to a boy who wasn't a pureblood.
"Can we go to Scribbulus as well?" Tom asked as soon as they had walked past Gringotts. "I want to buy some quills and ink. You told me that people don't use pens at Hogwarts, didn't you? And I've never used a quill before, so I'd really like to practice before I have to start writing essays using a quill."
"Don't worry, we'll drop by Scribbulus too," Harry replied. "But first we'll get you your school robes."
"From where? I mean, I haven't seen a single place that looks like it sells clothes here."
"Imagine a magical version of Maggie's."
"Without the hats, I hope," Tom said, frowning once again. Harry couldn't help but think of how often the boy was frowning or scowling at things, and if getting used to some hopefully positive communication at Hogwarts would make the boy muster up a smile or two. Or at least keep his face neutral and stop scowling at everything. "How do you know where to go? Did you get your robes from there?"
"No," Harry said. "The place I got my robes from closed down, unfortunately. But I do believe that I saw a robemaker's workshop somewhere around here-- ah! There it is!"
Tom eyed the small shop Harry was dragging him towards with no small amount of suspicion. It looked nothing like Maggie's and the boy sincerely hoped that Harry knew what he was doing. The shop's door was slightly ajar to allow people in, and a wooden sign with the words "Robes & Ribbons" scratched on it was floating above the entrance. On the inside the place was... even less like Maggie's.
There were piles of fabric floating near the ceiling and needles stuck on a wall behind the counter. At least two measuring tapes were fighting - Tom hadn't known that things like that could even fight - by hitting one another due to what hopefully was a spell malfunction rather than a possession.
"Gentlemen," said a voice from a far corner of the shop, and an old man with curly white hair and a bright blue beard started walking towards them. "How can I help you?"
"We're here for Tom's school robes," Harry said, resting his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Hogwarts. First year."
"You came to the right place, then," the old man said, rubbing his hands together before gesturing for the two to step further in. "Has the order changed from the years before? Three sets of plain black work robes, protective gloves, and a winter cloak with silver fastenings?"
"And a hat," Harry said. "One plain pointed hat."
"I see they still haven't gotten rid of that ridiculousness," the old man grumbled. "Nobody uses those plain black hats after their first year."
"I'm happy to hear that," Tom said immediately, having seen a couple of pointed black hats in the crowd earlier. "I'm not much of a hat person."
"No wizard with an ounce of sense is, son," the old man said. "Now, step on the stool and I'll have your measurements down in a minute. The clothes will be ready for pick up in two hours. Name for the tags?"
"Tom Riddle," Harry said, and braced himself for the most painful part of the outing. "Should I pay now or when we pick up the clothes?"
"Now, if you may," the old man said, and as soon as a measuring tape - pulled from his pocket rather than the corner where the tapes were still fighting - was working and measuring Tom, he gestured for Harry to follow him towards the counter.
"Riddle isn't a pureblood name, is it?" the wizard said, not unkindly. "Muggleborn, that boy?"
"Halfblood," Harry replied, smiling wryly. "Though I doubt that distinction will be of any help. How much do I owe you?"
"Thirty-six galleons, two sickles and thirteen knuts," was the response, and while Harry had expected the price to be even higher than that, he couldn't help but feel slightly sick. "Usually muggleborns end up buying their robes from Stitches & Seams - it's right next to Ollivander's. How come the two of you ended up here?"
"Coincidence," Harry admitted, wondering if the other place was cheaper. "Does it make a difference?"
"I am biased, of course, but I must tell you that the quality there isn't half of mine here," the old man said with a shrug. "It is rare that anyone buys their school robes from me. I have considerable credentials and my clients tend to work in remarkable positions. Stitches & Seams like to believe that big windows, polished floors, and seamstresses in uniforms make robes better, but quality needs nothing but experience and hard work."
"You work is recognizable, then?" Harry asked, and the old man nodded. "Is it recognizable enough for other students to notice?"
"Purebloods who see their fathers more often than twice a year will notice, for sure," the man said. "Say, you look a tad young to be a father. Is the boy really yours?"
"No," Harry admitted, glancing at Tom who was eyeing the measuring tape warily. "I'm not related to him, but our circumstances were so similar that I couldn't help but take him in. It's been a few years and I haven't regretted it since."
"Circumstances?"
Harry glanced at the man, thinking carefully of what to say next. He didn't know who the man really was, but there could hardly be any harm in seeing where some strategic information would lead him eventually. "We're both halfbloods. The magical halves of our... parentage come from two respectable Pureblood families who didn't particularly fancy the idea of acknowledging either one of us. I found him in a Muggle orphanage where he had been abandoned."
"Ah," the old man said with a grimace. "Yes, that... does not surprise me in the least. Some young men are in the bad habit of expression their rebellious spirits through affairs with Muggle women. Those affairs rarely end up well for anyone involved. I suppose you are prohibited from mentioning the families?"
"Until Tom reaches maturity, I can't mention his," Harry said, glad for the excuse the other wizard had unknowingly given him. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if someone knowledgeable of old wizarding families figures it out well before that. He possesses some hereditary traits that are... very recognizable."
"It can help him," the old man said, just as the measuring tape had finished its work and Tom stepped off the stool. Not wasting a second, the boy made his way to where Harry was standing. "Even at Hogwarts there are too many people who think that blood is worth more than anything else."
"And you don't believe that?" Harry asked, curious to know the man's stance on the matter. "You don't believe in Pureblood supremacy?"
"At the end of the day, I'm a merchant," the old man said, shrugging. "I only believe in money."
Harry nodded, and tried not to read too much into the expression of delighted realization that the man's final words brought to Tom's face.