𝐀 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 ║Tom Riddle ✔ [EDITING]

Chapter Seventy-One: At Least There's An Owl

A book is placed on my ever-growing pile, and I look up to find Lestrange smirking at me. "Hurry along, Dumbledore. Everyone else is already finished." He states, and I groan, staring down to see that it was the book I'd been looking for.

"I still need Defence Against the Dark Arts," I grumble, and he rolls his eyes, grabbing my wrist and shoving me in the short line that was growing larger.

"Wait here. I'll get you a copy." He disappears before I could thank him.

I plop my books at the counter and smile at the receptionist who looked ready to kill herself and every customer here.

She counts out the amount I have to pay and ends up glaring at Lestrange when he slams The Dark Forces: A Self Guide to Protection on the counter. I hand over the amount I needed to pay and carry the books outside to where I see Tom and Rosier waiting for us impatiently.

"Could you two be any slower. I need a new cauldron." Rosier groans and Lestrange rolls his eyes.

"Calm down, Radcliff." He sneers at his friend. "Dumple here was gazing at every little thing she saw."

"Hey! It's called window shopping, you dingus!" I snap at the blue-eyed boy.

The three boys give me an are you kidding me look, and I groan. "I hate shopping with boys," I grumble and start to walk in the direction of the potion's shop.

"Where are you going, Dumple?" Tom drawls, as he and the boys trailed me.

"Didn't Rosier want to go to Slug and Jiggers'?" I ponder, calling to them without looking back.

"Yes!" I hear Rosier demand. "No one usually listens to me." He cheers, rushing over to stroll beside me. I smile at him, and he returns the favour.

We arrive at the shop, and we get all the potion ingredients we needed for potions this semester, waiting while Rosier bought another extremely expensive cauldron.

"Seriously, dude?" Lestrange gives his friend a look. "Forty galleons for a cauldron. Are you kidding me?" He asks, sighing. "You're going to go broke. Your future family is going to be so poor because of your spending habits, I'll have to adopt your kids for them to survive."

"Who says I'd want you to look after my kids?" Rosier demands.

"What? You'd want Tom to? He'd murder the little buggers."

"Don't call my kids buggers."

"You aren't pregnant yet, Rosier, calm down." I laugh at him, causing Lestrange to chuckle and Rosier to grumble at being unappreciated among his friends.

"AWWWW IS WITTLE ROSIER HURT!?" Lestrange calls, pinching his friend's cheeks.

"LEAVE me alone, ABE!!" Rosier demands at him.

"Did everyone get what they wanted?" Aberforth interrupts the argument with a humoured smile. He had a couple bags on him as well.

"Yeah, we did." I smile up at my cousin, and his face softens into a grin.

"Let's go get lunch, yeah?" He asks, and he motions us to follow after him. Tom and I decide to flank our parental figure with Lestrange and Rosier, still arguing a meter behind us.

Aberforth hands each of us a huge bag. "For you, my loves." He smiles at us, and we gaze at him in confusion.

I open the bag to find a huge ass cage and in the centre of it was a beautiful male owl. "Oh my gosh." I breathe.

The little baby was fast asleep and cooing.

My heart softened, just staring at the chick. He was solid black with a spotted belly.

I look in Tom's direction to find him staring at a pure white baby owl in shock. The little thing sends a hoot in Tom's direction, and the shock on Tom's face was absolutely precious.

"You bought us owls?" I breathe in shock. The utter tender gesture was making me tear up a little.

"Everyone needs an owl. I noticed neither of you had one." He smiles at us, patting both of our heads, softly.

"Come on now, my children. Let's get lunch." He says, staring at the both of us softly.

"Thank you," I whisper at Aberforth, rushing to engulf him in a hug. "Thank you so much!"

"Also, a belated birthday present for both of you," Aberforth admits sheepishly. "Why didn't you tell me your birthday was in July! Or you, Tom... in December!" He scolds us. "You are fourteen now." He looks at us.

I grin sheepishly. "Didn't want to make it a big deal," I admit, and he glares at us.

"Thank you, Aberforth. This owl truly means a lot." Tom admits, his charming persona turning on.

My cousin just grins at him, wrapping an arm around each of us and pulling us towards the Leaky Cauldron so we could have lunch.

"What are you naming her?" I ask Tom as the five of us sat at a round table in the corner. He shrugs, staring at the owl in fascination.

"Have you decided on a name for him?" He eyes my owl in interest.

I eye my baby bird with adoration. "Caligo," I say, and he purses his lips.

"Latin for darkness." Rosier points out, munching on his fries. "Smart."

I eye the baby bird beside Tom's leg, and I smile a bit. "I know what you should name her."

"What? I can't keep calling her white bird." He mutters, annoyed.

"Hedwig," I state, and he stops and thinks about it for a second. He blinks in surprise and glances down at his owl.

"Hedwig?" He tests out the waters and the little bird hoots in approval, making him shrug. "Hedwig, it is." He decides, and I couldn't help the massive grin that spread on my face. 

You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.

― J.K. Rowling