Harry had remained beside the building he’d unceremoniously dumped himself against for a long time, heedless of the worsening snow. The sky slowly turned amber as he attempted to centre himself and quiet the noise in his head, heavy breaths turned to wisps of fog as soon as they left his chapped lips. He'd been shaken by his own behaviour. He was unable to believe that after giving up everything to try and prevent the magical world from falling into ruin, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t complete his self-made mission and Harry despised himself for it. After all the people he’d lost and lives he’d had to end, he’d thought himself hardened to the reality of what he had to do. It seems he’d overestimated himself for when he’d seen that boy shoved hard into the biting snow by the other children, he just couldn’t do it. It had all been so frighteningly familiar to his own past, one which he’d long since buried or so he assumed.
A tingle travelled up his right forearm and Harry rolled his wand fondly between his frigid fingers in response, the gentle hum anchored him and his spiralling thoughts. The self-hate slowly evaporated until all that remained was sombre resignation. He tucked his wand away, sighing heavily as he did so. Harry didn’t want to empathise with the most evil wizard of their time but he couldn’t picture the child he’d witnessed being bullied as the dark lord he’d been running from all his life. He was unsure how to continue though, he couldn’t just leave him be but it was the question of whether he meddle from afar, pulling the strings to suit him (similar to Dumbledore Harry thought with distaste) or take a more active approach. Maybe all Tom needed was a bit of guidance to change what had become of the future. He pondered that particular thought with furrowed brows, would a difference have been made if the jaded boy had known love early in life and before Hogwarts?
What occurred next were his feet apparently having made an unconscious decision, for they were crossing the street before Harry could blink. He paused briefly, halfway across the snowy path to the orphanage when his mind had caught up to his body, second-guessing his choice powered by intuition. That was until he caught a small face peeking through a window on the second floor and their eyes met. He swallowed thickly. He couldn’t kill a child, even if he grew up to be the biggest twat in history, so this was the least he could do. Resolve setting his shoulders firmly in place and heedless of being a single guardian in a foreign time with no job to speak of and only enough funds to support himself for a year, he broke their shared gaze and marched swiftly to the front door.
---
Walking down the snow dusted path from the orphanage with hands full of possessions which Harry had no doubt most were stolen (he’d need to have a talk about morals) and his dark haired responsibility pensively trailing behind him, he realised perhaps a bit too late how bad of an idea it was to adopt Tom Riddle.
He’d been unknowingly enchanted by the idea of raising Tom, providing him a stable home and attempting to give him some sort of familial love. Yet he had no parenting knowledge to speak of other than occasionally having Teddy over for a night or two a week in the years following, what he thought to be at the time, the final battle. He had nothing at the muggle house he’d recently bought to insinuate that he’d been there for more than a week and Tom was unfortunately sharp, he’d ask questions which Harry knew he’d struggle to answer when omitting the truth. Then he had to go about discussing magic which was a risky topic considering he didn’t know what Tom was aware of and he’d undoubtedly want to know everything he could which would be worrisome in itself.
Harry had no clue what to do about his education, he could homeschool him but that would leave him unsupervised when Harry eventually got a job of some sort and he was apprehensive about trusting the troubled child just yet. How was he even supposed to treat him? Admittedly he’d mostly been on autopilot when walking into the orphanage as well as during his meeting with the dour matron. That was until he felt a spike of accidental magic from the other room and Harry, expecting the worst, rushed through the door like a clap of thunder as his anxiety flared brightly. Instead, he saw Tom hyperventilating and iced to a child he recognised as the main tormentor from earlier. Intervening quickly, he wordlessly thawed the ice with a discreet wave of his hand and put himself between the children, facing Tom he crouched to his height and unsure of what else to do he placed a hand on a malnourished shoulder and muttered assurances like he did when Teddy had been particularly fussy. The next few minutes passed in a blur of remarks ranging from threatening to reassuring and a nasty confundus to the matron until they were out the door.
Now having the opportunity to breathe the heavy air of the dark London streets Harry felt like vapourising to join the smog because he’d need to explain magic first and foremost considering that was his main mode of transport which he’d somehow forgotten to consider. He rubbed his face discreetly in exasperation at his own foolish actions, you would have thought he’d learned by now not to rush into things. Gazing briefly at the cobbled stones beneath him that were dusted with a white highlighted by the dim street lamps, he realised he was simply putting off the inevitable. He flicked a look to Tom who was dragging his feet more than he’d like. Eyeing the next alley on the, surprisingly still busy, main road he placed his free hand on Tom’s shoulder, not wanting to lose him to the shadows that crept along the grimy city surfaces. He didn’t expect the child to flinch beneath his touch, unfortunately in a way which Harry recognised for he did it himself for many years. He resisted the urge to glance at him. Weaving through a few more bodies he sharply turned them into the alley, the soft crunch of his worn boots left imprints in the untouched snow. Once they were deep into the alley and there were no others to be seen he crouched low, placing the bundle of possessions beside them and gently pulled Tom by the elbow to face him in the little light there was but a wince startled past gritted teeth. Harry snapped back his hand, accidentally falling into an old habit.
“Sorry.” The word escaped on a breath, then a misplaced and wry smile cracked his lips. What a pair they made, it seemed physical touch was going to be a challenge between them. Surprisingly, the dark haired child didn’t complain but he did slide his eyes to the dampening sheet protecting his belongings, then the ground and rubbed his sore arm uneasily, no doubt due to their current location. Of course he’d be anxious after being dragged down a dark alley at night by someone who was still a stranger Harry scolded himself. Wanting to end things quickly he took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words.
“Do you believe in magic?” The reaction was instantaneous and a spark of mild amusement tinted Harry’s solemn gaze. Bewildered, wide eyes zipped up to meet his own. His face ran through emotions like a soap opera, paying special attention to disbelief, until he settled on baffled distrust. Harry hesitantly explained himself.
“I’m sure things have happened to you that seemed strange, times where you wanted something to happen and it just did. Like today — well, that's not the best example. What I’m trying to say is that, what you have, what that was, is magic.” After fumbling out the worst clarification possible, he dragged his bespectacled gaze across the young boy as he waited for the click to occur when every detail falls into place and it all starts to make sense. The raised eyebrows and blank look he was receiving didn’t fill him with much hope. Harry’s shoulders fell with an exhale but he tried again.
“You’re a wizard Tom, like me.” Against his better judgement, he pulled out his dear holly wand from beneath his cloak, almost missing Tom’s subtle flinch as he did so.
“Lumos” He whispered with a flick and the ally lit up with a warm glow. The light bounced off the white snow and onto the high walls, illuminating their red tinged faces and foggy breaths. Awe slowly morphed Tom’s guarded expression as he took in the shining wand. Seemingly entranced, he let his arm go, lifting it with extended fingers towards the light like a moth to a flame. Harry pulled it back from the reaching hand but didn’t end the spell, the reaction was too endearing, is this what he’d looked like when he first saw magic? The thought brought a tender smile to his lips. Tom however was unaware of anything but the wand. He wanted it. He stretched further but Harry just brought it out of his reach once more; a subtle amusement danced across his features which vanished like ice in a desert when dark colourings were glimpsed beneath a short sleeved shirt and a pullover.
With a speed honed from years of danger he grabbed the icy outstretched arm and pulled it upwards, eyes laden with concern took in the mottled bruise that covered most of his bony elbow. A simmering anger laced his brows together. Tom was wrenched out of his enraptured state and a startled fear settled deep within his stomach as the man, who he now knew to be a wizard, firmly held his wrist. Green eyes stared his arm into submission.
“Did those children do this to you?” Tom could only nod at the intimidating tone, fear weighing his tongue too much to speak. Taking in the child’s stiff figure Harry exhaled heavily through his nose, aiming to expel the rage that had tensed his muscles into a spring. It was not the time nor the place for emotions. He flicked the wand’s light away and pulled the arm a tad higher into what could only be an awkward angle but the child was still frozen from self preservation so there was no whining to be had. The wand’s end was gently placed against the purple flesh.
“It’s fractured, so this is going to hurt.” Harry paused only long enough for his words to be processed.
“Episkey.” The soft utterance was followed by a sharp cry that was soaked up by the soft snow. Eyes squeezed shut at the telltale prickle of tears but Tom refused to let them fall. The pain slowly ebbed away and he hesitantly opened his damp eyes to look at the attentive gaze of the crouched man who was emanating comfort despite being the one to cause said pain. Tom still didn’t know what to think of him. Glancing at his elbow he found it to be a soft peach, just like the rest of him. Attempting to conceal his dumbfounded shock, he looked up at the gentle expression but the round glasses couldn’t hide the edge of wariness that flickered like a flame in his viridescent eyes. Doubt surfaced past Tom’s overall unease, he didn’t like how he was being looked at. Like a wild animal, a tamed snake. He’d been too preoccupied to really notice but on recollection it was there from the moment they’d locked eyes earlier that afternoon. Tom had been so swept away he’d lost his composure, he would amend that. He fought a cold shudder that threatened to run down his spine.
“Thank you.” The words were bland, polite. The childishness that had slipped through when leaving the orphanage, gone. Harry brightened at the words.
“You’re welcome.” The soft smile, while at first bewitching, no longer impacted Tom as much for he knew it to be hiding something which he ached to unravel. If only for his own curiosity. A clumsy hand found purchase on his shoulder and it took all his will to remain neutral to the sudden invasion of space. While originally comforting, now it simply felt like a burden. Harry looked as uncomfortable as Tom felt but he spoke through it, his other hand grasping the bundle at their feet.
“I’m going to apparate now, it’s a magical way of travelling. I need to touch you so you can apparate with me, okay?” A bit backwards to ask after going through with the action, Tom thought snidely.
“It’ll feel strange.” Was his final warning before he was dragged into the tightest tube imaginable, the pressure pushing him from all sides until Tom thought he’d implode. The hurtling stop and solid ground was a blessing and a curse for while the sensation ceased, bile was now jammed in his gullet. Swallowing heavily, he looked around at where they’d appeared, shivering softly all the while. A full moon was enough to make out a house before them, murky brown, red and white encompassed the overall picture and turned it into something mildly underwhelming. It wasn’t impressive by any means. A bay window, a garage and a chimney, although bathed in the shadows of twilight, all pointed to a typical 1930’s house. A light dusting of snow was sprinkled across a moss lawn that spanned the width of the front garden with bushes here and there and what seemed to be a large apple tree to the right side of the house (Cooking apples no doubt) which was penned in by a thick stone wall. A forest beyond that made the apple tree look a little less alone. Ivy climbed the left side of the house, as if protecting it from the harsh winter cold. The most noticeable thing however was the distinct lack of any other houses surrounding them, it felt nice to be away from the constant noise of London. A small squeeze on his shoulder mocked his inattentiveness and his stomach curled at the proximity but before he could pull away from the appendage it did so for him. He despised the lingering warmth it left behind.
The inside of the house was just as ordinary as the outside, the thin hallway and living room following through to a kitchen was caked with normalcy. It was incredibly bare and hardly looked lived in, Tom wondered why that was. Harry proceeded to show him to his room which had a colour palette of muted yellows and cream, he hoped that the garish decor was only temporary. It was a decent sized room with a simple double bed with a chestnut frame pushed into one corner and a wooden desk of the same colour against the opposite wall. A chestnut wardrobe was placed to the side of the doorframe and a large window overlooked the front lawn. While dark eyes surveyed the room, Harry dumped the wrapped moistened sheet of things onto the cream duvet with a simple plan to leave Tom to himself. However, A red-yoyo rolled through the loosely knotted sheet and danced a peculiar routine of twirls until falling still. It stood out against the bed like a sinner in heaven. Harry hesitantly picked up the yo-yo with a heavy sense of dread.
“Tom, did you steal this?” His gaze fell on the toy within Harry’s grasp and the world stood frighteningly still. A deafening tension filled the otherwise silent room. How did he know?
“So what if I did?” Harry’s face turned to stone and his eyes chilled Tom where he stood.
“Then you should know better.” His words were calm but his eyes were anything but.
“I only took it out of revenge!” Anger, strong and bitter, latched onto his tongue.
“You should learn that there is value in walking away from a situation," Harry said, his tone firm and his gaze firmer, "Retaliating makes you no better than the ones who hurt you.” The reprimand stung like a pinch to the heart, not due to the words because Tom knew he had a valid point but in the way he chose to lecture him like an unruly child who acted unreasonably with no justification. He didn't know anything about the bullying, he hadn't lived it — hadn't been hit, or berated, or shoved or told how no one would ever love him. Harry’s disappointment began to fade at the feeling of turbulent magic filling the room like a toxic gas. Tom’s hair covered any expression he could be making but Harry could guess given the circumstances. Shame creeped along his skin, he’d forgotten he was talking to a mere seven year old. Harry couldn’t allow himself to treat the child as a future dark lord because that’s all that he was at this moment in time, a child. Sighing softly, he kneeled beside his troublesome responsibility.
“Tom, look at me.” The imploring tone was something he couldn’t ignore. Looking upwards with no small amount of resentment twisting his face, he was prepared to defend himself but any fight Harry seemed to possess had vanished, leaving nothing but a tired man.
“I just want you to know that you don’t need to do this — not anymore. You have nothing to prove, no reason to feel insecure and no one you have to hurt.” Tom was nearly fooled into thinking he cared when presented with the same small smile and reassuring words. His lips twitched in disdain but the thick atmosphere of magic and tension dissipated all the same. The whispered thought of, but what if I want to hurt them, was left unsaid but his dark eyes spoke for him. Realising that his words had made little impact, Harry felt a bone deep weariness take hold. He'd hoped that he wasn’t wrong in his initial thought to take Tom as his ward in his attempt to do right by all those who’d fallen and those he had left behind but the optimism for a brighter future which he'd clung to was dwindling now that he was faced with the reality of being a guardian. He was tasked with teaching Tom right from wrong when he was already set in his own ways. He solemnly rose to his feet and discarded the yoyo onto the nightstand.
“There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry, I usually cook but, well..." Harry lingered in the doorway, not knowing what to say to the dark haired child who refused to look at him. With another deep exhale he swept from the room with a soft "Goodnight," and pulled the door closed with a gentle click. Tom waited until he could no longer hear the light footsteps before slowly walking to the bed. Gazing at the incriminating toy on his nightstand, he couldn’t stop the echo of annoyance. It was his, they all were. He found them, he earned them. The original owners didn’t deserve to have nice things.
Frustration fuelling his actions like a steam train, he grabbed the bundle of stolen possessions and petulantly threw it into the wardrobe (the consequent thud sudden and loud), lobbing the yoyo in a moment after. Huffing he laid back heavily onto his new bed but a flash of remembered pain caused him to clutch his elbow mid-fall. All he felt was the soft bounce of a decent mattress and the smell of new sheets. Lying very still, he suddenly recalled that he was now healed. He was unreasonably angry at the unnecessary reflex, even more so at the one who had healed him. One good deed didn’t make Harry a saint. Tom knew the wizard had reservations about him, despite them only having met that day and perhaps because of that, it felt like a betrayal. He had judged him based off of what others had said, Tom wasn’t given the courtesy of a first impression when the matron had made one for him. He knew now that he was only adopted because he was magical, not because Harry wanted him. He was unique is what he was and he should have been preening at the insinuation but it felt like hollow praise when reminded of the other alternative. Why did Tom even care? No one had ever wanted him before so the reminder shouldn't have given rise to a tidal wave of bitter feelings.
Rubbing his small hands into his eyes he breathed harshly at the familiar feeling of dampness on his lashes. He curled into himself, wanting to block out the world and all things in it. Bathed in the shine of moonlight, the child eventually fell asleep.