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Summary
Tom didn't ask for another foster daughter. He certainly doesn't have time to be piecing apart her mind, and it's such a pain keeping her sequestered from the press.
But give it a week, and he'll change his mind. He'll realize that it's not the worst thing in the world, having a girl like her around.
In fact, quite the opposite - unfortunately for her.
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Summary
It was in the summer of 1935 that he first saw her.
Tom Riddle was eight, and he was the only person in Victoria Park who saw the outlandishly dressed woman, scar on her forehead, and wearing the funniest red dress.
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Tom and Harry grow up together and Harry can’t imagine a universe where they’re not in each other’s pocket all the damn time. Her mum calls it unhealthy, their codependency, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. What one wants, the other wants too, and it so happens that they've set their eyes on Sirius, Harry's loving uncle and their helpless Muggle Studies professor.
Good thing Tom and Harry are there to help out.
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Harri knows full well she has already had too much to drink this evening. Indulging in more would be unwise - the last thing she needed in Sirius’s presence was a further loosening of lips or disinhibition of thoughts. But the firewhiskey was an excuse to dwell in his company just a little longer, to feel the weight of his hand upon her shoulder for just a moment more.
How could she say no to that?
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“Need a little help there?”
“Depends,” she says, not bothering to pick her head up off the floor when she turns to glare at him. Her breathing is strained. “Are you going to kill me?”
It’s amazing how quickly his heart rate picks up with just a few words.
Or: Hermione wants to die.
Can Tom be blamed for offering a helping hand?
