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Chapter Text

For those citizens of the seventh circle of Hell, the circle which was overseen wholly by the demon lord known as Lord Voldemort, the late hour of Earth held no effect on the pace of their affairs. More so for the unfortunate souls lovingly tended to by Voldemort's underlings—the endless sensations of torture could make any minute feel as long as an hour, and any hour as long as a day, or a week, or a month.

Therefore, people were always milling about, torturing or being tortured, and a great deal of it occurred in public. Here in Hell, the gift of privacy was far more valuable than any magical ability or luxurious items, and so Voldemort tended to reward his highest ranking lieutenants with allotments of land.

For Voldemort, there was no such issue. His life was as private or as public as he wished for it to be. These lands were his. He could construct a magnificent fortress with impenetrable walls and grand towers that stretched upwards for dozens of floors. He could design an intricate maze filled with endless traps and secret rooms.

He could build all of these things with ease—and he had. He had built dozens upon dozens of various structures over the decades. It was an enjoyable exercise in artistry. The most striking of frameworks could be pulled directly from the dirt beneath his feet. Illustrious establishments could be thrown together in mere hours.

All of this was possible, and yet Voldemort had never found the need for palatial personal quarters—his time was consumed by his work, and so the manor he had crafted, intended as a status symbol, lay dormant and empty.

The manor itself was located a decent distance from his office and his study, both of which were located centrally for ease of access. Magic was most concentrated near the center of the seventh circle—another reason he never bothered with leaving his workspace. He had no need for sleep, and his study was perfectly serviceable as a resting place.

So for all these reasons, when Voldemort re-materialized in the seventh circle with his sleeping child in his arms, they did not appear in the manor that contained rooms with beds. Rather, they appeared in the midst of his office, which was the last place a young boy ought to be as the hour neared midnight.

This miscalculation was painfully apparent as Voldemort adjusted his hold on Harry, cradling the boy's head, gazing at the flat surfaces of his desk and bookshelves.

From here, the dilemma was clear. Either he could Apparate directly to the manor, a choice which risked disturbing Harry's slumber, or he could walk the distance himself.

Walking the distance had its own risks. Hell was hardly a safe place for a child, and while Harry would never come to harm so long as Voldemort was protecting him, Voldemort loathed to expose his boy to so many dangerous and unfamiliar elements.

Belligerent fluttered towards the office door. The dragon, apparently, had already made its decision.

Voldemort rubbed a gentle circle into Harry's back. The boy was still fast asleep, his breathing deep and even. Harry had been through enough in the past hour—to wake him now would be a further transgression that Voldemort did not want to impose.

With that thought, Voldemort extracted a new scrap of magic, molding it effortlessly into a veil of invisibility to drape over the boy in his arms. Once Harry was safely hidden from view, Voldemort conjured two thick straps of fabric to help hold Harry in place. The straps would secure Harry's form to his own larger one, leaving him free to move his arms at will.

Though Voldemort did not expect any complications, he preferred to have at least one arm free in case of trouble.

Belligerent knocked its head against the door, impatient as ever. Voldemort waved the creature aside and opened the door. The hall outside was silent. Voldemort strode through it, determined to move as quickly as possible without upsetting Harry's sleep.

While they walked, Voldemort began to plan. When they arrived at the manor, a suitable, temporary room would be prepared for Harry. When Harry woke, he would be allowed to explore the manor and choose a room for himself. Or more than one room, if so desired. Then they would spend the day organizing and decorating the room.

Belligerent flew ahead. Scouting for other demons, perhaps. Then Belligerent circled back to hover next to Harry's invisible form, wheezing soft puffs of warm air that tickled both Voldemort's hand and the back of Harry's neck.

Protective, Voldemort noted. He could concede that the tiny dragon had been a competent companion for Harry. Not unlike a tiny guard dog, actually.

A minute later, Voldemort, Harry, and Belligerent stepped out of the building and into the darkness of Hell.

The rest of the walk was routine. The little group continued without difficulty, and eventually Harry was deposited onto a large, four-poster bed. Blankets were tucked in around the boy's sleeping form, and Belligerent curled up on the pillow next to Harry's head.

An unnecessary measure of security, as Voldemort did not plan on leaving the room while his child slept, but an admirable sentiment all the same.

"You do care for him as I do," Voldemort murmured to the dragon, weariness seeping into his voice as he collapsed into the nearby armchair, the pretense of his human form melting away as he dispelled the enchantment from his body. "How did I miss this? The extent of his mistreatment. I thought it limited to the bullying, but I was wrong." He paused, staring into Belligerent's unblinking yellow eyes. "Did you know this?"

The dragon opened its mouth in a yawn, its tail flicking in a lazy figure eight. Then it dropped its head down upon the pillow and shut one of its eyes, though it kept the other trained on Voldemort.

Voldemort was reminded, then, that Belligerent needed sleep as much as Harry did. "A question for tomorrow, then," he allowed, then watched as the dragon's second eye fell slowly shut.

Voldemort was now the only conscious being in the house. Previously, he had found such solitude comfortable. Preferable, even. But now that Harry was snoozing peacefully mere paces away, Voldemort was impatient.

His Harry required sleep to recuperate, of course, and Voldemort would never deprive the boy of rest for his own selfish reasons, but now that the boy was so close to him, within arm's reach, Voldemort found the lack of company to be... lonesome.

There was nothing to be done about that now, however. Harry was safe. That was the most important thing. Concerns on how Harry's presence would affect his life could wait for another day.

Chapter Text

Harry was floating on a giant cloud. The cloud was magic, softer than anything he had ever felt before. And next to him on the cloud was Mr. Tom. Mr. Tom had said they would be flying to a new home. Harry could not remember exactly where this new home was supposed to be, but he was very, very excited.

All around them, the skies were a pretty blue colour. Bell was also flying next to them, wings flapping at a speedy rate. Bell was excited, too, Harry decided. Bell was excited that they would all be living together.

They all floated along a little more, and then something funny happened.

Suddenly, there were a whole bunch of Bells flying everywhere. A swarm of little red dragons, all flapping their hardest to keep pace with the cloud. Harry blinked, trying to count how many, but the dragons kept moving around and around. They were moving too fast for Harry to count properly.

Frustrated, Harry called out for Bell to come back.

When no dragon flew out of the pack, Harry began to worry. Had Bell not heard him? Was Bell lost in the crowd of dragons? What if Bell fell behind?

The number of dragons grew bigger. Harry clutched the fluffiness of the cloud and shouted a second time. His voice sounded kind of funny, but he ignored it, trying to shout louder.

Soon, there was hardly any blue sky left. Everything was red everywhere. Harry was getting frightened for Bell's safety. He turned to look at Mr. Tom to ask for help, but when he did so, all he could see was more red.

Just as Harry was about to speak, something tickled his face. Harry went to swat at it, thinking it was probably a stray dragon—

—and then Harry woke up.

The first thing Harry realized, after struggling through his sleepiness, was that Bell was licking his face. That explained the funny tickle sensation.

"Hey," Harry protested weakly, lifting his arm towards his face to shield it. "Stop that."

Bell withdrew and made a chirping sound, and that was when Harry noticed the second thing, which was that Bell was now big. More specifically, Bell was now the size of a small dog and drooling on Harry's pillow.

"You're big!" Harry exclaimed, eyes widening. Then his eyes widened further as his gaze caught on the room around him.

The room was big, too. And the bed Harry was currently in was also big. Confused, Harry pulled his knees up and shuffled backwards until his back bumped against the headboard.

"Harry?"

That voice was familiar. Harry relaxed at hearing it. "Mr. Tom?"

Mr. Tom was sitting in a chair not too far from the bed. Because the room was mostly dark, Harry hadn't noticed him right away.

"Good morning," said Mr. Tom. "Did you sleep well?"

It took a moment for Harry to think on what to say. "I had a funny dream," Harry said. "We were on a big cloud. We were flying somewhere. Bell was there, too." Harry cast a look at Bell, who was now thumping their tail on the bed.

"That sounds like a nice dream." Mr. Tom stood up and walked over to the left side of the bed, sitting down on it. "Do you know where we were going?"

Harry felt embarrassed by the answer, but he said it anyway. "You said we were going to a new home."

Mr. Tom smiled. "That dream has come true, hasn't it? This is your new home." The man gestured at the room around them. "No cloud necessary."

Harry nodded shyly. "Is—" he tried to say, then stopped. He wanted to ask if this room was going to be his room, but what if it wasn't? Harry didn't want Mr. Tom to think he was being ungrateful. This room was a really big room. It was probably not meant for Harry to stay in.

"How come Bell is so big now?" Harry asked instead.

"Now that you will be living here, I saw no reason for Belligerent to remain such a small size. It will be easier for you to play now, won't it?" Mr. Tom asked. "And I do think Belligerent prefers their larger form."

Bell let out another shrill chirp of delight. Harry grinned and held out his arm like he usually did when he wanted Bell to perch on him. Bell trotted forwards and sat down on Harry's lap.

"Do you like being big?" Harry asked, petting the dragon's head.

Bell purred in response. That settled that, then. Harry looked back up at Mr. Tom. "Bell can stay big if that's what they want."

"Very wise choice." Mr. Tom stood back up and straightened his clothes, glancing over his shoulder at a door that Harry assumed led into a bathroom. "Now you must wash for breakfast."

Harry's hand stilled on Bell's head. He wasn't sure what he ought to do. Was he supposed to go into the bathroom and wash up on his own? Harry hadn't brought a toothbrush with him or anything.

"There are things in the bathroom for you to use," Mr. Tom said kindly. "Use as much as you need to. There is plenty of hot water." At that, the corner of Mr. Tom's mouth did a twitch, like he was thinking of something funny. Harry wondered what it was, but then he was distracted by Bell leaping off the bed and onto the floor.

"The rest of your things are safe," Mr. Tom added. "I will help you unpack them later."

So this room wasn't meant for him, or else his things would have been in here. Harry nodded once and started to climb out of the bed.

"Call for me when you are finished, and I will come and fetch you."

"Okay," Harry said. "I will."

Harry and Bell watched together as Mr. Tom left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Harry turned to look at Bell. "Time to wash up."

Bell followed Harry into the bathroom. The bathroom was big, just like everything else seemed to be at the moment. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste sitting on the counter next to a neatly-wrapped bar of soap and a folded washcloth. These things must be for him to use.

After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Harry looked over to his left at the bathtub. The tub was built into the floor and the wall, and it was huge. There were two bottles—shampoo and conditioner—and another bar of soap sitting on the tub ledge. Harry wondered if he was supposed to take a bath, too.

But that would take too long, wouldn't it? Harry was supposed to call Mr. Tom when he was ready for breakfast.

Bell hopped towards the tub.

"Hey," Harry said. "No bath. We have to go for breakfast."

Bell made a sad noise in response, but Harry shook his head and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Just because these things were here, that didn't mean he was supposed to use them.

Harry walked back into the bedroom. Now that he was more awake, he could look at the room properly. The walls were a plain grey, and there were darker grey curtains hanging in front of the windows.

Harry went over to examine the bed next. The blankets were soft. So were the pillows. There were lots of pillows, actually. Harry had only been sleeping on one of them, but there were actually four pillows total on the bed. No wonder he had been dreaming about clouds.

Taking a step back from the bed, Harry tugged nervously at his ring, which was hanging from its ribbon. He ought to call for Mr. Tom so they could have breakfast.

Bell stomped up to Harry and bumped its head against Harry's leg. "You must be hungry, too," Harry realized. "Okay, I'm going to call."

Harry put his ring on and concentrated on his call. His ring hummed like it usually did, but it did not glow, which was not normal. Harry frowned at it. Was it not working?

Harry did not have long to worry about that because not a moment later, Mr. Tom appeared in the doorway.

"Ready for breakfast?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"The ring didn't glow," Harry said worriedly, not moving from where he was standing. "Did I do something to it? I'm sorry."

Mr. Tom knelt down and gestured for Harry to come closer, so Harry did so. "You did nothing wrong," Mr. Tom said calmly. "It was my fault. I see now that my instructions were not clear. Now that you are here with me, the ring no longer needs as much power to work. I had expected you to call for me by name, not use the ring."

"Oh." Harry still felt that it was his fault. He should have thought harder before trying to use the ring.

"Now," Mr. Tom continued, giving his hand a shake in Harry’s direction, "shall we go?"

Harry took Mr. Tom's hand, gripping the fingers. "Okay, let's go."

Mr. Tom smiled down at him. Harry felt an odd tingle in his hand where they were touching, but he allowed himself to be led out into the hallway and to wherever they would be eating breakfast.

The hallway was rather long, and there were lights on either side that turned on as they got closer. Harry had never been inside a place as fancy as this before. Mr. Tom must have a lot of money to own a house this big. This made sense, though, because Mr. Tom wore nice suits when he was in his person shape.

Bell trotted alongside them, darting loops around Harry's feet and legs until Mr. Tom stared sternly and told Bell to stop because Harry might accidentally trip and fall down. Harry didn't think he would fall down, and he wanted to say so, but he was still feeling shy about the newness of everything, so he kept his mouth closed.

Harry wiped his free hand on his shorts, hoping that the hand holding Mr. Tom's wasn't sweaty.

Then, suddenly, Mr. Tom was looking at him. Harry felt embarrassed, and so he tried to keep his eyes fixed ahead. The problem was that he didn't know where they were going, so it was hard to decide where to look.

Mr. Tom's hand pulled away, and Harry's heart sank for a terrible moment. Only then the hand moved, settling gently atop Harry's head, the fingers combing through his hair with great slowness.

Harry was reminded, then, that his hair was usually a mess. Aunt Petunia frequently complained about this, and so Harry should have thought to look in the mirror and fix his appearance up. He didn't want to look messy during his first breakfast here at Mr. Tom's house.

"I will make a list of the basic items that you will be needing," Mr. Tom said, his hand still dragging softly through Harry's mop of hair. "And there is something I would like for you to do for me, Harry."

Harry perked up. "Yes, okay," he said eagerly. He wanted to help however he could. Mr. Tom had already done so much for him. Whatever Harry could do to help, he would do it. "What do you want me to do?"

"What I would like for you to do is make a list of the things you would like for yourself."

Harry didn't quite understand. "Like a comb?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing like that, dear one. As I said, I will handle those items myself." Harry's confusion must have still been visible on his face, though, because Mr. Tom added, "What I would like is a list of extra items that will help ease your transition to living here at my home. Items like toys or books."

"Oh." Harry was uncomfortable. He didn't know what to ask for! He had been hoping to help, not to be given more things. Harry didn't feel he had done anything to deserve new books or toys.

Mr. Tom had already given him friendship. And given him Bell! And Mr. Tom had taken him away from the Dursleys. That was more than enough for Harry to be happy. He didn't need more things.

"I don't need anything like that," Harry said quickly. Then he felt bad for saying so, though he was not sure why. Maybe it was because Mr. Tom was only trying to be kind, and here Harry was, turning it away.

But what Mr. Tom didn't understand was that everything was already wonderful and perfect. Harry didn't need more things to be happy here. He was already very happy to just be here in this house.

"I'm already happy here," Harry added aloud, just to make sure that this was clear.

Mr. Tom smiled at him again, but the smile wasn't a big smile. His eyes didn't crinkle on the sides. Instead, his eyes seemed a tiny bit sad. Harry dropped his gaze to the floor as his tummy did a funny flip. He didn't know what to think about that smile.

"I understand," Mr. Tom said after a moment. He pulled them to a stop in the hallway and knelt down in front of Harry, placing both of his larger hands on Harry's elbows, holding them lightly in place. "I am extremely pleased to hear that you are happy here with me. But I still would like for you to have some new possessions, if that is acceptable to you?" 

Harry forced himself to nod, and then Mr. Tom continued, "I would appreciate it very much if you could help me decide what to get for you. Even one or two items in a list would be very helpful. Will you promise me that you will think about it?"

"I—I promise," Harry mumbled.

"Wonderful. Now—"

"But wait," Harry blurted out. Mr. Tom paused halfway from rising to his feet, then knelt back down, his expression patient.

"Yes?"

"What if—what if I can't think of anything?" Harry said quietly.

Mr. Tom exhaled deeply. Then he lifted a hand to Harry's cheek, his thumb rubbing across so softly that Harry's chest started to hurt a little. "If you can't, then we will think of some items together, how does that sound to you?"

"Okay," Harry said. He sniffled to clear his nose—it had gotten all stuffy, how embarrassing—and watched as Mr. Tom straightened up. As soon as Mr. Tom's hand was outstretched in his direction, Harry grabbed it up. Holding hands helped reassure Harry that this was all real. 

Mr. Tom seemed happy that Harry had grabbed his hand so quickly. He gave Harry's hand a nice squeeze that made Harry feel glad he hadn't hesitated. There was no dream that could ever feel as nice as Mr. Tom's hand wrapped around his.

Chapter Text

Harry, Bell, and Mr. Tom walked down another hallway, then turned into a room. This room was wide and tall, and it had a bright chandelier with lots of crystals hanging from the ceiling. A large wooden table surrounded by chairs made it very obvious that this was the dining room. The chairs were all fancy-looking, also made of wood, and they had nice patterned fabrics on the cushioned parts.

Mr. Tom led them to the far end of the table where two chairs were sitting next to each other. As they went to sit down, Harry noticed that all the curtains were pulled shut, which was odd given it was morning time.

"This is the dining room," said Mr. Tom, pulling out one of the chairs for Harry to sit on. "It is rather large for just the two of us, but I felt it was important for you to know where this room is located and what it looks like."

Harry could not say for certain if he would be able to find his way back to the room he had slept in last night. He hoped that Mr. Tom would not ask him to do so by himself.

"It's a really nice room," Harry said politely as he clambered onto the offered chair.

"Thank you, Harry."

Once settled on his chair, Harry looked over the large, empty table. Where was the food? But Harry barely had time to open his mouth to ask any question at all before dishes and utensils popped onto the table top.

There was a cup, a plate, and a bowl. There was also a fork, a knife, and a spoon, all lying on a napkin. More magic, Harry thought, feeling giddy.

What was odd was that all the new dishes were empty. Harry turned to look at Mr. Tom. Was Harry supposed to be doing something?

Part of him was hoping that Mr. Tom was going to teach him how to use magic to make food. Another part of him was worried that he was supposed to have helped prepare breakfast somehow, and that these empty dishes were proof that he had made a big mistake and let Mr. Tom down.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

The question caught Harry off guard. What did it mean? What was the correct answer?

Harry forced himself to calm down and give the question some thought. During past visits, Mr. Tom had made food appear out of nowhere. Simple things like sandwiches and snacks. Could he do the same with breakfast? Harry wasn't sure. But Harry had never been asked what he'd wanted to eat before. Were the rules different now that they were in Mr. Tom's house?

"I'm okay with anything," Harry said. "You can pick."

Mr. Tom's eyes did not look at the empty plates and bowls. They stayed fixed on Harry, on Harry's face, like they were afraid to move away. Harry understood that. Sometimes he worried that if he looked away, Mr. Tom would disappear.

"Let's begin with a small choice," Mr. Tom decided. He picked up Harry's empty cup and set it down in front of his plate. "Would you like orange juice or milk?"

Harry licked his lips. He was very thirsty now that he thought about it, and both those options were nice options. Thinking back to breakfast at the Dursley’s, there were many times where Harry had wanted juice or milk instead of water. But here, water was not an option. Here, there were only two options.

"I'll have juice, please," Harry said.

The cup filled with orange juice. Mr. Tom pushed the cup closer to the edge of the table and nodded encouragingly. So Harry picked up the cup with both hands, careful to grasp the handle tightly, and took a tiny sip.

The orange juice was cold and not too sweet. It was very, very good. Harry took a larger gulp to clear away more of his thirstiness, then set the cup back down. He hadn't drank very much, but he didn't want to be greedy.

"How does it taste?" asked Mr. Tom.

"It's good," Harry said. Then he froze and added in a pitched voice, "Thank you!" He'd almost forgotten to say it! Harry's face heated uncomfortably as he looked away from Mr. Tom, choosing instead to stare at the cup of orange juice.

"You're welcome."

Then Harry felt a pat on his shoulder. Deciding it was okay to look up, Harry turned his head up and saw that Mr. Tom did not look upset by his mistake.

"Did you want to pick breakfast now?" asked Mr. Tom. "You can have anything you like."

"Um." Harry was having trouble thinking. He was getting stressed. What if he picked something that Mr. Tom didn't like eating? That would be terrible. Harry tried to think of what foods most people liked to eat. What food would be okay no matter what? 

After a second, an idea came to him. Harry made himself ask before he lost his nerve. "How about toast?"

"Hmmm." Mr. Tom tapped a thoughtful finger on the side of his face while Harry worried. Was there something wrong with toast? "Why don't we do something fun with that?"

Harry could only nod, unsure what was going to happen. Then Mr. Tom snapped his fingers, looking to where Bell was curled on the floor by the foot of Harry's chair. Bell stood up, making an excited noise, and hopped up onto the table. This made some of the plates and bowls clang against the wood.

Next, a loaf of bread appeared in a basket. Mr. Tom removed a slice of it and placed it delicately on Harry's plate.

"Watch," he directed. 

So Harry stared hard at the plain piece of bread resting on his plate. Bell crept over, head lowered, and then Harry was promptly surprised as Bell let out a tiny stream of fire that roasted the top of the bread slice, crisping the surface.

"Cool!" Harry exclaimed. He went to reach for the toast, but Mr. Tom's hand came to block him.

"Careful, it will be hot."

Bell was rumbling in delight, stomping around the tabletop, tail swishing back and forth. Harry smiled at Bell, happy to see the not-so-little dragon’s display of pride. Then Bell trotted over to Mr. Tom's side of the table and sat down with a thump, upsetting the plates and utensils a second time.

"You're much more troublesome at this size," Mr. Tom grumbled. A length of sausages appeared in his hand, which he held out to Bell. Bell snapped them up and leapt off the table, out of Harry's sight. Harry could hear, though, the sounds of the meat being devoured.

"Can I pick up the toast now?" Harry asked. He was excited to find out how it tasted.

"You may want to add butter or jam," Mr. Tom advised, sounding amused.

"Oh," Harry said. "Right." He looked back to the table and saw that there were little ceramic pots full of different things. Harry chose a pot of butter and scooped some out with his butter knife, then spread it neatly all over his toast, which was still very warm.

The toast was fantastic. Harry gobbled it up without thinking, then wiped his face and fingers of crumbs with his napkin. "You did a great job," Harry said to Bell, who had long since finished the sausage meal and had gone back to prowling around at their feet.

"Did you want anything else to eat, Harry?" Mr. Tom had eaten some toast with jam, though he had used magic to toast his bread rather than Bell's fire. This was probably because he was concerned that Bell might accidentally set the table on fire. Harry thought Bell was too clever for that kind of mistake, but maybe Bell wasn't yet used to being big and having bigger fire.

"I'm full," Harry said with confidence.

Mr. Tom frowned. "That was only one piece of toast."

Harry squirmed under the weight of Mr. Tom's gaze. "It's okay. I'm full."

"How about some eggs, Harry? Or sausages, like Belligerent had for breakfast." Mr. Tom gestured to where Bell was rolling around on the ground.

"I'm okay," Harry repeated. To emphasize his point, he reached for his cup of orange juice and drank the rest of it. "All done."

"Harry," said Mr. Tom. His hand came to rest upon Harry's, covering it up like a blanket. "I would like for you to eat some more food, please."

"I said I'm okay!" Harry protested. His body was tensing up, and his head was starting to feel dizzy. "I said so already. I'm not—I'm not lying." His lower lip trembled, and the dizziness in his head now felt like someone was squeezing it.

Mr. Tom froze, his hand still resting on Harry's. "Harry—"

"I'm not," Harry said, shaking, now close to tears. "I don't—we don't lie to each other. Y-you said that."

Mr. Tom sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. Then he said, "I'm sorry, Harry. I did not mean to accuse you of lying."

Even though the words were nice words, Harry kept on shaking. He couldn't seem to stop doing so. The only thing that kept him from bursting into tears altogether was that their hands were still touching. Mr. Tom couldn't be mad if their hands were touching.

Bell leapt up onto Harry’s lap, clawed feet poking at Harry’s thighs as their spiny head bumped against Harry’s chest. Harry laid a hand on the dragon’s back, rubbing his fingers over the warm scales. Bell began to rumble, sort of like a cat's purring. The sound was soothing and helped Harry slow his breathing down.

"Harry?"

Harry took another deep breath and glanced up. His chest felt a little better. The warmth of Bell in his lap was comforting. Mr. Tom was gazing at him with a worried expression. Harry could see the lines on his forehead.

"Are you alright?" asked Mr. Tom. His hand slid across the space between them, settling softly onto Harry's shoulder. "Do you need some water?"

"I'm okay," Harry said. He sniffled a bit, then added, "Why are you person-shaped?"

Mr. Tom frowned. His fingers closed down on Harry's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "That's not important, Harry. Are you sure you don't want some water?"

A cup with a straw materialized on the table. Mr. Tom picked it up and held it out, straw pointed in Harry's direction.

Harry shook his head. "I'm okay," he repeated, frustrated.

The cup vanished almost immediately. "Very well," Mr. Tom said soothingly. His hand was a warm weight, even through the material of Harry's shirt. "So we are finished with breakfast, then? But perhaps we can take something small with us while I show you the rest of the manor—"

The sentence cut off. Mr. Tom blinked, his eyes unfocused like he was listening to something far away.

"What is it?" Harry asked. He didn't want to be frightened, but he'd never seen such a look on the man's face before. It unsettled him.

Mr. Tom's mouth fell into a flat line. "I'm afraid we have visitors, dear one. This won't take but a moment, but I am going to take you and Belligerent into another room for the time being."

This line of thinking was familiar to Harry. He was used to being told to hide when people came to visit. "Okay."

Mr. Tom stood from his chair and offered Harry his hand. Bell leapt back onto the floor, freeing up Harry's legs. Harry hopped down from his chair and allowed himself to be led back into the big hallway.

"Not too far," Mr. Tom murmured. "But listen to me, Harry. I want you to stay in this room until I return to fetch you, is that understood? I don't want you wandering about without me. You may encounter something dangerous that could harm you."

"Okay," Harry promised. "I won't touch anything or go anywhere."

Shortly after that, they entered a new room. This room was very pretty. There were large, comfy-looking brown chairs and a big grey rug. A tall, skinny lamp made of green and yellow glass sat on the coffee. Harry hoped that he would be allowed to use and try the lamp. Would the light be green in some places and yellow in others?

"You and Belligerent will stay here." Mr. Tom nodded towards the chairs. "This will only take me a few minutes."

"A few minutes?"

"Yes. If anything happens, anything at all, I want you to call for me." This instruction was delivered in a stern voice. Mr. Tom was rarely so serious, and so Harry nodded quickly, unwilling to upset or disappoint his friend.

Then Mr. Tom turned his attention to Bell, who had already stomped over to one of the big chairs and begun sniffing at it. "Belligerent. You will keep Harry company in my absence, won't you?"

The dragon paused in their exploration and spun around, yellow eyes fixed on Mr. Tom's face. Then Bell let out a stream of fire that nearly scorched the rug.

Mr. Tom stared at Bell for a second longer, then seemed to be satisfied. "A few minutes," he repeated. Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Harry walked over to one of the chairs and climbed onto it. The fabric felt nice under his hands. It was soft but not too soft. "This is a nice room," Harry said. He rubbed at the armrests, then remembered about the lamp. "Oh." Harry looked at Bell, then said sadly, "I forgot to ask if I could turn it on."

Bell made a sad sound in response. Harry was glad that Bell agreed with him about the lamp. "Who do you think came to visit?" Harry asked.

Instead of answering, Bell resumed its exploration of the room. "Hey," Harry said as Bell wandered over to the large windows on the far side of the room. "We're not supposed to touch anything."

Bell snuffled along the bottom edge of the heavy black curtains that covered the glass panes. So many curtains in this place! The room Harry had woken up in also had curtains. And the dining room had curtains, too. All the curtains were closed, though.

Harry was tempted to go over to the window and take a peek, but he had promised to stay put. He was going to be good and not touch anything.

Bell continued nosing around at the curtains. Harry could only watch, and then grow alarmed as Bell revealed a mouth full of sharp, pointy teeth—teeth that proceeded to bite down on the edge of a curtain and tug.

"Hey!" Harry shot to his feet and stumbled forward. "Bell! Stop that! We're going to get in trouble." Harry was going to get in trouble for not looking after his pet properly.

Bell kept tugging, though the curtain appeared heavy enough that it was a struggle to move. Harry dropped to his knees, reaching for Bell with both hands, only Bell danced out of the way, squirming like a eel.

"Stop it!" Harry said, irritated now. "You're supposed to listen to me."

Bell made a loud noise muffled by the curtain, then did a funny hop, launching into the air the tiniest bit, wings flapping. This was enough force to move the curtain open.

Light streamed into the room. Harry paused in his attempts to catch Bell, distracted by the sudden change. He wanted to see what was outside. The curtain was open. Harry needed to close it, but before he did that, he could take a look. Just a little look, and no one but Bell would know.

"This is your fault," Harry said to Bell. "I'm going to close it." Bell, who had already released the curtain and was now sitting down, snorting sparks into the air.

Harry got to his feet and went to the window. The light was so bright he had to blink away spots from his eyes, but then he looked, and he could see—he could see—

Chapter Text

Outside Lord Voldemort's manor, Bartemius Crouch Junior was crafting a rack. An oblong wooden frame with rollers at both ends sat in front of him while he pondered on how to improve it. The rollers were dotted with thin metal spikes, the tips as sharp as needles. The logic behind his decision was that the spikes would lessen the need for secure knots. Body parts impaled on the spikes would be hard pressed to move freely.

If he placed the spikes strategically, he could puncture certain nerves with them. If he made the spikes thin enough, they could pass through skin without pain—until the spikes moved, that was.

The puzzle of extracting the creative torture out of the denizens of Hell was an endless intellectual pursuit. If this rack was impressive enough, his master would take notice. If he was noticed, he would be praised.

Achieving that, however, required a great deal of work—Hell had existed since before many of them were birthed into existence, and there was little that had not been done before. Sadly, Barty had not made much progress lately in reinventing the wheel.

How to craft a rack that would impress? How to design a torture implement that was unique, creative, and refreshing?

So focused was he on his task, on his craftsmanship, on his artistry, that he did not notice Bellatrix's approach until her lovely voice was wailing at him from mere paces away.

"Barrrrty!" sang Bellatrix, striding quickly up to him and slinging her arm around his shoulders. "Are you busy, dearest? I have news for you."

"News?" Barty shrugged her arm off and pulled away. News from Bellatrix tended to range from 'excellent' to 'horrifying'. Therefore he would not react until he’d ascertained where on the range her news lay.

"Our master has returned," she said, triumphant. "I glimpsed him as he passed out of his office. He was occupied with something important, I gather, as he made haste to his manor."

"Oh?" Barty asked. Their lord did not spend much time in the large manor designated as his property. Such a trip could only be made for a specific reason. That Barty did not know what this reason was, was cause for upset. "Did he have anything with him? Did he appear stressed? Angry? Desolate? Perhaps I ought to stop by, see if he requires assistance—"

"We will go together," Bellatrix replied, narrowing her eyes at him, "and inquire if our services are necessary. After all, we agreed to work on this together, did we not?"

"Sure, sure," Barty agreed. With a wave of his hand, he vanished the rack he had been working on. The entire thing was rubbish, anyways. His meagre effort was not worthy enough for their master to gaze upon. "Shall we fetch Lucius? He seemed quite interested the last time we gathered."

Lucius would also serve as a pleasant buffer if their master's mood was less than agreeable. Slippery man, Lucius Malfoy. Excelled at talking his way out of the most dire situations. Barty could admire that skill for what it was. However, his personal viewpoint was to avoid committing such grave errors to begin with.

"Fine, go and fetch him." Bellatrix affected a bored countenance, then seemed to change her mind, lifting her chin haughtily as she added, "I do hope you know I won't be kept waiting. I am perfectly capable of going to our lord on my own—"

Barty tuned her out. The hypocrisy was irritating. Either they were doing this together, or they weren't. Trying to twist the situation into a power play helped no one. Barty's primary concern was for the well-being of their lord. "We will meet you at the door."

Bellatrix did not take kindly to being interrupted. She vanished with a sharp crack that would have shattered the foundation of the rack, had it still existed. Barty cleared the remains of dirt from his workspace and went to locate Malfoy. He had an idea of where the man would be, and the sooner they got to the bottom of this mystery, the better.

Soon enough, the three of them were on the doorstep of Lord Voldemort's manor. The entryway was spotless, clear of even the smallest speck of dirt. The dedication to appearance was impeccable. Surely the amount of magic required for the upkeep of a manor as large as this one would be enormous. Doubly so for a place that was scarcely used. If he focused, he could discern the thrum of wards around the perimeter. Wards that could only be the work of their master.

Again, Barty was reminded of why they chose to serve—why Voldemort was worthy of such fervent admiration. Who else would lead them? No other was capable of such power, such grace, such fine conduct.

"Who will knock?" asked Lucius, disturbing the silence that had developed amongst them.

Barty exchanged a glance with Bellatrix. Who was best suited for this task? Privately, Barty would have preferred for Lucius to knock, the best to take the brunt of any possible damage, but Bellatrix's pride would not allow that, not when of the three of them she considered herself the most favoured.

Barty thought himself to be second. Their lord appreciated him, and had said so on many occasions. Barty's strong analytical mind and firm grasp on organization—a skill most other demons lacked, chaotic bastards they were—had proven valuable over the centuries.

It was possible Bella might concede to him, but concede to Lucius? That was unlikely.

Barty cleared his throat. "Shall I?"

If he knocked, he would have control over the resulting situation, and that was better than letting Bellatrix knock. She would twist all that went on and possibly ruin their original purpose for this visit.

Bellatrix cast shifty eyes to the large wooden door. "Fine."

Perhaps Barty's apprehension was catching. Or else Bellatrix possessed less confidence regarding her precious, favoured position since their master had been so distant lately.

Barty knocked twice on the door, a light rap of his knuckles. The sound was quiet, but their master would be alerted by their presence due to the wards.

They waited in silence. Bellatrix grew impatient quickly, tapping her foot loudly on the porch step. Barty, conversely, was anxious. Was their lord occupied? Would he be furious at the interruption?

Some agonizing minutes later, the doors opened. Barty stood tall, proud, back straight, waited to judge the temperament of their master.

Lord Voldemort gazed upon them with undisguised disdain. He was once again in his human form, dressed in the finest fabrics that no human-made material could match. Though Barty had no preference for his lord’s appearance, the human form was aesthetically attractive. Tall, well-built, handsome. The silk of his lord’s shirt shimmered in the light as Barty fought the urge to gape.

"My lord," breathed Bellatrix. "How gracious of you to gift us with your presence."

The nauseating sounds of Bellatrix’s simpering was enough to dispel Barty’s distracted ogling. "Yes," Barty interjected. "We are honoured to stand on your doorstep, my lord."

Lucius repeated a similar statement of prostration. Their attempts at placation, however, did little to dislodge the frown etched into the lines of their lord's human face.

"Well?" snapped Voldemort, looking at each of them in turn. "What is it?"

Ah. Barty did a rapid assessment of the situation:

Firstly, their master was mad at being interrupted.

Secondly, any offers of aid may or may not be met with violence.

Thirdly, if Bellatrix opened her mouth now, Barty was positive it would be to make a less-than-helpful suggestion.

That said, there were few options for moving forward. What excuse could they have for coming here that would not anger their lord further? 

From experience, Barty knew that Voldemort was loath to accept help when he was angered—if there were menial tasks to delegate, their lord would have done so already. If Voldemort had been in a good mood, then offers of aid would be met with the assignment of positive tasks. But that was not the case here, and Barty was drawing blanks as to what to say.

"Evan Rosier is missing," Lucius said.

It was anyone's guess as to who was most surprised by this statement. Certainly Barty had not expected such a reasonable thing to leave Lucius' mouth. Come to think of it, when had Rosier gone missing? Barty had seen him... recently. Definitely within the past 72 hours.

Voldemort, for his part, drew his brows together in a thoughtful gesture. "Ah, yes. I did do that."

Barty was unsure if he felt relief upon hearing this. Better Rosier than him, though. "Yes, my lord," he said quickly, "we require his assistance with—with—" Shit. He needed an excuse. What the bloody hell was Rosier good at? Barty faltered, and then, with some reluctance, glanced at Lucius for help.

"—with designing new ceremonial dress robes," Lucius said cheerily. The cheer was false, barely disguising the nervousness underneath. Voldemort would surely notice—but then again, were they not all absolutely terrified at this moment of incurring their lord's wrath? Barty hoped the attempt at levity would be considered passable.

Voldemort appeared bored of them already. His arms folded over his chest, and his voice was dismissive as he said, "I left him in one of your pits, dear Bella. Is there anything else you require?"

"That's all," Lucius said. "Thank you, my lord, for your impeccable aid. If you have no further need of us, we shall depart."

Bellatrix frowned. She would not be pleased about leaving so soon, Barty thought. He watched as she, with no subtlety whatsoever, shifted her leg to stomp on Lucius' foot. Admirably, Lucius remained stone-faced and upright.

Barty was simply relieved that their ruse had worked. If Voldemort let them leave, they could go retrieve Rosier, assign the man the task of the dress robes, then regroup and come up with a new plan to uncover their lord's secrets.

Unfortunately for him and Lucius, this would not be the case.

Voldemort regarded them for a moment longer. The weight of his attention was enough to drive Barty to distraction. Was he being judged worthy? Was his lord thinking of him in a fond light? Barty tried hard to be the perfect servant, to anticipate his lord's needs and prevent problems before they happened. All he wished for in return was recognition of his efforts.

"Seeing as the three of you are here," Voldemort began, tone now thoughtful, "I will put you to work. There is a minor task with which I require your assistance with. A great honour, as it were."

"We would be honoured to serve," Bellatrix said, nodding eagerly. She stepped forward, releasing Lucius' foot from the sharp point of her heel. Only Barty heard Lucius' strained exhale of air as the man lifted his foot a millimeter from the ground and gave it a light shake.

"You may enter." Voldemort stepped back from the doorway, turning away from them without a second glance.

Barty looked over at his cohorts. Bellatrix was clearly ecstatic; Lucius, however, had his lips pressed in a neutral line. Wary, maybe? It was wise to be wary, but Barty doubted their lord would invite them into his home only to punish them. Rarely was anyone allowed in their lord's private abode; partly because it was not often used, but also because it was, as mentioned, private.

Still, there was no choice in the matter now. 

Barty followed Bellatrix into the manor. The front entrance was grand. Opulent yet tasteful. Dark wood grains and high arches. Beautiful landscape portraits hung from the walls, rare works of art that Barty recognized with ease. Their lord had always been quite the collector. Straight ahead lay the large staircase that led to the second floor, and to the right was a sitting room. To their left was a closed door, its contents a mystery.

"Your home is lovely," Lucius said politely, hands clasped behind his back—a nervous habit that was well known to everyone in the room.

Voldemort cast Lucius an interested glance. "This would be your first time, here, then."

Barty had been here before, but only in the entrance hall. He had been permitted to wait here while his lord had retrieved an item of importance. Now, though, he felt superior knowing that Lucius had never set foot within these walls. No doubt Bellatrix had visited this place prior to today, but it was nearly impossible to compete with her.

Bellatrix smiled brightly. "Would you like me to give Lucius a tour?"

Barty had to admire her boldness. Anyone else would have suffered greatly for such an excessive assumption.

"As it happens, the task I have for you will fulfill that requirement."

A period of silence followed this pronouncement. Barty wondered if they were supposed to venture a guess as to what this task would be, or if it was simply a test to see if anyone would interrupt unnecessarily.

Then Voldemort's eyes narrowed, darkening like an oncoming storm, and Barty could feel the gravity of what they were about to hear before their lord even spoke. "What I would like," Voldemort said, in a voice that hinted at death for those who disobeyed, "is for you to pass through every room in this manor and remove any object which could be considered dark or dangerous."

Lucius was the first to recover. "E-every room, my lord?"

This manor had to house dozens upon dozens of rooms. It was enormous, larger than any manor on earth, larger than any manor Barty would have been able to build on his own. And hell knew how many dark objects there were in this place, or how dangerous they were, or how many protections would need to be dismantled to clear them properly.

To anyone else, Lucius' question might have been reasonable. But in this situation... Barty sighed and took pity. "Where would you like us to begin?" he asked, hoping to head off the inevitable dismemberment of Lucius' limbs. If Lucius ended up as a useless pile of flesh, then the ridiculously large task would be left to just him and Bellatrix.

Barty's question gave their lord pause. "The east side of the manor," said Lord Voldemort eventually. "Begin in the farthest room from the entrance hall. If you sense my presence, do not disturb me." His gaze sharpened, sweeping over them, and Barty felt a violent tremor skitter down his spine as his lord's magic swelled, pressing down upon them with gravitas. This matter was very, very serious.

"If a single item is missed, rest assured you will regret the moment you ever passed into my realm," Voldemort continued, and though his tone was casual, the dark magic currently sucking all of the light and joy from the air implied otherwise. "I will condemn you to agony worse than your wildest imaginations combined, and I will spend all of eternity ensuring your torment escalates tenfold with each second that passes."

While Voldemort had always been creative with his threats, the bluntness of this one, in addition to the general atmosphere of sheer, pants-shitting terror, led Barty to believe that he had made a grave, grave mistake in allowing Bellatrix to convince him to come here.

"Your wishes are understood," Barty said, willing himself not to faint. "Where would you prefer us to move your items?"

"Hmm. My office and my study must remain clear of such items as well, though I will handle those rooms myself." Voldemort steepled his hands, frowning slightly. Then he glanced at Lucius and smiled. "You have space, Lucius, do you not? Place them in your manor. I will retrieve them at a later date." 

A later date? That could mean anything from the next week to the next several hundred years. Barty would have felt bad, except Lucius had already stuck his foot in his mouth, so really he was getting off easy with this.

"Of course, my lord. Consider it done. I will treasure your items more than my own—"

Voldemort was already leaving, heading for the closed door. The door opened on its own, then shut with an ominous slam, leaving the three demons alone in the entrance hall. Only then did Barty exhale his relief, slumping his shoulders. "Really, Lucius?" he asked, sardonic. "You were doing well at the start. What the hell happened?"

"This may take years," Lucius said petulantly. "What of my wife? And my son? You both have no family to care for—"

"Spare me the melodramatics," Bellatrix huffed angrily. "It is an honour to serve our lord, to lay hands upon his most valuable items. You would do well to watch your ungrateful tongue, lest I cut it off!"

Barty conjured two large burlap sacks and shoved one of them at Lucius. "The sooner we begin, the sooner we shall finish. And the sooner you will see your wife and son, again," he added, since Lucius appeared to be on the verge of protesting.

"Fine." Lucius clenched the bag to his chest. "But know that I regret agreeing to come. You both owe me for this. And I reserve the right to refuse to avoid the most dangerous items as we come across them."

"Coward," said Bellatrix. She sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, then stomped off in the direction of the sitting room. "Come, Barty. We've a while to walk before we reach the last room of the East Wing."

"I have been here before," Barty grit out. "I don't require a guide."

Not strictly true, as he had never walked beyond this room, but he would not admit ignorance while Bellatrix was around to hear it.

"How many rooms are there?" Lucius asked, falling into step next to Barty as they trailed behind Bellatrix.

"The number is unknown," Bellatrix said airly. "Our lord's words, not mine."

Bloody hell, thought Barty. At this rate, Rosier would remain missing for a long, long while.

Chapter Text

Everything was red. That colour was what met Harry's eyes first, and it was what consumed most of his vision as his eyes adjusted to the sight. Yes, there was red everywhere. Red skies, red mountains, red stretch of bumpy, rocky red ground. Not bright red like a stop sign, but rather the darker, less colourful red of slightly-dirty bricks.

Harry blinked a few more times to take it all in. Crates and pebbles and strange plumes of thick, black smoke that hovered around... bones?

Bell hopped up against the ledge, claws scrabbling against the windowsill as they tried to peek out as well. When that effort failed, however, Bell stretched their wings out and lifted into the air, flapping until they came to rest at Harry's shoulder level.

"Where do you think we are?" Harry asked the dragon. There were no plants and trees around them. Harry might have said they were in a desert, but it looked too red to be a proper desert. In fact, it was not quite like anything Harry had ever seen before, either on the telly or in picture books.

Bell only huffed a new burst of sparks into the air. Well, it wasn't as though Harry had expected a real answer.

Harry turned his attention back to the window. Namely, the large glass pane that stretched from just below his chest all the way up to the ceiling. There did not appear to be a latch on the window that would allow it to open up. But that made sense because the window was really big.

Harry mulled over this for a moment, then decided it was probably a good idea to leave it shut. What if the black smoke got into the house? Mr. Tom might be upset with him.

Outside was very interesting, though. There were some flappy creatures off in the distance, their bodies obscured by clouds. Or maybe it was more smoke? Maybe the creatures were dragons like Bell. Mr. Tom hadn't mentioned other dragons, though.

Harry squinted and carefully braced one palm on the glass, aware that his weight wouldn't be enough to break it but also conscious of the fact that he might be leaving fingerprints behind. The flappy shapes continued to the left, moving all together in one group. Harry had the sudden suspicion that those dark shapes were bats. But bats lived in caves, didn't they? And they only came out at night, and right now it was daytime.

It was supposed to be daytime, but based on the sky, it was hard to tell. The red made everything darker than made sense for daytime. But sometimes Uncle Vernon had gone on business trips in other places where the time was different. Maybe this was the same thing. Harry tried to think of places that were red and had bats and were not England. Unfortunately, nothing was forthcoming.

So Harry could only watch in awe as the bats made their way across the sky. Clouds of smoke moved along with the bats, revealing a structure in the distance. There was a tall building that looked like it might be where Mr. Tom said he and his employees worked. Only, where were the roads? Why would there be buildings in the middle of a space with no roads?

However, now that he thought about it, Mr. Tom didn't need a car to go places. He could use magic to go where he wanted. If everyone else had magic, then they didn't need cars, either.

Okay, so people didn't need roads here. Harry nibbled on his lower lip, now deep in thought. No cars, no roads.

But if all the other people here had magic, what would he do? Mr. Tom would have to take him everywhere. Harry didn't want to be a bother. Maybe he could just stay in the house all the time. A big house like this must have lots of things to do in it. While Mr. Tom was at work, Harry could look around and tidy up.

"But the house is very tidy already," Harry muttered aloud. Everything was very clean and pretty. Aunt Petunia would have fainted if she saw a grand house like this.

Bell nudged Harry's foot with a clawed hand. They must have gotten bored of the view and decided to land. Harry looked down. "Who do you think was at the door?" One of Mr. Tom's workers, maybe. Mr. Tom struck Harry as a very important man with lots of important things to do.

Oh, it was a working day, wasn't it? Yesterday had been a Tuesday. Harry frowned. Today was Wednesday, which was a working day, which meant that Mr. Tom probably needed to go to work.

"Maybe he's not coming back," Harry said doubtfully.

Bell coughed and bumped at Harry's foot again. Harry was about to ask why, but he was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing just behind him.

Harry jumped and spun around. Then, all at once, he remembered that he had planned to close the curtains before Mr. Tom came back. "Sorry," Harry said immediately. "It's my fault the curtains are open."

Mr. Tom only looked at him for a moment. If anything, he seemed confused. "Your... fault?" he repeated.

"I said I wouldn't touch anything."

Mr. Tom's face smoothed over. His eyes flickered to the exposed window behind Harry's shoulder, then back to Harry. "There is nothing wrong with opening the curtain," Mr. Tom promised. "I was only worried that the sight of it would upset you, which is why I left them all closed."

"Oh." Harry wanted to look back at the window, only then Mr. Tom took a few steps forward. Harry waited, hesitating between his desire to turn around and his desire to keep an eye on Mr. Tom. "Is it because of the bats?" he asked. "I don't think bats are scary."

"Not because of the... bats." Mr. Tom shook his head, closing the distance between them by another few steps. His gaze wandered to the window a second time. Harry wanted to know what was out there that was so interesting. Had he missed something?

Mr. Tom came to a stop right in front of Harry and knelt down so that they were face to face. "Why don't we walk the rest of the wing so you can pick a room?"

Harry grew flustered. He didn't know how many rooms there were in this house, but if the rest of them were like the room he had woken up in, they would all be very big. The idea of having to choose one room over another was too difficult. "Any room is okay," he said, hoping that Mr. Tom would just pick for him and they could be done with it. "I don't mind."

"I'd like you to pick a room you will be happy in. Did you like the room from this morning?"

"It was a nice room," Harry said quickly. "I liked it."

Mr. Tom stared at him. Harry wondered if his fast answer had been too obvious. 

"Why don't you tell me how you imagine your room to look like, then. Is it a big room? Does the bed have hangings?"

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. He really, really didn't care what his room looked like. There wasn't anything he really wanted his room to be like, except maybe—

"I thought of something," Harry said bravely. "That I want my room to have."

"Oh?" Mr. Tom placed a hand onto Harry's shoulder. The weight of it felt heavy, but Harry liked the warmth. "What might that be, Harry?"

"Um, if it's okay, can my room be close to your room?" Harry would feel better in this big new place if he knew that Mr. Tom was not so far away.

"Yes," Mr. Tom said, dragging the syllable out. "Yes, we can pick a room that is close to mine. Shall we go?"

Mr. Tom looked at the window for a third time, and this was what prompted Harry to finally try and turn around. Only before Harry could do so, Mr. Tom took him around the waist and picked him up. Up Harry went, legs dangling as he was draped over Mr. Tom's shoulder like a small sack of potatoes.

"Hey," Harry protested. He hadn't agreed to leaving like this. "What are you doing?"

"We are leaving the room," Mr. Tom said promptly. Somewhere at Mr. Tom's feet, Bell let out a small roar of what was either agreement or disagreement. Harry hoped it was a roar of disagreement. This was a little embarrassing, to be carried out of the room.

But Harry was too confused to argue, so he let Mr. Tom carry him into the hallway. Once there, Harry was set upon the floor and the door behind them was firmly shut. Harry straightened his clothes in a huff and was startled to realize he was still in his pyjamas.

Mr. Tom must have caught his befuddled expression because he cleared his throat to get Harry's attention. "You may change once we've settled you in a room," Mr. Tom said pointedly.

Harry scrunched his face up. This was a trick to get him to pick a room.

"I like my pyjamas," Harry said loudly and crossed his arms over his chest.

Mr. Tom raised a brow at him. "I'm sure they are very comfortable."

Harry scowled a tiny bit, then dropped his eyes down slightly. Mr. Tom was wearing his usual fancy suit. Harry did feel a little underdressed standing here in his giraffe-patterned pyjama bottoms.

They stood there a second longer with no one speaking. Harry was aware that they were wasting time, but he did not want to give in. Mr. Tom made a soft tsk sound and held his hand out. As he did so, his sleeve moved up, revealing a bare wrist. Harry was used to seeing watches, and this was what reminded him of his earlier worry.

"Don't you have to go to work?" Harry asked, staring at the offered hand.

Mr. Tom flashed him a smile. "They can do without me for a day. Come now, Harry. I'd very much like to show you the rest of my house."

It did not take long for Harry to realize that he had been tricked. Or maybe 'tricked' was not the right word for it. After all, Harry had agreed to pick a room so long as it was near Mr. Tom's room. Only they had now walked through four different rooms, and Harry was no closer to a decision than he had been before.

"Where is your room?" Harry asked, the most demanding tone he had used all day. He did not quite believe that there were so many rooms to choose from, but he knew Mr. Tom would not lie to him. That was the promise they had with each other.

Mr. Tom turned to look down at Harry. "Why do you ask?"

"Can I see it?"

There was another pause, a longer one. "Our goal is to find you a room, Harry.”

"Maybe if I see yours, it will help me pick?" Harry said hopefully. He widened his eyes a little for good measure, the way that had sometimes worked on his teachers at school.

"If you would like to, then we may," Mr. Tom allowed, though he still seemed doubtful. He gave Harry's hand a squeeze. "It is not a very exciting place to be, I can assure you. I do not use my room very often."

"Oh." That was besides the point of having their rooms next to each other, wasn't it? It was a little disappointing to hear that, but maybe now that Harry was living in the house, Mr. Tom would want to spend more time here. "I'd still like to see your room," Harry said, which was true.

Mr. Tom led him around the corner to another, shorter hallway. At the end of this hall was a single door. The door that led to Mr. Tom's room! Harry was equal parts excited and nervous to see it.

Harry thought often that the state of people's rooms said a lot about them. Dudley's room, for example, was filled with lots and lots of mess. Posters and toys and clothes everywhere. Aunt Petunia often asked Dudley to clean it up, but Dudley never listened. To make matters worse, Uncle Vernon tended to side with Dudley, which meant that the clutter stayed until Aunt Petunia got tired of seeing it and tidied it herself.

The master bedroom that belonged to Harry's aunt and uncle was spotless. Aunt Petunia was meticulous with the space, constantly fussing over the bedding and the curtains. Curtains open during the day, curtains shut during the night. Different blankets and sheets for every season of the year. On the wall opposite the bed, a large portrait of Petunia and Vernon on their wedding day.

For a man like Mr. Tom, Harry had high expectations, but he was unsure how those expectations would look in a bedroom. What colour would the walls be? The curtains? Would there be pictures on the walls, or only wallpaper? And if there were pictures, would there be people in them?

Mr. Tom never talked about having a wife or a family. Harry had the tiny hope that Mr. Tom, like him, had no one else. Then it would be perfect because they would have each other. Harry would be a good son, a better son than anyone else imaginable. He would keep his room tidy all the time and always do his chores without complaint.

The door pushed open, revealing darkness. Mr. Tom waved his hand and made the light go on. Harry stepped forward with eagerness and drank in the sight of the room.

The walls were a blue-grey colour that reminded Harry of his school trip to the beach. The colour looked just like the cloudy, overcast sky reflected on the wide stretch of endless water. It was a soothing colour that Harry felt made sense for a room meant for sleeping.

Speaking of sleep, the large bed had sheets and blankets that were a deep, darker grey compared to the walls. On either side of the bed were tall, skinny lamps that floated in the air. At the foot of the bed was a rectangular black rug that looked as though it would feel very soft to touch.

Harry wandered over to the bed so he could bend down and touch the rug. It was fluffy underneath his fingertips. Then he straightened, embarrassed that he'd gotten distracted. The rest of the room was fairly empty aside from a wide chest of drawers.

"What do you think?"

Harry spun around to face the doorway. Mr. Tom was watching him with a patient expression. "It's a nice room," Harry said. He didn't know what else there was to say. Every room they had been in, every room where Mr. Tom had asked him this question, his answer had been the same.

Mr. Tom nodded. "Would you like a room like this one, then?"

Harry frowned. Was it that easy? Did he want a room like this one? If he said yes, would they be finished? "A room exactly like this one?" Harry asked.

"Yes, if that's what you would like. I can remodel the room next door."

That made his decision for him. "Yes," Harry said immediately.

They left the room and headed back down the hall. Mr. Tom held the door open for Harry to walk in. This room was smaller than the master bedroom; the walls here were a plain cream colour and the bed was higher up off the floor. Harry wanted to see if he could climb onto the bed, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Stay still while I alter the contents of the room," Mr. Tom instructed.

Harry would never say no to seeing more magic. He stopped moving and nodded rapidly. "Should I hide somewhere?"

Mr. Tom laughed, but it was a friendly sound. "No, Harry. You are perfectly safe to watch from here."

Still, Harry felt a little nervous. He tugged at the hem of his shirt and shuffled closer to Mr. Tom.

Then the magic happened. 

Mr. Tom waved a hand, the hand that was not holding Harry's shoulder gently in place, and the room changed. The colours of the walls and the furniture melted away, revealing the same colours of Mr. Tom's room.

Harry watched, fascinated, as the bed shrunk and the far wall expanded, moving and warping to accomodate large glass windows which were quickly growing to fill the new space. For a brief second, Harry caught a glimpse of the red outside world.

But the sight did not last long—soon they were swallowed up by large blue-grey curtains. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to another. All the changes were exciting. He wanted to go over to the new windows and pull the curtains open, but he had the feeling that he would not be allowed to. Not to mention he had been told to stay still.

A large rug unrolled itself at the foot of the bed. It was even bigger than the one in the other room, and it looked just as soft. Bell would like to nap there, maybe, Harry thought. Then, like Harry had spoken aloud, Bell stomped over to the rug and laid down, tail thumping on the floor.

"Hey," Harry protested. "No moving."

Bell only made a funny whistling sound and grinned, showing all their pointy teeth. Mr. Tom cleared his throat and scowled at the dragon. Around them, the room shivered like it was adjusting to its new look.

"Is it done?" Harry asked. He wanted to touch the rug and climb on the bed.

"A few more things," Mr. Tom said calmly.

A lamp and a clock appeared on the bedside table. The lamp was tall and skinny like the lamp Mr. Tom had, but it was more colourful, like a lava lamp.

Lastly, a large transparent globe appeared in the air. It took a moment for Harry to realize why the globe was familiar. It was the globe that Mr. Tom had created yesterday to house all of Harry's belongings. Harry had forgotten that he had things to be put in his new room.

The globe moved slowly until it was within Harry's reach. Then the top half of the globe disappeared, allowing Harry to stick his arms inside and scoop his things out. Most of it was clothes, all of it folded in neat piles. Harry pulled his clothes out and wrapped his arms tightly around them.

"Can I put these in the drawers?" he asked, then waited for Mr. Tom to give him permission to move.

"I could use magic to place them?" Mr. Tom offered. With a new hand gesture, the chest of drawers opened up all on its own, revealing empty insides.

"I can do it," Harry said stubbornly, and marched over to put his things away. The big globe floated after him as he did so. Harry tucked his shirts and socks away, then moved onto his trousers and underthings. Then once all of that was done, he looked over what was left.

A few beaten-up copies of books Dudley had gotten as presents from other relatives. Other toys that Dudley either had not liked, or had broken and given up on. Harry picked up the books and set them in a tidy stack on top of the dresser. The covers were in good condition because Dudley had never bothered to look at them.

Then Harry reached for the toys. First, the stick of pink chalk that he had spent so much time keeping safe. With careful hands, Harry lifted the chalk out of the bubble and walked over to the bedside table. Then he opened the top drawer and placed the chalk inside. He shut the drawer slowly to make sure the chalk didn't roll, then turned his attention back to the globe, which had once again followed him.

At the bottom of the globe were the tiny toy soldiers that had kept Harry company for the past two years or so. Some of them were missing their swords because Dudley had snapped them off, but Harry didn't mind. The soldiers didn't need their swords to be brave.

Harry picked up a few of the figures and held them up to eye level. They looked... different. The colours were brighter and the paint was clean.

Confused, Harry put the soldiers in his hands aside and went searching through the rest, looking for his favourite. The soldier that Harry had named Lancelot, after the knight. Lancelot no longer had a sword, but Harry liked him because his smile seemed very kind.

After poking around, Harry located Lancelot and picked him up. Lancelot now had a sword, and his sash was redder than it had been before. His helmet even looked shiny. Harry ran his finger over the top of it.

"I took the liberty of making some repairs," came Mr. Tom's voice from just behind Harry's shoulder. Harry jumped a little and whirled around to stare.

"Thank you," Harry said, full of awe. He lifted Lancelot up again, adjusting the soldier's arm so that it waved. "This one's my favourite."

"We'll have to give him a place of honour, then." Mr. Tom smiled widely and stepped towards Harry. He pushed the globe aside so that he could sit on the edge of the bed, and then he gestured for Harry to come closer. Harry climbed onto the mattress and settled in place next to Mr. Tom.

Harry still had Lancelot in his hand as Mr. Tom placed his hand back on Harry's shoulder, like it belonged there, and nudged gently. Harry obeyed, shuffling closer so that he could feel the warmth coming from Mr. Tom's body.

Then a castle appeared on the bedside table. It was not a big castle; it was a small one, sized perfectly for Lancelot and his fellow knights. There were tall towers and thick walls and a pretty courtyard with trees and grass in the middle.

"Wow," Harry said. The castle looked very real. Too real to be a toy. "Is this a real castle?"

"This particular castle is called Hogwarts," said Mr. Tom. "So yes, it is based on a real castle. I thought it might make an excellent home for your knights."

Harry stretched over to place Lancelot in front of the castle. To do so, he had to brace his hand in an awkward position on the bed. His arm wobbled slightly, and for a moment he was scared he would fall over, but thankfully that did not happen and Lancelot was deposited safely upon the side table without harm.

"Can we visit Hogwarts some day?" Harry asked as he straightened back up.

Mr. Tom hesitated, his hand moving to steady Harry’s back. "It may be difficult to arrange, Harry. But someday, perhaps."

“Okay,” Harry agreed, thinking maybe he had asked for too much. He had just been given his own room. A new room done up just for him. “It’s okay if we can’t.”

“Someday,” Mr. Tom repeated, more warmly this time. “I shall do my best to make it happen.”

Carefully, Harry worked his arm out from where it was pinned against Mr. Tom’s side so he could give the man a hug. “Okay. Thank you for the room,” Harry mumbled. “I like it a lot. And thank you for fixing Lancelot.”

The hand on his back rubbed a gentle circle. “You’re welcome, Harry. It brings me great joy to be able to do these things for you.”

Harry felt his face heat up, so he buried it away in the fabric of Mr. Tom’s shirt. “Thank you,” he repeated.

There was a funny sound in response, only Harry didn’t want to lift his head up to check Mr. Tom’s expression. The two of them sat in the quiet for a while, listening to the soft thump of Bell’s tail on the carpet. Eventually, Harry relaxed enough to tilt his head back and look at his brand new toy castle.

Someday. Harry could be content with that.

END.