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“It’s been a while, huh?”
Tom jumps a little at the voice, hand reaching for his wand and head snapping around to look for the intruder. A boy with messy black hair and a sad smile stands a few feet behind him, leaning against a rusted streetlight. The orange light casts shadows down the sides of Harry Potter’s face, and his usual bright green eyes peer at Tom from under a clump of wild hair. He gestures to the building they’re facing with a nod of his head.
Tom turns away without a word, and stares straight ahead.
It’s a bakery, now. The storefront is run down yet cheerful, quaint in a good way. The windows glow with warm light, and the label depicts ‘Stacey’s Bakies’ in red cursive lettering, with some tacky fairy lights lighting up the windows. Tom breathes out slowly, the air coming out in intricate swirls caused by the chilly December weather. He buries his hands deeper into his cloak pockets, and swallows nervously.
“Yes. It has.”
Soft footsteps crunch in the snow, making their way over to Tom’s side. Harry feels warm beside him, and Tom leans into the heat. Harry wraps an arm around Tom’s middle, his gloved hands rubbing Tom’s side comfortingly.
“It’s not the same place anymore,” he whispers, and Tom nods.
“I know. But I just can’t stop seeing how it used to be…” And it’s true. Images flood Tom’s brain, memories of a place long gone. A tall, dark building looming over him, filled with cold halls and cold bedrooms and worn clothing and sad children-
“Do you want to go inside?” Harry asks, and Tom blinks rapidly to clear his vision. It’s not a looming orphanage, but a nice, welcoming bakery drawing customers in with the alluring scent of fresh pastries. It’s safe in there. Happy in there.
He nods.
Harry drops his arm, and instead removes Tom’s hand from his pocket, wrapping his own fingers around it and tugging him gently forwards. Tom follows, and soon they’re standing at the door.
It’s see-through now, made of glass, and Tom can see the countertop, decorated with hand-made signs telling people what each pastry costs. It’s not at all like the chipped wooden door that creaked whenever it was opened, that would lead to the reception area with the mean old lady who would bark at the kids to leave, telling them that the adults that walk in here don’t want to see them all grubby and desperate.
Harry squeezes Tom’s hand, snapping him out of it.
“Would you like to do the honours, good sir?” he asks dramatically, bowing and gesturing to the door. Tom rolls his eyes and smiles, reaching out to ‘do the honours’.
A bell above the door rings as they enter, and Tom tries not to flinch. There used to be a bell just like this one, at the top of the landing, and it’d be rang three times a day - chores, gardening, dinner.
Harry leads the way to the counter, where a frazzled-looking lady in her late 30s smiles at them. Tom smiles back, thankful for the years he’s had to perfect his charming mask.
“Hello, dearies! I’m Stacy, what can I get for ya? Rather chilly out tonight, isn’t it?” she rambles, pulling a notebook out of her pocket. She points to a table nearby, and they go to sit down.
“Can I get a treacle tart, please?” asks Harry, and Tom smiles again, though this time a little less charming and a little more genuinely fond.
“Of course! And for you?” Stacy turns her attention to Tom.
He pauses for a second, for a moment a little dazed. He’d almost forgotten that this is where he used to live, and that they’d never in a million years offer him anything as luxurious as a cake there. But then he can feel Harry’s leg brushing against his under the table, and he realises that he really must stop zoning out. “What would you recommend?” he asks politely, and Stacy hums, distractedly pushing her frizzy blonde hair away from her face.
“The pain au chocolats fly off the shelves usually, but I’ve not had many customers today, so there’s still plenty left.”
“I’ll have that, then.” Tom says, and the woman nods and scribbles their orders down on her little notebook. She lifts her head again, as if only just remembering something.
“Would you like a hot drink with those? As I said, it’s quite cold out today.”
“Two hot chocolates, please.” Harry says, and Tom once again has to cover up his smile. Hot chocolate is their drink.
“Alright! I’ll get those for ya.” Stacy says cheerfully before hurrying away. Harry looks over at Tom and shrugs happily.
“I actually quite like it here. What do you think?” he asks, taking off his gloves and stuffing them into his pockets.
“It’s… different.” Tom replies truthfully, and Harry nods.
“Exactly! It’s much nicer than the old place. I feel happy just sitting here.”
Tom smiles sadly, pulling off his cloak. “I suppose I just can’t stop seeing what isn’t here.”
Harry tilts his head, looking regretful. “I wish I could help.”
Tom rapidly shakes his head, taking Harry’s hands in his. He looks at him earnestly, willing him to understand. “Without you here, I probably wouldn’t have come any closer to this place. Thank you.”
Harry rolls his eyes and laughs, shaking his head. “Always so serious, Riddle.”
At that moment, Stacy returns with two small plates, each with a different pastry on them. She sets the treacle tart down in front of Tom, and the pain au chocolat in front of Harry.
“The drinks will be ready in just a sec!” she says quickly, then rushes away again.
Harry looks down at the pastry and smiles. “Wanna swap?” he offers, and Tom nods agreeably.
Tom nibbles his food cautiously, half expecting it to taste like the sickly broth he used to have as a child. Instead, the savoury flavours burst in his mouth like fireworks, the bitterness of the chocolate and the sweetness of the pastry warming him up and chasing away the memories of cold dining tables and little food.
Stacy arrives again, this time with two mugs overflowing with hot chocolate, as well as two huge marshmallows bobbing on top.
“I’m so sorry, but we ran out of whipped cream! What kind of bakery are we running, aye? I hope this is okay! If you want something else, don’t hesitate to ask!” she says, her tone panicked. Harry just smiles and thanks her, assuring her that this looks like the best hot chocolate he’ll ever have.
The drinks heat them from the inside out, and the couple are left with a feeling of contentment that Tom never imagined he’d have in this place. But, he must remember, this is not the same palace as it used to be.
As Harry and Tom leave, assuring Stacy that they’d be back, and that her pastries really are amazing, Tom can’t help but feel a distinct weight lift off his shoulders.
“Home?” Harry asks, reaching out a hand for Tom to take.
Tom nods. “Home.”
He grabs Harry’s hand, and the two of them disapparate with a crack.