Chapter Text
“It's time to wake up, Harry,” the voice said gently, and young Harry Potter turned in his dreamworld to see the familiar figure of his ever-present companion standing there, holding out a hand and smiling softly.
“I dun wanna,” Harry whimpered and ducked his head. The dream world was so much better than the real world. He would wake up and find himself in the dark, cold and dusty with little more than a thin pallet between him and the floor, and most likely with at least one or two new spider bites.
“I know, Harry,” the man said gently and apologetically. “But I'll be with you, you know that. If you don't wake yourself up now, Petunia will wake you with her shrieking, and you know this is better. Come on now, Harry. Wake up.”
“Dun wanna,” he pouted again.
“Wake up, Harry.”
“BOY! UP! GET UP NOW!You lazy good for nothing little menace. Get up!” the high-pitched, ear-piercing bellow of Harry's aunt shattered the warmth and comfort of his dream world, wrenching him back to reality.
Harry groaned quietly and shakily pushed himself up on his thin boney arms and shifted in the limited space until he was sitting. Another loud banging on his door passed, then followed by the retreating footsteps of his aunt as she disappeared into the kitchen beyond.
“Come on, Harry. Let's get to the bathroom,” the voice in Harry's head spoke with calm resignation.
Harry sighed, nodded his head to himself and his companion, and quickly grabbed a few oversized bits of clothing before slipping from his cupboard as quietly as possible and into the bathroom across the hall.
– –
“Flip the bacon now, Harry.”
“Right, thanks,” Harry whispered under his breath.
“Silently, Harry.”
“Right. Sorry. Habit.”
“I know. It's alright. – Good, now the eggs. Add a little salt.”
“Like this?”
“Give it a taste.”
“What if they see?”
“Just a small one. Be quick.”
“Oh... it's good.”
“I know, I'm sorry, Harry. We'll get something before school.”
– –
“No, it's i-t apostrophe s for it-is. In this situation, you leave out the apostrophe.”
“I think you put in the apos.. thingy, if it's um.. possessive?”
“Normally, but in this situation, it makes it a contraction.”
“Right. Okay. So is this right?”
“Yes, Harry. Much better. Finish up soon. At recess we can go behind the dumpsters again and you can practice moving the pebbles around again.”
“Awe, do I have to? Can't we try moving something else?”
“No, Harry. This is a good exercise, and we'll stick with it until you've mastered it.”
Harry heaved a sigh but nodded his head. He quickly glanced around the classroom to see if anyone was looking at him. He had a bad habit of muttering quietly under his breath when he spoke with Tom. The other kids didn't even need his cousin Dudley telling them all he was a nutter, since they'd determined it all on their own. Not that it mattered. He was different from them. He'd always be different from them. The other children of Mrs. Bresby's third-grade class would never understand Harry, so why worry himself over it?
It wasn't worth the energy when he had other things to do.
– –
“YOU CHEATED!”Vernon Dursley bellowed loudly, and Harry only just registered the movement of the large man's hand as it started to fly through the air with staggering speed.
He saw it coming, but that wasn't enough to prevent the inevitable. Harry's world erupted with a shocked explosion of pain and force and he was thrown back against the hall wall behind him as the back of Vernon Dursley's hand shot against the side of his head.
Harry yelped in shock and pain and his hands came up to hold the side of his face. His head felt as if it were vibrating, and inside a vice all at the same time and he saw spots circle through his vision.
“That monstrous fat bastard!” Tom bellowed angrily in his head.
Harry grit his teeth and tried to stand up, glaring angrily at the large man.
“No, Harry. Stand down! He'll hit you again. You can't take another hit like that.”
“I'm so sick of this!”
“I know. Just a bit longer, Harry. We've almost got enough saved up and then we'll run from here!”
“Admit it, you little freak! You cheated! It's the only explanation for how a worthless little mongrel as you could do better than my Dudders! You stole Dudley's papers didn't you?! Didn't you, Freak!”
“I didn't!” Harry denied vehemently.
“Filthy little lair too! You'll see how we treat liars and cheats in this house!”
“I didn't!”
“Harry duck!”
There was impact, and pain, and his world went black.
– –
Harry stood just inside an alley along the nearby commercial district watching the people as they walked past. It was cold – very cold – and Harry's thin, threadbare jacket was hardly adequate for keeping out the cold, but he grit his teeth and bore it. He rubbed his ands together and focused his magic onto them to keep them warm. He needed his fingers to be quick and flexible for what was coming. Stiff, slow joints were not very conductive to the business he was about to take part in.
“The man and wife with the two children, coming down the street,” Tom's voice whispered into his head. “The man just put his wallet into his jacket pocket after buying the boy a treat, and both parents are distracted with the younger ones wailing. They'll be an easy mark.”
Harry nodded his head in silent agreement. He'd already had his eye on them, but Tom's contribution was always appreciated anyway.
Harry pushed himself off the cold brick wall and walked calmly down the street in the opposite direction of the oncoming family. He passed by the man gracefully, and simply, without even the slightest hint that he'd even moved his arm, and kept right on walking to the end of the block where he turned and rounded the corner into another alley.
He pushed himself back against another wall and quickly began digging through the wallet.
“Jackpot!” Harry crowed as he found four fifty pound notes, and another five twenties.
“I knew he'd be a good mark,” Tom thought back smugly.
– –
Harry wheezed and coughed as he pulled himself onto his thin pallet, just as he heard the cupboard door slam behind him, and the deadbolt slid shut with a resounding click.
“Oh, shit, it hurts,” he cried mentally as he sank down and felt an awful pain in his side and his lung.
“I don't know if you're magic alone will be enough for this one Harry. We need to get you to a healer. I fear your lung has been punctured.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Harry grumbled.
“I think that we should seriously consider –“
“No Tom, seriously... tell me something I don't know.”
“I don't understand, Harry.”
“I just... tell me a story, like when I was younger. Help me take my mind off the pain while I try to focus my magic, okay?”
Harry heard a resigned sigh inside his head, but also got the feeling of concession.
“Well, I suppose there's the story of how Salazar Slytherin met Godric Gryffindor and –“
“No, I want to hear a story about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, Tom. I... you always told me to ask when I was older. Can I ask now? I'm eight years old, Tom. Please?”
“Harry... I...” Tom's voice sounded beyond hesitant. There was even a tinge of fear in there, that Harry could feel in the recesses of his mind where the two of them were bound together.
“What are you afraid of, Tom?”
Tom gave a rather bitter sounding laugh before another resigned sigh escaped him.
“I suppose I'm afraid that you'll hate me for it.”
“I could never hate you Tom. I rather doubt I would even be alive right now if it weren't for you.”
“I'm not so sure about that...”
“Please, Tom? Please tell me?”
“Alright Harry... I was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, December 31st, 1926. I was told that my mother lived after my birth just long enough to tell the matrons of the orphanage where I was birthed, what to name me. Tom Riddle for my father, and Marvolo, after my mother's father. The matrons didn't even get my mothers name, so I grew up not even knowing that. I later learned her name was Merope, but it made very little difference on me, growing up.
“The 1920's and early 30's were not a happy time in London, by anyone's standards. There was an enormous strike in Britain around the time I was born. In 1927, the German economy completely collapsed, and then the American stock market collapse happened in 1929, bringing the rest of the world eventually with it.
“Even without all that, I lived in an underfunded orphanage in an awful part of London. We were always hungry, there was violence and illness and death all around me growing up. The other children hated me on principle from the start it seemed, but as I grew older, things only got worse.
“I was filled with fear, nearly all the time. Fear of death, more than anything else. Fear of starving; fear of being bashed in one day for the pence in my pocket, or the bread I hoarded or thieved. Fear of the older boys finally loosing control over themselves, or coming upon me at some point where no one would ever catch them, and doing me in. And I hated being afraid. It made me angry, and when I got angry, strange things happened around me.
“My mother, you see, was a witch, just like your parents. But I had no one to tell me that. No one to explain magic or to make sense of the strange things that would happen around me. I had to work it out on my own, and I quickly correlated my anger with my power, and I fostered that power by growing ever more angry and resentful.
“The summer after I had turned eleven, a man came to the orphanage and told me about magic. He told me about a school called Hogwarts where people like me went to get an education and learn to wield and control their magic using things called wands. I was beyond excited, but I had little experience with good things, and expressed my exhilaration in a very poor way. I will not deny that I was not a kind child, but the world had not been kind to me. I knew nothing of kindness and morality in practice, so how was I expected to know how to act properly in such a situation?
“The man grew instantly wary of me, and his intense distrust of me drove my anger and my victim complex ever further over my years under his tutelage. I went to Hogwarts expecting to finally find others like myself – others who would finally meet my expectations – others who could be my equals, and who would accept me. However I did not find equals or acceptance at Hogwarts. I was parentless, with no documented pedigree, sorted into Slytherin house and surrounded by pampered pureblood brats. They took me for a mudblood and treated me like scum beneath their boots. Their treatment of me only grew worse when I proved to be far more accomplished with my magic than they, and I grew ever distant from my peers.
“When I had to leave the school for the summer holidays I found myself thrust violently back into 'reality' as it were, and my fear was once again brought back with a vengeance. London was not a good place to be that summer, and the other boys at the orphanage were anxious to show me their displeasure at my having been able to escape them all for the prior ten months at a 'posh private boarding school'. They showed their displeasure with their fists and their boots, and I was no longer in a position to defend myself, now that the Magical Ministry had their Trace wards trained on me – for the protection of the muggles, of course.
“Things continued much in this vein, although I did eventually begin to gain a small following of my fellow Slytherins after it became a bit more publicly known that I was a parselmouth –“
“Parselmouth – you mean how we can speak to snakes?”
“That's right, Harry. It's a hereditary trait and the most well known parselmouth is Salazar Slytherin, so the trait was well respected in Slytherin house.”
“Oh, right. Okay, keep going.”
“How are you doing?”
“I'm fine, Tom. Keep going. This is helping a lot.”
“Well, after my unique blood trait got out, several of my house mates took on a new view of me and their persecution reduced considerably. But I would hardly call any of them 'friends'. I never considered them as much either, they simply wanted power or prestige and they saw me as an opportunity to get it. They could see my greatness, and they wanted to latch onto that... but I regress. The point is that despite everything, I was still angry, and I was still afraid. I spent a great deal of my freetime during the school year trying to find a solution to the fears that crushed me during my summers.
“When the second Great War started in earnest and the bombings began to rain down upon London, my fear grew several fold and with it, my desperation. I was utterly terrified of the idea that I might die before ever even getting a chance to grow to adulthood and fully explore all the wonders of magic.
“And then... I found it. A book in the restricted section of the library that I never should have been permitted to see. A book that detailed a dark and forbidden bit a magic that supposedly protected a person from death. It was the closest thing I'd come across to immortality, and the forbidden nature of it appealed to me. It was youthful arrogance and rebellion, combined with my terrible fear of death that drove me to follow through with it.
“The worse part about this magic was that it required a sacrifice. In order to perform the ritual involved, you had to commit a murder in cold blood. I had already been searching the school for the legendary Chamber of Secrets, supposedly left behind by Salazar Slytherin himself, and when I did finally find it, and the creature that lay within it, I saw an opportunity. I... I could not quite bring myself to commit the murder with my own hands, but using a tool was supposed to be just as effective. So I had the monster – a Basilisk – kill someone for me and then I blamed it on someone else.
“I... as I have said, Harry, I was by no means a sinless boy, and I acknowledge that my fear and desperation is not a good enough excuse for my actions. Taking a life... well, there is no forgiveness for the atrocities that I have committed in my later years, but there is no death that I regret more than the death of young Myrtle, for it set me down the path of destruction and darkness.
“You see, the ritual that I underwent was a horrible and dark ritual. It involved breaking off a small shard of one's soul and embedding it into an object that you keep safe and protected. As long as the object – the anchor – remains in tact, you cannot die. Even if your body is killed, your soul and magic will remain tethered to this plane of existence, giving you the opportunity to come back. Very few had ever dared to perform this magic before and those that had, had only ever created a single one of these objects. These horcruxes.
“At the time, I thought it was simply because they were too cowardly. I did not fully appreciate the price of creating such an object. You see, a soul cannot exist when it is not complete. When you remove a shard, something must fill the gap or else the whole thing will fall apart. To serve this purpose, the ritual magic filled the hole with concentrated darkness.
“After the creation of my first horcrux, I slowly became more angry, more bitter. My worst attributes, which I will admit were plentiful to begin with, were magnified, while my few redeeming traits were squashed. In my madness and my arrogance, I thought that I would take the magic further than anyone else before me had and I made plans to make another horcrux. But one more was not enough. I was taking Arithmancy at the time and was fascinated with the power behind certain significant numbers. The number seven specifically held a great power to me. And so I decided I would split my soul seven ways. Six shards sealed within vessels, and one remaining as my primary soul. Six horcruxes.
“And so I proceeded with my horrible plan without thought for the repercussions or the price. And with each additional shard I shed, my primary soul grew darker and my world more bleak. There was no goodness left in my world. There was only power and those too weak to seek it. The magical world had disillusioned me – it failed me – and I saw it as a festering stew of worthless weaklings and mindless politicians. I decided I would fix the Magical World, and initially, my plans were traditional – work my way through the system and gain power until I was in a position to enact legitimate change, but my quest to become immortal took precedence. I traveled for a decade, creating more horcruxes, gaining followers to do my bidding, and growing ever more insane and power-hungry.
“By the time I returned to the public view in Britain, there was more darkness in my soul than there was humanity, and I had no sense of morality left in me. I did horrible things, Harry. Things that are the stuff of nightmares and cause me the most terrible grief, now that I am in a position, so distance from the darkness that tainted my mind.
“I am not proud, in any way, of the things I did. I waged a war, Harry. A war that I probably would have won, if not for one fateful night. There was a prophecy you see... and one of my followers overheard a portion of it and brought it to me. The bit he heard went 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches; born to those who have thrice defied him; born as the seventh month dies. From those few lines, I was finally able to determine two likely candidates, and from those two, I chose you.”
Harry's breathing stopped for an instant as he tried to wrap his mind around what Tom had just said.
“Me?”
“Yes. Your parents were fighters, so to speak. There was a man – a very powerful wizard, and the only one that I truly feared – who headed up a group he called the Order of the Phoenix, and your parents were members. Your father, an Auror as I have told you, personally fought against my forces while I was present, on three separate occasions and survived to escape. You were also born at the end of July – as the seventh month dies. And so your family went into hiding, and I set to hunting you down.
“I... Harry I cannot tell you how great I regret this one thing, although not simply because of how it affected me, but how it has affected you. I... killed... your parents. I killed your father, then I climbed the stairs to the nursery where your mother was standing, unarmed, begging me to take her life instead of her son's, and I killed her as well.”
Tom's voice stopped then, and Harry lay on the pallet, trying to keep his breathing steady, mostly because the near hyperventilating that his body seemed to want to do, hurt his lungs too much.
“Harry... Harry, I'm so sorry. If I could take it back, I would. I cannot tell you how many times I have agonized about how much you are suffering now, when none of this would be happening if you still had your parents. People that I took from you –“
“Stop.”
“Harry –“
“No... just... just.. keep going. Alright? Don't... try to apologize. Finish the story.”
Tom's voice hesitated for several beats before another mental sigh echoed through Harry's mind. “Alright, Harry. By the time you were a child, I had split my soul into six pieces – five horcruxes and my main soul – but I had hesitated at one point as I began to wonder if perhaps it truly was doing me more harm than good to continue splitting my soul the way I had. I was beginning to feel out of control. Nothing could sooth the fury that filled me. Watching other's suffer under my hand used to calm it, but it got to a point where even that only angered me further, and I felt that something was wrong even in the delusional and insane state that my mutilated soul had left me in. So I has stopped.
“However by the time 1981 came around, my mind had left me enough that I once again entertained the idea. I became convinced that if I used the child foretold to have the power to vanquish me, to create my final horcrux, it would cement my power. So I intended to use your death to split off one final piece of soul. I even brought an object that I had prepared to act as vessel, but something happened that night, that even I cannot explain.
“As I shot the killing curse at you, a helpless child, my own power rebounded back against me. But there was enough damage in my body, and the recent death of both of your parents, to sever off a bit of my soul anyway, even though you clearly did not die. The curse came back and hit my body, and the power of my own magic, combined with the magic that protected you – magic that I think came from your mother – destroyed my body utterly. I was blasted into nothing, sending my main soul far away, and leaving behind a single, untethered bit of soul with no one left to guide where it went. That bit of soul, was me. The me that you know and have known all these years. I latched onto the only living thing left in the room – you. However that was not a simple prospect, as you were protected by a powerful magical enchantment that I still do not understand.
“Nothing that wished you harm could survive this protection, and my bit of soul was cleansed by it. There wasn't much darkness embedded in me in the first place, since the ritual used to create a horcrux, and tether it to the desired vessel was not completed properly. Dark power is usually used to secure the binding, but in our case, I merely latched onto you, and after I was cleaned utterly of any dark taint, your mother's magic allowed me to stay.
“I believe that I made some sort of pact with your mother's magic. Not explicitly – not consciously, because back at that point I hardly had a consciousness at all – but I think that I, in a way, swore to look after you; to keep you safe, and as such, your mother's magic permitted my continued existence.
“Without the presence of the ever encompassing darkness that had corrupted my mind and destroyed my sanity, I could see clearly for the first time in decades. I think that first year when you were with the Dursley's was the most difficult of my existence because I spent that time growing aware, and growing to fully comprehend the enormity of what I'd done.
“My greatest worry now is that the primary mass of my old being is still out there; still filled with that awful darkness. And I know that he will not give up on his quest for power and immortality. His body was blasted away by your mother's magic, but he is not gone. So long as I, or any of the other horcruxes, exist he will go on. And someday... he will find a way to resurrect. I'm sure of it. And when he does, it will probably be through means that saturate his being so thoroughly with darkness, that his only ambition left will be to reign misery down upon the world, and bring existence as we know it to an end.”
“Oh god... that's awful.”
“Harry, I am so sorry. I know that you deserved to know something this vital much sooner, but I was afraid... and I feared you were too young to really understand it anyway. I –“
“No, I mean... well, a lot of it's awful, but it's horrible that you have to live with the memories of what he did.”
“Harry... that was me. I... I did those things.”
“But it was hardly your fault. You were being... I don't know, corrupted, by evil. You're not evil now! It was the darkness that made you do those things. Not –“
“No, Harry. I am hardly blameless. I killed poor Myrtle before ever making a horcrux and tainting myself with the darkest of magics. This darkness merely amplified what was already there.”
“But all people have the capacity for evil; especially under duress! You've said that to me before! Anyone in your shoes could have done what you did. You were afraid that you were going to end up dead from bombs and muggles. You were desperate.”
“It's still does not excuse what my mistake eventually wrought on the world. One arrogant, stupid decision, made when I was fifteen years old, doomed a generation to a miserable, bloody war, and cost so many innocents, like you, your parents, or lives. It was all my fault, Harry. I started it, and I never stopped it. The darkness never took away my free will, it just clouded my mind and distorted my judgement. It amplified my anger and my hate to surreal levels, but it was still me, inside there, doing those things. I am not blameless by any standards.”
“But no one should have to suffer forever for a bad choice they made when they were fifteen,” Harry whispered, aloud.
“And the world should not have to suffer for it either.”
Harry remained quiet for a long time then, and so Tom remained silent as well and tried to stay away from Harry's inner thoughts to give his host privacy. Harry put a bit more of his focus on his magic, that he'd been focusing in the area of his lung and ribs this whole time. The pain had receded considerably a while ago, and his breathing wasn't so gurgley-sounding any more.
“Tom?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Is there a way to get rid of the darkness that's in him? The main part of your spirit, I mean? Like how my mother's magic got rid of it in you?”
“If the darkness was simply removed, he would be destroyed because there would be nothing left to fill the gaps holding his remaining soul together.”
“But what if we put the soul pieces back? Then there wouldn't be a need for any of that darkness anymore, right?”
“Theoretically... however it would take tremendously powerful magic of a nature I am not familiar with. All of the truly powerful magic I know is mostly dark in nature, and leaves behind a dark taint when used, or requires sacrifices that contaminate you, not cleanse. To cleanse the darkness and put the soul pieces back would require a powerful magic of a non-dark nature, and I am loath to admit that I am rather ignorant of such magics.”
“Well... then lets learn it. We can do it together. You've been talking about trying to run off to London one of these days and go to that magic alley. Let's do it. But we'll go specifically looking for magic that will do this.”
“I rather doubt it would be that simple. Magic of such a powerful degree is rarely detailed in books one can purchase at Florish and Blott's.”
“Where would we find it?”
Tom sighed heavily and pondered the question for a moment. “Well, I suppose Hogwarts library would be one place to start. The ancient family libraries of any of the strongly Light affiliated families, would be the best bet, however. Private collections from the ancient houses always have the best books. Many of my favorite tomes came from the private collections of a select few of my followers. They, however, were all strongly Dark aligned, and I rather doubt many of them would have books of the nature we're looking for right now.”
“Well, what families would have them?”
“I... well, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the Potters had a collection of such nature, but I have no idea what would have happened to it all after your parents death. They obviously weren't keeping it in the cottage they were living in at the time they died. It was quite small, and I rather doubt there was room for a library. Aside from the Potters... the Longbottom's, the Bones', the MacMillians. But perhaps even some of the conservative neutrals would hold books of the nature we want in their private collections. Ravenclaws tend to collect books; especially the wealthy families since the best books are quite expensive and a large personal collection is a sign of wealth. So the Entwhistle's and Goldstein's would be good places to look as well.”
“Do you know where any of those families live?”
“I know where Longbottom Manor is, and the Entwhistle Manor... I know where two of the Bones family homes were, however I don't know where they would likely keep any of their more valuable books. Of course, all of my knowledge is about nine years out of date now. There is also the simple fact that none of these families would likely be very receptive to a child showing up on their doorstep asking to search their library.”
“Well, we've got to try, right?”
“Oh, Harry... I don't know... Not only would we have to find a magic even capable of recombining them, without leaving behind a taint, but we would have to collect the horcruxes. I wouldn't dare permit you go to anywhere near them, in all honesty, Harry. I surrounded several of them with horribly dangerous protections, and two of them were given to my followers to protect, and I can't even say for sure where they would be now. It's just too dangerous, Harry.”
“I want to try,” Harry said with a determined voice.
“Harry...”
“Please, Tom? I want to at least try?”
“Oh, Harry...”
– –
“Tom! Is that –?” Harry asked with a silent gasp.
“A wand. Definitely,” Tom agreed as they stood with Harry's back against a shop building and watched the people walking up and down the streets for possible marks.
There was a man and a woman walking down the street talking in excited hushed tones. They stood out like a sore thumb with their obvious lack of modern-day fashion sense. The man was wearing a pair of plaid polyester pants and his wand was sticking out of his back pocket for all to see.
“I'm going for it!” Harry stated. “Think of what we can do if I've actually got a wand!”
“Be careful, Harry. Don't get caught.
“Of course! Who do you think you're talking to here?” Harry shot back, with a cocky smirk.
Harry pushed off the wall and began to stride confidently down the street in the direction of the witch and wizard. Just as he came up on the two, who were still deep in a private conversation as they walked, he 'tripped' over a crack in the sidewalk and brushed against the wizards side.
“Sorry, excuse me,” Harry muttered, keeping his head down before pushing past. The wizard muttered something but brushed it off and kept going.
As soon as Harry turned the corner, he made a run for it, grinning from ear to ear and filled with the thrill of not getting caught. He quickly ducked beneath a broken chain-link fence and behind a building's dumpsters. He sat back against the wall, hidden from view by the trash dumpster and pulled the wand out.
“Wow...” Harry whispered in awe as he ran his fingers over the thin wooden stick. He could feel magic thrumming inside it. It was warm, but also somewhat detached.
“Stretch your magic out into your hand and hold it in a firm grip,” Tom instructed and Harry closed his eyes to try and guide his magic like Tom had drilled him for so long. Finally he had a nice focus of magic in his hand and held the wand.
He felt Tom's mind coming to the forefront more and push his senses outward.
“Mahogany wood. Your father had a mahogany wand.”
Harry felt something both wonderful and unpleasant tighten in his chest. He was never sure how to feel when Tom told him things about his parents. On one hand, he loved to hear whatever he could about them, but on the other hand, it was a painful reminder of what Tom's other-self had done.
But that wasn't Tom. That was Voldemort.
In Harry's mind it was Voldemort who had killed his parents and done all of those horrible things, and his Tom was not Voldemort. Tom himself warned Harry against thinking in such a way, but let it go quickly enough. Harry figured it was probably because it was what was keeping their relationship in basically the same form it had been before Tom had finally come clean with Harry all those months ago.
“What else can you tell about it?” Harry asked, instead of the question about Harry's father's wand that he really wanted to ask.
“It seems to have a dragon heartstring inside it, although I can't be sure what sort of dragon at this point. It's not a perfect match, but I've seen wands with a lot more fight to them than this one. The wizard who owned it before must not have been very powerful, or maybe this isn't his first or only wand because it's not all that loyal to him.”
“So what does that mean, exactly?”
“Well, the more a wand fights you, the harder it is to cast magic with it. Wands choose the wizards, not the other way around. But given how much training of your core we've done over the last two years, I suspect you won't have too much trouble getting it to work for you with a bit of practice. Still; don't be surprised if it takes a bit before we can get a spell to cast properly with it.”
“Right. Okay. So... what should I try first?”
– –
“So I just stick the wand into the air and it'll summon the bus?”
“Yes.”
“What do we do if he won't take the muggle money?”
“He'll take it, Harry.”
Harry pulled in a deep breath to fix his nerves, pulled the hood of his oversized hoodie down a bit lower around his face and stepped out to the edge of the road by the park. It was totally dark except for the artificial yellow glow of the street lights with the bugs buzzing beneath them. He'd undone the lock on his cupboard with the stolen wand and snuck out after the Dursley's had all gone to sleep. It was the start of the summer holiday and Vernon's sister was supposed to be coming for a visit in a few days time. Learning of that particular fact had moved up their plans a bit, but it didn't matter that much, since they'd been planning this departure for months now.
Tom had no intention of letting Harry stay under the roof of those monstrous muggles any longer, at this point. The coming of 'Aunt Marge' was simply the final straw the broke the camels back, and moved up their plans.
Harry stuck his hand into the air, holding the mahogany and dragon heartstring wand as if he were hailing a cab and held it there for a moment, wondering if this was really going to work. A sudden bang rocketed through the air and Harry was thrown back into the bushes as a huge purple triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere right on the curb where Harry had been standing moments earlier.
Harry grumbled and picked his tattered rucksack back up and slung it over his shoulder. He kept his head down as he stepped up to the now-open door and pushed his way inside past the oily-skinned man who was standing there reciting an obviously well-practiced welcome speech about the Knight Bus.
“Where to?” the man asked in a huff after Harry had pushed past him.
“London. The Leaky Cauldron,” Harry said. “Er... I've only got muggle money. Can you take that?”
“Yeah, sure, kiddo. It'll be£4.”
Harry quickly dug into his pocket and pulled out his homemade ductape wallet and the neatly organized bills inside it. He fished out four pounds and handed them over before quickly ducking back into one of the squashy armchairs that filled the bus. He frowned at them somewhat incredulously but quickly took a seat.
Moments later the bus was rocketing through the countryside so fast Harry couldn't make sense of the blurs flashing past beyond the window. He had to hold on tightly to the sides of the chair just to keep from being thrown out as the bus turned and swerved at high speeds and he finally just closed his eyes and put most of his effort on trying not to throw up.
Finally the insanity drew to a close and he heard the bus's conductor call out 'The Leaky Cauldron, London.'
Harry stood up quickly, but had to hold himself upright for a moment on the surrounding chairs as he regained his balance and avoided making a mess on the floor. Finally he escaped the Knight Bus and stumbled his way onto the wonderfully still ground in front of a very dingy and run-down looking pub, nestled between a record store and a muggle bookshop. Harry ignored the bus conductor as he called out after him, wishing him a goodnight, and instead stepped forward towards the pub. His hand hesitated on the door handle for a moment before he steeled his determination and pushed it open.
It was a very dark and dingy looking place, A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. Harry's attention turned to an old balding man standing behind the bar whipping down a row of glasses.
“Mighty late for some'un a young as you are teh be showin' up on my doorstep,” the man said, looking down at Harry.
“I want a room for the night, but I've only got muggle money on me right now. Can you take that, or can you wait until morning when I can go to the bank and get it exchanged?” Harry asked curtly, keeping his head low.
“I can take muggle money fer a night,” the barman said with a nod. “I'm Tom the barman. What name should I be puttin' down fer ye in the book?”
Harry fought the urge to raise an incredulous eyebrow at the man. Surely this couldn't be the same Tom had his Tom had met back when he was only eleven years old? The barman looked old, yes, but not that old. But then again, Tom had said that witches and wizards live much longer lives than muggles do...
“He's the same man. I'm mostly shocked that in all this time he's remained in this grubby little pub,” Tom said with a tinge of his own incredulousness. “Give him the name we decided on.”
“Huh? Oh!” Harry jerked out of his internal thoughts and glanced up at the old man who was waiting with a patient, expectant sort of expression and his hand now holding a quill while poised over a book on the bar. “Um, Evan Harris.”
“Alright Mr. Harris. I ask for three galleons, eight sickles a night. In muggle money, I believe that comes out to be about seventeen pounds. Can yeh manage that?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said curtly before digging his wallet back out and pulling out a twenty pound note. “Can you make change?”
“Aye, I think I've got a bit of muggle money in the back. Just give me a minute,” Tom the barman said before disappearing into the door behind the bar. Harry waited a few moments impatiently, trying to bury his nerves and keep up the confident front. If he looked too much like a scared little kid, it only increased the risk that the barman would ask questions, or maybe even contact someone saying he had a runaway.
Finally the barman returned with three one pound notes and an old skeleton key attached to a small rectangle of wood with 102 written on it.
“Here yeh go, lad. You'll be in room one-oh-two. I serve breakfast in the mornings; it's part of the room fee, so it's no extra. It's served between six and nine.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, taking the key from the man and ducking around him towards the stairs. “I'll show myself up.”
Harry quickly climbed the stairs and found his room. He unlocked the door, threw himself inside and quickly shut and locked the door behind him. He heaved out a huge breath of relief before sinking down to the floor with his back against the door. A laugh of shock, relief and giddy accomplishment escaped his mouth and he found himself grinning from ear to ear.
He'd escaped. And he'd be damned if he was ever going to go back!
– –
“I want to start an account. I've got muggle money, but I also want some converted into wizarding currency to take with me.”
The goblin on the other side of the counter sneered down at him before reaching behind his station and pulling out a piece of parchment.
“How much money, exactly, are you intending to deposit, young man? We have a 100 galleon minimum deposit for new accounts.”
“I've got £1,200. What's that in galleons?”
“That is 240 galleons.”
Harry nodded. “Okay. Use 200 of that to start the account, and I'll take the rest in galleons with me.”
“Very well. Fill out this form and we'll begin the process of assigning you a new fault,” the goblin said as he pushed the piece of paperwork towards him. Harry picked up the quill that was provided on the station and wrote 'Evan Harris' on the first line. The parchment instantly turned red.
Harry pulled his hand back and frowned.
“I'm sorry, sir, but you must use your real name,” the goblin said, sneering down at him.
Harry glared back at him with a very distinct frown on his face. The goblin reached across and tapped one of his overly long fingers on the parchment, turning it back to it's normal color. Harry noticed that the name he had written on it before was not gone.
Grumbling slightly under his breath, Harry wrote 'Harry Potter' on the first line while the Goblin watched him.
When the parchment didn't turn red as soon as Harry moved on to the next line the Goblin's brows raised considerably into his wrinkled forehead.
“Mr. Potter?” the goblin asked with a tinge of surprise in his tone.
Harry looked up at him. “Er... yes?"
“Sir, I am afraid that it would seem rather foolish to allow you to open a new vault with us.”
“Why?"
“Because you already have one. Two, actually, but you only have access to the trust vault until you reach your maturity.”
“I have a vault?” Harry blanched in surprise.
“Merlin, I should have realized! Of course the Potters would have left you something!” Tom's voice echoed through his head.
“Yes, sir. Am I to assume that you do not have your vault key?”
“Er, no,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I had no idea I even had a trust vault. Obviously.”
The goblin frowned. “Hmm... yes, obviously. I will have the old key recalled and issue a new one. This will take a moment, please excuse me.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Harry stood there at the counter as the goblin left through a door along the back wall. He continued to stand there, growing ever more impatient for the next fifteen minutes. Finally the goblin was back and with him what looked like flat folded piece of velvet. He laid it out on the countertop and pulled the flap back revealing a large, old, key.
“Your vault key has been retrieved. The magic on it that allows us to recall it was being blocked at first. I apologize for the delay.”
“Who had it?” Harry asked, frowning deeply.
“I believe it was in the care of your legal magical guardian.”
Harry was growing impatient, so so was Tom, in his head. “Okay, and who is that?”
The goblin cocked a single eyebrow and stared at him for a moment. “Albus Dumbledore.”
Harry blanched slightly.
“Dumbledore is your magical guardian? How is that even possible? And why would he leave you with those awful muggles?” Tom wondered incredulously.
“I don't know, but there is something really fishy about this,” Harry thought back.
“Would you still like to deposit the 200 galleons, into your trust account?” the goblin asked, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.
“Go into the vault first and lets see how much your parents left in trust for you. You should also find out if you can get a statement of how much is in the family vault. It'll help us budget your long-term finances better,” Tom instructed.
“I'd like to visit the vault,” Harry said to the goblin. “And, is it possible to get a statement of what's in the family vault, even if I can't get into it until I'm seventeen?”
“That will be arranged. I'll have a complete inventory compiled and ready by the time you return from the trust vault.”
“Thanks.”
“Griphook! Take Mr. Potter to 687,” the goblin called over to another goblin, apparently named Griphook, who came over and gave Harry a very curt nod, and a tight sneer.
The goblin led him to the carts, and even though Tom had told him about them, nothing could have prepared him for the exhilarating ride that followed. Finally they reached the vault in question and Griphook unlocked it with the key before ushering Harry inside.
Harry was gobsmacked by the sight that he found before him. Piles upon piles of glittering gold coins filled the rather cavernous room with assorted gems in a pile towards the back.
“The goblin at the desk said that £1,200 was 200 galleons, right?”
“That's right.”
“And the gold coins are galleons?”
“Yes,” Tom responded sounding a bit stunned himself by the sight. “It would appear that your parents left you with quite a bit more than we expected, Harry. And this is just the trust vault."
“This is brilliant, Tom! Just think of what we can do with all this! No more pick-pocketing for me! Just think how long it took for us to save up all those pounds, and all this time there's been a mountain of gold sitting in this bank that's all mine!”
“Congratulations, Harry. This is a definite boon.”
Harry turned to the goblin. “How much is in here?”
“You can ask for a balance when we return to the lobby,” Griphook sneered from just beyond the door. Harry rolled his eyes before turning back to the vault. There was a leather pouch hanging on a hook by the door so Harry grabbed it and stuffed a couple hundred of the gold coins inside, as well as a few handfuls of the silver sickles for smaller purchases and making change. He was impressed that the little bag didn't feel heavy, despite the large quantity of coins inside it, and Tom pointed out that it likely had a featherlight charm on it.
They quickly left and returned to the lobby where they got a balance and inventory of both the Potter family vault and the trust vault. Harry was just turning to leave when he bumped into a rather plump witch and stumbled. She caught him by the shoulders quickly. “Oh, dear! I'm so sorry, pardon me.”
“It's fine,” Harry brushed it off quickly and was about to walk around her when she suddenly gasped.
“My word! Are you? It's Harry Potter!” she exclaimed and Harry was so stunned that he just stood there, staring at her.
“Harry Potter?” one of the other patrons exclaimed, and suddenly quite a few people around them were gasping and muttering, while others pushed forward or leaned around people to try and get a look at him.
Several rushed forward, sticking their hands out and grabbing hold of his in handshake, or patting him on the shoulder or on the head, all gushing excitedly. Harry gaped in shock, not sure what to do at all.
“Harry! Run!” Tom's voice finally broke through his confusion, and Harry ducked quickly, slipping between the witches and wizards, rolling once and slipping gracefully into a crouching scurry before standing taller and making a run for it. He had plenty of experience using his small size and stature, and his quick speed, in escaping adults. After all, no one starts out a master of pick-pocketing, but he'd still managed to never get arrested.
Harry darted out the large double doors of the ornate marble building, rounded the corner and dodged through a small shabby archway into a dingy side-alley.
He was panting and breathless when he finally found a dim little nitch where he figured he was safe from the strange crowd.
“Merlin, what was that!?” Harry gasped to himself.
“They seemed especially fascinated with your scar. They were all trying to touch your forehead.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess I mostly just noticed how grabby and creepy they all were. Geez, what the hell!?”
“I... oh my. It never even occurred to me, but it makes sense."
“What makes sense?” Harry snapped impatiently, feeling rather wound up by his unexpected encounter.
“You survived the killing cures, Harry. Not only that, but Voldemort supposedly 'died' instead. It makes perfect sense that your name would be rather renowned.”
“Are you saying you think I'm famous because they think I killed you as a baby?” Harry thought incredulously.
“Yes, I think that's a possibility.”
“But how would they recognize me?”
“Well, you do look quite a lot like your father, but I suspect your rather distinguishing scar might be the culprit here.”
“My curse scar?”
“Yes.”
“So... so if I want to avoid that happening again, I need to make sure I keep this thing covered up?”
“Yes, that's probably a good idea. Oh, and Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“You're in Knockturn Alley right now. I would suggest leaving quickly.”
“Oh bugger!” Harry yelped out loud as he looked around his surroundings and noticed a hag across the cobblestone road eyeing him rather hungrily. His eyes bugged out a bit and he quickly backtracked, slipping past the front of Gringotts and back down Diagon Alley towards the pub.
“I would suggest muggle coverup for the scar,” Tom spoke as he hurried down the road. “There aren't many glamours that could cover up a cursed scar, and I rather doubt I could teach any to you right now, anyway. It's a good thing we kept that thousand pounds in muggle money, I suspect we'll have to spend more time than anticipated in the muggle world just to avoid anyone recognizing you.”
“But you said to avoid the muggle world because they're a lot more likely to turn me into the authorities for having run away?”
“We'll just have to be cautious. Come on, lets go through the pub and out onto Charring Cross road. There should be a department store near by. You can pretend you're buying some cover-up make-up as a gift for your aunt.”
“Alright, sounds like a plan.”
–
Harry did manage to get some cover-up and started the habit of applying it every morning, and reapplying it every day shortly after mid-day. Tom also taught him a simple charm that changed the color of his hair, and he made his hair a brownish color, figuring it was close enough that Tom the barman would just assume when he'd seen him before, the dim lighting of the pub had given the illusion that it was black before.
Over the next few days, Harry set to some shopping with Tom's guidance. He bought a reasonable-sized wardrobe of wizarding wear – nothing too extravagant since they had no idea how long they'd have to stretch Harry's trust fund, and he would still need to reserve some for his eventual schooling expenses, but nothing second-hand was purchased either. Tom insisted that appearances were sometimes everything in the wizarding world, and Harry rather agreed. He was also quite thrilled to no longer be roaming around in his cousin's oversized cast-offs.
It was this thought in mind that also led him back to the muggle side to get a few t-shirts and jeans that actually fit, for those days that he needed to blend in with the muggles.
Tom also suggested Harry visit the magical occulist further down Diagon and see if there was anything that could be done about his eyes, since he figured the glasses were another feature that made him recognizable as 'Harry Potter'. The old man they met there said that he could fix Harry's eyes with a series of treatments that would span two weeks with a visit every-other day. Harry ended up deciding it was worth it, and got a pair of intermediary glasses that would automatically adjust to his changing eye prescription as they gradually improved.
The rest of his first week spent in the alley was treated mostly as a vacation, while Harry enjoyed freedom for the first time in memory. Tom let him have his fun, especially since Tom was in no hurry for Harry to start putting himself in danger.
Finally Harry rediscovered his focus and determination and found himself going through the various bookstores for books that might help them with rebinding Tom's soul. Harry himself, only had certain foundational understanding of magic – theoretical things that Tom had taught him in the darkness of his cupboard over the last few years, and meditation techniques for controlling small bits of his magic without a wand. Tom himself had never put a lot of stock growing up, into 'Light' magic, and as such, hadn't put a lot of effort into understanding it. As such, the foundational Light magic books that the store, Florish and Blotts had, turned out to be more useful than Tom had originally expected, which he only grudgingly admitted.
However, as expected, the bookstore only really stocked some of the more simple and foundational texts, and not any of the high theory books that they would eventually need if they ever hoped to find a way to restore Tom's soul and destroy the evil darkness that had created 'Voldemort'.
One evening back in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry starting sorting through the inventory of the Potter Family Vault he'd gotten from the goblins, because Tom insisted it was important to check it, even if they supposedly couldn't gain access to any of it yet.
“Deed to land owned?” Harry murmured aloud as he read over the old rough parchment.
“Hmm?”
“Right here it says here that the vault contains a 'deed to land owned', what's that mean?”
“The documentation of some land owned by the Potter family, no doubt. It looks like the goblins have been entrusted with making sure the property taxes are taken care of as well, from the note below it.”
“Does that mean I own land?”
“No doubt. Look a bit lower. It says there's another one. Both reference to an addendum on later pages... ah, flip to page twenty-four.”
Harry flipped through the pages, trying to make sense of the overly flourished script used on the header, footers, and page numbers.
“Ah, here it is,” Harry thought as he flattened out the page and skimmed down to the part detailing the deeds. “It says one is property is in Godric's Hollow, West Country... Oh, it says the property is condemned. Uhmm... ah, here's the other. It says it's in Rushmore Hill, Kent. 1.8 acres of land, 6 bedroom, private drive, gated and warded unplot-t-able. What's Unplottable?”
“It's a very expensive and powerful warding option for a wizard's home. It makes it so that muggles cannot find a property.”
“Oh.”
“This is something I think we should investigate, Harry.”
“You do?”
“Yes. First off – you own this house, Harry. We could probably live there without having to worry about paying an innkeeper, nor have to worry that at some point someone is going to realize who you are and try to take you back to your relatives.”
Harry swallowed and nodded his head.
“Secondly, it's entirely possible that this is an ancestral home of some sort, in which case, it's quite likely that any private collection of books the Potter family might have acquired over the years would be contained within it.”
“Ah, I see. Yeah, okay. So how do we find it?”
“The goblins will have the exact address as well as details on how to gain access; although it's likely got a blood aspect to the wards to identify you as a Potter."
“Okay. So Gringott's tomorrow?”
“Gringotts.”
– –
“All I do is place my hand on that stone?” Harry asked dubiously of the bored looking young wizard standing next to him. The man worked for Gringott's and had been sent to take Harry to his family's home because the goblins themselves were far too busy to tend to such tasks.
The wizard in question huffed an impatient sounding breath and nodded his head.
Harry rolled his eyes at the man and stepped forward towards the stone obelisk that stood about four feet tall with roughly flattened sides, making it rectangular in shape and completely lacking in any distinguishing features.
“Be prepared, Harry. It will probably prick your palm,” Tom warned.
“But there's nothing sharp,” Harry said, frowning as his hand hovered over the stone for a moment.
“Doesn't matter. It needs your blood to prove you have the right of entry. It will likely be quite small, just be prepared.”
“Alright,” Harry replied with a small nod. He placed his hand on the stone and only just barely flinched when he felt a sudden pain in the center of his palm. Just as quickly it was gone and Harry pulled back his hand to examine the damage. There was a tiny red mark and a small bit of blood, but as he watched the mark disappeared, as did the pain.
Harry made a slightly impressed little humming noise, but his attention was quickly pulled back to the ivy-covered wrought-iron fence in front of him as the section directly before him suddenly changed from continuous fence, into wide gate. The bit of grass beneath his feet suddenly changed into a gravel road going from the village road behind him, beneath the gate and into the property.
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the bored wizard before stepping forward and pushing on the gate. It creaked open rather unwillingly, and the ivy and plants growing about were broken off and torn from where they apparently wished to hold the gate closed.
“Well, looks like you're all set,” the wizard said in a bored tone. “I'll be heading off then. According to records the Floo connection went out ages ago, and if you want to reconnect it, you'll have to write to the Ministry. We don't deal with the set up or maintenance of such things.”
“Right,” Harry replied, also sounding bored and impatient now. Harry stepped through the gate and as soon as he was clear, it automatically closed behind him. He heard a loud crack and turned around to find the Gringott's wizard gone.
Harry began to walk down the gravel road and spotted the house down at the end of the curve. There were tall topiary trees lining the small private drive, with tall white planters alternating. The lawn was terribly overgrown, and the topiary trees clearly hadn't been trimmed or tamed in any way in ages. The planters were overflowing with vines and plants and weeds, and the garden he saw out just beyond the front of the house, was an obvious mess. There appeared to be a fountain in there as well, and Harry dreaded what sort of state that would be in.
He finally reached the front of the house and just stood there for a moment looking at it. The house was two stories tall; white with a gray high pitched shingled roof. It was probably three-times the size of the Dursley's home, and despite being rather worn down from a lack of up-keep, it still looked considerably grander.
Harry climbed the two stone steps to the front door and lay his hand upon the large wrought iron door handle. He felt a small surge of magic before hearing an audible click. He pushed the door open and hesitantly stepped inside. It was dark and smelled of dust. He took several steps inside and quietly closed the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, a series of sconces came to life with small flames inside glass lamps. To the left was a staircase, to the right was a wide open archway that seemed to lead into a sitting room of some sort. The furniture was all draped in white sheets, and Harry could feel a hum of quietly dormant magic in the air.
“Preservation charms,” Tom supplied in his mind and Harry nodded.
“So what now?”
“We explore.”
The house was large, but modest. The two largest rooms it he house were the master bedroom, and the library. It had a decent sized kitchen with a cupboard off the side that appeared to have several bunks in it, instead of traditional shelves for storage. When Harry came across it, he'd frowned in confusion until Tom explained that it was intended to be living quarters for a couple house elves. Servant-creatures that were basically bonded slaves.
Harry bristled slightly at how similar that mere idea was to what he himself had only just recently escaped from.
Stuck into a cupboard to be ignored and forgotten except for when he was needed to fix the food or clean the house or do the gardening. He quickly closed up the house elf cupboard and decided not to go back, any time soon.
Despite the fact that the house was now totally and officially his, Harry didn't feel comfortable in the master bedroom. Not because it seemed like it belonged to someone else – the house was mostly stripped of personal touches, and few personal possessions were left in the bedrooms outside of furniture – but rather because the room was just so huge. Harry may have despised his cupboard, but it has also lived practically his entire life knowing nothing else. The only reason the bed at the Leaky Cauldron had been easy enough to adjust to had been the fact that it was a four-poster with hangings that he could draw down.
It was this same thing that drew Harry to the 3rd largest of the bedrooms. It was still larger than Dudley's main bedroom back on Privet Drive, but not too large, and it was the only one with a four-poster bed in it.
Harry had taken the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron the day after first coming to his new house and officially 'moved out' of the pub. Tom the Barman bid him farewell, and Harry officially moved into his house. Before leaving Diagon Alley, however, Harry purchased a post owl, a rather beautiful young Snowy Owl that the shop keeper said he'd only just gotten the week prior. Upon going back to the house, Harry finished the form needed for requesting activation of the Floo and sent it off with his new, still-nameless, owl. He then set to the task of really and truly turning his house into a home.
It was not a simple endeavor, however. The house had sat empty for at least one and a half decades from what Harry could tell, and it was a mess both inside and out. He also still needed to go digging through the library in search of books on advanced Light Magic, and souls. Fortunately, Harry had plenty of time.
Days turned into weeks, into months. Harry found that gardening was much more fulfilling and much less of a miserable trial, when you were doing it for yourself and not for an ungrateful horse-faced bitch. Tom also taught him a number of very useful household charms that were simple enough that Harry didn't have much trouble getting the hang of them.
The villagers got used to seeing the young 10-year old boy coming into town and getting groceries and various other supplies, and while quite a few whispered about it and thought it curious that they'd never seen any parents, none actually pushed him with their questions and for that he was grateful.
Going through the books was slow, and at some point Tom switched it from a search for Light magic, into a general daily tutoring session. He had Harry going through magical history books, magical theory books, and practical spellbooks
It was from 'A History of Magic' by Bathilda Bagshot, that Harry found the name 'Hedwig', which he gave his owl.
She had gotten a fair amount of work to keep her busy the first few months of the summer, but it eventually dwindled to nothing as Harry finished up with all the arrangements with Gringotts and the Ministry that Harry needed to deal with to secure his place and his privacy. The owl didn't seem to mind too terribly that she no longer had things to keep her busy, although she did seem quite bored at times, so Harry took up the habit of talking to her at the end of each day and telling her what he'd been up to and what he was looking forward.
Tom was both curious and amused by this practice, but opted not to do anything like mock Harry for it, and instead just kept quiet. After all, you couldn't honestly expect a young boy to survive on conversation with a voice inside his head, alone. There were certain social needs that must be met, and if an owl helped Harry with those needs, then so be it.
Since Harry did not return to muggle primary school that fall, Tom took it upon himself to continue Harry's education in that area, becoming a full-fledged tutor I both mundane and magical subjects. Harry, being a child, often took some persuading to get him to drag himself away from whatever more interesting practice he might have been embroiled in, and switch to his studies, but having a very persistent voice in one's head has a way of pushing even the most stubborn of children to get some studying done.
– –
Harry was down on his hands and knees digging around in one of the rear gardens, clearing it of the plants that had died out during a rather early frost that happened just recently and checking on the various veggies that were closing approaching harvest season. He stretched to his right and pulled out another handful of dried up plants, twisting behind and discarding them in a pile behind him before reaching over and grabbing a few weeds.
“Considering how many times Petunia set you to this very task, and how much you despised it at the time, it never ceases to amaze me that you seem to enjoy doing it now,” Tom remarked.
Harry shrugged and made a little humming noise as he continued his work.
His hand wrapped around something that seemed to slither a bit in his grasp and he loosened his hand and looked down to find a small garden snake.
:Sorry little sssnake,: Harry hissed in apology as he dropped the handful of dead and dried plants before picking up the small snake more gingerly and moved him over to a small smooth rock that marked one of the edges of the garden. He reached into his back pocket and grabbed his hand, aiming it at the rock and focusing.
“It's Tepidis, right?” Harry asked in his mind.
“That's right,” Tom replied and Harry felt a gentle wave of pride that made him flush slightly with happiness.
Harry refocused on the rock, made a small jab and then a downward motion while saying ”Tepidis!”
The rock warmed gently and Harry heard the snake make a surprised sort of hiss before shifting into a sense of pleased approval.
:Thanks: the snake hissed and Harry grinned with a sense of accomplishment before turning back to his garden.
– –
“Harry?”
“Hmm?” Harry hummed back aloud as he stirred the bits of chicken breast and vegetables in his skillet with a wooden spoon before reaching over to add a bit more oil and then shake in some salt.
“Christmas is next week.”
“So?”
“I... was thinking that perhaps you might be interested in traveling to Godric's Hollow.”
Harry put the spoon down and frowned slightly as his mind sort of amorphously sifted through Tom's thoughts, mingling easily out of years of habit and practice, and the fact that Tom was making no effort to occlude them from him.
“You're thinking that my parents graves are there,” Harry said with sudden realization.
“Yes.”
“And you think I should go and... visit them?”Harry asked hesitantly, still frowning and feeling surprisingly conflicted.
“Don't hesitate because of me. If nothing, I owe them my respects as well.”
Harry swallowed and slowly nodded his head before blinking and turning some of his focus back to the food he was preparing for himself.
Cooking was definitely a lot more enjoyable when you got to eat the results of your efforts.
“Yeah... we'll go,” Harry said, finally.
– –
The Knight Bus banged into existence on the edge of road not far from Godric's Hollow's town center, and shook to a stop. A moment later, Harry practically tumbled out of it, grumbling slightly under his breath about the wizarding population in general being made up of a bunch of lunatics if they honestly thought that bus was a valid transportation option.
Tom snickered in his mind and agreed.
He stepped away from the bus and a moment later there was another monstrous bang and the bus vanished.
Harry turned his attention to the town around him and all of the people, completely oblivious to what had just occurred, and wondered where to go.
“Your family's home is down the road to the right. I believe the local church is down the road behind you. That is the most likely place for a cemetery,” Tom supplied and Harry nodded silently.