Chapter Text
Tom had rarely witnessed adults showing such unreserved affection. At the orphanage, the matrons saved their kindness for the youngest children, and even then, it was rationed—an approving hand on a shoulder, a back rub if one was ill, but only for those who earned it. Certainly never for the “devil child,” no matter how well he scrubbed the floors or how quietly he kept.
Mrs Pevensie was something altogether different. She pulled Edmund into a fierce hug as Lucy had, patting his back and cupping his face as though to assure herself he hadn’t vanished in the months since she’d last seen him. She turned him this way and that, fretting over how he’d changed, all the while peppering him with questions.
Tom stood awkwardly to the side, his throat tight as though a hand were pressing against it.
Then Mrs Pevensie turned her attention to him, her warm, brown eyes crinkling with a welcoming smile. “And this must be Tom! Or would you prefer Thomas? Ed has told us so much about you.”
“Tom is fine, Mrs Pevensie. I hope it’s been good things you’ve heard?” he replied, his tone light but measured.
“Please, call me Helen,” she said brightly. “And is there some reason I shouldn’t hear only wonderful things?” Her teasing glance darted to Edmund, who looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“Of course not, Helen,” Tom answered, allowing a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. “I’m a model student—top of the class.”
Would she have been so welcoming if she knew what he’d done to keep himself safe? The shadows he’d hidden in, the lines he’d crossed? He studied her face for any sign that Edmund might have told her. How much had Edmund shared with his family? From what Tom could tell, the Pevensie siblings shared everything among themselves, but their parents might be another story.
Christopher Pevensie—“Call me Christopher,” he’d said with a firm handshake—clapped Edmund on the back in a gesture of paternal affection before gathering the family to head for the train platform.
“You’ll be rooming with Edmund and Peter this summer,” Helen said as they walked. “I’m sorry we couldn’t offer you a guest room—the house belongs to my aunt, and she only ever needed space for one child. It’ll be a bit snug, but at least it’s still standing.” Her voice faltered, her smile wobbling for just a moment before she steadied herself. “Peter is only a year older than you, and Susan is your age. Lucy here is a year younger than Edmund—she’ll be joining your boarding school in September.”
“I assure you, whatever you have to offer is more than I could have hoped for,” Tom said sincerely. It would be leagues better than the orphanage or the factory housing.
Still, as he stepped onto the train and took his seat, the thought of Mrs Kelly, Mrs Jones, Annie, and Evie sent a pang through his stomach. What would they think when he didn’t return to Greenwich? Would they believe him dead? Or dare to hope he’d found some measure of safety? He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away.
Edmund and Lucy were chatting animatedly with his parents, asking after his siblings as though they hadn’t been exchanging letters all term. Tom noted the careful omissions in the conversation—things left unsaid, curiosities sidestepped—and it confirmed his suspicion: Edmund kept his parents in the dark about certain matters. But why? And just how much of his exploits had Edmund shared with them?
At one point, Christopher and Helen exchanged a glance that seemed loaded with unspoken meaning. When Edmund asked about plans for the summer, Helen hesitated before saying, “We’ll be out of the house for most of the summer.” Her voice was apologetic, but there was an unmistakable finality in it. “There’s some important business taking us to America, and we’re catching a steamer to Boston next week. I’m not sure we’ll be back before September, but I trust Peter and Susan will keep an eye on everyone.”
Edmund deflated, his shoulders slumped, but was that relief Tom saw? Lucy had already heard the news and placed a hand on Edmund’s arm in solidarity.
For his part, Tom kept his expression carefully neutral. A summer largely free from adult supervision? The possibilities were... intriguing.
☩ 𓆙 ☩
The station was bustling with soldiers and civilians alike as the group of five hailed a cab, Christopher briskly loading their trunks into the boot before climbing into the front seat. The other four piled into the back, Tom’s long legs awkwardly pressed against the front seat. He shifted slightly, trying not to bump Edmund beside him.
“Not too far from here; you won’t need to be packed like sardines for long,” Christopher assured them cheerfully, giving the driver the address.
Tom gazed out the window as the city streets gave way to quieter neighbourhoods. When the cab finally stopped in front of a red-brick row house with a grey roof, Tom took it in with quiet curiosity. The house was charming in its way, though relatively small for a family of six—seven now, including him.
Christopher stepped out first, Helen close behind, while Tom hesitated, his grip on the door handle tightening as he caught movement in the upstairs window. Two faces peered down at them—Peter and Susan, if he wasn’t mistaken—before vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared.
By the time Christopher had paid the driver and opened the front door, the older Pevensie siblings were waiting in the entryway. Peter reached Edmund first, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder and pulling him into a brief, firm hug. Susan followed, smiling warmly as she wrapped her arms around Edmund.
“Let the boy breathe!” Christopher chuckled as he stepped past them with Helen, heading further into the house.
Tom lingered near the door, suddenly unsure of himself. Edmund, however, turned with enthusiasm, gesturing to the others. “Tom, this is Peter and Susan.” His face lit up in a way Tom wasn’t used to seeing, his hand resting lightly on Lucy’s shoulder as if to keep her close.
Tom swallowed, his throat inexplicably dry. “A pleasure,” he managed, though his voice sounded stiff even to his own ears.
Peter stepped forward, extending a hand. “Welcome to our home,” he said with a firm handshake that seemed almost too formal for a boy of his age. His tone was polite, but there was a quiet authority to it.
“Come on, then,” Peter added, releasing Tom’s hand and grabbing Edmund’s trunk. “Let me show you where we’ll be staying.”
“I could have carried that myself!” Edmund protested, his ears reddening.
“But you’re still so small!” Peter teased, grinning mischievously.
Susan and Lucy burst into laughter, and Edmund’s blush deepened. Observing the exchange, Tom felt the corners of his mouth twitch despite himself. Whatever the context, it was clear this was an ongoing sibling joke that spoke to their ease and familiarity.
The upstairs was narrow, the staircase creaking under their combined weight. Peter led them to a room midway down the corridor, pushing the door open to reveal a small but tidy space.
“This’ll be us for the summer,” Peter announced, setting Edmund’s trunk at the foot of the bed on the right. The room had two single beds, one on either side, with matching blue linens. A small desk occupied by a chess set and a chest of drawers occupied the wall to the left, while a wardrobe stood to the right. Peter’s bed was already rumpled, his trunk stationed at the foot.
“You can take the left bed,” Peter said, nodding towards the neatly made one. “Ed and I will share this one. Top drawer in the dresser’s mine, but you’re welcome to one of the others. There’s space in the wardrobe if you need to hang anything.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, carefully placing his trunk at the left bed's foot. He hesitated, eyeing the room briefly before deciding against unpacking for now. His belongings—second-hand and well-worn—felt embarrassingly out of place here in this neat bedroom. He didn’t want to draw attention to the small basket of food he’d hidden under a preservation charm, either.
Peter seemed to notice but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he moved briskly to the door. “Susan and Lucy are sharing with Mum and Dad at the end of the hall; the tin bath is in the kitchen, and the loo is in the yard.”
“Much appreciated,” Tom replied, trying to sound casual.
Peter lingered momentarily as if weighing whether to say more, but Susan’s voice rose from downstairs, calling them to tea. “You’ll get used to the noise,” Peter said lightly before heading down the stairs.
Tom glanced at Edmund, who shrugged with a grin. “Welcome to life with my family,” he said.
Tom nodded, following them out of the room. For the first time in years, he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the people around him.
The group descended the stairs to the dining room, where Susan had neatly arranged tea and biscuits on the table. The room was small but warm; its mismatched chairs pulled in from different corners of the house to seat everyone. The air carried the faint scent of bread baking, mingled with the crisp freshness of the flowers just beyond the window.
“We used the last of the sugar we had, with the rationing and all,” Helen said, settling into a chair that creaked slightly under her. “But we thought this was a special enough occasion to warrant it.” Her smile was genuine but tinged with the faint weariness of a mother trying to hold everything together.
Susan moved deftly between them, pouring tea with a grace that wouldn’t have been out of place at a formal gathering. Her movements reminded Tom of the Pureblood witches at Hogwarts, their every gesture calculated for elegance. Yet here, the tea set was chipped and worn, the silver spoon slightly bent, and the tablecloth faded from years of washing. Despite this, Susan carried herself as though she were pouring from the finest china in the land.
Helen and Christopher sat more casually, their manners less polished but still warm and inviting. Tom watched them closely, curious about where this family—obviously middle-class—had learned such poise. Edmund and Lucy mirrored their siblings, their gestures natural yet refined. It didn’t make sense to him. This wasn’t the sort of decorum taught to children in ordinary homes or a skill one simply stumbled upon.
“You have an identification card, Tom?” Helen’s question brought him back to the present.
Tom nodded. “I got it last summer in Greenwich.”
“Excellent,” she said with a small sigh of relief. “Then we can sort out yours and Ed’s ration coupons for the summer. It won’t be what you’ve grown accustomed to at school, but we make do with what we have.”
“That you’ve taken me in at all is a kindness I can hardly repay,” Tom replied, his tone earnest. “Neither world is particularly well-equipped to look after orphans.”
Helen’s brow furrowed, and she frowned into her tea. “Everyone deserves a place to call home,” she said firmly, as if daring the world to disagree.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable but rather thoughtful. Lucy reached for a biscuit, her small hand hovering momentarily as though deciding which one looked the nicest. She glanced at Tom, her wide, curious eyes meeting his.
“Do you like biscuits, Tom?” she asked suddenly, her voice light and musical, cutting through the room’s heavier undertone.
Tom blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. “Yes, I do.”
“Good,” she said with a grin, nudging the plate closer to him. “Mum says they’re best when shared.”
Edmund snorted softly, and Susan gave him a pointed look that quieted him at once. Tom reached for a biscuit, feeling oddly compelled to participate in this strange little ritual of generosity. It was alien to him—this easy, unquestioning kindness—but he wanted to accept it if only to understand what made these people so different.
As the conversation turned to lighter topics—the allotment garden, Lucy’s plans for Hogwarts, and Peter’s summer projects—Tom remained quiet, observing them all with the sharp eyes of a predator sizing up his surroundings. This house was nothing like the orphanage. It was not grand or luxurious, but it had something far rarer: warmth.
And though he would never admit it aloud, it unsettled him more than he cared to say.