Chapter 3
Chapter Three:
Evan persistently refers to Harry as ‘mama.’
Harry finds himself grappling with uncertainty, questioning whether Evan is calling for their actual mother or simply acknowledging Harry as a parental figure. The situation is intricate, leaving Harry unsure about the best way to navigate it.
Furrowing his brow, Harry adjusts Evan's woolly hat, ensuring it covers the little one's ears, and allows him to toddle happily alongside in the snow. The early morning hour means that only a scattering of individuals traverse Diagon Alley. Harry slides his hands into his coat pockets and nestles his nose into his scarf, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Evan.
The child moves clumsily, his unsteady legs causing him to stumble, yet his face beams with a wide grin, his cheeks and nose tinged pink from the cold.
Here, at the very least, Evan is in a safer haven than he would ever find at the Dursleys'. By protecting Evan, Harry is shielding him from a future laden with fear and suffering. In truth, he is also rescuing himself from such a fate. At least in this reality, another iteration of Harry can experience a joyful childhood and lead a conventional life.
Harry is jolted from his thoughts as Evan tumbles forward, landing flat on his face. Letting out a sigh, Harry stoops down to the snowy ground, lifting Evan up and steadying him on his feet. The infant emits disgruntled noises, scrunching his nose as Harry clears the snow from his chubby face and tiny coat.
Removing his scarf, Harry wraps it snugly around Evan's neck, offering a warm smile as the child's emerald eyes start to glisten with tears.
"No need to fuss," Harry reassures, planting tender kisses on Evan's cheeks, nose, and forehead, eliciting joyful squeals.
"There," Harry says, pulling back with a soft smile. "That's much better."
"Mama," Evan calls out, raising his small arms into the air. "Up."
Harry relents, scooping Evan into his arms and placing him on his hip. He casts a warming charm around them and proceeds down Diagon Alley. As they approach Gringotts, Harry steers them into Knockturn Alley.
The narrow street is empty. Harry's steps, crunching through the snow, reverberate along the path. Reaching Borgin and Burkes, he enters the shop, the bell above the door chiming softly with his and Evan’s arrival.
Harry discovers Tom stationed behind the counter, meticulously cataloguing cursed items that are placed to the side. As Tom raises his head, his grey eyes glint upon seeing Harry. He sets aside his quill and closes his tome, directing his full attention to Harry.
"Hello," Tom greets in a hushed tone.
Harry remains silent, strolling along the dusty aisle. He notices that the playing cards from the previous day's display have been replaced with tarot cards. He selects one depicting death. Handing it to Evan, the infant grasps the card between his tiny fingers, emitting soft coos.
Nothing else captures Harry's interest. Absentmindedly, he traces his fingers over a silver chalice, old coins, and some woven bracelets, simply seeking something to occupy him. After all, cursed items have no effect on him. It’s one of the many perks of being the Master of Death.
Evan babbles something soft, prompting Harry to place him on the ground, allowing the toddler to roam freely. Moving towards the front counter, Evan extends the death card to Tom.
Harry smiles, unable to hold back the reaction as Tom leans over the counter, taking the tarot card from Evan's hand with a puzzled expression. After flipping the card over, Tom promptly sets it down.
Right, Harry muses. Tom harbors a fear of death.
Evan babbles once more, then glances expectantly at Harry, tapping his hands impatiently against the counter's side. With a sigh, Harry approaches.
"How much for that tarot card?" He inquires.
Tom blinks. "It's cursed."
"I’m aware," Harry acknowledges. "How much?"
Tom inclines his head ever so slightly to the side, his eyes shifting from Harry to Evan and back again. "It's on the house," he murmurs. "Feel free to keep it."
Harry accepts the offer and returns the tarot card to Evan, who clutches it tightly to his chest before toddling off to explore the other corners of the shadowy shop with curiosity. Harry observes Evan's movements before placing his hands on the counter, hoisting himself up to perch on the edge, ensuring a clear view of the infant.
"Harry," Tom begins, pausing as he rests an elbow on the counter, his cheek cradled in his hand. He appears to be carefully choosing his words. "Is the child yours?"
"Yes," Harry affirms with a nod. "Evan is mine."
And in a convoluted manner, Evan belongs to Tom as well.
"No more questions," Harry says. "You've hit your quota for the day."
"Mhm," Tom acknowledges. "I'll prepare some tea for you, then." With that, he disappears into the back room, leaving Harry with a tug in his chest, an internal impulse urging him to follow.
Harry resists, disregarding the sensation. He observes as Evan drops his tarot card, emits a dissatisfied sound, and attempts to retrieve it on wobbly legs. After a struggle, Evan lets out a weary sigh, as if exhausted, causing Harry to suppress a chuckle.
"Here's your tea," Tom announces upon his return.
Harry accepts the cup, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers as he lifts it. The steam rises invitingly as he takes a sip. There's something oddly familiar about the way it glides down his throat. Harry runs his tongue over his teeth. Veritasium may have no taste of scent, but he realizes he must have just imbibed it. Fortunately, his resistance to truth serums now proves beneficial.
Feeling a wave of boredom, Harry casually tips his cup, allowing the tea to spill over Tom's tome.
Tom, looking bewildered, regards Harry as though he has sprouted an extra limb. Harry finds this appearance fitting for him. Setting aside the now-empty tea cup, Harry hops off the counter, and scoops Evan into his arms with the intention of departing.
"It's time to go, Evan," Harry mutters, making his way to the door. "Mama is bored and in need of some excitement. Preferably in a place where people aren't trying to dose us with Veritaserum."
He leaves the shop and strides a mere three paces before Tom emerges from Borgin and Burkes, his hand curling around Harry's elbow, halting his movement.
Instantly, a wave of warmth envelops Harry, originating in his chest and spreading like wildfire throughout his body, kindling him from within, akin to a star on the brink of collapse.
Harry's green eyes meet Tom's grey ones. "Legilimency doesn't work on me either," he asserts before Tom can even try.
"Harry," Tom breathes out, his chest heaving with the intensity as their connection takes over. Drawing nearer, he encroaches upon Harry and Evan, inclining his head with a wounded expression.
Harry refuses to succumb to this manipulation a second time. He averts his gaze.
"Harry," Tom repeats, his tone now tinged with something akin to desperation. His grip on Harry's elbow tightens, no doubt leaving bruises in its wake. Tom wraps his free arm possessively around Harry’s waist and leans into his shoulder. He remains there, gasping for breath.
Harry's eyelashes flutter at the sensation of Tom's brown hair tickling his cheek. Despite the intimate proximity, a sense of unease creeps over him. They are enemies, and moreover, Tom remains unaware of their shared connection. It would be in their best interest to maintain their distance.
And yet, Harry refrains from pulling away or pushing Tom aside. Instead, he nestles his face into the curve of Tom's neck. Evan is sandwiched between them, but the absence of any signs of discomfort from the child suggests contentment. Could it be that Evan is also basking in the same warmth that Harry feels?
Lost in the moment, Harry fails to gauge the passage of time until he notices the gentle descent of snowflakes from the sky. The fresh snowfall blankets the remnants of yesterday's snow, creating a pristine white landscape that blinds Harry's vision, prompting him to blink slowly and deliberately. Leaning his cheek against Tom's shoulder, he inwardly groans as he catches sight of Walburga Black.
The witch stands outside the parchment shop, her dark eyes widened in astonishment, mouth agape in disbelief. Harry empathizes with her reaction. If he were in Walburga Black’s shoes, witnessing Tom Riddle embracing another wizard and a child, he'd likely be just as stunned.
"Tom," Harry murmurs, making an effort to withdraw. "We're attracting attention."
It takes Tom approximately six seconds to part from Harry. His hands, one resting on the small of Harry's back and the other encircling his elbow, remain in their fixed positions. Though Tom has managed to steady his breathing, there are crimson specks swirling in his grey eyes, a clear sign of his tumultuous emotions.
"Is she an acquaintance of yours?" Harry pretends ignorance regarding Walburga Black.
With great reluctance, Tom drags his gaze away from Harry, to Walburga and then swiftly back again. "She holds no significance to me," he states dismissively.
Harry arches an eyebrow, adjusting Evan higher onto his chest. “That’s not going to make me kiss you again,” he remarks, unimpressed.
Tom scoffs, curling his mouth into a smirk. His reaction is so deceivingly human, so foolishly charming, that Harry grabs him by the tie and pulls him in for a kiss before he can think better of it. It’s just a chaste press of their mouths, warm and firm. It’s enough to send lightning zapping through Harry’s veins.
"You're welcome," Harry says as he breaks the kiss, releasing Tom's tie as he is also set free.
Patting Tom on the chest, Harry offers a sweet smile. "Oh, and Tom?" He feigns innocence, batting his eyelashes. "If I find out you killed Hepzibah Smith, you'll never see me again.”
With that ultimatum, Harry apparates back to his flat.
1666 words//unedited.