Chapter 1
It was 1940 when Tom met him. The war had started only a year ago and Wool's Orphanage was at an all-time low, especially after the major hit of the Great Depression.
It was normal for the government to put in efforts of restoration for the 'needy' (Tom cringes slightly when he thinks of what a lower level he is placed in in the muggle world) and Tom often had encounters with many muggles who strived to aim for the 'better world' by donating, helping and volunteering. He often worried if anyone from his school would ever come to Wool's and find his poor, defenseless self sulking away in the dark corridors that lead to his dimly lit room.
At the same time, he was slightly excited at the idea that someone from the magical world would seep its way into Tom's miserable life during the summers. It was an annoying mix of both.
This thought lingered at the back of Tom's mind for quite a few weeks as he walked muggles distribute canned goods and spare donated clothes. Even the clothing Tom was wearing was from another boy of his age. He never had anything fresh of his own.
He watched one of the kids receive a weakly lit chocolate chip muffin, for it was her 12th birthday. The lack of money, the constant need for donations and the kindness of other muggles—a muffin was the best they could do. It wasn't a big deal, as something sweet like that was still a treat for the kids of Wool's Orphanage.
Tom was still eleven, despite already finishing his first year at Hogwarts, soon to start his second year in a month or so. He spent his last birthday at that school as well, although he didn't get anything other than a few congratulatory words from a few teachers. He was quiet; he was well aware of that already, but people still avoided him, and although ashamed to admit, he was terribly lonely. Screw having late birthdays.
Mrs. Cole lightly tapped the girl's shoulders as she blew out her candle, when a loud knock was heard from the door.
"There he is!" Mrs. Cole clasped her hands, seemingly brighter than usual. She strutted to the door and widely opened it to see a man holding two large bags over his shoulders, covering his face. The bags, almost overflowing, were full of toys and books. The kids who saw all stood up from their seats in excitement, even the older kids, who always claim they were 'too old for toys.'
"Thank you for your patience, Mrs. Cole," the man said, dropping the bags as Mrs. Cole tried to get the kids to back off so she could properly distribute the toys.
Mrs. Cole was a tall, skinny woman who always looked like something was stressing her out, although she seemed pretty nice in nature. She was sharp and witty, and quite dislikable if need be. But she seemed so bright and full of glee watching the man who brought in all sorts of knickknacks pat the kids on the head.
The man had pretty messy dark hair, tan skin and round glasses that were not sitting straight on the tall bridge of his nose. Tom was the only kid who sat back as everyone else took an interest in the toys, feeling wary. He could feel the man take quick glances at him as he talked to Mrs. Cole.
"These toys are brand new!" Mrs. Cole said, inspecting the toy car as she was handing a bunch out. "You must keep them in such good quality, and for them to be donated!"
"Ah, no. I had to buy them brand new. Since the war, I lost all my childhood toys. And I have no kid of my own to buy them for. Speaking of…"
Tom watched as Mrs. Cole and the unnamed man slowly whispered to each other. At this point, both adults were stealing glances at Tom. Feeling uncomfortable, he forced himself to pretend to take interest in the toys and books and slowly approached the bags, squeezing his way in as the other kids upstairs started to take notice.
He picked up whatever book he could get his hands on. Wuthering Heights.
"Isn't that too difficult for you?" one of the older kids asked, bumping shoulders with Tom. "You're like, nine years old."
"I'm eleven. And I'm turning twelve this year. Aren't you too old to be playing with toy trucks?" Tom sent a glare at the older boy, who hid the truck behind him and ignored Tom. He got up and walked away. Whatever.
Tom went upstairs to his own room. It was a Sunday afternoon and there wasn't much to do. His room was placed in a way where the sunlight went through the window and hit a sunbeam directly to his closet. The closet full of things that Dumbledore made him return.
Even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathizing movement to the woods; and I think that circumstances determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
Tom immediately closed the book when he heard footsteps approaching near his door. Living in a place like this, you notice patterns in footsteps. And this was no singular person; it was two, heavy steps—two adults.
"He scares the other children…"
"A bully?"
"I think he must be, but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents... Nasty things... Billy Stubbs 's rabbit ... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it.?"
Tom's door was violently knocked at before Mrs. Cole opened the door. "Tom? You have a guest."
Tom straight straight and pushed his book to the side. It was the mysterious unnamed man from before.
He seemed like a young adult. Smiling awkwardly at Tom, he silently gestured to Tom's bed, asking as if he could sit. Tom nodded, almost frantically, and moved to the side.
"Hey," the man said, rubbing the back of his next. "Tom, right?"
Tom slightly lowered his head to say yes.
"Well, I'm Harry. Potter. I mean—ahem—I'm Harry Potter."
Well? What did that mean?
Tom simply remained silent.
"I was looking to adopt someone; here, aha, you know—"
"You don't want to adopt me."
Only one other family attempted to adopt Tom; that was when he was seven. Even then, he still said the same thing.
You don't want to adopt me.
"Ah, I assumed you'd say that, so I wanted to let you know that by the least, I know you're a wizard, Tom."
This Harry Potter man was looking at Tom intently. His green eyes seemed to glimmer in Tom's awfully colourless room.
"Oh. Is that it?"
"Well, you know, being a wizard and all, and the times going on, it's difficult living in a muggle space like this. Trust me, I know. I just want to—you know—provide a better living space for someone like you."
Tom stared at Harry Potter. So am I just a charity case?
He thought about it. Then looked at the Harry Potter man again.
"...Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. You can, uhm, adopt me, or whatever."
"Okay."