Wuthering Heights

It had been a week since Tom settled into Mr. Harry Potter's home.

Over the course of seven days, Tom learned many things about his new guardian.

Harry Potter was a Gryffindor, was a Quidditch seeker (though Tom wasn't very interested in that) and graduated about a year and a half ago. He is nineteen. His birthday was last month.

"You said you were twenty-one last week."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

Harry Potter did not reply to him after that.

Harry Potter's home was always warmly lit, a fire cackling almost at all times. It was very nicely sized and homely for a guy who apparently lives alone. With no wife, or even a girlfriend.

Tom expected to see magic everywhere, considering that Mr. Harry Potter is a wizard. He wasn't allowed to use magic until he was the age of seventeen and he lived in a muggle orphanage. It was so boring.

Yet Mr. Harry Potter was also very muggle-like, much to Tom's dismay. Harry Potter manually washed the dishes and folded the laundry one by one while watching the telly. He only used magic when explaining magic things to Tom, like showing him a patronus. Tom had decided that no matter what, he was going to learn to summon a patronus this year.

"Hahaha, I actually grew up with my muggle side of the family. My parents passed away a long time ago."

"Muggle side? But you are a wizard?"

"I'm a half-blood."

"Oh." Tom looked down, a little disappointed. He naturally just assumed that someone willing to adopt a boy like him would be of pure-blood descent, at least.

He looked up from his book. He has been reading Wuthering Heights little by little by the passing day. His second year at Hogwarts was to start in about a week and a half and a list of things he needed to do was sent by an owl a few days ago. They were to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow.

He watched Harry Potter write down numbers on a piece of paper and pencil. Tom also somehow assumed Harry Potter would just use ink and quill. But alas, as stated before, Harry Potter is quite muggle for a wizard. Or at least, that is what Tom concluded from his small array of knowledge of the wizarding world.

"Aaargh… When were calculators invented…?" Harry Potter mumbled to himself.

"What's a calculator?" Tom asked.

"Oh. It's nothing."

Harry Potter had a thing for spitting out names of random things Tom has never heard of before. He did not like that all that much.

Tom stared down at his knobby knees. He wasn't quite tall enough to fully reach the floor with his feet when sitting on a chair, only the tip toes, which annoyed him quite a bit. He clicked his tongue.

"Something wrong?"

Another thing Tom did not like that much about Harry Potter was his ability to notice any sort of inconvenience Tom seemed to have. He prided himself on being good at masking what he feels, yet Mr. Harry Potter seemed to know immediately.

"Nothing…"

"Actually, Tom, do you have an owl?"

Tom shook his head. "They said there would be no reason to need one since I could just use the school's owlery anyway…"

Harry shook his head. "You need a companion, at least. I got an owl as a birthday gift on my first year at Hogwarts, you know. Her name was Hedwig. She was with me all throughout my school year."

"Hedwig? I read about that in the History of Magic."

"Bingo. I borrowed that name when I was browsing through my textbooks."

"What happened to Hedwig? Is she still here?"

Harry shook his head. "She died in an accident a few years back, unfortunately. Wish you could've met her; she was really smart. I think you would've liked her a lot."

Tom had a sudden urge of curiosity to know more about Hedwig, but kept his mouth shut.

Harry Potter took Tom Riddle in as a sort of charity case. This is what Tom has decided to think of. But he took the opportunity because Wool's was just dreadful to be in, around all that noise with those filthy, low-class muggles. However, this formed a slight distaste in Tom's mouth. Because no one actually wanted him. They wanted the reputation. That's what Tom imagined would happen in a few years, when everyone finds out he's a high-born pureblood. Or at least, when Tom finally figures out his ancestry.

It was awkwardly silent as Harry Potter kept mumbling to himself about a calculator and scribbling on paper, and Tom slowly opened up his book.

'Oh dear, I don't wonder! And how did you like the master?'

'A rough fellow, rather, Mrs Dean. Is that not his character?'

'Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as a whinstone! The less you meddle with him the better.'

'He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such a churl. Do you know anything of his history?'

'It's a cuckoo's sir—I know all about it; except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how he got his money, at first—and Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock—the unfortunate lad is the only one, in all this parish, that does not guess how he has been cheated!

Tom let out a snort and peaked above his book to see that Harry Potter did not bat an eye. Hareton Earnshaw—the last remaining Earnshaw—unknowingly cheated out of his wealthy inheritance; it was almost laughable. How pathetic and stupid does one have to be to be cheated so easily? Clearly, this Heathcliff was nothing more than an average man who had the wits and intelligence to climb his way up. Tom had to give credit where it is due, although Heathcliff is quite unlikeable. Perhaps Tom could find his way to wealth. If he is such a respected pureblood, he must have some sort of wealth and pleasure waiting for him in the wizarding world!

***

Harry Potter let out a chuckle.

"What is it, Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Well, here it says you only need Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2. During my second year, I think I needed to buy seven more books added to that."

"Really? What changed?"

Harry Potter opened his mouth to speak, but shut it and shrugged. "No idea. Change of education, I guess."

Diagon Alley was bustling and busy, exactly like the first time Tom had ever come here. It was less overwhelming this time, but overwhelming all the same.

"Also, there's no need to call me by my full name. Harry is good enough, you know."

Tom shrugged. "I like Mr. Harry Potter more."

"Really…?" Harry Potter looked a little defeated. 'I've been calling you Tom this entire time..."

Tom simply kept walking forward before entering the pet shop.

"Pick anyone you'd like," Harry Potter said, patting Tom's left shoulder. "I've never been in here myself, but man, they have a lot of options."

Tom eyed around before his eyes landed on a brown owl with the most brilliant amber eyes, staring right back at him in an almost taunting way. The owl, although in a cage like the others, remained calm and quiet. It had long ear tufts on the side and only turned its head left and right to mockingly stare at its other owl peers.

"That one," Tom pointed. "I want that one." He coughed. "Please."

"Ah! A great-horned owl, nice choice," said the shopkeeper. "An' she's a smart one too. I think this fella's been dying to leave this place for ages, but no one wanted to buy her since she's so nitpicky all the time."

Tom was given a large, dome-like cage to hold as the owl stared at him back. Clearly, it did not trust Tom. He was fine with that. He was going to force it to trust him either way.

They kept staring at each other as Harry Potter paid for the owl and walked out.

"What're going to name her?"

Tom shrugged. "Maybe I should borrow a name from the History of Magic like you did."

***

Joan of Arc, otherwise known as Jeanne D'Arc, was a French human of magical descent, although muggle-born. She led and won battles in the Hundred Years War after testifying that she has had heavenly visions and that her acting was out of divine guidance. Joan of Arc was sent an acceptance letter to Beaubaxtons, yet she was one of the first witches of her time to reject the invitation and send herself out in war. Although she had no magical education or training, many witches and wizards of that time testified that she had used magic in her battles that she herself manifested for her advantage. She had brought down gender norms and was one of the first witches and wizards to openly show their magical abilities to the muggle population.

"Joan… Jeanne…" Tom mumbled between the two names as he started at his new owl. She turned her head and started at him in a mocking manner. Sticking her tongue out, probably, if personified.

"What do you think?" Tom asked his brand new owl, who sat down perched at the edge of his bedroom window.

His room was quite similar to the one at the orphanage, just much bigger. Yet the bedding was softer and the room was much warmer. Tom often made himself comfortable in his bed to read but was fast asleep. Tom has been getting an awful lot of sleep these days. School was less than a week away.

Today, Tom sat on his desk, his body turned to the back of his chair to face his new bird. Only his toes still reached the bottom of the chair, but no mind to that.

"Jeanne?"

The owl closed her eyes and comfortably nestled herself on the perch of the window.

"Joan."

The owl opened her eyes and looked back at Tom with those bright, amber eyes, almost mad.

"Jeanne…?"

She closed her eyes again.

"Okay. Your name is Jeanne then, I guess."

Tom leaned his head against the back of the chair. "Don't stare at me like that, Jeanne. We're both here for dumb purposes. You're here to send and receive letters for me, and I'm a charity case. I got adopted because he felt bad I was the only one who was different. No one really wants either of us. We're more or less the same. It kinda stinks you're an owl and not another boy like me, though."

"Talking to your bird already, I'm assuming?" Tom shot his head to the open door to see Harry Potter leaning against the doorframe.

"No I'm not." He was turning furiously red.

"It's no good to lie, you know."

"You lie about your age."

"I swear I'm nineteen."

"Liar."

Harry Potter only chuckled. "It's okay. Hedwig was my only friend for like the few weeks before school started. I talked to her only."

He walked closer to approach the newly named Jeanne. "Did you pick a name for her yet?"

"Uh, yeah. Jeanne."

"What a nice name!"

"...I got it from the History of Magic book. Like you named Hedwig."

"Oh, sweet, you actually did it."

Tom looked down at his knuckles for a second. He noticed how his feet weren't entirely touching the floor and felt a little frustrated again.

"Mr. Harry Potter..."

"I told you, you can call me Harry. But yeah, what is it?"

"What's a muggle born…?"

Joan of Arc, otherwise known as Jeanne D'Arc, was a French human of magical descent, although muggle-born.

"Hmmm. I guess I also learned what that was by my second year. A muggle born is a witch or wizard born of two muggle parents. That's about it."

Tom looked up. "How come that person can be magical?"

Harry shrugged. "They could've been just born with it, or someone in their ancestry could've been a witch or a wizard."

"Oh, so that person married a muggle?"

"I guess."

Did Tom seriously name his owl after a... muggle born?!

Tom stayed quiet. He remembered how Harry Potter was a halfblood, meaning he is only half magical. Tom felt a little ashamed knowing that someone who only had half the magical abilities he has was his guardian.

"Well, we should let Jeanne stretch out her wings tonight and you, mister Tom Riddle, should come down for dinner."

Tom opened up the window to get Jeanne fly out and about, feeling icky about being called 'Mister Tom Riddle.'

Marybe Harry Potter perhaps feels the same way.