New beginning
— CHAPTER TEN —
New beginning
Harry moaned, then slowly opened his eyes. The blurry world did not come into focus. He tried to find his glasses, but the mere strain of his muscles was enough to bring another groan of pain. He felt as if a pack of hippogriffs had run over him, and then some of them had come back to trample him into the ground. Even breathing caused him pain, so he decided to lie on the hard floor for a little longer. Five minutes, no more.
He didn't know how long Riddle had kept him under Crucio, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Was it a few seconds or a few minutes? Whatever. It had been too short to lose his mind, that was all that mattered. The spell had reached him suddenly, even though he knew it would hit him, it had taken him by surprise. Riddle had given him no time to prepare. So, he had wanted at least to endure it with dignity, to show that no matter what, he would not be broken, especially not by pain. He wasn't going to give that bastard the satisfaction, he wasn't going to scream.
He had begun to scream almost immediately.
The mere thought of this made his cheeks burnt. But the pain… It was so consuming, unbearable, unlike anything he had ever...
Suddenly his pulse quickened, the blood hummed in his ears and Harry felt as if an icy hand was squeezing his gut. A piercing sense of fear overwhelmed him. He jerked, tried to move, but his body wouldn't cooperate.
Frozen, he could only lie on the cold wooden floor and breathe, in and out, trying to calm himself somehow. To regain control of his shaking body.
Finally, after several long minutes, he began to breathe evenly. Slowly, ignoring the pain accompanying every movement, he pushed himself to the sitting position.
What was happening to him? Were these side effects of Crucio? But when he had been hit with the same spell by Voldemort on the graveyard, nothing of that sort had happened to him. What's more, he had been able to get up and fight back.
Except...
That was child's play compared to this. Until now, it had not crossed his mind that, even with Crucio, the feelings might have been different depending on who was casting it. Fake Moody hadn't mentioned this during the class.
Harry regretted that this had been added to his knowledge.
After a few moments of increasingly frantic searching, he finally found his glasses. He put them on clumsily, they were crooked, so he had to correct them, but it did little to help. Great. So not only wandless, but now almost blind. He probably damaged them when he lost control of his body. He remembered screaming, writhing on the floor, wanting only one thing: for it to end.
In any way.
His heart started beating faster again. Enough, he commanded himself firmly. He wasn't going to dwell on it. He endured it. Literally every single muscle in his body ached, but that was a good thing. He wouldn't forget the pain, he wouldn't let himself be fooled again; Riddle was a monster, just like Voldemort.
And, like Voldemort, he should be stopped.
With that thought, Harry gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself to stand. He could not lie there forever.
He had no intention of giving Riddle that satisfaction either.
o.O.o
"Argh!" a choked cry of astonishment escaped Harry's lips at the sight of Bug standing in the middle of the room. "What… doing 'er?" he wanted to ask sharply but his voice faltered; his throat worn out from earlier screams. To retain at least a shred of dignity, he pulled the halves of his new dressing gown tighter around himself and shot a hateful glare at the intruder.
Bug, however, was not easily to intimidate, especially not by Harry. The creature responded with an equally hostile look, then spoke:
"Master Riddle has ordered Bug to inform his brother that they will not see each other today. Harry Riddle is to be a good boy, do nothing stupid and read this book by tomorrow afternoon," the house elf held out a thin, black leather-bound book to Harry, who took it in his hand reflexively. He was still processing how Bug addressed him. Harry Riddle. That fucking bastard even dragged a house elf into his schemes. "Master said he would check tomorrow to see if Harry Riddle had read it."
Harry glanced suspiciously at the book, but he was not given the chance to express his objection or surprise as Bug continued:
"Bug brought food because master's brother hasn't eaten since yesterday. If he's still hungry, Bug will bring more. Master also ordered to drink this," the house elf pointed to a steaming mug standing next to a plate with dinner, "it will help to the throat."
And then, he just disappeared, leaving Harry alone.
Harry's first instinct was to ignore the offered food, but a loud rumbling in his stomach convinced him that would be a bad idea. Riddle was a fucking sadist, Bug even more twisted than Dobby, but starving himself would do him no good. So, Harry carefully sat down on the bed with his legs crossed and, after adjusting his broken glasses, began to eat the soup.
As he swallowed spoon after spoon of the best oxtail soup he'd ever had, he contemplated his predicament. The long bath he had taken after returning to the room helped a little. The pain still nagging at him, Harry moved slowly, cautiously, but now it was bearable. It was like soreness after an intense quidditch workout. The feeling was already familiar, and Harry knew how to cope with it. And he knew that it would pass in a few days. However, did he have that much time?
Once again, a wave of anger washed over him.
Why had he acted so foolishly, so recklessly? It was more than certain that this was exactly what Riddle had expected of him. And so, at first, Harry decided that he wouldn't be tricked, that he wouldn't try to escape. And then, as always, he acted first and thought later.
Stupid, oh so stupid! He only hoped that Riddle's plans for him wouldn't change. Harry was sick and tired of being stuck in this apartment, and the quick foray into Diagon Alley only made current restrictions more severe. After all, Riddle had made it clear that he intended to return him to the world — what else could that mean but being let out of the flat? Probably under close supervision, but perhaps another opportunity to escape would present itself sooner or later. This time he wouldn't act rashly; he would plan everything better.
Although Riddle's reaction clearly indicated that there must have been something in Harry's plan that could have worked. Riddle hadn't been furious about the escape attempt (at least not exclusively), but mainly because Harry's plan had been turning out to be more complicated and, who knows, maybe with a chance of success? Basically, everything had happened exactly as Harry had planned, and it really had looked like the bartender was going to call the Aurors. Only Riddle's intervention had saved Harry from that. It must have made him angry too. If Harry hadn't been so frightened at that moment, he probably would have picked his jaw up off the floor. It never occurred to him that Riddle could apologise to anyone. Even if only to keep up appearances.
Harry had a hunch that this was one thing the future Dark Lord would not soon forget him. So, it meant that in the near future he should pretend that the punishment had the expected result and knocked all thoughts of escape out of his mind. It would also be useful to show that he could behave and cooperate after all. Just in case Riddle decided he couldn’t trust him enough to let him out of the apartment again.
Harry swallowed the last spoon of soup and stared at the empty bowl. He was still hungry, but not hungry enough to call Bug and ask for another helping. Despite the passage of two weeks and Riddle’s assertion that if he needed anything, he should ask Bug, he still didn’t feel comfortable enough to give orders to the house elf, and he instinctively tried to avoid that particular creature. Bug would probably bring him another meal in a few hours, so Harry just would wait.
And it was then that Harry realised something that sent a shiver down his spine. Bug had said that Harry hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Did that mean he had been unconscious for that long?
Then how long had that madman kept him under Crucio?
Harry’s heart began to beat faster again.
Fighting the fear that suddenly gripped him, Harry put the bowl down on the bedside table and then reached for the book that lay next to him on the bed. He didn’t feel like reading anything, least of all the book Riddle had left for him, but over the course of the two weeks he had learned what a stupid idea it was to ignore Riddle’s study-related orders. He wasn’t a masochist, after all; it was enough that his hands were still slightly sore from the last punishment.
He sighed heavily and glanced at the title. And suddenly, in a burst of anger that replaced his earlier fear, he threw the book forward with all his strength. It bounced off the wall with a thud and fell to the floor.
The very secret wizarding arts for the bravest and courageous.
Yep, the secret wizarding arts. Harry knew exactly what it was about. Did that asshole really think that one Crucio was enough to make Harry do anything Riddle wanted? No way!
For a while, Harry just sat on the bed, thinking of more and more ways to thwart the young Voldemort’s plans. He played with the idea that, by some miracle, he had managed to outwit the older boy, expose and bring him down early, saving the lives of hundreds of innocents in the process.
It helped, his anger abated.
Much calmer, Harry decided to pick up the book. He wouldn't become a dark wizard just by looking at it or reading it. If Riddle ordered him later that he must learn a spell described in it, he would just pretend that he couldn't do it. The important thing now was that Riddle let him leave the apartment again.
Moving cautiously due to his aching muscles, Harry bent down to pick up the book lying on the floor. A few pages were crumpled and the cover wasn’t unharmed either.
Well, he hoped Riddle wouldn’t get too angry about destroying it. If he had a wand, he would fix it in two seconds.
Sighing even harder than a moment ago, he returned to the bed. He leaned against the headrest, adjusted his glasses again, and sipping the hot tea with something that should soothe his sore throat, he began reading the first chapter.
o.O.o
"Why haven’t you moved into the library? It’s easier to take notes at a desk."
Harry jerked taken by surprise as an all too familiar voice rang out over his head. The mention of notes was enough to make his heart beat faster.
"Bug didn’t mention anything about the notes," he said in a defensive tone, angry at himself for how weak his voice sounded. He adjusted his glasses, which had once again slipped down his nose, and glared at Riddle, who was leaning against the door frame. "Next time, make your orders clearer," he added, sounding more blatantly this time.
Riddle mockingly raised an elegant eyebrow in response. He crossed his arms over his chest.
„Am I to understand that you have such a good memory that you immediately remember everything you read? It’s a pity you didn’t reveal it earlier.”
„You can’t show off all your talents right away,” Harry said before thinking.
„So, I expect you to show them all when I'll quiz you. Be prepared.”
Harry had another sharp retort on the tip of his tongue when the paralysing fear hit him again, making even breathing difficult. He instinctively wrapped his arms around himself and leaned forward, burying his head between his crossed legs. He felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck as he began to shiver, and worst of all, he couldn’t control it.
No, not now. Not in front of him.
And suddenly, out of the blue, it was all over and he was calm again, able to breathe normally. He raised his head just in time to see Riddle slowly lowering his wand.
„Looks like my discipline methods are working,” the future Dark Lord remarked lightly, as if commenting on the weather rather than the effectiveness of the Crucio he threw two days ago.
Harry looked away, both embarrassed and angry at his body’s reaction. The adjustment of his glasses again gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. It irritated him that they kept slipping off his nose. If he had a wand, he could have fixed them in a split second, but he wasn’t going to lower himself to asking Riddle to give them to him for a while.
‘What do you want?” he asked instead.
Riddle pulled his back away from the door frame. He walked smoothly over to the bed where Harry was sitting.
„Check if you have followed my instructions.”
„I only have one chapter left,” Harry replied truthfully, resignedly handing the book onto Riddle’s outstretched hand. If Riddle wanted to quiz him on its contents, he was screwed anyway, whether he had read the whole thing or not.
Besides...
„I thought that was obvious, but apparently not. I would appreciate it if you were more prone to respect things that belong to me,” Riddle reprimanded him, looking at the damaged book with obvious disapproval.
Fortunately, the calming spell that had been cast on Harry moments earlier was still working, so he just watched as Riddle lightly tapped the book with his wand and it instantly returned to the state it had been in before the close encounter with the wall.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me read any dark magic books without warning,” Harry replied, not thinking much.
He managed to dodge the curse at the last moment. Judging by the sizzling sound over his shoulder, it was probably a stinging hex.
"Feel warned," Riddle replied, narrowing his eyes. He slipped his wand into his sleeve and walked over to the window, leaning against the sill. He opened the book and leafed through it. "Besides, in the case of this particular book, someone probably died so that it could be created, so you–"
"I hope you're not suggesting that–" Harry interrupted, taken aback by the sudden disgust. He felt his breakfast rising in his throat.
"That both the cover and the pages are made of human skin? That's quite common for this kind of grimoires. It's not just the content that has to be dark, the form too."
Harry couldn't bear it, he hadn't expected such an answer. At the last moment, he leaned behind the bed and vomited the entire contents of his stomach onto the floor.
"Get used to it," Riddle said flatly, and with a single movement of his wand he made Harry's vomit disappear. Meanwhile, Harry reached for his cup of tea to shake the sour aftertaste from his mouth, "Although I do find it a bit pretentious."
"A bit?" Harry repeated incredulously, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing the older boy.
Riddle shrugged.
"So? What do you think?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. Seeing the hesitation on Harry's face, he added, "Be honest."
He set the book down on the windowsill and put his hands in the pockets of his black robes. He was the embodiment of ease and composure, and there was no trace of his earlier anger at Harry's escape. Or perhaps he simply chose not to show it. As always, he exuded an aura of natural authority that made a person feel compelled to follow his orders, but that was something Harry had grown accustomed to and he was doing quite well to resist the impulse.
"That totally?"
Riddle nodded.
"You wanted it", said Harry and proceeded: "It's total bullshit." He flexed his muscles in anticipation of the next curse he'd have to dodge.
"I wouldn't have said it in such vulgar terms, but I agree."
"What?!"
"You heard me."
Harry shot Riddle a murderous glare.
"Then why did you make me read it?"
"Because it'll come in handy at your interview."
"During what?
Riddle sighed slightly, his patience visibly waned.
"Potter, is there a different English being used in your times?"
"No."
"Then perhaps I speak with an accent you don't understand?"
"No," Harry replied again, his puzzlement increased.
"Then refrain from asking me these silly questions. I don't like to repeat myself."
And that would be enough for a normal conversation. This time it was Harry who sighed. Riddle's mood swings were something Harry would probably never get used to.
"But what interview are you talking about?" he asked because he was genuinely confused. And worried, because a job that required knowledge of dark magic was probably not something Harry wanted to be involved in.
"I want my employers to hire you too."
"You mean Borgin? Why?"
"Borgin and Burke," corrected Riddle. "I told you, it's time to make you more useful. As we work together, I'll keep an eye on you. Think of this as a trial period. If you do well, you'll enjoy more freedom."
"Aren't you afraid I'll try to run away again?"
"That's what probation is for. Besides, I'm counting that Friday's punishment has effectively knocked the idea out of your head. If I catch you trying to escape again, you will remember the Crucio I gave you with fondness."
A shiver ran down Harry's spine. In any case, the next time he tried to escape, he would have to be absolutely sure that it would be successful.
Riddle's lips curved into a thin smile, as if the older boy knew exactly what Harry had just thought.
"You have the interview tomorrow. Finish the book and try to remember as much as you can. Borgin and Burke will soon realise that you know nothing about black magic anyway, but at least it let you give a positive first impression."
Riddle flicked his wand and the book rose into the air and it flew towards Harry. The boy couldn't bring himself to grab it. He leaned back with a grimace on his face, trying to avoid any contact with an object that was practically a human corpse. Or at least part of one.
"Potter, don't be childish," there was a note of irritation in the older boy's voice. "When you start work, you'll have to deal with worse things."
"I'll wait."
Riddle tapped his wand against his forearm in exasperation.
"Shall I cast Imperio on you?" he asked.
"You know it wouldn't work anyway," Harry reminded him on reflex, then mentally chastised himself as a strange glint appeared in the future Dark Lord's eye.
"I'll gladly find out that for myself one day," Riddle replied calmly, straightening up. "However, I'd prefer you to simply follow my orders," he added, glancing meaningfully at the book hanging in the air.
Harry felt a knot in his stomach. But he forced himself to reach for the book.
"I expect you to have finished reading by dinner," Riddle added as he headed for the exit. "As well as that you remember as much of it as possible."
"Didn't you just say you thought it was bullshit too? Then why should I read it?"
"Because there are others for whom it's like the Bible. And, Potter, one more thing. Get dressed. Pyjamas are for sleeping."
And with that he left the room, leaving Harry alone.
o.O.o
On Monday, following Riddle's morning instructions, Harry appeared after breakfast in the living room, dressed like the older boy had ordered him. A dark green, simple robe that turned out to fit perfectly, neither too loose nor too tight. Underneath he wore one of his new black shirt and trousers. Surprisingly comfortable dragonskin boots and a ridiculous neckerchief, which Riddle also quite often tied around his neck instead of a tie, completed his outfit. Although Harry had trouble tying the neckerchief, he decided not to worry about it, assuming that Riddle, in all his perfectionism, would probably do it correctly anyway. Just as he had repaired Harry's glasses after dinner last night when he had noticed they were broken.
Harry's assumptions weren't wrong. It was the first thing the future Dark Lord did when Harry approached him and told him he was ready.
Riddle’s gaze, sharp and assessing, fell on Harry’s clumsily tied neckerchief. With a sigh the future Dark Lord stepped forward.
Harry resisted the instinctive urge to step back.
"This won't do at all," Riddle said, deftly re-tying the weird neckerchief with an effortless grace that spoke of his familiarity with those type of things. His fingers, cold and precise, brushed against Harry's neck, sending an involuntary shiver down the teen's spine. "Nobody ever taught you how to tie a foulard?"
A foulard. So that is what it was called.
"In future we wear ties," Harry replied, feeling uncomfortable at Riddle's closeness. Fortunately, the older boy quickly got to grips with tying the foulard and stepped back to once again measure Harry with a critical eye.
A frown of displeasure appeared on his forehead.
"I tried to do something about it," Harry began defensively, guessing what had caused it. "But it's even harder with a comb than with a spell."
He didn't bother to add that spells often didn't help his dishevelled hair either.
"You will pretend to be my brother. You shall present yourself accordingly, and not bring shame upon me," came the cold reply.
Harry sighed as he looked at Riddle. Perfectly tailored robes (in the same dark green colour, which was probably no coincidence), shoes polished to a shine, hair combed neatly. Yet, it was Riddle's poise and grace that truly commanded attention, radiating a natural confidence that was captivating even to those who knew the darkness that lurked within.
So, if Riddle expected Harry, as his fake brother, to present himself as well... Surely, ff it wasn't for the fact that Harry wanted Riddle to think it was worth the risk and let him out of the flat, had the audacity to tell him that, for his own sake, he should give up his illusions. Instead, he didn't even flinch when Riddle drew his wand, guessing that the older boy was about to cast a spell on his hair.
Good luck with that.
The wrinkle on Riddle's forehead smoothed out.
Harry's face must have revealed something of his feelings, because with another quick wave of his wand, Riddle conjured up a small mirror that floated in the air. Harry grabbed it and looked at his reflection. His eyes widened slightly: he had probably never had his hair combed so neatly in his life. A parting on the left meant that the long fringe, pulled to the right, partially covered the scar on Harry's forehead.
"I want to learn this spell," Harry said in awe despite himself. He had never managed to achieve such an effect before.
A thin smirk curved Riddle's lip.
"If you do well today, I'll consider it as a reward," he replied simply.
Harry handed him the mirror. And at the same moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw an unruly strand of hair break free of the spell. Three more followed.
Riddle's eyelid twitched. The spell was cast again. All the rebellious strands returned to their places.
"Remember, it was you who fled Ireland to find me, and I generously agreed, as your older brother, to look after you." Riddle said, tucking his wand into his sleeve. "Then behave as a grateful younger brother would. Call me by my first name and control your temper. If you start to talk back to me in front of the others, I will punish you right away. I will not allow you to disrespect me in front of other wizards."
This last one did not sit well with Harry.
"Really? You're going to curse me in front of the others?" he asked incredulously.
"I'll obliviate the witnesses later if I have to, but you will not escape the consequences. Do we understand each other?"
Harry swallowed and nodded. His heart quickened again.
"I expect you to get that job," Riddle continued. "So you will do everything in your power to convince my employers to hire you."
"I'll try," Harry replied in spite of himself. He didn't like it, but then again, Riddle could find him worse things to do than work in a wizarding dark artefact shop.
The older boy gave him a stern look.
"No. You'll do whatever it takes."
Harry sighed slightly annoyed.
"I have never worked anywhere. And you know very well that I have no knowledge of dark magic and want nothing to do with it. I'm sure they'll see that right away."
Riddle crossed his arms over his chest.
"So do your best to look eager and enthusiastic so they don't notice."
"Can't you just charm them into hiring me?"
Riddle looked at him thoughtfully, as if seeing him for the first time in his life and Harry felt foolish. Next time he should definitely think before he speaks.
"Well, well, well… Maybe one day there will be something of you after all. But this time the answer is no. It would mean keeping them under Imperio all the time, and that's an effort I'd rather spare myself. It is up to you to prove yourself."
Harry nodded. Riddle, clearly satisfied, took that as an answer. With a non-verbal Accio, he summoned the two cloaks. He handed one to Harry.
"And, of course, no more escape attempts," he said, putting on his own cloak. Harry followed his example.
"No more," he promised, buttoning up. At least not until he was one hundred percent sure it would work. But he didn't say it out loud.
"Very well. Let's go then."
o.O.o
Borgin in the past turned out to be a fifty year younger version of the Borgin Harry had come to associate with his random and infrequent visits to his shop — which, of course, wasn't mean he was young. He might have been in his late thirties or early forties. Harsh, haughty, he looked at Harry as if wondering why he had agreed to waste his precious time talking to someone like that in the first place. Mr. Burke, on the other hand... Harry had always thought that the second surname in the shop's name had been added to make the whole thing sound more prestigious, so the very fact that there was a second partner surprised him. He was even more surprised when he met him and found that of the two wizards, he seemed the most approachable. He was an old, low man with silver hairs and wary eyes, but the fact that it was him and not Borgin that Riddle's attention was focused on showed that, despite his advanced age, he was in charge. Which meant that there was hope that Harry would be hired, even with Borgin's apparent reluctance.
"I heard about your recent stunt in the Leaky Cauldron," Borgin said.
He was sitting in one of the two old and worn armchairs with his leg crossed and looking at Harry with obvious dislike. On the other side of a small table with the latest edition of the Daily Prophet on it, Mr. Burke sat in the second armchair. Riddle stood casually by the door leading from the cluttered back room into the shop, peering through the curtain from time to time to see if any new customers had entered the shop. Harry, on the other hand, stood in the middle of the room, in front of his potential employers, and really tried to put his best foot forward. But the mention of the Leaky Cauldron accident might have prevented him from doing so. He didn't dare look at Riddle — it was enough to feel the slight pulsation of his scar, it didn't hurt, but it wasn't pleasant either. Fortunately, the older boy didn't seem to know how his mood was affecting Harry's scar, and Harry wasn't about to reveal it. Besides, this didn't happen as often as with Voldemort, but rather in situations where Harry was consciously trying to guess Riddle's mood. And at that moment, it was very important thing.
When it became clear that Riddle was not going to rescue him from his predicament, Harry shifted from foot to foot, blushing slightly.
"It was stupid and completely irresponsible," he said despite himself. He began to understand why Riddle had been so angry with him. Surely the fact that Harry was going to be employed in the same shop where he worked had been planned for a long time, and a blatant attempt at theft on Harry's part might well have thwarted that plan. Who would want to employ a thief?
"Why did you do that?" asked Mr. Burke. Unlike his associate, there was more curiosity in his voice than reprimand.
Because I wanted to get caught and thus go back to my own time, Harry thought, but he didn't say it out loud. He could feel Riddle's eyes on him and knew he had to come up with a plausible reason that wouldn't make him look so bad in front of the two older wizards.
"I had an argument with Tom and I wanted to make him angry," he said, choosing the same line of defence as Riddle in the bar.
"Idiocy," judged Borgin tartly. " If you ever think of trying something similar in this shop, then–"
"I made sure my brother understood how stupid it was," Riddle interjected calmly. "The punishment was appropriate to the offence."
Harry swallowed and blushed again.
"I've noticed it," Mr. Burke said enigmatically, his brown eyes shifting from Harry to Riddle.
Harry felt much better than he had on Saturday or yesterday, but his muscles were still a little sore, which was probably evident in the way he moved. Had the old wizard put the facts together? But he certainly hadn't assumed that Riddle had used Crucio on Harry. Or had he?
"Tom's assurance is enough for me. Elgar?"
Elgar?
Borgin sighed ostentatiously.
"Only because Tom is the best assistant we've ever had. But if your brother does anything again, we'll throw you both out."
"Understandable," Riddle replied smoothly, nodding his head in agreement. "But I can assure you, sir, he won't do anything like that again."
And if I do, Harry added mentally with a hint of bitterness, he'll oblivate you and throw Crucio at me. A shiver ran down his spine. For Merlin's sake, what had he gotten himself into?
"So? I've got a job?" he asked hopefully instead, as the conversation was getting less pleasant by the minute and they hadn't even touched on black magic yet.
"I didn't say that," Borgin said, taking the lead in the conversation again. "Has your brother told you what we do here?"
Harry nodded.
"Do you have any experience in this area of magic?" asked Mr. Burke.
"Not much, but I'm a quick study," Harry lied, remembering Riddle's words that his ignorance would come out quickly anyway. "Before I asked my brother to get me a job here, I read several books, including The very secret wizarding arts for the bravest and most courageous," he added, saying what Riddle had advised him to say at breakfast in such a situation. Surprisingly, despite his earlier warning, the older boy hadn't quizzed Harry about the contents of the book, or even discussed it with him. He hoped Borgin and Burke wouldn't either.
But the reaction of his future employers took him completely by surprise. Borgin looked at him with even more disgust, and there was a hint of disdain in Mr. Burke's gaze.
Harry felt confused.
"I told him not to even touch this ridiculous book, but he insisted," Riddle interjected with a sigh that sounded all too genuine. Harry was about to interrupt him, to say that he was the one who had practically forced him to read that book, but he bit his tongue in time, realising what he had allowed himself to be manipulated into.
Since he humiliated Riddle on Friday by making the future Dark Lord apologise to others on his behalf, now Riddle has repaid him with something similar. Harry looked like an overzealous fool. His cheeks were on fire, but not with humiliation, but with anger and his own stupidity.
Right, because Crucio, after which he was unconscious for half the next day, wasn't enough.
"But I can assure you that I will personally see to his education in this regard," Riddle added.
"If he touches anything that kills or maims him, we wash our hands of it," Burke warned.
"Understandable," Riddle bowed slightly again.
Harry didn't like this at all, but he gritted his teeth and said nothing.
Burke nodded to indicate that he was satisfied with this assurance.
"Then there is one more question — as I recall, you said that your brother was a minor. How old is he exactly?"
"He will be seventeen in July."
"Five months," Borgin noted at once.
"Yes, but that's not so long. Of course, if it bothers you, I won't let him take his wand to work. Although we all know that the Trace won't work on him on Nocturne anyway."
Burke waved his hand dismissively.
"No, no, no. We expect him to use magic. If any of our customers ask, he should tell them he's an adult."
Riddle smirked under his nose.
"I was hoping you'd say that, sir."
Harry felt a wave of relief and excitement wash over him. He was going to get his wand back! At least while he was working here. This presented a multitude of new opportunities.
Burke unexpectedly slapped his hands on his knees and rose from his seat.
"So it's settled," he announced lively. "We have a new assistant."
"We have a new assistant," confirmed Borgin sourly, also rising from his chair.
Harry blinked. Er?
"Tom, I think you should start his training from today. For now, let him watch and preferably not touch anything. If he survives until the end of the week, we'll let him work here."
Riddle nodded, then sent Harry a meaningful look. Well, yes, he should show his gratitude and enthusiasm.
"I won't make you regret it, sir" he assured his new employers. He was already regretting it himself, but that didn't matter. He hoped that the words about surviving a week were was a joke.
"Come with me," said Riddle, stepping through the curtain into the shop. Harry followed him. As he stood beside him behind the counter, something suddenly struck him. Not once during the conversation had the question of his salary been raised. Had he become free labour?
With all Riddle's manipulations, it didn't even surprise or annoy him. He glanced stealthily at the cursed wardrobe in the corner and remembered that his invisibility cloak and Maruders map
And so he thought that maybe the whole idea of him working here had not been so bad after all. Maybe he could find a way back to the future this way. A future just like he had left it.
"Don't even think about it," he heard a cold voice from the side.
At the same time, the ringing of the bell announced the arrival of the first customer.