He Doesn't Even Go Here

Jack often took to letting Ginny follow him around and cling to him, as he knew that the alternative was his magic going shitty and dormant and his body taking on the appearance of a chicken wire ghost. 

The Slytherins were slowly but surely getting used to Jack’s little orange thing, and Ginny really wasn’t as unpleasant as they all had thought—at the very least, she wasn’t any worse than Malfoy, though that would have been no small feat to achieve. 

It seemed the rest of Hogwarts wasn’t so keen on Ginny’s presence at his side, however, and most seemed to interpret it as the most dire of hostage crises, in need of immediate resolution. To them Jack was the son of an evil wizard fascist, and he’d already made an enemy of Harry by standing there and not doing anything, which had the unintended side effect of Harry’s magic bouncing right off of Jack and knocking the unfortunate four-eyes straight out. 

The initial assumption was, of course, that Jack had tried to murder Harry Jessica Potter on school property, and the rumors only somewhat died down when such claims were dismissed when the exhibitionist painting was questioned, and the figures openly lamented about how Jack was too busy judging their sex lives to have launched any  matter of curse or hex on Potter. Regardless, it only quieted the whispers, not banished them, and Jack Riddle continued to be seen as Public Enemy Number One. 

Unfortunately for the babies, there was nothing to be done about who Ginevra Weasley decided to be babysat by, and no amount of complaining to Professor McGonagall would do anything about it.

The consensus seemed to be that Jack had placed some manner of dastardly blood curse on Ginny, though what exactly the curse did varied from person to person. Some seemed to think Jack had given her some sort of deadly aura, or anti-Harry Potter warding. As hilarious as all of the guesses were, in truth Jack had no idea what it was.

It seemed that everyone who considered themselves his “Inner Circle,” a term he found stupid and juvenile but caught on the moment Zabini used it, was incredibly concerned with what Jack had “done to Ginny.” They all thought Jack a genius for it—figured he’d used some ancient ritual from a dusty tome the size of a cinder block or something. Ginny seemed anxious about it as well, and Jack really had no intentions of doing any sort of work or research about it, but Ginny seemed like she might burst into tears over it, so he’d reluctantly placed his financial endeavors on pause to pick up some of the most evil looking books he could find in the library and search for anything on diary boys and their ginger charging ports.

When the time eventually came to venture beyond the walls of Hogwarts, Jack was quite delighted. He hadn’t even known it was an option, really. He’d assumed the Wizarding World began and ended at the school. 

Permission slips were briefly an issue as Jack had no mother, a dead terrorist for a father, and came from a book, but Fawley had written to her parents, who had written to their attorney, who had written to the Hogwarts Board of Governors, who had turned the letter over to Lucius Malfoy, who was evidently the little Malfoy’s father, and who apparently was very interested in the case of Jack Riddle, probably because Malfoy Sr. was a terrorist. It seemed most people around Jack were. 

Regardless, Malfoy Sr. wrote a very long letter to the Fawley family attorney, who had written a very thorough response to Fawley’s parents, and Fawley had explained to Jack in no uncertain terms that if a Hogwarts student had no living or eligible parents or guardians, they were technically a ward of the Ministry of Magic, and the matter of Hogsmeade permission slips, among a myriad of other things, was to be left to the students Head of House. 

Snape had not been happy to see Jack in his office, but the second the word “attorney” had left Jack’s mouth, Snape had scowled and snatched the permission slip out of his hand and signed it.

McGonagall looked none too thrilled about it either when Jack showed her the slip, but the moment the name “Malfoy” had left Jack’s mouth, she’d pursed her lips into a tight line and allowed him to go.

Late November meant that the greater Hog area had light snow, and Jack was bundled up in his coat and scarf as he glanced around the little village with his hands tucked into his pockets. He had the odd feeling that he’d seen this at a theme park before. 

The scent of coffee and chocolate drew his gaze to a cafe near the front of the village, and his brows rose to see the long line of students waiting for a cup. A proper, hot coffee sounded wonderful.

“Farley, go get me a coffee,” he said. 

“What?” Farley and Fawley said. Jack sniffed. 

“Farley with an R.” he said.

“But I—” Farley started, tapping at her prefect badge. Jack gave her two pats on the cheek that made her scrunch up her nose.

“Two sugars, two creams. Atta girl.” he said, and shooed her away. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, before heaving a heavy sigh and nodding, shuffling over to stand in the long line. Fawley looked quite entertained, but the smile dropped from her face when Flint laughed at the sight of Farley standing awkwardly in the line. 

Jack frankly did not want to be stuck spending his day off with any of these people, so he quickly shuffled away into a shop.

What started as an escape turned into curious wandering, and Jack went from shop to shop examining odd candies that made you breathe fire and “hair growing rings” at a strange little boutique. He slipped one onto his finger out of curiosity only to grimace when his hair started rapidly growing over his shoulders and hair sprouted from his palms. Taking it off was somehow worse—the feeling of his hair retracting to the length it should be made him shiver unpleasantly. Jesus Christ.

Jack was perusing the shelves of Shoson’s Lotions and grimacing at the names of just about everything lining the shelves when there was a conspicuous sniff just behind him. Jack sighed and prepared himself for a trial before turning around. 

A hand with sharp red nails was shoved in his face. 

“Rita Skeeter with The Daily Prophet. Could I have a moment?” That sounded familiar, but Jack couldn’t place it.

“I’m not interested in your church.” he said, setting the bottle he was examining back onto the shelf and moving to the next one over. There was a pause, and then she was shuffling after him, heels clicking against the floor. 

“Don’t be silly. The paper, of course. Everyone is just dying to know anything at all about you and if you’re destined to follow in your dastardly father’s footsteps. It would be selfish to keep all of the details to yourself, you know.” she insisted, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

Jack paused, turning to look at her. His gaze briefly flickered to the floating parchment and the quill rapidly scratching across it. The quill flattened against the parchment and both drew back as if offended he was staring. Oh.

“You wrote an article about me that said I was the greatest threat to the Wizarding World since Voldemort,” her brows rose sharply, and the quill practically shot up, revitalized, quickly scribbling something down. “There was a poll and everything.”

“You did attack Harry Potter. You don’t think that’s cause for concern?” she said. 

“I did not—his spell just bounced off of me and hit him instead.” Jack said. 

“Isn’t that quite similar to what happened to little Harry on the night that You-Know-Who killed his parents? The killing curse bounced off of him and went right back to dear old dad. Could it be the same sort of magic at work here? You and Potter; yin and yang.”

“No. I think he’s just twelve and bad at magic.” Jack said. He grabbed the floating parchment to an offended shake of the quill and sharp gasp from Skeeter, who took a step back.

“Excuse me!” she said, but Jack was too busy snorting at the words scrawled across the page.

Riddle’s eyes narrow into darkened slits. The air crackles with simmering magic—waiting to be provoked, waiting for something to target. This boy is a viper, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “Potter is young,” he says, spitting the word out like venom from between clenched teeth. He works his sharp jaw, grinding his teeth together. “And particularly naive. He will not make the same mistake of testing me again.” 

“Are you controlling this or does it write on its own?” Jack asked, unable to fully wipe the amused grin from his face. The parchment jerked itself away from him, quivering as if it were brushing dust from its shoulders. Skeeter shifted, eyeing Jack contemplatively, before she turned up her nose and gestured towards the quill.

“It’s a Quick-Quotes quill. It takes care of the writing while I take care of the interviewing.”

Jack watched as the quill wrote: Riddle’s ruthless interrogation proceeds. The genius of the quill is not lost on his dastardly mind—

Now, Jack was often annoyed by the attention from everyone thinking he was the… Dark King… Prince… whatever his moniker was, from everyone thinking that he was That Guy’s son. In his original life, Jack was a person who never particularly stood out. It was a good thing, everyone he worked with was annoying and either a bitch or an asshole, and he wasn’t exactly desperate for their attention. Jack always he had quite a fine life for what it was: he liked fruity little drinks, fucking men and women he couldn’t stand, and buying ugly modern art for his apartment. 

So irritating as the pests and babies were, Jack would be hard pressed to not to admit that there was a bit of a thrill in everyone treating you like you were the second coming of Satan and the boy of their dreams all in a sweet little dimpled package. But now, people seemed to be divided into two camps regarding Jack. He was either a demon double majoring in Murdering Harry Potter and Ending the Fucking World, or he was the 15 year old prince of fucking… darkness or whatever, and destined to be hot and sexy and evil forever. And those in the latter camp all seemed to be interested in either licking his boots, fucking him, or giving him whatever he wanted, and as far as Jack was concerned: that meant profit.

That line of thought was precisely what led to Jack following after Skeeter as she led him to an odd, dusty little bookshop in the basement of another store. The old man that appeared to run the shop seemed to be vegetative, and Jack was quite certain that the man didn’t know he was on Earth, let alone that people had entered his store. Jack let Rita adjust his scarf and rearrange his hair, and then she was pretending to hide behind a bookshelf as Jack artfully ran his fingertips along the spine of a book.

“This feels tacky.” Jack said. Rita waved a hand dismissively.

“This sort of thing is only tacky when those who are less facially privileged do it. You look introspective and unapproachably handsome, which will be just perfect for that front page.” she said with a sharp, red lipped smile.

They continued to take fake candids for the next few minutes, and Jack found that Rita was just fake and full enough of herself that they got along just fine. Jack told her to include mention of his “Inner Circle” in the article, which made quite a mad gleam light in Rita’s eyes, and he told her to allude to a vague menace about Jack, but not to actually claim he was wizard racist or anything. 

They took their separate ways with a handshake and Rita handing over the address of her office, just in case Jack ever had anything “prudent” to inform her of.

When Jack finally found Farley, she looked like a frazzled mother who’d lost her son in Asda.

“Riddle. Where were you?” she asked. Riddle took the coffee from her hands and took a sip of it. It was delightfully warm. 

“It doesn't matter. Go away—I need to bask in the winter ambiance.”

Jack had signed up to stay for Christmas. Ginny had complained, but did so as well. There was a very high chance that if they were separated for too long Jack would start fizzing away again, and that wasn’t particularly ideal. 

What also wasn’t ideal was Dumbledore requesting Jack to his office. Jack had no desire to go whatsoever, but Farley had been fretting so desperately about it that he went just to shut her up. She fretted about a lot lately.

“Good evening, my boy,” Dumbledore said, sliding forward a bowl. “Sherbet lemon?”

Jack took one and untwisted the little wrapper, placing the candy in his mouth. It had that ancient lint flavor of a Werthers Original that had sat in a pocket for too long

“Have I made honor role?” Jack asked, trying to be annoying.

“You may well be on your way. By all accounts you are a talented young wizard. But that is not what I called you here for. I was informed that you’ve elected to stay here over the holidays.” 

“Is that a crime?” Jack asked, raising a brow. Dumbeldore held up his hands in surrender. 

“Ah, I’ve not asked you to come here to scold you. I only figured it was important to get this out of the way. Professor McGonagall informed me that Professor Snape had to sign your Hogsmeade permission slip for you, and I wanted to ask: where exactly were you staying before your transfer to Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked.

“The circus.” Jack said. Dumbledore’s smile went from patient to a little sad. 

“How jolly,” the old man said. “I do love the circus. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t wish to—”

“I am so, so glad we are in agreement, my good friend.” Jack said. Dumbledore sighed.

“Is there somewhere safe you can stay when the year concludes? Your father, of course, is dead, and you mentioned your mother had passed as well. If not, we have options.” 

“What, am I to go to the Gotham Orphanage? Crunchem Hall, perhaps? I can take care of myself.” Jack said. A man in his third decade of life did not need to live the teenage orphan life. The word orphanage appeared to hit Dumbledore like a bullet train, and the man sagged, looking every bit the age he truly was, losing that odd, wise old man energy. 

“I would not send you to an orphanage, T—ah… Jack,” he said, looking off to stare somewhere over Jack’s shoulder. Jack turned around, and saw nothing. Maybe he’d gone senile. Dumbledore reached over and gave Jack’s hand a pat. Jack made a face.

“I’m going to reach out to the Board of Governors. They’ll search for somewhere safe for you to go over the summer.”  Dumbledore said gravely. Jack gave a thumbs up.

“Awesome. Can I leave?”