Chapter Text
Harry goes all out and tries to dress himself to look like Hagrid. He practices his voice impressions for ages before going to the orphanage. He had to get it just perfect, after all--the whole world, and Harry's ego, were at stake here. Finally, he is ready, and apparates to the orphanage, costume in place and letter in hand. He could do this, he *could--* even if it takes him a hundred attempts, he could do this perfectly.
He blasts Tom's orphanage door open with an umbrella. Unfortunately, no one has a gun he can turn into a pretzel, so he attempts to bend a fire poker laying on the ground nearby. Unfortunately, Harry didn't think to magically enhance his strength, so he's just standing there, red in the face, trying to bend metal. Eventually he gives up, and presses the fake beard back onto his face. Sweat and facial glue don't mix, apparently.
"Ahh, Thomas Riddle?" Harry says. "I have a letter fer yeh." Harry even made sure it had green ink.
"Yer a wizard, Tomathy," Harry says. "Fuck," he says, once he realizes he messed up. Harry debates using the time-turner for a redo, but the little future murderer is standing there, looking up at him wide eyed and innocent-ish, and he can't find it in himself to redo this, not yet. "I brought yeh a birthday cake," Harry says, handing it over. He's proud of how well it matches Hagrid's, though Harry didn't squish this one.
"My birthday is in December, though," the boy says, looking up with confusion etched in his features. He holds the cake as if it were precious and valuable, though.
"Ahh, right," Harry says, embarrassed. "Well, it can be for yer half birthday, then!"
"H...half birthday?" Tom says, tilting his head. "Wouldn't that put it in June, then, not July?"
"Fuck," Harry mutters. For some reason, this makes the boy smile, in such a sweet, non-murdery way. Maybe there is hope, after all. "Well, happy belated half birthday, then!" Harry reaches into his Hagrid-lookalike coat pocket and pulls out a plastic spork. "Here you go, then. Eat up!"
Tom takes the spork, and sits down on his desk chair. He slides the cake onto the desk.
"Who did you say you were, again?" He says, skeptically arching an eyebrow at Harry.
"Me? Well, I..." Harry startles as the boy quickly reaches up and yanks off the fake beard. "Ow."
"If this is some kind of *sick joke,*" Tom snarls, and Harry quickly interrupts him.
"Wait, no," Harry tries to placate. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to do the same thing my professor did for me when I got my letter." Tom scowls, but leans back.
Harry sighs. "I've really buggered up things, haven't I? I'm sorry." He begins to remove his Hagrid costume. "I was a lot like you as a kid, and I thought... Anyway," he continued, shaking his head, "you're a Wizard, Tom."
"I know," he says casually.
"You know?" Harry echoes, disbelieving.
"Yes, I've been doing magic for years now. Why do you think I have a room to myself?"
"I thought maybe your roommate got adopted?" Harry scratches his head. In the process, he removes his wig. Tom looks at him like he's stupid. Which, okay, with how the day was going, is fair.
"Well, fine. Whatever, then. You're invited to attend our Wizarding School, where you can learn magic and morals. Believe it or not, I'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Dumbledore--the Transfiguration professor-- was going to come get you, but I insisted. Even though everything today was a train wreck, I can promise you I'm still better at this than he is." It suddenly occurred to Harry that maybe he shouldn't be trash talking Dumbledore to the future Dark Lord. Ah, well. There was always the ol' Lockhart Oblivate and time-turner method, after all.
Tom eyes him critically. "You are insane."
*Look who's talking,* Harry almost says. "Your point?"
Tom shrugs. "I guess I don't have one." He picks up the spork again, and began picking at the cake.
"Well," Harry says, hopeful, "If you want, we can blow this joint. I can take you to the Wizarding World and get your school supplies."
"Why should I trust you? You're a strange man who arrived in a disguise, broke my door, tried to bend iron with your bare hands, handed me a cake that might be poisoned, and now want to take me to a secondary location without letting the matron know."
"Good point," Harry says, dumbfounded. Why on earth did he think this would be a good idea? "Er, well, it was just an offer. I'm not going to kidnap you or anything. Here's your letter." Harry slips it on the desk, and begins to leave. Guess it's time for the Lockhart method.
"Wait, I didn't say no," Tom says, desperation creeping into his voice. "I just wished to make sure we were on the same page." Harry turns, and looks--really looks--at the kid. Harry recognizes that expression, that expression he had made so many times over the years. That deep longing and desire to be whisked away, to have an adult somehow decide to keep him and make him theirs. Harry isn't sure why or how, but somewhere in this whole train wreck of a situation he had won the boy's affection. Tom tries to hide it, of course, but eleven-year-olds are simply not the best actors.
"You know what, fuck it," Harry hears himself say. "Wait here." He leaps forward and out of the room, casting a quick, nonverbal spell to repair the door. He magics away the rest of his disguise, and returns to being just Harry. He sneaks over to the reception desk, and makes a show of arriving. The woman looks up at him, purple smudges under her eyes.
"Hello, I'd like to adopt one Thomas Riddle," he says, and the woman blinks in surprise.
"Are you... are you serious?" She asks.
"Dead," he says, smirking internally.
"Well, alright then," she says, and begins shuffling around paperwork. She has Harry fill out some forms, never asking for paperwork from him to make sure he isn't a serial killer. Harry isn't sure if he should feel relieved or angry at how easy it is to simply walk in and legally kidnap a child.
Within half an hour, everything is set to go. Tom had, at some point, snuck out of his room and watched Harry from the hallway. He can feel the boy watching him, but he doesn't object to anything that's happening. When the desk lady sees him, she pulls him aside and has a brief but heated conversation which Harry pretends he cannot hear.
"You *will* behave for this man," she whispers harshly. "I swear upon all that is holy that if he returns you here, you *will* be punished accordingly. You should be thankful that this man has shown up out of nowhere to adopt *you.* Worship the ground he walks on, or *so help me God--*"
Harry clears his throat. "Are we done here? I do have plans for later today." The lady shuts up immediately, and smiles at him with a smile that Dolores Umbridge would be proud of.
"Oh, of course," she simpers. "Thomas here was just about to go get his things." Harry sees her squeeze the boy's arm painfully.
"I'll go help," Harry clips. "Come on, Tom." The lady gives Tom's arm one last painful squeeze before shoving him towards Harry. They go back to Tom's room.
"You *are* insane," the boy mutters. "You are certifiably insane. I just got adopted by an insane man."
Harry tries to suppress the smile bubbling up from within him. Tom, however, notices, and sends him a particularly nasty glare, which only makes Harry want to giggle more.
Finally, he bursts into a wide grin, and waves his wand, packing up all of Tom's things in one fell swoop. One of the floorboards bursts up and a hidden stash of... well, a lot of different things flies up and into Tom's trunk.
"*How did you--?*" Tom hisses, but Harry only smiles.
"A magician never reveals his secrets," he says, and Tom groans.
"You are the *worst,*" he hisses again, but with less heat.
"Alright, off we go, then," Harry grins, and offers his arm to Tom. Tom, however, looks at him, uncertain, before grabbing the cake from the desk. He doesn't look Harry in the eyes, but he does thread his spare hand around Harry's elbow. "Here," Harry says, and wordlessly packages up the cake and sends it into Tom's trunk.
"I'll shrink that once we leave. Can't let the witch out front notice it missing." They exit, arm in arm, and Harry freely admits that he feels some sort of mania bubbling up within him. *I just adopted my parents' murderer,* he thinks. *Hell, I just adopted* my *murderer.* The woman waves goodbye, sending one last loaded glare at Tom. Harry smiles down at him, trying to be reassuring, but Tom looks straight ahead.
Once they're far enough away, they leave the darkened area with a quiet 'pop.' *Here we go,* Harry thinks. *Fuck, here we go.*