Chapter 33

The shop was an oasis of refined order, its polished dark wood and soft golden lighting lending the space an almost reverent air. Bolts of fabric in every shade imaginable lined the walls, from muted earth tones to vibrant jewel hues, their textures glimmering in the light. The smell of cedar and something faintly herbal hung in the air, adding to the atmosphere of quiet luxury.

A small, wiry man with sharp eyes and a demeanor as precise as the sharpest blade emerged from behind a counter. His pale hair seemed to glow in the ambient light, and he clasped his hands together, scrutinizing Harry as though he were an unpolished gemstone.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," the man said, his voice brisk but not unkind. "Do step this way."

Harry glanced at Colin, who gave him an encouraging nod, before following the tailor to a raised platform surrounded by mirrors. As soon as he stepped onto it, the tailor began circling him with a tape measure, his movements so swift and practiced that Harry felt like he'd been swept into a storm of professionalism.

"You'll forgive me if I'm thorough," the tailor said, pulling the tape snugly around Harry's shoulders. "Mr. Riddle has rather exacting standards, as do I. You won't leave here looking anything less than exemplary."

"Didn't think I'd need all this," Harry muttered, watching the tailor scribble notes onto a clipboard at lightning speed.

The tailor paused, leveling a sharp glance at him. "You're to represent the Riddle household. One does not do so in anything less than perfection. Now hold still."

Harry suppressed a sigh and stood straighter, letting the man work. Bolts of fabric began appearing in rapid succession, carried out by a silent assistant who moved as though their feet never touched the ground.

"Hmm," the tailor murmured, holding a piece of deep blue fabric up to Harry's chest. "Good, but perhaps too somber. Yes, yes, you'll need something brighter for balance—Mr. Riddle's coloring is colder, but yours… yours requires warmth."

Harry blinked. "I have no idea what that means."

The tailor ignored him, turning to pull a bolt of rich emerald-green fabric. "Now this," he said with the faintest hint of triumph, "this brings out the eyes."

"Uh… thanks?" Harry ventured, feeling thoroughly out of his depth.

The tailor didn't seem to notice, mumbling to himself about textures and cuts as he draped a piece of velvet over Harry's shoulder. "You'll need something more structured for formal occasions—sharp lines, a touch of understated opulence. For casual wear, however, linen and cotton blends will do nicely. Durability is key for a man of your profession."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Durability?"

The tailor stepped back, his keen gaze raking over Harry as though seeing through him. "You're not a mere servant, Mr. Potter. You'll be accompanying young Master Sirius in public. That necessitates attire that is both practical and commanding. You must look the part, not merely fill it."

Harry glanced at Colin, who had been quietly observing from the corner. "Is this… normal for a bodyguard?"

Colin hesitated for a moment, then offered a measured nod. "It's not usual, no. But given your role as Sirius's protector, and your visibility as part of the Riddle household, this level of attention makes sense."

"Visibility," Harry repeated, his tone dry. "Right."

Colin smiled faintly, as though trying to be reassuring. "Sirius will be in the public eye more often now, and so will you. Mr. Riddle doesn't do things halfway."

"Clearly," Harry muttered as the tailor returned with yet another bolt of fabric, this one a deep burgundy that made Harry feel like a particularly fancy curtain. "This seems… excessive."

The tailor arched an eyebrow, his tone brisk but polite. "Excessive would be dressing you in second-rate garments. I am not merely a tailor, Mr. Potter. I am the tailor for the Riddle family. That means you will receive nothing less than the best. Now, any preferences?"

Harry blinked. "Preferences?"

The man waved a hand, clearly impatient. "Styles, colors, fabrics? Surely you have some opinion on what you like to wear."

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment. He was used to hand-me-downs and secondhand clothes from charity shops. Preferences hadn't exactly been an option. "Uh… something comfortable?"

The tailor looked as though Harry had just suggested he wear burlap. "Comfortable," he repeated flatly. "Well, we'll simply have to educate your tastes. Fortunately, I'm up to the task."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "You're the expert."

"Indeed I am," the tailor said, his tone clipped as he resumed his work. "Stand still."

For the next hour, Harry was draped, pinned, measured, and critiqued within an inch of his life. By the time the tailor finally stepped back and declared himself satisfied, Harry's head was spinning.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked Colin as they stepped outside into the crisp afternoon air.

Colin chuckled, his expression sympathetic. "Mr. Riddle likes to ensure his people represent him well. You'll be more than a bodyguard, Harry—you're part of the image he projects to the world."

Harry frowned. "That's a lot of pressure."

Colin nodded, his tone serious. "It is. But Sirius trusts you, and that means something. You'll be fine."

Harry wasn't entirely convinced, but he forced a small smile. "Let's hope so."

As the fitting finally concluded, the tailor clapped his hands together, signaling the end of what felt like an ordeal to Harry. He disappeared into the back room and returned moments later with a small rack of garments, each carefully draped on polished hangers.

"These are for you to use in the interim," the tailor said briskly, pushing the rack toward Harry. "The full wardrobe will take time, but these should suffice for now."

Harry blinked at the selection—three neatly tailored outfits, ranging from casual wear to something that looked fit for a formal dinner. The fabrics gleamed faintly in the light, their quality undeniable.

"I've included instructions," the tailor added, handing Harry a neatly folded card. "For layering, matching, and maintaining the garments. Pay attention, Mr. Potter. Clothes are only as good as the man wearing them."

Harry tried not to laugh at the solemnity in the man's tone. "Thanks. I'll, uh, do my best."

The tailor arched an eyebrow, his sharp gaze sweeping over Harry once more. "You will. And put these on before you leave. I won't have you walking around looking like a vagabond."

Harry sighed but didn't argue. He selected one of the simpler outfits—a dark green sweater paired with black slacks and a matching overcoat. As he changed in a nearby dressing room, he felt the difference immediately. The clothes fit perfectly, snug but not restrictive, and the materials were softer and warmer than anything he'd ever owned.

When he stepped out, the tailor gave a satisfied nod. "Much better. The green brings out your eyes."

Harry frowned slightly, unsure how to respond. "Uh… thanks?"

Colin chuckled, giving Harry an approving once-over. "Looks good on you. Ready to head to the mansion?"

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing down at himself once more. The unfamiliar sensation of wearing something that truly fit him left him feeling both confident and oddly exposed. "Let's go."

As they drove back, Harry glanced at Colin. "So, this room… what's it like?"

"It's modest but comfortable," Colin replied. "Close to the young master's quarters, for convenience."

Harry frowned slightly. "Convenience for who?"

Colin's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Both of you, I imagine."

Harry leaned back in his seat, his mind churning. This wasn't just a job. It was a role that came with expectations, ties, and obligations he hadn't fully grasped yet.

.

The mansion loomed ahead as Colin parked the car, its grand facade bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Harry carried the neatly packed clothes in a bag as they approached the front doors, Colin walking beside him with the same quiet efficiency he always carried.

Inside, the house was its usual blend of quiet grandeur and subtle bustle. Colin led Harry to the room that had been prepared for him, located in a quieter wing of the house, near Sirius' own room. The space was modest by the mansion's standards but luxurious compared to anything Harry had known. A neatly made bed, a wardrobe already prepared for the rest of his clothes, and a small writing desk by a window completed the room.

As Harry set the bag down, Colin excused himself to attend to other duties, leaving Harry alone for a moment to take in his new surroundings. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the desk, his thoughts briefly drifting to the orphanage and how far removed this world was from the one he'd come from.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see Tom Riddle entering the hallway. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in a tailored dark suit and overcoat, his sharp features composed but focused, as though already thinking ahead to his next meeting.

"Mr. Potter," Tom greeted, his tone even but his eyes appraising. They flicked over Harry's new attire, and for a fleeting moment, a faint smile curved his lips. "The green suits you. Brings out your eyes."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "That's what the tailor said."

Tom's smile deepened, though it remained subtle. "Then he's clearly doing his job. You look… respectable."

"Uh, thanks," Harry said awkwardly, shifting slightly under the weight of Tom's gaze. He wasn't used to this kind of attention and wasn't entirely sure how to handle it.

Tom glanced at his watch, his movements smooth and deliberate. "I have a meeting to attend, but I trust you'll make yourself at home. Sirius will be pleased to see you later."

Harry nodded, watching as Tom turned to leave. The man's presence was magnetic in a way Harry couldn't quite describe—both intimidating and oddly grounding.

"Enjoy your evening, Mr. Potter," Tom said over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor.

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to his room. It was going to take some time to adjust to this new reality, but one thing was clear: nothing about working for Tom Riddle was going to be simple.