Chapter 36

The days bled into each other, forming a steady rhythm that Harry hadn't expected to fall into so quickly. The mornings were spent at the orphanage, patching what he could and ensuring the children had enough to eat. Repairs were an ongoing project, and Harry's magic came in handy for fixing creaky floorboards, painting the walls, and the occasional broken toy. They now had more money, but it was always better to save when it was possible. Mary Anne often teased him about how much easier things were now that he was around, but Harry could see the relief in her tired eyes every time he finished another task.

After a more nutritious lunch, Harry gathered a small group of children—those curious and eager to learn—and led them to the library. The world they lived in was so different from the one he had known, and it fascinated Harry just as much as it confused him. Helping the children with their homework became a way to learn himself. Together, they pored over history books and encyclopedias, piecing together the events and changes that had shaped this place.

By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, Harry would make his way to Tom's mansion. He always arrived early—an hour before Sirius's lessons ended. This hour had become something of a ritual, one that Harry found oddly comforting.

Colin was usually busy with his chores when Harry arrived, and it had become routine for Harry to help him out. Whether it was dusting the library shelves or setting out fresh linens, the work was simple, but the camaraderie made it enjoyable.

Colin, for his part, was happy to chat, filling the time with anecdotes about his photography or updates on Sirius's latest antics. Harry found himself relaxing in these moments, the tension of his new role melting away in the company of someone as unassuming as Colin.

By four o'clock, Sirius was bounding into the room, his energy infectious as he dragged Harry outside to the garden or up to his room for some grand new game or exploration. They spent their afternoons running, laughing, and discovering. Sometimes Sirius's tutors sent home small projects or lessons for him to work on, and Harry made sure those were finished first. But he never discouraged the boy's natural curiosity, indulging his questions about the stars, magical creatures, and far-off places Harry had once called home.

The evenings always ended the same way: a bedtime story.

Harry would help Sirius settle into bed, picking tales that balanced adventure with lessons about bravery, kindness, and resilience. No matter how late it was or how busy the day had been, Tom was always there, seated in the armchair by the window, his sharp eyes fixed on Harry as he wove his stories.

At first, Tom's presence during these moments had made Harry uneasy. But over time, he realized that the man wasn't just monitoring him—he was listening. Sirius, with his wide-eyed wonder, hung onto every word, but Harry had caught the faintest traces of a smile on Tom's lips during some of the more thrilling parts.

After Sirius was asleep, the real conversations began.

What had started as probing questions—subtle attempts to glean more about Harry's past or his motives—had evolved into something else entirely. Now, they talked about Sirius's day, his progress in lessons, and the little triumphs and challenges he faced.

Sometimes, Tom would shift the focus, steering the conversation toward Harry himself. The questions weren't as direct as they'd once been, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was still trying to piece together a puzzle.

Harry found it suspicious, the way their chats had grown so innocuous. It was as if Tom was deliberately disarming him, lulling him into a sense of security. And yet, there were moments—rare and fleeting—when the man's guarded expression softened, and Harry felt as though they were just two people sharing a quiet moment at the end of a long day.

But Harry never let himself fully relax.

Tom Riddle wasn't the sort of man to do anything without reason, and Harry knew better than to let his guard down. Even as their conversations grew easier, he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was watching, waiting, and calculating his every move.

.

The evening began as most of them did, with Harry sitting in the chair near Sirius's bed, recounting one of his stories as the boy drifted off to sleep. This time, it had been about the giant squid in the Hogwarts lake—a story filled with just enough wonder to leave Sirius wide-eyed but relaxed enough to let sleep take over. 

The soft glow of the enchanted ceiling Harry had cast above Sirius's bed reflected gently on the boy's peaceful face. Sirius had fallen asleep mid-sentence, his fingers clutching the edge of the blanket like it was a lifeline. Harry smiled faintly as he pulled the blanket higher, tucking it under Sirius's chin.

As he leaned closer to adjust the pillow, his eyes caught the faint shimmer of the pendant he gifted Sirius on his second day here—a pendant, small and unassuming at first glance, but radiating a subtle, familiar magic. The chain was delicate, almost too fine to be seen against Sirius's pale skin, but the charm it held glimmered faintly, catching the light of the enchanted sky.

The magic was intricate, yet sturdy, layered with purpose and care. He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his mind, lecturing him about rune alignment and the balance of intent. "If you want it to last, Harry, the runes must complement one another. Think of it like a sentence—you can't just throw random words together and hope they make sense."

She had been so patient with him back then, sitting cross-legged on the common room floor with books and parchment scattered around them. He'd struggled at first, frustrated with the complexity of the symbols and the precision required. But Hermione had never wavered, her steady encouragement pulling him through.

"You'll need this someday, Harry," she'd said firmly, her quill tapping against the margin of her notes. "Magic like this isn't just for show—it's to protect the people you care about."

And here it was now, protecting someone he cared about. Sirius stirred slightly, the pendant shifting with the movement, its glow pulsing faintly before settling again. Harry's chest tightened as he straightened up, his fingers lingering for a moment on the edge of the blanket.

"Goodnight, Sirius," he murmured softly, stepping back and allowing the room to fall into the hush of slumber.

As he turned to leave, his eyes lingered on the enchanted ceiling, the stars twinkling gently in their artificial expanse. The past felt closer than ever tonight, like an old friend standing just behind him. And for a fleeting moment, Harry felt Hermione's presence, her voice in his ear, as though she were there reminding him that even in this strange, uncertain world, he still carried pieces of her with him.

Pieces that could make a difference.

He exited the room and Tom followed, his stride measured, his presence looming as always. But tonight, there was something different—a faint tension in the air that Harry couldn't quite place.

"Mr. Potter," Tom began, his voice as smooth as ever, "I trust you've been comfortable with the arrangements so far?"

Harry blinked, a little caught off guard from his reminiscing. "Comfortable enough, I suppose. Though I'm not sure how I feel about having an entire wardrobe waiting for me at the mansion."

A faint smirk curved Tom's lips. "Ah, yes. The tailor informed me that most of your clothing was ready and was sent to you today. Just in time, too. We'll be making a public visit in two days, and you'll need to look the part."

"A visit?" Harry echoed, his stomach tightening.

"Indeed." Tom paused, studying Harry with a calculating gaze. "I'll be visiting one of the orphanages I've chosen to support. Sirius will accompany me, of course, and I expect you to be there as well."

Harry tried to mask his apprehension. The idea of being thrust into a public setting, surrounded by journalists and curious onlookers, didn't sit well with him. "Do I need to… do anything in particular?" he asked cautiously.

Tom's smirk softened slightly, his expression almost—almost—reassuring. "You'll do what you've already proven yourself capable of, Mr. Potter. Protect Sirius. Ensure his comfort. Everything else will fall into place."

Harry wasn't sure if that was meant to be comforting, but it did little to ease his nerves. "I'll do my best," he said quietly.

Tom studied him for a moment longer, and then, to Harry's surprise, his tone shifted. "There's no need to worry. I've found that you perform quite well under pressure."

Harry blinked, startled by the unexpected reassurance. "Are you… trying to comfort me?"

Tom's expression flickered, something unguarded passing over his face for the briefest moment. He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. "Don't misunderstand, Mr. Potter. I simply prefer my employees to be at their best."

Harry tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Right. Of course."

Tom's gaze shifted, his usual composure slipping just slightly. He seemed almost flustered, though he quickly masked it with a curt nod. "If that's all, I have work to attend to. Goodnight, Mr. Potter."

He turned sharply, his footsteps brisk as he retreated down the hallway.

Harry watched him go, his brows furrowing as he replayed the conversation in his head. Had Tom Riddle—a man who exuded control and detachment—just tried to ease his nerves? And more than that, had his ears actually turned red?

A faint chuckle escaped Harry as he leaned against the wall, shaking his head. "Riddle, blushing. Who would've thought?"

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