Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night when the Dark Lord fell the Weasley family was sleeping fitfully. The evening held a handful of Halloween celebrations, with too many children breaking havoc, for once not only under Molly’s watch at the Burrow, but also outside, trick or treating around town. The new tradition was still fairly new, as Arthur had gotten a hold of what it entailed only two years prior. The children had run amok to their neighbours grounds, and after a filling dinner they fell asleep without being asked twice, even in the case of the twins, who seemed to have enjoyed their first Halloween out of the house.

Ron was oddly quiet throughout the night, which any other day would have had Molly and Arthur on edge, but after that eventful day it just seemed like a blessing. The hours passed by, the sun rising and, whilst the whole wizarding world was in a widespread commotion, Molly and Arthur slept in.

It wasn’t until a short, sturdy and heavily freckled little boy came to poke his mom’s eye that they woke up to the only news that could be more puzzling than the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Charlie Wasley had been woken up by his brother, Bill, and while the older child had promptly fallen back asleep after attempting to read Runes and Rules for what felt like the millionth time to Charlie, the younger of the two had gotten out of their shared bedroom to explore the surroundings of the Burrow in his never ending quest to find a dragon.

When Charlie got to the gardens, he was quickly growing tired, and he was starting to notice that the garden’s serpents must have been just as asleep as his family. His stomach was starting to protest for him to get breakfast when he felt something against his ankle, and when he looked down he found nothing less than a viper. 

Now, any other child would have gotten out of there as fast as his legs would let him, but Charlie Weasley was no ordinary child, and thus he decided to follow it towards the forest. 

Suddenly, there was a rush of leaves and a small squeaking noise. Charlie felt rooted to the ground all of a sudden, as if a feeling was cautioning him to take one step ahead to change his life forever. The squeaking noises grew into whines, and he started moving again, his choice already made, for he never said no to a new adventure.

What he saw in the forest glade he found himself in was far from what he expected, as there was no dragon cub there, but a human child around Ron’s age sitting on the ground, surrounded by two adder snakes that doubled his size.

Charlie didn’t know what to do, a feeling in his gut telling him to jump and help; but his mind knew his limits, and even though he held no regard to safety, in that moment his young mind was aiming for his own self-preservation. He immediately ran back home, his mother the only thought in his mind. She always had all the answers to his questions, and he knew better than to go to anyone else.

That is how the short, sturdy and heavily freckled little boy came to poke his mom’s eye, waking her up with a startled gasp. She would have been mad, and was ready to be very much so, but the moment she saw the tears rushing down her son’s nervous face all her anger went away, changed by a drive to right whatever had wronged her little boy.

“Mum… There was a kid, the forest, he- he was like Ron! And there were snakes! You have to help him! Mum please!” He started to say, rushedly, waking Arthur too.

“Honey, breathe in, breathe out, please.” She urged him, resting her hands on his arms and caressing him.

“Mum, please, you have to go!” He grew even more anxious, but he wasn’t shaking her off so Molly persisted.

“And where is that, love?” She asked, the calmness of her voice completely artificial.

“The… The place with no trees, the one that’s close to home. Mom, please hurry!”

“I’ll take care of it, Molly.” Her husband stated, wand in hand, not even out of his pyjamas, and right at the next second his grave expression disappeared with the rest of him. And that look on his face… That look on his face speared Molly’s mind, and that is when it hit her.

That is when it hit her that Voldemort killed not only with people, but also with snakes.

Her eyes widened in terrible understanding, and her hands trembled, hard, faltering from her child’s arms. Charlie grew anxious and confused, not understanding his mother’s reaction. She stood up and, albeit shakily, took her wand from her nightstand, doing a couple of tries until her Expecto Patronus came out as a corporeal bear, to which she spoke: “Diggory, come to the Burrow as fast you can. Bring Pandora, too, if you’re able.” Her voice was commanding as it was terrified.

She closed her eyes before lowering herself down again towards her son, hugging him. “Do be good while I’m away, Charles.” That tensed him up, she never used his whole name, not even when he burnt down her favourite casseroles when playing dragons.

“Mum, let me go too!” He pleaded.

“Baby, you stay here and greet Mr. Diggory and Mrs. Lovegood, yes?” She asked as she pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes mummy.” He nodded, trying to look brave, and she couldn’t help it, and pecked him all over his scrunched little face.

“That’s my good boy.” She told him, pecking his cheek again. “Give your siblings a good morning kiss meanwhile, ok? For me and Daddy?”

“I will, mommy.”

She took off, knowing the spot Charlie talked about by heart, remembering that there was Arthur gave her their first kiss as parents, when they had just moved into the Burrow, and when she materialised there she tried to hold on to her hope of being able to repeat that in the future with Arthur still alive, in her arms.

At that level of stress, the picture that greeted her in the clearing was most surprising. Her husband stood a couple of steps away from her, so still that one could swear that he had been jinxed, but it was far from that, as he was very much able to move, visible in the way he was gaping like a fish. She studied his profile for half a second, and then followed his gaze to find the strangest picture.

A child, sitting by himself, with two serpents double his side on each hand.

Molly’s silent scream was shut by her own hand, and when she was about to speak to Arthur, to ask him whether they should call the aurors of Dumbledore first, she saw a shock of bright red hair in front of the right viper the baby was holding.

“Hello, little one”, and although her husband was giving Molly his back, the smile on his face could be heard on his voice, “how about we head home, hm?” He asked, and the baby, to Molly’s further surprise, seemed to consider it, with his little face scrunched up.

A minute passed when the baby looked calm again, and then a beat, and a hissing sound. A hissing that was coming from the baby. The baby that suddenly Arthur was holding up, thankfully serpentless, but communicating in their language nonetheless.

When he turned around Molly saw Arthur’s face at least, beaming at her direction, and his expression brightened even further when he registered her to be there with him.

“So, I know you said no to more children…” And Molly tuned him out, flabbergasted not beginning to cover how she was feeling at the moment.

“Arthur.” She cut his babbling, pale and feeling as feeble as a cloud. “That baby was holding two snakes not a second ago.”

“Mollywobbles, can’t you see he’s a gift from Magic herself?” His wife’s answering frown decidedly told him that no, she did not believe that.

“A gift for what? Already having more children than most magical families?”

“Molly, you know that this works in mysterious ways.” He explained to her while cooing at the brown haired baby, who answered with a nonsensical hiss. Molly could feel a migraine coming only because of that interaction.

“Arthur, that must be somebody else’s baby.” She reasoned, looking at the babe’s dark hair and eyes.

“Ours, it is. Look at him snuggling up, he knows I’m right.” She was mortified at how easily the baby was wrapping her husband around his little finger, and how it was working a little bit on her too. Their interaction was, admittedly, adorable.

“We get him back home, send a patronus to the necessary people and we’ll see, alright?” She compromised, not believing herself in her tameness.

“Alrighty then, honey.” He told her, with a tone that conveyed how sure he was of him getting his way.

When they got back home, toddler in tow, both Amos Diggory and Pandora Lovegood stood up fast as lighting, ready to tell them the story of a child with a mark with such a shape.

Chapter Text

"Septimus didn't like his first name. Common, boring and vulgar came up as descriptors of it, and the fact that it had been chosen only to compliment his dullest brother made it even worse. Thomas- aw, Tommy, you refer to yourself as Thomas? Not even Mum does that." Screamed a bored preteen, holding a black diary with yellow embroidery while he lounged on a chair by the living room, wasting away under the rare summer sun.

"Shut up! How did you get my book?!" Screamed a child no older than eleven with a severity of a writer of many times his age, but a tone that showcased an unique sort of childishness.

“It looks like more of a diary than a book, Tommy.” The older sibling said, effectively making use of his growth spur to hold the diary over his brother’s head.

“What do you even know about it, Fred!” He mucked, changing his approach and choosing to aim kicks at other's shins, to no avail.

“I'm George.” He said, teasingly.

“Like hell you are!” Was screamed as the younger child finally got the diary, reversing the roles into a quite violent game of tag.

“Children! No swearing!” Screamed their mother from the other side of the living room, where she was brewing some Pepper Up.

“But Mum!” Said both at unison, still running.

“What did I say about taking Tommy's things?” She reminded the older, pointing her wand at their general direction and muttering an accio diary .

“It's not a diary!” The child all but whined

“Sure, love.” She conceded, putting the book away in her charmed apron’s front pocket.

“I find it so interesting that you use those muggle writing tools for it.” Commented Arthur, in that airy yet smart tone of his as he all but floated to where he was needed, as usual.

“Dad!” Exclaimed the twin, baffled by his father’s silent appearance right behind him.

“Oh hi, George.” He told him as he passed by him, ruffling his head.

“Dad, I'm Fred.” He moaned, contempt shining through his face.

“Knew it!” Said Tommy, pumping his fists in a swift, victorious gesture, whilst his demeanour was set in its usual gremlin-state.

“Sorry son, but apparently no Weasley is proven wrong under this roof.” Arthur claimed sagely.

“Because we can only argue with each other.” Tommy commented while he rolled his eyes and decided to go to Molly, bringing with him some thyme and earning a small smile from his mother.

“Not true, Luna comes by a lot.” Commented Ginny, who had been lazing around on the couch all along.

“And Tonks! Is she staying for dinner, Mum?” Asked Fred, his small crush for the metamorphmagus shining through.

“Wouldn't I like to know! She's off with Charlie somewhere.” She commented, chopping the Thyme and signaling Tommy to get the mandrake root.

“Daddy, tell Fred to apologize for reading my manuscript!” He all but whined as he passed his dad on his way to the gardens.

“But Dad, I've been so bored ever since George went away!” 

“He's been de-gnoming the outskirts garden for only six minutes. He’s right there!” Commented Ginny, with a clear distaste of her brothers’ dramatic antics.

“It really feels like decades without him!” He plopped over the sofa, making Ginny go from contemptuous to bewildered, leading to her aiming a pillow with precision onto her brother’s ear.

“You're all so dramatic.” Tommy commented as he re-entered the room.

Molly tuttered.

The afternoon went on, with Ginny reading the latest quidditch magazine, lended to her by Amos Diggory; George finally joining Fred in a whispered, unsubtle round of scheming; Molly artfully finishing up her potion; Arthur filling out a tedious report right next to her (while stealing some kisses every-so-often, as one does); and Tommy scribbling furiously into his diary, no doubt recounting the disrespect he’d just experienced. Charlie, according to the clock, was also home, although everyone knew that only Merlin himself could find him when his colorful best friend came to visit. In short, it was as calm as the Burrow could ever be.

That is, until a bespectacled, gangly boy came down the stairs.

“Oh hear thee, our most almighty Percy graces us with his presence. How come you're not off doing some summer extra credit?” Asked George, while Fred snickered next to him.

“If you must know, I finished that.” Their brother answered, not missing a beat and raising his nose as far as it could go.

“That's my boy!” Celebrated Molly, genuine in her pride, and leaving the potion to simmer to go hug him.

“Mum!” Percy answered, a bit breathless in her grip.

“But Perce, you told me I could help you!” Said Tommy, his best puppy eyes directed at him.

“And make you lose the energy you will need to excel in your first year classes? I would never.” Percy told him, his limbs free once again to go towards his favourite brother and poke his nose.

“Energy isn't created nor destroyed, only transformed.” Noted Tommy, earning him a groan from his other three siblings.

“Oh, but you boys are so smart!”

“Mum, I think a gnome broke into the house.” The last remaining Weasley brother said as he ran inside, his voice ragged and his face red from exertion.

“So smart indeed.” She muttered, no longer sounding so sure of it, and rolling up her sleeves to go find it.

“Don't worry Mollywobbles, I'll take care of that. So Ron, where do you think it went?” Said Arthur, earning him a good-natured eye roll from his wife as she walked right past both to go find it herself.

Tom held his book closer to him when he saw her go, disgust flowing throughout his blood.

He hated his family, he really did. He was better off without any of them, that was a given. Well, maybe not without his dad. Everyone needs a dad, anyways, so it wasn’t even worth arguing that he’d have a better life without one, of course, it’s just choosing one’s battle’s cunningly! And his older brother, Percy, was an asset as well. Who wouldn’t want a smart older sibling with whom to plan a political overtaking of the Ministry of Magic, after all? Maybe it could be argued that a brother like Charlie was useful, too, with his talent, job prospects and rare skills. And rare skills were something that also overflowed off of Bill, so it was also wise to keep him around, but that was about it!

But, and he could not help himself when he wrote this down, a mother is a very humanizing feature to have as a politician, as well as a younger sister. He always heard politicians justify themselves on that basis, for can someone with a mother be truly cruel? Can someone with a little sister be evil? Not to the public eye, apparently, and Tommy followed that logic, for as flawed as it was, he couldn’t help to think that he'd never bear to hurt someone as kind as his mum, or as good as Ginny. Ron, though, ought to be worthless. A fraternal twin is more of a liability than an asset, especially when yours is so dumb, but, thinking of it, after such familiar precedents, having a bleak person to whom his professors could compare him to in his year could only benefit him. So maybe a case could be fought on Ron’s relevance to his inevitable ascent to power. Still, the twins…

“WHO BLEW THAT!” Screamed a tiny, enraged voice.

“Sorry Gins, we’re practizing for when we graduate.” George started.

“It’s gotta be the most massive goodbye to Hogwarts ever.” Fred finished.

“You are in your second year!” Ron noted from where he was hiding under the coffee table.

“It’s never too early!” Said Fred

“And the third’s just staring!” Continued George.

“We must reach perfect awesomeness…” Fred talked as he looked mischievously at his twin.

“Before we’re halfway through!” They both announced.

“THAT WAS MY FAVOURITE DOLL!” Ginny shrieked at them, throwing cups from the kitchen at both twins in a bout of accidental magic.

Tommy grieved for the loss of Miss Minnipuff for a moment, pondering the set of twins straight from hell that his family was burdened with. They were smart, their respective houses accounted for that, and yet so dense. Still, out of everyone, they were the most likely to succeed, other than Tommy and Percy, obviously.

Their enterprising mind was something Ron, for instance, would never fathom possessing. So what if he was good at chess? He was still one of the thickest kids Tommy knew, and he considered himself an expert on those, as he was related to six of them.

Although that wasn’t quite true anymore, with Bill off somewhere deep in the throes of his final Cursebreaker examination, and Charlie being a Hogwarts graduate on the lookout for an apprenticeship in Dragon Taming. It felt monumental, the day the eldest Weasley had told the family he’d be departing the Burrow. Good riddance, in Tommy’s opinion, because no matter how much his mother lamented his departure, his leaving meant he finally got his own room, at last having some space apart from his fraternal twin.

Charlie’s soon departure, though, did hurt a bit more. Tommy would never say it out loud, of course, that would make him the baby everyone made him out to be, and he certainly would never give anyone that satisfaction, but it was a fact that Charlie had the warmest soul out of all the Weasleys.

That is why everything went still the second Charlie barged in, Tonks in tow, to scream from the top of his lungs:

“I got in!” Tonk’s hair wouldn’t settle on any color, length or texture whatsoever, and her face had morphed into a frankly unsettling resemblance of a dragonkin. That’s when Tommy’s stomach fell. “I’m going to Romania!”

Tommy stood frozen on the spot, feeling many years younger at once, while his whole family rose to hug him into a stupor. He relalized, to his dismay, that the only Weasley that wasn’t in the group hug —other than him—, was his father.

“He’ll be back, you know.” Was all that he said, placing his hand on Tommy’s nape in a way that comforted him beyond measure. He didn’t want to be a baby, but in that instant he let himself be cradled like one, letting the uncertainty wash over him in waves, parallely to the love that came from his father’s touch.

A little scream brought him out of his stupor: “Take me with you!” It couldn't be anyone other than little Ginny saying that.

“Now young lady, what on earth would you do in Romania?” Protested her mother, looking stern albeit for the unshed tears on her eyes.

“If the boys can go to Scotland, I can go to Romania! They’re both different countries!”

“In what world is Scotland not Britain?” Asked her mother, more baffled than scorning.

“It’s ‘United Kingdom’, mum! That means they’re their own kingdom!” Ginny argued her answer with a tone of having pondered this much before mentioning it this once.

Percy and Tommy looked at each other instinctively, sharing a knowing smirk. Maybe Ginny would grow to be a political ally, after all.

“You’re not going to dawdle around with Dragons young lady, and that’s final!” 

“I am, though!” Exclaimed Charlie, who was still being hugged by most of his family, with Tommy having joined the hug by the means of a gentle patting to what he presumed was his brother’s shoulder.

“Hell yeah!” Cheered Tonks, her hair finally settling on fiery red. Tommy was mildly envious that she could do that so easily, while he had to remain the sole brown-haired Weasley, but seeing Fred looking enamoured by her skill made her skill less so appealing.

“Are you staying for dinner, dear?” Asked Arthur.

“Yeah, are you?” Was Fred’s breathless follow-up, accompanied by his twin’s heckling.

“Sure, Mr. Weasley, I’ve got to spend as much as I have left with my best friend, after all.” Tonks commented, regretting it instantly at Charlie’s murderous expression.

“What? When’s your portkey?” Asked a very lost Ron, whose face couldn’t really be distinguished from the sea of red hair that surrounded Charlie.

“Tomorrow morning.” Charlie all but wrestled the information from in between his vocal chords, knowing all too well what his mother’s reaction would be.

“Oh! Oh, my poor heart!” Molly all but fell, being caught in time by her husband.

“Mollywobbles, it’ll be fine.” He reassured her, raising her to her feet to no avail, for she stayed where she was half carried by her husband.

“No it won’t! It’ll be the saddest September 1st in all history, it will.” She lamented.

“I’ll still be here, mum.” Was Ginny’s ill-timed comment, for which everyone, even Tonks, turned to look at her with a mix of pity and disbelief.

“Thank goodness!” Molly’s strength reappeared at that, standing up to go hold her daughter in her arms. 

“Oh, not this again…” Was all Ginny could attempt to communicate from her mother’s bosom.

“All my babies, grown!” She bemoaned, holding her youngest even harder. Arthur couldn’t help the amused huff he produced, low enough only for Tommy to hear. How preposterous, to say they were all grown. Tommy, for once, was not keen on that, because if growing meant becoming disgustingly in love like his parents, he would never fully embrace being an adult.

With a scowl he went to the dining area, dutifully setting the table for everyone, guest included, although Tonks didn’t get any of the pretty vases. Those were for family only, after all, and no matter how much Tommy hated his family, they were his no matter.

Chapter Text

Getting to King’s Cross as a family of eight was hard, surpassing the bounds of what magic could facilitate. It was a downer that Charlie was already far, far away from his clan, as the number of trips that had to be taken to the apparition point with only two adults and six children was, frankly, ridiculous.

Tommy was last, with him and Ginny standing awkwardly while his parents sorted out George’s and Ron’s joint apparition. Sometimes, they’d apparate in groups of three, but with all the luggage that had to be transported it was out of the question.

“Are you nervous?” Asked Ginny, with her eyes gaining her usual innocent twinkle. He thought of teasing her, but he did pity her being left all alone in the Burrow, with no siblings to distract her from their mother’s thorough schooling and attention.

“Not at all.” He answered, chin up in a position all too similar to Percy’s.

“Really? Not one bit?” She asked, again, tilting her head in curiosity.

“I'm never afraid, Ginevra.”

“You’ll fit right in in Gryffindor.” Her face now tilted in mischief when saying that.

“Do not insult me, you little minx.” He warned her, and she squinted her eyes.

“Hey!–” She was cut by the sharp sound of their parents, who were back and hurrying with an urgency that could only be instigated when leaving the twins with no adult supervision for a minute.

The four of them arrived at King’s Cross in what had to be a world record, and Tommy marveled in the structure of the train station. It was no Heathrow, but it still was quite impressive. Whenever he and his father went on their covert muggle-world exploring adventures he always saw these small things, like the hauntingly beautiful Castle of Edinburgh, or the amazing bridges that adorned the Thames through all London. He so wished to go on a walk around the city before being dropped off at platform 9 ¾, but he was also eager to finally board the train, after a lifetime of watching his older brothers depart on it.

Of course only Percy, and maybe his father, knew of his excitement, as he was a master at hiding his true feelings. Hopefully in Slytherin he’d learn how to fully let go of those pesky things in general, at last, but for the time being excitement wasn’t the worst thing to feel.

Fear, fear was also somewhere as well, under the surface, but he guessed his fraternal twin had enough of that for the two of them. The poor boy had been pacing around for weeks, and Tommy couldn’t help closing his eyes to avoid rolling them out of the mere memory of the boy's frantic behaviour. How they had shared an upbringing was one of nature’s biggest mysteries. He pondered on that while his mother talked all their ears off on their way to the platform.

“Well, we have to get going as fast as possible kids, this place is packed with Muggles, of course, so we can’t stick out too much!” As if such a feat was ever possible, Tommy lamented in silence. With so many redheads it must have been hard for even the least observant of muggles to not notice them. 

“Now, what’s the platform number?” Asked Molly, as she always did.

“Nine and three-quarters!” Answered Ginny, almost before their mother finished the question. “Mum, can’t I go…”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny, dear.” She told her daughter, cupping her head and looking at her with eyes full of nostalgia. She recovered fast, though, and looked at her eldest present, proud and steady. “All right, Percy, you go first.” He did, fast as a whip, the green of his robes looking like summer leaves for a millisecond.

“Fred, you next.” She smiled at the twin, who frowned.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.” Answered the boy, fake outrage shining through his face. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

“Sorry, George, dear.” She played it off, anticipating his answer.

“Only joking, I am Fred.” He said as he ran off, and everyone on their side of the station sighed. Always that same joke, really, Tommy pondered that it ought to have an expiration date.

“Hurry up Fred!” Tommy said, already impatient for his turn.

“Whatever the little prince says.” Said the taller boy, to which Tommy snickered.

“Excuse me.” And this was new to their years-old dance. A little boy, short, dark haired and tanned, looked up at Tommy’s mother with a lost expression. In all the years they’d gone to the Hogwarts Express not once had they encountered an unaccompanied muggle-born, thus Molly’s excitement grew exponentially at the prospect of a new bird under her wing.

“Hullo, dear.” she said, face bright. “First time at Hogwarts? Ronnie and Tommy are new, too.” Tommy could sense more than see how Ron had grown red as a beet at that nickname, only ever used by their mother to try and make them seem more like twins, with matching names. It was an understandable attempt, though, seeing there was no other way to find a similarity between the two of them.

“Yes. The thing is– the thing is, I don’t know how to–” Stuttered the dark haired boy, and Tommy couldn’t fault him too much. It was overwhelming, he presumed, to be met with so much redness at once.

“How to get on to the platform?” Molly finished for him, and he nodded. “Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on now, love.” She patted his back, to which he straightened his back, and finally Tommy saw his face, to which he almost fainted.

Both a recognition and a slight headache washed over him, because right there was none other than Harry bloody Potter.

The scar was a no-brainer, and he was extremely surprised nobody in his family recognized it. He took a step towards him, but he was already gone, lost beyond the brick wall.

He tried to go next, but a stern: “It’s Ron’s turn, Tommy,” from his father made him stand still.

He saw how his brother entered the station, and finally it was up to him to cross the barrier. He sped up, going almost as fast as Percy, and he didn’t even stop to take in the wonders of the magical platform, all too busy trying to find Harry Potter in the crowd. His attempts were futile, and he settled on kissing his parents goodbye, and giving one of his rare smiles to Ginny, to her utter bafflement. He was going to miss them, against his better judgement.

He entered the train, looking back just the one time to look at his dad, feeling some of that fear rise above the surface. Who would marvel at muggle inventions with him, or tell him about the misgivings of the Wizegamot, or kiss him goodnight, if not his dad?

When both him and Ron had climbed up the train, they stared at each other feeling an abject inadequacy at spending time together.

“So…” Started the redhead.

“Just go into whatever compartment, and I’ll go to the contiguous one.” He ordered his fraternal twin, and although he seemed to be taken aback by the word contiguous, he eagerly agreed. Clearly, there's someone better suited for Gryffindor than I, take that, Ginny, he thought as he walked up one compartment beyond his brother’s, and as he opened the door, he foolishly hoped Harry Potter would be in it.

To his biggest disappointment, it was a blond, pointy kid who was sitting there, all alone and unbothered in a way Tommy knew only children usually behaved, never alert for a prank or a tackle from a sibling. Too bad for him, he reckoned, because Tommy always made himself known.

“Good morning.” He said, voice booming and confident.

“You, as well.” Was the measly answer from the ponce, with a curt nod to accompany it.

“So it is.” He agreed, sitting down with his back straight as a rod.

“Quite cloudy, though.” Commented the other, proving to Tommy that this boy was also a thoroughbred Englishman, such as him, partaking in the national sport of commenting on the weather.

“As it usually is in London. It’s the weather up in Scotland that is inconsistent.” He concluded, his eyes still looking down on the blond. He had to assert his dominance, after all.

“Quite so.” The other conceded, finally looking away from their staredown.

They sat in silence as the train departed, as Tommy saw his parents wave his train away, trying with all his might to not wave back like a lunatic, which proved to be more than difficult, especially when his father ran after the train for a bit, waving both at him and towards where Ron must have been sitting (although, in the privacy of his own mind, Tommy considered that he'd looked at him for a beat longer). He reared his feelings in, ordering the tears that were threatening to dampen his corneas to go right back in, and covering up his expression while he did so by opening the first book he could grab from his trolley.

“Brown hair and a copy of Pure-Blood Directory ? You must be a Nott.” Drawled the other boy, and Tommy couldn’t help the scowl that made its way into his face.

“Excuse me?” He asked, for once caught off.

“Aren’t you? My father did tell me they had a boy my age, but that he was raised in France with his mother.”

“Well, I–”

“Ne vous inquiétez pas si vous ne parlez pas encore couramment anglais! Je peux parler français aussi longtemps que vous le souhaitez.” The blond menace said, and Tommy found him almost funny in how eager he was to please.

“I can speak English just fine, thank you very much.” Said another boy, with similar brown hair, but eyes as blue as the sky hiding behind the clouds above them. He came in with two bulky boys, who each sat at both sides of the blond, and Tommy found it relentlessly unfair he didn’t have his own cronies yet.

The so-called Nott child sat next to him, his gloom so strong Tommy actually had to move. He dearly hoped not to be sorted with any of these children.

“Well, if there isn't a crowd in here.” Laughed one of two other kids, who stood on the door. The girl stuck her nose up in a dignified manner that Tommy knew he himself would recreate sooner or later, which served to ingratiate her to him already. It also made it a tad bit sad when she spoke.

“I think we should leave, Blaise, Daphne’s compartment has plenty more space.” And if Tommy hadn’t been in a corner —which made it undignified if he walked right through Nott to join the two strangers—, he would have walked off with them in a heartbeat. Everything seemed better than being stuck with anyone in his compartment. He hoped, in the privacy of his mind, that Ron was having a better time.

“I don’t care, Pansy, there’s one spot left and it definitely isn’t for you.” The blond sassed at her, and Tommy hated to admit he said it in a way that was rather fun to witness. Sometimes posh kids could be charismatic, he allowed. Their parents paid thousands of galleons for them to be, after all.

“Sod off, Malfoy.” And sometimes not even a whole vault worth of private education could buy them manners, as the Nott child made apparent.

“Well, Harry Potter is on this train.” And Tommy managed to hide a knowing smirk from them. He was the first one in this compartment to see Harry Potter, and wasn’t that thrilling?

The rest of the train ride was uneventful, with all five kids eager to finally get off and get to the sorting as soon as possible. It wasn’t until a pudgy boy stumbled into the carriage with a frazzled girl that something faintly interesting happened.

“Have you seen a toad?” He asked, all too nervous about losing a slimy toad, but Tommy had come to learn that pets weren’t pests, even though he used to hate the family rat with a passion. Thank Merlin he managed to talk the snakes in his garden into eating him. He always told his mother he was partial to a pet snake after that, but alas, they weren’t permitted at Hogwarts as of yet.

“I haven’t.” He spoke before anyone else could, knowing this question would finally get him out of the compartment. “But my brother is a prefect, so he can accio it to you, if you want.” He offered, showcasing it would be not only kind of him, but also a favour that had to be repaid.

“Yes! That’s brilliant!” Said the little girl next to the blond boy, and Tommy already knew it, but it was always good to start taking applications for minions. He stood up in a haste, muttered an almost inaudible excuse me to the Nott child as he passed by, trying to land a little kick in the shin for good measure just because he fancied it, but not being able to.

“What are your names?” He asked while they walked down the train towards the Prefects compartment.

“Hermione Granger.” The girl answered first, and Tommy noted that was quite the uncommon surname in the wizarding world, which just made her all the more interesting. Maybe he could ask her the million questions he had about the muggle world, and in return he could acquaint her with the lesser known sides of wizarding customs and society.

“Neville Longbottom.” Said the other child, and Tommy felt every hair of his body rise at the name. A pity what had happened to his parents, that was. He’d heard horror stories of the boy’s remaining family, and he couldn’t help but have an uncharacteristic compassion for the boy. He hated the feeling the second he processed it.

“Well, I’m Thomas Septimus Weasley, but you can call me Septi–”

“Tommy! What are you doing out of the compartment? Why haven’t you changed into your robes yet?” Was Percy’s rude intervention. Always a mother hen, that one, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up in pettiness.

“I was looking for you!” He told his brother, to which the elder one looked a mix of confused and mildly scared. “It’s just so you accio my friends’ toad, if you will.” And at such a simple request Percy relaxed, while Neville’s and Hermione’s faces visibly brightened at the word ‘friend’.

“Whatever the little prince wants.” The blush that adorned Tommy’s face couldn’t be helped, not when Percy brought out their inner family joke for his future cronies to laugh at him. “What’s the toad’s name?”

“It’s Trevor, sir.” And of course Percy would preen at that.

“He’s actually fifteen.” Noted Tom, trying his best to not sound too rude, and failing.

“ Accio Trevor.” Said his older brother, talking over his little brother’s correction so a flying toad would interrupt him. He was a right Slytherin that one, that was for sure.

“That was so cool!” Exclaimed Hermione, who was obviously not quite used to magic as of yet. Normalizing her reactions would be a first step, Tommy noted. He really was a neat friend, honestly, already seeing how to better his cronies. 

“Thank you, young lady, now go change before we arrive!” Percy’s smile was almost brighter than his golden prefect’s pin.

“Yes, Perce.” Told him Tommy as he turned around resolutely and started walking away, trying to hide his big smile at his brother’s concern.

“And do check on Ron!” Tom’s groan at that could be heard all the way from Hogwarts.

“Who’s Ron?” Asked the bushy-haired girl, to which Tommy finally turned around to lock his brown eyes with hers menacingly.

“I will say this once, and just this once: Ronald Bilius Weasley is my brother.” he stated, promptly resuming his fast pace.

“Why would you need to check on him?” Was the girl’s hushed question, who was very audibly rushing behind him.

“He’s also a first year.” 

“Are you two, like, irish twins?” Asked Longbottom, and to that Tommy stopped right on his tracks.

“What did I say about questions about our blood relation?” He questioned, too menacingly for an eleven-year-old to manage, and yet visibly making Neville quite scared.

“Oh– erm– sorry!” And, Morgana help him, the compassion towards the ashy blond kid came back in full motion. He needed to work on weeding that out.

“We’re twins. Fraternal.” He conceded, looking slightly less scary.

“He can’t be that insufferable.” Was Granger’s uncalled input, and Tommy started doubting their cronies future status at that very moment.

“Oh, just you wait.”

They approached the compartment next to his, to both of his new allies’ surprise.

“You were sitting contiguously?” So she was clever, after all.

“Indeed.” He knocked on the door, pondering the pros and cons of accepting her into his social circle once more.

“Come in!” Said his brother in a way that evidenced his mouth was stuffed whilst he spoke, no doubt already gulping down every single snack their mother had packed for them.

“Ronald, close your mouth while eating, you’re making me look–”, he stopped dead in his tracks, locking eyes with eyes greener than any potion he’d ever seen, but just as enchanting. He internally cringed at such a sentiment.

“Shut up, you ponce.” Was Ron’s answer in between bites.

“You take that back right this instant!” Tommy all but stomped down on one foot.

“Harry, this is my poncy brother.” 

“That’s so rude!” And doesn’t this girl fill the role of loyal defender so well? Pondered Tommy, trying to make his smile as small as possible to no avail. “He’s not that poncy.”

“Oh, just you wait.”

“Ugh!” And that was Tommy, again, sitting down next to Ron while fully facing Harry at last, waiting dramatically for their introduction. Which he wasn’t getting. At all. He decided to jab his brother for good measure, seeing that he got all the manners from the Weasley genes, while Ron got the pitless stomach.

“This is Harry Potter, by the way.”

“Yeah– erm– that is me.” The boy stumbled over his words, and to Tommy’s dismay he didn’t find it witless, but charming.

“Pleasure to make you an acquaintance.” He offered with a polite nod, to which Ron looked at him with clear disdain. The redhead opened his mouth, no wonder to tease his fraternal twin about his uptightness, but before he could form any words at all a voice rose before him.

“You were right, Tommy, you’re far better than your twin.” Was Hermione’s comment, looking repulsed at Ron’s lack of manners.

“You’re twins?” Asked Harry bloody Potter, and what a poor impression it was, for Tom’s first encounter with the saviour of the wizarding world to be shaped by his beast of a twin brother.

“Fraternal.” They both scoffed at the same time, followed by a mutual glaring.

“You missed the Trolley Witch, by the way.” Said Ron, rolling his eyes in an all-too-similar way to Tom’s, which further aggravated him.

“You missed the fact that she’s your third cousin, once removed, and that her name is Melissa.”

“You’re such a know-it-all.” And Hermione, of all people, gasped in offense at that.

“I got some candy, if you’d like?” Offered none other than Harry bloody Potter, obviously trying to bridge the tension rising. He went on to offer Tommy —and the two other kids, but most importantly Tommy—, a firstful of the candy he’d bought with his hard earned money from saving the wizarding world. Amazing.

“Thank you very much.” Said the dark-haired witch with a face-splitting smile, followed by a similar murmur from Longbottom. Harry lit up a bit at that, and Tommy had to force himself to look away, turning his face to look at his twin brother’s incessant eating.

“Percy asked me to tell your slow self, and your very nice friend, to get changed. We’ll be in Hogwarts shortly.” And with that, and a chocolate frog, he stood up and left the trolley with a flourish.

“What happens if we don’t change into our robes when we get to Hogwarts?” Asked Neville, who had followed him just to ask the question, and for once Tommy was at a loss.

“Now, I think it’s never been recorded to happen in Hogwarts, a History. ” And to that Tommy stood still in the middle of the corridor, staring down at both Granger and Longbottom for a second.

“Hermione, if you aim for us to be friends through the years, you must start by realizing that book is utter propaganda.” He muttered, although she had the grace to actually look unsettled at his pointer.

“I… Didn’t know.” She seemed marveled at the notion.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. And Neville, too.” He said, turning around to look into his brown eyes, lighter than his own.

“Me?” He almost seemed surprised to be holding both Tommy’s attention and begrudged intellectual parity, which made the brunet reconsider once more whether giving him the title of personal lackey would actually be useful at all.

“Well, maybe we all hold different specialisations.” He extended backhandedly, because even though Longbottom visibly didn’t hold much knowledge about magical etiquette, he was bound to be good at something.

“... Alright?” The other boy agreed, although it was clear he wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to at all.

“Are you certain it is propaganda?” Granger seemed not all too attuned to the boys’ short exchange, clearly still engaged in the fact that she’d fallen for a brainwashing book. 

“As certain as I am that if we don’t wear our robes, they will simply be transfigured. We are wizards, after all.” Tommy lied.

“Excellent point.” Granger conceded, not in a suck-up way, but in an impassioned acknowledgement. Those two, Tommy realized, wouldn’t be great minions, yet having friends everywhere was a necessary evil to gain political momentum. Even as a first year.

“I tend to do them.” He commented, with a grandeur.

“Make them.” Hermione corrected, and Tommy turned his head at her, expression filled with misapprehension.

“Make what?”

“It’s the proper way of saying it.” So here comes another posh kid, oh Salazar Slytherin help me , was Tommy’s internal knee-jerk reaction. He was going to be surrounded by toffs through all his schooling at Hogwarts, to his complete dismay.

“Indeed.” He conceded, internally cringing. “So let’s go, you two, get changed!”

“Why, if they can just transfigure my clothes there?” Asked Neville, all-too-happy to just sit back and relax until they boarded the boats to Hogwarts.

“I fear that if I have to explain to you why presentation matters, then there’s no reason for it already.”

“Quite true, that.” A voice came from his own compartment, and he was let down by seeing none other than the blond prat agreeing with him.

“I’ll just grab my clothes, then.” He excused himself into rushing into the compartment, absolutely not running away from any further social interaction.

Percy was right, after all, as the second he exited the bathrooms with a neatly pressed robe the train signalled their arrival. Crazy how time flies when you’re not having fun. He decided to get off the train as soon as possible, not waiting for anyone, and he internally bemoaned his stupidness, for now he could see Malfoy coming out of the train with Ron and Harry, visibly sweet talking his way into their boat. Or maybe not, as he offered Harry his hand and was outwardly denied. 

Maybe Tommy was having fun, after all, as he walked up to his brother and acquaintance. But he was intercepted by the Nott boy, of all people, who stood menacingly in front of him. 

“You’ll go in my boat.”

“That is not how one asks for things.”

“It isn’t a question. Malfoy will be moping, and I will not go through that alone.” Morgana help him, but he was being grabbed by the arm. So much for the boy learning basic manners in France.

He ended up looking at his brother’s boat through the ride, in which Ron alternated between bickering with Hermione and chatting with Harry, while Neville just turned to Tommy’s boat, waved, and sat back for the rest of the trip. 

Tommy’s own boat was miserable, with a pouty Malfoy, a silent Nott and only one of the cronies, Crabble, who was just as quiet as the others. Tommy would not be the one to break the silence, though, so he just sulked in silence.

It was also cloudy in Hogwarts, apparently, and so was said by Draco to Tommy right as they arrived at the shore.

“Seems like things rarely surprise anymore.” He told Tommy, referencing the predictable Scottish weather that greeted them.

“Quite so.”

“Come on, little brother, you don’t want’a be late!” Said Ron, way more animated than he’d ever be back at the Burrow.

“You’re a Weasley?!”

“Thomas Septimus Weasley, pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand to him, and Draco hesitated, but something behind Tommy made his resolve.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, likewise.” And it had to be the most uncomfortable handshake of both their lives.

They walked into the Great Hall, standing straight in a line organized by none other than the legendary Minerva McGonagall. It was truly extraordinary how he and his parents would share her as a professor. He tried to look as respectable as possible in front of her, for even he, who wasn’t all too fond of authority figures, could see the brilliance behind her green eyes. Speaking of which, he wondered where Harry bloody Potter was, and whether they would share the same house. He hated that line of thought, though, for he’d always teased Ginny for her little crush on Harry Potter for ages, only to act just as fan-crazy as she’d ever been only a minute after being introduced to him. He hated himself mildly for his hopes of befriending the fellow, and yet he found that they weren’t as easy to control as his usual, manageable feelings.

They entered the Great Hall, and as they walked in, both Tommy and Ron were glad for once that their family consisted mostly of redheads, as they were easy to place. Seeing their brothers so clearly in such a crowd did calm some of their nerves. It was a wonder to both kids how the rest of their year wasn't having a breakdown already.

“Abbott, Hannah!” Called Professor McGonagall, and a brown-haired girl walked towards the sorting hat, her pigtails swishing as she approached it with a pep on her step.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” And wasn’t that a pity for her, pondered Tommy as he saw her rush down to the badger house.

The sorting continued, with the few familiar faces from the train coming through, like the cheeky girl:

“Pansy Parkinson!”

On whom the hat didn’t sit for more than a second before it screamed: “SLYTHERIN!”

Or the boy next to her, who had a very similar sorting process, and who joined her immediately. There were other slower sortings, as there must always be, like Draco Malfoy’s, on whom the hat spent no less than three whole minutes before it croaked out a weaker than usual: “Slytherin!”, which wasn’t even a proper payoff for the whole situation, if one asked Tommy.

On the other side of things, his two newly acquired friends both went to Gryffindor, to Tom’s utter surprise, but it was no bother, he was already used to Gryffindors back home, so those two wouldn’t be quite so difficult to wrangle with when convincing them of his more out of the box ideas. 

Then it was Ron’s turn, and Tommy internally cursed that even though the list of first years was quite arbitrary, Ron had gotten to go before him anyways.

The redhead sat on the bench, very clearly stressed, no matter how many redheads he could see in the audience. He closed his eyes in a manner that looked like he was trying to look serene, but only made him look barmy, and the hat descended on him, starting once again another slow sorting. 

The hat opened the lapels that served as his mouth, but right before it could say anything Ron screamed: “NO!” Which was definitely more unprecedented than walking into the great hall not dressed in school robes. Woe was Tommy, realizing then that he could never top the level of drama achieved by his fraternal twin, for the hat ended up shouting, to every Weasley’s surprise: “SLYTHERIN.” And when the hat was taken away he could see his brother beaming, running right into the green and silver crowd with no care in the world.

Tommy had anticipated that he’d been put right after Ron, for it was how it had been when the twins had been sorted, but it did feel horrible for his name to be called out when everyone was still in a stupor from Ron’s sorting.

All in all, in retrospect, he preferred it that way, as his sorting became the thing of nightmares in milliseconds.

“So what do we have here?” Asked the too-loud voice of the hat, and Tommy all but internally winced at the volume.

“Another Weasley for you to sort into Slytherin, that is.” He told him, impatient, to join his brothers at once, even if that meant having to share a common room with the devil himself. That is to say, Fred.

“Not quite, no…” 

“Mind you, my paternal grandfather was a brunet, being a redhead isn’t a requisite!” He passionately thought at the hat, trying to school his features into calmness as he explained to the piece of cloth how genetics worked according to the book his dad had gotten him two Yules before.

“You do value family.” The hat pondered, and Tommy was taken aback by his rationing of words, which was unlike the long conversations his older brothers had claimed to have with it.

“As a means to an end.” He tried to make the point, all but quoting the house’s founder.

“Not quite, no…” 

“Will you stop that? You’re making this needlessly complicated, I’m an easy one.”

“But your mind is complex, child, and your soul is older than anyone else I’ve ever sorted, even yourself, before.” The hat claimed, and as enigmatic as it could be to hear such a thing, Tommy just cared about joining his brothers at once.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” The boy sassed.

“Though it is… fragmented.” The hat continued on its obscure tirade, jolting a weird feeling from the bottom of Tommy’s gut with that sentence, as if the Hat’s legimancy had touched a long-forgotten string within his psyche.

“What?”

“Strength, you’ll need plenty of that for where life will lead you.”

“I don’t quite understand where you’re going with this–” Tommy sounded frantic in his own head, which he hated, but he hated it even more when the Hat interrupted him once again.

“Somewhere where you’ll be accepted, even as your true self.” Its voice boomed within his mind, as if trying to brand the sentence on the forefront of his mind.

“As a parseltongue, you mean? Blimey but I’ve got a brilliant idea for where that is.” Tommy’s inner voice was shaky as he tried to back talk the Hat, sounding a touch more pathetic than he’d like to in such a vital moment.

“Patience is a learnt virtue, Thomas, and I feel that you’ll learn it best at…” And at its announcement his ears started ringing, while his grasp of reality disappeared, right with his centre of gravity. So much so that he almost fell down while trying to stand up. So much for not inheriting his mother’s fainting tendencies, he bitterly supposed, as he walked right into the most unlikely tables of all, followed by a moderate applause from all tables, disinterested, unbeknownst of how his whole life was changing on its axis in that very instant. Sitting down he looked at everyone around him, realizing with a chagrin that he was surrounded, ironically, by his favourite colour.

It was just his luck that after him it was none other than Harry bloody Potter, but apparently that’s how the next seven years were going to look like for everyone in Tommy’s year. When the professor called out Harry Potter’s name everything went silent, and many such as Tommy held their breaths for no reason at all.

His sorting wasn’t long, it was around what it took for Tom, thus way shorter than others such as Ron or Malfoy. Tommy was already prepared to hear the Gryffindor, for he was the brave saviour of wizardkind, after all. Maybe even a Slytherin, to go join his new best mate in a thrilling twist of events. What no one could have predicted, though, was the deafening:

“HUFFLEPUFF!” 

It wasn’t until his light body sat next to Tommy that it all computed in the taller boy’s brain.

“So, I guess we’re housemates?” And why was that phrased as a question, Tommy wondered on to no end. But he had to play the Hufflepuff part now, regretfully.

“So we are.”

“Well, I hope you don’t snore.”

“What.” Tommy deadpanned.

“We will definitely share a room– I mean, at least I think so.”

It was indeed true that they’d share a room. An all too big room, too, as there were only four Hufflepuff boys in their year. Pathetic, in Tommy’s opinion. But what was even more pathetic was his reaction when, out of all the surplus beds, Harry Potter chose none other than the one right next to his.

It’s not until he sat down to write his first letter to his parents on the desk that stood in between his bed and Harry bloody Potter’s that he finally processed what happened:

Dear Mother and Father,

First of all, thanks to both of you for the neatly pressed robes, it made me look every bit as proper and respectable as I could ever dream of. Onto more pressing issues, I have been sorted, to my complete surprise and mild disdain, into no other house than Hufflepuff. I don’t recall anyone in at least three generations of both your lines to be in this house, so the term unfamiliar doesn’t seem grave enough to cover my first impression of the sorting. The hat did make some good points, but I fear it wouldn’t hear any of my reasonable requests. 

It is also pertinent to congratulate you on Ron’s sorting, who is to join Percy and Fred in Slytherin. It is formidable how there is no Weasley in Gryffindor anymore, but we all know little Ginny will be here soon to change it. On the social side, I have befriended two very nice children: Neville Longbottom, my second cousin, if my calculations are correct; and Hermione Granger, a very smart muggle-born. Both are in Gryffindor, so I must strive to meet my fellow Hufflepuffs in these following weeks. Ron introduced me to Harry Potter, but please do not mention their acquaintanceship, or mine to him in that same order, to Ginny. She’d explode.

I send you my love, and await your reply,

Thomas Septimus Weasley.

P.S.A.: This goes to Daddy only, sorry Mum. 

Daddy, I must ask, will me being in Hufflepuff make me less of a Weasley? Just curious about it. I hope you don’t share this question with Mum, she’d be very sad if she heard. Love you lots. And do answer sooner than later. If you will.

Chapter Text

To say the first year hadn’t been boresome would be lying, at least for Tommy Weasley. Although if you asked Harry Potter, he’d tell you that so far it’d been the best year of his life.

Sharing a room with the ‘Chosen One’ was not for the weak, that’s for starters. It seemed that anything that could happen in the castle, it happened to him. For instance, their first potions class, to which it’s notable how highly Tommy anticipated the day, as he’d been a keen student of them under his mother’s tutelage. It was, of course, eclipsed by the sudden riffle-raffle between the youngest potions master in recorded history and eleven-year-old Harry Potter. Figures, Tommy thought as he brewed a flawless Sleeping Draught, that Potter would want to pair up with him to better his grades. Tommy Weasley wasn’t charitable, though, and as such he was forever grateful to his fellow Hufflepuff, Susan Bones, who had reached him first  with a major case of hopelessness in her demeanour, as she was visibly terrible at the subject. Blessed be Potter’s saviour complex, Tommy pondered, as the dark-haired boy always gave up in pairing with Tommy for any class when he saw how he was much more needed by others.

Whether Susan was actually good or not at potions, transfiguration or charms wasn’t important, though. What mattered was getting as far from Potter’s shenanigans as possible. A future Minister of Magic couldn’t be caught sassing every single professor, or slaying a troll in the dungeons, and thus Tommy kept his distance with the boy-who-lived. Who had made his choice of Weasley obvious, as well. 

Tommy wasn’t jealous at Harry Potter and Ron’s instant friendship, really, he wasn’t. He did wish he’d been able to groom the two Gryffindors he’d met in the train into his first henchmen, though, which proved impossible when Granger joined his fraternal twin in a mismatched co-parenting situation concerning Potter, and when he realized Neville much rathered spending time with plants than listening to his schemes.

He did like his friends well enough, with Leanne being a supportive —if not all that avid—, listener to his endless rants, and Sally-Anne (“Just call me Perks, Tommy, really”) being the unpredictable witch he'd need for his future dirty work, even though it was a bit much how she proved time and time again her status as a wildcard. The boys in his year, Tommy noticed, were all ruefully uninspired, and even Potter didn’t prove to be especially good at anything, for all the powerful rep he got. It’s not that he was terrible in all subjects, he did show innate talent at Defense Against the Dark Arts with Madame Zabini, but that was about the only subject where he managed to shine in. Granger on the other hand… She was becoming a problem.

Her helping (or, apparently, forcing through sheer force of will) Ron and Potter to study wasn’t an issue, as the boy’s grades stayed on the verge of mediocre no matter what she did. It was her grades that irked Tommy incessantly.

“You know, Tommy, you could just share notes with her.” Leanne said, for what seemed like the millionth time that year. “She looks like she’d love a friend that isn’t a brute.”

“Who says I’m not a brute?” Tommy snickered, clenching invisible pearls.

“I’m the only brute allowed here.” Perks peacocked, and Tommy couldn’t help his eye-roll. The one good thing about being sorted into Hufflepuff was that he could be rude to his heart's content, though, as his allies were still loyal to him for some inexplicable reason.

“Whatever, Perks.” Huffed Leanne, calling the other girl’s bluff, for they both knew she was the poshest of the three by far.

“I’m not becoming friends with Granger, as she already chose which Weasley she preferred.”

“Don’t you think that maybe, hear me out Tommy stop covering your ears! Maybe it’s entirely possible to be friends with both your brother and you?” Asked Leanne, as Tommy partook in a bit of a childish response by covering his ears. Sue him, for he did like to let loose a bit when laying under a tree with his two friends on the rare sunny afternoon.

“Why? Are you conspiring with Ronald behind my back?” He sharply responded.

“Where you got these trust issues from, I’ll never know.” Leanne uttered, going back to her book.

“Try growing up with seven siblings.” He told her, and both her and Perks sighed at his neverending complaints of being part of a big happy family.

“Touche.” Said the barmiest voice in all of Hogwarts. “But then again, someone ought to have teached your mother how to brew birth-control potions.”

“And someone should have taught your mother to brew fertility potions. Is a line truly powerful, if it can’t even produce a spare?” Answered Tommy, somehow looking down on Draco from his sitting down position.

“Jealous, Weasley, of my only child status?”

“More like saddened for your parents when you manage to get yourself killed with that big mouth of yours.” He told him, not sounding as witty as he’d wished, but he saw that the taunt had managed to land.

“You’re lucky we’re friends, Tommy.” The blond drawled.

“We really aren’t.”

“Did you see the final marks for DADA?” Draco asked, instead of dignifying his futile attempts at denying their allyship.

“Why are you still here?” Tommy riposted, threading boredom into his tone.

“Granger got the highest grade!” The other boy sloped down next to Tommy, and the boy scrunched his nose in disgust, but stayed right there anyways.

“No way!” Said Perks, and Leanne elbowed her as if she had talked over her favourite telenovela.

“She did, indeed.” Was Tommy’s quiet agreement, with almost an almost sheer lamentation at the news tinting his tone, that nonetheless registered in the three kids that surrounded him.

“Over Blaise Zabini, the Professor’s only son!”

“From which husband, we’ll never know.” Snickered Perks under her breath, although the withering glare she got from Draco was enough for her to stop right on her tracks for once.

“Oh, no! Look at the time, Perks! It’s, er, it’s time for us to, ehm, read Witch Weekly, no? So we’ll be in the common room, Tommy!” They were definitely not reading Witch Weekly, for Tommy knew for a fact that Leanne was going to continue to take notes of one of the tomes they’d nicked from the Restricted Section of the library, and surely Perks was going to harass Trelawney into teaching her tarot, again. Great, useful underlings, those two were.

“How come she always gets the best grades?” Draco continued, not even bothering to acknowledge the two girls’ with a half-arsed goodbye, as Tommy had done himself. “It can’t be, it must be Dumbledore behind the scenes inflating her average.” Tommy wasn’t too sure of that though, he doubted the Headmaster knew who Hermione Granger was at all. “She’s, after all, just a dirty mudblood, so it’s not–”

“Malfoy, what have I told you about using slurs?” The brown-haired boy interrupted, looking at Malfoy with a bored yet let-down expression-

“… That they’ll get me out of even local elections voting polls.”

“Quite indeed, so you…”

“Will refrain from them in all outside thoughts.”

“Well done, Malfoy.” He all but patted the other boy on the shoulder, to which the other looked at him in disgust, although the pride in his eyes proved too difficult for the child to hide. How he had managed to get in Slytherin and Tommy hadn’t was a mystery.

“If I don’t get a seat in the Wizengamot by thirty I will curse your entire bloodline.”

“You can try.” Tommy told him, using all his will-power to not direct one of his distinct eye-rolls at him.

“You’re lucky my father doesn’t know about this.” The blond scoffed.

“Your father would berate you more than he could ever berate me, Malfoy.” And that shut him up for good.

“Now, do you have my Transfiguration’s essay?” He asked the taller boy, clearly uncomfortable with the tender nerve that had been touched.

“All annotations were done using a pencil, remember how I taught you to use them?”

“I’m not senile, Weasley, I remember how to use a rubber.” Draco reached for the corrected essay, but his hand was swatted by Tommy.

“Not yet, and you know it.” Malfoy huffled, taking out Tommy’s thoroughly corrected Potions’s essay in one hand. “And?” Tommy raised an eyebrow at him, looking at the blond defiantly until he pulled out a couple of coins. “And what do we say?” He told the other as he leisurely grabbed the five galleons and the poorly annotated essay. Not much of a teacher, Malfoy. 

“Thank you, Weasley, for reviewing my homework.”

“Is that my name?”

“Thank you, Thomas, for reviewing my homework.” He gritted out.

“Well, pleasure doing business with you.”

“You’re so lucky we’re friends.” And Tommy was about to remind him once again that no, they weren’t, but the boy had already left, whooshing his cape as he turned away with a gravitas only comparable to Snape’s. 

He looked down at his essay, the last of the term, knowing that the greasy professor’s unexplainable uneasiness towards Tommy would definitely lower his final grade. He tried out this theory once, writing Susan Bones’ midterm essay on unconventional appliances of salamander skin (to which she was blessedly thankful instead of suspicious), and whereas she got a rare Outstanding, he still got his usual Exceeds Expectations. He knew the man was a former Death Eater, but lowering the grades of an eleven-year-old for his family ties was a step too far, in Tommy’s opinion.

That didn’t explain Hermione Granger, though. Her grades were unmatched, a never ending trail of ‘O’s adorned every one of the parchments she turned in, and no matter how much Tommy followed her every academic move, he still didn’t get her.

She couldn’t be that smart, after all, if she spent all her free time after Halloween arguing with his gormless fraternal twin. Even on their shared birthday —which turned out to be the one time they had spent together all term, considering Ron had stayed in the castle for Yule to keep Potter company—, all he remembered from her was her incessant tirade on how crass his brother was. Although he would normally agree wholeheartedly, he didn’t want to give her the pleasure, and he also was far too preoccupied with having to sit next to Potter, because really? Wasn’t it enough that they slept right next to each other every single night?

It was notable how alarming it was for Tommy to see how Ron’s reputation wasn’t that of a headless chicken, and even though Granger declared him to be an obtuse idiot on top of her lungs every day for all Hogwarts to hear, most Slytherin seemed to be going through an acute case of mass hysteria. While it was true that Fred spent more time at Ravenclaw with George than at Slytherin, with how there could be no guests in the Slytherin common room; and the way in which Percy was always either with his Gryffindor best friend or in the library (or both); it seemed that Ron Weasley had risen to be the most prominent Weasley in the serpents’ lair. Whereas at first he had been shunned by his fellow pure-bloods for his family, and his only friend being part of the laughable Hufflepuff house, he’d shut them all up by just sitting quietly in front of the fire, hogging the wizarding chess set.

Now, the account given by Draco Malfoy to Tommy Weasley was by no means perfect, but it did constate the main, truthful events: Ron winning first against a formally trained Blaise Zabini; Theo Nott losing more than a dozen times in a row, which led to the greatest fit ever seen in the Slytherin common room; Hestia Carrow and Flora Carrow playing together against him, and losing anyways; Gemma Farley scoffing at them, laughing at how childishly they all reacted to losing, and challenging Ron to a game of chess to start the dispute for the title of the Slytherin Chess Champion. When she’d lost, to Percy’s amused eye and Ron’s exhilaration, all bets were off.

After a rather intense month of December, Ron rose victorious from his chess game against Severus Snape himself, gaining the official title of Champion, and giving the batty man tens of brand new grey hairs. Weasley is our king! was chorused all through the dungeons and beyond, and Tommy was sick to the stomach at the badly-hidden stars in Malfoy’s eyes as he confided that he’d been the one to compose such an atrocious slogan (“Get it, Tommy? Because of the king’s role in chess?”). Tommy had rather wished to club him to death at that, but kept it as an inside though, as all things tasteless should be.

All through this string of events the third floor had been suspiciously closed off for the whole year, which seemed to intrigue Harry to no end.

“D’you think it’s some sort of remodelling?” He’d asked Tommy as he changed into his pyjamas, a string of lashing scars visible on his lower back. The taller boy shuddered, as he tended to do every time he saw those. It was a mix of understanding and something else he couldn’t name flowing through him at the vision, like some sort of deja vù.

“Yes, Potter, I’m sure they’re installing a telly right there.” He teased, trying to sound as light as possible. It was a grey zone, the one he tried to inhabit around Potter, no matter how hard the other made it to stay neutral in his presence.

“You really think so? Oh but I’d love to see how Chelsea’s doing, my butler’s retellings don’t translate the sentiment of the matches in his letters. At least not well enough.” Justin’s Belgravian tone broke through the room from his self proclaimed own room, which accounted for a cloth-covered quarter of their shared room, and Tommy felt bile rise up his throat at the mere reminder that he shared his living space with such a pompous brat.

“Who’s Chelsea?” Asked Ernie, his eyes wide and ready to take in some new gossip. Couldn’t be helped, Tommy snickered, that he’d be unlucky enough to be roomed with a martyr, a tale-teller and a minor royal.

“Oh, Helga help us.” Tommy muttered under his breath, unable to keep the inside thoughts at bay at such late hours.

“You think it has to do with the founders?” Potter whispered, and Tommy’s only response was plopping on his bed face down, fighting the headache that always came on after crossing more than two words with Potter, and he muffled a small scream over the impotence that surrounded him daily. To think the Saviour of the Wizarding World could be so dense, really.

It was glaringly obvious it had to do with Death Eaters, with Professor Snape always lurking around, and dark-adjacent Madame Zabini being the one to oversee the curses of whatever was being hidden in between those halls. Tommy couldn’t care less, though. Whatever they were doing, it was none of his business, as Thomas Weasley couldn’t be less preoccupied by what the last remaining Death Eaters were up to. He’d already secured a certain control over the heir of one of the most prominent families left, and thus all his interest in them dwindled. It was Dumbledore who intrigued him.

Through the year, the old man had gone missing many times, which was feasible with how many titles of importance he held through wizarding Britain —although Tommy internally noted that it couldn’t be all too fair on Professor McGonagall’s workload. He did spend time in the castle, though, and he seemed to divide it between grooming Harry (into what, no one really knew as of yet), and glaring a hole in the back of Tommy Weasley’s head.

Whatever the white-haired elder had against Tommy was beyond him, but still, it luckily translated only into the old geezer doing his best to keep him as far away as possible from the Chosen One, to which Tommy couldn’t be too mad, so he classified his wilting looks as harmless, as the Headmaster did not look like a child-murderer. The mystery behind his incandescent behaviour became a bridge Tommy would cross when he came to it, and he resolutely acted as aloof as possible in front of the man, knowing that his house was the perfect cover for such superficial behaviour from him.

It was also great, for him and his friends, that the Headmaster was constantly absent, and that all safety efforts were destinanted towards the third floor, as it aided their excursions into the Restricted Section. In fact, Tommy had found Leanne and Perks in such an endeavour, right before Yule, for while Ron and Potter started hanging out with Granger; Draco became, loominly, Tommy’s only friend at Hogwarts. Thank Helga that by then he found the two members of his house who were worth his time.

See, Perks fancied herself a seer, and Leanne dreamed of becoming the first alive History of Magic professor in centuries. Thus, they stopped nowhere, and that meant absolutely nowhere, into turning their hopes to tangible reality. When Tommy recognized a glimpse of that ambition he marveled at its pureness, and at how they both weren’t afraid of the labour that stood between them and their goal, instead of acting like Slytherins, who waited for their goal to come fast and easy to them.

It was the first time Tommy finally began to see how he could actually fit in Hufflepuff, after all. Their alliance, and subsequent friendship, was as natural as the plants that adorned their common room, and with each of their own sharpness (or explosiveness, in Perks’ case), they became close friends through the second half of the year, growing together with a feracious determination. 

“So, Tommy, for this summer I’m seeing first the Four of Swords —oh honey, you’ll be bored to death without us, that’s sad— then we’ve got the Chariot? Are you going on a trip?” Perks explained as she asked what felt like the umpteenth question she asked her cards about him.

“I mean, maybe?” Was his vague answer, to which Perks stared at him, unimpressed.

“How come?” Asked Leanne, looking up from their latest smuggled book: Hodrod the Horny-Handed’s autobiography. She was going through a Globin revolutionary history phase, and Tommy really couldn’t wait to read her notes on that.

“Maybe I’ll get a portkey to Romania, to visit Charlie.” He lied, knowing that there was no way his family would ever have the money to pay for a Weasley overseas trip for the whole family.

“It signals you’ll go on a journey, more like a project than a portkey, though, because portkey are usually signalled by the Three of Wands…” Perks pondered, and Tommy scoffed, not caring at how undignified it was to do so, because he knew the card was surely signalling to something as innocuous as him de-gnoming the lawn or harvesting beetroots.

“And what about the third card?” He asked, feigning disinterest.

“Oh! Well, the Two of Cups… Tommy, you rascal!” The dark-haired witch exclaimed, gaining his interest once again

“What–” 

“Can I join you?” Was Potter’s prying interruption.

“What, Potter, are you waiting around for Ronald and Granger to pick you up?” Asked the other boy without missing a beat, although sounding less dignified than what he’s aimed for.

“No, uhm I just, well, Hermione doesn't really like Tarot, or any divination, all in all, but you three are always here doing this card business, and I guess…” Perks huffed, proving to not be able to hide the slight hurt at her beloved Tarot deck being referred to as a ‘card business’, but Tommy could only focus on how Potter grew a bit smaller at her non-verbal response. “I thought it looked cool? When you guys do it, I mean.” His string of a voice finished, looking straight at the ground by the end of his sentence.

“Well, well, well, then sit down Harry!” Was Leanne’s uncharacteristically lively command, which he followed suit.

“What?!” Tommy muttered the question, whereas Perks almost screeched it.

“Really?” Potter did sound genuinely hopeful. Leanne glared at Perks, and she seemed to understand the other girl in a matter of seconds, as a sense of sour agreeance washed over her stance.

“It’ll be nice, having someone new to practice with, these two are getting rather boring.” She conceded, trying to throw a smile at the Saviour of the Wizarding world, and failing to manage more than a half-arsed grimace.

“You didn’t even finish my reading!” Tommy opposed, knowing that she was a sentence away from finishing her explanation, not the reading itself , and that he usually didn’t care too much to leave the explanation halfway through.

“Wait, really? I’m sorry Tommy, I didn’t realize–”

“Oh, pish-posh! You’ve gotten like, a million full readings already.” Said Perks, actually taking Potter’s side over his, which made Tommy look bewildered for one second too long.

“True.” Added Leanne, who was back again to her usual quiet disposition, although her friends’ trained eyes saw the way in which she was bodily hiding the title of her book. Better safe than sorry, as she always said.

“What do you want to ask?” Asked Perks, still uneasy to read the cards of a boy who was closely tied to previous misgivings of the art of Divination.

“Dunno. I’ve never done this before.” His lack of originality was astounding.

“How about we re-do Tommy’s question.” Perks offered, as she rose a burning yellow candle up to Tommy’s face, quietly signalling him to blow it off. He instinctively did so, used to the familiar dance of her readings. She looked at him, silently asking for a new candle.

“Potter, do you mind if I take a hair off your head?” He tried to be civil for once, ignoring the headache he got every time he stared at the other boy.

“Is that some sort of magical saying, or…?” Tommy took that as a yes, and proceeded to pluck one hair out of his head. “Ouch!”

“That should do.” He considered out loud, as he transfigured the thick filament into a crooked, short candle the color of moonless midnight.

“Woah.” Potter looked actually amazed at such a basic display of transfiguration, and Tommy did his best to not go into a scoffing fit. Did the other boy think that he wasn’t talented? Just because I haven’t defeated a Dark Lord as of yet doesn’t mean I’m a less powerful wizard, Tommy pondered, doing his best to keep it an inside thought.

“Let’s begin.” Perks stated, lighting the candle and magically shuffling the deck.

“Woah.” And it was utterly unfair, in Tommy’s opinion, how Harry could sometimes be rather cute.

The three cards all but flew out of Perks’ deck, surprising Tommy in their decisiveness. He wondered at that moment if the boy-who-lived’s fate was set in stone, which made him decide on the spot that the first book he'd get from the Restricted Section when he was back from summer break would be on the magical aspects of fatum.

Perks’ face at the cards wasn’t quite what one would hope to see when your future is on the line, for her eyes brimmed with pity when she looked into Potter’s eyes.

“So, Harry, there’s no way to put this nicely, your summer will suck quite a bit.” He deflated, making himself even smaller, and Tommy wondered just how small he’d force himself to be through all this interaction. “But only at first!” She tried to remedy it, to no avail. “A reversed Ten of Swords means that even though it’ll suck, it’ll end.” She poorly explained, and Tom rolled his eyes, dearly hoping she’d hone her verbal divinational skill through the summer.

“So like Death?” Asked Leanne, trying to lighten the mood, but only making Harry pale further.

“No, ehm, Ten of Swords means maybe Harry’ll get in a fight.” And at that, the boy’s tanned face finally went as pale as it could physically go, which switched Tommy’s decisiveness. There were no books in his mind, not anymore, only a certain Hufflepuff girl who owed him one too many favours. “The other cards are good though! He matches Tommy, in a way, with the reversed Chariot and the Ten of Cups.”

“You should shuffle the cards better, then.” Noted Tommy, although his mind was elsewhere to try and actually sound snarky.

“Excuse you!” It was enough to rile Perks up, though.

“Thank you, actually, because I do need to go.” Tommy conceded, standing up and walking away abruptly, almost possessed in his decisiveness.

“Wait, where?” Leanne actually raised her head at that, surprised at his sudden restlessness in such a lazy June afternoon.

“I need to talk to Susan Bones.” And when he turned to look at the three kids to bid them goodbye all he could zero in was Potter, making himself smaller, smaller, smaller.

While Tom hastily exited the Common Room in search for Bones, images flashed uncontrollably through his mind, a woman with severe features and mean eyes; a handsome man scorning at him; a terrible looking woman, hazy, making him go from warm to cold, so cold and hurt, and —worst of all—, a glistering pain as he looked into sparkling blue eyes. It was all too much pain for someone so little, so when his legs finally gave out he didn’t fight it.

Waking up in the infirmary the day before leaving for home wasn’t something Tommy wouldn’t have guessed, not after that. What he couldn’t have guessed, though, was that Harry bloody Potter would also be there, because of course they slept next to each other, even under these dire circumstances. Life really loved playing games with him.

He’d been monitored for a week after fainting and falling down the magical stairs. Draco Malfoy, bless him, was the one to find him lying face down on an empty corridor, nose broken and forehead bleeding, and apparently his shriek was so loud it even reached the Forbidden Forest. It didn’t manage to wake Tommy, though, who was out like a light for more than a day after that. His parents had been belatedly alerted by the Headmaster, but they did hold a small army of sons at school, and before the missive reached the Burrow there was a screaming Molly Weasley and a wretched Arthur Weasley making their way to Hogwarts from Hogsmade, kicking insistently on the castle’s door.

Percy had weeped next to him, apparently. The twins’ mood was unusually dour, and even Ron had held his brother’s hand, kicking himself for not noticing any signs of his twin’s mental state. It was a nervous breakdown, according to Madam Pomfrey, and Arthur was writing down every single bit of recommendation, treatment and medication she recommended, already planning to spend galleons he didn’t have on his baby’s betterment. It was to him that Tommy woke up, happy to see his father, but confused as to his presence in Hogwarts. His curiosity was placated, though, the second his mother came running to him, bringing him a new stress-knitted blanket, homemade chamomile-based remedies, and way too much food for one kid to eat alone.

Leanne and Perks ate it all with him, glad to finally meet the parents of their peculiar friend, as they recounted the last time they saw him time and time again. Perks’ cards were taken for inspection, but that was about every bit of investigation that was put in Tommy’s case.

Harry Potter didn’t visit, not once, and Tommy didn’t care. He really, really didn’t care, at all. They had only shared a dorm for a year, of course, why would he even care if Tommy lived or died? No, he wasn’t mad, not in the slightest.

When he saw him sleeping on the contiguous bed he was mad, though. Potter’s banged up form under the morning sun awoke a kind of pity that Tommy had never felt before, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from his body all covered in bandages and bruises, and so, so small. His head hurt again, just a slight bit, but for once he didn’t mind. He waited patiently for the other boy to wake up by himself, to no avail, as his feral brother came to do it himself. From another of the infirmary beds, too. Flabbergasted couldn’t begin to cover Tommy’s feelings at the moment.

“Harry, mate! We’re alive!” One side of Ron’s face was swollen, and a limp conditioned the speed in which he arrived at his best friend’s bedside, but the joy in his voice was immutable.

“Huh?” Was Harry’s response, voice hazy from being awoken in such a rude manner.

“We did it!” He emphasized, grabbing the boy’s tanned arm and shaking him out of sheer excitement.

“You idiot, he’s resting!” Tommy chided.

“Oh, shut it, Tommy! We’re heroes!”

And heroes they seemed to be, with how handsomely they were awarded by Dubledore, giving hundreds of points to what was beginning to be known as ‘the Golden Trio’ in the end-of-term feast.

What they’d done, exactly, wasn’t easy to tell from the Headmaster's vague phrasings, but the second he announced: “Students, I regret to inform you that Madame Zabini won’t be returning next year, as she’s found herself to be part of a throuple polygamist marriage with Perenelle and Nicolas Flamel, and expressed how she’d love nothing else but to focus on them on their final years. And how beautiful it is to love, free from unimportant details like age or death!” 

Only a fool wouldn’t know that the Flamels were immortal and, patently, he was surrounded by fools. The only over the top reaction was, predictably, Blaise Zabini’s, as it can’t be too nice to find out about your new five hundred-year-old stepparents while surrounded by all your preteen peers. Tom was also reacting, just internally, with his inner thoughts being less than proper, keenly falling on Harry’s extensively bandaged hand.

The House Cup went to Gryffindor, for no matter how many points were awarded through the houses thanks to the Golden Trio, in the lions’ house there were two recipients of Dumbledore’s generosity, with Neville Longbottom also getting a hundred points for getting hit by a petrificus totalus. Tommy did pity the poor lad, getting his laundry aired like that in exchange for some measly house points.

The Quidditch Cup had gone to Ravenclaw, although you wouldn’t know if it was Tommy you asked, as he avoided that sport like the plague. They seemed happy enough, though, after being the only house left out by Dumbledore’s point lottery. 

“To finish, I’d like to say some words: Blithesomely, Nudnik and Wool!” The last word gave Tommy’s just another sudden migraine, making him flinch externally in an almost imperceptible manner.

“Here, the potion your dad left you.” It was Harry who said that, mutedly, just for Tommy to hear, while handing him a vial under the table. It was his bandaged hand that brushed Tommy’s at the exchange, and Tommy didn’t dare look into the small boy’s eyes. Instead he looked up and around the table, finally finding the person he’d been looking for.

“Bones! The feast can wait, I need your help for something, and I need it now.” She grumbled, almost like she’d been expecting Tommy’s request for payback any minute now. “Now, Susan!”

They huddled in the corner of the table until after the feast, with Tommy walking back to his room with the draft of a tenancy contract for one Harry bloody Potter.

He overslept. Tommy Weasley woke up almost too late for the Hogwarts Express, and as he frantically packed everything with the help of a frazzled Harry Potter, he pondered on how it was his luck that the boy who had destroyed the Philosopher’s Stone was now folding his robes with his one functioning hand.

The room was already empty, feeling bigger than ever, with Justin’s side of the room visible at last in his wake. Tommy couldn't really stop to appreciate it, though, all-too-stressed by finishing the task of filling his trunk as fast as possible.

“Didn’t know you didn’t pack yesterday, Tommy, honest! If I did, I woulda woken you up before.” He explained for the thousandth time that morning.

“It’s not your fault, Harry.” He told him, uncharacteristically charitable.

“Wot?” Potter’s voice sounded more than astonished, taking Tommy out of his sock-folding reverie.

“What what?” Tommy asked, looking up at the other boy.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He pondered, stopping his folding for a second. “You’ve never called me Harry.” He muttered, not daring to meet Tommy’s brown eyes, and going straight back to folding and stacking as fast as his one hand would let him.

“Not to your face, I haven’t.” And that didn’t sound as scratching as he’d hoped to achieve.

“Well, it’s nice that you do, now.” He commented, finally peeking up to look at Tommy, all-too shy, but not making himself small, at last.

“I’m not nice.” Potter hummed at that, somehow giving the most noncommittal answer Tommy had received in all year. Maybe all wit wasn’t lost in Harry, after all. Or maybe Tommy was too stressed to shoot anything back at him.

When they were finished, they both rushed up to Hogwarts’ main entry as fast as possible, with both their luggages floating right behind them (and a very angry Hedwig indignantly hooting from her hovering cage), courtesy of Tommy Weasley himself.

When they arrived at the train with mere minutes to spare, the Chosen One was rapidly intercepted by Granger, who took him to what had to be hers and Ron’s compartment.

“See you, Tommy!” Exclaimed Harry, too loud to be talking to someone who was less than a meter away, but no matter how much he tried, Tommy couldn’t find it anything other than cute.

“Likewise, Harry.” He conceded, and the shorter boy beamed at him behind his friend’s mane of brown curls. He tried to seem unaffected, even if there was nobody else in the corridor anymore.

He stood there, fearing someone had hit him with a Petrificus Totalus, but before he even considered cutting some slack to Neville Longbottom for having endured this jinx for a whole night long, a hand brought him back the capacity to move from how it made him recoil.

“What do you want, Nott?” 

“We’re waiting for you, wanker, and Draco is about to throw a hissy fit because he thinks you fainted again.”

“Ah you must be right, being the hissy fits connoisseur that you are.” 

“ Je te déteste. ” Whinged the boy, hiding behind his mother tongue, but he didn’t know the neat little lessons Tommy had been given by the Malfoy heir.

“ Moi aussi. ” He answered, his brown eyes burning into the others’ blue, and making Nott grimace both in shame and impotence.

“Always on the qui vive, aren’t you.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

“Oi, you two! We’re waiting!” Screamed Sparks, her dark, unruly hair bobbing up and down as she stuck her head out of the closest compartment.

“Where’s Crabbe and Goyle?” And why is Zabini here? Was Tommy’s unspoken, but decipherable, second question.

“Well, they’re at Daphne’s compartment, that’s for sure, seeing as both their families are having marriage talks with her.” Answered Zabini himself, and wasn’t that a horrifying thing to hear about three twelve-year-olds? “She’ll let them stay there, of course, seeing they’re not social pariahs like moi .”

“Well, I for one think your mum will be very happy.” Was Draco’s unexpected civil remark.

“And I for one think the Flamels are very lucky, she’s so ho–”, and thankfully Perks was interrupted before she started a fight before the train itself started at all.

“Honestly brilliant, indeed.” Finished Leanne, looking up from her book to stare down her best friend into silence.

“This train ride will be so, so long.” Lamented Nott under his breath for all to hear, and Tommy hated the fact that he actually agreed.

In between Zabini’s lamentations, Perks’ out of place quips and Draco’s out-of-character tactfulness Tommy forgot the contract hiding at the bottom of his vault, only remembering it when they had already gotten to King’s Cross. 

“Wait, Tommy!” Draco caught him by the sleeve, stopping him from rushing out of the train to try and catch Potter before he left. “I wanted to tell you something.” And what terrible timing that boy had. Tommy turned to him, somehow both unimpressed and visibly frazzled, and the blond boy grimaced as he tried to pull the following words from his mouth, as if uttering them physically hurt. “As you must have noticed, I’ve been quite agreeable through these past weeks,” and Tommy realized that, somehow, it was true, with his solitary visits to Tommy in the infirmary and him actually not being a prat every two seconds, as he usually was, “because I’m concerned about you, after all that fainting business. You know, of course, that you cannot write to me through the summer.” It wasn’t as if Tommy was planning to do so, but the direction the conversation was taking caught his interest. “That's why I will send my personal house elf to carry any messages you want to exchange, alright?” And why, oh Helga above help him, did that tug at something within Tommy’s cold little heart.

“Sure thing.” He simply answered, at a complete loss to what to say, and sounding a bit too alike to his fraternal twin right that second.

“You’re lucky we’re best friends.” Draco scoffed as the moment was finally broken. The shorter boy rapidly grabbed his overpriced silver trolley, strutting out of the train with a flourish, as if he hadn’t just changed Tommy’s brain chemistry.

Him and Malfoy, best friends. Wonders would never cease, it seems. Although whether such a friendship was a wonder or a wounding was yet to be seen.

Tommy stumbled out of the train, still feeling lost after Draco's soliloquy, but he quickly found himself as he got intercepted by his dad, who caught him in a bear hug. Melting into it, Tommy felt his remaining wits come back to his mind as if he'd casted a reparo on his mind, only it was cast a second too late, for when he looked around the station he saw Harry bloody Potter already leaving, his lone figure disappearing through the brick wall and beyond his reach once again.

Chapter Text

Getting home from King’s Cross was less arduous than the other way around, with Ginny staying at the Lovegood’s for the day and Bill being at the Burrow for an impromptu visit.

The eldest of the Weasley siblings would do that every now and then, when his cryptic work at Gringotts would let him come back to England from wherever he was operating. Nobody truly knew where he was when he wasn’t at the Burrow, though, with the clock always partaking in an ominous oscillating dance between ‘work’ and ‘lost’. Tommy couldn’t wait to grow up to have his own arrow doing such a circular fate as well.

He couldn’t contain his excitement at his eldest brother’s rare presence, which he begrudgingly shared with Ron, whose questions could have been heard all over King’s Cross as they walked to the apparition point, if it wasn’t for Bill’s mindful muffiato. 

“When can we play Quidditch together? Do y’reckon Charlie will come over too? Can you two train me?”

“Well, I’m not half as good as Charlie…”

“Rubbish! But it’s no bother, because you’ll play chess with me, right? Right?”

“Oh, well, Ron, I’m only staying until nightfall.”

“What do you mean? You’re not sleeping over? But then, where will you go?”

At that Bill grew red in the face, which he rarely did. Tommy noted to ask his dad about that later.

“Wherever he goes is none of our business.” Said Percy, surprising everyone.

“Well, well, well, Perce, projecting much?” Fred poked in.

“Yeah, we know you can relate to having a… special someone.” George followed his lead, trying to hide how unsure he was of his twin’s line of teasing, and failing miserably.

“Children, stop it! Bill will do whatever he so pleases!” Exclaimed Molly, growing almost as red as Bill, and looking like she argued for her son to stay over already, to no avail. “And we know Tommy will need Bill’s room anyway, for his recovery.”

“Mother…” Tommy started, knowing that his face had joined Bill’s in the beet red shade.

“Oh!”

“Did you pick up that from all the pratting off with all those posh kids?”

“Ugh!”

“Stop teasing your brother, boys.” Arthur scolded, finally talking ever since they arrived at the station. 

“Now, Percy dear, hold tight and say goodbye to your brothers.”

“What?!” Asked both Tom and Percy, actually flabbergasted.

“Boys, have some manners will you?” Percy and Tom still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Well, thing is… Dad taught me how to drive, and I wanted to show you all.”

“Well mum, yes I’d love to apparate as soon as possible.”

“Likewise, dear, now hold on tight.” They disappeared with a crack, both their faces filled with relief, while Tom’s grew in mortification. It was one thing to ride the Ford Anglia with his father, with only the two of them in silent contentment while the radio blasted old songs over the landscape of the British countryside, and it was an entirely different thing to be part of Bill’s test drive while stuffed together with his three unruliest siblings in the back of the car.

It was a tight fit, indeed, with Tommy and Ron sharing one meager seatbelt, and Fred moaning to be let into the co-pilot’s seat, with virtually no answer from their father.

Tommy thanked his own reckless spirit, for if not the car drive would have proved scary enough to kill him from the nerve-wrackling turns his eldest brother took. He did hope, silently, that it’d be enough to frighten his twin to death, but mindless as he was he seemed to be dissociating through the ride, mind completely elsewhere. Maybe Slytherin had proven to help the other boy hide his feelings. Or maybe he’d finally lost all his two brain cells through trying to pass all his classes.

That line of thought reminded Tommy of Harry, and he wondered if the other boy would do some reading over the summer, or if his terrible family wouldn’t even give him that. The tenancy contract at the bottom of his trunk seemed like his most priced possession at the moment, and he all but jumped to undo his baggage the second they harshly landed on the Burrow’s garden.

He was intercepted by his father, though, who signalled Bill to take Tommy’s luggage for him, with a suspiciously quiet response from Fred at George. How weak did they think him, that they didn’t even want to tease him? A bright red shock of hair appeared out of nowhere before Tommy could voice any of his concerns, with Ginny hugging him like a tick clings on a dog. To his utter dismay, little Ginny wasn’t so little anymore, having grown almost as tall as Tom through the spring. Tommy huffed repeatedly, hanging his arms around the little girl and not bothering to hug back, but she was relentless, and it wasn’t until he half-heartedly patted her back that she let him go.

She led him to the kitchen, where he smelled the scones before he saw them, and even though he hated the way they were treating him like he was made of glass, he did appreciate the sight of his favourite treat. 

“Kids, help yourselves to a cuppa!” Molly screamed.

“Don’t worry, son, I already fixed you one, it’s over the counter over a stasis.” Added Arthur after a beat, and Tommy hated how no one doubted that their father was referring to him.

He went to grab his mug, its lively yellow lightening his mood, yet mocking him in his final sorting. Maybe the hat had chosen Hufflepuff solely because of his favorite color? It’d make more sense than its ramblings, ultimately. 

The matter of Harry Potter was out of Tommy’s mind for a staggeringly long time of half an hour, until his stomach rumbled from fullness, and his sugar-high from all the jam he’d stuffed in his scones brought him back to his single-minded focus.

“Dad, mum, can we talk for a mo’?” And he hated the homely spell he was under from eating tea and eating sweets that had regressed him into a mild countryside accent.

“Sure, baby.” Conceded Molly, throwing the rest of her children a glare to leave the room for a one-on-two, which the others seemed to take in stride, with only Ron looking barely offended at the notion of not finishing the remaining scones.

“First of all, son, we wanted to tell you how proud we are.” Arthur started, sounding as warm as ever.

“Second highest average of your year, no less!” That hit a nerve.

“Well, it’s not like I don’t deserve to be the best average.”

“Well of course, Tommy! And I’m sure you’ll be next year, but don’t waste away when trying to get there, love.” Arthur glared at Molly at that, a gesture so rare it took all words from Tommy’s almost immediate retort.

“What your Mum meant,” started Arthur, turning to look at Tommy with eyes full to the brim with a patient sort of love, “is that you’re remarkable already, and no decimal is needed to prove that.”

“It is weird, though, because she excels at everything as a muggleborn… It just sometimes, well, it irks me.” Started Tommy, taken aback with his parent’s sincerity, opening up like he usually didn’t in a matter he tried to give as little mind as possible, to no avail.

“Thomas Septimus Weasley–!” His Mum’s bewildered response wasn’t something he could have predicted, and he cowered against his better judgement.

“Don’t worry, Molly, I’ve got this.” Arthur looked at her once again, not glaring this once, but reassuring her.

“… Alrighty, love, I’ll check on the twins.” She conceded, all aware of the early quietness of their home.

“Good call.” He expressed, looking grateful for his wife’s trust. Love really mellowed even the sharpest minds, Tommy ruminated. “Now, Tommy, do you really believe it’s unlikely she’s the best of your year because she’s a muggleborn? Or–”

“Well, of course I do! She didn't even know magic existed a year ago!”

“Or,” his father continued, not minding his interruption at all, and looking at his youngest son with a knowing glint, “do you believe it’s unlikely that anyone can top your grades.” And for once in his life, Tommy was completely speechless.

“Well– I mean, I– I…” His stuttering gave way to a fact that Tommy loathed to admit: he was still a boy, and, worst of all, he was fallible.

“Son, it’s normal to get frustrated, especially when you’ve always been the brightest of all ten of us, but don’t confuse that with any blood purity talking points, we both know that takes you nowhere.”

“Yes, I mean, I guess so…” He trailed off, not fully convinced.

“Remember when you were little and we snuck out to muggle Britain?” Arthur asked, huddling closer to Tommy and taking a conspiratorial tone.

“Our little day-trips.” Tommy grinned, still feeling self conscious, but feeling overtaken by the warmth that came from the memories of him and his father traveling together when his older brothers were in Hogwarts, and his twin stayed over to help Molly in the kitchen, much more interested in food than exploring.

“Yes, our little day-trips. Remember how smart their inventions were? How novel their approach is to everything?”

“I do, Daddy.” He let himself call him that, basking in the knowledge that his siblings were too afraid of their Mum’s rage to peep into their conversation.

“Well, maybe that’s part of how Hermione managed to be on top of your year, don’t you think?” Tommy’s eyes widened at that.

“How come?” 

“Well, your Mum and I have tried our best to show you all the world, wizarding and muggle likewise, but Hermione’s fully muggle upbringing gives her her own special approach to magic that we just don’t have.”

“Because her experiences shape her into someone more… More…” He tried to find a word, settling in one too vague for his liking. “More resolutive?”

“Indeed, son.”

“That actually explains it!” And Tommy felt like a whole new world of possibilities had opened right in front of him. “Oh, blimey, Ron was so smart to befriend her through the year, she must have so many new ways of seeing magic, I must put together a questionnaire for her as soon as possible!”

“Do remember, son, that she is brilliant in her own right too, though.” Arthur stressed, still laser-focused in having Tommy understand that muggle-borns not only didn’t deserve hatred, but amazement at the diversity they brought the Wizarding World.

“Just like me!” Tommy’s grin had grown into something that could only be called maniatical, but Arthur found it charming nonetheless.

“Just like you.” He conceded, looking mellow once again, but Tommy could concede the mellowness if it was directed solely to him. “And your brother.” He noted, sounding all too much like he was trying to make another point, to which Tommy groaned. “Tommy! He is the new wizarding chess champion of Slytherin, you must give him that.”

“Sheer luck, that.”

“You two, I swear…” Arthur shook his head, accepting that this was a battle for another day.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“Whatever for?”

“For always being patient with me, I know I’m not the easiest, but…”

“Never say that, Tommy, being your father is the greatest gift Magic has ever given me.” He was as serious as Arthur Weasley could ever be. “Don’t tell your siblings, though.” He winked

“Will go with me to the grave.” He blinked back, not noticing his father’s clouded expression.

“Now, what is in all that Harry Potter business you’re always about in your letters?” He asked, and it was like a lightbulb turned on in Tommy’s head, with how he was eager to finally do what he should have gotten over with at King’s Cross.

“Daddy, they abuse him!”

“Who does?”

“His rotten aunt and uncle, Daddy!”

“The ones at the train station?”

“Those, indeed.” They did look fishy, in Arthur’s opinion, but he’d never been one to baselessly judge others all that much.

“Well, that can’t be right…”

“Do I have permission to use mind magic?” Interrupted Tom, looking at his father with his characteristic beyond-his-years seriousness. 

“Yes son, for this you do.”

He knew his mind magic prowess was above average, as it was one of the earliest ways in which his accidental magic had shown itself, to his utmost shame, as it had been to peeve into little Ginny’s mind, giving her a days-long migraine. She said his magic had felt aggressive, like a particularly bad Quidditch fall, and although he hated to subject his own father to that, it was some of the only magical forms untraceable to the Ministry, thus his only ticket for his father to believe him.

He entered his father’s mind with as much caution as he could manage, and yet he could still see him wince. Tommy pushed out the memories he wanted to display as fastly as he could manage, as hearing the rustling of fabric from his father’s trembling shoulders made him feel as if it was his mind that was being breached. He showed his vision of the marks on Potter’s back, his constant flinches at loud noises and sudden movements, the sounds he made on the first nights as he puked everything he’d eaten at the Great Hall, his hoarded bread under the pillow, his cries at night. 

He came back to his own mind after that, feeling like he was betraying Potter at showing so much of himself, but when he saw his father’s determined eyes he knew it would be all worth it. Silence fell over the two of them, and Tommy couldn’t tell if his father’s unshed tears were from pain or anger

“Molly! I’m taking Tommy and Ron on the Ford Anglia!” Arthur’s voice sounded crisp, whereas his stance looked a bit Frantic.

“Whatever for? It’s already night time, honey!” She called from upstairs, using a 

“We’re going on a rescue mission.”

“Arthur Weasley if you do not explain whatever you’re up to right this second I will divorce you!”

“No, Mollywobbles, don’t get in a tizzy for–”

“Not get in a tizzy? You’ll be in a tizzy if you don’t–”

“We’re rescuing Harry, are we not?” Asked a ruffled and effervescent Ron, face as happy as it could ever get.

“Oh well then, should have started with that, I’ll send an owl to Dumbledore while I–”

“No!” Screamed both Arthur and Tommy.

“See, love, maybe the Headmaster is already a bit informed about all this abusing business.”

“And he wants Harry to stay there anyways!” Completed Ron, bless his direct impetus.

“Oh well, that can’t be!” The three of them glared at her, and she understood they were as serious as they could ever get. “That kookie bastard was always a bit off, if I say so myself.” She conceded, and as their glares wouldn’t go away she realized that the abuse her husband had mentioned had to be quite serious, for him to look at her like that. “What’re you three standing here for, then? Off you got, fetch him!” Arthur broke his façade at that, walking towards Moly with a purpose, taking her by the waist and hoisting her up as he kissed her with as much love one person could hold for another.

“Molly, I love you so much.” He said in between kisses.

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Artie, you know our Tommy won’t survive ‘till morning if you do.” She still got kissed again for good measure. “Stop dawdling, you nit! Go, and do tell Harry that I’m baking a big, nice treacle tart for him.”

And with that, minus some begging from the twins to join them (we won’t all fit, you idjits!, had been Ron’s appropriate retort), they flew up and high to Harry’s house, following old Errol’s lead. Tommy reminisced of his and Arthur’s adventures on the Ford Anglia when he was younger, going on roadtrips and seeing London from the sky. This once he was sat in the back, and not in the co-pilot seat, for they’d need more than one person to help Harry into the car, and it’d be clear favoritism on Arthur’s part, which he might partake in now and then, when it came to Tommy, but it wasn’t right to, when it was such a crucial moment for Ron and his best friend.

When they arrived, their stomachs dropped immediately. Right in front of them was a mildly posh house, blander than dry chicken, but with one big standout: the bars on the window Eroll was perched in. They were thick, made of a dark material and couldn’t let too much light in at all. They were stunned into silence for a second, but it was Arthur who came out of it first, telling his kids to watch the owl, as he unceremoniously put the old thing on the driver’s seat, and opened the co-pilot’s window to start an incarnation that cut the bars with millimetric precision.

“Harry, dear, wake up!” He talked into the room, noticing how stale it smelt, and wondering for a second if they even let the boy shower at all. At the silence that greeted him, he casted a lumos, illuminating a bare, small room, with an impossibly big quantity of locks in the door. Locks that evidently could only be locked from the outside. He was once again shocked into silence. Thankfully, his youngest son’s capacity for quiet was slight at best, and so he was able to hear him rustle around until his chestnut head of curls came out unceremoniously from the backseat window, right next to Arthur’s shock of red and white hair. He could feel a new white strand forming, only from the way in which the little boy was attempting to get out of the flying car.

“Cast a Silencio on the rest of the house, Daddy!” He told his father, who promptly did so, barely feeling the effort of it because of the adrenaline. “Perfect.” And with that, he opened the door, jumping (jumping! Was Arthur’s barely coherent thought at the image), into the room, and helping Ron into it as well. “Now you wake him, Helga knows he’ll swing at me if I do.” Tommy lied, knowing he was too high-strung to be gentle with the small boy on the bed.

“Come on Harry, wake up.” Ron kneeled next to him, his nose scrunched at his unresponsive best friend.

“Dad?” He finally drawled out, eyes still closed and looking very out of it.

“It’s Ron, mate, I’m here to take you away.” He told him, a stray tear falling down his left eye into the garish carpeted floor.

“Am I dying?” Asked the small boy to no one in particular, breaking all three hearts surrounding him nonetheless.

“Now, this just can’t be.” Said Tom resolutely, and he thanked the long hours he’d spent de-gnoming the garden through the years as he picked Harry up in his arms, noticing his alarming lightness. “Ron, get into the car and help me lay him on the back.”

“‘ready on it.”

“Here he comes, mind the head and the neck.” Arthur was too stunned to speak at the sight of his little boys coordinating, for what had to be the first time in their lives, in such a dreary situation. “Now, Daddy, move! I’m sitting next to you, Harry needs as much space as we can give him.” He opened the door, with Arthur thankfully fast back in his seat, and he jumped back in, almost losing balance for a second, but saving it with as much grace as his lanky figure could muster. Arthur was, altogether, too shocked to berate him from almost falling off the car. “Now turn the car on, we’ve got to go! Chop, chop!” And at that moment he sounded alarmingly like Molly, which for some reason almost made Arthur both laugh and cry like a maniac.

“Dad, er, if you could conjure an aguamenti for Harry, that’d be great.” He did, still in a shock, hastily grabbing his wand to conjure water into his son’s hands as he used the other one to turn on the car and speeded like he had never speeded before into the English green fields, knowing in that very instant that he could bid goodbye to his role in the Order of the Phoenix, for he would never, under any circumstances, leave Harry’s fate up to Dumbledore again.

The ride back to the Burrow was silent and fast, with Tommy holding onto any surface possible at his father’s brash driving, and Ron cradling Harry’s face on his lap, trying to keep him as awake as possible until they arrived. The image of a drowsy Harry being held by his fraternal twin, of all things, made something weird turn inside Tommy’s stomach, but he saw no use in trying to decipher his weird feelings, not when Potter’s life was clearly at stake.

The landing was sudden, but Ron was able to take the brunt of it for his best friend. Tom didn’t care for it at all, as he had opened the door before the car touched the floor and jumped off it the second he calculated he’d be able to survive the fall. Arthur was far too stressed to even muster a scream towards Tommy, as he jumped off the car as soon as he turned it off as well.

They both rushed to the back, seeing Ron was still sitting with a drowsy Harry, who was lying down. Arthur opened the door closest to his son gently, tapping his shoulder lightly to signal him to move a bit, and cradling Harry in his arms like he had Tommy all those many years ago, when he’d found him in a clearing. The dark-haired child stirred a bit, and once again he muttered a weak: “Dad?” At that, Arthur’s tears fell down his face on their own volition. Through his blurry vision he rushed the boy into his house, laying him down on their well-loved sofa as his wife came to greet them. She was shocked into standing still, a rare feat, as she was always on some sort of move. She sobered up masterfully in less than a second, though, already baying orders at her two youngest sons.

“Ron, go get some of your clothes for Harry, something that fits him, if possible; Tommy, fetch my first aid kit. Arthur, start a Wideye potion on the cauldron, we’ll need it.”

“Should I get you a vial of it first?”

“Good idea, love.” She told Tommy, who rushed into their small potions cabinet, where they held small amounts of emergency potions at all times. He grabbed the Wideye, taking a Wit-sharpening and a Nutrition potion as well, for good measure. 

“Here they are.”

“Brilliant, these two will also help. Thank you, baby.”

“Mum?” Asked Harry once again.

“Oh, dear.”

“Please, mum, don’ leave me.” Tom’s heart broke. He looked around the room, and he realized from his parents' faces that theirs had cracked into a million pieces as well.

“Tommy, be a dear and get me some dittany from the garden.” Molly ordered, trying to sound as detached as possible.

“But–”

“Do get it, Thomas.” Was his father’s uncharacteristically serious order, and he realized it wasn’t only dittany that they needed, it was also privacy.

The room consisted then only of one very broken child, and two lost adults, wondering how they didn’t see the signs. Wondering if their Tommy would be in the same position, if they’d ever told Dumbledore anything. Arthur was the first to start openly sobbing, all the feelings he’d been piling up amounting for too much, washing over him at once. It wouldn’t be until the next night that Molly’s breakdown came, though, so she busied herself with helping the little boy drink the potions, in between little sips of water, and holding her husband close as he cried and cried. It was like that that Ron found them, with some of Ginny’s old pajamas in tow. His eyes widened like plates, seeing his father sob into his mother's hair with abandon, and he left the clothes on the edge of the sofa.

“Oh, Ron, thanks for fetching the clothes.”

“I– I realized only Ginny’s old kit would fit, you see, with how skinny he is…”

“Good call, baby.” Molly reassured Ron, cupping his cheek for a fraction of a second to show her appreciation.

“Is he… Is he alive?” Ron's eyes had never left Harry, concern overflowing from them.

“Of course he is, baby, your Dad and I are just very sad for him.”

“I am too, Mum.”

“Come here, love.” She guided her son into her arms, with their freckled cheeks squashing together as they both didn't manage to stop looking at Harry, searching for something, anything, from the boy. Arthur joined them silently, resting his chin atop Molly's curls and breathing in, finding all the comfort he could get.

When Tommy grew the courage to walk in again, with a fistful of dittany on his muddied hands, he was met with that portrait of anguish, his family hugging while Potter slowly regained some conscience. He hugged the three of them shortly, feeling out of sorts in such a demonstration of feelings, walking past them to Potter’s side, and when he positioned himself to his head’s height he saw his glistering green eyes open slowly, finally without the fog of hunger and pain.

“Tommy?” He asked. “Is this Heaven?”

“It’s the Burrow.”

“The Burrow is Heaven?”

“Close enough, I guess, even though I don’t really know what that heaven business is.” Potter slowly chuckled at that, which led him to holding his ribs in aching pain.

“It’s a nice place.” Potter commented, more than explained, and Tommy decided to put a pin on that, resolving to add an explanation on what that was as the first question on Hermione’s Questionnaire.

“Oh, Harry!” All but exclaimed Molly, earning a collective chiding from her youngest sons.

“Mum, he needs a calm tone right now.” Said an unnervingly tactful Ron.

“Obviously.” Tommy agreed, half-consciously carding his fingers through the boy’s messy black hair for comfort. Harry’s content low hum took him out of his actions, moving his hand from the other’s skull and earning a little grunt.

“Why’d y’stop?” He asked, to Tommy’s complete mortification. Luckily, if his family noticed, nobody commented on it.

“Hi Harry, I’m Molly, remember me?” She asked, softly, running her fingers through his grimy hair.

“Y’smell like treacle tart.” Was the boy's low response, almost too quiet to be heard.

“That I do, love, I baked you some.”

“No way.” He murmured, his tiny voice overflowing with awe.

“Yes I did, and you’ll get as much as you like if you help me cure you, alright?” She promised as she rubbed some dittany into his back.

“No way this'n’t heaven.” Harry nodded off right after he said that, clearly too overwhelmed to function.

“Oh, Harry.” Lamented Arthur, still sobbing, albeit more silently now.

“Boys, go get Charlie’s room ready for him.” Ordered Molly, her tone a touch too stern, but understandably so. It wasn't every day a half-dead child fell into your care.

“Yes, Mum.” Was Tommy's swift answer, followed by his brother, who was already running upstairs.

“Already on it, Mum.”

As the two boys left, and the couple was left alone with Harry, who gently changed his clothes, covered his skin in healing tonics, and prayed to Merlin for yet another boy to not be taken from them.