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Harry peered across the small table where Tom was hunched over a notebook.
“What’ve you got there?” Harry asked. He was careful to keep his tone friendly but not too friendly. Interested but not too interested. Tom’s mercurial moods meant that any statement, however innocuous or well-meaning, could be construed as an insult or an attack.
Tom’s chubby fingers clenched momentarily around his pen. “I’m busy.”
“I can see that.” Harry debated moving closer, but as he watched Tom bunch his little shoulders up in a tense, protective motion, he decided it was best to wait.
Minutes ticked on as Tom scribbled quickly and dutifully into his notebook. Every so often, his eyes would flicker suspiciously to Harry.
Harry, for his part, attempted to be engrossed in that morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet.
Eventually, Tom finished his project, rose from his seat, and declared, “Make me lunch.” Then he stomped off to his room, presumably to hide his notebook in a place he believed Harry could not find it, leaving Harry to prepare something to eat in the kitchen.
With magic at his disposal, cooking was much more efficient than it had ever been with the Dursleys. Harry’s main challenge lay in making meals that Tom was willing to eat.
Tom allowed a bit of salt, or some butter, and that was it. Any dish with too much sauce or too many spices would be met with unbridled disgust.
Most unhelpfully, this attitude did not stop him from constantly pestering Harry for sweets.
“Lunch!” Harry called out, once his job of preparing simple ham sandwiches was done.
A minute later, Tom came running into the kitchen. Harry herded him into the dining area, but not before Tom snatched up the plate with the biggest sandwich for himself.
He would not finish it, of course. And there would be ‘crust’ left on the plate even though Harry had already removed the crusts. But as boring as the sandwich was, it would be eaten without complaint, and really—that was all Harry could ask for.
“Do you want to go to the zoo this afternoon?” Harry asked as they ate. It was one of few bonding activities they did that Tom enjoyed, mostly because he got to speak to the snakes there.
“No,” Tom said through a mouthful of ham. “Busy.”
Now Harry really needed to know what Tom was up to, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.
“Okay,” Harry said with false levity. “Let me know when you want dinner.”
“Dinner will be late,” Tom said decisively. “I’m busy.”
Harry nodded as if he understood. Maybe it wasn’t curiosity after all. Maybe it was less curiosity and more… grave concern.
It was past eleven when Harry finally got Tom washed up and into bed. Despite his drooping eyelids and constant yawns, Tom had not wanted to go to bed. He had only conceded after Harry promised an extra long goodnight hug and ice cream for dessert with lunch the next day.
But now that Tom was sleeping—and not merely pretending to sleep as he so often did—Harry could conduct his investigation.
He was aware that Tom would not appreciate this invasion of privacy. If Tom was to find out what he was doing… all the hard work that Harry had put into earning Tom’s trust would be broken.
Despite that, Harry couldn’t help but worry. After watching Tom scribble away all afternoon, his thoughts were consumed with memories of the diary horcrux. What if he had already failed?
This had to be done, there was no way around it.
Listening to Tom’s soft snores, Harry silently raised his wand and cast Accio.
The notebook knocked itself free from beneath a floorboard and flew into Harry’s outstretched hand. He grimaced at the noise, but Tom failed to stir, so it seemed everything was fine.
Slowly, Harry crept out of the room and went to his own bedroom. He sat down on his bed and examined the cover of the notebook for the first time. The original cover of this notebook, he remembered, had been a plain, unassuming black.
To say that Tom had since decorated was an understatement.
Harry did not know what he had expected to find. Undeniable proof that Tom would grow to be anything other than a future dark lord. Undeniable proof he, Harry, had failed to raise him right.
Not… this.
What was this?
The next morning, Tom barrelled into Harry’s room, screaming and beating his fists like the little terror he was.
“YOU TOOK MY BOOK! YOU TOOK MY BOOK!!”
Harry was not lenient enough to let a eight-year-old boy claw him to death, so he seized Tom by the armpits and hauled him into the air, holding him at arm’s length.
Tom kept kicking and shrieking, which made him extremely hard to hold and even harder to be heard over.
“Stop that,” Harry demanded. “What have we talked about, Tom? Being a good boy?”
“You’re a bad father,” Tom howled, his round cheeks stained bright red. “You stole my book!”
“If you stop screaming like a banshee, I’ll bring your book back,” Harry said loudly, “but if you keep yelling, you won’t get it back for a month.”
Tom looked absolutely murderous, but he fell silent, his eyes filled with pure loathing as they stared Harry down.
Harry set Tom back on the ground. He was at least a bit hurt by Tom’s sudden animosity. Where was the cute little boy who had demanded Harry give him a goodnight hug?
“Give me my book,” Tom said through gritted teeth. His breathing was all wonky, a sure sign of the rage he was withholding until he got what he wanted.
Harry brandished his wand and summoned "How to Become a Dark Lord", a book written by Tom Riddle.
“If you can explain this to me,” Harry said calmly, holding the book up, “then you can have it back.”
Tom scowled, unhappy to be caught in his wrongdoing. “It’s my book,” he muttered.
“A book about being a dark lord,” Harry said, matter of fact.
“When we went to the library, I looked for other books,” Tom said stubbornly. His nose was all scrunched up, his forehead curl flopping dramatically over his brow. “But there wasn’t any, so I made one myself. It’s the best one in the world!”
Harry refrained from pointing out that it was likely the only one in the world.
“And if you don’t like it,” Tom continued in his loudest, most obnoxious voice, “then too bad!” He folded his arms across his chest and glared with all his might.
Faced with Tom’s chagrin, Harry couldn’t quite stop the amused smile that threatened at the corner of his lips. What was there to even say? That he didn’t like it? That he wanted nothing more than for Tom to grow to be a good man who made the world a better place rather than a worse one?
Harry swallowed and dropped to one knee. He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender and said, “Why don’t I help you write it?”
“I don’t need your help—” Tom began hotly, but Harry shushed him, reaching for Tom’s smaller hands and gripping them firmly but gently in his own.
“I’ll help you,” Harry continued, “so you can write the best book on dark lords that there ever will be. I’ll show you some magic, alright? And teach you everything I know.”
The anger immediately faded from Tom’s face. “You’ll show me magic?”
“As much magic as you want,” Harry promised, knowing he would regret this blanket statement later on.
Tom grinned. A huge, blinding grin that put all his little teeth on display. “You’re the best,” he declared, almost as an afterthought, and threw his arms around Harry in a hug. “Daddy,” he added, another afterthought—a placation in Tom’s eyes to appease his adoptive father.
Harry hugged him in return, rubbed his back and ruffled his hair. Tom made a noise of contentment and wiggled happily in Harry’s embrace. He really was a ball full of energy when he got worked up.
“Can we have ice cream now?” Tom asked innocently, after the hug had ended.
Ice cream for breakfast was a terrible reward for terrible behaviour.
Harry sighed. “Fine. But only a little.”
“I love you,” Tom recited dutifully, once again the model child that Harry had raised him to be.
“I love you, too,” Harry agreed, well aware that he was being scammed, yet somehow completely unable to stop it from happening.
Having successfully gotten what he wanted plus ice cream on top, Tom smiled and snuggled back into Harry’s shoulder.
EIGHT YEARS LATER
The door never creaked when Tom entered the room. His steps were swift and silent, and so Harry did not notice until the book in his hands was…literally being pried out of his hands.
“Father,” greeted Tom. He dumped Harry’s book on the side table, then slid himself onto Harry’s lap.
Harry shoved ineffectually at Tom’s shoulder. “There are better ways to get my attention, you know.” Ways that were more appropriate for a sixteen year old.
Tom tipped his head in that haughty way he must have picked up from those snotty purebloods in Slytherin, then said, “I like this one.” His fingers brushed against the collar of Harry’s shirt almost absently before he added, “I finished it.”
“Finished what?” Harry directed his gaze to the side table so that he was not tempted to glance at where Tom’s thighs had settled perfectly on either side of his own.
The look Tom threw at him was unimpressed. “My book.”
“Your book,” Harry echoed, still unsure.
“The one you helped me with,” Tom said kindly, squeezing down on Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to see it?"
It took a minute for Harry to put the pieces together. The silly project he had caught Tom making as a child… It felt like centuries ago. Thankfully, Tom had been so entertained with learning magic that he’d given up the dark lord idea altogether. Or at least, that was what Harry had thought.
“Sure,” Harry said. “Yes, of course. Show me.”
Tom withdrew a small book from the inner pocket of his jacket and pressed it tenderly into Harry’s hands. “I dedicated a section of it to you.”
Once again unsure what to expect, Harry dropped his gaze to the front cover.
Emblazoned across the cover were the words "How to Become a Dark Lord". In smaller letters underneath, scrawled in Tom’s expressive penmanship, was a caption.
Includes bonus tips on how to seduce your adoptive father!
“You’ll have to tell me what you think,” Tom murmured, now far too close for Harry’s liking. “And if you’re very lucky, or perhaps very helpful…” His voice trailed off, the finger of one hand tracing the curve of Harry’s jaw before he continued, dipping his head so that his breath warmed the corner of Harry’s mouth, “I may even feature you in the sequel.”
END.
