Cold as Snow (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

The Little Things - Part 2

Glancing into his money pouch, Harry sighed. The galleons glimmered shyly beneath the mound of sickles and knuts, a shining testament to his lack of forethought. He dreaded the inevitability of a job. He’d naively hoped to shelter away from this foreign world until such a time came when his parents were born and then somehow go from there. That daydream unfortunately didn’t include the responsibility and costs of a child, but maybe in the future. If Tom turned out well, (anything was above being an evil dark lord, he wasn’t picky) then maybe Harry could buy an old shack, retire and watch those he loved be born, but more presently he worried about what a job would mean for Tom. Endless time during the day and no supervision sounded like a breeding ground for dangerous outlets of boredom.
Maybe it was time to look into a local primary school.
The creak of a floorboard snapped Harry’s attention to the landing where Tom stood hovering, his eyes upon the money bag. Clearing his dry throat, Harry stuffed it into his mokeskin pouch as Tom descended like a cautious cat, now wearing his woollen pullover.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, pulling on a long frayed coat (his washed out jacket now lived in the back of his wardrobe until the time came when the style would be invented) before reaching out his hand. Tom’s whole face twitched.

“Is there no better way of travelling?” Tom grit out. Harry blinked, his arm outstretched awkwardly.

“Er, no, this is probably the best.”

“But there are others.” he stated, his eyes taking on a shine.

“Of the ones that are more or less instant this is the best, trust me.” Tom’s face soured and Harry bit back an unexpected smile of amusement. Harry had no doubt, if pushed, Tom would create a mode of transport that was smooth and instant, then proceed to keep it to himself. Such was the case of powerful narcissistic prats, Harry thought drily. Tom looked pensively down at Harry’s hand that was starting to strain a little, the hesitation made his own mood turn sombre. Harry supposed Tom really had no such reason to trust him, none yet, hope whispered, sounding enough like Luna to make his heart clench abruptly. 
Harry's attention narrowed as Tom took an audible breath and with palpable reluctance reached out, a hand unfurling like a moondew flower at night. A few fingers landed on Harry’s wrist, the touch as light and flighty as a feather as Tom’s face scrunched up in preparation for the uncomfortable squeeze of apparation. A kindling of warmth sparked in Harry's chest, melting the edges of a long-forgotten glacier frosted over in self-preservation since before he could remember. The urge to protect bloomed. The urge to not let this Tom have any chance to become Voldemort. For all Tom's innate cruelty, Harry knew it to be his experiences and choices that made him into Voldemort. If those choices were discouraged and those experiences were no longer lived, well, Harry didn't trust in hope but he’d find a way to make sure his own past never became the future. He would make this new life work, he would make them work. He'd shove together their jagged pieces until they fit around each other like they always had; Their souls irrevocably tied in a perverse twist of fate — never seperate. How fitting that once again they had found themselves tied across time, only this time by willing circumstance. It was both amusing and saddening to think that now they only had each other, and as a family no less. The term felt wrong but no less factual. At least being Tom's guardian would be good practice for when his parents had a little Harry. He felt his lips twitch into a smile at the thought of his soon to be family, filling him with the slow warmth of a sun.
The hesitant smoothing of Tom’s scrunched face reminded him of their destination and with barely a thought they were in a narrow alley across the road to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom wobbled at their landing and Harry mindlessly caught an elbow to steady him. Tom tensed and looked up sharply, his grey eyes bluer in the winter sunlight. A beat passed; Harry clumsily let go.

“This way,” Harry nodded towards the inn, walking forward on crunchy snow that changed to sludge when they emerged from the alley.

“A pub” Tom said flatly, trailing a step behind as they crossed the busy London street. Harry stopped scanning the bland faces of passersby to glance at him, the adult disdain on his boyish face causing a flutter of amusement.