Cold as Snow (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

Magic

Harry had remained beside the building he’d unceremoniously dumped himself against for a long time, heedless of the worsening snow. The sky slowly turned amber as he attempted to centre himself and quiet the noise in his head, heavy breaths turned to wisps of fog as soon as they left his chapped lips. He'd been shaken by his own behaviour. He was unable to believe that after giving up everything to try and prevent the magical world from falling into ruin, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t complete his self-made mission and Harry despised himself for it. After all the people he’d lost and lives he’d had to end, he’d thought himself hardened to the reality of what he had to do. It seems he’d overestimated himself for when he’d seen that boy shoved hard into the biting snow by the other children, he just couldn’t do it. It had all been so frighteningly familiar to his own past, one which he’d long since buried or so he assumed.

A tingle travelled up his right forearm and Harry rolled his wand fondly between his frigid fingers in response, the gentle hum anchored him and his spiralling thoughts. The self-hate slowly evaporated until all that remained was sombre resignation. He tucked his wand away, sighing heavily as he did so. Harry didn’t want to empathise with the most evil wizard of their time but he couldn’t picture the child he’d witnessed being bullied as the dark lord he’d been running from all his life. He was unsure how to continue though, he couldn’t just leave him be but it was the question of whether he meddle from afar, pulling the strings to suit him (similar to Dumbledore Harry thought with distaste) or take a more active approach. Maybe all Tom needed was a bit of guidance to change what had become of the future. He pondered that particular thought with furrowed brows, would a difference have been made if the jaded boy had known love early in life and before Hogwarts?

What occurred next were his feet apparently having made an unconscious decision, for they were crossing the street before Harry could blink. He paused briefly, halfway across the snowy path to the orphanage when his mind had caught up to his body, second-guessing his choice powered by intuition. That was until he caught a small face peeking through a window on the second floor and their eyes met. He swallowed thickly. He couldn’t kill a child, even if he grew up to be the biggest twat in history, so this was the least he could do. Resolve setting his shoulders firmly in place and heedless of being a single guardian in a foreign time with no job to speak of and only enough funds to support himself for a year, he broke their shared gaze and marched swiftly to the front door.

---

Walking down the snow dusted path from the orphanage with hands full of possessions which Harry had no doubt most were stolen (he’d need to have a talk about morals) and his dark haired responsibility pensively trailing behind him, he realised perhaps a bit too late how bad of an idea it was to adopt Tom Riddle.

He’d been unknowingly enchanted by the idea of raising Tom, providing him a stable home and attempting to give him some sort of familial love. Yet he had no parenting knowledge to speak of other than occasionally having Teddy over for a night or two a week in the years following, what he thought to be at the time, the final battle. He had nothing at the muggle house he’d recently bought to insinuate that he’d been there for more than a week and Tom was unfortunately sharp, he’d ask questions which Harry knew he’d struggle to answer when omitting the truth. Then he had to go about discussing magic which was a risky topic considering he didn’t know what Tom was aware of and he’d undoubtedly want to know everything he could which would be worrisome in itself.
Harry had no clue what to do about his education, he could homeschool him but that would leave him unsupervised when Harry eventually got a job of some sort and he was apprehensive about trusting the troubled child just yet. How was he even supposed to treat him? Admittedly he’d mostly been on autopilot when walking into the orphanage as well as during his meeting with the dour matron. That was until he felt a spike of accidental magic from the other room and Harry, expecting the worst, rushed through the door like a clap of thunder as his anxiety flared brightly. Instead, he saw Tom hyperventilating and iced to a child he recognised as the main tormentor from earlier. Intervening quickly, he wordlessly thawed the ice with a discreet wave of his hand and put himself between the children, facing Tom he crouched to his height and unsure of what else to do he placed a hand on a malnourished shoulder and muttered assurances like he did when Teddy had been particularly fussy. The next few minutes passed in a blur of remarks ranging from threatening to reassuring and a nasty confundus to the matron until they were out the door.