"Wake up soon, breakfast is ready," Tom say, his voice commanding even when softened.
Harry's muffled reply came, thick with sleep. "Mhm… just a minute…"
Tom allowed himself a small smirk. He knew his son well enough to understand that a minute usually stretched into ten.
---
Upstairs, Harry Dragging himself toward the washroom, Harry rubbed his eyes blearily. He relieved himself, then leaned over the basin, splashing his face with cold water. Droplets clung to his glasses as he squinted at his reflection. The boy staring back looked both ordinary and extraordinary—thin face, lightning-bolt scar hidden beneath wild black hair, and eyes so green they seemed almost out of place in this quiet wooden home.
He scrubbed his teeth quickly with a worn toothbrush, foamy bubbles threatening to escape at the corners of his mouth. Finally, he declared himself "ready enough" and trudged downstairs.
---
The kitchen was a portrait of morning comfort. The hearth glowed warmly, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted eggs, warm bread, and strong black coffee. On the polished table, a pot of steaming tea waited beside neatly arranged plates.
Tom sat perfectly poised at the head of the table, a figure of absolute composure. His long fingers curled around a porcelain cup of coffee, black as midnight. A newspaper floated before him, its pages turning soundlessly at his will.
Harry plopped into his chair without ceremony, snatching up a slice of bread still steaming from the oven. He tore into it with enthusiasm, cheeks puffed as though he were storing food for winter. "Mmm! So good," he mumbled, mouth half-full.
Tom lowered the newspaper slightly, dark eyes peering at him over the rim of his cup. "Well, Harry," he said with calm finality, "I think the time has come for you to go to school. To be a wizard—like me, like everyone."
Harry froze mid-bite. The bread hovered halfway to his lips, crumbs scattering down his shirt. His eyes went wide behind his glasses, and they slipped dangerously low on his nose.
"Really?!" His voice cracked with excitement. "I'll… I'll go to Hogwarts? And make friends too?"
Tom's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Yes. Friends, rivals, teachers. The whole world will open to you."
Harry nearly bounced in his seat, his excitement shining so brightly it seemed to fill the room itself.
---
Later, after breakfast had been cleared away, father and son stepped into the bustling maze of wizarding London.
Diagon Alley roared with life. Signs flashed enchanted letters, shopkeepers shouted offers, owls hooted in complaint from stacked cages, and the clatter of cauldrons echoed across cobblestones. Children darted about in new robes, clutching books or dragging reluctant parents by the hand.
But as Tom Marvolo Riddle strode through the crowd with his son at his side, everything seemed to shift. The noise dimmed. Conversations faltered mid-sentence. Heads turned sharply, as though pulled by an unseen force. Mothers clutched their children closer. Shopkeepers stiffened, their smiles faltering.
The crowd parted around them almost instinctively, whispers trailing in their wake.
Harry, oblivious at first, tugged at his father's sleeve. "Dad… why is everyone staring at you like that? Some look scared."
Tom glanced at him, expression as smooth and unreadable as stone. A faint, dismissive smile played at his lips. "They're acting, son. Because they're mental."
Harry snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh. It was no use—the laugh bubbled out anyway, loud and genuine.
"Dad! You can't say that!"
"I just did," Tom replied without missing a beat, as if the world itself should bend to his logic. He continued walking, unhurried, as though the wary glances of the crowd were nothing but background noise.
Harry's chuckles echoed down the cobbled street, lightening the heavy silence left in their wake.
---
At Flourish and Blotts, Harry stacked books so high they nearly toppled over. He staggered under the weight, arms trembling, until Tom calmly steadied the pile with a flick of his finger. The books obediently arranged themselves into neat stacks inside their bags.
At Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry's nose pressed against the glass, eyes wide with longing at the gleaming broomsticks inside. His breath fogged the window as he whispered, "Look at that one, Dad…"
Without a word, Tom disappeared into the shop. Moments later, he returned, carrying a broomstick with effortless grace.
Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "That's… that's a Nimbus 2000! You… bought it? For me?!"
Tom placed it gently into his arms. "A wizard should fly on something worthy of him."
Harry hugged it as though it were the greatest treasure in the world, his grin so wide it nearly split his face.
---
As they left the final shop, Harry suddenly skidded to a stop. His eyes widened in horror.
"Wait—Dad! We forgot to buy a wand!"
Tom raised a brow, cool as ever. "Did we?"
Harry nodded furiously. "Yeah! I can't be a wizard without one!"
Tom reached into his coat, fingers brushing against something he had kept hidden for ten long years. Slowly, he drew out a wand of dark, polished wood, humming faintly with a power that seemed almost alive.
This was no ordinary wand. This was Voldemort's wand—the one Tom had taken from the floor that night, 10 years ago.
Harry's breath caught. "A wand… for me?"
Tom's voice, though quiet, carried weight. "This one is special. And it belongs to you."
The moment Harry touched it, the wand flared with a soft, brown light that wrapped around his fingers like warm sunlight. It pulsed once, steady and strong—acceptance, recognition.
Harry's jaw dropped. "Wow… it's amazing! It likes me!"
"Yes," Tom said softly, studying him with sharp eyes. "And remember, Harry—never give this wand to anyone. It is yours, and yours alone. My gift to you."
Harry clutched it close to his chest, smiling so brightly it seemed to banish every shadow. "I promise, Dad. Thank you!"
---
Their final stop was the pet shop. It was alive with noise—squawking parrots, hissing cats, the flutter of wings. Harry wandered between cages until something caught his eye.
In the corner sat a large white owl, regal and proud, her amber eyes piercing as though she could see into his soul. She tilted her head, feathers ruffling slightly, before letting out a soft, approving hoot.
"She's beautiful…" Harry whispered, drawn to her immediately.
The owl spread her wings briefly, then settled, as though acknowledging her choice.
Harry turned, eyes pleading. "Dad? Please?"
Tom's chuckle was quiet, almost indulgent. "You already know the answer."
Moments later, Harry carried the cage out of the shop, chest puffed with pride. The owl gazed at him with an expression that was somehow both noble and affectionate.
"I'll call her Hedwig," he said firmly.
Tom inclined his head. "A fine choice."
---
Hogwarts awaited.
And the true story was only beginning.