Sorry for the delay! I'm using scrivener to write and I cannot use it in other computers besides my own without dropbox (which I didn't know at the time), so while living in my sister's house, I couldn't write or post, so yeah, sorry about that. I will update 3 chapters because of it.
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The morning had been a blur of tasks at the orphanage—tightening the screws on a wobbly chair, fixing a drafty window, and helping Mary Anne rearrange some of the storage shelves in the pantry. Harry had thrown himself into the work with a focus that surprised even himself. Yet, no matter how busy his hands were, his thoughts kept circling back to Tom Riddle and the conversation that was undoubtedly waiting for him.
When lunch came and went, Harry prepared himself with a kind of grim determination. Mary Anne had insisted on finding his best set of clothes, and though they were far from fancy, they were clean and presentable. The trousers were a little too tight around the waist, and the shirt was stiffer than he liked, but he adjusted them with a small charm in the privacy of his room, smoothing the fabric as best he could.
"You've faced worse," he muttered to his reflection in the cracked mirror. "This is nothing."
Still, the weight in his chest refused to lift as he made his way downstairs. Mary Anne was waiting by the door, her usual calm demeanor tinged with a hint of worry. She smiled faintly when she saw him, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Good luck, Harry," she said softly, her hand resting briefly on his arm.
"Thanks," he replied, managing a faint smile of his own before stepping out into the cold afternoon air.
The walk to Tom's mansion felt longer this time. The streets seemed quieter, the sounds of the city muffled by the thoughts swirling in Harry's head. He ran through possible scenarios, imagined what Tom might say or do, but no matter how he approached it in his mind, the unknowns loomed large.
By the time he reached the grand iron gates of Riddle's estate, his resolve was set. He didn't trust Tom, but he couldn't deny the opportunity this presented for the orphanage. And, if he was honest with himself, Sirius's hopeful grin had done its fair share to sway him.
The gates opened smoothly, and Harry approached the mansion with steady steps. The door was opened by a different manservant this time—a younger man with dark hair and a stoic expression that betrayed nothing.
"Mr. Potter," the man said, bowing slightly. "Mr. Riddle is currently in his office. Young Master Sirius is attending his etiquette class and will be unavailable for some time. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to the sitting room."
Harry nodded, stepping inside and following the man down the familiar hallways. The warmth of the polished interior was a stark contrast to the chill outside, and the faint scent of wood polish and faintly lingering cologne filled the air. The carpets muffled their footsteps, and Harry felt a strange sense of déjà vu as they passed the heavy oak doors and intricately carved moldings.
The sitting room was just as he remembered—luxurious and understated, with tall windows draped in velvet and a fire crackling softly in the hearth. The manservant gestured for Harry to enter and then left him alone with a polite nod.
Harry sat in one of the leather armchairs, though he felt anything but comfortable. He leaned back, staring into the fire, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest as his thoughts churned.
He wasn't naïve enough to think this would be a straightforward arrangement. Tom Riddle didn't do straightforward. The titles of "nanny" and "bodyguard" could mean anything, especially coming from someone as calculating as Tom.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke through his thoughts, and Harry straightened, expecting Tom. Instead, the door opened to reveal the manservant from before, carrying a tray with a teapot and a small plate of biscuits.
"Refreshments, sir," he said, placing the tray on the low table between the armchairs.
"Thanks," Harry muttered, though his curiosity got the better of him as he studied the man. There was something oddly familiar about him—a vague resemblance that tugged at Harry's memory.
As the man turned to leave, Harry called out, "Wait a second."
The man paused, turning back with a polite expression. "Yes, sir?"
"What's your name?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tried to place the familiarity.
"Colin Creevey, sir," the man replied, his tone even but polite.
Harry's breath caught, and for a moment, he could only stare. "Colin," he repeated, his voice soft. "That's a good name."
Colin tilted his head slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing over his otherwise stoic features. "Thank you, sir."
For a moment, Harry just looked at him, his mind racing. This Colin wasn't the same boy who had idolized him at Hogwarts, the boy with a camera always slung around his neck. But now that Harry looked closer, he could see the faint traces of him—the wide eyes, though subdued, and the curve of a faintly uncertain smile.
"Have you worked here long?" Harry asked, leaning forward slightly.
"A few years, sir," Colin said, his tone professional. "Since shortly after the young master was born."
Harry nodded, filing the information away. "Do you like it? Working here, I mean."
Colin's lips twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly. "The work is demanding, but I can't complain. Mr. Riddle expects the best, and we strive to deliver. The young master, however…" His tone softened slightly. "He's a joy to look after."
Harry smiled faintly. "Sirius does seem like a handful."
Colin huffed a quiet laugh. "That he is, sir. But he makes it worthwhile."
For a moment, Harry hesitated. He wanted to ask more, to dig deeper into this Colin's life and see if there were more connections to the boy he'd known. But he held back, not wanting to make the man uncomfortable.
"That's all, thanks," Harry said finally, offering a faint smile.
Colin inclined his head, his professionalism slipping back into place. "Very well, sir. If you need anything, please ring the bell by the door."
Harry watched as he left, the door clicking softly shut behind him. He stared at the door for a long moment, his chest tight with the weight of memories and unanswered questions.
It wasn't him, he reminded himself. It couldn't be. But the familiarity lingered, a faint echo of a life and a person long gone.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and Harry leaned back in the chair, his thoughts a tangled web of the past and the present. If this world was a reflection of his own, how many other familiar faces might he encounter? And how much of himself would he see in them?
The sitting-room door opened with a quiet creak, drawing Harry's attention from the fire's flickering warmth. Tom Riddle stepped in, his movements as deliberate and controlled as ever. His sharp grey eyes locked onto Harry immediately, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Mr. Potter," Tom said smoothly, his voice carrying a quiet authority as he closed the door behind him. "I hope the wait wasn't too tedious."
Harry rose from his seat, nodding slightly. "Not at all."
Tom gestured for Harry to sit, and as they both settled into their respective chairs, Colin entered briefly to pour a glass of wine for Tom. With a faint nod of dismissal, Tom sent the manservant away, leaving the two of them alone.
For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint crackle of the fire. Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm here to discuss your offer, Mr. Riddle."
The man smiled smugly.
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If you want to read more chapters, my p@treon.com/JorieDS is your solution ;D