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In his short life, Tom had lost very few things. He coveted and cached his possessions carefully. Everything had a place, and he knew exactly where that place was. He couldn’t afford to be anything but fastidious.
His powers helped with this. Even before he knew what magic was, Tom was using it to protect what he saw as his. The rickety wardrobe in his room at the orphanage refused to open for anyone but him, even the matron, who would frequently come to check his meager belongings for anything he might have stolen. She would make a fuss about Tom somehow locking the wardrobe and trying to keep secrets. The next day, however, she would never remember just what it was she was angry with him for.
Tom wasn't sure exactly what he was doing that caused it, but he would gladly take the occasional reprimands from Mrs. Cole. It was far more preferable to whatever would happen if she discovered what was actually inside his wardrobe. Especially the more... unexplainable things in his collection.
Ever since he could remember, something blessed him with strange items. Objects clearly not belonging to him were always ending up among his things. He was hesitant to think it was God, or even the Devil, as the matron would suggest. Broken toys and damaged schoolwork did not seem like the offerings of a higher power. They must have some other source. None of it was trash, not to Tom who was young and poor and didn't own much of anything, let alone broken things. Things were things, no matter what state they were in. And so he called them blessings.
Among these blessings were small wooden toys with chipped paint, wet pages of partially complete arithmetic, and wool socks with holes at the toes and heels. These all appeared on the floor of his wardrobe on occasion. They were functionally useless, but looked enough like they belonged to someone else for Tom to hide them away where the matron couldn’t find. He didn’t want to throw any of them out and upset whatever entity it was giving them to him.
When Mister Dumbledore- no, Professor Dumbledore came to the orphanage and set fire to his wardrobe, he feared this was the divine punishment Mrs. Cole was always threatening him with. Tom had no doubt she had told the Professor all about his “sinful” nature and the secrets he kept. But more importantly, he knew what his powers actually were, where his blessings came from.
Magic.
He wasn’t unique in his abilities, it turned out. In hindsight, it was foolish to believe he was the only one. He always knew he was superior to the people surrounding him, the muggles, as the Professor called them. Perhaps now he would meet people worthy of his time, people with magic.
Time progressed slowly until when Tom would go to Hogwarts. New items appearing in his wardrobe interrupted the monotony occasionally. Losing many of the items in the wardrobe was a relief, if only because it was growing rather cramped with all the things he was hiding. He wondered if the blessings would appear there while he was gone, or if they would follow him to school. He hoped for the latter. The thought of some dirty orphan coming across his things left a sour taste in his mouth. No matter that he was technically a dirty orphan as well.
During late July of the new year, the blessings suddenly changed. Rather than the typical chipped plate or broken pen, a single envelope from Hogwarts appeared on the floor of his wardrobe. It was identical to the one Professor Dumbledore brought to him last winter, but had no name on the front or on the paper within, only a receiving address somewhere in Surrey. He never received an item with a name. In theory, he knew his blessings had to come from someone else. The consistent handwriting on the papers and books that showed up was enough to prove it to Tom. But now he knew whoever was on the other end of this strange link was magical as well. If the magic was hiding their name, they could be someone powerful or important, worthy of being connected to Tom in such a way.
In the days following the first letter, more and more appeared in his wardrobe. By the time a week had gone by, he was having to pile them under his mattress and his bed frame. He squeezed them into his wardrobe, and eventually, though he was still hesitant to reject the blessings, placing them in the bottom of the rubbish bag during his round of chores. There must have been hundreds of letters, all identical. And all unopened.
Finally, after two weeks came and went, they stopped. He still checked the bottom of his wardrobe, but there was nothing. A couple days later, a pencil appeared and so Tom felt safe in assuming whatever commotion was happening trying to deliver the letter was finally resolved. He soon pushed it to the back of his mind in order to focus on reading the used textbooks that were delivered to him on the first of August. He wouldn’t be able to learn anything about the link until he was at Hogwarts, presumably with the one on the other end of it.
Magic, true magic with incantations and intention, could be learned now. He needed to catch up to the other students. Some of them had their books far longer than him or were even born into a family that practiced magic. Tom was determined to learn everything he could. To be the best he could.
In his short life, Harry had many things taken from him. First, of course, were his parents. Killed by their own stupidity, as his aunt would tell him. Then, it was any variety of things that the Dursleys gave to him and later decided he didn’t need. This included the broken toys he could sometimes pinch from the rubbish bin once his cousin finished with them, as well as his socks or blanket or anything the Dursleys deemed a luxury. It felt awful sometimes. But Harry knew he was a burden, he was told so often enough, and the Dursleys were just taking what they deserved for looking after him.
The trouble really started when they realized that what they took from Harry vanished. Aunt Petunia would notice the confiscated toys and clothing were missing from the outdoor bin just the day after she had placed them there. This of course led to several ear boxings from his uncle, who believed Harry must have taken them back and hidden them. Never mind the bits of mashed potato and roast that were surely stuck to them from last night’s dinner.
Pig. Uncle Vernon bellowed. Ungrateful urchin. Parasite. Freak.
For Harry's part, he was just surprised his uncle knew big words like urchin and parasite. He felt equally confused about the missing objects, though. He thought he would remember if he went back for them. A thorough search of his usual hiding spaces between the supporting beams under the stairs only turned up spiders.
This was when the punishments and payments really hiked up, because Harry was putting it on his relatives to deal with his… freakishness. That was the name for it if Harry ever did something strange, or even if something strange just happened near him. He truly believed whatever was causing this had to be some kind of curse.
Once primary school began, his papers and pencils would disappear more often than they’d remain. Dudley’s second favorite game was to dump Harry’s bag into the pond at the park, only after Harry Hunting, of course. When the drowned items vanished the next day, Harry heard no end of the “freakish” behavior from his aunt and uncle. As if he would try to turn in damp division equations.
Teachers soon agreed with the Dursleys that Harry was a delinquent, what with his false complaints of bullying and truly dreadful grades. He didn’t really know what he deserved to have someone or possibly something spiriting away his things. He knew little about things relating to religion. The Dursleys were C of E in name and appearance only, and they left Harry at home on Sundays because his “freak” parents never had him baptized. But he knew what his strictest teachers would say, and what Aunt Petunia said if she ever drank more than her customary two glasses of sherry in the evenings. He was touched by the Devil, cursed.
And then, a week before his eleventh birthday, Harry got mail. Directly to him in his cupboard, from a strange place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale. Then he made the mistake of trying to open it in front of the Dursleys, something he would beat himself up about for the weeks following.
After that letter was taken and eventually vanished, another two came through the mail slot the next day. And then five the next day, then twenty, then so many that Uncle Vernon brought them out to an island shack to escape what looked like dozens of owls bringing them at all times of day.
Harry learned just minutes after midnight on his birthday that he was not a freak. A very nice woman with greying hair blasted open the shack door to give him his letter once and for all. Harry was a wizard, who once had two wonderful parents that were killed by an evil man, not because they drank too much or used drugs or any of the awful things his aunt described. It was a shock and a comfort.
At Hogwarts, Harry could eat as much as he liked, do his homework without fear, even wear clothing that was bought for him and not handed down. He learned curses were an actual type of spell, and began the pursuit of looking for what caused his things to disappear so frequently.
The curse wasn’t nearly as bad as it was at the Dursleys, but anything that Harry didn’t keep careful track of would inevitably vanish to it. Class notes, inkwells, gloves packed too loosely in his trunk. All gone to wherever it was his things went to the past eleven years.
He searched for answers in the expansive library as the years went by, reluctantly enlisting the help of his good friend Hermione to assist him. Even during his final year at Hogwarts, Harry feared that whatever curse he had upon him was dark, and that the Professors would blame him for it and expel him before he could ever take his NEWTs.
It wasn’t until a few years after his NEWTs that he would learn anything about the curse, though he didn’t realize it at first. Interning at the Ministry allowed him access to texts about dark magic that made his stomach turn, but even they said nothing that sounded like his situation.
The morning of Litha, the solstice, Harry was decorating with Hermione prior to the bonfire they would attend that evening with friends from work. She insisted on creating god’s eyes for the two of them and sent him to look for the nice yarn Mrs. Weasley gifted him during the Yule prior.
It was in the school trunk he still kept at the foot of his bed storage that he found it: a glittery golden locket with a chain to match.
Tom loathed working as a lowly shopkeeper, but it was only a means to an end. An end he had finally reached with the incredibly tragic death of one Hepzibah Smith. His mother’s locket was finally in his hands. Slytherin’s locket was his. Both by birthright and physically.
Tonight, at the bonfire in the woods of South West England, Tom would mingle with his Knights that had made their way into the ministry. After the fire burned out and the ashes collected, he would take his leave and create his very first horcrux. His very first tie to the mortal plane, one of what he hoped to be many.
He had played with the idea of creating a horcrux for years. Ever since his inadvertent murder of Myrtle Warren and the realization that not only could death come for him at any moment, but that he could avoid it. He hadn’t made a horcrux in the bathroom that day, nor when he went to visit his family. He knew he made the right choice of waiting when he discovered the whereabouts of the locket. His locket.
Litha was a lesser sabbat, but perfect for what he was intending. Midsummer was for powerful rituals and important spell work. If he focused, he could feel the buzzing of energy in the air. Power was all around him today, even in his dreary flat.
It was late in the afternoon when Tom realized his plans would not be coming to fruition that night. To prepare for the ritual, Tom had looked in the trick drawer of his armoire for his locket, the intended vessel for an entire half of his soul.
An hour later, he still could not find it. Summoning charms did not work, point-me’s barely twitched, and good old-fashioned dumping all his belongings onto the floorboards and sifting through them one by one only resulted in a rather untidy room. For the first time, he thought himself lucky to not own much.
But the question remained. Where had the locket gone? He was so sure he had put it in the drawer. Unbidden, his childhood fear crept back into his mind. Divine punishment. Did his locket end up in the hands of whoever was at the other end of the link? He knew the locket was the only thing missing from his belongings, but it wasn’t unreasonable to think others would disappear as well.
Hogwarts didn't shed any light on the situation like he'd hoped. The only thing he knew for certain was that the mysterious other person was not in the same house as him. Otherwise he was sure he would have heard no end to complaints about lost items. His blessings from the link had died down significantly with age. It was nice, in that he no longer needed to watch out for them. In the end, though, he was still no closer to finding out what the link was and who, if anyone, was on the other end.
Tom could not perform the rite that night, but his Knights still expected him at the bonfire. He dressed in his finest summer robes, any holes or fading that could reveal them as secondhand meticulously charmed hidden. Tonight he would socialize and collect ashes for later use.
The clearing was expansive, but crowded with the bodies of many younger Ministry workers and their friends. The bonfire was burning brightly with multiple types of wood, casting shadows and reflecting life off anything that would allow it.
Tom held a drink, partially replaced with water as soon as it was handed to him. It was not quite dark yet, yet the celebration was already in full swing. Alcohol flowed and people danced, all while some took turns jumping over the bonfire.
It wasn’t until the sun was at the horizon line that Tom spotted a glint of metal that made him stop in his tracks. Around the neck of another wizard Tom only vaguely recognized, was a gold chain. It stood out starkly from his brown skin and glittered in the fire's light. When he turned slightly to speak to the witch next to him, Tom saw what dangled at the end. His locket.
Was he on the other end of the link? Were all the things Tom received over the years originally his? Here were answers to questions that had plagued him for years and his mother’s locket, right across the fire.
Tom made his way around the crowd as quickly as he could, stopping only to exchange pleasantries with Ministry sycophants. He didn’t take his eyes off the wizard, he couldn’t. His magic compelled him forward.
He watched as the wizard sipped his drink and then threw his head back in a laugh. He was close enough now to see the way the chain swayed slightly on his neck, throwing tiny glittering refractions onto his skin. It captivated Tom. Magic thrummed in his veins, his head, at the very tips of his fingers. He didn’t realize his staring had become so obvious until he noticed the witch next to the man make a gesture out of the corner of his eye. And then he locked into the gaze of the one who held his locket.
The green of his eyes was deep, with the glimmer of the fire in his pupils lighting them from the side. It nearly matched the green of the serpentine S on Tom’s locket. He saw the wizard’s lips move, saying something to him, but couldn’t focus on the words. Then the other blinked, and his fixation broke.
“Pardon?” he asked absently.
“I said, merry meet,” the wizard replied with a small smile as he walked closer.
“Merry indeed,” Tom murmured. “Would you care to dance?”
If his sudden offer surprised the other, he didn’t show it. “Why not?” he said, before foisting his glass onto his witch friend.
Tom followed the man out to the open space filled with dancing couples. He did it as if in a daze, only regaining his senses to take the lead as they swung around the grass.
“I’ll admit, I’m pants at dancing,” the wizard said with a humorous smile.
“What an unusual name. I’m Tom,” he replied with a grin to match.
The wizard rolled his eyes and scoffed, but the faint red on his face betrayed him. “My name’s Harry.”
“That’s a lovely name. Harry. A lovely necklace, too,” Tom commented.
Harry looked caught out. “Thank you. It was… a gift.”
“A gift, you say?” Tom teased. “From whom?”
“You know, I’m really not sure,” Harry said with a huff.
“Forgetful, are we?”
“You have no idea,” Harry muttered before allowing Tom to send him out into a twirl.
Once the song ended, Tom led Harry to a quieter part of the clearing.
“I’ll admit,” Tom began. “The reason I approached you was because of your locket.”
Harry gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?”
“This morning I was searching for a certain piece of jewelry in my flat, but it seemed to be completely missing. Then tonight, I looked across the fire to see it dangling around the neck of an incredibly handsome man.”
“This locket is… yours?” Harry asked, cheeks red once again from Tom’s flattery or from embarrassment, he couldn’t tell which.
“Yes, well, it was my mother’s.”
Harry’s face fell into shock, immediately reaching behind his neck to undo the clasp.
“No, no,” Tom said firmly. “I want you to have it, I think.”
Harry paused with his hands still awkwardly at the clasp. “You… think?”
“Yes, quite often in fact,” Tom replied with a smirk.
Harry snorted, but relaxed his arms. “Why on Earth would you want a bloke you barely know to have such a nice necklace?”
“I believe I know you much better than you think. I still have about a dozen extra Hogwarts letters in my drawer at home with an address in Little Whinging.”
Now Harry was gaping like a fish. Typically, Tom would find so many displays of emotion a sign of weakness, but on him it was only charming.
“I didn’t… I don’t-” Harry cut himself off, seemingly at a loss for words. “Did you curse me?” he asked suddenly.
Tom has to stop himself from laughing. “No,” Tom said. “I wasn’t certain what was happening until tonight, only that I had a growing collection of holey socks.”
“I’ve always thought I was cursed,” Harry mumbled.
“Well,” Tom reached out and pulled one of Harry’s hands into his. “I’ve always thought it was a blessing.”