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“I’ll take him.”
Hari watched the fresh shock appearing on Mrs. Cole’s face. She glanced at the glass in her hand, clearly wondering if she’d had one too many brandies, then back to Hari, who sat primly across from her. Hari had chosen to wear some of her best that day, a stuffy outfit that would pass in both the Muggle and Magical world as something someone of her position and status would wear. She did, after all, inherit two Headship positions in extremely old, wealthy families, and Neville of all people once pointed out that she should play the part when she wanted things. With that in mind, she’d picked out an outfit that screamed power and wealth and influence, worn some of the ancestral jewelry, and applied a light, respectable (to the people who thought it mattered) layer of makeup.
“Pardon, my Lady?”
She cringed internally at the title, but bore it to reach her goal. The means met her ends. She channeled a mix between Augusta Longbottom and Draco Malfoy, though only the dignified pureblood aspects and none of the abrasiveness. She needed to come across as someone who knew they’d get their way without being a wanker about it. She delicately set her tea cup—undoctored, though Mrs. Cole did offer—aside. She leaned forward ever so slightly, fingers laced across her knee.
“Forgive me if I’ve been unclear, Mrs. Cole. I’d like to adopt that darling little boy with whom I visited earlier, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I assume that you do possess the correct papers?”
She kept her smile pleasant but firm to emphasize yet again that she intended to have her way and would rather not be questioned about it. Mrs. Cole sat up sharply, though out of alarm rather than anger. “I understand, your Ladyship, but that boy—he looks sweet on the outside, but inside, I don’t think he’s quite right. I beg you to reconsider.”
Mentally, she had to wonder if Voldemort—Tom, now, in his current time at his current age—had always been distinctly off, or if there was a tipping point when he changed. She wasn’t sure she was ready to believe that some people were just born inherently evil. Surely there must have been steps and warning signs. A three year old couldn’t possibly be scheming world domination. He’d barely started walking properly!
“I understand your concern,” she allowed, even though she didn’t, because without all the good in her life, if she’d only had Petunia screaming at her about being a wicked freak that should be locked up away from normal people, she might have ended up like the Voldemort of her time. She might have grown to hate Muggles on principle with the wrong people whispering in her ear. She could have fallen into the wrong crowds and gotten the wrong influences. She could have ended up radicalized and groomed as Snape had been, but without either redemption or remorse.
It terrified her.
“I still intend to take the boy. He just needs the right guidance in his life.”
Mrs. Cole sighed, but took out the correct paperwork from one of the drawers of her desk. Hari immediately got to work scanning the forms. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, my Lady. Though I suppose if it’s not a good fit, you can always bring him back.”
The exhausted Matron sounded like she’d rather gargle glass than take little Tom Marvolo Riddle back, but she’d do her duty anyway. Hari hid her grimace against her shoulder when she turned to pull a few bills from her purse. She’d already removed the mint on a handful of Galleons and converted them into gold nuggets, some of which she exchanged for Muggle money of the time. She laid the pounds out on the desk, sliding them over to the Matron.
“I don’t believe I’ll need to do that. Here’s the adoption fee in full.”
Mrs. Cole took it, counted it, and tucked it away in a lockbox that had seen better days. “I’ll fetch him. Martha’s tending to some of the little ones who have the sniffles.”
The harried woman rose from her seat and left the office. Satisfied with the documents at hand once she got to the end, Hari signed the name she’d assumed with a flourish, Nepeta Peverell. She felt certain her ancestors wouldn’t take offense to her reclaiming it in this timeline, nor would going by her middle name actually be a lie. Any magical tests she took to prove her bloodline would confirm her direct Peverell descent, and any spells, potions, or magical items meant to detect falsehood would determine she spoke the truth about her given name being Nepeta. They would not, however, clarify that she actually possessed two given names.
With her assumed name, she could purchase property in the magical world, perhaps even access or reopen an old Peverell vault. She’d even worked out a means of income. Once she found the right land, she could start gathering serpents whose venom she could then harvest and sell to potions suppliers, or perhaps even directly to potioneers themselves, including the ones employed by St. Mungos. She just needed to double check the magical import and export laws and carefully pick her base of operations with that in mind.
Shuffling in the hallway brought her out of her planning. A moment later, Mrs. Cole entered the room with a curious Tom Marvolo Riddle trailing after her. He stopped suddenly at the threshold, staring at Hari with enormous dark brown eyes.
“You’re still here,” he blurted.
By the desk, Mrs. Cole gasped, obviously affronted on Hari’s behalf, but Hari only smiled kindly at him. This wasn’t the man who tried to kill her as an infant, the man directly responsible for the deaths of her parents, godfather, and maternal grandparents, or the man she ultimately had to put down for the good of everyone else. This was a child, barely past the stage where he learned to walk properly. At this point in life, the most heinous thing he’d done was soil a nappy or throw a tantrum. There was neither an argument with Billy Stubbs and a suspiciously dead rabbit, nor a traumatized Amy Benson and Denis Bishop.
“I’m still here.” Hari beckoned him closer. She ran a gentle hand through the loose black curls adorning his head. “I’m going to take you home with me. Would you like that?”
His eyes lit up at those words. “Yes!”
“Tom!” Mrs. Cole broke into their moment to snap at him. “Do have some manners, young man!”
A dark look crossed his face as he sulked, but he did amend his response to Hari with a polite “please”.
“Hmn.” Mrs. Cole eyed him with displeasure before sifting through the papers Hari’d left on the desk. “Everything seems in order, Lady Peverell.”
Hari rose gracefully to her feet, drawing herself up the way she’d watched plenty of dignified purebloods do in her own time. “We’d best be going then. Come along, Tom.”
She offered Mrs. Cole a short bow, then carefully knelt to pick up Tom. He leaned into her embrace eagerly and without question, laying his head on her shoulder. She carried him out of Wool’s Orphanage, murmuring soothing reassurances as she rubbed circles into his tiny back. She turned down the street, walking at a sedate pace to avoid jostling the child in her arms. She needed to find a house elf willing to tie themself to her new little family, needed to settle the Peverell accounts one way or the other, needed to find the right property and arrange to procure the first of her snakes. Once she ironed out all the details, she’d provide a good life for her once-older-now-younger distant cousin, the newly adopted and renamed Tom Marvolo Peverell. She’d raise him the right way, and hopefully prevent two wars.
Really, only time would tell.