Jonquils And Lightning

The foretold weapon

Tom watched the two people at the fence as he came closer to them. They were the only young people he had seen so far in Godric's Hollow, but given that this world's Hogwarts was probably in session, that was not surprising.

The girl on the right stared at him as if he were a prince that had walked out of her dreams. Sleek, straight black hair, large eyes, pale skin, pretty enough features. Tom supposed that he might charm her into telling him what he wanted to know, although whether she did know anything was doubtful. She looked perhaps a year younger than he was, but as with so many children in any world, his mental age was far more advanced than hers.

The boy was more interesting. Shaggy black hair proclaimed him probably a Potter. His folded arms and drawn wand and balanced body proclaimed something else.

Some Auror training? Tom revised the estimate as he glided closer. No, battle training.

He had arrived in this dimension three days ago, and none of the minds he had torn through, wizard or Muggle, contained images of any recent battles. That made the boy more interesting.

Tom gave him a faint smile, and turned to the girl. "What's your name?" he asked softly. "Do you know where I might get shelter?"

"My parents could put you up." The girl had her hands clasped, her face flushed. Her voice was rapid. "My name is Jonquil Potter. This is my cousin Harry. We can—you wouldn't have to pay anything, there's an inn but you don't need to go there, I'm sure—"

"That's enough, Jonquil."

Potter. I was right. And both of them? Good. I should have my choice. Tom turned his gaze to the boy, and clamped down control on his muscles to prevent himself from recoiling. The boy had green eyes that blazed, and Tom could feel the magic building around him, on the edge of a Dark curse.

"Have I done something to offend you?" Tom asked, with his best humble smile. He'd perfected it in the last year, when he'd searched for help in dark corners and had to pretend to abase himself before creatures and the once-living that held the secrets he sought.

"I notice you haven't given us your name."

"Easily remedied. I am Tom Gaunt."

The boy's face twitched, as if he didn't know how to react. Tom watched him closely. No, perhaps he had been mistaken about the age, despite the lack of lines in the boy's skin. He had to be older, perhaps older than Tom, to have that much magic and that much control of his body.

Not old enough to hide his emotions, though. Tom gave a small smile at the thought.

"Harry, you're being rude." Jonquil gave a tug on her cousin's arm and rolled her eyes at him, before she turned back to Tom. "You'll have to forgive him. Harry doesn't have the best manners. And so you're related to the pure-blood Gaunts? They're an ancient family."

"Indeed. My mother was one of them. Merope Gaunt."

Tom kept one eye on Harry as he spoke with Jonquil. Harry never looked away from him, and although his magic had settled back from the edge of striking, it lingered around his shoulders, coiled. Tom turned his head as if to include Harry in the conversation about the history of the Gaunts, and tried to send a swift probe under the surface of those green eyes.

Harry's wand blurred until it met his throat. Tom stood there, relaxed, although it took an effort.

"Harry!"

"Next time, Rid—Gaunt," Harry said softly, ignoring the way that his cousin was trying to make his hand move, "you'll respect someone's mental privacy, won't you?"