Birds of a Feather (Stick Together)

As Harry and Victor walked back toward the orphanage, Harry's gaze lingered on the bustling streets around them. Vendors called out from carts laden with roasted chestnuts and newspapers, their voices blending with the hum of traffic and chatter. The city felt alive in a way that was almost overwhelming, every corner holding a new detail that demanded his attention.

Victor veered toward one of the newspaper stands, peering at the latest edition of The Daily Courier.

"You like to read the papers?" Harry asked casually, glancing at the stack.

"Helps keep up with things," Victor replied, as he looked between the options. "Mary Anne says staying informed is important."

Harry hummed in agreement, his eyes drifting to the bold black headlines on display. One in particular made him stop mid-step:

ATTACK ON VISCOUNT RIDDLE REVEALS SECRET SON!

Harry's stomach flipped, and he stepped closer to the stand, scanning the front-page article beneath the headline. The vendor, a wiry man in a flat cap, eyed him with mild curiosity.

"Want a copy?" the vendor asked.

"Sure," Harry said, pulling a few coins from his pocket and handing them over.

Victor looked over, frowning. "You're interested in that mess?"

Harry didn't answer immediately, instead flipping open the paper to skim the article. The text was dense, but the details jumped out at him:

Last night, an attempted ambush on mayoral candidate Viscount Thomas Riddle revealed the existence of his young son, whom Riddle had kept hidden from the public eye. Witnesses claim the child was present during the attack, though the viscount's swift response ensured their safety.

Harry's pulse quickened as he read on.

Speculation about the child's mother abounds, though Riddle has declined to comment thus far. A formal statement is expected at today's charity ball, where the viscount will address the incident and officially introduce his son to the public.

A grainy black-and-white photo accompanied the article. It showed Tom Riddle exiting a car, his face sharp and commanding even in the low-quality image. Beside him, partially obscured, was the boy Harry had saved.

"So, it's true," Victor muttered, peering over Harry's shoulder.

"What is?" Harry asked, lowering the paper.

"That Riddle has a kid," Victor said, his tone a mix of disbelief and intrigue. "Nobody knew until now. He kept it under wraps for years. Makes you wonder why he'd bother hiding it, doesn't it?"

Harry didn't respond immediately. His thoughts churned as he pieced together the implications. The boy he had saved wasn't just any child related to Tom—he was his son.

Of course, Harry thought bitterly. It always comes back to him.

Victor tilted his head, studying Harry. "You're awful quiet. You know something about this?"

"No," Harry said quickly, folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. "Though do you know what this charity ball is about?

Victor raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "It's supposed to be at the Marriott Hotel, if I'm not mistaken. Why?"

"Just… curious."

"Fair enough. Let's head back. I don't want to miss lunch."

As they resumed walking, Harry's mind raced. The coincidence was too glaring to ignore. His arrival, the attack, the boy—it all seemed too interconnected, as if the universe itself were pulling strings.

The thought of Tom Riddle having a child unsettled him more than he cared to admit. But it wasn't just that. It was the look in the boy's eyes that lingered in Harry's mind—the same stormy grey that Tom always carried, but softer, more vulnerable.

Harry glanced down at the paper in his hand, his grip tightening. His thoughts were a jumble as he and Victor walked through the orphanage gates. The faint squeak of the iron hinges seemed louder than usual, echoing in his ears as they stepped inside. Victor shot him a glance, clearly picking up on his distraction, but didn't comment.

Inside, the comforting sounds of children laughing and the faint clatter of dishes greeted them. Harry pocketed the newspaper as they entered the dining room. The long table was already filled with plates of stew and bread, and the warm, savory aroma filled the air.

Eli waved them over, his grin as bright as always. "You're late. Thought you'd skip lunch or something."

Victor smirked. "Had to drag this guy away from the library."

"Not true," Harry muttered, though his mind was still elsewhere.

He sat down next to Andre, who was propped up by a cushion on his chair. The boy's face was brighter today, though still pale, and he was trying to eat on his own.

"You're doing well," Harry said softly, watching as Andre lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth.

Andre gave a small, shy smile. "It's easier now. Doesn't hurt as much."

"That's progress," Harry said warmly, though he kept an eye on the boy's trembling hands, noting how the boy's appetite had improved. Andre won't finish all, but it's not something magic couldn't fix. Tomorrow, he will go about procuring some antibiotics for the infection as he doesn't have the materials to use potions. He notified Mary Anne about the development, and the small victory eased some of the tension in his chest.

Eli, who was sitting next to him and heard everything he said to Mary Anne, leaned over, his voice low. "You're like some kind of miracle worker, you know that?"

Harry gave a faint smile. "Just doing what I can."

Eli grinned and leaned back, turning his attention to his own plate.

Despite the warmth and camaraderie around him, Harry couldn't shake the gnawing unease from the article he'd read. His mind kept drifting back to Tom and the boy he had saved.

When lunch ended, Harry stayed behind to help clear the table and wash the dishes. The routine was grounding, and he needed the distraction. As he scrubbed a stubborn stain from a plate, he felt Mary Anne's presence behind him.

"You've been quiet today," she said, her voice calm but probing.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Just thinking."

"Thinking or worrying?"

He sighed, setting the plate aside. "Both, I suppose."

Mary Anne studied him for a moment before nodding. "Well, whatever it is, don't let it eat you up. We've got dinner to prepare, and I could use another pair of hands."

Harry nodded, grateful for the reprieve. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and listening to the ebb and flow of the children's chatter. By the time dinner was ready, Harry felt more settled—though the weight of the newspaper in his pocket was a constant reminder of what awaited him.

As the children began filing into the dining room, Harry caught Mary Anne's eye.

"I won't be here for dinner," he said quietly.

Her brow furrowed. "Something important?"

"Just… something I need to take care of," Harry said, his tone evasive.

Mary Anne studied him for a long moment, her sharp gaze unreadable. "All right," she said finally. "But be careful. The city's not kind after dark."

"I will," Harry promised.

"Good." Her expression softened. "And Harry—thank you. For everything you've done for the kids. For us."

Harry gave a small, sheepish smile. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Mary Anne said firmly. "Remember that."

Harry nodded, the weight of her words settling over him as he grabbed his coat and stepped out into the evening air.

The streets were quieter now, the bustling energy of the day giving way to the more subdued rhythm of the evening. Harry pulled his coat tighter around himself as he walked, his thoughts churning.

The Marriott Hotel was a bit far, but nothing apparating wouldn't fix. As he approached, the glow of its lights came into view, illuminating the darkened streets. Harry's grip tightened on the wand in his pocket.

I don't trust him, Harry thought, but maybe I can learn something.

And as he stepped into the warmth of the hotel lobby with transfigured clothes, he couldn't help but wonder what the night would reveal.