In the Shadow of What If's

Chapter Twelve: Servants of Choice, Children of Magic

Evening had fallen over Evermoor Hall like a silken curtain. The sky above the observatory glittered with stars, now clear of snow, the frost in retreat under carefully moderated magical weather. Tom had returned to his room with his arms full of books, his new practice wand tucked reverently in his belt. He hadn't said a word since they'd returned—not out of unhappiness, but thought.

Harrison let him have his silence. Reflection was the start of growth.

As dinner simmered quietly in the kitchen under the guidance of the enchanted hearth, Harrison made his way to the entry parlor. Griphook had delivered his message faster than expected.

Two pops echoed softly across the rug.

And there they were.

Dobby, no more than two feet tall, his ears still too large for his head and one eye twitching nervously as he blinked up at Harrison. His skin was smooth, his body wrapped in an old towel tied like a tunic. His fingers fidgeted.

Beside him stood another elf—smaller, softer-featured, and clearly female. Her name was Mina, according to Griphook's note. Her eyes were large and gold-flecked, and her posture more upright, more alert. She wore an oversized sweater, patchy but clean.

"Mr. Harrison sir," Dobby squeaked. "Dobby is being told he is being requested... not ordered. That... that is strange to Dobby, sir."

Harrison smiled warmly and knelt to their level. "That's because I don't believe in slaves. Only partners. If you stay here, it's because you choose to. I'll feed you, clothe you, pay you in coin or comforts—whichever you prefer. Your job would be to care for this house... and one boy."

Dobby looked curious despite himself. Mina tilted her head.

"A wizard who offers choice?" she asked quietly. "That's rare."

Harrison looked between them, speaking softly. "There's a boy here who's never had anyone put him first. He's bright, magical, and... wounded. I want him to see that kindness and loyalty are not chains. That love doesn't have to be a prison."

Dobby blinked again.

"You is not like other wizards, Mr. Harrison," he said solemnly. "Dobby would like to stay. To serve. But also to learn."

Mina nodded. "I will stay too. He will need both comfort and order."

Harrison nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I'll draw up magical contracts of service—not ownership. You'll have your own space. Your own rules. And one rule above all—Tom's well-being comes before anything. Even me."

The elves nodded. And with that, Evermoor Hall gained two protectors more loyal than any blood-sworn oath.

Tom emerged from the library after dinner had been served.

He paused in the entryway when he saw the elves.

Dobby squeaked slightly and bowed. Mina bowed more gracefully.

Tom just... stared.

"What are they?"

Harrison looked up from the hearth. "House-elves. Magical beings who care for wizarding homes. These two are Dobby and Mina."

Tom frowned. "Do they have to serve you?"

"No," Harrison said. "They choose to. That's different."

Tom's brow furrowed as he looked at the elves again. This time, differently.

"They're not like the matrons at the orphanage."

"No," Harrison agreed. "They won't hit you. Or shout. Or make you sleep in the cellar."

Tom didn't say anything. But as he walked to the table, he deliberately set a fork slightly askew, watching to see what they'd do.

Dobby twitched, then fixed it with a polite smile.

"Master Tom likes his forks straight, yes?"

Tom blinked. "I... yes."

Dobby grinned. "Then Dobby will always make sure they are."

Tom didn't smile—but he didn't glare either. That was progress.

Later that Night

Harrison sat in his study, half reading, half listening as the house hummed quietly. Tom had retired early, retreating to his room with The Young Wizard's Primer and a book on magical beasts.

Mina had delivered hot cocoa and returned a moment later, whispering, "He sleeps with the fox in his arms now."

Harrison didn't respond at first. Then nodded slowly.

"Thank you."

He turned to the table.

The black box still sat where he'd left it.

Tom awoke near midnight. Not with a scream—but with a whisper.

He sat up, the fox curled at his side.

The room wasn't cold. The fireplace glowed warmly. But something inside him was cold. Restless.

He stood and padded barefoot across the room.

The box sat on his nightstand. Harrison had left it there after dinner. "When you're ready," he'd said.

Tom opened it.

Inside lay the Gaunt locket, old gold and green, etched with a serpentine 'S'. It pulsed faintly with residual magic—nothing dark. Just memory.

He touched it—and shivered.

A flash of her face. His mother. Not clear, but warm. A flicker of her holding something close to her chest in a cold alley. The sensation of hope wrapped in desperation.

Tom clutched the locket tightly.

And walked—barefoot, quiet—into the hall.

Harrison looked up from his chair as the door creaked open. Tom stood there, hair mussed, clutching the locket in one hand, the fox figurine in the other.

"...She sold it," Tom said, voice soft. "To try and save me."

"Yes."

"She had no one."

"She has you, now."

Tom looked down at the locket.

"She tried."

"She did," Harrison whispered. "More than anyone ever gave her credit for."

Silence.

Then, timid, uncertain:

"Do you think she would have liked me?"

Harrison rose, crossed the space between them, and knelt.

"I think she would have wept to see the man you could become."

Tom's lip quivered, just once. His fingers clenched the locket tighter.

"...Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Harrison didn't hesitate. "Of course."

He conjured a soft couch transfigured into a warm bed. Tom climbed in without protest.

And when he finally slept, he didn't dream of cold cellars or screaming matron voices.

He dreamt of stars overhead and a woman singing in a voice he'd never heard but somehow remembered.