In the Shadow of What If's

Chapter Twenty-One: Names and Shadows

March 21st, 1932 – Evermoor Hall

A warm breeze stirred through the upper windows of Evermoor, rustling loose parchment and dusting sunlight across the old wooden floors. The house hummed with late morning peace—birds singing in the gardens, the fox statue lazily blinking in the parlor, and the enchanted greenhouse quietly sprouting spring beneath glass.

Inside the study, Harrison sat alone, shoulders curled forward, one hand loosely gripping a parchment from Euphemia Potter. Her handwriting was elegant and looping, her words warm.

"We can't help but think of little Tom as part of us, even if we're three branches removed due to your American lineage. Wouldn't it be lovely, someday, if he truly bore the name? There are rituals, of course, but only if you both wish it."

Harrison stared at the words for a long time.

It wasn't the offer that made his hands tremble.

It was the realization that he wanted to say yes.

He wanted Tom to not only carry the name Potter, but his blood and their magic. Not as a shield. Not as a mask. But because it fit. Because it was who he had become.

But there were doubts. Not about Tom—never about Tom—but about himself.

What if I'm wrong? What if I see the boy I want him to be, not the one he'll become? What if I give him everything, and he still chooses the dark? What happens to the name then? To our legacy?

He drew in a breath, pressed fingers to his temple, and whispered aloud:

"He's not that boy."

Not the one who slaughtered innocents. Not the one who shattered the world. Not the one who murdered Harrison's parents and later himself.

No—this child, his Tom, was sharp and curious, yes—but gentle in hidden corners. Protective of his fox figurine. Tender with plants. Quietly afraid of affection, but drawn to it like a moth to fire. He was still guarded, still learning, but he had not once asked for power. Not even once.

And yet—he had never asked for adoption, either. Not magically. Not through ritual. Not through blood.

Harrison had never brought it up, because some part of him was still afraid of saying it first.

Because once he said it... it would mean he wanted this. Forever.

Later That Day – The Conservatory

Tom was on the floor of the greenhouse conservatory, sunlight speckling his book as he leaned over a page on magical energy matrices. He flicked his wand toward a sprig of enchanted mint, attempting a delicate movement spell. The plant bent slightly, but no more.

"You're squeezing the wand again," Harrison said as he stepped in, amused.

"It keeps slipping," Tom muttered.

"It slips because you're holding it like a sword, not a partner."

Tom huffed, set the wand down, and stared at the page.

Harrison crossed to him and sat beside him on the floor, back to the warm greenhouse wall. The Mimic Root blossomed in the corner with a small squeak of approval.

"Do you know what blood adoption is?" Harrison asked gently, watching Tom's posture stiffen immediately.

Tom didn't look up. "Yes."