Chapter Text
Tom was reclining on his soft bed, in his room, and having a good time reading a new tome.
It was so ancient it would have fallen apart with a touch if he had not been floating it with wandless magic, and keeping it in a rverse bubble head charm that made itmore than a tad difficult for air to oxid the wrinkled thing.
The tome was perfect, his coffee was perfect and the weather was nice-ish, he had not heard any news of that meddling colorful nutter looking for him in a month, so it was awesomely awesome.
So it was typical that some higher up deemed it worthy to soil his good mood, with a knock on his door.
Knock, knock!
He ignored it. Who in their right mind would bother a guy this early, in New years eve nonetheless?
The other guy was nothing if persistant.
The knocking got louder, it seemed like the guy had some serious anger management issue, it was like they were about to kick the door.
He sighed in annoyance, no manners what so ever these people, and everbody talked about French people as if they were The pinnacle of good behavior and manner.
He disillusioned the tome( he did not want to deal with anyone finding about a tome on necromancy, thanks very much!), spelled the door shot and took his time to open the door.
:oui?
The other person was a half frozen guy, cradling a basket.
:bonjour messeieur Riddle! Je suis content de tu voir!
Tom was not the least bit happy to see his ugly mug ofcorse, but sodding manners and all that. And he was not in a mood to brush up on his French of all things....
:Moi aussi, pardon messeiur, pouve vous me aide? Je parle un peu Français, vous comprendez Anglais?
The man paused for a moment, then his smile brightened ( how in Merlin's name he could smile so bright in this ungodly hour was beyond Tom)
: of course I can speak English good Sir, My mother was a well-known British...
Tom skipped his pathetic attempt at small talk.
:yes yes, can we just don't beat around the bush and all? I know we, British are a family loving bunch, and new year just rolled so...
He tryed a slight touch of legilimency, it was just a letter and the basket he had to receive. Apparently the annoying chatterbox was only a postman of a kind .He checked both for curses, there were none. Since the guy was not stopping to breathe, going on and on about British and Wizarding nobles and such, Tom was actually considering strangling him by hand.
: and we can not ever forget about the great Hufflepuffs of our times, Saint Mungos, for example...
Tom interuppted him.
: dear friend, I seem to be in a hurry, so if you please..
The guy sobered up, only a bit.
:sorry I got carried away again, I do have to ell you about this package, it is the most unusual...
Tom thought, to hell with it, what could be so unusual about a fucking basket? A pair of shrunk dragon balls?
He summoned the form, signed it and took the basket and letter.
:Good day!
Shutting the door, with more force it needed.
"Awful chatty postman, these French are seriously cracked! What is wrong with owls?"
He put the basket on the table, poured himself a cup of freshly brewed darling tea and settled on a soft armchair.
It was most likely Abraxas, going on and on about His smart and lovely Lucius, the apple of his eyes, the fucking greatest wizard to be since who knows when. He had done his first bout of accidental magic not quite long ago. The basket was probably a gift or two for the new year.
It was neither.
The letter said:
Hello Tom, this is Eileen!
As we are quite familiar with each other, and I know you hate anyone but yourself monologing, I will just cut to the point.
I thought hard and long about it, And I found out I am not at all Mother material, or wife material, or lover, or else.
(Tom smirked, finally! Eileen prince was a fun and intelligent person to be around, always up for the most absurd ideas,
:Hey Eileen! Up for a duel with a gun and generate against magic?
:sure!
She was not cracked, he gave her that, but not completely right in the head also)
I took my chance, and I trialed abit with a muggle too, for about a year or so? Obviously it did not work.
So this basket, and what it contains, wholy belongs to you. You have the option to reject it, of course! But only once! I instructed the guy in charge to give it in person to you and you only, and get your permission, and to give you the whole story.
I myself will probably go to Uganda, or Netherland, or Amazon to mingle with native tribes, I will be back in 10 years or so.
Good luck!
Tom was now curious, what has she sent him this time?
It had been about two years since he heard from her, he had made a serious mistake sleeping with her, which made their easy going relationship a total awkward mess. They had not contacted each other at all.
So imagin his surprise when he took the baskets cover and found a baby.
A sleep spelled about a year old baby with jet black hair and marmoreal skin, sulking his thumb.
What the hell?