a/n: i am thoroughly ashamed (and did i told anyone that this is non-linear?)

warnings: fluff? just. fluff. okay and angst. but really since when did i warn about angst?

. . .

iii.

without trying

. . .

Tom comes home with a weary, pinched face and clenched fists.

Her first thought was: 'What? No.'

What she does is half-scrambling out of her seat and awkwardly kneeling in front of the boy, her mouth shut and hands uncomfortably confused on where it is supposed to settle on.

Tom Marvolo Riddle gave out an almost silent sniffle.

Shannon's breath hitches on her throat. The inside of her head is pounding with panic and it continuously echoes a deafening 'NO' like fire alarms.

In that moment, her hand decided to snuggle itself deeply into Tom's soft hair. He raises his head to look at her, eyes slightly red. Her brain backfires and stills.

God, please, she thought, grant me a guidebook on how to raise a child.

Deciding to follow common sense, she asks softly, "What's wrong?"

He eyes the floor as if he had never seen it before after years of living in the house. Inwardly, she sighs and begs harder for the guidebook.

"Tom," she says it sterner this time and her hands found their way to his thin shoulders, "tell me."

Hesitantly, he meets her eyes again.

"I just—" he grips the edge of his shirt, "—fell. That's all."

Well, Tom didn't exactly lie. A small trail of blood from his knee is flowing downwards, almost reaching his ankle. Her wand is on the sofa and Tom is saying half-truths. Shannon cures his cut silently and he brightens visibly at that. Tom never got tired of magic, even the simplest ones.

Cute.

"Does it still hurt?" He shakes his head in response, still staring at his non-existent wound. "Then what else?"

A nearly imperceptible change in his mood. "Nothing." He says, trying to look puzzled and blank at the same time.

She curses parenting repeatedly in her head. Wait—she wasn't parenting was she? Guiding maybe? Because she's not his mother and merely a guardian and—

Later.

"Out with it." she urges, feeling tired.

Sometimes she wonders why she decided to bring Tom into her life when she can hardly be responsible for anyone but herself. It didn't help that her mother hadn't objected to this arrangement at all. Perhaps even subtly encouraging her choice.

But this—parenting?—made her frustrated, tired, worry, exasperated and chained with responsibilities; all the things she had never wanted for herself.

And it made her…soft.

Slowly and steadily, Tom brought amusement, laughter, warmth and, dare she say it, happiness into their household—the one filled with old, dusty memories nobody dared touch again. Perhaps even love.

Perhaps.

(She regains some of the humanity she had lost too, sometime along the way.)

Admittedly, it wasn't all bad. So far, it had been worth her fears and insecurities, she muses.

Though she couldn't help but wonder if a potion was able to create a child unable to love.

And then Tom mutters under his breath, "…They insulted Aunt." His voice wavers with guilt and ache but he stubbornly persists, "And you."

Magic works in mysterious ways.

But it was not the first time that it was wrong too.

Something washes over her and fills her chest—strong enough to make her feel and prick her eyes. It was nothing short of a miracle because it has been a long while since she had even thought of shedding tears.

Tom looks indignant but hurt. Vulnerable.

And it serves as a reminder. Just a boy, she often repeats, just a boy.

"Hey," he flinches and her lips twitches upwards, "thank you."

Shannon surprises herself at her sincerity. Meanwhile, Tom nods, too busy clenching the corner of his shirt to notice her shock.

When Tom brokenly whispers "they were wrong because aunt was—she was—I like her a lot—" she couldn't stop herself from embracing him.

Miracles. Tom Marvolo Riddle brings miracles.

. . .

As she ponders back, Shannon thinks that it wasn't all grief that brought them together.

. . .

a/n2: at this point, her mother passed away and shannon is stubborn and likes to avoid problems like these (more on what tom was rambling about later, i promise)

a/n3: i sincerely apologize for late updates but i say busy (and loss of inspiration even though there were drafts in my folders—) and also, thank you! wow, i am frankly amazed at the support i've received for such a written-in-a-whim story so aaaaaah thank you!