In Between the Pages, The Devil lives

by Capricornicis

Summary:

When Harry Potter finds a diary discarded in the second floor girl's restroom, he realizes it once belonged to someone he already knows: Professor Tom Riddle, his charming, dangerous Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

But the diary doesn’t tell the story of a professor. It tells the story of a boy—believed to be Muggle-born at the height of pure-blood supremacy in 1942, and chosen as the target of a ritual sacrifice. It went wrong. Horribly wrong.

Now something ancient is stirring beneath the castle, and Harry isn’t sure who the real monster is: the devil haunting the halls, or the man who stole its name.

Chapter 1: Magic Is Just Magic

Across from the perfectly normal family of Petunia Dursley, sat her sister’s house. Lily Potter’s home was just as manicured just as the other houses on Privot Drive. The grass was neatly mowed, the bushes clipped, and the car in the driveway was polished, and even brand new. 

But Lily Potter and her son, Harry, were far from the normalcy enjoyed by Petunia Dursley and her family. 

 

“Harry, get up!” A shout from the other side of Harry’s bedroom door jolted the boy awake. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbled as loudly as he could. He heard a sigh, and light footsteps retreating from the door. He opened his eyes, then closed them quickly. The sun that flooded his room was far too much this early in the morning. Groaning, Harry rolled onto his back, having tossed in his sleep, and threatening to fall off his bed. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, now expecting the sun. 

He rolled closer to his bed, and felt for his glasses. Now that his vision, clear, he could properly red, blocky numbers on his clock. 

8:00 am.

He blinked, and bubbling excitement propelled him upward. A grin formed across his face, fighting with the tiredness he still felt from staying up late. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all the previous night—why, he only gotten three hours of sleep. 

But how could he have slept when he knew at 8:30 his best friend, Ron, and Mr. Weasley, will be picking him and his mother up? They would be first having breakfast with Ron’s family, then spending the day at Diagon Alley. And tomorrow, the Weasleys would escort him to Platform 9 3/4 since his mum had to work.

“Harry!” He heard his mother call for him. “You better be getting ready, and your trunk for school better be packed!” 

Harry glanced at his clock again, and the minutes were ticking down. He looked around his disaster of a room. Clothes were strung about with trash. His old journals from last year probably buried.

“Damn,” he muttered.  He got up and walked over to the door, shouting. “I’ll be down in a minute, Mum!”
 

It was several minutes past the thirty mark, and Harry still hadn’t come down the stairs. Lily wasn’t in the least bit surprised, accepting he’s twelve. She expected this honestly, so she had written a letter to Arthur Weasley. An advance notice to come later instead the agreed 8:30 mark. 

Even with the extra time to get ready, Arthur and Ronald Weasley arrived before Harry had finished. There was a sharp knock at her door. 

“Coming!” She called from the kitchen. She dried off her last glass off and put it up in the cupboard before hurrying into the living room. She used a bit of wandless to dry her hands just as she reached the door handle. 

Arthur Weasley opened his mouth to speak, but his son cut him off. “Where’s Harry?” He demanded, a wide grin plastered on his face. He was lanky for his age, meeting her at eye level. 

She fought back the laugh in her throat. “Hello to you too, Ronald.” 

“Ronald!” Arthur admonished, whacking Ron’s arm. “Do not be rude, we’re guests.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry, Mrs. Potter,” he muttered, rubbing the spot on his arm. There was a pregnant pause, and he asked, “Where’s Harry?” 

She stepped aside, and pointed up the stairs. Ron didn’t need more and just ran, his feet thundering on the wood. “Harry!” He called out as soon as he reached the top. 

“I’m in here!” Harry yelled back, and Ron turned right and disappeared. 

She and Arthur shared a glance before both let out a laugh and hugged each other. “I am so sorry about that boy,” he said, as he stepped inside and she closed the door behind him. 

“Don’t be, I’m just happy to see my son have friends.” She assured him. “Harry never gotten along with kids at his previous muggle school.” she glanced up the stairs, where the two boys muffled voices could be heard. “Harry will take awhile. Would you like a spot of tea?” 

“Oh, that would be lovely.” 

She led Arthur into the kitchen, and gotten the electric kettle going. He watched in amazement as she sat it up. “Utterly fascinating,” he said in awe, like he had just discovered fire.

“It’s jut a kettle, Arthur,” she said, bemused. 

“But it runs on electricity!” He exclaimed 

Lily shook her head, still smiling. She grabbed two cups, and two teabags. "I truly appreciate you and Molly taking Harry for me tomorrow. I have a double shift at the pub."

"It is not a problem, not a problem at all." Arthur said, patting Lily's hand. "Though, and I hope I do not offend you, but hadn't James left you anything?” 

The kettle dinged. She poured Arthur’s tea first to let it steep first Before answering. “He did. And I do use it necessities. Or travel, like four years ago when I took Harry to Disney World in America. Sugar?” 

“A spot of honey, if you have any,”  he asked instead. “What is a Disney World?” 

“It’s a muggle theme park. Maybe we can take you and the family some time,” she offered. She grabbed her jar of honey from cupboard across from them. “Anyway, I do use money from the Potter vault, but I am leaving most of it for Harry. It’s his inheritance, his family name. I don’t feel comfortable using it.” She explained. 

She handed the jar to Arthur for him to spoon out his own amount. “Working helps keeps my head on straight, anyway. I don’t get out much, so it’s like an excuse.” When Harry had been younger, Lily had been a shut in. She knew it stemmed from that year in hiding, then unable to rejoin Muggle society right away. But t it persisted until Harry was six, but Petunia forced her to get a job, get out of the house. And so she did. Now the pressure to date and move on from James was mounting now she had some sort of life outside of Harry.

“You can always Floo over to Molly,” Arthur suggested, picking up his cup and taking a sip. “Or apparate.” 

“I don’t have my license,” she blushed and looked down at her cup to avoid Arthur’s eyes. “I never passed. I was going to try again after school, but suddenly James and I were the target of You-Know Who, and we had to go on the run. Then into hiding.” Her biggest regret was never learning. “And my fireplace isn’t hooked up to the Floo Network. I’ve been away from the Wizarding World for a long time.” 

Arthur clasped her shoulder out of comfort. “Molly and I will help you acclimate back into it. Just like when we’re at school, and I was Headboy.” He flashed an assuring smile but it fell. “Oh dear, if you don’t have Floo, that means Harry never used it...well, our trip to Diagon Alley will be interesting.” 

Harry really should’ve taken his mother’s offer and gone with her through the Floo network when she had offered. He truly thought he understoodhow to Floo from explanation alone. He just didn’t want to feel like a small child when Ron and his older brothers Flooed by themselves. 

But when it came to say the name and drop the ash, self doubt clouded his mind and his words. He mumbled, and ended up in a rather sinister, gloomy market. He wanted to get off the street as fast as he could, so he had ran into a story Borgin and Burkes. 

And that is how Harry found himself in a cabinet of all things, hiding from Mr. Borgin. Well, actually, he hd been hiding from a Slytherin forth year and his parents. But now they’re gone, he was waiting for Mr. Borgin to leave the counter and he could make a run for it. 

A bell went off, and Harry perfect view of the front door. 

Harry watched from the cabinet as two figures entered this nightmare store he found himself in. A woman, and a boy around Harry’s age. He couldn’t place the woman, but the boy he knew. Ravi Verma was two years older than him, in Fred and George’s year, and one of their best friends; the other being Lee Jordan, of course. The woman he was talking to in a language Harry didn’t know, had to be Ravi’s mother. They looked similar, even from a distance. They spoke lively, and in a melodic tone, contrasting the drab, macabre of the shop. Ravi’s mother wore a tunic and matching skirt made out fine, gold fabric, also a stark difference Borgin and Burkes’s décor. Much like Harry and the Weasley kids, Ravi wore simple muggle clothes it seemed. 

The shopkeeper didn’t seem to like them, Harry noted, when he flickered his eyes back to the man. He frowned deeply, annoyed either by them talking loudly or their rather cheery disposition. He looked like he wanted to say something to the mother-son, but for some reason held back. 

But for Harry, seeing a fellow Gryffindor just made him brave enough to step out of his hiding hole. 

He dashed from the cabinet, nearly scaring the poor shopkeeper. The elderly man leapt back, hitting the back shelf behind his counter. The human skulls and glass bottled fell to the ground, shattering. Harry winced at the loud noise, giving the man an apologetic shrug as he began to swore worse than Vernon when his favorite football team looses. 

“Harry?” 

He turned, and promptly ignore the creepy shopkeeper. Ravi and his mother wore matching expressions of shock, though Ravi looked more bemused at seeing him. 

“Thank goodness  I found someone I knew,” Harry said, hurrying over to his friend. “I used this thing floo powder, and got separated from my mum, and the Weasleys.” 

“How did that happen?” Ravi asked, a smirk spreading across his face. From little he interacted with the older boy the previous year, Ravi was quick to mock someone, or make sarcastic quips. While usually good natured, Harry knew he would never hear the end of it if he explained. And he still might without the explanation.  

Cheeks flushed, he said, “it just happened."  He turned to Ravi’s mother, holding his hand out, desperate to move on from his blunder. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m Harry Potter.” 

Her eyes flickered to Harry’s scar for a moment, but had the graces to say she already knew. Instead she took his hand, “such a sweet, polite boy. You could learn something from him, Ravi, and he’s younger.” Ravi rolled his eyes, and that earned him a sharp elbow to his arms. “I am Mangala Verma, but you may call me Ms. Verma, if you please.” she looked around the shop as if someone else was going to come out of the shadows before looking back at Harry. “You will stay with us until we can reach your mother. Ravi’s father and sister will join us shortly after they’re done in the Creatures of Mischief.” 

“My sister wanted only Dad to go with her to pick out the pet she wanted for school,” Ravi explained, with an eye roll.

Harry nodded, curious what animal could be bought at store called Creatures of Mischief, but decided not to ask. “What exactly is this place?” 

Ms. Verma walked around the shop now, leaving the front door. “This is Borgin and Burkes, it’s a shop of curiosities. Home off the arts the rest of British society frowns upon.” There was an emphasis on British society that Harry didn’t quite understand, but didn’t comment on. He just followed her and Ravi through the store. “And you are in Knockturn Alley, if you were unaware.” 

“So, is this place full of dark magic?” Harry asked, looking around the trinkets

Ms. Verma stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Magic is not as black and white as your school teaches you.” she said before turning the corner of a cabinet, housing what looked like shrunken heads. They strung up by their hair, and their eyes and mouths were sewn shut. 

Harry stopped at a little table, eying the two headed duckling suspended in a glass jar. The creature was grotesque, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the deformed bird. One head was perfectly normal, if not adorable. The other was featherless, and shriveled up, its beak filled wide open to reveal razor sharp teeth.

Ravi pressed against Harry’s right side, nearly knocking the smaller boy over. “Wicked, innit?” he asked. The front door opened, the bell ringing throughout the store. 

“Yeah…,” Harry said, a small smile spread across his face. He finally stepped away from the odd duckling. “My mum would never let me in a place like this.” 

“Really?” Ravi asked. “I come in here all the time with my parents. My dad used to work here, decades ago,” in low whisper, he added, “he’s rather old.” 

“Excuse you?” 

Harry and Ravi turned around at the sharp voice. 

Ravi’s father at first glance was unassuming, but the longer Harry stared up at the man, the more nervous he became. The man was all sharp angles, making his pleasant smile more menacing than it should be. And despite his smile, the man's dark green eyes bore into Harry, forcing Harry to avert his gaze. He took in his attire instead, expecting the same flamboyant robes other British wizards wore, but instead the man wore very traditional muggle suit, minus the jacket, most likely due to the August heat.

Next to Ravi’s father was a young girl around Ginny’s age. As much as Ravi looked more like their mother, she was just a shrunken version their father he only thing different was her hair was longer, and she had her mother’s brown eyes. She even wore similar clothes, with a muted button down and pinstripe vest over it, only she paired it with a matching skirt and black tights. She carried a small tank with a mini terrarium inside, clutching it to her chest. A baby snake laid on top of a small rock, basking in the magical-induced sunlight inside the tank. 

“Very rude to call me old to a stranger,” Ravi’s father stated evenly, sparing Harry a single glance again before focusing his attention on Ravi. 

“Well, it’s true,” he argued, and Harry marveled how casual he was with his parents. “Dad, Zahira, this is Harry,” he launched right into introductions to distract from the old comment. “Harry, this is my father, and younger sister. She’s going to Hogwarts this year.” 

Harry offered his hand out on instinct. When Ravi’s father latched onto it, Harry felt the urge to pull it away. “You may refer to me as Mr. Riddle, Harry Potter,” he said coolly. 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” but to Harry, that sounded like a lie. Ravi and Zahira hadn’t noticed, but Mr. Riddle’s eyes widen just a fraction. 

Harry quickly pulled his hand away. “So,” he looked at Zahira, “your first year? What house you think you’ll be in?”

“I know I will be in Slytherin,” she said holding her head up high as there wasn’t a greater honor. “Unlike my brother, I’m smart.”

“Hey!” Ravi snapped. 

“Now, now, your brother is just as intelligent and clever as you are, regardless of house,” Mr. Riddle chastised lightly. ”He just values impulsivity and recklessness more than the rest of us in the family.” 

Ravi couldn’t argue with that. “Dad, and our older brother were both in Slytherin. I’m the weirdo, apparently.”

Harry had much to say to that, wanting to defend his house, but also ask about this older brother. But Ms. Verma rounded the corner on their other side, her pretty face twisted into an irritated grimace. 

“Tom, Mr. Borgin is once again trying to rip me off.” Up until now, Ms. Verma‘s tone was cordial, yet distant. Now, she was barely containing a snarl. 

“That is not true!” Mr. Borgin called out, his voice wavering, indicating that he had tried to rip Ms. Verma. 

Mr. Riddle’s eyes narrowed, and his relaxed state shifted into a tense posture. Harry grew even more nervous, and he found a spot on the floor far more interesting than staring at Mr. Riddle. Why would Mr. Borgin want to piss off a man like Mr. Riddle, was beyond Harry. 

“Manny, go take the kids get their school supplies,” Mr. Riddle said dismissively. “I need to have a chat with my former employer.” 

“What about my wand?” Zahira whined, even stomping her foot. “You said you’d buy it with me.” 

Harry looked up once more, watching Tom kneel in front of his daughter, his expression softening. Now the man was simply a father—no different from Arthur Weasley, really. “I will, I just need to speak with Mr. Borgin to get a few things straighten out.”

“We also need to find Harry’s mother,” Mangala added. “She must be worried.”

Mr. Riddle stood straighter. “As she should be, there are fair amount of interesting people lurking about in Knockturn Alley.“ Harry thought interesting was to put it mildly. Riddle patted Zahira on the head, continuing, “go along with your mother, now. We will get your wand after you get your books.” 

Zahira gave her father a one arm hug, still pouting that getting her wand would take even longer. However, she didn’t complain any further and hurried to Ms. Verma‘s side. 

Ravi threw his arm around Harry, leading him away. Harry glanced back at Mr. Riddle, catching him roll up the sleeves of his button up.  On his inner left arm, was a tattoo of a snake wrapped around a skull. 

Once outside, and there was distance between Ms. Verma and himself and Ravi, he turned to the older boy. "Why doesn't Mr. Borgin like your mother? I noticed he glared at you when you two walked in." 

Ravi frowned. "Oh, well, I don't know for sure, but I think it's because my mother's not British, and her political views. Many of my dad's old associates don't agree with her, or so I heard." he shrugged then. "But your mum's a muggle-born, isn't she? You're probably used to it by now."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what a muggleborn was. It wasn't a word he heard, and if he did, it must've been in passing while he was spending the previous year worried about the Philosopher's Stone.  He would have to ask his mother about it, seeing how she was one. 

The shift between Knockturn Alley into Diagon Alley was extreme. Knockturn resembled what he imagined Dracula would live in. 

It wasn't long before they heard Arthur Weasley's distinct voice call out, "Molly, Lily, I see him! Over here, Harry!" Arthur waved the boy down. 

Harry looked around before he spotted Mr. Weasley through the crowd. It wasn't hard to see the man, he was taller than most of the wizards Harry had met, however, he imagined Mr. Riddle was taller than Arthur Weasley. 

He wasn't given much time to prepare himself to be bombarded by his own mother and Mrs. Weasley. Lily swooped him in a tight hug. "Oh, Harry, you scared me when we couldn't find you." she said leaning back to examine him. "Next time listen to me."

Molly was giving him a once over, searching for any signs of injuries as well. "I think he's fine," she assured. "But that was very frightening, young man." she scolded him, giving Harry a stern stare. 

Harry's cheeks were pink with embarrassment. It was bad enough to be lectured by his own mother, but to have his friend's mother do the same just added to it. "I am fine, Mum. Ravi--" he looked to his right where Ravi had been, but the older boy had disappeared, with Ron taking his place.

”Ello, Harry,” he said cheerfully. 

Harry smiled back, but focused on looking where Ravi had gone too.  

Ravi had abandoned Harry quickly enough when he spotted the twins. Ravi had Fred in aa headlock already, and George had Ravi in one. All three laughing and insulting one another loudly enough to earn them looks from passerbys on the street. 

"You see what I had to deal with for the last three years?" Percy all but screeched, gesturing to the three, causing more of a scene if he just let them be. 

Ms. Verma snapped at Ravi, her nostrils flared with anger. She spoke in what Harry now figured was Indian, and whatever she said, made Ravi pull away from his friends and dutifully stand next to her, head bowed. Molly had tugged on the twin‘s ears. She sent one more warning glare at her son before turning to Lily, offering a much softer smile to her. “My son and I found Harry wandering Knockturn Alley,” she lied easily. 

Harry wondered why Ms. Verma hadn’t told his mother the whole truth, but she must’ve heard him say his mother wouldn’t approve of him being in Borgin and Burkes. 

“Knockturn Alley?” Lily repeated, scandalized. She reached over and took Ms. Verma’s hands. “I am so grateful Harry ran into someone he knew down there then, Mrs…?”

“Mangala Verma,” she supplied, pulling her hand away quickly enough after one handshake. “I am married, but I did not take my husband’s name. A mutual choice. Both for professional and political reasons on my end, and personal for him.” 

“Oh?” Lily questioned. 

Molly reapeared at Lily’s side. “Mangala is a prolific writer! You must read her books. I was so thrilled to learn my twins befriended young Ravi. I gotten them all signed.” 

“What do you write?” Lily asked, more interested now.

Ms. Verma was proud at the adoring praise from Molly. “I write feminist literature,” she explained. “I study muggle political theory and activism, and apply it to the strict gender roles the magical community of United Kingdom clings too. I have also written essays on racial politics and colonization among magicals that are simply ignored, and if it isn‘t ignored, muggle-borns are blamed for bringing in prejudice into the community. One of my more controversial works  is centered on calling out the current Fudge administration. That one,” Her smile grew smug now, “earned me the title of Vicious Harpy of the Year by The Daily Profit. Their star journalist—or propagandist, if you’re so inclined—Rita Skeeter, gave me that title.”

Lily soaked in every word Ms. Verma said, now starstruck. “I must get my hands your works. They sound positively enlightening.” 

“They are,” she said. She motioned to her left. “and we’re in luck. Flourish and Blotts has all five of my novels.” 

“Unfortunately,” Arthur cut into the conversation. “There is a terrible line inside. We saw it when we’re looking for young Harry here.” 

“Why is there a line?” Harry asked, curious. 

“Lockhart is signing his new book in there,” Ron supplied before anyone else could. And Harry mouthed oh*, recalling something about a book signing. It made sense it would be done in a bookstore. 

“Oh, I cannot believe he is the children’s new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Ms. Verma complained. 

“What?” Molly asked in shock. “But he’s talented and skilled, world renowned for his knowledge on the Dark Arts.“ 

“Oh, Molly, please tell me you do not buy that man’s drivel!” she exclaimed, offended Molly would ever compliment Lockhart in front of her.  

"I have every one of his books," Molly said, hesitant to admit now seeing a woman she admire dislike her favorite author. 

"Oh, Molly! You need to return those books, or burn them," she said. "He's a sexist fraud!"

"No!" Molly looked utterly mortified at the very concept Lockhart could be a fraud. 

"It's true!"

“Is he really?” Lily asked. 

Before Ms. Verma could explain, Arthur stepped in. "Molly, Lily--and Mangala, of course, I will take the children to Flourish and Blotts," he said quickly. 

Molly waved him off without a word, pushing Ginny into Arthur's hands. Ms. Verma guided Zahira to Ravi, giving him a sharp look that screamed watch your sister before barreling toward her claims against Lockhart. Ravi complied and grabbed her arm and dragged her away. 

Harry followed the others, rather not just stand around and listen to his mother talk for an hour like she did at stores. 

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered. "I thought we're going to stay there until after all the shops closed." 

"You think its true Lockhart is a fraud?" Harry asked. He liked Defense Against the Dark Arts. In theory, at least. He had hoped after the troubles with Professor Quirrell, Headmaster Dumbledore would be better at hiring a new teacher. 

"If my mother says its true, then its true," Zahira had wiggled herself free from her older brother. Which hadn't been hard. Once out of eyesight of their mothers, Ravi and the twins started up with their antics again. 

"I just know it’s ridiculous he's asking every kid to buy seven of his books for every year!” Ron ranted, throwing his hands up in frustration. “There’s five of us, that’s like…uh,” Ron stumbled over to do the math.

”Thirty-five,” Zahira supplied. 

“Yeah, thirty-five,” Ron repeated angrily.  “If he's not a fraud, then he's at least a scam artist!” 

 

Mr. Weasley had been right: Flourish and Blotts was packed, more than it had been last year when Lily and Hagrid had taken Harry. But at least the line to get books wasn't as terrible as Harry imagined. It looked like it was more for the signing. 

Arthur directed the kids to stand aside, away from the door but not close to the crowd. Percy walked off without a word, going over to one of the book shelves against the wall on their right. There were four other teens, all Percy's age. Harry recognized them as fellow Gryffindors. The Weasley twins and Ravi disappeared all together. That left Mr. Weasley with Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Zahira.  

"We'll just wait out the crowd just a bit," Arthur said. 

"Hey!" Ron said, his face breaking out in a wide grin. He pointed up ahead, near the front of the store. "It's Hermione."

Harry followed to where Ron was pointing at, and sure enough it was their friend. She wasn't alone however. With her were a man and woman that had to be her parents, judging by the woman's equally bushy hair and tan skin. They were conversing with a scruffy, blonde haired-man who dressed like his grandparents did in the sixties. And while they talked, Hermione was attempting to hold a conversation with what looked to be his daughter. Dreamlike in her movements, she just swayed and danced to a music no one but her was hearing. 

"Ronald, don't point," Arthur said, slapping Ron's hand. "That there is Xenophilius Lovegood, and his daughter, Luna. She will be in your year, Ginny." he said, now looking between her and Zahira. "She might even end up in one of your houses." The two girls exchanged glances as if to say they highly doubted Luna would end up in Gryffindor or Slytherin. Arthur missed it. "Now, I don't know who Xenophilius is talking to." 

"That's Hermione's parents, I think," Ron added, not so sure if they were. 

"Wait, your little friend is a muggle-born," Arthur said slowly. Ron nodded, and Arthur's face lit up. "They must be muggles! You four stay here." 

He hurried over to where Hermione was at. He then pointed at Ron and Harry for her before introducing himself to Hermione's parents. 

"Oh, sure, he gets to point," Ron grumbled, making Ginny and Zahira giggle. 

Hermione didn't immediately came over to greet them. It seemed like she tried to ask Luna to join her, but the girl remained stuck in her own little world. Shaking her head, Hermione ran toward them. "Harry, Ronald! It's so good to see you. I thought I'd have to wait until tomorrow." 

"At least we've been able to talk on the phone...until we got into trouble," Harry added, sheepishly. Harry had given Hermione his phone number just before they parted ways on King's Cross. They had talked nearly every day, while he and Ron wrote letters. That was until they talked for seven hours in one day, and they both were grounded. That was two weeks ago. They couldn't even exchange letters! 

"I told you we would five times," she snapped, cheeks flushed. She turned her attention toward Ginny and Zahira. "Oh, where are my manners! I'm Hermione Granger," she offered her hand to for one of them to take. 

Shyly, Ginny took it, but really didn't answer. Ron nudged her and hissed, "tell her your name." Instead, she pressed her face against his shoulder. "Oh, forget it. Hermione this is my sister, Ginny. She's eleven now, and going to Hogwarts." 

"And I'm Zahira Verma, " Zahira said haughtily, and holding her head high to look down her nose, despite being shorter. "I'm also going to school this year. Hopefully, I'll be in Slytherin."

Hermione dropped her hand, her expression soured at hearing the younger girl wants to be a Slytherin. She didn’t comment on it, instead leaned closer to the tiny snake tank. “Are you bringing your snake to school?” she questioned. “I do not remember reading snakes being permitted as pets.” 

“I fail to see why that matters?” Zahira innocently tilted her head to the side, staring up at Hermione like the rules of Hogwarts are beneath her. “My oldest brother is head of Slytherin, and Grandpa Albus adores me. Thinks I can do nothing wrong—Father taught me how to exploit this.” 

The three gawked at Zahira as if she grew two heads, and even that would’ve been more believable. Even Ginny, who never met either man, Harry assumed, must’ve heard enough stories for she too wore a shocked expression. Harry couldn’t imagine being related to both Dumbledore and Snape—wait, that meant Dumbledore was Snape’s grandfather too! This left Harry reeling. 

“Headmaster Dumbledore’s your grandfather?” Hermione asked in disbelief. 

“How is Snape’s your brother? He’s like fifty!” Ron exclaimed.

Zahira’s cheeks flushed pink at being questioned. “Severus’s thirty-two, not fifty.” 

“Blimey, you even call him by his first name,” he added. 

“Of course, I do!” Zahira shoved past Hermione and stood in front of Ron. She was so close to him, the tank in her arms pressed against his chest. Ron gulped and . “He’s my brother, why would I call him anything else? We have different mothers, so it’s really not that weird he’s so much older, especially since our father is old.” 

“And what about Dumbledore? I didn’t know he had a son,” Harry pointed out. If a famous Gryffindor like Albus Dumbledore had a son who was like Mr. Riddle,  who was the embodiment of Slytherin, it would’ve been mentioned. Right? 

Zahira rolled her eyes. “He’s not really my grandpa, Ravi and I just call him that because he’s like our grandfather. I don’t understand why you are acting like it’s such a big deal.“ 

“I want to know why you’re talking to this lot,” a familiar, slimy voice reached Harry’s ears. 

The five of them turned toward where the voice came from, and Draco Malfoy descended down stairs from the second floor of the shop. Beyond him, Harry noticed a man who had to be Lucius Malfoy, the father Draco was always threatening to tell when things didn’t go his way. Malfoy Senior was talking to one of the employees 

”I will talk to whoever I wish, Draco,” Zahira said, dismissively. 

Draco’s pale cheeks flooded with color with embarrassment. He stopped just short of standing next to Hermione. He glared at her with disgust before turning his disgust on Zahira. “Weasleys and,” he looked Hermione up and down again, “Granger. And Potter? Really, I thought you’d have more sense than Ravi.” 

”I will talk to whom ever I wish,” Zahira said. She spared a glance at Ginny, then Hermione before looking at Draco. “And I rather talk to them than you.” 

“You’ll learn when you get to school that I call the shots in Slytherin house, and you will go no where if you want to succeed.” He adjusted his jacket, puffing his chest a little. 

“Leave her alone, Malfoy,” Harry decided to step in front of Zahira. “Go crawl back to your dad.” 

Draco sneered. “Already got yourself a little boyfriend, huh?” He turned his attention fully on Harry now. “At least I have a father, Potter.” 

Harry didn’t realize what he was doing until he had gripped Draco’s jacket with one hand and punching Draco’s face. He sent the other boy to the ground. 

Several things happened at once. Arthur hurried over to them, but was intercepted by Lucius Malfoy. He glared up at Arthur, stopping him in his tracks. He then bent over and picked Draco off the floor. Draco’s eye was starting to swell where Harry hit him. The twins and Ravi reappeared from where ever they had gone. 

Mr. Malfoy ignored everyone instead focused solely on Harry. “Well, well, why isn’t it thee Harry Potter. It seems your fame gotten the best of you, Mr. Potter. You believe you can just attack whoever you wish. And here I assumed without James’s influence, you wouldn’t take on his more undesirable traits.” 

Harry’s cheeks burned with heat, while his eyes burned with tears. Draco stood behind Lucius, smirking now. 

“You go too far, Malfoy,” Arthur spoke up. He moved around Malfoy Senior, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Insulting a boy's deceased father to his face. Whatever problems you had with James have nothing to do with Harry." 

"And you go too far," he said, his voice soft, barely above a whisper, but not any less threatening. "Consorting with Muggles, publicly no less. Really, you're a disgrace to the magical community." 

"You'll find you and I have different views on what makes a wizard disgraced, Lucius," Arthur said, gently pushing Harry behind him. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and tugged him backward. 

Just as she did, the door opened. They looked, seeing Lily, Molly, and Ms.Verma had finally shown up. 

Lucius's eyes widen just a fraction before they narrowed again. A false smile plastered on his face. "Ah Lily Evens. Oh, my apologies, Mrs. Potter" 

Not one to back down a challenge, Lily approached Lucius, crossing her arms. She acted as another shield between Lucius and the kids, now blocking their view. "Lucius. It's been sometime, hasn't it? I wish it had been longer. What is going on here?" 

"Your son hit mine, that is what is going on." Lucius gritted out. "Just like James, hmmm?" 

Harry's blood was boiling. He hurried out from behind Mr. Weasley. He jabbed a finger toward Draco, staring right at Mr. Malfoy. "Because he mocked my father for being dead." he snapped. 

"Just let me out so bite the bi-peddle, hairless monkeys," a tiny voice reached his ears. 

He didn't get a chance to ask who said that when Mr. Riddle had appeared, having finished whatever he done to Mr. Borgin. He looked around at the group had gathered at the front door,  brow raised. "Is there a problem here?" 

"Lucius is just being a fool again," Mangala stated easily. 

Harry half expected Zahira to tell her parents what happened that led up to Harry hitting Draco, but she didn’t. And since she remained silent, just staring up at her dad with admiration in her eyes as if he could solve every problem in the world, Harry stayed quiet too. 

”Lucius, are you causing a scene?” Mr. Riddle asked, almost bored. 

Mr. Malfoy swallowed before he spoke, putting back his arrogant tone of voice he had before Mr. Riddle had shown up. "Hardly, Tom. I was just conversing with Arthur about his choice of company." He gestured to where the Grangers stood, still keeping their distance from outwardly aggressive wizard. 

Mr. Riddle didn’t seem to believe the man, but followed where Lucius had nodded to where Hermione's parents hung back, unsure if they should even get involved. "really, Lucius," he said, tone lazy and unbothered, "your son's godfather is the child of a mudblood and a blood traitor. And do I have to comment on your wife's sisters?"

Mudblood? Harry never heard of that word, nor the term blood traitor. He looked around at the others to see if they understood what Riddle had said. His mother was stricken, and while Weasleys were a mix of silent outrage and shock. Well...those are certainly bad words. Harry would ask his mother later.

Mr. Malfoy was paler than he had been before. Sputtering, he shouted, "How dare you talk to me that way—

He clamped his mouth shut as if he overstepped. The flash of anger across Mr. Riddle's face said he did. "I cannot believe I lost Abraxas, and now stuck with you,” he hissed. He spat at Lucius’s feet. 

Mr. Malfoy was stricken. He stammered over an apology, radiating fear, but Mr. Riddle grabbed the man's shoulders, spun him around and shoved him at the front door. 

 "If you're going to be a hypocrite, do so in private like the rest of us," he stated evenly. 

Draco's eyes were comically wide as he ran after his father, probably never seen the head of the Malfoy family so thoroughly disrespected. 

Riddle closed the door, and whirled around to face his daughter. He pointed at her, as if ready to give her a stern lecture. “You better befriend that little cretin,” he said. 

Harry’s mouth dropped open. Did Riddle really expect Malfoy to play nice with his daughter after humiliating Lucius? And he hadn’t even been there to 

“He has connections you can use, and exploit in the future,” Riddle added, truly showing his Slytherin colors. 

“I am already planning to, Father,” Zahira said with all the conviction of the world. “Draco is a wonderful asset for my Ministry ambitions!” 

Ravi was unfazed by Riddle‘s altercation with Mr. Malfoy, asked, “aren’t you suppose to befriend people who aren’t assholes?” 

Both Riddle and Zahira sneered, expressions nearly identical, at Ravi. “Ignore your brother. He‘s a lost cause.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “That was quite thrilling. I never seen someone manhandle Lucius Malfoy like that before.” 

“It was bloody brilliant,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, and Harry couldn't agree more. Despite how off putting Harry found Riddle at first, seeing him make Draco and his dad squirm. 

Mr. Riddle brushed off imaginary dirt from off his sleeves. "Lucius just needed a short reminder who is speaking to. He forgets his place in life at times,” he said, as if he was simply bored with the conversation. He snapped his fingers and the parchment materialized in his hand. "Ravi, come help me carry yours and your sister's books." and he stalked over to the line without another word. Ravi, while reluctant, dutifully followed after his father. 

Lily moved to Harry’s side and dragged him along, following after Ravi and his dad. She gave him a one armed hug and leaned over. “Are you alright? I am so sorry Malfoy’s son said that about your father, and I hadn’t been there when he had.” 

“It’s alright, Mum, Draco’s said worse.” Harry tried to assure her, but his words were of no comfort. 

“Worse? I can imagine, but I can’t believe the school staff would just let such cruel bullying happen,” she said. 

“Really? Did we attend the same school?” Riddle asked in utter disbelief. His scornful eyes made Harry move closer to his mother. ”The school staff doesn’t even bother contacting parents unless your child starts a food fight in the first week of school of his first year.” his ire was now on Ravi. 

Not that Ravi cared. He just grinned broadly. "The twins and I also blew up the potions classroom in our second year, released five thestrals in the third floor's girls restroom, and turned all the staff's cups into frogs."

"Oh, that was you?" Harry asked, completely forgetting how nervous Riddle made him. He pulled away from his mother, standing at Ravi's side. "That was wicked, brilliant even. How did you do that?"

"Don't answer him." Mr. Riddle hissed.

"Yes, let's not turn your teacher's silverware into frogs," Lily added, giving Harry a warning glare. He could just hear her say I better not get any letter like Ravi's parents receive.

The conversation shifted away as the line moved on. Harry hadn't talked to Ravi much the previous year outside a few greetings in the common room, but he found he and Ravi had a lot in common. And he was funny. Harry hadn't realized how much he didn't laugh until his ribs were hurting from the giggling. He hardly paid attention to his mother conversing with others in line, while Riddle ignored all attempts of others trying to talk to him as they waited. 

By the time they reached Lockhart's table, Harry hadn't even known, too engrossed in a conversation until a man called out, "By Merlin's beard, is that Harry Potter?"

Suddenly all eyes were on him, and the chatter Harry hadn't noticed before quieted down around. Lily's protective hands were on Harry's shoulders, ready to take him out of the situation. 

The man who said his name was a tall, posh man. He wore gold and white suit, with a glittering robe over it. It well with his blinding white teeth, and possibly dyed blonde hair. He walked around the table, bowing dramatically in front of mother and son. "And do my eyes deceive me, it is also the mother of the Boy-Who-Lived?" he said, standing straighter. "And aren't you more drop dead gorgeous in person than the photographs I've seen of you."

"Excuse you!?" she asked, her voice raising an octave. 

"Oh, my apologies, I am Gilderoy Lockhart. At your service," he said. He spun around, his robe hitting Harry as he did so. Lily pulled him back. "Lennox," he snapped several times. A frumpy man with an old fashion camera aimed it at Lockhart as if he already knew what the man was going to ask. "Take a photo of me and Lily and Harry Potter." 

"You will do no such thing!" Lily shoved Harry behind her. For a second time today, she was Harry's shield against a blonde man. Harry was glad to hide behind his mother if it meant to not get his face blasted all over the newspaper. "My son is not some sideshow for you to profit off of." 

"Of course, not!" Lockhart laughed, not taking her seriously.

“I had no idea you wrote fantasy, Mr. Lockhart," Mr. Riddle said, interrupting the man. 

Riddle stood at a small table with more books. He picked up one and held it out to Lockhart, and by extension Lily and Harry. In bold, red letters on the front white cover were If I had Been There. In smaller font under it was the tagline: How Gilderoy Lockhart Would've Killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Riddle's stoic expression told Harry enough how impressed the man was with the book.

Lockhart seemly forgot about Harry and Lily. Ravi reappeared at Harry's side, arms crossed. "This will be good." 

He walked over to Riddle. "I would not call this fantasy, my good, sir--wait, I know you. Your Margret's husband."

"Yes, I am Mangala's husband," he corrected, his expression neutral as to not give away his true feelings. 

"Ah yes, her." Lockhart waved his hand. Her name wasn’t important, apparently. "Now her books are a work of fiction," he stated. "What you have in your hands is speculative fiction, a what if of sorts. I detailed what would’ve happened if I had ran paths across You-Know-Who at the most well known battles throughout the war.”

Riddle tilted his head to the side exactly like how Zahira did earlier. He stared at Lockhart as if the man was an interesting specimen that he wanted to dissect. “What an interesting concept.” He opened the book and flipped through the pages. 

“You really think could‘ve fought Lord Voldemort, and won?” Harry asked, his irritation having spiked at its peak. “You can’t even say his name, or write it down.” 

Like any time Harry said Voldemort out loud, on lookers flinched. They ducked their heads, looking for the Dark Lord to fly right at them. Even his mother flinched at the name. But Riddle hadn’t. He gave Harry the first genuine smile he seen on the man. 

“Why, Lily, Harry…there’s a section on Grodric’s Hollow. The date, 31st of October,  1981.” Riddle walked past Lockahart, and handed the book to Lily. He pointed to a passage Harry couldn't see. ”Said if he had been there…James Potter would still be alive.” 

 

"I cannot believe your mother punched a teacher!" 

It was the following day, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sharing a compartment on Hogwarts express. Hermione sat next to him, while Ron sat across from them. She was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet reading an article by Rita Skeeter. On the front cover read in bold letters: LILY POTTER ATTACKS FAMOUS AUTHOR! Below the text was a moving photograph of Lily lunging herself at Lockhart, tackling the man and punching him. Harry could be seen watching in horror and shock. Ravi was in mid cheer. And Riddle stood over it, basking in the chaos he sown.

The image ended just as Arthur Weasley came running into frame to pull her off of it. 

“I wish could’ve seen it first hand,” Ron stated, watching the image with the biggest grin. “Mate, you‘re mum is a badass. I don’t know what I enjoy more, this or Mr. Riddle scaring the piss out of Malfoy’s dad.” 

“I never seen her this mad before,” Harry said. He wasn’t so upset, not really. The Prophet tried to spin the story negatively against his mother through the headline, but if anyone read the article they would know why she attacked Lockhart. And he thought Lockhart deserved it. Just thinking about that slimy git wrote about his dad made his blood boil. “She had a few screaming matches with my Aunt Petunia, but she never attacked her.”

Hermione folded the paper up, and sat it aside. “This could be bad, Harry. What if Lockhart takes his anger out on you?” 

“Oh, please, I’m not scared of him. He can’t be worse than Snape,” Harry said, brushing her concerns aside.

---

 

Tom Riddle was Prefect, and he had been kicked out of the Prefect cars the moment he stepped inside. He expected as much. He was the first muggleborn to be made prefect in eighty-three years. And it wasn’t even an accurate statement. His mother was a squib; he was a half-blood. But most, if not all, purebloods and other halfbloods would still consider him a muggle-born if they ever found out. 

He made his way through the train silently, occasionally popping into cars to find who he was looking for. 

After several get out of here's, filthy mudblood‘s later, he stumbled upon the right car. 

He slid the door open, stopping in the entrance way. 

Myrtle Warren was huddled against the on one side of the benches. She hugged her knees to her chest as she buried her face in them. Across from her, sat Tobias Snape. His shaggy brown hair hadn’t been cut this summer, so Madam Pomfrey would definitely be enforcing one when they arrived to school. 

He looked up, forcing a smile. “Tom, where‘ve you been, mate?” 

Myrtle stopped crying long enough to attempt a hello, but her voice was horse from use. “Hello, Tom.” 

“What is it now?” He asked, closing the door on them, giving them privacy. Not that it mattered. If another student, specifically a pureblood of high status wanted to barge into their car and harass them, they were allowed too. 

Myrtle choked, fumbling over her words, so Tobias answered. “Myrtle‘s older brother died in France.”

Myrtle‘s cries were renewed. 

Tom said nothing, because what could be said? He seen the papers reporting on the operation in France. he knew Myrtle’s brother has been in the army. He naturally concluded her brother had died. It was sad, but it was war. Either move on, or wither, he decided. He tuned her out as best he could, and put his trunk in the overhead compartment. 

No one spoke until Tom sat down next to Myrtle. “The Ministry approved of conscripting muggle-borns,” Tobias said, his voice wavering. “Sixteen instead of eighteen like muggles. Tom, that’s next year.” 

Tom clenched his hands, his nails threatening to break skin. “I know.” Charles Potter had informed me when I went to purchase school supplies, ” he said through gritted teeth. The bastard had said it with glee. 

“We’re going to end up like John,” Tobias nodded toward Myrtle. If he began to cry, Tom would hex them both.  

Myrtle sniffled, and rubbed her eyes. “This is terrible. Survive The Blitz only to die later? And for what? What are we even fighting for?” 

“Do you wish for Germany to occupy us like France?” Tom asked. “Far more will die if that were to happen.“ he leaned back against the back of his seat, closing his eyes. “This could be mine and Tobias’s last school year, Myrtle. Don’t worry about the future, and focus on the now.” and he brushed her concerns aside. 

Chapter 2: Of Houses and Magic

The first year sorting went well. Harry had expected he’d be bored by the sorting after having just gone through it last year. Oh, how wrong he was. It was like a sport, seeing what first year would end up where. The thrill when his house was called excited him more than any snitch was caught. It was like winning a new family member, in a weird way. He didn't just cheer for Gryffindor, just like the rest of his house, clapped for the other two houses

What put him off was that the other houses didn't clap for when Slytherin was called. Some people from the other houses clapped for the first years sorted into Slytherin. A twist of guilt stabbed at his chest seeing the dower expressions at the first years sent to Slytherin. He could’ve been one of the first years when he was sorted. 

When Zahira‘s name was called, Harry looked past her to the staff table. Headmaster Dumbledore watched on with an interest he hadn’t shown all throughout the sorting. It wasn’t that Dumbledore hadn’t cared about the other students, but Harry was reminded of Grandpa Albus from yesterday. And that was just too weird to Harry. 

His eyes traveled to Professor Snape, searching for the similarities between Ravi and Zahira, and saw none. The Potions Master must’ve gotten his looks from his mother, but Harry couldn’t see any of the handsome features Riddle passed onto his other two children. 

Snape watched Zahira’s sorting like a hawk, disregarding any notion he wouldn’t play favorites with his littlest sibling. 

While watching the teachers, Harry missed something, because the next thing he knew, Zahira was threatening the hat. “I will set you on fire, you stupid rag!” Her voice was clear, and full of disgust. 

There was a rippling effect across the Great Hall. The whispering that could be heard died down to a dull murmur. A seventh year girl, who sat next to Percy, hissed, "oh she's one of those." 

Ravi and the twins had ended up near where Harry was with Hermione and Ron. He covered his eyes with his hands, shaking it. The twins were clutching their stomachs in silent laughter. 

Ron tapped Harry on the arm. "She's mental," he said, and Harry couldn't help but nod. 

The teachers were practically scandalized. McGonagall, mortified, exclaimed, “Miss Verma!”  

Dumbledore had just simply buried his face in his hands, having removed his half moon glasses. Snape had simply smirked, which for Snape was him showing pride. 

It was hard to see the details of the hat’s face from where Harry sat, but he assumed the hat wasn’t all too pleased. “Slytherin,” the hat bit out in a scathing tone. 

McGonagall lifted the hat off her head, and Zahira happily skipped down the steps, and hurried to her spot in the Slytherin table. The second year students, and few of the other older years, watched her with disdain. Draco was in the center, glaring at her the hardest. Harry couldn’t explain it, but he felt there was shift in the Slytherin hierarchy. He thought about Mr. Riddle and Mr. Malfoy’s interaction. Who was Tom Riddle that his daughter would cause such disturbance? 

The rest of the Sorting Ceremony continued as normal, ending with Ginny being put in Gryffindor. As expected. 

After the headmaster introduced Lockhart as the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor, the feast was summoned. 

Throughout the feast, while conversations were all around him, Harry wasn’t paying attention to any of it. He was slightly aware Dean Thomas was showing off his latest art project at the table. His mind kept wandering to the Slytherin table, and the politics of the house that went beyond the school’s walls. He suppose he shouldn’t worry too much, but that could’ve been his house if he went along with the hat instead of fighting it. He could’ve been with Draco Malfoy right now, glaring at girl because her dad humiliated his friend’s father. He could‘ve fight the sting of not being accepted by the rest of Hogwarts.

Would Professor Snape still hate him if he been in the house of snakes?

He looked up to the staff table. Snape and McGonagall were in a tense conversation, or maybe it was even an argument. 

A few months back, Snape had saved him from Voldemort, this *wraith* possessing the former Defense Teacher. Without Snape, he, Ron, and Hermione surely would’ve died at the end of their first year. So maybe he didn’t hate Harry as he let on. 

“Harry,” Hermione shook his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

”Huh?” He shook his head a little to get his thoughts in order. “What is it?”

“It’s time to head to the dormitory,” she said, “the feast is over.” 

“Oh…” he looked around, and noticed everyone was getting up. The Prefects were calling for the first years to follow up the stairs. 

”Come on!” She insisted before she got up to run after Ron. 

Harry stood, but he hadn’t immediately followed his friends. His scanned the Great Hall, not sure who he was looking for until he spotted Ravi talking to Zahira. He glanced to his friends, spotting Ron’s hair in the sea of brunettes and blondes. 

Making a quick decision, he chose to follow after Ravi. by the time he was even remotely close to the Verma siblings, Ravi gave his sister a hug and headed in different direction than the rest of Gryffindors. Harry trailed after him. 

It wasn’t until they left the noise of the Great Hall, Ravi looked over his shoulder, brows raised. Harry hadn’t really noticed, but the older boy was handsome. The perplexed scrutiny made Harry blush. He didn’t know why, but Ravi’s full attention on him gave him a warm fuzzy, feeling in his stomach.

He ignored it and hurried in step of Ravi. 

"Where are we going?" Harry asked,  They were heading for a narrow staircase that went down. He never been in this part of the castle. Hopefully, they weren’t going to the dungeons. He didn’t want to test is luck with Professor Snape even if e was supposedly Ravi’s older brother. 

"The kitchens." Ravi answered innocently, too innocently. 

"Are we allowed down in the kitchens?" Harry asked, hesitantly because maybe its best he didn't know. 

Ravi's eyes twinkled with mirth, and his smile was a warning that told Harry if they're caught, . But he followed anyway. 

"Why are you following me, Potter?"  Ravi didn't answer Harry's inquiry, pivoted back to Harry. 

"Right," he said, he was wondering why did he ran after the older boy. He needed an excuse, didn’t he? He couldn’t say, oh, I just liked talking to you yesterday, however brief it was. That would be weird. "I wanted ask you about your family, and Slytherin house." his voice wavered, as he stumbled over his words. 

"What about?" He glanced at Ravi and saw the boy just staring at Harry without judgement. 

He rack his brain on a question to start with. "Did the hat think about putting you in Slytherin?" 

Ravi let out a hum, a frown settling over him. "It didn't." he shrugged, shoving his hands in his robes' pockets. "Actually, it laughed." 

"It laughed?" Harry repeated. 

"Yeah, for a minute straight," Ravi explained, and his frown deepened. 

Harry thought back when the hat said he would do great things in Slytherin house, and the panic he felt. He didn't want to be in Slytherin house with the bad wizards and witches. But having the hat laugh? That had to be worse 

 He nodded. "I thought it was going to yell I didn't belong at Hogwarts, and demand I'd be kicked out." He sounded thoughtful, more somber. "We had moved from Jaipur--that's in India," he added automatically, expecting Harry to ask. Which, Harry was going to. "we moved away from our family in Jaipur back to Britain just so I could go to school here.” 

A harsh shushing noise behind them made Harry jump, missing if Ravi had done the same or not as he turned to the sound of the noise. A large painting of a snooty blonde woman with silver eyes glared down at them. She was willowy, and laid on a luxurious couch, in a silk night gown. Three muscular, shirtless men fanned her, while a fourth one fed her grapes. All four were undoubtedly handsome, making Harry blush hard at the sight. He felt like he wasn't supposed to see them in their various state of undress.  Below the portrait was a golden plaque with the words Leanan Malfoy, Professor The Art of Ritual Magic 1889-1951.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, wincing. He hated upsetting the paintings. It creeped him out when they started talking to him. 

Leanan got off her couch, brushing off imaginary dust. She approached the end of the painting's ornate frame. She sneered in disgust once she got a better look at Harry. She could've been a very pretty woman if her face wasn't twisted in a hateful expression.

 "Disgusting, a Potter," she spat out. And Harry rolled his eyes. Of course, why should he expect anything else? "Got my subject banned from being taught all together before he went on a crusade and banned numerous of sacred rituals all together!"

"I'm sorry?" He repeated, but now there was a distinct, annoyed tone. It wasn't his fault what some dead relative had done to her. 

"Ignore her, Harry," Ravi said flippantly, smirking. "She's just made the artist captured her bad side." 

Her nostrils flared in anger, as her nose scrunched up. She looked much like Draco with a wig on. "And you! Trapezing around with those weasels--

"The Weasley Twins?" Ravi corrected, humor having returned to him. 

"I said what I said!" she shouted, "those red-headed monsters defaced my portrait seven times--

"Leanan, will you stop shouting, please," a cool voice said. 

The portrait next to hers was smaller, but not by much. It was a half body painting of a older man with soft features, and pale eyes. He had been blind in his life, Harry realized. His robes were a dark forestry color, and he was surrounded by snakes. Under his picture frame was a similar plaque to Leanan's: Ominis Gaunt, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. 1901-1921. 

"Oh, I do not want to hear it from you too." Leanan tried leaning forward, as if she wanted to pop out of her frame to get a good look at Ominis. 

One of the snakes on Ominis's shoulder said in a hissing tone. "Let us go over to her picture, Master," it pleaded. 

"I would, but I do not want to start another argument," the former professor stated evenly. 

Harry glanced at Ravi as Ominis spoke to the snake. The older boy was grinning even harder, the seriousness from before completely gone. 

"Why are you boys heading toward the kitchen?" Ominis asked, turning his attention toward Harry and Ravi, as if he could see them. 

"An excellent question," Leanan's righteous ire softened to a teacher's disapproving scowl. "You two better not be messing with the house elves!"

 Ravi waved her warning off. "Oh, please, the house elves love me." he gave a two finger salute to the two portraits and strolled away, heading for a narrow staircase. 

"Sorry, again," Harry said horridly to Professor Malfoy before hurrying after Ravi further down into the castle. "What are house-elves?"

"Er, you heard of brownies from muggle lore?" Harry shook his head. "How about fairies?" 

"Yes!" Fairies were something he did know about, albeit the muggle version of them. Or, specifically, he knew about what he seen Disney movies. His favorite movie--which he would never admit to anyone--was Sleeping Beauty. Embarrassingly, when he was younger, he had been enchanted by the idea of the Charming Prince Phillip slaying a dragon to save him. Again, never would he tell anyone this. "Are fairies working in kitchens?" He was now imagining plump grandmothers baking cakes and fighting to turn his house colors from red and gold to green and silver. 

"Sort of?" Ravi said, thinking best how to explain. "House-elves are part of the faefolk, or fairies. They do house hold chores; cooking, cleaning, repairing broken things. They're really neat, but don't disrespect them. They will pull the nastiest pranks on you if you do." 

Harry thought of the dark fairy Maleficent, and enchanting a spinning wheel just because she wasn't invited to a baby's party. "Ooooh, that makes sense!" he looked up at the older boy, worried. "We're not going to mess with them, right?" he did not want to be put to sleep for ever!

"Nah!" Ravi flashed Harry a mischievous grin. It was a fox like smile that did nothing to ease Harry's worries about meeting the house-elves.  Ravi pulled a vial out from his robes inner pockets. The liquid was a bright blue, almost blinding in its radiance. "Fred and George created this potion over the summer. I said I would test it out for them, but didn't tell them *how*. And since the elves love me, they will put the potion in the professors drinks...well, all but one professor." 

"Professor Snape?" 

"Professor Snape," Ravi hummed. "Mostly because he’d punish me by challenge via a duel, and I would lose. Utterly. And quite painfully. And I hate losing." 

 "Is that even allowed?" 

"Probably not, but I don't think Severus cares," he said shrugging. 

They rounded one more corner, and arrived to a narrow corridor. Gone were the portraits, and were replaced with paintings of food. At the end of hallway was a massive still life of fruit. 

"How very Slytherin of you, I bet you even wanted to be in the snake house," Harry said, and maybe before, not even a week ago, would've meant it as an insult. But he didn't want to insult Ravi Verma, or his family. Even if his family included Snape, which he still struggled to imagine. Whoever Tom Riddle had been with before Mangala must've had strong genes because there wasn't an ounce of him in Snape's face. 

Ravi came to a slow stop at the question. "I did, actually," he said quietly. 

Harry stopped with him, looking up at him quizzically, hoping Ravi would continued. They've returned back to their previous conversation. 

 “So imagine this," Ravi fully turns to Harry, his dark eyes bore into him. And his heart skipped a beat. "At ten I’m told we’re going back to my birth country after spending seven years in my mother's. All the spells I know in Hindi don’t matter, instead I’m forced to learn Latin because failure isn’t an option in a Desi household. And this school I hadn’t heard about except in pasting when my father had visitors turns out to be the most important thing to him. And when I get here, I'm excited because I'll be in his dormitory, and the hat just laughs at me.” 

Harry couldn’t actually. Sure, Ravi had the advantage of actually knowing he was a wizard, but his entire world changed just because Mr. Riddle deemed it so. India was a massive country, surely they had their own schools Ravi and Zahira could’ve gone, right? But he didn’t ask that, instead, “did it say anything else?” 

“It said this will be hilarious, then the blasted thing shouted Gryffindor ,” Ravi said, holding up his red and gold tie. “Stupid hat.” 

“But you wanted to be in Slytherin?” Harry asked, confirming what Ravi had said a moment ago. 

"I know it’s weird for us Gryffindors to be in Slytherin, because it’s the evil house, or whatever bullocks everyone claims, but what’s evil about ambition? Getting what you want? Crawling and fighting your way to the top, damn anyone who gets in your way.” A part of Harry wanted to. But the other part, the part the hat had seen in him, couldn't. “And it‘s important to my dad,” Ravi said with a shrug. “So yeah, I wanted to be a Slytherin, but for some reason, I was put in Gryffindor.”

“The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked it not too,” he blurted out, voicing the thing he kept a secret since the hat had said he'd done great things in Slytherin. But Harry's parents were in Gryffindor, and he too wanted to make his father proud. Because he had met Ron after running into Draco Malfoy, who was nasty and a right git. 

“Really? You in Slytherin? Now the Boy Who Lived in Slytherin would’ve been funny,” Ravi said teasingly,  ruffling Harry's hair, and causing Harry’s cheeks turn into a blotchy pink color. "Where did this come from anyway?" 

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, smiling just a little. "I wanted to see why you didn't threaten the hat to get what you wanted."

"Mostly because I wasn't given a chance," Ravi clicked his tongue. "You know, you're alright, Potter. And here I thought you're just Ron Weasley‘s weird little friend that walks into trouble."

He shoved the older boy, now scowling. "Gee, thanks, arsehole." Ravi laughed at the insult, and Harry was blushing at the sound. 

His eyes flickered to the vial in Ravi's clutched hand. "Can I help prank the professors?" he asked, not knowing what the potion would even do. 

Ravi raised a brow at that. "Can you?" 

He cleared his throat. "Can I prank one professor?" he pushed, fighting the smirk growing on his face, "since you can't prank him."

Ravi caught on rather quickly. "I have wondered what he'd look in blue..."

 

Harry hadn't known what that meant, but he got the answer the next morning.

While the professors drank their morning tea, and coffee, each one had their hair and teeth turn a bright blue. The gasps and nervous laughter from the students alerted the staff something was wrong. And while some were definitely annoyed, if not horrified in Lockhart's case. Some of the professors, such as the Headmaster, found it humorous. 

But none found it as funny as Harry Potter and Ravi Verma. 

 

"Congratulations, Harry, you got detention with Professor Snape of all people," Hermione said, chastising him. "And the school year just started. And you and Verma made us loose twenty points for every professor. We’re in the negatives!” She complained. 

Harry was too busy committing the image of Snape with neon blue hair to memory to even listen to her. He already was thoroughly chastised. “It was worth it,” he said once he realized she was waiting for a response with a pointed expression. 

“What class do we have?” Ron asked, changing the subject. 

Most of the professors postponed their first class to fix their hair and teeth. The twins and Ravi were pulled aside to help counter the potion. This gave the students, at least the second years, a free period the first day of the new year. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting outside in the courtyard, taking the allotted free time to enjoy the outdoors before the autumn rains rolled in. Harry was reading one of the many Lockhart‘s books, specifically the one his mother attacked Lockhart over. How Gilderoy Lockhart Would've Killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was ridiculous, but he felt he was getting a good look into the Civil War that happened between Dark and Light wizards of Britain. 

He was in the beginning of the book, and Lockhart was detailing the first sighting of Lord Voldemort. It has been at a Gala, hosted by Augusta Longbottom of all people, in the summer of 1973. What piqued Harry’s interest the most was Voldemort’s appearance happened days after Wizengamot—which Harry wasn’t sure what that was—passed a total ban on rituals deemed Dark. There was no elaboration on what these rituals were, or if they actually were Dark magic, which bothered Harry to no end. It was just an accepted fact they were Dark. 

He recalled what Professor Malfoy’s portrait had said about his relative said last night: A Potter had been behind the bannings. Now, Harry knew it couldn’t have been his father. James would’ve been just a year older than he was now. Maybe his grandfather? A great uncle? A distant aunt? 

What Harry did know, this was the closest he came to learning details about the Civil Wizarding War of Britain outside of the basics. Voldemort was evil, and his followers were just as evil, but it's okay, Harry had saved the day! That's all he knew, but Lockhart's book gave The rest of the chapter had been utter nonsense, of course. After painting a gruesome scene of Voldemort killing and maiming Aurors and much older, and skilled duelists, a Young Lockhart stepped out of the crowd and challenged Voldemort to a fair duel, one-on-one. Man to man. The idea a twenty-two year old Lockhart could go up against Lord Voldemort and live was laughable. 

Harry needed, no craved more details on the Wizarding War, but he wouldn’t get it from Lockhart’s terrible nonsense. But it gave him a taste. 

“We have Transfiguration,” Hermione said with a sigh. She shuffled through her books for their schedule. “We could’ve had Herbology, but I guess we will be behind the whole year.” She glared at Harry, because apparently it was his fault Professor Sprout was excited to learn how Fred and George crafted a potion that was not easily broken with simple spells.    

“Oh, come off it, ‘Mione,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. The fell on the schedule in her hands. “Tough luck, mate, we got Potions right after.” 

Harry looked up from his book, humming. “You remember what Zahira said at the bookstore about Snape’s age?”

“That he’s thirty-two?” Hermione said a bit hesitant, curious where he was going with this. 

“Well, he knew my father, obviously,” he continued, now closing the book. He started packing up his stuff to head to Transfiguration. “But that means he was in my parents year, and probably knew my mother. I hadn’t thought about it, with everything going on last year.” 

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t think of that either!” Hermione exclaimed. She even halted put her books to give Ron sharp look for not packing up too. She kicked him to start moving. “He’s never mentioned her when he’s berating you in class.” 

Harry shrugged. Maybe he could ask Professor Snape during detention—if Snape even lets him talk. And maybe they could even discuss what happened to Professor Quirrell. 

The three of them headed out of the court, and walking toward the massive hallway that led to the Transfiguration class. The hallways weren’t pack as bad as they usually were during the transitioning periods. Either everyone was milling about and waiting at the last second, or already in their next class, waiting for it to start. They would be early to their Transfiguration class today, for if Ravi’s prank hadn’t happened, they still be in Charms. This worked for Harry. He could ask Professor McGonagall about the Wizarding War while they wait for their classmates to join them. Surely it wouldn’t take the entire hour and a half to fix the professors appearance?

They assumed they would be alone when they entered the classroom, but there were two students in there, and no sign of McGonagall. 

Unfortunately one of the students had been Draco Malfoy. 

He was talking to a Hufflepuff student, a girl. Harry racked his brain to place a name on her face, and drew up blank. He really didn’t know anyone out of his house, did he? 

Draco and the girl looked back over their shoulders at the sound of their footsteps. Draco looked at them with utter contempt. The girl gave them a soft smile in contrast. She was pretty, with her curly black hair. It coiled around her face, framing it. Her tawny brown skin glowed next to Draco’s cool paleness. The contrast between them made Harry wonder why Draco was even talking to her.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy sneered at them. 

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, storming right to the front of the desks, next to the Hufflepuff and Draco. “We’re meant to be here, unlike you, "she snapped. 

“Yes, but we have free period, and I can go where I please,” he said, his tone snooty as always. He leaned back in his chair, arm resting on the back of the chair. “Hey, Potter,” he smirked at Harry. 

He and Ron sat behind Hermione‘s desk. Though Harry hovered over the seat, not wanting to sit down when he might have to deal with Malfoy. 

“What?” He winced how defensive he sounded, but when has Malfoy, in the time he knew the blonde boy, spoke to any of them with kindness?

“Good job," he said without a hint of malice in his voice. It took Harry back, unable to respond. Malfoy ignored the shock and continued like they usually  “The one useful thing you did with your life, Potter. Can you get us free period every day of the year? I do not want to hear Binns first thing in the morning!” 

“Oh." Harry wasn't expecting Malfoy being nice. Or at least cordial. 

 “Wait, your first period History of Magic" Ron asked as harry sat down. The two looked at each other in disgust and said ew at the same time. 

“I know! It’s criminal!” Malfoy exclaimed, throwing his arms in . “He was teaching our grandparents as a ghost fifty years ago!” 

"The class isn't that terrible," Hermione said, and all three boys rolled their eyes. What an odd day. Harry was actively agree with Draco Malfoy. She ignored them and turned to the Hufflepuff girl, who seemed left out the moment the trio entered the classroom. "I don't know if we really met despite being in the same year. My name is Hermione," she said, offering a hand. 

Draco watched in disgust as the girl took Hermione's hand, smiling. "Cassiopeia Shacklebolt. I try to keep to myself," she said quietly. 

"Blimey, that's a black name if I ever heard one," Ron said.

Harry whipped his head to his right, gawking at his best friend. How could he say that? 

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped, equally mortified. 

"What?" Ron asked genuinely confused.

"No, it's okay," Cassiopeia said quickly. "it's true. My mother was a Black, named me after her great-aunt," she explained. And Harry quickly realized that was probably a surname. "Not that I'm considered part of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," she said the long title with disdain. "But you can call me Cassie instead," she supplied 

"She's my cousin, and if any of you mess with her, you mess with me," Draco added glaring at them. 

Harry wanted to snark back because they weren't known for bullying people unlike him, but the side door opened near McGonagall's desk. The professor walked in, her forest-green robes sweeping behind her. Her hair had returned to its dark graying hair, not a strand out of place. 

Her eyes looked around at the five of them, her eyes stopping at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, don't you have Herbology soon?" 

"In thirty minutes," he countered. While Harry couldn't see his face, he could hear the fake smile in the tone of his voice. “And may I say, Professor McGonagall, that I am pleased to see if you are returned to your normal self after Harry’s failed poison attempt.” 

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“It wasn’t poisoned,” Harry argued, glaring at the Slytherin. “And I only asked the house-elves to put the potion  in Professor Snape’s cup.” He looked up at McGonagall, and ignored her pointed expression directed his way. “Professor, I have question about one of our assigned readings.” 

Hermione looked back at Harry with pride in her eyes. 

“This is unexpected, Mr. Potter,” she said, genuinely surprised and pleased. 

“Oh, not for this class, Professor. I haven’t even started anything for Transfiguration,” he explained, digging through his backpack for Lockhart’s novel. 

“Of course,” she said, sighing. She pushed back her glasses to rub her eyes. "You might find it better to ask the professor who assigned the assignment, Mr. Potter." 

"It's one of Lockhart's books."

If possible, she looked even more pained by the mention of the man's name. 

"Isn't that the book your mum punched attacked Lockhart for?" Ron asked, now examining the cover. 

"It is," he said, and held it up for McGonagall to look at. 

She scowled, and walked over to her him, picking up the book.  "Oh, Mr. Potter, this book is rubberish. Really, I do not want to disparage any of your other professors but this man is a fraud." 

"I know, Professor, it's rubbish, but there's something in the book about the first Wizarding War that I wanted to ask about, if you don't mind," he explained. 

While the others were interested already, this drew their entire focus. Even Draco had turned around in his chair to listen where this conversation was going. 

She hummed, handing the book back. "Ask away, Mr. Potter. I will correct anything you've read."

"I don't need anything corrected, but clarification," he stated evenly. He flipped through the pages and landed on where he left off. "Lockhart wrote Voldemort," everyone but Hermione flinched at the use of his name, "first appeared at Mrs. Longbottom's party in '73 after Wizengamot banned Dark rituals, but Lockhart doesn't explain what the rituals were, why Voldemort even cared. Do you know more about this, Professor?"

McGonagall resisted the urge to flinch at the man's name again. She stared contemplative at Harry for a moment until she moved back to the front of the class, readying herself for an impromptu lecture. Hermione straightened out her posture as if class had already began, and this was part of their lesson. Beside him, Ron shifted in his seat. He leaned forward. Harry could see Cassie and even Draco give the professor their full attention. 

The war wasn't talked about, was it, Harry thought. 

 "To start off with, it had not been a simple Gala event. It was a celebration of the Summer Solstice," she corrected. "It had been a sacred day for our kind, and I believe that is why You-Know-Who chose that day to start his conflict."

Draco made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, and Cassie elbowed him in the arm. McGonagall's sharp eyes landed on the blonde, brow raised. Without an invitation, Malfoy spoke up. "The Longbottoms don't celebrate the old ways," he all but spat out. "They haven't in decades. They're one of the many families that forgot our traditions." 

He turned to Harry, or more like to face Ron. The hatred in his eyes shocked Harry. Draco made no secret he disliked the Weasleys, especially Ron, but he never did he hold such contempt for any of them. This was a true rage, past on by decades of a rivalry nether boy signed up for but were ready to continue. 

"We celebrate the Solstice," Ron said, defensive. His cheeks were a shade pinker. "We preform rites, but we just don't perform anything dark. Or any old rubbish your family does." 

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley!” McGonagall’s harsh voice cut through their argument before it really began. Draco shot Ron another glare before turning back around. She sighed again.  “I will say you are…correct to an extent, Mr. Malfoy, the Longbottoms haven’t celebrated the Solstice in the traditional sense in the last few generations. Which was the point of contention of You-Know-Who,” she said, her eyes sweeping over the five of them. Her attention landed back on Harry. “You see, You-Know-Who argued it was an insult to Dark families and magic as whole a proponent of the ban would host such an event after the banning of Dark Rituals. 

”But what does that mean?” Harry asked. “Dark rituals? What were they?”

”The bill that was passed focused on animal sacrifices, and evoking the undead,” she explained, but with her deepening frown told Harry their professor didn’t agree with this blanket label that led to the ban. 

Hermione’s hand shot through the air. 

“Miss Granger, you do not need to raise your hand, we’re not really in class,” McGonagall said, with a soft smile. 

“Right, sorry Professor,” she said, and Harry can imagine her cheeks were a slight peachy color. “I just wanted to clarify about the animal sacrifices. Were they banned because it’s similar to animal testing in the muggle world? It seems needlessly cruel to kill an animal for some ritual.” 

“It’s no different from using toads and bats and insects in potions,” Cassie spoke up before Draco could. While he was vibrating with anger, her tone and composure was far softer than his. Harry could see why the girl hadn’t been put in Slytherin house…or Gryffindor for that matter. “You also eat meat, don’t you? And we use rats and toads to test transfiguring spells too.” 

Hermione squirmed in her seat. “But we don’t kill the toads and bats,” but her words didn’t have the same conviction when she was determined to be right. 

“I bet Professor Snape does,” Harry said, thoughtfully. He hadn’t consider it before now, but it made sense. 

“My great-great-great aunt said animal sacrifices adds nutrients to magic like food does to your body,” Draco stated, a bit too smugly. 

A fond smile spread across McGonagall‘s face. Her eyes were distant, lost in the past. “Ah, Leanan, or as I had knew her in my time as a student, as Professor Malfoy. She used to teach a class on rituals to the older students."

"I met her portrait last night," Harry said.

"I suppose you did because her portrait is on its way to the kitchens." Harry decided the floor was far more fascinating than McGonagall’s withering look. “She never subscribed to this idea of dark or light magic, something her and I used to debate over when I was a student here.” 

“Magic is not as black and white as your school teaches you.” 

It’s similar to what Mangala had said back in Borgin and Burke’s. Magic wasn’t black and white…and Harry didn’t know If that was fully true, but certainly couldn’t be so stringent.  

 “Unfortunately,” McGonagall continued. “I never gotten a chance to work with her as I was studying at Primore University for my teaching license when her class was taken away from the curriculum.” 

“Professor, why was the class removed? It sounds rather useful,” Hermione asked. There was a hint of annoyance. 

“Because a Potter deemed what she was teaching was too close to Dark Magic,” Cassie explained. 

Draco’s returned to glaring at Harry. “Oh, a Potter who ruins everything, never seen that before.” 

“It’s not my fault one of my relatives did something awful before I was even born,” he countered, rolling his eyes. “I don’t agree with it.” He tapped Lockhart’s book. “If anything, I think if Voldemort wasn’t a crazy murderer, he’d have a point. He did have a point. One side just banned whatever magic they wanted because they said so, and didn’t expect the consequences.”

Ron made a strangled squicky noise in the back of his throat. Harry looked around the room, his cheeks heating up. McGonagall looked down right mortified at what he said, the same as Ron. Hermione was stunned too, just not as bad as them. Cassie and Draco wore matching shocked expressions, but Draco’s morphed into one of intrigue. 

Embarrassed, Harry felt he should explain but he didn’t get a chance. The doors opened, and students started to filing in. 

Draco muttered a swear under his breath and a hasty goodbye to his cousin, and grabbed his bag and booked it out of the class. He shoved the others out of his way. Neville was one of the first students in the class. It looked like he was going to sit across from Harry, waving as he did so, but Cassie twisted in her seat to look at him. The mousy looking boy paused, and his easy smile turned into a vicious glare. Cassie matched his ire with impassivity. 

Not willing to sit behind Cassie for one reason or another, Neville moved over to the far back desk instead, sitting with Lavender Brown instead. Harry could see the two begin to whisper, and Neville pointing at Cassie. Harry looked forward and caught Susan Bones reluctantly sit in the spot Draco had been a moment ago. She eyed the girl with trepidation.  

Ron nudged Harry with a sharp elbow. “Did you mean it?” H asked harshly. 

“Mean what?” Harry asked. 

“Whaat you said about You-Know-Who?” The way Ron stared at Harry as if Harry answered wrong, his whole world would shatter. 

Harry avoided answering, Professor McGonagall started class.

 

Notes:

Hello! Here’s an update on the story.

I hope people are enjoying Ravi in this story so far. He’s definitely my baby.

I had plans for this chapter to be longer, but I felt where I ended was good ending.

Im setting up Harry to believed to be the next Dark Lord with this conversation Draco 100% will not spread around.

Chapter 3: The Gaunt’s Guardian

Near the end of class, McGonagall assigned them a joint essay that was due before Halloween. It was on the history of Transfiguration and how the subject is taught around the world. The essay would be the first part of the project—the next part would be a presentation on the culture the group chose to write about. Despite what had happened before class, Ron easily snatched Harry to be his partner before anyone else could.

Hermione asked Cassie to be hers once she saw their classmates avoid her. The other girl’s smile lit up the room. They made plans to start their research in the library after class.

Harry and Ron waited outside the classroom as the girls set up their study session. The two of them had already decided to do a project on the Brazilian magical community. It had been Harry’s idea, and Ron just agreed without asking. Harry didn’t know how to explain, “When I was seven, I tried running away with a boa constrictor because I was mad at my mum,” to anyone. That incident with the boa constrictor stuck with him, however. Now he had an excuse to write about his first friend’s home.

Harry also didn’t want to explain that his first true friend was a giant snake he had accidentally released from its enclosure. Lily was always uncomfortable when he spoke to snakes and had told him to stop. As he thought about it, Harry was sure it was because his mother didn’t want to reveal the fact that he had magic—and that’s why she told him to stop talking to snakes. That made sense, and it brought a bitter, nasty feeling to the pit of his stomach. He knew he was a wizard now. Maybe he didn’t have to hide the fact that he could talk to snakes!

He was pulled from his musings when Ron elbowed him.

Harry saw Cassie heading down the hallway in the opposite direction of where the three of them needed to go for Potions.

Once there was enough distance between them and the Hufflepuff, Hermione finally spoke. “I can’t believe everyone in the class ignores Cassie. Even Susan Bones, and I thought she was sweet. I hadn’t really noticed Cassie last year, either…”

“It’s because of her family,” Ron said dismissively.

“Because she’s related to Malfoy?” Harry asked, a bit annoyed at Ron if that was the reason. Didn’t Malfoy judge Ron for his family? 

“No, no—it’s because her mum is a Black,” Ron said as if they should know what that meant. “The Shacklebolts are a good family; her uncle is an Auror and a family friend—but her mum is from the Ancient and Most Noble house of Black.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Harry admitted. He looked at Hermione, expecting answers, but she shook her head too.

“It’s an old house that doesn’t really exist anymore, except for women who married into different families and had kids—like Draco and Cassie.” The way Ron talked, the history of the Black family was common knowledge. Maybe it was for wizards and witches like the Weasleys who grew up in the Wizarding world, but Harry thought it was entirely silly. “Everyone in the Black family is either dead or in prison. They all followed You-Know-Who.”

“Where did you hear all this?” Hermione asked.

“When my mum has her cousins or friends over at the house for tea,” he explained. “She would let Ginny and me sit with them, especially when our brothers were at school or at their friends’ houses.”

“Well, Cassie seems nice,” Hermione argued with a huff, effectively ending their discussion—at least for now.

Up ahead and around the corner they heard Lee Jordan’s distinct voice. “What a complete joke! We’re going to learn nothing in DADA again. When is Dumbledore going to break the curse?”

A laugh that Harry recognized as belonging to Alicia Spinnet, his fellow Quidditch teammate, answered.

The trio instinctively pressed themselves against the wall near the windows so they wouldn’t be trampled by the fourth-year Gryffindors. The fourth years passed by, with Lee and Fred leading the pack and Alicia close behind them. Kennith and Angelia, along with a few other fourth years, hadn’t gotten to know the others. And George and Ravi rounded off the back, whispering to each other.

The group was going to walk right past without either twin noticing Ron—a fact that the youngest Weasley boy found exactly to his liking. However, one of the fourth-year girls called out, “Oh, Hermione! Hello!”

Hermione smiled, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Hello, Jasmine,” she said.

The fourth years halted. Fred and George turned at the same time, wearing matching grins. Ron muttered “bloody hell” under his breath.

“Aw! It’s Baby Ronnikins!” Fred shouted in a voice Harry assumed was mimicking Mrs. Weasley. He pulled away from his friends and stalked over to Ron. George playfully beat him.

“Staying out of trouble, are you?” he asked, swinging an arm around Ron.

Ron struggled against George, but once Fred joined them, he relented and accepted his fate. “We have Potions next.”

“You have time—and we bet Harry isn’t in a hurry to see Professor Snape,” George finished.

The rest of the fourth years headed to their next class, with Jasmine staying back to talk to Hermione. The two were soon obscured by Alicia, Angelina, Lee, and Ravi, who circled around them.

Alicia leaned against the stone wall between the two windows. “Are you ready for Quidditch practice to start up again, Harry?” she asked.

“Am I ever! My mum took me to open fields away from Muggles so I could practice flying over the summer,” he said excitedly. It was the best part of his break—his mum had let him fly.

“Oliver got us extra time on Saturday,” Angelina said. “He’s thinking we should hold try-outs for backup players.”

“I think Wood just wants Ravi to replace one of the twins as a beater,” Lee said, hitting Ravi on the shoulder.

Ravi put on an air of nonchalance, too busy spinning his wand with his fingers. Harry zeroed in on the motion. If anyone were to be tasked, it was because he was staring at how impressive Ravi’s wand was rather than noticing how long the other boy’s fingers were.

“I could take George’s place—I’m stronger,” Ravi said with a shrug, still twirling his wand.

“Oi, piss off, Verma. You can have my spot on the team over my dead body,” George retorted. He pulled out a piece of paper, but there was no heat in his voice.

The paper disintegrated into ash before it even hit Ravi. Ravi lazily looked away from his wand. “Oh, please—I can’t join the Quidditch team anyway, even as backup,” he said.

Harry forced himself to stop staring at Ravi’s fingers and looked up at his face. “Why not?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound disappointed.

“I’m in three different academic clubs and take violin lessons from Madame Barrows,” Ravi answered with a sigh.

Harry didn’t know who that was. Luckily, Ron asked so Harry wouldn’t sound like an idiot. “Who? She doesn’t sound like a teacher.”

“She’s not. She comes twice a week to give students private music lessons and to work with the school’s choir,” Alicia explained.

“I actually didn’t know you could play any instruments,” Angelina said, now turning toward Ravi.

Ravi put his wand away and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t until this summer, when my mother found out the Patel twins both played the cello. Now I know the violin, and Zahira knows the flute.” He cracked his neck by rolling it. “This is all to say, once again, I can’t pick up sports or any activity that’s in academics—unless they bring back Dueling Club. So you tell Oliver Wood I’m not going to be his backup beater or chaser.”

“Boring,” Fred said, ruffling Ron’s hair before shoving him into Harry. He turned to leave, signaling for the remaining fourth years to follow his lead. George stopped Ron from falling over and also ruffled his hair—now Ron’s hair was just as messy as Harry’s.

Ravi caught Harry before he tumbled over and steadied him on his feet.

Harry looked away, his cheeks burning.

“Wait until I’m your age!” Ron called after the twins, which earned him laughter.

“And we’ll be sixteen,” Ravi said. He gave a two-finger salute and a playful wink at Harry. “See you around, Potter.”

If Harry’s face wasn’t red before, it was now. “You too.”

Hermione joined them, having finished her own conversation. “We’re so late for Potions.”

“Not if we run,” Ron argued. “Fred and George said we won’t be.”

They were late to Potions. 

Harry blamed the seventh year nightmare known as Gladys Fernington on why he was late for his detention with Snape. If sharing lion emblem meant anything to the towering brunette, it didn't in that moment when he turned a corner too sharply and ran right into her. Apparently, she was writing her Charms report, and he made her lose concertation. She tore her parchment with her quill, and her floating ink jar fell and shattered on the floor, spilling ink everywhere. He had only a moment to register what happened before she hexed him with dizzying spell and left him. 

He arrived twenty minutes later to Snape’s class room, barely able to stand without leaning against the wall. He should’ve gone to the hospital wing instead of his detention, but the dungeons were closer. 

He pushed the door, and not a second he stumbled through the threshold, he was hunching over and vomiting out what was left of his lunch. Pumpkin chili did not taste good coming back up as it did as it was going down. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Potter!” Snape snapped. The potions professor was already upon him. His shadow loomed over Harry, over taking what the blue lighting in the classroom. It happened in an instant. The vomit on the stone floor vanished, and a waste basket appeared in front of Harry. He was gone a moment later. 

Harry emptied the rest of the contents of his stomach into the basket until he had nothing left. He flopped down to the ground, and decided this was the best spot in the entire room. 

Snape returned, and knelt next to Harry, holding out a glass of water. “Is there a reason why you decided to become violently ill in my classroom instead of going to see Madame Pomfrey, Potter?” 

“I like your company more, professor,” Harry said before he could stop himself. Once Snape’s eyes narrowed into slits, he faked a cough, and accepted the glass of water. He took a sip, and noticed the water was enchanted to remove the vile taste in his mouth. “Thank you, sir. I ran into Gladys Fernington, and she hexed me with a dizzying spell. We haven’t learned the counter yet.” 

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, singing. “Your terrible luck, Potter, has no bounds.” He stood, pulling out his wand and aimed it at Harry. Blue sparks flew from the tip of his wand, and without warning, he grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him up. 

Harry didn’t feel dizzy from the spell anymore, but he certainly felt light headed. “Go sit down.” 

He wasn’t going to argue, and chose to sit at the desk closest to Severus‘s own desk. 

“Fopsey,” Snape called out. Harry looked over his shoulder to see one of the gangly elves who work in the kitchens. ”Could you please make Mr. Potter a light meal, a sandwich and crisps. Thank you.” 

Fopsey popped away after a slight bow. 

Snape leaned against the desk across from Harry, and somehow, despite in a moe relaxed position, the dungeon bat still looked too stiff. “How do you find yourself in these precarious positions?” 

“I like to think my fate was sealed when an evil wizard tried killing me as a baby,” Harry joked, but Snape was stricken. So he shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I really did not want to arrive late after I was late for class, sir. I promise.”

Snape's left brow arched upward as he turned his head to the side. "Oh? But you were still late. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, to point out that it hadn't been his fault. However, he knew the argument he would get from the Potions Master. That if he hadn't pranked Snape this morning, he wouldn't have ran into 

So instead, without thinking, he said, "you're a lot like your father. I didn't even notice until right now."

Snape pressed his lips into a thin line, annoyed Harry even made the comparison. "Ah, yes, I saw the Daily Profit article. Where your mother flung herself at Professor Lockhart." His lips quirked upward. "I noticed you were standing next to my father and Mr. Verma."

"He's a very intense man, and a bit weird," Harry said. He also wanted to point out Snape was weird for calling his younger sibling ‘Mr. Verma’, but he didn’t want to anger Snape than he already had. 

"I assure, both of those are understatements." His professor sounded exhausted even discussing Mr. Riddle. "I must ask why are we discussing my father?" 

"You constantly bring up mine, and unlike James, I actually met yours." 

For a second, it seemed Snape was going to be sick, but the house-elf returned with Harry's food and disappeared after receiving a thank you. Wherever their conversation was headed ended. "Eat your food, Mr. Potter. You have cauldrons to clean.” He pointed to a stack of several cauldrons piled high in the far corner Harry knew wasn’t earlier that day. “And you will have two weeks to get them clean.”

 

Harry was elbowed deep in his second cauldron when he decided to speak. “Professor,” he said cautiously, sparing a glance at the Portions Master. 

The man was hunched over his desk, scribbling notes down furiously. His piercing black eyes flickered upward without inclining his head upward. 

”Mr. Potter,” he said, with a hint of warning in his voice. 

Harry dropped his rag in the soapy water and turned his body on the stool so he was facing Snape. “Are we going to talk about what happened in May?” 

Snape put his fountain pen down, and straightened out his posture. His laced his fingers together, resting them on the desk. "What, pray tell, do you wish discuss?" 

Harry squirmed under the man's gaze, and averted his eyes. And he was back in Borgin and Burkes, being examined by Tom Riddle. He didn't know how last night he thought the intense stranger couldn't be found in Severus Snape. 

At least he knew who to blame for Snape's rather uninviting demeanor. 

"About Voldemort." 

Snape didn't flinch when Harry used Voldemort's name, but he squeezed his knuckles together. "And what of the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter?"

The silence that stretched between them was longer than their physical distance. They might as well be in different rooms. What about Voldemort did Harry want to know? What was Voldemort? What was that ghostly apparition that left Quirrell's body?

"How did you know to stop Voldemort?" he finally settled on asking.

It was if his question physically pained Snape. The man uncurled his fingers and massaged his temples. 

Harry waited for an answer, anything. Yet the man who always could think of a come back had nothing to give. As he waited for a response, his mind drifted back to May. 

He, Ron, and Hermione were so sure Professor Snape was after the Philosopher’s Stone. They followed the Potions Master trail. They past Fluffy. Hermione made sure they survived the Devil’s Snare. Harry gotten the key. And Ron won them the chess game.  

And at the end of it all, Harry confronted Snape.  But it hadn’t been their least favorite professor. The wizard after the Stone had turned out to be Professor Quirrell, possessed by Lord Voldemort. And it turned out, Severus Snape had been protecting him the entire year. 

Harry had been overwhelmed, and terrified, but knew he was the only person standing in the way of Voldemort gaining returning to power. He would fight Voldemort alone if he had to. 

But he hadn’t. 

Snape, in his bellowing black robes, appeared in the flames and clutching a sword. Voldemort turned his ire from Harry toward Snape.

 

”Traitor!” he screamed. “You betrayed me! Forget the child, and kill him! Kill the treacherous snake!” 

Snape didn’t respond to the accusation. As Quirrell lunged for Snape, the Potions Master withdrew his wand and called forth vines from the ground, breaking through the stone floors. They latched onto Quirrell, and held him to the ground. The vines turned into colorful vipers.

Snape ran down the stairs to where Harry was. He swiftly turned his back toward the boy. “Do not look! Cover your eyes!” he barked, not sparing Harry any glance. He held the sword with one hand, and over his head. 

Harry didn’t argue, hadn’t even considered disobeying. He turned away, and squeezed his eyes shut, and cover his ears. Yet he still heard Quirrell and Voldemort screaming, and the sound of metal going through bone and hitting stone. 

And then silence. 

 

Harry shook his head of the gruesome memory. He had nightmares all summer long about Quirrell’s body. He had looked then, expecting Quirrell’s dedicated head to roll down the stairs, instead, the Defense Professor was nothing but ashes. And from those ashes, Voldemort‘s ghastly wraith appeared and flew right at Harry, but Snape had covered Harry with his own body, using himself as a shield. 

Since then, Harry many questions. And one of them was how did Snape that sword would work?

”The Headmaster told me,” Snape explained, his tone flat. 

He was lying. His mother taught him how to spot an adult who wasn't speaking in full truths. Lily had done it his whole life. When Dudley's gang chased him through the neighborhood and he ended on Mrs. Figg's roof, Lily claimed he must've blacked out and climbed up without realizing. When he turned his teacher's hair blue, she hand waved the conversation away. Whenever what he now knew to be magic, Lily made it out to be his imagination or he blacked out. She did it when he talked to snakes until he got too old for pretending.

But Snape was a better liar than Lily. Snape knew how to lie, and be convincing. He was raised by a very Slytherin man who looked at his eleven-year-old daughter in the eye and told her to befriend a boy just because he could be useful. 

But Harry was supposed to be in Slytherin. 

With shrew eyes, Harry's glare matched Snape's indifference stare. "That's it? The Headmaster told you?" 

Now it was Snape's turn to glare. "Do you doubt Albus Dumbledore would posses such knowledge?" 

Harry stood up now and marched over to Snape's desk. "I find it odd that if he did, why did he let Voldemort run around possessing Professor Quirrell for a year?" 

"I could not begin to understand what goes through Headmaster's mind, Mr. Potter," Snape said through gritted teeth. "Sit down before you get in worse trouble."

"I have a right to know about Voldemort," Harry argued. "He was after me when I was a baby. He killed my dad. He was after me all last year."

"You certainly inherited your father's entitlement," Snape said, sneering. Somehow, he looked down at Harry while Harry was standing over him.

"You're one to talk. You're so much like your own father, it's painful," he fired back. 

Snape's nostrils flared. He slammed his hands down his desk and stood, half hunched over to get in Harry's face. "You little--

"My mum kept everything from me." Harry didn’t care if he interrupt. "Everything. Until a year ago, I didn't even know I had magic. I thought my dad was killed in a car crash. I didn’t know he was murdered. And now his murderer is after me. No one wants to talk about Voldemort or the first war. I'm walking around blind, and I just want to know how to defend myself. Professor Snape, please, can you just answer my question.” 

The anger in Snape melted away into...sympathy? He leaned away from Harry before returning to his seat. "That's what Lily told you? That James died in a car crash?"

"So you do know my mother!" Harry said, snapping his fingers. He had been curious if they did know each other the last couple days when he learned Snape was the same age as Lily. 

"Of course, we're in the same year," and Snape was back to telling half truths. Harry couldn’t place why, but he . "And she...hadn't told you about magic? At all?" 

"Not until Hagrid showed up with my letter." A sense of catharsis fell over Harry. No one batted an eye when Harry told them Lily hadn’t raised him with magic. “She said Headmaster Dumbledore told her it was for the best.”

Snape sit back in his chair, and over his mouth. Deep in thought, he absent-mindedly said, "my own mother had done something similar, but nothing that egregious."

Harry squirmed in the spot he stood in. He didn’t like the implication that hiss mother did something wrong. He loved his mum. She was just trying her best. "Right, so how did you really know about the sword?"

Snape's eyes flickered back at Harry "I was not lying when I said the Headmaster informed me about using the sword of Godric Gryffindor. The sword was forged by goblins using Fae magic. And the Dark Lord is not of this world."

And in just a few short sentences, Snape gave Harry even more questions. "What do you mean he's not of this world?" He settled on one.

"What many people do not understand about the Dark Lord is that he hadn't been a person," Snape began to explain, but he paused. Harry leaned against the desk without thinking. This was the most attention he paid the potions professor, and they weren't even in class. Snape took a moment, deliberately choosing his words carefully.

"Was he an alien?" Harry whispered. He didn't care if they're talking about Voldemort. If he's an alien, that would be awesome. How could he not be excited at the idea aliens were real?

Snape rubbed his temple. "No, Potter, the Dark Lord was not an alien!" The unsaid insult to Harry's intelligence was there. "He is what some call a demon. Or a poltergeist, if you will. He called himself a horcrux. That is what I mean he's not of this world! He had been tethered here against his will, and have been drifting as a shapeless form, possessing people."

"Professor Quirrell wasn't the first person Voldemort possessed then?" Harry couldn't imagine Quirrell of all people was the original host. "He must've possessed someone else during the war." 

Snape squeezed his eyes shut, as the question was the sun's glare and the professor was trying to block it out. His throat visibly contracted as he gulped down air. Harry took a step back from the desk, a wave of unease washing over him at the sight of Snape's distress. 

In that instant, he regretted posing the question and wished the entire discussion had never happened. He was six again, and demanding to hear about his father again from his mother, and not realizing his questions were driving his mother to cry every night. He was fervently seeking answers regarding the first war and the bastard that murdered his father, he didn’t consider if Snape had been effected by the war like Lily had been. He consistently overstepped boundaries. 

He was about to apologize, but the air around Snape shifted. The pained expression gave way to an impassive one, and Snape was back to normal. "You are correct, Mr. Potter. The Dark Lord had possessed someone else during the war. That person had believed he had control over the horcrux, and one could say he did. Certainly more than Quirrell. I was informed by The Headmaster the man pretended to be the Dark Lord, and took his name as his own. 

"Why would he do that?" Harry asked. 

"He had been an arrogant fool, Potter, and many paid the price for his arrogance." Snape said. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "He is free of Voldemort now, or so I’ve heard. He hadn't turned into a husk like Quirrell had, and survived being stabbed by the sword of Gryffindor. Or so The Headmaster claims. Does that satisfy your inquiries?” 

Harry had  dozen more, but he didn’t want to push Snape than he already had. “It does. for now. Could I ask you more questions later?“

Snape sighed, quite dramatically if one was to ask Harry. “Very well, Potter.” He waved Harry off. “We have two weeks of detention. Now, get back to cleaning that cauldron. I want it finish before dinner is served.” 

Harry returned to his desk, and with his back to his professor, he felt brave enough to smile. Maybe this year, Potions won’t be so terrible. 

 

---

 

As a Prefect, Tom had a list of duties. The patrols he and his fellow Prefects were expected to perform were his personal favorite. Not a week into the new school year, he was already using them to his advantage.

Unsupervised time meant free rein in the castle. Tonight, that meant sneaking into the library.

There had been a book. A beautiful, leather-bound grimoire thrumming with dark magic, tucked away in the Restricted Section. He had come across it while searching for texts on Blood Rituals. Prefects had access to the Restricted Section, but even they needed a professor’s approval to check anything out. While several of his teachers were willing to let him rent whatever he wanted, he was certain none would allow him to take this book.

Not with the dark magic whispering in his mind.

The power surrounding it was unmatched—like nothing he had ever felt before. It had to hold knowledge. Perhaps even knowledge of the Chamber of Secrets. Of immortality.

Tom moved swiftly through the shelves, resisting the urge to linger at his favorite subjects. When he was a baby-faced First Year, he had snuck out in the middle of the night to explore the library. Back then, he had never seen so many books in one place—within reach, his for the taking. But he had gotten distracted among the titles and never managed to pick a single book before being caught by Albus Dumbledore.

Tonight, he would not be distracted.

He weaved through the Restricted Section, making his way to the far back of the west wing. He walked past the Blood Rituals shelf—and stopped cold.

His heart raced. A chill ran down his spine.

Illuminated by moonlight streaming through the massive windows, the object of his obsession lay out in the open. Waiting.

For him.

The book sat on a small table, as if someone had placed it there deliberately.

Tom’s fingers went instinctively to his mother’s ring—a family heirloom she told him once belonged to his grandfather. The obsidian stone hummed beneath his touch. It was a warning. A deep, magical instinct told him to turn away.

That was new.

The ring had never reacted like this before. It was as if the book had awoken something inside it.

And yet…

Tom glanced around, expecting a professor—or Madam Higgs—to emerge from the shadows. He could talk his way out of trouble, of course. He could charm the aging librarian with a dashing smile and a promise to never abuse his Prefect privileges again.

The only one he truly did not want to find him was Professor Dumbledore. The old fool would write to his mother. Merope Gaunt, for all her frailties, knew how to read just enough to recognize words like "trouble" and "your son." A letter like that would send her into a panic.

But no one emerged from the shadows.

Ignoring the ring’s displeasure, Tom approached the table. The book’s cover was blank—just plain, dark leather.

He pulled out the chair and sat down. His fingers brushed the book—

Pain.

A sharp, burning sensation spread through his hand, straight through the ring.

Tom jerked back, clutching his fingers to his chest. His breathing came hard and fast. Whatever was wrong with this book, the ring wanted no part of it.

But Tom wanted the book.

He took off the ring and set it aside. This time, when he touched the book, there was no burning.

He dragged it toward him and flipped through the pages. They were empty. Just like the cover.

A journal?

And yet… the book thrummed with magic.

A thought flickered in his mind, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own. Write.

From the chest under his bed, he summoned an inkwell and a silver fountain pen he had stolen from Slughorn’s personal collection.

He dipped the pen into the ink and hovered over the parchment.

For a brief moment, he hesitated.

Everything was warning him away. The Gaunt ring. The burning. The way the book seemed to be waiting for him. And maybe… maybe that thought—write—hadn’t been his own.

And yet…

It called to him.

For a moment, he felt like a child again. A time when he hadn’t yet known that Merope was his mother. A time when she was just the strange older girl who sang him to sleep.

A siren’s call.

And he should have slammed the book shut. Should have put it back on the shelf.

He didn’t.

His curiosity was too great.

He set the tip of the pen to the parchment and wrote:

Hello, my name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The book wrote back.

Hello, Tom.
I am the guardian of the House of Gaunt, bound to these pages until a Gaunt finds me. I am to protect the purity of blood within Hogwarts.

Tom had not expected that response.

The Muggle blood running through his veins told him to close the book. To shove it back onto the shelf and forget about it.

But he was a Gaunt too.

He hesitated, then wrote:

My mother is a Gaunt. She said we’re the descendants of Salazar Slytherin.

The response came instantly:

Oh, I know, Tom. I know.
I can feel Salazar’s greatness flowing through your magic.
You are powerful indeed. Far more powerful than the last Gaunt who opened my prison.

A thrill ran through Tom’s veins at the words.

But something was… off.

The pride swelling in his chest wasn’t all his own. He could feel it—this thing’s emotions, curling around his own like ivy. Forcing them on him.

He should end the conversation. Bring the book to Headmaster Dippet. Or Professor Dumbledore. Or even Professor Malfoy.

But it would be rude to end things so abruptly, wouldn’t it?

His family had locked this creature inside a book and abandoned it. Shouldn’t he at least know its name?

He wrote:

What is your name? What should I call you?

A pause. Then, slowly, the ink swirled across the page:

You may call me…

Lord Voldemort.

And if the pages of an empty book could smile…

Tom knew that this one would be all teeth and venom.

 

 

Notes:

thank you to those who’ve been reading! I hope you enjoy the twists I’m taking with the canon.

If you’re also reading the prequel book, then you already know how much Eileen Prince lied to Severus. And why Merope had to lie to Tom about being his mother. Since Harry didn’t live with Dursleys, I wanted to keep the similarities between Tom, Severus, and Harry. I just couldn’t use the canon similarities.

Also, Cassie is in fact Bellatrix’s daughter. I don’t think it will show up in this fic, but she cheated on Rodolphus. I wanted to clear that up.

And finally ***yes*** Harry is totally going to think about Ravi’s fingers and handsome face. He does this way too much in the books about Tom Riddle, so why not his son?

 

again thank you!

Chapter 4: It's in The Blood

The first week of class came and went, and so did his time with Professor Snape.

Detention with the Dungeon Bat proved to not be terrible at all, despite the frequent comments it must be a nightmare.  In actually, Harry wouldn't say he was having fun, but he was enjoying himself more than he should. Professor Snape seemingly forgotten about the cauldrons Harry was supposed to clean, and the blue hair incident that landed him in detention in the first place. Since their conversation about Lord Voldemort, there was an uneasy understanding between the two. Not only did effect them in private, but it translated into potions class as well. 

His most hated subject became more bearable, something he couldn't have imagined just a few months ago. 

 

"There's been something that's been on my mind all week, Professor," Harry said. "Your dad said something to Mr. Malfoy when we're Flourish and Blotts to get our books."

Snape rubbed his temple. "Must you bring up my father?" he asked, but he didn't even let Harry speak. 

It was Friday afternoon, and Harry was sitting at the professor's desk. His feet swung back and forth, with his toes barely grazing the stone floor. Snape demanded he sat down if he was going to over his shoulder as they talked.

"Just humor me, please," he asked. "So Mr. Riddle and Mr. Malfoy..." he waved his hand in motion to encourage Snape.

Snape rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes tightly. The very mention of what occurred at the bookstore was giving the man a headache. "I'm well aware he had a confrontation with Lucius," Snape said, sighing. "Neither are happy with each other, and I'm stuck in the middle between the two."

"Why would you have to deal with Mr. Malfoy?" he probed. 

"Because, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy is my closest friend, and I am the godparent of his son," Snape calmly explained. "He did not appreciate my father speaking to him that way in public, and now I must appease the man."

"Oh! So you're the person your father was talking about!" 

Snape's brows shot upward. "Is this truly what you want to talk about?" he asked. 

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "No, when Mr. Riddle intervened Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley's growing argument about Hermione's parents, he said Draco's godfather is the son of a mudblood and blood traitor to get Mr. Malfoy to shut up about Hermione's parents. I just don't know what either word means but my mum and the Weasleys didn't seemed happy when he it. Or maybe they're just angry about Mr. Malfoy."

In the span of several seconds, Professor Snape aged by thirty years, making him look older than his father. "Unbelievable. Of course, he said that in that way." the sigh that escaped Snape's lips was one of resignation. "Mr. Potter, I assume you know what a muggle born is, yes?"

Harry shook his head again. 

Snape simply stared at him. "Your mother is a muggle born."

"Yeah, Ravi said that too,” Harry said, thinking about his trip to Diagon Alley. "I don't know what that is. If I had to guess it's because Grandpa and Grandma Evans are muggles, and she's a witch?"

"Ah, yes, excellent observational skills, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled, sarcastic. "Yes, its because Paul and Ruth are muggles and had a witch daughter."

"How do you know my grandparents names?" 

"Never you mind," he snapped, barely letting Harry finish the question. He composed himself before he continued, going right past how he knew their names. "Muggle-borns are magical children born of non magical parents, like your mother, and my father. His parentage is a bit more complicated, but all the same, he's viewed as a muggle-born back in his day. There are some magical families that hate muggle-borns because they absurdly believe they are stealing our magic. They came up with a nasty slur mudblood to insult muggle-borns, and it is not a word to say in polite company." he put a lot of emphasis on this last part, as if Harry would use the word. 

"But your dad called himself a slur?" Every time he learned something new about Mr. Riddle, it just painted the most confusing portrait. 

"My father is not a polite man," Snape said simply, leaning back in his chair with his hands neatly laced together. "Quite the opposite, really. He also grew up in different time where the word was thrown around casually. At this point, he just uses it out of habit and less out of malice. Most of the time," he added, grumbling the words to the point Harry barely heard him.

Snape continued. "There are also purebloods and halfbloods. Purebloods are magical children born to magical parents who have no muggle blood in their lineage. And then there are the half bloods, you and I."

"Because we have muggle relatives ?" Harry asked. When he got a definitive nod, he added, "well this all sounds very stupid. People care about this stuff?" 

Snape offered only a lazy shrug. "Some pureblood families do. There are some like the Weasleys and Longbottoms who do not care about blood status.  They're labeled blood traitors because they're seen as pure bloods forsaking their heritage." 

"And your mother was a blood traitor...?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Because she had a kid--you--with Mr. Riddle, who's a muggle-born?" 

"Yes, you are correct," he answered. He stared at Harry like he was one of the frogs to dissect. "Your mother truly never explained any of this to you?" 

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Nothing."

Snape's expression became unreadable. "I see," he said. He gestured with his hand. "Alright, Potter. That's enough questions for one afternoon." 

Harry slid off the stool, and smoothed out the front of his uniform. There was movement from the corner of his eye, down low on the ground. He turned and saw a incredibly long, and beautiful snake. The snake's underbelly  was a porcelain white that blended into greyish-brown scales on top. It's round black eyes were transfixed on the professor. 

"Shit," Snape hissed under his breath, shocking Harry a little. He didn't think he heard a teacher swear before. The Potions Master stood swiftly and stalked over to the large creature. 

"Masssssster, I am sssssstarving," the snake whined. Voice had a distinct feminine quality, airy and had a melody to it. Harry loved her. 

Snape bent over and whispered low, Harry could barely hear him, "I told you, Persephone, you cannot enter my classroom while a student is in here." 

"It's okay, Professor, I like snakes," Harry cut in. He was practically bouncing on his toes, trying to stop himself from rushing the large reptile. "There aren't many snakes Hogwarts like there are at my house."

Slowly, Snape turned his head, and the snake mirrored her owner, her mouth falling open. Harry was a bit startled to see the inside of her mouth was all black inside. 

"A sssssspeaker!" the snake shouted, it coming out as a squeal. She moved incredibly fast, faster than Harry could anticipate. She was wrapping around the back of Snape's chair, and raised her head to look Harry in the eyes. He did his best to not flinch away, matching her powerful gaze with her own. 

"Hello," he said, giving the snake a wave. He hesitantly reached out and stroke her head. She leaned into his touch. 

"I thought only massssster's brood were the only speakers around!" she exclaimed. 

"What's a speaker?" Harry asked. 

"Are you serious?" Snape asked, now towering over the both of them. 

Harry jumped back, more startled by the professor than the snake. He looked at the snake and then at his professor. "What?" he asked, now regretting saying anything to the snake. Maybe he wasn't supposed to talk to snakes? His mother forced him to stop when he was younger, maybe there was more of a reason than because he was a wizard. 

Snape dragged a hand down his face. "Are you even aware you're speaking another language?" he asked. 

"How can I be speaking another language when I don't know about it?" He asked. 

Snape sighed, and flopped back down in his chair. The grey snake coiled around him, and plopped her heard on his shoulder. 

"Isssss thissss the boy that is not very bright, Masssssster?" she asked. 

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, putting his hand on his hips in way that mimicked Lily. 

Snape flinched, and the snake's hold on him tightened as if to comfort him. "Potter," he began, "have you spoken to snakes before?" 

"No, professor, this is the first time," Harry snarked. A sharp glare from the Potions Master made him correct himself. "Yes, ever since I could remember. I would used to wake up with my yard full of snakes until my mum told me to stop talking to snakes. I figured, after I learned about magic, it's because she didn't want magic around me. Why?" he found himself a bit nervous where this was going. Was he supposed to not talk to snakes. 

Snape rubbed his temples aggressively, visibly irritated. "Oh, sit down, again, Mr. Potter." 

Harry did as he was told. 

The Potions Master tapped his desk, sighing just a little. "What you are, and what I am is a parselmouth. You and I can speak with snakes, such as Persephone."

Harry's eyes widen at the word. "Parselmouth?" he repeated. "am I speaking it now?" 

"No, I switched to English, so you are too. Listen very carefully to the words I speak, listen to the s's, to the soft c's. " Snape explained. He cleared his throat. "Now, I am speaking parseltongue." Persephone lifted her head, tilting it in 

 Harry focused on the switch, and something clicked when Snape moved to speaking parseltongue. To Harry's ears, Snape's soft, deliberate drawl shifted. His voice was closer to a slow-moving river, or a silk scarf falling to the floor. 

"Unbelievable," he said, forcing himself to think about parseltongue. "How come I can speak parseltongue?" 

"It is a magical inheritance. It's a gift that is passed on through blood, one that was widely persecuted all throughout the seventies across Western Europe," Snape said, his lips thinned out into a frown. "If I had to guess, Lily was discouraging you from speaking to snakes to protect you. The persecution ended in the eighties when you were a small boy."

Harry's stomach dropped to the floor, and gnawing terrible feeling over took him. "Persecuted how?"

Snape hesitated before answering. "We were rounded up and killed in mass, Mr. Potter." 

Harry was uncomfortable to learn if he was born just a decade earlier, that could have been him. Or had been him, because hadn't Voldemort tried killing him when he was baby? Was it because he was a parselmouth? "...Is this related to the first war?" he surprised himself when he spoke now in English.

"In part, yes," Snape said. He reached up and stroke Persephone's head. "Parselmagic, at least in Europe, has always been associated with dark magic. The Dark Lord, the man, embraced all forms of magic, even the most forbidden arts. He was most protective over parselmagic. It's something the history books like to pretend didn't happen. The focus, understandably, is over the atrocities he and his followers committed. Over them targeting muggle-borns and blood traitors, like your parents. But the other side was not clean either." His gaze shifted from his familiar to Harry. "I strongly recommend you do not share your newfound inheritance with anyone at the moment, Mr. Potter. I disagree with how Lily raised you, but in this, she was correct." 

Harry nodded slowly, absorbing Snape’s words. The revelation about his inherence weighed down upon him.  

“I… I understand, Professor,” he said, glancing at Persephone, who coiled comfortably around Snape’s arm. She watched him intently though, tilting her head side to side now. The movement made him think of someone else. “Are there are others like us?”

Snape’s expression softened just a fraction, a flicker of a smile passing through his sharp features. "Mr. Potter, I said it was passed on through blood, and I did not inherent my gift from my mother." 

Harry sat straighter. "You mean Mr. Riddle and Ravi and Zahira--That's what Zahira has a pet snake!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Does that mean my father could talk to snakes?" 

Snape grimaced at the mere thought of James Potter speaking parseltongue. "No. In some families, like mine, everyone can speak parseltongue. In your case, I believe it skips several generations. I do not know more than that. My father would know. He's an expert on the language and the culture." 

"Could I tell Ravi at least? He's in my house," Harry pushed. 

Once again, Snape sighed. He waved his hand, shooing Harry away. The conversation was over. "Yes, yes, if you must tell anyone, at least choose him. Now I must prepare for my class on Friday." 

 

Harry left then, saying his thanks, and promising he will not tell anyone he was parselmouth. But Severus had distinct, terrible feeling the whole school will know before winter break. Gryffindors could never lie for the life of them, not unless they were Albus Dumbledore. 

Severus glanced at Persephone, "do you wish to visit your friend?"

"Naginiiiiii!" the black mamba hissed in delight. She uncoiled herself from Severus and slithered across the floor to his back room.  He trailed behind her, slipping inside. 

He flooed her first, tossing her into the flames. Unlike the massive Burmese Python his father claimed as his familiar, Persephone delighted in being flooed around.

He stepped into the fireplace, flames dancing around his robes. He lifted the powder, "the Riddle's cottage," he spoke in a clear voice. Green flames engulfed him. His private chambers disappeared in flash, and he reappeared in the home of his teenage years. But it truly wasn't the sitting room he knew from his youth. When he arrived to his father's home, he arrived to a bachelor pad. The house was once decorated like the extension of the Slytherin common room. Dark gray and black walls and furniture, accented with greens and silvers. Now, the sitting room was designed for Mangala's tastes. The stone walls were repainted to white, but everything else was an explosion of colors. The only that remained distinctively Tom, distinctively Slytherin were the serpent decor, but the snakes came in cascade of exotic colors. The walls were now filled with photographs.   

He cast a glance to the one across from the couch. It was of him at eighteen at his graduation, with Tom. The photograph moved, as all Wizarding pictures do. At the beginning of the photo, they stood side-by-side. Severus was in end-of-year-robes gifted to seventh years. Tom was in one of his tailor-made suits, his hair perfectly swept into perfect curls. Severus had always assumed his hair was stringy and straight like his mother's but after living his father, he learned his hair curled into waves at the ends. It showed in the picture. 

They moved in the picture. Tom's smile turned into a toothy grin. He turned toward Severus and patted his back, and his lips moved. 

He could still hear what Tom had said. "You're out. You're free. You don't have to go back there anymore."

And three years later, Severus would be planning to take over Horace Slughorn's position as Potions Master of the school. 

Severus's jaw tightened, and he swallowed down his bile rising up in his throat at the memory. 

"Nagini's in the backyard." 

Tom's voice carried from the kitchen, and into the sitting room. Severus slipped out of his shoes and left them on the floor next to the fireplace. He reached the entrance way of the living room just as Tom reached the kitchen's. A hallway divided them. 

A smile stretched across his face, and corners of Tom's eyes wrinkled. "Left your prison to visit your old man, have you?" Tom was just the same as he had been in the photo, albeit with graying on the edges on his hair and few more lines on his face. Did Severus resent Tom for aging gracefully while people assumed he was in his forties? Yes. Yes, yes he did. 

"Father," Severus said simply. 

Tom rolled his eyes, but the smile was still on his face. He pulled Severus into a hug, which they both know if Severus had done the same, Tom would pull away quickly. 

Severus accepted the affection and returned it, knowing Tom was rarely in a the right mood to hug another man. Not even his own sons were exempt.  

Tom pulled back, but moved one hand to the back of Severus's neck and lifted two fingers to point in his face. Any traces of a father happy to his oldest child were gone, and in his place was a coldhearted man who had business. "I'm not sure why you're here, but we need to talk. Follow me to my office." 

He squeezed passed Severus, dragging him back into the living room. And like the dutiful son he was, Severus complied, "Yes, Father." 

There was narrow hallway off to the side of the fireplace that led to two doors. The one on the side was to Tom's personal office. 

"Where's Mangala?" he asked. 

Tom stopped at the door, his hand grasping the handle. He looked back at Severus, visibly annoyed. "She's having tea with Molly Weasley and Lily Potter," he said the name like it was a curse. "I swear that woman just does things to spite me." 

Severus bit back a sigh. He particularly did not like the idea of his stepmother befriending Lily either, but he said nothing. Tom searched his face, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every part of Severus's face. Severus found a gentle probe against his mind, but his mental walls were nearly impenetrable. Tom could, if he wanted too, tear every wall Severus constructed over the years. Tom had once, and Severus would like to think his father wouldn't do that to him again. 

"No comment?" Tom asked. 

"What's there to say?" he countered. 

"You're just like your mother," he said, and pushed open the door. He didn't step inside, but held the door open. 

Severus took the insult in stride. It was Tom's go to at this point for the slightest annoyance Severus brought to the man. Severus sat at the tiny two-seater couch up against the wall across from book shelf. Now unlike the rest of house, Tom's office stayed the same. 

Tom closed the door, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He put one cigarette in his mouth before holding the carton out to Severus. 

Severus held his hand up and shook his head. "I am trying to quit. I've been clean for two weeks," he said, hoping Tom would not light that cigarette. 

Tom raised a brow and fire started to burn at the tip. He inhaled and then exhaled. "Yeah, Manny wants me to quit, but fuck that. I've been smoking since I was nine. I'll die smoking," he said, then added, "not that I can die." 

And his fingers found the Gaunt ring on his right ring finger. He stroke the black gem on the silver band like he always did when he talked about his supposed immortality. 

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Severus asked, deciding to placate his father before informing him about the newest parselmouth in Britain. 

"Lucius," he said, his voice cold and detached. "He disrespected me in front of other people the day." 

Severus squeezed his eyes shut. "Father, I have no control over Lucius," he said. 

Tom sat down in his chair at his desk. He inhaled the smoke...that delicious smoke, and blew it out. Severus inhaled the scent. It burned his nose, but how he craved it. 

Fuck. 

He held his hand out, and Tom handed him a cigarette. He brough the butt to his lips, and with a snap, Tom lit the cigarette 

"It's not just him. The old crowd have forgotten who I was, who I am," he said, and shiver ran down Severus's spine. Oh, this wasn't good. "I think it's time I start reminding people, you understand me?" 

Severus’s heart stopped, and the burning sensation on his left arm came back like a ghost. “You promised,” he hissed, more like begged. Pathetic. He was pathetic, begging a madman to not be mad. 

Tom dismissed Severus with a wave of his hand. "I'm not talking about starting another war, but I'm in the process of claiming my place on Wizengamot.”

Severus shakily took a hit off the cigarette. "You're serious? You truly believe the Ministry will allow you to claim both the Gaunt and Slytherin seats? You think Dumbledore—

“Don’t.” Severus was silenced with one word, because he hadn’t forgotten who Tom used to be. A smirk spread around his cigarette.  ”They won't have a choice. But enough about me, what brings you here? I assume your baby siblings are safe and sound or you’d interrupt me by now.”

"They're both fine," Severus said, grateful for the subject change. He could pretend Tom didn't tell him any of his plans. Tom was testing him, he was sure. If he would run to Dumbledore with the news Tom was making political moves. 

But if Tom was doing it legally, then he didn't necessarily need to report back to Albus, did he? He didn't have to betray his father any further than he had.

Tom gave him an expected look to continue. 

"I just had an enlightening conversation with a young Harry Potter," he began. The name gave Tom pause. His eyes widen just a fraction. In that moment, Severus had a choice to not voice what he learned about Harry. Maybe mention Albus forced Lily to lie to Harry about magic. Tom knew all about Dumbledore’s lies, and Tom thoroughly enjoyed bitching about the old man. But honesty escaped his throat before his mind could decide. "Harry’s a parselmouth, Father." 

Tom shifted in his seat, sitting forward now and getting into Severus's space. "Tell me everything." 

 

 

It was in the early hours of twilight when Harry crept out of the Gryffindor tower under the cover of his invisibility cloak. Clutched to his chest was Lockhart's book, the only Lockhart book he wanted to read. 

He travelled through the castle, passing the ghosts and still sleeping portraits. He snuck out of the castle walls to the lake. He went to his favorite tree that was closest to the Black Lake. 

Harry rested the book on his knees, and held his wand to the cover. He muttered lumos under his breath, and the tip lit up. Harry flipped through the pages mindlessly until he landed on a picture that sent a jolt down his spine and quicken his heart beat. On the left page, an illustration of a tall plague doctor, but not the muggle ones wasn't he seen in documentaries over at his grandparents' house. The goggles that obscured the eyes glowed a startling crimson. They peered out from under a hood, and the plague doctor's mask protruded out to make the man underneath resemble a raven or a crow.  The cloak was cut in away to resemble feathers, flapping in the wind. The art work was washed in black and gray ink, with only the eyes to stand out against the darkness. That, and the man's wand. It resembled a bone more than wooden stick. 

Underneath the illustration scrawled in neat handwriting: An artist depiction of You-Know-Who, from 1974. The artist remained anonymous for their own safety. 

This was Voldemort. Not the wraith that possessed Quirrell. This was the man that raged a war against Britain's wizarding population. The man who terrorized everyone to not say his name, long after his defeat. 

He wondered what was the man under the mask. For a split second, Tom Riddle's charismatic and handsome face flashed in his mind, but Harry rejected that thought rather quickly. All throughout his first year, he assumed Professor Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but in reality the man had been protecting him. Just because Mr. Riddle seemed odd and said odd things, didn't mean he was the madman that killed hundreds of people. 

But that did leave who could've been the first man to be possessed by the wraith. Was he even still alive? Harry's gut said yes...and his mind wandered to Tom Riddle again...

Crunch. 

Harry jumped in his seat. He whipped his head toward the direction of the snapped stick. Standing only few feet away was Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. The elderly wizard held his hand up, and looked apologetic. 

"Ah, my apologies, my boy." Harry relaxed, and Dumbledore lowered his hands. "I spotted you on my walk, and thought I'd come over to see what you were doing up so early in the morning."

"Oh! Well," Harry held Lockhart's book, "reading." 

Even at a distance, the familiar twinkle in Albus's eyes could be seen. "What an interesting read. Do you mind if I join you, Harry?" 

"No, of course not," he said, smiling up at his professor. 

Dumbledore lifted his robes just hair before he sat down next to Harry. His bones in his knees popped and snapped, and he let out a dramatic grown. "Never age, Harry, never age." He leaned over slightly and looked at the page Harry was still on. "Well, well, Lord Voldemort. I heard about your discussion in Professor McGonagall's class."

Harry looked back at the eerie drawing. "I'm just curious about the war, sir." he closed the book. He studied the older wizard. "I feel rather behind when it comes to the wizarding world." He didn't want to come out and say it was Dumbledore's fault he was, but a part of him believed it. Albus Dumbledore was the one who told Lily not to tell him anything about magic.

It seemed as though Dumbledore read his mind. "Yes, I suppose that is my doing. After the defeat of Voldemort, I feared you and Lily, especially you, would draw unwanted attention. I hastily gave her the advice of raising you in the muggle world. Give you semblance of normalcy. I recently received an ear full from our resident Potion's Master how damaging that advice was" 

"Professor Snape told you what I said during my detention?" Harry asked. He wasn't too surprised by the professors gossiping. He heard from the Twins the teachers do it all the time. 

"Oh, he did. He was angry on your behalf. Professor Snape cares in his own special way, I believe," Dumbledore said. 

"I think I understand that at the end of last year, Sir," Harry said. He looked up at the aged wizard. He knew Professor Snape had told him to keep his heritage a secret, and Dumbledore was the reason why his mother to lie to him. Yet, Harry was compelled to to be honest with Dumbledore. Dumbledore reminded him of Grandpa Evans. Weathered from age and wisdom, and who always had a war story at hand to entertain him and Dudley. 

And Grandpa Evans always said to be respectful with his elders no matter what. 

"Headmaster, did Professor Snape also tell you I'm a parselmouth?" he asked after drawn out silence between them. 

Genuine shock fluttered across Dumbledore's face. The mischievous twinkle in Albus's blue eyes vanished. But the shock gave way to acceptance rather quickly, and a knowing smile replaced it. "Well, well, there hadn't been a Potter parselmouth in quite some time. The last ones were your great grandfather and his twin sister, Felix and Mallory."

Harry twisted his whole body to face Dumbledore, making the elderly wizard chuckle. "Can you tell me more, Professor?" 

"I never took you to be interested in history, my boy," Dumbledore pointed out. 

Embarrassed by his eagerness, Harry cast his eyes to the lake. "Oh, well, my grandfather--my mum's dad, he would talk to me about our family history when I was younger. I know quite a bit about my mother's side of the family, but really nothing about my father's." 

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "Well, I do have a meeting to get to rather soon, but I have time to tell you about Felix Potter. I went to school with him and Mallory, you see.  The Potters were one of the parselmouth families in Great Britain. There were two others, one died off the other has change surnames entirely. Felix was arranged to marry a Greek girl who also spoke parseltongue."

"To carry on the magical inheritance?" he asked, resting his head on his hands. 

"Yes," Dumbledore said, giving him a curious look. "Did Professor Snape teach you that phrase?" He continued when he nodded. "Professor Snape's family magical inheritance is far stronger than that of the Potters, I am afraid to inform you, but you would do well to learn from him. Now where was I? Ah...Felix, he never married that Greek girl."

"Would...that make him like the 'blood-traitor' for parselmouths?" Harry asked innocently. 

Dumbledore's stare to sharped and his lips thinned out into a frown, and Harry wondered if he overstepped until the headmaster nodded. "Very astute observation, Mr. Potter. Yes, I believe Felix was seen that way by the parselmouth community. Fleamont and Charlus and then of course, your father, James, were not parselmouths." 

"Then who was my great-grandmother?" 

"A lovely woman from France," Dumbledore said. "A miss Juliette Delacour. I believe you have distant cousins still in France." 

Harry perked up at this. "Really? You think they're nicer than my cousin Dudley?" 

Dumbledore laughed and patted Harry on his shoulder. "Possibly, my boy, possibly." he looked out to the lake as the sun had turn the clear waters into a golden hue. "My apologies, Mr. Potter, but I must be going."

Harry scrambled to his feet to offer a hand for Dumbledore. The headmaster took it, using Harry to help steady himself. "Ah, thank you, my boy." 

"Of course, Sir," he said, offering a tiny smile to the man. "Could I ask you more about my dad's side of the family sometime?" 

With a wrinkled hand, Dumbledore ruffled Harry's hair. "Yes, I would love to. Use lemon drop when you come to my office."

 

 

The first Quidditch practice was a disaster. It started when the Slytherin team interrupted them before they began, and ended with Hermione fleeing the field to Hagrid's hut in tears. 

"I'm going to throttle Malfoy when I see him next time I see him!" Ron declared, hurrying down the stone pathway to the hut. 

"You already hexed him to spit out slugs," Harry said, following after Ron. The ginger boy had sprung up a few centimeters over summer and his long legs were carrying him faster. 

"I bloody well don't care! He deserves more!" Ron snapped, not really at Harry but at what happened back on the field.  

Harry nodded in agreement. His face was burning red with anger. He was so angry it made his stomach hurt.  Yesterday, he didn't think much about that word. Mudblood. It sounded ridiculous yesterday. It sounded like a word old people used because they just didn't know any better. But he should've known better after how Mr. Malfoy talked about Hermione's muggle parents. 

And seeing Hermione react the way she did made Harry think about his mum, if she was called that word when she was school, and it just made him more mad. 

The door to Hagrid's hut swung open just as they arrived. The groundskeeper was waiting for them. "She's in 'ere," he said, ushering them in. 

Hermione sat on a bench, facing out the window, sniffling. Fang took up the rest of the bench, resting his big head on her lap. He looked up at her fore longing, whining with her. 

"Hermione told me what happened," Hagrid said, sitting down in his massive chair. He reached across his wooden table and clasped a hand over hers. "There, there, let it out."

She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "You know I really thought the magical community would be different," she looked each and every one of them. "My mother's black, and my father's white. I heard such nasty things about myself, about them. My own father's family said such horrible things about my mum and me, we don't even talk to his parents anymore.  We even took my mother's name so Daddy wouldn't be associated with them." 

She swallowed down her tears, and looked down at Fang. She scratched his ears, "I didn't think I'd be different because my parents are muggles. If I tried really hard at school and answered all the questions," her voice cracked, as she struggled to not to cry even more, "it wouldn't matter I wasn't born into a wizarding family." 

Harry's eyes prickled with hot tears. He didn't have the words to comfort Hermione. He can't say it doesn't matter, because it clearly mattered to some families when it shouldn't. 

"I don't know if it will make you feel better," Ron spoke up, his voice the softest Harry ever heard, "but I made Draco eat slugs." 

That got her to laugh, and just smile even a fraction. "Oh, Ron! No, you're going to get in trouble," she said, but it did seem to work. 

"I don't care if I do, he deserved it!" Ron declared. 

"If it does, I'll tell which ever Professor who tries to give you detention what happened," Hagrid said fiercely. "I'll go to the Headmaster if I have to." 

Harry found himself at the bench. Fang sensed he wanted to sit next to Hermione, moved to the ground, and laid on her feet. He slid next to her, and put an arm around her. "I'm sorry he said that." 

She leaned against him. "Oh, thank you Harry," she said softly. 

"Would you like me to write to my mum? She's a muggle-born too," Harry offered. "You could talk to her about it." 

"I don't want to bother her about this," she said, shaking her head. "it's just silly, I'll get over it." 

"It's not a bother," he assured her. 

"Ya know, I talked to Lily about this very thing," Hagrid said. He tapped the table. "Sat where you are now. Circumstances were bit different, a former friend called her mudblood. She'd be good to talk to, Hermione." 

"Really?" Harry asked, worked up just thinking someone mistreatin' his mother this way. 

"A former friend? That's horrible! At least Malfoy's someone I already hate," Hermione said. 

Hagrid nodded, sighing. "Yeah, yeah, it wasn' very pretty. Ya see, Lily's friend fell into the wrong crowd. Malfoy's dad, Ol' Lucius, was in their year, ya see. The war was rampin' outside the castle walls. You-Know-Who's followers, well, they didn't like muggle-borns all too much. And Lucius was runnin' the crowd of kids who were children of his followers. And Lily's friend got caught up in it. Durnin' back then, this happened frequently. I hate it, but Lily could really help ya." 

Harry made a mental note about the war, adding another piece of the puzzle he was missing. "My mum could also tell you how to deal with complete tossers like she did with Lockhart." that got Ron to snort at least. 

Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip, worrying it. Harry was worried she would make it bleed. "Okay, yeah, I want to write to your mother." 

Ron joined them on the bench. "We should tell Professor McGonagall too. Maybe she can talk to that git Snape about Malfoy." 

"Professor Snape's not a git," Harry snapped.

Ron stared at him like he had two heads. "Has detention rotten your brain? Since when?" 

"Since last semester when he saved us," he argued, "remember? Anyway, I think Professor Snape won't be happy Malfoy called you that." He was sure of it. 

Hagrid nodded along. "Harry's right. Professor Snape takes this seriously."  

Hermione rubbed her eyes once more. "I think I want to write it here. I'm not ready to head back to the castle just yet. Is that alright with you, Hagrid?"

"of course, Hermione. Take as much time as ya need," Hagrid said. He gathered Harry and Hermione supplies to write their letters, and as the three discussed the order of events on what happened out on the quidditch field, he brewed them tea.  

 

Notes:

I hope everyone is enjoying my take on the events and characters. If you're curious more about Severus's and Tom's father son relationship, I have a prequel fic called Two Heirs of Slytherin.

since Ron never broke his wand, Draco is tasting his words as we speak.

Chapter 5: Its In The Walls

Several weeks had passed since the confrontation at the Quidditch field, but the tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin hadn’t faded. If anything, it had festered. The rivalry played out in whispers behind cupped hands, in hexes cast under the lunch tables, and in glares exchanged across the Great Hall. Gryffindor’s House points had been steadily chipped away, mostly due to Snape’s biased punishments, while the Slytherins retaliated with snide remarks and well-placed jinxes.

Professor Snape had given detentions to both Ron and Draco—Ron for the slug-vomiting curse, and Draco for calling Hermione a "Mudblood." Not that it had done any good. As head of Slytherin, Snape had predictably taken Malfoy’s side at first, and everyone knew it.

When he stormed into Hagrid’s hut, demanding Ron explain why Draco had been retching slugs, Hagrid had stepped in before Ron could dig himself deeper.

 

"Remind ya of yer school days, huh, Professor?" Hagrid had said, his voice unusually sharp, eyes glinting with something he must've picked up from Dumbledore.

Snape’s jaw had tightened. His gaze flicked to Hermione just long enough for something unreadable to pass across his face. For a moment, it seemed like he might snap back, but instead, he gave a stiff nod. "Very well, Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy will write you a formal apology—and he will be working with Professor Burbage."

 

The so-called apology had been written in the barest minimum of effort, a single sentence scrawled in Malfoy's slanted hand, but it did little to settle the brewing storm. Tensions ran high in the corridors, and even teachers had started breaking up more scuffles between students.

A week later, Snape had both Ron and Draco serving detention together.

At first, their detentions had been nothing short of a verbal sparring match, both trying to out-insult the other. But Snape—probably hoping they’d hex each other and be done with it—kept extending their punishment. Each session brought more hours of scrubbing cauldrons, organizing ingredient stores, and copying mind-numbing lines.

Now, after weeks of forced detentions, Snape had finally promised that if they managed to behave, this would be their last week. And so, Harry, Hermione, and Cassie had snuck into the trophy room to make sure Ron and Draco didn’t start throwing punches. Well, Hermione and Cassie were just trying to finish their essay for McGonagall's class, not that the two didn't already have well over the page limit for their project. 

Harry paced the down the long, narrow room, idly tossing a golden Snitch into the air and catching it again. He had borrowed it from his last practice—well, borrowed might be a generous word. But Oliver Wood didn't have to know that. He'd return this Thursday. 

Draco had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he sorted through the M section, examining the mountain of Malfoy trophies. His usually perfect, slicked-back hair was now hanging loose, strands falling over his forehead as he frowned at a nameplate, fingers running over the engraved letters.

Hermione and Cassie's soft chatter filled the room with noise, and made the drawn out detention more bearable. Ron was on the other side of the room, down a longer path. And Harry could've just sat next to his best friend, but then that would exclude Draco. Harry knew what was it like to be excluded in primary school when he was the odd kid with odd things happening around him. 

And maybe the could quash Malfoy's ridiculous views on blood purity. 

Harry leaned over one of the engraved markings and saw the name: Abraxas Malfoy, 1939 for rescuing a student from the Black Lake. 

"Who's that?" he asked out of curiosity and boredom. He let go of the snitch and grabbed it once more. "Grandfather?" 

"Yes," Draco scoffed, and set in the clean pile. He was taking much longer than Ron did with the Weasleys. "I didn't get a chance to meet him though."

A sharp pang hit Harry. He could understand not meeting family members. It wasn't just James, it was the entire Potter family. It's been over a month since Albus Dumbledore promised to  tell him about the Potters, and was waiting patiently for more. 

"How did he...well," he awkwardly began to ask, but Draco finished it for him. 

"He died during the war," he answered, his voice a bit distant. He picked up a new one and wiped in circular motions. 

Harry hesitated. Should he say anything? Drop the subject all together? He squirmed in his indecisiveness before asking, "fighting?" 

"Yeah," Draco said, a bit glumly. He set the trophy down and picked up a new one. "Doing what, I don't know. Father and Grandmother won't speak much of it, but Leanan told me he died a hero." 

Harry wondered what that meant who's entire family most likely were Voldemort's followers. He didn't push on that front. "Your family," he looks up at the stack both dusty and cleaned trophies piled in front for Draco, "have a lot." 

Draco gave an undignified snort. "That's because Malfoys are as ancient as the Founders, Potter."

"Not as ancient as the Noble House of Black," Cassie called from the little table she and Hermione had commandeered for studying.

Draco looked back at her, brows furrowed in annoyance. "We're both part of the Black family, git," he snapped, but there was no real bite in his voice. His eyes were on the Snitch Harry was letting go and catching again.

"But I have the inheritance," Cassie said cheekily.

Hermione leaned forward. "How does that even work?"

"Basically, when I turn seventeen, I inherit the entire Black fortune. I got it because Draco has the Malfoy inheritance," she explained. Then she hesitated, fingers tapping lightly against her chair before adding, "And because my mum's in prison. She was—or I guess still is—one of the Dark Lord’s most devoted followers."

She set her pencil down and leaned back, resting an arm over the chair’s backrest.

"I don't mean to pry," Hermione said carefully, "but what did your mother do to land in prison?"

Before Cassie could answer, Ron called out from across the room. "You don’t want to know."

Harry glanced over Draco’s head. "You know?"

"Of course I know," Ron said. "I was the one who told you the entire Black family are nutters—no offense, Cassie."

Draco shot him an offended look. "That’s my family too, Weasley."

Ron gave him a flat stare. "Like I said, no offense Cassie."

Cassie just waved him off.

Ron shrugged. "Mum lost both her brothers in the war, so she made sure we knew the names of every Death Eater and what they did. Bellatrix Lestrange is..." He hesitated. "Well. You don’t want to know."

Cassie nodded, her voice a little harder now. "You really don’t."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, but Ron filled it. "You know, does anyone else feel like they got gaps in their memory?" 

The completely random question took Harry by surprised. Where did this come from?

"No, Weasley, that's just you," Draco said with a disgusted look on his face. 

Ron's eyes narrowed and he sat straighter. "Oh, shut up, no one asked you, Malfoy." 

"You just asked the entire room," he countered, sneering. "Honestly, you are losing your mind."

Harry saw the fight was ready to break out, so he stepped in between the two. He didn't care if Draco kept getting detention, but he did care if Ron did. "What do you mean gaps?" 

Ron relaxed a little, his body slumping. "I don't know how to explain it. Since end of last year, and all summer, I had gaps. I would be one moment helping Mum with dishes in the morning, then next it's night time and I'm going to bed. It's not as bad as now. I seem back to normal now."

"It's probably when you hit your head at the end of the semester," Hermione said matter-of-factly, a bit louder than she normally talked. She was covering up Malfoy's snort and mocking 'yeah normal'. 

"You hit your head?" Cassie asked. "What happened last semester anyway? All three of you were in the infirmary." 

The conversation would have died then and there, but at the sound of the heavy door swinging open, it was completely murdered.

Professor Snape stood in the doorway.

He had forgone his usual billowing cloak, and for the first time, Harry saw him dressed down. Well—as dressed down as Snape could get. Yes, he still wore black slacks and polished black dress shoes, but instead of his traditional teaching robes, he was in just a button-down shirt—which, of course, was also black. Harry didn’t know why, but something about Snape without layers of fabric surrounding him felt almost wrong.

He might as well have been naked.

He also was thoroughly pissed off.

"Why," Snape asked, frustrated, "are there five of you in here?"

"Where's your robes?" Draco countered with a question of his own. 

Snape rubbed his temples with both hands. "Why me?" he asked. His sleaves were rolled up--which was even more bizarre to see. 

Harry couldn't help though, but notice the faint tattoo of a snake coming out of a skull, or the jagged scars covering his arms that resembled claw marks. Did Snape get into a fight with Fluffy? Or a werewolf? 

"If you must know, Mr. Malfoy," Snape continued, his tone snappish, "I had to deal with a potions accident created by our dear Defense Professor. I will not explain further." 

Ron had moved from where he was sitting at to stand closer to the door. His eyebrows shot up into his hair. "Lockhart brewed a potion?"

"Brewed," Snape repeated, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "If you can even call it that. Let’s just say the staff room is no longer usable for the next 48 hours."

Hermione opened her mouth, clearly ready to ask for details, but Snape cut her off with a sharp glare.

"Now," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "why are there five of you here? I was quite sure I only assigned detention to you," he looked pointedly at Draco, "and you, Weasley."

All five of them rushed to explain themselves, and that was a mistake on their parts. They stumbled over each other, Draco throwing them all under the bus, which instigated an argument between him and Ron. It escalated rather quickly to pushing each other. Cassie and Hermione apologizing, and Harry simply saying he was bored. 

"Enough," Snape snapped. "Clearly, none of you are capable of completing even the simplest task without turning it into a circus."

Ron gave Draco a final shove before opening his mouth to protest, but Snape’s glare cut him off.

"Out," he said sharply, pointing to the door. "All of you. Now."

"But—" Draco started, clearly annoyed at being lumped in with the others.

"I said out, Mr. Malfoy. Unless you’d like to lose five points?"

Draco shut his mouth with a scowl.

Snape waved them all toward the exit, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "fifteen points from Gryffindor,  five from Hufflepuff and Slytherin—for being nuisances, loitering, and generally wasting my time."

Cassie and Hermione didn't need to be told twice. They shoved their work into their bags and hurried out the door. As he and Draco shuffled toward the door, Ron muttered under his breath, "Best detention ever."

Snape didn’t even look up, but his voice was low and dangerous. "Ten more points, Weasley." 

Harry stopped at the door, and Snape looked down at him. "Potter, we might have started the year on good terms--after you dyed my hair an offensive shade of blue, but that does not mean I have to tolerate your existence." 

"Tell Persephone I said hello," he said cheerfully, smiling in the face of Snape's annoyance before taking off. 

The five of them shuffled out of the trophy room, heads low and muttering about Snape’s unfairness.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," Ron grumbled under his breath. "He didn’t even let us finish—"

"Shut up, Weasley," Draco snapped, his scowl firmly in place. "You’re the reason he cut it short in the first place."

"Me?!" Ron rounded on him. "You were just as useless." 

"Hardly, if you let me talk," Draco said haughtily, "I could've appeased Professor Snape, I am his godson." 

"Oh please, you were trying to save yourself, Malfoy," Hermione sneered, glaring. "You even blamed your own cousin." 

Cassie nodded in agreement.  

Before Draco could mount his defense and excuses, a shrill, nasally voice rang out from the corridor ahead of them.

"Caught you!"

They froze.

Argus Filch stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching Mrs. Norris tightly. His watery eyes gleamed with excitement as he glared at them. "Out after hours! Making trouble in the corridors! What’ll it be this time, eh? Detentions? Writing lines? Scrubbing the floor with your bare hands?"

"We weren’t doing anything!" Harry protested, holding his hands up...and letting go of the snitch. He watched in horror as the golden ball flew out of reach and down the hall, nearly whacking Filch in the head. 

"You!" Filch snarled, storming over to them in a mad fury. They all backed up several paces back. "You nearly took my eye out! Out of bounds after detention, endangering a staff member—why, I could’ve been maimed!"

"Now, now, Argus," a smooth, echoing voice interrupted.

Nearly Headless Nick floated into view, his head wobbling precariously on his neck as he smiled at Filch.

"Surely there’s no need to make such a fuss," Nick said, holding up a ghostly hand. "These fine young students were merely returning to their common rooms. Why, I was about to escort them myself!"

"Escort them?" Filch’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing. "You expect me to believe you're escorting them each to their different common rooms. They're in completely different locations!"

"Why not?" Nick interrupted, his tone overly cheerful. "After all, it is nearly Hallowe’en, and my dear friends here are, ah, very special guests of honor for a certain event."

Harry blinked. "We are?"

Nick shot him a meaningful look. "Of course, Potter. You did promise, after all."

"Promise what—" Harry started, but Ron elbowed him in the ribs.

"A promise is a promise," Nick said firmly, turning back to Filch with a triumphant smile. "Now, if you’ll excuse us, Argus, I’ll take it from here. Good night!"

Filch muttered something incomprehensible but didn’t argue as Nick herded the five of them down the corridor.

Once Filch was out of sight, Nick let out a theatrical sigh. "That was close, wasn’t it?" He turned to Harry, his head, though, was still focusing on Ron. "Now, about that promise..."

Harry glanced where the snitch flew off too, sighing. Oliver was going to kill him—wait, promise? he looked up at the ghost. "I didn’t promise anything—"

"You did now," Nick said cheerfully. "And I’m delighted to extend the invitation to all five of you! My Deathday Party, on Halloween. It’s a rare honor to celebrate such an occasion with Hogwarts’ finest ghosts. I expect you all there—seven o’clock sharp!"

Cassie's eyes widen and then a smile broke across her face. "I’m in!" 

Draco turned to her, horrified. "You’re not serious. You’re not actually going to—"

"Of course I am," Cassie said, folding her arms. "And so are you."

Draco’s jaw dropped. "Why me?!"

"Because I said so!" the two broke into bickering, ignoring the

world around them. 

"Splendid!" Nick clapped his hands together, his head wobbling dangerously. "I’ll see you all there!"

And with that, he floated off, leaving the trio in stunned silence.

"Brilliant," Ron muttered, the first to recover. "A party full of ghosts. Exactly how I wanted to spend Halloween."

Hermione nudged him. "It might be fun," she argued. She looked back at the two cousins. "If nothing else, we have entertainment." 

Whenever Tom Riddle received a letter from Albus Dumbledore requesting his presence, he knew it was because Ravi did or said something ridiculous. He pulled a prank that went wrong. He started a fight that was too brutal. He instigated a duel, and now another child was in the infirmary. 

But what he thought of was the winter of 1975. When Albus bypassed the letter, and stumbled out of Tom's fire place covered in Severus's blood. He thought of the terror he felt when he heard werewolf. And the rage he felt after when the excuse he gotten was 'it was just a prank, Tom.' 

After raising a child who enjoyed pranking, Tom couldn't imagine his own son luring his classmate to be mauled by a werewolf. Ravi's problem was his nasty temper and impulsivity. 

Tom blamed Mangala for both because he didn't have an explosive temper and he was always in control at all times. 

When he arrived in Albus’s office, midday sunlight streamed through the windows, filling the room with golden light. He wasn’t surprised to see Ravi sunk into a chair, arms crossed, scowling.

Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick stood on either side of Albus’s chair, their faces tight with frustration. All three of them looked as if Ravi had personally ruined their day.

Tom walked over, and just before he reached the desk, Albus summoned a chair. Ravi looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening and smiled, relieved his mother hadn't shown up this time. Still, he sat straighter, and put his hands in his lap like the dutiful son that he was. 

Tom kept a stoic face. He knew that it wasn't good his children never saw him the disciplinarian, but he couldn't bring himself with harsh punishments. He would not tolerate disrespect toward Mangala. Nor would he allow Ravi or Zahira to undermine Severus—that was a line they knew better than to cross. That was one off the few ways his children will ensure Tom's wrath. But when it came to himself? He couldn't bring himself to punish them. It was evident how he will let Severus talk back to him. 

Mangala and Albus claimed Tom spoiled all three, but this implied his children could ever be rotten. 

Albus’s lips thinned, his brows furrowed. His bony, wrinkled hands were folded over the wood of his desk. There was a moment where none of them spoke, because Albus hadn't said a word. Tom grinned in the face of the old man's frustration. In a difference to Ravi, Albus was hoping Mangala did show up. It was if his silenced would summon her here in his office. 

Finally, the headmaster sighed. "Tom, it is a pleasure to see you. Thank you for joining us." 

"The pleasure is all mine," Tom answered smoothly. It wasn't. "Minnie, you're looking as lovely as ever." he said to the head of Gryffindor house. 

The Scottish witch rolled her eyes in expiration. She had never taken by his charm, even when they're in school together. "Hello, Tom," she said, sounding as unimpressed as she looked. 

Tom smiled, enjoying her misery at his company. He then leaned forward to get a better view of Flitwick. "And Filius, I hope your day is well." 

The half-goblin adjusted his glasses, "as well it could be, Mr. Riddle." 

Albus cleared his throat. "If we are done with the greetings, Tom, you must be wondering why you're here." 

"Yes, I am wondering why you're wasting my time," he retorted, not missing a beat. Ravi snorted, and he gave the boy a sharp look. Ravi bowed his head to hide any amusement. Tom might let his children talk back to him, but they knew better to undermined him in front of others. 

If Albus narrowed his eyes and his knuckles grew white how hard he squeezed his hands. "Your son attacked another student." 

"I had good reason!" Ravi argued, snapping. "I explained myself already. I didn't even attack him."

"You punched him so hard you broke his nose and knocked out four of his teeth," Albus corrected sternly.

"I would love to know what the reason was," Tom said, his voice sharp, "because my son has never gotten into a fight that wasn't provoked. 

Albus pursed his lips, because it was true. Ravi might have extreme reactions, he only got that way through provoking. Albus didn't argue, he simply turned to Flitwick, nodding his head for him to begin. 

"Yes, well," Flitwick began, pushing passed the tension between Albus and Tom. "Mr. Verma was in my class with my Ravenclaws. I was working with another student on our assignment, and that is when I heard a commotion. I turned just in time to see Mr. Verma had thrown himself at Darren Cottrell, pushing both the boys to the ground. I used a separation spell, and your son countered the spell with ease. Admittedly, impressive but rather frustrating."

Ravi tilted his head, and smirked. "Thank you--I learned from the best," nodding toward Tom. 

Tom matched Ravi's grin on his face but it fell within a second. "You know, very fascinating, Filius, I thought I asked you why my son attacked this...Darren Cottrell was it? Not the events how they unfolded." 

Ravi turned fully to face Tom now, his amusement fading.
"Cottrell was mocking Padma’s mum’s cooking." His voice was calm, measured.

"And?" Tom prompted.

Ravi’s jaw tensed. "I told him to shut his bloody mouth. Then he said—" Ravi swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists. "He said I should go back to my country and stop stinking up England."

Tom's slow head turned to the three teachers was deliberate. There was a sharp crackle in the air, and stemmed from his magic. "Cottrell's sounds muggle," he began, his tone deathly quiet. 

"Tom," Albus gave a harsh warning, but Tom persisted. 

"So a racist little mudblood--

"Tom!" Albus cut him off, standing up now, but Tom stood too, continuing. 

"Is allowed to mock my family's culture, and when my son defends not only himself and another student from this, he gets punished!" he fired back. "Is that my understanding?" 

Albus opened his mouth to counter, but Tom didn't let up. "This is ridiculous, Albus. You certainly pick and choose who gets punished in this school. What's the damn point of you play grandfather to my children if you're not going to use your trademark favoritism." 

"Mr. Cottrell is being punished," Minerva interfered, holding her hand out to Tom, as if to stop his tirade. "It is just that this is not Ravi's first time seriously harming another student. And each time it happens, you find any excuse for him and argue he should get a lighter punishment. He completely undermined Filius's authority over his own house and classroom." 

"I took a page out of Severus's book," Flitwick chimed in. "One of his young Slytherins called a muggle-born students... that word," he sounded very uncomfortable even thinking of the word mudblood, "and Severus gave him detention and forced him to write an apology letter. It was quite affective." 

This gave Tom pause, and cooled his anger. Just enough to listen to what was being said. He knew they're right, and he hated that they're right. Ravi's temper needed to be...tempered. 

Ha! He would need to save that joke to ruin Severus's day. 

"I see," he began, glaring down at Ravi. "maybe it's time I revoke the privilege of Hogsmeade until I think you're ready to have it again." 

Ravi's brown eyes widen, and his mouth hung open. "wait, what?" he stood too now. "You can't do that!" 

Tom turned his entire body toward Ravi, crossing his arms over his chest and his glare turned viscous. "Excuse me? You want to repeat what I can and cannot do? Or maybe I should go back home and bring your mother here."

Ravi swallowed. Fear overcame the boy. Tom would like to think Ravi was afraid of him, but they both knew it was because Ravi was fearful of his tiny mother and her slipper. 

He promptly sat down, looking down at his feet. "No, sir."

Albus took in a staggering breath, relaxing his shoulders. "Well, now that is addressed. You will still have detention with Professor Flitwick for the next two weeks."

"Yes, Headmaster," Ravi grumbled into his lap. "May I leave now?" 

"You are dismissed," he said, his serene tone returned. 

Ravi stood out of his chair a bit too aggressively, almost sending it to the ground. Tom grabbed the chair before it fell. He lowered his head so he could whisper in Ravi's ear, "I'll resign your permission slip over winter break, unless your mother finds out, then I will deny it."

Ravi perked up, but didn't give anything away. "Bye, Dad," he said, and Tom ruffled his hair in return.

Flitwick followed after Ravi. "Now, Mr. Verma, I am quite curious how, at fourteen, you managed to learn counter spells like that?" 

Ravi's voice faded into the background. Minerva hesitated for a moment before giving a curt nod at Albus. She ignored Tom entirely. 

"It was nice to see you too, Minnie," he called after her in a false cheerful tone. 

She let out a disgruntled groan as she hurried out of the office. 

Tom, still grinning, turned toward Albus,  "and to think, Minerva and I were friends in school."

Albus took off his glasses to rub his temples. "Tom, as your former teacher, I know you she always found you particularly annoying."

Tom pushed the chair Ravi used back. He adjusted his own chair to be more aligned in front of Albus's. He took a seat, at the same time summoning the bottle of brandy and two shot glasses he knew Albus kept in the second bottom drawer. 

"Just help yourself, Tom," Albus said, his tone didn't hide his agitation.

"Don't mind if I do." He lifted the bottle and let out a hum. "Hmmm, I got you this for your birthday, and I can see you enjoyed it." He poured the dark amber liquid in the two glasses, and slid one across the desk. He reached for his pack of cigarettes and lighter in his pants pocket. 

"You always did have expensive tastes," Albus said. He inspected the glass to see if Tom slipped poison in it despite watching him pour it. After a moment, he took a sip. "Clearly you have something to say and took this opportunity to ruin my evening."

"Please," Tom said. his teeth clenched around his cigarette as he lit it, "you love me." That earned him very familiar sigh of exasperation.  

Tom inhaled and exhaled, allowing his lungs fill with that delicious smoke he needed to live. He adjusted in his seat in a more relaxed posture, his right arm resting over the back. His now lit cigarette in between his fingers. His right hand clutched the glass. "We do need to talk."

"About?" Albus motioned with his hand for Tom continue. 

"Harry Potter."

The headmaster's eyes darkened. "Why?"

Tom raised his hand to take a sip, and said, "you know why." 

It was deliberate move on his part. On his right hand he wore two rings. His wedding band, and on his index finger, the Gaunt ring. 

Albus's eyes flickered to the Gaunt ring but back at Tom's, refusing to break eye contact. "What is there to say?" 

Tom swallowed, and brought his cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag before exhaling. "Does the boy have the cloak now?" 

"That is not any of your concern," the headmaster retorted, his voice even and measured. 

He clamped down on his annoyance and did his best to match Albus's tone. "I disagree. It directly affects me that he has the Invisibility Cloak, much like you having the wand does." 

Albus drank from his glass. When he sat it down, he leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers together. "He has the cloak, are you happy?"

"Did you explain--

"He's a child, Tom," Albus cut him off, but kept his tone light. Condescending. Arrogant bastard knew how he hated when Tom spoke like that to him. "Allow him be a child. You did enough damage taking his father away and leaving him a traumatized mother."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Please, I saved that family," he argued, and Albus raised a bushy, white eyebrow. "James was nasty little man who would've eventually began to beat Lily and Harry. Admittedly," he paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "I shouldn't have chased the girl around the house...or tried murdering the boy. Those were mistakes?" 

"Trying to murder a toddler is a mistake?" Albus asked flatly.

Tom shrugged. "He survived, didn't he? And he survived thanks to the Cloak, am I wrong?" he didn't wait for an answer and continued. "Albus, he's like us, you and me. Cursed. You have your wand, I got my grandfather's fancy ring, and the boy has the cloak. When are you going to tell him?" 

"When he's older," he said, without a care.

A hot rage shot through Tom. He grabbed the shot glass and through it at Albus's head. The headmaster didn't even flinch as zipped to the side and hit the wall behind him. The glass shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, glittering in the twilight of the evening. 

"When he's older!" Tom bellowed. "Are you bloody well insane? You're going to wait to explain our curse? Did you learn nothing from me?"

Albus remained calm in the fact of Tom's anger. "Now, was was that necessary?" he asked calmly. "You're in your sixties, and you ask worse than your children." 

"Albus," Tom began yet a sharp hand raise from the headmaster gave him pause. 

"Harry needs time to adjust to the wizarding world," Albus said, "give me another year, and I will explain everything once's slightly older. But I will tell him, I will not repeat the same mistakes I did with you." 

Tom didn't believe it. Didn't believe Albus would the right thing for anyone, only what was best for himself. Tom knew this because he and Albus were one in the same, that's how he knew how the old man operated. That's fine. 

He will tell Harry about their shared curse himself. 

  He took a hit off his cigarette, not really inhaling. "Very well, Albus," the smoke leaving his mouth when  he talked. "We will do it your way for now." 

"Thank you, Tom," Albus said smoothly. 

Tom grunted and pushed himself back from the desk. He adjusted his vest. "Yeah, yeah. See you at Christmas?" 

"I will bring you an early birthday cake," he promised, with that oh so annoying twinkle in his eyes. 

Tom turned on his heel, heading for the fireplace. He didn’t get far.

Decades of experience told him the signs before his body even failed. His vision warped—black spots blotting out the corners. His stomach lurched of this morning's breakfast. Light. Weightless. Wrong.

Thaumatic Shock. His magic was being depleted.

The thought barely formed before the floor rushed up to meet him. He didn’t even have time to speak.

But he didn't hit the ground. 

Old, but strong hands caught him before he totally collapsed. 

"Tom—Tom!" Albus’s voice, sharp with an edge of something too close to concern for Tom’s liking.

Tom’s chest tightened as his heart raced, too fast, too erratic. He couldn’t breathe. His limbs refused to obey him. Magic, his magic, was slipping through his fingers.

Albus lowered him to the ground, propping him up against the chair as his hands hovered over Tom’s pulse. Too rapid. Too weak.

Tom barely managed a sneer. "Worried about me, Old Man?" His voice was hoarse, mocking—but laced with real, visceral fear.

Albus ignored the jab. “Stay still,” he ordered, flicking his wand over Tom, his face grim.

But then it changed—Albus’s expression flickered from concern to something else entirely.

A pulse of magic rippled through the castle itself, rattling the delicate trinkets on Albus’s desk. Books on the shelves shuddered, and a deep, low hum reverberated through the very stone.

Albus stiffened. A pull deep in his bones, an ache in his magic, an echo of something old, something breaking within the school. But what? 

"I'm going through Thaumatic Shock," Tom wheezed out. 

"So is the entire school, my boy," Albus said, his voice distant and, yet serious. "Stay here, I am going to retrieve Poppy. Do not get up, please, for once do not be stubborn." 

Tom let out a faint, breathless laugh, but it lacked his usual bite. His already pale skin had gone waxy. He didn’t argue.

He simply grunted.

And that alone told Albus just how bad this truly was.

Lily didn't expect to hear from the Hogwarts on a random Thursday in the early evening, but when her fireplace came to life, it wasn't hard to ignore. A letter sent through flames, requesting her to come immediately, and all she felt was dread. 

Last year Harry was attacked by that awful Quirrell, an Death Eater loyalist who slipped through the cracks of checks and balances. Now what could've happened to her son this time? 

She didn't get much time to contemplate. She was yanked through the fire without much warning. 

She let out a yelp as she fell on the stone floor. She glanced up and saw Severus towering over her, with his morose expression and all black robes. 

Anger flared in her chest. She sprung to her feet rather quickly, brushing off the soot off her denim skirt and blue jumper. "What the fuck, Severus." 

"Eloquent, as always, Evans," he drawled out the word. 

She ignored her Maiden name and looked around. She was in the Headmaster's office but with no Headmaster, unless she counted the hundreds of portraits either napping or looking at them. "Where's Albus?" 

"He's in the hospital wing, there's been an accident," Severus said, avoiding her wandering eyes. 

She stopped and truly looked at him for the first time in well over a decade. Nothing made you feel older like seeing the man you knew since you were both nine. His hair was still long. It was stringy and straight--he hadn't had time to wash out the grease that weighed down his curls. His sallow skin was marred with bags under his eyes. And while she developed laugh lines, he gained permeant frown lines. They're the same age, but he just seemed older.  

"What accident?" she asked, concerned. "Did something with Harry again?'  

He was staring at anything but her and it grated on her nerves. Her child was possibly hurt and Severus was making it awkward. 

"Severus." she said sharply. 

He blinked, and finally looked her way. "He's fine, for the most part. But he was hit with a case of Thaumatic Shock," she let out a gasp, "while he was practicing Quidditch." 

A mix of fear and anger overcame her. "What!" 

"He then broke his arm when he fell and Lockhart attempted to heal his broken bones," Severus continued this nightmare tale, ignoring her distress. "And caused them to vanish instead." 

Mortified, she let out an exclaimed, "what the fuck!" 

They both ignored the disgruntled portraits of past headmasters for her language. 

"What the fuck is happening in school?" she demanded. "Last year, a Death Eater attacked my son over a fucking rock—I still don't know the full story about that—and now this!? Hogwarts was never this unsafe when we're children." 

He stared down at her, his brows knitting into a glare. "Maybe for you."  He reached for the top of his high collar and pulled it down to reveal nasty claw marks. 

She took a moment to breathe and calm herself, though the dread she felt for her own child and rage at the school's incompetence was still palpable. But arguing with Severus wouldn't do anything. "Can you just take me to Harry, please." 

"Of course," he said, gesturing for her to go first. 

She took a few steps before stopping to look back at him, giving her once friend a sharp look. "And it's not Evans anymore. It's Potter." 

The walk down the narrow stairs out of the Headmaster's office was painfully silent, but so was the eleven years of distance. Lily forced the past of her mind, focusing on the now. She wouldn't be Severus and be stuck in their late teenage years. 

The gargoyle disappeared beneath the stone floor, and he stepped aside to go down first. 

She did spare him a glance, taking in his teaching robes, and cloak. "You dressed eerily like Eileen," she said, unable to help it.  

Eileen Snape stalked Cokesworth in long black coat, and dress, with the fabric bellowing around her legs. 

"All members of the Prince family dress this way," he drawled out, bored with the conversation began. 

"Weren't you disowned for the," she motioned to the claw marks on his neck, "moon infliction." 

He raised a brow at her. "Is that what we're calling lycanthropy?" He said the word in such a low whisper she could barely hear it. "But no, I was disowned because my mother decided I needed two muggleborn fathers." 

"Then why present yourself as Prince?" she asked, more wanting to avoid the silence between them more than anything. "I never understood that about you, the way you clung to pureblood perception they hate people like you. Halfbloods with blood traitor mothers who ran off with muggle-borns like me." 

"Says the woman who clings to a pureblood legacy that's not even hers," he countered, a harsh edge entered his voice. "Being a Slytherin is all about perception. And despite living in the slums of Spinner's End, my mother raised me act like a pureblood. I walk like one. I talk like one. I know their rules, their customs. I am part of their world, and have been since we stepped onto that train. You are an outsider, not because you're a muggle-born. But because you chose to remain outside the magical community."   

Severus's words cut deeper than Lily expected, but she didn't let it show. She was poking at him, truthfully. She knew Eileen was sore subject, and she wanted to find ways to make him hurt like his distance hurt for eleven years. And that hurt was longer than that. It started with Mudblood. It started even before he called her that awful, awful word. 

It started, like he said, their first ride to Hogwarts. 

The two stared at each other for a long time, letting the decades of hurt sting longer. The first time they shared space in over a decade, and they needed a road map to reach each other. 

They fell back to silence as they walked down the passageways of the castle. They passed a hallway filled with statues of golden armor and maroon tapestries. One was lumpy and moving around, and distinct giggling could be heard from underneath. 

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Clearwater," he asked, in sharp tone that carried around them. The two teens scrambled from behind tapestry , and run. But they didn't get far enough enough before he yelled, "ten points from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw!" 

Lily looked down the spot then up at Severus. And the nostalgic need to tease him over came her better senses. "Didn't McGonagall catch you and Sirius Black there in our Seventh year?" 

Severus's pale cheeks turned pink, either from embarrassment or anger. "Do not remind me of that-that bastard. One of the worse men I've ever dated." 

"Hey, I let James talk me into letting Sirius being my son's godfather, how do you think I feel? I wanted Peter," she grumbled, a pang of anger and grief overcame her. Anger at Sirius's betrayal, at Peter's death. 

She didn't miss his eye roll. "Potter would convince you his loyal dog," he spat dog like it was an insult--and it was to a werewolf, "was a better fit than anyone else. They're both idiots." 

"Please, don't insult my dead husband," she sighed, "you better not insult James in front of Harry." she jabbed a finger against his arm.

"They're not insults if they're true," he said smoothly, absolutely confirming he does talk badly about James in front of Harry...

She struggled to be mad at him for it, but she can't. She knew how horrendous James was to Severus.  

They neared the hospital wing, and heard two distinct voices from behind the closed doors. 

"Tom, you are not using that spell on one of my students!" Albus said, his voice somewhere in between composed calm and angry shouting. 

"It would be quicker than that potion," Tom Riddle argued, his tone laced bemusement as if he was trying not to laugh at Albus's  

Lily frown turned into a scowl. She turned to Severus sharply. "What's your lunatic father doing here?" she hissed. 

Severus rubbed his temple. "My younger brother punched another student, and my father was called in because my step-mother was busy." 

"But why is he--oh, never mind," she said, in a huff. 

Lily stormed to the doors and pushed open the doors. Her entrance paused the brewing argument between Albus and Riddle. They turned toward the door. She scanned the room, spotting Riddle's two younger children in beds on the left side. A monstrous serpent coiled around his daughter’s hospital cot, draped over her like a weighted blanket. Zahira was visibly more sickly than Ravi and Harry as she ran a tiny hand over the snake's head. The snake acted as if it were a dog giving comfort to a sick child. But it wasn't a dog. It was a man-eating snake that could swallow Hagrid whole if it wanted too. 

The only thing that prevented the scream escaping Lily's throat is was Harry's bewildered call out to her, "Mum?" 

She snapped her attention to her right. Harry, her only son, was laying in a hospital cot, with his arm limp, gelatinous, and entirely boneless. 

She walked around Albus and went to Harry's side. She sat on the bed next to him, running her head over his hair. "Oh, my God," she said, staring at his arm in horror. 

"Mum, what are you doing here?" he asked, not seeming to understand gravity of his bones were missing.  

"I'm here because you're hurt," she looked over her shoulder, glaring ferociously at Albus. "Is Lockhart going to be fired for what he did to my son's arm?" she demanded. 

"Ah, Lily, how good is it to see you," Albus began, with a softer voice than he had a moment ago. Her glare turned sharper, indicating she wasn't in the mood for greetings while her baby was in the hospital again for the second time in under six months. He cleared his throat, taking the hint. "Ah, yes, well. It's complicated."

"If I have to use the Daily Prophet, it will be," she spat out. She never used her status as Lily Potter, mother of the Boy Who Lived, but she would to get Lockhart fired. 

"Unfortunately, the position is quite difficult to fill," Albus tried to explain. He looked back at the doors when Severus quietly closed them with a soft click. Her turned back to Lily, continuing, "the curse on the Defense position turned it into a less desirable job for anyone to apply too." 

"The curse's actually real?" Ravi asked from his bed across the room. 

Riddle answered for Albus. "Oh, yes, the curse is very real. You see," he paused, turning toward Severus, "how old are you, son?" 

"Thirty-three in January, Father," he responded, indifferent to this entire conversation. 

"Right!" He snapped his fingers. He paced in between the beds, and Lily's eyes followed him around the room like he was real dangerous snake in the room. "So unrelated, about thirty-four years ago, a very ambitious, charming, talented, intelligent young individual was slighted by an unseeingly old bastard in this very room for the Defense position and wasn't hired despite his—or hers—over qualifications for said position. He—or she—may, or may not have cursed the entire castle in revenge." He looped right back were he started. "Or so I have heard." 

Albus just stared at him for a moment like he was going to respond but shook his head, and waved off Tom as if it wasn't worth his energy. "Lily, as soon as I find a replacement, I will terminate Lockhart. You have my word." 

Lily gave a short nod. "Good," she said sharply. She turned back to Harry, running a hand over his his messy black hair. "How did your magical core drain?" 

Harry's eyes widened and shrugged, showing he didn't have much answers. Truthfully, she didn't expect he would. 

"We are not sure what happened," Albus said slowly, moving around her to the other side of Harry's bed. "However, if you could guess with Ravi and Zahira in here," he motioned to the two. Lily glanced at the girl before forcing herself to look away. The giant snake made her incredibly uncomfortable. "Harry was not the only one to experience  Core Drain Fatigue--

"Thaumatic Shock," Tom was quick to correct. "Please, Albus, you're an educator. Use the medical term." 

Albus stared at him for a second and repeated, "Harry was not the only one to experience Core Drain Fatigue. And Tom, who was visiting, and Severus also empierced this attack on their magical core. As far as we know, only these five experienced this shock." 

Lily's heart sank. She knew where this was going. "Is it because they're all...Parselmouths," she said the word reluctantly. 

Harry frowned, and she didn't know if it's because he didn't know what he was yet. Or being in room with a family full of Parselmouths meant he did. And found another thing Lily kept from Harry. Oh, she should've told Harry what magic was before he got his Hogwarts letter, ignoring Albus's suggestion all together. 

"That is what we are thinking," Albus said, nodding his head, glancing at Tom. 

"The attack is rather similar to how the Committee used to butcher the clans," Tom said, fishing for a cigarette and his lighter. "But they didn't just drain their magic. No, they got creative. They cornered Parselmouth clans. Cut out their tongues, slit their throats, choked them with silver--

Ravi sat up from his relaxed position, and shouted, "Dad!" His glare held the intensity he got from Tom. 

"What?" Riddle asked. 

Zahira whimpered and curled further into the snake, and like a protective mother, the snake wrapped tighter around her in return. The snake hissed something at him, something harsh. If she had eyelids, she would be glaring at Tom. 

Tom rolled his eyes. "She needs to know her history. You all should know what was just done to us not even ten years ago."

"She's eleven, you fucking lunatic!" Ravi shouted. 

Tom opened his mouth to counter, but Severus moved from his spot against the door. "Father, enough. No one needs to hear the details." 

Lily held Harry's good hand tightly. She looked from Zahira to her own son's face. Harry paled, and his eyes were as wide as his circled lenses, glossy with fear. "Is someone going to cut out our tongues?" 

Lily didn't know how to insure her son he was safe when he clearly wasn't. This wasn't even the first time he been attacked in the school.

Albus was too busy burying his face in his hands to say anything, but Tom seemed to grasp he went too far without the headmaster's stepping in. 

He waved his hands, the smoke from his cigarette trailing around him. "Alright, alright. There’s no need to panic—I may have been a bit… descriptive." 

He inhaled and exhaled as he walked over to the bed next to Zahira's. He put his cigarette in his mouth, clutching it in between his lips and gently pulled her from the snake's grip. There was tug before the snake let go, and Zahira left willingly to be in her father's arms and lap. The massive snake slunk off the bed and fell to the floor. 

Lily, unconsciously, pulled her legs back. She did not want that thing to touch her at all.

But that thing—that monstrous serpent—began to change. Scales rippled like liquid silver, her body folding inward, stretching, reshaping. A long, elegant arm extended first, dusky-skinned with faint, pearlescent markings catching the light. The shift was seamless, too smooth for an Animagus, like something older, weightier. Cursed. Lily could spot a curse, and that woman did not choose to become a snake like James chose to become a Stag. 

And then she stood, tall and composed, brushing a hand over the front of her pinstripe suit as though adjusting a wrinkle that wasn’t there. Silver streaked through her black hair, framing a face lined with something sharper than age—permanent grief. She looked older than Tom, and familiar. Very familiar, but Lily couldn't for the life of her couldn't place where. 

"Hey, you're like Professor McGonagall," Harry said, with a bit more excitement. His fear Tom had instilled into him a moment ago vanished. 

"I assure you it is not the same," she spoke, not in an unkind voice, but still cold. Her voice was smooth but clipped, the syllables stretching slightly in a way Lily embarrassedly couldn't place—not British, not European, something else. Her black eyes flicker to Albus, crossing her arms over her chest. "If this was truly an attack on Parselmouths, how will you find out? Draining children of their magic is quite serious. How do we know it won't happen again?" 

Now someone was asking real questions and not just driving the children to be fearful. 

"Nagini, I already put a protective measure in place in case it does happen again," Albus said calmly. He motioned to Severus. "And Severus will be investigating the matter personally."

"I have a personal interest in my siblings not dying, so of course I am investigating it," he drawled. 

"And Harry," Albus added. 

"Debatable," he deadpanned, earning a sharp glare from Lily. "Speaking of what are we doing with Mr. Potter's disfigured arm?" 

Everyone in the room looked down to Harry's boneless arm draped over his stomach. Harry looked at the headmaster, frowning. "I need my arm to write my essay in potions. It's due tomorrow."

"I am sure Professor Snape will give you an extension," he assured, patting Harry's back. 

"I won't," Severus said bluntly. 

"The kid is missing his bloody bones, stop being a dickhead," Tom said, motioning to Harry with his free hand. Zahira had moved off his lap, but sat close to her father. He had an arm around her to give her comfort. He looked over his shoulder to the back door. "Where is Poppy? How long is it to brew Skele-gro?" 

As if he had summoned her, Poppy Pomfrey came bursting through the doors. She halted when she saw Nagini, and frantically looked around for the massive snake. But it seemed the snake's disappearance didn't matter as she shook her head and looked at Albus with a worried grim. "I can't make the Skele-gro potion, Headmaster. My supply of thestral bone powder is gone." 

Albus stood up at once, hands on his hips. "How?" 

Ravi had pushed himself to the front of his bed now, so he had a better look of Pomfrey. "Why do you need thestral bone powder?" 

"I don't know how," she answered first, and then looked at Ravi, frowning. "It's the key ingredient for skele-gro." 

Several emotions flickered across the young teen's face. Shock being the main one, followed by guilt. "Oh...," he looked at the ground for a moment before looking up sharply at every adult in the room. "Okay, look, if a experimental potion suddenly makes its way into circulation around Hogwarts in, say, March—completely unrelated, okay?"

Tom nodded with an impressed smile. "Plausible deniability, I approve." 

Ravi perked, and flashed a toothy smile, "thank you, Dad!" 

"That's brilliant," Harry cut in, not amused at all. Lily wasn't either, but she would let Albus handle whatever in God's name Ravi was planning in March. "My arm is all floppy in the meantime. I would like to have my bones back before Gryffindor Quidditch match in two weeks. Maybe you can tell Oliver why his Seeker can't play." 

That threat was enough to wipe the smile off Ravi's face. "I had nothing to do with it. I just...maybe know who might know something about the missing bone powder." 

Pomfrey scowled. "Oh, I bet you do. And we'll have a sharp word with the twins. But it will take at least two days to get approval from the school board, and Lucius Malfoy will drag out the approval no doubt so his son's team can win." 

"I fail to see the problem," Severus said coolly. "it sounds like a plan to me." 

Lily whirled in her seat to glare at her former friend. "Really?" 

Tom sighed, stretching his arms as if bored with the whole ordeal. "Well."

Lily’s stomach twisted. That was not a good well.

"Tom," Albus warned, already knowing where this was going.

Tom smirked and pushed himself up from his chair with an elegant ease. The weight in the room shifted—he was still relaxed, but something in his stance changed. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them slightly as if preparing for something. Like he knew he was about to cause a problem.

"I know of an alternative," he said, his voice smooth as ever, as though he were offering tea instead of forbidden magic. His smirk widened, knowing full well what he was doing.

Nagini, who had been quiet until now, exhaled sharply and crossed her arms, watching Tom with the distinct judgmental glare of an older sister unimpressed with her sibling’s antics. Severus closed his eyes for a brief moment like he was already mentally preparing himself for whatever was about to happen.

Lily braced herself, looking at Tom carefully. She had met him before, years ago, and she remembered exactly how he was. Brilliant. Dangerous. And absolutely mad. And that madness dragged her childhood friend down with him. 

"I know of an alternative," Tom repeated, his sing-song voice laced with amusement, as if he wasn’t suggesting something deeply illegal.

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tom."

Tom grinned. "Much faster than Skele-Gro."

"What is it?" Harry asked, curious and innocent to Tom Riddle's vileness. Lily should've told Harry to not to trust Mr. Riddle after they met in Diagon Alley before school started. 

"The spell is illegal, Mr. Potter," Albus answered right away, but not really to explain the spell. 

"Is there an alternative to the alternative?" Lily asked, because she didn't want to hear the suggestion. 

"Why is it illegal? We don't even know what he's going to suggest," Harry argued, his brows furrowed in expression that was pointedly like Petunia's when she was seeing something that disgusted her. 

"Its illegal because the Ministry deemed it so an odd thirty years ago," Tom said smoothly, with a false frown. "It's an instant bone regrowth spell. No pain, no feeling at all. I just need bones from the dead, and they will regrow into new ones in your arm." 

"Necromancy?" Lily stood up, furious. "You want to use necromancy on my child?" 

"No one is performing necromancy in this school," Albus said forcefully. He pointed a warning figure at Tom like he was scolding a naughty first year and not a grown mad. "Tom, enough." 

"I'm not offering pure necromancy, I am simply suggesting necromanic-healing," he said coolly, finishing off his cigarette. He put the rest out on the bottom of his shoe. "Is there something wrong with that?" 

"Yes, there is!" she cut in. "Dark magic is dangerous."

"Lily, Lily, Lily," he gave her a smug, condescending smile that was wrapped in cruelty. "How's your apparitachexia?" 

She blanched, and her cheeks turned redder than her hair at the question. "How dare--the nerve!" she spat out. 

"How dare I help you with your apparitachexia with so called forbidden magic? I know, how cruel," he said, tsking at her. "I help my son's best friend of a nasty illness, and I am offering to do the same for her son, the nerve of me. Truly awful."

Lily shouldn't be surprised the barely a half-blood who manipulated his way into a pureblood supremacist group  would throw helping her in her face, but she was. She looked to Severus on instinct, but like they're fifteen, he chose his deranged father over her. Now that wasn't shocking. 

"Do I have a say?" Harry asked from his bed, scowling from his bed. "It's my arm."

Lily turned to look at him, frowning. "Harry, it's dark magic. And the worse kind of dark magic."

"So, Lockhart can vanish my bones instantly without a trace, and that's not dark magic. That's just normal, light magic. But Mr. Riddle has a small spell that's just taking existing bones someone isn't using because they're dead," Harry said, snappish, "and that's dark? That's a bit ridiculous, now isn't it?" 

He looked away from her. "You know, I'm starting to see why Voldemort started that bloody war."

Madame Pomfrey let out a sharp gasp, and Albus was taken aback. He couldn't bring himself to say anything but, "Oh, Harry."

Severus and Nagini were just stunned into silence, along with Ravi and Zahira.  

Lily felt a sudden stab of betrayal that cut deep into her. How could her own kid say that? But...it wasn't like she raised Harry to fear Voldemort's evil ideology...no because she hadn't raised with magic at all. 

Tom let out a low chuckle. "Well, well," his deep, smooth voice cut through the tension.  "And here I thought Hogwarts' education was lacking." 

He passed Lily and Albus, muttering a sharp excuse me. He wasn't stopped because what solid argument was there against what Harry had said? 

Tom loomed over Harry now, tall, poised, elegant. In the dim candlelight of the infirmary, the angles of his face sharpened, his expression unreadable. The bone-white wand in his hand seemed carved from something ancient, something that had not belonged to the living in centuries.

"Now, Mr. Potter, let us see that arm of yours," he said in his most medically professional voice. And it was convincing. It could almost make one forget he was about to use a form of necromancy on a twelve-year-old boy.

Harry raised his drooping arm, gaze flicking briefly to Lily before looking away.

Tom didn’t break eye contact. He lifted his wand, and the room fell silent. The air felt charged, too still, like something unseen was waiting, watching.

And then he spoke, no, more like sang the chant.

"Os ex mortuis surgit, os ex mortuis surgit."

The words coiled through the air, thick with power. The lights in the infirmary shuddered, and plunged them all into a blanket of darkness. Zahira let out a sharp gasp, and went to Ravi's side. Nagini stepped closer to her charges. 

"Os ex mortuis surgit, os ex mortuis surgit," Tom repeated. 

Lily clutched at her chest, and in the dark, Severus had moved to her side. He put a hand on her shoulder, anchoring her. 

"Os ex mortuis surgit, os ex mortuis surgit!" 

And the lights flickered back to life for them all to see the spell go into affect. 

A soundless crack rippled through Harry’s body. The bones in his arm—summoned from the grave—snapped into place, seamlessly fusing beneath his skin.

The magic wasn’t violent. It wasn’t grotesque.

It was clean. It was perfect. 

 Harry hesitantly flexed his arm, gingerly touching it. "It doesn't hurt," he said softly. 

Lily's breathing was shallow, nervous. That was worse, because dark magic was supposed to come at a price. That's what made it dark. 

"I wouldn’t have suggested it if it were to cause pain, Harry," Tom said, voice smooth, quiet, almost gentle. "I’m not in the business of hurting children."

Severus made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"My stomach feels funny," Harry said, staring at his lap. 

"Funny how?" Albus asked, concerned and yet also angry what Tom had just done. What he allowed. 

Tom waved him off. "The boy had his magic drained, and the spell I used just took...a tiny part of it as well. He needs food is all." With his wand, he summoned a bright apple from down in the kitchens of Hogwarts. He brushed it against his vest to clean it before handing it to Harry. "Here you go. I think there's a muggle saying about apples and doctors. Fortunately, it's not true at all." 

And Harry smiled, accepting it without hesitation. And why would he? He didn't know the hand that fed him was poisonous. 

 

 

Chapter 6: And then The Righteous Man Blesses His Son

An autumn chill slithered through the castle, curling under doors and settling into the cracks between stone walls, making the pipes creek. October was nearly over, and tonight was Halloween.

Harry didn’t know how to feel about it.

Just like last year, he wasn’t with his mother when he should be—like he had been for the first nine years after James’s murder. He wasn’t standing by her side as she traced the letters of James's. He wasn't feeling the damp leaves under his feet, or smelling the wetness of autumn and winter mixing on the wind. He wasn't surrounded by the stillness of the cemetery, something Harry could never say about Hogwarts despite its walls being filled with ghosts. 

Harry wasn't reading the same Bible verse that was engraved onto his mind far deeper than it was James's headstone. 

"The righteous man walks in his integrity; his children are blessed after him."

His father had been murdered on Halloween. That should mean something. And maybe it did—but not here. Not when he was about to spend the night at a ghost’s Deathday Party, surrounded by the dead, but not the one who mattered most.

Harry abandoned Ron in their dormitory, where he and Seamus were still arguing over Quidditch teams and this year’s standings. Dean and Neville had long since left for the Halloween celebration in the Great Hall—the one filled with snacks and crafts for the first and second years, while the older students were at Hogsmeade.

As he walked down the narrow steps leading to the common room, a striking violin melody cut through the quiet, cold air. The music mingled with the dim firelight, settling into the stillness like something waiting to be noticed.

He found the source. The sight gave Harry pause.  Ravi sat at the windowsill, bathed in soft sunlight, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings. Each note was precise, the movement fluid, like second nature to him. The glow of the sun framed him perfectly, catching in his dark hair and making him look almost untouchable.

The song was somber, and the air nipped at his skin, but warmth curled in Harry’s chest, spreading to his cheeks until they burned pink.

Ravi stopped playing, having noticed Harry was there. He raised a bemused eyebrow at Harry. "Yes?" 

Harry shook the odd sensation bubbling in his chest. "Sorry, I was a taken back by the song." he walked over and Ravi moved so he could sit down. "What were you playing?" 

"An Ominous Lament," he said, sitting his violin and bow down. "By composure Sebastian Sallow. It was written for his dead lover. Or that's what Professor Orsino explained in his class. My music tutor said it was too complicated for a fourth year, so I have decided to prove her wrong." he said with a shrug of his shoulder. "What are you up to?" 

Harry snorted. Naturally Ravi learned a difficult piece out of spite. His family ran on spite. "Waiting for Ron and Hermione so we can we go to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party."

Ravi tilted his head to the side, a smile stretched out thin as if he was trying not to laugh. "Deathday Party?" 

"Don't ask," Harry grumbled, still regretting how he got dragged into that bit of a mess. 

"Can I ask to join you?" Ravi countered. 

Harry's brows shot up in his hair. "You want to come with?" 

"Well, yes," Ravi said, motioning with his hand. "I can't got to Hogsmeade, and I'm in detention until Winter Break for," and he raised both hands to make air quotes, "'stealing school property', I need something fun to do." 

"And you think going to a Deathday Party is fun?" Harry asked, incredulous 

Ravi smirked in a way that Harry didn't trust at all. They had different mothers, but Ravi had the same expressions as Snape that were just evil. 

 "What I think," Ravi said in a sing-song voice,  "is fun is that you've been speaking Parseltongue this whole time without realizing it."

Harry blinks.

Then it clicks.

He replays the last few moments in his head and freezes.

“Wait—have I?” he asks, suddenly horrified.

Ravi grins, mimicking Harry’s own words back at him in a perfect hiss, and Harry realized, the prat had been speaking Parseltongue the entire time as well. 

He groaned and leaned back the window. "Merlin, I thought I caught on by now." He forced himself to speak English. "I'm rather pathetic at this." 

"It’s okay," Ravi patted his leg like he was comforting a small child. "Not everyone can be as naturally gifted as me."

Harry scowled and pushed him, "piss off," he said, but there was no venom in his tone. "How many languages can you speak?"

"Eight," he said like it was nothing, but he had a determined expression his face. "I hope to learn more than my dad—he can speak seventeen."

 Oh...eight was nothing compared to Tom Riddle.

"Your father must be rather strict," Harry said, as softly as he could so it didn't sound accusatory. 

Ravi laughed. “Hardly. Only when it comes to my education. Otherwise, he’d let me get away with murder.”

Harry wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a joke. “He seems… tense.” 

He rubbed his arm. As much as he appreciated Mr. Riddle's help for fixing his lack of bones a couple days ago, he felt like he couldn't trust Mr. Riddle either. Something was very off about that man.

"Oh, yeah, Father is just like that," Ravi said, dismissive. "I think it’s because he’s so brilliant. He sees the world differently than the rest of us."

Before Harry could reply,  Ron stomped down the stairs from the boys dormitory, looking red-faced and thoroughly annoyed.

"Bloody Seamus," he muttered under his breath, throwing himself onto the couch beside Harry. “If I have to hear one more word about how the Cannons are a disgrace to Quidditch, I’m hexing him.”

Ravi snorted. “You should. Teach him a lesson.”

Ron huffed, crossing his arms, but before he could launch into another rant, he glanced toward the fireplace.

Ginny sat curled up in one of the armchairs, barely reacting to the conversation around her. Normally, she’d roll her eyes at him or mutter something about how he was embarrassing the family. But tonight? Nothing. 

Harry hadn't even seen her there. 

“You alright, Gin?” he asked.

She blinked and looked up, startled. “What?”

Ron frowned. “You’re quiet.”

Ginny shook her head quickly. “Just tired.”

Before Ron could question her further, the dormitory stairs creaked again, and Hermione emerged from the girls' side, adjusting her skirt.

She gave them all once overs, but landed on Ravi. "I hope you're not planning anything to further lose us house points," she said with a scowl. 

"I'm keeping myself out of trouble by joining all of you to the Deathday party," he said coolly, standing up and stretching. 

The violin and bow resting by the windowsill vanished in an instant, wordlessly and wandlessly whisked away to his dormitory upstairs. The casual display of raw magical control was so effortless, so precise, that it almost went unnoticed—except for the way Harry stiffened slightly beside him. He didn’t know why it unsettled him. Ravi made it look easy, natural, like magic was an extension of him.

But after what Harry had seen Mr. Riddle do in the hospital wing, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that anymore.

Hermione didn't care about Ravi's magical abilities, however.

 "You have to change!" she exclaimed. "We can't show up to a Deathday Party looking like thugs!"

Ravi held his arms open, "what's wrong with how I dressed now?" 

In contrast to the trio—who all wore decent jumpers and trousers (Hermione in a pleated skirt)—Ravi stood out in baggy jeans, a Nirvana T-shirt with a yellow smiley face, and a loose flannel. He looked more like an American garage band member than a Hogwarts student.

"We have to pay our respects," Hermione insisted, whining. 

"Pay our—why? They're dead," Ravi said, throwing his hands up.

"They're ghosts," she countered. "They can see us." 

He scoffed. "Like they haven’t seen worse." He motioned toward his shirt. "If anything, they'll ask about Nirvana, and I’ll introduce them to real music. Better than whatever medieval crap they’re stuck with."

Hermione let out a frustrated sound that sounded like a mix of a strangled cat and dying bird. "Fine, be my guest then. Disrespect the ghosts that roam our halls." 

"I think they'll be more disrespected if we don't show up," Ron said. He looked back at his sister, who was still staring into the fire place. "Ginny, do you want to come with us to the Deathday party?" 

"It might be fun," Harry lied, because it most certainly won't be. 

"No, I got plans," she said, distantly. 

Ron shrugged at Harry. 

"We should hurry and meet Cassie and Malfoy," Hermione said, cutting in. 

"Is it odd to anyone we're now willingly hanging out with Malfoy?" Harry asked as they made their way to the portrait hole. 

"I don't think so, but he's my older brother's godson," Ravi said. "It is interesting Hermione is, however." 

"And what about you?" Hermione asked. 

She paused outside the portrait hole, and let Ron and Harry go through so she could walk with Ravi. She glared up at him. 

"About what?" Ravi asked. 

“Your father said that awful word at Diagon Alley,” she pointed out. “He was talking to Mr. Malfoy, and let’s be honest—Draco had to learn it from somewhere. So did you learn it too?"

"Unlike Lucius Malfoy, my dad is a Muggle-born. If anyone has a right to use the word, it’s him," Ravi said, rolling his shoulders. "That being said—he definitely looks down on other Muggle-borns. He’s ancient, Hermione. He has a lot of weird ideas. I don’t know—I don’t agree with him, but I also don’t expect him to change." 

He paused, searching for the right word before settling on, "He’s batshit insane. I wouldn’t take anything my dad says seriously."

Hermione huffed. "That doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Muggle-born or a hundred years old—it’s still a horrible word. And people like Malfoy use it because they hear people like your father saying it."

Ravi clicked his tongue, irritated. "Oh, so now my dad is the reason Malfoy is racist toward muggle-borns? Right. That makes sense." He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Hermione. You think the Malfoys need my dad to teach them how to be bigots? Lucius Malfoy would still be a bood supremacist even if Father never opened his mouth."

Hermione crossed her arms, frustration clear. "It’s about the message it sends, Ravi! You can’t reclaim something that’s still being used to hurt people."

"Says who?" Ravi shot back. "You? The Ministry? I didn’t realize there were rules on how we’re supposed to deal with bigotry." His voice sharpened. "What do you want me to do? Lecture my father? Scold him until he promises to think like you?"

"He just shouldn't say it," she said, putting her foot down. "And you're just defending him. You're not a muggle-born."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances at each other, neither sure what to say in this argument—or if they should step in at all. Ron was a pureblood, and Harry had barely even learned about wizarding social dynamics a few weeks ago.

"He shouldn't smoke, but he still does that too," Ravi said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not defending him for using that word, I'm just giving you the explanation why he uses it."

Hermione scoffed. "That doesn’t make it right! And you, of all people, should understand—"

Ravi’s eyes narrowed. "Oh? And why’s that?"

"Because you’re half Indian—you know what it’s like," Hermione said, frustrated. "You know what people like Malfoy think about people like us."

Ravi blinked. He hadn’t expected her to say that.

"And because I’m half Indian, I also know people like you," Ravi shot back. "People who think they get to decide what words people can and can’t use to talk about their own experiences."

"That’s not what I’m saying!" Hermione looked furious. "It’s because I’m half Black that I hate that word! How am I supposed to expect respect from people like Malfoy if Muggle-borns use it on themselves?"

Ravi let out a sharp breath, clearly irritated, but then—just as the tension peaked—he suddenly smirked.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Maybe we need to set this conversation aside." He glanced at Ron and Harry, who both looked deeply uncomfortable. "We’re making the white kids feel awkward."

Ron and Harry immediately stiffened.

"I—I’m not awkward!" Ron said quickly, his ears turning red.

Harry, who had spent the last two minutes desperately trying to disappear into the wall, just let out a strangled, "Um."

Hermione huffed but didn’t argue. The fight was over—for now.

Ravi grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "Come on, let’s go before we really make them suffer."

He sauntered ahead, leaving Hermione to sigh in exasperation and follow after him.

Harry and Ron exchanged another look.

"...Are we awkward?" Ron asked, genuinely confused.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "I think we are."

The four walked down to the dungeons in silence. Ravi looked visibly annoyed, but chose to twirl his wand instead. Hermione kept glancing at him, wishing to say more. Harry and Ron kept quiet because they're both out of their depth and deeply uncomfortable. 

What broke the tension was Ron clearing his throat. "So," he began, nervously, "how bad you think the food will be?"

"It's a party for ghosts," Hermione said, exasperated. 

"I better not miss Halloween feast then," he said firmly. "I told you to tell Nick we couldn't come."

"Well excuse me for fainting, spending yesterday in the hospital wing," Harry grumbled. "I didn't want to show up either." 

"Why did you two and Zahira faint?" Hermione asked, looking between Ravi and Harry. "That was rather frightening to see you fall out of the sky."

Harry looked back at Ravi, because he wasn't sure they're supposed to share their 

"Professors aren't sure," Ravi said smoothly. His face was passive, neutral. Flat. "They're looking into it. You know how the teachers are. They're so bloody secretive, like telling us to not use the third-floor corridor last year but now we can use it." 

His explanation was convincing. If Harry hadn't been affected too, he would've dropped the conversation. 

And Hermione did, saying, "trust me, you do not want to know what was happening down there."

"Well, now I'm curious," Ravi said as they reached the right floor.

They turned and saw the two cousins. Cassie must've saw this moment as an excuse to dress up. Not only did she do her hair in two, stylized heart puffs, but she wore a rustic orange dress that bloomed out to make her look like a giant pumpkin. Her green stockings and orange shoes, showing that her outfit was meticulously planned out.  

Draco opted to wear black funerial robes, showing how much care he put in his choice of attire. 

The two were whispering to each other, both scowling at eachother. 

The four approached and they didn't let up from their own argument. It wasn't tense, nor the was the conversation was heavy. 

"I cannot believe you agree with Mother," he said, snappish. 

"Aunt Cissy deserves to go on vacation whenever she pleases," Cassie insisted. "And who wants to take their son on a romantic cruise with their husband around the islands." 

"They could have chosen to go after winter break," he insisted. "Now I am stuck here like some sort of peasant." his gray eyes flickered toward them and he sneered. "Speaking of peasants, how's your arm, Potter?" 

Harry went for his arm again. "Mr. Riddle healed it for me, just so we can have our match in a couple weeks." 

Draco made a face. "Ugh, that traitor. He's a Slytherin, he should've let your arm be a noodle until after our match." He turned to Ravi, eying him down, disgust on his face. Clearly, Malfoys didn't appreciate muggle fashion.  "This is why you're the family disappointment." 

"You know Severus would choose me over you if I decide you need to learn a lesson?" Ravi said in a casual, friendly tone one could take as a joke, but Harry suspected that was a promise of violence. 

Draco threw his nose up in the air, not taking it seriously at all. "Whatever you say, Verma," he said, dismissive. 

Hermione all but ignored Draco's nastiness. She got close to Cassie, leaning in to inspect her face. "I love your eyeshadow," she said, excited.

"Thank you!" Cassie closed her eyes revealing bright, sparkly orange. Harry, who used to watch Lily do her make up when he was younger, could tell Cassie didn't have much practice with makeup. But color was pretty on her dark-brown skin. 

"And I adore your dress, and does it have pockets?" Hermione asked. 

Cassie frowned a little. "Of course, where else would I keep my wand." She proved her point by pulling it out of the deep pocket on her left. 

"Never mind," Hermione said quickly, but not enough to hide her disappointment. "It's a muggle thing." 

"Can we go in?' Draco said, clearly annoyed. "I don't want to miss Samhain feast." 

Harry looked back at Ron, giving him a cheeky grin. "Look, you and Malfoy have something in common." 

Ron blanched. "I rather starve than agree with him," and promptly stormed through the door. 

The moment they stepped inside, the air grew dense and ice-cold, a chill that seemed to seep into their bones rather than simply brush against their skin. The room was dimly lit—not by candlelight, but by an eerie blue-green glow that flickered and wavered like ghostly flames suspended in the air.

The long banquet tables were covered with rotting food, an assortment of gray, moldy dishes that oozed and crumbled, decayed replicas of what the ghosts once ate in life. The stench was distinct—not quite putrid, but damp and earthy, like an old crypt disturbed after centuries of rest.

Above them, the ceiling was bewitched to look like an endless graveyard sky, filled with rolling fog and drifting wisps of spectral energy. The air was thick with whispers—ghosts conversing in a language that felt just beyond the reach of human ears, their words hollow, distant, and cold.

In the center of the room, a small ensemble of ghosts played a somber, wailing tune on spectral instruments. The music thin and echoing, like the wind howling through an abandoned castle. 

"Oh, Merlin," Ravi said, "Medieval crap would be better than this." 

"You should summon your violin and join them," Harry suggested, teasing him. 

"The highlight of my music career," he whispered back, smirking. 

"Thinking of going professional?" He asked, genuine now. 

Ravi snorted. "With my mum? Hardly, she wants me to go into medicine." 

Nick floated toward them, looking unusually proud in his ruffled collar and doublet, his nearly severed head wobbling with every movement.

"Welcome, my honored guests!" he said with a delight. His ghostly eyes landed on Ravi and his smile broaden. "And you brought an extra living soul. Truly a delight in wonders! Enjoy yourselves." he floated over to the Bloody Barron and Fat Friar. 

"This is fantastic!" Cassie exclaimed. She pointed to the back far wall. A book shelf was kept out of the way, tucked securely in a corner, forgotten to time. "Hermione, do you want to look over those books? I bet we can find something interesting." 

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. 

Cassie grabbed her hand and the two practically skipped over to the bookshelf. 

"Who reads at a party?" Ron sounded offended they would waste time reading more than anything. 

"That's what I'm saying," Draco said. He scanned the room and pointed, his arm nearly whacking Harry in the face. The blonde didn't care whatso ever. "There's Griselda the Gossiping Ghoul, Weasley. We can finally figure out if Susan Bones and Zachary Smith are dating." 

Draco stormed across the room, and Ron followed, his voice caring over the wailing singing. "I told you last week at detention they aren't, but you have your head so far up your own arse, you didn't listen."

"Like I believe you over Pansy, Weasley," Draco countered. 

Ravi swung an arm around Harry's shoulders, making him jump just a little. "Looks like it's just us." 

Harry looked up at him. "We've been abandoned for musty tomes and ghouls." 

"A sad life we live," he said in a mocking sad tone. The two walked around the room, Ravi slipping his arm away to put his hands in his pockets. "You know this isn't too bad. A bit vomit-inducing," he muttered, glancing at the rotten fleshy arm on the table. It twitched and spasmed on beat to the terrible ghost music. 

Harry was more focused on the girl who hovered over a stool up against the wall. She was around Ravi's age, possibly older. She wore a version of a school uniform from the past. She wore a dress that resembled more of an apron over a white button up. Her hem was longer than the skirts than they are now. Her pigtails sat over her shoulders, with two neat bows to hold them. The stand out of her outfit was the wooden headband with flowers painted on it. 

She was fiddling with a heart shape locket, eyes cast downward with a frown on her face. 

"Who's that?" Harry whispered. 

"That's Moaning Myrtle," Ravi said, approaching her. "She haunts the second floor girl's restroom. Katie told me the girls avoid that restroom." 

She sighed dramatically as she opened the locket, and it clicked with an echo. 

She turned to face them, her sorrowful face twisting into anger. "Oh, come to mock Moaning Myrtle, have you?"

Ravi snapped his fingers. "No one told me you're Indian." He switched into Hindi with an ease Harry had only seen when Ravi talked to Zahira or back in .

Harry didn’t understand the words, but he recognized the shift in Ravi’s voice—warmer, more animated. It was the same tone he used with his sister when he was explaining something or teasing her. It was strange, seeing Ravi—who always carried himself with a lazy sort of confidence—look so engaged, so genuine.

Myrtle’s face softened as they spoke, her fingers still playing with the locket. When she responded in Hindi, her voice was soft, uncertain—like she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Ravi let out a low whistle. "Missed Independence by four years," he said softly, switching back to English.

Harry wasn't sure if it was his place to ask. So instead he asked her, "I haven't seen you around the school like the other ghosts." 

She sighed, and she leaned against the wall, lamenting. "I do not leave my sanctuary very often. I only came to Nick's party when he promised Bloody Barron would keep Cassius Nott away." 

"Is that another ghost?" Harry asked, brows furrowed. 

"Oh yeah," Ravi answered. "Creepy Crawly Cassius. He shows his face even less than Myrtle. He's covered in spiders."

She nodded lamely, looking off in the distance. "He died the same year as me. He's a very nasty boy. A pureblood who thought he was better than everyone." 

"Notts always think they're superior." 

Ron and Malfoy returned from getting their gossip from the ghoul. The ginger turned sharply on the other boy. "Really? You think the Notts have that problem?" 

Draco held his nose up in the air, missing the irony. "They do. They created the Sacred-Twenty Eight list and walk around all superior. It's insulting. I'm a Malfoy, and Theo Nott thinks he's better than me! The nerve." 

 Harry and Ron shared a look of annoyance. 

Myrtle turned to face Draco, frowning. "You're a Malfoy? Yes, I see it," she said softly. "The boy I went study with had been very close to a Malfoy. One of my Malfoys had been a teacher too." She was less talking to Draco and more to herself, thinking of the past. 

"Someone you dated was close to a Malfoy?" Draco said, sneering. "Must've been a blood traitor." 

"Do you have to be awful all the time?" Harry asked, agitation creeping in his voice. 

"Malfoys are evil all the time!" Peeves, the school's poltergeist floated into the conversation. Peeves cackled, spinning in midair as he sneered at Myrtle “Ahh, isn’t it fat Moaning Myrtle! Left your toilet, huh? Or did it explode when it couldn’t contain your size?”

Myrtle let out a wail, covering her face as she floated backward.

Ravi snapped his head toward Peeves, his easygoing demeanor vanishing.

“Oi, shut it, you miserable bastard.” His voice was sharp and cracking into a higher pitch. 

Peeves twirled upside down, mocking him. “Oooooh, touchy, touchy, little Verma! Is she your ghostly girlfriend? Want to go floating in the loo together?”

Ravi’s jaw twitched, but before he could say anything else—

“She’s dead—she hardly weighs anything at all!”

Silence.

Ron’s voice hung in the air, and he seemed to realize his mistake a second too late. His ears turned bright red. “Wait, that’s not—I didn’t mean—”

Myrtle wailed even louder and shot up through the ceiling, vanishing.

Peeves cackled harder. “Oooh, Weasley’s got a talent for making the dead cry!” He zipped away before anyone could hex him.

Ravi exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Brilliant, Ron. Fantastic work.”

Ron threw his hands up. “I was trying to help! It’s not like she doesn’t know she’s—” He stopped himself just in time. “…Y’know what? Never mind.”

Harry and Draco exchanged glances.

“Good job, Weasley,” Draco drawled, sounding unimpressed. “Because reminding her she’s not breathing was definitely helpful.”

"Well, it's not like she didn't know she was dead," Ron spat out, defensive. 

"Kill." 

The voice was sudden and sharp and nearly made Harry jump.

"Did you hear that?" Ravi asked. 

Harry snapped his attention to Ravi. 

"Hear what?" Hermione asked. Her and Cassie returned with their arms full of stolen, forgotten books. 

"You didn't hear it?" Harry asked. 

Kill! 

Ravi looked around, eyes wide. "There it is again." 

KILL!

This time, there was harsh hiss at the end and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Parseltongue? 

Ravi caught it too. "We need to go. Right now." 

"Go where?" Draco demanded in pitchy whine, but Ravi ignored him. 

He was already running out the door, wand drawn. 

"Come on!" Harry told the others, and took off after Ravi. He heard Ron and Hermione running after him, and Draco calling out "Potter!" 

Ravi led the way, his wand drawn, trainers pounding against the cold stone floor. Harry followed close behind, heart hammering in his chest. The hissing voice echoed around him and crawled into his head. 

Kill!

Kill!

The corridors were eerily empty, the usual warm glow of torches flickering weakly against the walls. The cold pressed in around them—not the usual autumn chill, but something heavier, unnatural.

"Where are we going?" Ron gasped, struggling to keep up.

"Shut up and run!" Ravi snapped, eyes scanning the halls like he was expecting something to lunge out at them.

Then—another voice. Not the hiss, but something else entirely. A scream.

Not a human one.

A high, pained wail echoed through the corridors, and suddenly, the castle didn’t feel empty anymore.

They turned a corner—and skidded to a stop.

Mrs. Norris was hanging from a torch bracket by her tail, stiff and unmoving, eyes wide open and gleaming like glass.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Hermione gasped, her hands flying over her mouth while still clutching her books. Cassie froze, staring in horror. Even Draco had gone pale, his usual sneer wiped clean off his face.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s breath came fast, his ears ringing. His gaze flicked down—water pooled on the floor beneath Mrs. Norris, a long, winding trail leading back toward the direction of Myrtle’s bathroom.

And then—the message.

Scrawled across the wall in jagged, dripping letters:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 

Ravi approached the mangled body of Mrs. Norris. He reached up and touched her neck. He swallowed down a sharp breath and let out. "She's alive, but barely." 

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione asked, her voice distant. 

But she never got her answer. 

Footsteps. 

Loud, fast, coming straight toward them.

Ravi stepped away from the cat and quickly shoved his wand in his pocket so he didn't look suspicious. 

Harry barely had time to breathe before the crowd turned the corner—a sea of students pouring in, voices rising in confusion, horror, and excitement.

They're surrounded by all the students who left the feast to hear the commotion. The six of them were surrounded and the hall was filled with horrid whispers. Harry caught familiar faces in the crowd. Percy were inching closer to pull Ron in the crowd without making it obvious he was about to do so. 

"Enemies of the Heir, Beware," said a sharp voice. 

Theodore Nott stood among the Slytherins, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. Next to them was Zahira, her face a ghostly shade of white and her eyes as glossy as Mrs. Norris. 

"That's not just for Mudbloods," Theo sneered, looking at Hermione, but then his eyes flickered to Draco, "that means blood traitors too, Malfoy." 

The words landed like a slap, sharp and deliberate. Draco clutched at his robes, eyes widen. Ron’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. Harry caught the flicker of conflict in his expression—like he had almost forgotten, just for a second, who he was supposed to hate. 

"Get out of my way!" 

Filch shoved students that weren't quick to get out of his way. A Ravenclaw stumbled against the wall, a younger Hufflepuff yelped as he barely caught his balance. His breath came ragged and sharp, his eyes wild with grief. 

"Get out of my way!" Filch’s voice trembled on the words. 

"Oh, we're so dead," Ravi muttered under his breath, Harry barely heard him. 

Filch went to his beloved cat, and reached for her. He let out a choke sob, covering his mouth for a moment. Harry didn't think it was possible, but in this moment he felt terrible for the school's caretaker. 

Until he whirled on them, his eyes blazing with rage and grief. "You!" he pointed at Cassie.

She took a step back, clutching the books to her chest. "Me?" her voice shook on that one wor. 

"You did this! You murdered my cat!" he bellowed. 

Stricken, she tried to defend herself. "I didn't--

 "You-you did this, because you found I'm a squib!" He didn't let her. He advanced on her, pushing her against the wall. Several other students gasped. 

"She didn't do anything wrong!" Hermione shouted. 

  Filch ignored her. "You're as bad as your mother! The whole Black family is rotten and should've died off!"

Cassie was in near tears, and Draco pushed himself in between her and the caretaker. "She didn't attack your bloody cat!"

"You're just as bad as her, Malfoy!" Filch snarled, barring his teeth. "Death Eater brats, the lot of you!" he now directed this to the group of Slytherins. 

Some shrunk away, some took the insult as a badge of honor.

Seemingly stepping out of the shadows, Professor Snape stepped in front of the clustered Slytherins in the front. He was furious, his thick brows knitted together, and his face snarling. "Do not speak to my students that way, Agnes!" 

 Filch's jaw clenched. He pointed a bony finger at Snape, accusatory. "One of your damned students attacked my precious Mrs. Norris!" 

Snape's black eyes darted to the message on the wall and back at Filch. "Prove it," he snarled.

"That is enough, Severus, Agnus." 

Students parted for Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Professor Sprout moved from behind the two. 

The second Cassie saw her head of house, she let out a sob and she ran to Sprout. Sprout put a protective arms around her, and pulled her back, acting as a shield. 

"Why is one of my badgers crying?" she demanded, sounding angrier than anyone ever heard the Herbology professor before. 

"She murdered my cat!" Filch snapped. "I demand punishment!"

"Mrs. Norris isn't dead," Ravi spoke up. "I checked her pulse, she's alive." He looked at the cat. "I think she's Petrified."

Filch’s face twisted, like he couldn’t decide whether to believe him. "You—you’re lying!" he barked. "Look at her! She’s stiff as a board—someone’s killed her—!"

"She is not dead, Argus," Dumbledore interrupted gently.

Filch flinched, his mouth snapping shut.

Dumbledore stepped closer, bending slightly to examine Mrs. Norris with the careful, practiced patience of someone who had seen this before. He ran a long, delicate finger over her fur, then straightened.

"She has been Petrified," he said with certainty. "A most serious condition, but not fatal."

Filch swallowed hard, staring at his unmoving cat. His hand trembled as it hovered over her, hesitant, like he wanted to touch her but was afraid she might crumble.

"She will recover," Dumbledore continued. "But we must determine what caused this, and how."

Filch’s breathing was still ragged, but the raw grief on his face flickered, twisting into something sharper.

"You see?" He spat, rounding on Cassie again. "She did do something! That lot—Death Eater spawn—they did this!"

Sprout's face was red. "How dare you! Cassiopeia would never!" 

Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing Filch before he could retort. "Agnes, I understand your grief, you will not accuse one of the students of this heinous crime."

Filch didn't argue, not like he had with Snape. 

Dumbledore turned his attention on the wall now. His expression was unreadable. "Severus," he finally said, voice lower than before, "where were the children before this?"

Snape didn't even attempt to hide his eye roll; a learned behavior from Tom Riddle no doubt. "I just arrived. I was investigating, as you asked, Headmaster." 

If Harry had to guess, Snape was investigating the voice. Quickly, he stepped up and explained, "we're at Sir Nearless Headless Nick's Deathday party, sir. We're just leaving to go to our dorms." he then remembered Draco was with them, when he could've stayed in the dungeons. "And Malfoy was escorting Cassie back to hers. That's when we heard the yowling."

He didn’t know if he should be open about the voice he and Ravi heard, but the less people knew about the Parselmouth shouting kill in the walls, the better.

Especially when the only two who had heard it… were both Parselmouths.

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long moment. "I see, that will be easy enough to prove," he said, his voice softening just a moment. 

"Students, return to your dormitories," gore ordered, his voice firm, but gentle. "Professors, lead the way."

No one argued. The energy in the air had shifted. There was no joking, no whispering anymore—only hurried steps and wide-eyed glances as students rushed to obey.

"Come on," Ron muttered, nudging Harry toward the Gryffindor group.

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. 

He spared a glance at the Headmaster before he followed back to the Gryffindor tower. While Madam Pomfrey helped Filch get Mrs. Norris down, Dumbledore pulled Snape close. "I need you to collect Tom and bring him here immediately." 

If there was anything else said between the two, Harry didn't hear it. McGonagall gently put a hand on her back and ushered him forward. 

Severus left the Slytherin common room nearly an hour later than he intended. The moment he ushered his snakes inside, Draco Malfoy tackled Theodore Nott. From there, a screaming match between the two erupted.

Accusations of blood traitor this, and that.

Some Slytherins—the half-bloods and Muggle-borns—broke down from being accused of Death Eaters, while the more militant pureblood supremacists proudly declared that the Heir of Slytherin had returned and would 'cleanse' the filth from their common room.

A first-year—Graham Johnson—looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Professor!" he gasped, voice wobbling. "They're saying—" he swallowed thickly, "—that the Heir is going to come for all of us who aren’t pureblood."

Severus’s stomach curled. He had seen fear in the eyes of Slytherins before, but not like this.

"Enough!" His voice cracked through the air like a whip.

By the time he left, his throat was raw from screaming. He had never taken so many points from his own house, nor handed out so many detentions.

And he hated it.

He did not want to come down so harshly on his students, but tonight, they had left him no choice. Tomorrow, after breakfast, he would host a house meeting and carefully explain that house unity was more important than blood purity.

The irony of it all was suffocating.

He reminded them all that he was a half-blood. That his mother had been a known blood traitor among the old families. That his father was barely even that.

Some of the younger students had looked at him with something like hope. Others—the true believers—had merely sneered.

He was both too old and too young to deal with the whims of hormonal teenagers.

Before he left the dungeons, he went to his private rooms. He checked on his familiar, to make sure she was fed and cared for. Persephone pleaded to leave his rooms and join him on his walk, but he had to refuse. Any wayward student out of bed would be terrified at seeing a black mamba after tonight. He stripped away his teaching robes, changing into casual attire. If he was going to have to interact with his father, he needed, at the very least, not to feel like a professor. By the time he reached Albus's office, his fingers twitched with the need for a cigarette. 

Albus paced in the limited space of his office, deep lines on his face. He glanced at Severus as he entered, pausing his ritual of walking in circles. 

"Severus, I have been thinking," he said. "About the attack that happened to all of you. I fear the Chamber had opened at that moment." 

"You don't think it was a prank?" Severus asked, but no...no it wasn't a prank. 

"You heard the voice," Albus said, going back to pacing. "That voice? I know what it was. A basilisk." 

That gave Severus pause. "How are you sure?" 

"Tom told me years ago, when you were a boy yourself. He joked about it," the headmaster said, with a tired sigh. "I had let it go at the moment because you were just recovering from being attacked at the Malfoy masquerade ball."

Severus vaguely remembered this conversation, but at the time he was still reeling from nearly bleeding out. Truthfully, he was shocked Tom hadn't instructed him to sneak into the Chamber and collect more venom. "And let me guess, Father didn't tell you where the Chamber located at."

Albus gave him a withering look. "He said he didn't trust me to not use you to kill the beast." 

"Fair assumption on his part," he said with a shrug. "I wouldn't anyway. That is my ancestor's pet."

"Yes, well, now we have no choice," his voice was cold, distant. "Will not have our students in danger because you and Tom prioritize Salazar's demented legacy." 

Severus’s jaw clenched. "You think I would prioritize a dead man’s legacy over the lives of my students?"

Albus gave him a knowing look. "Wouldn’t you?"

Severus balled his hands into fists. He bit his tongue until his mouth filled with copper. After everything he has done for Albus, after everything he did during the war. He betrayed his own father for Albus. He spied on Tom for a year. He stabbed his father with Gryffindor's sword, willing to kill Tom for Britain! And yet, he was still Tom Riddle's son to Albus. He was still Lord Voldemort's son. 

Mother had been right decades ago when he was boy. She sat him in their tiny kitchen at Spinner's End and used to hold up Albus's Chocolate Card and repeatedly told him this man was evil. 

While he was not evil, he was cold and distant. Calculating. Cruel at times. He was oppressive in ways Tom never was. 

He wiped the blood spilling over his lips. 

Fine. If that was the case, so be it.

He turned his back on Albus without a word and stormed over to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and silently vanished into green flames. 

The cottage's lights had deemed to a warm glow. Peering out in the great window that faced the backyard, he saw Nagini's tiny house Tom built for her was lit. She was awake it seems.

But were Tom and Mangala?

Thump. 

Severus blinked. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

He looked up at ceiling.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Severus turned back around and Flood right into Albus's office again. 

"That was rather quick," Albus said, but he sighed and approached Severus. He put a hand on Severus's shoulder. "My boy, that comment was unjust. I know you take the students' safety seriously. More than any of us. I will write to Newt Scamander tomorrow morning to rehome the basilisk." 

Severus's anger simmered, but the line had been crossed. He won't forget this moment. "Thank you," he said, his tone clipped. 

Understanding flickered in Albus's eyes, and he dropped his hand. "When is Tom arriving?" 

Severus glanced back at the fireplace and back at the Headmaster. "He's not," he said. 

"Was he not home?" Albus pushed. 

"He was home," Severus said. "He was occupied with my step mother. In their bedroom." 

"Ah," Albus said and walked passed Severus to the fire place. "I suppose I will have to collect him myself." and he vanished in the green fire.  

Severus walked over to Albus's desk on the other side, and went to the bottom drawer. He grabbed the hidden bourbon all the teachers knew Albus kept and a shot glass. He paused and put it back. He kicked the drawer back as he unscrewed the cap. He threw his head back and downed half of what was already left. 

He smacked his lips, humming. Oh, this was expensive. He looked at the label. Oh. That's why. Tom bought it as a gift. 

The bottle was empty long before Albus returned with Tom. The shitty thing was Severus was a werewolf and werewolves can't get drunk with a mostly full bottle of bourbon. He would need three, and much stronger brand than what Albus and Tom both enjoyed. 

The damn Marauders even took his ability to be drunk. He hoped Remus Lupin was drowning in a ditch in his own piss. 

Albus came out of the fire, with Tom swiftly on his heels. Tom's hair was a mess, his typical, black dress shirt was unbutton, revealing a stained undershirt. He was in the process putting on his belt, clutching a cigarette with his mouth. 

And his polished posh accent he groomed himself into having was gone. 

"Bleedin’ fuckin’ sod," he snarled. "Damned old git." He yanked the cigarette from his mouth, jabbing it toward Dumbledore like a weapon. "You just ‘ave to ruin every bleedin’ moment of me life, don’t ya? Can’t let me ‘ave a damn thing." He shoved a finger hard into Dumbledore’s chest. "This better be a right bloody emergency, or so help me God, I’ll set ya on fire—oh, hello, Severus."

Albus didn't even respond to Tom's aggression, too used to it by now.

Severus stood up now, arms crossed. "I better not get any more younger siblings." 

Tom inhaled a long drag before exhaling. "If I wanna give you more siblings, that’s my bloody right."

The fireplace flared green again, and Mangala stepped out. Unlike Tom, she looked entirely composed—except for her hair, which was the only indication she’d dressed in a hurry. The housecoat over her dress was immaculate, not a single stain in sight.

She held up a pair of black dress shoes. "You forgot these, honey."

"Put 'em on the floor," Tom muttered, still buttoning up his shirt. "Right. What crisis do you need me to bear witness to this time?"

Albus exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened."

Tom, halfway through slipping on his shoes, froze.

"Bullshit."

He straightened up, smoothing out his shirt. "There are only two proper Parselmouths in this castle who could even open the Chamber, and my boys wouldn’t. They wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Severus's heart swelled how quick Tom was to defend him and Ravi. 

"Tom, please, you think I would drag you," he spared a Mangala a glance, "and Mangala out of your home at this hour to lie. The Chamber has been opened.  I know neither Severus, or Ravi, or Zahira and Harry for that matter, would open it." 

"Filch's cat was attacked," Severus explained carefully. "There was a message on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware." 

This gave Tom pause. His expression went from furious to contemplative. "A simple prank."

"Fifty years after you had opened the Chamber?" Albus asked, crossing his arms. "With the same message you left? Filch's cat was petrified. Before the attack Severus heard the basilisk."

"I'm not killing my basilisk," Tom said quickly, pointing at Albus. "I don't care if eats a classroom of mudbloods--

"Tom!" Mangala and Albus shouted just as Severus bellowed, "Father, please!" 

Tom looked around at them, arms out. "You want me to lie?" 

"We are not allowing fifth level beast roaming a school, especially one our children attend," Mangala said, arms on her hips. 

"Like the basilisk would harm my offspring," he argued. 

Her glare deepened, turning menacing. She was daring him to continue and defy her. 

And that was enough to change his tune. "But if we can find a safe relocation," he suggested, much more reasonable. 

"I’m writing to Newt tomorrow," Albus said pointedly. "But the Chamber has been opened. You alone know where it is, and you need to deal with it. Tonight."

Tom rolled his eyes and flicked his half-finished cigarette into the fireplace, watching it smolder. "Fine," he muttered, "but I’m absolutely furious about this."

"When are you ever happy?" Severus questioned. 

A slow, predatory smirk spread across Tom’s lips. He raked his gaze over Mangala. "I was very happy… before Albus decided to interrupt us."

Mangala shoved him away before he could steal a kiss. Tom cackled—only for his laughter to dissolve into a coughing fit. Severus made a disgusted noise and stormed for the door. Albus sighed and followed. 

The way to where ever Tom was leading them was filled with Tom talking, because the man loved the sound of his own voice. 

"Cornelius Fudge is the most pathetic Minister we had in decades," he said, speaking more to Albus than anyone else. "However, I am eternally grateful your bid for Crouch fell. Making his idiot son a Death Eater was one of my better choices." 

"Oh, yes, ruining the lives of the Crouch family was a fantastic choice," Albus said in sarcastic tone. "Barty Jr. had a bright future ahead of him if it weren't for you." 

Tom brushed him off. "Please, the boy had no future. He thought Rabastan Lestrange was a role model. That isn't my fault he had bad taste. I just exploited it." 

"Barty was a prat," Severus supplied. "And creepy." 

"Very creepy," Mangala added. "He stared at my chest, openly. All the time." 

"Everyone stares at your chest, love," Tom corrected, looking back at her. 

Mangala came to a stop. Without a word, she lifted her leg, slid off her slipper, and launched it at the back of his head.

Tom flinched, but he took it in stride and kept walking. He did rub the back of his head, grumbling under his breath. 

"Where are you taking us?" Albus asked, ignoring the slipper. 

"Have patience, old man," Tom said, waving him off. 

Severus, however pressed. "We're on the second floor," he pointed out, but Tom ignored him entirely. 

Mangala caught up, slipping her house shoe back on. "This castle is lovely, but freezing. How do you not have proper warming wards?"

"The castle’s wards activate automatically based on external temperatures, Mangala," Albus explained. "And thank you. We really should give you a proper tour one day. It’s a shame you never attended—you’d have made an excellent Ravenclaw."

Mangala smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Albus."

"Or Hufflepuff," he added thoughtfully, stroking his beard as he imagined where she might have been sorted.

Tom whirled around so fast he shocked Albus and Mangala. "Do not," he said sharply, "insult my wife. A Hufflepuff. Disgusting."

He turned back around, facing a door. "We're here." 

"The girl's restroom?" Severus asked, incredulous. "Salazar Slytherin put the Chamber of Secrets  in a girl's restroom?" 

"Don't be absurd," Tom dismissed, scoffing. "Malicia Gaunt, our exiled ancestor, oversaw Hogwarts' renovations before she attempted to conquer the Muggle empire. She hid the entrance here."

Albus let out a deep, annoyed sigh. "Myrtle's resting place," he said, his voice cold, barely containing his anger. 

Tom's jaw tightened and he glanced at Albus. "Yes, this is where her body was found." 

"And where her ghost resides," he added. 

"Who's Myrtle?" Mangala asked, wrapping herself further in her house coat. 

"Moaning Myrtle is a ghost who haunts one of the stalls," Severus explained, detached, though he was eying Tom curiously. "No one knows how she passed away...or so I was led to believe. Father, do you have anything to share with us?" 

Tom's chest began to move up and down, as if it was struggle to breathe. He turned sharply, like he was about to leave, but Albus grabbed his arm. He yanked him back and shoved him through the door. 

Tom caught himself before he toppled to the stone floor of the restroom. Infuriated, he was about to launch into one his rants and threats, when a mousy voice filled the air. 

"Oh, who came to mock fat, Moaning Myrtle now!" a ghostly wail echoed around them. 

Tom's eyes widened, and his mouth ran dry. For once, he was left speechless. 

Out of the stalls, Myrtle came floating out. "What do you want--

She stopped once she caught sight of Tom. Her shocked face was frozen in time.

Tom's back was to them, but by how ridged Tom stood, the way he balled his hands into fists, he was as surprised as the dead girl. 

"Tom?" she said quietly as she approached him, her hand raised to touch his face. But her fingers slipped through his skin. 

Tom forced his hands to relax. "Myrtle," he said, his voice flat.

Her fingers slipped through his skin.

Tom forced his hands to relax. "Myrtle." His voice was flat.

"You’ve gotten old." Myrtle’s voice wavered, as if she were waking from a dream. She stared at him, drinking in every wrinkle, every silver strand in his hair. "Your hair… it’s graying."

She blinked, disoriented. "You have lines all over your face."

Her bottom lip trembled.

Tom turned away. "It’s been fifty years," he said, hollow. "That’s what happens when you live."

Myrtle floated back, shaking her head. Without another word, she sank into the stone floor, disappearing.

A beat of silence.

Albus’s hands settled on his hips. His voice was edged with contempt. "Was that necessary? Did that make you feel better, Tom?"

Tom exhaled through his nose, then turned back with a shrug, arms outstretched.

"Got her to leave, didn’t I?" He smiled without humor. "Now we can discuss the Chamber without the prying of the dead."

"You disgust me," Albus seethed, not pointing with just a finger, but all four clutched together. "You murdered your girlfriend, and left her to be discovered by Minerva."

Severus and Mangala exchanged glances.

"Why don't we," Tom said through clenched teeth, walking deliberately close to Albus,  "discuss your dead sister before we talk about my ghosts?" 

The mirrors in the restroom raddled, but only for a moment. Albus took in a deep breath, and got his magic under control. "I will not fall for your petty behavior. This is your mess, you will fix it." 

"Maybe it wouldn't be an issue if you had hired me when I applied for the Defense position," Tom said, flippant. "I could've secured the Chamber—which by the way, I still doubt if it had been opened or not." 

Albus approached Tom, his face carefully composed, but his voice brimming with controlled anger. "Tom, I am never going to hire you as my Defense professor. Do you understand me? You murdered two people—"

Tom recoiled as though slapped, his expression morphing into one of pure indignation. "How dare you," he snapped, jabbing a finger against Albus’s chest. "How dare you downplay my accomplishments! You’ve always diminished my greatness. I murdered far more people than just two, you miserable, old bastard!"

Albus froze, his glasses sliding down his nose as he stared at Tom in disbelief. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply, his breath hissing through clenched teeth.

Before Severus or Mangala could interject, before Tom could continue on his rant, Albus exploded.

"You murdered two people at this school, you framed an innocent man, and one of your victims haunts a toilet!" His voice echoed off the tiles and stone walls. His bellowing voice took Severus back. He hadn't seen the headmaster this enraged in over a decade. "For Merlin's sake, I would be madder than you if I put you in any teaching position, especially the one you cursed!" 

Tom didn’t miss a beat. "You hired a loyal Death Eater with a piece of Lord Voldemort stuck in his head just last year," he retorted, pacing around the massive sink to create distance between himself and Albus. "And this year, you hired that fraud Lockhart, when you could have me. I have to work here to break the curse I put on the bloody position—"

He stopped mid-step, his words trailing off as his eyes fixed on something. His gaze sharpened on the intricate carving of a snake on the sink’s centerpiece, a subtle crack splitting the stone in two.

"Wait."

The room fell silent as Tom moved closer, his fingers brushing the edge of the carving. Dread crept over his face and body. 

Mangala leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. She stepped around the massive sink, pausing a little farther from him, cautious, but unwilling to leave him alone.  "Tom, tell me what is wrong. What did you find?" 

He didn't answer, continuing to stare at something at the sink. Albus's anger simmered to a gentle whisper, now replaced with concern. He walked around entirely, with Mangala and Severus feeling safe to do so as well. 

Albus placed a firm hand on Tom's shoulder. "My boy, what is it?" 

But still, Tom wouldn't say anything. 

Severus sighed just under his breath. He knew how to pull Tom's attention. "Father," he spoke the word softly, putting fear into that one word. It pulled Tom out of his trance and snapped his attention toward Severus as if he had been hurt and Tom needed to figure out how. "Father, you're scaring me. What is it?" 

"The seal I placed before I left the school is gone." His voice was tight, controlled—but barely. "It’s not just broken. Someone removed it. The magic, my magic, is gone."

A cold weight settled in the room.

Albus’s face darkened, his expression unreadable, but the deep furrow in his brow betrayed his frustration. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Tom snapped his head toward him so fast that Severus instinctively took a step back, readying himself.

"No, Albus, I’m lying—of course, I’m bloody well sure!” Tom snarled. His hands twitched as they dragged through his hair. “Do you take me for an idiot? The Chamber’s been opened.” He turned back to the sink, running a hand along the stone, as if by some miracle his magic would return, as if it were some terrible joke.

It wasn’t.

His fingers curled into a fist before he forced them to relax. Then he reached into his jacket, hands trembling. A cigarette. His lighter. Something to steady him.

The three of them knew it was pointless to even speak to him when he was like this—at least, not until he had his fix.

His fingers, usually so deft and precise, fumbled against the metal.

Click.

Miss.

Click.

Miss.

Click—

Finally, the flame caught. He inhaled deep, his chest rising with it, filling himself with something, anything that wasn’t panic.

Smoke curled between his lips as he exhaled sharply, shoulders lowering just a fraction.

Severus, arms crossed, was the first to break the silence. His voice was cool, but the sharp glint in his dark eyes gave him away. “If the Chamber of Secrets has truly been opened,” he said carefully, “then we have a problem. Because there are only four Parselmouths in the school."

A beat of silence.

“I know for a fact none of us opened it," he added. 

Albus stroked his beard, nodding to himself as though considering every possibility. “I know, my boy. I know.” His voice was low, quiet, but not gentle. He was thinking—always thinking.  "The only one of you I would suspect is Ravi.”

Tom stilled, and his glare was viscous.

Mangala clicked her tongue in 

Severus’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Albus continued, indifferent to the change in the room. “But even if he had the knowledge of how to find it, he would not open the Chamber to petrify a cat and target Muggle-borns. He’s not his father, after all.”

The second the words left his mouth, the entire atmosphere shifted.

Tom—cigarette clutched between his teeth—exhaled sharply through his nose, then let out a low, humorless chuckle.

His laugh was a warning.

He inhaled again, slower this time, deliberately dragging the smoke deep into his lungs. When he spoke, his voice was lighter—too light. Dangerous.

"Piss off, old man," He exhaled, the smoke curling lazily in the dim light. 

Severus pushed the conversation forward. "What happened to Voldemort after I killed Quirrell? I know he turned into a wraith," he said. "The first time I faced the demon, you tracked him down to Albina."

Albus’s gaze darkened. "I had, but I could not find the wraith."

Tom rolled his eyes, but didn't have a snarky comment ready. To ease the tension, Mangala cleared her throat and all three men focused on her. "Forget about the past, we need to focus on the now. Is it possible the wraith never left Hogwarts?" 

Stricken, Albus didn't know how to respond. Severus had just assumed Voldemort left, or maybe he had hoped the demon left. By the look on the Headmaster's face, he thought the same as Severus. 

"Clearly he hadn't," Tom said, sounding unsarcastically drained. He tapped the place where the seal had been. "My guess is he possessed someone else, maybe even when he was inside Quirrell, he broke my seal. He had been in my body when I created it."

"But why now? Why not use the Chamber to get ahold of the Philosopher's stone?" Albus questioned. "And my theory is that the Chamber was when the five you suffered from Core Drain Fatigue. 

Tom hummed around on his cigarette. His eyes raised just fraction, and he nodded in agreement. A rare moment of him admitting Albus has a point. But because he can't be too agreeable, he said, "it's thaumatic shock."

"Tom," Mangala said, irritation creeped into her voice. 

"I'm so sorry I want to use correct medical terms and not 17th century bullshit he learned when Albus was a child." He removed his cigarette, flicking ash into the sink. "I will not pretend to understand the horcrux. Voldemort possessed me, that does not mean I understand him or his is motives outside he wants to be free of the diary."

There was a pause, hoping he would continue. But like always, Tom had to be difficult about even when dealing with demon that possessed him for decades.

"What diary?" Mangala asked, pushing him to explain further. 

Tom exhaled slowly, eyes flicking between the three of them. It was the kind of look he gave when he was deciding how much to admit. Finally, he waved a hand, tone casual—but there was a tightness beneath it.

"Oh, well, Voldemort was bound to a leather-bound journal. I called it a diary as a boy to hide its true nature." He adjusted his cuffs, as if this were some trivial anecdote rather than a disturbing confession. "Then I told a few of my fellow Slytherins about it, and they wanted to summon him. I should have stopped them—but I was young, arrogant, and curious. And so, one of them slit my throat as a human sacrifice."

He shrugged—as if he weren’t talking about his own murder attempt.

"Since I cannot die," he said, glancing at Albus. Severus didn't miss the meaningful look, and the Headmaster looked away. "The ritual failed, and Voldemort never fully left the diary. Just a fragment. So when I sealed the Chamber later that school year, I buried the diary with it—to make sure no one else could complete the ritual and set him free entirely."

A pause.

"And you three know the rest." He waved a hand dismissively. "Voldemort stayed inside my mind until the end of the war."

He delivered it like a weather report, like recounting a dull job interview, not like a man discussing how he was once trapped with a demon wearing his own face.

Severus sighed, brows furrowing into a grimace. Albus and Mangala wore identical expressions—stony, unreadable. But there was no shock. How many times had they heard Tom drop some abuse, some horror about his past, like it was nothing? How many times had they learned better than to question him—lest they wanted him to spiral?

And a spiraling Tom Riddle was the most dangerous Tom Riddle one could encounter.

"Well," Tom exhaled, his voice lighter than it should have been. "Time to descend into the depths of this school." 

He flicked his cigarette to the floor, crushing it under his heel.

"Manny, Albus—eyes shut." His grin sharpened. "We're about to meet a very, very angry basilisk. And possibly an irate demon."

 

 

On Monday, the only thing on anyone's lips was the Chamber of Secrets and Mrs. Norris's attack, just like it had been on Sunday. 

Fear and curiosity mingled in the air as the kids filed into the Great Hall. Harry walked in with Ron and Hermione on either side of him. Nothing was amiss until Harry heard Fred's voice peak over the bustling crowd. 

"Hey, mate," Fred said, squinting at the teacher’s table like he couldn’t trust his own eyes. "Isn’t that your dad?"

Harry followed the direction and his mouth fell open. 

In place of Lockhart sat Tom Riddle. He was right next to Professor Snape, his arm resting casually on Snape's shoulder. He talked animatedly with his other hand, gesturing to the Slytherin table. 

The two wore matching grins, though Snape's was far more subdued than Riddle's. 

And then Snape laughed. Actually laughed, and could be heard mixed in with the chatter. This gave everyone paused.  The other teachers looked less than pleased. McGonagall’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and Flitwick’s bushy brows were furrowed. Hagrid had a deep frown on his face, but out of all of them, he seemed more worried than anything. Sprout looked genuinely confused, glancing at Riddle, then at Dumbledore, as if wondering how this had happened.

And the students watched Snape in horror, because no one heard Snape laugh before. 

Riddle grinned harder. 

Harry's eyes darted to Dumbledore and the old wizard seemed to aged over night. Deep regret formed over his brows and slouched shoulders. 

"Yeah, that's him alright," Ravi said casually, flippantly. He walked over to the Gryffindor table, and purposely chose the far end, away from the teacher's table. 

As the children settled for breakfast, expecting their food to appear like always, but it didn't. Instead, the scraping of Dumbledore's chair one the stone floor silenced the the Great Hall.

All except two people. 

At the center of the head table, Professor Snape and his father continued their conversation, unfazed by the shift in the room.

Dumbledore strode toward them, leaning in between the pair. He spoke low, his voice too quiet for the hall to hear, but the sharp downturn of his mouth—the deep lines of frustration creasing his face—spoke volumes.

Harry recognized that expression. It was the same one Dumbledore had worn when Riddle performed necromantic healing in the hospital wing.

Riddle, however, was utterly unbothered. With a lazy smirk, he reached out and tapped Dumbledore’s chest—just once, deliberate and slow.

Whatever he said next made Snape laugh again.

But not just him.

Dumbledore—after a long, tense pause—let out a quiet chuckle and smiled as well. He reached up, ruffling Mr. Riddle's hair. Annoyance flashed across his face, and he swatted Dumbledore away. 

The shift was immediate.

McGonagall’s face hardened, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. She watched Dumbledore retreat to his podium, her expression revealed how she saw this moment: a deep betrayal. 

 But Riddle and Snape stopped talking, and the two turned respectful. The shift, from amusement and casualness to refined and stoic, however was unsettling to watch for Harry. It was only a split second, but the moment Riddle changed his demeanor, Snape followed suit. Their eyes were almost blank. 

The Headmaster cleared his throat before he began to speak. "No doubt you all have noticed Professor Lockhart's missing absence," he said in blatantly false tone of regret.  "Professor Lockhart was called away on an adventure over the weekend."

The Great Hall broke out into murmurs over the news. Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione in a low voice, "actually my mum demanded Lockhart to be fired for my arm."

"As he should be, that was horrible," Hermione hissed back as Ron nodded.

Dumbledore motioned for everyone to grow silent once more. "Due to Professor Lockhart's unexpected departure, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the rest of the year." he turned and gestured at Riddle. "Tom Riddle, former head thaumaturgist of the Curse Containment & Malediction Ward at St. Mungo's." 

Harry had no idea what any of that meant, but Ron's jaw dropping spoke volumes more than the rising voices in the room. 

"Bloody hell," the ginger muttered under his breath, impressed. 

Across the table, and down, Oliver Wood could be heard saying, "that's my godparent. Riddle's been my neighbor since I was a baby." It was a brag, something Harry expected from Draco Malfoy, not his Quidditch Captain. 

Riddle stood and gave a slight bow before sitting back down. He said nothing, but smiled, enjoying the chaos his presence caused. 

"Professor Riddle’s expertise is, as some of you may know, rather unique," Dumbledore said, this time not even bothering waiting for total silence. "He has spent a lifetime studying magic—both its wonders and its dangers. I have no doubt his presence will provide… an enlightening experience for all."

He raised his hand and their breakfast appeared in front of them. 

As the Great Hall exploded with noise, Harry asked Ron, "what's a thaumaturgist?" 

"A fancy cursebreaker, a very fancy cursebreaker," Ron explained as he piled his plate with sausages. "And that's not the only thing that's impressive. Given his age, it would've been illegal for him even getting that position even thirty years ago."

"Why?" Hermione asked, opting to get scones and fruit for breakfast instead. 

"He's… well, it's because he's a Muggle-born," Ron admitted. "Or—well—technically, he's a Half-blood. On paper. But everyone knows he isn’t."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean 'on paper'?"

"Dad told me about it. He pulled some strings years ago to get reclassified. Legally, he's a Half-blood, which meant he could get the job. But people still call him a Muggle-born behind his back," Ron said, lowering his voice.

Hermione's brows furrowed. "That doesn’t even make sense. So did he help Muggle-borns by doing that or—"

"I dunno," Ron admitted. "Mum thinks it was selfish. Dad thinks it was clever. Bill said it was one of the few times the Ministry ever changed a rule that actually helped Muggle-borns—even if it wasn’t meant to."

Harry blinked. "So… if he hadn’t done that, no Muggle-borns could’ve ever worked in that department?"

"Not back then, no." Ron took a bite of sausage. "Technically, there were rules against Muggle-borns even being cursebreakers. That only changed a few years ago. But he found a way around it first."

Hermione exhaled sharply. "That’s…" She hesitated, seemingly unsure if she wanted to say something good or bad.

"Yeah," Ron said simply.

Harry looked up toward the staff table. Riddle had returned to speaking with Severus—the most engaged anyone had ever seen the dour Potions Master, and, of course, it was with his morally questionable father.

"I think everything just changed," Harry muttered, turning to the lavish display of food.

Only, he wasn’t sure if he was hungry anymore.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7: Professor Riddle and the Power of Words

When the second year Gryffindors and Slytherins arrived to their defense class, no one knew what to expect. 

When the reached their doors, they flew open. The classroom they had known for months, and months now was gone. The cluttered shelves of Lockhart’s self-indulgent memoirs had vanished. In their place, a cabinet of curiosities stretched along the walls, filled with eerie artifacts: shrunken heads, eyeballs in jars, frozen pixies, taxidermies, preserved serpent skeletons, and mummified hands, each labeled with their origins. 

The massive black oak desk sat at the front of the classroom, its surface pristine except for a single silver inkwell and an ornate, obsidian wand stand. A collection of ancient tomes, thick with dust and age, rested neatly behind him, each one brimming with magic. On the right corner was a human skull, cracked and aged with yellow. 

The lighting was dim—not oppressive, but enough to cast long shadows across the room. Instead of standard torches, emerald-green flames flickered in sconces along the walls, making everything appear twilight-drenched.

At the very back of the room, an enormous serpent skeleton hung from the ceiling, its mouth frozen open in an eternal hiss, fangs gleaming under the green light. Some swore they saw the bones shift slightly when they weren’t looking.

And then, of course, there was the Slytherin influence—Tom Riddle made no effort to hide his favoritism. The banners along the walls were not Hogwarts coat of arms, but deep green and silver tapestries, embroidered with the crest of Salazar Slytherin.

The desks had been altered too. Instead of the standard rows, the desks created a semi circle, with an opening Harry assumed Riddle could slip through and pace around the class. 

"Oh, bloody hell," Seamus muttered low under his breath, "he's going to be worse than Snape." 

"What do you expect? He's Snape's dad." Ron hissed back. "Where you think he got it from?" 

Harry slid into a desk closest to the door out, so his back wasn't to the cabinets of creepy collections. 

Ron sat next to him, and Hermione sat on Ron's left. Neville went to sit next to Harry, but Malfoy chose another middle seat, leaving space between him and Harry. 

Harry saw the fear and indecisiveness on Neville's face about sitting next to Malfoy, and the other boy didn't make it any easier as he glared. 

Harry sighed, and moved a seat over, and Ron and Hermione followed suit. Neville muttered a thanks and slid in between Hermione and Lavender. 

"Coward," Malfoy muttered under his breath. 

Harry elbowed Malfoy in the arm. "Shut it," he hissed just as the doors opened with a bang.

The kids all jumped and looked behind them. Riddle walked in, cigarette in his mouth, filling the room with smoke. Both Hermione and Pansy wrinkled their noses in disgust, both turning their heads slightly as if physically repelled by the smell. Blaise Zabini, who had been closest to the cabinets, flinched away from them, clearly unsettled by the eerie collection inside.

Riddle paused only to put his cigarette out with the bottom of his shoe. Despite his depressing and disturbing décor, he dressed in a salmon-colored three-piece suit with black and green accents, an oddly bright contrast to the room.

"Ah, hello class," he said, his voice smooth. Harry had come to learn it was too smooth. "As you already know, I am Professor Riddle, but I would much prefer if you call me Mr. Riddle."

He walked around the class—on the Slytherin side, naturally. He paused briefly at Bernadette Avery's desk. "Ah, Miss Avery, how is your grandfather?" he asked.

"Ah, Miss Avery, how is your grandfather?" he asked.

Avery, a tiny, mousy girl with auburn hair and more freckles than any Weasley could hope to have, sat up straighter, her back rigid, pride flickering behind her eyes. "He's doing well, Mr. Riddle," she said, her voice clear and confident.

"Excellent!" he said, almost chirping. "I really do need to write to him." And left it at that.

Harry's brows furrowed together. What was that? That felt...odd. He didn't know why.

A stool appeared in between the final two desks without Riddle lifting his wand or muttering a spell. He slid on top of the stool, completing the circle.

"Now, this first lesson is going to be an easy lesson," Riddle said. "We have two months to catch up on. Can anyone recap your time with Lockhart?" 

Hermione raised her hand first. 

"Miss Granger," he said, inclining his head toward her. 

"Well, sir," she began, "we had a lesson on pixies. We're supposed to learn how to disarm them, but instead they were released onto the class."

Without being called upon, Neville added, "I was taken by the pixies and hung from the ceiling." he pointed up. 

Riddle looked up, with a frown on his face. And that frowned deepened when the Slytherins snickered at Neville's misfortune. 

He sharply turned on them, eyes narrowing. "Do you think that's amusing Miss Parkinson? Mr. Nott? Mr. Crabbe?" he asked, his tone shifting from friendly to icy rather quickly. Harry almost felt bad for the three. The shrunk in their seats, and Malfoy and Greengrass's smirks disappeared. 

"Do you think it's funny a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was put in danger?" he asked, shifting his body to face them. "Set aside house rivalries, and trust me, I understand. I dislike Gryffindors too. But as Slytherins, pureblood should mean something to you. Your former teacher could've harmed and put an end to very ancient house in our community. Write home to your parents, and tell them they need to teach you manners." 

Pansy, face redder than Ron's hair blurted out, "Professor Snape never speaks to us like that."

Riddle raised a brow. "That's because Professor Snape's mother is a Prince and raised to favor purebloods over others." He pointed at her. "You, Miss Parkinson, are not dealing with a Prince. You're dealing with a muggle-born who knows pureblood politics better than your own father. Now, please, do not force me to take points from my house. I want the first points I take be from a first year Hufflepuff." 

He inclined his head again, turning in his attention back on Hermione. "You may continue." 

But Hermione didn't have the words, nor did any of the Gryffindors. The decor suggested he would favor Slytherins, and he even admitted he disliked Gryffindor house. But the way he effectively tore into the Slytherins in a way none of them had seen. Professor Snape shielded his snakes, and the other teachers were passive aggressive, but did little toward the house of green and silver. Too many of their parents were important. 

Draco's detention for calling Hermione a mudblood was the closest any of them came, but this? 

This was different and new. 

Harry recovered, maybe because he dealt with Riddle before in the hospital, or maybe...maybe Tom Riddle felt familiar, but he recovered. "Uh, nothing else after that. We just read the mountain of books he required for use to purchase, Professor." 

"Harry, please," he said, "just Mr. Riddle. And were any of the books interesting? Did you find value in them?" 

Harry frowned, thinking. "No, not any of them. Except for the one he wrote about Voldemort." Every one flinched, just like always.

Tom's smile spread across his face. "Ah, yes," he hummed, tapping his chin. "If I had Been There: How Gilderoy Lockhart Would've Killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. An absurdist idea that Lockard could defeat Lord Voldemort. You know, I lived through the war." 

"Did you...ever meet him?" Harry asked. 

"Oh, now, that is a fascinating question." Tom slid off his stool, and began a slow pace within in the circle. "May I be honest with all of you?" 

He waited for murmurs of yeses and nodding heads before he continued. "Thank you. I want to say, and your Slytherin classmates will confirm this, but I do value honesty. A Slytherin may manipulate, and bend the truth, but at the heart of words is honesty. We treasure it." 

Harry couldn't help but follow Tom around. He was captivating. How he spoke, how he walked. Harry didn't know what it was, but he was beginning to trust Tom. 

Tom paused in the middle of the circle, looking around, frowning softly before he confessed, "I have met Voldemort because I followed him. Yes, I was a Death Eater. I was--and I truly hate to admit this--fooled into thinking Voldemort only supported the right to perform magic freely. But he was much more sinister than that." 

The room was still. No one breathed, no one said a word. And even if someone did talk, Harry wouldn't be able to hear them over the pounding of his heart. 

Tom Riddle was a follower of Voldemort? 

He was shocked, but also wasn't. 

Hermione raised her hand again, but didn't wait to be called on. "Sir, but you're a muggle-born." 

Tom nodded. "Yes, I am. I tell you this right now, about Voldemort, is that there was never a master of words than him. He fooled many of people," he added quietly. "And words have power, which is our first lesson." 

The stool slid out of his way as he left the circle to the chalk board. The desks that were not facing the front, turned on their own, scaring those unfortunate to sit there. He wrote fast, but neat and tidy. In bold letters up top, scrawled: the power of word.

He faced the class once more, letting go of the chalk. It continued to write notes and the class scrambled for their notebooks, inks, and quills. 

"Now, as interesting as Lockhart's books are," he said with a hint of sarcasm, and that got some of the students to chuckle, Harry was one of them. "We will need a new textbook."

He snapped his fingers. 

On the corner of their desks, a black, leather bound book with the title Noctem Magica: Unraveling the Myths of Dark Magic written by Ominis Gaunt. 

"Interesting fact, the textbook while old by even my standards," Tom said, earning him more lighthearted laughter, "the author of this textbook had been blind. And is a distant relative of mine--yes, Miss Granger?" he said, turning her as her hand shot up once more.

"You had a relative write a magical textbook?" she said it as if she caught him in a lie. "Who was blind?" 

He took it in stride. "Of, course, Miss Granger. My mother was a squib, she was part of two pureblood families--one of them being the Weasleys, in fact."

Ron's brows shot upward. "Wait! Does that mean Professor Snape--

"Mr. Weasley, I strongly suggest you do not bring that up to Professor Snape," Tom cut him off. "He will take an extreme amount of points from your house."

"When doesn't he?" Ron said with a shrug. 

Tom chuckled lightly. "Yes, well, Mr. Weasley, I recommend stop being a Weasley and a Gryffindor if you wish to avoid points taken from my son." 

"Yeah, stop being a Weasley, Ron," Dean said, twisting in his seat to look back the ginger. 

Ron huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest in a pout. 

Tom continued on but paused when Hermione's hand shot up again. Harry noticed that Tom didn't grow annoyed with her like the other professors. Instead he halted class to indulge her. "Yes?"

"Sir," Hermione began before she raised her hand. "how are we supposed to afford more books after everything we already bought for Professor Lockhart?"

"Miss Granger, please," Tom said, "You can call me Mr. Riddle, none of that formalities." He paced over to her desk and picked up their new textbook. "These textbooks were graciously donated to us by Lucius Malfoy. Yesterday, I had gone to the Malfoy Manor and explained the untimely departure of your former professor, and he was most eager to help pay for all of the supplies we will need for the rest of the year." 

Harry spared a glance at Draco and the blonde was deathly pale, but he didn't speak up at all. 

Draco knew something about Tom, but what? 

"Now, before we get into the power of the word, we should determine what is Dark Magic? Does anyone have answer?" Tom asked the class. 

And Hermione's hand was in the air once more. 

Tom didn't call on her this time, but he didn't glare or sigh or make snide comments. Instead he approached her desk, which made her lower her hand slowly.

He crouched down so he was lower down her. "Miss Granger, I understand you are very eager to prove yourself. I get it as a fundamental need to show you belong in this world. You are very bright, and curious witch, however, you have dominated the classroom a bit. Why don't you allow one of your other classmates answer? You could earn insight into ideas you never thought of." 

Hermione was stunned, and almost wanted to cry, but she kept it in. She gave a short nod, "yes, Mr. Riddle." 

"You're not in trouble," he assured, giving a much gentler smile, a very similar one he reserved for Zahira. It wasn't a smirk, or a predatory grin, but sweet and fatherly. "Now, you can answer but only after I get an answer from someone else." 

She nodded, more agreeable. "Yes, Mr. Riddle." and she returned the smile. 

He stood and patted her head. "Excellent." 

He turned his back on the Gryffindors and he scanned the Slytherins. "Mr. Zabini, do you wish to explain what Dark Magic is?" 

Blaise Zabini wasn't expecting to be called on, but he didn't miss a beat. "Do you want the real definition or the Ministry's, Mr. Riddle?" 

Tom put his hands in his pockets. "Surprise me." 

Blaise gave a deliberate pause, thinking about what he wanted to say. "The Ministry claims Dark Magic is anything that claims to hurt people with intent. However, the stunner spell isn't Dark, even though a powerful wizard or witch can knock someone off a cliff and kill them. It's a bit arbitrary." 

Tom nodded his head, looking around the room. "Does anyone here agree with Mr. Zabini?" 

Harry's hand was first in the air, and that made Tom...happy? Proud? He liked that he could make Tom proud. 

"Harry," he said, nodding. "Well, I certainly know you agree, but why don't you explain to your stunned classmates." 

He pointedly refused to look around at the gaping expressions and the horror on some of his fellow Gryffindors. 

"It makes no sense," he stated, feeling animated. "Blaise's right because the Ministry just deems whatever it wants is dangerous. As if there aren't laws against killing people. Why does it matter if it's a fancy green curse, or you use wingardium leviosa to drop an anvil on someone's head. They're still dead. Someone still lost their life. Whatever spell or hex or charm doesn't matter. And it feels like its targeted too. The laws I mean." 

Tom titled hid head to the side, his expression gone unreadable. "Fancy green curse?" 

Harry frowned. Why did he say green? "First thing that came to mind, but yeah," he glanced at the Slytherin boy, "I agree. It doesn't make sense." 

Tom nodded along. "Anyone else want to add to the conversation?" 

Harry spared a glance at Ron who was looking down at the table, avoiding eye contact with him. It stung a little, but Harry saw first hand how arbitrary the laws were. Literally. Lockhart had removed his bones, and Tom replaced them with 'dark' magic. 

"Mrs. Parkinson," Tom called out. 

Harry turned to see the girl lower her hand. "I just want to say that my mother's Korean, and she had to teach me and my older brothers ancestral magic in secret or the Ministry would fine her!"

Across the room, Parvati gasped. "Our family too!" 

Lavender turned her friend in slight horror. 'You practice dark magic?" 

"My family doesn’t practice Dark Magic, but the Ministry acts like we do," she said. "A lot of Indian magic—like our Mantras and invocations—used to be banned. My parents told me that before the fifties, people like us could even be sent to Azkaban for using them."

Lavender didn't seem to grasp it. "Wait—so you do know Dark Magic?"

"No!" Parvati snapped. "That’s the point! It’s not Dark! But the Ministry makes all these rules that say we can’t even talk to spirits without getting in trouble. They call it ‘spirit trafficking’—like ghosts need passports or something!"

She crossed her arms. "That’s why you don’t see a lot of Indian students here unless they’re Muggle-born. Parents don’t want their kids getting in trouble for using their own magic."

It looked liked Blaise was about to speak again, but Fay Vance, one of Hermione's other dormmates, spoke up first. "What about Headmaster Dumbledore? Surely he's doing something about this." 

Ron sat straighter, nodding vigorously. Neville, and Hermione, and Lavender were far more agreeable to this as well.  Harry struggled to imagine what a headmaster of a boarding school could do with unfair laws. 

He wasn't the only one. The Slytherins, predictably, made disgusted noises at the back of their throats. 

"Oh, please, that doddering old fool who can't do anything," Draco interjected. 

"He's not even part of the Ministry outside of being Chief Warlock, and that means he oversees votes," Pansy said, sneering. 

"I know what that means," Fay insinsted. 

"That's the problem with you Gryffindors," Theo chimed in. "You put your faith in the ancient idiot for no good reason at all." 

"Now, now," Tom said, raising a hand and waving them off. "Let's not insult the Headmaster. He may be a morally righteous, condescending, idealistic, judgmental, archaic, borderline fascist dictator who questions your life choices at every moment he gets because it doesn’t fit societal norms—"

He took a breath, then, suddenly, venomously:

"—who thinks himself your father."

Silence. Pure, stunned silence. Even the Slytherins were sharing glances at each other, a bit put off by their new professor's rant. The rant was too personal, too bitter. Professor Snape, despite being a Slytherin as well, would never go on such rant about the Headmaster. But this wasn't Professor Snape, this was Professor Tom Riddle. Ex follower of Voldemort. 

The man who weaponizes neocromancy for healing. 

Tom blinked, as if catching himself. His voice slid back into his usual pleasant tone. "My apologies, what was I saying?"

"You were telling us not to insult the headmaster?" Harry said, a bit unsure where Tom was going with his interjection. 

"Yes, right," Tom said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Harry. "He is working behind the scenes to get law reform underway. Mr. Zabini, you were about to speak a moment ago."

Blaise gave their professor an odd look, but slowly moved away from the anti-Dumbledore rant" "Mother told me all about what's banned," he began, "like if a wizard or witch wants to practice spirit communication, that's a fine. Even though our school is filled with ghosts." 

"Yes!" Parvati threw her hands up in the air. "Thank you! That...that really peeves me off!"

 "Sounds hypocritical," Goyle grumbled under his breath. His face was scrunched up as if he was thinking too hard. 

"That..." Hermione began, but paused. She was struggling mentally. "That doesn't make any sense. It should be about safety, not—

"But's it's not about safety," Draco chimed in. "My great-great-great aunt worked here as a Professor until," he shot a nasty glare at Harry. 

"My grandfather removed her teaching position," Harry interrupted him, glaring back. 

"Ah, yes," Tom chimed in, pointing at Harry and smiling, "Charlus Potter. He was a right bastard, but I'm sure with Professor Snape around, you don't need me to slander more of your dead relatives. Continue, Mr. Malfoy." 

Harry sunk into his seat, his lips thinned out into a frown. Ron was right. Snape definitely got his nastiness from Tom. He spared another glance at Ron, but his best friend was hunched over his desk, tracing patterns on the wood. Not looking at him, not looking at anyone. He wasn't going to defend the Ministry, but he wasn’t going to defend Harry either. That stung more than a hex to the face.

"Right," Draco said, straightening up in his seat. She used to teach rituals for older students, and some of them were about...women's issues." 

"Fertility," Tom supplied, "and that's everyone's issues, not just women. Go on."

"Well, some of those rituals needed blood. Not a lot, but just some. A prick of a finger," Draco said, raising his finger to indicate what he meant. "Nothing at all, Ministry banned those rituals, yet she kept teaching them. So Charlus Potter went to the school board and got them remove the entire class." 

"Irish druids were all but wiped out," Seamus added. "My mam said her family had to avoid it."

"So, wait," Goyle said slowly, "it's not about safety at all, is it? It's just about control."

"Not all the time!" Neville all but shouted. 

The boy, usually shy, and docile was red in the face, almost in tears. "It's not always about control. Tell that to my parents," he said through gritted teeth.

The room went deathly quiet. And finally, Ron looked up, and he was furious. 

Tom walked back into the circle, and some of kids twisted in their seats to watch him. He approached Neville's desk, but he didn't crouch down in front of it like he had Hermione's. "You are right, Mr. Longbottom, sometimes it's not always about control or deep seated racism, or even sexism, in the case of Leanan Malfoy. Sometimes, dark magic comes with a very heavy price. And people suffer."

"My parents were tortured by the Cruciatus Curse," he explained slowly, carefully. He was trying very hard to keep his voice even. 

"One of the Unforgivables," Tom said. "Mr. Longbottom, what Bellatrix Lestrange and her little gang did to your parents...I have on good authority to know that the Dark Lord did not approve of that." Tom's eyes widened a fraction, and he glanced to the ground. "Even that went far for him." 

Harry wondered how a lowly follower could possibly know what Voldemort did or didn't approve. He suspected that Tom Riddle wasn't being honest about how deep his support for Voldemort had been. 

"He did?" Neville asked, his tone said he didn't believe Tom would know this either.

"Trust me, he did."

"Didn't he try murdering Potter when he was a baby?" Draco asked bluntly. 

"I said he didn't approve of your aunt's actions, not that he wasn't extreme, Mr. Malfoy," Tom said, rather dismissive over Harry's near death experience. 

Harry stared at Tom. And for a brief moment, a crazy moment...he thought Tom Riddle was the man who was possessed by that horcrux, the demon, the real Voldemort. He was the man who was arrogant enough to think he could control the demon. 

But no. Albus Dumbledore wouldn't *hire* Voldemort, the man who started the war. Right?

Then, with a long, slow sigh, he raised both hands and gestured vaguely—half shrug, half what the actual hell is this conversation? motion—before dropping them back down in defeat. 

"I'm not arguing that all dark magic needs to be legal, Neville," Harry spoke up, ignoring everything the professor just said, "I don't know about the curse that was used on your parents, but it sounds like in trying to ban truly bad spells, it affects everyone else. I don't know. It doesn't seem fair."

"So we just legalize all dark magic then?" Ron demanded, finally speaking up. "We just legalize the Unforgivables? 

Tom cleared his throat. "Mr. Weasley, that is not anyone is arguing we legalize all dark magic." He turned back around and went back to his chalkboard. He took control over the chalk and began writing again. The shift in the classroom simmered. 

On the board he wrote:

• Who decides what magic is "Dark"?
• What makes a spell illegal?
• Why is intent ignored in classification?

Example:

• Bombarda" → Creates explosions.
• "The Blasting Curse" (Confringo) → Creates explosions.
• One is legal. One is Dark. Why?

Are laws about safety, control, or something else?
How do words shape perception?

"Take Bombarda and Confringo—one is taught in school, one is banned," he said, underlining what he wrote. "They do the same thing. Why is one allowed? Why does the Ministry decide this and not the witches and wizards who use magic every day?" 

He turned around with hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Based on what we discussed today, I would like a simple one page essay on your thoughts. Collect them, explore both sides. Yes, certain magical practices are criminalized in Britain, and broader Europe, however, Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Weasley have an excellent point. Real harm can be done with magic, period."

He paused, and added, "two points for each of you."

Dean's mouth dropped. "Wait, even us?" 

Tom gave each of the Gryffindors a lazy look, tilting his head to the side, and humming. "Ah, my mistake. It seems Professor Snape has set expectations. An extra three points to the Slytherins in class."

Silent cheers from the Slytherins, and loud groans and complaints from the Gryffindors. 
 The groans from the Gryffindors were still echoing when Tom clapped his hands once, the sharp sound silencing the room.

"That concludes today’s lesson," he said, dusting chalk from his fingers. "Your essays are due next week, and—please—do try to make them interesting. I've had to read Severus's work for years, and I would rather not be subjected to another decade of monotony."

The Slytherins laughed. A few Gryffindors snickered too, though Hermione looked vaguely offended on Snape’s behalf.

"Class dismissed," Tom said smoothly.

Chairs scraped against the floor as students began filing out, still murmuring about the discussion. A few Slytherins were smug, clearly pleased with how the conversation had gone, while the Gryffindors looked anywhere between contemplative and deeply annoyed.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione as they packed up their things. "Wait for me outside," he said quietly. "I want to talk to Mr. Riddle."

Ron gave him a sharp look. "Seriously?" His voice was louder than Harry would have liked. "What could you possibly have to talk to him about?"

Harry didn’t answer right away. He just finished shoving his books into his bag, gripping his wand a little tighter than necessary.

"Just wait for me, okay?" he repeated, glaring at Ron. Why can't he talk to Mr. Riddle? He's our teacher. 

"No!" Ron snapped. "I had enough of this crap for one day." He grabbed his books and stormed out. 

Hermione gave Harry an apologetic look, but it was clear the discussion they just had shook her to her core. She followed Ron out the class. Harry looking back saw Draco standing at the door and nodded out into the hall, as if the blonde indicated he would wait for Harry.

He would unpack that after he talks to Tom. 

He swung his bag over his shoulder, and walked up to Tom. The man was sitting, relaxed on the stool. Harry wasn't entirely surprised was lighting up a cigarette mere seconds after he dismissed class. 

Tom glanced down at Harry, an easy grin on his face. "Harry, how's your arm?"

"Well, enough I suppose," he said. He was grateful for Tom's help the other day, but despite his bravado and frustration, he still felt funny how quick Tom was to perform an illegal spell like that. "Im hope I don't come across as rude, but I just...I mean, you're an odd choice to be a professor...especially since you cursed the position." 

"Where did you come to that conclusion, hmm?" Tom hummed, smiling. He inhaled sharply, and let out a puff of smoke. 

Harry scratched his head. "Uh, because you confessed to it last week in the hospital wing?"

"I suppose I was a bit obtuse," Tom mused, not taking the conversation seriously at all. He focused on his cigarette.

And the smoke curled in the air, and Harry's nose scrunched up in disgust. No one in his life smoked, but the smell was familiar. 

"I'll be honest with you, Harry," Tom began, waving his hand. "Headmaster Dumbledore wanted me here because of my expertise in Dark Magic." 

Harry shifted uncomfortably to one foot or another. His eyes wandered to Tom's desk, his bone-like yew wand just sat there. That too was familiar, and not just because Tom had used it to heal him the other day.

"Isn't Dumbledore against Dark Magic, sir?" he asked, flicking his eyes back at the man. 

"Dumbledore has his ideals, but he's a pragmatic at heart. With the Chamber...well," he waved his hand again, the smoke dancing in the air. "He needed an expert."

He flicked his ash in the air, and the ashtray on his desk zipped to the right spot before the ash fell to the ground. 

"What exactly is the Chamber?" Harry questioned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

The smile on Tom's face was unsettling at best, and made Harry take half a step back. "Oh, well, why don't you ask Professor Snape the next time you have potions. Tell him Professor Riddle told you to. Whatever points he takes from you, I'll give you double in return."

Harry squirmed under Tom's grin. 

But, as odd as this suggestion was, the prospect of getting easy points for such a simple task would be nice. "I think I will," he said carefully. "I have to go."

"Yes, do take care, Harry," he said. He got up from his stool and cleaned the chalkboard. 

Harry shot the professor a weary glance before heading out of the classroom. The doors closed behind him with a shuddering bang.

He was all but ambushed by Draco Malfoy. "What did you talk to him about?" the blonde asked. 

Harry looked down both halls, and...yeah, his friends abandoned him. 

"If you're looking for Weasley and Granger, they stormed off," Draco confirmed. "You're not the only one who's friends abandoned them. The Slytherins have casted me aside for spending time with a blood traitor and a mud--muggle-born. As if that's a crime! People are ridiculous."

Harry glared at Draco for the slip up, but at least the blonde was trying. Even if he wasn't self aware.   

But he shook his head. "Why is Ron like that?" he asked, but he could hear the "because he's a Weasley" before Draco even opened his mouth. 

"Because he's a Weasley," the blonde, sneering. "I told you to make friends with the right sorts last year."

"Ron is the right sort, you're just a prat," Harry said. Just because Ron was angry now, didn't mean he wouldn't defend his friend. 

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes, he is fun when it comes to gossip, but that's the only thing he's good for." But his mood shifted, hiss expression turned from condescending and cruel to contemplative. "Weasley, and Longbottom, Vance, Brown...they're all raised to fear Dark Magic--I suppose, for good reason. If i had to guess, hearing the Boy Who Lived  saying Dark Magic is okay." 

Harry forced them to stop walking. "But I didn't say Dark Magic was okay. I said the rules Ministry made about Dark Magic were terrible."

"I know that," Draco inisted, "but that's not what they heard. They're not Parvati who grew up telling their magic was bad. They're not muggle borns like Thomas or Granger who don't know anything about magic. You just," he shrugged, "broke their brains. Maybe Weasley feels betrayed. You started the year saying The Dark Lord had a point."

Harry's cheeks flushed red. He had said that...twice. "I said it again, when Lockhart removed my bones," He explained when Draco raised a eyebrow. "There was an argument how to heal me, and the Ministry approved method would've taken weeks and I would end up missing the first Quidditch match of the season." 

"I fail to see how that's my problem," Draco said, smirking. 

Harry gave him a flat look, which made Draco smile harder. 

Before he could explain further the Defense class doors opened. The two looked back at the doors, then at each other, and hurried around the corner, and out of sight of Professor Riddle. 

Harry cast a glance over his shoulder as he and Draco walked the empty hall. Once he made sure the man wasn't behind them, he whispered, "Professor Riddle had a solution that was quick and painless. But illegal," he looked again and lowered his voice even more so. "Necromantic healing."

Draco let out a low whistle. "Oh, that's... that's very illegal. But of course, he’d know that."

Now it was the blonde's turn to glance back in paranoia. "My father told me not to trust him. Ever. Said he was dangerous—really dangerous." He hesitated before adding, "I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that rattled before."

Harry adjusted his bag, his fingers fidgeting with the strap. "Was he lying back there? About being a low-ranking follower—what were they called? Death Eaters?"

Draco scoffed. "Obviously." His voice dropped lower. "I don’t know much about the Death Eater business—Father always said he’d explain when I was older—but after we ran into Riddle in Diagon Alley?" He shook his head. "He didn’t have to say it. I could tell. He was terrified."

He cast another wary glance over his shoulder before continuing. "Riddle just... walked all over him. And he let it happen. My father never lets that happen." His lips pressed into a thin line. "He played the courts, yeah. Used his blood status, his work at the hospital, all that nonsense. But if you ask me?" He glanced at Harry. "He didn’t just follow the Dark Lord. He was close to him. The inner circle. Maybe even—"

"—maybe even him," Harry said, and for the first time, he wasn't brave enough to say You-Know-Who's name. 

Draco's face was grim. "Just...just don't trust him." he looked around. "I have to get to History of Magic. I will see you around, Potter." 

"Yeah, see you around," Harry said, a bit more quiet. 

Draco went down a different hall, and Harry continued straight.

If Tom was the man who was originally possessed by the demon, where did he find it? And why did the Headmaster hire him? 

 

Albus found Tom in the staff lounge just before dinner. The man was looking over a plaque dedicated to Phineas Nigellus Black on his greatness--one that Black had put there himself and enchanted it to the wall to never be removed. 

Tom glanced Albus's way. "You did nothing to change the staff lounge since I was student," he walked over the honey oak table Albus holds meetings. He picked up his teacup and sipped on it, with on hand in his pocket. "Even when you've been Headmaster for decades. I thought gay men enjoyed decorating." 

Albus crossed his arms. "That is incredibly inappropriate."

Tom shook his head, holding up a finger to stop him. "Inappropriate would be bringing up your taste in men, and your taste is dreadful." he said, almost sounding sincere, but then, "It's what you deserve though."

Albus counted backwards to give himself patience. "Ignoring your homophobia for a moment--

"I'm not homophobic, I am very accepting of queers. Just not you," he said cheekily, grinning. 

"How has your first week of teaching?" Albus pushed through his annoyance. He would not let Tom get under his skin. 

"I think rather well," he said, walking over to the tea kettle. He pulled out a cup from the cupboard and grabbed one with tiny painted frogs. He went for a container of simple Earl gray tea. "I'm putting poison in your tea, what kind do you want?" 

"Be creative," he said. He followed Tom over to the counter. "I am mildly concerned about second years are discussing the Imperious curse. Just as long you do not demonstrate such a spell in your class, I think you're doing better than I had expected." 

Tom raised a brow. "Albus, who do you take me for? Now, if you hired Mad Eye as Lockhart's replacement, he'd have first years using Crucio on each other." 

"Alastor would not," Albus argued. 

Tom's expression turned into concern. "Albus, that man is insane. Have you met him? He makes me feel uncomfortable." 

"He makes you uncomfortable because he has a good idea who you used to be," Albus said. He looked down at the cup Tom was making him. "You forgot the honey."

Tom gave Albus a flat look as he opened the cupboard and grabbed a bottle of honey. He flipped the lid, and scruited far too much for anyone with sense or taste, but to Albus, it was just right. He snapped the lid shut. He summoned a vial of something illegal and handed it to Albus with a malicious grin. "Better?" 

"Thank you," Albus said with a pleased tone. He accepted the cup and moved so Tom can get passed him. "Any luck on finding the missing diary?"

"It's been a week." He walked over to the couch up against the wall where he had tossed his coat earlier. He fished out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. "I am trying to get to know the students before I start invading their minds for Voldemort," he explained. He lit his cigarette. 

"You should quit, Tom, you're hardly young anymore," Albus chastised, and wasn't shocked the petulant child masquerading as a grown man flipped him off. "I am just concerned about the possibility of that monster getting full power. Even just a fragment inside your head was too much."

"That's because he has access to my magic," Tom pointed out, smug and unbothered. "You worry too much."

"And you don't worry enough," Albus argued. He took a sip of the tea before sitting it down. "You think everyone here is to amuse you, and real lives are at stake."

"People are here to amuse me," he countered lazily. "But I don't think rushing to find the bloody diary will do us any good. Unless you want me to invade every mind of each student, of each staff member to find the wraith, I am investigating."

The door to the staff lounge creaked open, and both men turned.

Severus stood there in his black flowing robes and impassive stare. And then he sharply whirled on his heal and left them. 

"Well that was rude of him," Tom said. "He gotten that from his mother."

"Oh, yes, because his father is the perfect gentleman?" Albus took a sip of the tea, smacking his lips. "Ah, you chose drake dust. Please inform Minerva and the rest of the staff I will be disposed for the rest of the evening." 

Tom lifted his cup in a half cheer, smirking, "oh, of course, Albus. I’ll let everyone know you’re feeling… under the weather.” 

 

 

Albus Dumbledore's absence from dinner was highly noticeable. Which made the whole ordeal funnier to Tom. When he told the rest of the staff Albus was sick, he wasn't entirely shocked Severus asked "what did you do?" knowing Albus had last been seen with him. 

He brushed his son off, said an inflammatory comment toward Minnie, insulted Madame Hooch, and condescended to Orsinio about music. 

It was overall a productive ten minutes of his life. He hadn't just angered his fellow professors, but he also irritated the tutors that came in during study halls.  

He was quite sure Severus was going to curse him out--literally by the time that conversation was over. 

He sat on the far end of the staff table, with his son giving him the silent treatment. It's fine. Severus's silence was rather similar to Eileen's. Cold, distant. The difference between Severus and his mother was that Tom found it amusing when his son got worked up. It also never last long. Severus would cave the moment Tom talked long enough. 

His eldest could never resist him. 

Now, Ravi. 

When Ravi was mad at Tom? Truly mad, the kind of mad that would drive a boy to murder his own father. 

Ravi would stubbornly keep to himself for weeks at the time. He looked up to Tom in many ways, but took after him as well. He's been weaponizing the way he speaks and use his silence since he could talk. Tom was never prouder the first time Ravi successfully manipulated him in an argument.

Which is why he didn't understand how Ravi ended up in Gryffindor. 

Tom scanned lions' table. He noticed, in his search, that Harry Potter wasn't eating with Ronald Weasley or the rest of his second years, choosing to sit with...well, well with Ravi.

The boy was morose, from what Tom could tell from high above on the staff table.

It was a stark contrast next to him. 

Ravi was laughing at something the Weasleys' Twins were saying. His voice just peaked above the crowd. Or, Tom knew that laugh because it was his own laugh--minus the coughing fits.

The three with that Lee Jordan boy were plotting something, Tom just knew it. Ever sense Ravi let it slip he and his friends called themselves the 'Renegades' over the summer, Tom knew that was bad news. He had hoped Ravi wouldn't continue with his 'pranks' and rule breaking with him in the school, but now Tom feared his second little viper saw his presence as a challenge. 

Should he ask Albus if Mangala could host his detentions for him? Merlin, the idea of giving Ravi or Zahira detentions made him slightly ill. Punishing Ravi was a struggle. But Zahira? He couldn't punish his precious daughter. 

Speaking of his daughter...

His eyes flickered to the Slytherin table. From this distance, Tom couldn't make out her details--damned eyesight failing him now he's sixty-five--but he did notice in his first class with her she had been morose, subdued. 

Zahira was ambitious, and talkative. She was hyper, at least at home. She did her best to not be hyper and fidget in public, but how could she sit still for forty-five minutes straight in a class? 

And even now, at dinner, she was just sitting there calmly and ignoring the other children. Before the school year, Zahira was most excited about was meeting kids her age and exploiting them until they became her friends much like how he taught her. 

But she was barely engaging with anyone. 

Tom leaned in Severus's space, whispering, "have you noticed anything wrong about your baby sister?"

Severus tensed, gripping his fork. He shot Tom a glare, but as predicted, he broke his silent treatment.

If only to insult him.

"Besides the fact her father is an insufferable cunt?" He hissed in a low drawl, "yes I have. As her brother, and head of house I already spoken to her. Do you wish to undermine me by assuming I hadn't?"

Tom gave him a flat look, his voice dripping with venom. "I do not appreciate your tone."

For a moment, fear flickered in Severus's face but he schooled his features. "I just...you poisoned Dumbledore. For fun."

"I warned him and he didn't stop me," Tom argued. Is that what Severus was upset about? Here he assumed Severus was angry because needled at the other teachers. "This isn't about Albus, this is about your sister, why didn't you write me letter something was wrong with her?"

"There isn't," Severus hissed through clenched teeth. "She had aspirations of school life, and they were crushed. And you want to know why?" 

Tom glared at him. This was insulting. Being read to filth by his eldest. "I'm sure you will tell me even if I say no."

"You uprooted Ravi and Zahira from their life in India with little warning," Severus whispered in a harsher tone. "And once you returned, you isolated them both. Now, Ravi had a year and he was off to Hogwarts. But Zahira? She had four years of it. Four years of just you while Mangala worked because until now, no one was insane enough to hire you." 

Tom was appalled. "So it's my fault?"

"Yes," Severus spoke over him. "And even so, some children need time adjust to Hogwarts, no matter how much their guardians prepare them for it. She's not you. She doesn't walk into a room and demand attention with doing little."

Tom wanted to double down, argue against Severus. But damn the boy, he was logically making sense. Yet, Tom struggled to see how this was his fault. He cared for his children, adored them. He would kill for them. He taught them everything he knew. 

But...he could see how the big family Zahira knew she was since she was an infant was a stark contrast staying in a house with just himself and Nagini for company.

"Alright, alright," Tom said, tapping the table. "You have a few points." 

"A few?" Severus questioned, sneering down at him the way a pureblood would sneer at a mudblood. Not something one expected from a halfblood raised by a blood traitor in a muggle environment. 

Oh, he hated that look. Just like Eileen. Now the boy was nearing his mid thirties, Severus was reminding Tom more and more of Eileen. 

"Fine," he all but snapped, but made sure to keep his voice low. "You're right. I screwed my children up. I'm a terrible father. How do I fix it."

Severus's hands tensed, and he forced them to relax. "You are not a terrible father, just a terrible man. By all accounts, you're far better than anyone would expect from someone like you." 

"Thank you, son, for the compliment," Tom bit out, barely containing his annoyance. 

"However, if you wish to fix it," Severus continued, "you can start by not being overbearing and smothering. And, Zahira is not entirely lost." he motioned to the Gryffindor table. "I seen her spend her free time with the Weasley girl." 

Tom followed Severus's gesture to the ginger. Arthur's youngest was sitting among the boisterous crowd of lions just as still and sad as Zahira was. 

Tom narrowed his eyes. A bit odd...but maybe not. The girls must be upset the house rivalries was interfering with their friendship. 

Ah! That had to be it with they were acting similarly. Severus might be right about what he did to his two youngest didn't help, but this strained friendship might be the root cause. 

Feeling slightly better at his daughter's odd behavior, he turned back to Severus who returned to eating his steak. He made a face when Severus cut into it and blood flooded the plate, but Tom had long accepted Severus was a disgusting meat eater. If only Tom could force the world into vegetarianism. It was healthier, better for the environment--not that muggles gave a damn about that, and animals were much superior  to humans. 

Severus cast him a sidelong glance, irritated. "You better not start a lecture about me becoming a vegetarian again. I did it for two months, I'm not going back." 

"I was about to tell you're doing a decent job as Head of House," he said, in a false pleased tone, but then he allowed to be more sincere. "And a good brother." he patted Severus's knee under the table. "Thank you for looking out for your siblings, even if it means it's against me."  

Severus sighed, dropping his knife onto his plate so he could rub his temple. "Yes, well, someone has to. You're an impossible man." 

The insult was dulled by the fact Severus switched topics to his day teaching seventh years, breaking the the silence between them entirely. 

Notes:

I am currently editing the first chapters

At least slowly

so here's Tom as a professor

Tell me what you think about the discussion

also I love Albus's and Tom's dynamic
Its so goofy

 

Edit: I cant believe I didn't add the last part of that scene!

Chapter 8: Secrets and Scandals

Harry trudged down the corridor, his shoulders hunched against the chill of the morning air. His fingers clenched the strap of his book bag, knuckles pale from the pressure.

The walk to the Great Hall felt longer than usual, the silence of the castle pressing down on him like a thick fog. Usually, he’d be talking with Ron and Hermione about the match tomorrow, arguing over strategy, or at the very least joking around to calm his nerves. But after yesterday’s lesson, Ron had barely looked at him. And Hermione... well, she was doing that thing where she hovered between them, trying to keep the peace without actually choosing a side.

It was exhausting. And it made Harry feel like he was standing on a Quidditch pitch alone, with Bludgers coming at him from all sides. It only been one day! 

He pushed the doors to the Great Hall open, the low hum of morning chatter washing over him. The Gryffindor table was packed, but the energy was off—strained, like everyone was waiting for something to explode.

Harry’s gaze swept over the staff table, where only half the professors were present. The other half were conspicuously missing. No Headmaster. No Professor McGonagall. No Professor Snape. And, most unsettling of all, no Tom Riddle. Some of the tutors and professors Harry didn’t even know by name were missing, too. Faces he recognized but couldn’t place. The absence made his stomach twist.

Why would so many professors be missing? Was this about the Chamber of Secrets and Mrs. Norris attack? But no. Why would some of the teachers stay here, while some weren't? Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout would've been with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape. But the way the professors were looking at each other, muttering in low, tense voices, suggested something bad had happened. Something big.

His eyes shifted to the Gryffindor table, searching for familiar faces. His usual spot was filled by Neville, in between Ron and Hermione. A sharp pang hit Harry’s chest, leaving something cold and bitter lodged in his throat. It was like they’d replaced him. Just pushed him out and moved on.

Ron and Neville were talking—quietly but intensely—while Hermione sat with her shoulders hunched, her eyes locked on the newspaper in her trembling hands. She wasn’t even looking at her food. Whatever she was reading, it was clearly bad.

But she wasn’t looking at him, either. No one was.

His gaze slid down the table until he spotted Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey, sitting further down, Colin waving him over with the kind of enthusiasm only Colin could muster.

“Harry! Over here!”

Harry hesitated before forcing his feet to move. “Morning,” he mumbled as he slid into the seat across from them, immediately reaching for a piece of toast.

“Morning!” Colin chirped, practically bouncing with excitement. “You ready for the match tomorrow? I bet you’re going to wipe the floor with Malfoy!”

Harry forced a smile. “Uh, yeah. That’s the plan.”

Colin didn’t seem to notice how strained his voice was. “I can’t wait! I brought a new camera roll just for the match! You’re going to look brilliant, Harry, just brilliant!”

“Right,” Harry said, nodding absently. He glanced over at Ginny, who was staring down at her plate, poking listlessly at her scrambled eggs. She looked exhausted, dark shadows under her eyes and her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

“You okay, Ginny?” Harry asked.

She jolted as if someone had slapped her. “What? Oh. Yeah. Just... tired.”

Harry frowned. Her hand shook as she stabbed a piece of sausage, her knuckles white around the fork. She seemed on edge, her eyes darting to the entrances of the Great Hall every few moments like she expected something terrible to walk through them at any moment.

“You look it,” Harry said before he could stop himself. “I mean, not in a bad way, just—you know.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, her fork trembling just slightly as she stabbed a piece of sausage. “Just didn’t sleep well. Bad dreams." 

Harry's nose scrunched up, feeling a bit concerned. "What kind of bad dreams?" 

She turned to him, and the bags under her names could not be normal. "It's just about an older boy. He's quite rude. Says mean things."

He frowned. Was an older boy bullying Ginny? Shouldn't she tell her four older brothers about this? Percy was a sixth year and rather good with magic. Even if he couldn't physically fight, he could duel any boy who's messing with his sister. And the twins wouldn't let it slide either, or Ron for that matter. 

"Who is this boy?" he asked, scanning the room, his eyes landing on the Slytherin table. He caught a glimpse of a distraught Draco Malfoy, also reading the newspaper. What was so devastating about the Daily Prophet?

Harry blinked. The words hit him with the force of something sharp and unfamiliar.

“Like... a dream?” he asked carefully, unsure how to respond to something that sounded completely insane.

Ginny nodded stiffly, her hand trembling as she pushed her eggs around her plate. “Yeah. Just a dream.”

“Right...” Harry said, forcing himself to nod as if he understood. Ginny clearly looked disturbed, but he didn’t know how to make sense of what she was saying. He tried to shrug it off, reassuring himself that maybe she was just having nightmares. That happened sometimes. Everyone had bad dreams.

He felt a flash of embarrassment for making such a big deal out of it. After all, it was just a dream, wasn’t it?

He turned to Colin for a bit of normalcy. 

But normalcy was the last thing the Great Hall seemed capable of providing. There was a buzz he hadn't fully noticed before, low and agitated, like the entire room was holding its breath. The professors at the staff table weren’t eating, they were talking in hushed, worried tones. And the students were no better. Nervous eyes kept flicking toward the entrance, toward each other, like everyone was expecting something dreadful to happen.

“What’s everyone on about?” Harry muttered, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of whatever had everyone so wound up.

“Dunno,” Colin said with a shrug. “But everyone’s been acting all weird this morning. Maybe it’s just nerves about the game?”

Harry doubted that. Quidditch matches got people riled up, sure, but not like this. This was something different. Something worse.

His gaze landed on Ravi Verma, sitting a little further down the table with his shoulders drawn tight and his eyes burning holes through a copy of the Daily Prophet. Literally. The paper was starting to smoke from the heat of his glare.

Fred Weasley reached over and calmly plucked the paper out of Ravi’s hands before it could catch fire. “Mate, you’re gonna set the whole table ablaze if you keep doing that.”

Ravi let out a growl of frustration, but didn’t argue. His hands twitched on the table, fingers clenching and unclenching like he was trying to strangle the air.

“Oi, Harry!” Fred called, catching his attention. “You’ll want to see this.” He tossed the newspaper down the table, and Harry caught it just before it could splatter in a puddle of pumpkin juice.

“What’s—” Harry’s voice died in his throat the moment his eyes landed on the headline.

 

* * *

Headmaster or Puppet Master?

A Tell All On Albus Dumbledore and Those Who Enable Him. 

By Rita Skeeter

For the last seventy years, one man has quietly shaped the minds of young witches and wizards across the British Isles. He has been our professor, our Deputy Headmaster, our Head of House—and since the sixties, the unquestioned Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore is a name known across the globe, revered as the champion who defeated Gellert Grindelwald and later led the charge against You-Know-Who. His legacy is one of brilliance, bravery, and benevolence.

But what if I told you, dear readers, that this is not the full truth?

What if I told you that the same man we hail as a war hero is also the shadowy architect of Hogwarts' most dangerous decisions? That his leadership has been marked not by wisdom, but by unchecked power, manipulation, and secrets so dark they would make even You-Know-Who pause?

The Daily Prophet has spent weeks investigating these claims, gathering evidence, speaking to sources inside the school, and uncovering shocking truths that the wizarding public deserves to know.

Because if Albus Dumbledore is truly the beacon of light we believe him to be… then why does his past bear such an uncanny resemblance to the darkness he claims to fight?

It is time to strip away the carefully crafted facade of the kindly grandfather and expose the shadows lurking beneath.

From his unsettling father-son dynamic with the enigmatic Tom Riddle, to his history of questionable hiring practices, to the way he exploits and weaponizes some of the brightest witches of our time—one must ask:

Are our children truly safe at Hogwarts under Albus Dumbledore’s reign?

The unjust firing of Gilderoy Lockhart

Just before the school year began, celebrated adventurer, award-winning author, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award, Gilderoy Lockhart proudly announced his appointment as Hogwarts’ new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Much to the excitement of parents and students alike, Lockhart was poised to shape young minds with his vast experience in combating the forces of darkness.

"I had lines out the door," Lockhart told me, misty-eyed as he recalled the momentous occasion. "I met Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived—at one of my book signings. A moment neither of us will ever forget!"

However, readers may recall that this joyous occasion was marred by scandal when Lily Potter, Harry’s grief-stricken, unstable mother, physically attacked Lockhart in broad daylight.

A shocking incident, to be sure—but one that, Lockhart assures me, had nothing to do with his sudden dismissal.

"Merlin, no," he laughed, ever gracious. "Hardly the boy’s fault his mother is overcome with grief when she sees a man such as myself. Her husband died at twenty-one—of course, she would be overwhelmed in the presence of a strong, accomplished wizard. It is unfortunate, but I harbor no ill will. My only concern was guiding young minds."

And yet—that noble goal was cruelly ripped from him.

Instead of a year dedicated to education and enlightenment, Lockhart’s tenure at Hogwarts turned into a nightmare of betrayal.

"I was hired with great enthusiasm," Lockhart told me, his voice trembling with emotion. "Albus Dumbledore himself courted me for the job! He practically begged me to bring my wealth of knowledge to the school—he said the students deserved the very best. And now? Now, I’m cast aside like a used potion vial!"

And the most egregious part of this shocking injustice?

Who replaced him?

A certain Tom Riddle.

 

Dumbledore’s Biggest Regret: Tom Riddle, More Than Just a Death Eater

For many of my readers who lived through the first Wizarding War, the name Tom Riddle might stir memories best left buried. He was never a name shouted from the rooftops like the Dark Lord himself, never one to revel in the spotlight—but always, always standing in the shadows.

Tom Marvolo Riddle is the last known heir of the notorious Gaunt family—one of the oldest pureblood lines in Britain, now all but forgotten.

Yet, if the Gaunts were once wretched and destitute, their last heir has rewritten their legacy into something far more sinister.

Sources tell me his mother was a homely squib, abandoned by her own blood, who ran off with a Muggle. A disgrace to her line. But it is her son—the man Albus Dumbledore welcomed into Hogwarts, shielded, and even considered a protégée—who deserves our scrutiny.

Because if the Dark Lord had generals, Tom Riddle was no mere soldier—he was one of the architects. 

He was not, as the courts so generously ruled, some lowly Death Eater who repented and reformed. Far from it. Those of us who moved in the same circles as Tom Riddle know exactly how he operated—the way he held court at pure-blood galas, the way Lords and Ladies of noble houses answered to him. He did not follow. He commanded.

And now we are meant to believe that this man—this war criminal—has simply left it all behind? That he is nothing more than an ex-Death Eater turned professor, educating our children out of the kindness of his heart?

Might I remind my dear readers that Charlus Potter, esteemed Overseer of the infamous Parselmouth Oversight Committee, openly accused Tom Riddle of being You-Know-Who?

And what did Albus Dumbledore do?

He defended him.
He discredited the late, great Charlus Potter.
He paved the way for Tom Riddle’s redemption arc.

And now?

Now, Mr. Riddle sits at Hogwarts, shaping young minds.

The Unnatural Love Affairs of the Malfoys 

The day of Tom Riddle's hiring, Lucius Malfoy made a generous donation to Hogwarts. He purchased six-hundred-seventy-seven Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks. That is for every single student who is of attendance this year. 

We must examine why Lord Malfoy would make such a kind gesture to the students of Hogwarts. 

One of Riddle's closest relationships was with Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius's late father and disgraced war criminal. How close? Old gossip suggests Riddle and Abraxas were far more than just political allies.

Was it merely friendship? Or was it something more scandalous?

The rumors of their alleged affair were so pervasive that many believed Abraxas's wife, Odette Malfoy nearly left him for it. The former model-turned fashion designer had denied these claims in the past, but with a man like Tom Riddle, she would have no choice but to give up her own husband.

What’s more, it seems the Malfoys have a habit of maintaining unconventional relationships.

Let us consider Leanan Malfoy, former professor of Hogwarts. She never once married any eligible wizard, but chose instead, to live a more unique life with Madame Rolanda Hooch  

And now there is Lucius Malfoy, the current head of the Malfoy family.  And, curiously, he too has an unnaturally close relationship with Severus Snape, son of Tom Riddle and disgraced vampire, Eileen Prince. 

That is right, my dearest readers. Albus Dumbledore hired someone of the Prince family. 

For over a decade, Hogwarts’ potions curriculum has been in the hands of a known Death Eater, an enforcer of the Dark Lord’s will. Now, his father joins him. Is this an institution of learning… or an experiment in indoctrination?

And one must wonder what Narcissa Malfoy thinks of her husband’s friendships with Riddle and Snape. After all, those Riddle men have a thing for blondes.

The Family That Preys Together: Nepotism 

Tom Riddle is not just Albus Dumbledore’s latest questionable hire—he is also Hogwarts’ latest case of nepotism.

Documents obtained by the Daily Prophet reveal that in 1939, Albus Dumbledore drafted adoption papers for one Tom Marvolo Riddle. While the papers were never finalized, they reveal an alarming paternal dynamic between the two men, one that landed Riddle a position at Hogwarts. 

So what does that mean for Tom Riddle's children? Why, does that not make Albus a grandfather figure to Riddle's children? And guess who has been the Potions Master at the school for over a decade...Severus Snape. 

And what kind of professor is Tom Riddle, truly? Ignoring his clear criminal past, the man has three children from two different women--both of whom have foreigninfluences. The man clearly has it out against British women.

The Witches of Hogwarts: Dumbledore’s Pawns or Willing Accomplices?

But let us talk about British women. 

It is no secret that Albus Dumbledore has always surrounded himself with formidable witches. Some would argue that this is a testament to his progressive views on gender equality. But I, dear readers, would argue otherwise.

Because for all their intelligence, power, and influence, these women do not challenge him. They are gross enablers. 

Take Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Transfiguration professor. A brilliant witch, no doubt, but has she ever once dared to oppose Dumbledore's authority? She has sat by his side for decades, never questioning his policies, never raising concerns about his erratic decision-making.

And now? She is second-in-command at a school where not one, but two war criminals teacher the next generation. Minerva is weak-willed to the puppet master of the school. 

Then there is Pomona Sprout, a woman of talent and skill, yet utterly unremarkable in the grand scheme of Hogwarts politics. A non-threat to Dumbledore’s dominance.

We have the school’s so-called Divination professor, Sybill Trelawney—if one can even call her that. The only bigger charlatan than Sybill is Orson Shacklebolt. Now that is an interesting thought. Ablus Dumbledore is in the habit of hiring ex-Death Eaters and quacks, why not hire him? Makes one wonder. 

Or consider Charity Burbage, a Muggle Studies professor whose loyalty to Dumbledore’s vision is so absolute that she has built her entire career around reinforcing his philosophies. One must wonder, with Tom Riddle prowling the halls, if she still sleeps soundly at night.

And let us not forget Rolanda Hooch, whom I have already mentioned. Her questionable life choices have been whispered about for decades. It is no wonder Albus hired her, they share the same proclivities. He certainly didn't hire the failed Quidditch star to teach his firsts how to fly a broom, not after she was barred from the league. 

Then there is the silence from the other female staff. They make no accomplishments outside of propping up a bitter old man. Truthfully, all the staff, from the tutors to the suspicious Grounds Keeper, the private tutors, and the guest lecturers are all sycophants. 

But one has to wonder if Albus prioritizes hiring these women because he wishes to surround himself with those who will never challenge his absolute authority?

One thing is certain: at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s reign, no one is safe.

 

Conclusion: How Much More Will We Tolerate?

We, as a magical society, must ask ourselves: how long will we allow Albus Dumbledore to operate unchecked?

He has manipulated our heroes, protected known war criminals, and surrounded himself with yes-men (and yes-women). He has allowed Hogwarts—a school meant to educate and protect our children—to become a den of corruption, nepotism, and unchecked power.

First, it was Gilderoy Lockhart—fired for reasons unknown.

"When the message about Chamber of Secrets has been opened, I saw this is why I had been hired," Lockhart said, solemn. "A proud mountain lion was found, petrified. I had assumed, wrongly, that Albus had planned for this. But alas, the very next day, before the new month began, I was fired. Forced out."

Then, it was Tom Riddle—ushered into a position of authority, despite his past.

Now, Hogwarts is a school where convicted Death Eaters roam freely, where whispers of blood ties to Salazar Slytherin slither through the halls, where our daughters are molded by men like Riddle and their role models remain silent.

Where does it end?

When will we stop pretending that Albus Dumbledore is a savior… and start acknowledging him as the puppet master he truly is?

* * *

The staff lounge was on fire. The missing professors from breakfast were having an impromptu meeting.  

Minerva paced around the room, ranting in her thick Scottish accent which got thicker the angrier she got. Sybil was in near hysterics, crying in Septima Vector's arms as the two sat on the couch. Charity Burbage sat next to them, in shock. She clutched a copy of the paper, so tight her fingers tore holes int. 

Severus gently took it out of her hands, balling the paper up and throwing it against the wall where it exploded on impact. No one even flinched from the fiery ball he created. 

Albus sat at large oak table, at the head. He leaned back in his chair, a fist covering his mouth. The only indication how he felt was his clenched hand trembled and his brows knitted together into a deep scowl. On his right was Rolanda Hooch. The the flight instructor sat ridged in her seat. her face was red with tears streaking down her cheeks. She wore her anger and grief. Poppy sat next to her, wrapping her arms around Rolanda struggled to not break down in front of the others. 

Tom on Albus's left, smoking his second cigarette this morning with cup of black coffee. 

"Minnie," he said coolly, exhaling a puff of smoke, "just challenge her to a duel. Invoke the 1854 clause and make it a duel to the death." 

Minerva stopped her pacing and mutterings just behind Tom. She glared down at him with a burning hatred Tom swore his hair was about to light up in flames. "I am not a brutish criminal like you are, Riddle." 

Tom tapped the article splayed out before him. "According to the paper, I was only found guilty of being a "lowly Death Eater." Oh," he nodded toward Albus, "and he vouched for me. And even if I was Lord Voldemort," he said such a smug tone that made Severus face palm everyone could hear it, "apparently its all Albus's fault anyway." 

 Predictably, nearly everyone flinched at his causal use of Voldemort. Poppy let out a sharp hiss, but kept her mouth shut. She had worked with Tom before, when she used to work the summers at St. Mungo's. 

"Do you think this is a joke?" Minerva demanded. 

Tom twisted in his chair to be give an arrogant statement or the like, but albus cut him off. 

"Tom," Albus's voice was still, and filled with warning. "If you continue to make light of this article..." he let his threat linger in the room.

Tom's demeanor shifted. He from lounging in a relaxed pose, sitting straighter. His smirk fell and replaced with a stony, emotionless expression. "Albus, you do not want me to take this article seriously." His irreverent tone fell. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. Even Sybill's quiet sniffles barely dared to break it.

His fingers twitched. "If I took this article seriously," he began, his wrath creeping into each word, "then I would I have to think about how this delightful woman insulted my wife and ex-wife, the mothers of my children. Or the fact she accused me of having an illicit affair with my dead friend, and some depraved sexual deviant for my eleven-year-old daughter could read." his voice rose with every word. "For fuck's sake, Albus! Skeeter implied I'm having a incestuous relationship with my own son with Lucius fuckin' Malfoy in the fuckin' middle!" 

He slammed his hand down hard against the oak table, making it rattle. Rolanda and Poppy both jumped. "She all but called me a child predator!" 

The room rattled with Tom's magic. The raw power hummed in the air. No one said a word. it was true Tom had been a Death Eater, to what extent, no one knows for sure. Everyone in polite society guessed he was far higher in the ranks than he presented himself. But the accusations here went beyond that. 

Severus's grip on his wand was so tight his knuckles went white. His face remained expressionless, but a low, dangerous magic rippled off of him. He hadn’t spoken yet, but the tension in his shoulders suggested he was barely restraining himself. Skeeter had dared to imply something twisted about his family, his father. And thing about Lucius and Narcissa, his closest allies. What will Draco think? What will his younger siblings think? Or the entire student body? 

Shakily, Tom brought his cigarette to his mouth, inhaling deeply, only to exhale it quickly enough. "Oh, not to mention all the heinous shit she said or implied about people I actually respect. Oh," and his tone returned back to dismissive, "and you. But I found the puppet master accusation humorous." He smiled around his cigarette, getting the glare he wanted out of the older wizard.

Albus seemed to relax, as if Tom's rage made him feel validated. He ignored the insult entirely. "This article is inconceivable." 

"What are we going to do about this?" Rolanda said, barely containing her anger. She stopped caring about her tears. "She had no business bringing Leanan into this. She can't defend herself."

 Minerva sighed as she sat down, her anger seemingly taken by Tom a moment ago. "Not unless we tell her portrait," she bit out, tired and sarcastic. 

She glanced at Tom's carton of cigarettes. He caught it out of the corner of his eye, and he slid the pack over to her. She didn't hesitate from grabbing one and light it up by using her magic. 

Albus took in a deep breath, rubbing his temples. "I do not know at the moment. This...I expected Lockhart would throw a fit in the press over being fired, but this?" he motioned at the article. "This smear campaign was in the works." He picked up the paper, staring at it in disbelief. "She even came across documents on how Leanan and I submitted to adopt Tom. These were rejected nearly sixty years ago." He said, his disbelief evident. "She just used Lockhart as an opportunity." 

"Unfortunate the Ministry didn't allow unmarried homosexuals to adopt muggle-born orphans," Tom said flippantly. "I told you to fake it, but why listen to the genius twelve-year-old?" 

There was a pause, and Minerva asked, a bit incredulous. "You were actually going to adopt him?"

"Because I am brilliant and delightful, Minnie," Tom said in  a pleased voice. She gave him a flat look saying she didn't believe him. 

"Tom and I are blood through the Weasleys," Albus explained, his eyes not leaving the paper. "I'm surprised they weren't thrown in here too, considering how broad reaching this attack is." 

"I just don't understand what's the motives, Albus" Charity spoke up, leaning forward in her seat. "The attacks on all of us staff members. Or going after the Malfoys in general. She didn't just attack Leanan, she went after the entire family. Called them out by names. She took shots of Prince family, Lily Potter of all people." 

Severus's jaw tightened. He stormed across the room to table as well. Tom held out his pack of cigarettes for him to take as well. 

After he lit his, he said, "I know my mother's family. They will not take this lightly."

"And," Sybill said, standing now. Her glasses splotchy from her crying. "And she brought up Orson Shacklebolt, calling him a fraud and bringing up his criminal past. That seemed a bit cruel. Orson was hardly high ranking Death Eater. Bellatrix Lestrange's own testimony confirmed it." 

"It's true," Tom said, agreeing. "He wasn't high in the ranks at all. The Dark Lord just wanted a fortune teller." Catching himself he added, "Or so I heard." 

Poppy short Tom a suspicious look before pushing the conversation forward. No one in the room wanted to address the possibility Albus did hire You-Know-Who. "Albus, do you think Rita is working by herself? How could she find adoption papers in the Ministry archives?"

"Who keeps rejected adoption papers?" Severus asked, his voice not betraying his anger. Eileen Prince taught him well. 

"Should we even respond?" Rolanda asked looking around the the room. Her tears have stopped falling and her expression was an intense rage one rarely saw on the flight instructor. 

"How do we respond?" Charity questioned,  leaning forward, hugging herself. Now Sybill was out of her hands, Septima was rubbing Charity's back, frowning. 

"How are we going to talk to our students?" she asked. 

Minerva looked back at Albus, her fury renewed. "Exactly. This doesn't just harm us, but our students. Several in particular. The gall to even name drop Harry in this this vile, repugnant--and Riddle's children? Riddle has every right to be livid," she said, gesturing to the man next to her, "the things Rita implied... for Zahira to read." 

Tom's jaw clenched, biting back on another explosive rant. 

"And Draco," she continued, "that poor boy. His entire family was dragged through this. And Cassie Shacklebolt...she has enough trouble with the kids knowing her mother's Bellatrix Lestrange, but to bring up her father too?" 

"Minerva," Albus began raising his hand. 

"No, Albus, what are are going to do? She indirectly attacked our students, named one by name--she attacked my former students!" She motioned to Severus, and then looked briefly at the three younger women on the couch. "We can't let this slide!"

Albus took off his glasses and dragged his hands down his face. He sighed, putting his glasses back on, letting it out and leaning back in his chair, his fingers laced together over his stomach. There was a drawn out pause as they waited for him to answer.

 “I have no answers," he said, exhaling sharply. He sat straighter, and his tone changed to firm. "And frankly, the Chamber of Secrets takes priority. This article—disgusting as it is—means nothing if our students are in danger." 

"So we are to ignore this inflammatory garbage?" Minerva asked. 

Albus stroked his beard, a deep frown settled over his face. "Tom," he said, reluctant, "do you have any...acquaintances deal with this?" 

Tom chuckled, low and dangerous.  He put his cigarette out in the ashtray that hadn't been there before Tom's arrival. "Oh, you know I do. If i know my darling wife, she will have a letter drafted soon enough." He sent a glance at Albus. "Unless, you want something...less legal--

"No, Tom," Albus said, both tired and annoyed. 

Minerva put the smoke out as well. "Skeeter is going to regret this," giving voice to what they all thought. 

* * *

In potions class, Harry sat next to Draco. Partially because after the last couple weeks and especially yesterday, he didn't hate Malfoy heir like he used to. Which was odd, but also nice? He didn't like spending every day hating someone because they're a jerk. He rather they stop being a prat. 

Not that Draco wasn't a prat, but he's less of one. 

Another reason?

The Slytherins avoided Draco. Between Theodore Nott called him a blood-traitor, and the article from this morning made him the outcast among the snakes. 

And after yesterday, Harry was the outcast of the Gryffindors, along with Parvati, he noticed. She sat next to Pansy Parkinson of all people. But Parvati wasn't an unacceptable halfblood. She wasn't raised muggle. And her defense of Dark Magic was different from his. But that still meant Lavender didn't want to sit with her, choosing to sit with Hermione instead. 

Harry slid next to Draco, sparing the blonde a glance. 

Draco was slouched in his chair, arms crossed, face in a deep scowl. But there was something else. He wasn't just angry or even furious. He was devastated by the article. He looked like someone trying not to cry and he was stubbornly holding it in. 

"Hey," Harry said quietly. 

Draco inhaled sharply through his nose and letting out before muttering, "Potter." 

Harry didn't know what to do or say. When Ron got in this way, Harry knew better to not push Ron or he would explode. Which is why he wasn't trying to talk to Ron now. 

And...Draco and Ron were very similar. 

He best not bring up the article. 

"Excited for our match tomorrow?" He asked, hoping that would lighten the mood. 

"I was," Draco hissed, casting a nasty look at Harry, "because Father would've been there to watch me play, but how can he show up now after--after that hag wrote those nasty things about our family?"

Harry winced. He didn't want to bring up the article, but it came up anyway. 

He combed through his hair with his fingers. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I get it. That was... a lot. I don't even understand half was being said."

"It implied my father is cheating on my mother with my godfather," Draco whispered, losing the heat in his voice. His sniffling disguised under a regular sniff. It was hard to miss, but it was there. "And all that stuff about Grandfather and my great-great-great aunt. They're not even alive."

"Lockhart somehow," Harry said, sarcastic, "forgot to mention he was fired because he disappeared my bones." 

"Yeah!" Draco said in hushed tone. "And that stuff about your mother was dreadful too. he made her sound like a nutter, and not someone who lost her husband." He even sounded offended on her behalf, which is completely different from the boy that once mocked Harry for having a dead father. "The whole thing is utter rubbish." 

Their conversation was cut short with the door opening, and slamming shut behind them. While the entire class flinched and jumped at the noise, no one dared to turn around. They all sat straighter, tense at being in the same room with Severus Snape after that article.

Snape swooped through the room, his cloak bellowed behind him, dragging on the floor. He came through like before storm was about to hit. 

He dramatically turned to face the class and his expression was clear:

Mention the article, even indirectly, you will feel his entire wrath. 

Harry doubted anyone would bring the article up in front of Snape. Truthfully, he felt safer bringing it up in front of Professor Riddle before Snape. Riddle at least had the patience of a father to temper him.  The article had printed his very own speculations of the man. Tom Riddle might be Lord Voldemort. But... he wasn’t Snape.

Once Snape got his silent message clear, he turned sharply on them. He flicked his wrist and the chalkboard spung around for second year lesson. The notes were written in his elegant handwriting

 He stalked over to his desk and sat down, giving them no instructions. 

He wasn't going to give them instructions. It was clear. 

Today's lesson was one of silence. Who was willing to face Severus Snape's ire today? 

Certainly not any of them. 

But...Professor Riddle did tell him to ask Professor Snape. 

But that was before Rita Skeeter's article dropped--

"Potter!" 

Harry jumped in his seat. He refocused on Snape who was glaring at his desk, while others glanced his way. "Yes, sir?" he asked, biting back a stammer. He will not show his nerves toward Professor Snape. not after the days they spent alone in detention.

"Why," Snape stood up again, "are you not writing down what I have on the chalkboard?"

Harry swallowed. "Well, sir, I was thinking."

Snape's sharp eyebrow raised upward in an expression that screamed you? Thinking? "And pry tell about what, Potter?"

"About the Chamber of Secrets, sir," Harry explained. Draco next to him slapped his forehead in exaggerated manner.

Severus titled his head to the side in much the same way Riddle did it was uncanny. It highlighted his similarities to his father more than anything. "I was unaware the Chamber of Secrets was about potions, Mr. Potter. Five points from Gryffindor for daydreaming in class and asking inane questions." 

While the Slytherins snickered, Draco's eyes flickered between their professor and Harry. There was a moment of hesitation before he shot his hand up in the air and spoke before he was called on. "It's a legitimate question, sir."

This earned a few gasps around the room. Harry was shocked because it was one thing to spend time with Malfoy, it was another for the other boy risking detention to defend him. Harry looked forward back at Snape and there was flicker of shock on his face before he schooled his face. 

It didn't compete with the anger and hurt on Ron's face, however. And why was Ron hurt? He was the one giving Harry the silent treatment!

"Explain yourself, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape pressed. 

"Well," Draco began, but paused, thinking of his answer. "My grandfather was schoolboy when the Chamber was opened, and he died before I was born before I heard any stories. Just it opened."

"The Chamber is real?" Dean blurted out, but nasty glare from Snape silenced him. 

"So, you wish to learn about the Chamber?" he asked the classroom, and everyone reluctantly nodded, except Neville who shook his head as if he might faint if Snape kept talking. 

His dark eyes scanned the room. "Very well," he sneered. He swept through the tables, his boots clicking against the stone floor. "Very well.." he repeated. 

"The Chamber of Secrets," he began, his voice silk and smooth, "is not a folk story or a bedtime story you tell a first year." 

He halted once he reached the front of the class. "It is a very real part of this school. The rumors and legends of the Chamber was believed to host a beast, a monster, a protector for the students." 

Nott raised his hand. "Don't you mean the worthy students?" 

"Correct," Snape confirmed, making Hermione and Dean slide in their chairs. "Those who were worthy to attend Hogwarts which is every magical born child regardless of blood status."

And under the breath a Slytherin girl Harry never cared to learn, she muttered to Nott, "of course. His grandmother was squib."

The temperature physically dropped. The girl instantly regretted her words as she covered them. Nott stopped himself from laughing.

The pure fury on Snape's face made even Harry shrunk and it wasn't directed at him at all. 

Not only did she insult his grandmother, but she only knew because of the article. 

Through clenched teeth Snape said, "what was that, Miss Selwyn?" 

"Nothing," she squawked out. 

He shot her another glare before returning to his explanation. "Now, there is a rumor that Salazar left a beast behind to eat muggle-born students. This is absurd. While the Chamber of Secrets is real, it is empty. The ancient beast is in the hands of Newt Scamander." 

Hermione's hand shot up and Snape rolled his eyes so hard, Harry thought they would pop out of his head. "Sir, if the Chamber is empty, how was Mrs. Norris got petrified?" 

"Don't you mean the," Snape paused, "what did that idiotic blathering fool Lockhart call her? A mountain lion? We are investigating it. The Chamber had opened before, years ago, as Mr. Malfoy said. My own parents attended Hogwarts at the time as well."

The information was left to linger, and Harry snapped his fingers. "That's what Riddle meant!" he exclaimed and all eyes turned on him. He rubbed the back of his neck and explained, "he said he was an expert. I guess he that's because he lived through it?"

Snape looked to be in pain and that he rather be anywhere else than this room. He massaged his temples with both hands, squeezing his eyes closed. "Potter, did you ask me about the Chamber because Professor Riddle asked you too?" 

"...yes," Harry admitted, wondering if he should jump out his desk and make a run for it. 

"Does that mean Professor Riddle was there when it opened?" Blaise Zabini asked in disbelief. 

"He's dark enough," Neville muttered, a bit too loudly. 

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor, Longbottom!" Snape snapped, baring his teeth. 

Neville cowered, leaning away. Ron almost looked like he was going to defend Neville, but the look Snape gave him make him rethink it. 

 He turned back to Blaise Zabini. "You think a muggle born in the '40s, one with squib mother no less, would be involved with the Chamber?"

Zabini shook his head slowly, trying to not test Snape's patience. 

Snape sneered, his black eyes dancing around the room. "Professor Riddle is an expert because he was victim of the Chamber," he stated. His eyes landed on Longbottom. "Does that sound Dark enough to you?" 

There was a quiet understanding in the room. Neville looked anywhere but at Professor Snape, regretting his snide comment. 

At least...that's what Harry saw on the other faces. He looked around and spotted Hermione nodded gravely, buying it. 

but Harry didn't. 

He didn't think Tom opened the Chamber. But a victim? Tom would sooner kill someone than let them harm him. Which, a part of him, felt was a harsh accusation, but the bigger part of him thought it was more accurate than the story Snape was weaving. 

"Now, if any of you have anything more to say?" 

The entire class shook their heads. 

"Good." He turned turned his back on them and stalked to his desk. Before he sat down, he sent vicious glare. "If one of you say another word this period, you will lose your house a hundred points. Copy the notes I have on the board and read the assigned reading. Understood?"

They nodded collectively not wishing to anger the volatile professor any further than he already has. 

Satisfied, Snape sat down and began furiously writing.

Harry got his supplies out and was going to start copying the notes, but paused. He quickly scribbled down a messy thank youand slid it over to Draco. 

Draco glanced down, his expression betraying nothing as responded. 

When Harry got it back he bit back a laugh and a smile. 

Thank me when I win tomorrow, Potter.

* * *

Lily Flooed to the Hog’s Head in the afternoon.

She barely had time to steady herself before the scent of stale butterbeer and damp wood hit her—a scent she hadn’t smelled in over a decade. It was strange how memory worked. Even after all these years, the air here still carried the echoes of student weekends.

Her first Hogsmeade weekend flashed vividly in her mind—hunched over a small table by the window with Severus, their heads bent together, inspecting the beetles they’d caught before winter buried them underground. Years later, at that same table, she had sat across from James for the first time, spiced wine between them, candlelight flickering over his eager grin. And in their seventh year, she and Marlene McKinnon had traced out their futures by that dusty window—never knowing Marlene wouldn’t be around to have one.

She blinked, the tears creeping in the corners of her eyes. She swallowed down her memories, where they collected dust of unuse.  

Her attention flickered to the bar. 

The innkeeper, Aberforth, barely looked up from where he was cleaning a glass, but his eyes flickered with recognition. Of course he’d remember her. He’d never liked her much, had always had a soft spot for Severus instead, even when they served in the Order together. He always disliked anyone who was collected by Albus. Even now, his expression soured, and Lily braced herself for some sort of remark, but none came. Just a grunt and a nod toward the door. He wanted her out because she wasn't a paying customer. 

She stepped out into the sharp autumn air, pulling the zipper further up on her coat. The first bit of snow drifted down in soft flurries but it wasn't cold enough to stick to the ground. In a week or so, Hogsmeade would be a winter wonderland. 

That was what she had loved about Hogsmeade when she first saw it—hand in hand with Severus at thirteen. It was like stepping into the past, a village frozen in time while the world changed around it.

At thirteen, she had dreamed of working in the tiny bookshop, living above it—surrounded by stories, by magic.

At thirty-two, she couldn't imagine giving up living so close to her sister and her minivan. And Harry would riot without his telly during the summer and the inconvenience of a landline.

Hogsmeade looked the same. Mostly. The storefronts had fresh coats of paint, the windows of Honeydukes glittered with new displays, but the cobbled streets were unchanged. The Three Broomsticks stood just as it always had, warm and golden in the afternoon light. She almost expected to turn a corner and see James waiting for her with that insufferable grin, or Severus lurking in the shadow of the bookshop, scowling at the sight of them together.

No.

Wait. 

That is Severus is scowling out the window of the bookshop, but it wasn't because he was staring out in the past. 

His features were sharp, and he was looking at someone in the shop, hidden behind a bookcase. 

She hesitated only for a second before stepping toward the bookshop. The door creaked open with the same familiar chime, a soft, tinkling note that sent a shiver down her spine. For a fleeting moment, it was seventh year again, and she half-expected to find herself standing beside Marlene, fingers brushing over the spines of books they couldn't afford, whispering about their futures like they were something guaranteed.

But the past didn’t exist here. Not really.

The warmth of the shop wrapped around her, the scent of old parchment and lavender polish settling in her lungs. It should have been comforting, but her focus snapped to the back of the store—where Severus stood by the window, still watching. His posture was tense, his arms folded tight across his chest. He hadn’t noticed her yet.

She followed his gaze.

And there, standing in the shadows of the bookcase, was Lucius Malfoy. His haughty sneer looked even worse with his hair pulled back into a slick ponytail. He clutched his wand-cane like a vice.

Ah, that man would put Severus in a foul mood.

They were good friend, yes, but Lucius always had an insensitive dig at poverty that crawled under Severus's skin.

Lily's curiosity outweighed her value of sanity. 

She weaved through the stacks and spotted Narcissa at the counter. The woman hardly looked a day older, though the softness of girlhood had long faded from her face. Her regal dress and cloak stood out against the battered, leather-bound tomes surrounding her. Green and silver. Always showing her colors. Much like Lily, wrapped in red and a frayed yellow scarf—two mothers now, standing where two schoolgirls had once cheered for their boyfriends on the stands.

Her sharp blue eyes glanced Lily's way. It was only a moment, but it was enough. Lily was spotted. 

She grabbed any book, and wasn't disappointed by her random selection. It was book on fae magic. 

She walked over to the counter, standing next to Narcissa, staring at the wall ahead. The cashier wasn't there, probably running an errand by the aristocrat witch. 

"Evans," Narcissa said, saying her name like an insult. 

"Black," Lily repeated, using her maiden name in return. 

Narcissa paused, lifting her chin as if above it all. "Are you here to throw yourself at any man in an act of grief?"

Oh. Rita's article. Just thinking about what that vile, lying snake wrote made her go from calm to boiling. 

But she didn't let it show. 

She matched Narcissa's tone. "Aren't you concern people will talk if they see your husband hiding in the book cases with Severus?" 

Narcissa whirled on her, eyes blazing. "That harlot will regret that—that—that entire hit piece." She was barely holding herself together—struggling far more than Lily was.

Lily looked back at Narcissa, brow raised. "You saw what she wrote about Tom Riddle? Is she insane?" 

Narcissa's eyes widen a fraction, and she leaned forward, clutching her collar. "Salazar, yes! Does she have a death wish?" She hissed in disbelief. "And then she went over the entire staff."

"No," Lily turned toward Naricssa, pointing at her. "she just went at the women. Barely touched anyone else except Dumbledore, Severus, and hinted at Hagrid."  

Narcissa turned fully toward her, lowering her voice. "I thought that was about him. And dragging Leanan and Abraxas into this mess—" she exhaled sharply, "what was she thinking?"

Lily hesitated before asking in a low voice. "Okay, but what she wrote about Riddle and Abraxas was true." She recalled sharply how one of the rare times she saw the two men interact before Abraxas Malfoy's murder was outright homoerotic and uncomfortable to watch. 

Narcissa glanced back toward Lucius, ensuring he wasn’t listening. Then, she leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "No one could ever prove it, but according to my mother—yes."

The cashier, a younger girl--possibly a seventh year who gotten permission to work on the weekends--returned with black grimoire, snapping them back to reality. Narcissa remembered herself. She stood straighter, sneering down at the girl. She exchanged her coins for the grimoire and stepped aside so Lily could pay for her book. 

"Do you wish for a bag, Ma'am?" she asked in a sharp London accent. 

"No, thank you," Lily said, accepting the book.

They walked away from the counter, and Lily didn't think about she was following Narcissa. 

"Do you plan to do anything about the article?" she asked, wondering if the Malfoys will sue for slander. 

"We had plans, but were given direct orders not too," Narcissa said, looking away, embarrassed. 

Riddle. 

Riddle told them not to do anything. 

It was funny, everything Rita Skeeter said about Tom Riddle was true, or at least partially so. 

"Oh, Cissy darling," Lucius's smooth voice broke the bit of neutrality between them. "You found...a lost muggle born. Due put Lilith back." 

Lily didn't even have the energy to deal with this man. Narcissa at least had class to hide her bigoted views. 

Lucius swam in them. 

Severus sent Lucius a nasty glare. "Her name is Lily, we went to school together for seven years." 

Lily was a bit surprised how quick her old friend corrected Lucius, using a similar line he had whenever Lucius purposely gave her the wrong name. 

But she wouldn't let Lucius off the hook just because Severus defended her. "Are you two planning a secret tryst?" 

Lucius's cheeks turned pink, and his face twisted into a scowl. "No. Of course, not," he sounded far too defensive. 

"I have standards," Severus drawled. 

The look of pure offense on Lucius’s face nearly made Lily burst into laughter. "Standards? You think you can do better than me?"

Severus’s gaze swept over him, deliberate and disdainful. "Yes."

Lucius let out a sharp, indignant laugh. "Well, then you're implying my wife has no taste in men, aren’t you?"

"Do not pull me into this argument—again," Narcissa said, putting her hand dramatically to forehead. 

Lily's lips were pressed in a thin line, holding in a snort. 

"If you are done, Lucius," Severus began, his voice harsh, "I have to get back to school. And if you are attending the game you have to go through a wand check." 

Lucius looked aghast. "Severus, please, I am on the school board. I do not need my wand checked." 

"It's protocol," he countered. "It's to ensure all visiting guests are accounted for and the safety of the students. It does not matter who you are. You will have your wand checked, Lucius."  

"And who exactly checks our wands?" Narcissa asked, voice cool.

"Last year when I went Harry's games, it was Quirrell, " Lily answered, then frowned. It occurred to her that the Defense professor was the one who checked the wands. Which meant...

"Tom will be checking our wands?" Lucius asked realizing it at the same time she did, with a mix of annoyance and fear. 

Severus sighed and pushed Lily and Narcissa, clearly done with this conversation. Lucius hurried after him, calling after the potions master.

The two witches trailed behind the men. "I do wonder, Severus," Narcissa called, pulling his attention on her, "What is it like having working with your father as colleague?"

The flat look on his face said everything before he spoke a single word. "He's made his NEWT students cry from how intense his dueling demonstration went. One idiot Gryffindor vomited." 

"How did he get that position?" Lily demanded. "Your father is mentally unstable and shouldn't be around children." 

Severus sighed, rubbing his temple. "he was hired because you demanded Lockhart to be fired, Lily." 

"And the only person around is your father?" Lily questioned, incredulous. "Is it because of the Chamber? Did that actually open." 

"He was alive when the Chamber opened," Severus said, flippant.  

"Oh, don't look now," Lucius whispered low. 

Up ahead, a carriage drawn by thestrals stood waiting. Tom Riddle and Mangala Verma were standing next to it, locked in a tense conversation. Whatever they were arguing about, Lily couldn’t quite make out.

She could usually read lips well enough, but it was like they were speaking another language. And no sooner did that thought cross her mind, Lily heard them speak Hindi. Tom’s eyes flickered to the side, catching their approach. Instantly, he switched to English.

"We'll talk more about this over Winter Break," he muttered, then cleared his throat and adjusted his black coat. His gaze shifted to their group, a sharp smile cutting across his face.

Severus’s eyes narrowed, but the subtle shake of Tom’s head and Mangala’s serious frown were enough to stop him from pressing the matter in front of outsiders. "It seems so, because the universe hates me," he muttered, striding past Tom without another word.

Lily approached Tom next, she glaring at him and he simply smiled. She turned to Mangala, her expession softening. 

"It's good to see you, Mangala," she said, polite. 

The older woman's face softened and her eyes crinkled around the edges as she said, "you as well, Lily." She wacked Tom in the chest without warning, and he flinched. "Don't be rude, say hello." 

Tom looked down at her, rubbing his chest. "You know I despise conversing with mudbloods."

From the carriage, Severus's sharp, "Father!" nearly covered the word up. 

Mangala let out an offended gasp. "Tom!" she slapped his arm, and he leaned back away from her. 

Lily nodded, biting her lip to keep herself from giving him the reaction . "It's always the ones who pretends to be something they're not that are the worse."

"Pretend? You think I pretend?" Tom asked, in fake offense, hand over his chest. "Trust me, being an inbred pureblood with my head so far up my ass is not what I want to be either, Lily." Lucius and Narcissa bristled next to her. "I just enjoy being me." 

He stepped back and offered for Mangala to go in. "You're disgraceful," Mangala chastised. "I hope you're not using that language around the children."

"Like I don't have any self control," Tom said, dismissive. "Now, get inside the carriage woman. You're holding us up."

Mangala rolled her eyes at Tom’s dismissiveness but climbed into the carriage, settling herself on one of the cushioned benches with a regal composure that made even the cramped interior feel dignified.

"Well, you’ve certainly set the mood for the trip," she muttered dryly, crossing her arms.

Tom just grinned and gestured for the others to follow. "Come along, then. Time’s wasting."

Severus practically threw himself onto the opposite bench, slumping into the corner as if trying to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible. His gaze was firmly fixed out the window, jaw clenched.

Lucius, already looking miserable, eyed the carriage with thinly-veiled disgust. The idea of sharing such a confined space with so many people—especially Lily Potter—seemed to pain him on a deep, personal level.

"Hurry up, Lucius," Narcissa snapped, her patience fraying.

Reluctantly, Lucius moved, maneuvering himself into the seat beside Mangala, which earned him an irritated glance. Narcissa climbed into the carriage with all the grace of someone who’d long perfected the art of appearing superior in any circumstance. She settled beside her husband with a tight-lipped smile.

Lily climbed in, followed by Tom, immediately feeling the awkwardness closing in on her. She found herself squeezed between Severus and Tom, with Lucius glaring daggers at her from across the cramped space. The carriage was uncomfortably full now, everyone’s knees practically touching. 

The thestrals stirred, and the carriage lurched forward, beginning the short but uncomfortable journey to Hogwarts.

Severus kept his gaze pointedly out the window, refusing to engage with the rest of them. Lucius fiddled with his cane, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the silver handle. Narcissa had drawn herself up into a perfect posture, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Mangala, seated across from her step-son, fidgeted with the sleaves of her brown coat.  

Only Tom looked truly comfortable, his arms spread across the back of the seat like he was lounging in his own personal throne.

"Isn’t this cozy?" he drawled, eyes glinting with amusement as they trundled along the uneven path. 

No one gave him an answer.

Lily decided to look to look anywhere else other than Lucius, and chose Mangala to inspect. 

The woman, despite marrying the biggest Muggle-hater Lily had ever met, dressed like a Muggle herself. Though, if that Muggle happened to be Princess Diana caught in casual clothes by the paparazzi.

Truthfully, the only difference between what Lily was wearing and Mangala’s own clothes was the price tag and how they wore it. Lily’s jeans were washed out because Harry, when he was seven, spilled bleach on them while trying to “help Mummy clean.” He’d been so proud of himself, scrubbing the floor with his mother’s favorite pair of jeans.

Mangala's were premade made that way.

 Their sweaters were a faded blue, but Lily's was a faded blue because she had it since she was nineteen, Mangala's was vintage. 

"You know," Tom's mocking tone interrupted the silence, giving none of them time to prepare, "Lucius."

The blonde man looked to the ceiling of the carriage, hands clasped over the head of his cane in a silent prayer. Narcissa, leaned against the window, expression pained. The woman needed wine. An entire bottle of it seemed. 

Tom kept going, his grin stretching across his face, "your son has the most interesting friend."

Lucius lowered his head, flicking his gaze at Tom. "Oh, you don't say?" 

"Yes," Tom said smoothly. "He's friends with Harry Potter. Very fascinating. A Malfoy, and a halfblood Potter. Not even a pureblood one," he paused and added, "granted, Harry's far more pleasant the last...oh four or so Potters I've had the most displeasure meeting. He's certainly better than his grandfather. Lily, here, raised a perfectly good Potter to be your son's friend. You should thank her."

Lucius looked ready to throw himself out of the carriage and vomit. His complexion had gone sickly pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

Lily didn’t even know how to respond. On one hand, it sounded like a compliment. But then again, he was also insulting James. And her Muggle blood. But he was using her to insult Lucius as well...? Her head spun trying to untangle the mess of barbs and praise wrapped in Tom’s silken voice.

There was a pause, tense and uncomfortable, before Severus snapped, “Father, shut the fuck up.”

Tom laughed, a low chuckle that vibrated in the air. "Oh, Severus, you know how I like to tease. It's my third joy in my life I have. Do you wish your old man to be miserable?" There was a hint of a pout. 

"Yes," Severus said, blunt as always.

"Ah, just like your mother," the insult flew from his lips without a second thought. Tom rubbed his lips, as if he wanted a cigarette. 

Lily didn't understand why he didn't reach for one. It's not like he cared if he filled the carriage full of smoke with five other people were crammed inside. 

"On the topic of Eileen," Tom said, his tone and entire body shifted from humored to serious. Lily was deeply uncomfortable being trapped inside this tiny box with this psychotic madman.

Severus pinched his nose and muttered, "oh, God, fucking kill me." in a harsh whisper. 

Mangala's warm, brown eyes flickered to Tom, so visibly done with the man she married. How she hadn't divorced him, Lily didn't know. Living with James in hiding was exhausting. But Tom? Lily imagined fifteen years of marriage with Tom would be a living nightmare. How could an intelligent, liberated woman put up with a man like him?

"Have you heard from her about the article?" he asked, his voice tight. 

That damned article again. 

And the energy shifted from trying to survive Tom with their sanity  in check was now directed at the article. 

Narcissa reengaged with with the conversation. Mangala sat straighter, and Lucius actually shown an emotion over revulsion and pained regret. 

They waited for Severus's reply, because out of anyone mentioned in that article, Eileen Prince was the worse one. The Princes were made up of cultish vampires that viewed the act of undeath as a way to purify the body of evil. They rather become vampires and twist into dementors--or as they call it Ascend--to avoid death and become unpure. They were not to be taken lightly, and Rita insulted them by insulting her. 

"She read the article," he began slowly, "and said it's your fault the article was written in the first place." 

Offended, Tom snapped, "how the fuck is it my fault?"

Severus leaned around Lily, glaring at him. "You cheated on her with Rita!" Lily flinched, and rubbed her ear. 

"And?" Tom didn't even try to defend himself. "Your mother was a bitch. Anyway, that's it? That this is somehow my fault for sleeping with some woman thirty-four years ago?"

Lily's eyes danced between Mangala and Tom, wanting to know how she felt how her now husband cheated on his ex. 

But she rolled her eyes as if she heard it before. 

"She also said that she will be responding," Severus added sharply. "I asked her nicely to not throw in your infidelity in her letter to the Daily Prophet. She is...most unpleased by the whole thing." 

"It does call into question her stunning parenting skills she abandoned her fifteen year old son with a," Tom thought for a moment, on the article's wording. "man who warps the views of young girls."

"Honey, stop," Mangala chimed in, smoothing out her coat. "I told you I will take care of it." 

"If Albus allowed me to just..." he waved his hand, allowing them imagine what he wasn't saying, "Rita, then we wouldn't have to wait on a response." 

Lucius shifted in his seat. "I am curious why Lockhart was fired."

 Tom shifted, leaning a bit in both Lucius's and Lily's shared space. Gesturing with his hand, he pointing to Lily. "That fucking idiot vanished her son's bones in his arm. He fucked up the simplest healing spell, while Albus has one of the most talented mediwitches working for him. it's insulting to Poppy." he sat back, fidgeting with his fingers some more. 

He kept pressing them to his mouth as if he was smoking, but he stopped himself and rubbed his hand over his trousers.

 He looked out the window, and sighed. "Oh, good we're almost inside the school's walls."

The carriage came to a slow halt until it stopped completely. 

Tom was the first one out, unsurprising. 

Lily slid out after him, glad to stretch her legs after being packed inside the cramped space. She looked around and noticed nine other carriages, and a few dozen special guests. Recruiters, Ministry officials, and parents of the other players. She, without thinking, offered Narcissa to get out she didn't trip over her long dress. 

And Narcissa accepted. 

On the other side, the doors opened for Mangala. Her annoyed voice carried. "Oh, Tom, I do not need help getting out of the carriage."

“You do in your condition!” Tom snapped, voice strained. “Now stop being stubborn, love.”

Lily and Narcissa exchanged glances, mirroring each other's shock. 

Severus dropped down with no grace but still landed on his feet, while Lucius slid out of the carriage more like one of the Malfoys’ prized peacocks.

"Well, well, Severus," Lucius said smoothly, brushing his arm free of imaginary dirt. "You're nearly thirty-three, and your father’s giving you another baby sibling. How does it feel knowing there’s about the same age difference between you and him as there is between you and your future sibling, hmmm?"

Severus gave Lucius a long, unblinking stare before calling out, "Father, Lucius insulted Mangala."

The sheer terror on Lucius’s face and panic on Narcissa’s was enough to terrify Lily.

Without a word, Tom came barreling around the carriage, his expression murderous as Mangala hurriedly tried to grab his arm. "No, Tom, we're in public," she hissed.

Narcissa jumped in front of Lucius, hands raised in frantic surrender. "He didn't!"

"He didn't say anything!" Lily said quickly, her own hands waving in panic. "He didn't insult her!"

Tom halted, his chest moving up and down rapidly as he tried to rein in his rage. He turned to his son, and through clenched teeth, he asked, "is this true?" 

Severus shrugged. "That I lied? Yes. Lucius has been particularly agitating due to the article and I wanted scare him." 

Tom's expression softened from vengeful wrath to a predatory smile, his mood shifting rapidly. He chuckled. "Clever," he said and hit Severus's stomach with a light tap before ruffling his hair like Tom was proud Severus weaponized his anger. 

And maybe he was. And that made Lily not just uneasy, but unwell. Physically sick to her stomach this man shaped Severus for over fifteen years. 

Narcissa relaxed, dropping her arms like she held something heavy. Lucius swallowed down his fear, and chuckled nervously as Tom approached. 

Tom patted Lucius's shoulder casually, as if a second ago he wasn't about to strangle the blonde. He walked off into the crowd, weaving his way through like a snake. 

Severus followed after Tom, halting at Lucius. "Let's find Fudge in the crowd and insult him without him realizing it. It's something to do while we wait for Dumbledore give another one of his damned tours as if most of us hadn't attended Hogwarts."

Lucius nodded slowly. "yes, that sounds pleasant," he said, and in a lower voice as they walked off, "you almost had me killed."

"Learn to read people when they're at their limit," Severus hissed back as they vanished in the crowd.

Mangala breathed easier, approached Narcissa, with an apologetic smile. "I am so sorry about that." 

Narcissa, the pureblood heiress took over. She hid her fear well enough, "Yes, well, it's over." 

It wasn't. Not for Lily.

"How," Lily began, "can you be married to a man like that. And be happy?" 

Mangala looked back at her, bored. Narcissa looked nervous for Lily.

"I will not lie and say it's easy," she said calmly, shrugging. "He's not a good man. And as a father, he's perception is warped beyond measure. But he is a righteous man, a good protector. He's intelligent, and he is thirsty for knowledge. We mostly agree on political and philosophical views. He understands me like no other. He takes care me and his children and loves us fiercely." 

She looked back where he disappeared too, and then looked back, smirking. "Also, you saw how intense he is. How clever he is with his tongue. Some mornings, I struggle to walk. Why wouldn't I marry a man like that?"

She turned around with her black curls bouncing behind her as she left them to find Tom.

Narcissa was scandalized by that last comment. "I did not need that image in my mind."

Lily's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "That...that was bit too much information," she said agreeing.

Lily and Narcissa exchanged a glance—one scandalized, the other just... unsettled.

"Right, well..." Narcissa cleared her throat, her hands fluttering like startled birds before smoothing over her dress. "I think I’ll go find Lucius before he does something foolish. Again."

She offered Lily a stiff nod before sweeping off, her heels clicking sharply against the stone pathway.

But Lily couldn’t quite shake Mangala’s words. The way she spoke about Tom unnerved her. Mangala, a self admitted feminist and radical liberator, was proud of Lily considered dangerous red flags. 

At first, Lily assumed Mangala lived with Tom out of tolerance, that she was stuck somehow married to a psychopath. She stayed with him out of fear, but she didn't. She loved him, she loved his madness and all his faults. 

Her cheeks burned with Mangala's blunt comments. Tom's intensity made him a passionate lover, sure, but was he safe?

Isn't safety more important? 

But Mangala was forty-three and having another child with Tom. So maybe there was a side to Tom she was missing?

Her mind wandered to when she was fifteen, the summer before her fifth year, when everything changed. She met Tom then. And he was kind in his own way. He instantly loved Severus despite everything, providing a home when Eileen abandoned him to join her cultish family in Romina. But he was violent, and impulsive, and cold, and cruel back then too. 

Lily shook her head, freeing herself of these thoughts. 

If Mangala wanted a man like that, fine. She just hoped Tom stayed away from her son, and kept his focus on his own children. 

She took in a deep breath, and let it out. She looked around her, and spotted a tuff of ginger hair--Arthur. Now, that was a good man Harry could replace James with. Molly was sensible in her choice of husband. 

She walked over to Arthur, who was in deep conversation with another man.

The stranger had warm brown skin and a lean build that carried itself with quiet precision, like every gesture was measured before being made. He was only slightly taller than her, but his posture gave him a presence that felt twice his size. His dark eyes held a sharpness, the kind that suggested he saw more than what people wanted to show.

He wore a tweed jacket paired with dark pants and a simple black sweater. The look was understated but elegant, a deliberate choice meant to signal professionalism rather than allegiance. While everyone else seemed wrapped in House colors like battle flags, he stood out where he belonged. Arthur hadn't skipped on the red and gold. 

Their conversation must have been important, but the man’s attention shifted as soon as she approached. His eyes found hers, calculating and curious, before he inclined his head with a polite, almost disarming smile.

He lightly tapped Arthur's shoulder, nodding his head toward her. "It seems, Arthur," he spoke in a smooth, rich voice, "a friend of yours is here."

Arthur turned and his expression brightened. "Lily! It's so good to see you!" he leaned in for a spine-breaking hug, lifting her off the ground. She let out a laugh, patting him on his back. 

"It's good to see you, Arthur," she said as he put her back down. Her eyes darted toward the mysterious man and the Weasley patriarch.

Arthur looked between the two, still smiling. The mysterious man smiled back, nudging his head towards Lily, suggesting something the ginger only got after several seconds of awkward silence. 

"Oh! Yes, right, introductions!" he looked back Lily. "Lily, this is Orson Shacklebolt. We're dormmates," he explained. "I wasn't expecting to run into him at the game."

He turned back to Orson, "and this is Lily Potter...she's Lily Potter." 

Orson raised a hand, chuckling low. The noise made her flutter. Oh, that was a nice sound. "I know who Lily Potter is, Arthur." He offered his hand. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shacklebolt," she said, accepting his hand. His grip was firm and grounding. And warm. 

"Please, just Orson. And the pleasure is all mine," he replied, his smile soft but genuinely warm.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he looked at her, like he actually saw her. His gaze held hers for a beat longer than was strictly polite, and for a moment, her mind went utterly blank.

Lily managed a smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. "Well... It's good to meet you, Orson." 

Orson...Orson...that name was a familiar. He's related to Kingsley, that much she realized. He must've mentioned a cousin or brother named Orson during the Order days. 

Arthur looked between the two of them, and patted his friend's shoulder. "Well, I will let you two get to know each other. I see the Jordans." he pointed into the crowd of people before he left. 

As he walked behind Orson, he gave a simple nudge, forcing Orson closer toward her. 

Whatever Arthur did wasn't subtle. She laughed a bit nervous and she looked out the others. "So, Orson, do you have a child playing?" She didn't think there was Shacklebolt on either team, but that hardly meant anything.

"Oh, no. no," he said waving his hand before sliding it back in his trousers. "My daughter's cousin is playing for the Slytherin team, so I came in support."

She tilted her head to the side, smirking. "Are you rooting for the enemy team?"

He rolled his shoulders, humming. "I did always think I was sorted in the wrong house, but," his eyes deliberately scanned over her, "I am willing to be convinced otherwise." 

Her eyes widened just a fraction, and she suppressed a giggle. What was she doing? She was over thirty, not some lovesick teenage girl easily impressed by the cute jock who ruffled his own hair. And yet, here she was, feeling her cheeks warm at a stranger’s attention.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to sound composed. “Hogwarts has a way of making people reconsider their allegiances. I’d say you’re already off to a good start.”

Orson laughed, a rich, genuine sound that was far too pleasant. “I’ll consider that encouragement, then.” His gaze flickered past her, noticing something over her shoulder. “Seems like everyone’s flocking toward the front entrance. I think the Headmaster has finally shown himself." 

And how he said the word Headmaster sounded exactly how Slytherin say it. His pleasant tone dropped. It was enough to give her pause. 

Lily glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, the crowd’s energy was shifting—people gathering toward the stone steps leading up to the Great Hall. Albus Dumbledore was about to make his entrance, to welcome the special guests before their own personal feast. 

Orson held out his arm, his expression polite but not without a hint of teasing. “Shall we join the herd, or would you rather stay out of the stampede?”

Lily hesitated for a moment before hooking his arm with hers. 

 “Let’s avoid the rush,” she said, smiling. “Besides, I doubt we’ll miss much.”

They began to walk together, straying from the main group while still moving toward the crowd gathering around Albus. But as they strolled, Lily couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of her eye. There was something about Orson’s presence that made her feel…seen. As if he was genuinely interested in talking to her.

As if she wasn’t just Lily Potter, the mother of the Boy Who Lived.

That she was just Lily. 

* * *

The game was in full swing,  and Madame Hooch's whistles over the enchanted megaphone, Lee Jordan's biased commentary, McGonagall’s sharp reprimands, and Snape’s demands for a replacement announcer all blended into a cacophony that nearly drowned out the crowd.

 Harry and Draco zoomed through the rafters, searching for the Golden Snitch. They were neck and neck, soaring past Chasers and Bludgers alike, their focus narrowed to nothing but the glint of gold teasing the edges of their vision. The roar of the crowd was a distant hum, barely cutting through the wind that whipped at their robes.

Draco's knuckles were white around his broomstick, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His eyes kept flickering to the stands, just brief enough not to crash into a wayward Chaser but long enough to confirm what he already feared—his father wasn’t there. Lucius Malfoy hadn’t shown up.

He pushed his broom harder, biting back on his frustrations. If he focused on the Golden Snitch, he could ignore how his eyes were red and puffy from crying--which he hadn't been doing! Of course not. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys didn't cry. 

Harry matched him, unwavering and relentless, his own gaze scanning for the Snitch. But then, something glimmered from the stands.

Red.

He spotted his mother sitting among the special guests, her hair unmistakable even from this distance. Beside her was Mrs. Verma—why was Tom there? Shouldn’t he be with the other teachers?—and Mr. Weasley, of course.

But what threw him off was who sat next to Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Malfoy. And the woman next to Mr. Malfoy had to be Draco’s mum.

The Snitch slipped from his focus as his eyes widened. He pointed past Draco down below. “Look! Your dad and mum showed up!”

Draco zipped right in front of him, nearly colliding, his face twisted in frustration. “Potter, have you lost your bloody mind? Focus on the—”

“Just look!” Harry insisted, jabbing his finger toward the stands.

Draco’s gaze followed the gesture. His mouth parted slightly, eyes locked on the special box. For a moment, he was utterly still, his broom wobbling unsteadily in the air. “They... They both came?” he breathed, disbelieving. “Even after the article?”

“Yes! And you thought your father wouldn’t show, but he’s here. And so is your mum,” Harry said, grinning. He nudged Draco’s shoulder, trying to pull him out of his shock. “They're here for you.”

 

As they talked, the crowd grew confused. Lee Jordan’s voice crackled through the megaphone, bewildered but amused. “Er—why are the Gryffindor and Slytherin Seekers just sitting there midair?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco, knock him off his broom!” Snape’s voice roared through the microphone, sharp and impatient.

“Severus!” McGonagall shrieked, scandalized as her voice blasted over the pitch. “You cannot encourage students to knock each other off their brooms!”

“Oh, but it’s perfectly acceptable for you to instruct one of those Weasley menaces to hurl Bludgers at my Chasers, is it?” Snape fired back, his gaze cutting over to McGonagall like a freshly sharpened blade.

“That is absolutely not what I said!” she snapped, bristling with indignation.

“You most certainly did!” Snape growled, ignoring Lee’s frantic, horrified attempts to wrestle the microphone away. “Malfoy! Kick Potter in the face and catch the bloody Snitch!”

“Severus!” McGonagall bellowed, looking seconds away from transfiguring Snape into a chicken. “This is precisely why you were banned from announcing when you were a student! You spent years goading Lucius Malfoy to attack James Potter, and now you’re doing it to their sons!”

Lee Jordan desperately tried to squeeze his way between them, his voice rising shrilly. “Um—back to the game! Looks like both Seekers are having an emotional breakdown or something, folks! Someone should really do something about—ARGH! Not the hair, Professor Snape!”

A soft, patient voice cut through the chaos. “Ah, Professors, perhaps we could lower our voices just a touch?" Albus Dumbledore said. "The crowd is meant to be watching the game, not... our passionate discourse.”

From one of the VIP towers, Lily was leaning over the edge, glaring. The tower to the left of theirs hosted the announcer’s box and the rest of the staff.

She looked back at Arthur Weasley and Orson Shacklebolt with the fire of a mother ready to hex someone. “Do you hear what Severus is saying about my son?”

Arthur winced, forcing a smile as he tugged awkwardly at his sleeves. “He’s, er, simply excited, Lily. Competitive spirit and all that.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve heard him say,” Orson commented with a lazy shrug, though his attention was fixed upward, where the two Seekers were blatantly ignoring the game. Harry and Draco appeared to be having a full-blown conversation midair.

Lily didn’t like either answer, so she turned sharply to the only professor in their box. “If you were where you’re supposed to be, you could get your son under control.”

Tom Riddle had an arm around Mangala’s shoulders, looking entirely too comfortable for a man surrounded by screaming children and shrieking professors. He was on his second cigarette since the game started, holding it with the delicate indifference of someone who was very much enjoying himself.

“You think I can control him?” Tom asked, a smirk curling at his mouth. “He’s a grown man, Lily. Besides, why would I want to sit over there when I could be with my beautiful wife?”

Mangala nodded along, preening smugly at the compliment. “I am the better option. And Orson’s right. Severus encouraging Draco to kick your Harry isn’t the worst thing he’s said this month.”

“It’s not even the worst thing he’s said today,” Tom added with a snort. “Made a baby Hufflepuff cry this morning. Even that was too much for me.”

“You’re all impossible,” Lily said, eyes darting back to Harry, still stubbornly ignoring the Snitch as he spoke to Draco. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Tom followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing. “Your son is talking to Draco in the middle of a match. Shouldn’t they be trying to catch the Snitch?”

“Maybe they’ve come to some sort of gentleman’s agreement,” Orson remarked, finally breaking his gaze from the sky. “Seems to be the only civil conversation happening around here.”

“I wouldn’t call whatever Severus and Minerva are doing over there a conversation,” Arthur murmured. “More like... open warfare.”

Tom rolled his eyes, taking another drag from his cigarette. “And Albus just lets it happen. The man’s far too lenient. At this point, he should just turn the match into a proper duel and be done with it.”

“You just want to see my son fight Draco, don’t you?” Lily accused.

“I want to see someone do something. This whole affair has turned into a farce,” Tom replied, eyes flicking back to the announcer’s box, where Severus and McGonagall were still bickering with the intensity of caged dogs.

On Arthur's other side, shockingly sat Lucius and Narcissa. They wanted to keep as much distance as they could from Tom as possible. And if that meant Lucius was bumming it with a Weasley then so be it.

"What in Merlin's name could they be doing?" Lucius hissed. He lifted his cane and pointed at Lily. "This is your fault, Evans."

Lily was already returning to her seat when the accusation flew from his lips. 

"How is it my fault?" she asked, glaring at the blonde. "And it's Potter." 

Arthur forced down Lucius's cane down. "Will you stop waving your wand around, Malfoy. Before you blast someone's eye out."

Lucius had an angry retort on his lips but Narcissa began excitedly hitting his arms. "The Snitch! They're chasing after the Snitch again!" 

All the adults snapped their attention back to the game. Lily lifted her binoculars, eyes tracking Harry and Draco flying after the golden ball. The crowd erupted in cheers as the two boys finally returned to the game.

The two zipped around the arena, arms stretched out...

And both their hands latched onto the golden ball at the same time, right in front of the announcer’s box.

 For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence. Even the crowd seemed to collectively hold its breath.

Lee Jordan’s voice broke through the shock, his words tumbling out with sheer disbelief. “Er—uh—ladies and gentlemen, I... I think we just witnessed something I’ve never seen before! The Seekers—Potter and Malfoy—have both caught the Snitch at the same time!”

The stands erupted into a wild, confused mixture of cheers, groans, and furious shouting. Slytherin and Gryffindor alike seemed torn between celebration and outrage.

“Does—does that make this a tie?” Lee continued, his voice growing more frantic. “Is that even allowed? Because if it is, then—yes! It’s a tie! The match is officially a tie! I have no idea what happens next, but... yeah! Tie!”

Draco was still clutching the Snitch, his hand overlapping Harry’s around the tiny, struggling ball. They stared at each other, stunned and breathless, their faces slick with sweat and adrenaline.

“Good... game?” Harry managed to say, his voice cracked and raspy from the cold air.

Draco looked at him, bewilderment slowly giving way to something more genuine. “Yeah... good game.”

Their hands unclasped, the Snitch fluttering away as they awkwardly shook hands. It was clumsy, barely more than a stiff clasp of fingers, but it was something.

All around them, their teammates were having breakdowns of varying degrees.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN A TIE?” Oliver Wood’s voice boomed from the ground, his expression one of absolute devastation. “YOU CAN’T JUST TIE!”

From the Slytherin stands, angry shouts rose up, voices demanding a recount, a rematch, or blood—possibly all three.

But up in the air, Harry and Draco just looked at each other, shared a shrug of pure exhaustion, and finally flew back down to the pitch.

 

 

Chapter 9: You will Feel Nothing, and Be Happy

Colin Creevey wandered the halls, following ginger hair and a tattered skirt. His usual enthusiasm dimmed by the autumn chill haunting Hogwarts. The evening light had faded hours ago, but he couldn’t sleep. His nerves were lit with excitement and thrill of seeing the castle at night. And anxiety because he was out of bed well passed curfew. If he was caught, McGonagall would send him deep, deep into the Forbidden Forest. That’s what the Weasley twins said, at the very least!

He clutched his camera to his chest like a lifeline, fingers trembling slightly. There was something wrong with the castle tonight. The air felt thick, almost soupy. Like gold oil pressed against his skin, and filling his lungs.

It had been Ginny who suggested they go for a walk. Just a little nighttime adventure. He only agreed because she was better than she had been in the last few weeks. More present. The blank, faraway look that had been haunting her eyes was replaced with a coldness he never seen on her, not all school year.

But now, Colin could barely keep up with her. She moved with an intensity that made his chest clench. Her footsteps were too quick, too purposeful. She didn’t move like the ginny from this morning, but someone else entirely.

“Ginny?” he asked, his voice wobbling. “Where are we going?”

“Just this way,” she replied, her tone soft and coaxing, but wrong. Forced.

But he followed.

 “I-I don’t think we’re supposed to be out here,” he said, the words coming to late. He shouldn’t have agreed.

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny said, her smile just a little too sharp. A little too twisted. Like she had extra teeth. “You’re Harry’s friend, aren’t you? I thought you’d be braver.”

Colin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I am brave!”

“Then come on,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist like cuffs. Her grip was too strong, too biting as her nails dug into his flesh. He yelped but didn’t dare to complain. Not when she glared at him for making noise.

The hallway twisted down a hall he hadn’t been before, not yet. This the way to Ancient Runes according to Head Boy Nathanial Dearborn. He wished the Seventh Year was with him now. Maybe he knew what was wrong with Ginny. Colin’s camera strap slid from his shoulder, but he didn’t dare to adjust it and continued to clutch his camera to his chest for comfort. Even if the weight was burden.

When they came to a stop, they reached wherever Ginny had wanted them to go. There was something wrong in the air, something forgotten and dark. A heaviness pressed down on him. And he didn’t understand why. It looked like the rest of Hogwarts, but it wasn’t. The cracked stones warped and twisted like overgrown vines on a chain-link fence. Or a pit of starved snakes.

Colin turned to his friend, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A cool sweat formed on his brow. Ginny’s eyes were wild, pupils blown wide. They’re red, bright red. Brighter than her hair. A manic grin on her face. She tilted her head to the side, flashing her teeth. And her fangs grew.

A scream threatened to escape his throat, but Ginny stole his voice.

Sudden movements out of the corner of his eye somehow pulled him from Ginny. It was Zahira Verma, standing at the mouth of the corridor, clutching a book so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Wh-what’s going on?” Colin stammered, taking a step back. “What’s wrong with you, Ginny?!” his voice cracking on a hysterical high note. Not quite a scream, but close enough his words echoed on the stone walls.

But Ginny’s grip tightened, forcing him forward. She practically threw him

“Don’t you want to meet him?” Ginny’s voice was mocking and drenched in malice. “The one who knows everything?”

“Who?”

The darkness coiled around him, pulling the warmth from his bones.

Steps.

Dress shoes on stone.

Out of the dark, stepped out a boy. He couldn’t be older than Percy Weasley, maybe in his fifth year. He stood right behind Zahira, hands on her shoulders. He was handsome and charming. Too charming. Unnaturally charming. His mere presence was more terrifying than Ginny’s red eyes and sharpened teeth.

And the boy looked remarkably like Zahira, the way their hair parted and curled at the end. Their dark brown eyes almost black in the moonlight. His chin, and charming smile and soft brows were…closer to Zahira’s older brother, Ravi. But his nose…his nose and high cheekbones were so like Professor Snape’s. Like Professor Riddle…

 

 

Colin’s knees buckled under the force of the boy’s gaze. He needed to run, run, run! But his feet wouldn’t move.

“Hello, Colin,” the boy said softly, his voice silken. "I am so pleased you could join us."

Colin took a step back, his heart racing. He was about to flee, but a sharp jab against his back stopped him.

He looked over his shoulder, and to his horror and grief, it was Ginny.

But it wasn’t her. He knew that now. This wasn’t Ginny. Maybe a Changeling or a demon wearing her face, but this wasn’t his friend.

A shadow grew over him and he turned, and the older boy stood over him now.

"Now, now, now, now," he chastised, wagging his finger with that same cruel smile. "We can’t have you running off, now, can we?”

Colin whimpered, his throat dry, struggling to find his voice.

"Zahira," the boy said, softening his voice with an affection that felt grotesque. "My darling little princess. Can you show Colin the spell Daddy taught you?"

Zahira looked up at him, her eyes filled with terrible, feverish admiration.

Daddy? Darling little princess? And the way she looked at him...

Colin let out a choked gasp, it all clicking into place. “You’re—You’re Professor Riddle!” He squeaked out. “But I don’t understand. Why are you so young!”

Riddle turned to Colin, his smirk twisting into a cruel mockery of the smile on Colin’s new Defense Professor. This was not the same person who was so kind and so brilliant, who showed Colin being a muggle-born wasn’t a bad thing.

“Oh, Colin, so clever… yet,” he stepped aside, and Zahira raised her wand, her eyes lit with devotion. Colin’s heart dropped to the floor where it died. He thought Zahira was his friend! “And yet, so very far away.”

The wand in Zahira’s hand trembled slightly, but not from fear. No, the look on her face was pure, shining adoration. She was eager. Excited.

“Good girl,” Riddle murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Now, show me what you’ve learned.”

Colin stumbled back another step, his legs refusing to obey the panic screaming in his head. His eyes darted around, searching for any escape. But there was none. The Demon wearing Ginny’s face blocked his only way out.

“P-please,” Colin whimpered. “What are you—what are you doing? Zahira, I thought we’re friends!”

The girl tilted her head, curiosity dancing over her innocent features. “Daddy said to show you the spell.” Her voice was high and sweet, laced with a childish delight that didn’t fit a girl nearing twelve.

The air around her crackled, a sensation that made Colin’s skin prickle. And without fanfare, or warning, she shouted:

“Arceus Mortem!”

The words struck him like a bludgeon to the chest, yet there was no pain. Not at first. Just cold. An icy, smothering cold that seeped into his skin, his muscles, his bones. His throat locked up, a scream trapped there, strangled by the unnatural force binding him.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink. Every part of him was held in place, fixed in some horrifying stillness.

I must scream. I must move. I must run.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even close his eyes. He just stared. At Riddle, at Zahira, at the Ginny-puppet.

And they all smiled. Riddle was satisfied, smugly smirking like he won a prise. Zahira just smiled adoringly at the young image of her father like she did in class. And Ginny…the thing under Ginny’s skin grinned with hunger.

Colin’s stomach twisted in knots, and bile rose to his throat. What if, what if…he vomited, but he can’t open his mouth! He would choke. He would choke and die. Panic flooded his system, but yet he still could not move.

Riddle leaned down until his face was inches from Colin’s.

“Oh, you’re aware of everything, aren’t you?” Riddle whispered, the words soft and poisonous. “You can hear me,” and he reached up, slow and deliberate, and poked Colin’s forehead. “Feel me, but you can’t do anything about it. Fascinating, isn’t it? How the mind continues to scream even when the body refuses to obey?”

He dragged his finger down into a zigzag pattern, mimicking a lightening bolt. Then, he cupped Colin’s cheek, his touch burning and electric all at once.

“Don’t worry, Colin. You’ll remain like this for some time, but no doubt older me will free you,” he cooed. “Before that, before liberation, you’ll feel every shiver of the air, every brush of passing footsteps. You’ll hear your name whispered in terror, and you won’t be able to answer.” He dropped his hand and stood straighter. “Isn’t that cruel?”

Colin’s mind was a hurricane of panic and fury and pleading. But all of it was contained, locked inside his own skull. His heart slowed, and his breathing came to a crawl. It was just enough to keep him alive.

“But it’s also a gift,” Riddle continued, his voice terribly kind. “You will bare witness, little Colin, to my resurrection. For am I the god in between the pages. I have suffered this stillness much like you.  And now you will know how your new god has suffered.”

He turned to Zahira, offering his hand. “Let’s go, my darling,” he said. “We have much more work to do before I can piece myself back together.

“Yes, Daddy,” Zahira chirped, clasping his hand. 

Riddle turned to Ginny, dropping all pretense of affection. "Write the message. Make sure he knows it's us. I want Tom to take us seriously for once since he never did in the decades you shared his body." 

Ginny sneered, her face twisting into something ugly. "I hated living in his mind. It was more agonizing than the diary.” And her voice grew high pitched, ethereal. “He will pay for resisting me. For allowing that traitor to cut him down. For using the boy, Potter, to break my hold on him. He will pay for all of it." 

And then Riddle and Zahira were gone, their footsteps fading into the darkness.

But Colin could not move. He could not scream. He could not even breathe beyond the shallow, automatic rhythm that kept him alive.

He felt every passing second. And the sunlight crept through the cracks of the castle, golden rays against his frozen skin, but he couldn’t experience the warmth.

And then…and then…he expected someone, anyone to come save him.

But seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours.

And then—

And then—

Hermione Granger found him. And finally, someone screamed for him.

Notes:

update:
So I was looking over my old chapters to make sure everything is coherent. I noticed this one timeline wise didn't work
And I was never happy with it in the first place and just wanted to get it out, so i made edits and much happier with this version.

Chapter 10: How Rita Skeeter Fought the World And Lost: An Editorial

Notes:

So I posted two short interludes back to back because if I posted this article *and* Colin's attack together and with the next chapter, all the things im trying to do would get lost in the weeds

When Charlatans Speak, Fools Listen: A Response to the Lies of Rita Skeeter and Gilderoy Lockhart

by  Mangala Verma,
      Best selling author and award-winning journalist 
      Proud recipient of Harpy of the Year

A wise man once told me that the loudest voices in the room are often the most desperate. If that’s true, then Rita Skeeter’s latest diatribe must be the most deafening cry for help I’ve ever heard. And if that weren’t proof enough, she’s chosen to amplify the self-serving lies of Gilderoy Lockhart—a man whose only skill is fabricating glory from the blood, sweat, and brilliance of others.

Hufflepuff Values, Twisted Beyond Recognition

I did not attend Hogwarts, but I have lived in the British Isles long enough to know this: Hufflepuffs are known to be hard-working, loyal, and fair. They value dedication, patience, and community—traits meant to build something good, something lasting.

But you, Rita Skeeter, have twisted these ideals into something perverse and laced with bigotry. You take the very virtues your House claims to prize and turn them into weapons. Your hard work is nothing but obsession. Your loyalty is nothing but betrayal. Your patience is nothing but malice held in waiting. And your concept of fair play? A convenient mask to justify your cruelty. You are the dark side of your own House, and you wield that darkness with all the grace of a feral Crup.

Lockhart: A Fraud, A Plagiarist, A Menace

It is truly pitiful that Lockhart’s envy of a greater man drives him to such vile slander. But then, what else could be expected from a coward who preys upon those least able to fight back: women, magical creatures, and the vulnerable?”

Lockhart’s ‘heroics’ are nothing more than a string of stolen achievements and shattered minds. The man has made a career out of theft. Would he care to explain the Romanian healer whose research he erased from history? Or the werewolf researcher left half-mad and forgotten after he stole her life’s work? His victims are numerous, but their voices have been silenced by his wretched Obliviate.

That this pathetic little charlatan is now whining to the press after being rightfully fired is the most laughable irony of all. Do you want to know why Lockhart was fired? After given strict permission by Lily Potter, I will inform our shared reader base, Rita. One you neglect to tell: 

Lily's son had a minor flying accident at school, and broke his arm. It was not a serious injury, a simple healing spell could fix him right up. Now, we all know Hogwarts hires the best mediwitch in her profession, Madame Poppy Pomfrey.

But Lockhart saw the injury and thought: Why not me? I’m the hero. I’m handsome. I’m adored. Surely I know better than a woman with decades of healing under her belt.

So he drew his wand—and vanished the bones from a twelve-year-old boy’s arm.

Not healed. Not mended. Gone.

A child. A boy with green eyes and a broomstick. A boy who had trusted the adults around him. A boy who cried as his arm deflated into soft, boneless flesh.

What if it had been his liver? His lungs? His heart?

That boy was twelve.
And yes, Rita—now that you’ve bothered to care—his name is Harry Potter.

You know the name. You wear it on scarves and badges and t-shirts. But you forget the truth behind it. He is a child. Not your symbol. Not your legend. A boy.

Lockhart was fired not because of politics, but because he endangered a child in his care out of arrogance.

Albus Dumbledore was right to dismiss him. The only mistake was that Lockhart was ever hired.

Rita Skeeter: Spite Masquerading as Journalism 

One would assume a journalist of Skeeter’s so-called expertise would check her sources. Yet time and again, she shows a staggering incapacity for truth. Her vendetta against my husband is almost comical in its pettiness.

Rita, you are not reporting news. You are throwing a tantrum on parchment, let’s not pretend here. My dear readers, do you wish to know why Rita went on an unhinged rant about my husband? They had an affair several decades ago. Then he left her. That's it. Rita, you were nothing but a fleeting amusement to him, and you have never forgiven him for it. He married two non-white women, my self, and his ex-wife, and you, the discarded blonde, white woman cannot fathom this. So you attack us and our mixed-race children to get back at him. 

Your jealousy is transparent. Your desperation is laughable. But worst of all, your racism is lazy. It's not even creative. Let us not overlook your disgusting barbs against Orson Shacklebolt, a black man with credibility in his field, something you could only dream of having in your own. 

Furthermore, your venomous barbs against other women only reveal your own hypocrisy. Narcissa Malfoy, a woman who has endured enough tragedy and heartache, is smeared by your implication that she is somehow complicit in fabricated scandals. You made a mockery of Lily Potter. She is a single mother trying to raise her child in a world that constantly exploits her grief and commodifies her son without their permission. There are t-shirts sold in Diagon Alley about the Boy Who Lives. And you, Rita, choose your time to entertain a narcissistic, insecure insect like Lockhart instead of using your platform to defend Harry Potter from vultures. The professors of Hogwarts, intelligent and powerful witches you attempt to reduce to nothing more than weak-willed sycophants, deserve far better than to be slandered by someone who thrives off manipulating and destroying the reputations of others.

What makes this all the more absurd, Rita, is the fact that some of those same professors you belittle were once your teachers. Pomona Sprout, who you so casually dismissed as 'utterly unremarkable in the grand scheme of Hogwarts politics,’ was your Head of House when you were a Hufflepuff. A woman who guided you, educated you, and treated you with kindness and fairness. And this is how you repay her? By spitting on her dedication and integrity? Clearly, you never deserved her compassion.

Charlus Potter: The Architect of Ethnic Cleansing  

My husband and stepson were, in fact, Death Eaters. There is no denying that, and I would not pretend otherwise. But your other claims? Vile and repugnant. I will not dignify them with a response. But let’s address the credibility of your so-called source, Rita. The man you hold up as an authority on good and evil.

You cite Charlus Potter, the man who created the Parselmouth Oversight Committee in 1965. He is the architect of one of the most barbaric atrocities of the 20th century. This committee authorized the systematic destruction of entire communities across Europe. Entire families were slaughtered for the crime of possessing a gift they were born with.

The children were spared—if you call mutilating their bodies with crude surgeries meant to silence their magic ‘sparing’ them. If you call ripping them away from their families and forcing them into households where they were taught to despise their own nature ‘sparing’ them. If you call erasing their language, their culture, their very identities until all that remained were hollowed-out children struggling to survive in a world that declared their existence a crime ‘sparing’ them.

Would you like to discuss the aftermath of this brilliant crusade of your precious hero, Charlus Potter? The International Confederation of Wizards continues to gather evidence of the devastation wrought by his crusade. Surviving members of these purges—now adults—are nearly three times more likely to die by suicide than their non-Parselmouth counterparts. Their lives are marked by poverty, addiction, fractured minds, and a cultural emptiness so profound it has driven many of them to madness.

And that is on mainland Europe.

Here? On the British Isles? They do not exist. There had been five Parselmouth clans—five, Rita—prior to 1969. By 1977, Charlus Felix Potter,  with his son standing proudly beside him,  bragged in this very paper that there were no more Parselmouths on the British Isles. He openly celebrated the systematic cleansing of an entire group of people. Their customs are gone. Their music is gone. Their oral history is gone. Parselmouths do not write their magics and history down, Rita. They believe written word would steal their magic. And what did the Committee do? They cut out their tongues and stole their magic anyway. 

And then, four years later, you—and people like you—raised his grandson into sainthood. And now? The Potter name is unsoiled. The heroism of both Charlus and his son cannot be questioned. 

I don’t even know if this section will be allowed to see print. But I will write it anyway.

That is the man you cited, Rita Skeeter. The man you offer as an authority on good and evil. Your source for declaring my husband a war criminal is a butcher. Charlus Potter was not a hero—he was a monster. A monster no different from the most bloodthirsty tyrants of history.

The Real Villains

This article was never about truth. Albus Dumbledore is not a shadowy chess player, working to overthrow the government with his band of yes-witches and ex-death eater cronies. He is a tired old man who given nearly eighty years to teaching generations of this country. What Rita wrote was a farce. A fabrication, disgusting propaganda that capitalized on Lockhart's justified hiring. 

Gilderoy Lockhart is a fraud, a thief, and a dangerous fool.

Rita Skeeter is a charlatan, a woman scorned, and a parasite feeding off the misery of others.

And for those who entertain these two, are just as dangerous and foolish as them. 
 

     

Chapter 11: And What Makes a Man Righteous

If Rita Skeeter’s article had him shaking with anger over what she said about his mum, Mangala Verma’s had him physically ill. He was half-sobbing, half-retching up every vile truth about his grandfather.

He was hunched over a porcelain bowl in the second-floor girls’ restroom—Myrtle’s restroom—vomiting up his breakfast and lunch. Outside the stall, Myrtle hummed a tuneless melody as Harry got a renewed taste of tomato, turkey, rye bread, and orange juice.

Someone—he didn’t know who, but he suspected Pansy Parkinson—had slipped the article into his Transfiguration book. At the top, in glittery pink ink, someone had scrawled:
"GRANDSON OF THE BUTCHERER."

There was lull, when Harry wasn't making any noise except sniffling. 

"I knew your grandfather when I was alive," Myrtle said in a sing-song voice, almost pitying Harry. But also mocking him too. 

Harry wiped his eyes. "You did?" 

"He was terrible," she said. "He called me mudblood and cut my hair as a prank. He used to terrorize my friends, Tom and Tobias too. All because we're the only mudbloods in our year. I didn't like him much."

Harry swallowed down the guilt that wasn't his. "Oh." he wiped his mouth with the leave of his robes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Myrtle said in a singsong voice. "You're not him, Harry." 

"Tom?" Harry asked, grasping at anything other than his grandfather. "As in Tom Riddle?" 

she went quiet, and he almost thought she disappeared. "Yes. Tom. We went study during our fifth year. I saw him recently. He's so old now. And he has children! Indian children! He ran off and married an Indian girl after me. Can you believe that? I feel cheated." 

Harry was sure there was something to it, but he was twelve and not a therapist. And Riddle needed like five therapists for whatever was wrong with him. 

He got up and flushed the toilet, refusing to look at his breakfast and lunch.

"Professor Snape's also his kid," he said, exiting the stall. "With some lady named...something Prince." 

Myrtle looked murderous. "He had a child with Eileen! Unbelievable! I die and he marries Eileen the Liar! She told whoever would listen to her that I-I--I'm sort of a loose girl. I'm not loose!" 

Harry didn't know what that meant but assumed it was bad. Aunt Petunia would call older girls loose if they wore short shorts, and his mum would yell at Petunia for 'slut-shaming'. It went over his head. 

"Myrtle, could I ask you something?" he asked, hoping to needle more about Charlus out of her. 

She paused her ranting long enough to say, "oh! Anything. I like you, Harry. You're the first person not to mock me for crying in a long time."

"Why would I do that?" Harry questioned, his voice innocent and concerned. "You seem nice enough."

Shock flickered over her face and her eyes welled up again. Oh, no. He didn't want to make her cry again. "What do you want to ask?" 

"Do you believe the things that's in the article?" He wanted...he didn't want to believe it. "about my grandfather and my father supporting him?" 

She hesitated. "I've haunted this school for a long time. I've seen  and heard things. You're the first Potter who's been nice, Harry." She said it in such a tone, as if she was hiding from him, as if anymore knowledge about his parents would break him.

He inhaled sharply, and then let out a deflated breath. "Oh." His shoulders slumped. "Thank you, Myrtle." he wiped is mouth, cringing at the taste of bile still in his mouth. It almost made him want to puke again. 

"I'm going to go," Harry muttered, not looking at the ghost. "Thank you, Myrtle." 

"Oh alright, Harry," she replied softly, her voice fading into something distant and colder.

It wasn’t a personality shift—not exactly—but Myrtle had begun drifting, slipping back into the repetitive shadows of her memory. In moments, she’d lose all awareness of the present, retreating into her stall to wail and lament. Harry had seen it before with Nearly Headless Nick, who sometimes, mid-sentence, would start begging for mercy from a long-vanished executioner.

When the ghosts drifted into those moments, it was best to leave them be.

Harry quietly stepped out, leaving Myrtle to her eternal grief. 

He wasn't sure where he was going until he found himself wandering the empty hall toward the Defense class. 

Maybe he should search out Dumbledore, or even Snape, but no...no...

Dumbledore would give him half truths and soften the blow, and Snape would gloat.

Tom Riddle would be brutally honest, and tell Harry what needed to be said in his own twisted way. 

He came to end of the hall, and heard Tom's sharp voice around the corner. 

"Mr. Weasley, you're over thinking the assignment," he said smoothly. A tad bit condescending, but also amused. "You don't need to research statistical evidence before you create a spell."

"But don't you need a theory and hypothesis, Professor?" Percy asked. There was a shuffle of parchment. "I have seventeen pages worth of data going into my project." 

"Which is, what exactly?" Tom prodded. 

There was a pause, and Harry looked around the corner, just a little enough to see Percy looking around wildly for people ease dropping. 

When he was self assured no one was listening in, he answered. "Do you know about the muggle invention called the computer? The internet?" 

"...yes," Tom drawled, not sounding impressed, but not dismissive either. 

"As you well know, my father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and over the summer, I interned there." Percy sounded rather dower about the position. "

"Yes, I know Arthur works there--didn't he charm a car to fly?" Tom asked, a bit incredulous. "I'm not one to complain about breaking the wall, but that seems a bit obtuse." 

"He also borrowed a computer, and brought it home." A beat. "It caught on fire." 

"Ah," Tom said, humming. "That would happen if you put an electrical device in a magical home such as the Burrow." 

Harry leaned against the wall, resisting the urge to sigh. Of course, Riddle would be talking to the one Weasley who liked to hear himself speak! He had real problems and Percy was rambling about computers! 

"Yes, exactly!" Percy declared. "I went to a muggle library London after that and gotten permission to use a computer. They something called the internet that is connected all over the world. I was on messaging boards with people from the United States, talking live. Well, not talking, we were typing. Can you imagine that kind of power in our hands? We could finally compete with muggles in real time. We just need to enchant our mirrors like we use for communication." 

Harry looked around corner again, and saw Percy's arm around Tom's shoulder, waving his stack of parchments in one hand and gesturing wildly. 

Tom stood there, hand on his chin, deep in thought. 

"Imagine, Professor Riddle," he began. "You can have a mirror, specialized for you. You can communicate with your wife on one side, on the other you have the Daily Prophet, or any newspaper from around the world. You can have novel, or Radio Drama play. Or we can record theater productions and concerts, and upload it to ReflectoNet." he took a step back. "What do you think." 

Tom didn't say anything for several long seconds. And every passing one, Percy deflated. 

Until...

"Mr. Weasley," he began slowly, deliberately. "I am going to draft a proposal for the two of us have special permission to leave school grounds during the next Hogsmeade weekend. I'm going to introduce you to contacts in the Ministry to fund your research." 

Percy's mouth fell open and then brighten in a broad, sweeping smile. "Really? You think Headmaster Dumbledore let us?" 

Tom shrugged, grinning just a little. "I think I can convince him. Wear your best clothes, and if you don't have any, I'll transfigure whatever you have to look the part. Let's not give Lucius Malfoy a reason to be rude." 

"You think Lucius Malfoy would talk with me? A Weasley?" he asked, clearly skeptical. 

"Oh, Mr. Weasley," Tom said smoothly. "Lucius doesn’t refuse me. He knows better. And since I want your ideas come to reality, Lucius will too." 

"Er. If you're sure." Percy seemed uncertain by Tom's claim, but Harry wasn't. 

If anything, this just gave Harry more reason to believe Tom Riddle was Voldemort. Why else would Lucius Malfoy agree to anything a muggle-born would want the way Lucius bows to Tom? 

"Well, anyway," Percy said, cheerful. "I'm going to head to the library. I'm still crafting a rune system to replace muggle web code. Thank you, Professor." 

"Of course, Mr. Weasley," Tom said, and Harry heard it. A predatory edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "What is family for? We are kin through my grandmother after all." 

Percy beamed at that. "Quite right! Thank you again, Professor." he said with final nod, Percy walked down the hall with a bit of a skip in his step. 

Harry waited until Percy was out of earshot before stepping from around the corner. "Professor Riddle?" 

Tom turned slightly, his eyes expecting. "Harry, I was wondering when you would show up." He nodded his head, gesturing to his class room. "Classes are done for the day if you need to talk."

Harry nodded numbly and entered through the double doors that opened for him. Tom walked passed him, the doors closing gently behind them with a quiet shudder. Tom went to his desk, and Harry followed, grabbing a loose chair from the semi circle of desks. 

"Professor," he said, his voice a bit too quiet for his liking. "I was sick earlier. Do have anything for me to wash my mouth with?" He slid in his seat. "Like water or tea?"

Tom's eyes flicker with something like concern. It was genuine, and not performative like so many of the man's emotions. He snapped his fingers and summoned a fizzy drink. It was nothing from the wizarding world, but in fact it was muggle--Canadian ginger ale. He popped the cap and slid the glass across the dark wooden desk. "Take small sips, roll it around in your mouth before you swallow." 

"Where did you get this from?" he didn't know the school had muggle fizzy drinks, but he wasn't sure he wanted to drink it anyway. Lily always gave him warm tea when he was sick when he was little. 

"My own house, I just summoned it," he explained. "Now do as you're told. More disobedient than my own children, honestly." 

Harry hesitated, but did what he was told. He just wanted the after taste out of his mouth. He sipped on the soda, rolled it around his mouth and swallowed, wincing as the carbonation burned. But it did work well enough. The ginger made his mouth feel fresher, if anything. 

"I assume you're here about the article?" Tom asked. Nothing in his voice betrayed how he felt about the article or Harry's reaction to it. 

He nodded slowly, clutching the ginger ale as a life line. "I did. Someone slipped it in one of my text books." He blinked and his eyes flickered to Tom, his gaze hidden beneath his messy hair. "Professor, did my grandfather call you the bad word for muggle-borns?" 

Tom's eyes narrowed a fraction, and anger danced on his features. "How did you learn that?" 

"Moaning Myrtle, sir," he said. "She explained you two went study when you're in school." 

Tom leaned back in his chair, and reached for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Harry was pretty sure teachers weren't supposed to smoke in front of students, but he had a feeling Tom didn't care about the rules. 

"We did, and Charlus did call me mudblood," Tom said, clenching a cigarette between his teeth. He lit it with a click, and inhaled sharply, but he didn't relax. He exhaled, and the smoke lingered in the air as he explained, "most purebloods back then used mudblood casually. We're coming off the last King and we just transitioned into a parliament. And King Malfoy was very loose with his usage. It trinkled into the culture. But surely you are not here to ask me about Charlus's anti-mudblood views that he had pretended he never had."  

Harry swallowed on air, and that burned more than the fizzy drink in his hand. "Did Charlus do what Mrs. Verma wrote about?" 

"Yes," he said simply, not even attempting to softening the blow. "He did. He started the Oversight Committee with a woman named Catherine Hepzibah Smith a German warlock, an Italian witch, and two Greek healers."

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly and opened them, feeling his eyes had began to water again. 

But this time with anger. 

Before Harry was the man he was sure was Voldemort, the man who most likely murdered James. And he was more disgusted by his own grandfather he never met. And that just fueled his disgust with himself.

He should care Tom might be Voldemort. 

But it's not was awful knowing his grandfather wiped out entire culture and people. Their culture. Their people.

"Headmaster Dumbledore told me about Felix, my great-great grandfather," he began, his voice shaky, "was a parselmouth."

Tom tilted his head to the side in the way all the Riddles did when they found something fascinating. "Felix had been, yes." 

"And Charlus killed Parselmouths, despite knowing it was in our blood?" Harry pressed. 

"Charlus hated Dark Magic, Harry," Tom explained, cold, distant. "He hated the Potter family was tainted by it. It started with Felix when he purposely married a Veela." he paused and added, "Harry, remember to drink your ginger ale. The ginger will settle your stomach."

That snapped Harry out of his barely controlled anger. "Right," he muttered, and took a sip of more, repeating what Tom instructed to do. "What's a Veela?" he asked, after swallowing. 

"It's a type of nymph, a...very good-looking humanoid creature," Tom explained, as if he was filtering out his words carefully. "Their magical gifts are more potent than ours--well, not mine but most other magical humans." 

He paused, taking a hit off his cigarette before he continued. "Your great great grandfather  married her to overpower his Parselmagic. Since Parselmagic is recessive, it laid dormant in Fleamont, Charlus's father, Charlus, and James. From what I know, your mother has a distant magical relative, and they had Parselmagic in their blood line as well." He waved his hand as a gesture. "So...you have the Veela blood, and you're a Parselmouth. Quite a fascinating combination."

The way Tom talked made Harry feel he was cadaver Tom wanted dissect and put together. 

Harry’s breathing was ragged. His eyes burned. “And you? What did you think of him? Was he fascinating?”

Tom’s lips curled into a thin smile. “I hated him.” He didn't pretend it was anything else. "I hated him, and I hated your father. During the war, I wanted the Potter family to not exist. By any means necessary." 

Harry knew what that meant. It was a confession if there ever was, but he wanted to know something, so he ignored what Tom said for a moment.  “How did Charlus Potter die?”

Tom’s smile sharpened, his eyes glinting like shattered glass. “Voldemort killed him.”

The air seemed to vanish from the room. Harry’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His mind scrambled to make sense of it all, the horrible, disjointed pieces of truth that had been laid before him.

It was the right answer. Of course it was. Harry had known that from the start, somewhere deep down. The same man who murdered his father had murdered his grandfather. Who failed to murder him. 

But that dark, roiling anger wouldn’t let go. Not when he thought of what Charlus had done. What he’d been proud of. Charlus had gone to the public and bragged about the systematic slaughter of people like Harry. 

If Charlus had lived just long enough to meet Harry, would he have held Harry down and mutilate him? Cut out his tongue, call it a cleansing? 

And Harry—knowing Tom was Voldemort, knowing how insane it was to say this—looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Good. I hope you made him suffer.”

The room fell into a silence so deep it felt like a living thing.

Tom’s expression shifted, his gaze sharpening with interest, surprise, and something disturbingly close to delight. A slow smirk stretched across his lips. “Oh, Harry,” Tom purred, his voice low and oily with satisfaction. “The wretched bastard suffered.”

Neither talked for a moment, Harry wallowed in his suffering and Tom smiled through it. 

But Harry couldn't stay quiet for long. 

"But I hope I humiliated you when I was baby," he said quietly, "for trying to kill my mother." 

"You actually did me a favor," Tom said flippantly, "I was not of sound mind, and that explosion snapped me back into reality." 

Harry gave him a disbelieving look, because there was no way Tom Riddle was living in reality now. 

"My version of reality," Tom corrected in a moment of self awareness. "I might have been at my absolute lowest that night."

Harry was no left with a thousands of questions for Tom, but they were put on pause by the doors to Tom's classroom were burst wide open by Snape. 

“Father—Potter?” Snape asked, blinking in disbelief. He looked between the two, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What is going on here?" 

Tom smiled innocently and gestures to Harry. "Harry was feeling under the weather, so he came to me to help him with his predicament. Or. And he found out I am Lord Voldemort." 

Severus blinked several times, processing what was just was said to him. Once it hit him, he pinched his nose, and groaned. "What the fuck." he hissed before looking up again, pointing at Harry. "Potter, go to your dorm. Father, come with me to hospital wing. A student has been petrified."

Tom shot straight out his chair, nearly knocking it over. "What? How? We got rid of the basilisk." 

"How should I know, you're the expert," Snape snapped. "Get down there and figure it out." 

"I am not an expert in petrifaction," Tom argued, inhaling sharply only for the smoke to leave his mouth as he talked. 

Harry slid out his chair, looking between father and son. "Can the wraith thingy that possessed you and Professor Quirrell petrify people?" he asked.

Tom looked at him for a second before snapping his attention back at Severus. "you told him about the wraith?" he accused, eyes narrowed. 

"He dealt with the wraith last year and was curious," Severus explained through clenched teeth, hands balled into fists. He was losing his patience. Harry just knew the vein on the Potions Master's forehead was going to pop one day. "You told Potter you're Voldemort and you're angry I explained the wraith to the child who was attacked by it twice?" 

Tom rolled his eyes, a retort on his tongue only to halt. "You said petrified?" 

"Yes, Colin Creevey has been petrified!" Snape all but shouted. "Now can you please be serious for a five fucking minutes."

"Oh, shit." Tom hissed. He frantically put his cigarette out on his desk. "Shit! Shitshitshitshit!" He bolted for the door, running rather fast for a man in his sixties and lungs caked in tar. 

Harry never seen Severus Snape looked so terrified and shocked, but at that moment he was watching his father's reaction. He was about to run after Tom, Harry called out. 

"Is Colin going to be okay?" Harry asked. 

Snape paused at the door frame, turning at Harry. "Yes, allow the staff to handle it." and disappeared. 

Harry followed and watched Snape's cloak bellow behind him. Let the staff handle it? Like the teachers handled Quirrell? If he, Hermione, and Ron didn't investigate Quirrell, the wraith would've had the Philosopher's Stone! Forget that, he was involved now, rather Riddle or Snape or Dumbledore didn't want him to be. 

Harry took down the hall, muttering the silencing charm Professor Flitwick had taught them recently. Snape had uncanny ability to hear everything like a dog. 

He trailed behind, keeping enough distance between his professors and arrived to the Hospital Wing just the adults began to talk. Luckily for him, they left the room ajar. 

"So," McGonagall's voice was razor sharp, laced with controlled rage, "you fired that buffoon Lockhart, only to hire Voldemort?" 

"Minnie, Minnie, please, that is all in the past now," Tom said smoothly. Harry could hear the smirk on his voice. "Can't we focus on the present?" 

"You shut up. I don't want to discuss anything with the likes of you," she hissed between her teeth. "You are deranged. Narcissistic. Cruel. Violent. A mass murderer. I hate you, and you deserve to be locked up for life for every crime you have committed."  

"Oh, Minnie, this just like we're in school," he replied, his tone even more teasing. "I'm a taken man, there is no need to flirt and try so hard." 

A stream of swear words left McGonagall's mouth and Harry was sure she was going to punch him if it weren't for Dumbledore. 

"Tom, for the love of Merlin, be quiet." Dumbledore ordered, only to get a laughing fit laced with coughing in response. The Headmaster said the silencing charm, and Tom went eerily quiet. "Minerva, Tom's an expert in the Chamber and the wraith attacking students."

"Because he was possessed by it for fifty years," she argued. 

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "He knows the wraith better than anyone."

"This is deranged," she said, biting back a sigh. "How do we know he won't murder a child while he's roaming the halls?" 

Tom removed the silencing spell. "Did you ask that when Albus let a troll wander around the school to crush students, Minnie? How about a three headed dog straight out of Hesiod's Theogony? How about the giant, man eating spiders roaming the Forbidden Forest?"

 "And according to Severus," there was a pause. "you sent first years to the Forbidden Forest as a punishment. In the middle of the night. Minerva, you are a brilliant woman—so what the fuck were you thinking sending children into the Forbidden Forest as punishment?" The question felt like a slap even to Harry. "Do I even need to talk about what happened to Severus when he was a student here? Should I recount the shit you let that sniveling little cunt James Potter get away with?"

But I'm going to kill a kid? Okay, how about we have a conversation about the sheer incompetent behavior of this school is going to kill kids." 

There was a very tense silence, and Harry understood why. Because Tom wasn't wrong. Dumbledore did let a troll wander the school and that nearly killed Hermione. Fluffy was in the third corridor. And the spiders--wait.

Was that actually a thing? Were there giant spiders in the forest? 

Nooo, Tom was hyperbolic. McGonagall wouldn't have sent him, Hermione, Ron, and Draco into the forest if there were giant spiders. 

While Harry was stuck on the past, Tom continued, sounding defensive. Not of himself. 

"Don't you dare look at him," he must mean Snape, "When you hired my son, you hired me—long before you ever gave me this position. Every whisper in this castle reaches my ears eventually. You knew that when you hired to spy on me during the war." Harry slapped a hand over his mouth, stopping the shock gasp from escaping. Dumbledore had Snape spy on his own father? If it were Lily...

Harry could never do that to his mother. 

"May we focus on the petrified eleven year old?" Severus spoke softly, yet firm, directing the much older adults than himself on what matters. 

"Yes, let's do that," Tom said, inhaling sharply. "So I have bad news and good news." 

"Oh, Godric's ass," Minerva muttered under breath, sounding broken down and weary. "I need a bottle of a wine." 

"I haven't even said what my bad news is yet?" Tom sounded like he was pouting. "Minnie, please, don't be so dramatic."

"Tom," Dumbledore warned, his anger creeping in his voice. Tom struct a nerve in biting attack about the safety in the school, Harry just knew he did. 

"Albus, I will get to it," he said, dismissive. There was a pause and long exhale. 

Bloody hell, Harry thought, how could Tom breathe with how much he smoked? 

"So, the bad news," Tom began, "the spell used on young Colin was one I invented, and I invented it when the demon possessed me. Meaning...all the spells I invented the demon knows. So that is not good. But good news is, Colin should make a full recovery in Pomona's mandrakes are mature." 

"Oh, yes, how fantastic," McGonagall sneered. "A true saint you are." 

Harry never heard his Head of House speak with much venom before, but considering who it was directed it towards, he didn't blame her. And Harry didn't even hate Tom, despite confirming what he suspected for the last couple weeks. 

"Do you have any suspects, Father?" Severus drawled, forcing the conversation once again back on the important topic. 

"I actually have a few," Tom said, humming. "Voldemort possessed me for decades, and knew my mind. When he was in my mind, I knew that enjoyed patterns, familiarity. So I've been looking at students who share my traits of intelligence, goal orientated values, and ambition. Some are more ruthless in nature than the others. But they're curious nature would be a feast for the demon."

Harry leaned away from the door, shaking his head. No, Tom had it all wrong. Quirrell was none of those things, maybe intelligent, but still the wraith chose him. Tom was all of those things, but he was difficult and purposely made life difficult for everyone for his amusement. The wraith wouldn't go back to someone like that, at least Harry wouldn't if he was wraith. 

He stepped quietly from the door, hearing three of Tom's suspects: Percy Weasley, Cedric Diggory, Araceli Yaxley—and a few others Harry didn’t catch. But he didn't believe Tom was right about any of these choices. 

He needed to tell someone, but with Ron not talking to him because of that stupid defense class and Hermione had sided with Ron, choosing silence to even attempt to see Harry's point of view. 

But...Harry wasn't alone either. 

 

"Are you insane?" Draco asked, incredulous. 

"Don't be rude, Draco," Cassie chastised.

"Rude? Potter comes to us, telling wild stories of demons and possessions," the blonde argued, sneering at his cousin, "and thinks we want to help him track it down before it attacks more muggle-borns."

Harry was starting to regret telling Malfoy.  

He had found the cousins seated on a low stone wall outside, a half-eaten plate of pumpkin pasties between them and a swirl of autumn leaves gathering at their feet. They were deep in what might have been a debate or an actual argument—Harry couldn’t tell which—about wizarding radio dramas. Cassie championed Yesterday’s Chronicles, a romantic saga set in the 1890s about a forbidden courtship between a pure-blood heiress and a Muggle-born auror. Draco, naturally, was defending Hexes Between Worlds, an action-packed series involving interplanetary spell-duels and lizard aliens on Pluto. Admittedly, Harry got so caught up in Draco’s passionate explanation of a wand battle on a meteor belt that he almost forgot why he came over in the first place.

"I think we should help Harry," Cassie said, fiddling with the ends of her black-and-yellow scarf. He’d asked once why she always wore it. Today’s reason: the light drizzle falling over the castle grounds.

"The teachers are focused on the older years. They’re not even looking at us. That’s exactly why we should."

"I fail to see how this is our problem," Draco argued, arms folded. "You and I are purebloods. We're not targets."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I’m not a pureblood, and you two are blood-traitors by reputation. If you need a selfish reason to care, Malfoy—there’s one."

"And we don’t even know if the Otherworld creature’s only going after Muggle-borns," Cassie added. "It started with a cat, remember?"

Draco sat there, arms crossed over his chest, pouting for a long moment before saying, “If I die because you decided to play hero, Potter, I’m haunting your great-grandchildren." There was a pause. "Now, back to Hexes Between Worlds! You have to listen to it, Potter."

Harry found himself relaxing, and for a moment, the weight of everything—the article, the demon, the loneliness—felt lighter. Except for the lingering taste of washed-out tomato in the back of his throat.

Chapter 12: Dueling Club

Notes:

I hope you enjoy this twist take on the Dueling Club, and Cassie's POV. This character has gone through many versions, so to finally write her is just so nice.

The buzz in the Great Hall was louder than a swarm of bees. All week long, the only thing people could talk about was Colin Creevey's attack and the long-awaited return of Dueling Club. Excitement crackled in the air, but so did dread--specially among the Muggle-born students and the first years.

The usual house tables had vanished, replaced by a long platform that stretched across the entirety of the Great Hall, raised above for all those to see. The floating candles were gone, instead sunshine flooded the room. 

This was the first session of Dueling Club, reserved for first, second, third, and fourth years. Harry was on the outskirts of the second years, mingling closer to the fourth years. He stood by Ravi, while picking up a conversation from his classmates. 

"How do you think this will go?" Dean asked to no one in particular. 

"Better now Lockhart's gone, I reckon," Ron answered, stretching his neck to look at the door where he assumed where Snape and Riddle would enter from. 

"Oh so much better," Parvati added, sighing dreamingly. "Mr. Riddle is so much more handsome than Lockhart." 

Hermione turned sharply at her dormmate. "Parvati, he's married," 

"He's also old," Lavender pointed out. 

"Yes," she said, holding her hand up in agreement, "he is married--to an Indian woman. So in ten years, they can divorce, and I will have a shot." 

 "Yeah, ‘cause that’s exactly what he’s thinking about," Ron said, snorting, now looking back at her. "Divorcing his wife for a twelve-year-old.”

"Oh, shut up, Ron," she swatted at his arm. 

Harry felt uncomfortable, and bitter. He should be with them, poking fun at Parvati's crush. And jealous. Parvati had agreed with him in Defense class—just framed it with cultural nuance. That made it acceptable. For her. But not him. Yet, she was allowed in the group. And he wasn't. 

That's fine. He now had Draco and Cassie. Draco was outcasted for spending time with Hermione once in his house. And Cassie was an outcast for having her mother be a follower of Voldemort's. 

He leaned against the platform, catching sight her among the Hufflepuffs. Predictably, she was in the far corner of the badgers, with a notable gap between her and several others. The only boy who seemed willing to talk to Cassie was another second year, Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry wondered if its because Justin was a muggle-born and didn't know much about wizarding politics. 

Next to him, Ravi was fuming. "I shouldn't be mixed in with the younger students. I should be at least with the fifth and sixth years, or even with seventh years." he muttered under his breath. 

"Oh, come off it mate," Lee said, swinging an arm around Ravi's shoulder. "It's nothing personal."

Ravi shrugged him off. "I'm being held back because of my age. I've been taught how to duel since i was six by one of the best duelist in the world. I don't even need this, but since I'm forced, I should be respected and put in a higher group." 

Harry could not imagine what it would be like being trained to duel at six by Voldemort. 

The twins shared a look and then rolled their eyes. 

"Really, Ravi," Fred said. "Your father is a former healer. How good of a dueler can he be?" 

"Did he duel his patients?" George added, snickering under his breath. 

Ravi gave them an unimpressed glare. "You just wait. You only had him for a teacher a couple weeks and he's been focused on theory."

"Mate, defense class as turned into propaganda to whatever the fuck your dad believes in," Lee corrected. "He went on a five minute rant about how werewolves are severely mistreated and denied even owning wands." 

"Well, is he wrong?" Ravi fired back. "You just wait."

He looked down at Harry and leaned over him. "What's wrong with you?" 

Harry pulled away from the ramp, sighing. "Nothing much," he said. "I had a lot on mind lately." 

Ravi's expression morphed into concern. "is it about the article my mum wrote about your grandfather?" he asked, low, only for them. 

Harry was sharply reminded of the acidic taste of tomato and that taste will forever linked to reading about Charlus Potter's crimes. "Yeah," which wasn't the full truth, but it was a big part of it. 

"You want to talk about it after dueling club?" he asked, with a surprising amount of care. 

But that care was colored with the fact Ravi sounded eerily like Tom just now...

Despite that, Harry found himself nodding. "I would like that."

Ravi smiled, and looked like he was going to say more but the doors to the great hall crept open. 

It wasn't a bang, but the chattering stopped abruptly. Two figures stood in the doorframe, just out of the sunlight. 

Tom entered first, forsaking his suit jacket and wore simply a waist coat, a loose tie, rolled up sleeves, and trousers rolled up at the ankles. He spun his wand around with hand. 

He strode in relaxed, calm. And singing?

"I've got sunshine on a cloudy with my girl," he sung in a haunting tune. "I've even got the month of May, with my girl."

What struck Harry was the fact that Tom was a decent singer. Like, actually good. Shockingly good. It was also muggle. He didn’t recognize the band, but the song tugged at something warm and distant. A tune his mum might have hummed while cleaning. Something that used to play on the kitchen radio. 

But he couldn’t even enjoy the funny little fact about one of his professors can sing muggle songs. Because this professor was also Lord Voldemort. And how many times had Tom killed someone while singing a lovely tune?

Actually, Harry didn’t want to know.

Harry didn’t want to think too hard about which one it was.

Snape trailed behind, cloak billowing, radiating displeasure.

They couldn’t have looked more different if they tried. Tom in a deep purple waistcoat with a riotously patterned tie and matching green button shirt, rolled up to his elbows. Snape, meanwhile, was drowning in black fabric that dramatically flared behind him with every step. They looked like they stepped out of a comic book. 

Tom hopped up onto the stage with the grace of a man half his age, twirling his wand once like a showman ready for a one man show. 

He strode to the center, humming the rest of the tune. He stopped, and waited for Severus to join him. 

"Good morning children," Tom called out, projecting his voice out to the crowd of students. "As the Headmaster had said last night, we are reinstating Dueling Club and this is our first meeting." 

A petite blonde Ravenclaw first year raised her hand, asking dreamily, “Why did the school get rid of Dueling Club?”

Tom turned, eyes gleaming. Snape, beside him, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

"Ah, Miss Lovegood, I do hope your father's well," he said warmly. "Now that is a fascinating question—Severus, would you like to tell them how your class got Dueling Club banned?"

"No," Snape replied flatly, already exhausted.

"But it’s such a fun story," Tom continued, pouting in mock disappointment. He began pacing the stage, dragging his words with theatrical relish. "You don't want to recount how young Lucius Malfoy broke James Potter’s nose?" Harry's eyebrows shot up into his wild hair. "Or how Sirius Black stabbed Garrett Avery with a letter opener? Or how that Pettigrew boy got walloped by a rather spirited Rosier girl? Or...what you did to earn a month's detention and two hundred points from his house?" 

A growing murmur of laughter filled the Great Hall, torn between laughing at Riddle's antics and not earning Snape's ire. 

He paused, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Professor Snape’s generation," he said, addressing the students, "was a delightful pack of dueling delinquents. They turned a school activity into a riot. So, if you’ve spent years mourning the absence of a Dueling Club—blame him. Blame your parents and older relatives."

He pointed toward Snape, grinning like the devil himself.

Snape, with both hands, rubbed his temples. "Father, please. Can we focus on teaching the brats stunners so I can be anywhere else." 

"Hey, hey," Tom's voice turned sharp. "Your sister is in the crowd." 

Harry spotted Zahira in the crowd of Slytherins, covering her face from embarrassment. 

Ravi was offended. "I'm in the crowd too," he called, unashamed by interrupting two professors talking. 

Both Tom and Snape turned to Ravi, giving him a damning look. The boy's mouth hung open as his father and older brother insulted him just by staring.

 "Anyway," Tom said, cheerfully, pointedly not correcting Snape on including Ravi in the brat comment. "Let's move to proper dueling etiquette." 

Tom strolled across the dueling platform like a man conducting an orchestra.

“The traditional rules of magical dueling,” he began, voice like velvet draped over iron, “require a bow, a stance, and a gentleman’s regard. No striking while the opponent’s back is turned. No use of Unforgivables. No non-verbal magic unless agreed upon.”

He paused, eyes sweeping over the crowd of wide-eyed students. “These rules,” he continued, “are important. They teach discipline. Form. Control.”

He stopped in front of the centerline, his wand held lightly in one hand, more like an accessory than a weapon.

“But—”

The word sliced through the air as if it were the first curse fired. 

“—we are not always fortunate enough to duel in respectable arenas, under tidy Ministry-sanctioned conditions. Sometimes, your enemy is not interested in rules. Sometimes, they strike—”

He spun on his heel and, without a moment’s hesitation, fired a blinding Stunner at Severus. "Stupefy!" 

Gasps broke across the hall.

Snape’s wand was already up. A shimmering Protego burst to life, catching the red spell mid-air. The force rippled through the barrier, and yet Severus didn’t flinch. He lowered the shield slowly, eyes narrowed at his father.

Tom smiled.

“—at any given moment.”

There was silence. Then a nervous, exhilarated ripple of laughter.

Tom turned back to the students. “This, children, is your first lesson: duel with honor, but be ready to play dirty.” He gestured toward Severus. “Your enemy will not wait for a bow. Your enemy will not give you time to catch your breath.”

Snape muttered, “Or to drink your morning tea.”

Tom grinned. “Especially not that.” He adjusted his waist coat at the ends. "Now, Professor Snape and I will demonstrate a traditional, respectable duel. And then afterwards, we will have all of you split off into pairs of twos. Does anyone have any questions." 

A third year Hufflepuff raised her hand, and Tom had to swivel around to address her. "Yes, Miss Bristlecone?"

"Mr. Riddle, sir, what if we have to duel more than one person?" she asked, her voice squeaker than any first years Harry met. 

"Oh, well that is an interesting topic," he said humming. "If you're in the predicament of facing off more than one person, you will most likely not practicing traditional dueling etiquette and actually fighting for survival. But that is a lesson for another day." he turned to Snape. "You think we can convince Albus to duel us both to demonstrate that?" 

"If you behave yourself," Snape drawled, his tone dripping with weary patience. "Are you ready?"

Tom and Snape paced away from each other, stopping at opposite ends of the platform. In unison, they turned, faced one another, and bowed—formal, precise, without flair.

Wands raised.

Harry’s heart skipped.

Expelliarmus!" Snape cast first, but Tom deflected with ease—then retaliated with a Stunner, followed by a sharp Bombarda. Snape blocked both in one sweep and, with a twist of his wand, summoned a volley of ice daggers that screamed through the air.

Gasps echoed from the students.

Tom vanished—no, moved—like a shifting shadow, each blade missing by a breath. He straightened, twirling his wand once with theatrical grace.

Then the real duel began.

They dropped spoken spells. Words disappeared, replaced by speed and instinct. Magic cracked and collided, light bursting in colors Harry didn’t know had names.

Wandless spells slipped between the curses. A summoned shield. A sudden whip of fire. Sparks and smoke and ice all clashing midair.

And something in Harry’s stomach twisted, then sank.

He was impressed, yes—but underneath that awe was something colder.

James, his father, never stood a chance.

If this was Tom Riddle sparring with his son—holding back, playing…what did it look like when he meant to kill?

Near him he heard Fred mutter, "Merlin's ass." 

And George go quietly, "he's been training you since you're six?" 

Ravi smirked, mirroring one of Tom's. "He didn't train me like that at six," he gestured to the duel, "but last few years he has." 

"Are you going to duel them for us?" George prodded. 

"Oh, forget that!" Ravi hissed, looking rather put off by the idea. "I don't want to be embarrassed in front of everyone!"

As they whispered, Tom knocked the wand out of Snape's hand, and used his magic to snatch it mid air. It happened so fast, Harry nearly missed it. 

And that deepened Harry's awe inspiring fear. Tom could’ve ended the duel at any time—and Harry knew it. Snape, no doubt could beat a number wizards and witches in duels. But the man who taught him? 

With clarity, Harry remembered what Mr. Ollivander had said when Lily and him got his wand. 

Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.

Tom set the bar incredibly high for Harry because there was no way he could become great like him. 

Tom examined, humming. "Oh!" he said with delight. "This is the wand you got from that Gorgon when vacation in Greece! Where's your real wand?"

Snape stormed over to him, snatching his wand out of his father's hands. "You know I don't use my main wand for simple tasks." 

"Simple? Was I going to easy on you?" Tom asked, teasing. But there was a hint of a threat in his words, almost as if he was insulted. 

But Snape didn't care and didn't give Tom what he wanted. 

Tom twirled Severus’s wand once more between his fingers before handing it back, bored of the offending piece of wood. 

“Thank you for humoring me, son,” he said with a smug bow. “Class, you have now witnessed a restrained duel. Believe me, you’d know the difference.”

Snape snatched his wand, muttering something that sounded like “restrained, my ass.”

A ripple of nervous laughter floated through the room.

Tom clapped once, loud and commanding.

“Right! Onto the part where you lot show off your skills,” he declared, sweeping his wand toward the row of dueling platforms. “Not everyone can practice dueling today, so we will focus on the first and second years."

Snape stepped forward, now all business. “When your name is called, take your place. Stand. Bow. Begin only on my word."

All the while they talked, the platform split into four sections. It was so sudden, the students scrambled back. 

Tom, meanwhile, was flicking his wand lazily toward a floating parchment, which began announcing the first round of pairs in a magically projected voice.

"Avery and Macmillan. Bones and Padma Patil. Malfoy and Potter." 

Tom blinked. He leaned closer to the parchment, squinting slightly.

In a low voice, he muttered to Severus, “Who made this list?”

“It was randomized by Filius,” Snape replied, already turning toward the parchment. A beat. Then, “Oh.”

Tom’s lips curled into a smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, yes,” he said softly, almost to himself. He cleared his throat.

“Longbottom and Shacklebolt.”

 

 

Cassie’s heart pounded—not from fear, she told herself—but from anticipation. She stepped forward when her name was called, chin held high, back straight like her father taught her. Don’t give them a reason he repeated in the lonely nights when it was just the two of them in their flat above her father’s store. 

Them being elites. The Ministry. Aurors.

She locked eyes with Neville. 

He wasn’t looking at her. Not really. He was glaring at the ghost of her mother. Bellatrix Lestrange was in Azkaban, but Cassie was the closest thing Neville had to revenge—and he knew it. So did she.

She moved toward the platform.  She could feel eyes on her. 

Not because she was good or they wanted her to win, but because of her name. Cassiopeia Shacklebolt, named after her great-great aunt, Cassiopeia Black. She was still alive, of course. A famed Potions Master, the person who wrote the fifth year potions textbook. She was well known, but not as well known as Bellatrix Black. 

That’s the woman everyone saw when they looked at her. Not the brilliant Potions Master Who wrote nine books on magical theory, but the madwoman who was locked up in prison. Who cheated on her husband, whom she shares a cell with, with a brilliant seer  who’s been in and out of Azkaban himself. 

Don’t give them a reason, but now Neville has an excuse. 

And she didn’t even think Neville was good. But if she used her talents on Neville, the skills her father gifted her, she would be the villain if she hurt him. 

The only positive was this class was taught by Tom Riddle and Severus Snape, two former Death Eaters and both liked her. Riddle because she knows he considers Orson his friend, and Snape because he‘s close to the Malfoys. 

As she reached the platform, Draco stopped Neville by grabbing his arm. He thrusted his wand into Neville’s face. “If you hurt my cousin—

Neville pulled away from him. “Or what?” 

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Longbottom,” Riddle called out, stern and fatherly, clearly used to yelling at children for fighting. “your dueling partners are on the platform, not with each other.” 

”C’mon, Draco,” Harry called on the third platform. “Unless you’re scared.”  

Draco’s eyes widen before he narrowed them in a glare. He scrambled to the platform. “I’m not scared of you, Potter!” 

“Then stop harassing other people,” Harry argued. 

Neville climbed the steps, and she met him in the middle of the platform. past Neville, she saw Riddle watching them intently. 

That made her nervous. Now she felt pressure to do better. 

Neville raised his wand, glaring at her, but it wasn't really for Bellatrix. 

She had a thousand things to say, all of them started with I'm not her. But she didn't say anything at all because he wouldn't want to hear it. 

"Turn, and walk to the edge of the platform, as was shown earlier," Snape's voice boomed. He didn't need to project his voice with magic. 

Neville and Cassie already moving without being told. She noted Draco and Leonie Avery were already taking their places, the same with Ernest, and Susan. Harry and Padma needed a moment to register where they should stand at. 

They reached their marks. Cassie felt the familiar ache in her wand arm, a phantom echo of all those evenings sparring with her father in the cramped flat. Don’t give them a reason, he always said. But now Neville had one.

Snape’s voice cut through the air. “Bow.”

Cassie dipped forward with perfect grace. Neville gave a curt nod. Not a bow. Just acknowledgment. It would’ve offended someone like Malfoy, but Cassie wasn’t here to collect courtesies.

“Begin.”

Neville struck hard—no hesitation, no strategy. His hex sizzled toward her like it wanted to tear something open.

Cassie rolled sideways, her counter spell crackling like lightning along the platform edge. Her movements were fluid, efficient—Hufflepuff patience with Slytherin sharpness. Neville kept pushing forward, brute-force magic with the precision of a bludgeon.

He was fighting a ghost. She was fighting to be seen.

She sidestepped his next jinx and flicked her wand low—Ventus!—sending a gust of wind that knocked him off balance. Another flick and his wand tumbled from his fingers.

Before he could dive for it, she was there.

Cassie pivoted on the ball of her foot, wand trained on his chest, her stance low and rooted.

He was on the ground. Breathless. Caught.

“I yield,” he muttered. Bitterly. But he said it.

Cassie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Not from thrill. From restraint.

She took a step back and turned toward the edge of the platform—only to catch Riddle smiling, pleased with her performance. She beamed feeling rather proud of herself that Professor Riddle watched her duel. 

The moment shattered as a scream rang out across the Great Hall.

Riddle's eyes widened, snapping toward the third dueling platform.

Cassie followed his gaze just in time to see a snake—very real, very large—flung through the air. It landed hard on the platform, coiling in tight jerks, its scales gleaming pale in the light. It wasn’t conjured from magic; this was a real snake, hissing and twitching like it had just been ripped from another world.

Gasps echoed around her, and someone shouted. Justin Finch-Fletchley, one of her few friends outside of her own cousin, stumbled back in fear. The snake’s head snapped toward him, hissing like mad. 

Cassie’s heart leapt into her throat. Her wand was already in her hand, but but what should she do? This wasn’t part of the lesson. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And then she heard it—soft hissing, and not from the snake. The hissing was lyrical and strange, and weaved like a lullaby. 

Harry Potter was speaking to it. Not just pretending to hiss, but he was speaking it's language. 

Parseltongue.

The snake froze, its head tilting with almost human confusion.

“He’s a Parselmouth,” Neville said quietly beside her, his voice threaded with something between fear and disbelief.

Cassie couldn’t speak. She could only stare.

The Boy Who Lived, a Potter, was speaking to snakes.

Chapter 13: The Boy Who Hissed

During Harry's duel with Draco, he was  aware who was watching him and who wasn't. Tom was hyper focused on Neville and Cassie's duel, and Snape was yelling at Ernest Macmillan for attempting something that breaks dueling etiquette.

"You're a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, you fool! Did Louis raise you in a back alley!?" Snape's voice rose above cheering.

It took pressure off him they weren't watching, but Ravi was and that made him nervous. And made his hand sweaty. 

Why was he thinking about Ravi’s stupid face right now? He was supposed to be dodging jinxes, not wondering what Ravi thought of his shield charm.

Just thinking of the shield charm summoned one—blocking a Stupefy without thinking.

He looked around and saw his fellow Gryffindors cheer for him, the twins being the most obnoxious. Hermione shook Ron's shoulders, who was dumbstruck.

Ravi clapped, and whistled. "Great job, Harry!"

And that boosted his confidence, and made his heart flutter a bit faster. He turned back to Draco, grinning in the face of the other boy's anger.

“Very clever, Potter,” Draco sneered, wand twitching as he raised it again, “but dodge this! Serpensortia!”

Harry didn’t know what to expect from that spell. They hadn’t even been taught it yet, and Draco used it unfairly!

But seeing Professor Snape’s familiar—a long, porcelain-bellied snake with storm-grey scales—suddenly summoned onto the stage was definitely not one of the things he was expecting.

And she was terrified.

Persephone coiled in on herself, twitching, eyes blown wide. The blinding lights, the thunder of footsteps, the smell of sweat and wandfire—it was too much! Her hisses came sharp and panicked, pleading with Harry in Parseltongue, as if asking what she’d done wrong.

“That’s not what I wanted to summon!” Draco blurted, backing up. His face had drained of color. Students all around gasped in unison.

“Wicked!” Fred called from the crowd. “Finally, something exciting happened!”

"Wooo! Go snake!" George cried, laughing and madly clapping along. 

Harry's frantically spared a glance to the twins, but his eyes landing on Ravi. 

The older boy looked horrified. His mouth hung open; his wand was already raised. It took him a second to register what he was seeing, and then—

“Don’t worry,” Ravi said, aiming toward Persephone. “I’ll send her back—”

But before he could cast, a fourth-year Slytherin boy shoved Ravi hard from the side. “You can’t interfere with a duel, Verma!”

Ravi’s spell went sideways, catching Persephone not with a return charm, but with the raw force of his magic. 

It knocked her into the air like a gust of wind.

She screamed.

“MASSSSSTER!”

The sound split the Great Hall—high, frantic, echoing off the walls.

She crashed back onto the platform, dazed and disoriented.

And then she struck.

Not out of malice. Not even rage.

Just instinct.

The platform was loud, confusing, dangerous. She lunged toward the nearest thing that moved. The nearest threat. She was no longer the sleek, serene creature coiled beside Snape’s fireplace. She was a frightened animal.

And she was going to bite someone. That someone was Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Harry lunged forward. “Persephone, no!”

She coiled to strike, fangs flashing in the candle-light. 

“Don’t hurt him!” Harry pleaded. “It’s me! Harry!”

She whipped her head toward him, mouth wide and hissing.

“Remember me?” he said quickly. “I’m the idiot Professor Snape complains about!”

Persephone froze, then tilted her head slightly. “Yessssss,” she hissed. “I remember you.”

Half a heartbeat later, Snape slipped in between the snake and Justin, acting as a shield. 

She snapped her gaze to him, hissing sharply. “MASSSSSTER! I haaaaate when you ssssspeak in my head! It hurrrrrtssssss!”

Snape didn’t respond. He simply raised his wand and, with one fluid motion, banished her. She vanished in a shimmer of light.

Once the snake was gone, the Great Hall fell into a stunned, unnatural silence. Even students seated at the far ends of the room—those who’d only caught a glimpse of the chaos—had stopped whispering. Whatever they had missed visually, they hadn’t missed that sound.

They had heard it.

That eerie, echoing hiss that didn’t belong to the snake. It had come from Harry Potter.

Harry didn’t need anyone to explain what had just happened. He could feel it. Like something heavy and irreversible had just settled on his shoulders.

To the other students, he wasn’t just Harry anymore. He was the first Parselmouth on the British Isles in fourteen years, as far as they knew outside of Voldemort. A boy who could speak to snakes, a boy who had just hissed something ancient and terrifying into the air like it was second nature.

In a jerky motion, he looked around. Some of the students were still wide-eyed in awe, but more of them looked afraid. Not of the snake that had just vanished, but of him. Him, because he was the boy who hissed. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley was backing further away from the platform, pale and visibly shaken. A cluster of younger Ravenclaws had pressed into each other like birds seeking cover. Even his own classmates, his own Housemates—some looked uneasy.

On the ground below, Snape was staring up at him. Not shocked, not confused, but angry. And not the usual cruel, dismissive kind of anger Harry had gotten used to, but a simmering, familiar frustration Lily mastered when Harry messed up. The kind that said: I told you this would happen.

Because he had. Snape had told him back in September: don’t let anyone find out. Don’t let this slip.

And now it had slipped. And Snape was disappointed, and that hurt worse than any points taken. 

For several painful seconds, Harry stood there, the whole room watching him like he was some rare magical creature dragged out for exhibition. His hands were still trembling from the duel, but now it wasn’t adrenaline. It was dread.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Then, with urgency but no panic, Tom Riddle bounded up the steps to the platform two at a time. He gently nudged Draco aside, murmuring something Harry barely heard: “You’ve got to visualize the snake you want to summon. Otherwise, it’ll pull the nearest one.” Draco blinked like a deer in wandlight, too rattled to respond.

Tom didn’t break stride. He was at Harry’s side in an instant, taking him lightly by the arm. He didn't yank nor was he rough. He was shockingly gentle, ten years practiced gentleness did that to an ex-Dark Lord. 

Waiting at the foot of the stairs was Ravi.

Tom didn’t hesitate. “Son,” he said quietly but firmly, “take Harry to the Headmaster. Tell him what happened; give him a lemon drop. He’s more reasonable when he’s chewing.”

Ravi, to his credit, didn’t ask questions. He stepped in at once, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders as though they were just two boys leaving class early. But his movements were careful, protective even.

And behind them, the Great Hall still hadn’t found its breath.

Ravi didn’t say a word as he guided Harry down the stone steps outside the Great Hall. He kept one hand firm on Harry’s shoulder, not forceful, but anchoring, steady.

The moment the doors shut behind them, Harry staggered. The cold November air hit his lungs, sharp and clean, but it didn’t help. He stumbled against the side of the archway and doubled over, hands on his knees.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” Harry gasped. “I wasn’t—Ravi, I didn’t—”

Ravi drew his wand, muttering, “Calefacio.” A shimmer of warmth cocooned them both, cutting the wind’s bite. His voice was calm, too calm. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Harry.”

Harry shook his head violently. “They looked at me like—like I was going to bite them. Like I was the monster. They're going to cut out my tongue. That's what they did back then. Held down kids and cut out their tongues!”

He slipped his glasses off and let them fall to the ground before he pressed the heels of his hands to eyes. He needed everything to block out. 

“Breathe,” Ravi said, crouching slightly to meet his eyes. “In through your nose. Out slow.”

But Harry’s breaths came too quick, too shallow. “It was an accident. I wasn’t—I just wanted to stop her. I didn’t mean to—now they’ll think I’m like—like him—”

His voice cracked. “Like Voldemort.”

Ravi didn't flinch at the name. Instead he grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“Hey. Look at me.” His voice dropped, lower than usual. “You are nothing like him. Okay? You're not Voldemort. For one, I don't think you could wear purple."

That one line. That one, sarcastic, teasing line broke through Harry's fears and made him laugh. He covered his mouth. Through his hazy vision, he was sure Ravi was smiling, but he wasn't sure. "You know?"

"That my dad's Voldemort?" he asked. "He told me before we moved back to England." He snapped his fingers, and Harry's glasses flew to Ravi's hand. "I didn't believe him at first, but he showed me the mask. Hard to deny that."

He wiped his glasses with the sleave of his cloak. "He told me what drove him to become Voldemort was not because what the papers claimed." he explained quietly, examining the glasses further if they needed to be cleaned more. "Around the same time the ban on summer solstice magic happened, the Pasrelmouth Oversight Committee targeted a nomadic Parselmouth clan, the Ógánts. They had been our kin. The Gaunts came from them, you see."

"What happened?" Harry asked, but he knew the answer. He read it in Mangala's article. 

Ravi held the glasses up to the sun, searching for any more spots. "They're butchered. Like animals. And week later, Father put on his Plague Doctor uniform, and in his own words, sought out to cure the disease in our society." Ravi handed Harry his glasses. "Do you get it now?"

Harry slipped them back on and the world became crystalized. "I think I do."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only noise in the courtyard was the crunching of dead leaves and early snowfall approaching them on their left. The two turned to see Hagrid walking over, his cheeks rosy from the cold. His hands were shoved in his massive fur coat. 

"What are yer boys doin' out here?" He asked. He stopped a few paces from them. "I hope yer're not skippin' Duelin' Club." his voice was stern, but not unkind. 

Ravi stood first, and Harry followed. 

"Hello, Hagrid," he muttered. He briefly wondered if he should keep what happened a secret, but everyone would know before dinner. And this was Hagrid. He got Harry Hedwig. He wouldn't turn on him. "We weren't skipping. We left because I spoke Parseltongue in front of the entire club."

Hagrid's eyes widen at that. "Yer're a bloody Parselmouth?" he asked, shocked. "A Potter?" He went distant, as if he was thinking about something else in his past. "I thought I'd hear ya Vermas or Professor Snape be a Parselmouth on the count of Riddle bein' one." 

Ravi and Harry exchanged looks. 

"You know about my father being a Parselmouth?" Ravi asked, curious. "He keeps that secret." 

"Not well," Hagrid said, as if it just normal he knew. "Caught 'im back when we were about yer age." 

Hagrid turned and pointed to the tree across from them at the other end of the courtyard. "Heard 'im over there hissin' to snakes when I was a first year, and he in third. I asked him about it, ya see. Scared him out of his mind, I did." he looked down at them. "Threatened to stab me with his thick cockney accent."

"He threatened to stab you?" Harry asked. He didn't know why he was shocked, but he was despite knowing what kind of man Tom Riddle was. 

"Oh yeah, I just think that's because Riddle's from East End," Hagrid shrugged. "So yer're a Parselmouth, Harry? A bit surprisin'." 

Harry thought the bigger news was that Hagrid had known Tom for decades. He could just picture Tom, thirteen--who looked like Zahira only with much shorter hair--threatening a very tall eleven-year-old Hagrid. 

It was comical and terrifying all at once. 

And Tom's from East End? 

Without thinking he said," my grandmother's from East End too. She never threatened to stab anyone before. I think that's just Tom Riddle, Hagrid." 

"I'm just repeatin' what he said to me that day," he said with a low huff that was a mix of a chuckle and sigh. "Why were ya speakin' snake in front of everyone? Ya ain't hurt, are ya?" 

"It's because Malfoy accidently summoned Severus's familiar," Ravi answered, frowning. "I tried to send her back to his private rooms, but that idiot Burke shoved me and messed up my spell! I'm going to get him back for that." 

"She got flung into the air,” Harry said, the guilt tightening in his chest. “She was terrified. She went after Justin, but I stopped her! I used Parseltongue to calm her down.”

"Ah I see," Hagrid said, rubbing his chin. "Blimey, Harry, I'm sorry it came out the way it did, but I want ya to know, you ain't any way different from the boy I met in Diagon Alley last year. Yer're still the same Harry Potter I got that owl for."  he offered a genuine smile, but it fell before it could reach his eyes. "I just...wouldn't do any fancy hissin' spells. That's still illegal." 

Harry turned to Ravi. "Still? How was it made illegal in the first place?" 

"Father said it happened because a bunch of families and officials got together in a secret session and voted for it, and excluded families that wouldn't have," Ravi explained.

"Oh, it was a will big thing back in the war," Hagrid added to it. "Excluded Malfoys, The Blacks, Meadowes, Notts, Averys, Yaxleys, Rosiers. People who supported well, You-Know-Who," he paused, as if something was clicking in his brain as he spoke, "and close to Riddle..." 

“No,” Hagrid murmured, frowning toward the Great Hall. “The Headmaster wouldn’t…” he rubbed the back of his neck, deep in thought. "But the timin'..." he shook his head of the suspicion. 

Harry shot a look at Ravi. Because he knew the truth: the Headmaster hadn’t just hired Voldemort once—he’d hired him twice. First the demon that wore Quirrell’s face. Then the man who wore the demon’s name.

"Oh!" Hagrid said. "Is that Malfoy and Cassie Shacklebolt?" he asked. 

Harry and Ravi turned. Sure enough, Draco and Cassie were sprinting down the corridor. Draco spotted them first, smacked his cousin’s shoulder like it owed him money, and pointed.

They met cousins at the entrance of the courtyard. 

"What the hell, Potter!" Draco snapped, eyes blazing. "I though we're friends, and you didn't tell me you speak snake? What's wrong with you?" 

Harry raised a brow. "We're friends now?" 

"Yes, you simpleton," he sneered. He looked at Cassie, his expression screamed can you believe this idiot. 

She rolled her eyes and ignored him to focus on Harry. "Are you okay?"

"I am," he said and looked passed her shoulder to see Ron and Hermione trailing behind, much further away. "What happened after we left?" 

"Riddle and Snape attempted to get Dueling Club back on schedule," Cassie explained, sighing, glancing at Draco.

"But everyone was talking about what you did--" 

"--and they're saying some really nasty things about Parselmouths--

"—and someone said you’re a "Forktongue Hayati", whatever that means—

"—and then the room got really cold, and the windows started rattling—"

"Snape looked like he knew something was about to blow—like he got everyone out before Riddle snapped someone’s wand in half." Draco finished the rapid explanation they both shared. "He looked like he about to murder that idiot." 

Despite being cousins, they operated more like twins, even more than Fred and George. Harry managed a smile, but his stomach was still twisted up. They were talking like it was just gossip. Just schoolyard rumors. But somewhere deep inside, something had shifted.

He wasn’t just Harry anymore. Not to them. Not to anyone.

He looked to Ravi and noticed his face had twisted into something ugly. “What’s wrong?”

“You were just called a rather nasty slur for Parselmouths,” Ravi said. The word he used next wasn’t in English. It was in Parseltongue. “In Arabic, we’re called Ahl al-‘Hayat. The People of Life, and British wizards bastardized the meaning to mean something bad.”

Harry swallowed. It felt like someone had carved a word into his skin with a knife he didn’t even see coming. This what Hermione felt months back, wasn't it? But at least Draco had the courtesy to say Mudblood to her face. They waited until Harry left. 

“Is everyone a Parselmouth now?” Ron asked, eyebrows raised.

He and Hermione had approached one of the courtyard’s open windows, a little distance from the group. Ron leaned over the railing. Hermione stood just behind him, fidgeting, uncertain whether to come closer.

Harry glanced at them. He wondered why they’d followed after Draco and Cassie at all. Did they forget they weren’t speaking to him anymore?

Then—

“Ah-HA!” Hagrid boomed, startling them all. He pointed a sausage-thick finger at Ravi. “I knew it!" He beamed, like he just solved a grand mystery "Yer lot are Parselmouths! You and yer siblings that is.” He looked far too pleased with himself, completely ignoring the tension. “Explains why, come spring an’ summer, Professor Snape always has garden snakes followin’ him around like lost puppies.”

There was a shared moment where the kids all looked up at Hagrid. If any of them were shocked that Snape was Parselmouths, Cassie, Draco, Hermione, nor Ron said they were. 

"That's because snakes are attracted to Parselmouths," Ravi explained, adding context. "It's our magic signature."

"That explains so much," Harry muttered, thinking of the tiny snakes infesting Lily's garden every summer. And all the times he went to the zoo and snakes wanted to go with him...

Ron cracked through Harry's thoughts and the tension with a squawky voice that was changing from boyhood into manhood. 

“I was wrong.”

Ron looked straight at Harry, his face flushed—part anger, part shame, part something heavier. “I was wrong not to talk to you. After you defended Dark Magic.” He kept going, like the words had a momentum of their own. “I didn’t get it back then. I thought you were going off the rails, saying stuff like that in front of everyone. I thought…” he glanced around, swallowing hard, “I thought you were sounding like You Know Who.”

Harry resisted the urge to flinch, a contrast when he uses Voldemort and Ron flinches on instinct. Because didn't Harry just tell Tom to his face he hoped Charlus suffered? 

And meant it. And he still meant it. He was upset because Ron didn't know how close he was to sounding like Tom Riddle, the terrorist leader in a plague doctor mask and a stolen name.

Luckily, Ron couldn’t read minds. Couldn’t see how close Harry had come to sounding exactly like the man in the mask.

“But today, when they looked at you like you were cursed just for speaking a different language...” he broke off, shook his head, “That’s when I finally understood. You weren’t defending Dark Magic. You were defending yourself and others like you, warning us the Ministry can go far." 

He stepped around the wall between himself and Harry, passing Draco and Cassie and straight to Harry. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. For not getting it. For being scared instead of sticking by you. You were trying to tell the truth, and I didn’t listen.” Ron held out his hand, smiling warmly, if not awkwardly for doing this so publicly. “Truce?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, not hesitating to take Ron's hand. “Truce.”

Ron grinned, a little red in the ears, but proud. Hermione gave a tiny sniff. Ravi relaxed his shoulders.

It was quiet for half a second.

Then Draco, utterly incapable of letting a heartfelt moment breathe, muttered:

“You could’ve avoided this nonsense, Potter, if you’d just made friends with the right sort last year.”

Smack.

Cassie slapped the back of his head so fast it echoed. Not hard. Just enough.

“Ow!” Draco squawked. “What was that for?!”

“Existing,” Cassie said flatly.

Ravi groaned. “Merlin’s pants, Malfoy! Read the room, will you?”

Hagrid chuckled under his breath. “Well, some things never change.”

"We're not even in a room!" Draco declared. "We're outside."

"Oh, be quiet Draco," Hermione said, the first thing she said since got here. She moved around out of the corridor, but stood on the edges. "Leave it alone."

Hagrid clapped his hands. "Why don't we all get tea and out of the cold. I got somethin' brewin' back at my house." 

"That would be delightful, Hagrid," Cassie said, beaming up at him. 

"It would not!" Draco said, sneering. He got hit again by his cousin, which instigated a slapping fight between the two, bickering much like Ron did with his older brothers. 

Ravi patted Harry on the back. "You go enjoy your tea, I'm going to help my brother calm our father down." 

Ravi started toward the castle, his posture stiff with unspoken fury.

Before he got too far, Harry called after him, “Hey, Ravi?”

Ravi turned halfway, brows raised.

Harry hesitated. Then said, quietly, “Thanks. For helping me see it clearly. You know… what this is really about.”

Ravi shrugged. “You just needed the right lens.”

Harry reached up and adjusted his crooked, cracked glasses, wincing at the fracture running across the left lens.

Ravi smirked. “Those too.”

And with that, he disappeared through the stone archway, his cloak flowing behind him. 

Chapter 14: Blessed is The Son, For All He Knows is Sin

Ravi Verma was leaving his music lesson with  Madame Barrows, violin case in hand, and lullaby on his lips. Not a proper tune—just a half-hummed whisper of something old and strange, a melody that slipped out of his mouth. It was embarrassing, really. The song had no business haunting a fourteen-year-old with dueling trophies and his reputation for rule breaking and sarcasm. 

But there it was.

Sung in a voice too low and too tired, back when he was five and refused sleep, even after bedtime stories had run dry. Back when his parents were running on fumes and love was just another thing that had to be rationed carefully. On those nights, his father would hum this—almost always as a last resort. When Ravi was still small enough to be picked up and carried around in his room. 

And it had worked. 

Even now, sometimes, the tune wormed its way into Ravi’s skull like a soft spell—looping over and over until he couldn’t help but hum it out loud. He never meant to. But the notes settled behind his teeth like they belonged to him.

Now, he was headed for his father’s classroom. Normally, he would take time to go to the dungeons and harass his older brother until Severus lost his temper and thrown him out. But now he had a much more fun victim to torment.

The doors were slightly ajar, and he raised his hand to knock.

"You can come in, son," Tom's voice lofted out through the crack of the double doors. 

Ravi was taken aback. How did he--?

He pushed the door open and slipped inside the classroom.

His father was hunched over his desk, cigarette in his mouth, and clutching his hair. He was staring hard at a parchment, his brows furrowed in confusion and slight anger. 

"How did you know it was me?" Ravi asked as he wandered in. He wasn't being thrown out right away so he took that as a means to sit down at the nearest desk to his father's. A contrast when he was in class. He tried to sit as far as away as he could. 

Tom looked up from the paper, a smirk on his lips. He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth, and sat it down on his ashtray. "If I told you that, it wouldn't be fun for me." There was a challenge in his eyes, he wanted--no, demanded Ravi to figure it out, like a game. 

Alright then. Ravi will. 

His eyes flickered to Ravi's violin. "How's your musical lessons? I hope they're going well considering the price tag." 

Ravi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His father would swing between dropping large sums of money like it was nothing, and other times he would complain on the prices on a cheap paperback novel.

 "I'm excelling because I'm one of her better students," he said, smug. "Barrows said so." Which was true. 

"Madame Barrows," Tom corrected. "You need to use her proper title. She is internationally acclaimed classical musician."

"Yes, sir," Ravi said, nodding to assure his father he understood. 

"Good," he said, "and I'm pleased you're doing well in your lessons. I expect nothing less, but if you ever get overwhelmed with your--how many academic clubs are you in?" 

"Three, sir," Ravi supplied. 

"Ah yes, if it's too much, you can drop some if you wish, especially next year when you take your OWLs," Tom said, leaning back now in his chair, inhaling sharply and letting out the smoke slowly. 

"I'd get bored if I don't have anything to do," Ravi said, and he meant it. He would feel restless all the time if he dropped all of his extracurriculars. "Were you ever in any clubs, back when you were at Hogwarts?"

Tom's face fell into a scowl. "Just one. There was a rule back in my time: Muggle-borns couldn't be in academic clubs unless they got permission. Only two professors let muggle-borns in their clubs, Albus--obviously I'd rather eat a pile of glass then spend extra time with him." 

Ravi resisted the urge to point out this past summer, Tom and Albus went on a trip together to Germany for a week just hunt down a cult of flesh-eating hags. For fun. And it was Tom's idea. But that would start a rant Ravi didn't want to hear right now. 

"And then there was Horace Slughorn, my Head of House and Potions Master of the school, and he only granted permission for me to join," Tom continued with a hand wave. The smoke from his cigarette coiling like a relaxed snake as he did so. "Now, I don't think you came here to just ask me about my academics, lad,"

Ravi slumped and rested his head against his fist, almost pouting. "I'm feeling awful for Harry, Dad. Everyone is treating him like pariah."

Tom sat straighter, sharper. His eyes narrowed, cold and calculating and Ravi wasn't staring at the man who'd sing him to sleep when he was a fussy five-year-old. This was the face of a man who most of Britain had as boggarts. 

 "As expected," he said. 

He was out of his chair and moved around his desk to lean against it, standing over Ravi. 

"This is why you and your sister were instructed to keep it a secret. For now," Tom added. "Harry will survive this, and become stronger, but he needs to do it alone. You understand me?"

"I don't," Ravi admitted. "I really don't. Shouldn't we help him? He's one of us."

Tom shifted forward, and leaned against Ravi's desk, gripping on both sides. He was in Ravi's space now, but Ravi didn't flinch away.

"Harry has his name to shield him from the blunt worse of abuses," Tom explained in a low murmur. "All you and your siblings have is my reputation I can't enforce like I used to. Not yet at least."

Ravi tilted his head to the side—a habit all three of them picked up from Tom and never unlearned. He locked eyes with his father, and his magic moved before he could stop it, pressing gently against Tom’s mental walls.

It was like walking into a funhouse. Reflections twisted and stretched, fragments of memory flickering through the dark. None of it was real—just close enough to trick the viewer into thinking it was. A curated chaos. A trap made of truth-shaped lies.

“Son,” Tom said flatly, without even looking away, “if you’re going to use Legilimency on me, don’t make it obvious.”

He blinked, breaking the unintentional connection. "Sorry, ever since you taught me over the summer I've been doing it without noticing." 

"It's because you have attention deficit disorder," he said, thoughtful, as if he was just realizing something major. "Yes, that sounds about right, and since I used Imperious on that muggle doctor for your diagnosis, we can work on your concertation issues together."

"We should do that with you for your sociopathy and narcissism," Ravi suggested, grinning. 

He barely flinched when Tom lightly smacked him on the back of his head. "Don't get smart." 

Tom leaned away and walked around to sit back down. "But if you're curious, I plan to come out as the Heir of Slytherin. It would've already happened but this is...Chamber business has interrupted my plans. Now, coming out as Parselmouth would be...most unfortunate. Particularly for me. Once I do, it will confirm to the masses what is already strongly suspected."

Ravi nodded along now, understanding what his father was saying. "I get it," he said, "but isn't there something we can do?"

Tom rubbing his chin in thought. "Despite my vile muggle blood, by the time I was in my fifth year, I had cultivated loyal allies. Corban Yaxley, and Norman Avery are still my friends to this day. Back then they would use their names when I wanted something to be done--within reason. When I charmed Abraxas Malfoy, he was another tool I used. Severus's mother had also been in my orbit," he added as an afterthought. "She had a knack for lying and gossiping. I always admired her skills."  

That had to be the nicest thing Ravi ever heard from his father about his first wife. Sometimes Tom could be so cruel about Severus's mother it made him uncomfortable. Of course, Tom was praising her for objectively terrible things...but he could see the use of them. 

Ravi shook his head to refocus. "Father, are you suggesting if this happened in your time, you'd use your friends to shield Harry indirectly?"

"I'm not saying anything," Tom said casually. "I'm just saying if you wish to help Harry with his situation that doesn't affect our family, you need to use that intelligence your mother and I gave you." He picked up the parchment he was reading earlier. "Now, if you don't mind my dearest middle-born I have fifth year essays to cry over."

"Cry over?" Ravi asked, brows raised. 

Tom looked up from the paper, looking utterly defeated. "When I cursed this position, I had no idea the damage I have done to generations of children and their education. And now that I'm suffering due to my own curse, I have so many regrets--don't you dare laugh!" 

Ravi was biting his bottom lip. He stood, pushing out of his chair. "No, no, it's terrible you have to fix your own messes, Dad." 

The last glare told Ravi he better get out before Tom challenged him to a duel. 

He grabbed his violin case and hurried out the door, holding in his laughter. He paused at the doorframe, "have fun~!" 

"Get out!" Tom snapped with no real heat in his voice. 

Ravi left, filling the hallway with laughter. 

 

 

Around midnight, long after patrols had ended, Fred, George, Lee, and Ravi slipped into the dark. Their dorm had been completely quiet by the time they left, and that was by design.

Ravi had instructed the other fourth-year boys and the girls to leave Gryffindor Tower in staggered intervals, vanishing one by one into the halls to avoid suspicion.

The four of them were late, delayed by a raid on the kitchens.

“The Marauders didn’t find every secret in Hogwarts,” Lee said quietly. He was the only one not juggling food. A soft, hovering light above his head illuminated the map in his hands, dots flickering across the parchment. “They don’t even have the Chamber on here.”

Ravi clutched a bag of sweets in one hand and two oversized bags of crisps in the other. He leaned into Lee’s space, peering at the map.

His father’s name caught his attention—still in Dumbledore’s office, while the headmaster’s dot paced around him.

“If the Chamber’s even real,” Ravi said. Father would’ve told him. It had to be a prank. Severus claimed it was real, but Severus lied whenever it suited him.

“If it isn’t real,” Fred said, “then someone attacking Muggle-borns is pulling the worst prank Hogwarts has ever seen.” He said it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, voice edged like a broken bottle. He was angry—no doubt blaming a Slytherin.

Between him and George, they hauled three cases of Butterbeer and one bottle of something harder—deep, elderberry wine meant only for the staff. The house-elves, fond of chaos, had given it up with hardly any convincing.

“Oh, Flitwick can’t sleep again,” Lee noted, eyes scanning the map. “He’s pacing, east corridor.”

George leaned in behind him, crowding Lee’s shoulder. “Look, we all agree the Marauders were brilliant, yeah? But am I the only one who thinks this map could be used for some horrible stuff?”

He, of all people, sounding serious. That didn’t happen often. Not for the twins, at least. 

“Well, we have it,” Ravi said, shrugging. “And we’re not horrible people. So I say it’s in good hands now.” He didn’t mean to sound smug. But the truth was, he believed it.

“Still,” he added, “we should make sure it stays in good hands. Can you imagine what the person targeting the Muggle-borns could do with this thing?”

He briefly considered showing his father—just to see what he’d say. But… no. That would be a terrible idea. Not because Tom Riddle had once been Lord Voldemort.

But because he was a dad.

And dads were lame.

"I think we should dissect it and add our own edits," Fred suggested, humming. "We figured out the code phrase, I bet we can improve it." 

"Yeah, yeah," Lee said, his voice raising with excitement. "The Marauders gave us the bones, we can add the meat to this thing." he tapped the map with his fingers. He looked back and swore. "Merlin's, balls. Your brother's patrolling the first floor." As in Ravi's because Prefect Percy would never break the rules. 

Ravi nudged Lee with an elbow. "Let's take the long way then." 

They knew the way by now. Ravi had led them here enough times—under moonlight, under stormclouds, under firework cover once. They followed him now without needing to ask. 

They moved like they’d rehearsed it—silent, efficient, practiced. Ravi led them through narrow stairwells and twist-turning halls, the kind that even ghosts avoided out of confusion or bad memory. They passed behind a crumbling portrait of Queen Wynnflæd Nott, who scowled at them through her sleep mask and muttered something unrepeatable about Gryffindor boys and late hours.

Fred waved cheekily. “Lovely to see you too, Your Majesty.”

The hidden corridor behind her portrait narrowed into a tunnel carved deep into the castle’s belly—massive and damp, the stone curved in long arcs like it had once been carved for something other than students. 

“It’s connected to the pipes,” Ravi whispered, not entirely sure why he was whispering. “Same network that runs under the school.”

Lee clicked his tongue. “Feels like it was made for a water serpent.”

“Or something worse,” George said, and then added brightly, “like an entire brood of Percys.” They all shuddered, and continued walking until they reached one of the normal green houses. 

The regular ones—Greenhouse One, Two, Three—were asleep at this hour. Tidy rows of labeled herbs and bubbling cauldrons under glass domes. Lanterns dimmed. Wards gently humming. These were Professor Sprout’s domain, all neat grafting tables and predictable soil.

They didn’t stop.

Ravi led them past rows of mandrakes and moonflowers, past frost-laced panes that watched them like half-lidded eyes. Past the scent of fertilizer and the comfort of cultivated magic.

And then—at the far edge of the greenhouses, beyond a collapsed garden wall and a thicket of thornroot hedges—they reached the one no one spoke of.

A push against a vine-covered arch. A rusted gate that clicked open when Ravi tapped the lock twice and muttered something under his breath—not a spell, not really. More like a name. Or a warning. He never translated it.

The moment they stepped inside, the winter vanished.

Lush, wet warmth curled around them like breath from a sleeping beast. The scent of rotting moss, sweet decay, and blooming nightshade clung to their clothes. In daylight, the greenhouse might have looked overgrown.

By lanternlight?

It looked sentient.

Ravi had found the place by accident.

It had started the night he and Lee accidentally turned Madam Hooch’s broom into a snarling, sentient weasel and then legged it halfway across the grounds. The wind had been shrieking, tearing at his robes like claws. Ravi had ducked behind the Queen’s portrait by chance, stumbled into the tunnel, and followed it blindly through dark and dirt.

That was how he found it.

Greenhouse Fourteen. Or maybe Fifteen. No one knew anymore. It wasn’t on Filch’s patrols. Sprout never mentioned it. Even the twins hadn’t found it with their stolen map—not until Ravi whispered the location last year like a secret meant for soil.

But the moment he stepped inside, he knew:

It didn’t just belong to him.

It had been waiting.

A statue of Medusa stood snarling in the archway, tangled in vine and shadow. It came to life when he approached, her stone eyes flickering—Gaunt blood awakening ancient ward-logic long forgotten.

The greenhouse had breathed. Not metaphorically—actually. A low exhale from the soil. Fog blooming and clearing across stained glass panes. A cathedral made of rusted bone and emerald rot.. The ceiling arched high overhead, ribs of iron cradling stained panels of emerald, rose, and blood-washed gold.

Moss carpeted the floor in velvet patches. Fungi bloomed in slow motion, pulsing faintly like they had heartbeats. Thick vines twisted through the beams and around broken benches, some moving just enough that you couldn’t say for sure they were still.

In the far corner, a tree had grown through the tile—tall, skeletal, bark black as burnt bone. It had no leaves, yet something shimmered faintly around it, like an aura or an afterimage. It was humming. Always humming.

The air was heavy with latent magic and root memory. Like the place had learned spells on its own. Like the herbs had started whispering them back.

Nature hadn’t just reclaimed the place.

It consumed the skeletal remains of human intervention. 

Everything here was beautiful in a way most people wouldn’t understand—the beauty of decomposition, of sharp teeth under soft petals. Like a wound that healed wrong but found its own strange harmony.

Ravi loved it instantly.

He’d cleaned only what he needed. Cleared a space for cushions and crates, a charm to keep the fog from settling too thick. He left the rest alone. The wildness suited him. No adult eyes. No expectations. Just his friends. The castle wanted it that way. 

And tonight, it was filled with thirteen fourth years. A place built by Slytherins, secret and hidden, and it was overtaken by lions. The irony wasn't lost Ravi. 

Lee pushed open the glass doors, and releasing music into the quiet night. It was muggle music, with bombastic and wild hair. 

Ravi let the twins go ahead of him, them declaring loudly they have beer and wine. He paused to stare up at the statue of Medusa. She would not awaken now, not with strangers whose blood didn't sing to her were near by, but he hoped she enjoyed Pat Benatar. 

“He would’ve loved this,” Ravi thought, then shook the idea from his head. He wouldn't tell his father until after he left the teaching position. Right now, the greenhouse was his and he wasn't given it up. 

He joined the others, tossing food down on the table with the drinks. His yearmates tore into the bags of sweets and crisps like a starving Pride given food for the first time in months. Fred had immediately pulled Angelina into a wild dance, she laughed over the music.

He walked around the others, and flopped down on a handcrafted chair made out of redwood. 

George popped a the cap off of a butterbeer before handing it to Ravi. "You better not sleep on us mate," he said. "this was you're idea." 

Ravi took the butterbeer, frowning. He was pretty sure George was his best friend. He could always read when something was wrong. 

"I'm not tired, I'm thinking," he said, quietly as the others gossiped loudly and sang off key to Love was a Battlefield. It was really just them talking in hush voices.

 Lee was worse than Fred. He immediately latched onto Jasmine Ainsley, and the two were making out rather unashamed. Marwa Ahmad and Alicia Spinnet were dancing too, twirling each other with Alicia's wool dress and Marwa's Hajib flowing around them.

He watched the others for a moment before exploring himself. "I'm pretty tired of how the school turned on Harry." Because every forktongue thrown Harry's way, was an insult to his family. "I think it's time we did something about it. Don't you think, George?" 

George didn't hesitate but nod along. "Yeah, yeah, I think i agree." he looked out to the others too. "maybe after this song." 

 

 

 

The next day, Harry expected more of the same.

Whispers. Shoves. Cruel little jabs muttered behind hands.
It had been like this since the dueling club—since that moment. Since the entire school heard him speak Parseltongue like it was his native tongue.

He had support, sure. Ron and Hermione stood by him, grim-faced and loyal. Cassie, too, sharp as ever. And even Draco—if you could call bragging about being friends with the Heir of Salazar Slytherin a form of defense.

It was almost funny watching Snape or Riddle visibly recoil whenever Draco said it aloud.
Apparently, having a Gryffindor Parselmouth parading around like a half-baked legend wasn’t what they had in mind when they talked about honoring the Founders.

Especially Tom.

But he didn’t get more of the same.

It happened outside the Charms corridor, just before first period. Harry turned the corner, head down, and nearly collided with a wall of Hufflepuffs—at least six of them, standing shoulder to shoulder. They weren’t laughing. No smirks, no jeers—just flat expressions, cool and unreadable, like they’d been waiting.

At the center stood Caleb Smith, Zachary’s older brother. Broad across the shoulders, prefect’s badge gleaming, and a mouth already halfway into something cruel. His little brother hovered behind him, barely suppressing a smug grin.

“Well, well,” Caleb said, folding his arms as if Harry had personally inconvenienced him by existing. “Look what slithered out of the shadows.”

Harry’s stomach clenched, but he didn’t step back. He was used to this now—the whispers, the stairs that suddenly emptied, the classmates who flinched when he passed. This was just the next variation. He held his ground.

“We’ve got rules in this school,” Caleb continued, voice oily and self-righteous. “And your kind—”

“My kind?” Harry cut in before he could stop himself. His voice didn’t shake, but it wasn’t steady either.

Caleb grinned without humor. “Parselmouths. Dark-magic-adjacent freaks. You think we forgot what you lot did during the war? My aunt, Hepzibah, she served on the Parselmouth Oversight Committee. Knew the real danger. I didn't get a chance to meet her before she was murdered by Death Eaters."

He stepped closer into Harry's space, forcing him in corner. 

Harry's body shook against his will. He didn't even know who Smith's aunt was! But he wouldn't be silenced. 

"I hope Voldemort got her good," he hissed out, unflinching, but still shaking. He meant it, just like he told Tom he hoped Charlus Potter suffered too. 

Caleb's eyes flashed with rage and disgust and the Hufflepuffs squirmed at the use of Voldemort's name. Harry wasn't beating the "next Dark Lord" allegations, but if being good meant he should cower in front ghosts, then he won't. He won't let Charlus or Hepzibah haunt him. 

Caleb pushed him hard against the wall, making him wince and his heartbeat race. "The mistake," he spat out, "was letting Potters breed unchecked. One snake becomes a nest?" 

He barely had time to finish the sentence.

There was a flash of light—a streak of gold-blue—and Caleb was knocked clean off his feet. He slammed into the stone wall with a dull thud and crumpled, groaning, to the floor.

The Hufflepuffs turned in alarm, hands halfway to their wands.

Fred and George Weasley were already standing behind them.

No wide grins. No fireworks. Just quiet, controlled fury. Their wands were drawn and steady, their eyes sharp in the low corridor light.

“That,” Fred said coolly, “was a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Could’ve been worse.”

“We’re trying to be diplomatic,” George added, stepping forward. His voice was light, but there was hard edge under it Harry never heard in either of the twins. 

Caleb moaned from the ground, trying and failing to sit up. Fred approached him, crouching low and getting into Caleb's face. 

“Funny,” he said, adjusting his grip on his wand, jabbing it against Caleb's cheek, "it's a bit more than can be said about you."

Caleb Smith looked nervous, scared even.

Harry was deeply uncomfortable now. He never seen the twins act this way before. Maybe a few of their pranks and jokes were mean, but they're never like this. And it didn't matter if they're doing it for him. He didn't want this. He didn't ask for their help. Not if they're scaring people. 

George’s gaze swept across the group like a knife, unbothered by Harry's discomfort. “We don’t usually do favors,” he said. “But Ravi Verma's made it very clear Harry's under our protection. So," he waved his hand, his smirk more menacing than it should be.

Ravi? Ravi asked them to look out for Harry.

One of the Hufflepuffs stepped back. Another turned and bolted without a word.

Fred raised a brow, standing up now. “Go on, then. Run along.”

The others scattered, dragging Caleb with them like rats fleeing a sinking ship. The corridor emptied as fast as it had filled, and Harry stood frozen in the silence that followed, heart thudding like a drum.

He turned to the twins, anger overtaking him. "Why did you do that?" 

The two blinked, and eased up and relaxed, returning back into the goofy, prankster twins Harry knew yesterday. 

"We're just making sure no one messes with you, mate," George explained. 

"Just following orders," Fred said, with a sly grin. 

Just following orders? Ravi is ordering the twins to act as his bodyguards now?

 

It happened again in the hallway on his way to Herbology. 

Harry, Hermione and Ron flanking him, had just rounded the corner when he heard it—whispers, soft and slicing. Three Ravenclaw girls, clustered near the windows, giggling behind their hands. One leaned in and muttered something that made the others gasp and cover their mouths.

“—split eyes, I swear—my cousin said it’s a snake thing—”

There was a crack of magic like flint on steel.

The lead girl yelped, clutching her head as violet sparks sizzled in her hair, transfiguring her long blonde curls into writhing garden eels.

Angelina Johnson strode past, wand still raised, not even breaking pace.

“She sneezes near him again, I’ll make her eat her kneecaps,” she muttered, and Harry wasn’t sure if she meant it as a threat or a promise.

 

Two fourth-years Harry didn’t even know the names of—he thought one of them might be called Marwa? Or Flynn?—flanked him to the library like bodyguards out of a spy novel.

They didn’t ask. They didn’t explain. They didn't need to. Ravi told them. Harry's anger burned. This overprotectiveness wasn't righteous or good, it was annoying and made him feel like a baby. 

One stood to his left, the other to his right, and they matched his steps as if they'd practiced.

Harry didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure he could. The walk was silent, but not awkward. The kind of silence people made when they’d already decided something.

At the library doors, he finally turned and forced a smile. “Thanks. I’m good here," before adding sharply, "tell Ravi to piss off."

"Tried that,” Hermione said, suddenly behind him. “Didn’t work. Come on—we need to talk.”
He followed her inside, sparing a glance at the fourth years who seemed shocked at his defiance. 

He caught up to Hermione, hissing in her ear. "Ravi's got a personal army following me around. And the thing is, he's not even showing up to do it himself." 

"I think he's doing what he thinks best," she said softly. 

"No," Harry corrected her before she even finished. "He's acting like his father."

She looked around before slipping down an empty bookshelf. 

"Do you mean he's acting like his father...like Ravi's one of You-Know-Who's followers," She asked in such whisp Harry strained to hear her. 

He wanted to say yes. Because Ravi wasn't just following Voldemort, he was quite literally Voldemort's son and Harry might not know much about the war, but he imagined this exactly how Voldemort operated. 

But he didn't. Hermione didn't know who Tom Riddle was. 

"Yeah," he said, admitting to some of what he was thinking. "I think he is. And he's thinking he knows what's best for me, but he doesn't. Its not right directing the fourth year class like his personal play things. And they way they just all agreed...it's wrong." 

"But he's doing something good, Harry," Hermione said, fidgeting with the end of her sweater. "Muggle-borns are being attacked, and no one is doing anything like him for us."

He stared at her for a moment, his anger spiking. 

How dare she compare what he been through since being outed. Cullen was petrified, and graffiti was written on the walls twice. But every time Mudblood was used, detentions were handed out. Points were taken away. The only two professors who were vicious in their defense of Harry were Parselmouths themselves. And Ravi's so-called protection came from the fact he too was a Parselmouth. There were no laws that forbade muggle-borns from doing magic.

Harry was waiting for a letter any day know about how he did illegal magic for just speaking his natural tongue in a moment of desperation. 

The attacker didn't even care about muggle-borns. It was a thing, a demon that was jumping from host to host. 

But a quickly as his anger spiked, it disappeared. Because Hermione was scared, horrified if she was alone she'd end up like Colin Creevey. The fact there were so many Slytherins so keen to throw a slur around despite the consequences.

He forced the resentment and anger out of his voice before spoke again. 

"I don't think just because its good he's stopping my bullies doesn't mean it's right how he's doing it," He said with finality. He didn't want to argue.  He looked away from her, deflated. "where's the others?" 

She nodded her head for him to follow her through the rows of book shelves to a secluded table near the restriction section. 

Before they rounded the bookshelf, they heard snickering. Cassie, Draco, and Ron were huddled at the end of the table, holding in their giggles, badly. 

"What are you laughing at?" Hermione asked as she moved to stand over Draco, and Harry stood behind Cassie and Ron, both peering down at the table. 

Crudely, carved with a knife, was the names Sev & Siri in a handwriting that was decidedly not Snape's hand writing. 

"Is that Professor Snape's name?" Hermione sounded dumbfounded. 

Harry was just surprised Snape didn't burn this entire table. 

"Some poor girl actually dated Snape," Ron said, fighting his giggling fit. "There's proof of it!"

"I wonder if Father knows who Siri is. I have to write him a letter," Draco said, grinning hard. "Professor Snape never brought anyone like at Father's dinner parties. He just brings friends over like Mr. Mulciber or some other bloke."

"Oh, will you grow up?" Hermione asked, swatting at Draco. He glared up at her, and hit her back. 

"It's amusing," he argued. 

"If you're eight," she chastised all three of them, hands on her hips. "I think it's romantic." 

"Well, Snape must’ve been desperate," Ron said, ignoring Hermione all together, "no wonder he dated a girl who carved up tables."

"Maybe she dumped him for someone taller," Cassie said, failing to stop giggling. 

"But Snape's pretty tall already," Harry said, missing her point. "I bet I could ask Riddle who's Siri, and he'll tell me." 

"Why would he tell you?" Ron asked, twisted in his chair to look at him. There was a suspicious glint in his blue eyes. 

Because Tom Riddle tried killing me when I was an infant, and now he owes me, Harry thought. but he said, "because apparently he was once close to my family." 

Which was true in twisted sense.

"Can we stop making fun of Professor Snape's past girlfriend, and focus?" Hermione asked, frustrated. "There's a demon-thingy possessing people according to Harry and no one is doing anything about it." 

That sobered the others up, and Harry took a seat next to Cassie. Hermione gave them an impatient look that was both thankful for their seriousness and exasperation. 

She dug into her bag and put a book on the table. It was an advanced copy of Potions, sixth year edition. 

"I found it in Potions class the other day," she said as she sat down. She let Draco pull it aside. "I went to Professor Riddle for permission to give me access Restriction Section. I thought he would give it to me because he would approve of me learning advanced materiel but he said I was too young and those books are dangerous and restricted for a reason. He sounded like my dad when I stay up too late when we have church on Sunday!" she complained, folding her arms over chest. 

"So we don't have the recipe?" Cassie asked. 

"Well, no," Hermione said, glancing at the textbook. "I asked Percy when we'll learn advanced potions, because I was curious. And he said they're learning Felix Felicis right now in sixth year. I pushed and asked about Polyjuice potion, and he said they're learning that too." 

"And you took Snape's stash of extra textbooks?" Harry hissed out, keeping his voice low. "Between the book and ingredients, he will for sure know what we're doing!" 

"I will put it back," she whined. 

"Whoever had this textbook made edits, " Draco said, "corrections. Created spells." 

Ron narrowed his eyes as he examined the notes scrawled in the margins of the book. He traced the sharp writing. "It looks familiar, but I can't place it." he looked up at Hermione. "Is the potion in here like my brother said?" 

"It is!" She said. "Can I have it back, Draco?" 

He slid it over without argument and she flipped through the pages. She stopped and tapped the page and pushed it in the middle. They all leaned in to look at it. "The corrections to the spell seems to suggest if we follow them, the potion will last two hours, not the standard one." 

"What exactly are we looking for?" Cassie asked, frowning. "I mean its not like this demon-horcrux or whatever is attacking muggle-borns is going to jump out at us."

"We're looking for a Slytherin who knows about the Heir," Harry explained. "Riddle thinks the wraith is going to find someone smart--specifically someone like him. But I think the wraith will choose someone who's smart and compliant but has history to this school. Like Quirrell. Quirrell was one of Voldemort's followers." 

"While I think it's very unfair we're assuming its a Slytherin who's behind all this nonsense and working with a demon," Draco said in offended tone, "if anyone knows, it's Nott. His family invented the Sacred-Twenty Eight. And Quirrell's mother, I learned through Mother, was a disgraced a Parkinson." 

"Because she married a halfblood?" Ron asked, judging Draco. 

"Yes," he answered without missing a beat. 

Ron rolled his eyes, but focused on something, "how do we know the wraith didn't change hosts?" 

"It didn't when Querrill was possessed," Harry argued, but he felt that was weak. 

"Maybe the wraith is attached to a specific person to make the hold stronger," Hermione suggested, bouncing off of Harry's point. 

"If the wraith tells him he’s special—an heir—he might believe it. People like Nott want to believe they’re chosen," Cassie added. "Which would make the hold stronger." 

"The whole Notts are social climbers," Draco said with disgust. "Father doesn't like them at all because they tried to undermined Grandfather. He said the Notts constantly tried to kiss up to the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord didn't like it when they backstabbed Grandfather to gain his favor." 

"We can ask Riddle," Ron suggested, sarcastic. "He apparently knows You-Know-Who's personal feelings on people." 

Harry filed the suggestion away: ask Tom about the Notts, gauge his response.  

"He had been a You-Know-Who follower," Hermione said, frowning at Ron. "It makes sense he would know somethings, Ron. And I don't know why you're suspicious of him, he's been very upfront of his past." 

Ron gave her a flat look.

"We shouldn't go asking Professor Riddle too much," Cassie warned. "He's incredibly intelligent. And dangerous." Ron muttered a no, shit under his breath, but Cassie ignored him and kept going. "I remember when I first met Riddle when I was eight." 

Their attention abandoned the book to Cassie. She fiddled with her tail ends of headscarf as she told her tale. 

"I was in my daddy's shop," she explained. "After primary school, I would sit at the counter to do my homework. Father was helping another customer when Riddle walked in, but I hadn't noticed. There's a bell on the door, you see. It's loud and obnoxious, you see, but it didn't go off. Meaning, Riddle muted the bell on purpose. I nearly jumped off my stool when I finally noticed him. He moved around the shop like it was his own and approached Daddy. He tapped Daddy's shoulder and I never seen him so terrified. He did jump. And the customer he was helping, fled the store." 

Harry listened to Cassie's story and it sounded like the untold truth was so many people know who Tom truly was, but not one spoke it. No one wanted to name him Voldemort because it would make it real. 

"I later found out Riddle was friends with my dad," Cassie continued. "And met at a Malfoy party." 

Draco looked smug. "Our parties are wonderful." He turned to Hermione. "I can ask Father to invite you—I learned Grandfather invited Lily Potter to one." He then looked at Ron. "Not you, Weasley." 

Ron flipped him off. 

"I doubt Lucius Malfoy would let you," Hermione said, sighing. She looked at Cassie now. "Why is everyone scared of Professor Riddle? He's nice, in his own strange way." 

"Probably because he's not well in the head," Harry suggested, which felt like an understatement. 

"My mother said mentally ill people are more likely to be victims of violence and deserve understanding," she fired back. "My mother studied psychology and wanted to help people like Professor Riddle before she switched degrees and became a dentist, but it's something she finds very important, and I do too." 

"Okay, but he's crazy and a danger to society," Ron said, blowing right pass what Hermione was arguing for. "And he shouldn't be a teacher. He should be locked up somewhere. In a straight jacket." He said it without thinking and when Hermione’s face crumpled slightly, he scowled, like daring her to argue. Better to be angry than scared.

Harry fidgeted in his seat. A part of him agreed because he knew what kind of monster Tom was. 

But also, Tom wasn't that monster anymore. He could see it. Tom healed his arm when Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey, and his own mother were arguing about ethnics. Tom also avenged Parselmouths by getting rid of Charlus, and after the hundreds of forktongues he gotten this week, Harry cared more about that over if Tom's dangerous or not.  

 "Look. None of this matter, because Riddle's not the threat to the school. It's the wraith. And he's actively looking into stopping it--and we're helping. Without him knowing. We should focus on that, not if Riddle's crazy or not," Harry argued. 

Draco cleared his throat loudly, in that pompous way he had when he didn’t like the mood of the room.

"Right," he said, snapping his fingers. "Potion. Polyjuice. Library. Focus, Gryffindors."

He slid the advanced Potions book back toward Hermione like it was a shield against all the weird, messy feelings still hanging in the air.

"We’re wasting time," he added. "This potion takes a month to brew. And we need to investigate Nott. Luckily, I know he's staying for Winter Break because Pansy's staying and he wants to go study with her." 

Cassie made a face. "No way, really?" 

"Yes! It's disgusting, Pansy can do better than him," Draco declared. "I know Crabbe and Goyle will be staying as well. And I can see if another girl is staying, so all four of you can drink the potion and join me in the Common Room." 

"I can't," Harry said, wincing. "My grandmother is coming down from Cokesworth for Christmas, and I rarely see her." 

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said quickly when Draco opened his mouth to argue. "You gathered the information and did a lot of work, now it's our turn." 

"Yeah, mate," Ron encouraged, smiling slightly. Cassie nodded in agreement. 

Harry slumped in his chair, feeling slightly better now he knew he wasn't abandoning his friends. Now he just needed to deal with Ravi Verma. 

Chapter 15: Rotten Lilies

November 2nd, 1981

With a quiet pop, Albus Dumbledore arrived on Privet Drive in the late hours. The stars glittered the night sky, but their natural light was overpowered by the lamps illuminating the street. Clutching his arm with an iron grip was Lily Potter. In her other arm, slumped over her shoulder, was her fourteen-month-old son. He was bundled up in a thick jacket and hood over his head to protect his tiny ears. 

They hadn't landed for more than a second before she thrust Harry into Albus's arms. Without a word, she stumbled to the nearest bush and violently retched, the little contents of her stomach emptying into the hedge.

Albus adjusted Harry in his arms, and pulled out a little device to zapped the streetlights to cloud them in darkness. He sent her a concerned look. 

"I thought your apparitachexia was cured, Lily," he said quietly, lightly patting Harry's back to keep him asleep. 

She stood straighter, wiping her lips. "It's managed, but not properly cured. The healer who diagnosed me said it was Type One—it can’t be cured." her voice was controlled, but barely. It was as if she was forcing down her grief for James down deep beneath ground, letting the roots fester. 

Albus frowned at that. "Who was the healer that diagnosed you?" he asked. 

She turned to him, showing very little emotion. "Tom Riddle," she supplied. 

"Oh," he said, because what else was there to say? But still, he couldn't help himself. "He arrested this afternoon, you know. Aurors raided his house on suspicion of being a Death Eater. 

She stared for a long moment. 

"Be honest, is Severus's father Voldemort?" she asked in a hushed whisper. 

"I don't know," Albus lied through hi teeth. He hated himself for it, but he lied for the last six years. Why would he start telling the truth. "It doesn't matter now. He will fortunately spend the rest of his days in Azkaban." 

Not that Albus wanted that fate for Tom. But it was better this way. Safer. Tom was too unstable, too dangerous to trust among ordinary people. Let the dementors deal with him. Let the madness rot itself away behind prison walls. 

Severus claimed Tom was finally free of the physical demon possessing him, but that was one demon out of many. Frankly, Albus was at the point believing Tom deserved worse than Azkaban. 

Lily didn't believe Albus. At this point, did anyone believe him when he said Tom wasn't Voldemort? He didn't even need Legilimency to confirm it, but she didn't argue. She was exhausted, having been awake since the moment Hagrid had brought them back to Hogwarts in the early hours of the morning. 

"Let us get to your sister's house," Albus said gently. He shifted Harry so he could carry the baby with one arm and rested a hand on her back to gently guide her down the street. "It's over, Lily. That's what matters." 

Lily allowed him to direct her down the perfectly straight path to her muggle sister. A path of quiet normalcy, where she can raise her son away from the fanaticism and myth of The Boy Who Lived. She moved her feet, trudging along, not even attempting to take her son back. 

 

1992, Privet Drive. 

Dear Ms. Evans-Potter,

We hope this letter finds you well. We are reaching out to you today in regards to with the current Magical Languages and Heritage Act (1974, Ratified 1975) in details with the expected standard of magical home units.

It has come to the Ministry’s attention that student, Harry James Potter, has been accused using an illegal form of dark magic, within the educational environment of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, specifically, during an incident at the Dueling Club. As you are aware, we in the Ministry take these accusations very seriously for the betterment and protection of wizard kind.

We understand that as a minor young Harry Potter may have engaged in this behavior with nothing more than pure curiosity, but as legal guardian and relative to the great late Senior Undersecretary Charlus Potter, whose foresight in these matters remains deeply valued by the Ministry, should understand the possible dangerous outcomes this unrestrained curiosity can have. Even if the guardian has limited resources and understanding of their role, guardians of minor witches and wizards are legally responsible and have a duty to communicate and teach those under their care proper cultural expectation, conduct, and magical discipline. Failure to comply, no matter the circumstances, leaves the Ministry no choice but to set out due punishment in accordance with Article VII, Clause 9, regarding “Non-Registered Cultural Magic Performed by Minors in Institutional Settings, which is a standard compliance fine of 100 Galleons.

Payment is to be remitted within ten (10) business days to the Department of Magical Finance. Failure to do so may result in escalation to a formal hearing before the Educational Policy Enforcement Board.

Additionally, you are warmly encouraged to attend a voluntary Language Compliance and Heritage Responsibility Seminar, hosted monthly by the Department of Magical Family Welfare. Attendance is not mandatory, but is strongly advised for families navigating complex bloodline-based magical traits.

We trust that as a responsible and cooperative member of the magical community, you will approach this matter with the seriousness it merits.

In Harmony,
Dolores Jane Umbridge
Senior Undersecretary
Ministry of Magic

 

Lily stared at the letter, dumbfounded. She didn't know what to feel, how to feel. Terror? Panic? What's the response to this living nightmare? Shut up and pay the fine? 

No. 

The very idea of paying cent to this ridiculous committee made her sick. 

She crumpled the letter as her hands balled into fists. Rage settled into her bones as her magic crackled around her, making the lights overhead flicker. The microwave buzzed, turning on, and the fridge made a harsh buzzing sound. 

She didn't care or notice. 

She stormed out of the kitchen. In the living room, the television sputtered, switching from the news to a Doctor Who reunion, then to MTV Europe — loud, angry rock music exploding from the speakers. She tore through the house to find her purse, her wand, her coat. She through them on haphazardly, uncaring how messy she looks. She didn't need to look respectable or nice. She was going to raise hell.

She held her breath for a second. She didn't have her license to apparate but did it matter? What were they going to do? Was the Minisstry going to fine her more?  let them. 

With a loud crack, she left mundanity of Privet Drive, and reappeared in Thornespire. 

Right outside the Riddle Cottage. 

And in her haste, she forgot her apparitachexia. Her stomach twisted into painful cramps. She hadn't apparated in years and she regretted rushing here without taking a moment to relax. Her magical core attacked her body, centering on her stomach. It felt as if her innards were being split in two. 

But she did not vomit. She wanted too, but she composed herself as best she could. 

The vines on the gate, she knew from experience, were snakes meant to harm trespassers. 

But when she was teenager, when she and Severus were still friends, Tom said she could come and go as she pleased. Did that change after she cut Severus out of her life? 

She approached the gate, raising her hand to press on the rune alarm system for Mangala to open the door--if Mangala was even home. 

Maybe Lily had acted irrational, instead of planning ahead. Sending an owl, perhaps. Mangala was planning for a third child--or is it her fourth? Did she count Severus as a step-son when she was ten years his senior? 

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled back to reality when the gates swung open with a clank. 

The door to the house opened, and white, tiny cloud on four legs came running out, barking like mad. It trotted right toward Lily, hopping along on the side walk.

The anger Lily evaporated, and her chest hurt with something else: the overwhelming cuteness. 

She clutched her heart with one hand, still clutching the offensive letter, and bent over to pet the Pomeranian mix.

"Lily? What are you doing here?" Mangala asked. 

Lily stood slowly back up. 

The older woman was in a wool dress that was just slightly tighter than it should be--she was already showing. If Lily had to guess, she was now three, maybe four months pregnant. When she saw Mangala a few weeks back, she hadn't noticed any baby bump, but she was wearing an over sized sweater and a bigger jacket. 

Wordlessly, Lily handed the letter to Mangala because she didn't know how to describe it. 

Mangala didn’t speak at first. She just stared at the parchment, her hands tightening almost imperceptibly. "What the fuck," she snapped, snarling like enraged badger. 

The dog obediently went back to Mangala's side, whining and sensing its mistress was in distress. 

Mangala looked up from the letter, her dark eyes sharp with a cold fury to match the fire Lily felt. "Let's get you inside." 

She reached for Lily's arm, and gently pulled her forward, then she slipped her hand to Lily's back and guided her down the path. The Pomeranian mix followed. 

"Cute dog," she said flatly, because it was better talking about the letter. 

"Princess Cloud is rather adorable," Mangala said, with a sarcastic bite to her tone. "And an idiot dog." 

"Princess Cloud?" Lily asked, smirking at the absurdly cute name for a family of known Dark magic practitioners 

They approached the door, and Mangala let Cloud inside first. "Zahira named her, and when Tom attempted to change to," she raised her hand and did air quotes, "a more respectable name, Zahira cried. Tom crumbled rather pathetically."

Lily wanted to laugh at the absurdity that Tom Riddle bent to the will of a little girl, but actually that made sense. 

This was the man just few weeks back nearly beat the bricks off of Lucius Malfoy under the false assumption that Lucius insulted his wife. His daughter most definitely had him wrapped around his finger. 

Inside, Lily slipped off her shoes at the front door, and she followed Mangala to the sitting room. 

Already, she could tell something was different from when it was just Tom and Severus living in the house. The tapestry on the walls, and furniture were all Indian. The teal and terracotta pots hanging from the high ceiling had ornate patterns Lily associated with Indian clothing. And she was quite sure the plants in the pots were native to Indian too. 

"The cottage feels a lot roomier now that it’s not painted in dark colors," she said. 

She stopped and looked at the clock ticking on the wall that was a ridiculous shade of periwinkle and in an abstract shape that belonged in a modern art museum. The hands were snakes, painted gold. 

She pointed at the bizarre piece of decor that clashed with the warm yellows and reds and teals down the entrance way. "Did Albus give this to you?" 

Mangala stopped and looked back at her. "He enjoys gifting Tom presents that are...unique. And ones Tom would love to toss out or break, but enchanted to repair themselves and return if he does either." 

 Lily simply nodded. That also made sense. 

As they entered the sitting room, Mangala said, "I forget that you had known visited here a few times when you were a girl." 

"That was a life time ago," Lily said. "I think we even met in passing."

Mangala hummed. "We did, once. Severus was ushering you through the fire place when I arrived." 

Lily glanced her before stepping around the corner. "Yeah, yeah, I remember that! We had a double date--OH FUCK!" she swore, and jumped back. 

Nagini was in her snake form and just casually draped over the couch. Cloud was in the middle of the massive body, unbothered by the monstrous form. 

The woman lifted her head and hissed at Lily, as if to tell her to be quiet before plopping back down. 

"Sorry," she whispered back, embarrassed at her reaction. 

"Nagini's a maledictus," Mangala said in a low tone, directing Lily to the dining room, past the sleeping serpent. "It takes a great deal of strength for her to be in her human form. There's going to be a day where she will be nothing but a snake."

Mangala slid the door to the dining room open, gesturing for to go inside.

Lily blinked, frowning. "I never heard of that before. Is it a curse, a disease?"

"A bit of a both," Mangala explained. "It's common in South East Asia. Tom's the only thing preventing her from becoming a full beast now." 

"A most unfortunate fate for one of my kin," a whispering voice echoed in the room. 

Lily whipped her head to her right, and her mouth hung open. 

Hanging on the dining room wall was a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The painting and frame made the room far smaller than any color choice could. His eyes were fixated on her. 

"Mangala," Salazar said, mispronouncing her name. It didn't seem like it was out of genuine disrespect, but because he was stuck from a thousand years ago. "Who is this woman?"

"This is Lily Potter," she supplied, and Salazar made a disgusted throat in the back of his throat. 

"Potter," he spat the name out like a curse. "Like that vile Saxon during the war?" 

"I married into the family," Lily corrected. She didn't know if the 'vile Saxon' was Charlus or James, but she didn't have the energy to truly argue with an ancient painting. "Why do you have a Founder's portrait in your dining room?" 

"Tom put him there," she said easily, as if that explained everything. 

"Riddle is my Heir, and his brood are of my blood, why should not be in his abode?" Salazar asked, cold, and judging. 

"Tom's the Heir...actually, no, no, that makes sense," Lily waved her hands. "And I don't exactly have time to unpack Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin. I got this damn letter to worry about." She waved her hand around. "What am I going to do about this? I have the money—

"You are not paying them a damn thing because Harry spoke Parseltonue," Mangala cut her off and pointed at Lily. Her voice far from gentle. "What we're going to do is get people who are loyal to Tom to fight this."

Her jaw tightened. The people loyal to Tom or owe him favors weren't friendly to her kind. 

"And they would help me because...?" She asked, gesturing to herself. "I'm a muggle-born. I married a Potter. I'm indirectly the reason why Voldemort lost the war."

Mangala raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, a questioning one. 

Lily glared at her, crossing her arms defensively.  "Please, it's a known fact he's a Death Eater. He stood trial. Why would anyone connected with him help me?" 

Mangala's shoulder twitched upward, bored. "I will order them to. And if they don't listen to me," she smirked, "I'll sic my husband on them. And Tom has a vested interest in helping your son, I'm sure." 

"Does he?" Lily said, her voice dropping low. She hesitated before giving voice to what she assumed for over a decade. "The last time he seen my son, he aimed the Killing Curse at him." 

There was a flicker of doubt in the older woman's eyes, maybe even shame. The silence between them stretched, heavy with ghosts neither of them wanted to name outright. But for Lily it meant everything. 

"Exactly why he would want to help Harry now," she spoke softly. "Tom does experience some regret. Just don't expect an apology." 

Lily inhaled sharply, burying her rage down below. 

It wasn't just about Tom being Voldemort. A part of her knew already. It was the fact she asked Albus the very next night after Tom attempted to murder her son and Albus lied. And for what reason would he lie? And as soon as the question entered her mind, she knew the answer. She, like everyone else in the magical community, read Rita's article. Rita had many false crimes and damning attacks, but she had truth too. Albus, at one point in his life, attempted to adopt a twelve-year-old boy and was rejected because who he is. 

Albus lied for Tom for the same reason Lily was standing in Voldemort's house asking his wife to help her. They were both had a son to protect, for better or worse. And that's all parents could do. 

She let out a slow exhale, in attempt to calm herself down, only to be interrupted. 

"What tithed has been placed on this woman?" Salazar spoke." 

Lily and Mangala exchanged glances before Lily walked over and held the letter to the ancient portrait. Truthfully, she was curious what he thought about the fine. Salazar Slytherin had been a Founder, surely he had wisdom to share on how to handle this.

Salazar's eyes scanned the paper and they flared with rage. "How dare they!" he bellowed. "You stand idle and beg clemency? In my day, such declaration would be met with a gutting and stringing the perpetrator by their innards and allowing the crows to feast on their remains. These modern times are soft." 

Lily lowered the parchment, gawking. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. And, yet, she was. 

"Believe it or not, this will be Tom's advice too," Mangala said, flippant. 

"As it should be," Salazar said proudly. As stiff as his portrait was, he even seemed proud. "My Heir would have thrived in my day. Power was respected then—not hidden behind robes and quills. I wish he had been my first born son and not my great disappointment of Marvolo. Ran off with a Saxon." he made a spitting noise. 

Lily decided she heard enough from Salazar and turned to Mangala. "Who do you have in mind to help Harry?"  

She smiled in return. "Oh, just a few interesting players."

And that is how Lily found herself sitting around a table with former Death Eaters and their supporters. 

And they were not no name-low-ranked Death Eaters. They held power.

Sitting next to her on her right, was Corban Yaxley, pouring over the letter. He hunched over the parchment, scratching lines and circling phrases with red ink. He would shake his head, and muttering his disgust of the parchment. His wife, Lianhua hovered over him, occasionally tapping the letter frantically and he would bat her hand away, annoyed because he hadn't gotten to that part yet. 

They wore matching burgundy suit and dress, showing their commitment to each other. 

Lily had seen them before—brief glimpses throughout the war. Corban's hair had thinned out with age, more silver than blonde. Lianhua's hair was still slick black, and thick. Lily knew her better.  She, Dorcas, and Marlene dueled Lianhua in a battle when they're all eighteen and recently graduated. Oh, Lianhua had a silver skull mask, but Lily knew it was her they fought. She was ruthless and terrifying. And yet, she showed them mercy, allowing them to escape with their lives. Yelling at them to go back home to their mothers. 

And now Lianhua was helping her lawyer husband tear apart a legal document for her. 

Next the Yaxleys was Norman Avery. The head of the Avery family was flipping through documents of old Parselmouth legislation. He dressed like man out of the Victorian era, stuck in time. And wasn't that all purebloods like him? His glasses were on the edge of his nose as he scored over every line. 

"You know, Tom was hoping to get rid of these laws when he announced Slytherin blood line finally," Norman said, speaking low. "But this nasty business about the Chamber of Secrets put a damper to that. Has he been forth coming with you about this?" 

Corban grunted. "No. But I know he wants a seat in the Ministry." 

Lily balled her hands into fists under the table, forcing her nerves to relax. Voldemort was going to gain power legally. Or was in the process of it. 

And where did that leave her? At a table with murderers. 

"The Chamber is Hogwarts's concern, not ours." 

Nagini had transformed into her human form once again. She was pacing around the living room like a predator—which she was.

And this time, Lily placed the familiarity she felt in the hospital wing last month. She was the snake-woman who attacked Severus nearly twenty years ago. The giant serpent that lunged and bit his neck in the pavilion.

Lily didn't know why Tom let her live, but he had. And integrated her into his family. Was it because  Nagini was a Parselmouth? 

Was that enough to win Tom's loyalty? 

The others in the room shocked her. 

Narcissa Malfoy, not Lucius had been called upon. She remained quiet, but calculating. She sat across from Lily, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She didn't say a word, hadn't looked over any document. Lily couldn't understand why she was here, unless it was because of her Maiden name. 

And to fill in the gaps at the table, was Xenophilius Lovegood, owner of the Quibbler...and Orson Shacklebolt. 

"You know," Orson said, speaking for the first time since he arrived. He was looking at Mangala, defeated and disappointed, "I thought I made it clear I didn't want a part of this life anymore." 

Mangala gave him a lazy stare. "Orson, you gave up your right to walk away when you took the Dark Mark," she said. It was almost cruel in how factual she was. "You known at any moment Tom, Severus, or I could call upon any of you."

Lily's stomach curdled in knots. Severus could use the Dark Mark to summon people? But that would make sense, wouldn't it? His father was Voldemort. Why wouldn't his father give him the tools to control an army? 

Xenophilius patted Orson's shoulder in solidarity. "This is important work. This isn't about blood supremacy, but actual change to the system. Just like what we fought for in the beginning." 

"Before Riddle lost his fucking mind," Orson muttered.

 "As someone who spent five years with Tom in the same dormitory," Norman said coolly, "He never had a mind to lose. The first night of of our first year, I  took the bed he wanted and he threatened to strangle me in my sleep. I knew from that moment on it didn't matter he was a mudblood. I better stay on his good side." he leaned back in his chair, smiling fondly. "He was a wild tosser, still is. But he is bloody well brilliant. Everything he wants for our kind is the betterment of magic." 

Corban didn't look up from the letter when he said, "I was a year a head of him. I taught him how to properly read. Under threat of stabbing, mind you," he chuckled. As if it was a fond memory. "Tom's been the same since he was eleven, and that's why I've remained loyal for all these years. Consistency. And if he sees you as his own, then you are set for life in ways you cannot imagine." 

He glanced Lily's way before sliding the letter over to her. 

"I figured out the legal loopholes we can tinker with," he explained. Lily was surprised he wasn't condescending about it either. And not because he was fanatic Death Eater who walked free, but because he was a lawyer. 

"So see how it mentions the Magical Languages and Heritage Act, but down here? Just states Dark Magic. What kind of Dark Magic was Harry using? We can infer its his Parseltongue, but why didn't Umbrdige write that?" he said. He slid his finger downward. "She's weaponizing your muggle-born status here, so we can get her on discrimination." 

Lily let out a short laugh before covering her mouth. He looked up at her, and she felt all their eyes on her. 

"Sorry," she said, pointedly, "do you know how comical it is to have an ex-Death Eater instruct me on fighting the ministry for discrimination?" 

Corban stared at her for a long minute before saying, "you do realize we're all marked by a muggle-born?"

"Isn't he halfblood?" Lily countered, frustrated. 

"Legally he is, but socially?" Corban said. "He's a mudblood." 

"This is crazy," she said, shaking her head. "you're entire movement is crazy." 

"Our movement started off by fighting the system that is now effecting your son," Mangala said, cutting in. She tapped the table to make her point. "At the end, things got away from his original goal, but this." She pointed to the letter, "this is what we're trying to change." 

"But does the justify any of the blood supremacy?" Lily argued, growing angrier. 

"Some of us left before the movement was devoured by the radical blood supremacists," Orson argued, his tone defensive. 

"But you still joined." she fired back, angry and disappointed in the kind man she met just a few weeks back. The Shacklebolts were a good family. They all had backed Albus. What caused Orson to stray? 

"I did, and I don't regret it," he said, his eyes burning. "People like me, Mangala, Lianhua, and Nagini are criminalized by being labeled Dark Magic. Our existence as non-British people of color is Dark to the Ministry. Our cultural magics are banned. They're not taught at Hogwarts effectively."

Lily found herself looking a way. That was true.

"And for Tom, it was the Parselmouths," Orson kept going.  "The problem was Riddle let a bunch of far out there radicals to co-op his own movement and by the time he realized he lost, he was so far gone no one could talk sense into him. That's the truth of the Death Eaters. You can accept it, or not. But I'm not going to lie and say we're all evil blood supremacists."

Before an argument brewed between Lily and Orson, Corban cleared his throat. 

"I rather not get stuck on ideology," Corban said, calmly, steering the conversation back to the letter. "Look here, Lily," he pointed to Charlus's name. "She weaponized your father-in-law's name, then proceeded to hint at your...widow's status. too personal, and unnecessary. You can use this as well. I'd argue evoking Charlus is a veiled threat to Harry given Charlus's history."

“When my Heir announced Charlus’s death,” Salazar’s portrait said, sounding rather pleased, “there had been the most delightful celebration.”

The room quieted. It was the kind of silence that knew exactly where this was going.

Xenophilius Lovegood, of all people, muttered into his tea. “That was a wild party Bellatrix threw. Someone set the curtains on fire.”

“We hosted ours in this very dining room,” Nagini said dreamily, casting her eyes around the room as if replaying the evening. She had a fond smile on her face, the matched Mangala's and Lianhua's. 

"I never been happier to hear someone had been killed," Norman said, "and when your closest friend is Tom Riddle, you hear that a lot." 

“And we had our own in the Slytherin common room when news reached us,” Narcissa said, finally chiming in. Her voice was delicate, almost bored. “Barty Crouch Jr and Evan Rosier sat fireworks off, while Severus drank three bottles of wine with relief." 

Lily gawked. The ease with which they spoke—the warmth in it—made her stomach twist. These weren’t rumors. These were memories. Fond ones.

And suddenly, she said, quietly under her breath. 

“I...was secretly glad when James’s father died.”

They all looked at her. Not shocked. Not appalled. Just... curious.

She didn’t know what made her admit it. Maybe the fact that no one here would judge her for her morbid thoughts. And she continued. 

“Charlus despised me. I was the muggle-born who ruined his son," Lily admitted. "And I hated him. I hated him for being on the Parselmouth Committee. I hated his views on werewolves and goblins and giants. He would talk about being for muggle-born rights, but was nasty and cruel each time I met him."

She blinked, ashamed, and tried to meet no one's eyes. “I suppose that makes me no better than you.”

Corban's gaze saw through her. "I always wondered how he felt about his son dating a muggle-born. He had been just like the rest of the purebloods back in the day—believed he was superior." 

Lily didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. The memory of Charlus’s sneers and cold judgement haunted her. 

“Not to speak ill of the dead,” Narcissa said, her voice smooth as glass and twice as cold, “but it was agonizing listening to James rail against blood supremacy when his main target was a half-blood Parselmouth. One he knew was from a magically persecuted line.”

Lily’s spine stiffened. Her lips thinned into a tight line, and for a moment, the room held its breath—expecting a flash of Gryffindor fury.

But there was no argument. No sharp retort.

Because Narcissa was right. And Lily knew it. 

James hadn’t been fighting for equality. He’d been fighting Severus. And maybe, somewhere along the way, he forgot the difference.

But there was a painful moment of realization in there. 

"Tom murdered James because of Severus, didn't he?" Lily asked, and rested her head on her hand to fight off the headache. "Fuck. James had once threatened to turn Severus over to the Committee. And then three years later, James was killed."

Their silence was enough for her. Around the table, however, Lily noticed how Nagini looked to Mangala. Concerned for her. Mangala fidgeted with her hands, keeping her eyes downward. There was something more to why Tom targeted James, something about Mangala. But what? 

Did Lily want to know? 

And their silence was interrupted by the fireplace from the other room.

"Manny?" 

It was Tom, and he sounded panicked. Almost frightful? 

Mangala stood up and called from the door. "I'm in here." 

He whipped right inside the dining room, ignoring everyone. It was if he didn't see them. He just saw his wife and grabbed her arms, looking over her, his eyes lingering on her pregnant belling. "Are you alight? Is there something wrong with the baby?" 

Tom sounded very much like a worried father and husband in that moment, but that's not what Lily heard.

"Stand aside, girl!"

If Lily peeled back the magical  a distortion—the inhuman highness of Voldemort’s voice—she would hear it was Tom's voice underneath. His cadence. His narcissism. His delusions of grandeur.

She hadn't heard it then—not with a wand aimed at her chest, meant for the baby wailing in the crib behind her.

She stood up suddenly, shoving the chair back so hard it scraped against the polished floor with an ugly screech. All eyes snapped toward her.

Tom turned around, blinking as he realized he wasn’t alone in his house with his wife anymore.

Lily stormed around the table, her footsteps sharp and furious. She didn’t speak a word. She didn’t need to.

She barreled straight toward him, cocked her fist back—and slammed it hard across his face.

The impact cracked through the room. Mangala’s eyes widened. Around the table, there was a collective wince, a sharp intake of breath.

Tom staggered, clutching his eye with one hand, utterly stunned. Shock painted his features—he genuinely did not understand why he’d just been punched.

“What was that for!?” he demanded, bewildered, his voice pitching up slightly in protest.

"You ruined my best friend's life!" Lily shouted back, her voice breaking from fury. "You murdered my husband! And tried killing my son!"

Shock melted from Tom’s face almost instantly. Acceptance, cold and swift, settled into his features.

He nodded once—more like a shrug of acknowledgment—as if to say, That's fair.

The bruising already blossomed around his eye, purpling fast under his pale skin. It wasn’t a fair trade for James’s death. It wasn’t even close.

But it would have to do.

Lily’s chest heaved. Her heart rattled painfully against her ribs. She had a much bigger problem now. A current problem, threatening her son while the past still howled in her bones.

She snatched the letter from the table, crumpling it slightly in her fist, and slapped it hard against Tom’s chest.

"Read it," she ordered.

Tom did—without question this time.

His eyes scanned the contents. His posture stiffened. His hand curled tighter around the letter.

Slowly, his face twisted into an ugly snarl of anger.

"They want to fine you for Harry’s Parseltongue?" he hissed, low and dangerous, looking up at her through the beginnings of a black eye. "Do you want me to gut her and hang her by her entrails?" 

Lily pressed her hands together, and to her lips. She didn't even know how to respond him. She did spare a glance at Salazar, and the Founder was smiling. Gleefully too. She could hear his soft whisper in her head: finally someone with propper manners. 

But he didn't speak up. 

"Tom," Corban spoke up. The man was hunched over, hands clasped together. He looked at his old friend with an expected expression. "If you kill Umbridge, Lily would still need to pay the fine." 

Tom swore, unable to argue with that logic, looking back at the letter with a childish glare. "It would make me happy to kill her." He turned to Mangala. "I'm not complaining you invited Narcissa over Lucius, but Lucius *is* the head of the Malfoy family. Unfortunately." 

"I thought you pushed him out for disrespecting you in public," Mangala asked, bored with her husband's antics. 

"I did but he's still useful for publicity, our darling Cissy is just the brains of the operation," Tom said, gesturing to the woman. 

Narcissa stayed still, perfectly calm in the face of the monster before her. "Thank you, Tom. I believe those political manifestos you read to me and Sirius as children helped shaped my mind." 

Lily looked at Tom for an explanation.

 He tapped her on her shoulder, smiling. "When their house elf was ill, The Blacks asked me to babysit because I'm a mudblood and they're not going to ask a pureblood to do the dirty work. So I read the children Marx and Fanon." 

Incensed, Lily spun around, hair flying around her. "Is this how Sirius became one of your death eaters?" She asked, seething at Sirius's betrayal. "You brainwashed him as a child? 

There was a flicker of confusion. "Sirius? He's not one of my..." but he paused. 

Clarity blossomed in his eyes. "I forget he's one of mine. I don't remember the last year of the war. I was possessed by a demon." He tapped his skull. "It gained control over me in that final year. I don't remember shit about that year. Any of it. Except moments. I was rather shocked when I read the paper Sirius was a loyal Death Eater."

There was so much in what Tom said Lily didn't know what to pick apart first. 

"What demon?" Orson asked for her. 

Tom moved around her to pace around the room--what was with Parselmouths and pacing? 

"Oh, there was a demon trapped in a book at Hogwarts," he said casually. "I found the book, and the demon influenced some of my housemates to summon it. See, it needed a human sacrifice, and I was that sacrifice." He paused his pacing to stand between Lianhua and Norman. "Norman and Corban were there. You remember when Walburga Black ordered the others to hold me down and slit my throat?" 

The two men wore mirrored, haunted expressions as if they're reliving this moment right now. 

And Tom? He spoke of it so flippantly, as if it was nothing. As if he wasn't recounting his attempted murder in front of his oldest friends. 

"We're fifteen," Tom went on, "or sixteen. It was so long ago. Anyway, the ritual was botched, and instead of summoning a demon, they put it in my head." he tapped his skull. "And it stayed there until 1981 when Severus stabbed me with Godric's Sword." he did a stabbing motion. "And expelled the demon."

 Lily was left more questions than answers, and she didn't want those answers. She looked around the room and saw everyone felt the same as her.

Xenophilius was focusing on his tea. Lianhua looked at Tom with concern. Narcissa was horrified. And Orson was muttering under his breath, "everything is making so much sense now." 

Mangala grabbed Tom's hand and pulled him back closer to her. "Tom, honey, you’re monologuing about your childhood trauma again." 

"I thought I was answering question," Tom whispered back, completely unaware the tension he created. 

Mangala patted Tom’s arm like one might calm a startled animal. “Let’s focus on the letter, yeah?”

There was a beat of awkward silence.

Tom blinked at her, as if slowly rejoining the room. Around them, the others were visibly reeling—Xenophilius was staring into his tea like it might contain prophecies, Lianhua’s hand hadn’t left her husband’s sleeve, and Narcissa looked like she might be sick. Orson, for once, was quiet.

That was when Lily spoke—sharp and clear.

"And why did I get a letter from the Ministry before I got a letter from Hogwarts?" she demanded, holding up the parchment like an accusation. "This shouldn't be the first time I’m hearing my son's abilities were outed."

The shift was immediate.

Every ex-soldier in the room sat up straighter. Veterans or not, they were all parents now. And this was something they understood: bureaucratic betrayal.

"That’s a good point," Orson said slowly, his voice calm but tight. "Why didn’t Albus send her a letter?”

Their eyes turned, almost in unison, to Tom—not as a Dark Lord, but as Professor Riddle. A man with robes, influence, and answers.

Even Mangala looked at her husband expectantly.

But Tom wasn’t looking at them. His gaze remained fixed on Lily, growing steadily colder.

"You didn’t receive your letter?" he asked, and there was something hollow and horrible about his voice—like the moment the air disappears before a bomb goes off.

Lily’s anger faltered. “No. Nothing from Hogwarts. Just this.”

Tom’s expression tightened into something unreadable. “But I saw Albus send it. I was in the room. He spent two days on the damn thing. It tore him up. I watched him seal the letter myself—”

His voice cut off.

Narcissa stood abruptly. “If he sent it… where did it go?”

Orson rose next. Then Xenophilius. Then Corban and Norman. The quiet was heavier than silence—it was suspicion, dawning all at once.

Letters from Hogwarts weren’t safe.

"Tom," Mangala said gently, firmly. “Bring Albus here.”

He blinked, and the fury was already coalescing behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “There’s more going on than a fine.”

"Like what?" Lily asked, though she already feared the answer.

Tom didn’t hesitate. “The Ministry is begging for another war,” he said flatly. “But this time, Albus and I are on the same side.”

He turned on his heel, storming out of the dining room toward the fireplace.

No one spoke.

Because they knew what it meant. Tom Riddle hadn’t been domesticated. He’d been waiting. And now, with the school behind him—and Dumbledore at his side—he had won. 

 

That silence stretched when Tom returned with not just Albus, and Severus, and Minerva. Quietly, the three took turns reading the letter, with Albus being the last one. 

He sat on the couch, hunched over, his hands clasped together in wrathful prayer. 

His outward calm is what made him so terrifying, but his magic manifested into a thunderstorm while it snowed. His mere presence was suffocating for everyone in the room. Mangala contemplated leaving out of fear his magic was seconds from lashing out, and accidently hurting her unborn child. 

Tom stood by him, smoking, and unbothered by the crackling of Albus's fury. 

The person who broke the silence was Severus.

"We should let Father gut Delores Umbridge and hang her from her entrails," he said flatly, unaware how eerily close he was to repeating Tom word for word. 

Minerva’s eyes flicked between father and son, and something cold settled in her chest. Whatever lines she’d drawn between Tom Riddle and his boy—they were beginning to blur.

For Lily, it made her sick a little. Severus was far gone from the boy she knew at nine. Or maybe she didn't know him as well she had thought. 

"We established earlier that wouldn't prevent the fine on Lily," Tom corrected earlier. 

"This is not a time for jokes," Norman said, keeping his fury in check. "The Ministry is interfering with Hogwarts's sanctuary." 

"Who's joking?" Severus asked, a long drawl. "I work there, and just had a massive hit piece drop on me, my colleagues, my father," he motioned to Tom. "This is all related. It's clear that firing Lockhart and Rita's article was the precursor. They're pushing you out, Headmaster." 

Albus's eyes looked up, sharp blues that weren't sparkling with mischief but burning with intense fire. "I came to that conclusion on my own." he said. 

He sighed, standing. "And like the article, my concern will not lie with the politics. I have a school of frightened children. Some of you may not care, but another muggle-born child had been attacked."

Narcissa and Norman both held their tongues, because out of everyone there, they didn't care at all. But now wasn't the time or place. Not with Albus in the state he was in. 

"And unfortunately," Albus continued as the magically induced storm outside died down, "Harry Potter will be the prime suspect."

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat, the sound slicing through the room like a knife. She didn’t look at anyone in particular—just at the floor, as though she resented having to say the words aloud.

“There’s another matter we haven’t addressed,” she said, voice tight. “The Board of Governors. There’s talk. Quiet, but steady. That they might vote to remove you, Albus. As Headmaster.”

The silence that followed was glacial.

Albus didn’t look surprised. "I have been through this before, Minerva." 

"The issue here," Norman spoke up, "is that Fudge is actually pushing it. And he's using underhanded tactics to go through with it." 

Albus stroke his beard, thoughtful. "As oppose when you pushed my removal in '76?" 

"That was different, we were at war," he argued. "I never intercepted official Hogwarts letters. Abraxas or Orson hadn't either. We had boundaries. Rules of engagement. This is beyond that, and Fudge is on your side." 

Before he could reply, Tom Riddle shifted his weight from the fireplace mantel and spoke—not to Minerva, not even to Albus, but to the room at large.

"I think we need another voice in this get-together," Tom said, his voice silky smooth. There was a nasty hint of mischief in his tone.  

All eyes turned to him, no one trusting him--not even his wife. 

“I’ll speak to the Head of the Board myself,” he added, and smirked, gleeful. 

Then he raised his hand and snapped. 

Corban Yaxley, who had been seated stiffly across the room, stood. He calmly rolled up his sleeve. He didn’t question. The skin on his forearm was already pale and inked with the faded, slumbering snake-and-skull. Now it shimmered, pulsing once with faint, reawakened magic. 

Lily noticed, Norman had reached for his sleave. And so did Severus. They hadn't hesitated, Corban just got to it faster. 

He crossed the room to Tom because Tom wasn't going to go to him. 

Tom drew his wand, twirling as he did so before he pressed the tip gently to Corban’s Mark.

There was a hush in the room, filled with anticipation and regret and disgust.

Outside, beyond the safety of Tom’s wards, there was a loud, echoing pop—the sound of Apparition under duress. A man summoned without his consent, bound to an old oath he made when he was boy, now recalled.

Narcissa twitched in her seat. Her spine straightened. Her eyes locked on the door, but she didn’t rise. She didn’t have to. Everyone in the room knew what came next.

Tom moved again, fluid as smoke, and opened the door.

Lucius Malfoy stood on the threshold.

He looked like he had seen a ghost. Pale. Wide-eyed. One gloved hand pressed instinctively to his forearm.

It had burned. It wasn’t supposed to burn again. Not ever. That was the promise Severus had made when Tom Riddle returned to England, but that promise meant nothing. 

“Lucius,” Tom said softly, his voice a snake in the tall grass. “Welcome to the new order.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he reached forward and gripped the front of Lucius’s cloak, forcefully, and pulled him inside.

The door shut behind them with a click.

Chapter 16: Harry's Crucible

Harry followed the instructions: meet Cassie outside the library. Alone. He’d smiled when he found the note in his bag. Now, though, walking alone past the last few straggling students in the corridor, a strange tightness curled in his stomach. Written in her usual curly script, hearts dotting every i, and stars floating around the margins in shimmering gold ink, it was so Cassie it couldn't be fake.

Harry, come meet me outside the library at 7! I have something to show you!

But as he neared the library, his nerves were telling him something different.

A door off to the side of the library's main entrance swung opened, stopping him in his tracks. 

Nathaniel Dearborn, the Head Boy of Gryffindor. He towered over Harry, and was well built from his years of fencing. Even now, he was in his fencing uniform. He his patchy auburn hair contrasted against his sandy-blond hair, making him seem older to Harry than what he already was. Flanking him was Cressida Fenwick, Head Girl. She headed the chess club, and Ron could never stop talking about her skills. They stared down Harry with stony expressions. 

There was also Imogen. Harry didn't really know her outside she was Oliver and Percy's year, and she had been nice to him before. But now she was avoiding eye contact, choosing to twist a loose strand of her flat ironed hair and admire her red Mary Janes. 

An unsettling, nasty feeling overcame Harry. 

A door creaked opened. and he spun around. Coming out of a storage room near McGonagall's class was Elias Prewett, another lanky seventh year boy with dusty brown hair that almost looked red under the sun. Harry only knew Elias in passing because he was the Weasley siblings' distant cousin. He could see the shape of Ron's eyes  and the point of Percy's nose on the older boy's face. 

Harry glanced around at the older students, rubbing his arm nervously. "Uhm, excuse me," he said, forcing his voice to not shake. "I'm trying to get to the library. I have a friend to meet with. 

Nathanial approached him, his trainers lightly tapping on the stone floor. 

"Never mind that," he said, his tone eerily flat. "We wanted to speak with you."

Cressida followed Nathanial while Imogen stayed back, fidgeting and looking everywhere else. 

Harry took a step back, but felt a presence behind him. Elias silently snuck up on him, and the seventh years cornered him. 

Harry's heartbeat sped up and his hands went clammy. That letter wasn't from Cassie. 

"About what?" he asked, hoping if he played along they would let him go.

"Harry, you've been a decent kid since your joined the house," Nathanial spoke in a slippery tone, one where he expected a slap to come down on him and soon. "But the last month has made some the other kids nervous. You speaking to snakes and all."

Harry's stomach dropped to the ground. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have been targeting him every day since he outed himself as a parselmouth, but at least he had solace in his own house.

But he should've expected the betrayal.

"Really?" he asked, his voice wavering but not his conviction and hurt. "Because you lot are making me nervous." 

Elias shook his head, snorting. "You going around and acting normal is the problem, not us." 

"Cassie Shacklebolt wouldn't like you're using her to corner me," he tried arguing, but his words were cut off. 

"Cassie doesn't know we did," Nathanial said, and he looked back at Imogen. "Right?" 

"Right," she muttered, guilt evident on her face. She finally peeled her eyes from the ground and looked Harry in his. "I wrote the letter, I forged it."

"To lure me here?" he asked, looking at the older students, now glaring. He was bloody angry now, and fear was a distant thought. "Near Professor McGonagall's classroom of all places? Are you daft?"

Nathanial lunged at him without warning, grabbing him by the collar and pulled him close, almost picking Harry off the ground. 

Cressida took a step back as Imogen took several forward. She reached for his arm, as if she was going to pull him off of him, but Elias shoved her away. 

It all happened in seconds, and Harry didn't know what to do, but he refused to cower to bullies. 

"The only one daft here is you," Nathanial hissed out, before shoving Harry hard. 

Harry almost went sprawling to the ground but he caught himself. 

Nathanial approached Harry, using his height and size to loom over the boy. And with each intimidation tactic, the more Harry didn't take the Head boy seriously. Did he think he could scare Harry? 

He was the Boy Who Lived. He faced down Voldemort. Twice. He faced a troll. He faced down Fluffy. 

And none of that could compete with his Aunt Petunia. And he faced her every day of his life for eleven years. 

Nathanial Dearborn could loom and huff and puff, but Harry wasn't backing down. 

"You thought you could go around this school and be a Parselmouth. You're just like You-Know-Who," Nathanial continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry. "You think we wouldn't care you were a Forktongue?"

Cressida shifted her weight, looking like she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She stayed quiet. Elias and Imogen were no better. 

"It's not my fault how I was born," he said. barely biting back his anger. "My family went out of its way to breed Parseltongue out of us, I just got lucky." 

"You think it's funny?" Nathanial said, snarling. "You think it's funny how a Parselmouth murdered my uncle? You-Know Who murdered him in cold blood." 

Harry's blood boiled. They wanted to throw Voldemort around but they couldn't even use the man's name. It was insulting. It was a spit in the face to his mother who faced Voldemort down and was willing to die for him. It was insulting to him because he faced down Voldemort. Not the man, but the demon, last year. 

And it was insulting to Tom Riddle too, who had been haunted by Voldemort more than anyone. 

"Did you forget Voldemort murdered my dad!" He snapped. "You're not special. Voldemort killed a lot of people."

Finally, there was a flicker of conflict in their eyes. Cressida actually looked just as guilty as Imogen. Nathanial hesitated, just for a moment. But the anger bubbling inside Harry seeped out. In a low voice, he added, "and maybe Voldemort wouldn't have if 'normal' wizards weren't murdering us. Maybe your uncle was involved with that and deserved it." 

Nathanial's face went red.  

He drew his foot back—

and kicked Harry. Hard. 

Harry clutched his stomach, whimpering and biting down on a scream of pain. He collapsed to the ground, curling on himself. 

Elias was stunned, and took a step back. Cressida nervously looked between Nathanial and Harry, unsure if she should step in. 

Imogen clasped a hand over her mouth. She stared down at Harry with her round, soft black eyes horror in them. 

Nathanial pulled back his foot, aiming for another kick, but she was faster. 

She shoved him back, making him stumble. 

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you!" she bellowed in the hallway, her voice carrying into the library. "He's a kid!" 

"He's Dark Magic!" Nathanial roared, pointing at his chest. "The same Dark Magic that murdered my uncle! That eviscerated Cressida's father! That took half of Elias's family!" 

He pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Your cousin fought and risked his life to fight people like Potter." 

"Her other cousin had been a known Death Eater," Elias said quietly, his shock morphed into quiet radicalism as his focus was now on Harry. "And had a daughter with Bellatrix Lestrange." His eyes flickered back to Imogen, glaring. "Maybe she doesn't see what we see." 

Harry had scooted himself close to the wall, still clutching his stomach. He just needed his wand and he could maybe use some of the spells he learned in Dueling Club.

Nathanial dragged his hand down his face and his expression was full of resolve, his eyes never leaving Imogen. 

"I should’ve expected as much, given your pedigree," he said, sneering down at her. 

Imogen didn't seem shocked by his cruel words, accepting each one. But she did glance at Cressida, silently begging her for help. Cressida hesitated for a moment. 

"Nate," she spoke up, her voice gentle, and compliant. "I think you're going a bit far, mate." 

He turned on her like she was nothing. “Shut it, you!” he snapped, and she recoiled like he had slapped her. 

"What's going on here?" 

Ravi Verma appeared out of the library. He was not in his school uniform like the rest of them. But he still wore their House colors. He was in a black turtle neck sweater that was tucked into red plaid trousers. And the trousers were purposely torn and stitched together with gold safety pins that gleamed under the firelight. 

He should've been a welcoming sight. But the way he clutched his wand in his fist made Harry more scared than the older kids. 

Ravi's wand was made of green sandalwood, and carved to resemble a bone. It was eerily similar to Tom's. Harry hadn't notice before, and he wish he hadn't before. 

Elias wiped under his nose, sniffing. "There's nothing going on, Verma." his eyes landed on Harry, cold and detached. "We're just having a chat is all." 

Ravi looked at Harry, his frown deepening. Harry didn't break eye contact, silently pleading with Ravi to not do anything rash or impulsive—

A sharp pain hit the back of his skull. And it felt like he wasn't alone in his mind, not anymore. He closed his eyes, flinching away from Ravi's piercing gaze What was that?

"You kicked a twelve-year-old?" Ravi asked, his voice low, lower than usual. For a moment, his boyhood vocals were gone, and echoed the man he would become. 

They were all shocked. How did Ravi know? Did he read Harry's mind? Was that what the sensation Harry had felt? Nathanial tried to come with an excuse or any convincing lie, but his mouth worked before his brain caught up. 

"How did you—

Ravi raised his wand silently and flicked his wrist, sending Nathanial crashing against the wall. Hard. There was a crunch of bone and marrow. 

“Nathanial!” Cressida gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Elias drew his wand. Imogen stepped back fast, bumping into the stone behind her.

“You’ll regret—!” he shouted, wand raised.

But with a dismissive wave of his own, Ravi knocked Elias's wand out of his hand. The seventh year boy looked back at his wand, stunned. 

"Levicorpus," Ravi said softly and Elias floated upward against his will. 

Elias was flipped upside down, dangling and struggling against an invisible rope. His tie flopped over his face. 

"Put me down!" he demanded, fear creeping in. "Didn't you hear me! I said put me down!" 

Ravi tilted his head to the side, mimicking the predatory and mocking expression Tom was known for. "Fascinating." he said, amused. "All I hear is nonsense. But I don't speak child abuser." 

He cocked his hand back and sent a powerful blast to Elias's chest, sending Elias flying down the hall where he landed on the hard stone floor with a nasty thump. 

Cressida screamed. She spun around, wand drawn—

But Ravi knocked it from her hand with a sharp twist of his wrist.

Harry couldn't let this continue. He stumbled to his feet and rushed in between of Ravi and Cressida, arms stretched out. 

"Ravi, no!" he said clearly. "That's enough, you made your point." 

Ravi lowered his wand, eyes narrowing. "Fenwick and Dearborn are Head Prefects of our house and they attacked you. I don't think they got the message."

He raised his wand again, pulling it back to fire another spell. 

"I know," Harry said, "but you disarmed them and took them out."

He looked back at Cressida just standing there, paling with fear and shock. Nathanial clutched his face, glaring through his broken and bleeding nose. And Elias was on the ground, groaning. 

Ravi had dismantled and harmed them in under seconds.

I hope you made him suffer. 

Harry had said that about his own grandfather to Tom Riddle—the man who murdered Charlus Potter. 

Was this the same?

No. 

He answered his own question before it took root and spread doubt in his conviction. Charlus Potter had hurt many, and the ghost of his views were hurting Harry now. His grandfather killed thousands of people, maybe not directly. But through laws and newspaper articles.  Nathanial, Elias, and Cressida were just confused prats.

"Can we just... go find Professor McGonagall?" he asked quietly, feeling tired. Their Head of House wasn't in her office it seemed, because surely she would've intervened by now.

Ravi's eyes darted to the older students and then to Harry, contemplating what to do next before he pocketed his wand in his back pocket.

"Yeah, McGonagall should know our Prefects are okay attacking younger students," he hissed out.

He didn't stop glaring at the three as he approached Harry. He swung an arm around Harry, using his body as a buffer between the others. Without even looking, he wandlessly called for Harry's wand.

"Accio," he said.

It zipped through the air, and Harry grabbed it on instinct like he would the Snitch. It didn't make him feel any better. 

"If I catch any of you doing anything to Harry," Ravi said in a low growl, "I'll feed you to Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest."

Harry didn't know if that was a serious threat or not. And judging by the expressions of the others, they didn't know either.

Ravi directed him away. But they hadn't even taken a few steps before Imogen yelled.

"Nathanial! No!"

Ravi and Harry turned around, Ravi drawing his wand faster than anyone could blink.

But he didn't have to retaliate.

A hand caught Nathanial's wrist before he could say whatever spell that was on his lips.

Out of the shadows was Professor Snape. His cloak and robes cut a dangerous silhouette in the hallway. He had Nathanial's hand in a vice grip, staring down the shocked Head Boy with a disdainful sneer.

"And here I was under the impression," he said, his voice silken and dripping with disgust, "Gryffindors valued bravery."

In a sweeping motion, he snatched Nathanial's wand and shoved him back with a flick of his wrist. Nathanial stumbled and fell on his backside, hitting the stone floor with a thump.

His coal-colored eyes examined Cressida and Elias with the same disgust he had for Nathanial. "Professor McGonagall will be most displeased to hear there is infighting among her Pride."

He tilted his head to the side, pushing back his hair behind his hear, as if he was hearing something could not. 

"Ah, there she is now," he said smoothly. 

Sure enough, there was rush of heels on stone, clipping, coming toward them. How Snape heard it before them, was anyone's guess. Harry stopped trying to understand Snape months ago. McGonagall rounded the corner, her green dress flying around her feet making it seem she was gliding not walking. And what a sight she had stumbled upon. 

Elias was just now pushing himself upright. Nathanial was on the ground, nose broken. Imogen was hugging the wall, staying away from the others and creating the distance for herself. Cressida was stock still, her wand still on the floor when Ravi had knocked it back. 

And then there was Harry and Ravi, both having their wands in their hands. He was leaning against the older boy, trying to not wince from the kick to the stomach. And Snape stood in the middle of the chaos.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, concern and anger creeping into her voice. She stopped and helped Elias off the ground, looking him over. 

He turned away from her, shame on his face. 

She pursed her lips together in a scowl. "Severus?" she asked turning to him. 

He stepped forward. "I was just down the hall giving Mr. Weasley and Miss Clearwater for sneaking about—again," he said, giving McGonagall a look that screamed he blamed her for the hormones of teenagers. She rolled her eyes. "When I heard shouting outside the library." 

He looked back at Harry, his eyes narrowing. "Apparently," he drawled before slowly turning back to her. "Mr. Dearborn gathered a group of older students and he had kicked Mr. Potter in the stomach, and Mr. Verma had defended Mr. Potter from further assault." 

McGonagall paled considerably—then erupted with controlled fury.

She turned toward Nathanial. "Explain." she demanded, voice tight disgust. 

He scrambled to his feet and he pointed at Snape. "That's not what happened. He's defending Ravi because that's his younger brother!"

“Mr. Dearborn,” Snape began slowly, his voice low and deliberate, matching the very cadence Ravi had used minutes earlier, “if my defense of my brother were anything other than a teacher protecting a student…”

He stepped forward, eyes narrowing to slits.

“…then you’d be dust for Filch to sweep up. Do you understand me?”

The corridor went dead quiet. Even McGonagall didn't speak. Nathanial’s face went pale—not from guilt, but from fear. 

"Professor Snape," McGonagall stepped in, trying to regain control of the situation. "That is enough." she said firmly. 

Snape stepped back without argument, but he had one snide remark. 

"Why is it always Gryffindors roaming this school in packs of bullies?" 

She sighed, weary as if they had this argument before. "Not now, Severus," she said before clearing her throat. 

"I want the four of you in my office." She ordered, pointing down the corridor.

Nathanial glared as he retrieved his wand from the floor, blood still trickling from his broken nose. Cressida scooped hers up silently, eyes fixed on her shoes. Elias shuffled toward his, rubbing at his ribs, grimacing. None of them spoke.

McGonagall didn’t look at them as she turned, only said—

"Hurry up, I am very disappointed in all of you." 

Her tone brooked no argument. She didn’t look back to see if they followed.

The three  fell into line behind her, chastened and suddenly very young.

Imogen hesitated. She gave Harry a searching look, a mix of guilt and shame. But she didn't say a word. Not an apology. But Harry already forgave her for using Cassie's name to lure him here to be jumped.

There was a moment where she hesitated before following the others. 

Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, fading as they turned the corner.

No sooner they disappeared behind McGonagall's door. Snape spun on them, his cloak slicing through the air behind him.

"That was excessive," he said pointedly, quietly to Ravi. 

"I think they deserved more," he argued matching Snape's tone. 

Two brothers, a generation apart, shaped by the same man—reflecting his two philosophies: Justified restraint. And unbridled rage as righteousness.

"Do not argue with me," he said carefully. It was as if he was balancing his tone to not sound condescending or sarcastic. And Harry assumed this was Snape's way to show respect to his younger brother. "You could’ve—and should have—just disarmed them. But throwing Dearborn into the wall? Tossing Prewett in the air? Both unnecessary."

Ravi rolled his eyes, dramatic and dismissive but he did not speak back. 

But that wasn't good enough for Snape. He raised a finger. 

"Do not disrespect me in front other students, or you will hear it from Father," he hissed out, losing his patience. 

And Ravi immediately shrunk from that threat, pulling away even from Harry. "There is no need for that," he said, almost a pathetic whine. 

Snape leaned back, seemingly satisfied by Ravi’s sudden respect for discipline. His gaze slid toward Harry.

“How is your stomach, Potter?” he asked, tone mild—clinical.

But Harry wasn’t looking at Snape. He was staring at Ravi now, his brow furrowed, his expression taut.

“You read my mind,” he said quietly. He missed the sharp look from Snape. 

Ravi huffed, crossing his arms defiantly. "You can't read minds...I just slipped inside on accident. I didn't mean too."  He was defensive, but apologetic. 

Harry shook his head. He didn't know what Ravi did when he looked him in the eye, but he was sure to avoid doing so in the future. And with Tom...and maybe Snape too for that matter.

He looked down at the floor, fixating on the cracks in the stone instead. “My stomach’s fine,” he said, finally answering. “I just want to go to bed."

A long, pregnant pause followed.

“Very well,” Snape said, voice tight. His eyes hadn’t left Ravi. “You are both dismissed. Return to your dormitories. I must inform the Headmaster of this incident.”

He waved a sharp hand, dismissing them. “Go. Now.”

They two followed Snape's orders. Their whole trip to the Gryffindor tower was made in silence. Severus stared after them for a moment, before sweeping to his right, continuing his patrol for the evening. 

And unknown to them all, lurking in the library, was Ginny. She leaned around the door, clutching at the diary she wrestled from Zahira earlier today. She had taken off, running with the diary. It was her diary. Hers. She found it. Not Zahira. But fleeing from her friend made her run into Nathanial. He pushed her down, told her to watch it before storming off to fencing practice. 

You see, girl, a voice whispered in her head, that is true power. And you can have it once you join me with my other half.

If she had the power Ravi Verma did, no one would push her around. She needed to bring back her Lord. 

And the voice inside her head grinned. 

Chapter 17: A Family's Foundation

Notes:

Warning for this chapter:

Extreme pregnancy issues, such as miscarriages and still borns. Mentions of emotional abuse and isolation by a partner.

Also i edited the overall tags because i realized my old ones weren't very good...

"Masssster, it's cold," Persephone whined, before burrowing into Professor Snape's cloak.  

"Father, for fuck's sake, close the damn window!" 

There was a sharp exhale and smoke billowed out of Tom's mouth when he said with a smirk, "no." 

November came and went, and December dragged on with finals, Quidditch, and anti-Parselmouth sentiment taking up Harry's life. It was now the start of winter break, and he found himself stuck in the compartment with the Riddle family. 

Harry sat next to the window. It was favorite choice, either on train or airplane because he get to see the moving scenery. But now? Now, he regretted it. Tom opened the window the moment the train began to move so he could smoke. He was now on his second cigarette, and they're all suffering for this man's addiction. And of course the inconsiderate prick sat across from Harry. And he enjoyed every moment where he tormented him. 

Next to Harry, was Zahira. She was bundled up high, with her pet snake, Peony, on her lap. The small garden snake was hidden under the soil in her glass container to protect herself from the cold. Persephone didn't have that luxury. She was too big to be carried in her own container. 

On her other side, was Ravi. She sat between them like a peace treaty on the verge of collapse. The two Gryffindor boys hadn’t spoken in two weeks—ever since Harry shouted, in front of the entire Gryffindor common room, that Ravi was 'just like his father.' Between the fight with Nathanial and his gang, and their argument, their friendship had fallen apart. 

Ravi hadn’t spoken to him at all; except when he hexed a Ravenclaw who called Harry Snakespawn in the hallway and Ravi yelled 'thank me later' 

To Harry, that didn’t count.

And next to Tom—looking like he regretted every decision that brought him to this point—sat Professor Snape. Somehow, Tom had convinced him to join them. Probably with the words “family bonding” and zero explanation.

And Harry wondered how he fit in this family bonding experience when he wasn't one of them. 

"Daddy," Zahira said sweetly. Too sweetly

That one word changed Tom's confrontational demeanor melted away. "Yes, Glowbug?" 

Glowbug? What kind of nickname was that, Harry thought. 

"I'm cold." She forced a fake whine to her voice, making herself sound much younger than twelve. "Can you please close the window?" 

She pouted up at him with her doe-brown eyes to truly push him. 

Tom tossed his cigarette out the window and closed the window without a word. He snapped his fingers, and the temperature in the compartment rose slowly. 

"You couldn't have done that five minutes ago?" Ravi asked, glaring at his sister. 

She shifted in her seat, fighting the smug smirk on her face, while Snape was shaking his head with disappointed. Persephone stuck her head out of Snape's cloak. Tom didn't seem to even notice, instead seemed to refocus his attention on Harry. 

And when Harry locked eyes with the eccentric prat he knew he would be pulled into a conversation he didn't want to have. 

"Do you have any plans for Christmas, Harry?" Tom asked, tone pleasant, but the smirk on his face was anything but that. 

Harry wondered if he could ignore the man, but decided against it. Tom would needle at him until he answered, or Snape will get on him for being disrespectful to a professor.

"Yeah, I will be trying to pretend my aunt's cranberry sauce is delicious and pretend I hadn't heard my uncle tell the same story for hundred time," he snarked. 

“Oh yes, your aunt,” Tom said, tone growing deceptively casual. He turned to Snape. “What was that dreadful girl’s name?”

“Petunia,” Snape drawled without inflection.

“Ah. Petunia.” Tom repeated it like tasting something bitter. “A wretched name. Petunias symbolize resentment, you know. And then Ruth turned around and named her second daughter after funeral flowers. This is why I oppose flower-themed names on principle.”

Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable where this conversation was going. He didn't like Tom talking about his family, not his mum's family at least. He remembered asking Snape how he knew his grandparents' names at the beginning of term—and how the man had shut him down cold. Then in the hospital wing, Tom had mentioned Snape and his mother had been childhood friends. Were such good friends Tom cured something Harry never heard of. 

That bit of history he was saving for his mother. He wouldn't expect Snape to tell him anything, though it was a nice surprise when he did. But Lily? She should've told Harry over the summer!

And now Tom was casually critiquing his grandmother’s taste in names.

"How do you know my Muggle grandmother?" Harry asked, voice low, eyes narrowing. His stomach clenched at the idea of Lord Voldemort anywhere near the Muggle side of his family. It didn't matter if this Voldemort was diluted and semi-reformed. He was still dangerous and unpredictable.

“I met her a handful of times,” Tom said flippantly, waving a hand. “Hardly important.”

“I disagree, Professor,” Harry said. . He held the man’s gaze, having nothing but contempt for Tom in this moment. “It sounds pretty important to me.”

"Hmmm," Tom hummed. "Why don't you ask Ruth? Ask her about Wool's." 

Snape looked at his father, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to solve a particularly complicated puzzle. 

"Dad," Ravi said, tone flat, "can you not be a cryptic bastard for once?" 

"Daddy just likes to test people," Zahira chirped, then flashing a delightful smile at their father. 

"Exactly," Tom said smoothly. "Harry is one of us. He just hasn’t been initiated yet." 

"I didn't agree to that," Harry tried to argue. 

"You didn't, but I decided it...oh, a eleven years ago," Tom said, his eyes flicking to Harry's scar. He couldn't resist one of his trademark smirks, "around Halloween time." 

 He looked out the window, down at the fast-moving tracks, and wondered how much it would hurt to throw himself out. Probably not as much as talking to Tom Riddle.  He wanted to get home as fast as possible, and dig through his bag and use the magic mirror Hermione enchanted so they could communicate over winter break. He was already missing his friends. 

When the train came to a halt at King's Cross, and the doors opened, Harry was the first off Hogwarts Express, clutching Hedwig's cage and dragging his trunk off as fast as he could. He landed on the platform. He looked around for a brief moment. Where was she—

And his eyes landed his mum. 

"Mum!" he called out, at the same time Lily yelled and waved him over, "Harry!"

They met each other half way. Harry gently put Hedwig down on his trunk before he hugged his mother. 

She bent down, and embarrassedly kissed the top of his head--luckily none of his friends were around to see it, they were still at the castle. 

Still, he pushed her back and rubbed his hair as if that make the affection go away. 

"I been to all your games again," Lily said, not caring he rejected her kiss "you're a real natural on your broom."

He beamed up at her. "I saw you at one of my games!" He then recalled who she was sitting with. "Why were you with the Malfoys?"

"That's a long story," she said, sighing. "I'll explain on the drive back home." 

Around him and Lily, the platform was alive with motion and noise. Students spilled out of the train in waves, their laughter and footsteps echoing against the high glass ceiling. Trunks clattered onto the pavement, owls hooted irritably from their cages, and a dozen joyful reunions between students and their families happened at once. 

And behind  Lily and Harry came out the Riddle family. 

Ravi was first, then Zahira, neither carrying their luggage. And Zahira's snake carrier was gone too. Harry assumed Tom snapped his fingers and sent their trunks and bags back to their home. 

Ravi stopped right next to Harry, not creating much room to leave the train. 

"I hope you have a good winter break, Harry," he said, his tone thinned out by malice. "And you learn to be grateful when someone's helping you." 

"And I hope you learn to mind your own business," Harry bit back without a missing beat. 

Lily looked between the two boys, brows hiding under her bangs. 

Ms. Verma appeared next to Lily, also a bit shock by tone the two shared. "Well this is quite fascinating," she said, smoothly. "Children, where is your father?" 

"Daddy instigated an argument with Severus on the train and now they're yelling at each other," Zahira explained. 

Harry hadn’t noticed until now, but this was the most chipper Zahira had been in months. His interaction with her since school started had been non existent, but when he saw her in the halls, she reminded him a lot like Ginny, especially after Colin was attacked. 

Quiet. Distant. Sad. 

But she wasn't like that now. And maybe Ginny will perk up during winter break too. 

Mangala let out a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I have to drag them off the bloody train myself." She turned to Lily. "I'll see you two on the twenty-eighth?" 

"Do you need bring anything?" she asked, but Mangala was already shaking her head. 

"No, no, Tom will be cooking everything," she promised, and that made Lily visibly uncomfortable. 

And Harry was pulled away from his observation on Zahira to the conversation the two mothers. 

"Cooking what?" he asked, looking between them. 

"Mangala invited us for dinner over winter break," Lily explained. "A family dinner with them, Severus, and Headmaster Dumbledore." 

Harry tried and failed to keep the horror off his face. He was going to have dinner with three of his professors? Dumbledore, who liked to dangle little bits of truth over his head. Snape, who was just mean on good days. And Tom Riddle who was bloody Voldemort. 

His mother had hit her head to agree to such a thing. Surely, his mother knew who Tom Riddle was. 

"Oh, joy, can't wait to get a lecture on my break," Ravi deadpanned. He grabbed Zahira's shoulder and pushed her through the crowd. "Come on, let's go find a seat while Mother deals with Father and his antics." 

"Bye, Harry! See you next week!" Zahira called out. 

Harry numbly waved at her. 

Mangala smoothed out her burnt-orange coat. "Well, I will see you both later." she said with  a small smile before heading onto the train. Her sweet tones shifted to one annoyance. "Tom Marvolo Riddle!" her voice carried as she disappeared.

Lily and Harry watched after her for a moment. "We should we head to the car," she said, picking up Harry's trunk. 

He didn't have to be told twice. 

 

Before they left London, they parked outside a fast food restaurant to eat greasy cheeseburgers, all too-salty-but-delicious fries, and milkshakes. Chocolate for Lily, and strawberry for Harry. He was already feeling better sitting with his mum in her SUV and not crammed in a compartment with the Riddle family. Lily kept the SUV running, keeping them warm and to listen to her favorite radio station that played old music from the sixties and seventies. 

She didn't like it when he called her music old, something about when he had kids, he wouldn't want to hear how Radiohead was old when he was her age. But to him, thirty-two was forever right now. 

"What was that with Ravi? You two got a long in Diagon Alley," Lily asked after stealing one his fries. 

He shielded them away from her by holding them on his left knee. "We were getting along, but after I was outed as a Parselmouth," he said, and then paused. Wait, did his mother even know about that? "Oh, shoot! I was going to write you letter!"

"It's okay, Harry, I was told." She smiled to assure him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I should've checked on you but I've been dealing with the fallout as well. I will explain more when we get home, okay?" 

"Okay," he said, and suddenly he wasn't hungry at all. But still nibbled on his cheeseburger. It was always 'I will tell you later' and 'not now' with her. Even when it was small things like why she was with the Malfoys. She just happened to run into them and they got grouped together. She made it sound big. 

He was beginning to wonder why should he talk to his mum about anything? She kept his magic from him. She kept the truth about Dad from him. 

"So was there trouble betwen you two after you were outed?" Lily asked, pushing for more information. She had a deep frown on her face and her brows were knitted together with worry. 

"That's not the problem," Harry said, shrinking in his seat. He just didn't know what to say to her. What was there to say? 

"Then what is the problem?" Lily questioned, prodding and needling. 

He sighed, almost huffing. Why did parents get to keep secrets but kids couldn't? But if he didn't answer, he'd be in trouble. 

 "He turned the entire Gryffindor fourth year into his personal army," he finally said, letting his frustration toward her seep out in each word. "A lot of kids didn't like I'm a Parselmouth, people I known for a over a year now don't want to talk to me. It's gotten worse because of Colin and Justin were attacked recently."

And once he began to talk, he let it all out. Weeks of isolation and hate spilled out of his mouth. 

"Well, they've been quite nasty. Call me forktongue or push me around," he grumbled into his food. "It doesn't matter how many times I have to point out I have a muggle-born mum or one of my best friends is one too, they saw me hissing at a snake, and think I'm the bloody next Dark Lord."

She scowled at that. She wiped her hands clean before shoving the rest of her cheeseburger in the bag. Her jaw was tight as she tried to stamp out her anger before she spoke. 

"Isn't your teachers doing anything about this?" she asked, biting back on her fury. 

"Professor Snape and Riddle do, but you know, they're also Parselmouths," he said quietly. To him, it didn't count when Snape or Tom handed out detentions or silenced insults with glares that could kill. They're doing it because each insult was one toward them and their family.

"So everyone is just letting it continue?" she asked, her voice deadly even. 

"Well, it's not like the other teachers don't say anything, but they're not active in the halls," Harry continued. "That's where Ravi comes in. He's ordered his yearmates to protect me when teachers aren't around. But he's taken it too far. I told him he's acting like his father, and he didn't like that at all."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "How is he acting like Riddle?" she pushed gently. 

Harry turned to face her, their mirrored green eyes locking. 

"He's like Voldemort," he said carefully.

A flicker of shock graced her face. "You know Riddle is...?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out, especially when he went on a monologue about whatever his followers did to Neville Longbottom's parents and how that was too extreme for the Dark Lord," he said, slumping in his chair. "Also, he confirmed it when I sorta asked."

She put two fingers to her temple and massaged out the tension. The silence between them was filled by Fleetwood Mac singing "You Can Go Your Own way." 

"I was hoping you wouldn't find out about him," she muttered under her breath. 

There was a stab of guilt in Harry before he opened his mouth. But he needed answers.

"And why not?" he asked. "Where you ever going to tell me anything?" he asked, his words coming out as blunt hammers. "I found out more about the Potters from Riddle and Snape and Ms. Verma's article than you." 

She shifted in her seat, nodding silently to herself. She rested her elbow on the edge of the steering wheel to lean her head against. 

"I didn't know how to talk about your grandfather," she murmured. 

"Because you raised me in the muggle world," Harry pushed. He still clutched his now cold cheeseburger in one hand, and his milkshake was melting, but they were left forgotten at this moment. "I don't get why Dumbledore told you to raise me without magic. He explained it, but it doesn't make sense. And it doesn't make sense you listened for ten years--

"Harry!" She cut him off, her voice raising. He flinched, but she kept going. "I was twenty-one. I just lost my husband—the man I had been dependent on for over a year. And I was cut off from everyone except him and his friends while we were in hiding. I didn't have your grandparents, your aunt and I weren't talking because James pissed her off. I didn't have Severus anymore, I was alone with him and his close friend group. And even that shrunk."

Harry listened, silently placing his food on the dashboard. Anger began to simmer under the surface, all directed at his father. 

James didn't sound like the good man Lily always said, or the righteous man his grave described. He sounded controlling. 

"I didn’t tell you because I was scared. And I kept not telling you because it was easier to pretend we were safe," she explained, calming down just a little. "I didn't want to hurt you, Harry. It was just more simple if I didn't tell you about magic. I didn't foresee a future Voldemort would be you in your life, let alone your teacher."

"He hasn't been terrible," Harry muttered, and then corrected himself, "okay, he's very terrible, but also nice in a strange way." 

"He's been helpful," she muttered, sounding exhausted, "in his own weird way." 

Another silence different between them, now a song Harry didn't know was playing. But the song with lyrics like "seasons don't fear the reaper" made the car colder than it should be. 

"You and Professor Snape were friends?" he asked, sparing her a weary glance. 

She didn't answer right away, instead chose to push her hair out of her face first. 

"Yeah, we're close," she said, her voice hollow now. "He lived in Cokeworth, not too fa from your Nan's house. We known each other since we're nine." 

"Do you mind telling me what happened," he asked, picking his shake and taking a careful sip.

She let out tired huff. "We were fifteen, uhm," she paused, collecting herself. She started over. "Severus's stepfather had been incredibly unkind to him and his mother. Now at the time, we didn't know that he was a stepfather. But there was an incident right after the end of our fourth year that forced Seveurs's mother to tell him that wasn't his real father. Tom Riddle was."

Harry nodded along, showing he understood so she could continue. 

"At first I had been ecstatic Severus was away from his mother and step-father, both were terrible," she explained. "But Tom turned out to be...well, I wouldn't say worse. He is objectively a better parent than Eileen and Tobias. But he's still," she waved her hand. 

"Voldemort?" Harry supplied. And then it hit him. "Snape's mum left him to live with Voldemort during the war?" 

"Yeah, yeah," she said, slowly "Shi--oot! I didn't know it at the time, and I just realized." she looked at Harry. "Yes, that's what Eileen did. And it caused a rift between us because I made it clear I didn't like his father, and at the time, Severus very loyal to him. And I didn't help either. I had been very anti-Dark Magic. I just saw Dark Magic what purebloods and Death Eaters use against people like me. I didn't stop to think about to Severus, Dark Magic was his existence. And I knew he was a Parselmouth back then."

She hesitated for moment, as if she shouldn't say what she wanted. 

But she chose to be honest. 

"Your Professor doesn't know this, but I had to beg James not to report Severus to the Oversight Committee," she admitted. "It was late '77, maybe early '78. We're in our final year. Your grandfather had just been murdered. And back then, everyone knew Voldemort had been a Parselmouth. And James wanted revenge."

"He wanted to kill Professor Snape," Harry said bluntly. He looked outside, gnawing on his lip. "Did...Tom kill Dad for Snape?" 

"I think so," Lily admitted. "I wasn't sure why James was targeted at the time. Just one day we had to hurry into hiding and Voldemort made it known he wanted James dead. Actually, he wanted to get rid of the Potter line. And now I know for sure who was behind the mask, it makes more sense. Tom has always been violently protective over Severus. And your father hadn't been kind to him." 

She looked away for a moment, her mouth tightening—like she wanted to say more. But didn’t.

Harry didn't know what was left unsaid, and maybe that was for the best. Maybe he didn't need to know everything about his parents before he was born. And knowing too much hurt more. 

But the clarity of knowing was worth the hurt. 

If James had been willing to sacrifice a Parselmouth unrelated to Charlus's murder, then fine then. He hoped Riddle made his own father suffer too. 

He just hated that Tom had to hurt his mother in the process. 

Lily wiped her eyes, taking a moment to collect herself. 

"Harry, grab your food before they go flying," she said, switching topics. "And put your seatbelt on." 

He did as he was told, putting his leftovers in the bag. Both of them were thinking they can finish when they get home, but both knew it would end up in the trash bin. Lily will promise to cook something later, but will order pizza because she had to start her shift at five am.

The car ride was driven with no words between them, allowing the music from the radio to speak for them. 

Late into the evening, Tom and Mangala were getting ready for bed. She was taking time in their master bathroom to wash her face and do her skin-care routine. 

He was reading the Quibbler, a smirk playing on his lips. Xenophilius broke away from his typical conspiracies he had been known for the last ten years to once again publishing hard-hitting political take downs of the Ministry. 

Snuggled against him was their pathetic Pomeranian-spitz mix he did not like in the slightest. He contemplated kicking her out of their bed but after four years, he learned Mangala loved the damned beast more than him and he'd be kicked to the couch downstairs if he tried. Again.

"There's an article in the Quibbler listing Fudge's crimes, how delightful," he said out loud, absentmindedly petting Cloud's head. "I should orchestrate his replacement like I had done with Jenkins during the war." 

The lights flickered off in the bathroom and Mangala emerged in one of his old under shirts with her hair up. "And who would replace Fudge for you?" 

"Pius Thicknesse," he answered, still flipping through the magazine. "He's a centrist, but still a pureblood. He's an idiot, easy to manipulate. His mother is a Wilkes, and his uncle had been one of mine—one of the firsts in fact." 

Mangala slid in next to him after turning off her bedside lamp. The traitor dog abandoned Tom to snuggle with her true master. Not that he cared! 

Mangala glanced at Tom, unimpressed. "Thicknesse hates Voldemort because Voldemort murdered said uncle." she sharply reminded him. 

"Wilkes deserved it," Tom said flippantly. "He shouldn't have tried selling us out to Crouch and Moody."

She reached over and snatched the Quibbler out of his hands. She pointedly ignored his glaring. "Stop plotting coup and go to sleep. God, you're infuriating." 

He rolled his eyes and turned off his own lamp. The two shifted in the bed, taking their normal positions. Cloud hopped of the bed and hurried to the mini dog house Tom was forced to built because every other option clashed with their bedroom decor, and Merlin forbid anything clashed with Mangala's tastes. 

Mangala curled on her side, facing away from him and he curled around her, his body draping around hers. 

He cradled her growing baby-bump, and he kissed her bare shoulder. 

"How's the baby?" he asked softly, switching subjects. 

She sighed, as if she was expecting the question. "Fine. Everything is going smoothly."

"Are you sure?" Tom prodded. 

She twisted his arms. He couldn't make out her features in the dark, but he just knew she was glaring up at him. 

"Yes, I'm sure. The midwife said as such," she all but snapped. "Do not get overprotective." 

"I'm not," he said, trying to defending himself. People always assumed the worse of his attentions. "I was asking a reasonable question any husband would ask after being away for so long."

"It is reasonable—for other men, but you?" She countered. "I know you better than you know yourself. It's never about just checking in."

"What do you mean by that?" he questioned, bordering on offense. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see her flat expression. 

"Tom, you tried ordering me to move in here after our first time having sex," she said, suddenly very tired of this conversation. 

"Yes, because I love you," he stated evenly. "Why wouldn't I want you to be with me at all times? I would like all of us to be under one roof away from everyone, but then Severus moved out, that bastard." 

"He's going to be thirty-three, Tom," she said, sighing again. "And where would he stay? We only have so many bedrooms, and you refuse to sell the cottage." He ignored the jab about selling to cottage. Like hell he will! He had too many bodies buried in the backyard, he wasn't going to move the skeletons now just so Mangala had a bigger house to horde her collectables. Instead, he focused on Severus. 

"And that means he can leave me?" he snapped. "Does that mean he can not talk to me for seven years?"

He still simmered thinking of the last time he and Severus spoke before Tom left after the war. Tom had spent a month in Azkaban, a rather dull place with too much screaming and not enough sunlight. It wasn't as dreadful as the orphanage, but it was hardly fun either. And upon his release, Tom attended to go chase Mangala down in Jaipur. And he ordered Severus to follow, and Severus told him no. Called him a control freak. 

As if Tom had control issues!  

Mangala rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Honey, please," she said, groaning. "The baby is fine. I'm fine. Everyone is fine, even Severus despite choosing to live somewhere else." 

Tom hesitated for a moment, letting the silence to stretch out before giving voice to his worries. 

"I just worry after your last pregnancy," he murmured, struggling to get the words out. They were lodged in his throat, the painful memory choking him. 

And she went still in his arms, and didn't say anything. 

And what was there to say? Tom knew what the last pregnancy was. Karma, for him. Karma for attempting to kill an infant. Karma that was meant for him, but gutted Mangala and stole their third child before the little boy got a name. 

And it wasn't just that pregnancy. 

Tom hadn't been there for Zahira's birth. Yes, because Mangala chose to leave, but she left because Tom had been at his worse. The war had taken his mind, and had him spiraling every moment of every waking minute. The bodies were piling up at their front door. He was violent. He was cruel. He was a danger to her. To Ravi. To Severus. Tom hadn't been Tom that final year of the war. He was Voldemort, day in and day out.  Of course, she left him. Even in his most delusional state he understood.

 Much like he understood when Severus chose to spy on him for Albus. Tom knew the very moment Severus turned on him. He knew the moment the knife slid into his back. It happened at meeting, Mangala just fled the country, his inner circle was crumbling around him. And Severus, after Antonin just deliver the news Evan Rosier had been killed by six Aurors, had suggested he could infiltrate the Order. And Tom contemplated, for a second, murdering his own child before he vanished the thought completely. He did everything after that to drive Severus further into Albus's arms. It had been for Severus's own protection. 

 And before that. Before the betrayals, before his mental breakdowns were a daily occurrence, there was Ravi. His precious little shadow that they almost lost. Mangala had been physically assaulted by a man long dead yet haunted this family to this day. A man who's face lived on a the same infant Tom tried to murder. The attack had been so brutal, she went into labor two months later. 

The war had taken its toll on all of them, and Mangala faced the worse of it. All because of him. 

"I'm jus concerned because you're older now, and we hadn't had a normal pregnancy," he said carefully, fighting back on any emotion he couldn't control.

"Tom," she said his name in a understanding, but firm tone. It forced him to live in her reality than his own, which some would say was just normalcy. "My midwife is moderating my health. Everything is going smoothly. I just need you to be here with me, not lord over me worried I'll break. That will cause me stress, and cause the baby to be stressed out."

Okay, that was reasonable, Tom thought. Logical even. He can keep himself in check. And besides, he was a teacher at Hogwarts. He had the wraith to deal with. The Chamber, the missing diary. He couldn't spend his time fretting over his wife when he was busy. 

"But you will tell me if something is wrong?" he asked quickly. 

"Yes, I will. You know I will," she said, softly. 

She reached up and pulled him down for a kiss on the lips. It was assurance of trust Tom never earned but was given to anyway. 

 "Goodnight," she said breaking away from him. 

"Night," he muttered, before settling behind and pulling her close. 

Despite comfortably snug against his wife, with his hand over their unborn child, he didn't fall asleep. His mind drifted back to his schemes and plotting. Her snoring was the back drop to his plans. 

Chapter 18: When That Foundation Shatters

On Christmas Eve, Harry found himself trapped in the living room of his aunt and uncle’s house, enduring forced “bonding time” with his cousin.

"You're doing it all wrong!" Dudley bellowed over the sound of frantic button-mashing.

Harry was seconds away from hurling his controller at Dudley’s oversized head. “You’re just pissy because I’m winning,” he snapped as his blue ninja sent Dudley’s character flying across the screen in a spray of digital blood.

It wasn’t Street Fighter—Dudley insisted this knockoff game, Shadow Vengeance 2, was “cooler” because it had fatalities. Harry didn’t understand what half the buttons did, but he’d just ripped off Dudley’s character’s head by accident, and he was going to ride that victory for all it was worth.

Dudley let out a roar and slammed his controller to the floor. “This is stupid. You were cheating.”

Harry rolled his eyes so hard it gave him a headache. He wanted to point out that maybe Dudley was just rubbish, but with his mum still at work and only Aunt Petunia hovering nearby, he figured starting a shouting match right before Christmas wasn’t the wisest move.

The two had never gotten along, even after being raised side by side. Back when he and Lily had still lived with his aunt, he remembered all the fights and squabbles he’d gotten into with his cousin. The worst was when Dudley, at age four, locked him in the cupboard under the stairs—dragging a chair in front of it like it was a game. Harry remembered pounding his tiny fists on the door for hours until Lily got home from her restaurant shift.

Petunia had been there all day and hadn’t even bothered to help him.

After they moved out, things didn’t improve. Dudley and his gang of bullies had chased him through the streets when he was ten. If Harry hadn’t somehow ended up on Mrs. Figg’s roof during one of those chases, he was certain he would’ve gotten a proper beating.

There were other things too—small cruelties Harry didn’t like to dwell on. It wasn't worth it. 

He didn’t hate Dudley, exactly. But he didn’t trust him either. Even now, years later, that cupboard door still rattled in the back of his mind.

Dudley glanced at Harry now, his glare softened by curiosity. "What's your freak school like?"

Harry resisted the urge to sigh.

Freak school was how Petunia and Vernon described Hogwarts, but Dudley said it like it was a fascinating carnival attraction and not a disease.

But also, he missed his friends. He had the mirror in his pocket, just in case they tried contacting Harry now. The Polyjuice potion should be done soon. he knew the potion will be bottled tonight and cooled for a few days, and he wanted to hear their progress. 

He slumped against the couch. "You know your mum doesn't want me to talk about my school."

"But it's more interesting than mine," Dudley said bluntly. He jabbed Harry in the ribs rather hard. "Just a little bit isn't bad."

Harry slapped his hand away. "Stop it," he hissed, but Dudley continued until he snapped, "alright! Alright! I'll tell you. What do you want to know?"

"Like, what do you learn?" he pressed.

Harry thought of the last thing he learned in one of classes that wouldn't totally upset Aunt Petunia if she overheard them. He just needed to think.

“Turn the game off and switch to the telly,” Harry said instead, stalling. “So it’s not weird that the game’s playing but we’re not.”

He wasn't expecting Dudley to actually listen to him without complaint. He got up and put away the video game console, and switched the screen to the BBC 1. A commercial played for the show order for later tonight before the announcer said:

"...now on BBC 1 Steven Spielberg brings his magic touch to the world of animation with a touching story about a homeless dinosaur..."

When Dudley returned to the couch, Harry had his answer ready.

“I’m learning how to grow plants and take care of them,” he said. “In Herbology.”

Dudley wrinkled his nose. “You’re becoming a magical gardener? That’s boring.” He leaned in again. “Can you set stuff on fire?”

Harry smirked. “Well... yeah. But that’s hardly impressive, is it? I can do that with a box of matches.”

"Only you could make magic sound dreadful," Dudley grumbled. "Mother is wrong. It's not freakish, but silly nonsense."

His eyes flickered to the screen and watched the telly for a second. "Much like this."

On the telly, a strange little fish swam through a swamp. Peaceful. Until a crocodile's jaws snapped shut behind it—and missed. The fish darted away, and Dudley leaned forward, suddenly hooked.

He forgot all about his question and Harry's 'freak' school.

Harry was grateful for the distraction and settled in, focusing on the rather charming animated film about baby dinosaurs.
 

An hour and odd few minutes, Harry and Dudley were sitting at the dining room table sharing mince pies and Christmas cake and pretending they both hadn't cried at the silly little kids' movie. They refused to even look at each other, both too ashamed. 

Petunia didn’t notice their silence, too busy ranting on the telephone about the neighbors’ “gaudy and frankly offensive” decorations to one of her friends.

Truthfully, Harry was still shocked she had people who willingly liked to talk to her—people who weren’t family, let alone actual friends.

A sharp kick to his shin pulled him from his thoughts. He winced and hissed out a swear under his breath. He shot a glare at Dudley, then kicked him back just as hard.

“What was that for?” Dudley whined, a bit too loud.

Petunia gave them both a sharp look from the counter as she stirred her cake batter. She mouthed do not test me mostly at Harry, but Dudley wasn't spared from his mother's wrath either. Her stark blue eyes stood out among her curly black hair, pinned out of her way as she cooked tonight's dinner. 

They both gave her apologetic looks.

 "Because you kicked me," Harry whispered nastily. 

“Because your trousers are glowing,” Dudley whispered, with all the subtlety of a fire alarm. His eyes flicked downward.

Harry followed his gaze, and sure enough, his trouser pocket was glowing a soft, unmistakable yellow.

The enchanted mirror.

He shot up from his chair, snatching the last bite of his mince pie as he did, and hurried out of the room.

Behind him, Dudley scraped his chair noisily and tried to follow.

But Petunia, not missing a beat, snapped out of her phone call to bark across the kitchen:

“Just because his mother raised him without proper manners does not mean I raised you the same. You enjoy your pie.”

Her voice cracked like a whip, and Harry heard Dudley retreat under it as he hurried up the stairs and away from the prying eyes from either of them. 

He slipped into the Dursleys' guest room--his and his mother's old room before they moved. The guest room had been transformed over the years from bold greens and oranges and repetitive, geometric patterns to soft pastels and floral print. Harry distinctly remembered the first time entering his childhood bedroom at six and crying after Aunt Petunia had changed it. Looking back, he knew that was ridiculous. Still the wooden blinds his mother put up when when this was their room were better than the hideous roses-on-blue curtains that replaced them. 

But it had a lock and that meant privacy. 

With a click, he felt safe enough to answer the enchanted mirror. He went over to the cherry wood desk tucked in the corner. He took a bite of his mince pie before he tapped the mirror three times in the middle, just like how Draco instructed. 

Speaking of. 

"...what in the bloody hell is taking Potter so long?" 

Draco's snooty voice came through as the mirror came to life, shimmering with magic. 

This was better than a phone!

"Wicked," he said softly, only to himself,  mesmerized as Ron came into view. 

The ginger boy was not looking down at the mirror, but up and he had a nasty expression on his face. From this angle, Harry could see Ron was already wearing his new sweater Molly made for everyone. Harry and Lily already had theirs.  

"He's at home with the holidays with his muggle relatives, Malfoy!" Ron snapped. "He can't just activate magical objects where ever he please!" 

"I'm here, Ron," he said, grinning. It had been only a few days, but he had already missed hearing his friends' voices. 

Ron snapped his head down, his blue eyes widening along with his mouth into a bright smile. "Harry!"

There was a rush, and Draco shoved Ron out of the way. The other boy fell over with a grunt. "Took you long enough, Potter!" 

But Draco wasn't there for long because Cassie and Hermione pushed him out of the way. Hermione lifted the mirror on their end off the ground. 

From Harry's view, it was rather dizzying to watch the world spin. 

"Here, let's suspend it so we can all talk to him," Cassie suggested. She pulled her wand out and muttered a spell under her breath.

Once Hermione was sure the mirror wouldn’t topple and shatter, she let go. She stepped back next to Cassie and waved. 

"Hello, Harry!" they both said in unison. 

"Cassie, you got a sweater from Mrs. Weasley too!" he said, picking up his own mirror and pointing at the glass. 

She glanced down at her oversized sweater, holding it out for Harry to get a better look at the black stitched C on the sunny yellow wool. The color matched her hair scarf and the sunflower earings she wore. 

"I know!" she said, beaming. "I wasn't expecting it!" Her eyes darted to her left. "I wasn't the only one." 

Harry's brows furrowed together, confused. Because Hermione was on her right, and had gotten one too but Harry felt that was more expecting than Cassie since Ron's been friends with her longer.

But he got his answer. 

Draco was violently shoved into view. 

And the Slytherin was in a homemade sweater, dyed a peacock green and a white D stitched on his chest. 

Harry covered his mouth, biting back his laughter at the absurdity of it. Just last year, Draco was telling him to not be friends with Ron because he wasn't the right sort...but now...

Draco's pale cheeks were red now, and he crossed his arms, sticking his nose in the air. "It would be rude to return a very unnecessary gift," he said, clearly embarrassed. 

Ron stepped next to him, giving Harry a flat look. "I told Mum Malfoy's less of a prat in a letter, and she came to the conclusion that we're best mates!" 

Harry couldn't fight his smile. "I'm sure," he said. 

"How was your holidays been, Harry?" Hermione asked, changing the subject. 

Harry glanced at the door, nervous for Petunia to show up at any moment after Dudley ratted him out. "Alright I suppose," he said, looking back at the mirror. "I'm at my aunt's house because my mum is at work. She doesn't particularly like magic."

"Muggles are so judgmental," Draco said, his nose in the air. "And tacky. If Mother could see the decor of your house, she would faint." 

All four of them and rolled their eyes. "Anyway," Cassie said as she reached for the mirror and plucked it from the air. "The potion's done. Do you want to see?" 

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Finally something exciting.

She dragged the mirror to the little potion set up that they had created. It wasn't just a simple cauldron they used for classes. It was shimmering silver cauldron with the Malfoy coat of arms engraved in the front. Behind it was a traveling case made out of leather died silver opened wide, revealing plush indigo velvet. Strapped to the interior were vials of ingredients, cutting and measuring tools, and loose parchments filled with recipes. And a pouch for the potions textbook Hermione stole from Snape's class. 

 When they settled on the Polyjuice plot, Draco wrote to his father that morning asking for an advance potions traveling set to put him ahead of Theodor Nott and Hermione--the only two people who were getting higher marks than him. 

What Lucius Malfoy didn't know was this potion brewing set was to hunt down a demon, not elevate Draco to the number one spot in potions. 

"The potion has to set, but it's all ready for us on the twenty-eighth," Hermione said. "I have my hair, and Cassie got a strand of Pansy's hair." 

"No I just need to get Crabbe's." Hermione turned the mirror to face Ron as he spoke. He looked utterly miserable he by his choices. "Or Goyle's. Then I have to act like one of them. Why couldn't Zabini stay during the holidays? Then I could've been him."

Hermione turned the mirror toward Cassie while Draco talked. The two shared a look Harry didn't quite understand but they didn't seem to like the idea of Ron pretending to be Blaise Zabini. 

"Because Blaise's newest stepfather died, Weasley," Draco explained so matter-of-factly it didn't sound like he was talking about someone's death. "And him and his mother are taking a trip to Japan to grieve." 

"How can they grieve in Japan?" Harry asked in disbelief. 

And the mirror's screen moved to Draco, who was shrugging. "I don't know. Blaise said that's where his stepfather life insurance they had to go if he ever died. The odd thing is, this the fifth stepfather he had in eight years and they always go on trips after they die." 

"You mean after she murders them," Ron said bluntly. 

"You don't truly believe those rumors?" Hermione asked, turning back to Ron. His expression was flat, screaming he did. 

Harry rubbed the side of his head. "Okay, can we have one mystery at a time, please?" 

"Yes, please, can we focus?" Cassie said, sighing. The mirror was back on her. "Do you want to contact you before we initiate our plan, Harry?" 

Harry was shaking his head before she finished. "I won't be home. I'll be having a Christmas dinner at the Riddles. But I will keep the mirror on me just in case." 

The news created more chaos than Harry expected. All four shouted what before they all spoke over each other. The only thing Harry could pull out of the cacophony of questions was from Draco. 

"Christmas? They're don't celebrate Christmas, they're Hindus!" 

Cassie punched his arm for that one, making the blonde boy flinch and complain. 

Hermione suspended the mirror again so they could all look at Harry now. 

"Why are you going over there?" Ron asked, brows furrowed. 

"Because Mum and I were invited," Harry said with a shrug. 

"Good luck with that," Draco said, sneering. "They're all vegetarians. They don't eat meat."

Cassie rolled her eyes so hard they could fall out. "It's their religion, Draco." 

"No, It's Zahira and Ravi's," he corrected, "and their mother, obviously. Mr. Riddle's a vegetarian because he's bizarre. I heard him once tell Father that eating plants would save the environment from Muggle oil companies. He then went on a tangent how we should be bombing something called oil rigs. I don't know. But I bet he will poison your food, Potter." 

"Mr. Riddle is right, global warming is a major concern," Hermione said earnestly before turning to Harry, "but why would you be invited there?"

"Because I think Tom adopted me and my mother against our wills," he explained, and it was true, as disturbing as it was. 

"Tom?" Ron repeated the slip Harry hadn't even noticed. "Why did you call him by his first name?"

"He also calls you by your first name," Draco pointed out, eyes narrowing as if he was figuring something out. "Every time we're in class he calls you Harry." 

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "I know." And he knew it was weird. 

But they had history. 

How could Harry being Mr. Potter when "Mr. Potters" murdered Parselmouths? How could Tom be anyone else when he failed to kill Harry? 

He couldn't explain that. His friends wouldn't understand. 

Hermione saw his discomfort and kept the conversation going. "It's okay, Harry. Before you leave for the Riddles, just send us a message on the twenty-eighth so we can give you any updates." 

"I can do that," he promised. 

Before he could say anything else, he heard the door open downstairs open and Uncle Vernon's voice call out Petunia and Dudley's name. 

"Oh, shoot," he muttered. "I have to go. My uncle is back with my grandmother. Merry Christmas."

There was chorus of Merry Christmas' and good-byes back. Hermione then aimed her wand and the mirror returned to it's original surface.

He stared at his own reflection for a moment. He wondered what the Riddle Christmas dinner was going to be like. 

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. "Stop hiding and come down here!" 

Sighing, Harry stood and pocketed the mirror and shoved the rest of the mince pie in his mouth. He chewed his food as he hurried out the door.

He had finished his food by the time he reached the stairs, frowning at the sight of his uncle waiting for him impatiently.

"You better have not made a mess up there, boy," Vernon hissed in a low whisper when Harry reached the bottom steps.

"I didn't," he bit out, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. That's all he needed. An ticked off Vernon on his case.

"Or any of that freakish business," he added, glaring down at Harry. "You know our rules on that nonsense."

"I can't do magic outside of school, you know that," Harry snarked back, side stepping out of his way. "I just wanted a moment to myself in my old room."

Vernon's face flushed red. He jabbed his finger against Harry's chest. "Do not get smart with me, boy. If I find out you're doing that magic nonsense in here, you'll regret it."

Harry had a biting retort on his tongue, but the front door unlocked and Vernon pulled back getting in Harry's space.

The door opened, and Lily paused at the sight that greeted her. Harry felt himself relax at seeing his mother in her oversized green coat. She had just finished her half shift at The Copper Kettle, the pub she worked at. Her hair was still pulled back in a bun and her bangs were pinned back, and given she was still in her black flats and wool tights, Harry assumed she hadn't gone home to change out of her apron and work uniform on underneath.

"What's going on?" she asked sharply, giving Vernon a tired glare. 

"Nothing, Lils," Vernon said, tugging his cardigan down. "Close the door why don't you." 

Lily closed the door shut, her eyes never leaving Vernon. "I don't believe you, but it's Christmas so I will pretend you're a good man for Petunia's sake," she said, unzipping her coat. 

Flustered, Vernon sided stepped around Harry and said nothing else as he hurried to the living room and out of Lily's eyesight. "Tuney, your bloody sister is here."

Harry didn't even get a chance to greet his own mother before Aunt Petunia and Grandmother came out of the kitchen. Just a small smile of gratitude while she pulled him in for a one arm hug. 

"Lily! Harry!" Ruth cried, rushing over to them both of them. She hugged Lily first. 

"Hi, Mum," Lily said, tired but happy.

Petunia took after Ruth more than Lily did. Ruth's black hair was faded to a dark gray, almost a dusty brown. But it was still curly and wild. Petunia always blamed James for Harry's untamable hair, but really there was no difference between his curly locks and his grandmother and aunt's.

Ruth pulled back from Lily and frowned. "Oh, Lily dear, you've got stain on your apron." she stood back, resting a hand on her cheek while shaking her head. "When are you going to get a real career? Your teachers said you're one of your brightest student in your year. You had so much potential, and you're wasting it at the pub."

Ruth said it so much sincerity and love it hurt worse if she had been cruel like Petunia. Harry watched as his mother deflated before his eyes; her shoulders slumped and her head bowed just slightly. He wanted to stand up for his mum because he knew she liked her job at the pub--but this was his grandmother. What could he say? He would be told to stay out of it.

"Maybe," Petunia's sharp voice cut through the air. She stood at the door frame between the living room and dining room, arms crossed over her chest and glaring. "If you didn't let the freaks take her to that school, Lily would have a proper degree by now"

Lily stepped around Ruth and Harry, pointing a finger at Petunia and eyes blazing. "Do not talk that way about magicals around my son! He doesn't need to hear it. Not from the likes of you.  she said coldly. 

"Now, now," Ruth said, tone placating and sweet. Her eyes darted over to Harry just before stepping in between the two sisters. "None of that in front of the boys. It's Christmas! Lily, you know your sister is just showing how she cares in her own way. No need to be fussy, Lily."

Harry shuffled in his spot, his nerves fraying at the seems. He wished he had stayed at Hogwarts with his friends over being here for another tense Christmas. 

Lily simply nodded, her expression tensed. "Of course, Mum," she said, her voice tight as she did her best to keep her temper in check. She could never beat the fiery red-head allegations. Even now, her cheeks were turning red from embarrassment and anger. 

"Let's go sit for tea and catch up," Ruth added, before hugging Lily and then Harry. "I have so much to share from up Cokeworth!"

"Just give me a moment, Mum, I hadn't even say hello to my son yet," she struggled to not bite the words out. 

"Of course, of course," Ruth said dismissively before turning around and hurrying in the kitchen. 

Mother and son were left in silence for a few seconds. Neither sure what to say. So Lily took off her coat wordlessly, and kicked off her shoes, uncaring they hit the wall and scoffed at the fresh coat of powder blue paint Petunia put in in July. 

Lily took off her apron as well, but not before fishing through her pocket. She pulled out a letter with a wax seal that had already been broken. 

"Hey," she said with a smile. "I hope staying here wasn't too much trouble? Were your aunt and cousin alight?" 

"It could've been worse," he said with a shrug, returning the smile, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "What's that?" 

His fear was the letter was from the Ministry. He had read the first one, the one sent by that mean lady Umbridge. He didn't want his mum to get anymore trouble because he was born with something he had no control over. They were already going to some seminar the day after Riddle's Christmas dinner before of him.  

"I got a letter from an old friend of your father's," Lily said, easing his worries. She moved to sit on the staircase and pulled the letter out. "His name is Remus Lupin," she looked up at Harry, her smile falling into a sad one. "You met him a few times when you're baby, and a toddler. I think the last time we saw him you were three. We just...fell out of touch. He struggled with the fact you look so much like James."

Harry bristled. He knew he looked like James but really, he couldn't help by think he looked more like his aunt than his father. Not that he didn't want to look like Aunt Petunia! But when he stared in the mirror, he saw her pointed chin and sharp eyes than he saw James's square jaw. He didn't even had his father's dimples! It just felt like people wanted Harry to be James and refused to see the parts that weren't. 

"Why is he writing now?" he asked, a little annoyed now. Why should he care about a friend of his father that abandoned his mum when she needed support? He already didn't like this Remus Lupin. 

"He wants to meet with us for lunch on the 29th," she explained. "Since the seminar is at 2:30 pm, I figured we could meet with him at Starlit Den in Diagon Alley."

Harry didn't want to go, but the look on his mother's face said he had to. "What did he write?"

"He apologized for not keeping in touch," she said softly, scanning the letter. "He talked about some of our old friends from school, like Mary Macdonald!" Her voice perked up, sounding nostalgic and wistful. Like she was happy to read about people that left them alone after the war. Harry didn't get it. "She got married to a herbologist named Nigel Barrows, she's a pianist and music tutor--

"She tutors Ravi!" Harry interrupted, a bit excited. "He calls her Madam Barrows. So you knew her?" 

"We shared a dorm for seven years," Lily said softly. "Mary was and I weren't close as we should've been. She didn't join The Order like I did."

 Harry tilted his head to the side with a frown. "The Order?" 

Lily folded up the letter as she answered. "The Order of the Phoenix. It's a group Albus Dumbledore created during the war to fight against the Death Eaters," she explained, sighing just a little. "Your father and I joined right after school."

Harry stared down at his mum, trying to imagine her dueling against cloaked figures. He couldn't see it. "Mum, you know how stupid and dangerous that sounds? You and dad were eighteen. What would you do against someone like Mr. Riddle?"

"Well," she said, flustered. "Apparently very little all things considering. We thought we're being brave." but it was clear she thought it had been dangerous too in hindsight. 

"In our last lecture before winter break Mr. Riddle said there's a thin line between bravery and stupidity," he noted, recalling how Tom was looking directly at all the Gryffindors. He then took a point each from all of them because "Gryffindors make me sick" and then cackled with the Slytherin students in a blatant show of favoritism that made everyone appreciate Snape more. 

"Harry," Lily said with all the patience in the world, "don't quote Voldemort to my face, please."

"Sorry, it's just hard," he said, sighing. "He says these things and they get stuck in my head. I'm still not over our first lesson and that was weeks ago. He's very convincing."

"He's a propagandist and deranged," she insisted, "and you need to question everything he says. Even when he's right, and sometimes he is, but there's always an alternative motive. Don't follow what he says at face value." She grabbed her his hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Do you understand me, Harry? Just because Tom Riddle says something that seems reasonable, you need to question it."

"He says the same thing about the Ministry and they're the ones fining us for me speaking my natural language," he argued, because he felt he had to and he didn't know why. 

"I get that, and you should, but don't trade in the Ministry or Dumbledore's views for Tom's, okay?" she pleaded. 

Harry searched her green eyes and they're deadly serious. He wanted to point out that he wasn't, he didn't trust Tom. It's just that Tom said a lot of things Harry agreed with. But for the sake of his mother, he nodded sharply. 

"Okay," she nodded too, relaxing and letting go of his hand. "Let's get some tea...and coffee. We're going to have a long night ahead with Midnight Mass." She stood and walked over to where her coat hung on the rack to shove the letter in a pocket. 

Harry silently groaned. He hated Midnight Mass, but he would go for his mum and Grandmother.

Christmas Day was tense, but always been tense since Grandpa Evans died four years ago. 

It had been a gradual death, according to Mum. But to an eight-year-old Harry, it was a sudden nightmare. One day, Paul Evans was healthy and happy, chasing him and Dudley around the Ruth's garden and the next Paul had been hooked up to tubes and oxygen tanks. Lung cancer, but neither boy really didn't understand except Grandpa Evans was sick and he was going to Heaven soon. 

And while their family hadn't been pleasant, there always been issues, Harry learned very quickly Grandpa Evans kept everything together. He made sure Grandma didn't wallow in their house in Cokeworth. He kept Petunia in check. And he always made sure Lily hadn't failed. He was the stable force in their lives, an outsider to whatever plagued the Evans' women. 

The morning of Christmas was centered on opening presents and Ruth telling the same stories she always had. It was like she was stuck, but had more to say but couldn't. Harry wondered when he should bring up Wool's like when Tom had suggested, but held is tongue. 

If he brought up Tom Riddle, he would bring up Hogwarts, and that was a big no in Petunia's house. 

They weren't all gathered around the Christmas tree like a holiday card, despite the tree being picturesque. The tree was freshly cut, Vernon bragged about the deal he got on it. The poinsettias were grown in Petunia's garden that miraculously stayed alive all year around. Harry, now that hew knew magic existed, assumed Lily's doing. Why? He didn't know why his mother would give his aunt with such a gift of flowers that bloomed forever. They only wilted or even died when she and Petunia were having one of their arguments. 

No, instead, they sat distant from one another in little pockets.  Harry and Lily sat on the couch while Vernon sat in his chair. Ruth and Petunia were on the floor with Dudley. He was on his nineth present, and there were twenty more to go. If Grandpa Paul was here, he would've stopped them to give Harry his turn. 

At this point, Harry wasn't jealous or upset. He was embarrassed for his cousin, and annoyed by his grandma and aunt. They're going to be teenagers in less than eight months, and Dudley was still acting like a little kid. And it was Petunia's fault. 

He spared a glance at his mother, and the two shared a look of contempt for his aunt, both understanding what was going on here. 

It actually bothered Harry to see his cousin be ruined by Petunia and Vernon. When his mum and Harry lived with his aunt and uncle, and Harry had to stay here for hours while his mum had to work, he just noticed the nastiness thrown at him. But this was just as insidious. They weren't letting Dudley grow up. And it's just been worse without Grandpa. 

Hogwarts gave Harry the distance he needed to see what was in front of him.

When it was Harry's turn to open his, there wasn't much focus on him until he opened the broom cleaning kit. He didn't even get a chance to thank Lily.

"Of course," Petunia sneered, hovering over the pile of ribbons and wrapping paper. "Just like his father," she said with a sneer, much like Snape would have. 

"God, can you be pleasant for five fucking minutes!" Lily snapped, eyes burning. "Can't you be fucking happy? Ever? Why must you ruin everything?"

And the outburst broke the damn and the tension couldn't be ignored. Petunia's nostrils flared. Vernon's beady eyes darted around the room, his fingers digging into the armrest. Harry just stared at his present, wishing he was anywhere else.

"Lily," Ruth said softly, pleading, "Please, don't speak like that to your sister. That crude language has no business on Christmas." 

Lily didn't apologize, and neither did Petunia. The two sisters stared at each other, wearing matching glares on their faces. It was oldest who broke first. 

"I'm going to get lunch started," Petunia said, cold as she turned around and stomped into the kitchen. Not a moment later, Ruth followed after her. 

Vernon fumbled for the remote and turned the telly on in the middle of Good Morning with Anne and Nick. Their pleasant voices filled the living room. It was a cozy, but false bandage Harry couldn't stomach anymore. He was angry that he couldn't get that family. Resentful that they couldn't be a normal, happy family. 

But there was something Petunia said...

How would she know that Dad had played quidditch? 

He glanced at his mum, and wanted to ask but stopped. She was struggling to not cry, her eyes were red and blotchy and she was breathing hard, trying to keep herself in check. 

"Thanks Mum," he said, forcing a smile, "I really needed a new kit." 

She glanced at him, not even bothering to look happy. "I know. You're dad went through a kit in three months too," she murmured before turning to the tv, staring blankly at the screen. 

 

 

Hours later, Harry poked his head around the corner into the living room as to make sure no one paid him any mind. 

Mum and Grandma were deep in conversation as the telly blasted with Dudley's video game as Dudley desperately tried explaining the controllers to Uncle Vernon. 

Good. 

He walked the hall to the dining room. The whole house smelled of glazed roast, Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes, and sprouts and turnips.  The aroma of Christmas dinner made Harry's mouth water. 

But he wasn't here to steal gingerbread or a loose biscuit. No, he was looking for the person responsible for the 

Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen, stirring over a pot on the stove--he really hope it wasn't her Cranberry sauce. 

He always found it odd how his aunt would cook in her silk blouses, narrow skirts, and pink pearls where as Lily would cook and clean in joggers and stained, holey shirts. It was like they weren't even raised in the same house by the same people. 

She didn't even look up from her pot when she asked coldly, "what do you want, boy?" 

He approached the kitchen counter, and leaned against it. He glanced at the taunting biscuits shaped like Christmas trees with chalky icing. 

"May I ask you a question, Aunt Petunia?" he said, glancing again at one of the biscuits. 

She finally looked at him, shooting him one of her nastier glares. "Oh, just have one. But do not spoil your dinner!" she said harshly. He happily took the one with the most sprinkles before Dudley could. "That better not be the question you wanted to ask me. Wasting my time while I'm preparing a holiday feast with no help."

They both knew Petunia received no help because if Lily tried, an argument would break out and their mother would cry about it, ruining Christmas. Again. 

"No, it's not," Harry said in between nibbles of his biscuit. "Mum said something to me the other day about my Dad, about how he made you crossed enough. The way she talked about him...sounded like he cut her off from a lot of people." 

She didn't respond right away. She continued to stirred her pot--and now he definitely smelt the cranberries now. He hated how cranberries made his mouth tingly and numb. But he had to eat it to make her happy. 

She turned off the stove with a click and she looked over her shoulder, staring him down as if he was a complicated puzzle. 

And yet she still didn't answer. 

Petunia grabbed Great-Grandma Wright's Porcelain bowl that survived a ship wreck and the Blitzkrieg, but got its cracks from when she threw it Lily in a screaming match. 

She scraped her cranberry sauce into the bowl aggressively, as it offended her as much as it offended him until it was empty. 

She tossed the pot back on the stove, and wiped her hands on her apron as she stormed over to the counter. On instinct, Harry leaned back. 

Petunia had slapped him once, when he was five. And that fear toward his aunt was ingrained into him. But she wouldn't hit him again, not with Lily in the living room. 

Lily had gave her sister a black eye. That's when bowl had hit the wall, and Lily and Harry moved out of Number 4 Privet Drive to across the street. Because Lily couldn't go too far from her older sister. 

Petunia didn't respond to his flinching and rested her hands on the counter, hunched over. "You want to learn about your father?"

"That's why I asked," he said, a bit too sarcastically. 

Her eyes flashed with a silent rage, and raised a skinny finger. "Watch it," she hissed out. "Do not get smart with me, boy. Not with a face that looks like yours." 

He didn't watch his tone and matched her anger. "I'm not my father," he snapped in a hushed tone. "I have to tell Professor Snape so many times--

"Snape?" she spat the name out like bile rising from her stomach. "As in Severus Snape?" 

"He's my teacher," he explained with a shrug. 

She made a face, one of almost sympathy. Harry wondered if feeling terrible for someone else would make his aunt break out into hives. 

"Oh, dear Lord, that must be horrid for you. He was quite the awful boy. Foul, knew more curse words than any adult." She shook her head. "Always smelt of alcohol because of his drunkard step-father. Always dirty, and rather rude," Harry failed to see how that was Snape's fault. Even being rude to Petunia was more about her than about Snape.  "I was delighted when your mother stopped being his friend. I thought she finally had some sense," she paused, her sneer deepening, "until she brought your father around." 

"What did he do to put you in a mood?" he asked, glad to leave Snape back at Hogwarts. He didn't care how Petunia viewed Snape, he wanted how she felt about James. 

She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her face was twisted into something ugly and nasty.

"She invited that boy to mine and your uncle's engagement dinner," she bit out. It was as if she never had left that dinner, years ago, but both he and Dudley had even been born. "Lily promised that James could blend in with us muggles. He was one of the good Purebloods whatever that means. He had that posh twat look about him, he was proper and polished, and he knew he was better than us. I could tell you that, and everyone knew as soon as he entered the room." 

It was like Draco acted, Harry thought, but he kept silent and allowed his aunt to rant. 

"Never worked a day in his life. And judged the restaurant Da and Mum, and Vernon's parents could afford," she said, seething now. "He said--he actually said this in front of us all--if they had asked, he could've bought a better place in London. He knew people."

She pulled away from the counter and walked to the oven, pulling down the door to check on the roast. She glanced at the counter for the meat thermometer. She spotted it on the far edge, away from arms' reach.

Harry hurried over and grabbed the thermometer and handed it to her. 

"Thank you," she said automatically and jabbed it in the roast. She pulled it out and sat it on the table. 

She didn’t close the door. Just stood straighter, yanked her oven mitts on, and shoved Harry back with one elbow. It wasn’t cruel. It felt like how Aunt Petunia moved Dudley away from hot things when he was little—without thinking, like she forgot for a moment who he was.

"Get the potatoes out of the fridge, they need to be reheated," she ordered. 

He did as he was told. 

Once she got them back in the oven so they crisped up as the roast cooled, she continued on the story. 

"Where was I?" she asked. 

"My dad was a total prat," Harry said. "Which I've figured out already. Professor Snape tells me every chance he gets." 

"And I now you having me agree with Severus," she said with a disgusted sigh, but it lost the venom she had a moment ago. "You know what else your father did? He bragged about his racing broom. In front of us muggles." 

Harry winced, cringing from the embarrassment. He knew magicals could be clueless about muggles, but surely his father had to know...

"Vernon tried to talk to James," she said, "tried to play nice, asking about what car he drove, and then James mentioned his broom. Vernon assumed he was homeless, and James declared his was a wizard and had gold. In front of us, normal people. Do you understand it? He just flaunted his magic and weirdness in front of everyone. 

Harry was instantly horrified. Not by Petunia's nasty words--he was used to them. What in bloody hell had been going through his father's head? 

"He ruined our dinner, and I had to tell Vernon afterwards about magic," she said with shake of her head. "And I refused to talk to your mother afterwards because everything would've been fine if she hadn't insisted on bringing that boy." 

She looked away, staring out the kitchen window, to the tree in the backyard framed by the sunsetting. 

"I ignored all her letters after that, but then...then there had been one letter," she said, her tone shifting to nostalgic anger to a true quiet fury. "Your mother written to me she, you, and James had to go into hiding. A monster wizard, a Moldy--something--

"Lord Voldemort," Harry corrected. 

"Whatever," she said with a huff, "a ridiculous name. He was after your family, She never explained why, even to this day, just he wanted to kill all of you." 

Oh, Harry knew why, but having to explain Voldemort was just a man who had been possessed and mentally breakdown as his people were being slaughtered wasn't a Christmas discussion. 

"What does this have to do with my father?" he pressed, wanted her to focus. 

She glanced at him, her stare wasn't glare but it wasn't soft either. 

"I got this letter about five months she given birth to you," she explained coldly. "It was written in a panic, very messy handwriting and covered in tear stains. Your father had snuck out of their hiding place in the middle of the night to Muggle bait with one of his friends and had left her alone for days. Alone with you, a baby. While a murderer was after her and you. She wanted out."

Harry's mouth fell open. His father Muggle baited? He wasn’t even sure what that meant exactly, but it sounded awful. It sounded like something Tom would do for fun. But Tom was Voldemort. He was a monster who hated Muggles—his cruelty was horrifying, but at least it made a twisted kind of sense.

James Potter, though? He was a Pureblood, a war hero, the man who died to protect his family. The man Harry was told to look up to.

He shouldn't be associating his father with things Voldemort would do.

And yet... this was worse.

Tom had been raised in a Muggle orphanage. His hate was ugly and unforgivable—but Harry could understand where it came from.

James?
James had everything. A good family. Magic. Privilege.

How was he any different from Lucius Malfoy sneering at Hermione’s parents? Or mocking Arthur Weasley for daring to talk to Muggles?

"She wanted out," Petunia repeated, missing Harry's shock...or she didn't care. "She wanted out, and wrote back asking if she wanted to stay with me. You included. I didn't care, I just wanted my sister away with that lunatic. But then the letter bounced back and I knew something was wrong."

She shook her head, staring anywhere but Harry. "I told Vernon I was driving to Godric's Hollow that day and bringing you both here. And I did in the snow, leaving my own infant." 

"And there was nothing," she said softly, her voice distant. "I get there and the place where the house should be is vacant. I called the police on a payphone. I bang on the neighbor doors, and they tell me there's no Lily or Harry, but they had met that James fellow. He had no wife, no son. And the police didn't take my missing person's report seriously." 

She inhaled sharply, and used the end of her apron to dabbed at her eyes. "I didn't get any letter after that. Nothing. I wrote to that-that bastard at your freak school, Albus. I explained what James had been doing, sneaking out and leaving Lily alone. He told me Lily was safe and I couldn't see her for my own safety. And he would deal with James. And then he refused to write back." 

She turned back around the oven when it dinged, and as she pulled the potatoes out, she continued. And Harry was wishing she didn't now, but he was the one who asked. 

"Then...after Halloween, I get a knock on the door," and she didn't sound like Aunt Petunia anymore, "and there was your mother and that Albus Dumbldore next to her, with you asleep in his arms. And find out the madman Lily had been hiding from had chosen to kill just James and left you two alone."

She slammed the oven door closed once they're out and aggressively pulled off her oven mitts off and tossed them on the counter. 

"If you ask me, that Voldemort fellow saved you and your mother from a lifetime of abuse by just killing James," she said cruelly. "I don't care what your mother says, but what Voldemort did was the best thing for her." 

Harry looked away from his aunt, uncomfortable, "I'm sure he would agree." 

She finally glanced at him—tired, hollow, but something vulnerable trying to surface. "I lost my sister several times in my life," she said, "I never hated her for having magic. I hated that she used it as a reason to leave me behind time and time again, and even when she chose to raise you normal, it was still there beneath the surface."

Petunia wiped her eyes again with the edge of her apron, cleared her throat, and turned to the pantry like nothing had just happened.

“Now then,” she said briskly, her voice snapping back into something firmer. “Set the table.”

Harry blinked at her.

“What?”

“The dinner table, boy. Plates. Forks. Napkins. Surely they taught you something useful at that school of yours.”

He hesitated, then nodded, silently walking to the drawer to retrieve the silverware.

Behind him, she muttered, “Can’t have the roast getting cold just because everyone’s feeling sorry for themselves.” 

He didn’t answer. His hands were busy arranging forks, but his mind was elsewhere, haunted by righteous men and the Potter Legacy. It was simpler when James Potter was the Quidditch captain and Head Boy everyone adored.

The history of James hung over Harry's head all throughout dinner. He couldn't shake the Petunia's words from his mind. What he hated most is that he brought on himself for asking. 

Dinner was eaten in a quiet. Oh there was talking. Uncle Vernon told Ruth all the going ons in his office, and Petunia gossiped about the neighbors. And Dudley bragged about his accomplishments, but Harry and Lily were stifled into silence. Again. It wasn't always like this. 

Harry wondered if he had been at home last year for winter break if would've been the same. Its because Harry wasn't attending a normal school anymore, but Hogwarts. He wondered if things would've been different if Grandpa Evans was still alive, but Grandpa had gone along with Lily in keeping magic from him too...

He just wanted Christmas to be over. 

"Harry," Ruth said softly, pulling his attention away from his plate of food. 

He looked up at her, brows raised. 

"You haven't said anything all dinner."  she pointed out, and Harry could've pointed out he had said little all day, but didn't. "How's school been, dearie?" 

Petunia's fork clanked against her plate, her blue eyes scorching. "Mother, we don't talk about that school in this house." 

"Oh, Petunia, your sister went there and now your nephew goes there," she said dismissive of Petunia's discomfort. 

Harry looked around the table and caught a stern glare from Vernon. He could just hear 'no funny business' without the man saying anything. 

He wasn't sure how much he was supposed to say about his school in front of his Muggle family, but everyone knew about Hogwarts, even Dudley. He will give enough details to satisfy Grandma, but not anger Uncle Vernon. 

"Oh, it's been an exciting semester," he said, and that felt like a loaded understatement. "One of my teachers disappeared my bones in my arm." 

He raised his arm to show off which one.  

He got mixed reactions. 

Dudley, in between bites of roasted potatoes, he exclaimed, "wicked!" 

"What!" Petunia said, in a shrill, vicious tone. She turned to Lily, glaring. "Did you sue this teacher?" 

"I know a good lawyer," Vernon added, pointing a portly finger at Lily. 

"No, I didn't sue him," Lily tried to explain, but Petunia cut her off. 

"And why not?" she demanded, as if she just hadn't told Ruth she didn't want to hear about Hogwarts. "He used his freakish magic to curse your only son. If a teacher broke Dudders arms, I would sue him, the Headmaster, the school, and even the Prime Minister! No one would be off limits." 

"You're sister is right," Ruth chimed in, her brows knitted into a deep frown. "Goodness, I had no idea the school could be dangerous. But never understood that world." her eyes grew distant, as if she wasn't at the table anymore. Not really. 

Lily waved them off. "He was promptly fired, and then publicly humiliated a few weeks later," she said, forcing herself in the discussion before Petunia took over and used it to insult her skills as mother. 

Harry suddenly regretted bringing up his arm. Maybe he should've mentioned he made new friends instead?

"How did your bones grow back?" Dudley asked, poking his arm with his fork. 

He swatted at his cousin to get him to stop. 

"Stop it." he snapped when Dudley continued. "The bloke who replaced my old professor regrew them. Sort of. It's complicated. Mr. Riddle used a spell that's not taught in school." Mostly because it was illegal and involved necromancy, but the less he explained the better. Petunia might faint!

Ruth shifted in her seat, sitting straighter. She put her fork and knife down on her plate. 

"Riddle?" she asked. Her green eyes flickered with something sharp. "As in Tom Riddle? He's your teacher?" 

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. Why would his grandmother have this reaction to Tom's name?

What did Tom do to his grandmother?

"Isn't that awful boy's real father?" Petunia asked, sneering at a memory. 

"Awful boy?" Vernon questioned, giving Petunia a funny look. 

"She means Severus Snape," Lily sighed, explaining. "And he wasn't an awful boy. He used to be my friend, Petunia." 

Petunia folded her arms over her chest, glaring now at Lily. "You always defended awful men. He called you that nasty word. Oh what was it?" and then she snapped her fingers. "He called you a mudblood! He called you that, and you're defending him?" 

Harry snapped his head toward his mother, a surge of anger and disgust filled his stomach. "Snape called you that?"

"He was sixteen and radicalized by his very radical father," Lily explained, her tone cutting. It was clear she didn't want Harry want to judge Snape. 

Harry found it hard. It all made sense now. The way Snape responded to Draco calling Hermione a mudblood made sense now. He regretted it, clearly, but he still called Lily a slur. 

"What do you mean Tom's a radical?" Ruth asked, a bit heartbroken. 

Lily give her mother with a curious expression. "He's an awful man...why do you care? You met Tom once."

"I met him more than once," she muttered, staring at her glass of wine before she downed it in one gulp. 

Wordlessly, she reached for the bottle in the middle of the table and poured more. Her eyes were distant, and expression soured. She waited until the glass was full before downing half of that one too. Harry and Dudley exchanged uncomfortable glances with each other. 

They only seen Grandmother like this at Grandpa's funeral. But the person she was mourning was very much alive. 

If Tom hurt his grandmother, Harry wouldn't forgive him. He accepted Tom killing Charlus and James, but his grandmother was off limits!

Lily watched her, her frown fraught with worry and she looked at Petunia just as Ruth finished her second glass of wine. 

When she reached for the bottle again, Vernon snatched the bottle from her. 

"Ruth, what's the matter with you old girl?" he asked, showing a rare moment of concern for someone other than his wife or son. 

Ruth stared at the spot where the bottle used to be. It was like the name Riddle opened an wound, and left her bleeding out.

 "I can't explain." She found her voice, but it was much smaller now. "He cursed me into silence." 

Lily reaction was visceral. Her magic thrummed through the house, causing the lights to flicker. "What do you mean he cursed you?" she asked in barely a growl. 

"I thought there were laws about your kind using magic on us?" Fear crept in Petunia's voice, despite it laced with fear. 

"Tom Riddle doesn't give a damn about laws." Lily said, snapping a bit too harshly. "And he's not my kind. I don't claim him." She turned to her mother, gripping her shoulder. "Mum, what's this curse he put on you. I can break the curse if you just tell me what it is." 

Ruth struggled to form words, either from the curse or because what Tom had done left scars deeper than any curse could. She looked to be in utter, physical pain 

"I can't explain it," she repeated, her words wavering. She was trying to not cry. "He said the only way I could speak is if someone said a trigger word." She ran her hands together, taking rapid short breaths through her lips. The curse was working over time, preventing her from speaking.  "It was something... something from when we were children. You see, we grew up together, very briefly..." 

Her voice hitched, the curse clamping down on her again.

Grew up together? 

Lily tapped the table, her eyes sparking like she was remembering something long forgotten. "Tom's from the same orphanage you were from, right Mum?" 

Ruth nodded vigorously, her lips pressed thin.  

"And you two were in a picture with two older women, and looked like one of them," Lily said, more to herself than anyone else at the table. "She was really just girl..."

Harry absorbed the missing pieces. He knew his grandmother was an orphan, that his and Dudley's great-grandparents had adopted Ruth when she was a toddler. But Tom? The Rita Skeeter article claimed Dumbledore tried adopting Tom. If he was an orphan, and came from the same orphanage, that would make sense. 

"Why don't you ask Ruth? Ask her about Wool's."

The connection clicked into place with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't just a random name. It was St. Woolston’s Home for Children. It clicked into place like the flash of Colin's camera when the poor first year would follow him around. He starkly remembered now when he was boy, when he and Dudley visited Grandpa and Grandma's. They were five or six, and shuffling through drawers, and found faded, yellow paperwork. Harry saw the words, Home for Children and thought that meant they could draw on the back. Grandma caught them in the act...and hung their drawings up instead of punishing them. 

Ask her about Wool's.

"Is it St. Woolston's?" Harry asked, carefully, nervous he got it wrong. "He told me to ask you about Wool's." 

Nothing happened after St. Woolston's, but after Wool's?  A soft shimmery noise sprinkled over the dining room table. A hushed breath followed. 

And Ruth's eyes lit up. The shift was instantons. Relief overcame her like she found a balm for her stiff joints. 

"Oh! Harry!" She scrambled out of her seat, almost stumbling out of her chair. She hurried around Lily and hugged him, kissing his forehead, right over the lightening bolt scar. 

She pulled back, tears streaming down her face from happiness that the curse had been lifted. 

"Grandma?" Dudley said, a bit more quiet than his usual tone. 

"Mother, you're frightening us," Petunia said, looking around the table. The way she gripped the table said she was speaking more for herself than everyone else in the room. 

Lily stood and gently directed Ruth to sit down. When her mother did, Lily hovered over her. 

“Mum,” she whispered. “What happened? What did he do?”

Ruth took a shaky breath, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

“Tom and I—we discovered something years ago. I had started looking into my birth family after I met him once, because in the back of my mind, I knew. You all remember I was adopted... but I didn’t know the whole story.”

Harry leaned in, his body trembling. 

“My birth mother—Ginevra. She was a Weasley," she said it, lookin between Lily and Harry, knowing they understand that name meant.

A Weasley? Harry was related to Ron? He wasn't upset about being related to his best friend, but it was a lot to take in over Christmas roast!

His grandmother didn't care, because she kept talking. "And my birth father was Pollux Black. I didn't get to meet either of them, but Tom had known them." 

Lily covered her mouth with a shaky hand, gasping. "Oh my God. You look--you and Tuney both!" She barely got the words out before she sat down on her chair. 

"Black, as in Bellatrix Black, as in Cassie's mum?" Harry asked, trying to catch up. He looked to his mother looking for answered. 

She had none. Lily sat back down, slowly as if too stunned to move. She opened her mouth, at a lost for words that couldn't come out. 

"Tom had said both are very big families in the magical community," Ruth continued, earnest. "Now, I don't know why, but my parents gave me up when I had been an infant. Left me with someone named Merope Gaunt. She worked at St. Woolston’s Home for Children. I stayed there for a while.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

Gaunt. That name again.

“Wait,” he said. “Isn’t—wasn’t that Tom’s mother’s name?”

Lily froze.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

“Who is this Gaunt woman?” Petunia asked, forcing the words out through a clenched jaw.

Ruth turned to her, reached across the table, and took her hand—softly, with tears in her eyes.

“She wasn’t my mother, no. But she raised me for a while in Wool's, certainly that nasty Mrs. Cole had done nothing for the rest of us in the orphanage," she spoke in a near whisper. "She was his mother. Tom Riddle''s. Had to pretend she wasn't so they could have room and board, you see. And she told us, and I only remembered as adults, that we're brother and sister. And we were, until I was adopted." she took a moment before adding, "Merope was my mother's niece. There's more, but Tom wouldn't explain everything to me. He found out more about our family through another relative. I just know my maternal grandmother was also a Gaunt."

Harry stared down at his plate, suddenly ashamed of the potatoes on it. He couldn’t look at anyone—not his mum, not his grandmother. His heart was pounding loudly, so loudly it hurt his ears and chest. 

Through Grandma, Harry was now related to Ron and all the Weasleys, Draco and Cassie, and the Riddles. His family had expanded, yet felt increasingly alone in the heap of secrets put on him--

CHRASH!

Everyone at the table jumped. Petunia threw plate full of food to the ground, it shattering into millions of pieces and bits of food. She stood so quickly her chair banged against the floor. 

"I AM NOT A FREAK!" She shrieked on the top of her lungs.

Lily stood just as quickly, matching her sister's fury with her own. 

"Not everything is about you, Petunia!" she screamed, her face turning red and blotchy. 

Petunia let out a shrill yell that sounded like a dying cat before she stormed out of the living room. Lily tore after her, grabbing her arm and stopping her in the living room.

SMACK!

Harry gasped and sprung out of his chair, Ruth following right after him. Both abandoning Vernon and Dudley, but only for a moment. 

In front of the Christmas tree, Petunia and Lily stood still. Petunia's hand raised, and Lily clutching her face with her own hand. Ruth's hands were clasped in a silent prayer. The once fresh green leaves on the Christmas tree browned and the vibrate red poinsettias wilted. 

And Vernon, Dudley, and Harry were left in the doorframe with their breaths stuck in their throats. Vernon had married a woman he thought was normal just like himself. And Dudley just learned he was a squib without knowing there was a word for him. 

And the foundation of Harry's very understanding of his family had just crumbled under his feet. 

And there was no one to blame. Not really. 

Even Tom's curse didn't cause this web, it just created the silence. 

The two sisters just stared at each other for a long, drawn moment, neither moving, neither speaking. 

"Am I a freak?" Dudley asked, breaking through with a quiet voice. 

Harry bristled. He was tired of his mum and him being called a freak. He was ready to retort, to tell him to shut up, but then...

"Is this why I can speak to snakes?" his cousin asked, looking up at their grandmother. 

The question hung in the air, and it was heavier the slap ever could be. 

Vernon stared down at his son with a horror that could trigger a heart attack. Ruth didn't have the answer, too shocked by the question. Lily was still reeling from the first smack to process what she heard. 

"You're a Parselmouth?" Harry asked quietly, but he didn't ask it in English. 

Dudley's blue eyes grew impossibly wide. "I knew it!" he said, both frightened and excited. "You could speak to snakes! I heard you talk to them when we visited the zoo! You freed that Boa constrictor last year and trapped me in the cage!" 

Harry heard the hiss in Dudley's voice. Was it possible for squibs to know Parseltongue? 

Petunia began to laugh, cackling like mad. A mix of hysterical laughter and sobbing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. 

"God, you're just like Bellatrix Lestrange," Lily muttered under breath, taking a step back from her own sister as if she was strange ghost. "All those years, being around Sirius and Regulus, and fighting Bellatrix, you're just like them! You inherited the Black Madness." 

But Petunia didn't care, and she kept laughing, collapsing in Vernon's chair. Her pinned back curls fell into her face, making her seem more wild than Harry ever seen her before. 

"Tuney?" Vernon spoke, desperate to hide the tremor in his voice. "You're scaring the boy." 

Petunia calmed herself long enough to stand back up, but she still held laughter on the lines of her face. She didn't look at Vernon or Dudley, but kept a glare fixated on her sister. 

"You don't get it, don't it," she said, voice hollow. "Even after you and Severus read my letter to Albus Dumbledore. I asked if I could attend that school, and he said no. But do you know why I asked? Did you ever stopped to wonder why I would want to go to Hogwarts?"

She held out her hand. There was a shimmer of glitter and petunias came tumbling out of thin air, falling in a cascade of reds and yellows. They fell onto the floor where they decayed and rotted within seconds. 

"He said I didn't have enough magic, that I'm a squib," she spot out. 

"So this entire time you had magic," Lily breathed out, her voice unrecognizable, "and you didn't say anything. Not to me. Not to Mum, not Dad. You attacked me and my friends--treated your nephew like trash for years because? Why? What was the damn reason why for any of this?"

Lily threw her hands up in the air in frustration before Petunia could even get a word in. "No. I don't want to hear your excuses!" She shouted. She jabbed her finger against Petunia's shoulder. "I don't give a shit if you think I was the favorite, and Mum and Dad treated me differently. Or Severus was rude to you when we're bloody kids. You're pathetic. You want to wallow in your self hatred and fuck up your own son, then go ahead. I'm not allowing my son to hear this crap anymore. I'm done."

She turned to Harry. "Go get your shoes on and your coat. We're going home." 

Harry looked at his grandmother, to his cousin. To the spilled food staining the floor. He felt the crushing weight of a choice. It curled in his stomach like rotten milk, and made his body tremble. 

"Can we just...just finish dinner?" he asked quietly. When no one answered, he turned and headed back into the dining room.

He sat down in his chair, and Dudley had followed right behind him. The two shared a look, an understanding that went bone deep that hadn't been there before. Not even this afternoon when they're playing video games on the telly. 

Vernon followed, reluctant. And then Ruth. 

And finally, Lily and Petunia returned. Lily bent over, and picked up the pieces of the shattered porcelain. With her magic, she put the pieces back together, and held it out to Petunia. The plate was still visibly cracked, yet Petunia muttered a thank you before refilling it with the food she spent hours preparing. 

Notes:

Next up is a series of chapters that was meant to be *one* but so much happened in one day, it needed the expansion.

I'll be quite happy when Im done with the winter break chapters and get back to the main plot, that's when things will ramp up.

Chapter 19: A Day In the Riddle Cottage

In the early hours of morning, as the Sun slipped through the curtains, casting a dull blue in the morning, Tom woke to soft lips on his throat and a hand on his chest. Nails scraping playfully against his skin, and the curve of his wife pressed against him. His eyes fluttered opened with a smile on his face. 

"I know what you need," he murmured against her hair, voice rough from sleep. She laughed, light and airy as he rolled on top of her. He trailed kisses down her body until he found her warmth with his tongue. 

An hour later, with Sun a bit higher, they were both in the bathroom. The shower was running, and steam flooded minimal space. Tom used magic to make sure the mirror wouldn't fog so he could shave his face. He tilted his head to the side to scrape the last of the shaving cream off. 

"Did you get what I had on the list?" he asked. 

There was a pause followed by a confused, "what?" over the roaring water. 

Tom rolled his eyes. He flicked his straight razor blade into water basin to get the residue off. He then flicked it again to get perfectly dry. He set it on the black and gold marble sink before he walked over to the shower. He slid the glass back to pop his head in. 

Mangala glared at him as she attempted to shave her legs with the small baby bump in her way. 

"Oh, now you shave after we have sex," he said, a tad cheeky. 

Her glare turned vicious and murderous, which just made him smile. She couldn't do anything to him naked and in the shower without risk of slipping. He was safe from her wrath. 

"Are you interrupting me for that?" she hissed out, eyes blazing. 

"No," he said, "I asked if you got everything I need for tonight's dinner."

She was ready to throw her razor at him, he just knew it. "Yes, Tom!" she snapped. "I got everything you demanded."

"You didn't get a substitute this time?" he pressed. The last time she had, the walnuts were stale and cheap. No one knew, but he could taste the difference. 

She gave him a flat look. "Close the damn shower." 

And Tom did without another word, knowing if he pressed further, he will have a slipper to his head the second she was out.

He went about his bedroom, getting dressed. He slipped into a pale orange polo shirt and sage-colored trousers with florals stitched at the bottom. With matching orange socks, he chose his outfit intentionally. He knew Mangala was planning to wear an sari with similar colors, and why shouldn't he coordinate with his wife? 

He stood over his dresser on his side of the bedroom. His side. More like he had a corner dedicated to his dresser while she took over the room that had once belonged to him alone. And even that wasn't the case.  He looked through his jewelry, a small collection of rings and three watches. If wrist watches were jewelry. Mixed in were bangles and earrings, all tangled up in necklaces. Carelessly discarded for one reason or another because Mangala's jewelry floor-to-ceiling cabinet was stuffed full. He slipped on his wedding band out of habit before he took it back off. 

Actually, he will be cooking. Best not get his wedding band or the Gaunt ring lost as he cooked roasted duck for the disgusting meat eaters. Oh, why, oh, why did no one listen to him and follow his values? He would be happy to only he at least convinced Severus to be a vegetarian, then their similarities would be greater. Somedays, he hated how much Severus was his own person. He should've been more like Tom. But unfortunately, the boy had to become a werewolf. He blamed Albus for that one. And now Severus needed meat protein and heme iron. 

With that, he slipped on his house shoes and went down stairs. Zahira's bedroom door was wide open, and her bed was empty.  And with Ravi was blasting his bloody muggle music already, he knew both his children were awake. At least the two that still lived with him and didn't abandon him because 'they're an adult,' or some nonsense. The heavy beats from the dreadful American music Ravi indulged rocked the floorboards, vibrating through Tom's chest. 

Now Ravi's taste in music...that was Tom's fault. He indulged Severus as a teenager and showered him in muggle records. And that meant allowing Ravi and Zahira to explore muggle culture because if he didn't, Severus would force it and teach them to resent him. 

And Tom did not need to give either of his younger children anymore reason to resent him more than he already have. 

He entered the sitting room he found Ravi hanging off the edge of the couch, upside down and reading Tom's original copy of the  Lord of the Rings. 

Some would call Tom's disdain for modern muggle culture hypocritical when he continued to hold onto his copies of Tolkien's work that he stole from the London Library, but that would be incorrect. Because that would imply Tom was wrong when it came to his opinions.

He approached his son and crouched down. "Lad, what are you doing?" 

Ravi's brown eyes flickered toward his way. "I'm trying to determine if I'm more an elf or a dwarf." 

His brows rose slightly. "Oh, I am deeply sorry for interrupting your crisis of identity while you listen to trashy American music on repeat."

"Rap isn't trash, it's art," Ravi said, his voice dripping with condescension. As if Tom was out of touch. And maybe he was if  this was what children called art. 

 He plucked the book from Ravi's hand and used his magic to wandlessly and wordlessly turn down the music--not turn off, but at least have it at a respectable level of noise. "Do you want Belgium waffles?"

Ravi sprung upward and twisted his entire body to stand up without falling off the couch. "Fuck yes!"

Tom stood, knees cracking. "Son, don't swear, you sound uneducated." 

"You swear all the damn time," Ravi argued, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I'm sixty-six-years-old in three days and from London," Tom said, snapping his fingers. He summoned an already lit cigarette in between them and brought them to his lips. "Its within my fuckin' right to swear. Now where's your sister?"

"Right here, Daddy!" Zahira chirped.

She came skipping out of the dining room, clutching Cloud. The once all white dog was now dyed a pastel pink. Zahira looked up at him proud of herself. 

He pointed to the stairs. "Go wash that shit off the dog." 

Her mouth fell open. "Do you know how long this took me!" 

"Do you know how much I don't care?" he countered. "Now. Before your mother sees this travesty and blames me for it." 

 Zahira let out a petulant scream--one he should correct but won't. That was Mangala's job. But Zahira didn't argue with him, which was a blessing for his morning. She did, however, storm over to the stairs and stomped down on each step in a fury.

 

After the dog was scrubbed clean of beet powder, breakfast cleared, and Ravi shoveled the walking path out in the front of the house, Mangala left for her meeting with the publisher, Nagini trailing at her side.

The Maledictus sometimes played the role of assistant. Now, with Mangala heavily pregnant, she served more as bodyguard—and as Tom's eyes and ears.

Mangala hated it. She didn’t need to tell him. And he didn’t care.  She's been attacked before while pregnant. Yes, it was during the war. Yes, the sniveling worm did it to get at Tom. And yes, the man has long been dead for eleven years now.

But Tom did not care times were different. He wanted his wife safe. He briefly considered preventing the security of their home, but knew he'd be woken up to a knife in his chest if he attempted that level of control over her. Which was what made her so damned attractive because that wasn't hyperbole. She would stab him if he got too bad, and had in the past. But Tom didn't necessarily liked being stabbed. It was inconvenient. 

 Nagini was a happy medium between her independent nature and Tom's incredibly mild, but (in his opinion) justified control issues.  

And that meant Tom had a brief moment alone with Ravi and Zahira before he needed to start cooking. And how did his darling  children spend this moment? By forcing him to play a ridiculous propaganda-riddled board game called Escape That Death Eater. Zahira was innocent. She didn't know who Tom was—yet. Oh, she knew he had been a Death Eater. He gave himself the Dark Mark after all and he didn't hide it. But she didn't know he was You-Know-Who. At least, that's what he told himself. Zahira was as bright as her name—smart like her mother and clever like her father. She knew, but didn't say anything. And until she did, Tom lived in bliss. 

But Ravi? Ravi was irreverent, seeing all the dark parts of  Tom and loved to mock it. Because he could with little recourse. Oh, and how did the boy weaponize his knowledge. 

The cheeky little bastard held up the poorly made plague doctor as the board was being set up. He wore one of Tom's manic grins as he did so. That smile perverted the soft features he inherited from Mangala into sharp edges. Severus and Zahira looked more like Tom than Ravi, but it was these little moments where Tom could see himself in his middle child. And it made his skin crawl. It was funny how much he wanted Severus to be like him, but Eileen's pragmatic and distrusting nature were a buffer. Ravi had no such buffer, even with Mangala as his mother. 

It was harder to deny who Ravi was becoming. 

Tom snatched the figure from the boy's hands and slapped it on the board, maybe with a bit more force than he needed  to. But Ravi didn't seem to care. 

The figure was hardly accurate. The mask was all wrong. The feathers looked like leaves. The jacket Tom tailored and stitched together himself was a cape and generic robes  It was a distorted fairy tale. Softer, and sanitized. This wasn’t the Voldemort that haunted the nightmares of every adult in their society. The boggart under the bed’s of children. 

This wasn’t him.

But Tom played the game anyway, swallowing his boiling rage of the commercialization of his loss. 

The game was simple, and insulting. His glorious war and revolution had been reduced to a knock off of Candy Land only instead of encouraging diabetes among the youth, it was to propagandize his movement was evil without merit. The characters that moved around the board were of Ameila Bones, Bart Crouch, and Cornelius Fudge.  

And of course, Albus Dumbledore. 

Tom always picked the little mini Dumbledore. 

Albus hated the game, and a rare moment of draconian power, banned it from Hogwarts when it was released. Once, the old bastard came over to tea and saw a copy mixed in with the odd collection of board games his family had collected for the years. That triggered an argument that almost sparked a duel. And looking back, Tom couldn't explain why the argument started or how it escalated to their wands drawn. They might've dueled right then and there if a Mangala and Zahira returned home from their walk. Zahira had been nine, and just understanding that maybe her daddy and beloved 'Grandpa Albus' weren't on the best terms. 

Albus's feelings for the game hadn't changed, and the children knew to stash it out of sight when he arrvied. 

Tom was indulged his children, annoyingly so until he pulled the losing card: straight to You-Know-Who's lair. 

Ravi and Zahira watched him silently drag the mini Dumbledore to the space with the mini Voldemort. The 'lair' was tacky and covered in skulls. 

It was far from the truth. Tom's 'lair' was his father's family mansion, opulent and rotting. There were no dead bodies littering the mansion, even now. They were buried under the wild yellow carnations and tansies, where he and Albus had left them. 

Once the mini Dumbledore was in range, the mini Voldemort blasted the figurine into five pieces with a flash of green. And even the green was wrong, it was dull, lifeless. It wasn't electric and yellowy like the Killing Curse. It wasn't the color of Lily and Harry Potter's eyes. It wasn't nothing at all. 

 Zahira winced as the figures scattered across the board.

 "Oh, no, Grandpa didn't make it." 

But she already snatched the dice and shook them for her turn. Ravi just stared up at him, deciphering his reaction. Tom offered avoidance. 

 "I need to start dinner, clean up when you're done," he said as he got up. He made sure to ruffle Zahira's hair before he left.

Tom entered the kitchen like how he enters his potions lab down stairs: with a particular attack plan on what needed to be concocted first. 

Most of the dishes had been prepared the days before. Tom, with the help of his two reluctant helpers, meticulously stuffed grape leaves while the dal makhani slow cooked on the stove yesterday. He prepped the roasted vegetables for the pomegranate glaze he would make today, along with the vegetarian moussaka, mint and coriander chutney, and the cranberry sauce as well prepared the Iranian jeweled rice for assembly today. 

The desserts were created late into the evening. The chai poached pears, gulab jamun, and coffee cake took longer than he expected. And he certainly felt it in his muscles and bones. When did staying up until one made him sore? He used to run on three hours of sleep on a pack of cigarettes and coffee and spite. When did he become old?

 Probably when his ex wife dropped off his fifteen-year-old son at his front gates.

But that was just half the meal he had to create. 

This came the hard part. He lit a cigarette before he would start. With a snap of his fingers, three onions rolled out of the cabinet and peeled by his magic alone. A cutting board appeared underneath and a knife slid out and began cutting the onions.  Three pomegranates split and spilled their rubies, seeds tumbling into a bowl. The fruit sat aside for the molasses. All the while, he bloomed the saffron and put walnuts in a coffee grinder. The grinder was enchanted to move on its own, cutting the time in half.

 He pulled out the duck he purchased from the local butcher and broke down it manually, by bone-by bone. The cigarette hanging from his mouth gave him comfort, but it didn't stop the smell of dead bird from churning his stomach. He had hated the taste of meat since he was child, when he had first over indulged on the rich foods of Hogwarts. After a lifetime of eating meat—mostly in stews—once in while, being given real, hearty roasts and minced pies and seared steaks, Tom ate too much in one setting. The humiliation of puking it all up was enough to swear off meat altogether. 

And then muggle science proved meat production was contributing to degradation of mother nature and it solidified his choice to stay a vegetarian. And frankly, animals were vastly superior to humans. 

But this wasn't about him. It was about Severus. 

The duck will be for fesenjan, a Persian stew. Severus hadn't grown up with the Prince's culture or the cuisine. Eileen was a heiress, never taught how to cook because she was expected to marry a wealthy pureblood wizard from Alegria, where servants and house-elves would wait on her hand and foot. 

But she had married Tom, and then Tobias instead. And while he enjoyed cooking, Tobias didn't. And he certainly didn't like anything that wasn't British. And that is when Eileen learned how to cook, under the thumb of a man who taste buds were made for bland and grey boiled foods. 

It was also for the fact Severus and Nagini needed meat due to their curses. Which is why he would later make lamb kababs, even if meat made him want to vomit. 

Once he got the stew under way, he had moved onto the stuffed acorn squashes. He cut seven in half and drizzled them with mustard oil. He would stuff them with garam masala, tomatoes, peas, and chickpeas. 

It was when he was making the naan bread did the first guest arrive. He felt it through the wards when they used Floonetwork. 

They entered the kitchen unannounced and their judgmental eyes were on him as he rolled the dough into ten balls flattened them out before frying them in the skillet. 

Tom didn't need to turn around and see who it was. 

The smell of lemon and self-righteousness overpowered the duck stew on the stove. 

"If you're going to be in here, make yourself useful and check the fesenjan," he said without looking up. 

"So demanding, Tom," Albus said, tone dripping with sarcasm and condescension that made Tom's skin crawl.

Maybe he should reenact the game from earlier. 

There was silence for a moment. The sound of  the lid sliding off the pot, and a wooden spoon hitting the edges filled the space between them. 

"Ah, delicious," Albus said with a please hum. "You outdid yourself. I always said you should've become a professional chef." 

Tom's chest tightened and his were flustered at the unexpected, and rather sincere praise. He expected an immediate jab, a reminder of his poor choices. How he chose evil over his other talents. But it didn't come. 

And that hurt worse than disappointment he was used to. 

So he deflected. 

"But that would've made you happy," he bit out, not looking at Albus. "And my career as a healer was quite nice before my forced retirement." 

"I don't think standing trial for terrorism is considered force retirement, Tom." And there was the cold rejection Tom was used to. It made his shoulders relax and smirk. 

He turned around to Albus, holding the sheet pan of the naan bread. He had a witty retort but the words died in his throat. Instead he asked:

"What the fuck are you wearing?" 

Albus was not in his typical purple and blue robes he was fond of, he wore a colorful, eye-blinding suit made out of a patchwork of contrasting fabrics. 

"Ah, yes, this," Albus gestured to his outfit, grinning. "A...special friend of mine made this for me. He's an Italian fashion designer and this was my Christmas present."

Tom made a disgusted face. "No Italian gay man would create this abortion of an outfit." 

"Now why do you assume he's gay?" Albus asked sternly. 

"Because you only spend time with women and other queers," he fired back, moving over to the stove. Albus stepped out of the way so Tom had room for the pan. He suspended the sheet pan in the air and carefully put the dough in the cast iron skillet to cook the naan. 

"He could be bisexual, Tom," he corrected. 

He rolled his eyes as he flipped the naan over. "Bisexuals don't exist."

"But you are standing right in front of me," he said without missing a beat. 

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, fine, we do exist and we're superior to gays."

"Oh, now you admit it," Albus said in sing-song voice. "It only took you nearly sixty-six years of repression. Are you finally seeing a therapist, Tom?" 

He slowly turned toward the smug, wrinkly bastard. "Get the fuck out of my kitchen. You know damn well I don't need therapy." Albus didn't budge, but instead gave him a flat look. "Or, if you insist on staying, make the garlic butter for the naan." 

Albus chuckled and moved around the kitchen as if it were his own. He certainly been here enough times. Once, long before he was married or had Severus, Tom had been sick for two weeks with a very contagious Dragon Pox. Albus had stayed here for the entire time, fussing over him like he was a small child. It was ridiculous. 

And since then, Albus acted like this space was his. 

Merlin, he hated the old man. 

The bread sizzled in the oil. To not get his finger tips burned, he allowed his magic to do the cooking for him. Bread would float into the oil, then flip, and once golden hue, float back on the pan. 

This gave him a much needed smoke break. He only had six since he entered the kitchen, and with Albus in the room, he was due for another. And with the elderly Headmaster buttering the naan in the garlic sauce, gave him more reason to light up. 

"Have you seen the Daily Prophet this morning, Tom?" he asked, fishing for something--what Tom didn't know. 

"I've been cooking all day and indulging my children's' whims," he said after exhaling sharply. 

Albus gave him one of those damned curious expressions that made Tom feel like he was a rat in a maze. And if he turned down the wrong path, he would be shocked. 

"So you did not read the article on the front page?" His voice mocking, as if he had a secret Tom should know. 

"I will stab you if you don't start speak plainly," he bit out through clenched teeth. 

Albus finished buttering the naan and then grabbed the trey from the air. "Where do you want me to put these?" he asked instead of answering. 

 "Just put 'em on the bleedin' table!" He snapped. He then swore with his whole body. "You see what you do? Making my accent slip."

Albus just gave him an infuriating smile. "These do smell lovely, Tom," he said lifting the trey up just a little before he placed them at the kitchen table. 

He turned back to Tom, hands behind his back. "Do you remember the article Rita Skeeter wrote?" 

"Oh, you mean where she implied I was molesting my oldest son and Lucius Malfoy, and I'm a pedophile?" Tom asked flat, burying his rage in the smoke of his cigarette. "It slipped my mind." 

"Rita has gone into hiding," Albus finally explained, ignoring his sarcasm. "Severus's family was not pleased with them being dragged into British drama while they exerting control over the Balkan politics. It seems people forgotten the power the Princes once held here."

Tom hadn't forgotten. It's why he agreed to that farse of marriage with Eileen. 

"She should be hiding because of me," he insisted. "There was a time people knew better to cross my path. An article like Rita's wouldn't have been written not even twelve years ago."

The wards went off again, and he glanced at the kitchen door before looking back at Albus. "If you exerted your power that we all know you have, you wouldn't have to suffer such slander as well." 

"Haven't you learned that power means very little?" Albus said, putting his hands on his hips. 

He stared Tom down the same way Tom stared down his own children when they said something foolish or disappointing. The sharp, aggravating realization Tom adopted Albus's expressions and parental behavior forced him to look away. He chose to act like he was checking on the squash so it didn't seem like he was a coward.  

"Without power, I wouldn't have gotten my wife," he said as he checked the squash. Oh, they're done. Maybe a bit too done, but burnt edges never hurt anyone. Even anything, it added texture and flavor. 

He stood back and let his magic pull out the trey and place it on the stove top. He closed the oven door lid, and turned it off with a click. 

He looked back at Albus, smirking.  "However, shaping the minds of children that aren't my own is quite nice. Now I know why you stayed a professor. You enjoy propagandizing children into being weak-willed sheep and stomping out the greatness of your betters."

"That is exactly why I'm a teacher, you uncovered my master plan." Albus's flat tone and unpressed glare was enough to make Tom feel right again.  

Just then the kitchen door opened again, and Severus slipped into the kitchen.

Severus was not in his black Persian style robes he wore at Hogwarts. In contrast to the actual color in the house, he was in black jeans, a black leather jacket over a black pinstripe button down. It was opened enough to reveal a graphic t-shirt underneath. 

With his hair actually washed and taken care of, it curled around his sharp features. He looked one the lead singers of the rock bands he obsessed over when he was a teenager. The unnecessary sunglasses and excessive amount of silver jewelry helped with the image. 

Severus lowered his glasses just enough to show how blood shot his eyes were and the severe bags under them. And Tom noticed the bruised and scrabbed knuckles, as if he was in a fight.

"Headmaster, I mean this in the nicest way possible," Severus drawled in a tone that was certainly not nice, "but what the fuck are you wearing?" 

"His Italian partner made it for him," Tom answered, which made Albus glare harder. 

Severus spared the elderly wizard one more glance. "Dump him." He turned to his father, shoving the glasses back on. "I need coffee. Do you still have some in pot still or do I have to make my own?" 

Tom gave him a once over. "What happened to you?" he asked instead of answering the demands of his nearly thirty-three-year-old son. Merlin, no one told him adult children would be petulant as they were at fifteen. 

Severus made dramatic sigh, and rolled his entire body with his eyes and stormed over to the coffee pot. He shuffled around the kitchen. "I spent the last five days at concerts, portkeying and apparating around the mainland and North America." The coffee maker hissed as it came to life, and the aroma of coffee mingled with all the other scents in the kitchen. 

Severus kept ranting, listing off the trauma he put his body through for his concerts. "I haven’t slept in my bed at all, my ears are still ringing, and I smell like a mosh pit in Detroit. Drank too much. Did too much drugs. Got into a tussle with neo-nats outside of  a gay bar in Soho," he said, counting on his fingers. "I used too much magic in Toronto to keep my nads from freezing off."

"How is that any of our problem?" Tom asked, head tilting to the side like a curious cat dissecting a glass figurine that needed to be knocked off the fire mantel. "You didn't need go on five day drinking binge and attend several concerts in two different continents." 

Severus stared at him like Tom was the idiot. "I'm not in any sort of mood for bullshit, Father." 

"Severus, I wasn't aware your mood was particularly good on normal days," Albus said with too much whimsy. 

Severus glared over his glasses. "Not now." 

"I will say it is a rather bold of you to wear silver," Albus said, ignoring Severus's harsh tone. He gave his Potions Master a critical look. "You know, Severus, I have always been curious about your lycanthropy. It hardly seams like it effects you in comparison to other werewolves."

Severus looked ready to throw the pot at Albus's head. Tom wouldn't stop him. The old coot had no business prying into Severus's curse when it was his fault for it in the first place. Now a curse that marred every inch of Severus's body. Even now, Severus wore a jacket to cover his arms. At school, and on most days--even in the summer, Severus wore turtle necks. He didn't now and the scars slashing down his neck were painfully visible. 

And Albus knew this. He could see the scars Lyall Lupin's boy left him over a bloody decade ago. Tom was vibrating with rage, contemplating throwing Albus out of his damned house. 

"And what other werewolves are you comparing me too?" Severus asked through gritted teeth. 

Albus didn't reply right away. Instead he moved around the kitchen to the window ceil. He picked up the ceramic salt shaker that was in the shape of a pear. He  inspected it while he answered. 

"When Tom leaves at the end of the year, I will be hiring Remus Lupin," he said, looking up finally. 

Disbelief. 

That's what Tom felt. That's what Severus looked like he felt. 

Utter disbelief. And rage. 

  Severus turned to him, lowering his glassed down his nose and barged into Tom's mind uninvited. 

Did I hear him correctly?

Yes, yes, you did. Do you want me to stab him for you? 

There was a pause and before Severus could answer, Albus said, "Tom, you can't stab me because I'm offering a talented man a job after I fire you from your current position." 

Tom whipped his head around, jabbing a finger Albus's way. "How do you know I wanted to stab you?" 

"Tom, you're from London," he said with too much whimsey it made Tom sick. 

"This is insane," he said, struggling to get anything more intelligent out. "What the fuck are you thinking?" 

"Why him?" Severus demanded, his tone matching Tom exactly. 

Albus set the salt shaker down, taking his time to answer.

"I wish to reform anti-werewolf laws, hiring another werewolf would make my case," he said calmly. He folded his hands in front of him. "Why, Tom, you're radically in support of werewolf rights. I thought you would support my decision."

Tom's body trembled and grew hot. He wasn't upset being told he was being fired at the end of the year. He expected as much, even if he broke the curse he put on the position. But this? This was an insult to his son. To Tom's core beliefs. 

He would've lunged across the room and choked Albus out if another set of wards hadn't gone off. This time at the front gates of the cottage. Tom rolled his shoulders, cracking his back in the process, breathing in and out to cool his nerves. 

"This conversation isn't over. You're not hiring the werewolf that cursed my son," he hissed out. 

"I believe as Headmaster," Albus said, flippant, "I can hire whom I please."

 Tom was already out the door, unable to deal with the old man right now. He will let Severus argue on his own behalf. He hurried down the hallway, summoning his coat as he did so. Cloud was at heels, expecting a walk, but he shooed her away as he slipped on his shoes. "Bloody dog." he grumbled. A door bell went off throughout the house. Impatient. The Potters should know he was on his way.

His hand was on the handle he heard the most dramatic whine just as the bell chimed again. 

He looked back at Cloud. Her stupid face was utterly pathetic, and ridiculous. If he had a real dog, not a white fluffy rat, they wouldn't weaponize their cuteness against him. 

Well. He was immune to such things. He did not find tiny white dogs cute. He didn't find anyone cute except his children when they're small and he could pick them up. This dog had no power over him—

She tilted her her head to the side and whimpered. 

Swearing, he opened the door and stepped out of her way so she could run out. And she did, barking at the falling snow. 

"Bloody dog," he hissed out, fishing for another cigarette. 

Snow had already dusted where Ravi shoveled. With a hand wave, Tom cleared the path.

"Can you open the bloody gate?" Harry Potter's voice cut through the coldness of the afternoon. 

Tom looked up at the gate at the end of the walkway. The boy and his mother were waiting to be let in. And they were not alone. 

With them was Ruth Evans, and his heart stopped beating for second. She smiled and waved through the metal bars, in contrast to Lily and Harry's scowls. Oh, fuck. He thought when he gave Harry the tool to break the curse he accidently placed on Ruth, that they would be grateful. He didn't expect them to bring her here. 

Damn. Albus was right about consequences of his actions. He just wished he recalled all the lectures the old man gave him instead of dismissing Albus as a senile old goat. Maybe, buried in all those lectures, there was some sliver of wisdom to help him navigate this.

 Doubtful. 

Tom cracked his neck with a snap and walked down the narrow path. Cloud was already at the gate, barking madly at the strangers. 

"Get back." he ordered, glaring at the dog. She didn't even hesitate to obey him. And she was happy to. Why weren't people like this? The only person who obeyed him without question with a smile on her face had been Bellatrix.

Oh, how he missed her. 

It was unfortunate she tortured his favorite Auror.  

The three also stepped back, and then the gate swung open. Lily was furious, which he wasn't surprised by. And her mini-me mimicked her anger perfectly. 

People saw Harry and saw the spitting image of James Potter. And, yes, Harry did look like his father. But it was superficial. The boy carried himself like Lily. It wasn't just he had her eyes, he had her expressions, the way she glared and frowned. 

Once the gate opened fully, Tom had a prepared greeting. A performative act of hospitality to diffuse the simmering tension in both mother and son. An act where he could sidestep and ignore Ruth altogether. 

But the bloody woman hurried toward him and pulled him into a hug before he could speak or even remove his cigarette out of his mouth. He stared straight ahead at the mirrored shock expressions of Lily and Harry. His skin crawled under her hug. 

He was trapped in her arms. 

He pushed her off of him. A bit too aggressively and into Lily. He didn't care for Lily's eyes brimming with rage. He could hear her disgust without her saying a word. One glance to her eyes, and a silent legilimens, he got her thoughts. How dare he lay his hands on her mother. Followed by a crystalline memory of him—of Voldemort  aiming his wand right at her face. 

"Stand aside, girl." He demanded in a high pitched, distorted voice. The funny thing was, Tom barely remembered this moment from that night. The Wraith had full control of him. All he remembered was he had to eradicate the Potter family line. Each Potter had to go. And that meant the baby in the crib behind Lily.  

He tore his eyes from hers and focused on his cigarette instead of the woman, inhaled sharply, sucking in the sweet nicotine. At his side, Cloud whimpered. 

"Oh, Tom, love! It's so good to see you after all this time," She said, looking up at him. She didn't mind by his reaction at all, unlike her daughter. Her blue eyes were too soft, too gentle. "I been thinkin’ of you—didn’t know if I’d ever see your face again.. But then it turns out your Harry's teacher."

He exhaled, attempting the control the shaking in his hands. "Maybe this little reunion would be best inside. It is rather cold."

Harry exchanged glances with Lily and then the boy looked directly into his eyes. 

What is Tom hiding? He must know we know everything. Grandma told us, that's what he wanted. 

Stupid boy. Harry had barely scratched the surface of the Gaunt-Weasley family wreath. For Harry's sanity, it was best he didn't. No child needed to know how twisted their roots were. 

He turned away from them and walked down the path, his heart thumping in his chest. He was finished with his cigarette by the time he reached the door, and he was already lighting up another once he had the door opened. 

He smiled, strained but practiced to be genuine. "Welcome, welcome. Make sure you take off your shoes befrore you step on the carpet."

The three entered the hallway, Harry, glancing up at Tom with narrowed eyes. The boy didn't trust him, which is smart. Tom was responsible for the murders of his adult male relatives (and his paternal grandmother but Harry didn't know that). 

All three deserved it, but he suppose, Harry had a reason to not trust him. 

"Your house is rather cozy," Ruth said. She looked around the hallway. She easily slipped off her flats without having to bend over. 

Harry had to untie his trainers, and Cloud kept interfering. She licked and sniffed his face, getting in his way. The boy was torn giving the dog pets or gently pushing her away. 

Tom snapped his fingers three times, pulling the dog's attention. He didn't say a word and just pointed to the living room and the dog obeyed. 

He turned back to Ruth, forcing a pleasant smile. "Thank you, but reserve judgement when you leave the hallway. How are you?"

He could feel Lily burning scorch marks into his skull.

"I'm as well I could be," she said. There was a hint of melancholy in her voice, laced with grief  Tom couldn't relate too. "I lost my Paul three years ago, and I had to learn how to live alone. 

"Oh," he said, not expecting that. "you have my sympathies, Ruth. It must be hard to lose a husband."

And his eyes flickered to Lily, and flashed a smirk right at her. It lasted a second. Enough to torment Lily Potter, but not enough for Ruth to pick up on it. It's what she deserved bringing her mother unannounced.

"Thank you, Tom, that means a lot from you," Ruth said it with such sincerity, a lesser man would crumble with guilt from all Tom had done to her daughter and grandson. 

He simply smiled. Remorse was for people who were wrong, and Tom was always right. 

"If you follow me," he said, before slipping off his coat. He it vanished without a trace just as he emerged in the living room. 

Albus and Zahira were playing a game of chess. His poor, intelligent daughter was going to lose in four moves. He could tell by just examining the board. Her knight would be taken by Albus's bishop. She will become frustrated, sacrificing her bishop. Albus will take it with his queen, putting her king in check. She will be forced to move her king, and he would slide his other bishop and corner the king, and none of her other pieces were strategically placed to counter. 

Cloud was on Severus's lap as the man nursed his black coffee to fight his hang-over while Ravi talked his ear off about some metal band the boy was obsessed with. 

Severus was the first to notice their guests, including the unexpected one. 

He placed his coffee cup on the table and stood, shoving Cloud off of him in the process. 

"Ruth?" he said, voice filled with disbelief. 

Albus turned in his spot, and stood at seeing Lily, Harry and Ruth. He kept a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes were steely. 

She smiled at Severus. "Oh! Little Rus, you've grown since I last saw you!"

Severus's jaw tightened at the nickname. 

"Rus?" Both Ravi and Harry asked in unison. Ravi said it with a smile, finding a new thing to annoy his older brother. Harry was more frustrated than anything. 

Zahira looked at the adults, about as clueless as her bloody dog. 

"I pleased to see you again, Ruth," Severus bit out the kindness like it was bitter. "But I am quite curious as to why you are here." he looked at Lily then Tom then back at Lily, after it seemed like she was the safer choice. 

"We discovered something quite interesting," Lily said with bite, glaring at Tom harder than before. "Tom, why don't you explain."

Tom inhaled and exhaled, admiring the designs in the smoke before he said a word. "Oh, well, you see. It's rather complicated, but we'll leave it as this: Ruth is my first cousin removed. We're kin, family. Meaning you two are distant cousins." He gestured between Lily and Severus. 

A thousand emotions flickered across Severus's face as he tried to form a coherent response at the revelation. His eyes slid from Lily to Tom's and he slipped inside Tom's mind to communicate unseen. 

How?

A woman I thought had been a distant cousin was actually my grandmother's sister. She had been Ruth's mother. 

 Severus bit his bottom lip, gnawing on it until it bled. Do I even want to know the details of Gaunt-Weasley family tree?

No, Tom thought, no, you do not. Do not look into it, please, for your own sanity.

And he cut Severus off, blocking Severus out his mind less his oldest tried to pry. No one needed to know the crimes of  the Gaunts. That burden was laid with him. 

There was tense-filled silence where no one spoke. Not even Cloud barked, sensing those around her. 

Severus was focused on Lily, while Albus was focused on Ruth, dissecting her. And why wouldn't he? Ruth didn't look like a Weasley. Not with her curly black hair that was graying around the edges, and startling blue eyes. 

She looked more like her father, a man Tom had killed twelve years ago. A member of the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black. In hindsight, Tom should've blackmailed Pollux Black instead of killing him, but mistakes were part of life. 

"Son," Tom said, breaking the silence because he could. It was his home. No amount of familiar drama would stop him from taking control. Ravi and Severus both looked at him. He cleared his throat and made himself clearer. "Ravi,  take our guests coats to my study. Then why don't you give them a tour. Please?" 

Ravi didn't immediately jump at Tom's demand like Tom wished he could. Instead, he stared down at his father with defiant expression. "Why me?"

"Because your brother would hex me, and your sister is my favorite child," he answered without missing a beat. "Now, do as you're told.” 

When Ravi didn’t budge, he snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Do not make me repeat myself or we will have a duel.” 

Ravi stood straighter and fear flickered in his eyes before he hurried around the living room collecting the Evans’ coats. 

If there was an awkwardness from that threat, Tom didn’t care. 

 “Thank you,” Lily said softly to the boy once he took her coat and scarf from her. She then turned to Tom, glaring up at him. “You threaten your own child with dueling?” 

“It’s called discipline,” he argued. He gestured to Severus. “It’s how I punished Severus, and he turned out,” he looked back at his oldest son, giving him a once over. The surely man glared at him with blood shot eyes, and the lingering effects of raging hangover cleaning to his body. Tom turned back to Lily, saying, “terrible example. We both know I had no hand it that. But dueling is an effective tool of parenting. And quite frankly, a lot nicer than Mangala’s parents’ way of discipline. You should see how a traditional Indian family punishes children.”

Zahira from her spot moved her king into the losing position as Tom predicted she would. "I don't duel Daddy because I actually listen to him."

Albus didn't immediately put her checkmate. "I used to duel Tom as punishment as a young lad." he looked up at Tom, his sparkle in his eyes dying and smile falter. "Oh, dear. I should make a formal apology for everyone else, shouldn't I?"

"Can you start with me?" Harry said without missing a beat.

Tom rolled his eyes. He better shift gears before this turned into a conversation pointing out his wrongs. "Ruth, I would love to catch up at the moment, but I do need to get back to the kitchen."

Ruth opened her mouth to argue or try to persuade him to stay, but he was already heading out of the living room and into the kitchen across the hall. He said nothing as he left the drama behind. 

"Grandpa Albus, it's your turn," Zahira said just as Tom closed the door. 

He turned on his heel, drawing his wand out of his side pocket. He muttered a locking spell to prevent anyone from entering. 

But the spell came out a hiss, not English or Latin or the fourteen languages he knew. He said the spell in Parseltongue, meaning four others could open the door at any time. Five, when Nagini returned with Mangala. 

Hopefully, they would know better than to disturb Tom in his own domain. 

 

Chapter 20: A Tour Through the Fun House

They all watched Tom retreat in the kitchen. Harry wondered if Tom would hex him if he followed, but decided he valued self-preservation over provoking a man who had already attempted to kill him. Who knew if whatever spell Tom had used on him as a baby would backfire now that he was twelve. Not that Harry believed Tom would hurt him, but he wasn't going to take the risk when Tom was clearly in bad shape over seeing Ruth again. 

"Is it something I said?" Ruth asked, her voice wavering. 

"No, Mother," Lily quickly assured her. "It’s just Tom Riddle is...well..." her eyes darted around the room, fixated on Zahira on if 

"He's a prick, Ma'am," Ravi finished for her, flashing a disarming smile that Tom used in his classroom. He held his hand out to Ruth. "As Father said, I'm Ravi, it is nice to meet you, Mrs. Evans."

"Oh, you're such a nice young man!" she said, easily placated by Ravi's natural charm. She accepted his hand and shook it. 

Zahira stood up, realizing she had lost the game of chess rather badly against Dumbledore. "My name is Zahira," she said, holding her head up high. "So are you like our aunt or like...a fifth cousin or something? I find British families utterly confusing. In Jaipur, it was much more straightforward."

"I think if you just see me as an aunt would be easier for everyone," Ruth said, a bit unsure herself. Her gaze flickered to Severus. "It's so good to see you, Rus. How have you been?"

Harry took one look at his professor. It was jarring to see the Potions Master in clothes that weren't his Persian style robes or teaching clothes. He looked like a guitarist for a heavy metal band. He looked...human. And it made Harry deeply uncomfortable to realize his professors had a life outside of Hogwarts, but not as nearly as unsettling compared to whatever the heck the Headmaster was wearing. 

"I am doing as well as one could be," he drawled. "I'm contemplating going back into kitchen to get more coffee, but that would require me dealing with Father's moods."

"I do believe Tom wants a moment to himself," Albus said in a firm tone, almost as if it were an order to leave Tom alone. He stood up then and held his hand out. "Mrs. Evans, it has been a long time since we last spoken to each other. I am Albus Dumbledore, if you recall."

Ruth seemed hesitant to take Dumbledore's hand. "Oh yes," she muttered, rather weary. "You're the eccentric chap who enchanted our mailbox."

"Does it still glow orange at night?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

"Oh no, I had Eileen take a look at it," Ruth explained, and she made a motion with her hands. "As soon as your name came up, she set the whole thing on fire. We had to get a new one."

"Who's Eileen?" Harry asked, hoping it wasn't another wayward magical relative of theirs. 

"She's my mother," Severus deadpanned. He sipped loudly on his coffee and then glared at how empty it was. He snapped his fingers and coffee pot appeared floating in the air to refill the cup. It disappeared and then...

"You almost hit my in the fuckin' head!" came from the kitchen. 

Severus seemed unbothered by his father's outburst. "My mother is not fond of the Headmaster." He sipped before explaining, "when I was a small child she held up the Headmaster's chocolate frog portrait and then pointed to the word 'evil' in the dictionary until I associated the concept of evilness with him."

Harry just stared for a long moment. "How is Mr. Riddle your normal parent?" he asked, bluntly. Lily was quick to slap him upside the head and give him a harsh glare. He flinched away, wincing. "It's a legitimate question!"

"The boy has yet met my mother and has already made the astute observation my good parent is my father," Severus said in a flat tone, as if bored with the conversation. His slow turn toward Harry was enough warning for the boy to know an insult was coming. "Why if I hadn't the displeasure of grading his papers, I might make the mistake he's intelligent."

Yep. Definitely an insult. 

Lily whirled around, eyes flashing. "Severus!" she hissed through clenched teeth. Severus didn't even attempt to look apologetic. 

"You get his reports," he said dismissively. 

Harry looked at Ravi, "can we go on that tour?"  He was desperate to get away from Snape. 

 The older boy was grinning broadly with humor in his eyes. He must find Harry's misery utterly amusing. That jerk. "Yeah, sure." he looked at his sister. "Do you want to come with us, Zahira?" 

She shook her head. "No, I want to get to know Auntie Ruth! I want to know what's it like living as a muggle. Daddy never lets us talk to people who lives among muggles or muggles in general." she looked up at Ruth. "Daddy says muggles are disgusting, parasites that need to be eradicated before they destroy our planet with climate change, but I think he's being bit dramatic and doesn't mean it."

Ruth's face paled and she laughed nervously. "He must be having a laugh."

"He's been saying this stuff since the seventies," Lily said flatly. 

"You lot should be grateful I haven't figured out how to target nuclear powerplants!" Tom's disembodied voice came from the kitchen. Followed by, "and do not let Harry into my alchemy lab unless Severus signs off on it!" 

Harry and Ravi both turned to the Potions Master. One boy was resigned, the other was stifling a laugh. 

"No," he said flatly. 

"Well," Ravi chirped. "Let me go put the coats in the study and I'll show you the greenhouse instead." 

Harry followed Ravi away from the adults and Zahira down a narrow hallway off the side of the living room. Ravi shifted the coats in his arms to point to door on the other side of the hall. "That's leads to the lab and basement. I will have to show you when Father and Severus aren't around. It's bloody wicked."

"Won't they get upset after they told you I can't go down there?" he asked. Annoying Tom was one thing, but he really didn't want to anger Snape. Tom was just so much nicer than his oldest son...which somehow made Snape worse in Harry's eyes. 

"Yeah, but they can piss off," Ravi said in a cheeky tone just as the door swung opened without him turning the knob. The scent of burnt sage and sandalwood lofted in the air, mingling with the delicious earthy and garlicky smells that were coming from the kitchen. 

"I thought we can't use magic outside of school?" Harry questioned. 

"The whole property is covered in wards that disrupt the tracking spell the ministry puts on our wands so we can practice magic," Ravi explained, dumping the coats on the couch carelessly. "Purebloods and most halfbloods do it too. It's really bloody stupid. In India, we don't register our magic like that. We just didn't do magic around muggles." Something dark flickered on his face. "My nani said we had to do the underage registration back under British Raj."

"Uh...is that when Britain was in India?" he asked, innocently. He never heard of that, maybe in passing. But certainly couldn't place where or the context. 

Ravi grew impassive, like he wanted to be angry but settled on acceptance. "Yeah, it's when Britain was in India," he said, voice distant. "Anyway," he forced a smile, and Harry decided not to push the subject, "they can't track Parselmagic, even underage magic."

Harry looked around at the pictures on the wall, half listening to Ravi. He spotted one he was sure Tom and Mangala's wedding. It was rather cute how Tom kept moving to look at Ms. Verma. And she was stunning in her pink and teal dress. He just never seen a wedding dress like that before. Well, it wasn't really a dress, but a skirt and matching top. Must be an Indian outfit, either way, she had been very pretty. No wonder Tom kept smiling at her. He glanced back at Ravi. 

"Are they easy to set up? The wards I mean?" he asked. 

"Simple enough," Ravi shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.  "Your mum didn’t put up wards around your house? 

Harry rolled his eyes and moved around the study, now looking around the room, his eyes landed on the bookshelves. Most of the book had notes sticking out of the pages, as far as he could tell. "Absolutely not. I didn't even know I had magic until I got my letter. I was raised muggle up until then. I’m surprised she even let me fly my broom during the summer."

"I bet if you ask, Dad will set them up for you too," Ravi offered. "Actually," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "He might just do it anyway if you tell him you're raised muggle."

Harry wouldn't argue with that. Tom Riddle was a control freak. He tried to hide it, but he did a terrible job. Still, Harry would simply just ask his mum and once he got permission, get Tom to set the wards up. Or maybe he won't tell his mother at all...

"What are all these books about?" Harry asked, gesturing to the shelves. 

"The ones closer to his desk are his grimoires and journals," Ravi said, pointing at the tail-end of shelf on their right. "Some on forbidden dark arts that the ministry would arrest him for if they knew he had it. Others are his medical textbooks he needed when he went for his healing degree."

"Are any of them about necromancy?" Harry asked, a bit weary. Why would Tom just keep forbidden magical books so easily accessible? Dumbledore was right in the living room! The Headmaster could find them so easily. 

"I have no idea what's in them," Ravi admitted, which shocked Harry even more. "I'm not touching those unless Dad says I can. I could release a demon or a poltergeist if I'm not careful. I'm brave, not stupid. I know my limits."

"So, you’ve never been tempted to look in them? Ever?" Harry pressed, doubting the older boy. 

"Absolutely, but Dad rarely forbids anything or has strict rules, so when he does, he has a good reason," he said easily enough. "The really dangerous books are locked away in the basement. And we can’t touch those. I'm not risking getting into a duel with my father for disobeying him on that." Ravi moved on to the next collection of books, grateful to just not talk about the tomes in the basement. "Here's his psychology books. I like to make fun of him he has nothing on PTSD, narcissistic personality disorder, or antisocial personality disorder because that's probably what he has. But he has books about ADHD." 

Harry spotted one book titled Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder: A Handbook for Diagnosis. Harry didn't know much about ADHD, but he had a funny feeling Tom's small collection about it was because of Ravi. 

"Down below is his history books, a mix of magical and muggle," Ravi continued. "More magical texts, and this entire bookshelf," he came to the last one nearest the door. "Is dedicated to all his political theory books. This is my favorite part of his collection of his mini library." 

Harry almost questioned Ravi, but then he was reminded Ravi's parents were a known feminist author and journalist, and a terrorist and war criminal. Ravi didn't shy away from parroting his parents' political views either, even when no one wanted to hear them. Especially when no one wanted to hear them. 

He scanned the rows of books, catching names he never heard before. Trotsky, Machiavelli, Karl Marx, Vladmir Lenin, Emma Goldman, Bell Hooks, Michel Foucault. There were thick books, but some were so thin they were stappled together. 

Ravi pulled out a simple, frayed book with a brown cover and gold lettering on the front. The Conquest of Bread by Peter Kropotkin.

"Dad used to read this as a bedtime story," he said with a nostalgic smile on his face. 

"My mum used to read Cinderella," Harry countered, because he didn't know what to say. He had a feeling Kropotkin wasn’t like the Brothers Grimm. 

Ravi put the book back. "Oh, there's Mother's books up here. They're next to Malleus Aurum: The Hammer of Gold, and Darker Nature of Wands," he raddled off. 

Ms. Verma's books, although they didn't have their own row to themselves, were clustered together by golden bookends. And while every book on the shelf had papers and sticky notes sticking out of the edges, these six were left untouched. 

"Has your dad ever written anything?" Harry asked, curious more about Tom's world view. Ms. Verma's books, if he had to guess, were reasonable. He remembered they were about women's rights and were against racism. Reasonable, logical opinions everyone should have. 

Tom's views, if he ever written them down, were probably not reasonable at all. Or, started off reasonably only to fly off the broom stick into la-la land. 

Ravi snapped his fingers. "Yes, he does!" Ravi crouched low and pulled out dusty black book and held it out for Harry to take.

In contrast to Mangala's books that were left unbothered on the top shelf, Tom's own book was shoved carelessly at the bottom like it had been any other. It too was filled with notes and parchments, even more so than any book or grimoire on the shelves. On the front was a painting of a viper wrapped around a crow. Overlayed was the title in bold white letters:

Dissecting the Politics of Complacency by T. M. R 

"What does this mean?" Harry asked, looking through the pages. Notes were scrawled all the pages in tight, messy handwriting Harry recognized as Tom's 'healer scrawl'. The messy handwriting he struggled in class to not use on the chalkboard but would show up in the margins of their essays.

"It's about how complacency and neutrality is agreeing with oppression of the state," Ravi answered without second guessing himself. He took the book from Harry, flipping to a specific page. Once he reached his destination, a booklet covered whatever he wanted to read. He set the booklet aside on the shelf. "Dad wrote this after he graduated from Cambridge--

"Your dad went to Cambridge?" Harry asked, incredulously. "The man who hates muggles went to a muggle University?" 

Ravi glanced up. "Yes. He said he wanted to learn muggle science and be a superior wizard in contrast to his fellow healers."

That sounded about right. 

"Anyway, this passage will explain everything." Harry doubted that. "Chapter 4: The Space Race. Muggles have reached the moon, and Wizarding Kind is so willfully ignorant, they claim Muggles have not. This is what complacency has granted us: stagnation and anti-intellectualism. We are caged beasts, trapped in a veneer of Wizard capitalism and choice under the Statue of Secrecy. We should be the ruling class, but our own government has made us the proletariat, under the oppressive boot of Muggle supremacy." 

Harry just nodded along like he understood what Ravi just said, because he certainly didn't. He was baffled to learn magicals didn't think the moon landing happened. He thought everyone knew that!

"See, this is what my dad's been arguing," Ravi continued, feeling proud. He bent down, shoving the book back into its place. "He also written a medical textbook they use in advanced classes at Hogwarts. Dumbledore wasn't very keen to accept it until Dad edited out an entire chapter why eugenics is good if Dad's dictating it." He stood back up, shrugging. "They had a yelling match about it and everything—well, Dad was yelling, Dumbledore was rather calm. He only removed it until Mother threatened him with a slipper and sleeping on the couch."

 Harry didn't know what eugenics was either but was quite sure if Tom Riddle shouldn't dictate anything that both Dumbledore and Ms. Verma agreed was bad. He reached the forgotten booklet on the shelf. It was dingy, almost falling apart. There was note scrawled on the bottom by a Lovegood—wasn't there a first year girl named Lovegood?—about how 'Mad-Eye Moody' didn't destroy them all. There was a faded portrait of Medusa, snarling at the reader in faded black ink that was almost green. "What's this one?" 

"It's his manifesto," Ravi said, taking it from Harry. He flipped the pages, and a torn photograph slipped out. "Oh, I hadn't seen this one before." He flipped it over, and Harry got a glimpse of a small, feral child at the feet of a young woman—much younger than his mum but looked a lot like her. She clutched a baby tightly in her arms, and next to her was a woman's who head was violently torn off. 

"Oh! This is of Dad, your grandmother, and the lady holding her is my grandmother. Her name is Merope, she had Dad fairly young, according to Severus." Ravi said, handing the photograph over to Harry. "Father doesn't talk about her much. Anytime me or Zahira ask about specifics, he just shuts down. Doesn't talk much. Sometimes he just leaves the house all together and shows up later, drunk. Best not bring her up."

He accepted the old photograph, examining it deeply. What stood out to him was how sickly thin Tom had been as a toddler. This was during the 1930s, so that wasn't a surprise. Still, it made Harry feel sympathy for the mad man that tried to kill him when he was a babe. And that made Harry uncomfortable. His grandmother, however, was interesting. This was the first time he ever seen her as a baby, an infant no less. All the pictures of her their family had of her were of when she was three, after she was adopted. 

And then there was the young woman—Tom's mother, Merope. She wasn't all there. His mother called people like Merope special, Aunt Petunia called them a very rude word Lily told him to never repeat.

The resemblance to Lily was uncanny. Did he see Merope in Lily? 

"Shouldn't we put this back in the book?" he asked, handing the photograph to Ravi. 

The older boy shrugged, taking it. He walked over to the desk and carelessly put both on it. "Eh, Dad's too busy in the kitchen. I will do it later before he sees it." He grinned. "Let's go to the greenhouse, yeah! We got loads of snakes you need to see." 

 

They returned to the living room to the dining room, Harry putting his coat back on. They caught a part of a story Dumbledore was telling about Newt Scamander and qilin. Harry was almost interested in the story but heard about something called a Supreme Mugwump and just knew Dumbledore was hitting the brandy too hard. 

They slipped inside the dining room, Ravi summoning his coat with practice ease. 

"So we have several snakes, and Persephone is staying with us because Severus was on a trip for the last five days," he explained as he zipped up his coat. "We'd have them in the house, but since Mum's not a Parselmouth, there's no guarantee she wouldn't get bit by one of the more venomous snakes and she doesn't have immunity."

 "We're immune to snake venom?" Harry asked. 

"What do you mean by us, boy?" a silken voice called out, making Harry jump. 

He whirled around and saw an ancient portrait on the wall facing the dining table, across from the rows of bookshelves on the other side of the room. The portrait of was an elderly wizard, bald and white goatee and a face made of sharp angles. Even if Harry hadn't seen the man's portrait hundreds of times in History of Magic class, the green and silver robes and the serpent wrapped around his shoulder gave his identity away. 

"You're Salazar Slytherin!" he exclaimed. He spun around, pointing a finger at Ravi. "Your family is his descendants!" Well, this ruined his and his friends' plans with the Polyjuice potion. Why would they need to ask Nott who's the Heir of Salazar Slytherin now? 

"What an astute child," Salazar drawled, bored already with him. "Ravi, who is this interloper?"

"This is Harry Potter, sir," Ravi said, walking over to the portrait, and Harry followed. 

Salazar sneered. "A Potter? In this house? I told your father I wanted every member of the family killed for their transgressions."

"You're the one who told Tom to murder me when I was a baby?" Harry asked, both a mix of horror, shock...and pride? Yes, pride. How many people could say a Founder put a hit on them? And lived?

"Of course, I did! Your family were slaughtering Parselmouths in the thousands. But it seems my Heir has failed me," Salazar sighed rather dramatically. "And I have no way for me to punish him for his incompetence."

"Harry's a Parselmouth, Sir," Ravi said quickly, lying. It was rather smooth too, and Harry almost believed it if he hadn't the scar to prove otherwise. "Father spared him because of that. Would you rather Father kill more of us?"

Salazar paused, thinking. His eyes narrowed into slits after a moment of silence. "Tell your father to do a better job at teaching you the fine art manipulation. That pathetic attempt might work on your fool teachers, but it will not work on me." He turned his attention back on Harry. "A Potter? A Parselmouth? Prove it."

"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked in Parseltongue, switching with ease. He had easier time of it now  that he could talk to Dudley at home. In the days after 

Salazar raised a judgmental eyebrow, not impressed but accepting. "What a disappointment. I already knew you were a Parselmouth, but I was hoping to see you perform Parselmagic."

"I don't know any Parselmagic, Sir," Harry said. "Professor Snape mentioned it before. I think he said he would teach me." he couldn’t remember, so much had happened in the semester already. 

A flicker of rage on Salazar's face made Harry take a step back. "Severus broke a promise?" I will deal with him, do not fret child." His voice dark with heavy promise. 

Harry glanced at Ravi. He didn't mean to get Snape in trouble with one of the Founders. But Ravi wasn't concerned at all actually. In fact, he was annoyed Salazar was angry. 

"He's been very busy this semester," Ravi argued, glaring at his ancestor. "A lot happened in the last few months."

Salazar raised his hand, silencing Ravi. "Do not make excuses for your older brother, child. A Slytherin always keeps their promises." He hummed and added. "Unless breaking said promise is politically beneficial to the family or keeping an oath hinders our ambition."

"So our promises mean nothing?" Ravi countered, brows raised in a challenge. 

"Your father raised you with a smart tongue and the stupidity of a Gryffindor," the Founder sneered with disgust. "If breaking his promise brought no benefit to the family, then Severus has failed as a Slytherin." His voice dripped with condescension. 

Ravi scoffed, rolling his eyes. He didn't care for Salazar's approval at all. 

"Keep being disrespectful to me, boy, and you will learn what we used to do rude brats back in my day." Salazar turned his cold attention on Harry, lip curled. "What house were you sorted into, child?"

"Gryffindor," he said without missing a beat, keeping his tone clipped. It's how Aunt Petunia talked when she wanted to be rude to the neighbors but still seems pleasant. "The hat wanted me in your house, but I rejected the offer."

The offended noise from the back of the painting's throat was worth the wrath. "I am surrounded by fools!" He shook his head, or as well as he could. "Ravi, please take your little lion out of my sight!"

"Wait!" Harry held up his hand. "Wait, Sir, if you don't mind. I have a question I wanted ask since I entered the magical world and heard about the houses."

Salazar glared down at him, his eyes all venom. "And why should I answer a question from you?"

Harry didn't have a decent excuse and simply shrugged. 

"Impossible. Children in my day would have gotten beatings for such insolence, but Tom is rather passive in his discipline," Salazar hissed out. "He claims beating the young into submission is abuse and cruel." he clicked his tongue, clearly shamed by Tom's modern views on parenting. "Very well, child, what is your question?" 

Harry decided he was very grateful Salazar was trapped inside a painting and long dead. 

"Slytherin...feels a bit on the nose? Don't you think?" he began. "Is that really your name?"

"Do you think my mother named me Salazar Slytherin, boy?" he said with cold dismissal. "I wanted a foreign title for when Helga forced me to converse with the Christians. And so I changed into Salazar Slytherin, preyed up their fears of Satan and serpent." 

He paused for a moment. His shoulders went upward. It was less a shrug given how stiff the movement was. "And I could match the ridiculous names the other Founders had. Those had been real names." 

"Then if Salazar Slytherin isn't your true name," Harry began, wondering if he should bother asking, but decided how could he pass up the opportunity to learn from one of the Founders? Knowing Salazar wasn't his real name would be something Hermione would love to know, and if he didn't find out, she would be rather cross. "What is it then? If you do not mind answering, Sir." 

Salazar's silver eyes flickered to Ravi. "Tell me, boy, should I inform the simple boy?" 

"Harry's a Parselmouth," he said, "he's one of us." 

Harry turned to the older boy, taken aback by how easily he was accepted, even when they weren't on good terms right now. Their argument before the Winter break didn't matter to Ravi. Not when it came to this. 

"Oh, very well," Salazar said. "Of course a Potter is a Cogarnóir Nathair, speaks out ancient tongue. The irony is rich." The portrait was rather dramatic and sighed as if answering questions were tedious chore, like he had better things to do. "I am Cairbre of the Muirsgéal Clan, Lorekeeper of the Sea and Speaker of the Fae. I was a priest, a druid of the Mórrígan."

Oh, well that explained the thick Irish accent.

"Where did Salazar come from then? As in," Harry began but stopped, thinking how to phrase his question. "Is there a deeper meaning to Salazar, Sir?" In the corner of his eye, he saw Ravi perk up. Like he hadn't heard the story behind Salazar either. 

There was a deep sorrow in those cracked eyes. They blinked away at tears that weren't ever going to come.

"Oh," Salazar's silken voice was barely above a whisper. "Oh, yes, Salazar has meaning. More than what what they teach now. What is it? That I am evil? I built a dungeon for all the, what do they call them? Muggle-borns? Yes them." he sneered with a disgust. My name has been tarnished by 'purebloods' who soil my legacy with their Saxon views. Only my Heir understands my plight and core beliefs. I sent him to speak on my behalf, but he was labeled a heretic, just as I as I had been in life." 

"Ancestor, Harry just wants to know where Salazar Slytherin came from," Ravi said, biting back on his annoyance.

"Impatient," Salazar grumbled. He huffed and spoke softer. "Very well. It came from a Moorish Scholar, a Muslim Priest. He was a dear...friend. He had been a speaker, such as we are. His people called themselves Ahl al-‘Hayat. He could not speak my name; Gaelic was hard for him to grasp, you see. We only communicated in our shared serpent tongue. Azariel  called me Salazar, and Slytherin came later." 

The two boys shared a look before Harry asked. "What happened to him?" but he already knew the answer. 

The painting rippled with a primal rage that bled out into the walls of the house and rattled the decor. The lights flickered, and the taste of static was on Harry's tongue as Salazar's magic threatened to break free of his gilded prison. 

"He was killed by the Catholics in their Crusade," he hissed in a low murmur, Harry barely made out his words. "Many magicals perished under the Cross and had been for hundreds of years, but our kind persisted, continued our old ways. But when Christians marched to wage Holy Wars, and domination over heretics became elimination, my friends and I saw our fates." He let out a slow sigh. "It had been Rowena's idea. Godric wished to wage war on the Christians, and I was ready to join them, but the fair maidans convinced us a sanctuary would be better. Helga and Rowena were nobles of their own right, but had softer hearts as women tend to have." 

"Mother wouldn't like that bit of commentary," Ravi said, by passing the heavy subjects so he could argue with the old portrait. 

"Bah!" Salazar exclaimed. "Your mother is strong willed, but far too...modern." 

Whatever rant on Salazar's tongue about modern women was killed by the door to the dining room swinging wide open. Tom stood in the doorframe, hand on the handle. His expression was mix of irritation and concern. 

"Ah!" Salazar called, his voice returning to it's haughty tone. "My dutiful Heir. What troubles you this time?" His tone mocking, and expected. Clearly, he was used to Tom being troubled. 

"Well, when I feel the house shake due to a painting of an ancient wizard," Tom said, eyes narrowing on Ravi, as if he already came to the conclusion his son were the cause, "I find it," a paus, "bothersome." 

"I didn't do anything!" Ravi said quickly, hands raised in defense. 

"The boys were just prodding me about the founding of their school," Salazar said with dismissive wave. "I was speaking about the Catholics. And you know how much I despise Christians." 

Tom's eyes flashed with anger. "Fuckin' Catholics," he muttered under his breath, slamming the door behind him. He made Ravi and Harry both jump at the noise. 

"Now why does your dad hate Catholics?" Harry asked. He understood Salazar, but Tom just seemed to hate everyone. "My grandmother is one, you know." Salazar made a disgusted noise, but didn't make any comment. "Actually, my whole family is. We just went to Midnight Mass." Not that Harry was dedicated or anything, but his father wouldn't have a Bible quote on his grave if Lily wasn't a bit religious. 

Ravi took a moment to answer, thinking of his words. Harry could see the wheels turning in his head, as if he was taking the question seriously and not making a joke, which he was prone to do. 

"I'm not sure," he said, humming. "He just doesn't. It's not like my grandparents and great-grandparents from Jaipur. They had to deal with missionaries and forced conversion or something like that."

"A story I know well," Salazar said, eyes narrowing. His magic seeped from the paint strokes once more. "Turned our gods into Saints, perverted our traditions, and stole our sacred days and renamed them. This...India, this place beyond Arab lands, experienced what my people had gone through."

He looked down at Harry, making him feel small under the harden gaze. "You are given clemency, child, but do not forget your ancestors butchered my people." 

Harry blanched, and shrunk away from the words. Did Salazar mean just the Celts? Or the Parselmouths? He didn't know if he wanted the answer. It wasn't his fault! He hadn't been alive centuries ago! He wasn't even born during the worse of the Parselmouh massacre. 

Ravi noticed his discomfort and spoke up. "Sorry for bothering you, but I thought Harry should meet you before we all sit down for dinner."

"Ravi, I told you before. You are Slytherin, we do not apologize, even to our elders," he said, sneering. "Now, go bring your older brother to me, I wish to converse with the Head of my House on a matter."

Ravi's jaw tightened, bottling his anger at his ancestor. Harry could see it on the older boy's face he wanted to lash out or argue, but he was holding back the nastiness on tongue. Harry seen Ravi cuss at his father, bad mouth him--both in front and behind his back.If Harry talked to his mum the way Ravi did Tom, his mum would back-hand him so quickly. He wouldn't even imagine it!  But Ravi didn't dare to attack the painting stuck on the wall? 

"Come on," Ravi said, through gritted teeth before turning his heel sharply and headed back into the living room. 

They stepped back into the living room. They must've missed a funny story or a joke, because Dumbledore was smiling while Lily and Ruth laughed. Zahira was giggling, but she seemed out of place among the adults. She wiggled in her seat on the couch. Harry thought she looked like she was sitting on a wet bench. 

Snape wasn't engaged in the conversation. He had ditched his leather jacket, revealing his brutal scars on his arms and neck as he stretched out and nursed his coffee. His sunglasses were still in place, for some reason. 

Would it be rude to ask where Snape got his scars? And while Harry was used to the prodding of his own scar, but it was Snape's father who caused the scar in the first place. Harry found his sympathy for his professor wavering for that fact. Still, he isn't stupid. He will ask Ravi, and far from Snape about claw marks marring Snape's body. It was the safest option. 

Ravi hesitated before speaking in--what Harry had learned was Hindi and not 'Indian' from Parvati--and Snape's head turned. His entire demeanor changed in an instant. He sat straighter before getting up and walking over to them. 

Harry didn't know what they're saying, but with 'Harry' and 'Salazar' and 'Lisan al-Hayat', he could guess Ravi was replaying what just happened in. Severus in the middle of the conversation removed his glasses and stared down his younger brother, his expression serious. Harry felt like an intruder, despite them talking about him. His eyes flickered to those in the couch. It had gone quiet, with Zahira's mouth wide open, obviously understanding each word being said. 

Lily and Ruth did their best to pretend they weren't curious, but Albus didn't even hide his interest. He watched the two brothers with critical expression. He stroked his beard, a frown playing on his lips. 

Did Dumbledore know Hindi too? 

Wait, that was a silly question. Of course, he did. Not only because he was old and a genius, but because Dumbledore would want to know what Tom and Ms. Verma would say when they wanted privacy. 

Snape swore. Harry didn't need to know the language to know that. The way he put his entire body into the word was enough a guess. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back his shockingly curly locks behind his ear and out of his face. Harry got a glimpse how far the claw-like scars on his neck went, and they dragged down to his collar bone and vanished under the Queen t-shirt. 

Snape's black eyes flickered toward Harry, and they narrowed. "Potter, why must life be difficult when you are around?"

"Because your dad tried to kill me," Harry said in a low voice, not too loud for Zahira and his grandmother to hear. Ravi nodded along in agreement. 

"Dad did do that," Ravi said with a shrug.

"Father's attempt on Potter has nothing to do with this predicament I've been placed in except he failed, and now we're here." Snape didn't even flinch with guilt dismissing Harry's near murder. At least Ravi's eyes widen from shock by how brutal his older brother could be. "Circe, he's going to ask me to teach you Parselmagic." 

"I'm sorry, Professor?" Harry offered, a bit unsure why he was apologizing. 

"As you should be," he drawled. "And we are not in school, there is no need to call me professor during holiday." 

Harry bristled, and decided to undermine Snape. "Do you want me to call you Severus?" he asked with a not-so-innocent smile. 

And he knew he overstepped by the murderous rage flashing on Snape's face. If they had been alone, Harry was sure the Potions Master would strangle him. But the giggling fit from Zahira and the snort from Ravi was encouraging for his act of rebellion. If he ignored his mother's scowl, and grandmother's disapproving frown that is. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for disrespect!" Snape snapped, shouting so loud it made Cloud to run and hide. Zahira looked down at the spot Cloud had been, touching it lightly. Harry just caught her looking at her hand and paling before Snape yelled again. "Sir would have been perfectly acceptable, you simple-minded ingrate!" 

"Severus!" Lily said, shooting from her spot on the couch. Her dangling, spider earrings swung from the swift motion. "Stop insulting my son!" 

"Yeah!" Tom called from the kitchen. "Stop insulting my favorite student! Only I can call him an ingrate." Harry blanched at learning he was Tom's favorite student. He half hoped Tom's favorite student was Percy Weasley or some sycophant Slytherin! 

"Actually," Dumbledore cut into the growing argument, silencing Lily's tirade against Tom, and any snark coming from Snape. He clasped his hands in front of him, amused by the whole situation. "Severus, Tom," he added a bit louder, "we should not be insulting any student." There was muffled 'oh fuck off' from the kitchen, but Dumbledore continued. "And Severus, you can't take points off during Winter Break if you are not at school."

"You've handed out detentions and taken points before," Snape countered, almost snapping. 

"I'm the Headmaster," Albus said simply with a mischievous smile and twinkling in his eyes.

Snape just glared for a moment before looking back at the two boys. "Weren't you going to feed the snakes?"

Ravi give a two-finger salute. "I'll tell Persephone hello," he chirped. He nudged Harry. "Let's go the long way so we don't get caught by another one of Salazar's stories."

Ravi led Harry through the living room, down the narrow hallway and out of the front door. They walked in silence, the snow crunching under feet. Harry, once outside, already missed the warmth of the house and the intense scents flooded from the kitchen. 

Once in the backyard, Harry spotted not just the greenhouse, but a tiny house in the back. The house built in similar style to the cottage; the red bricks and black tiled roof made it more Gothic than cozy from the outside. 

"Does Snape live there?" Harry wondered, his breath coming out in puffs. He just assumed because Tom was so demanding and controlling, he could see the ex-Dark Lord would bully his thirty something son to live at home, even if it was in the back yard. 

"Oh, no, Dad wishes though," Ravi said, laughing. But Harry doubted it was laughing matter. He wondered how many arguments Tom had with Snape about it. He can imagine a few that led to Ms. Verma taking her slipper off and throwing it at Tom's head. "That's where Nagini lives. Dad had it built for her when Mum was pregnant with me because she used to have my baby room. Now, it's being turned into a nursery, and I've moved to the attic." 

They stopped and he pointed to the small window at the top of the house. 

"Are you upset that you had to give up your old room?" Harry asked, his teeth chattering. 

"Nah," Ravi said, with a casual shrug. "I mean, the baby can't live in an attic, and I'll be seventeen in three years. I'm not planning to stay here longer than I have to. I plan to move in with Lee in a loft in Diagon Alley. I just need to sneak out when I move. Dad will lose it if I tell him in advance." his smile flickered downward, and his eyes grew distant.

Ravi must know from experience from Snape, Harry thought. He wondered if Tom would be more tyrannical over his daughter leaving him. It was best Tom didn't know about Ravi's plans. 

He looked back at the house, feeling eyes on the back of his skull. And what was the old saying? Something about the devil, and he would appear? Tom stood at the kitchen window, staring right at them. His expression screamed that he thought they're two idiots for being outside. 

"Speaking of your dad," Harry muttered and Ravi looked over his shoulder, scowling.

"What the bloody hell does he want?" Ravi asked, eyes narrowing. 

Tom started aggressively beckoning them over to the window. Ravi made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes before stomping over to his father. Harry followed, keeping silent. 

The window slid upward with a creek. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, glaring down at them. "It's 3°C. outside! Are you daft? You don't even have a hat on!" 

"I don't like hats because of my hair; I told you that—DAD!" he bellowed as a knitted cap materialized on his head. He reached up and attempted to tore it off, but it wouldn't budge. 

Harry covered his mouth to stifle a giggle as Ravi gave up.

"We're going to the greenhouse and feed the snakes, Mr. Riddle," he explained, laughter on his words despite Ravi's glare to get him to shut up. 

"Oh," Tom muttered, humming. He snapped his fingers. "Wait here." and he vanished from view. 

"Bloody hell, Dad! I thought it was too cold for us to be out here!" he snapped. He stood on his toes to peer through the window. "Dad?" 

Tom returned with two homemade mugs. Steam rolled off the tops, and the scent of spiced mulberry and pomegranate. "Take these. Now get out of the cold before you lot get sick." 

 Ravi handed on mug to Harry and then kept the other. 

 "Thanks, Dad," Ravi groaned, more annoyed than grateful. 

 "Thank you, Mr. Riddle," Harry said, inhaling the intoxicating aroma. "This smells great!" he added with a grin. 

 "As it should, I made it," Tom said smugly. He looked over his shoulder, frowning. "Oh, what does your brother want now?" he grumbled just before closing the window with a snap. He walked out of view, presumably to see what Snape wanted to say. 

 "Let's go before he stops us again," Ravi muttered under his breath. 

They hurried toward the greenhouse, not just because they wanted to avoid Tom again, but because the wind picked up. Ravi muttered open in Parseltongue and the glass door swung open, and warmth spilled out into the bitter cold. Ravi gave a sarcastic bow, gesturing to Harry to enter. Harry glared at the older boy's mocking, and wandered in, not paying attention to his surroundings. 

At first. 

From the outside, the greenhouse was rather ordinary. The green panes of glass obscured the plants from onlookers and noisy neighbors. The iron bars were painted a rustic orange, bent into decorative flourishes, but while pretty, the greenhouse was rather unremarkable compared to the gardens and greenhouses at Hogwarts, and even muggle ones he and his mum visited over the years. 

He hadn't been prepared for the inside. 

He hurried to the railing in front of him and looked down below. The earth had been hallowed out and filled with a tropical cavern. He looked upward to the sky, and the bars were so far up, he could barely make them out. The trees threatened to break out of their glass cage and exposed the expansion magic. 

And they weren't alone. The buzzing of insects and flapping of birds could be heard in the distance. There was low hum, a quiet of rustling leaves, and distant waterfall. The second thing that hit him was the heat. A thick, humid warmth that felt like a physical blanket, smelling of damp earth, and night-blooming flowers. 

Harry clasped the bars tighter, looking around at what he could see. With the sun set, and the moon covered by clouds, it was hard to make out the details of where to step. The glow from cottage all but vanished once the door slammed behind them.  Harry felt swallowed by the immense space, claustrophobic and small in the jungle built behind the Riddles' backyard. His heart began to race, as if they're not alone. Not just the birds and snakes that could be roaming about...but as if the greenhouse was alive itself. 

It was impossible.

Ravi moved next to him, and in the dark, Harry could see the cocky smirk playing on his lips. He raised his hand and spoke Parseltongue. 

"Luminate our path," he said in almost a sing-song tone, "for I wish to see."

Bright, yellowy orbs appeared and lit up the path and then they split into two. One row went up the winding iron staircase spiraled up one side, disappearing into a canopy of dark, hanging vines and enormous, unfamiliar leaves. The other row went the dirt path, twisting down, down, down, into the bowels of the enchanted greenhouse. 

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered in awe, and yet frightful of the display of magic around him. "How is this possible?" he asked. 

Ravi took off the hat Tom forced on him, and took a sip of the warmed cider. "Mother put an expansion spell on a standard greenhouse, and father did the rest."

From the ground, an iron table broke through the surface. It was circular, and small, just perfect for two coffee mugs. On it was a piece of paper with a note scrawled on it in sloppy Healer handwriting. 

Ravi picked up the note and read it out loud. "Your brother is having a moment, do not spill your cider on any bloody plant!" he sneered down at the offensive paper. "Then why did you give us the bloody drinks in the first place?" 

Harry took a large gulp, his tongue buzzing with shocking amount of flavor and carbonation. "Wow, your dad should sell this! Its better than any fizzy drink I ever tasted that came from a glass bottle. "  

Ravi rolled his eyes as he slammed his mug down. He snapped his fingers and summoned a fountain pen. He hunched over the table, flipping the paper on the other side and wrote a short note. 

"We won't spill anything on your precious plants, Father. Merlin, can you be anymore controlling? Also, I'm showing Harry Momo." he walked over to the door and peered outward. He muttered something that sounded like a curse and the paper vanished from his hands. 

He turned around and grinned at Harry. "Are you ready?" 

"Am I ready to explore an enchanted garden created by an eco-terrorist?" Harry playfully asked. "Sure. Can you show me some Parselmagic?" 

"Momo can do that," Ravi said, gesturing him to follow. 

Harry dutifully did, looking around the dense, magical jungle. He didn't dare touch the wild plants or brightly colored flowers. Who knew what poisonous plant Tom could have planted for the fun of it? He bet Neville or Hermione could tell him. 

Thought of Hermione reminded him of the weight of the mirror in his trousers' pocket. It was little after five...in four hours, his friends would call him about Nott. But would it matter now? Their plan was to figure out who's the true Heir of Slytherin, but Harry already knew. It was Riddle, and his children...and Ruth, and her children. Which included Harry, as her grandson. But none of them had opened the Chamber, he was quite sure of it.

Still, maybe Nott was the possessed by the Wraith!  So the plan wasn't a complete failure...but wouldn't that be dangerous for his four friends if they confronted Nott and he was possessed? 

But they had Hermione...

Maybe this plan wasn't a very good one in the first place. He needed to call the mission off, but how?

"You're thinking way too hard, mate," Ravi said, a bit further away. 

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts and realized he was on the staircase. Ravi was already at the top, leaning on the banister. He gave Harry an expected look.  

"Sorry, I was thinking about something," he muttered and hurried up the metal stairs. Ravi stepped back to create space for him as he reached the top. 

He realized the humidity and heat shifted to almost breezy and cool with no wind. The plants were ones of a wild garden. Rose bushes, and overgrown sunflowers and tiger lilies populated the grass, and the only trees on this level were plum and cherry blossoms. Hummingbirds and dragon flies fluttered around to flower and flower. A bubbling pond was just a head of them, surrounded by perfectly curated rocks.  Harry wandered to the edge, peering into the rippling waters.

Two orange fish swam around each other under the lily pads. They resembled goldfish they sell at pet shops, but they're longer, and narrow at the tails. A third one joined them from a tunnel off to the side.

"Wow," he muttered, looking around. "This place is just...a lot."

Ravi leaned over the railing looking down at the towering garden. "Yeah, there's still parts I haven't explored yet." he said, a bit solemn. "What were you thinking about?"

Harry joined him. "It doesn't matter. It's rather silly in hindsight," he confessed. He glanced at Ravi, and blushed when he realized Ravi was studying him intently. "What?" 

"I hate to say this," Ravi began, huffing. "But I know it needs to be said. Because I was wrong about something. And I'm sorry."

"About..." Harry paused before turning away. He reached up to the cherry blossom tree next to him and plucked a flower off a branch. "About getting the fourth years to attack other students for me?" 

"Yeah," Ravi admitted. "I shouldn't have done that. Not the way I did it."

Harry wasn't expecting an apology without forcing it out of Ravi. But not only to get a sorry, but for Ravi to admit his methods were the problem that shocked Harry.

"What made you realize that?" He asked hesitantly. 

"My mother," Ravi admitted. A kingfisher fluttered down beside him, pecking lightly at his hand—as if to scold him. He shooed the bird away, but it was stubborn little thing and just settled on the metal railing, puffing its chest out. "I complained about how ungrateful you were being. Father agreed, you know. Mother threw him out of the room so she could explain how you're feeling. I didn't get it until then you're feeling controlled, and I am choosing for you. Apparently, Father does this a lot to everyone."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Harry said, and then added, "that's why I said you're acting like him. I mean, you turned Fred and George into your little soldiers."

"I thought I was helping," Ravi said, sighing. He turned around and lounged against the railing. "It just pissed me off how everyone could bully you and nothing was being done about it. Caleb Smith almost beat you up. Nathanial Dearborn attacked you physically. When little was being done outside of detentions and points, I decided to step up."

"And I'm grateful," Harry said quickly, assuring him. "Just...maybe we can find a different way without turning the fourth years into a mini group of Death Eaters."

"Okay," Ravi sucking a harsh breath, before letting it out. They sat in silence for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes narrowed and his tiny smile turned into a serious frown. "But I can't promise I won't retaliate if another student tries to hurt you again. You understand that, right? I won't respond any differently from when Dearborn kicked you."

Harry's nerves twisted into knots. In the dark, where the shadows grew larger than the glowing orbs could fight off, Ravi didn't look like himself. He wasn't the third year Harry briefly talked to last year in their shared common room when the magical world was new and bright. He wasn't the boy in Knockturn Alley. He wasn't the boy Harry gotten to known over the last few months, the boy he pulled a prank with before classes started. The boy who played sad music when no one was around. The Ravi before him now was different. 

And maybe he was really seeing Ravi for the first time. The whole picture, not just pieces of a complex puzzle Harry, was missing. Where the parts of Mangala Verma vanished, and every twisted lesson Tom put upon Ravi were exaggerated. His charisma, his charming smile, his quick wit, his almost blood-thirsty protection. Ravi could denounce Tom Riddle's actions, but it was clear to Harry that Ravi was his father's son.  

And yet...Harry couldn't help but accept Ravi as is. The nasty corners and all, even if his gut told him not to. That Ravi will one day be too dangerous to be around. 

Because Harry liked him. Liked him in away that scared him, that didn't feel natural. The kind of like that was reserved for girls...

 "Thank you," he said, running his fingers through his hair, averting his eyes from Ravi. His heart racing, his fingers trembling. "Just forget about it. What was it you wanted to share with me?" And he spared a glance at Ravi, blushing and shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how Ravi his hands shake. 

Ravi's soft smile made him even more handsome than usual, and Harry turned away again. His stomach lurched into a funny feeling. It wasn't bad—but it was—it was just something unexpected. Something only Ravi could make him feel. 

Ravi nudged him, unzipping his jacket at the same time as he passed. "Follow me." 

Harry did without question. He was sure he saw movement in the bushes and among the flowers. If he hadn't been watching the shadow moving on the ground he would've jumped when a fox emerged foliage. Ravi didn't stop to gawk at the fox, so Harry didn't either. He mimicked Ravi's easy attitude, and pretended there wasn't a fox trotting next to them. It was all white, and fluffy. It looked like a taller version than Cloud. 

 The fox dashed ahead of them, turning a corner and vanishing out of sight. 

"You didn't tell me there's more animals in here than snakes," Harry muttered, glaring up at Ravi. 

Ravi's arrogant grin stretched across his face. "I didn't? Oops," he said with a shrug." 

"You're a prat, you know that?" he said, nudging Ravi for earlier. 

Ravi laughed, startling the kingfisher that had followed them, and it flew away in a huff. 

"Little master has come to see me, I see," a feminine voice vibrated with raw power and silenced the noise around them. 

Harry knew he should be scared or nervous at an unexpected voice in the dark, but he felt comfort instead. They came to the largest part of the top floor. The garden was meticulously groomed around a large tree with a twisted, short body and cluster of orange and red leaves. At the roots, laid a massive pink-iridescent snake. It wasn't as large as Nagini in her snake form, but rather close. She coiled around the tree and was staring at them. Snakes didn't have complex expressions, but Harry sensed she was amused by them.  The white fox had returned sat on stone behind the snake. There were petals of cherry blossoms at the base of the stone, despite there being no cherry blossom trees in this area. 

"Hello," Harry said, unsure what else to say. 

The snake's head shot up, eyes widening just a fraction. "Another speaker?" she questioned. "On this land?" 

Unwrapped herself from her tree and slithered across the ground to another closer to them. She slid across the bark and up the trunk. She vanished in the flowers. Harry struggled to follow her once she hidden among the blossoms.

"Where did she go?" Harry asked, looking at Ravi who just looked smug by the whole thing.

A rustle, and Harry turned just in time for her drop down right front of him. He let out a yelp and stumbled back before falling backwards. 

The fox broke into a high pitched cackle and collapsed off the rock. It chattered, rolling on the ground. It kicked its paws up in the air, it's giggling sounding more like wind chimes.

"Oh, shut up!" Harry snapped at the stupid fox.

Ravi held his hand out, attempting to stifle his own laughter. "Are you okay?"

Harry slapped his hand away and scrambled to his feet, his cheeks burning. "Well, that was rather rude!" 

The snake just continued to stare at him, tilting her head to the side. "You are a rather ridiculous child."

"Compared to the massive snake that likes to scare twelve-year-olds?" he countered. 

"Yes," she said simply, while the fox kept chattering on the ground. 

Harry glared at the little beast, and it finally went quiet—almost. It used its paws to cover its muzzle in a unsettling, human-like behavior. He cringed away. That was not a normal fox. 

"Harry," Ravi said, reaching up and petting the snake's head. "this is Momo. And the kitsune is Emi."

Momo lowered her tail for Harry. He hesitantly reached up to grab the tail. She grew impatient, and grabbed his wrist and forced him to shake hands—well, force him to shake her tail.

"What are you? You're not a normal snake," he pointed out, pulling his hand free. 

"Ah, clever," she said. "I am a Yōkai."

When she didn't explain further, Harry looked at Ravi with a raised brow

"Momo's a magical serpent," Ravi said, taking the hint. "Mother found Momo in the seventies on the muggle black market selling magical creatures."

"I thought muggles aren't supposed to know about us because of the Statue of Secrecy," he pointed out. That's what they're taught at school, at least. "How can there be a magical creature black market run by muggles?" 

 "You...you do realize that there's entire cultures that have magic and witchcraft tied to their ways of life?" Ravi asked with a concerned expression. Concern he had to even say it out loud. "And it's not just 'silly' muggle magic shows or whatever. It's legitimate form of magic and spiritual practice. So, there's going to be muggles aware of magical creatures and practices. Not to mention Muggle-borns tell their families, and we just expect their families to be quiet or not take advantage?"  

Harry didn't really think about this. Not at all, actually. It's not something his mother ever talked about, not like this. Especially not Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, no they always talked about London getting more ethnic or complain about funny accents. 

It was just like back in the dining room when Ravi talked about members of his Indian family having to convert. Or Salazar talking about the Crusades or the attacks on the Celts. Or his classmates, like Pavarti, or Pansy or Blaise, who can't practice their families' magics openly. Or...Hermione comparing being a muggle-born to being black and how she had to try twice as hard to prove herself to fit in. He didn't understand, but he was starting to see. Especially after weeks of being called forktonge and harassed for being a parselmouth. 

He squirmed in his discomfort of the dots he was connecting. "And what about Emi?" he said, turning to where the fox had been. But they vanished. 

"Emi's a kitsune, a fox spirit," Ravi said, looking around for the fox. She had reappeared behind them, perched on the metal bars, tail swaying behind her. "Dad found her in the Burke mansion two years ago. Old Mrs. Burke bought her from one of those black-market dealers."

"I'm going to regret asking," Harry started, glancing away from the fox and back to Ravi. "But what happened to—

"He killed her," Ravi said bluntly. "Framed a Ministry official he didn't like, and took Emi. And stole the fine China set that's been in the Burke family for centuries." He pointed outward, back to the cottage. "Actually, I think we're going to use it for dinner." 

"Yeah, I regret asking," Harry said flatly, but he also wasn't shocked. He looked back at Momo, switching back to Parseltongue as she waited for them to be done talking in English. "So you've been with the Riddles for a while. Can you turn into a human? Like Nagini?" 

"No," a new voice cut through the air, all silky and smooth, "but I can."

In place of the fox, was a young Japanese woman, no older than twenty-five. Emi was now leaning against the railing instead of sitting on it. Her hair was a stark black, long that went past her shoulders and down to her hips. Her bangs were cut bluntly across her forehead. Her white fur turned into a large, chunky sweater tucked into bright red trousers 

Harry was proud of himself for not jumping back or reacting with awe. He was sure Emi would laugh at him again if he did.

"Oh, I forgot to mention a kitsune can turn into humans," Ravi explained to Harry. 

"Yeah, I figured that one on my own, thanks," he muttered. This house was full of strange people. 

"Also, don't trust her. Think of her like a Japanese Fairfolk," he went on, taking off his coat and dropping it carelessly on the ground. "I did once, and I got horribly pranked for it. And my own dad took her side. Unbelievable." 

"Tom respects pure magic, it's only natural he would take my side," she said, leaning over to poke the tip of Ravi's nose. "Now, who is this little Hebi noKenzoku? 

"A what?" Harry asked. 

"She called you a Parselmouth," Ravi explained. 

"Can you speakers return to the old language for?" Momo interrupted, irritated, she's been excluded. 

"Can you?" Emi mocked. 

Momo hissed and snapped at her, and Emi just laughed in her face. In rush of leaves and petals, the white fox returned. She danced out of reach of Momo's fangs, chattering all the way. 

Harry stared after the fox for several seconds before looking up at Ravi. "And you live like this?" 

Ravi shrugged. "It's not that weird. No different than Nagini, and she's practically mine and Zahira's aunt. And I should show you Hindu magic if Emi's overwhelming."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair trying to make sense of the greenhouse. Everything here was beautiful and terrifying. It wasn't like entering Hogwarts last year. The greenhouse was built to overwhelm and showcase the raw power of one man, not be an institution of education and whimsy. 

Momo slid off her branch, and slithered closer to Harry. He leaned back, but didn't move out of the way, allowing the massive snake to wrap part of herself around his neck. "Tell me, little speaker, does the old magic live in your blood? Or do you simply speak its tongue?"

"You mean Parselmagic?" he asked. "No, I don't. I don't know anything about Parselmagic."

Momo around him again, sliding off the branch further. Her eyes gleamed in the dark. "We can show you," flicking her tongue on him, "I can taste your curiosity."

"He just learned about Parselmagic like twenty minutes ago," Ravi added. "Its really easy to get ahold of the basics." He looked Harry up and down, scrutinizing him as if he was a puzzle with misses pieces. "Do you have your wand?"

"No?" Why would Harry even need his wand when going to dinner? "Why?" 

"You make everything difficult, Potter," Ravi said, rolling his eyes and gently pushing Harry back. "How can we show you Parselmagic if you don't have a wand?" 

Harry's cheeks burned. "You don't use your wand very much, if at all. Why can't you show me wandless magic?"

Ravi laughed. Actually laughed. It was condescending, but not cruel. Yet it was a thousand needles piercing Harry's skin, making him want to crawl under the invisibility Cloak and shrivel up. Momo noticed the tension between the two boys and slid off the tree and used Harry as a living tree trunk. He refused to react to her powerful, lithe body slithering down his. He won't be a coward on top of this humiliation

"Harry, Harry," Ravi said with a smug smirk. "I've been doing controlled wandless magic since forever in Hindi and Parseltongue. If you haven't been doing magic without a wand for a while, its difficult—

"Oh, I'm sure your father was doing controlled wandless magic as orphan!" Harry snapped. 

"That's different," he tried to argue, "Father's magically gifted— 

"And I share his wand core, did you know that?" he said, getting closer and standing his toes to be in Ravi's face. "We have feathers from the same phoenix—Ollivander said he never made another wand with that phoenix. So that means something, right?" 

Ravi made a face, not budging an inch... "It means you two share a core; it says nothing about your magical skills."

For split second, Harry wanted to push Ravi. But Ravi was taller, much taller than Harry. And bigger too, and knows how to duel. It would be like shoving at a wall that could punch back. 

But it didn't damper his anger. In fact it made it worse. 

"If you're so sure I can't get Parselmagic, then why don't you show me?" Harry dared. "You can show off, that's what you're good at."

Ravi stepped away, smirking. "You're right, I am good at showing off because I am the best, of course." 

He turned on his heel and shifted his entire body. He raised his right hand, and hissed out a haunting melody, a short rhyme that carried a tune. 

 "Serpentis flora, hiss and creep, Awaken now from thorny sleep. Vines that twist and roses red, Turn to fangs and coil instead." Ravi sang.

Harry watched several thick vines from the jungle down below crawl up into view. They wrapped around the bars. The tips of the vines all widen and flatten out to snake heads. The leaves flatten into swirling patterns on scaly bodies, bodies that coiled and wiggled against copper metal. A hissing chorus echoed through the garden of wildflowers as a dozen snakes were birthed from plants. 

Harry was in awe by the sheer power and number of snakes Ravi could summon with a haunting nursery rhyme. He stepped back as the snakes invaded Momo's domain, fleeing out of sight.

"Fantastic," she drawled, both annoyed and bored, "now I have to eat all of them before they destroy my home." she said before diving into the grass after the summoned snakes. 

"How did you do that?" Harry demanded, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "

"True Parselmagic is lyrical, it's music," Ravi said, stalking over to Harry. He used full height lord over of him. "It's not something you grasp from one little show-and-tell. It's the intent and the power of words. You can say one thing but mean another and what you meant will happen. You can't lie with Parselmagic. Waving your wand, you could do a simple spell, but full incantations? That takes awhile to learn. And you're not even prepared for a simple spell, Harry. Why should I tell you more? You're better off waiting for Severus to teach you."

 

Ravi showed off more of the greenhouse after that, but Harry's mind was still on Parselmagic. He couldn't listen to Ravi explain about what poisonous plant was what, that's not safe to touch. Not when he was having an identity crisis, and bottling resentment like during a water scarcity. He should've been raised knowing Parselmagic and Parsel culture. He was denied that luxury of knowing who he was by Charlus Potter who slaughtered Parselmouths. By the Ministry, who sanctioned the Committee. By Albus Dumbledore, who told his mother to lie about magic, and Lily for agreeing with the Headmaster.

The only people who will take him in and teach him are the Riddles. He bet Tom knew all about their culture, the way Ravi quoted Tom said so. Tom treated Ravi like an adult, and even when he called Zahira 'Glowbug', he respected her. No adult in Harry's life did that. 

Maybe he should ask Tom to teach him? Would it be so terrible over Snape teaching him instead? 

They visited Persephone before they left, the black mamba enjoying her desert enclosure. Harry was surprised to learn, despite being Snape's familiar, she didn't care he arrived back. She just wanted to lay on a heated rock and eat plump rats. Rats that were each given a first name paired with the surname Pettigrew. When Harry asked why, he got this response:

"Dad hates traitors and cowards." Harry wondered who the traitor who angered Tom enough to name all the scurrying rodents after them.

After awhile, they returned to the cottage. Just as they arrived, the lights began to flicker. The two exchanged worried glances before heading for the back door. Ravi slid the glass patio door, blowing cold wind in the dining room, and instantly heard muffled shouting from the living room. It sounded like Tom.

"Close the damned door," Salazar ordered, annoyed. "Hurry it up!"

Ravi closed it shut with a click. Harry wandered further in, closer to the door that separated the two rooms. He looked at the Founder. "What's going on?" 

"How am I supposed to know, child? I am stuck on the wall," the ancient wizard said, sighing. "Open the blasted thing so I can hear what my Heir is complaining about now. He is always dramatic."

Harry did as he was told, and the voices grew louder. 

"...It's about everyone in the damn country forgetting who's name they can't say out loud without flinching!" Tom bellowed. "And I'm going to remind them all who they fear! Every single one of them!" 

Harry's heart sunk into his stomach, but not out of fear, but concern. This didn't sound like a man declaring war on Wizarding kind, but a but someone so fundamentally broken. Like Aunt Petunia, who ruined Christmas because she didn't want to be a freak. This wasn't the intellectual Professor or smug Dark Lord Harry gotten to know over the last two months, but a terrified man losing control. 

Harry looked to Ravi, mouth agape. Ravi looked just as shocked as Harry felt. As if he never heard Tom speak like this before. What happened while they were in the greenhouse that made Tom spiral like this? 

"Do not do anything rash!" Albus ordered, and Harry spotted the elderly wizard through the cracked door. Gone was kindly grandfather and was replaced by a war general. His wand was out, gripped in a clutch hand, his entire posture was ready for a duel. "Remember your Unbreakable Vow, Tom!

"I will start with my followers!" Tom declared, ignoring Dumbledore's warning all together. "I will remind them who owns them!"

There were two loud snaps followed after each other. Tom and Dumbledore had left, but to where, Harry hadn't a clue. He was just left with the idea he was missing pieces on for Tom's breakdown.

Notes:

I cant wait to be done with winter break. These chapters were supposed to be two max LMAO

Chapter 21: The Descent

Notes:

TW racism and slurs in this chapter (well at the end.)

Severus watched the boys walk out the main hall and out the front door.  But he still did not allow his face to crumble into a panic, despite the pounding in his chest and the tremble in his hands. Not with Zahira in the room. Not with Lily and Ruth on the couch. Not with Albus's calculating eyes on him. He turned on his heel sharply and silently went to the kitchen. He refused to excuse himself or announce his departure. He was a halfblood, but his mother raised him with entitlement of a pureblood, even while they lived in squalor on Spinner's End. 

And right now, he was entitled to his father's attention. 

He strode to the kitchen door, the word father on his lips, but the door did not budge. Ah. So Tom locked them out. Alright.

He drew his wand from his back pocket and muttered, "alohomora." And he pushed the door again, but it stayed in place. He muttered a diagnostic spell. The spell pulsated a dull green.

 So, his father used Parselmagic. No matter. Just as he was about to hiss open in Parseltongue, a tiny presence hovered behind him. 

He turned around, and his little sister stood behind him. He swallowed down his growing panic and drawled. "Yes?" 

"Can you let Cloud outside?" she asked. The fluffy creature Severus refused to call a dog was at her side yapping obnoxiously at him. That thing could smell the wolf in Severus, and it was inconsistent how it treated the wolf. One moment that thing would bark at him, the next it cuddled on his lap like a packmate. 

"And pray tell why you cannot do it?" he asked. Bloody hell, why now? He had to deal with this. Salazar was livid at him; he couldn't waste his time with the tiny devil at Zahira's feet. 

Her tanned cheeks turned a dark shade of red. "Because Cloud had an accident and I need to change. And you're standing up already, Severus." Her words were delivered with the matter-of-fact tone and demand that rivaled her mother. She then folded her arms across her chest, her eyes as sharp as Tom's, just before he leveled a tactful insult. "Salazar wouldn't want you rushing to his side a mess—emotionally," she gave him a once over, sneering, "or physically."

His eye twitched. "Fine," he said through greeted teeth. "You!" he snapped at Cloud. He pointed at the front door, which opened. "Out." 

Cloud rushed to the chance to jump in a snow pile.

"Thank you, Sev!" Zahira said cheerfully before hurrying upstairs. 

Waiting for Cloud to be done, did northing for his nerves. He flinched at the laughter from the other room. His hands grew clammy as they shook. The wonderful smells from the kitchen churned his stomach. He hadn't eaten since yesterday unless he burnt toast and an apple accounted for anything. His self-imposed starvation intensified the dread spreading throughout his body. 

Once he wrangled the damn giant rat, shooing her into the living room, he readied himself outside the kitchen. 

"Open," he hissed in Parseltongue and slipped inside. 

Tom was busy putting the kababs—was that lamb? It smelled like it—on the skewers and didn't even look up. 

"I thought I made it clear I want to finish dinner in peace," he bit out, barely restrained. He glanced up, already glaring. "Severus, what do—are you alright?" In an instant his irritation melted into concern. 

Severus opened his mouth, ready with a deadpan quip. A short explanation, nothing that would betray his growing terror of facing Salazar's wrath. 

"Dad." The word slipped out before he could stop himself. "I...made—I—I—" but the words were impossible to get out. Not while he was choking on the air. 

Tom dropped the kabab on the greased cooking sheet. He grabbed Severus's by the arm and pulled him to the breakfast nook, forcing him to sit down. Tom summoned a chair from the dining room and sat right in front of him, eye to eye. 

"Breathe," he ordered. "Severus, you need to breathe. In. And. Out."

Tom's steady voice anchored Severus to reality and calmed his nerves. He closed his eyes and did as he was told. He felt Tom get up, hear the clanking of porcelain and metal, and when he opened his eyes again, Tom held out a small dipping bowl filled with duck stew, steam filling the air between them. No spoon. 

Severus didn't need one. 

He accepted the gift and downed the bowl in seconds. The meat was so tender it slid down with little to no chewing. The fesenjān was warm enough to sooth but cool enough it didn't burn his tongue or throat. 

He took in another deep breath and set the small bowl on the kitchen table. "Thank you," he muttered. 

"Now, tell me what's going on," Tom said. His face twisted into something hateful. "Did Albus say anything else to you? I'll fucking kill him."

"No, it was not Dumbledore," Severus said, massaging his temple, looking up. Behind Tom, Severus noticed a fountain pen scratching a torn piece of paper. "Remember when I told you about Potter being a Parselmouth? I had mentioned Parselmagic to him in passing while explaining our persecution during the civil war. He...misremembered about me promising to teach him. And now Salazar is livid I had broken a promise."

Tom leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "If you correct this mishap, Salazar would be livid you hadn't taught the boy when you found out."

"Exactly," Severus said, sighing. "What am I going to do? He wishes to speak with me right now. He's waiting and the longer he waits, the anger he will be." 

"And he will have me punish you," Tom added. "I can't deny an order from our ancestor, Severus. But I will keep the duel short and mostly painless." his manic, loving grin told Severus this was his father's version of care. 

"Naturally," he deadpanned. "I can't meet him like this," he gestured to his outfit. "He hates modern clothing.

"You also look like you rolled out of a trash bin near the Roxy in London," Tom pointed out, unhelpful. Tom slapped his knees and stood. "Not to worry. I will fix you up."

Tom held out his hand, and Severus's accepted it, allowing his father to direct him. "Take off you jacket," he ordered. 

What followed was Severus's head under faucet to get whatever wild curls formed over the last few days. His hair was aggressively brushed by a man who didn't know how to take care of long hair despite all his children having long hair. Then it was was pulled back into a half ponytail, and out of his face, exaggerating his growing widow's peek. His blood shot eyes were cured with the flick of a wand. His hang over was cured by a shot of whiskey and mixed with Pepperup Potion.

And his clothes were replaced with the Persian tailored robes wore at Hogwarts or visiting his mother's family in Romania. 

Tom fixed his collar as finished touch before stepping back. 

"Now," Tom said carefully, "do not grovel for forgiveness. Do not apologize. He hates when we apologize—

"I know, I know, Slytherins do not apologize," Severus said, adjusting his sleeves under his silver bracelets. 

"I just you kneel the second you enter, but do not speak unless he demands it," he continued. "And—

"Do not cut him off to plead with my case," Severus finished, having read his father's mind. "Why did you embed Salazar's magic into your house?"

"Why not?" was all he would get from his father. "Now, get out of here. You're cutting into dinner. I...might have been too ambitious and made more than expected."

"We could scrap everything, and order take out," Severus suggested. The glare from Tom would make lesser men piss themselves, but Severus just smirked. "Thank you, Father, I will come back to inform you what our illustrious ancestor wishes of me."

"Yes, yes, give me an update," Tom said, his eyes scanning the food to remember where he left off. That is when his eyes landed on the countertop. he snatched it up and scanned it twice, frowning.

"What is it?" Severus asked. 

"Oh, your brother is being a cheeky bastard, I have no idea where he got this need to antagonize everyone around him," Tom muttered. "He's introducing Harry to Momo." He looked up from the note. "Well, go on. Don't keep Salazar waiting, or he will blame me. And if he blames me, he will ask Mangala to punish me." 

"We wouldn't want that," he drawled as he slipped out of the door. 

And nearly ran straight into Lily. 

He bit back a fuck, refusing to show she startled him. He settled on keeping his face completely impassive except for the twitch of his brows downward. 

"Yes?" 

"What's going on?" She asked, looking back in the direction of the couch before turning back to him. "I saw you talking to the boys after they're in there with that portrait." 

 His lips twitched upward, amused she couldn't say it was Salazar Slytherin in the other room. "Yes, your idiot son—

"Please, stop insulting him," Lily said, annoyance creeping in. 

Snape refused to apologize and retract his observable fact of Harry Potter. "Your idiot, foolish spawn," he drawled, taking great satisfaction with her growing anger, "has landed me in trouble with my ancestor. I am being summoned by Salazar, no doubt to be informed to give Harry lessons on Parselmagic." 

"Don't I have a say in this as Harry's mother?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm already dealing with the Ministry because he spoke Parseltongue, I've been to court three times with Yaxley and Norman Avery. The last time I went, I was forced into conversation with Garrett, your old dormmate. Do you know how painful it was to speak to that man?" 

"I hardly consider Garrett a bad conversationalist," he said dryly. "And it is not up to you. If Salazar wills it, I must do as he says." 

"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She shifted her weight on her back foot and glared at him through her blunt-cut bangs. 

For an odd moment, Lily was someone else entirely. She wasn't the girl he met at the park, or the girl he followed around at school or the girl who told him to leave her alone forever. Or the shell-shocked twenty-one-year-old mother and a screaming toddler he reunited briefly on the first of November 1981. She was hardly any of those girls anymore, a woman with deep, and heavy makeup—something she swore she'd never wear. She wore a pencil skirt, willingly and not because a school mandated it. And a black, chunky sweater. No color in sight except her dark, red lipstick.

And then there was Severus, whose fashion sense hadn't changed since the mid-seventies. Either he wore rock-band tees and torn jeans, or attire that made him a Prince. 

But there was something from their childhood: her earrings, real spiders encased in clear crystal. They dangled so low they brushed her shoulders. He wondered if she still had an ant farm. 

He snapped himself out of his thoughts and painful nostalgia.

"He's a Founder and head of this family, operating through my father," he said calmly, carefully. Hoping she would understand but knew she wouldn't. 

"Okay," she drew the word out, rolling her eyes. "So, you just listen to a talking portrait of a dead man who thinks public flogging is an acceptable form of punishment?" 

Severus tilted his head to the side. "I could listen to the living man in the kitchen who thinks flogging is an acceptable form of punishment, if that is more to your liking?" 

And said man shouted from behind the door. "If I was allowed to flog people publicly, it would solve most of our issues!" 

"Oh, shut up!" She fired back before looking up at Severus. "IF you're going to discuss my son's education, official or otherwise, with Salazar Slytherin, I'm joining in. I have hard limits. First and for most, I want him," she pointed at the door, "to stay far removed from these lessons—if I allow them to happen." 

The door creaked open and Tom popped his head out the gap, a malicious grin playing on his lips. "Why, Lily, whatever for? I taught Severus everything he knows, and Ravi and Zahira are sharp learners. Am I not good enough to dispense knowledge on your son?" 

"I'm not letting an utter wanker like you teach him anything," she said, voice icy. "More than you already do in Defense class." 

"Afraid I'll teach him the Killing Curse?" he asked in a chipper tone. 

Lily was ready to lunge at him, much like she did Lockhart before the school year started. 

Severus spun around and shoved his father back into the kitchen, slamming the door in the process. Behind the solid piece of wood, Tom's manic cackle turned into a nasty, dry coughing fit as he hacked up whatever was left of his lungs. 

Severus swallowed and smoothed out his robes before turning back to Lily, unsurprised to see the burning hatred in her green eyes. "You have my assurance that my father will not be at these lessons, now," he stepped around her. "If you do not mind. My ancestor waited long enough." 

He headed for the dining room, not surprised she followed him in, but annoyed, she did so anyway. 

Salazar called him out before he could even kneel.

"I did not request her presence, Severus," his ancestor said in a silken tone, scowling at Lily with disgust.

And Lily then, without warning, dropped something Severus should've realized earlier. 

"My great-grandmother, according to my mother, is a Gaunt," she said, holding her head up high. She matched his terrifying gaze with her own. "Therefore, I too am your descendant." 

Salazar stared at her. While his portrait was not granted the full range of emotions, his eyes flashed with disbelief and his magic that embedded into the walls creaked with anger. 

"TOM!" The ghastly portrait bellowed, and the house echoed with his rage. 

Severus flinched at the outburst. Sweet, Merlin, why him? 

Seconds later, the door flew open, and Tom came rushing, wand clutched in his hand. And yet, despite his cold fury, he took time to gently push Lily aside, not knock her over with force of will. 

"Listen here, your archaic collection of lead-infested paint chips," he hissed out each word like a curse. "Don't you ever yell at me in my house like that again. Or I will blast you off the wall and toss you into the fireplace. Do you understand me?" 

"Empty threats," Salazar sneered. 

Tom took a step forward and in an eerily tranquil tone. "Try me." 

For a horrifyingly long second, the two patriarchs of this twisted family Severus were cursed to be a part of, they glared at each other. Tom's whole body betrayed his calm persona. He trembled. Not from fear, but that was how humiliated and enraged he was by disrespect. 

Severus knew how much Tom revered their ancestry, but no one disrespected Tom Riddle. No one. Not even Salazar himself. 

And then the portrait smirked, pleased that Tom was series. But his pride vanished, replaced with a stern expression. “Is this woman speaking truth? Is she a Gaunt?" 

Tom let out a sharp breath and looked back at Lily met the scrutiny of both Slytherins with fierce determination. Her head was held high. Her slouch was gone, standing at her full height 177.80 cm. Her jaw was set and her thin lips thinned out into a line. 

Tom turned back to the portrait. "Yes," he said. 

"How?" Salazar pushed. 

"I just explained—

"Silence!" Salazar ordered, eyes flashing. "I am asking my Heir." He turned his critical eyes on Tom. "I will ask again as you are in a state of stubbornness. How is she my descendant?"

Tom ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his chin. He sighed, taking his time to answer. 

"Marvolo had a twin sister, Morticia," he began, his voice devoid of emotion. But Severus knew how Tom felt, knew the stiff stance and tight grip of his wand that Tom hadn't wanted to weave the story of their family. "Morticia married their first cousin, Garreth Weasley. They had three children, Septimius, Melinoë, and Ginevra."

Severus narrowed his eyes. Is that all? No, it couldn't be...there had to be more. 

And Lily answered his suspicion. 

"Wait, wait," she cut in, waving her hands to physically gesture butting into the conversation. "My mother said her mother and your grandmother were sisters. But if Marvolo was Morticia's twin brother..."

The dissent of disgust and horror overcame her face, physically cringing away. Her whole body recoiled as her shoulders rose up to her cheeks and put her hands out, as if to block out the information. 

Severus felt how she looked. He scrunched his nose. 

"I suppose Melinoë had no choice in the matter?" he said flatly. 

Tom twisted himself to look at Severus. "His first wife--who happened to be his younger sister, died in childbirth. To preserve the bloodline in his eyes, he kidnapped his niece...and Merope." He turned back to face Salazar. "And I this is why I don't lose sleep killing Marvolo. Are you happy, Salazar, to see how your line turned out to be?" 

"Happiness is a virtue for the pathetic and feeble-minded, we are Slytherin," Salazar corrected, as if preaching a sermon from his pulpit.  "But I am pleased you punished the weak links in our line, Heir. You dispensed justice and cleanse us of their filth. Marvolo had been a cursed name, but you have reclaimed it. If there is to be joy, it is that." He smiled, but there was something sinister in that smirk that sent shivers down Severus's spine. "You have produced strong brood, and our clan has expanded to include Lily and Harry Potter." And Salazar's judgement landed on Severus. "And we came to why I have called Severus for."

Severus had hoped that Salazar had forgotten him, but he had hoped for too much. 

He stepped in line with Tom, hands behind his back. "My lord," he said in an even tone. 

"It is duty as Tom's heir to train Harry," Salazar explained, with a stony expression. "You are Head of my House, as far as I am concern you are a priest. As head of the family, Tom's priorities lie elsewhere. It is now your duty to tend to these matters." 

Severus resisted the urge to look back at Tom, but he failed. His father was pissed that he was indirectly forbidden to teach Harry Parselmagic by their ancestor. But when had Tom listened to any authority that wasn't his own? 

Lily was pleased by this, however. She grinned at the ancient Founder.

"Your failure to not immediately begin teaching one of our own the old ways will not go unpunished," Salazar continued, souring. Severus braced himself for the punished he was expecting. 

"Do not worry, Salazar," Tom intervened. "I already told Severus he will have to face me in combat once I was alerted of the situation." He then leaned in close and whispered. "Don't worry, it will be over quickly and painless."

Severus was getting flashbacks to when he was a boy, flat on his back struggling to breathe as Tom circled him like a vulture during their practice duels. Painless his ass.

"Excellent!" Salazar almost sounded delighted. "I expect a brutal demonstration for the younger members of our family. Including Harry. They must learn humility and honor."

"Yes, ancestor," Tom obeyed, no hint of lying. But Severus knew that wouldn't happen. Tom rather cut off his own hand than physically strike his children.

Mangala claimed the one and only time Tom was driven to spank Zahira, Tom actually cried. Severus couldn't imagine Tom crying, but Mangala wouldn't make such a story up. Though the thought of his father crying disturbed him greatly, he much rather believe she was exaggerating. 

With his limited movement, Salazar nodded with approval. "Now, Severus, there is another matter I must speak of another matter that is most troubling." 

Severus and Tom exchanged glances, both wearing mirrored expressions of curiosity and suspicion. 

"You are the eldest son, Tom's heir," their ancestor began, and Severus was immediately horrified where this was going. "When will you bear this family’s children?" 

"Never." He said quickly, barely letting the Founder speak. "I despise children, with the exception of my siblings. Outside of them, I find them despicable and detestable."  

"And he's gay," Tom said, coming to his defense. There was a bite to his tone. "And in a relationship." Severus turned and glared. He did not want their ancestors know about his personal life. Tom locked eyes with him, and the two shared a brief, tens conversation. 

Why did you tell him that? 

Do you want me to not defend you? 

I hate you.

I love you too, lad~

"And what do his proclivities have to do with procuring an heir?" Salazar demanded. 

The two broke mental contact and Tom faced down what was essentially a god to many in magical Britain. "You're not ordering him to lay with a woman to have a child." His tone was calm, yet there was sharp edge to his words. "Or will I enforce such a thing on your behalf." 

Salazar sneered down at them from his perch on the wall. "I too had been sodomite, but I still performed my duty and bore children for the clan."

Severus violently blanched, recoiling from the bluntness of the slur. Tom slapped his hands over his face, muttering a what the fuck into his palms, while Lily shouted. "Oh my God!" Utterly mortified by his choice of words. 

A harsh clearing of a throat at the door pulled their attention. 

Albus stood there in his gaudy robes stitched together by his Italian lover, looking around the room, amused. His eyes landed on the Founder, who was glaring at the Headmaster as if he was a cockroach invading the cottage. 

"Not to insult your intelligence by correcting you, Salazar—

"Then keep your words to yourself, Saxon—

—but we prefer more modern, non-offensive terms in this day in age," he said, eyes twinkling. "Homosexual, queer, gay, most things would be better than that word."

"I will use whatever word I please, thank you very much. Tom, remove this cretin from my sight," he ordered, refusing to even look at Albus. 

Tom was torn between defiance and compliance because on one hand, he despised authority. On the other, he hated Albus Dumbledore. But he settled on avoidance. "You know he's here for our dinner, right? Which I need to get back to." He gave a sharp bow at Salazar. "If you excuse me, oh dearest ancestor." 

He didn't wait to be dismissed and swiftly walked out on them, with Albus on his heels. 

"I'll follow you to the kitchen, Tom," he said, but it came across as a warning despite his pleasant tone. "Zahira had pulled Ruth upstairs, ending our lovely conversation."

Severus glanced at his ancestor, knowing he couldn't leave without dismissal. Salazar sighed dramatically and shooed him. 

"And take the Gryffindor with you. She may be of my blood, but just like Ravi, the stench of Godric clings to her," he sneered. 

Severus didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Lily's arm and directed her out the door. Once out of the room, he closed the door gently, and then pressed his back against the wall, with his eyes closed. 

Medusa, that was more of a nightmare he imagined. 

His ears twitched, a biological habit he inherited from Lupin through their shared curse. Shouting. Well no, that wasn't the right word for it. To him it was shouting, but it was more like loud, angry speaking. And it came from the kitchen. 

He in short few steps, he was at the kitchen door. He wasn't surprise to hear Tom and Albus arguing. 

"...And you allowed that portrait into your house! Where he can spew his hateful, archaic beliefs onto them." Albus said sharply. "It is bad enough they suffer from having you as a father, but to place Salazar in your dining room where can give commentary 

"The only one who suffered from having a terrible father is me, and that's you." Tom countered in a nasty tone, brimming with disdain. There was a pause and then added, "well, Severus did have Tobias and I wasn't stellar at the job when he was teen, but I do a damn good job with Ravi and Zahira. As good as a man like me can. So fuck off." 

Clap. Clap. Clap. "Fantastic counter argument, Tom. You're not as bad as one expects. You do the bare minimum by not beating your children," Albus deadpanned. "A true paragon of fatherhood. Meanwhile, you have a relic on your wall casually dropping bigoted slurs in conversation, demanding your eldest to reproduce." 

"And I rebuked him! Did you go deaf, old man?" Tom went from speaking loudly to shouting now. "Medusa, you are infuriating. I'm not going to let you moralize about Severus who you shackled him to a job he hates and weaponize him against me." 

"Ahh, yes, the real victim here is you, as always," the Headmaster said, mocking him. Each word dripped with condescension, more than the last. 

"Did I say I was the victim? I said you victimized my son so you could use him against me because to you, it's about me. It's always about me, your failure. So you failed twenty-year-old young man who was desperate," Tom argued, righteous in his fury. "You should've protected him, but you sent him back to spy! Knowing I was at my worse and most violent. I could've killed him, and you didn't care!"

And with that, Severus was done eavesdropping like a nosey teenager. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before between the two. Truthfully, he agreed with Tom to an extent. Especially now he had distance between now and the war. Though, he didn't believe Albus didn't care for him. He just knew Albus cared about stopping Tom more. 

He turned and once again nearly ran into Lily again. She stared at him like he was puzzled. 

"Why did you betray Voldemort?" she whispered. 

He glanced back at the door, letting the two men argue until they're red in the face. It would do nothing to stop them. They would find a common enemy to plot against within a few minutes anyway. 

"Not here," he hissed, and found that he was ready to tell her. He owed her that much.

He led her through the living room and down the narrow hall. He stopped outside his father's office, and gestured her to follow him in. 

She gave him a look he couldn't read, not anymore. Not unless he invaded her thoughts, but he wasn't Tom Riddle. 

He closed the door behind them with a satisfying click. Lily's attention immediately drew to the pictures on the wall. Specifically, the photograph of a premature Ravi held between his parents, just before he was taken the birthing ward where he would stay two months at until he was strong enough to leave St. Mungo's. 

Lily's mouth was downturned, and her brows were curled upward with concern. "God, look how tiny he is. How early was he?"

"Two months, two weeks, and three days," Severus rattled off without missing a beat. He didn't bother looking at photograph. His brother's fragile frame was seared into his mind. "He was in the hospital until late September. 

"I remember that time," she murmured. He hummed in question, and she peeled her eyes away from the photo and she turned to him. "During the war. There was no sign of Voldemort. It happened the year before for three months. There was no activity last few months of 1977 from Death Eaters."

"That's because Tom and Mangala had their wedding and went on their honeymoon," he explained. He pointed to the wedding picture among the collection on the wall. "Do you want to know something amusing? Albus had been there. He sat right next to me, in the front row. The entire war was raged by two chess masters who took breaks."

She was smiling at the wedding photo, but that soured her expression. "Right." Her voice was clipped, irritated. "But in '78, when Voldemort hadn't made an appearance for two months, someone took his place. Someone younger," her eyes flickered toward him, "more reckless. Almost as brutal. There were rumors he recently graduated from Hogwarts...Sirius thought so at least."

Severus didn't fight the scowl upon hearing his name. 

 "Black was correct," he drawled, "as much as I hate to admit it. I took over, stepped into his mask if you will."

"But why?" she whirled on him. She looked hurt, betrayed even. "Why would you do that? The Death Eaters were ramping up and committing real atrocities, they're turning into a full pureblood supremacist at the moment." 

He stepped closer, leaning into place. "Because," he murmured, "someone on the Light side tortured my step-mother and nearly killed my younger brother. I had been defending my family. And before that, while my father was across the globe on his honeymoon, Charlus Potter bragged about the systematic slaughter of my people. And I wanted the world burn. I didn't care if the people who burned the world around me hated muggle-borns and muggles. I had seen those purebloods the way Tom does: useful idiots, weapons. I weld them like I would a wand, directing who to light on fire. I did not foresee...what would happen at the end of the war."

He swallowed, throat raw from the bitterness in the truth of it. 

Lily glanced at the different photos, avoiding his gaze entirely. She inhaled sharply before letting an slow, deliberate exhale. "So, how did you go from taking on the mantle of Voldemort to betraying him?"

"He threatened you." Severus didn't hesitate. It was the truth, and lying now would be foolish. 
She blinked once and turned her head to look up at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "Albus told us there was a prophecy—

"Sybill's prophecy was a non-factor," Severus corrected quickly. "Tom doesn't trust her predictions and considers her to be a fraud. He had Orson Shacklebolt for a reason. That's not why he targeted you, James, and Harry." 

"I know, I know, James was terrible." She didn't add you at the end, and Severus took note of that. He had to fight the urge to gloat and say I told you so. Now wasn't the time. "He hurt you, and he wanted to report you to the Oversight Committee. I still love James, despite everything. And there were parts of him that were good, but he had been really messed up in the head. And he liked provoking people and provoking the wrong person." 

Severus felt light headed suddenly. He sat down on the couch, facing the wall of forbidden grimoires and political tomes. Shelves of books he read too many times, and books he didn't dare to touch at all.       

Lily joined him. There was a sliver of space between them, where they nearly touched.

"It wasn't just because of me," he confessed. "James...he...was the one who attacked Mangala in revenge for his parents."

"Oh God." Lily choked back a quite sob, covering her mouth. She hunched over, her thick hair falling in waves around her face. "He didn't?"

"He did," Severus said, hollowed out. He never wanted this conversation. He stared straight ahead, unable to trust himself to look anywhere else. "We didn't know for over a year. It drove Tom mad to find out who did it. That's when he started killing people in droves. His grip on reality was fracturing and that demon was taking over."

"How did you find out?" she pressed. "Was it Sirius?" 

Severus looked down at his hands, noticing they're trembling. Fascinating. He hadn't even notice. 

"I suppose it had been Black," he said softly. "Tom said he had a rat among the order, close enough for James to confess to. And Sirius is in prison for murdering those muggles and killing Pettigrew.

"Fuck," she whispered. Her whole body jerked in her seat, and she stomped her foot.  She swore again, rubbing a hand over her mouth. "So Tom decided to kill us all? Is that it?" 

"No," Severus finally faced her. "Salazar ordered the total destruction of the Potter line upon hearing the news. And Tom obeyed without hesitation. He wanted to kill only James, but came to the conclusion you and Harry were acceptable collateral."

"And you turned on him, your own father," Lily whispered, the tears were now streaking down her cheeks. "because of me?" 

"I did," he murmured. "Your friendship was the one pure thing I had in eleven years, even after our falling out."

She lifted her hand, and reached for his. It hovered for a second before she grabbed it. "You cared for me for that entire time?" 

"Always." 

She threw her arms around him, hugging him around his neck. He hugged her back, allowing her to cry quietly on her shoulder.  His fingers tangled in her hair, gripping at her sweater. He blinked, forcing back tears he didn't want to come but they did anyway. 

"I'm sorry," his voice was hoarse, scratchy, "for calling you...that word."

She leaned back; her heavy, brown eyeshadow and mascara was smeared into bruised stains under her eyes. "Oh, Severus, I... don’t apologize. Not for that. I gave up on you too easily. I turned around, dated and married your abuser. I stopped caring how terrible James had been." She looked to the floor. "I knew he never stopped hexing you when he said he had. I thought you deserved it."

"I already had the remark," Severus confessed. "I was using using my Slytherin heritage to sneak out of school to go on Death Eater missions. Every Hogsmeade trip, was me using Hog's Head fireplace to floo to Tom." He bit his bottom lip, gnawing on it until he tasted copper. The crimes he committed in the name of his father were burned on his flesh, forever there. "I deserved it."

"Not from James," she said, taking hand again. 

"And you didn't deserve to be called a mudblood, but it came out so easily," he murmured. "At one point, I stopped seeing muggle-borns as anything but Tobias, even you. And with Lucius as my friend, and Tom saying it as loose as he does..."

"I understand that" she assured him, squeezing her hand. "It hurts. It hurt a lot." She let out a slow breath. "But now my mother's a squib, I'm a halfblood. It feels like everything I went through meant nothing."

Severus's eyes flickered towards her and a small smile formed the corner of his lips. "A squib mother with a muggle father still makes you a muggle-born. The law didn't change how people see Tom." 

She let out a little laugh. "I suppose I'm just like him in that regard," she said, sighing.

Lily leaned against the back of the couch. With her bangs parted, bleeding into the rest of her hair, and her makeup melting off her face, she looked like someone in between—the girl he knew as a child and the woman he’d been reunited with now. 

She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it. He wondered what more there could be to say. Everything he needed to confess had already left his mouth. And what did he expect? Relief? The burden of confession didn’t erase what they had done to each other, or what was said. He didn’t expect forgiveness—and he didn’t think she truly forgave him, either.

What settled between them was silence. But it was a familiar kind, comforting. The sort of quiet they once shared at ten, scavenging for insects and plants to experiment on with Eileen’s old potion set. The hush between two frightened second-years sneaking out of Slughorn’s supply closet. The awkward pause after he came out to her at fourteen, just after she tried to kiss him—and just before she accepted him. The stillness when they sat on her roof, after Petunia snapped Lily’s first wand and blamed her magic on Severus’s freakish "gypsy-ness."

Still, his mouth opened before he could stop it.

“Do you...” he began, then faltered.

“Yes?” she asked gently.

“Do you,” he repeated, slower now—and then it clicked. A sly grin tugged at his mouth. “Do you want to explore Tom’s utterly illegal potions lab?”

The words took a moment to register. A weak smile pulled at her lips as she rubbed at her face, smearing what was left of her makeup.

“I haven’t been in a potions lab in over a decade—since we graduated,” she muttered. “I never had the time during the war. And when we were hiding, James took over brewing. Said he was better at it.”

“He was cracked out of his mind,” Severus said flatly, sneering. He stood and offered her his hand. “Why don’t we brew something simple? Ease back into it—”

“Forget that! I want something challenging.” She stood, her grin growing. “If I’m going into Tom Riddle’s lab and stealing his rare and probably illegal ingredients, we might as well make something impressive." She nudged him with her hip playfully. "And you can tell me all about your 'relationship'." 

He chuckled as she dragged him out of the study, hand-in-hand, and together they ventured down below into the lab.

Ruth Evans did her best to ignore the shaking house and what Albus Dumbledore called a "screaming portrait", and focused on scrubbing the blood stains in the plush carpet that coated the upstairs hallway. They were droplets, small, almost blended into the dark brown carpet. But to the twelve-year-girl the blood came from would see the stains every time she went to her bedroom.  

Ruth didn't need to try hard. This potion did wonders, better than bleach and cold water ever could. Ruth sprayed the cleaner potion on the red spots, and wiped them a few times, and they were gone. The hardest part was she was on her knees, and hunched over. 

Zahira, the poor thing, came to her just after that portrait started screaming. At first, Ruth assumed the girl was frightened by this...Salazar fellow from the other room. But she truly upset about something else...

Ruth sat up from wiping down the last droplet. All gone. 

Oh, if only Ruth had inherited magic! This was far easier than a carpet cleaner. How could Lily clean like a muggle when she could just zap stains out of exitance? Ruth needed to ask her daughter to make this potion. 

She rested her hand against the wall, bracing herself before standing up. Her knees betrayed her, cracking and popping as she did so. She bent over to pick up the spray bottle and rag, walked over to the bathroom door. She knocked twice. 

"Zahira, dearie," she said softly, "are you modest? Could I come in?" 

There was a sniffle. "You can come in, Aunty Ruth," she mumbled. 

Ruth gently eased inside. Cloud stood up from her spot on the bathroom rug, panting happily. 

Zahira hardly budged from where Ruth left her. She sat awkwardly in an oversize sweater and pajama pants, both black. Poor girl, she learned a painful lesson of wearing cream colors. Luckily, do to this potion, blood hadn't soiled the skirt permanently. Still, Ruth understood when Zahira burned the skirt into a pile of ash and declared she would never wear white again. Ruth felt the same way when she had first period too. 

Ruth crouched down next to Zahira, so she wasn't looming over her. "Did you do what I showed you with toilet paper?" she asked. Gently, she rubbed Zahira's leg to sooth her. 

She nodded, sniffling. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, but it's rather itchy."

Ruth chewed on her lip, thinking. "We can see if Lily has any sanitary towels," she suggested. "We can keep it between just us girls."

Zahira sucked in a sharp breath then let out. 

"I should tell my dad, then he can get ahold of Mum," she muttered. 

Ruth fidgeted with her rosery that was around her neck. She understood Tom was the girl's father, but it just wasn't proper to disgust these things around the men. It wasn't like that back when she had hers, and not when Tuney and Lily had theirs. "Are you sure, dearie? I know how embarrassing this sensitive topic can be." 

"Daddy was a healer, you know?" Zahira explained, fidgeting with her sweater sleeves. "Well, he was a curse breaker at the hospital, but still! He must know all about this. He was there when Mother gave me the sex talk." 

Oh, heavens! Ruth didn't know what scandalized her more. Tom was present at such a sensitive moment between mother and daughter, or the fact Zahira was so blunt about sex. 

"Well," Zahira continued, thinking on such a private moment. "Daddy didn't say much. He just stood in the corner, and any time he opened his mouth, Mother silenced him with magic. On the count of him starting the conversation saying I couldn't have sex until I was married." Ruth could faint. Oh, this Mangala must be a very modern woman for Zahira to talk candid about sex. "And then when she talked about STDs and protection, he ran out of the room. But he had been there when she told me about periods. So he should be expecting it to happen soon." 

"Maybe I can go collect him for you?" It was clear that Tom and his family had different views of openness. Paul hadn't even known when she gave Petunia and Lily the talk until after the fact. But she knew Lily had given Harry the talk, forced to by being a widow. And her daughter and grandson apparently had a frank, open conversation about sex over the summer. Maybe it was just a different now, and Ruth was behind the times. Still, it was best to do this in private away from the other men and boys in the house. 

"Could you?" Zahira asked, earnestly. 

Ruth patted her leg once more before getting up. "I will talk to him." 

She left the bathroom just as quietly as she had entered, slipping down the stairs. At the kitchen door, she knocked three times and Tom shouted from the other side. 

"Come in, everyone else has already interrupted me!" he barked through the door. 

Ruth's heart raced, just enough to make her regret coming in to disturb Tom. But she pushed through the door, hit with the intensity of the aroma of the dinner Tom was preparing. He was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of colorful golden rice mixture. The shredded carrots, pistachios, and red seeds made the dish feel like a rainbow of spices. 

"That looks delightful," she said, chipper. "Why do I think Eileen had made that once for me and Paul's family once."

It took a moment for her words to register on his face. Stunned, he looked up. "Eileen can cook?" 

"Is that shocking, Tom?" 

Ruth hadn't noticed the elderly wizard sitting the kitchen nook, reading a newspaper with moving pictures. The food was piled high on the table. Pots stacked on pots, sheet pans stacked on skillets. But yet, steam rose from the food left unintended. 

"Yes, it is shocking," Tom insisted, spinning around. "That woman used to burn water when we're married. That's what happens when you live for thirty-three years and servants and house-elves cook for you. According to Severus, her culinary skills started and ended with beans on toast, Albus."

"That is a top-notch combination," he said simply, and Ruth was inclined to agree. Particularly with a nice fried egg on top. 

Tom made a disgusted face. "It isn't when you spend seven years in India." He turned back to Ruth, giving her an uneasy once over. "Do you need something?" he asked.

She fidgeted with her rosery, clasping a hand over the part where Salazar's locket was attached too. "Well, yes. Well, not me." she stumbled over her words. "It's Zahira, see. She's upstairs and requires...your guidance." 

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm in the middle of cooking. If she wishes for my help, she should come down here instead of sending you to do her dirty work." He muttered under his breath, continuing, "so demanding. I have no idea where she got that from. I was never like that at her age."

Albus made a noise at the back of his throat that sounded like a mix of laugh and cough. Tom's eyes narrowed, and the paper in Albus's hands caught fire. Ruth jumped back, clasping her hand over her chest. 

Albus just stared at the ash in his hands before getting up. He brushed his hands off his suit. "Nearly seventy, and you still act like the eleven-year-old who stole knick-knacks from his fellow orphans."

Tom didn't even face him when he pointed to the door. "Get out." 

"Since you refrained from swearing, I will oblige your tantrum," Albus said, a bit too sweet. It was condescending, even to Ruth's ears. 

In the past, Ruth didn't know how to feel about Albus Dumbledore. She met him three times before tonight. Once, at a school function, when Lily invited her and Paul to see one of James's games. Once during the war, when he came to warn them Lily would be going into hiding because Lord Voldemort—Tom—was after Lily's family. And then, once, because she wrote a letter to the wizard behind Lily's back, questioning his suggestion to raise Harry in the dark about his magic when the whole family knew. And he hadn't returned the letter. No, he showed up to her house at nearly one in the middle of the night to explain this is not matter what she didn't have to involve herself with. And then apparated away like he hadn't been in Cokesworth at all. 

When Albus left them in the kitchen alone, Ruth admitted how she felt. 

"I do not like that man," she whispered, voice curt and lips pressed into a thin. But then she added. "oh, that was rather rude of me, wasn't it? He's like a father to you."

The offense of Tom's face was palpable. "More like cancerous growth that can't be removed." he said, waving his hand. "Be as rude as you like toward him. In fact, more people should."

They fell into a silence that was painful. It was like the curse he put her through for nearly two decades, where words escaped her. 

"I see you still have Merope's rosary." 

He filled the quiet sooner than she’d anticipated. She jumped, just slightly, at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, yeah," she said, gripping the beads at her throat. "And I wove in the locket you gave me."

Tom’s dark eyes flicked to the locket — its surface etched with a twisted green S. "Why’d you fasten Salazar’s amulet to that rosary?"

"Chain was rusted," she said, holding the locket like it might anchor her to the floor. "Jeweler snapped the clasp when he tried fixin’ it. Thought this’d be a nice way to honor Merope. And you. Tie it all together."

He didn’t reply. Just turned off the stove with a click and moved the pot of rice to the back burner. His hands only began to shake once they stopped being useful. He fished in his coat for a loose cigarette and a battered lighter.

The end went to his lips. Flame. Drag.

And still—

The tremble didn’t stop.

"I bleedin' hate that rosary," he muttered, voice gone taut and sharp. "That's why I gave it to you."

She lowered her eyes. "I’m sorry. It’s… brought me comfort, is all. Over the years. Like she’s still about."

Tom exhaled smoke through his nose. He didn’t look at her.  Didn’t say what was really in his throat, either. It was like he cursed himself with the very same spell he cursed her with a long time ago. But there was power in words, getting things off one's chest. She seen in with her daughters, once it all came out that Petunia was a squib, much like Ruth. And Dudley was one too. 

So.

Ruth pushed. 

Gently, carefully, understanding he was a dangerous man but not quite getting it. She had vague memories, core remnants when they're small children. She hadn't remembered the boy's name who clung to her as the nuns pulled her out of his arms and into her adopted parents. She hadn't been like the other orphans who were lucky to escape Wool's. Her adoption wasn't happy one. Her mother and father were the kind sort. But for her entire life, she felt she left someone behind at the orphanage, even when the memories were covered by bombs and evacuations and inflation and raising two different girls. Until that boy entered back into her life as a man. 

And that man was a monster. 

"Why did you...Lily's your blood," she couldn't get the words out, struggling that she was standing in the kitchen of a murderer. "Lily told me what you are."

"Distant blood," Tom corrected, like that made a world of difference. "And I murdered my father, his parents, his fiancé. And their gardener. And Merope's father." he inhaled sharply, but the shaking continued. He exhaled. "But I did spare her. For Severus, for you and for even Harry. Because I knew I couldn't kill him. So someone needed to raise him. I recalled that your other daughter hated magic, and assumed that's kind of family Albus would send Harry to live with, something about building character. So I spared her, knowing my spell would backfire on the boy." He paused and added, "you're welcome." 

The cold, practical truth was more frightening than the actions. He felt no remorse for his crimes, or the cruelty he spewed. 

Ruth's head spun. She was going to be ill. 

"Excuse me," she muttered, and turned to the door. 

Ruth didn't wait for a reply. She turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. She closed the door gently, the soft click of the latch feeling like the final seal on a tomb. The air in the narrow hall felt cool on her flushed cheeks. She leaned against the wall for a moment, her hand pressed to her mouth, the rosary a cold, hard knot against her palm.

He wanted praise. The thought was a dizzying spiral. He had confessed to a litany of monstrous acts—murder, betrayal—and he had finished it all with a "you're welcome." As if he had done anyone a favor. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the image of his calm, matter-of-fact expression. She had come here hoping to understand the boy she remembered, the one who clung to her as the nuns pulled her away. Or the man she reunited briefly in 1975. 

Instead, she had been given an audience with the monster he had become. Or maybe, he was always the monster he was now.

Shaking, she pushed herself off the wall and forced herself to walk back into the living room. Albus was sitting by the fireplace, reading a discarded book, enjoying the quiet. Lily and Severus were nowhere to be found. Harry was in the greenhouse at back.  Her family was scattered—all of them in rooms filled with Tom’s children. 

The thing was, she knew Severus since he was a boy. A kind boy who had once mended an injured cat, who's grown to be just as cold and distant as his mother. 

Ruth sank into the armchair, away from Albus, clutching the rosary like a lifeline. 

"Tom is a difficult man to love, is he not," the elderly wizard asked, not looking from his book. 

She now focused on the title.  If I had Been There: How Gilderoy Lockhart Would've Killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by Gilderoy Lockhart. 

She knew enough of the first war that meant Voldemort. That meant Tom. She seen that nickname in the newspaper Lily used to get when she lived at home. 

"What's that book about?" She asked instead of answering Albus. 

"An incredibly delusional, and desperate man who believes his own falsehoods wrote a novel recounting every major battle in the first war," he explained, turning the page. "He used primary sources to construct this alternative history if he had been old enough, he could've ended the war at several different times, killing Voldemort in the process." He skimmed the content and let out a quiet, "huh." He tapped the page. "I been at that battle. 1979, rather brutal. Voldemort and his death eaters won that fight, but without sustaining losses on their part."

"And now you break bread with Tom, like it hadn't happened," she said softly. "is this what the magical community is? Just a collection of war torn people pretending your neighbors and family weren't on the other side?" 

Albus closed the book and put it aside. He folded his hands over his lap, a deep frown on his face. "Yes." And that simple answer was loaded with a history Ruth was just barely understanding. "Did you know, Ruth, I was the one who delivered Tom's letter to Wool's?" she shook her head, and so he continued. "Mrs. Cole told me he was a terror, killed a rabbit, terrorized the other orphans. Spoke to snakes, terrified the nuns. I was painted a picture of a nasty little boy." He paused with a frown on his lips. "And then I met him. And he was frightened to be alone with me, and I thought how strange. So I prodded into his mind without him knowing--a violation, I know but one I'm comfortable with if  it's for the betterment of society." There was a pause, as if he was contemplating to continue. It lasted a second before he said, "I found a priest had harmed him. And killed the priest."

Ruth's stomach churred at the news, at the vagueness of that declaration. Albus didn't elaborate, and she didn't want him too. 

"And I never told Tom, oh, how he would delight hearing I used the Killing Curse--on a muggle no less," Albus said with a sighed. "And I thought I could guide Tom afterwards. I was not kind, did not consider that Tom acted out because he was hurt. That he was hurt because he was a terrible child. Tough love, that's what we did back in my day. Compassion was given to those who were easy to give compassion towards. And that's what I did. I was distant, maybe even cruel. But I also knew I couldn't leave him alone. And briefly, I took him under his wing, until I couldn't anymore. I buried many bodies for that boy at met Wool's."

"Do you regret it?' she wasn't even sure why she asked that. 

Albus waited a long moment to answer, chewing on his answer. "I have many regrets when it comes to Tom Riddle, but I rather we be allies then enemies." And he will continue burying bodies is what was left unsaid. 

Ruth must have been lost in her own horrified thoughts for several minutes before a small movement caught her eye. It was Zahira, who had come back downstairs and was now perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch. She kept shifting, wiggling in her seat and fidgeting with the hem of her oversized jumper. She glanced at Ruth, her doe-brown eyes wide with a quiet, childish panic, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Before Ruth could offer a comforting smile and an apology for leaving her upstairs, the kitchen door opened.

Tom strode into the living room, and Zahira jumped to greet him. His cigarette was all used up, and his hands still shook. Ruth turned to Albus, and noticed his critical blue eyes were on Tom's tremble. A deep concern grew across his withering face, the concern only a parent could have for a child. 

"Hey, Glowbug," Tom said, smiling at his daughter. There was no cruelty, or cynical sarcasm. The way his face lit up at seeing his daughter was a startling reminder he was a man, not just a monster. A monster who called his only daughter 'Glowbug' is hardly a monster at all. "Ruth said you needed to talk to me?"

Zahira squirmed under the scrutiny of three adults in the room. She fidgeted with the end of her oversized jumper instead of answering. 

"Glowbug, I can't help you if you don't tell me," Tom said gently, leaning a bit too close to her. 

"Tom," Ruth said, pushing herself off the couch. She walked over to him and whispered. "I think it's best you two go upstairs and have this conversation privately." 

Tom stood straighter and looked down at "Why?" 

Just before Ruth could insist she can't explain that Tom should just go upstairs with Zahira, Severus and Lily emerged from the hallway that led to both the 

Severus took one look at his younger sister and asked. "What's wrong with you?" 

 Zahira let out a low growl, fists clenching, shoulders rising like a storm threatening to shatter the windows. She stomped the ground once. 

"I HAD MY PERIOD!" She bellowed like thunder clouds  before bursting into a tears and running up the stairs, stunning the adults in the room. 

No one was more stunned than Tom. He stared at the spot his daughter once stood, mouth agape. Period? His precious little Glowbug...had her first period? She...she wasn't little anymore. 

"Oh dear," Albus said, covering his mouth. Even he was taken aback. "And here I thought she just had an upset stomach." 

"She probably does, Albus, " Lily said. She put her hands on her hips, staring down Tom. "Well, aren't you going to comfort your daughter or are you going to stand there like a fool?" 

Tom looked at her, stunned. He opened his mouth and then closed it, rendered speechless. 

"Oh, Lily, don't be so cruel," Ruth said with a frown. "Your own father went on a weekend fishing trip when both you and your sister had your first monthly." 

Lily made a disgusted noise. "And that was pathetic of him." She looked back at Tom, who hadn't moved at all. She let out frustrated sigh before storming out of the room. 

"You know, Tom," Albus said, fingers clasped in his lap. "It's not that big of a deal. You know how many young girls I had to give this talk to as Head of House. Now, granted, back in my day, only the mediwitch could give the full talk to the young girls. It wasn't proper. But accidents happened. Why Minerva had her first..." he paused, and stopped to realize maybe his Deputy Headmistress wouldn't appreciate he told that particular story. 

"Headmaster, back in your day was the dawn of civilization," Severus drawled. He turned back to his father, crossing his arms over his chest. "Father, you were a medical professional. How can you not handle this?"

Tom just opened his arms slightly before he let them dropped, still in a state of shock. 

Lily returned with five plastic squares in her hand, an annoyed look on her face. She went straight to Tom, and shoved them against his chest, and he caught them. "Here," she said. 

He caught them, and looked down at the pads in his hands. 

"Oh, Lily!" Ruth said, mortified. "You shouldn't wave those around. It's not very proper." 

"Oh, Mother, please," Lily said, exasperated, waving her off. She looked at Tom expectedly. "Well?" 

He looked at the pads and then at Lily. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "I can return the favor." 

"There's nothing you can do in return, you don't have to," she said, rubbing her temple. 

"I can give Harry the talk," Tom offered. And because Tom can't go for one moment to being the worse person on the planet, he added, "it's not like he has a father, or anything." 

Before either Albus or Severus could yell at Tom, Lily raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. The smack echoed around them, leaving a red mark on his face. He dropped three of the pads from the intensity of the slap. 

Ruth gasped, clasping both hands over his mouth. Albus was shocked, but smiled anyway. Severus's hand reached for wand---just in case. 

"Shit," Tom hissed and rubbed his cheek. "Fuck, alright. I deserved that one. But I'm not sorry." 

He bent over and gathered the fallen pads, and hurried up the stairs after Zahira. 

Once he vanished up the stairs, Lily let out a soft scream. She turned to Severus, waving her hand at the staircase. "What is wrong with your father? Genuinely, I would love to know. Can he not be awful for five seconds?" 

"Yes," Severus said as Albus said, "no, he cannot."

The two looked at each other. Well, no, Severus glared and Albus just twinkled before they looked back at the Evans women. 

"I once institutionalized Tom in the best mental hospital for wizards and witches," Albus begam, standing up now. He moved around the room, ignoring the horrified expression on Severus's face. He moved closer to Lily and Ruth, to bridge the gap between them. "It happened in the early seventies. I put him under the care of the best Occlumensic Therapists of their day. And I received his diagnosis of Magical Histeria Personality Disorder. So if you are wondering what is wrong with Tom, that is what is wrong with him." 

Lily looked up at him, concerned. "The seventies?" she muttered, and Albus nodded. 

"Great, now we know," Severus snapped, vibrating with fury. His magic didn't drop the temperature like Tom's did when he was in a proper rage. It burned hot, making the fire in the fireplace crackle and expand. "Now explain what's wrong with yourself. You institutionalized a man who's mother had been lobotomize! Are you fucked in the head, Dumbledore?" 

"I was at my wits end, Severus," Albus explained calmly. There wasn't a hint of remorse or desperation in his tone, like he didn't need nor want them to agree with him. "Your father had issues since the day I met him. I thought it was about time I gotten professional help." 

"It seems a tad extreme," Ruth said, a bit unsure if she should argue. "You know, us orphans, we didn't have a decent relationship with hospitals..." 

"It's a damn harder slap in the face than what Lily just did!" Severus's voice rose, his eyes never leaving Albus. "I can't believe this. Father might be rather cruel when he wants to be, but he would never do that."

"When was this?" Lily asked, cutting through Severus's anger. "You said early seventies, couldn't have been anything past '73."

"Ah, yes, that," Albus said, sighing. "A bit of misstep in my part when it came to . I was in December of '72. He had one of his...episodes. Something or another had sat him off in a fit, strangled my brother Abefroth after a nasty argument." he didn't elaborate. "So I sent him to France for several months. He was released from L'Hôpital Mémorial de Juliette Delacour in late May of '73, but not because he had been properly treated. He had been released because he used his connections in St. Mungo's and Ministry to get him out. Whatever treatment he had been receiving was discontented, and his sycophants got their master back." 

"And Voldemort's first attack had been at a summer solstice party at the Longbottoms," Lily pointed out, growing increasingly angry by the second with each word Albus spoke. "Albus, don't you see the correlation here?" 

"Tom's choice to become Voldemort had nothing to do with his stay at the hospital," Albus said, dismissive. His voice was almost detached. "And everything to do with his warped fantasies of becoming a dictator." 

"No, he became the Dark Lord because our people were being slaughtered!" Severus shouted, eyes burning. "I can't believe I betrayed my own father to spy for you. I should've just warned you about Lily, and then stick by my father's side."

"And if you hadn't, Tom would still be possessed," Albus said, rather unphased. "You cannot retroactively regret doing the right thing because you're upset, Severus." 

"The right thing?" Lily asked, looking at the Headmaster with blossoming look of disgust. "Tom is a known mass murderer. You could've endangered that entire hospital." 

At her words, Albus was finally left stunned. Like the full force of what he had done hit him two decades later. 

Wherever the discussion was going came to a sudden, and abrupt end with the front door opening and a gust of wind blowing down the hall. Two different accented voices carried into the living room. 

"And the nerve Erma Owler!" Mangala shouted. "Call me a jealous hussy. I help the women of this country by calling out that fraud Lockhart. And this is the thanks I get?" 

"I am more upset by Deepwell," Nagini said, a much calmer tone, yet twice as venomous. "He might as well have betrayed us. 

"I will deal with him later—oh, Tom!" 

The four of them turned to the doorframe of the living room. Tom stood in the threshold, glaring scorch marks into Albus's skull. It lasted for split second, and Tom turned to greet his wife. He bent over and kissed her, a quick peck.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "What did Orin do?" 

Mangala waved him off, seemingly unbothered. "It's nothing, honey."  

She glided into the room, unhooking her thick, dark green velvet cloak. She slipped it off and dumped it in his arms. And what she had underneath was sari made up of a cascade of sage green, and oranges that blended together in interacted patterns. Her gold earrings matched the trim of her sari and the belt that was placed over her round belly. And undoubtedly, the married couple coordinated the colors of their outfits. 

She looked around the room, her expression not betraying she sensed the tension in her arms. But her honey brown eyes were sharp, and calucating. She undoubtedly knew she walked into something, but had the grace to not prod. 

"Lily, dear," Mangala said, approaching her first, and grabbing her hands. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Lily said, smiling. She turned to Ruth, and pulled her closer. "This is my mother, Ruth." 

"Hello, it's so nice to meet you!" Ruth said, clasping Mangala's hands with hers. "Lily told me so much about you already." 

"Oh?" Mangala asked, looking between mother and daughter. "Ash she?" 

"I'm Tom's adopted sister, and cousin by blood," Ruth explained gently.

Mangala's smile turned strained as her eyes widen a fraction. "Sister, huh?" she turned toward Tom. "I never heard about this." 

The cloak in his hands vanished to the depths of their walk-in closet. "I don't like talking about myself." 

Mangala pulled away from Ruth to face him, with her arms crossed over her chest and giving him a stern expression that would make lesser men cry. "Since when?" 

"I'm allowed to have secrets, Manny," he said, moving around the room. He went to one of the in tables and opened the drawer, revealing a disgusting amount of cigarette butts just shoved in there. The smell of burnt nicotine filled the air, overpowering the delicious scent from the kitchen. He shuffled through ash and butts, looking for something...

"Damn," he hissed under his breath, "I thought I had a loose one in here." 

"Father, that's vile," Severus deadpanned, watching Tom go to next in table for a loose cigarette. 

Tom didn't spare him a glance. "Fuck," he muttered. "I think I smoked my last pack." he muttered to himself more than anyone. He went to the fireplace and scanned the mantle for a missing pack he wasn't aware of. 

He rubbed his trousers aggressively, before turning back to face the others. His fingers twitched. "Manny, do I have another pack in my coat?" 

"How should I know, Tom," she threw her arms in the air. "I just got home." 

Tom nodded without saying a word, as if he barely registered, she gotten home and just went to the cabinet against the wall. He swung the doors open and shuffled through the knick-knacks and forgotten junk. 

"Father, do you want me to get your carton?" Severus asked, shooting nervous glances o Mangala. 

Tom didn't answer. He just muttered to himself about he must have a pack in his study before wandering out of the room. Severus waited a second and then followed Tom. 

"Fantastic," Nagini said, joining them now. "I see Tom is one of his moods, but" she glanced Albus's way, sneering at him, "with you here, of course, he is." 

"I assure you, Nagini," Albus said calmly, "he was having these 'episodes' long before he met me."

"I don't care what he does, just as long as he doesn't kill anyone," Mangala said, wandering over to the mirror hanging on the wall. It was framed in gold, with engraved snakes that blinked every few minutes. She adjusted her hair as she said, "I do not have the patience for it after today. Especially dealing with Deepwell." 

Ruth moved over to Lily, and whispered, rather loudly, "he's not really a killer, is he? He doesn't seem like the type...' 

"Mum, we have been through this before," Lily hissed, massaging her temple, "he's a war criminal. He murdered James Christ's Sake."

Ruth frowned. As if she was uncomfortable by the truth but couldn't bring herself to argue. So, she what every housewife of her time did. Find a rug and sweep the dirt bunnies and ash underneath and deflect from the growing pile beneath the surface. 

"Who's this Deepwell?" she asked, looking around the room. 

"Orin Deepwell is the owner of the Apothecary in Diagon Alley," Albus supplied, before turning a critical eye toward Mangala. "However, he was Marked. Arrested, even."

"He also claimed he was put under Imperious and cast aside the Dark Lord," Nagini said, her disgust evident. "It wasn't out of pragmatism, but true cowardness. And today, he betrayed us even further. He should be punished for it instead of simple telling off." 

Mangala rolled her eyes before turning back around. "It was directed at me, and I dealt with it," she said coldly. 

"Dealt with what?" Severus asked, returning from the study.

"Did he find anymore cigarettes?" Lily asked, cutting off Mangala. There was twinge of nervousness in her voice. 

'No, but he found an old picture of his mother and himself as young boy, and is now polishing a bottle of firewhiskey," he said. He sounded dismissive, as if it wasn't a problem at all, but despite Severus's mastery over his expressions, his eyes screamed with panic. "Now, about Deepwell? Should I go give him a visit?" 

"No, because I already dealt with it." Mangala repeated. But Severus gave her a look, willing her to explain herself. Sighing out of annoyance, she scoffed. "Fine, fine. You're just as terrible as your father. Deepwell was not happy over my exposé on Lockhart—you know who Gilroy Lockhart is?" She asked Ruth, suddenly. She didn't want to derail the story to explain who that was.  

"That's the terrible man who vanished Harry's bones, right?" she asked, looking between Mangala and her daughter. 

"He is," Lily said slowly, "what does that have to do with this?"

"Lockhart named Deepwell's store several times in his books, endorsed his shop," Mangala explained, crossing her arms over her chest, looking smug. "And my exposé on Lockhart cost Deepwell minor credibility and his sales went down due to association. He wasn't all too pleased when Nagini and I stopped by his shop. Threatened to hex me on sight, called me a whore," she held up her index finger. 

Lily let out a shocked gasp, and Ruth covered her mouth. Severus's mouth dropped, just slightly. 

Albus's brows rose high, and his half-moon spectacles slid down his nose. "That seems like a rather extreme reaction." 

"I'm not even finished," Mangala said, growing heated. "After I told him off, he then lashed out and called me a Paki. And said Zahira would grow up to be a slut just like me—

The house plummeted into an arctic, frigid temperature, far worse than the bitter cold outside. The fire was snuffed out in the fireplace, and lights flickered. A sharp buzzing in the air, almost like static, grew impossible loud. 

Immediate dread overcame the room. Out of the hall, Tom emerged with a unadulterated murderous rage. His entire body trembled, his wand out. He clutched his wand so hard, his knuckles were white with tension. The magic buzzed like a furious wasp trapped inside a glass far, threatening to shatter its cage in a thousand pieces. 

Almost everyone was left in a paralyzed state. The twinkling in Albus's eyes completely died, and his wand slipped from his coat jacket, and into his hand. He was ready to stop Tom by force if he had to. He couldn't let Tom ruin their plans with the Ministry, no matter how reasonable his anger was. It was the fact Tom was never rational with his reasons. Severus and Nagini stood straighter, their hands hovering for their wands on instinct. Both trained for a battle. Lily moved in front of Ruth, blocking her mother from any possible firefight that might happen. 

Mangala was the only one who knew how to work her legs. She rushed past everyone, straight to her husband. She clutched the front of his polo shirt. 

"Tom, Tom, please, please, please don't do this today," she pleaded. "Don't do anything rash. Not when we're so close to everything we wanted!" 

Tom shoved her hands off him. "What kind of man," he hissed in a low murmur, his voice eerily calms for the state of his magic. "What kind of man would I be if I let another man insult my wife and daughter?

"Tom," Mangala repeated, almost a growl. Frustrated, he wouldn't listen to her, that she would lose the battle. "Don't do this because your ego is bruised."

His eyes flashed. "My bruised ego? I got Rita writing hit pieces on me; Lucius is disrespecting me in public. I'm a fucking boardgame, Mangala!" he snapped, voice rising to a feverish pit. "Orin's insulting what's mine--this isn't about my ego. It's about people forgetting who I am. It's about everyone in the damn country forgetting whose name they can't say out loud. And I'm going to remind them!"

"Tom, do not," Albus said taking a step forward, wand raised.

"Starting with my followers," Tom declared before vanishing with a loud pop.

The fire burned brighter, warming house once more. The lights stopped flickering, and the cottage returned to a peaceful quiet had been for most of the afternoon and evening.

And Albus Disapparated, following Tom to stop him. 

Several seconds dragged by, Ruth clutching her rosary to her chest. Lily trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. To her, she wasn't in the same room as her child's professor. He might as well have dawned his plague doctor unifmorm and declared himself Voldemort all over again. 

Mangala shook her head, brows knitted together in a sharp fury. She turned to Severus, giving him a look--demanding him to explain his father's actions. 

"Did you hear what he said?" she asked, irritated. 

Severus was staring at his left arm, not truly listening to her. "I heard it," he murmured. 

"He said 'what's mine!' As if he owns me!" Mangala snapped, throwing her hands in the air. "When he gets back, I'm going to beat his bloody ass. Who the fuck does he think he's talking to?" She let out a disgusted noise. "Oh, I hate it when he gets this way. He never thinks with his damn, brilliant brain. He thinks with his dick and has to throw it around to prove he's some 'manly man'." She let out a frustrated noise. 

Lily couldn't help herself.

"You're mad because he's possessive, and not because he's about to kill someone?" She demanded. 

Mangala gave her a bored look, as if Lily was the dullest person in the room. "Lily," she said, voice dripping with condescension. Why would I give a damn Tom murders some perverted old man who called my daughter a slut? I moved to this country for the sole purpose to assassinate a woman," she confessed without even flinching. "I'm just annoyed he's acting irrationally because he can't handle his fragile male ego being mildly insulted, and he's jeopardizing our long term political goals." 

Lily was left speechless, while Nagini looked on with pride and admiration. 

With the finality of the conversation declared, Mangala turned back to Severus. "Where are your siblings?" 

Severus took a moment to respond, barely registering the shift in topic. "Ravi and Potter are in the greenhouse feeding the snakes, and Zahira is upstairs dealing with something her mother should talk to her about." 

Realization flickered in Mangala's eyes. "Oh, dear Merlin," she hissed out, rubbing both the sides of her head. "I knew she would start when I wasn't around and Tom had to deal with it on his own. I bet he was utterly useless, and now I have to clean up whatever nonsense he said to her."

She pointed at Severus. "Get the boys and have them set the table. I am bloody well starving and we'll eat without Tom and Albus if we have to. If Tom throws a fit, he shouldn't act like a jackass." She didn't leave room for argument, for she stormed out of the living room and up the stairs to find Zahira.

Once she disappeared up the stairs, Ravi and Harry emerged from the dining room, both stunned. But not stunned enough to talk. 

"What the heck was that?" Harry asked at the same time Ravi demanded, brimming with anger. "who the fuck called my sister a slut?"

Ravi approached Severus, glaring at him like it was his fault for not stopping this. "She just twelve. She hasn't even started her period yet! Why would anyone call her that?" 

"An idiot," Severus drawled, putting on a face of stoicism. "Go get the China plates and set the table." he ordered, avoiding the topic. 

Neither boy budged. "I don't know what any of this means," Harry said moving further into the room, standing next to Lily and Ruth. "But his freak out just now wasn't only about some weird old man insulting Zahira. What happened while we're in the greenhouse?" 

"Yeah, he was fine we when left the cottage," Ravi argued. 

"Don't worry about it," Lily assured. "this is something best left for the adults." Ruth behind her looked utterly guilty, fidgeting with her rosary, but she didn't say anything at all. 

"Left for the adults?" Harry repeated, his face scrunched up in frustration. He pointed to his forehead. "I want to know if the guy who gave me this scar is losing his mind before I get another one of these, thank you very much."

"Harry," Lily said, putting force behind the one word. With her hands on her hips and staring him down. "He's not going to give you another scar. I won't let it. This situation isn't for someone who's twelve."

Harry's face twisted in anger, mirroring Petunia in this moment more than he ever did James. He opened his mouth, ready with a riot act on his lips, but Ravi grabbed his arm and gently pulled him aside. 

"Let's go," he urged. "No point arguing with parents, trust me." In act of bold defiance, he glared at Lily, shocking her. 

Harry looked between his mother and his friend, nodding. "Yeah, or any adult. The only honest one around is Tom."

The two left the living room, and Lily was too stunned to speak. They walked right pass Nagini, who watched them retreat into the kitchen. When the door closed with a shuttering bang, Lily deflated. Ruth collasped onto the couch, clinging to her rosary. 

"This is my fault," she muttered to herself and no one else. 

"Oh, don't blame yourself," Nagini said, her tone cold and dismissive. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. Tom has been feeling anxious since the end of the war. He's not one for peace." 

Ruth twisted in her seat, aggressively shaking her head. "No, no. It is."

Lily rubbed her forehead, muttering swears under his breath before sighing. "Please, Mother, Tom Riddle isn't the eight-year-old boy you knew when you're three. You barely remember him."

Ruth stood up again and shoved her rosary in Lily's hands. "Look!"

Lily was ready to dismiss her but then she truly looked at the rosary. Truly looked. She had seen the rosary hundreds of times, but she never gave it much thought, but now in her hands she was left unable to form words. 

"What is it?" Severus asked, his curiosity peaked. His father had issues with the Catholic church, but why would a simple string of beads upset him? 

She turned to him, handing him the rosary. 

And before he accepted it, he saw the pendent strung at the bottom. He gawked at the rosary for several seconds before snatching it away. At the bottom was the pendant from Salazar's locket. The beads weren't of note, but the fact the cross was placed above an artifact from Salazar was the jarring visual Severus couldn't wrap his mind around. 

"Tom and I had gone looking into our shared history and found Merope's rosary in the basement of the building on top of Wool's remains," Ruth explained carefully, fidgeting with her pearl necklace. "It survived the Blitz. It somehow survived, after all those years. And kept it. And Tom...Tom gave me a necklace. Said it was very important to our family's history. The chain the locket was on rusted over the years, so I took off the pendant and worked into Merope's rosary. I showed him a little bit ago, and he wasn't all too pleased. I think it upset him deeply."

Severus's mouth ran dry. Oh, it certainly explained a part of why Tom reacted violently, but no. It wasn't the trigger for tonight's explosive outrage. Nagini was right. Tom just needed a series of excuses to end the tentative peace in his life. 

But..still...

He approached Ruth, dropping the rosary in her hands. "Don't show this to the talking portrait in the dining room. I am going to oversee the boys know how to properly set a table," he drawled and stalked into the kitchen, not ready for his arm to burn with a familiar sensation. 

But in the meantime, he will make sure they set out the Burke fine China set--Tom would feel better eating on stolen plates of those he murdered. 

Chapter 22: The Price of Insolence

As soon as they landed in the abandoned Riddle Mansion, Tom threw Orin Deepwell to the ground. The shopkeeper fell hard against the floor. The exposed nails and splintering, rot infested wood tore through Orin’s robes, raking the flesh off his back and arms. He yelled like a wounded animal. He lifted his hands to examine the scraped wounds. He looked up with a mix of fear and pain, trembling under the weight of Tom's magic and rage. His eyes glossy, cheeks flushed from the biting cold seeping through the house.

Tom approached Orin, slow and deliberate, using the advantage of his full height to oppress Orin.

Each step caused a creak on the floorboard.

A part of him, the one that was always thinking of his image, wondered how opposing he could be at that moment. He was dressed in a salmon top with matching socks. He wore cream-colored loafers. His entire outfit was to coordinate with his darling wife, a sign of his domestication.

He loved Mangala. He did. He worshipped her.

But how he dressed, how he acted around his family was the reflection of how the world seen him. And the last four years, they saw a stay-at-home father with a Pomeranian named Princess Cloud and baby on the way.

And this domestication made him soft.

No one eleven years ago would dare insult his wife, his children. But that was before. Before the end of the war his side was winning.

Before he was You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Before he was the Dark Lord who was defeated by a fucking toddler!

Not anymore.

The demon was free from his head, but Tom Marvolo Riddle was still Lord Voldemort. He took his father’s name; he took the demon’s too.

And he was going to remind the world tonight why he’s the real Voldemort.

"I-I-I thought," Orin stuttered, voice choking on his hubris, "you retired! I thought you were done!' 

Tom tilted his head to the side, staring down at the pathetic excuse of a wizard. He remembered the day he gave Orin Deepwell the Mark. It wasn't out of necessity for the movement, or because Orin was loyal to the cause. Orin needed protection from Aurors shaking down shops suspected of selling anything related to Dark Magic. And Tom wanted cheaper selection of mundane potion ingredients. It was a convenient arrangement for him, and needed for Orin. It had been a generous offer on Tom's part. He didn't need Orin, not when he had a greenhouse and his own garden, not to mention the Malfoy's acres of land and money to fund him. 

And what did Tom get out of his generosity? 

Betrayal. 

Tom kicked Orin hard in the ribs, making the old man cry out and curl on his side to protect himself. Tom kicked him again and again and again. Over and over and over until there was a snapping of bones and Orin was coughing up blood. The shopkeeper was sobbing into the wood floor. 

Orin whimpered. "Please.”  he wheezed out the word, struggling to breathe with his now cracked ribs. “Have mercy…”

Tom crouched low, grabbing the man by the collar and forcing Orin to look him in the eyes. 

"Have mercy?” he mocked before slapping Orion with a nasty backhand elicited a yell. He grabbed Orin’s collar roughly, dragging him close, so close their breaths mingled together in the cold air.

“You thought because I have a family, that I—until, very recently—been a stay-at-home dad meant I was someone else?" he asked in a soft, almost tender voice. Orin knew what that tone meant, and he pissed himself right then and there. Tom sneered, both amused and disgusted by the old man’s week bladder.

 "You want mercy? After insulting my wife? Insulting my daughter?” With his free hand, he stroked Orin’s bruising cheek. “You think you could make that comment about my baby girl and I wouldn't hear it?" 

He paused, seeing if Orin could string two words together outside of sobbing like a pathetic rat. But he didn’t.

He backhanded the man again, this time hard enough to break Orin’s nose.

He shoved Orin down before grabbing the man's arm. He forced the sleeve up, admiring his own work. The Dark Mark was faint, almost not there. Weeks back, he activated only Lucius’s. But now...now Tom was going to send a message to everyone who bore his Mark. 

He drew his wand and at the sight, Orin thrashed on the ground.

"Nononono!" He screamed, trying to pull his arm free. "No, no please! Please!" 

Tom silently summoned vines to hold Orin down with only his mind. The plants cut into Orin's flesh, causing blood to stain the vines and leaves. He then vanished the man's mouth, and yet he still screamed, muffled by flesh.

But Orin…watching him wither and rithe on the ground, unable to truly vocalize his pain...

"You should have thought of this when you called my wife a Paki," Tom spat venom in each word. "When you called her a whore. Did you forget who owns you, Orin?" 

Tom pressed his wand tip against the Dark Mark and hissed out a burning incantation. Orin’s muffled screams were delightful to Tom’s ears and he was grinning. When was the last time he heard such a symphony? Years before the Potters. James, to give the passant credit, died bravely. He took the torture like a man, and that pissed Tom off. James robbed him of the sweet music of screams. 

But Orin…watching him wither and rive on the ground, unable to truly vocalize his pain...

Fuuuuck…he wondered if Mangala would be too irate to have sex tonight? He needed to a good fuck after this.

Or an icy shower if she’s in a mood.

More pleased than he should be, he continued. "Is this how you pay back the man who shielded your pathetic excuse of apothecary?" he murmured, examining Orin like he was frog ready to be cut open. "A lot of you forgot who I am. What I am capable of. It's about time I remind all of you of the power I wield." 

He pressed his wand tip to Orin's Dark Mark and activated it. The man let out a muted scream. He thrashed harder against the straits.

But Tom didn’t care.

"I want to make myself clear," he spoke softly, not to Orin but to everyone who had been Marked. "You thought I was domesticated? That I was retired? That the revolution was over?"

Mangala heard him while she knelt in front of their daughter in Zahira's bedroom, trying to explain her body was changing and it was a beautiful thing. Severus heard his father as he instructed Ravi and Harry how to properly set a table. He did his best to ignore the burning sensation on his arm.

Nagini was already sitting down, grinning. She has been waiting for Voldemort’s return for over a decade.

"I allowed you the illusion of peace. A mercy I regret." 

Lucius, on his anniversary, collapsed on the Elafonissi beach, gripping his arm with Narcissa watched on in horror. Corban and Lianhua looked at each other across their dinner table, accepting what was to come. Norman ignored his burning arm as he played with his grandchildren. Orson pretended he didn't have a vision of this moment, and continued playing cards with Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Xenophilius Lovegood.

Xenophilius did his best to hide his glee at the word revolution.  

"You think me weak? That my exile changed me?”

Igor Karkaroff slid down the stone walls of his office in Durmstrang, his heart beating hard against his ribcage. Peter Pettigrew was forced out of his rat disguise from pain, curling inward himself in his childhood dorm. He was grateful either boys had left for the holidays or Ron was in the middle of his Polyjuice plot and he was allowed to scream through the pain.

"I am Lord Voldemort. I will always be Lord Voldemort." 

In the bowls of Azkaban, Dementors swarmed into a frensy as prisoners cheered. Bellatrix Lestrange's mad laughter rose above the cheers. She licked the blackened Dark Mark, gleeful at hearing her master's voice for the first time in over a decade. She knew the Dark Lord was just biding his time, and soon he would free them all!

"Your doubt in my power is a disrespect I will not tolerate," Tom breathed out in a hiss. "And I will not allow any of you to insult myself, my wife, my children or Nagini. And since I have your undying attention, I will make this perfectly clear. Harry Potter and his mother are mine as well. A slight against any of them is a slight against me. And you will pay the price. And the price of insolence is this." 

Tom murmured one spell like it was lullaby.  

"Crucio."

Orin convulsed against the restraints. And he made sure each pathetic ant felt his wrath. He was careful, however, blocking the sting of the Unforgivable to Mangala, Severus, and Nagini. But they would know he used this spell. They would hear his warning. 

It lasted mere seconds before a loud pop interrupted him, and lemon filled the mold-infested mansion. 

Tom sprung to his feet, breaking the curse. A stunner flew at Tom, but he summoned a crystalized shield, blocking Albus’s pathetic attack.  

The elderly wizard looked less enraged and more annoyed.

"Really?" Dumbledore demanded, gesturing to the shopkeeper bleeding on the Riddle's ballroom floor. "I do not condone racism, but this is a tad extreme, Tom. And it is a waste of your magic and energy. We have a true enemy at our gates, and you're torturing this fool?" He put his hands on his hips, glaring daggers at Tom like it was Tom's fault Orin insulted Mangala and Zahira.

"My own followers have slighted me time and time again," Tom explained through greeted teeth. "I will not suffer anymore disrespect toward myself or my family."

"And acting like a deranged school-yard bully will earn you respect?" Albus countered. He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Tom, this is absurd. Just patch the man up, obliviate him, so we can drop him off at the hospital and eat Christmas dinner like a normal family."

Tom found himself not upset that Albus barged in. If anything, he felt relaxed, in a state of catharsis, for the first time all day. He snapped his fingers and summoned a pack of cigarettes from the cornerstone down below in the village. Next, he summoned the lighter he had since he was nine years old. He flicked the lighter and lit the cigarette. He placed it between his lips, and inhaled the sweet, sweet nicotine. 

Albus just watched impatiently until he was done. 

"Very well," Tom exhaled, dismissive. "I made my point anyway. I was tired of my former followers thinking they can walk over me, but now they know better."

"Yes, yes, you're a manly man, Tom," Albus said, tone cutting. "You better not have made a scene at Deepwell's shop. I cannot have you behave openingly like a violent sociopath, or it will cause more issues with the Ministry." he argued. "We finally have common enemies—the demon and Fudge—and you flying off like you did just now is going to ruin our alliance." 

Tom flipped him off but he didn't argue. He turned around and faced Orin, who shook violently from the attack. "It's your lucky day, Deepwell." He flicked his wrist and Orin's mouth returned. "Tell Albus thank you because if he hadn't shown up, I would've killed you. Go on. Thank him." When Orin hesitated Tom narrowed his eyes into a nasty glare. "Are you disobeying me, Orin? " 

"Th-th-thank you, Headmaster," Orin stammered out. 

Albus turned a critical eye on Orin, and his expression went from agitated to downright hateful. The shopkeeper shrunk away from the glare. "Do not think this as a kindness, Deepwell. You did not just insult Tom's daughter. You insulted my granddaughter. If I could trust Tom to not make a scene, I wouldn't even be here." he turned his glare back on Tom. "Will you just finish this so we can be done with this?" 

Tom smiled, like he had won a small victory. "Very well, Albus," he said with a dramatic flair. He leveled the wand once more at Orin. "Obliviate."

 

Harry couldn't help but compare this dinner to one he had with the Dursleys. It was tense, quiet. There was small chatter, mostly between Ravi and himself. But the adults were all sharing looks. Each word out of Dumbledore's mouth was clipped, forced, especially when directed at Tom. Ms. Verma shot nasty glares at Tom, and he smiled at her like she was the only one in the room. He flirted too and made comments that were suggestive. Suggesting what Harry didn’t know. Ravi knew and would gag or glare at his father. Ms. Verma was also equally as unimpressed by Tom, and her sharp rebukes didn’t deter Tom.

His mum and Professor Snape would whisper to each other in hushed tones Harry couldn’t hear. Grandma picked at her food, shooting concerned glances at Tom. He didn’t blame her. She remembered a little boy, a brother in the orphanage, and now she had to pretend he wasn’t a murderer.

Harry thought she would get used to it. Her other daughter was Petunia Dursley, and just as monstrous as Tom Riddle, if someone asked him.

Nagini and Zahira talked in low voices too and in what Harry assumed as Indonesian. How many languages did this family know?

He did notice something else: Zahira was out of her cute skirt and jumper in frumpy and loose lounge pants and an oversized t-shirt with a flaming skull over a pentagram. She was drowning in the shirt. It could’ve belonged to either one of her brothers, but it was definitely not hers.

He wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Hey, Zee,” Ravi said after a moment, leaning around Harry to get a good look at his sister. “Why are you wearing my t-shirt?”

Zahira stopped eating and dropped her fork on her plate, practically throwing it in a fit.

“It's none of your business!" she shouted, bringing a halt to dinner.

“Also,” Snape cut in with a sharp drawl, “that shirt does not belong to you. It is mine.”

“But you have so many,” Ravi argued with an almost pout. “And you,” he turned back at Zahira, “stop throwing a tantrum over a question.”

Her face turned beet red, like she was about to explode. Harry regretted sitting in between them, but his other option if he wanted to sit next to Ravi was in between Ravi and Tom.

 

"Ravi," Ms. Verma said, her voice both soft and stern in the only way a mother could be. "leave it alone." 

Ravi's shoulders went up, defensive. "I was simply asking a question." 

"And I said it’s none of your business!" Zahira repeated before she returned to eating. This time, using her fork to stab her food. 

"Well fuck me for being bloody curious!" Ravi snapped, slumping in his chair. 

Swiftly, Tom's hand reached behind Ravi's head with a sudden smack. The older boy flinched. "Ow, what was that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head. 

Tom leaned close and hissed through clenched teeth. "What the fuck I said about bleedin' swearin'?" he asked, his real accent slipping through each word. He coughed and cleared his throat. "I told you to stop. You sound uneducated."

Ravi rolled his eyes so hard they could've popped out. 

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," he said, using his fork to point at Tom. "If I start killing people, would you be on my arse for that too?" 

Harry had never seen a man who always had a quip or cutting insult rendered speechless. His mouth hung open, his eyes were wide. Ms. Verma folded her arms in front of her, giving him an expected look. Harry looked around the table to see the other reactions. Snape smirked, clearly amused. Zahira was unbothered and kept aggressively eating. Albus mirrored Mangala, his eyes twinkling for the first since dinner started. Lily was more interested, while Ruth looked horrified by the casualness murder was talked about at the dinner table. He could hear her say this wasn't proper dinner etiquette. And Nagini...the snake-lady was hard to read. 

Finally, Tom found his voice. 

"It depends who you murdered and what for," he answered slowly, gnawing on his words. And his answer was shaping up to be rather horrible. "If it was someone I don't like, or you did it in defense of your mother and sister, then if we will celebrate." 

Yep. Horrifying. But rather pragmatic. Harry was learning to accept the horribleness of Tom Riddle and just went back to eating. It was easier to let Tom Riddle just say awful things, he realized. And he could understand killing a person in defense of a loved one. Harry didn't know if he could kill for no real reason, but if someone hurt his mum or his three best friends and maybe Draco (for Cassie's sake), he would be able too. 

"Tom!" Mangala shouted, hitting Tom rather hard in the arm. "What is wrong with you?"

He cringed away, almost frightened, but still smiling. "What? I'm promising the lad father-son bonding time." He waved his hand down at the end of the table. "Albus and I bonded over burying bodies under my father's garden. It's called family tradition."

"I would not say we were bonding," the Headmaster corrected, a bit weary. "More like I was keeping you out of prison."

"Same thing," Tom waved his fork to dismiss him. He then turned to Ravi. "Anyway, don't kill anyone. It's 'wrong' and 'illegal'." He used air quotes, in a mocking tone. 

"You're a bastion of morality, Father," Snape sneered, his voice a flat tone. His eyes glanced at Harry's way. "Potter, hand me the cranberry sauce." 

"Severus, your mother's pureblood supremacy is showing," Tom teased, but his smile was cruel and mocking. "You do know you're supposed to say please and thank you when you ask someone to hand you something, including half-bloods and mudbloods." Everyone turned toward him, glaring. But he kept going. "Not demand it like your mother had taught you. You’re just as much as half-blood as Harry is.”

Harry knew, and really, everyone knew that Tom didn’t care about politeness or any inherent pureblood supremacy Snape’s mother had. Tom just wanted to torment Snape. 

The look of utter disdain on Snape's face at saying please made Harry snort though. "I will not be polite to Potter."

Sighing, Harry reached for the bowl, he wasn't expecting his mum held up her hand stopping him from passing the disgusting cranberries over to his potions professor. 

"I loathe to say this, but Tom has a point—

"I always make excellent points, Lily, I am a genius—

—but you just can't demand my son to do something." She finished, her expression turning into a nasty scowl from Tom's interruption. 

"I just want the cranberries away from me," Harry said, and handed them over anyway. He didn't care if Snape said please. Since he sat down and the food appeared, he feared the slimy dish would fall onto his plate and contaminate everything. 

Lily glared at Snape for several seconds before he sighed. "Thank you," and it sounded like it took all his might to muster a thanks to Harry. He turned to Lily, glaring back at her. “Are you happy?”

She rolled her eyes and nudged him playfully. "Just shut up and eat." 

Harry watched his mother and Professor Snape for a second. What happened when he was in the greenhouse? They're smiling at each other, sharing secret glances and whispering to each other for the entire dinner. Panicked, he wondered what this could mean. Could...Professor Snape and his mum...like each other? He clamped down on a full body reaction at the idea.

He did not want Snape as a stepdad! Mum had boyfriends in the past, and Snape would be the worst one if she liked him!

"What's with you and cranberries?" Ravi asked, interrupting Harry's thinking.

“Huh?” he asked, turning to the older boy.

"You complained about cranberries on the train too,” he continued, shrugging.

"Oh, Harry never liked cranberries," Ruth chimed in, much more comfortable with this line of conversation than the previous.

But Harry wasn't. He didn't want to be at the center of attention! 

"They make my mouth numb and they're spicy," he mumbled, picking at his food. 

"Wait, you think they're spicy?" Lily repeated, unsure. "That doesn't sound right." 

"It doesn't sound right because he's allergic," Tom said cutting in. Harry turned and they locked eyes. "Don't eat cranberries."

"Wait! I thought when you're allergic to foods your throat swells up and then you die," Harry tried to argue. That's all he heard from his primary education at least. Well, maybe not as blunt. “A girl at my primary school was allergic to peanuts and she had to go to the hospital because a boy opened a package on the playground. But I don’t have that problem.”

"Well, you wouldn't die, because death avoids you," Tom assured, and then Dumbledore cleared his throat. There was a sharp silence as the two had a silent conversation in each other’s heads for several seconds. Cloud’s panting and whining at Snape’s feet was the only noise in the room as she begged for scraps. And while the two powerful wizards had their mental argument, Snape tore a piece of kabab and tossed it to the tiny dog below.

After a moment, Tom flipped Dumbledore off, the elderly Headmaster didn’t care.

“Go fuck yourself.” He took a sip of wine before clearing his throat. “Anyway, Harry, cranberry allergies are not as severe as nut allergies. You can smell cranberries just fine but if you eat too much you could experience anaphylaxis. So, in my professional opinion as the sole, and very talented healer, is that you should not eat cranberries. Luckily, none of the dishes have any cross contamination because I am a superb chef, which you have already gathered." 

Harry rubbed his throat, thinking of each time Aunt Petunia forcing him to eat cranberries despite him telling her it hurt. Lily must've thought the same thing as she dropped her fork and gripped her hair. 

 "I'm a terrible mother," she said hollowly. "How did I not know he was allergic?"

Harry's eyes widened. He was about to assure her she's the best Mum in the world, but Tom's slimy voice reached across the table. 

"Well, yes, actually you are—

Whack!

Tom doubled over, a noise like a punctured accordion escaping him. Mangala didn't even look at him. She simply returned her naan bread, tearing it apart and dipping it in her chutney. Her face was impassive, graceful even as her husband's face was stark white with pain. Tom gripped the edge of the table, digging his blunt nails into the wood. Ravi stared down at his father's lap, mouth agape with laughter frozen on his features. Zahira fell into a giggling fit, while Nagini smirked. Albus, however, watched with a mix of amusement but also sympathy. 

"I suppose I will not have any younger siblings," Snape drawled. "A pity."

Tom collected himself as best he could. "No, Lily," he wheezed out, "your brilliant mother, and any parent could have made that mistake."

Lily clenched her jaw, and then unclenched it, relaxing. "Thank you, Mangala." 

"Do not mention it," she said far too innocently. She turned to Tom, her smile genuine yet sarcastic. "Tom, you really outdid yourself with dinner." 

Tom forced himself to nod in accepting the praise, but he did not gloat again. Not with him still collecting wind back into his lungs. 

 And dinner moved on much smoother from there, conversations and stories shared. Mostly from Albus, who had a nonsensical story and lesson for everything. Harry learned that Albus and Nagini had known each other for decades, before either knew Tom, the two falling into a conversation for the whole table to hear about Newt Scamander.

 Tom, while nursing his pride and his manhood, added his own opinion over Scamander, singing the legendary Magizoologist's praises for radical magical creature activism. But within the same breath, criticizing him for not being radical enough:

“He wouldn’t let me murder a Lyall Lupin for his anti-werewolf legislation!” Tom complained like a small child complaining for chocolate cookies before dinner.

He was rightfully ignored and Ruth asked details about werewolves and if they’re real. Snape spat out his drink and shrunk in his seat, and wasn’t that funny? Harry didn’t think much of it when Nagini answered, shifting the conversation about her own condition.

And briefly, Lily dominated the conversation when excitedly explaining moth biology in detail and gushing over the 'Beetle Room' in their house, rattling the twenty species and where they’re located in the world.

"The beetle room?" Ravi asked, hissing in Harry's ear. 

Harry shot back, "your dad collects magical creatures in a giant greenhouse." He was beet-red from embarrassment. At least she wasn't separating each dish on her plate on separate plates like she normally did in new places. 

 Laughter loosened the tension that had once knotted the room.  Plates were scraped clean, seconds were claimed, and the air grew soft with warmth and homemade cider. By the time dessert arrived the table felt less like a battlefield and more like a fragile, flickering hearth. 

And poor Cloud was so stuffed from the sneaky kabab treats; she crawled onto Tom’s lap and slept like a newborn baby.

Harry was on his second chai poached pear when Zahira tapped him on the arm. 

"Harry, why are you glowing?" she asked. 

He pulled himself from the conversation he was having with Ravi about professional quidditch and looked down at his pocket. 

And he was glowing. Again.

"Oh, shoot the mirror!" he exclaimed. He looked frantically to his mother. "May I be excused?" 

"Uh, no," Lily said, pointing at him with her spoon. "What mirror do you have and why is it glowing?”

"There's no mirror," he lied, getting up anyway. The gold hue mixed with the soft ambience, making the fine China glitter like crystals. "And I'm not glowing."

"Harry, my boy," Albus said, leaning around Nagini to get a better look at him, "there is a light emanating from your trousers." 

"I think you just need better glasses, sir," he said cheekily before running out of the dining room before anyone could stop him.

The dining room was quiet just for a second and then...

"Severus," Salazar spoke for the first time in long while since dinner started, "when you teach the boy Parselmagic, teach him how to lie." Each word dripped with disdain and cruel hatred.

"I am not a miracle worker," Snape sneered. 

 

Harry didn't know where he would go to have this private conversation, but his feet took him to Tom's study. He creeped inside and closed the door, quietly, as to not alert anyone he went in here. Hopefully, if anyone comes looking for him, they will look elsewhere first. 

He tapped the mirror three times, moving to sit down at the desk. 

The mirror on the other side revealed the darkly lit girl's washroom. But none of his friends came into view. Voices were heard, terrified ones. And sobbing, hysterical sobbing.

Was that Hermione?

"What are we going to do?" Cassie whined, almost on the verge of hysterics. "This is so bad, so bad!" 

Surely, it’ll wear off!" Draco said, all bravado—but Harry could hear the panic creeping into his voice.

"This is bloody brilliant, you know?" Ron cut in, more irritated than scared. "Three pureblood blood-traitors just cursed our muggle-born friend. We're going to be expelled and Hermione's forever a cat!" 

The crying intensified. 

"Oh, fantastic work, Ronald!" Cassie snapped, more furious than Harry ever heard her before. There was the sound of someone being shoved. "You're just making it worse!" 

What did that mean? Hermione's a cat?

 "Guys!" he called out, panicked. "Hello!"

Three gasps, and then footsteps. Draco's face swam in front of the mirror as the blonde picked it up. 

"Potter!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide and glossy. "Something bad happened to Granger."

"Is she hurt?" He asked, his heart racing. How could something go wrong? Hermione did everything right with the potion! "What happened?"

Draco and Ron exchanged glances, both frowning and both unsure how to answer. 

"Will someone tell me what happened?" 

Behind them, in the stall where Hermione's cries came from, Myrtle drifted out. "Oh, how dreadful she looks!" She cooed, snickering. "You’ll need to feed her fish now! A get a box for kitty litter!" And Mertal cackled at her own joke.

Hermione's sobs renewed, stronger and heavier than before. There was yowl twinge to her sobs, more cat than girl. 

Harry's heart plummeted. 

"Is Hermione actually a cat!?" He asked in aggressive whisper. 

Cassie stormed into the mirror's view over to Myrtle. "Leave her alone—you—minger!" she bellowed. 

Myrtle’s laugh was cut short, and she was aghast at the insult. She huffed and stormed off, though it lost its effect because all she can do is float. Cassie watched her leave with hands on her hips before tapping on Hermione's stall. 

"Hermione, we got Harry," she said. "Please, come out."

"No!" she yelled, with a hiss curling around that one word. "I'm never leaving this stall ever again! I'm hideous!" 

"It's not all that bad, Hermione," Ron began, inching closer to the stall. "You're alright looking for a cat-girl."

A pause. Then—

Hermione sobbed harder. 

Harry slapped his hand over his mouth, stunned, that was what his best friend would say at a time like this. Behind the mirror, Draco sucked in a breath.

In the mirror, Cassie clenched her fists, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You absolute prick!" she growled.

Her wand was in her hand before Harry saw her move. A crack of red light exploded from the tip, and Ron was launched backwards with a yelp, limbs flailing as he disappeared from the frame like a ragdoll.

Draco pulled the mirror back on him as Cassie yelled in the background.

"Potter, this is bad, very bad," he explained, words coming out rapid and sharp. "Pomfrey had a family emergency with one of her youngest great-grandchild, and is at St. Mungo's. There’s no healer at the school!”

"Well, you have to tell a professor!" Harry couldn't believe they hadn't. Hermione was a cat-girl and they called him?!

"You're having dinner with one of the best healers in Europe!" Draco yelled. "Go get Riddle! And hurry, she's been like this for over two hours!" 

And then the mirror went dead. 

Harry dropped the mirror as he hurried out of the office, struggling to breathe as a weight of thousand stones crushed his chest. All he heard was his rapid heartbeat. He felt a sense of urgency, he knew he had to act now. Hermione was in danger! But his feet slowed until he stopped in the middle of the living room. He looked around dumbly, carelessly, overwhelmed by how badly their potion went!

He was like a fawn stuck on the blacktop and lights were heading straight for him. 

He didn't know what to do. 

"Mum!" he cried out, voice cracking.

There was a bang, the sound of a chair falling over. Wood scraping on wood, and the fast patter of running. 

Lily hurried out of the dining room at a full sprint, door slamming against the wall. She slid on the floor, snagging the bottoms of her black tight on the wood panels. She skidded to a stop, grabbing Harry's shoulders.

 "Harry, are you okay? Are you alright? What happened?" 

 Tom was right behind her but paused to hover them a few feet back to give them space. Ruth slid past him and went to his side. With his mother and grandmother flanking him, Harry’s shock crawled to a frantic horror. 

"Hermioneshurtanditsmyfault!" The words ran into each other, stumbling into one another.

Lily rubbed his back in circles, soothing him. "Harry, you need to breathe sweetie. Just slow down," she encouraged. He listened, forcing breath into his lungs. "Good, good. Now calmly, please, tell us what happened. Did you say Hermione’s hurt?" 

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw Tom stiffen. Dumbledore cleared across the room, standing next to the other man, his face grim. 

"That was Draco," he began, voice shaky. "we...we made a Polyjuice potion—

"What!" Snape roared. 

Harry whipped his head around. Snape strode over, more enraged Harry ever seen the man. He shrunk down the other side of the couch. 

"Severus." Dumbledore's stern voice cut through the tension.

But it was Tom snapping his fingers once and holding his hand that halted the Potions Master. His dark eyes never left Harry, not even bothering to glance at his oldest child his way to chastise him.

"Harry," he said, his voice suspiciously soft for a man like him. He took a step forward, and Lily instinctively pulled him closer. Tom ignored her and focused only on Harry. "Polyjuice is a complex potion, not many people can brew it, even many adults well passed graduation can't. One misstep can cause serious harm. It is imperative you explain exactly what Draco Malfoy said over the mirror call."

In Tom’s left hand, a brown leather suitcase appeared. Harry could barely make out the engraved words St. Mundo's coat of arms on the front. He seen something similar in the Hospital Wing. 

Harry swallowed down his nerves, finding comfort that Tom had medical bag already prepped just in case of emergencies like this. In this moment, he wasn't Lord Voldemort or Professor Riddle. He was Head Thaumaturgist of the Curse Containment & Malediction Ward. 

"I don’t know, I didn't see Hermione, she was in the stall," he explained, his voice clearer. "Ron, Draco, and Myrtle, they all said she was a cat-girl. She was meant to take Millicent Bulstrode's hair. Draco said she's been like this for over two hours."

Tom was doing his best to keep the horror on his face, but Harry saw it. The way his eyes widen, the way his mouth fell open just for a second before he schooled himself into impassivity. But the horror was there, and that caused Harry to tremble.

If a seasoned healer and warlord was afraid of Hermione’s condition, then Harry was petrified.

"Miss Bulstrode has a brown tabby," Dumbledore supplied, looking at Tom. "She must have taken a strand of the cat's hair on accident. I am admittedly unfamiliar with the effects of Polyjuice potion if one uses animal fur."

"She's in serious danger," Tom said quickly. He turned back to Harry. "Did you say Myrtle? As in Myrtle Warren?" 

"Is that Moaning Myrtle's name?" he asked, throwing his arms in the air. "We brewed it in her washroom—

Tom hadn't even let Harry finish. He stepped onto the back of the couch, and jumped down to the floor, hurrying to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and in a green of smoke, he vanished. Dumbledore followed, with Snape hot on their trails. 

 

 

When the three arrived at the restroom on the second floor, muffled, panicked screams could be heard through the thick stone walls and down the impossible long hallway. They're racked with frenzied sobs and blaming. It was unsurprising that Severus ran faster than either Albus or Tom and reached the bathroom before them as well. He threw the door open, allowing it to shutter with a bang. 

He halted at the door frame, surveying the scene before him. Ronald and Draco stood, slack jawed. Weasley's face was red from crying, and Draco's already pale face was porcelain white from terror and shock. On the ground, Hermione Granger convulsed and spasmed in Cassiopeia's arms.

Cassiopeia's glossy black eyes were illuminated by the moonlight and haloed glow of Myrtle Warren.

"I do not want a roommate!" The ghost exclaimed, hysterical and far from her weeping self or the cruel taunting tones she was known for. Just once, it was like she was alive and fifteen again.  

And her words snapped Severus out of his trance, forcing him to move.

He hurried over to the children, shoving aside Draco and Weasley, maybe a bit too hard. Maybe too aggressive, but he was enraged. Not concerned, but truly, viscerally angry that these idiot children were going to kill one of their classmates over something so stupid!

"Professor Snape!" Cassie pleaded, choking on her words and sobs. "What's wrong with her."

He crouched down, wracking his brain how to stop the seizures. But he wasn't a healer. He never seen Polyjuice potion go so wrong. In fact, despite his ten years as a certified Potions Master, he didn't even know this was possible. Because not a single student in his advanced classes were foolish enough to make such a mistake!

But the expert healer slid next to Severus, tossing his medical bag to the side.

Tom moved around the girls, gripping Cassie’s shoulders as he gently tugged off.

“Cassie, sweetie, you have to let her go.” There was a tenderness in Tom’s voice that was only reserved for children. No manipulation. No cruelty. He took no joy in seeing the horrified twelve-year-old girl traumatized by her friend dying in her arms.

“No!” Cassie yelled, tears streaking down her face. Her chest heaved up and down, as she grasped “I can’t leave her!” and she held Hermione closer as she thrashed in her arms.

“I know, I know,” he assured, prying her small arms from Hermione’s body. “But Cassie, I can’t heal her if you’re holding onto her.”

And that broke the little girl.

Severus almost felt empathy, but that rage blocked it. Granger wouldn’t be in this position if her three pureblood friends discouraged her and Potter from making Polyjuice Potion.

And as she got up, still weeping and trembling, Severus did not see distressed young girl. He saw an idiot.

If it was up to him, he would expel Draco, Cassie, and Weasley on the spot.

But it wasn’t up to him, and no doubt Albus wouldn’t punish them at all.

Tom didn’t seem bothered by any of the gross negligence. Tom lied to his followers earlier, before dinner. He has turned soft, at least for children.

Tom wasn’t focused on Cassie or Severus anymore. He opened his bag and grabbed a vial of liquid stardust and syringe with a long skinny needle. He punctured the vial's top and sucked up the potion until it was full. He tore Granger's sweater tank top, exposing her now very furry chest. Tom jabbed the syringe right into her heart. He held it there for five seconds once the spasms subsided.

Hermione's eyes flew open, gasping for air, but Tom was ready. He placed the palm of his hand to her forehead. "Sleep," he commanded, and her head dropped to its side, mouth parted in a gasp. Two fangs stuck out of her mouth, showing how much the potion turned her into a cat. 

The bag slid over to Tom, and he flicked through his vials of various potions, healing concoctions Severus recognized but never had the need to brew himself. While he looked through his potions for the right ones, Tom's magic pulled out pouches of dried lavender and passionflower petals that were then dumped into a floating into a stone grinder. An amethyst crystal, carved into a tower, ground the petals as Tom poured in a golden tonic Severus definitely did not recognize. 

Finally, Tom spoke, eyes not leaving the mixture. 

 "Severus," his eyes flicking upward, "rip the dragon silk hide into five bandages, three inch thickness." 

Severus peeled his eyes away from his father, reaching for the hide. He then realized, that in the commotion, Albus had gotten the children out of the room without him noticing. 

And without an awake child or weeping ghost in sight, he asked what he wanted since they flooed over here. One that caused him a great deal of humility because he should know as a Potions Master. 

"What is the cat DNA doing to her?" he asked, tearing the bandages in strips. 

Tom's jaw clenched as the elixir dulled from the dried lavender. "It's a relatively unknown reaction because it's just accepted knowledge you do not use animal hair in Polyjuice." He grabbed an empty vial and poured the tonic into it. Flecks of petals could be seen floating, but they broke apart. "It was not properly studied when a patient did come into any magical hospital. That is until I was doing my orderlies." 

Ah, of course. It was Tom Riddle's brilliance that expanded the field of medicine for magicals. Naturally. 

"Pray tell how did you do what no has done in hundreds of years since the invention of Polyjuice potion," Severus drawled. 

Tom glared at him. He didn't say it, but Severus heard the 'don't be a smartarse' as clear as if he had. "I Imperioed my way through Cambridge while I was attending Primore University to have a more rounded education. I was studying neuroscience and molecular biology while my fellow healers were stuck with waving wands." He took another syringe, and sucked the tonic up into the glass. "But you already knew that."

And Severus did. But what did that have to do with the Polyjuice potion? 

Tom pushed up Granger's sleeve past the elbow. "Wrap her arm as soon as I pull out out the syringe out, wrap her arm with the bandage. The rest are going to compress her chest until I can get her properly healed her rib cages." He felt her arm, pressing down until he found a pulse. He slipped the needle inside her skin, through the fur. Slowly, he pushed the liquid in. 

The tonic glowed under her skin, illuminating her veins. They pulsated, reaching her heart. 

"In '67, a wizard came in halfway transformed into a duck," he continued. "The idiot wanted to live as his prized ducks did for an hour. And instead of training to become an Animagus, he brewed Polyjuice and put in a feather. He started having seizures, and everyone stood around, watching him thrash about. Frankly, I didn't care rather the man died or not. He once snubbed me while I worked at Burke’s, so frankly, I thought he deserved it." 

He pulled the syringe out without warning, and Severus quickly wrapped the girl's arm as he had been told. 

"But what bothered me was no one was doing anything, it was just accepted that no one knew what was wrong," Tom explained, pushing Granger up like a ragdoll. He wrapped her chest carefully with the remaining bandages. Once she was stable, he laid her back down. He looked up at Severus, giving him an expected look. "Once I stabilized him and stopped the seizures, I took blood samples. His immune system was attacking the foreign pathogen, the duck DNA. I concocted the antidote, which you just saw."

"What happened to the man?" Severus asked, but he didn't know if he wanted the answer. 

"Ah yes, Caradoc Dearborn," he said, a vile smirk growing on his face. "Well, you were there. You watched I had done to him." 

Severus nearly blanched. He had been there, but not as a loyal dutiful son, but as a spy. When Tom killed Dearborn, he it wasn’t the Killing Curse. It was a butcher, a blood bath. It was a radical vegetarian who drowned himself in his enemy’s blood by stringing up by chained hooks and gutting him like an animal.

If Severus hadn’t turned on his father months prior, he would’ve done it then. He didn’t care about Dearborn. But he cared watching his father wither and wither away.

 "You saved his life only to kill him a decade later?" Severus prodded, still trying to solve the enigma that was his father.

"He shouldn't have snubbed me, Severus," Tom said with a casual shrug and smile. And the tenderly caring father was gone and in his place was a proud warlord whose only regret was that he lost.

Tom looked down at Granger, and snapped his fingers, replacing her torn sweater with a new one, giving her a bit of her decency back. "Miss Granger is a very bright girl. Brewing Polyjuice at her age. I admire that kind of ambition. Two hundred points to Gryffindor."

Severus's mouth fell open. "Two hundred? You're awarding her for nearly killing herself!?" 

"But she hadn't died, and now can live from her mistakes," he argued. "I'm awarding talent and ambition. She should've been in Slytherin."

Chapter 23: The Chess Master

Ron was tasked with a simple mission: deliver Hermione's books, writing supplies, clothes, and anything else she required. Lavender Brown would collect everything from her dorm based off an extensive list Hermione mailed to Professor McGonagall, hand it over to Ron, and then he would use the fireplace in the Gryffindor tower to Floo to the Riddle cottage. 

It was all very convoluted to Ron. Why couldn't McGonagall just collect Hermione's things and bring them to her? Or the House Elves from the kitchens? Or, since Lavender was already done the work, why didn't she just Floo to the Riddle house? Supposedly, it was to reduce the number of people seeing Hermione as a cat girl, but Ron thought maybe the Headmaster didn't want it to get out second years illegally brewed Polyjuice Potion under his nose. 

The thing was, Polyjuice wasn't illegal, but it wasn't legal either. It was 'regulated' or something like that. His dad mentioned it once in conversation with Bill. His oldest brother joked about using Polyjuice to fool the owner of music shop in Hogsmeade to give him a second interview before landing his dream job as curse breaker. 

The thing is it wasn't just Ron who knew. Cassie knew. Draco knew. They were purebloods, they were raised with magic and laws and Ministry oversight breathing down their families' necks, even Ron's who followed the rules. The three of them just didn't think they would be caught so they didn't warn Harry and Hermione, who were raised muggle. They thought Polyjuice was just another potion to brew. And Ron thought they wouldn't be caught, hoping they wouldn't be caught. Assuming Hermione's big brain and Draco's cleverness could shield them from detention. Maybe they should've warned Hermione about the laws surrounding the potion, maybe they should've doubled check the hairs they all collected.

 But it didn't matter now. It was too late; Ron was just grateful they didn't get into worse trouble. Like Snape stringing them their toes over bubbling, boiling cauldrons like Bill and Charlie used to claim Snape did to misbehaving children. 

"Oh, Ronald~" 

Lavender's sing-song voice broke through his thoughts. The blonde came skipping down the girl's dormitory, her curls bouncing behind her. Hermione's suitcase floated down the stairs—not well. They hit every other step. But Lavender glided down the stairs despite her long skirt. Ron didn't know how girls did it! he could barely where his robes without tripping over his own feet. This is why he liked them. They're all graceful, even the clumsy ones. Luckily they're the only ones in the common room, or surely she would draw attention. 

"Merlin, could you be any louder?" he snarked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think the Hufflepuffs heard you." 

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. She stopped a short few paces away from him, the suitcase dropping to the ground with a bang. Ron winced, making a face. Well, Lavender might be graceful, but her magic certainly wasn't!

 "I was speaking in a perfectly normal tone, you're just sensitive to noise," she said in a haughty tone. "I have everything on Hermione's list. Now, why is Hermione leaving school? Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to me."

Ron shrugged. "She got sick last night and needs to be...er," he racked his brain for the right word and settled on, "quarantine. Yes! That's it. She's being quarantined." 

Lavender gave him a skeptical look. She did not believe him at all, but Ron thought he lied rather well. "Then why are you going to see her and not a Healer?" 

"Because I'm allowed to, that's why," Ron said firmly. He grabbed the suitcase handle and picked it up. "Well, goodbye."

She just stared at him for several seconds, her expression flat and annoyed. 

"Aren't you going?" he asked. 

"And go where? It's my common room too," she insisted, brushing a loose curl from her pale complexion. "Well? Goodbye~" she wiggled her fingers. 

Ron glared at her before turning to the fire place, dragging the suitcase along. He dug into his pocket for the purple pouch of Floo Powder. 

"Thornespire, Riddle Cottage—

"Wait!" Lavender shouted. "Riddle? As In Professor—

But green flames drowned out her voice and the Gryffindor common room. In seconds, Ron landed neatly in an unfamiliar home willed with cosey and warm colors. He would never guess the very Slytherin Tom Riddle would claim this as his home if it weren't for the snake motif. The living room was different from his own. The Burrow was cluttered and over piling with knick-knacks and junk no one used. It was crowded, both with people and stuff, Ron could never imagine a quiet moment in his house. But the cottage wasn't like that. He could see himself on one of the couches, curled with hot chocolate and a book and not be bothered or distracted by noise or movement. 

But wouldn't that be boring. 

The soft patter of footsteps came on his right and he turned to see who was approaching. 

And his mind went fuzzy, filling with radio static.

Zahira Verma rounded the corner.

And it was like Ron was seeing her for the first time. He known her for over two years, she was Ginny's weird, haughty friend who said big words. But he she wasn't his friend, and he hardly paid her any attention, especially when she got sorted into Slytherin. The most he done with her was when he convinced her to kiss a toad when he was nine and she was eight.

 But now? Something was different about her. And without the school uniform, and in a salmon-colored tunic and matching trousers made her olive skin golden. And her brown eyes...were they always nice looking? They were like…rich pools of Honeyduke’s chocolate!

"Ron." She said, snapping her fingers to get his attention. When that didn't work, she stomped over to him and waved her hand in front his face. Hello? Are you in there?" 

"Huh?" he said, blinking, just as Hermione and Professor Riddle emerged from the hallway. 

"Oh! Ron, you brought my suitcase!" Hermione explained and hurried over to him, but he barely registered his own friend. Hardly heard her say, "you just missed Harry and his mother. They were here for breakfast, which was quite lovely. Mr. Riddle made this jam...Ronald? Are you listening to me?"

Ron was not in fact listening to her. 

He couldn't really stop himself from staring at Zahira and smiling.

Riddle just gave him a strange look, eyes narrowed as they darted between Ron and Zahira. Ron hardly paid him any heed either. Why would he? Zahira was standing right there, confused and annoyed with her hands on her hips. She was just so—

Hermione shook him, snapping him out of the fog he was in. He looked around, confused. "What?" he turned to her, meeting her impatient glare. "Oh! Yeah, Lavender got everything on your list. I think. I wasn't in the room, obviously."

"Yes, that nasty little charm," Riddle said, his voice smooth. A bit too smooth for Ron's liking. He walked around the room, head at a tilt, and Ron felt he fell into a den with a very angary boa constrictor. "It's meant to keep from anything improper from happening." 

Improper? What did Riddle mean by that?

"Mother says it's sexist and degrading," Zahira chirped, shrugging a little. It was this cute little gesture that made Ron's face turn red, and he didn't understand why. "And Mother's always right about these things." She had this smirk just brightened everything 

Ron found himself nodding. "Yeah, I agree. It is sexist." He wasn't sure what Zahira just said, but she said it so it must be true. 

"Do you even know what sexism means?" Hermione asked, incredulously as if she was reading his mind. "I said something very similar, and you told me I was silly." 

Blue eyes darted between the two girls, trying to decipher Hermione’s complaints. Couldn’t she see they’re different?

 "But Zahira’s pretty."

The sentence flew out of his mouth, and he knew it was wrong before he finished, but he couldn’t help himself. Hermione was hurt and angry, her cat ears were flat against her head, a hiss formed at the back of her throat.

“What?!” she shrieked.

“Excuse me?” Zahira exclaimed at the same time.

All the while, Mr. Riddle wore an expression between murderous and bafflement.

Flustered, Ron stumbled over his words, "forget about that. How's your cat ears? And nose?" 

Hermione’s fuzzy nose wrinkled in frustration, choosing to spare her friend from his growing embarrassment. "I rather not talk about it. It's all rather embarrassing, thank you very much." 

Ron finally peeled his attention from Zahira, reluctantly, and leaned to the side to get a better view of Hermione's back. "Well, at least the tail is gone," he said, grinning.

Hermione lifted yellow fabric with both hands—paws? "Ronald, I'm wearing a skirt. The tail is under it!" The fabric fell to the floor in soft waves, draping over her.

Ron hadn't really paid attention. He supposed she was wearing a skirt. It was bright, and sunny, and she paired it with a purple top. They're sparkly and had faint patterns on them, but it was rather plain compared to Zahira's outfit. But he bet Zahira would look great in this too...

"Where did it come from?" he asked. 

"It's a lehenga," Zahira cut in, and Ron whipped his head toward her direction to hear every word she spoke. "One of my older cousins sent it to me for my birthday earlier this month and just didn't fit right on me and Hermione didn't have any extra clothes...so," she shrugged again, "I thought it would look better on her—er…once she's less furry." 

Hermione let out a huff but smiled. "It's quite lovely, isn't it, Ronald?" she gave a little twirl to show it off. 

It was lovely. It belonged to Zahira once, so it must be! He found himself staring at Zahira now, and not Hermione's outfit. 

"Yeah, it's beautiful," the words left his mouth before his brain could catch up. 

"What?" Zahira asked, while Hermione repeated, "beautiful?" in disbelief. 

Ron blinked rapidly. His whole body felt like a ripe tomato. Surely, his face was redder than his hair. "Er, what?" he asked. 

Zahira stared at him for a moment, her head a tilt. It was much like how Riddle was looking at him now, but he didn't feel in danger when she glared at him. He felt his head was full of air and floating to the ceiling. 

"You're an idiot," she said. Her tone was brittle and icy like the cold, like the winter winds were outside. But to Ron, her voice was the crackling of the fireplace. Warm, and loving…and beautifully bright.  

A slow grin spread across his face, toothy and wide. "You think I'm an idiot?" 

Her cheeks puffed out in an angry, adorable pout. "You know I do! Ever since you made me kiss that stupid toad!" She bellowed and stomped her foot down in fury. "Uhg! You're daft, Ronald! Let's go Hermione," she added in a low grumble, "boys are ridiculous."

But was she blushing? Ron thought she was! 

Hermione picked up her suitcase with a humph, and the two left without saying a word to him. But they huddled close and whispering in each other's ears. When Zahira spared him a judgmental glare over her shoulder as up the stairs, Ron's heart sore. 

There was a moment of silence. Riddle watched him, his elbow resting in his wrist and that hand rubbing his chin as he did so. 

After a drawn-out moment, the professor asked, " Ronald, do you have any idea what just happened?" 

Ron shook his head, freeing himself the endless loop of Zahira, but she still lingered in the corner of his eye. As if she was still in the room, but yet he was already missing her presence. He didn't get it. Why was a simple girl making him feel this way, but she wasn't simple...

"Ronald?" Riddle repeated, his tone harsher and heavier. 

"Huh?" Ron looked up at his professor and blushed. "Sorry, Mr. Riddle. Did you say something?" 

"No, no I did not," he said with a hand wave. He seemed exasperated by something or someone, but Ron couldn't tell why. "Since you are here already, do you wish to stay for lunch?  We’re having leftovers from last night's dinner." 

Ron remembered Parvati sharing food from a care package from her mother. The food was incredibly spicy, he wondered if Riddle made his dishes like that. It made sense with his wife being Indian...

"It's not spicy, is it?" he asked, making a face. He instinctively put his hands on his stomach. "I can't handle spicey." 

Riddle arched his brow. "A pity," he said coolly, "Zahira enjoys spicy foods." 

Ron gasped. If he couldn't handle spice, then Zahira would think he was weak! He couldn't let that happen. "Maybe I just need to try more! I'll stay."

"Uh-huh," Riddle said. "I will tell her that we'll have another guest to entertain." He left without another word and headed up the stairs, leaving Ron alone to explore the house. 

 

"I am telling you, Manny," Tom said in a harsh whisper, "that youngest Weasley boy has a crush on Zahira. He called her ‘pretty’. In front of me!"

Tom was pacing in Mangala's office. The sound of her typewriter was the backdrop to his voice. The floorboards creaking under his feet, giving his complaints living and breathing exclamation points. The maroon carpet was worn down over years of his pacing, always in the same spot.

She called it ranting, Tom called it communication. Did she not want him to share his thoughts and concerns? Was it not healthy for a husband to communicate his emotional needs to his wife? That’s what she writes about in her feminist dribble.

And Tom was the perfect feminist.

Without looking from her typewriter, she spoke slow and deliberately, as if he couldn’t understand her otherwise.

“And that is a problem? A young boy finds her pretty, how is that our concern?” she asked.

"Of course, it's a problem!" he snapped, halting his pacing. "What are his intentions?"

She paused typing, her jaw clenching as she turned her entire body to face him. Her stony expression told him he was on thin ice, but he ignored the warning and matched her glare with his own. 

"Tom," she might as well say his name as if it was an insult, "he's twelve. He doesn't have intentions because he's fucking twelve."

"You just don't understand." Oh, how could a brilliant woman be so naive? "He's a boy. They're nothing but problems."

She raised her index finger with her perfectly manicured nail, filed to a point. "Do not," she seethed out, "lecture me on the problems of men when I married the most problematic man on this useless rock."

"Then you agree with me, so why are we arguing for?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is absurd. Zahira got her...you know what." Mangala stared at him, unimpressed with his inability to say out loud his precious daughter started her...her dissent into womanhood! It was a biological rebellion against him, punishment for wanting a daughter over sons! "And now a boy likes her. It's all happening too soon. Soon she will go on dates, then marriage. Then children. I will be a grandfather...an attractive grandfather." He rubbed his chin, mentally admiring his looks without a mirror. 

"You're an idiot." Mangala's tone was flat, cruel. And lovely. But he wasn't in the mood for flirting. 

He sighed, reaching for his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, but stopped when his eyes landed on Mangala's baby bump. Damn it all to hell. He can't even smoke in his own home. 

He let go of the carton of delicious nicotine. "Maybe I can threaten him?" 

"No!" Mangala shouted, getting to her feet and nostrils flaring. "What is wrong with you?" 

"Nothing, I'm perfect," he said with most sincerity, smirking just enough to annoy her. "I thought you knew that already?" 

She let out a groan, burying her face in her hands and shaking her head. She took in a sharp breath and letting it out slowly. She dropped her hands to her hips. She was tempering her anger, not to give into his baiting. But she was frustrated with him, he knew her well enough he was pushing it. 

 "If you," she began, voice sharper than her ruby-red nails, "threaten that boy over being a normal pre-teen, I will stab you."

His smirk grew, eyeing her up and down. "Manny, Manny, Manny," he murmured, his smirk taking on a sultrier edge to it, "there's too many children in the house for that kind of play." 

She pointed to the door. "Get out of my office." 

He tried to argue but she lifted her foot and slid off her house slipper, tossing it at his head. He dodged, and he looked back at the door where the slipper hit with a thud. The teal paint was chipped, revealing the ash wood underneath.

"Fine, fine," he said, holding his hands up defensively. "I know when I'm not wanted. I won't threaten the child." But he will test the boy...she just doesn't have to know that. 

Tom hurried out before she threw the next one, and that one would not miss. He paused just outside Zahira's door where he heard the girls ecstatically talk about some American rubbish called Flowers in the Attic. Some silly romance between a Cathy and Chris, and how utterly tragic their lives are. Ravi was upstairs with the dog, and had been since the Potters left this morning. He hoped his son was reading something more thrilling than whatever his daughter was into.

He left the door at Hermione's overly empathetic woes over the children being called Devil Spawn. 

Devil Spawn. 

Try speaking snake and starting fires in a Catholic run-orphanage and talk to him about being a Devil Spawn. 

Once downstairs, he noticed the boy had vanished from the living room. He stood at the door frame, eyes narrowed. Where did he run off too? He knew the boy didn't leave.

Ronald was an interesting subject among his siblings. The forgotten one among six sons before Arthur and Molly got their daughter.

And Tom had thoughts on all the Weasley children.

Tom had met William once, and Charlie twice. William had been at Gringotts with Arthur, and they met in passing. But that passing was enough. One glance, and Tom saw a nasty ghost crawling from a shallow grave under a bed of dead roses.

 William took after his great-grandmother Morticia Weasley’s twin—Marvolo.

Tom had frozen in horror when he saw William, too terrified to even draw his wand. He wasn’t man of sixty-one but a boy of fourteen, facing down his grandfather before he fired his first Killing Curse to save his mother.

The conversation he had with Arthur or William was a blank; he just remembered panicky excusing himself and fleeing. He never wanted to see William again.

He met Charlie while getting Ravi's school supplies before Charlie graduated. The boy was bright, took after the Prewetts. He was the ghost of Fabian and Gideon Prewett in looks, but Charlie didn't haunt Tom at all. He didn't regret killing the Weasley children's uncles.

But Charlie stood out was the fact the second he could, he fled the country to Romania. As far as Tom knew, William waited at least a year before moving to Egypt. Being in a tall, quirky home bursting at the seams with children would be suffocating.

And that’s how Tom met Charlie again, in the Prince castle of all places.

Tom was visiting his ex-wife to complain about Severus throwing his life away while working at Hogwarts, which she ignored, called Tom irrational!—when Charlie showed up to the Prince Castle unannounced. He argued with Eileen and council of elder Princes about their cult activities disturbing the dragons. It was a moment of sheer insanity and stupidity; it looped around back to bravery.

Percy was undoubtedly his favorite of the Weasley brood. He was ambitious and too clever for the shackles of Gryffindor. He should've been in Slytherin, much like Hermione Granger. He wondered if the hat even cared Arthur and Molly's children were all descendants of Slytherin, or just tossed them into the Lion’s den because of their name? Percy, Tom hoped, would not let the hat’s stupidity hinder his greatness.

Tom needed someone like Percy when his old guard was too old to carry on Tom’s vision.

And of course, he knew the twins. They've been over at the house during the summer months a few times, only briefly. The first letters of their names didn't go unnoticed. Molly named them after her brothers, and they're the better set of twins. He could not see Fred and George growing into Aurors.  Fred wouldn't storm into Orson Shacklebolt's store in an unannounced and raid it for "illegal" contraband like Fabian. George wouldn't have a list of sexual harassment complaints against him like Gideon. 

Neither would participate in the massacre of a Parselmouth clan. 

No, no, no. Ravi chose well in his friendship with the twins. They too were clever, despite their creativity being stomped out and discouraged by their mother. Their ambition should be fostered and encouraged. Like their views on authority should be, but no, no, no. Can’t have a ‘Weasley’ be in Slytherin. That was for the Gaunt side of the family. Did Arthur even know his family were blood kin? 

Ginny shared the name with Ginevra, and he refused to engage with the youngest Weasley for that alone. He will grade her papers and ask her questions in class, but he didn't pay attention to her. She was smart, sure. But she was a depressing thing, really. Always moping around, sad and withdrawn. But it wasn't his problem, so he paid her no heed.

And there was Ron. 

Despite what Zahira said, the boy wasn't an idiot. He was just as clever as his older brothers, but in a way that isn't noticed. He has common sense, something horribly undervalued in their society. There was a brilliance there, ignored by others because he has five other brothers. Tom graded Ron's papers and essays revealed so much about the boy. He was passionate and stubborn on his values. He was righteous, but pragmatic and loyal. He could bend his values when he needed to, when he could justify them. When Tom took over the defense position, Ron hated Dark Magic, but when Harry outed himself as a parselmouth, soon Ron's papers were far more open. 

The boy was bloody Albus Dumbledore, blue eyes and all. 

It was Tom's duty to test Ronald Weasley. Not just because the ginger boy was crushing on his daughter. No. He was testing a future Dumbledore. 

 But mostly to see if the little rat was worthy of his precious Glowbug.

So where did the ginger run off too? 

Tom moved further into the living room, heading for the hall where his study and basement were but heard Salazar speaking in aggravated tone. 

"And how do you expect me to play chess," he spat out, close to releasing his magic, "when I am a portrait?" 

"Your magic is infused with the bloody walls!" Ron shouted angerly. "Just order the pieces to move."

"You sniveling, little upstart!" he bellowed. "How dare you speak to me that way! I am a Founder!" 

Tom slapped his forehead. Only a Gryffindor would instigate a screaming match with Salazar Slytherin. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in the process. Well, he should intervene before Salazar ordered him to kill Ronald. Mangala wouldn't like that, after all. 

He slipped inside the dining room just as Ron fired back. 

"I don't bloody well care if you're a Founder, you didn't respect me, why should I respect you?" he argued, clutching the chess board to his chest. Tom could admire the brazen attitude if it weren't for the fact it was incredibly stupid. Salazar came from a time when speaking back to an elder earned a public flogging. Tom needed to step in. 

"What's going on here?" he asked, keeping his amusement at bay. 

"Tom," Salazar said, that one word laced with venom and boiling rage. "This freckled beast has been harassing my person for the last fifteen minutes. I demand you take the switch to his body until he learns humility." 

Ron glared at the painting, hoping his eyes were start a fire any moment. "Merlin, you're so bloody dramatic. I just asked if you wanted to play chess!" 

"Bah!" Salazar raised his hand. "Tom, tell this creature to stop speaking at once!"

Tom glared at his ancestor as he rubbed his temple. Salazar did know Ron was twelve-year-old? Did he seriously have to manage his archaic ancestor's moods? Why must he be a mediator between an ancient dead wizard and a child? That thought made him paused. Was this how Mangala, Severus, Albus, Nagini, Corban, and everyone he knew felt? Were they exasperated when he reacted a bit irrationally? 

No, no. Of course not. When Tom had issues, they were justified. They're just jealous and judgmental of his greatness. 

"Stop calling a child an animal. For fuck's sake, you're nearly a thousand years old," he said, sparing a glance at Ron's stubborn face. "And I'm not beating the boy.”

"How dare you argue with me. I am the head of this family," Salazar snapped, raising a stiff finger. "Without me, none of you would exist."

"Bloody hell, you're a bit much, don't you think?" Ron said, nose scrunched up. Then his eyes lit up with anger. "Wait!" he shouted. "Head of the family?" He spun and pointed an accusatory finger at Tom. "You're the Heir of Salazar Slytherin!" 

"Why," Tom said slowly, "do you think I have Salazar's portrait if he were not?" 

For a split moment, he could dive into Ron's mind. And the boy was thinking about their failed Polyjuice misadventure was all for nothing. Followed by...

Oh shoot! I shouldn't look him in the eyes, I bet he's a Legilimens based on what Harry said about Ravi—

And Ron looked just over Tom's shoulder, to give the illusion he was looking him in the eye. 

"I don't know. I bet loads of Slytherins have Salazar on their walls," he said, with a dismissive shrug. "Mum has a mini painting of Godric Gryffindor." 

"I highly doubt this portrait is as lively as myself," Salazar sneered. His eyes flickered to Tom. "If you are going to allow this rude boy in your home, at least remove him from my presence!" 

Tom resisted to scoff at Salazar. Sometimes he regretted moving Salazar to his home. It was like having a racist grandfather in a rocking chair in the living room, shaking his cane at everyone who walks by. But he also couldn't bring himself removing Salazar either. He needed the validation when everyone else stood against him. 

"Let's go, Ronald," he said, placing a hand on Ron's back and gently guiding him out of the dining room. "I will play chess with you." 

Ron tensed under his touch, but didn't squirm from him. He allowed himself to be directed out of Salazar's wrathful lectures. Tom led the boy to his study, humming a tune. "Are you in chess club, Ronald?" 

"No, sir," Ron said with the most annoyed sigh possible. He leaned away from Tom's presence in a smooth side step. "I'm not allowed to join a club until Ginny can. Which is a bit of bullocks if you ask me! Fred and George were on the Quidditch team in their second year. But Mum said it wasn't fair to Ginny if she was the only one of us who can't be in a club." 

Tom wracked his brain on what reason Molly would tell Ronald that, but he had nothing. Maybe because his children had sizable gaps between them. Severus had graduated by the time Ravi was born. And Ravi and Zahira had two years between them, despite their years at Hogwarts suggested otherwise. He couldn't imagine telling his older children they couldn't do something because their younger sibling couldn't do it. Then again, there will be a whole thirty-three years between Severus and baby Mangala was carrying.

"That does seem unfair," Tom said in agreement, and meant it. He saw the opportunity for manipulation. He just didn't care to take it. 

"She does it all the bloody time!" Ron let out without prompting. Tom glanced down and noticed the boy pointedly avoided eye contact. Ah. Even in a state of volubility, he remembered. "She will make everyone's favorite sandwiches, remember everyone's favorite colors when knit our sweaters. If Ginny's too scared to do something, I must stay back and stay with her, instead of being with my brothers!" 

They stopped at his study's door and Ron finally looked up at him. "Do you know what's that like?" 

"I was raised in orphanage," Tom said flatly. "My mother was hardly a mother, and my filthy muggle father was hardly a father. My only sibling isn't a real sibling, and she was adopted out of the system when I was eight. So, no. I can just tell you as a father that while I cannot explain your mother’s actions, she must have her reasons." That was a safe answer, right? Admittedly, Tom recognized he wasn’t the best parent.

He gave Tom a once over, filled with suspicion. "How come you were in an orphanage if your parents were alive." 

Tom's fingers twitched until he shoved his hand in his pocket and grabbed his packet of cigarettes. "I rather not discuss that, if you don't mind." The door swung with the use of wandless and wordless magic. "Go, on." He gestured for Ron to enter. 

Blessedly, Ron did with no complaint.

Tom pulled out the carton of cigarettes, his fingers shook as he fumbled to pull one out. Once he got one free, he lit it with his will alone and brought it to his lips, and inhaled sharply before exhaling. 

Ron just stood and watched him, making a disgusted face. "That smells dreadful. Mum says only muggles smoke cigarettes."

Tom let out a harsh laugh, and it threatened to turn into coughing fit. He bit down on his amusement into a chuckle. Oh. Yes, only muggles smoke. Of course, Molly would say that. Arthur wouldn't. Septimus Weasley raised three sons to truly see muggles as humans. The Prewetts...well, they did have a squib cousin the family ignored, who was now living as a muggle with muggle wife and little daughter. All ties were cut from Emerson Prewett. 

"What's so funny about that?" Ron asked, scowling. 

 Tom didn’t answer—not yet. 

He followed Ron in and without drawing his wand, he conjured a small table for the chess board and a chair for the boy to sit in. He collapsed in his chair, leaning back and his leg crossed over the other. 

"You know why that's funny, Ronald?" he asked before inhaling a long drag. 

"No, that's why I asked," he answered, hesitantly before sitting down himself. He sat on the chessboard on the small table. 

"Your mother is from a Light family," Tom explained, flicking ash into a tray that's enchanted to float at his command. "A progressive, good family. Righteous in their convictions and married into a family full of blood-traitors. And yet, she uses the same reductive language as the Malfoys. So, is it bad I smoke because it's what muggles do or is bad I smoke because my lungs are filled with black tar?" 

"That's not what my mother meant!" Ron exclaimed, his face was splotchy with red. He pouted and gripped his trousers, squirming in his discomfort. 

Tom shifted in his chair, planting both feet on the ground. "Then what would she mean by "only muggles smoke?" There are muggle parents, as we speak telling their children smoking isn't bad because of health concerns but because it's what hoodlums and criminals do. In the same tone you just said."  

Ron opened his mouth to argue—Tom saw it on his face—but clamped it shut. Shock from realizing Tom was right, to shame his mother could be a bigot...then anger. 

"Weren't you a Death Eater?" he countered. "Why should you lecture about bigotry towards muggles when you followed a man who wanted to eradicate muggles?"

Ah, whataboutism. Classic. 

Tom waved his hand over the board, and two drawers pulled out. The light-stained wooden pieces lined up in front of Ron, and the darker brown pieces lined up in front of Tom. The board and pieces were rather mundane, classic even. 

"What's this?" Ron said, looking down at the pieces, picking up a pawn. "This isn't Wizard's chess."

"No," Tom said, carefully. "It's a muggle chessboard I stole from the group home I was forced to live in when I was a boy."

"See, you stole from muggles," he placed his pawn down—not where it should be, but on e4. Oh, so they're playing right now. 

Alright. Gryffindors were quite bold. 

Tom went to e5 with his pawn, sliding the piece with slow precision. "Yes, I stole from muggles as a poor orphan, you caught me." 

Knight to f3. "Well, exactly, you stole from muggles, You were a Death Eater," Ron repeated. "You have no room to judge my mum."

"I am not judging your mother." Pawn to d6. "I am pointing out the hypocrisy of the Light side, Ronald. Bigotry is accepted everywhere in our society, but it's soft. Comfortable. Casual. And that's okay. Anything too extreme, and it's wrong. But the problem isn't solved when Voldemort—

The boy flinched, as he went for his bishop. He paused, and moved another pawn, d3. 

—dies or Death Eaters are disbanded or locked up," Tom explained, eying the board for his best choices. He hummed and put pressure on the knight with his bishop. "And I was not looking to eradicate muggles."

"What?" Ron asked, almost too quiet. Tom barely heard him from the permanent buzzing he had in his left ear where a grenade went off next to him. 

"Hmm?" Tom asked, taking a short drag. 

"You said I." Ron whispered, voice shaky. “You said…you said you weren’t looking to kill all muggles, when I said…you followed.”

"Yes," he said, catching the slip after the fact. He sought the boy's face and realized he knew. And maybe Ronald always knew. Most people did. Arthur and Molly certainly had their guesses but couldn't prove it. It’s why Molly always asked Mangala out for tea.

Well. 

He might as well be honest. 

 "I did say I," Tom stated, voice even. "Because it was my war, Ronald. My goal was to take revenge on the ongoing Parselmouth genocide and liberate outlawed magic. All magic." he glanced down at the board, noticing the boy hadn't moved yet. "The rest...the Pureblood supremacists were not my doing. They were always there, waiting for a leader to control them. I was that leader. They were pawns. At first. I will admit, those final years...things spiraled out of my control." He looked back at Ron, grinning. "It's your move."

Ron’s chest rose and fell—too fast, too sharp. For a moment, Tom feared he’d pushed the boy too far. A panic attack wouldn’t help anyone, and Tom knew better than to offer comfort. If Mangala found out he’d accidentally traumatized a twelve-year-old, she’d make good on promise and stab him. And not in an enjoyable way either.

But despite his troubled breaths and trembling body, Ron grabbed his pawn and took Tom's on e5. 

“You definitely can’t criticize my mum then,” he muttered, cheeks white with fear and something angrier than shame. “You… did you tell Harry?”" 

"And Lily knows too," Tom confirmed, taking Ron's knight. "Harry knew, I suspect, since our first class in November."

He expected the boy to take the bishop with his pawn, but Ron slid his queen out into the board in a bold move. And knowing Harry knew, Ron's fingers grew steady. Tom took a pawn.

"You're the Heir and you're...you're you," he said, dodging the name, and slid his bishop to c4. "You opened the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Snape said you had been a victim."

"Severus wasn't entirely lying," Tom said, flippant. He moved a knight to f6. Ron slid his queen to b3. What was the boy's goal? Was he missing something. "But yes, I had opened the Chamber. The circumstances were different compared to now." He moved his queen to cover his king. 

Knight to c3. 

"Did you mean what you meant...about Neville's parents?" 

Pawn to c6. 

"Yes," Tom said, and he was sincere. "I despise Aurors, but I had a soft spot for Frank and Alice. They were active in reform, the kind of reform I had been advocating for before I took on the mask. I was in prison, and the war was over when the Lestranges did that mess. I don't even know why they did that. Frank saved your little friend's life, you know." 

Ron gave him a weary glance before averting his eyes quickly. Bishop to g5. 

"You mean Cassie, right?" he asked, hesitant. As if he shouldn't know so much but was too curious to not ask. 

"Mhmm," Tom said, but he wouldn't elaborate. Ron didn't need to know how close to death Cassie Shacklebolt was to death as an infant. How Bellatrix Black suffered from postpartum depression and untreated borderline personality disorder, given archaic medicines to treat her rapid moods. How Bella abandoned Cassie days at a time, and if it weren't for Narcissa staging a rescue with Frank Longbottom and Cassie's uncle, Kingsley to get young Cassie out of the shack Bellatrix and Rudolphus were hiding during the war. Ron didn't need to know how many weeks Orson had been in St. Mungo's as his infant daughter was fighting for her life at  

No, no. That was best left unsaid. 

So, he hummed and moved his pawn to b5.

Ron took it with his knight. 

"You murdered several people in my family." Anger crept in, and disgust. And Tom fed off of it like starved Dementor.

"If it makes you feel any better," Tom said coolly, taking Ron's knight, "They were my family too. At least, the Weasley side." 

"How would that," Ron gritted his teeth and took Tom's pawn with his bishop, "make me feel better?" He slammed the piece down, shaking the others. Tom's rook fell over, but he didn't chastise the boy. Ron let out a sharp breath. "You...you're related to us?" 

"You already knew that.” Tom pointed out, moving his knight in front of his king. "My grandfather was your great grandmother’s twin brother. Marvolo and Morticia Gaunt, and their mother had been a Weasley...you know, that makes you an heir of Salazar Slytherin, Ronald.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Ron grumbled, leaning back in his chair. “I…knew Nanny Morty was a Gaunt, I hadn’t thought much of it.”

“You are twelve.”

Ron shook his head, and focused on the board, dissecting the pieces before he castled. 

And then Tom saw it. 

He was going to lose the game. There were several ways it could go, but the outcome was Tom was going to lose. 

Fascinating.

He slid his rook right next to king. "Our families are connected in a horrifying way, Ronald. It's best you don't ask how." 

"It has to be horrifying," Ron said, dragging his rook to take Tom's knight. The piece was now trapped between Tom's queen and rook. "it has to be since you're involved." 

"And why do you say that?" Tom took it, sensing that was the wrong move. He looked up from the pieces on the board, eyes gleaming with delight. "Do you find me horrifying, Ronald?" 

Ron moved his remaining rook next to his king. "You know I do."

Tom moved his queen and noticed his blunder a second too late. Ron took it with his bishop. And Tom retaliated by taking the knight. 

"Why is that, Ronald?" he pushed. He wanted the boy to say it. 

"It's because who you are," Ron murmured to the board 

"Who am I?" 

Ron's breath quickened as he dragged his queen to b8, putting Tom in check. Tom's fingers hovered over the board, stunned. He lost. He couldn't block this except take Ron's queen with his knight. And with Ron's bishop at g5, Tom' king was pinned and his queen was blocked in. His eyes flickered upward, meeting pools of bright blue. 

But the boy wasn't happy he was going to win. 

He was petrified by Tom's reaction. 

"Who," he said, his voice gentle and placating, "am I, Ronald?" and he took the sacrificial queen.

Ron picked up his rook and placed it down on d8. "You're Lord Voldemort," he said, holding back on the tremble in his voice. "Checkmate." 

Tom leaned back in his chair, taking a final drag on his cigarette before putting it out. 

"Congratulations, Ronald," he said simply. "You won without taking my queen." 

Ron glanced away, finding the pictures decorating Tom's office more fascinating. "You keep your queen too close to your king piece, crippling her power. You should've let her go."

Tom replayed the game in his mind...but his mind wandered to Zahira and earlier this morning and last night. "I suppose I should." 

Ron turned to him, defeat written all over his body. He couldn't bask in his victory, because there was no victory for anyone on the light. Tom was alive, and Albus backed him for Albus's own selfish reasons. Tom won. Even a boy nearing thirteen could see this.

And soon, the Wizarding world will learn the truth. 

But the young lion shifted in his chair, eyes narrowed, looking passed Tom. He pointed to the window. "I think you have incoming mail.

Tom twisted in his seat, not recognizing the great horn-owl. It was all white and looked rather impressive as it swooped down from the sky. 

"Oh, Circe's ass, if that's Lucius," He said, getting up. His knees cracked from being in one position too long and went to the window. "Pompous, arrogant, useless fool..." he grumbled under his breath.

"Now that I know who you are," Ron said, getting up to join him at the window. They watched the giant bird get closer. "It makes what Mr. Malfoy did at the bookshop before school seem ridiculous." 

 "Suicidal, more like it," Tom corrected, ignoring Ron's uncomfortable fidgeting. "If it had been twelve years ago, I would've publicly killed him for even raising his voice at me." He pushed open the window, and the owl didn't land. 

Instead, the letter dropped onto Tom's desk with plop. No name, no seal. 

Tom picked up the letter and sniffed the envelope. No scent, but there could be a poison triggered to release if he opened the letter. He turned to Ron and gently pushed him back. "It's unmarked. There could be poison in here." 

"Who sends poison by using the biggest owl? Rather obvious, don't you think?" he questioned. 

"Do not doubt the arrogance of the elite, Ronald," Tom murmured. "They are quite full of themselves. And many want me dead."

“People wouldn’t want you dead if you weren’t a bastard.”

Tom glared at Ron with disgust at his naïve outlook on the world. “They want me dead because I’m superior to them.”

Ron for a moment wanted to argue but stopped himself. He had that look everyone wore when arguing with Tom: it was not worth it. Because they knew he was right, of course.

He grabbed his letter opener and slipped the flat end in between the fold, sliding it across. He broke glue holding it together, and unflapped the envelope. Well. There was no poison. Just a half a sheet of parchment. He shook the small letter out, and recognized Corban Yaxley's controlled cursive. 

Since you will ask about the owl, mine is sick. I borrowed it from Mulciber. And no, I don't know what happened to his old owl. Yes, I know it was present from you, but it was twenty-five years old. And no, I don't know why he got a Great-Horned Owl. And no, I will not tell him to replace it. Yes, I know it's too large. And you better not kill the bloody bird. 

Tom scoffed. Was that message necessary? And how dare Edward get a new bird without telling him! He will make sure Edward will hear about this. He scanned the rest of Corban's letter, which was just two short sentences. 

Now, that's out of the way. You need to get to the Ministry right now. 

Umbridge wants to classify Parselmouths as Magical Creatures.

- Corban. 

Tom reread the last line over and over and over again. His heart raced and his vision blurred. If they declared Parselmouths as magical creatures they would take Harry's wand and snap it. Tom's core twin wouldn't exist. If it were to be found out his children were Parselmouths, the same would happen to them. Severus would be in worse danger, cursed with lycanthropy on top of blessed with Parselmagic. They might put him to death. 

"Mr. Riddle!" 

Ron's panicked voice cut through the spiral in Tom's racing mind. The boy looked up at him, pressed against the book shelf as the books rattled in place. His face was a milky white, with only his freckles for color. His breath hitched, and puff of air escaped his bluing lips. The temperature of the study was frigid as the outside. The photographs shook against the walls, the chess pieces had toppled over and fallen over, spilling onto the ground like forgotten soldiers on a battlefield. Despite it being sunny and nearly noon, the room was darkened with impossible shadows.

Tom hadn't noticed, but the parchment in his hands had burned into ash. 

He willed himself to calm down, and gather his magic under control. The room brightened and warmed up. The chess pieces flew back onto the drawers.

"My apologies, Ronald," he murmured, actually experiencing...guilt? Oh, yes, it was guilt. He hated the feeling, but he felt guilt for even scaring the boy. Disgusting. Guilt always triggered him to vomit. "I just received rather concerning news."

Ron, still trembling from either the shocking cold or from fear, pushed himself from the bookshelf and straightened out his knitted jumper. "Yes, I figured that out when you about blew me up with your magic, thank you very much!" 

 Tom ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath. "The Ministry has plans to legally change the status of Parselmouths to Magical Creatures."

Understanding flickered in Ron's eyes. "They're going to take Harry's wand away?" 

"Precisely," he said, already reaching for a new cigarette. 

"But why!?" Ron demanded. "This is terrible. Harry's the Boy Who Lived! How can they take his wand?" 

"Very easily," Tom muttered, as his brain raced trying to to figure out his next moves. 

This can't pass. Not again. He cannot go through this again when laws were passed during the late hours of the night, with only a handful of votes. They will deny him the Gaunt and Slytherin seats within the Ministry if these pass. And what were these four years for? What was the point of him returning to Britain if he couldn't claim what was rightfully his? The Chamber opening was a minor setback, but this? This would destroy his path to becoming Minister. It would destroy his children’s lives—

"They wouldn't do this if they knew you're a Parselmouth," Ron said, with a bit more bite than one expected from a boy his age. "If you came out as a Parselmouth, it would confirm what everyone suspects." 

Tom let out a long drag before turning to the boy, "And what do people suspect?"

"That you're...you're Voldemort," he said the name without flinching for the first time in his life. “I heard Dad and Mum talk about it once a few years back. About if they should let me and Ginny be friends with Zahira or the twins and Ravi. Dad said he was so sure you’re Voldemort.”

He snorted, and it came out wrong and tar flooded his mouth. A cloth handkerchief appeared in his hand and hacked up an undignified lung. Uncomfortable, Ron looked anywhere else until Tom stopped dying.

The handkerchief vanished with a hand wave and Tom went back to smoking. “What is your point, Ronald? It’s an open secret no one in polite society wants to discuss.”

“That’s what I’m getting at!” He sighed, frustrated with his limited argumentative skills. “The ministry wouldn't dare take your wand. Harry's just a kid. But you're you. Polite society would,” he waved his hand in front of his chest, “would just accept it. No one wants another war." 

Tom glanced back to window, staring at his reflection. A slow grin wrapped around his cigarette. Well, he supposes it was time he took a trip to the Ministry. 

He sharply faced Ron, giving him a stern glare. "Ronald," he said like he used to address his followers. The boy stood straighter, just like his followers had to back in the day. "Go collect Mangala and bring her to me. Can you do that?" 

Ron nodded, a bit frantic. "Yes, Mr. Riddle," he said before heading out of the study, and closing the door behind him with a click. 

Chapter 24: It's a New Dawn Pt 1

 

A cold chill nipped at Harry's skin as he and Lily walked through Diagon Alley. But it was the bitter taste of guilt that hounded him. They had only left the Riddle house an odd thirty minutes ago, taking the Knight Bus. They had gone over there to see Hermione earlier in the morning, to check on her infliction. Which then turned into them staying for breakfast. The tension from last night, the hushed whispers from the adults and the knowing glances Harry was barred from were gone. And maybe because Hermione was present, and she was sick. Or maybe because it was a new day, and last night was already forgotten. 

And that is why Harry felt guilty. It wasn't just because Hermione was a cat-girl because of him. It was because of his idea to look for the Wraith landed her in Voldemort's house. She wasn't in danger, despite being a muggle-born. If Harry learned anything this year was that the idea Voldemort himself was a blood supremacist was a farce.

Tom Riddle was a murderous, evil, conniving, violent sociopath but he didn’t particularly hate muggle-borns specifically. He just liked using blood supremacy to anger the right people. Just like in school, he would attack purebloods on their lineage because it amused him. The only people he saw were superior was himself and those he deemed so. Tom had a knack of 'collecting' people he found interesting.

Harry has already been collected through language and blood. If Hermione was lucky, Tom Riddle wouldn’t find her remarkable enough to collect her too. Unfortunately, she was the brightest witch of their year…

"Harry," Lily called out to him. 

He forced himself out of his own head and back into reality. His mother was a few feet from him, red hair blowing in the wind, and giving him an expected look to keep up. He muttered an under his breath and hurried to catch up. Just he passed the entrance to the library, the door opened with a chime and Harry nearly ran into a woman in expensive furs was leaving the building. 

The witch was about to apologize, but it died on her lips when she saw Harry's scar. Her muted blue eyes sharpened with anger, and even disgust. He took a step back, recoiling. He remembered when his scar brought him unwanted worship, but with hissing on his tongue, it brought new attention. 

"Watch where you're going, Parselmouth." She snapped in a clipped tone.

"Excuse me?" Lily's voice cracked through the air like a whip. She hurried around the woman to Harry's side, pulling him close with one arm. "Who the bloody hell are you to talk to my son that way?" Harry attempted to squirm from Lily's grip, but it tightened instead. His cheeks burned from embarrassment. 
The woman was stunned, as if she hadn't expected Harry to be someone, forgetting his mother was very much alive. She shifted her books to under her left arm, allowing her right to hang loosely over the leather wand halter swung across her body like a purse. 

"Lily Evans—Potter," she corrected now. "It's me Bertha Jorkins." 

Lily's eyes flickered to Jorkins's hand and then back to her face, narrowing into slits. "Oh, yes, the utterly dull Bertha Jorkins, always gossiping and jealous of true talent. Still, I must ask: Who the bloody hell are you to talk to my son that way?" 

Bertha grew flustered, turning pink from either the cold or Lily's insults, Harry didn't know which. He just wanted to leave. Why couldn't they have lunch with this Remus Lupin in a muggle restaurant where people didn't know him? 

She opened her mouth, then closed it for a moment. 

Finally, Bertha settled on thrusting her nose in the air. 

"My father served with Charlus Potter on the Oversight Committee, to know their hard work went to waste," she tsked Lily, as if it were her fault Harry was Parselmouth. "It seems James chose the wrong muggle-born, regardless of her supposed talent."

"He chose just fine, thank you very much!" Harry couldn't stop himself, his ears burning.

How dare this strange lady in mink say such a thing! It wasn't his mother's fault they shared blood with Salazar Slytherin! James had Parselmouth blood in him too.

 "mum, can we go?” And channeling his inner Aunt Petunia, he added, “this lady is giving me hives."

"Yeah," she said, clipped. She shook so hard, he could feel her vibrating. "Let's go. Oh, but one thing, Bertha," she gave the witch a once over, "it's a testament how unremarkable of a witch you are, isn't it? When the families of the Committee were in hiding and killed off, Voldemort allowed you to continue to live your life uninterrupted."

Bertha Jorkins stood, slack jawed and wide eyed. She did not move from her spot or even yelled. She was just frozen to the cobblestone under their feet. 

"Why, Lily Potter," a soft-spoken man approached them from out of the crowd. 

He was in a shabby brown trench coat with a tweed jacket underneath. He was just hair shorter than Mum—if it weren't for her heels that made her Professor Snape's height. What Harry had to stop himself from gawking at were the four jagged claw marks running down his face. They were like scars on Snape's neck. Was it common to be mauled by animals in the Wizarding World? 
The man looked between Lily and Jorkins, humming, "I think you broke Bertha. A pity. I was hoping to hear the going ons in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Or was it International Magical Cooperation? You seem to be shuffled about for one reason or another, Bertha."

His tone went from pleasant to bitterly cold as he addressed Jorkins. 

Lily's ire vanished into a warm, friendly smile. It brightened her entire face. But she couldn't greet the man properly, not when Bertha let out a frustrated groan and Apparated right then and there. Harry was shocked to see the bottom of her fur coat cut in half and left behind on the streets of Diagon Alley. 

"Oh, my, I think we just nearly witnessed a splinched," the man said, wincing, but a smile still played on his lips when he turned to Lily. "Hello, it's been a bit too long, hasn't it?" 

And the years melted off Lily. The fine lines around her eyes were still there, but her face lit up in a way Harry had never seen. She looked much like the 20-year-old woman from her wedding photos. She let out a playful laugh, and threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her back. 

Harry just watched, unsure what to do or if he should say anything. It was just like last year when they ran into the Weasleys at King's Cross. His mum and Mrs. Weasley hugged and talked for several minutes, catching up after eleven years while he and Ron and his siblings stood around in awkward silence. Ginny hid behind Molly, blushing red the entire time as she sent glances Harry’s way. The only thing he could do at the time was give Ginny a tiny wave and Ginny squeaked.

It was that little moment which ended the conversation that dragged on-and-on and Percy reminded his mother of the fact that the train would leave in ten minutes.
But this time was different. 

Lily stepped back, breaking the hug first. She stood off to the side, motioning to her friend.

"Harry, this is Remus Lupin," she said, enthusiastically. 

Oh, that made sense. Harry should've guessed that. Maybe if he learned that mind reading thing Ravi can do, he could know this stuff in advance. Maybe he should ask Professor Snape to teach him while he teaches Parselmagic? Or, maybe not…that sounded miserable.

Harry held his hand out to Lupin, offering a small smile. "Hello, Mr. Lupin. Mum said we met when I was three?" he racked his brain, but he couldn't remember. If he tried hard enough to think of his early memories all there was green.

Bright, sickly green. And a bang.

Lupin hesitated. There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, guilt even. It lasted a few seconds. He then accepted Harry's offered hand, clasping in a surprisingly strong grasp. It lasted a second, then it seemed like he wanted to make himself weaker before letting go. 

"We did," he said, earnest. Harry had been determined to not like him, knowing he left Lily to drown in her own grief. But Harry couldn't. "I one was one of the first people to hold you when you're born. Merlin, I feel old now." 

"Try living with him," Lily said flatly, but her smile was still on full display. "It's so good to see you, Remus. I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"Well, I have seen you and Harry in the Daily Prophet a few times," he said, wincing. Harry resisted not to cringe himself. None of the times they had been in the papers had been good, starting with Mum tackling Lockhart in the bookstore to that massive hit piece Rita Skeeter did to half the Wizarding world! And then there were others, especially after he was outed as a Parselmouth.

It was as if Lupin read his mind. "And then when the vultures there wrote about Harry being a Parselmouth," he glanced at Harry briefly, "...well I had to reach out."

"And we really appreciate it," she said, her eyes growing soft. “It’s been a rough time.

The library chimed again, and a family wanted to leave. But not just any family, it was Caleb and Zachary Smith and their parents. Their father, a stout blonde man with a thicker mustache than Uncle Vernon, looked like he had a few choice few words on his tongue but Lily stopped him.

"Say a word to my son, and I will sic Tom Riddle on you, Smith," she hissed out with more venom than she had with Bertha Jorkins. 

While the two Hufflepuffs looked confused by the threat, their parents did not. Their mother looked faint and their father grew whiter than the snow on the ground. He sputtered, trying to find his voice, but Lily placed a hand on Harry's back and led them away fast. 

Lupin walked in step of Lily's long strides much easier than Harry ever could.

 "Tom Riddle?" He asked, disbelief evident on his tone. "You're using him to threaten people? Lily, I know he's now working at Hogwarts, for some insane reason that escapes me."

Harry wondered if Lupin knew who Tom was…though now Harry knew the truth, it feels like an open secret no one wants to discuss. As if it’s too impolite to discuss the mass murderer in their closed-knit community.

"It worked," she said with a shrug. "I’m being pragmatic. I could probably throw Tom's name to get lunch free."

"You should, he owes us," Harry added, a bit cheeky. "Mr. Lupin, do you know Mr. Riddle?" 

"Unfortunately," Lupin muttered, and his eyes were blank with a terror that confirmed he knew who exactly who Tom Riddle was. "He is...an concerning  fellow for you two talk about casually."

Yep. He definitely knew Tom was Voldemort

"We don't have much a choice, so I'm making the most of it," Lily said, carefully stepping around a grate. "I'm glad we ran into each other; I thought you would be waiting on us.  Tom kept us too long at his house to give us a rather unnecessary lecture."

"You're at his house? What were you doing? Having breakfast?" Lupin went from concerned to baffled to almost offended to loop right back to fearful Tom had enchanted them.

"He made something called lou...qaimat?" Harry wasn’t sure what it was or how to pronounce it. He watched Tom make it and he needled the man about where Tom learned to cook, finding more and more infuriating questions to irritate Tom until Tom grabbed his wand and zapped him out of the kitchen.

“It’s luqaimat, Harry,” Lily corrected.

 "Some sort of sticky donut. It was nice breakfast…” Harry rolled his shoulders because that wasn’t entirely true. “Until he went on a tirade about Professor Bins spreading propaganda on the Goblin Rebellion because my friend Hermione asked him a question Gringrotts."

 Hermione was the only one interested in what he had to say, writing down notes and nodding along eagerly while Mrs. Verma looked like she wanted to stab him with her fork. Tom only shut up because the dog wanted to go outside and he wanted a smoke. Hermione followed, putting on borrowed boots and a coat from Zahira, just so she could hear more about goblin and house-elf rights.

"Why?" Lupin asked as if his brain broke.
"Because I think Mr. Riddle has an attention disorder like my friend Ravi." Harry thought it was pretty obvious once he learned Ravi had ADHD. Tom was just worse.

"No, Harry, he's asking why we're having breakfast with Tom," Lily said, sighing. She pushed her hair out of her face. "Remus, a lot happened this year. When the old laws on Parseltongue came hounding at our door, the best person to go to was Tom. He's exactly who we need to deal with the Ministry."

"He's also not that bad once you get past the fact he's evil, manipulative, violent, has extreme control issues," Harry added, counting with his fingers. "After that, he's actually quite alright. Not in the head, but he's a real fantastic cook and brilliant."

Lupin was silent for a long moment as they walked down the twisting turns of Diagon Alley. Lily didn't notice, taking his silence for listening. She shifted the conversation on her job at the pub, getting Lupin up to speed on hers and Harry's life. But He was stuck in the past where the line of good and evil, Light and Dark was thick with the blood spilt on both sides. 

They passed Carkitt Market, and Harry got a glimpse into the shopping square. Neville Longbottom, of all people, was walking through the narrow entrance, leaving the market.

He was holding a small pot filled lovely red roses and shimmering gold that resembled tulips. Next to him, an elderly woman with the most ridiculous, pointed hat with a fake bird on the brim. And a coat that looked like it was two centuries old. That must be Mrs. Longbottom, his grandmother.

Neville spotted him a half a second later. He smiled, raising his hand to wave. But his grandmother noticed Harry and shoved his hand down. 

She gave him a disdainful glare; one Harry was growing used too but it still hurt. Neville was his friend, and this was his grandmother.

Lily took notice and stopped talking. The joy that had been emanated off her quietly died and she wasn't that young woman in her wedding photograph, holding a bouquet of white lilies. She was the mother that Harry grown to know since they reentered the magical world with all the dangers around.

"Augusta, don't look at my son that way." there was no warning, but a sharp threat to her voice. 

Mrs. Longbottom and Neville seemed like they were going to leave without even addressing them at all. But the elderly witch halted. Neville gave Harry a sympathetic look, like he wanted to apologize for whatever his grandmother was going to say. 

"Lily Potter, it has been quite some time," she said, voice clipped. She didn't spare glance at Lupin at all, but it felt after her initial glare towards Harry, she pretended he didn't exist. "You are rather brave to walk about in public."

"It's why I was sorted into Gryffindor, Augusta," she countered, matching Mrs. Longbottom's energy. "It seems it's been so long since you graduated that you forgot our House traits."

"If I was a Muggle-born who successfully brought back a curse a Pureblood family successfully bred out," she sneered, somehow looking down at Lily while being as tall as her grandson. "I would not show my face."

Harry's cheeks burned. Bred out. Like Parselmouths were rabid, defective animals. Neville hid behind the flowers, his cheeks a startling shade of pink. 

"Oh, fuck's sake, just call me a mudblood next time." Lily snapped. "Merlin, at least the Death Eaters—like Bellatrix Lestrange—were honest in their blood supremacy. This is,” she gestured wildly at Mrs. Longbottom, “whatever this is, is just cowardness. You’re pathetic, Augusta.”

Mrs. Longbottom was downright offended, like being accused of blood supremacy was worse than being one herself. Or maybe she didn’t like the name Lily as a comparison.

Lily didn't let this drag out any further. She grabbed Harry's arm and, while it didn't hurt, she still forced him forward. Harry didn't even look back at Neville, too mad to do so. 

Lupin quickly caught up to them. "Well, not saying that wasn't harsh, but it was well deserved. Have you been through this every day since the papers published it?" 

"This is first time we've been in Diagon Alley," Lily said, her shoulders sagging. She hunched over, as if she was carrying the weight of hate throwing Harry's way on her back. And that made him feel grateful. 

"It's happened at school a lot." Harry thought about older Gryffindor students who'd corner him before Winter break. "I've gotten used to it." 

"You shouldn't have too," Lupin said, a bit forceful. And that perked Lily up. "But on the positive note, you at least have Severus Snape as your professor so at least you're not alone there." He then paused and reluctantly added. "And his father of course..."

"You know about Snape?" Harry asked, intentionally avoiding calling Snape a Parselmouth. "He's going to teach me...that kind of magic."

They came to a rustic; Victorian pub smashed in between two apothecaries. 

"Is he now?" Lupin asked, rubbing his chin. "I always wondered how Severus is as a teacher." 

"He's a bloody nightmare," Harry said without missing a beat.

"Harry!" Lily admonished, hitting him on the arm. "Don't insult your professor. He's doing his best." 

"I'm not saying I dislike him!" He defended, wincing out of her way. "I'm saying he's dreadful as a teacher! And he is awful. He gives Neville nightmares. He makes Hermione cry. He yells at me because he hates Dad. You can't blame me if he's not my favorite." 

"And who is your favorite teacher, Harry?" Lupin asked, moving away from Snape. As if the topic would make him sick.

Harry thought for a moment, really chewed on the question. who was his favorite teacher? "Madam Hooch was my favorite last year, but I don't have her flying lessons anymore," he lamented. "What about you, Mr. Lupin?" 

 "Mine had been Silvanus Kettleburn, he was and still is the Care of Magical Creatures Professor," he said humming. "He's a great man, a real advocate for magical creatures. You won't have him until your third year."

"He was pretty hilarious too," Lily added, but made a face. "though he always forced you to make eye-contact with him if you ever got into trouble. I hated that! Oh! And he gave me such low marks on my report during our fourth year." She crossed her arms, pouting about a bad grade from twenty years ago. "I'm still so mad about that."

"Lily," Lupin said, his tone a mixture of weary fondness and disbelief. "You brought a 121 cm tall Acromantula from the Forbidden Forest to class..."

"She was friendly," Lily corrected, ignoring the 'it tried to eat the class too' under Remus's breath and turned to Harry. "But I am curious, because you never told me, who's your new favorite teacher." 

And Harry, who had a moment to think about the essays he wrote, the lectures and the debates he had in Defense Class, he said the only logical answer to him in this moment. "Professor Riddle, he really knows what he's talking about."

And both their faces fell. For Lupin, it was horror. For Lily, it was resigned acceptance. 

And Harry didn't care. Because it was true, and he wasn't going to lie. He knew what it was liked to be lied to for sparing someone from hard truths. The culprit of this was right before him. So, he didn't wait and entered first. 

The Boiling Turnip was hardly busy at all. And the little customers it did have kept to themselves. Harry noticed three things when they entered. The furniture was eclectic collection of mismatch furniture and decor. On the back wall across from the entrance, was a giant troll head mounted on the wall. There were knight suits in the corners, a stuffed wrinkly house-elf behind the bar which disturbed Harry to his bone, and dragon teeth hanging from the ceiling. Yet the furniture was carved into delicate, spiraling patterns. They were more art pieces than chairs and benches, and they're just uncomfortable. The next was the smell. Wood and fire permeated the whole restaurant, with the undercurrent of roasted duck and baked, buttery potatoes. Fig jam, hard cheeses, and fresh baked bread were already on their table before they could even remove their coats. 

The final thing Harry noticed was the man behind the bar. He was willowy man, maybe slightly older than Charlie Weasley. He wore plaid trousers, pink button down, and a black vest over. What stood out was when they entered was Lupin's reaction upon seeing him, and his reaction to Lupin.

The barkeep stopped wiping down the counter and looked at Lupin with a judgmental sneer. And Lupin's nose scrunched up, like he smelt something vile. 

They chose the table furthest from the bar because of it. 

Once they're seated, Lupin leaned in close to Lily. "I want you to know that Scabior is a vampire, I can smell him." 

Lily looked at the barkeeper, whose eyes bore into Lupin's skull. 

"Oh, what is he doing out in the middle of the day?" she asked, more curious than concerned. 

"Mum, vampires need jobs too!" Harry hissed, embarrassed, she would even ask that!

She gave him an annoyed glare. "I didn't say he shouldn't be working, I was simply wondering how he's staying safe in the Sun. There's snow on the ground and light reflects. He's actually more in danger right now in winter." 

"But it's like asking what kind of medicine he's taking," he insisted. How could his mother be brilliant but turn around be so insensitive! At least Aunt Petunia hated magic. Merlin, it would be mortifying if Petunia was here to gossip about vampires. 

Their conversation halted as the waitress came by with water. It took a few moments, flipping through their menus to order what they wanted. And when they returned to their topic, Harry hoped they would drop it. He felt a lot like Cassie when Draco opened his big mouth. 

"There are options, you know," Lupin explained gently. "Daylight protection spells, Sun resistance potions and the like."

"I want to know is," Harry pivoted from whatever the vampire was taking, "is how can you smell a vampire?" 

Lupin tapped his nose. "I just trained myself," and left it at that. Harry narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe in Lupin for one moment, but he didn't want to be rude and harass one of Mum's friends. She didn't have many, and he didn't think Aunt Petunia or Mrs. Figg, his old babysitter, counted. 

Their conversations were kept light, especially when the food came out—that is until the waitress forgot to separate Lily's mince pie from her mashed potatoes. But once that was sorted—and without a meltdown from Lily--the vibe between his mum and Lupin was airy. Harry noticed there were deliberate topics they avoided, danced around and even outright ignored.  James centered the trips down memory lane, James and Lupin's friendship, with two others. But they were never mentioned, and there was deep hurt and anger on both Lily and Lupin's faces before one or the other pivoted. Which made Harry curious, but he was fine just focusing on his father. After the last few days, Harry was just happy to know James wasn't all bad after all. Remus certainly cared for him, and Mum too. If Tom's family could still love him after everything terrible, Harry could love the idea of James as well. 

There were other friends, that seemed more like Lily's: Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes. 

When Lupin mentioned Dorcas's death...

"Oh!" Lily cut him off. She shook her head and leaned very close and spoke in a whisper. "No, she's alive! Severus told me last night when we're messing with Tom's potion lab." 

"What?" he said a bit louder than he attended. Some eyes turned his direction, most importantly the vampire behind the bar glared at Lupin like he was a wet dog tracking mud onto the carpet. He cleared his throat. "What do you mean she's alive? The man whose potion lab you used killed her personally, according to Moody." 

Harry's eyes flickered between the two as he dipped his chips in a garlic-truffle sauce. 

"And Severus said that's not true. Dorcas is the daughter of one of Tom's ex's," she explained in a conspiratorial tone. "Severus didn't explain in detail, but that whole situation isn’t how it was reported to us. She faked her death and moved across the pond." 

Remus leaned back in his chair, gripping the edges of the table. He let out a whistle. "I thought, all these years...and she's alive?"

"Yep," she confirmed again. "She's alive. Severs visited her over the summer." she took a bite of her chicken pot pie. She dabbed her mouth, careful not to smear her rouge lipstick. "Severus wouldn't lie about that. And he rarely lies at all." 

"But when he does, it’s impossible to tell ," Lupin countered. "No one can read him." 

"I think he's telling the truth," Harry interrupted, coming to Snape's defense. "He's very honest about those things, I learned that." He told Harry about the wraith and explained Parseltongue was to him. He hadn't expected that from the grumpy Potions Master. 

Lupin held his hands up, showing defeat. "I believe you, I do. I would like to, because I rather Dorcas be alive," he said. They went silent, for only a moment before he switched topics. "Well, I have good news too, actually. Not as shocking..." he blinked several times. "Do you remember Mary MacDonald?" 

"Of course, I do! She was my dormmate," Lily said, smiling broadly. "She was always so nice to me." 

Harry noted she wasn't a friend, filing that away. Had Snape and Dad's friends been only Lily's friends? There was Marlene and Dorcas...but that seemed like a small number. Harry had his three best friends and Draco sure, but he also had Ravi and Zahira, Fred and George, his Quiditch teammates, Dean, Seamus, and Neville. And he would even count Ginny and Colin, when the boy woke up from his petrifaction. Didn't his mother have anyone else? 

"Well, she married Seymour Barrows," Lupin explained, taking a sip of water.

Lily perked up, gasping. “No, they actually did? They were dating since our fourth year.”

Lupin nodded, swallowing. “Yeah, yeah. They waited until Mary finished her musical education at the Academy of Magical Performing Arts. When she’s not playing concerts at sold out shows, she’s giving private lessons on music to students. At Hogwarts.”

Barrows...Barrows...Where did Harry hear that name before? 

"We should meet up with her and Seymour, I think Mary would like a reunion,” Remus.

“Yes, I want to me more involved in the magical community,” she said sighing. “I think listening to Albus about disappearing into the muggle world wasn’t such a good idea.” She sent a guilty glance Harry’s way and he ducked his head.

“Hmmm, well what’s done is done.” Lupin insisted. “I have personal news, actually. I’ve been hired magical creature sanctuary that’s run by Newt’s daughter, Emery Scamander; I will be starting a new position next week." 

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Lily clasped her hand on his shoulder. "I know you struggled to find jobs in the past after graduating." 

"Well, I learned the reason why that is," Lupin said. "And it's not because of my illness." 

"People fire you because you're sick?" Harry asked in a hushed whisper. "That's terrible!" He then punctuated while chomping down on a chip. The crispy skin made a noise as he bit into it.  

"Well, I thought it was because of that," Lupin said, rolling his shoulders. "Riddle has been bullying all my employers into firing me."  Lily made a face. 

Harry made a shrugging gesture, throwing his hands up briefly. "He did that during the war? Why? I mean, I know why. He's terrible, but why? Wasn’t he busy,” he gestured with his hand, “with running a war?”

"He can hold a grudge," Lupin said, leaving it at that. He didn't explain any further, and Harry planned to ask Tom himself. Because there was no rational reason for Tom to attack Lupin that way. "But I'm excited to put my expertise to good use. I was told they gotten a basilisk recently as a donation."

Lily requested separate plates, which she received. But they still put all her foods on one. As she placed her minced pie and scrape off the mash off the crest, she said, "I thought basilisks were terminated once found." 

"I was told by Emery that this one is off limits," Lupin said, shrugging. "So, I will be cleaning out a basilisk pit. I am looking forward to it." he had a dry smile that screamed he wasn't.

"Just keep your eyes closed, or you will end up like those students at Hogwarts," she counted with her own biting sarcasm. Her eyes darted to the window. They blinked in disbelief, and then her whole body jerked, twisting in her chair. "What in God's name?" 

Harry turned his chair in just in time to be blinded by a flash. He leaned back, blinking out the white spots rapidly. 

"Merlin's name!" Remus said, rubbing his eyes. 

Lily let out a frustrated scream and tore out of her chair, rushing out of the restaurant. Harry caught sight of her drawing her wand.

"Mum!" Harry grabbed his coat and followed her, Lupin on his heels, picking up Lily's coat and purse as he did so.

"you forgot to pay!" Scaboir called out. 

They paused at the door, glancing at each other. Harry didn't want to lose his mother, so he shouted out loud. "Put it on Tom Riddle's tab!" and the vampire looked like it died twice over. 

Once outside, they're caught sight of Lily jabbing her wand against a man's chest. It took a moment for Harry to realize it wasn't just any man, but Gilroy Lockhart. But gone were his flamboyant robes and clean-shaven face. The man was more disheveled than Lupin, his beard obscured his once smug smile. His camara was a lifeline. Eyes were frantic and livid all at once. 

"Why the bloody hell are you taking photographs of my son! I told you before," she said, snapping, "he's not here for you to use for publicity!" She jabbed him again, pushing him back. 

Lupin put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, his face set as stone. He looked conflicted, like he wanted to help but knew Lily could handle herself. Harry just knew if Lockhart hurt his mum, he didn't care if it was outside school. He was drawing his wand and firing a Stupify. 

But he wouldn’t need to.

Salvation came in the form of a snake.

Weaving through the crowd that had gathered at Lily's outburst, was Tom Riddle.

Dressed smartly in an all-black suit paired with his long black coat, Tom was death incarnate. At his side was an older man even taller than Tom, dressed in fine robes. His silver-blonde hair was slicked back, sharpening his grizzled scarred face. They looked like they're having a conversation that ended short, and Tom focused his entire attention on the scene before him. His pushed coat back to comfortably placed his hands on his hips, revealing his wandholster strapped to his leg. 

Lupin's grip tightened so hard it started to hurt, but Harry kept it to himself.

Lockhart was unaware of the predator behind him. 

"I am simply documenting the Parselmouth you parade around Diagon Alley," he said, nose in the air. "It's clear now you just fabricated the whole Boy Who Lived tale to hide the fact your son's true identity is quite monstrous."

Lily slapped him across the face so hard it made the stragglers around them gasp. Lupin flinched, but smiled, muttering "nice," under his breath. 

Harry's mouth dropped and he sought out Tom's eyes in the crowd. Dark brown met bright green just as he thought Lockhart couldn't be stupid...

He very much is that very stupid. Tom's silken voice tickled his brain, slipping inside with uncomfortable ease. What's happening here?

Harry hesitated before thinking back, I don't know, we're just eating...

"Are you daft!?" Lily demanded, her voice shrill. "You think I would make up psychotic murderer failing to kill my baby!" 

Well then. That's rude. She can see me standing behind this oaf. 

You tried killing us, and she's rude?

She didn't have to remind everyone I failed.

"I think you saw an opportunity and took it," Lockhart countered, voice dripping with condescension. "You're a hysterical woman, Lily Potter. Exposure to dark magic has twisted your mind."

Harry couldn't take it anymore. All day adults have been blaming her for the way he was born, when both sides of his family carried the Parselmouth gene. And there was nothing wrong with it in the first place!

 "You can't talk to my mum that way!" He called out, attempting to move, but Lupin kept him there. 

Lily looked back at him, holding her finger up to stop him. It was a silent gesture telling him she had this. Among the crowd that gathered, there was a mixture of reactions. Wizards looked on in agreement with Lockhart, but witches exchanged glances, disgust etched on their faces.

Tom crossed his arms and eyes narrowed. He was calculating when he should intervene. And for some terrible irony, Harry felt better knowing that Tom was in their corner ready to jump in, even though mum had this.

"The only person here who takes opportunities that don't belong to them is you," she countered. "You're a pathetic, ugly spiteful man. Not even worth the time to argue with." 

She turned on her heel, but he clamped down her shoulder and spun her round. There was jolt in the crowd. Lupin let go of Harry and swiftly drew his wand. The man at Tom's side did as well, but Tom raised a lazy hand to tap the man in the chest and the wand was lowered.

Lily pulled away from Lockhart, but he wasn't done. 

"You know what your problem is?" He sneered at her, lip curled so disdainfully it made his face ugly. "You're too tight. What you need is a proper gentleman to loosen you up. A touch of Amortentia would do wonders for your," he eyed her, "sour disposition."

Lily stepped back from him, mouth agape in shock. Harry vibrated with an anger he hadn't felt before, and his magic snapped and popped under his skin, like his bones cracking under pressure. He didn't understand the implications of what Lockhart said, no not now.

But he will in a few years in his sixth year when a Professor he hadn’t met yet teaches his class about love potions. And this moment will violently jump to the forefront of his mind, realizing the sickening threats.

However, he was a boy of twelve, and right now he just knew Lockhart wanted to hurt his mother.

Two things happened at once: Lupin moved faster than Harry expected, pulling her back from Lockhart with one and raising his wand with the other. His wand trembled with an intense fury.

But Tom Riddle was faster than any spell on Lupin's lips. 

He tore over to Lockhart, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around so fast Lockhart wasn't allowed to respond. Tom cocked his fist back and slammed it across Lockhart's jaw, breaking it with one punch. Lockhart fell to the ground in a heap, too stunned, too in pain to even make a noise. But Tom's rage didn't with one broken bone. He wasn’t satisfied with Lockhart on the ground. He drew his foot back and kicked the man several times in the stomach and ribs until there was snapping of a ribcage. Lockhart let out a wheezing yelp of pain, coughing blood up. His perfectly curled hair fell in his face, becoming messy with each frantic attack.

The older wizard hurried over and pulled Tom back, stopping him from doing more damage. Or attempted too at least. 

Tom pulled free and kicked Lockhart again, this time in the face, before he was satisfied. 

He pushed back his hair and then adjusted his coat. It was like it never happened even as Lockhart was groaning in pain on the floor. Tom turned to the crowd.

"Go on. The show is over." he said calmly, a stark contrast to the explosive violence he just showed. When no one listened, he spoke louder, putting more authority into his voice. Not yelling, but close enough.

"I said move on.” His voice carried over the crowd.

And denizens of Diagon Alley went about their business, ignoring the broken Lockhart, bleeding and whimpering in the snow. 

Harry hurried over to his mother's side just as Lupin put her coat over her shoulders. 

"Mum, are you okay?" he asked, looking up at her. 

"I am," she said, offering a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned quickly to question Tom, but he spoke first, unintentionally cutting her off.

"Yaxley," he barked at the older wizard walking over to them. "Take him to Knockturn Alley." He pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping the bottom with his hand to get one out. 

"And do what with him?" Yaxley asked, exasperated. 

Tom looked ready to hex the other wizard. "And take care of him like we used to take care of business back in the day." He snapped. "What the fuck do I pay you for?" 

"You don't, and haven't, ever." Yaxley said flatly. "I'm nearing seventy, Tom. I can't just 'take care of business' like I used to."

"Bollocks!" he exclaimed, clutching his cigarette with his teeth. "I just beat this dickhead's arse and I'm year younger than you. We're in our prime. Just do as I tell you, yeah?" 

"No." 

Tom made a noise from the back of his throat, somewhere between a enraged owl and strangled cat. He then waved his hand dismissively before turning toward Harry, Lily, and Lupin.

 "That was thrilling." He lit his cigarette finally, taking a drag. He was at least courteous and exhaled away from Lily's face, turning to blow smoke more in Yaxley's instead. The other man just took the smoke in his face, as if he was used to Tom’s petty behavior.  

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "How did you know we're here?"

"I can track Harry," he said, lifting his wand up. "We have the same wand core from the same source, after all."

"Well, that's lovely," Harry deadpanned. He then paused, thinking, then asked. "How did you know that!?"

"Yeah, how did you learn that? Garrick hadn’t warned us you knew,” Lily said, moving closer to Harry. 

"I tested that wand when I was eleven," he said casually. "It couldn't handle my dark magical core. That old fool Garrick Ollivander gave me this one to test out and it sang perfectly for me." He wiggled his yew wood wand before returning to his holster. 

"Oh, fantastic," Harry grumbled under his breath. This was brilliant, exactly what he wanted. A mad man able to track him anywhere because of his wand, the very thing he needed. "That doesn't answer why you're here, though."

Before Tom could explain himself, the door to the pub opened. Out stepped Scabior, who was rather furious. He shot a scathing glare at Lupin before turning his nose

"You can't just leave without paying for your-your...your," and the vampire went silent. If possible, he went paler as his red eyes landed on Tom. He brought his arms up, curling both to his chest so he could grip his left forearm. "My...Mr. Riddle, what are you doing here?"

"Put their bill on my tab," Tom said instead of answering. He stepped aside, pointing to Lockhart, who was still on the ground, huddled in himself. "And take care of this prick, will you? I got business with the Potters." He glanced down at Lupin, sneering as if he just stepped in shit. "You're not leaving, are you?"

Lupin held his head up, and despite Tom being much taller, one couldn't tell by how Lupin glared. "You think I'm going to leave them alone with the likes of you?" 

Tom rolled his eyes, inhaling sharply and exhaling right into Lupin's face. Lupin flinched back, waving the smoke away. 

"Fine." he snapped. He pointed with two fingers clutching his cigarette at Scabior. "Why are you standing there? I gave you an order. I don't care what you do, just get him out of my sight. I have more important matters to deal with it."

Scabior looked back at the restaurant, hesitating. 

Tom tilted his head to the side, like a viper ready to strike. “Scabior, were you listening to me when I had my chat with Deepwell?”

Whatever Tom had done last night when he had his total meltdown must've been frightening. Because Scabior looked like he wanted to vomit—if vampires could vomit. In a puff of red smoke, Scabior vanished, and reappeared behind them, crouched low over Lockhart. And then, the two turned to smoke and were gone. 

Harry paled, just slightly. Lockhart was a terrible person, but he didn't want him to die. He looked up at Tom, and maybe the older wizard must've read his thoughts. 

"Don't fret, Harry, Scabior is just going to...rough him up a bit more, give him a warning," he assured, but Harry didn't believe him. 

Lily didn't either. "You better make sure he's alive, Riddle. I don’t want anyone dead in my name.” She sighed, her breath coming out puffs as she did so. "Now, why are you here." 

"Yes, yes, I'll make sure the sexual harasser is still breathing, for fuck sake's," Tom said, waving his hand, smoke flying around in the air. "And not here, we need to get to somewhere we can't be heard."

Lupin offered Lily her coat. "Thank you,” she muttered before turning back to Tom. “We're going to the Ministry after this, why not there?"

Tom's demeanor changed. He was tense in the shoulders, his brows furrowed, exaggerating age lines that were barely there. He was worried. He tossed his cigarette into the snow, stomping it out before placing a hand on Lily's arm, and moved, forcing her to walk. He swept Harry into his protective grasps, placing himself in between mother and son as they walked away from The Boiling Turnip. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Lupin hurrying in step with Yaxley trailing behind. 

"The Ministry isn't safe," he hissed low for only their group to hear. "Corban alerted me to a rather concerning plot. The seminar is a trap." He moved his arm around Harry's shoulder, keeping him in place at his side. Harry glared down at the offended hand. 

"What do you mean by a trap?" Lily asked, her voice, growing weary. Either by what he was saying or the fact Tom kept a hand on Harry.

Tom didn't answer, and kept them walking until the colorful, boastful streets turned sour and dark as they entered Knockturn alley. He led them to a nook, a narrow gap between rundown pub and shady bookstore. He all but shoved Lily and Harry down it, using his body to block the passage. Lupin slid past him and stood with them anyway. Yaxley stood at the mouth of the little alleyway, acting as look out, his back to them. 

"I will cut to the chase, the Ministry is using the Committee's old laws to label Parselmouths as magical creatures," Tom said said, running a hand over his hair. "Instead of persecution, they want to make our existence illegal in other ways." 

Lily dropped her defensive posture, her mouth fell open. "What!" Her voice echoed, bouncing on the walls. Tom hushed her, but she talked over him. "What do you mean?" she asked in a lowered tone. "Parselmouths are just like metamorphmagus, aren't they? How can they make that argument?" 

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Remus said, his brows knitted together in frustration. "Since Veela are labeled magical creatures, and Parselmouths are similar to them...to the point Veela dna can override Parsel...I can see the argument. It's not a good argument, it's quite dangerous, really." 

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, looking around, but his eyes landed on Tom. "Why would they label me a magical creature? What would that do?" 

"They want to label you one to attack me," Tom explained. He pointed at Harry. "If they're successful, they will strip you of your wand. And they think that will work against me, that I would fear losing my wand."

"So, is it just an open secret you're Voldemort?" Lupin flinched as soon as the name left Harry's mouth. He noticed Yaxley cringed too, it wasn't a whole body experience, but it was noticeable enough to highlight only Lily didn't respond at all. 

Tom's grin was malicious, delighted Harry caught on. "Oh, yes, very much so. Anyone who claims it publicly had either been humiliated or died, and now everyone walks around and pretend they don't know. Rita all but confirmed it in her article. It's in part why the Ministry is acting the way they are."

"They're using my son, the one you failed to murder," Lily added with an almost taunting tone to needle at his lost, "to get to you. Is this what this whole thing has been about?"

"Not entirely, those old laws Charlus put in place were never removed," Tom explained, eyes flicking to her. "But this new development is certainly about me. Which I can't let happen. I will be fine. I'm a master in wandless-wordless magic. But I do have three children, one on the way. I could send Mangala back to India with Ravi and Zahira but Severus? Well," his glare landed on Lupin, "is already a magical creature…”

Horror washed over Lupin and he covered his mouth. Lily suck in a sharp breath, realizing what Tom was getting at. Harry didn't.  Snape would be two magical creatures at once? But what was the other?

"Is he a vampire?" he whispered. Snape had to be a vampire!

Tom blinked. "You think he's a vampire?" 

"Rita's article said his mum is one," he shrugged. “And he looks it. That’s why he has those scars!” he looked around at his mum, Lupin, and back at Tom. “A vampire attacked him! And he’s moody when he’s outside when the sun’s out. It all makes sense now!”

Tom’s mouth was slightly opened open in disbelief. He pressed two fingers to his temple, like just talking to Harry was giving him a headache.

"Anyway,” he decided to ignore what was just said. “Back to the topic on hand—if the Ministry is allowed to go through this farce, it would not be pleasant. For them. Albus has me under an Unbreakable Vow to not 'murder' people." He raised his hands and used air quotes like a petulant child being told no cookies before dinner. "But can and will break it if need be but I rather not go through the unpleasant aftermath of breaking the Vow."

Yaxley looked over his shoulder, shock etched onto his grizzled face.  “You actually agreed to be under a Vow with Dumbledore?”

With his eyes closed and a shrug, Tom sighed dramatically. “I know. I make powerful sacrifices.”

Before the adults could steamroll the conversation, Harry jumped in. "What's an Unbreakable Vow?” 

"It's a magical contract, essentially," Lupin answered, glaring at Tom. "An oath between two people, and if it is broken...it will cause the one who broke it to die." Harry's mouth fell open. Tom Riddle agreed to not kill, putting his life on the line?

"Is that what Albus was talking about last night?" Lily asked. “Before you flew off

Tom was unbothered. In fact, he was smirking. "Oh, yes, it's the only reason why he hired me. I’m under two: I cannot murder while I teach nor can I harm any child of Hogwarts age or younger.” He held up a finger. “However, I cannot die. If I break the Vow...it will just be rather painful. I won’t be killed. Which Albus knows.

He didn't elaborate what he meant he couldn't die, and kept talking, preventing any further questions. "Here's the strategy. Once we arrive at the Ministry, Corban will request a full Wizengamot court session. He will not be denied. This will force the Ministry to halt all other procedures, move up your case," he pointed to Lily, "about the fine within a few days. It will make the plot to label Parselmouths magical creatures come out into the moment." 

He grabbed Harry's arm, dragging the boy over to him. Lily was too slow to stop him.

“Hey!" Harry called, trying to wiggle free, but Tom ignored him.

He gripped Harry's shoulders and bent low so their faces were on the same level, their cheeks almost touching. "And the face of Parselmouths becomes the adorable Boy Who Lived instead of this handsome devil," he said in a cheery tone, grinning wide. 

Harry wiggled out of his grip, just as Lily and Lupin pulled him away. Lily held Harry close to her side, glaring at Tom. 

"And how will that help? All day we've been accosted by the so-called Light fraction because Harry's a Parsemouth," she argued. "People already target him at school and public." Harry nodded along. He didn't want to be the face of any of this!

Tom stood straighter, taking a step closer, crowding Lily and Harry and forcing them against the wall.

“Ahhhhh, but here is the beauty of it of my plan, my darling Lily. We make it an official announcement at the Ministry, not just slander in the papers," he said, his smirk growing. "And we have the full court, and we can bring in the survivors, have them testify. My wife's article had shifted public perception just enough prior to Harry's public outing at school. A trial like this would be a sharp reverse in the general population. Prejudice would be forced to hide. It's what happened after the war with pureblood supremacists. Now, in today’s age, if you call a mudblood what they are, people actually care." 

Harry cringed at the word, making a face. It wasn't even the word; it was how Tom said it with ease .Lupin didn't seem pleased by Tom's weaponized bigotry either. 

Lily's cheeks turned a beet red. "You're a muggle-born to most purebloods, you know." 

"Of course, I know," he said smugly. "And why should I care about the opinions from a class of people that taken my mark knowing my father was repugnant muggle and my mother was a squib? I never hid that from anyone. So, I am a mudblood. So what?"

And Lily was rendered without a response. Not because she agreed, no, Harry knew his mother. She wouldn't agree with Tom's logic. It's the fact his logic didn't make much since at all. It was all based on Tom's inflated ego. And Tom wasn't even a true muggle-born, regardless of what some purebloods think of him. Hermione didn't have this luxury. 

Tom took her silence as a victory, however. "Now, I do have an alternative plan just in case the first one doesn't go the way we want it to." 

"I will drop any pretense of being Tom Riddle, and announce I am Lord Voldemort. And what are they going to do? Take my wand?" he let out a harsh laugh. "That would be entertaining. If I, unfortunately, have not been cursed with this big, caring heart," Yaxley snorted loudly, stifling a laugh. He hunched over, coving his mouth to stop himself. Tom kept talking without a hint of irony, "I would just let them go on with their plans for my own amusement. But the Ministry is threatening my property, and no one can threaten what is mine." 

"Your property!" Harry repeated, offended. 

"You don't own neither your children nor my son, Riddle. She emphasized her point by hugging Harry even closer to her. He tensed, embarrassed and did his best to wiggle free from her, but she wouldn't let go. 

Tom stared at them like they sprouted two heads. "If they're not mine to own, then who owns them?" he asked. And bafflingly, he was genuine.

Lupin placed a hand on Lily's shoulder, pulling her close to whisper in her ear. It was just barely loud enough for Harry and Tom to hear. "We should not trust this man with Harry's safety." 

"And why not? I believe I am a rather trustworthy man," Tom countered, offended that Lupin would suggest otherwise. 

"It's not that I trust him," Lily said, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. Harry broke free from his mother's hold. "It's that he's unfortunately my best chances to keep Harry safe now. I trusted Albus before, and what good did that do?" 

"I can tell you, absolutely no where," Tom said, his tone growing to levels of smugness that shouldn't be possible. "Trusting Albus is rather foolish. If he thinks discarding you will benefit what he believes is for the greater good, he will. Of course, the blame should be shared with that unremarkable cunt you married." his arrogant tone turned malicious, just barely holding his contempt for James in. 

Lupin went rigid, like he wanted to defend James, argue back. But couldn't. Lily put her hands on her hips, as if daring Tom to finish, and he rose to the challenge. 

He turned his back on them, motioning with his hand. "He did choose the wrong secret keeper after all," he continued. and then he looked over his shoulder, his smirk nasty and cruel. "And I do know you didn't have a say in it. My spy inform me of that."

Lily's mouth feel open and her eyes went wide, a horrid betrayal crossing her face. "He told you that?"

"James must've had his reasons, Lily," Lupin said quickly, too quickly, but Harry didn't agree. 

He didn't know what a Secret Keeper was, but he could guess that meant someone was keeping his family safe when they're hiding from Voldemort. The friends went unmentioned during lunch, but left a hole where they used to be, must've been Voldemort's spy. At least one of them had to be. What good reason would James have to ice out Lily for making a Secret Keeper? 

Tom's cold smile broadened, enjoying the pain he sewn into their lives. It was sickening smile that twisted his handsome face into something monstrous. It lasted for a second, but that second was enough to unsettle Harry. 

He turned and grabbed both Lily and Harry's arms without warning, so first they couldn't even protest. "We're running a tad late, darlings. Time to go to the Ministry." 

And there was a loud snap in the alleyway. 

 The ground below vanished into a compressed tube, where Harry's limbs and all his senses were flattened, pulled in every direction. His ears popped, his breath suckered out of his chest. 

 And then—

 —and then—

 his feet landed on the ground.

 But his legs buckled. And he would've fallen over if Tom hadn't caught him. It didn't stop him from vomiting out his fish and chips. Lily wasn't so lucky. She landed on all fours, hacking up her own lunch and breakfast too. 

 "Oops," Tom said, and there was twinge of regret. "I forgot about your mother's apparitachexia. I didn't consider that nor if you would inherent it when Apparating. My apologizes."

 In normal circumstances, Harry would NEVER say this to an adult, let alone in front of his mother, but he didn't care while he half-sobbed out every food he ate in the last six hours. 

 "Fuck off!" he shouted before retching more. 

 "Mmmm, I deserve that," he said, accepting, and that made it worse. 

Lily scrambled to her feet, wiping her mouth in swift motion before lunging at Tom and pushing him back from Harry. She hit him several times on the chest, until he easily grabbing her wrists with both hands. 

"Okay, enough of that, no need to be dramatic, Lily," he said calmly. 

"I hate you!" she snarled, yanking her hands free. "I hate you so much. I can't wait until we can get rid of you." She turned and rubbed Harry's back as he finally stopped puking. He let out 

"Oh, please, you know how many times Severus said that to me?" Tom asked, incredulous. "Fortunately, for the two of you, I've decided you're family and you cannot escape my love. Isn't that wonderful?" His manic grin was all teeth and without a hint of malice...yet, Harry felt threatened by the declaration. 

"Well, shit," Lily whispered, horrified and resigned at the same time. It was a the quiet dread of realizing this alliance born from necessity has cursed her and Harry to a life sentence. 

. Tom ignored them both, humming a song that was familiar and distant. With a snape of his fingers, he summoned summoned two ginger ales. He held the bottles by their necks with one hand and then flicked the caps off. They went flying into a nearby trash bin. Wordlessly, he sent the bottles floating over to Lily and Harry. There was hesitation  before Harry accepted the drink, and Lily wanted to refuse until she saw him sip on his own fizzy drink. 

A hard sound of boots on concrete drew their attention to the mouth of the alleyway. Shocking Harry, Professor Snape emerged into view, his black coat sweeping behind him like his robes did at school. 

"Oh, Severus!" Tom's face lit up at the sight of his eldest, his smile far less threatening. "What are you doing here?" A small pop, and package of Rich Tea biscuits appeared in his hands. He brought the blue package to his mouth and tore it open. He fumbled to pull out two biscuits, holding them out to Lily and Harry--both reluctantly to accept the food.

"Lily asked me to join her at this seminar," Snape said, eying his friend as she nibbled on the offered biscuit. He glanced at the eyed the vomit mixing in the slushy snow. His nose scrunch up in disgust. His wand slid out of his coat sleave and into his ring-covered fingers and vanished the sickness with a elegant wave. "Why in Merlin's name did you Apparate? You know Lily has fever flicker." 

"Apparitachexia, please, use the correct medical name," Tom said, sending the biscuits back to wherever they came from. "And it slipped my mind. I believe Albus's dementia is rubbing off on me, a pity." 

"I don't believe you forgot at all," Harry said, clutching his fizzy drink and biscuit. "You're just a terrible person! You just want to make everyone miserable." 

Tom cackled. It was sudden and high pitched until it turned into a raspy coughing fit, brought on by over fifty years of smoking. Once he calmed himself, he chuckled lightly. "Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry, you're right. I do like spreading misery." 

He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair like Harry seen him do to Ravi and even Snape. Harry lurched back, but Tom caught him and did it anyway, ignoring Harry's discomfort. 

Lily pulled him back, glaring at him like he sprouted two heads. Snape went to their sides, placing a firm hand on Lily's back. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice low. Then looked down at Harry. "Potter?"

"It could be worse," Lily grumbled, shooting a scathing glare at Tom, who just smiled in the face of her ire. 

"Well, this is interesting." 

The familiar, uneasy voice of Arthur Weasley sent a jolt through Harry. He whipped his head to his left, shocked to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, huddled together. Mr. Weasley had his arm around Mrs. Weasley as she clutched her purse. 

He pulled away from his Mum and hurried over to them, grinning  broadly. He didn't get to say hello before Mrs. Weasley pulled him in a bone breaking hug. He tried to hug her back, but he didn't want to accidently spill his drink on her.

She held him back, giving him a once over. "Hello, dearie—why Merlin! You look a bit pale." She pulled off one of her gloves, a worn down leather, and pressed her hand to his forehead. 

"It's okay Mrs. Weasley, he assured her," he said. "I just have a bit of a fever flicker--

--apparitachexia, Harry," Tom called out. 

Harry looked over his shoulder and shouted, "shut up, you utter tosser!" 

Mrs. Weasley was scandalized, but Mr. Weasley seemed impress. 

Tom let out a mocking gasp, feigning offense. "Lily," he said in a chastising tone, but it lost its effect when he was grinning like the Chesiree Cat. "You're going to allow your son speak that way to an adult?" 

"Piss off!" She snapped and stomped away from, creating distance. Snape followed, leaving Tom behind. As she got closer to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, he demeanor changed. Her shoulders relaxed and a smile returned to face, which certainly hadn't been there since Lockhart interrupted their lunch. "Molly, Arthur, what are you two doing here? I thought you're both in Romania."

Mrs. Weasley couldn't hold it in. She pulled Lily in for a hug as well. "We came back yesterday," she began.

"And last night I had a game of cards with Orson and Remus," Mr. Weasley continued, "and they told me about this seminar you're being forced to attend to--and well, I told Molly--

"And I just knew we had to be here for you," Mrs. Weasley finished, turning to Harry, and slipping an arm around Harry's shoulder, "and Harry."

Harry's heart swelled as warmth blossomed over him. After a decade of only having Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon for family, he just knew Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were what uncles and aunts were supposed to be. 

"Aww," Tom cooed, walking over to them. And like a thief, he stole that warm feeling from Harry as he reminded them of his presence. "Adorably sweet. Hello, Arthur, Molly." 

Mrs. Weasley smile dropped, and her expression soured entirely. She held onto Harry a bit tighter. Harry hadn't noticed how she acted around Tom months back in Diagon Alley. If she put on a mask for the children or not, but now? Now he saw the hatred in her eyes. And fear in her frown. Maybe Harry only noticed how others are around Tom now that he knew Tom was Voldemort. 

Mr. Weasley did his best to keep up an act. He moved around Lily, and walked straight to Tom, handheld out. "Riddle, it is...good to see you. Percy wrote about your enthusiasm in his school project." 

Tom didn't take his hand, choosing to pace around like a snake ready to strike. Arthur's hand wavered for a moment before letting drop to his side. "Oh, yes, Percy is delightful! A true genius, and ambitious. Easily one of my favorite students," he said smoothly. Harry now knew Tom well enough this conversation was about to take a sharp turn. "I actually wasn't expecting to adore so many Gryffindor students—but there is one I...have a slight issue with: your youngest son, Ronald." 

Mr. Weasley sucked in a sharp breath, and Mrs. Weasley stiffened next to Harry. He swallowed...why would Tom have a problem with Ron?

"Ah, I hope he's not giving you any grief," Mr. Weasley tried to joke, uneasy. 

"Hardly," Tom said with a hand wave. "Not yet at least. Ronald has a crush on my only daughter, my darling little princess." 

Oh, no, that's worse than Harry thought! His best friend was so, so very dead! 

"Repulsive," Snape drawled, the word a disgusted hiss. "Though hardly as stomach-churning as stumbling upon Ravi and Miss Chang... entangled in a kiss."

Something within Harry flipped. His face grew hot and he pulled away from Molly. He looked to the ground to hide the hard blush growing on his face. He shoved the biscuit in his mouth to eat his embarrassment. Why did it upset him to learn Ravi kissed someone before?

"Oh, Merlin, Ravi has a little girlfriend?" Tom seemed to forget all about Ron's crush on Zahira. "That poor girl. I hope he hadn't inherent my way of treating women. Apparently," he turned to Arthur lazily, “when you follow women around the streets without them aware that’s stalking and illegal and creepy.”

No one had time to respond to whatever Tom was on about as two distinct snaps echoed in the alleyway. 

Lupin and Yaxley appeared in a flash behind them. Neither looked all too happy. 

"What took you so long, Corban?" Tom demanded, instantly dropping whatever insane rant he had on stalking.

"We're having a discussion," Yaxley said rubbing his chin. 

"A disagreement," Lupin corrected, and the two men glared at each other out of the corner of their eyes for a few seconds. Then, Lupin looked around, stopping at Snape. He hesitated, nodding once. "Hello, Severus..." 

There was a visceral reaction in Snape's entire body. He violently flinched, his rage at seeing Lupin palpable. He didn't say a word, not a condescending remark. Not a sarcastic insult. Not even an order directed at his own father to tell Lupin not to talk to him. He just spun around and stormed out of the alleyway, coat flying behind him.

Tom looked between Lupin and his retreated son's back and hurried to catch up. Harry leaned out of the alley, seeing father and son walk to a dingy, red phone box. Yaxley trailed after them, going out of his way to shove Mr. Weasley aggressively with his broad shoulder. Mr. Weasley stumbled, but Mrs. Weasley was there to make sure it didn’t fall. 

"We're working with blood traitors now?" he asked loudly, with more venom Harry hadn't expected. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley bristled at the insult but remained strong against Yaxley’s disdain.

Tom was leaning into Severus's space, whispering to him something Harry couldn't hear. But the way his mouth formed the words, Harry just knew it was Parseltongue. He paused and looked back at Yaxley.

"What’s the answer that would anger the most people off?" he asked, smirking. “Should I remind you I’m a Weasley?”

Yaxley let out a weary groan. “I can accept you being a mudblood, Riddle, but a Weasley?”

“I can also wipe London off the face of the world,” he said in a sing-song voice.

If that was an actual threat, Harry didn’t know. Yaxley slumped and stormed right pass Tom and Severus. One grinning with laughter in his eyes, the other bored from the interaction all together.

After a pregnant pause, father and son followed after him Harry watched as Yaxley slipped into a red phone booth.

He pulled back his coat and pulled out something square from an inside pocket. Harry couldn't see what Yaxley did with the square object, but a moment later, the older wizard vanished underground. Several minutes ticked by and then a dull ding could be heard. Tom and Snape slipped inside together. Unlike Yaxley, Snape picked up a phone and looked like he was calling someone on the other end. He hung up after a couple seconds later. 

 Tom picked up what Harry thought looked like train passes with clips—visitor badges most likely. Comically, he attempted to pin one to Snape's jacket as if his son wasn't weeks away turning thirty-three. They got into a slapping fight, Snape acting like the unruly toddler his father was treating him as. They're still arguing by the time the elevator went down. 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Parselmagic