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Chapter Text

TOM

I enter Dippet's office, pretending not to know what this is about. In reality, Professor Slughorn let slip just last night that I would be given a Special Award for Services to the School. Let slip is a bit of an understatement. He had been practically burning to tell me.

Slughorn and Dumbledore are already in the room when I push open the door, stepping into the oval office. Slughorn is beaming at me and I put on my best model student smile despite the look on Dumbledore's face. The Transfiguration professor is eyeing me warily, not even bothering to hide his suspicion. We both know he thinks I opened the Chamber of Secrets but, luckily for me, we also both know he has no proof.

"Tom my boy!" Slughorn booms.

Headmaster Dippet stands behind his desk, a satisfied smile on his face. He's always liked me but I can tell my most recent stunt has earned me even more points with the Headmaster. By saving the school from Hagrid and his acromantula, I also saved Dippet the embarrassment of being the Headmaster under whom the school shut down entirely for the first time since its founding over a thousand years ago.

"Welcome, Mr. Riddle." Dippet says, coming out from behind his desk to shake my hand. "Thank you so much for coming on such short notice."

"Not a problem." I say, shaking his hand. "But I must profess you've got me quite curious. What is this about?"

"Oh nothing to worry about." Dippet said. "Rather the contrary, actually. You see we all owe you a great debt, Mr. Riddle. By discovering Hagrid's acromantula, you saved countless students' lives and kept open Hogwarts for millennia to come."

"I'm just glad I was in the right place at the right time." I say, and Slughorn laughs.

"And he's humble too!" He brags, coming over to stand next to Dippet. He pats me on the back and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from making a face.

"As gracious as you might be," Dippet agrees, "We just wouldn't feel right if we didn't find a way to honour you. Now normally, we would have announced this award at our end of year feast, but, seeing as what happened to Myrtle isn't public knowledge, we could not do that."

"Award?" I feign ignorance. "I don't understand sir."

"I, as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, bestow upon you a Special Award for Services to the School." Dippet says, turning to pick up a shiny trophy. He hands it to me and I can see, up close, that my name is engraved on it.

"I don't know what to say." I say, doing my best to appear overwhelmed by the honor. In reality, I want to laugh at the irony.

I glance over at Dumbledore and he meets my eyes, his piercing blue eyes seeing straight into the truth of my guilty soul. How painful this must be for him to watch. I want to savor this moment forever.

"Say you'll accept the honor." Slughorn says, with a grin.

I turn my attention back to him and smile. "Of course, professor. I'm truly grateful."

"It is us who are grateful." Dippet says, bowing his head ever so slightly. "Your trophy will be kept in the trophy room but please, if anyone asks, do not share the details of how you got it."

"Of course sir." I assure him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

It's an empty promise. Despite the school administration's best efforts, most of the school already believes that Hagrid's acromantula killed Myrtle. The rumours had spread like wildfire and while not everyone knew the details, the gist was well understood.

"I know we can trust you, Mr. Riddle." Dippet says, taking the trophy back and putting it back on his desk. "You are an inspiration to your classmates and a bright hope for the wizarding world. We need more young wizards like you. Especially in trying times such as these."

Despite the relative safety of Hogwarts, Grindelwald's reign could be felt in the air. The war covered the front of every newspaper and new attacks were constantly the source of gossip in the hallways. After so many years of war, I don't quite understand why Grindelwald hasn't managed to pull through on top yet.

"You are too kind." I reply, with a slight bow of my head.

"Right, well," Dippet continues, clasping his hands together. "There is one other matter we wished to discuss with you. Completely unrelated but I do believe you will find it a welcome surprise."

I look at Slughorn, and I can instantly tell he has no idea what Dippet is talking about. He didn't warn me there would be two surprises for me tonight.

Dippet turns around and picks up a piece of parchment and then turns to Dumbledore. "Well shall you tell him or shall I?"

Dumbledore steps forward, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes forming on his face. My stomach drops. I have a feeling I am not going to like this second surprise.

"I'm adopting you, Tom." Dumbledore says, and my mind genuinely does not register this information until a moment later. When it does register what the old coot said, it takes all of my will power not to choke.

I must look sufficiently shocked though because Dumbledore smiles, the slightest hint of vindictive amusement in his eyes. "I know you will turn 17 and become a legal adult this December. I know this is late in the game and, quite frankly, I should have done it the day I met you but...better late than never."

"Sir..." I struggle to speak, half of my brain wanting to scream at the man and the other half too thoroughly confused to even formulate a sentence. "Why?" I manage to get out.

Dumbledore takes a breath and glances at my trophy before turning back to me. "You have asked Dippet, Slughorn, or I every year since you arrived at Hogwarts, without fail, if you can stay at Hogwarts over the summer instead of going back to that orphanage."

I swallow the embarrassment I feel at this revelation of my weakness. I had intentionally rotated between asking different people each year so as not to come across as too desperate. Apparently I had failed miserably at that strategy.

"You aren't the kind of person to ask for favors, are you, Tom?" Dumbledore says, and I bite the inside of my mouth so hard I taste blood. He really does hate me. This is his revenge for the mistake I made with the Chamber of Secrets. He is punishing me in the worst way he can manage to get away with and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

"No. You're independent. Self sufficient. Capable. When I first met you, I offered to take you to Diagon Alley to help you buy your school supplies and you opted to go yourself even though you were only 11 years old." Dumbledore continues. I really do hate him. Can he not at least spare the anecdotes? "You wouldn't ask for a favor unless it really, really mattered to you and you asked not to be sent back to that orphanage...not just once...but five times."

"Sir, I didn't mean to badger you with this request-" I try, but Dumbledore cuts me off.

"What I'm trying to say is I should have listened to you the first time." He says. "I am taking you out of that orphanage once and for all. You will come live with me this summer in Godric's Hollow and then you may do as you please once you turn 17 this December."

I swallow the bile that rises up in my throat at this prospect and stare at him in stunned silence. Never had I thought I would be unhappy with the chance to escape the orphanage but my imagination had clearly failed to think of all the possible worse options.

"I don't know what to say." I repeat and, this time, I really mean it.

Dumbledore walks towards me, takes the parchment out of Dippet's hands, and then hands it to me. I look down at the adoption papers, signed without my consent. I feel like some chattel bought and sold on an auction I had no control over or knowledge of. Anger rises like a fire inside of me and I know I need to leave this room or I am going to do or say something I regret.

"Thank you, sir." I manage to get out. "This is...a lot to take in. I-"

I want to pull out my wand and crucio him into insanity.

"I know." Dumbledore says, with a wry smile. "Take your time. This will be a big adjustment for us both."

Adjustment. As if one could adjust to living in hell. This was torture, pure and simple. Planned and executed as revenge for all of the sins he knew I'd committed but couldn't pin me for. The man was a monster.

"We'll have to stay here a few days after the other students leave. I need some time to wrap things up." Dumbledore continued, clearly enjoying my despair. "We'll leave for Godric's Hollow on the 28th."

I nod because what else can I do. Dippet and Slughorn are watching the exchange with smiles on their face, entirely misreading the situation. I can tell they think the exchange is adorable. They are as blind to Dumbledore's true motivations as they are to mine.

I should never have let the basilisk out of the Chamber of Secrets. I was so incredibly foolish to be so reckless. Just five minutes ago, I had thought I had escaped the incident unscathed but now I realize how mistaken I was. Dumbledore will not let this go. Not now that he thinks I am a murderer.

Looking at his knowing eyes, I almost wish I had killed Myrtle on purpose. At least then I would be punished for something I chose to do, instead of a preventable oversight I could have avoided if I hadn't been so negligent. I have always preferred being punished for my choices rather than my mistakes.

"Well isn't this just a special day!" Slughorn exclaims, still beaming from ear to ear.

Oh the things I would do if there were no consequences...

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

I watch from the window as the carriages depart. Inside the Ravenclaw tower, it has become so still and quiet that I can hear the birds chirping from outside on the roof. Normally, I love the extra few days I get at the castle, waiting for Dumbledore to finish up his business, but this year, I just want to get back to Godric's Hollow. As unpopular as she'd been, Myrtle's death had shaken the school and shattered the feeling of safety I'd had at Hogwarts up until then. If I could only be as certain as Headmaster Dippet the threat was gone, maybe I'd be able to move on. But as it stands, I can't afford to let my guard down.

In the distance, I spot Hagrid entering his new home - the small hut he was given to stay in after the Ministry snapped his wand and expelled him. Dumbledore had had to fight to let him stay there and it had taken some convincing. The self-righteous Ministry worker had said he was a danger to the school. Headmaster Dippet had worried that parents would pull their children from the school if they knew Hagrid was still living on the grounds. Even half of the professors had argued against the notion, afraid it would set a dangerous precedent. But, true to his nature, Dumbledore had somehow managed to prevail in getting what he wanted.

My great, great, great aunt Bathilda Bagshot has always said Dumbledore was not the kind of person to take no for an answer. She would know. She's known him since he was not much older than I am.

Apparently, though, there are limits even to Dumbledore's powers of persuasion. Despite the heaping pile of circumstantial evidence I'd presented him with that the monster that had killed Myrtle was an ancient basilisk Slytherin had put in the Chamber of Secrets, and not a pet spider, he'd been unable to convince Headmaster Dippet or the Ministry of Hagrid's innocence. They had insisted the Chamber of Secrets was a myth and that the far more likely explanation was that Hagrid's acromantula was responsible for Myrtle's death. They'd said it would be irresponsible to fruitlessly search for an imaginary chamber when the problem had been solved and the attacks had ended.

In light of this great loss, the hut could only be regarded as a rather sad consolation prize. Looking at it frustrates me but also scares me, because I know, with a certainty deep in my bones, that the monster that killed Myrtle is still out there.

An owl nearly flies into my face, jolting me out of my reverie. I hold out my arm and Quill lands on it, a little letter in his beak. Speak of the devil, I think, as I take the letter out of Quill's beak and open it.

Change of plans. We'll be leaving tonight. I've let your aunt know. She says she's going to have a stew prepared for when we arrive.

Tonight? I feel my heart leap with joy at the prospect of getting home sooner even as I don't understand why Dumbledore is suddenly in such a rush to leave. I fold up the letter and feel my stomach growl. I'd skipped breakfast, choosing to stay up in the dorm to help my roommates pack last minute items and say goodbye and now I'm starving. I make my way down to the Great Hall, finding it nearly empty. They haven't yet taken away the four long tables and so I sit at the Ravenclaw table alone, pouring myself some milk, when I realize I'm not the only student here.

Tom Riddle walks back down from the professors' table, where he had been speaking to Slughorn, and goes to sit at the Slytherin table. I stare at him until he notices my gaze and then quickly look away. Why Tom Riddle, of all people, should still be at Hogwarts is a mystery to me.

I can't help but wonder though, if it's somehow related to Hagrid's expulsion. After all, it was his accusation that landed Hagrid in trouble in the first place. Whether he'd meant to or not, he had gotten an innocent boy expelled and, for this, I can't help but resent him a bit.

I hear a chair scrape and see Tom stand up and leave the Great Hall, leaving his food half uneaten. I look back down at my own plate, wondering why anyone would ever leave a shepherd's pie untouched.

TOM

My new "guardian" is waiting for me down by the carriage, his hand resting on top of the half-open door. The thestrals shake their heads and stamp their feet impatiently, eager as always to carry me away from the only home I've ever known.

"You can see them, can't you?" Dumbledore asks. Is this some kind of underhanded way to get me to admit I killed Myrtle? If so, it lacks validity because I could see the thestrals long before Myrtle's death. I can't even remember who I saw die but it must have been some child at the orphanage or maybe it was my mother. I will probably never know.

"Can you?" I reply, evading the question.

"Unfortunately yes." He replies, with a small smile, pulling the door open for me.

I climb into the carriage despite the fact that every bone in my body protests against it and Dumbledore closes the door behind me. He goes around to the other side and then slides in next to me. I sit still as a statue, wondering if should have let the basilisk out on Dumbledore and been done with it.

We sit there in silence and, when it stretches on too long, I turn to Dumbledore in confusion. "Are we not leaving, sir?"

"We're waiting for someone." Dumbledore replies, and I frown.

"Who?" I ask, but then the carriage door opens and the Ravenclaw prefect I'd seen in the Great Hall earlier today is staring at down at me. By the look on her face, I can tell she didn't know I'd be in the carriage any more than I knew she'd be joining us. I don't think I've ever talked to her in my life and I wrack my brain for her name. Lynn. Elvira Lynn, that was it. I think.

"Ah there she is." Dumbledore says, as the Ravenclaw looks past me towards Dumbledore, a question mark written all over her face. "Tom, Elvira will be joining us. She lives in Godric's Hollow in the house next to mine with her great great great aunt Bathilda Bagshot. I usually take her home with me rather than put her aunt through the trouble of going all the way to London."

I blink in confusion as Elvira climbs over me, pulls the door shut, and then takes a seat in front of me, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Are you going to Godric's Hollow too?" Elvira asks, and I look at Dumbledore. He hasn't told her, clearly.

"I've adopted Tom." Dumbledore says, and I watch Elvira try to hide the shock that fills her face. She glances furtively at me and then back at Dumbledore in utter disbelief. The carriage takes off with a jolt.

"When?" She asks. A worthy question. Almost as worthy as why.

"A few days ago." Dumbledore says. "Sorry for not letting you know sooner. These past few days have been busy."

Elvira finally dares look at me, but I can tell she doesn't know what to say. "Congratulations?" She tries, and I would find her pitiful attempt funny if I weren't stuck in a carriage ride to hell.

"You make it sound as if I've won a prize." I reply, and I can see Dumbledore smirking ever so slightly. The bastard.

Elvira glances at Dumbledore and then back at me. "You might have." She says, and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep my true emotions off my face as I force a smile.

"Isn't she sweet?" Dumbledore says. I want to throw up in my mouth.

"Perhaps you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff." I reply.

"She has too much of her great great great aunt in her." Dumbledore says, with a wink. "She's spent more time than anyone else reading Bathilda's notes and ramblings. Then again, there isn't too much to do in Godric's Hollow."

"Why do you live there then?" I ask.

"It's my family home." Dumbledore replies. "And it's nice to be around other wizards. Were you aware many of your classmates live in Godric's Hollow?"

I turn to look at him. "Gryffindors no doubt?"

"Mostly." He admits. "But there are the odd Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."

"No Slytherins then." I say. Of course I already know the answer to this question. Most of my housemates live in their own private estates, passed down through the generations from their noble pure blood ancestors. The pretentious brats.

Dumbledore gives me a knowing smile and I bite my tongue and look away. He is way too happy about taking me to a place where I will be isolated from my housemates.

The carriage grinds to a halt and I am relieved to get out of the stuffy box. I walk towards the train station when the Ravenclaw stops me. "We take the floo network home." She says, and I turn back to look at her. For the first time since Dumbledore announced he'd basically bought me, I feel a small modicum of relief. I had been dreading the 10h train journey I had thought lay ahead. Why the floo network wasn't used in place of the entire Hogwarts express I had never understood. I had even asked once and been told the reason was something about student equality or camaraderie or something equally as foolish.

We follow Dumbledore into the Three Broomsticks, waiting as Dumbledore chats with the barkeeper before finally leading us over to the fireplace. He turns to Elvira and holds out the floor powder. She dips into the fireplace and throws the powder on the ground.

"45 Adeline Road." Elvira says, before disappearing.

Dumbledore turns to me and holds out the pouch. I stare at him, the fact that he is making me go before him but after Elvira not lost on me. He does not trust me; never has.

"Why are you really doing this?" I ask. I just want him to be honest for once in his life.

"Doing what?" He asks, feigning innocence.

"Adopting me." I say.

Dumbledore looks me over, and for a moment I feel all pretense is gone between us. "Quite frankly because I'm worried about you, Tom."

Never mind. The pretense is still firmly in place. "Why?" I ask.

The professor fixes me with that look he reserves just for me. "Have you ever wanted to be adopted?"

"You didn't answer my question." I reply, peeved.

"Answer mine and you'll get the answer to your question." Dumbledore replies.

I bite back the rude reply I would like to give him. "Doesn't every child want to be adopted?" Two can play at this game.

"But you're not every child, are you, Tom?" Dumbledore replies.

"I don't know what you mean, sir." I lie, struggling to keep my tone even.

"Mrs. Cole told me you never wanted to even speak to the prospective parents who came to the orphanage." Dumbledore says. That crazy bat. She never could keep her mouth shut.

"They were Muggles." I reply. "They wouldn't have...known what to do with me."

"Is that the only reason?" Dumbledore asks, and I narrow my eyes.

"What are you getting at, Professor?" I ask. I have had enough of this interrogation.

Dumbledore looks me over and I fight to keep my anger from showing on my face. After a moment, he looks down at the floo powder in his hands. "Apparently nothing good. We had better get going or Elvira and Bathilda are going to think we're having a butterbeer."

I stare at him, infuriated beyond belief. He extends the floo powder to me and I glare at it in silence for a moment before finally giving in and taking it.

"We wouldn't want that." I reply under my breath.

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

"Careful not to drop soot all over the floor!" My great great great aunt calls as I step out of the fireplace. She says the same thing every time I arrive through the floo network but it hasn't succeeded in stopping me from tracking soot into the house yet and I doubt it ever will.

I knock the soot off my boots and then take them off, putting them by the door, before joining my aunt in the kitchen. She has clearly been cooking for quite some time because the kitchen is hot and fragrant. She jumps when she spots me in the doorway, even though she'd clearly known I was coming, and a smile spreads across her face.

"Welcome home love." She says, walking over to hug me tightly.

When she lets go of me, she looks up and then glances behind me. "Where's Dumbledore? He came with you didn't he?"

I glance behind me, frowning. "He was right behind me with-" I pause, turning back to my aunt. "Did you know he adopted my classmate?" I ask, still reeling from the shock of the revelation.

"Ah yes the orphan boy." She says with a wave of her hand. "Well I'm not surprised, he's been concerned about that child for ages."

"He has?" I ask, in surprise. I had gotten the impression Dumbledore didn't even like Tom Riddle. The way he spoke about him, the way he treated him in class...

A pop resounds in the other room and Aunt Bathilda steps past me to welcome the guests. I follow her back into the living room where Tom is stepping out of the fireplace. Dumbledore appears a moment later, a smile on his face.

"You must be Tom. Welcome to Godric's Hollow." She says, walking up to pull Tom into a hug. Tom freezes, a look of deep discomfort on his face that almost makes me laugh.

Aunt Bathilda targets Dumbledore next, hugging and greeting him as if he were still the 17-year-old boy she had met when his family had moved to Godric's Hollow all those years ago.

Dumbledore begins praising her on the smell of the food and they disappear into the kitchen, chatting like the old friends they are. I glance over at Tom, who is still looking like a fish out of water.

"Sorry about my aunt. She doesn't get out much." I say, with a roll of my eyes.

Tom looks at me and, for a split second, the look in his eyes chills me to the core. And then, he smiles and I am left wondering if I imagined it.

"Not a problem." He says. "I'm grateful to be here."

Somehow I doubt that. "Where did you live before?" I ask, and then immediately regret it when Tom's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

"London." He says. "Are you also an orphan?"

"Yes." I say. "My parents were killed by Grindelwald when I was young. My aunt's been taking care of me ever since then."

This seems to peak his interest. "I'm sorry." He says. "They must have been brave to move against him."

"They worked for him." I correct him, squirming in discomfort at the unfortunate truth. Tom, however, seems more interested than ever.

"Then why did he kill them?" He asks.

"Elvira! Tom!" My aunt calls from the kitchen. "Come on in dinner's ready!"

"I'll tell you after." I say, turning to enter the kitchen.

I can tell Tom is annoyed at the interruption and is burning with curiosity but I breathe a private sigh of relief at the chance to escape that particular topic.

We enter the kitchen and my aunt ushers us to take seats around the small table. It is not meant for four people and there is hardly any room for all of the dishes Aunt Bathilda has laid out. I glance over at Tom and I can tell he is overwhelmed as my aunt begins heaping piles of food onto his plate without bothering to ask for his consent. He stops her after a moment, physically taking his plate out of her hands, and I suppress a laugh, looking away.

"Well cheers to the cook!" Dumbledore says once we have all gotten our food.

"Cheers to you all coming back safe and sound!" Aunt Bathilda replies. "I was 10 seconds away from taking the floo up to Hogsmeade to come get this one." She says, nodding at me.

Dumbledore's smile fades and he puts down his glass. "I am afraid we were just as close to closing the school."

"An acromantula was it?" Aunt Bathilda continues, oblivious to the tension this topic is creating. "What was that boy thinking? Bringing an acromantula into a school full of children?"

I glance at Dumbledore and he meets my gaze as we each realize the other hasn't told my aunt about our suspicions. I hadn't told her because I'd been afraid she would come take me out of Hogwarts. I can only guess at Dumbledore's reason for keeping his good friend in the dark.

"Hagrid is a lover of magical creatures." Dumbledore says, diplomatically.

"It was entirely reckless and dangerous!" My aunt cries, and I can't take it anymore. I can't continue to hide what I know to be the truth, no matter the consequences.

"I actually don't think it was Hagrid's acromantula that killed Myrtle." I say, and the room falls silent. Dumbledore looks at me, a strained expression on his face. My aunt looks confused and Tom...there's that look again.

I meet his eyes and he looks down, taking a bite of his food.

"What are you talking about love?" Aunt Bathilda asks, her tone of voice making it clear she does not take me seriously for a moment. Well, she's about to.

"You've heard of the Chamber of Secrets, I know you have. I read your notes on it a few years ago." I say, and my aunt frowns.

"Honey that's a myth." Aunt Bathilda says. "That's not real-"

"Before you dismiss my theory just listen." I say, leaning forward in my chair and looking around the table. Tom is looking at me again now, his expression so guarded I can't even begin to tell what he's thinking.

"What do we know about the Chamber of Secrets? According to legend, it was created by Salazar Slytherin thousands of years ago and he put a monster in it that only his heirs would be able to unleash. The monster was meant to purge the school of Muggleborns. Right? Well, Myrtle was a Muggleborn." I say, and look at my aunt.

"That's hardly enough to suggest-"

"I'm not done." I interrupt, my hands beginning to shake from the force of my conviction and the desperation to make people see. "Acromantula kill their prey by injecting them with venom. I read this in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Dumbledore saw Myrtle's body and there weren't any teeth marks. An autopsy didn't show any venom in her system either."

"Hagrid could easily have removed the teeth marks using magic." My aunt retorts. "He could have just as easily made the venom untraceable or removed it entirely."

"Hagrid's a third year and I don't think his grades are that-" I catch myself before I say something really offensive and shake my head. "Whatever. Sure. On it's own maybe that's not enough evidence, but listen. After she died, Myrtle became a ghost and started haunting the bathroom where she died. I spoke to her and she said the only thing she remembered about her death was that she saw two lights and then she just died. No pain. No attack. Nothing. Just...two lights."

"Trauma can affect memory sometimes." My aunt tries and I shake my head, becoming more and more impatient.

"I don't think so." I say. "I think she remembers her death perfectly and here's why. What do we know about Slytherin? We know he chose the snake to be the emblem of his house because he was a Parselmouth. He could talk to snakes and so could his children. The ability was genetic."

"You're not saying..." My aunt says, frowning as her bright mind catches on immediately to where I'm going.

"You always said the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was likely some kind of snake." I say. "A monster only his heirs could control? That has to be a snake. And not just any kind of snake. Slytherin lived thousands of years ago. Only one kind of snake lives for that long."

I pause to look at my aunt, trying to gauge her reaction. She is quiet now and I can tell she is beginning to doubt. "Basilisks are the only snakes known to live for thousands of years and guess what? One look into their eyes will kill you instantly. Those were the two lights. The two eyes. Acromantulas, like all spiders, have eight eyes, not two, and their stares aren't deadly. It was a basilisk that killed Myrtle, not a spider."

The room is dead silent now and I hold my breath, my face flushed. I glance at Dumbledore and he gives a subtle nod.

"It's a valid theory." He says, when the silence stretches on too long.

"It certainly is that..." Aunt Bathilda says, a deep frown on her face. After a moment, she looks up at me, and I can see fear in her eyes. "If you're correct about this love, Hogwarts isn't safe. That monster is still in there."

I swallow and glance over at Tom, wondering what he is thinking. He was the one who caught Hagrid and got him expelled. He notices my gaze and meets my eyes.

"If you had these doubts, why didn't you voice them earlier?" He asks, and I look over at Dumbledore.

"She did." He says. "She told me."

My aunt's eyes widen at this and she leans forward. "And you didn't think to tell me?" She cries.

Dumbledore lets out a sigh. "I didn't want to alarm you seeing as it is...just a theory."

"So you kept it entirely to yourself?" Tom asks, and Dumbledore looks at him, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"No." He says, and Tom seems to almost squirm under Dumbledore's gaze. "I told Headmaster Dipper and the Ministry for Magic and they dismissed it as improbable."

"Why?" Tom asks.

Dumbledore looks away from him and glances at me. "Unfortunately, I do believe the powers that be are more interested in seeing this matter resolved than they are in the truth."

"They would risk children's lives to avoid a scandal?" Aunt Bathilda says, fury creeping into her voice.

"Well, for whatever reason, the attacks have stopped." Dumbledore says, and then looks at Tom. "Perhaps whoever the real culprit is has decided it's best to lay low and let Hagrid take the fall for their crimes."

Tom swallows. "If that is the case, then I have committed a grave error."

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow and Tom looks away from him, glancing between me and my aunt. "I found Hagrid's acromantula and assumed it was the monster that had killed Myrtle. If I was mistaken..." He trails off, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table.

So he does have a sense of justice. Is that guilt in his expression? Should I have gone to him sooner and plead Hagrid's case? Would it have made a difference? I hadn't bothered, thinking a Slytherin would never listen. I'd been prejudiced, perhaps, and maybe it had cost Hagrid his wand. But perhaps it was not too late...

"We could write to Headmaster Dippet." I suggest, a desperate flame of hope igniting inside of me. "Urge him to reconsider. We could research the issue more, get more evidence."

"It certainly does not hurt to try." Dumbledore agrees, glancing at Tom. "Especially considering in how high regard the Headmaster holds you, Tom."

Tom looks away, seeming uncomfortable. "Elvira is just as clever a witch as I am a wizard, if her word wasn't enough, I doubt mine would word any more weight."

"Nonsense." Dumbledore says, a small smile on his lips. "Two voices are always stronger than one alone and what with you being the one who accused Hagrid in the first place, well...this is a chance to set things right."

Tom clenches his jaw and looks at Dumbledore, some silent understanding passing between them that I cannot begin to decipher.

"If Elvira is right..." Dumbledore says, his eyes still trained on Tom. "Only a Parselmouth would be able to open the Chamber of Secrets. If this is true...find the Parselmouth...find the Heir of Slytherin."

Tom stares at Dumbledore in silence for a moment and then looks down at his plate, seeming deep in thought. When he looks up at me, he nods slowly. "Alright." He says. "Let's investigate."

TOM

The moment the door closes and Dumbledore and I step out onto the cobblestone street outside Bathilda Bagshot's house, silence falls over us. I can't even look at Dumbledore without seeing red. So this is why I am here in Godric's Hollow? So that he can manipulate Hogwart's most nosy Ravenclaw into proving I opened the Chamber of Secrets?

He could just tell her I am a Parselmouth. I know he remembers what I said to him that first day we met...when I, oh so stupidly, told him I could talk to snakes. But instead of just telling her I'm a Parselmouth, he's decided to make this into some kind of sick game.

Dumbledore stops in front of the neighboring house and pulls out his wand to unlock the door. I follow him inside, finding myself in a quaint living room. Not quite the home I had pictured him living in. It is far too...average.

He turns on the lights and then walks into the kitchen, putting the extra stew Bathilda gave us in the fridge, before turning back to me. "Well shall I show you your room?" He asks, as if nothing had happened, and I stare at him in absolute fury.

"Is this why you brought me here?" I growl, unable to take it anymore. "To prove Hagrid's innocence?"

He stops in his tracks, turning to look at me. "Tom, I already told you, twice, why I adopted you." He says seriously, and I repress the urge to scream at him to stop lying.

"I don't believe you." I say, my hands beginning to shake from the effort of suppressing the rage I feel.

Dumbledore frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. "Elvira is, as you said, just as clever a witch as you are a wizard. I have no doubt she will find the proof she needs to prove Hagrid's innocence whether you help her or not. To think I engineered your adoption just to help her in her investigation...I'm sorry but that's absurd Tom."

I stare at him, feeling as if I were losing my mind. He is gaslighting me. Making me think it's all in my head so that I lose my temper and say something he can use against me. This is low, even for him, but I am not as easily manipulated as he clearly thinks I am.

"Alright." I grind out, reigning my emotions back in. Now is not the time to be reckless. If he wants to play this game then I will just find a way to win it.

After all, he wouldn't be playing this game right now if he had any proof at all of my guilt. The Headmaster and the Ministry don't believe in the Chamber of Secrets and Dumbledore has no proof I'm a Parselmouth either. All he has is the memory of an 11-year-old boy saying that he talks to snakes. Children say things like that. There is still plausible deniability.

I look away and then shake my head before looking back at him, the mask I usually wear slipping back into place. "Forgive me, Professor, I just find this whole thing very...disorienting."

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow and I know I am not imagining the hint of amusement in his eyes. He is enjoying this. The sadist.

"That's understandable." Dumbledore says. "You need time to adjust."

"Right." I say, putting on a plastic smile. "And some rest."

"Of course." Dumbledore says. "Come with me."

I follow him down the hallway until we reach a staircase. He leads the way up the steps until we come out on the upper floor. He shows me into the room on the right. I walk in and find a small bed covered in a quilt, a dresser and a desk. There is a painting of a ship on the wall.

"It was Aberforth's room." Dumbledore says.

I look next to the bed and see my trunk is already there.

"Who is Aberforth?" I ask.

"My brother." Dumbledore replies. "A Slytherin." He adds, with a slight smile.

"Is that why you're putting me in his room?" I ask, and Dumbledore chuckles.

"Well I'll let you get some rest." Dumbledore says, turning to leave.

He closes the door behind me and suddenly I'm blessedly alone for the first time since leaving Hogwarts. I walk over to the window and open the curtains. The view looks directly towards the second story of Bathilda's home but all I can see is the soft glow of the light behind a window's curtains.

I close the curtains again and look around the small room, thoughts racing through my mind. There might not be bars on the windows to my room but I would be foolish not to realize I am in a prison of Dumbledore's making. If I had thought he kept a close eye on me at school, that was nothing compared to living with the man. I am going to have to watch what I say and do all summer if I have any hope of making it back to Hogwarts in September.

Options. What are my options? I begin to pace as I try to clear my mind from the rage that clouds it and focus only on pure logic.

Murder isn't an option, no matter how satisfying it might be to finally put an end to Dumbledore's taunts and tricks. It would be near impossible to pull off, let alone get away with. I am not so arrogant to think I could beat him in a duel. Poison might be easier but would likely raise suspicion. Elvira and Bathilda, in particular, would be suspicious if Dumbledore dropped dead the moment I moved in with him. No, murder would complicate things further. I'd need another alibi or another person to frame and considering how quickly a 16-year-old Ravenclaw was able to deconstruct my last lie, I don't think I can take this kind of a risk.

Same problem with memory charms. Even if I managed to catch Dumbledore unaware and steal his memories, the gaps in his mind would raise other suspicions and, as always, he'd look to blame me.

No. This would have to be resolved without magic. This situation was too delicate for brute force. It involved too many actors and too many moving pieces.

I fall back onto the bed and close my eyes, resisting the urge to scream in frustration. I need to calm down and think about this from Dumbledore's perspective. He knows I opened the Chamber of Secrets, he just can't prove it. He can't even prove I'm a Parselmouth. As of right now, I have the upper hand. I just need to maintain the status quo. As long as Dumbledore and Elvira never get any more evidence on me then I am safe. Their suspicions don't matter. Their investigations don't matter. Their hands are tied.

So my task is simple, I realize, as I open my eyes. Don't complicate the matter further...just keep them from finding the proof they need to convict me. Do this, and the rest doesn't matter.

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

Find the Parselmouth...find the Heir of Slytherin.

It's so simple. And yet so impossible. How do you test for Parseltongue? Put a snake in front of someone and see if they can talk to it? What if they just pretend not to be able to understand the snake? I would never know if they were lying short of using veritaserum but in no world can I get away with subjecting the entire population of Hogwarts to interrogation under the influence of veritaserum without ending up expelled myself. This is not allowed and for good reason. However, if it were allowed to interrogate students using veritaserum, I'm sure Hagrid would still have his wand.

I roll over in bed, the mid-morning light streaming through my window warm on my face. I slept in this morning, relishing in the freedom of not having a strict time table to follow. In all the drama, I'd practically forgotten that coming home meant it was summer vacation.

I see Quill in my windowsill and I climb out of bed, walking over to let him in. He hands me a letter and I open it. It's from Elsie. She says she saw Dumbledore today at the market with Tom Riddle and is wondering "what in Merlin's beard is going on". I stifle a laugh and fold up the letter.

It is time I catch her up to speed. She knows about my theory and, out of Gryffindor loyalty to Hagrid, I think she would have believed it no matter how far fetched it was. In all actuality, I don't think she ever believed Hagrid was guilty. Most of Gryffindor tower was outraged by the accusations and it had certainly not helped that it had been a Slytherin who had accused Hagrid in the first place. Rumours and conspiracy theories had abounded and for a while there, Dumbledore was getting knocks on his door every day with different members of his house demanding that Hagrid be acquitted. In the end though, it hadn't made a difference. Not even pure logic could sway the administration from scapegoating the half-giant to save Hogwarts and save face.

I get ready for the day and then go downstairs to find Aunt Bathilda sipping tea and eating a muffin.

"Good morning dear." She says brightly as I arrive. "Do you want some brunch?"

"I'm going over to Elsie's." I say.

"But you haven't eaten anything and it's almost 11." Aunt Bathilda protests.

"I'll have lunch at their house." I assure her, on my way out the door. I wave goodbye before she can protest any further, descending the steps to the cobblestone road outside. I can't help but smile as I walk down the familiar road I grew up on. It is nice to be back in my hometown where everything looks pretty much just the same as it did when I was growing up. Despite the blackouts rules and the spotters and the newspapers telling horror stories of the wars, both Muggle and wizarding, Godric's Hollow has remained much the same as it always has been. In a world of fire, it is a small piece of normalcy and that is worth more than gold these days.

A gentle summer breeze starts up as I walk down the road to the center of town. I turn right from the church and there is Elsie's house. I knock on the front door and a moment later I hear running on the stairs. The door swings open and Elsie's little brother Merrick looks up at me with a toothless grin.

"Viri!" He cries happily. "You came back!"

I laugh as the 8-year-old hugs me and his older sister Elsie appears behind him.

"You got my owl?" She asks, and I nod.

"Okay come in we're having pancakes." She says and Merrick pulls me happily into the kitchen.

Elsie's mother, a kind-hearted Muggle named Marta, welcomes me with a hug. She's known me since I was a child. Elsie and I grew up together, attending the same Muggle school in the same grade before going to Hogwarts. Aunt Bathilda had wanted to home-school me, like most pureblood families did, but I begged over and over to go to the Muggle school with Elsie until she finally relented and let me go.

"Elvira you're back early!" Charlotte says, coming down the stairs. Elsie's younger sister is a Ravenclaw two years below us and far quieter than her gregarious sister. "I thought you said you'd be at the school until the 28th?"

"I know." I say. "Everything's weird this year."

"Tell me about it." Elsie says, piling pancakes onto a plate for me. "You know dad's in the Wizengamot today. Another Grindelwald-inspired terrorist attack on a Muggle family. He killed them in broad daylight in front of a crowd using magic. The Ministry had to wipe everyone's minds."

"Elsie, this is not the time or place to be discussing such things." Marta scolds.

"Why not?" Elsie demands. "It's happening isn't it? So why can't we discuss it? We're a mixed family - you're a Muggle, dad's a wizard - we could be targeted just as likely as anyone else. We can't just bury our heads in the sand and pretend it's not happening."

"Your brother is too young to be hearing about stuff like this." Marta says and Elsie rolls her eyes while Merrick loudly proclaims that he's plenty old enough.

"He was too young for the blitz but he survived that." Elsie replies saucily.

"Elsie that's quite enough!" Marta scolds, and Elsie turns to me.

"Alright then Elvira, why don't you tell us why Tom Riddle was at the farmer's market with Dumbledore this morning." She says, handing me a plate of pancakes piled high with berries and sauce. It is more than I can eat. "I thought I was hallucinating, seriously."

"He adopted him." I say and Elsie literally chokes on the pancake in her mouth.

"Careful!" Her mother cries as Elsie begins to laugh, staring at me in incredulity.

"I'm sorry what!?" She cries.

"I don't understand it any more than you do." I say, with a shrug. "I didn't even think Dumbledore liked him."

"Of course Dumbledore doesn't like him." Elsie says with a roll of her eyes. "He's a pretentious snake who thinks he's the king of the hill. I really don't get how the other professors don't see through it. Like come on, no one is that perfect."

"I didn't even know he was an orphan." I say and Elsie nods.

"See what I mean?" She says. "No one knows anything about him. He presents himself as this polite, model student but he's in Slytherin for a reason."

"Not just that, the other Slytherins treat him with so much respect it's almost weird. Sometimes they seem almost...afraid of him. Which is suspicious because he's never outwardly rude and I can't believe they respect him just because he gets good grades." I add, thinking out loud.

"He's hiding his true self." Elsie says. "I would bet my life on it. The Sorting Hat never lies."

"But it's not like all Slytherins are evil." I counter and Elsie snorts.

"I never said he was evil." She replies. "Just...you know...cunning, sly, a little too interested in power...I just mean his mask serves him. He should go into politics."

We laugh and Charlotte takes a seat next to me, digging in to her own pancakes. "Isn't he the one that found Hagrid's acromantula?" She asks.

"So actually on that point." I say, putting down my fork. "Dumbledore and Tom had dinner with Aunt Bathilda and I last night and I told them all my theory about the Chamber of Secrets. They think it's worth looking into. Trying to get more proof."

"You're kidding!" Elsie cries, leaning forward. "You discussed this with Riddle?"

"Yea, he said he'll help me." I say and Elsie frowns skeptically.

"He wasn't annoyed you were challenging him?" She asks. "He accused Hagrid. Now he's willing to help you prove he was wrong?"

"Well he's willing to look into it." I say. "It was an honest mistake. It's not like he intended to falsely accuse Hagrid."

"I mean with Slytherins you never know." Elsie says and I roll my eyes.

"I know there have been conspiracy theories floating around Gryffindor but I'm not interested." I say, shaking my head. "Why would Riddle frame Hagrid? You think he opened the Chamber of Secrets?"

"He is a Slytherin. Maybe he's a Parselmouth." Elsie says and I shake my head.

"That's actually what he's helping me discover." I say. "We're going to try to figure out which of our classmates is the real Parselmouth. If he were one, why would he sign up to help me investigate him?"

"Because hiding in plain sight is the safest place?" Elsie suggests and I sigh.

"Well, it's not like I'm ruling him out as a suspect." I say. "I'm going to dig into Aunt Bathilda's archives and trace Slytherin's line down the generations until I find out who it is. It could be anyone. For all I know, it could be you."

Elsie laughs. "I'm a Gryffindor."

"Doesn't mean you're not related to Slytherin." I say with a shrug, and Elsie rolls her eyes.

"Alright well good luck with that." She says, shaking her head. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"You're free to help if you want to." I remind her.

"I can't." She says. "I'm working at the summer fair this year. I start on Monday."

"With Jack." Charlotte adds, grinning mischievously when her older sister slaps her on the arm.

"Jack?" I ask, and Elsie sighs.

"A new-in-town Muggle boy Charlotte fancies." She says, shooting a sideways glance at her sister.

"I fancy him?" Charlotte cries, indignantly. "You're the one who was blushing when he introduced himself this morning."

"I was not blushing." Elsie protests.

"She was blushing." Charlotte says to me and Elsie kicks her under the table.

"Ow!" Charlotte cries.

"Let's go down to the river before it gets too late." Elsie says, her chair scraping as she stands up to escape her sister.

"Help me clean this up first." Marta says, beginning to pile dishes in the sink. I forget sometimes that she is a Muggle and washes the dishes by hand when her husband isn't around to put a washing spell on them.

I push away my half-eaten pancakes and see Merrick eyeing them hungrily. I push them towards him and his eyes light up with excitement until his mother swoops in and picks him up, telling him to go get changed into his bathing suit.

I can't help but smile as I stand up and grab my bag. It is nice to be back.

TOM

I lean against the garden wall as Dumbledore bends to pick weeds out of his small garden. It is not big enough to survive off of which means he seems to be doing this for pleasure. This really baffles me because right now, I am having a hard time thinking of anything less pleasurable. Except perhaps going back to the market.

"Bathilda's been tending to it since spring." He says. "She's always kind enough to make sure it's in full bloom by the time I get back."

"Why don't you just eat the food you bought at the market this morning?" I ask. He had knocked on my door early this morning to drag me to a farmer's market in the middle of the town and then introduced me as his adopted son to dozens of people. Never had I ever wished to disapparate more than during that hellish experience.

"It doesn't taste the same." Dumbledore says, tossing another dirty dandelion onto the pile of dead weeds.

"How different can a carrot really be?" I ask, and I can see he is smiling now.

"You'd be surprised how much the growing conditions can affect the taste." He replies.

"So you're saying you're better at growing carrots than the farmers who do it for a living?" I ask, and Dumbledore stands back up, an amused look on his face.

"I suppose I am." He says, dusting off his hands.

Arrogant bastard. Is there anything he doesn't think he can do better than others? I almost ask the question but then a knock sounds on the gate and we both turn towards the source of the sound. Elvira pushes open the gate between the Bagshot and Dumbledore gardens and enters without waiting for permission. Clearly, there are few boundaries between the two families. Her hair is still wet, as if she had just come out of the shower.

"Elvira, good timing." Dumbledore says, walking over to grab the basket of tomatoes he had set aside. "Can you take these to your aunt?"

"Oh sure." She says, taking the basket. Then she turns to me, and I know what is coming. "Tom, my aunt is going through her library, pulling out all the genealogical records she has. I'm going to take a look tonight after dinner if you want to join. If we can trace Slytherin's lineage, maybe we can find his heir."

"Your aunt has genealogical records?" I ask, kicking myself for not having realized it sooner. If Bathilda Bagshot was really the scholar Dumbledore proclaimed she was, of course she must have some kind of historical records. For the first time since arriving in Godric's Hollow, I feel a smidgen of hope. From the moment the basilisk told me I must be the heir of Slytherin because I'm a Parselmouth, I have been searching relentlessly for my family history. So far, though, I have come up empty.

"Yes, she thinks she has more records than the Knotts." Elvira says.

I stare at her, too stunned to be able to determine if I should be celebrating or writing my own obituary. If her aunt really has as many records as Elvira claims, I really could find my family. But so could Elvira.

"Tracing Slytherin's lineage down a thousand years to the present is going to take months, if it's even possible at all." I say, and Elvira shrugs.

"I have time." She says, turning to leave. "If you want to join, come at 7."

She closes the gate behind her and then I turn to look at Dumbledore. There is a knowing look in his eyes that fuels in me a fire that eclipses all the other emotions I had just been feeling. This will not end the way he wants it to. I won't let it.

Chapter Text

TOM

I walk up the steps to Bathilda's home, unsure if I am walking towards my own doom or salvation. When I had imagined continuing my search for my family this summer, this is not how I had pictured it. Still, Dumbledore's trap may yet be turned to my own advantage.

"Tom." Bathilda says, smiling fondly as she opens the door. "Elvira said you might be joining her. She's upstairs in the study."

"Thank you." I say, with a polite smile as she shows me towards the staircase.

"I already told Elvira that a man who lived nearly a thousand years ago might either have millions of descendants today or, alternatively, none at all. This might be a wild goose chase." Bathilda says as she leads me up the stairs. "But that girl is determined. It's nice of you to help her. She could use the company."

I smile politely when she glances back at me. "My pleasure." I say. "If a grave injustice has been done, then we must set it right."

Bathilda pushes open the door to the study and Elvira looks up from the desk. Piles of papers lay strewn about her, great stacks looming to either side of her. This really is a monumental, possibly impossible task.

"You came." She says, looking a little surprised.

"Oh that's the cookies." Bathilda says, as an alarm goes off downstairs. "I'll bring some up for you two in a minute."

She leaves, running back down the stairs, and I close the door behind her. I turn back to the nosy raven. She arranges the papers to make room for me as I take a seat.

"Did you not think I would come?" I ask, and Elvira shrugs, looking uncomfortable.

"This is a dull, long, and tedious task and it's summer vacation. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to spend it buried in archives." She replies.

"Hogwarts is my home." I say, throwing in a little truth to make the lie come across as more believable. "I want to find who opened the Chamber of Secrets just as much as you do."

Elvira looks up at me, her eyes softening, and I can tell she has bought the tale. "Well thank you." She says. "Truly."

She pushes one of the papers towards me and I look down at the list of names, recognizing some of the surnames as those of my classmates. How the magical world managed to survive so much inbreeding is still a mystery to me.

"Your aunt collected all these records?" I ask, and Elvira nods.

"They're not necessarily all in order or even complete...but they're a start. She's been compiling information for over 40 years, always saying that one day she's going to write the most complete treatise on the history of the wizarding world known to mankind. I'll believe it the day she does it though at this point."

"Where did she get all of this information?" I ask, wondering why someone would spend so much time digging up ancient history when it was unlikely anyone other than an overzealous Ravenclaw would care to read your ramblings.

Elvira shook her head. "Everyone and everywhere." She says, thumbing through the pages. "Too many sources to count. Although Nicolas Flamel was a huge help."

"Flamel?" I ask, suddenly interested. "The creator of the philosopher's stone?"

"Yes." Elvira says, with a shrug. "He's a friend of hers. There aren't many people who like talking about the 14th century but they share that passion."

I stare at her notes in silence, processing this. Flamel is the only known man to have obtained immortality...other than Herpo the Foul. In all my research into immortality, I had not discovered any others.

I had once dreamed of stealing the philosopher's stone. However, my discovery of Horcruxes had put an end to that dream. Why be dependent on a stone to survive when you could make a Horcrux and have your immortality secured in a more permanent manner? And why only create one Horcrux? That wasn't enough insurance against death. Seven, the most powerful magical number, would make a person unstoppable.

"Alright dears." Bathilda says as she opens the door behind me and places a tray of cookies in between the stacks of paper on our desk. "I think I might have put too much butter in these ones but never mind. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Elvira thanks her aunt and I force a smile as the old witch closes the door behind me. Elvira reaches out to take a cookie and I reluctantly follow suit. I have had no appetite since Dumbledore announced the start of his scheme to entrap me but I can already tell I've lost weight. I can't let this continue so I force myself to eat.

"I already found Slytherin." Elvira says, pushing a piece of parchment towards me. A slender finger touches the name Salazar Slytherin, the ink so faded it is nearly illegible. "He had two children. A boy and a girl. You take the boy, I can take the girl and we'll go down the lines from there."

I take the parchment, unable to believe this girl had found in a day what I have been searching for for months. I look up at her, meeting her too sharp grey eyes. I hadn't noticed, at Hogwarts, that she was this clever. I had known she was a prefect but that hardly means anything. Any idiot can become a prefect. But this girl is dangerous. She saw straight through my lies and deduced Myrtle's true cause of death using nothing but logic and a few books.

"You've put so much time and effort into this..." I say slowly, and Elvira frowns.

"Yes well I can't imagine anything mattering more." She says, walking back over to her own seat.

I squint down at the faded records listing Slytherin's children and grandchildren. If these records really are more complete than the Knotts then maybe I can find a Riddle in here. If I can only get them out of her hands and into my own...

I feel Elvira's eyes on me and I look up. "Sorry, did you want this back?" I ask, offering her the piece of parchment.

"I already read it." She says. "The daughter's line continues through here." She taps her finger on a pile of parchment.

She hesitates, and I can tell she is battling with herself over whether to say something.

"Did you hear any of the conspiracy theories the Gryffindors came up with about Myrtle's death?" She asks, after a moment. I freeze, afraid of where she is going with this.

"Some of them." I reply evasively. "There were some really strange ones. Wasn't there one far-fetched theory claiming that Grindelwald somehow killed Myrtle?"

Elvira nods. "Yes, that was one." She says. "Some people even believed that you killed Myrtle and framed Hagrid. I'm sure you heard about that one."

Her tone is casual, nonchalant even, but there is something in her eyes that chills me to my core. She's testing me.

"Yes, of course I heard about that one." I say, with a quiet laugh. I shake my head as if it this unpleasant conversation were amusing. "I guess there really is no limit to Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry."

Elvira smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. "It must have been hard." She says. "Knowing people thought you killed her when you were just doing your job and trying to protect Hogwarts."

I look down at the pile of parchment in front of me, beginning to wonder if it was a mistake coming here tonight. I had not expected to be interrogated. She had shown no suspicion of me up until now so where is this coming from?

"Yes, I mean..." I trail off, unsure how a normal, innocent person would feel in this situation. "I try not to pay attention to gossip. I did what I thought was right and if I was wrong...well we'll find out, won't we?"

I look around at the piles of parchment on the desk and give her a wry smile. Elvira nods, her expression softening. I seem to have passed the test.

"Well thanks." She says, after a moment, looking back down at the pile of parchment.

I pick up the piece of parchment and stare at it, my mind running too fast to register what it is I'm reading. The thought of juggling Elvira and Dumbledore all summer long without letting either of them find any damning evidence against me is as daunting as it is infuriating. I feel anger rise up in my chest at the girl across the table from me who just can't help but poke her nose into all the places it doesn't belong. Why waste her whole summer break digging through archives chasing theories she might never prove for the sake of a boy she barely knows? Is she trying to be a hero? Or is she just trying to prove that she was clever enough to figure out the truth when no one else could?

Either way, it might be time to resort to some more...unconventional methods. The trace might be on us but in a village as chock-full of wizards as Godric's Hollow, how in the world would the Ministry ever be able to pin any use of magic on me? I am essentially free to do as I please as long as no one around me notices my use of magic. Another unexpected benefit of being here, I suppose.

At the orphanage, my hands had been tied. I was so painfully clearly the only wizard in that place that any use of magic would have been immediately detected. Making matters worse, Dumbledore had told Mrs. Cole that I wasn't allowed to use magic, and she had proceeded to take full advantage of my limitation. Knowing I wouldn't be able to do anything about it, she had made me pay over the years for everything I had done before Hogwarts. The first few summers, she had kept me locked in my room the entire time, only opening the door to give me my meals. After my third year at Hogwarts, she'd let me out during the day until Penny's favorite doll had disappeared and she had immediately blamed me. Back in the room I'd gone for the rest of the summer after a quick beating.

My fourth and final summer, however, had been the worst. A new matron had come to help Mrs. Cole and she had convinced Mrs. Cole to unlock my door. It had been fine for a few weeks until Billy intentionally picked a fight with me by punching me in the face. I'd fought back to defend myself and of course been blamed for the whole thing the moment Mrs. Cole saw what was happening. After that, she'd kept me in the cellar for a week before finally letting me back into my own room.

I force myself to focus on the page. There is no point dwelling on the past. I need to concentrate so that I can find my family before Elvira does or I may as well snap my own wand and save the Ministry the trouble.

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

"You're kidding. What did he say?" Elsie asks, swinging her legs off the side of the pier, as she listens to me recount the previous night spent buried in books with Tom Riddle.

"Well he said it's just Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry and that he tries not to pay attention to gossip." I reply. "He said he thought he did what was right but that if he was wrong he would fix it."

"He would fix it?" Elsie echoes skeptically.

"Well he said we'll find out the truth." I amend. "He seems really intent on helping me. He stayed over for nearly five hours last night. My aunt practically kicked him out because it was almost midnight."

"It just doesn't make any sense why he's so invested in this." Elsie says, and I shrug.

"Maybe he feels guilty he accused the wrong person." I say, and she snorts.

"I don't buy it." She says, and I sigh. I can't blame her for distrusting him but perhaps Tom is right. Perhaps the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is a bit too blinding.

"I mean you said it yourself. The other Slytherins respect him too much. It's suspicious." Elsie says.

"Well I'm not saying he's a saint." I reply somewhat defensively.

"Just be careful." Elsie says, and I frown. I don't need to be told to be careful. I am not that naive.

"Would you be saying this if he weren't in Slytherin?" I ask, and Elsie rolls her eyes.

"Don't try to dismiss me as prejudiced." She says. "I have good character judgment."

I sigh. "Well what do you think I should do?" I ask. "Stop letting him help me? Elsie, it's going to take forever. No one else is lining up to help me. I kind of need him."

Elsie bites her lip, staring off towards the opposite end of the lake. "What if you start with his family?" She says, after a moment. "Just to make sure it's not him. If it's not, then you can keep your study buddy. But if it is him...then mystery solved."

"Is he really that much of a prime suspect?" I ask. "It could take forever to trace his ancestry back to Slytherin's time. If I start individually investigating everyone that could be a suspect it's going to take way too long."

"Think about it this way." Elsie says. "If it is him and you let him into your investigation. Who's to say he doesn't sabotage it? For the good of the investigation, you should screen him before you let him get his hands all over your aunt's records."

Too late for that, I think, as I reach down to touch the water and scoop up a fallen leaf. I twirl it between my fingers.

"Dumbledore adopted him." I say. "That means he must not think Tom is the Parselmouth and he is usually right about people."

Elsie shrugs. "Even the best are wrong sometimes." She says. "And besides, it can't hurt to be overcautious. I mean this is murder we are talking about."

I nod slowly, letting the leaf fall back into the water. "Alright." I say. "We'll do his family first."

TOM

I copy down the names, from Slytherin's son down 7 generations, into my diary, the ink sinking in and then disappearing. This diary is one of the more interesting items I found in the Room of Requirement and perfect for secret keeping. Whatever is written in the diary disappears, retrievable only by its owner. It took me two months to figure out how to transfer the diary's ownership into my own name but I had finally managed it. Now, my name is engraved on the back, the letters a magical binding force. Only I can retrieve whatever information is contained in these pages.

I finish copying over the information and flip through the genealogical records, taking out pages here and there. Elvira did not notice I took the records. I had toyed with casting a confundus charm on her but, in the end, I had decided it would be simpler to just shrink them and slip them into my pocket while she was in the lavatory. I will have to return some of them, of course. It would be far too suspicious if Slytherin's entire line disappeared out of the stack of records. I just need to destroy enough pages here and there to make tracing the line impossible.

I point my wand at the smaller stack of parchment I have marked for destruction. "Evanesco." I whisper, eternally paranoid Dumbledore might be able to hear me. I did not want to charm my room against eavesdropping because of the likelihood Dumbledore would notice a charm was in place so I am going to need to be quiet and careful.

The records disappear and I turn to the remaining stack, picking it up. I shrink them back down in size and then slip them into my pocket. I'll return them tonight after dinner, when I go back to Elvira's. I'll slip them back into her aunt's records and if anyone cares to read them all they will find are pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit together.

I pick back up my diary and run my thumb over it. There were 200 descendants in the 7th generation; practically too many to keep track of. I have scarcely started and already his family tree has bloomed out of control. If this pattern continues, there could be millions of descendants of Slytherin today. Half the population of Hogwarts could be related to Slytherin.

This is good news, I remind myself, despite the disappointment I can't help but feel. This means I am undiscoverable. If there are millions of heirs of Slytherin, then no one will ever be able to tie me to the Chamber of Secrets.

But it also means that the basilisk was wrong. There is nothing special about me except my ability to speak Parseltongue. It also begs the question why I, and not millions of other people, can speak to snakes.

Because you crawled out of hell. Mrs. Cole's voice echoes in my mind. That had always been her explanation. Perhaps she is right.

I put my diary back inside my trunk and close it, securing it with an enchanted lock, just in case Dumbledore comes to search it. I enchanted the lock years ago to keep Mrs. Cole and the other children out and it has come in handy ever since.

Not a moment later, I hear Dumbledore's footsteps on the stairs. He has always had uncanny timing. He stops halfway up the stairs and calls out to me. "Tom! Dinner is ready!"

By the time I open the door, he's already going back downstairs. I close the door to my room and then make my way down the stairs. I find him setting the large table for just the two of us and I for a moment wonder where the rest of his family has gone. In all the time I've known him, he has never once mentioned any family members except to tell me I'm sleeping in his brother's room.

"Come let's eat." Dumbledore says, taking a seat.

I join him, and he serves me food in silence, seemingly deep in thought. When he finally looks at me, he seems to force a smile. "You're going to Elvira's again tonight?"

"Yes, if that's okay." I reply.

Dumbledore gives me a wry smile at this. "I'm your guardian, not your jailer, Tom."

I take a bite so that I don't have to respond and Dumbledore picks up a piece of parchment and hands it to me. "Speaking of which, I made you a bank account at Gringotts." He says, and I almost choke on my food.

"Professor, you didn't have to-"

"Nonsense." He interrupts. "You are old enough to manage your own money. I've given you enough to cover your last two years at Hogwarts until you can finish school and start working. You're not eligible for the Hogwarts stipend anymore now that I've adopted you so this will cover your school supplies and then some."

I look down at the parchment, confused and affronted all in one. I am not a charity case. I do not need or want his money. What game is he playing at?

"Professor, this is far more than just money for school supplies." I say, as I look at the amount.

"Yes, well, it's to set you up for the future." He says and I frown. What future exactly is he talking about? If he gets his way, I'll be expelled from Hogwarts. Is that what this money is for? To cover me in case I need to find a way to survive after my wand is snapped in two and I'm forbidden to practice magic?

"I'm a student. I don't have any expenses." I protest, but Dumbledore just shakes his head, looking amused.

"I know you don't like receiving help, Tom, but the money has already been deposited in your name. It's yours now. If you don't want it, you are free to dispose of it however you like but I won't be taking it back." He says, and I clench my jaw to keep from responding with something offensive.

I look down at the parchment again and then fold it up slowly and put it to the side.

"I also got you an owl." Dumbledore says and then laughs at the look on my face.

"You didn't need to do all of this." I say, shaking my head. "Seriously. There was no need."

"I don't doubt you would have managed just fine without my help." Dumbledore says. "But what kind of guardian would I be if I didn't even get you the basic necessities."

A whole lot less annoying, I think, as I force a smile. It's a halfhearted transparently fake attempt at a smile but I really could not care less at this point. "Well thank you, sir." I say, not even bothering to sound sincere. "You really are my savior."

Dumbledore snorts into his cup of wine. "You know I never really realized before how funny you are Tom." He says and I bite the inside of my mouth, seething with barely concealed anger.

"Well if you want her, your owl is in the backyard roost with Bathilda and Elvira's owl Quill." Dumbledore says.

"Do you not have an owl?" I ask.

"I have a phoenix." Dumbledore replies. "His name is Fawkes."

Dumbledore looks at me then, a curious look coming into his eyes. "Speaking of which, the core of your wand is a phoenix feather is it not?"

I frown, immediately suspicious. "How do you know that, sir?"

"Well you see some years ago, I sent Olivander two of Fawkes's tail feathers. They were made into wands but, to this day, only one of the wands has found its owner." Dumbledore says, his blue eyes glinting with a knowing look.

"You're not saying..." I trail off, my stomach dropping.

"Yes, I was equally as surprised when Olivander wrote me to say that Fawkes's feather wand had gone to a young wizard named Tom Riddle." Dumbledore says. "Not a week after I'd first come to see you at the orphanage."

I stare at him in shock, feeling somehow violated. The wand that had called to me...the wand that had always been mine more than anything else in the world...came from his pet? Is there no getting away from this man? Must he insert himself into every facet of my life, ruining everything and relishing in my torment with that smug look on his face?

"You never told me it was your phoenix." I say, fighting to keep my face from betraying just how furious I am.

Dumbledore's eyes soften ever so slightly into something that looks suspiciously like regret. "One of many oversights I've made over the years."

I look away, very ready to end this conversation.

"I'll introduce you to Fawkes when he gets back." Dumbledore says, when I don't reply. "He's away right now. Probably visiting my brother if I were to guess."

I push back my chair, giving him a dry smile. "Well I should go." I say, standing up. "Elvira's probably already getting started without me."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Dumbledore replies, looking up at me as I grab my plate and bring it over to the sink.

"Just leave it. I'll put a washing spell on it after you go." He says. "Seeing as you can't do magic yourself."

I look back at him, the knowing twinkle in his eye chilling me to the bone. Does he know I've been doing underage magic under his roof? Is this just a warning? Or am I reading too much into it. With Dumbledore, you never can tell. If only he just came right out and accused me openly, I might not have to live under constant paranoia.

"And don't forget this." He says, and the Gringotts bank memo floats towards me. I catch it and purse my lips as I tuck it in my other pocket.

"Thank you, sir." I say, making my escape before he can say another word.

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

I hear the backdoor open and turn to see Elsie's prime murder suspect walking towards me.

"Your owl is here." I say, holding out my arm.

Tom's new owl sits perches on my forearm, his feathers rustling in the light summer breeze.

"So I see." Tom says, looking unimpressed.

I hold out my arm and the owl turns to look at him, letting out a soft hoot.

"Hold out your arm and he'll come to you." I say, and Tom runs a hand through his hair, looking peeved.

"It gets cool out here in the evening, doesn't it? Should we go back inside?" He asks, and I frown.

"You don't want to meet your owl?" I ask.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?" He asks, an edge to his voice. "I'm meeting him right now aren't I?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you afraid of owls?" I ask, and he narrows his eyes at me. Yes, he is definitely in a bad mood.

"I'm cold." He says, flatly. "I'll meet you inside."

I frown, staring at him in irritation as he turns around and goes back into the house without so much as a backward glance. I look at his owl, running my hand over his soft feathers.

"Don't worry." I whisper, as I put him back in the roost with Quill. "He'll come around."

I hand them both some more treats and then look up. I can see by the shape of his shadow in the window that Tom is already in the study. Elsie's warning echoes in my head but I push it away. She is being paranoid and protective. That's all.

I slip back inside and climb the steps to the second floor. When I enter the study, Tom is already pouring over genealogical records, looking deep in thought. His eyes rove over the page, a sullen intensity to his gaze that had not been there before.

I take my seat in silence, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. The perfect polite prefect has, for some unknown reason, transformed into a moody teenager and I don't quite know what to do with the change. It's almost a relief to see his mask cracking but it's also disorienting.

"What?" He asks sharply, catching me watching him.

"Nothing." I say quickly, looking back down at the pages. I can feel his eyes boring into me, invasive in their intensity, and I almost open my mouth to ask him what's wrong when he speaks.

"You never told me what happened to your parents." He says, and I look up at him in surprise.

I frown. Discussing my parents is never a pleasant topic but I can't help but wonder if this is just the opening I need to pry into his background.

"I told you they were killed by Grindelwald." I say.

"But you never told me why." He says, and I let out a quiet laugh.

"It's nothing to be proud of. It's not a good story." I say, and Tom raises an eyebrow.

"I want to hear it anyway." He says, setting down the piece of parchment he had been holding, and I sigh.

"Alright, well, before I was born my parents were loyal servants of Grindelwald." I say. "They were pure bloods, angry at how the wizarding world had to live in secret and hide from the inferior Muggles. They believed all that nonsense."

I look up at him and he is giving me that impassable look again. I know many Slytherins are sympathetic to Grindelwald's views but, for some reason, I somewhat doubt he is one of them. Regardless, he doesn't let any emotion show and so I continue.

"But then one day my mother got pregnant. It wasn't intentional. I was an accident." I say. "But after I was born, my parents took me to Grindelwald and asked him to name me. They were so brainwashed by him that for the first 4 months of my life, I didn't even have a name because they wanted him to name me based on what he saw of my future. He's a seer, you know that right?"

"I know." Tom says.

"Okay well, they traveled to Paris and met up with him and he looked into the smoke from his skull and this image from my childhood appeared. I was with Dumbledore and Aunt Bathilda down by the river here in Godric's Hollow. I was maybe eight in the vision. Grindelwald asked my parents why their child would be growing up with Dumbledore and when they couldn't provide a suitable answer, he killed them, thinking they would betray him if he let them live. Then he named me Elvira, meaning 'the truth', because my birth showed him the truth about my parents' loyalty."

"Except it was a self-fulfilling prophecy." Tom says and I nod.

"Exactly." I say. "After my parents' death, Grindelwald gave me to one of his followers to raise, but it wasn't long until Aunt Bathilda found out about my parents' deaths. She had kept in touch with my parents and with Grindelwald himself despite everything and when she found out she was heartbroken and furious."

"She kept in touch...with Grindelwald?" Tom asks, haltingly.

"She was his great aunt." I say, and watch as Tom makes the connection I have tried to hide all my life.

"So you're related to..."

"Grindelwald. Yes." I say with a sigh. "Aunt Bathilda had two sisters. One of them is Grindelwald's grandmother. The other is my great, great grandmother. So I suppose that makes us distant cousins."

"Well anyway." I say, eager to move on. "Aunt Bathilda marched down to Paris and demanded Grindelwald give me to her. He told her about the vision and she suggested just what you said, that it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, and that by killing my parents he had made it come true. She demanded I be given to her as penance for having needlessly killed his own cousins and he agreed."

"He agreed?" Tom asked, incredulously. "Just like that?"

"You have to understand Aunt Bathilda took in Grindelwald after he was expelled from Durmstrang. He was our age. She is the only person he considers family to this day. My aunt keeps a photo of him in her room. They love each other." I say, as Tom stares at me in shock.

"Anyway he admitted he made a mistake and gave me to her and the rest is history. I grew up in Godric's Hollow with Aunt Bathilda and Dumbledore just as he'd foreseen."

Tom is staring at me in shock and I can't help but feel self-conscious. "I told you it's not a good story." I say.

"You kept the name." He says, looking at me curiously. "The name he gave you."

I shrug. "Believe me, I have thought about changing it." I say. "But I decided instead to just embrace it. It's a part of who I am. It's the story of where I came from and even if that story is terrible...it's still my story."

"Has he...spoken to you since then?" Tom dares to ask and I shake my head.

"No." I say. "Aunt Bathilda forbade it."

"I thought you said she loves him." Tom says.

"She does but she's not blind." I say. "She knows what kind of a man he is and she's not about to let him anywhere near me after what he did to my parents. She's still angry with him about the whole thing. I don't think she will ever forgive him. It's...complicated. When someone you love becomes unrecognizable and dangerous you have to keep your distance."

Tom frowns, and I don't blame him for being confused. I barely understand it myself but I have grown up catching my aunt crying when she doesn't think I'm watching. I've heard her and Dumbledore's whispers about Grindelwald when they think I can't hear. I've seen the photo albums and the odd letter or card.

"Anyway." I say, running a hand through my hair. "What about you? Where do you come from?"

Tom's eyes focus on my face, and I can tell he does not appreciate having the tables turned on him. I don't care. I just admitted to him I was related to the most dangerous wizard alive, he can answer my questions now.

"I don't know." He says, after a beat. "My mother died giving birth to me and I don't even know her name. I've never met my father."

"Sorry." I say, and that look from the first night we arrived in Godric's Hollow returns to his eyes for a split second.

"Don't be." He says, and the look is gone. "You can't miss what you never had."

I nod. "I understand." I say. "It was the same for me."

He looks away. "We're the lucky ones."

"I wouldn't go that far." I reply. "Would have been nicer to have parents than none at all."

"Your parents were brainwashed fanatics who couldn't even think independently enough to name you." Tom says. "It's probably for the best you never knew them."

I flinch, but I cannot deny this is a thought I have had myself on many an occasion. "Still." I say. "I would have liked to have known them. Do you not get curious about what yours were like?"

"They're irrelevant." He replies, with a slight shrug. "It doesn't matter what they were like."

I look at him skeptically. "Have you never tried to find them?" I ask. "I mean we can look for Riddles in these records here. If that's the wizarding side then-"

"No." He interrupts sharply. "That is a waste of time. Tracing Slytherin's line is going to take all summer as is. That should be the priority."

I bite my tongue, sensing it would be a mistake to push this topic any further. For whatever reason, he clearly does not want to find his parents.

"Well if you change your mind, you're welcome to look through the records at any time." I say.

"I won't." He says firmly. "But thank you."

I nod and then look down at the pages, an awkward silence falling over the table. I could push the issue but why bother. For Elsie's peace of mind, I'll search the records for Riddles when Tom's not here tomorrow. There is no reason he needs to know I'm investigating him.

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

It is late before Tom leaves for the night and I have no trouble falling asleep. When I wake up, it's mid morning. I can hear voices from the kitchen downstairs and, as I tiptoe towards the door, one of the speakers raises his voice. I pause, sensing whatever conversation is happening downstairs is not a pleasant one.

"If you would have told me, I would have come sooner." Dumbledore says.

"And that is exactly why I didn't tell you." The man with the raised voice replies.

There is a beat of silence and I open the door, as quietly as possible. "Alright well I'm sorry." Dumbledore says, his voice constricted.

The other man scoffs audibly and I can hear my aunt rushing to intervene. "We'll pack and we'll be there as soon as we can." She says.

"You never thought he stood a chance." The angry man says, ignoring my aunt. "But he has lived longer than any other known Obscurial."

"You were right not to give up on him." Dumbledore agrees. "I see that now."

"Do you really?" The man asks. "Is that why you've adopted that boy? Are you trying to make up for something Albus?"

"The boy was being abused at that orphanage." Dumbledore says. "It's affected him."

"You don't say." The man replies sarcastically.

Dumbledore sighs audibly. "I understand your feelings Aberforth, really I do. But how long are you going to make me pay?"

Aberforth? Dumbledore's brother? I have only met him a few times but I remember him as a gruff, somewhat odd character.

"When did you find out that boy was being abused?" Aberforth asks sharply and Dumbledore makes no response.

"You were his teacher. You must have known all along." He says. "You did, didn't you."

"I had my suspicions." Dumbledore agrees.

"You sent a child back to a dangerous environment even after you saw what abuse did to Credence. You saw how it destroyed him." Aberforth says, the anger in his voice palpable.

"I regret it." Dumbledore says, and Aberforth snorts.

"You always regret it." He sneers, and I hear a chair scrape. "You don't learn though."

I hear the man's footsteps echo across the floorboards and then the fireplace roars to life. For a moment, there is silence in the room, and I can only assume that Aberforth must have left through the floo network.

At last, my aunt clears her throat. "Well he's always an event that one." She says, a chair scraping as she stands up.

"He's not wrong." Dumbledore says.

"Albus, you listen to me." My aunt says, in the gentle yet firm tone she uses when she's about to give a lecture. "You are not responsible for what happened to Tom or to Credence. And for the record, you did what you could for Credence and now you're doing what you can for Tom. Aberforth knows this on some level. His anger isn't really about Credence or Tom, it's about-"

"I know." Dumbledore interrupts her.

I hear my aunt sigh. "I could write to Gellert. Find out what he knows about that day-"

"No." Dumbledore says quickly. "Please, Bathilda. We all just need to move on. It's been over 40 years."

I hear footsteps walking around and the sound of cutlery clinking on porcelain dishware.

"Well I should get back." Dumbledore says, after a while.

"Bring these back for Tom." Bathilda says. "That child looks like he doesn't eat enough."

"He's stressed out over being here." Dumbledore says. "I know he didn't want to come. Although he'll never say it out loud."

"You did the right thing bringing him here." Bathilda says. "He'll come to appreciate it in time."

I hear Dumbledore give a wry chuckle at this. "We'll see about that." He says.

His footsteps sound on the floor and then the door opens and they say their goodbyes. I remain in silence a moment until I hear my aunt's footsteps come to the bottom of the staircase.

"You can come out now love." She says and I freeze. "I know you're up there eavesdropping."

I briefly consider retreating into my room and denying it but then let out a shaky laugh. I walk down the stairs, looking down sheepishly at my aunt. She stands at the bottom of the stairs with a knowing smile on her face and her arms crossed.

"You need to oil the hinges in your door if you want to eavesdrop without detection." She says.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time the Dumbledores air their family drama in our living room." I reply.

My aunt can't help but be amused by this no matter how hard she tries to give me a withering look.

"Who is Credence?" I ask, as I follow her into the kitchen.

Aunt Bathilda's amusement disappears into a frown at this. "He is Aberforth's son." She replies.

"I didn't know he had a son." I reply, curious for more.

My aunt lets out a heavy sigh. "He's dying." She says. "Healers say it could be any day now."

I frown. "What's wrong with him?"

My aunt hesitates, and I can tell she doesn't want to tell me everything. She has always had this annoying habit of trying to shield me from the ugly truth of things, always thinking I am too young to handle them. But I am not a child anymore and I am tired of being kept in the dark.

"He's an Obscurial." Aunt Bathilda says at last.

"You mean he's like...Ariana?" I ask.

My aunt gives me a look that makes it clear she does not want to continue talking about this subject. "Yes." She replies simply.

I walk over to the counter and pull out a glass. I pour orange juice into it, processing this. Two Obscurials in the same family. What were the odds? Perhaps the Dumbledores are just particularly cursed.

"Why?" I ask, and Aunt Bathilda sighs.

"He grew up in America with a horrible woman who abused him because of his magic. Aberforth only got him back about 12 years ago. By then, too much damage had been done. Obscurials don't usually live past 10. Credence has lived over 40 years. He is an exceptionally strong wizard."

"Then why is he dying now?" I ask.

"Obscuri they...poison their hosts." Aunt Bathilda says. "The condition is fatal. Aberforth managed to prolong his life for an exceptional amount of time but the damage his Obscurus inflicted before Aberforth found him is too great. He has been dying slowly for over a decade."

"There's no cure?" I ask, and my aunt shakes her head.

"With proper care and early intervention people have theorized it might be possible to undo enough of the damage to live a normal life but Credence was well into his adult years before Aberforth found him. It was too late." Aunt Bathilda says and I nod slowly.

"Did you know Tom was abused at the orphanage?" I ask, after a moment.

My aunt is silent and so I turn back around to look at her. I still can't shake that comment she made the day we arrived. She'd said Dumbledore had been worried about Tom for ages. If he'd known Tom had been being abused then why hadn't he done anything to stop it?

"Elvira this isn't our business." She says. "It doesn't pay to gossip about other people."

"You said Dumbledore's been worried about him for years. If he thought Tom was being abused, why didn't he adopt him sooner?" I probe, and my aunt sighs in annoyance.

"It was not his responsibility." Aunt Bathilda replies.

"Then whose was it?" I ask sharply, and my aunt gives me a stern look.

"You are being unfair, love." She says but I shake my head.

"Aberforth is right." I say. "If the orphanage was dangerous, Dumbledore shouldn't have sent him back to that place."

"It's not so simple." Aunt Bathilda says.

"How is it not simple?" I snap.

"He has no evidence Tom was being abused. Tom denies anything has ever happened. The matron of the orphanage denies anything has ever happened." Aunt Bathilda replies and I frown.

"Then how does he know-"

"The same way you know Hagrid didn't open the Chamber of Secrets." My aunt replies firmly. "Sometimes the circumstantial evidence is so overwhelming that it compels only one conclusion. But without actual proof...the Ministry will not take action and neither will the Muggle government."

I groan, plopping down in one of the kitchen table chairs. "The Ministry is good for nothing." I complain.

"The Ministry cannot act based on suspicion or assumptions and for good reason." Aunt Bathilda says, coming to take a seat next to me.

I glare at my glass of orange juice, still feeling she is wrong but unable to articulate why.

"We're going to Aberforth's to say goodbye to Credence." My aunt says after a beat. "You should go pack your things."

I look up at her, considering asking why no one had ever bothered to tell me Aberforth had a son. I know the answer, though, and so I leave the question unasked.

TOM

I watch from the window as Dumbledore leaves Bathilda's house, looking tired, and walks the short distance to his own front door. I hear the door open and then shut and Dumbledore's footsteps enter the kitchen.

I leave the window, walking back to my bed and pick up the Dark Arts book I had been reading. I hear Dumbledore's footsteps on the stairs and quickly stash it in my trunk before he knocks on the door.

"Tom are you up?" He asks.

I consider not replying and pretending to be asleep but it is already past 10 and there is little point in pretending I slept in that long. I cross the short distance to the door and unlock it. When I open it, he is standing in front of me with a bag of donuts.

"These are for you from Bathilda." Dumbledore says, as I reluctantly take the sweets. What is it with this woman and constantly forcing me to accept her baked goods?

"Why?" I ask, and Dumbledore lets out the faintest sigh. He looks drained but it is only mid-morning.

"She thinks you're not eating enough." Dumbledore replies. Is it that obvious?

"Her concerns are touching but not warranted." I reply, and Dumbledore raises an eyebrow.

"Well do her a favor and humor her." Dumbledore replies, and then glances behind me. I resist the urge to move to block his view. I have nothing to hide. Everything I don't want him to see is already well hidden.

"You didn't unpack." He says.

"Well I'm only here for a few months. I didn't think it necessary." I reply.

"Well good because we're going to Hogsmeade." Dumbledore says, turning to leave. "Bring it downstairs when you're ready."

"Hogsmeade?" I repeat, confused. Is he getting rid of me? Or is this some kind of trap?

Dumbledore sighs, looking back at me. "My brother's son is dying. We are going to go say goodbye and attend the funeral."

I blink in surprise. Whatever I had expected it was not this. "The brother whose room this is?" I ask, glancing behind me.

"The very same." Dumbledore says, with a slight nod. There is a sadness in his blue eyes I have not seen before.

"I'm sorry." I say, and Dumbledore gives me a look that says he is well aware I could not care less.

"Make sure you have everything you need and then bring down your trunk." He says, before going back down the stairs.

I retreat back into my room and close the door, cursing under my breath. While I'm gone, Elvira will be free to continue searching for the Heir of Slytherin unhindered while I'll fall behind in my own research. If her probing questions about my family history were anything to go by, she might even start looking for Riddles in the thousands of pages in her aunt's office.

I let out a sigh of frustration and shove my remaining belongings back into my trunk with more force than necessary. When I'm finished, I lock the trunk and begrudgingly carry it down the stairs. Dumbledore is already waiting for me in the living room, his own small trunk next to the kitchen table.

I set my trunk down next to Dumbledore's and he waves them both away with a quick flick of his wand before turning to me. "Alright, let's go" He says, walking towards the door. "We'll take the floo network from Bathilda's same as we came."

I follow him out of the house and down the cobblestone road to the Bagshot residence next door. Dumbledore doesn't bother to knock before entering.

"Elvira they're here!" I hear Bathilda call out and a moment later, I hear a door slam upstairs. Her footsteps sound on the stairs, and then she appears, carrying a trunk and looking frazzled.

"Did you get everything?" Bathilda asks. "Toothbrush, comb, socks-"

"Yes, yes, I did." Elvira replies impatiently, and I feel a wave of relief as I realize she is coming with us. Perhaps this trip to Hogsmeade is a good thing after all. Elvira will be distracted and lose time in her search, buying me some extra time. She drops her trunk on the ground and then looks up at me, giving me a small smile in greeting.

"Alright, Albus and Tom, you two go first. We'll be right behind you." Bathilda says, waving us over to the fireplace.

She hands Dumbledore the powder and he throws it into the flames. "The Hog's Head Inn." He says before disappearing.

The Hog's Head Inn? That is where we are going? The place is grimy and filled with shady people and I have always found it a good place to have conversations I do not want anyone to overhear. I would have expected Dumbledore to meet his brother at a more reputable place, like The Three Broomsticks.

I must look confused because Bathilda explains as she holds out the powder for me. "Aberforth owns the inn." She says and I can't help but stare at her in surprise.

Now this, I did not expect.

Chapter Text

TOM

I enter the fireplace and throw down the powder, stating my destination, and in a matter of seconds I am stumbling out of the fireplace into the small upstairs sitting room. Dumbledore is already there, looking very out of place, and I can't help but look at him quizzically.

"You never told me this was your brother's inn." I say, walking over to him.

He gives me a small smile. "You look surprised." He remarks.

"I am." I admit.

"Albus doesn't like to talk about his family." A gruff voice says from the doorway, practically making me jump.

I turn around to see a bearded man who I vaguely recognize as the barkeep.

"Aberforth, this is Tom. Tom, Aberforth." Dumbledore says and Aberforth snorts.

"I know this boy." He says, and I feel my stomach sink with the dawning realization that I have been holding private conversations in Dumbledore's brother's inn. "He comes here with his friends sometimes. Nott, Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber..."

"We appreciate that it's less crowded than The Three Broomsticks." I say, glancing at Dumbledore, who is looking far too amused by this exchange.

"That is what we are known for." Aberforth replies wryly.

The fireplace roars to life and I turn to look as Elvira appears. She smiles reservedly at Aberforth and a moment later her aunt appears, furiously brushing soot off her robes. Above the fireplace, a large painting of a girl smiles serenely down at us, her arms clutching a book.

"Well it seems we are all here." Aberforth says, turning back towards the corridor.

"Is he up for visitors?" Dumbledore asks as we follow Aberforth down the hallway.

"He knows he doesn't have long left. He asked to see you." Aberforth says to Dumbledore as they walk down the hallway.

Aberforth stops in front of a door marked 6 and then opens it, leading the way inside. I follow Dumbledore inside and then stop when I see the man in the bed. His face is thin and pale, dark circles under his eyes. His long dark hair hangs down on either side of his face, only serving to make him look more washed out. I realize I forgot to ask what is wrong with him.

Elvira and Bathilda stop next to me and we wait a respectful distance away as Dumbledore walks over to the man, leaning down to hug him. The hug lasts longer than it reasonably needs to and when they finally pull back, I see tears on the man's face. I look away, trying to school my face into something more appropriate than the disgust and discomfort I am really feeling.

"You came." The man says, as if he had expected Dumbledore not to show up.

"Of course." Dumbledore says. "I came as soon as I heard."

The man looks at his father now. "You didn't tell him, did you."

Aberforth gives a huff. "I told him today didn't I?" He says, and the man looks back at Dumbledore.

"Nagini is coming." He says to Dumbledore. "She was able to take human shape long enough to write a letter. She's going to take a port key from Albania as soon as she can regain her human form again..."

"That's wonderful." Dumbledore says.

The man looks past Dumbledore at Elvira, Bathilda and I. Dumbledore looks back, as if just now realizing introductions might be necessary.

"Credence, this is Tom, the student I just adopted." Dumbledore says, beckoning me to come over.

I swallow a groan and walk over to the bedside, putting on a nice plastic smile. "It is nice to meet you." I say, holding out my hand.

Slowly, his hand frail and shaking, Credence takes my hand, but no smile reaches his lips. "You're lucky." He says, and I squirm uncomfortably under the gazes of all three Dumbledores.

"Yes, I know." I say, letting go of his hand.

"And this is Elvira." Dumbledore says, and I step back to give her space to come greet Credence. "Bathilda's great, great, great niece."

Elvira shakes his hand and Credence actually returns the genuine smile she gives him. Curse the Dumbledore family and their impeccable ability to see through my pretense.

"And you of course know Bathilda." Dumbledore finishes as Bathilda comes in to hug Credence.

Elvira and I step back to the side as Bathilda and Credence chat warmly. After a moment, Credence sighs and leans back on the pillow, his eyes half closing.

"He doesn't have much energy left. We should let him rest for a bit." Aberforth says, and I am more than happy to get out of this room that feels too strongly of death.

We shuffle out, following Aberforth down the steps for lunch. The bar on the main floor is empty and I can only guess that it is closed to customers due to Credence's condition. The small dingy bar smells like goats, just as it always has, and I try not to visibly wrinkle my nose. I look around the filthy place, struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that it is owned by Dumbledore's brother. I look over at Dumbledore and his brother, who are setting a dirty table for lunch, and struggle to wrap my head around the fact that they are brothers.

"I brought some of the records." Elvira says, and I almost jump, not having heard her come up to me.

I try not to grimace. "I don't know that we'll have time to do research."

"I figured I'd bring them just in case." She says, and I try not to sigh. She is really way too overzealous.

"I didn't know Aberforth had a son." She says after a moment, and I look at her in surprise.

"I thought your family was close with the Dumbledores." I say.

"We are with Professor Dumbledore." She replies, and then lowers her voice so that only I can hear. "But they are an odd family. Dumbledore and Aberforth barely ever talk. I've only ever met Aberforth a couple of times. There are...unresolved issues between them."

I am curious despite myself. "What issues?"

"I shouldn't say." She replies, infuriatingly, and then leaves, going to take a seat next to her aunt at the table.

I also take a seat as Aberforth begins serving us soup into dubiously clean bowls. I look down apprehensively at the cloudy spoon next to me, wishing I had a valid excuse to go wash it before using it.

We start eating in relative silence, some kind of unspoken tension hanging in the air. Bathilda tries to start small talk a few times before giving up when it becomes apparent no one is willing to engage. As soon as he is finished, Aberforth picks up his bowl and leaves, stating that he needs to go feed the goats.

Not long after, Bathilda turns to Elvira. "While we're here, we should really go pay a visit to Ethel over at Tomes and Scrolls. She sent me an Owl a while back saying the latest edition of Ferguson's treatise on late 17th century goblin-wizarding relations is out."

"I'll come with you." Elvira says, standing up and cleaning up the table.

The two of them bring their dishes over to the sink and then disappear out the door, discussing what books they are going to buy at the shop. I am left with Dumbledore in the silence of the dingy bar. Afternoon sunlight filters in through the filthy windows, illuminating the mess.

"What illness does Credence have?" I ask, when the silence has stretched on too long.

For a moment, it is as if Dumbledore has not heard me and then he looks at me, seeming to remember I am still there. It is unusual to see him so distracted. I don't quite know what to make of it.

"He's an Obscurial." Dumbledore says and I stare at him in shock, certain I must have misheard.

"He's too old to be an Obscurial." I say.

"With Aberforth's help, he was able to live a long time." Dumbledore says, with a sigh. "But even then, he's unusual. Unusually strong."

I frown, scarcely able to believe this.

"Tom did you ever feel the need to suppress your magic as a child?" He asks, after a moment, and I stifle a groan. I should have asked to go to the book shop with Elvira and Bathilda.

"I am not an Obscurial, if that is where you are going with this." I practically snap.

"I know." He says, looking up at me. "That's what I don't quite understand."

"What is there not to understand?" I ask sharply.

"In an orphanage full of Muggle children, I can't imagine they would have understood magic." Dumbledore says.

Oh they understood well enough not to mess with me. "Well people are afraid of what they don't understand." I reply vaguely.

"Did Mrs. Cole ever punish you or treat you differently because you used magic?" He asks.

I narrow my eyes. "Well of course she treated me differently." I reply. "I was different."

"How did she treat you differently?" He asks, and I clench my jaw, knowing he won't stop until I give him something.

"Well she wouldn't take me to church because she thought I was the spawn of the devil." I say, the notion sounding so absurd now that I almost want to laugh. Of course, back then, I had believed her. It had been the only explanation anyone had given me as to why I could do things no one else could. And it certainly fit given that I was a Parselmouth...

Dumbledore, however, looks disturbed. "Did she ever try to stop you from using magic?"

I frown. "Not successfully." I say. "She couldn't control me."

Dumbledore nods slowly, a look of understanding in his eyes.

"You never became an Obscurial because you never let her suppress your magic." Dumbledore says, as if thinking out loud. "Your will was stronger than hers."

That is a bit of an understatement but I'll take it.

"Credence is a...gentle person." Dumbledore continues. And I'm not. The implication lies in the air between us but, as per usual, Dumbledore doesn't have the gall to say it out loud.

"He wanted a family. He wanted to belong and so he suppressed his magic as a child in the futile hope that might somehow make his adoptive mother love him but, of course, it didn't." Dumbledore continues, and I start to wonder if I even need to respond or if he is just content to continue monologuing his discoveries over the table.

"But you never wanted a family." He says, and I clench my jaw. Not this again. "You never wanted to belong in that orphanage or make them love you. You wanted freedom."

I look up at him, anger curdling in my stomach at the audacity. "Why do you think I never wanted a family?" I ask, fighting to keep my voice even.

"Did you want a family?" Dumbledore asks, turning the question around on me, and I don't know if I have ever hated anyone more.

"Yes." I say, a beat too late to be believable. Dumbledore raises an eyebrow, and I nearly lose it.

"If you're not going to believe the answers I give you, why bother asking me questions?" I practically snap, and Dumbledore sighs.

"I'm sorry Tom." He says, and I believe it just about as much as he believed me when I said I was sorry for Credence's illness this morning.

We sit in silence for a moment and I try to get a handle on the part of me that wants to curse Dumbledore into oblivion. I am not exactly sure what he's trying to prove. That there's something wrong with me? That I don't feel things the way people are supposed to?

A moment later, I stand up, intent on getting away from Dumbledore and his incessant probing. There is no point in keeping up appearances when he asks me questions like that. This is not Hogwarts. My reputation with Dumbledore is already ruined. I don't truly know how it could get any worse. He thinks I killed a student to rid the school of Muggleborns because I can speak to snakes. I may as well start consulting him on the proper way to create a Horcrux at this point. I bet the bastard knows how to make one too. Despite his attempt to portray himself as morally superior at every instance, I can't help but believe he knows more about the Dark Arts than he lets on.

His brother is a Slytherin who runs the most disreputable inn in Hogsmeade, his nephew is a dying Obscurial, and his best friend Bathilda is Grindelwald's aunt. His life is not as squeaky clean as he would like others to believe. There is a mess hidden underneath his polished exterior and perhaps that is how he is able to so clearly see through my own pretenses.

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

I leave my aunt up by the counter, talking to the shopkeeper, Ethel, and wind my way deeper into the shop. Tomes and Scrolls is far less populated and popular than Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, owing in large part to its large collection of obscure and dense texts. That is also the reason Aunt Bathilda loves it so much.

I skim the labels on the shelves, trying to remember where the historical section is. I doubt the shop would have any information my aunt hasn't already compiled, but it is worth a shot.

Turning the corner, I finally spot the Historical Treatises section and walk down the nearest aisle, glancing over the names of authors and books as I go. When I reach the end of the aisle, I turn to go into the next one and run right into a person.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I cry, as I stumble backwards.

When my vision focuses, my eyes widen as I recognize the boy in front of me. Thaddeus Nott stands before me, holding a large book.

"Lynn?" He asks, in that slightly strained and anxious tone of voice I have come to associate with him.

"Nott, hi." I say, recovering from my surprise. "Nice to see you."

"What are you doing here?" He asks, glancing over my shoulder as if someone might be there. I look and there is no one there.

"Visiting a family friend." I say. "Actually Tom is here too."

At Tom's name, Nott's face seems to drain of blood. "Riddle is here? In Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, we're staying at the Hog's Head if you want to come by and say hi." I say, but Nott is shaking his head before I have finished speaking.

"I just came to get this book. I have to get going actually." He says. "Enjoy the rest of your summer."

He moves to leave but something in me, perhaps the echo of Elsie's voice, makes me stop him. "Before you go, I just had a quick question." I say, stepping just in front of him so that his way is blocked.

"I really have to-"

"Your family has an extensive genealogical records collection, right?" I ask.

He blinks, looking wary. "We do, yes, but so do most pure blood families."

"True. I mean, my aunt has perhaps more than anyone but Tom and I are conducting some research this summer and I was wondering whether we might potentially take a look at your archives if we run into a dead end in my aunt's records?" I ask, and Nott frowns.

"You're doing research...with Riddle?" He asks, clearly confused.

"Yes, we are...trying to trace some ancestry." I say vaguely.

"Well he already looked through my family's records over spring break." He says, and I feel my stomach drop.

"What?" I ask, my heart beat quickening.

"He wouldn't say what for but he spent all spring break at my place. What exactly are you looking for?" He asks, and I struggle to think through the warning bells ringing in my head. How much to reveal to him - that is the question. He is Tom's friend and likely loyal to him but...then again...he had literally blanched at the mention of Tom and had tried to run away without seeing him. Just exactly what kind of friendship is that?

"Do you know anything about Tom's family?" I ask, and Nott looks away, clearly deeply uncomfortable with the question.

"I really have to go." He insists, but I put a hand on his arm.

"We're trying to find his parents." I lie, throwing caution to the wind. "You wouldn't be able to help with that would you?"

Nott frowns, and there is something in his gaze that makes me sure he knows more than he is willing to say. "I know nothing about his family." He says, and I decide to let it go.

"Okay, well thank you. I'll tell Tom you said hi." I say, and he actually grimaces before forcing a smile.

"Good luck." He says, finally succeeding at passing by me and disappearing into the shop.

I stare unseeing at the floor, my mind racing. Why would Tom have been researching genealogy over spring break? To find his parents? That is the most likely answer but it completely contradicts the statements he made just last night. He had been categorically opposed to finding his parents. He had called them irrelevant and shut down any suggestion of searching for them.

I walk back through the shop, all thought of searching for texts gone. Tom has not been entirely transparent at best or outright dishonest at worst. Even more suspicious, his so-called friend had seemed terrified of him. Perhaps Elsie's protectiveness was not a product of prejudice after all. Perhaps she really is just a good judge of character.

TOM

I close my book when I hear a knock on the door. I open my mouth to tell Dumbledore I'm trying to sleep when I hear Elvira's voice through the door.

"Tom, I need to talk to you." She says, an edge to her voice I have never heard before.

I shove my book under my pillow and then walk over to the door. I open it and look down at her, my suspicions confirmed by the look on her face. Yes, something is off.

"Can I come in?" She asks, and I move back to let her past. She walks over to the window and then looks back at me.

"At the shop, I was able to cross-reference some of the genealogical records I bought with me and none of them match up. I don't understand what's happened but I'm worried I've gone down the wrong path." She says, and I raise an eyebrow. This is what she's so upset about?

"Well once we get back to Godric's Hollow you can retrace your steps and double check." I say, but she shakes her head.

"I'm worried my aunt's records are incorrect." She says. "But it's equally possible Ethel's records are the ones that are wrong. You're friends with Thaddeus Nott, aren't you? Do you think you could ask him if I could cross-reference with his family's records?"

I suppress a sigh. "His family doesn't just let anyone into their records." I say. "They're very protective over them."

"But surely because you're friends with him, he'd make an exception." She says, and I shake my head.

"They don't make exceptions like that." I say, and she turns away, seeming way too stressed about this.

When she turns back, she bites her lip, some kind of agitation plain in her face. "How do you know? Have you ever asked him about them before?"

"No but I know his family. His father has seven layers of enchantments on the door to their archives. I can ask but the answer is going to be no." I say, and Elvira meets my eyes, a fury I have never seen before in her grey eyes.

"So you've never seen his records." She says, and I feel a chill run down my spine. Why the hell is she looking at me like that?

I frown, "Elvira, what-"

"I know you spent all spring break searching his family's genealogical records, Tom." Elvira snaps, and I feel the color drain from my face. "I ran into Nott at the bookstore and he told me all about it."

I am going to kill that twitchy little traitor.

"What did he tell you?" I ask.

"Why did you just lie to me?" She asked sharply, ignoring my question. "Why didn't you want me to know you searched his records?"

I inhale sharply, looking away as I struggle to rein in the anger that is blooming inside my chest. I need to do damage control and fast. I turn away, running a hand through my hair.

"Tom, answer me." Elvira snaps.

I turn back around, doing my best to look penitent. "I was looking for my family." I say, truthfully. "But I didn't find them." Also true.

"Just last night I offered you my aunt's records to look for your family and you said no." She says. "You said they were irrelevant and it would be a waste of time to look for them. Was that a lie too or-"

"No I gave up." I lie, letting out a sigh of exasperation. "It would be a waste of time to search your aunt's records for them because I spent weeks searching Nott's records and there were no Riddles in there."

"Alright fair but why lie about it?" She demands. "Why look me in the eye and tell me you never asked Nott about his family records when you spent weeks elbow deep in them? Why not just tell me you already looked for your parents and couldn't find them?"

"Perhaps because it's none of your business!?" I snap, before I can think better of it. I should be de-escalating the situation, not throwing fuel on the fire, but it is too late for that now. Elvira's eyes widen and then narrow in anger.

"You know what my friend Elsie suggested?" Elvira asks, taking a step towards me. "She suggested I start by making sure you're not the Heir of Slytherin before I let you into my aunt's archives."

I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from snapping, even as my stomach drops. "You think I opened the Chamber of Secrets?" I ask, indignantly.

"I didn't!" Elvira cries. "I thought she was being paranoid. But now I find out you have been lying to me about doing heavy research into your own ancestry and it just makes me question if perhaps she was right to distrust you!"

"Finding my parents is a personal matter. I didn't even tell Nott why I wanted to use his archives. I didn't tell anyone because it's private." I snarl.

Elvira inhales sharply and crosses her arms, but I continue. "You of all people should understand." I snap. "Being related to Grindelwald. Being an orphan. I shouldn't be suspected of murder simply because I didn't want to share my personal matters with a witch I just met."

Elvira seems to deflate at this and she looks back at me, still suspicious but less angry. "You can see how it looks though." She says, her arms still crossed.

I let out a sigh. "Looks can be deceiving." I reply and Elvira frowns, searching my face as if it might give her some clue as to whether I am telling the truth or not. It won't. It never does.

"Yes and speaking of which, Nott seemed scared of you." She says, and I run a hand over my face.

"Nott is scared of everyone and everything." I say.

"Well he's not the only one who's afraid of you." She says. "I've seen the way the other Slytherin boys look at you. There's respect but there's also fear. Do you deny it?"

I search her face, and in her eyes there is that same apprehensive look everyone who sees behind my mask eventually gives me. I have seen it a million times on a million faces.

"No." I say, at last, and I can tell she is surprised by the honesty.

"Why are they afraid of you?" She asks, and for a moment, some reckless part of me wants to continue to answer honestly consequences be damned but I reign myself back in. A drop of truth can't hurt but the whole bucket? That would be suicide.

"When I first started at Hogwarts, they questioned my blood status because I grew up in a Muggle orphanage." I reply. "I had no way to prove I was a pure blood so I had to resort to other methods to defend myself."

Elvira frowns. "What other methods?" She probes, and I shake my head.

"You are the most nosy person I have ever met." I reply irritably.

"Perhaps if you weren't so disingenuous I wouldn't have to ask you so many questions." Elvira snaps back.

We glare at each other for a moment before Elvira shakes her head. "Fine." She says, coldly, as she turns to leave. "You keep your secrets. Just don't blame me if I can't trust a person who won't tell the truth."

She walks out, slamming the door behind her, and I stare at it, fury bubbling beneath my skin.

Chapter Text

TOM

The morning light creeps in through the thin blinds and I roll away from the light, wishing it would go away. I glance over at the clock. 7 am. I got maybe 3h of sleep, if that. I close my eyes again but I know it is too late. I am awake now.

Sleep has never come easily to me but it has been especially bad since Myrtle's death. Apparently, being one wrong move away from expulsion and criminal charges is bad for the nervous system.

Unfortunately for my sleep prospects, Elvira is becoming a real problem, as I'm sure Dumbledore had known she would be. Her accusations from the night before still taste bitter in my mouth. I should have stayed calm. So what if I was looking for my family this spring? That proves nothing. If she had any kind of real evidence against me, I have no doubt Aurors would already be knocking on my door. I should not have let her rattle me like that.

I grit my teeth and sit up. There is no point delaying it. I need to fix the mess I've created before Elvira gets it into her head to start digging into my family background too much.

I get ready for the day and then walk out into the sitting room. Dumbledore looks up from the Daily Prophet he was reading as I enter and I immediately regret having come here. The floor is quiet and there is no sign of anyone else being awake. It would seem there was a point in delaying facing the day after all.

"Ah, good morning, Tom." Dumbledore says, letting the Daily Prophet fall into his lap.

"Good morning, sir." I say, not bothering with a smile.

"Guess who has been here all along?" Dumbledore asks, and I furrow my eyebrows ever so slightly.

Dumbledore stands up and walks over to the window and leans his head out. He pulls his head back in and a moment later, a giant red phoenix flies in through the open window, landing on Dumbledore's arm.

"I was wondering why he had been gone for so long." Dumbledore says. "It makes sense now. He was here because Credence was in trouble."

I eye the phoenix warily, still hovering in the doorway. Fawkes looks just as apprehensive of me, his round bird's eyes fixing me intently.

"There's a saying, you know, in our family, that a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in need." He continues, not caring whether I want to hear him prattle on about his phoenix or not.

"Interesting that of all the wands in the shop, the one containing Fawkes's tail feather chose you." He says, and I look at him, not appreciating the insinuation.

"A great coincidence." I say, and Dumbledore raises an eyebrow.

"The wand chooses the wizard." He replies, and I frown. What about what I choose? Does that not matter?

I look back at Fawkes, wondering whether he knows or cares that his tail feather is the core of my wand. He makes no sound and just observes me closely.

"Come say hello." Dumbledore says, holding out the arm on which Fawkes is perched. "He won't hurt you."

I'm not afraid of the bird, I just have no desire to have anything to do with it. Still, I walk towards it, stopping a foot from Dumbledore. It's beady little eye bores into mine and I narrow my eyes.

"Hold out your arm." Dumbledore says, and I look at him.

"Professor, I don't-" I begin to protest but then Fawkes lunges towards me and I put up an arm instinctively. The phoenix lands on my arm, its sharp talons digging into my skin, and I stare at it in confused irritation. It is clearly Dumbledore's bird. It too has zero respect for personal boundaries.

Dumbledore, however, looks delighted at the situation he has put me in. I open my mouth to protest when Aberforth's voice sounds from behind me, and I turn around.

"Run while you still can." Aberforth says, pushing Credence into the room in a wheelchair covered in blankets. "Unlike the rest of us, you can still escape becoming a Dumbledore yet."

"Aberforth..." Dumbledore protests halfheartedly, but doesn't bother finishing the sentence.

Seeing Credence, Fawkes pushes off my arm and flies over to land on him. Unlike me, the dying man looks delighted to have the bird on him.

"Coffee is hot, be careful." Bathilda says as she enters the room, a floating tray of coffee cups descending flawlessly onto the table without spilling a drop.

"That reminds me, I picked up pastries from the bakery this morning." Dumbledore says and a tray of pastries appears out of thin air a moment later. I glance over at him, surprised by the casual use of wandless nonverbal magic. Sometimes, in my hatred of him, I forget just how powerful he really is. The reminder only makes me resent him more.

Dumbledore walks over to the tray of pastries and holds it out for me to take one before handing the tray to Aberforth and taking a seat on the couch next to Credence's wheelchair. He begins talking to Credence and I take a seat next to the fireplace, eating in silence. Bathilda walks over to the window, looking out pensively as she drinks her coffee. Apparently, even she has given up on any kind of lively conversation from this crowd.

It is nearly half an hour before Elvira finally enters the room, her eyes landing on me for a split second before they harden and look away.

"Good morning." Elvira says to no one in particular, her gaze turned away from my direction.

Aberforth grunts in response and Elvira turns to Credence. "How are you feeling?" She asks.

He meets her eyes slowly, as if even turning his head were difficult. "Like I'm dying." He says, and I can tell she immediately regrets asking the question.

"Sorry-" She begins but he gives a sad smile.

"Don't." He says. "I lived longer than I was ever meant to."

Elvira looks uncomfortable and so she falls silent, opting to go for some of the pastries, presumably so that she will have an excuse to stop talking.

"Well we may as well make ourselves useful while we're here." Aunt Bathilda says, putting down her empty mug. "Elvira, Tom, let's go to the store and pick up some food for dinner."

Why she felt the need to include me in the outing I have no idea. Still, I stand up and follow her out. I suppose it is better than staying here with the Dumbledores.

We reach the empty bar downstairs and Bathilda searches the countertop for something. She emerges a moment later with a piece of parchment. "Aberforth made a list." She says.

She looks around herself, pursing her lips in disdain. "And this place could use a scourgify or two as well." She notes, as she pockets the list. "Poor man must not have had the time to clean with Credence's condition the way it is."

I privately doubt that is the reason.

We follow her out into the street, and Elvira makes a point of walking close to her aunt and talking with her as we descend the winding road towards High Street. I follow them in silence. When we reach the shop, Bathilda rips the list into three pieces, gives us each a portion along with a basket, and then sends us off. Elvira leaves without a backward glance but I follow her. She walks down an aisle into the produce section and I walk right up to her.

"I'm sorry." I say, putting as much false sincerity into my voice as I can summon.

For a second she doesn't look at me, her eyes glued to the tomato in her hand. I clench my jaw, trying my best to be patient.

When she finally looks at me, I can tell she is skeptical of my sincerity. "There's nothing to be sorry for." She says. "You were under no obligation to tell me you were looking for your family."

I blink. Is this a trap? "I lied to you."

"You wanted privacy." She says, with a shrug. "I get that."

She turns away to walk over to a wall of apples and I frown, utterly confused. I follow her over. "Then why are you still angry with me?" I ask.

"I'm not." She says, and I know this is a lie. Everything about her body language says she's still furious.

"You are." I protest, and she puts down the apple she'd been holding and looks at me.

"I'm not." She repeats, firmly.

She turns to walk over to the next aisle and I let her go, fury bubbling underneath my skin. I restrain myself from going after her and focus on my own grocery list. I walk over to the eggs and pick out a carton.

Perhaps a little legilimency might not be such a bad idea. We're in a wizarding village, no one will be able to tell it's me using underage magic. Better to know what's going on in her head so I can deal with it than to leave this to guesswork. There is too much on the line.

I glance around the shop, spotting her by the berries, and then walk over to her. She looks up as I approach and sighs audibly.

"Listen, I want to make amends. What can I do to fix this?" I ask, and she turns to look at me, letting out a sigh of exasperation. I focus on her eyes, subtly attempting to slip inside her mind without her noticing.

"Fix what?" She asks, looking away. I bite back my annoyance and step in front of her.

"You accused me of-" I look around ourselves to make sure no one is within hearing distance and then lower my voice. "...murder last night."

"I didn't." She replies, crossing her arms. "I just said I didn't trust you."

She is distracted now so I press my advantage. I give her a skeptical look and slip inside her mind. Thoughts race past in a blur. He is so annoying. The fact he even cares so much is suspicious. He wouldn't be here trying to make amends if he was innocent. He's hiding something. He thinks I'm dumb or something. He's-

"Bloody hell!" She cries suddenly, and I feel her mind close like a book slamming shut. "Are you trying legilimency on me right now?"

My eyes take a moment to focus again on her face and when they do, my stomach drops at the look on her face. She noticed? How the hell did she notice? No one else has ever noticed, does she have some kind of training?

"No." I deny, because what else can I do. Admit I just broke the law by using underage magic? "What are you talking about?"

"You were!" She cries, and I look around us, suddenly terrified someone will hear her. I am going to have to wipe her memory if she doesn't let this go. It's not ideal and it will raise its own set of suspicions but I might not have any other choice.

"Elvira, listen, I didn't do anything-" I try, attempting to turn her away from the other shoppers and contain the situation. I finger my wand in my pocket. I just need a private enough space to be able to pull off the spell without anyone noticing. Perhaps the baking aisle? If I can just get her down there...

"No you listen." She says, her voice shaking with either fury or fear or both. "You stay out of my mind. You stay out of my research. And you stay away from me."

She backs up and I grab her arm. She stares at me and this time, I can definitely see fear behind her eyes. I hold my wand with my other hand, wishing more than anything that I knew how to do nonverbal memory spells. An elderly witch walks by slowly, taking her time to check out the fruits and vegetables and I let go of Elvira. I can't take her into the aisle by force, not in the middle of a shopping center, nor can I perform an underage memory charm in front of a bunch of witnesses.

She takes the opportunity to flee before I can think of any words to make her come with me and I kick myself. I will be lucky if she doesn't go straight to tell Bathilda and Dumbledore I performed underage legilimency on her. Proving it will be impossible but the accusation will be damning enough and I know Dumbledore won't need proof to believe it.

I am so utterly and ridiculously screwed.

ELVIRA

My heart is pounding so hard I can almost hear it as I speed away from Tom Riddle as fast as I can go. Elsie's instincts were right. He might very well be the Heir of Slytherin. It would be the most logical explanation for his behavior. Why else would he use underage legilimency on me while quizzing me about my suspicions.

I make a beeline for my aunt, as if she might be able to protect me from the potential murderer we've been sharing a roof with.

"Aunt Bathilda, I-"

"Just hold on a moment dear." My aunt says, turning to a shopkeeper. "What did you say the difference was between the rye and the barley?"

The shopkeeper begins answering but I don't register any of it. I stare at my aunt in a daze, my mind struggling to make sense of what just happened. I should tell her...shouldn't I? She should know what kind of person we're living with. Even if he's not the Heir of Slytherin, he still used underage legilimency on me and that makes him dangerous. She should know she's living with someone dangerous. Someone who might have hurt a little girl. Someone who might hurt us if I dig too deep into his secrets perhaps...

Or could telling her put her in more danger? I can't prove he used legilimency on me. Even looking through my memories in a pensieve wouldn't reveal an external presence because the presence would be separate from the memories and, in a grocery store full of wizards in a wizarding village...there is no way the trace would be able to pick up on his use of magic.

And it's not like I can prove he opened the Chamber of Secrets either. He's an orphan with no known family and, if he speaks Parseltongue, he will never be careless enough to speak it in front of me. I can't prove his guilt so what good will my warnings do? Won't they only serve to put a target on my aunt's back? Better to leave her out of this. If she doesn't know anything she can't possibly be a threat to him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tom watching us and I look at him, my heart beat doubling. He will not let this go. If he is willing to use underage magic and able to get away with it then there is no limit to what he could do.

"Sorry, dear, what was it you were saying?" Aunt Bathilda says, and I jump.

I pull my gaze away from Tom and look back up at her. I hesitate for a moment and then shake my head. "Nothing."

My aunt frowns, as if she can sense my unease. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine." I say, forcing a smile and then quickly looking down at my list. "I just realized I forgot to pick up onions."

Chapter Text

ELVIRA

I ignore Tom the rest of the way home, sticking as close to my aunt as possible. To my relief, he doesn't try to talk to me again. When we reach the inn, I make a beeline for the sitting room. My aunt will be occupied with scourgifying the bar for the next few hours, which will give me more than enough time to floo back to Godric's Hollow and pick up the more recent records before anyone notices I'm gone.

The sitting room is empty when I enter and I glance once behind me to ensure Tom hasn't followed me up the stairs, before grabbing the floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace. The flames roar to life and I step in.

A minute later, I stumble out into my own living room, tracking soot all over the floor as always. This time, I hastily clean it up and then climb the stairs to the study. I walk over to the far end of the bookshelf, pulling out the last binder. My aunt is nothing if not organized and detailed. Each binder is labeled with the years and an index of family members. I pull the most recent genealogical record binders out of the bookshelf and lay them on the table, scanning the list of names. They are alphabetized, so I run my finger down the list until I hit the Rs. Finding no Riddles, I move onto the next binder and repeat.

It is at least an hour before I finish the last binder with living witches and wizards in it. I close it with a sigh, having found no Riddles. Perhaps Tom had been telling the truth about that much at the very least. There is no record of any witches or wizards with the last name Riddle in Britain.

And that, in itself raises another glaring question...could Tom Riddle be a Muggleborn? Could the other Slytherins' speculations about his bloodline have been correct? If so, am I wrong to suspect he's the Heir of Slytherin?

I shove the binder back onto the shelf, more confused than ever. He could be Slytherin's descendant through his mother's side...but as far as he's told me, he doesn't even know his mother's name. If that is true, then how am I supposed to find it?

It's time to get back. If I stay any longer someone is going to notice my absence.

I leave the study and descend the stairs, flooing back to Hogsmeade. This time, when I arrive, I am not so lucky. Dumbledore sits in the chair by the window, eating soup, and looks up as I arrive. I shake off the soot and then step out of the fireplace, trying not to look suspicious.

His eyebrows shoot up when he sees me, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

"Oh hi, I was just...checking something in my aunt's records." I say, glancing around to make sure Tom is not in earshot. "Do you know where Tom is by any chance?"

At the mention of Tom's name, something in Dumbledore's expression shifts. "Tom?" He repeats. "I think your aunt has sent him outside to feed the goats."

I can just imagine how much he must be enjoying that task. "Oh ok." I say, turning away to escape the room. "Just wondering."

I make it two steps towards the door before Dumbledore speaks. "Is everything okay? You seem flustered." He says, and I grit my teeth. Am I really that obvious?

Forcing a smile, I turn back to look at him. "Yes, of course. I was just...distracted...from the research."

It is clear from the look on his face that he doesn't believe me. Still, he gives a small nod. I stare at him for a moment, suddenly wondering if I should just tell him my suspicions. What threat could Tom pose to the greatest wizard who ever lived? Dumbledore can handle himself and he's the one who adopted Tom and brought him here...shouldn't he know if his new "son" might be a murderer?

I turn away, my heart racing as I struggle to decide. I can feel his gaze piercing me, almost as intensely as Tom's attempt at legilimency. I run a hand over my face and look back at him. "Actually, can I ask you something?" I say, my voice so quiet it's almost a whisper.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shoot up once again. "Of course."

I bite my tongue, wondering how to go about this. "Why did you...adopt Tom?" I ask.

A shadow falls over Dumbledore's face and he looks almost worried. He searches my face as if wondering where this question is coming from and my stomach churns nervously.

"Has something happened between the two of you?" He asks, instead of answering the question.

I open my mouth to say no and then shut it, certain the look on my face is giving the answer away anyway. "I'm just curious because, well, at Hogwarts you kind of gave me the impression you...weren't close with him."

Dumbledore's frown deepens. "Is this just mere curiosity, Elvira, or is there something more specific you wish to ask me?"

I swallow my irritation, struggling to figure out how to navigate this conversation. I should have known there wouldn't be such a thing as a straight answer from Dumbledore.

"Why are they afraid of him?" I blurt out. "The other Slytherins. What is it that they know that I don't?"

Dumbledore glances at the door, as if afraid someone might be listening, before looking back at me. "I'm afraid I cannot answer that question." He says, and I get the distinct impression he knows more than he is saying.

"You never told me why you adopted him." I say, bringing back my original question. "Why him? Why now?"

Dumbledore's eyes crease in concern and he looks down, as if deciding how or whether to answer the question. After a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh and looks back up at me.

"The orphanage he was in was a very bad environment." He says, and I nod. This much I have already gathered from eavesdropping, although, I doubt Dumbledore knows this. "But that wasn't the reason I adopted him."

I raise an eyebrow, confused now. Dumbledore drums his fingers on the table, clearly torn about whether to tell me this information.

"Why did you then?" I ask.

He sighs again and looks back up at me. "Because I feared that if I did not the world would pay the price for my inaction."

I stare at him, my stomach turning to ice. What in Merlin's name is he saying? What kind of answer is that?

"Why would you say that?" I breathe, half choking on the words.

He looks at me now, his blue eyes clear and intense. "I get the feeling you already know."

My eyes widen in horror, my heart skipping a beat. I do not like this game. I don't know what he is playing at or why but I want no part in it. I turn and leave the room as quickly as I can, my mind racing. Dumbledore knows Tom is dangerous. He as good as admitted it. So why did he bring him into our home? Why is he putting us at risk? In some misguided attempt to save some budding psychopath from becoming some kind of young Grindelwald? Does he not care about my aunt and I at all?

I walk blindly into my room and shut the door, locking it before leaning back against it. I wait for my heart to slow down, understanding Aberforth a little better for the first time. This is not, I know, the first time Dumbledore has put his vision of the greater good of the world ahead of the well-being of his family. However noble the intentions, it is hard not to feel betrayed.

TOM

I pull back as Elvira exits the room. She is so preoccupied with what Dumbledore just said that she doesn't even notice me on the opposite side of the hallway. I wait until I hear the door to her room slam and then round the corner into the sitting room. Dumbledore looks up and his face pales as he takes in the look on my face. I have been waiting for the day when I could finally catch him revealing how he really feels about me but now that it is here, all I feel is white hot anger.

"Tom-" He tries, but I will be damned if I let him try to back track from this now.

"Are you going to tell me that I'm mistaken?" I ask, my voice coming out dangerously calm. "That you didn't mean it the way it came out?"

Dumbledore sighs. "No-"

"What did I ever do?" I snarl, my hands beginning to shake now. "You think I'm so dangerous. Tell me, what did I do to make you think that?"

Dumbledore hesitates and I nearly lose it. "Accuse me of something!" I snap. "Come right out and say it! What is it that you think I did that's so terrible you dragged me all the way here so you could monitor me all summer long?"

Dumbledore's eyes harden just enough that I think he might answer me but then he opens his mouth and I realize I should have known better. "What you've done, Tom...is less important than what I fear you might become."

The words hang in the air between us and I find it hard to think over the roaring in my ears.

"And what is it you think I might become?" I ask, when I can finally get the words out.

"What is it that you want to become?" He asks, and I bristle with frustration. Why can't he give a straight answer to even one single question? Once again, the truth is left suspended, unspoken, in the air between us. I am starting to believe it will only be spoken aloud if I say it myself. But to do that would be suicide.

"I don't see why that would matter considering you've already made up your mind about what my future holds." I snap, turning to leave. I am done with this conversation. It is pointless to try with him. All I will ever get are insinuations and veiled allegations.

"I am afraid of what your future holds." Dumbledore says, and I stop. "I do not know what it will hold."

I look back at him with what I am sure is a death glare. "I hope my fears are misplaced." He adds, and I narrow my eyes.

"Some say you're the greatest wizard who ever lived." I sneer coldly. "I wouldn't doubt yourself so much."

I turn to leave the room, descending the stairs in a blur, my blood boiling. I don't even react when Bathilda calls out to me, pulling open the door and disappearing out into the street beyond before anyone in this house can dare say another word to me.

ELVIRA

I sit across the dinner table from my aunt and Dumbledore, pushing the food around in my plate. I have no appetite. If anything, I feel a little ill. I avoid eye contact with Dumbledore, still angry he did not so much as warn us about his concerns about Tom before forcing us to live with him.

Tom, for his part, is absent. According to Aunt Bathilda, he stormed out of the house hours ago and has not returned. In true character, Dumbledore wouldn't provide an explanation.

"How is Credence?" Aunt Bathilda asks Aberforth, breaking the silence at last.

"Weaker." He replies gruffly, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

The silence returns and I can tell my aunt is deeply uncomfortable.

The door swings open all of a sudden and in comes Tom, having apparently decided to return after all. I look up as he enters but he doesn't even glance in the direction of the table.

"Where have you been?" My aunt cries.

"Bathilda-" Dumbledore tries, but my aunt is already standing up.

"We've been worried sick. What happened?" She asks.

Tom looks at her, all traces of his polite mask shattered. I guess he has decided there is no point to it anymore. "I had something to do." He says coldly. "I'm going to bed now."

"But you haven't eaten any dinner!" My aunt cries and it is all I can do not to bury my face in my hands.

"I'm not hungry." Tom replies shortly, attempting to walk past the table without looking at us.

"You don't eat anything. It's concerning." My poor aunt continues, and this time Tom snaps.

"Thank you for your concern but last time I checked you were not the one who bought custody rights over me. I'll eat when I want to eat, alright?"

My aunt blinks, taken aback, and Tom uses this opportunity to disappear up the stairs. Anger curdles in my stomach at the disrespect towards my aunt, who has only shown care and concern for that ungrateful wretch.

Aunt Bathilda turns back to look at the table. I meet her eyes and shrug and Dumbledore lets out a sigh.

"It's alright, Bathilda." He says, offering her a small smile. "Don't take it personally. I'm the one he's angry with."

"And why is that?" My aunt asks, crossing her arms. "Is anyone going to tell me what's happened? Elvira, don't you sit there and pretend you don't know. You've been acting odd all day. Something is going on in this house and I want to know what it is."

"I really don't know what happened between them." I say, nodding in the direction of Dumbledore.

I look at Dumbledore and he runs a hand over his temple. "He overheard our conversation." He says, at last.

"Oh Merlin's beard." I reply, glancing up at the stairs, half wondering if Tom is still standing in them continuing to eavesdrop now.

"What?" My aunt asks, clearly even more confused. "What conversation?"

I can't tell if this is good or bad news. On the one hand, Tom is clearly furious. On the other, would he dare try something against me now that he knows without a shadow of a doubt Dumbledore would suspect him if I were to fall victim to any unusual use of magic?

"Elvira, you have got to explain to me what is going on." My aunt demands, turning to me.

I glance at Dumbledore and then look back at her. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." I say, standing up to clear my plate in an attempt to escape.

"Don't worry!?" She squeaks. "How am I supposed to not worry when I don't even know what it is I shouldn't worry about?"

"Bathilda." Dumbledore says, standing up to put a hand on her arm. "It was just a disagreement. We had an argument. That's all. Best not to dwell on it or discuss it any further."

My aunt frowns, and I can tell she is still burning with curiosity and irritation at being kept in the dark. In the dark is safer though. In the dark she is going to stay.