As Harry stood in the shower, scrubbing spicy, Penhaligons shower gel over his mud-adorned skin, he listened to the strangely melodious cacophony of voices downstairs; Lily’s sweet, sharp, insistent soprano chattered away, her words too softly spoken to be heard, while within Severus’ answers, given in a slow, circumspect careful baritone, Harry picked up the occasional word, usually ingredients, like basil and pine nuts, or his mother’s name, often spoken in an exasperated, yet affectionate tone. Tom’s smooth, sibilant tenor was, strangely enough, the voice that Harry found easiest to distinguish. Towelling himself dry, the thought occurred to Harry that this might be part of ‘pack instinct’: as they walked home from their picnic, Tom had started to explain how certain ‘youkai’ instincts survived, despite being severely diluted by human blood. Most of the traits which had prevailed, according to Tom, were those which ensured survival and Harry guessed that recognising the pack patriarch’s voice might be useful, especially if you needed his protection.

Shrugging into clean, cool linen robes the colour of young beech leaves, Harry wandered downstairs, into the kitchen; Severus and Tom were sitting at the table, surrounded by jars of what looked like potions ingredients.

“Ah, Harry. Just the boy we wanted to see” Tom exclaimed cheerfully “I need some of your blood for the wards and, as you conveniently cut yourself earlier today, I was hoping that you would permit me to use it?”

Harry grinned “Sure. It’s not like I was going to put it back or anything.”

“Harry, if you would like to observe the ritual, you would be most welcome to join us” Severus said quietly, staring intently at a jar of blue-green powder.

“Um, okay.” Harry pulled up a chair and sat down between the two men. Blood magic had always struck him as an interesting, mysterious but slightly creepy aspect of the Wizarding world. Even the most benign branches were not taught at Hogwarts and Harry had to stifle a chuckle when he considered just how envious Hermione would be, if she could see him now.

“Right, well, this spell is ancient; I learnt it from a kind old Hoshi, that’s a Japanese Priest, and he swore to me that no one, in the history of ever, had managed to set foot inside a building protected by this” Tom explained casually. “All spells will bounce right off and even crude weapons like spears, dynamite and firearms couldn’t so much as tear the lace curtain of an open window. The only way someone can enter is if the creator, that’s me, consents or their blood has been added to the potion.”

“Sounds powerful.” Harry commented, raising his dark eyebrows.

“It is” Severus replied “The ingredients are rowan bark, powdered chrysoprase, carnation petals, camphor balm, borage seed, bergamot oil, penny royal leaves, crushed jade, coriander seed, heather root, marjoram oil, powdered snakeroot, motherwort pollen, flaked snakeskin agate and, of course, elderflowers and salt.”

“All of which are components of some of the most powerful protection potions known to Wizardry” Tom added, as Lily walked in, holding a large, golden cauldron.

“Wow… is that…?” Harry gasped, his green eyes wide.

“Solid gold, so no melting it, Harry” Tom said, a mischievous glint in his carnelian eyes.

“Harry has not melted any cauldrons thus far” Severus said suddenly. “That is the preserve of Longbottom.”

Harry blinked, his face a picture of incredulity: Snape had actually defended him!

“Well said, Sev!” Lily grinned, clunking the heavy pot on the Aga hotplate.

“I thought you needed to use a fire?” Harry said cautiously. “I mean, so you can adjust the temperature and stuff.”

“With many potions this is the case.” Severus replied softly, binding his black hair into a long ponytail. “However, this particular potion is not, in actuality a potion; it is merely a paste intended to be painted along a boundary, rather than medicine and, therefore, merely mixing the ingredients is sufficient.”

As Tom poured the vials of oil into the cauldron, Lily started slicing the root into centimetre long strips and Severus mashed the borage seed in a mortar. Harry sat down beside his mother.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so, Harry” Lily replied “It’s quite a simple potion and not many ingredients…”

“The pennyroyal leaves should be bruised for maximum effect.” Severus interrupted, his dark eyes intent on his pestle and mortar. Lily rolled her holy-green eyes, a half-fond, half-exasperated smile tugging at her lips.

“Um, thanks” Harry replied, grabbing a handful of leaves, crushing them between his palms. As the strong, minty smell filled the room, Harry watched Tom sliding around the tiled kitchen floor on his socks, grabbing camphor balm, a box of salt and a large handful of elderflowers.

“We heat up the oils and balm first, Harry, to form a nice, liquid base, then we add salt and fry off the elderflowers, allowing them to leech a bit of their oil into the mixture and vice versa.” Tom explained as he sailed past. “Have you finished with those leaves?”

“Yeah.”

“And the heather root is ready” Lily added.

“Wet ingredients next, roots, petals and leaves, then we’ll add the rowan bark and borage seed, then the powdered ingredients.”

Harry nodded, savouring the myriad of sweet and spicy scents wafting in the air. As he watched his family- it still felt really odd to think of them as that but there was no other word as fitting- at work, a thought occurred to the teenager.

“Have you made this potion before?”

“Yes, Harry.” Tom replied, happily tipping a bowl of stone chippings into the pot “Although its effects are supposed to last indefinitely, I make it every year.”

“Although this year we’ve made it twice” Lily added, brushing a lock of mahogany hair from her forehead. “We need to add you to the wards.”

A strange, sharp tenderness unfurled in Harry’s chest: they were doing this for him, to ensure that he could always enter this house. The Dursleys had never even given Harry so much as a key to the front door; if he returned whilst they were out, which happened more often than was strictly coincidental, Harry’s only options would be to a. go on a long walk or b. if it was raining or blisteringly hot, to climb over the fence and take shelter in the garden shed.

Given that his adoptive family changed the locks every six or so months, given Dudley’s propensity for losing things, Vernon’s order of four keys, one for himself, his wife and his son, with the last key reserved for Marge, his sister, had always symbolised, to Harry, his status as an unwelcome, unwanted orphan.

This house, however, was more than a mere shelter from the elements; given what Tom and Aberforth had said, it was a fortress and Tom was including Harry in the wards, meaning he could come and go as he wished.

No longer unwelcome, no longer unwanted, no longer an orphan.

oOoOo

As Tom, knelt in the tawny sunset, carefully painting the beautiful, green potion around the exterior of his sprawling, blue-stone house, Harry, who was holding the cauldron, asked “I was wondering… you mentioned pack instinct..?”

Tom smiled, looking up at Harry with those bright, ruby eyes which Harry could never quite get used to seeing; red eyes should be eerie, if not scary, but Tom’s weren’t, somehow. Perhaps it was his fine bone-structure, the high-cheekbones and elegant, almost serpentine jaw, maybe it was the mischievous yet benevolent expression which danced in those carnelian irises. Tom snapped his fingers under Harry’s nose and the teenage boy, flushing, realised that he’d been staring.

“Sorry.” Harry stammered.

“No problem, it’s actually part of ‘pack instinct’,” Tom replied with a grin. “Though, strictly speaking, the collective noun for snakes is ‘slither’ but, if one says ‘slither instinct’, it sounds a little weird at best, kinky at worst.”

Harry laughed, then asked “How’s it part of pack instinct, though?”

“You’re imprinting me.” Tom replied, re-dipping the paintbrush to slather another layer of potion on the craggy blue-grey stones. “If you were an infant, you’d spend your entire day staring at me, your mother and father because recognising our faces could mean the difference between life and death if the nest was overrun. Knowing whom to hide behind and who to fight off is an exceptionally important survival trait…”

“How could a kid fight off an adult?” Harry asked, brushing his messy raven hair out of his eyes.

“Well, a human kid couldn’t but a pureblood youkai would have tiny, poisonous claws and fangs. Okay, against one of their own species, the baby might not have much chance, but, if their attacker was a lower youkai or a human, the baby could ensure it’s survival for the crucial seconds it takes their relatives to leap over and tear the intruder to shreds.” Tom grinned “You may not have claws and fangs but that instinct, to know your family, was bred to perfection through natural selection.”

“Natural selection?”

Tom shook his head “They should make Muggle Studies compulsory; natural selection is where you have, say, a group of babies; those babies who recognise their species survive attacks on their nest, those who don’t die. Now, say those babies grow up and make more babies; in this group, some babies have even greater powers of observation, they recognise their sub-species; those babies are more likely to survive and breed. Some babies in the next generation recognise their family traits, say red eyes and black hair; those babies will be most likely to survive. And so on. Do you get me?”

“Yeah, sounds rather brutal, though” Harry said, his mouth twisting.

“Nature is brutal.” Tom replied shortly. “Now, another prominent instinct, which tends to survive through generations of diluted blood, is the desire for a close-knit family. In nests, snake youkai spend their lives comfortably squashed together; they might leave every now and again to hunt but if you put a snake youkai in an empty nest they’ll stay awake all night, jumping at shadows.” Tom sighed, his joy de vivre draining away. “It was bloody tough at that orphanage; all the other kids were frightened of me, an instinctive reaction against a powerful predator, I guess. Humans have always been afraid of snakes and that fear is cubed when it’s a serpent youkai. Even though they didn’t know what I was, they felt it.” Tom shuffled along on his knees and slapped another layer of potion on the exterior wall.

“So, not only was I unable to even form friendships, they kept me in a separate room. I pined away for most of my early years, longing for warmth and lying awake long into the night. As I grew up, my sadness hardened into a resentful self-sufficiency. No one wanted me, I didn’t need anyone.”

“I understand” Harry said quietly, thinking on all those lonely days of his childhood, where his sadnesses remained uncomforted, while pain was caused with deliberate precision, when his attempts at friendship were rebuffed by children who believed Dudley’s lies. The nights spent tearfully hugging at his limp, sparse pillow, pretending it was the arms of someone who cared.

“I know you do, Harry.” Tom replied. “It’s a triumph in itself that your early childhood hasn’t embittered you, that you’re still a relatively open and loving kid. I didn’t come through so well.” Tom sighed, sitting back and resting the paintbrush against the wall. “It took me a couple of years in the youkai court, being coddled and scolded out of my pique, before I got to the place you are now.”

Harry paused, half-afraid to ask the questions that, like ugly, aquatic monsters, had surfaced in his mind throughout the last few days. A tiny, treacherous part of his heart told him that this was all an illusion, that it was too good to be true but Harry knew that, even if it was an elaborate act, he’d prefer to remain happily ignorant rather than return to his lonely life. So, every time these questions were on the tip of his tongue, the tousle-haired teen hesitated, swallowed his queries; if Tom gave the wrong answers, the price of appeasing his curiosity would be too high.

“You’re wondering what I was like as a kid, aren’t you?” Tom smiled, smearing more of the potion around the front porch. “Look, we’ll be done in a moment, then we can go inside, put the kettle on and I’ll tell you about my wonderful childhood.”

oOoOo

“Now, as I’ve said, by the time I’d reached eleven I was an odd little thing; proud and aloof as any lord, reserved to the point of secrecy and, if not actually cold, then at least chilly. Having been left pretty much to fend for myself, I wasn’t in the habit of giving or receiving comfort and, well, let’s just say I had a finely tuned sense of ‘justice’. If someone hurt me, I’d get my weregild by hook or by crook.”

“Weregild?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his honey banana milkshake.

“Blood money. If someone hurt me, I’d nick something of theirs. As I grew older, the ‘punishments’ grew a bit more extreme; the summer before the one I left for Hogwarts, I imprisoned a couple of kids in an underground cavern; they’d stolen my Mum’s ring and I wanted to know what they’d done with it. It was only a cheap trinket, a thin, silver snake ring with tiny chips of garnet for eyes, but the only thing I had left of her.”

“Did you get it back?” Harry asked, his green eyes sympathetic.

“No” Tom replied sadly “They sold it to a pedlar. Even though they, eventually, gave me the money to buy it back, I was never able to track the guy down.”

“I think I might have done the same.” Harry replied “That was well mean of them.”

“Times were hard, Harry. We were all hungry, ragged and miserable. For some kids, thieving was the only way to get out of the slums; they needed the cash to start a decent career.”

Tom reached down and stroked Godric’s golden furred head, which the pup had placed on his feet after hearing the melancholy tone in his voice.

“Anyhow, one day, out of the blue, I was visited by this man, Professor Dumbledore. At first, I thought he was from the asylum” Tom said, his mouth quirking into a rueful grin. “Some doctors are Professors and the way he dressed, in his bright jolly colours… Anyway, let’s just say we got off on the wrong foot. He’d just had poison poured into his ear by the matron, who was a vicious old bitch, let me tell you, and I was as nervous as a cat: the other kids always jeered that someday someone would come to take me away.”

“They said the same about me” Harry muttered. “That I was a delinquent. My Aunt told everyone that I went to ‘St Brutus’ Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys’ and all the neighbours used to whisper about it, that I should be locked up during the summer for their own safety. It was dead annoying.”

“When all this is over, Petunia will get what she deserves, believe me.” Tom replied quietly. “Anyway, I was in no way prepared to believe Dumbledore, I thought it was an elaborate hoax intended to convince me into admitting that I could perform magic. I’d always known it but… well, I often wondered whether it was all a hallucination, whether I really was as mad as everyone said.”

Tom sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I told Dumbledore to prove himself and he did. By setting my wardrobe and, thus, all my worldly possessions, on fire. I was so distressed that, when he found my collection of ‘weregild’, I couldn’t find the words to explain. Although” Tom added running a finger over his thin lips “I doubt he would have understood. People from families never understand, they don’t know what it’s like to fight for even the right to exist.”

Harry’s brows knotted “Why did he set it on fire? Couldn’t he, um, have changed your lamp into a cat or something?”

“I have no idea.” Tom sighed “I expect he wanted to shake me up a little, show me my place. Anyhow, by the time he’d got around to asking me if I’d like him to accompany me to Diagon Alley, I’d had more than enough of him and I think the feeling was mutual. Besides, I was used to doing things for myself; I knew how to handle money, how to barter and get the best deals.”

Tom smiled “Given the cut of Dumbledore’s coat, I thought he’d probably leave a tip!”

Harry laughed, despite himself, “Sorry.”

“No problem. Well, on September 1st, I was probably the happiest, not to mention the most nervous, boy in London; by doing odd jobs, I’d managed to supplement the rather meagre ‘Orphan’s Allowance’ enough to enable me to afford my third-hand textbooks, some second-hand robes and a brand new ‘Ollivander’ wand. I spent my last four knuts on a couple of battered books on Wizarding etiquette and culture, which I studied religiously throughout the summer.”

“Anyhow, when I arrived at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat took one look at me and threw me into Slytherin” Tom smiled. “At first I was daunted; Slytherins tend to be old money purebloods, you know, the type who have always been in Slyth, or aspirational halfbloods who want, one day, to be the ancestors of old money purebloods.” Tom laughed, “So there I was, a poor orphan in tatty robes amid these well-groomed, beautifully dressed children.”

Harry winced in sympathy “When my aunt thought I was going to Stonewall High, she dyed some of Dudley’s old school things, I thought I’d start school wearing something that looked like elephant skin.”

“Not fun” Tom agreed. “Well, it turned out quite differently from how I’d expected. Amongst wizards, my relatively high concentration of youkai blood wasn’t felt to be all that threatening; almost every wizard has at least one youkai in their bloodline, albeit only as a very distant ancestor. At Hogwarts, I was amongst my own kind, I was one of them.”

Tom relaxed back in his chair, playing with a lock of jet black hair “The second thing that helped was my appearance. Ever heard the fairytale ‘The Princess and the Pea”?”

“Yeah?” Harry replied.

“Well,” Tom said, flashing a grin “People love fairy-stories, so much so that, if it looks like a one is in the offing, they will help it along a little. A handsome tramp may well be an impoverished prince and, if they just give him the chance… Anyway, most of the kids treated me with respect, even interest and I, of course, wasn’t going to waste this opportunity; I played the part of an impoverished noble to perfection. Then it was discovered that the ‘charming Tom Riddle’ was a powerful wizard, ‘talented in all his classes’ yada, yada, yada.”

The carnelian eyed Wizard sighed “Everyone was convinced that I was the scion of some great Wizarding family, even Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin. Or, rather, especially Slughorn; the man was a talent spotter and he puffed up my self-importance phenomenally. Only Dumbledore disliked me but, as the feeling was more than mutual, I ignored his disapprobation. Thus, I became arrogant, thinking very well of myself and somewhat meanly of others.”

Tom ran a finger around the rim of his teacup “Had it not been for two things, I may well have become the man Dumbledore believed I was. My first saving grace was my friendship with Cappella Malfoy, a girl in my year. Cappella was absolutely pure, a clever, candid girl with a compassionate, generous heart. Whenever I despaired of humankind, believing the whole world corrupt, I just had to think of her. She was living proof that there was hope.”

“The second saving grace was merely a very fine sliver lining on the darkest of clouds.” Tom’s mouth twisted “I discovered that I was Slytherin’s heir by the end of my First Year and was having nice, long conversations with the Basilisk by the spring-term of my Fifth Year. He was a beautiful creature, inky black with sapphire bands…”

“Sapphire?” Harry interrupted. “The basilisk I saw was black!”

Tom shook his head “Harry, Severus has told me all about your second year and there’s enough bullshit there to manure an orchard. I’ve never written in a diary in my life, I wouldn’t want someone else reading my thoughts now, let alone then.”

“But… the diary didn’t have words as such. It was empty but, if you wrote in it, it wrote back. Like talking to someone on the phone.”

“That sounds like an artist’s charm” Tom replied, his dark eyebrow’s rising. “Portraits, especially self-portraits, can be spelled to retain a little of the subject’s personality, enough to create the illusion that one is talking to a real person. However, I did not make that diary and, moreover, I locked off the bathroom entrance to the Chamber when I returned from Japan. Even Dumbledore could not unseal the charm I put on that sink.”

“What actually happened, though?” Harry asked, his brows knotting “I mean, I know Hagrid was falsely accused…”

“The basilisk and I had become great friends over the months. He knew much of my family history and, as we talked, the languor of his long years spent in the Chamber melted away. He was keen to see Hogwarts again, to feel the breeze on his scales, to hunt a deer or two.” Tom sighed “Innocent enough desires.”

“I was young, arrogant and reckless; I truly couldn’t see how busting out Salazar Slytherin’s siege weapon could possibly go wrong. So, like Puff the Magic Dragon and Jack, we went on a couple of jaunts, me sitting on his smooth back as he slithered through the deserted midnight hallways. It was great fun, the speed, the danger, the deliciously dark glamour of it all. At the time, I saw myself as the Black Prince of Slytherin, on his dread steed. It really shows how innocent I was; I was a brazen, ignorant boy playing around with a creature whose power was way above my own. Basilisks can kill entire armies in a tenth of a second, which is why Slytherin hatched one; a thousand years ago, it wasn’t unknown for muggles to threaten and bribe muggleborn wizards and witches into leading them to wizarding settlements.”

“Come on, muggles aren’t that dangerous!” Harry exclaimed. “Magic will always beat swords.”

Tom shot Harry a grin “One on one, the wizard will always win, in a melee situation, however, a wizard is at a disadvantage; almost all killing spells can only be cast on one individual at a time. And, as the muggle population has always been greater, battles tend to be of the ten against one variety, so it’s only a matter of time before the wizards’ wands get broken or dropped.”

“But, we’re digressing.” Tom said, in the tone of one who’d rather finish something painful sooner than later. “One night a little girl, Myrtle, had broken curfew; her dorm-mates were teasing her about her glasses and she wanted to get away from them. I guess she thought that the second-floor girls loo, being so distant from all of the House dorms, would ensure her privacy.”

“I entered the lavatory and, not realising that anyone else was present, called the basilisk. Then, before I knew what was happening, Myrtle had burst through the cubical door, caught sight of his eyes and fallen down dead” Tom sighed. “After resealing the basilisk, I ran to tell Slughorn, my Head of House.”

“You handed yourself in?” Harry asked, shocked.

“Yup and Slughorn told me to go back to bed and say nothing to anyone” Tom replied. “At that time I was Slytherin’s brightest star, pegged by Slughorn for an illustrious career in the Ministry. However, Slughorn was and, as far as I know, still is a self-serving man, one who enjoys being at the centre of a circle of powerful people, both for the prestige and the privileges. My Head of House was counting on me becoming Minister and, if that meant pushing a corpse under the carpet, so be it.” Tom said bitterly.

“Of course, Myrtle was discovered the next morning and the hunt started for her killer. I think someone, probably Dumbledore, started getting close because, soon afterwards, Slughorn called me to his office. He told me that a younger student, Rubeus Hagrid, was keeping an acromantula as a pet. Slughorn told me that acromantula are classified as pentuple X, known wizard killers, and raising one at Hogwarts would definitely constitute an expulsionable offence. Slughorn gave me a choice; either I handed myself in for Myrtle’s death and he busted Hagrid or I allowed Hagrid to take the blame for both, the killing and the acromantula. Either way, Hagrid would be expelled.”

“I wasn’t happy about this; I didn’t want to be expelled, of course not, but it felt wrong letting the poor kid take the blame for my own recklessness. However, eventually Slughorn wore me down. His arguments were brutal and to the point; firstly, he said, it was merely by the grace of the gods that Hagrid’s pet hadn’t killed anyone yet, secondly, Hagrid was bound to be expelled sooner or later, he’d been busted with a number of dangerous creatures in the past and, well, his pets were definitely becoming deadlier. Thirdly” Tom sighed “Slughorn told me that, if I went back to the muggle world now, I’d have no education and, therefore, instead of a glittering career at the Ministry, in which I could do much to help wizardkind, I’d be stuck in a backbreaking, soul-destroying menial job. If, of course, I wasn’t conscripted into the army and sent off to die.”

“The long and short of it is that I caved in” Tom admitted wretchedly “I helped Slughorn in his plan to capture and kill the acromantula, on the basis that it was a wild creature, introduced into the castle by accident. However, the plan went awry; Hagrid caught us at it, threw himself in the way of my curse and the spider scarpered. All the noise attracted quite a crowd and, before I knew what was happening, Hagrid had been thrown out. Of course, Dumbledore suspected the truth and, if it were possible, he hated me even more.”

“Wow” Harry murmured.

“Yes, I know. I’m not proud of it” Tom replied “I was reckless and I let someone else take the rap.”

Harry folded his arms and lent back in his chair “I kind of understand the logic, though. I mean, if Hagrid was going to get expelled anyway, it makes a sort of sense, though I don’t know whether I could have done it.”

“I know. It was the reason I decided not to go into the Ministry, not that I let onto Slughorn of course. I had discovered the dangers of arrogance and, with one death already to my name, I decided that I didn’t want power. I had hoped to become a teacher and, when that fell through, I got a shop-job and spent my weekends and evenings developing my artistic skills. To say that Slughorn was disappointed would be an understatement.”

“He didn’t tell, then?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, to do so would have been to implicate himself” Tom replied, shaking his head. “Revenge wasn’t worth it. Besides, he probably didn’t want to be premature; I could still make something of myself, later on.”

“He sounds a right bastard” Harry grumbled. “It’s good to know your side of things, though. I mean, I still feel bad for Hagrid but I think most people would have done the same. It’s not as if you could’ve got him off the hook.”

There was a creak as the front door opened and closed. “Ooops. Looks like Lily and Sev are back with supper. You grab the tablemats and cutlery, I’ll grab the plates and glasses!”

As Harry dashed around the kitchen, helping Tom to lay the table, he realised that a weight had dissolved from his chest. Myrtle’s death and Hagrid’s expulsion had definitely been some of the darkest, most inexplicable and unforgivable charges laid at Tom’s door but, now, the teenager could see them in a less damning light.

How different, really, was Tom’s opening of the Chamber to Sirius and James taking the transformed Lupin for a run? Myrtle’s death was merely a wretched accident and, as uncomfortable as the thought made Harry, Hagrid had brought his expulsion upon himself, in a way. It wouldn’t have happened if he’d stuck to owls or even Occamies.

All in all, Tom was, if not blameless, then no more blameworthy than, say, Remus Lupin and, Harry thought, as he tucked into steaming hot fish, crisp chips and fresh bread and butter, that was good enough to maintain the dream, if, indeed, it was a dream, of being a loved and wanted member of a happy, albiet disfunctional family.

Looking around the table, at Lily munching a chip and tomato-sauce sandwich, Tom feeding Godric the batter off his fish and Snape patiently explaining why that was not a good idea, Harry smiled to himself. It didn't seem that ignorance was bliss after all.