A/N: *thumps head against wall* What was I expecting when I wrote all of this? Bah!

I.

Viola Weasley-Granger is 4 years old when she has the first birthday party she could remember. The party is hosted in her apartment on the fifth floor. It's spacious and perfect for the dozen or so kids running around and playing games. Viola is one of them, following around the much older Teddy Lupin and her cousin, James Potter.

"Viola," calls out her mother. "Come!"

She quickly runs to the quietest corner of the apartment. A familiar-looking man with a beautiful set of straight teeth sits in the armchair and smiles at her. Her mom sits on the adjacent armchair with ease, her eyes flicking back and forth between Viola and the mysterious man.

"This is Tom Riddle, Viola. He's an Auror and my friend." Her mother pats Tom's shoulder at Tom's sudden sigh of exasperation. Viola did not miss the eye-roll Mom gives back. "Tom, this is Viola. She's my daughter."

"Hello," quietly says Viola. Tom is rather good-looking with bright eyes and a confident air around him. She notes the carefully wrapped package in his hands. It's pretty, and a small thread of excitement passes through her. Birthday gift, she knows.

"How do you like your birthday?" asks Tom.

Turning back her attention, Viola thoughtfully pauses. "I think I have 7 years of waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Although his question suggests he doesn't know a thing about what she's talking about, the small smile playing at his lips suggests otherwise.

"Hogwarts. I can't wait to go!"

He laughs. "Well, I have something here to help you with your studies at Hogwarts." He hands the package to her, the glimmering gold wrapping winking at her.

She takes it from him, her tiny palms weighing it. Her mind prances through a million guesses to what it could be.

She knows. "A book!" She hasn't even opened the wrapping yet.

Her mom passes a grin at Tom. "She got it right."

"Open it."

She carefully finds the edge of the wrapping and tears away at the tape. Her breath catches at the moving picture of a dragon. The cover is emblazoned with the title, Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them: the illustrated version. The cover page she opens to has been written in.

To Viola, From Tom Riddle.

"Thank you," says Viola, her hand flipping through the pages now. She sees all sorts of creatures moving in their pictures. Dragons, phoenixes, werewolves.

"I made a small addition to the book." Tom reaches to the book and opens it completely. "Let it be flat."

As soon as the two sides of the book straighten, the snake on the page it is opened to flies off the page. It becomes so realistic that Viola is not quite certain if it was indeed fake. It slithers in the air, undulating as it flicks its tongue out. Viola gasps in delight as she watches it move around.

"Every page with a picture does this." Tom flips to the next page. The snake in the air vanishes, and a dragon the size of a baby comes flying out of the book. It whips around the room with its powerful wings.

He closes the book in Rose's palms. "You like it?"

Tom is evidently surprised when Viola suddenly shakes his hand in glee. "I love it! Thank you!"

An hour later, she opens the rests of the presents in front of her friends, cousins, and parents. Tom stands at the very back, watching her carefully. Viola is not unsettled by his gaze, but as she opens the present from the Potter family, she wonders one thing.

Why did she not open his present in front of everyone else?

She is thoroughly confused.

II.

It's the sudden creaking sound outside that draws her attention. She's not supposed to be awake right now at 6 in the morning, but she couldn't help but get up early to reread Tom's fifth birthday gift to her. The book about Ancient Runes. She doesn't quite understand the puzzle written at the end of Chapter 4.

A wave of her hand sends the curtains parting. She peers over to see Tom Riddle standing on the fire escape outside of the master bedroom window and buttoning his jacket up to his throat. She cracks open the window.

"Tom?" she says in confusion, as if not quite believing he's there.

His head snaps to her, eyes comically widening. "Viola?" He sounds as if he couldn't believe it either.

"What are you doing here?"

Tom quickly answers, "Just meeting up with your mom. Why are you awake?" He hesitates and then Apparates to the fire escape outside of Rose's window.

That sounds weird, cause when Mom has friends over, they don't stand on fire escapes outside of the apartment.

Nevertheless, she tells him about the problem in Chapter 4 while he sits down in the fire escape and looks over the chapter in thought. He gives her several hints and pointers about certain runes not always being used the same way.

"It's a lot of interpretation. You have to use what the other runes say to see the picture."

When he glances at his watch, he reluctantly tells her, "I'm sorry, Viola. I have to leave for work at the office before they get my head."

"See you later, Tom."

"See you later, Viola." Then he Disapparates.

III.

It's four months after the fire escape incident when Mom lets Tom take her to the pet shop in Diagon Alley. It was supposed to be Dad who was going to take her, but he has a sudden meeting with Fred and George and the rest of their management team in the joke shop. It was supposed to be Mom taking her out before Mom said she has a meeting with the Heads of departments at the Ministry and could not make it. So Viola ends up going to Diagon Alley with Tom Riddle.

On the way, she asks loads of questions about his work. She knows he's an Auror, climbs out of master bedroom window every Tuesday or so and Apparates from fire escape, and has a strong knowledge of Runes. As far as she knows, Tom has never met Dad. Or vice versa.

It's a bit particular odd. He is, actually. She wants to say he is simply just Mom's friend, but he does things friends don't do.

"So you catch bad guys?" she asks.

"Well, that is correct. But I don't always personally apprehend criminals. I manage the Auror Office as its Head Auror."

"Don't you have to go to the Head meeting?"

Tom pauses. "What meeting?"

"The one where Mom says all the Heads of departments at the Ministry have to attend."

A blank look settles on his face. "I believe your mother got me out of that meeting since she is the Deputy Head of MLE."

Viola nods, not quite believing him. He seems to be too intelligent to forget about an important meeting. But she couldn't figure out the significance of that.

"Your uncle works for me," he says, smug.

"Which uncle?"

Weirdly, Tom scowls at the question. "Harry Potter. James is one of his sons."

Viola easily recalls him. "Is Harry a good Auror?"

Begrudgingly, Tom confirms, "He is one of the best."

"Aren't you one of the best?"

"Yes." He points to a door. "This way."

Once the door shuts behind them with a jingle, Viola is struck by the number and number of pets. Owls by far seem to be the most popular. She wanders around the store, looking carefully at what could be her potential familiar. She smiles at a parrot talking about strawberries, but it's not quite what she is looking for.

Then she pauses when she hears a slow, hissing voice coming from her left. "Hello."

She jumps and crouches down to examine the creature lounging underneath a heating light. She does not feel Tom's eyes looking upon her with curiosity.

It's a snake with beautiful dark skin and beady pitiless eyes. Viola can tell it's a girl snake of about two feet long. She doesn't know what kind or type, but she already feels a little bit in love. Hissing back, she says, "Hello, beautiful."

The snake nods its head.

She does notice Tom pointing the snake out to the shopboy. She does notice how much Tom pays for the snake: 400 Galleons. It's more than anything she has ever heard of.

She does not understand why he paid for that expensive snake without questioning whether or not she wanted it. And she does not understand why he is paying for her.

IV.

Honestly, she should have never tried to tag along with James Potter and his schoolmates to Knockturn Alley. Now lost and cold in the winter in unfamiliar streets and surrounded by strange shops and ghastly looking people, Viola desperate hopes she sees someone she recognizes before someone gets the wrong sort of idea.

The door of a shop suddenly bursts open. Viola could do nothing but scream as an arm suddenly grasps around her neck. A witch crackles as a wand points at Viola's temple. She whispers, "Now be a good girl and let's play with the Auror."

Another second, and a man with a black trench coat comes running out with his wand raise. Upon seeing Viola, he hesitates. But he still orders, "Let her go."

"What would fun would that be, Head Auror Tom Riddle?" She crackles at him.

Tom hisses, "Viola, close your eyes."

"What are you saying?"

Viola gapes at him, shell-shocked.

"Close your eyes!" he orders firmly now.

"What sort of dirty words do you—?"

Viola closes her eyes, shutting them tight. She does not know what happens but could see the flickers of light flashing through her eyelids. The witch pushes Viola, and Viola falls, curling onto herself and shaking with fear. There is a scream emitting from the witch who grabbed her. Then it is cut short, as if forcibly silenced.

Quiet once again.

"Viola? Are you alright?" asks Tom, gently turning her over. "It's alright. It's all alright."

She sees him casting diagnostic spells on her. She wants to ask him why he cares so much, but instead, a sob comes out and tears drip from eyes. "I want Mom."

"Of course. Come on." He picks her up and turns to the Aurors surrounding something. One of them pulls out a white sheet out of nowhere. "I'll be at the office in two hours. Don't wait up for me," he says to one of them.

"Yes, sir."

He begins to walk. "Who were you with?"

"James Potter and his friends. . . I lost them."

He stops, cool eyes turned on her. "Never go into Knockturn Alley on your own or with other children. Understand?"

She shakes her head yes.

V.

She should be asleep. But she has to get up and read just another chapter of the book about Ancient Egyptian Magical History. She slips out of the bed, groaning when she realise she has left it by the fireplace in the living room.

She opens her door, surprised to hear music. Paddling softly on the rugs, she turns to find the source. Peeking around the wall separating the hallway from the living room, she freezes in surprise at the sight of her mother dancing to the familiar Muggle song.

Brown Eyed Girl.

But even more surprising is the man holding her mother tightly against himself, his hands placed too intimately on her waist.

Tom Riddle.

It's something completely odd. After all, shouldn't it be Dad holding Mom like that? Smiling at Mom like that?

VI.

It's all she's hearing about these days. Her mother divorcing her father five months after she gained her new position as the Director of Magical Law Enforcement.

What is not surprising is her father taking it pretty easily.

What is not surprising is her mother openly going out to dinner with Tom Riddle for Viola's eighth birthday.

To be honest, she isn't surprised by what has been in front of her for so long.

She's actually amazed she hasn't seen it any sooner.

Casually opening the menu and glancing at Tom, she asks, "Mom, do I call Tom my father now?"

Tom chokes on the water he's gulping.

Mom blinks, surprise written all over her face. "What makes you say that, Viola?"

"He's my real father, isn't he?"

Tom chokes again, coughing. Though Viola isn't sure if he's doing it deliberately now. He might be.

Mom sighs. "How did you know?"

She points to Tom. "He knows Parseltongue, I know Parseltongue. You and. . ." What does she call Dad now? He's not her real name. "What's-his-name are not."

She can't help but notice how pleased Tom suddenly looks when she calls Dad that.

She continues, "It's Muggle genetics, duh." She finishes her rant with a pleased, smug, gleeful look on her face.

Mom whispers under her breath, "She absolutely inherited that expression from you."

"You love that expression," Tom tells her. Then he turns to Viola and nods approvingly. "Very well done."

She beams at her father.