A/N: I do not own. JKR owns.
Summary: When he finds his urchin grandson and takes him home, Mr. Riddle has no idea how he has changed fate. Wherein Tom Riddle may not be nice, but he is certainly not evil. AU
Prologue: 1932, London
Charles Riddle was fifty years old and not used to very much physical activity. He passed his days at his desk in his study, pouring over paperwork and accounts. Now, once in a great while he would help his groundskeeper with this or that for a bit of relaxation and exercise, but he was a fairly busy man and truth be told, he couldn't be bothered by physical activity. That was what the regular folk did, but he had no reason. He had never needed to run in his life.
Well, things were certainly changing quickly.
Deftly, with more speed and stamina than anyone would have thought of him--including himself, he chased the young boy down an alley, vaulted over a rubbish bin, and down a street that he would never have wandered down of his own accord. But that boy had his wallet and a sizable portion of money that needed to be in the bank--not in the hands of some young street scamp!
He slowed down and eventually halted to a stop, leaning against a building and panting heavily. Charles had seen that little monster turn into the orphanage down the street. He pulled out a handkerchief from his inside coat pocket and wiped his face off. Perhaps some exercise wouldn't hurt him, he was starting to gain a small paunch, all honesty given.
Well, all matters taken into account, he had been awfully thick to drop the wallet and assume someone wouldn't pick it up while he spoke to an old friend. Then his horrible, unreliable manservant had disappeared, probably to some trashy tavern, and that brat had taken off with his money.
Charles did feel some sympathy for the urchin, though he tried to squash it, as he strode through the gates of the orphanage and past its bare, concrete courtyard and tall gates. While it certainly was not the worst place he had ever seen (there were some dreadful eyesore hovels in his beloved Little Hangleton, especially that tramp Gaunt's home), he could not deny he would never have let his own Thomas through those gates as a boy and maybe not even now.
Not bothering to knock, he went straight through the doors and ran into a harried looking woman. She fell over and he caught his balance in time. Looking her over haughtily, he still offered a hand out in help. There was no need to be rude, even if you were their better.
She took his hand and flushed.
"Pardon, sir, but-- who-"
"I am Mr. Charles Riddle. Some young ruffian ran off with my wallet and I wish to have it returned to me."
"Ah, well, there's lots of young ones around here. You'll probably want to speak to Mrs. Cole- Mrs. Cole!"
Immediately, Mrs. Cole was at Charles' elbow and he scooted away from her. The gin smell was awfully offensive to the nose.
"He says one of ours took his wallet-"
Sharp eyes turned to him, Mrs. Cole asked, "what'd they look like? Hard to find an orphan when the building's full with just that."
"A very young boy, dark hair, tall-"
"Hmm, well, I think I'll be knowing who that one is," Mrs. Cole said, nodding. "Jane, why don't you go and finish up your work. I'll get this man's--what's your name?"
"Mr. Charles Riddle. I'm rather in a hurry-"
"I'll get Mr. Rid--Riddle did you say?"
Impatiently, Charles answered. "Yes, and I've got things-"
"Come to my office with me," Mrs. Cole said. Sighing, Charles followed her to her office and stiffly took a seat when it was offered. She studied him for a few moments and he flushed. Well, she had no right to look him over like that--
"We've got a boy here named Tom Riddle," she said. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Charles was no longer interested in the drab settings. He snapped his gaze to her.
"What?"
"We've got a boy here named Tom Marvolo Riddle--funny name, isn't it?"
"Hilarious," Charles retorted. He felt his insides freezing up, because he had no idea what in the name of the king was going on--
"Riddle and Riddle? Are you the family coming for him?"
"I do-"
Quite suddenly, Mrs. Cole got up and bellowed outside of her office door--"Tom Riddle, come here. You've got someone here---and you'd better bring that wallet with everything in it!"
"I have no clue who this boy is, madam!"
"He does look a bit like you-"
"My only relation is my own son and he is perfectly at home and certainly no orphan-"
"A girl came to this orphanage in December 1926, ready to have her baby and had him a bit before midnight. She died and she said that her son was to be named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom and Riddle after his father and Marvolo after her father."
"Gaunt," Charles whispered furiously. "That damned tramp and his worthless children."
Mrs. Cole was a busy woman, not a stupid one. "Ah, do you know what I'm talking about now?"
"I-I may know something."
"You wanted me, Mrs. Cole?"
Charles turned to the young boy's voice and closed his eyes. This could not be happening---could not-- his only chance at a grandchild and it had to be this boy. This half of a Gaunt, but also half of a Riddle, this boy who looked exactly like Thomas and was even taller than usual as Thomas was.
Studying the nervous boy, who was stuttering denials about any stealing, Charles knew what he had to do. He hated the idea, he did not want to--but his grandson stood in front of him, his chance at a successor and the last chance for the Riddle name to be carried on and he could not be stuck in an orphanage, so Charles did the only logical thing he could think of.
"Hello, Tom," he said. "My name is Charles Riddle and I'm your grandfather."
The boy stared at him, dark eyes taking in everything. Charles shifted a bit under his gaze.
"I don't have your wallet," Tom said. "The-the older boys took it from me."
"Which boys?" Mrs. Cole asked.
"Kent and Barry."
Mrs. Cole left the room at nearly a run and down the hall. Tom stood by the door, looking ready to bolt should the need arise, and Charles had no idea what he would do next.
"There's no reason to tease me just 'cause I took your wallet."
"I'm not teasing you."
"I asked Mrs. Cole when I was younger and she said all my family was either dead or-or---oh."
"I really am your grandfather."
Charles watched the boy's eyes go from wary to excited. "What about my father? If he's alive, I don't have to stay here anymore do I? I think I'd like a father--Alfred Weedon's always talking about his father, before he died 'course-"
Feeling a heavy heart, Charles knew that Thomas would be quite displeased with this turn of events, but Thomas was the one who refused to settle down, refused to seriously date any of the young women he toyed with, or give any indication of having his own children. Besides, to get to the real meat of the matter, this boy was still the oldest son of Thomas and completely legitimate. He and that Gaunt girl had been married and even if she didn't have the best blood, people were too polite to bring that up--
"What about my father?"
Charles looked up sharply. "In due time, Tom. He's alive and home last I knew."
"Do I have to stay here anymore?"
"No. If she allows it, you'll come with me today-"
"She should," Tom said anxiously. "She's always talking about how it's a shame no one ever came for me, 'cause I should have a family to send me to university. She says I'm awful clever-"
Charles resisted the urge to smile. "Well, we'll have to get you a tutor-"
"Can I really go with you?"
"Yes, I have said this-"
Mrs. Cole returned and handed Charles his wallet silently. "Tom, why don't you go to your room for a bit. We have some things to discuss-"
"But-but he wants to take me-"
"I'm aware of that, but go to your room."
"If it's acceptable, I would like him to pack his belongings. That is, if he can come with-"
"Of course."
Tom was gone in three seconds. Charles wondered if one of the guest rooms at the manor was livable. He was certain it would be needed now.
He felt momentarily terrible about his selfish intentions, but ignored them because well--he was giving the urchin a much better upbringing than he would have here. He was finally gaining a grandson to continue the family name. You didn't need affection for that.
"Are there papers I need to fill out and file?"
"For Tom, no. We hadn't ever expected anyone to come for him since he turned four. When we cleaned out the files-"
"I understand. Shall I leave my address and have you send me the appropriate papers eventually?"
"Yes-" and she hesitated enough that Charles caught it.
"What's that about?"
"I don't want you to say you won't take him-"
"I'll not leave my grandson in an orphanage when I know he exists."
"Tom's a bit strange. When he was a baby, he rarely cried. He scares the other children sometimes-"
Well, a leader then. Leaders commanded respect. Charles was a leader and knew he was a good one, although Thomas had never really shown any interest in that either-
"A strong willed boy will do that."
He saw the doubt on Mrs. Cole's face and ignored it. She could sit here and manage her orphanage and not recognize the possibilities for future professional soldiers, politicians, lawyers, or doctors and just drink her gin while saying they scared other children.
"I'm ready-" Tom noticed the uncomfortable silence and ignored it, plunging through and hoping that they had not had a falling out that resulted in the well dressed man not wanting him anymore. He shifted the bag with his few things in it to his other hand and stared at Mrs. Cole. She avoided his eyes.
"Well, Tom, I hope you get well taken care of by your family and get a good education."
Tom didn't want to say goodbye to her because he had never really liked her, but he did and looked impatiently at his grandfather.
Charles stood and put a hand on Tom's shoulder. Quickly and cordially, he finished his conversation with Mrs. Cole and led Tom down the hall with his hand still on his shoulder. Tom liked that, because no one had ever been focused on just him and making sure he was OK. He sneered at the other children who watched him leaving with his grandfather, a man who obviously had some money, and almost felt bad for leaving them behind because they were stuck without a long lost family to take them.
But he didn't. He was the one who had a mysterious stroke of luck, not them.
Charles' hand tightened on his shoulder while they walked down the street and back to the bank. Tom figured he was frightened to be walking down this side of town, but realized with an unfamiliar sort of conclusion his grandfather didn't think it was safe for Tom to be here, regardless of the fact he had lived here his whole life.
Tom looked up at Charles, head held high with contempt written all over his face for the poor, and didn't care that fifteen minutes ago he'd been a scared orphan scheming to steal a rich man's wallet. He was a Riddle now. A real one, not just another name.
Tom wasn't sure what this new emotion was, but he didn't know that he had just avoided becoming Lord Voldemort.
A/N: I'd like to have some reviews so I know areas I need to work on.