A/N: After writing this, I realized that this was actually AU, because Tom Jr. didn't ever meet his father before he killed him, so this is an AU warning. I hope you enjoy! Please review! (:

I understand why my son hates me, why he wants nothing to do with me. It was my fault for leaving his mother. It was my fault for not taking him in once I heard the news about his mother. It was my fault that Tom had a horrible childhood in that orphanage.

It is all my fault.

What I do not understand, however, is why he doesn't choose to look past all of that. I know that I messed up. I've apologized countless times to him, and in all manners I could.

I've provided him with a home, I feed him each and every day, I pay for his supplies for school, and how does he repay me?

He goes upstairs to his room without a word to me, locks his door, and reads wizard books until the wee hours of the morning.

Do you know how it feels to be tortured by the fact that if only you were more of a man earlier in your son's life, then maybe he would love you the same way you love him?

I've bought numerous parenting books, I've listened to hundreds of pounds worth parenting seminars, and I've even gone to a psychologist to try to figure out what I'm doing wrong.

But this is the future we're living in, not the past. As of today, there is nothing more I can do or provide as a parent.

I'm putting in money I don't have, time I'm struggling to haggle with from work, and all the love I've got.

I'm trying harder than any other parent I know.

He walked down the staircase from his room, his hair still ruffled from sleep.

"Morning, Tom," I said briefly. I smiled at him. He sat at the kitchen table across from me, pouring himself a glass of milk.

He didn't smile back at me.

"How did you sleep?" I asked. This was a usual thing for us. I was used to having a one way conversation like this. If I was lucky, maybe he'd even grunt.

He made eye contact with me, his deep blue eyes with my mundane green ones, and glared back down at his cup of milk. "Fine."

I looked up at him, at his beautiful face. He resembled me at his age. The dark hair, the light eyes, even his complexion.

"Going back to Hogwarts in a few weeks, isn't that right, son?" I asked. I desperately wanted a relationship with him. I did. It's hard enough letting him go to school for the majority of the year without seeing him.

He doesn't respond to my letters.

He nodded twice at me, refuting my glance. I pressed my lips together.

"I've received a letter from one of your professors. He told me that you were gifted, more than any of the other students."

"Who?" he asked.

"Dumbledore, if I recall correctly."

His eyebrows rose, and then fell again.

"Your mother was a talented witch. I reckon you got it from her."

"Well I certainly didn't get it from you did I?" he spat. His tone shot right through me, through my heart.

I didn't raise an arrogant child. Nor did I raise a disrespectful one.

Did I even raise him at all?

I reckon this is what I deserve though. I reckon it's all my fault.