A/N: Many thanks to notwolf, tambrathegreat, R.T, Felius, themagasora, En-En-chan, and Phoenix-Fire Power for reviewing!
Chapter 1: A Father's love
"Mr. Riddle!"
"What is it, Emma?" He asked agitatedly, he was already late for work, his hands working overtime to fix his tie.
"Mr. Riddle!" She repeated her shrill voice now in the same room with him.
"Now, Emma, tell me what seems to be the problem?" His eyes still directed at the mirror, he let out a huff before giving up altogether, "Damn thing…"
"It's your son!"
"When is it not?"
"He won't eat, he won't play, he doesn't like my stories…"
"Oh, Emma," he playfully chided, giving her a mock scowl, "can't blame a boy for not liking your stories."
"It's not that Mr. Riddle!" she was now speaking feverishly, "Tom is just strange!"
His cheeriness now transformed into a serious stare, "What are you implying?"
"Mr. Riddle," her features now returned to their natural color, her chubby face at present beaded with sweat which she patted with a handkerchief, "I'm sorry, but Tom is different, the way he talks…it frightens me..."
"But you can't leave," he shook his head taking her by the hand, "I need you here Emma. Tom can't have another nanny leave. You've been here for nearly two years."
"But Mr. Riddle—"
"Stay," his eyes pleaded with her, it was a magnetic pull which she could not turn away from. She sighed before reaching out her hands to fix his tie.
"Thank you, Emma."
"Remember Mr. Riddle I am doing this for your son's sake so don't you go eyeing me like that again."
The corners of her mouth twisted up a little Tom Sr. chuckled heartily, "You're a good woman Emma. You remind me so much of my mother."
"Dad," a young boy's voice appeared suddenly and a head popped in.
"Son, come in," his father motioned for him to come closer.
Tom Marvolo Riddle walked in confidently dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, a blue vest and a brown and white striped shirt with a blue bow. His hair was much like his father's black in small waves neatly parted more on one side than the other. He was thin, tall and a bit pale in complexion due to the lack of nutrition but it was evident to all who knew him, he was the replica of his father.
"Excited are you? Your birthday's today," his father smiled brightly kneeling down on one knee to pat the boy's head and squeeze his shoulders, "you'll be ten years old do you feel any older?"
"Nope," Tom grinned, closing one eye when he felt his father squeeze his shoulders.
"Emma and the other maids will be busy with the preparations for the party so please do your best not to disturb them." His father tapped his cheek and winked at him before standing up and smoothing over the creases on his jacket.
Emma and Tom followed him to the door stopping at the threshold he swooped down to hug Tom tightly in his arms.
"Your mother…would be so proud." He grasped Tom's shoulders and pushed him gently away so that he might look directly into his eyes to repress any of his son's doubts of his sincerity.
"Mum…" Tom rolled the foreign word off his tongue with brief nostalgia.
He kissed his son lightly on the forehead and with a nod to Emma walked down the porch steps and turning left walked to work with buoyancy.
Tom looked on with a frown before Emma ushered him back into the house. Sitting him in the kitchen dining table where the other servants were busily preparing for the party. Besides the celebration of Tom Riddle Jr.'s birthday his father had been planning a New Year's Party which many of his acquaintances had urged of him to do since he was new to the neighborhood. His son was constantly reminded of this 'newness'. The maids always talked.
"Can you believe that Mr. Riddle started out with so little," one of the young servants chimed with admiration.
Emma snorted at the girl's obvious remark, "Of course, Mr. Riddle belonged to a wealthy family he was bound to make a name for himself here…they always know where the money is."
Tom tried to block out their voices to no avail they spoke rather loudly from the next room as if to make sure he was listening.
"Poor Mr. Riddle though, having to leave his family like that. I catch him sometimes, you know, with that sad smile when people ask him."
"Do not dare pity him Amelia, he has a son! A brilliant beautiful boy, awkward but I must say he makes his father proud."
They ceased to talk after that, Tom hopped off the stool as the doorbell rang the gardeners outside were making such a ruckus he doubted Emma would hear. Walking to the door himself he could see a lady and a child by the window. Before she could ring again he opened the door.
"Oh, sorry!" A tall blonde woman stood in front of him slightly embarrassed and disappointed, "Does Mr. Riddle live here?"
Tom paused before answering trying to catch her eye that hid well beneath her hat tilted one way and covering most of her right eye. He raised his hand to shake hers before gesturing her into his home.
"My father's Tom Riddle Sr. you may come in if you like."
She moved her head just a bit so that he could make out both her eyes that seemed to question him, "So you're Mr. Riddle's son?"
"Yes," he replied politely.
Quickly, her expression changed and she shook hands with him again and stooped down to his level. "I'm Cecilia…and this is my daughter, Natalie. Oh it's a pleasure to finally meet you! I'm so sorry to intrude, but I hoped I might stay here until your father returns. You know when we were younger your father and I were—well we were very close. You look just like him!"
Tom just nodded, by the time she had taken a moment of silence they were in the kitchen and he had introduced the maids to the unexpected guest. He now looked at the girl who was about his age she looked a lot like her mother.
She smiled when she saw his eyes on her. Tom looked back amused like an adult looking at a small child.
Tom Riddle Sr. had signed the last letter and now sunk back into his chair exhausted and ready to go home. He looked out the window the sun was nearly down, an indication it was time to back home. He waved good bye to the junior manager who was closing up the bank and briskly exited the large doors with relief. Walking happily down the street, he noticed a rather large white owl on the iron fence directly on the other side of the road. Many people didn't seem to be aware which was odd as they walked on by. Tom kept on walking but with an askance glance every once in a while spotting the bird hopping and flying every few blocks to catch up.
He gave it one last stare before turning the corner. The bird, taking the hint, began flapping its wings and flew in the opposite direction. Against his better judgment he looked behind him in time to collide into another person.
"My apologies," Tom muttered before looking up at the person he had bumped into.
"Fancy bumping into you here Tom!"
He looked up and immediately recognized the man along with the woman he was with, "Septimus and Cedrella, this is quite a coincidence."
"Indeed," Septimus continued after an awkward silence but with a sincere smile, "I was just going to check out the shops before heading to your place with my fiancé, you remember her right? You've been so helpful with our transition to a bigger bank…"
"Then why don't you come with me to my home, the shops can wait," Tom beamed and the couple delightedly accompanied him. It was only a few blocks away and they had much to talk about. It was like a fresh breath of air being with them he had never met anyone quite like them. When they arrived at his house Emma had taken their coats.
"Where's my son?" Tom smiled at Emma, "My guest would like to see him and I am eager as well to show him where I've hidden his present." He sent Emma to fetch his son too excited to hear her out when she started about some other guests.
"Please hurry," he pleaded with her as he scurried Septimus and his fiancé to the drawing room.
"I really have to show you my collection—" Tom hadn't stepped into the room yet before shrinking back in astonishment, "Cecilia?" She had been gliding her fingers across his array of books and turned around in equal surprise.
"I hope we're not intruding on a reunion of some sort," Septimus chuckled uncomfortably.
"No, no not at all!" Tom returned his attention to his guest who stood just beyond the door inside the room which he still had not entered.
"Um, if you're looking for your son he's upstairs showing my daughter around," Cecilia added giving Tom a chance to regain his composure.
"Marvelous! Let me get them then, if you don't mind Mr. Weasley, Miss Black, I'm sure my other guest can entertain you while I go find them." Tom regressed to the old formalities before turning on his foot and pacing across the hall and up the stairs. His son had left the door to his room half open. The light was on and voices came from within signaling him to knock on the door. "Come in," came the polite voice of the boy he had unmistakably raised with good manners.
He poked his head in first before entering, his son had a storybook open and was just in the middle of reading to Cecilia's daughter as it were. She was laying on the bed intent on Tom Jr. who sat on a chair beside the bed imitating the way his father sat when he read him stories.
"Tom," his father whispered loud enough for him to hear, he looked up and smiled before closing the book.
"Is that all of the story?" The little girl stared at the boy with large green eyes he jumped off the chair before patting her head and helping her down, "For now."
"Who's your little friend?" His father asked as they made their way down the stairs.
"Her name is Natalie," Tom replied curtly by the time they reached the downstairs hall half of his father's guest were already at the entrance and the maids were busily taking the coats of the sudden swarm of company.
Tom Jr. decided to roam on his own catching the site of a couple who seemed to stand out from the crowd. A man, his father's age, with dark red hair wearing a green suit and small rectangular spectacles accompanying a pretty younger lady with black hair and very dark eyes wearing a knee long tight black dress. Their style of clothes alone stood out. His intent stare as he walked towards them was finally met half way across the room. Septimus beamed proudly at the boy.
"Well hello there, Happy Birthday Tom!" Septimus shook his hand vigorously while Tom firmly tried to keep himself upright.
"It's nice to meet you Tom," Cedrella took his hand and another hand clasped his arm tenderly.
He really didn't have anything to say to them in particular but Septimus had stopped Tom before he could leave pulling out a small parcel from inside of his jacket, "For your birthday," Tom looked distrustful, "Your father has been very good to us."
After brief hesitation Tom opened the small package excitedly but was surprised to find what he had uncovered was just a worthless locket.
"Your father was telling me a story about your mother one day and about a locket she used to wear, he was very upset he could never retrieve it…I found it one day and decided to buy it myself, it fit the description perfectly…" Septimus Weasley looked at the boy's bowed head he seemed to grasp it tighter as he went on. He glanced at his fiancé who nodded back at him it was possible that Tom would someday be a wizard his mother had definitely been a witch if she knew the way to Knockturn Alley. However the locket's origins were as unknown to Tom as they were to Septimus and Cedrella.
"How did you find it?" Tom demanded more than asked.
"While we were shopping in a little shady part of London," Cedrella lightly lied, "At a pawn shop I had sold something there and wanted it back and I found this locket in that store."
"Thank you, sir." He looked at Septimus with slightly more respect than before.
The clanging of glasses commenced and Tom looked on to see his father in the middle of the ballroom not far beyond making a toast, the blond haired woman next to him with her admiring gaze. He clutched the locket in his hand watching as her arm slyly crossed his chest. As everyone resumed dancing and talking she continued blatantly to captivate him. His father didn't seem please though and repeatedly struggled to shake her off.
It didn't seem to be that serious though but there was a determination in Tom he had never known, something that escaped from him formerly in a state of latency and manifested itself in his mind, a sort of electric pulse. His spine tingling, and his head racing with a singular thought, narrowing his eyes on his target an invisible bullet was cast hitting Cecilia dead on.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please, settle down now!" Tom stood on top of a small stool, raising his glass, "I hope this upcoming New Year will bring love, happiness, and prosperity to you all though dark times may come to past we will always have our friends and our family. Cheers." Tom looked down at Cecilia as he jumped off the stool. Her arm slowly glided over his chest.
"Dance with me Tom?"
"No, I don't think so Cecilia," he removed her arm knowing that glint in her eyes and the way her arm brushed against his chest. She murmured something inaudible and Tom took it as a cue to leave her but she grasped his shoulders in another attempt to catch his attention.
"Tom, Tom, look at me!" She was now glaring at him he observed as his attention reverted back to her but his eyes held nothing but a dull blank stare filled with lassitude. "Why are you like this?"
"I'm glad you came Cecilia you traveled a long way but I didn't expect you to be the same licentious girl I knew before. It seems being an aristocrat these days doesn't grant all adults respectability." He could see it in her eyes, she could have nearly slapped him for that remark her hand raised to the level of her chest. But no, her green eyes were no longer inflamed by his insults but a cool snobbish smirk plagued her lips.
"Respectability…? How ever did that word cross your mind," she cackled, this was truly her nature, standing a few feet from each other no one had seemed to notice Tom's humiliation was meant for only the two of them alone. She continued vehemently, "Marrying that little beggar girl…you thought it so noble? Producing a bastard? You are a sick, sick man," her voice lowered as she uttered the last few words, "her family has been nothing but a curse in Little Hangleton but of course you wouldn't know that would you. You—"
He squinted unsure if his eyes were seeing correctly, Cecilia had been interrupted with a sudden spread of boils. She quickly clasped her forehead and then her hands ran frantically around her face before letting out an awful scream that made the rest of the crowd turn their attention towards her. Without fail Cecilia dashed towards the door picking up her coat and her daughter along the way. Tom stared in disbelief which simmered down to a disarming smile to his guest cueing the music to resume the rest of the party.
He could feel someone eyeing him and followed the stare over his shoulder. It was his son whose gaze held him for a few moments before disappearing. Tom made his way through the crowds to follow him. He didn't knock this time when he reached his room.
"Go away."
"No, not today Tom," his father took a seat next to his sprawled body on the bed, "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
He gave his father a sideways glance before plopping his face back down on his pillow. His father most likely noticing his eyes had turned red did not bother to ask him again.
"Tom, what's wrong?" His voiced was brimming with concern.
"I did it!" Tom blurted evident to his guilt of concealing the situation. His father rubbed his back before chuckling.
"You mean to say you gave Cecilia the boils?"
"Yes," Tom replied now on his back which enabled him to speak more coherently, "I dunno how it happened but I was staring at her and then it happened…I didn't like the way she was treating you and I did it."
His father's face was now serious and he urged Tom with a hand on his back to follow him which Tom did obediently. They walked passed the crowd and to the conservatory where his father gesticulated for him to sit, "I have to speak frankly with you Tom," he continued calmly clapping his hands together and pressing them to his pursed lips, "It's about your mother."
"Mum…?" Tom looked at him quizzically or rather was it suspicion his father discerned in his tone whatever the tone Tom Sr. decided to ignore it and moved on.
"I told you that your mother died giving birth to you that part is true but I also told you that she came from an aristocratic family…"
"Did you lie to me Dad?" His father did well to mask his guilt but his eyes faltered a bit before continuing.
"Yes…Your mother belonged to a very poor family who lived near my manor in a small cottage. Your mother was Merope Gaunt and she lived with her father and brother."
"Why are you telling me this now?" Tom's voiced sounded a little annoyed at the unimportance of the conversation.
"Because, Tom," his father's tone becoming as little annoyed as his son, "your mother had the same unique quality that you admitted to acquiring. I believe it had to do with her family origin but I am still uncertain of what it all means."
"Could Mum have been a witch like those stories you've read to me?" Tom Sr. was taken aback by his son whose voice steadily rose after he had told him that he might have possessed the same quality as his mother.
"I—I don't know," and he told the truth, in that realm of unknown possibilities how could Tom Riddle Sr. with reason tell him he is something he doubted even existed.
"Oh."
That, his father knew was the mark of disappointment. But it didn't end there. He bent down in front of his son and looked him straight in the eye. He had never given Merope a chance to explain herself or how he had come to be her husband and become the father of her child but he was not going to make a mistake like not believing in someone who loved him again.
"Tom I promise you that if your mother was a witch, we'll find out. You and I will do our research…I'm sure your right." Tom Sr. hesitated before uttering the last words but something confirmed within him it was true. Faith, maybe.
"Oh, yes! I almost forgot!" Tom watched his father pick up a box behind one of the plants and handed it to him excitedly.
Tom uplifted by his father's resolve on the topic of finding out more about his mother ripped the box enthusiastically and pulled out a green jumper he frowned, "Again?"
"My father always said a practical gift is always the right gift for a gentleman," his father gesticulated with the wave of his finger while his son raised an eyebrow at him as if his father had just spewed out madness.
"You should be grateful."
"I am," Tom smirked and his father smirked back it was almost telepathic the connection they had. Tom and his father talked in the conservatory for most of the night until the time when they had to be present for the countdown which reminded Tom it was a new year and his birthday was now over.
A/N: Most of this chapter is written in Tom Sr.'s perspective it will change dramatically in the next chapter and the following chapters after that. Please Review! Constructive criticism and encouragement is always welcome!