Hello!

I read this through a couple of times and deemed it ready to publication. There are many explanations in there and not many things happen, so it might be not that exciting - but this story is kinda meant to be slow-paced.

Again, remember that this is a Major!AU and enjoy!

Also, I do not own Harry Potter.

1:57 PM, July 21st, 1991, Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, England

There was a tense silence as the people sitting around the table studied each others. And while Tom Riddle looked perfectly at eased where he sat, Petunia Dursley was a pale shade of green and her hands were twisting nervously in her pink apron.

Not a word had been said since Harry Potter had been sent upstairs to shower and change. The only thing that had happened since then was the obviously fake smile Tom Riddle had offered the housewife when the boy had taken his change of clothes from the cupboard under the stairs, blushing and looking everywhere but at the Hogwarts professor. Petunia Dursley's expression had turned terrorized at the smile, but she had not offered a single excuse about what he had seen (instead, she had spent the whole time thanking the Lord that her Duddums had left for a sleepover at his friends' house earlier that day, and praying for her husband's life when he would come back from work).

The noise of the shower suddenly ceased and Petunia's bony shoulders tensed further. The professor's fake smile widened slightly, and finally turned genuine when soft footsteps reached the kitchen. He turned to welcome the child.

And this was the scene Harry walked into.

As he had escorted Professor Riddle to his relatives' home, Harry had not really known what was going to happen. He only knew that he had been invited to this magic school (of which he was still a bit suspicious, but the transformation from a snake to a man had been enough to quell most of his doubts. It was either that or he had eaten something he shouldn't have, which he knew wasn't true because he had yet to eat anything that day) that his family had been going to for generations. He guessed that it had been his father's family, because he simply couldn't picture Aunt Petunia stirring a cauldron under the full moon or wearing a black pointy hat – she also hated animals, so she never would get anywhere close to a black cat. Never mind that the Dursley couple always seemed to have an aneurysm whenever their boring lives deviated from their normal routine, and magic had never been part of said routine, never mind being a 'Dursley' kind of normal.

When his aunt had walked into the kitchen, having heard him open the door, she had looked ready to shout at him – but then Professor Riddle had stepped in front of him and had given his aunt with a polite if frosty greeting. After two minutes of silence, the man had told him to go shower, that they'd wait for him in the dining room.

Harry had spent his shower thinking about things. He had even made a list of questions he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if he'd get answers to. He wasn't used to being allowed to ask questions, so he was legitimately wary. Not of Professor Riddle, of course, but of his aunt's reaction. She clearly didn't want him to know about magic, but seemed too scared of the wizard to say so to his face. It made Harry wonder when she'd find her voice and what she would say. Would she insult his parents like she usually did whenever she got mad at him, or paint herself as a victim like she did when talking to the neighbours about him?

"Hello, Mr Potter." Professor Riddle said as Harry entered the kitchen, looking around uncomfortably and wondering what he should do. "Please sit with us. There are a few things we should discuss and I am afraid it might take a while."

Harry silently slid in the nearest chair, which happened to be Dudley's, causing Petunia to twitch nervously as if she was itching to push him off it and tell him off for 'sullying her Duddykin's things with his freaky germs'. She stayed quiet, though, altering between giving Harry hateful looks and looking nervously at Professor Riddle.

"First things first, I suppose." The man said and he slipped a hand into the pocket of his three-piece black suit, retrieving a thick envelope and handing it over to Harry. "Your acceptance letter." The wizard explained when Harry looked at the hand, but otherwise didn't move.

Harry nodded, then accepted the envelope with an hesitant hand. Petunia made an aborted motion, as if to rip it from his hands, but Harry ignored her and delicately broke the wax seal before curiously looking at what was inside.

A flash of purple immediately caught his eye and he took it, taking his time to observe it and trying to guess its function.

It was made of a solid and heavy paper, dyed purple with white lettering and frame and a black painted image on the back – it was the same symbol as the wax seal and Harry figured that it was the crest of the school. As he moved to show it to Professor Riddle and ask about it, the light caught something on the paper and an image appeared in the background behind the letters. It only appeared when the paper caught the light right and Harry amused himself with it for a few seconds, before inquiring about it to the wizard.

"Your train ticket." The wizard managed to communicate his poor opinion of the subject despite his voice and face being neutral and polite – Harry was a little impressed. "A few centuries ago, it was decided to build a secret train platform at King's Cross where Hogwarts students could spend seven hours in a train with nearly no adult supervision, though it is now a method to 'encourage socialisation between students before and after the Sorting' if you ask any Ministry employee. The old method, which was a mix of Portkeys and Apparition – think about near-instant teleportation – was getting too messy with the raising number of students, and timing everything right so no one got hurt was too much trouble for those people, it appears. The platform's entrance is situated into the third pillar of Platform 9, thus its name."

"Oh." Was Harry's reply, after which he returned his attention to the envelope on his lap. He pulled one of the parchment pieces and unfold it, before reading it attentively.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump. International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books or equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Tom M. Riddle

Deputy Headmaster

"What does it mean, 'we await your owl'?" Harry asked, looking up from the piece of parchment.

"Witches and wizards," Professor Riddle said, ignoring the startled shriek from Petunia, "communicate mostly by letters that we send by messenger birds, mainly owls, though there is also what we call Floo calls, but I will explain later. Magical families must send an owl to confirm their child or children's attendance, but, in your case, a simple verbal reply will..."

"I refuse!" Suddenly shouted a red-faced Petunia, causing Harry to jump in fright as he looked at his aunt. "I completely, fully refuse! I have sworn to myself to keep away from that world when the boy appeared on our doorstep, and I won't let him go to some freak school to teach him to become even more freakish!"

"I do not like to be interrupted." Professor Riddle said gently, but strongly enough that Petunia paled again, her blue eyes widening in fear. Harry stilled in his seat when he noticed that the professor's voice had taken a slight hissing quality. "Also, you must have misheard me. I said that magical families have to confirm the attendance of their children. Non-magical families, or guardians, have no authority in our world, and certainly have no power to keep their wards out of Hogwarts. Some witches and wizards prefer to home-school their children, this is why one may decline an invitation to Hogwarts, but it is impossible to do so for muggles with a magical child. Mr Potter has no other choice than to accept his invitation to Hogwarts, it is a mere formality to accept it, as I was going to explain before you interrupted me."

Harry licked his lips, feeling the scabs under his dry tongue, before looking shyly at the once again peaceful-looking professor. Harry wondered if the man was bipolar, or if he was simply controlling himself to appear amiable. Somehow, the latter seemed more likely, but it would mean that Professor Riddle wasn't a nice person, and Harry was unwilling to think that. So he simply ignored this thought and decided to ask the Professor one of the questions he had wanted to ask.

"How do you teach magic?" He asked with a small voice, observing the man to see his reaction to his question – the Dursleys had never reacted positively, but some teachers at his old school liked it when students did it. He relaxed when Professor Riddle gave him an approving look and leaned in a bit to listen to the answer.

"Some classes are split in two parts – theoretical and practical. For half of the period, the teacher will explain something and demonstrate what they mean, before letting the students try their hands at it under their supervision. But that is for simple, structural classes, like Charms or Potions. In my class, which is Defence Against the Dark Arts, I expect students to read ahead, so I mainly uses my classes to clarify things they might have misunderstood and I watch them as they put their knowledge into practice. I know for a fact that Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor, does the same. Other classes are primarily made of theory, like Transfiguration and History of Magic, but Transfiguration is a very difficult subject and I know that Minerva only wants to prevent accidents."

The last part made Harry frown. "There are accidents?"

"Yes." Professor Riddle confirmed. "It does not happen very often, but sometimes a spell goes wrong or a poorly-made potion turns bad. We try to prevent such things, this is why students, especially those without their O.W.L.s, are encouraged to have a trained adult in the room before attempting a new spell – it is one of the reason of Hogwarts' existence, after all."

"Owls?" Harry repeated.

The corner of the wizard's mouth twitched.

"Ah, forgive me. It is an acronym for Outstanding Wizarding Levels, tests made in Fifth Year. It is the first series of exams a student has to go through, and a witch or a wizard needs to pass at least three exams if they wish to keep their wand. Do not worry, failing to get those three O.W.L.s does not mean that you are kicked out or anything. As long as you have them before you turn seventeen, which is the age of majority in the Magical World, you get to keep your wand."

Harry stared at the other man, the envelope forgotten on his lap. "What do you need a wand for?"

The professor raised an eyebrow. "To cast spells, I would say."

"But..." Harry bit his lips, tasting blood, but forced himself to sit still. "I mean, you don't need a wand all the time, right? Like, there are some things you can do without it."

Harry watched as something akin to realisation flashed into the professor's eyes and his own widened when the wizard smiled at him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, only a few moments from ducking his head sheepishly.

"Very few witches and wizards can use magic without a wand." Professor Riddle said slowly, his smile never wavering. "But I assume that your insistence means that you have some things you can do with your will alone?"

Harry looked hesitantly at Petunia, before looking back at Professor Riddle and nodding once.

"What is it?" He saw Harry look at Petunia again. "Do not worry about her, Mr Potter. I very much doubt that she will remember anything of this meeting in a few hours, a day at most."

Petunia gasped in horror beside them, but Harry had already dismissed her in favour of trying not to look guilty in front of his soon-to-be teacher.

"I can make things fly." Harry muttered softly, his eyes focused on his hands. "When I fall or trip, the wind catches me before I touch the ground, and it took me to the roof of my old school once... I never tried it, but I'm sure I can fly. I never was afraid of heights, either."

Harry risked a look toward the Hogwarts teacher, but the smile was still there, if a tad brighter. Harry blushed, a giddy feeling starting to grow in his chest.

He wasn't in trouble! Professor Riddle even looked impressed!

"I see that the rumours of the Potter's aerokinesis were true." The professor mused aloud, before he shook his head slightly. "What you have just described me, Mr Potter, is a Family Talent – a magical ability transmitted by blood. In your case, the Potter Family's control over wind and gaz. Few Families like to publicise their Talent, so I would advise you to keep this fact to yourself. Some Families cannot help it, though, either because it is too obvious or because it brings some prestige. The Blacks, for example, have individuals popping up every few generations who can change their appearances at will – it is called being a Metamorphmagus, there is one at Hogwarts presently –, but a strong enough emotion might alter their body, so they had no choice but to reveal it. My own Family, the Slytherins, has an important part of history in England, so exposing our Talent gives us some respect. The Talent is our affinity with snakes, including Parseltongue, which is basically the ability to understand and speak to snakes and some other reptiles."

It took Harry two seconds to connect the dots. When he did, he gasped and looked up at Professor Riddle with wide eyes.

"We're related?!" He exclaimed loudly, only to blush harder when the man gave him an unimpressed raised eyebrow. Okay, so Professor Riddle didn't cared about loud exclamations. Noted.

"Our earlier exchange proves that we are." The man acquiesced, before smirking at Petunia. "I was not aware of it before you spoke to me earlier, but I know that it cannot come from your father's side. Your mother, and thus Petunia here, are probably distant cousins of mine."

The strangled sound Petunia made caused Harry to turn toward her, only to witness the woman's face hit the table. She was unconscious, twitching and drooling, but Harry was more curious about whether she was having a heart attack. He had thought that Vernon would be the one to go that way, not his skinny aunt.

"Shouldn't we help her?" Harry inquired, though not sounding very concerned. It wasn't like Petunia had ever helped him when he was hurt or sick.

"Give her a moment." The professor said indifferently. "If she does not wake up in ten minutes, I will see if I can do something. I must say that I am not overly fond of non-magical folk, even if they happen to be distant relatives of mine."

Harry hummed. He could relate to that.

"Back to the subject." The wizard looked at Harry seriously, causing him to sit straighter in his chair. "I am not without enemies, and some of them would gladly make use of our newfound relation to put me in a situation of weakness. A few would hurt you simply because you are related to me, others would hate you simply because you can speak to snakes and even more people would attempt to use you to get closer to me. I wish to keep our blood ties a secret for now, at least until you passed your O.W.L.s, but preferably until after your graduation."

Professor Riddle looked at Harry for a moment, but Harry wasn't sure what his expression was like. Shock, maybe? Disappointment? Sadness, because his newfound family did not wanted it known that they were related? Was Professor Riddle disgusted with him, ashamed to be related to him? Like the Dursleys?

"Do not misunderstand me, Harry." The use of his first name snapped him out of his depressive thoughts and he raised his head, probably looking every kind of miserable and pitiful. Really, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up, who would want to be related to him? "It is not that I do not want our relation to be known, but I would feel better if you knew how to defend yourself before my enemies got wind of your existence. It does not mean that you cannot visit me in my quarters in your free time, nor that you are not welcome to write to me during the summers. For all that I am a busy man, I will make time for you when you need it."

Harry still felt uncertain. "I won't live with you? You said I could write to you during the summers." It sounded like an accusation, and it made Harry bite his lip harder in worry at the man's reaction.

"My..." The man hesitated, before sighing. "My house is hardly a place for a child, Harry. I have... friends who are not the nicest, some who would take offence at your presence in my home. I am also often away on travels, at social gatherings or simply at Hogwarts and I would be damned if I left you alone in a house where there are some powerful and dangerous magical artefacts. You will be able to visit, but staying will not be possible." There was a pause, before he continued. "That does not mean that I will leave you here, though. You are leaving this place today, never to come back, and I will have summer arrangements ready for you to choose from before the end of the school year. Staying with me... It would be unwise to do so, I am sorry."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, a bit ashamed of himself for having implied what he had. Of course Professor Riddle had a life, Harry couldn't expect him to shove everything aside to take care of him! And he was going to live with him during the school year anyway, so what was two months in the summer?

Not to mention that Professor Riddle was doing this to protect him. He wasn't surprised that Professor Riddle was an important man, he carried himself with the kind of confidence Harry had only seen in politicians and actors on TV. He also understood what the professor had not told him, but had strongly implied : revealing that he spoke to snakes would be the quickest way to break the secrecy on their relation. So Harry couldn't speak to snakes at Hogwarts. He could do that.

Feeling like the subject was too heavy – too fresh – to continue, Harry decided to change it.

"Albus Dumbledore..." He started, then paused at the immediate reaction that the name caused to the professor. Professor Riddle's face had blanked, returning to the polite but cold expression he had been wearing while waiting with Petunia. It made Harry even more curious. "Who is he? I mean, there are a lot of titles under his name, but I don't know what they mean."

Professor Riddle inclined his head. "He is the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards – the ICW's job is to supervise magical activity around the world, though it is known to ignore a few events, and the American and Asian members are often excluded because of cultural differences, as far as I know. The Supreme Mugwump is the president of the group; he is the one to speak to the press, coordinate meetings and make sure everyone is following protocol. Chief Warlock is mostly the same thing, only with the Wizengamot, which is a jury that can be both a supervisor of the criminal system – but only the worst offenders get the full set – and an assembly of politicians. They make, judge, revise, vote and terminate the laws of Magical Britain. The Wizengamot also has two temporary 'leaders' during trials : the Minister of Magic and the Interrogator. The first is there to defend the accuser, while the Interrogator asks questions to both parties.

"And so the Chief Warlock's duty is to assure that no wrongs are committed by the body and that protocols are followed, but it is not rare for the one in position to abuse his powers to his advantage. As for an 'Order of Merlin', it is a reward offered to people who did a great service to the country, and 'First Class' is the highest homage. Dumbledore got his after he defeated Grindelwald, a wizard who lead an army who sided with the muggle Nazis during World War II – he is what magical folk call a 'Dark Lord'. A 'Grand Sorcerer' is a title one receives when they become an important figure in the world of magical discoveries. I, myself, received the same title when I was fifty-one."

At the revelation of the wizard's advanced age, Harry couldn't help but stare at the youthful face in front of him. Professor Riddle certainly did not looked his age, he seemed in his late twenties at most!

"Albus Dumbledore," the older wizard continued slowly, as if measuring his words, "is not someone I am close with. We do not get along, most likely never will, and you will indubitably notice how it affects Hogwarts after a few weeks – even students are taking sides, it becomes ridiculous at times. Dumbledore was the Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster when I was a student at Hogwarts, and he became the Headmaster in 1954, three years after I became a teacher. He made many advancements in the magical world's academic society and is known to most people as the 'Leader of the Light' or, as it is understood, the leader of all that is good and kind. I will not tell you what to think of him, but I would appreciate if you took some time to watch him before you made your opinion of him. Hearsay is filled with people's own interpretations, and not everyone see things the same way."

Harry nodded firmly. It sounded like a sensible advice, even though he wasn't sure he would like someone Professor Riddle didn't get along with. But he would wait and watch, just like the professor had said, just like he would keep quiet about their blood ties.

A low moan interrupted Harry before he could ask his next question – about what Professor Riddle had done to gain the title of 'Grand Sorcerer' – and they turned toward the waking Petunia.

Harry felt some disappointment at the sight. He had wanted to know what Professor Riddle would do to Petunia to wake her up. The thought of magic having been done on her might even had provoked a nice reaction!

He blushed when Professor Riddle gave him an amused smirk. His thoughts had probably been showing on his face. How embarrassing!