"As I hope to have impressed successfully upon all of you by graduation, all disciplines of magic are in some way connected. And all can be useful to you in the event you find yourself in a situation where there is the need to defend yourself…well, perhaps we can bar Divination from such consideration."

'He'd been soundly sleeping curled beneath the duvet of his bed within the walls of Riddle Manor-rightfully his now that his wretched Muggle father was dead, not that he'd ever have considered willfully living there before the advent of his precious son-when the tapping of small unstockinged feet woke him.'

"It seemed annoyingly simplistic even back in first year, at least for some of you I'm sure, to go about such things as Transfiguring a match into a needle or levitating a feather, but surely now-or at least shortly-each and every one of you will see the necessity of starting small. After all, one cannot go about something complex without first understanding the basics."

'He rolled over and cracked open one eye to find emerald gazing back at him from beneath a mop of incorrigible black hair. His son-name omitted at this point in his fantasy, having not yet decided on one though he felt as if he might be getting close; H-led names seemed implacably attractive-was barely tall enough to see over the top of the mattress. He was two, he thought, or maybe three, and gripped the sheet with tiny hands as he bounced in place; a futile, if adorable, attempt to clamber into bed with him.'

"Normally, this would be something only discussed in detail amongst the circles of those going into professions where magical combat would be necessary-namely Aurors-but with the march of the Dark Lord moving steadily closer I would feel remise not to mention such matters."

'A nightmare of some sort, perhaps? He was alarmingly prone to them. Tom reached over with one arm and hoisted the boy-small for his age and thin boned, like a bird-up onto the bed. His son wasted no time crawling to him and settling himself against his chest. Tucking his head beneath Tom's head with a small sigh and relaxing under the sway of the lullaby that was his bearer's steady heartbeat.'

A sudden, sharp pain jerked him out of his fantasies; his knee hit the underside of his desk with an unflattering clatter and he wasn't entirely able to bite back a gasp. Almost passed since his visit to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and the movements of his precious son had gone from a slightly uncomfortable flutter to full-out kicks; he now fully understood what Healer Sael had meant about enjoying the reprieve while it lasted. He was honestly surprised he wasn't black and blue.

"Perhaps you could explain what my reasoning would be for bringing up such topics, despite them not being necessarily sanctioned as appropriate for general schooling by the Ministry since you seem so content to interrupt my class after spending the majority of my lecture staring out the window Mr. Riddle?"

A few nervous snickers rang out from the students of the other Houses. A number of his Knights, despite growing more than a bit reckless in the suspension of their usual activities, fired back with poisonous glares. Dumbledore was observing him expectantly from the front of the room. Thankfully, embarrassment and primary vexation won through as the primary emotions in response to the situation; hormones or not, bawling in the middle of Transfiguration would only be a detriment to his image.

Tom arranged his face into a somewhat cowed smile and dipped his head as if in shame. "Forgive me, Professor, my long running illness has left me a bit out of sorts." He said. "I would assume that the point you wish to make is that as most disciplines of magic are somehow interconnected, Charms and Transfiguration could be used in concert with Defense in the event which one would have to fight for their life. As could certain Potions and Apparition."

"Very well Mr. Riddle, as it seems you were indeed paying attention, and given your condition, I won't be deducing any points from Slytherin House for this offense. However, I won't be awarding any for your answer either. Correct as it may have been."

"Of course, Professor. I apologize again for interrupting."

As Dumbledore returned to giving his lecture Tom glanced over at Abraxas, sitting beside him. The blonde sent him a questioning look and he nodded, wincing, before covertly massaging the sore area.

Must you kick me so hard, my sweet little serpent? Where I'm glad that you are strong, and the occasional reminder you are still with me would not be remiss, I am already enduring quite a lot for you. A bit of mercy, please."

Much to his relief, his son settled a few moments later. They worked on Conjuring Canaries; Tom had to put considerably more effort into keeping his magic in check than he once would have, but other than that class passed as normal. He noted with no small amount of smugness that he was still the first in the class to manage the assigned task.

Dinner passed without fanfare and with some time to spare, Tom made his way up to the seventh floor and slipped into the room of requirement. The floors were paneled in dark stained cherry wood and the walls were painted a soft beige, the light overhead dimmed to a low, soft setting. Their purchase-accompanied by the additions of a rocking chair bookshelf and bed courtesy of the room, were arranged comfortably. Walking up to the edge of the crib he tapped the mobile with his wand, watching it begin to turn and tinkle a gentle tune, and picked up the plush Basilisk. Stroking it idly with his fingers with a soft smile on his face.

He couldn't wait until the crib was finally occupied with his son. To be able to hold his baby. Read to him. Play with him. Teach him. Do everything that he wished his father would have done for him when he was a child. What would his first word be? What would his first incident of accidental magic be? When would it happen? Would he inherit the ability to speak to snakes?

"Careful, Tom. Your face will freeze like that if you smile for too long." Without thinking, he flipped him off. Abraxas chuckled. "Well, your hands certainly seem to be hormonal today."

"Shove it, Malfoy." He was fully aware that his voice held no bite as he settled the toy snake back in its place in the crib. "Why?"

"Why?"

"I never asked before. About your motivations."

The Malfoy Heir blinked. "I don't follow."

"Your want to be named Godfather." He clarified, lightly gripping the side of the crib. "What were you seeking to gain, specifically, by worming your way into what could be considered the direct family of the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I'm not trying to gain anything."

"Rubbish! You're a member of Snake House, not to mention one of my Knights. The Heir to a pureblood family of considerable power and standing. You, like the rest of them, seem something from my bloodline surely."

"Tom," he sounded somewhat bemused, "if I can ask this without being Hexed into next year, what the devil did those Muggles do to you to make you like this? Or is it just your nature?"

"What, exactly, is it that you want?"

"Being referred to as a friend, rather than a minion acquaintance or schoolmate, would be nice."

"I don't have friends. I never have and I never will. I was a freak and a monster at that orphanage, the Devil himself in a human skin, and here I was nothing but the little orphaned 'Mudblood' of Slytherin; no one gave a bloody damn that I was actually a half blood until half of my blood turned out to be Salazar's!"

"Generally, Tom," Abraxas had the nerve to let out a very tired sigh, "is someone who cares about another person for who they are. Not what they can get them."

"What are you saying?"

"That I care about you." The brunet sent him a sideways glare. "Not like that, Merlin! I'm into woman. Not that you aren't…well, let's not make this anymore awkward than it already is."

"I don't believe you."

"Of course you don't. Luckilly, I'm willing to wait until you move passed the 'denial' phase." He answered Tom's pointed glare with an innocent expression. "Have you decided on a name for him, yet?"

"Harry." Tom looked nearly scandalized by his own outburst, as surprised as Abraxas looked, and continued "I wanted something with an H. I didn't decide on anything until just now, but for some reason…it just feels right to name him that."

"We should probably go with Harrison as his proper name and Harry as a nickname. It would be more fitting for the Pure Blood circles that he'll surely end up mingling in that way."

"I suppose you're right."

"Middle name?"

"Not Abraxas." He quipped. "Beyond that, no idea yet."

"If all else fails, you could always use Marvolo as well."

"I suppose so, but that doesn't seem right. And I'm not feeling a draw towards any particular letter this time. Maybe Alea."

"Gamble?"

"That's what he is, in many ways. A gamble."

"I'm not even going to question that because I doubt you'd explain."

Tom smirked. "No, I wouldn't. Not that you would want to know. Or believe me."

"You're Lord Voldemort, soon to be ruler of magical Britain. Anything is possible with you around."

He blamed his out of whack hormones for the fit of laughter that overwhelmed him at that point. Abraxas only smiled and watched him gasp for air, leaning heavily on the crib to keep himself upright. Perhaps having the Malfoy Heir around long turn wouldn't be so bad, regardless of his real intentions.