Ten

"Harrison?" Severus said as he came up to the child's workstation. Emerald eyes rose to the Potions Master questioningly. "If you would, please stay after class. I need to speak with you. Draco may stay, if you wish."

"I wonder what that's about?" the blond murmured as the professor walked away to tear a strip of hide from Weasley, the redhead's cauldron smoking alarmingly.

"I don't know," the raven replied, worried. "I hope it's nothing too serious. Hopefully, Father's all right." Class soon ended, and both preteens made their slow way up to the professor's desk, Harrison wary and nervous.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harrison asked as he stood before Severus. Draco was at his side, a hand on the small of his friend's back in support.

"Yes. I've received some rather…discouraging reports from some of your other teachers," the dour man began carefully. "It seems that you are…struggling in some of your classes. Most specifically, you seem to be having an issue with Charms and Transfiguration. To some small degree, you also seem to be having difficulties in Defense. Care to tell me why?"

"I don't know, sir," Harrison replied with a frown, secretly relieved it wasn't anything serious. "I had trouble last year with the same classes. When Father took me shopping this past summer, he asked me why I wasn't choosing to get books dealing with Light magic. I told him that Light magic tends to make me feel a little ill. Perhaps that's what's wrong. He'd called it an allergy."

"Hmm," the professor murmured thoughtfully. "That would explain the difficulties with those particular classes, since they deal mostly with Light magic. It's really not that unusual for a student to be sickened by the type of magic he or she learns. It doesn't happen very often, but the school does have programs in place so that the child with the allergy may still obtain their magical education. I'll have a talk with Albus after classes today, and see what he has to say about it."

"Come in, Severus, my boy. Have a seat. Tea? Lemon drop?" the headmaster boomed cheerfully at his Potions Master. The dark man scowled at the excessive cheerfulness, declining both the sweet and the tea. "What may I do for you today?"

"I need to talk to you about Harrison Riddle," Snape began. "It seems he has an allergy to the type of magic we teach here, which is causing him difficulties in Charms, Transfiguration, and, to a small degree, Defense Against the Dark Arts. I would like to enroll him in the alternate program, so that he may attain his magical education alongside his peers."

"An allergy, you say," the old man murmured thoughtfully. "That would explain his rather poor showing in some of his classes. I had thought that, perhaps his exposure to Voldemort is what was causing the difficulties. Are you sure it's an allergy, and not some nefarious plot? Perhaps Voldemort is draining the child of his magic. If that is the case, then we need to petition the Wizengamot to sever the adoption and turn his care over to me."

Severus sneered at the old man's blatant attempts to gain control over Harrison. "It is an allergy, headmaster," the dour man growled lowly, hackles raised. "I did the tests myself. His father is aware of the trouble he is having, and would have no problem pulling him from Hogwarts should we not be as amenable to his situation as we should be. I daresay the Ministry would bend over backward to accommodate him, should it come to that."

"No…no. We don't want that," Dumbledore said quickly. "I'll notify his professors, and have the appropriate tutors brought in to help him with his disability. We cannot, in good conscience, allow him to be tutored in Dark Arts; however, I am sure we will be able to find the appropriate tutors in Neutral magic. That should suffice, I think."

"Very well, headmaster," Severus said with a nod of his head. "Thank you for your swift action on this. I am sure that his father, Lord Riddle, will be quite pleased with the efforts you are making to ensure that his heir is suitably trained and educated. Good day."

He stared at the red-haired woman sitting across the desk from him, shocked to see her in his office so soon after her arrest. When he'd heard the knock on his door, he was startled. He hadn't been expecting any visitors, and his gargoyle had failed to alert him of his company. Stunned didn't even begin to cover how he felt when the portly woman strode through his door and plopped herself down in the chair in front of his desk. "Molly? What are you doing here? I thought you had been arrested." Before she could answer, the door opened again, admitting her daughter, who sat down in the chair next to her mother, eyes on her hands which were tangling in her lap. Blue eyes swiveled to the Weasley matriarch, twinkle noticeably absent.

"I was released on my own recognizance," the older woman snapped angrily. "I have monitoring charms on me that tell the Ministry my every move. I've been restricted to my home, Hogwarts, and Diagon Alley, but only if I am supervised while shopping. It's disgraceful."

"You only have yourself to blame for attempting to poison one of my students. The truly astonishing part is that you thought you'd be able to get away with poisoning Harry Potter. What in Merlin's name were you thinking?"

"I don't know, Albus," the redhead bellowed furiously. "I had been told, from the moment my daughter was born, that my Ginny and Harry Potter would be husband and wife. You had promised me, as his magical guardian, that a betrothal contract between my daughter and Harry Potter would happen when Ginny turned thirteen. Now I find out that, not only aren't you his magical guardian anymore, but that there will be no contract. How did you expect me to feel? What did you expect me to do? Disappoint my only girl?"

"If you would have been patient, I would've spoken to you about that," the headmaster sighed wearily. "The adoption is a lie. It is a blatant attempt by the Dark Lord to trick the boy into siding with him. I am still Harry's magical guardian, and I have already approached the goblins at Gringotts about the contract, and the vaults and inheritances that the child has waiting for him. Do not worry; I have everything under control." He turned to Ginny, who hadn't looked up once since she had been there.

"Regrettably, Miss Weasley, you are effectively under house arrest until your trial. Since the attack you launched was against a Slytherin, that House as a whole does not want you staying there, so I have arranged for private rooms for you. You are not permitted to be anywhere but your private rooms and classes. You are not permitted visitors of any kind, and you will be eating in your rooms. They will be in the dungeons, since that is where your House is located, and no one but you will have access to them." He turned back to Molly, eyes hard. "I want you to discuss this with your children. I do not want them to, in any way, interfere with my efforts to maintain control of Harry Potter. That means no potions, and no influence of any kind. It's bad enough that your hotheaded son started this mess in the first place.

"If I hear of any of your children stepping even one toe out of line, I will expel them, and deny them access to Hogwarts permanently. I have worked too hard and invested too much into that boy for anyone else to mess it up. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Albus," the woman answered, sounding suitably cowed.

"Good. Now, if there is nothing else, I will have a house elf escort your daughter to her new rooms." He turned to the young girl with a frown. "I do not want to hear of you abusing any of my elves, Miss Weasley. You will not take your anger or frustrations out on them. That will get you sent to Azkaban without trial. I will see to it personally."

"What can I do for you, Albus?" Cornelius asked warily. The headmaster almost never came to the Ministry, unless there was something he wanted done. Usually something illegal.

"I need you to gather some of the people on the Wizengamot and have Harry Potter's adoption vacated," the old man replied confidently, fully expecting that he would be obeyed. Fudge's eyes bulged at the chutzpah Dumbledore exhibited, before his brows snapped down angrily.

"Now what makes you think I would do anything like that?" the Minister barked loudly, attracting attention all over the floor. Thorfinn Rowle poked his head out the door of his office, eyes narrowing at the confrontation, and he hastily left his office, where he had been going over the report of his latest assignment as a Hit Wizard, to find an open floo. He quickly tossed in some powder and stuck his head in the opening.

"Slytherin's Keep, Lord Riddle," he barked, waiting anxiously for his Lord to answer the call. Seconds later, Tom was at the fireplace, looking at one of his spies worriedly.

"What is it, Rowle?"

"Albus Dumbledore is here, my Lord, and he's having a rather loud conversation with the Minister. Fudge seems very upset. I believe you should get here as soon as possible."

"On my way."

Riddle arrived at the same time as his solicitor, and they made their way to the Minister's office, just in time to see Fudge explode. "I don't give a tinker's damn what your delusional mind has invented. I will not call the Wizengamot to terminate Potter's adoption. I don't think there's any way in hell I would be able to, even if I wanted to, which I don't."

"You would be correct, Cornelius," came a wry voice from the doorway. Both the Minister and Dumbledore jumped at the sudden interruption, looking at the doorway with surprise. Tom stepped through, his solicitor hot on his heels. "Harrison Salazar Riddle is my son, in blood and magic. There is no more Potter blood in his veins. That you would try and steal my son away from me speaks to the kind of man you really are."

"Mr. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I have a writ from the Wizengamot demanding you cease and desist in your persecution of my client," Mr. Dancere said in a no-nonsense voice. "Furthermore, if you persist in attempting to sever the familial blood ties between my client and his son, we will have no choice but to seek restitution from you and your estate. Continue to slander my client, and I will see you in Azkaban.

"I also have an injunction against you, prohibiting you from calling Harrison Salazar Riddle to your office for any reason whatsoever. You are to concentrate on your duties to the school, and leave all academic and personal matters to Heir-Lord Riddle's father and teachers. If, for any reason, you feel you must communicate with my client's son, you will submit your request, in writing, to our offices, where we will consult with my client and make a decision as to whether you have just cause to speak with my client's son. Additionally, as Severus Tobias Snape is Heir-Lord Riddle's guardian ad litem, he will be present at all times as long as my client's son is in your presence.

"Lastly, you are to never exile or forbid either the Riddle house elf or the Malfoy house elf from performing their duties to their charges again. Should you interfere, and it results in the death of one of the house elves, you will be required to repay every galleon the elf was worth. Additionally, you will be assessed punitive damages for the emotional distress suffered by the child to whom the elf belongs. Consider this your only warning, headmaster."

It was nearly time for Yule, and Harrison was excited. For the first time, ever, he was going to go home. A real home, with real family. It wasn't about the presents; it was never about the presents. In all the time he'd spent with the Dursleys, they'd never let him forget that he was unwanted. That he was an interloper on their good, nice, normal family. But now, he was going to celebrate Yule with a father, a guardian, an almost uncle, a mum and his two bestest friends. In his home. That was the thing that was hardest for him to believe. That he had a home. The weekend visits were nice, and he hated that he'd had to leave every Sunday evening, because he was afraid that he'd wake up, and it would all be a dream. But going home for Christmas was a whole different matter entirely. He wasn't even sure his father did Christmas. He'd spent so long as an insane Dark Lord that Harrison wasn't even sure his father knew what Christmas was. So, yeah. Excited, but really, really nervous, as well.

"Hey, Harrison," Pansy chirped, startling the raven. "Ready to go home tomorrow?"

"Y-yeah," the boy answered haltingly.

"What's wrong? Surely you don't think you'll have to stay here? The Dark Lord would never allow it." Harrison grimaced at the Slytherin girl for a moment.

"Pansy, I thought he told you to call him Tom. And, yeah, I don't think he'll let me stay here. I just don't know if he really celebrates Christmas."

"Yes, Harrison, he gave me permission to call him Tom; it's just that addressing him the other way is a habit. One I'm working on breaking. Don't want to say the wrong thing out in the school and have the headmaster jump all over it."

"You're right about that."

"As for Christmas, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

Harrison stumbled from the floo and straight into his father's arms. Tom wrapped his son in a smothering hug, Harrison reciprocating enthusiastically. They stood like that for a while, basking in being together again before the raven reluctantly pulled from his father's arms. He looked up into that beloved face with a wide grin, happy and excited to be home. "I missed you, son," his father murmured, smiling down into crimson-flecked emerald eyes. The grin morphed into a loving smile as the preteen grew a little teary eyed.

"I missed you, too, Dad," he choked out, diving back in for another strong hug. He finally pulled away when a pop alerted him that his little champion had arrived home. He turned to her, but the appearance of the den out of the corner of his eye had him stopping, jaw dropped in astonishment. The entire room was festooned with twinkling fairy lights and evergreen garlands, the scent of pine and cinnamon only now reaching the boy's nose. Wide red ribbons wrapped around the furniture, and the fireplace mantel held a plethora of assorted Christmas cards, the moving pictures capturing the boy's amused attention for a moment. He continued to look around, eyes permanently wide as he took in the different types of St. Nicholases scattered around. He almost expected to see a nativity scene, but then remembered that those types of decorations were religion-based, and not at all appropriate for a wizarding celebration.

"It's wonderful, Father," the child breathed as he inhaled the scents of Christmas. Tom smiled at his son, inordinately pleased with the child's approval.

"I'm glad you like it," he murmured, dropping a gentle hand on top of his son's head. Harrison looked up at his dad, grinning happily. "The rest of the Keep is also decked out with all manner of decorations, and there is a gigantic Christmas tree in the parlor."

"That's great, but, well, why Christmas decorations? Since we're magical, don't we celebrate Yule?"

"This is to be our first Christmas together," Tom answered softly. "Since the both of us were raised in the muggle world, this is a bit more familiar to us. Next year, we'll be more knowledgeable of the wizarding customs and traditions, and will do Yule then. It will also be the first Christmas ever, for either one of us. I know that you had received a few presents last year, when you stayed at Hogwarts, but that doesn't really count as a true Christmas celebration. You had no real family, nor did you really have anyone you could call friend, except for Neville, and he had to go home. So I wanted to make our first Christmas, and our first Christmas together, really special."

Harrison flung himself into his father's arms again, tears leaking from tightly closed eyes. "Thank you so much," he whispered reverently. "This will be another first for us. We shared a first father/son vacation, a first father and son meeting after you had adopted me, a first father/son shopping trip when we were in South America, and now a first father/son Christmas celebration. You're wonderful, and I love you so much."

"I love you very much, too, Harrison," his father whispered softly, leaning down to brush a kiss to the messy hair.

"Wow," Draco murmured as he looked around at all the flickering candles. The decorations still surprised the blond, being totally unexpected, considering whose house it was. It was Christmas day, and he and Neville had awakened early, joining Harrison as they descended the stairs. Both Draco and Neville had been invited to spend the entire holiday with Harrison, at the Keep, and they gladly accepted. Neville hadn't had a chance to connect with his Gran yet, since she was out of the Manor when he stopped in to drop off his trunk and pick up clothes for the extended stay, so he wasn't sure how she'd taken the re-sort. Later that day, they would join their families at the annual Yule ball held in Malfoy Manor. Augusta Longbottom and Algernon Longbottom would both be there. Neville wasn't looking forward to the party at all.

They walked into the parlor and stared at the tree, awestruck. Though it had been decorated when Harrison had first arrived, it was now festooned with hundreds of small packages, hanging from the boughs of the tree. Underneath were presents piled so high that one couldn't even see the tree stand or the trunk.

"Happy Christmas, boys," Tom said from behind them, startling them out of their stunned stupor. Turning, they grinned broadly at Riddle, fighting not to laugh in the man's face. He was dressed in a muggle Santa Claus suit, complete with mustache and beard. He even had the round belly, which he grasped as he attempted to do a credible 'ho ho ho'. It was the attempt at a Santa Claus laugh that had the boys rolling on the floor, laughing for all they were worth. Tom mock pouted at them, pretending to be offended. "I fail to see what is so funny," he snarked playfully, a grin hidden behind the white bush that covered the lower half of his face.

Gasping, fighting to breathe, Draco looked at the elder Riddle with affection. "You look rather silly," he finally huffed out, wiping mirthful tears from his cheeks. The raven had explained what all the little men in red suits, white hair, and beards had represented for the muggle world, so he knew what Lord Riddle had done. Harrison was turning an alarming shade of blue, fighting to catch his breath. Neville helpfully pounded him on the back, loosening his locked lungs so he could gasp in a huge gust of air.

"You're the best," he finally managed to croak out, tears still streaming down his face. "I was never able to sit on Santa's lap growing up. Hell, the way my life was, I didn't even believe in the fairy tale. I always thought it was rather hypocritical of the Dursleys, to punish me for mentioning magic, but encouraging their whale of a son in his belief in a make-believe magician." The scowl that decorated his father's face was camouflaged by the mustache and beard, so Harrison was understandably oblivious to the feelings engendered by his casual mention of the treatment he'd suffered. Suddenly, he squeaked as his father scooped him up and marched to a wide, overstuffed chair situated by the fireplace. It also happened to be near the tree. Sitting, he situated his son on his lap and hugged him close, trying to give him what he'd been unjustly denied for so very long. Harrison snuggled into his dad, burying his face in the man's artificial facial hair and shuddering with suppressed emotion. Draco and Neville sat on a sofa nearby, watching with sadness as their best friend lost his grip on his emotions for a moment. The child was finally able to get himself back under control, and he leaned away from his father, gently pulling the fake mustache and beard from the older man's face. "You're so handsome. I don't want you to hide your face, even to make me happy." He leaned forward and kissed his father's cheek gently, then wrapped his arms around his dad's neck and squeezed tightly.

It was a couple of hours later when the raven finally surfaced from his doze to see his best friends sitting on a sofa across from his father and he, talking quietly and sharing some spiced hot chocolate. He looked at his dad in confusion for a moment, not sure what exactly had happened. "You had a bit of an emotional overload," Tom explained quietly, kissing his son's forehead. "We let you compose yourself, and you dozed off for a bit."