Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating in forever! But for all of your waiting you get a super long chapter!
The rest of the week passed easily enough and Tomas's favorite lessons quickly became Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions.
Defense Against the Dark Arts had been one of his favorite subjects at Beauxabatons as well and Snape was an excellent teacher even though all of the Gryffindors hated him.
Potions meanwhile proved to be as an enjoyable as ever. By the fourth lesson Slughorn was already raving about Tomas and Harry's abilities, saying he rarely taught people as talented as them.
And during the classes he had with her Tomas even found himself growing closer to Hermione despite his Slytherin friends' warnings. Eventually through Hermione he wound growing closer to Harry as well and things got reasonably better with Ron. At least the boy didn't look at him like he wanted to bash his head in whenever he saw him.
The days flew by and seemed like it was Saturday night in an instant.
Tomas left his friends at five to eight promising to tell them all about what Dumbledore told him and headed off to see the headmaster.
He made his way down the deserted corridors until he reached the gargoyle in the seventh-floor corridor where Harry was already standing waiting.
"Hi Harry," Tomas said. "Dumbledore said you'd know the password." Harry nodded and turned to the gargoyle.
"Acid Pops."
The gargoyle sprang aside and the wall behind it slid apart to reveal a moving spiral stone staircase onto which Harry leaped and Tomas followed suit allowing the staircase to carry him up to a door that no doubt lead to Dumbledore's office.
Harry reached out and took the brass knocker giving the door a firm knock.
"Come in," Dumbledore's voice said.
"Good evening, sir," Harry said as he and Tomas walked into the headmaster's office.
"Ah, good evening, you two," Dumbledore smiled. "Please go sit down." The two boys nodded and did as they were told each taking a chair infront of Dumbledore's desk.
Dumbledore turned his twinkling eyes upon Tomas first giving him a warm smile. "So Tomas," He said. "How are you liking Hogwarts so far?"
"Well it's very different from Beauxabatons," Tomas said, "but still it's a brilliant place and I love it."
Dumbledore's smile widened at these words. "I'm glad," He said. He turned his eyes to Harry next saying, "I hope you've been having an enjoyable first week at school as well Harry."
"Yes, thanks, sir," Harry said.
"You must have been busy, a detention under your belt already!" Dumbledore said.
"Er," Harry began in an awkward tone.
"I have arranged with Professor Snape that you will do your detention next Saturday instead," Dumbledore said.
"Right," Harry said.
"So," Dumbledore said, in a business like tone of voice, "you have both been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these—for want of a better word—lessons?"
You hit the nail right on the head, Tomas thought as he said with Harry, "Yes, sir."
"Well, I have decided that it is time, that you know more about Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "Although for different reasons," He said his eyes lingering on Tomas.
Harry frowned obviously confused at these words. "What different reasons?" He asked.
Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose that one cannot delay the inevitable," He said. His face turned serious as he said, "Harry, Tomas is Voldemort's son."
Instantly Harry's face turned into one of shock but he recovered quickly to shout, "WHAT?!" Tomas winced and focused straight ahead determined not to look at Harry. Dumbledore simply sighed again.
"I understand your shock Harry," He said, "but believe me Tomas can be trusted."
"But he's Voldemort's son!" Harry said.
"So that automatically makes me like him huh?" Tomas asked. "Even though I've never even met him?"
"How do we know that?" Harry said. "What if you've been in contact with him for years?"
"We know," Dumbledore said, "because after his mother Gabrielle Clark died giving birth to him Professor McGonagall and I brought Tomas to stay with Professor Snape where he has been ever since. And no matter what you may think of Professor Snape, Harry, he has made sure that Tomas has never been anywhere near Voldemort."
"But why is he here?" Harry asked.
"Because now that Voldemort is on the raise again," Dumbledore said, "he will do everything in his power to find Tomas so to keep trying to keep hidden is futile."
Harry was silent for a long time after Dumbledore had spoken and Tomas sighed. "You still don't trust me," He said. He turned to Harry his eyes narrowed in anger. "Do you think I'm happy that I'm Voldemort's son?" He said. "Well I'm not. I hate it. Who would ever want a murdering bastard like him for a father?"
Dumbledore made a small noise at Tomas's words and Tomas gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry for swearing sir," He said.
"It's alright," Dumbledore said, "I understand that you're just trying to get your point across. Still try to refrain yourself from the usage of swear words." Tomas nodded and turned back to Harry his face serious again.
"No matter what you think of me," He said, "please believe this. I hate Voldemort as much as you do. I don't even think of him as my father. Severus Snape will always hold that title for me."
"What he says is true Harry," Dumbledore said. "We can trust Tomas."
"Alright," Harry said. "I'll trust him." Tomas let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.
"Thanks," He said giving Harry a relieved smile.
"No problem," Harry smiled back. "Just don't go all Death Eater on me OK?"
"Like I'd ever want to," Tomas said pulling a face.
"Well now that everything is settled," Dumbledore said, "I think it would be wise to begin our lesson." He got to his feet and walked around the desk, past Harry and Tomas, who turned excitedly in their seats to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When he straightened up Tomas saw that he was holding a Pensive which he placed on the desk.
"You look worried Harry," He said. Tomas looked at Harry to see that Dumbledore was right. Harry did seem to be eyeing the stone basin with some apprehension although Tomas wasn't sure why.
Dumbledore on the other hand was smiling. "This time, you enter with Pensive with me…and, even more unusually, with permission," He said. Tomas raised an eyebrow at this but decided it was best to say nothing.
"Where are we going, sir?" Harry asked.
"For a trip down the Bob Ogden's memory lane," Dumbledore said, pulling from his pocket a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance.
"Bob Ogden?" Tomas said.
"He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore said. "He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you will stand, Harry, Tomas…"
But Dumbledore was having difficulty pulling the stopper of the crystal bottle with his injured hand.
Tomas exchanged an awkward look with Harry. "Shall—shall, I, sir?" Harry asked but Dumbledore shook his head.
"No matter, Harry—" He said. He pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew out.
"Sir—how did you injure your hand?" Harry asked.
"Now is not the moment for that story, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Not yet. We have an appointment with Bob Ogden."
Dumbledore tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the Pensive, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.
"After you," Dumbledore said, gesturing toward the bowl. Harry moved towards the Pensive, bent down, and plunged his face into the silvery substance leaving Tomas to follow suit.
He felt his feet leave the office floor; he was falling, falling through whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, he was blinking dazzling sunlight. Before his eyes had adjusted Dumbledore landed beside him.
They were standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a bright blue summer sky. Some then feet in front of them stood a short, plump man wearing enormously thick glasses that made his eyes look like two little specks. He was reading a wooden signpost that was sticking out of the brambles on the left-hand side of the road.
Tomas knew that this had to be Ogden—he was the only person in sight after all—and that he was trying to look like a muggle by wearing muggle clothing. He looked nothing like a muggle however from the way he was dressed.
After all what muggle did you see wearing a frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume? Not many that was for sure.
Ogden didn't give Tomas much time to look at him however as he set off briskly down the lane.
They followed him and as they passed the wooden sign, Tomas looked up at its two arms. The one pointing back the way they had come read: Great Hangleton, 5 miles, well the arm pointing after Ogden said, Little Hangleton, 1 mile.
They followed him until they came onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The path was crooked, rock, and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them. Sure enough, the track soon opened up at the woods, and they came to a halt behind Ogden, who had stopped and drawn his wand.
Despite the cloudless sky, the old trees ahead cast deep shadows, and it was a few seconds before Tomas's eyes discerned the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks. It seemed a very strange location for a house, or at least an odd decision to leave the trees growing nearby, blocking all light. Tomas couldn't help but wonder if anyone even lived in the place. The walls were covered in moss and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime.
"Seems like a nice place," Tomas said.
"Well it is the home of your grandmother," Dumbledore said. Tomas's head whipped towards Dumbledore so fast it hurt.
"What?!" He said. But Dumbledore was spared from answering as one of the windows of the house was through open with a clatter making Tomas direct his attention back at the house.
Ogden moved forward quietly and cautiously. As the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, he stopped again, staring at the front door, to which somebody had nailed a dead snake.
Then there was a rustle and a crack, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of Ogden, who leapt backward so fast he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.
"You're not welcome."
The man had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing and his small dark eyes stared in opposite directions. He might have looked comical, but he did not; the effect was frightening which was why Tomas didn't blame Ogden for taking several steps back before speaking.
"Er—good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic—"
"You're not welcome."
"Er—I'm sorry—I don't understand you," Ogden said nervously making Tomas think that the man had to be deaf. The man was making himself very clear in his opinion, particularly as he was brandishing a wand in one hand and a short rather bloody knife in the other.
"You understand him, I'm sure, Harry and Tomas?" Dumbledore said quietly.
"Yes, of course," Harry and Tomas said slightly confused. "Why can't Ogden—" But when their eyes found the dead snake on the door again, they suddenly understood.
"He's speaking Parseltongue?"
"Very good," Dumbledore said, smiling and nodding.
The man in rags was now advancing on Ogden, knife in one hand, wand in the other.
"Now, look—" Ogden began, but too late. There was a bang and Ogden was on the ground, clutching his nose, while a nasty yellowish goo squirted from between his fingers.
"Morfin!" said a loud voice. An elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. This man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned, his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong, which with his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face, gave him the look of a powerful, aged monkey. He came to a halt beside the man with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.
"Ministry, is it?" The older man said, looking down at Ogden.
"Correct!" Ogden said angrily, dabbing his face. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"
"S'right," Gaunt said. "Got you in the face, did he?"
"Yes he did!" Ogden snapped.
"Should've made your presence known, shouldn't you?" Gaunt said aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."
"Defend himself against what, man?" Ogden said, clambering back to his feet.
"Busybodies. Intruders. Muggles and filth."
Ogden pointed his wand at his own nose, which was still issuing large amounts of what looked like yellow pus, and the flow stopped at once. Gaunt spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Morfin.
"Get in the house. Don't argue."
This time, ready for it, Tomas recognized Parseltongue; even while he could understand what was being said, he distinguished the weird hissing noise that was all Ogden could hear.
Morfin seemed on the point of disagreeing, but when his father cast him a threatening look he changed his mind, lumbering away to the cottage in an odd rolling walk slamming the front door behind him, so that the snake swung sadly again.
"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said, as he mopped the last of the pus from the front of his coat. "That was Morfin, wasn't it?"
"Ar, that was Morfin," Gaunt said indifferently. "Are you pure-blood?" He asked, suddenly aggressive.
"That's neither here nor there," Ogden said coldly. Gaunt squinted into his face and muttered, in an offensive tone, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."
"I don't doubt it, if your son's been let loose on them," Ogden said. "Perhaps, we could continue this discussion inside?"
"Inside?" Gaunt echoed.
"Yes, Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said. "I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl—"
"I have no use for owls," Gaunt said. "I don't open letters."
"Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," Ogden said sharply. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning—"
"All right, all right, all right!" Gaunt bellowed. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"
The house seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly to it in Parseltongue:
"Hissy, hiss, little snakey,
Slither on the floor,
You be good to Morfin
Or he'll nail you to the door."
Tomas couldn't help but think that if he was that snake that he'd be running for the hills by now.
Suddenly however a scuffling noise in the corner attracted Tomas's attention making him realize that there was somebody else in the room. When he turned to see who it was he found a girl there whose ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother's, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but she seemed to be the most defeated-looking person Tomas had ever seen.
"M'daughter, Merope," Gaunt said grudgingly, as Ogden looked questioningly at her.
"Good morning," Ogden said. Merope didn't answer, but with a frightened glance at her father turned away from them and continued shifting the pots on the shelf behind her.
"Well, Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said, "to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, preformed magic in front of a Muggle late last night."
Ogden opened his mouth but Merope dropped one of the pots before he could speak making a deafening clang.
"Pick it up!" Gaunt shouted at her. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"
"Mr. Gaunt, please!" Ogden said. Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet, lost her grip on the pot again, drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two.
Morfin let out a mad cackle of laughter but Gaunt was not amused. "Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!" He screamed at her.
Merope stumbled across the room, but before she had time to raise her wand, Ogden had lighted his own and said firmly, "Reparo," making the pot mend itself instantly.
Gaunt looked for a moment as though he was going to shout at Ogden, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he jeered at his daughter, "Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs…"
Tomas found himself hating the man even more and wished that he was solid in this memory so that he could punch him in the face.
"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began again, "as I've said: the reason for my visit—"
"I heard you the first time!" Gaunt snapped. "And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him—what about it, then?"
"Morfin has broken Wizarding law," Ogden said sternly.
"'Morfin has broken Wizarding law,'" Gaunt imitated Ogden's voice, making it pompous and singsong so that Morfin cackled again. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that's illegal now, is it?"
"Yes," Ogden said. "I'm afraid it is." He pulled from an inside pocket a scroll of parchment and unrolled it.
"What that, then, his sentence?" Gaunt said, his voice rising angrily.
"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing—"
"Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"
"I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," Ogden said.
"And you think we're scum, do you?" Gaunt screamed, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. "Scum who'll come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?"
"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said, looking wary, but standing his ground.
"That's right!" Gaunt said. For a moment Tomas thought that Gaunt was flipping Ogden off, but then noticed the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger, as he waved it before Ogden's eyes. "See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"
"I've really no idea," Ogden said, blinking at the ring as it sailed within an inch of his nose, "and it's quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed—"
With a howl of rage, Gaunt ran toward his daughter. For a spilt second, Tomas thought in fear that he was going to strangle her as his hand flew to her throat, but it was only to grab a gold chain around her neck which he used to drag her toward Ogden.
"See this?" He bellowed at Ogden, shaking a heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.
"I see it, I see it!" Ogden said hastily.
"Slytherin's!" Gaunt yelled. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"
Something came back to Tomas suddenly when he heard those words. Snape had told him that Voldemort was descended from Salazar Slytherin himself.
And then it all came together.
Looking up at Dumbledore Tomas said, "Gaunt's my great-grandfather isn't he?" Dumbledore nodded.
"I knew you'd catch on soon enough," He said.
"So Merope is my…" Tomas said trailing off as he looked at the woman who was currently gasping for air.
"Your grandmother, yes," Dumbledore said.
Tomas now looked at Merope in a new light as Ogden cried out in alarm, "Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!" But Gaunt had already released Merope. She staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck, and gulping for air.
"So!" Gaunt said triumphantly as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all dispute. "Don't you go talking to us as if we're dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all—more than you can say, I don't doubt!"
And he spat on the floor at Ogden's feet. Morfin cackled again. Merope, huddled beside the window, her head bowed and her face hidden by her lank hair, said nothing.
"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said determinedly, "I am afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter in hand. I am here because of Morfin, Morfin and the Muggle he accosted late last night. Our information"—He glanced at the scroll of parchment—"is that Morfin performed a jinx or hex on the sad Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives."
Morfin giggled making his father snarl, "Be quiet, boy," at him Parseltongue so that he fell silent again.
"And so what if he did, then?" Gaunt said defiantly to Ogden. "I expect you've wiped the Muggle's filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot—"
"That's hardly the point, is it, Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless—"
"Ar, I had you marked out as a Muggle-lover the moment I saw you," Gaunt sneered, and he spat on the floor again.
"This discussion is getting us nowhere," Ogden said firmly. "It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He glanced down at his scroll of parchment again. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg—"
Ogden broke off. The jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices were drifting through the open window. Apparently the winding lane to the village passed very close to the woods where the house stood. Gaunt froze, listening, his eyes wide. Morfin hissed and turned his face toward the sounds, his expression hungry. Merope raised her head. Her face, Tomas saw, was starkly white.
"My god, what an eyesore!" rang out a girl's voice, as clearly audible through the open window as if she had stood in the room beside them. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"
"It's not ours," said a young man's voice. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village—"
The girl laughed. The jingling, clopping noises were growing louder and louder. Morfin made to get out of his armchair but his father snapped warningly at him in Parseltongue, "Keep your seat."
"Tom," The girl's voice said again, now so close they were clearly right beside the house, "I might be wrong—but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"
"Good lord, you're right!" The man's voice said. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling."
The jingling and clopping sounds grew fainter and fainter before disappearing all together.
"Darling," Morfin whispered in Parseltongue, looking at Merope. "'Darling,' he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway."
Merope turned so white at these words that Tomas was sure she was going to faint.
"What's that?" Gaunt said sharply, also in Parseltongue, looking from his son to his daughter. "What did you say, Morfin?"
"She likes looking at the Muggle," Morfin said, a vicious expression on his face as he stared at his sister, who now looked terrified. "Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? And last night—"
Merope shook her head jerkily, imploring her brother to stop, but he went on ruthlessly, "Hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she?"
"Hanging out of the window to look at a Muggle?" Gaunt said quietly and Tomas could tell that to him that this one of the most foulest things his daughter could be doing.
"Is it true?" Gaunt said in a deadly voice, advancing a step or two toward the terrified girl. "My daughter—pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin—hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?"
Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, seemingly to afraid to even speak.
"But I got him, Father!" Morfin cackled. "I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?"
"You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!" Gaunt roared, losing control, and his hands closed around his daughter's throat.
Tomas, Harry, and Ogden all yelled, "No!" at the same time. Ogden raised his wand and cried, "Relashio!" Gaunt was thrown backward, away from his daughter tripping over a chair and falling flat on his back. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his chair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand.
Ogden ran for his life. Dumbledore indicated that they ought to follow and Harry obeyed. Tomas however stood rooted to spot Merope's screams ringing in his ears wishing that he could somehow help him.
Suddenly however a hand grabbed his arm and Dumbledore said quietly, "Come now Tomas we must go."
"But Merope—" Tomas said.
"She will be fine trust me," Dumbledore said. "Now come." Tomas gave Merope a final look and obeyed following Dumbledore and Harry out of the cottage.
Ogden was hurtling up the path and erupting into the lane, his arms over his head, where he collided with the glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young man. Both he and the pretty girl riding on the gray horse beside him roared with laughter at the sight of Ogden, who bounced off the horse's flank and set off again, his frock coat flying up, covered head to foot in dust, running headlong up the lane.
But Tomas didn't spare Ogden much attention. He was too busy looking at the young man who looked scarily familiar. And how could he not? He did after all look so much like Tomas that it left little doubt in the boy's mind who he was.
"Tom Riddle Senior," He said quietly.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, "but I think that this will do." He took Harry and Tomas's elbows in either hand and tugged. Next moment, they were both soaring weightlessly through darkness, until they landed squarely on their feet, back in Dumbledore's now twilit office.
Tomas rounded on Dumbledore at once. "What happened to Merope?" He demanded as Dumbledore lit extra lamps with a flick of his wand.
"She survived," Dumbledore said, reseating himself behind his desk and indicating that Harry and Tomas should do the same. "Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage, and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several employees in addition to Ogden received six months."
"Marvolo?" Harry repeated wonderingly.
"That's right," Dumbledore said, smiling in approval. "I am glad to see you're keeping up."
"That old man—?"
"My great-grand father, yes," Tomas said. "Which is why I have his name for a middle name I'm guessing?" Not that I'm practically proud of it, He thought.
Dumbledore nodded. "Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope were the last of the Gaunts," He said, "a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."
"So Merope," Harry said, leaning forward in his chair and staring at Dumbledore, "so Merope was…"
"My grandmother," Tomas said quietly with a nod. Now Harry understood why Tomas hadn't wanted to leave the cottage when Merope was being attacked.
"And we also had a glimpse of Tomas's grandfather as well," Dumbledore said. "I wonder whether you noticed?"
"The Muggle Morfin attacked?" Harry said. "The man on the horse?"
"Very good indeed," Dumbledore said, beaming. "Yes, that was Tom Riddle Senior, the handsome Muggle who used to go riding past the Gaunt cottage and for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion."
"And they ended up married?" Harry said in disbelief and Tomas didn't blame him. He couldn't think of two people less likely to fall in love either.
"I think you are forgetting," Dumbledore said, "that Merope was a witch. I do not believe that her magical powers appeared to their best advantage when she was being terrorized by her father. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then, I am sure, she was able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years.
"Can you not think of any measure Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead.
"The Imperious Curse?" Harry suggested.
"Or a love potion?" Tomas added.
"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Personally, I am inclined to think that she used a love potion. I am sure it would have seemed more romantic to her, and I do not think it would have been very difficult, some hot day, when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of the scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter Merope.
"But the villagers' shock was nothing to Marvolo's. He returned from Azkaban, expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal ready on his table. Instead, he found a clear inch of dust and her not of farewell explaining what she had done.
"From all that I have been able to discover, he never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death—or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself. Azkaban had greatly weakened Marvolo, and he did not live to see Morfin return to the cottage."
"And Merope?" Harry said. "She…she died, didn't she? Wasn't Voldemort brought up in an orphanage?"
"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore said. "We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened. You see, within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumor flew around the neighborhood that he was talking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment that had now lifted, though I daresay he did not dare use those precise words for fear of being thought insane. When they heard what he was saying, however, the villagers guessed that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was going to have his baby, and that he had married her for this reason."
"But she did have his baby," Tomas said.
"But not until a year after they were married," Dumbledore said. "Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant." Nice guy, Tomas thought his dislike for the man growing.
"What went wrong?" Harry asked. "Why did the love potion stop working?"
"Again, this is guesswork," Dumbledore said, "but I believe that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son."
Tomas filled with anger at these words and he gritted his teeth together. It was official now. He loathed his grandfather.
"I think that will do for tonight, Harry," Dumbledore said after a moment or two.
"Yes, sir," Harry said. He got to his feet with Tomas, but didn't leave even as Tomas turned to go.
"Sir…is it important to know all this about Voldemort's past?" He asked.
"Very important, I think," Dumbledore said.
"Sir, am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you've told me?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore considered him for a moment, then said, "Yes, I think Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. But Harry, I am going to ask you to ask them not to repeat this to anybody else. It would not be good if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort's secrets."
"No, sir," Harry said, "I'll make sure it's just Ron and Hermione."
"I'm guessing I'm to say nothing to my friends then?" Tomas asked.
"I'm afraid so, Tomas," Dumbledore said. "Instead simply tell them that I am training you and Harry in advanced magic."
"But won't they wonder when Harry can't do the advanced magic?" Tomas asked. This question brought a small smile to Dumbledore's lips.
"Ah, but he will be able to," He said.
"What do you mean—" Tomas said but then he paused realization dawning on him. "You want me to teach him," He said.
"Yes I do," Dumbledore said. "It is clear to me after all that thanks to your father's teaching that you have already far surpassed your peers in magical ability." Tomas nodded.
"Alright," He said. "I'll teach him."
"Good," Dumbledore said. "How does every Sunday night at seven? You can use the Room of Requirement?"
"The Room of what?" Tomas asked confused.
"Harry will show you what it is," Dumbledore said with a mysterious smile.
"Alright…" Tomas said raising his eyebrows but saying nothing. Then his face shifted to a nervous one.
"Um…sir your not going to tell anyone else that I'm Voldemort's son right?" he asked.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Dumbledore said. Tomas let out a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, sir," He said.
"Your welcome," Dumbledore said giving the boy a small smile. His smile vanished however when he turned to look seriously at Harry. "The same goes for you Harry," He said. "Do not tell anyone about Tomas's true heritage."
"Of course not," Harry said.
"Not even Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger," Dumbledore added. Harry hesitated but nodded saying, "Yes, sir."
"Good," Dumbledore smiled. "Now off the bed the two of you." The boys nodded and turned to away again. They were almost to the door when they stopped both seeing the same thing.
Sitting on one of the little spindle-legged tables, that supported so many frail-looking silver instruments, was an ugly gold ring set with a large, cracked, black stone.
"Sir," Harry said, staring at it. "That ring—"
"Yes?" Dumbledore said.
"You were wearing it when we visited Professor Slughorn that night," Harry said.
"So I was," Dumbledore agreed.
"But isn't it…" Tomas said, "sir, isn't it the same ring Marvolo Gaunt shoved Ogden?" Dumbledore bowed his head.
"The very same," He said.
"But how come—?" Harry asked. "Have you always had it?"
"No, I acquired it very recently," Dumbledore said. "A few days before I came to fetch you from your and uncle's, in fact."
"That would be around the time you injured your hand, then, sir?" Harry asked. Dumbledore simply smiled and Tomas couldn't help but ask.
"Sir, how exactly—?"
"Too late, Tomas! You shall hear the story another time. Good night."
"Good night, sir," Harry and Tomas replied before turning and finally leaving the room.