Castle of Glass

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Eleven

Bring Me Home in a Blinding Dream

Silverware clanked against porcelain plates as the Potter family sat having pancakes for breakfast. Around them frying pans, pots and ingredients swooshed around, cleaning up and putting themselves back onto their proper places. Broken eggshells and spilled flour were swept up onto a shovel by an erratically sweeping broom and thrown into the filled-to-the-rim garbage bag, that knotted itself together and swooshed towards the back door, letting it out to be swallowed by the trash bin outside.

Walter Potter was telling his family about an odd case he'd worked on for the last couple of days at the ministry.

"And then, when I got there, as it turned out, the poor old fart had turned the cat into a mouse trap. No wonders he couldn't find it!" he exclaimed, widely grinning, arms lively helping telling the tale. His family laughed loudly with him. "So I couldn't help but point out to the man, at least the poor creature was still doing its job – catching mice!" And the Potters laughed merrily again.

Harry had the time of his life, sitting doing something as normal as having breakfast with his family. He'd gotten what he'd always wanted – and he loved it. Every single second of it.

He'd been home for about a week now and wouldn't have it any other way. But, as expected, he'd started to miss his best friend. The days seemed empty somehow without Tom there to try and boss him around, whisper things in their private language of parseltongue or engage him in one argument or another. It got lonely, and he hadn't been able to send him a lot of letters either since there were too many muggles in London who could start wondering if an owl came flying in and out of the same window each and every day.

Nevertheless, he had sent a few letters, and they'd eventually reached a decision regarding when to meet up. Harry suspected that his friend had started to miss him too, although he most certainly would be caught dead before he admitted anything of the sort.

But he'd sent his address, at last, and Walter would be taking Harry there today, right after breakfast. The excitement had made him choke down his pancakes record time, anxious to get on his way, which hadn't been so smart when he thought about it later, since he'd still have to wait for the others to finish their portions before he would be excused. This family-thing was complicated, he privately thought sometimes, unused as he was to their conventions and traditions.

But finally, they were all done and Nicole looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, showing it was almost ten am. "Well then," she said, smiling at her new little family member, "you better get going. We'll come pick you up again at six, alright? Leonard and his family are coming over for dinner tonight, remember?"

Harry and Walter were soon on their way, travelling by apparition into one of the run down suburbs of London, appearing next to a gigantic industry building, smoke billowing out from out of enormous, brown, cigar-like chimneys.

Following the dull asphalt road into more civilized areas they soon came to stand in front of the building which had the correct address. It was made out of nothing but bricks, square in shape and surrounding it was a wall of railings, as if the owners wanted to keep something dangerous out – or in...

Harry followed his father as he confidently stepped through the grand gates, with a sign over them which read "Wool's Orphanage", and stood close to him as Walter rapped sharply onto the front door. Harry had a look around as they waited and found his surroundings very discouraging. Did people actually live here? It looked like the ghost town of Cokeworth that Snape had led him through about a year ago. Run down without many signs of life. The courtyard inside the fence was entirely made out of gravel and completely void of people.

Just when Harry started having doubts about them having the right address after all the door opened up, the head of a skinny, sharp featured woman sticking out, a deep frown on her forehead. She took one look at Walter's maroon outer-robe and acquired a look of wonder, softening her jawline a little.

"Another one," she muttered to herself before opening up the door a bit wider and straightening up. "Yes?" she snapped out a little louder.

"Walter Potter," Harry's father introduced himself calmly, grasping the woman's thin pale hand in a firm grip.

"Anna Cole," the woman replied and narrowed her eyes onto Harry, making him draw back slightly in discomfort.

"This is my son," Walter said, noticing where her eyes went, "Harry. He has come to visit Tom for the day. Tom Riddle, that is. I'm sure he's expected?"

Mrs Cole's eyes narrowed even further, her face wrinkling horribly, making her look 20 years older. "He's here for Riddle?" she asked slowly, sneering badly. "What has that misfortune cooked up this time, I wonder? No, we were not expecting any visits today, Mr Potter."

"I see," Walter said, putting a comforting hand onto Harry's shivering shoulder. "Well then, as we have come all this way, perhaps we might as well come in?"

Mrs Cole looked indecisive for a moment, casting glances behind her, before meeting the firm gaze of the man on the other side of the threshold bravely. "Might as well," she agreed and stepped aside, letting them in.

Inside they found themselves in a narrow hallway, a steep staircase to the left leading up to another level of the building, where faint cries of an infant could be heard. The scrawny woman in her patchy old dress led them into a sitting room at the end of the hall, passing by a small kitchen and thereafter a dining hall on the way. Everything inside the building was clean but worn out. Even the yellowing tapestries covering the walls seemed on the brink of giving up.

In the sitting room they found the first sign this was actually a place housing children. Eleven of them, of varying age, playing quietly or reading to themselves. They were all dressed in the same sort of grey pyjamas-like garments – having an eerie resemblance to the kind of clothing the muggles made their prisoners wear, Harry thought.

He caught sight of Tom immediately, and the other pierced him with a look as well, casting furious glances towards Walter as if asking what on earth he was doing there.

"Riddle!" Mrs Cole snapped, and Tom hurried forwards to come stand as close to Harry as he could. The boys grasped hands discretely behind their backs.

"Yes, madam?" he said in a polite tone, not looking up from the floor in show of submission.

"What is the meaning of this?" she snapped, grasping Tom's upper arm in a grip that couldn't be anything else than painful. The hand in Harry's gripped tighter.

Before anything else could happen, Walter cleared his throat and looked Mrs Cole sternly in the eyes. "May I have a word, madam? In the kitchen, perhaps?"

The two adults made themselves scarce and Tom pulled Harry with him to a secluded corner in the room, housing a tattered leather sofa. "Why is he here?" he hissed out once they'd sat themselves down.

"Well, he brought me here, didn't he," Harry hissed back, swallowing against a heavy lump in his throat. What was this place? "It's apparently what parents do when their kids want to visit someone. They wouldn't let me come on my own."

"Maybe you should've tried harder, then." Tom seemed shaken beneath the surface, uncertain, out of control as he'd just been forced into sharing some of his darkest secrets with Harry's father against his will. And Harry knew exactly how much his control freak of a friend loathed being left without a choice.

"So... this is your home?" Harry murmured softly in the privacy of Parseltongue. Tom looked affronted at that and snatched his hand away roughly.

"Of course not," he hissed, glaring at the group of children playing with dolls in the other corner of the room. "Hogwarts is my home. This – well, this is just where I live... It's nothing."

Harry understood every single word. "I get it," he reassured. "Remember what I told you of the Dursleys? It was the same – I lived with them, but it wasn't home."

The two boys didn't say anything but just sat next to each other in the sofa, waiting for whatever was going on in the kitchen to play out. At one point a woman, who looked younger than Mrs Cole, came down from upstairs, carrying a baby in her arms, singing a lullaby and rocking it gently to sleep.

"She seems alright," Harry murmured but Tom only sneered in disagreement.

"She's weak, just like the rest of them. They can't do nothing. They try and act all mighty, but as soon as he comes back they shrink into what they really are – women. Useless women."

"Who's he?" Harry asked carefully, choosing not to pick a fight by correcting Tom on his view on women, just this once.

"Mr Cole, he's..." the other said, snapping his mouth shut as the door to the kitchen flew open and a furious looking Walter stepped outside, scanning over the sitting room before finding where his son was seated.

"Come on, we're leaving," he declared in a short tone and waved for the boys to come closer.

"But, we just got here," Harry said, trying not to sound whiny. "I wanted to be with Tom."

"Tom is coming with us, Harry," Walter said, narrowing his eyes on Mrs Cole, who stood leaning against the kitchen door frame, arms crossed over her flat chest. "Go on, run upstairs and pack."

Harry hurried to drag his stunned friend up the steep staircase and into a dark hallway, lined with door after door – probably with little bedrooms behind them. "Where's yours?" he asked softly. Tom took the lead and walked up a second set of stairs, through the first door of the corridor and into a narrow little room without much in it. There was a bed, a rickety chair and a closet. In the corner stood Tom's second hand Hogwarts trunk. On the chair, used as a bedside table, lay last year's potions textbook, one page marked with a slip of paper, working as a bookmark. Harry noticed it was one of his letters.

Tom emptied the closet in one go, nothing much in it, toed on his worn, brown shoes and put the potions book into the trunk before closing it. They helped each other carrying it down the stairs and were soon standing at ground floor, panting heavily. Mrs Cole pierced them with a narrow glare and the woman with the baby looked at them in wonder.

"Has he been adopted, then?" she asked in a high pitched tone.

Nobody answered her as Walter simply ushered the boys outside and grabbed hold of the trunk to pull it outside himself.

Harry couldn't help thinking of that one time when a grown man had come pulling his trunk outside, taking him with him as a sour looking woman stood watching from inside.

"So, this is your room," Tom stated in a level voice, sitting on Harry's fluffy bed, looking around with a sceptical frown on his forehead.

"Yeah," Harry said lamely from his perch by the door frame, not really knowing what to do with himself, nervous for some reason. "You like it?"

"It's red," Tom deadpanned, "and I figured it'd be bigger... But I guess it's alright."

Harry let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relieved for some reason that his best friend didn't hate his room. He sat down next to Tom on the bed, feeling like he could finally relax – being at home again and having his much missed friend with him.

"What now?" Tom asked in a slightly bored tone of voice, as if he didn't really care either way.

"I don't know," Harry confessed. "I reckon Dad's gonna go figure stuff out at the ministry, and well, you'll stay here in the meantime... But, I don't have a clue as to anything else."

"Alright," Tom said and stood up to waltz around the room, pulling out drawers and searching through every little cranny he could find where there could be things to explore. Harry watched him with an amused smile on his lips, but didn't say anything to interrupt him.

"What were you about to tell me about Mr Cole, back at the... there... You were about to say something, but then Walter- I mean, Dad came out from the kitchen..."

Tom halted in his search for a couple of seconds, before continuing as if nothing had happened. "I don't know what I was going to say," he claimed in a bored drawl.

"No, but you said: 'Mr Cole, he's...', and then what?" Harry pressed impatiently.

Tom sighed deeply and glared at the pictures of the Potter families hanging on the wall, waving cheerfully at him. "Mr Cole is the husband of Mrs Cole... Obviously. He's a factory worker who leaves home early in the morning, comes back late at night and gets drunk in the weekends. He's nothing special. Inferior, actually, just a Muggle."

"Oh, so he's the one that raised you, then? Along with his wife and that other woman?"

"Martha," Tom said in a cold voice, turning around to face Harry, his eyes flashing with contempt. "Yes, he raised me alright! Taught me good, didn't he? Let me know what a low life I was, how little I mattered, how insignificant I was to the bigger picture. I could just go die somewhere and no-one would care, couldn't I? He could just lock me up in my room and no-one would come for me. No-one.

"You know, sometimes when I was younger, I tried to defend myself, to preserve what little sense of self I had left. But he outmatched me – he outmatched everyone, even his wife. I'd hear them sometimes, through the walls. How he beat her. And I knew she was weak – she couldn't do nothing. She couldn't save me either. Nobody could.

"I went through my entire childhood, sure he'd lose it someday and simply kill me. Just like that. Without warning. Because I was always singled out. Out of all the children at... there, I was never let out. He made sure of it. Made sure I was never adopted – said I was like a son to him and that he wouldn't let me go. And I couldn't hurt him. I don't know why, I could hurt everybody else, not him. It's mental! The one person I really needed to defend myself against, and I can't!"

Tom's rant came out in cascades, running faster and faster over his tongue, as if someone had opened up a dam which had held in all emotions and thoughts for years and years. But he didn't cry – he was angry, disgusted, hurt, affronted, uncertain.

Harry couldn't take it any more, but flew from the bed and enclosed Tom into a tight embrace, efficiently stopping the flood of words, only laboured breathing remaining in its wake. Shivering arms came up to clutch back around his waist, a chin leaning itself against his right shoulder.

"It's over now, you're not going back there. Ever. I promise," Harry said in a soft voice, patting his friend's back with gentle strokes. Tom simply nodded against his shoulder, letting out a deep breath.

"You can cry, you know, I won't mind. It'll feel better if you do."

"I don't cry," Tom claimed in a steady, although a tad bit thick, voice.

"What, you've never cried? Come on," Harry said in a slightly teasing tone.

"Barely even when I was a baby," Tom claimed completely tonelessly, making Harry believe him instantly, although it seemed impossible. He held on even more fiercely, his heart aching for the pains his best friend had had to endure throughout his entire childhood. Troubles even far more severe than Harry's own.

"Alright," he said and the other relaxed completely in his hold, not letting go.

"... and that horrendous woman actually had the guts to smile when I declared I was taking the boy. I couldn't see clearly it made me so angry! Nearly cursed her to the floor, I did."

It was evening and the Potters plus Tom sat at the kitchen table, having dinner. They had had to conjure a few stools to add to the usual set of six, the new ones close replicas of the real ones – only with the habit of giving a start once in a while, resulting in lots of spilled drinks and forks of food ending up in laps and on the floor.

The adults and Charlus were engaged in a furious argument over what had transpired that morning, all agreeing that Walter had done the right thing in snatching the boy away from that horrible place where no child should be forced to grow up, let alone a magical one.

Harold had a deep frown on his forehead, following the conversation closely, snapping his head from one side to the other to look at the one speaking at the moment. Lora was sitting casting sympathetic looks at Tom, nodding importantly whenever one of the adults made a particularly strong point.

Tom himself was sitting next to Harry, as close as he could so that their shoulders touched, staring down at his plate with a neutral expression, not uttering a word. Now and again he'd hiss under his breath, in the language only his friend could understand, how much he wanted the others to mind their own bloody business, how he didn't need nor want their help and that he definitely wasn't a helpless child.

Harry was sitting in the midst of it all, feeling a bit out of it, understanding exactly how his best friend felt at the moment but at the same time wanting nothing more than to help the others help him.

"But you went to the ministry today, did you not? What did they tell you?"

"Bah, those bastards – can't do anything properly, I tell you! Stood in line in the Muggle Liaison Office for just about two hours, and then I got to speak to the lovely Wanda Knob who told me, quite literally, they were busy at the moment, but would make sure to do their best and get back to me in a few weeks."

"Weeks?"

"That's outrageous!"

"But did you tell her properly of the severity of the situation?"

"I told her, alright. And she seemed rather interested too, at first, before I told her of his last name. That had her turning her nose up, bloody purist!"

"What, so she didn't help him because he wasn't a Pure-blood?"

"Oh, but that's horrible!"

Harry could feel his friend tensing at his side, hissing viciously at being treated poorly, not only because he was a minor, also because of his heritage. Or, perhaps more accurately, lack thereof.

"So what do we do now?"

"But of course he'll stay here – for as long as he needs and wants to."

"Yes, but else than that? He needs a proper home, just like anyone else."

There was a heavy silence as they all contemplated the situation. Aunt Katherine pierced Tom with a narrow-eyed look.

"What do you know of your parents, boy?"

Tom looked up slowly, putting on an act of being nervous and vulnerable. "Not much," he said softly. "My mother died just after giving birth, but I don't know anything of my father. Only, I was named after him. His name was also Tom Riddle."

"Tom Riddle, you said?" she gasped, meeting the surprised eyes of her husband over the table. "I don't suppose it could be a relation to that Thomas Riddle in Little Hangleton, could it? That squire Muggle in that lavish mansion? Didn't he and Mary have a son named Tom?"

"It all fits," Uncle Leonard agreed. "I've met that old chap a few times – he looks a lot like you, son, only much older of course. Never seen his kid though."

"No, but wasn't he called in to serve in the Muggle war about a year ago?" Harry's aunt and uncle looked at each other in silence for what felt like hours, and then arose as one.

"We'll go have a chat with them. I'm sorry to cut this lovely dinner short," Aunt Katherine said, kissing Nicole's both cheeks farewell, and waving for her children to come along. They all left in a frenzy, and soon Harry and Tom were left alone in the kitchen, the others standing on the porch waving the guests goodbye. The conjured stools disappeared one by one with hollow 'pops'.

"So, he's been alive, all this time, and hasn't bothered to come for me," Tom hissed out, throwing his fork over the table and into the kitchen-sink, it landing with a loud clank amongst the rest of the dishes, water and foam splashing down the counter and landing next to a dropped sausage on the floor.

"Perhaps he didn't know," Harry said carefully and got a nasty glare in return. That was when Harold returned to the room, looking like he had a lot of energy to spare, but not knowing what to do about it.

"Hey, wanna go swim? There's a lake not ten minutes from here. We can take the brooms!"

Next morning, as they sat having breakfast, there was a muffled cracking sound from outside before the front door flew open and an excited looking Uncle Leonard barged inside, followed by his ever graceful wife.

"Morning!" he exclaimed with a grin, taking a seat next to his brother and stealing a bite out of the other's half-eaten sandwich. "Yesterday was a huge success!"

"I wouldn't call it that," Aunt Katherine disagreed, conjuring a chair and sitting down as well. "The butler almost sent the dogs after us, thinking we were some con artists plotting to press the gentry on money."

"Yes, alright, but after that-" Uncle Leonard argued but was interrupted instantly.

"After that we got to meet the lovely Thomas and Mary Riddle, beautiful looks of disgust on their faces, oh they were just wonderful, weren't they?"

"I see your point, dear," her husband coaxed gently, shooting her an amused glance, "but you have got to agree the lad was all we could wish for – definitely your father, Tom, he looks just like you."

"Yes," Aunt Katherine drawled, her nostrils flaring slightly. "But hardly all we could wish for, dear, the man is a cripple!"

"For good reasons, love, he's a war hero!"

Aunt Katherine only snorted her disagreement, but kept her peace, curling the corners of her mouth upwards into a small smirk, murmuring about stupid Muggles who couldn't even heal themselves properly.

"So you found them then?" Nicole breathed out, a look of relief on her heart shaped face. "Will they take him?"

"Oh they will!" Uncle Leonard said, grinning widely. "The lad was overjoyed he had a son – had no clue! Thought he'd go child-less because of his... condition... Well, he's very excited to see you, son." He winked conspiratorially to Tom, who didn't change his stony expression one bit, but only watched dispassionately as everything played out in front of him.

The boys were ushered upstairs to get dressed and soon stood in the hallway, dressed in Harry's clothes, as they thankfully were still the exact same size. Aunt Katherine looked over her nose down at her nephew, raising her brows in question.

"And what do you think you are doing, young man?"

Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't find any words. He wasn't allowed to join them?

"He's coming with me," Tom declared and grasped his hand in a claiming grip, challenging the stern woman to disagree.

"Really?" Aunt Katherine drawled, looking unimpressed. "And why is that? Leonard and I are only taking you there, after all. Don't you want to meet your family in private?"

"Harry is the only family I need," Tom said tonelessly, no expression on his face what so ever. Harry felt his heart clench at the confession, and allowed himself to ignore his own scepticism on them being related, just this once. He tightened the hold on Tom's hand instead.

Aunt Katherine looked surprised beyond words, but Uncle Leonard only chuckled happily, slamming his hand onto Tom's right shoulder. "Hey, cut them some slack, pumpkin, let him come if that's what they want." And with that he led the two boys outside, his wife following a few steps behind.

He pulled Harry through a side along apparition, while Aunt Katherine took Tom, and they soon found themselves a few paces up the road from the couple's house in Little Hangleton. A well kept gravel road led out of the village and onto a hill, where a grand mansion could be seen. The group of four headed that way.

It took them five minutes to walk all the way there, and two extra to walk up the pathway to the house itself – the garden was that big. It consisted of a velvety green lawn, well trimmed bushes and an alley of maple trees lining the pathway up to the house. Near the gates stood something that looked like a stable as well as smaller houses, which were possibly inhabited by servants, Harry thought. Surrounding the mansion was, on one side, a great forest, on the other billowing meadows and pastures, where gallant horses grazed peacefully.

The mansion itself was very handsome, made in cream white bricks and a copper roof, green in colour due to age. Ivy climbed up the façade, sometimes invading the great glass windows, no doubt letting in a generous amount of sunlight into the great halls inside.

As Aunt Katherine took her first footstep onto the lowest step of the stairs leading to the front porch, it opened up and a thick set, tailcoat clad man stepped outside, holding it open for them.

"You are expected," he explained in a cold drawl, apparently not overjoyed by having to invite commoners into his masters' home. Aunt Katherine didn't bother acknowledging him at all, but simply stepped past and inside, while Uncle Leonard smiled at the balding old man and said, "Good day!" in a chirpy tone.

The witch seemed to know where she was going, as she simply scurried forwards, leading them into a brightly lit sitting room, furnished lavishly in soft creamy colours. Clearly a place for rich people, all the rooms they passed had electric lamps hanging from the ceiling. Harry thought he could actually spot a telephone in the corner of one room as well. This family obviously kept up with the trends and new inventions.

As they all came to stand inside the grand room, they caught sight of three Muggles, two of whom immediately arose to their feet, the third one stuck in a wheelchair. Harry almost did a double-take as he laid eyes on the sitting man, he looked so familiar. Exactly like Tom – from the slim body shape to the deep green of the eyes. Only, naturally, much older.

The other man looked older still, but also with looks similar to Tom's, just not as spot-on as those of the other. The woman was thin, stern looking with a lot of wrinkles, her grey hair rolled up into handsome curls sitting in a neat hairdo, some strands flowing down her straight back.

"Mr Potter, Mrs Potter," she greeted, her husband nodding shortly to the visitors from behind her.

"Good day," Aunt Katherine said, the Riddles sneering at the lack of manners, but the witch seemed unbothered and only smirked unkindly at them. She obviously did not like them in the least.

"Where is my son?" came the sharp, slightly shaking voice from Tom Sr, the wheelchair making a squeaky noise as it rolled forwards, enabling the anxious looking man to catch sight of the shorter visitors.

"There's two of them?" he gasped out, piercing both boys with a hungry look that was oh so familiar to Harry, having seen it on Tom's face plenty of times.

"No," Uncle Leonard said with a tense smile, laying a protective hand onto Harry's left shoulder. "This is Harry, my nephew. The other one is Tom, your son."

"My son," the other rasped out, a shaky hand covering his mouth protectively as the dark green eyes roamed over Tom's body.

"They look much alike," Lord Thomas pointed out, hawk-like eyes snapping between the two boys in front of them. Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Don't they?" Uncle Leonard agreed, smile broadening. "A mysterious coincidence, I assure you."

The two elders narrowed their eyes suspiciously, as if they found everything mysterious far from desirable. Tom Sr, on the other hand, didn't seem to listen but only looked at his son with watery eyes, as if he couldn't have enough of him. "...closer," he rasped out and cleared his throat discreetly behind the hand. "Come closer, son," he said in a more steady voice.

Tom stiffened further and quickly snatched hold of Harry's hand, pulling him with as he stepped closer to the wheeled man. Harry was deeply surprised at first Tom would want to hold his hand through the whole thing – but didn't cork up his mental champagne just yet as he suspected the other was simply keeping tabs on him as per usual, the tight grip disabling him from leaving until Tom himself deemed it alright for him to do so.

They soon stood at the side of the wheelchair, Tom closest to his father, and was suddenly pulled into a tight hug, Tom Sr finally bristling and bursting out in tears, chanting "My son, my son, my son," over and over again. Tom stood stiffly bent into the embrace, but didn't move, only stared into the wall, clutching Harry's hand tightly.

The father eventually let go, only then noticing his son held hands with someone, and swapped his eyes over onto Harry for a second. "Harry, was it?" he asked in a thick voice, hand still roaming over Tom's back possessively.

"Yes," Harry said simply, smiling softly at him.

"And you are a friend of Tom's?"

"His best friend," he answered with a toothy grin, the other smiling in kin at him.

"I see," he said, holding out a hand for him to shake. "A pleasure to meet you, Harry. I'd ask you to call me Tom, but, I see it could be a tad bit confusing in this particular case."

A throat was cleared from behind them, and they turned around to see Lady Mary standing there, smiling an obviously faked smile. "Tom, dear, calm yourself. We have not agreed to anything yet. Why don't we all have a seat and talk this through properly, hm?"

"There is nothing to discuss, mother," Tom Sr stated in a calm tone, grasping a firm hold of his son's shoulder. "It is decided."

"Certainly not," Lord Thomas exclaimed a tad bit irritatedly, but also with a stiff smile supposed to look friendly on his lips. "Let's not make rash decisions."

"There is nothing rash about it, from my perspective," his son said, also sounding irritated by now.

"But, dear, you must understand! This boy might be your child, but all the same, his mother was... well... all but eligible," Lady Mary said in a shrill voice, sneering down at her grandchild as if he was some sort of vermin. Tom narrowed his eyes at her dangerously. So did his father.

"None of that matters, Mother. Don't you see? I have a son. A son! I don't care if he's been living on the streets in the care of a dog, he's mine. And I love him!"

"Now look here for a second," Lord Thomas hissed out, stepping closer in a threatening way. "You know what that bitch was like. What if he's just the same? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"

"No, it doesn't," Tom Sr agreed, looking his father straight in the eye. "And all the same, I don't care. I've been through war, I've seen the world fall, I've lost more than I could ever dream of. This boy is mine, and I'd be caught dead before I let go of him now that I've found him. He's staying."

A/N: Thank you so much for your continued support! After the last chapter I lost a bit of confidence, not really liking what I'd written since it seemed like an awful filler to me. But, I've gotten a lot of nice reviews and feel that's past me now. Hopefully, it's a case of me being my own worst judge and not a right out crappy chapter. Hope you liked this one. A lot's gonna happen in the next one!

Mischief managed!