His father's recovery had proceeded as expected, much to Tom's quiet relief, and it had come at last to be the final Sunday before Term resumed for another year. Tom hadn't taken his wand out again since the incident with the lamp-the servants had failed to find anything wrong with the wiring of the manor but they must have missed something as there was simply no other rational explanation for what had happened outside of a one in a million coincidence-and both father and son had taken large bites out of their respective unofficial reading assignments. Tom had finished the book on Natural History and moved on to an account of the Roman Empire and his father had made it half way through A History of Magic and was now a good third into Magical Drafts and Potions.
"Moondew: a flowering plant found in Scotland and possibly parts of Ireland. Its magical properties were discovered during the Middle Ages by a Druidess named Cliodra and its liquid form has uses in the Wiggenweld Potion, the Draught of Living Death and an Antidote to Common Poisons." He smirked at him over his cup of coffee. "Good morning, Junior."
"Good morning. In 75 BCE Pirates captured a Roman Prisoner who they ransomed for 12 talents despite his insistence that he was worth far more than that. They thought him eccentric and his promises to return and slaughter them all were ignored; it turned out that the man was in fact Julius Caesar, who soon after his released caught up with them along with the majority of the Roman fleet and had all of them crucified for piracy." Not the most pleasant breakfast conversation but what could one do? "May I open one of the windows, father? The supply list should be arriving this morning."
"You're welcome to open as many windows as you'd like, it is a bit stuffy in here." His father said. "The Wizarding Post comes through the window? How? Is it enchanted to fly?"
Tom smirked to himself as he pulled open one of the windows and leaned out over the sill, checking the sky for any signs of owls; a small smudge was faintly visible in the distance and approaching fast. He could tell them, but what would be the fun in that? "You'll see."
The look that he received was one of bemused exasperation but he didn't say anything further on the matter and Tom took his usual seat at the table, calmly beginning to enjoy his breakfast while waiting for the fireworks to start.
When the bird arrived, the young Wizard wasn't disappointed.
His grandmother shrieked in surprise, his grandfather let loose a string of swear words that would have made a sailor blush and, after catching on a brass dish and sending apples and oranges sailing in all directions, the exhausted barn owl face planted in a bowl of porridge with a muffled hoot. Righting itself quickly with globs of milled oats sticking to its feathers and an expression on its face usually reserved for felines that had failed to land on their feet it hopped the last few feet to Tom and promptly stuck out its leg.
"No wonder it came in for a crash landing," he glanced at the address on the letter as he untied it; rather than being filled out in typical fashion by the register, it was addressed to Tom Riddle: Wool's Orphanage in Dumbledore's unmistakable hand. "It went to the Orphanage first and then had to fly all the way here from London, no doubt after pecking the matron until she gave up my new location."
He set a cup of water in front of the wilting bird and watched it dip its curved beak in to drink as he slit the envelope open with his finger.
"Owls?" all three of them were staring at the owl in some degree of shock as it acted as if drinking from a cup was something perfectly natural for it to do. "Wizards use owls for the Post?"
"Most commonly." Tom wasn't about to reach out and stroke the feathers of an owl that he didn't know; he'd learned that hard lesson after the first time he'd ended up with a hole in his hand. "Though they're usually competent enough that they don't take out half the table."
The barn owl sent him a look which was really quite evil but Tom refused to be intimidated by a bird and ignored it, pulling the two pieces of folded parchment contained within the envelope out and unfolding them. He glossed over the unremarkable 'Dear Mr. Riddle, we are pleased to extend to you the invitation to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for your second year of magical schooling' without really taking in the words and turned his attention to the second instead.
"Is that your supply list, Tommy?" his grandmother asked, watching the owl peck at a plate of bacon with an expression of distaste; oatmeal and egg yolk footprints had been left across every dish in the bird's path. They certainly seemed to have been sent the most uncouth owl that he'd ever seen, so he couldn't fully fault her for doing so.
"It is." He passed the list to his father who quickly scanned the contents as well. "The Standard Book of Spells Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk, A History of Magic Volume II by Bathilda Bagshot, Magical Theory Volume II by Adalbert Waffling, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration Volume II by Emeric Switch, One Thousand Herbs and Fungi Volume II by Phyllida Spore, Magical Drafts and Potions Volume II by Arsenius Jigger, and The Looming Darkness and Your Best Defense Against It by Cassiopeia Gallows." He looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Nothing but books?"
"All of the other supplies that were needed for our magical education-pewter brewing cauldrons, dragon hide gloves etcetera-were included in the first year supply list. As were pets."
"And you bought all of that second hand with a scholarship fund of some form, I presume?"
Tom nodded. "Everything except my wand, yes."
"Make a list of all of it; we'll be replacing everything that's second hand aside from the books you no longer need."
"Yes, father."
"You didn't buy a pet when you got your supplies for first year; why don't you take Monai and Zahhak to school with you?"
"The listed 'allowed' pets are cats, owls and toads." Tom ducked in his seat to avoid being cuffed by the owl's left wing as it flew back out the window. "Where there isn't really any set rules about bringing something else as long as it isn't dangerous to the other students, snakes aren't viewed well by the magical community. Nor are Parselmouths, really. And I don't want to give Dumbledore anymore ammunition to throw at me."
At the mention of the older Wizard his father's lips thinned to a hard line, his eyes taking on the hue of an arctic sky. "Yes, that would likely be the wisest course of action." He said. "We'll get you an owl."
Cats might have been the most 'normal' pet on the list but owls were by far the most useful for their ability to act as a messenger; Tom couldn't help but feel pride that his father had come to such a conclusion so quickly despite being a Muggle.
"I'll get one for us as well; it'll be best that we both have a method close at hand of staying in touch while you're in Scotland." Tom Senior took another drink of his coffee. "We'll leave at around noon tomorrow, check into The Leaky Cauldron that night and then start shopping the next day."
"There's a faster way to get to London." He said, finishing up the last bites of his meal. "We can take the bus."
"Tommy, dear, no buses stop in Little Hangleton."
"The Knight Bus stops everywhere; I've never ridden it myself but from what I've overheard it only takes around twenty to thirty minutes to reach London from anywhere in the British Isles if you catch it."
"You could make millions with a service like that." His grandfather said. "I assume that this 'Knight Bus' is a method of magical transport."
"It is. Supposedly all 'stranded' Witches and Wizards-adults can Apparate by their own power so I don't see how a Witch or Wizard could ever be stranded in the first place but I digress-has to do to call the bus is to hold out their wand arm. And it shouldn't cost more than seventeen Sickles to get to London, which is the equivalent of about five pounds in Muggle currency."
"Only five pounds?"
"More like four ninety seven to be painfully exact but yes."
His grandfather huffed. "Rates like that, and that efficient? Would revolutionize commuting. A shame that it's inaccessible to non-magical people. What a business opportunity that would be."
"Yes, well, while your grandfather holds out a conversation with his newspaper about the merits of a wide spread and fully accessible line of magical buses why don't you and I have a walk in the garden, Junior?"
His father had risen from his seat at the table; Tom looked up at him and nodded before rising as well.
"So we'll be taking the Knight Bus then, father?"
"There's no reason not to if it's really so much faster; taking the car would just be wasting a day." He said. "Do they take Muggle currency?"
"I don't see why they shouldn't." Zahhak was stretched out on a flat stone and hissed a lazy greeting as they emerged into the garden. Rogan was asleep under a box wood bush, only his tail visible outside the glossy dark green leaves. Tom fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve and averted his gaze to the sweet smelling butterfly bush they were passing by. "Father, I've been meaning to ask: since we're going to be going to Gringotts to exchange money regardless, I was wondering if you could, if it's possible for you to do so, become my legal guarding in the Magical world as well? I think it's currently Dumbledore since he's the one who 'introduced me to the community' but I'd really rather it be you."
"If that's what you want, Junior, and they allow me I'd be glad to." Over the course of his stay at his family's manor Tom had slowly been getting used to the casual affectionate touches that he'd often receive, and now found it difficult not to subconsciously lean into the hand his father used to comb imaginary tangles out of his hair. "They don't mistreat you at Hogwarts, do they?"
Blue eyes peered up at him questioningly, meeting with a concerned grey gaze; Tom Senior had come to a stop beneath the shade of a drooping willow tree about halfway between the manor and the far edge of the garden. Tom's head only came up to about halfway up his father's chest.
"When we first met, you were in tears and I know from what the Matron told me that you'd just returned from school. I didn't want to ask before because I felt you weren't comfortable enough to answer at the time but I was hoping that now you'd be more willing to discuss it."
He knew that his father was only asking out of genuine concern, that nothing he said would be taken as weakness or something to be used against him in the future, but it was still difficult for Tom to make himself speak. "Aside from Dumbledore, the Professors all treat me professionally. Many are quite fond of me, actually."
"And the other students?"
Tom shook his head and shifted closer. "I'm in a…uniquely unfortunate position." He spoke delicately, as if the words were formed from broken glass. "Like I said, serpents and Parselmouths-like my ancestor, the founder of my House-are looked down as Dark and evil and are heavily mistrusted by the Magical community at large. So are the members of Snake House in general. And many of those within Slytherin-over ninety five percent of them-are either descended of Pureblood families or have a magical name to protect them from too much scrutiny: they're Pureblood supremacists in many cases. The other three Houses-Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw-are prejudiced against Slytherin and either refuse to associate with or go out of their way to attack its members. And if you're like me-the 'Mudblood' of Slytherin; poor, formerly orphaned and with a blatantly Muggle name-you're attacked from all sides, day after day without the slightest reprieve. And it was made all the worse for me by the fact that I'd actually allowed myself to think I might have been accepted by them…so when I was treated the same as I had been at the Orphanage…"
He didn't resist when his father pulled him close, resting his head against his chest and focusing on his breathing in an effort to prevent the burn in his eyes from evolving into tears.
"Are there other Magical schools that you could go to?"
"Two: Durmstrang,in Norway, and Beauxbatons, in France. But Hogwarts is in my blood; if I can revive and take the title of Lord Slytherin upon my majority I'll own a fourth of the school by birthright. I will not allow a gaggle of buffoons who will lose their magic entirely in another few generations to drive me away from my ancestral grounds! I refuse to show such weakness; by the end of my seventh year I'll have made them respect me."
Tom felt, more than he heard, his father sigh. "If that's really the course of action you feel is best, Junior, I won't try to stop you." He said. "Now, how about we head back inside and see about putting together that list?"