Author's Note: I'm back! I haven't abandoned this fic! I was just really busy and unable to write until now since I last updated. :(
This update is quite short for two reasons. First, I just wanted to post something after all this time. Second, I've made some edits to previous chapters, and that took some time. Not the (nearly) two months I've been silent, but these past couple days when I've been working on things again. Chapter 10 has essential new information, so there's that to read (about 1000 words). I've also changed/added bits to 1,3,4,9,12,15, and 20. If you want to know what changed/what it says now, but don't feel like going through and rereading all of that (I understand), feel free to PM me. Chapter 15 should be getting another scene though, so probably hold off if you're going to reread that; so far there's been 200 words added though. Also a lot of those are just a couple additional sentences (sorry...). But they were necessary changes for consistency!—based on a decision that I made for this chapter. Please understand that, as this is a WIP, I have to go back and change things as I make more decisions about the characters or the events. However, this is really helping me to become a better writer, so I hope you all can bear with me~ Additionally, I think it can be interesting to see more of the changes that are made as a story goes on; it's like all the behind-the-scenes things you don't see with a published novel.
Charlotte spent the first few days after she returned home readjusting to the surroundings. Making her own schedule was nice and it was so quiet compared to Hogwarts. But then, other things she did not enjoy returning to.
Unclear but plainly harsh words were the first thing she heard as she headed to the dining room for breakfast. She stopped on the staircase, not to listen, as Valeria told her she always did when her parents argued, which happened less frequently than it did in Charlotte's household; she went back upstairs to the window seat in the hallway. The view was of their front lawn, Muggle-viewing-friendly and simplistic. Charlotte stared off far into the distance, watching cars travel along the road set into the hillside. She distracted herself by thinking about her essay on the Muggle invention, which wouldn't have brought her any joy if it hadn't have been for her discussion with Tom about it, one of the first real conversations they had had.
She decided to try venturing downstairs again.
There was only silence as she headed towards the smell of crêpes. She went around the corner and found only her father sitting at the table.
"Maman est au jardin? [Mother is in the garden?]" she asked, easily assuming this.
Monsieur Soleil nodded once. "You heard… euh, our disagreement?" he asked with a sigh.
"Somewhat. Was it about speaking French at home?" Her father wanted the practice with English, but this was liable to cause a disagreement at any given time.
He smiled. "Pas cette fois. [Not this time.]" He sipped his coffee before he spoke again. "No, something far less trivial. There was a letter from France… from Melisande." He spoke gravely enough to concern Charlotte; correspondence from her mother's sister was not often joyful anyway.
"She hasn't done anything… foolish, has she?"
"Only continuing to live in that house, where so many bad memories live with her." His voice was sympathetic, even though he didn't understand her choice.
He hadn't explained what about the letter had led to an argument, but Charlotte didn't care much, so she left any question about it unasked. She did, however, want to know something else. "Does she want us to come visit?"
Her father breathed in. "Yes. And that's the problem."
"Oh." She hadn't expected that. "Why don't you want to go?"
"I do want to."
Charlotte frowned in confusion, "Maman ne veut pas aller à la France, pour visiter sa sœur? [Mother doesn't want to go to France, to visit her sister?]" He spread his hands apart with his palms upwards and sighed. "She must have a reason. Je suis certaine... [I'm certain...]"
The door to Mrs. Cole's office was open, but Tom knocked anyway before going in. The woman sat at her desk and looked up as soon as she heard the sound at the door. Seeing it was Tom, she immediately became uneasy, nervously shuffling the papers in front of her with no purpose in doing so. "Tom. Can I do something for you?" she asked with a weak, forced smile.
Can I do something for you? Not, what are you doing here? Because he had established a degree of control over her, rooted in her fear of him. It made him smile, and he didn't care that it was a kind of smile she would find unsettling.
"Yes," he said. "I came to get permission to leave the orphanage for a bit, to visit—" he paused very briefly because he didn't want to say 'my girlfriend', and instead finished, "a friend from school."
"For how long? Does he live nearby? Although, I can't just let you leave." She stated this fact with disappointment.
"A week, maybe two. Or a month," he said in answer to the first question. He wasn't sure how long the Soleils would end up letting him stay, but he wanted to push Mrs. Cole to allow him as much time as possible.
"A month!" she exclaimed with hope in her eyes. "Must be a good friend," she added to herself, taking on a puzzled expression. She of course had trouble imagining how unsociable, intimidating, Tom Riddle had managed to make a friend.
"We're allowed visits to family, but I haven't got any family we know of—it's been sixteen years; I don't think anyone's likely to show up now—so I might as well be allowed to visit a friend." The word friend felt awkward in his mouth still.
Mrs. Cole pursed her lips. Clearly, she wanted to tell him he was free to go—ask him how soon he could be gone, even—but instead she had to say, "I just don't know…"
"I'm sixteen years old; there's hardly a reason for me to be here at all."
"You don't reach the age of majority for another year and a half. Until then, you're my responsibility." She thought some more. "And there's already the strange circumstance of that boarding school of yours…" she said slowly, then speaking increasingly to herself, "It's not worth the risk to the orphanage."
So she thought some inspector from some Muggle board would find out one of her orphans was unaccounted for and close her down, he realized with frustration.
"Well, someone else will still be coming to speak with you about it," Tom said, turning to leave. If Madame or Monsieur Soleil couldn't convince her, he would have to see to it that Mrs. Cole changed her mind at the very last minute instead. With an adult witch in close proximity, a spell—not even the imperius curse—would be found out by the Ministry and their stupid Trace spell—now that, in Tom's mind, should have been an unforgivable curse.
Author's Note: In the interim since I last updated, I have also come up with a new plot line I'm pretty excited about, and wrote a bit for it already. So hopefully that will help my progress remain more timely in the future. Then there's also the major events that happened in the summer of 1943 (most likely, from my deductions from the books). I've got a lot to write.