Author's Note: Guess what? It's the one year anniversary of me posting this! Thank you to everyone who favorites, follows, reviews, and the people who just read without making themselves known—all of this really helps encourage me to work harder at writing! It may seem silly (like too much hype for a small thing), but I'm really very pleased that I kept this up for an entire year; I'd love to celebrate it with you all somehow—if anyone has ideas about how I can show my appreciation, please PM me or mention it in a review of this chapter~ It's so fun for me to talk about my writing, I would probably do that in a video or something, but I need to know what interests you all. I hope to hear your suggestions!

Now on to the actual chapter...

Charlotte didn't have to wait long for someone to raise the topic of the letter. Her father came looking for her, finding her feeding the fanged geraniums in the garden.

"I saw your piece of mail on the table."

"And did maman?"

"Not yet. And I wanted to talk to you before she did."

"Shall we go for a walk then?" Charlotte asked. Monsieur Soleil nodded with a smile.

"Tell her the circumstances—emphasize that it wouldn't be for very long, as Valeria said—and say that you think you should go. Don't wait for her to bring it up," he said.

Staring at the ground, she continued to walk. After several silent strides, she answered. "Why can't you? Say it instead."

"You don't want to, and that's why you need to. You'll be better off for it." Charlotte went quiet again. "I moved the letter. And I will not say anything about it until you have. That's what ought to happen." There was, she could see, no way to get out of this now. Without waiting for a reply from her, her father turned to a tree beside them and said thoughtfully, "These are your mother's favorite, you know."

"The shrivelfig?" Charlotte looked at him skeptically. "Do you mean were? When the two of you met, or some other time in the past? I can't recall ever hearing her say a good thing about them." The fruit was never plump enough, there were too few blossoms, the roots needed to be stronger no matter how strong they already were. Her father chuckled.

"She wants them to be without flaw, even if that's unrealistic; she thinks she can make it so. And it is the plant she cares most about."

Charlotte frowned. "Are you— Did you just compare me to a shrivelfig tree?" Midway through the question she started to giggle.

"Yes, I did." Monsieur Soleil grinned. "Be glad her favorite isn't a Chinese chomping cabbage." They were both laughing now.

Tom, trying to solve the problem of getting permission to go to the Soleils, was weighing his options. What could Mrs. Cole do if he simply snuck out and didn't return for however many days? Not let him come back? That gave him even more reason to leave without approval. He momentarily fantasized about facing down Ministry officials and threatening to expose the Wizarding world to Muggles if they didn't force Hogwarts to authorize his permanent residence at the castle. If he was outnumbered, perhaps it wouldn't be possible—but that was why it was a fantasy. But he knew someday, soon even, that kind of power could be his.

Before him on the desk lay a blank piece of paper, soon to be a letter convincing Charlotte and her family that he did not need them to come to the orphanage to get him. He had agreed to it when he had last seen them, at King's Cross, but it had been his intention even then to change their plans. Of course he knew they would see this as an odd position to take—why would he rather spend all that time in transit when he could Apparate there with Madame or Monsieur Soleil? It seemed like a perfectly obvious choice. But he preferred to be independent. Not to mention, he couldn't bear the thought of them being in the orphanage with him, of seeing him there; thoughts of pity would inevitably cross their minds when they looked at him. He hated the place so much. And he would have to answer questions about why people behaved the way they did towards him in the orphanage. That was the one good thing about the place: Tom did not have to suffer the tediousness of popularity there. Instead, everyone treated him with a cautious fear. It was much more satisfying. But to Charlotte and her parents, it would be concerning.

As he thought about how he would word his suggestion—because he had to show how it was to their advantage, saving them time or some such thing—he twirled the quill between his fingers, using a small amount of magic to keep it from dropping. It wasn't enough to be noticeable by the Ministry because it wasn't any spell in particular. Maintaining the balance between insignificant magic and a full spell was a mental exercise comparable to closing your hand around an eggshell without breaking it. It was doubly challenging because he was trying not to focus all of his attention on that. He liked that it was difficult.

Just then the door creaked open behind him; he crushed the feather in his palm as he instinctively clenched his fingers around it and twisted around to see who his guest was. A boy of who looked to be about seven—in reality he was nine—had stepped over the threshold, unabashedly coming into Tom's room. He faltered a bit as he glanced between Tom's expression and the sharp object in his hand, wielded disconcertingly like a knife.

"Don't you think you should knock before entering a room?" Tom watched the boy swallow nervously.

"Mrs. Cole said she wanted to talk to you and I said I'd fetch you for her." Of course—the newest resident had not yet learned how one acted towards Tom Riddle. "Why are you using a feather to write?" he asked with daring curiosity. Tom glared at him as he tossed the quill over his shoulder and went across the room, grabbing hold of the boy as he passed him. As they came into the hallway, he shoved him away and yanked the door shut as forcefully as he could without slamming it.

"She's in the dining hall!" the boy called as Tom headed downstairs. He received no word of thanks.

If Mrs. Cole had made her decision, and it was to let him leave, that was very good news. It meant he was practically guaranteed the freedom to travel on his own to Charlotte's; all he had to do was tell them there was no need for anyone to come convince her with their adult authority.

...

Tom posted his letter to Charlotte as quickly as he could after speaking with Mrs. Cole. When she had asked him where he would be going, and he had shown her on a map, he had noticed something that made him so much more eager for his travel arrangements to be solo. The words were small on the map, but they leapt out at him in their familiarity: Little Hangleton. He now knew that his relatives—the word family was much too tender for him to use—had a house close enough to the Soleil's that he could make a detour on his way there.

Annoyingly, he'd had to use the Muggle post. Charlotte's owl had hung about awaiting a return letter, but disappeared before Tom got around to writing one; he suspected some rowdy children had scared it off. He hadn't written her much. He wasn't sure what she expected; there wasn't a lot to say. At least on his part—Charlotte told him about all kinds of things, ranging from conversations with her aunt and a letter from Valeria that concerned her, to completely useless information, like how the garden was doing.

He was getting tired of it, of his masquerade.

When Lisabelle returned home from her day's work, Charlotte was waiting for her in the foyer.

She spoke in a rush before she lost the nerve. "I've had a letter from Valeria, something's happened, she didn't say what, but she can't come to visit us, so I want to go stay with her—for only a week at most."

"You want to spend a week living in—how do the English say—Muggle society?" Madame Soleil answered slowly, which she managed to pass off for gravity, but Charlotte thought it might have something to do with the language they were speaking.

"I don't want to miss the opportunity to see my friend over the summer," she said, and then added, "And I'm glad you're speaking English. We should get accustomed to using it around here before Tom arrives."

"Yes, that will be soon. You and I will be going to London on Saturday, n'est-ce pas?"

She nodded. Her father hadn't mentioned any discussion between them about that; she supposed he was busy, but, if that was the case, she wished he had told her. She didn't reveal any disappointment, however, so that her mother couldn't take offense to it.

"And what about Valeria?" she asked, not wanting to let her mother evade the matter.

"You should write to her and make arrangements to see her."

"I can go?" She had agreed surprisingly quickly.

"You can promise you will see her, and at her home, not yours." Her mother smiled.

The day arrived. Shortly before noon, Tom was called downstairs. For whatever reason, Madame Soleil had evidently insisted that she and Charlotte come to London. He was irritated, but told himself that being at the Soleils' gave him the opportunity to travel too, and he would surely find a way from there to fulfill his intention to visit the Gaunt House.

It seemed he was to have an audience for his reunion with Charlotte; he took the steps two at a time to get by as quickly as possible. They instinctively backed into the wall as he passed, to let him through without the slightest obstruction. But he could feel them staying close, shadowing him.

Charlotte was standing just inside the door, trying to be poised but obviously uncomfortable. He couldn't blame her for that. But he felt something negative, as he came found her looking around the room and not facing the stairs, not seeming eager to see him. He took a step forward and a floorboard creaked. She turned around immediately and came over to him in a rush. The whispers from the children on the staircase merged together into an unintelligible form. Some of them peeked around the corner to get a look at Charlotte, their eyes wide with curiosity. Hesitating as she brought her lips close to his, she glanced over his shoulder at them.

"I've missed you. It's so good to see you again," Tom whispered, fighting the urge to take a step back because her face was still so close.

She smiled and kissed him, disregarding the still-watching children. "I've missed you too. Especially since you didn't write like you said you would."

"There was nothing to say. I didn't want to bore you," he answered. "I'm sorry if it made you think I didn't miss you."

"A girl!" Mrs. Cole's utterly stunned exclamation signified her entry, interrupting them. "You didn't tell me your friend was a young lady." Startled, Charlotte made as if to jump back from Tom, but he held her too tightly for her to break away. He released her slowly while looking back at Mrs. Cole.

"I didn't think it made a difference."

"Of course it does!" She had gone a bit pale. "I don't think I can let you go now, knowing the situation."

"Why not?" Charlotte demanded to know.

"She doesn't want any more orphans to look after!" came the cackling of a girl who was too young to be coming to such conclusions.

"Polly!" Mrs. Cole marched over to the foot of the stairs and saw the small crowd gathered there, which had lost some of its numbers when Polly exposed them, although the stomping of feet sounding from further upstairs still gave away their presence. "All of you! Up to your rooms!" She turned back to Tom and Charlotte, her face now red. "Well, yes," she admitted. "Since it's been said now—that's right."

"If I had a child I didn't want, I would not be bringing it here, I can promise you that." Simultaneously a reassurance and an attack, it gave Tom pleasure to hear Charlotte say it. It also gave him an idea.

"That is not the point! I help those who have come into this world already and through unfortunate circumstances now need someone to look after them. I feel it would be against my better judgment to knowingly contribute to the possibility—"

"What if I told you," Tom interjected, taking Charlotte's hand. "...that she's already..." He hadn't thought about the exact wording he would use to finish that sentence. Thankfully, the point was made.

Mrs. Cole glanced rapidly between the two of them. "I would say that school of yours needs to get its act together. What's it called again? Bogwood? ...It certainly sounds like a mess of a place..."

"In any case, you can see there's nothing to be done about it now," Charlotte said. Tom smiled at her ability to expertly play along and let himself look at her affectionately.

"How far along are you then?"

"Well... as you can see, not very..." Charlotte became a bit uneasy.

"But once we've seen a doctor, which we will soon, we'll know." He put his arm around Charlotte and looked at her as he spoke.

"You don't know—" she took a deep breath. "I say. Never would happen in any institution I run."

"So," Tom said, "I have to go, to be with her. Her parents need to know I'm going to look after their daughter and our child. If not," he said ominously, "there may be another orphan in the world."

Mrs. Cole seemed a bit dazed. No doubt she was shocked by this entirely uncharacteristic behavior. "Yes, I— I suppose, yes, you should go," she said.

Tom spread his arm towards the door for Charlotte to go ahead. He followed her, and Mrs. Cole followed behind them both. Coming up to Madame Soleil, she motioned to Charlotte and asked, "Are you her mother?", while giving the woman an up and down glance to take in her unusual clothing.

"Yes, I am," she replied, hardly holding her gaze and instead looking at Tom and Charlotte. "Are we ready to leave?"

"Yes," Tom answered, with Charlotte's affirmation coming as an echo. He felt her lean into him and he suspected she was anxiously awaiting the moment Mrs. Cole would reveal their "secret". "Your mother will know the truth soon," he said. "And it will be fine." He spoke loudly enough that everyone heard him; he wanted it over with.

As expected, Madame Soleil turned around to face them again and asked, "what truth?"

"Congratulations on your grandchild." Mrs. Cole hurriedly said before taking her leave. While she remained within earshot, Charlotte and Tom were forced to endure Madame Soleil's questioning stare, deepening in anger the longer she looked at them.

Author's Note: Yeah so that didn't go as I planned but it's a chapter.

But now some of the things I already wrote for this chapter can go in the next one instead, so I've got a head start on that. Also I was debating about having them visit Diagon Alley since they're in London, which they will spending a bit more time in. I haven't decided yet though, and that would happen before the things that I've already written...