#

She saw her first ghost at the beach.

It had been a rare treat for them, the trip, that everyone was practically a buzzed before the actual date. Even Tom, who normally scoffed at such childish behaviour could be seen smiling eagerly.

The beach was beautiful with its white sand, soft breeze and gentle waters that lapped calmly against the land. Untouched by pollution, it was unbelievably picturesque and even she had to concede (for the first time) that being born in the past had its good points.

Although the rest of the children still avoided them, she and Tom found a small spot just for themselves, far from their caretaker's eye and indulged on building sandcastles ('Fortress' Tom insisted), collecting shells and watching crabs scuttling about (or in Tom's case trying to stun each one and forced them to become castle guards). Even the weather was pleasant.

Then she saw him (and felt her stomach drop).

The ghost was a tall, skinny man with sunken eyes clad in tattered robes bedecked with seaweed. The worst part was his jaw; it seemed that someone had torn it from its hinges as it hung loosely around his neck, exposing his long tongue.

He was staring at them (almost longingly). Then, he settled his gaze upon her. Too late, she realized, that she should have looked away. The ghost's eyes narrowed and then he (managed) a grin.

"Tom, we have to leave," she started, trying to keep her voice steady. Her brother, for once scowled, he was enjoying himself and now she wanted to leave? He turned towards her, a scold on his lips when he realized why his sister was trembling.

"NO-don't look at it!" she all but screamed. "We have to go, don't look. Don't give him the –"

They heard the unearthly moan – something that rattled deep, something that sounded like death.

She didn't wait for Tom to finish screaming (Tom never screamed, not like that, never like that), she grabbed his arm and started to run. She couldn't even gain a step when she tripped (fool, fool why did you hide so far away?), Tom staggered on top of her. The ghost cackled and swooped above them, his jaw knocked against his chest as he eyed their prey.

Instinctively, she shoved Tom behind her, and glared back at the ghost.

"G- go away, we're not bothering you!" she sputtered out. Her answer was a throaty cackle.

The ghost practically leered over her, his arms stretched forward – when it suddenly stopped.

She didn't know how long it stood, staring at her (a tiny voice begged her to pray but even if she was still a devotee, panic had rendered all of her memorisations useless).

But as sudden as it appeared, the ghost vanished.

She didn't even move, didn't even breathe until Tom shook her, "Mary, let's go, we have to leave," and dragged her away. She thought she had hallucinated, but judging by the way Tom gripped her arm, she knew it had been real.

Later, when night fell as she slipped into Tom's room, she understood for the first time why Tom so feared death.

#

In one of her moments of productivity, she drew her family. Procuring the materials required a bit of trade but in the end she found herself with a few empty pages and some decent pencils.

She didn't want to forget them, no, she would never forget them. She liked Tom but even though they were bound by blood, she still found the concept of being his younger sister, frankly, very peculiar. She had always been the eldest, even though she wasn't much of a role model part of her identity was surrounded by that.

A part of her hopes the drawings would sooth her.

She wanted to love Tom; she needed too, especially if she hoped to change things.

So she drew. She drew her father who'd made silly 'dad jokes'; her mother whose laughter lit up her world and her sisters and brothers who would simultaneously annoyed and cherished her.

She missed them, she missed them. She missed the warmth, the quiet comforts they shared, the food and the laughter. She hated it here, she hated being an orphan, she hated that death parted them so soon, she thought when she died there would be nothing but now she's here.

And they are gone.

She didn't realize how long she had stopped when a hand grabbed a piece of drawing away.

"I hoped our actual father isn't that fat," Tom remarked, examining her drawing, "And you got his race wrong too, neither of us are Orientals,"

She just gritted her teeth and snatched the paper back, reciting the mantra, 'He needs love and guidance, love and guidance, he's just a kid and ignorant, don't get mad,' again and again in her head.

"I was just drawing," she muttered as a reason and hid the paper onto the battered desk she had.

Tom accepted the excuse before lying down on her bed, his face pensive.

A moment of silence passed and she wondered if Tom had fallen asleep when he spoke, "Do you think our father is alive out there?"

'Yes,' she nearly said but Tom didn't need to know that. She couldn't explain how she knew but more importantly she needed to nip his father obsession in the bud.

"No, I think he's dead and if he's alive I don't care for him," she offered as an excuse.

"You just drew a father, how could you not care?" Tom asked.

"It's not –"she bit back, "Tom, even if he lived, he didn't search for us, he didn't care that his wife died giving birth to us, a woman named Merope Riddle shouldn't be hard to find. That could mean he didn't care enough to find her and find us, therefore he's scum and I don't want a scum for my father," she continued heatedly. Never mind that Tom Riddle Sr. had been raped, but his son didn't know that. (His daughter wasn't supposed to know that either.)

She thought that was the end of the conversation, but Tom sat up, his eyes furious, "Maybe he had a good reason, what if he has powers like us and has to go into hiding?"

"And left two kids who had demonstrated powers like him at an orphanage? That's the stu-," No, she stopped herself, Tom loathed being called stupid and it wouldn't get her anywhere, "Tom what makes you think he has powers?" she cried out.

"Cause if it was our mother she wouldn't have died!" he shouted vehemently.

Pretense of maturity promptly exited stage left, "Women have died at childbirth many times! What makes you think our powers could stop death?"

Instead of being defeated, a manic grin spread over his face, as though he had won, "It did, it stopped yours!"

She could hear her blood rush away; she hated arguments, was never good at it, even though she knew it was wrong, another part of her knew he was right. She recalled little of her first suicide attempt. She had tried to fling herself at a moving car and the next thing she knew the car was a wreck and Mrs. Cole was screaming for help but there was nary a scratch on her. Then all she could remember was being force fed medicine and being locked up in her room for a long time.

Tom continued, "Our powers have protected us; if that woman died it meant she was not like us, she would have powers to survive the birth. So it had to be our father,"

"I don't know Tom," she started and she hated herself because she knew Tom would take it as a sign of victory, "…but we'd never know. If he lived, if he had powers…until we know what happened, we're only left with speculation,"

"You can keep drawing your family, Mary but I will not cease to search for him, he could be the very key to understanding our powers," and he said and jumped to his feet and slammed the door with finality.

#

Albus Dumbledore arrived at the orphanage as the book had said.

But he wouldn't have arrived to a place where children tip-toed around a certain child, a nameless fear in their steps. There would be no dead rabbits or muted children simply children who sprained ankles and ended up with unexpected boils. And instead of a drunken half-terrified matron confessing of horrors of a child who hurt others; Dumbledore met with an indifferent caretaker who eyed him suspiciously before bringing them both to an empty classroom.

There were shouts of course, Tom might be kinder but he was no less suspicious and the threat of the asylum ever hung above him and his sister. So he was ready to fight, ready to use his powers when his sister did something unexpected.

She broke down with laughter.

"Oh- hahahaha- my God, OH MY GOD," and he had to stop her because he truly didn't want Mary to end up at the asylum.

Then, to Tom's great surprise, the man smiled fondly and waved around a stick when suddenly, out of nowhere a pair of glasses filled with lemonade popped onto the desk.

He had powers, Tom thought, powers just like them.

And then the man explained of magic, of Muggles, or Wizards and of Hogwarts. Then everything fell into place.

They were more people like them, Tom thought and if they were a community like them, maybe their father was one of them as well.

When Albus left, with a bag of gold for school (there was a school) things, Tom confided this to Mary but she seemed skeptical.

"If he's magical why didn't he use his powers to find us?"

Tom didn't have an answer to that and it grated him. Even though he knew Mary loathed arguments, she wasn't above to not poking holes in his.

But he would prove her wrong. He'd find their father, he had too for he knew war was coming and this wizarding world sounded like the only sanctuary they'd get.

#

AN: This chapter was like biting teeth cause dialogue is my greatest weakness. It's not the best and I may come back and fix it but it's uploaded for now.
AN2: Fixed some flows. And so much thanks to all my reviewers and favs and followers. I'm grateful to all of you.