Hermione had waved Tom goodbye until she could no longer see the motorcar carrying him, Sir and Dame Riddle disappeared from view.

"Come in, dear!" called mother from inside the manor. "You're going to catch a cold."

Hermione had only stayed outside for a couple minutes. Not long enough to catch pneumonia. She wasn't as susceptible to becoming ill as Thomas Alexander Riddle, who would fall ill almost every fall and winter. Not wanting her mother to worry anymore, she went back inside the warm Manor house.

She retrieved that copy of Ancient History of Magic from her room and retreated to the parlor to read it. Plopping down on the chair opposite her mother. Who was knitting as she listened to the current BBC programme.

Hermione had tuned out the radio as she focused on the ancient text. Burrowing herself in that world where it was just her and the information from the book flowing into her brain. She had read this book when she first checked it out from the library, though Hermione was not one to read the same books only once. It was fascinating to see how the Order of Merlin was founded. That Merlin and other wizards had sat together and talked about what they could do for the rights of Muggles.

At some point, though, Eleanor pulled her away from her book and dragged her up the stairs to play teatime.

"Are there many people like us at your school?" Eleanor asked as she pretended to pour tea into her teacup. "You know, from families like us? Without any magic?"

"Most of my classmates have at least one magical parent," Hermione had answered. "Like, Tom, for instance. He thought he had inherited his magic from his father's side until he found out he received it from his mother."

"Will we be seeing more of him then?" she had asked. "Since he's left that orphanage?"

"Likely," was the answer that Hermione had given her. Tom's stay at the Riddle Manor was supposed to be a trial run. That they would make their decision to take him in or not when the Christmas holidays concluded.

There was a half-chance of either happening, though Hermione had a feeling that outside of Hogwarts.

The day had passed by quick, and by late afternoon, they were throwing on their coats for a trip to the Regent Street Cinema in downtown London to see the moving picture adaptation of a Christmas Carol. She had always loved reading A Christmas Carol around that time, and she had high hopes that this movie would be a faithful adaption.

Unlike Shirley Temple's Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, she had seen with Eloise in the month before going to Hogwarts. Most of Shirley Temple's moving pictures were known to have musical numbers.

It took them an hour to reach the cinema. By that time, snow was flying about in the wind. Which caused them to scurry out of the car to avoid the falling snow in favor of the warm theater inside.

They were able to find the best seats in the theater, and Hermione had put her hands in her popcorn container when the newsreels started. Then she gulped. Her palms turned clammy as the newsreels shifted to Germany. The cheeriness in the theater shifted to hostility as the other theatergoers began booing. Throwing objects at the screen.

"Order of the Swastika!" someone had shouted rows behind them.

"Lousy traitor!" came the agitated response

"When will the picture start?" Hermione couldn't help but whisper to her mother. She wasn't liking the apprehensive environment in the room.

"Soon, Hermione, soon," her mother tried to assure her. Appearing just as uneasy as she was about the situation. At long last, at the sight of the MGM logo followed by The Christmas Carol title card, did the tension leave her body and allowed herself to be immersed in the film.

This adaption was closer to Charles Dickens' work than that Shirley Temple film about Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. She had felt that chill of fear when Marley had appeared before Scrooge in the chains symbolizing the greed, as it did when she read the book; her heart had broke when Belle left Ebenezer due to the latter's interest in money; the wheels of change turning in Ebenezer's heart when the Spirit of Christmas Present tells him what is in store for Tiny Tim; finally, the horrifying realization for Ebenezer when the Ghost of Christmas Future showed him what the future held after his death.

"I loved that adaption," Hermione mused as they left the theater following the film's conclusion. The falling snow blew around them as they made their way to their car. "Makes me want to reread it." Perhaps she could purchase Tom his own copy when they tour the shops soon after this.

Speaking of which –

"Which shops would you like to go to first dears?" her mother had asked her.

"Hatchards," Hermione had said without a beat.

Her answer prompted a chuckle from her father. "Oh, you and your books. There's more to life to reading, dear."

"It is not for myself, father," Hermione had insisted. "I'm buying a gift for a friend."

Hermione had been to Hatchards more than she could count. Enough that she didn't need help to search for what she had wanted. As she had expected, the Christmas books were on the front displays when one walked in. Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol was on the middle of the front shelf. Making sure to pick up the copy from the back, as people – like her – tend to browse through the copy sitting at the front.

The clock had struck five after twelve when the elder Tom Riddle jolted awake. The cold sweat ran down the back of his neck as his heart pounded hard in his chest. Fear gripping him like ice-cold vices.

For a moment, he thought he was in that strange flat. With that tramp sleeping next to him the morning he'd fled from his prison. That bitter, fresh feeling of being violated and used as he had at the time when the love potion completely wore off.

It was when he gazed down beside him to see that it was Cecelia – with her reddish-gold curls splayed on the pillow – instead, all the tension left his body as relief filled him. However, he was in no hurry to go back to sleep.

His feet press on the plush carpet rug on the corridors as he makes his way to the nursery. Opening the door just a crack to check in on Louisa and Tommy. Both of whom appeared to be fast asleep. Dreaming dreams of innocence and childhood fancy instead of skin-crawling, intestine-curdling nightmares that plagued his sleep.

Tom's lips curl into a smile before he quietly closes the door as to not wake them.

Then, he took a deep inhale. Exhaling slowly before dragging his feet towards the next corridor. Of course, his eldest – it was still a concept out of his world to even think that – was due to turn twelve on New Years' Eve. Thus, too old to be in the nursery with Louisa and Tommy. When they had arrived back home, Cecelia had taken one disapproving glance at his son's rags. Saying something about taking him to the tailor to get him fitted for new clothes ("I'm alright," he'd argued earnestly. "I don't need new ones." "If you are coming back to us in the summer, it wouldn't be of stature to dress as if you left a nineteenth-century workhouse," his wife persisted.).

He swallows, hesitating before quietly opening the bedroom door a crack. Looking at him, he was sleeping as soundly as the other two children. So, peaceful. Tom remembered how taken aback he was when the orphanage matron had shown him his folder. It was as if gazing at his childhood photos. Well, almost for the boy in the pictures was wearing the issued rags given to him by the orphanage. He'd hoped that his middle name – after that insane bastard of all people, even if his son was worse – was all he inherited from that wretched family. Yet, his hopes were dashed when Albus Dumbledore came to their drawing-room. Where he explained about that world. Not to just tell him that the younger Tom was one of them, but that his Louisa was on the roster to attend that school in two years. The very school that Tom was attending.

Albus Dumbledore's visit was also a blessing in disguise, really. For until that day, his parents never knew what had really transpired twelve years ago. Only Cecelia knew, for he trusted to tell her with that information without turning his back on him. His parents' shock as he had explained that hot summer day and everything that had happened up the day he fled was still burned in his memory. Of course, he had told them this after Dumbledore and his son left the property.

"Good heavens, Tom!" he remembered his mother telling him. "Why didn't you tell us? Tell us that this tramp put something in your drink to mess about with your head like that?"

"If I had told you then, you would have suggested that I go into a straight jacket," he had pointed out. "You'd say I was insane."

His son didn't carry himself the way he'd expect of a waif from an orphanage such as Wool's. He was polite, and it appeared as if he had been around children from well-off families in that school. For he seemed to be picking up the appropriate table manners and such.

He'd never given him, Cecelia, and his parents – who seemed to adore him – any problems. Always polite and was careful what to say. That, however, didn't prevent Tom from feeling that he resented him. That he most likely harbored some sort of grudge towards him.

It was almost like with Ebenezer Scrooge, and his father from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, except it was the other way around. Where the son held a grudge towards his father for "abandoning" his mother, instead of the father holding a grudge towards his son for his wife dying in childbirth.

Only he didn't abandon his mother. He fled from her vices, except that his son was not at the age to understand that.

Oh, how he didn't realize that he be better off without that woman. And he was going to have to prove it to him when he wasn't in that school. Even if it be a bumpy road.

The young Tom Riddle had slept relatively well if you had asked him how he slept that night. He had fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Though it was quite early when he had gotten up. The rays of the early morning sun poked through the curtains of the room he was staying in.

Most of the family was up when he had arrived at the Riddle family dining hall for breakfast. Personally, he'd rather be eating breakfast on his own rather than be surrounded by these people. Still, it was best if he would be on his best behavior.

Tom knew that there were other options when it came to avoiding that orphanage, such as asking the Malfoys or the Mulcibers if he could take up residence. However, this was the only option where he'd be closer to Hermione, aside from the promise of a magical sibling.

"There he is," he could hear his grandfather say fondly as Tom had walked through the doorway of the dining hall. "Slept well, I hope?"

"Very well," he says. "Thank you, grandfather."

Tom was careful not to overload his plate. To not come off as a glutton. Well, someone might say that he was too liberal on the marmalade for his toast.

It was an hour to an hour and a half later when he was getting ready to go to the vestibule. "Now, make sure to put on your coat," prompted Cecelia as Tommy came to the threshold. "The last thing we need is for you to get pneumonia."

"May I go with you to the town, please?" he begged, seeing that Louisa was putting on her coat as well.

"Thomas, you know very well why we don't permit you to be outside this time of year," chided father.

"Oh, really, Tom," insisted Cecelia. "One outing wouldn't hurt."

"The doctor said it wasn't healthy for him at this stage," father had argued in a final tone. "You know that cold temperatures trigger the worst of illness for him."

Tommy deflated, and at that, Louisa said, "I'll promise to buy something for you there."

As their car drove away from the manor premises, Tom could see his half-brother gazing longingly at them from the first-story window.

"How ill is he?" Tom couldn't help but ask. He had heard that Thomas Riddle II was ill often. He didn't know if it was bad or not.

"He hasn't been well since he was an infant," father had answered. "He's lived past the age that doctors expected him to, though…the falls and winters are the hardest for him. He's not getting worse, though I don't think he's getting better."

No chance of getting better, and due to being around children like Abraxas and Gaius, Tom seemed to have an idea about the situation at hand. A few of the boys in his year – notably Renard Lestrange – had sometimes talked about the days when they'd be inheriting their family's estate and title as head of their own families. It was a big deal, and now putting two and two together, it seemed that his father only bothered to consider taking him in is so he could inherit the Riddle family estate instead of sickly half-brother.

He'd be naïve to think it otherwise. Of course, his father would never take him in because he wanted to, but because he needed an heir. Tom never vocalized this, of course, even if he wanted to. Instead, he stayed silent, so they'd think he didn't know what to say about what was just said.

They had to drive through the village of Little Hangleton in order to get to Great Hangleton. As their car drove through the village, Tom could make out the disdain the citizen's faces as their eyes locked with the vehicle. He swore he saw a greengrocer spit behind her stand at the sight of them.

"Don't mind the locals," father said loftily. "They have a clear disdain for anyone that are statures above them."

"Ungrateful, they are, really," sniffed Cecelia. "You'd think they'd have an ounce of respect. For they'd be evicted from their homes otherwise."

These people were just as unremarkable as they were. Having no magical abilities. There was no difference aside from the vast wealth and noble title that his father and his wife held. Tom thought it was interesting that they never changed their tune and gained a sense of humility now that they knew about people like him.

The reception was different when they arrived at Great Hangleton minutes later. The passing by townsfolk tipping their hats as their car stopped in front of the tailor's.

"Now, we pray we shouldn't be long," said father as he opened the passenger door. "Tom, come."

Cecelia and Louisa had also exited the car, though the two went off in a different direction as he and his father made their way towards the tailor. Probably went off to do what he would see women do with their young daughters when he was making his trek through London.

"Ah, Sir Riddle!" they hear what Tom could only assume was the proprietor of the tailor shop after they entered. "What could I do – what do we have here?"

The shop owner, a stocky man with a greying mustache and balding hair, had such inquisitiveness that Tom wished that he had his wand to give him a hex.

"George, I'd like you to meet my eldest son: Tom Marvolo Riddle," said father, making it clear that no questions would be permitted. "He's here for a fitting for a new wardrobe."

Oh yes, it would put a dent in your pride, he thinks. Of course, you wouldn't want to admit your affair with my mother, who was a witch.

"Already then," said George, still gazing at him curiously. "Now, hop on the stool so I can get your measurements. That's right, lad."

On the one hand, Tom was happy to be getting a new wardrobe. That he would no longer be wearing those threadbare rags from the orphanage. Even if his fellow house mates didn't give him a hard time after that time, he spoke with that snake. On the other hand, he'd rather be with Hermione, reading a book or talking about the books they were reading.

Uncle Aaron was among the three thousand taken one of those nights. Aunt Lea was in pretty rough shape, and father and his friend are now trying to find a way to bring her and Levi here. Even if they have to spend every shilling. It's not going to be easy, with rising tensions against Germany.

That was a paragraph of the letter that Judith had sent to Hermione a few days before Christmas. Hermione had swallowed, feeling the worry in her friend's letter. Not only that but the fear that this sort of atrocity could happen here. It did not help with the presence of antisemitism here in England.

"Hitler won't come here, will he?" Eleanor had asked Uncle Archi some point at dinner.

"Now, don't underestimate the British, Eleanor," was his response. "Should it come to another Great War, England will persevere as it did before."

Hermione had hoped that would be true the second time around. Except that things weren't the same as they were twenty years ago when the Great War ended.

Before Hermione knew it, it was Christmas Eve, and it was the night of the annual Christmas party at Buckingham Palace. Hermione had loathed these gatherings as she had felt forced to interact with the children of the crown and other families from the upper ranks of the aristocracy while the adults gathered in the ballroom and banquet halls. She'd rather much be off and read a book. Even Eloise Hancock's presence never made it bearable, as she preferred to pair off with Princess Elizabeth during these sorts of functions.

Hopefully, Tom would be there. She had bought along the gift that she had bought a few days ago.

Upon their arrival, Hermione and Eleanor had been led to the parlor, where the children convened away from the adults. They had just passed through the door when Louisa ran to Eleanor, and the two girls ran towards one part of the room.

Hermione looks around. Paying attention to any sign of Tom until she spots him. There he was, standing alone near the fireplace. Wearing a nice suit instead of the Almost as if he wasn't sure what do to with himself until he caught sight of her.

"What time did you get here?" she asked as she had crossed towards him.

"A half-hour before you showed up," he said. "One of the princesses tried to talk to me, but her friend took her away."

He gestured to the area of the room where without a doubt, Eloise was laughing to what Elizabeth had told her. "I see that your father took you out to fit you for a wardrobe," she notes.

"It was my stepmother's idea," Tom admitted. In her words, she had said that she didn't want me looking like I came from a nineteenth-century workhouse while I stayed with them. Also, I was able to buy you something while I was in the town."

Tom had led her to the table that was set up for the presents, though some were already opening their presents from their friends. He had picked up a parcel wrapped in light green paper. Handing it to her as she gave him his gift.

The blood pumps in her fingertips as she carefully unwraps the parcel at the corners. Her eyes widened as soon as she saw the title. "Oh, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There!" Hermione beamed. She wraps her arms around him, and she can feel Tom stiffen before he returns the embrace. "Oh, thank you, Tom! Open yours! I think you might like it."

Hermione watches intently as Tom opens his present. His eyes widen as he unearths the book from the paper. "I never had my own copy, you know," he said as he gazed at the book. He smiles up at her and says, "I preferred this story more than the other Christmas ones, you know?"

Hermione had known him since that day on the train, but she felt that this was the first time that he smiled where his eyes lit up.

"Tom! Get up, Tom!"

"Go away," he had groaned grumpily. Turning over in the comfortable bed and clamping his pillow over his head. How could anyone have avoided telling him that siblings would be obnoxious?

Unfortunately, she never got the message, for he heard the door open. Having been jolted awake by someone jumping on the bed.

"Blimey, Louisa!" he exclaims. "I'm trying to sleep here!"

"On Christmas?" she asked, her lips puckering in an annoying pout. Oh, how he despised her. "Where's the fun in not waking up early to see what Father Christmas has bought you?"

Father Christmas isn't real, he thinks. If Father Christmas was real, we'd be receiving all the things we wanted. Of course, he didn't tell her that. "Things were different at Wool's," was what he said. "We never got up early and woke each other up for presents."

For Christmas, they'd each be given a basket of gifts from the Pentecostal church they went to and one bar of chocolate each. What he didn't tell Hermione was that he'd steal another Mars Bar from another orphan when they weren't looking, and the amusement that followed when he saw the other orphan accuse the wrong child.

"How different?" she asked.

Tom wished he was having this conversation with Hermione then his sister if he were, to be honest.

"We wake up at the usual hour," he answers, "And after breakfast, we're given a basket of gifts from the church we attend and a bar of chocolate each. And we have a dinner that's paid for by one of the benefactors."

So far, the Start of Term and Halloween feasts at Hogwarts topped any Christmas and Easter at Wool's. Indeed, it would also top dinner here, no matter how grand it is.

"You're not at Wool's anymore," she said. "Also, I thought I saw some parcels for you."

Privately, he didn't want anything from his father and grandparents. Anything they'd give him was better off burning in a fireplace or something similar. However, he had a role to play here.

So, Tom assumed his the-humble-and-kind-orphan-that-was-content-with-anything-good façade. Wearing a big smile on his face as he followed his half-sister from the room.

Hermione's Christmas was no different than the ones before it. The family had awoken early to open their gifts before eating an excellent breakfast. And dinner was just as pleasant with the turkey and the fig pudding.

She had wondered if Tom had had a good Christmas. If he was getting enough presents and if he had a good dinner. If the Riddles were treating him right. If he was getting along with Tommy and Louisa, alright.

On the following day, Boxing Day, lunch hadn't even started when the phone rang.

"Mum, Mary Riddle is on the phone," Trudy informed her mother five minutes before they'd gather on the table.

Hermione couldn't help but stand in the corner of the first-floor corridor. Not wanting to miss the contents of the call. Make sure to be out of sight as possible.

"Oh, why, yes, that would be no problem at all…Ah, I see. No one else. Well, he's not a presumptuous little boy. He's content with anything we give him…Of course, that I concur with you…Yes, we will be happy to be there. Hermione as well."

Hermione knew what that was about, and as they finally sat down for lunch did father ask, "What did Countess Riddle want?"

"She asked if we could come over for Tom's twelfth birthday on New Year's Eve," she had answered. "He wants it to be simple, with just his family and us there. He resisted the idea of the other children there."

"Just us?" asked father.

"Mary said that Tom was quite clear about that," mother answered.

"When one is used to the simple things in life, they will hardly ask for much," Uncle Archi surmised with a smile.

"Well, he's also quite new to our circle," father surmised. "It wouldn't be wise to have such a big party when he's just started to become acquainted."

Tom looked uncomfortable at that royal Christmas party that he was dragged to. It could have been part of his resentment towards the Riddles as well, for he wouldn't want them to throw him a big birthday party anyway. If the Riddles decide to fill out the paperwork to gain custody of him, she would be surprised if he chose to stay with them.

Though there was that part of her that reminded her that he'd take anything to avoid returning to the orphanage. Even if he hated it there.

New Year's Eve fell on a cold, blustery day. Snow falling from the opaline sky as their motorcar drove up to the front door of Riddle Manor. Hermione scanned the exterior, catching a glimpse of Tom as he gazed out one of the second-story windows. He waved at her once he caught sight of her as she departed the car. His present was under her arm.

"Nice to see you on this New Year's Eve," Dame Riddle greeted with a smile after they entered the house. She takes the parcel from Hermione's arms. "I'll take that, thank you."

"Where's Tom?" Hermione had asked.

"On the second floor of the library," Dame Riddle had answered. She turns to her parents and says, "It's one of the places he loves to frequent. I had to bribe him the other day just so he wouldn't be there all day."

Hermione had been to the library in Riddle Manor a few times before. Just to see the selection of books that they have. The second floor of their library had fewer bookshelves and more seating area than the first floor of the library. Again, he wasn't hard to find.

Tom was sitting at the table nearest to the window. Reading what had appeared to be an old tome. It probably would have come from the Hogwarts library, by the looks of it.

"What are you reading?" she had asked as she walked towards the table he was sitting.

"Abraxas was willing to lend me a book on the Gaunt lineage for me to read during the Christmas holidays," Tom had answered, gesturing her forward. "You want to see what I found?"

Tom had slipped over to the very first page of the thick volume. Beaming as if he had received the best Christmas present he had ever wanted. "Right here," he said, pointing to the text.

It was shortly after his graduation when Nichol Gaunt married his lover and classmate Étaín Slytherin, the eldest daughter of renowned Salazar Slytherin. His brother Amis had married Hilda Peverel only a few years later.

Hermione had thought so! She had believed that Tom might have been descended from Salazar Slytherin due to his ability to speak with snakes. Though at that time, Tom was doubtful.

"See, you are descended from him," Hermione whispered.

"A far better inheritance than this family," said Tom.

"Are you going to come back here if the orphanage hands you over?" she had asked.

"I'd rather spend my holidays at Hogwarts," he had scoffed. "Though I don't want to return to the orphanage, and even if I hate it, this place is a better alternative."

She had thought so. She had thought that would be his answer.

They couldn't stay in the library too long, for they were bid down to lunch. Of the adults at the table, the older Mrs. Riddle wasn't too bashful of fawning over her grandson ("He's just his daddy when he was that age," she said. "Very charming, very articulate." "Except that Thomas was a boisterous fellow," the elder Mr. Riddle had chimed in. "This chap is more mild-mannered.").

Hermione had thought she had seen Sir Riddle turn slightly green at that. Of course, Earl Riddle and his wife would only see a portion of Tom's personality. For he could be boisterous at Hogwarts when he had wanted to.

They were finished eating the main course when the cake was bought out. It wasn't too extravagant. Only a single layer cake with twelve candles all lit for him.

"Isn't this for little children?" he had asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You're still wearing shorts," Louisa contested as Tommy had just trailed a fork through his food. "You can't wear long trousers yet."

"I have a year until I do," Tom declared.

"Now, now," chided the elder Mrs. Riddle. "That would be enough of that," she turns to Tom, "Now, dear, do you want to blow them out?"

Hermione had happened to look towards Tommy's direction. Who had smiled faintly only for it to disappear and for him to look at his plate?

Though he had seemed to brighten up when Tom had handed him a huge slice of cake.