Harry meets the Black famalan, Tom also has a family reunion, and Harry and Orion hit London.

LAST TIME (a long time ago): Tom was not happy with Harrison's command to close the chamber. Luckily, Malfoy chose this moment to reveal what he'd found out about Tom's family: a Tom Riddle, nearly identical to our favourite Slytherin, living in the same village as wizarding family Gaunt, who have both a member called Marvolo and ties to Slytherin. Tom's plans for the summer were set. Harry became a celebrity from his 'saving' of Myrtle, and wasn't best pleased. The end of term feast arrived, where we bid goodbye to both Walburga and Druella, dark magic was banned, and Druella received a letter from Walburga's brother, Cygnus. Harry went flying, where Cassius 'subtly' prompted Orion to offer Harry summer accommodation.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was very different to how Harry remembered it being, fifty years later. It was more luxurious; reds and golds and royal purples covered the walls; tapestries dripping with glittering silks hung from the ceilings; and huge, beautifully embellished windows let golden light spill into the drawing room.

It also, strangely, felt larger than how Harry remembered. Perhaps it was the fact that none of the rooms were closed off, or perhaps it was the carefully styled furnishings, but Grimmauld Place, for the first time in Harry's memory, felt truly like a home.

The Black family was also very different to how Harry remembered, in that there was a Black family. Arcturus Black had reacted little to Harry's presence, merely looked him up and down, offered an unimpressed grunt, questioned him on his blood heritage, and then swept away to Merlin knew where. Probably the Ministry, Orion told him.

That had been when Harry was ferried into the drawing room to 'meet the rest of the family', which seemed to consist of Orion's mother and sister.

Melania Black was a true beauty, and Harry could see how Arcturus Black would have been… overcome by her in his 'youth'. She had blonde hair- more of a gold tint than a Malfoy shade of white- that would have fallen in soft curls had it not been severely tied at the nape of her neck. It pulled back her whole face, making her seem sterner than she would naturally. This couldn't disguise her good looks though, and her gentle, doe-like features contrasted sharply with the cold cruelty in her eyes. She was still very young, Harry realised, only 17 or 18 years older than Lucretia.

Lucretia had her mother's hair and her mother's face, but Lucretia's hair was free, free to tumble over her shoulders in a massive wave as she threw herself onto a sofa, an act that led her mother to shake her head disapprovingly.

"Honestly Lucretia," Melania said, with a voice like steel. "Have some decorum. You'll never find a husband if you insist on acting in such a wild manner."

Harry, awkwardly hovering with his luggage in tow, was left largely ignored.

"Perhaps I don't want a husband," Lucretia replied dramatically, like she had heard this conversation a thousand times over. "Besides, Mother, you've taught me that I just have to go to a party and leave my drink unattended. The men will come pouring in." And she followed this up with a particularly nasty smile.

"Insolent child," Melania said, her voice layered with ice. "I won't have you speak to me like that, not after everything I've done for you."

"The years of childhood trauma were really precious," Lucretia said, voice heavily layered with sarcasm.

"I should have thrown myself down a staircase when I found I was with child!" her mother hissed.

"At least then I wouldn't have been raised by you!"

"Are you fighting again?"

Harry turned to the doorway to see who spoke (the voice was flat and disaffected, but very young). Standing by the door, her head barely reaching above the handle, was a little girl. Harry recognised her from the photos; dark ringlets tied neatly in two bunches, but now her dark eyes were blank.

"Don't be ridiculous, Meissa," Melania said, looking suddenly more worn down. She seemed to sag, and the years fell onto her face. "We were simply talking."

"Angrily," Meissa pointed out. "With insults."

"That's how conversations with Mother go," Lucretia said archly. "You'll just have to get used to it. Someday soon she'll start throwing men at you too, in the hopes that one of them will buy you. Like a cow at market," she spat disgustedly.

"For heaven's sake, girl, I'm not selling you. You need a husband-"

"Forget it," Lucretia spat. "I'm going out, or else I'll cry myself sick. Don't wait up."

And Lucretia flounced out of the room. The sound of the front door slamming followed close behind. The room breathed in collectively, holding very still.

The faint sound of wailing echoed through the house.

Melania tucked her shirt into her skirt, and sighed. "Take your friend to a spare room," she told Orion, her eyes moving over Harry. "And shut that thing up. I'm going to bed."

And then she too left the room.

There was a long uncomfortable silence, and Harry wasn't sure what to do. He sincerely hoped the entire summer wouldn't be spent like this.

At last, Orion turned to his little sister and winced. "How long has she been like that?"

Meissa stared up at Orion and slipped her hand into his, her little expression very serious. "Ri, she's tired all the time. She keeps going to bed whenever Rigel screams, and she wouldn't get up for weeks. You need to fix her."

"I'm sure she doesn't need fixing," Orion said helplessly. "She'll be fine."

"She started crying the other day. She never cries."

"She's just very sad, Meissa," Orion said, bending down and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "Like we all are, right? We're all sad about Rigel."

"But she keeps yelling at Father. She won't stop saying that it's 'all his fault'."

Orion tried for an uncomfortable chuckle. "She didn't mean that."

Meissa frowned. "Ri, what did Father do?"

Harry imagined that Orion couldn't come up with a sensitive way to say 'he date-raped and blackmailed her into an unhappy marriage', so instead Orion just forced a comforting smile and said: "He didn't do anything, Meissa. Nothing at all."

Meissa narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but finally nodded her acceptance.

And then she turned to Harry.

"And who are you?"

Harry felt a momentary flutter of panic- he hadn't yet had to introduce himself. Arcturus Black had held up a hand when Harry tried for a stuttering introduction, Melania Black had already seemed to know everything, and Lucretia had acted like Harry didn't even exist.

"I, er-

"This is Harrison Peters," Orion said, his smile growing more real. "He's my friend, and he's staying with us this summer."

Meissa didn't look convinced. "You don't have friends."

"Of course he does," Harry objected hotly. "What?" he said, in response to Orion's doubt. "You do. You have plenty of friends in Hufflepuff. AndSlytherin!"

"Well, he's never brought any of them home," Meissa said decisively.

"Ta da!" Orion said helpfully, gesturing towards Harry.

"Okay then," Meissa shrugged. "I'm going to see if Mother wants tea."

"Don't be silly. Let the house elves do that."

"She's already killed three of those," Meissa frowned. "She doesn't want to see the servants when she's like this. You should go and see Rigel. He got excited when he heard you were back. He's crying now, though. He keeps doing that." She gave Harry a very intense frown, like it was all his fault. And then she wandered out of the room, humming in that distracted way that only a child could.

"She's an odd child," Harry remarked after a beat, not sure anything else could quite sum up the situation.

"She's stuck here all year round with Mother," Orion sighed. "I'm not sure there's any way she could come out of it normal. And Lucretia's no help. Apparently she's barely even here."

"She seems a little off."

"We're all a bit off," Orion admitted. "It's this house that does it." He glared at his surroundings, and Orion looked so much like Sirius that Harry couldn't breathe for a minute.

"The house?" Harry raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he was biased, but compared to the future ruins, this house seemed remarkably homely and luxurious.

"In our own way," Orion said, "I think we were all intensely lonely children. This place brings out the worst in us."

"Meissa still is a child," Harry pointed out.

"Perhaps," Orion said, and he looked suddenly very old and very sad. Harry wondered if this was the 'worst' that he had just spoken of. Suddenly he perked up, and he was back to his eager self. "Come on then! I haven't seen Rigel in ages."

Orion let Harry drop his luggage off in a spare room, and then led Harry to the topmost landing, where the sound of crying got louder. Harry was fairly sure one of these rooms would become Sirius' room in the future, but for now it belonged to the youngest Black. The door bore a sign that read 'MUGGLES KEEP OUT' and showed animated figures: little wizards firing spell after green spell at helpless stick men, who all died horrifically.

"They're just bedtime stories," Orion said defensively.

He pushed open the door (the wailing got almost intolerably deafening) and motioned for Harry to follow. The room within was predictably huge: tall ceilings and high walls covered with murals of night skies that actually moved and glistened like real stars. The vastness of the room seemed even bigger against the tiny bed in the centre, which was engulfed by some kind of shimmering golden forcefield.

"What's that?" Harry whispered, frowning at the globe.

"It's a stabiliser," Orion murmured, but didn't appear to be paying much attention. His eyes were on his brother.

And so were Rigel's.

The little boy had noticed them by now and his crying had stopped abruptly; his eyes were wide and disbelieving as he gazed at his brother.

"Orion!" he squealed, and jumped out of bed. Orion knelt, and his brother threw himself into his arms. They hugged tightly, and Harry thought his heart might have melted a little.

"You didn't cut your hair!" Rigel declared delightedly, tugging on a lock of Orion's hair and giggling.

"You know that," Orion said in a gentle voice. "It was still long at Christmas, remember?"

"I don't remember Christmas," Rigel said distractedly.

"Well, that's okay," Orion said, fake smile firmly in place. "We'll just have to remind you, won't we? Starting with the presents I brought you from school! But first…"

Rigel screeched cheerfully as Orion attacked him with tickles, the pair falling onto the bed. Harry noticed that Orion was careful to protect Rigel's head, keeping it safe against his chest despite the 'violence' of their play. When Rigel was out of breath (and it happened quicker than Harry had expected), Orion released his victim, and tucked Rigel against the cushions.

"So what have you done whilst I've been away, huh?"

"Lots of tests," Rigel replied, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "I had to wait a bit 'cause I had too much magic in me. Mei taught me a new card game, and 'Cretia got a halfblood boyfriend so Mother cursed her. They broke up though, so it was fine."

"Lucretia got a boyfriend?"

Rigel nodded heavily. "He was too stupid for her."

Harry thought that sounded like a direct quote from Lucretia, and he snorted softly. Rigel appeared to notice Harry for the first time.

"Your face is weird," Rigel said very abruptly, and Harry blanched.

"What are you-"

"I think he means your scars," Orion explained quickly, placing a protective hand on Rigel's shoulder.

"Oh." Harry's hand shot up to his cheek, and traced along the faint golden scars. He always forgot he had those. "Those. Yeah. A bad man gave them to me."

"Was it a muggle?" Rigel asked, his mouth falling open in a little 'o' of shock.

"Hey," Orion said chidingly. "We talked about this at Christmas. We don't listen to Mother about muggles, okay?" And he looked up at Harry, hopeful for approval.

Harry gave a thumbs up.

"Why is the shiny man here?" Rigel asked.

"Because he's my friend. And his name isn't 'shiny man', it's Harry. You can call him Uncle Harry, though."

"He's not calling me Uncle Harry."

Orion pouted. "But it would be so cute."

"It's not happening. Hear me?" he addressed the youngest Black. "Not happening."

Rigel smirked up at him, mischief glinting in his eyes. "Okay… Uncle Harry."

(Harry's protest of "this isn't becoming a thing" was ignored.)

Orion offered his little brother his hand, and said, "High five!"

"…What's that?"

"It's this thing that Harry taught me about," Orion explained eagerly. "Look. You hit the flat bit of your hand against mine. See?"

Orion guided Rigel's hand up, and gently collided their hands together.

Rigel started laughing. "Again!" he demanded.

Orion sighed dramatically, and repeated his demonstration, to great acclaim.

Despite the unfortunate nickname (that would not be continuing, no matter what Orion said), Harry grinned fondly at the pair. This summer was going to be ace.

Wool's Orphanage had a less joyous atmosphere, which explained why Tom could barely wait to get out.

He lingered for perhaps a week of the summer, making sure to remind everyone exactly who was in charge and establishing that- no, professor Dumbledore, I couldn't possibly have been looking for my family over the summer. I was at the orphanage the whole time. Just ask them.

And then finally, on a Sunday, he collected up his wand and a lantern and apparated into Little Hangleton. He arrived late in the evening, when the sky was cast in darkness and the only people around seemed to be drunk or homeless. Tom raised the light and squinted around. He frowned at a heavily-bearded man hovering in a doorway, puffing on a cigarette.

"Where can I find the Gaunts?" Tom called out, strolling towards the fellow.

The man didn't turn around, grunting "piss off" and taking another drag on his cigarette. Tom didn't fancy trying to talk reason to the muggle, so he abruptly grabbed the man by the shoulder, pulling him around to face Tom. The man reared violently, but Tom had already looked straight into his eyes and delved into the mind beyond.

A street in night time, but the image felt older and more tired, blurred by the haze of alcohol.

Stumbling out of the darkness, a drunken man bellowed and chucked a bottle into the road- there was an accompanying spike of irritation- 'Bloody Marvolo Gaunt, disturbing the peace,' came the thought.

And there he was: Marvolo Gaunt, Tom's namesake.

"BRING HER BACK!" the drunken man yelled. "I DON'T FUCKING CARE."

A policeman came into view, shaking his head and clasping his hands behind him. Tom suspected he was holding a weapon. "Come on, Mr Gaunt. You got in a lot of trouble for that business with the out-of-towner before you went away- you don't want to get in any more, do you?"

"Bring her back!" Marvolo demanded, looking wretched.

"Your daughter just went out of town, remember?"

"No- she was stolen. By that filth," Marvolo spat. "I'll find him. I'll kill him!"

And Marvolo withdrew a stick that Tom knew wouldn't look intimidating to the muggles- indeed, the mind he was in felt nothing more than faint amusement. Tom almost wished that Marvolo Gaunt would show those muggles the true power of wizardkind-

But no.

Instead Marvolo Gaunt kicked a bottle in the road, and it flew towards a lamppost, shattering on impact.

"Damn you all," he mumbled pathetically. Then he turned around and shuffled away, out of town, down a road that led towards the large house on the hill.

The policeman watched his retreat and shook his head disapprovingly. "He's a wrong 'un. And he's led his whole family astray."

The mind Tom was in- Julius Worchester, the name bubbled up- felt a strong agreement. "Quite the shame. Is that boy of his coming back any time soon?"

"He's still locked up," the policeman shook his head. "Bloody Morfin Gaunt. He was always a vicious lad. It's no wonder he turned out like he did."

"It's a shame about that girl- Merope. She was a sweet thing. But to run off with the Riddle heir-"

"-Not sure how she managed that one. Face like a horse."

An overwhelming sense of amusement and faint pity. The sounds of laughter and further talking, but Tom was already pulling away, out of Julius Worchester's mind and back into his-

Tom was thrown back into his own mind, and it took only a split second before he had Julius Worchester frozen still, his eyes glazed over with fear.

"Tell me about Merope Gaunt," he hissed, squeezing tightly on the man's mind.

"She- she was Marvolo's girl," Worchester stuttered. "Ugly thing. Used to- to follow him around town like a drowned cat. She ran- ran off with the- the Riddle boy. He- he was infatuated."

Riddle felt a deep disgust. Love- how awful.

"How long ago was this?"

"'Round 18 years, I- I reckon."

The timelines matched up then.

"She never came back," Worchester said quickly, "if- if you were looking for her. I-I'm sorry if she stole something-"

"I should kill you," Tom spat, because he had seen the impression of Merope's face in the man's mind, and he knew. She was his mother, almost certainly, and they had talked about her like she was filth.

Perhaps she was.

He readied himself to cast the killing blow, the words burning bright on his tongue, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Harrison's voice was a faint presence in his ear, and Tom snarled. Damnit. With a savage twist of his wand, he painfully and viciously shut the man's mind down. When he awoke, he would forever be left with the faint, nauseating sensation that he had forgotten something incredibly important. It would likely drive him mad.

And Tom left Julius Worchester's body lying on the pavement, setting off on the very same road that Marvolo Gaunt had travelled down so many years ago.

Tom, of course, was significantly less drunk.

It didn't take long to come across a small, dilapidated shack, a snake nailed brutally to the door. Tom made his way down the little path to the entrance and hissed softly at the dead serpent, flicking its dried-out head.

He chuckled lightly.

And then Tom knocked on the door, raising an eyebrow as the cheap wood splintered beneath his touch. He waited a second, muttered a quick "alohomora" and then pushed the door open.

A candle was alight inside of the shack, and so it took Tom a moment to adjust, blinking in the harsh glow. As his vision cleared, his eyes swept slowly over the hovel- disgusting and covered in mouldy food, he noted faintly- and finally came to rest on a man. Or what he thought was a man- it'd might not even have been human, it was so overgrown with hair and dirt. Tom wondered how it could bare to live with itself.

The thing staggered to its feet, clutching a knife and a wand in his sweaty grip. So he was a wizard after all, Tom thought. Shame.

"YOU!" the wizard bellowed. "YOU!"

And he staggered slightly pathetically onwards, holding the knife aloft like it might actually do damage. Tom doubted he would even get close to stabbing him after so many bottles of Firewhiskey.

Ah well. Time to test his family relation.

"Stop," Tom hissed.

The man stopped.

Damnit.

The sound of pots clattering from the table was the only thing that breached the silence between them. Tom wondered what the other wizard was thinking, or if he was even capable of speech in his inebriated state.

(Surely there was a bath somewhere in this shack?)

"You speak it?" The other man's voice was hoarse from disuse, and spittle painted his lips. Tom contained a shudder.

"Obviously," Tom replied, rolling his eyes slightly and moving further into his house. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of rot as the door swung shut behind him. "Where is Marvolo?"

"Dead," said the wizard, sniffing slightly. (Merlin, how yellow were his teeth?) "Died years ago, didn' he? Everyone knows that."

"I haven't been in town," Tom said with faintly amusement.

"No," the wizard agreed and narrowed his eyes in thought- it obviously took a lot of effort. He fell silent, still glowering at Tom like he was trying to remember something.

"Who are you then?" Was this some kind of distant cousin of his? Uncle?

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?" Tom asked, remembering the talks of vandalism and 'children gone wrong'.

"Yeah." Morfin pushed the hair out of his face, and Tom noticed a glinting ring on his finger. So there was something of value in this house, after all. Perhaps it was a family heirloom of some kind? It looked like it held a crest.

"Is there something on my face?" Tom asked with faint amusement, noticing the way that the man kept glancing at somewhere around his forehead.

"I thought you was that Muggle," Morfin whispered. "You look mighty like him."

"Riddle?"

"Yeah," Morfin nodded. "That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way." And suddenly Morfin spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it... An' he wears better clothes. All fancy-like."

"But you can't know that for sure," Tom pressed. Perhaps this dirty little man knew what had happened to his parents. "He could be dead."

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, shaking his head vehemently. "No. He came back."

Tom's heart stopped. "Riddle came back?"

"Yeah. He left her and crawled back to Mummy and Daddy- and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?" And he let out a sound that might have been a sob.

Tom did not answer, his mind moving quickly. So it had just been his mother that died poor in London; his father had crawled back to his muggle family. Perhaps he left when he had found that Merope was pregnant, or when he found that she was a witch. But he left his wife and his child to die, poor and miserable in the gutter… Tom felt a cold stab of rage in his stomach.

Morfin was working himself into a state again; brandishing his knife and shouting, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut!..."

And he kept going on and on, but with that insult to his mother, Tom snapped. As Morfin glanced away, Tom fired a vicious stunning spell, and Morfin went crashing to the ground, his head glancing off the edge of a table. Tom contemplating ending his pathetic little life- it would be so simple to simply cut his throat, practically a mercy-killing, but no.

Perhaps Morfin Gaunt would be useful.

Tom paused, crouching to pick up a dusty photo from the floor, the glass in the frame smashed. He brushed away the debris and smoothed out the photo- some kind of Gaunt family portrait, he gathered.

He watched the little figures move, taking note of their little idiosyncrasies and traits. Marvolo Gaunt seemed like the kind of self-important imbecile that thought he was entitled to things but couldn't explain exactly why. Morfin Gaunt in his youth looked similar to the tramp on the floor in the present, if a little more clean-shaven.

And there was his mother. She was remarkably ugly, Tom realised- nothing like a 'pureblood lady', nothing like Walburga or even Druella. Merope's cheeks were sunken, her hair was dirty, and she was so thin that the child's dress she was wearing swallowed up her frame, making her look even more vulnerable.

Even more pathetic.

And no, Tom did not have her eyes after all.

He dropped the photo dispassionately, grinding it into the glass shards with the heel of his shoe. And then Tom moved on once more, leaving another body in his wake. He had a father to find.

The Riddles were having dinner when Tom knocked on their door. He waited for a second, enough to realise that no one would answer him, and then he whispered a spell, turned the handle and strolled in. He glided through the decadence of Riddle Manor, sneering at the game heads on the walls. Tasteless. It wasn't difficult to find his family: he just followed the scent of perfectly cooked chicken and the faint sound of conversation.

And then Tom threw open the doors to the dining room, sweeping into the room, taking quick notice of three people around a table.

The nearest, an old, domineering man, rose to his feet. "Now see here, boy, what do you-"

With a flick of Tom's wand, the curtains were on fire. The second person, an elderly woman, screamed shrilly, leapt out of her chair and scurried away from the burning curtains.

"Who are you?" the old man said, quieter this time, watchful of the towering flames.

"Tom Riddle." He gave a cordial nod to his relatives. "I thought I'd make this a family reunion."

They stared at him in stunned silence. Finally, the old woman- his grandmother- turned to the last place at the table and said with horror: "Tom, what have you done?"

Ah yes.

Tom Riddle Sr. looked shocked, his face wan and pale. He looked so much like his son that it would have been impossible to deny their relation, and Tom finally accepted his heritage. Abandoned offspring of a degenerate pureblood family and a muggle. He'd almost preferred not knowing at all.

Tom Sr. probably shared his opinion. He could barely speak. "I- I-"

"You told me that you left nothing behind. You said she lost the child," his grandmother hissed, and none of them could keep their eyes off of Tom. He felt rather like a ghost back to haunt them.

"I- she-" Tom Sr. stuttered. "She bewitched me! I- I had to get away. You don't understand-"

"Why are you here, boy?" his grandfather bristled, glaring protectively at Tom. "And how did you do that nonsense with the curtains- I won't stand for circus tricks in my house-"

"Magic," Tom said, rolling his eyes and sealing the old man's mouth shut. His grandfather's eyes widened, and he gestured angrily. Tom ignored him.

"What are you here for?" his grandmother tried for a more diplomatic approach. "If you want money, I'm sure we could provide something-"

"I don't want your money," Tom sneered, twirling his wand around his fingers. "I just wanted to see who birthed me. I confess myself… disappointed. I rather thought I might become part of the family."

"You're not a part of anything," Tom Sr. said abruptly, having found his confidence. "I want you gone."

The room flashed dark suddenly; the only light came from Tom's lantern, eerily illuminating his twisted snarl. "Don't tell me what I can or can't do," came his hiss in the darkness.

"We're sorry!" his grandmother yelled out, and when the lights came back on, she had her arms wrapped tightly around her son. "Please don't hurt us."

"No," Tom Sr. objected, pulling out of her embrace. "I won't be pushed around by my own son. Listen here, boy, I didn't want your mother and I certainly don't want you. And you can tell her that, wherever she is."

He came very close to Tom, and for a moment Tom could almost respect him.

"She's dead."

"Good." And then Tom Sr.'s face went very dark, his eyes glazing over in memory. "You're both freaks."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You don't want me?"

"No."

"The feeling's mutual," Tom shrugged, and then a streak of green light hit his father in the chest. He slumped to the ground, dead.

His grandmother let out a screech and rushed to her son's side, shaking his shoulder desperately. She sobbed again as his head flopped lifelessly onto her hand.

"No," she crooned softly, patting his cheek. "Tom, sweetheart, wake up."

"He's dead," Tom said carelessly.

His grandfather, in the meanwhile, had crept to his feet and now tried to lunge at Tom. Tom rolled his eyes and flicked his wand slightly, sending his grandfather crashing into a wall. Time to wrap things up.

He glanced between them: his wretched grandmother and his fallen grandfather, with a second killing curse on his tongue-

But then, for some reason, he was reminded of Harrison. Perhaps because Harrison loved his own parents so very dearly. It was a rather foreign concept for Tom, especially within Slytherin. But Harrison would do almost anything to get his family back; he'd said as much.

And suddenly Tom couldn't bring himself to wipe out his last remaining kin.

He grimaced and pulled his grandmother to her feet, staring into her eyes. He erased the memory of Tom's visit and implanted one of her son telling them that he was going to confront that Morfin Gaunt, get him to stop spreading rumours and belittling their name. He briefly revived his grandfather and did the same.

And then Tom set his father's body on fire, and vanished the ashes.

What? He'd never claimed to be sentimental.

On his way back to the village, he made a brief stop to the Gaunt shack again, where he retrieved the photo he'd seen, and slid the ring from Morfin's finger, pocketing it.

The short memory alteration was easy, and Morfin's drug-addled brain was like putty. Tom resisted the urge to set the shack on fire as he closed the door behind him.

It would have perhaps been a little overdramatic, he decided, and disapparated.

Late July, and Harry had perhaps not thought through taking Orion into muggle London. Although he had remembered to put a glamour over himself (realising that golden scars weren't normal in the muggle world), so perhaps Harry could count that as a personal achievement.

Orion had been fairly terrified as they stepped out of the doors of Grimmauld Place and set off towards the centre of muggle London, and clutched Harry's arm every time a bus rushed past. To his credit though, Orion had soon grown more comfortable, and got to a point where he was merely eyeing the nearby muggles with suspicion.

It had not taken long for the questions to begin.

"I don't understand," Orion complained, squinting at a sign reading 'GET YOUR OWN BACK: WAR TIME SAVINGS'. "Why do they have to do all this saving and rationing?"

Harry glanced around the street nervously, offering a smile to a nearby women, who clutched her newspaper tightly and scowled at the pair. Fortunately, the street was quite busy, so they weren't easily overheard. Harry had already managed to talk Orion into wearing a shirt and trouser combo and to leave the robe at Grimmauld Place- he'd rather not be arrested for suspicious activity over a propaganda sign, of all things.

"Well, muggles don't have instant transportation," Harry explained under his breath.

"They don't?!" Orion asked, much louder.

Harry shushed him. "No, they don't. So they have to use boats to get things like food and fabric into the country. But the Germans have boats too," Harry shrugged. "They attack the food supply, meaning the muggles don't always have a lot of food."

"Do the Germans use bows and arrows?" Orion asked curiously. "I've always wanted to see that."

"No," Harry said, imagining World War Two with horses and swords. "The muggles have upgraded since then. They have guns now."

"What's a 'gun'?"

"Errr…" Harry scanned the area. Luckily (sort of), a soldier was standing on the corner of the street, looking utterly bored. "That's a gun," Harry said, pointing at the machinery resting under the man's arm.

"What does it do?"

"It fires metal pellets into people fast enough to kill them."

Orion's eyes widened. "Muggles are vicious," and he shuffled away from a little girl playing piggy-in-the-middle alone. "This is what I was talking about before. They're dangerous."

"It does the same thing as a propulsion spell," Harry said. "Both worlds are fighting a war, Orion. The muggles are just fighting differently. Machines instead of magic."

"It is rather ingenious," Orion admitted. "Although I could definitely improve it with runes." And he glanced towards the soldier like he was moments away from snatching the gun and carting it back to his bedroom.

Harry pulled Orion down a side street abruptly, away from the tempting rifle. "Nope- hands off. We're not getting arrested today."

Orion pouted, but his attention was quickly caught by a flower stall, adorned with all kind of blossoms and foliage: bright yellow flowers that Harry thought looked like overgrown daisies, and the flowers that Uncle Vernon brought home from work sometimes.

"They're so pretty!" Orion exclaimed. "I didn't know muggles had flowers."

Harry snorted. "Of course they do."

"All the pictures just show them farming dirt."

"That's because you appear to have been looking at cave drawings," Harry said, smirking at the idea of pureblood elites pouring over early drawing and murmuring about how they really must look out for those sabre tooth tigers.

Orion shrugged, apparently delighted with his discovery nonetheless. Hr marched towards the flower vendor with determination, calling out "I'm going to talk to her!"

"Oh my god," Harry mumbled, watching Orion sweep into a low bow and declare to the perplexed vendor: "Your finest flowers please, my good woman!"

The vendor, a young lady with a tell-tale baby bump, blinked. "You off your rocker?"

"What did she say?" Orion asked, turning back to Harry. He had faint panic in his eyes- apparently this wasn't going as planned.

"She asked if you were insane," Harry said, joining them at the stall and offering the vendor an apologetic look. "Not unjustified, I'll admit."

"I just want some flowers," Orion insisted. "Tell her I want flowers."

"Tell her yourself. She's not deaf."

The vendor crossed her arms. "Bloody right I'm not. You gonna get something or what?"

"I'll just have some of these," Orion gestured widely across the wares.

The vendor rolled her eyes, but began gathering some random flowers. "'I'll have some of these' he says," she muttered, and finally presented Orion with a handful. "'Spose it's too much to expect you to have money?"

Orion scrambled in his pockets, cowed by the flower seller. Harry found it guiltily hilarious. "This should cover it," Orion said quickly, presenting her with a golden galleon.

Harry covered his face in embarrassment, and wondered if 1940s pavements could swallow people up.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's… it's a galleon," Orion said uncertainly. "I know it might be too much-"

"What am I supposed to do with a googlian?"

"-No, it's a galleon-"

"I don't care what it's called-"

"It's gold," Harry said, deciding to fix the situation. "Take it to the pawn shop- you'll get at least ten times what these flowers are worth for it."

The vendor eyed them suspiciously, but took the galleon. "You foreign or something?"

"Nope," Harry said grimly. "Just as British as you are."

"Lucky I don't think Hitler would send spies who don't know how money works," the vendor grumbled. "I could be going straight to the Home Guard."

"Well, we're very grateful that you're not. So, er, thanks," Harry said quickly, and pulled Orion away. He wasn't sure where he was going, just… away, away from the mortification.

"Are all muggle women that scary?" Orion asked, hurrying after Harry.

"She was nothing compared to your mother," Harry said darkly, and Orion made a faint sound of agreement. Suddenly, the sound of Orion's footsteps halted.

Harry turned around to see what had caught his attention. "Why are you stoppi-?"

Ah.

Orion was staring in horror at the ruins of a house. It could barely even be called a house anymore: reduced to little more than a pile of debris. It was odd: you could still see things like sets of shelves, plates, even cuddly toys hidden in the heap, but it wasn't a home anymore.

The rest of London walked past the house like it wasn't even there. A mother carefully guided her son around a pool of broken glass, and a man used his briefcase to push a broken tree branch out of his way. They didn't see the damage.

"What happened?" Orion breathed, wide-eyed.

"Bombs."

"What's a bomb?"

Harry frowned. How to explain? "It's sort of like a reducto contained in this big metal case. And when the muggles drop it from the sky, it explodes."

"That's horrible."

"That's war."

"Will they bomb your village?" Orion asked, looking awfully concerned.

"I don't reckon they'd bother. There wasn't much left after Grindelwald," Harry shrugged, remembering the smouldering remains of Bideford. He'd chosen a fairly miserable backstory.

"I suppose wizards and muggles can be just as bad as each other," Orion said slowly, like he was coming to a world-changing realisation.

"That's exactly my point!" Harry said excitedly. "We're all awful! We just express it in different ways- doesn't matter if it's magic or machines. We all just want to kill each other in the end."

Orion frowned up at the rubble, and Harry coughed. "I mean, some of us do. Actually, most of us are… er, nice, probably-" he looked around hopefully. "Look!" Harry pointed towards a nearby 'OXFORD CIRCUS' sign. "We can go on the tube!"

"We can… stand on a… pipe?" Orion said hesitantly, distracted from the debris.

"The tube is like an underground train system. Gets you around the city."

"Like a floo network?"

"Kind of. Think of it like the Hogwarts train, but tightly packed, practically everyone stands, and a new one leaves around every three minutes."

"Wow," Orion said strongly, the sparks of excitement in his eyes reigniting. "Yeah. Let's do that."

After apparating into Gringotts and changing their money for muggle currency (Harry had learnt from the flower incident, although he still had a hard time understanding how shillings worked), they took the steps down into the Oxford Circus station.

Harry struggled with the 'state of the art' ticket machine, and almost got out his wand in frustration. Orion managed to calm him down. Harry was still fuming when they showed their tickets to the inspector, and Orion called out a cheery "he's showing me the muggle floo network!" Needless to say, they were treated with suspicion.

Orion got very excited about the escalator, and Harry got very confused about why the steps were wood.

"But it's wood!" he complained. "Why would they use wood?"

"Well, what else would they use?" Orion asked. "Bricks?"

Harry trailed into mumbles about 'metal' and 'stupid out-dated station'.

The actual platform was brimming with men in army, navy or air force uniforms, and Harry felt very aware of their plain clothes. He awkwardly shuffled behind a gaggle of teenage girls, escaping the gaze of a disapproving soldier across the tracks.

The teenage girls noticed.

"Hullo," a particularly dolled-up girl said, turning around and waving at the pair of them. "Hiding from the uniforms?"

"No," Harry said strongly. "…Maybe."

"They are a bit intimidating," she sighed longingly.

"I don't them intimidating," another girl said, rolling her eyes.

"That's 'cause you don't have a heart, Daria."

"Just because you're a khaki-wacky-"

"Don't you dare-"

"You're both fat-heads," the last girl said grumpily, checking through her purse. "Hitler will be able to hear you all the way from Germany."

The first girl rolled her eyes, but she smiled brightly at Harry, red lipstick gleaming. "I'm Lucy. This is Daria, and this is Jo," she said, pointing to the first and second girl in turn.

"Harry."

"Orion Black, of the ancient and noble house of Black," Orion said, his smile even wider than Lucy's.

"Are you plummy or something?" Jo asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Don't be rude to the nice boys," Lucy said, nudging her friend pointedly. "We might see them again. Don't mind Jo," she told the boys. "She's just being bad-tempered."

"I had to sleep down here last night," Jo snarled, snapping her purse shut. "It was bloody freezing and I couldn't wash my face until lunchtime. So excuse me for not being Miss Happy-go-lucky."

"You had to sleep down here?" Orion said sweetly. "It doesn't look like it! I never could have told."

Jo turned bright red. "Well… I… thank you."

Harry thought positively that Orion was being remarkably charming and normal.

"Why did you have to sleep down here though?" Orion wondered out-loud. "Do you not have a house?"

Harry had spoken too soon. "No, Orion," he said quietly. "They were hiding from the bombs. Remember?"

"You hid from the bombs down here?" Orion looked even more amazed.

"I was out when the air raid sirens went off- stupid, I know. This was the closest shelter," Jo said, still blushing.

"It wasn't stupid," Lucy said comfortingly. "You can never tell with these things." She turned her attention back to Harry and Orion. "So how long until you two ship out? Or were you not caught by conscription?"

"We're not old enough," Harry said, stamping on Orion's foot before he could ask anything weird about conscription.

"Really?" Lucy said suggestively, stepping closer. "You look older."

A train pulled up to the opposite platform, and a wave of people spilled out, surging towards the exit.

"This place is so cool," Orion said enthusiastically. "Everything's so non-magical!"

Harry groaned, but Lucy laughed obligingly.

"So is this your first time in London?" Lucy asked, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

"No, I live here," Orion said earnestly.

Lucy laughed again, and Harry assumed that she took it for sarcasm. Thank god for British cynicism.

"The tube isn't all fun though," Daria said darkly. "Do you remember Balham?"

"What happened?" Orion asked curiously.

"Three years ago, a bomb exploded over a platform. Bus crashed into the crater during blackout, water and gas flooded the tunnels underneath. Over sixty people dead, trapped underground. The survivors had to swim out."

"Woah," Orion whispered, gawking around him like he expected black water to come gushing from the tunnels at any minute.

"And then down at Bethnal Green, nearly 200 crushed trying to get into the station. And there was that bomb at Bank-"

"Don't scare them, Daria," Jo said firmly, gaining back her confidence. "They're nice." And she beamed at Orion.

"Just telling the truth," Daria said, a little superiorly. "We should know what's going on."

"I don't think a tube station is really the place to talk about that, though," Lucy pointed out. "It's not very appropriate."

"You're not very appropriate," Daria muttered.

"And some people appreciate that," Lucy said, winking at the boys.

Harry felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up from his collar. And like an answer to his prayers, the train pulled up to the platform.

"Let's get on the train!" Orion said excitedly, clutching Harry's arm.

"Are you going?" Jo asked, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Yeah, sorry. I've got to show Orion around," Harry said, shuffling back. "Are you coming on the train?"

"Nah," Lucy shrugged, pouting a little now that she saw them leaving. "I'm just here to look at the servicemen. Dashing, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry said, pointedly not noticed how well-muscled the soldiers' shoulders were.

Suddenly, Jo dashed forward and pressed a slip of paper into Orion's hand. "My number," she said quickly. "You should call."

"Come on," Harry said, dragging Orion into the carriage as the doors slid shut. Orion waved goodbye to the girls from the window as the train jolted into motion, and began rushing down the tracks. Harry awkwardly shuffled past a serviceman and dropped into a seat (the upholstery a rather hideous black and orange pattern). Orion took the seat next to him.

"So you have a fan then," Harry said teasingly, nudging his friend.

"She gave me her number," Orion frowned. "Her number of what?"

"It's so you can call her."

"Like a floo call? But she didn't give me her address-"

"No, a phone call."

"…What's a phone?"

"It's, er, it's a machine. You talk into this receiver thing, and then person on the other end of this long line can hear you. They can be really far away- like another country, sometimes."

"Muggles are quite inventive, aren't they?" Orion said thoughtfully, glancing around the carriage.

"They don't have magic, so they kind of have to be. Are you going to call her then? She was very into you."

"Oh no," Orion said firmly. "Mother would never dream of letting me marry a muggleborns, never mind a muggle. Besides, my heart belongs to Walburga at the moment."

"She's getting married this summer- you should probably move on."

"I know," Orion admitted, and sighed. "But she's wonderful, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's, er, great. Speaking of the wedding- are we invited? I haven't heard anything about it."

"I am," Orion said uncomfortable. "Your… well, you see, your, er- your blood status-"

"It's fine," Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I know they wouldn't want a filthy halfblood wandering around. It is actually a bit of a relief- I'd probably use the wrong cutlery."

Orion frowned in disbelief. "How could you use the wrong cutlery? It was the topic of my first ever day out with my father."

"That's not normal," Harry said very gently.

"Huh."

"So what do you think of muggles then? They don't even breathe fire," Harry grinned.

"I think they're nice. They seem like… normal people. Doing things without magic."

"They are," Harry smiled, knocking his shoulder against Orion's. "Some of them are arseholes, but so are some wizards. Take Avery, for example. Proper git with magic, but he'd still be a git without it."

Orion sniggered. "You shouldn't say that. Avery's family went through a difficult time."

"So did mine," Harry said darkly. "Doesn't give you license to discriminate."

"I know," Orion agreed.

And they beamed at each other. Harry thought there might be hope for the wizarding world, after all.

Of course, not everything could go so smashingly. Awaiting them at home, along with announcements of an unfortunate engagement, was the news that Apus Black, Walburga's fiance, was dead.

It's been a while! Oops. Hope this wasn't awful xx

Let's talk about this; Tom Riddle Sr is presented in a reasonably negative format because this is Tom's POV. But Tom Sr. is a victim of rape. Love potions and the Imperius Charm in this context are tools of rape and in my humble opinion, Tom Sr. is completely justified in 'abandoning' his rapist, and all reactions that followed.
But our Tom is also pretty justified in feeling abandoned (although not the murder) and pissed off.
Huh. It's a complex moral situation.
To cheer you up: I call Orion 'Oreo' in my notes.