YYAAAAAYCHAPTERDONE!!!

*spazzness*

Anywho.

Replies, anyone?

And I don't reply to two word comments, so I'll only be replying to two of the three. I do appreciate the comments, I just don't see the need to reply to ones that are that short...

ThreeBooksInTheFire: Actuallytechnically it totally wouldn't be good for him, because that would put the school one step closer to discovering it's him. Granted Dippet's a big buttwipe who would never expect perfect little psychopathic voldykins, but oh well. That's Dippet for ya.

Sparanda: -still feels like a complete idiot for not noticing that- -facepalm-

Disclaimer: I still totally don't own Harry Potter. These things don't change between chapters, I promise. No. Owns. H. P. That's JKR's job. And to kill people :( -is still totally sad over the last book-

Warnings: I'm still so cruel.

Quick Quotes Quill: I couldn't stand being the subject of pity of a bunch of filthy Muggles who all thought I was underfed and mistreated and troubled. I was fine. They were the ones who were all mad. (Yeah, totally sounds like denial.)

In absolute annoyance, I held a bag of ice covered in a tattered old cloth over my right eye, watching the night pass by in Great Hangleton through my left. My father hadn't managed to swell both of my eyes shut, and that was a blessing in itself. I was agile and I did pack a decent punch, but he hit harder. I had also had less practice this year. Algie Longbottom had ended up petrified. I'd only fought Tom, and that was only one time. There was a chance my father had the upper hand, and if that was so, I would be spending a lot of time glaring at Great Hangleton through my one decent eye.

A week had passed by since I had returned home, and this was the first fight between my father and me thus far. I had finally, in our worst yelling contest yet, managed to get it through his thick skull that I had not had anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets. How had I managed it? Well, I had told him that he was an old lunatic with an ancestry of inbred idiots that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with, and therefore I wouldn't have opened the Chamber of Secrets because I tried to avoid association with my family name at all costs.

And then he had swung at me and called me a filthy blood traitor, just like my mother and his own sister and told me I wasn't worthy to be in Slytherin, especially not worthy of the Gaunt family name.

On the downside, I was probably going to end up falling asleep on this bench and wake up, half-frozen, to find a Muggle child poking me with a stick. My father would definitely not let me back in the house tonight. It happened quite often during the summer, but it was winter right now, and waking up cold might make me likely to strike at whatever Muggle was hovering over me.

On the upside of things, however, he had actually mentioned something about a subject he generally avoided as though speaking of it would be the death of him. He had mentioned my mother, and that she was a blood traitor. That was the most that he had ever spoken of her before, and now I knew it for a fact. Then his sister. I knew about her already, about Merope Gaunt, who ran off with a Muggle while my father and his father were in prison for something. She had left, and had been promptly disowned. Had she returned, she wouldn't have been welcome. My father despised her, but he would use her as an example of a blood traitor at any given moment.

It was my mother, the woman he had apparently been married to, that he would never mention. This was most definitely a first for him. She was a forbidden topic; I didn't even know her name at that time. I wanted to know more, of course, but asking him would mean more nights spent with good old Father Winter during my leave of absence from Hogwarts. I didn't mind winter. I just didn't like sleeping in the middle of it. There aren't many people who do, as far as I know.

I did believe this would be only a temporary leave of absence. As much as he believed friends held him back, Tom was misfortunate enough to truly look at me as a friend. I had been allowed to stay to the end of the day to say goodbye to everyone, in case it was the last time I saw them apparently. If I was proven to be the one who opened the chamber, it would be off to Azkaban with me. Dippet would make sure I got a life sentence.

Even so, I was sure Tom would come through. I didn't care who got it, just as long as it was enough to prove I was innocent. I hated thinking like that, but if I was going to get sent to Azkaban, then I didn't care. It could be anyone. I would just be glad to be back at Hogwarts and away from the madman that called himself my father; that I often referred to as my father just because the only other things I could think to call him were too obscene to even think of, to write down upon these pages. Any respect I ever had for him was beginning to spiral down.

If anything, this had quite a bit to do with the fact that I was beginning to suspect that my mother had died at his hand. The bloodied knife in my dream would have made sense then. The presence of the ring didn't make quite so much sense, unless it was meant to symbolize my father. I didn't know. It was after midnight, by the position of the moon, and I definitely needed sleep, even if it meant being poked awake by a curious toddler tomorrow morning. So, feet hanging over the end of the bench, I took the ice bag off of my swollen eye and closed both eyes to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

––

Much of this came in the days that followed. My father and I fighting, me spending cold nights on different benches in Great Hangleton and waking up to the faces of curious Muggles peering down at me. They all knew who I was. They all knew that I was the poor, abused son of Morfin Gaunt who had to sleep on park benches because he locked me out so often. Worse yet, they all pitied me. I couldn't stand being the subject of pity of a bunch of filthy Muggles who all thought I was underfed and mistreated and troubled. I was fine. They were the ones who were all mad.

Them, not me.

Though as time went by, I'm not sure of how entirely I believed that. Regardless, in my state of mind then, they were always the crazy ones. Muggles and their technology and complete lack of magic; what were they good for? Cars aside, of course. Those were brilliant. Plenty of wizards owned them. With my complete lack of skill at flying, I would probably end up being one of them. Not to mention the fact that they were just brilliant.

Cars aside, it was not until a week before my one month deadline that I received good news in the form of a letter closed in an envelope by the official Hogwarts seal. The moment I saw the seal, I gladly tore open the envelope as the owl that had delivered it flew out the open window of the house (my father had let me back in by then and we were simply avoiding each other to avoid any fighting). I tossed the envelope over my shoulder unthinkingly as I unfolded the letter and began reading the words that would save me from Azkaban.

Timothy Gaunt,
I believe it is necessary to inform you that, because
of recent activity with something that many within
Hogwarts have taken to referring as the Chamber of
Secrets, you will be allowed back to Hogwarts. As
you are not currently at Hogwarts yourself, it has
come to my attention that you are most likely not
responsible for the petrifying of many of our students.
The culprit must be someone at the school, as no
magic that powerful can be done from a distance.

You will still be watched very carefully. We are
examining the possibility that you may have had
another student at Hogwarts doing your bidding in
your absence. I will require your presence immediately
in my office upon your return to the school. Given
the current time, you may either return to Hogwarts
for the winter holidays, or you may remain at home.
The choice is yours. Please return your owl with an
answer soon. Ministry officials will escort you back to
Hogwarts if you wish to return for the holidays.

Most sincerely,
Headmaster Armando Dippet

Had I been alone, had my father not been standing over my shoulder, I definitely would have cheered aloud. I was going to be away from that madman, and I was still allowed to head back to Hogwarts during the winter holidays. Generally, the only three Slytherins in our year left were myself, Tom, and Annabelle; everyone else had families that they actually liked. Nothing would be changed, then. Tom had come through for me, exactly as I had expected, and I'd be back at Hogwarts. The basilisk made me a bit less eager than I might have been in any other situation, but regardless, I wouldn't have to sleep outside on park benches anymore. That was definitely an upside.

"Suppose you'll be headin' back 's soon as the holidays start, then?"

I stood from the table and turned to face my father, our lines of sight level. He was a few inches taller than me, but slouched enough that the difference didn't matter. I fought the urge to ask him when apes had been taught to read. "Yes. Did you honestly expect me to stay in the same general vicinity as you for any longer than necessary?" Damn filter. If one thing didn't get through, it was another. At least this wasn't enough to set the man off.

"Not really," he said. "So," he continued, "if it inn't you, then who 's it? Ain't no other heirs to Slytherin left, 'sides the Gaunt family."

"I dunno," I lied.

"Figures," he said. "I was hopin' to ask his parents if they'd like to make a trade."

"Wish I did know, then," I replied coolly. "I'd send the owl myself."

The silence that followed was quite a long one. The ticking of the clock that hung above the fireplace across the front room went on for what felt like hours, but when I finally looked at it, I saw that only two minutes had passed. My father was the first to stand down. He walked around me to the table and sat at his regular chair.

"Sit." It wasn't a question or a suggestion. I complied instinctively and waited for him to speak, still clutching the letter to Hogwarts in my hand. Now it was a crumpled mess of paper that had taken on its new shape when my hands formed into fists in case I needed to defend myself. My father generally resorted to physical punishment before verbal reprimand, or both at once.

The look he was giving me was almost curious. "Tell me the truth on this one, son. Has a bloody thing I've taught you about their kind sunk in at all?"

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm in Slytherin, aren't I?"

He waved a large hand dismissively. "Ya haven' got ter hate them ta get into Slytherin. It helps, but ya haven't got ta. Now answer me. Has a word of it sunk in at all?"

"All of it has. That's why I didn't open the Chamber of Secrets. I know where it is full well. I've been blamed, even, which means that even the teachers at Hogwarts know I hate all the filth roaming the halls. But from what you taught me, they aren't even worth the space they take up, so honestly, that means they aren't worth me getting stuck in Azkaban either." Of course, before I could stop myself, I added, "I guess I'm a right side smarter than you if it only took me sixteen years to figure that out and you still haven't."

He might have considered what I said if I hadn't added that last bit. His face went red and he stood from his chair. He walked around to mine, grabbed me by the collar, and jerked me out of my chair. I didn't even flinch; I had been fully expecting it the moment the words left my mouth. A moment later, I was slammed into a nearby wall and he was yelling, swearing in my face. I only caught a few snippets of what he was saying. I caught the stench of his breath more than anything, and that did make me flinch. When he calmed down enough, he let me go, still red, and spoke venomously. I recognized it instantly. Parseltongue. It happened every time he got this angry, without fail.

"No son of mine talks to me like I'm a common fool – I am the last man in all the wizarding world worthy of claiming the name Gaunt! The last man worthy of having Salazar Slytherin's own blood running through his veins! You will not speak to me as though I am some inferior being! Because I am willing to go to Azkaban for my beliefs, willing to fight for what I think is right in this world, I am the better man here, you're the complete idiot!"

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor!" I said in a falsely impressed voice, grinning.

Then I ducked.

My father's fist hit the stone wall with a sickening crunch. He had no doubt shattered half of the bones in his hand. He swore loudly, howling in pain and holding onto his injured hand. I ducked around him and got a good running start for the door. I made it outside and slammed the door behind me.

Then I heard the lock click. That was the sound of another wonderful winter night on the park benches. I looked up at the sky… and then I groaned. From the looks of the clouds, it was probably going to be a wonderful, snowy winter night. Frostbite…. That was a word that I didn't like the sound of one little bit.

Though I'm still not entirely sure how I managed it, I convinced my father through the locked door to let me back in under the condition that I wouldn't say another word for the rest of the night. It was dark by the time I entered the house again, and he was about to head off to sleep anyway, so I was in peace. A cold breeze was drifting in through the window, but shutting it would be out of the question. For whatever reason, the family owl still hadn't come home from her last nightly prowl, and she would be required if I was going to write back to Dippet soon.

It was as I was thinking this that a scroll of parchment was miraculously dropped on my head as I sat on the musty old sofa in the house. Looking up, I watched an aged, rotund, yet still impossibly energetic tawny owl land upon the fireplace in front of me and hoot in an almost triumphant manner. It was no wonder as to why when I got a look at the letter. She had apparently flown to Hogwarts and back to get this. As I began reading the letter, I stood also to go close the window.

Timothy,
I hate that it had to turn out like this, but it was completely
necessary. You might disagree, but let it be known that it
wasn't my idea to begin with, and there would have been
absolutely no other way to convince Dippet. His mind was
completely set on the matter, and this… it was the only way.

And again, it was not my idea in the least bit, but I overheard
Dippet telling Dumbledore that he was going to go back on
his word unless
[a line of text is scratched out beyond recognition here]
Never mind. You will find out as soon as you return, I am
sure of it. Dippet may have already mentioned it in his
letter informing you that you can come back to Hogwarts,
though I doubt that he felt the need to.

You need to know this in advance; if it hadn't been necessary,
then it wouldn't have happened. I do apologize, but it had to
be done.
Tom

I had taken my seat back on the old sofa before I had finished reading the letter. I scanned over it a couple more times, amazed at what it was expressing. Was there actually a tone of fear within the letter? It certainly seemed there was. It was the first time I could remember Tom ever showing any fear towards me; what was I but just another of his daft followers? As I have said, he did consider me his friend, perhaps as close to being his equal as anyone would ever be in his eyes. There was no reason for him to fear me, as far as he was concerned.

That meant he must have really done it this time.

I couldn't fathom what Tom could have possibly done that made him scared of me, especially not with the good mood actually getting back into Hogwarts had put me in. It hadn't even been a month yet, but my father did one hell of a job of making the few weeks I had been at home absolutely horrid. I would probably end up heading back to Hogwarts with one of my eyes swelled shut if I spoke to him again before I left. Every word I said to him since I had convinced him I hadn't opened the Chamber of Secrets generally triggered an argument, which always triggered a fight. I wasn't practiced, so all in all, I wasn't fending very well for myself this time around.

I would definitely get my revenge when summer came around, however. It would be hard to practice with my main punching bag turned into a statue, but there had to be some way. I didn't care what it was. I didn't care if whatever it was ended up getting him put back in Azkaban somehow – in fact, that would have been quite nice for me. Then I would have my own house; I doubted he could survive another trip to Azkaban. He was growing older, weaker, and the dementors wouldn't let him last much longer.

I would indeed see all of my hopes turn to reality in my next summer break, but, once again, that is not a story for right now.