Disclaimer: Yep. Not mine. Just having fun.

Long chapter!

Part Eleven

Auld Lang Syne

"What's your home like?" I asked her, the next morning, as we lay in each other's arms.

"Frightful!" Laura answered, with a wry grin.

"No, seriously….it's only Father that's frightful. I know I shouldn't say that-but" she paused "Sometimes , I really hate him."

"I understand."

"But the farm's lovely, I love being with the animals.That's where I spend all my time…..getting away from father!"

"What kind of animals?" I asked her

"Unicorns, obviously," she grinned, knowingly. That's how I know…..things. And phoenixes, three of those, and some ravens, too, though they aren't as rare, of course. Four dragons, a mother and three babies.Dad got those from Wales when we left seven or eight years ago, he breeds them. Cats and Kneazles, they live together quite happily. Oh, and snakes."

"You have snakes?"

She nodded.

"Lots. One of them is really rare, too, from Albania. I like them, but Father doesn't. But people pay thirty galleons for a bottle of their venom, so he has them for the money they bring in. What he's wanted for a while is to find a Parselmouth, to look after them. You know, someone who can speak to them. Find out what they need. But they are really rare too. Parselmouths, that is."

"I can speak to snakes." I said.

"Yes, of course, Tom. Don't be silly. Anyway….Father said……"

"I can speak to snakes." I repeated.

Her brows furrowed.She looked mildly irritated, and obviously didn't believe me.

"You're making fun of me." she said, finally.

"Of course I'm not." I told her. " I'm telling the truth."

"How do you know?" she asked, after a long pause.

"We used to go on an outing, once a year, with the Orphanage. Usually to the sea, and I'd always go off by myself."

"Poor lonely Tom." Laura said, stroking my hair back where it had fallen over my forehead. I shook my head.

"Not really. I hated all the Muggles anyway. And they found me, the snakes, that is. They whispered to me."

"That's odd."she said, thoughtfully.

"Father says he's only ever met one real Parselmouth. And that was when he was living down in Somerset in 1903, just after Christoph, my oldest brother, was born. He is..sorry.. was… twenty-three years older than me. The Parselmouth was a strange old man, a Pureblood, descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. But he was quite crazy, father said. He felt sorry for his poor wife. She was always black and blue."

My heart began to beat fast.

"What was his name? Do you remember?"

"Yes, it was a funny name. Gaunt. Marvolo Gaunt."

"My grandfather." I said quietly. I opened my trunk,rifling around until right at the very bottom, I found it. My birth certificate. Tom Marvolo Riddle, it announced in faded sepia script. Born: Vauxhall, London, 31st December 1926. 11.13pm. Mother-Unknown. Father-Unknown.

"What's this?" she asked.

I pointed to the name 'Marvolo'.

"Muggle birth certificate. Obviously, I wouldn't have one from the Ministry, would I? But I know it's him. They told me at the Orphanage it was my mother's father's name. And there's only ever been one Marvolo at Hogwarts. I checked. So I know."

"Oh." She said quietly.

"I'm sorry…..I didn't mean….."

"It's all right." I said, quickly " I haven't met him, I just found out from a book of old wizarding lineage. I was trying to find my father."

"And did you?"

"No." I said, shortly. " I'm a half-blood, remember. Marvolo Gaunt was my mother's father. My father was no wizard. He was just a worthless Muggle. Filth, you know."

"As your father would no doubt agree." I added, unnecessarily.

She looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but then, her eyes grew wide.

"That means, then," she said, with wonder.

"That means, that you are related to Salazar Slytherin."

"Yes." I said. "Yes, it does."

"Funny I should end up with you, isn't it?" she laughed.

"Of all the people in this school, it had to be you!"

I nodded. I was only half joking.

A noise in the common room upstairs made me start suddenly.

I wondered if it was Professor Slughorn popping in, to charitably wish the orphan a Happy New Year. I had my wand out and ready to cast a disillusionment charm, but no footsteps came thumping down the stone steps, and slowly, I lowered it.

"I thought perhaps Professor Slughorn…." I muttered, noticing Laura's look of alarm.

"Slughorn?" Laura said " He's not here. I forgot to tell you."

"Where is he, then?" I questioned.

"You know I said Father had a guest?" her eyes glinted in triumph. "Well, Sluggy's Father's guest! I made sure to mention that Slughorn spoke very highly of him, then went on to mention how terribly strict he is with our form, and how much homework he always gives us."
She affected Aster Ames thick, French accent:

"'Slug'orn, e' 'as the right idea.' he said. And he invited him to stay for a while. It's rather convenient, don't you think?"

I was thrilled at her deviousness, not least for all the possibilities it opened up. We could be alone for almost a fortnight-the teachers all trusted me , well, almost all, and none of them would come down to Slytherin if there was only me here-or so they thought. I could do as I liked. And I would.

"Anyway," Laura was saying to me " They were last seen with several bottles of Finest Oak Matured Mead. Empty. They were rattling on about the banned subjects at Hogwarts, and how Dippet and Dumbledore are too uptight about the Dark Arts. And then Father started on about Durmstrang and how it's so much better, which led onto how I shamed him by getting thrown out. It's his favourite story, I think. I had to get away."

"What subjects are banned at Hogwarts?" I asked, curiously.

"Oh, just Dark Arts stuff. Probably the news in the Prophet that started it."

"What news?"

She looked uncomfortable, and continued in hushed tones:

"Slughorn told Father that he thinks Grindelwald's made a Horcrux." she said. " He says it explains why he keeps coming back, like he's immortal, why he could kill so many Aurors. I know nothing about them, aside from that, as far as I gather, they're not a good thing. Slughorn seems to be quite the authority, though, but they shut the door of my father's study where he keeps all his private stuff I'm not allowed to see, and imperturbed it, so I couldn't hear any more. Interesting, though."

"Very." I agreed, storing this information away in my mind, for later use.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to never die?" I asked her, after a while.

"Why?" she said,turning to look at me.

"You could just go on , keep becoming more and more powerful. You could have more and more control. I could become the greatest Sorcerer in the world.

"Grindelwald isn't great, he's just evil." Laura retorted.

"But to live forever?"

"You'd get tired."

"I wouldn't get tired. Not if I could live forever."

She was silent. I put my arms around her and listened to her breathing for the longest time. Eventually, I said, softly:

"What do you want to do, then?"

I felt her smile.

"I want……." She paused.

"Yes?"

"I want to be happy," she said, "I want to have a farm, like where I live now, but my own, and I want to see everything there is to see, in the world, somehow. But most of all, I want to have someone to share it with. I've never had that. That's what I want."

"You've got me." I said.

She sat up suddenly, and seized both of my hands.

"What's your home like?" she demanded.

"You know what my home is like." I told her. " It's a horrible cold building full of bloody Muggles."

"Not the Orphanage. Muggle London. I want to see it for myself."

"You want what?"

"I want to go to Muggle London."

"There's a war on." I told her. "It's not safe."

"You go back," she countered. "Every summer."

"I have special permission from the Ministry to use magic in the holidays because of the War." I said. "They take the underage Wizard warnings off of my wand. I can do as I like in the holidays, magic and all. So I'm perfectly safe."

"So you can protect me, can't you?" she said, coyly. "Please, Tom?"

I looked at her, and she looked back at me with her wide grey eyes. I recalled her hands down my back, her soft cry as she lay in my arms, how she felt last night, how I felt.

"You will need to change your dress." I said, at last.

O O O O O

I told her to meet me at the foot of Ravenclaw tower after breakfast.

When I swept into the hall to eat, she was at the Ravenclaw table wearing regulation school robes and picking at a grapefruit half.

As was now our custom, we did not acknowledge each other apart from the occasional looks across the two neighbouring tables, and she was busy, anyway, talking with a few other Ravenclaws who had stayed. She left quickly, though, and so did I.

I returned to my dorm and heaved the trunk out from under the bed. Pushing aside the pieces of assorted junk, my fingers closed upon a shabby grey wool coat, the one I always wore to Kings Cross Station. I took it out and also withdrew the box that held my gas mask.I knew I didn't need it, but walking in London without it would draw attention from the wardens. Laura would need one too. I drew my wand, and muttered an incantation. Silver smoke wound around the wand and formed itself into the shape of the first box, solidifying before me.

I put on the coat, frowning at my reflection in the long mirror at the end of the room as I fastened the buttons, threw my cloak over the top, lest I meet anyone, and went to find Laura.

After a few alterations to her clothing with my wand, we found ourselves trudging through thick snow towards Hogsmeade. It was just short of the village itself that we stopped by the side of the snow-covered track.

"Are we alone?" I asked her.

"Yes. I can't see anyone."

"Can you apparate?" I enquired.

She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sixteen, Tom!"

I held my arm out and she took it, holding on tightly.

"So am I." I replied. "And just look at your hobbies. This is one of mine."

Seconds later, we had left the field we were standing in, and were standing by a blank, grey brick wall behind a blank, grey brick building.

The snow still clung to our boots, which looked odd, as it wasn't snowing in London, just a light, grubby drizzle. Stamping the snow from her boots, Laura looked around.

"You apparated us!"

I nodded.

"How long have you been able to do that?"

"Since I was thirteen," I replied. "Second year. It was convenient. But it isn't perfect.Not yet. I can only do it from certain places. Ones I'm used to. At the moment, that is."

"But you're working on it, I expect?" she laughed.

"Mmmhm."

"What else do you work on, Tom?"

"Things." I told her, feigning a casual tone. " Just….. things."

She narrowed her eyes.

"So…….where are we?"

"London. Muggle London. Like you asked for." I told her.

"And where exactly are we?" she questioned.

I took her arm and walked past the overflowing bins in the sidestreet, past the courtyard where the iron railings were before they tore them down, and pointed to a sign at the front of the building that announced, in chipped and fading paint:

VAUXHALL ROAD ORPHANAGE

"Here?" She whispered, horrified, "You…….. grew up….. here?"

I nodded emotionlessly, "You get used to it," I told her. Though I hadn't.

"I never would," Laura declared. "It's so………grey and……. flat."

She stood and stared for a while. I fell back, out of sight, gazing up at the window on the second floor. The room was in darkness.

As Laura continued to stare, a woman I didn't recognise came around the side of the building, carrying a mop and bucket. She threw down the mop and proceeded to empty the rancid water down the nearest drain. It wasn't long before she noticed Laura staring up at the building, and when she did, she straightened, putting her hands on her hips and adjusting her ragged headscarf.

"'Ain't you got a home to go to?" she called, brandishing the mop and thumping it on the ground in front of her in a threatening manner.

Laura gaped, clearly wondering if the woman was actually talking to her, then turned on her heel and ran across to where I was waiting by the fence of the bootmenders next door.

"That's right, sling yer 'ook!"

"Ruddy urchins…" I heard the woman mutter as she disappeared again, presumably to the scullery steps of the Orphanage.

I assumed she had just started her place there and I made a mental note to introduce myself over the following summer. I would look forward to it immensely.

I pulled Laura away by the hand, down the street, which was quite as grubby and grey as the Orphanage itself, and we headed towards the river.

The early afternoon sun was weak as the wind swirled dead cigarette ends and litter around our feet.

We turned a corner, and suddenly there was a view right over the Thames. I was able to smell the river before I saw it, as always, it smelt of stale pollution, of dead fish, and of going rotten, but Laura was looking at the view as one would gaze rapturously upon the eighth wonder of the world.

"It's so wonderful," she breathed. "You never told me it would be like this!"

"Wonderful?" I raised an eyebrow, quizzically. " You wouldn't call it that if you had been cooped up here for eleven years of your life in that…( I looked back over my shoulder)…that place, not to mention every Summer. And that's without the Muggles all trying to kill each other and having bombs dropped on the City every other day."

"Bombs?"

I struggled for a method of explanation.

"Things that explode and destroy buildings. The Muggles use them to kill each other."

"What? Why do the Muggles want to kill each other?"

Again, I searched for a very simple method of explaining the mechanics of Muggle politics and warfare to a Pureblood witch. Eventually,I settled for:

"They fight over who owns the land." I said, aware of how trite it sounded when I compared it to the unvarnished truth.

"Oh. I see. Right. Muggles."

She shook her head. It was fairly obvious she did not see at all, judging by her expression, which was one of utter confusion. But she dropped the subject, to my great relief, seeming to be content just to gaze at the sights and sounds of the Muggle City where I had grown up. How I despised it.

How far gone, I communed with myself, as we walked together, how far gone I must be, to bring her here at all.

We reached the riverbank and walked along it. Still, she did not say a word, just took in all the surroundings in silence. Occasionally, she'd furrow her brow as if she was puzzled by what she saw, but she didn't ask any more questions.

I was willing to bet, though, that once we arrived back at Hogwarts, she would be rifling through the Muggle Studies section of the Library and looking up all the details.

As we walked, I drew a few strange glances from passers by. I knew I looked older than sixteen – I had already reached six foot two by then - and I knew, inherently, that they were wondering why I, too, weren't fighting in their miserable Muggle War.

I had wondered what it would be like to go to war, years ago, when it all started, when we heard Chamberlain on the wireless. "Avada Kedavra" I thought, silently, and I smiled to myself, touching my wand where it was concealed in the sleeve of the thin woollen coat. I felt sure that the curse I had read of, the Unforgivable curse, would work on Muggles even better than it did on Wizards. Better, because they would not even know what had hit them. It seemed to me to be quicker, cleaner, and more efficient than any bomb.

It had begun to spot with rain. I put my arm around Laura's shoulders and pulled her against me. She took my hand and squeezed it a little as we turned into a wide street

The street was bustling with activity. Muggles were chattering inanely to each other on the pavements, wishing one another a Happy New Year. Across the street, between windows way above our heads, someone had strung a ragged Union Jack, and alongside it, a faded and dirty cloth banner hung, bearing letters scrawled in blue paint.

"1943-----THE YEAR FOR VICTORY!"

I thought of my mother, alone and wretched, walking these same streets, hungry and cold.

My mother, who had died when I were an hour old, my mother, who died on New Years Day.

I was glad of Laura, warm, next to me, happy just to be with me, and a curious feeling crept up in my chest. Quickly, I forced it back down. It would not do to become maudlin.

"You look sad, Tom. Is something wrong?"

Laura was looking at me, studying my face as she might study her Potions homework.

"No, I'm quite well." I lied. "Thank you.' I added, stiffly.

"No, you aren't," Laura pressed, "You were fine a moment ago, but now you look all…" she paused, searching for the right word. "Oh, I don't know. You look all cloudy, all of a sudden."

I laughed, then, in spite of myself, at her odd choice of words.

"It's just….well…" I hesitated, hating myself for being weak enough to utter the words, but they seemed to force themselves out unbidden, as blood might seep from a physical wound.

"It's just that… my Mother…she died, well, you know she died, of course." ( I paused, and breathed deeply.) Why was I saying this? Why?

"It happened… there… in the Orphanage," (I jerked my head back in the direction we had come.) "New Year's Day. Just past midnight, they told me. They could hear….(Here, I had to take another deep breath)

"They could hear the crowds outside in the Square. That's how they knew the New Year had arrived. They were singing Auld Lang Syne."

I could tell that Laura didn't know what Auld Lang Syne was, but she held me, anyway, in the middle of that street, unabashed, and stroked my hair, and murmuring softly under my ear.

"Oh…..Tom…..."

I did not return her embrace.

I could not. Her sympathy stung.

O O O O O

The drizzle had stopped, but the snow was still melting in places, and it covered the ground in a muddy grey slush.

On the corner stood a small Muggle Bakery. The sign above it had been blanked out because of the war, but I seemed to remember it being called the East Vauxhall Road Bakery.

Now, though the sign just read The…………..Bakery, this was supposedly to prevent German enemies from knowing where they were, but seemed to serve merely to confuse the British.

It was open, despite it being New Year's Day, and I could only reason that this was due to the five scruffy little boys running around the shop, belonging to the Muggle woman behind the counter, whose efforts to control them were proving to be in vain.

The woman had just placed a tray of hot buns in the window. It was obvious that she needed the money, for all of her sons, ranging in age from three to about ten, looked quite as if they could do with a few dozen apiece themselves.

I opened the door of the shop and Laura followed, smiling at the little boys who suddenly seemed to become quiet and shy.

The Muggle woman looked at me with weary eyes over the counter. I asked her for half a dozen and passed her sixpence from the small cache of change I had found forgotten in my coat pocket. Her fingers closed on the money and she handed me a paper bag.

I took it, murmuring a word of thanks due more to habit than the desire to be polite to the Muggle, and I turned to walk away.

It was then I heard one of the little boys giggle suddenly and turned around to see Laura, pressing a silver coin into the smallest boy's hand.

The bigger boys all crowded around to see what the dark haired girl had given their sibling, but it was only when the oldest boy called:

"Hey, Miss, is this money?" that I realised what she had done. In the boy's upturned palm lay a silver sickle, gleaming guiltily.I felt for my wand.

I pulled Laura away up the street. When we were out of earshot, I turned to her and whispered, furiously:

"What on earth are you playing at? You can't do that!"

"Do what?" she frowned.

"Give them that!"

She looked puzzled and annoyed.

"Just some money. For sweets, you know. I felt sorry for them."

I sneered.

"You gave them a sickle!" I said, incredulously.

She shook her head as if she was not sure of what she was hearing.

"So I gave them a sickle.So what, Tom? Father is always saying I eat too many sweets."

I found my last shilling and pulled it out of my pocket, grasping her hand and pressing the coin into her palm.

"What's this?" she asked. "Who's that? Is he a famous wizard?" she muttered, examining the etching of King George VI, who Laura, of course, had never heard of.

"Muggle money. You'll have the Ministry catch us if you give Wizarding money to a Muggle!"

"Muggles have their own money?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

"Shall we be caught?" she whispered, suddenly fearful.

"Of course we won't get caught.' I said, confidently.

"You are lucky I'm with you. I gave him a Muggle coin instead. And a memory charm, while I was at it."

Laura looked relieved.

"You do have to look after me, don't you, Tom." Laura laughed, a little guiltily.

"Don't worry," I muttered.

"I shall."

O O O O O

The buns were reasonably good, though small. That had been the way of most things since my second year at Hogwarts. I knew that the war had started just days after I returned for my second year, in September, '39, and ever since then, food had become even scarcer and nastier than it had been before at the Orphanage.

I would make sure I came home with my own 'rations' every summer, making sure that a particularly nasty hex was upon my trunk to deter any would be thieves. Most were too afraid of meeting me alone anyway, to venture into my room, but a few did, and I was most amused to see the welts and burns on their hands the next day. What Mrs Cole thought, I had no idea, nor did I care.

We walked through a nearby park, still eating. Laura picked pieces of bread out of the paper bag to throw to the scruffy pigeons, but I stopped her before she could.

"Don't. You can't." I said.

"I can't feed scraps to birds?" she said, incredulously.

I shook my head.

"It's wartime, remember. I'm used to it, I suppose, but they say not to waste food. It's illegal to feed the birds because they say it's a waste."

"The Muggles say that? Even scraps?"

"They use scraps to feed pigs." I informed her, dryly. "They're more use than pigeons, for food."

"Your home is rather peculiar, Tom. These Muggles….with their funny coins, all these curious laws…." Laura said, shaking her dark hair out of her face.

"I must say I am glad I don't have to be a Muggle, even just for summer."

I frowned.

I hated her calling it my home. It wasn't my home and never had been.

Let the Muggles drop their bombs. Hadn't my father been one, and one who could have spared me the life I had known, could have even spared my mother's life into the bargain.

I wondered briefly what life would have been like with my mother and father loving me, bringing me up, in a house, our family home, not in London, somewhere nicer than London, the country, or maybe by the sea.

I pictured the house, sometimes, in my mind's eye, and my mother.

I imagined her looking a little like myself, black hair -hers would be longer, of course – dark blue eyes and heavy brows, like my own. She would be beautiful, and clever like myself. She would be proud of my achievements, her intelligent son, the prefect, the Headmaster's favourite, dead cert for Head Boy. I could not imagine her any other way

I couldn't picture my father, imagine his face, because when I thought of him, I felt only hatred.

This was not my world. Nor was it my mother's. Let the Muggles bomb all they liked. Let them all burn, preferably.

Laura must have noticed my expression, for she said, with a note of concern,

"I'm sorry, Tom. I meant you should never have to be here at all. You aren't like the Muggles, I mean, truly, you are the best wizard in the school. I suppose I just simply cannot imagine you growing up here, though it is quite amazing. If a bit weird." she added, looking around, as if to illustrate the point.

"You are amazing too, you know. I really think so. Like I said. When you're older, they'll be nothing you can't do. Nothing at all."

I forgave her then, just for that. Even when she said,

"You even look funny in those clothes."

"I could take them off later?" I offered, keeping my eyes fixed on a point in the distance, but she knew what I meant and I think she smiled.

O O O O O

We found an iron bench and sat in the park long after the buns were gone. I could still taste the sweetness of them, warm sugar on her lips as we kissed, and then it was getting dark, and it was time to go. Out on the streets, the Wardens were beginning to appear, ushering the Muggles back to their houses and making sure there were no lights left for the German planes to spot. I had planned to leave while it was still light, but I had been so long away from the Muggle world.

Now, however, the frightening truth became apparent. I knew it wasn't really safe, and I knew we needed to get back to Hogwarts and the relative safety of the Wizarding world as quickly as possible.

What if there did happen to be an air raid? Laura would be terrified, and not know what to do. I was used to them, the raids had begun in my second summer back from Hogwarts. We all used to pile down into the basement, and wait for the obscene wailing of the air raid sirens to stop and that single note to signify the all clear. Sometimes they would be short, but other times we were down there all night long, listening to the crashes and explosions and praying they wouldn't come any closer.

Some of the others would sing songs and the tuneless warbling would bore into my consciousness as I tried to read. If I was lucky, I could find a space near to Amy Benson, and amuse myself with her while one of the Wardens tried to chat up Mrs. Cole.

The street was getting darker. I hurried Laura along, pausing only to explain that it was not safe to be here after dark, and besides, Dippet and Flitwick must not notice our absence.

I gripped her hand and I knew that the alleyway we had apparated to before was just around the corner.

We passed back by the Orphanage again, which was now almost in darkness. I had usually been handed the job of pulling the blackout blinds down because I was the tallest, but now only one window remained uncovered and as I glanced over my shoulder, I could see a young boy in a grey jersey, with flat, fair hair. He was standing on a chair pulling down the drapes, but as we passed he looked up, and just as I hurried out of sight, I had the satisfaction of seeing him fall backwards off of the chair in shock. I knew who it was. Dennis Bishop would not have been at all pleased to see me.

And then I heard it. The air raid siren shattered the night air with a hollow wail that rose and fell. Laura, on my left side, jumped and grabbed hold of my threadbare lapels, looking up at me like a terrified animal, her eyes wild and frightened.

"What is it? What's happening?"

"Air raid.' I told her, though I knew it would mean nothing. I could hear a dull throb of engines approaching in the distance.

"Just run." I said.

And so we ran, and we reached the alleyway as the searchlights began to move across the sky. Somewhere, I could hear a loud 'boom!' and the crash of breaking glass. Laura tripped and fell, grazing her knee badly and tearing her stocking to the ankle. I dragged her up and held onto her tightly, thinking about Hogsmeade and safety as hard as I could.

Then, as everything went black, the noise stopped, there was a squeezing sensation, and then we were standing alone on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village, the snow falling silently, swirling around us like feathers, like frozen swansdown.

1943 was not the year for victory, of course...but I dare say the Londoners hoped...

I'd love a review if you have a mind to! Could do with some feedback...roughly halfway through now. If I haven't said, this story is actually finished, it's just the uploading...takes me some time! ; )