Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks for the uplifting reviews! It makes me very happy to know that you liked the last chapter! : )

This time, I only need to address one point some reviewers have brought up:

I know that many are fed up with Tom's bad mood and nasty attitude towards Harry. But it's just the kind of stage in which they are right now: as quarrelling, twelve-year-old brothers who bicker and snap constantly at each other.

I simply wanted to reflect that, so we'll then see how their relationship matures and progresses as they get older.

Nevertheless, don't expect Tom to ever be nice and warm with Harry, he just isn't the type.

He has already shown, in some scenes, jealously over Harry and much protectiveness as well, even though he wouldn't openly admit it. That gives us a glimpse of how he feels for 'his brother' and shows how he has been affected by Harry's companionship.

As Santi pointed out to Julian Erlichmann, this Tom Riddle, unlike the original one, has a deep attachment to someone other than himself –Harry– for the first and only time.

So Tom does care, but his moodiness won't change until he becomes more assured of himself in his new surroundings and 'place in the world', so to speak. His bad temper reflects his childliness, in my view. He can be adult-like in many ways but not in that, yet. Also, be being his bad-tempered self around Harry, without repressing his true nature, denotes that he trusts him and is comfortable around him. I think that's important.

Tom will become more suave when he grows up, but I won't make him the cuddly, loving type. It would be too out of character and I don't like Tom Riddles like that, or Voldemorts.

He'll still be dominating, arrogant, and a jerk, the only difference is that he'll come to openly show affection for Harry, from time to time, and that Harry will grow up and pull his weight around, being able to match him.

The changes will take time, though.

That said, enjoy this chappie!

Part I: Chapter 28

Harry felt very proud of himself when he perfectly parked the motorwagon along the curb, with little help from Bob. He even shot his brother a smug smirk, but Tom didn't seem to notice. The boy had remained quiet for the whole duration of the trip and now looked to be in deep, contemplative thought.

He harrumphed, peeved, at his brother's lack of attention to him. Nevertheless, as they climbed out of the motorwagon, such thoughts vanished as he glanced around their surroundings.

Tom and him had never been in that part of London before. The broad, stately street was filled with imposing, solemn-looking buildings that had flags, statues, and monuments here and there.

"Well, here we are," said Robert Hutchins, as he started gesturing at some buildings across the street. "That over there is the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Next to it, is the Ministry of Defense, and further along, the Cabinet Office." He shot them a smile as he turned around and gazed up the building in front of them. "And here's the best and largest library in London."

It looked just like the other buildings, though inside it was even more awe-inspiring.

It was huge and everything looked pristine, dignified, and elegant. The walls were paneled with dark wood, with some large portraits decorating them, depicting very grave-looking muggles who must have been important political or historical figures of past times. There were grand chandeliers hanging high up in the ceiling, nice desk lamps on tables here and there amongst the innumerable rows of bookcases, along with majestic sofas, winged armchairs and low tea tables. There were also many display cases with tops made of glass, protecting what seemed to be old historical records and documents.

Harry saw people too. They looked like bankers or government officials, given their top hats, expensive-looking pinstripe suits, and their chained silver or gold clocks hanging from their vests. Some were smoking pipes or had tumblers filled with some liquor, as they read newspapers or talked amongst them. It looked more like some sort of social club than a library, at least in the area that those men were hanging around.

Right in front of the middle of the vast library, there was a ring-like high table, with a woman inside, taking tomes from a column of books as she briskly stamped them, one after the other.

She was a rail-thin woman, with stringy brown hair tightly pulled into a strict bun, sallow-faced, wearing a pair of black-framed, squared eyeglasses.

As they approached her, she glanced up and her expression soured.

"No children are allowed here," she said sharply, to then glance away and continue with her stamping.

Robert Hutchins cleared his throat, and said gently, "Please, ma'am, if you will-"

The librarian gave a loud stamp on a book, and then grabbed a fountain pen to point with it at a plaque hanging from the edge of her desk. It read in big bold letters: NO CHILDREN ALLOWED.

She waved off a hand impatiently as if dismissing them from her sight, without another word.

Unflappable, Hutchins persisted, stepping closer to the woman's desk, as he began softly, "Please, missus, these are my nephews and it's their birthday today." The man placed his hands on Tom's and Harry's shoulder, pointedly pulling them against his sides in an affectionate gesture, as he continued entreatingly, "There's nothing they like more than books, so I promised I would bring them here. It's my birthday present for them, so just for once, couldn't you make an exception?"

"I don't intend to ever make any exceptions," said the woman curtly, without looking up from the books she continued stamping. "I kindly ask to remove yourselves from this library."

Hutchins frowned, before he bent down to Harry and whispered urgently, "Do your thing."

Harry blinked up at the man, bewildered, as he whispered back, "What thing?"

"What you do when you want to get out of trouble with Alice," clarified Hutchins in a hasty whisper, grinning, "and when you wheedle your twin into doing what you want."

Harry felt his face go red. It was like suddenly being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. He hadn't thought anyone had noticed his tricks.

The man knowingly winked at him, and Harry almost huffed, before he quickly complied.

He stood on his tiptoes and clutched the edge of the woman's high table with his fingers, to pull himself upwards so that his head could be seen. Blinking several times, he made his eyes turn watery, and he made them big and 'adorable' as people often said, as he peered up at the librarian.

"Please, nice lady," he said in a small, childish, soft voice, "let us stay. My brother and I will be very good. We just want to read some books because we love them so much and don't have the money to buy books for ourselves. We won't take long…"

The woman paused in her stamping and gazed down at him, her lips pursing into a flat, thin line as she began to shake her head.

Though before she had a chance to open her mouth, Harry continued, now sniffling piteously, pulling a vulnerable expression on his face as his bit his bottom lip and made it tremble, "We are very well behaved. We will cause no trouble. Promise."

"I'll watch over them," said Robert Hutchins firmly. "We will not bother anyone."

To wrap up the act, Harry let out another sniffle and peered up again at the woman with wide, bright, tearful eyes, as he whimpered, "Please…."

She glanced down at him and her expression softened marginally. She dropped the stamp in her hand and released an annoyed sigh, before she said briskly, "Very well, then."

And with that, she came out from her table and placed her hands on her narrow hips, as she asked impatiently, "What kind of books are you interested in?"

"About History of England," piped in Harry quickly. "The Houses of the Lancasters and the Yorks, in particular, before they were involved in the War of the Roses. Their origins and stuff."

The librarian arched a surprised eyebrow at that, clearly startled that two little boys could be interested in such things.

"I see," she muttered, before shaking her head. "Follow me, if you will."

She marched off and they quickly sped up to match her brisk pace. They went along rows upon rows of shelves, turned corners, made twists, and kept walking and walking through what seemed like an endless, orderly maze.

Finally, the woman abruptly halted and gestured at the enormous bookcase before them. "The books you're looking for are in the third to fifth shelves." She shot them a stern look of warning, as she added sharply, "Keep your voices down and don't put a toe out of line or I'll have to ask you to leave."

Harry nodded firmly, and the woman gave him one last glance before she flounced away.

They settled their things on the nearest table, and Hutchins offered gently, "Would you like my help with your homework?"

"Um, no, thanks," said Harry, warmly smiling up at the man. "We're supposed to do our essay all by ourselves. And we can manage."

Hutchins nodded and ruffled Harry's hair, grinning, "Good." He then gestured at a distant table as he added, "I'll be over there reading the newspapers. When you're done, let me know."

After the man left, they took a seat and started taking out papers and pencils from the rucksack they had brought along.

"Quite a performance you gave back there," suddenly gritted out Tom, piercing him with a dark gaze as he paused in his shuffling of papers.

"Huh?" said Harry pulling a dumb expression on his face, just as he was grabbing a pencil. "What d'ya mean?"

"It reminded me," continued Tom, his voice dangerously lowering, "of the several times you've done something similar to me."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Harry blinked, his expression utterly baffled. "I've never done any 'performances', as you put it. I was truly very worried and sad when the librarian told us we had to leave-"

"Don't lie," spat out Tom, his eyes narrowing to slits as his fingers clenched on his sheaf of papers. "You've done the same to me as you did to that muggle woman! You manipulating, little-"

"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about," interjected Harry, puffing out his small chest and looking deeply insulted and indignant. "I have never manipulated anyone." Then he waved a hand dismissively. "And enough chattering. We have work to do."

Tom shot him one last dark, suspicious look before they rose to their feet and started taking books from the shelves the librarian had indicated.

"It's going to take us ages," grumbled Harry under his breath, as he began flipping through the first thick tome, looking with dismay at the countless other books left.

And indeed it did. His eyes got watery and blurry from so many paragraphs of useless information and so many pictures of this and that Lancaster or York, who had no relevance to their quest. It was an endless, tedious perusal, and Harry missed magic so much just then. If they could flick out their wands, a simple Electus Charm would spare them much time and trouble.

They both kept making notes, jutting down the information of possible candidates, but none seemed to fit the requirements. All the pictures of portraits they saw were of men of the House of York or Lancaster, with doublets or shields or capes with the Red or White Rose – but it was always an emblem, carved or forged in iron, woven with thread, and such, always depicted and represented, never displaying the real flower itself.

"There has to be someone who wore the Egeriana Rose like Salazar Slytherin did," groaned Harry about an hour later, slamming shut the latest of books that had yielded no results. "He has to be in these books, somewhere!"

"This is pointless," groused out Tom, looking tired and vastly annoyed. "It's evident. You were wrong-"

"I'm not!" snapped Harry, glowering at him. "I know I'm right. Everything I said made sense." He shook his head, sighing wearily, before he added gruffly, "Let's keep looking."

He didn't know how much time passed, but as he was gloomily muttering to himself, briskly flipping pages after pages of useless information, he suddenly caught sight of something.

His heart skipped a beat and he quickly flipped back to the page where he had seen a flash of a picture, and he stared.

"Tom," Harry breathed out, his eyes wide, fixed on the page of the book in his hand. "I think I found him."

His brother instantly brought his chair closer to his, and gazed down at the book as he demanded in a rush, "Who? What is it? What did you find?"

"Look," whispered Harry quietly, pointing at the picture of a man's portrait.

He was dark haired and black-eyed, with beard and moustache, of plain features, wearing chainmail and black armor, with gauntlets and a magnificent jeweled sword, along with a small crown on top of his helm. The tunic covering the armor depicted squared sections: ones with red background, the others with black, with emblems of his House woven in golden thread.

Nevertheless, it wasn't any of that which had caught his attention, but what he had pinned on his tunic.

"It's the Egeriana Rose," he murmured breathlessly. "He's wearing the flower itself, right in the middle of his chest, like Salazar Slytherin."

Tom frowned as he inspected it, and muttered uncertainly, "It could be a coincidence… It wouldn't entirely prove he's the one we're looking for-"

"No, look, look!" interrupted Harry excitedly, his eyes roaming a paragraph. "It says here that this man, the First Duke of Lancaster, was the first to adopt the Red Rose as a heraldic device which became the emblem of the House of Lancaster following the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. He was also the first one to use it, you see!"

"Even so," began Tom tartly, "it's not evidence enough-"

"He was born in 1340!" gasped out Harry as he caught sight of the man's birth and death dates. He shot his brother a dumbfounded look. "Sherisse Slytherin gave birth to her son in 1340…" He shook his head, dazzled. "I thought he would be some descendant… I hadn't imagined it would be their son!"

"Let me see that," snapped Tom shortly, quickly pulling the book towards himself, frowning as he began reading. "John Gaunt, or John of Gaunt-"

"Exactly!" piped in Harry, marveled and brimming with triumphant joy. "Gaunt as in the 'G' of M.G., Tom!" He gestured wildly and animatedly with his hands. "This is it – this is him, their very own son!"

Tom's frown deepened as he glanced back at the page. "He was the First Duke of Lancaster, member of the House of Plantagenet and the third surviving son of King Edward the Third of England-"

"He must have hoodwinked the muggles, clearly," interjected Harry vehemently, before he paused, hesitant. "Though I don't know how he could have done it. The Prewett twins told me about the Obliviators that work in the Ministry of Magic, but erasing the memories of muggles wouldn't have done the trick, would it? What did he use, then?"

"I think I know," muttered Tom pensively. "I've read about spells and magic that are called the Mind Arts, about Legilimency and Occlumency in particular. A wizard that can master those can do all sorts of things, even implant thoughts and fake memories in the minds of others."

Harry gawked at him. "Really? Are you sure such things can be done-"

"Of course I'm sure!" snapped Tom waspishly. "I even have proof. I know that Dumbledore can do it, for instance!"

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry stared at him, flummoxed. In the next second, he deeply frowned and demanded sharply, "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"Never mind about that," said Tom coolly, waving a hand dismissively. "It lacks importance. The point is that such things are possible, and he can do it." He then glowered at him, as he added venomously, "I would even know more about the subject if you hadn't flapped your gums and told Dumbledore my owl's name! When he raided the Restricted Section he didn't leave any books about the Mind Arts either. They are considered Dark, because, for instance, a wizard who yields Legilimency can violate another person's mind against their will."

"Are you telling me," said Harry slowly and disbelievingly, "that Dumbledore can read people's minds?"

"It's not reading minds, exactly," retorted Tom superiorly, "but yes, he can do it. Legilimens need to stare into someone's eyes in order to access their mind. I even read that those powerful enough can cast the spell wandlessly and nonverbally."

"And you think Dumbledore can do that too…." Gobsmacked, Harry trailed off, before a wave of deep alarm swept over him. "Hang on! If he can read minds, he could know everything - he could have seen in our minds about Grindelwald's letter and the books!"

"Don't be a dimwit!" bit out Tom with vexation. "Do you really believe that if he had, he would have just left us alone?" He shook his head, as he said fiercely, "No, I don't think he's used Legilimency on us." He scoffed snidely. "He probably thinks that using it on students is ignoble and below himself." He skewered him with his eyes, as he added crisply, "But it doesn't mean that he wouldn't in the future, if he has grave, pressing reasons with which to mollify his conscience. So I don't trust him and I rather be prepared. That's why I want the books about the Mind Arts that the Blacks have in their private library, because by mastering Occlumency you can shield your mind against a Legilimens!"

"Oh," said Harry blinking. He then huffed. "You should have explained that before! If it's for that, then I can ask Alphard." He shot his brother a warning look. "To borrow those books for a couple of weeks, not steal them, mind you."

"That's good enough," said Tom pleasantly, widely smirking at him.

Harry shook his head, and then frowned, musingly. It would be a good idea to be able to 'shield one's mind', as his brother put it, though not from Dumbledore. He was more concerned about any possible interaction they could come to have with the Dark Lord Grindelwald, given the wizard's unexplainable interest in them.

Furthermore, he had given his oath to Tom that he wouldn't say anything to Dumbledore about Grindelwald's letter and books, but now there was another way in which he could let Dumbledore know about their predicament without breaking his promise to his brother.

Indeed, if Tom was right, then he could just stare into Dumbledore's eyes pointedly and let him know that he wanted his mind to be read. And then Dumbledore would know about Grindelwald, and the wizard could help them!

Harry immediately decided he would do precisely that, but after March the fifteenth. He couldn't go and bother Dumbledore before then, when he knew the wizard must be very preoccupied and busy with planning things to prevent Grindelwald and the Nazis from conquering Czechoslovakia. Thus, after Dumbledore did his stuff and saved the country, he would definitely go to the man.

Satisfied with his resolution, he glanced back at his brother. "What else does the book say?"

Tom frowned as he continued reading. "He was called John 'Gaunt' because he was born in a Belgium town named Ghent-"

"Oh, but then, I don't understand," interrupted Harry, puzzled. "Gaunt fits with the M.G. initials, so it must have been his true surname, right?"

"Yes," drawled Tom, casting him an arrogant look. "It's obvious that he was skilled in the Mind Arts and used them widely to plant memories about his birth and about himself in all the years in between before he appeared before the muggles, passing himself off as the son of the English King."

"That's a lot of work," remarked Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Tom scoffed loudly. "He had the incentives for it, didn't he? Why, living as a King's son and a Duke – he must have had a very lavish and comfortable life."

"True," said Harry thoughtfully, nodding. "A much better one than the one he could have had in the Wizarding World, because of the things his father M.G. had done."

"Precisely," said Tom tersely, before he returned to the book. "He had many children with his two wives and mistresses. His legitimate male heirs included Kings Henry IV, Henry V, and Henry VI. His legitimate daughters became Queen of Castile and Queen of Portugal…"

Harry shook his head, bemusedly. "They couldn't have been his. I've heard that there isn't a drop of magical blood in any of the Royal Houses of Europe." He grinned at his brother. "I asked the Prewetts twins about that because I wanted to know if-"

"Of course they weren't his children!" interrupted Tom impatiently. "John Gaunt was a Slytherin and he knew it. As you said, he proudly used the Egeriana Rose and made it an emblem. A Slytherin, proud of his ancestry, as he was, would have never bedded filthy muggle women."

Harry decided not to remark on that 'filthy' comment and simply let it go, as he pressed on, pensively, "So he tricked his wives and mistresses as well?"

"Obviously," said Tom tartly. "He wouldn't have had any other choice. Given his position as a duke, it was his duty to have heirs. It would have been demanded and expected of him." He glanced down at the book, tapping a finger on it, as he mulled, "John Gaunt must have used the Imperius Curse on men of the Court… perhaps he even gave them Polyjuice Potions with his hair, so they would look like him when he made them bed his wives and mistresses… yes, that's very plausible."

"The Imperius Curse?" mumbled Harry, his features turning pale and sickened.

Tom shot him an annoyed glare. "It's a dark curse that-"

"I know what it is!" snapped Harry bristling, his face gaining back its color in indignant anger. "Alphard told me all about the Unforgivable Curses, thank you very much!"

"At least he's useful for something," retorted Tom acidly, giving him a snide look.

Harry glowered at his brother, and then huffed impatiently. "Let's get to the point. He didn't have children with his muggle women, but he must have had children with a witch, because we're his descendants. So, when did he die, supposedly?"

Tom glanced at the page, and replied shortly, "In 1399, he was fifty-nine years old, and died of old age."

Harry snorted loudly. "Right, sure. As expected, it's utter rubbish. We know wizards can live for two hundred years." He glanced musingly at his brother. "So he faked his death and returned to the Wizarding World, wherever he had hidden before, and had children with some witch."

"That's a valid supposition," conceded Tom as he nodded magnanimously.

Widely grinning, Harry declared with much self-satisfaction, "So there we have it! Wizards don't tend to move around much. They like to stay in the houses and towns and such of their parents, grandparents and forefathers - especially purebloods, from what Alphard has told me. And John Gaunt was a pureblood and a Slytherin, and the Duke of Lancashire, to boot, precisely of the same county Salazar Slytherin came from."

He rested his back on his chair and his grin widened even further, as he concluded exultantly, "So that's where we have to look for Gaunts. In muggle towns and cities of Lancashire. And probably Yorkshire too, since it's a neighboring county and also the place of the Egeriana Rose. So we're done here!"

"Not even remotely, you little twit," said Tom caustically, as he gestured at the blank papers in front of him. "Even if what you said makes sense, we still have to-"

"Tut-tut," Harry interrupted, clucking his tongue tauntingly as he grinned toothily. "I'm not a 'twit', am I?"

Tom stared and frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Harry, grinning with much smugness and vindictive pleasure, "that I was right about every little thing! It was thanks to me that we found John Gaunt, not you. So you can't call me stupid anymore, can you?"

Fiercely scowling and glowering at him, Tom turned silent for a moment, as if trying to devise a way in which to give Harry a devastating retort.

"Come, come, dear brother," drawled Harry mockingly, his lips quirking upwards. "Why do you look so sour? You've done exactly this, plenty of times to me. Now it's my moment of glory and revenge. So say it! Say I was right and say 'thank you for all your wisdom and brilliance, dear brother'."

Tom's glower turned murderous and Harry happily chuckled at the sight, before he prodded his brother with a jabbing finger on the ribs, as he intoned cheerfully, "Come, come, it's not so hard, just slooowlyyy move your lips and say it."

"I will not say anything of the sort!" snapped Tom acidly, glaring daggers at him, before he lifted his chin up and added superiorly, "And if you had let me speak before, you would know that my point is that we're not done here!" He gestured angrily at the blank papers before him. "Hutchins will want to see the essay we're supposedly writing for school. So we still have to do that before we can leave!"

"Oh no," said Harry indolently, comfortably sprawling on his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "I've made all the important discoveries. So I'm going to rest now while you work. I deserve it. This part is all yours, dear twin of mine."

Tom shot him a seething glare and spat, "You'll pay for this!", before he violently grabbed pencil and paper, and began perusing at books as he scribbled with jerky, stabbing motions, even piercing through the paper once or twice.

His brother only paused to shoot him venomous glowers now and then, as he worked at a furious pace.

And Harry, for his part, chuckled under his breath. Why, he could almost imagine he could see dark clouds gathering and smoldering above his brother's head.

It all made Tom look like a thwarted little boy throwing a temper tantrum in silence.

At the sight, Harry's devilish grin widened, stretched, and turned into a full-blown smirk.

When Robert Hutchins took them back to the orphanage, Harry had already formulated his plan – for the next stage of their quest and for something else he needed to speak about with the man in private. And he had to get rid of Tom for that.

Thus, as soon as they climbed out of the motorwagon, he was quick to turn to his brother, ordering shortly, "Get in the house."

"I beg your pardon?" snapped Tom, looking affronted, as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry shot him a frustrated look. "We know what our next step has to be. I'll take care of it! And it's best if I speak to him alone. So just go away!"

"Watch how you speak to me, you uppity little runt," hissed out Tom, seething. "That you managed, for once, to show a spark of intelligence doesn't mean that-"

"Oh, just go away and let me do my stuff," bit out Harry with exasperation. "We'll talk later!"

He quickly swirled around and started to approach Robert Hutchins, leaving his brother behind. Thankfully, he soon heard Tom furiously stomping his way up the steps and then slamming the entrance door shut behind him.

Hutchins' gaze flickered from Harry to the orphanage and back, looking concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"No, everything's just fine," said Harry, smiling up at the man. He had already decided there was no convincing lie he could tell about the matter, so he didn't beat around the bush. "The thing is that we want to ask another favor from you."

"Yes?" prompted Hutchins gently.

"We're looking for our relatives," said Harry in a hushed tone of voice. "They're called Gaunt – that's their surname, I mean, and-"

"Relatives?" interjected Robert, frowning at him with puzzlement. "But I thought you boys had none. Alice told me your mother died in the orphanage after she gave birth to you both, and that your father was dead too-"

"Our father?" interrupted Harry, staring at him befuddled. He then shook his head. "No. We have no way of knowing that, do we? We think he could be alive and we want to find him. And we have reason to believe that some Gaunts could be relatives of his and so, also ours."

"I see," murmured Hutchins softly. "My apologies, then." He gave him a warm smile. "Of course that I'll be glad to help you in any way I can, but I don't see how I could be of much use."

"Well, we think the Gaunts could be living in Lancashire or Yorkshire," said Harry hastily. "And I know Old John Bryce is from Preston, so I was hoping you could ask him to write to people he knows in Lancashire, to see if any of them have heard of any Gaunts living in those parts."

"Ah," said Hutchins, a wide smile spreading on his face, "of course I will. But I can be of further use to you as well. I'm from Yorkshire myself."

Utterly surprised, Harry stared at him. "You are?"

Robert grinned. "Yes, I'm from Leeds. As a matter of fact, it was when I was working in a factory there that I met Old John – he was a fellow worker. And we both have many acquaintances there, so we can help you with that as well."

"That would be great!" said Harry joyfully, beaming at him. "Thanks!"

"It will take a while, you understand?" said Hutchins quietly, now looking worried. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as he added in a low, gentle voice, "And I don't want you to get your hopes up. I truly wish we manage to help you find these relatives, but if it happens to be that there're none, the disappointment could be crushing for you. So you must accept the possibility beforehand."

Harry nodded at him with a grave expression on his face. "I do."

"Good," said Hutchins, warmly smiling.

"I don't want you to tell Alice about this," said Harry abruptly, gazing up at him imploringly.

The man frowned and then his expression softened, as he shook his head. "It wouldn't hurt her feelings, Harry. She wouldn't begrudge you your desire to find relatives. On the contrary, she would understand and she would encourage you."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Harry, fretfully scuffling his feet, "but it's not just about that." He bit his bottom lip nervously. "It's because… um, well… I've been watching you two and I think that…" He sighed and peered up at him with big eyes, as he rushed out, "Well, if it's true that you are planning to marry Alice, I know that you're also considering other stuff…. I mean, I want to find my father, because I want to know about him, I want to ask him questions, I want to understand, but if he knew Tom and I were here and didn't care, it changes things."

He shook his head, exasperated at himself, as he jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, trying to find a way to express his thoughts and wishes. "But not really, you see? Even if he hadn't known, he's a stranger to me. Of course that I would care for him, if we find him, but he would still be a stranger." He gazed up at the man again, his cheeks flushing, and just blurted out very quickly, "But you're not, and I like you and I rather have you as a dad than anyone else, so if its true that you and Alice were thinking about adopting Tom and me, then I want it to happen even if I find my father, because I love Alice and you and I want you to be my parents!"

And with that, he turned tail and dashed into the orphanage, too mortified to stick around and with no wish to see how his declaration had been taken.

Unbeknownst to him, he left behind a Robert Hutchins who at first looked thoroughly startled and surprised, and then smiled widely, with deep warmth, affection, and contentment.

… once upon a time, there was a good little wolf mistreated by all the lambs…

He was dreaming, enfolded in cotton waves of warmth and love as a beautiful voice sang Alice's lullaby, the tone soft, worried, and concerned as it rose and fell like a placid, slow tide stroking a beach, the sound lulling and cradling, making him contently sigh in his sleep.

…. once upon a time, there was a bad black unicorn, a little ugly fairy, and a shy dragon...

The song echoed in his mind, as the face of the woman of his dreams, hallucinations, and imagination formed from amidst fogs and clouds. Her hair golden, long, and soft. He stretched out a hand and touched it, giggling at the sensation. She was so beautiful, like an angel. Her eyes, pale blue, were gazing at him with such warmth and love. Her features delicate and breathtaking, so very familiar to him.

… there was also once, an evil prince, a beautiful witch, and an honest pirate...

He knew her and loved her, and he touched her cheek and she smiled as she continued singing.

… there were all these things, once upon a time, when I dreamed of a world turned upside down…

She held him in her arms and stroked his hair, as she rocked him, murmuring his name, telling him secret things that only they shared.

…Antares…

They weren't alone, a glowing ghostly form was with them, observing, smiling, whispering, as they floated, surrounded by mist and rays of sun.

His hair was caressed, a lingering touch on his scar and the fingers trailed down to his cheek, lovingly, tenderly, and so longingly, as his name was called again, with yearning.

…Harry…

He pressed his cheek against the warm hand, contently nuzzling it, wanting more of that feeling of belonging and love.

"Harry…"

He floated as his name echoed in his mind, parting through fogs and clouds, surging upwards and rolling along waves of warmth, as the hand cupped his cheek.

"Harry!"

His eyes slowly parted open, heavy with sleep. He was surrounded by darkness except for the light that came from a shimmering, glowing figure.

"What?" he said groggily and disoriented. Someone had called his name, hadn't they?

He blinked confusedly until he noticed the warm hand on his cheek.

Startled, he jerked backwards, and instantly grabbed his eyeglasses from the rickety nightstand. As soon as he put them on, everything came into focus, and he gasped at the sight of the man seated on his bed.

"You!" he spluttered incredulously. "What are you doing here!"

"Lower your voice," said the strange Santi person.

Bewildered, Harry sat up straight on his bed and glanced around. He was in his room but he could barely see much, the curtains of their window were drawn shut and there was utter darkness except for Santi who seemed to be glowing with an inner light of his own.

"You don't want to wake up Tom, do you?" said Santi, as he rose up. "Let's go outside."

The young man didn't wait for him. He glided forward and went through the door, as if it was made of nothing but air.

Utterly perplexed, yet also mystified, Harry quietly followed and carefully closed the door shut behind him.

In the middle of the corridor, he spun around to see Santi waiting for him, calmly leaning against a wall.

Harry blinked, shook his head, and then snapped, highly miffed, "How did you get in here? I've been looking for you, for weeks, in Hogwarts-" he gestured wildly with his hands at their surroundings "-because you said you would come back and explain things to me, and you end up showing up here?"

"I wanted to see you," said Santi simply, giving him a wide, gorgeous smile.

Harry scowled, as he demanded curtly, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Santi arched an eyebrow at him. "You already know who I am."

"I know your name," bit out Harry impatiently, "but not much else." He ran his fingers through his hair, briskly, as he added, "You told me a bunch of stuff that makes no sense, and you gave me the 'task' of making the Grey Lady speak to me, and that's it!"

"And you haven't fulfilled your task yet, have you?" retorted Santi in a chiding tone.

"I tried!" huffed out Harry, peeved. "But she always flees from me." His green eyes narrowed. "And I still don't understand why it's important that she tells me stuff about herself!" He pointed an accusing finger at him. "I don't know you, I don't know her, and I'm not interested."

Santi released a heavy, weary sigh. "You will come to understand much, but first you must learn about her story, and you can only do that if you manage to convince her to tell you." He pierced him with his strange, glowing milky eyes, as he added, "I told you I am your protector. And I told you that what she has to reveal is important. That is enough-"

"No, it's not," gritted out Harry with exasperation. "I'm not your lackey. I want answers-"

"That's why I came," interjected Santi, grinning widely. "Precisely to do that – give you some answers. You have just discovered John Gaunt, haven't you?"

Harry's eyes went wide and he gaped. "How can you know that!"

"I know many things," said Santi, chuckling merrily. "I did tell you that I can bend Time at my pleasure, if you'll remember?"

"And that's a load of codswallop!" said Harry, irked. "I've never heard of something like that being possible, not even in the Wizarding World!"

Santi shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly. "You'll soon start to believe me." He then smiled. "Now, wouldn't you like to know more about John Gaunt? Or, better said –since you already discovered what you need to know about him – wouldn't you like to know about his father, the elusive M.G.?"

"Well, yes," stammered Harry, taken aback. "I would like to know, but-"

"Then I'll tell you," said Santi cheerfully, his milky eyes sparkling. He then tapped a finger on his chin, musingly. "Where to start? I suppose the basics are required, first. He was called Morgon Gaunt, an ordinary wizard in all aspects, from a pureblood family that had never distinguished itself in any way. The Gaunts had no great fortune, no high social standing, all their members hadn't been particularly intelligent, powerful, resourceful, nor socially or politically skilled. They were mediocre, below the mark, and as such, ignored and spurned by other pureblood families of higher standing." He shot a sharp grin at him. "The one thing they had, was ruthless ambition. They coveted what other pureblood families possessed –fortune, prestige, respect, status, and such. And it was Morgon Gaunt who decided to get it, no matter the cost."

"I see," muttered Harry, staring at him. "It's good to know his full name, but I already know what he did."

"But you don't know the details, do you?" interjected Santi, indulgently smiling at him. "And it's in the details that the truth lies."

"Um, alright," said Harry slowly, bemused. "So what are those details?"

"The first relevant one, is that Morgon Gaunt was the Caretaker of Hogwarts back in those days," replied Santi placidly. "As all the rest of his family members, he wasn't particularly skilled in magic, and he had worked as the caretaker of the castle for many decades. He was around his eighties, when he took action." He waved a hand dismissively. "You can imagine the situation. And embittered wizard, with a job he considered to be below him, resentful and jealous of the students that surrounded him, and most of all, envious of the Slytherins."

"Of Sherisse Slytherin and her parents, you mean?" piped in Harry, now gazing at him with deep curiosity.

"Precisely," said Santi, his tone of voice low. "Back then, the Slytherins held much social and political power, being the descendants of one of the Founders and having lived in Hogwarts since the days of their ancestor. Hogwarts was their dominion, so to speak. Those who didn't revere them, feared them."

"I understand," said Harry, nodding, to then add with a pinch of impatience, "But what about Sherisse? I would like to know a bit about her."

"I was just getting to that," said Santi, his lips hitching upwards in amusement. "Sherisse was a nice girl - there's no other way to describe her. Her mother had only been able to give birth to her, and so Sherisse was greatly coddled and treasured by her parents, to such point that their overprotection resulted in her being naïve and innocent. She had a sweet disposition, and was liked and loved by all. Her beauty and kindness, along with her name, meant that she had many friends and admirers. She was the little princess of Hogwarts, in short."

Harry swallowed thickly, feeling his stomach rolling sickly, as he whispered, "And Morgon Gaunt, then… he…"

"Morgon Gaunt," said Santi with a grim, grave expression on his face, "hungered for her. During his duties as the Caretaker, he would watch her, laughing with friends, being fawned over and adored, and he hated, resented, and despised her, just as much as he coveted her. He wanted what she had and what she could give him. So one night, when young Sherisse was in the dungeons, making her way to her family's chambers, Morgon assaulted her. He dragged her into an empty room and forced himself on her."

He paused, before he added quietly, "I'll spare you the grisly details. After that, Sherisse was left so traumatized that she changed, understandably. She shied from the company of others, she became quiet and taciturn, and of course, her belly started to grow. The moment her parents took notice, they demanded to know who had done it. But Sherisse wouldn't say a word. Morgon Gaunt was still lurking, and she was terrified of him after the horror and violence of her rape. But then, her parents began to see how Sherisse blanched and trembled at the sight of the Caretaker of Hogwarts in the corridors. It was then that they knew. Her parents were about to take full revenge on Morgon, to torture and kill him, in short, when-"

"The outbreak of Dragon Pox," mumbled Harry, his face pale and drawn out of all color.

"Yes," said Santi tersely. "Her parents were two of the first to die. Thus, she was left alone and unprotected. Moreover, Morgon Gaunt had been no fool. When he had assaulted her, he had made her disclose many secrets, particularly how to take care of the wards of her family's chambers. It was so, that when she was giving birth, Morgon easily pulled down the wards and entered her room. He had known she was due soon, and he wanted to be there to reap his reward. While she was in labor and screaming in pain in her bed, unattended, Morgon went around the rooms, taking everything of value – their galleons, heirlooms, books, jewelry, and such. He used their own trunks to put the things inside, and then shrunk and pocketed them. After that, he simply stood and watched from one corner of the bedroom, as Sherisse finally gave birth to a baby boy. Morgon instantly took his ill-begotten son and fled, leaving her there, dying from blood loss."

"But who saw him?" said Harry hoarsely, his throat dry and tight. "I'm sure there was someone who saw what happened. There had to be a witness."

Santi shot him a large smile, looking proud of him. "Indeed, there was."

"Who?" pressed on Harry, half intrigued and half angered. "And why didn't they stop Morgon? Why didn't they do something? Why didn't they help her!"

"He didn't help her because he didn't have the time for it," replied Santi, his lips twisting. "He came into her room because he heard her crying out for help, when Morgon was taking the baby from her. She was a Slytherin, but she was also good and innocent, he would have saved her, but she died too quickly. The childbirth hadn't been easy, it had ripped her body - she bled to death in seconds, as Morgon was fleeing from her room. The one who answered her call for help was only able to get a glimpse of the fleeing Morgon with baby in arms. After that, the witness was quick to alert one of the teachers he was… acquainted with, let us say, and he communicated what he had seen. The teacher alerted other professors and they gave chase to Morgon Gaunt all the way down to Hogsmeade, casting spells at him, trying to stop him. But Morgon apparated away, and that was the last anyone ever saw of him."

"But who was it?" said Harry insistently. "Who was the witness?"

Santi grinned widely at him. "That's for you to find out. That's your second task."

Harry shot him a look of utter disbelief, and then snapped angrily, "What? You must be joking!"

"I'm not," said Santi, chortling and chuckling. "All the tasks I give you are important, for your own sake." He shot him a jaunty wink. "So I do hope you succeed in them."

And with that, he gave him a cheery wave of the hand. "See you soon. Ta-ta!"

"You come back here!" bellowed Harry furiously at the suddenly empty corridor. He then stomped a foot on the floor out of sheer frustration, violently carding his fingers through his hair, grousing darkly under his breath, "Shows up out of the blue, tells me a bunch of stuff, and gives me more tasks! As if I hadn't enough on my plate-"

"What are you doing?" said a vexed, demanding voice.

Startled, Harry nearly jumped in the air. He swirled around and saw his brother peeking out from the parted door of their bedroom, in his pajamas, with disarrayed, tousled hair, and eyes heavy with sleep.

Tom shot him a bleary glower. "Why are you out here?" He glanced around the corridor, frowning. "I heard you shouting. Who were you talking to?"

"Um, it was nothing," said Harry quickly. He shook his head and mumbled, "Erm… I think I was sleepwalking."

Decidedly looking more awake and alert, Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "You have never sleepwalked in your life. I should know." He released a heavy sigh and added with annoyance, "Was it the red eyes again?"

"Huh?" Harry stared at him.

"Your stupid nightmare," bit out Tom impatiently. "Was that what woke you up?"

"Oh. Yeah!" said Harry instantly. "It woke me up and scared me, and then I couldn't get back to sleep so I came out here to… um, well, just spend some time and talk to myself until I got sleepy again." He ducked his head down in contrition. "Sorry that I woke you up."

"I can't believe you're still such a baby… frightened of silly, little nightmares," said Tom, casting him a disgusted look. He shook his head and grumbled darkly, "Fine, come along then. I'll let you sleep with me so that you don't have that nightmare again."

"Really?" said Harry, perking up.

Ever since they had started Hogwarts, his brother had refused to let him sleep with him, as they always used to do when Harry had his nightmare of the red eyes and the flash of green light, because it always made his scar hurt and when Tom touched and caressed it, for some reason the pain always went away.

But Tom had decided that they were not little boys anymore, and hadn't allowed the tradition to continue, much to Harry's sorrow.

"Yes, really," snapped Tom shortly. And he spun around and went back into their bedroom, leaving the door open for Harry.

Beaming happily, Harry rushed inside.