Hello and welcome to another chapter. Thank you Gin for your encouraging words. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and leave me with your thoughts.

Chapter 3: The Difference Between Blood and Family

Hogwarts, January 1st 1996

When Tom left his dorm early in the morning he had to make a conscious effort to avoid stepping into bodies lying on the floor in their own vomit. The Slytherins had celebrated the beginning of a New Year until the early hours of the morning. In fact a few were only now crawling back to their dorms, some had not made it this far and were passed out on the stairs or couches in the common room. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Tom set out for the entrance of the common room. Today would be a day all for himself since none of his Slytherin followers would be of much use after the previous night. No matter what the other Houses may proclaim no one knew how to throw a party better than the Slytherins with freely flowing Fire Whiskey and other questionable beverages. Their Head of House was in on the fun, developing selective perception on every occasion which warranted a party. Furthermore, Slughorn would show himself around lunch time and leave a freshly brewed batch of Hangover Potion behind.

Although Tom did not participate in the festivities the headache he had rivalled the ones his Housemates clearly nursed. Even with strong silencing charms around his bed he hadn't been able to sleep, it was ridiculous really... thinking about Ginevra's childish tantrum. Of course they were friends. What in Merlin's name made her think otherwise? Didn't she realise that he spent most of his time with her? That he indulged her in activities that were completely pointless to him just because she considered them 'fun'? Wasn't it obvious that he treated her more like an equal, that she could talk back to him, try to play pranks, knew more about him than his closest associates in Slytherin?

She talked about trust. But didn't her insistence to know where he spent the day imply a lack of trust on her part? And what he had been doing was not on the same scale like telling her what his favourite colour was. This was huge, monumental. He had finally found it. Achieved something generations of scholars had strived to achieve only to fail. Because they were not like him, they lacked the most important requirement: They were not the heirs of Slytherin but he, lowly orphan boy Tom Riddle was the last descendent of the great Salazar Slytherin. He alone commanded the tongue of serpents and thus, hypothetically the monster slumbering under the school for over a millennium. He was somebody. The heir of Slytherin.

Naturally he wanted to shout it from the Astronomy Tower. But it would not be prudent. Like any true Slytherin -and that he was one by blood still made him giddy- he preferred to hold his cards close to his chest. The ability to speak Parseltongue was regarded with wariness at best, with hostility and loathing at worst. While his status among his Slytherin peers would be elevated from leader to God, the rest of the school would cause problems. In short the benefits would not be worth the drawbacks. But this tight, electrifying feeling in his chest demanded recognition for his bloodline and his achievement. He wanted to tell someone. And if he had to absolutely pick someone, wouldn't Ginevra be his first choice? She was open minded regarding his... darker aspects. She was his friend. Unlike his Slytherin associates she wanted to be his friend, not because of an elevation in status, not because of the promise of success and glory in his shadow but only for himself. Even Draco only noticed him because of his power. Ginevra was his friend because she valued his mind and character. A confusing idea since nobody could possibly only want to be his friend just because they liked him. But she was. His friend. His friend who gave him a birthday gift that must have cost quite a lot and she wasn't very rich herself. A gift he treasured. A biography of Salazar Slytherin. Clearly she put a lot of thought into this present. And this thought did not sit well with him. It tasted bitter on his tongue, suspiciously like guilt.

The Great Hall was only mildly populated this morning. Most students opted to stay in bed, making up for their lack of sleep or nursing their hangovers. Unconsciously, his eyes swept over the hall looking for red. His gaze focused on the Ravenclaw table where the object of his musings sat with her boyfriend. Preparing a cup of black coffee for himself, Tom silently observed Ginevra over the brink of his steaming mug. Apparently the conversation between the redhead and her boyfriend was on the brink of escalation. While Ginevra did not show any sign of fatigue or drinking, her companion was in grave danger of drowning in his bowl of cereals. Her urgent whispers and sharp hand gestures were answered with grunts and nods. Clearly fed up with the boy's unresponsiveness Ginevra got up and stalked out of the hall. Hastily scrambling to his feet the Ravenclaw followed. His decision made -the more the merrier- Tom drowned the rest of his coffee and set out in pursuit of the couple. On the first floor he caught up with them.

"Clearly I was wrong... I mean is it too much to ask to just listen to me? You are my boyfriend. I could use your advice..."

"Advice.", Corner scoffed, "It's not about listening or giving advice. The problem is it's always Tom this, Riddle that..."

"Wait. Are you jealous?"

"Oh, I don't know. Do I have a reason?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? I am not the one talking every hour of the day about Riddle. It's like you are obsessed or something."

"Listen, you prat. Tom is my friend and of course I talk about my friends because they are important to me."

"You don't talk this much about your other friends. And sure you are great friends or did I misunderstand your rant from before. Sounded like he is a right prat."

Having heard enough, Tom decided to participate in this lovely conversation.

"Good morning Ginevra... Corner.", his voice was smooth and silky and yet didn't fail to convey to Corner how much he thought about him. Which amounted to roughly nothing.

"Riddle.", Corner gritted out but was ignored by both Tom and Ginevra who had engaged in a staring match.

"You can leave now, Corner.", Tom told him coldly. This conversation was between him and Ginevra only. Corner's indignant spluttering was interrupted by Ginevra: "I'll see you later Michael."

He huffed, his face turning scarlet: "Fine!", and stalked of. The silence continued while the two continued to stare at each other until even Tom was forced to admit that it was becoming rather childish. He awkwardly cleared his throat. This was more difficult than he first assumed.

"I... want to apologise... for my aloof and cold behaviour to you yesterday. And I want to thank you for my present... I appreciate it."

During his admittedly stilted monologue Ginevra's expression did not change one iota. Slowly a wide smile crept over her face, making her eyes twinkle.

"Did it hurt? To apologise I mean?"

He snorted. Elegantly of course. "I am in agony."

Ginevra giggled slightly and Tom felt the corners of his lips tilt up.

"Am I forgiven?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, come here prat so I can give you a proper birthday hug." Slim arms slipped around his waist and a head full of long red hair came to rest on his chest. For a moment Tom stiffened. Friendly hugs and touches were not something he participated in often. Being who he was he had already explored the different aspects of sexuality, mainly to be able to use them into manipulating others to his will. But this was different, simply hugging or touching in order to give comfort... Slowly his arms crept around Ginevra's hips and his chin rested in her fiery hair. For several deep breaths both remained silent, sharing their heartbeats and breathing in union. Tom had to admit that this felt good... precious. The moment was broken when Ginevra shifted her head so that her chin was resting on Tom's chest and she could look up into his face: "You don't need to, but will you tell me what you were up to yesterday?"

Yes, she had forgiven him and probably wouldn't nag if he decided to not tell her now but he had already established that he wanted to tell someone and Ginevra was this person. Besides, not that he would ever admit it out loud, maybe Ginevra was right and he could tell her as a proof of his trust in her and their friendship. However, he was also afraid. Not afraid that she would go and reveal his secret but that she would be disgusted and leave their friendship behind. After all she was his only friend.

Sighing deeply and holding her an arm's length away, he looked into her eyes as if looking for something. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he simply said: "Follow me."

Together they began walking into the direction of what was known as Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The female ghost who resided in this particular bathroom was known for crying loudly at all times of the day and regularly flooding the whole floor with water from the toilets. Legend has it that she was a student roughly fifty years ago, who committed suicide in one of the bathroom stalls because she was bullied. If she had been as annoying in life as she was in death, Tom could not really fault people for not wanting to be friends with the girl. And really, who commits suicide and then decides that they don't want to die and come back as a ghost? A dichotomy.

When they reached the bathroom the tearful ghost was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Tom drew his wand and sealed the door. "Well this starts to look ominous.", Ginevra joked. "Ominous? No. But it is a secret. So before we proceed I would like to ask you to not talk about this with anybody, no matter your personal feelings on the matter."

She gave him a long, hard look: "You should know by now that I am your friend and that I will always stand by you and keep your secrets.", She said this with so much conviction that Tom couldn't do anything else but believe her. With a nod he turned sharply to the sinks in the middle of the room and hissed quietly for them to open. They turned and twisted into the floor until only a circular hole remained, large enough for a person to go through.

Ginevra gaped and blinked slowly. Once. Twice. "What the hell is this Tom?"

"I will explain. But I would be more comfortable if we could have this conversation down there."

"Down there?", Ginevra asked with a faint voice, "You want to jump into this random hole in the ground?"

"Not random, no. I know where it leads to and have been down there before. In fact this is where I was yesterday."

"It isn't on the map.", she murmured so quietly that Tom almost didn't catch her words. Louder, she asked: "Is this some kind of secret passage?"

Tom smirked: "Yes, very secret.", when the silence stretched on for a while longer he asked: "Do you trust me, Ginevra?"

His question seemed to break his companion out of some kind of stupor. She blew away a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes and said: "Of course I do. But if I break my bones sliding down there I'll hex you until you don't know your name anymore.", then she took a few steps forward, seated herself on the hole and -like a true Gryffindor- sled fearlessly into the darkness. Tom started laughing quietly to himself, if she had waited just a moment he would have commanded the stairs to appear but alas... "Stairs.", he hissed, conjured a ball of light into his palm and started his descend into his ancestor's secret chamber. After a few steps he hissed at the sinks to close behind him.

"Seriously, there are stairs? And you let me slide down here. I'm soaked in things I don't even want to contemplate."

"Well, you were very eager...", covered in green slime from the pipe, Ginevra made a rather humorous picture. With a wave of his wand Tom cleaned her robes and let the ball of light float from his hand to hover above them. Turning slowly, taking in the damp and dark tunnel, she asked: "Where are we? And were does this lead to?"

"All in good time. Follow me, it isn't far."

Silently the two started a trek down the tunnel, occasionally water splashed around their ankles where the tunnels had been flooded in the past. Tom assumed they were under the lake, the many pipes leading from and to the tunnel strengthening his theory since the Hogwarts plumbing system led into the lake. After a while Ginevra decided to break the silence: "So how did you find this place?"

"I looked for it."

She rolled her eyes: "Could you be any more cryptic? Because...", she cut of abruptly, coming face to face with several feet long Basilisk skin. The Basilisk had left the skin out there when it had still been growing and Tom had every intention of using it. Partly for his own potions projects and partly for the money. The prices places such as Borgin & Burkes would pay for this were tremendous. "What is this?", Ginevra's voice had reached a rather worrying high pitch.

"I will explain everything when we arrive."

"Arrive where? Tom this is getting really scary."

But they had finally reached the entrance to the main chamber. Once again Tom gave a hissed command and the snakes adorning the door slithered out of the way. When the hole opened Tom stepped through and offered Ginevra his hand to step through after him. The chamber stretched out before them, on both sides stone snake statues stood silent vigil and greenish flames on torches along the wall gave the whole chamber a viridescent glow. On the other end the statue of Salazar Slytherin towered eternally over his chamber. Ginevra took in the picture before them with wide eyes and an open mouth. She soundlessly moved her lips a few times and finally turned to Tom, the urge for answers clear on her face.

With a solemn voice Tom said: "Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets, Ginevra."

"... the Chamber of Secrets...", she echoed faintly.

"Are you familiar with the legend behind the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Roughly. Doesn't it say that after having a disagreement with the other Founders about admitting Muggle-born students and leaving Hogwarts, Slytherin built this secret chamber and left a monster behind? Until his heir would return, control the monster and purge the school of those students he considered unworthy of learning magic?"

"While the account written in 'Hogwarts a History' is heavily biased against Slytherin and does not consider contemporary politics, such as witch hunts and the rising of the Christian religion, it accurately portraits the main facts: Slytherin built a secret chamber containing a beast and only his descendants would be able to control it."

Tom was basically able to see how Ginevra's mind filtered and ordered the information provided. She was clever and would sooner or later come to the right conclusion, the question nagging at Tom was how she would react to it."

Slowly, enunciating every word carefully, she asked: "Do you mean to tell me that you... are the heir of Slytherin?"

He was unable to curb his enthusiasm. A grin stretched across his face and a glint became visible in his eyes. His voice had taken a husky undertone when he answered: "I am. My mother, she was a Gaunt. At first I was sure she couldn't have been a witch because she died in childbed,", speaking of his mother still produced twin feelings of anger and betrayal -she had magic after all, she could have lived... and he wouldn't be living in an orphanage-, "but then I looked up my middle name. Marvolo. And I found one Marvolo Gaunt in some old editions of the Daily Prophet, went to Azkaban for hexing a local muggle or something, and he had two children: a boy and a girl. The girl simply had to be my mother: the age matches and the caretakers at the orphanage always told me that she said my middle name was after my grandfather. Then I looked up the Gaunts. Turns out they hadn't attended Hogwarts for generations, thus I couldn't find anything substantial in the school records. However, the book on the Sacred-Twenty-Eight provided interesting insight: the Gaunts were known for being the last direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin."

During his explanation Tom began pacing around Ginevra, whose eyes were transfixed on his face, listening intently to his story, his greatest success. "Having read 'Hogwarts a History' I naturally was aware of the legend surrounding the Chamber of Secrets. And I was determined to find it. I am the heir after all. Admittedly, it took me a long time but just before Christmas I was finally successful. Old construction records showed, that one Cornivius Gaunt helped install the plumbing system at Hogwarts in the 19th century. He seemed rather secretive and focused on the very bathroom we came from. So I took a look around and found the chamber, I am probably the first since Cornivius Gaunt himself, maybe even since Salazar himself, since I have reason to believe that nobody had entered the chamber since its construction."

Silence permeated the air around them. Tom stood still, spine stiff and expression unreadable. Ginevra gazed absently into nothing, before turning to him, her features wary and her muscles tense. "And how were you be able to open the chamber?... I mean your deductions were very clever but people have been looking for the chamber for generations... I know you don't particularly like him, but even Dumbledore has looked for the chamber and he would have been clever enough to come to the same conclusions as you did..."

Tom nodded. "Indeed, I can admit this much. But tell me: What was Salazar Slytherin famous for?"

"Err... speaking to snakes..."

"Yes. It is a hereditary trait."

Ginevra's eyes became impossibly wide, her mouth hung open and her face appeared eerily pale in the faint, greenish glow, accentuating every single freckle. "You... you are a Parselmouth?" It was something between a statement and a question.

"I am.", the underlying pride was clear in his words, "Always have been. The garden snakes back at the orphanage, they came to me, they whispered to me. And it is the best defence against intruders, the chamber can only be opened by using Parseltongue."

"So... the noises you made when the sinks opened and the door... that was Parseltongue?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

'Oh.'? That was all she had to say about this? 'Oh.'? He could not observe her face, a curtain of long red hair shielded it from view. Her head was bowed and she did not seem inclined to speak. She could be angry, disgusted, afraid... all emotions he was familiar with, they were often directed at him, especially before he came to Hogwarts, but never from her. The thought of her having those feelings for him now made him irrationally angry. 'It was a mistake,', he thought, 'I should not have told her. I knew I shouldn't have.' With great effort Tom got a tight grip on his composure and started to break the silence in an overly detached voice: "If you feel uncomfortable now, here or with my presence in general, allow me to escort you back up and I will do my best to keep my distance from now on. I only implore you to keep this secret. I can assure you I have no intention of starting a murderous rampage."

His words broke her out of the trance she had slipped into. Her eyes rolled, like she was praying for patience. "Of course, I am not uncomfortable. You have to admit, though, that this was quite the revelation. Just give me some time to digest it.", suddenly a small smile twisted her lips and she shook her head in fond exasperation, "My best friend is the heir of Slytherin. At least that proves that being a git is in your blood. And don't believe I forgot that you didn't tell me that you are a Parselmouth until now. Did you think it would bother me?", her smile turned cheeky, "One would think that if your sunny disposition didn't drive me away, this wouldn't neither."

Disbelievingly Tom asked: "This doesn't bother you at all?"

"Oh, it does. Now your ego got even more inflated than before. But aside from that, no.", her tone softened somewhat, "I am happy for you. It's clearly important to you and you are proud. I get it. And you told me... so this means you trust me, don't you?"

"I do.", Tom breathed out in wonder. This was... great. He felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he was finally able to breathe properly again. It was infuriating. He had steeled himself for rejection and then Ginevra was full of acceptance and shared pride for him and this only made him realise how strongly he had craved her approval, her support. She made him feel things that he despised and cherished in equal measure. It was annoying but he did not want to let it go.

"The Gaunts... does this mean you have still family out there?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Possibly, I did not dig further but it is reasonable to assume that at least Marvolo's son might still be alive."

"Will you look for him?"

"I don't know.", his voice turned bitter, "It is not as if they have made any attempts to contact or find me. But if they are alive... maybe they can tell me something about my father." He looked down, this was a subject he did not like to think, let alone speak about. It always made him angry and confused. Feelings he did not like, he valued his control. Tom looked up when he felt two delicate hands slip into his, squeezing them lightly, and locked his gaze with Ginevra's.

"Maybe...", she started hesitatingly, "they did not know about you. Maybe they did. But either way... I think this may offer you closure."

He barked out a humourless laugh. "When I was young I used to think my father would come for me and pick me up from the orphanage. Tell me that he had been looking for me and that he would take me home. As the years passed and it became increasingly clear that this would not happen, I told myself that I did not need, did not want a family. When other children were adopted I sneered because I did not need a family. I was stronger than them. I could look after myself alone. Then I was told I was a wizard and my desire to find my father had been rekindled. Imagine my disappointment when I could not find a trace of him in my research and then it turns out my mother was a witch. A descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself.", his voice had risen in anger by that point, "And she died. Died and left me in a fucking muggle orphanage. She could have saved herself with magic, could have gone to St. Mungo's... but no, she died... and left me... with nothing!" He was positively screaming now, and it felt cathartic. This thoughts and feelings had been buried inside him for years, slowly devouring him. During his rant Ginevra hadn't let go of his hands. Panting heavily he looked back down at her face again and was struck by surprise when he saw the tears slipping down her cheeks.

"You are crying.", he stated hollowly.

"Maybe they did not know about you and will be happy once they find out. Maybe they did know and just choose to ignore your existence. If they did, it is their loss because you are strong. The strongest and most intelligent person I know. You will do great things in life, I am sure of it. And you already have a family. Me! And the blond ponce I reckon. We will be with you, even if we are not connected by blood. But we are your family."

Tom's chest ached. But it was a sweet ache, accompanied by a terrific warmth spreading through him like Fire Whiskey. He had to gulp a few times because his throat and nose burned. And his eyes felt suspiciously wet. He blinked rapidly. Then looked down to their intertwined hands.

"Thank you Ginevra.", he did not have the words but she understood him. Always had. She knew what he wanted to say with these three words. A lengthy speech was not required between the two of them.

One of his hands went to her face and his fingers brushed her tears away. A lazy, content smile spread across his face. When he spoke again his voice was full of teasing and mischief. "Aren't you curious about Slytherin's monster?"

"M-monster? That's true? What is it? Where is it?"

With the hand in which he still held one of hers, he gently pulled her along towards the statue of Salazar. Positioning them in front of it, directly under the mouth he instructed: "Close your eyes." She did. Without hesitation.

"Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.", he hissed in Parseltongue.

When he hissed he felt Ginevra's hand in his twitch and then tighten its grip on his own. Slowly the gliding of scales was heard from the now open mouth of the statue and with a dull thud the Basilisk descended onto the chamber's floor.

After instructing the beast to keep his eyes closed and to not attack Ginevra, under any circumstances, he whispered in English: "Open your eyes."

"Fuck!", she mouthed, "That's a basilisk. A fucking basilisk. And you can control it?"

"Yes. It was bred by Slytherin himself and trained to obey his heirs. Under my command it is completely harmless."

She laughed a bit hysterically, "... harmless... you sound like Hagrid... next you want me to pet it..."

A bit miffed at the comparison he said: "In fact you can. Snakes like to be scratched actually."

"You are kidding."

"No, go on."

Tentatively, Ginevra stretched out a hand and began to scratch the green scales on the basilisk's bowed head. Said basilisk hissed in content.

"What did it say?"

"Nothing, it's purring, like a cat."

Comfortable silence settled around them, while Ginevra stroked the basilisk and Tom held her hand. Suddenly, her shoulders started shaking, then she was giggling, then laughing uproariously. Tom looked at her and raised one eyebrow in a silent demand for an explanation.

"It's... gasp... just... now you can tell girls that you have a giant snake."

"Really, Ginevra, really?"

Breakfast at the Malfoy's, Tom had learned over the years, could easily rival meals at Hogwarts. A great variety of dishes was on display, coffee, tea, juice and milk rounding up the arrangement. All was neatly arranged on porcelain plates, adorned with polished silverware.

Lucius sat at the head of the table, the Daily Prophet -the headline already screaming about the Lestranges- spread out in front of him, next to a few letters, no doubt from his various associates in the Wizengamot. Obviously word of the Lestranges' escape had already reached the most influential people. Beneath the words of concern undoubtedly expressed in the letters, were questions pertaining politics. All members of the conservative faction of the Wizengamot, mostly the patriarchs of old pure-blood families, needed to plan their next move in the political dance. With a militant movement on the rise, they needed to simultaneously distance themselves and twist the crimes to their advantage. The question was: how were they going to achieve that?

On Lucius' left, sat Narcissa, daintily sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Draco, on Lucius' right, cut his omelette into small pieces, glancing every so often at his father. Tom chewed thoughtfully on his own selection of fruit salad. It would be useful to know in advance which steps the conservatives would take. During their acquaintance Tom had learned, however, that Lucius tended to speak without further incentive, if one exhibited enough patience. It was a lesson, Draco hadn't learned apparently.

"Father, what do your letters say?"

Stony-faced, Lucius looked at his heir, as if silently asking why his son was such a disappointment when it came to subtlety.

"Mostly they express their condolences on the Lestranges' escape and their writers' concerns for our well-being. Apparently, news of last night's incident has reached our community already."

Draco snorted. Tom understood the sentiment. Of course the news had already reached everyone and their mothers. The Ministry was about as discreet as Rita Skeeter and had about as many holes as a Swiss cheese. It was something he had to change when he came into power. Along with the raging corruption and nepotism. Not that he was adverse to these concepts on principle if they could put competent and loyal workers into the right position. Unfortunately, the Ministry was run by incompetent fools who only cared about the Galleons in their pockets and nothing for the advancement of wizarding society. Minister Fudge was a prime example of this. Thus, Tom's plan to have Lucius run for the next election promised to be rather successful. And when Lucius was Minister he would need a competent Undersecretary. And when Lucius' tenure as Minister was over, said Undersecretary would have integrated himself deeply into politics and the administration. It certainly didn't hurt that he had already made a name for himself as a genius and investigator extraordinaire. And with the backing of his numerous and influential acquaintances... yes, Tom's plans were coming along nicely. Slughorn would be right, the old man always said that Tom would be Minister of Magic before he reached thirty. He could not afford, however, that the conservatives blundered now.

He smirked at Lucius. "I believe what Draco was meant to ask was: Do you already have a common plan on how to proceed in the Wizengamot?"

Lucius sighed, letting his mask slip around the people he trusted, suddenly looking rather tired. "As of now the consensus is that it would be beneficial to meet some of the demands of this extremist groups in the hopes that it will take away reasons they have for their discontent."

Draco frowned. "Appeasement?"

Lucius nodded and leaned forward in his seat, more animated now, that his son had grasped the idea so quickly. "Indeed. The idea is that we can realise some of our long held demands by implying that many extremists will surely cease their criminal endeavours, if some isolationist laws against muggles and muggle-borns can be passed. Nothing extreme... but ideas like disallowing muggles into public wizarding places like Diagon Alley... vows of silence for muggle-borns to not expose our world to their muggle families... things like that."

Well, this strategy was not very well thought of, in Tom's humble opinion. Judging the crease of Draco's eyebrows, his friend agreed. Tom felt a sudden stab of pride for the young Malfoy. He had come a long way and seemed to understand the complexities and intricate dances of the political scene better every day.

"But father... isn't this strategy liable to failure?"

With a wave of his hand the elder Malfoy encouraged Draco to continue. Apparently this was turning into a lesson for his friend. Sitting back, Tom exchanged a quick glance with Narcissa over the table. Amusement shone in her eyes, clearly she had also picked up on what her husband was up to.

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, first of all the opposition will spin this into their favour. The assailants are pure-bloods, fighting for blood-supremacy, against muggle-borns. Surely they will argue that muggle-borns and their families need more protection and inclusion now than before. They will try to implement laws going directly against our ideas. Furthermore, they can argue that the militants are terrorists and that our government does not show weakness by conforming with them. There is also the possibility that many old families will be under scrutiny and suspicion, questions will be asked if they are part of this movement. Not to mention the obvious futility of appeasement when dealing with head cases like the Lestranges."

Lucius smiled at his son, a real warm smile. Pride shone in his eyes. Draco puffed up his chest, sensing his father's approval. Narcissa looked on with a slight smile and fondness in her gaze. When Tom had first observed these interactions between the three Malfoys, he had been bewildered, now he understood the dynamic, the love and loyalty hidden beneath their cold and distant public personas. As touching as this scene was, it did not change the fact that the conservatives were about to shoot a political Diffindo at their own feet. And this would not only be a setback for Lucius' ambitions but also, by extension, Tom's.

"If you realise the futility and possible damage this course of action can bring, you surely don't plan to go along with this, Lucius?"

"I am afraid I will have to.", Lucius appeared to be genuinely disgruntled, "Most members of the conservative faction have already agreed on this course of action. I fear I can not sway them. And I can not act independently if I want their support and favour in the future."

Tom understood. The conservatives were Lucius' power base in the Wizengamot. He could not afford to lose their backing. And most of them were led by their impatience rather than by their rational minds. For years they had fought and argued for stronger isolation and now they were jumping at the first opportunity presented to them, even if it would most likely turn to their disadvantage very fast. Also, it wasn't unreasonable to assume that some of them sympathised with the movement or were even members.

"Well, we have to wait and see.", interjected Narcissa, "As unsatisfying as it is. Maybe if my sister, her husband and her brother in-law are caught quickly, the whole situation may be salvaged."

Dissatisfied silence settled over the occupants of the table until Narcissa decided to pick up another thread of conversation. "Your colleague, Miss Weasley, she is a fine young woman, is she not?"

Tom hummed in agreement.

"Tell me, Tom, wouldn't you agree that she would be very compatible to yourself. I, personally, think you two would make a great couple. You would need a strong woman to keep up with you and according to Draco, Miss Weasley has been your faithful friend for years."

Draco gaped at his mother. If he disagreed with his mother's assessment of Tom and Ginevra as more than friends or if he was simply incredulous that she spoke so frankly with Tom, was unclear. When he answered, Tom enunciated every word slowly: "Yes. We are friends." Emphasis on the word 'friends'.

Appearing uncomfortable with the current line of conversation, Lucius busied himself with a cup of coffee. His wife's next words, however, made him choke on his beverage.

"Did you know, Tom...", Narcissa asked lightly, "that Draco had a terrible crush on you when you were in fourth grade? All his letters only spoke about you. I fear he wasn't very discreet."

Naturally he had known. The poor boy had been painfully obvious in his affection. Fortunately, Draco had regained his footing in fifth year and had only been with girls since then, as far as Tom knew.

"Mother!", Draco squeaked and spluttered, "Is this really necessary?"

"Oh, Draco. It has been some years ago. And we are among family...", she trailed off.

Face burning red, the young Malfoy attempted to regain his dignity. "I was a teen. I was bound to be... confused... in my sexuality. And by Merlin, never mention this to Astoria."

Tom chuckled slightly and asked in a teasing voice: "So you don't see me this way anymore? Why, I am hurt."

"No.", Draco replied in a firm voice, "I see you as a brother now."

Tom was strangely touched by this admission. A warm feeling tingled in his stomach. Uncomfortable by the scene unfolding at his dining table, Lucius decided to hide behind the Daily Prophet. Narcissa smiled indulgently.

"The reason I mentioned this, was not to humiliate you, Draco.", her voice became stern, "Draco's little crush on you only shows that you can charm and evoke feelings in the people around you with ease. I am confident that you can win Miss Weasley if you put your mind to it."

"But would I not do her a disservice if I charmed her? She is a real friend, I do not want to play with her."

"The question is: Would you be playing with her?"

"..."

"I think you'd better make up your mind soon, Tom. I think you would make a lovely couple but a such a fine young woman as Miss Weasley is bound to have other suitors."

A picture of Potter's clumsy attempt at asking Ginevra out for a drink flashed through Tom's mind. It left him... unsettled.

Later, Tom and Draco walked through the long hallways of the manor, towards their rooms. The guest room Tom had first slept in when he had first stayed at the Malfoys, had slowly transformed into Tom's room. Fatigue and thoughts on politics and a certain redhead kept Tom silent. When Draco bid him goodnight or rather good day, Tom stopped him.

"Wait... Draco, did you mean it? What you said earlier... about seeing me as your brother?"

A wide grin nearly split Draco's face into half. "Of course... a scary, demanding, domineering, manipulative and sometimes cruel brother... but a brother.", he shrugged, "I always wanted one when I was a child and now I have you."

"... I appreciate it...", faced with such genuine sentiment Tom felt uncomfortable but also strangely light.

Draco only laughed. He supposed the blond knew him well enough by now, to have anticipated his reaction.

"Sleep well."

"You too Draco."

Ginny could honestly say that she despised most politicians. But this Avery, this guy evoked a whole knew level of disdain in her. Arrogant, stuck-up and full of pure-blood bullshit. She asked herself what he was even doing at the meeting. Okay, he was the Wizengamot's representative for Law Enforcement, but really... wasn't there someone less... like him?

The SHD, Scrimgeour, Bones and, unfortunately, Avery had a meeting to discuss the threat posed by the Lestranges and the possibility of a militant group forming out there. As always, Madame Bones was calm, logically and reasonable. Scrimgeour, the ass, clearly wanted to load the fault for the Lestranges' escape onto them. "The SHD was responsible for them.", "...why are they not caught yet?...", "...what is the use of spending extra money on a special unit if said unit can not fulfil their basic function...".

Clearly the guy felt threatened by them and by Tom's zeal, especially. It was laughable. If Tom wanted his job, he could have it faster than Scrimgeour could say 'Quidditch'. Ginny hid a small grin behind her hand. If only the old Auror knew that Tom's ambitions were far loftier. In a few years Tom would be his boss. And judging the look on her friend's face, Scrimgeour would find himself without one by then. Pity. But his countless attempts at undermining their work had left her without any compassionate feelings for the Head of the Auror Department.

Scrimgeour's drivel, however, paled in comparison to the bullshit Avery sprouted.

"Clearly the events at Malfoy Manor show, that the fugitive and their associates are a danger for the old and noble families. Therefore, I strongly demand that measures are implemented to protect them."

"And what do you suggest, Mr. Avery?", Madame Bones' voice was laced heavily with disbelief and suppressed sarcasm.

"For instance Auror surveillance for their homes."

Moody snorted. "Sure Avery. And how do you propose we catch the Lestranges then? With all Aurors guarding private homes?"

"When they show up of course. Clearly pure-blood families are their target. Catch them in the act, so to speak."

"You have conveniently forgotten the muggle-borns we freed from the dungeons under the Lestranges' home, Avery. Where they were tortured and murdered.", Moody barked back.

The discussion went downhill from there.

While Avery, Moody and Scrimgeour shouted at each other, with interventions from Bones and the rest of their team, Ginny turned to Tom. Her friend appeared to be deep in thought. Probably imagining all the gruesome ways he could hex Scrimgeour and Avery. She was not blind to her friend's approval with some of the pure-blood ideology. Of course it was a bit hypocritical of him but she could also understand where he came from. At the moment he was probably more concerned with Avery's idiocy pertaining his political agenda than with the whole aspect of what should be considered right and humane. While he did want to catch the Lestranges, if only because of his pride and hubris, he would also like for the conservatives to gain something, politically speaking. Maybe it should bother her but she found that she agreed with many ideas Tom had discussed with her for their society and she wholeheartedly believed that Tom would make a great Minister of Magic. Better than Fudge at any rate. Not that this was difficult. Filch would be better than Fudge.

Sometimes she wondered what her family and friends would say if they knew her thoughts. They tended to see the world in strictly black and white, while she liked to think of it in shades of grey. Her family despised the Dark Arts on principle, whereas she saw the use for the community in some of them. Had even used some of them, under Tom's guidance. Her friends and family loved all things muggle. Her father was fascinated by their technology and talked about them like one would talk about especially clever pets. Harmless and entertaining. But for all his love for muggle technology, her father didn't know about the ugly aspects of their technology. Nuclear weapons. Drones. Bombs. Their perpetual state of war. And if the magical world would be exposed to the muggles they would not react with happiness and fascination but with envy and greed. The Statue of Secrecy was established for a reason. Not that she thought these character traits were exclusively muggle. They were part of human nature, sadly. But there were so many more muggles than wizards in the world that any conflict, especially fought with terrifying muggle weaponry, would lead to a resounding defeat of witches and wizards. Thus, to her mind it was only logical to hide their world from them to avoid any sort of conflict.

Unlike many pure-bloods she did not think that muggle-blood tainted magic in any way or that muggles were no better than animals. Backwards and primitive. She had been to the muggle world, often in fact. Ottery-St.-Catchpole was populated by muggles after all. And her friends Hermione, Colin and Tom had introduced their world to her. She was convinced that many advancements the muggles made should be also introduced to wizarding society and not be rejected or ignored on principle...

Ginny was thrown out of her thoughts by chairs scraping and people getting up around her. While she was musing over muggles and wizards, the meeting was concluded. A real conclusion had not been reached. They would of course try to catch the Lestranges or any accomplices the might have. Avery was a dick and would try to push his ridiculous ideas through the Wizengamot. And Tom... was strangely silent.

"What are you thinking."

"It is just a feeling... but I think there is more to the whole case than it seems. The Lestranges' escape with help from within the Ministry, their sign, the guaranteed political unrest. And the Dark Mark above Malfoy Manor. It does not make sense. I fell like there are pieces missing to the whole puzzle."

"I agree.", the same thoughts were on her mind, too. It was unsettling, feeling like you were missing key aspects and that your opponent could blind side you at any given moment.

"We'd best be prepared for any eventuality, Ginevra."

Well, that sounded foreboding.

The Burrow, Christmas 1996

He was standing in the scorching sun. The air was humid, the birds and various insects making noise. A small village sat in the valley below him. The wooden sign on his right read: 'Little Hangleton 5 miles'.

He had taken the train from London and walked the rest of the way. His crisp, white shirt stuck to his skin between his shoulder blades. Nobody at the orphanage would miss him; he doubted his absence would be noticed. His research into his family had finally yielded results. Marvolo. The Gaunt family. The chamber. And maybe they still lived here and maybe they could also give him information about his father.

He licked his lips and tasted salt. The gravel path led to a row of overgrown hedges. Behind them he found the shack, nothing more than a barn. This couldn't be it, surely. But there was a snake nailed to the door.

He met Morfin. His uncle. Disgusting, mad cretin. Attacking him. Babbling incoherently. But then: "You look mightily like the muggle. Riddle. Lives in the mansion on the hill. Ran away with my sister, the little blood-traitor." Rage. His vision turned red.

He stunned Morfin and took his wand. And he went to the Riddle house. Such luxury. They have dinner. His grandmother. His grandfather. And his father. "She hoodwinked me!" They were afraid. They knew that he would come one day.

"If it is money you want..."

"No, I want retribution."

Retribution for the orphanage. For the poverty. The indignity. His mother.

"My mother was a direct descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin. Muggle scum like you is not even worth the dirt underneath her feet."

He took a deep breath. And he raised the wand he had stolen from his uncle and...

Omph. For a moment he thought he was still in the dining room of the Riddles. But something fluffy was on his face. And the air smelled like food and flowers. Just a dream. It was just a dream. Since the summer he dreamed of the events that happened back then nearly every night. It was maddening.

"Good morning, sleepy head."

Ginevra. Of course, he had agreed to spend Christmas at her family home. She had been so exited and happy when he agreed to it that it seemed like a good idea. This was before she had hit him in the face with a pillow. And before he realised that her whole family would be spending Christmas at the Burrow. Meaning all her brothers. It was bound to be loud, crowded and obnoxiously cheerful. If he wanted to come out of this with his sanity intact, he would need to rediscover the boundaries of his patience. And forget about the dream. What was done was done.

Thank you. I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. I will be sticking to updating every two weeks because it simply fits better with real life events and allows me to write longer and more substantial chapters.

Chapter 4: A Date? will be up on the 26th of February (Sunday).