The Thing About Family

A/N:

Tom: Could it be?

Myrtle: Is it she?

Tom: Sacre bleu! An Update!

Oni: Hello all! Yes, this is an actual update to Parrots! It's been almost … *winces*… four years… since NaNoWriMo 2018? Anyways, I've been tossing around ideas on where I wanted to take this story, and I finally found an ending I liked. It also means I'm embracing the fact that I am Tyrtle trash so you've probably already seen the tag change with that. I apologize if this is a bummer to you… My headcanon is that he's kind of… demiromantic/demisexual, which is apparently on the spectrum of the aro/ace side? I'll be honest these kinds of words confuse me but that's what I found when I searched it up? I dunno.

Tom: In the meantime, we hope you enjoy this train wreck of a fic!

Oni: Aaaand ONWARDS!

Gah! I'm drowning, I'm drowning! I'm- oh hello there! I've been underwater for a good while, much like dear Reggie in that lonely inferi infested cave. Shame, that. He wouldn't have died so horribly if his parents hadn't pushed him into being a Death Eater. But that's family for you. It's a good thing Sirius got out while he could, finding a new family in the Potters and all that and most likely saving himself from a similar fate.

Speaking of families, there are a number of different kinds. There's the families that are close and related by blood, like the wonderful Weasley family. You have your families that are close and not blood related, like the Marauders. Then you have the not so close blood families that are dangerous to their children's mental and physical health, like the Blacks. You could up it a notch like in some fanfictions and bog poor Harry down with a traumatic childhood under a family of Dursleys that are way more abusive than in canon. Or have him raised by the Potters but in a world where neither of them died and his twin brother was hailed the Chosen One and he was knocked to the wayside. Or raised by the Malfoys, Weasleys, Grangers, Lord Voldemort himself, Sirius, Remus, Snape, McGonagall, Dobby, Mr. What's His Face From Down The Road, some random self insert original character, or a character from a different story altogether.

But Harry's usually still abused by the Durselys. Unless we're talking about good!Dursleys, it's practically assumed.

In that vein, you could also save Harry from the Fanfiction-standard-magnified Dursley abuse if you were an ex-surgeon who went off to learn the magical arts from a centuries old bald woman who looks disturbingly like Tilda Swindon and raised him up in a hidden sanctuary in Kathmandu. That sounds like an interesting take!

I digress, however.

Family, in all its shapes, sizes, forms, spread, and insanity, tend to shape a person into who they are. Sometimes it cripples them, sometimes it makes them stronger. Sometimes it blinds, sometimes it gives wisdom. For good or for bad, a family is integral to an individual's personal growth. Friends, too, are a kind of family. The kind you choose for yourself and have various ranges of how long they stick around. And even that impacts a person.

Games, meals, even punishments, all create someone with a unique set of life experiences, and through those experiences we shape not only ourselves but the world around us as we interact with it. In honor and rebellion, in love and hatred, spite and devotion. Do you love baseball because your father took you to a game? What about baking cookies with your mother? Fighting with siblings? Laughing with cousins? None at all? We are a mosaic of emotions and experiences gathered from those around us. From the ones that made you happy and the ones that made you sad. They could even be from the same people.

That's family for you.

But hey, you're here to read about the shenanigans and exploits of this particular version of Tom Marvolo Riddle, not to read this pish posh about my philosophy on families!

Speaking of which, what is he doing right now?

Little Hangleton was... quaint. Tom wasn't sure if he could find many other unique ways of possibly describing the otherwise ordinary small town that he now found himself in. However, this was indeed the place that the map he procured pointed to, and so here he was in the outskirts of the town with nothing but a backpack and the simple, mildly raggedy clothes he wore. It had taken him a while to find Little Hangleton. Not only was it not on most maps due to its size and apparent ongoing feud with the main Map of the United Kingdom publishers, it was also hidden between two hills like some sort of setting out of a children's fairytale. Except he didn't think there'd be too many fairies but he could be wrong as Tom himself was a wizard and to the average bloke on the street wizards and witches didn't exist.

And really out of the many places he'd thought his maternal family settled in, some backwater town in the middle of the British countryside was something that seemed rather uncharacteristic of the way a 'Slytherin' family would do. After seeing the decor in the Common Room, the Chamber of Secrets, and every item the average Slytherin owned, Tom honestly assumed they'd live in a place called Serpens Castle or Emerald Basilisk Manor in the middle of Snake Ridge or on their own island called Isle of the Serpents where you had to speak in parseltongue or do a spell using parseltongue to enter it. He'd assume the goblins had it on lockdown if it weren't for him asking if such practices were a thing. Apparently they were not.

Then again, the Gaunts had squandered their wealth, so it was entirely possible that they did have something like that but now it was owned by someone else. Though how they'd get in the Snake Island of Green, Glory and Doom was a fascinating idea for Tom, although he'd yet to find such a place for sale yet. Who knows, maybe in the future he'll find it and turn it into a sanctuary for magical creatures or something. Or better yet, make a safe place for him to practice some riskier experiments without people telling him he's committing crimes against the Laws of the Universe. Or open a bakery! Or a circus!

But that was all speculation. For now he was following his only lead to his family in previously-stated backwater village.

He'd taken a train from King's Cross Station as far as it would go until just before it veered off from the part of the countryside he wanted to reach. Then he'd met a friendly traveler in a fez and bow tie near an oddly positioned police box who pointed him in the right direction before walking the rest of the way. As much as he appreciated the exercise, by the time Tom had actually reached the outskirts of Little Hangleton he'd vowed to get himself a motorcycle. Well, once he learned how to ride one. But really it shouldn't be too hard. He'd learned how to ride on Esmeralda—a difficult feat that very few had apparently mastered including his own ancestors (Ah, the joys of self-taught acrobatics), as well as on most rideable (and some 'unrideable') Magical beasts of various kinds. And of course who could forget his skills on a broom? Apparently the other houses were waiting for him to graduate so that they had a chance of winning the Quidditch Cup again. So a motorcycle should be easy enough to procure and ride.

Back in a plane factory in the midlands of England, a young muggle mechanic working in the line shivered. Must be nippier than he thought today.

As Tom made his way through the rather dark village (since it was nighttime now and there were thunderclouds everywhere and wait did he just hear a dramatic organ tune when that lightning hit?) he found himself staring up at the large mansion that stood on the top of one of the hills. From its height, the backdrop of the dark and stormy night, and the now very obvious dramatic organ playing Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor in his head, it almost appeared to be leering at him like a dragon would at its wide eyed estranged cousin, the gecko.

The young teen shook himself out of his wandering thoughts by checking the map again. Getting a map of Little Hangleton, an otherwise muggle small village, was easy. All it took was a trip to the library. Getting the location where his apparent extended family lived when no Gaunt had stepped outside of their home in generations? It took him scouring the Hogwarts Library, sneaking into the Ravenclaw library with the help of Myrtle (who was eager to accept his request of help. She must really love that library), and eventually checking out the Chamber of Secrets before he realized that the Goblins should have the property location on file. They did, so now he had a map of Little Hangleton with a tiny dot made by a quill, right next to the jelly donut stain that dropped when he was snacking while working.

Oddly enough, the strawberry flavored stain was right where the large Byron-and-Shelly worthy manor was located. How odd. The organ cord struck again in C minor with a lightning strike as he glanced at the building. He was surprised that wasn't the place his family was considering the whole gloom and doom aesthetic they had going on.

He decided to bother the probably moody broody manor people later and focus on meeting his family now—since that was the entire point of him traveling here to the now mildly creepy backwater town in the first place. There was bound to be a road or path somewhere…

One cobbled road, one dirt road, and one vaguely trampled path through the forest led him to a rather dilapidated shack that was definitely not hiding some kind of malicious spirit or serial killer in any way. From what appeared to be some kind of feral wisteria had begun a turf war with the overgrown hydrangeas, and it seemed like currently the wisteria had the upper hand. Soon they would be able to conquer the entire west end as long as their descendants didn't ruin it for them.

Deciding to leave the flora to their battle, Tom made his way to what he could only assume was the front door, pushing away some crawling ivy. There he was put face-to-face with not only a door of rotting wood, but also a snake of rotting flesh. After silently disparaging why anyone would do anything to that to a poor snake, it raised its half-decomposed head.

"No mugglesss allowed." It hissed in a very odd dialect of snake (parseltongue, though he'd never heard it like this before) and then went limp right after as if the message was charmed into it.

Tom was quite confused on what would be the most polite way to go about this after something like that. After a few seconds he decided to knock on the door, the wood soft and damp under his knuckles. A few pieces of wood flew off from the top, making him cringe a bit. Property damage was not his intent but this place looked like it was about to crumble in upon itself at any moment. There was a loud clatter from within, telling the young man that this shack did in fact have an inhabitant present.

His hand rested on the door handle as he pondered whether to try again, but the handle instead decided that with the sudden light pressure of the young handsome man that its life was finally complete and could now depart for the afterlife and promptly fell off and without its constant vigil the door creaked open. Tom certainly hoped the resident of the abode didn't think he was being rude, since the house itself apparently was inviting him inside and really it seemed in sore need of some TLC. It was quite dark inside, so he held the metal lamp he acquired from Mrs. Rosewood (he had told her he would be doing a bit of traveling over the summer to trace down his family and she had been more than happy to lend him one) a little higher.

If Tom thought the gardens outside were a war zone between strains of Call-Of-The-Wild feral flora, the interior of the house made the exterior resemble more of a mild scuffle. The cobwebs of the Spider Empire had taken over the entirety of the ceiling and were on a current crusade to establish their reign over the walls, but were encountering resistance from the Black Mold, which had joined forces with the menagerie of grime and gunk that raised their armies from the rotting dishes and bottles.

Indeed the engagement between these two forces of decrepitness and muck took so much of Tom's attention that it was only when he heard a loud shout that he remembered that there was someone who actually lived here.

"YOU!" Came a rather hoarse voice bellowing in the darkness, "YOOOOU!"

A sentient mop was hurling at him holding a wand and a knife. Despite the amount of damage a wand could do, it was the knife that clued the young wizard in on the mop's killing intent.

"Son of a toad sitter!"

He had only swore out of surprise, but the mop stopped at his cry. And by stop he meant that it hit the brakes so fast that the leftover momentum propelled it forward into a haphazard stack of pots and pans. The loss of forces would do well for the Spiders' cause. Now that there was no longer any immediate danger, Tom now noticed that the sentient mop was, in fact, actually a man with a ridiculously overgrown beard and hair.

"You speak it?" the mop-man asked in the same old dialect of parseltongue as the rotted snake—same voice, too.

"Yeah, been able to speak it me whole life." Tom answered, bobbing his head a bit, going to help the poor man off the ground, surreptitiously footing the rather rusted pocket knife out of reach, "Are you… Morfin?"

Tom had come to terms with the fact that his family wasn't a part of the circus, but this version of the truth was… depressing. Like, this wasn't some kind of front like the Leaky Cauldron or the entrance to the Chamber. This was… crushing reality. The Gaunts not only squandered their wealth, no, this was beyond just 'squandering'. What have they been doing all this time to bring a tiny shack to such a state?

"'s my name, ain't it?" Was the grunted response, not even nodding in thanks, pushing the young man a bit as he instead chose to lean on a table that had been so covered in grime that simply putting his weight on it made it creak dangerously.

"Morfin Gaunt?" came the curious prod.

"'s what I'm called, ain't it…" came the sneering response.

He allowed the feeling of excitement to bubble up within him once more. A lopsided smile, nervous (since this was the only family member he knew of, that he finally got to meet) in the face of this grimy man. Morfin pushed the hair out of his face and Tom could finally see his beady eyes. Dark, wayward, just like his mother's and in a way just like his own.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin, and Tom wondered if the man knew proper English or if they were going to carry this conversation entirely in parseltongue, "You look mighty like that Muggle."

Now this piqued his interest greatly. There was someone he looked like? Was this another clue? "A Muggle?" He asked, hope seeping into his voice.

"That Muggle that my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle that lives in the big house over the way," spat Morfin, quite literally, the spittle hitting the space between them like a line drawn in the sand.

Tom barely noticed this as he recalled the Tocatta-and-Fugue mansion, the fact that 'his sister' was probably his mother, thinking that this must be fate and now he could meet more of his family.

"You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it…" mumbled Morfin, swaying in what could only be intoxication, "He come back, see…"

"He came back? Riddle? He's here now? Where? In the mansion up the way?" Tom asked excitedly, for once ignoring all the warning signs, all the dangers of pressing forward on this particular mission, the hate in Morfin's eyes whenever he talked about the 'Muggle'.

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" Morfin spat out once more, though the glob seemed to be a bit closer to Tom's feet this time, "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

So the locket had been his mother's then? It would explain why it felt like her when he found it. Hey! Maybe this was his chance to reconcile with his uncle! To show him that he had the locket and that they could be a family (even though his mother ran off, but seeing the state of the house he didn't blame her).

"Dishonored us, she did, that little slut!"

The outburst was like running through a ghost. A shock of icy cold washed over Tom at how his uncle talked about his mother. His own sister. Tom's mother. How could he do that to his own sister? He had to take a step back as Morfin waved his wand around, clutched tightly in his clammy hands. Whatever energy his uncle had in his rage, however, was soon lost as the mop of a wizard slumped back on the table with a wobble, glaring at Tom.

"And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that?! It's over, innit… It's over..."

Carefully Tom stepped forward. "I'm your nephew. My name's Tom. Tom Riddle. Merope is my mother. She's your sister, right? I go to Hogwarts, a-and I'm in Slytherin! And I've met Esmeralda and-"

Whatever desperate hope he clung to about how Morfin might change his mind at the news was dashed as dark eyes met—one with kindness and the other hatred.

"Freak!" Came the scream that tore out of Morfin, barreling towards the young man again, "Filthy blood! Spawn of a slut and a muggle! Get outta here! Mudblood filth!"

Despite the fact that the man had a fully functional wand (or was it? He hadn't seen the man use any magic at all since the time he was here—clearly he hadn't been using any cleaning or repairing spells) Tom was instead tackled to the ground. The scuffle activated Tom's well-ingrained London orphanage fighting, which involved kicking the ass of the already inebriated man and stealing whatever the hell he had on him. Which totaled to one (1) grim-claimed wand and one (1) sweat-covered ring.

His uncle groaned and hurled insults at him as the son of Merope Gaunt hightailed it out of there, pocketing his consolation and heading towards the inn to hunker down for the night. It felt like there was a stone in his stomach, weighing on him. The first contact with his biological family had gone… pretty awful, if he were to admit it to himself.

As he laid in the ratty bed he was given, looking over the ring he filched and cleaned, he mulled over these things in his head.

Perhaps… perhaps tomorrow he would go to the mansion up on the hill. Yeah. He would go and see his father. Ask him the questions he never got answers to. Why he left Mother. Why he never came back for Tom. Did he know that Tom existed? He was a 'muggle', so Tom resolved to dress his best before he got there.

Hopefully it would go better than what he just witnessed.

Diana was ready to quit.

She would do it today, for sure, finally. No longer could she stand dealing with these snobby Riddles any longer. The pay was not worth it, and the gossip surrounding Tom Riddle (the younger one, still rather handsome despite his horrendous personality) running away with that Gaunt woman who lived in the dilapidated shack in the woods died down a good few years ago after the hag never returned.

And it had been such a fun one, too. She used to love talking about it at the Hanged Man with Dot, thinking up crazier things than the last. Especially when they tossed around the idea that they might have had a child together. Oooh that would've been juicy. But the Gaunt Lass (Merope, Diana thought was her name) never returned, and there was no news of her so that meant they couldn't pin him on anything.

From what Diana heard (as she only started working as a maid here five years ago) from the Hangleton rumor mill, he was quite stricken when he first returned, ranting and raving that marrying 'that Gaunt hag' was never his intention and that he'd 'been had'. The sight was supposed to have been mighty entertaining! The man seemed to have forgotten the scene he had made only a few months prior—publicly declaring his love for Merope and marrying her in the little chapel before old Earl Riddle could put a stop to it and then eloping to London before the sun rose.

Now, though, he's just as snobby and leery of anyone of lower status as had been before.

However, the Riddles paid well. Very well. Enough to make the belligerent staff stay even when they had to deal with such blue bloods each day, flaunting their money, their upbringing, their accent. Everyone from the family had gone to Eton, and before the younger Riddle's surprise wedding he had been slated to start working for one of old Thomas Riddle's snooty friends. The one with the grabby hands and cigar breath.

Was it worth trying to get another job? A few more years and she would have saved enough to get closer to London (and hopefully this bloody war would be over with by then). Though even then it might be more interesting than here…

As she bemoaned her life, a knock came from the front door. This was odd, as any visitors usually called ahead, and the butler would be busy readying the rest of the servants to greet them. Unless it was a solicitor. They got those every so often but the Riddle's Law was to chase them out. As politely as possible, of course, since they had a reputation to maintain. Curiosity filled her as she shouted to her co-workers that she would get it, a couple of the other maids and hands peeking around the corner to see who it was.

"Sorry gov'na, we don't take solici…" the words died in her mouth as Diana took in the sight of a smiling, teenage Tom Riddle.

The lad was the spitting image of the younger Riddle lord, only he had a sweet smile on his face and… darker eyes. His clothes were neat and tidy.

"Hello, miss!" The mystery clone-boy greeted cheerfully, "Is this the house of the Riddle family?"

"It is." She responded, gobsmacked, "May I ask what your business is…?"

"Right, right." A hand combed through his dark, wavy hair nervously as he shifted a bit in the doorway. From behind Diana, more servants had come to see what the hold up was and if they could nab anything interesting to gossip about later. "My name's Tom Riddle, ah, Junior. I'm here to look for my father. I was raised in an orphanage in London, see. Never knew him, see. Tracked my family down here."

His voice was very similar to the Master's. And more pleasant with how polite he was being. But did he just say Tom Riddle was his father? No, he definitely did. And the age. Being raised an orphan. Could it be…?

"I beg your pardon, but did you happen to know your mum's name?" Diana asked, shushing the murmurs of those behind her wanting to get a look, trying to hide her own excitement.

"Erm. Merope Riddle… uh, Merope Gaunt, Miss. She died giving birth to me so I don't know much about her. I was wondering if my father would."

Jackpot. Riddle wasn't ever going to live this down now. He could deny the loss of years with Gaunt but he couldn't deny the presence of a child between him and that woman. His child! In the flesh!

"I'm sorry for your loss." Diana told him with no hint of sympathy, letting him in the manor and reveling in the shocked faces of her co-workers. This was going to be the talk of the town for a good, long while. "Let me see if I can get the young master for you, Mr. Riddle."

With a grin on her face and a spring in her step, she went to find Tom Riddle…ah, Senior.

Tom would be honest in saying that he had assumed prior to coming to Little Hangleton that it was his maternal side that were the high-browed upper class (what with the whole 'heir of Slytherin' thing). Or that, in the least, he would come to find that his father was missing or something. Neither was the case, so this turned out to be an interesting twist in his search.

A quick look around told him these people had at least five servants in their employ, and even a butler! Who has butlers these days?!

Said butler was eying him like Abraxas had when Tom first revealed he could talk to snakes. Silence stretched between them until multiple footsteps were heard thundering down the halls. Then came the shouting.

First came in the nice maid lady who let him in, her face flushed red and expression tight. Next came an old couple that reminded Tom of Abraxas' parents, and they seemed… irritated at something. The last, though…

If Tom were twenty years older, he was sure he'd look like the man in front of him. Same hair, same build, same jaw, same look in the eyes when he's questioning his life choices…

Ah.

"Hi. I'm Tom. I think I might be your son." Was what the young wizard came up with on the spot after the standoff dragged on for what felt like hours.

His older doppelgänger reeled back as if slapped. Despite the fact that they obviously looked alike, and Tom was pretty sure he was married to his mother since there was that ring on her finger that Mrs. Cole took as payment for taking care of her during her labor. Plus the parchment had a line that had indicated marriage.

"I have no son." Was what the older Tom hissed out (see? Family resemblance there too!) at the younger one.

"I-I'm Merope Riddle… née Gaunt's son." The younger Tom responded, trying to keep his nerve even though he too felt as if he'd been slapped.

"That hag's child then?" The even older Tom wheezed out, tapping his cane on the ground, "See what you did, boy? Do you really think you could run from that mistake of yours? Well, there's the proof in the pudding! A bastard son."

"Well a bastard is a child conceived out of wedlock. I'm pretty sure my mother and my father were married when I was." Tom the protagonist mumbled out, his eyes darting between the people around him. This was no longer friendly territory.

"I was bewitched!" His biological father shouted out, "By that hag! She… she put something in my water. It made me think and feel things I didn't really have! You may not believe me but it's true!" He snarled out like a caged beast, his head swiveling to the teenager, "Get out! You… if you're real then you're a monster born from… born from her Witchcraft!"

His mind went rather blank after that, only recalling that he had at least bowed politely and apologized for taking up their time. When he came to, he was on the outskirts of the town, leaning against a tree that seemed as sorrowful as he felt at that moment.

What was he to think? To even begin? This trip had yielded answers at a cost he thought might have been too great. Because the answer was that yes, they never cared. Worse, they despised each other and in turn his existence.

"You look just like that Muggle."

He didn't understand this... pain... in his chest. It wasn't the first time he'd been rejected. He'd been passed over, called a freak and a devil's child and many other names back in the orphanage. Told that he wasn't worth their love. Wasn't good enough to be in a family. Raised with people who never quite cared. He'd gotten quite numb to that feeling until it didn't bother him anymore. What was the point in wallowing over strangers who would never mean anything to you?

"I was bewitched!"

It just felt quite different when the denial of family came from those who were related by blood to you. Tom had thought he had gotten over it growing up, thinking about who they might have been and coming to terms that nobody would ever be coming to take him 'home'. Faceless manifestations in his imagination, nameless except for what little he knew. In a sense knowing that there must have been a reason why he was abandoned. Left alone.

"Get outta here! Mudblood filth!"

It was different, though, when they told you that which you suspected (and many things that he didn't) to your face. That they didn't care, that even though you were family, the 'other side' damned you into a sense of disownment.

"I have no son."

A part of him knew it would hurt, would always hurt, but he'd also thought that he was better than this. Above crying over people who didn't care. Never cared. Something in his chest ached at that. Tom brushed off the dust he had on him and trekked back to the station, not really much aware of his surroundings.

So engrossed in his mind was he that he didn't even notice that the friendly chap who pointed him initially to Little Hangleton was being chased by some machines equipped with toilet plungers and a beater, but narrowly escaped them by running into the police box, which vanished. The young wizard instead hopped in the train back to London, his mind stewing in all the anger and resentment he had buried years ago.

His hand absentmindedly went to his pocket, fingers brushing against something grimy. This jolted him out of his stewing as he took the offending objects out. It was the things he stole from his raging uncle. A wand was almost emanating a deep desperation to be cleaned, and a ring that may have originally been pretty but had gone black with soot and grime. Both of these things would be getting soaked and scrubbed (and the wand a good polish—at this point it was a rescue and needed some serious TLC) as soon as he got home.

Taking this chance to ignore the gaping hole he was feeling in his chest, Tom began to rub the ring with a rag, trying to get as much gunk as he could off. It looked like the metal was made of some kind of gold alloy, and in it was set some kind of… crystal? He would have to ask the Goblins what the hell it was. Though seeing as his uncle had it (and the state everything else was in that Shack), he doubted it was anything of value.

A vindictive part of him felt pleased that he at least got something positive out of the encounters, even if it was something he stole. If they were going to hate him anyway, anything he did to anger them wasn't going to change things. Just like how things were at Wool's. Guess he wasn't missing out on much all of these years.

When he returned to London he went straight to his little closet-room and closed the door. He did not speak to anyone. He did not converse with Mrs. Rosewood. He did not pass Go. He did not collect 200.

"Blimey. That's a hell of a trip." Muttered Myrtle, her legs swinging from the bench they both sat on.

The park they had decided to meet at was quiet. It was a dreary day, though most days in London were theater way, especially with the threat of bombs dropping over their heads having increased. But both of their current abodes were safe on the border of the magical communities now (Myrtle's family had finally hunkered down in Diurn Alley, the residential district off of Diagon Alley, with the help of Tom earlier in the year) so they risked the trip.

It was here that the two Londoners agreed to use as their semi-regular summer hangout spot, and currently where Tom had just finished explaining everything that had happened in Little Hangleton to his closest confidant.

"I mean, on the bright side, it saved me a trip to hunt down my father." Tom tried, a wide smile on his face despite having wiped tears from his eyes throughout his story. Myrtle had handed him her handkerchief (a small thing of white and blue that had the letters MR hand-stitched on them multiple times as practice, which she really hoped he didn't notice) at some point. "Saved my pocket money with that one, and unfortunately it seems like my dad wasn't part of the circus either. A shame. Though my uncle could make it pretending to be a sentient mop…"

Myrtle sighed and shook her head in exasperation. Her fingers flicked at his nose, eliciting a yelp from the rejected orphan. "You may be good at hiding your feelings from most people, but don't try to hide them from yourself." She chastised, before continuing in a softer tone, "It was wrong of them to do that to you. And there's no reason to think otherwise. You've got it in your head that you somehow deserve this, don't you?"

Tom nodded silently, having brought his knees to his chest. Myrtle waited patiently in case he spoke, scooting to sit right beside him now, mirroring his pose. Her head rested on his shoulder for a moment.

"Even though they're blood, you didn't even know they existed until recently? They're not your family, Tom. We're your family. You've got Oscar, Pinocchio and Geppetto, and Mrs. Rosewood and Professor Dumbledore. And you've got us, Tom. Family can be the kind that you choose to surround yourself with. There are people who love you. We can be your family. Forget them. They don't know that they're missing out on someone as great as you anyway."

His dark eyes were on her again. Those eyes that she wished would see her and how she felt about him. Would that ruin what they already had? His mouth quirked into a smile, and she felt as if she couldn't breathe anymore.

"Thanks, Myrtle." Tom croaked out, tears forming at the corners of those pretty eyes of his, "That means a lot."

She decided to take her chance and hug him, which to her surprise he returned fiercely. "I'll always be there for you, Tom. Even if you do get old, bald and noseless like your nightmares."

A short laugh from Tom, and she felt both weightless from it and yet squashed by his hug. This was good enough, right? She shouldn't get greedy with him. But still…

"Do you want to go dancing?" She finally plucked the nerve to ask, watching his expression topurn quizzical. "My dad taught me how since I was young and… maybe it'll take your mind off all of this?"

Within the next hour or two the duo traversed the streets of London looking for a decent dancing club that wasn't strictly for adults (and discreetly turning down anyone that told them otherwise while staring creepily at a cluelessly smiling Tom Riddle). They finally found one that was already starting to fill up with young teens, with a small band playing. Jazzy swing tunes and warm lights enveloped the near-adults in a bright respite to the dreariness of the outside.

Amongst the throng of bounding youths, Myrtle Elizabeth Warren taught Tom Marvolo Riddle to jive, jitterbug, and swing. Though some would stop and watch the young man and his brightening disposition (one hapless lass accidentally stepping on her partner's foot three times before mistakenly elbowing him in the face), the fast paced music soon had their attention instead of the laughing duo amongst the other giggling couples.

Myrtle made sure that he didn't think of his sorrow from Little Hangleton and relished the fact that in this moment, his eyes were almost always on her.

She thought of stealing a kiss from him in the heat of the moment. Thought of it many times throughout that night. But she was too afraid that those beautiful eyes would change and not understand. Too afraid he would push her away and she would lose what they already had and what they'd become to each other.

So she didn't.

Tom went dancing with Myrtle in the cities of non-magical London a couple more times and perfected his moves to the point where they garnered far more stares from bystanders than was comfortable before it was finally time to return back home to Hogwarts. Speaking of the spunky bunny-like Ravenclaw, she had also managed to make it as Prefect this year, which was great because that meant she could ride with them and most of the original group could be together again.

Her Ravenclaw partner was a rather interesting fellow by the name of Serendipitus Lovegood, who joined the rest of Tom's motley crew during the Bean Roulette without any protest (to the unsurprise but horror of their fellow year prefects). He was a close second with 'fresh popcorn drywall' against Tom's 'mud bath recently used by a green ogre during a music number', which was astounding in and of itself. Both of the 5th year Slytherin prefects seemed to hang on to every word Tom said, and the Hufflepuff prefects were already discussing some kind of Puff exclusive party involving lots of food and weeds, for some reason. The Gryffindor prefects were also discussing something together involving the 'illegal smuggling of alcohol' that was prevalent in their own House. With all of these new people, the likes of Hornby and Umbridge couldn't dampen the lively mood of the Prefects car, even when they split off to do their rounds.

Oddly enough, Umbridge had been glaring daggers at him since they unfortunately reunited in the prefect's train car. If he recalled correctly, she'd been like that before the summer holidays as well. Generally this would be a good thing, but her glaring was starting to distract the younger years he spoke with, who would ask why he was being followed around by an angry human toad (and that no, no this wasn't his attempt at making a basilisk himself, thank you very much). He ignored this as much as possible, thinking of the many ways he could prank her and her posse of Pureblood supremacists to hell and back. He'd need to consult his Knights (Knights? They really need to find a decent name for their growing friend group. Every friend group needs a cool name!) for this, it would seem.

When they got to the further compartments, Umbridge stuck her noses into the smaller ones to make some snide comment at any inhabitants while Tom was chatting up and getting to know some first-years. He'd been in the middle of assuring them that the Sorting didn't involve fighting other students in an arena for sport in order to determine one's House when a shriek ripped through the entire traincar.

After the ringing abated from his ears, Tom headed in the direction of the banshee-like scream but was nearly bowled over by none other than Umbridge, who accosted him with rage in her nearly protruding beady eyes.

"How dare you?!" She screeched at him. Tom blinked in confusion.

"What did I do?" he asked with wide, innocent eyes.

"Th-the snake! The big snake in the closet!" Umbridge harrumphed out, stomping her foot on the rumbling train floor, "You think you can just set serpents anywhere just because you're the Heir of… hey! I'm talking to you!"

Aforementioned 'Heir of Slytherin' had already put distance between himself and Umbridge to check out this far more interesting snake that had been mentioned. Feet skidded to a halt as he nearly passed a tiny storage compartment with its door ajar. He did in fact hear a hissing noise coming from it, and creeping closer he could make out the obvious complaints about the scream that most lightly had nearly knocked it out for the count. Umbridge could audition as an emergency alarm and win first place.

Opening the closet had him face to face with the largest (other than Esmeralda, but there was no contest there) snake he'd ever seen in his life. Shimmering green scales and a pattern that reminded him of a python. The feminine voice of the snake seemed to be speaking to herself.

"Well now you've done it. Maybe they'll take you to Dumbledore without trying to kill or banish you this time…"

Oddly enough, this snake lacked the usual sibilant accent that the other serpents he'd spoken to had. But even more odd was the fact that apparently she knew Dumbledore. Could Dumbledore also speak to snakes? Unlikely, but maybe there were other ways?

"Would you like me to take you to Dumbledore?" The Slytherin descendant asked politely, watching as the snake jolted and stared at him with wide eyes (well, wide for a snake, she was surprisingly expressive).

"You can… understand me?" Her voice was quite broken, as if on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, uh. Tom Riddle. Heir of Slytherin. Can speak to snakes. Hi! Nice to meet you. What's your name?" He stuck his hand out to shake… oh bollocks. Right. Snakes don't have hands and they don't understand the custom of-

The snake used her tail to 'shake' his hand.

"I'm Nagini. Could you please take me to Albus Dumbledore? He's an old friend of mine."

In a certain Transfiguration Professor's office, Tom Marvolo Riddle was once again the translator between human and snake.

From what he'd ended up learning, Nagini was actually a human turned into a snake. Well, actually she was a human that was cursed into becoming a snake when she was little. Well, actually she was a human whose family had a blood-curse that allowed them all to turn into snakes but eventually would permanently transform into a snake.

"So it's like an animagus but without the benefits?" the sixteen year old parselmouth tried to understand. Dumbledore chuckled.

"That is essentially the effect of this particular Maledictus curse, yes. Nagini and I met each other a couple decades ago… though that isn't my story to tell. Back then she was not yet in a permanent serpent state, but eventually she succumbed to her curse."

"I have tried many things to get rid of the curse or to slow it. Nothing has worked so far, as you can see." Nagini added, which Tom passed on to Dumbledore, who stroked his beard and nodded sadly. "I was hoping that now, after some time, you might have an answer or at least a lead, Albus Dumbledore."

The Transfiguration Professor grew thoughtful for a moment. His eyes went from Nagini—who was coiled up in an armchair and somehow holding a cup of tea with her tail—to Tom, who was sitting politely in the other armchair with his own tea in human hands.

"I have not found an answer myself, no." Nagini's head drooped at this. "But I do believe a lead may lie with our dear friend Tom here. He is, after all, a very gifted young man and a talented wizard. Perhaps the answer for your particular curse can be found in Parselmagic."

The serpent in the armchair whipped around to regard Tom with starry eyes. Dumbledore also seemed to be waiting for him with his usual twinkling eyes. Talk about no pressure.

"Professor, I'm going to need to think about how to do this. Which I will!" Tom explained, mollifying Nagini with his exclamation. "If even you couldn't find a way to lift a curse that's been in a bloodline for generations, how am I supposed to figure it out? I haven't even started my NEWTs yet!"

"Well, you are a smart boy, Tom. I'm sure you'll find something." His eyes continued to twinkle as Tom sighed in exasperation himself. "Besides, I'm not saying you have to solve it right this minute. Just… let's say it's an extra credit assignment from me. I suppose it could be considered Transfiguration, after all."

A sigh of relief with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Professor. I was worried there for a second. I mean, it's not like waving my wand and saying 'By the power of Slytherin I release you from your curse' is going to work-" Tom said in Parseltongue with sarcasm while waving his hand in emphasis toward Nagini.

Pop.

There was no longer a snake coiled in the armchair. In the serpent's place was a middle aged Asian woman in a black dress holding her cup of tea with surprise written all over her face. Dumbledore and Tom blinked, the Professor staring at him for a few seconds as the office went silent.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me!" the young wizard shouted, jolting the two adults back from whatever they were thinking. Nagini began to sniffle and cry tears of joy, enveloping Tom in a hug.

"I can't believe that's all it took. After everything I've tried…" she finally was able to say properly. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for this."

"I can't believe that's all it took." Tom muttered out, Nagini walking around the office with her legs for the first time in years. "Parselmagic is actually bullshit. This is so stupid." He continued to mumble such things under his breath as Dumbledore chuckled. "You can just say things in snake-language and make things happen. How is this legal?"

In the Great Hall where students had started to tuck into the feast, a couple students had noticed Tom's absence. When a large amount of emeralds came crashing into the hourglass that held Slytherin's House points, a surprising few non-Slytherins sighed in relief. Well, at least he wasn't doing anything stupid or crazy.

"So anyways, I guess I kind of have a snake-mom now? Miss Nagini said that she's got some things to take care of first, but that she'll come back to Hogwarts when she's ready."

The small group of students that Tom called his friends just stared at him for a moment, dead silent as he finished his entire explanation of his summer and the incident with Nagini. Filius was the first to start giggling, bowling over in laughter after a minute. Soon Minerva and Pomona followed suit, along with Myrtle and Rubeus. At last Tom, swept away by their jubilance, joined in with them.

"How do these things keep happening to you?" Mona asked, trying to wipe the mirthful tears that poured from her eyes.

"Because apparently an entire language is the basis of a magic so powerful you can just make things happen by just saying things." Tom grumbled out, crossing his arms and huffing a bit.

"You can 'just make things happen' on your own, Tom." Fil chuckled out, "The fact that it took this to make you see that is mind-boggling."

"That still doesn't make any sense!" the teen in question cried, his hands thrown into the air. "That kind of power isn't suited for someone like me. It should be, I dunno, Professor Dumbledore or something!"

"Da told me magic comes from the heart." Rubeus rumbled out, patting (though it was more slamming due to his growing height and weight) Tom on the back. "And yeh got a lot of heart."

"Yeah! Ye can do anything if you've got enough nerve!" Minnie exclaimed, shaking her fist and flexing her bicep to cheers from the group. "And we all show our strengths differently! Yours just happens to be through really strange magic."

"And remember, you're the one that brought us together. That's a kind of power all on its own too." Myrtle murmured, bumping her shoulder with his. "So don't worry about whether or not you're suited or deserving of it. The only way you're going to know for certain is to keep going—and we'll all be right there with you when you do. No matter where that road leads."

Tom smiled, bumping her shoulder back. Dark eyes looked across as his group of friends, friends that he'd found and made his own. He didn't know what laid ahead, but at least there was the certainty that he had people who supported him. Had supported him all this time. Perhaps now, the wounds that had been opened during the summer could heal.

Sometimes a family didn't have to have a mother or a father or an uncle or a grandfather. Sometimes it could be one's friends, one's Transfiguration Professor, one's pet snakes, a kindly baker landlord employer, and a thousand year old basilisk in the school basement.

Because that was the thing about family. Be it born or found, they're what you would call 'home'.

A/N:

Oni: And that's all for now, folks!

Myrtle: If you liked this mess, please consider Following, Favoriting, and Reviewing!

Oni: And I'll see you next time, my Pretties!