"Dad, Tom will help me find Nessie!"
Thomas Riddle, tall, handsome, shoulders much broader compared to mine and many times sunnier in character than me, despite life and its pitfalls, laughs like a little boy at the sight of his youngest daughter running towards him.
"Is he now?" he asks, catching her in his arms. "Who'd have known?"
Is this what family love looks like?
It's like with the Sullivans. Warm. Cordial.
And thus the opposite of everything I know.
I can hardly watch it, so oddly uncomfortable it makes me as an outside observer.
And everyone knows it. Everyone can see it in my face – or so I think. That I don't belong, it's completely obvious.
Belonging …
Why is it that I associate this symbol from Merope's book with this sense of … belonging? Where did I first see it?
Where did I first begin to feel as though I belonged somewhere before Hogwarts for the very first time in my life?
"Yeah, he promised," Gwen confirms across my thoughts. "He doesn't believe we'll find her," she adds, "but once we get to Loch Ness, he'll change his mind!"
"She's obsessed with Nessie," Riddle tells me, "she reads all about it, whatever she can find."
I all but nod.
"Your clothes …" Gwen beams up at her father as she taps his shirt, "they're still clammy. You got into the rain, didn't you?"
He nods, but before he has to elaborate, Florence speaks up.
"It'll rain again." Opening the glass door set into the conservatory and stepping outside onto the gravel path, she soon strolls into the tall grass, closely followed by Ophelia, to raise her face up to the grey sky. "It's drizzling already," she notes, seeming cheerful nonetheless. "Check out the clouds, they're piling up like castles!"
"Florence is obsessed with nephology," Riddle informs me about obvious details again. "She recognises shapes in the sky like no other."
What a peculiar interest, it flashes through my mind, and why have I never actually been interested in it?
Probably because I tend to look into the abyss rather than upwards.
Yet I also step out there right after Harper – she has long since had Florence explain the formation of the cumulus clouds – while Ophelia points into the meadow for me.
"The lilac bellflower only blooms once a year, for a few weeks," she eagerly says. "It covers Yorkshire's fields like a blueish carpet, see? Even beyond the other end of the valley. It's almost like magic."
The blue flowers are everywhere here, even I noticed that. But probably I haven't consciously done so with due reverence.
"Shall I pick one for you?" Ophelia asks.
"Oh – no." Smiling wanly, I follow up, "It doesn't have to wither for me."
Ophelia is instantly overjoyed. "I'm so glad to hear you say that! Plants are a form of life, too – Father just never wants to believe me and has bouquets of them placed all over the house!"
"Not that discussion again," Riddle exclaims. "Your mother takes such delight in the bouquets …"
"So you're obsessed with botany?" I ask Ophelia.
She nods. "What's your passion?"
Harper and I exchange a quick glance, and we both realise I can hardly mention the Dark Arts, but before I even have to think of something else, company joins us.
Unexpected company that soon reacts to me as was to be expected.
"Horrible weather!" we hear Cecilia, Thomas' true love, shout from some distance, still at the stables with her mother-in-law and Riddle's father. "Go inside, girls," Cecilia demands, "you'll get sick in this wind! And who's that with you?"
Even from a distance she tries to recognise my face, but she realises that she needs to come closer for that – and hence quickens her steps.
"Cecilia!" we hear Riddle. He puts Gwen on the ground again, walks past us and quickly towards his wife. "Darling, may I introduce you to someone?"
At these words she scowls already, and breaks away from her mother-in-law to hurry. "Thomas?" she yells. "Thomas, no, is that –"
"Cecilia," he tries to calm her down before she even gets started, but of course in vain, "why don't you come into the warm living room with us and –"
"You wish!" She avoids him to briskly approach me.
Harper doesn't even flinch, right next to me, probably she'd expected anger as well. It's clear to us that his attempts to explain himself to a woman scorned, like which fury Hell hath no, is unlikely to succeed or suffice …
"What's happening?" she mumbles, still not clearly recognising my face.
"What is it?" Riddle's mother now also joins her in coming closer, while Cecilia, thunderstruck, stops and stares at me. She covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes widen in horror and then she shakes her head, again and again.
"Who are you …" she whispers. Before I can answer, she continues to speak herself, "Say nothing! How could it be otherwise." She's disgusted, and I even understand that. "You are her son …"
"Cecilia, stop!" Riddle sounds impatient as he, too, comes to a halt besides us. "Don't be rude, after all, this is –"
"Who this is, you want to explain who this is?" she shouts. "That will hardly be necessary, Thomas, I can see it! Florence, girls, get away from him! Here, come here!"
"Darling, calm down!" Riddle growls, probably only holding back like that in front of his girls. But they don't move as requested, and that is not due to magic …
"Mother," Florence gently begins, "you should get to know Tom first and –"
"Tom?" Riddle's mother shrieks, eyeing me just as suspiciously as Cecilia. "That's his name? Is that what he said?"
"Mother," Riddle lets his temper rise, "I warn you –"
"The boy comes out of nowhere! He just wants money and makes wild claims!"
"Are you all blind?" he finally barks. "He doesn't have to claim anything, just look at him! He is my son!"
Riddle's father, unlike the ladies, simply walks up to me with a grin and then nods in appreciation as he pats me on the shoulder.
This is so strange …
Yet to his old wife he says, "There's no doubt about it, Mary, save the hostility for someone else. He is, after all, your grandson."
"How can you say that?" she protests. "We know nothing about his intentions! He certainly wants money!"
"Goodness," Riddle growls, massaging his temples, "Father – get them out of my sight, now, both of them – before I forget myself!"
"I'm not going anywhere!" Cecilia frowns as the senior at least pushes his still mumbling wife away, past the children and us into the conservatory.
"He's going to regret this," we hear Mary shout from afar, "regret it!"
"Ma'am," I take heart and take a step towards Cecilia, the situation can hardly become more ridiculous after all, "it seems meeting each other immediately wasn't quite as –"
"You come here, to my family, to my daughters, and –"
"Oh no, I've invited him, both of them," Riddle lets his voice cut across hers, "into our home and to our daughters. And what do you do? You all but scream at my son, my guests? How can you act like –"
"Oh, I'm the problem?" she yells, barely catching her breath. "The real problem, an outright shame, is standing right before us, manifested in flesh and blood!"
"How dare you!"
As unexpected as that came, everyone stares at Harper – even I do.
"You heard me," she says, glaring at Cecilia. "You don't know him, you're only judging. Do you think that's fair?"
"Didn't your parents teach you some manners?" Cecilia hisses. "There's no need to speak if no one asks you!"
"We didn't ask for your opinion on your husband's son, ma'am."
Cecilia swallows her anger for a moment, but likely just because the actual topic at hand – me – is even worse for her. "What kind of magic is this?" She asks aloud as she circles me like a renitent zoo visitor. "Like out of a nightmare … Thomas, it's undeniably your face, yet it's her mocking eyes that look at me."
"You'll surely be so kind as to excuse my facial expressions, considering your hysterical insults …"
"Apparently he's inherited your loose mouth, too," she retorts. "What have I done to deserve this …"
"Don't you blame him for the sins of his mother!" Riddle says, even inching a bit in front of me. "And stop staring like that – he is your guest! The child I've been looking for, for all these years, as you fully well know … Can't you understand?"
"You don't know him," she says under hear breath, "your mother is quite right – we don't know his intentions. Why wouldn't he want revenge for a life without his father? And you let him see your daughters at once …"
"Tom certainly has no evil intentions," Ophelia throws in. "He's played Chopin for us."
If that's enough to win the trust of gullible people, the world is lost. And lies at my feet as soon as I can no longer resist …
"Mendelssohn Bartholdy, too," Florence hastily adds.
"Yes, and he'll help me with finding Nessie one day." Gwen gives her mother a warm smile. "Father always said we would meet our brother eventually …"
Enemies of the heir, beware!
I flinch.
Where was that voice coming from?
"Do you hear that?" I ask Harper, but she seems perplexed.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, wonderful!" Cecilia groans. "He's hearing things!"
No. I don't hear things.
I only hear snakes …
"Move," I urge, already pushing Gwen and her mother away, simply because no time is left. And from the tall grass, I barely catch the quickly approaching animal with all intentions to bite.
"Enemies of the heir!" the snake hisses as it wraps itself around my arm, to the horror of everyone around. "I can punish them!"
Gwen stares at me, her jaw dropping. "Aren't you … aren't you afraid of it?"
"No, he's half a Gaunt, after all," Cecilia mumbles – but without the former revulsion in her voice. It's more like surprised gratitude. "How did you know –"
"I hear things," I dully repeat her words. "As you so nicely put it …"
She gulps and takes a deep breath as she eyes the snake. Anxiety is clearly written all over her face. "It would have bitten me."
"Or me," Gwen adds.
"Your friend doesn't seem too fond of it, either," Cecilia says after a glance at Harper. "She's shaking …"
It's true, I now notice. Harper's pale as snow and I see the chills all over her arms. With my other hand I take hers and gently pull her along with me.
She doesn't take her eyes off the snake. Quietly she asks, "What are you going to do?"
"We're telling it to leave for good," I say as we walk past the others and back away a little.
"Tom, I honestly don't feel that great about getting close to more snakes today –"
"Harper …" I squeeze her hand. "I know. But think about Viper. You always liked snakes. Morfin was just stirring them up, nothing more."
"What about this one?" she asks, pointing at the dark body around my arm. "She tried to attack someone, too, and that wasn't Morfin's fault."
"There are no enemies here, be calm," I whisper to the snake and hold out my hand to Harper. "Take it."
"I can't," she whispers, inching a step back while I just shake my head.
"I know that was traumatic, but it doesn't have to turn into a phobia, you can –"
"Not today, Tom," she says. "Send it away. Please."
I finally nod. "You never have to come back – it's safe in the woods now …"
I put it down to the ground and watch it meander through the grass for another moment, then I search for Harper's gaze.
"Let's just get out of here," I say, but now she shakes her head.
"No, look – Cecilia has calmed down. Give him a chance, Tom. Give your father and this family a chance. Come on …"
This time it's she who pulls me along – back to the Riddles, with whom I so obviously have nothing in common but a face.
"Is she … gone?" Cecilia asks as we're back within earshot.
"Yes," I confirm. "But so are we."
"No, Tom …" Riddle murmurs.
Harper sighs as I'm already walking off.
Away from everyone, until Cecilia holds me back. She grabs my arm, it's not rude, just firm, and then she works up her courage despite my cold look.
"I apologise." She nods in affirmation. "I'm truly sorry. It was just … a lot to take in so suddenly. But I shouldn't have said those terrible things to you, it's none of your fault. So please be our guest. Stay here. This is … your family, too."
"Tom, are you staying?" Gwen shouts in excitement. "Please stay!"
"Yes, don't leave already," Ophelia chimes in, and Riddle looks like he's about to cry a bit …
I can't take that.
Of all the reactions I got that day, I liked Cecilia's best.
She was predictable. Suspicious, understandably, and selfish.
But what everyone else displays is a well-intentioned parade of illusions and bubbled up dreams – and that feels incredibly oppressive.
"Are you staying, Tom?" Florence asks as well, looking at me tensely.
I think – for whatever reason – that she can read me best. She suspects that all this is throwing me off more than a month in dark woods …
Harper looks at me, I know what she expects, and I finally groan, nodding, in a way knowing that I have but little choice.
"Wonderful," Riddle rejoices as his daughters are jumping and clapping, all while Cecilia puts on a guilty smile.
"But the young people have to sleep in separate rooms!" we hear someone shout above us. We turn around and see Mary in the window of the first floor. "Because if he's just a bit like the Gaunt girl –"
"Mother, don't you dare!" Riddle barks up to her. Then he nods at Harper and me. "I'm not separating you, you need each other."
"We do, thank you, sir," Harper confirms – and she still doesn't let go of my hand.
I do need her. For sanity and the last sparks of good intentions.
And I want her, without a doubt.
But what do I do to her.