Chapter 2
THE NEXT FEW DAYS were chaotic at best. It was clear young Severus wasn’t going to receive his lessons at home, whether because it was of his poverty or whatever his father had to do with it (if Tom found the slightest hint of him doing anything to that boy, he swore), so he’d started thinking about making a dedicated teaching area, which doom-spiraled into a complete renovation of his house. On top of that, he’d had his investment account at Gringotts expanded: He’d always saved for a rainy day, but it was clear he may have to spend that money elsewhere if Severus’s clothes were anything to go by. Before he knew it, Tom had cleared his schedule of any sort of tutoring business in preparation for his care for Severus.
Tom should’ve felt like a moron, sacrificing all his work for a boy he hardly knew, but really, he knew plenty about him: He knew that he was going to be completely alone, and whatever backing he had from at least a loving mother wasn’t going to make up for everything Hogwarts was bound to throw at him.
And there lay the problem: There was no way Tom would be able to defend him there, when or if something arose. (He couldn’t help but remember what had happened to Hagrid.) Even if anyone was trusting enough to listen to him or Eileen, Dumbledore wouldn’t have anything to do with him. And if he were to appeal to the Board of Governors with Severus’s inevitable mistreatment . . . Well, Tom already knew what Abraxas would want.
Ironically, taking the DA job would actually give him everything he needed: A position of influence from which to defend Eileen’s son, and a good enough salary to make up for all the money he’d lost from giving up tutoring.
Now the only thing to do was ask.
***
Tom had been steeling himself for this day for the last week, checking in on Severus every few days and finding ways to kill time without actually thinking about what he was going to do. The last time he’d spoken with Brax was seven years ago, but Tom doubted he’d be able to stand him now from what that double-crossing bastard had done.
He’d dressed himself in his best robes and neatly styled his hair at the predetermined date before apparating outside Malfoy Manor. The place looked about as uninviting as Tom remembered, a gray stone structure with battlements and gargoyles that stuck out prominently against the skyline, as if to prove the legitimacy of the Malfoy Family Lordship. Not to mention that of the Slytherin Lordship . . . Tom balled his fists in rage at the memory.
He heard a crack behind him and the high-pitched voice of a house elf. “Can Margo-elf help you sir?”
Tom tried desperately to think of the first time he’d met Dumbledore: The way he’d talked down to him about stealing (as if everyone else in Wools didn’t to survive), how he’d set all the belongings Tom had ever had alight. He thought of the flames, imagined Malfoy Manor engulfed in them, Brax writhing around and burning, feeling his pain. The forlorn hope calmed Tom, as it had many times before.
“Escort me in and inform Master Malfoy that Tom Riddle has arrived,” he said, turning to face the elf; it nodded, and the gates opened before him. He followed the elf to the entrance hall before it disapparated and he was left alone. He admired the golden fittings on the v-shaped staircase at the end of the hall until he saw Brax descending it, and gave the greatest faux-smile he could muster.
“Tom!” the head of the Malfoy family said heartily. He had long flowing hair and pale blue eyes, the trademark features of the line, though if you looked closely you could see a few silver strands among the gold. “Long time no see!”
“Good morning Brax,” Tom said as welcomingly as possible, hoping the facade held. “How have you been doing while I was gone?”
“Oh, very good Tom! The only thing I regret is that I didn’t have you to talk to!” Tom inwardly grimaced at that. “And you?”
“I’ve been doing fine, Brax. The tutoring kept me afloat over the years, but I think,” Tom hinted, “I could see a change in career in my future.”
Tom could see a flash of recognition in Abraxas’s eyes before he spoke again. “Well, Tom, if there’s anything I can do for you-”
“I’m thinking of taking the DA position at Hogwarts,” he said, cutting to the point. “I hear it’s open?”
“Yes! indeed,” Abraxas said heartily, almost proudly. Tom was sure that with Brax and the Old Man’s constant infighting at Hogwarts, whichever poor bastard they got to teach DA probably hadn’t lasted the year. “Shall we go to my study?”
“Please.” Without speaking, Tom followed Abraxas through the Manor’s gilded halls. Out of all the rooms in it, the one he remembered the most was the study. Reserved for the head of the family, it had a sole hallway leading to it, complete with marble busts and portraits of the former heads and notable figures of the Malfoy line. Whenever he walked through it, Tom couldn’t help but be reminded of his Uncle Morfin: He thought that this was what his uncle would’ve wanted, the grandeur and respect given to the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. In a way, he’d gotten it.
When Tom had asked for Abraxas’s help in legitimizing his family’s claim to the Slytherin Lordship, he kept him in the dark about his family: Both to Tom and to Brax, he was the last of the Gaunt, and therefore Slytherin, line. Tom was naive enough back then to think that, with enough time and research, he could prove his claim and save himself from poverty, and more importantly, make a name for himself.
And then he read in the Daily Prophet one month of painstaking searching later that Abraxas Malfoy was now Heir to the Gaunt and Slytherin Lordships after being designated as such by his estranged Uncle Morfin Gaunt.
Tom tracked his uncle down to Little Hangleton. Morfin gloated to him about what he’d done, saying that he had spared Slytherin’s legacy from the hands of a race-traitor and a mudblood. It was only then that Tom learned the truth behind his parentage, and when he finally broke. Morfin seemed happy to die: Abraxas was declared Lord Slytherin only days later.
After that, there was no point in trying to win the title back: What claim would a poor, orphaned, half-blood have to the Slytherin line?
As if to mock him, Tom saw the Malfoy Family Motto printed in gold letters on the mantle above the door:
Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.
Purity will always conquer.
Tom thought incredibly hard about that going up in flames as well.
They sat down at Abraxas’s desk, and he began to sort through the necessary precautions: Educational Background, Experience, General Expertise, Blood-Status, and so on. When they came onto the subject of Familial Background, Abraxas interrupted their conversation.
“Tom,” he said, somehow both endearingly and seriously, “I assume you know the background behind this position well enough to know the potential . . . consequences, should you fail to adhere to the instructions given to you by the Board of Governors. And, of course, the Headmaster,” he added disdainfully.
“I think I should know it better than anyone, Brax.”
The Malfoy Lord gave a dry humorless chuckle. “Indeed. I’m sure you know, then, that the opinion of the Board is that you pay the greatest attention to educating your students not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but also teaching them the proper context behind them, at least for the older years. After all,” he added sarcastically, “how are they supposed to defend against it if they don’t know what it is?”
Tom nodded slowly. So this was what he and the Old Man were fighting over. “And what would Headmaster Dumbledore have to say on this matter?” he asked, if only to confirm his suspicions.
“That no teachings portraying the Dark Arts in a positive light be allowed whatsoever. So far, all the previous DA professors under my tenure on the Board have followed his lead,” Abraxas added. “Of course, we’re all fed up with his meddling. I’m sure you’ll be more receptive to the Board’s opinions?”
“Of course Brax,” Tom reassured, ready to leave now that he knew the waters he was about to wade into. “Is that all?”
“All on that subject. I’ll send you a general curriculum later. But there is one more point,” Abraxas said, just as Tom stood up.
“Yes, Brax?” Tom asked hesitantly.
“If an investigation is considered necessary by the Board and I,” Abraxus alluded, “we will have to look into all aspects of your character. Including blood status, as well as past criminal behavior.” At that, Abraxas turned his attention towards a portrait positioned prominently on the wall; Tom recognized it to be Salazar Slytherin. “I’m sure you understand?”
Tom put two and two together and felt himself ball his fists behind his back, feeling his nails dig into his palms: Even now, when Abraxas had buried alive any chance of Tom surpassing his own glory and wealth, much of which Tom deserved, he still took the chance to humiliate him.
Think of the boy, Tom thought. Think of the boy: You will not throw away his future just because you’d rather see the people who’ll decide it dead.
Finally, he steadied himself.
“Yes. Lord Slytherin.”
***
After he flooed from Abraxas’s study, Tom headed to Cokeworth, partly to explain to Eileen what he’d done, but mainly to see the boy he was sure he’d thrown away his independence for. He’d just thrown himself in between an active dual between two of the most influential Wizards in Britain all for a boy who hadn’t even entered Hogwarts yet, but he kept remembering that Severus would probably have ended up in the crossfire from their respective sycophants anyway, and Tom couldn’t let him shoulder that burden alone.
When he reached Eileen’s house, he heard shouting.
“It’s that damn, red-eyed freak you’ve been seeing, isn’t it?!”
“Toby, listen!”
“Don’t you lie to me, you freakish-bitch! I know you’ve been letting him see Severus! What are you trying to do?! Convince him to go to that freak-school of yours?!”
Tom heard enough. He ran across the yard and banged open the front door.
Tobias Snape had long dark hair and a hooked nose, similar to his son, only more exaggerated with age. He held his wife by the shoulders, lips covered with spittle from shouting. Even from a distance Tom could smell alcohol. He truly was the spitting image of Morfin Gaunt.
“Eileen,” Tom said as Tobias paused his drunken rant in shock. “Find Severus and leave us for a few minutes, would you.”
“My son , isn’t going-!”
Tom shut him up with a wandless Petrificus Totalus, letting him fall against the kitchen countertop with a painful sounding thump. “Now , Eileen.”
Eileen steadied herself against the counter, a bruise on her arm visible against her pale skin, before walking, then running upstairs. Tom studied her husband, letting all the silent rage building inside him that day grow still further until he heard Eileen carrying a noticeably shaking Severus out the door. Tom let the spell on him fall.
Tobias charged him before Tom got him by the throat, letting his hands grow dangerously warm on instinct: A little trick he’d picked up at Wool’s to deal with bullies. He reveled in the fear clearly visible in Tobias’s eyes, his eyes rolling back into his head from the pain. Tom took his head by the hair and slammed it into the counter before turning him around again, making Tobias focus on him.
“Listen you bigoted fuck! I, have done more for your son then you ever fucking will! So you will treat me with some god, damned, dignity, and listen very, fucking, closely won’t you! Won’t you?!”
Tobias gave a terrified nod.
Tom’s voice grew dangerously low. “Seven, fucking years ago, I found someone just, like, you. He robbed me of my future , and gave it to someone who never fucking earned a thing in his own life!” Tom paused, breathing rabidly. “I killed that man. So I swear to your fucking god , if you do the same to your son, I will make you wish you could take his place! . . . . Do you understand?”
Tobias nodded again.
“Well, just to make sure,” Tom growled, “you can spend the night under a fucking bridge!” He steered Tobias out the door and threw him down the front steps. “Go, before I change my mind and think of a better way to teach you a lesson your fucking parents should have!”
Tobias picked himself up and scampered off like a scared dog. Without thinking, Tom cast a patronus and watched as an old looking raven sailed to Eileen with a message. She was back in a few moments. Severus seemed to have calmed down somewhat, only tear streaks left on his face now. Tom wondered whether it was genuine or just out of reflex. He took the boy from his mother’s arms and put him to bed, much like their impromptu meeting only a month ago.
“Where’s Tobias?” Eileen asked shakily once Tom came out of Severus’s room.
“I kicked him out for the night. If he gives you any trouble, just come to me.”
Eileen nodded, though Tom didn’t know if she meant it. “Why did you come here?” she asked.
“I was going to tell you that I’ve asked to become DA professor.”
“I see. How’s Hogwarts doing anyway?”
“Well, it’s currently being fought over by two of the most powerful wizards in the country, but I don’t think it could be much worse for a boy like Severus.”
At that, Eileen gave a muffled moan and leaned against the wall. “Christ, I’m sorry Tom. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I-I-”
“Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?” Tom said tiredly. “Let’s just all go to bed and forget this ever happened for a few good hours.”
Eileen looked like she had more to say, but then she nodded, and slowly moved down the stairs. Tom sighed: For a few sweet years, she must’ve been living a dream. It was probably the only thing that kept her going over the years, and it should’ve been enough. Then Severus was born, and that dream must’ve quickly turned into a nightmare. Now? Well, now all she had was Severus, and Tom didn’t know whether that would be enough for her over the coming years.
“Uncle Riddle?” Tom heard Severus say shakily, interrupting his thoughts. That was what he’d started calling him over the weeks, and Tom couldn’t bother to make him call him by his first name. Eileen thought it sounded cute, anyway.
“Yes Severus?”
“I-I can’t go to sleep. Can you tell me a story?”
“Of course, Sevvy. What do you want me to tell you about?”
“Well-” Severus hesitated for a moment. “I thought you could tell me about . . . magic.”
Tom smiled as much as he could considering the circumstances. “About magic. Alright.” He sifted through his memories as a child when he first discovered the Wizarding World, trying to find the most entertaining thing he remembered, before it just hit him.
“Severus, have you ever heard of a place called Diagon Alley?”