Peremo

One of Klaus' earliest memories was from when he'd been five.

The group of older Hufflepuff kids who normally played with him had all gone home to see their families for the winter break, leaving him at the castle with Mum and the other professors for company.

While Mum worked, Klaus would trail after the other professors, 'helping' wherever he could, exploring as much as the castle as he could get away with.

Several of them asked him what he wanted for Christmas that year, and when Professor Slughorn told him he could ask for anything he wanted, he decided to ask for a family, one he could go and see for Christmas like all the other kids.

He fell asleep on Christmas Eve wishing for brothers and sisters, grandparents and cousins, and uncles and aunties, and more than anything else, a father.

That was the year he realised that Christmas was a lie.

When Klaus was eight, he met Mum's new boyfriend Elliot.

Elliot was clingy. He was a muggle, and he was chatty, always around, weirdly into cats, and when they broke up only a month later, Klaus couldn't have been happier.

Mum was all he had and he didn't like sharing her, and once Elliot was out of the picture, he came to the decision that he didn't need brothers and sisters to play with, he didn't need grandparents or cousins or uncles and aunties, and he most certainly didn't need a father.

He had Mum, and she had him.

It was just the two of them.

When Klaus was nine, after a particularly gruesome match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, Mum was swamped in the infirmary. He hadn't been in the mood to stick around for all of the wailing while she tended to their injuries, so Klaus went out to wander the grounds, as he often did on weekends and when Mum was busy. He was a quarter of the way around the lake when he found a snake by the shore line.

It was a small one, clearly only young, and it was so close to the water that it looked like it might've washed up there.

Klaus crouched down by it.

"Are you hurt?"

The snake raised its head, tongue slipping out.

"It sssspeaks," observed the snake.

The snake gave another flick of its tongue, tasting him, and Klaus waited a moment before trying again, "do you need help?"

The snake moved its head. "The human blockssss the ssssun."

Oh.

"Sorry," Klaus apologised quickly, stepping aside to move his shadow out of the snake's way. "I'll leave you to it."

The snake's tongue flicked again and Klaus went to leave, but then, thought—

"There's a rock up there, up the hill," he told it. "It'd be warmer up there than here in the wet sand. I can take you, if you like."

The snake watched him for a long while, beady eyes unmoving.

"If it'ssss dry... the human may take ussss," it eventually said.

Klaus grinned and offered the snake his arm, and it slowly slithered its way up.

It took a week of convincing—Klaus even had to resort to forcing out a tear—and though she wasn't thrilled about it, Mum eventually said he could keep the snake.

He'd found her in the valley of the lake, and so, he named her Dahlia.

When Klaus was ten, he was invited to help Professor Slughorn with decorating his office for his upcoming Christmas party.

Of all the professors at Hogwarts, Slughorn was his favourite without competition. He sneaked him sweets when Mum wasn't watching, loaned him books when he needed more material above his age bracket, and was always happy to have him along when he needed an escape from the infirmary.

Klaus still didn't much care for Christmas, but some of his third years were helping Slughorn as well, and eager to be included, he'd jumped at the chance to help out.

Normally, the Slytherins didn't pay him much notice. He'd overheard himself being called 'that kid' here and there, but other than that, it was like he didn't exist to them.

But Klaus noticed them. While Rodolphus Lestrange—third year—was still a junior player, he was easily one of the best chasers at Hogwarts. And while Mum wouldn't allow him a broom of his own yet, he figured if he could get in with Rodolphus and his friends, then he could have him teach him to fly.

Getting him alone, however, proved to be a challenge. Slughorn divvied them up, splitting up the tree decorating, room decorating, organising the furniture, and fixing the lighting between them.

A half hour into the decorating, and Rodolphus was on the far side of the room, laughing with his friends, not being overly helpful. It would've been the perfect time to approach them, had Klaus been able to escape Slughorn.

"Vesta sent her apologies, but Aerwyna Ollivander confirmed her attendance, just this evening!" Slughorn was rambling between placing baubles. "She's the great niece of Garrick, did you know, and she's a remarkably talented potioneer, if I can say so myself, and—oh, could you— ah, that bauble, just there— your hands are nice and small..."

"No problem, Sir." Klaus squeezed himself in under the tree and plucked Slughorn's bauble from where it'd fallen and been caught between the branches.

"Ah, you've spared an old man his back," Slughorn chortled, taking the bauble and levitating it up to the top of the tree. "If you were sorted, I'd have given you five points."

Klaus beamed at him, but Slughorn smiled back a little strangely. He was about to question him, but Slughorn beat him to it and abruptly said, "you look so much like your father, dear boy."

Klaus blinked.

"You... you knew my father?" he said, straightening as all thoughts of how to approach Rodolphus flew out of the window. "What was he like?

"Of course!" Slughorn's face flushed red and he suddenly seemed particularly interested in the placement of the tinsel. "I was his favourite Professor, you know. He was one of the finest students I ever taught. A tremendous amount of potential, and it was such a tragedy... what became of him..."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sir... what happened?"

Slughorn looked surprised. "You— that is— your mother hasn't...?"

Klaus shook his head. "She doesn't like to talk about him."

"Oh. Oh dear, I didn't... well then. Forget I said anything. It's not my place."

"But, Sir—"

"Do you think white for the icicle lights, or blue? Usually I'd opt for white, but with the hue of the lake, by the window, they'd look rather green... blue might be best, I think. We'll have one row here, one over on that wall, and another just here... Yes, that'd be perfect..."

Two nights after speaking with Slughorn in his office, Klaus mustered the courage to bring it up with Mum.

He waited for the right moment at dinner, after old Kettleburn had drifted off to sleep beside Mum, mouth catching flies, while Mum sipped at a goblet of wine.

She was always more talkative after she had wine.

"...Mum?"

"Hmm?" she hummed.

"I wanted to ask about... my Dad," he said hesitantly.

Klaus could count on a single hand the number of times they'd spoken about his father over the years. Mum went out of her way to avoid the topic, despite Klaus' many attempts to bring him up, and would usually squash any conversation with some variety of, 'he died before you were born', before she'd suddenly be urgently needed elsewhere.

But not today. Invigorated by Slughorn's slip up, Klaus was determined.

"Oh, honey," Mum cooed, her face softening in the same way it had the last time he'd asked about his father. "He died before you were—"

"I know," he cut her off irritably. "I know that, but... you've never really told me anything about him. What was he like?"

"Klaus—"

"Please, Mum."

She looked very much like she didn't want to be having the conversation and glanced along the staff table, as if looking for someone to help her. Klaus was at the end, and the place Professor Jigger usually occupied beside Kettleburn was empty. They wouldn't be overheard.

"Professor Slughorn said he was the best student he ever taught," Klaus pressed with the wide, innocent eyes he knew she liked. "And you know Mum, it's really not fair that I should hear more about him from Professor Slughorn than you, don't you think?"

Mum frowned down at him. "Did he now?" she said.

"I just want to know more about him," he whined. "Please. You're always saying I should remember where I come from when we're out with the muggles. How do you expect me to do that if I don't even know where I come from?"

Mum's eyes narrowed, but Klaus wasn't quite done. He reached out and took her hand—she was a sucker for him holding her hand.

Mum sighed quietly.

"His name was Tom."

Klaus straightened. That was the most usable information he'd ever gotten out of her. Tom. Tom.

"And he— well Horace wasn't wrong," she said, her hand tightening around his. "He was an exceptional wizard. I've never met another quite so in tune with their magic as your father was," she said, and Klaus felt himself swelling with pride. "But, honey... it's important that you know, that although our magic is a part of us, and it can help us and even save our lives when we need it to, it can also be... dangerous."

"Like... dark magic, you mean," Klaus concluded.

He knew about dark magic. He'd heard Rodolphus and his friends speaking in Slughorn's office, discussing the curriculum at Durmstrang, how it didn't compare to Hogwarts, how they were taught the Dark Arts over there. Abraxas Malfoy—fifth year—had bragged about his studies over the holidays with his father, about being taught a good spell for having Michael Fletcher from Hufflepuff fall from his broom, and once, Klaus had seen Mum tend to some deep, blue gashes along Evan Rosier's back. He'd refused to tell her how he got them, and after he'd left, Mum had mumbled to herself, wondering where he possibly could've come into contact with such a dark spell.

Mum frowned at him. "Yes. Just like dark magic," she said from between her teeth. "Now, eat your pudding before it gets cold."

Klaus had watched the new students being sorted each and every year for as long as he could remember. He'd thought of it almost endlessly, pondered over which house would suit him best, fretted over the possibility of the hat deciding he didn't suit any of them after all. But after years of waiting, when he was finally eleven and it was finally his turn, he found the ordeal rather... anticlimactic.

The hat had been perched on his head for all of half an instant, before it loudly declared, "Slytherin!"

Mum smiled at him from up at the professor's table, but it didn't quite meet her eyes. She looked... nervous.

But Klaus was elated—getting in with Rodolphus and his friends would be a breeze now he was in Slytherin—and he didn't think anything of it.

"You're that kid," the third student up the table from him said when they were a good half hour into the feast. He had plainly new, well-fitted robes on, and he looked like money. "That one who lives here, right?"

Klaus stared right back at him. "It's a boarding school," he said. "We'll all be living here."

Some of the kids around him sniggered.

"But you're the one who grew up here, right?" the rich kid pressed, his scowl deepening. "Why's that? Can't you afford a home?"

The students around sniggered again, and Klaus flushed. "I-I have a house," he told him. "But my Mum's the matron, so I stayed here with her during the term."

It only made the rich kid's smirk widen. "Is it true she's a mudblood?"

More of the kids along the table had started staring at him now, their own conversations quietening down, and Klaus tightened his grip on his fork. "Well... I mean... yeah, she's muggleborn," he reluctantly said. "But my Dad's not."

The rich kid snorted. "With a name like Granger, he must be."

Klaus had to take a breath to calm himself.

"What would you know," Klaus settled with, topping it off with a sneer, because he knew enough about Slytherin house to know that admitting to not knowing his father's surname would only make matters worse.

The rich kid laughed. "Well. Welcome to Slytherin, little Mudblood. I'm sure we'll all have a great time... getting to know you."

Down in his new dormitory, Klaus found himself stuck with the last unclaimed bed, the one at the end of the room pressed against the wall, closest to the window. The stone wall was damp and cold, and it had a musky sort of smell to it. Great.

He took his time unpacking his things, and while the other students in his dormitory spoke excitedly amongst themselves, he set Dahlia down onto his pillow.

"Home," hissed Dahlia, and Klaus scowled down at her. She really was quite stupid.

He tried to remind himself that it wasn't her fault she had such a small brain, and when his unpacking was finished, he lay himself down on the bed's thin mattress, pulling the curtains closed around it for some privacy. As Dahlia slithered over his chest, he pondered over his predicament, and all angles seemed to lead to the same answer.

The best way to survive being the Mudblood in Slytherin, was of course, to not be a Mudblood.

Which meant, he needed to know his father.

And if Mum wouldn't help him... well then, he'd just have to help himself.

Now officially a student at Hogwarts, the first thing Klaus did when he was free of both Mum and his classes, was go through the old student records in the library.

He meticulously combed through for every Tom or Thomas who'd attended during the thirties and forties, making them around Mum's age, and found a total of twenty-eight of them.

But Slughorn had spoken highly of his father, and had claimed to have been his favourite Professor, while Mum had said herself that his own ability to talk to snakes had come from his father.

And so, Klaus assumed he must've been a Slytherin, just like him, and that left only three candidates.

There was Thomas Fawley, who Klaus immediately ruled out for the Fawley name alone. Red hair was prominent amongst the Greengrasses, and so Klaus also ruled out Thomas Greengrass. Which then only left...

Red-Eyed Riddle.

It was one of those castle stories that no one spoke about, and yet somehow, everyone seemed to know about it. Red-Eyed Riddle, the young history Professor who'd lost it on New Year's and murdered two people right in the castle in broad daylight.

While he'd almost become an urban legend around the school, his name had also become a bit of a joke amongst the students, one that was often mentioned at the hint of professor frustration—

'Ooh, careful, he'll pull a Riddle on you!'

'Is that a hint of red I see, Professor?'

'Watch out for Shrew, she's a hair from a Riddle today!'

It was a story Klaus knew particularly well, because Mum was famous for having been there on the night it all supposedly happened, and Riddle's body count would've been three had she not made it out.

At first glance, Riddle seemed like another impossible candidate—Mum had publicly claimed he'd tried to kill her, after all—but the longer Klaus stared down at his list of Toms, the more the snippets of evidence started to align.

Mum and Slughorn's refusals to speak of him, Mum's comment of dark magic, his having Mum's surname... and Klaus knew the two had worked at the castle at the same time...

Klaus' stomached lurched, like it wanted to come up and out of his throat, so he returned the records to the librarian and went to go see Mum.

"Red-Eyed Riddle?" Klaus loudly accused to the infirmary office, and Mum didn't need to answer. One look at her face was enough to tell him he was right.

Klaus had long known his father must've done something to offend Mum for her to never want to even speak of him. But he'd just assumed it'd been something trivial, like an affair, like his neighbour Oliver's dad. Not murder.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?!" he yelled.

Mum put her quill down, gaping up at him stupidly, and she almost looked... scared.

It only made him more angry. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I— Klaus, please," she fumbled, "I-I was only trying to protect you—"

"By lying to me?!"

"I didn't lie to you, I just..."

"You just didn't think to tell me my Dad's a murderer, yeah that's loads better, thanks."

"You're only— you're still a child," she stressed, getting up to approach him. "The burden of what he did shouldn't rest on your shoulders."

"You always treat me like a helpless little kid!" he accused. "You know I'm not! I can handle it!"

"But you shouldn't have to!" she said. "That's the point! I don't want you to grow up thinking that his actions and his mistakes have any reflection on who you are!"

"How do you expect me to figure that out if I don't know who I am?! I deserve to know the truth!" he yelled back, and Mum straightened, features falling like he'd hit her.

"I-I'm sorry," she insisted. "I didn't mean—"

"Stop it, I don't want to talk to you," Klaus cut her off, and she kept talking, saying something about how much she loved him and how she thought she was only doing what was best, but Klaus didn't take any of it in.

He turned and left without another word.

Klaus avoided Mum wherever he could for the rest of the term, half out of anger, and the other half out of self-preservation. The rich kid, Nott, had taken to calling him 'The Mudblood', and with his lackeys Selwyn and Rodolphus' younger brother Rabastan always there to back him up, Klaus decided it would be best in his best interest to not be seen with her.

He spent his time between classes avoiding the other Slytherins alone in the library, finishing off his homework well ahead of time, reading fourth-year material, combing through more old school records, learning more about his father.

Tom Riddle had graduated with eleven NEWTS, Outstandings in each—a Hogwarts record that was yet to be beaten. He'd been prefect in fifth year, awarded with special services to the school, Head Boy in seventh year, and he'd then gone on to become the youngest appointed professor Hogwarts had ever seen.

A fine student indeed... that was, aside from the murders.

Discovering Riddle was his father wasn't just disturbing, but it was also disappointing. He was the son of a shamed murderer, one who didn't even have a good family name. 'Riddle' wouldn't get Nott off his back, wouldn't help the nickname of 'The Mudblood'. Being Red-Eyed Riddle's kid would only make matters far, far worse.

And so, Klaus tried to forget about it, to tell himself it didn't matter who his father was. He focused on getting through the day to day, on getting perfect grades, and on trying to find a spell to dry the wall by his bed, to soften the mattress, to get rid of the smell of mold. He sat with the Ravenclaws at lunch times, caught up with some of the older Hufflepuffs who remembered him.

It wasn't always pleasant, but he had Dahlia by his side, and he got through it.

Over the summer break, between first and second year, Klaus was still so bothered by Mum and her lies that he resorted to taking Dahlia out on a trip to the museum with his muggle neighbour Oliver.

Oliver wasn't great company, but he was all right for a muggle, and he hadn't lied to him his whole life about his parentage, so he'd have to do.

He'd been to the museum multiple times with Mum over the years—it's important that you always remember where you come from, she'd nag hypocritically about muggle history.

On this visit with Oliver, there didn't seem to be much new to see since his last visit. There was a new set up in the centre of the ground floor dedicated to some dinosaur fossils unearthed in South Africa, but everything else was mostly the same. Oliver was more enthused than he was.

"Come on, let's go see the Egyptian stuff!" Oliver insisted eagerly, hurrying over to the stairs.

Klaus trailed behind, adjusting his clothes. Dahlia was slithering up the back of his shirt, starting to poke her head out of his collar. Something had gotten into her—she'd been more active than usual all morning—and her constant repositioning was starting to get a bit annoying.

"Just a second," Klaus called to Oliver, and he stopped by the fountain to set her down on the edge by the plants.

"Wait here, all right? I won't be long."

Dahlia gave a dismissive flick of her tongue and slithered off to coil herself underneath the leaves.

Klaus rolled his eyes. She could be so moody.

"Back soon," he told her, and then he hurried off to join Oliver. "Okay, let's go!"

The exhibits upstairs were even lamer than he remembered. The taxidermy animals were creepy, and most of the exhibits had been around so long they'd started to collect dust.

He should've expected as much from muggles.

When they were finished and Oliver popped into the gift shop, Klaus headed back to the fountain to get Dahlia.

He checked under the plants, lifting the leaves of each plant.

And she... wasn't there.

Not wanting the muggles to catch him speaking parseltongue—Mum would never let him hear the end of it if they did—Klaus searched high and low around the fountain, relying on his eyes alone.

Not spotting her, he ditched Oliver and slowly worked his way around the museum up to the first, second, third floor, carefully combing through exhibit after exhibit.

The longer he searched, the more his dread grew. Oh no. What if a muggle had found her and put her outside?

She could be anywhere!

Or—or what if they called someone to take her away, or they killed her? Oh no. No, no, no...

The forestry exhibit on the third floor was one of the last ones left to search through. The entire corner of that floor had been dressed up like a forest, with fluffy brown carpets, the walls painted with trees, bushes and eerie animal eyes. It made searching for her that much more difficult, and he was about halfway through when he suddenly noticed that there, through the crowd, was a man.

Unlike all of the other muggles, he wasn't hurrying. He wasn't following after a family, wasn't trying to control any boisterous toddlers. He was just standing there, leaning against a thick pillar that'd been decorated to look like a tree with his ankles crossed, and he seemed bored, plainly uninterested in his surroundings.

But he was, however, looking right at him.

Klaus stared back, brows drawing together, and he was about to leave when he noticed that there, curled along the man's forearm on the outside of his shirt, with her head resting on his bicep, was Dahlia.

With his other hand, the man gestured for him to come over.

Klaus wasn't stupid. Mum had drilled it into him since before he could remember not to approach strangers, but he wasn't about to leave Dahlia with some muggle creep. Besides—he had his wand.

He went over to him.

"That's my snake," Klaus said bluntly, extending his arm expectantly.

But the muggle didn't give. "You should be more careful," he said instead. "Easy to lose a snake of this size in a place like this."

Klaus frowned. He didn't need a lecture from some stranger, not when he'd be sure to have his ear harped in by Mum when he got home. "Yeah, thanks," he said, keeping his arm extended out for Dahlia to slither onto.

But Dahlia still didn't move.

The muggle gave her a prod. "Go on."

Klaus flinched. "You... you speak it?"

Dahlia finally started to slither across to Klaus' arm, and the man answered only with a raised eyebrow.

"Um," Klaus said once Dahlia was fully back in his possession. "Okay. Well, thanks. I guess."

The man didn't answer, only offering a slight smile, and Klaus hesitantly took a step back.

But the muggle still didn't say anything, didn't move at all, so he turned and hurried on out of there.

What a creep.

As he went, Dahlia slithered down to curl herself up into his jacket pocket—an unusual place for her—and the feeling of being watched didn't pass until he made it home.

Klaus woke to the familiar, cool sensation of Dahlia's scales running over his face.

"Wake up."

Klaus groaned, tired down to his bones, and swatted groggily at her tail to get it off him. "Stop it."

"It musssst wake."

He tried again to get her off. "Leave me alone."

Dahlia's tail continued to flick, and Klaus went to protest again—

"Klaus."

At the voice, the deep one that'd been spoken in English, Klaus' words died in his throat, and he shot up.

There, standing in his doorway, was a man.

Klaus scrambled back from him, and though the man's features were calm, and he had his hands raised submissively, there was a man in his room, and he searched for his wand.

"I mean you no harm," the man said gently.

Klaus hadn't even had his wand a year yet, and while he knew he wasn't supposed to do magic outside of school, surely there was a clause for strange men breaking into one's bedroom?

They'd been taught only a few basic spells in the first half a year at Hogwarts, but Klaus was years ahead with his reading. He was positive he could cast a solid stunner, and surely they'd understand if he broke the rules just this once?

He snatched his wand up, fumbling a little bit before he managed to point his wand at the man, but... now that he was standing, he noticed the man's robes. They were all-black, but they were a wizarding cut, and there was something about him that seemed oddly familiar—

"It's you," whispered Klaus, putting it together and recognising him as the man who'd been at the museum, the one who'd found Dahlia. "From the— who are you?"

The man smiled at him, the same light smile he'd offered at the museum. He seemed amused, not at all threatened by Klaus' wand. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Klaus didn't back down. "How did you get in here? Where's my mum?"

"She's waiting for us downstairs," the man said gently. "Are you still hungry?"

Klaus was still hungry, but how did he know that?

"Come on down, and we'll explain everything," said the man. "It's all right."

He didn't want to. There was something off about him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, and he didn't want to go with him—

"It will be ssssafe with masssster," Dahlia hissed, and Klaus' eyes narrowed as she slithered over and curled herself up the man's leg.

Her surety didn't calm his nerves. But wanting to make sure Mum was all right, he slowly lowered his wand and gave in with a reluctant, "...okay."

The man stepped out of the way of the door and gestured towards it with an 'after you' motion.

Klaus hurriedly slipped past and led the way out down the stairs.

At the bottom of the landing on the lower floor, Mum was there waiting, just as he'd been told, and she visibly jolted at the sight of them. She stepped toward the stairs, and the skin around her eyes was red like she'd been crying, and she had her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

She looked jittery, small and feeble, not at all like herself.

Klaus hurried down to her.

"What's happened?" he demanded as she put her arms around him, sniffing quietly. "What's going on? Mum?"

Klaus turned in her hold to glare back at the man, the one who must've done something. In all of his life, he couldn't remember having ever seen Mum cry. Who did he think he was? What had he done to her, what was he—

"Klaus..." Mum said between sniffs. "This is your father."