Peremo

Klaus had long outgrown the childish desire for a father, but that didn't mean he hadn't fantasised about what it would be like to have one.

Prior to learning of his father's misdeeds, he'd imagined having someone to stay with while Mum worked, not having to entertain himself alone in the infirmary office.

He'd imagined spending summer days out in the back garden, being taught to fly like Rodolphus and Rabastan could.

He'd even imagined coming home for the winter break and returning to school with extravagant gifts the way Abraxas always had.

Klaus had pieced together a vivid picture of what the father he didn't need would be like; successful, loving, energetic, protective. He'd teach him spells he shouldn't know so young, he'd sneak him extra pocket money when Mum wasn't watching, he'd be the fun to Mum's strict.

But the man Klaus met in his living room that evening wasn't any of those things.

After that first night, after he had yelled, and Mum had cried, and his supposed father had tried to calm them both, he didn't leave.

Klaus had eventually surfaced from his room the following morning after having stormed off and skipped dinner, just to find Mum fast asleep on the couch, and him there, making toast and coffee in their kitchen like he owned the place.

Klaus begrudgingly accepted his offering of toast, partly because at that point, it felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself, and partly because if this man was his father, then that meant he was a killer. Surely it wouldn't be wise to tell a killer where he could shove his toast.

"...thanks," Klaus muttered after he'd hesitantly taken the plate. The stacked pieces of toast were spread with jam. Jam wasn't his favourite, but he supposed he'd make do.

"You're welcome," Riddle said, smiling warmly, and he glanced down to the mug of coffee he was preparing. "How does your mother take her coffee?"

Klaus shrugged, taking a wide bite of his first piece.

"You don't know?"

"She normally makes it herself," Klaus told him.

Riddle didn't say anything to that and added a dash of milk.

Klaus watched him do it and took another bite. "Yeah, good luck with that," he snorted, and then he took his toast with him back up to his room.

Those first days didn't go anywhere near the way Klaus had expected them to, and he didn't know what was going on.

He spent the whole day hiding away upstairs, and when it was starting to get dark and he finally came out for dinner, Riddle still hadn't left.

He'd murdered two people and allegedly attempted to kill her too, and yet, when the next night passed and the morning came and Mum still hadn't kicked him out, it started to seem like he'd be there to stay.

Klaus just couldn't grasp what she was thinking, letting him stay with them, and if that wasn't confusing enough on its own, it also became apparent very early on that there was something going on between them. It was weird, with a thick sort of tension, and being stuck in the middle of it was uncomfortable.

And through it, he just didn't know what to make of him. For the most part, to Klaus, his father's presence in the house over those first few days was quiet, not too far, but not too close either. He gave him space and he was quietly spoken, gentle with his words and actions; he continued to cook for them, breakfasts, lunch and dinners, even though neither he nor Mum had much of an appetite; and he seemed particularly attentive to Mum, rubbing her shoulders, affectionate with light, passing touches, whispering lightly into her ear.

Meanwhile, was Mum visibly jittery, skittish, and refused to eat anything he made for her. She also started to hover, not seeming to want to let Klaus out of her sight, which didn't suit him at all, because he in turn wanted nothing to do with her.

She'd lied to him about his father, again, even after their row in the infirmary. She must've done, because if she truly had been there the way she'd claimed, and if it hadn't been real all along, if he hadn't really died, then there wasn't a chance she wouldn't have known about it.

Not only had she lied, time and time again, but what was worse, was that she'd kept it going for his entire life. She'd intentionally robbed him of a father—murderer or no. What sort of parent does that to their child?

But there was one thought above all, one he couldn't shake, one that was robbing him of sleep, and it was that now, he was the son of a murderer and a chronic liar.

What did that say about him?

On the third evening after meeting his father, the living room felt far too small for the three of them.

Klaus, having decided he couldn't keep hiding in his room, had come out with his already-finished Charms homework, making unnecessary changes in a bid to seem occupied. He was so infuriated with Mum that he couldn't think straight, but he didn't really want to leave her on her own with someone she'd claimed had once tried to kill her, either.

So, there he sat, pretending to work, intermittently watching his father, ensuring he didn't try anything, all the while trying to establish some sort of gauge on him.

He didn't look like a murderer. Didn't act like one either.

He was well-groomed, nicely dressed. He looked about forty, seemed to be in good shape, and had some of the same features Klaus himself had been complimented for—brown eyes, dark hair, pale skin. He was calm, put-together. Not flustered at all, not like Mum.

But similarly to both he and Mum, he seemed to be a reader. As far as he could tell, Riddle had spent most of his time when he wasn't with them either in the upstairs library, or right where he currently was, in the armchair closest to the fireplace.

He had that day's newspaper opened out on his lap, reading it in silence, and he seemed perfectly relaxed, eyes quickly scanning across the page. They didn't look red at all.

Meanwhile, Mum was hovering. She had a book in her hand, but Klaus doubted she was reading it, because she was pacing back and forth along the length of the couch behind where he sat.

While his father mightn't have noticed his staring, he couldn't have possibly missed Mum's pacing. But he didn't say anything, simply continued to read, and every now and then, he'd lick his thumb and turn another page. His father seemed completely at ease, like he was oblivious to the deafening tension in the room.

Klaus, however, was not, and he evidently hadn't inherited any of his patience, because it wasn't long until he snapped. "Must you walk right there?!"

Mum abruptly halted.

"Pardon?" she said softly.

Klaus huffed. "I'm trying to focus, and your stomping on the floorboards is distracting. There's plenty of room to walk out there," he told her.

Opposite him, his father tipped his head up, lowering his paper and crossing his legs over. "Why don't you get some fresh air, Hermione?" Riddle suggested gently. "You look like you need it. I can stay here, keep an eye on Klaus."

Klaus watched Mum as her jaw tightened, wringing her hands together. She scowled at his father, but only for only as long as it took her to notice that Klaus was watching.

Then she plonked herself down on the other armchair.

"I'm fine here," she said feebly.

She didn't sound fine, but she was a liar, so Klaus just rolled his eyes and didn't question her.

He went back to poke at his essay, and the next time he spied up at his father, he found him looking at him. Their eyes met only for the briefest of moments, and Klaus might've been mistaken, but he looked like he might've been annoyed.

It made him uneasy, and it was then that Klaus first had the distinct impression that his father didn't actually like him very much.

But that was fine by him. Klaus didn't like him much either.

Four days after meeting his father—four measly days—and Mum told him that she urgently needed to head out for work to assist with some critical problem of Dippet's and would be leaving him at home with his new Dad.

Klaus wanted some distance from Mum, was still so furious with her that he could barely bring himself to look at her, but still... he didn't know this man. He was a murderer.

Negligent, is what it was.

And it seemed like she knew it too, because before she left in the morning, she caught him when he came for breakfast, ambushing him in the kitchen and forced him into an overbearing hug. Klaus didn't hug her back, but it didn't deter her, and she squeezed him tightly.

"I love you," she whispered, quietly enough that he barely heard her.

Klaus grunted.

She pressed a kiss into his hair. "Be safe."

Another grunt.

"I mean it. Do as your father says while I'm gone. You understand?"

When Klaus didn't answer, she pressed, "you can be as angry with me as you want, but you must promise me, that you won't antagonise your father."

"Yeah—fine," he mumbled dismissively. Like he'd been planning on riling Riddle up. "Whatever."

Mum leaned back and looked him in the eye. She stroked his cheek, the way she would back when he was little, and— ugh, she looked like she might've been about to cry again.

"I'll be back soon," she whispered. "I promise."

"If you don't want to go," Klaus mumbled moodily, "then maybe you should stay."

She sniffed and then let him go to wipe under her nose. "I have to," she told him, giving a slight shake of her head. "It'll be fine. You'll be fine."

It was like she was speaking for her own benefit, and Klaus gave her a firm nod. "I'll be fine," he agreed.

But really, her nervousness was starting to make him nervous, and when she stepped back to grab her things, he almost pulled her back to hug her properly.

He didn't though.

Klaus instead followed her out to the entry way to where Riddle was waiting, and Mum murmured, "I suppose I'll be off, then."

"Don't worry," his father told her, smiling warmly, and he brought his hand to rest on Klaus' shoulder. "We'll be fine. Won't we, Klaus?"

Klaus looked between Riddle and his hand. Mum had said not to push him, so Klaus grit his teeth and withheld from brushing him off, stiffly nodding in agreement.

Mum's lips thinned, looking entirely unconvinced.

But though she seemed unconvinced, she left them anyway, and Klaus waved after her as she headed out into the front garden. She returned it with a small, uncertain smile, and then she twisted on the spot and was gone.

His father let him go and with a flick of his wrist, closed the door after her, and the house fell into quiet.

Riddle looked down at him. Klaus stared back.

He wouldn't hurt his own kid, Klaus assured himself. If he'd been planning on harming them, he would've done it that first night. He had nothing to worry about.

But he took a small step back regardless.

"What now?" Klaus asked, needing to fill the quiet with something.

His father sighed. "Go and... play with your toys or something," he suggested, and then, he waved him off dismissively before turning and starting off down the corridor toward the stairs.

Klaus scowled. He hadn't played with toys since he was eight years old, and while he supposed that Mum was probably right in that he should be cautious of Riddle, he finally had her out of his hair.

He may have been a murderer... but he still wanted to know him, and this was the perfect opportunity.

And so, Klaus followed after him.

"Where are you going?" he asked, having to hurry to keep up.

"I have work to do."

"I'll come with you," Klaus decided. He'd sat around with Mum while she worked for years. He didn't mind.

Riddle sighed again, but Klaus wasn't to be deterred. "What sort of work do you then?" he asked, unable to guess at what sort of workplace would take someone said to be a killer.

"I manage people."

Oh. A manager. That meant he was a leader.

"How many people?"

"Forty or so."

Forty. Rodolphus and Rabastan's father was the Deputy Head of Law Enforcement at the Ministry, and was responsible for more than a hundred workers. They bragged about it at every opportunity, and while forty was a distance from a hundred... it was still good.

Klaus kept on his trail as they went upstairs, and when they reached the upper floor, he asked, "is it true you have red eyes?"

Riddle stopped abruptly and stared down at him. He blinked. His eyes were plainly brown. "Where did you hear that?"

"Kids at school still talk about you, you know," said Klaus. "They say that when you used to get angry, your eyes would flash red."

Riddle's mouth turned up, not quite a smile. "Are they flashing red now?"

Klaus rolled his eyes and though he should've taken heed of Mum's advice, he muttered, "didn't realise you were so sensitive."

His father didn't look impressed. "Go find something to do," he repeated, firmer this time. "Preferably something outdoors."

With that, his Riddle stepped into the library and closed the door behind him before Klaus could follow.

Klaus stared, scowling at the closed door.

Geez. He was worse than Mum.

Mum was a liar, and he was still mad at her, but Klaus was really starting to wish she'd hurry up and come home already.

She'd been gone an entire day. While he knew that Dippet was old and demanding and could carry on when he wanted to, he hadn't expected her to be gone a whole night, and he couldn't remember her ever leaving for that long before.

It meant he was stuck with another awkward breakfast with Riddle, although... his cooking was pretty good. Better than Mum's.

After watching him for a few days now, Klaus was starting to get used to having him around, starting to pick up on his patterns.

He was meticulous. He ate properly, formally at the table with manners Mum had long been trying to instill into him, and he always cleaned up right away after finishing, returned his books to their spots precisely, tidied things around the house with a perfectionist's eye.

When Klaus would whine about his household chores, doing the dishes, putting his clothes away, cleaning his room, Mum would stress the importance of learning to do things by hand, that he couldn't always rely on her doing things for him with magic. But Riddle didn't seem to share her sentiments and was heavy handed with his magic, and it was all wandless, wordless; a wave of his hand here, a lift of his finger there.

Mum was far more reliant on her wand, and now that he'd seen how easy his father made it look, he decided he'd have a practice at it when he was back at school. Nott would never see it coming.

Klaus had never been one for eating in silence. He didn't care for the wet sounds of chewing, the clink of cutlery against teeth, and so in between bites, he tried to make conversation. The problem was, however, he still knew so little about Riddle, that there was only one thing he could think to ask about.

"Are you still in trouble, then?" he asked from across the table.

Riddle, directly opposite him, looked up from that morning's newspaper, raising his eyebrows. While Mum often angrily threw out the Daily Prophet before she was halfway through, it seemed like he was fond of them.

"For... you know," Klaus added for clarification. "Those people... all those years ago." He refrained from adding, that you killed.

His father had been working on a mouth full of pancake, and finished it slowly before speaking. "Depends on what you call trouble," he eventually said, focusing back on his plate of food.

"But you're just... going to live with us now?" Klaus pressed.

"Mhmm," his father hummed vaguely.

"For how long?"

"As long as I like."

"And Mum's fine with that?"

"Yes."

"...And no one's going to... come looking for you?"

"No."

Klaus' eyes narrowed. "...But you and Mum aren't like... getting back together. Right?"

His father shrugged.

Ugh. Conversation with him was almost worse than it was with Oliver, and as their breakfast fell back into a lull, Klaus racked his brain for other things he could bring up. What else was there? He'd taught at Hogwarts. He could ask about that, but that might be too similar a topic to the murders. He'd graduated with near perfect grades, but Klaus didn't need study tips. What else, what else—

Oh.

"Mum said you know dark magic."

Ah. That seemed to get his attention, and his eyes snapped back up. "Did she now?"

"Yeah," said Klaus daringly. "So, do you?"

He paused, taking a slow sip of his coffee, fighting a smile.

"Maybe," he finally said.

Klaus put down his fork. "Could you... maybe... if you have time, that is... show me some?" he asked carefully, remembering the way Rodolphus and Abraxas used to boast to the group of students in Slughorn's office. Maybe if he knew some dark magic too, it'd solve his 'Mudblood' problem, and he could get Nott and the others off his back.

His father looked as though if he hadn't been so surprised, he would've laughed. "Oh no," he said. "Your mother might very well skin me alive if I did that."

Klaus snorted. "Mum's snappy, but she's harmless," he said dismissively.

Riddle laughed loudly, like he knew something he didn't.

"What?" Klaus said.

"I don't know about that," he said, going for another sip of coffee. "I wouldn't want to cross your mother."

"You say that like you're scared of her."

"I am," he said simply.

Klaus laughed, but his father's face had straightened.

"She won't hurt you if you're with me," Klaus told him.

He meant it as a joke, but he wasn't sure if his father got it, because didn't laugh. He just finished the rest of his coffee and got up from his chair, and started heading back toward the kitchen, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. "I'm counting on it, kid."

Mum didn't come back until the next day—two whole days after she'd left.

Klaus had spent his day in the living room on one of the couches that had a clear view of the front door. He wasn't waiting for her. He wasn't. He just wanted to know when she came home.

But after it'd gotten dark and she still hadn't come in, Klaus gave up, and had only just gotten changed and climbed into bed, when there was a quiet knock on his door.

Mum let herself in.

"Hi," she greeted him. "I'm not waking you, am I?"

Klaus sat himself up and switched his lamp on. "No. I was awake," he said, and his smile quickly faded as he noticed that her eyes were puffy, like they'd become swollen from all of her crying. "What's wrong? How was your trip?"

Mum smiled sadly and she sat herself at the end of his bed, and Klaus shuffled up to make more room for her.

"It was fine. Everything... went as it should've," she told him. "How are you? You're all okay?"

"Yeah, fine. I told you I'd be fine. What's wrong?" he asked again.

Mum closed her eyes, making a long sigh. "I... I wanted to tell you... I've decided I won't be coming with you this term. Back to Hogwarts."

Klaus' thoughts screeched to a halt. That... hadn't been what he'd been expecting.

And yes, he was still mad at her, and yes, he still didn't want much to do with her, but that didn't mean he wanted her gone, either.

"What?" he said. "Why not?"

"I... I have to sort some things out here with your father," she said, as though it were a logical explanation for abandoning him. "Things that I can't do from the castle. But don't worry. You can owl me any time, any day, about anything at all. I'll be reachable at all times."

He didn't know what to say. "Are... are you kidding?"

"Klaus—"

"So, what, now that he shows up, you're choosing to stay with him instead of coming back home with me?"

"That—" Mum broke off, and—oh, great, her eyes started to well up again. "That's not it. That's really, really not it at all."

"Then why? We've been at Hogwarts forever! It wouldn't be the same without—" Klaus stopped himself, right at the brink of becoming sappy. "It wouldn't be the same."

"I know, honey," she said, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "But please just— it's for the best this time. Trust me."

He locked his jaw. He wanted to tell her to just get out, to yell at her that he'd never trust her again, that she'd ruined everything by bringing Riddle back home. But she just looked so sad that he forced himself to keep quiet, and when she pulled him in for a tight, smothering hug, Klaus just nodded against her.

"I wish I could go back with you. More than anything, and I'll miss you," she whispered into his hair, "so very much. But you'll be safe."

"'Course I will," he mumbled, voice muffled by her jumper.

"I'll write to you every day."

He grunted.

"And I'll send you those crisps you like."

"...The muggle ones?"

"Mhmm."

"...Thanks. I'd like that."

Mum sighed against him, and Klaus properly relaxed into her hug. He was still mad at her... but it'd been ages since he'd had a good one with her. He could enjoy a hug and still be mad.

"...Mum?" he asked after a little while.

"Yes?"

"It's not..." The thought nagged at him, but he didn't know how to put it. "It isn't... it's not because of him, is it? My Dad?"

"Klaus—"

"I mean— I know you said you have to sort stuff out, but he's not... he's not making you stay here, is he?"

"No, honey," she whispered into his hair, squeezing him a little bit tighter. "No."

Klaus was right. Hogwarts wasn't the same without Mum.

It was twice as lonely, made even worse by the fact that Dahlia hadn't wanted to come with him either. She'd been moping from the moment they'd left the house, and she was refusing to leave his dormitory, eating half the amount she normally would, and when she bothered to speak to him, she'd hiss vaguely about wanting to return back to 'Master'.

Little traitor.

But Mum at least followed through on her promise, writing him foot-long letters just about every single day, providing him with the same amount of nagging as he was used to, but without any of the comfort of her actually being there.

He hated it, and his father, on the other hand, didn't write once.

Meanwhile, Klaus cursed that bloody old hat for putting him in the wrong house, because Nott, Selwyn, and Rabastan were as pleasant as ever—more so, now that he didn't have 'Mudblood Mummy to run off to'. Klaus, thin and nimble, had become adept at dodging their curses in the corridors, anticipating the booby-traps they set on his bed and in the dorm bathroom. He'd even gotten so accustomed to their heckling, that one Saturday, when he heard someone across the courtyard saying, "where's the Mudblood?", he craned his neck before he'd even realised what he was doing.

To pass the time and to keep himself out of Nott's firing line, Klaus spent more time than he should've going back through the records of his father's 'incident', old newspaper articles, public court records, anything at all that he could get his hands on.

Mum had pleaded to him that first night, had sworn up and down that she truly had thought his father had passed away. They were lies—they had to be—but it just... it wasn't adding up. The reports stated clearly that he'd died, that his body had been removed from the castle and incinerated,and so, through it all, he kept it all to himself. He didn't utter a word to anyone at Hogwarts about his father, not even Slughorn.

Mum never mentioned him in her letters either, and Klaus gradually started to think that maybe he'd lost it and had imagined Riddle coming home all along.

The first term of second year dragged, and when it blessedly came to its end and the train pulled into King's Cross for the Christmas break, Klaus had trouble spotting Mum through the crowd.

He leaned out of the compartment's window that he'd shared with some fourth year Hufflepuffs, trying not to bounce on his toes to see past the sea of parents—he didn't want to seem too excited—but couldn't spot her bush of hair anywhere. She must've been towards the back.

Giving up, he slung on his backpack and hurried off the train before he pushed his way through to the luggage to get his trunk, and began searching through the crowd for her.

After a good five minutes, right as he was starting to get a bit miffed that she hadn't come to the front to meet him, his attention was caught over toward the large station map. And there, speaking closely with the proud, rounded man he knew to be Rabastan's father was...

Oh. Great.

"I didn't expect you," Klaus said when he reached his father, and he received only a tight smile in response. "Where's Mum?" he asked.

"At home," Riddle said simply. He stepped behind him and placed his hand on Klaus' trunk, and it shrunk up into his hand until it resembled one belonging to a doll.

Wandless again. Not even a whisper of an incantation. Klaus hadn't had any luck with his practicing during the term, and he bit his tongue to keep from commenting.

"Is that everything?"

Klaus gave a nod and adjusted his cloak as Dahlia slithered out of his inner pocket. He rolled his eyes and scooped her up, offering her over to his father.

"Here," he said, annoyed. "She's been asking for you for months."

His father glanced at her, looking equally annoyed. "Stay with the boy," he told her quietly, and she reared back to slowly slither back up Klaus' forearm and down again to curl herself up into his pocket. "Come along then," Riddle said.

He started to lead the way toward the entry out to the muggle platform, and Mr. Lestrange, Rabastan and Rodolphus flanked his other side.

Klaus followed after them obediently. "Um... where are we going?"

"I have business with Mr. Lestrange," his father told him as though that sufficiently explained it.

Klaus peered past his father and Mr. Lestrange, finding Rabastan shooting him a sharp, questioning look. He ignored it.

"What type of business?" Klaus pressed.

"Never you mind."

As they made their way across the crowded platform, Klaus started to notice the other parents noticing them. Some were double taking, some were whispering among themselves, some were hurrying their children away.

Did they... did they recognise him? Was Red-Eyed Riddle that familiar to them, even after all these years?

"Well, it's a bit hard not to mind when you're dragging me along," Klaus muttered before adding, "are you even allowed to be here?"

"Of course."

Klaus glanced around them uncomfortably. "They're all staring."

"Let them," his father said, unbothered. "Now keep up, would you?"

Klaus was left alone in the Lestrange's extravagant third living room with Rodolphus and Rabastan after having been firmly instructed to keep themselves occupied. Rodolphus was staring, arms crossed tightly.

Great, Klaus thought, unsure of what to say to them. Once, he'd admired Rodolphus, wanted to be him, but then he and his brother had gone and turned out to be pricks.

"You should've said Riddle was your father," Rabastan said accusingly from where he was stretched out, lounging on the nearest couch to the fireplace.

Klaus refrained from telling him he didn't know that he was, and instead rolled his eyes and retorted with, "would it have mattered?"

"'Course," Rabastan scoffed, resting his hands behind his head. "Dad said he's a psycho. Nott wouldn't mess with you if he knew."

A psycho. Perfect. First, he's the Slytherin Mudblood, now he'll be the psycho's kid.

Just what he needed.

"...is that right," he said, keeping his voice pointedly uninterested.

"What did you say to him?" Rodolphus asked coldly.

"What do you mean?"

"About us," he said. "Why else would you be here?"

Klaus sneered at him. "Not all of us need to run off to Daddy at the first sign of a problem, Lestrange," he said. "I didn't tell him anything."

Rodolphus scoffed and leaned against one of the tall bookcases, while Rabastan sat up to lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Well?" Rabastan asked in a hushed tone. "Is it true, then?"

"Is what true?" Klaus snapped irritably.

"Is he really... you know... immortal?"

Klaus snorted, unable to stop it. "Been reading too many stories, have you?"

Rabastan shrugged, unbothered. By the bookshelf, Rodolphus' arms were still tightly crossed. He didn't look like he was joking either. "Dad went to school with him. Says he used to brag about being unkillable, even back then," said Rodolphus. "Think about it. Everyone's heard the story, and rumour says there was a body."

Klaus laughed again, albeit a little bit more uncertainly than the first time.

"Clearly the rumours are wrong," he said surely.

"Dad doesn't think so."

"Oh, right," Klaus scoffed. "Mr. Lestrange thinks something's true, so it must be. My mistake."

Rabastan scoffed. "That attitude is why no one likes you, Granger."

"Silly me," he mumbled, "here I was thinking it was my dirty blood."

Before Rabastan or Rodolphus could get another word in, they were blessedly interrupted by the loud creaking of the doors, and—finally—Riddle's head popped through.

"We're done," he said simply, and he left again just as quickly as he'd entered.

"Well," said Klaus, taking that as his cue to leave, and he got up and grabbed his backpack. "As fun as this has been, I do hope not to do it again."

Rodolphus snorted, and Rabastan's lip picked up.

"See you at school, Granger," Rabastan called after him, and Klaus hurried on out.

"What was that about?" Klaus asked shortly after, trailing along with his father on their way back down the long drive of the Lestrange's estate.

"Business."

"What sort of business?"

Riddle sighed. "Roderick is handling my case with the Ministry," he told him, taking Klaus by surprise. He hadn't expected him to actually answer.

"Your case?" Klaus asked.

"One of the members of the Wizengamot has filed a motion for an investigation into my... circumstances. Roderick is handling it for me."

"So... you're not in trouble?" Klaus asked again skeptically.

"Nothing I can't manage," said Riddle, and he offered him his arm.

"Right. Um," Klaus paused, looking between his father and his arm. "Next stop's home, right?"

"I think we've kept your mother waiting long enough, don't you?"

They'd barely stepped into the house when Mum barrelled into him.

"Oh!" She pressed several kisses to his forehead and Klaus tried to pull back, but she was stronger than she looked and didn't relent. "I'm so glad you're home!" Another one, two kisses. "Where have you been? Are you all right? You're not hurt?"

"I—ow, Mum—I will be if you don't let me breathe," Klaus whined, prying himself free from Mum. "I'm fine. We just stopped by the Lestrange's on the way."

Mum at last let him go and said a quiet, "oh," and Klaus didn't miss the accusatory glare Mum gave his father.

His father smiled back warmly.

"Klaus has a budding friendship with young Rabastan," he said, a light hand on his shoulder, "isn't that right?"

"No," scoffed Klaus. "He's an arsehole—"

"Language," Mum said, frowning.

"Sorry, sorry," Klaus said. "...It's true though."

Mum scoffed, while beside him, Riddle took his trunk out of his pocket and restored it to its full size. Leaving it with Klaus, he briefly placed his hand on Mum's shoulder before he went upstairs, leaving them on their own.

When he was gone, Mum let out a long breath. She looked relieved. "I'm so glad you're home," she repeated.

Klaus smiled back. It'd been a few months, and she was still a liar... but he admittedly was relieved to see her, too. "Yeah. Me too," he agreed. "What's for dinner?"

It didn't take him long to recognise that the tension he'd left with his parents when he'd gone back to the castle was still just as present—and uncomfortable—as ever. It might've actually gotten worse.

Because now, Mum wasn't only upset all the time, but she was snappy as well.

"What have you done with the picture in the library?" Mum said accusingly a couple of days before Christmas, interrupting Klaus and his father in the living room.

Riddle, who'd surprisingly agreed to check over Klaus' transfiguration homework for him the first time he'd asked, glanced up. Mum's arms were crossed, and she stood in the doorway. Klaus knew that look, and if he weren't so grateful it wasn't directed at him, he might've felt bad for his father.

"What picture?" his father asked.

Klaus winced. Wrong answer.

"You know exactly what picture," she ground out from between her teeth. "The one in the black frame. The one with my parents in it."

"Right. That one," his father said, and he clearly didn't recognise the direness of the situation he was about to enter into, because he followed up with, "I got rid of it."

Klaus shrunk back into the couch.

"What do you mean, 'you got rid of it'?" Mum questioned icily.

His father shrugged. "It had a coffee stain on it, it looked awful. It was torn on one side, and the picture wasn't even in focus, Hermione. The library's better off without it."

Mum stood eerily still with irate eyes, and Klaus could just about feel the radiating heat of her anger, but beside him, his father didn't seem concerned.

"You—" Mum cut herself off. "I don't— what is wrong with—"

She was just about trembling, seemingly unable to find the words, and Klaus couldn't bare it.

"Bloody hell, Mum," Klaus interjected. "It's a just a picture. You've got others. Let it go."

Her fury turned to him.

"It's not just a picture," she hissed. "It's— you know how much it—"

"Hermione," Riddle interrupted as gently as ever. "I'm terribly sorry, I never meant to upset you. I was only trying to improve our home. If it makes you feel better, I'll get you a new frame, and we'll put one of your others in it. Or we could even take another, if you like. One of us."

Mum's mouth twitched. She looked about ready to combust.

But instead of catching fire, her eyes narrowed viciously, and then without another word, she stormed out.

Klaus glared at his father.

"Thanks a lot," he mumbled, shaking his head. "You're not the only one who has to live with her, you know."

His father scoffed, and without any of the gentleness his voice had carried only moments earlier, he said, "it was a disgusting picture."

He said it more harshly than Klaus would've, but he wasn't exactly wrong. The muggle-taken picture was worn at its edges and the muggle in it—his grandfather—had been caught mid-blink. Mum had plenty of nicer ones.

But Klaus also knew how much her family meant to Mum, knew that they'd long passed, knew that she'd never be able to take any new pictures ever again.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to go and tell her that," Klaus said. "It's like you want to fight with— oh hey. Is that Mum's wand?"

He only just noticed the wand on the arm rest on his father's side of the couch. It was pale and beaded, just like Mum's.

"Yes. She loaned it to me," his father said simply. "You've brought over an extra zero, just here," he then pointed out, pointing high up on Klaus' homework. "That's why your equations aren't balancing."

"Ah!"

Christmas that year wasn't anything special, and Klaus was grateful for it. Mum being at his father's throat started to seem like it was to be the default state of things, and he just didn't think he could bare to sit at a table with them for a proper dinner.

But despite the bickering, he received a decent haul. Mum gave him an ornate, antique quill, some new clothes, and a nice new notebook for school, and he got some chocolates from Oliver next door and a bag of sweets a piece from Kettleburn and Slughorn in the mail.

His father didn't get him anything.

But that was fine. He'd never needed his gifts before, and he certainly didn't need them now.

While his father holed himself up in the upstairs library and Dahlia presumably joined him, Klaus spent the day with Mum, and though it wasn't a Hogwarts Christmas like he was used to, it was still nice. She doted on him, made her usual glazed ham for lunch, and they together played a few rounds of wizard's chess, followed by some exploding snap while Klaus told her all about his term at Hogwarts.

He was still mad at her—he was—but he found himself forgetting a few times.

When the day drew to an end and Klaus was starting to have a hard time keeping his eyes open, he muttered his goodnights to Mum and headed up to his room.

There was a book waiting for him on his bed.

It was thick with a hard, black cover, embroidered with golden font, and Klaus curiously snatched up the note from on top of its cover to inspect it.

'The Founding Families', by Cassiopeia Burke.

Intrigued, he ripped the note open.

Happy Christmas.
-Don't tell your mother.

Klaus grinned as he put the note aside on his dresser. Then, he quickly got changed before he climbed into bed and started to read.

With hopes to avoid a cup of tea just so happening to spill onto his robes on his first day back, Klaus avoided his dormmates by skipping breakfast and arrived at the first Defence class of the new term early, sitting alone toward the front of the class in his usual spot.

He organised his things on his desk meticulously, laying out his parchment, quill and ink pot.

He'd only just gotten everything the way he liked when there was the scrape of chair legs against the stone floor, and someone sat down beside him. It was Rabastan.

"Granger," he greeted with a wry sort of smile, and he placed a muffin on the desk in front of him. "Bought you this up from breakfast."

Klaus glanced suspiciously between Rabastan and the muffin. It smelled good. Really good.

"Um... thanks?" he said hesitantly.

"Don't mention it," Rabastan said, grinning, and he added, "don't worry. It's clean. Promise."

Klaus wasn't entirely convinced it hadn't been laced with something, but his stomach was growling angrily, so he slid it closer and started to pick at the muffin.

And—ah, it tasted as good as it smelled and it didn't make him sick. It didn't make him break out in hives, or body hair, or grow any extra digits. It was just... a very good blueberry muffin.

Rabastan smiled reassuringly, and though Klaus knew it wasn't entirely genuine, he smiled back.

Hmm. Maybe having Riddle around would be good for something after all.

It happened slowly after that. Gradually, Klaus heard less of 'oi, Mudblood!', and more of 'all right, Granger?'. Even Nott started to let up, and though his glaring and shouldering in the corridors continued, Klaus' bed sheets never tried to trap him in his bed again, never again did he climb into it to find it full of prickles.

After a year and a half of unrelenting harassment, Klaus' habit of keeping alert as he navigated the castle was hard to break, and he still anticipated being cursed from around corners, still kept a keen eye out for dungbombs and cursed light fittings. But it seemed to be all for naught; the curses stopped along with the heckling, and his days steadily became easier.

He gradually relaxed into it, choosing to read out in the courtyard rather than hidden away in the corner of the library. Rabastan even started to sit with him every now and then, peering over at his homework, asking for help and tips with his Transfiguration quiz preparations. Rabastan was terrible at Transfiguration, and it was almost enough to have Klaus wondering if he'd been better off being bullied.

But most of the time, Klaus was left alone in peace, and he spent all of his free time reading. While he'd finished the book his father had given him for Christmas mere days after having received it, he was up to his third reread of the chapter dedicated to Salazar Slytherin.

And it was... enlightening.

In the summer break between second and third year, Klaus found it near impossible to catch his father on his own.

Mum must've been practicing while he'd been at school, because she'd become unrelenting with her hovering, expertly keeping him from being alone with his father despite his best attempts.

"Could you get me some juice, Mum?" he'd tried, but that was met by her simply summoning some over.

"Would you mind reading this over for me, make sure I've got the theory right?" he'd asked his father, only for Mum to swoop in and volunteer to do it before his father could get a word in.

"Could I have a word with you? Alone?" he'd even tried directly, only for Mum to snap that anything he wished to speak to Riddle about could be said to her, too.

Klaus tried all he could think of, but Mum just didn't let up. But he was bursting at the seams—he needed to speak with his father—and so after a few days of being unable to get the privacy he wanted, he settled for the next best thing.

"Slytherin?" he asked in parseltongue when they were all together in the dining room for dinner.

Both his father and Mum looked up to him, but Klaus only had eyes for his father.

Riddle lowered his fork, smiling slowly as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Yes," he answered in English.

"How?"

His father glanced between him and Mum, and then he reverted to parseltongue to say, "on my mother's side. She was a Gaunt."

"Tom," Mum interjected, clearly trying to cut them off, but with his father's confirmation, Klaus was buzzing. He was meant to be in Slytherin, the hat hadn't been wrong. He was descended from him himself—he belonged there more than anyone—and he continued to ignore her.

"Is the chamber real?" he asked.

His father grinned. "When you find her, you mustn't show her any fear," he said. "You need to be strict with her. She's been hungry and alone for many years, and she can be extremely temperamental."

"Tom!" Mum snapped, and she moved in a way that Klaus was sure she'd kicked him under the table.

His father looked over to Mum, smile almost becoming playful, and he said without looking away from her, "just like your mother."

Mum's face was rapidly becoming bright red, but Klaus barely noticed, because his father must've been speaking about Slytherin's monster. "What... is she?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," his father said, and then abruptly added, "now you'll speak in English while you're in your mother's company."

His father focused back on his food, and sensing that was all he was going to get, Klaus smiled innocently at Mum. "Sorry, Mum."

"What was that about?" she asked angrily.

"Oh, nothing," Klaus told her, shovelling a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth. "We were just deciding what we're gonna do for your next birthday."

Mum's eyes narrowed, and she looked like she desperately wanted to pry further, but Klaus kept his eyes wide, and she grudgingly let it go.

Klaus' third year at school was his most enjoyable yet. His father must've given Dahlia a good talking to over the break, because her attitude that year improved drastically, and with Rabastan and Selwyn around to watch his back, Nott barely so much as spoke to him.

Between the three of them, in their free time, Rabastan would share the curses he learned from Rodolphus and his father, and Klaus would help them perfect their techniques. Selwyn was particularly adept at charms, while Rabastan seemed to be good at anything that required a combination of little thought and brute force. Every now and then, Rodolphus—now in sixth year—would slip them books from the restricted section, and gradually, they developed a good set of useful spells between them.

Meanwhile, Klaus got better at his wandless magic. Though he could still only reliably cast the most basic of spells—summoning charms, lumos, the occasional shield charm—once, during one of the Hogsmeade visits, he managed to cast a slicing hex at Nott's backpack when he wasn't looking, right as he'd been passing over a muddy puddle, successfully drenching all of his things. The best part was, that because he hadn't shared the fact that he was working on wandless magic, Nott had put the blame on poor Bones from Gryffindor who'd happened to have his wand out at the time. Klaus hadn't bothered to correct him.

It was a good year.

But despite searching everywhere he could think of, he didn't have any luck finding the chamber.

Klaus spent his holidays between his third and fourth year combing back through Slytherin's chapter in the book from his father, reading between the lines, racking his brain, pondering over the chamber, where in hell it could possibly be, what might be down there, what the rumoured monster it housed would be like. He pulled out as much information about Slytherin as his family's library would allow, and toward the end of the break, he'd put together a sizeable notebook full of his findings, including a list of spots to search for the chamber that he hadn't tried yet.

His fourth year would be the year. He just knew it, he could feel it, and he couldn't remember ever being so excited to return to the castle.

The day before he was due back, and he was still so distracted, that when he stumbled downstairs for a snack and caught his parents together in the kitchen, it took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.

Mum was leaning back into the counter while his father leaned into her. His hand was wound deeply into her hair, and their faces were close together, noses almost touching. It would've been awkward, like one of those moments Oliver had told him about when he'd caught his parents in bed together, except—

Mum was crying.

Riddle's grip in her hair looked tight, like he was pulling, craning her neck back.

"What's going on?" Klaus demanded.

His father released her hair at once, and Mum shoved him off.

She straightened quickly, wiping at her cheeks and smoothing her hair, before she said, "nothing, honey."

Klaus stepped into the kitchen. "Are you all right? What's—"

"Get back upstairs," his father ordered, a level tone that didn't at all match his features.

"Mum—"

"Please, Klaus," she said.

"N-no," he said incredulously. "No, I'm not just going to—"

"Then I'll come with you," she said, and before either he or his father could get a word in, she moved toward him. "All right?"

Mum took hold of his arm, starting to try to pull him back out of the kitchen, but Klaus tugged against her, keeping firmly in place.

"Hermione..." his father said warningly, but Mum snapped back, "later," and continued to try to pull him out.

But Klaus agreed with Riddle. "No," he refused, shooting him the sharpest glare he could muster. "No, what do think you're—"

"Please, Klaus," Mum insisted, and she sounded desperate. "Please."

Klaus had heard the Red-Eyed Riddle stories. He knew he was a killer, Mum obviously walked on eggshells around him, and Rodolphus had said he was a psycho. Everyone seemed to agree that he was dangerous.

But despite it all, Riddle had been consistently gentle—the most he'd ever seen from him was mild irritability—and since meeting him, he'd never really been able to reconcile the rumours with his father himself. And so, seeing him now, plainly livid, still came as a shock. He was almost unrecognisable and it wasn't only him. It was the atmosphere itself; the air in the kitchen felt sapped of warmth, full of static instead, full of magic.

Klaus had never experienced anything like it, but he didn't get the chance to think too hard on it, because Mum succeeded in roughly yanking him out of there. She was deceptively strong, and she didn't let him go despite his protests, and with grip so tight that he knew he'd feel it later, she managed to get him all the way up to his room.

"Sit down," she told him when she finally unhanded him, closing his bedroom door behind them.

Klaus didn't want to sit. He wanted to head back down and give Riddle a piece of his mind, but Mum was blocking the door and her hands were on her hips, and so he grudgingly gave in and plonked himself onto the bed. When Mum sat herself beside him, Klaus didn't even ask. He didn't have to. Mum just saw the look on his face and sighed.

"Please don't jump to conclusions, honey," she told him. "Don't worry. Please, don't worry. It's been a hard few years, and we're just... we're still trying to sort through our differences, that's all."

"Did... did he hurt you?"

Mum moved her head, not quite shaking it, not quite nodding. She wrung her hands together in her lap, as if she were having trouble keeping still. "It's nothing," she told him.

Klaus scowled. "Didn't look like nothing."

"It's between your father and I, you stay out of it. I can handle him, don't you worry," she said firmly, and then her eyes locked onto the pile of clothes on his desk. "Now, what have I told you about putting your clothes away?"

"Mum."

"Goodness," she uttered as she got up and plucked the shirt from the top of the pile. "Look at these wrinkles, it would take you all of ten minutes to hang all of this back—"

"Mum!" he snapped, and Mum quietened as she folded up the shirt she'd picked up. "Just— are you okay?"

"Klaus—"

"No," he interrupted stubbornly. "No more lies, I'm sick of— just tell me what's going on. Ever since he's moved in, you haven't been yourself. I'm not stupid, I know something's going on."

He thought she'd deny it, thought she'd try to feed him another lie, but she just shook her head and gave him a stubborn, "no."

"Mum—"

"No. I'm sorry, but it doesn't concern you."

"Like hell it doesn't—"

"Language."

"—I have to live with you! Of course it concerns me!"

Mum sighed. "Please just— trust me," she said sternly. "Your father and I might have our disagreements every now and then, but I promise you, that everything's fine. I'm fine."

Klaus glared at her, but Mum ignored it and went for another wrinkled shirt. She shook it out and tutted.

"Oh for goodness'— look at this!" she squawked. "How long has this been down here? What would your professors think if you went to school with your clothes scrunched up like this? I've told you— a good impression goes a long way. You can't have them thinking you don't take care of your things, or they'll think you don't care about your work, and that's just setting yourself up for failure, honey, so you really ought to..."

Klaus groaned.

The next morning, before heading off to the train station, Klaus had the rare opportunity of finding his father alone in his usual spot, reading the paper in the living room while Mum was busy in the bathroom.

If Mum wasn't going to help herself, then that was fine, he decided. He'd just have to take matters into his own hands.

"Keep your hands off my Mum."

He'd meant it to be threatening, but Riddle only gave a light laugh. He didn't even look up from the page he was on.

"I mean it."

He sighed as he lowered his paper and glanced up, crossing his legs over. "One day, there will come a time when you discover that a firm hand can go a long way with women," he said. "Particularly those as difficult as your mother."

Klaus narrowed his eyes further. "I don't care what sort of dark magic you're caught up in, and I don't care what you did to those other people all those years ago, but if you hurt her, then you'll regret it."

His father's smile grew as he'd spoken, eyes plainly amused. "I wasn't hurting her."

"You were pulling her hair, and she was—"

"I know it may be easy for you to forget, but your mother and I have a long history, Klaus," he told him. "You will also discover, soon enough, that sometimes a bit of pain can make things... well. More pleasurable, if you take my meaning."

Klaus recoiled. "Ugh— that's my— don't talk about her like that!"

His father shrugged. "Then might I advise you not to ask questions unless you're prepared for the answers."

"They don't count as answers when they're lies," Klaus snapped.

His father sighed loudly and leaned forward to discard the paper onto the coffee table. "Sit down," he instructed, gesturing to the seat opposite him.

Klaus locked his jaw, but it was a rare occasion that his father volunteered to speak to him, so he did as he was told.

"I can lose my temper sometimes," his father said calmly once he was seated. "I'll be the first one to admit that, and your mother and I have that trait in common. As a result, it's only natural that when we're together, we often... amplify that tendency in each other. You're young, and I know it might seem strange to you right now, but please try to understand that it's also one of the things we enjoy the most about each other."

At the combination of the words 'enjoy' and 'each other', Klaus nearly gagged. "Oh my God— gross."

"We can be volatile together," his father went on, ignoring his sounds of disgust, "and I'm sorry that you saw what you saw without having the full understanding of the context of the situation. But when you're older and you meet the right person... you'll understand."

"Jesus," he complained, wincing, "I get it, can you stop now?"

His father raised his hands gesturing as if to say, 'fine, fine', and Klaus didn't need to be told to hurry on out of there, eager to put an end to the conversation and forget it ever happened in the first place.

Christ. He couldn't wait to go back to school.

The start to Klaus' fourth year was slow, and though he worried about Mum, her daily letters didn't stop. She seemed fine. And so, Klaus slowly started to relax, starting to accept that maybe he had misread the situation after all, and allowed himself become engrossed in his schoolwork.

And then, the attack happened.

Only two weeks into the term, and in one night, four prominent families were hit simultaneously: the Longbottoms, the Prewetts, the Weasleys, and the Potters.

The Daily Prophet was labelling it as the worst crime against wizarding Britain in more than a decade, the worst since Grindelwald. None had seen it coming, no one in the castle seemed unaffected, and though none in their ranks had been directly related to the victims, the Slytherin's were particularly shaken, because all of the families had been purebloods.

Six Longbottoms, four Prewetts, three Weasleys, along with Fleamont Potter and his wife, had all been murdered across six different locations across the country in what seemed to be a professional hit, all within a single hour of each other.

On the night the news broke, Rabastan shared with Klaus and his dormmates that according to his father, the Ministry was baffled. They had no immediate suspects, no evidence had been recovered at any of the scenes, and other than the fact that they'd all been murdered without a trace at the same time of day, there wasn't any other link to tie the killings together.

But despite the lack of evidence, Rabastan, Selwyn and Nott all had their suspicions, and they all whispered from within the safety of their dorm room that they suspected that an up-and-coming dark wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort had been behind them.

The second attack happened later that very same year right before the Christmas holidays, though there were two significant differences compared to the first.

This time, there were three victims, all of differing blood-status, and all had been members of the Wizengamot, including Alfie Dawlish, the Head of Law Enforcement.

The second difference was that each home of the victims had been marked. Above each, a large, glittering, emerald cloud had been left hovering over them, identical ones that each formed the shape of a skull with a viper weaving out of its mouth.

Pictures were published in the Daily Prophet, and there wasn't any disputing that the attacks were terrifying. Between the two attacks, seven families without anything linking them together had been struck, and without a pattern, without any suspects, there wasn't any telling whose family would be next.

But though Klaus and the other boys of his dorm room all agreed that the attacks were terrifying, they also agreed that the marks above the victim's homes looked wicked.

When Klaus met Mum at King's Cross, he was taken aback by the amount of weight she'd lost.

She looked tiny, and she had prominent, dark rings under her eyes, but it didn't stop her from launching herself at him, hugging him as enthusiastically as ever.

Klaus had a hard time returning it. He'd grown a decent bit taller than her in the last year, and now that she was so skinny, she felt small. Fragile.

"Mum," he said when she didn't let him go. "Mum. Are you all right?"

She sighed lightly and backed off a bit to give him what he assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. "I am now."

During that year's winter break, Klaus noticed very early on that his parents were being weird.

Well—even weirder than their usual.

They barely acknowledged each other, and there was something different about the interactions they did have, some additional layer of tension between them, and he was having a hard time pointing a finger on it. It took days to work out what it was, but eventually, after seeing his father blatantly ignore Mum's request to pass the salt across the table, Klaus finally pieced it together.

He felt silly for not realising it earlier, because it was actually quite obvious.

Usually, Mum made no secret of being put out with his father.

But now... it seemed like he was mad at her, too.

And so, the next morning, while his father made breakfast, Klaus went upstairs and popped his head into their room, finding Mum sifting through her sock drawer.

He knocked lightly, and when she gave him her attention, he bluntly said, "something happened while I was gone. What was it?"

"Hmm?"

"He's mad at you," Klaus stated. "Isn't he? What did you do?"

Mum huffed, frowning as she chose a pair of socks. "Why do you assume it's something I've done?" she muttered angrily.

"Well, isn't it?"

She sighed. "I-if you must know... last week, we had... a discussion. That's all. And your father didn't like it."

"So you had a fight," he concluded for her.

"No, we—"

"Can't you just... say sorry, and kiss and make up already?"

For a moment, she looked horrified, but then her features softened, and she edged closer. "Klaus... honey... I-I know that things must be horribly confusing to you, us all living together like this. And it would only be the natural assumption to make, that we're... I know it's complicated, but your father and I aren't... together like that."

"You live together."

"Yes, but like I said, that doesn't always mean—"

"You had me together."

"Yes."

"You sleep in the same room."

"I... well, yes," she agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "But... it's important to me that you know that when people are together romantically, they support each other. They're partners, and they care for each other, work for what's in the other's best interest. What your father and I have isn't... well it's not..."

"So, you're just fucking."

"Oh for— language!" she screeched, swatting his arm. "And no, we're—"

"I'm not a kid, Mum," he said over the top of her. "And you don't need to explain your... arrangement, I don't need to know the details. But living with the two of you is getting even more tiring than it usually is, so whatever's going on, I need you to hurry up and sort it out already."

She gaped at him.

"Okay? Thank you," he said, hoping that that would do it, and then he went down to grab some breakfast.

Mum, much to his surprise, seemed to take his words to heart, because weeks later, when his father dragged them both to Roderick Lestrange's promotion party, they seemed the happiest Klaus had ever seen them.

The party was being hosted at Malfoy Manor, and when Klaus left his parents to go and say hello to Rabastan and the others out in the gardens, he came back later on to find his parents together, holding hands while they spoke with Selwyn's father.

He'd never seen them holding hands before.

"...Hey," he greeted, glancing between them. They looked... at ease.

Weird.

"Hi, honey," Mum cooed happily, sipping at her wine. "Having a nice time?"

"Um, yeah. It's all right, I guess," Klaus said, frowning. "So... Rodolphus brought his quidditch stuff. Is it okay if I go and—"

"Of course," his father said. "Go have fun."

Mum didn't say anything, just continued to smile happily, and she leaned her shoulder against her father affectionately.

Klaus frowned suspiciously, but nodded slowly, and said, "...thanks," and then waved them off to dash back off to join the others.

"Dad reckons now's the time," Rabastan said as he dismounted from his broom. "That it's different this time, not like Grindelwald."

"Nah, won't be like Grindelwald, 'cause he's coming for half-bloods and purebloods, too," Selwyn said.

"Yeah, but that's only 'cause he was clearing the Wizengamot," Rabastan reasoned. "How else do you expect us to take over without a majority vote?"

"'Us'?" Klaus said, laughing incredulously. "You say that as if you're in."

"I'm as good as, Rod and I both. Dad's in his trusted circle. He'll get us in."

"He wasn't 'clearing the Wizengamot' when he went for Potter," Selwyn said. "Or the Prewetts, or the Weasleys."

Rabastan waved him off. "Semantics," he said dismissively. "Who're we to question him?"

"Who, indeed," mumbled Klaus.

"Fear not, my lads," Rabastan said. "I'll get you in. Mark my words."

Klaus snorted. Rabastan was so full of shit.

He finally found it halfway through the second term of fifth year, and it was entirely by accident.

After so long of actively searching every inch of the castle for the chamber, Klaus was losing his mind over it, and grudgingly come to the conclusion that what he needed was a break.

With his search for the chamber put on hold and his classes barely managing to challenge him, it meant that he was left with a good amount of free time, and he spent it stealing glances, brushing fingertips, and exchanging notes with Euphemia Beaumont, Nott's soon-to-be fiancée.

She was boring, only mildly pretty, but she had nice tits and a small waist, and his hard efforts finally paid off a few weeks before their mid-term quizzes, when during one of Slytherin's quidditch matches, they snuck off into the girls' bathroom and she sucked him off in one of the stalls.

She was his first, and he only lasted a couple of minutes, but the smugness of having beaten Nott to having his cock in her throat had been worth it. And it was then, after he'd cleaned himself up and tried to wash his hands, he noticed that the tap wasn't working.

"That one's never worked," Euphemia complained, rubbing at her knees, but Klaus didn't pay her any attention, suddenly transfixed by a small snake that was etched onto the copper tap.

Huh. An odd place for a sketch of a snake.

So, the next evening, after sneaking out of the common room and venturing back to the girls' bathroom after curfew, Klaus went back to check it out, and with a bit of parseltongue, he was in.

He landed badly after tumbling out of the chute, scraping his palms and knees on the damp stone at the bottom. It didn't bother him for long though, because as he ventured deeper and found the trails of shed skin littered throughout the chamber, trailing over piles of the bones of small mammals, he very quickly started to panic.

A basilisk. The monster in the chamber was a fucking basilisk.

Bloody hell. His father could've warned him, could've given him the heads up, but then again—well. What else could she have been?

His heart thundered in his chest, but now that he'd finally found the chamber after years of searching, he wasn't about to go turning back. Instead, he steadily ventured through—the chamber was far larger, far more run down than he'd imagined—and he slowed when he reached a circular, golden door, with an image of who could only be Salazar Slytherin carved into it.

He took his time inspecting it, eyes drinking it in, and his attention caught onto what looked to be a list of initials beside it.

He ran his fingers over them all, the marks of his ancestors.

It was a solid list, about ten sets of initials. Early on, there were two with initials ending with 'S', one 'P', followed by a string of 'G's.

On my mother's side, his father had said. She was a Gaunt.

The list of G's continued right down until the last initial, which was different to the others. It'd been crossed out with a mess of scratches, and Klaus couldn't tell what the initials underneath had been, but neatly carved next to it, was a neat, 'L.V.'.

Huh.

Eager to find out what else the chamber had to offer, Klaus commanded the door to open, and it rolled itself aside to lead into what must've been the deepest part of the chamber. And inside, he found her, in the flesh, her body coiled up tightly to fit within the space.

He hesitated only momentarily before he gradually approached, and when he was a few steps in, a loud rumbling filled the chamber as she started to move, her enormous body starting to unwind.

Klaus snapped his eyes closed and backed up, waiting until the rumbling slowed, and then there was the sound of airflow before him, the distinct sound of her smelling the air.

"Masssster... hassss returned," she hissed slowly, and Klaus tried, he really did, but his heart threatened to burst.

What had his father told him? You mustn't show her any fear. You need to be strict.

He could do that. She could kill him with a glance, but he could be strict. No problem.

"Close your eyes," he ordered her. His voice wasn't as level as he'd intended it to be, but—

"It issss ssssafe," she answered him, and Klaus took a deep breath before he dared to squint his eyes open.

And she... oh.

She was magnificent.

She had her head rested on the stone flooring of the chamber before him, only a metre away, and her skull was the size of a small vehicle. Her scales were a deep green, lighter on her underside, glistening in the dim lighting, and she was so, so long. He couldn't see the end of her tail, just that she was still halfway coiled up over by the large statue at the back of the space.

Klaus opened his mouth to ask her if he could touch her, but then thought better of it. He mustn't show any fear.

Ignoring his better senses, he slowly stepped forward without asking, reaching out until his fingers brushed over the scales over her nose. She was cool, deceptively soft to the touch.

"I want to feed, Masssster..." she hissed as he stroked her, and Klaus pulled his arm back from her face in case she decided she was hungry enough to try him.

"What can I get for you?" he offered, remembering what his father had said about her having been alone and hungry for years. He felt painfully sorry for her. She was huge, and rodents would've only gone so far. Why had his father left her like this? He wasn't sure what he could find that would sate her; maybe a deer from the forest?

"Let me out," she hissed. "Let me kill. Let me cleansssse..."

"Cleanse?"

"The unpure. The unworthhhhy."

Oh. Oh. She meant...

"I will bring you something to eat," he told her firmly. "But that's—"

Before him, she suddenly moved. Klaus lurched back, snapping his eyes closed again and he felt her cool breath blowing onto him.

She felt close. She must've raised her head and from the feel of her breath, she must've been right in front of him. He didn't dare crack his eyelids.

"Releasssse me," she hissed. "I want to sssstretch. I want to kill."

Klaus clenched his fists, keeping his shoulders square. She sounded desperate.

You mustn't show her any fear, he reminded himself. You mustn't show any fear.

"No," he told her sternly. "I said, no. I am your master, and you will obey."

She answered only with a long, drawn-out hiss, not a proper answer, and her breathing went on, steady and loud.

"I'll... I'll let you out soon," he told her. "I promise.In the meanwhile, I'll bring you something substantial."

She hissed again and it was a clear sound of disapproval.

But Klaus wasn't eaten. She didn't strike him, didn't argue further, so he told her again, "soon," and then after she coiled herself back up, tucking her head underneath her body, he left her right where he'd found her.

Klaus didn't return to the chamber again. He was a coward, leaving her to starve down there by herself, but he just didn't have it in him. What if he couldn't control her a second time? What if she refused him? Her eyes weren't the only danger, she could easily decide to take a bite out of him. And he couldn't very well wrangle a deer through the castle without being noticed, so he decided that he wouldn't go back until he'd spoken with his father again.

He'd know what to do.

It was hard to pay attention in classes after that, hard to take in what the professors were saying when his thoughts were so stuck on the basilisk, but when they were taught about glamours in Defence, his interest was piqued.

To demonstrate, Professor Jigger glamoured himself a good twenty years younger and maintained it for the entire lesson, and Klaus had an epiphany. He was sure he'd encountered that tell-tale glint of general offness before.

And so, the next time he was home, with an entire list full of questions, he pinned his father down once more, and now that he knew what he was looking for, it seemed obvious. How hadn't he noticed?

"You wear a glamour," he accused, closing the library door behind him.

His father looked up from the letter he'd been writing. "Yes," he said, raising a brow. "Took you long enough."

"Why do you wear it?"

His father lowered his quill, and though it was hard to see in the dim lighting, his eyes distinctly changed in between blinks.

They brightened, becoming a vivid shade of red.

Klaus grinned, laughing aloud at the truth to the rumours and stepped closer to lean on the desk and have a better look. "Creepy," he decided. "Why are they like that?"

His father shrugged. "When particularly potent, magic can leave a mark upon its user."

Klaus remembered the conversation he'd had with his mother, all of those years ago. "Dark magic."

He expected him to deny it, to tell him to leave, and end the conversation as Mum usually would. But his father wasn't Mum, and instead, he gave a direct, "yes."

"What... what sort of dark magic?" he asked, thinking of all the magic he, Rabastan and Selwyn had spent all those months working on, practicing in their dorm late at night. Was that what would happen to them if they kept going? "What did you do that left its mark?"

His father leaned back, pausing thoughtfully. "How old are you now?" he asked.

"Fifteen."

He winced. "I'll tell you when you're of age."

"That's not fair."

"Sorry, kid."

"...is it because of those people you killed?"

"No," he said.

Klaus had so much left to discuss—the basilisk, the initials on the chamber wall—but he didn't often get his father alone, and it was even rarer that he got him talking like this, so not wanting to lose the opportunity, he sat down opposite him and asked instead, "why'd you do it, all those years ago? If you... um, don't mind me asking."

His father smiled to himself. "Had you ever met Albus Dumbledore, you'd understand," he told him. "And Avery... ask your mother."

It was then, that Klaus had the sudden, bizarre realisation that despite all his father's shortfallings, he trusted him.

Unlike with Mum, he knew, with surety, that if he asked him something, he'd get the truth in return, and it had him remembering the advice he'd been given months earlier.

Don't ask questions unless you're prepared for the answers.

He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't, but driven by some odd sort of morbid fascination, he went on to ask, "...are they the only people you've killed?"

His father didn't flinch. "No."

"How do you... but doesn't that bother you?" he asked, feeling that nauseous sensation, the same one he'd had when he'd spoken with the basilisk. "Don't you feel... I don't know. Bad?"

"No."

"Don't you... do you regret them at all?"

His father opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. His brows drew together thoughtfully. "Only one," he eventually said. "But... I never killed her, in the end."

Klaus was confused. "...Sorry? Why would you regret it if you didn't do it?"

His father looked down at the desk between them, his crimson eyes becoming unfocused in a wistful sort of way. "Sometimes, letting someone live can be a steeper price to pay."

Klaus wasn't sure he got it, but he nodded anyway.

"Um... so, on the chamber wall, there were a list of—"

His father straightened, and before Klaus could go on, he interrupted, "you found it?"

"Yeah," said Klaus. "Yeah, I did. And I was just—are... are you L.V.?"

His father gave a brief nod.

"...Lord Voldemort," he concluded. "And that's... she knows, doesn't she? That's why Mum's the way she is, why she's been so mad at you."

He smiled crookedly. "That's..." he said, "certainly a contributing factor."

Klaus' list of questions was rapidly growing by the second—good ones, well-thought-out ones, and yet, the one that won out, the one he blurted before he could stop it, was, "did you really die? Way back then?"

His father laughed at that, and after looking thoughtful, he thrummed his fingers on the desk a few times and said, "a conversation for another time, I think."

"But—"

"Another time."

Klaus sighed. "Okay, okay. Um... I also... the basilisk, she's... I don't know what to do. She's hungry, like you said. Restless. She wants to get out—"

"Let her."

"—and I think she'll— what?"

"Let her out," his father told him. "She's been locked up in that sewer for decades. She needs to stretch, she needs to be free."

"B-but she wants to kill people—"

"It will be worse in the long run if you don't allow her to. She can be patient—she has been patient—but she has her limits," he said. "You may have Slytherin's blood, but she will turn on you if she believes she has to."

"I... I don't..."

"Listen to me carefully," his father said sternly, leaning forward. "Ankou is very old, and she was raised by Salazar himself. She has been locked up for a millennium, and last we spoke, she was closing in to her breaking point. If you permit her to leave, if you allow her to follow his orders, then it will not be your will she is obeying. Any deaths she causes will be on his hands," he told him. "But if you restrict her, if you keep her restrained within that dungeon where all she has to feed on are rodents, then she will lash out. It's only a matter of time, and the deaths she causes then—not one, but many—will be entirely upon you."

Klaus felt sick.

"I-I don't want her," he confessed, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't— you're... better at this sort of stuff than I am. You know her, can't you come and get her? Can't you let her out? Please, I don't want to be..."

His father stood and circled the desk, and with a firm grip, placed his hand on his shoulder.

He stared down at him. Klaus felt pathetic.

"I won't take this power from you," his father told him, not leaving room for question. "You are young, and I know it may seem overwhelming right now. But you are my blood. You were made for it. Take it."

"I don't know if I—"

"You can. You must. She is your responsibility now, and if you handle yourself well... if you prove yourself... then there will be room for you. By my side."

Klaus closed his eyes. Rabastan and the others spoke about it all the time, following their fathers, joining Lord Voldemort's revolution, tearing down the statute of secrecy.

He'd thought about it too—of course he had—but he hadn't imagined it like this.

"Will... will you help me?" he asked, even though he knew his father wasn't fond of stupid questions.

"You don't need my help," his father said, and he let him go to circle back around the desk. "You know what to do."

Leaving home at the end of the break—leaving Mum—felt harder that year, and when she hugged him goodbye at the station, he had a hard time letting her go. She didn't seem to mind it, like she had a hard time letting him go, too.

"Look after yourself," she told him quietly.

"You too," he said, and now that he was tall enough, he rested his chin on her head. "Give Dad hell for me, yeah?"

She pulled back from him, and though she was smiling, she also seemed to be on the brink of tears. "I always do."

Klaus squeezed her hand and gave her a reassuring smile, and then he went to board the train.

He hoped she would understand.

Klaus received his first 'acceptable' that term, on not one, but on two separate assignments. Professor Slughorn even pulled him aside after class and sat him down and for a spill about the temptations of young women and how he mustn't let fleeting pleasures affect the grades that would stay with him for his entire life.

Klaus hasn't even had it in him to argue. He'd been so tired that he just nodded and said, 'yes, Sir', 'sorry, Sir', 'it won't happen again, Sir'.

He continued that way, unfocused and distracted, ignoring his problems, until he received a letter a month into the term. It wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be. He easily recognised the hand.

Remember what we spoke about.

That's all it said.

Klaus scowled down at it. As if he hadn't been thinking that conversation over every moment of every bloody day, as if he could've forgotten. And meanwhile, Rabastan, Selwyn and Nott were getting louder about joining Lord Voldemort's budding movement, and there were more whispers amongst the rest of the house, from the Black's, the Goyles, the Travers' too. It was like the entirety of Slytherin house was mocking him, and so Klaus angrily scrunched up the letter, and when he passed the next fireplace, he tossed it right in.

Months into the term, and his father's offer together with the knowledge that she was down there, alone and starved in a decrepit dungeon filled with bones, waiting for his return and desperate to be free, finally became too much to bear.

He didn't want her hurting people... but he couldn't stop thinking of what his father had said, that she was his responsibility, and he didn't want her to suffer, either, and so, when he finally went to see Ankou, he gave her a clear set of instructions.

"You may only leave to go to the forest," he told her firmly, just the way he'd practiced. "You may kill whatever you want in there, but you're not under any circumstances to touch any... students. Adults only."

She'd hissed her displeasure sharply. "I musssst cleansssse, I musssst—"

"No. You will obey."

She wasn't pleased with him, and Klaus wasn't certain if she'd do as he told her, but for the second time, she let him leave the chamber unscathed.

And as the year went on, and the only person to go missing was Muggle Studies' Professor Horn, Klaus' grades steadily started to pick back up.

His father didn’t write again.

Mum was quieter than usual over the next break, and neither she nor his father uttered a word of the missing Professor.

But on the second evening of being home, when his father caught him in hallway on his way to the bathroom, he gave him a smile and a brief pat on his shoulder as he'd passed.

And Klaus— he should've seen it coming. The signs were there. But over that break, he had tunnel vision locked onto his own problems, was so distracted by the thought of the witch who'd died because of him, was so focused on considering what to do with the basilisk long-term and on the thought of what working for his father after he graduated would be like, that when Mum finally snapped, it took him entirely by surprise.

He woke at the break of dawn to the sounds of fighting.

It wasn't bickering, wasn't merely an exchange of sharp words, but full-blown fighting.

Loud thumping and the sounds of smashing echoed up to his bedroom from downstairs, and Klaus tumbled out of bed. Groggily, he stumbled over to the door and poked his head out, and after seeing the tell-tale flashing of light spilling in from downstairs, he fetched his wand and barrelled down towards it.

He took the stairs three at a time and burst into the living room, finding it in tatters.

His father was amongst the mess, over by the windows and he didn't have a wand in hand, but despite that, he was maintaining what looked to be a solid shield charm while coloured curses came at him from all angles. He looked murderous.

"What's going on?!" yelled Klaus.

He couldn't see her, but he heard Mum yell, "get back!", right at the same time as his father's eyes locked onto him.

He would've done as she said had he been fast enough. Instead, he all of a sudden couldn't breathe, like his throat had closed over, and was now refusing to open back up.

He started to claw at his neck, and his father snarled out harshly, "come out, Hermione."

Klaus tried to gasp, to make any sound at all, but it was as though his throat had been sealed over.

All of a sudden, Mum appeared on the other side of the room, popping up out of nowhere, and her eyes darted between Klaus and his father in horror. "Stop it!" she yelled. "Stop it, and I'll give it back!"

Unable to do much else, Klaus stumbled over to Mum, gripping onto her when he reached her to stop himself from falling, and she tossed her wand over the tattered couch at the ground toward his father.

But though she'd relinquished her wand, the spell he was under didn't let up, and pressure steadily built in his skull, ear drums pulsing.

"You've made your point,stop it!" Mum screeched.

"Oh. I don't know that I have," his father growled out viciously. "Or else you wouldn't keep doing this."

Klaus barely heard him, ears ringing.

Mum clawed at him, trying feebly to help him. "Please, I'm s— he's suffocating, Tom—"

"No more," his father hissed. "This is the last time. Swear that you're done, or he will be."

"I—" Mum made a high-pitched whine, "Yes, yes, okay! Please! It's yours, I won't touch it again, I—"

"Swear it."

"I promise, I won't touch it, please, Tom, just—"

"You will get on your knees and swear to it!"

His father had yelled, entirely unhinged, and Mum moved beside him, shouting something else back at him, but Klaus felt like he was underwater and couldn't make any of it out anymore.

He buckled, falling to his hands and knees, and his body was giving out, giving into the blackness—

Klaus gasped desperately when his throat abruptly opened back up, he collapsed to the ground in relief.

He didn't see his father storm out, but there were the sounds of heavy footsteps on the stairs and then Mum pulled him into her lap, stroking over his cheeks.

"Klaus?" she was saying, "Klaus? Are you okay? Please talk to me, please, honey, are you—"

"I—fine," he managed between breaths, blinking heavily as his head spun with the rush of oxygen. "'m'fine."

"I'm sorry," she was saying, running her hands over his hair. "I'm s-so sorry, I thought I could— I didn't mean for you to get involved, I didn't think he would—"

"I'm... okay. I'm okay," he mumbled, and using the back of the couch, he pulled himself up and out of her hold. His skin was clammy and his vision lagged a bit, but he was all right. He, Rabastan and Selwyn did worse to each other in the dorm all the time. "Fine. See? It's—no harm done," he told her, and then he asked, "what happened? What did you do?"

"I—what?"

"What did you do to push him like that?"

Mum straightened as her eyes widened. "What did I do—?"

"Bloody hell, Mum. You know what he is. Can't you just— would it really be so bad?"

Her features fell. "Would... would what be so bad?" she asked, voice small, breaking at the edges.

"To just... to turn a blind eye," he said. "To just be here with us, to just be together. I hate being between the two of you."

Mum blinked quickly, like she was having a hard time meeting his eyes. "I-I only ever wanted to protect you, I just—"

"Yeah, well, fat lot of good that's doing me! I don't remember ever asking for your protection," he snapped. "And thanks for keeping me in the loop, by the way. But I suppose that's my own fault, after all this time, expecting that you might think to tell me the truth for once and tell me he's the fucking Dark Lord."

She blanched. "Klaus—"

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, brushing her off, and he knew he wasn't being very fair, but he'd just been suffocated to an inch from unconsciousness because of her, so Klaus just shook his head and left her there.

Christ, he thought, rubbing at his neck. What a fucking family.

He leaned on the hand railing for support as he headed back upstairs, and he was about to go back to his room when he stopped and changed direction mid-way. Instead, he followed the hallway down to the end, down past his parents room and down to the library. He edged the door open, poking his head in, and knocked quietly.

His father was in there, sitting crookedly at the table, breathing heavily with his head in his hands, and at his Klaus' intrusion, he glanced up with eyes aflame and snarled out, "what?!"

"I—" Klaus fumbled his words at the electric feel of his magic prickling in the air, and he quickly eyed the carpet. "I'm sorry. I can come back later, if you want, but I just... I was wondering if... well, maybe if you had time, would you mind showing me that spell?"

His father scowled. "What spell?"

"Um... you know, the one that you— the one that made it hard to breathe," Klaus said sheepishly. "I've... read about it. Arcturus' Asphyxiation, right? I've tried it out, a few times, but it's never... I've not been able to get it work for me. Especially... not without a wand."

His father's blood-red eyes narrowed.

"I mean, it was... really impressive, what you did down there," Klaus added for good measure.

The sharpness of the magic in the air slowly started to settle. "...Why?" his father asked slowly, suspiciously.

Klaus rubbed at the back of his neck. "There's, um. Don't tell Mum, but there's a kid at school I'd really like to... show it to."

He fully expected a no. He still remembered the first time he'd asked him to show him dark magic, all of those years ago.

But Klaus wasn't a kid anymore. He was almost of age, he'd been promised a place at his side, he'd controlled the basilisk, and he'd killed, too. He'd proved himself capable. He was ready.

And so, instead sending him on his way, his father's scowl very slowly transformed into a smile, and he gestured with a nod of his head for him to come in.

"Close the door behind you."