It's the big day: Hermione suffered an extreme case of parental anxiety. Sirius swaggered into yet another global scandal. Blacks plotted (illegal) pure-blood houses merge. And Tom risked detentions from inappropriate conducts toward the Sorting Hat.

Hermione loved Tom Riddle the boy, even though she had told herself every morning and afternoon and evening that she ought not. He's a psychopath, she told herself, a sad, miserable bastard that has so little he has to take from others at a regular basis in order to feel balanced. He's a coward, she chanted dispassionately, fearing death so much he's willing to turn himself into a monster to avoid it. He's a hypocrite, she punctuated to herself repeatedly, advocating for blood supremacy when he himself barely has a fifty percent of it. He is selfish, narcissistic, homicidal, cruel, and manipulative, and horrible, and...and also the child that she had loved, and cared for, and taught Arithmancy to for years now. (Arithmancy! Yes, that Arithmancy that Sirius scoffed at, that Ron balked at, and that Harry winced at. Really, if they had had a little bit more appreciation for the subject, she wouldn't have had to resort to bonding with Dark Lords to maintain the equilibrium of the mind!)

Tom had not become all those things, of course. But from what she had glimpsed of him (when he thought he was hiding it so well, hah!), he was close enough in nature to the Voldemort of her time that it made little difference.

He was psychopathic in the way he thought of and dealt with living beings. He wasn't one to dissect or kill animals out of fascination. It was the opposite, really, with his utter lack of fascination with them. He didn't pay enough attention to them to actively do anything unseemly, but he wouldn't mind if they die in front of him, and definitely wouldn't mind giving nature a hand if they got on his nerves. He had more than his share of inclination to hurt, torture, and kill. He had done something to his playmates, all those years ago (aside from the teeth bits), and was still doing something to them now, though the adults would be hard-pressed to catch him at it. Those kids were too tame with him, and though he was charismatic, their sycophantic demeanors did not look like something that stemmed from conventional charisma. He was quick to react (badly) when dealing with adults that annoyed him. The way he acted around neighbors and the Riddles was blatant evidence of it.

He had not showed any desire to propagate blood supremacy, but years with the Blacks had made the word 'Muggles' sounded odious from his lips and for more than once he almost slipped and blurted 'Mudblood' out in the conversation. He felt offended at being treated (however unintentionally) like a Muggleborn, and often acted as if there were few things worse than being associated with Muggles. (If only he knew).

He was selfish, Hermione knew this at a personal level. For every problem thrusted at him, the very first thing he thought about was himself, and despite all the proper behaviors, he only ever referred to Sirius and her in terms of their relations to him. It wasn't so much that he loved them, no. It was just that he perceived them to be his and thus made certain to take care of his things. The possessive tendencies grew worse over the years. But she said little about it, seeing as it wouldn't likely change his mind any time soon.

He was narcissistic, exasperatingly so. While he didn't do demeaning things like overtly admired himself, he set a bar with he himself at the top and the rest of the plebeians scuttling below. Way below. He felt himself the best and made no secret about how little he thought of the rest of the world (probably not Sirius and her, but that did not make it any better).

He was also manipulative, entirely too much for his age, anyhow. Even when one didn't consider the things happening between him and his playmates, or the Good Boy persona he wore as easily as a tailored coat, he still did it on a regular basis with his own guardians. Because he knew Sirius was strict with him but generally lax with everyone and everything else, he molded himself into a selective golden boy just for Sirius - perfect in school and comportment, but cheeky with Sirius's undesirables (Blacks and Ministry workers and Purebloods of questionable sexual orientation), bucking conventions when no (serious) harm would be done, and generally became someone that Sirius would approve of. Because he knew Hermione was half a crazed scholar, competitive yet insecure occasionally, Tom went out of his way to indulge her in every complicated subjects she wanted to force into his head (way ahead of time, really), asking critical questions that made her feel "Oh! Finally someone who truly listen!", and flattering her with topics of conversation that obviously didn't insult her intelligence (like what a majority of wizards in this misogynistic era was doing). And by the time any of them was aware of the fact that they had inadvertently agreed to give permission for him to do things that they wholeheartedly had not intended to just five minutes ago, it would already have been too late.

All of these thoughts flooded through Hermione's mind in torrents as she looked on helplessly when a young and jittery Ollivander announced thoughtfully:

"13½" long, yew, Phoenix feather core. How...curious."

Tom was smiling victoriously and turned to speak to Sirius. And Hermione was despairing because she could almost feel Harry's sad gaze judging them from the corner of the room. You have failed, see, his shadow was saying, Ten years, and he does not change. His nature does not change. And he is once again the owner of that wand, Mione. The one that would kill and torture and destroy. Harry's face flashed in her mind once more, tugging at his wand and Cedric and a Cup that was so disgusting it was a wonder he did not immediately push it away. Then his face shattered into the sad shadow that stared at her forlornly from the corner of Ollivander's shop. And Hermione's nails bit into her palms hard enough to draw blood just to stop herself from crying.

The thoughts did not leave her mind, and circulated once more, even more turbulent than the last time, as she gave Tom a hug and watched him make his way through the crowd of peers to board the train. He was solemn in their farewell, but seemed smug when leaving her arms and pushing his way to a new future, Blacks and Malfoys and Crabbes of his childhood circle flocking around him like birds.

Hermione was on the verge of tears again, not minding that Sirius was giving her fond but exasperated looks.

She cried because Tom was leaving to where she had no control over, and where he most likely would be drunk on the adulation of teachers and peers enough that world domination would become a possibility again, where the Basilisk slumbered, and where Slytherin glared at everyone through his stone eyes and hook nose all the way from the Chamber. Such bad influences. Such disastrous educational settings. Such tragedies in the making!

But she had known that from the beginning, no? Bad things happen to those who meddle with time. And saintinizing Dark Lords was a predictably uphill battle.

She cried because she was also genuinely worried about Tom, as the baby that she had loved, and felt an immeasurable amount of shame at Harry's memory for giving that much of herself to his arch enemy.

She cried because goddamnit she should have thought of all these ages ago instead of having a wand shopping session and a melodramatic farewell at the station to deal her a resounding slap. She shouldn't have needed to be woken up from the leisure dream of a peaceful family with a strange father and a creepy brother. She shouldn't have even fallen asleep long enough to have that kind of delusional dream in the first place.

"SLYTHE... Oh never mind, and here I thought I finally got a no-brainers one." The Hat changed his tone fast, for someone who had been so very certain of himself just moments ago.

Tom huffed inwardly. He could speak Parseltongue, his mother's surname was 'Gaunts'. He really was a no-brainer case. Why weren't he already at the Slytherin's table?

"Patience, young man, is a virtue. Haven't that sister and father of yours ever taught you that?"

Hogwarts, A History did make it seems like there was some sort of dubious Legilimency going on with the tattered Sorting Hat, but Tom had not expected the experience to be so intrusive. Tom was not very good with being intruded upon, but before he could immediately react by uttering in his mind a distinctly unflattering comment, he felt the Hat tightened warningly on his skull.

"Ah... and that's definitely a Gryffindor reaction if I have ever seen one."

Tom balked. Gryffindor?

"Oh, do stop the hysteria! Even that part is something resembling lions more than snakes anyhow."

Tom felt himself turning green and the view of the student bodies swam in front of his eyes. Gryffindor?

"Yes, yes. Hold your horses, Mister Riddle. You have something of old Godric, true, and plenty of Salazar, certainly, but...a good of amount of Rowena, too. How fascinating. Who brought you up, really? Reckon you want to go to the Eagles?"

Now this had just officially become ridiculous. Tom tightened his hand on the wand in his pocket and refrained valiantly from tugging it out and setting the damn thing on fire.

The Hat prattled on like a demented parakeet:

"First one in centuries, mind. Normally, Heirs of Slytherin went straight to Slytherin, no questions. But you, ah, well, are you sure you don't want to try it out at the Ravenclaw's?... Hm... you know, there are cases wherein I sorted the students into the House that was the least like them, you know, since they have too much of everything inside them already that the only thing left to do was for them to learn the only thing they didn't have. How about it, huh? Do you want to go to Hufflepuff?"

Tom blanched, took a deep breath, two, then twitched his wand and the Hat bursted spectacularly into flame.

Tom ended up in Slytherin, predictably enough, though not without a great deal of fanfare (or shenanigans, if one were to be more objective about it). Hermione received Headmaster Dippet's reproach letter with no small amount of supreme confusion. How could the Tom Marvolo Riddle, a renown loss for the theatrics industry of the early twentieth century and a certified Master of Good Boy impersonation, possibly got a detention fresh into school? And by being so overwhelmingly asinine as to set a Hogwarts' respected magical artifact on fire? Tried as she might, she just couldn't wrap her mind around it.

"Now you are just being paranoid, love." Said Sirius, deadpanned and more than a little amused at the whole spectacle, "He is not the Voldemort of our time. Not really. "

Hermione made to protest. Oh goodies, what was he even talking about?

Sirius plunged through smoothly:

"The other one is slimy and almost servile in his comportement when dealing with higher authorities. It is expected, though, since he was raised in an orphanage with absolutely nothing and that acting like a teacher pet is the only way for him to start integrating himself into our world and the higher society." He shrugged, "Our Tom, though, was brought up in the magical world, has magical nobles as playmates, and Merlin's tits it wasn't as if we didn't teach him to be outrageously aristocratic and high maintenant. So he was still a slimy fiend, true, but he has a certain degree of arrogance and willfulness in him now, making his ability to to tolerate perceived slights much more limited. This might change gradually when he matures later, but at the moment, he doesn't have to grow up too fast like the other Voldemort and could just unleash his unpleasantness much more easily."

It was irritating how much his explanation made sense. More than a decade and Hemione still felt disbelief swelled up reflexively inside her every time Sirius did something that could be associated with 'insightful' and 'intelligent'. She was such a horrible daughter, really.

"... I feel as if we have failed, Sirius." In a moment of weakness and guilt, she confessed, "He is still too selfish, too ruthless, too ambitious... I don't know, I feel as if...it's not that we are losing him, it's like we did not perceive him properly in the first place."

Sirius gave her a sharp look at that:

"It is you who have been perceiving him more kindly and sweetly over the years, Mione." He straightened his back and sighed wearily, "I'm not blaming you, mind. He is very good at making us forget what he is."

"What do we do?" Hermione asked, powerlessness crawling up her throat, "Is there anything we can do at this point?"

Sirius patted her back with a constipated expression on his face:

"We'll think of something. Don't worry, love."

The Blacks, glorified nuisances as they were, did not give them that chance.

On a terribly wet and misty day, Sirius Black II (wheezing and bleating and why the bloody hell was he not in the coffin already?) arrived at their doorsteps half an hour before midnight, entourage of gagging children in tow.

"Does no one in this century has any comprehension of reasonable conducts on social callings?" Sirius scowled and positively rooted himself before the front steps, barring his cousins' entrance.

The Other Sirius was unfazed, doubling over in a long, rattling cough that made even Hermione guilty. She grabbed her father's arm and shook her head.

In the end, Sirius sighed, bringing a hand to knead the bridge of his nose in annoyance, and stepped aside.

They settled down on the couch, old man still coughing and younger man still looking as if a huge stick was shove up his ass.

"Alright," Sirius Black II said after coughing out half a bowl of blood and sipping enough water to soil his breeches in just a few more minutes, "I heard about the origin of the kid you adopted. I want to merge the Gaunt line into ours. Give me Tom Riddle."

"What the fuck?" said Sirius Black III, incredulous.

"What the actual fuck?" roared Arcturus Black, scandalised.

"Are you fucking deranged?!" hissed Hermione Granger, murderous.

Sirius II coughed once more, but Sirius III was annoyed enough to wave his wand and sew his 'nephew''s mouth shut before he could get more blood on their furnitures. Arcturus fumbled for his wand, but Hermione's disarm spell was faster.

Sirius III was in Sirius II's face, expression thunderous:

"You want to adopt him yourself, is that it? Or force some witless Black bint onto him? Or better yet, you want to do both? And erase the Gaunt line in its entirety?"

Sirius II shook his head in both panic and outrage, before wiping out his wand and releasing the spell placed on him. He had enough wit, still, not to try to retaliate. Hermione's father would have pulverized him. The old man wheezed and scoffed:

"So what? it is a good chance, uncle, even you have to admit it. It's not like the brat can take his mother's last name. If the Gaunt line is lost either way, why not give him a greater purpose and have Slytherin's blood in our line?"

Hermione snorted and taunted:

"A half-blood Gaunt. Getting magnanimous with age, aren't we, dear cousin?"

Sirius II's face turned purple, but he only spared Hermione a glare and spat:

"Sometimes, sacrifices are neccessary. As long as Slytherin can appear in the Black tapestry, we can sacrifice a branch."

Sirius III slammed his fist into the table, breaking it into two:

"Go bail Morfin out of jail if you want Slytherin in our family tree. Tom has no need for your filthy sacrifice."

Arcturus whirled his head and gave his father an expectant look. It seems that that solutions was much more to his preferences. The Head of House Black was mulish enough to feel differently, though:

"Morfin is a criminal, ugly, and cretinous. Can you imagine how our gene pool would be debauched if he marries into the family?"

Ah, so he did consider the sister-fucking dunce first. Hermione felt disgust rising up her chest.

"Tom Riddle, unfortunate parentage aside, is a promising child, with acceptable appearance, sound mind and excellent magical prowess. I think sacrificing a diluted branch for him is reasonable." Sirius II was still talking, not caring that Sirius III and Hermione's face were turning puce, "By the way, it is only fair that you do that much for the family, uncle, especially we all have had to clean up your scandals with Nott the other month, and the recent one with the French minister."

A moment of silence. Two. Just when Hermione believe her father wouldn't deign to reply to that poor attempt of blackmailing, Sirius stupefied both of his guests in two quick movements, then levitated them outside of the house, doors banging on their prone bodies all the while. She whipped her head to him, disbelieving. He didn't look at her, though, just striding purposefully to the front step and looking down at the two men.

"Tom Riddle will not be forced to the Black family tree, by any means you offered. This will be the end of it. As for my scandal..." Hermione arrived just in time to catch his menacing whispers to the bodies of the two Blacks, "I will fucking create an even bigger one the next time you use it as a leverage, nephew. After all, my ego isn't delicate enough to be affected. Can you say the same about the Black's good name?"

One week in, and Tom already found Hogwart exhausting. It wasn't the workload (which was embarassingly easy, comparing to Hermione's overachieving excercises), it wasn't the changing staircases (which was fascinating, truthfully speaking), it wasn't even the slug fest of whose-horses-are-better-than-whose in the Slytherin's Common Room (no horses were better than Tom's, anyone with objections were welcome to be smothered in his sleep). No. It was the suspicious professors, the overly familiar dead people gliding about hall, the nosy portraits with unhealthy fascination with the so-called machinations of a Gaunt bedding a Muggle, and the judgmental magical creatures and artifacts that seemed to be of the mindset that Tom would set them on fire at any given moment in time (He was tempt to, true, but then again, even he wasn't completely uncivilized).

On a prettier note, his peers found him incredible (which was a given, duh, but anyway), older Slytherins gave him a wide berth becasue his older cousins and cronies (he disapproved of the terms, but Hermione was rubbing off on him) were all influential little shits who took offense when he was crossed, and his guardians were sensible enough to refrain from sending him Howlers in spite of his... slight mishaps the other day. They did send him reproach letters, though, with Hermione delivering nagging worries and disapprobations, and Sirius pretending to be madder than he was (unsuccessfully, mind, since even the fake stringent words wouldn't be able to hide his amusement at the entire debacle). It did bother him that the lessons were too easy, and tedious (again, Hermione made it impossible not to compare), but all in all, first week of school was good enough.

Until one fine morning, cousin Walburga came up to him with a fervent question:

"Tom... I heard that grandfather is trying to merge the Gaunt and the Black House through ways of adoption, or marriage. Do you intend to, that is..." Her voice died gradually with every words as Tom's eyes drilled into her head.

They were alone in the Slytherin's Common Room, since it was Walburga's free period and Tom had avoided his Flying lesson by feigning dyspepsia. (He wasn't that bad at it, true, but he wasn't that good, either, and Tom was offended with things that he wasn't good at).

"What?" Incandescent rage spreaded across Tom's limbs, his inside turned into ice, and the fire in the fireplace roared up, "What is it that you think I 'intend to do', mind?"

Habitual haughtiness nowhere in sight, Walburga withered in her seat, shrinking back from Tom unconsciously:

"No...nothing. I'm sorry. It is none of my business."

Tom had already sprang up from his seat, pacing accross the Common Room and out into the hall, feeling tempted to rush to the Owlery to send Hermione his accusations and outrage. How would they agree to this? To trade him over like an oversized pig? Did they mean to erase the Gaunt line from Wizardry history and there will only be Blacks with manipulated relations to Salazar Slytherin?

But, no, calm the fuck down, he told himself. What would he said in his letter, really?

Why? The merge would benefit both houses, giving the Blacks the additional prestige that comes with Slytherin's (nearly) undiluted blood, and providing the Gaunts with the affluence that had been lost to them for centuries. Sirius Black the old man was the head of the house, and when he was the one to offer...

How? Tom was already an adopted kid of a Black, just with an additional arranged marriage to a cousin with a detailed agreement filled to the brims with terms (equal or non-equal) and voilà, let there be only Blacks with pure-as-pure can be (relative, he knew, what with Tom Riddle Sr.) Gaunt descendants mixing in.

How could they? How could they not? They were Blacks, after all, and perhaps that had been the true motif they had all those years ago when adopting him, just waiting for the day that the rest of the family would know of his true heritage and crave to add him into the list of pretty trinkets in the main hall. Tom felt bile rising up his throat.

No. No. Not Hermione. Not even Sirius. No.

Another, skeptical and vindictive part in him (that sounds just like queer Albus Dumbledore) whispered: Really?

He snarled back with rage: Really.

He was right, in the end (which came as no surprise, please). Just two days later, before Tom could even make up his mind to send his tirade in written form to his sister, Hermione's letter reached him.

Dear Tom,

I trust that the first week has gone well for you? The lesson should have been a breeze, with how you are and with what we have discussed before school. Nevertheless, do not let loose of yourself and try to maintain a healthy and productive disposition in Hogwarts. Greater recognition and the continual thirst for knowledge should never be too much, in any cases.

Since your cousins are about and apparently the Black's owls are much faster than ours (ridiculous, but anyways), you must have heard about the presumptuous proposal of dear old Sirius Black II. Before jumping to (ungrateful and asinnine) conclusion and burning off the West Tower, please calm yourself down and consider the entire shenanigan properly first.

Regardless of how you see us, Sirius and I would rather swallow Goblins' excrement before doing something as distateful as selling off family members. We cannot choose our family (unfair as it may be), so that decrepit old man is in our life even if we do not want him to, and we have to live with that. You, however, we chose you, we care about you, all of our own device. So there was little to be torn about when we were forced to face that decision.

That, and the bare fact that there were no eligible of reasonably acceptable quality female Black in this generation and the shear audacity to even suggest the likes of Walburga is offensive on so many level that I have no further words to say on it.

If any of your cousins were stupid enough to poke their noses where they don't belong, I trust that you know how to deal with them on your own. Do try to be kind, though, it is not their fault their grandfather is a grasping imbecile.

When everything is said and done, I still hope that you would have a wonderful time at school. Make friends (proper ones, not toadies), study well, respect school faculties, don't kill anyone, and try extracurricular for a change. Write home often, since we are very much interest in knowing how your days go over there.

Good fortune to you, dear brother.

With much love,

Hermione

Skimming through the words, Tom's eyebrows loosened surreptitiously, without him even knowing it. He did not truly believe they would trade him over, but reading confirmation in words is still better than contemplating it (no, of course he was not agonizing over it or anything).

Folding back the letter, Tom schooled his features into its habitual distant geniality. It hadn't happened this time, true, but there is no warranty that it would never happen in the future. He would never want to feel this unbalanced again. Whatever Hermione and Sirius do, Tom will not allow them to make him feeling anxious and over-reliant ever again. He will not be controlled by anything (filthy, ridiculous feelings) or anyone (not Sirius, not even Hermione). Never again.

As for Sirius Black II... Tom smirked inwardly and put the letter into his pocket. Tom Riddle was not one to condone excessive meddling, after all.

Just a few days later, the Blacks was once again the center of the British Wizardry rumour mill, with scandals of epic proportions all around. People were whispering in each other ears about 'that time traveller who had a threesome with the French Minister of Magic and Grindelwald's second-in-command'. Witches were tittering in tea parties about 'the Blacks' Owlery exploding into dung fireworks'. And wizards of respectable and questionable backgrounds were sniggering about 'Sirius Black II receiving a Cursed letter and turning into an oversized English mastiff'.

"They need to bring him to St. Mungo", they leered, "and still it takes an entire month to the Curse to be bled away. He must have infuriated one notorious wizard!"