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Chapter Text

After hours of longing for his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor tower, he finally got his wish. He stripped off his filthy clothes, closed the curtains to the morning sun and relaxed into the bed's warm embrace. However, no matter how comfortable he got, Harry found he couldn’t sleep. Thoughts there had been no time for in the clamour of the great hall or with his friends present, were now bubbling to the surface.

Grief for Tonks, Fred and Lupin took up so much space - their lifeless forms flashed through his mind along with a thousand what-ifs until his brain had exhausted them all.
Then came images of Voldemort’s flickering gaze, unbidden.
As did Voldemort’s thoughts as Harry had experienced them from inside the man’s own mind.

They had been so incoherent when voiced aloud that they would have been the subject of ridicule had their speaker not been so terrifying.
The same was true for the odd moments when Harry had heard him speak of himself in third person, like an entity. An alter-ego. A title. A role.
Looking back on it, the being in Voldemort’s head had been completely coconuts.

There wasn’t any Tom Riddle left in there, he told himself. It eased his heart a little. Though it was ultimately the rebounded Killing Curse that had done him in, it was by Harry’s willed actions that it happened. Harry had intentionally murdered a person.
No… No, the person Tom Riddle was long dead by the time he tried to kill me as a baby, he thought determinedly.
There was something explicitly sad about that.

Tom Riddle had feared death above all - to become the occupant of an unremarkable grave with no accomplishments to his name. It had fuelled his desire for grandeur and ultimately led to the loss of his personhood.
No one would remember Tom Riddle for who he was now.
He wondered if his reconstituted spirit knew. If he had regrets now that his soul was whole anew.
Finally, his mind wandered to the forest, and the resurrection stone, feeling like he had perhaps made a grave mistake.

He awoke almost twelve hours later, no longer alone in the dorm. Ron was snoring loudly beside him, while Neville’s arm hung out from under his bedcurtains. For the better part of an hour, he tried to go back to sleep, but found it impossible.
After half-heartedly spelling his pile of clothes clean(er), he pulled the crusty garments on, draped the Invisibility Cloak over himself and set out for the forest.
In a way, Harry felt he was disappointing Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione by doing this, but sleep had helped clear his mind. It would indeed be a mistake to leave something as invaluable as the resurrection stone behind.

He traversed the castle on quick and quiet feet, stopping intermittently to listen for Peeves and people. Deliberately diverting his eyes from the Great Hall, Harry slipped out the ruined doors into the dark night beyond.
There had been some changes since the battle raged. All the dead spiders had been collected in a pile and bodies of Death Eaters were no longer strewn across the courtyard. There were still craters and debris everywhere, now dangerous obstacles in the darkness.
He stumbled down the rocky path, stubbing the same toe twice on different chunks of stone.

Finally, the deeper darkness of the forest welcomed him, and Harry permitted himself to light his wand. He followed the path to the clearing as he remembered it. Once there, he began his search, tracing his footsteps backwards over the damp moss. Hunched over with his wand inches from the ground, he scanned the forest floor for what felt like hours.
Bingo!
A shiny, black stone glinted in the blue wand-light. He picked it up, digging into the dirt with his fingers. The resurrection stone felt warm in his hand. It was home.

He wandered the halls through the small hours of the night and into the dawn, visiting places that hosted strong memories, good and bad. With nothing to distract him, his attention was easily pulled inwards. An empty feeling had settled in his chest, like a gaping hole, sucking in a draft and chilling his bones. Harry supposed it was the grief manifesting. It might also be amplified by some unknown injury, seeing as his spine ached dully in a way that wasn’t related to movement.

A sudden wetness on his feet brought his focus back to the world around him. He’d stepped in a pool of water flowing from a very familiar girl’s bathroom.
‘Myrtle?’ He called whisperingly, sticking his head through the open door. When there was no answer, he dropped his hood down and stepped tentatively into the eerie bathroom.
Nothing. No crying ghost in sight.

He stopped for a moment, staring at the sink that hid the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Could he still speak parseltongue? Dumbledore had said he could because of Voldemort, but did that mean that the ability died with him?
After all, it was a language. Could one un-learn languages? Then again, it was also a very magical ability he felt he’d never truly mastered.
He located the tiny etched snake on the side of the faucet with ease.
Squinting at it, he imagined it writhing like a real snake. Expecting it to fail and just come out in English, Harry tried commanding it quietly.

‘Open.’

He startled when what came out was a drawn hiss. The faucet and sink retracted with a rumble, revealing dark and grimy the entrance to the chamber.
I’m not sliding down there again, he thought, wondering how the prickly, vain Tom Riddle had gotten down without soiling his robes.
An idea hit him.

‘Stairs?’ He asked, picturing a snake’s face in his mind. There was a great rattle as the pipe obeyed, blocking out crude stairs spiralling downwards.
Having nothing better to do, Harry descended them.

The chamber was as gloomy as he remembered. The Basilisk, now just skin and bones, laid coiled on the floor with half its body submerged in the putrid, black pond. He took a proper look around, noting the details on the serpentine décor and the open mouth of Salazar’s statue. The Basilisk’s lair was inside the hollow of Salazar’s skull. A bed of rat bones, unlit and damp.
Squiggly lines of text had been carved into the stone on the back of the door. It said: ‘Here sleeps Ynde, Queen of Serpents.’

A lump in his stomach dissolved. One that he didn’t know he was carrying.
Now he knew her name.
Content with that discovery, Harry began his return to the surface.

That morning, the great clean-up effort began in earnest, starting with the deceased. Two Ministry officials spent the day standing over each body in turn, taking down their names and next of kin. Harry had volunteered to deal with the pile of dead spiders with Hagrid and was just about to sit down for dinner with Ginny when he felt his ears burning. A loud argument was drifting out from the room off to the side of the hall.

‘Well, there is no one with that name in our records, of course. Didn’t Potter know his name?’ Said a voice Harry assumed must belong to a Ministry worker.

‘Let’s not trouble him with this.’ He heard Professor McGonagall answer, and Harry passed his open seat, striding through the door into the room where he’d once been grappling with his fate as Triwizard Champion. A body covered by a sheet rested unceremoniously on the floor.

‘What’s going on here?’ Harry asked.

‘Well, we’re trying to find who’s responsible for this body-‘ A Ministry man in mahogany coloured robes gestured to the covered corpse with his clipboard. ‘We do not have the next of kin, or even a name on him.’

The other Ministry official drummed his fingers against his thigh and said hesitantly, ‘We hoped you might know his true name.’

Harry glanced over at the body again. He briefly pictured himself going over to it, folding back the sheet to reveal the handsome human face of Tom Riddle as he remembered him from the Pensive sessions and the confrontation with the Diary, except grey-haired and wrinkled the same as other seventy-one-year-olds. A person no one ever loved.
Once again, Harry pitied Tom Riddle.

‘Give it here.’ He said, holding his hand out for the clipboard and quill. The Ministry man handed it over without question and Harry wrote:

Name:                                  Date of Birth:                     Next of Kin:                         Relation:
Tom Marvolo Riddle        31.12.1926                         Harry James Potter          Novel Magical Bond

‘Are you certain, Mr. Potter?’ Asked Professor McGonagall stone-faced, reading what he wrote as he passed the clipboard back to its owner. The Ministry men thanked him and left with small nods and bows. Professor McGonagall’s eyes never left him.
‘You will be responsible for his burial-‘

Harry nodded, well aware. ‘About that… I was thinking – We should bury him under the Chamber of Secrets.’

She looked at him as if he’d lost his marbles. ‘At the school? Absolutely not!’

‘Hear me out! The Death Eaters won’t be in prison forever. His grave will get pilgrims…vandalism, people using the site for rituals… I’m the only person who can get down there, and the secret of his burial will die with us. Besides, he was Salazar Slytherin’s last heir.’

She observed him with furrowed brows for a moment, thinking loudly. Slowly, her expression softened. ‘Alright. Do you require assistance getting the body there?’
Her tone told of her displeasure with the arrangement, and that she herself had no desire to help him.

Harry shook his head. He could levitate the body on his own and would rather avoid having witnesses. ‘No, I just need a clear path.’

‘Then do it tonight. I’ll assure the corridors are empty.’

And so, at three o’clock in the morning, Harry Potter levitated Tom Riddle’s remains quietly through the castle halls. He interred the body under the dark stone floor of the chamber, magically engraving the black cover stone with a script he had never written before. It sounded like soft hisses when his internal voice narrated it.

‘Here lies Tom Marvolo Riddle – The Dark Lord Voldemort – Last Heir of Salazar Slytherin’
31.12.1926-03.05.1998

In Death, all Souls are Equal – All Souls are whole.

He stared at it for a good while, debating whether he should tell Ron and Hermione what he’d done. By the time his head hit his pillow, he’d concluded that he probably should tell them. If only because Hermione would ask, and Harry was a terrible liar.

‘-That’s… Awfully reverent, Harry.’ Commented Hermione when he finished telling them over breakfast the next day.

‘What do you mean?’ Asked Ron and Harry in tandem.

‘Well, you said Hogwarts was probably the only place he’d ever felt at home. I think, if he’d had the wherewithal to plan for his own death, it is the place of burial he would’ve chosen.’ Harry knew she was right. He didn’t feel like telling her that. ‘Come on, Kingsley expects us in his office at ten.’ She said when it became clear that Harry wouldn’t say more on the subject.

‘So… Did Professor McGonagall speak to you about a possible eight year? To take our N.E.W.Ts?’ Asked Hermione as they shuffled down the drive towards the gates.

‘I don’t know if school is what I want right now, honestly.’ Said Ron.

Harry smiled, for once, he was on Hermione’s side about school. ‘I think it’d be brilliant.’

One year without having to make tough decisions. Without crippling responsibilities or having to sort out where to live or what career to pursue.
Not that he needed to work. He had enough money to sit on his arse for the rest of his life if he wanted to. Whatever line of work he’d chose would probably be selected based on his need to prove himself, because there certainly wasn’t any particular future he desired. In fact, Harry struggled with imagining a future for himself at all. The thought made the hole in his chest feel even colder.

Kingsley received them with open arms and a wide, toothy grin, despite the grave faces of the Aurors occupying his office floor when they entered. ‘Aha, welcome! Our heroes! Now, let me just finish this, erm-‘ He glanced behind him at the three Aurors, one of which was holding a large basket with a pained expression on her face.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at the scene. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh, I was just receiving the report from the raid on the Lestrange residence.' Said Kinglsley smartly. 'We’ve been systematically checking each known Death Eater hideout for runaways. No matter, we can speak of this later, can’t we-‘

The Aurors glowered at him.

The one holding the basket cut him off. ‘No, this cannot wait. Mr. Potter, we have found a baby, abandoned to the care of a house-elf at the Lestrange residence. We are trying to determine its future.’

Harry’s eyes shot down to the basket.

‘A baby?!’ Said Ron disbelievingly. ‘Whose? Bellatrix?’

‘Yes, we believe so. We suspect the father to be her Master, seeing as her husband died over a year ago, and this baby can’t be more than four months old.’ Said the tallest and oldest of the Aurors, long silver hair hanging in a neat plait over her shoulder.

‘Are you seriously saying You-Know-Who had a baby!?’ Ron’s mouth hung open, stunned. The Aurors nodded solemnly. Harry took a few steps forwards, feeling an irresistible desire to peek into the basket. ‘What are you going to do with it?’ Asked Ron, baffled.

‘Well, the mother’s next of kin would be her older sister Andromeda Tonks, but Shacklebolt just informed us that she has her own orphaned grandson to care for, and would likely not accept this baby. We were thinking maybe the Muggle foster system? Or perhaps we can track down a great aunt or a cousin… Someone currently in prison might search for this child in the future… And it won’t be an easy life for it, if it gets out who the father is. It is probably better if-‘

‘No.’
At first, Harry didn’t realize he’d spoken. His words sounded distant, even to his own ears. Anger was welling up inside him, forming a rigid, painful tension in his muscles.

‘Beg your pardon?’ Said the Auror holding the basket.

‘No. No more orphanages, no more foster care-‘ Harry's voice was getting louder with ever word he spoke. ‘No more “hidden in the Muggle world”, no more distant relatives! This has to end!’

‘Then what do you suggest we do then, Mr. Potter?’ Asked the oldest Auror sharply.

‘I’ll take the baby.’ Again, his voice sounded alien to his ears, but he didn’t disagree with himself.
Sure, he’d no idea how to raise a child, but how hard could it be? And besides, Harry needed a purpose – Something to live for. Going back to school would just postpone the day he inevitably would have to reckon with his aimlessness and create a future for himself.
A baby would give him an excuse to stall until he truly knew what he wanted to do.
Now that he thought about it, this felt like a godsend.

‘WHAT?!’

‘Harry, what are you saying!?’ Said Hermione loudly.

Ron roughly tugged at him by the shoulders, giving him a hard shake as if that would stir some sense into Harry’s remaining braincells. ‘You can’t be serious, mate!’ He said directly into Harry’s face.

Their opposition only made Harry grow more determined. ‘I am serious. I won’t have this baby suffer the upbringing her father did, or I did for that matter. We need to break this cycle! I have a house, I have an elf to help me, and I have the money.’

The shorter, quiet one of the three Aurors peered at him with interest, unshocked. ‘We would have to get the permission of the presumed father’s next of kin. If we can find them, that is.’ She sent Harry a crooked, smug smile and fished out a small notepad from her breast pocket.  ‘What’s You-Know-Who’s real name?’ She asked, searching her person for something to write with.

‘Tom Riddle.’ Replied Harry simply.

Borrowing a quill from Kingsley, she jotted down a note, folded it into a paper plane with a swish of her wand and sent it on its way.

‘Let’s see what the Registry says.’ Harry returned her smarmy attitude with a confident smile. He knew well what that reply would say. Ron and Hermione’s faces paled, because so did they.  

‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Harry. We will have a hearing, figure out whose responsibility this child is by law, and we’ll settle on a solution.’ Said Kingsley, dropping down into one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his own desk. He set his fez down in his lap and rubbed his face and head with a glitzily adorned hand.

Harry’s curiosity couldn’t be staved off any longer. He took three slow steps over the floor, craning his neck to see over the edge of the basket. A tiny, relaxed face crowned with fuzzy, black curls stuck up from a thick blanket. ‘Did you find the baby’s name written anywhere?’ He asked the Auror holding the basket.

She shook her head. ‘No, and the house-elf said that no name had been decided upon yet.’

A minute or so later, a purple paper plane whizzed under the door and unfurled elegantly on Kingsely’s desk. He picked it up and Harry watched with satisfaction as the man skimmed it with pure incredulity on his face.

‘What?’ Said the oldest Auror, snapping the sheet out of Kingsley’s hand. ‘What the fuck?’

Harry smiled happily at her. She let the other two read the note as well, their eyebrows forming severe lines across their faces.

Taking advantage of their distracted state, Harry took two more steps forwards, and gently pulled the basket from the Auror’s yielding hands. ‘Now, do I have a daughter or a son?’ He asked, eyes fixed on the sleeping human in his arms.

Kingsley let out a long, defeated sigh.
‘You have a daughter.’

Chapter Text

Harry stared at the oddly shaped, black stone in his hand. The silver, etched symbol of the Deathly Hallows glimmered in the light from the Christmas tree. He’d set his favourite armchair by the window, which he’d opened a little to let in some fresh air. The downside to having an ancient house-elf was his reluctance to air the place out. Drafts were the enemy, and so Harry had to do it in secret. He closed his eyes and leaned back, feeling the sharp-angled stone dig into his skin. The cold breeze felt nice against his face.
Above him, quick footsteps were hammering.

‘Dad, where’s the gift for Victorie!?’ Bellowed his daughter from her room upstairs.

‘It’s here! Under the tree!’ He yelled back.

Seconds later, running steps thundered down the stairs before a flushed face appeared in the doorway, sticking up from her green and silver school scarf. She ran for the tree and snapped up a long, rectangular box wrapped in blue and white striped paper.

‘Thanks! I’m going!’ She ran over to give him a quick hug. ‘Bye!’

Her steps faded down the stairs and Harry returned his attention to the stone. He had a sudden urge to pour himself a glass of whiskey but squashed it quickly before it could fester into an actual want.

With a steeling sigh, he closed his eyes and turned the stone in his hand three times. He let memories fill his mind. Memories of a snooty boy in a damp, underground chamber. Of a man sending death-glares at a fat, old woman pinching his hollowed cheek as if he was some plump, little lad. A set of red eyes, flickering in madness.
Harry opened his eyes. The spirits usually said something right away, if only to announce their surprise of being among the living.
Tom Riddle said nothing.

He had appeared by the fire, faced away from Harry, hands folded behind his back.
Harry had expected the bald, ivory monster in flowing black robes. Instead, there was an elegant elderly gentleman in simple, white shirt and black trousers. His hair laid in the same effortless waves as it had when he was younger, though now it shone silver.

After several heartbeats of silence, the ghost turned around.
‘This is unexpected.’ Said Tom Riddle. His voice smooth and warm. Harry was suddenly reminded of the day he claimed kinship with this man, and he imagined a human Dark Lord under the sheet on the floor. Reality matched young Harry’s fiction quite well. ‘What can you possibly want from me, Potter?’

Harry felt his shoulders fall in relief. He’d expected madness and rage, but it seemed sanity was restored in death for at least one of his daughter’s birthparents.
Bellatrix had not been amicable at all.

‘After you died… The Aurors raided the Lestrange home, and found a baby-‘ Began Harry, thinking it best to get straight to the point.

‘And they immediately smothered it? No?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, how brave indeed. I’d have thought they’d want to erase everything I ever touched… Though I can assure you, I never intended fatherhood for myself.’ Riddle looked around the room as he talked, brown eyes scanning Harry’s gaudy Christmas decorations with contempt.

‘I figured as much. Though I’ve wondered how on earth she coaxed you into it.’ Said Harry.
It had been a persistent mystery once he knew love-potions were out of the picture.

‘… Honestly, I cannot recall much of it.’ Said Riddle, a deep furrow forming between his brows. ‘But I know it was violence, not attraction, and primarily directed at somebody else. Bella became the proxy, receiving a punishment on behalf of someone beyond my grasp at the time.’

That was quite disturbing, in Harry’s humble opinion. Not that he should be surprised. Riddle had been capable of every evil under the sun, why should rape be excluded?
On the other hand, Harry had always imagined him uninterested in sexual contact, while Bellatrix looked ready to jump her Lord in public if permitted.

‘How much of your life do you actually remember?’ Asked Harry on impulse, inwardly cursing himself once the words left his lips. Riddle, true to his prickly nature, narrowed his eyes at him.

When he saw that Harry didn’t mean it as an insult, he answered, ‘The beginning, I remember well. The end… Not much. Perhaps I should be grateful for that.’

‘Probably.’ Confirmed Harry, looking at his hands.

There was a pregnant pause, before Harry broke the silence. ‘The Ministry wanted to give the baby to the Muggle foster system.’ Riddle made a displeased but unsurprised face. ‘I stopped them. I couldn’t let the spiral continue.’

‘Ah, let me guess, you convinced Bella’s sister to take on the burden, and now you seek my gratitude-‘ Sneered Riddle, confident he’d Harry all figured out.

He won’t see this one coming, thought Harry, cutting Riddle’s tirade short. ‘No, that’s not-‘
Bouldering steps of someone running up the stairs broke him off.

‘Dad! Can I take Gaia!?’ Shouted a high girl’s voice up the hall.

‘You know Fleur’s scared of snakes, Love!’ Yelled Harry back, Riddle’s reaction be damned.

‘I’ll keep her close! Promise!’ She waited a moment before adding, ‘Please, Dad!’

‘Alright, I’ll get her, sit tight.’ Harry pushed himself up from the deep, comfy armchair and padded over to the door leading to the adjacent game room.

‘Gaia, do you want to go with Mira to Shell Cottage?’

‘Yesss. I will protect the hatchling!’ Sounded a native hiss from under the sofa by the billiards table, and the pine-green form of Gaia slid forth and out between Harry’s legs. Riddle eyed the snake in naked shock as she slithered out into the hall.

'Climb up, Gaia!’ Hissed Mira cheerfully from beyond the cracked oaken door to the hall. ‘Thanks, Dad!’ She shouted to Harry in English, her voice receding down the stairs. Harry dragged himself heavily back to the armchair, bracing himself for the worst part of this conversation.

‘You – What,’ Riddle’s eyes were moving as if reading invisible sentences written in the air. ‘How long?’ He visibly deflated, shoulders hanging sloped as he gazed dazedly at Harry.

‘It’s been fourteen years since I buried you.’ Replied Harry softly.

‘You – You buried me?’

‘I wrote myself in as your next of kin in order to bury you in the Chamber of Secrets, where no one could disturb the grave.’

Riddle’s eyes widened further than Harry thought they could. He let out a small, abrupt laugh followed by a wide, open smile that Harry had never imagined him capable of. There was no mockery in it, no edge, just a pleased, although perhaps disbelieving, smile.
Harry let the smile infect him. The corner of his own lips twitched upwards.

‘I didn’t know about Mira when I did, but when she was found, it made gaining custody easier. It also helped that you’d used my blood in that ritual in the graveyard. I showed up as a blood relative on their tests.’

Riddle just gaped at him. After a few seconds, he closed his mouth, shaking his head. ‘So… You raised her as your own…’

Harry nodded slowly, sending him a hesitant smile. He had no clue what Riddle actually thought of this arrangement.
Did he think it better or worse than the alternatives? Did he care?

‘This is unbelievable…’

‘The reason I summoned you, is that she’s of an age now where she’s begun asking questions. I tried summoning her mother… Not a success.’

Riddle snorted. ‘That I can believe.’

‘Mira knows I have this stone and what it does, and she’s able to see everyone I summon as long as I hold the stone with her. I’ve told her a – a mild version of the story.  She knows not to speak parseltongue in public and why. She does not know about the Horcruxes, nor will I ever tell her.’

‘Good,’ Riddle spat bitterly, turning his nose up. ‘That you came to know was tragic enough. Why Dumbledore would choose to divulge such things to a child, I will never understand.’

‘Wha- You still haven’t figured it out, have you? Why I came to the forest willingly?’

‘I was under the impression it was heroic self-sacrifice to save your friends. I can’t have been wrong.’ Riddle said in an arrogant, mocking tone and lifted an eyebrow.

‘No, you were partially correct. But the most important reason was that I learned the nature of the connection we had.’

Riddle arrogance gave way to an expression of deep discomfort, again narrowing his eyes at Harry. The living Voldemort had oscillated between exploiting their connection and abject denial of its existence.
The dead man appeared just as conflicted.

‘When you tried to kill me as a baby and the curse rebounded, your unstable soul split again. You left a fragment behind with me. I came to you willingly… For you to destroy it.’ Riddle’s reaction was beyond shock. Not even anger came to him. Instead, he stood as catatonic. ‘I died, actually. But I came back to life due to the unique circumstances of my death. The accidentally made Horcrux shattered.’

The silence wore on for several minutes while Riddle processed Harry’s words.

At last, he asked, ‘how long had you known of this?’

‘I only learned about it fifteen minutes or so before I went to the clearing.’

Riddle’s eyebrows shot up, then a slow, weary realization overtook his features. ‘Dumbledore?’

Harry nodded. It had taken him years to come to terms with it, but now he could comfortably admit to feeling deceived. ‘He knew. He’d known for years, and never told me. I had to hear it from Snape.’

‘…He raised you for slaughter.’ Mumbled Riddle, now with fresh, simmering anger in his voice. Harry couldn’t discern if it was directed at him, Dumbledore, the situation, or all of the above.
‘You should be grateful I never learned of it. Though I doubt I would’ve been receptible to the information, even if you’d had evidence at the ready… If I had listened, I would likely have imprisoned you. Perhaps used you for a few experiments. It would’ve been an agonizing life for you, I’m sure - But a long life.’ Speculated Riddle, pacing in slow circles in front of the fire.

‘Telling you never even crossed my mind. At the time, I would rather die than live on with the parasite.’

Riddle’s eyebrows rose again. He tilted his head, studying Harry very much like he had in the forest clearing. Eyes teeming with curiosity. ‘Are you implying you now feel different?’

‘It – It’s complicated... It left a wound.’ Harry sighed. What harm would it be in telling him? It wasn’t like he could start any rumours from the grave. ‘I thought it was grief at first, but it will not heal, no matter how much time passes. If I didn’t have Mira to look after, I’d probably be an alcoholic. Or dead.’

Silence ticked on again, with Riddle observing him like some exotic bird in a cage. A novelty from distant lands that held his endless fascination.

‘Anyway, can I rely on you not to traumatize my kid if I indulge her wish to meet you?’ Said Harry with finality, quite keen on dropping the stone soon - if only to end all the awkward silences.

‘Why on earth would I traumatize my own child?’ Sneered Riddle. His face softened again almost immediately. ‘Mira… Mira Potter… Named for a star, as in proper Black family tradition?’

‘Yes. A red star in Orion. It was a simple name that doesn’t encourage bullying, but it’s not too common either. And she’s Mira Gaunt. Not Potter.’

Riddle looked like he’d been hit by a meteor.

Harry continued unfazed, ‘That way, neither my fame nor yours can shape her life unless she wants it to. A handful of my friends and hers knows she is my daughter. Far, far fewer knows she’s yours.’

Now Riddle smiled again. A gentle one, easy and pure. He turned his head to gaze into the fire. ‘A wise call. One among many, from all you’ve shared today.’ He said, still smiling.

Harry smiled hesitantly too, thinking that being praised by Lord Voldemort should repulse him, or at least feel strange or foreign.
It didn’t - it felt painful, a good ache in his chest.
Deserved, even. Like an overdue validation he never knew he craved.
Approval from Mira’s real parents.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Harry's hand went slack, dropping the stone. It rolled from his limp hand and clattered to the hard, dark wood floor.
Riddle vanished in a blink.

Chapter Text

‘Dad, where are we going?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’ Harry marched at a brisk pace down the corridor.

Professor McGonagall had given him special permission to do this as long as it was kept strictly secret. Thus, Harry apparated to Hogwart’s gates an hour before the Quidditch match he was supposedly there for. He held Mira’s wrist through the watery fabric of his invisibility cloak, leading the way.

‘Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?’ Balked Mira when they approached the familiar, haunted corridor on the third floor.

‘Yep.’

Once inside the musty old bathroom, he stopped to listen for Myrtle, who, to their incredible luck, was not present.

Assured it was safe, Harry pulled the cloak off. ‘The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets -’ He strode over to the middle sink. Mira followed, reddish-brown eyes widening comically. ‘Is here.’ Her gaze followed the tip of Harry’s finger to the tiny snake engraved on the faucet.

‘Ask it to open, and it will.’ He said, stepping back to let the heir do her job.

‘Open.’ She hissed softly.

There was a great grumble as the sink sunk into the wall, revealing the entrance once more.

‘Stairs, please.’ Hissed Harry when it settled, not feeling like sliding down in the muck. ‘After you, Love.’ He held his arm out and bowed like a nobleman at court, letting the fair princess lead the way.
She beamed at him and stepped into the darkness.

‘Whoa…’

Mira skipped the final rung of the ladder, her feet hitting the floor with a wet smack. The torches had lit themselves, casting their gloomy light over the abundant snake imagery of the Chamber.
She spun gracefully as she progressed down the hall, finally stopping at the smooth, black, cover stone sticking up from the floor. Harry walked in slowly behind her, letting her explore at her leisure.
Her eyes fell on the grave.

‘Here lies…’ She whipped around to gape at Harry.

‘No one but you and I can visit this place. Well, Ron has heard enough Parseltongue to imitate it, but he'd rather snort slug-slime than go down here again.’ He stopped at her side, hands in his pockets. The resurrection stone felt warm against his fingers.

Mira’s head was bowed slightly, shiny, black ringlets obscuring her face. She read the rest of the grave stone in silence. 'Do you think he'd hate me?' She whispered.

‘No... No, but he wouldn't have loved you either.' Sighed Harry, refusing to lie to her.
He had told her this before, but the question was stuck in her mind, like it had for Harry and probably orphans most. The wish to know what his parents would've thought of him hadn't left him until he got the means recall them from the beyond and ask.

'He’s a proud, unsympathetic, and unappreciative person. No one has ever loved him as a human being, and neither has he loved anyone else. Frankly, he’s terrible.’ Mira furrowed her brows, probably at Harry’s use of the present tense about a man whose grave they were standing over. ‘But you can meet him if you’d like.’ Harry said, holding out the resurrection stone like an innocent pebble in his hand.

Her face lit up like the dawn. ‘Really!?’
Harry nodded, smiling hesitantly as her joy infected him.

She let out a high-pitched squeal. ‘Thank you!’ Her face settled in a satisfied grin – the months of nagging had paid off.

She was nearly bouncing with excitement as Harry turned the stone in hand, and for probably the hundredth time, he pondered how Tom Riddle could have fathered such a bubbly girl.
He took Mira’s hand so that the stone touched them both, nestled between their palms.

Riddle appeared quietly with his back to them on the other side of the cover stone. ‘Ah… How long has it been since I was here last, I wonder.’

‘Seventy years, I think.’ Answered Harry coolly. He didn’t want to reveal to Mira just how much time he’d spent talking to the old git since he summoned him first on Christmas Eve.

Riddle turned, taking in his environment unhurried. Harry felt Mira clutching his hand, and he gave hers a reassuring squeeze.

‘So, this is where – Oh.’ Riddle’s gaze met Mira’s. For a long moment, they stood frozen, observing each other with identical cherry-brown eyes.

Harry wondered if Riddle could see himself in her, the way Harry often had seen the handsome boy form the Diary echoed in her features. She had his pale skin, high cheekbones, and elegant nose. Her eyes were as similar to his as Harry’s had been to Lilly’s, except Mira’s eyelids were a tad heavier. She was tall like him too.
Taller than Harry.
She even had her father’s unbreakable, thick fingernails which had given Harry quite a headache when she was little.
Riddle stepped gracefully over his own grave, bending at the waist to get a better look at his daughter. His eyes fell to her tie and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

‘You have my eyes.’ He said, looking her over once more. Mira, uncharacteristically shy, did not answer. ‘…Your mother’s hair.’ He lifted a hand to Mira’s head, carefully brushing a stray curl off her forehead. Mira shivered. Being touched by these apparitions felt cold and wet, a little like the Invisibility Cloak swiping over bare skin.

They were “solid” to an extent, able to manipulate the living world in the same manner as poltergeists but free to pass through objects when they wanted.
‘…You inherited your grandfather’s good looks, I’m afraid.’ Said Riddle, voice drawn in the irony. ‘It’s a curse.’

Harry decided he should try to get Mira talking, as to not spurn Riddle. ‘How many cards did you get this valentine’s day? Twenty-six?’

‘Twenty-eight.’ Said Mira clearly. Her confidence returned once there was a mistake to correct.

Riddle made a disgusted expression. ‘Awful holiday.’

Mira expressed her agreement, all her inhibitions forgotten. ‘Dreadful! I can’t imagine who actually likes it! And it’s like the faculty sets it up to create as much public humiliation as possible.’
Harry smiled fondly at her.

Mira had grown up fast, and suddenly, she had more suitors than she wanted. To Harry’s delight, she agreed that none of them were anywhere near good enough for her. Harry took a peek at Riddle, who was watching her with some amusement.

‘My second year, Gilderoy Lockheart set up a service where students could get dwarves dressed as cherubs to deliver “romantic” messages to unsuspecting victims in the halls. Ginny sent me one so gruesome, I’ve since suspected the cursed Diary she carried had helped her. It was mortifying.’ Added Harry, his eyes never leaving Riddle.

A mischievous smile spread on Riddle's face, schadenfreude glinting in his eyes. ‘What? “Eyes green as a toad”, or worse?’

Harry felt his stomach take a plunge. It couldn’t be coincidence. It was impossible.
That meant that Riddle gained the memories of his Horcruxes after death.
Riddle's smile was evolving into a shark-like, devilish grin in tandem with Harry’s realizations, confirming them wordlessly.

‘Spot on.’ Harry said hollowly, trying his best to act natural while Mira’s confused stare travelled between them like a pendulum. He tore his eyes away from Riddle’s, thinking about how dead people shouldn’t be allowed to be so intense.

‘Dad, who on earth is Gilderoy Lockheart?’ Asked Mira impatiently.

‘Second worst Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher I ever had – It’s a long story.’ Sighed Harry, hoping to carefully paddle them over to safer waters. ‘The current one’s decent, right? Professor Arling?’

Mira tipped back on her heels a little. Defence was Mira’s best subject, as it had been Harry’s. ‘She’s alright, I guess. Lessons can get a bit dull.’

‘She thinks they’re too easy.’ Clarified Harry to Riddle. ‘From what I’ve heard and seen of their textbooks, they’ve really gutted the subject. The creature chapters are still intact, but they’ve removed most curses and counter-curses. And despite mine and other’s adamant efforts, they’ve still not added any survival skills, so we’ve been filling in the gaps at home.’ He didn’t need to look at Mira to know she was rolling her eyes at him

‘Survival stuff is boring too.’ She complained quietly.

Riddle didn’t comment on that. Both of them knew survival skills had been essential to the outcome of the war. Without them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would’ve been captured long before they’d found a single Horcrux.

Instead, Riddle moved the subject along. ‘What do you want to do after finishing school?’

‘Travel first, then Department of Mysteries maybe? If they’ll let me in.’ The question always ripped open a wound Mira had. Harry vividly remembered her disappointment when Kingsley told them she might not pass the basic security requirements for a Ministry job – Because of the circumstances of her birth. The unfairness of it still burned in his heart whenever Harry thought about it.

‘They will. Though you might need to work harder than others to prove yourself.’ Said Riddle seriously.

A buzzing sensation around his wrist made Harry glance at his watch.
‘We have to leave. I’ve used a Quidditch match as a cover for me being here. I actually have to be seen there.’ Muttered Harry.
He had never felt less like watching a Quidditch match in his life.

‘I’ll go ahead now. I promised to meet Faye and Nina by the Obelisk anyway.’ Said Mira to Harry before turning to Riddle. ‘It was nice meeting you. You’re not as bad as Dad said you’d be.’

‘Oh, I’m much, much worse, I assure you.’ Replied Riddle haughtily.

Mira just smiled at them and withdrew her hand from Harry’s. ‘Bye!’ She called behind her as she jogged back to the ladder.
They watched her go in silence.

Harry held on to the stone for a moment more.

Riddle had turned his attention to his own grave. ‘There’s a Gringotts vault, number 1044, which belonged to a shadow organization we created to hide Death Eater funds. Most my belongings are there. They’re hers now. She should be able to claim them without the key if she consents to a blood-test.’ He said, gaze moving to stare at Salazar’s primal likeness.

‘I have the key.’ Answered Harry. It had been in Riddle’s robe pocket when he died along with his Yew wand and an open pack of Muggle cigarettes. ‘But I haven’t been to the vault yet. I’d rather not let the Aurors get wind of its existence, and I still need an Auror guard to go to Diagon Alley, or I'll get swarmed in seconds.’

‘Do you not work for the Auror corps?’ Riddle sounded surprised. He wasn’t the first. Harry shook his head.

‘No, I do independent consultant work. They hire me for advice on a case-by-case basis, usually to distinguish between findings related to the war and newer dark activities. Most of the things they find is new, actually.’

That had been news to him when he first started. He had long lived with the delusion that only a minority of witches and wizards dabbled in dark magic outside of Voldemort’s influence, and was proven thoroughly wrong once the cases ticked in. Most cursed objects and places flagged by the Aurors were entirely unrelated to Tom Riddle. They were cruder, meaner and without the elegant flair of Lord Voldemort’s work.

‘Most dabble in dark magic with no instruction or direction. They fall prey to its allure, let the magic consume them and produce primitive results that more often than not misses their marks. This is why I instructed dark magic to be taught. The public will use it anyway, there’s nothing to lose from raising the quality of their work.’ Said Riddle.

Fifteen years ago, Harry would have disagreed on principle. Now, he had moderated his views. ‘I would agree with you, were it not for who you set to do the teaching.’

‘The Carrows were the only ones available at the time. It was never meant as a permanent solution.’
Riddle set his eyes on Harry again. ‘If you agree with me in truth – Why have you not taught Mira?’

Harry cursed himself internally for exposing himself to that question.
‘I can’t teach what I’ve never mastered myself.’ Conceded Harry.

Something dangerous glimmered in Riddle’s eyes. ‘Then allow me to help you.’ He said slowly after a few seconds.

The offer took Harry aback.
Conflicted feelings fought for dominance in his mind.
On one hand, there would be no better teacher if either Harry or Mira should ever wish to learn about the dark arts. On the other, the risk of Riddle becoming a corrupting influence was sky high.
Harry wasn’t so arrogant as to believe himself immune to Riddle’s charms. In fact, he knew better than most what he was capable of, even in death.
But the prospect had its allure. It would ensure the survival of the expertise that died with Riddle, preserving the knowledge for posterity.
Riddle shuffled his feet, impatiently awaiting Harry’s answer.

‘Alright.’

Riddle’s answering smile was close-lipped and wicked. ‘Then I’ll await your summons.’ He said smoothly, holding his chin up high. Harry nodded, suddenly anxious about what he just agreed to. He nervously checked his watch again, praying for father time to save him. The match would begin in five minutes.

‘I have to go.’ He said, shaking his wrist to get the sleeve to drop. Riddle gave him a single, slow nod.

‘Oh, and Harry?’ Said Riddle in a smooth voice as Harry was about to slip the stone back into his pocket.

‘Hmm?’ His eyes snapped back up. The use of solely his first name disturbed him. Riddle hadn't done that since Harry was very young.

‘Thank you.’

Riddle’s form dissipated before Harry could comprehend his words. He stood frozen in shock, staring at the spot Riddle’s face had been a moment ago.

Finding his wits again, Harry put the stone in his pocket.
Whatever he’d expected of this talk with Riddle, an expression genuine gratitude was not on the list. He shook his head to himself and turned to leave when his eyes once again fell at the lonely, dark grave on the floor.

I must be losing my mind, he thought and fished the Elderwand out of his pocket.
After all, he’d carried the man’s soul for seventeen years and its absence turned into a gaping void in his heart.
If anyone had the right to mourn Tom Riddle, it was him, rationalized Harry.

He aimed his wand at the grave and silently conjured a small, simple bouquet of white hydrangea.