The Gaunts

Hi all, back to the usual upload 'schedule', if I can call it that. I try to get a chapter up every couple of months. More action this time, I hope I've done it justice. Thanks again everyone for your follows, favourites and reviews.||

To Mr Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore,

Tom knows.

It appears you were right that his research would lead him to this conclusion, however, I urge you that I have spoken to Tom, and he does not seem interested in Salazar's rumoured work against muggles. He is simply a child who wants to know where he came from.

To prevent him from becoming secretive and distancing himself from me whilst he continues to research, I have offered to help. Rest assured I will prevent him from gaining access to potentially dangerous information, and I imagine you will do the same at Hogwarts.

I ask you to remain cautious, but kind.

Regards,

Mortimer A. Thomas

~18th July 1941...

Merlin could hardly believed how much time had passed. He looked up from his plate at the boy who sat across from him. Tom leafed through a book between mouthfuls of his own dinner, a small frown on his face.

His childish features were beginning to fade away, or maybe that was just Merlin overanalysing. In all this time he'd grown a few inches, filled out a little more... the old Warlock was watching Tom mature before his very eyes. That child who had stepped over the threshold of his home years ago was a world away from the person in front of him now. Progress had been slow, but progress had been made.

Tom Riddle's third year at Hogwarts had been interesting. In the holidays together they had launched into research on the Chamber of Secrets. It reminded Merlin of all the long nights he had spent pouring over books with Gaius. Whilst Merlin often did research on his own, it was nice to hit the shelves with a companion again. He wasn't sure sometimes why he entertained the activity, but no matter the fruitless hours of finding nothing, he'd always look over to Tom and be rejuvenated by what he saw. The Riddle boy was engaged, and he was happy. He had found purpose.

Merlin had come to realise that the ordinary workload at Hogwarts did not offer Tom enough of a challenge these days. Apparently, whilst at school, Professor Slughorn worked with him outside of lessons to try and extend his studies, and it seemed they had formed a bond. Dumbledore too had backed up this in his occasional letters, pointing out that it was a wise way to keep an eye on Tom. What Merlin had gleamed, however, from the way Tom spoke of the cushy potions master, was that he could be easily manipulated. Tom kept Slughorn around because the man was the key to what he sought: knowledge. That could still be a dangerous thing if left untapped.

A few weeks before his return, Tom had sent a letter asking if Merlin had any books on the sacred twenty eight, the group of wizarding families in Britain believed to still be pure blooded. It made Merlin sick to even think of the idea, but Tom had a fair point in trying to trace the involvement of such wizards with the Chamber over the years. There had been hints that members of the Gaunt family had helped to conceal the Chamber many years ago. Tom had latched eagerly onto this idea, his family history linking in to his mission was just further proof of destiny.

Tom leafed through one such record now. It listed little but names and dates, but the boy scanned thoroughly all the same. No doubt the ancestors of his fellow classmates were listed in the pages, and Merlin wondered what ideas of blood purity they had instilled in Tom. Tom remained nonchalant of muggles, though perhaps only because he knew he'd get a lecture from Merlin if he said otherwise. He didn't like the idea of Tom hiding his motives, but he resolved himself to just be grateful for their close relationship at the moment all the same.

Merlin was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of Tom slapping his book shut with a sigh, and chewing angrily on his potatoes.

"Anything?" Merlin queried, though he knew the answer.

"Nothing useful. But the records trace my uncle as the end of the line." Tom huffed, though he frowned a little in confusion.

"No mention of your mother?" Merlin knew there was none. When he had first traced Tom's heritage before adopting him, he'd suspected Merope had been left out for marrying a muggle.

Tom shook his head, looking thoughtfully down at his plate.

"I'm tired of this," he said eventually, "I just want to know where I came from. Is that so much to ask?" He glared accusingly at the book.

"I know. I'm doing my best," Merlin replied, "And there's still a few more books I found whilst you were at school." He tried to sound reassuring.

"If I don't find the Chamber..." Tom said, trailing.

"The Chamber of Secrets isn't the be-all and end-all you know."

"It might as well be." Tom grumbled in response, stabbing his fork aimlessly into some broccoli.

"You've always talked of proving everyone wrong," Merlin said, "That you don't need a bloodline to do great things. That you can start anew."

"Things changed." Tom glanced up at Merlin, who raised his eyebrows to say he wanted more of an explanation.

"I just want something to build off of. My history is so fragmented, no one will take me seriously without backing."

"Is this what your classmates have told you? I think you're an exceptional wizard."

Tom let out a quiet laugh that held little humour, "Maybe you see that, Mo, but no one else will. I know I can do great things, and I see this as my platform."

"You be mindful though, Tom. Don't be tempted to use your heritage to justify or excuse any of your actions." Merlin warned, more seriously this time. Tom recognised his shift in tone all too well, and he just nodded in reply.

Merlin narrowed his eyes a moment, his appetite lost at the unconvincing response. He told himself that there was still time for him meld Tom further, so that when the time came and the boy did gain power, it would be for good cause. Maybe Tom didn't truly believe in pure-blood ideals, but he still believed he couldn't succeed without them.

~12th August, 1941...

It was early morning on Pennethorne road. Merlin didn't particularly need to be up so soon after the sun on a Saturday, but he liked to send Tom off on his paper-round with a sandwich. Or maybe he was just a little clingy.

He wondered sometimes why the boy kept the job. He cared little for muggle news at any rate, and though Merlin did convert his earnings in to wizard currency, there was little else in it for him. He had asked once, and Tom had simply replied that he liked the routine.

Merlin paused from his musings to pick an apple out of the fruit bowl on his way out of the kitchen. In the corridor, he was met with Tom tying his shoelaces with a thoughtful expression. He seemed... more guarded today than usual. More internally focused.

The pale boy took the simple breakfast from Merlin with a routine nonchalance, and when Merlin smiled at him the Riddle boy ignored it.

He was a teenager, after all. It was probably just one of those days. Merlin noticed again how much Tom had grown- they were both lanky enough in frame that a stranger might think they were genuinely related. The old Warlock liked that thought.

"See you later," Tom murmured monotonously, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and heading toward the front door. He flicked open the latch with one hand, taking his cap off the hook with the other and was swiftly gone from the house.

It took a moment or two for Merlin to realise something was off.

Tom had already been wearing his coat, and it had made a little chinking sound as he moved. Merlin knew a few things for a fact: Tom didn't wear his coat often, because he didn't get cold and in his pocket there had unmistakably been coins.

A burst of urgency erupted within the old Warlock, and his heartbeat began to accelerate. He made his way toward the door. Hoping there was nothing to worry about, he had the intention to see the Riddle boy off down the street this morning, just to be sure.

All of a sudden magic compressed the air. Merlin furrowed his brow, passing quickly back into the living room and peering through the blinds.

An indigo bus had just materialised at the end of the road. It was many stories high, but so narrow that it appeared to teeter on the edge of its balance, even as the engine cut out.

The Knight bus. Merlin avoided the jolty and rickety vehicle with a passion.

The front opened with a hiss that was muffled through the window, and the distant figure of Tom stepped calmly aboard, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a tiny moment Merlin contemplated whether or not to follow. But, as it had always been since the days of Camelot, he couldn't resist. Following suspicious characters was almost like his special talent. And in this case, it was wise he should follow.

Tom was going behind his back again, only this time, it was planned. Meticulously so, and Merlin might have fallen for it if Tom hadn't underestimated just how well the old Warlock knew him. Always that was the boy's weakness: he assumed no one cared for him.

That, and the boy couldn't know how chaotic and loud the magic of that damned bus was.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Merlin immediately began to plan his route. To avoid suspicion, he would have to board the bus elsewhere. And he'd need to avoid any eyes falling on him.

With a deep breath Merlin summoned his magic. He enjoyed the moment of calmness in its wake, as the cacophony of noise from the Knight bus lurching away from the street faded into the background. He didn't bother with the incantation this time, since he knew he was travelling close by, and he closed his eyes calmly as he disappeared in a swirling wind.

He materialised moments later in an alleyway in Westminster, unnoticed by the world around him. He knew all the places where he could pass under the radar, but he would have to make absolutely certain of his inconspicuousness.

"Tóstrédan wórung eáhum mé fram."*

Satisfied now that any eyes would be drawn away from him, Merlin exited the alleyway and held a thumb out into the street. Commuters bustled to and fro, but no one saw the dark haired man clamber onto the bright purple bus and disappear from sight.

Merlin pulled his cap down over his face despite his enchantment. He thanked himself for not having eaten anything this morning, or it would certainly have come straight back up again.

His stomach churned with anxiety as he took a seat at the very back of the bus, passing with baited breath an intense looking Tom Riddle. He released this breath when Tom didn't notice him, though the irrational fear that his spell might not be working filled him with unease. His mind whirred endlessly with where Tom might be headed, but by his mode of transport the old Warlock could guess it was far enough away.

He'd thought the two of them had been on good terms lately, and now this?

Whatever Tom was up to, Merlin thought as he tried not to stare at the boy sitting three seats ahead of him, it was something Merlin wouldn't approve of.

The bus lurched beneath him once again and Merlin fought to keep his magic from clashing violently with that of the vehicle. The old man within him burst fourth with an internal grumble about how ridiculous modern wizarding transport was, and how much simpler it was just to get on the back of a horse.

He almost didn't notice that the bus had ground to a halt, and Tom was standing up stiffly in front of him, clearly a little nauseous from the journey as well. Merlin forced himself to wait a few seconds before following after the boy, stepping from the offensive vehicle onto a simple lane, banked with hedgerows and trees.

"Little Hangleton," the driver declared as Merlin passed, and the name wrung a distant, but persistent bell.

The lane itself was devoid of notable features. It was simply that: a lane.

Merlin allowed his concealment charm to melt away from him. It only worked properly in crowds, anyway, and Tom was certainly alone as Merlin eyed him roughly ten metres in front. The boy walked with such focus and purpose that Merlin barely paused before following.

Whatever his destination, it was clear that they were nearly there.

The speck ahead of him that was Tom Riddle suddenly veered off the narrow road, and Merlin quickened his pace so as not to lose him.

Even without the enchantment, Tom probably wouldn't have noticed Merlin's pursuit- he was so focused on his destination that nothing could sway him. The sense of foreboding steadily rose as Merlin realised just how important this unknown journey was to the boy.

The old Warlock rounded the corner behind Tom, and paused for a moment to take in the sight before him. He stood before a disheveled house, rusted iron gates that once kept it secure hung limply from their hinges beside him and a forest of brambles and weeds had torn up the path beneath his feet. The house itself was discoloured and every seam was riddled with cracks. Roof tiles were missing in places and rotted wood protruded from the window sills and beams. The whole place looked almost ready to collapse, and it had clearly been this way for some time.

Merlin took one cautious step over the threshold, assaulted all of a sudden by the dark magic that permeated the air and made his skin crawl. He was on high alert as a thought hit him like a brick.

He'd seen this house before.

A memory surfaced of his own trembling hands holding the crystal of Nehatid, as it showed a young girl running from this very house, to gaze through the bars of these very gates at a man who would father Tom Riddle. He stood like a rock, watching powerlessly as the boy he'd fought so hard to keep from the pure-blooded ideas of his ancestors stepped inside the Gaunt household.

He knew why Tom was here.

Quickly, he sidled from his concealed spot by the gates and made his way up to the house, fighting with each step against the repulsive magic clashing against his own. His very core didn't like the feel of this place.

Despite this, he pushed forward as silently as he could, testing the front door gently at first and then slipping inside with more confidence when it didn't creak. It was a wonder the thing was left unlocked- the Gaunts had gone pretty quiet recently, but after half of the family wound up in Askaban, rumour had it they were crazed and dangerous.

Merlin often disregarded rumours (he'd heard enough silly ones about himself), but this one he could grimly imagine to be true. His heartbeat quickened at the thought that Tom could be in danger and he passed through the decrepit former entrance hall into what appeared to be the most robust part of the house... if you could call it that.

The whole place was shrouded in darkness despite the bright morning outside. Moth eaten sofas appeared in the gloom, lit by a pale, wonky chandelier. A grime-caked rug that might once have been embroidered with emerald green snakes passed under Merlin's feet as he allowed his magic to reach out an absorb all sound from his movements. Something told him it was not wise to reveal his presence just yet.

He sensed Tom halt somewhere further into the room, and the old Warlock plastered himself behind the door when he heard a gruff voice call out.

"Who're you?"

Deciding this would be his vantage point, Merlin crouched down behind the scratched wood, and set his gaze through the hole where the doorknob might once have been. Now, at the opposite end of the room, he saw Tom Riddle planted before the sunken figure of a man. Shadows filled the sallows of his skin and his hair was wiry and unkempt, but unmistakably the fine robes that fell limply from his frame bore the signs of his former wealth, though they were now ragged and stained.

A part of Merlin wanted to pity Morfin Gaunt, but something about the malice in his grey eyes dispelled any trace of this.

Grey eyes. Just like Tom's.

Merlin swallowed as the conversation continued.

"My name," Tom replied with initial firmness, but seemed to hesitate a moment, "is Tom Riddle."

The man laughed, a hacking, mocking laugh. Though Merlin could only see the back of Tom's head, he could feel the boy's scowl from his hiding place.

"You're Morfin Gaunt. You're my uncle." Tom pointed to a ring on Morfin's knuckle that Merlin too had noted. It was from the vision.

"Yer, right," the Gaunt said taking a threatening step toward Tom, who remained admirably where he stood, "I want naught to do with you. Get out."

It took all Merlin's willpower to remain fixed behind the door and to not run forward and get Tom out of there. He could feel dark magic rolling off Morfin in waves, the man had used the forbidden curses many a time, and if he were to reveal himself he didn't want to surprise the man in to lashing out.

Mostly, though, he was terrified of what ideas this shadow of a man could plant in Tom's head.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Tom replied with a silky tone that seemed to surprise Morfin, and the older man peered at him curiously, as if he had only just noticed the boy was there.

"See, it took a lot for me to find you here, and I won't leave without what I came for." Tom's voice was chillingly calm, and as he spoke he took a step forward toward Morfin. The Riddle boy must have fixed him with such a meaningful stare, because from his vantage point, Merlin saw the tiniest flicker of alarm on the Gaunt's face.

Tom had managed to scare the man. Somehow, Merlin was relieved for it.

"Whatsit you're here for then, boy?" Morfin spat, pacing further out of the gloom, Tom tracking his every move. Now able to see his face, Merlin saw the boy smile just a little in triumph.

The old Warlock didn't see this side of Tom much anymore, but he'd be foolish to forget it. Tom could be cold and cruel, and he always got what he came for.

"The truth." Tom declared, ignoring Morfin's raised eyebrow. "I want to know who I am, and I want you to tell me where to find the Chamber of Secrets."

Morfin paused a moment, fingering the ring on his finger, which Tom eyed longingly.

"You want to know who you are, eh?" He said with a mocking smile. Tom nodded.

"If you really are my nephew- which I doubt you are- then your mother's a blood-traitor and yer father's a scumbag!" Morfin burst out, suddenly animated, his eyes filled with a crazed hate. "You don't deserve shit from me!"

Tom almost growled in response, "I'm his descendant just as you are. I don't give a damn about my real father, and I don't see why you should care so much either!"

Morfin's eyes bulged, "Take a look around you, and tell me where you came from," he said savagely, indicating the decrepit state of the house, "You are worthy of your fathers name when you two are exactly what brought the noble house of Gaunt to ruin!"

Tom actually flinched when he heard this. Perhaps it was only because the spittle from Morfin's outburst had reached him as the old man advanced closer and closer. Now he was inches from the boy's face, and Merlin waited for an agonising moment with baited breath.

Suddenly, Morfin drew back from the boy and laughed.

"Ha! You don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?" Tom ground out in a low voice, his eyes narrow. Morfin looked triumphant, but Tom's face was stony and unreadable once more.

"I ended up in Azkaban because of your father," Morfin said, waggling a finger at the boy, "Oh yes, Merope was besotted with him. The muggle deserved what I gave him- they all do. "He looks prettier covered in hives," was what I told Merope after, but she wouldn't have it."

"That's got nothing to do with me." Tom replied.

"Might as well do, your mother named you after the bastard."

Merlin closed his eyes in despair. He'd never been entirely clear on what happened between Tom's father and the Gaunts, and this was certainly not the situation he'd wanted himself or Tom to find out from.

"So desperate was you mother," Morfin continued, "that she gave him a love potion; convinced him to marry her. Then as soon as he found out about you, and the love potion wore off that filth left. Ran back to his mansion and left the true nobility to crumble. And when yer snivelling little cries sounded in that Orphanage your mother died. Because of Tom Riddle. And when I come back from Azkaban the 'ouse is empty and rotten! And the family blood is dirtied and splattered on all the walls! And your wretched father still lives in his mansion up the hill- a muggle who is capable of such evil remains in luxury whilst I have been reduced to this!" By the time he had finished, Morfin's tone was frantic; his eyes were glazed over and he panted quietly. A twisted sense of satisfaction, however, remained on his face as he took in Tom's reaction to the news. The boy remained utterly silent, but his eyes flicked from side to side as he clearly thought deeply.

Merlin recognised the madness with which Azkaban would leave a man plain on Morfin's features, and the dark wizard could barely contain himself. He burst out again.

"Now you see, huh? Now you see! You and your namesake ripped this family apart and you call yourself an heir of Slytherin?!" Morfin actually spat on the ground at Tom's feet, and the boy went rigid. Merlin's blood boiled.

"It's not right," Tom whispered after a long pause, almost to himself, "it's not right."

He looked up at Morfin, scrutinising the mans face like a farmer, wondering how much more use he can get out of a crop before it turns rotten and sour.

"My father shouldn't live that way after all he's done to us both, wizard or not."

Morfin narrowed his eyes, and Merlin too noted in the boy's use of "us both" the game Tom was playing. He was filled with dread.

"I want to forget that man ever existed, uncle. I want to erase him from my family's history and rebuild Salazar's name." Tom continued, his tone measured. When he had finished, he waited patiently for Morfin's response.

"You're a shrewd one, I'll give you that." The man muttered, and Merlin couldn't help but agree. Tom represented the traits of Slytherin perfectly.

"Now," the boy said cautiously, as if approaching a dangerous animal, "I need you to tell me everything you know about the Chamber of Secrets."

Immediately Morfin let out a hiss of objection. Merlin wouldn't have thought it more than that if it hadn't been for Tom's reaction. The boy was entirely taken aback, and his facade slipped. It was then Merlin realised that what Morfin had spoken was parseltongue, and he suspected Tom had understood every word.

"I won't take no for an answer." The Riddle boy pressed, quickly restoring composure.

"If I knew what my ancestors had done to hide the Chamber, I certainly would've opened it myself. How can you, who knows nothing of the will of Salazar, claim to be worthy enough of such knowledge!"

"No one knows what the will of Salazar was anymore. You're a fool to cling on to a past you know nothing about." Tom replied coldly, and Merlin felt the boy's frustration growing.

"You could never have the strength to enact his wish. To purge the school of muggle-borns." Morfin said, advancing on Tom again, his eyes ablaze with malice, "You're just as ridiculous as your father, and not a single man- Salazar or otherwise- is going to end up proud of you!"

The next few moments were a blur. Morfin finished his tirade of abuse and Tom reacted immediately. His magic pulsed in the air and made their hairs on Merlin's neck stand on end, as the boy drew his wand all of a sudden and rushed at Morfin. The man had little time to prepare before he was pinned against the wall, Tom's wand to his neck and the boy's furious gaze an inch from his.

Maybe Tom was only a thirteen year old boy, but it was apparent that Morfin, in his frailty, was no match for his physical strength. But Morfin was maddened and therefore dangerous and as the man thrashed his pinned arms against his sides, groping for his wand in the pocket of his robes, Merlin braced himself. As soon as the old man, unbeknownst to Tom, had wrapped his fist around his own wand, Merlin's eyes glowed for a fraction in the dim light, and knocked the stuffed stick from his hand.

It clattered to the floor, alerting Tom, who kicked it out of reach, before turning back to the man who now appeared genuinely frightened. And rightly so.

Heart hammering, Merlin wondered briefly if he'd just done the right thing. He'd saved Tom, but what would the boy do now?

"Mo is proud of me." Tom hissed into Morfin's face, and Merlin was a little taken aback. That was what Tom felt so strongly about? "And soon Salazar will be too. And everyone will forget about my father, and forget about you, and all the shadows of a past that I never chose. Now tell me what you know about the Chamber of Secrets!"

"I told you, never." Morfin objected again, and Tom only seemed to anger further.

"Tell me where it is or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" Morfin goaded, rising in volume. "You couldn't do naught to me-"

"Or I'll kill you!" Tom roared all of a sudden, his wand shaking in his grip. Merlin realised just how much all the new information he'd received had shaken the boy beneath that unbreakable mask.

This was wrong.

"Enough!" Merlin hollered, stepping into the room at last, sending out his magic to envelop Tom's own, which had suffocated the room in his rage.

The boy in question froze at the sound of his voice, turning sharply from Morfin, who appeared equally shocked. Tom locked eyes with Merlin, as if to check it was really him, and on confirmation he seemed to tighten his hold on the man before him. He didn't want to be seen to back down.

"Don't let him goad you, Tom." Merlin said in a quieter voice that held a hint of a warning.

"He hates muggles, Mo. Why don't you hate him too?" Tom tried to reason, "He deserves this- him and my father!"

"I don't wish harm on any man." Merlin replied, "Don't stoop to a level below yourself." He tried to remain calm, but his internal monologue shrieked with dread. He had to believe Tom was better than this.

Perhaps it was a combination of Merlin's intervention and the aid of his calming magic, or just that the heat of the moment passed, but Tom let Morfin drop from his hold against the wall. The man staggered and wheezed, and Tom seemed grimly satisfied by this suffering he'd caused, but he didn't stow his wand. The silent message that he was prepared to do it again.

"You heard, I assume." Tom said eventually, looking away from Merlin at the peeling wallpaper across the room. Was that shame he sensed the boy trying to cover?

"Most of it."

"Do you think he's right?" Tom indicated Morfin now, still recovering.

"I think he's insane," Merlin said, "what your father did was wrong, but all muggles are not responsible for one."

"I knew he left my mother, but I didn't know he was responsible for all this..." Tom gestured to the house.

"He wasn't. The Gaunts had been squandering their wealth and ending up in Azkaban for their rash actions for many years. They're a disgrace to Slytherin." Merlin tried to explain, and Tom gave him a curious look.

"Do you think I'm a disgrace to Slytherin then?" He shot back, "After all, I'm one of them, aren't I?"

"No, you're not." Merlin replied calmly, and he could tell Tom had been itching for a more confrontational response. He was angry; he was confused; he was questioning everything Merlin had taught him.

For who could he trust? His real family, whom he searched so long to find, or Merlin, who'd found him?

"It might be easier to blame them all- the muggles," Merlin added to his thoughts aloud, "but that doesn't mean it's right."

Tom nodded, looking down at the floor, all trace of that intimidating gaze disappeared.

"Why did you follow me?" He said after moment.

"Did I have a choice?"

"Now I'll never find out about the Chamber." The boy grumbled, almost accusingly.

"You will."

Before Merlin could go on though, he heard a cry from the gloom. Morfin, on his hands and knees, had retrieved his wand from where Tom had kicked it. He staggered to his feet, eyes fixed on Merlin.

"How dare you turn him against me! Against Salazar!" He hissed furiously.

And then the old man kept hissing. Merlin saw Tom's eyes widen in his peripheral at the intricate but nonetheless guttural sounds escaping Morfin.

The boy looked star struck to hear parseltongue spoken from another person, and indeed Merlin could only count on one hand the times he had come in to contact with it. This was certainly the first time Tom had truly heard the foreign tongue.

Merlin spared a moment to wonder what Morfin was saying, probably a long tirade of vulgarities, and he was caught off guard by the sudden crackling of magic in his ears. Instinctively, he pulled Tom behind himself to shield him and the old Warlock's eyes burned with molten power.

Time slowed.

The jinx that Morfin had hurled in a fit of rage froze a few metres from Merlin's face. He considered it coldly for a moment, before sending the offensive spell back toward its caster with a sharp jerk of his chin. His instinctive hold on time relaxed, and Morfin barely had time to register his shock before he was hit square on with a leg locking curse.

Merlin grabbed a still frozen Tom Riddle, who had drawn his wand again despite Merlin's protection, and called to him.

"Lets get out of here before he tries anything more serious," and then he cried, "prepare yourself!" Grabbing the boy's rigid arm, the pair disappeared from the hovel with a loud crack.

They lurched back into existence in the alleyway near Pennethorne road. Side-along apparition was crude, but effective, and offered the briefest moment of relief for Merlin. Plus, he could hardly use his normal method of transport with Tom in tow.

Accustomed to the feeling regardless, Merlin landed squarely on his feet, and he allowed himself a few rattling breaths whilst their surroundings came in to focus. Tom, on the other hand, collapsed against the dark wall of the twitton, eyes bulging as he gasped. Merlin realised it had probably been his first time.

Instinctively, the Warlock stepped forward to help Tom up, but a pale hand batted him away with frustration as the boy fought to regain composure on his own. His gaze kept darting about the alley, but ultimately came to rest on Merlin.

The old Warlock didn't like to see Tom like this. Almost manic in the way he scrabbled to cover up his slip in control. Merlin shut his eyes a moment, shaking his head slightly as he stood over the Riddle boy.

"You didn't believe it, did you?" He said with a deathly quiet; he had to make sure.

"What?" Tom snapped back, though when Merlin reopened his eyes he saw that the sharpness of the comment was unintentional. Tom looked... defeated.

"What Morfin said. About you, about your father."

"I don't know." Tom replied, "I don't know what to think."

Merlin folded his arms, staring at his shoes as he turned away from the boy to hide the despair in his expression. He felt Tom's eyes glued suddenly on the back of his head, as if in realisation.

"Your wandless magic," Tom rasped, still recovering from their abrupt departure just a few moments earlier, "it was incredible."

"Yeah, and it might well have saved your life." Merlin said bluntly as he spun back round to face Tom, who was beginning to regain his normal composure. He deliberately ignored the slightly sickening expression the boy wore whenever he saw Merlin's magic. Albeit dulled by time, but still unnerving in reminding Merlin of the weight of his powers.

"If I hadn't followed you..." He dreaded to think what Morfin could have done. "Why go behind my back? Why, after everything?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't approve." Tom said, and he was right. Merlin didn't approve. He felt their unfinished conversation from the Gaunt house flaring up again as he replied sharply.

"And you didn't think to listen to that thought?" His voice raised a little, "Morfin is a crazed man, who knows what could have happened-"

"It was the only way to find out the truth! If it weren't for you, he might have told me where the Chamber of Secrets was! I could handle myself!" Tom burst out, realising a little too late that he had pointed his wand at Merlin. He hadn't loosened his grip on it the whole time.

Now though, he faltered slightly, as if a little worried by making such a threatening gesture to his guardian. After all, he'd just seen what happened when someone let a spell loose on Merlin when he wasn't expecting it.

Merlin sighed, and reached a hand forward to lightly pressed the tip of Tom's wand away from his chest with a finger; he understood he had startled the boy, which wasn't something Tom experienced often. The young Riddle quickly stowed his wand away, offering the tiniest reassurance to Merlin. The old Warlock softened.

"It's not about whether you could handle yourself. Nor even that I was afraid of the things you heard today- and I was afraid," Merlin said breaking the silence as the anger began to diffuse from the air, "It's that I don't know what I'd do with myself if you got hurt."

He'd realised, in those few moments of cold rage when he'd faced Morfin, that all his worries of the corrupted ideas the old man had spouted were totally insignificant to the fears that had gripped him when he saw the spell being cast toward Tom.

As Merlin returned his gaze to the boy, he saw something akin to realisation in his eyes. Finally Tom understood that Merlin was not out to protect the world from him, like Dumbledore, instead he just wanted to protect Tom from the world. Some would say Merlin wasn't as strong as the professor, in that he couldn't prevent himself from such an attachment, but perhaps it was ultimately the key to his success with the Riddle boy.

Tom knew when he was being lied to, and when he was being seen by others as a threat. He'd grown so used to this he'd forgotten what it felt like to just simply be cared for. Maybe even loved.

He moved toward Tom, raising a hand to brush the boy's unusually unkempt hair from his face with a worried frown.

Tom, who despised fussing of any kind, surprisingly allowed him to do this.

"You're... special," Merlin whispered, and then he spoke louder, "But I told you, my wandless magic reacts to my emotions. Don't you dare put me in that situation again."

He paused to make sure the sincerity of his message sunk in. Tom nodded once, making eye contact.

"Come on, let's get you home."

That evening, as Tom departed from the dinner table to head up to his room, Merlin buried his head in his hands. The tension was stale now, and in some ways that was even worse.

He'd pondered most of the day about what course of action he could possibly take from here. As far as he was aware, Morfin Gaunt didn't know where he and Tom lived, but part of Merlin had contemplated going back to the decrepit hovel just to give the man a warning. He never wanted the crazed wizard to come into their lives again, and who knew what damage he'd done already?

Eventually, though, he'd recalled Freya's advice. She was so much wiser than he'd ever be, after all, and he should listen to her. Merlin needed help. It was time to bring everyone together, and for better or for worse, he had to trust that his friends wanted to be dragged the whole way into this.

He had some letters to write.

||*Roughly means: "distract wandering gazes"

(Essentially the spell would stop people from being able to look at Merlin too closely or identify him. Invisibility wasn't really an option because he still had to call and board the bus, but the idea with this spell is that he would simply be overlooked. Hope that makes sense.)

When it comes to spells, I plug the words I want into an old English translator and see what I can approximately come up with- so apologies if I butcher more of them in the future.

Thanks for reading!

Yours, Hedge