Unexpected Contact

Two anxious days passed, each with its own flurry of owls, and a slow rain of feathers drifted onto the floor and tables on the morning when the school owl Ginny had sent to her family at last circled her head, hooting insistently. "Finally!" She reached up and retrieved the letter, then petted the owl and gave it the roll it was eyeing.

"I never saw an owl look that happy about bread before," Harry remarked. "It should talk to the boa. Is that from your parents?"

"Yes." She nearly cut herself in her hurry to see what they'd written. The letter, as it turned out, began with a note that her mother had relayed the explanation to her father, continued with strong opinions about Rita Skeeter, and then -- Ginny's shoulders slumped a bit, though she couldn't really be surprised -- pointed out rather sharply that it really would have been fairer to them and to Tom if she had written promptly and said that they understood the circumstances, but didn't like to promise anything without having at least met him -- so they had also contacted Dumbledore and would be visiting the day after next. That would be a Friday, after all, so there should be time for this in addition to homework.

"What'd they say?" Ron asked, whisking the letter out of Ginny's fingers and perusing it. "They're coming here? Friday? And they expect us to do homework? Ginny, what are you trying to do to me? Mum's going to want to make sure my bed's made properly."

Ginny blinked at him a bit distractedly. "Isn't it?"

Ron gave Ginny the incredulous look this comment deserved.

"Oh, fine, I'll talk about Potions and distract her. We found one to reduce oil in the hair. We're trying to find out if it has any odd drawbacks."

"Muggles have had that for a long time, Ginny," Hermione said kindly. "It's called shampoo."

Ginny stuck out her tongue at Hermione and took the letter back. "They're not sure whether to let Tom stay or not. But they didn't say no." She looked a bit sulky at Ron. "They let you bring a guest home without arguing."

"Well, yeah, but I didn't try bringing home somebody who used to be You-Know-Who."

"Speaking of Tom," Harry put in with a sigh, "do you see him today? It might be a good idea to give him a little warning."

"You make it sound like Mum and Dad are alarming or something," Ginny said with amusement.

"Your mum and dad are alarming on first sight. Well, your dad. He's probably been storing up all sorts of questions about mid-20th-century Muggles."

"Oh." Ginny blinked. "You... have a point. I was going to tell him anyway, though."

"Make sure he combs his hair," Hermione added absently. Everybody stared. "What? He looks like an ambulatory squirrel's nest half the time, and we want him to make a good impression on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, don't we?"

"I'll tell him you said so," Ginny said in a rather strangled voice, "but it's usually only a mess after Care of Magical Creatures."

"Well," Hermione said, rather abashed, "you don't have to include the part about the squirrel's nest."

Harry grinned. "Oh, I don't know, I think he might need that part to be convinced."

"You," Ginny said primly despite finding Harry's permanently tousled state rather charming, "are one to talk."

"Aunt Petunia tried getting my hair to behave. It never worked."

As Tom's hair did, on many occasions, show evidence of being domesticable, that argument wouldn't work on his account. Ginny laughed. "Well, I'll mention it. Although I suspect talking about hair in Snape's class might not be the best move."

*****

Ginny had duly relayed the appointment, though Tom was as yet unaware that he had been accused of being an ambulatory squirrel's nest. This was unfortunate; it might have relaxed him.

As it was, he was sitting in the Slytherin common room late that evening, staring without much attention at the book in his lap and turning over and over in his hands a scrap of parchment on which he had unnecessarily written down the fact that he was supposed to meet Ginny's parents on Friday afternoon.

He tried reminding himself that there was no question of whether he could stay with Harry and Sirius -- he might even be able to rent a room of his own, though he had his doubts about who'd let a room he'd actually want to a thirteen-year-old -- and he didn't think Ginny was likely to stop speaking to him if he failed to make a good impression -- but he couldn't seem to escape the feeling that he was going to have his fate pronounced.

"Mr. Riddle." The Head of Slytherin spoke with a precision suggesting that his words controlled the measurement of ingredients for some most delicate potion.

Tom looked up and folded the bit of parchment swiftly and neatly between his fingers, with the writing inside, without apparent attention. "Professor?"

"Follow me."

"Er...." He hadn't done anything in class or out of it to be in trouble lately, even by Snape's standards, had he? Best keep it simple. "Yes, sir."

Snape strode without further comment to an empty space between a bookcase and a sculpted silver serpent that meandered subtly along a ridge in the stone wall -- and disappeared. Tom checked briefly mid-step, then stepped forward and discovered an opening in the wall, hidden by the bookcase's shadow. It curved sharply and then fetched up in a small study.

Tom committed this new location to memory and carefully kept himself from smiling as the thought crossed his mind that perhaps Salazar Slytherin had had something in common in the way of tastes in architecture with Conrad Seale.

"Sit down, Riddle."

Tom sat, and wondered if the chair was purposely uncomfortable. "What's this about, Professor?"

"I'm told that you are to have visitors this Friday."

Well, that was one way of putting it.

"Ginny asked me if I wanted to stay at the Burrow over the summer holiday, but she didn't get around to asking her parents about it until after the article came out, and they want to meet me." And Snape didn't need to know how much the prospect reminded him of days at the orphanage when people would come to pick and choose.

He'd never been chosen, not until Hogwarts, and even that hadn't been parents.

"Ah," Snape said drily. "Gryffindor planning."

"Things got very busy right after."

"I take it you intend to accept the invitation."

"Well... if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley let me, yes. Otherwise I have a standing invitation from Harry."

Snape's eyebrows drew together, and his mouth took on a certain pinchedness. "Potter. Who will now be living with Sirius Black."

"Er... yes, sir. They gave me a key. At Christmas. And said they'd keep a room for if I needed one." He bit off any further explanation; somehow he didn't feel like telling Snape what that gift had meant to him.

"So your planned alternatives for the summer months are the Weasley household... or Black and Potter." Snape regarded him for a moment. "I wonder how many pieces of you I should expect to be arriving next term."

"One, sir. Ginny and Harry are my friends." That, at least, he was sure of, even if it had taken him most of the year to be sure. "And I don't know Sirius very well but he was...." 'Overwhelmingly exuberant' probably wasn't the wisest choice of words. "He was friendly, at Christmas."

"I was at school with Black. Appearances can be deceiving."

"He wouldn't do anything to upset Harry." That had been crystal clear, and Tom suppressed a sudden spike of envy at the memory. He fished about for something to deflect the conversation. "Why are you worried about me, sir?"

Snape's expression, never open to begin with, shut with a snap. "You are a student of Hogwarts and more particularly of Slytherin House. I am charged with your well-being."

"The only other offer I had was from Lucius Malfoy," Tom said drily. "I'd rather be thrown to the lions."

That, rather to Tom's surprise, got a tiny hint of relaxation about his professor's mouth that might have been a smile on someone else, though it flickered and was gone after less than a second. "I would not advise you to say that in any Malfoy's hearing, and I trust that you would not repeat there either that under most circumstances I think I would find little to choose from between them."

Tom snorted. "The Weasleys aren't Dark wizards. Neither is Sirius, as far as I know. And the worst thing Draco can do to me is run to Daddy."

"Indeed it is." Snape's tone suggested that this last should not be dismissed as a danger too easily. "On the other hand, Sirius Black's innocence of the crimes for which he was sent to Azkaban should not be assumed to extend too far."

"He's been nothing but kind to me, sir," Tom said carefully. He had, in fact, been much easier to get along with than Snape.

"I suppose... that is as well." Snape might have tried not to sound as if he'd had to drag the words out along with one of his teeth, but if so it hadn't worked. "For your sake, at any rate; it's hardly as if Potter needed someone else catering to him."

Tom shrugged. "He had ten years of thinking nobody wanted him around. Up until now, he had to go back to that every summer. I don't see anything wrong with people trying to make up for that."

Snape looked faintly and curiously nonplussed at this, then not quite so faintly angry. "I advise you not to take the examples of Black and Potter too much to heart -- nor certain of the Weasleys, for that matter. I also suggest that you explain that statement."

"Harry grew up in a cupboard, sir, working like a house-elf for an aunt and uncle who hate him," Tom said evenly. "Speaking as an unadoptable, abandoned child, I may be oversympathizing, but the only criticism I can make of the people who do care for him is that it's a pity they didn't show up sooner."

The black eyes blinked, once and again. "Potter's attitude is remarkably like his father's," Snape replied slowly, "for there to have been that much difference. Nonetheless, Black was... a few months ago I would have said willing to try murder at sixteen; now I will say too careless to recognize it, but I will add that he doesn't appear to be any less impulsive than he was at that time. At least, when not restrained by a twenty-foot serpent. I suspect that you will see a good deal of him wherever you stay this summer; have a care."

"I didn't know Harry's father, but unless you're accusing Harry of lying about his childhood, maybe you're misreading his attitude." Tom paused. The Gryffindors were rubbing off, he noted absently. "But thank you for the warning."

Snape sighed and leaned back in his own seat, appearing less uncomfortable in it -- at least physically -- than Tom was in his own. "Beware the pride of lions," he said ironically, "but I suppose either set is a better alternative than Malfoy Manor at this time. I assume Black isn't using his ancestral home at the moment?"

"No. I didn't know he had one."

"Well, at least he has some sense. Unless it's merely spite. Go on then." A brief pause. "I hardly believe I'm saying this, Riddle, but good luck with the Weasleys."

Tom firmly squelched his first response, which was 'I hardly believe you're saying that either, sir,' and contented himself with "Thank you."

"Go."

Tom almost thought the serpent on the wall outside greeted him in passing.

*****