Come Together

Chapter 1: Detour

AN: So I've decided to upload this here, considering I've got it on Fanfiction.net and AO3. I hope you guys enjoy.

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Little Hangleton was...quaint. It was everything Tom expected of a small town in the outskirts of Yorkshire, cut off from most of the world by the two steep hills it was situated between. He checked back at the parchment that had the address of his last remaining relative... Marvolo Gaunt. The namesake and his Slytherin heritage lived somewhere here, all he had to do was find him. He glanced over to the winding road that led a little ways past the town and up the hill, was a large, impressive manor. For a brief moment he thought that his grandfather lived there, but he shook that away when he remembered that the manor belonged to some muggles.

Making his way down the path specified, he checks his hair once more, then his cloak, and then his wand holster. He wanted to look as "pure" as he could before he met the Lord of the Slytherin House. Tom didn't think he was this nervous since...since he started Hogwarts.

And hadn't he impressed them? The crowd of witches and wizards, all praising him for his work, his charm. At least, to the other Houses, but the name Riddle wasn't exactly a pureblood name, was it? They had taunted him with that, at the beginning, before he set snakes at their heels with a few words, speaking to serpents like one would speak to friends. Then they groveled at his feet, did him favors with a sycophantic smile, like he was the purest of the pure.

But you're not, his mind supplied, You are just Tom Riddle.

And who is Tom Riddle, exactly? He wasn't quite sure, as growing up in Wool's Orphanage never gave one much of an identity to go on. Now that he was sixteen, there wasn't really a family who would adopt him now. Not that it really mattered, he would turn seventeen by the chime of the New Year, and in the Wizarding World he would be considered an adult. He would finally be rid of that dreaded grey building filled with such terrible memories for life, and perhaps he could carve his place into the magical society himself.

Tom's musings halted as he was met with a rather sorry sight. In front of him was the most dilapidated shack he had ever seen, far worse than even Wool's. The shack was made up of more rot than wood, excreting a smell more pungent than an expired potion ingredient. A jungle had taken up residence where the front lawn should be, and after carefully picking his way through the overgrown magical plants (taking some for later, you never know when you might need it...) he found himself face to face with a dead snake nailed to the door. Incredulously he regarded the purpose of such a thing, but shook his head and knocked on the moldy door anyway. Immediately the corpse raised its head and hissed at him.

"Who goesss there?"

Raising an eyebrow at the work of magic (was this a low level inferus or just strange charmwork?)

"The son of Merope Gaunt, and the last Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble Slytherin House." Tom hissed back, hoping he got the title correct.

It seemed his answer was valid, as the snake corpse let out a hiss of admiration before going limp again. As soon as the head hit the rotting wood the door creaked open slowly, letting out an air from within that was so foul that he nearly cast a bubble head charm on principle. After the wind cleared, he managed to breathe in enough fresh air to prevent himself from expelling his dinner. It took a few seconds to compose himself again, but now his thoughts whirled. Was this a trick? This was starting to seem less like a front to something grander, like the Leakey Cauldron to Diagon Alley, and more like a sad, painful truth. Tom schooled his face blank, even bored, but his mind began to whirl in trepidation. He pushed the door open even further, lifting up the oil lantern so that he could see inside.