But he was pleased with his accomplishments. He was satisfied, and fulfilled, and content, and he was even – though he didn’t realize it – so, so close to being truly happy. The emotion was foreign to him, and so one could forgive Tom for not identifying the strange bubbling sensation in his chest for what it was on the occasions it appeared. Prior to this year, Tom had had very few occasions to be truly happy, after all, miserable as his childhood and cruel as his nature was, instinctively seeking darkness unless something or someone else dragged him into the light. Fully human – a flawed one, a damaged one, but one still capable of good – Tom Riddle was forging a new path, one that could lead to happiness.