The beginnings of a long journey. We hope you all enjoy. As always, we own nothing except our OCs.

- Grey Phoenix and Fangs


Prologue: The Beginnings


31st December 1926

It happened on the last day of the year.

The children had been barred from going outside because of the heavy sheen of snow. The night was bitter cold, colder than Eva could remember in years.

There was a rapping at the door – loud, sharp and desperate. Eva rushed to it, opening to allow whatever broken soul was on the other side. A woman not much older than herself, with dull hair and a pale, plain face stood there, clutching at her heavily pregnant stomach.

She quickly let the haggard woman through, leading her to a bed. Tying an apron around her wrist, Eva ran to find some blankets, warm water and the other essentials.

Within the hour, the birthing was done.

The woman's instructions were clear, yet also bizarre. She wished for the child to be called Tom – after his father – and Marvolo after hers, with Riddle for the surname. Perhaps the woman's family were circus folk?

Beyond that, the plain woman had hoped the boy would be pretty like his father. Eva quietly agreed, thinking the woman was hardly an oil painting.

Again, within the hour, the woman was dead.

Eva placed young Tom into a crib, leaving to fetch him some milk. It was only later, months later, that she realised what it was she found so strange about the boy.

He hardly cried since being removed from his mother. In fact, he hardly cried at all.

24th June 1936

Billy Stubbs was crying. He had been doing so ever since his rabbit had gone missing.

Most of the other children were also crying or attempting to comfort the boy. However, it was Tom that had impressed Eva with his maturity.

Despite their fight the day before, Tom had placed a gentle hand on Billy's shoulder and softly whispered to the other boy. Eva left the children to continue looking for the creature. No doubt, she mused with a sigh, that they would find it wandering around the gardens. Just like last time.

As she entered through the back door, Mavis came running down the stairs, tears in her eyes. The girl's skin was pale, ashen white as bone.

Mavis lead her upstairs, refusing to speak despite Eva's attempts to probe. With every step, Eva felt more and more uncomfortable. There was a strange feeling in her stomach. It felt as if it was sinking, like an anvil slowly crushing her. She had a terrible premonition.

Somehow, she knew that, without knowing how, what they would find would be something terrible.

Eva entered the room. The sight that greeted her made her sick to her stomach.

Billy Stubbs' beloved rabbit hanging from the rafters. The poor beast was limp, blood running from its nose while its neck was crushed.

Eva side-stepped the puddle of vomit, no doubt Mavis', to approach the rabbit. As Mavis cut it down, nausea wracked through Eva's body. She left the room, limply making her way down the stairs towards the children. Most of them were gone by now, only Billy and Tom remained.

Tom glanced her way first, tapping Billy Stubbs on the shoulder. The younger boy glanced up, sniffling as he did. Eva hesitated for a moment. There was something off here. The cold feeling in the pits of her stomach intensified as she instructed Tom to leave to speak with Billy alone.

The distraught boy shook his head. "Could Tom please stay, Matron?" She glanced between the two – one hopeful, the other emotionless.

With a slow sigh, Eva nodded. She carefully explained to the boys that she would come and collect them when it was time for the funeral.

They buried the rabbit in the garden.

The children cried, the other staff tried to comfort them, Mavis gripped her chest, while Eva Cole just thought. She'd known that something didn't sit right with her over the whole thing. There was something off about the way Billy and Tom had been acting. And the strange gleam in Tom's eyes when he spotted her after finding the rabbit.

None of it made any sense. It was impossible for someone Tom's size to hang the rabbit from the rafters. And yet, she still wondered.

There had been other moments too. Tom seemed to have strangely good luck when other children bothered him. Of course, there was no proof. And the boy seemed so nice and sweet, if a little strange.

18th August 1936

The daily trip to the little seaside village had started out well.

The children had all enjoyed themselves, and it felt good to get away from the general hustle and bustle of London.

Then, a few hours after they'd arrived, Mavis had declared that little Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were missing. Eva had begun to panic.

There were others who had wondered off from the main group, but Benson and Bishop had never done so before. High and low they searched, and for hours without end. They asked throughout the village without much luck. Then, after refusing to talk to anyone but Eva Cole herself, one of the younger villagers told a strange tale.

She claimed that a strange-looking nice boy had taken them. According to the villager, the boy had shown them something in his hand – something she swore had appeared out of thin air. The two younger ones had clapped and laughed. One had apparently said: "That's cool, Tom! Can you teach us?"

Eva had frowned at that. She had her suspicions about Tom, suspected that he was bullying the other children, but she had no proof. And to suggest he would kidnap them!

Yet there was more, the girl claimed.

She had said Tom had done this to her as well, that he had shown her the same tricks, and led her off to a cave on the seaside.

When Eva pressed her to say what he had done, she fell silent. The girl would say no more, apparently afraid of what 'the strange boy' would do to her if he ever found out she had 'tattled'.

They found the missing children, and of course they had been with Tom.

Physically, they were unharmed. And yet, when she looked into the shadows behind their eyes, and the cold – almost inhumane – gleam in Tom's, not for the first time, it had given her pause.

Eva couldn't be entirely sure why she felt so uncomfortable; after all, none of the three seemed like they had been harmed. There wasn't really anything at all to suggest that Tom had harmed Amy and Dennis.

And yet, the looks on their faces. Eva tried to put it out of her mind, to forget about it. But she never could.

Tom had done something to them, just as he had done something to the girl she had met in the village. Just like he had killed the rabbit of poor little Billy Stubbs all those years ago. There was, of course, no proof to be had. And when she confided in Mavis about her fears, the younger woman had laughed.

"Eva," she had said, chuckling all the while, "What are you saying? You think that kind, sweet little boy is capable of such things? Tom would never! He wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a rabbit. And he certainly wouldn't hurt another human being."

Eva had silently nodded, trying to convince herself that what Mavis was true. She wanted to believe it so. And yet, there were too many bizarre coincidences when Tom Riddle was involved. Too many… peculiarities.

She thought back to the time when he had been born. Even then, as a baby, he had been… weird. Never really crying like the other babies. And all those times he had unsettled her. Like when she had seen him after the rabbit had died.

Or this recent incident, her mind wandering back to the little girl in the village. The girl had seemed so earnest, so truthful. Hadn't she herself always thought there was something not quite right with Riddle and his mother?

At the time, Eva had mused on whether the family had been circus folk. Perhaps she hadn't been that far from the truth. Her grandfather used to say that Gypsies, and other queer folk of that ilk had strange capabilities.

Perhaps that was it then? The boy was a Gypsy? Eva let out a groan and sipped her still steaming cup of coffee.

Somehow, she knew her questions would never be answered.

11th June 1996

Albus Dumbledore hastily pulled himself from the Pensive. His curse-riddled hand shook as he stared at the empty pensive vials on the mantlepiece.

Eva Cole's memories had been difficult to process, but the job was done.


It was the first night of December and the soft snow blanked the grounds. Cries echoed throughout Ravencroft manor, originating from the west wing.

There were screams of a woman in agony, and answering voices urging to push. The birth had been unusually difficult, taking over twenty-two hours. And yet, the healers assured the lord of the manor, there were no complications. The child was just determined to be difficult it seemed.

Hadrian Ap Morgan ran a hand through his thick blonde locks, staring at the paperwork on his desk. If not for that infernal seeress and her supposed 'prophecy', he wouldn't be in this trouble. Silently, the man prayed the child would be more intelligent than his buffoon of a son-in-law.

The Greystone family had produced several brilliant wizards and witches. Hector Francis Greystone was certainly not one of them.

He snorted. What sort of a man had the middle name Francis?

The sound of the screams abated, and there was a loud urgent rapping at the study door. He barked at the person on the other side of the door to enter. It did, revealing his wife, Eugenie. Hadrian's face softened as he realised who it was, smiling at the Veela poking her head through the door.

The woman beamed back. She gestured for him to follow her, mouthing "It's time." Hadrian nodded, and together the two made their ways towards the birthing room.

The healer allowed them entry, Hadrian nodding his thanks. The lord of the manor stood by the door, watching his family interact.

Rhiannon Greystone was lying on the bed, Eugenie sitting beside her with a small bundle wrapped in her arms. The fool, Hector, was standing uncomfortably off to the side. Hadrian rolled his eyes as he glared at the younger man.

Making his way over to the bed, he watched with observant eyes as Rhiannon glanced at her husband. "Should we name her after your conventions?" Hadrian's daughter asked the other man.

When there was no answer, she continued. "Or do you think we should give her a Welsh name?" Still there was no reply.

The younger wizard was gaping at the child like a fish out of water, before he closed his mouth and hardened his gaze. Hadrian yet again rolled his eyes. Of course the Greystone heir was irritated by the fact that his firstborn was a female.

Hadrian placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and stared into the blue eyes of his granddaughter and at the tufts of blonde hair. Before his very eyes, the blue shifted first to green, then brown, followed by orange, red, yellow and finally returning to a shade of blue. The child's hair twisted to a deep royal purple.

He smiled at the baby girl's antics, and beamed as she reached up, gripping his finger. With a laugh, he turned his smile to his daughter on the bed.

"Nyxeris Greystone," Hadrian said, as he plucked his granddaughter off his wife's lap, hugging her as he did so. "Named after the Greek goddess of the night and discord. My little Nyx."