Two Weeks of My Life

Rating: T

Summary: Very few people have ever surprised me. But, somehow, this Muggle girl had managed to do exactly that. Tom Riddle/OC

Author's notes: Okay, so some (probably very, very few—I am a realist) have probably noticed that I've taken "Someone Who" and "Waiting Somewhere" off. They'll be back up later; I'm going to rewrite "Someone Who" and I didn't want "Waiting Somewhere" to just sit around. Anyway, this is going to be sort of the start of the whole series. Erm… yeah. So, here it is.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be a rich, brilliant British woman. And I'm not. Obviously.


Never in my life could I remember being so cold. Not even the winters at the orphanage had put such a chill in my flesh. I cursed Burke under my breath for sending me out on this fool's errand—as if I'd find anything of worth in this tiny Muggle village.

I pulled my thin cloak tighter around me, though it did little to warm me. Burke had neglected to mention that I'd be traveling into the coldest parts of the country. With all of the Muggles around, I didn't dare use magic to relieve my chill.

The cold was getting to be far too much; my limbs were numbing and I was beginning to feel that I could not continue my journey. I found a bench on the sidewalk I'd been traveling along. It wouldn't get me out of the cold, but at least I'd have a chance to rest.

I all but fell onto the bench. As soon as I had landed upon its surface, my surroundings slipped into darkness.

Warmth flooded my body as I drifted back into consciousness. I couldn't say what it was or where it came from, but at the moment, I didn't really care. I was lying on a soft bed, covered with multiple quilts. A woman's voice drifted into the room.


"Really, John, I'll be fine," she said. "You go on to work; I'll take care of him."

Footsteps crossed the floor to the bed. A cool hand rested of my forehead.

I slid open one eye just enough to see her torso. Judging by her attire, my current caretaker was a Muggle.

She made a tutting sound with her tongue and walked back out of the room.

When the sound of her footsteps died away, I sat up, taking in my surroundings.

I had been right; the room I was in was devoid of any trappings of the magical world. The décor was plain, drab, even.

I couldn't help but sneer at the place. Somehow, the one room managed to embody all of the things I liked least of the Muggle world.

"Ah, awake now, are we?" the woman's voice said.

My eyes snapped to the doorway. A girl who must have been around my age, leaned against the doorframe. She walked over to me and placed a hand on my forehead once again.

"Still have a bit of a fever, though," she said.

It was a struggle not to pull away from the Muggle girl's touch, but I managed. She withdrew her hand and sat on the end of the bed, watching me intently.

"I found you lying on a bench last night," she said, as though I didn't know where I'd been. "Thought you'd frozen to death. You ought to find yourself a warmer cloak. You could've died."

I found a quiet irony in her statement, but didn't bother voicing it. This girl wouldn't have been capable of understanding it.

She busied herself around the room, prodding at the fire, pouring water into a large basin, adjusting the quilts and the like; I took several moments to examine her appearance.

The girl was petite—she would probably only come up to my shoulder if we stood side by side. She had long dark red hair tied into a neat plait that fell down her back. Her face was pretty, I suppose, with big grey eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her build was that of a sturdy, working girl, which is what I assumed she was.

"You're still a bit ill," she said, wiping her hands on a dark grey apron tied around her waist. "You'll need to stay here for a bit." She looked around the room, frowning at it. "I know it's not much, but it's better than that bench we found you on. Oh, and my name's Rebekah, by the way. You can call me Becky, if you like."

I didn't answer her: I was too bust considering what she had said about my having to stay in this Muggle house for any substantial length of time. The prospect wasn't a welcome one.

"Don't talk much, do you?" she said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I spoke to her for the first time since our meeting. "No," I said. "Not when there's no need."

I had thought that her smile would fade, but it didn't. If anything, her grin broadened.

"I suppose that's reasonable," she said. "Just let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the next room."

Rebekah turned to leave; she stopped when she reached the door.

"Before I go, what's your name?"

I frowned. She stood in the doorway, watching me, waiting for me to answer her question. Much as I dislike the idea of a Muggle knowing my identity and despite my every instinct telling me otherwise, I decided that there was little risk in giving this girl my real name.

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."



Okay, so that's chapter one; I hope you enjoyed it. I'll get back to this when I can. Things will be hectic on my end, but I'm really fond of this idea, so I'll try to get back to it sooner than later. Feedback and criticism both are accepted and appreciated. Let me hear from you. Much love.