Chapter One
Thursday, 16th December, 2010On a chilly December morning on the second Thursday of the month, a young man walked with unusual briskness towards a rundown hat shop, it's entrance bordered up, the wood frail like worn amour against the world and its modernisation. The man, dressed in a shabby brown suit, looked around with unease as he approached his destination, his hazel eyes peering left and right, before muttering under his breath. "Albert Tennyson, My appointments for ten."
The man knew that the time was now ten-fifteen, and his lateness was noticeable, but didn't comment on it, not did he apologise. The bordered door creek, baring a small, narrow strip of shadows ahead. As if to move before he could change his mind, Tennyson stepped through.
"You're late," was the greeting he received as he close the door behind him, looking around to see a young woman behind a desk, head bent, not bothered to look up at him.
Clearing his throat, Albert Tennyson nodded. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that."
"She doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"I'm sorry."
The woman looked up, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. "Try telling her that." The woman rose, stepping around to meet the visitor. "This way, Mr. Tennyson."
Meekly, Albert followed, his gaze wondering around his surroundings, taking in the hush of the hospital and its deserted halls. They climbed a grand staircase; it's width suggesting that the hospital had once been of origin to a stately or manor home. They reached the second floor and the blonde woman turned a sharp left, going down a long hallway, her heels echoing off the wooden flooring. There, at the end, the last door to be found was where Mr. Tennyson was to meet his appointment. The young woman made no move to open the door, or to enter herself, instead she waited, her expression turning to one of caution. "I must warn you," she said, her hand on the door handle. "She is quite temperamental. Do not give her any reason go get aggravated. If she does," her face became perplexed, the grip on the cool metal tightening ever so slightly. "Give me a bell." With that, she opened the door and announced in an overly cheery voice. "Mr. Tennyson is here."
"He's late."
The voice came from the back of an armchair, where it's occupant was hidden from sight, apart from one small, pale hand that rested on the arm of the chair, facing the only window in the room. The coolness of the two words prompted Albert to come forward, expression sincere. "I am sorry ma'am. Muggle traffic is a dreadful thing."
"Alyssa," The soft yet cold voice sounded again. "You may now leave us."
Silently, the blonde woman left, the door shutting behind her with eagerness to be gone.
The two were left in the room, filled with an uncomfortable silence, as Albert Tennyson stared at the armchair, almost frightened to what he may find.
"Take a seat, Mr. Tennyson and perhaps, I may forgive your lateness." Feeling the need to make amends to his bad impression, Albert gingerly took the seat that was to the right of the woman. When he saw he saw who it was, he blinked, brows pulling together in confusion. The woman was more of a girl; no more than twenty, with lose curly red hair that tumbled to her waist. Freckles dotted the bridge of her creamy pale nose, setting off the vivid green in her eyes. He watched as she judged his reaction, a small, full mouth pulling up at the corners with amusement." Don't let the age fool you, Mr. Tennyson. I assure you I am whom you seek."
Albert attempted to close his mouth, but then opted for speech. "I am sorry, I never got you're name."
The young woman sighed, all traces of wry amusement gone, lost in a sea of self thought as her emerald gaze turned towards the window, looking out unto London's grey sky, where tall buildings stretched to reach it. "There are quite a few names I can be called," the cold voice was gone, filled with only a wistfulness that was tinged with sadness. "But you can call me Faith." It was now, that Albert Tennyson caught a small, lithe accent underneath her words, one he couldn't quite place.
"I believe you know why I'm here, Miss Faith?" Albert had begun to feel unease with the young girl's presence, like she harboured secrets that were slowly destroying her soul. And as to why she was in one of the words best mental hospitals was something that started to unnerve him.
"Yes," Faith's gaze had returned to Albert, her eyes unwavering, full of intensity. "You are here to interview me about Lord Voldemort. For some article or another "
The name made Albert wince, despite the man being dead for almost twelve years. Those who have lived long enough who probably always feel a spark of human fear of the name. Trying to hide both the fear and caution that was running through him, Albert pressed on. "A book," he corrected. "In your letter you said that you knew…him while he was growing up." The disbelief in his voice was obvious, despite his best efforts to hide it. The very notion of such a young woman having been alive to witness a man's childhood over seventy years ago was unfathomable. In Albert's word, where magic existed, many things were possible but even he found himself struggling to find a reason to such a claim.
"Trust me, Mr. Tennyson. What I say is true. I did know Thomas Riddle, or Voldemort as you may know him."
"Right," Albert didn't look convinced, but none the less, took out his wand and muttered a small spell under his breath. "Can you please start from the beginning?"
Faith leaned back in her chair, her slight frame seemed to be consumed by the large piece of furniture. Blinking, she smiled lazily. "My name is Faith Erin Summers, and later became Riddle. I was born on April seventh, nineteen-twenty-six."
As Albert began to protest, Faith held up her left pale hand, the back of a delicate silver ring could be seen. "Please, let me tell my story." Silently, Albert Tennyson closed his mouth and nodded.
"I come from a family of purebloods, originally from the north-west coast of Ireland. When I was five, my family and I moved from County Donegal to London."
Faith paused, her eyes closing as if to find inner strength to say what she needed to. "From an early age, my parents could tell that I showed abnormal signs of magic. When I was eight years old, an ageing healer proclaimed that I was a rare kind of witch. A time shifter."
Leaning forward intrigued, Albert asked, "A time shifter?"
"I can travel back and forward in time," Faith explained, opening her eyes as such wisdom glistened in green pools. "But not without limitations. Tea?"
Albert looked down at the table that separated their two chairs. "Um, no thank you."
He was eager to press on with their interview, but Faith Summers – or Riddle – calmly began to pour herself some. The fine boned china resembled her, both delicate and poise, yet could easily shatter and cut you if not handled in the right care, as Albert was begging to find out. Taking a dainty sip, Faith set her cup aside and continued with a newfound briskness. "The rules of shifting, you can go back in time, but you cannot alter it. You're presence is like a ghosts, you can witness, but not take part. The future, on the other hand, is another matter. It is like boarding a train from your present time and stepping into another. It is how I came to be here now, at the age that I am."
"May I ask," Albert injected. "How old you are physically?"
"No," Faith replied, one brow raised. "It's rude, but I am twenty-one – there is no physically about it – my mind and body are both twenty-one years of age, but I should actually be eight-one if I had remained in my own time."
Albert looked down at his hands, buying himself time to grasp the knowledge he had just been given. What Faith was saying wasn't impossible; it was just something that he had never heard of, and he found himself still struggling to believe what was being said.
"You mentioned earlier," he said, looking up to meet knowing green eyes. "That you were married to…Riddle."
Faith smiled again, the movements in her lips were both exotic and lazy as she watched with hooded eyes. "No, I didn't. But yes, I was married to him." She raised her left hand half-heartedly to show her marriage finger. On it, were not one, but two, small, delicate rings. One, her wedding band, was plain silver with words inscribed in a language that he couldn't understand. The second was grander, with two small emeralds set either side of a large onyx. "We married at seventeen, on August fifteenth, nineteen-forty-five. It was a small gathering, with friends and family – mine to be precise – in my birth town. To me, it would be four years now."
"I take it he had no family."
"No," Faith said casually, taking another sip of her tea. "His mother died giving birth and he killed his remaining relations during his school years."
Albert blinked, feeling his unease return. Gruffly, he pressed on. "Can you tell me the first time you met him?"
Softly, Faith smiled. "It would be our first day at Hogwarts, I noticed him while crossing the lake to get to the castle, but I only had a proper good look at him when he was called up to be sorted."