Mortimer. It wasn't a name he had forgotten. It was simply a name he hadn't cared to remember. It had been a lifetime since he had spoken that name. And yet today, for a reason he could not quite grasp, that name had suddenly popped into his head.

It was the name of a boy he had known when he was young. A boy very unlike him - in fact - he was as far from being like Tom Marvolo Riddle as he could possibly was kind, cheerful and very energetic. He would often be compared to a puppy, running off into the wind at break-neck speeds only to come hurtling back. And he would walk for a while in silence, deep in thought it would seem, only to turn around and say something silly like: isn't it strange how some animals can fly and some can't?
Thoughts of the past were like terrible nightmares to the man who now referred to himself as: The Dark Lord Voldemort. He repeatedly told himself that the boy Riddle was dead and gone and could never return. But still the memories rang clear in his mind and he closed his eyes, shook his head and simply stopped thinking. Today was not a day for reminiscing. Today was a day for action. Today was Thursday.

Voldemort ran a hand across his bleach white scalp and caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the window. He turned away from it, refusing to admit to himself that he missed the beauty of his youth, his short black hair, his pale but beautiful skin and his dark eyes. He didn't miss any aspect of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He didn't. But... he missed ...Mortimer.

No. He didn't.

Today was a beautiful summers day. The sun was glistening and the air smelled sweet and warm, but he hardly cared, sat in the drawing room of his fathers house. He walked to the window, the hem of his robe making no sound as it glided across the carpet behind him, and stared out across the grounds. He tried to imagine what it might have been like to grow up within the walls of this ugly house. And he would have turned up his nose at the thought, had he not lost it in the trade-off for a new lease at life. Well, if this is what you could call 'living'. But, at least, he was not dead.
He could see the Gaunt's house from here, well, parts of it, through the heavy foliage of the trees and the bushes that surrounded that derelict mansion. For some reason he did not even want to imagine what life may have been like had he lived among the men his father had once referred to as 'tramps'. But what exactly would his father know? He was a muggle. As if The Great and Powerful Lord Voldemort could have been conceived by a pathetic muggle! ...The handsome ...rich ...Tom Riddle... If he had brought up his son... But then what would have become of the Heir of Slytherin! Of course everything was meant to be this way. All was going to plan... was it not?
Voldemort brought himself out of his reverie, again, breathed in a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh before gliding to the door and waving it open. He was quite thrilled when even inanimate objects obeyed his will, although him being a wizard made it quite difficult for them to refuse. He passed along the hallway, down the stairs and out into the entrance, where he stood for a while, the dusty yellow light shining through the gaps in the front door. His eyes clouded over again... I remember the day we met. I was nine-years-old and I had decided to go for a walk. Why had I made that decision? I could hear children across the road in the park, boys, playing with sticks I thought... Then I crossed the road and peered around the fence... There were three boys - a blonde one with a dirty face - he looked about six. And two brown haired boys one short slightly chubby one - he was my age and-
"Master! Master, are - are you awake Master? Sorry to d-disturb you... I am here - as you a-asked..."
"Ah, wormtail. As always you arrive when I least desire it. I asked you to come?"
"Y-yes master but if you want me to go!" Pettigrew turned to leave, but something caught his eye and he stopped still. "Master, there is a muggle at the window!" Voldemort rose with such grace he seemed not to have moved at all and went to the window. he found himself staring at the hedges and dusty road. There was no person to be seen.
"Get out Wormtail, I've had enough of your lies!" With a nervous squeak, Pettigrew fled muttering his appeal. Voldemort heard the soft open and close of the door and thought nothing of it, until the "pop" of a disapparation made him turn to the open living room door and raise his wand. "No muggle could move that fast..." He whispered. He waited, wand poised for quite a few moments, but there was nothing. No other sounds came. He let his arm drop to his side, breathed deeply and went to sit back in his grandfathers chair.

He sat and let the day roll by. Several times his eyes closed but sleep evaded him - as it always did. I remember that day, you were the oldest of the three - older than me. Eleven. I think. And you were their leader - but not by choice - no, you would never make such a brazen declaration! But they truly respected you, they followed you everywhere. I can't recall their names... Those stupid muggles aren't worth remembering. Pathetic fools... But you... you looked at me, as if you recognised me - but you couldn't have... But then why did you blush? Did you know even then? Was it -

No. And I was glad when he... Idiot! You made me so angry! Just thinking about you!

"GAH!" Voldemort leapt from his chair and threw out his arms causing bits of rubble to come flying from the ceiling. He stormed around the room, dragging a hand across his face as if to wipe something away. But there were no tears. The Dark Lord hadn't cried for many years. Not to say he hadn't ever cried. I cried a lot that day.He shook his head. "All this lying low is starting to get tedious. Having to wait for those idiots to do such simple tasks! They weren't even pleased when I returned..."
"(Master, are you not well?)" came a hiss from the doorway as Nagini slithered into the room.
"(Nagini,)" he replied in parseltongue "(I am quite fine. Have you seen any muggles pass you by?)"
"(There is one at the window)" she hissed softly "(One is surprised that master has not noticed, he has been there some time)"Voldemort frowned and turned slowly to the window. Nothing. He could see nothing! He crossed the room and stared hard out at the grass and the hedges and the dusty road, but still his eyes did not register any such person. "(Can you not see him master? It seems he sees you)" Voldemort pressed his face to the glass and caught his own reflection. Suddenly an idea came to him, and he conjured a mirror beneath the window sill so as not to alert the muggle and held it to the window. As he looked into the mirror he saw a shimmering reflection of a boy in his late teens smiling directly at him. Just as soon as he appeared, he was gone.

"Mortimer!" cried the Dark Lord, his eyes wide. He put his hands to the window, unstuck it with difficulty and pushed it outward letting in a soft warm breeze. He breathed it in, hoping for some sign that the boy had been real! But to no avail. He refrained from calling out to him, regardless of how dearly he wished to and pulled the window to a close, coughing a little as dust was thrown into the air around him. "(Leave me)" he hissed coldly and watched as the serpent slid away. He fell into a chair by the window and held his head in his hands. He tried his best not to cry. He tried his very best.

. . .

"Hi. Um. Is there something you wanted? Did you want to play with us?" Tom surveyed the two younger boys, with an air of distaste. He disregarded them for the moment and looked up to the oldest boy.
"Why is your face red?" He asked as if he hadn't heard the question. The boy shrugged. He put his hands in his pocket and shuffled from foot to foot.
"It's 'cause you're kinda cute, little orphan boy."
"How do you-"
"You all dress the same. I'm Mortimer." Tom said nothing. "You wanna be called 'Orphan Boy'?"
"My name is Tom."
"Good. You wanna play with us? This is Billy and John. You little ones run and I'll catch'ya. But I'll warn you Tommy-"
"It's Tom-"
"-I'm fast!" He continued ignoring the remark. "Ready? Set. Go!" John and Billy hurtled off in two different directions, but Mortimer didn't even notice them - he was looking straight at Tom. Tom ran - as hard and as fast as he could. What would the boy do once he caught him? Would he hurt him? He cast a quick glance behind him and ran behind a tree. "BOO!" Yelled Mortimer - Tom screamed and raised his arms. Mortimer laughed but the boy kept screaming. Suddenly he realised - Tom was crying. "Hey." He said putting his arms out to the boy and fighting to comfort him. "Hey, little Tom, calm down - I'm not trying to harm you." He had a soothing voice and Tom stopped struggling and looked up. He let the boy put his arms round him and pull him close to his side. "There you are, that isn't so scary now, is it?" Tom wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"I th-thought you were going to hurt me..." He sniffed trying his hardest to regain his composure.
"Seriously. Anyone would have thought you'd never played before."
"No. I haven't." He admitted. Mortimer sighed and just looked at him, but Tom didn't really care for his pity. He was enjoying being wrapped in the boys arms, nestled into his side. Mortimer was warm and smelled like summer...
"Do you like cuddles?" Asked Mortimer. "You seem to like them. I doubt you get many at that orphanage of yours, do you?" But Tom didn't reply.

. . .
T B C