A/N: Hey Everyone!

First, Thank you to everyone who followed and reviewed this story! You guys made me think it might not be so bad! Thank You!

Second, this is probably historically incorrect when it comes to the years of Blitzkrieg in World War II but I needed to be this way for the story to kind of work. It isn't that badly distorted, just slightly by a few years. If you have a problem with this don't read.

Third, I only read over this once because I'm exhausted from writing all day so if there's mistakes either ignore them or let me know. I'm sure there a few, I'd be amazed if there wasn't. Ill fix them later.

Enjoy!

August 15, 1944

Tom trudged his way back to the orphanage, through the deserted streets of London, his hands in his pockets, scowling bemusedly at the damaged sidewalk traveling below his feet. The once architecturally handsome buildings, crumbled down onto the sidewalk and street, causing Voldemort to slowly maneuver his way through the rubble. He was in one of the areas of London that had been recently berated by the German Luftwaffe.

It was late, being fully dark with twinkling lights pebbling the sky. He knew Mrs. Cole would have his skin for being out so late, like always, but he really could care less. She was always anxious about safety as of late, with the war raging. He only had a few weeks left until he started Hogwarts for his final year, and then he wouldn't have to return to that depressing place ever again. He abhorred the pale excuse for a home that he was shackled in, as if he were merely a filthy muggle. He never willingly spent time at the orphanage, if he had any say in the matter.

And usually he did.

Mrs. Cole was a mule of a woman, but he always found a way to… persuade… her.

Of course, he would never hurt the woman, under no circumstances would he do something so stupid. To risk being expelled from the one thing that made him free of the orphanage, would be one of the daftest things he could do. No, he had to remain at Hogwarts, if he wanted to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position when Professor Merrythought retired.

But he did have other ways of persuading the woman. One meaningful glance from him, and that would shut the hag right up. He had a way of scaring the bint right out of her socks, with only a twitch of the hand. She was incredibly jumpy around him, ever since the summer after his first year.

He had been perfectly content, sitting on the front steps of the orphanage, with a book in his lap that he had stolen from the Hogwarts Library. He had easily snuck a few books past the always sleeping Librarian, Madam Hall, and had taken it back to the orphanage to study over the summer. At the time, he didn't have the money to buy new or even used books to read over the holiday, and he was not going to be stuck in the Muggle world without a single thing that could link him back to the only world that granted him the success and power he had been searching for. He had been intrigued by the vague information Professor Merrythought had offered over the course of the year and decided to delve deeper into some of the Dark Arts he was learning to defend against.

He was reading about some dark curses he wasn't meant to learn about until fourth year when Billy Foster and a group of other kids taking residency at the orphanage had come looking for a fight. They were fond of mocking him and occasionally even roughed him up a bit if they thought they could get away with it.

Rumors had spread, and most kids at the orphanage figured he was attending an institute for the mentally insane. He made an effort to keep to himself, which was not too challenging at all, always being on the quiet side, but ever since he had gotten back from his first year at Hogwarts it became increasingly difficult. He usually did a fine job of ignoring Foster and his gang of friends but that day Billy was determined to pick a fight.

After a few scratching comments from Foster about Tom's non-existent family and not getting the reaction he wanted, he dove for Tom's book, and at the time, being taller than Tom, held it out of Tom's reach.

Tom had not reacted well to say the least.

After a few failed attempts of jumping to regain his stolen book and a few biting comments about Fosters' own family, Tom, with clenched fists, closed his eyes momentarily and allowed his anger to boil even more. He wasn't agreeable to other people taking his things. If it was his, it was bloody well going to stay his. And if he wanted it, it would eventually be his, no matter what the cost.

Billy screaming snapped him to attention. He found the book's pages had morphed into jagged teeth, and had taken all of Billy's hand up to the wrist into its makeshift mouth and was gnawing on it. When Mrs. Cole had run out to see what all the screaming had been about, she was horrified and looked in a state of shock between the book and Tom, before grabbing the binding of the book and yanking it of the blubbering boy's arm.

The Ministry of Magic had considered the incident too minor to try and erase the memories of the boys who had seen it and merely slapped Tom on the wrist. His school records had been completely clean and the official in charge of the incident believed it was only because Tom let his emotions get the best of him. After everything had been settled, Mrs. Cole eventually convinced the boys it was a mean prank played by Tom, though they never really believed her.

Mrs. Cole remained vigilant from a distance and was often jumpy.

Other rumors took place of the arm eating book story throughout the years at the orphanage, and each one became more stretched and exaggerated than the last. From that day on, no one at the orphanage would dare talk to Tom, or even look at him in a bad manner out of fear. Tom appreciated the rumors because it kept everyone at the muggle infested orphanage out of his business.

He only stayed at that pathetic excuse of a home to eat and sleep. Sometimes when Mrs. Cole was incredibly stubborn, or in a cranky mood, he would stay and dismally do his assigned chores, if only to conciliate the lady's temper and to keep her from pulling him out of Hogwarts. He absolutely loathed she had that power over him, and more than once had she threatened to not allow him to return to Hogwarts. She, unfortunately, was his legal guardian, and had complete knowledge that he was a wizard, and with one letter to Hogwarts could request his discontinuation of enrollment.

He did try to keep a charade of politeness towards the woman, just like he did at Hogwarts to his professors, but only for show.

When he wasn't at the orphanage, he would normally just wander the streets of London. He sometimes would admire the rubble of buildings that had been destroyed by the Germans, earlier in the war. He could admit appreciated the stupidity of the Muggles, and how easily they destroyed themselves. He could never feel sorrow for the mangled bodies, the victims of the bombings, he found when wandering muggle London. He just wasn't built to feel those kind of emotions for creatures so beneath him. Even though he wasn't pueblood- thanks to his father- he was well above in status than ordinary muggles.

Other times, when he was avoiding the orphanage, he went to Diagon Ally, like today, to at least be surrounded by tolerable people, who actually had standards and worth. He could only tolerate so much of the filthy Muggles and their idiotic wars.

He hated the thought of these muggles, believing in their own importance, running around seeking to control each other, and their pitiful governments collapsing with the slightest disturbance. He could not understand how some wizards and witches could willingly mate with muggles, or how some could see fit, for mudbloods to infiltrate wizarding society. It was all a ludicrous idea that many sympathizers played with.

He did not see the need for incompetent, muggle-raised, mudbloods, to be interfering in the wizarding world. Magic stealing mudbloods were a subwizard race, blessed with the ability of magic and cursed with the brain of muggles. Pea-brained mudbloods, raised with their ideas of equality and democracy, encroaching on wizarding society, determined to erupt change, where their change was not asked for nor appreciated.

The wizarding word had continuously been similar to how it had been hundreds of years ago with very little difference in society, and now mudbloods were trying to attempt change, with their strengthening beliefs that they had a right to practice magic.

It was a sickening thought.

Despite his upbringing in the disadvantages of muggle society, he was able to see the large difference in the refinement of wizards and the barbaric manner of muggles. Mudbloods were not raised in an atmosphere that might allow them to understand the wizarding world fully nor would they ever, always having the outside muggle word, affect their thoughts and choices.

All these intense feelings of hate, disgust, and resentment, were easily concealed. He was a master at masking his feelings no matter how strong it boiled on the inside, he could remain indifferent.

Tom suddenly stopped, startled out of his loathing thoughts, as he heard the sirens start to life as they began to wail their warning scream throughout the city. London was being attacked again. The Blitzkrieg, Germany's way to reinstate fear in the people of London.

Tom swore as he picked up his pace.

The Muggles had nothing better to do than fight a war. That was another reason why Muggles were so absurd. They were rash enough to fight back when Germany obviously, was more powerful. They just caused more harm than good, trying to fight something stronger than themselves.

Continuing to dodge debris that littered the street he began to wonder where the Germans were targeting this time.

He wasn't worried that he was going to get injured; quite the opposite. He just found it utterly annoying to hear the constant detonations of explosions.

If needed, he could simply pull out his wand to protect himself; he was after all, of age to use magic.

He heard an explosion come from somewhere across the city, and he could only shake his head, before increasing his pace once again, directing to his place of board.

Only a few more weeks until I'm free of here.

Mrs. Cole had always been an admirable, kind, and thoughtful lady. She cared for the children of the orphanage as if they were her own. She loved what she did, caring for the children, who did not have anyone to care for them. But she also had to be firm, in a time of war, and not everything could be rainbows and butterflies.

The war had been storming for years, causing most children to mature at a considerable young age. Most children didn't have the spirit to play, when bombs dropped in the streets above, as they hid in a cellar underground. Many of the children had come to be in her care during the Blitz, losing their entire families when the bombs exploded, as the Nazis dropped bombs from the skies, almost every night for a year. It seemed as though the bombing of London would never end.

But it had.

They were attacked occasionally, and she and her wards, were rushed down to the cellar to ride out the attack. So far they had remained untouched, unlike many of their surroundings, and most children had been kept safe.

Most, meaning a few of her older boys, were the ones who had been deeply affected by such a horrendous war. The older boys, her youngest who was enlisted was sixteen, had been taken into the military over the course of the war. She had no objection to the enlistment, believing it was a great honor for her boys to serve and protect their country.

All of her older male wards had been sent off to war.

All except one.

Tom was a strange boy, who had over the years, had only grown odder and more sinister. She had been reassured by the professor who had come years ago, that the school he had been accepted to was a school for the talented, but she often wondered if the strange institute, which she had never heard of before, was only encouraging his behavior. Every summer he came back, he only worried her more and more. When she tried to force the boy to enlist, the school had refused to allow the young man to serve, insisting that his education was essential to him.

Now, as she ushered her wards into the cellar, as the city was unmercifully bombarded with explosions above, she couldn't help but envision sending the missing boy into service, voiding the schools wishes, to spare her nerves. He always was missing, worrying her poor nerves, and when he was at home he deliberately startled her, making her heart jump, and aging her months each time.

As she finished corralling the children into the cellar, which doubled as a bomb shelter, she made her way up to the front door. She was fairly certain the boy would not be waiting on the doorstep or strolling up the street, to come home and wait the attack out in the cellar, but she always left the door unlocked for the boy for when he finally came back.

As Mrs. Cole twisted the lock on the door knob into the unlocked position, she had a momentary will to look outside for Tom.

It was an abnormally cool night for August, but Mrs. Cole thought nothing of it as she scanned the street up and down as far as she could see for the dark haired boy. The night sky would occasionally light up with an explosion and blast the sound for all to hear. Fortunately the attacks seemed to be directed some ways away, almost at a safe distance. The street outside was empty, neighbors hiding themselves in their own shelters. She didn't see the troublesome boy and cursed him and his damned wandering habits.

She chanced a look down at the ground before her as she began to step inside, resigning looking for Tom, only to be set still as asphalt.

At her feet, laid almost peacefully, was a bulk of cloth, blood, and a giant mass of brown hair.

Mrs. Cole screamed which came out as a hoarse cackle, and felt her heart stall.

The long hair was tangled and matted with blood and dirt, and was splayed across the form's face, giving the figure the look of a featureless pile of body parts.

The figure lay on its back, limbs spread across the cement sidewalk.

Once the old woman's shrieks died, they were replaced with the sounds of heavy beating of her heart in her ears, while the explosions in the background continued to demand her attention.

Mrs. Cole slowly lowered herself, all the while her heart beating in a feverous panic, as she began to determine if the unknown mass was living.

It was.

The small figure was covered in blood on the waist of the tattered shirt and right hand, while blood was splattered over the remaining areas of unaffected body and clothing. The old woman continued her assessment by moving the bushy hair to the side, to reveal the features of a female.

The girl wore funny clothes, including trousers made of a denim material and a shirt not a blouse she was accustomed to seeing girls wear.

Mrs. Cole, letting her nurturing side take control, and ignoring the strange clothes the girl possessed, began to assess the damage and care for the injuries and began to attempt to bring the girl to conciseness.

Something was off about the girl.

Where had she come from?

Was she caught up in the bombing?

That would explain the injuries.

But if so, how did she get to be left upon her doorstep if the bombing was at least a few miles away?

Mrs. Cole's thoughts ran rampant through her mind as she tried to look at the injuries on the girl's hand. It appeared to be broken in many places.

Mrs. Cole sighed as she realized how long it would take for all the injuries to heal. She would be left with many scars if she didn't get medical attention soon, and the luck of getting a doctor after a bombing was slim.

"What is that?"

Mrs. Cole's head shot up to see the exact boy she had been looking for before she had laid her eyes on the jumble mess below her. Mrs. Cole raised herself from her kneeling position by the poor girl's head to face the dark teenager who stood before her.

He had seen the woman bent over a dark figure from up the street, and it had spiked his curiosity. So instead of sneaking in the back like he normally did he chose to approach her and the battered body at her feet.

He looked as perfect as he had when he left in the mornings, not a hair out of place and clothing looking as if they had just been pressed, comparatively to the now panicky eyed woman whose hair had flown wildly from her bun from the stress of the day. As he appraised the dirty figure strewn across the ground, his dark eyes hid his curiosity and wariness he felt, instead, only revealing his unreadable stare.

"Tom!" She shirked in a scolding manner, continuing, "You nearly put me to an early death! Where have you been? Oh, never mind-" She was interrupted by a small moan let loose from the girl's mouth.

She jumped back down, returning her attention to the damaged girl, who remained unconscious, ignoring the young Dark Lord's question.

"She might come to soon", Mrs. Cole said almost to herself.

He continued to stare down at the girl, as Mrs. Cole frantically cared for the girl. He thought about leaving, either going inside or going on another walk, but his curiosity was insistent.

"Who is she?" Tom questioned again, only to be shushed by the working woman.

Who did this lady think she was, shushing him?

Tom sighed and once again considered going inside and repeatedly wondered why he hadn't already. He was tired, hungry, and not really in the mood to deal with muggles.

An eruption sounded, closer than any before. Mrs. Cole stopped her examination of her patient and looked once in the direction of where the explosion had taken place, back towards the door of the orphanage and then back down to the mangled girl. Mrs. Cole huffed out a breath and mutter a string of curses about the damn war

The old lady looked up to him, once again the precarious situation they were in.

"Oh Tom- be a dear, help me carry the poor thing inside. We can't leave her here, in her state-"

I'm. Not. Touching. That. Thing.

"-bleed to death within the next few hours if she doesn't get medical-"

No.

"- it would be cruel to leave the girl here to die."

His mind spat all the foul mouthed things he couldn't possibly say aloud. So badly he wanted to refuse. He wanted to spit in her face and tell her how much he hated her. How much he wanted to kill her.

But he couldn't. It wouldn't look good. It wouldn't allow him to get where he wanted, to get to where he could follow out his plan. He reasoned if he wanted to remain in Mrs. Cole's good graces he would need to oblige to her request, as much as he wouldn't want to get muggle blood on his person. He only had a few weeks left anyways, and he would never have to set foot in the damnable place again or deal with the senile lady.

"Of course." He said resisting the urge to grit his teeth keeping a slight kind and concerned edge in his voice. He must've not done that great of a job though because Mrs. Cole gave him a curious look before turning and opening the door for him and the girl.

He lowered himself slowly and much more gracefully than should be humanly possible. Picking up the limp girl in his arms, he could smell the distinct smell of her blood and knew it was already on him staining his clothes.

As he adjusted his hold his bare hand made contact with the bare skin of her arm, and a vision flashed before his eyes.

The room was dark and dungeon-like. It almost reminded him of the Slytherin Common rooms. Almost. It was different. It sounded strange, but it felt more mature and developed than the dungeon at Hogwarts. It was very detailed so Tom was sure it wasn't a memory of any kind.

Both the ground and walls were made of stone and the very large empty room only held one thing.

It was a figure, tall and pale. It had billowing black robes that were draped elegantly around his arms and body cascading to the ground. His back was positioned towards Tom and the bald humanoid figure stood with his head held high. Suddenly, he assumed it was the figure, called out to him.

In Parseltounge.

"Tom."

Tom inhaled sharply, as he snapped out of what had felt like a very realistic dream. It had seemed like he had been in the room, like he could feel the chilly atmosphere envelop him or that he could hear his name echoed of the walls. Tom inquisitively looked down at the little bloody thing in his arms, and realized it must have been when he touched her skin that he got the vision. He was no longer touching the exposed skin on her arm, but had an urge to touch her again to see if it would happen again.

"Tom?" Mrs. Cole asked worriedly, snapping him out of his daze.

He realized her had been standing and staring at the girl in his arms for too long, and his eyes broke away and up to Mrs. Cole. He thought of an excuse quickly.

"I didn't realize she would be so cold," Tom said interestedly.

She looked at him questioningly, before ushering him to hurry inside. He was interested to see what would happen if he touched her again, but he would have to wait. He needed to do this without witnesses to figure out whatever that was when he touched her. If it was an ancient or was it put there. One thing was for sure, she wasn't a muggle.

He furrowed his brow, and held the form as far as his hold would allow him, struggling to evade any blood from staining his clothes any further and to prevent him from touching her again. He followed a distressed Mrs. Cole inside, all the way Tom ignored her, lost in thought.

A/N: Hey so tell me what you think and I hope it's to your guy's liking. Review and let me know!

If you see any mistakes let me know.

(P.s. This is a shorter chapter also my goal is to make them much longer!)