A/N: Warnings for witch burning, Non-con Chan/Loli, mentions of miscarriages, abusing power...

Also special thanks to Kate Elizabeth Black, the First and Only follower. You are my shining light :D

Chapter 4

Persephone Edwards was eight when her mother was burned at stake for Witchcraft. It would be years before she found out that her mother had been punished for her accidental magic.

Abandoned by her family and cast out of the village, Persephone – lovingly called Poppy by her mother – found her way to the nearby forest, where an old reclusive healer by the name of Richard Pomphrey showed mercy on her by taking her into his home. Along with his home, he also took her into his bed.

Poppy was 11 when she first became heavy with her Lord-Master's child. When her body deemed itself too young and incapable of bearing just yet, Master Pomphrey began teaching her the subtle arts of Herbology and Potion Making to prevent from such accidents from happening in the future.

Poppy was 13 when Master Pomphrey found out that he had unwittingly taken a witch into his bed. However, instead of casting her out and alerting the villagers, as her father had done, Master Pomphrey simply told her that she was blessed… not cursed. Then he contacted an old acquaintance of his, a man by the name of Armando Dippet, who performed some spells on her and determined that yes, she was a witch and yes, it would be able to teach her to use her blessing for betterment of others.

Master Pomphrey refused to let her leave with Headmaster Dippet, saying he couldn't possibly let her out of his sight, but he did allow Poppy to learn the art of controlling and channeling her magic. He paid for her books, her wand and when the right time came, he had Headmaster Dippet find a Wizard willing to take her as his Apprentice and teach her everything there was to know about the science of Magical Healing.

Poppy was 18, when a mysterious illness claimed Master Pomphrey, leaving her behind as a young widow, 6 months gone. The child did not survive the birth, and her magic was the only thing that prevented her from bleeding to death.

Scared, alone and penniless, Poppy gathered what little belongings she had and made her way towards Edinburgh and, from then on, further up North, relying on her survival instincts, Magic and skills as a Healer to reach Hogwarts, Headmaster Dippet's school for young witches and wizards.

Headmaster Dippet was sympathetic of her circumstances, but without formal training as a Witch or a Healer, there was only so much he could do. He offered her a position as the school nurse, paying for whatever additional training she might need for patching up Quidditch injuries and frostbites.

As the years went on, Poppy became better and better at her job of keeping the young under her charge from coming to any harm… and every once in a while she came across someone who reminded her of her younger self.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was one such young boy.

-x-x-x-

Poppy had no idea what was it about young Master Riddle that attracted her to him.

He was good-looking… yes, extremely brilliant… yes, extremely powerful… yes, but not only that, his eyes had rare sparkle… something she had seen in her brother's eyes, when she was a wee bonnie lass, before he had been taken from her. Unlike all the other students, he had a charisma about him – strange allure that pulled you in like Highland mires.

Along with it, however, he had a temper. A temper that rivaled no other. He was also extremely prejudiced against those of inferior blood.

But while some saw his temper as an occasional folly of a young red-blooded lad, and others his power and prejudices as a means to fame and glory, she knew it was a defense mechanism. Like an injured snake, who lashed out at the slightest notice, whether you are the one that harmed it or not, young Tom hated all Muggles, because he had been severely wronged by a few. He hated those in position of authority, because not only they hadn't helped him, they had abused their positions to humiliate and use him…

And Poppy knew exactly how that felt. She knew it was only a matter of time before injured snake would turn feral, and it would only be through love and care that he would be able to keep from giving into his base nature. And Unbound by House and Blood prejudices, Poppy was determined to be that support.

-x-x-x-

Tom Riddle was 15 and Poppy was 35, when her loyalty to him was first tested.

A few days ago someone had gotten into Salazar Slytherin's notorious Chamber of Secrets and released a Basilisk into the school. A young Muggle-blood girl by the name of Myrtle was killed and a young boy Rubeus Hagrid was framed and expelled for endangering the young 'urns.

But Poppy knew that Rebeus was about as capable of getting inside the Chamber of Secrets as her mother had been of Witchcraft, which is to say, naught.

Then one night, when Tom was laid in the infirmary with flu he started thrashing with nightmares. A part of Poppy's mind-healing techniques involved Legilimencing the patient and soothing his nightmares from within – her Mentor had honed in time and again that it was a Healer's job to offer respite and cure whether the patient was willing or not – a practice that Vice Headmaster Dumbledore didn't approve of.

So, she silently breached her into young Master Riddle's mind, focusing solely on the source of his night-terrors, bypassing everything else, when she chanced upon a memory of him hissing at the Basilisk, petting it. From the interactions, it seemed that the snake understood whatever Tom was hissing… making her suspect that he was the elusive Heir of Slytherin. Suddenly, Tom turned around and looked straight at her. Poppy fell out his mind the exact instant Tom gasped awake.

"T'was you," she said conversationally, watching steadily for his reaction. The boy fidgeted, then sneered, raising his wand. "Obli—" he started, but she waved her hand and his wand flew across the room. "Do'na try that with me, boy," she said. "I am older 'en you, and I do'na take kindly ta people that willfully wrong others."

"Are you going to tell on me?" the boy asked, his voice and posture calm, but fear and nervousness exuding from his body.

Poppy thought for a bit. "Propriety dictates I should," she replied. The boy seemed to shrink in on himself. "But I'm not goin' ta," she added, waiting for his response.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Truth be told, even Poppy had no idea. Propriety dictated she should give him up, right the wrong that had been done to that Hagrid boy. But she also knew that expelled and wronged as he was, Rubeus was taken in by Vice Headmaster Dumbledore. He would nurture the boy and help him rise in the world. If Tom was cast out, he would fall further into the pit of despair he was in. And who knew where that darkness might lead him.

Poppy might not have birthed Tom, but she had always likened him to the little boy she had lost. And like all mothers, she was selfish enough to believe that while her child might not be the most perfect in the world, he was not bad of heart… just a little wayward. And like all mothers, she believed that one day he would find his way back to her.

"Does'na matter," she replied firmly, looking deep into his teal-grey eyes. "I will'na tell on ya, but only if ya give yo'r Oath that such incidents will'na happen ag'in."

-x-x-x-

It was almost 15 years to the day Poppy had received Tom Riddle's promise that he would never willingly harm another soul. Which was why she was extremely hurt when he turned up in her infirmary, clutching a letter address to her from Headmaster Dumbledore.

Poppy had never been adept at high-level Magic and Dark Arts, but she knew enough to know that to create a Horcrux, a person had to be willing to break his soul. And for that, he had to willingly destroy a life.

"'ow many have ya made?" she asked with a professional countenance of an uninterested third party.

The man looked at her, looking every bit as the young boy of 15 years prior, and mumbled "Just one."

"The truth, Mr. Riddle," she said sternly. "I believe I've tol' ya 'bout the consequences of lyin' ta me."

Lord Voldemort didn't know what bothered him more – her calm aloofness, or the fact she seemed disappointed with his actions. He didn't know why she had that effect over him. Maybe it was because she was the only person who had seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare… or maybe in some remote corner of his mind, he had come to see her as the mother he never had. And he knew it was only a matter of time before she decided that he wasn't worth the trouble he caused. Like all the people in his life, she would leave him… and he was determined to alienate her first.

"Four," he spat. "I made four Horcruxes. Killed quite a few people too. I'm not the same boy that you once knew," he added with a deep sneer. "I am not Tom Riddle anymore. I am Lord Voldemort."

Poppy looked at him, disappointment shining in her eyes, but her outward expression remained professionally aloof. "Maybe so," she replied. "But now, yo'r a teacher of this prestigious Institution and yo'r decorum should reflect that. There'll be no more killin' and maimin'… not if I've some' ta say 'bout that. A'so there'll be no stealin' nor making any 'orcruxes."

"Why?" he sneered, but his voice had a minuscule quaver to it. "Why do you care what I do or don't do? Why do you care at all? Everyone else has given up on me. My soul is destroyed and broken. There is no way to salvage me anymore."

She raised her hand to stop him, as her face took on a contemplative expression. "I do'na believe that," she said sincerely. "There is nothing in this world that can'na be cured. My Master taught me that. And I do'na believe that you are a bad person."

She looked in his eyes and spoke. "You asked me once why I never gave ya up." She waited for him to remember. "I should'a tol' ya the truth then, then we would'na be here. I've al'ays liken'd ya ta my son." She waited for her words to sink in, and when they did Tom Riddle turned slightly grey. "An' like any mother I believe in ya, son. I will'na let the Dark claim ya anymore 'en I'll abandon ya for yo'r mistakes. So lis'en ta me, an' lis'en good. I will stitch that soul back together if that's the last thing I do. And if ya do'na lis'en ta me anymore, the Headmaster and Ministry will be the least of yo'r worries. Ya get that, boy?" she asked, steel in her steady voice.

And with the strength and determination with which a young lass had survived – her mother's burning, her family's abandonment, her childhood destroyed – a life marked out by people more privileged and powerful than her without any consideration to her wants or needs, she set about the most dangerous and difficult task that no one had undertaken since the Dark Ages – stitching a torn soul back together.

Persephone (Greco-Roman mythology) stands for the formidable, venerable majestic queen of the Underworld who was kidnapped by Hades (Pluto).

Her central myth served as the context for the secret rites of regeneration at Eleusis which promised immortality to initiates.