Author's Notes: I'm very happy to be on track with this story again, and I appreciate so much all the support and reviews! To Barranca, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Erytha, forever-derelict, SailorHecate, dragongirlG, Ottokatalog, Empress Guinevere Sparrow, Moony's Metamorphmagus, openwindow, Kittiquin, kaelaa, The Enchanted Teakettle, EmyuuRR, foeldesilajos, Shwoo, Starbrat, ivory, Illyra, phoebe turner, danetta, Becky, moony391, Peacefulz, Treesah Quiche, and skeptic, many thanks.

Who else loves WWII history the way I do? To use a term from the great Mr. King's latest novel, Britain really just strapped it on. For a visual of what I describe from Tom's perspective in this chapter, see http:// www. /images/ wwii6bStPauls. jpg (remove the spaces in the link as this site won't let me embed it).


Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Eleven

'Oh, excuse me – oof! Sorry!' Merope ran smack into a customer. The apothecary was packed because of the Christmas crowds. She, Merope, was frazzled and tired and bewildered. She'd gotten a request for extremely rare unicorn hairs, and she'd had to send an urgent message by Floo to Mr. Jigger's friend in Hogsmeade, instructing him to run into the Forbidden Forest and find some Merlin-blasted unicorns… Jigger himself was dealing with the Minister of Magic, who chose that day (of all days!) to drop by for a cup of tea, and Merope was left with a thousand things to do.

'Mum, can I go to the Quidditch store?' Tom, at his most unhelpful. Couldn't he see that she was busy?

'No,' she snapped, and ducked into the back room to grab an extra-large size jar of Pepper-Up Potion for a customer.

'Mum! I want to see their new Comet model –'

'It doesn't matter, Tom! We can't afford that nonsense anyway,' Merope cried over the din of the store. 'Make yourself useful somewhere.'

Tom got a sulky expression on his face. Merope swore he'd been like that ever since she told him he was the Heir of Slytherin. Well, if her son expected to be pampered because of his famous ancestor, he had another think coming. 'Here now, Tom, you can go and feed the carnivorous plants out in the garden.'

He glared at her, but made to grab the bucket of maggots to feed the Giant Bladderwort plants.

'Thank you,' said Merope. 'And,' she lowered her voice so that customers would not hear her advocating the use of under-age magic, 'maybe you can re-cast their Warming Charms as well. I know you're good at that.'

'Yeah, yeah,' said Tom, but the praise lifted his shoulders, as Merope knew it would.

She was sorry that they couldn't afford to buy Tom a proper broom. As it was, he was forced to use a school broom for Quidditch, or else borrow one from his wealthy friend Lestrange, which bothered him. There was no helping it, though, and Merope did not want Tom to get his hopes up by staring at the new Comet at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Merope had learned the hard way that when you wanted something, it was better to keep reminders of it as far away as possible. She would never admit to it but increasingly she got heart pangs to look at her son; he looked more like his father every day, an ever-present memorial of what Merope had once had and then lost. At least her son Tom Riddle had dark blue eyes, rather than the soft dark brown of his father's. It was enough of a difference to count for something.

She heard Tom's loud curse as one of the Venomous Tentaculas tried to grab him. They had been getting ornery lately; Merope suspected it was the cold weather.

'Oh, no,' she groaned as the door jingled again and Professor Slughorn, Tom's teacher at Hogwarts, entered the shop. The man would take up half the space and would want to talk to Jigger, who was having tea with the Minister… Merope did not look forward to speaking with Slughorn because of his habit of looking past her, as though looking for someone more interesting to come along and rescue him from the conversation. She busied herself with a jar of mimosa pods; they jumped and rattled around, hitting up against the glass, and Merope shook the jar just to be perverse. She thought she heard a squeal from inside.

'Mrs. Riddle!' Slughorn boomed. 'Or may I call you Merope?'

Merope almost dropped the mimosa pods in her shock. Was the professor speaking to her? He must be, for he used both her names… 'Yes, sir, Happy Christmas to you, sir,' Merope said. It was the greeting Jigger wanted her to use with all the customers this time of year.

Slughorn moved his hefty frame through the shop, closer to where Merope stood behind the counter. 'My dear woman,' he said. 'I've been hoping to speak with you. Your son Tom, he – ' Slughorn chuckled, '—he's something else! Going places, that boy, the best potioneer I've seen in fifty years. He must inherit his talent from you.'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Merope, blushing, but if Tom had inherited talent, it must have been from her. Certainly not from her ex-husband.

'I understand your late husband was a Muggle,' said Slughorn. 'Amazing, isn't it, how magic can flow so strongly from your side? Sometimes I wonder if it's not our half-blood wizards that are the most powerful. Tom'll be a great wizard, so he will…'

'But… aren't you head of Slytherin House?' Merope asked, confused. She'd thought Slughorn would be a blood purist.

'I like to think of myself as an encourager of talent, Mrs. Riddle, wherever talent may be. One of my favourite students is a Muggle-born Gryffindor! A hand at Transfiguration, she is. Nothing to compare to your Tom, of course. He's truly brilliant. A great favourite of all the staff! You raised him well, Mrs. Riddle, he can do no wrong.'

Merope, who had seen Tom's loose interpretation of the rules too many times, just nodded and smiled. It worried her that he could get into so much trouble and yet stay out of it. Whenever Tom recounted his activities at Hogwarts, Merope was struck by how he seemed to boss the other Slytherins around, incite them to hex other students, break curfew, and somehow come out of it smelling like a rose himself. None of this would she say to Slughorn, however.

'Making my annual trip to Diagon Alley, people to see, you know,' Slughorn was saying. 'Thought I'd pop in for some supplies… Murdock said he'd set aside my order…'

'Oh!' said Merope. She did remember a box in the back room with Slughorn's name on it. 'If you'll wait here, sir, I'll retrieve it for you.'

Slughorn smiled beneath his large mustache and hooked his thumbs on the lapels of his robes.

Merope ducked back into the storage closet, wondering how many times a day she went back and forth. Glancing around, she spotted the package on a top shelf, and heard a noise from outside. She popped her head to the freezing cold back garden. 'Tom! What are you doing?'

'Nothing,' Tom said. He was sitting on the high wall at the top of the garden and looked to be spying through the guestroom windows of the Leaky Cauldron next door.

'You're going to freeze your toes off out there,' said Merope. 'Your Head of House is in the shop. He'll want to see you. Why don't you come say hello?'

Tom flicked his wand and floated down off the wall. Magic always seemed so casual for him. 'Sluggy's here?'

'Don't call him that, he's your professor!' Merope said. 'Run along and say hello to him, now.'

A few minutes later, listening to Professor Slughorn fawn over Tom's good manners, his Quidditch ability, his Potions ability, and his general wonderful demeanor, in that order, Merope decided it was no wonder that the man had finally paid attention to her, Tom's mother. She smiled to herself. Tom could do the things she herself could not. He would be a great wizard.


Tom awoke to a headache. At least, he thought it was a headache at first, because of the pressure in his ears and the pounding and wailing that assaulted his senses. Then, as he blinked to clear himself from the fog of sleep, he realised that it was just the Muggles bombing each other again. Every night since he'd returned from Hogwarts for Christmas, the air raid sirens had gone off, followed by the distant crump of bombs dropping on Muggle London. Tonight, however, the sirens seemed louder, and Tom lay in his bed and listened to the drone of aircraft overhead, the whistle of bombs as they fell, the explosions that followed. It was as if a great mechanical monster was gnawing its way through the city, crashing with large footprints that left craters in its wake.

'I can't sleep through this,' Tom muttered to himself. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and got out of bed. He put on his slippers and flannel robe over his pyjamas because it was a cold night.

'Tom?' his mother asked as he ducked out of his bedroom below the eaves of the flat. 'You're awake too.'

'Can't sleep through this, can I?' he said.

His mother was standing at the window, a cup of tea in her shaking hand. 'It's going to be a bad one,' she said.

Tom joined her at the window and looked to the east.

The sight that met him through the thick glass was horrible, yet somehow beautiful at the same time. The sky was lit up with orange, yellow, and clouds of black that poured in columns and bands. Above the city, formations of the German Muggle bombers flew with propellers grinding through the air like bared teeth. From their bellies dropped row after row of metal cigars. They soared through the air and struck, boom, boom, one after the other after the other until it was a solid wave of thunder without pause. The air raid klaxons shrieked warning, as if anyone could be ignorant of the danger.

'Mum, what's happening?' Tom asked. Something strange churned in his belly, an eagerness mingled with fear. The destruction was so wanton that it seduced him.

'The Germans,' Merope said. 'This is the worst I've ever seen it.' Indeed the city looked to be burning from the East End all the way to Soho. It was impossible to hear the screams of individuals above the barrage, but Tom knew that out there, in burning London, many people were dying.

'Do you think the German wizards will come, too?' Tom asked.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I hope not. Everything I read in the Daily Prophet says they're ruthless. If they're anything like the Muggles…' She took a deep sip of her tea and Tom could see small tears at the corners of her eyes. He knew that she hated loud noises.

'Don't worry, Mum,' he said. He put an arm around her shoulder. 'It'll be all right. Someday the war will have to end, and they'll rebuild all of this, and we'll finally be able to get some sleep around here.'

Merope let out a squawk of a laugh. 'Yes, I suppose you're right,' she said.

They stood like that for a long while, watching the clash of metal and stone and fire and blood, each feeling disconnected from it. It was near midnight when Tom heard a noise that was much closer to home. A shouting, a clamour in Diagon Alley. At first he thought that it was just the wizarding world reacting to the Muggle horror outside their charmed enclave.

'What do you want me to cook for your birthday?' his mother was saying. 'It's just two days away, I can't believe you're going to be fourteen –'

'Shhh,' Tom said. 'Did you hear that?'

'Hear what?' Merope said. But she fell silent.

'I think you better put a cloak on,' Tom said quickly. 'Nagini!' He switched to Parseltongue. 'Come to me.'

The snake awoke from the dark, warm corner by the stove where she slumbered, peering a large head at Tom. 'What now?'

'Just stay awake,' said Tom. He went into his room and put on some shoes and a warm winter cloak over his pyjamas, along with a hat and gloves. Then he heard someone's footfalls racing up their musical staircase.

Pounding on the door. Merope opened it and Mr. Jigger burst into the room, the whites of his eyes flashing in panic. 'I need you downstairs, Merope,' he said. 'We need to cast wards on the shop. On the orders of the Ministry of Magic.'

'What?' Merope said. She sounded bewildered. 'Why?'

'The entire city is on fire, woman! They don't think they can hold it off from here. In fact, they're worried about a direct hit on Diagon Alley – damn the Muggles – come on, grab your wand!'

'But—but I don't know how to cast fire repellent wards!' Merope cried.

'I do,' said Tom. 'I'll show you, Mum. It's not hard. If you don't mind, of course, Mr. Jigger,' he said respectfully. He did not want his mum's boss realising how comfortable he was with performing magic outside of Hogwarts.

'Good, good,' Jigger said, already out the door. 'Both of you come along, then!'

'Come,' Tom said to Nagini. She followed them out the door.

Downstairs in the apothecary, Tom noticed how Mr. Jigger ran around like a demented chicken, doing a shoddy job on his wards, in a complete panic. He frowned. Looking about him, Tom saw that the area in most danger was the back storeroom and garden, because it was pressed up against Diagon Alley's main wards and the border with Muggle London. He went outside and calmly began casting. He heard his mother's footsteps behind him.

'I wish I'd gone to Hogwarts,' she sighed. 'They sure teach you advanced magic.'

'They didn't teach me this,' said Tom. 'I taught myself.'

'Oh,' said Merope.

Because his back was turned to her, he allowed himself a smile. He knew that he scared his mother sometimes. This pleased him. He wanted to prove to his mother that she oughtn't be ashamed of her son. That she was a brilliant witch, because he was a brilliant wizard. 'I'll show you,' he said. And he did; he recited the incantations, demonstrated the proper wand motion, described the intention. 'See,' Tom said. 'Incendio!' He set a small bunch of dried weeds on fire.

'Tom!'

'Watch,' said Tom. He glanced around to make sure Jigger wasn't watching him. He moved his wand to direct the flames against the wall; as soon as they got near, they sputtered and choked and died. 'Aguamenti,' he said, putting out the remaining flames. 'Easy!'

His mother giggled, although she had her hands twisted into a nervous knot. 'All right. I get it.'

'You're a quick learner, Mum, I think you—' Tom was interrupted by the sound of shouting from behind them, in the apothecary. What now? He glanced around for Nagini; she lurked in the corner of the garden, eyeing a mound of earth that indicated the presence of a gnome. The noise from Diagon Alley got louder.

Then, appearing in the doorway, his silver-blond hair illuminated by the orange sky, was Casper Malfoy.

'Mr. Malfoy!' Tom said, surprised.

His mother's head whipped around; it did not escape Tom how her body tensed at the sound of the name. 'Mr. Malfoy!' she echoed her son. 'What are you doing here?'

'You need to leave,' he said, with a decisive step into the garden. 'Now. Pack a small overnight bag, both of you, and we must go.'

'Why?' Merope asked. A blank look was in her eyes as though it was too much to absorb at once. Bombs, fire, and now…?

'An evacuation order has been issued for wizarding London,' Malfoy said. 'It's believed that Lord Grindelwald will coincide an attack here with the Muggle Blitzkrieg.'

'Now?' Merope gasped.

'Yes, now, woman!' Malfoy said, sounding impatient for the first time.

Tom stepped into action. 'Come on, Mum. Upstairs.' He grabbed his mother's arm and tugged her along. Glancing behind him, he hissed to Nagini, 'Stay at my heels, snake, and don't argue.'

Malfoy's lips turned up at the sound of Parseltongue. It appeared to be wry approval, from what Tom could see of the man's face in the light of the sky on fire. 'I'll be coming with you,' he said to Tom. 'We're going to Apparate to a safe place in the countryside.'

It took about ten minutes for Tom to pack his necessities into a bag and put Nagini around his shoulders. Merope clattered around the flat, flustered, and Tom suggested that he and Casper Malfoy step outside. Tom had a feeling that Malfoy's presence was making his mother lose her head a bit. She reappeared downstairs in the shop, dressed and with a small valise clutched in her hand, along with her wand.

'Ready?' Malfoy asked.

Merope nodded. 'What if it burns?' she whispered.

'It won't,' said Tom. 'Our wards are good. They'll protect even against magical fires, if Grindelwald's wizards do attack.'

'Speaking of that,' said Malfoy, gesturing out the window. 'We'd best go.' A troop of Aurors ran past the apothecary. They all had their wands brandished and their eyes fixed on a point down the street.

'What about Mr. Jigger?' Tom asked. He did not particularly want to see the apothecary overrun by Dark wizards.

'I'm here!' Jigger's head popped in from the back door. 'It's true. The Ministry is evacuating all residents from Diagon Alley. I'm taking my family to my sister's house in Wales. Do you need to use the Floo Network? We've set up a one-way…'

'No, thank you,' said Tom. 'We're Apparating.'

'Best hurry,' said Jigger. He stepped through the back door, closed it to the outside, and locked it. 'Out, now. I'm locking the shop. I hope it's still standing in the morning.' The man's face was flushed and behind his glasses his eyes darted around nervously. 'I never thought I'd see this… Good luck.'

'Good luck, Mr. Jigger,' said Merope. She clutched her valise even tighter.

Out on the street, chaos reigned. Witches and wizards ran around, along with goblins, house-elves, and the occasional broomstick that zoomed along without an owner. Tom stared down the street; was there an explosion there? A large crowd was gathered and he thought he saw the jet of spell-light, the casting of curses. He would have run to see for himself, except that he had his mother and Nagini to worry about. Their safety came before his curiosity.

'We're Apparating to Malfoy Manor,' said Malfoy. 'Wiltshire. Just focus on the name and it should be enough, I've set up a homing charm to help you – what's the matter, Merope?'

'Oh,' said Merope. 'It's just that I – I can't…'

'I know you're scared, it's all right,' said Malfoy.

Tom bit his tongue.

'I don't know how to Apparate,' Merope said miserably. 'I never learned.'

'Oh,' said Malfoy. He frowned. 'Well… I'll take one of you first, then, and come back.'

'But that will exhaust you!' Merope cried.

'We don't have a choice,' Malfoy said tersely. 'The Floo Networks are closed except for those with permission. Tom, take my arm.'

'No,' said Tom. 'Take my mum first. I'll wait here. I can wait.'

'No, Tom, go!' Merope said. She glanced down the street with eyes rolling like a frightened animal. 'They're almost here!'

It was no-one's imagination that the air around them grew hotter by the minute. The sound of the Muggle bombs flying, falling, exploding around them was deafening; not a few blocks away, flames licked the sky. The fires approached fast. Tom looked up into the sky and saw formation after formation of German bombers, their ranks never-ending, flying steady across the smoke and clouds.

Down the street, the shouts of Aurors could be heard. More and more people came running from the direction of the square outside Gringott's Bank. Tom thought perhaps Grindelwald's Dark wizards really had made their way to Diagon Alley.

'Take my mother and go,' he repeated to Casper Malfoy. 'I can try to Apparate myself, if you want.'

'Absolutely not!' Merope said, aghast.

'No,' said Malfoy. 'I'll come back for you.' He clapped a hand on Tom's shoulder. 'Don't move from this spot. I won't be more than five minutes.'

Then, with a loud crack, Tom's mother and Casper Malfoy were gone. Tom took a deep breath. 'Don't worry,' he told Nagini, more for his sake than hers. He wondered if any of his classmates from Hogwarts were caught in the mess down the street. And he was glad Malfoy had not taken him up on his offer to Apparate himself; the truth was, he'd tried Apparition on the grounds at Hogwarts and ended up splinching himself. He'd gotten help from Professor Slughorn, who chucked him under the chin, but told him not to ever try that again without proper supervision.

Tom heard a long scream from somewhere. He tightened his hold on his small suitcase and took his wand out of his pocket. If any Dark wizards came by, he would show them… He turned around in a slow full circle, wand at the ready. A Muggle bomb exploded somewhere very close by, and then another. Tom looked to the east again… and gasped aloud. 'St. Paul's,' he whispered to himself. Indeed the landmark cathedral stood out of the smoke and flame, perfectly intact, a great white dome that was completely at odds with the hellish scene around it. Tom wondered if it would stay untouched that night and his intuition told him that yes, it would.

Crack. It was Malfoy. 'Come,' he said to Tom, out of breath. 'Take my arm. Nagini won't object to Apparition, will she?'

'I don't know, she's never done it, sir,' said Tom.

'Well, it'll be over quickly enough. You can help me by concentrating, too. Malfoy Manor.'

'Malfoy Manor,' Tom repeated. 'Right.'

Tom's heart gave a great leap of sudden fear as he heard Malfoy give the command; he did not want to be splinched again. He focused as hard as he could on Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor… it was a tongue-twister for his brain. Then, as quickly as he'd been squeezed, the pressure let up and Tom found himself standing on a country lane with a large iron gate splitting the hedge in front of him.

Next to him, Malfoy doubled over and coughed. It was a great effort to make four Apparitions in the course of a few minutes. 'Are you all right?' Tom asked.

'Y-yes,' said Malfoy shakily. 'Just – give me a minute.'

Tom nodded. His mother stood several feet away. 'Tom, thank Merlin!' she said, throwing her arms around him and Nagini. The snake hissed with discomfort but Merope paid no heed.

'I'm hungry,' Nagini said.

'Go and hunt, then,' said Tom. 'And stay out of trouble. We're guests here.'

'Yesss, Tom,' said Nagini, and she uncoiled herself from around her shoulders and disappeared into the dark quiet of the countryside. Tom watched her go with fondness.

Malfoy, who had recovered his composure enough to stand upright, took Merope's arm. 'My brother's house,' he said. His voice was hoarse. 'He knows we are coming. He has many rooms.'

That, thought Tom as they walked up the drive, was an understatement. Malfoy Manor was huge. It was attractively situated on the crest of a hill, a massive towering edifice of limestone with a beautiful Palladian symmetry. All the lights were blazing, which struck Tom as odd, accustomed as he was to the lights of London being blacked out. These people were not afraid of war. Tom would have bet a hundred Galleons that the Manor was Unplottable, at least, and had heavy wards.

They walked at a slow pace up the drive and when they were close to the carved iron front doors, a voice hailed them. 'Casper!' The doors swung open to reveal a silhouetted figure of a tall wizard in dress robes.

'Abraxas,' said Casper.

Tom tightened his jaw, resolved not be intimidated by the Malfoys' wealth and power. You're the Heir of Slytherin, he reminded himself. What a mantra it had become for him. Setting his shoulders straight, he stepped up into the light. His mother and Casper walked up the stairs, as well, and into the house.

When he got inside, Tom was very glad that he'd been at Hogwarts for three years already. It got him used to large, grand buildings, so that he did not have the frightened-rabbit look that graced his mother's face. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling and her jaw looked slightly unhinged. This was for good reason. The entrance hall of Malfoy Manor had a shiny marble floor in a beautiful, intricate black-and-white pattern. A crystal chandelier floated from the ceiling. A staircase, carved of solid mahogany, stretched down from the first floor. Dark purple walls were covered in family portraits, almost too many, as though an overcompensation.

In the well-lit hall, Tom got a better look at Abraxas Malfoy, Casper's brother. He was not nearly as old as Casper, and much better-looking, from as much as Tom could judge. He also had a sneer on his face as he gave Tom's mother the once-over. A hot spark of anger flared up in Tom's belly. He repressed it, for the time being.

'Abraxas, thank you for having us,' said Casper formally. 'I'd like to introduce Mrs. Merope Riddle and her son, Tom.'

Abraxas's eyes narrowed at the name, but he thrust out a hand for Merope to shake with ill grace. 'Madam. How do you do.'

'How do you do,' Merope whispered.

Without even looking at Tom, Abraxas snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared. 'Take them to the guest wing,' he ordered the small creature, and turned back to Casper. 'If you'll excuse me, brother, I must attend to some business. I trust you know your way around.'

'Perfectly,' said Casper. 'Oh, and Abraxas?'

'Yes?'

'Please remember to prepare those papers for me. About the Helios Company.'

'Yes, brother.' Abraxas Malfoy's voice was tight.

When the owner of the Manor was out of sight, Tom smiled. He noticed that Casper had neatly put his younger brother in his place. 'Sir? How long will we be staying here?' he asked.

'Until it's safe to return to London,' said Casper. 'You'll be no imposition. I doubt you'll even have to see my brother and his wife… please excuse his manner. He is a snob. But he does not know what we know about you, eh?' Casper touched his nose and Tom knew he was referring to the Slytherin lineage. 'Come. Let us follow the elf.'

Merope dawdled in the entrance hall, still gawping, and Tom took her arm. He whispered, 'Come on, Mum. It's just a big old house, that's all.'

'It's so big!' she said, scurrying alongside him.

Tom felt a tingle of embarrassment at his mother, but tried instead to focus on his relief that they were safe. He knew he should be grateful and took a deep breath as he began to climb the grand staircase.