Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Summary: Everything starts with the dark Lords death and a fateful meeting. If things had been different in his life, what would have changed? Could anything be changed at all? And what -or who- could cause this change? Interested to find out? So why don't you join in?

Will contain Voldemort/Severus later on. Warning: Long story.

Another warning: English is not my mother language. I will try my very best but if anything is simply not readable or understandable, just ask.

Prequel: A most fateful meeting

The rebounding killing curse hit Lord Voldemort and his lifeless body hit the floor, the white hands empty, dead.

And then there was silence.

Darkness engulfed the slim figure, which seemed to twist and change shape rather quickly. Half hidden in the kind darkness it sunk to the size of a small child with haggard limps bend horribly in strange directions. But the being did not seem to feel this change, nor would it have cared any longer. Although it has always known fear in his life – especially the fear of dying- there was nothing of this particular emotion in his calm mind now.

There was nothing.

For dying was simply done. All that was left now was death.

Or was it?

A tiny light started to glow from the inside of this strange broken thing that had once been... someone. It did not remember. The small red flame flickered slightly and danced in a rhythm only itself knew. For there was no sound to be heard. The darkness seemed to press against the tiny light as if wanting to suffocate it. But the flame was persistent. Truly there must be something it could do. If it only could remember how or more important, why. The red flames licked angrily on the pale skin of the shrunken body.

There mus be something, anything.

That cant be the end!

Not like this! Not this simple!

Gone like any other! Gone like countless souls before him!

No. He refused to!

For a short moment- the length of a heartbeat maybe- the red light seemed to explode and the darkness fled like a shadowy animal.

Right in the same moment, the same heartbeat a man rose from an icy cold ground, ruffling his black hair and freeing some already melting snowflakes from it.

He was panting heavily trying to steady himself by leaning against a huge white stone behind him. His red eyes seemed to shine even brighter than his white skin as he looked around taking in his surroundings.

It was a place he knew, of that he was certain. But it looked twisted somehow.

The air descending from the earth was hot, but the ground itself was, as he already had experienced, deadly cold. The black grass was frozen and sharp like small daggers. He tried to look up in the sky but instantly had to shield his eyes from the brightness. The red and yellow sky seemed ablaze. At the darkening horizon he could glimpse some fluffy red clouds. He squinted. It seemed as though it was raining there. Raining... bloody red rain. Even the land glowed in a wet red.

What a strange sky. It was too bright to look up but the light barely touched the ground. Down here, it seemed to be in the middle of the night.

The wind blew through his black robe carrying whispered words to his ears. What was that? He looked in the directing the wind came from. It was only then he noticed the huge, old manor. He remembered it. But this time it did not seem haunted or neglected like last time he had visited it. The garden was well groomed and the house looked occupied. A bright green light shone through the windows enlighting the alleyw to the huge wooden front door.

Just when he wanted to approach the old house he saw a movement in the corner of his eyes and spun around, realising for the first time how tense he really was.

There was an old stone right in front of him. Had it been there before?

A huge winged skeleton stature in a black robe carved of stone was standing right beside it, stretching one wing protectively over the gravestone. He was holding an abnormally large scythe in his right hand while its black eye-sockets stared directly into the red eyes of the black haired man.

And suddenly he knew this was not only the grave of his father. It was his as well. His bones, the same as his fathers. His body, never truly his since... that day.

Despite knowing it, he was not able to resist the urge to actually read the letters carved in the stone.

For the last enemy that shall be defeated is death.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

May you never attain what you seek in life.

May you ever attain what you find in death.

A shadow appeared over the writing and the man, once named but barely known as Tom Marvolo Riddle froze. He did not turn because he knew what was behind him. He knew the angel of death has moved from its socket, knew it was bringing the scythe up, knew it would swing it down any moment now.

Blinding green light flooded the graveyard while a high pitched laughter echoed through the air.

A laughter just like his own.

He could not stay here. He had to move. If he stayed...

He ran down the alleyway to the old manor. The frozen grass cut deep though his naked feet and legs causing him to leave a bloody trail behind him glimmering wet in the green light.

If he had not run straight through the front door, he might have seen the black letters on the richly carved wood indicating that this house should not be entered under any circumstances. And if you do, death will await you.

The door closed behind the panting man.

Trying to calm his nerves he looked around the room. The first thing he saw was a neatly decorated table in the middle. Dinner was set for two and he could smell baked fish. A lively fire was merrily crackling in the fireplace to his left where a couch and a pair of comfortable looking armchairs stood. Some candles on the table bathed the scene in a soothing light and it looked just as someone had lighted them a moment ago. Steam rose from the dishes on the middle of the table. He approached the table, still nervously glancing around.

He remembered this place too. Only last time he had been here, which was the only time at all, the table had been set for four. There had been four peoples too when he had arrived the first time and four dead bodies when he had left the place again.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

This voice. Where had he heard this voice before? He turned around slowly.

In the armchair to his left sat a person with black hair like his. Green eyes fixed the red ones which had been the same green a long time ago. The older man with the handsome face rose gracefully from the chair and Tom Riddle Senior bowed slightly, his nightgown ruffled by the movement.

"Ah, it was a nice evening just like this one, when you killed me and my family, my sweet son, wasn't it?"

The younger Riddle stood still as a stature:" What do you want?"

"Well", said the other man waving his hand to the table,"last time you visited I forgot my manners and missed inviting you for dinner, didn't I?"

"I decline."

A smile appeared on the other man's face: " Oh. But I must insist. You are my beloved son after all. Would you like to drink a sweet red? I always preferred the sweet ones, didn't I? I still wonder how I ended up with your mother, don't I?"

"I couldn't care less of what you prefer or not.", he searched his pocket for his wand. But there was nothing in them.

"Don't be so rude, son. I never taught you such ugly manners. Besides, you can stop searching for this stick of yours. You already showed it to me the last time you visited and it left quite the impression on me and the rest of my family, didn't it? Anyhow, I am sure such a thing is not able to follow you to this place, aren't it? Now take a seat if you please. I have important matters to discuss with you, haven't I?"

In the same moment he looked at his son and their eyes met again an invisible force pulled the younger one to the chair on the other side of the table where the second set of dishes was set.

The red eyes showed confusion when he retorted: "Don't call me your son, you filthy muggle."

But the other one just waved at him: " Yes, yes. And you are the most powerful dead wizard in this room, aren't you? Would you like some potatoes, oh mighty Dark Lord?"

And with a wave of his hand a bowl with steaming golden potatoes rose from the table and floated to the Dark Lord, whose wide eyes weren't even blinking as he studied the man who said was his father.

"Who are you really?"

"Pardon me?"

Slamming his fist down on the table and causing some potatoes to roll from his plate he screamed at the other one: " Tell me who you really are right now!"

But the older one remained calm, watching the wine bottle filling its red liquid into two glasses.

"Manners, my boy, manners. I am, who I said I am, am I not? You just changed everything around here. Don't you remember? After all, it was you who split his own soul, ripped everything in it completely apart and distorted every rule there is or more likely, was. Not that your soul was normal from the beginning, wasn't it? But I shouldn't blame you for the madness caused by … ah … let's say, special circumstances by your procreation, shouldn't I?"

"What?"

For the first time the older man seemed nervous: " Well... a love potion such as the one your mother used has some side effects. Basically the one, that the child coming from such a... well... it won't be able to love and … most likely will go mad. Like you did, didn't you? I honestly regret this, don't I?"

" I am not mad!", he was thinking about leaving this place but the magic the other one used – magic without using a wand- intrigued him. Especially since he knew that he must be someone else and he, Lord Voldemort was determined to find out who.

"Its all right, really. I mean, I wasn't the best father either, was I?"

"I never wanted you to be a father!"

"I figured that much, didn't I? But lets talk about more important stuff. Like your death. How was it? Are you satisfied with how your life turned out to be?"

An icy glare was the only response he got. Obviously feeling content with his questions, the father spooned some fish into his mouth:" You should eat something, shouldn't you? You are far too thin. Stressed out, aren't you?"

"Does it matter?", retorted an angry voice.

"Nope. I just wanted to improve your mood by showing some fatherly care, didn't I"

"Come to the point."

"You should really test the wine, my boy. It tastes like life. Oups, that's not what you wanted to hear, didn't you?"

"That's it.", the younger one rose, "I am going to leave right now."

Surprisingly the other one chuckled and when he spoke his voice sounded different somehow:" Do you really want to decline the only chance to live again? To smooth your errors out?"

Voldemort spun around and looked at the other man, disbelieving.

"You heard right. There is a chance for you to go back. Only to a certain point of course and live onward from there on."

"How?"

"You ask how? That is the wrong question. I might only be a messenger but life or death does not matter for me. I can bring both to anyone anytime. Your question should be: why."

He stared at the other man who still wore the mask of the old Riddle but made perfectly clear that he was not him. The room was completely silent.

After a while Lord Voldemort straightened himself up and asked the most important question in his life and death: "Why?"

The other one grinned showing bloody red teeth: "Because I want to."

Red fire burst through the fireplace wrapping the younger man up again while everything around him burned down.

I hope this wasn't too messed up for the first chapter. But to be honest. Voldemort's mind is messed up and since this chapter takes place inside his soul it had to be messy.

I am still sorry for it. Hope you will enjoy the next chapters.

Besides, comments would be nice.