Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter character's or anything related to the works of J.K Rowling. I only own the plot and any original characters you might notice. If I used any music or poems or any other medium you may have noticed from pop culture or music/books I do not own that source.

I know I haven't been updating as often and I do apologize for that. Between work, my own things to sort out, and trying to figure out exactly how I want the chapters to go it can take a while to put up new chapters. I am sorry for the late update. Also, if there are any errors, please let me know so I can come back and fix the typos.

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November 24, 1948

Albus Dumbledore had canceled his last class of the day moments before it began when an old student and a stranger walked into his class. "Miss Darwin!" Dumbledore reached out and clasped her hand firmly; he almost didn't know where to start with her. "What are you doing here? There's been a search party launched for you through the Ministry-are you even aware of where you are?"

The auburn haired man knew the strange circumstance of which Ophelia Darwin was checked nto St. Mungo's and he was at first heavily suspecting Tom Marvolo Riddle was the reason she had fallen into a coma.

"I'm Hogwarts, Professor. In the transfiguration class." Ophelia answered promptly.

"Well, yes but what are you doing here?" Dumbledore turned to the stranger who accompanied Miss Darwin; he ignored that this newcomer looked much like a former Slytherin prefect. "How did you two get here? No one can apparate on these grounds anymore."

A polite and oh-so-smooth Southern accent echoed out. "Miss Ophelia here sure knows her away the floo system to get where she needs to be."

"Professor," Ophelia stepped away from John and closer to Dumbledore. "I know that the state of my health seems fragile but I have more pressing concerns if you would care to listen."

"Is it about-?" The great Albus Dumbledore didn't finish his sentence.

"Yes."

John felt the mood of the room shift tremendously. He studied the looks of the older wizard and the witch he spent most of the day with; both were serious about whatever topic was at hand.

"John?" Ophelia called out, she looked at him in his eyes. "Would you mind giving the professor and I moment please?"

The American auror, nodded quietly but he didn't leave straight away. "I'll be outside if you need me, Miss Ophelia."

There some comfort to be found in John Westing's voice and even as he strode out of the Transfiguration classroom-his presence didn't leave Ophelia.

As Dumbledore sat on the top of his classroom desk to brace for their conversation; Ophelia stood up rigidly.

"Tom Riddle," Dumbledore started off casually but with some weariness in tone.

"His soul isn't together." Ophelia told her former professor confidentally. Even though she wasn't exactly sure as to why his soul wasn't together-she knew enough to know Tom's soul was not together. "At first, I thought his soul was fading but I've felt the essence of it and it is cold and empty." Chills prickled over her skin as she recalled the moment that led to her being unconscious. Or at the very least, what she could recall.

"Are you saying this with a completely sound mind and your statements aren't in likeness to that of a mad woman?" Dumbledore knew this was serious but where would the proof be?

"Please, you've got to believe me this time!" Ophelia closed her eyes and rubbed her temples; the memory of her peyote induced dreams. She could remember the poem the dark entity recited; it forced its way into her thoughts. Maybe I am going mad?

"Why would Tom's soul be missing? How would it be missing?." Dumbledore didn't utter the word 'Horcrux' to Ophelia should she actually be spying for Tom Riddle in any sort of way.

"He's done something awful, Professor!" Ophelia's voice trembled as she meant to yell the statement but it came out sounding more scared than angry. She recalled what she could from the poem in her dreams. "I'll cut my soul and put it into a ring…" Ophelia closed her eyes tight and tried to remember the rest of the poem but it was hard. "I need another soul to take, for that is the only way to please the snake."

Surprise bubbled inside of the older wizard but he concealed it from the young witch.

Dumbledore played it off coyly, "Reciting things from dreams isn't really considered proof. Not even those blessed with complete and competent abilities in divination are correct in what they pull from dreams."

"Be that as it may, I get the feeling he will not stop until…" Ophelia stopped in the middle of her sentence. The number seven was now randomly popping her mind. Now what in the hell does the number seven have to do with Tom?

Even though he didn't show it, Dumbledore did believe Ophelia. Now more than ever since Tom Riddle went and did the unspeakable. But as he looked on and studied the all too frazzled brunette in front of him; immersing her deeper into the dark tangle Tom had already trapped her in would be in poor taste.

"Ophelia, you're not well right now." Dumbledore approached the witch carefully. "Your family is worried about you right now; they don't even know your whereabouts or if you're even alive. It is my duty to have to contact the Ministry as to give your family a peace of mind."

"Please don't tell me that I am ill." Ophelia was irritated and as Dumbledore guided her out of the Transfigurations classroom but she held that emotion closely to herself. "I am not ill-mentally, physically, emotionally or otherwise." As much as Ophelia wanted to explode, scream at how it was unfair that nothing she said could convince Dumbledore of anything yet he would entertain the notions of what she would say. It makes me feel crazy but I'm not… I'm not.

"I never said ill, Miss Darwin, I just said not well." Dumbledore opened the doors of his classroom and gently guided Ophelia out. "You'll be fine soon, you need somewhere to rest."

John Westing was leaning against the wall next to the door but he automatically stood up straight when he noticed the two British magic users were in the hall with him. He said nothing though.

He looked to the older wizard before looking to the female witch.

Ophelia caught John's look. "Professor Dumbledore, will be notifying the Ministry about my whereabouts."

John nodded his head and again kept his gaze solely on with British witch. There was a disquieted look painted on her face.

"You two are welcomed to have dinner in the Grand Hall whilst you wait for someone from the Ministry to gather you." Professor Dumbledore's voice was kind and soft. "Shall I request anyone specific to come and retrieve you, Miss Darwin?"

"Would it be possible by any chance for me to turn myself to the Ministry?"

Albus sighed, "Unfortunately, no. The Ministry is rather formal and strict in how the deal with a great many things."

"Then I want either Zolotov or Elwood, please." Ophelia replied back, her voice had the smallest detection of irritation to it. The half-blooded witch then added, "I will only allow Zolotov or Elwood to come and collect me. Do not send me Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, or anyone else."

Dumbledore merely nodded. "I'll make sure to add that detail in when I write to them." The auburn haired wizard looked at the American Auror now. "I'll leave Miss Darwin in your care for the time being." With that the wizard took off to where it was he deemed fit for the time.

Ophelia looked down the hall towards where she remembered the Grand Hall to be; her gaze then went over to John Westing. It was almost too uncanny (in Sigmund Freud's type of uncanny was, she thought) how Ophelia would walk down the halls of Hogwarts with the handsome British wizard and now she was doing the same thing...Only with an American wizard who looked too much...Well, like her fiance.

"Fuck me." Ophelia whispered as she felt as if the ring on her left hand suddenly tightened into her skin.

John's ears easily picked up the cuss that escaped the brunette's mouth; if anyone squinted long enough maybe they'd see a slight blush lightly colored on his cheeks. Even though John heard strings of profanity so extreme it could offend the devil during his time in the good old American (muggle) Army, he figured it would probably be best if he ignored what Ophelia said.

William Zolotov rushed to Hogwarts from his office as soon as he got a letter from Professor

Dumbledore. The news had spread quickly that a patient had escaped from St. Mungo's and at first, William thought the whole thing was funny. Until, he found out the patient who had escaped was none other than a fellow Hufflepuff who was only a year younger than him.

The Russian wizard was fortunate enough that the Ministry allowed him to fetch his friend and even allow him to take the official Ministry carriage. His eyes bounced quickly between finishing the paperwork that declared a missing person as found; his brunette friend and to his surprise, the American Auror he and Peter met not too long ago.

Maybe becoming a father changed William a little bit. A friend wakes up and goes missing for a few hours-oh well-they're all grown adults enough to find their way back if they wanted. Now his emotions went from relieved to angry to suspicious upon retrieving his friend.

"I don't understand what you were thinking, Pipa." William finished the last of his paperwork and threw it to the empty space next to him. His eyes the zeroed in on the wizard who sat next to Ophelia. "Nor do I understand why you went along with whatever she was thinking."

"How would you feel if you were cooped up day after day in a hospital?" Ophelia asked her friend. "Then you woke up and no one was there for you?"

William shook his head, "That isn't good enough of an excuse to escape a hospital."

A weak smile graced Ophelia's lips, "It was for me."

"I hope and pray to whatever higher powers there may be that Yara doesn't have the sense to run off out on a whim when she is older." William commented as he felt the carriage gradually slow down. He looked out the window and could see the Elwood manor in sight. "Pipa, you better come up with a better excuse as to why you took off from St. Mungo's or Margo's going to have your head." The Russian wizard looked over to the American wizard, "Please say your goodbyes to Pipa, I have direct orders to take you and the three other wizards you came with back to your respective homes."

The carriage came to complete stop and already Peter Elwood stood at the front of the manor; his arms crossed against his chest; his posture perfect; and a disapproving look plastered over his face.

"Is he mad at me too?" Ophelia asked as she looked out the carriage window.

William ignored Ophelia's question and only acknowledge John Westing at this point. "I'll give you five minutes to say goodbye to your new friend." The Russian wizard stepped out of the carriage and slammed the door shut as he went to go converse with Peter for five minutes.

"Quite the group of friends you got, Miss Ophelia." John noted as he turned directly to face the only other person in the carriage with him.

"They're only worried is all, I suppose." Ophelia inched closer to John. She took a shallow breath in yet managed to let out a deep sigh. "Thank you, John for tagging along with me today. I hope you don't think me to be too crazy." Her pale green eyes looked into John's different colored eyes and realized that as she looked at John, she didn't associate him as a Tom Riddle look a like or compare him to Tom Riddle in anyway.

John chuckled and a little smirk cracked out on his face. "I'll try not to." As he studied her, he began to see her in a different light. John could admit that no longer did he see a sick girl whose mind was clouded with sporadic thoughts. He could admit that he actually found her rather beautiful...Too bad about that ring on her finger though, right?

"Let me know when you get back home safely." Ophelia almost reached out to give John's hands a comforting squeeze like she did in the park but she was able to stop herself. Their day together was over-she was more coherent enough now and was more than capable of keeping her hands to herself. "Write to me if you can."

"I'll ask Ruth for your address." John answered promptly.

Ophelia opened her mouth to speak but a loud knocking sound on the outside of the carriage interrupt her.

"Alright, that is enough." Peter's voice was firm as he put a hand out for Ophelia to take. "Time to go." The Elwood heir looked over to John Westing. "Have a good trip back to America."

Ophelia stayed planted in her seat but she did put a hand out. She wanted to go back to what she was going to say to John. "How soon can you wri-."

"Ophelia Mae Darwin," Peter snapped. "Let's go."

A melancholy smile graced John's lips instead of the smirk he sported moments ago. "Until next time, I guess." John southern accent was so strong in a sentence that contained no more than six words.

"Next time sounds fine." Ophelia took Peter's hand and stepped out of the carriage. She didn't get to take a second glance back at either William or John as the carriage immediately took flight as soon as both her feet were planted on the ground.

"I'm not one to care too terribly much about your personal relationships," Peter Elwood noted.

"As your friend who cares about you and your future, I don't think you should be writing letters to a man who is single as you are engaged."

"So, you're mad at me too then?" Ophelia asked as she walked closely behind Peter into the Elwood manor.

"Pipa," Peter's voice was steady and trying to convey a tone of reasonability. He didn't want to be cruel to his long time friend (William did try as well to be understanding-try being a keyword) he understood that Ophelia was feeling out of it more or less but why? Why, why, why-was her first reaction to run?! "I am more disappointed that you ran off. Do you know how worried everyone has been since your coma? Then we-Me, Margo, William, and Zyra-we hear that you are wide awake but you've up and ran. Don't even get me started on how your family has been over you." Shit.

Ophelia's lips pressed down into a thin line, the corners of her mouth pointed down. Her eyes watered but no tears were to be found. Her face felt hot with guilt and shame. Maybe she was being too selfish-maybe she had gotten so used to coming and going as she pleased in and out of people's lives.

Shit. Peter sighed. "Look, you don't need to feel bad. What's done is done."

"Can I see Margo? Is she taking visitors?"

Peter shook his head side to side, indicating that the answer was a no. "Since Autumn's been born she's been exhausted. They are both asleep and I want Margo to get some rest."

"Oh." Ophelia chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Tom will be here for you any minute now to take you home so even if Margo were awake there wouldn't be much of a point for you to visit her."

"Tom?" The tone Ophelia used as she spat her fiance's name out was one of mixed emotions. There wasn't a correct way for her to even comprehend it. "Does he have to get me? Why can't I just go on my own from here or maybe even stay one night?"

"Ophelia." The reasonable tone in Peter's voice was starting to fade away. "Tom is going to be here to collect you and you're going to go home with him because he is your fiance."

"He doesn't love me." Ophelia commented off handedly; her voice shook as she combed her fingers through her hair as an attempt to calm down. "He really doesn't. I don't think Tom is even capable of love."

She really must still be recovering...Peter looked at his friend, absolute confusion all over his face. "If he doesn't love you, why did he propose to you? Why did he keep in touch with you after you were expelled from Hogwarts? Why did he want to take you to Albania?" Peter took a step toward Ophelia and the second he did a look of heartbreak was all too apparent in her eyes.

"Pipa?" He didn't move any closer to her.

"Abuse and reuse a loyal resource, right?" Ophelia began to rant on. "Because that's all I am to him. I don't think his friends are even his friends because they like him-they're his friends because they fear him."

"What are you on about?" Peter asked. He was so lost as to what Ophelia was talking about.

She didn't give him an answer; instead the loud crackling of green fire from the front room echoed out from the first floor of Peter and Margo's home. Ophelia knew whose footsteps those were, as quiet as those footsteps were, she could feel him.

"Elwood, I cannot thank you nor Zolotov enough." In a heartbeat, Tom was already by the witch he deemed as his but he didn't verbally acknowledge her quite yet. He did however, take his own coat off his back and placed it on Ophelia's shoulders-his scent and warmth took over her senses.

Peter took a second to process the sudden shift of mood from one person to the next but he was quick to recover. "No need to thank us, really." He looked over to Ophelia but he didn't say anything. Her green eyes seemed glazed over all of a sudden with no real emotions telling Peter what she was feeling; her hands seemed like they were fidgeting on a will that was completely their own and skirted in random patterns on the front of the coat Tom just placed on her.

Yet when Peter looked over to Tom Riddle, there was an emotion in his eyes that allowed Peter to think that it was love or passion Tom had for his friend. Peter even noticed how Tom's arm wrapped around Ophelia's waist gently, as if she was made of glass.

"Why don't you two stay the night? I'll prepare a guest room." Peter word's flew out of his mouth faster than he could mentally comprehend. Emotionally, Peter Elwood felt like he had to say something, anything to get that blank look out of Ophelia's eyes.

"No, I wouldn't want to impose." The former Slytherin prefect offered a polite but rather forced grin to his former schoolmate. "I'd like to take Ophelia home so she could recover, plus, I am sure you and Mrs. Elwood are already busy accommodating a baby."

Ophelia moved away from Tom and over to Peter to give him a firm hug. Her voice was so quiet and low as spoke into her friend's ear, it almost couldn't be a whisper. "Thank you."

In her mind she meant to say: 'Thank you for trying, Pete', but Ophelia didn't want to leave an imprint of guilt on her friend should she have said it exactly how she thought it. "I'll try and pop by next weekend to see you, Margo, and the baby." Ophelia pulled away and very discreetly wiped any tears that might have escaped her eyes. "Let me know when is fine." Slowly, Ophelia removed herself from her friend and took steps back to her fiance.

"Good Night, Elwood. Send my regards to your wife." Tom took a hold of one of Ophelia's hands and intertwined his fingers with hers as he walked over to the fire place. He was adamant to take his witch home; she was his and they belonged at home more than anywhere else.

As green flames climbed over their bodies. Ophelia closed her eyes and in the brief time it took the floo system to take them away, she pretended the floo would take them to when they were no more than first years instead of the heavy present. She pretended that if she could go back those beginning years-hell maybe even beginning days-she could have saved him.

"We're home." Tom stepped out of fireplace, stood in front of Ophelia and took his coat off her body.

Ophelia opened her eyes; her mind done with pretending. There was only one person she could save.

Tom walked backwards from Ophelia; he had one hand in his trouser pockets and pulled out his fiance's wand. The heir of Slytherin then placed the wand in the air with a slight enchantment and with a careful flick of his thumb and pointer finger-he sent the wand spinning to its owner.

The brunette witch pinched her wand out of the air but she did nothing once it was back in her hands. She didn't even examine the wand; she tucked it away in the sleeve of her dress for the moment. Ophelia didn't move out of the fireplace; she wasn't ready yet.

"Are you going to come out of there or not?" Tom's hands were in tucked across his shoulders, his back pressed against the wall firm and tense, and the all too familiar look of disappointment beamed out of his brown eyes and locked on the woman he claimed to be fiance.

"I'd like to go home." Ophelia wasn't looking directly at Tom. Rather, looking around him. She pretended that the wall around his perfect face was more than just a blank wall; she imagined that a paintbrush was hovering around, splashing the wall with colors. "Please."

"You are home."

"My home is in West Berkshire."

Tom arched an eyebrow at Ophelia. Is she delusional?

Ophelia didn't like the silence that echoed around between Tom, her, and the all too big house. She repeated her previous statement. "My home is in West Berkshire."

Tom pushed off from the wall, detangled his arms, and marched straight towards the fireplace.

Ophelia didn't step back as Tom's figure seemed to trap into a corner. Rather she took a step forward the handsome man, neck back, shoulders up, and to the best of her ability she ignored the boiling sensation of anxiety pooling in the depths of her stomach.

"Your home, Ophelia, is here. In Dorset." Tom looked down at her. He noticed the defiant spark in Ophelia before, but now it was growing.

"'All my things are in West Berkshire." Ophelia replied back.

"Your things have been moved to here." Tom answered promptly. "So unless you plan on sleeping in the fireplace, come out."

Ophelia didn't move, and the only part of her body that did were the facial muscles that allowed a pout to take place over her features. That slight anger in her eyes was growing.

Tom stepped back, hands in his pockets, and turned his back on her. "Do whatever you want. You're a grown woman. But I will have you know that I've used the last bit of floo powder to get you." He then added, "Also, for the sake of our privacy there's been an anti-apparition charm placed on our home. I didn't want people popping in and out like our home is a pub." Tom turned to Ophelia. "Come into bed at a reasonable time. The healers at St. Mungo's say you need to rest."

Why you sneaky-! Ophelia couldn't even think of a proper word. In a blink she rushed out of the fireplace and rushed towards the living room. That reaction was one mainly out of instinct, but the living room was usually where a phone was in Ophelia's parents' home. Her eyes looked over the area in a general skimming process. Is she could find a phone, she could dial for maybe a cab? Or maybe she could get her dad to come and get her?

Nothing.

The half-blooded witch spun around the room, pacing between the corners. Nothing.

Hell, she looked under the couch in the center of the room then for good measure Ophelia took out her wand and pointed at all the open spaces. "Revelio."

Nothing!

Ophelia walked out of the living room, but she threw one last glance around the room as she gave up.

"Why are there no phones in the house?" Ophelia yelled out as she walked towards the front parlor room. Ophelia flipped the light switch on as she passed through the arch way. First, her pale green eyes widened in surprise before they narrowed in anger. "Where's the piano?"

There was silence.

"Tom?" Ophelia pinched the bridge of her nose hard; her heart was pounding; and she could almost feel a cold wave full of dread radiated out of every pore on her body. "Tom!" Her voice cracked as she called for him.

Tom Riddle's footsteps while quiet were rushed as he headed down the stairs and over to his fiance. As soon as he laid eyes on Ophelia, Tom knew what she was upset about. He didn't see any tears on her face; but he could sense the stress she was experiencing.

There was a type of contented gaze in his eyes as Ophelia stood in the rather empty feeling parlor room. It was a brief glimpse, a nice and possibly even a sweet reminder to him of the scared little witch she had been.