Hermione let the enchanted quill roll over parchment while she ate. She read over the parchment after the quill was finished. It seemed to be all wildly exaggerated and inaccurate parodies of what she had actually been thinking, which made her believe that the charm she had used wasn't quite as long lasting as she'd hoped; it read more like the Quick-Quotes Quill version of things, so she crumpled the parchment. She missed the nuance and accuracy of spoken language right about now, and wondered whether she should just speak to him. Her life as a mute was only self-imposed out of embarrassment and just a little bit of fear.

He was startled when she broke the silence. "I've been told I speak too loudly, but if you can bear with me, I think I'll try to tell the story this way. Be patient with me; I can't hear myself so I simply don't know if I'm being loud."

Her voice was halting, somewhat flatter than he remembered and a little hoarse, but he was relieved to hear it. He had wondered why she didn't speak, whether the potion had rendered her mute, but had not asked.

"This is…acceptable." He started to be sarcastic, but caught himself in time.

"It's much easier for me to sign, but my lip-reading has gotten better over time so I suppose we can have a nearly normal conversation, then. Let me tell as much as I know." She paused. It felt like such an intimate gesture, speaking when you couldn't hear yourself, dependent that the words you remembered how to form were actually what the recipient would hear. She hated the feeling, but pressed ahead.

"Another Child of the Order was born after Voldemort was imprisoned. It was an unusual circumstance. Voldemort had apparently become fascinated with Muggle biotechnology, and arranged for himself to be cloned. At the time, there had never been a successful attempt to clone a human being. He contacted this rather insane religious group called the Raelians who claimed to have the technology but needed a catalyst that they were unable to produce – Voldemort apparently helped the process along a little, though we're not sure how. The next thing you know, they're telling the Muggle news media they've successfully cloned a child, but they were quite secretive about the whole thing and it was written off as a hoax. They've certainly not been able to reproduce the feat again, which is why we assume he used some form of magic to make it work. It certainly wasn't a hoax. A child is out there, right now, bearing the genetic imprint of our dearly incarcerated Dark Lord.

"The Raelian sect apparently attempted to contact Voldemort to let him know of their success, but failed, because Voldemort was in Azkaban. One of these letters they attempted to send is the one that Harry now has. The child was apparently adopted by some members of the group, never to be heard from again." Her voice was getting slightly more animated and certain as she continued. "The only reason we know about it at all was a letter that Harry has come across in his work as an Auror, and the Hogwarts Book that lists all the incoming children. A child designated only as Tom Marvolo Riddle is listed in the book." She paused for a moment and took a sip of tea, watching the emotions play over his face at this news.

At length, she continued on, "The trail is cold after the child's adoption. The Mother Superior and Dumbledore maintain that the best thing we can do is take exceptional care of James, not that I have any difficulty with that, and make certain he is prepared in case this unknown entity turns out to have some or all of Voldemort's power. There are still those out there who would attempt to pervert young Tom Riddle if they knew he was alive, as you are surely aware.

"James is surrounded by strong witches and wizards who can help him. We need to make sure he stays on our side of things. We cannot predict the power this other child might have; it may be weak, it may be amplified, you know how mixing Muggle science and magic can be so unpredictable." Hermione finished, and looked at him over steepled fingers.

"This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with our son?" As he said our son, he felt an unfamiliar lurch in his stomach. He was a father. Would he get used to that reality?

"There is a good chance that Voldemort's…son, for lack of a better phrase…will be at Hogwarts this term. The owl has been sent, and came back without her burden. We won't know what the child's adoptive name is, but we have a pretty good idea of what Tom Riddle looked like in his younger days. We've alerted Ollivander to let us know if anyone finds themselves in need of a familiar-type wand, and the Sorting Hat will definitely be able to tell us who Tom the Younger is unless Voldemort managed some kind of charm on the boy's genetics that could fool it. No one knows if Voldemort was inherently evil, of course, but we must proceed with caution. There are too many variables."

Suddenly everything made sense, and he could see Dumbledore's machinations clearly. The old man was haunting him from his stupid little hovel on the sea. He'd made Hermione an offer she couldn't refuse to bring James close so that he, Snape, could play the father and protect the child while determining the identity of Voldemort's heir and guiding the youngster to the Light.

If there was anything in this world that irked Severus Snape, it was being manipulated by a Gryffindor. The old man had done it again.

All he could do was nod at her. Well more than half his soul was screaming at him to walk away now, but the need in her eyes kept him rooted to the spot. He could feel that she and her ruddy Spirit were bewitching him again, which was a thought that quite honestly both repelled and attracted. It was a familiar position, at least.

"We'll take things as they come, Headmistress, and you can be assured that both boys will have my protection and guidance." He decided to be deliberately formal to attempt to wash away the tide of desire, and hopefully dismiss her before he was forced to take her into his arms again. He'd been down this road before and could recognize the signs.

"Thank you. Now, unless there is anything else…?" Her eyes met his, and it was all he could do to keep himself in check.

"When will James be returning from the Manor?" Severus said, forcing his eyes off her and to a point on the wall behind her.

"Tomorrow morning. We have a week until school starts, and I'll want to go down to Hogsmeade and get a few things for him."

"I'll accompany you," he offered, wincing at the fact that he was actually offering to spend time with a child voluntarily. His circumstances had certainly changed.

"James would like that, I'm sure. Would you," she faltered, "have dinner with me tonight?" She was surprised at herself, but once she had begun speaking with him, she felt as if she'd opened up and yet no harm had come to her. It was intensely liberating.

He knew, without a doubt, that he should say no. He should limit time with her to the boy and official duties. There should not ever be a social occasion that would require him to be alone with her. Gods help him if he couldn't control himself.

"I don't think that would be wise," he managed.

"I won't bite. We can go down to Hogsmeade and have a nice public dinner where you don't have to worry about me working any voodoo on you."

He sighed, cursing her inwardly. "That won't be necessary. Come back here at 7."

She nodded, and left the room.

*~*

A dementor glided into the room where the prone form of Tom Riddle the First slept. Naturally this wasn't a surprise to anyone; a dementor checked on the prisoner once a day for signs of physical death. As the dementor considered the prisoner, he finally raised one long arm and pointed it in the defeated, broken wizard's direction.

"Ennervatium enumero spiritus," rasped a voice, and a sickly yellow light shot out of the dementor's head and into Tom's mouth.

Tom Riddle's body had existed without thought or reason for over ten years. A dementor had been assigned to administer the Kiss, to suck the soul of the Dark Lord Voldemort out of Tom Riddle's body and leave it forever insensate and void. No one had ever survived or defeated a Kiss. It was the end of a life, and in Voldemort's case, most of the world thought that was just fine.

What those in the world at large could not comprehend was the power, and deliciousness, of Voldemort and his particular brand of evil to many of the dementors. The one chosen to Kiss Voldemort indeed sucked out the soul, but did not devour it as was the custom.

Voldemort's soul had been retained for this moment, carefully hidden away by a band of dementors who wanted nothing more than terror and strife to reign once again on the earth. The dementors that had plotted to save this soul and return it to the body of the prisoner knew that their rewards for this would be immense and pleasurable. There had been so little fresh human emotion at Azkaban for the past years after Voldemort's untimely fall, but they had been obliged to wait until his boy had reached a suitable age before making a move. All of them had banded together, and watched the signs. Voldemort's soul was perfectly aware of all that had happened in the Post-Draco-Trial world, but had not been able to act due to being disembodied. That was all about to change.

The dementor that had carried Voldemort's soul back to Tom Riddle watched as light dawned in the prisoner's eyes. He looked down at his hands, his feet, and began to laugh. He laughed and cackled until tears squeezed out of his eyes, and he turned to his captor and savior.

"You will be well rewarded, my friend. Let us go and see my son before he can enter Hogwarts and be damned by those foolish cowards. We have much, much work to do."

For only the second time in recorded history, a prisoner walked out of Azkaban. His guards allowed him to pass. And no one who had attended Draco's trial would be safe from his terrible wrath.

*~*

In a tiny flat in Manchester, a young boy stared at the wall, absently hitting the button on his CD player to hear "Abbey Road" again. His pseudo-parents were perhaps slightly concerned about his obsession with John Lennon and death, but they chalked it up to a flight of fancy rather than a true deathwish. His life was far too important for it to be otherwise.

The dyed black hair, the dull eyes…this was all normal in their eyes, desirable, even.

Neither of the boy's adoptive parents were surprised when their son's letter from Hogwarts had arrived. They knew well the circumstances surrounding his birth. They were to be rewarded quite handsomely for their part in the upbringing of the magical clone child. They had been guaranteed a place in Heaven by His Holiness, the Raelian leader. They had no knowledge of or interest in the magical world other than its part in sending them to their eternal life. They had encouraged the boy in the darker paths in life, abusing and frustrating him at every turn, just as they had been instructed in the wishes of his donor. He was bitter, angry, and difficult. They were delivering the goods as promised.

As the boy idly tapped a foot to "Come Together", he noticed a green flash under the door. Anything to do with the horrid people who had adopted him didn't concern him, so he didn't think about the flash or what it might mean. He contemplated skipping "Something", deciding at last that he could tolerate it this time through as long as he didn't have to deal with any Paul songs.

At length, his door opened, and the room grew cold. A large…creature?…in black hooded robes stood in his doorway, motioning him forward. As if he were a marionette, he stood and mechanically followed the beckon into the hall.

An emaciated, disgusting semi-human sat in his ersatz father's chair. The…man's?…feet rested on his dead mother-figure's head, kicking it in time with the bang bang of Maxwell's now-forgotten silver hammer. "Yoko didn't break up the Beatles, you know," the man said.

"Yes," the boy said in a flat tone, "Paul's ego was the real culprit."

The man smiled the reptilian grin of someone who was tasting his first freedom and power in many a year, and looked levelly at the boy who showed not the faintest care or worry that his adoptive parents lay dead at his feet. After all, the boy thought, they were planning on dying anyway. I just get one less week to live in this hell-hole with them.

"We have much to discuss, my boy. We are one, you and I, and we are about to take over the world together."

"Pardon my curiosity, sir, but who are you and why should I consider you important? Raelian? Magical?"

The man laughed, and stood up. He walked to the boy and touched his cheek with his hand. "I suppose I could be thought of as your father, in a sense. But it's more correct to say that we are of the same ilk."

"You're my father?" While world-weary, the boy wasn't above fits of age appropriate wonder, and his eyes were wide and slightly fearful.

"Your genetic donor, yes."

Rage welled up in the boy, and he instinctively raised a hand and struck the older man square in the jaw.

The Dementor accompanying Voldemort advanced on the young boy, but Voldemort held up a hand to halt his progress. "It's all right. You have much anger. That is perfect. We have much to discuss, my young friend."

*~*~*~*

A/N: Nope, I'm not making the Raelians and the cloning up. www.telegraph.co.uk/connected/main.jhtml?xml=/connected/2003/01/03/ecnclon30.xml for more info. Just sort of fit the story and my penchant for Muggle science/magical realm crossover.