discaimer: I don't own Tom Riddle Sr, Jr, or the setting in Little Hangleton; Jo Rowling owns that stuff. Idon't own the stupid 'incarnem flamare' spell thingy, adopted from the Warner Bro's Movie Industry. I do own Rose. And your soul. Just kidding. Enjoy tearing apart this little tidbit of TMR background. If you MST it, send it to my LJ, please!!! I enjoy bad humor, and bad writing,if you couldn't tell...

Confession

December 3rd, 1926

The English manor greeted the homecoming couple. Their breath lingering in its stale air reminded them of how pleasant Spain really was. The house was frigid after being unoccupied for the last several months, and winter's temperature was a shock. The man knelt down by the fireplace, a box of old matches in hand, and the woman stood, tugging her shawls a little tighter around her shoulders and now swelling stomach. The moonlight that traveled through a window seemed to spotlight the man's crouched figure, as he struggled to get a spark. What will he say?

"Damn matches," under his breath, "One moment Rose, if that bloody servant had stayed, we wouldn't be in this mess." He was irritated. An unkempt house always irritated Tom. Rose looked at their surroundings. The white sheets draped over furniture had collected dust, and appeared ghostly in the soft light.

"If you like I can help," she said.

"No, no. Sit down."

She walked over to a chair in front of the fireplace, removed its sheet. Dust lingered in the air momentarily. She was nervous; she had put this off for six months. This was supposed to be done by now.

"God damn it!" The man barked as he rose to his feet and faced his wife. "Mildew! I have to go get another box from the cupboard. Stay here." He began to walk past, and she stepped in his way. Now was her chance, if ever.

"If you like, Tom, I can help."

"What?" he was puzzled, "Sit down Rose, I'll be back in a moment." Tom moved, but she placed a hand to his chest. He looked oddly at her, and before he could say anymore, she brought a finger to his lips. His brow furrowed.

"I can help you, Tom, with the fire." This had to get his attention. Ask me 'how'… ask me 'how'…

He studied her a moment. "Travel has wearied you my dear. Sit down, and try to stay warm. I will not have you running about in your delicate condition."

She sighed. She would have to do this all by herself.

Rose took a deep breath, grabbed his hand, and led him to the lifeless hearth. She stopped right in front of it, still holding his palm. The moonlight was now to his back, and she could not see his face. He was a tall, expressionless silhouette. Now or never.

"Everything we need to start a fire is here," she began. She didn't look up, even to see his shadow. Keep going. "The kindling, the paper-"

"And the matches, which are in the kitchen cupboard. My dear, you are exhausted and talking drivel-"

"No!" She pulled her hand out of his, shocking him with the gesture. "No." Her voice softened. She had to be easy.

She took a step back, and placed a hand between her shawls. "The kindling, the paper, and this."

His eyes focused on a thin stick that she had pulled out of her coats. She held it resolutely, but she was clearly exhausted from the journey home. It was nothing but a wooden rod of some sort, a trinket she must have bought in Madrid. She was now pointing it at the hearth, and opening her mouth to say something.

"Rose…"

"Incarnem flamare."

A spark of fire shot out the wands tip, and placed itself in the now fully ablaze fireplace.

Wait…was he going mad? A spark of fire shot out the wands tip… ? He could see the fire, and he could certainly feel it, but he didn't understand. What was this? How was this? And Rose, did she just…?

He looked back to Rose, and saw her tuck the wand back under her coats. Madness. This was a dream, a nightmare. He was asleep in the carriage next to his doting wife. They were still on the road, traveling back to Little Hangleton. He was not standing in his house right now. It was impossible. It had to be a dream. A breech upon the laws of physics. Absolutely unheard of. …Magic.

Tom's eyes scanned to the fireplace, then back to his wife. His senses told him something was terribly wrong. Fear. He felt stuck to the floor as if his shoes were nailed down it. A tingly sensation rippled up his spine, to the hairs on the back of his neck. Rose… the fear was winding down his throat now, into the pit of his stomach. Rose... she did that. Rose… that woman. That…

"Witch…" the word slipped past his lips with the slightest effort. It was all that he could articulate. No other word came to mind; there was no other explanation for what he just seen. Nothing else made sense. All of the childhood fairytales, all of the wives tales, each and every last myth... his head was swimming. He thought he couldn't move, that is, until she started towards him.

"I've been meaning to tell you, for so long now," she pleaded, as he stumbled back to the window, "but, I was- I was just… I was afraid of this!" She could see Tom clearly, now that the room had been filled with firelight. His mouth was open, and he had a hand slightly outstretched, shakily trying to shield himself. The other was touching the wall, trying to find stability.

"Tom, please! Jus-"

"Stay back!" He could hardly form those words. Rose stopped her advance. The man that usually was so brave, and so chivalrous, had become a cowering mass before her. She was beginning to doubt herself. Her palm subconsciously found its way to her stomach; she had to try.

"Tom, you must listen to me. You know me. I am your wife."

"Witch…"

"Yes, I am a witch Tom." She had to be calm. "And I am also the woman in love with you, and-"

"GET OUT!" The high pitched scream that hurdled out of his throat surprised pierced her ears. He had backed up against the wall completely, and strained not to make eye-contact.

Be strong. "… and I am pregnant with our child..." he faltered slightly in the mentioning of the baby, "and I would never harm you, or the baby, Tom. I love y-"

"NO!" Tom clasped his hands to his ears, and squinted his eyes, as if venom was being spat in his face. "No more!" He had to get away, he had to be free. A sudden instinct to make flight had taken over his thoughts. He was tainted, and vulnerable. His soul was on the line and at the mercy of that woman. She was not natural. She was of another world… an evildoer…demon… witch. He had to rebuke her and everything she had done to him; the sinful feelings, the false love… and the child.

He opened his eyes, and brought his hands back down to his sides, in horror of his new realization. She was pregnant, and by him. She had seduced him, consorted with him, and was now growing the one thing that would bind them forever. The baby… their baby.

Tom shifted his gaze to her stomach, and stood at full length. She instinctively brought both hands to her abdomen. He was no longer cowering and recoiled by the wall. He looked ready to strike. His eyes had changed, as did his voice. Rose couldn't exactly read him.

"Get out." He said it coldly, without any trace of emotion.

"Tom, please,-"

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" He was hysterical again, with a voice so high pitched it was almost painful. "Out! You witch! Evildoer!"

"Tom!"

"OUT!"

He lunged towards her without warning, and seized her arm. Heading her to the entry doors of the drawing room, he drove her out with all the force he could. Rose stumbled, and before she turn around, he had slammed the doors in her face. She heard the sound of locks clicking, and was once again in the bitter dark of the Riddle House. Under the door she could see his shadow. He was standing there, listening to her.

He pressed both of his palms flat against the doors from the inside. She wasn't gone. He could sense her out there, waiting for him like a snake in the grass. He half expected her to muster up some curse that would blow the doors open, but all the same, he had to try. He had to block her out.

She regained her balance. Her breath, now coming out in pants, looked like little ghosts in the frigid air. Her eyes flickered back to the floor, and his shadow was still there. Two words, and she could be back in that room, fighting for him. Two words, a simple flick of the wand, and he could throw her out all over again. And he would. She could still feel where his fingers had clenched around her arm, when he cast her out. He feared her. She thought of his eyes, the abhorrence in them. The malicious way they squinted at her stomach. He feared the baby as well. And it was then that her mind cleared. She knew what she had to do.

Tom heard the floorboards begin to creak as Rose walked away. He put his ear to the door, and strained to hear her fading footsteps. They grew fainter, and fainter, until he heard the front doors open, and shut gently. He waited. It could be a trick. Tom knelt down, and peered out of the keyhole into the corridor. She was gone.