I was never really the same after Garrett died, but I wasn't that different either. I just lived life from day to day, not really thinking of the future and trying not to think about the past too much.

I buried myself in my work as a healer, because I felt like even though my life wasn't going too well at least I could try and help others. In fact, Professor Dumbledore even became headmaster of Hogwarts and invited me to apply for a job as the school Healer. I was unsure about whether I wanted to do it, but I went to the meeting with him anyway.

When I walked into his office Professor Dumbledore smiled on me with kindly eyes. I was around 27 years old then. He said to me, "Sit down, Phoebe. How are you?"

"Fine," I replied automatically.

"But not exactly better than ever, right?" I nodded. "It's okay. I know what you've gone through, but have faith that things will get better."

"I try," I said weakly.

"We have two positions open in Hogwarts right now, and I wanted to offer you the position of healer here."

I paused. "I don't know," I said honestly. "I like where I'm working right now… and I don't know if I could bare being around here all the time again."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I think I understand." He glanced at a watch in his pocket and turned back to me. "I'll keep looking, but if you change your mind please let me know. I do have another appointment right now, but if you ever want to stop by for any reason, feel free."

"Thank you very much, sir."

I headed out the door and walked into the hallway. I passed by a man who I figured was coming for a job interview, but I didn't really look at him that closely. As he headed into the office I did a double take and turned around, but I could no longer see him. The person that I had just passed looked very much like Tom Riddle, but I could not be sure. His face was much thinner and very white, with an almost waxy appearance. It was like I was seeing a distorted version of Tom. I shivered and hurried home.

ooooooooooooooooo

The year was 1970 when all the trouble really began. There were many sudden deaths, and at first the cause was unknown. It was later discovered that a wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort was at the head of all the trouble. He had formed a group of men and women called Death Eaters who killed people.

When I first read about Voldemort in the Daily Prophet it drove me crazy because the name sounded familiar. I could not for the life of me remember where I had once heard it- it must have been long ago.

It was one of those things that annoyed me so much that I couldn't think of it that it was all I tried to think of. It was only when I had finally given up that I remembered where I had heard the name Voldemort before.

A bunch of boys at Hogwarts used to call Tom Riddle that.

I denied the obvious. This mass murderer that was on the loose was surely not Tom Riddle. Tom was a quiet boy and a good student. He didn't kill people, for heaven sake. But as the next few years passed and the crimes and the terror increased, I realized that Voldemort really was Tom Riddle.

In a sense, Tom Riddle did not exist anymore. He died at the age of 17. This new person, this Voldemort, was someone else. That was the only thing I could tell myself.

I still thought of Tom Riddle sometimes. I couldn't help it. Some memories of him were a little fuzzy, but others were vibrant in my mind. I had blocked out the thought of our kiss, but it was the little things that I remembered. The sight of him running his hands through his thick hair, or walking slowly down the hallway with a half smile playing on his lips.

I did not live in such fear of Lord Voldemort like everyone else did. They were scared to death that he would come to their house and do them in. I did not fear death too much and did not have much to live for anyway, so if I was doomed to die at his hands I would just accept it. Aside from that, I could only be curious as to what would happen if he did come into my house. If he would speak to me, remember me, or do anything at all.

There was one thing I read about him in the paper that did not make my acceptance of his killing easier. It was soon discovered that when Voldemort killed a person he left a symbol above the place when they had died. It was a green skull with a snake coming out of the mouth.

It was identical to the one I had seen over Garrett's house years ago.

The realization of this hit me hard. Back when we were only 17, Tom Riddle was still Tom Riddle. He was not the evil, ugly Lord Voldemort. And it had been Tom Riddle who killed Garrett. Tom. Not Voldemort.

I thought about Garrett every once in awhile, but he did not leave a huge impression of me. After all, we had only known each other for about three years, and over time he slowly faded away from me. It made me sad to think about him, but I had moved on with my life eventually.

I just could not understand why Tom had killed Garrett. I suppose the answer was obvious. Garrett had tried to get my necklace back from Tom. But why did Tom have to kill him? He was the more skilled wizard by far, why couldn't he have just held on to the necklace and never let Garrett near him?

I should have hated Tom Riddle with every fiber of my being. I had more reason to than so many other people. But for some reason, I just couldn't. I couldn't feel much of anything anymore. There was no passionate hate, no passionate love. My strong emotions seemed to have died with Garrett, at the age of 17.

oooooooooooooooooooo

The year is now 1998. I am 72 years old. My heart is scarred and I am old. Not that old for a witch, perhaps, but I just feel old. I thought that I would never have to think about or hear about Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort again.

16 years ago Voldemort seemed to have disappeared from the world. He tried to kill a tiny baby named Harry Potter, but could not do so and was seemingly destroyed.

Everyone rejoiced and praised The Boy Who Lived. They did not think they would have to worry about the horror that Voldemort brought anymore.

However, within the last few years Voldemort has come back. If anyone could do such a thing, Tom Riddle could. I did not know what to think, so I tried not to think at all.

I did not like to see people suffer, so I wished for Voldemort to be destroyed once and for all. Maybe if he died, the memory of the torture he put me through would die too. Because it tortured me every day to think that the boy I couldn't stop dreaming about had done all of this to the world.

It was even worse to think that I might have been able to stop him. When Garrett died, if I had only said something… told them that I suspected Tom Riddle was behind the whole thing. I doubted it would have made a difference, but you never really know.

There was nothing I could do now. I could only sit back and watch what happened.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A/N: I don't know if this chapter was very good. I think it's a bit different than the ones I've written previously… I hope it's okay. There's still another chapter or two to go.