Chapter 2: Ready

And so I lived my life. Day after day. I finished school, went into university, got married and had three children: twins Fred and George and little Luna. I got a job running my own veterinary surgery. All was well. I was happy; so happy. I wasn't ready, not yet. I let myself almost forget about the prophecy, as if three people had never come to visit in the dead of night. I forget their names, their lives, everything. I picked up a battered old copy of Harry Potter every now and again, but that was it. They were characters.

My life went on perfectly until I was sixty nine. That's when tragedy struck. My husband had gone out to get our forty-ninth wedding anniversary present. He was coming home on the bus when it happened. The doctors said it had been quick, that he felt no pain. The heart attack had made sure of that. He was happy when he died. But I wasn't. As soon as they told me, I knew I'd never be happy again.

The funeral was a private affair; only our family, although there was a fair number of them by now. I stood by his grave, a solitary tear in my eye. Fred and George came over, followed by Luna. She could always make me smile, in her vacant, dreamy way. But not today. My twins failed to raise the edges of my lips as well, and they never stopped smiling. So brave they were, my boys.

I went over to my grandchildren, and said goodbye to all nine of them. Cedric, Teddy and Harmony. Lily, James, Lavender and Dean. Susie and Seamus, even his wife, Andromeda and their little girl, Fleur. I waved to my great-grandchild-to-be, Viktor and walked over to the graveyard's gate and whispered three names.

They came without a sound; just appeared out of thin air. The girl gave me a small bottle full of colourless liquid, which I drank in one. I closed my eyes, collapsed into the red-headed boy's arms, and knew no more.

-

My lungs needed air, desperately. And, instinctively, I knew there was only one way to get it. I cried, and was distinctly aware of someone, a woman, leaning over me, a beautiful golden pendant in one hand. She turned a dial on the pendant, and it clicked gently and continuously, until the whole world went onto rewind.

I had only been alive for a matter of minutes, so didn't know if this was normal or not. Everything was moving incredibly fast: the graves were becoming fewer; people were zooming in and out of focus. And then, as soon as it had started, it had stopped.

The woman holding me, who I assumed was my mother, pulled her cloak further around herself, and fled from the graveyard. She hurried down many cobbled streets until she came to a large building, its red bricks daubed in midnight shadows.

My mother pushed open the door and went down a dark corridor into a room that was flooded with light. I stopped crying instantly. A woman with an extremely red face was fussing over another baby with dark eyes and hair and a very pale woman spoke from a bed in the corner.

"He looks just like his father…" Her voice was so frail, as if a gust of wind would just blow her away. "He shall be called Tom Marvolo Riddle. His father and grandfather. They would be proud…" Her voice faded into nothingness.

My mother coughed, and the large, red-faced woman spun round to look at her.

"Yes? What is it? What do you want?" Her voice was urgent and slightly harassed. My mother stepped back a step.

"I can't do it. I can't! There's no way to look after her. Her father died and took the money with him. I can't look after her!" My mother wailed. The red-faced woman's expression softened.

"These things happen. No-one blames you, my dear. Put the girl down in the cot, next to the boy. How old is she?"

"Fifteen minutes old, or there about." The red-faced woman looked at my mother suspiciously. "You don't look it," she said. My mother looked over the woman's shoulder to Tom's mother.

"I have my ways…" I hadn't a clue what she meant, but Tom's mother seemed to understand. In fact, she seemed to be happy about.

"Now I can go on without worry… Please," she said to the red-faced lady. "Please, make sure these two stay together. The other children may find them different but make sure they are never separated. Please." Her voice way barely more than a whisper. "I wish to hold my son one last time." Tom was handed to her, no questions asked.

She gazed down at him hungrily, as if trying to look a life-time's at him, all in the space of a minute. She pushed his wavy black hair out of his big, dark eyes. Her hand trembled as she did so, and she could only just manage the simple movement.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts Hoggywarty Hogwarts, teach us something please," she sang, her voice a mere breath away from death. "Whether we are old and bald… Or young with…"

"Scabby knees." My mother finished, but Tom's mother did not hear her. Even though there was so much new life in this room, death had still, mercilessly, struck.

-

My mother left me at an orphanage in London on a cold night in 1925. She left me with a boy called Tom Marvolo Riddle, and she told the red-faced woman that I was to be named Joanna Potter. Tom and I were kept together, and we soon understood that we were alone. The other children didn't like being around us and we didn't know why. I tried to be friendly, but Tom stayed away. Eventually, I copied him, and we knew that we were meant to have no-one but each other.

The orphanage was run by the red-faced woman, who everyone called Sister. When she had first opened the orphanage, she had wanted people to think she was a respectful Catholic. Now she just used it to scare the children into behaving.

It was obvious that the Sister hated us. She sneered at us, ignored us, and made our lives hell. But Tom and I, we didn't mind. As long as we had each other, we were always going to be alright.

But the Sister kept true to her word. Even though it was against the rules, as we were the two people she least wanted to break them for, Tom and I were allowed to sleep in the same room. Tom said she agreed because he had made her. I said it was because she, like so many others, was scared of us.

Prospective parents came and went; couples that were looking for sweet, little children to adopt. It was well known amongst the children of the orphanage that there was a certain age when you became 'undesirable'. Tom and I had long since passed that age, and now eyes only lingered on Tom for a second, before seeing me and my hand clutched in Tom's. Then they turned away.

We began to notice the change in ourselves as well. Chubby, infant cheeks had become well-defined jaw bone; sweet clusters of freckles had become weird-looking and out of place. But nothing prepared us for the change that occurred on our seventh birthday.

It was a cold morning on the 2nd of September, 1932. I awoke with the scratchy blankets of worn sheets of my bed linen rubbing against my thin regulation night dress. I kept my eyes closed for a moment, still within the warmness and tranquillity of the world between sleep and wake.

"Morning, Tom," I whispered. The dark hair, black eyed boy in the bed next to mine stirred gently.

"Happy birthday," he murmured sleepily back. He stretched, and sat up. His eyes wandered over to me, and he did a double take. I looked at him questioningly.

"Y-your hair!" He gasped. "It-it's blonde!"

"Shh! Not so loud! It's only six o'clock, you'll wake Sister," I murmured. "And besides, it can't be blonde. My hair is russet red. You said so yourself…But none the less, I got up and went over to the mirror. Just as I had expected, my hair was-

Blonde. I almost screamed. Even in the half-light of dawn, it was clearly visible. Platinum blonde hair, tied back in a tight French plait.

"Tom! What am I going to do? I can't go down to breakfast like this!" I hissed. I started to wring my hands with anxiety.

"Well, you could just change back," Tom said, timidly. He was right to be so.

"Change back!" I hissed, in a voice that would soon only be audible to bats. "And how the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?" Living in the orphanage how given me a quick temper- and taught me a wide vocabulary of swear words.

Tom continued, if a little put off by my outburst. "You changed there, didn't you? Surely you can change back." I wasn't sure, but Tom seemed to grit his teeth slightly, as though bracing himself for my next onslaught.

So I decided to surprise him. "Ok then," I said brightly, "I will try. But only because you want me to," I added at Tom's confused look.

I took one last look at the blonde version of me, before closing my eyes and picturing my original appearance. I concentrated so hard- harder than I had done in any previous maths test- my brain felt like it was about to explode; my mind like it was going to melt when suddenly-

"Yes! You did it!" I opened my eyes (which were now cherry-coloured) and ran a hand through my dark red hair. My fingertips then brushed the freckles that I had lost and then found…

"She's a Metamorphagus!" Hermione laughed. "Didn't see that coming."

Ron wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head, smiling gently. "Never would have expected that of you," he teased. Hermione hit him playfully on the arm.

Harry rolled his eyes. He knew he should be used to his friends doing this by now, but still… He shook himself, and turned to the job in hand.

"Now they're seven years old, their magical powers can be revealed. After that, after they realise they are different from the other children, we have to provide temptation for Voldemort."

"Tom." Hermione said. "His name is Tom."

"Tom, Voldemort, is there really any difference? They're the same person inside."

"Harry, if you're going to keep thinking like that, then all of this," Hermione gestured around the room at the pages of hand-written research piled high in untidy stacks, "all the time we've spent doing this, will all be for nothing. The whole point is to stop Voldemort. If you can't stop thinking of Tom as him, then what's the point? You've got to start trusting him, Harry."

"I can't!" Harry yelled. "You've seen what he's done to everything! He wrecked my life, your life, everyone's! And now I gone and put my sister right in the middle in the middle of a war she was never supposed to have seen! He could kill if this doesn't go right!" Harry hadn't noticed at the time, but he was roaring in Hermione face, and she looked petrified.

"Get away from her! It's not her fault," said Ron. "Tom and You Know Who are different, and if you can't think like that, then it might jeopardise the mission. Accept that, or leave. Those are your choices."

"Fine," said Harry, turning away from his friends. "Let's get back to work…

Tom and I were left alone on our table at breakfast, just like every morning. When Sister came over to give us our food (toast like cardboard, covered in a thin layer of jam that had fury specks of white floating in it), she didn't look at us as she threw two plates onto the table, before moving on.

"Thank you, Sister, so nice of you to wish us a happy birthday. Jo and I very much appreciate it. Yes, it's not often a child turns seven." Tom said after she'd gone. I giggled. Tom always said something to make me feel better. He knew when I needed cheering up, and could always make me laugh.

After breakfast, it was time to hand out the post. Tom and I never received anything; we didn't know anyone to get anything from. Which was why I almost fainted with shock when two packages were placed on our table.

"I'm sorry," said Sister, even though she obviously wasn't, "but they were badly wrapped, and I'm not sure who each parcel was meant for. But I'm sure you won't mind." She turned her nose up, and bustled off to the next table.

Tom grinned at me. "What do you suppose they are?"

"I don't know, but I think we should open them upstairs," I said, so we grabbed the packages. And sprinted up to our room.