Don't tell me there is something wrong
Don't sing me another song
It's times like this i miss you
And the times i spend with you
makes me live a little longer
It's what cures the polio

It's like they say, after sun comes always rain
Always rain

"The brain is such an interesting part of the human anatomy, isn't it?" the Dark Lord questioned as he lifted one of the brown paper bags and reached down for the other. I beat him to it and took a step to the left to block him from going through the front door. "Come Jenny, time to put groceries away."

"I don't think so," I ground out angrily, "What have you done to my father? What have you done to me!"

He shook his head and merely shrugged. "Does it matter? He's sitting in the kitchen right now, happy, healthy and alive. Your mother is sitting down across from him as your kind and caring grandfather juggles the groceries. Isn't it perfect?" I stared at him as if he were crazy.

"And here you are," he continued, gesturing to me with one hand, "A lively young woman with her whole life ahead of her."

"But where am I?" I asked as I glanced around in confusion, "How can this be possible? This can't be real."

"It depends on your definition of real," he replied slyly, "When your father hugged you, did you not feel it? When breakfast was placed in front of you, did you not smell it? Even now you should be able to hear the birds singing in the trees and the cars driving down the road. Look up and you'll see the sun and clouds, look down and you'll see the ground firmly in place below your feet. How could this be more real than it already is?"

I shook my head. "It's all in my head. It's not real," I stated firmly.

"Dumbledore knew of Legilimency and Occlumency but he never really understood how malleable the mind really is," Voldemort stated as he nudged me out of the way and strode confidently into the house. He turned toward me before entering the kitchen. "This is where you belong Jenny, here you will be happy and I can provide that happiness for you."

"For a cost," I added, narrowing my eyes.

"Perhaps," he replied, "but you are safe here and I will make a deal with you."

"No deals."

"You may live this life until the sun sets," the Dark Lord continued, pointedly ignoring the interruption, "Then I will return and reveal my offer."

I opened my mouth to object but the kitchen door swung open before I could make a sound. It was my mother, smiling happily at the both of us. My heart leapt to my throat and I forced a smile in return.

"I wondered where the two of you got to," she remarked cheerfully, "Now give me that bag." She pulled the paper bag from my grandfather's arms before he could protest.

A rustling of newspaper drew my attention to my father. He was pretending to read the article in front of him but I could tell he was actually glaring at the man standing next to me. I guess some things can't be changed.

"He seems to like you just as much as he does in the real world," I commented out of the corner of my mouth.

Voldemort shrugged. "The idea of your father and I getting along is something that even Dumbledore himself wouldn't be able to imagine in his wildest dreams."

"Are you going to have some breakfast Tom or are you just going to lurk in the doorway?" My father questioned suddenly causing the two of us to start.

"It pains me to admit that I have made plans for brunch so I won't be able to stay."

My mother turned to give him a sad look. "At least stay for a cup of coffee."

Voldemort made a face. "I do not understand how the two of you can drink that swill. Give me a nice cup of tea any day."

"Well, too bad you can't stay," my father snapped, "Have a nice day."

"Harry," Oriel hissed.

"I'll be back before sundown," Voldemort replied evenly. My mother shuffled over to give him a kiss on the cheek and then he was gone.

"I don't know how you can drink that swill," my father mimicked after the Dark Lord had left. "Blah, blah, blah…"

Mother rolled her eyes. "Why is it that the two of you can never seem to get along?"

"Isn't it obvious?" father replied, "He's an old snarky bastard, mystery solved."

A sigh of frustration echoed through the small kitchen and a potholder went flying across the room, straight into my father's newspaper. "Hey!" he exclaimed loudly. Despite the situation I couldn't help but giggle. My mind kept telling me that everything I was feeling and everything I was seeing was not real, but my heart was slowly pushing those thoughts away until any objections my mind was having became merely a whisper. I began to fear that soon even the whisper would disappear.

dSz

An hour later I was living out a scenario that I had only experienced in dreams and daytime fantasies. My mother stood in front of the kitchen sink, whistling as she washed the breakfast dishes clean while I stood next to her, wiping them dry. My father sat at the kitchen table tinkering with an old radio that he was determined to fix.

Suddenly Oriel stopped washing dishes and turned to me with a concerned expression upon her face. "Tell me more about this dream of yours. From what Harry told me it sounded like it was pretty rough."

"It was," I replied with a nod. I paused to consider what to say next. "It's hard to explain but I think I'm still dreaming."

"What was that?" my father asked, his attention still on the pieces of radio sitting in front of him.

"Ow!" I exclaimed as my mother suddenly pinched me hard in the side. "What was that for?" I questioned grumpily.

"Just making sure you're not dreaming," she replied with an amused grin, "If you were dreaming then that pinch would have woken you up."

I shook my head. "No, it doesn't work like that. I think I'm trapped inside my head and all of this is just a fantasy."

"If you're trapped inside your head then how will you ever get out?" my father asked, momentarily looking up from his project.

"At sunset Voldemort is going to offer me a deal so I can stay here and live this life," I replied and I instantly felt as if a great weight was lifted from my shoulders. "I don't know what to do."

My father gave me a pointed look. "No one can live in two worlds. If this isn't the real world then you'll have to go back."

"Don't fill her head with wild thoughts," my mother interrupted angrily, "She had a nightmare and now she thinks she's still dreaming and instead of reassuring her that everything's okay you keep…you keep…"

"Keep what?" he asked wryly, "Keep believing her? She is my daughter and if she believes this idea of hers then I'm going to try and help her. I'm not going to sit here and tell her she's mad."

"Hmph!" Oriel huffed, throwing the washrag into the dirty water. "Sometimes I think father is right, your head is always going to be in the clouds."

"Better there then up my…"

"Harry!" she exclaimed loudly. "Fine!" Throwing one last angry glare at my father she stomped out of the room. Father let out a loud sigh before giving me a sympathetic look.

"She's never had much of an imagination," he conceded, "but I've always loved her anyway."

I looked at him doubtfully. "You can't be honest about believing me. You're just patronizing me."

"Now why would I do that?" Harry questioned with a grin as he straightened his glasses, his square framed glasses.

"Hmmm…that's odd," I mumbled, taking a seat across the table from him.

"What's odd?"

"Your glasses," I replied contemplatively, "In the real world they're round but in this one they're square. It's kind of funny though. I always wanted you to get rid of those ugly round glasses. Your hair is still messy though, I always did like that."

He began collecting up the pieces of the broken radio and placing them in the small box sitting next to them. "So what else is different in this world then in the other?"

"Everything," I sighed. "In the other world I was raised by you because mother died when she gave birth to me. At least I think she died giving birth to me, I'm not quite sure anymore. I've heard so many different lies and explanations; I don't know what to believe."

"What else?"

"Well, mom's dad is evil and he wants to destroy the world."

The clock on the wall ticked away as my father leaned back in his chair, seriously contemplating my words. "Do you know why he wants to do this?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. I know it has something to do with you taking away his magic but there's more to it then that. There's something that connects the Riddle family to the Evans family, no one seems to know what it is though. Something about a pact that your mom's ancestors made with grandfather's family and then there's also the prophecy made before you were born."

"Prophecy?"

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies," I concluded with a flourish. "It's the reason the Dark Lord went after you when you were one year old, or so everyone seems to think."

My father chewed his lip in concentration. "How strange. But have you thought of the possibility that the prophecy may have stemmed from whatever prior connection my family had with Riddle's family?"

"Do you think that's it?"

"More than likely," he added. "Tell me everything you remember."

"Are you sure?" I asked and he nodded in reply.

With a deep breath I began my story and for the next two hours my only accompaniment was the ticking clock. The hands stopped when I finished, as if accentuating the end of my tale. Without a word my father took my hand and motioned for me to follow him. We left the kitchen and headed down a familiar set of stairs, leading to the room I knew was occupied by his many paintings.

I hesitated at the door. "I'm not allowed in your studio," I explained at his questioning look, "And you got mad when I snuck in."

"That can't be," he replied in a confused tone, "I've never told your mother or you that I paint so you can't have known about this place."

Before I could answer he turned the doorknob and pushed open the large brown door. Instead of the familiar creak and groan of my father's studio door in the real world, this one opened smoothly and without a sound. Soft white light penetrated the darkness as my father flipped the switch on the wall. My eyes were instantly drawn to the multitude of paintings and drawings which covered nearly every part of the room.

He motioned for me to follow him into the large maze of artistic creations. I glanced at a few paintings but none of them caught my eye. Finally we stopped in front of a large canvas covered with a thin black sheet.

"I've always painted landscapes or simple portraits but last week I painted this," he replied as he slowly pulled the sheet away. "I didn't even understand what I was depicting until I showed it to your mother. She knows more about history than I do."

I stared at the work in front of me, trying to place the people in the painting, both of whom seemed so familiar. A great black mountain rose up behind the two men and a huge beast stood in front of them.

"Who are they?" I questioned softly as I stepped forward for a closer look.

My father stared at the painting adoringly. "Gilgamesh and his friend Enkidu, but like I said, I never would have known if your mother hadn't told me."

Turning to face him, I asked. "But what does it mean?"

"It means," he replied slowly, "That this memory came from up here." He pointed at his head. "And since none of this is real, that means it also lies in here." He turned his hand around and pointed directly at my forehead.

"But I still don't understand…"

"Think about it Jenny," he interrupted sharply, "If you were created from my magic and two drops of blood, blood that was a mix of every member of the Evans family…"

My eyes widened in comprehension. "Then your memories are my memories, along with the memories of everyone in the Evans line."

"Exactly," he replied with a grin. He pointed out one of the men in the painting. "Especially if the mixture that created you contained the blood of a man who legends say was half god. That would have to be some very powerful blood!"

"But how do you know it's Gilgamesh I'm related to?" I questioned doubtfully, "It could be Enkidu."

He shrugged. "If you think about it, your mind should tell you everything you need to know. According to you, it's telling me everything I should say to you."

"That's funny. If my mind is telling you what to tell me then I'm surprised you aren't telling me that I'm crazy, it was all just a dream and I should just forget about it."

"Obviously that's not what you really want," he stated knowingly. "Something or someone must be connecting a part of you to the real world."

I considered his words for a moment before answering. "Something is," I replied, my eyes watering as I met his. "Someone there still has my heart."