Chapter 1: The Best Laid Plans

Later that evening; still Sunday

There were three main thoughts running through Voldemort's mind. The first was 'Well then...' the second was 'what?!' and the third, but just as important, was 'this food is atrocious'.

These thoughts worked as follows:

'Well then...' was the shocked thought of someone who really didn't know what else to think about a given situation. It was the summation of a longer thought which consisted of a lot of curse words, jumbled images of a fire, and a number of very well drawn out death-threats.

The 'what!?' was a multilayered thought that ran all the way from 'what in bloody hell was that!' to 'what do I do about it?'.

The last thought had less to do with the situation at hand and more to do with the fact that Voldemort was currently eating dinner. Or at least what passed for dinner in most small British corner stores. This usually consisted of some kind of vegetable mush, some tasteless boiled meat, and plain white bread. The meal was, in fact, 'atrocious'. He was eating it anyway, he had survived on much worse in his life, and as it was, beggars couldn't be choosers. He didn't consider himself a beggar of course; he was merely lying low until conditions turned in his favor and then he would find the perfect moment to strike. Dumbledore and his gang of Merry Misfits wouldn't stand a flames chance in the ninth circle of hell.

At the moment though this was sadly out of his reach and his current predicament meant that he was low on funds and, technically, homeless. He had planned for most 'eventually's even if death hadn't been very high on that list. But because of his foresight he currently had a large sum of money stored away; both muggle and wizarding, in multiple locations throughout England and a few other countries. His over-seas accounts were inaccessible to him at the moment along with his vaults within Gringotts. They were better left untouched anyway. He doubted the annoying little goblins would give him away, mostly out of fear, but he knew that they would sell their own mothers for the right cost. He wasn't willing to chance that yet, not when he still had other option available to him.

His other money stores were in less official areas, but were in no way associated with the name 'Lord Voldemort'. They were the safest ones to access and probably had enough money within them to pay for a place to live and to make sure he didn't starve to death. It would probably last him until winter if he was cautious of how he spent it.

There were some supplies that he would need immediately though, especially given these afternoons...discoveries. Diagon Ally and Knockturn were both out for now, but Ubique Ally would have want he needed.

He also needed to figure out a place to stay. He knew he would have to stay within Muggle London for now, but hopefully his stay among these creatures wouldn't last more than a few weeks. He wasn't looking forward to it and didn't want to put up with them for longer than necessary. As things currently stood though, there were some things he had to get done that muggles were less likely to question then witches and wizards.

Which brought him back to his current problem: Harry Potter.

Today, Harry decided, was one of the best days he had ever had. Sure it had started out terribly, but meeting the Magic Man and getting the ball back had made it a bazillion times better, in his opinion at least. He clutched the ball to his chest and hugged it tightly, it was his now, the Magic Man, Tom he reminded himself (but that was rude wasn't it? He was always supposed to call adults 'sir' or Mister, so he supposed in was Mr. Tom then), had given it to him, so now it was officially his and he didn't have to share it, ever.

He slipped off of his small wire frame bed and let himself fall to his knees onto the wooden floor. The loose floorboard creaked as he moved his hand over it, slowly moving it aside. Bellow was a deep crevice, deeper than one would expect to be held under a piece of floor. Harry was certain that he could fit anything he could possibly want into this nook and no one would be able to find it.

There were a number of things under this loose floorboard, a life time of things. Some had been there when he had found it, like the small tin lunchbox and the yo-yo, but some of the stuff he had added, like the pack of gum and the small pencil and notepad. He added the ball to the collection now, it was a tight fit between the two other floorboards, but once he managed to squeeze it through it fit comfortably in the space below. He placed the wood panel back to hide it and moved back to his bed. It was getting late, but this time of year the sun wouldn't set until almost 9:00. So instead of trying to sleep Harry resigned himself to watch the world slowly shift outside of his window.

Harry's room was small, very small; in fact it was the smallest in the orphanage. It barely had enough walking space between the dresser and the bed, whose foot end rested snugly against the window and whose side was push as close as it could get into the left wall. The window was dirtied and likely hadn't been washed in over a decade just like the rest of the house. It was Harry's favorite feature of his room though, because it looked directly out to the front gate and the street below. He could see the comings and goings of everyone around him and it made him feel, for a short while at least, that he wasn't alone.

And he did feel alone now, more often than not, especially since Mrs. Palmer had moved him into this room, the only single occupancy room that the orphanage had. This small space was his and his alone. He thought that maybe he should like that, but it just reminded him that he was different and no one really wanted him around.

It had not always been that way though. When he had first moved into the orphanage he had been placed into a normal room with two other boys. One boy was a lot older than him, already in his teens and for the most part ignored the other boys in the room. If he did talk to them it was only when he was smoking some funny smelling green plant. He left one night and never came back, some kids said that he was dead, but Harry liked to think that he had just found some place better to live.

The other kid that he shared a room with was also five at the time and his name was John Johnson. He was one of the children that had been left at the orphanage without a name so the staff had given his the most generic one they could possibly think of.

Harry liked John, he was quiet and didn't talk much at first, neither of them did, but after a few days of living together they found that the silence wasn't so bad anymore. That it was almost enjoyable. They took to spending most of their time together, never really talking, but just enjoying the familiar silence that flowed between them.

They were a sort of friend, Harry thought, an odd sort, but John was the first and only person that seemed to like having him around. That had to make them at least a little bit friends, right? That had made Harry happy for a while, just knowing that he had someone that might, kind of; consider him a friend and that he could also consider and friend.

All things must come to a screeching crashing and flaming halt at some point though, as Harry had now come to expect, and his friendship with John was no different. It happened that winter, just before the Christmas holiday. There had been no snow, which wasn't uncommon for London, but there had been a lot of ice and a lot of mud. Some of the older boys had decided that, since there was no snow to pelt the younger kids with, they would just have to use mud instead, which and quickly escalated into rocks. Most of the younger kids had managed to escape inside before any real damage could be done, but Harry and John hadn't been so lucky.

The rock had hit John right between his eyes, hard.

Harry still didn't know how, or really even if he had done it, but seeing his friend hit the ground with blood streaming down his face…something clicked.

Usually events like this would be a blur, but to Harry every moment was burned into his mind in spotless detail. He remembered the cold spike of fear that ran through him, colder than the air around him that was turning his breath into little puffs of white smoke. The fear had been followed quickly by the hot splash of anger, tinting the world in red. If the rock had been thrown at him, if he had been the one on the floor in pain, he knew if wouldn't have cared. It didn't matter what happened to him after all, he was just a worthless freak. But John, John was human, John was a normal kid, a normal kid that shouldn't be hit, that shouldn't get hurt, because he was worth something, because he was better than that.

He had turned to the other boy, in anger and in hatred, and all he wanted to do was make him pay for what they had done to his friend, because John didn't deserve that, John didn't deserve to be hurt!

And then the boy who had thrown the rock was on the ground too, clutching his hand in pain. Loud snapping noises, like someone jumping up and down on a packet bubble wrap, filled the air followed by screams. Screams of pain and of anger as the other boys who had been playing this 'game' ran up to see what was wrong with their friend. Harry didn't pay them much notice, he only kept his eyes on the boy screaming in pain, because this boy deserved that pain, he deserved it for hurting someone else, someone important someone that mattered.

And then there was another rock and Harry saw it from the corner of his eye just in time to brace for the hit. The world had finally gone fuzzy and then slowly sunk into black. The other boy's screams had followed him into the darkness, echoing non-stop in his head.

The screams had still been stuck in his head when he woke up later in this new room alone. His head had hurt and his mouth was dry and he didn't really know where he was. He went to the door to see only to find he had been locked in. It was the first time he had been locked in at the orphanage, but his aunt and uncle had locked him into the cupboard under the stairs enough that he didn't bother panicking, someone would come for him eventually.

And they did, the next morning. Mrs. Palmer had looked down at him in loathing and told him simply "this is your new room, get used to it". He had found out much later that the boy who had hit John had, somehow, broken every bone in his hand and that everyone blamed it on Harry. Harry thought they were probably right to blame it on him because, though he didn't know how, he was almost certain he had been the one to do it.

John had stopped hanging around him after that, everyone had.

That had been over a year ago, Harry reminded himself as he watched the world outside his window. It had been a year ago and he could still hear the screams, and wondered if the echo would ever really fade from his mind. It didn't really matter too much anyway; just so long as he forgot to listen he was sure it would eventually disappear.

And maybe once they disappeared than his friend would be his friend again and he wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

He hated being alone.

Five blocks away and a little to the left the current, though still considered dead, Dark Lord of Great Britain was also sitting on a bed and staring out the window. The room he currently occupied was significantly larger though, with a far better bed. The view was crap however, so it was probably a good thing that said Dark Lord really wasn't so much as looking at it, but rather looking through it.

He had left the small corner store restaurant finding that it was doing little to help him solve his current predicament. Instead he asked the waitress where the nearest place to stay was, he would need silence and his own space if he wanted to come up with some kind of plan.

The young women had offered him the location of the nearest bed and breakfast. "It's not much really, but it's the closest place to stay around here. I would offer to put you up myself," she had smiled "but you just can't afford to trust people in these parts that much." Which he had to admit was very smart, for a muggle.

The bed and breakfast had turned out to be a decently sized house for the area. It was two stories tall and painted in a beautiful sky blue with florescent white trim that had obviously been touched up recently. The yard was tidy and friendly looking with spring flowers just coming into bloom, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that screamed 'welcome' into unsuspecting visitors faces. If that wasn't enough, the old couple that ushered him in was all smiles and friendly conversation, asking how he was and where he had come from.

He was quick to place them under the Imperius curse.

He left them standing stock still in shock at the bottom of the stairs waiting for orders that he didn't bother giving. Instead he made his way up the stairs and into the first guest room.

The room was passable he supposed, at least it had a bed. This was wonderful to Voldemort who had, depending on your point of view, either spent the last six years possessing wild animals, or the last fifty years as a book occupying a small space on a bookshelf between two other books.

Both were true and the main point was that he didn't have an actual bed in either form. He was relieved to finally have a bed to sleep on, no matter how cheap it really was.

Sleep would have to wait a little longer though. Right now he needed to think. He turned his attention out the bedroom window and out towards where he knew Wool's Orphanage stood. He almost expected to see a dark and angry cloud hanging over the area, but instead the sky was clear and shown a deep blue with hints or red as the sun started its slow decent through the sky.

He had never expected to run into the boy so soon, nor did he ever expect to find the boy where he did. He had thought the light side would have enough sense to hide the child away in some far corner of the world, maybe even keep him at Hogwarts or with Minerva, oh heck, in Australia. He would never have expected them to drop the boy at an orphanage, Much less the very same orphanage he had been imprisoned at.

As far as surprise tactics went he supposed this one took the gold star.

But since the boy was currently a resident of Wool's Orphanage It had to mean that someone was watching over the boy, someone that reported straight to Dumbledore. If that was the case then he may have already been spotted, and the little trick with the ball would have given him away as a wizard. It had been an irrational and stupid thing for him to do and he blamed to occurrence completely on his recently resurrected state. He could only hope that if he had been spotted that no one would have recognized him. He doubted they would - he had not looked anything close to his current appearance, or really very human, since the 1970's. There were those out there though that would be able to make the connection, Dumbledore for one but also Minerva and that oaf Hagrid would likely recognize him. That meant he would have to figure out what to do about his current 'look', it was too dangerous to keep walking around with this face.

He would have to worry about the Potter boy a little later then. He had already concluded that he would have to return to the orphanage. There was no other way around it, but then next time he would be prepared. He needed to see if there was really anyone watching the boy and if there were any wards in place around the building. He hadn't sensed any, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Once he had determined all of that then he would try and figure out what had gone wrong with his attempt on the boy's life. When He figured that out, and found a way around it, then he could kill the child and have this whole mess over with.

Then, he thought looking out at the London street full of disgusting insects walking around bellow, he could start back where he had left off, removing all traces of muggle society from magical life.

Six days later; A Saturday.

He should have known right away that it was a bad idea. Once you put something under the floorboards it is meant to stay under the floorboards unless it is really late at night and you know no one else is awake. It had been a rule he had made up, a very important rule to make sure that no one ever found out about his stuff, a rule that he should never have broken.

Because now he was paying for it.

He had thought that it would be okay, no one had bugged him for days, and he thought that it wouldn't hurt. He had been so bored and the ball under the floor had been playing at the back of his mind for almost a week now. He had finally given into temptation and taken the ball from its prison.

He had sat on his bed bouncing the ball against the opposite wall and catching it every time it came back to him. He had been so distracted by the rhythmic motion that he hadn't heard the footsteps down coming down the hall until it was too late.

"Is that a ball!" Jane, one of the few female orphans asked as she burst into Harry's room, her red hair flying in a tangled puff behind her. "I thought I heard somet'ing odd comen from your room , I did!"

"Wheredja get that from f-reak?" Anna, the only other girl in the orphanage, asked as she moved forward and grabbed it from his hands. Her bright white smile created a terrifying contrast against her dark skin. They were both older than him, eight and nine respectively and therefor a lot taller and stronger than him. "Because I don't fink this belongs to ya at all, in fact I think this looks a lot like Justin 'nd David's ball, don't cha Jane?"

"Ya An, I think it looks lots like there one. What say ya freak? Ya go'en round stealin' things again, ya no good thef?"

Harry had been attempting, without much success to grab the ball back from Anna who was currently holding it above her head and too far out of his reach. "That no fare!" he yelled at both of them "I didn't steal nothing! It was given to me!"

"Oh?" Anna asked "who would give something like you anything?"

"It's true!" Harry demanded angrily, sure he had stolen it originally, but Mr. Tom had given it to him.

"Oh really? It's true then? Someone actually gave you something?" Jane said as she took the ball from Anna. Harry watched her wearily not liking the smile that was moving across her face. "In that case we don't have to feel bad about poppin' it!"

When Voldemort finally showed up at the orphanage again it was six days later and it was raining. Though he was still living out of the same small bed and breakfast room, he had managed to find a number of small houses that he could potentially commandeer. He had also managed to ascertain in that time that, shockingly, he and Mr. Potter were the only two wizards in a five mile radius. (There was a trick with a crystal and a map; it was crude but efficient just so long as you weren't in areas heavily populated by witches or wizards). This meant that the boy wasn't being watched by anyone or really anything. Voldemort didn't know what to think about this development, and though he did have a number of theories none of them quite fit the bill. Honestly if he didn't know better he would have thought that the light had no idea Harry was here.

As Voldemort walked toward the cast iron gate, umbrella in hand, he cast some ward detecting spells, but as he had come to expect by this point, there were none. It truly seemed that the young Potter had been abandoned there, though how that came to pass was a mystery to him.

He drew closer until he noticed a bundle of drenched rags sitting in the mud just on the other side of the gate. The child was soaked through which meant he could have been sitting there anywhere from two minutes to two hours. His lips would be blue if he had been waiting longer.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort asked in an annoyed tone more in line with pet owners that had just come home to find the dog rummaging through the bin.

And, like most of those dogs, Harry looked up with a bright smile that said 'you came home! I thought you had left me here alone forever!' "Mr. Tom!" he barked happily.

'Mr. Tom' cringed; he really should have told the boy something different. Though he supposed it was better than 'Mr. Riddle'.

Harry was quick to stand up and run to the gate "Mr. Tom! You-you look…older." He finally finished as he came to a stop on the other side of the metal bars "a lot older, are you okay? You…are Mr. Tom right?"

Voldemort took a deep breath to try and compose himself. He still wasn't completely sure what he planned to do with the child, other than to eventually kill him. For now he needed more information, and that meant having to wallow through an actual conversation with the six year old. "Yes, I know, I am fine, and Yes, I am the same person you meet last week. I just couldn't afford to walk around looking like a sixteen year old anymore". He had opted for thirty two instead, at that age his appearance had changed enough to be only remotely recognizable to the boy he had once been. It also had the added benefit of being a face that no one in England had ever seen, at that time he had still been traveling through Europe and Russia so no one really knew what he had looked like from his early twenties through his late thirties. He resembled himself enough that, if anyone were really out looking for 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' that they would probably recognize him, but he looked different enough that they would probably have to look twice and think about it for a while before they really made the connection.

It was a simple disguise but he had found that the simpler the cover the more effective it was. After all, no one expected for someone trying to hide to actually walk around as themselves. It did help that most people though he was dead though.

"Is that magic too?" Harry asked trying to get a closer look "will it wear off eventually?"

"Yes, and no, it was a potion and it will be permanent" He answered, shifting a bit as the rain started to come down harder. The spell currently keeping the water from hitting him could keep him dry in a flood, but the boy was looking severely uncomfortable and his chattering teeth were grating to his nerves. "What are you doing out in the rain, are you trying to get yourself sick?" he asked, if his voice carried an annoyed tone it was because he was annoyed.

Harry shifted for a moment, his wet clothing making an irritating squelching sound, before answering "some of the other kids locked me out and no one will let me back in."

"And the care taker?" Voldemort asked, resisting the urge to tap his foot.

"She's always asleep at this time of day, it's not good to wake her up." The boy shifted again, making that annoying squelching sound.

"Oh for…stand still!" He demanded as he removed his wand, the boy looked panicked for a second, but Voldemort didn't give him much of a chance to react beyond that as he cast a drying and water repellent spell over the boy.

"Wow…" was the boys only reaction as he looked down at this now dry cloths and watched as the rain bounced off of him rather than hitting him. Voldemort glared down at him, he hoped that conversations like this wouldn't be a common occurrence between them; he didn't think he would be able to stand it.

Voldemort was going to comment on the complete stupidity of the boys actions when he noticed the broken piece of plastic in the boys hand. He glared at it and Harry promptly looked embarrassed before holding it out to him. "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly "some of the girls broke it again."

"Yes, I can see that." Voldemort said, not moving to take the burst ball from the boy. Silence fell.

Harry shifted.

"Are you magic?" he finally asked after three point four seconds. It was a question that only worked to grate of Voldemort's nerves even more, given that he had essentially already answered this question.

"No, I am not 'magic'" Voldemort scolded, thinking of multiple ways that he could potentially kill the boy; "I can perform magic."

"Oh...can I per-for-ma" Harry pronounced carefully "magic too?"

"Perhaps," He answered through gritted teeth.

"It's just..." Harry stopped, not really sure what, exactly he wanted to say. He didn't want to disappoint the man after all; he kind of liked him and wanted him to come back. He was the first person that had actually really talked to him in almost a year. "It's just, I don't think I can." he admitted sadly. "I tried to fix it like you did, but nothing's happened." he waved his hand in demonstration, a light three blocks away exploded, Voldemort winced.

Harry was at that awkward age for a wizard which consisted mostly of accidental magic and a large number of messes. The more he actually tried to make something specific happen, the more it wouldn't, and the chances were high that something else would explode or catch fire in the process.

Voldemort sighed and waved his hand.

The light bulb three blocks away was no longer broken, though it was quite a bit confused.

Voldemort waved his hand again. This time the ball re-inflated.

And promptly deflated.

Voldemort glared at it angrily. Harry looked at it dejected before turning the look to Voldemort himself.

"That wasn't very nice."

"No, it wasn't." Voldemort answered, upset that he hadn't actually done it on purpose and wondering why it had never even crossed his mind. But like any good Dark Lord he moved on and put the blame on someone else. "It was very rude of your ball to do that, no manners at all."

Harry seemed to think on this for a moment before nodding in agreement and dropping the lump of plastic into the dirt. One did not want a rude ball; it might go around hitting unsuspecting people on the head.

Silence fell again, though this time the sound of rain hitting pavement seemed to have a bit of a lulling effect on both of them, almost making the silence comfortable. They both studied each other for a long moment until Harry finally broke the silence.

"Are you here to adopt me?" Harry asked trying to keep his face as blank as a six year old possibly could.

This question surprised Voldemort considerably, given that he had just been thinking of the easiest and fastest way to kill the boy. "No" he answered simply and he saw Harry's face fall a little. The boy didn't seem overly surprised though, like someone had been telling him for years that he would never get adopted. Given the orphanage the boy was currently at, Voldemort wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly the case. He remembered how that felt.

He was tempted to leave it there, but he knew he couldn't afford to right now. Until he decided what his best move was he couldn't limit any possibility, nor could he afford to incur the child's hatred so soon. For all he knew he very well could decide to adopt the boy at some point, as improbable as that currently was. So instead he continued along that line, giving the boy at least a little hope for now.

"I currently don't have the means to adopt a child, but once I've gotten myself settled we will see." Which wasn't a lie, but it certainly wasn't the whole truth. He couldn't exactly tell the boy that he had no intention of adopting him and, in fact, he had every intent to kill him. He didn't think that would go over too well.

But his words seemed to do the trick as the boy lit up again." Oh! okay then, maybe later, when you're…settled." Harry nodded, he wasn't sure what the really meant but it didn't matter because he hadn't told him 'no'. Mr. Tom might actually adopt Harry one day and Harry was more than willing to wait.

Voldemort was certain that that would be the end of that and was getting ready to move on to his own questions when the boy's face suddenly crunched up in pain. A small stream of blood rolled down his head and one of Voldemort's eyebrows went up. "You've hit your head again." He said in a matter of fact tone which seemed to surprise Harry. His hand went and touched his head where he could feel the pain emitting from, his hand coming away with blood.

"Nuh-uh." he insisted "haven't hit it in day's" and really the boy looked like he was starting to panic as more drops of blood rolled down his head and dripped into eye. He looked up at Voldemort with a begging kind of gaze.

This was not how the Dark Lord had expected this day to go. For one it had significantly less killing and significantly more talking.

Voldemort sighed and indicated for Harry to move his hair out of the way. The boy quickly did so and a scar was exposed. It was lightning bolt shaped, red, agitated, bleeding a little, and, most importantly, was pouring off black magic. It was certainly not something you see every day, and it felt vaguely familiar to the Dark Lord.

'Well then' Voldemort thought 'Well'. This day had just become far more interesting. This was probably also a good reason, a very good reason, not to just kill the boy yet, not if he wanted to figure out what exactly was stuck to the boys head. "It's just a small cut" Voldemort finally said, focusing back on the boy "you'll be fine."

The boy seemed relieved at this and put the tangle that passed as his hair back in place. "That's good, I was worried" he admitted with a bit of embarrassment. Voldemort could understand that, it really was worrying when you realized just how fragile your body was.

They both shivered, one from the rain and cold, and the other from something very different.

Voldemort had left Harry shortly after that and found himself at a little tea shop not far away.

"It is absolutely pissing out there." His waitress commented as she brought him a cup of tea. "I'm shocked you're as dry as you are. You must be damn luck." She said as she wiped her hands on her apron and looked at him as if expecting an answer which he did not give. She huffed in exasperation before walking off.

The women was obviously the nosy kind of muggle and usually that would annoy Voldemort to the point of murder, but today his mind was elsewhere. Besides the tea was absolutely perfect, so he let it drop.

He sat, warming his hands on his cup as he starred out the window at the rain. He let the sound lull him into a small of a trance. He needed a clear mind right now.

He needed to think very carefully about his next move. There was a lot that could go wrong if he didn't move carefully. First and foremost he had to figure out just what he was going to do about the Potter kid. Killing him was out for now, at least until he figured out how the boy had survived the first time and what exactly was wrong with that scar of the boys head. He wasn't insane enough to try the same plan twice and expect a different result. But what was he to do with the living Harry Potter?

He sat in front of the window, sipping on his tea as he mulled over the problem. He could always adopt the boy as he had offered. He could teach him, and make him completely loyal to him. But there was a very good chance then that the boy would come out dark and then kill him just to take the status of Dark Lord. It was best to avoid unnecessary competition, especially with a child that was supposedly destined to kill him.

He could just ignore the fact that he had ever met the boy, but then he would lose his chance to influence the boy at all. The light side could take the child and make him into the perfect unthinking weapon to kill him, so that was out too.

Of course he could, and would, attempt to find a way to kill the boy before he even turned eleven, but there was no guarantee that he would be able to meet that deadline, not to mention that he would need access to the child to figure out a way to kill him in the first place. So that was now two strikes against the 'ignore' plan.

But there was a thought, he could perhaps tarnish the boy just enough that he wouldn't be the lights 'perfect weapon'. He could make it so that the boy wasn't just some unthinking, trusting, and easily influenced brat when he turned eleven. Instead he could teach the boy to think for himself, to actually look at a situation from more than one point of view, and to see the world in grays rather than in the blacks and whites that the light side tried to make them.

Yes, that could work. He would influence the boy enough to make sure he could make his own decisions, but not enough to change his whole nature and potentially create a competing Dark Lord. This plan would also have the added bonus of allowing him access to the child in order to study both him and that scar in more depth.

And if he managed to find a way to get rid of the child before he turned eleven then all the better.

Voldemort finished off his tea and allowed himself to stretch, it was decided then, 'Mr. Tom' would stick around for a while and become a small but important influence in the boy's life. A smile crossed Voldemort's lips as he looked again out into the rain, this would almost be too easy.

Too bad he didn't know the muggle saying about 'The Best Laid Plans'. If he did he probably would have just thrown caution to the wind and killed the boy then next time he saw him.

Thank you everyone who reviewed, it means a lot, and I hope you like this chapter. Please Review if you did, I do love to hear from you all.

TheSeaAtNight