Chapter 2

The Fallen Angel

The cold fall rain pelted the tiny windows of the little hovel-of a home and darkened the evening skies. Enthralled to pieces with the woman nestled on the edge of their bed, the two inky-haired boys lay perfectly still on their bellies with their heads propped on their fists, staring owlishly up at her. Lost in her own reverie, the tale she wove to them was long and winding; words that meant so little to some, but everything to them.

"…and sweet Lady Merope rushed back to her handmaiden, explaining to her that there was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon in wait of her. They dashed off to the swimming hole to wash, and dressed her in her finest frocks, and…" The woman paused, waking from her trance-like state and rested the book she was holding on her lap. One of the boys had fallen into a fit of giggles. "What exactly has made you so silly tonight, Harry?"

The smaller boy shifted upward, away from the other. "He's tickling me," he said, and collided with Tom's shoulder as he crashed back into him.

The larger boy gasped, his cheeks turning pink. "Am not. He was giggling, so I gave him a kick."

Harry shook his head. "He didn't kick me, he tickled me…"

"Enough," the woman said, feeling bothered. "No tickling, giggling, or kicking tonight, or we can finish the story another time." The smaller child frantically shook his head and whispered an apology. Tom held a finger up to his mouth and shushed him. A large candle flickered behind their mother, casting her shadow along the wall. It impended over the children, whose feet were kicking around in mid air in wait for her to continue.

Pleased with the silence, Merope Gaunt lifted the book back up to her nose to continue. She was unable to read, but that had not mattered. The words came from within. "So Lady Merope tiptoed away from the House of Gaunt in the most sneaking of manners and ran to meet up with the handsome young man awaiting her arrival at the end of the path. This man, with flowing black hair and the most beautiful smile, sat upon a white horse holding his hand outstretched to her. He lifted her up in a single sweep, kissed her full on her supple cherry lips, and carried her off into the sunset. No more would she be held captive by the evil, wicked Lord of the Manor, and they both lived happily ever after."

The larger of the two children sneered with distaste. "Why do they always kiss?" He stretched out over the bedding, dragging his wiggling fingers up Harry's side. The uncontrollable urge to giggle again bubbled within Harry's throat. "And where are we in this tale? Did you leave us with Morfin?"

"Tom, it's only a story." Merope closed the book and set it on the night table behind her. "Now tuck in, both of you. Harry, get under the quilt, tonight will be very cold."

"But it's still raining… I'm scared," Harry said, peeping at Tom out of the corner of his eye. Night was Harry's least favourite time of the day. So many scary things happened at night… in dreams. He rubbed at his scar, keeping a decent stare locked with his mother. "You said… er… you promised it wouldn't rain all night."

Tom flopped onto his back, annoyed. "You're such a baby, Harry. A little rain never hurt anyone."

Merope bent over and rubbed her swollen ankles to avoid any further eye contact. "I'll be just across the room, darling. If anything frightens you, just call out to me."

Tom sat back up with a start. He was frustrated over this stupid story his mother read aloud nearly every night. The tall tale swam heavily around in his head. The lies… the fantastical lies Merope told were astounding. He could see it in her eyes with every spoken word. "Why does your side of the story always end so happily when we all know how it really ends? And why do you let Mr Riddle tell all of those lies about us to everyone in the village? Don't you see the way they look at us, mummy? What good is magic if you don't use it to punish him for making everything so difficult for us?"

Merope stood from her chair to tuck the children in. Her unfaltering smile gave Harry warmth, but hardly convinced Tom of anything. "Magic is a sacred thing. It must never be abused. Look what happened to your uncle when he flaunted the power so openly. He got three years in Azkaban. Wizards put him there, Tom, not muggles. A Wizengamot decided he would be punished. I won't risk be taken away because of the way one man spews his ugly words. They're only words. Morfin should never have cursed Mr Riddle."

"He got what was coming to him. Should have been worse… he deserves to die," Tom countered. "Just like Morfin. They both deserve to die."

Ignoring the malice in Tom's expression, Merope centred on Harry. "Get to sleep." She kissed his forehead and brushed the hair out of his bright green eyes. "Remember, I'm right over here," she whispered.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to concentrate on the thunderous booming or thrumming beat of rain water plunking into various pots and pans scattered throughout the tiny home.

"Go to sleep, Harry. I've got you," Tom whispered to him, wrapping a warm arm around his tummy. And as the small boy reluctantly drifted off into the state of dreams, he heard another, stronger voice hissing to him in a tone that chilled him to the very bone.

"You belong to me, Harry… I own you."

"Help me!"

Harry clapped his hands over his ears as he sat up in bed. The deafening screams filled his heart with terror. His bottom lip jutted out and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

The morning sun had come all too soon. Light penetrated through his clenched eyelids, making it impossible to shut any of his senses out. Was it another dream? Had he imagined the miserable cries for someone's aid?

"Please help me!"

No, it was real. It was so frightening, being roused from a deep sleep to the sounds of screaming. The evident pain and torture this poor creature must have been enduring could not be ignored. Harry dropped to the floor, shaking with fright, and made his way toward the source.

"Hurts so much…dying! Please, stop this!"

It was coming from outside. The wails were so close. With his heart stuck in his throat, Harry shuffled unsteadily to the door. It was right outside, just beyond the barrier. His small hand clamped around the rusted knob and turned it. As the door swung open, a hiss filled his ears and the cold brush of death grazed the flesh of his cheek. Harry leapt back in horror, his hand pressed hard against the spot on his face where something had touched it. His eyes caught sight of the thing that had called to him; an adder nailed to the centre of the door.

Pathetically, its body slithered in effort to dislodge itself, chipping the flecking paint from the weather-warped wood in an almost comical manner. If not for the fact that the creature was dying in such agony, Harry might have laughed. Instead, his stomach lurched with empathy.

Turning to him, the snake flicked its tongue and bared its fangs in retaliation.

"What can I do?" Harry asked it while wringing his small hands together. He was barely tall enough to reach the poor thing. He moved over to the table and dragged a chair back to the door. "I can help you if you tell me what to do."

"Pull me off of the nail, set me free."

Harry climbed up on the chair and took the adder into his hands. He crushed his eyes shut and gave the sleek body a yank, and pulled it away from the nail. The adder immediately coiled around his wrists, sinking its fangs into the flesh of his hand. Sucking in a great breath and with tears springing forth in his eyes, Harry dropped the snake on the ground.

The adder struggled to move quickly through the muddy copse. Harry clutched his wrist protectively, covering the punctures with the tips of his index and middle fingers. He whimpered, feeling as frail and helpless as the snake. "No venom," the adder hissed with a dying breath to still the boy's worries as it entered the field of grass at the edge of the woods. "No venom for a good boy."

Harry ran back into the bedroom and dove onto his mother's bed. Merope stirred, wrapping her arms protectively around his shaking form. "What's the matter, darling?" she asked him, with worry laced in her sleepy voice.

Harry showed her the wound and told her through a wrack of sobbing about the snake.

Tom sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes. His morning frustration swelled within. Harry was, once again, garnering all of his mother's attention, whimpering and going on about something or another. "Harry, you are the absolute limit. What happened?"

"…but no venom, it said? Oh, Harry, it'll be alright." Merope swiped at the spilled blood on his hand with a tongue-dabbed piece of her nightgown and stood him on his feet.

"Let me see," Tom growled, now standing at Harry's side. He snatched the boy's hand into his to look over the bite. Two large holes below his left thumb seeped with fresh blood.

"Tom, don't be so rough with him," Merope warned him. "Harry is far more delicate than you are."

"Whatever…" Pulling Harry out of the room, Tom dragged him outside through the open door, shoving the blocking chair out of the way. "What did I tell you?" he asked firmly. He was leaning up against a birch tree fumbling with the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms. They were far too small for such a growing boy, but it was that or nothing, and it was growing so cold. "Stop playing with the blasted snakes around here. They don't like us."

"I wasn't playing with it," Harry snapped, sneering at the back of Tom's head. "I pulled it off a nail on the door."

"Hmm, is that what the chair was for?" Tom raised his arms up to stretch. He tipped his head back, letting the morning sun warm his skin. "Morfin nails them there for a reason, idiot. Next time you'll think twice about rescuing something, right? You should have let it die."

Harry sighed. "I think it did die."

Tom shrugged. "Good." He walked over to a thatch of wild brush, parting the leaves and stems with his hands. His mind was no longer on snakes. He was eager to begin working on the raft he and Harry had blueprinted over the last week. "C'mere, look what I got."

Harry watched him lift and sling a large coil of rope over his shoulder. Thick and heavy, it nearly toppled Tom's sylph frame backward. "How did you get it?" Harry enquired with wonder, and glanced over to the enormous pile of sticks they had been collecting.

"Don't ask questions," Tom bit back. "But it's far too thick to tie the sticks together with. We'll have to pull the threads apart by hand and braid them back together so they're flatter." He lugged the rope over to his and Harry's garden fortress; a crude and crumbling L-shaped, waist-high wall made of rocks and cement. The boys liked to hide behind it when the sun got too hot, or the wind got too cold on their backs. "How's your hand? Do you think you can help me?"

Harry clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling a dull ache in the meat of his hand tighten the surrounding muscle. "I think so," he said, joining Tom on the dirt floor.

Merope looked over her supplies with a furrowed brow. The meal she had planned, had already begun had not been thought out as well as she remembered. She was certain she had purchased everything at the general store the day before, but something was missing.

Throwing the tiny kitchen window open, she spotted Tom and Harry in their garden fortress, tying sticks together. "Tom, I need you to take Harry and go into town for me," she called, waving at the boys to get their attention. The bright overhead light of meridian-noon blinded her vision momentarily, but she was certain she saw a scowl slowly contort her son's sweet visage. "Did you hear what I said, Tom? Take Harry, go into town and purchase a loaf of bread for me. I've got some coins here."

Sitting on his knees, wearing nothing more than tattered knee pants, the tall and slender boy with shiny black hair shook his head at the woman. "Are you mad?" He exhaled a hot breath, looking up from the ropes he was braiding together. "Go into town - and I have to take the baby with me? Can't you see I'm busy? Why can't you go?"

Harry's eyes shifted over to Tom, narrowed to slits.

"I can't very well leave the stew on the stove and watch Harry at the same time while getting a loaf of bread from town, can I? You're a big boy now, Tom. Come up from there and get these coins before I tan your hide!" she scolded, and thrust her hand out through the open window.

"I know the way!" Harry shouted, dashing from his spot on the ground to gather the pennies Merope had tossed out. The messy curls of inky hair bounced around his pretty face while he hopped up and down in front of the window to garner his mother's attention. "I know the way, mummy! I can go by myself!"

Miffed, Tom ran up beside Harry and snatched his hand. "Course. You'll get lost and eaten up by snakes—come on!" Nearly yanking the boy's arm from its socket, Tom dragged him away from the window and marched them toward the dirt path that led to the main road.

"What are you filthy little rogues doing back here?"

Tom gestured hastily to Harry's pocket, ignoring the old maid glaring at them from behind the counter of the bakery. The scent of baking bread and the spice of hot cross buns wafted through the air, calming his nerves. He was not going to let this old bat get the better of him. "Give me the coins," he whispered. The wind outside had severely picked up, and greying clouds rushed in overhead to cover the blue skies. Tom hated the village, hated the inhabitants that ran the shops, and hated being thought of as common or anything less than anyone else.

Little Harry was blissfully oblivious to the torments. People, mostly the elderly women in town, tended to be drawn in by his small size and startling green eyes, overlooking the drab wear of his clothing or lack of shoes. He always got the looks, the smiles, the pinches to his cheeks. Tom hadn't minded that. He detested that their father practically owned the whole town. That everyone suspected that he and Harry were his children, but no one wanted to admit that the man was trash; abandoning them, letting them live like rodents under a bridge. Tom hated them all.

"I asked you a question, boy. Are you here to purchase, or just trying to avoid the rain?" The squat woman's face was pinched with irritation. Her lips were slashed tightly together and her eyes read with piteous distrust. "You and your little bastard brother get what you come for and get out."

Tom dropped the coins on the counter. "Loaf of bread," he said, holding back the urge to hop over the counter and shove his fist up her nose. "Wrap it; it looks like it's going to rain."

With a harrumph, as if this lower form of life could dictate how she ran her business, the woman scowled as her nose turned up to the ceiling. "I only wrap things for good people of the village. Maybe if you run very fast, you can make it home without getting soaked."

"It is truly honourable of you, woman, to speak to this poor child as if he were beneath your heated words. Do as he says: Wrap the goddamn bread up."

Tom turned around, having not noticed the tall and cloaked figure standing in the dark shadow of the shop before. The woman behind the counter huffed with annoyance and fret while tying string around the parcel covered loaf. The man stepped into the light of the darkening room and lowered his hood. His hair was shaken out to flow in wisps over his shoulders; long and silvery-white. "Do you typically speak to all patrons in such a manner?"

"Well I never," the woman exclaimed, thrusting the now wrapped package into Tom's hand.

The man leaned over the counter, taking her by the scruff of her bodice. "I'm quite sure you haven't, you old cow. If you ever speak to that boy again with nothing but pure esteem, I'll carve the eyes out of your head."

The woman gulped. "Get out – the lot of you."

A violent smirk curled the man's lip. He released her and placed the hand on Harry's shoulder. "I have a carriage out back. Let me take you home before the rain comes."

Harry looked up smiling at him. "Does it have loads of horses attached?"

"No thanks," Tom said over him, taking Harry's hand to pull him away from his grasp. He shoved his body against the shop door and yanked it back. He and Harry stepped into the street, feeling the weight of the man's attention looming over them. "Keep moving with me, don't look back," he told his brother. Something was wrong. This strange-looking man was not from the village, but his eyes were keen with Tom's interest in mind.

The long walk worried Tom to no end. The man was now in pursuit, driving his carriage behind them at a slow pace. Two large horses pulled the fancy carriage the length of the road. If only they could make it to the woods without trouble, they would be safe. Harry kept looking back with wish at the horses; two enormous black stallions in perfect trot, stepping over the cobblestones with timed grace while the man steering them along smiled a toothy grin.

Tom focused on his frazzled nerves. Perhaps he imagined the way the pointy-faced man was staring at him, or how he smiled so uncouthly at Harry. He could be a pervert, or one of those people who abduct children and sell them into slavery. There were so many horrible explanations fluttering around in his head at the moment. He had to protect himself and Harry, no matter what.

They reached the entrance of the woods. Tom heaved a great, thankful sigh. The sounds of clomping hooves had trailed off minutes back. The man, it seemed, had given up chase. "He's gone," he told Harry as he looked around behind them. "If you ever see him again, I want you to run away… got it?"

"Course, Tom," Harry mumbled, wondering if he should tell the older boy about how the carriage had simply vanished into thin air before his eyes a few moments before. It had simply ceased being there, giving the boy a fright, but he was sure Tom would never believe him.

A crackling pop filled the air and resonated like thunder. Both boys turned, gasping, wondering if perhaps a stray bolt of lightning had hit a tree somewhere close.

The silvery-haired man was now in front of them, having come from nowhere. "Where are your mother and uncle, Tom?" he asked the boy, taking a threatening step closer. "Do they always send you off to town alone?" He was holding a wand and it was pointed at Harry.

"What do you want?" Tom shouted, pushing Harry behind him. "Leave us alone!"

Harry was beginning to understand the fright Tom was experiencing. This was not Morfin, but still another man. No man they had ever met had ever been kind to them. This magic he was using was nothing he had ever seen.

The man was smiling at them again. "So untrusting … That's good. Don't you remember me?"

How did this Wizard know his name, and what did he want with them? "When I say so, I want you to run back to the house," Tom whispered to Harry, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. He had no desire to find out the reason for this union, and he certainly did not remember ever meeting him before.

Another loud pop sounded behind them. Tom whirled around, seeing a tall, hooded figure standing so dangerously close. The blood drained from his face. They would never make it. These men were coming out of the woodwork for God knows what reason, intent on keeping them from running. Taking a deep breath, he knew he had to do something. "I'm going to try and stall them. Run away as fast as you can, Harry!"

"Not so fast," warned the man behind them. Hidden behind layers of thick cloth, his hand reached out and clamped around Tom's wrist. "Harry's going to run, Malfoy. Do not allow this." The long, spidery fingers that had slipped out from under his lengthy sleeve were as white as snow.

Tom's breath hitched at the frightening sight. "Run, Harry!"

The silvery-haired man dug his heel into the ground and bolted toward the smaller child who had taken off in a sprint. He quickly caught up, grabbed Harry around the waist, lifting him into his arms and propped him on his hip. Catching his breath, he laughed. "Already so fast… You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?" he commented, giving the boy a small shake. He turned to the other shrouded man, shrugging. "Look at this wild hair."

Harry groaned out and clamped a hand over his forehead. He collapsed against the form with pain-filled whimpers puffing through his lips. So much pain. They were going to die, he was sure.

"Take him deeper into the woods. I don't want anyone to hear their cries," the other ordered, gesturing to the leafy shelter of trees beside them. Tom could hardly move. His body felt weak, drained of all energy. They had caught Harry. They were taking them further into the woods; they didn't want anyone to hear them scream.

The tall, hooded man roughly pulled Tom along with him as he closed the distance between his acquaintance and Harry. They were now standing in a darkened patch of the forest, shielded from any outsider's vision. He reached out, ghosted a caress along the smaller boy's cheek in a loving manner, ignoring Harry's trembling recoil. "He was so lovely, even then. Such a beautiful, sweet boy."

"You remember him now? I mean, then, as a child…?"

The hooded man nodded. "I do now, Draco."

Draco smiled, impressed. "So you were right… So I assume that you remember this moment now, my Lord?"

"Yes," he said.

"Does it go well?" he hoped.

The hooded man shook his head. "No. Get it over with."

Tom watched the silvery-haired man rest down on a stump and situate Harry over his lap. The boy was openly crying; scared beyond belief of these terrifying presences, and his scar was throbbing in pain. Yanked closer toward them, Tom stumbled over a pile of twigs and landed on his hands. The loaf of bread tumbled away. He looked up into Harry's pleading eyes, wanting to console him, to hush his cries and wipe away his tears. "It's going to be okay, baby, stop crying," he implored, hating that he and Harry were so young, so weak and inexperienced in magic, having a mother who should have been out looking for them - but had most likely drifted off into another daydream instead.

Both men were now huddled around Harry, rolling the boy's sleeve up while holding him tight around the waist. The sudden sharp point of a dagger glimmered in a beam of sunlight. "I'll hold his arm steady," one of them slurred in a high-pitched, cold voice while he pulled on a pair of dragon-hide leather gloves. Harry was bravely fighting for his release. "Harry, please try and calm yourself. I need you to remain still. It'll only hurt for a moment."

Draco lowered the blade. "Where do I make the cut?" he said coolly, gripping the child tightly against him.

A bony finger ran along the crook of Harry's outstretched arm. "Right here, in a 'V'. It'll scar."

"Tom!" Harry sobbed loudly. He was nearing hysterics, hiccoughing and wailing as the dagger grazed over his flesh. A gloved hand covered his mouth to quiet him as the blade began to carve into the skin. Harry emitted a muffled scream, and Tom leapt to his feet.

"Please—no!" he cried, feeling the painful press of that hand drop over his shoulder and shove him back down to the ground.

The hooded man produced a phial from his pocket. He held it under the knife wound, gathering the blood dripping off of Harry's elbow. The yellowish liquid sloshing around inside began to swirl and smoke. The colour brightened, and almost glowed red. The man turned to look down at the growling boy at his feet. "Get up," he told him with a firm voice, and held the phial out. "Drink this in one gulp and we'll let the little boy go."

Tom could see the man's eyes from beneath the hood. They were as red as the blood leaking from Harry's arm. He was a monster. "And what if I don't?" Tom cried, taking the phial into his hand.

Both men shared an unctuous look. The monster cupped Harry's chin, lifting his head up high enough for Tom to see how frightened he was. "This poor creature could hardly handle another bloodletting. Don't make me force you to drink it. I do not wish to ever know the feeling of being dominated."

"What is it?" Tom asked him, staring in horror at the small glass receptacle. "Will it hurt?"

"It'll…" The man stumbled over his words. He did not know. Strangely enough, the memory of this seemed to cloud up at this very point in time. As the memories of time before this had flooded into his head, they idled now, drawing to it a revelation of sorts. "Most curious… I believe that any remembrance of this event must be carried out in this time before it becomes solidified in my head."

Draco spoke in a low voice. "Make him drink it quickly, my Lord." He was mopping at the cut with a handkerchief while Harry slumped in his arms to suck on his thumb. "We need to take Harry home. He's a lot more fragile than we suspected. He's got snake bites and bruises all over him."

Lord Voldemort raised a hand to his chin. The tip of his finger traced the line of his pursed lips. His mind worked over this troubling matter. After a bit of a pause, he said, "Yes, I see it now… Morfin was a cruel man. But they'll learn from this experience, Malfoy. It'll make them strong." His mind was set. He detached himself from these two children as if they were strangers to him. He had to.

Turning his attention back on Tom, he lowered his hood. The man was completely hairless, as white as a ghost, with slits for nostrils and crescents as pupils in his eyes. He truly was a monster. "Drink."

With a horror-filled gasp, Tom tipped the vial of blood into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

Lord Voldemort gripped Tom by the arm as he staggered to remain standing, feeling the contents of the powerful liquid burn through his insides and penetrate every part of his being. Both of them closed their eyes, letting their heads loll around to adjust to the odd sensation. It wasn't painful, Tom realised. It was more of a soothing narcotic than anything else, streaming through his veins as if drinking a glass of warmed milk. Tom dropped to his knees as he watched the hooded man step away from him and remove one of his gloves.

"I do believe it worked. We shall see," he said, raising a single finger to Harry. He pressed it, wavering, against the skin on the little boy's cheek.

Nothing happened.

Harry was staring up at him in fearfulness with his thumb trapped behind his front teeth. Lord Voldemort dislodged it and kneeled before him, bringing the tiny hand to his lips. "You did very well, Harry. We're going to release you now so that your whore of a mother can clean the wound and take care of you." The fiend lifted the child up and set him on his feet. Harry immediately ran to Tom.

"What I don't understand," Draco said while he flattened the wrinkles on his robes, "is why those two could touch before. They were definitely holding hands."

Tom was listening to everything, soaking it all in. These two men spoke about them as if they had known them forever. It made no sense.

"It's quite simple, really. Tom's soul is still intact. He has not yet murdered. Once he kills, the bond between him and Harry - that Love Magic curse - would then recognise its predator, hence my inability to physically touch the other one. But we have repaired this. There will be nothing between Harry and me now."

Draco nodded. "I see. Well, I'm sure you'd like to be getting back, my Lord. I'll wipe the children's memories and take them home."

Lord Voldemort agreed, returning a nod.

"No…" Tom was aghast. He did not want to lose this revelation, this extraordinary encounter, no matter how peculiar it was. "Don't wipe my memory."

With a mirth-filled chortle, the Dark Lord smiled down at the boy. "I'm afraid I can't have you learning everything too quickly. Knowledge is power, child, but learning it for yourself holds the true force behind it. Don't worry though, your destiny waits. You and Harry are yet too weak to know of this magic. You, Tom, must learn more about love. It does not flow through you as naturally as it does with Harry. He is the key to unlocking this great mystery trapped in your mind. He holds a part of you inside of him. You must protect him; keep him with you at all times. You will come to understand this later… This is my hope."

"But how will I know this is you wipe my memory?" Tom said, pleadingly. Harry was coiled around his thin frame, sobbing against his bare chest.

Switching the dials on the Time-Turner slung around his neck, the Dark Lord acknowledged him once more. "That is exactly why your memory must be cleansed. It is not to know, but to feel. I do not yet feel it inside of me. You care, yes, and your heart beats for this boy, but the purity I seek remains hidden. You do not know the true meaning of love."

Tom clutched Harry against him, catching sight of Draco closing the distance between them. "Why do I need love?" he blurted. He wanted so many questions answered. He was running out of time. Never before had he met someone so unique, so knowledgeable of things that he was so heavily sheltered from.

"Because, you blind fool," Voldemort hissed, and flicked the dials to return to his time, "Love is the most powerful magic of all."

Tbc…