A/N: 07/08/13 - Many thank you's to those who have recently followed or favourited this story. And to all those who have done so in previous months and are still with me as this story continues to unfold; thank you for sticking with me :-D Also, thank you to the recent guest reviewer...your review was short, to the point...and made my day! I am so glad that people are loving this story as much as I do. It may not be a masterpiece of literature, or breaking new ground in the fan fiction world, but I'd like to think it's unique as in I'm writing it (with a big nod to JKR for the HP story and characters of course). I am having a massive surge of ideas now. My head is bursting with so many delicious ideas and plot twists for this story, that I don't know where to start!

Poor Sirius and the Order will return soon. Morgan may also be quiet for the next few chapters, but she is meddling and plotting behind the scenes and will be back with a vengeance! Voldemort and Rose are the focus of the next few chapters. I have poked at Voldemort's inner wall and removed a couple of bricks to peer inside and see what may be happening behind that apparently cold, detached and uncaring exterior of his. Life is going to force its lessons on our favourite Dark Lord. He will begin to realise that you cannot repress and deny emotions forever. And that once someone gets under your skin and penetrates your defenses, you are fighting a losing battle. *NB: Artistic licence is taken by me in the physical description of our youthful Dark Lord.* SA

'Silent I go under, I am not afraid
I can see the daylight shine and slowly drift away
Safe to say it's over, sink into the grave
There is nothing left inside but I am wide awake
I can hear the devil call my name.'

"Hopeless" –Breaking Benjamin

'You will survive this girl. You cannot escape me so easily. You are mine. You carry my son inside of you and will bring him into this world. Death will not take you from me, not yet. It is not your time.' She woke from her fitful sleep with a start. Rose lay on her bed of sand, her coat huddled around her. She remembered the voice calling to her several days ago. It had spoken to her from somewhere high above her. She yawned and reflected upon the voice's words again. Who's voice was it and what had they meant? A son? She wasn't carrying anyone's child! Death will not take her? She wasn't dead...was she?

The sound of the voice had created polarizing feelings within her; those of fear and of exhilaration. She had wanted to run far away from it, yet at the same time had felt drawn to it. She sighed wearily, stretching her aching limbs and fighting the urge to cry. Sitting up, she looked out to sea. She had been here alone for days now and the beach was still deserted. The sands still stretched on for miles. There was silence, except for the sound of the waves and the wind.

'Hello!' She cried out again in desperation. There must someone around. She hated being alone. Her voice echoed into the atmosphere. She listened for a response. She continued to be answered with silence. Not even the solitary cry of a bird. She was scared. Had the living population of the earth fled the planet and left her?

She got up from the sands, brushing the grains from her clothes and shaking out her coat. She decided to start walking again. She chose a direction and hoped that this time it would be the right one. She would find someone soon. She had to. Panic rose inside of her again and she tried to push it back down. She couldn't be alone out here. Rose continued on her journey in search of signs of life. She would not stop this time, she would keep going.

After having been walking for what felt like hours, a huge rumbling sound came from nowhere and the ground began to shake violently. Rose screamed, and unable to steady herself, fell to the sands. She felt like she was going to be sick; the motion and movement were making her head spin. 'Come back to me girl! You are not leaving me, I will not allow it!' It was the voice again! He was angry now, but she could hear a hint of desperation and fear underneath the surface. Despite her nausea, she found her own voice. 'Come and find me then!' She shouted out, 'I'm lost and I don't know my way back!'

There was no response to her cries, though the ground continued to shake. She rested her head against the sands and prayed silently for the tremors to stop. Moments later, her prayer was answered and the atmosphere became still again. She sobbed in relief. She felt dizzy and sick. She did not lift her head until the dizziness had eased. Gingerly, she eventually raised herself into a sitting position and inhaled breaths of air. She fought to keep herself from vomiting.

Gradually she began to feel a little better. She felt confused and frightened. What the hell was going on? Why could the owner of the voice not find her? Was she so lost? Could they not hear her cries for help? She could sense such power from that voice and it was so familiar. She gently pulled herself up from the ground. She swayed slightly, but held herself steady and then started to walk again. The landscape continued to appear the same; there were no landmarks to indicate how she was progressing. And she found the eerie silence to be oppressive. Rose began to sing to herself to drown out the unnerving quietness around her.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, exhaustion began to overtake her. Her legs ached and she felt as if she was walking through mud. She willed herself to continue on, despite her legs beginning to feel heavier with each step she took. The breeze was chilly and she pulled her coat more tightly around her. A pervading weariness seemed to creep through her body. It was getting harder and harder with each step. Something seemed to be draining the energy from her…she didn't know how much longer she could carry on...

Utterly exhausted, she sank down on the sands, as her legs gave way beneath her. She was so tired. She pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She rested her forehead on her knees and her body began to shudder with emotion. Warm, salty tears began to slip down her cheeks. She was alone, she was scared. She was going to die alone here. Rose began to sob and shake, allowing the sorrow to flood out.

It felt as if she had been sat here crying for hours. She had laid herself down on the sands again. She could shed no more tears. Her body was drained. Suddenly, she heard the sound of laughter. She looked up. People! Energy surged back through her and she scrambled to her feet, relief flooding through her. The sun had come out again, so she had to shield her eyes so she could see them. The figures were beginning to move away.

'Hello! Wait for me!' As she ran in their direction, she saw them stop and turn around. As she drew nearer, her heart leapt with joy. 'Mum, Dad, Carrie!' She screamed their names. The tears began to fall down her face. She was almost there. She wanted to launch herself at them, but the expressions on their faces caused her to halt.

They looked at her in confusion. Only Carrie answered her. 'Do I know you?' She asked, with a puzzled look on her face. Her fair hair was being whipped around her face by the wind. 'Carrie…Its me…its Rosie!' Carrie continued to look at her blankly. Her parents looked at Carrie, who raised her eyes and shrugged her shoulders slightly.

'Were you at university with me?' Carrie spoke again. 'If you were, I'm sorry but I can't place you.' Rose felt the panic rise within her. In desperation, she tried again. 'Carrie! I'm your sister…you must remember me!' She looked to her parents. They were looking at her as if she were a mad woman. 'Mum, Dad, It's me…Rose! I'm your daughter!'

The three of them stood there gazing at her with concerned and uneasy expressions. Her Dad spoke. 'Now, young woman, I'm not sure what you're playing at, but we don't think it's funny. We are not your parents and she is not your sister. If you don't go away now and leave us be, then I'm going to contact the authorities!'

He looked at her so sternly that she wanted to cry. Her mother looked at her with a mixture of fear and concern. 'Alexander! The poor girl looks confused and terrified. She's clearly lost and needs help.' Rose wanted so much for her mother to put her arms around her. She let out a sob. Her mother put a hand in her pocket and produced a tissue. 'Here you go my dear. Don't fret. Now, can you tell us where you live?'

Rose looked at her mum with tears in her eyes. 'Please, Mum! Don't you remember me?' She appealed to her desperately. 'I'm not your mother, my dear. Tell us where you live and we'll take you back.' Rose could see the wary look on her mother's face. She shook her head sadly. 'It doesn't matter. I'll be okay. I'll make my way back. Thanks for your concern.'

Her mother looked at her. 'Are you sure?' Rose nodded. 'Yes. I'm sorry to bother you... I...was mistaken. I've been under a lot of stress recently.' She looked at her father and Carrie. 'Sorry to scare you. Enjoy the rest of your day.' Carrie smiled at her nervously. Her father merely nodded. 'Come on Katherine,' he said to her mother. 'I think we should go now,'

Rose watched them walk away from her. Her mother turned back around; a concerned look on her face. Rose gave her a wave of reassurance. As the distance increased between them, she felt her legs buckle and she dropped to the sands. She let out a sob and continued to watch the figures of her family retreat to the distance.

Was she being punished for some evil deed? The way they had looked at her. Her own family didn't recognise her. What was happening to her? Was she going insane? 'No, you aren't going insane.' She started and turned around. A young boy stood there. The wind ruffled his rich brown hair and he continued to stare at her. His eyes were a beautiful blue-green colour.

'Who are you?' she asked of him. There was something about him. He seemed familiar. His presence was oppressive. She wanted to run away from him. Why though? He was a boy. She was a grown woman. He continued to stare at her. 'They are leaving you,' he said, indicating to the retreating figures. Rose got to her feet.

'I can see that!' She replied harshly to him. The boy's statement was rubbing salt in the wound. He seemed unmoved by her sharp reply. He looked to be around ten years old, yet he was not like any child she had met before. 'They always leave you. My family left me too.' She looked back at him. 'Who are you?' He spoke again. 'I am your family. You belong to me now. Forget them.' He slipped his hand into hers.

Rose, shocked and unnerved by his action, pulled her hand from his grip and moved away from him, He was scaring her now. She saw the change in his expression. It was subtle, yet she could see it. Anger infused his face. And also hurt…and rejection. 'I don't know who you are, but we are not family!' She gestured to the direction in which her parents and Carrie had gone. 'They are my family, even though they don't remember me!'

From nowhere, dark clouds began to gather in the sky. A flash of lightning was followed by a heavy rumble of thunder. The rain suddenly began to lash down upon them from the heavens, drenching them. They both stood there regarding one another and watching the rain droplets pound against their skin and trickle down, their clothing becoming saturated.

The boy's face again became an inscrutable mask. 'They were your family, but they are no longer. Come with me.' He held out his hand. Despite his youth, he had a commanding presence. 'Tell me who you are,' she asked him again. The boy smiled. 'I am your husband.' He saw her look of incredulity and he smirked. 'Well I shall be one day. We will be bound together and you will belong to me. Now take my hand and come with me.'

Despite her reluctance, Rose felt something about the boy draw her to him. Behind the outwardly oppressive and frightening demeanour, Rose perceived that the boy craved a sense of belonging to someone, of being wanted. Rose took his hand. They began to make their way over the sand dunes that had appeared. They hadn't been there earlier. Rose lost her footing several times. But the boy was surprisingly strong and held her steady, pulling her on.

After some time they reached the top of the dunes, the rain still pelting them. Rose saw the cottage. It was made of wood and slightly ramshackle and dilapidated. Rose felt exhausted and was drenched to the skin, but the boy pulled her on and they made their way down the dunes to reach the cottage. They reached the entrance and the boy turned the handle. The hinges creaked as he opened the door.

The interior of the cottage was dark and dank, with a slightly musty smell. A large wooden table stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs. Nearby was an open fire-place. 'Sit down,' the boy ordered her. Rose pulled out one of the chairs and sank down on it gratefully. She could hear the rain splattering against the roof. She watched as he gestured towards the fire-place and a roaring fire appeared in the grate.

'How did you do that?' She asked him, amazed. He smiled at her knowingly. 'It is magic.' He answered her with a superior expression. 'That was such a simple spell; there are far more powerful spells than that!' Rose shook her head. 'Magic is real?' He nodded. 'Yes. You have magic too, you just don't remember. We are both descended from powerful sorcerers.'

The boy walked over to her and handed her a warm, fluffy towel. He placed it around her shoulders, solicitously. 'Dry yourself,' he commanded of her. Rose did as she was bid, patting her skin dry and ruffling her hair with the towel. She couldn't believe she was taking orders from a ten-year old boy. Moments later, he produced a steaming mug of hot chocolate and placed it in front of her. 'Your favourite drink,' he said.

'How do you know?' He laughed. 'You have so many questions! I told you; I am your husband…and I can read people's minds!' Rose noticed that he was dry, whilst she was still damp. He must have used his magic. 'Thank you…' He looked up at her from his place at the fire. 'For the drink…and the towel…it's very kind of you.' He gave her a curt nod and she noticed a hint of surprise on his face.

'That's not a word attributed to me by people…kind.' Rose sipped her drink. It was perfect, just how she liked it. It warmed her through and she began to relax. She sat back in the chair. I'm pleased that the drink meets your expectations, Rose.' She had been about to ask how he knew her name, but remembered his gift and stifled her question. Yet, she felt surprise at his use of her name. Something told her it was not usual for him. 'What is your name? You haven't told me.' The boy grimaced. 'I'd rather not! I have my father's name.' Rose continued her enquiry. 'You don't like it?'

The boy scowled angrily at her question. 'No! My so-called father abandoned my mother before I was born and my mother died giving birth to me!' He stood before her. The anger that emanated from him filled the room and it scared her. Putting down the mug, Rose got out of her chair and did something that surprised both herself and the boy. She put her arms around him and pulled him against her body. She felt him stiffen in her embrace, as if he was unused to physical contact. She stroked his hair and eventually she felt him relax against her.

'He shouldn't have left you both, that was very wrong of him,' she said gently to him. 'And your mother would have stayed with you if she could. She would have loved you very much. Don't be angry with her.' She inhaled inwardly as he put his arms around her waist. She heard him cry his silent tears and felt his breath against her. Rose continued to stroke his hair and whisper words of comfort to him. They stood like that for some time.

'Thank you,' the boy said eventually, removing his arms from around her waist and looking at her with his piercing stare. 'No-one has ever hugged me before.' His face had returned to the familiar closed expression. He moved away from her. 'I was raised in an orphanage. The other children and the staff were afraid of me. They sensed I was different and so they avoided me. You are the first person I have ever allowed to hug me.'

Rose was unsurprised, yet saddened by his admission. 'I'm glad that you let me hug you. Everyone should be hugged. How did it feel?' He seemed to consider her question. 'It was not unpleasant,' he replied in his oddly formal style. 'My name is Tom. Tom Riddle.' He seemed to be watching her face for a reaction to his words. She smiled at him and held out her hand. 'I'm pleased to meet you, Tom.'

He looked at her and then eventually took her hand. Rather than shake it, he took it in his and then raised it to his lips. Rose wanted to giggle, but had the feeling this would offend him, and she managed to repress it. He looked up at her and smiled a charming smile. 'A gentleman does not shake a lady's hand,' he said. 'Thank you Tom,' she said and returned the smile. 'I've never had a gentleman kiss my hand before.'

He raised himself up, letting go her hand 'Your drink is now cold.' He touched the mug and the liquid began to steam again.' Drink it,' he told her, resuming his original position of control. He was such a strange boy; there was an aura around him that attracted you to him, yet at the same time made you feel wary and uneasy.

Rose sat down in the chair and continued to drink the chocolate. Tom studied her. 'Your hair is dry now,' he commented. 'But it is all tangled.' Rose was staring absently into the fire; she was beginning to feel so sleepy. 'Yes', she said, 'My hair tangles so easily.' Tom produced an ornate silver brush. 'I must brush it,' Rose said dreamily. 'I shall brush it for you,' he said silkily. She was too tired to argue. She drained the rest of the mug and placed it down on the table, closing her eyes as he began to brush her hair. He did it so gently, that she felt herself drift off…

xox

'And all I have left is falling
Somebody shake me and wake me
Cause I must be dreaming
Take me away, take me away
Cause I can't stay in this place
Take me away, take me away
I must be dreaming.'

"Healing" - Under the Flood

Saturday 26th August 2000

Voldemort sat in the chair by the fire. From his place he could see her still form lay on the bed. Every night since she had fallen into her mind, he had come to her room and had settled himself into this chair, Nagini coiled up on the floor at his side. He would send the healer away to sleep and he would then stay to watch over her until morning, denying his own physical need for rest.

He did not stay in the chair for the entire night. He would read his spell books and occasionally pace around to exercise his limbs. He tried to stay in the chair during the night and remain apart from her. But his need to make a physical connection and lie down beside her upon the bed, his body close to hers would overtake him, and he had not been able to deny it.

He would stroke her cheek, brush his thumb against her lips; kiss them in the hope of receiving a response from her. He would whisper words into her ear, trying to will her back to him. Two nights ago he had shaken her in frustration, trying to rouse her.' Come back to me girl! You are not leaving me! I will not allow it! ' He had been shocked, when moments later her eyes opened and she had responded. 'Come and find me then! I'm lost and I don't know my way back!'

He remembered the fleeting excitement and relief surge through him. But it had been clear after a few moments that she was still lost to him. Her eyes were unfocused and unseeing. They had closed again. The bitter sting of disappointment pierced him and the worry continued to eat at his insides. The healer had been made to suffer at his hand. He had needed an outlet for his frustrations as this situation continued.

After the healer had left the room, he had laid down next to her again. He'd exposed her abdomen so that he could rest his hand upon it and stroke it. He spoke to the child within, hoping for a response. He continued the rhythmic strokes and felt his eyelids grow heavy. He would rest them for a moment...

As dawn had broken the following morning, he had awoken to find himself still lay on the bed next to her, his arm draped around her protectively and his face close to hers. Startled, he had removed himself swiftly from the bed, straightening his robes. The healer would have appeared at any moment and he could not have been found in such a way.

Tonight, he had ensured that he would not succumb to sleep. He had taken a potion that would make sure he stayed awake throughout the night. He could not leave himself vulnerable again. He did not want his weakness for the girl being discovered and exposed. Neither did he wish to experience the torments of his own subconscious again.

Voldemort recalled the dream that he'd had the previous night, after yet again failing to stay awake and allowing sleep to take him. The dream had been so distressing to him. Waking within his dream, he had found himself asleep in his library, the house had been eerily silent. Getting up from the chair, he had left the library and had walked the corridors in search of life.

He had called for Nagini, but the serpent did not come. He called out for his followers and his voice had echoed around the manor, Not one of them had appeared. He had then attempted to apparate himself to search the house, but was unable to do so. Frustrated, he had to walk the corridors of the manor, which all seemed to stretch on for miles.

As he'd continued his search, he continued to call out names but was still met with silence. A sensation of panic had begun to envelop him. He was alone. Where were they all? He tried to cast a summoning spell, but chillingly his magic had deserted him. He called out for the girl several times, but there was no response.

In desperation he had used her given name. It was the title that he never addressed her with. 'Rose!' he called out. The name felt alien and strange coming from his lips; he usually addressed her as "girl", "woman" or "wife". He listened for a response. Where was she? He breathed deeply to calm himself and try to ignore the fact that her absence was the one that concerned him the most.

He started at the sound of a noise and laughter. 'Rose!' He called out again, 'Where are you, girl?' The sound of her laughter was clearer now. It was coming from upstairs. He ignored the sensation of relief that flooded through him, as he swiftly made his way up the stairs in search of her. He would not dwell on the thoughts that flickered through his mind as he ascended the staircase and made his way through the empty corridor. I'm not alone…she hasn't left me.

As he walked the seemingly endless corridor, he finally neared her room and heard noises and voices. He had shouted her name several times, but she had not responded. He felt the desperation within him to see her, to look upon her, to know he was not alone.

On reaching the door to her room, he froze as he closed his hands around the handle. The noises had chilled him to the bone and he had felt his icy rage well up inside of him. He had quickly turned the handle and pushed open the door.

She was on the bed, naked. Her elegant back was to him; her auburn hair was tumbling down it. She was writhing on top of another man, as she had often done with him. They both let out moans of pleasure. He was sick with fury. 'Whore!' He screamed out at her in a rage. She froze and then turned around to look at him. Her amber eyes fixed upon his face.

She laughed. The sound of this seared his insides. In fury, he had launched himself at her and the unknown man who lay beneath her. His body was met by an empty bed. He had screamed out in rage, frustration and pain. His breaths were ragged. He could smell her scent upon the pillow. He buried his face in it and inhaled. Hot tears of anger pricked his eyes but he fought them back.

He pushed himself upwards and sat on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. He was alone again. 'Damn you, whore! Where are you?' He shouted out in anger and desperation. Again he heard her mocking, teasing laugh. It was coming from the corridor outside.

He wrenched open the door and flew out on the corridor. He could not see her, but he could still hear her. He followed the sounds like a madman. He had to find her...he would kill her. 'Come back here woman!' he yelled as he stalked the empty corridors and rooms of manor, the echo of her enticing laughter willing him on. He breathed heavily; he was not alone whilst he heard that sound...she was here. She would never escape him...

He had woken up bathed in sweat, inhaling lungs of air. She was next to him on the bed, still lost within her mind. He had exhaled a breath of relief. It had been but a dream. But why had his subconscious fed these images into his mind? The feeling of being alone had not concerned him in years. He preferred his solitude. Other people had only been allowed into his life to be used for what they could do for him. He did not need companionship or conventional relationships.

Yes, he had married the girl, thereby creating a conventional relationship. But, the marriage was only for the purpose of his child being the product of a legitimate union and to fulfill the prophecy. Once the child is born...I will have no need for her in my life...she is expendable. Voldemort told himself this mantra yet again. But he could not ignore the questions that begged an answer. Why then had he been so afraid of being alone in his dream? Why had the girl's absence concerned him the most? Why had his mind tortured him with the images of her being unfaithful? Who was the man beneath her? Deep down he knew the reason and the answers to his questions, but he would not admit the truth to himself.

He sighed. Though he knew of magic, potions and spells that would stop him from wanting her, he had yet to make use of any of them. Why was he so reluctant to do what was needed? Why did he hesitate and allow himself to succumb to these feelings of wanting to be close to her, to lie down next to her and make physical contact with her? The relentless, frenzied desire for her seemed to have abated. He was relieved by this. But he had been left with a more subtle feeling and need for her. This was a more uncomfortable and insidious sensation to him.

It burned quietly and persistently within him. It did not control him and overwhelm as he had previously experienced. Yet he was constantly aware of this emotion that he could not (and would not) name. He felt disappointment that he could not satisfy this feeling completely whilst the girl was lost in her head. The stark truth was that he wanted to satisfy it. He raked his long fingers over his face and head. Nagini stirred at his movement and was alarmed by the emotions she could sense from her master.

He desired those amber eyes to look upon him again and to see the fire and spirit in their depths. He wanted to hear her clear voice speak to him seductively and utter the challenging remarks that infuriated him yet aroused and stirred him at the same time. He longed to feel her touch upon him and for her to bruise his lips with hers. And to hear her sighs of pleasure as he thrust himself inside of her. Voldemort shuddered, disturbed by the thoughts that forced their way into his mind and that he could no longer keep at bay.